Stolen By A Highlander (Scottish Pregnancy Romance) Page 3

  “Thank you…”

  Chapter Five

  It was the sunlight that awoke Freya the next morning. She opened her eyes slowly, afraid that last night had been no more than a dream but when she looked beside her she saw Lorne. Reaching her hand across, she brushed her fingers against his bare chest. He stirred but did not waken. Freya glanced down at the entirety of his naked body, her eyes resting on his thick member. He certainly looked nothing like Angus. Lorne had a tight and sculpted body and his rod was so thick and long compared to Angus’s. She licked her lips as she thought of last night.

  Lorne stretched his arms upward and yawned as he opened his eyes. Taking a deep breath he looked over at Freya.

  “We should dress and get moving.” He said flatly. Freya frowned as Lorne stood up and began fishing through his clothes. She watched him without moving. “You should dress.” He said glancing at her as he dressed himself. Freya shook her head. “You have to, we have to move, it’s already daylight.” Freya shook her head again and this time tears welled in her eyes.

  “No.” Lorne picked up her night smock and threw it next to her.

  “You have to. We have to hurry.” The tears spilled down her face as Freya begrudgingly stood and dressed herself. She couldn’t believe that she had allowed herself to fall for such an awful trick. She had allowed a barbarian to make love to her as only her husband should, and worse, he had convinced her that it would be okay.

  Freya stood by the door of the small house with her arms crossed and her lips pouted. She was angry with herself, but most of all she was angry with Lorne. How could he have said such things only to still take her to be bid on by other men the next morning?

  “Can you walk?” Lorne asked as he came to the door and stood beside her.

  “I can walk fine.” Freya said coldly. Lorne opened the front door.

  “Then let’s start moving.”

  It wasn’t long before Freya was regretting volunteering to walk. Her journey yesterday may have been a bumpy one, but at least her feet weren’t killing her. She had only slipped on a pair of leather sandals before Lorne had taken her from her home and they barely protected her feet from the tough terrain.

  “You have to keep up.” Lorne looked back at Freya as he marched ahead. Freya had no intention of picking up her speed. She had no intention of doing anything that would make Lorne’s life easier.

  By midday Lorne had chastised Freya more times for being slow than she cared to recount. She was tired, hungry and most of all, angry. Lorne came to a stop on top of a large hill and waited for Freya to catch up.

  “We will rest for a few minutes here, but we have to keep moving so we can’t stop long.” Lorne took out his flask and offered it to Freya. She took it and guzzled down as much as she could greedily.

  “Why are you in such a hurry? Afraid that all the highest bidders will be gone?” Freya shoved the flask back at Lorne. He frowned.

  “What?” He took a drink from the flask.

  “You heard me.” Freya said coldly.

  “I heard you, but I didn’t understand…you think that I am still taking you to be sold?” Freya rolled her eyes.

  “I’m not stupid, Lorne. I know that you got what you wanted. I know that I’m a naïve woman who fell for your talk about freedom.” She stared at him accusingly. For a moment Lorne looked angry and then his face relaxed and he began to laugh. Still laughing, he walked over to Freya and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Freya,” he stepped back, his hands on her shoulders. “I’m not taking you to be sold, I’m taking you to safety.” Freya frowned. “My clan, they moved overnight. We stopped because I was tired from carrying you but the place that we stopped was only an emergency home. It was there for the wounded, for those in need of shelter after the attack on your village. Because we stayed there we are far behind the rest of the clan and that means that we have no protection from the vengeance that will come. I don’t want you to suffer at the hands of your own people.” Freya still wasn’t sure that she believed him.

  “My own people would not kill me.” She retorted.

  “They already had.” Lorne said sadly, his hands slipping off Freya’s shoulders. He stared out from the top of the hill to the mountains ahead. Freya grabbed his arm.

  “Just tell me one thing.” Lorne looked to her. “Tell me that it was real?” He smiled gently before sliding his hand behind her head and pulling her close. His lips touched hers softly, and as he pulled away he nodded.

