MC ROMANCE: Wanted by the Alpha Biker (Motorcycle Club Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (MC Romantic Suspense Contemporary New Adult Short Stories) (131 page)

Her feet are silent on the floor. It is freezing out here. She hurries downstairs, and finds her outer shoes at the back door, pulls them on. She does not know why she feels her feet take her to the back door; she only knows that she has to go there.  Her heart is guiding her outside, towards the path into the woods.

Outside, the night is deepest charcoal-grey, the greyness the only hint of morning. It is silent out here.

Bryce? Sweetheart? Her mind is calling out as she walks. She is walking into the woods

Bryce? The call her heart heard is somehow fainter, as if the caller faded.

Ten more minutes. She is far from the house, now. The air is becoming colder. It is closer to the dawn.

Then she sees it. Sees him. Ten paces ahead of her, there is a huddle in the pathway. A dark shape, with sandy hair spread limply out before it, one  hand  thrown forward, the other beneath his body, sprawled on the path.

No! Sophie did not know it was possible for the heart to break.

She throws herself forward, crouching beside the inert form curled in the path. He feels cold. He might not be dead.

She  sits back, takes stock. Feels for a pulse at the throat. It is there. Faint, but there. She almost weeps with relief. She does, in fact, stand; words of thanks to whichever deity has preserved him, on her lips.

She takes a breath, and feels along his ribs. He has been shot. The bullet has lodged at the shoulder-blade, not far from where it entered. If it had not, he would be dead. More miracles.

              She rolls him over, as gently as possible. He groans.

“You're alright, dear. It's alright.”

              She straps the shoulder and chest with a strip torn from her night gown.

“We'll get you back home, dear.”  She wonders how. She will have to try.

“Let's lift you up.” She bends over and eases his arm around her shoulders.

Together, they walk back, her dragging his weight, which is lifeless against her shoulder.

              It takes almost an hour, but they reach home. She pulls him over the threshold, and they both collapse in an exhausted heap. Then she goes to the kitchen. Calls Mhaire.

Mhaire returns, with Master Leeson, as it will take all of them to cauterise the wound. One to hold the iron, and strong arms to hold him, with a third on hand with bandages for the wound. As soon as Sophie has removed the bullet, they will help with cauterising it.

After about an hour, Bryce, his face sheened with sweat,  is sleeping peacefully. Sophie sits beside his bed, keeping watch, half-asleep herself, exhausted.

When she wakes, the candlelight is brushing pale highlights in his hair, his face completely relaxed in sleep. Sophie feels her heart warm with love for him, and she also realises she has come to a decision.

***

“Lover?”

“Yes?”

It is eleven days since Bryce's wounding, and he is in bed with Sophie. He sweated out the fever after five days, and judicious use of yarrow. By the eighth day, he could again eat solids. He has been sleeping beside Sophie since the accident, and they are back to making love, if with care for his wounds.

Now, Sophie is beside him, her head on the pillow.

He is about to fall asleep.

“Lover?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I have something to ask you.”

“Yes? You know you only have to ask.”

She smiles at him, kisses his nose. “Yes, dear. But this is a big question.”

“Try me.”

“Could we...how would it be, if we were not here?”

“Not here? You mean not in this house?”

“Not this house, dear.  This land. This war.”

Bryce is silent for a moment.

“That is a big question. But it is one I have thought about myself.”

“And?” She is looking down at him, wide-eyed.

“And...This is nothing, to me. Nothing I would not give up, to see you safe. To see us safe.” He strokes her shoulder.   “I don't want to die, either.”              He adds. “Not now I have so much to live for.”

They are silent for a moment.

“We could... where would we go?”

“France is... open to us.” She says it, musingly.

“Yes.” Bryce says, after a while. “Clever.”

She smiles, and giggles. “You, too.”

“To have come to the same conclusion?” He smiles.

“Yes. Certainly.”

They laugh. It is a long time before they rise that morning. They tell the staff that they were busy with matters of household concern. The staff smile, but don't believe them for a second.

At the Forest House, all is well in the world.

***

It is night. The sea is roaring. The fire from the torches spills, liquidly, into the rising flow of the tide.

              “Bryce?” Sophie squeezes his hand. He holds hers tighter, reassuring.

They are on the beach, just after midnight.  It is a month since their talk, and Bryce has found a passage for them, on board a whiskey-trader, bound for France. 

His existence is enough to have him shot, never mind any attempt by him of fleeing  the country. That would see him hanged.  They could both be killed for this.

“He should be here any minute with the boat.” Bryce says. He is looking out to sea, holding the torch.

“Bryce?” Sophie asks. Her voice sounds cautious. “I don't like this.”

