Bride of Vengeance (Highland Romance Series Book 1)

Bride of Vengeance

By

Anna Pruitt

Prologue

His demons were out to get him again. Laird Garrison was being hunted in his sleep. It was an all too often occurrence. Warriors, Highland men, never slept, so some legends say. If it were true, it would be because of the night terrors that track them down when their eyes were closed. Regrets, blood and death followed them throughout their daily lives. The night was no exception. For most people, sleep was a time for rejuvenation and rest. Not for warriors, and especially not for this Laird.

In his darkest terrors he was a little boy, running from his mother’s room in a small, shanty inn. A boy that young should never be in that kind of situation. Blood covered most of his body. Though he was taught and trained from a young age to never show emotion, the six-year-old could not stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks.

“Help!” He called to the other patrons of the small inn where he and his mother stopped for the night. It was not far from their own people. His mother had needed some time away from his father, not the first woman who had declared this, and certainly not the last. The former Laird Garrison was a tough son of a bitch that went through four wives in his time. Nathanial’s mother was number three. The young wife needed to figure something out away from home. In truth, they had run away. From what? The boy couldn’t know. The only thing he knew was his mother was cut open and bleeding on the floor of their small room. He had watched the entire thing happen.

Every step the little boy took left a little bloody print behind him. His mother’s blood was still warm on his hands and feet, but it was quickly growing cold.

Doors opened to the left of him and to the right. Huge, Highland men and their women for the evening entered the great hall where he stood crying for help. Any one of them could be trusted, this little boy knew. They are all Scots, after all. “What is it lad?” One, frighteningly scarred man reached out to him. Young Nathanial started to speak and then froze.

The boy stopped breathing, stopped moving. The man that had caused all of this was in the mix, staring at him with dark, amused eyes. Eyes that clearly said,
so sorry to have missed you last time, lad. I’ll not be making that mistake twice
. The Highland man, or so he appeared, the coward and shame to all Scots, eyed the little boy with twisted glee. This would be a merry chase indeed.

Chapter One

“All brides are this nervous on their wedding, milady.” Margret, the tender-hearted, yet pushy nursemaid promised. She was sure of herself, so sure she was shaking and spilling drink all over the floor. She looked down at the cup in her hands and almost as an afterthought said, “Your mother sent this. Drink. It’ll calm your nerves.” Margret placed the chalice on a long windowsill and approached the terrified bride as she wiped the liquid from her hands onto her apron. “All brides are this scared.”

Everyone in the room knew it was a lie. Lydia, the beautiful, young bride to be, knew it most of all. She stood in the middle of the room, wearing a gown that should never have been hers, staring into the eyes of her younger sister. Mary, just sixteen years of age, understood exactly what was happening here, as did they all: Lydia James was being sold into marriage. Their father knew how to make money. Selling his eighteen-year-old daughter to a very dear, old family friend, was just a numbers game to him. A game of power.

“If there was something wrong with Baron Fane your mother would not let this happen.” Margret was so sure of herself once more. She even nodded, agreeing with herself.

Mary and Lydia exchanged looks in silence. Both of them wondering -
would she?
Lady Sarah James had never been noted for her patience or tenderness towards her two children. In fact, Lydia could not remember a time when their mother was around for more than a few weeks. Would her mother stop the marriage if Lydia were in danger? Mary seemed to have the answer.

“He killed his last wife.” Mary could not help but whine, tears springing into her eyes quicker than the fittest man could run. Lydia’s face fell once again.

“That has never been proven.” Margret regretted her words at once. They did not conform the young girls in her care.

Mary leaned in close to Lydia and whispered, “It’s not too late to find your Callum.” Mary was speaking of a dear old friend of the family—a man Lydia considered to be her brother. Callum was a warrior with the Highland men of old, back when her father, a Noble Englishman, was still trying to be friendly with the Scots. Margret was a relic from that period of time as well. Years ago, Lydia’s father promised she could stay with the family if she was able to hide her accent around them, and never wear her plaid. Why the proud Scottish woman ever agreed was far beyond Lydia.

Lydia found herself nodding. Yes. These were her very thoughts earlier in the week. Callum would not stand for this, had he known. Lydia’s only hope, and maybe all of their only hope lived just across the Highlands all alone. Callum would save her had he known.

“None of that talk girls. Callum does not need to be brought into this. Your father won’t have it.” Margret fretted. “Lydia, drink something. Whatever that is will calm yer nerves. The moment is approaching after all.”

