Abduction 0f A Highland Rose (Tales 0f Blair Castle Book 1)

by Fiona Faris

  She slowly unclenched her fists. “Who was responsible fer their demise an’ when will this absurd violence come tae a halt, Andrew?

  “I wish I could tell ye, but the chief was slain at the hands o’ Donald. He boasted aboot his death sae a’ o’ us would bask in his glory,” Andrew explained. “My heart aches heavily fer the suffering this is puttin’ ye through. Images o’ this invasion haunt me every day an’ night. I hae no’ had a peaceful night sleep since, at least until I rescued ye. I promise ye, I am goin’ tae put an end tae this brutality. Ye have my word.”

  “I want Donald’s repugnant head sliced from his body. I lang tae see him suffer fer this sadness that he has cast upon oor clan. At least whit is left o’ it that is,” Freya commented.

  “Once I vanquish Donald an’ I take power in the Murray clan, there will be peace amang the clans. I assure ye o’ that, Freya, but I need yer help. I hae no battalion tae take intae battle. How mony villages are nearby? I must recruit ony remainin’ warriors in this region o’ the lowlands tae fight alangside me. It will be impossible fer me tae get my hands on him alone.”

  She breathed a sigh of frustration and surveyed the adjacent woods of Kellie Castle.

  “We must forge through the forests due east. Once we are oot of’ the woodlands, there are at least three villages which reside in the area.”

  “Lead the way then, lassie!”

  The two trudged eastward into the captivating woodlands highlighted by the autumn foliage.

  Andrew was fixated on recruiting allies and soldiers in his quest to lead an attack to thwart the maniacal reign of the clan chief of the Murray clan. He desired to slay Donald not only for Freya but to regain his honor and clear his guilty conscience.

  Freya prayed to find any survivors from her village or Kellie Castle. The distress of possibly being the last surviving member of the Erskine clan raced through her thoughts. Her father was murdered. The chief was slaughtered. Her mother and her best friend, Sorcha, were nowhere to be found. She pressed on with a scorned heart and revenge on her mind. The burning desire to see Donald’s demise with her own eyes overpowered the anguish of witnessing the massacre of her home.

  Vengeance swarmed in both the lovers’ minds as they mounted the horse and pressed on into the lowlands.

  Chapter Eleven

  Village Near Arncroach, Scotland

  “I thought ye said the villages were a short distance from the castle, Freya? It is sunset an’ I am still swatting branches oot o’ my face left an’ right,” Andrew said, as he wielded his broadsword to decapitate low-hanging branches from the trees of the dense forest.

  “Hush your relentless whinin’! We are almost at the nearest village,” Freya replied.

  The burning orange sunset was outlined by a thin purple tint and beamed over the meadows neighboring the woodlands. The brightness was just vast enough to provide the vision necessary to guide Andrew and Freya out of the forest.

  “Wow, I hae no’ trekked oot tae this village in years. Thank heavens it looks jist the same.” Freya celebrated the sight of a village untouched by a brutal massacre.

  “Where is everyone? Nae fighters? It is completely abandoned,” Andrew said.

  “Hello! Onybody home?” Freya shouted with her numb palms encompassed around her mouth.

  “I dae no’ understand this. The village seems fully unscathed from an attack, but it is deserted,” Freya said.

  “Is this even yer clan?”

  “Aye, this is still Erskine land, but we are closin’ in on the outskirts o’ oor territory. I hae ne’er known the clan members who live in these villages. They always seemed like outsiders from the rest o’ us.”

  “Are there ony men ‘ere who could be fighters an’ warriors?” Andrew asked, clutching his sword.

  “Ye asked the wrang Erskine girl that question.” Freya chuckled.

  “Some help ye are! An’ I thought this was yer clan. Shows how much ye know aboot it.” Andrew scowled under his breath.

  “Whit was that, Andrew? I beg your pardon,” Freya questioned even though she fully understood the statement.

  “Oh, nothin’,” he said with a grin.

  Freya glared at him for what felt like an eternity and the grin slowly melted off Andrew’s face. She redirected her gaze to the ghostly village and she was just as perplexed at its lack of inhabitants. Darkness began to set in as the sun was completely buried beyond the horizon. The eerie resonance of creatures in the wilderness startled each of them and they progressed further into the depths of the village.

  In the midst of her frustration, Freya screamed at the top of her lungs until every last breath fled her lungs.

  “Whit is the matter with ye, lassie? We daen’t know who oor whit might be surroundin’ us right now,” Andrew complained. “Look, we hae had a dreadful day tae say the least an’ we hae been at each other’s throats a wee bit. It is nighttime sae let’s camp ‘ere taenight. I will collect firewood.”

  Freya grasped Andrew by the forearm as he went to hike into the forest. “We will sleep in one o’ the cottages taenight. There is nae need tae sleep on the damp pasture if we have an empty bed inside.”

  They entered a cottage with an adjoining farmhouse, and Andrew investigated the interior of the house with his arms outstretched in front of him to guide himself in the pitch-black. He and Freya rummaged every section in a feeble attempt to find a candle as a source of light.

  Andrew meandered into the farmhouse, but his search appeared futile yet again.

