A Promise in Midwinter

by Alyssa Stark

  “The MacFarlands are not so different from us,” Elizabeth began. Her eyes implored John Campbell to listen. She stood strong in front of his horse, blocking his path. “They love their families, teach their children right from wrong. I’ve been in their homes, I’ve eaten the food that they have harvested from the land, just like we do! I’ve laughed with them and shared stories around their hearth fires.”

  “They are our enemies,” John Campbell seethed. He glared at Liam, who stood silently beside his daughter.

  “No, they are not!” Elizabeth argued. “Perhaps they were our enemies, but you have the power to end this!” she said with emotion, imploring John Campbell to understand. “Let our clans join together in peace. A peaceful relationship between the Campbells and the MacFarlands will have a far greater yield than endless and costly bloodshed! Let us join together and enter a time of prosperity. The English are coming, invading the Highlands and breaking up the mountain clans. If we were to join together, perhaps we can defend ourselves!”

  John Campbell was silent. Elizabeth’s words reverberated within him.

  Secretly, he too was tired of war. He was weary of killing and senseless death.

  And Elizabeth was right.

  He could not even remember what had instigated the feud between the Campbells and the MacFarlands.

  “The lass is right,” Liam said quietly.

  John Campbell had been Liam’s life long enemy.

  “I am tired of endless killing. I’m tired of seeing our sons dead on the battle field. And what have they given their lives for, John? A silly feud that began before either of us were born?” Liam asked.

  A strange feeling washed over John Campbell.

  Perhaps he could be a part of something bigger, a part of something greater than himself. What if the Campbells and the MacFarlands could make peace and foster an alliance against the English? What if he could play a part in building a world that was better than the one that he had been born into?

  “I am happy here, step-father,” Elizabeth said softly. “I am happy here because they are good people, people not so different from us.”

  Campbell slid down from his horse. He now stood directly in front of Liam and Elizabeth. His heart was changing.

  He unsheathed his sword.

  Elizabeth’s heart thundered in her chest.

  What was Campbell planning to do?

  Liam was unarmed and would be no match for the lethal claymore in Campbell’s hand.

  John Campbell raised his sword.

  Every muscle in Lachlan’s body was tense, poised and ready to fly across the battle field towards Elizabeth. He watched helplessly as his wife stood proudly in front of her step-father. He swore right then that if Campbell harmed her, he would kill each and every last Campbell on the battlefield.

  And then he would fall upon his own sword.

  His life was not worth living if he could not be with his wife.

  Campbell drove the blade of his sword into the frozen ground, causing Elizabeth to emit a startled gasp.

  “Let this be the end, MacFarland,” he proclaimed. “Let us leave our grandchildren with a world greater than what we were given. May this day mark the beginning of peace between our clans.”

  Liam nodded. He extended his hand towards John Campbell.

  Campbell shook his hand, sealing the fledgling promise.

  Hope bloomed within Elizabeth, warm and heady as it overtook her body.

  Without thinking, she stepped forward and kissed John Campbell on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she smiled up at him. “I know that you loved me the best that you could. You loved me the only way that you knew how.”

  Campbell nodded. Elizabeth was right again. He had loved her.

  Having no children of his own, Elizabeth had been his only child.

  And he had done her wrong.

  Perhaps it was Elizabeth’s gracious act of forgiveness or perhaps it was the prospect of a new and hopeful year beneath the blanket of winter’s snow, but John Campbell suddenly found that he wanted peace. He wanted peace between the Campbells and the MacFarlands both for himself and for future generations.

  It had only taken setting out on a warpath for him to realize it.

  That and a completely defiant and yet amazing young lady.

  ..ooOOoo..

  “Doona ever do that to me again!” Lachlan warned as he collected Elizabeth into the safety of his arms. “I will not stand by as you place yourself in such danger!”

  “I wasn’t in danger. Not truly,” Elizabeth said as she smiled against her husband’s chest. “Love is worth fighting for,” she said as she looked up at Lachlan.

