Highland Oath

by Donna Fletcher

  Raven didn’t know how Royden remained on his feet, though his large body swayed as if he fought to remain standing.

  “Drop your swords! It’s done!” a man commanded.

  Raven watched in disbelief. Today was to be a day of celebration, a day of festivities, a day that marked a bright future for the clan with Royden and Oria marrying. Soon there would have been bairns who would continue to keep the Clan MacKinnon name strong and the clan prosperous. Instead, it was a day the Clan Mackinnon was ravaged and nearly destroyed.

  Her brothers had no choice but to obey the command, not if they wanted to live and fight another day.

  Fear gripped Raven like a hand to her throat, squeezing as she watched Royden lean against his brother. Arran’s muscled arm grew taut as it went around Royden’s waist, his strength helping him remain on his feet.

  “His wrist needs searing,” Arran called out.

  The man who had ordered swords to be dropped approached. He wasn’t a tall man, barely reaching her brothers’ shoulders, but he was bulky and from the bulge of his arms, he was strong. His dark hair was streaked with gray and his features difficult to see through the heavy battle grime clinging to his face like a mask.

  “Tell me where your sister is and it will be done,” the man ordered with a shout.

  “We don’t know,” Arran shouted back.

  The man stepped back from her brothers and looked around, then roared out, “If you want your brothers to live, surrender, Raven of the Clan MacKinnon.”

  “Don’t you dare surrender, Raven!” Arran shouted in angry command.

  He received a punch in the face for his warning, but he didn’t defend himself. If he had, Royden would have fallen to his knees and Raven knew that Arran would never let that happen. Tears ran down her cheeks, though she hadn’t realized she had started crying.

  “SURVIVE, RAVEN, SURVIVE!” Royden roared and once again sent the trees trembling, at least it felt that way to Raven. Or perhaps she was the one trembling.

  She remembered her da and brothers always reminding her that no matter what happened, she was to survive and they would come for her. They would find her.

  Royden and Arran staggered together when Royden was struck in the face, but Arran didn’t let go of him. He kept them both on their feet.

  “Raven won’t surrender. She knows better. She knows that your word means nothing,” Arran called out, and Raven knew he meant for her to hear him.

  “I’ll kill you both!” the man shouted.

  “Go ahead. Kill us,” Royden challenged.

  “But you’re not getting our sister,” Arran added.

  Raven wiped away her tears that wouldn’t stop falling. Her brothers would give their lives for her. She wanted to hurry down the tree and surrender, but it would be foolish and her brothers would be disappointed in her. She stayed where she was with great difficulty and sorrow and a hurt in her heart she doubted would ever heal.

  The man giving orders turned his attention to those who’d been captured. “If anyone knows where Raven is, speak up now and I will not take your husbands and sons from you.”

  Raven was shocked to see Bethany step forward, the woman who was the closest thing to a mum to her. Bethany’s husband had passed and they never had any children so there was no one to protect, except Raven. It pained her that the woman she loved could betray her.

  “I saw her go into the woods with the Macara lass,” Bethany said without hesitation.

  Raven saw her brothers’ bodies stiffen in anger. Her own body did the same. It was difficult to believe that Bethany would betray her. The woman had treated her as she would her daughter and loved her the same or so Raven had thought.

  “Which way did they go?” the man demanded.

  Bethany turned and pointed. “They took off as soon as the fighting started.”

  Through tears, Raven smiled. Bethany had pointed in the opposite direction, where he wouldn’t find her or Purity. The woman was misleading them.

  “Send warriors,” the man said.

  “I’m the cook,” Bethany said. “I can sear that wrist easily.”

  The man nodded. “Hurry and get it done.”

  Raven feared Royden would refuse Bethany’s help thinking she betrayed the clan, and he tried, but Arran stopped him. It was a change in Royden’s demeanor toward Bethany that she realized somehow the woman had told him the truth. He was aware Bethany had purposely misled the man.

  “Gather the men and ready them to leave,” the man who commanded ordered.

  “You gave your word,” Bethany shouted.

  “And you were fool enough to believe it,” the man shouted back.

  Bethany was no fool and Raven didn’t think she had fallen for his lies. She had done what was needed to protect Raven and for that, Raven was grateful.

  Raven had to close her eyes when the time came to sear Royden’s wound and it nearly tore her apart to hear her brother roar out in pain. The smell of scorched flesh drifted in the air and stung her nose and her heart. How would Royden ever survive with only one hand?

  “You six will wait here to see if the lass is found,” the man commanded to a group of warriors. “The chieftain as well. He needs to be found.”

  Arran and Royden’s heads shot up at that news and she was glad they knew their da could possibly have survived. She prayed it would be so.

  “We don’t claim the land?” a warrior asked.

  “Without her, the claim can be disputed,” the man said. “We’ll find her eventually and as for her father, he probably crawled away and died,” the man said. “The land will be claimed soon enough.”

  “He’s not going to like the delay,” the warrior said.

