Page 8 of Her Highland Prophecy
“Hello? Is someone there?” she called out. Silence.
It must have been my imagination.
She lifted the medallion closer to the hole. A ringing bell broke through the silence.
It was the same ominous ringing she had heard the previous evening in the tent. She ignored it and pushed the medallion into its slot. Whispers joined the ringing as the wind whipped around her faster and faster.
She cried out and then she gave in to the darkness and the voices surrounding her.
3
Ballachulish, Scotland, 1653
“Thank ye, good sir, for yer business,” the trader said with an obsequious little bow.
Gordain was disgusted, even as he bowed slightly in farewell, mounting his horse. If his clan had not been in such dire straits, he would have never approached that toad.
Yet, he had no choice. The last two winters had been harsh, and their tenants had lost more than one crop to the frost. The entire clan was suffering. His father, soft-hearted Laird that he was, had declared that they would only be collecting a fraction of the rents again that year.
Gordain knew that besides the much smaller income that was to be expected that year, his father was likely to make further exceptions to anyone who visited the Castle to request aid.
It was insanity, and if something didn’t change, they would soon not be able to put food on their own table, let alone protect the Clan.
Gordain shook his head to dispel the angry thoughts. He and his father had had that particular argument many times in the past. It always ended with one of the two – usually Gordain – storming out of the room.
It’s like he wants us to lose the Clan’s support.
He had resorted to visiting the nearby markets and selling their jewelry little by little to cover their debts. This time, it had been his grandmother’s jeweled brooch and his heart had hurt when he handed it over.
He was determined to do it, though. The alternative his father had proposed was unthinkable. He would not wed Mary McKinnon, no matter how large a dowry she possessed. He would rather squander every last bit of their fortune before he would tie himself to that bitter harpy.
So lost was he in his thoughts about his distaste in his father’s choice in brides, that he almost rode right past her.
She stood with her back pressed to a tree, barefoot, wearing nothing but a blue shift, unlike any shift that Gordain had ever seen before. The material looked impossibly soft, and it clung to her every curve exposing her shoulders and leaving her knees bare in an almost indecent way. A ribbon was slung low around her hips ending in a bow on the one side.
And what curves they were. His hands itched to hold her by the dip of her waist as he caressed her. He flushed at the thought and diverted his gaze and thoughts away from her body.
His eyes went to her face. Her blonde hair was pulled back, a few strands framing her face, and her eyes were as green as the grass on the hills surrounding them. She had a gold chain around her slender throat, ending in a gold heart with an odd light-blue gem on it.
She was exquisite as she was an enigma. Gordain had never seen such a beautiful woman in his entire life. Nor had he ever seen such attire on any woman of his acquaintance.
His mind was so bent on the beautiful creature in front of him that he almost didn’t notice the three men harassing her.
“Ye’re a bonnie lass,” the first one said, reaching out to caress her arm.
“What are ye doing out here all alone, bonnie?” the other asked, closing in on her other side.
Bandits.
Gordain could see that they each had a knife on their belts, but no sword. They had most likely left them with their horses. He shook his head at their carelessness. Well, he would definitely use it to his advantage.
The woman was pushing herself further into the tree. She was whimpering and shrinking away from their grasping hands.
He frowned, anger surging through him, hot and potent. A woman like that should not have to deal with the likes of them. Thankful that he had spotted them from a distance, he quickly decided on a plan. He dismounted his horse as quietly as he could and tied the reins to a nearby tree.
He pulled out his sword and crept quietly through the brush, moving slowly behind them. Years of tracking and training made him sure of his footing. He would not be heard.
“Perhaps the lassie is looking for some company gents. Are ye, Lass? I can show ye a good time,” the third of the men leered at her suggestively. The other two chuckled ominously.
