Forget Me Not, My Scottish Love (Heart of a Highlander Collection Book 3)

by Allie Palomino

  “Bitch!” Gillyanne screeched.

  Gillyanne began pummeling Abby. Abby screamed in anger and punched Gillyanne in the face. The momentary stun it caused gave Abby the opening she needed, and she kicked Gillyanne several times before she flew off her.

  Gillyanne howled.

  “I’m going to enjoy killing ye!” Gillyanne was slowly rising.

  Abby stood up with the vigor of one uninjured, but side-stepped to catch her balance. Anger and rage fueled her body and helped pump the blood in her veins. She smiled.

  “Come at me. I stand here waiting.”

  Gillyanne hunkered low and started charging Abby, who’d smartly placed herself in front of a tree. At the very last minute, Abby moved to the left and Gillyanne ran head first into the hard trunk. She fell onto the ground and didn’t move.

  Abby waited a few moments, watchful, before hurrying over to Trystan. She closed her eyes in relief as she saw him restfully sleeping. The rain had calmed a bit. She looked up, and saw the branches were thick with leaves. The baby was relatively dry considering the onslaught of rain.

  Abby looked back at Gillyanne. She would not be caught unaware. Gillyanne still lay on the ground, unmoving.

  Abby took Trystan, and moved him closer to the trunk where the tree offered more protection. She held onto his small body for a moment longer, and placed him down gently. She whimpered but hardened herself. There was no other choice- she had to complete her mission.

  Abby turned around in time to see Gillyanne rise. She had a large gash on her forehead, where blood dripped down. Gillyanne was breathing harshly.

  “Bitch. If it wasna for ye, I would have had Cameron. I hate ye,” Gillyanne said in an ominous voice that shook with hatred. “For being the traitorous fool that he was, he will die, but first, ye shall. Yer father was right. Ye’re nothing but a weak, stupid girl who isna worth horse’s dung.”

  “My father?”

  Lightning flashed. The thunder clapped.

  “Aye, yer father. We attempted to have yer paltry marriage annulled. I gave ye enough poison to rid ye of one bairn and prevent another one, but I couldna help myself from giving ye enough to kill ye. Ye should have died that day, damn insipid woman that ye are.”

  “My father wanted me dead?” Abby asked, surprised. While she knew her father hated her, she had no idea that he wanted her dead.

  “Nay. Ye’re of no use to him dead, though I tried to convince him ‘twas best. He wanted to prevent ye from conceiving. I wrote to him when first ye arrived. When Cameron tossed me out,” she said, her voice becoming hard, “I journeyed to yer father.”

  “He beat ye?” Abby asked, sounding happy at the thought. She gave a small laugh. “At least he employed his great skill against someone who deserved it for once.”

  Gillyanne bunched her hands at her side. “We plotted my return to the damn castle, and it was successful. Ye are so predictably naïve, Abigail. But with all my efforts, I couldna prevent yer bastard’s birth. There’s always time ye know.”

  Gillyanne smirked and looked over to Trystan. “Babies often die young, during unfortunate occurrences.”

  Abby was trembling, with her hands clenched at her sides. “Go near my son, and I vow that I’ll pull your tongue and every one of your teeth out,” Anny spat.

  “Hmmm…seems like I’ve made ye angry. But I’m the one here with the upper hand, Abigail. What a shame, too. Yer bastard will lose both his mother and father this day. Maybe I’ll raise him.”

  “Not while I still breathe,” Abby said, bending low. Wanting to move the violence away from Trystan, Abby charged Gillyanne. It caught her unaware. Abby ran into her, and together they fell on the ground.

  “You’ve taken enough from me, Gillyanne, and so help me God, today I will make you pay with your life!”

  Gillyanne opened her mouth to answer but Abby filled it with her fist. She hit Gillyanne with continuous punches. Abby poked her eyes, and dodged one of Gillyanne’s knees. In a last show of strength, Gillyanne flipped Abby off her. Abby hit the ground with a thump and a groan. She watched Gillyanne as she caught her breath.

