Alec nodded. “Aye. This is thae bleedin’ piece of filth we came ‘ere for.”
“Gonna cut ‘is throat?”
“I daenae,” Alec replied. “I ken maybe dippin’ ‘im in boilin’ oil might be more fittin’.”
“How ‘bout ye tie ‘im to a post outside’n set ‘im on fire?”
“Oh, nou, there’s a fine idea. I hadnae ken that b’fore.”
“Well, I am thae one who comes up with all thae ideas.”
“Aye. That’s true.”
As they bantered with each other, Alec’s crew chuckled while the Viscount paled visibly. His eyes widened and though he did his best to contain it, Lord Blandford could not stop the expression of fear that stretched across his face.
“I ken, though, we should just be quick ‘bout it and be done with it,” Alec said.
“Not as fun,” Rory chimed in. “But aye, we are pressed for time.”
Alec flashed him a malevolent grin as he drew his sword arm back and the Viscount’s eyes grew impossibly wide.
“Please, no,” he shouted, “do not–”
Lord Blandford squeezed his eyes shut as Alec thrust his sword forward. The Viscount’s screams filled the kitchens. Everything was still and silent for a long moment and then Lord Blandford opened his eyes, igniting a chorus of booming laughter from Alec and his men. His eyes cut to his left, where the point of Alec’s sword was stuck into the wood pillar beside his head.
“I ken ‘e wet ‘imself lads,” Rory laughed hysterically.
Lord Blandford’s face darkened and he looked away, a sour, rage-filled expression crossing his face.
“Take everythin’ nae nailed down, lads,” Alec called. “Find somethin’ nice for yerselves and daenae leave this bleedin’ fool a chamberpot tae relieve ‘imself in.”
With a roar of approval, Alec’s men spread out through the house to plunder and reave as he and Rory remained in the kitchen to guard the prisoners.
Chapter 3
Grace Smith sat at her table, frantically sewing and stitching by the guttering light of the candles. Once upon a time, Grace usually did not work so late into the night. But that had been a different life. A happier life when she was married to an amazing man. It had been going on two years now when she’d laid him down after he had battled with the sweating sickness Two years since she’d returned him to the earth beside his parents. He’d died and everything had changed for her and late nights were becoming the norm.
Grace had fallen behind on some of her orders–something that also seemed to be becoming the norm–and needed to get caught up. There were certain advantages to being the only seamstress in all of Fortershire, but it came with certain downsides as well. Such as having too many projects to feasibly handle at any one time.
But it was not like she could afford to turn away work. Ever since her husband died, Grace had to take on as many customers as she could to keep a roof over her head and food in her belly. In one sense, it was good since the increased workload took her mind off her sad state of affairs. Keeping busy kept her from dwelling too much that she was a widow at such a young age.
But it also means working long hours into the night for demanding customers who all want their things yesterday.
She had dreamed of one day moving to the countryside in Fortershire and raising a family with her husband, Daniel. She had wanted a boy and a girl, a modest cottage not far from town, and a garden to grow, not just vegetables for the family table, but also beautiful flowers.
Oh, how I wanted that garden. I wanted it as much as I wanted anything.
She leaned close to the table, working her needle ceaselessly through the fabric as she stitched together a new shirt for one of the local merchants. She sat back and blinked, rubbing at her watering eyes, the strain of such close work taking a toll on her.
“What I need is some sleep,” she muttered to herself.
She took a sip of her tea and gave herself a minute to relax. She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to stave off the dull thumping inside her head. Behind her closed eyes, though, images of her dead husband flashed, drawing a pained but soft yelp from her.
Daniel had been tall, trim, and with his high cheekbones, dark hair, and even darker eyes, he had been the most handsome man Grace had ever seen. He was kind, compassionate, earnest, and sincere. He had a keen mind for business, and between his skills and her talent for sewing, they were going to open a dress and clothing shop there in Fortershire. It had been his passion to help her succeed, and Grace had loved him for it.
They had met shortly after he moved to Fortershire from London. He’d said he wanted to get out of the viper’s nest of politics that saturated the city. He longed to live a quiet, happy life, he’d said. Grace had been captivated by him almost immediately, and they married less than a year after their first meeting. The two years they’d spent as husband and wife had been the happiest of her life and losing him had been the most devastating blow she could have ever suffered.
She’d lived in mourning since the day she’d gotten word of his death, working nearly around the clock to keep herself occupied. Grace knew that if she stopped working, stopped to take the time to properly grieve, that once she started to cry, she would never stop. And so she worked.
She was resigned to working in the same cottage she lived within the town of Fortershire. And without Daniel there to help keep it up, her cottage was starting to look worn and threadbare itself, instead of a prosperous dress and clothing shop.
It was more or less all her parents had left her when they died half-a-dozen winters ago now. They had been good, hardworking people, and she missed them as much as she missed Daniel. Grace often despaired, her life felt like nothing as much as a series of tragedies, one death after another.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Surprised and startled, she jumped and nearly dropped her mug of tea.
