Highland Bloodline

by Florence Love Karsner

  Highland

  Bloodline

  Florence Love Karsner

  Copyright © 2017 Florence Love Karsner

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-978-1-943369-11-9

  SeaDog Press, LLC

  313 Ebb Tide Court

  Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida 32082

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Ship Logo: © Dn Br | Shutterstock

  Ouroboros Design: Caroline Bowen

  Copyright © 2017 Florence Love Karsner

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-943369-11-9

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

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  CHAPTER 1

  T

  he MacKinnon lodge was a most inviting place this evening. Oil lamps and candles burned softly, while a small fire kept the damp chill at bay. The hills and moor were coming to life again after a long winter, and even though it was after eight in the evening it was still light outside.

  All the bairns were abed and the MacKinnon men were enjoying a wee dram after a trying day. To an outsider peeking in, the scene was one of perfect calm and peace. Were that outsider to enter, however, he would be steeped in the anxiety and tension that sizzled in the room.

  The topic of conversation was the same as it had been for several nights now, rumors the British military were rounding up Jacobite supporters who had survived the Battle of Culloden and either putting them in prison, executing them on the spot, or sending them to the islands to be sold as slaves.

  These rumors were not new, and many supporters had already been captured. It had been some time since the battle and the MacKinnons had avoided being captured. Their lodge was a difficult place to find, it being well hidden high up in the Highlands.

  Alex came in the back door, having needed a word with Boder, the new hand they had hired for the lambing season.

  "What did Boder want this time?" Jack asked.

  "Another complaint about his living quarters. He's not too keen on sharing the cottage with Hamish and Kenny. Says they talk too much and keep him awake at night. Mostly he's miffed because I told him to put that cheroot out before he goes in the cottage at night as it wouldn't take much for that thatched roof to go up in flames. Don't think he much liked that. Thinks he should have a cottage to himself. He's a good hand, but I'm not of a mind to have the lads clean another cottage and make it ready just for his convenience. Let's see how he works out before we make any other arrangements for him."

  From the kitchen, Caitlin was only half listening to the conversation. Her mind was occupied with the events of a few days ago. It wasn't every day she was called upon to use her extraordinary powers to save a loved one, and certainly it was not every day she caused the death of another human being. She was a healer after all, not a killer.

  As she entered the room, her long skirt sweeping along the floor, Alex stood and turned his attention from Da and Jack to her, reaching for her hand as she came closer. He thought she was the picture of perfection. Her long, curly, flame-colored hair and sparkling aqua eyes seemed even more brilliant these days. Willie, her wolf companion and protector, trailed along beside her. He seemed to be aware of her condition and kept glued to her every moment. His role as her protector was one he never neglected.

  "Lass, here, sit now, rest awhile. I know yer still worried about Charlie, but the ordeal's over and the little lad's safe. He's wounded to be sure, but he's young and he'll recover. Hear me on this now, mo chridhe."

  Caitlin's large girth made sitting a bit of a chore these days. She and Alex were expecting their first bairn, and one look at the healer's body indicated the birth would be soon.

  "I hope you're right. He's such a special lad, but he’s had enough problems already. His deafness is quite a challenge for him, and since the incident with Drosera, he hasn't even made his usual sounds. Millie and Camille and I have worked diligently with him, and this is a major setback."

  "Aye. But he's got this entire family to help him, lass, ye ken?"

  Caitlin nodded and, finding the chair uncomfortable, stood again and walked to the window. As she looked out across the moor, Alex came up behind her and put an arm around her shoulders.

  "Mo chridhe, ye don't need to worry so. Drosera was an evil woman if ever there was one, and if ye hadn't taken care of her she'd have killed our wee Charlie for sure. Don't forget, ye aren't totally responsible for her death. Yer bolt of lightning definitely started the process, but the shot from my pistol finished the job. So, I'm responsible also.

  We both know it had to be done. If we hadn't taken action, she'd have found us again someday. Nae, ye needn't let her death weigh on yer mind. I know that's difficult for a healer, but let it go lass, let it go."

  Alex thought he had gotten his message through to her, but Caitlin turned to face him, grabbed his shirt and jerked him closer.

  "Alex, I killed a woman! A healer saves people, she doesn't kill them. I had no intention of destroying a life, I simply needed to save Charlie. I acted on an overwhelming instinct and in a matter of seconds I had taken Drosera's life. I don't want these powers. I'll never be able to control them!"

  She burst into sobs and held her face in her hands. For a woman who remained calm in most trying situations, the emotional exhibition was out of character.

  "Lass, ye saved the lad's life and that's all that matters. If ye hadn't stopped Drosera, Charlie would be dead now instead of that vile woman. Come now. Let's get ye settled here in the chair. We'll put yer feet up and I'll fetch ye a mug of Millie's hot cocoa."

  He helped her into a larger chair and she sat quietly, sipping her cocoa and catching a few words of the discussion the men were having. Trying her best to turn her mind from her recent deplorable deed, she listened more closely to the men. She still found it amusing the true Highlanders spoke so differently than folks from other areas of the country. Their brogue was unique, certainly.

