Highlander’s Lost Love
The highland lover series - Book 4
Fiona Knightley
Highland Lover Series
Highlander’s Lost Love
(this book)
Highlander’s Love Child
(The next and final thrilling book in the Highland Lover series)
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Afterword
The Story Continues …
Also By Fiona Knightley
Chapter 1
The three-year-old young boy opened the study door and ran toward Oliver, who was busily sketching something on paper. Oliver moves his eyes from the paper down to the little boy who has run inside to stand beside him. When he’d heard the door creak open, he knew it was the boy. Since the lad had learned how to walk, he had not long after learned to open doors, especially that of the study in order to visit Oliver, which was often.
The little boy struggles to climb onto Oliver’s lap without much luck. Oliver stops his sketching, looks at him, and smiles.
“Trying to be a wee strong laddie, huh?”
Oliver picks him from the floor and sits him on the table, shuffling the paper a little to create a bit of space for him. Now closer and facing his father, the boy smiles at him and touches Oliver’s face.
“Da,” he says in a tiny voice with a smile.
Oliver kisses him on the forehead. “You know you shouldn’t disturb da when he is working, huh,” he says, smiling, which the boy does in turn.
“Where is your ma?” Oliver asks him, but the boy doesn’t answer as he is too busy touching things strewn on the table.
Oliver stands up from his chair and puts the boy back down. The wee lad tags along with Oliver as they both walk toward the door, but then one of the maids approaches.
“Ma laird, I’m sorry I let him out of ma sight.” She moves for the boy, but the little guy refuses to let go of his father’s hand.
“It’s okay, let him be.” Where is his mother? Oot?”
“Aye, ma laird.”
Hmm. Just as Oliver suspected - a mother who is never home and her son's welfare comes after her frivolities. “Has he eaten?” he asks the maid about the little boy.
“Naw, my laird.”
Oliver bends and carries the young boy, “Go eat. Da will come back for ya.” He kisses him again, and the boy kisses him in return. Oliver hands him over to the maid. “Try not to let him out of yer sight again.”
“Aye, sir,” she replies sheepishly and carries him away. Oliver sighs as he watches them walk away and returns to his study to resume his drawing.
He still cannot believe that he’s found himself in this predicament, together with Sophie and raising a son with her? It still seems so wrong. It was three years ago when she’d brought news of her pregnancy. At first, he rejected her claims, but she persisted that he was the child's father. After instructing his physician to address the matter, her pregnancy was confirmed.
To make such a stupid mistake. To let his guard down and allow Sophie back into his life. He was berating himself over his weakness every single day for three years. But what was he to do? It was the honorable thing after all; he is the father. Three years. Three years on, and he still can’t seem to forgive himself. And then there’s Max, his son, who he would do anything for. Oliver would do anything he needed to protect him and keep him safe. Dear God, he loved that lad, even though he wished Sophie was not the mother. She was. He is her son, a son whom she doesn’t seem to care for as her own.
Oliver sits in his chair, continuing his sketching to keep his mind from dwelling on his predicament. Three years ago, after the birth of Max, Sophie had been making his life in his castle unbearable, and drawing became the only way to escape. If she weren’t asking for more money, she would be nagging and threatening and ... she has made this castle become a hellish place to live.
Sophie had a way of undermining his authority when dealing with household servants and workers. Embarrassing him on more than one occasion, he was afraid that it could one day lead to losing the respect of his people, something out of the question for a laird. She continuously lashed out without considering how it reflected poorly upon him or the effect it had on their son. Damn! All of this could have been avoided if he’d followed his instincts and simply had avoided her. Even after all these years, he still couldn’t remember the night they lay together. The night Max had been conceived. Why? How? The whole situation was so confusing, and yet …
Ah, Amelia, he thinks to himself.
Things wouldn’t have turned out this way had it been Amelia that was here with him. Countless were the times he had let his imagination run; life could have been much different with her by his side. Living in peace and experiencing the joys of life together. He wonders where she is and who she’s with.
Two and a half years ago, he had gone to Arbroath to look for her after coming to terms with his feelings for Amelia. He was accompanied by the rider who rode with Amelia to Arbroath. Upon arriving in Arbroath, he didn’t find Amelia. He did, however, meet her loud and abrasive husband who told him to ‘fuck off and get out of his gaff!’ Oliver later learned from one of the servants that Amelia had divorced the jackass on the grounds of adultery and had disappeared. No one knew of her whereabouts.
As he left the castle defeated that day, he wondered how Amelia had ever ended up with a man like that in the first place. With his foul mouth and lack of all manners, a good husband would never have behaved that way to any woman, let alone his wife. The way he made mention of her, he didn’t have a single kindness for her, and certainly could not have loved her.
Where is she now? He kept asking himself as though the answer would suddenly materialize and put his mind at ease. At first, he’d thought she might have returned to her parent’s village, but remembered she’d been in dispute with them for forcing her into that horrible marriage. No, she wouldn’t be there.
