Saturday, September 22, 2012

Path of Freedom - Quaker Historical (1858)

ISBN: 978-1426752636


Path of Freedom (1858, North Carolina)
Quilts of Love Series, Abingdon Press
Tentative release date: Jan 2013

When Quakers Flora Saferight and Bruce Millikan embark on the Underground Railroad, they agree to put their differences aside to save the lives of a pregnant slave couple. With only her mother’s quilt as a secret guide, the foursome follows the stitches through unknown treachery.

As they begin their perilous journey, they hope and pray that their path is one of promise where love sustains them, courage builds faith, and forgiveness leads to freedom.

What People Are Saying!


"Jennifer Hudson Taylor weaves a delightful and endearing story of two characters who must fight their personal feelings and prejudices toward each other in order to follow their convictions. You’ll laugh and cry as Flora and Bruce face very real circumstances. Path of Freedom is a story not easily forgotten!"
Cindy Woodsmall,
New York Times best-selling author


"Jennifer Hudson Taylor has penned a heart-warming medieval romance full of mystery and intrigue with HIGHLAND SANCTUARY. This book grabbed my attention from page one and kept it as I prayed for Serena to recover from her mystery illness and find true acceptance and freedom." 

Laura V. Hilton, 
author of Patchwork Dreams


"I looked forward to reading a book about historical quilts. I liked the important part the quilt played in the story. The characters leapt off the pages and straight into my heart. I was sorry to see their story end." 
Lena Nelson Dooley, author of  
Maggie's Journey and Mary's Blessing 



Where to Purchase Path of Freedom


USA Bookstores
Abingdon Press (direct from publisher)
Amazon (print & Kindle editions)
Christian Book Distributors
Christian Post Books
Barnes & Noble
Books-A-Million

Google Books
LifeWay Christian Stores


Canada Bookstores

Amazon Canada
Ausberg Fortress Canada


UK Book Store
Amazon UK
Blackwell Online Bookstore
WHSmith Online Bookstore




Watch the Video Book Trailer & Share It!


Read the First Chapter!


Path of Freedom

Chapter One
North Carolina, 1858

A shiver of excitement rushed through Flora Saferight at the thought of their upcoming trip to Virginia. It had been at least two years since she‟d seen her aunt and uncle, and even then they had traveled as a family by wagon. Now she and her younger sister would be making the trip by train.

“I think this is sensible for our journey.” Standing in Gilmer General Store, Irene held up a red shawl with a lining. Her blue eyes shone bright in the hope of Flora‟s approval. Blond curls framed Irene‟s heart-shaped face beneath her white bonnet. With a delicate nose and smooth skin heightened by a blush of enthusiasm, Irene was considered the beauty between them.

“Mother would prefer a sensible cloak,” Flora said. “Charlottesville can get awfully cold in the fall.”

Her sister bit her bottom lip and lowered her gaze in disappointment. A dramatic sigh slipped from her lips. Flora glanced around the general store and spied a rack of cloaks in the far corner by the front counter.

“Why not try one of those?” She pointed beyond a table displaying hats and bonnets, hoping to lift Irene‟s spirits. “Since we don‟t have time to make a new cloak and thee has grown out of thy clothes from last winter, I‟m sure Mother would approve.”

“True.” A bright smile lit Irene‟s face as she sailed over to investigate. “Now that I‟m taller than thee, I won‟t be inheriting thy clothes.”

The shop door opened, ringing the tiny bell at the top.

“Good morning,” Mrs. Edwards, the store clerk, called from where she stood on a small stepping stool, stacking bolts of fabric on the wall shelves.

“Morning.” Bruce Milikan stepped inside wearing a white buttoned shirt, tucked into a pair of black trousers. His reddish blond hair lay against his neck beneath his tall black hat. Heat pooled in the pit of Flora‟s stomach. She took a deep breath, eager to escape before he noticed her.

Bruce glanced back to ensure the door closed properly. Flora gulped and turned, taking advantage of his momentary distraction to hurry behind a shelf of oil lanterns.

“Flora Saferight!” His deep voice flowed over her like bittersweet honey before she reached her destination. She waited for the sting of a familiar insult. Other girls may have enjoyed his teasing and attention growing up, but she hadn‟t. She closed her eyes, cringing as his booted footsteps charged across the wooden floor.

“Flora?”

She clenched her teeth and forced a smile as she squared her shoulders and prepared to greet him. Staring stared into his broad chest, Flora had to lean back to gaze into those amazing green eyes. When had he grown so tall?

The freckles she remembered had faded beneath a ruddy complexion and a slight tan. A smile eased his lips, revealing straight teeth—too perfect in her opinion. If only he would smile a little wider, then she‟d have the satisfaction of seeing the gaping hole on his left side. Too bad a fall from a tree had been responsible, for she would have dearly loved to claim the honor—especially after he‟d teased her about her two front teeth.

What was wrong with her? Guilt sliced through Flora. Her thoughts were much too bitter for a proper Quaker. They had been children. Still, all his barbed words had cut her to the core and continued to sting like a nasty bee buzzing around inside her soul. “Good morning, Bruce Milikan. I wasn‟t aware thee was back in town.”

It had been eight months since she‟d last seen him, but she did her best to avoid him prior to that.

“I arrived home a fortnight ago.” He blinked and his smile waned. “For a moment, I thought thee might be trying to avoid me.”

Flora lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Do I look like I‟m avoiding thee?” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him with what she hoped was her best disapproval.

“Goodness, Bruce Milikan, thee acts as if I knew thee would walk right through that door. Since when has thee known me to back down from anything?”

His lips curled as two thin lines framed each side of his mouth into a smile. He shook his head in slow motion. “No, Beaver Face, no one could ever accuse thee of ignoring a challenge.” He shook his head with a reminiscing chuckle. “Thee is the most headstrong girl I‟ve ever known—and foolhardy at times.” He folded his arms and stared down at her as if she were still a wayward child.

“Foolhardy? Beaver Face? Really Bruce, one would hope thee would eventually grow up and leave the childhood name calling behind.” Flora bristled, heat searing through her boiling blood as it scalded her heart. “We may only be a year apart in age, but thee hasn‟t changed one bit.”

“Come on, Flora, I didn‟t mean it like that. It‟s more of an endearment now.” He stepped closer, leaning forward. “The rest of thy teeth have grown in and are now perfect.” He glanced behind him as if to see if anyone else was listening. “I‟m sorry. I wish I‟d never called thee that. I‟ve sure spent the rest of my days paying for it.”

She stepped back, too confused by his nearness and stunned by his apology. Flora swallowed, clearing her mind. The childhood taunts she could forgive, but the idea that he would insinuate she‟s foolish when she‟d worked so hard to become a proper young lady of eighteen, chafed her?

“Apparently, thee isn‟t sorry. For thee just called me foolhardy. I‟ll have thee know, there‟s a good doctor in Virginia who thinks very highly of me. As a midwife, he believes I‟ll compliment him his practice rather well.” Clint Roberts had only mentioned it once in a letter, but she chose to interpret his words to mean that. No need in letting Bruce know she exaggerated.

“What doctor?” The light left his green eyes and his lips dropped in a frown. “Is thee courting a doctor?” He shifted, placing his fists at his side.

Irene walked over with a dark purple cloak draped over her arm. The bell rang and a new customer walked in, greeting Mrs. Edwards.

“It‟s true,” Irene said. “Flora met him two summers ago when we were visiting our aunt and uncle. They've been corresponding ever since.”

Thrilled that her sister would come to her aide, Flora beamed at Bruce. “See? Perhaps thee is the only one who harbors such an opinion of me.” She stepped around him and joined her sister‟s side. “I‟m content to reside myself with the knowledge that I‟ll always be an ugly Beaver Face girl to thee, and thee will always be a mean-spirited bully to me—a childhood nightmare I‟m more than happy to forget.”

