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Authors: Highlander's Ransom

Dawn Annis

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Table of Contents

HIGHLANDER’S RANSOM

DAWN ANNIS

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

HIGHLANDER’S RANSOM

Copyright©2014

DAWN ANNIS

Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.  The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-61935-
552-1

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To Scott and Nick,

    for

believing I could.

Acknowledgements

Dr. Charles and Linda Burgat, Dr. Eric Straumanus, Dr. Brea Manetta, Mary Hagen, Judi Luke, Kay Alber and Mary Guida.

Chapter 1

Shane gripped his sword as the Campbell scum charged him. Shane swung, and the man fell in a bloody heap at his feet. A raging man replaced him, this one stronger, determined. As the man’s sword came down, Shane used his own to block the attack. They parried blow for blow. The Campbell clansman slipped in his brother’s blood to the ground. Shane stood above him and with satisfaction, thrust his sword into his heart and twisted. One was soon followed by another. A stinking wretch tackled Shane and tried to roll him to cut his throat. Shane heaved the man off him, and as he fell, Shane pulled his knife from his boot and finished him. Sweat stung his eyes as Shane went down on a knee. The son of a bitch had cut him before he died. He heard Iain’s war cry of victory and knew the battle was finished.

Shane MacGregor sat at a well-used table, enjoying the rarity of the quiet hall to himself. He ran his hands through his shoulder-length hair tousling the curls at the nape of his neck. He rubbed his eyes. Shane slid his hands down his face and around the back of his neck where he kneaded the knotted flesh. A frown crossed his face.

His father had been injured in a raid two days past. An enemy arrow pierced his chest.

“Lad, yer the laird of this clan. I am dyin’ and I know it. I dinna want the protection and welfare of the clan to suffer. I’ll not have ye argue,” he said, sternly.

Shane’s arguments to the contrary fell upon deaf ears. He tried to persuade his father to give himself time to heal, agreeing to run clan affairs until his father recovered. Seamus disagreed. Shane argued as long as he could without drawing a sharp reprimand from the ailing man. The loss of the old laird’s reign was felt by all the members of the clan, but no more so than by Shane.

Shane was raised with the knowledge he would one day become laird. Sure the day was a long way off. He’d spent his life until now as a warrior, his purpose in the clan to defend and protect. He took his responsibilities seriously. The men of his clan were fierce. They were daring. They were braw. They were MacGregors. Loyal to one another. Shane was proud to be counted among them.

But now the responsibility of the clan was on his shoulders. It lay heavy, more so because of his father’s serious injuries. The strength of the clan kept them together in these tough times. Shane’s strength would see them through now.

The constant warring against the clans Campbell of Breadalbane and Colquhoun over the Glenfruin lands had sorely depleted the MacGregor clan resources. Neither clan had gained much over the last twenty-one years, but the battle between them lived on.

Shane heard heavy footsteps, turned, and saw Iain MacGregor. Iain strode over to where he was sitting at a trestle table. Iain was an inch or so shorter than the MacGregor and built like a bull. He wore a long shirt under a pleated plaid held by a wide leather belt. His light auburn hair and blue eyes belied his Scottish heritage. His eyes twinkled when he smiled.

He was the MacGregor’s cousin and best friend. They had grown up together.

With Iain at his side, Shane hadn’t taken life or responsibility too seriously.

Shane ran a hand through his tousled hair.

Iain slapped him on the shoulder.

“Yer in here. I’ve been searchin’ for ye.”

“Aye. I’m thinkin’ on what to do. Wonderin’.”

“On what?” Iain said, seeing the seriousness on Shane’s face.

“The poverty this clan faces on a daily basis tears at my heart. I canna fail.”

“’Tis somethin’ to be thinkin’ about,” Iain said.

Shane frowned at his friend. “Listen, what ye think of farmin’? When I was in England, I listened. Some of their ideas have merit.”

“We grow some grain for the horses, the smaller livestock. But farming? That’s for women, not warriors. Not when there’s Campbells about,” Iain scoffed. “Shane, what are ye thinkin’ of?”

Shane stood and began pacing the length of the hall. He didn’t blame Iain. He grew up believing as his father did and his father before him.

“Iain, ye know me. I am ready to fight if needs be. But I’m tired. I know ye are, too.”

“Aye. That I am.”

“I see the drain it is havin’ on the clan. There must be another way.”

“Shane, ye know there is no peace with the Campbells. There’s no trustin’ the beggars. Alexander Colquhoun, may he rot in hell, made sure of that when the king would no longer tolerate his complaints or grant him his desires. Since his death, the Clan Colquhoun has kept to the lowlands and England, which to my way of thinkin’ was the coward’s way. The Clan Campbell continue their harassment out of spite, stealing what they can, knowing we have no protection from the king.”

“No, no.” Shane nodded. “Yer right.”

Shane sat heavily into his seat, weary. His eyes blurred with fatigue. He’d spent the night at his father’s side, willing him to live. He prayed his determination would somehow see the man through. They brought in a physician, something the clan could ill afford to do. After examining his father, the physician gravely shook his head. He agreed to stay on until the end.

“Now, lad, ye canna stay inside all day worrying on the next bump in the road. The sky is blue. The sun is bright. Come, take a ride with me. Let some of this brooding go,” Iain said.

