Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

She quieted and snuggled against him.

  He closed his eyes and relished the feel of her in his arms.

  “Once again ye’ve helped me through a nightmare. I’ve not forgotten yer comfort years ago.”

  He stroked her arm with a thumb. “Ye’ve had a rough go of it for a long time.”

  The ship rocked. The wood creaked and groaned in the swells.

  “I began to lose hope I’d ever be free,” she whispered. “I thought I’d die in that cage.”

  “I am sorry ye were caught up in Edward’s savagery. I wish I had been able to save ye from experiencing his barbarity.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Ye did save me, Alysander. I will be forever grateful.”

  Chapter 11

  The afternoon sun sat low on the horizon as Alysander steered the ship northeast toward the Inner Hebrides. Orange and red swaths painted the deep blue sky, the colorful reflection shimmering across the windswept cove. The ship glided through the calm water as if eager to put into port. Soon they would reach his island. After the months he and his men had spent sailing the shores of France, Spain, and Ireland, he looked forward to arriving and, hopefully, settling Morgana in his home.

  “Good evening.”

  He turned as she stepped up behind him.

  “I’m glad to see ye up and about.”

  She pulled a blanket around her shoulders. “I slept like I was dead.”

  “’Tis guid ye rested. Ye’ll need more sleep along with nourishing food to regain yer strength.”

  “Aye, I still feel tired.” She leaned a hip against the railing, her dark hair whipping in the wind. She captured the thick strands in her hand and pulled them before her while staring ahead.

  “Ye’ve been through a terrible ordeal. ’Twill take time to heal both body and soul.”

  A thoughtful expression passed over her face. “How did ye know I was imprisoned?”

  “Elsbeth told me. I had sailed to Stonecrest to…to see ye.”

  She looked at him, her eyes widened. “Ye did?”

  “I told ye I would come back for ye.” He cupped her cheek. “I’ve thought of ye day and night.”

  The smile she gave him brightened her blue eyes. “Oh, Alysander, I have longed to hear ye say those words.”

  She stepped into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his waist. He rested his chin on top of her head. They held each other for a while without speaking, swaying in the gentle waves of Loch Linnhe.

  He rubbed her back then straightened and clutched her shoulders. “I’m taking ye to my home on an isle in the Inner Hebrides. Ye remember Laird Mangus MacAndrew? His family has owned the island for many generations. The land was uninhabited—a guid spot where I’ve found safe harbor.”

  “Safe harbor?”

  “I transport food and supplies to the Bruce’s supporters. For the most part, ’tis simply a matter of making a delivery and sailing on, but there’ve been occasions when ’twas prudent to stay hidden for a time. The island is unknown to most and provides refuge for my men, their families, Bryce, and me.”

  “I see.” She gazed at him. “I remember Laird MacAndrew with fondness. He visited Stonecrest several times and was always indulgent of my questions about ye and yer sailing adventures. He said ye were quite busy, supporting the Bruce and working hard for the cause.”

  She’d asked about me. Alysander’s chest swelled.

  “Ahh, well, I’m taking a wee break. We’re just now returning from months of sailing, and I aim to stay put for a while. Ye’ll be safe hidden there. With the Dragon Banner raised, King Edward has his son leading troops into Scotland to uncover supporters who aid the Bruce. They lay siege to any and all who are deemed suspicious. We must be careful.”

  “Have ye heard anything about the queen, Marjorie, and the other ladies from Kildrummy Castle?”

  “They’re still imprisoned. I’m sure the Bruce will send men to their rescue. Once we have ye safely on the island, I’ll see what I can find out about their plight.”

  She glanced down and fidgeted with the string on the trews. “I appreciate yer offer to protect me, but I ask ye take me to Tain.”

  “Tain? Why?”

  “Revenge.”

  He knew that feeling all too well.

  Water lapped against the hull. Ropes creaked and chains rattled on the tall mast as the ship glided farther up the loch.

