by Serena Vale
The pharmacist nodded and turned to unseen quarters of the room that Evie couldn’t track her movements. She took a calming breath and resisted the urge to check her watch. She’d done this same thing a hundred times before when helping patients and the procedure didn’t take long. To check the time now might be enough to cause a careful eye to be suspicious. Erik had told her so and she did her best to appear calm.
When the elder woman returned she set the small plastic bottle on the counter with the patient’s name on it and updated her system on the monitor on the other side of the glass. “That poor girl with the leg?” the elder woman asked.
Evie nodded. “Yeah… the pain’s getting a little too much for her.”
“Poor thing!” the elder woman said as her fingers danced across the keys of her computer. “She’s toughed it out for three weeks!”
Evie nodded appreciatively. “I know. I would have gone nuts after the first week.”
The older woman pushed the bottle and the resulting paperwork through the narrow slot in the glass. “There you go, hon.”
Evie smiled triumphantly at the older woman, though she did not see it. “Thanks a million,” she said and turned to walk off.
She slipped the bottle of medicine with her last patient’s name on it into her lab coat pocket. Her patient would, of course, get her medication. Some doctors chose to administer certain medicines to patients personally and no one questioned it when they did. That she had come to the pharmacy would not be unusual, nor would her request for this particular antibiotic. With luck, it would be seen as just another oversight in the system.
At least for a while.
She knew enough about bureaucracies to know that once people realized that she had disappeared that her last steps would be traced. Sooner or later someone would figure out what it was that she had done and – if Erik’s suspicions were correct – they would know why she had done it.
But by then, Erik had promised that the pair of them would have a new life… new looks… new identities… no one would think to look for them. Not where they were going.
She walked straight out from the hospital; the monster that she had imagined to be waiting for her opened its mouth and let her pass: a morsel that the beast couldn’t swallow. And just ahead she saw a taxi pulling up to the curb. She held out a hand to wave it down and the yellow vehicle stopped.
She climbed into the backseat and closed the door, her muscles dancing with the electric tingle of success.
“Midtown train station, please,” she said in a cheery voice.
Her driver pulled away and within seconds, the hospital that she had devoted so much time and attention to fell away behind her. It was a full minute before her driver spoke in his sexy hard-to-place accent.
“You were successful?”
She smiled at him. “I wouldn’t have come out if I wasn’t.” She jiggled the bottle in her coat as proof. “Were you?”
He chuckled. “Two tickets to Northbend, New York… the train’s equivalent of coach, but the security is minimal. And after that… wherever we choose to go will be our new home.”
“Good. I can check your bandage once we’re in our cabin on the train.”
“Yes… maybe a little while after we’re alone in our cabin.” His tone was suggestive and she felt her excitement building up inside of her.
“And we’re already packed?”
“People on a honeymoon usually are.”
She started to laugh at that, but held. Her life was suddenly moving so fast that she felt like the energy of her body was getting ahead of her and the more fleshy parts of her body couldn’t keep up. She was a fugitive now… not from the law and not even from a crime family… but from life. Somehow, that was exciting.
And she was fine with it.
Chapter 8
Days turned to weeks. Weeks became months. Months finally morphed into years before she finally felt the initial excitement of their exodus finally fade away. For all of that time she felt like every shadow held some hidden assassin. That every time the phone rang there would be someone on the other end with voice-recognition technology listening to her. She had feared that every time there was a new patient in the small clinic in which she worked, it would be some person that she would recognize from her past.
But none of these things ever came true.
She watched as her son played in the snow. He was attempting to build – for the fourth time – a snowman that would not sit upright on the slope that faced their cabin. The Canadian wilderness beyond was beautiful and breathtaking, covered in a new blanket of snow. The tall pines were covered in the freezing substance and everywhere her son put his foot down his leg sank up to his knees.
He laughed as his snowman fell over onto him, pelting him as if he’d been hit with a snowball from god. The boy didn’t grow angry from his misfortune but laughed as the snow stung his face, turning his cheeks red.
“Be careful, baby,” she said to him, though his laughter was so loud she doubted he was paying attention as he got up and tried again to roll a new midsection for his unfinished snowman.
She sipped at her steaming cup of coffee and felt the warmth travel down her throat, filling her up with the idea of comfort and safety.
The sensation was made all the more pleasant when she felt a heavy blanket being draped over her shoulders. And the hands that held the flaps of that blanket shut were strong. And teasingly, those hands snaked their way under her shirt and cupped her breasts, squeezing them.
She never got tired of that.
She turned and kissed Erik, his full beard tickling her jaw. “Thanks.”
He squeezed her breasts again and looked down at their son. “How many times now?”
“Five now,” she said, sipping her coffee again. “He’s determined.”
Erik sighed, a contented sound. “My father would have loved that about him.”
She took another small sip. “Do you ever miss it? The life?”
Erik shook his head. She asked this same question often and his response was always the same. “No. This… what we have here… this is better than anything I left behind. Because it’s all ours… we built it… and honestly.”