Shane stood and stretched. He yawned with a growl and took a swipe at Iain.

Iain laughed and skittered out of Shane’s reach.

“I’m no’ brooding. I must figure out a way to keep this place from running into the ground.”

Shane ran his hand through his hair.

“If only we had something of value. Something to give us a leg up and start us again. I canna think of anything. I’ve racked my wee brain and have not come up with a thing.”

Iain grinned. “Aye, and a wee brain ‘tis. Now, ye canna be thinking that way. It will work out, ye’ll see. Now let’s go riding.”

Shane shrugged his shoulders and briefly smiled. Maybe this was just what he needed to clear his head, some fresh air and the glorious sight of his homelands to shake him from this hopeless feeling. He’d give anything a try to lighten his mood.

Shane followed Iain out to the stables, sending the geese flying as they crossed the courtyard. They punched each other about the shoulders and stomach, laughing as they went. Shane got in a good kick, bringing Iain down to his knees.

“Oh, ye bastard,” Iain coughed.

They laughed as Shane helped him back to his feet. Iain cuffed Shane on the head in retaliation and then ran for the stables.

“I’ll bid my time. Get ye when yer not lookin’ for it. Mark my words,” Shane said running close behind, trying to catch him.

They skidded into the stables, out of breath. Shane saddled his large black destrier, laughing with the stable hands over a joke Iain was telling.

“And then she said. ‘I thought ye said it was this long.’” Iain held up his hands, measuring.

Though the horse was restless and enormous, Shane mounted him with ease and confidence.
Iain
, Shane thought as he shook his head and rolled his eyes at his cousin’s antics,
not a care in the world.

The MacGregors had lived on this land for centuries. The castle stood on a small isle off shore of a deep loch with water so deep and clear it appeared to be purple with touches of blue around the edges. Surrounding the loch to the northeast were craggy hills and mountains full of timber. To the west were rolling hills, ideal for fields of grain and crops. The small herd of longhaired cattle grazed to the south. As spring approached, the land was becoming green and fragrant. The smells of the plants, flowers, and rich wet earth were thoroughly intoxicating.

“Iain, do ye smell that? ‘Tis our land. Our future. The right of our children.”

“Aye, I’ve been thinkin’ of children.”

“Ye have?” Shane said, surprised. “With all ye have to think about, a family should be the last thing yer worryin’ about.”

“I am not worryin’. Just thinkin’”

“I dinna want to marry.”

“Yer talkin’ about makin’ somethin’ for our children.” Iain gazed up at the hills. “Tis somethin’ to think about.”

“To marry has to be for the good of clan. A love match means little to me.” Shane nodded once. “If I happened to like the woman, all the better but it willna be a requirement. I will marry for the future of the clan, as it has always been done.” Shane understood this and it didn’t occur to him to feel otherwise. His concerns now were what he could do to improve an uncertain future.

The castle and surrounding keep, while aged and crumbling, were situated perfectly. There were several thatch outbuildings used for storage, a handsome stable, and an icehouse sitting atop the loch.

The bridge was wide enough for two wagons to be driven side by side. Iain and Shane waved to their clansman on guard duty.

“Any problems?” Shane asked.

“Nay. All is quiet.”

Shane looked up at the high stone walls. Heavy wooden gates stood on the isle side and on the mainland side. The silent sentinels could be closed if the castle and keep were threatened.

“Lookin’ at all this,”-Shane widened his arms, encompassing what he saw—“we were a successful clan once. Now we are just hanging on to the wee bit we have. And it is slipping through our grasp.” Shane surveyed as he rode.

They galloped across the fields toward the foothills. When Shane felt some of his tension start to ease, he slowed his mount to a walk. He inhaled the fresh chilled air. There was a hint of the warmth yet to come as the spring season progressed.

Iain pulled up alongside the MacGregor and reined his horse in to walk side-by-side with him. Shane turned his face toward the billowy white clouds blowing over the mountains, as if drawing strength from above.

“My da is failing and I dinna know what to do about it. I canna just sit by and watch him struggle so. He fights for every breath.” Shane sighed. “I fear for him.”

Iain nodded solemnly. “I dinna know what to do for the old man.”

Shane continued. “I want to see my people whole again. I want to see the fields full of good, strong crops. The cattle fat. I dinna want to see the faces of the old women and the young children, looking to me for some answer I dinna have. I dinna want to see the eyes of the women who have lost their men because I canna protect them.”

“Nay, Shane,” Iain protested. “These people know ye. They know ye are doing what is right for them. Dinna be so hard on yerself. Ye are one man. The clan willna fault ye.”

“’Tis not the fault I am worrying over. They depend on me. I’ve only begun as laird of the MacGregors and I dinna know if my plans will see us through or if I’ve failed before I’ve begun.” Shane let his head drop to his chest. “I canna fail them.”

Shane talked and Iain listened as only a friend could. He didn’t interrupt Shane, just let him talk until it was all out. With the clowning and goofing they did, they were still friends to be had when times were serious and Iain knew his friend
was troubled and overwhelmed. It was a heavy load his father set upon him and Iain felt for him.

Surely something could be done. Shane was right. If only they had something to give the clan a new start. Suddenly it occurred to Iain what he could do to help his friend.

BOOK: Dawn Annis
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