Highlander’s Twisted Identity (Highlanders 0f Clan Craig Book 2)

by Shona Thompson

  Strands of her hair writhed around her head like snakes, taking on a life of their own. She was face-to-face with Finlay, battling to cut him with her sword, which she wielded perilously.

  “Nae! Stop it! Stop it all of ye!” Freya cried tearfully.

  “Listen! Please, my lord,” said Wallace, rushing up to Finlay and coming between the laird and his mother. Nora growled dangerously at him.

  He turned to Finlay. “These are not bad people, but fate has dealt them a bad hand. The clanless folk, they have—we have—” Here, Wallace broke off to stare into the face of the man who had just a few moments ago been jeering at him. He pushed his mother towards the man, and he drew her away into the crowd.

  To Freya’s amazement, Wallace seemed to have achieved what no one else could—a calm. Only a hardened core of agitators looked unconvinced. The rest seemed to be listening to what Wallace had to say. Freya could tell the majority had never been enthusiastic about the ambush to begin with.

  A lull descended upon the raggle-taggle army of peasants. Freya looked up into Wallace’s face and felt a rush of pride. Even her father had paused to consider his words.

  Slightly awed, Wallace continued on. “These people, they have…we have nothing. No food, no animals, no crops, no hunting rights, naught. All they want is a chance at a life…”

  Wallace’s words struck a note with nearly all the clanless men, who stood behind him, nodding in agreement.

  “Aye,” said the ruddy-faced man, looking at Wallace with a renewed energy. “What the lad says is true. We don’t truly want war with ye; just a chance.”

  Hope burst into Freya’s eyes. Wallace’s command over the clanless was sublime—he was a natural leader. Even her father appeared to be considering his words.

  “Well, it seems we are in agreement about something!” he said genially. He was on the verge of downing his weaponry when from out of nowhere, a banshee-like screech started.

  The whole world swirled to black, and for one instant, Freya thought that a vulture had landed overhead. But when she looked, it was to see Nora, totally wild, shaking and stabbing, battling her way back through the crowd.

  Although she was wiry and stooped, Nora still had the energy of a bull. It proved too much for the men who tried to hold her back from her assault.

  “Father, watch out!” Freya warned, giving Finlay a sudden shove. The laird toppled over, landing in a heap on the scorched yellow grasses which lined the keep.

  Simultaneously, Wallace hurled an object from out of his sporran—which Freya could just make out was a small, silver tinder box. The heavy object flew through the air, striking Nora in the face and knocking her off balance completely. As Nora was trying to regain her footing, Freya pushed her back and away from her father. Nora stumbled, and as she fell, the sword she held pushed up towards her face.

  “Och, nae!” screeched Nora as the blade slashed her from cheek to cheek in a terrible frenzy of blood. Steep gasps came from the onlookers, and Freya felt her heart skip a beat with the terror.

  “Mother!” yelled Wallace, distraught. He raced over to help her, but Freya had to hold him back.

  “It’s better ye dinnae look,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry. I didnae ken she was going to fall!” Freya broke off, the weight of her emotion showing on her face. Wallace looked so bereft that she couldn’t bear it.

  But instead of the anger she feared, Wallace placed a hand on her shoulder softly.

  “I ken,” he said to her. “I just wish it could be some other way…!” Now Wallace’s eyes filled with tears. “Seoras and I were her whole life.”

  Desperately, Freya cast her mind about for something she could do to help soothe him.

  Then, she spied something across the yard, glinting in the sunlight. Retrieving it, she saw it was a tinderbox. Picking it up, she read the inscription on the rear. She placed it lightly into Wallace’s palm. However, Wallace shook his head, throwing the tinderbox into the long grass. He was still shocked, but looked resolute. “Nae, I dinnae have any use for it anymore,” he said.

  Looking into her worried face he said, “Dinnae fash. None of this is because of ye, lassie. Everything that happened was by her own hand,” he said gently.

  Reaching down, he caressed her face, stopping the trickle of her tears with his index finger. Then tentatively, he moved in, giving her a deep and tender kiss.

  From somewhere behind them, Freya became aware of clapping. The one or two thugs loyal to Nora had slunk away, and now the rest of the clanless– and the keep guards—were all united in cheering.

  Wallace smiled and squeezed her hand. But he tensed as the sight of her father stopped him in his tracks.

  “Father, please,” said Freya with emotion.

  But Finlay just smiled. He extended a hand to the lad. “Come intae the keep. An’ all of the men can come back into the Craig lands,” he said, casting his eyes to the clanless who stood behind him. “I think it’s time we tried to work things out,” he said warmly.

  Wallace smiled at Freya with tenderness.

  “I’d like that, wouldnae ye?” he asked, gazing at her sweetly.

  “More than anythin’,” she said with a smile.

  Taking Freya by the hand, Wallace kissed her passionately as the crowd cheered ever louder.

