Highlander's Killer Beauty: A Short Read Highlander Romance (The Alpha Highlander Book 1)

by Fiona Knightley

  Highlander’s Killer Beauty

  Fiona Knightley

  Thank so much for purchasing my book.

  In order to say thank you, I want to gift you a full length novel called Seducing The Seamstress.

  Click here to get your FREE book

  Alpha Highlander Series

  Continue the story …

  Highlander’s Prisoner of Love

  (next in the series)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Afterword

  Alpha Highlander Series

  Highlander’s Prisoner Of Love

  A Free Gift For You

  Also By The Author

  Chapter 1

  Inside her bathtub.

  Hopefully, the feeling of the warm water on her skin could ease away her pain. Closing her eyes to absorb all that the water could give helped to diminish the aches she feels on her body. However, the bruises she has on her woman's area will take days to heal; it always does.

  Do all married women experience this? Certainly not, she believes. She has heard that sex between most married couples is made with love, tender, and calmly. At least the wives of others who are her husband's friends gossip in whispers about how good and amazing their husbands are.

  “His kisses and touches make me float.”

  “I am thankful that I married him,” she’d hear them say.

  However, hers was nothing close to that. Instead, there are always moments of constant pounding, hitting, slapping, and non-triggered violence. Amelia closes her eyes as tears run down her cheeks. How long will this go on? How long will she continue to endure this torture? Repeating the same questions over and over in her head, she wishes someone was around to give her the perfect answer. If only her mother were here, she would have given her some useless yet calming advice.

  “Obey him and Amelia pulls herself off the floor in tears. Tonight was one of those nights Amelia wishes she had died a thousand times. Marriages, they say, are beautiful like roses, but they do have their thorns. Her marriage never experienced any rosiness. Instead, it has always been a bed of thorns; thorns thicker than they should be.

  Trying to locate her way to her bathroom in her dark chamber, she hears him snoring. He has fallen asleep in her room. On a typical day, he wouldn't have. Sex was the only thing that made him enter her chambers, especially when he wanted to take it with force. Other than that, he would have summoned her like a slave. She has never been treated like a wife should by him.

  The faint moonlight reflects into her room, and she can see his full body occupying almost all the space of her bed. He has always been too big for her, massive in size, physically huge, and there is also a considerable status difference. He is a renowned wealthy from a noble family. At the same time, she was a farm girl before he forcefully took her away from her parents because of her father's debt to him.

  She walks into the bathroom and sinks pray for a better day. Sufferings don’t last forever,” she would have said.

  Alas, this is a dream that can never happen. Amelia’s family is forbidden anywhere near her, nor can they interfere in her marriage to Laird Clach MacColl. Her family can never dare stand against or question Laird Clach MacColl. He is one of the wealthiest men in Arbroath, a town where status differences between the rich and the poor have consistently remained.

  Gently, she stands up from her bathtub and catches her image on her dressing mirror. The image of the girl she sees in the mirror is nothing close to that of a 24-year-old girl. Five years into her marriage has made her this way. Not only does it take away her youthful look, but it also took away her younger days.

  Gathering herself, she finds her way back to her dark bedroom, wearing her night robe. She heads to bed but then stops. Sleeping next to him is the wrong idea. He might push her to the floor where he continually reminds her that she belongs, or he might wake to pound on her woman's area roughly again. The thought of this sends a chill through her body. Slowly she moves away from the bed and finds her way to her couch. Sleeping on it won't be a problem as she has done so on several occasions. Moreover, being a woman of small size and height, her average size can fit perfectly without having her feet sticking out off of the couch.

  Luckily, the bracket she had left on the couch yesterday afternoon is still lying on the chair. It's always there since she spends most of her time in her chamber, knitting, and reading – the hobbies she unintentionally developed since she married her cold-hearted husband, Laird Clach. He has restricted her from going outside the castle and placed restrictions on her visitors, too. She usually doesn't have many visitors anyway.

  Covering herself with the blanket, she slowly lies on the couch and gazes at the moon, deep in thought. She wonders how her family is coping without her. The last time she saw them was on the day she walked down the aisle with Laird Clach. Through the crowd, she remembered catching a glance at her mother. She was weeping silently beside her father, who had a straight face. Beside them was her 12-year-old brother, who probably had no idea that the ceremony that day was more like her funeral than her wedding celebration.

  It's five years gone; they will have probably moved on without her, knowing that they won't see her again. Her mind wanders to her poor mother. Does her mother ever think of or miss her? Does she wonder how her 18-year-old daughter, who was taken forcefully from her, is coping? Has she made an effort to come to the castle to see her, but was sent away by Laird Clach's men?

