The Highlander's Captive Bride (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Kaley McCormick

  Nessie stared at him and he tightened his brow. Whenever he got like this, there was no right answer. All a woman could do was stare him down like a storm and hope it ended with him passing out on the bed.

  “Well it ain’t helping,” she finally said. “Sometimes, William, when you speak to me like this…it makes me feel worse than any pirate raid ever could.”

  William remained silent, absorbing her statement like a body blow.

  “I just wish we could go back to the way things were.”

  “Doesn’t everybody!” he said, right before he bashed in the table and lamp next to the bed with his shaking hands. “Why? Does that drifter remind you of me? When I was young? The way things were?

  “Get out of here with your crazy accusations. Please let’s talk about something else.”

  “No.” He stood up and walked towards her, backing her against the wall. “I want you to fuck him in front of me. I want to watch while you betray me.”

  “William, please! You’re talking mad.”

  “I just want honesty out of you. For once, you mangy cunt. For once in your life tell the truth. Tell me that you hate me. Tell me that you want to leave me and run off with some young handsome fellow. We both know it’s true. So just say it.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. You…angry, sad little man.”

  She stared him down, tightening her brow as she looked into his destitute eyes. She braced herself for another punch.

  Then William smiled. “You just described yourself, you know. Except for the man part.”

  She shut her eyes in relief. Apparently, this was one of his good drunken phases where he just talked shit and then fell asleep in his own filth.

  “Right then. I forgive you, muh’ lady.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Just suck my cock and we’ll call it a night, yeah?”

  Nessie sighed. Of course her heart wouldn’t be into it, but that never mattered. A forced sucking always hurt less than a slap to the face, William made sure of that. Honestly, she thought, hating the taste of her old shit of a husband, a raid wouldn’t be the worst of things…provided they had the decency to kill her afterwards.

  **

  II

  Artair awoke from a bed of leaves. The day felt breezy and cool as always but the lack of a draft certainly alarmed him. He looked up into the open blue sky and sensed something was dreadfully wrong. It wasn’t the madness of the Game calling to him, but still an ominous feeling that he couldn’t shake. He looked around the forest to his left side, seeing nothing of interest.

  However, as he stood up and looked over to his right he saw the source of his discomfort. A band of warriors, a raid, not by pirates this time but by armored men from England. They were staring at Artair, showing their broken teethy smiles and holding their weapons strong, ready to kill him at a moment’s notice.

  Artair looked down to the ground, realizing his sword was a few feet away. A lunge for the weapon would give his enemy time to shoot an arrow into him or spear him. Not that such a wound could kill him, but it was still require a few hours of healing. Certainly enough time to slow down his onward trek. And it probably would hinder him in battle against the other highlander, wherever that arsehole was lurking.

  “Well, well,” the leader said, taking a forward sprint on his horse and holding a pole axe in hand. “It looks like we woke you up from your beauty sleep.”

  “Ah,” Artair said, laughing quietly. He wasn’t afraid of them and the band of marauders could see that, which only made them more cautious.

  “Why are you smiling, fool? This could be the end of your life.”

  Artair calmly turned his head side to side estimating how many horses and men there were in front of him. At least forty, with ten or twenty horses. They had plenty of weapons and certainly enough blades to take his head off—if he let them, of course.

  But his instinct reminded him that maybe this was a fight he didn’t need under his belt. Pick and choose your battles, his mentor always said. The best way to remain undefeated was to forfeit the battles you know you might lose. Good advice, he said, nodding to himself and swallowing some pride.

  “Tell me who you are, homeless man.”

  “I will. But I want your name first.”

  Some in the group laughed at his audacity. The leader looked provoked and stepped off his horse, a bit mad in the face. “Well, well. Quite the balls you have on ye, if you’re telling me what’s what. The man with the weapon.”

  He walked up to Artair and grinned in his face. Artair stood strong, silent. If the man stabbed him in the gut, he would reveal himself and be forced to kill every last one. Or die trying, and eventually losing his head, as was usually the highlander’s life.

  But the gentleman refrained, smiling and nodding like an out of control school boy. “My name is Emery. I lead this pack. And it’s fortunate that we are a growing army. We could use good men who know how to use a sword. I assume that you know something, since you have a mighty impressive specimen there. Maybe I’ll just reach in and take the specimen for myself.”

  Artair shrugged. “Well I do have an impressive specimen, Emery. But only women are allowed reach in and take it.”

  Emery kept a straight face until he realized some of his men were laughing, or trying to stifle laughter. The leader finally grinned and nodded, feeling camaraderie with the snarky bastard.

  “I like you, old man. But my admiration is conditional. I only admire men who can fight. Liars and pretenders are no friends of mine. Show me that you know how to use this sword.”

  “Very well. But just so you know, if someone duels me I don’t stop swinging until someone’s head comes off.” He slowly walked over to his fallen sword and scooped it up.

  Emery smiled. “It’s a fair game. Someone do the honor of fighting Mister Lancelot here to the death.”