  The eyes that settled on Abby were murderous. The hatred emanating from Gillyanne took her breath away.

  “Ye’re mistaken, Mouse. ‘Tis I who will be doing the killing today.”

  Gillyanne stood as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She counted to ten and then rushed Abby. Abby took precious seconds to look to her left. Finally, her hand found the dirk and she held it above her. Gillyanne was powerless to stop the velocity of her sprint, and was impaled by the dirk. She looked down as it embedded in her.

  How appropriate it was that the dirk was planted hilt-deep into her cold, black heart.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  There were a few remaining English soldiers battling- some still standing- but his men were making quick work of them.

  Cameron exhaled.

  His thirst was enormous. What an expenditure of energy the battle had been, but he’d only lost ten, maybe fifteen, men. His contingency of two hundred men had defeated a force of over four-hundred. The excitement of the fight still hummed through his veins. He was prepared to take on more and shook his arms, rolling his shoulders to ease their coiled power. The unrelenting rain was easing some.

  Damn Haynsworth. He’d probably sought out his allies and used their men. Nevertheless, Cameron was the victor. Forward, he and his men would march to kill the bastard.

  He saw Aidan and Keith about four hundred paces from him. They’d split to command the men at different points on the field. He turned around, sensing something unusual. He didn’t know what it was, but it was there. He looked around, but there was nothing or no one.

  The sun had set long ago. Thunder occasionally clapped its deafening and ominous bellow, and the lightning lit the sky like the sun at its zenith.

  And he felt it again.

  He turned around facing the direction from where they’d came.

  The direction back to Scotland.

  Back to his wife.

  Back to his son.

  And then he saw her, about two hundred paces away.

  She stood up slowly, after heaving a body off. She straightened herself out. He saw her run and was out of sight for a moment, and then she reappeared. She had a bundle in her arms but it was too dark for him to see properly. Then lightning illuminated the woman.

  Abby.

  His breath caught in his throat. Dear Lord, what was she doing here? He felt rage and unease fill his chest. His heart skipped a couple of beats.

  “Abby!” he roared, furious that she placed herself in danger.

  Unbelievable!

  Did she have no sense, following him into battle? She left the safety of the castle. Left behind their son!

  Another flash of lightning illuminated her and he saw her look lovingly down at the bundle.

  That froze his heart and robbed his breath.

  Trystan?

  “Abby!”

  Abby looked at him from the distance, miraculously hearing him over the roar of the thunder and the down-pour of rain.

  He began marching towards her when he saw her wave her left arm. He heard her faint voice, but couldn’t make out her words over the noise.

  Large droplets ran down his face like ants to a feast. Several times, he swiped his hand impatiently over his face to get the hair out of the way, and to be able to see her clearer.

  Still she waved at him, yelling.

  “…Around,” he’d heard her say.

  Around?

  As he turned, he saw an Englishman who had already raised his sword. In that brief moment, as Cameron saw the sword descend, he thought about the mistake he’d made. So worried he was about his wife and child, he forgot to keep his instincts alert. What good was his intent to protect her if he died while hastening towards her?

  The Englishman’s movements slowed as if every second shattered into smaller units.

  The rain pelted on Cameron’s head,
and slid down his face. He shook his head, breathing through his mouth, and reached for the sword at his side.

  Thunder clapped so loudly, it would have made angels cry.

  The lightning was so fierce, it illuminated the battlefield surrounding him.

  And still the sword lowered faster than he could reach his own. The Englishman had a smile on his face as the sword made impact.

  “Noooo! Cameron!” he heard his beloved scream in anguish and it echoed in his head. He groaned from the force and the pain the impact caused, as he fell upon the ground. Mud splattered up and around him. His sword fell to his right.

  She reached him and her chest heaved from forcing the air through her lungs. She held tightly onto the bundle in her arms. The rain had soaked them through, her dress hugging her body tightly. Her heavy dress made it difficult to maneuver.

  The English soldier stood in front of her and laughed. He ogled her from head to toe heatedly.

