Highland Abduction

  Highland Abduction

  ©2018 by Blair Keith

  All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, events or locales is completely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Silena tugged against her restraints. The ropes were cutting into her wrists, and the sack was inducing claustrophobia, making her heart pound like a wild beast. This was not the way any noble young woman expected to be treated. But she was not just any noble young woman. She had been raised during times of war, an orphan alongside her older brother, and she had learned how to be safe, how to endure pain and hardship, because all knew that one day she might need to.

  And the day had finally come. She was tied up and gagged like a pig, thrown into a sack, and tied to the back of a horse, riding as fast as the wind.

  She was not sure what had happened, who these kidnappers were, or where they were taking her. All she knew was she was not safe. Nobody would take the sister of a Laird for no good reason. It was not wise to demand a ransom from him, much less to inflame his ire.

  And it was not as though they could not know who she was. Unlike many noble ladies, she was very much in the public eye as much as possible. Men for miles around knew her face and knew who her brother was.

  Even had her face escaped them as they bundled her unceremoniously into a sack, like a beast they intended to drown, they surely would have seen her red gown, emblazoned with the Lairdship's shield, a belt in Clan Davidson's colors. There was no mistaking her.

  But as they knew who she was, she could rest assured she would at least be safe a while.

  Had they wanted to kill her, they would have done so already. She knew this. It bought her some time, at least. These were not opportunistic rogue kidnappers. These were men on a mission, sent by someone, to find her, to seize her, and to bring her back home.

  And yet, these were strong, healthy men. They knew precisely what they were doing, how to handle her, how to restrain a feisty young woman without injuring her. They were no cheap mercenaries. These were experts, no doubt sent, not against her, but against her brother, Laird Ronan.

  Ronan was the Laird of Inverness, and the recently appointed head of Clan Davidson. He was strong and kind, but that did not mean he was loved. To say that a man of his stature acquired enemies would be an understatement. He collected them. The simple fact of the matter was: if you were a Laird, you had rivals pursuing your wealth; if you were young, you had rebels doubting your abilities, and if you were new, you had people willing to stab you in the back at a moment's notice. Ronan was all three of these things.

  But despite Ronan's abundance of enemies, one particular name stood out to Silena as clear as day.

  Clan Stuart. They had to be the ones to blame. None of their other enemies would be so bold as to seize Silena on her own lands. None of their other enemies had the wealth, the power, or the motives to seize her. And, this was bad news.

  Clan Stuart were not people one wanted to associate with. They were just primitive enough to be willing to destroy their enemies in the most brutal and horrific of ways, just heathen enough to be able to slaughter without mercy. And yet, they were just civilized enough to have the tools and wisdom to act out their brutal plots, just Christian enough to have God on their side as they attacked. They walked along the line between man and beast.

  And now, Silena was at their mercy.

  She should never have gone out. She should have listened to her brother. Someone as important as her should not wander alone. He had told her time and time again that it was not safe for her, that she needed an escort at all times. He warned her that, however much she knew how to fight, all it would take was for her to be outnumbered by men, and she would be gone.

  She had not listened. She thought she would be fine. After all, she was a strong woman from a warrior bloodline. Many of their female ancestors had been powerful warriors from the Highlands and Shield Maidens from the Norse settlers. And she herself had been taught self-defense, and how to wield the dagger she carried at all times. She felt safe.

  And the waterline of the Isle of Skye was so peaceful, it brought so much joy to her heart. The gently lapping waters reminded her of their mother's eyes. She hadn't been able to stay away, instead finding herself drawn to it again and again, always on her own, always at sunrise. That was when her mother had died. The water was where her mother's ashes had been emptied. Silena could not be kept from this place no matter what. It was exactly where she wanted to be, and she could not fathom how such a peaceful, familiar environment could pose any risk to her.

  But of course, it had.

  It was such a blur. She had been leapt upon and thrown to the ground. As she fell, her dagger slipped from her belt and into the waters. Not that it would have helped against such overwhelming force. Her first fear had been a wild animal. Round those parts wolves and bears were numerous. Even a deer, if it felt so inclined, could flatten, trample, and gore a human to death before they could stop it.

  The next fear, as she heard a man's voice cry out and felt the strong hands grip her throat, had been rape. A beautiful woman such as herself had suffered many run-ins with uncouth young men who did not see that they had no right to gaze upon, much less touch, a noble lady. And yet, all had backed down, whereas these men continued.

  No, it was not some primal urge that drove her attackers. They had planned this, and they would not be stopped.

  She was still afraid, of course. She was terrified of what might happen to her as time went on. But she had to remain calm. She had to focus on what was to come, and to make plans for when she came face to face with her enemy. She needed to find out under whose orders she had been taken, what for, and what was to come of her.

