Highland Captive

By Mary McCall

Can a captive escape when love claims her heart?

 

English-born Lady Alera of Arundrydge is a procrastinating defender and nurturer with a secret gift. She wishes to avenge crimes against her family and find her father, who is missing and presumed dead. When a nefarious uncle hands her over to Viking slavers, she escapes only to be caught by a big, sexy barbarian, whose touch ignites passion.

 

Laird Duncan Ranald has good reason to hate all things English. They nearly wiped out his clan. Discovering the luscious beauty who washed up on his shore and stoked his lust is English, he decides to keep her as his leaman for a little revenge.

 

Realizing she's his soul mate, Duncan decides to wed her, but Alera won't cooperate. Escaping Duncan becomes nearly impossible for Alera as she helps his clan and he creeps into her heart. But if she stays, how will vengeance be had and what will become of her father?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Jan 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781926996141

Book preview

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?

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.

Tap her senseless so she ceases her struggles, Askel, a man’s voice whispered in a gruff Viking accent.

She knew that voice. Alera’s heart slammed in her throat. Her demon rage churned.

Her world went black.

~ * ~

She would kill the snake as soon as she arrived home.

Alera ignored the frigid winds whipping against her and huddled close to the ship’s side. She focused her furious thoughts on sawing the ropes that bound her wrists in front of her and held her captive at the ship’s rail. Thank Almighty God she always carried a dagger concealed on her thigh, and Torgeir had stopped them from stripping her naked. She would send Uncle Mortimer’s bloody carcass to hell before this was over. Sell her to Viking slavers, would he?

No-good viper, she muttered, still tasting and smelling the foul rag Torgeir had finally removed.

The ropes eventually tore free. A hiss escaped her as hundreds of tiny pins stabbed her frozen flesh. She rubbed her hands together, then flexed and extended her fingers, directing her rage on regaining control over her deadened digits.

Grunts and snores from the slumbering Vikings mingled with the howling wind. Alera blinked a few times, fighting the sluggishness induced by the sailors’ drunken lullaby, lack of sleep, and the penetrating cold.

At least a day had passed since her capture. Rage toward these brutes had become secondary to the fury that roiled within her gut and demanded the death of her uncle. When she came out of her daze, tied to the ship’s side, they bragged of their feats on behalf of her uncle and taunted her with threats of her fate.

Discovering Uncle Mortimer was behind her mother’s death, her father’s disappearance, and her capture sent pure unmitigated fury blazing through her veins. Her demon unleashed. She had struggled and contained her fiery rage, nurturing the embers.

The time for escape had come, and the strength of her demon would serve her now.

A gusty spray rained over the ship’s side, drenching away her languor. Alera looked around at the sailors sprawled about the deck. She released a mocking snort. Drunken fools.

Alera rubbed her stinging hands harder. She wasn’t about to go to the Orkney Isles to be sold into bondage and spend the rest of her life as some man’s concubine. She would commit the world’s greatest sacrilege and kill herself first.

Her fingers soon flexed and followed her commands. Alera heaved herself upward and used the ship’s side for support while she balanced herself upon wobbly legs. Her drenched kirtle and shift seemed to weigh a hundred stones. She glanced at the furious waves thrashing against the boat as the craft surged ever northward. Her gowns would surely drag her to the sea floor, and the coast appeared naught but a distant line on dawn’s horizon.

She refused to allow despair to crash upon her. Alera summoned a bit of her rage. The wild emotion sent blood bounding through her veins, waking dormant pain throughout her body. She swallowed a groan that threatened to burst from her lips and summoned more fury to combat the pain. Mastering her body, she focused on the task at hand.

Do not think, Alera. Just do, she muttered. She removed her girdle and gown then pleated her shift front, closing the rent the Vikings had torn when they decided to view her assets before Torgeir could stop them. She re-cinched her girdle at her waist and cut off her shift hem with her dagger so the skirt fell to mid-thigh. After re-sheathing her dagger, she grabbed a Viking short sword from the deck and secured the weapon at her waist.