  Suddenly, a shriek reverberated from the farmhouse and a ghostly figure leaped out from the hay pile behind Andrew’s back. It hurled Andrew onto the ground and attempted to squeeze the life out of him with its hands around his throat.

  Andrew wheezed against the ferocious grip of his attacker. He managed to shirk the figure off and get to his feet.

  Andrew reached forward, grasped the attacker, and punched them in the face. His knuckles connected with their jaw and they sailed backward into the wall of the farmhouse. The wattle wall was poorly reinforced and the consecutive forces produced insurmountable damage to the cottage. The roof began to cave in and Andrew seized the mysterious figure that was knocked out cold.

  He raced out of the farmhouse with the attacker draped over his shoulders before the structure collapsed to the ground.

  “Nae, please, leave him alone. Please daen’t hurt my uncle!” a voice shrieked in the pitch-black of the night.

  The source of the wailing scream eluded Andrew until the man who assaulted him was shielded by a young woman who trembled as she stared into Andrew’s eyes for mercy.

  Freya approached the scene to investigate the commotion, and the young woman shrieked again, but this time in jubilation.

  “My prayers hae been answered. My precious Freya is alive,” the girl said and raced over to hug her.

  Andrew stood there confused as the two women embraced.

  “I thought ye had been kidnapped an’ were bein’ held at that prison like I was, dear Sorcha. I was told more young maidens from the castle an’ oor village had been captured, an’ I was certain ye were amang them,” Freya said with tears of joy.

  “Nae, I narrowly escaped alang with some ithers. Mostly women an’ children. My uncle was one o’ the few survivin’ men o’ their invasion.”

  “Freya, my dear, I am saw sorry aboot yer loss. Yer father was a good man an’ I know ye were close tae the chief,” Sorcha said, still embracing her best friend.

  “Whit aboot my mother? Please tell me she did no’ suffer at the hands o’ those beasts,” Freya asked.

  “She—”

  “I recognize ye, ye wizard o’ death,” Sorcha’s uncle shouted at Andrew. “Yer clan is responsible fer nothin’ but horror an’ evil. Ye were a monster in battle. No one could stop ye sae that is why I high-tailed it intae the woods when I faced tae duel ye!”

  “Andrew, whit is this man talkin’ aboot?” Freya asked.

  “I came face-to-face with t
his man in the battle. He was the final man on the path between mysel’ an’ yer village, Freya. I had nae reason tae hunt him doon as the battle had already been decided sae I let him escape.”

  “I watched ye slaughter several o’ oor best fighters. It was a petrifying sight tae lay my eyes on,” the uncle went on.

  “I can understand yer fears, an’ the scorn towards me is rightfully earned. I am ashamed fer takin’ part in that massacre,” Andrew said.

  “Freya, are ye with this monster?” Sorcha questioned as she embraced her uncle.

  “Yes, this Highlander may hae been a terrifyin’ force on the battlefield, but he was the sole individual responsible fer my escape from that wretched infestation o’ a castle.”

  “Aye, I cannae bear tae witness our clan dragged intae debauchery. I need yer help tae vanquish my chief sae I can take o’er the clan an’ a new era of peace can be ushered into these lands up tae the Highlands where Blair Castle resides,” Andrew explained to Sorcha and her uncle.

  “Oh, that is grand! I will believe that once I am buried beneath the earth.” Sorcha’s uncle burst out in laughter. “Yer clan can rot fer eternity fer a’ I care. Ye deserve every last punishment fer the sufferin’ ye caused these lands. Sorcha an’ I hae been forced tae take shelter beyond the woods which border oor village.”

  Sorcha’s uncle called Andrew every despicable name he could utter. Andrew yearned to convince the man to join him and take up arms against Donald, but that would be a tall task considering his contempt.

  “Where did the ither survivors go, Sorcha? We hae been desperately searchin’ tae locate them,” Freya asked.

  “We hae a’ taken shelter in one o’ the other neighborin’ villages. There is nothin’ but smoldering ashes o’ oor past at oor old home, Freya. We decided as a group tae start anew in another location, awa’ from the sight o’ Kellie Castle. It was the only feasible option.”

  Freya stared out into the distance beneath the night sky and shook her head in disapproval.

  “It is no’ the only option, Sorcha. The man responsible fer kidnappin’ an’ nearly rapin’ me must pay fer this. If we dae no’ take a stand, this demon will ne’er stop leadin’ his clan tae commit ruthless acts o’ violence against ither clans.”

  “Pay fer it indeed he must, but how? The amount o’ men left in these parts is scarce. Did ye no’ see the devastation at the castle?” Sorcha asked as a tear streamed down her cheek.

  Freya looked upon the ground in anguish at the reality of the situation. Nearly every man in the Erskine clan had been murdered. The Erskine clan now risked extinction as their numbers dwindled and the vast majority of surviving members were women.

  “I will search a’ the lands in this region ‘til I possess a battalion strong enough tae ensure his death. I hae a man on the inside o’ the Murray clan tryin’ tae convince ithers in the clan tae join me tae better oor odds at victory,” Andrew informed Sorcha and her uncle.

