Highland Captive Read online

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  Champagne Books

  www.champagnebooks.com

  Copyright ©2011 by Mary McCall

  First published in 2011

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Epilogue

  About Mary

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  Champagne Books Presents

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  Highland Captive

  By

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  Mary McCall

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  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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  Champagne Books

  www.champagnebooks.com

  Copyright 2011 by Mary McCall

  ISBN 978-1-926996-14-1

  May 2011

  Cover Art by Trisha FitzGerald

  Produced in Canada

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  Champagne Books

  #35069-4604 37 ST SW

  Calgary, AB T3E 7C7

  Canada

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  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Champagnebooks.com (or a retailer of your choice) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To Adele, my sister, my friend, my mentor, you make my life richer. This one's for you.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Prologue

  June, 1102

  Arundrydge, England's Mid-Western Coast

  Mama was right. Life was full of lessons. If she wanted to kill a bull, she needed a bigger blade.

  "Praise be to Almighty God, His angels, and all His saints! You are alive!” Baron Robert of Arundrydge pulled his errant eight-year-old daughter from the fore-building into a fierce embrace, closing his eyes to the chaos in his outer bailey. He took a few deep breaths to slow his hammering heart, then clenched his jaw as anger nudged aside his fear.

  "Of course I'm alive, Papa.” Alera patted her father's cheek. “You know Henry will not let anything bad happen to me. He is the very best of all the angel guardians. ‘Tis why I thank Almighty God for him every day like you told me."

  Robert set Alera on her feet, kept a grip on her upper arms, and glowered down at her. “What in the name of Saint Ethelbert did you think you were doing?"

  Alera smiled wide and puffed out her chest with pride. “I was playing bull bait, ‘cause you told me I'm not allowed to go into the forest and bait no boars.” She scrunched her face into a disgruntled frown. “I might have won, if I had a real sword instead of this cursed puny dagger."

  Robert'growled and shook his daughter.

  "You are rattling my teeth, Papa!"

  "I ought to rattle more than your —” Robert broke off, grabbed Alera's wrist, and tugged her behind him toward the keep through the fallen stalls, broken pottery, toppled crates, scattered foodstuffs, and loose animals running amuck.

  "Papa, I am not through playing yet,” Alera complained. “Where are we going?” Her father growled again, and she frowned. Why was Papa acting upset? He was heading for Mama, but she was all right, wasn't she? She didn't need Mama to fix her. “Are you miffed about something, Papa?"

  Baron Robert increased his pace.

  Alera ran along behind him, unable to match his furious stride. “Papa, my arm is going to pop out!"

  "You would try the patience of Almighty God, Himself!” Robert grabbed Alera by her waist and tossed her across his shoulder then kept going. “I may just have a talk with Him about you. I think you just earned an extra century in Purgatory."

  Alera drew her brows together as worry plagued her. Purgatory was that place where bad little girls went and they couldn't have no water to drink or play games or nothing fun. She surely didn't want to go there. Why would Papa want to send his precious baby to such an awful place? “I thought you were glad I am all right, Papa. Is your gullet griping you again?"

  Robert growled and walked up the steps into the hall.

  "Bradana!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  "You know I love you, Papa,” Alera reminded him.

  A loud rumble came out of her Papa, and he headed up the steps.

  "You love your precious baby too, do you not?"

  "By all that's holy, cease your prattle.” Arriving on the third level, Robert toted his daughter down the corridor. He balled his fist and struck open the solar door, slamming the wood against the inner stone wall.

  Lady Bradana, sitting near the window, looked up from her tapestry frame. Her irate husband stomped into the chamber, carrying their dirty disheveled daughter. Her poor baby looked contrite and confused. Bradana compressed her lips to contain her chuckle at the sight of the pair. What had her wee precious been up to this time?

  Robert gritted his teeth. “You can wipe the amusement from your eyes, woman, and come tend to your heathen daughter."

  "Mama, I think Papa's gullet is gripin’ again, and —"

  "Shut your mouth, Alera,” Robert ordered.

  "Robert, set her down, and since when is she just my daughter?” Mirth rang in Bradana's lyric burr as she rose from her chair. “As I recall, on the night she was created —"

  "Enough!” Robert set Alera down and placed his hands on his hips. “I am in no mood for humor. Your daughter just baited Elfrid's prize stud!"

  Bradana closed her eyes, thanking her Maker that Alera still lived. She would have a talk with her daughter later. Right now she needed to placate her man. She offered Robert a tentative smile. “Well she obviously did not lose."

  Alera placed her hands on her hips and scrunched her face into an angry scowl, imitating her papa. “'Twas a damn tie, Mama. I wanted to win, but the closer the bull got, the punier my dagger looked. I think mayhap Henry nudged me, ‘cause of I was too damn scared to move. Then all of a sudden I was runnin’ faster than a whore from a pox-marked warrior. Mayhap we should oughta get me a real sword."

