ROMANCE: Lion Protector (Paranormal Shifter BBW Military Romance) (Shapeshifter Alpha Male Short Stories Book 2) (121 page)

“Cry all you want, you hussy. I don't have the heart to care anymore. You threw that away when you decided to betray your whole family by throwing away your honor for a MacNeil,” Donnan hissed and then left, slamming the door and locking it from the outside. He was going right now to get something to secure her window with. A bit of wood and some nails to make sure she didn't get out.

By the time night fell, Caitriona felt totally helpless and afraid. She hadn't been brought dinner. In fact, she heard Glenna raise her voice towards Donnan in protest when he ordered that she not be taken any supper, which was the first time in a long time that Caitriona had heard her mother argue with Donnan. Try though she may, Donnan refused to listen to her pleading with him, and he won out. Caitriona sat in her pitch-black room with an empty stomach and tear-swollen eyes.

Sleeping would have made the time go by faster, but Caitriona was sick to her stomach from all the turmoil. Even though she just wanted to sleep the day away, she couldn't. She couldn't sleep at all, nor did she move from her spot on the bed until she heard from the outside some scratching and scraping noises. Her first instinct was to call out and ask who was there, but she didn't want to alert her parents.

Caitriona did, however, get off of the bed. Her limbs felt tired and sore from being still for so long, but she stretched them a little as she walked over to the window and saw the boards being taken down piece by piece to reveal a friendly face.

“Ailean!” Caitriona said in an excited whisper. He smiled.

“You didn't think I'd just take off without you. I promised to protect you, after all,” Ailean said, and lifted the window, then helped Caitriona out of the hut.

“Yeah, you did. I just didn't think that you would actually come on to my father's lands,” Caitriona said, holding Ailean’s hand tightly.

“I'll protect you no matter where you are, Caitriona,” Ailean said, giving her hand a squeeze.

Caitriona smiled at that, and let Ailean lead her off into the woods. Despite only the light from a full moon being there to partially illuminate the ground, Ailean knew every step like the back of his hand. A true outdoorsman, despite his looks.

“So, what are the plans now, Ailean?” Caitriona asked softly, after they put some distance between themselves and the hamlet.

“We run,” Ailean replied, a small smile creeping onto his face as he marched on, looking towards the horizon that held the future of their dreams.

“We’re leaving?” Caitriona asked, her voice shaking with shock. That was not an answer she was anticipating, but Ailean was eager to calm her worries.

“There’s a bigger world outside our families’ feud. We can escape this now, and we never have to look back,” Ailean said, an air of confidence instilled into his words. He was determined, Caitriona could see that, and it made her smile, a soft, warm smile. A new life with Ailean, away from the violence and the fighting. That prospect was such a sweet song to her ears. So, she walked with him. Step by step, they grew further away from the lands of their fathers, ready to start a new life together.

THE END

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Chapter One

              Sometimes Agnes couldn't believe her terrible luck. Her father had just moved them to England for a position he had gotten at the royal court. Scarcely had they unpacked their trunks than the first war for Scottish independence ring out across the land.

              Agnes' mother Hariot was overjoyed to see how prescient her husband was to avert an absolute catastrophe for the family by using his political prowess to buy them safety in England. Agnes' sympathies lay at the opposite end of the spectrum, and she was disgusted with her father for betraying their homeland and becoming a shill for King Edward.

              What was even more infuriating was the fact that, while she sat on her derriere, just eating the plentiful food and looking out the window of her room, somewhere in the distance her countrymen were starving because of the war interrupting the growing season. Though this was the first time she ever really got to experience this sort of frustration and longing as the daughter of an aristocrat, the fact that she had never before had to experience this made it that much worse.              

              The idle occupations that at one point she might have found agreeable, or even enjoyable at times, were now inane at best, and infuriating at worst. Her temper was a volatile thing that she could not always control. Her parents and the servants both suffered from these outbursts of temper, but neither could explain them. For as privileged as she was to have a fine house, a waiting staff and plenty of food, she acted as though she were seriously deprived.

              Of course, in Agnes' mind, she was deprived of something more important than delicate foods or fine clothing could ever be. She was deprived of the feeling of self-worth, and nothing was more important to her at this point in time.

              Agnes was a Scottish woman, her father's defecting be damned. She didn't want to be living under the same roof as a man who would throw away his country at the drop of a pen. She wanted to help Scotland while it was struggling to maintain its autonomy.

              It was unbearable to think that she was living in a safe manor with all the comforts that were afforded to aristocrats while her people suffered. So, she chose to take flight during the night, when no one would be able to stop her.

