“Yes, I believe so… she spoke true, saying she’d do anything for love. I knew this was coming, so I asked.”
“Aye, but I donna think she had this particular idea in mind, love.” My grandfather’s slight brogue always made me smile.
“True. Will she be alright?”
“Aye, they all were, weren’t they?”
“Yes, but…”
“No buts, ‘tis in God’s hands.”
There was a pause, and I waited for their footsteps to retreat down the hall, but they didn’t.
“May she go with peace.” The barely discernible whisper floated in the air.
“Aye, but where she’s goin’, ‘tis little peace… but will make her strong.”
“It’s made us all strong.”
“Indeed.”
The footsteps echoed as they left, and I stared at the ceiling, wondering what they were talking about. Perhaps my grandparents needed me to stay longer than a few weeks. It almost sounded like they were losing their minds. I grinned as I retracted my thought. No, they were both sharper in wits than I was on any day. A frown tilted my lips as I pondered their words once more. What were they talking about? With a resigned sigh, I drifted to sleep.
Author’s Note
In my research for Surviving Scotland, I discovered more than a few details that were contradictory. So, with the grand tradition of fiction, I took what was known, and added my own ideas and salted the history. Dumbarton and Carnasserie Castle do exist and are part of the Campbell clan’s holdings. However, Carnasserie wasn’t used by a laird, but by the rector of Kilmartin. In this I took some artistic license. As for handfasting, it is very much a traditional idea in the Scottish heritage, yet my research conflicted in its acknowledgement of its true nature in Scottish history. In this, I took artistic license as well. It is clearly a work of fiction, but my hope is that you will see past the artistic license and imagine a beautiful place full of mystery, natural beauty, and wonder as Surviving Scotland captivates you.
Did you enjoy Surviving Scotland? Make sure you check out Elle’s grandmother’s story in “Living London”!
About the Author
Kristin Vayden is blessed. With a love story of her own that is better than anything she’s ever read and four children (and one on the way!) that only add to the amazing story of her life. Needless to say, life at her house is never boring. She is a homeschooling stay at home mom that loves to researching homeopathic remedies and making her own soap and sauerkraut in her rare free time.
Also from Kristin Vayden
Chapter One
The tears started to fall even before I opened the stiff door to the nursing home. The only thing worse than saying goodbye was not saying goodbye. The wall's cream color blurred as I walked slowly down the hall toward Nanna's room. As I passed each wooden door, I glanced at the bronzed nameplate beside it. Each person within these walls had once been young like me, full of life, and now… now they waited.
Thankfully, Nanna wasn't fully aware of her surroundings; ignorance was bliss in her case. Usually the moment I opened the door to her room, a gentle smile would greet me. On a good day, she'd recognize me and try to fuss over my clothes or hair but today… today I knew that wasn't going to happen. The hospice nurse had called earlier urging me to come and say a final goodbye. My heart clenched.
As I drew closer to the door, I paused. I reached up to touch the nameplate, knowing someday soon it wouldn't be there anymore. Elinore Westin. With a heavy sigh, I turned the handle and entered, immediately assaulted by the sounds of an oxygen machine and the subtle scent of cleaning fumes. The bulky hospital bed made my grandmother's small frame appear even more delicate. She rested quietly beneath a pale pink quilt she and I had made years ago. Everything about her screamed fragile. I walked over to her bed and placed my hand on hers. The cool temperature of her skin gave me an involuntary shiver. There wasn’t much time left.
"Nanna? It's me, Jocelyn. I'm here to keep you company for a while. I know you missed me — I sure missed you since yesterday." There was no response, but I wasn't really expecting one. Nanna's hand began to warm as I held it gently. The soft white hair that was usually pulled into a knot at the base of her neck was carefully combed and draped over her shoulders. I brushed a few wisps away from her face and bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek. The familiar scent of her vanilla perfume comforted me. I leaned back so my tears wouldn't fall on her skin and wiped my face furiously. The nurse for hospice had said hearing was the last sense to go, so I knew she could hear my quiet sobs. In spite of my grief, I grinned. I could hear her voice in my mind berating me for shedding so many tears over her. She was ready to pass on. In truth, she had been ready for quite a while. She missed Grandpa Jakob. Even though she wasn't aware of reality all the time, she'd never forgotten him. Soon she'd see him again. The thought of their reunion comforted me.