  “It doesn’t get any more real than that.” Freya looked out over the mountains ahead.

  “Is that where we are going?” Lorne nodded his head.

  “It’s a long trek but if we want to make it to safety we have to keep going for as long as we can.” Freya nodded and began to walk again.

  “Then let’s go.”

  Chapter Six

  It was fourteen days and nights of daytime travel before Lorne and Freya arrived at Lorne’s village. They were welcomed with cheers and many smiling faces. Lorne relished in the attention of his people, but Freya was too distracted to celebrate. The journey had left her tired and she felt sick to her stomach.

  “Lorne?” She tugged on his sleeve. He turned around from the crowd and looked at her, but as he did she crumpled to a heap on the ground. Sweeping her up in his arms Lorne took her to his home where he laid her on a mattress made of straw. When Freya finally came to she found Lorne standing over her wringing his hands.

  “Stay still. Don’t move. I have sent for the doctor, but you must rest.” Freya smiled at him gently.

  “I’m just tired, it has been a long journey.” Lorne looked towards the door as he anxiously awaited the doctor’s arrival.

  “We will let the doctor be the judge of that.” Freya sighed and gently sat herself up in bed. As her fingers crunched into the straw mattress, she looked at Lorne with a smile.

  “Do you remember the last time we slept on a straw mattress?” Lorne turned to her and smiled, he couldn’t help himself.

  “Perhaps you are feeling a little better…but still, there will be no more of that until the doctor takes a look at you.” Freya sighed heavily.

  “I am fine. I promise you I am fine, but if seeing the doctor is what it takes to get a taste of that kind of freedom again…then I’ll do it.” Just as she finished speaking, the doctor arrived at the open door. He was a shorter man than Lorne and he had a full grey beard and long grey hair that matched.

  “Come in, doctor. Please, I need you to take a look at this young lady. We have, as you know, been traveling alone for a very long time and as soon as we arrived she fainted.” The doctor nodded and set a bag down beside the bed.

  “It is very common for young women to faint.” The doctor said flatly as he sat on the side of the bed. “But let me take a look at you, young lady, and see just what caused this fainting spell.” Freya nodded as the doctor took her wrist in one hand and rested the fingers of the other hand on her pulse. “And Lorne, for the sake of modesty I must ask you to please wait outside.” Lorne looked at Freya worriedly. She nodded at him to let him know that she would be okay and he stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.

  As Lorne stood outside his house he wondered what he was going to do if there truly was something wrong with Freya. Had he fallen in love with her, only to be punished by losing her? He wondered if perhaps he had been wrong about his God after all. He wondered if perhaps Freya had been right all along.

  Time dragged on, and Lorne waited impatiently at the door of his own home. After what seemed like hours the doctor opened the door and stepped outside with his bag.

  “Everything is fine. You can go in and see her now.” Lorne nodded, and in his hurry to go in to see Freya he forgot to thank the doctor.

  “What did he say? Are you okay?” Lorne ran to her bedside. Freya patted the bed beside her.

  “I think you should sit.” She said with a smile. Lorne did as he was told and reached for her hand. “We are going to hav
e a baby.” Freya rested her free hand on her belly. Lorne’s eyes widened.

  “I’m going to be a father?” Freya nodded. “Are you sure?” Freya nodded again.

  “That’s what the doctor said!” Lorne looked at her belly and then back at her face with a smile.

  “I’m going to be a father?!” Freya laughed and nodded again. Tears welled in Lorne’s eyes as he leaned forward and kissed Freya on the forehead. “I was so afraid. I thought that maybe you were sick, that God was punishing me for taking you.” Freya shook her head.

  “There is nothing to be afraid of. Our God doesn’t punish us, he rewards us. And this…” she pulled Lorne’s hand over to her belly, “is a pretty good reward.” She smiled. Lorne smiled too as he rubbed her belly gently. “Our own little highlander.”

