ROMANCE: Romantic Comedy: Love in 30 Days - The Best Plans Don't Always Work! (Plus 19 FREE Books Book 13)

by Jane Keeler

  Everyone in the town was nervous to see the new laird – and his wife, who was rumoured to be a beauty. Everyone except Aidan, that was. He showed little interest in the things that the rest of the town went crazy over. His only passion appeared when he was hunting, as he so loved to do. Watching him with a bow and arrow, quietly sizing up his catch and striking without warning was a thrilling experience. Celia had often felt envious of the freedom her parents allowed him, but she knew that the animals he hunted were often the only good food that would appear on their table.

  Her other brothers, some of them many years older than Aidan, had struggled with hunting. Their grandfather had taught all the boys the skill, but it was a difficult job, especially when animals were scarce. The rough terrain made it hard even when there were many animals, the steps of wild rabbits and red deer being far more suited to the hills than that of a human. Even in the off season, Aidan could find them, coaxing them out of their hiding places to help the the entire town with his catches as well as his own family. It was a talent, and he knew he was valued. It was how he could afford to live the way he did. People left him alone, and he was never involved in brawls or contests, so what did they care? He could go on living his life separately from them so long as he kept up the hunt. And he did, so all was well.

  Aidan’s isolation was nothing new to the town. His strength and good looks had attracted many potential wives, but he remained alone. It was a choice, everyone knew. He chose to be different. Some resentment rose up, but this ill feeling was resolved the next time he helped them through hardship. The other men looked at him with envy, knowing what he could have but chose to give up. He was immune to it all.

  A few years ago, no one in their small crofting community had known who Aidan was. His silence had kept him far from the spotlight. A panic had risen up in the town because a young boy had been missing for some days, last seen wandering around the rocky hills and trees. Aidan had rescued him from the cold, sheltering him and bringing him back to the community on his way back from a hunting trip. He hadn’t asked for a word of thanks, but the entire town felt indebted to him.

  In the peace of his own mind, he knew why he kept himself separate. He did not want to be seen as a part of it, this meaningless existence of desperately trying to survive and please the Laird. It was not that he felt better than anyone else, but simply that he did not see the point in it all. He could survive perfectly well alone, removing himself from the misery when he could. He had considered leaving their community. At times he did wonder why he stayed –but the town’s pessimism had become a part of him. His heart did not allow him to believe that there could be a better life anywhere. The whole world must be filled with the same kind of drudgery.

  Deep within him, there lay a kind of hope. For the croft as well as for him. Maybe if there was a new Laird, a fair one… These thoughts were dangerous. This hope was dangerous. Those who allowed the seeds of it to grow within him were crushed under the weight of the awful knowledge of life when it hit them. He didn’t think he could bear to watch innocent children like Celia go through that the same way he had, but he knew it would happen. That hope remained even in the oldest of the town, filling the air with that desperate desire for change. Though it seems everyone anticipated a new life, secretly harbouring these hopes within them, Aidan did not allow himself the luxury. Next week, when the new Laird arrived, he would make his judgement. Not before then.

  ***

  Sweat rose on his forehead, beads dripping into his eyes as he ran through the dense woods. He pushed strands of golden hair back from his face as they escaped their tie. His feet found the path unerringly, their regular thuds on the soft ground keeping him in a rhythm. The crossbow strung across his back made short, staccato noises as he moved, but he endeavoured to be silent as he got closer. The animal in front of him had not yet sensed his presence, graceful and calm as it grazed on a nearby bush. Coming to a halt, he moved slowly and quietly, arm extended to pull the crossbow to his front in one fluid motion. As he loaded the bolt there was a click, just loud enough to get the red deer’s attention. It looked up and stiffened, eyes panicked, poising its slender muscles to take flight. But it was too late, unable to identify the source of the noise before the bolt landed right on its mark. The red deer fell silently to the floor of the forest, and Aidan smiled briefly. There would be food for his croft tonight.

  Crouching down beside the deer, he said a short prayer of thanks for this luck. Hunting had been difficult recently, and the entire crofting community were distracted from their usual productivity by their anticipation of the new laird. He was meant to be arriving today, if his journey had not been delayed. The weather was getting worse as they moved from summer to autumn, and birds were beginning to leave. He looked to the skies, which were mired with a layer of grey cloud. Rain would be reassuring, that cool blanket of water which was a part of his earliest memories. It would at least mean that some part of their lives was to remain unchanging.

  He hoisted the deer onto his shoulders, the warm weight not a burden but a promise. His pace was slower, but he would not return with empty hands. Today, he would not have to face the disappointment on the faces of his family. The lull of this slower rhythm was far more satisfying to him than the frantic beat of his feet while he hunted. His job was complete, and he allowed a wave of happiness to come over him.

  He ran for a long time at this constant pace, his head clear of worries and doubts for the time being. The skies opened up and rain began to fall, bringing with it a sense of cleansing. He breathed in the fresh damp air, the mud forming around his feet rising as he neared the grazing hill. The sheep were undisturbed by him as he deftly avoided the slipperiest parts of the mud to come to the bottom of the hill. The crofts he had known all his life were laid out in front of him, but everyone’s attention was on the laird’s castle.