  She had heard different accents in almost every village she came through on her way to the upper Highlands, where she now lived. She was originally from Skye, the largest island of the Inner Hebrides. And even though Skye was considered part of the Highlands, the accent was still different from the accent she heard up here. She loved the way these brothers said "ye" instead of you and "yer" instead of your. She'd grown used to it now, but still enjoyed hearing the men and their brogue. It was like a language from another era and she found it refreshing.

  Da and Jack expressed their thoughts openly, but she knew Alex would keep his thoughts to himself and only express them when
he had worked out the details. But this latest issue, the Brits rounding up the Jacobites, this was a real problem and she could see the worry on Alex's face.

  Her own thoughts, her worries, were about what would happen if the Brits managed to capture them, Alex and Jack. What would happen to the others? Da was still able-bodied but getting older now, as was Uncle Andrew. And Hector and Ian? Did the Brits know that all the brothers had been at Culloden? Would she and Millie have to fend for themselves and the bairns?

  My life has changed so since coming to the Highlands. I was a carefree healer caring for the villagers in Skye and life was so easy. What was I thinking when I married this Highlander? It seems that we've gone from one calamity to another since we met. Of course, I was running from two men who were determined to kill me back then and Alex saved me from certain death. Oh, what a mess. I do love him so, but I wish life weren't so complicated.

  These powers are very disturbing. I've used them twice now, and in neither case was I in control of them. Uncle Wabi says they were bestowed on me for a purpose, but I don't want them. I can just hear him now though . . . 'patience, dear girl, patience.' It seems to me if one is given powers, shouldn't they be able to control them?

  Looking around the room, she saw all those she cared for gathered. If the Brits did manage to find them, Alex and Jack wouldn't be taken easily, but she also knew the Brits had plenty of soldiers and was aware there were informers, other Scots, who were aiding the soldiers in their quest. Brother had fought against brother in this battle, and in the end there was great heartache for all. There were too many unanswered questions. She had no doubt this problem was not going away, and time was not on their side.

  ~ ~ ~

  For Alex, the leader of this band of brothers, his shoulders felt a heavy load of responsibility, as if they were carrying a heavy ewe, as they often had over the years. Da was still around, but he'd turned the reins over to Alex, the eldest son. Though they made decisions as a family, it was obvious the others looked to Alex to handle difficult situations, which certainly arose in such a large family. His intelligence was a great asset, but some situations were difficult to come to grips with.

  Jack, the second oldest brother, and a very large Highlander, paced back and forth, his face flushed with excitement.

  "But, Alex. We can't just sit here waiting on the Redcoats to come round us up. We've got to do something I tell ye!"

  "I'm just as concerned as ye, Jack, but we have to think this through. We need a plan of action, not just a knee-jerk response that could get all of us killed. It's not just us menfolk now. We've got women and bairns to think about. Let's be rational about this and then take action." Alex had learned long ago to let Jack vent and then try to reason with him.

  "Yeah, but if they show up tomorrow we might just be caught without a plan. What do we do if that happens?"

  Then, as usual at the end of the day, a small voice called from the top of the stairs.

  "Grandda, you promised!" That stopped the serious conversation, which was a good thing. No amount of talking had brought any answers so far anyway. They all laughed as Da stood. Every evening he looked forward to story time with the wee ones. Reading to them brought back old memories for him and created new ones for them. The irony of the situation was that these were not even his own grandchildren. They were three orphans Hector had found hiding in Cameron Castle, an estate Millie inherited upon her grandmother’s recent death. The orphans had been in the lodge for several months now and were an integral part of the MacKinnon family.

  Just as Da rose to climb the stairs, there was a sharp rap on the front door. Alex was out of his chair in an instant. "Jack, pistols!" Fearing it might be the Brits, Alex hurried to the kitchen to retrieve the pistol he kept hidden in the pantry. Jack flew down the hall to retrieve his own firearm, moving quickly for such a large man.

  Before the brothers could get back, however, Da had gone to the door.

  "I'll get it. I'm up already." He opened the door and felt the blood drain from his face. No. This can't be. He's here. And he's not a lad any longer, he's a man. No.

  His brain kept telling him it couldn't be, but his heart recognized the truth. There was the same shock of dark hair, and even darker eyes that looked into your soul, and long, gangly legs that had outgrown the rest of his body. And the final touch, the cleft in his chin that couldn't be denied.

  Oh, Alice, mo chridhe. Ye should see him.

  Da finally found his voice and connected it to his brain. "Good evening, lad. Can I help ye?" He held his breath almost dreading to hear the answer to his question.

  The young lad quickly pulled off his tam and crumpled it, shuffling it back and forth from one hand to the other. "Yes ... sir. I'm looking for my father. I was told he lives here." The dark, intelligent eyes never left Da's face.

  The old man nodded. "Yes. I believe he does. Come in then, lad."