  She would get no reply from the thugs that had collected her. After all, they were not only savages, but clueless savages at that. They knew no more about the man who had ordered her kidnapping than she did. No... she probably knew more than them already.

  Silena was an important figure. Her brother was most likely the true target, and perhaps, she would be treated with some dignity later. That is, provided she acted in a way that won over whatever sensibilities the vile beasts of Clan Stuart had. She doubted they had any respect for the Laird of Inverness, much less for his sister. And she was not sure if such terrible brutes would dare treat a woman with dignity. Not even their own women were always treated with respect, so what chance did an enemy woman have?

  No, the only thing she could rely on to preserve her life was her position as Ronan's sister. And even then, she had to be careful not to endanger her brother, nor the Lairdship, as she fought to keep herself alive.

  After all, she owed her brother all that she had. She owed him her very life.

  Ronan had ascended to the throne very young, aged only fifteen, when Silena was eight. Losing her parents had been hard, but seeing her brother take over the Lairdship was even harder. He did not have the strength, the experience, or the respect to carry the role. And, she was furious to see
him taking their father's place, ruling over that which he did not deserve to rule over.

  Her brother had tried time and time again to win her heart, and yet, even as the courts and the nobles gave in and accepted him in his position of power, she had remained stubbornly opposed to his authority. She could not respect him. He showered her with gifts and affections.

  But he would never replace their parents.

  Under all this affection, Silena had grown used to very fine treatment, as a sort of compensation for the trauma she had endured. She had tried to remain keen and strong, as her mother had always wanted her to. As a teenager, she had worked hard to keep her skills sharp. And somehow, as the years went on, those skills rusted up, and now, a fully grown woman, she had gotten used to being pampered and treated with nothing but kindness.

  But there was not kindness for her now. Right now, she was simply a prize, an item to be taken. And her lack of training, her lack of foresight, had made her vulnerable.

  Of course, a young woman could not do much against several strong, armed men. Fighting was not an option.

  But perhaps she could have run. Just stabbed one of her assailants and, as he recoiled, slipped from his grasp and fled across the stepping stones, cutting through the river, further down the bank.

  She was small, slender, and lightly dressed. Had she been trained, she would have been able to outrun those big, cumbersomely dressed men.

  And yet, no matter how many times she reviewed the incident in her mind, imagined a better ending... that was not what had happened. She had been caught, and nothing could change that.

  She cried out through the rag, biting down on it, tugging against the restraints, wondering if she'd perhaps fall from the horse. They wouldn't want her injured or dead. Otherwise, she already would be. So, perhaps, if she threatened to injure herself, the men would have to stop, to tie her up better, or to wait for a cart even.

  The longer it took before she was at the enemy's gates, the more likely it was that someone could rescue her. The more distracted these men were, the more likely they were to make a mistake.

  She almost succeeded in falling from the horse's back, but felt her clothes and the bag seized, and she was hoisted back into position.

  A sharp blow between her shoulders reminded her that she was not in friendly hands. She cried out again, her voice all but completely muffled. They did not care about that. She wriggled again and another sharp blow left her whole back feeling sore.

  Perhaps, they had nothing against injuring her if necessary. They could, of course, just say it was an accident. She shivered. She couldn't afford to test that theory. If they had no problems injuring her, then she would worsen her chances of escaping at a later date. The only thing left to do was wait and see what exactly her situation was.

  Giving up briefly, she wept. She had to be strong, but it was so hard. All she could think of was how terrible this was, how much everyone was about to suffer.

  If she could write back home, the very first thing she'd tell them would be not to bother. To leave her. That she would escape, or kill herself, rather than let them look for her.

  Her brother would surely already be arranging a search party. And the people would be angry, prepared to lay down their lives to rescue their Princess.

  She had done this to them. She had allowed herself to grow weak, put herself in danger's way, and got kidnapped. And now, the whole Lairdship could be lost...

  CHAPTER TWO

  The war between Clan Davidson and Clan Stuart had been going on for generations and generations... longer than anyone could remember. It had all began with a feud of some description. Something small, everyone was sure of that. What the whole of Clan Davidson agreed on was that Clan Stuart acted unreasonably and disproportionately to the actual argument. They went too far, and physical conflict began.

  At first, it was small things. Of course, Clan Start started it all, stealing cattle and pushing little old ladies over when they were walking home. Almost childish. But then there were stabbings and fights, building up to brawls and arson.

  Before long, the two Clans were going head to head in battle, actively attempting to wipe one another out. The battles were brutal and bloody, ending in half of all the soldiers dying on each side each time.

  In fact, that was the only reason the battles reduced in frequency at all. It was hard to sustain a state of constant war when all your young men had died in it already, and the women and older men were having to be recruited. A mere three generations ago, both Clans finally agreed to stop the battles and only fight when instigated. Of course, that was often, but the mortality rates decreased enough for both populations to be happy.