“Why?” He sounds genuinely concerned. He knows she has a strong intuition.

“That man...at the tavern. It felt wrong. Felt like he was watching us.”

It is true. At the tavern that evening, a man had sat opposite, watched them very carefully.

Bryce lays a hand on her shoulder, reassuringly. “I know, dear.” He says. He kisses her hair. “We have to hope it will be well.”

“I do.” She squeezes his hand, gently.

They are silent a while. The tides rises, scarlet in the spilled torchlight around their feet. The sound of the sea is constant, a soughing hiss.

“Bryce?”

“Yes?”

“It doesn't feel right.”

“I know.” He is also starting to feel uneasy.

It seems peaceful enough out there. At their feet, the tide is lapping over their shoes.

“Get
down
!”

Bryce pulls Sophie down beside him. They are both crouching, now, her skirt and his trousers soaked in the salty, icy seawater

“What?”

“Listen.”

They both hear it. Shouts, whipping along the shore, torn on the wind. And horses. Coming closer. Fast.

“Whoa, there! Coastguard!”

“Ride, boys!”

“Sound the horn.”

The watch are calling the other coastguard troops. Soon the beach will be crawling with English soldiers.

“We have to go,
now
.”
“Where?”

The coastguard is coming straight towards them, and there is nowhere to go.

“We have to swim. We have no other way.”

“Right.” Sophie is brisk.

“Right.”

Sophie removes her petticoats and unfastens the long skirt of her gown, leaving her in her under shift and bodice. Bryce removes his shirt.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

The look that passes between them, a swift glance, is soft, her eyes gentle, his tear-damp with the weight of his emotions.

Then they are in the water, wading out until it reaches their chests.

“There!”

There are suddenly cries from the beach. They have been spotted.

A shot whizzes overhead, as Bryce and Sophie swim across the aching, wrenching waves.

Bryce and Sophie look at each other, terror and resignation mixing with the deep well of their love.

After ten minutes of aching, bone-numbing cold, they see what they never expected to see, but always hoped for. Ahead of them, rowing out, is a longboat.

“Yes!”

The sound is a hiss of jubilation.

              After two minutes, they are hauling themselves, gratefully and exhaustedly, aboard. They flop in the boat, too exhausted to sit.

Ten minutes later, and they are alongside the ship. The coast is a dark blur, now, streaked with morning's grey, and covered with troops. No-one has yet thought to fire on the ship

Bryce is shivering under the blanket around his shoulders.

“Haul up anchor!” The captain is singing out. “We're on course.”

The ship is suddenly a hive of activity, with men climbing in the rigging, setting sails to the wind.

Bryce and Sophie stand close beside each other.

“We did it.” Bryce says it, slowly, and with awe.

“We're here.” Sophie agrees. She squeezes his hand. He squeezes back. They kiss.

The light is brighter, ahead of them. It pulses on the water. All their dawns will be like this, soon. Togetherness, and freedom.

The shore disappears into the mist behind them, and before them there is only light.

***

THE END

Highlander Romance

CHAPTER 1

Isle Of Skye, Scotland, C. 9th Century

FINN

EVERYTHING AROUND ME DISAPPEARED INTO A SEA of emerald and jade as I flew through the woods.

This is how I preferred to see the world, all rolled up into a unified green blur, nothing physical to distract or keep me from moving forward as my diminutive body sliced through the dense fog. Flying helped me reach a peace of mind unparalleled by anything else I had ever experienced. I fused into the air around me, feeling the invigorating whoosh of chilled air wash against my face as my wings synchronized with my heartbeat to turn me into a perpetually vibrating wave.

                     I broke through the throngs of trees into the clearing ahead, which was sloped with conical, rocky hills mostly covered in rippling greenery and tiny, isolated pools. Sheep idly grazed on their designated, ridged paths. I dipped down as I glided—reaching below me to let my fingers skim through the cold water. The sun started to peak through the normally flat, gray sky, causing the ponds to glitter around me. This was my favorite place. It was where I went when I needed to escape and be by myself. Everything about the lush landscape aided in providing clarity for my mind. Traveling here was a form of meditation in itself.             

I touched down on the soft ground next to a shallow part of the water, the dizzying effects of gravity weighing heavily on my limbs after a particularly vigorous flight.  My feet began to sink into the mud. I hopped up onto a nearby rock and sat down, letting my right leg hang off the edge. I dipped the toe of my shoe into the water and watched as ripples broke though the calmness.

                     “ISLAAAAAA!”

