Prologue
English/Scottish Border, 1217
It was a bad night.
But not for ambushing.
The rain was cold and relentless. The only illumination was that coming from the beautiful threads of lightning in the velvet sky. The trees came alive with the flashes, making their leaves and branches look more threatening in the shadows. Rain pelted the ground in fury. Puddles formed where the imprint of feet remained. The only sounds that reverberated in the darkness were from the falling rain, clapping thunder, and metal grating against metal.
And the girl.
Her screams echoed in the night as she witnessed in horror the fight before her. Movement caught her eye and she quickly hid behind a bush, quieting. As she kneeled, she thought back to the events that had led her here.
How had this happened on her wedding day?
“I do not want to marry him, Father! He’s over three times my age!” Abigail’s expressive arms folded across her chest.
Baron John Haynsworth looked at her from across his ornate desk, his blue eyes narrowing. His graying brown hair was resolutely in place. None of his children, or no one for that matter, had ever defied him, except for his difficult child- Abigail. Even his own wife deferred to his judgment.
He slapped his hand down on the table in aggravation and pointed a finger at her.
“You are fifteen years old and under my rule. Charles is only forty-seven years old and able enough to give you children. He has settled for the dowry and has agreed to accept your unruly self in marriage. You will marry Lord Elliot and I’ll not hear another word on the matter!”
She turned frantically to her silent mother with tears streaming down her face. Her mother, as was usual when she fought with her father, which was an all too-often occurrence, was silent and withdrawn. She stared through the window. Her golden blond hair was arranged atop her head, and her green gaze was centered somewhere outside.
“Mama, you’re going to let Papa marry me off to a man that is older than Papa himself?” Abby whispered painfully.
Her mother was unresponsive. Abby watched her silently as her mother wrapped her arms around her torso and continued to stare outside.
Abby returned her attention to her father. Her green eyes were blazing with fire and her long blond hair swayed as she pivoted.
“I will run away! I will not marry him!”
“The guards are under strict orders not to allow you outside of their line of vision, Abigail. Do not challenge me on this front. The negotiations have been made.”
Abby sucked in her breath.
“The guards are keeping me prisoner? You negotiated? For me? What did you negotiate for, Father? What is it that you wanted, that you have not already gained when you married Elizabeth and Matilda off?”
Baron Haynsworth’s nostrils flared.
“I will not stand for this questioning impudence! Do you think yourself such a great prize that any man would want an insolent and disobedient young woman such as yourself as wife? Consider yourself fortunate that I have been able to convince Lord Elliot to take your obstinate hand in marriage.”
“He must have had high debts to have agreed to marry me, considering his tastes run more towards the likes of men than for women!”
His gaze was murderous. He looked over to Diane, who still remained intently focused on the outside. He turned back to his daughter.
“That is not true, Abigail, and well you know it. Those are nothing more than long tails from fast tongues because he rules with an iron fist! And ‘tis best you learn that now, Abigail. Your behavior would cause a backhand from him, as I am tempted to give you now.”
“Mama?” she whispered again.
Finally her mother looked over to her. Her face was a mask of detachment.
“Abigail, do as your father says. It is what is best.” Her voice was flat as she stared blankly at Abby.
Abby felt as if her life was fragmenting. There was no stopping this marriage. Not even her mother would help, not that she ever did because her mother was afraid of her father. Abby noted dejectedly that her mother had addressed her as Abigail. On these occasions, there was no hope for her.
“When is this marriage to take place?” she whispered hurtfully, with a sidelong glance at her father.
“The day after next.” He paused a moment, and pursed his lips unpleasantly. His nostrils flared. “Abigail, a warning- your temperament is very unfavorable. Lord Elliot will dislike it and it will cease to exist, either by his initiative or by yours.” His long strides took him to the door. She stared at his departing form, speechless. She felt her mother’s hand on her hair.
“My baby, Abby. Your father can be difficult but he has been strong for the family. I know it seems undesirable to be married to Lord Elliot, but given time, you’ll adjust,” Diane said softly.
“Mama, he’s older than Father. How can I marry that man? He’s vile and evil. He’s done heinous things to others. I’ve also heard that he prefers men, Mama. I know it!” She began crying. “Why then, does he want to marry me?”
“Oh, sweet girl,” Diane choked, and hugged her youngest.
“I’m scared, Mama. I’m so scared!”
