Abduction of a Highland Rose: Historical Scottish Romance Novel

by Fiona Faris

  Her saturated hair dripped onto the floor as she entered the cottage and she shivered from being outside. The fire she started for Andrew continued to burn bright, and she sat directly adjacent to the flames to warm her body. She stared into the flames and reflected on her discovery of the torn tartan.

  She then meandered to the front door to find Andrew’s tartan which had been placed on a rack beside the door. She held the tattered piece of cloth up to Andrew’s tartan, and they were an exact match. Freya was now fully certain that a Murray clan member had been inside the stable. Who though? One of the good men who had joined their cause… or one who had been sent by Donald?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blair Castle

  The perceived failure of the search party to locate Andrew and capture him had continued to drive Donald mad. His flares of rage grew to extraordinary heights as he had no patience to allow other Murray clan members to complete tasks he commanded of them. If any order of his was misconstrued in the slightest manner, he erupted and created pandemonium inside Blair Castle.

  Donald’s violent episodes frightened the youngest of the Murray bunch, and the displays of his ferocious nature left them petrified of his command over the clan. He did not rule to be liked by the warriors who remained at Blair Castle. He maintained his clutches on the clan through fear and intimidation.

  One of the few young lads in the Murray clan was instructed by Donald to prepare a meal for him and to deliver it at precisely sunset. The lad carried the food into Donald’s chambers slightly after the sun dipped below the horizon. In response, Donald clasped him by the back of the skull and pressed his face into the seething hot meal. The boy writhed in agony from the pain and embarrassment of being shoved into a plate of food. Donald then slung him out the door. The boy’s momentum carried him straight into a stone wall.

  This was the behavior the surviving members of the Murray clan dealt with on a daily basis. It was a brutal suffering, but no one at Blair Castle possessed the courage to stand up to him. They all feared for their lives if they dare test his strength and power.

  Donald grew increasingly suspicious of the search party since he did not believe it should take this length of time to locate the traitor of their clan. His fears encapsulated his dreams at night, and he failed to gather a restful slumber for weeks on end. His latest nightmare featured him in a duel with an indestructible Andrew armed with two broadswords. He writhed in trepidation as Andrew was an unstoppable force who manhandled him without breaking a sweat. After he was beaten to a bloody pulp, Andrew raised him high into the sky and thrust one of his broadswords deep into his abdomen. The blood gushed from Donald’s stomach, and he died a slow, excruciating death.

  Donald rose violently in the middle of the night from his terror in a cold sweat which drenched his wool sheets. His arms, legs, and torso were all soaked from the dreadful nightmare which haunted him as he attempted to sleep. He threw the covers off his body and fell to his knees as he caught his breath from the daunting vision of his death.

  He gave his best attempts to drift back into a deep sleep, but not even the relaxing rainfall on the rooftops of Blair Castle could prevent the sickening imagery from appearing in his mind again.

  “I cannae take this sufferin’ ony longer! I want that bastard deid if it is the last thing I dae. I dae no’ care if I hae tae kill every last Sassenach-like villagers in the lowlands tae find him,” Donald declared on his knees as he clutched his hair so forcefully that strands fell from his head.

  The sun eclipsed the horizon and the morning mist rose above the ground. Donald clasped his belt around his tartan and adjusted it to hide his bulging stomach. He prepared to summon the Murrays who still resided in Blair Castle or within the immediate surroundings. Before he had the chance to gather everyone around him, the beating of a drum which signaled a visitor echoed from outside.

  A man on a stallion rode up to the castle and requested to speak with the chief Donald regarding an urgent matter.

  “Whit is it ye want from me?” Donald questioned the man while he pointed his broadsword at him from the rooftop of the castle.

  “Ye cannae be serious! Ye dae no’ recognize me? Look at the tartan!” The man revealed his Murray tartan, and they all jested amongst each other about the confusion.

  “I hae important news ye should know aboot, Donald,” the man shouted as he rode his horse past the guards.

  Donald left his room to go speak to the man.

  “Oot with it! Whit is it ye need tae tell me that is sae important,” Donald commented as he wrapped his arm around the man’s neck.

  Donald’s paranoia revealed itself as he inspected the man from head to toe to confirm he was indeed a Murray as he claimed. He analyzed every last thread of his tartan and asked him questions only those within the clan would know the answer.

  “Are ye a’ right, Donald?”

  “Aye, I am fine. A simple check tae ensure ye really are a Murray,” he replied with a devious smile.

  The man stared at him as if he had gone mad. He treaded cautiously as he did not want to set off Donald’s temper.

  “I hae word o’ a warnin’ directed at ye, Donald,” he told the chief.

  “Someone dares to threaten me? I would like tae see ‘em show their face ‘ere an’ say that tae my face,” Donald remarked with an angry voice.

  “The warnin’ is this: if ye dae no’ meet ‘em at the Highland boundary, they will destroy Blair Castle.”

  Donald scoffed at the notion that the individual behind such a threat would destroy their formidable castle.