  “A prize,” Cameron heard him say from a distance. He was powerless to stop the man from grabbing his wife and child. The soldier forcibly took Trystan from her and laid him down next to Cameron.

  “Let nature take its course,” he sneered. “Filthy Scots.”

  Cameron heard her yell, at least he assumed it was a yell, for all he heard was a muffle.

  “Let me have my baby! Move! You killed my husband!” she shrieked, grief and anger giving her supernatural strength. Frantically and furiously, she kicked him in his most private area and held the dirk that had killed Gillyanne in both hands. She raised both arms above her head as he bent over groaning, and with all her strength, plunged it through his neck.

  Blood spurted all over her, mixing with the rain. The Englishman fell back, gurgling in shock.

  Abby turned back to her husband and child. Cameron lay on the ground looking up towards the sky and its falling rain. Blood oozed from his chest, where the sword had cut.

  She crumbled onto her knees in tears and in shock.

  “Cameron?” she whispered, looking at him.

  He barely moved his eyes towards hers.

  “Cameron!!!” she yelled, shaking with fear.

  She lowered her face mere inches above his. She looked at Trystan who had not stopped wailing. Droplets fell gently onto Cameron’s face from hers.

  “L-love y-ye b-both,” he managed to say brokenly, in the barest of whispers. He struggled to breathe, his chest hurting from the wound. She’d heard him, though.

  “I love you, Cameron,” she whispered as her tears mixed with the rain. “I’m going to find Keith or Aidan, Cameron. Breathe for me,” she said brokenly. “Breathe, yes? Think of Trystan,” she said, choking on their son’s name. Cameron was barely responding.

  His eyes seemed to close slowly, though he fought to keep them open.

  “Cameron!” she yelled.

  Nothing.

  “Cam-e-ron!!!” she screamed in distress. “Please!”

  No reaction.

  “Return to me, Cameron,” she whispered fiercely, both of her palms sandwiching his face.

  Silence. No movement.

  “CAMERON!!!” she bellowed in agony. The baby wailed louder.

  She noticed her hands for the first time and saw the blood covering them even as the rain washed it away. She looked to his bloodied chest, then to his bloodied face, and she snapped.

  Her screams came out strangled as she was transported back to that night.

  She remembered stabbing Elliot’s man. All the blood!

  Lightning flashed, and she looked around her, seeing the bodies littering the ground as they had that night.

  Blood flowed along with the rain.

  The blood.

  Cameron lay unable to move. He watched Abby look at him and saw her lips move but could not hear what she said. He couldn’t feel the weight of his son lying beside him.

  Abby’s head snapped up, looking in the distance and then saw her look down to her hands and rub them. She slapped them on the ground, causing mud to slosh upwards.

  She began screaming again.

  Her chest heaved for more air to provide to her strained lungs, and it looked as if she couldn’t breathe enough of it in. He wanted to comfort her. He tried to lift his hand but could not. He tried to move his head and at least, he’d managed that small feat. He saw him coming for her.

  But he was too late to warn her.

  Another damn Englishman stood behind her with his own sword raised. Cameron mumbled and moaned. He tried to raise his arm to push her out of the way but couldn’t.

  TRY! His mind screamed.

  His body would not cooperate. His ears were deaf, his body was immobile, and his mind was cloudy.

  He lay there helplessly watching his wife’s slaughter.

  Aidan and Keith looked over to their right. They’d rejoined one another once the fighting had ceased. They’d told their men to have a long respite.

  “Damn it’s dark, even with the lightning,” Keith said. The night flashed again with its tentacles of light.

  “Aye. But ‘tis enough light to see how many English bastards we fell.”

  They laughed.

  “Where do ye think Cameron is?”

  Keith shook his head. “Ye know how it is. He’s probably meticulously gathering our fallen men, and taking a tally. I cannot see how many we lost without walking towards them one by one, or without more lightning or the moon. ‘Tis too dark.”

  As they turned, they saw a figure- a lone rider- coming forward, breaking a part from a small contingency. As he approached on the horse, Keith and Aidan tensed.