              Therefore, on the sixth day after moving into the manor, Agnes packed up a trunk of only the essentials for her journey, and then left in the quiet of the night, mounting her fine Clydesdale, Angus, and heading north.

              Agnes soon learned that the reason for not traveling at night was more than just for comfort. Her horse, though usually a surefooted and steady mount, found it hard to do so much as trot without losing his footing, and Agnes wasn't sure how she could maintain the course to Scotland without being on a road, and without being able to see.

              Her route had been carefully chosen after an afternoon spent poring over the regional maps and finding the course that would be most likely to be uninhabited and untraveled. She was going to travel through the woods to the north of her father's manor, going in a generally easterly direction gradually, until she eventually reached Nottingham. From there, as long as she wore a cloak and didn't make a spectacle of herself, she would be far enough away from her father's influence to travel on the roads without fear of detection.

              What she didn't account for, being the aristocratic woman that she was, were the logistical difficulties. Not half a mile into the woods did she learn she had to set up a camp and resume her journey come morning.

              When she did wake, it was due to the biting cold of the autumn morning, yet another thing she hadn't taken into account. Her ability to take in all the factors and consider them, and then plan for them, was woefully inept. Growing up in an aristocratic class and suffering very little hardship from the real world precipitated that.

              Regardless of the hardship, she mounted her Clydesdale again and set off. Maintaining her course was only possible thanks to the river Trent, which she was able to run into, more or less by coincidence. From there, she piloted herself to Nottingham, and then managed to follow the roads further north.

              She entered Scotland without any trouble from anyone her father may have sent to recover her. The journey was so easy that Agnes wondered if possibly her father didn't send anyone at all, or if her route was just so quickly traveled that no courier sent after her could catch up.

              Regardless of the reason, she did enter Scotland and went to the first border town that she could, that being Canonbie.

              The whole sum of money that she took from her father's coffers was just enough to pay her traveling expenses for the seven day journey by horseback, and provide for her for another three days. By then, her money would be gone, but she felt confident that Providence would look after her because of her brave sacrifices to make the journey all the way back to her homeland.

              Once she had made her way to the Canonbie Inn, she tied up Angus outside and went into the innkeeper's reception. There was an old woman with her wispy white hair tied up carefully in a bun. Her face was a network of mistrustful wrinkles, and once she saw the fine attire on Anges' pleasantly plump body, her expression was even more suspicious still.

              "What business do you have?" the woman asked. Her tone was just short of accusatory, and it took Agnes by surprise. Certainly she was met with some questioning looks before because of her figure and clothing denoting her wealthy background, but she never was met with hostility. A sort of fearful respect was more common.

              "I would like a room," Agnes replied very matter-of-factly, trying to seem as though she was totally unperturbed by the woman's reaction to her.

              The woman didn't stop eyeing her suspiciously, but she gave a reasonable quote for a room for the night, including dinner. Though her behavior was odd, Agnes wasn't in the mood to search all over town for a more accommodating place--especially not when considering the fact that such behavior would be deemed strange by the locals. So, Agnes paid the fee and had her supper, then went to bed.

Chapter Two

              When Agnes woke up, it was because she was being lifted out of her bed by a pair of strong arms that could carry her weight like she was nothing but a small rucksack. At first, she didn't know what to do, or how to react. It took a moment for what was happening to process in her mind, because she had never experienced what it was to be fearful, or to be in danger. Her instincts kicked in within moments, though, and she began screaming for help.

              Her screaming couldn't be allowed to continue, however. A hand soon covered her mouth and nose, making it nearly impossible to breathe, let alone scream. The strong man who was carrying her didn't even break stride, and before he reached the door of the hotel, Agnes felt her consciousness slowly ebb away again.

              When she did awake, it was to the dingy lighting of some unfinished dirt basement with only one oil lamp on a table in front of her. She hadn't even adjusted her sight to the dingy and inadequate lighting before a deep and gravelly voice addressed her.

              "Did you think you could spy on us? Try and obtain information for the English scum?" the manly voice demanded. Agnes felt a cold sweat break out all over her body, and she was rendered speechless. "Well, Levin?" he asked, the volume of his voice steadily rising in anger.

              "N-no, no. I am not here to meet the ends of the English--" Agnes quickly said, trying to assuage the man of those fears.

              "Don't lie to me, Levin scum," he said, growling slightly.

              "How do you know my family name?" Agnes asked. It troubled her that this man seemed to know who she was. Could her father actually have men looking for her to take her back home all the way in Scotland? No, that was inconceivable. He was a traitor to the Scottish people. No self-respecting Scotsman would dare to sell his labor to a man who so brazenly and unabashedly betrayed him.