  Reluctantly, a foot-bound warrior with barely any armor on stepped forward. Dying for the king was certainly a waste. But in the event that he won the duel, the warrior knew he would become the right hand man.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Heads will roll, stranger.”

  The warrior and Artair went into their fighting stance. The warrior was less experienced, obviously, as he was moving his sword back and forth in panic, shielding his chest with his uneven shoulders. Artair barely moved but hovered his sword in the air ready to plunge.

  “What is your name, by the way?”

  “My name is Artair.”

  “Nice noble name. Do you require full concentration to win a fight, Artair?”

  “No, Emery. This fight is already over.”

  “Is it now?”

  In a snap, Artair grabbed the boy’s arm that was sticking out because of his awkward shoulder position and slammed the sword out of his opposite hand in one swoop. He spun in reverse and clipped the boy’s knees from under him with his sword, causing him to fall to the ground.

  The boy scurried to jump up but by then Artair had thrown his sword into the air and grabbed the sharp end with one hand. He used the dull handle of the sword to knock the boy unconscious.

  He looked back at Emery and nodded, minus a smile. “You want to kill him, kill him yourself. I grow weary of blood.”

  Emery was impressed, stunned to a frown. But he did motion to his other warriors to go and kill the loser. Artair tilted his head in annoyance as they killed the screaming boy with their swords, punishing him for simply losing to the better man. If only they knew just what kind of a better man they were dealing with.

  “I see what it is,” Emery said, taking back that look of madness. “You’re a virgin. Aye? Too afraid of blood? Stomach too weak to look a woman in the eyes before you rape her?”

  The others laughed. Artair looked at the group before returning his face to Emery.

  “You want me to kill you? Or shall we go our separate ways?”

  An awkward silence followed until Emery decided to walk back over to Artair, tr
ying to provoke a strong reaction.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, O Great Saint among men. You are going to come with us. We are going to raid the village of Estandia down there. And you’re going to help us. Because if you don’t, we’re going to treat you the same way we treat them.”

  Artair sighed. He should have known these men were up to no good. But how could he fend off so many of them and keep his strength and concentration strong for the upcoming Game with the other highlander?

  These men were not going to take no for an answer. It sounded like an easy job. And the promise of a meal and a place to sleep certainly sounded like a better idea than starving in the forest another night. After all, what obligation did he have to the people of Estandia? He hardly knew any of them.

  Well, except one. He thought back to the little yapping woman he met the day before, showing her fierce teeth even while standing not a chance of survival, prayer or not.

  “All right. On one condition. You spare the women and children.”

  Some of the group laughed and Emery seemed insulted at the thought. “Are you insane, Artair? Look at these men. They have no women. That’s the whole fucking point of the raid! We take the women.”

  Emery was slightly unnerved at Artair’s serious disposition. “Fine…we leave the children. We take the women. No more negotiation.”

  “Aye. Oh and Emery?”

  He looked over at Artair, having already mounted his horse.

  “The Saints will know if you break a promise.”

  Emery shook his head and took his horse down the valley. The gang of marauders followed, hollering and clanking their weapons, their thirst for blood and women obscenely apparent.

  They were already marching in. This was the moment of truth. He couldn’t save everybody, but maybe he could save a few.

  **

  III

  Men shouted at the top of their lungs as women sought shelter in the cottages and the wells. The marauders stormed the village quickly and the men there, as predicted, didn’t stand a fighting chance. They were a village of old men, young boys and drunken fools, the only alphas among them were men who could barely stand on two feet due to their liver disease.

  Screams filled the air as the raiders looted and ransacked the village. True to his word, Emery and his men took the women. They tore their clothes off before they even finished killing the men. The men of Estandia themselves were cowards, running away in terror as the warriors pillaged. Some ran off into the forests with beer and wine, saving their most precious possessions instead of fighting for their women.

  Artair could barely make it down to the village before he saw the carnage taking place. There were too many men to cease the takeover. But he did think back to the one curly-haired woman that plagued his conscience. All he remembered about her was her scarf and the fact that she was a married woman, available to no man.

  The marauders couldn’t care less but Artair felt compelled to help her keep her promise. He ran past the carnage looking around for a familiar face.

  In the corner of his eye, he saw a woman in a purple scarf seeking shelter in a small wooden home. Running with her was a child, not ten years old, the both of them terrified at certain death. Hiding out in a home was the least sensible thing to do, as the marauders were lazy bastards and only felt obligated to raid the village and not venture too far into the wilderness.

  Artair ran over to the home and opened the door. He beat another warrior to it, and gave him a firm nod as if to say, Let me have this one. The other man acquiesced and went rioting in the opposite direction.

  Artair lowered his sword when he saw the terrified face of Nessie, the same purple-scarf married woman he encountered twenty-four hours ago, as fate might have it.

  “I had a feeling you would come back.”

  “I’m not with them. I came back because I feared for your life.”

  Nessie folded her arms. “Oh really now? And since when does a pirate with a sword care about a woman?”