  A procession was arriving there, the new laird and his men making a lot of noise as they rode in on their horses. They ignored the townspeople, who craned their necks to get a better look at the new Laird. He threw an imposing silhouette, a dark shadow against the setting sun. Tonight would not be his night to talk, the drinking horn he held in his hand making that clear. This would be a night of celebration after a long journey. He was in a rush to get to the castle, where he would rest, warm and sheltered from the rain.

  His wife sat on her own horse, wrapped in thick cloaks and barely visible. She was slumped on the horse, not relaxed but exhausted. The Laird ignored her just as much as he did the crofters, who watched his every movement with baited breath, judging and trying to figure him out. Aidan knew the people of the croft would pass some kind of judgement on their new landlord even before he had spoken to them. He hoped they would stick to fact instead of the idealistic fantasies some of them were so talented at concocting. That way the impressionable children would not be too crushed when their new Laird proved much the same as the last.

  Aidan was pulled from his thoughts by a sharp gasp running through the air. The crofters stood still, mouths agape at the new Laird. His procession had stopped and he roared at his wife, who was no longer on her horse. People were craning their necks, searching for signs of life. What would happen if his wife died before she even got to the castle? She lay on the ground in a pile of clothing, collapsed. There was a silence as the Laird realised she was not moving. A flicker of movement as her arm moved spurred another round of grunting curses. She stirred and sat up, swaying gently. Whether it was dehydration or exhaustion, she looked awful. His raised voice passed right over her as she attempted to stand, nearly falling right over again. Grasping her horse, she appeared vulnerable and embarrassed to be standing in front of the crofters like this.

  After yelling unintelligible words at her for a more few seconds, the Laird was bored. He moved to carry on, leaving her there in the mud. A few of his men stopped and hoisted her back on to her horse. She flopped onto its back, relieved not to have to carry her own weight any longer. Her delicate
hands linked around the horse’s neck as it trotted on, following the Laird to the castle.

  There was a dead silence from the townspeople as the procession faded into the distance. The old Laird would never have treated his wife in such a manner. Though he worked the crofters hard, he had been an honourable man. Nothing like this roaring beast who had stood in front of them, their proud and awful new leader, only moments before. If their crofting village could survive this awful tyrant it would be a miracle. A man who did not respect his wife would most certainly not respect the crofters and their way of life.

  The air crackled with a different kind of energy to the rest of the week. Anticipation collapsed, crashing down to be replaced by a surging anger. They had pinned their hopes on this man who had turned out to be nothing but an abusive drunkard. Feelings of indignance rose through the people of the village, who forgot their places quickly. The land and animals they worked every day of the year stood around them, seeming to support their rebellious moment. But it was but a moment, not to last. The crofters remembered their place just as quickly as they had forgotten it, and it was under this awful man. It felt natural to hate him, and their anger soon subsided, morphing into a painful acceptance of their fates. This was now their lives.

  Still a while away from his home, Aidan had felt the anger but not the acceptance the crofters had so quickly gained. He trudged over the now muddy ground as the skies began to clear for nightfall, a freshness in the air that he had not felt in a long time. A faint memory of warmth lingered within the deer’s body, and it fuelled his thoughts. The scene with the Laird and his wife had stirred something within him that had been buried long ago. Compassion was not an emotion that had ever helped him in such difficult conditions, so he had suppressed it. To him, it felt like weakness, a flaw in his character. He felt it, and pushed it back down deep inside him. But now it was bubbling to the surface, a new wave of emotion for this woman he had not been within a mile of in his life. The sight of her trembling figure and the ominous, darkly powerful Laird standing over her had awakened something in him. He felt called to action, needing to do something. These were dangerous thoughts, which he would not have allowed within the realms of his mind a few hours ago. It seemed that life was about to change for Aidan Foirbeis.

  ***

  The night was perfect and still. Stars spread wide across the sky, and the river ran fast through their reflections. They waved and flickered, their bright points disturbed as Susan looked down at the rushing water. She trembled, unsure of herself in this new environment. Though the forest was soft and open, she felt ill at ease. Something was not right. A dark shadow fell across the starlight, and she tried to run. There was a thud, a dull ringing in her ears before she felt it. The wet ground soaked through her cloak, and she was there again, sinking into the mud. How had she fallen? She did not recall. This time was different. Relaxation came suddenly, a sharp contrast in mood. No harsh white daylight came through the clouds to make this moment public, placed on a stage before an audience of village people. It felt close and intimate, with only the moon and that sparkling array of stars to lay clues as to identity and reasoning. This time there was only one pair of eyes on her, and they were open and curious instead of ridiculing. She felt those kind eyes on her and a hand reached down, supportive and steady. Reaching up to it, her hand shook, the tremor following through her whole body. The insecurity and distrust came back too easily. His hand reached down to meet hers, and she felt its heat just a hair’s breadth away. Her fingers extended to his, but he was gone.