Oliver couldn’t stop thinking how much better life could have been having Amelia there with him instead of wretched Sophie. It would have been so different; she would have been a better mother, more understanding toward the house staff; she would have been a caring confidant and lover, listening to him as he discussed his days of work and future ambitions. All things Sophie wasn’t. Instead, her priorities lay with that of her own wants and needs, to continually needing gratification at the expense of everyone else around her. Unfortunately, this was his reality, and he had the well-being of Max to consider. He was trapped.
“HAS MAX GONE TO BED?” Oliver asked as he sat down to eat in the dining hall. It was getting late, and Oliver had lost track of time again.
”Aye ma laird,” replied the maid. “I fed the lad his supper as well .”
Oliver nodded. It was late, and so he expected Max would already be tucked in for the night. Oliver had promised to look in on him before bedtime, but he lingered too long in his thoughts. Oh well, after his meal, he would sneak in to bid the boy goodnight and watch him breathe gently as the light of the moon sh
one in through the window. It wouldn’t be the first time; this had become an almost nightly routine, seeing as the boy’s mother couldn’t be bothered to put her child to bed.
“Is Sophie back?”
“Naw, sir,” replied Maggie, one of the trusted servants of the house, as she poured gravy on his plate.
“Did she mention where she was off’ ta?”
“Na, ma laird.”
“Did she tell you when she will return?”
“She didnae say so, ma laird.”
Who was he kidding; Sophie would never have told the staff where she was going? She barely ever let Oliver know her plans, let alone the servants. She does whatever she wants whenever she wants without answering to anyone. This aloofness was among many of the things that he disliked about her. Unfortunately, he had no other option than to endure it, all for Max.
Just then, as if on cue, Sophie appears unannounced and strolls into the dining room, smugly looking over Oliver as he sat. She has most likely been out enjoying another night of socializing, dressed seductively in a fine cape and jewels.
“Finally, you decided to come back,” Oliver says to Sophie without looking up from his gravy-covered meal.
“You deh expect me to be home every night. I have got ma life to live,” Sophie says as she picks up a cup of wine and sips from it.
“Living your life, eh? Have ye forgotten you have a child who needs his mother?”
“Oh please! Ah’m not an auld lady that sits in the house taking care of a baby. I’m too young for that.” She sips more of her wine.
“You birthed that child; your absence can cause him sorrow and pain. Does that nae bother you?”
“The maid can take care of his needs. He deh…”
“You are his ma fur God's sake!” Oliver’s snaps out anger. He’d been trying to keep his composure, but the smug look across Sophie’s face has made that quite difficult.
“He deh need a maid nor a nanny; he needs his mother. If you dinnae do the right thing with our son, I will stop you from every outing.”
“Oh, you cannae do a thing! Ah’m not a servant that you can push around as ye want,” Sophie snaps. “This is my life also, and I chose to live it in any way I want.” Pushing her chair back abruptly, she stands up defiantly.
“If you are so concerned about him, take care of him yourself!” With this, she walks purposely out of the dining room, slamming the door on her way out.
Oliver sits as still as a stone statue. What mess has he gotten himself into?
Chapter 2
“Ma…ma.”
The little boy runs inside the small house, calling. In his hands, he carries a small, worn-out sack bag. Amelia turns to look at the little boy as he runs into the house, tracing her eye from the item in his hand to his smiling face as she smiles back at him.
She walks toward him and bends to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. She takes a closer look at his face and sees the dust on it.
“Look, ma, we have grains!” The little boy lets out a squeal of excitement as he pushes the small bag of grains in his hand to his mother's face, blowing grain dust everywhere.
“Oh, that’s grand!” Amelia replies with a smile. She could tell what was in his hand, but it’s a mother’s duty to act surprised, so the moment isn’t ruined for him.
“You picked this at Gavina’s farm?”
The little boy nods and smiles like little boys do.
“This will make a good fine harvest when it grows, right?” Amelia jokingly asks him as she gently wipes away the dirt and dust on his face with a small piece of cloth.
“Aye, ma,” he says.
“For a three-year-old lad, he sure has a green thumb…” Gavina says while standing in the doorway. She had followed the little boy as he ran into the house.
Amelia looks up and smiles at her friend of three years. Hmm, three years … it’s as though they have known each other for a lifetime.
“You are also a good teacher,” Amelia says, smiling. “You taught him that, though.”
“Oft! It’s nothing much,” Gavina says, smiling broadly, then turns to the boy.
“Owen, go put that in the basket together with the others, okay?” The little boy nods and runs off. “He is such a bright lad with much attention to detail.”
“Aye,” Amelia glances from her son to her friend. “He took that from me, I am an intelligent young lady,” she jokingly adds as she continues preparing the evening meal.
