The Highlander's Secret Vow

by Eliza Knight

  He cleared his throat and then asked the lad who his mistress was, while he re-read the torn and used parchment with hasty curves showing a trembling hand. Please, dinna be her…

  “I’ll never tell,” the lad shouted, tears gathering in his eyes.

  “Listen, lad, ye’re loyal, I know it.” Liam realized too late his natural brogue had returned. “I must know who she is.”

  “You’re Scots! You’ll kill her! Kill me instead!” the lad shouted.

  Tad slapped his hand over the lad’s mouth at the same time Liam growled, reached with lightning speed to take the lad by the collar, and drew him close.

  “This letter was addressed with my name. Tell me who she is, or I swear on your mother’s blood I will murder ye right here and feed your bones to the dogs.”

  The lad’s mouth fell open, then shut, then opened again. “Lady C-C-Cora.”

  Liam shoved the lad away and let an expletive fly from his lips. Cora. By all the saints… He’d not seen nor heard from her in all these years, but he’d thought of her often enough. Had stalked near to where he’d left her safely hidden away, too much of a coward to claim her outright. Wondered if she ever thought of him. Not that he expected her to. What they’d done in the kirk thirteen years prior had been for her safety and a secret before God and the priest who’d helped them. Not for anyone else to know, and after all this time that had passed with them apart… Why had she not married another?

  Married.

  Liam rolled up the parchment and stuck it up his own sleeve. This presented a complication he never could have foreseen. An ambush on the road, a villager calling them out to English troops, a late spring snowstorm that kept them huddled in shelter for a day or two, even an attack from wolves could have been more expected than this.

  But…Cora?

  He remembered how she’d looked back then. So beautiful to his adolescent eyes. Hair the color of charred peat and eyes the color of lichen. Green with a hint of silver. The most beautiful and unique eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that were filled with wisdom and truths a lass her age should not have known. She’d been only fourteen when he met her, and he sixteen. And still, she was the reason he’d never agreed to any of the matches his father attempted to create, beyond the fact that any marriage his father arranged for him would go against God himself.

  Nay, the moments they’d shared all those years ago were what kept him warm at night, kept him moving when he was wounded. Her eyes guided him in times of sorrow, and the slight curve of her pink lips when she smiled made him pause to enjoy the smaller things in life.

  But this was most inconvenient for him, and he quickly found himself torn in two different directions. His mission for the king was not to save Cora for a second time. His mission was to find Ughtred and put him down. To be rid of the menace that plagued his clan and Scotland. To ensure that any other Sassenachs who thought to take it upon themselves to marry a Scottish noblewoman in order to gain power, had those notions squashed at the sight of Ughtred being punished by Liam and his men. His mission was to toss the nearly lifeless sack of Ughtred’s body into the dungeon at Stirling before gathering his men to take back Ross Castle from Ughtred and Ina’s minions. A prize for the king once more after all the labors he’d had to endeavor against the wayward clan.

  Those were his orders. And by following them, Liam would maintain his reputation as the greatest warrior in all the land—and savior of the people. He’d leave behind a legacy unmatched by any other battles he’d waged yet.

  But held in his hands were words written with splotches of ink, smeared lettering, showing it was scratched out not only in fear, but in a frenzy. Cora was in trouble.

  Flashes of her frightened face filled the space behind his eyes, joined with the lad’s warning that his mistress might be dead already. His heart squeezed hard, almost to the point of pain.

  Never had he imagined that his life could circle back to him like this. How could he risk a detour to save her? And how could he not save her? The woman was in distress. And no matter how long ago it had been, or how young he’d been when he’d pledged to always protect her, he couldn’t go back on it now. Especially when any distress she was in now, was his fault, for he’d turned away from her at every chance he had to grasp on tight.

  And yet he risked the mission his king had given him. Risked the trust his sovereign had put in him. For a woman.

  There was no doubt he would never be trusted again.