  The boy entered and Da leaned against the door for a moment, trying to regain his equilibrium and feeling his age as never before. Then he called out. "Alex, there's someone here who needs ye!"

  Alex heard Da calling and quickly walked that way, his kilt swinging as his long, muscular legs covered the distance quickly. "What? Who is it?" He held his pistol tightly as he reached the door, coming face-to-face with the young lad standing there. Certainly not the Brits. But who?

  Alex, too, seemed to have the same problem Da experienced—lack of connection between his tongue and his brain. His mind reeled as he stared at the lad and he had no doubt he was seeing the very image of himself at that age—the thick, dark hair, rather scruffy at the neck, in need of a trim as Alex's always was, and long legs that were out of proportion with the rest of his body. The lad already stood close to six feet tall. But most telling of all were his eyes, so dark and deep Alex could feel them searing into his face. Likewise, his own dark eyes were taking in every inch of the young lad's features, as if to etch them into his mind. Then the cleft chin said it all.

  Holy Jesus. What have I done?

  What was he to say? How do you address a stranger who is so like you there's no denying it? But it was impossible. He had no children, except, obviously that was not true. But when, where, who? As Alex furiously ran a litany of questions through his mind, the lad looked away from him, then, turning back to face him, held his head at an angle that caused an avalanche of memories to come cascading through Alex's brain.

  Yes, of course, Fiona. My English rose at university. Ye always cocked yer head in that manner when ye were about to question me about something I probably wasn't going to agree with. Why didn't ye let me know I had a son?

  His held his pistol in his left hand, still pointed directly at the chest of the young lad, who stared at it as if he had never seen one. As his mind slowed down and reason returned, Alex finally spoke and let his pistol hang down by his side.

  "Lad, I'm Alex MacKinnon. Please come in, join us." He held out his hand and offered it to the young lad. Much beyond that Alex wasn't sure how to proceed.

  To his great relief, Caitlin had her emotions back under control and walked over to join him. The healer had only to take a quick look to understand the situation. The lad was the spiting image of Alex. And he was even more uncomfortable than Alex himself. That was apparent to her as she, too, offered her hand to the stranger.

  "Hello, I'm Caitlin MacKinnon. And what is your name?"

  "I'm Robbie. Actually, Robert Alexander MacKinnon."

  "Please come in, Robbie. Come warm by the fire and I'll make you a cup of cocoa. That'll get your insides warmed up. It's still a mite cold out."

  Alex was grateful someone had stepped in and taken the lead. It was apparent to him that both he and Robbie were having difficulty speaking—maybe a familial trait or genetic problem.

  Da excused himself. Alex had no doubt that he, too, was relieved his daughter-in-law had sorted the situation quickly and was trying to assist in making things a bit more comfortable for everyone. In her usual fashion,
the healer started issuing instructions.

  "Alex, introduce Robbie to everyone and then you two come to the kitchen. We should have a few moments together and see if Robbie is hungry as well."

  "Yes, of course, come in lad. Come in." Alex stepped back and the lad came through.

  Robbie was surprised to find so many people in the lodge. His mother had told him only a few facts about his father. He knew Alex came from a large family with several brothers and that they lived in the Highlands. Other than that, he really didn't know much. He stood in the middle of the room wishing he could drop through a hole in the floor.

  What was I thinking? That he'd welcome me with open arms? He didn't even know I existed before today.

  Alex, usually very adept at handling social situations, found himself struggling to find the right words. Finally he managed to utter something that at least got the conversation going.

  "Uh, Robbie, the beautiful woman making the cocoa is Caitlin, my wife. This other lovely lady is Millie, and she's married to my brother, Jack."

  The lad continued to shift his tam back and forth in his hands as he nodded to the ladies and briefly made a quick handshake with Jack, who still held his pistol also. Young Ian stood up from his lying position on the floor. He, too, saw the unbelievable resemblance to Alex. The boy could be another MacKinnon brother from the looks of him.

  "Hello, I'm Ian, Alex's youngest brother."

  Robbie looked at Ian and felt a warmth he hadn't felt coming from the others. Perhaps it was that they were close in age. Whatever, it was a welcomed feeling.

  Alex cleared his throat. "Um, everyone, this is Robert Alexander MacKinnon. Apparently he belongs in this family, so we'll get to know him. Now, Robbie, let's go to the kitchen and see if Caitlin has that cocoa ready."

  Alex wasn't sure which was worse, standing with the lad, a son he didn't know he had, or seeing the expressions on the faces of his family. They were astounded.

  The lad followed Alex and they took a seat at the old pine kitchen table, the one where all family matters got settled. Robbie liked the looks of the table, as there was something of permanence about it. There were many scars on the surface and someone's initials had been carved on one corner. Around the edges there were what looked like scratches made by an animal. But thanks to Millie's efforts, it was shining and smelled like lemons. In fact, the whole place smelled like a home should smell, not one that reeked like an infirmary with sick folk, like his own home had for the longest time now.