              What was more concerning, now that Agnes was able to think a bit more clearly, was the fact that she held the same name as her defecting father. Perhaps that's why she was detained and why this man was questioning her.

              The man was eerily silent for a few moments, then he stood up, slamming his fist down on the table. "You don't think that I would let a Levin through my town, do you? You must have thought you were going to pull the wool over my eyes, but you're wearing an English fashioned dress. My mom was able to catch that, and from there it was simple enough to discern who you were," the man growled.

              "No, I didn't come here to fool anyone--"

              "Liar!" he said, his tone rising yet again, but Agnes wasn't daunted. She believed firmly that she was in the right, and she was determined to show it.

              "I'm no liar! I am here to fight for Scotland! Unlike my father, I'm no turncoat!" Agnes replied, her voice alive with the passion of her convictions. This did not convince her interrogator, however.

              "Oh yeah? And I'm the bloody queen in that case! Don't lie to me!" he said, though despite his yelling, Agnes was not afraid. She tried to stand to continue to engage him on the matter, but she realized then that she was tied to the chair. This was quite serious, then. She was earnestly considered a threat by this man.

              "Besides my last name, what makes you believe I'm a liar?" Agnes asked, glaring at the shadowy figure who was insulting and interrogating her.

              This question seemed to give the man pause, and he didn't attempt to reply right away. "I don't need another reason to think you're a traitor, Levin. The sins of the father are visited upon his children. Your father abandoned us because of a coming storm, yet you expect me to embrace you? Don't make me laugh!" he said, spitting on the ground.

              "Perhaps my father did betray you," Agnes began, but then corrected herself. "No, my father definitely did betray you. I don't blame you for being angry with him. The reason I'm even here is because I'm angry with him, too. But just because my father betrayed you doesn't mean that I will! Why would I have come to the front lines of a war if all I meant to do was betray the Scottish people? I could have stayed at home in a large manor with servants, but I left that all because I knew I belonged in Scotland!" Agnes said.

              "Perhaps you did leave Britain, but just because you did doesn't mean you're on the side of the Scots. After all, if you did want to help Scotland, wouldn't you do better for us by trying to sabotage England from within? What's one little woman going to do for a war?" the man demanded.

              "Sabotage? I left my father's house to avoid disgracing and embarrassing myself, sir," Agnes replied, indignant. "And I'm not just one little woman!"

              "Oh, and what are you?" the man asked curiously.

              "I'm a woman with important documents about British stratagems," Agnes replied. "And the willingness to help my country in whatever way possible. What else could a person offer?"

              The man hesitated for a moment, not sure that he wanted to trust this strange woman. Still, the earnestness with which she spoke did make him willing to at least give her a chance.

              "Fine. Start by giving over those documents, and maybe we can work something out together," the man said.

              "To do that, I have to be untied first," Agnes pointed out.

              "Just tell me where they are. I'll grab them," he replied. She had the papers safely tucked away in her corset, and so she was not willing to let this strange man rustle around in there.

              "Excuse me, sir, but you will not," Agnes replied, scooting away from him and glaring. The man just eyed her, but his expression was covered in darkness so much that she couldn't tell much about how he felt about her reaction.

              "And why is that?" he asked.

              "Because you owe me a show of trust, sir. Especially after tying me up like this," Agnes said, using "sir" in a somewhat sarcastic tone. She showed her total lack of fear, if nothing else, in speaking to her interrogator. That characteristic went some way towards proving that she wasn't actually the terrible spy that the Scots feared that she was, but it still made her seem mysterious.

              "The reason I tied you up is because I don't trust you. Now you expect me to do a trust exercise for you? How dim are you?" the man asked, his voice lowering. Agnes just frowned and studied the shadowy face for any hint of an expression on his face.

              "Fine," Agnes finally said with a heavy sigh. "The documents are in my corset, but after you read them, you have to untie me," she said. If he wouldn't just untie her upon request, she hoped that she could bargain for her confines to be lifted.

              "Ah, that's why you didn't want me to get them myself," the man said. At least he understood that now, but he didn't hesitate to untie the corset and pull out the documents that were indeed where Agnes said that they would be. From there, he sat down at the table, and Agnes could finally see the rudiments of his face. He had dark brown hair with a strong jawline and defined features. His brow was somewhat on the low side, his eyes deep and intense. In short, he looked just how she would picture a man running the revolution.

              Agnes herself was a fine specimen as well. She had black hair with a wild curl, a sensuous and full body with skin as pale as milk. Her father had no shortage of marriage offers, but he declined them all to keep his little girl close at hand until the right opportunity presented itself, but now it never would. At least, not unless her father could see the error of his ways and beg the good people of Scotland to forgive him for his trespasses, though considering the hostility with which she was met, she wouldn't hold her breath that her father would ever be welcomed back into the homeland.