  “They are a gutless, spineless coward who is afraid tae face me ‘ere in the Highlands. Make the announcement that we shall set aff tae the boundary at dawn tomorrow. Nae, two days! I will take my sweet time an’ make them wait fer us,” Donald ordered everyone who surrounded him.

  Drums summoned all those within distance of the castle. Donald waited with a menacing scowl on his face with his hands clasped together behind his back. He watched as the remaining Murray soldiers he had under his demoralizing command surrounded him to await his orders.

  “My fellow Murrays, I hae summoned ye ‘ere tae make light o’ an ominous warnin’ that has been presented tae me. It seems we hae been challenged tae a fight or else Blair Castle be destroyed,” Donald shouted.

  Chatter amongst the warriors increased after Donald’s remarks of the threat to destroy their home. Expressions of anger, anxiety, and fear resonated throughout the crowd as Donald waited till they silenced before he continued.

  “Lads, we hae faced threats such as this in the past. We obliterate their arses every time!” Donald laughed. “I daen’t take tae kindly tae lowlanders thinkin’ they hae whit it takes tae challenge us tae a battle.”

  “How dae we know the threat is from a lowlander?” a soldier asked.

  Donald walked toward the lad who spoke up. “I dae no’ care if they are a lowlander oor no’; I will rip oot the throat o’ onyone who attempts tae lay a finger on my castle.”

  The lad gulped as Donald towered over him. He remained silent for the duration of their meeting in fear of further intimidation.

  “A Murray warrior backs doon from nae challenge. I care no’ how big or small the obstacle oor whit viciousness we hae tae employ tae achieve oor stated goal.”

  Donald continued his uninterrupted rant for hours, and no one dared to risk being the one who interjected into his speech and meets his fiery wrath. The Murray fighters remained in silence until their chief ceased his deliberations about how they must go to battle, despite not knowing whether the threat was legitimate or not.

  “Prepare yerselves, men! The day efter tomorrow we commence fer the Highland boundary. Another glorious victory fer the Murray clan awaits us,” Donald boasted as he released a battle cry which reverberated up towards the heavens.

  His fellow Murrays joined him in the battle cry, although a sizeable portion held peculiar expression on their faces. However, they ceased to comm
ent further about their reservations about this supposed threat. Still, none were able to muster the courage to stand up to Donald to convince him to cease his lust for a fight. They were primed to follow Donald blindly into yet another battle.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A village near Arncroach, Scotland, one week later

  The torment of Andrew’s motionless body on the cot drove peaked Freya’s anxiety. The unbearable wait for him to regain consciousness had taken its toll on her ability to function. Freya wished to talk to no one else in the village about the troubled thoughts which had tortured her since Andrew last spoke.

  One night while she sat beside Andrew in yet another desperate hope that he might wake up and realize where he was, his wheezing and coughing suddenly intensified to the point it had reached the night he was attacked.

  “Please, dae no’ give up on me now! I need ye tae fight this,” Freya pleaded as sweat broke out over his body.

  Freya clutched his limbs, and she gasped at how clammy Andrew’s skin felt. She laid her palm on his forehead; he was with fever.

  “Mither! Mither!” she shouted as she rushed outside her cottage. If anyone could surmise why Andrew’s condition had taken a drastic turn for the worse, it was her mother.

  She bolted inside her mother’s cottage, but no one was inside. She sprinted back outside and spotted Sorcha.

  “Sorcha, please, ye hae tae tell me where my mither is. Dae ye know where she went?”

  “She’s in the barn. Whit is wrang with ye? Ye’re actin’ as if ye hae seen a spirit rise from the deid,” Sorcha commented.

  “Andrew’s condition has worsened! I think he may hae a fever an’ only Mither knows the proper treatment fer him,” Freya said.

  Freya, at last, found her mother in the barn as she tended to all the animals.

  “Mither, ye hae tae treat Andrew right away! I think he may hae a fever. He is clammy an’ his forehead is scorchin’ hot,” she cried as she clutched her mother’s arm.

  “If he daes indeed hae a fever, then he is grave danger fer his life,” her mother claimed.

  “I dae no’ need tae hear that, Mither. I am already in enough o’ a panic as it is,” Freya scolded her, and they raced back to Freya’s cottage.

  When the two ran inside, Andrew was leaning halfway off the cot as he was too weak to pull himself back up. Freya grasped his shoulders and laid him back on the pillow. Her tears fell on Andrew’s pale face. Her heart suffered from witnessing the man she loved in so much pain.

  Freya’s mother studied his physical symptoms and examined his deep slashes, which had yet to fully heal.

  “My word, Freya, he has an infection from his wounds. There are at least three o’ ‘em which are no’ healin’ properly.”

  “What dae we dae, Mother? How dae ye treat an infection? He looks like he is dyin’ on me! Please, save my dear Andrew!” Freya begged.

  Freya’s mother pressed her eyes shut and pondered the treatment Andrew needed to overcome his infection.

  “Mither! What dae we need? Tell me!”

  “It has been a lang time since I treated one like this. Freya, I need ye tae fetch me some garlic from the garden at the back o’ the village. I hae a few other herbs in my cottage which will help, but garlic is the main ingredient that will help,” her mother explained.