"Nanna, when you see Grandpa, make sure you tell him I love him, okay? That's your job. If you have to leave me, you have to take my love with you, all right? I'll stay a little while longer, Nanna, but I know you need me to say goodbye, to let you know I'll be all right without you, and I will. I promise. I'll keep your aloe vera plant alive, and your Christmas cactus that Grandpa Jake bought you. Your quilts will be put on my bed and, most of all, I'll remember everything you taught me, and I'll keep our books safe and re-read them, always thinking of you."
In saying the last part, I glanced at the bookshelves around the room all filled with the Regency romances we had both read many times, cover to cover. Of all the things she had forgotten, she'd never lost her love of reading. Her borderline obsession with the Regency era was hilarious. When I'd been little, we would often pretend to be at an important ball. Nanna would wear an old ball gown, and I would put on my best Sunday dress. We'd twirl, dance, and pretend to drink watered-down lemonade at Almack's. During those times of make-believe she'd taught me the waltz, quadrille, and all the other popular dances till I could do them with my eyes closed. We'd had tea parties and scones, and she'd taught me to make clotted cream. My stomach rumbled as I thought of it, reminding me I had again forgotten to eat.
Nanna had grown up in England. Though most of her adult life was spent in the States, her crisp accent hadn't faded. My parents would often tease me that I sounded more British than American because of how I'd mimic my beloved Nanna's speech. For all intents and purposes, Nanna had raised me after my parents had been killed in a plane crash. At the tender age of ten, I had no one else left.
Though I could never replace a parent, Nanna did her best to give me the best childhood possible. She and Grandpa Jake were my solid ground, and their love seasoned my life. Grandpa passed away my junior year of high school, leaving grandma and I the only ones left in our family. When Nanna died, I'd be truly alone. I placed my hands over hers again and laid my head down. The sweet smell of vanilla and the sterile smell of bleach both comforted me and broke me further. Each moment that passed was one less that she would be in this world, and time was running out. Warm tears trailed down my face and soaked the pink quilt as I silently mourned.
Feeling a gentle hand touch my shoulder, I jolted upright.
"Miss? I'm here to take care of Elinore. I need you to move so I can give her another dose of morphine. I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I don't want her in any pain, and I'm sure you don't either." The woman was so gentle in her words, tears stung new. I got up and moved away, giving Nanna one last kiss on her forehead. "I love you. I love you so much."
After administering the medication, the nurse turned to me with shining eyes brimming with tears. A moment later she walked over and gave me a gentle hug. "Don't worry; she's peaceful. She's not in any pain now, and I'm sure she knows you love her."
"Thank you," I managed as I wiped more tears away.
Picking up my purse, I gave Nanna one last glance before I walked to the door. As I turned the doorknob, I whispered one more time the words I wanted her to take with her to heaven. "I love yo
u."
Also from Astraea Press
Prologue
Samuel wrapped his arm around the slim waist of his latest conquest. He licked his lips in anticipation of what was to come next, when he took her to the nearest bed. He was so foxed her name escaped him. Carlotta? Celina? He shrugged as he leaned in to nuzzle her soft neck. No matter. His memory faded soon after he tired of each woman he bedded, but there was always another waiting in line. Oftentimes, he brought them here, to one of his favorite inns.
The woman giggled when Samuel closed his eyes, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth. Pulling her closer still, he took possession of her ripe lips, not caring who stood nearby to watch them.
He'd done this before. Many, many times.
As quickly as Samuel placed his lips on the woman's, she was gone, leaving him to pucker up only to the stale air. His eyes popped open. "What the…?"
Another man, dressed in expensive breeches and coat, now had his arms around Samuel's woman. Samuel gritted his teeth, the very teeth that had only moments ago been clasped on soft feminine skin. Now, they bit down hard. On his tongue.