  “I don’t know. You’re asking me if I’m a hero. No, I’m not. You’re asking me if I know how to save the village, I’m afraid not. But if you’re asking me to get you out of here, I can help you.”

  Nessie flinched at the thought, still not trusting the stranger one length. Artair looked around the small interior room but saw no sign of the boy she entered with.

  “Where’s the little fella you entered with?”

  “There is no little fella. I sent him away through the window to escape this horror. He ran into the forest.”

  “Smart thinking.”

  Nessie stared a hole through Artair, not sure what to make of a savage man who had no interest in defiling her just because he could, and because everyone else was certainly doing it.

  “Listen…I know you said you were married. Find your husband. Tell him to come with us. I think I can figure out a way to get you out of here through the forest.”

  “My husband?”

  “You said you were married. It’s a vow you took seriously. Woe is me if I don’t honor it myself.”

  “Oh…okay.” She seemed perplexed, as if finding her husband wasn’t even a portent of any importance. She was almost embarrassed at her own lack of appreciation for Artair’s gallantry. “Yes…I think he’s hiding in the barn. I can find him.”

  “Better get to it. If we sneak out of here to the outskirts we can get to the forest within less than a mile. Just pray that the rascals are having too much fun to notice us.”

  But Artair’s simple plan was a bit undercooked. Artair and Nessie did venture outside and did watch the havoc unfold in front of them. Men slicing away at anything that breathed, even the children. Emery hadn’t kept his word, and why would he? There was no honor among thieves. These people only understood fear.

  Artair shook his head in disgust. The little bastard had a beheading coming if he ever found him alone. But finding him alone was the problem, since men were running all over the place and in every direction.

  Within moments, a warrior-thief spotted Nessie and wobbled towards her, shaking his spear and drooling all over his ratty face.

  Nessie shrieked as the man grabbed her arm and tried to lift her up for the taking.

  “Hey!” Artair said in fire, waiting until the marauder saw his stoic face. “This one’s mine. I claimed her.”

  “I don’t see your name on her arse, O Great Saint.”

  “Then I’ll carve her name into your face, you bastard.”

  “Bleeaaah!” he said, losing eye contact and wandering away from Nessie to find other spoils.

  Artair went over to Nessie and grabbed her in his arms, putting her body over his shoulder and walking back to the forest.

  “I’ve got me one!” he announced to the others. “I’ll be back for more.”

  “You better be,” Emery said from a distance. Too far away to strike, unfortunately. “This is only the first village on our list, you know. Deserters of our clan are seen as traitors.”

  “Oh believe me, sir,” Artair said, carrying Nessie who was trying to stay calm, praying Artair was lying about his claim. “I have every intention of coming back.”

  “Good!”

  Artair quickly ran into the outskirts of the village, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone and hide behind walls whenever possible. He ducked behind a hill for a few moments, letting Nessie stand on her feet.

  “Stay low. They’re trained to see men standing tall. Threats. Crawl your way over to that tree stump over there.” He pointed Nessie in the right direction and they took off, crawling with all their leftover might.

  As soon as they approached the outer edges of the forest they stood up. Too far away to be seen by the raiders, they took their time and walked into the forest.

  As soon as Nessie felt safe, she began staring at Artair, unsure of what to think about the mysterious stranger. He said himself he was no hero. But he was surely unlike any other man she ever met.

  “What do yo
u want with me?” she said, still staying a distance away from him, as Artair relaxed, picking berries off a bush.

  “I don’t know, woman. Frankly, I’m getting kind of sorry I saved your life. All these questions you’re asking about me moral compass is not worth the one good deed.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Any other man…you understand…”

  “Believe me I know. To answer your question, I guess on some level I relate to you. A long time ago, I had a wife. And while she was alive it was a promise I took seriously. So call me sentimental but a promise is a promise. Maybe I can’t save everybody all the time. But if I can save one happily married woman then it’s a deed worth doing.

  Nessie stared at him in instant regret. Everything he said was heart-breaking. If only any of his perceptions were true. She was the unhappiest wife in the world and the day before her village was raided, she only prayed that God take her life along with her dignity.

  “My name is Nessie, by the way.”

  “Altair. I do pray we find your husband alive.”

  “I’m sure he prays too,” she said blankly.

  Altair nodded uncertainly a bit startled by her lack of concern.

  “How did your wife die?”

  “I guess you could call it natural causes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. She lived a long and full life. Maybe she was the lucky one.”

  “And you’ve never been with anyone else ever since…?”

  He almost answered but remained silent. He looked at her in confusion and went back to eating his snack.

  “Well…God bless her and you for having a soul. Maybe you don’t see the good in your heart. But if more people were like you, it would be a better world, Artair.”

  “Yes well…maybe if I were like more people, I would have cared enough to save the entire village. But I couldn’t.”

  “You’re just one man.”

  “No, I’m not,” he said, a bit foul. He became agitated and walked a few feet away from her, exhaling in silent grief. “Maybe I could have done more, a lot more. But I’m saving my strength. I go into battle soon. It may be my last battle. And to be honest, there isn’t much more I have to do on this earth.”