She linked arms with her sister and turned, leading Irene to the front counter. “For that dear sister, thee may have a purple cloak. Thee deserves something a little less…plain today,” Flora whispered in her ear.

“Flora, thee has an imagination to feed a pack of werewolves.” Bruce called from behind. “Thee is twisting my words. It isn‟t like that.”

“Indeed,” she mumbled loud enough for only Irene to hear. “The years have been much worse.”
* * *
It took three trips, but Bruce finally hauled all the supplies he‟d purchased to the wagon parked out front. He dropped the last twenty pound bag of flour in the bed and rubbed the dust from his hands.

An image of Flora Saferight came to mind. She wasn‟t as plain as she thought. In fact, she had grown into a beautiful woman, but he couldn‟t give her the satisfaction of knowing he thought so. Flora possessed blue-gray eyes that could captivate a man until he lost his senses. Her coffee colored hair matched her spirited personality, vibrant and alive.

Why had he called her foolhardy? He touched the palm of his hand to his forehead in disbelief. Now she had another grievance to hold against him in addition to his long list of past sins. While some of her decisions were impulsive, and she needed more time to mature, he didn‟t think of her as a child either. Flora was an enigma with the cunning ability to challenge and frustrate him. Yet, in spite of her annoyances, she intrigued him.

Wagons and carriages rolled by crunching pebbles and dirt in the road. Two women stopped to converse on the corner in front of the barber shop. He strained to see if they were Flora and Irene, but when they turned, he realized it was a mother and daughter.

Disappointment fueled his chest. He wanted to find out more about the doctor in Virginia. Was she serious about this man? Bruce strolled around the wagon and prepared to pull himself up into the seat.

“Good day, Bruce Milikan.” A familiar voice called from behind.

Bruce turned to see Pastor John Allred striding toward him from across the street. He had to dodge a rider before he reached Bruce. They shook hands in a firm grip, greeting each other with smiles.

“Glad to see thee back. When did thee arrive in town?” John asked.

“Almost a fortnight ago. I‟m sorry I missed meeting past week, but I plan to be there this Sunday. It was a long trip to Indiana. I‟ve been trying to catch up on some chores around the farm.”

“No need to explain.” John shook his head and waved his hand to dismiss the issue. “Thee is doing important work for the Lord. That‟s the main thing. Was the mission successful?”

“Yes, but I‟m looking forward to seeing everyone again and catching up on all the news. I just ran into Flora and Irene Saferight.”

“I heard they‟re about to leave on the train to Virginia.” John rubbed the back of his neck.

“Speaking of which, there‟s something I‟d like to discuss with thee. Would thee be willing to come over for supper tonight?”

Bruce rubbed his chin. What would Flora‟s trip to Virginia have to do with him? Curious, he nodded. “I‟ll tell Mother not to expect me for supper when I return. Flora mentioned a doctor she met up there two summers ago. Does thee know when they‟ll be leaving?” Bruce hoped his voice sounded casual. “I thought she was planning on being a midwife around here.”

“I don‟t reckon her plans have changed.” John shook his head, his brown eyes lit and a smooth grin spread across his face. “In fact, she helped Hazel Miller birth her latest child. I think Flora will prove to be one of our best assets to this community.”

Not if she moves away to Virginia. The sudden thought made Bruce‟s stomach churn. She was too young. What was she thinking? He‟d only been gone eight months. How could things change so fast?

“Well, Pastor John, I‟d better get these things home and put away so I can make it over to your place in time for supper.”

“Good idea, Bruce.” John slapped him on the shoulder. “I‟ll see thee in a little while.”

Bruce gave him a nod and climbed into the wagon. He took the reins, unset the brake, and guided the horse down the street. Bruce road past fields of tobacco and rows of tall corn until the two-story gray house came into view by early afternoon.

His mother came out on the porch, shielding her brown eyes from the sun. Her plump form was a welcome sight as she pulled her tan shawl tight around her and patted the silver bun on the crown of her head.

“Looks like thee brought the whole store back from town.” Her soft voice teased. She hurried down the porch steps toward the wagon and peered over the side.

“Just half of it.” Bruce winked, giving her a grin as he jumped down. When she smiled back, a ring of wrinkles encased her loving eyes, reminding him of how much she had aged in the last two years.

With two older brothers and a sister grown and married, his parents were now sixty. Only Bruce and Silas, his younger brother, remained on the farm.

“I ran into Pastor John while I was in town. He asked me over for supper. Said he needed to discuss something with me.” Bruce laid a hand on her shoulder. “So don‟t make a plate for me this evening.” He kissed her cheek.

“I hope he doesn‟t have another mission for thee so soon. Son, I believe in the work thee does for the Underground Railroad, but after so many months of traveling, thee needs a break. Can he not find someone else this time?” His mother wrung her hands as she followed him to the back of the wagon where he unhitched the latch and pulled down the gate.
“I‟m not sure, but I‟ll be fine Mother. Thee knows if I don‟t go, Father will. He‟s content to let me take his place, but he won‟t stand by and let the Milikan‟s miss out on what he thinks is an opportunity to save a life.”

“It‟s so dangerous!”

“Which is why Father should stay here. He can‟t handle the outdoor elements and the vigorous running and climbing over the mountains like he once did.”

“Holly!” His father rode his horse in a canter toward them.

Bruce and his mother walked to meet him where he slowed to a stop. His gray whiskers and side burns looked white rather than gray beneath his black hat with the sun casting him in a silhouette from behind.

“Some of the cows escaped.” He took a deep breath. “Part of the fence must have been weak”

“I‟ll help thee round them up,” Bruce offered.

“Thee can help after unloading.”

His father nodded toward the wagon. “Know where Silas is?”

“He was in the barn working on that harvest machine that Bruce made a while back.” Mother said. “Can‟t get it to work right.”

“I‟ll need his help. He can work on that later.” Father started to pull away, but she reached up and laid a hand on his arm.

“Eli, Bruce has another meeting with the pastor this evening.”

His father paused and his hazel eyes met Bruce‟s. “Do I need to be there?”

“He didn‟t mention it,” Bruce said.

“Well, all right then. Let us know if it‟s another mission.” His father rode away.

“I wish thee didn‟t have to go.” His mother sighed, watching her husband ride toward the barn.

“It may not even be about a new mission. Pastor John may only want a report on the last mission to Indiana.”

She grabbed his arm and smiled with relief. “Thee is right. I hadn‟t even thought of that. Perhaps that‟s all it is.”
* * *
Flora didn‟t slow until the post office was in sight. Her sister breathed heavy from their brisk pace, hauling her new cloak over her arm.

“I still don‟t see why thee wouldn‟t let me stop long enough to put my cloak in the wagon. Besides, I thought we had more shopping to do.” Irene glared at Flora while they waited for a buggy to pass before crossing the street.

“I promise. We‟ll go back and finish our shopping after I‟m sure Bruce Milikan is gone.” Flora charged into the street and stomped across the dirt road.

“Thee cannot avoid him forever. Forgive him for the past and let it go. He‟s right. It was a long time ago.”

“It‟s true that Beaver Face was a long time ago, but his calling me foolhardy this morning isn‟t.” Flora blew out a puff of air. If it were possible for a human being to explode, she‟d be in a million pieces right now.

She swung open the post office door and an elderly woman stumbled out.

“Oh! Pardon me.” Flora reached for the woman‟s elbow to steady her.

“Goodness!” The gray haired woman righted herself and smoothed her skirts. She lifted her chin and glanced up at Flora and then Irene with brown eyes of stone. “You young people need not be in such haste. I daresay, this post office won‟t grow legs and walk, you know.”
“Yes, ma‟am.” Flora pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

Inside, Flora blinked, adjusting her eyes to the darkness. She strode toward the open window where Joseph Miller, the clerk, greeted her with a genuine smile.