  It was too late, and she was awake to the stony world of the castle. Fingers reached in front of her, ready for the promised touch that had not come. The reassurance and support was gone, vanished into the wisps of her dream memory. Her husband snored beside her, his weight curving the bed unnaturally. His sleep was punctuated with grunts and snorts, hers with waking sighs as she once again failed to have a whole night’s sleep next to him. Wrapping a cloak around her shoulders, she rose, lightly padding to the window. The figure in the dream had developed, from clouds to starlight to a man. Often she dreamed of a saviour, something who would take her from this sagging bed to a new life, but never had they taken a human form before. This time had been different, an actual tangible figure. She felt that if only she had stayed in that dream for long enough she could have touched him, felt his warm and soft touch on her hand. The stars outside stood as bright and true as they had in her dream. Surely if they could be the same as in a dream, her saviour could too.

  Far across the crofts, in his family’s cottage, Aidan lay wondering how he could help the vulnerable woman he had seen fall before his whole town. There was some connection which he felt between them, and her desperation feeding his desire to help was only a part of it. Men like the new Laird had always made him sick to the stomach, though their numbers were great. Aidan’s sisters and mother were precious to him, and he did not see how other men could not recognise the value of these strong women. Or maybe they did, he thought, his cynicism coming into his thoughts once again. Maybe, just like with the crofters and their desire for independence, when these men saw strength or value of any kind, they were determined to crush it. Her strength had shown in her hard demeanour when faced with her husband’s condescending words and actions. She had become used to it, and already knew how to survive this. But why should she have to? Not for love, certainly. The couple had exchanged no feeling during the cold encounter he had seen. The Laird had no sympathy for his wife, and she did not dignify his behaviour with a response. Power, perhaps. If not for herself, then for her family. She could escape no more than she could turn her back on her whole life.

  He felt the same way. The crofts were his duty, and he had to provide for the people. The burden was difficult to bear at times like these. Sometimes he felt as though its weight may crush him. The reign of the new, terrible Laird would only make it heavier. The thatched roof above him was strained in the wind, the cold night threatening to break in. Winter was coming, and this new ruler could make this cold season even more unfriendly. His thoughts were broken by a noise outside. Rising from his bed, he walked to the door, unsure what he would find. The temperature outside struck through him to his very core, but he walked on, curious as to what could be moving about on the croft at this hour. The sheep rarely ever had enough energy or independent thought to wander into another field, so surely it would be something else.

  As his eyes adjusted he recognised the large, shadowy figure for what it was. Graceful and faintly shimmering in the dim starlight stood a horse. It trotted towards him, snuffling with its muzzle. He greeted it with an open palm, stroking its nose as it nuzzled into him. “Where did you come from?” he asked quietly, though he already knew the answer. This was not a croft horse. It was tall and lean, the curves of the slender muscles along its side unaccustomed to running through steep hills or pulling ploughs. It was one of the Laird’s horses, and it looked tired and confused. He knew what he had to do. If the horse was found on his family’s croft in the morning they would all be accused of stealing from the Laird. He shuddered to think what punishment they would be given. Whispering to it to remain where it was, he went inside and began to dress. His family did not stir, used to him leaving in the small hours of the morning to go on hunting trips.

  He had nor ridden a horse since he was much younger, and it had been incomparable to this. This was a horse made for a rider, not for work in the fields. He felt its muscles working with his, stretching and tensing to match the movement of his own body. It responded and turned to dodge fields full of sheep and crops, taking him swiftly across the crofts. The air rushed through his hair, which he had left loose and now flowed out behind him into the night. It was exhilarating to move so fast with only the stars as a guide. They did not hesitate before galloping through the river to get to the castle quickly, breaking the reflections of the stars into many shards with the ripples they created. Once across, he slowed the horse’s quick steps to a quieter
walk. Fearing retribution from the Laird, they were near silent as they inched closer to the stables.

  This side of the river was silent. The comfort of livestock and the crofters had been with him his whole life, and their absence was strange to him. No small noises of snores or rustling grass reassured him that he was close to home. It was another world, strange and silent and contained by the stone of the castle. Seeing a flicker of movement in one of the windows near the top of the stone walls, he decided it would be best to stop here. With regret in his every movement, he dismounted and stroked the horse to say his farewells. This had been entirely different to his normal life, and he regretted letting the horse trot away by itself to the safety of the castle. His eyes lingered on the castle a moment longer and he caught another movement in the window before moving back to cross the river alone.

  Hoping he had not been seen by the Laird, his journey back was silent and lonely. Guilt consumed him – perhaps his curiosity and getting so close to the castle would mean punishment for his family. Someone had been awake inside that castle, watching. The rush of flying past the crofts made them seem smaller, but now they consumed his world again. Escape seemed more tempting than it ever had before. He thought of stealing the horse back and running away on its back, flying past the life he knew to leave it behind. Hunting on the horse, and providing for himself alone. No responsibility, not duty, just him and the horse moving together as one. With some effort he shoved these thoughts away from his mind. The Laird’s possessions were the Laird’s alone, and to covet them was dangerous, even with a kinder Laird than this beast. Games like this were dangerous.