by Terry Spear
PUBLISHED BY:
Terry Spear on Smashwords
Highland Rake
Copyright © 2012 by Terry Spear
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Dedication
Thanks to Vonda Sinclair who talked me into visiting Scotland and shared a fun-filled experience of a lifetime as we set off the alarm at a Wal-Mart equivalent store, drank Irish Cream in Scotland, drove on the wrong side of the road—on occasion—and loved every bit of the dining, bread and breakfasts, and the beautiful castles, friendly people, and fantastic scenery.
Thanks, Vonda, the trip and your friendship mean the world to me!
Prologue
From the moment Alana Cameron and her clansmen had ridden into the mixed pine and oak forest that fall day, she felt uneasy.
The air was cool and wet, gray clouds covering the whole sky as Alana quickly lost sight of her da and the rest of the men racing after the stag somewhere hidden in the dense woods. At nine summers, no matter how hard she tried, she could not keep up with the Highland warriors.
One of the lads stayed with her, eager to be with the men instead of watching her. Landon was five and ten summers like her brother, only Connell had been caught stealing a loaf of bread from the kitchen that morn and their da had punished him by making him stay at the keep.
Poor Connell. She knew he had only taken the bread to give to a family living beyond the curtain wall who had not enough food to feed their family. Her da had not been pleased with two of their nearly grown lads who had caused trouble with the MacNeill clan bordering their own lands when her da had not approved it.
But now the sense of foreboding she'd been feeling intensified. At first, all she heard was the sound of the men's horses running through the woods, but then men's shouts filled the air. Cries of warning. Angry words. Curses—the like she'd never heard of before.
The sound of swords clanked against each other as if the men were practicing their sword skills out in the woods now instead of in the inner baily. That had her heart pounding furiously. She knew they had to be fighting somebody, and she'd never been in the middle of a skirmish before. She trembled, unable to help herself.
The lad staying with her appeared uncertain. He ran the strips of leather through his fingers as he stared in the direction the fighting took place, hidden from their view. She knew he wanted to see what the matter was. She knew he hadn't wanted to sit watching her if the rest of the men needed him to help them fight off whoever had attacked them.
Yet she was certain her da would have wanted Landon to stay with her.
"Stay here," Landon finally said, his voice hard and a command.
She nodded.
He swallowed hard as he studied her for a moment, looking as though he was uncertain if he should leave her alone. Would he get into trouble if he did?
Then he took a deep breath and frowned at her, his brown eyes narrowed. "Stay. I will be right back." He sounded like a lad trying to be a man.
She wanted to tell him to stay with her. That she was afraid for him and afraid for herself. But she couldn't. He was older and in training as a warrior. He knew what was best. She couldn't help wanting him to stay with her though.
Landon rode toward the fighting and like the rest, disappeared in the thick woods. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to settle her fright. She sat quietly on her horse, grateful Lettie was staying put, not shying away and not making a sound. For the first time ever that she'd gone to the forest, Alana felt scared, the chill in the air seeping into her bones despite the warm green and dun wool cloak draped over her shoulders and the hood pulled up over her head. The fighting continued and she knew they were nearby, but she'd never felt so all alone in her life.
Startling her, she saw her da suddenly ride through the pines, the stark terror in his expression revealing all was not well. He looked angry about the fight and regretful mayhap that she had been with them. She wanted so for him to tell her that all was right and that he was returning her home at once. She wanted to ask where Landon was and why he had not returned the lad to watch over her.
Instead, her da shouted, "Dismount, Alana! Hide yourself, lass!" Then before she was ready to face the uncertainty alone, he turned and rode back into the forest, vanishing in the greenery.
Terrified, she didn't want him to abandon her now. Her heart in her throat and her body trembling, she jumped down from her horse, not wanting to desert her. She was almost certain if she tried to ride toward the safety of the keep—though she didn't know the way as she'd never been this far away from the castle or this deep in the woods—someone could hear her. Her da must have known she could not ride away fast enough to save herself.
Tears threatened to spill as her body shook so hard, she was having a difficult time trying to decide where to hide. She quickly found a fallen tree to use as a makeshift wall on one side of her, wishing she was home, safe inside their stone fortress. She gathered leaves about her and piled more of the rest of them on top of her as if they had blown that way against the log. Some of them had and she hoped the rest didn't look too out of place. They were wet and smelled of mold and decay and made her want to sneeze.
She'd done this countless times before, following her brother and his friends into the woods nearer their home, burying herself so she could listen to the tales they told without them knowing, their bragging about what they would do in the future, how brave they were, and how they had kissed the lasses. She wasn't sure about the other lads, but she knew her brother didn't lie about his own conquests. Partly because he was the laird's son and partly because the lasses found him charming and irresistible, he had no trouble finding plenty of young lasses willing to kiss him back.