  Epilogue

  Sunshine streamed in through the unshuttered windows of the keep, but now the sun hung a little lower in the sky.

  Freya stretched out luxuriously in the bed, the silken sheets caressing her every inch. It had been only a few short weeks since the attack, but it felt like years had passed.

  In the last few weeks, a buzz of energy had washed through the clan—one that she had never known before. The clanless members had taken up their places within the village, and it hummed with a renewed vigor.

  She had particularly enjoyed watching Wallace’s reaction to clan life. Teaching him their customs and frivolities had been a steep learning curve.

  “Och, I cannae dance, Freya. I’ve got two left feet!” he had protested as Freya had tried—for the third time—to show him the steps to the dance that they needed to learn.

  “More like two wooden peg-legs—Wallace!” she scoffed, then leading him gently into the center of the hall, took him by the hand and held it tight.

  “Quicker, ye need to go quicker!” she had commanded, as Wallace tried his hardest to keep up. In actual fact, he was a very good dancer, but Freya wasn’t about to let him know that just yet. “It needs to be perfect for our guests!”

  “We’re nae even meant to see each other before the wedding. Tis bad luck!” Wallace reminded her somberly.

  Freya just laughed. “Och, wheesht!” she said, giving him a quick brush against the shoulder. Then she took him by the hand again and led him into the dance.

  Two hours later, Wallace was walking up the aisle in the small church that nestled beside the keep. The sound of the fiddlers playing jauntily in the background was only just audible enough to drown out the sound of his own heart, pumping loudly in his ears.

  He had waited for what felt like years for this day—ever since he had first seen her, just a wild girl running around the bandit lands near to where he lived. Wallace’s heart skipped a beat as he thought about the day that he had saved Freya from the brigands that held her.

  And now, here he was, waiting for her to walk down the aisle. Tensed and excited, Wallace felt himself prickle under the glare of all the eyes that surrounded him.

  He had never seen so many people in one place before: courtiers, clan men, guards, nobles, friends and neighbors, all packed into one small church, pressed in together on the wooden pews, all waiting for Freya to make her entrance.

  A break in the playing allowed for a low hum to take hold in the church pews. Wallace adjusted his sporran and checked his bonnet self-consciously.

  “I naer saw a man so on edge! Relax, laddie, she’ll be here!” the laird said, giving Wallace a broad grin.

  In the interve
ning weeks, Finlay had become more contented and less anxious about everything. Even to the point of giving them his blessing for their marriage. Finally, everything in the Craig lands was serene, and life was going well. Now there was just one concern; would Freya be here?

  Peeking surreptitiously into his golden pocket watch—a wedding gift from Finlay—Wallace’s eyebrows peaked anxiously.

  “She’s five minutes late,” he murmured, much to Sine’s mirth. The bride’s mother shone in her crisply pleated arisaid, her black hair tied back with a velvet ribbon into an elegant topknot.

  “It’s a bride’s prerogative to be late, laddie. I made the laird wait for two hours before I married him!” she laughed.

  “It’s true!” confirmed Finlay. “My poor stomach was turning like the winter tide.”

  “I mean, who even kens the time. Anyhow, they’re all having a great time!” Sine said.

  The wedding of Freya and Wallace was the biggest event this part of the Highlands had seen in years. Wallace couldn’t help feeling hesitant as he saw the assembled crowds, all waiting for them to walk down the aisle.

  His stomach growled uncomfortably, being unaccustomed to being the center of attention. But this was something he had to get used to.

  Since their engagement, Wallace had had more duties to carry out for the clan, and this had meant speaking to the clansmen. To his surprise, Wallace had discovered a natural connection with the townsfolk. Even the most hard-lined of them had come on board when there was enough food to go around.

  But for now, Wallace was deep in his thoughts, wondering just where he would be if he had never met Freya. Such a notion made darkness creep into his heart. What if she had changed her mind about the wedding?

  At that moment, a single bagpiper commenced playing, accompanied by a small quartet. Every neck in the church strained to see the entrance of the bride.

  From the back of the church, Freya approached tentatively. In her hands was a small posy of Highland flowers—roses and gyp, together with a large thistle—all bundled together in a broad ribbon. Her dress was moonlight white, dazzling in silk, rippling from toe to tip. As she walked slowly towards the pulpit, she actually seemed to shimmer, tight red ringlets framing her face to perfection.

  Wallace gave a gasp. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and his heart thumped harshly as she approached him.

  “Ye look stunning, Freya,” he murmured beneath his breath as the bagpipes continued to play.

  Coming towards him, Freya looked somehow demure and mischievous at the same time. With a look that would melt butter, she turned to the shaken Wallace and gave him a sudden wink.

  Pulling her towards him, Wallace launched a frenzied kiss. It tingled at the corners of his lips, drawing him into her scent.