She smiled and encouraged him to continue massaging her breasts. “And to think… we never would have gotten here if you hadn’t been eavesdropping on me.”
He kissed her cheek and together they watched their son play.
Life was good.
Taken By The Highlander
Chapter 1
The noise is what he noticed first. He had been sitting in his father’s intricately carved wooden throne chair, in what he still thought of as his father’s great hall, even though he knew it belonged to him now. It had only been a few short weeks since his father’s, the old Laird of Castle Acair, untimely death. Leaving Caelin in the untenable position of stepping into his shoes. Shoes he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to fill.
He could feel the men watching him, most of them warriors, most of them also unwashed. It was a rough lot that his father had garnered in the belief that only the strongest, meanest brutes would protect their land from their enemies, the Eonan clan. Caelin snorted softly. Not that there was much to protect anymore.
Most of their wealth, any treasure or finery had been sold or bartered long ago to continue a war that Caelin wasn’t even sure he believed in. The feud had started over a hundred years ago, before even his grandfather’s time, and no one was really sure anymore how it had started, or why it continued. That blasted feud had consumed his father life. Taerek Acair had been a great man, and a great leader, once. But he had gathered an army of the lowest sort of men and now they were growing restless. He could see it in their eyes, still red-rimmed from the night before. And now, they were his problem.
It sounded again, like a banshee howling at the walls, rattling the giant wooden slat doors that separated the great hall from the courtyard just outside. Great hall was a bit of an overstatement, but then ag
ain, so was castle, really. It was more of a large building, made from the red stone bricks that had been quarried right here hundreds of years ago. It was sparse now, not at all what he remembered of it when he had been just a child.
Hung with masterful tapestries and ancient’s swords and shields of gold, now there were just bare, empty stone walls. Cold and stark.
“Would somebody see what the bloody hell that is?” Caelin demanded loudly from his ornate chair that was raised on a small dais at the front of the room. It came again, like a giant pounding out its anger against the wooden doors, rattling them in such a way that had even him looking up from his deep thoughts.
Finally, one brave man ventured over to throw up the large wooden beam that held the doors in place. With a shout of terror, he quickly leapt back to join his other wine sodden friends as one of the doors banged open. The night was just falling over the Scottish hills, tinging the sky a fiery red that looked like blood to Caelin.
With a deep sigh of trepidation, he rose, a beast of a man. Towering over most at just over six and half feet, he had the muscles to back up his height. It was one of the only reasons his father’s men still followed him. They couldn’t understand the deeper thoughts and learned mind that shone with understanding behind his summer’s blue eyes. They looked at him and they saw his father, and the vicious, bloodthirsty man he had become.
Slowly, he walked to the now open door, cautiously spying out to see what had caused such a commotion and his eyes widened in shock, his eyebrows crawling up his forehead until they were almost lost in the shoulder length blond waves. He blinked several times, sure he must be seeing things. He squeezed them shut but when he opened them again she was still there.
Standing there in front of his door was a sprite with long black hair, generous curves in all the right places, and fiery green eyes that seemed to drill straight into him. Before he could open his mouth to say something, not that he knew what it would be as his mind was wiped completely blank by her stunning beauty, she spoke.
“My name is Lena Eonan,” she spat the words at him, her sweetly accented voice sharp with righteous anger, “and I am here for my father.”
Caelin stood there in utter shock as her words finally sank in and his brain started working again. An Eonan! Standing on his doorstep! His mouth opened and closed several times before he could finally get the words out.
“What are you doing here, Lass? Do you have a wish for your death?” Caelin said the words softly enough that he hoped the men, looking on in avid curiosity now, wouldn’t overhear.
“I am the daughter of Valdic Eonan, and I demand his release. Immediately.” She only barely reached his own collar bones, but as she somehow managed to look down that pert nose at him in a way that had him itching to throw her over his lap and give her own good swat on the backside for her impertinence. That thought only conjured images of all the other things he would love to do with her on his lap and he had to look away, shifting as his body tightened. He tried to reign in his wayward thoughts, turning back to the beauty still glaring at him.
“You probably don’t want to be advertising your lineage too loudly, sweetheart. You don’t want these men to hear that you’re Eonan’s child.” But it was too late, Caelin realized as he heard the sudden grumbling roar coming from behind him, the men shifting uneasily, some with vicious intent gleaming in their ale hazed eyes. He turned back to her, his mind working furiously to think of some way to save this foolhardy girl and at the same time not lose face in front of his men.
The answer to his conundrum struck him suddenly, but he knew she wouldn’t like it. He snorted softly at the understatement, trying to think of what words he could use to explain the delicate situation but a glance behind him made the decision for him. Many of the rough looking men were on their feet, coming closer, that gleam in their eyes burning brighter.
“Lena Eonan, I am taking you prisoner!” Caelin shouted out in a rush, hoping to forestall any quarrels with his men. His father’s men, truly, but his responsibility now. “You will be taken to the dungeons and released only upon the occasion of my mercy.”