Taking a deep breath, she ran her fingers through her soggy hip-length curls and grimaced. The tangles would become an obstacle in the water. She would cut her hair if her papa had not declared long, silken tresses were the mark of a lady.

Men expect too much from us sometimes, Henry. She tore a strip from her discarded gown, bound her hair, and stuffed the tresses down the back of her shift.

She looked toward the tiller. Torgeir, the ship’s captain, locked gazes with her for a moment before turning his back. He had been furious with his brother, Askel, for bringing her aboard. When she first saw him, she suspected he had decided to steal her after her father’s refusal of his suit the previous year. Alera wiped a hand over her brow. Torgeir must have cared for her more than she realized to dare the wrath of his brother and crew. What would her life be like had her father ignored the promise he made to her mother and accepted this Viking’s offer? He certainly would have prevented the others from taking her father.

She had no time to ponder what would never be, and she knew what his turning away meant. He had gotten his men drunk and was letting her escape. Survival was up to her.

Placing both hands on the ship’s side, Alera scrutinized the torrential waters. She took a deep breath to slow her racing heart and closed her eyes. Almighty God, please let me miss the craft’s undertow and please make all the serpents and sea monsters sleep until I reach the shore. And, Henry, please forgive all my years of mischief. Wrap your wings around me if I start to sink.

Alera heaved herself over the side, took a deep breath, and jumped into the turbulent sea. Icy tongues licked every inch of her flesh. Burning pain surged through her body. The sting of the icy-hot water fed her rage, lending her strength and endurance. She forced her agonized limbs into a battle for survival against the powerful swells. Numbness soon claimed her, and she no longer felt the water’s cold fire.

Her furious demon would fight these high waters. And if she had to war her way through Hell, by all that’s holy, she was going home.

~ * ~

Marriage had turned his brother into a milquetoast.

Duncan Ranald halted his roan near the summit of the wooded bluff. Dismounting, he studied the spacing and varied depths of two sets of tracks he had first spotted a few stone throws back down the trail. He had set out that morning with his brother, Logan, and his second commander, Kevin, on a futile journey to the coast to hunt up some maorachs. Logan’s mischievous wife had claimed a craving for the tiny shellfish at the wrong time of the year. He would roast Logan later for being so besotted that he took her bait. But the clan had to eat, so Duncan had come along for the hunt.

Praise the Almighty for mating season. ‘Twas definitely a pair of wild swine tracks. From the depth of one set, the boar weighed at least twenty stones.

A squeal carried in the wind. Duncan glanced down the eighty-foot bluff across a stretch of beach. His prey disappeared into the lower woods. He grinned and released a satisfied chuckle. You’ll not save yourselves by running, you beasties. The Ranalds will be feasting well this fine night.

The zest of the salty air and the roar of crashing waves further lifted his spirits. He enjoyed the calls of the seagulls harmonizing with the sea’s savage song. The melody always fed his determination to rebuild his clan. He often visited the sandy beach below when he needed to reinvigorate his outlook and harness the rage that festered within him. A rage born of an unbiased hatred against an entire nation.

The English had come close to destroying his clan over the last two decades. Both his father and uncle had fallen under English blades while defending Scottish soil. Now he meant to regenerate his clan in both wealth and numbers.

He could almost mourn for the English bride King Edgar had foisted upon him—a token from the English King Henry as part of a very temporary a truce. Lessa had been young, naïve, and afraid of him when they had married. She hadn’t changed much before her tragic death the year before. He might have developed some affection for the lass if she had been anything but English. Though he had never harmed her, he could admit to himself he hadn’t been a good husband. Their union had been doomed from the start.

Duncan released a sigh and raked his fingers through his unruly mane. What was done was done, and he had a couple of pigs to catch. He whistled to his mount and turned toward the sound of approaching hooves.