              Even though Agnes could appreciate the finer features on this man, she was more than a little annoyed that he just unceremoniously stuck his hand down her corset. Maybe his hands were chaste and didn't do anything untoward, but she was still annoyed. Despite her frowns, he didn't seem too fazed, and he just continued to look down at the paper as Agnes stared unhappily at his visage.

              Once he was done reading, which took about twenty minutes, the man stacked all the papers neatly on the corner of the table, then looked at Agnes, meeting her hard expression unblinkingly.

              "Why is it exactly that you want to join our ranks?" he asked.

              "I've already explained this once to you. But if you want an encore then luckily the reason is simple. I wish to help Scotland fight against oppression," Agnes replied, a tinge of annoyance audible in her voice.

              "And why is that?" the man asked.

              "Because my father failed to do the job himself. As his only child, I feel like I must pick up the pieces that my father left behind," Agnes replied confidently.

              "And the best way you decided that you could pick up the pieces, as you say, is to waltz into the country dressed like some English duchess without the least attempt for a disguise? Do you realize how conspicuous that makes you seem?"

              Agnes just looked at the man with a genuine sense of curiosity. "No. I am here to save my country and countrymen. Why would I have to hide my face or disguise myself? Only assassins and ne’er-do-wells attempt to keep their identity a secret," Agnes replied calmly. "Why do you think that my behavior is strange? That is the real question that should be asked, in my opinion."

              "Have you never left your father's estate, woman? You are dense," the man said.

              This made Agnes' temper flare. She had borne much from this man, but his insults were getting to be a bit more than she could suffer with a smile. "I'm not dense! I have left my father's estate before. Just because I may not be cultured in this air of mystery and mistrustfulness is no means by which you should feel this prejudice. I am not a person who has spent her life learning what it is to be of the common folk. Perhaps that is my greatest sin. But my ignorance is not stupidity!"

              The man considered this for a moment. Agnes was not a pleasure to speak with, but he was starting to like her despite that. She was a passionate and fiery woman with the strength of her convictions. For good or for worse.

              "Woman, what is your first name?" the man asked quietly.

              "Agnes. And yours?"

              "Faolan," he replied. He hesitated slightly to give away his name, as if debating if it were a good idea. Thankfully, he ultimately did decide in her favor.

              "That's an unusual name," Agnes replied, though in all honesty she was not the most cultured woman. She certainly hadn't met a large enough sampling of people to say that she knew what a common name was versus an uncommon one.

              "My father bore this name, as did his father before him," Faolan replied.

              "Is the name popular in this area, outside of your family?" Agnes asked.

              "I've never heard anyone go by the name. But that doesn't mean much," Faolan replied, then stood and eyed over Agnes for a moment. "If I untie you, and you try anything funny, I will take appropriate action against you," Faolan said. The only thing that Agnes heard from that, however, was that she was being untied.

              "It's about time! I was starting to get sore, just staying in this position all day! It's terrible that you'd treat a lady like this, you know!" Agnes replied, and Faolan merely rolled his eyes as he stood and began undoing the knots.

              Once she was free, Agnes stood up and just stretched her taut and abused muscles. In doing so, her loose corset fell to the ground, but Agnes didn't care too much about that at the moment. What did catch her attention, however, was the sound of papers fluttering after hitting the floor.

              "What were those?" Faolan's voice was a bit tenser when he spoke this time, as if he were accusing Agnes of hiding something. If she were trying to hide, she would be doing a really bad job by first instructing Faolan to take those papers, and then dropping them on the floor while she stretched. But she didn't say that of course, and instead she just leaned over and picked them up.

              "These are some of the documents I had thought you already picked up off of my person. They must have been deeper in my corset than the others. Let's see," Agnes mused, looking over the papers. As she did, her eyes widened.

              "What?" Faolan demanded, and snatched the papers out of Agnes' hand effortlessly.

              "An attack is being launched on this village tomorrow," Agnes said, but Faolan just focused his attention on the document wholly and read until he saw the orders that Agnes had read herself. This was not good news, not at all.

              "I have to organize a search party. Agnes, stay here--" Faolan began.

              "I didn't travel all these miles to be told to wait in a dingy basement, Faolan. I'm going to go to the frontlines and fight, if I am useful there. If not, I'm going to go wherever I can be useful and offer up my labor there. You can't just ignore me and tell me that I should be staying in the basement, when I'm the only reason that you're going to be able to prepare for this attack and fortify your town.”