“Howdy, Miss Saferight and Miss Saferight.” He nodded to Irene standing by Flora. “Hazel and the baby are doing very well. You did a fine job delivering my baby girl.” He rubbed the top of his bald head, a thin layer of brown hair stretched from ear to ear.

“I‟m glad to hear it. I hope to stop by for a visit before we leave on our trip to Virginia,” Flora said.
“Hazel would like that. I think the confinement is starting to get to her.”

“It won‟t be long before she‟ll be able to go out into society again.” Flora pulled out a folded letter addressed to her aunt. “I need to send this to Charlottesville, Virginia.”

“That will be one penny.”

Flora dug into her skirt pocket and handed him the required change. Once they finished their business at the post office, they stepped outside the small wooden building into the bright sun. She shielded her eyes. She loved North Carolina in the fall. Soon more color would fill their world and cooler weather would bring in the harvest.

“I promised Mother we‟d stop by the train station and find out the prices of the tickets,” Flora said, as they made their way toward South Elm Street.

“This is exciting!” In a sudden burst of energy, Irene caught Flora‟s pace as a smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “Just think, we‟ll be going through the capital city of Raleigh and then into Virginia in comfortable passenger seats. No slow, bumpy wagon with a hard wooden seat for days on end.”

The sound of a distant train whisle bellowed through the air. White smoke shot into the sky over the gray roof of the wooden train depot as they neared. A shiny black engine appeared beyond the building, hauling several linked caboose cars taking off in an eastward direction. More steam unleashed its power, hissing and groaning against the wheels as they churned over the rails. The massive iron machine started out slow, but gained speed and momentum with each thrust.

They reached the side of the depot and rounded the corner of the building to the front entrance. Flora collided into a moving object and gasped, straightening her bonnet.

“Oh dear, please excuse me.” a woman said.

Flora glanced up. Concerned green eyes met her gaze. Whisps of auburn hair framed the woman‟s young face beneath a white bonnet. Recognition gripped Flora‟s muddled brain as she took a moment to sort through her childhood memories for a name.

“Kimberly Coltrane?” Flora tilted her head and gulped, hoping she‟d remembered correctly.
“Yes.” She blinked and after a moment her eyes widened. “Flora and Irene Saferight?” Her mouth dropped open, before she covering it with a delicate hand. “How long has it been?”

“It seems like thee moved from Centre to New Garden four or five years ago,” Irene said. “Thee has turned into a beauty.”

Her rosy glow deepened and she looked down. While she wore a simple gray skirt and white blouse, Flora agreed that Kimberly could never be considererd plain.

“What brings thee to Greensborough?” She glanced from Irene to Flora, raising an arched eyebrow.
“Shopping,” Irene said, holding out her new cloak.

“It‟s lovely,” Kimberly ran a gentle hand over the purple garment. “I wish I was in town to shop. I came with my father. He‟s inside buying a ticket for a business trip to Raleigh. Earlier I had to wait on him in the hardware store.” Her eyes brightened, almost like sparkling emeralds. “Guess who we ran into?”

Irene and Flora exchanged knowing glances.

“Would it happen to be Bruce Milikan?” Flora asked, trying not to show disdain in her expression or tone.

“Exactly!” She grinned, blinking in surprise. “He‟s changed so much. He‟s as tall as my father now. They discussed farming methods in the hardware store.”

“Indeed, we saw him in the general store.” Flora shifted in discomfort as Kimberly‟s expression transformed to a dreamy daze.

“Who would have ever guessed that Bruce Milikan would turn out to be so handsome.”

Kimberly touched her hand to her chest. “He‟s such a gentleman and so attentive. I hope he meant it when he said I‟ve grown into a sophisticated woman and he‟d stop by and call on us when he‟s in town again.”

“He called thee sophisticated?” The question tumbled from Flora‟s tongue before she could hold it back. Disappointment stabbed her anew, twisting her heart.

“Yes.” Kimberly folded her arms as if hugging herself and her smile widened. “Father seems to be impressed by him as well. He‟s talked of nothing else since.”

Rare jealousy sparked a flame in Flora‟s wounded chest. She had always wondered if Bruce Milikan was incapable of tenderness and pleasant gallantry. Now she had proof. He was more than capable—just not with her. The realization brought anger and then a fresh wave of bitterness.





Thursday, April 21, 2011

Highland Sanctuary, Caithness Scotland, 1477

ISBN-13: 978-1426714214
(Release Date: Oct 2011)


A Sanctuary of Secrets...

Gavin MacKenzie, a chieftain heir who is hired to restore the ancient Castle of Braigh, discovers a hidden village of outcasts who have created their own private sanctuary from the world. Among them is Serena Boyd, a mysterious and
comely lass, who captures Gavin’s heart in spite of harboring a deadly past that could destroy her future.

The villagers happen to be keeping an intriguing secret as well. When a fierce enemy launches an attack against them, greed leads to bitter betrayal. As Gavin prepares a defense, the villagers unite in a bold act of faith, showing how God’s love is more powerful than any human force on earth.

Where to purchase Highland Sanctuary

 USA Bookstores
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Books-A-Million
Christian Book Distributors
Cokesbury Christian Bookstore
LifeWay Christian Bookstores



Australian Bookstores
Angus & Robertson
Booktopia


Canada Bookstores
Amazon (CA)

Blessings

McNally Robinson Bookstore



UK Bookstores
Amazon (UK)

Foyles 
JS Campus
WHSmith



Highland Sanctuary Video Book Trailer



Read the First Chapter!



Highland Sanctuary

Chapter One

Scotland, 1457
The ordeal over, fragmented tremors still quaked through Evelina Broderwick's body. She gazed down at her new daughter. Now, she'd finally have someone who would truly love her. Tiny fingers curled. Evelina marveled at the wee nails. The other hand tightened into a fist and flew into the bairn’s mouth as she sucked on her knuckles.

“She’s beautiful is she not?” Tears clouded Evelina’s vision, overwhelming her by the magnitude of God’s gift of life.

Gunna, her wet nurse, peered closer at the babe swaddled in a warm blanket. “Aye, she is at that.”

“I believe I shall call her Serena after my Spanish grandmother. The lass has an English da and a Scottish mither—a mixture of noble blood from three countries.”

“Not a verra common name here in the lowlands,” Gunna’s round cheeks swelled in a smile as she nodded in agreement, “but lovely just the same.”
The bedchamber door swung open, casting dim light from the hallway candles. The shadow of a man’s tall frame bounced on the dark pine walls. Evelina tensed as her husband, Devlin Broderwick strode in with his usual frown. A dent marred his forehead. He towered over the bedside.

The midwife followed him and stood at the foot of the bed, folding her hands in front of her. The woman appeared to be in her mid-fifties, personally chosen by Devlin and quite loyal to the Broderwick family. Her dark gaze traveled from Evelina to Gunna and down at the infant.

“I’ve heard the unfortunate news.” Devlin’s sharp tone cut through the room like a blade through a gentle lamb.

Was a lass so terrible? Evelina glanced at the only window on the far right. The shutters were closed, blocking the night sky from view. She would like naught more than to escape the confines of her marriage, even if it meant taking sanctuary behind the walls of a convent for the rest of her days.

Devlin cleared his throat. He wore a black tunic with blooming sleeves narrowing at the cuffs. Black suited his dark moods. His hair hung straight in the shape of an downward bowl. He crossed his arms, taking an authoritative stance. “Fortunately, you’re still young and healthy. You can try again when you’re well enough.”

Evelina stayed her tongue. Over the last eleven months of their marriage, she had come to despise him. She had tried to love him, tried to win his affection, but he had been most impossible to please. No wonder her kinsmen hated the English. He had wounded her feelings more times than she cared to count. She’d begun to resent her parents for arranging this union and forcing her into a lifetime of sorrow.