  Knowing her mother too well, she would have tried coming. And considering how close she was to her mother, letting her go, it wouldn't be easy. On the night when Laird Clach and his men came to their hut to take her as repayment for his loan, her mother had pleaded several times to her father, but he was silent.

  “Please, don’t do this to her. She is still a child,” she remembers her pleading.

  "The debt must be paid," he said, ignoring his wife's plea.

  She sometimes wonders if her father intentionally used her as collateral or repayment to Laird Clach when he collected it. He might not feel the pain of losing a child, a female child. After all, he has a son who will carry the family name.

  Probably he did, perhaps he did not, what does it matter now? Now, at this very moment, all she wanted to do was find a way out of this cage she lives in and away from the beast she married. She needs an escape plan. She shut her eyes as she gradually fell asleep, dreaming of better days where she is a free young woman without fear of being beaten or sexually assaulted.

  The slam of the door takes Amelia away from dreamland to her present-day reality. She looks at the bed and sees that her husband has gone. He did leave her room, slamming the door after him. He probably woke up, and upon seeing himself on her bed, he left in anger.

  Birds are chirping outside the window. The clouds are bright as the early morning sun is gradually rising. Feels as if today might be a good day. Stuck in her room; unfortunately, she will do her usual duty of dressing up, knitting, and finishing up on some books.

  A bird flew onto her window sill. Amelia tried to touch it, but it flew away. “What a beautiful thing to be free," she thought. She would give anything to be anywhere in the world right now other than this castle. She used to be a free farm girl before her marriage, and never imagined that her freedom would be taken away. She wishes she
could go to the field or sightsee around the market on a beautiful day like this.

  The market – a thought crossed her mind. Maybe if she begs Clach to allow her to the market just for sightseeing, he might agree, considering he had her last night as he wished. Moreover, since she married him, she has never had the boldness to ask him for anything – every decision of her life since marriage as his choice and how he wanted it.

  She would summon the boldness and beg his permission to go to the market. Hopefully, her dream of escaping will be fulfilled through it. If he agrees and sends some of his men to go with her, she won't mind. However, at the market, she will find a way to sneak away from them to seek her freedom.

  The knock on the door of her chamber brought her thoughts to a halt. One of the maids walks in.

  "My lady," the maid greets. "My lord demands you dress immediately. His friends will be visiting soon. He demands you join them as soon as possible."

  Amelia nods in reply and the maid bows and leaves. Well, it seems the thoughts of going to the market will not be possible. She sighs. It might come another day, but today a duty is expected from her. She has to look and display the image of a good and happy wife of Laird Clach MacColl to his friends. Hopefully, if he is satisfied with her performance, he will grant her permission to go to the market.

  Chapter 2

  Oliver signs the recorded piece of paper provided by the mail boy, then collects his letter from him.

  "Thank you," he says as he collects his little package.

  Looking at the neatly folded piece of a letter that has the bold inscription of 'Oliver Adair' on it, he closed the door behind him and walked to his table. He recognizes the seal over the letter. It was his father's, and he knew exactly what the message's content was all about.

  When will his father understand that he does not intend to come home now or anytime soon? Nor is he taking over the family business. He is done with Montrose. There is nothing there for him.

  Montrose has brought him nothing but sorrow. First, he lost his mother, and then he lost his first love. Since he relocated to Dunfermline three years ago, he is gradually regaining his sanity here. When will his father understand that Montrose is not for him?

  He opens the letter and skims through the content. Just as he had guessed, his father is once again demanding his presence at home. He sighs, roughly squeezes the paper, and tosses it into the refuse bin where the others have ended up over the past three years.

  “How will he ever convince his father?” he thought as he stared at the bin. He has grown to love his life here and has equally fallen in love with the people around there. Here, everyone is simple, focused, communal, and carefree. There is no status discrimination here as everyone has equal rights no matter what your status.

  Moreover, he has no interest in working in merchandising like his father. He has followed his passion for becoming a painter, which his father had objected to.

  "I’ll cease to become your father if you ever become a painter," he remembered his father saying. "Painting is for the low born, the low class," reminded his father every chance he got.

  The thought of his words brought a smile to his lips. If only he were here in Dunfermline to see how popular and famous his artwork had made him. At least he can boldly say that he created his path of wealth by himself and not from his father's riches.

  The only genuine person who has supported his passion as a painter was his mother. She would always give him her blessings, telling him to spread his wings but, at the same time, never to forget home or where he came from. Unfortunately, death took her away from him too soon, and she never saw how far his work has taken him or how wide he spread his wings.

  If his mother hadn't died, he probably would have been in Montrose and still be an artist. If his father made a fume about his paintings, his mother would have been there to tame his temper. She had a way of doing this.

  Aside from his mother, there was Sophie, the only woman he ever loved. Another person who he believed saw something good in his passion until she disappointed him. Telling her that he won't be inheriting his father's property, but wants to forge his path toward his talent came the revelation that revealed her true intentions and the authenticity of her love toward him.