  Robert balled his fists. “God's bones, Bradana, would you listen to her? Her mouth competes with my meanest foot soldier, she dresses like the lowest serf, she fights like a barbarian against boys twice her size, she plays with killer birds, and her manners are worse than your heathen sister Hope."


  Bradana's brows snapped together. “Hold it right there, sirrah. You will leave Hope out of this."

  "How in the hell are we supposed to do that?” Robert asked with a touch of sarcasm. “'Tis you filling Alera's head with all those tales of Hope playing wolf bait and limb swinging, not to mention that damned Highlander game that sets her to such mischief."

  "And ‘tis obviously your mouth that she emulates in her speech,” Bradana retorted, nostrils flaring.

  Baron Robert closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He counted to ten. ‘Twas not high enough. He counted to twenty then shook his head. He made it to fifty before he decided it was safe to release his breath.

  "Bradana,” he gritted out. “The outer bailey is in ruins. Today's foodstuffs are destroyed. Elfrid's bull hit the wall of the fore-building so hard that the stone cracked from top to bottom. We will be lucky if the beast still knows what his coilles are for when next he meets a cow. All this happened, because your daughter thought ‘twould be fun to bait and kill a bull. And she got the idea from those ridiculous stories you make up about your sister.” He wiped a hand over his face, trying to rein in his temper. “I have left Alera's rearing to you, expecting you to make her into a lady. I still have some small fragment of hope left that you will accomplish what appears more and more an impossible task-cursed heathen that she has become."

  Alera raised a shamed expression as the enormity of her papa's ire dawned on her. “I am sorry I am a cursed heathen, Papa."

  Bradana pulled Alera into a maternal embrace and glared at her husband. “I will thank you not to be calling Alera cursed anymore. She is beginning to believe you. Our daughter is blessedly gifted. Her value to the MacKays if they knew she possessed the gift would be beyond your imagination, and they would steal her."

  "We live in England, not on some savage Highland hill!” Robert sucked in a breath to calm himself. “Gifted or cursed, you will cease filling her head with nonsense. And by all that's holy, you are never to tell Alera another tale about her Aunt Hope."

  Bradana open her mouth to speak.

  "You mind what I say, Bradana. Quit spoiling the girl. I will return in six weeks.” Robert kissed his wife and stormed out of the chamber. The door banged shut behind him.

  Alera's lower lip quivered. “You think Papa does not love me no more?"

  "Ah, precious, of course he loves you.” Bradana guided Alera toward her chair. “Come sit on my lap.” Bradana resumed her seat and held out her arms. Alera climbed onto her mama's lap, leaned her head against her mama's breast, and sniffed.

  Robert slammed back into the solar, kissed Alera's head, grunted, and slammed back out again.

  "There now,” Bradana said in Gaelic. She decided long ago that her daughter would learn her Highland tongue. She was proud of Alera, too. Her wee precious was developing quite a lilting burr. “Are you feeling better?"

  Alera nodded and sniffed again. “I did not mean to make Papa so mad."

  Bradana caressed her daughter's back. “I know, Alera. Your papa is more upset about the danger you were in than anything else."

  "But Henry will not let nothing happen to me.” Alera sat up and raised a confused countenance toward her mother.

  Bradana dabbed Alera's tears with a small linen square. “Henry is perhaps the best angel guardian Almighty God ever created, but he is probably getting disgusted from having to rescue you all the time."

  Alera gasped. “You think Henry will get mad like Papa and leave me?"

  "Ah, lassie,” Bradana crooned, pushing a lock of chestnut curls behind Alera's ear. “Both Papa and Henry love you very much and neither of them will ever leave you forever. But what if Almighty God calls a meeting of all the angel guardians like the king calls baron meetings? Henry may be away and not able to save you."

  Alera frowned. “I never thought of that."

  "From now on if you want to do something, then you should think on it. If there is a chance that Henry will have to rescue you, then you should not do it. You do not want him to get irritated. After all, someday something really bad could happen and Henry might be too exhausted or put out with you to help."

  "I will try not to pester Henry no more,” Alera said solemnly. “I do not want him to ever leave me—Papa, either."

  "That's my wee precious.” Bradana settled Alera against her chest and kissed the top of her head. “Now let's speak of your cursing."

  "Will I have to suck bitters?"

  "Aye, you will.” Bradana nodded. “You also deserve a sound thrashing for tearing up the outer bailey. When you dry your eyes, you will apologize to Elfrid and all who were present, then you will go confess to Father Lawrence. When your father comes home, you will beg his forgiveness too."