“I’ll love her.” Evelina held her daughter against her bosom. She stared at the wine-colored blanket covering her bed, tracing a finger along the raised flower pattern stitched into the thick fabric, a gift from Devlin’s mother.

“I’m sure you will.” He pointed at their daughter. “Now lay her down so I can see her.”

Cradling her child’s unsteady head, Evelina lowered Serena onto her back. She unwrapped the white blanket from her squirming body. Devlin leaned close.
The bairn’s rosy glow turned red then deepened to a shade of purple. Serena’s head twisted at the nape, her face almost level with the bed. The child’s eyes glazed over, twitching into the corners, only the whites visible.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Devlin jumped back in alarm.

Though Serena’s entire body had grown stiff, it quivered in spasms. The area around her lips faded to white and the rest of her skin melted from purple to an ashen gray.

“She’s not breathing!” Evelina turned to the midwife. “Do something!”

“I deliver wee bairns. I don’t cast out demons.” The midwife’s fearful eyes met hers.

Evelina gripped her husband’s arm, but he pulled away. “Devlin, please do something. She’s stopped breathing! Save her, please?”

He only stared at the helpless babe with disbelieving eyes.

Evelina reached for her daughter’s seizing body. Not knowing what else to do, Evelina turned the child over on her stomach and patted her back. She willed her babe to breathe. She blew air in Serena’s face, hoping to startle her into breathing. White foam leaked over Serena’s colorless lips. Evelina laid her down and plunged her finger into the tiny mouth, pulling with all her might against the curled tongue. Serena coughed, moaned, and screamed into a blessed cry.

“Oh, thank God!” Evelina collapsed, lowering her head next to Serena and letting silent tears fall in relief. Their wee bairn would live.

Evelina kissed Serena’s round head on a thin layer of soft black hair. Her tiny lungs panted for air as her breathing returned to normal. She touched Serena’s sweet ears, her pug nose, and cheeks now gaining a rosy glow.

“What was that?” Devlin’s voice flayed her nerves and she jumped. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the child in disbelief, his dark, condemning eyes narrowed.

“The babe was having some sort of fit,” the midwife said. “I’ve heard of stories like this, but never seen one myself.”

“Yes, I can see that. I want to know why!” Devlin took two menacing steps toward her.

“’Tis unexplained.” She stepped back, tilted her head upon her shoulders, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “No one really knows what it is. Some call it the falling sickness.”

Devlin paced across the chamber, rubbing the back of his head. The soles of his mid-calf leather boots clicked against the hardwood floor. “Why would a child have such a fit? How can ye stop it?”

“I don’t know.” The midwife shook her head and sank against the wall.

His gaze dropped to the bundle in Evelina’s arms. “It’s possessed.” His lips twisted in thought. He paced again. “We’ll call a priest to cast it out.” He paused and shook his head. “No, we can’t do that. How would it look if the Broderwick family produced a demon possessed child?” He shook his head. “I won’t have the family name ruined.” He turned and pointed at the midwife and Gunna. “No one had better speak a word outside this bedchamber. If you do, I’ll make you sorry.”

“I won’t say a word,” the midwife said, shaking her head.

“Yes, my lord,” Gunna said, looking down at her feet.

“She isn’t possessed,” Evelina said, her heart pounding in worry. “She stopped breathing and nearly died.”

Devlin strode toward her. He pressed his fists into the soft feather mattress and leaned foward. “There’s no other explanation.”

“Devlin, ye’re mistaken. She couldn’t catch her breath is all.”

“Then why did she turn her head as if it would disconnect from her body of its own accord? Where did her eyes go? In the back of her head? What was coming from her mouth? Do ye call it somethin’ from God?” He stepped back. “`This isn’t the work of God. I feel it in my soul. Something is wrong. As head of this household it’s my responsibility to take care of it.”

“Our child is not evil.” Evelina moved Serena over her shoulder and patted her bottom.

“I make the final decisions in this house.” Devlin’s dark eyebrows knitted together in an angry line. “She may look normal now, but her body is possessed by somethin’. I’ll not tolerate evil under my own roof. Do you hear me, woman?”

“Devlin, listen to yerself. She’s our child.” Evelina clutched the bundle in her arms, fear rooted in her heart. Was he completely mad?

“I saw the babe turn into a demon with my own eyes. I won’t claim it as mine. I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want it, and I forbid ye to keep it.”

“I won’t give her up!” Evelina moved Serena to the far side of her body away from him. “She’s my bairn, not some animal to cast away.”

“You’re my wife, and you’ll do as I tell you.” He stepped toward her, grabbing for the child.

Evelina refused to relinquish her hold. Their daughter began to cry at their tug of war. He tightened his grip on Evelina’s flesh until she could no longer feel. Fearing Serena would be hurt from their struggle, Evelina relented. He snatched Serena.

“I beg ye, don’t take her away.” Tears clogged Evelina’s voice, choking her.
He strode from the chamber with Serena. The midwife made a “hymph” sound and followed him.

Evelina tried to rise. In her weakened state, she fell to the floor.

“Oh, dearie me!” Gunna cried, hurrying around the bed to help her.

Evelina had forgotten she was still in the room. Frantic hands pulled under Evelina’s arms, trying to lift her as she struggled to her knees.
“Nay! Don’t bother with me. Find out where he’s taking her.” Evelina nudged her.

“But—''

“Please? Do this one thing for me.” Evelina sniffed back tears. “Go! Make haste before it’s too late.”

“I-I’ll do as ye ask. Don’t ye worry, lass. We’ll save yer bairn.” She fled the chamber, leaving Evelina alone in her anguish.

Evelina dropped her head upon her arms. Her eyelids fluttered shut. “Dear God,” she whispered. “I dedicate Serena to Ye. She isn’t evil. She’s just the way Ye made her. Allow me to be her mither and I’ll teach her Yer ways and raise her to be Yer child.”

The room began to spin. Evelina clutched the bed linens for support. Darkness claimed her vision as the distant sounds of her child crying in another part of the house fell silent. “Please…God,” she whispered, fading to unconsciousness.

Scotland 1477
Gavin MacKenzie and Leith, his brother, led fifty clansmen along the narrow dirt path, two men abreast, their conversation a gentle rhythm above the steady clip-clop of horses. The comfortable late-spring air made it a good day to travel.

Something moved ahead. From this distance it looked like a horse pulling a wagon. The sound of weeping reached his ears and then faded. Had he imagined it? He motioned to the men to be quiet. Their voices dropped to whispers before altogether silencing.

Sholto, his horse, grew restless and sidestepped. Gavin grabbed the reins with both hands. The animal snorted in obvious distress. To calm the beast, Gavin rubbed his mount’s neck until his breathing evened and his gait steadied. Gavin’s red and gray plaid fell over his right shoulder. Shoving it out of his way, he studied the layout of the land, looking for signs of a surprise attack.

They’d travelled for days, leaving the familiar glens and rolling moors with a sheltered forest for the flat peatland surrounding them in Scotland’s northern tip of Caithness. With no place to hide, the element of surprise was not in their favor. The light wind carried the scent of the bog myrtle across the silver lochs and purple heather dotting the land mixing with the salty sea. By this, Gavin knew they must be getting close to Braigh Castle. He was told it stood in alone on the moss-covered rocky cliffs facing the sea—like a sanctuary.

The wagon up ahead moved. Gavin gripped the reins tight and hastened his mount. As he drew closer, a skittish horse flung his tail in vexation, hitched to a heavy laden wagon. The animal neighed and pranced about as much as the load allowed.
More weeping carried from the opposite side of the wagon. Gavin motioned for his men to halt. He nodded toward Leith who dismounted and went to calm the beast. Gavin inched toward the noise.

A woman with a long braid of auburn hair streaked with gray bent over a lass lying on her back. He couldn’t see much of the one lying down, but the weeping one wore a dark blue gown. She patted her unresponsive companion, speaking in a hushed, worried tone.

