“Andra, I am deeply sorry about last night. The news of my brother’s loss hit me strongly and I spoke out of turn. I have not been as welcoming to you as perhaps I should have, and I think that I should start to make amends, especially as you are carrying his child. After breakfast, come walking with me. The air will do us both good.”
It was a struggle for the older woman to say the words, and her face twisted with every vowel. She was trying hard to be pleasant, but her manner left Andrea cold. Still, if Helena could make the effort, then so could she.
The girl smiled and nodded. “I could do with some air and exercise too. I will come to you after I have dressed.”
Andrea ate up her breakfast. She needed to keep up her strength. Then, pulling on her layers of stockings and tunic to keep warm, she wrapped a large woolen blanket around her shoulders to keep off the chill from the sea air. Helena was already waiting for her by the door, and the two women set off into the bright winter air.
Together they walked over the brow of the Island to the northern-most point, the “Bay of the Breaking Waves,” the locals called it. The view was spectacular and the women walked on in silence, each one thinking of Alex in their own way. As they rounded the hill, Andrea began to break out into a sweat, becoming breathless before the pains started in her abdomen. Clutching her belly, she shouted out to Helena who was walking slightly ahead of her. By the time Helena had turned around, Andrea had already slipped to the stony ground, writhing in agony.
The Abbess walked over to the girl, a strange look upon her face. She was about to speak when a voice called out to them in the distance, and a small black figure approached them. It was Geraldina, who, noticing that Andrea had not taken her cloak, followed the two women to bring the garment.
“Geraldina, come quick, the young mistress is unwell, and we need to get her back to the nunnery as a matter of urgency.”
Slowly and carefully, the two women supported her back to the room. Luckily, they hadn’t walked too far and within half an hour, Andrea was tucked up in her bed with a roaring fire in the grate. The pain had subsided in her stomach, but her heart was racing and she had a fever. The physician had examined her and left another draught of bitter herbs to help her rest.
She slept for the rest of the day, and by suppertime she was feeling much better and sat up in bed to eat a small meal that Helena had brought for her. The Abbess had showed her great kindness that day, and Andrea wondered if she had been wrong to doubt her. It was only when Geraldina came to check on the fire about midnight that anyone realized the attack had happened yet again. After her meal, Andrea had slept only to wake with a raging thirst and a pounding head. As she had tried to get out of bed for a glass of water, the stabbing pains started again and she was too weak to shout for help.
The young nun wet a rag with cold water and laid it on her forehead. Andrea was almost delirious with pain but could see Geraldina smiling kindly down at her. For once the girl spoke.
“Listen to me. There is not much time. Helena is trying to poison you; she does not want you nor the child, now that her brother is dead. She is poisoning you through the food, and I cannot stop her–but I can give you an antidote for the poison. Here, drink this up and you will soon be feeling better.”
The nun went on to pour three drops of a reddish-brown liquid into a goblet and filled the rest with water.
Andrea drank down the potion; it tasted sweet and of berries, and within five minutes the fever had eased and the pains gone.
“You must take three drops of this with water before and after each meal to protect you. Now I must go, I have been here too long.” And leaving a small vial on the bed, the nun left, locking the door behind her.
She was in deadly danger. If Helena was trying to kill her, then she would stop at nothing. Geraldina’s potion would only prolong the inevitable. She had been right all along about Helena. Grandma Betty had returned back to the present on the seeming death of Andra, but then again she had the rune. What would happen if Andrea died without it in her hands?
All night she lay awake, afraid of every noise, of every footstep in case it was Helena’s. She tucked the glass vial under her pillow out of sight. Without the young nun’s help, she would have been dead already. She must keep the faith.
Chapter 12
Andrea eventually slept, for when she finally awoke the rain was lashing down at the window. She was also not alone; Helena was standing at the foot of her bed looking like death herself, dressed in a long black habit.
“I am glad to see that you have had a good night. I am surprised; the doctor thought that you might lose the child again. I have brought you some breakfast to keep up your strength. Some beef tea and bread will do you good, now let me help you.”
Her hand reached under the pillow. The little vial had gone. Her heart started to beat fast as Helena sat by her side and started to pick up the spoon.
“What is wrong, my dear? You look like you have lost something. Now drink some of this, it will do you good.”
Andrea had no choice; if she struggled, then Helena would force her. They were both playing a dangerous game, and Helena currently held the upper hand. Her only hope lay in the hands of Geraldina.
Soon the beef tea was all gone and Helena smiled as she proffered the last spoonful.
“There, all done. Now I will leave you to rest. I have told the other nuns not to disturb you today. I will lock the door and take away the key, just to make sure you rest in peace.”
The key turned in the lock and the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor until all was still. Was this to be her final fate?