  Alera sighed and fingered the brooch on her mother's shoulder. Alera's grandpa gave her mama the brooch for a wedding gift, and her mama wore it all the time. The sapphires sparkled just like her mama's eyes, which were just like hers. They both had the crystalline blue eyes of Highland heathens. Alera sure wished she could go to the Highlands where little girls could play fun games. “Mama, do you miss the Highlands and Aunt Hope?"

  "Sometimes."

  "Do you wish you could go home?"

  "The Highlands will always be a part of me, Alera, and I have wonderful memories, but my home is here now."

  Alera scrunched her face. “I thought home was where you were born."

  "Home is where your heart tells you that you belong. Mine tells me that I belong at Arundrydge with your father."

  "Could you tell me Aunt Hope stories in secret once in a while if I promise not to tell Papa?” Alera pushed her lower lip out into her best little girl pout.

  Bradana arched a brow at her audacious daughter. “Do you honestly expect me to disobey your father?"

  Alera released a mournful sigh and resettled her cheek against her mama's breast. “I guess not."

  Bradana chuckled and ran her fingers through Alera's curls. “Have I ever told you about your Aunt Toril?"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  One

  Early Spring, 1110

  Arundrydge, England's Mid-Western Coast

  Papa was right. If a snake slithers across your path, you should kill it

  Alera rushed out the postern gate and ran along the rocky trail that led to the beach. Barely slowing, she nimbly channeled the dangerous decline to the sandy cove. Blocked from the guard's view by a steep cliff, this secluded beach was her safe haven from the world. Her Think Place.

  She couldn't believe Uncle Mortimer had attacked her, deliberately provoking her rage. He knew she had killed because of it.

  The spray of the frigid surf and thrashing of waves upon boulders greeted her. She inhaled deep breaths of salty air and let the wild dance of the sea subdue her demon rage. Mama called her fury part of her “gift.” Alera released a snort, then chided herself for the unladylike sound. But ‘twas the truth, her wrath was a curse. She had spent most of her life trying to master the savage emotion that lent her brute strength but clouded her judgment. She wasn't always successful.

  As she calmed, turmoil plagued her mind. She would turn eight and ten in two days. The king would demand her choice. A choice she had yet to make. He had given her until six months after her father's mysterious disappearance to pick the man whom she would wed and make lord over Arundrydge. The monarch had made a pact with her mother years ago to allow her this freedom. And she wanted to choose. Wanted someone with whom she could share her life. Give her the love and companionship her parents had enjoyed. But how could she make a choice while so worried over Papa's fate?

  Everyone said her father, Baron Robert, was dead, so much blood had covered the bed of his ransacked chamber. But Alera refused to yield to grief's call. An icy knife had plunged into her chest and cut a piece from her heart to be forever buried five years past with her mother. That cold blade had not returned. Surely with the close bond she shared with her father, his death would deal another such physical blow.
And she saw him in her dreams—haggard, tired, and in bondage—as if his spirit called to hers. She would hold fast to her conviction. He was alive somewhere and ‘twas up to her to find him.

  "Henry, where are you?” she whispered desperately. “I need wise counsel now."

  A lively breeze snapped about her and the waves gushed at the rocks near the cliff base, but no reply rode upon wind or water.

  Alera snorted and kicked a shell on the beach. “If you were a good angel guardian, you would help me with this problem. Think about it, Henry. Daryl is taking me to Londontown on the morrow. If I do not give the king a name, I may end up married to a brute. He will probably provoke me, and I will most likely kill him. Then the king will have to kill me. Even if I was a vexatious child, you surely do not wish such a fate upon me. I need more time to think on this before I choose."

  The hairs rose at her nape. Foreboding shivered along her spine. Was she watched? She glanced about, turning full circle. Nothing unusual. Not a single rock appeared displaced. Her mind had become fanciful. “You see, Henry, I am so worried I imagine danger at the safest spot in my world. I may have to rename you. Your help to me of late has been less than angelic. Mayhap I should call you Thorn."

  At a caw overhead, Alera looked up toward the craggy outcrop of rocks where the eagles returned to nest. “I am glad to have you home from your winter retreat, my friends,” she called out. “What think you, Henry? At least they have not deserted—"

  Two beefy hands grabbed her arms from behind. Alera parted her lips to scream. A rag was crammed into her mouth. She fought against her captor's embrace. A scratchy, rank material descended over her head and sacked around her. Then a tight restraint coiled about her down the length of her body, pinioning her arms and legs.

  She continued to struggle and lost her balance. Every muscle tensed in anticipation of hard contact with the earth. Two large hands caught her hips and tossed her upward. She landed hard on her stomach and prayed for air to enter her chest while trying to wiggle off what was obviously the shoulder of a very massive man.