“Ah!” Gavina laughs. “Mayhap, but I feel that is more from his da, he must…” Gavina sees the change of expression on Amelia’s face and cuts short her words. “Oft, Ah'm sorry … I have forgotten we don’t discuss that.”
Amelia sighs, “Ah'm sorry, Gav, it’s just that topics as such bring me nothing but sad thoughts. And I want them forgotten forever,” she says as she lifts the pot of soup shaking in her hand. Gavina rushes toward Amelia and takes the heavy pot from her.
“Give me this. We cannae have it on the floor instead of in our bellies.”
She carries the pot and puts it on the table.
“If this lands on the floor, the wee lad will nae have any supper!”
Amelia gently sits on the chair. “It’s a memory that brings much sorrow to me; ah'm sorry, Gav.”
In her voice, Gavina can hear Amelia’s pain. Perhaps, one day, she will better understand the cause of it.
Gavina walks toward her with a smile and nods lightly. “It's okay; only a story bearer knows how it hurts. Maybe one day I will understand it more.” Standing over her, Gavina comforts Amelia with a friendly hug.
“You will stay for dinner, right?” Amelia asks, trying to lighten up the mood.
“Of course, I saved the soup, so I deserve it,” Gavina says with humor. Amelia laughs as Owen rejoins them, and they prepare the table for dinner.
Meeting Gavina has genuinely been a blessing, and she couldn’t ask for a better friend. Aside from Isla, who has been her childhood friend since a young age, she had never made any friends until she met Gavina after arriving in Dunfermline in the late stage of pregnancy three years ago.
Now, eating together in this little dining area as they’ve done countless times throughout the years since Owen's birth, she can remember the first time they met. When Amelia arrived in Dunfermline, she was alone and pregnant, just trying to make a life when she met Gavina.
It was Gavina who had helped Amelia find proper lodging that she could afford, introducing her to the old farmer Marlowe. The little out-building that sat on Marlowe’s land was just perfect for the new mother; small in size and cozy, with a small-sized plot of farmable land behind to grow grains, vegetables, and keep a few chickens. Amelia was able to survive off the land using the experience she gained on her parent’s farm when she was young.; before Clach McColl.
As good friends do, Gavina had asked Amelia about her past. Gavina was curious about what had made her travel from Arbroath to Dunfermline during such a heavy pregnancy. Amelia had been forthcoming with details about her broken marriage to Clach and his brutality. Still, for some reason, she’d kept the details of her time with Oliver in Montrose private. Gavina knew there was more to the story than what Amelia divulged, but she never pushed for more and wasn’t about to.
Instead, she’d been a good friend, a shoulder to lean on, and a good aunty to Owen, even though they were not of the same blood. Upon meeting, Amelia had the feeling they were somehow spiritually connected, as though she were again meeting an old friend after many years apart. It had been a relief to her. To finally have someone in her life that wouldn’t take advantage of her like Clach, or betray her the way her parents had.
Thinking back to the days after her divorce from Clach, she was happy to be home with her parents, finally reuniting with them after so many years apart. They’d been glad to have her back in their lives. All seemed well even as her pregnancy progressed until her father became fraught with worry and panic.
According to him, he simply could not
condone a daughter out of wedlock, heavily pregnant, and living in his home. It was her mother who had sided with her, pleading on her behalf; after all, it wasn’t Amelia’s fault that she dinnae have a so-called husband. For what if Clach had murdered her? They would have lost their only daughter. Is that what he wanted?!
‘Whit need is there? I have a son already, and that’s enough for me!’ He snapped, and it all came back to Amelia like a bad dream. The hatred and disgust in his voice, just as before, just as she remembered.
She couldn’t sleep that night as her father’s words played over and over in her head. Would her father have had any remorse if she’d died at the hands of Clach rage? Had he ever loved her as a child growing up on the farm? He indeed showed favor to her brother, that was without question, but why nothing other than contempt for her?
Feeling the need for answers, Amelia had stood up from her bed that night with a loaded belly and walked toward her father's room, uncertain of how she’d be greeted, only to hear her mother speaking aloud. They were arguing …
“Ya forcefully took her from me to that monster Clach because ya needed money for more farmlands. Whit kind of father can openly sell his daughter even at that tender age,” snapped her mother angrily.
“Ach woman! I had no other option. We needed the money fur more farmland, and Clach was the only laird who had it to give. Aye, and the gurl needed a husband, she should’a been so lucky. It was a fair deal; she was of no good here.”
Hearing her father's words that night had hurt Amelia deeper than all she had endured while living with Clach. She had always thought it odd that her father had not done more to protect her and prevent her from being forcefully taken away that fateful night. Yet she hadn’t harboured any anger toward him. She understood her father could not challenge a laird, and therefore could do little to stop Clach from taking whatever he wanted. However, hearing her father had arranged the marriage to Clach to gain farmland was like a knife through her heart.
Highlander's Lost Love: A Highlander Steamy Romance Short Read (Highland Lover Series Book 4) Page 1