After half an hour, the fever and the pains started anew and within an hour she was almost unconscious with the pain. Her mind kept blanking out, but she concentrated on the pain to keep her awake. The little song kept playing round and round in her head:
Long ago and far away
I dreamed a dream one day
And now that dream is here beside me.
The words came and went as she tried to sing them out loud, tried to remember the tune that the little nun had sung.
Her heart was beating fast, and her breath was rasping in her throat. So this was the end. She thought of Steve and New York, of her Grandma Betty, and of Alex.
Her eyes began to mist. Death was pulling her towards eternal sleep, and there was nothing she could do. As her senses began to shut down, she was aware of a commotion around her. The door had opened and a shadowy figure was in the room. Maybe it was Death paying her a personal visit? But the face was real. It was Alex; he had returned. He was shouting something out loud to another figure behind him.
“What have you done? What have you done?” His voice was desperate.
Soon she could feel a strong arm around her, sitting her up, shaking her, trying to restore life, but it was too late—she was slowly breaking down. The last thing she remembered was a small stone being thrust into her hand before all went black.
At 30,000 feet in the air, it all came flooding back to her. Geraldine MacDonald had found her that morning slumped over a grave in the little Chapel of St. Oran. She had been overdoing it lately, and the stress had taken its toll. Once she was feeling quite well again, the old woman had given her a book on the genealogy of the McDonald clan and not wanting to be rude, she had taken it along with her name and address and telephone number, just in case she happened to be in the area again.
At first she had tried to sleep. She had an aisle seat and was at least able to stretch out her legs. Yet every time she almost dozed off, vivid dreams and imaginings would wake her up. She looked in her carry-on bag. She had nothing to read except the book Geraldine had given her so she casually flicked through the pages to pass the time. On the third page she paused as she read the name of Alexhander McDonald. Her heart stopped as the memories came flooding back in every detail. Surely it had been just a terrible dream, brought on by her grieving state? Maybe she had been influenced by her grandma’s diary. She ha
d always had an active imagination.
She looked at the family tree spread out in the middle pages of the book. There was Alexhander McDonald, married to Andra in 1642. They had a child, Alexhander (dead) in 1644, and another, a girl in 1645. There were no dates of death, only question marks against the entries. The history books couldn’t tell her everything.
Andrea put a hand against her stomach, remembering the pregnancy. Could it be that she was expecting? She had been sick that morning when she returned to the hotel, and she still felt a little queasy. Deep inside her, it all started to make sense. If it had been just a dream, then she wouldn’t be feeling so strongly. Alex had come through for her in the end, just at the right moment. She fished out the small rune from her jeans pocket and held it in her hand. This tiny object connected her past and present; it was her link to the one man she loved and would return to.
In the dark room of the nunnery, Alex McDonald held onto the still, warm body of his beloved Andra. The dawn had just started to break, and a weak sun was rising above the mist. He knew that she was safe and that she would come back to him. As long as he kept holding her, she would not die. Their love was eternal.
THE END
This exciting story continues with Highland’s Dream, available from Amazon now
Rescued by the Highland Wolf
Samantha Leal
Copyright ©2016 by Samantha Leal. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1.
Bonnie looked out of the gap in the stone wall of her bedroom and watched as the last of the horses galloped away across the fields. They wound their way over the draw bridge with a deafening thump and kicked up a spray of mud as their hooves hit the soft earth. She waited until they had past the loch, snaked up the hillside that led away from Castle Grant, and disappeared under a cloak of darkness. Even the moon, which was high and bright in the sky, couldn’t expose them once they had made it into the forest, thick and deep. Bonnie listened to see if she could hear anything more, but she knew that they had definitely gone.
And now, as she thought about her situation, she was nervous.
She stepped back from the window and took a deep breath. Visitors that late to the castle could only mean trouble. She thought about the omens… It was a cold night and the sky was clear of clouds and full of stars. They drew her out of the comfort of her bed chamber each time they shone that brightly, but this night, she didn’t know if she had the nerve to take her usual walk out into the night air.
Something strange was happening.
She could feel it all around her. And now, with the late night arrival of a mysterious clan, she could only assume that something urgent was afoot. She swallowed and brushed her long, red hair back from her eyes.
The icy air from the open window made her shudder and she wrapped her arms around herself so that the long draping sleeves from her gown also shielded her from the bitter chill. She crossed the room and stood beside the fire. Its embers were still smoldering away and casting a cozy glow around the room. She thought of the wild men, high up on their steeds, galloping off over the fields and she felt a tightening between her legs. She had never had the love of a man before, but as she had slipped into womanhood, her curiosity was rising.
Her chamber maid would usually be with her throughout the night, but she had taken ill earlier in the evening and had gone back down to the servant’s quarters. Although Bonnie quite liked having the room to herself, she did miss the girlish chatter. She missed having someone to gossip with. She knew that normally in this kind of situation, with men from another highland clan visiting the castle late at night, they would usually spend many hours going over it and fantasizing about all of the possibilities.