  Her eyes glinted. “Knowing someday I’d reap vengeance upon Ross’s head kept me alive.”

  “Ye donnae want his death on yer hands, lass.”

  “Aye, I do. Ye donnae know how much I want that man dead for what he did to us, for what his kind did to Nigel Bruce.” A tear slid down her cheek, and her hands fisted. “I’ve never before witnessed nor endured such savagery.”

  He tugged her to him again and held her. Her slender shoulders shook as she let go of pent-up emotion. Soon she sagged against him, her body spent.

  “I know yer pain. I, too, have been intent on avenging my family. Hell, I even named this ship after my determination, but ye are much too weak to undertake such a task.”

  She straightened and looked at him with teary eyes. “I am weak, but I will strengthen and when I do, I will have my vengeance.”

  “Ye must wait, bide yer time, and form a plan.”

  “Ye will help me with such a plan?”

  He kissed her forehead. “I will.”

  Chapter 12

  The Inner Hebrides stretched out before Morgana, the multitude of islands dotting Scotland’s west coast. Two white-tailed sea eagles soared above the rocky mountain range, their high-pitched calls echoing across steep snow-covered hills towering in the distance.

  The Dhìoghaltas eased through the placid loch around a stand of dense evergreens. Morgana stood at the ship’s railing and inhaled deeply. She would soon meet all of Alysander’s people. How she wished she could repay them for the risk they’d undertaken in rescuing her. If King Edward learned of their part in her escape, the inhabitants would pay dearly.

  ’Twas another reason for her to leave as soon as she was able. She would not add to the danger these good people had already incurred. Too many had suffered. Too many had died.

  Alysander guided the ship into a cove surrounded by a wide beach. Torches raised on poles positioned around the forest’s border provided wavering light across a long pier jutting into the inlet. Several men holding thick ropes jumped from the ship to the wooden structure and slowed the vessel. The side scraped the bulwark, the wood screeching as the crew brought the Dhìoghaltas to rest.

  Women ran onto the beach to greet husbands, sons, and brothers. Laughter and squeals filled the air. Several lasses racing by hugged Alysander as he walked hand-in-hand with Morgana up the trail to the village. A dirt path wide enough for a wagon wound through the forest to a clearing. A stout wooden barn with open doors sat to the left. A wagon wheel and numerous round barrels rested against the walls of the two-story structure.

  A short way beyond, thatched-roofed houses lined the dirt road. A mill and pasture of grazing sheep and goats were on the other side of a fast-moving stream. Several men worked in the field, and a lady carrying a basket strolled by and waved.

  “Good evening to ye, Chief,” she said. “Welcome home.”

  Alysander tipped his head to her. “Thank ye, Glenda. ’Tis guid to be back.”

  They continued uphill as he pointed out the different structures, explaining who lived where and the role they played in the group. They made their way to a fine three-story wooden home.

  “This is my manor.”

  He placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her into a large great room filled with tables and benches and graced by a wide hearth on the back wall. Two young lads stoked a fire while roasting a slab of meat over the flames. The aroma filled her senses and her stomach growled. She would cherish a wee taste of the scrumptious smelling meat.

  “We are a small but close community. The women use the cookhouse to prepare mea
ls, and everyone gathers in this common chamber to eat, visit, and air grievances when warranted.”

  The ladies cheerfully prepared for a celebration of the return of their men and her successful rescue as Alysander showed her around and introduced her to the others. Their friendly smiles and kind welcomes warmed her heart. Two of the women pampered her with a hot bath, a fresh gown, and clean underthings.

  Heat radiated through her chest. She never expected such a heartfelt reception. What wonderful people.

  Smoked salmon, roasted boar, and tankards of wine and mead lined the trestle tables. Women and men danced to the lively harmonicas and lutes played by ale-drinking, merry-making lads. Cheers and laughter rang throughout the great hall. As the hour grew late, the music slowed, and couples slowly drifted onto the dance floor.

