Rescued by a Highlander

by Susan Payne

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Rescued by a Highlander

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Stories by Susan Payne

  SCOTLAND 1754

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  On the ride back to the fortress, Gawain had not turned around, knowing what the young woman looked like up in the saddle. Her legs splayed to both sides of the animal covered with the tight knit hose most men wore while riding through woods, the chainmail covering her more interesting attributes. The short length of dark blond hair emphasized her chin and jaw line which spelt beauty to his eyes. Her mouth, though most often held in a mutinous frown, appeared kissable.

  In fact, Gawain wanted to kiss it into a soft poutiness, make those green eyes spark with desire not hatred. Even though he may have to sleep with one eye open to prevent the little vixen from piercing him with his own dagger in the night, he would think the experience of bedding her well worth the danger. He knew a smile settled on his features as he imagined her squirming under him once they were in his bed. Such thoughts had made for an uncomfortable ride home.

  Rescued by a Highlander

  by

  Susan Payne

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Rescued by a Highlander

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Susan Payne

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Edition, 2020

  Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3311-3

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3312-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my lovely daughters for the hours of reading and encouragement with which they always supported me. And my husband who still takes my breath away with his sense of romance.

  Other Stories by Susan Payne

  Harrison Ranch & Macgregor's Mail Order Bride

  Sweetwater Series, Book One

  A Midwife for Sweetwater & A New Face in Town

  Sweetwater Series, Book Two

  Jeremy's Home & There's Always Hope

  Sweetwater Series, Book Three

  New Banker in Town & Happy Endings

  Sweetwater Series, Book Four

  The Persistent Marquess

  Forever Kind of Woman

  SCOTLAND 1754

  CHAPTER ONE

  Two figures huddled near a smoky fire, dwarfed by the large conifers surrounding them. The dampness those same trees held to the ground was making the silver-haired man shiver uncontrollably. Another day without food, their growling stomachs would be the music they went to sleep with again tonight. The old man was already frail and the single cloak about his shoulders not enough to keep the night cold out although in this thick forest, the sun never seemed to permeate enough to relieve the chill and damp anyway.

  The younger, thinner of the two stirred the ashes, trying to ignite the branches, but the damp had done its damage. All it did was disburse what heat was there and cause more smoke to rise in front of the weary travelers. Just as both sets of eyes seemed to close from sheer exhaustion, a noise alerted the youngest they were no longer alone.

  “Stand and show yourselves, we have you surrounded,” a man’s voice shouted close by, too close for those on the ground.

  The old man tried lifting his head and make out what was happening, disoriented from his recent tumble into sleep. The thin youth jumped up with sword in hand, stepping between the old man and the much larger intruder welding a wide-bladed sword of his own.

  Gawain noted the young man was wearing cheap, light-weight chainmail which most blades would easily pierce. The helmet, that would have protected his head, still lay on the ground where it had been removed for the night. He judged the man to be no more than sixteen or so with most of his growing yet to do. No muscle filled out his chest or arms. The boy’s hair hung straight covering the beardless skin of his face. Gawain was about to say something to disperse the tension that erupted at the first warning call when the youth began a fight in earnest.

  The young man raised the sword and swung, trying to drive Gawain away from the fire and the man still on the ground as if planted in place. Unable even to realize that running was his only salvation.

  The two swordsmen went at each other as if life were on the line. Gawain first merely wanted to know whom his hunting party had been following and why they were on his property. A hunt for stag became a scouting party when they came across tracks of two horses moving furtively through the forest. Staying to areas with low cover, which in these thick woods was difficult to find.

  The ground was barren of all but moss due to the lack of sunlight filtering down through the canopy of leaves and needles. It was the scent of smoke that finally led Gawain and his men to where their prospects were camping so early in the day.

  He could tell by the now wide swings of the sword that the younger fighter was tiring from the expense of energy it took to lift the heavy blade. He planned to let the younger man wear himself out so Gawain could claim victory without an unnecessary death.

  Gawain had had enough of this. He had lost a day of hunting to this ridiculous trailing of two weary men who didn’t seem to pose a threat to his clan. Renewing his attack, he went at the combatant with his still ample vigor - driving the youth back until a downed tree prevented further retreat.

  Just as Gawain was going to knock the sword out of the other’s hand, he heard a feminine voice shout out, “No, Father!”

  Gawain turned slightly to see the old man had finally revived himself enough to try to lift a sword from the saddle he had been leaning against. The other two burly men of the hunting party grabbed it out of his hand. However, that wasn’t what caught Gawain’s attention. It was the fact that the yell was not one of a youth, even a sixteen-year-old, but that of a woman.