“Who is calling at this time of night?” she muttered to herself.
She got up on her feet, and moved to the door, and stood before it with her hand on the latch. A flutter in her belly gave her pause and she withdrew her hand.
“Wh…who’s there?” she asked.
“Grace, it’s Kyle,” he said. “Kyle Herdeson.”
Grace rolled her eyes, the fear that had been churning in her belly suddenly fading away, quickly replaced by the acidic burn of irritation. It was a sensation that had becoming increasingly familiar to her over the months since her Daniel had passed.
“Kyle, it is not proper for you to be at my door at this time of the night,” she said. “Now kindly remove yourself and if you wish to speak, you can do so at a decent time of day.”
“I just–I need to speak with you, Grace. It’s really important,” he urged. “I realized something and I wish to share it with you.”
“You can share it with me at an appropriate time.”
“Please, Grace, it is truly important.”
“Nothing can be so important as to come to my door at such an indecent hour,” she snapped. “Now goodnight, Mr. Herdeson.”
She turned and walked back to her table and sat down. Her hands trembled too hard for her to pick up her needle again. Grace let out a long breath and tried to gather her wits about her.
The presumptuousness of that man. To think he can come calling at all hours of the night.
That, too, had been a truly disturbing after-effect of Daniel’s death–the constant stream of men who would not stop trying to woo her. Kyle was just one more in a long list of men who promised they would take care of her, give her a comfortable life, and a happy home. Some took her rejection and left her alone. Others were more persistent about trying to earn her affection.
And then there is Kyle, who is something else altogether.
Grace stood and stoked the fire in the hearth. The chill in the air was deepening, and she still had many hours of work left ahead of her. Grace knew she would probably not sleep.
It seems that’s bec
oming more and more commonplace these days.
The minute she sat back down, the rapping on her door sounded again, this time more insistent.
“Mr. Herdeson, please leave,” she called out. “This is highly inappropriate and–”
She bit off her words as her door crashed inward. Grace leapt to her feet, searching her immediate area for something to defend herself with. Kyle Herdeson stood just inside the threshold, his eyes glassy, an unhealthy, waxy pallor to his skin. He looked unfocused and swayed unsteadily on his feet.
Recognizing that Kyle was deep in his cups, Grace swallowed hard and licked lips that had suddenly gone bone dry. Her heart was jolted by a lightning bolt of fear and threatened to beat out of her chest. She tried to remain calm and in control of herself. It was the only way she was going to get through this.
“Mr. Herdeson,” she started, her voice even. “It seems you have had a bit too much to drink. I think it is time for you to go home and–”
“I love you, Grace,” he said with a slight slur in his words. “That’s what I realized today. I am in love with you.”
“Yes, well, perhaps you will feel differently once you have had a chance to rest–”
He shook his head violently. “Listen to me. I am in love with you,” he spat, “have been for a long time now. And I think your Daniel dyin’ was God’s way of telling us we need to be together.”
His words drove a white-hot spike of rage straight through her, driving away some of her fear. That he would dare mention Daniel’s name to justify his relentless and unwanted pursuit of her enraged Grace well past the point of reason.
“Get out of my house, Mr. Herdeson,” she hissed. “Leave now.”
“No, you need to hear what I have to say,” he says. “You’re going to listen to me.”
“I most certainly am not!”
He staggered forward, looming over her. A crazed light shone in his eyes, and the fear that had been pushed to the back of her mind flared up again, overwhelming the anger that had taken hold just a moment ago. He reached out and grabbed her arm, a sneer on his face that chilled Grace to the core.
“I love you, Grace. And it’s time you stop this mourning you’re in,” he hissed. “I can provide you with a good home. I can–”
“I do not love you, Mr. Herdeson,” Grace spat. “Now, please leave my home.”
His grip on her arm tightened, and the fear in her belly spread, making her entire body tingle and tremble with it. He leaned closer, trying to kiss her, and Grace turned her face, trying to pull away from him, but she could not break his grip on her. He shook her like a rag doll, screaming at her, an incomprehensible string of words streaming from his mouth.
Grace groped at the table, nearly crying out in relief when her hands fell upon the fabric shears. She fumbled with them before getting a grip on them. Kyle was still screaming and shaking her violently when she swung the shears blindly. He cursed and stumbled backward, a bright red line on his cheek. She watched in grim fascination as crimson rivulets raced down his cheek.
Kyle cursed and held his hand to his face, his gaze narrowing malevolently as he stared at her in silence for a long moment. That crazed light in his eyes deepened and the fear that smoldered inside of Grace’s chest burst into a roaring bonfire.
He is going to kill me. I really think he is going to kill me.
As Grace moved to pull away from him, he reached for her, and her bodice ripped with a sound that filled her with a terror that nearly made her heart stop. She threw her hands up to cover herself, backing away from Kyle who seemed more emboldened after seeing her flesh exposed like that. His face flushed and his eyes were filled with a sense of lust that terrified Grace.