She was glad he was not here now or he would have ridden off with his friend, Landon, and they could both be killed. Thank the heavens she had worn her brown léine instead of the green one this morn. And her green and dun plaid brat was the one she always wore on a hunt. She hoped she blended in with the dead leaves.
With the dead tree beside her, she felt somewhat protected, and then felt foolish. What if no one was even looking for her?
The shouts and curses of the men in the woods, the clanking of swords and even the neighing and snorting of horses faded away until there was only the sound of the wind ruffling the pines and other trees' branches.
She barely breathed, trying desperately to slow her racing heart, listening for any sound that told her someone was coming. The absence of sounds was more frightening than all the noise before.
No one came. Not a word was spoken as if the battle had been fought and everyone had gone home and forgotten her, leaving her behind.
A million thoughts raced through her mind—of wanting to unbury herself from her leafy blanket, of wanting to find the others.
Then she heard boots walking toward her, crunching on leaves and twigs, snapping them in two.
No voices. No one calling her name. No one speaking to anyo
ne else. Why was no one saying anything?
More boots clomped through the forest and the sound of horses' hooves tromping on the ground. Why wasn't anyone speaking?
A pair of boots drew closer. Too close. She held her breath. The leather of his boot brushed her arm. She choked back a cry of distress.
Was it one of her men? She didn't think so. If it was one of her men, he would call out for her. Did these men know she was here?
If they had found her horse, they would know a girl had been riding it. She pressed her fingers against the hilt of her dirk, the dagger sheathed at her waist. Her bow and quiver of arrows were with her horse, but these men would know by the size of her bow, that it had been made for a child.
Where was her da? The others?
"She is here," the man whispered. "Somewhere, hiding."
She felt her skin tingle with fresh dread.
Another nearby said in just as hushed a voice, "Keep searching. He wants her found."
Who wanted her and did they mean to search for Alana? That they knew who she was?
She didn't recognize the men's voices. They continued to look for her farther away now, while dark shadowy fingers stretched into the forest as the day began to fade into evening.
As the sun began to set in the night sky, the rich greens and browns of the forest turned to shades of gray. She shivered from the cold, her wool cloak and linen léine no longer warm enough. They were still searching for her, though she wondered if they were using torches now to locate her, when she heard more riders.
These men were speaking, and she thought they couldn't be with the others because they were not as sneaky and had newly arrived and had come from the direction of the MacNeill's land, not the same as the others.
"I heard sword fighting this way, James," a lad said.
"Aye, Dougald, and 'tis no' our concern. If Cameron has a fight on his hands, he can deal with it. These woods are no' our own. And he would be vexed if he were to learn we were here as strained as our relations are."
The MacNeill? James, the laird, and Dougald? The younger brother who was much like her own brother, a rake, even at his youthful age. She wanted to call out to them, but then again, they were the enemies of her clan. What would they do with her, if they got their hands on her?
Another spoke, "Dougald, James, 'tis no' good. I have ill tidings. Over here."
"Malcolm, what have you…God's knees." James quit speaking.
She banked the tears fighting to be released. She didn't want to know what the MacNeill brothers had found. She didn't want to hear the news.
"Come, lass," Alana's da said, giving her a fright, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and she had to cover her mouth to muffle the shriek that tried to escape.
That did escape. Muffled, aye, but still she'd made an unnatural sound that was sure to give her away.
The MacNeills grew quiet.
How had her da found her still buried in the leaves now that it was growing so dark? Where were the rest of their men? The lad, Landon?
"Let us go home now," her da said, his voice gentle but insistent as if he was attempting not to frighten her any more than she already was.
She stood, brushing off the leaves that had caught on her woolen cloak and opened her mouth to speak.
"Nay, dinna speak, lass. Dinna say a word. 'Tis no' safe here for you."
Nor for him. Why was he speaking aloud when she couldn't even whisper a word?
"Did you hear it?" Dougald asked. "In the woods some distance away. Over there?"
Panic rose inside her as her da said in a rush, "Hurry, Alana, come this way."
She tried to follow him without tripping over the hem of her tunic or brat or roots or dead branches. She attempted to make the least amount of noise as her boots hurried over the uneven terrain, crunching on the fallen leaves, but not as loudly as the men had done since she was so much lighter in weight. She wanted to ask her da where his horse was and where hers was. Couldn't they ride faster if they were together? Or if she rode with him?
But her da was leading the way and she barely could see anything but him striding quickly ahead of her. She dared not disobey him for he knew the way of warriors and what to do to survive. She dared not lose sight of him, either.
"Over here," Dougald said. "'Tis a young lass's horse. Dinna you think?"