He cleared his throat, reining in his horse and sliding to the ground.
She gasped and turned a frightened expression toward him.

“What happened?” He nodded toward the unconscious lady lying in a bed of thick grass.

Her moss-green eyes watched him, assessing his character. She wiped at the tears staining her cheeks. “We must have hit somethin’. The wagon nearly tipped over. She fell from her seat and hit her head.”

Gavin bent to his knees, surveying the unmoving lass and felt for a pulse in her neck. It beat steady. Her skin was warm and smooth. She was much younger than her concerned friend. “Have ye checked her head for bleeding?”

“It only happened a moment ago. I first tried to wake her.” Alarm crossed her face as her eyes widened, and she grabbed the girl’s hands between her own. “I do wish she’d wake. ‘Twould put my mind at ease. She’s my daughter…my only child.” Her chin trembled.

“May I?” Gavin gestured toward her daughter. “I’d like to check her head for bleeding or lumps”

“Aye.” She nodded. “Serena took many falls as a child. She was always so free-spirited. But I’ve never known her to be out this long.”

Serena. He liked her name. It was different. Lying here, she looked serene.

Although her skin was pale, he could tell she had spent time in the sun. Her dark lashes curled against her skin. Light freckles lay across the bridge of her nose. He took a deep breath and eased his hands in her black hair. It was thick and free of curls, reminding him of black velvet, though it felt more like smooth satin.

“It’s right here.” He found a bump forming on the right side of her head above her ear. “’Tis only a slight knot. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Gavin glanced at the full wagon. “There’s little room in yer wagon. Would ye like me to carry her to my horse?”

She graced her knuckles over her daughter’s cheek. “I’m verra thankful for yer assistance. We live in the Village of Braigh about a mile ahead. Would ye mind carrying her there? We were just returning from the town market.”

“We’d be honored,” Gavin said. “We’re on our way to Braigh Castle. Is yer village near the castle?”

“Aye.” A smile brightened her worry-filled eyes. “Only a half a mile further beyond our village, would be my guess.”

Gavin crooked his finger toward his men, singling out Roan. As his friend dismounted, Gavin realized how much his tall frame would benefit them. His long blond hair was tied back at the nape. One thing he and his men lacked over the course of their travel was proper grooming. He hoped their ragged looks and overgrown beards wouldn’t offend or frighten the lasses.

“I’m going to mount my horse, and I need ye to lift her to me as gently as possible.”

“I got ‘er.” Roan said, bending to one knee and slipping an arm beneath her neck and behind her knees.

Once he was settled upon Sholto, Gavin secured the reins and held out his arms. Roan raised her up. Gavin settled her across his lap, hoping she would be comfortable and the ride wouldn’t jar her wounded head too much. It helped that she wore a simple brown gown.

“Careful,” her mother said, wringing her hands.

“Serena will be safe. Would ye prefer to drive the wagon or would ye like for one of my men to take over?” If she was too upset, he didn’t want another mishap to befall them.

She shook her head. Pieces of hair loosened from her braid. “Nay, it helps me to have somethin’ to do. Let me know as soon as she wakes. My name’s Evelina Boyd, and I’m verra thankful for yer help.”

Leith assisted her to better secure the horse to the wagon and checked the condition of the wheels. Once he and Roan were mounted on their horses again, they began a slow pace to match Evelina’s wagon.

The men conversed in quiet tones. A bird flapped its wings above them and sang. A gentle draft kept the air from being too warm. The sun hid behind white clouds and burst out in brightness every once in a while.

Gavin looked down at the bonny lass in his arms, breathing in the feminine scent of heather and juniper. The aroma stirred forgotten memories of another lass he’d tried his best to forget. If she had lived, he’d be a married man by now, mayhap the father of wee bairns. To his bitter disappointment, his life had taken another route, which led him and his brother all over Europe to escape his grief and guilt.

“Could that be a patch of woods down yon in the glen?” Leith rode up beside Gavin and shielded his hand over his eyes.

“Looks like it.” Relieved to be distracted from his thoughts, Gavin looked where his brother gestured. “That must be Braigh Castle.”

Situated on a long, narrow rocky cliff sat a magnificent stone fortress that looked to be king of the sea. A wide tower stood tall above wings that stretched out on each side. “From here, it doesn’t look like it needs to be restored,” Gavin said, admiring the view. “How will we ever be able to improve upon it?”

“Yer here to restore the castle, then?” Evelina rolled the wagon to a stop beside them.

“Aye.” Gavin nodded, careful not to reveal the other reason they were there—to protect the new laird, his castle, and the village. He wondered how much Evelina and Serena knew concerning the truth behind the elder laird’s death.

“The massive keep is at least two centuries auld and Vikings have attacked it on several occasions,” Evelina said.

“Were they ever successful?” Leith asked.

“I don’t think so.” Evelina shook her head. “But I don’t know the whole history.” She glanced at Serena in Gavin’s arms. “Will the restoration take long?”

Gavin shrugged. “We won’t know ‘til we see the damage.”

“Oh.” Her gaze shifted back to the castle as she pondered his words. Her expression tensing as the lines around her eyes and mouth deepened. She cleared her throat. “I suppose that means ye’ll be here for quite a while then?”

“Aye.” He nodded.

A strange silence followed. An eerie forboding crawled up his spine. He couldn’t help sensing she didn’t welcome their presence. He scratched his temple.

“Back in the town of Braighwick people called it the Village of Outcasts,” Leith said. “Why?”

“Ye’ll see soon enough.” The warmth in her eyes faded to a reserved caution as she clicked to her horse and started forward.

As they approached the only patch of woods in the area, Gavin braced himself for what could earn this place the odd name. They crossed into the shade of the birch and hazel trees dotted among the dominant forest of pine. Brown needles cushioned the ground in a blanket of comfort, much like the serenity of snow he loved in winter. The fresh scent surrounding them appealed to Gavin as he breathed in the pine scent.

Small dwellings were scattered throughout the woods, made of stone and packed with peat bothy, straw, heather and moss. The turf roofs contained a simple hole for the smoke that rose from the center where they built their fires. If the inside of these cottages were like the ones that belonged to his father’s tenants at home, most were one room dwellings with a dirt floor. The family slept on one side, while their cattle passed the night on the other. Having grown up in the luxury of his father’s castle, it was hard to imagine enduring conditions such as these as a way of life.

A few people opened their doors to watch them pass. Compassion hit Gavin with a force he had not expected. Their clothes were worn through and tattered in places. Most were barefoot. Filth and grime covered their faces. The Boyds seemed out of place here with their clean clothes and clean appearance. Yet, in spite of these people’s poverty, their eyes glowed with a passionate joy he couldn’t fathom, not the listless melancholy one would expect.

“This is ours.” Evelina stopped in front of one of the rectangle hovels. She secured the reins, set the wagon brake, and climbed down.





Sunday, May 30, 2010

Highland Blessings, Scotland 1473

ISBN 978-1426702266 
(Release Date: May 2010)
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Highland warrior Bryce MacPhearson kidnaps Akira MacKenzie on her wedding day to honor a promise he made to his dying father. When he forces Akira to wed him, hoping to end a half-century feud between their clans, she struggles to overcome her anger and resentment. . .Yet her strength in the Lord becomes a witness to Bryce. But there is a traitor in their midst . . . and murder is the ultimate weapon.

Awards
2011 HOLT Medallion Award for Best First Book Category
2011 HOLT Medallion Merit Finalist for Inspirational Category

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Blessings

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Read the First Chapter!


Highland Blessings

Prologue
Scotland 1463

Cedric MacPhearson knew he was going to die, but he glanced up at the low clouds brewing into a storm and raised a fist, determined he would last until one of his sons found him. The survival of his clan depended upon it. And as ornery and stubborn as he had been all his life, no one would believe he had agreed to a peaceful settlement with the MacKenzies if he died, least of all his sons.