  “Aye,” he whispered, “It is.”

  His lips claimed hers in a passionate, possessive kiss.

  “And I want our children to have a world more peaceful than the one that we have known,” she added.

  “Children?” Lachlan said as he arched an eyebrow.

  “Aye?” Elizabeth laughed. “I suppose that we shall have at least eight!”

  Lachlan rolled his eyes heavenward.

  “Ye do know how children are made, love?” he asked teasingly as he squeezed Elizabeth’s bottom.

  “No, perhaps you could instruct me?” Elizabeth chided playfully as she winked invitingly at her husband.

  “Gladly, sweetheart,” he laughed. “If we are to have at least eight, I suppose that we should get started.”

  Lachlan whisked Elizabeth off her feet, eliciting a giggle from her that warmed his heart. Elizabeth Campbell was the greatest and most unexpected gift of his life. She had given him so much. Her love was a promise that resided within his soul, a promise of a life filled with happiness, laughter, and above all love.

  In Elizabeth, Lachlan had found the lass that sang to his soul.

  ..oOo..

  The End

  ..oOo..

  Thank you so much for choosing to read my debut novel! Many hours of love, sweat and tears have been poured into this fledgling work and I do hope that you enjoyed it. If you enjoyed reading A Promise In Midwinter, please consider writing a review of my work on Amazon.com

  My second novel (a full length historical romance) entitled Tournament of Hearts has just been released. It can be found at the link provided below. I’ve attached the first two chapters for your reading pleasure.

  http://www.amazon.com/Tournament-Hearts-Alyssa-Stark-ebook/dp/B00GPY5W3A/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1384829728&sr=8-3&keywords=alyssa+stark

  Tournament of Hearts

  By: Alyssa Stark

  ..oo Chapter One oo..

  Loch Fyne, Scotland, 1721

  “I would rather die!” Isobel said as she glowered at her father and squared her shoulders for battle.

  “You need a husband, Isobel. And I can think of no other way,” Laird McLaughlin snapped at his only daughter as he rubbed his throbbing temple. His knuckles were gnarled by time. They moved in small circles against his skull. He would have given anything to quell the incessant aching.

  “Have you spoken with Hodges? Is there still no manner by which I could manage our holdings with a legal guardian?” Isobel asked in desperation.

  “It cannot be, sweetheart,” Laird McLaughlin sighed. “The decree is quite specific on the path of succession. In the event that there is no heir apparent, I am free to choose my heir. But, it is clearly written that the chosen heir must be male.”

  Isobel sighed heavily and knitted her tawny eyebrows together in frustration. This was not the first time in her life that she had cursed being born a female.

  “Have we no distant cousin, no far-off relation that I could rule jointly with? A marriage of convenience perhaps?”

  McLaughlin chuckled. Isobel had never been one to give up easily. He watched her now, with her wild blonde hair cascading down over her arms which were crossed over her chest in a silent act of defiance. The lass was as stubborn as a rock, but she had grown up well. Isobel would serve her clan as she wa
s bid. She would do her duty however distasteful.

  McLaughlin was proud of his daughter.

  “I have looked, my dear. I have searched tirelessly for a proper match for ye and to no avail. Ye are my only daughter and in mine eyes, there is no man worthy of ye!” McLaughlin exclaimed as he closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. “Perhaps that is the reason why I have forsaken the task of finding a suitable husband for ye,” he admitted as his eyes locked with his daughter’s.

  Isobel smiled half-heartedly. She knew that her father loved her more than life itself.

  McLaughlin leaned forward and punched at the pillow between his back and the massive wooden headboard. The disease was progressing quickly and as a result McLaughlin spent most of his time abed now. He was consumed with chronic pain and could never seem to find comfort. He settled himself back against the bolster and prepared to voice his fears aloud to Isobel.

  He had been dreading this very moment, but time was short.

  McLaughlin knew that he would soon be dead.