She was married to Lord Elliot two days later. It was a small gathering because the wedding transpired on such short notice. Rumors began circulating that Abby was with child. Then some jested that perhaps the rumor about Lord Elliot’s taste in men was false.
Diane cried as her daughter was swept away just barely an hour after the ceremony. She waved good-bye to her baby and turned back to her dreary and bleak home. It was the very symbol of her life, with the exclusion of her children. They used to be the sun in her sky. Her children were all gone, however, with the exception of Harold, her oldest son. Her heart broke as she entered her prison. She wondered if she would ever see her baby again.
“Are you nay going to say something, wife?” Lord Elliot sneered.
She watched as her mother walked back into the only home she’d ever known.
“What would you like for me to say, husband?” she responded sharply.
He laughed smugly. “Anything, right Jerold?” Lord Elliot looked over to his close friend.
It was difficult for her to hold her tongue. Jerold Percy was his friend all right.
“So what did you give my father in return for marrying me and receiving my dowry?” Her eyes pierced him in the dimming light of day. They were slow trotting on horseback.
He laughed.
“You’re forthright, aren’t you? I’ll mend that annoyance quickly.”
“You will not be mending what does not need mending.” Her words were clipped as they were uttered through clenched teeth.
Lord Elliot forced his horse closer to hers and responded with a slap to her face. She nearly fell off her horse. Her bottom lip cracked and she tasted blood. So this was how he would tame her?
Well, let him try!
“The next time, I won’t be so gentle. Remember that, Abigail, and consider yourself fortunate. Consider yourself forewarned.”
Hadn’t her father uttered a similar warning a couple of days ago?
“Because I’m in a generous mood, I’ll respond to your inquiry. I agreed to give him two of my estates on the border in exchange for the large dowry. The estates were costly to maintain. This marriage was an efficient arrangement. A negotiation, really.”
That was all she was, she thought somberly- a negotiation, a commodity, an instrument for contract.
The day’s light was fading. They were moving towards Lord Elliot’s old estate, one of the ones on the border that had been given to her father by virtue of her marriage. Her husband told her that he had chattels there that he wanted to retrieve.
Slow droplets were the beginning of a torrential assault as the sky growled in warning. Abby couldn’t help but think how fitting the storm was. The omen chilled her more than the rain did. The thought of consummating this farce of a marriage with this disgusting old man made her skin crawl.
How could she allow him near her?
They came to a halt when the guards shouted. The procession of horses, including the packhorses hauling her belongings, neighed nervously. She looked around but couldn’t see through the guards who had fanned out before them as a barrier.
“What is the issue?” Lord Elliot demanded.
She closed her eyes and silently cursed for tempting fate by foolishly declaring that her life couldn’t get any worse.
Apparently, it could.
Abby’s heart beat a frantic rhythm as the shouting continued.
Scots, several of them, surrounded their men. There must have been at least ten, wearing red, black, and blue plaid. They easily overpowered their small contingency. Odd, but she’d always envisioned Scotsmen taller. She’d never truly seen one despite having lived near the border the whole of her life.
“Dismount! All of ye!” the Scots leader commanded.
His accent lacked the typical burr.
“Lord, it’s the border MacPhersons,” Elliot said aghast.
Abby looked at him sharply. His tone lacked something.
Sincerity?
Or was it that it had something more that it shouldn’t, such as feigned surprise? Whatever it was, it didn’t sound genuine to her ears.
“Now!” the leader commanded again.
“Go on, Abigail,” Elliot prodded.
She gave him a sour look. What a coward, to force her down first. Dear Lord, maybe this was God’s way of granting her a reprieve. If she died, she wouldn’t have to live with the wretched man. That was all she’d prayed about since she found out about this mockery of a marriage.
The rain was unrelenting. By this time, Abigail’s light blue wedding gown was soaked through. Thunder clapped in succession, making her jump and flinch. Lightning terrified her, and the storm was not improving. With its cold rain and loud thunder, it caused her high anxiety.
Elliot and Percy stood behind Abigail. When they saw more clansmen wearing different plaids approach, they shared a curious look between themselves. The new Scots had on a muted green-brownish color.
“We just want the girl!” the leader of the first group shouted.
“Go to them!” Elliot shouted in fear at Abigail. He haphazardly put his hands on her shoulder blades and pushed her forward. Abby stumbled and nearly fell into the sludge. She looked back at Elliot with a look of disgust.
“Coward!”
The clansmen from the second group looked over to where Abby stood, and then looked back to the clansmen wearing the red plaid.