  He looked at the now prostrate swordsman and smiled as he recognized the difference between a half-grown male and a fully-grown female. However, that didn’t make Gawain forget the anger and original strength behind the sword swings he had blocked from inflicting tremendous damage to his own body.

  Standing over the woman, his sword point at her exposed throat, he asked, “Do you relinquish your weapon and stand to parley?”

  The daggers thrown from her green eyes would have made a lesser man rethink the offer, but Gawain merely smiled and said sotto voiced, “You are not stupid enough to think you can escape me and my men.” A statement not a question, then finished, “And what of your father? He is too weary to continue even if I were to send you on your way this very instant. We noticed your horses are about worn down to skin and bone, too.”

  Which was a snide way of telling
Jillian she appeared worn and frazzled, she was sure. Well, she didn’t care. She wasn’t there to appease his sense of chivalry or to look comely for him and his men. If he tried anything like that, she still had the dirk her mother had given her before she died strapped to the inside of her thigh.

  Jillian was furious she had allowed these three men to sneak-up on her. She hadn’t even been aware she and her father were being followed. She would need to think quickly to save her father from the death she knew her cousin had planned for him. But how to do so under the watch of three large men?

  Their horses seemed much fresher than the ones she and her father had been riding for the past two weeks. If she could get two of those mayhaps they had a chance of escape. But how to get her father mounted? It had taken all her strength and a large stump to do so this morning. His strength was dwindling faster than hers without food and water and his health was precarious to begin with.

  “Very well, I surrender under duress,” Jillian stated as she plunged the sword into the earth and regained her feet without taking her gaze from the man who bested her.

  The large man chuckled. “All surrender is under duress, believe me.” He pulled the blade from the dirt. “Who are you and why are you on my land without permission?”

  The man she fought asked his men to remain beside her father now relieved of his weapon and, it seemed, his will to fight, as well. His frail appearance worried her even more compared to the strong, healthy men standing either side of him.

  Righting herself, she stood in front of the leader, not taking for granted he wouldn’t stab her through now she was no longer armed. “My father is Lord Riley, Earl of Crawford from the north, and we are simply passing through. Returning to England,” she said without introducing herself.

  “You travel light for two people going so far this time of year. Is it possible you have not told me the truth and you are, in fact, wanted for some crime? Thievery? Murder? Mayhem?” he asked in a teasing manner.

  Jillian wasn’t about to find humor in the situation. “As you just pointed out, we are travelling light. Hardly a thief then without a pack horse carrying sacks of stolen treasure.”

  Still smiling, the dark-haired man with the thick stubble on his face making him seem even more menacing, continued, “I didn’t say you were good at it.” Then glanced over to her weakened father and asked, “Are you in fact, Lord Riley? That was a grant given as a reward by the English king to families who have done him a service. What service have you done for him that you received such a boon?”

  “I married a niece who had been giving his Royal Majesty a difficult time at court over his pestering her older sister. She had turned him away from her sister’s bed. It was the farthest property he had available at the time,” her father told the man honestly for it was no secret within their family. Jillian took pride in the knowledge her mother had stood her ground when faced with a king’s wrath. The good woman was forced to marry a man she came to love fiercely as a penance. Jillian felt her mother’s blood flow through her veins at times such as this. When she was needed to protect those, she loved.

  The leader turned toward Jillian again. “So, your mother was a termagant? A type of flea on the monarch’s ass to the point she was sentenced to live in the crags of Scotland?”

  “My mother loved her home. So, did we, until my father’s sister’s son decided he had waited long enough for his inheritance. He moved into the castle to take over from my father. Then as Father’s health failed, Dennis took over more and more of the duties of the lord. I could see my cousin was not content even then and I needed to take my father to safety. The need to leave quickly and without provisions was one of necessity not poor planning,” she threw at him angrily at the assumed derision.

  “I was asking for my own curiosity. I take an interest in anyone who tarries on my land, but I can see your father and horses are both in need of rest and good food. I am, Laird Macgregor, and as your host, I will escort you to my keep and give you time to recuperate before carrying on with your trip.”

  “No,” she protested loudly. “I mean, I thank you for your generosity, Laird, but my father must be in England as soon as I can get him there. I do not know if you are the only men following us.”

  “I saw no signs of anyone else and we were well back when we spotted your trail crossing that of a herd of Red deer we were trailing. But see to your father before you turn down my offer. He does not appear well.” The Laird glanced toward her father barely able to stand any longer, grasping the strong arm of one of his captors to stay upright.

  “Only for a day, then.” Jillian relinquished without gratitude.