  “Friend, not foe, approaches,” they heard the man say.

  “Patrick?” Keith asked.

  “Aye, Keith,” he said, and when he saw by the dim light that he was in front of them, he dismounted.

  Another lightning bolt showed the field littered with bodies.

  “‘Tis a massacre!” Patrick said.

  “Aye. We were the survivors,” Aidan said over the now calming rain.

  “What are ye doing here? Ye were to take command of the castle,” Keith said, irritation and concern creeping into his voice.

  “Abby left the holding. I left Hamish in charge as soon as I found her note. Gillyanne took Trystan. Abby said to follow the trail of herbs.”

  “Where is she?” Aidan asked, looking around. “We’ve not seen her.”

  As the rain clouds moved out overhead, the moon showed brightly in the dark sky. It was as if by magic the storm was clearing. Streaks and flashes of lightning still lit the velvet sky and it was then that they saw a woman standing over a fallen man.

  “Is that her?” Patrick asked.

  “Damn it, yes!” Keith said, cursing as he saw an Englishman approach from behind her.

  “Where’s Cameron?” Aidan asked, as they began to run towards her.

  “Abby,” Keith yelled as they ran, but nothing was heard over the painful scream of their lady.

  As the men opened their mouths to shout a warning, the Englishman arced his sword towards her. He used the hilt to hit her side, back, and head. Abby crumbled to the ground and the Englishman sunk his sword down.

  The mud made it hard for them to run. It was sticky and the faster they ran, the more their feet stuck deeper into the sludge.

  “Hurry! Two come on horseback, towards Abby,” Keith yelled in rage.

  Too late. The two Englishmen hurriedly hoisted her limp body face down on the horse. They urged their horses on, moving through the muddy ground.

  At last Keith, Aidan, and Patrick reached the place where Abby had been.

  “Do ye think she survived that?” Aidan asked, his voice indicating the futility of the question.

  “Nay,” Keith said brokenly. “They slaughtered her and quickly took her away. How will I tell Cameron that his wife is dead, and there’s not even a body to bury?” he asked hoarsely.

  The rain had stopped moments before they reached Cameron, almost as if it hadn’t started at all. The s
ky and ground was illuminated by the full moon.

  “Ye willna need to tell him anything,” Aidan said gravely. “He’s dead.”

  They looked down, finding their laird, brother, cousin, and friend bleeding from a chest wound, with his eyes open to the sky.

  Though his face was wet from the rain, the men knew that some of the droplets on his face had fallen from his eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A month later

  “He awakens,” he heard a woman say from a distance over the swoosh of his own breath in his ears.

  “Truly?” he heard another ask shakily. “For certain this time?”

  “Let us hope,” the first woman said.

  He moaned, a weak attempt to speak. His voice sounded hoarse and unused.

  “He attempts to speak. Look! He’s trying to open his eyes,” the same woman exclaimed. “Dear Lord, thank ye,” she whispered reverently. “Thank ye.”

  He tried opening his eyes but it felt as if there was something keeping them shut?

  What had happened?

  He tried moving his eyeballs first. That was difficult, too. He moaned again, this time in frustration. The room was quiet.

  He tried opening his eyes again. Slowly, his lids moved up. He was afraid to blink, believing the stubborn skin would want to remain down again.

  The light!

  He moaned and quickly shut them again.

  “Cover the windows with skins! The light bothers his eyes,” the familiar voice said.

  Mother?

  He worked on opening his mouth now, his eyes forgotten for the moment. His jaw felt as if it had been nailed shut. His lips were dry and it hurt to break the seal. It felt as if they were attached by one skin.

  “Water! Give me water,” the first woman said.

  Bess?

  He felt a finger brush water on his lips and he slowly moved them. He tried his eyes again, finding them easier to open this time.

  He was staring at the ceiling of his bedchamber. He slowly began to move his lips in helpful exercise. He moved his head to the right. He heard his neck crack as the unused bones snapped their disagreement. He tried moving his neck to the left and his neck cracked again.