A battle cry sounded.
Every man rushed forward in a trifecta of fury. The first and second group of clansmen, and the English guards began fighting. Abby quickly moved to the side, away from the barbarians. The fight was violent, and she did not want to be near the frenzy.
Abby was sensitive to the cacophony of the battle. The men’s agonized screams echoed in her head as she slid back, away from them. She almost shouted out of fear, but when she thought she saw someone approaching, she slid further into the brush and kept quiet.
Bodies littered the ground but not one was of the green-garbed clan. Abby saw a bloodied knife near her and picked it up. It was just in time, too, for a member of the red-garbed clan appeared over her and grabbed her. He raised his knife in the air. Despite the rain blinding her, she screamed in a bid for courage and plunged her knife into his stomach, killing him. His blood squirted out at her.
One Scotsman in the green plaid looked over to her when she shrieked. He saw her kill the man who now lay dead on the ground. The Scotsman saw as she took the knife from the dead body, and retreat into the bushes with a crazed look on her face. She looked young to him, and freshly married by her dress.
The rain continued to drown them. Each group was fighting for a different cause. The English were defending Abby, Elliot, and Percy. The clansmen wearing the greenish-brown plaid were fighting the other clan because those Scots were wearing their plaid. The clansmen wearing red plaid were fighting because they had been given their orders.
Kill the girl.
Abby sat and watched the battle unfolding, crying to the point of hysteria over the atrocities she was witnessing. Splotches of red marred the pretty blue of her dress.
Dear Lord, what will happen to me?
The clansmen in green were far superior. They were besting all others. She heard a sound to her right and looked up.
Percy and Elliot loomed, looking down at her. She was shaking and soaked through to the bone. Percy grabbed her and made her stand up.
“Bitch! This was for you. You were supposed to die tonight!”
Percy brought his knife up to stab her when she let out an ear piercing scream and plunged the knife into his neck. Blood spurted all over her, mostly on her face and bodice. Percy stumbled backwards and fell dead. Elliot stood in silence, his eyes wide and teeth clenched. She saw his nostrils flare. He let out a loud growl, wound his fist back, and made contact with Abby’s face. She cried out and flew backwards. It took a few minutes to regain her senses, although truth be told, there was barely any left. Slowly, she stood up, dazed.
“Whore! I’m going to kill you!”
“Do not do this, Charles! We’re wed. He was going to kill me!”
“Aye, that was the intent behind all of this! I paid those men in the red plaid. They’re Englishmen wearing stolen MacPherson plaid. It is no secret the enmity that exists between that clan and your father. I wanted your dowry but not you. Debts and all, you know.”
By this time, the only men who stood alive were the clansmen garbed in green. The leader of the clan looked at Abby and Elliot, although he could not hear them.
“Look at you. ‘Tis your own blood you should have bathed in!” Elliot shouted.
She looked down and saw her blue dress largely splattered with crimson despite the rain’s attempt to wash it away. Abby raised her hand to wipe her forehead and it returned with more blood. Her shaking became more violent. An anguished scream bubbled in her throat and forced itself through her mouth.
Her shocked cry reverberated through the air, and echoed around them. She was beyond reason now, in a state of shock and hysteria. Her hands shook as the bloody water dripped from them.
“Now you’ll die, wife!”
Elliot lunged down for a knife. He seized her by her dress, and brought her close.
“Stop yelling!”
Elliot drew the knife back and over her, when he gasped and looked down. A sword’s point just barely protruded from his stomach. Elliot stumbled backwards and fell, unmoving.
Abby renewed her hysterical and anguished screams as she fell down on to her knees. She was the only survivor, other than the clansmen in green. She rocked herself, shaking uncontrollably.
The leader of the men stood before her but she didn’t notice him. Sinking down to his knees so that they were face to face, he doubted she realized she was screaming.
“Are ye all right?”
The rain forced him to practically yell.
She gave no response, but continued to scream while rocking back and forth.
He laid his right hand on her shoulder as his other hand lifted up her chin. Her glossy green eyes slowly focused on his face.
“What is yer name, lass?”
The leader’s serious gray eyes touched all points of her bloodied face as he studied her. His black hair was pulled behind his head. His thumb brushed over her swollen, cracked lips.
Abby’s screams stopped. Her head tilted to one side as she curiously stared at him. Her blond hair was plastered against her head by the onslaught of the unforgiving rain.