Cursing loudly, Samuel lunged at the other man, pushing the woman aside in the process. "Get your filthy hands off of her. She's mine!"
The man narrowed his eyes, knocking Samuel's hands away from his person. "You are of no consequence to me." He glanced at the woman, his eyes roving over every voluptuous inch. "I like what I see. She is now mine."
Samuel's blood boiled. Heat flooded his face. Vision now blurred from anger and ale, he lowered his head and raced forward, intent upon knocking the other man senseless.
Strong hands once again pushed Samuel away, hard. Staring up at the dirty ceiling, Samuel shook his head, trying to force the room to stop spinning.
Clump. Clump. Clump. Footsteps… that last quite close to his ear. Turning his head, Samuel gasped. How easy it would be for the other man to kick him in the face! He forced himself to a sitting position. Perhaps his swirling vision would calm. Surely he could stand. He must. There was no way he was letting his woman walk away with someone else. And away from him. Yes, there had always been another waiting for his favor, but suddenly it was important he possess this woman, on this night. It was a matter of pride that he not let her be taken away.
Samuel braced his hands on the floor until he had steadied enough to get his feet under him. Silence in the room had replaced the bawdy laughter of but a few moments ago. Of course, that would be the case. The patrons loved nothing better than to bet on a fight.
The sound of coins being exchanged all about him couldn't peel his eyes from the man standing in front of him. It was now or never. Any show of fear on his part might diminish future chances with other women if word got out that he'd acted the coward. A quick glance to his right showed the woman smiling, eyes gleaming, excited to be the object of such a feud.
Bone smashed bone as a fist knocked his head back, once again setting the room to a twirl. Samuel shook his head, blood now pouring from his nose. More blood ran down his throat. He coughed and spat. Red now colored the dirty floor.
Clenching his fists, Samuel attacked the other man, pounding him again and again about the face and chest. Now they'd find who would win the woman. No way he would give up. It was do… or die.
The man cursed, wiping blood from his chin. Enraged, he grabbed Samuel's shirtfront, propelling them both toward a grouping of rickety wooden tables. Samuel broke their fall, his back smacking onto the nearest tabletop. Pain lanced through his spine, jarring every bone and muscle. A firm grip lifted him from the table and threw him on the floor in a dusty, bloody heap.
Samuel turned his head. A black boot pulled away from his head, then propelled forward, smashing into his temple.
His world faded to black.
Chapter One
Outside Hammersmith, 1807
Pain. Pain lanced through her entire body. Her ankle throbbed as if her heart pulsed in that exact spot. And cold, so cold, as if she lay upon damp, raw ground. Sasha Douglas clenched her hands into fists. Her stomach roiled with nausea. Where am I?
Were her eyes open? In the near darkness, it was impossible to say. She squinted against the headache pounding behind her eyes and glanced up. And up. A tiny shaft of sunlight fell across the opening of wherever she was. Dots of fluffy white clouds hung lazily in the blue sky.
She sat up, despite the pain in her head and leg, and tugged her cloak tighter against the chill. Water trickled along from somewhere beside her. A few inches of water splashed around her boot and seeped into her dress. What happened? Think, Sasha!
A sharp cry echoed from way above the opening. Sasha dug her nails into her palms. Was it the red-footed falcon she'd watched earlier? Why did the bird's call cause panic in her heart? It had never bothered her before. She closed her eyes and slumped forward with her head and arms over her knees. Her ankle throbbed again. Perhaps if she rubbed it… no, it didn't help.
Wait. Where was her left boot? She checked her other foot. Leather and lacings, just as it should be. Her left foot was cold. And wet. The pain throbbed again, from her knee to her ankle and toes. Her stomach knotted in response and she shivered.
Her fingers caught on a large tear in her old walking dress. When she pulled back her hand, something sticky seeped through her gloves. Blood? She must have scraped her leg when she fell into this cold, black hole.
Her teeth chattered in the chilly dampness. Breathe, Sasha, just breathe.