  “For as long as I say,” answered the man in charge as he turned and told his men to saddle the two still tired horses for the lord and his daughter, allowing the old man to sit and rest once again.

  “I can saddle my own bloody horses,” Jillian said as she stomped toward the animals tethered to a branch nearby.

  The Laird waved his men off and let her lift and belt the saddles. Then one of the men helped Lord Riley unto his mount while Jillian got onto her own saddle after tying her helmet to the back. She rode next to her father behind the Laird, who was at lead, with the other two men bringing up the rear as if they were securing criminals or captives of war to the dungeons.

  The men all dressed in similar clothes proving they had been out hunting when they came across her and her father. Leather breeches to protect their legs from thorns and brush, wool tunics with long thick sleeves for the same reason. Crossbows were hanging from their saddles as well as a sack probably holding the bolts to use in them. Wide belts held both swords and knives to be used on the game and their boots appeared expensive and of a quality seldom seen this far to the north. The Laird must travel to the south for some finer things. Mayhaps she could convince him it was time to make a trip to the border to stock-up on winter gear. If she could travel with such a man, her cousin wouldn’t dare attack them.

  Jillian, still feeling raw from her capture, for she could not look upon her so called host’s ultimatum as anything besides what it was, rode silently. She and her father were his prisoners. His easily made remark of ‘for as long as I say’ did not go unnoticed. She did not doubt her ability to escape and hide from any search party he may send out after her. The same could not be said for her father.

  Her chest ached as she pictured him swaying with fatigue. He had looked so helpless trying to come to her aid, unable to even lift the sword let alone swing it with any kind of accuracy. Yet he had bravely tried…tried because he could see she was losing her battle with the much larger competitor.

  And she had been losing. She did not doubt the other man’s strength or stamina. He had more of both than she did. Her female body less able to handle the weight of the sword for more than a few minutes rather than the hours her host could probably maintain.

  It was hopefully the last time she would need to face the truth that no matter how long or how desperately she trained, she would not have the strength to fight off an attack by a man the size of the one riding in front of her now.

  She felt the horses speed up of their own volition, telling her clearer than any words they must be close to her captor’s home. She could see the outline against the horizon, the dark stone defensive wall with a central gatehouse and the higher roof tops of the keep rising above that.

  Peering up as they passed through the gate, the murder-hole where boiling oil or burning logs were dropped onto any invaders was easily discerned, even in the dark. She tried not to show the shiver that ran down her spine. Her father’s castle was large but this one was more defendable. Even without the now unused moat, crossing the barmkin outside the wall would put anyone in jeopardy of the arrows flying from the bows of the sentries positioned on the ramparts.

  How many hundreds of years had this castle stood? How many times had invaders been pushed back and killed trying to unseat the lairds of this land? She knew the history of her father’s ca
stle, but it was a history of men who had no link to her. No blood flowed through her veins from those other lords. They had all been extinguished before her father had been granted the title and land of Castle Crawford. She wasn’t sure how she felt about riding into the encampment of her host without more knowledge of his loyalties and allegiances.

  The horses crossed the inner bailey, their hooves now clapping nosily on the paving bricks uniting the stables and the keep. The wide doors into the living portion were closed in a manner of unwelcome. Jillian peered around the courtyard as if it was her last peek of freedom. She watched as the two other men helped her father from his horse and one of them let her father hold onto him as they walked slowly toward the doors.

  Jillian dismounted on her own. She wouldn’t allow any sign of feminine weakness impact what would be done with her and was expecting to be treated as an uninvited guest. She felt naked without her sword, but all her weapons beside the dirk had been taken from her and her mount. She stood stoically waiting for orders.

  Due to the slowness of his guests’ horses, the group did not get back until long after nightfall. The horses were led away by the stable lads and the two huntsmen left to go to their homes as soon as Gawain dismissed them. Once inside the door of the large stone keep, Gawain sent Lord Riley to follow a servant to his room while he led Jillian to one himself.

  He could tell she was on edge the entire time they walked down the darkened halls, usually lit by the daylight that made its way through the arrow loops. After a very convoluted route, Gawain stopped in front of a door and bowed her in.

  “I will send someone to you in the morning. It is late, but I know there will be food in the kitchen and I can have you a meal if you desire one.”

  “No, no food.” Then added belatedly, “Thank you. I will just sleep and we will be on our way as soon as daylight breaks.”

  “Are you sure your father is in such danger you would chance killing him in your rush to get to England? He is almost falling down with weariness and lack of sustenance. You will have only a body to deliver back to the Sassenachs if you try to keep up this pace.”