  As a result of the constant warring, the last people who would have known the cause of its start had died early on in combat, before they could record the start of it. All that remained for the average person was a keen hatred of their rivals, and a desire to drive them into the dirt.

  Only the Seer, through the ancestors, could tell why they hated one another so much. And he refused to speak. He believed in forgiveness. He believed that if the hatred and anger of that original feud were to be reignited, the people would start fighting again, setting everyone back.

  The people were unsure of the Seer's gentleness towards their bitter rivals, but due to his powers, both Clans respected him and his peculiar ways.

  So he forgave them, and waited for them to forgive him in return.

  Forgiveness was not forthcoming from anyone else. The Clans despised one another. Although the members of each Clan rarely met, this did not stop the hatred. If anything, it fed it.

  When people do not meet, they tell stories of one another, and hear stories of one another. Through the generations, the tales of the wickedness of Clan Stuart got worse and worse, more and more dramatic and extreme. What was once a mere cautionary tale with a little balance and perspective would descend to a raving condemnation of Clan Stuart.

  They were brutes. Unintelligent, uncivilized monsters that could not tell their face from a dinner plate.

  They were insane. Driven by their own faulty beliefs and faith, always out of their minds on drink and mushrooms.

  They were chaotic. They did not strike like normal people, but, rather, acted at random, as though driven by some sort of a demonic force.

  Above all, they were bloodthirsty. They wanted nothing short of seeing Clan Davidson reduced to a pile of flesh. It was all that would satisfy them.

  That was why Clan Stuart needed to be annihilated.

  And when someone other than the Seer demanded some form of reconciliation? They were accused of utter betrayal, of belonging to the other Clan, and evicted.

  It was rarely considered what happened to them after eviction. Nobody liked talking about it. It was obvious they would die of exposure, die of hunger, or be killed by Clan Stuart. But acknowledging this meant acknowledging that they were not in bed with Clan Stuart, acknowledging that a perfectly normal member of their Clan had sympathized with the enemy. And that was impossible.

  To Clan Davidson, Clan Stuart were a sort of a myth. Silena had heard so many tales of their supposed violence and wickedness, even magic. It seemed everyone had a story where they, or a member of their family, had run into the wicked enemy, and had suffered brutally at their hands for no reason at all.

  Silena had been taught from early childhood to fear them and all that they did, to understand that they were monsters with powers of magic, wickedness beyond her wildest imagination, and strength and intellect that were, somehow, at once immense and far beneath Clan Davidson's.

  As she was taken from the horse's back and unbound, Silena's worst fears were confirmed beyond all doubt. She was in Aberdeenshire now. Right in the heart of Clan Stuart's territory, the vast castle of the Lairdship stood all around her, towering up to the heavens. She was in their courtyard. All around, she could see faces with the usual dark hair and brown eyes of these strange people.

  It struck her that
she had never seen a member of Clan Stuart before. Not in person. Only in the artwork of Clan Davidson's scholars, most of which had never seen anyone from Clan Stuart, either. As she was marched in through the castle doors, she was taken aback by how ordinary they looked, how human.

  And yet, they felt scarcely human to her.

  She did not want to be, but she was, and now she had to seriously contemplate what may befall her among these wicked people. The way they looked at her as she was marched into the great hall sent shivers down her spine. It was like they were looking at a beast, a horrific creature of some description. They were scared, yet they gritted their teeth. They were in awe, yet disgusted. She felt like some strange beast being exhibited.

  And then, they were gone.

  She was walked into the great hall, which stood all but bare. There were no people on the floor; only up on the throne could she spy two people. One seated, the other standing, bowing his head meekly, offering the seated man wine.

  The seated man was ignoring the servant, his keen, hawk-like eyes fixed on Silena as she was all but dragged into the room. His black hair was tousled and streaked with premature greys, but his face clearly showed he was no older than thirty. Upon his head rested a solid crown, boldly boasting his wealth and power.

  Clearly the Laird of Aberdeenshire. She knew his name, Eadan, but had always assumed he would be an older man, monstrously disfigured. His youth and beauty took her by surprise. He was strong, no older than her brother, and fine featured, with golden eyes that pierced her soul. Her first thought, before she could stop herself, was how wonderfully handsome he was, how much she immediately desired him.

  And yet, she knew she should not. She could not. She began looking for flaws in him, for a feature, any feature, that she could be repulsed and disgusted by.

  He had a cold cruelty to his face that took the color from his lips and cheeks and made his eyes hard and glassy. He looked emotionless. No, worse than that. He looked like the sort of man who took pleasure in brutality, who adored draining the emotions of others and feeding off them, whose only emotion was a borderline sexual thrill experienced only in the dungeons and on the battlefield.