This was Lydia’s nightmare. She might have been young, but she was not naive. Lydia understood her fate if she stayed, as did they all. How long would she stay alive, married to Baron Fane?

“And yer too young to be concerning yourself with this matter, Mary.”  Margret broke back in. “Tell Lydia how lovely she looks and then be on yer way.”

“Margret, yer getting a little loose with that tongue.” Mary winked at the older woman, not able to help herself. She then sobered immediately when she caught another glimpse of her older sister’s face. Lydia was almost as white as her gown.

“Tell Lydia she looks lovely and be on
your
way, Mary.” Margret concentrated as she spoke, something she almost always had to do around this particular family.

Lydia knew that Mary would never be able to utter those words. Instead, Lydia placed a freezing hand on her little sister’s cheek. “No more fretting, Mary. We’re grown women now. Everything is going to be all right.” Even her voice shook as she spoke.

Mary was not convinced. Margret grabbed her hand and led her it of the room. The old maid was back within seconds, however.

“It’s so stuffy in here.” Margret walked passed Lydia and threw open the tall window in the room. “Get some air.” Margret ushered Lydia to the large bedroom windows and kissed her cheek. With that, Lydia was left on her own. She was lost to all the terrifying thoughts, all the realizations of her life. She was being sold. Her father was making a profit from his old friend. Fane had wanted her for the longest time, ever since she could remember. Her father had always said no. So what happened now? Lydia let these thoughts consume her as she stared out the body length window.

Lydia noticed the goblet her mother had Margret deliver for her. The liquid was slightly green. Lydia took the scent in, it was like mint. She took a sip and immediately blanched. It was sour and almost vile. She placed the cut back down and peered out the window. How that was supposed to calm any nerves, Lydia had no idea.

“The choices of our lives are all we are left with in the end.” Lydia found herself repeating the words she had come to love so dearly as a child. These words used to terrify her then. They still had that effect on her now, but they did something else for her too. She took a deep, calming, strengthening breath.  “I am making a mistake.” She heard herself say a scant second before she started climbing out the third story window.

****

Good God, she was gone. The bride was gone. Margret, loyal maid to the bride, and even more loyal to the man who had sworn to ruin her wedding day, lost the beautiful girl moments before the big event was to take place. How was she going to explain this to-to anyone?

Margret was only gone for mere moments, and now the girl was missing, and not missing the way she was supposed to be missing. No, something else had happened altogether.

A loud thud on the chamber door caused Margret to stiffen. She stood with her back to the door, staring out the open window. “How in God’s name?” Margret muttered to herself. The window was on a third story of a lovely cottage. Lydia James was not so tall to make it without injury. How did she do it? Margret left the window open for her Laird to come and steal the bride, not for the bride to run away. Laird Garrison would have sounded the alert if he had accomplished his mission, would he not? Of course he would, Margret chided herself for the doubt. He never would leave her in danger.

But now she was in danger. Margret had to find that stubborn, silly girl before she did any more damage.

Another loud thud sounded and Margret almost lost her breakfast right there.

“Lydia, love, time does not wait for the bride.” Margret knew the voice. It was Sarah, mother of the bride. Even if Margret had not known the voice, she would know the tone. That poor woman had been through more than enough with her willful daughter as of late. Margret could not blame the chit. She would not want to marry that Englishman either. No amount of land, or power could be worth marrying Fane. He was a vile and ruthless man.

“Only moments longer, my lady.” Margret could not believe how coarse her voice sounded, as if she’d swallowed a small animal.

“The Baron waits for no one, Lydia.” Lady Sarah chided.

“She understands.” Margret felt herself become very dizzy. This could certainly not get any worse.

“Lydia, answer me. Margret, let me in this moment.” Lady Sarah demanded. Margret was wrong. This could get a whole lot worse.

“Only moments longer, my lady.” The slightly plump lady stammered one last time. She stared down at the drop below. “How in god’s name?” How did she do it? Margret searched the room for something to make the climb easier. She had to catch up to Lydia before Nathanial Garrison did. The Highlander would scare the hell out of the poor child before there was time enough to explain.

****

There would be plenty to explain, and the explaining would be done to him. Laird Nathanial Garrison watched his soon to be bride climb out of a window in her wedding gown. He could not help but smile as she got stuck for a few moments and used more colorful words than he allowed his men, except for during battle. The dark haired beauty finally cut herself free with a dagger she’d hidden in her boot. Nathanial made sure to take note of this, just in case.

“Stupid piece of cloth. Good for nothing…” Lydia stammered as the dress finally gave way and she fell to the ground, barely able to catch herself without injury.