  “We must face the fact that I am the last of our line and I too shall soon be gone. It pains me that I was not given a son, a son that would carry on the McLaughlin name,” he said as his eyes fell down to the feather duvet that covered his legs. “Now we are forced to look outside the immediate clan to find a suitable match for you,” he said, his shame preventing his eyes from looking up to meet his daughter’s. “A man to carry on my legacy not through name, but through blood. Through your blood, our McLaughlin blood mingling in the veins of the children that he will give you.”

  Isobel fought the urge to run. The thought of the marriage bed terrified her, but she knew that her duty to the clan must be upheld. She was the last of the true McLaughlin line and in so being, she held the responsibility of bearing the future Laird of Clan McLaughlin, a fact that iced the blood in her veins.

  Bearing a future Laird was a weighty responsibility.

  Isobel was fearful of the intimate relations that took place between a man and a woman. Her mother had died when she was very young and Isobel’s only knowledge of the intimate subject had come from the hushed conversations of her maids.

  Conversations that Isobel’s tender ears had not been meant to hear.

  “It will ease my passing to know that you will be taken care of,” McLaughlin said softly as he looked upon his only living child. There had been four others, three girls and a stillborn boy, none of which had survived past the age of five years.

  “Have you chosen an heir, father?” Isobel asked suddenly, a knot of dread building in her throat as she awaited her fate.

  “Not as of yet, sweetheart,” McLaughlin admitted. He watched Isobel relax as the relief of his words flooded over her. “As there is no heir apparent, I am free to choose my heir. I fear that time is short, Isobel. I’ve devised a plan to find a man worthy of succession. A man who is born to lead and will keep the clan safe under his watch.”

  “What sort of plan is this that you speak of?” Isobel asked skeptically. Her eyebrows arched in obvious shock. Rudy McLaughlin had always been unconventional in his manners of ruling. Isobel could only imagine the wild plan that her father had dreamed up.

  “A tournament,” McLaughlin said simply. “Eligible men of suitable birth shall compete. There shall be tests of leadership as well as feats of strength and cunning. When the games have narrowed the field to only two suitors, you may choose between them. You shall choose your husband,” McLaughlin said softly as he awaited Isobel’s response. His eyes locked with hers now, their light blue depths the mirror image of his own.

  Isobel forced herself to close her mouth, which at present was gaping open in a most unladylike fashion.

  “I will be no man’s prize!” she spat as she turned on her heel and fled from the solar. A storm of rage swelled within her. How could her father be so selfish? Why had he neglected finding a suitable husband until it was nearly too late? Any man could win her father’s silly tournament!

  Blast! Isobel cursed in her mind as hot tears stung at her eyes.

  “Isobel!” McLaughlin thundered. His authoritative voice stopped his defiant daughter in her tracks.

  Isobel turned without speaking. Her blue eyes rose to meet her father’s.

  “This is the only way. If I cannot find a successor, our clan will be absorbed into one of the larger clans. I cannot allow that to happen.”

  “Tis shameful, father,” Isobel said. “I had hoped for better,” she said icily as she turned and strode briskly from her father’s chamber.

  She had meant the words to sting and sting they most certainly had.

  Rudy McLaughlin sighed deeply and collapsed back against his bed. His lungs heaved with exhaustion. The disease was wasting away his strength rapidly. It had taken every ounce of his energy to portray his fragile act of health to Isobel. The lass had no idea of how far the disease had progressed. She had no inkling that sitting upright was almost more that her father could now manage.

  There was precious little time left.

  McLaughlin’s dying act would be to ensure that Isobel was safe. His greatest regret in life was not seeing to her marriage sooner.

  ..oo Chapter Two oo..

  “I need to purchase a dagger,” the young woman said from beneath the heavy woolen cloak. She stood at the edge of the blacksmith’s shop, wringing her slender fingers together. The gesture hinted at the fact that she was nervous.