A movement at the shoreline caught his eye. His breath hitched. The most exquisite woman he had ever seen staggered from the water, her meager garment clinging to sensuous curves. Lust flowed through him in a primal blaze. Venus. Could the Roman goddess possess even half the allure of the water nymph on the shore below?

The woman stumbled to her knees. With an enraged cry, she slung sea kelp from her neck and shoulders then fell face down upon the sand. Duncan released his breath as her shoulders jerked and she retched seawater.

Thank the Almighty, she was human. He half-feared she might have been a kelpie sent to entice him to a drowning death. Without a doubt, he would have followed her into the sea had she crooked her finger in his direction.

The lass pushed herself up on her forearms and surveyed the forest before her. Then she stood on shaky legs and dusted the sand from her chest. After adjusting the front of her scant attire sinfully covering her breasts, she pulled a short sword from her belt and staggered into the forest.

Duncan leapt upon his mount and urged the stallion down the bluff. The lassie was heading straight for his quarry. The thought of feasting upon the swine somehow lost its appeal at the possibility that the pigs might feast upon such bonnie flesh first.

~ * ~

After entering the woods, Alera retched again and feared her gullet would surely come out. When the violent heaves subsided, she glanced around. Praise be to Almighty God, she had made it to shore.

The forest surrounded her like a mocking foe, another obstacle to overcome. How far north had the Viking ship carried her? Surely she was in the Highlands of Scotland somewhere. How long would the journey home take? And how many more problems would she encounter?

Henry, this is not what I meant when I said I wanted more time to think. I did not mean that Thorn insult, either. You are a wonderful angel guardian.

Saints above, could she make it at all? She had never been so alone in such a wild setting. She glanced at her hands, blue from the icy waters. If she didn’t push onward, her blood would surely freeze in her veins.

The wind whipping through the branches suddenly sounded like Uncle Mortimer’s gloating laughter. Run, Alera. Run fast. The quicker you flee, the quicker I win.

Alera narrowed her eyes, allowing her demon rage that had won her battle against the tides to resurface. The game is not won yet, you slimy snake. I am going home, and by all that’s holy, you will char from the singe of my wrath.

A strained tremor passed through her arms. She clenched her jaw and hobbled on unsteady legs. Wiping at the itchy sand on her body, she noticed an abrasion and bruise on her left breast she hadn’t realized was there. The freezing water had stolen her ability to feel pain. And if she didn’t find fresh water and bathe away the harsh sea salts soon, all her flesh would peel off.

Oh, Henry, please guide me safely home. She tightened her grip on the Viking short sword, which seemed to grow heavier with each step.

She would survive, damn it. Alera squared her shoulders and swallowed against more rising bile. She struggled for each breath, still spitting sea grit. She longed for even the smallest taste of fresh water to rinse away the salty sand. Thirst began to plague her. Every muscle strained to the point of exhaustion, and a weighty numbness extended throughout her limbs.

She had always wanted to visit the Highlands and see Mama’s homeland, but not like this. At least Mama had taught her the language. Hopefully, she would find someone to help her return home, or at least help her reach her mother’s clan.

She had only met Uncle Julien MacKay one time. He’d been grumpy as a contrary old bull and none too fond

Reviews for Highland Captive

[benn9314 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A great story about Scotland. Keep writing these unusual stories

[aurelia-maria Beldea · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The most amusing and entertaining story i have read. I enjoyed the mischief and jokes between the family. Highly entertaining.

[Rita · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Alera is fierce, loyal, strong, resilient, cunning, and has the biggest heart ❤! After fleeing she runs into Duncan who is so captured by her beauty that he takes to make her his leaman. From there the battle of wills begins between the two. The reason for the four stars is that I didn't like how the relationship started and what Duncan did to Alera knowing it was not what she wanted. By putting her in that position he made her feel shame and a sense that she would cause dishonor to the people she cared about. I hope there's a book coming soon for Christina and the "imbecile" husband of hers, that will be one interesting tale.