  Morgana strolled toward Alysander, who sat at a table amongst his men. She extended a hand. “Do ye care to dance?”

  He placed his tankard on the table and accepted her invitation.

  A fluttering started in her stomach at the simple touch of his hand in hers. She smiled as they bowed to each other, stepped close then slid away. They rotated around, placed their hands together, and once again stepped close.

  He gazed down at her, and she tipped her head up to him—her heart pounding. He placed his mouth on hers, and she closed her eyes, inhaling his musky scent. He trailed his lips along her cheek to nibble on her ear. Tingles shot through her and her legs grew weak.

  Upon seeing Morgana again, now as a grown woman, Alysander realized his feelings grew stronger than he’d imagined possible. Aye, he remembered the young lass he’d fallen in love with. He thought of her so often, praying she awaited his return and that she too would want him as he wanted her.

  “Come walk the shore with me,” he whispered in her ear. “I want to speak with ye…alone.”

  She straightened and gazed into his eyes. “Verra well.”

  He led her down to the water’s edge. The crescent moon sent glimmers along the rippling surface.

  “’Tis beautiful,” she said on a breath.

  Alysander stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “Aye, ’tis a sight I donnae tire of seeing.”

  The water lapped on shore, and a gentle breeze blew around them.

  “Ye said ye wanted to talk to me. Is it about helping me with my plan?”

  “Aye. There are many forms of revenge, lass, and I want to help ye plan the sweetest vengeance.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The best reprisal by far is ye succeeding, being happy, and living a good life, regardless of what the fiend did to ye. I implore ye, take that kind of vengeance.”

  She stiffened. “I donnae know if that would be enough to heal my heart, stifle my anger, my pain.”

  He hugged her tighter. “There are many here who have been wronged, myself included. For years, I held onto the vow of retaliation, but it seared a black mark on my soul, one that spread through my core.”

  A splash sounded in the cove and then another as seals frolicked in the cool night. Morgana remained quiet and still in his arms.

  “I like to think I bested the English dogs,” he continued. “Bryce and I survived their brutal attack. Aye, we lost loved ones, but we werenae defeated. Through new friends and family, we have thrived in spite of our enemy. They dinnae win.”

  Still she said nothing.

  Alysander turned her toward him. He searched her face, her eyes. “Say something.”

  She shook her head. “I have to go back. I have to get revenge.”

  “You could be killed.”

  “It doesnae matter.”

  “Aye, it does. It matters to me.”

  Morgana stared into his eyes.

  “I understand yer anger and pain, but revenge keeps yer anguish alive. It eats away at yer soul. Ye have to release yer desire to kill the man. Embrace the good in yer life. ’Tis nae to say ye willnae think on it a time or two, and maybe someday circumstances will arise when ye can easily deliver a blow to yer enemy without causing harm to yerself, but donnae dwell on it. Donnae let him win by destroying yer happiness and replacing it with darkness and grief.”

  “I still see his sneer, hear his order to take us away. Marjorie’s screams and Elizabeth’s cries fill my ears.”

  “Ye will for some time but ’twill fade.” He gazed at her, his heart bared. “Choose me, Morgana. Nae the revenge.”

  She rubbed her forehead. If she sought Ross’s death, Alysander would feel he had to go with her. Her chest tightened. If he died helping her kill the man, she would never forgive herself. So many had already lost their lives.

  He took her hand in his. “Stay with me as my wife. Let us build a life together. I promise to lavish ye with love and give ye all the time ye need to heal, if ye’ll stay.”

  Morgana’s heart filled. God more than answered her prayers, her pleas from the torturous steel cage.

  He sent her hero.

  She’d loved Alysander since she met him so many years ago. He was still her champion.

  “I donnae know what I did to deserve ye.” She kissed his bearded cheek. “If ye managed to get past the horrors ye’ve endured, I will do my best to follow suit.”

  “Does that mean ye’ll be my wife?”