  That had been the morning. Now it was night and Freya was there, waiting in her bed. The warm morning sun had been replaced by a cool evening breeze, and although light still streamed in from the windows of the keep, it was paler and cooler than before.

  It had been a perfect autumn day, miraculously not mired by the rain which the Highlands were infamous for.

  “Och, will ye come on? I’ll die of old age!” quipped Freya, luxuriating in the silks of the new box bed.

  This would be the only night they would spend on this new piece of furniture, designed especially for three occasions only: their wedding night, the birth of their children, and the laying of the dead.

  “It takes a while to be this perfect!” Wallace said, before leaping heavily onto the box bed. Almost immediately, it gave a loud creak.

  Freya slapped him in exasperation. “Och, I’ve told ye about doing that!” she said.

  “Hush yer noise!” Wallace laughed. He teased her a moment before throwing her back down onto the bed and reaching over to grasp her face.

  They kissed, once passionately and then again, slowly. Climbing on top of Freya, Wallace dived in, his hands caressing her rounded breasts. “They’re so big!” he marveled.

  “Are ye calling me fat?” Freya answered sternly, before grinning.

  “Nae! They’re braw!” he murmured approvingly, before kissing them with tender lips. “I love yer body. It’s so soft and rounded!”

  For a moment, Freya hesitated, as if she were on the verge of saying something. But then, in an instant, she was squealing with an ecstasy that just wouldn’t stop. It seemed that every time they made love, it just got better.

  He covered her face with wet kisses, raining down on her forehead with exquisite sweetness. Then, he worked down to her torso and navel, where he spent quite some time teasing her until she could take no more.

  “An’ I never thought ye could sweat!” Wallace said, fascinated at the sight of her shivers and twitches. It was all too much for Freya. Even without being touched intimately, the stimulation from her breasts and belly button combined to produce something she had never experienced before—a spontaneous pleasure which burst through her body from the center to her very tiptoes.

  Then, just as she was riding a tide of complete bliss, he dove in, ripping her stays open and making her gasp headily.

  “Och, Wallace, I dinnae ken if I can take any more!” she breathed as he pushed his way inside her, satisfying her passion.

  Together, the pair caressed one another, holding each other in the throes of a heightened pleasure so intense, it almost hurt.

  “Wallace!” Freya cried out, her eyes round and wide.

  Wallace sighed a moment, catching his breath. “Well, we need to make the most of this bed! We willnae be in here again—any time soon!”

  Freya turned to him tentatively.

  “Well, maybe ye willnae, but I will be…” she said, in a whisper.

  “What…” Wallace said, spinning around. His amber-colored eyes shone with surprise. “Do ye mean…?”

  “Aye, Wallace. Tis early, but I think that there’s a bairn on its way!”

  She looked tentatively into Wallace’s face, anxious to see how he would react. For a moment, she feared the worst as his face changed from languorous to stunned. But then when he did speak, he did so slowly, cupping her face with his hands.

  “Oh ma God, Freya, that’s amazing! Now everything is complete, with the clan, and the next laird of Craig!”

  Extended Epilogue

  Eager to learn what the future holds for Freya and Wallace?

  Then you may enjoy this extended epilogue.

  Simply tap here and you can read it for FREE, or use this link:

  https://www.shonathompson.com/394z

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading my novel, Highlander’s Twisted Identity. I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write a review HERE?

  It is very important for me to read your thoughts about my book, in order to get better at writing.

  Please use the link below:

  https://www.shonathompson.com/iy28

  Highlanders of Clan Craig

  Book#1

  Highlander’s Buried Identity

  * * *

  Book#2 (this book)

  Highlander's Twisted Identity

  Do you want more Romance?

  If you’re a true fan of the Scottish romance genre, here are the first chapters of the prequel to this story, which was my very first novel: Highlander’s Buried Identity

  * * *

  Highlander’s Buried Identity

  Chapter One

  “I’ll have the food ready when ye come back, mo laochain. Ye must be starving already.” Her hands and apron covered in flour, Mairi was working on the bannocks, her hands tirelessly kneading the dough.

  Finlay thought that he was a little too old to be addressed as Mairi’s little hero, and he also wanted to point out that, in fact, she had just fed him breakfast, but he knew better than to open his mouth. Despite being in this world for four-and-twenty years, he was still Mairi’s little boy, and he always would be.

  So instead of protesting, he gave her a big, to
othy smile and headed out into the woods, in search of some good kindling to bring back for the fire.

  There was something calming about the forest—be it the stillness and quiet of the trees or the fact that it provided plenty of cover for men like Finlay, who preferred to stay hidden from prying eyes. The Scots pines and the oaks that lined those parts of the land stood tall and proud, their leaves swaying in the gentle breeze. The air smelled of elder and wild cherries, enticing Finlay to take a deep breath and enjoy their aromas.