  As the second son of a powerful laird and earl in the Highlands of Scotland, Liam had spent the better part of his life proving he was every bit worthy of being Magnus Sutherland’s son, and as good a warrior—if not better. Not that his father had ever made him feel less or doubt himself. But when one was born to a legend, one must not only live up to expectations, but also surpass them.

  He was Liam Sutherland, distinguished Highland warrior. There was a reason his father had chosen him to lead their army during battles. A reason that Liam was the one selected to go up against challenges on the list field during tournaments. A reason why the king had picked him, trusted him, with this very important mission.

  And yet a vow was a vow, and a man was only as good as his word. He muttered an expletive from deep within his throat.

  “Change of plans.” Liam nodded at Tad. “Put the lad back on his horse.”

  The lad looked at him with terror and doubt.

  Liam held out his hand. “Sir Liam Sutherland. I will answer her summons.”

  Eyes wide as the targes attached to their saddles gazed at him. “You are he?” The lad’s voice was so breathy he seemed on the verge of passing out cold.

  “Aye.” Liam gritted his teeth. How was he going to explain this? How was he going to explain the secrets he’d kept?

  The men knew better than to argue with Liam’s decision, and none showed any sign of questioning him. They trusted him. And good thing, because Liam wasn’t prepared to answer any of their queries with regards to the lass.

  That being said, he was certain Tad was going to probe the hell out of him later, because Tad was his closest friend, and even the best warrior needed someone to question him now and then.

  Hell, he didn’t even know what he’d say. For he was uncertain of it all himself. All he knew was that he had to go. There wasn’t a choice.

  “Let us go afore ’tis too late,” he said to his men and the lad. “Get your wits about ye, for ye will lead us.”

  “Aye, sir.” The lad nodded emphatically, scrambling to take up his reins. He stared up at Liam with a mixture of fear and admiration.

  “Go on then, we’ve no time to lose. But dinna get yourself killed. Take it easy on the horse.” Liam indicated the road, and the lad urged his horse into a gallop with Liam and his men following at a more reasonable pace than when the lad had come barreling toward them to begin with.

  All the while, lichen-colored eyes haunted his memory. What would she look like now? Was she still as beautiful? Of course, she was. Even in her youth, she’d been striking. And not because he’d seen her flying over a moor as though trying to outrun an avalanche. Not because when he’d caught up to her, she had indeed flown over the head of her horse, and he’d barely caught her before she broke her neck. In the dark of the woods, he’d kissed her, his first kiss, and had sworn never to kiss another—a declaration he’d failed at miserably. Every time he’d kissed another, he’d thought of her…

  Well, he wouldn’t fail at this. He’d told her in no uncertain terms that if she ever needed him, he would be there for her. That she need only call on him. Liam had regretted leaving her in the care of the priest all those years ago when he’d hidden her in a kirk, even though she’d insisted. And every day since, he’d expected to hear the call for him to return and collect her. In fact, he’d desired it. Each day he’d grown more disappointed when it didn’t come. And yet, he’d not gone to get her, either.

  Each time he’d crossed the borders of Scotland into England, he’d thought about her
and taken the long way to get where he needed to go just in case he might spot her. He never did. But every glossy, dark-haired lass caught his attention and made the space inside his ribs pound with anticipation, only to drop with disappointment when it wasn’t her.

  Och, how his father would have raged if he’d returned to the Highlands with an English lass in tow. Not because his father despised English lasses; after all, Liam’s own mother was none other than the daughter of an English baron. But because his father always said he had grand plans for Liam. To marry into a clan where he could become laird himself. Magnus Sutherland believed his son deserved to be a leader in his own right.

  Liam felt what he had was enough. He led men in battle. He had no need to lord over them in title, too. Besides, Liam had thwarted his father’s grand plans thirteen years before, only his father was none the wiser for it.

  Well, he’d be wise to it soon enough.

  And so would his king.