  Freya dashed to the garden and grabbed every last piece of garlic she could find. She returned as her mother tilted Andrew’s head back to allow him to drink as much water as his body would allow. Freya handed the garlic to her mother. She watched her mother take the garlic and smash it together in a bowl mixed with a variety of herbs. She pressed the herbs into a soupy liquid so it would slide smoothly down Andrew’s throat.

  Andrew released a flurry of coughs, and the sweat continued to bead on his body. Freya’s mother pressed her palm to Andrew’s chest to ease his cough. She attempted to tilt his head backward again, and Andrew gagged as she eased the soupy liquid into his mouth and forced his mouth shut, so it traveled down his throat.

  “One more servin’ an’ that should dae it. Freya, mix more herbs together,” her mother said.

  The second serving went down Andrew’s throat easier than the first.

  “Thank heavens his forehead is no’ boilin’ like it was afore. I daen’t know whit I would dae withoot ye, Mither,” Freya said as she embraced her mother.

  Andrew’s cold sweats soon ceased, his breathing returned to normal, and his body rested in a relaxed state.

  “The infection is whit prevented his body from healin’. It should be oot o’ his system once his body fully absorbs the herbs. I think he will wake up within the next couple o’ days,” her mother stated with a joyful smile as she kissed her daughter on the forehead.

  Freya was relieved. She clutched one of Andrew’s pale hands and prayed for his awakening. She yearned to embrace him in her arms once again, and she longed for him to hold her like they did the last time they made love.

  Soon, she heard a commotion beyond the cottage. Freya went to the window and beheld all of the warriors gathered around Rory on the training field. He appeared to be giving a speech to the soldiers, and her natural distrust of Rory made her extremely curious to what instructions he might give the battalion.

  She trekked to the training field and stood behind Rory. He was oblivious to her presence as he spoke to the soldiers.

  “I know many o’ ye will be surprised by the decision I hae come tae, but we must leave immediately fer Blair Castle. I hae received word that Donald has decided tae lead his forces towards the village. We will attempt tae cut him off afore he reaches the lowlands. Everyone prepare yer battle supplies at once,” Rory said.

  Freya was baffled by Rory’s utter lack of respect to the wishes of his friend that nearly died just moments ago. Her rage boiled as she continued to listen to Rory’s instructions.

  “Ye a’ hae come sae far in yer trainin’. I am sure Andrew would be proud an’ honored tae lead ye intae battle himsel’. Unfortunately, his recovery is simply taking tae lang an’ we cannae wait ony further. I will acquire his duties an’ be yer new leader. It is whit he would want,” Rory explained.

  “If ye are leadin’ us intae battle, then who will be the new chief fer the clan once Donald is deid?” one of the Murray clansmen asked.

  “Andrew an’ I will discuss more once we return from oor victory, but fer now, I will be the chief once we know Donald has been vanquished. Daes onyone hae ony objections?” Rory replied.

  The soldiers were speechless, some of them confused about Rory’s declaration of his new leadership since Andrew’s command was all they had known.

  Freya made her presence known to Rory.

  “Rory, whit is the meanin’ o’ this? Who died an’ made ye the boss o’ this village?” Freya demanded.

  “Andrew is nearly on his deathbed. Someone must take charge,” Rory responded.

  “Andrew is no’ on his deathbed. He had an infection, but it is has subsided. I assure everyone, he will be awake soon,” she shouted so everyone could hear her.

  “Even if he daes awaken, he will be in nae condition fer a battle. We are talkin’ aboot ruthless Murray warriors ‘ere, no’ wee laddies who hardly know how tae lift a sword,” Rory told her.

  “I dae no’ care who it is ye are fightin’; this group of soldiers is under Andrew’s command an’ his alone!”

  “We cannae wait, Freya! How many times dae I hae tae say it tae ye? Ye simply dae no’ get it!”

  Freya turned her attention toward the soldiers as her attempts to get through to Rory had failed.

  “Please, ye a’ mustn’t leave withoot at least waitin’ until Andrew awakens. I know he will rise soon. It will be one oor two days at most. If ye leave the village now, all the women an’ children will be vulnerable tae an attack,” Freya pleaded.

  “They will no’ listen tae ye, Freya. These lads will only take commands from a voice o’ authority. A shriekin’ voice from a wee lass will not strike a ch
ord within their minds,” Rory snapped.

  “Would ye shut up, ye obnoxious swine? Ye hae been nothin’ but rude an’ self-centered since the day ye walked intae this village. Hae ye even begun tae search tae find oot who attacked Andrew, yer frien’?”

  “If this village gets attacked by Donald, then it is on yer head, Freya. I assure ye, if Andrew were in my position, he would dae the same.”

  “At least if we are attacked, then we can defend ourselves. There is nae worry about strange men swarmin’ oor cottages tae rape and pillage without the presence o’ ither men ‘round.”

  A distant shriek called out from the cottages. Freya squinted and saw Sorcha.

  “Freya! Ye hae tae come tae the cottage! Andrew’s awake!” Sorcha announced.