  One month after his revelation, she married a Laird in Arbroath, or so he heard.

  Trying to push the thought of his days with Sophie aside, he quickly drank the remaining cup of ale he was enjoying before the mail boy had come knocking. He told himself a thousand times before not think of Sophie and what had been; he couldn’t have those thoughts forever clouding his mind …

  He snapped back to the present. Running a hand through his thick brown hair, he grabbed his coat and headed out for the pub, late to his appointment.

  It is always hard for him to go unnoticed at the pub. People who knew of him or had purchased his works would often stop by his table to say hello, praising his artwork and reminding him how fortunate they were to be in the company of such a talented young man. Occasionally a few people would make mention of him being the son to the powerful Alexander Adair, one of the wealthiest men in Montrose. These facts had always made him a center of attention, especially with women.

  Speaking with his middle-aged client at a quiet corner of the wooden bar, he glances up at the attractive lady with the fetching, curvaceous body. Initially, he’d been trying hard to ignore her, but her seductive eyes had been signaling him since the moment he walked in the door. She is flirting, and he knows it. This had become a rather common occurrence between him and the town ladyfolk.

  Amidst his conversation with his client, Oliver quickly runs his eyes all over her. She is pure beauty. She makes sure he notices every part of her as she was gently and slowly runs her finger across her bosom – she is quite full there.

  Trying to concentrate on what brought him to the pub in the first place, he draws his eyes away and puts them on his client. A few minutes have gone by; he ends his short appointment with his client and has collected every detail of the work required.

  As he packs his paperwork to go home, someone sits opposite him. Looking up, he sees the woman.

  "Don't tell me you are leaving so early?" she asks with a charming smile.

  "I have an urgent matter to attend to."

  "I have heard that it takes you less than an hour to complete any drawing. So why be in a hurry, Oliver Adair?" she winks.

  Just as he had expected, she knew him. Oliver nods. "I guess there is no need to introduce myself."

  She chuckles. "There is no way you can come to a public place like this and not get noticed. Folks around here will always talk." She seductively touches his hand. "And ladies like me who know a fine young wealthy man when we see one will keep on admiring."

  He notices the wedding band on her finger. "Are you married?"

  She giggles, "Aye, of course. Haven't you been with a married woman before?

  "No ma'am. Never." He quickly gathers his belongings. "I respect marriage vows." With this, he walks out of the pub to head home.

  Indeed, one can never find a genuine companion who is not after wealth.

  Chapter 3

  The sound of laughter and giggling fills the hallway of the large dining room. Gatherings of such nature don’t occur too often at the castle. These are occasional gatherings when those of higher-born or high-status parties with their so-called friends and business partners come to indulge. In Laird Clach castle, this occasion usually occurs once or twice every month. You would think that for something that happens infrequently, time would race; instead, it seems like the clock is standing still and won't move faster than usual.

  For everyone in this room, this is a moment to showcase their status, dress, achievement, gold, and diamonds. For Amelia, she wishes this moment would come to a halt. It's not easy putting up a charade of a happily married woman when within her, she knows she is regarded as a piece of rag that is used whenever the owner wants.

  Silently pickin
g her meal and slowly eating it, she has this substantial tightness in her stomach. She has felt this stiffness within her since they began dining toward the evening. Though she doesn't like the crowd she is surrounded by, she feels the need to suffocate sitting next to Clach.

  His constant touching of her body makes her want to vomit on his face and yell at him. Five years of being with him, she knew that hand that hit and punched her several times and not one that would caress her skin.

  She swallows her food hard; she dares not to speak her thoughts if she wants to witness a new day or even dares to let her feelings be heard aloud. Hopefully, if she successfully complies and plays her role well, he will permit her to go to the market tomorrow.

  "Will you be there, Amelia?"

  The mention of her name brought her back to the present. The look on their faces shows they need an answer to a question. Amelia doesn't know what the issue is about; she was occupied with her thoughts.

  "Sorry, come to where?" she asks.

  "Annag will be having a little party for the ladies this Friday, will you be coming?" Davina, one of the ladies ask.

  "Ahem," she glances at Laird Clach, knowing that he won't let her go to any so-called event. "I will try to be there. Though, I have other plans for that day, but..."

  "Plans like what? Or you don't have what to wear?" Sophie asks while some ladies giggle. "We all know you don't do anything other than stay at home all day. So, what have you planned for that day?"

  Aside from disliking the company of the ladies sitting here this evening, there is something specific Amelia dislikes about Sophie. It's not because of how she indirectly mocks her poor background, her dressings, and not being ladylike. She is not the only one who mocks her; some of the other ladies do too. Yet, there is something explicitly off about her.