by Fiona Faris
“We dae no’ hae mich time. Their battalion will barrel right on top o’ us ony minute now. We hae tae keep movin’,” Andrew said as he was solely focused on surviving the battle.
Donald and three other men seemed infatuated with the young woman Donald was holding hostage to his person. Andrew observed in disgust as the men draped their hands all over her tattered arisaid. In a fit of rage, he sliced the wooden desk, the splintered wood stealing everyone’s attention.
“Ye dunderheids are goin’ tae get us a’ killed! Ye act like ye hae ne’er seen a fair lass since ye were born!” he shouted.
The men, with the exception of Donald, at once took their hands off the girl.
Donald snickered and made up the distance between him and Andrew. “Ye dae no’ call the shots ‘round ‘ere. Dae no’ ferget why we are ‘ere. It is tae take as many hoors like this as we can find.”
An intense stare down ensued between them, as a kirk mouse could be heard amongst the silence inside of Kellie Castle. Onlookers could cut the tension with a knife.
“Very well, whit’s the next command, my chief,” Andrew said with a slightly derisive tone.
Donald shunned Andrew and grasped two nearby candles that were dimly lighting their surroundings.
“Did ye listen tae nothin’ yer chief said in his inspirational sermon afore we left? We slaughter the rest o’ these heathens, take as many lassies as we find back home, an’ turn this place intae ashes,” Donald proclaimed and then went to setting the place on fire.
The image of the flames flickered in Andrew’s eyes. He was mesmerized by how small they started, only to catapult higher and higher. The smell of burning flesh soon engulfed his senses, and he had to beat back the overwhelming urge to empty the contents of his stomach.
He was loyal to his clan, his people, yet the scene before him left a bad taste in his mouth. Was this really what was necessary for their clan’s survival? His head said yes, but his heart did not agree.
“Come on, will ye? Oor dae ye want tae join ‘em in this fiery grave?” Rory, Andrew’s best friend, laughed as he yanked Andrew by the arm, pulling him away from the inferno.
Andrew and Rory raced down the stairs to the ground floor of the castle, then collapsed to their knees outside, wheezing from inhaling too much smoke.
“Get up, Andrew! We hae company!” Rory then shouted.
A dazed Andrew clutched his broadsword and scanned his surrounds. Before them stood four Erskine adversaries, blades drawn.
“An’ intae the fray we go again, my friend,” he told Rory.
“Aye, an’ ye ken whit I say tae the devil who waits tae take my soul?”
Andrew grinned. “Aye. ‘No’ taeday!’”
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About the Author
Fiona Faris is an American author of authentic historical Medieval & Scottish romance books. She started writing historical highlander romance after she visited the Scottish Highlands years ago with her husband.
Her books have received startling reviews about the humor, the darkness and the romance they have.
She lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband and their two sons. Before she started writing romance, she experienced the various occupations: computer programming, dog-training, and a substitute English teacher for the most part of her life... However, nothing could ever compare to writing stories depicting the majestic and mysterious Scottish Highlands!
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