  The consequences of his actions as a youth were coming back at the absolutely worst time. But he’d not have it any other way. He was more than willing to face the wrath of his father and king. He only hoped Cora was ready for it when the time came.

  Because this time, no matter how much she pleaded, Liam wasn’t going to leave her behind. The lass had better get used to that now.

  Aye, because Liam took his vows very seriously.

  Chapter 3

  Cora woke up shivering in the dark.

  She’d finished the food and wine from the sack the day before, and with nothing to warm her save a few blankets, the cell she’d placed herself in had grown very cold. When she touched the stone walls that made up her darkened coffin, they were slick with condensation, and she imagined them freezing overnight into ice.

  Spring had yet to turn into the warmer days of summer, but even then, their castle in the north of England was often drafty. They kept the fires lit in the hearth all through the day, and at night, she sometimes needed to put heated stones at the foot of her bed.

  This little nook behind the shelf in her father’s study was no different than the rest of the castle—though right now, it seemed even worse. Blasts of chilly air came from the cracks, and with no place to escape, they washed over her skin, prickling her nerves and keeping her teeth chattering. She held her hands to her face, blew hot breath into them and rubbed them, wrapped like a cocoon in the blankets, but nothing seemed to help.

  From rationing out the food, by her guess, she’d been in the nook for three or four days now. Every night, she’d chanced a moment to sneak from the coffin-like nook to seek warmth in the banked hearth of her father’s study. But she dared not press her luck more than the few minutes it took to thaw out and use the hidden chamber pot. Last night, she’d left the empty jug and satchel hidden in the wood basket by the hearth in hopes one of the servants would see it and refill it for her.

  There’d been no rescue yet, not that she’d expected one. Even if her missive did reach Liam, it would be a month before he was here. His castle in the Highlands was at least a fortnight’s ride away, which meant her messenger wouldn’t even arrive there for over a sennight. If he made it at all. The lad had been brave, but she didn’t even know if he’d made it past the garderobe. There was no way for her to know.

  Already she was doubting her plan. By the time Liam arrived, if he ever did, she’d be a frozen corpse, and this her grave. And then what a waste of time for him to have come all this way. Perhaps a smarter lady would have left, saved herself, but Cora couldn’t in good conscience abandon her mother.

  Years she’d waited for him. She didn’t even know if he was still alive. She imagined him riding over the grassy fields of her father’s land, his golden hair waving in the breeze as it had when she’d very first caught a glimpse of him. Even as a lad, he’d been impressive to behold.

  His prowess and strength would be all for naught if he came to save her and she was already dead.

  Cora rubbed her temples. This was no way to think. Since when had she become one to wallow in self-pity? This was not like her, but when the blasted devil had seized their castle, storming in and destroying all she’d known, Cora had thought her world was over.

  She still believed it.

  Her father’s blood seeping into the straw and dirt of their bailey had leeched all hope from her. The vision of her mother being knocked down… Cora swallowed hard past the lump in her throat and gritted her teeth to get them to stop chattering.

  She had to get out of here. Tossing off the blankets, she prepared to stand. As if on cue, booted footsteps stomped into her father’s study. Cora stilled, crouching and fearing to even move a muscle. Fearing to breathe.

  “Where the bloody hell is it?” The voice was that of the same man who’d stormed about in her father’s study for days. She couldn’t be certain of the time because there were no windows to look out of, but she surmised it was night when the castle was completely quiet. That meant the vile man wasn’t sleeping.

  A fearful thought lanced through her. If it had been a few minutes later, he would have caught her standing in the center of her father’s study. Cora covered her mouth with her hands to keep from making any sound when she wanted to scream, to wake from this nightmare. Perhaps it would have been better to try and escape before, even if it meant possible death.

  Too late now.

  Hidden behind the wall, she cowered. Her heart thudded so hard she feared cracking a rib.

  He moved things on the shelves just inches from her face. Dumping her father’s precious and priceless books on the floor. Like the little box of coins, her father had many things hidden in the books. Not the more priceless pieces of literature, but the ones he had fashioned to look like them. His treasure, he called them.