  The long black cloak covered her from head to foot. She had taken great care to obscure her identity, but the tell-tale color of one errant blonde curl that had escaped the confines of her hooded cloak betrayed her. The golden strand danced in the breeze and whipped across her face. Recognizing the imminent threat of discovery, the young woman moved quickly to tuck the strand beneath her cloak and safely out of sight.

  Tristan set down his mallet on the work bench. Using a fist-full of cloth, he removed the iron blade from the fire, not wishing it to overheat while he dealt with this most unexpected customer.

  “It has been my experience that a lass with a dagger is often more harm to herself than good,” he said huskily as he approached the young lady that stood before him. He had known her at once, despite the fact that she had tried to cover her blonde curls.

  Lady Isobel McLaughlin was a striking beauty and such a woman could not easily obscure her identity.

  “I did not ask for your opinion,” Isobel said coolly. “I asked you to sell me a weapon,” she said with an air of challenge.

  Her blue eyes met the intense hazel eyes of the blacksmith. His eyes were the most unusual color, striking green flecked with gold. The look that she found in those eyes caused her heartbeat to quicken. His eyes held a hint of recognition as if he knew her from somewhere before. Isobel felt the burn of sudden panic bloom within her, warm and heady.

  The blacksmith had a commanding presence and he arched an eyebrow at Isobel’s retort. He watched her now, appraising her openly in a manner that made Isobel blush.

  Tristan’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile. He knew that he should send her away at once, but immediately decided against that idea. His curiosity was piqued.

  Why ever could Lady Isobel McLaughlin be in need of a dagger? Her father’s guards kept her well protected. Tristan wondered how she had managed to slip their watchful eyes and make her way here. He determined to wait awhile longer and coerce the lass into revealing her true intentions.

  “And would I not be at fault should you find misfortune at the hand of a blade that I crafted?” Tristan asked as he walked around the anvil to stand in front of the McLaughlin lass.

  Isobel looked up at the blacksmith. He towered above her and yet she stood fast and unafraid. The blacksmith was a powerful man with broad, muscled shoulders. He stood before her with his legs braced apart, his stance relaxed as he removed his leather gloves and sat them on his workbench. Isobel had heard tales of his prowess as a swordsman and she could not help but notice that his body was fit and sinewy, t
he result of hours spent practicing his craft.

  Despite his obvious physical strength, the blacksmith did not frighten Isobel. On the contrary, there was a gentleness about his nature that set her at ease.

  “No harm shall come to me,” Isobel assured him. She straightened her spine and looked up confidently into his intriguing hazel eyes.

  “I wager that it would be most irresponsible of me to sell you a weapon with which you might find grave injury,” he challenged in return, enjoying the thrill of antagonizing Laird McLaughlin’s only daughter. She was sharp of wit and did not cower in his presence as women often did. Tristan had gained a reputation as being cold, a reputation that he had done nothing to change. He looked forward to the challenge of extracting lady Isobel’s secret reason for needing the weapon.

  Tristan had seen Laird McLaughlin’s daughter from afar on a couple of occasions, but never had he had the pleasure of admiring her from such a close proximity. He had once refitted the shoe of her white mare in the stables of McLaughlin keep. As he was packing away his tools, Lady Isobel had walked into the stables to check upon her prized horse. Tristan had watched her from the back corner of the stables as she ran her graceful hand down the mare’s back and whispered gentle words into the beast’s ear.

  Isobel’s beauty had mesmerized him. He had been drawn to her and had fought the urge to reveal himself and speak to her. In his old life such a thing would have been possible. He could have spoken to her as an equal. But in the new life that he had chosen, he was naught but a blacksmith. He was now unworthy of the attentions of a highborn Lady. Tristan had not dared to dream about speaking with Lady Isobel McLaughlin.

  Not until now.

  Lady Isobel had the reputation of being a rare beauty. Many suitors had tried and failed to claim her hand in marriage. Her blonde curls were said to be unmatched in splendor by those of any woman. Tristan admired them now, noticing how they were even more radiant in the sunshine than when he had first looked upon her in the stables.