"Lady Alana's horse?" James asked. "She would be the only young lass who would own a horse on the Cameron's lands."
She turned to head back that way—the horse was hers and she wanted her. Lettie. What would they do to her? She wanted to protect her.
"Nay," her da warned, his voice rough and edged with concern. "Dinna look back. We are going home, Alana. The others are still searching for you."
The others. She should have asked who he meant, but her thoughts were still on her horse and what the MacNeills would do with it. 'Twas her horse!
"I have searched, but I have no' found any sign of the lass's body with the others," Dougald said. "Niall, look over there."
"I have searched. Gunnolf and Angus are sweeping the area south."
"Riders!" someone shouted in the distance, and she thought they were some of the men who had attacked hers.
A chill swept up Alana's spine as she continued to hurry after her da and the other riders headed away from the MacNeills and away from her and her da.
Her da urged, "Hurry, Alana. We must hurry before any of them find you."
Any of them—the others and the MacNeills?
Chapter 1
Ten years later, Braniff Castle, Cameron Stronghold
With thoughts of preparing for the coming winter and any sickness that might befall the clan, Alana Cameron was snipping medicinal herbs in the garden when she saw movement on the path and looked up, barely managing to stifle a scream. She had not seen her dead brother in several days, believing he had finally passed to whatever world he belonged after he'd died.
She couldn't believe he was here. Again.
He'd never visited her in the gardens before, her place of sanctuary. Why couldn't he find his proper resting place and leave her be? Not that she didn't love him, but half the time his sudden appearance came as such a shock, she feared screaming out and her clansmen would believe she was possessed.
Standing tall, his arms crossed over his chest, an imperious look on his face, Connell scowled at her. Earlier this morn, she'd gathered blaeberries, bog myrtle, and butterwort from the moorlands. Why had her brother not visited her there where not a soul had been about? Not that there was anyone in the herb garden at this very moment, either, but there could have been and someone could still show up at any time.
"Go away," she whispered, making shooing motions, only because she was alone or she would have to feign he didn't exist. Which he didn't. At least to anyone else.
Why did she have to be plagued with spirits of those who died a violent death and couldn't seem to find their way to the next world? Thankfully, most did, but a few, like her brother, were the exception. She needed only one to make her nearly expire on the spot with his or her sudden appearance.
"You didna warn me the lass's husband was returning," Connell growled.
She couldn't believe how real he looked, standing there in his plaid, his blond hair several shades darker than hers, brushing his shoulders, his blue eyes hard with condemnation. She frowned back at him, having had this discussion right after the Highlander had killed her brother.
The fault was not her own! How could he not see that he should take full responsibility for the calamity that had befallen him? Mayhap that was why he was still hanging around her. He needed to accept his complicity in the matter before he found peace.
"I told you," she whispered in an annoyed voice. "I warned you the lass you were dallying with would be your downfall. That her husband wasna one to challenge."
She loved her brother, but no amount of warning him of his folly would have changed his course. When he wanted a lass and she was willing, that's all that
needed to be said. The wee matter of a husband would not have stood in Connell's way.
"My lady," a maid said, joining Alana on the stone path in the herb garden.
Heart pounding, Alana whipped about so suddenly, she startled Pelly, a maid who helped Cook in the kitchen. The maid gasped, then quickly curtseyed, her raven-colored hair plaited tight against her head, her soft blue eyes glancing nervously about as if she might have thought Alana wasn't alone. But then seeing no one about, she most likely feared Alana was speaking to something or someone no one else could see.
Alana shielded her eyes from the early morning sun, as she stared at the girl, her pulse racing, afraid the servant had overheard Alana speaking to her dead brother and spied her motioning for him to go away. They'd had no rain for days. She'd had to carry water to her special garden just to keep the plants from burning up, and now she was even hotter than before, her skin freckled with perspiration from worry.
"Annoying flies," Alana said, trying to explain why she had been waving her hand in the air and shooing her ghostly brother away. If the girl had heard the rest of her conversation though…
Pelly quickly lowered her lashes, hiding her eyes and whispered, "A lad came by to tell Laird Cameron that Odara, the shepherdess living near the border between our land and that of the MacNeill's, is ill."
Frowning, Alana rubbed her hands together vigorously to brush off the dirt. "My uncle has been gone three days. Has she been ill all this time and no one has told me?" She tried to keep the bite out of her words, but she should have seen to the shepherdess three days ago!
The woman gnawed on her lower lip, then shook her head. "I…I overheard the lad tell your uncle, my lady. I thought he would advise you of the matter. But…but then you never left to see the shepherdess, and I know you would have. I…I thought you should know the way of it." She quickly lowered her gaze again.