Memories of earlier in the day flashed across her mind. She'd been walking along a valley as the green expanse of grass swayed in the breeze. Crickets had hummed their peculiar tune. The air was crisp and cool even though the sun shone. The red-footed falcon had cried overhead. She'd not been paying attention to where she was going as she watched the falcon dip and sway in the wind, its feathers gleaming in the sun's reflected rays. Then she'd stepped forward into empty air, and she gasped again as her stomach lurched from the memory.
Fear had flashed through her like icy water. She'd grabbed for support… at nothing. She'd screamed, and it had echoed as she'd hurtled down the shaft. Had she bounced from the stone surface before she'd crashed against the cold, wet ground? Sasha remembered nothing else. Nothing at all until the first, pain-wracked moment when she'd woken. What have I fallen in to? The hole hadn't been visible from a distance in the tall grass. She hadn't noticed what must have been a fairly large opening for her to go through, as she'd watched the hawk. How would she get out? What if she couldn't get out? Will I die down here in this dark, damp place? Please, no. No!
Surely someone would be along to find her, wouldn't they? Please let someone find me. "Help! Someone! Please help me!"
Silence answered.
Sasha glanced up again at the small patch of sky. I need to get out of here! But the distance was too great, and there wouldn't be anything to grasp onto, since the cobblestones along the wall were slick. Unless someone found her, she would die here, hurt and alone. Thoughts of starving or freezing to death caused new chills to wrack her body.
Someone someday might find her bones. A shepherd seeking a lost sheep? A mason sent to fill in the old well? Would they bury her? She shuddered again.
Circumstances as they were now could not be any worse. Her life would be forever changed. Sorrow gripped her heart at the thought of Samuel. Why? Why did he have to die? Since their parents' deaths, it had been just her and her brother.
Now it was just her.
Since she no longer had a family, there would be no one to even remember who she'd been. Or that she'd even crossed the earth. She had no one, absolutely alone in the world. Samuel. The physical hurt collided with the anguish and anger of her loss.
Why had he gotten into the fight in the inn? He had always been in some kind of trouble and always had promised her each time would be the last. But he'd never kept his word to her. Couldn't he have just walked away and ignored the taunts of the other man? Then she wouldn't be here. Alone. He'd only been g
one a few days, but… Samuel, I need you.
She slumped against the cold cobblestones, shivering but too miserable to move. Tears dripped down her cheeks and plopped onto her dress. She grieved heavily for her last remaining family member. Nevertheless, she should have been more aware of her surroundings. Look where it had gotten her! Alone and lost. And possibly soon to die below the ground.
No one would have to dig her grave because she was already in it.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Sasha swallowed hard. What was that? She sat up straighter.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Vibrations through the dirt became stronger and more pronounced as the seconds ticked by. The ground trembled. Small stones, from somewhere in the wall above, pelted her arms and head, but any discomfort was dwarfed by the pain in her ankle.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Sasha peered upward. Someone's coming! Was it a horse pounding its hooves on the ground? Did the horse have a rider? She shivered, torn between excitement and fear. "Hello! I'm down here!" No one answered. Were they too far away to hear?
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, competing with the noise above. She needed to still her mind and heart. Holding her breath, however, wasn't successful, only serving to make her suck in mouthfuls of cold, damp air.
Sasha took a deep breath, letting it out a little at a time, and she calmed. She clenched her filthy fingers together. If the horse had a rider, she'd yell for all she was worth. It might be her one chance for life!
But her energy drained away, weakness creeping through her body and mind. Dizziness swirled her vision and thoughts. How much blood had she lost? Someone please help me.
****
Garrett Rothchild Cantlebury, the Fifth Duke of Ravensworth, slowed his horse, Ashe, when he spied something small and black lying next to the edge of the old well. Was it an animal? A piece of cloth? Wait, the slab covering the well had been moved. He gritted his teeth. He'd had it mortared closed after he'd seem some children showing interest in the well. And he'd been certain that would keep the slab down tight. Had they chipped away at it over time, loosening the seal little by little?
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