She bent down to the fire and began to load on the logs, and as they caught and crackled away, she remembered back to her childhood and of how she had been more than happy to take care of herself. She remembered the long evenings of running across the fields with her father and brothers, watching them clash swords and train to fight. She would regularly return to the castle, nestle down with her mother and younger sister, and tell them the tales of what it was like out there on the Highlands. Bonnie was wild at heart, and she would never change.
Things had seemed so simple back then.
But now, she couldn’t help but feel as if there was a war about to rage, and that her family and their home were vulnerable for the first time in as long as she could remember.
The fire sparked and burned brightly in the hearth. The heat cascaded toward her and she smiled and basked in the delicious feeling of being warmed right through to her bones.
She wiped her hands down her gown and turned back toward the window. Even though the night had come in thick and fast, and her instincts told her that she shouldn’t leave the castle… she couldn’t help but be pulled to nature’s wonderfulness. She thought of the wild, untamed landscape and of all of the stars up above that she hadn’t yet seen.
She gathered up her fur pelt and slung it over she shoulders.
She would have to stop by the main hall on her way downstairs and see if she could hear anything of what was happening, but she was determined, on a clear night such as this, not to miss out on it because of fear.
2.
The corridors of the castle were dark and quiet. Torches burned all along the walls and lit the way along the cold stone floors. Bonnie walked slowly and took in her surroundings. Even though Castle Grant had been her home for her whole life, she was still in awe of it, and its splendor, each time she really noticed the small details.
The ceilings were high and the statues that her ancestors had had forged and placed around the hallways were grand and told the rich history of Clan Grant. Bonnie was proud of her home, and of the people of her family, they had honor and integrity, and she considered herself incredibly lucky to be part of such an important Scottish legacy.
Up ahead, guards were standing proudly on either side of the entrance to the main hall. They wore armor and held shields close to their chests and spears in their hands. Bonnie let her eyes trace over them, across their muscular chests, hidden by chainmail and down to the sheaths that swung down by their sides, keeping their powerful swords safe from view. She felt her longing rise again. Her curiosity was peaking, but she had to remain demure.
“Lady Grant,” one of the guards said as he bowed and stepped to the side.
Bonnie smiled at him sheepishly and felt herself blush. For a woman who was maturing but was still yet to wed, Bonnie couldn’t help but find herself looking at the men who were around the castle, and wondering what it would be like to find herself in their arms.
The guards were fierce and protective, and she liked that about them the most. But they also had a roughness about them that she hadn’t seen much of in her time. She was used to highland men of good breeding, whereas the soldiers and guards that worked for her family were usually a little more untamed.
She waited for them to open the grand, high wooden doors to the main hall for her and then nodded and thanked them as she passed through.
Inside, the atmosphere of an evening at Castle Grant was more subdued that normal. It seemed to Bonnie that there had been some deep discussions taking place, and as she entered, she was sure some of the men and women seated around the top table, where her mother and father were, hushed and turned to stare at her.
“Bonnie,” he father smiled. “You’re out of your chamber very late.”
She hurried past the crowds of folk enjoying their evening meals and drinking wine whilst listening to the bard. She could feel that her cheeks were flushed and embarrassment flooded through her. She hadn’t been expecting to walk in to such a quiet hall, usually it was awash with drunks, singing and dancing.
“I saw the horses
head out over the field,” Bonnie whispered to her father as she gathered up her dress and knelt down between him and her mother. “Who were they father?”
He picked up his tankard and took a huge glug of wine before he set it back down on the table and turned to look at her. Her father had always been honest with her, but in that moment, Bonnie had the distinct feeling that he may be about to deceive her for the first time.
“They were no one,” he smiled warmly. “Travelers,” he continued as he patted her on the head. “They were looking for a bed for the night, stupid fools, they almost had their heads cut clean off.”
He laughed and her mother laughed nervously too. She searched her father’s face for signs of deceit, and although she was sure something had flickered across his eyes that was dark and brooding, she couldn’t pin down anything specific. Bonnie smiled and nodded, she got back to her feet and looked out across the hall. She could tell that people were watching her, and she instantly felt uncomfortable. For the first time in her life, she just hoped it was because they were taken aback at how long and red her hair was, and not anything else.
Even though it wasn’t uncommon for the women of the Highlands to have such striking red hair, Bonnie’s was different. It was almost luminous and shone brightly when caught by the light. She had seen many people be sucked into a trance as they watched her move and the red strands shone gold and crimson.
“Father?” she whispered as she bent back down and moved her lips close to his ear. “Are you sure they were just travelers?”
He faltered for a moment, aware of how intently everyone in the castle was now watching Bonnie, as if she was some kind of rare jewel. She felt her pulse begin to quicken and she could sense the tension in her mother’s shoulders.
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