  Raven heard the fear in the way the warrior’s voice quivered and wondered who the man was the warrior had referred to. She also wondered how just the mention of him, and not even by name, could instill such fear in a warrior.

  “In the end he’ll get what he wants. He always does,” the man said. “Now get everyone moving.”

  The surviving chieftains were led in one direction while warriors from the various clans, along with her two brothers, were led in another. Arran kept his arm locked around Royden and his shoulder under his brother’s arm to help keep him on his unsteady feet. Her heart clinched in pain so badly she worried she’d drop from the tree dead.

  She shook her head. If Royden could remain on his feet and stay strong after losing his hand, then she could stay strong and find a way to help her brothers, her da, her clan.

  She watched her brothers led away from their home along with many of the MacKinnon men. Her tears grew heavy as the defeated group grew smaller in the distance. She didn’t think she’d ever stop crying or her heart would ever stop breaking. She had suffered no physical wound, but she hurt as badly as if a sword had been shoved through her and twisted until she wanted to beg for mercy.

  She watched the specs that became her brothers and wondered if she’d ever see them again. Then she thought of the witch’s prediction.

  Nothing will be as it once was and it will take years before those torn apart are reunited. Stay strong. Your strength and courage will see you through this.

  Strength and courage?

  She didn’t feel she had either, but what recourse did she have if she was to see her family reunited. She couldn’t take the chance of searching for Purity for fear she’d lead the unknown foe to her. So where did she go? What did she do?

  Most importantly, how would she ever keep her promise to her da and brothers?

  * * *

  Hope you enjoyed meeting the characters in the prequel to Highland Promise Trilogy.

  * * *

  Continue on to read Chapter One of Pledged to a Highlander

  Royden and Oria’s story.

  Pledged to a Highlander

  Scotland, The Highlands, 12th century

  * * *

  Her skin felt like the softest velvet and was as smooth as the finest silk. He couldn’t st
op touching her. He wanted to caress and kiss every inch of her lovely naked body. She belonged to him and only him and that was the only thought that consumed him when he slid inside her and took what belonged to him.

  Her virginity.

  She was his and his alone, no other had the right. He had waited. They had waited for this moment and he relished it. Her sheath was snug, though it opened for him, welcoming him, accepting him, hugging him as he slipped deeper and deeper inside her.

  “I love you, Royden—always.”

  He cherished those words, held on to them, let them seep deep inside him as his manhood felt the tight barrier that blocked him—her maidenhead.

  She was his to claim, always had been, and once he broke the barrier she’d be his always. They would be forever joined as one. Even when separated, they’d still remain connected through this special moment when they sealed their vows.

  He looked into her eyes and fell more deeply in love if that was possible, her beautiful smile lighting his heart as she whispered, “Come to me. I’m yours.”

  Royden woke with a start, jolting up in bed angry to wake from the dream he’d had often in the past five years. Five long years of thinking, dreaming, fighting to get home to Oria, the woman he’d loved since he’d been young and who had loved him—always.

  He didn’t know if she had survived the attack on their wedding day that had torn not only them apart but his whole family, his whole clan. The last time he had seen her, she was helping women and children into the safety of the keep. Her fate was unknown to him and he ached to know what had happened to her. He had no idea if his da had died or survived. He and his brother, Arran, had spent about a year together before they’d been separated. He had no knowledge of what happened to him. And there was his sister, Raven, a handful of a lass. If anyone could survive, she could and he hoped she had since he had learned that she’d never been found.

  From the moment he’d been captured, he and Arran had talked of escaping and returning home, finding their family and seeking revenge on whoever was responsible for the devastation to their clan. They’d been taken to the most barren part of Scotland where few men braved to go, the land desolate and unforgiving. At times they’d been transported on ships to fight on foreign soil, though they were always returned home to Scotland. They weren’t given a chance once dumped in a battle. It was fight or die.

  He ran his right hand through his dark hair that barely touched his shoulders. He swung his legs off the edge of the rumpled bed and grabbed the black leather cuff off the low chest next to the bed. He slipped it on the stub of where his left hand should have been and used his teeth to help tighten the leather strips that kept it securely in place. It had taken time for him to get used to having only one hand and it hadn’t been easy. The day of the attack had been seared into his memory. How could he forget it? It was meant to be his wedding day.

  He stood and reached for his shirt. He had grown thicker with muscle over the last few years, his chest and arms heavy with it and his legs as well. Muscle wasn’t the only thing he had gained. He’d also gained scars, some small ones and others large, from all the battles he’d been in. None, though, were as deep as the scar on his heart. It tormented him that he had failed not only to protect Oria, but to wed her, make her his wife, seal their union. That chance had passed him by and was no more.

  Not that he didn’t dream or hope that by some miracle Oria had survived and when he was finally able to return home, she’d be there waiting for him.

  He turned at the rustle of blankets and shook his head at the woman sleeping in his bed. He hated that after a while he couldn’t deny himself the pleasures of a willing woman. He had a need, especially after battle, and women were supplied to the men in abundance. He seldom paired with the same woman. There were no feelings when he coupled just a need that had to be satisfied. Still, his need troubled him and when he saw that some women had more need than he had known, he wondered, with him gone, what Oria might have done to assuage her need. Not that he would blame her. If anyone was to blame, it was he himself.