She swung the shears wildly again, but this time, Kyle managed to catch her arm. Grace let out a cry of pain as he wrenched it and the shears hit the ground with a loud clatter. She heard the sharp crack of flesh-meeting-flesh a moment before her head was rocked to the side, and her face felt like it had been set on fire.
Grace stumbled backward and tripped over the leg of her chair. She flailed, windmilling her arms as she tried to keep her balance, but Grace went down on her backside. Her head rapped hard against the wood floor and she saw bursts of light behind her eyes. Grace’s vision was blurry and her head throbbed painfully.
Suddenly Kyle was looming over her again, filling her entire field of blurred vision. He glared down at her malevolently but that light of lust still shone in his eyes. Belatedly, Grace covered her bare breast, trying to hold the torn pieces of fabric together.
“You are going to be mine, Grace,” he slurred.
She shook her head. “Please, Kyle, do not do this.”
“You are mine and I will take what I want from you.”
A shudder of fear and revulsion swept through her as she watched him lick his lips lasciviously.
“And right now,” he huffed, “I want to have you.”
Grace opened her mouth, a keening wail issuing from her throat as Kyle fell to his knees beside her. His hand were on her, groping, grabbing, pinching. He grabbed at the hem of her dress and tried to pull it up. Grace reached back and smacked him as hard as she was able. But it didn’t seem to faze Kyle as he merely gave her a wavering grin.
“You might as well stop fightin’ Grace,” he said. “It won’t do you any good.”
Grace screamed as she kicked and slapped at Kyle but it only seemed to excite him more. He grew more aggressive and laughed at her feeble attempts to push him away. This was all a game to him–a horrible, drunken game.
“Stop fighting me!” he roared.
But then he stopped. A look of confusion crossed his face–an expression that was mirrored on Grace’s as she watched a thin piece of what looked like steel burst from his shoulder. Grace screamed in horror as she realized it was a sword protruding from Kyle’s shoulder, staining the front of his tunic crimson.
She had never seen battle and had never seen a man be stabbed before. Fortershire was a quiet, prosperous town where murders were rare. The worst Grace had ever seen was a man being punched outside of a tavern and very little bloodshed.
The sword was withdrawn and a moment later, the butt of the hilt crashed on Kyle’s head with a sickening crunch. His eyes rolled up and his mouth fell open as he slumped to the side, falling off of her entirely.
He hit the ground with a wet, meaty thud and lay still, the blood from his shoulder pooling around the unconscious man. As terrified as she was and as much as she disliked Kyle, she never would have wished that upon him.
Standing before her, the tip of his sword red with Kyle’s blood was a man she had never seen before. He had a fearsome look about him that sent a wave of fear rolling through her. The man was tall and broad through the shoulders and chest. He had hair the color of flames and a thick, red beard to match. The stranger’s green eyes glittered in the firelight, looking like polished jade.
“Wh…who are you?” she asked, trembling as hard as her body could muster.
“Are ye all right, lass?” the man asked, his accent marking him out as Scottish.
Grace felt overwhelmed and overcome by fear and darkness danced at the edges of her vision.
He saved me. I don’t think he’s here to hurt me. But he looks so big and so terrifying. I’ve never seen a more frightful-looking man.
He was rugged, and though she did not know any Scots herself, she had heard they were brutal and vicious. Grace tried to cling to consciousness, fearful of what might happen if she gave into the darkness.
But then, she was not given much of a choice. The darkness reached up and latched onto her, pulling her down into its deep, warm embrace. And Grace gave herself over to it. The last thing she saw was the large, red-haired man kneeling next to her, a look of concern on his face.
But then her vision faded and she lost her hold, and the entire world around her went black.
Want to know how the story ends? Tap on the link below to read the rest of the story.
Thank you!
Also by Lydia Kendall
Thank you for reading A Hellion for the Highlander!
I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It would mean the world to me. Reviews are very important and allow me to keep writing the books that you love to read!
Some other best sellers of mine:
Passionate Tales of Forbidden Highlanders
Captured by a Highland Pirate
Betrayed by his Highland Touch
The Rebirth of the Highlander
The Atonement of the Forbidden Highlander
The Revenge of the Highlander's Bride
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Thank you for helping me do what I love!
Lydia Kendall
About the Author
Lydia Kendall has always been passionate about medieval romance. Having traveled to the Scottish Highlands several times as a young girl, she has always been drawn to their unparalleled beauty and history. A history that inspired stories of love and passion, mixed with tradition in the most appealing way for every hopeless romantic - much like herself.
Born in Denver, Colorado, Lydia Kendall has a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing, and over the last decade she has been writing non-stop for several clients - that is until she decided to start publishing her own work. When she isn’t writing, Lydia loves spending her time on the beautiful outdoors with her loving husband and baby daughter.
Follow Lydia on this sensational journey of hot highlanders, bonny lassies and fierce passion...and find sheer pleasure in the magnificent world of the Scottish countryside - one that will sweep you off your feet and keep you begging for more!
A Hellion for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 30