by Alyssa Stark
John Campbell was expecting the impossible.
He was asking for Elizabeth to perform a miracle.
The MacFarland warrior appeared to barely cling to life and Elizabeth was charged with the daunting task of bringing him back from the abyss of death.
“He’s their Laird’s son. Lachlan MacFarland,” Campbell said, his gruff voice snapping Elizabeth back to reality. “When your mother is gone, I’ll expect that you earn your keep,” he said coldly as he motioned towards the warrior and arched a bushy eyebrow at Elizabeth. “Let him die and you will be punished.”
Elizabeth nodded vacantly and knelt in front of the warrior. Her lips set into a hard line of determination as she contemplated where to begin.
The MacFarland was very close to death. Elizabeth feared that her rudimentary healing techniques would do little to stave off the inevitability of his impending death. Tendrils of fear spread like fire through her veins.
Elizabeth had been punished by her step-father before. She closed her eyes momentarily and pushed the sickening memories from her mind.
Her mother had taught her well how to avoid John Campbell’s spiteful wrath.
Do as he bids you.
Keep your head down and do as he bids.
Swallowing hard, Elizabeth squared her shoulders and prepared for battle. She would not let this man die. She could not let this man die, for her future and his were now intertwined in a most precarious manner.
..oo Chapter Two oo..
Death yielded a pleasant surprise for Lachlan MacFarland. He had expected the fiery throes of Hell but never in his wildest dreams had he expected to end up in Heaven.
And Heaven was even better than he had hoped that it would be.
Lachlan’s gray eyes fluttered open and focused upon the pert breasts that bobbed alluringly before his face. Music filled his ears, sweet and melodic. The young woman was humming as she attended to him. Lachlan’s eyes strained to focus. He watched her breasts swelling above the neckline of her gown, rising and falling above the homespun fabric with each breath that she took.
Lachlan felt warm all over, too warm. His eyes drifted up to her face.
How in the Hell had he made it to Heaven?
She had alabaster skin and long, flowing auburn hair. Her eyes were the same shade of green that colored the fields in spring-time. That distinct shade of new life coupled with the promise of sunshine.
She was an angel for sure.
Unable to resist further temptation, Lachlan reached up and cupped her full breast through the fabric of her gown. His thumb brushed across the bead of her nipple, eliciting a surprised gasp from the young woman.
Elizabeth Campbell saw red when the MacFarland’s hand touched her. Suffering the indignity of nursing the enemy warrior back from the brink of death had been torture enough, but his unexpected trespass pushed her over the edge.
Enough was enough.
“How dare you touch me!” she exclaimed as she swatted his hand away.
Lachlan’s eyebrow arched in surprise and he jerked his arm up experimentally, having just discovered that his wrist was tethered to the base of a large oak tree. His mind was spinning, fighting the magnetic pull of unconsciousness, trying to grasp where he was and what was happening.
He reached out towards his angel, fumbling at her with muscles that were clumsy and refused to cooperate.
“Try that again and I’ll kick you in the stones you son-of-a bitch!” Elizabeth warned as she dodged the warrior’s grasp.
Lachlan fought the urge to smile.
He had not expected God to have such a sense of humor. Never would he have imagined that the angels in Heaven would curse like sailors.
He might learn to like this place after all.
Elizabeth straightened her spine and moved just beyond the massive warrior’s reach in case he had a second fit of impulsive behavior. His steely gray eyes struggled to focus on her face and she watched him now intently. Her hand went protectively to the neckline of her gown, recoiling from his unexpected, overly warm touch. She studied his face, admitting to herself that if Lachlan MacFarland had not been born a MacFarland she might have found him quite attractive.
His jaw line was angular and dusted with several days’ growth of stubble, lending him a rugged appeal. His gray eyes were expressive despite his current state of delusion and set on either side of a straight nose. Beneath the layer of battle grime, his bare chest was sinewy and rippled with muscle from hours spent practicing the art of sword fighting.
Lachlan MacFarland was indeed a handsome man.
His gray eyes rolled back and fluttered closed as he succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness. His head lolled forward and his chin came to rest on his chest. Beneath his mop of unbound hair, Elizabeth noticed that the corner of his full mouth twisted up into the hint of a smile, lending him a boyish quality despite the fact that he was a ferocious warrior.
Elizabeth sighed in relief and allowed her spine to relax. Her hand fell from its protective stance above her breasts and came to rest on the pillows of her skirts. Her heart beat was erratic and put up a moments resistance as it slowed to a more normal rhythm. The tell-tale thudding in Elizabeth’s ear was the only remainder of what had just happened.
Never had a man touched her so intimately.
Never had any man dared to touch her under John Campbell’s careful watch.
Lachlan MacFarland, Clan Campbell’s most fearsome enemy and recently acquired prisoner of war had just touched her in a most inappropriate manner. Despite the initial shock of the encounter, Elizabeth realized that she was not as off put by his advances as she should be.
Elizabeth had a sudden, startling realization which cast a new light upon her patient. The MacFarland might be her one and only chance at salvation. Her mother had divulged that her true father was a MacFarland. Elizabeth would do anything to be free of John Campbell, even if it meant fleeing into the care of the barbaric MacFarland clan.
Her mother had revealed that she had loved a MacFarland once, long ago.
Lady Olivia Campbell’s revelation garnered hope in Elizabeth’s heart.
Perhaps not all MacFarlands were savage monsters. If her mother had loved one of them, all of the tales of MacFarland savagery could not be true.
Elizabeth’s green eyes studied the wounded warrior.
Lachlan MacFarland could be her only chance to escape.