  THE END

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  Surrendering to the Scots

  A Scottish Romance

  By: Kaley McCormick

  Seized by the Highlander

  Chapter One

  Elizabeth’s crinoline skirts rustled as they swept against the blades of grass that peeked through the cobblestone path. The shops seemed more crowded than normal as she made her way from one to the next. It was her maidservant’s day off but there were still things that the household needed. Her husband, Henry, would not be pleased if his whiskey was not available at the end of the day, and the cook needed a few things for dinner. Elizabeth would not want to be home if Henry were deprived of his food or his beverage. Her cheek still smarted from upsetting him the night before, by not refilling his mug quickly enough.

  She smiled at the shopkeeper as he wrapped up the cheese, pickles and sweet jam. Apparently Henry’s reputation preceded him, and with a small nod, the shopkeeper also added a bottle of whiskey to the brown paper package before tying up the white twine.

  He offered to add the purchases to the family’s shop credit and she agreed. Henry never allowed her to carry any money and the shops all seemed to place good faith on his abilities to pay the bills.

  With the package tucked into the wicker basket she carried in the crook of her elbow, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and headed back into the streets. The summer was waning and the air carried the autumn chill. She welcomed the relief from the heat of the earlier months, but knew she should start preparing the house for winter.

  She made a mental list of tasks as she made her way back to the estate. The wind tickled at the nape of her neck and tried to steal loose tendrils from her coifed blonde curls. The walk was not short, but she enjoyed the chance to get out of her drafty old stone estate. It seemed to trap the heat in July and the cold in January, and never felt quite comfortable at any time of year. And while the shopping could have been done by the servants, she liked having an excuse to wander about town. She knew better than to spend too much money at any of the stores, but it was a pleasant afternoon to window shop. Henry constantly chided her for not taking the carriage into town, but she almost always took the trip by foot.

  Henry was well-known in the area as the region’s largest landowner so most of the shopkeepers were overly attentive to her needs. They would fetch her a cup of tea, provide her a chair to rest, and even wrap packages extra carefully when she did decide to buy something.

  When she arrived home, the cook whisked the package away from her and set a pot of tea on the stove to heat.

  “Would you like something to eat ma’am?” the cook offered.

  “Yes, Olivia, that would be lovely. I know that dinner is not far off, but I’m not certain I will make it that long.” She smiled gently at the older woman and settled into a chair at the servants’ table in the kitchen. Her blue eyes twinkled since she knew that she would shortly be enjoying some of the sharp cheddar cheese that she had just purchased.

  “Ma’am, I am happy to bring it to your room if you like.”

  “No, I should prefer to sit here in the warm kitchen with your company, if that’s alright.”

  Olivia smiled and nodded. “But of course, Ma’am.”

  She poured the tea into an elegant china mug and cut off pieces of homemade bread and the fresh cheese as a snack. While Elizabeth sipped and nibbled, they discussed the changes in the weather as Olivia started to prepare their dinner.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia watched the delicate young woman and shook her head slightly. She could not understand Elizabeth’s choice to marry her boss. He was a gray-haired, flabby, pig-headed drunkard who constantly yelled at everyone in the household. And Elizabeth seemed to take the brunt of it. They had been married almost two years now, and despite his every effort to force her, she had yet to produce an heir for his estate.

  Olivia smirked to herself as an errant thought crept through her head. Perhaps Elizabeth’s body was rejecting Henry in a way that she could not. The cook was certain that it had been an arranged marriage. Elizabeth’s father had been the banker in town, and thusly had his choice of suitors when Elizabeth came of age. The wealthiest landowner in the area was an obvious choice on paper, and it was not allowed for the young lady to question the agreement that had been made. They had both been brought up in the proper British environments, and the arrangement did make sense on paper.