  She eased her arms around his neck and drew him in, placed her lips on his. “Aye, I will be yer wife, my love, forevermore.”

  About Lane McFarland

  Lane is a southern girl living on top of a mountain in North Georgia, and she's most happy when surrounded by family and friends. If she is not writing, you can find her hiking with her husband, or fiddling around in her flower and vegetable gardens, feeding the birds and watching black bears and deer.

  Lane loves to hear from readers! Please drop her a note at mcfarland.lane@gmail.com. Tell her about yourself and let her know what you like to read and would like to see in future books and series.

  Also by Lane McFarland

  Buy Lane’s Books

  The Daughters of Alastair MacDougall Series:

  Cameron

  Heather

  Lindsey

  Elsbeth

  The Turnberry Legacy Series:

  To Support A King

  A King’s Enemies

  Death of a King’s Rival

  To Love An Impostor

  A Medieval Christmas Novella

  The Right Knight by Barbara Bettis

  Chapter 1

  Nottinghamshire

  April 1212

  “No.” Annis of Roxley crossed her arms and stood her ground directly in the path of the unwanted visitor armed and armored in front of her. “I will not wed your master. Neither will I agree to become the ward of King John.”

  The knight glowered from the back of his monstrous bay gelding. “Lady, by order of the king, you have no choice—it’s either one or the other.”

  Annis blew out a breath from between narrowed lips. The knight raised a dark eyebrow, intensifying his scowl.

  “We shall see,” she answered. Her stomach hitched at the expression in the man’s deep brown eyes. He looked entirely too determined.

  She held out a hand. “Leave the writ with me for study. You may return to your camp while I decide.”

  “I think not.” He spurred the gelding forward, tucking away the packet containing the king’s decree. “Step aside, lady, or you’ll come to harm.”

  She didn’t flinch. His bravado didn’t frighten her. This so-called ‘command’ must be a fake. Must it not? A hint of unease made her heartbeat skip.

  She started at his shrill whistle that brought several other mounted men galloping through the partially open gate to the horseman’s side.

  Satan’s teeth! Old Gerald had neglected to close the gate. Why hadn’t she noticed? Now what?

  She gestured to her small garrison, bringing them in to surround the unwanted visitors, while Gerald finally recalled his duty. The one gate ajar began to creak closed, only to be forced wider by more soldi
ers.

  Annis’s earlier indignation sparked into anger. How dare this ragged, dirty knight invade her home. She didn’t for one snap of her fingers believe he came from the king, looking as he did. No matter what proof he claimed to carry. Yet she knew her denial came from stubbornness.

  He rose in the stirrups, paused to survey the bailey, then swung down and tossed the reins to a nearby lad, one of several gathered to gape at the newcomers.

  Dread nibbled the edges of her anger. Annis refused to give in to it, inhaling a long breath as she fought for composure. She ought to have known her calm existence couldn’t continue, but she thought she’d have more time to formulate a plan.

  Papa had been gone less than a sennight.

  How had the king learned of his death so quickly?

  Annis wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d be allowed to retain Roxley herself. She knew of several widows and landed daughters ordered to wed knights chosen by the king. Although she would hate to give up her home, the last thing she wanted was to marry one of John’s fawning lackeys. Especially one who couldn’t be bothered to pull himself away from court festivities to deliver the claim himself.

  Instead, he’d sent this ruffian to represent him. Well, she wasn’t interested. Truth be told, she felt insulted to be treated as of no more importance than a pile of stones and a few hides of land. Very well, many hides of land, and forests, and pastures, and lakes. And a village. And a large, strong arrangement of stones. Roxley.

  No need stoking her anger further by thinking of all she’d lose if she didn’t wed as the king directed. Still, it was too soon.

  When her father died, Annis had anticipated some action from King John—he needed funds for the war with France too badly to neglect making use of a rich demesne newly available. He awarded holdings to his favorites, but she knew he usually expected something in return for the honor.