A woman’s wretched, unearthly scream reverberated throughout the hills, interrupting me from my thoughts, the sheep from their grazing, and birds from their perching. I tumbled forward in surprise, slipping from my spot on the rock into the chilly water. The winged, black dots took to the sky, flapping madly to escape the mystery trespasser, cawing for others to follow in kind.

I sat up, my hands cut up and stinging from the tiny rocks littering the bottom of the water I had fallen into. Surprise morphed into acute irritation. Disruptive humans had no right to intrude on places like this if they were going to throw their booming voices around.

                     I got up and unfurled my translucent wings, which were soaking wet. I sighed. I wouldn’t be able to fly like this. I twitched my wings, causing them to shake off some of the excess moisture. I started walking up a hill ahead of me, willing my body to stretch with every step . . . which it did. I slowly grew as I made my ascent up the hill until I reached my full size, six-foot-three. My wings simultaneously crawled back into my skin. This was my human form—a disguise convenient when flying wasn’t an option and stature was necessary.

                     I reached the top of the hill I was climbing and looked around for the source of the scream. I couldn’t see anything. The voice had seemingly emanated from the very core of the earth—meaning, it sounded far away despite its thunderous volume. Gazing around me, I watched as the world around me tried to regain its composure. My heart lurched in my chest when I saw something white lying by a pool of water, motionless.

                     Without hesitation, I bounded down the hill toward the figure. I stopped just shy of two feet from it—her. It was a girl. She was laying in the grass, dressed in a white, tiered lace dress with a blush ribbon cinching her tiny waist.  She wore a crown of yellow and white flowers in her wild, flaxen blonde hair. Without realizing it, I was kneeling beside her.

Her chest was rising steadily. She was alive—just sleeping. Here. Of all places. I furrowed my brows at her and cocked my head to the side, quizzically. She was not like other humans I had seen who were ruddy, lumpy, and carried a heaviness around everywhere. She lay in the grass, seemingly weightless—lithe and as delicate as the lace of her dress that was lightly blowing in the wind. Her face was heart shaped with a tiny chin. Her skin was milky white save the sun that she had caught on her cheeks. Upon closer inspection, tiny freckles dotted the skin beneath her rosy blush. Her full, pink lips were shaped in a perfect bow, slightly parted. Her hair glowed gold in the sunlight. No, not just her hair—her whole self was bathed in light and goodness.

                     I vaguely considered getting up and going about my business. Leaving this human child—of about thirteen a couple of years younger than myself—to fend for herself. But I couldn’t muster the strength. Something stronger than curiosity was pulling me toward her. I felt my whole world shift with this girl at the epicenter. My surroundings fell into its familiar blur, but her face stayed in focus, becoming more vibrant with every second I stayed by her side. Breathing, which I hadn’t recognized as difficult before, came more easily. Everything felt more harmonized in proximity to her.

                     I didn’t know what this was, but it was powerful, and I knew something had changed for good in me—something preordained and unfixable. I dug my fingertips into the earth around me, and a bed of heather grew up around and underneath her. I reached up and tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. Her dark lashes fluttered and opened to reveal a pair of blue-green eyes with a golden ring around the center. Sunflower eyes.

                     I leaned down and left a whisper of a kiss on her astonished lips. She closed her eyes again, giving me the opportunity to return to my faerie form.

A stout, ruddy woman came traipsing up the hill I had come from, huffing and puffing the whole way. “ISLA!” she had been the screamer from before.

The girl sat up quickly, turning her head toward the woman. My wings now dry, I flew, finding a rock to hide behind. I peaked out from the side.

“Where have yah been, girly?” the woman asked, irritation flooding her voice.

The girl looked around with wide eyes, confused, apparently looking for her mysterious kisser.  She touched her index finger to her lips. “I—”

“Young lady, do yah have any idea how long I’ve been lookin’ for yah? Ya father will have me head. Goodness, gracious, me,” she muttered, starting to walk back up the hill, assuming the girl would follow her.

The girl, abandoning her search for me, probably reasoning it away as a dream, looked down at the heather that had sprung up around her. She furrowed her brow in confusion, lips parted as if to ask a question, battling with what she had seen and what was rational.

“ISLA!” the woman bellowed again from the top of the hill. “RIGHT NOW!” More birds flew to the air to flee the disturbance.

“Coming!” she called, getting to her feet and running up the hill with impossible grace.

                     I flew up to the top of the rock I was hiding behind to watch her disappear into the green blurriness.

It was then that I knew I had to keep her safe. She was precious, kind, and didn’t fade away into the background of my life. I vowed to myself that I would be whatever she needed, whenever she needed it for as long as she’d let me.

I spread my wings and took to the sky, feeling less at ease as the distance continued to grow between us.