Beads of sweat broke along his brow as he struggled to remain conscious, mentally listing every black deed he had ever committed and then muttering a whispered prayer for each one. As the MacPhearson chieftain, Cedric’s word had been the unquestioned law. He had always thought himself a fair man with a firm ruling hand. Now as he prepared to meet his Maker, he wasn’t so sure. It was imperative that he complete one last goodwill before he closed his eyes forever.

The restless wind twirled faster, rustling scattered leaves around him. The cool air was a comfort, giving him a feeling of being lifted high and floating away as the pain in his chest faded to numbness. Lightning flashed silently, highlighting a lone rider approaching at top speed.

Rumbling thunder echoed in Cedric’s ears, drowning out the sound of a winded destrier pulled short and his son’s voice calling to him. Cedric’s head was gently lifted into the lad’s lap and tenderly cradled in youthful hands, strong with promise. Bryce, his middle son, peered down at him with intelligent, gray eyes full of concern.

“Da! What happened to ye?” He reached over and carefully lifted Cedric’s bloody tunic. Moisture gathered in his eyes at the sight of the large sword wound slightly below Cedric’s heart. “Likely, the villain got yer lungs.” His voice sounded like a man, but it shook with desperation. He looked deeply into Cedric’s eyes with painful certainty. “Who did this to ye?”

“A MacKenzie warrior struck me down. I came from signing the peace settlement with Birk MacKenzie, so I wasn’t expecting an attack.”

“I’ll kill the MacKenzie responsible!”

Cedric could hear the anger in his son’s voice and knew a century-old vengeance
coursed through his veins. Pride swelled in Cedric’s battered chest, and he was pleased that he hadn’t missed this opportunity to give his final command and say good-bye. He clutched his son’s shirt in his fist.

“Listen, lad. Birk MacKenzie didn’t order this. Even now he doesn’t know.”

The effort to speak quickly drained his energy and made his chest feel heavy. What blood had not drained from his body began to fill his lungs, and breathing became increasingly difficult. With a concentrated effort he motioned to his pocket and took a labored breath.

“Get paper.” His hoarse whisper brought blood to his mouth.

***

Bryce shuddered. Knowing time was of the essence, he frantically searched his father’s clothes and found a piece of paper. He unfolded it and scanned the signed documents.

Denial was on the tip of his tongue, when he looked at his father with defeat.
“Pro-mise . . . ye’ll . . . make E-van . . . hon-or . . . my word.”

A flicker of apprehension pierced him. He was uncomfortable making a promise of a life-long commitment for his elder brother, and even more afraid to spend these precious moments arguing with his dying father.

With the last of his strength, Cedric grabbed his wrist. “Pro-mise!” More blood spewed from his lips as the clouds opened with rain. Lightning struck and thunder roared.

Bryce bent forward, hating the entrapment of death he saw in his father’s eyes, and cradled his father to him. “Da, don’t die!” Tears blended with the downpour of rain. Cedric’s cold fingers squeezed. Out of desperation Bryce yelled over the storm. “I promise! I promise!”

He couldn’t bear the thought of his father dying without granting his last request.
Cedric released his wrist, and Bryce knew he was gone. Tears were difficult to shed. He couldn’t ever remember a time in his childhood when he allowed one to slip from his eye.

Now, alone in the storm, a lad of ten and four, Bryce grieved for his loss and a promise he prayed he could keep.

Chapter One
April 1473

Akira MacKenzie willed her knees not to fail her. She watched Gregor Matheson’s blond head disappear through the astonished crowd that slowly parted for him. He would have made her a perfect husband, but now he deserted her, placing her safety in jeopardy once again.

She swallowed the rising lump in her throat and straightened her shoulders. Akira clasped her hands in front of her and turned to face the expectant gazes of her Scottish clan. Hushed murmurs flowed through the crowd until one by one their voices faded into the restless wind.

“`Twill be no wedding this day.” She allowed her strong voice to echo over her kinsmen. The earth vibrated, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Akira paused, but naught seemed amiss. Green hills and hidden valleys lay undisturbed, draped with wildflowers and tall grass that rippled in the gentle breeze. Strands of golden-red hair lifted from her shoulder and brushed against her face. She whisked a wayward lock from her eyes.

She turned to Father Mike for encouragement. He stood in a brown robe gathered with a rope cord tied at the waist around his thin frame. Holding a small book in the crook of his arm, he shook his graying head. His aging face held laugh lines around the corners of his eyes and mouth, but today his wrinkles were pulled into a sad frown. His soft brown eyes settled upon her with understanding. Akira wanted to run weeping into his arms, but she held herself still.
More thunder rumbled and grew closer.

“’Tis the MacPhearsons!” A lone woman cried in alarm, pointing past where Akira stood on the grassy knoll.

Panic slashed through her clansmen, and they scattered to find shelter behind her father’s
castle gates. Unarmed MacKenzies sought their weapons before the riders reached them. Expecting a wedding celebration, few were prepared for battle.

Akira turned. The thunder she had heard was an army of warriors descending upon them. A savage barbarian riding a fierce gray stallion charged toward her, his army in quick pursuit. Together, the lead warrior and stallion embodied power. He led them as befit a king, but when his gaze fixed on Akira, her blood ran cold.

The MacPhearson chief wanted his bride. Akira hated her fear of him as it took root and gripped her insides.

“Lord, give me strength,” she murmured.

She would not run. No, she would stand and wait for him. If it was peace he wanted, then peace she would give him. She’d be calm, meet his gaze, and remind him of the letter her father received six months ago from the MacPhearson chief saying he would not honor the betrothal their parents had pledged years ago when she and Evan MacPhearson were children. Accepting it as the insult it was, Akira’s father granted his permission for her to wed a man of her choice. She had chosen Gregor Matheson, but now she realized even that had been a mistake.

Her brother Gavin broke through the madness and grabbed Akira’s arm, propelling her toward the castle gates. The sound of horses’ hooves pounding into the earth grew louder. One gray stallion ruptured forth, his rider targeting her. Knowing Gavin held no weapon to defend them, she fretted for his life and tried to wrench herself free.

“Run, Gavin! Run!” she yelled above the chaos.

Gavin wouldn’t leave her. He struggled to pull her along, but her heavy satin gown caught under her feet, nearly tripping her. While most wedding gowns of her clanswomen were of varying colors, Akira had wanted to look like a white dove. The front was simple, but elegant, with no beads or trim. The long sleeves widened at the wrists and the skirt portion draped over her figure like a long tapestry.

“Hurry, lass!” he urged as the material ripped.

The stallion’s labored breathing almost pulsed down her back. Her skin crawled with tiny prickles. The dark rider would soon overtake them. Jerking free of Gavin’s hold, she again urged her brother to safety.

“Leave me, Gavin.” Tears of despair threatened to snap her control. “I’ll not have ye die at the hand of a MacPhearson because of me.”

“Nay. Never!” Gavin protested.

The MacPhearson warrior bent, and his heavy fist slammed against Gavin’s jaw. Her brother landed several feet back. Iron fingers gripped her waist. The MacPhearson tightened his hold across her middle as he pulled her backward and up onto the horse. Akira screamed and kicked, lashing out blindly against him. He fought her with one hand while he guided his charger forward. The reins almost tumbled from his hand, and he lunged to grab them. His hard elbow rammed her cheek in the process.

“Don’t fight me, lass,” he roared. “Or else the blood of innocent men will be upon yer head!”
His words cut into her like a blade, and she ceased her struggles as he threw her over his lap and across the racing animal’s back. Akira believed him. A MacPhearson could have no compassion in a heart as black as death.

“How dare ye, MacPhearson!” Akira’s father bellowed behind them. She stole a glance through her tumbling hair. He ran after them with a fist raised in mid-air. He roared another promise of revenge before bending over his knees to catch his breath. Her father shook his graying head in disbelief.