  It was a deep source of anger and guilt, failing to keep her from harm, that he harbored. One that would not leave him soon, if ever.

  He added a few logs to the fire pit in the middle of the hut after he finished dressing and without a word to the woman he had been so intimate with last night, whose name he did not know, he left.

  Royden bundled his wool cloak around him, the pre-dawn day cold. While spring had arrived, it was still cold this high in the Highlands. His breath came out in large puffs and his stump ached as was its way when too cold. He walked through the village, if it could be called that, the area comprised of several huts, a few storage sheds, and a longhouse.

  The amount of warriors that occupied the area had thinned of late and there was talk the few who remained were to be dispersed to other groups. He and Arran’s plans to attempt to escape had quickly been brought to an end when all the captives were told the rules.

  Attempt to escape and one of your clansmen will suffer for it, attempt again and your clansmen will die, succeed at escaping and you will be hunted down and you and a family member will die. It wasn’t until one brave captive attempted an escape that he and Arran knew escape wasn’t a viable option. The man was found and returned and all watched as he’d been forced to pick who in his clan that had been taken captive with him would be punished. The man chosen was left chained outside for two days and nights in the cold without food, given only a hot brew. He survived, though barely.

  The captives had been given an offer of freedom. They would join the band of mercenaries and fight, earning their freedom, but that would take years. Or they could remain with the group and share in its wealth. Sometimes if one was lucky, a captive was released without explanation, though that was a seldom occurrence.

  That’s when Royden had begun to discover the power and influence of the person who had forged a band of unwanted warriors into highly-skilled mercenaries for hire.

  He entered the longhouse to find Platt there. He didn’t like the man. He had been the one who led the attack on Royden’s clan, leaving several of his clansmen dead or wounded. He had discovered that Platt owed some kind of allegiance to the overall leader of the mercenaries and followed his command without question.

  “I will miss our morning talks,” Platt said with a snarling grin.

  Royden sat on the bench opposite Platt at one of the many tables, not because he wanted to, but because it was closest to the fire pit. He didn’t acknowledge his humor, he and Platt having shared no morning talks only silence when they had eaten.

  Unless he was going home, what did it matter where he was sent? Still, he asked, “Where am I to be sent this time?”

  Platt retained his smile. “Aren’t you going to miss me?”

  “You’re not going with me?” Royden asked, actually enjoying the small bit of good news.

  Platt laughed, a seldom heard sound from him. “You really want to take me home with you?”

  Royden wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly or if he misunderstood. He eyed Platt skeptically, but said nothing.

  “He has no use for you anymore. You are free to return home,” Platt said and raised his tankard, toasting Royden’s good fortune.

  Royden was still skeptical, Platt not always truthful, and he also wondered if he was possibly dreaming and yet to wake.

  “Can’t spare you a horse, but I can see you have food for a while, since it will take you a good month or more to reach home.” Platt shook his head at Royden’s skeptical glare. “It’s the truth and I’m glad to be rid of you.”

  “My brother, Arran?”

  “I don’t know about him, but with you being set free I don’t see why he wouldn’t be as well, but then again, he could be dead for all I know.”

  “That’s an outright lie,” Royden challenged. “You know more than you ever say.”

  “The reason I’ve survived all this time. I keep my mouth shut.” />
  Royden stood. He didn’t care if his belly was growling. If he was free, he wanted to leave now. He wanted to get home.

  “I’ll get that food and leave now,” Royden said and went to turn.

  “Royden.”

  He stopped.

  “A price was paid for your release. A steep one that few, if any, would pay. You’ll need to remember that one day.”

  Royden turned and walked away. Never had Platt offered any information. Why did he do so now? He didn’t bother to ask who it was who had bought his freedom. Platt wouldn’t tell him. He’d probably get satisfaction out of not telling him. He wondered, though, who had paid a steep price for his release, what that price was, and why had it been paid?

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Royden stood looking at the MacKinnon keep. He had approached it from the woods, not sure what he’d find. Once he had caught sight of it, he had to get closer, had to finally get home. The stone keep stood tall and proud and didn’t appear as neglected as he feared it might. Although he didn’t know what he’d find inside. For now, it didn’t matter. He was home. After five long, terrible years he was home.

  He turned and looked over the village and the sight disturbed him. The cottages were in disrepair and he saw no one tending to chores or lingering about. He didn’t even hear the bark of a dog.

  “Few have remained, but the few who have will be happy to see you. Happy to have a chieftain once again.”

  Royden turned to see Bethany standing just outside the open doors of the keep.

  “You stayed,” he said pleased to see a familiar face, family of sorts.

  “Someone had to be here if your sister returned,” she said.

  Tears glistened in her eyes that had aged since Royden had last seen her. Her hair had turned completely gray and she appeared thinner, a slight stoop to her shoulders, but the broad smile she wore let him know how happy she was to see him.