Once on the ground, Lydia, gown and all, raced into the woods, not taking notice of anything around her. If she had, surely she would have noticed at least ten men watching her. She did stop for a mere second as she reached her destination nearly a hundred yards out. Nathanial and his men following her all the while. Lydia heard a branch break in the distance. Nathanial was sure he knew exactly which of his men had done it, and he would be disciplined later. Lydia searched her immediate surroundings for long moments. She held her dagger close to her side.

“Who is there?” Lydia finally found her voice. It was shrill, frail, and terrified. None of the elements she intended moments before she spoke. She intended to be strong, firm and ruthless, like so many people in her life. Like her father. A man who would marry her off to the highest bidder with little to no thought of what she felt was right. None of that mattered now. She would start over. Alone. It was alone she would find Callum, a man devoted to peace, and live out the rest of her days, never seeing anyone else again. The thought was saddening. She would miss her family. They would be safer this way, though. She was sure of it. Baron Fane was a ruthless man, no—a vile man that could not be trusted. He might try the rest of his life to hunt her down and punish her. Lydia was sure she would be the target of his anger, and her family would survive.

“I can fight!” Lydia stammered out one last threat to the unknown world around her. It was no lie. The girl could fight. Long moments passed with no one taking her up on her offer to brawl. A deep sigh of relief signaled her belief she was not being followed after all.

Lydia, deciding she was perfectly safe, sheathed her dagger and got to work uncovering her sack from the earth. Within no time at all she was pulling her wedding gown over her head, intending to dress into less flashy clothing. Nathanial became almost irate. The girl had to know how vulnerable she was at this moment. Nathanial Garrison, ruler of his people with an iron fist, willed his men to look away. He did not have to watch them to know none of them were gazing. Lydia was his. They knew it, he knew it. Lydia, however, did not. Not just yet.

Nathanial watched as Lydia slid a hideous pair of boy’s britches on. He grimaced at the sight. He could only see the backside of her, but he knew he was soon to be a lucky man. Her black curls draped down her spine. Her curvy, alabaster skin seemed to shine in the sun. He was lost. And then…

“This is not at all proper.” He heard Margret heave behind him. She was red in the face and ten steps to death, obviously not used to this amount of physical exercise.

Nathanial smiled at the woman. “I’ll make it proper soon enough.”

“So romantic.” Margret moved forward, but stopped short when Nathanial raised his hand. “I should collect her.”

“You’ve done enough, Margret.” Nathanial turned his attention back to his bride, his bride of vengeance. She was tucking another dagger near her side. He would have to remember that one as well. “I’ll collect her. You set out back to the grounds before Fane and James realize I’ve stolen their prize.”

“Fane is bound to pitch a fit.” Margret nodded vigorously at her observation.

“Fane is bound to kill someone. Where is the lass’s family? The sister and mother?” Nathanial watched Lydia walk into the forest, determined. Nathanial wondered if his innocent had any idea what she just did. Did she know Fane would…

“He wouldn’t.” Margret took Nathanial from his thoughts of violence.

“Just get them out of the cottage, Margret. And be careful.” With that, Nathanial nodded to one of his men to accompany the woman he considered a dear friend, and he was off to fetch his bride.

Lydia continued on her solitary journey. She was wrapped up in the pain she was about to cause her family, worried that she would not make it far enough away in time. At any moment, Margret and her mother would discover she had fled, and the search would be on. All she needed was a good pair of legs. Or a horse, of course. She would make do with her own legs for now, as they had never failed her before.

God, she was graceful. Nathanial followed her, slowly gaining on the beautiful woman as she made her way through the trees. Every curve of her body seemed to move with grace that only a heavenly creature should have. Even in her drab at the moment, he could feel the femininity ooze from her. She was perfection. No lass like this should ever be forced to marry an Englishman. Even she knew better and she
was
English.

Nathanial smiled like an idiot for the second time that day. His bride of vengeance made her abduction so much easier. She was walking directly to his horse.

Lydia pushed through a thicket of trees and bushes and found herself near at least a half dozen beautiful horses. They were twice the size of her lovely mare at home. What kind of Vikings rode these? Lydia put the thought out of her mind. One of them would have to do.

She had never stolen a horse before. All of them were fine and would make excellent companions. Lydia back and forth, quickly sizing up the lot of them. She came to the conclusion that not one of them would suit her well. So, she just went for the scariest looking one out of the bunch. It was taller than her and pitch black. The devil must have ridden this horse. Lydia smiled to herself. Was she really about to steal the devil’s own horse?