“I love ye, Da,” she whispered, committing his image to memory.

The forest swallowed them, and for hours the MacPhearsons kept their fast pace. Akira tried to calm her heaving stomach, but it continued to twirl as she lay over his lap. The ride would have been much more tolerable had she been able to sit on her backside. Instead, her stomach suffered from the jarring of the stallion’s movements. The nausea finally overtook her, and she vomited.

They stopped. Left with no other recourse, she tried to wipe her mouth with her hand.

The warrior ripped off part of his plaid hanging over his tunic that reached down to his knees like a long shirt and belted at the waist. He wet it with water from his flask and offered it to her. His plaid of red and gray colors fell forward, and he shoved it back over his shoulder. Since the MacPhearsons lived in a different region, their plaids were made by a different weaver from the MacKenzies. Akira’s clan often wore plaids of blue and green.

She lifted her gaze to his menacing glare. Akira trembled in spite of her silent resolve not to fear him, for he looked as if he wanted to beat her, and she felt certain it wasn’t beneath him.
He leaned forward, thrusting the material in her face. “Take it and clean yerself,” he demanded, as if the sight of her disgusted him.

Grimacing, she looked down at his leg covered with her sickness. Her cheeks grew warm. He deserved what he had gotten for throwing her on his stallion and hauling her off like a prize he had won.

“Lass, don’t make me repeat myself.” His lack of patience was quite evident in his tone, but even more so as he shoved the damp material in her face.

Akira snatched it out of his hand and glared back, momentarily forgetting her danger.
“Ye blunderin’ fool, ’tis yer own fault it happened. Ye got no more than ye deserved.”

He leaned forward, his nose barely an inch from hers, and she leaned back as far as she dared without toppling off his stallion. His dark gray eyes turned black, and a vein pulsed rapidly in his neck as he stared down at her.

Once again her temper and boldness had gotten the better of her. Lord, help bridle me tongue, she silently prayed. Deciding she had pushed him far enough, Akira gripped his leg while she stroked the damp cloth over his skin in hopes of diverting his attention from her angry outburst. He flinched at her touch. She dropped his leg with a questioning gaze.
“I told ye to clean yerself, not me.”

“I’m not quite as messy.” She turned back to her task.

He lifted her from the stallion and dropped her on her unsteady feet. It took her a moment to recover. When she did, she found herself staring at her captor’s chest. Tall for a woman, Akira wasn’t used to a man’s height equaling her own, but this MacPhearson was a giant. His massive shoulders blocked the sun’s rays, filtering through the trees.

He bound her hands with a leather strap, pulling the knot secure against the flesh around the fine bone of her wrists. She noticed his skin was a shade or two darker than hers.

Akira stole the moment to study his profile. Shoulder-length hair the color of potted soil framed an authoritative, square face. His gray eyes were sharp and purposeful as he tended to his task. Up close he appeared more handsome than barbaric. His bronze face bore a recent shave.
The bridge of his nose smoothed over his face to striking, high cheekbones. He radiated confidence, but she sensed a stubborn streak hid behind his determined expression.

As he towered over her, she felt a rare fear and trembled. His hands gentled, and his voice softened.

“I’m sorry I was so rough with ye. I didn’t mean for my elbow to hit yer cheek.” He pulled the leather tighter, making her wince. “I apologize for this inconvenience, but I must see to it that ye canna escape.”

He stepped back, rubbing his chin in thoughtful concentration as if contemplating what to do with her. “Ye’re no ordinary woman.” He crossed his arms and circled Akira, observing her. She could feel the heat of his blazing gaze travel the length of her. “Any other woman would have fled.” He paused in front of her and looked into her eyes. “`Twas as if ye were determined to stand yer ground and wait for me until that man encouraged ye to run.” He raised a black eyebrow. “Why?”

“They’re my family and clansmen. If ye were coming to claim yer bride, then I was the one ye wanted, not them.”

“So ye’re a courageous lass. Willing to sacrifice yerself for their lives. Is that the way of it then?” He spoke in a firm, yet gentle tone. He touched her swelling cheek with the back of his knuckles. Akira flinched from the uncharacteristic gesture. He dropped his hand.

“Regardless of what ye think, I’m not in the habit of mistreating women.” He looked at her intently, his eyes almost willing her to believe him.

She stared over his shoulder at the dark forest, refusing to relieve him of his guilt—if he was human enough to feel any. “My brother did naught to ye. Why did ye hit him?”

“Yer brother would have interfered and caused a massacre of yer people. I had no wish for that to happen, so I took the only option I had. I took care of him before he could strike me and my men retaliate on my behalf.”

Akira stepped back in disbelief. She craned her neck to see into his dark gray eyes. “’Twas not the only option. He could still be unconscious this verra moment.”

He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as if she were trying his patience. “I assure ye, lass, yer brother will be fine. I didn’t hit him hard.”

She leaned up on her tiptoes. “Then my eyes must have been deceiving me, for ye
knocked him plumb out.”

“Aye, that I did.” He grinned with pride as white, even teeth flashed in contrast to his dark profile. “But the blow will not cause any lasting effects, I assure ye.”

“There’s not a guilty bone in yer body.” A lock of golden-red curls fell forward covering her right eye. She reached up with her bound hands and tossed her long tresses over her shoulder. “Ye had no right to take me from my family.”

“Believe as ye wish.” He shrugged. “I may have taken ye against yer will, but I never commit harm unless I’m forced.” He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face.

Her mind whirled in a daze. Akira purposely closed her heart to any generosity he might bestow upon her. “Gavin gave ye no reason to hit him. I hope I do naught to force yer mistreatment of me before ye return me to my family.” The sarcasm in her voice overshadowed her fear.

A sudden frown perplexed his otherwise perfect face, and she sensed a change in his demeanor. In one fluid motion, he lifted her upon his stallion. This time she was properly seated as he mounted up behind her. He urged the beast beneath them forward, signaled to his men, and they were again on their way. Akira had nearly forgotten that others were present to witness their exchange.

Under the circumstances, he set a much slower pace than she would have anticipated, knowing the MacKenzies could be following close behind. They traveled a good distance in silence.

After a long while had passed, he bent toward her ear. “I’m sorry.”

His warm breath floated over the skin at her nape, and she fought the urge to shudder. His apology stunned her speechless. Warriors did not apologize, least of all to bound prisoners or to women.

“Whether ye believe me or not, I do not mistreat women. And the blow to yer cheek wouldn’t have happened if ye hadn’t put up such a struggle.”

Akira remained silent. How was she supposed to have responded while being kidnapped away from her family and all that she held dear? She had no idea what to expect. All she knew was that she depended upon the Lord to give her sufficient grace to get through whatever she would be forced to endure at their hands.

“I see ye’ve naught else to say.” Disappointment carried in his voice.

She arched an eyebrow. He expected friendly conversation while he carted her halfway across the country against her will and kept her in bonds? “What would ye have me say?” She turned sideways in the saddle. “I can only wonder at what ye plan to do with me. Should I beg for mercy in hopes ye’ll spare my life? Or should I wait ’til ye’ve no more use for me?” She straightened away from him.

He chuckled. “I appreciate the ideas.”

“Why not take me home now before my da comes after me and more blood is shed?”

He tensed as if her words had struck some deep chord within him. “Believe me, lass, more bloodshed is not my intention. I took ye because I had to and that’s the end of it.”

Akira wisely remained silent. The man seemed to contradict even his own character. He didn’t want her to believe him a barbarian, yet he had ridden onto MacKenzie land with warriors and carted her off against her will, thrown across his lap like a sack of potatoes. Then he bound her wrists with a leather strap and tried to convince her that he was a caring gentleman with good manners. There could only be one explanation. The man was daft.