  Soon enough, in the light, when all the books had crashed to the floor, whoever it was on the other side of her hiding place, would wonder if anything was hidden behind the wood paneling. They would peer through the cracks and see her there.

  Cora did not believe she would be lucky enough to escape his scrutiny in that case. What was it he was looking for, anyway? What could her father have possibly held in his books that would warrant his murder and the imprisonment of her mother? What would this madman do when he found her?

  She shuddered at the thought, having heard plenty of horror stories, and having lived through a siege once before. Brutal men were not kind to women, especially not youthful, virginal ladies—not that she was that youthful anymore, given she’d recently passed her twenty-sixth summer. She was only lucky to have escaped their brutality thirteen blessed years before, and she doubted she’d be so lucky again.

  That time, she’d not been starving, or hidden in a nook behind a thick set of shelves. Before, she’d been able to escape, because of the clever ruse Liam had created in the forest to distract the men away from her. Just before then, they’d been quite explicit about what they planned to do to her.

  If not for Liam, she wouldn’t be here cowering now. His quick thinking all those years before had allowed her the few seconds she’d needed to run away from her castle’s attackers. She hadn’t even known who he was, or seen him. Only understood that with the men distracted, she could run. And when she’d run blindly through the fields, it was there she’d met the Scottish lad who’d saved her life and pledged himself to her forever more.

  Even at the tender age of thirteen, she’d known that to make him honor that vow would be heartless, a torment on both their parts. So, when they’d said their goodbyes, she’d sworn not to contact him. Not to make him keep his promise. Not until now. Now she’d called upon him and prayed he was still alive.

  Oh, dear heavens, what if he wasn’t alive? That thought had never crossed her mind before. He was a warrior, after all, and a daring one if she recalled. Warriors were lucky to live to their thirtieth year, and he had to be nearing that. Worse still, what if she were to be the cause of his demise? What if he was killed because she’d summoned him into dangerous terri
tory?

  Cora flattened her back to the wall, the cool stone seeping into her skin a balm instead of a chill. To think this way would not do. What was she helping by giving in to these dark thoughts? Nothing. They only served to spiral her deeper into despair. She had to have hope. Had to believe she would come out of this safe.

  Beyond the thick wooden slats in front of her came a loud crash. Was he knocking furniture over now? Flipping her father’s prized desk? To what end? Cora imagined the wood splintering and the carefully carved wolves on the thick spindles cracking at the neck and being decapitated.

  There was another crash and a string of curses. Cora wanted to let out a string of curses of her own, to fling them right in his face.

  “My lord.”

  Cora perked up now, forcing her thoughts at bay. It was another man who spoke, addressing the boar who’d been tearing apart the study.

  “What is it? Did you find it?” The surly man’s question came out more of an accusation.

  “Nay, my lord, we’ve not found it. I was but worried when I heard the crashing.” This last word was drawled out, and Cora imagined the soldier eyeing the destruction. Was he judging his lord? Was the man indeed touched in the head?

  Another crash shuddered the walls around her. “Do not deign to interrupt me again, unless it is to tell me you’ve found it!”

  He sounded like a petulant child in a fit of rage over losing a toy. If only he would mention what it was he was looking for, so she didn’t feel so left in the dark over it.

  “Bring me the whisky from the cellars,” he demanded.

  Oh, please nay. She wanted him to leave, had hoped that when the castle quieted, she could sneak out of her hiding spot and see if any servants had left her a crust of bread. Her stomach pained her as it squeezed, hungry, and thirsty.

  The second man’s steps retreated, and Cora fully expected the lord to go into a rage again, but it sounded as though he’d slumped down in a chair instead. Well, that was at least a temporary relief, as he’d not yet discovered her hiding spot. Maybe she’d get lucky, and he’d suffer an apoplexy in his next fit and she’d be free.