  By the time Henry had returned from his meeting with the other landowners, Olivia had the dinner prepared. They dined on more of the same bread and cheese, along with slices of smoked ham, fresh green onions and ripe tomatoes from the vegetable garden, tart pickles, and slices of crisp apple from the grove down by the pond.

  After they finished, Henry retired to his study with the bottle of whiskey. Elizabeth went to her bedroom to light her fireplace, and to cross stitch before retiring for the evening. She just hoped he would succumb to the effects of the alcohol before he wanted to try yet again in his heavy-handed, demanding way for a son.

  Chapter Two

  William grinned as the wind ruffled his shaggy dark hair and he squinted his brown eyes against the sun. His horse, King, huffed at the dust in the air and pawed at the ground between the trees where they waited.

  The tall, broad-shouldered man ran his hand down the horse’s whither and admired the well-muscled animal. He had always been a good companion and a faithful friend, even when William would talk his ear off with all sorts of random mutterings about the state of the countrymen he encountered.

  William pitied the working man as he strained his back in fields that did not even belong to him, and he detested the nobleman who cracked the whip over that back. He much preferred his life, not that it was ever much of a choice, but he could not imagine answering to either master—the field that demanded so much or the landowner who demanded even more. Some would envy him his freedom, but some would pity him for his lack of roots.

  His band of friends would be meeting up soon, in the clearing just on the other side of the pond, and he knew he should get going. But he did love these fall days, when the sun was still warm but the wind had started to whisper of the winter chill. He did hope that one of the men had found some food that day, because the rumbling in his stomach was starting to irritate him.

  He mounted the horse and urged him into a walk. He loved to tell people that he had named the horse King, so that he would always be in the company of royalty wherever he went. They were planning an outing for some time in the next few days, and he was looking forward to the adventure and hopefully the spoils of their personal private war. He liked to think that they were raging against the heavy-handed nobility, but some of their group simply did it for the fight and the gold.

  Some of their party rode on horseback while others traveled on foot. It gave the group an advantage overall, with more flexibility in their approach, and easier to split up after the fact. William liked the speed he gained from King, and he could carry more when the need demanded.

  As he approached the pond, his watchful and trained eyes noticed the gathering group of bedraggled and battle-scarred men on the other side.
He grinned at the sight of his nomad family and prodded King to move faster. He tended to be the leader of the group, not by any formal decision or acknowledgement, but by the sheer force of his personality and experience.

  The wind ruffled his dark hair again and he shook a stray curl from his eyes. The men waved and beckoned to him when they caught sight of him, and King broke into a run at pressure from his heels. When he arrived at the group, he dismounted and walked King to the pond for a drink before grabbing an apple from the tree above him, settling into the grass with his back up against the trunk.

  “The shopkeeper in town was kind enough to loan us this,” one man grinned as he leaned over to hand William a bundle of brown paper.

  His mouth watered when William unwrapped it and found generous chunks of buttered bread. He tried to eat it slowly and savor the taste, but his hunger won the battle and he ended up scarfing it down along with the borrowed apple.

  “Many thanks,” he mumbled in a voice muffled by the first meal he had had in over a day.

  As William ate, the others finalized their plan. It seemed that the owner of the land they rested on was going to be away for some sort of business the next day, so it was the ideal time. The landowner usually traveled with his protective guard, which would leave the house and lands unprotected, save a few servants and the field workers. It was always easier to take on the wife and the handmaidens, than the homeowner and his private soldiers.

  William nodded his approval enthusiastically, and looked around the group for a telltale flask to wash down his dinner. A hand appeared above his head and he gratefully accepted the offer of ale.

  The group had no real intentions in mind when they had chosen this estate to plunder. It seemed generous and wealthy, and almost assuredly had something for everyone. Some of the men were looking for gold and jewels, others searched for women to assault. One or two of them always checked the stables for extra horses. And nearly always the youngest of the group, a boy of about thirteen or so, was assigned to the kitchen and larder for anything he could grab easily.