* * *

They rode well into the night. Bryce’s heavily muscled arms shielded her from branches and other brush in their path. They came to a clearing and Bryce halted. “We’ll camp here for the night. There’s a small brook beyond those trees.” He gestured to the right. He called two men over. “Backtrack and station yerselves to keep watch. I want to know of the first sign of a MacKenzie.”

Before she could object, large hands circled her waist and lifted her down. “Follow me.” He turned on his heel, leaving her with no choice but to do as directed. He led her into the dark woods, and she wanted nothing more than to turn and run the other way. Twigs cracked beneath the weight of their footsteps. An owl hooted in the distance. A small animal shifted and darted through the leaves. She wondered if it was a rabbit. Crickets sang around them. Akira rubbed her arms in discomfort and crouched close to his back to avoid the leaves and limbs he shoved aside.

They reached the brook, and he motioned for her to kneel beside him. She bent and watched him remove more of his plaid. He dipped it into the water and brought it against her face.
She jerked at the cold contact. What was this about?

“I merely want to bathe yer face.”

She leaned back. “Nay!”

His hands fell to his sides, still holding his wet plaid in one hand. “I can see the swelling and darkness just below yer eye, even in the moonlight.”

As if brought on by his words, the skin under her left eye tightened and grew numb. Her fingers inched to her cheek as she stared at him. He was stern with his men and they rushed to do his bidding. A man did not earn that kind of respect and power with a gentle nature. They feared him, and they wanted his approval. She could see it in their faces when they looked at him. Admiration shone in their expression.

“Ye’ve no reason to fear me, unless ye plan to make it so,” he interrupted her thoughts. “I’ll treat ye with all the respect owed and due a lady, but heed my warning: Don’t anger me by trying to escape. There is naught I despise worse than distrust and betrayal.”

Akira stood to her full height, prepared to challenge him. “As yer prisoner I owe ye no trust or loyalty.”

He rose beside her. “Consider yerself warned. ’Twould ease yer fear of me.”

He lowered his voice, and she sensed his tone carried great meaning.

“I’m not afraid. I simply wish ye not to touch me.” She hoped her tone carried the contempt she felt.

“As ye wish.” He stepped closer, pointing a finger in her face. “But I warn ye. Ye’ll remain bound, for I’ll not give ye the opportunity to flee. If ye eat, I shall feed ye. If ye
wash, I shall help ye. Ye belong to my brother, and I trust no one else save Balloch.”

Akira stood still, stunned. He was not the MacPhearson clan chief? She belonged to his brother? “Yer not Evan MacPhearson?”

“I am Bryce MacPhearson, the middle son.” He grinned. “I see ye’ve managed to remember the name of the man ye should have been saying yer vows to when I found ye, instead of that oaf ye were about to commit yerself to.”

He started to turn from her, but she gripped his arm. “Gregor is not an oaf. Though that is the best I can describe of ye.” She felt almost breathless. “What lies do ye speak? Evan MacPhearson sent my father a letter saying he had no intention of wedding me.”

“I speak no lies. The letter was a mistake.” He turned his full attention toward Akira and placed his hands on his hips, towering over her. “And as to a better description of me, do ye really lack that much imagination, lass? If this Gregor deserves such defense, then where was the brave groom when I found ye?”

Akira hated the truth of his words. Shivers ran up her spine, and she consciously tried to shake them off, but his last question brought her blood to a boil. Her thoughts turned to the humiliating scene. Warmth crept up her neck and into her face.

“Perhaps he was a wee bit late?” he taunted.

She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words hurt. “Maybe he knew how miserable I could make his life, which would be my full intention if yer brother were to succeed in wedding me.”

His lips twisted into a sardonic grin. “As laird, Evan is only performing his duties by wedding ye. Marriages of convenience occur every day. I doubt he plans to spend enough time with ye to allow ye to wreak havoc in his life.”

“I haven’t agreed to wed Evan. And ye know naught of Gregor to throw insults in his absence.” She hated the fact that she felt forced to take up for Gregor. He did not deserve her loyalty any more than the MacPhearsons.

“I know enough.” His gray eyes grew darker and his voice a bit louder.

“What do ye know of him?”

“Enough.”

“If I must hear these accusations against him, then tell me.”

He reached for her, and not knowing his intention, she flinched. His palm rested on the side of her face, surprisingly as gentle as a breeze. “I know he is a complete fool to give ye up.” His voice broke to a husky whisper.

Akira blinked, wondering if she had heard him correctly. “Then I suppose yer brother would be an even greater fool, because me da received Evan’s letter releasing me from the betrothal agreement just six months past.”

Bryce’s expression didn’t change. “He is the fool of all fools.” He turned and walked away.

Akira followed him.

“Did he send ye for me?” She wanted to know if she was an unwelcome necessity in Evan’s life.

“Ye’ll know soon enough.”

Akira caught up with him and tugged on his arm. She needed answers. “Why didn’t he
take me?”

He shook off her arm. “Ye’ll sleep close by me.”

“I think not.” She turned from him and stomped off in the other direction, only to realize she still desired to know more about Evan MacPhearson. “Why did he not come for me himself?”

Bryce turned from her, rubbing his palm against his forehead. He walked past his men and pulled his furs from his stallion and threw them at her feet. “Here, sleep on those. ’Tis enough to cover ye.”

“My da will come for me.”

“I expect he will.” Bryce walked over to a tree, sat, leaned against the trunk and folded his arms over his knees.

“Ye plan to sleep that way?”

“Aye.” He let his head drop against the hard bark.

“Ye look uncomfortable.” She frowned in his direction. “But, I care not.” She assured him. “I’ll be home with me family in the comfort of me own bed soon.”

Akira brushed aside a few twigs and spread out her furs as best she could with her hands still bound. Then she crawled on top of the furs and brought one end over her. The chill had not bothered her as yet, but the night air promised dropping temperatures. The day had been warm for April and the first time it had not rained in days. It was a good omen for her wedding day—or so she had thought. An image of Gregor appeared in her mind, and sadness closed around her heart. The pain of his rejection hurt more than she cared to think on. She stifled a sob that nearly escaped her throat.

***

A muffled sound brought Bryce’s head up. He studied Akira’s feminine form under the moonlight. Her hair sprawled over her arms like silver ribbon. She sighed uncomfortably and shuffled around, restless.

The vision of her face, swollen and blue, made him squirm with regret. He had not meant to hurt her, and he despised his carelessness.

“Blunderin’ idiot!” he muttered under his breath.

“Are ye troubled?” The hope in her voice almost made him chuckle as she rolled over on her side and sat up on her elbow. The furs slipped from her shoulder. Akira’s silhouetted form shivered against the cool air settling in around them. Bryce looked away and shifted again to ease his discomfort.

“Nay.” He dropped his chin on his folded arms.

She continued to stare at him a moment longer before she lay back down to rest.

He let his head fall back against the bark of the tree and looked up at the outline of the branches and leaves above. Footsteps and twigs broke. Balloch plopped down beside him.
“The lady’s a beauty, is she not?” Balloch whispered.

“Aye, she is at that. In a few days she’ll hate me when she learns the truth.” For some reason, that realization bothered him. What should he care of her hatred for him? He wasn’t the one destined to wed her, but it bothered him nonetheless. As she prayed aloud for her family, her safety, and a swift return home, guilt plagued him.

When she prayed that God would soften his heart, Bryce could stand no more. He turned to Balloch. “Keep an eye on her. I’ll be back.”

In one fluid motion he stood and walked away from camp. Safely out of hearing, Bryce looked up at the clear bright stars.

“Lord, Vicar Forbes says to honor yer mother and yer father. I’m only trying to do so.” He sighed heavily, wondering if God would hear him after what he had done today. “I really do want peace between our clans. I’m tired of all the bloodshed. Show me how to keep my promise without causing another war.”

No answer came from the Almighty. Bryce dropped his head in shame. While he had never been an overly religious man, he had no desire to anger his Maker. Had he gone too far this time?