He pointed to himself and said, “My name is Cameron. What is yer name?”
Her green eyes narrowed more closely. At one time they must have been vibrant, he thought to himself. Now, they looked lifeless. A battle was no place for a woman. That notion rang truer the longer she vacantly stared at him. The rain continued to wash down their faces.
Cameron took out a small piece of red plaid that was hidden on his person, and with the edge, he began wiping her face. She saw the color and began to scream again, pulling back. He noticed and let go of the plaid. bringing her into his arms.
“It’s all right. We willna harm ye,” he said over the rain, rocking her gently.
Something within him knotted up at seeing her distressed state. He felt an odd connection to her. Cameron pulled back.
“My name is Cameron,” he said again, pointing to himself. The falling rain slowed to a light drizzle.
“What is yer name?”
Droplets were still beading on his face. Water ran down his mouth, and off his chin.
“A-Abby,” she replied awkwardly. It was as if she was surprised to hear her own voice.
She was in shock and said her name slowly, as if it was difficult to remember. She looked down at his hands as they tried to pry the knife out of her solid grip. She shook her head and sobbed. Her beseeching stare turned hard and hopeless. It was a purely animalistic stare. She wasn’t rational at the moment, he knew. He let her keep the knife and she looked away.
Cameron’s hand gently glided down the side of her head as she stared off into nothing. Her eyes slowly came back to his for a moment of surprise, and then returned to staring into nothing.
“English guards are coming this way, Cameron. We must leave,” one of his clansmen said.
Abby slowly rocked herself again, not noticing them anymore. He looked down at her, while shouting, “Are they her kinsmen?”
“One of the guards managed to escape when the battle began, and he rides with them. I’m guessing they willna harm her.”
Cameron nodded and tried to turn her face towards his. After failing the first two times, he was successful on his third attempt.
“Yer family’s guard is coming. Ye will be safe. I will remain beyond those bushes and make certain that ye will be well.” He paused for a moment, and repeated himself certain that she was not understanding anything of what he was saying.
“Ye will be safe.”
Her eyes were glossy and unfocused, as if she did not see him. He knew then that she was compromised of mind since she was unresponsive. He hoped that this incident would not permanently damage her mind.
He would never know how the lass would fare, however. He had to retreat with his men.
“Cameron, we must leave,” his clansman insisted.
Cameron ripped off a long piece of his green hunting plaid and gave it to her.
“Keep this. If ye feel threatened, wave it and I will return,” he said slowly. “D’ye understand?”
Cameron placed the piece of plaid in her hand and closed it.
“Cameron,” his man said in a warning tone.
Cameron passed his hand over the side of her face again and stood. “The lass is young for such horrors,” he said, looking down at her.
Abby continued to rock herself, clutching the bloodied knife to her chest in one hand and the piece of plaid in the other. Then she began humming.
Cameron and two of his clansmen hid in the bushes as the guards came forward. Though they witnessed what was before them, they were too far to hear what was being said.
“My Lord! Lady Abigail? Are you all right?” The leader looked over his shoulder when another yelled for his attention.
“Oh, Lord Elliot has been slain!” one guard said when he saw the body.
Abby continued to rock herself and hum.
“Lady Abigail?”
“She’s not well, sir. She is not responding,” another said.
“There was a massacre here.” The leader turned his head. “Look! MacPherson plaid. They’re responsible. They must have heard of milady’s marriage. We must return to Baron Haynsworth.”
The soldier tried to pry the knife from her bloodied hands and she began to scream.
“Leave it to her! Let her have it,” the leader said to the soldier. Abby quieted down as they let go of her hands. She began rocking herself and humming again. The leader bent down, picked her up, and carried her. Abby erupted in a fit of screams.
The clansmen held Cameron back. He looked over to them and they shook their heads. Cameron backed down, but the movement caught Abby’s eye. She turned her head towards him and when Abby saw him, she immediately stopped screaming. Recognition briefly dawned in her eyes.
“What is the matter with her?” one guard asked when she quieted.
“You need not comment upon it. We must bring her back to the holding quickly and ‘tis best without her screaming,” the leader said as he carried her.
Her eyes remained focused on Cameron. The leader handed her to another guard who was already mounted on a horse. Abby’s eyes remained trained on Cameron all the while, even when the horse began moving forward.
Her world had changed forever. As they faded into the quiet darkness, so did her mind.
Cameron saw her fall in a dead faint in the guard’s arms.