“Mercy?” She shrieked as he wrapped his hand around her upper arm, struck by how much smaller she was than him. As he predicted she immediately began to struggle.
“Hush, lass. Still yourself,” He whispered urgently at her ear. “These dogs are a hairsbreadth of going for the bone, and make no mistake, sweetheart, they would tear you apart with a second thought.”
Finally, she noticed the avaricious look in their eyes, their stances of readiness. She stilled against him, pulling even closer as he began walking her towards the lower levels and the cell that now awaited her. The whole time he tried to make it look like he was pulling her along heedlessly when in fact he was trying with all his impressive willpower not to embrace her, offer some words of comfort to wipe out the sudden expression of fear that ghosted across her sweetly curved face.
With a deep sigh as a sense of impending doom swept through him, Caelin escorted the emerald eyed beauty the rest of the way to the dungeons in silence.
It was several hours later, midnight long since gone, that Caelin found himself once more heading towards the cell that held his captive, although this time for very different reasons. And this time, he was sneaking, an old, worn cloak thrown over his broad shoulders as he continued his mission.
Caelin could almost laugh at his predicament. Having to creep through his own castle like some sort of thief, just so his men wouldn’t find out how softhearted he really was. He knew that his intentions were right, though. He was going to free the lass, send her on her way back to her own home where she belonged, far away from the rough likes of his men, and even his own not so honest thoughts.
He barely held back a yelp of pain as he stubbed his foot on the edge of the door’s frame, wishing he could have lit a torch, but he didn’t want to bring attention to himself, or his nighttime mission, so he continued traversing the lower depths in darkness.
A noise caught his attention and he paused for a moment, his heart sinking as he realized it was sound of Lena crying, trying to muffle the heart wrenching sounds, but he was close enough to hear.
“Lena?” He called softly, “Lass?”
The cries instantly stopped and he had to squint in the dim light to see her huddled on a rough wooden pallet in the corner of the small cell.
“Lena, it’s me. It’s Caelin Acair.” He moved even closer, already digging the keys out from underneath the cloak where they had been hidden. “I apologize for earlier, for locking you in here, but I didn’t have a choice.” He waited for her to answer but when she didn’t, he continued.
“I’m freeing you, Lass. Can’t you see that? Come on now, we have barely an hour before the guard comes around.”
“I’m not going.” Came the stubborn reply, and at first, Caelin was sure he must have heard her wrong.
“What was that, sweetheart?”
“Firstly, I am most assuredly not your sweetheart. Secondly, I am not going anywhere until you tell me what you did to my father.”
“I have no bloody idea what happened to your bloody father, lass. Now come on!” His words ended on an exasperated sigh as she refused to budge.
“I told you. Not until I find out where you’re keeping him. Probably somewhere in this murky dungeon.”
“Ah, Lena, believe me. I have no knowledge of what happened to your da. Do
you not understand what’s happening? I’m trying to free you!”
“Well, I don’t want to be freed! I want to find my father!” Lena shouted back, the temper obvious in the heat of her voice.
“Fine. Fine, if you don’t want to be free, you can just spend the night here!” Caelin slammed the cell door shut again, his body shivering with frustration as he stalked out of the lower level, throwing his hands in the air at the bloody foolishness of some women, or one in particular one. The absolutely gorgeous one currently refusing to leave his dungeon.
&
nbsp; Chapter 2
When Caelin woke the next morning, his thoughts turned immediately to the black haired minx and went down with a tray of breakfast to try and convince her once again to flee.
As he neared the cell, this time in the cold light of day, he could see just how deplorable they really were. A single straw cot and a bucket for necessities, and that was it. With a grunt of disapproval, he unlocked the door and turned to hand her the tray, not realizing at first that she was still fast asleep. Had, in fact, fallen asleep still sitting in the same corner he had found her in the night before.
A heavy wave of guilt flashed through him as he took in the pallor of her fair skin and dirt and bruises that marred her skin. Her dress, once made of fine quality material, was completely ruined.
“Uh, lass,” He said, clearing his throat, trying to wake her as gently as he could. “Lena, wake up sweetheart.”
Her eyes popped open and she immediately was on her feet, the tray in his hand going flying to land with a wet splat against his chest. He sighed in aggravation, feeling like she had an innate ability to rile him more than any one he’d ever met. And she wasn’t even trying. God help him if she decided to.
“What are you doing in here? Are you finally going to tell me what happened to my father?”
“Lena, listen to me! I don’t know a thing about the whereabouts of your father.”
“And I don’t believe you.” She huffed, tilting her chin up, and as she did he could see just how haggard the night in the cell had left her. There were dark bruises smudged underneath each piercing, emerald eye and dirt on each cheek, marred with tracks of tears. His guilt pulled at him again, harder this time.
“Well, don’t believe me all you want sweetheart, but it’s the truth. Now let’s go.” He turned, already heading away from the cell when her voice stopped him.
“I’m not going anywhere, you brute!” Lena yelled after him. He stomped back until he was standing in front of her, trying and failing to keep the glare off of his face.