  “I admire yer boldness, an’ I thank ye fer enablin’ my dear friend tae escape her imprisonment, but I doubt ye will find the soldiers required fer yer mission. I will take ye tae the village we hae taken shelter at come dusk,” Sorcha stated, then led them to a different cottage to rest their heads for the night.

  An exhausted Freya dozed swiftly after her head hit the pillow, whereas Andrew practically slept with one eye open as he feared another surprise attack from Sorcha’s uncle. The vile hatred which he expressed toward Andrew was well deserved, but it worried him concerning the likelihood of him convincing the remaining men in the Erskine clan to join his cause.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sorcha awakened Freya and Andrew as the sun rose above the horizon. A thick blanket of fog filled the air and dew covered the grassy meadow. The sound of grazing farm animals echoed through the air as the familiar sound brought a smile to Freya’s face.

  “Hey, it has been a while since I hae seen one o’ those from ye, lassie. How are ye holdin’ up efter yesterday?” a shirtless Andrew asked, concerned for her well-being after she witnessed the remnants of the devastation against her clan.

  Freya gazed at his broad shoulders and chiseled chest as the fog faded to allow the sunlight to beam directly onto his body. She stared too much in awe to notice he had asked her a question.

  “Hello, Freya? Are ye okay, my bonnie?” he asked once again, waving a hand in her face to draw her attention.

  “Oh, aye, I am fine. Where are Sorcha an’ her uncle?”

  “They are waitin’ fer us ootside. Ye slept like a wee baby.” Andrew laughed.

  Freya shook her head to escape the daze which she succumbed to overnight. When she stood from the cot, she noticed the aches and pains from her body had melted away like butter. Her first night of sleep away from the rough dungeon floor or the stiff soil of the wilderness worked wonders to relieve her physical pain.

  She dressed quickly, and the group carried on to the village the survivors of the Erskine clan called home. The excitement was visible on Freya’s face, her gratitude that some of the clan members had escaped Donald’s clutches giving her renewed strength.

  There was not a cloud in the sky, and Freya’s attitude reflected the beautiful weather. The sight of young maidens with their chickens and goats in the barn warmed her heart and brought a sense of normalcy, even if only temporary.

  She surveyed the village. It was a lively scene of everyone performing their morning chores outside, and she had flashbacks to a brighter time in her recent past. Out of one of the cottages came a middle-aged woman with a basket to collect eggs for the household. She turned around, and Freya’s smile beamed brighter than the sun on the cloudless morning.

  “Mither! Thank heavens ye’re alive!” Freya wailed as she ran to greet her mother.

  The mother and daughter hugged and held each other tightly. It moved Andrew to see Freya reunited with at least one of her parents.

  “I thought I had lost ye when they took ye in the middle o’ the night. My little girl, how did ye ever manage tae find us?” her mother asked.

  “It is a lang story, but I am here now. I only wish that faither were ‘ere sae we could be taegether as a family again.”

  Her mother frowned. “Ye know o’ yer faither’s death? Please daen’t tell me ye saw the gruesome scene at the castle…”

  Freya looked down as the image of her father’s body flooded her mind once again. She knew in her heart it would be engraved into her mind until the day she died.

  “Did ye see how he succumbed taw his death, Mither?”

  “Nae, I did no’, my girl. Yer faither wanted me tae escape as far awa’ from the village as possible. He sent me awa’ afore the ravenous clan ever ascended ontae the village. They attacked the castle first an’ that enabled me tae hike through the woodlands tae the closest village,” her mother recounted.

  While Freya and her mother reconnected, Andrew noticed a young boy, no older than five years old, wandering aimlessly throughout the village. He went from cottage to cottage and spoke with anyone who would give him the time of day. The blond-haired boy was persistent, but all the women he pestered were too busy with their morning chores. They shunned him, and he ambled onwards.

  “Who daes this wean belong tae?” Andrew asked Sorcha. “This lad is jist wanderin’ ‘round the entire village, but nae one seems tae pay him ony mind.”

  “The boy is orphaned. His mither died in childbirth an’ his faither died in the onslaught from yer clan. He has nae ither family ‘ere. Nae grandparents, nae brothers an’ sisters, nae uncles an’ aunts, nae cousins. He has nothin’ but the people in this village,” Sorcha explained with sorrow in her voice.

  Andrew’s gaze was fixated on the young boy, and Sorcha was somewhat mystified that the man seemed to care.

  The young, orphaned lad triggered distant memories in Andrew’s subconscious. He reminisced about the days where he was a wee lad and his father, too, was taken from him. His father died honorably in battle when Andrew was seven years old
in defense of Blair Castle from a rival clan who wished to expand their territory in the Highlands. The distant memory of his father swelled his heart, and this lad reminded him of his youth.

  However, this lad was in a far more daunting world. Andrew paced toward the boy as if an uncontrollable force steered his legs in his direction. He approached the lad and knelt down on the ground so he could look him straight in the face.

  “Hello, wee lad, whit is yer name? My name is Andrew.” He offered the boy his slightly bruised hand for a handshake.

  “Finlay. That is my name,” the lad replied.

  “Whit dae ye hae in yer hand there? Can I see?”