Hearts of Highland Fire

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Ida MacGregor wrung out the piece of cloth she was using for a rag before moving to the man in the bed, the smell of whiskey and piss heavy in the air. “Come now uncle,” she said in a soothing voice, taking the rag and placing it over his wrinkled forehead. “There nary a need tae fret.”

He opened his blue eyes, unfocused on her face. “Och! Donna tell mah not tae fret! There’s reason alright! They stole everything I had out from underneath mah!”

It was a tale she had heard before, many times, whether he was deep in his cups or not. “We shouldna be living in the past,” she reminded him for the hundredth time. “Remember tis doesna put food in our bellies.”

He pushed her hand away and Ida stepped back, clasping the wet rag to her bosom. She hated when he got like this, unable to see reason and it took her twice as long to convince him to take a rest. How he had gotten his hands on a bottle of whiskey was unknown to her, but Ida imagined that she would have someone banging on their small cottage door in the morn wanting payment.

It was why she had to hide what little coin they had from him.

“I have lost everything,” he muttered, throwing his arm over his eyes as if to block out the firelight. “Everything!”

She had long since given up telling him everything he had to live for. After years of dealing with the drunk Scot, most would have packed up their things and walked out on him.

Ida’s heart wouldn’t allow it, however. She had a soft spot for her uncle and when he wasn’t drunk, he was a bit caring in his own way toward her.

Well, he didn’t curse at her all the time anymore.

Sighing, Ida reached over and gently pried the bottle from his grubby hand, setting it on the scarred table for her to pour out later. He didn’t even protest, which meant it wouldn’t be long before his snores filled their cottage. “Go on and git yer rest uncle,” she said in a soft voice. “Morn will be here soon enough.”

He snorted and rolled over, turning his back to Ida and she waited for the first snore to erupt from his mouth before heading outside, taking the bottle with her. The air was crisp and cold, Ida shivering in a worn woolen shawl as she dumped the contents in the latrine behind the cottage and threw the bottle as far as she could, not caring where it landed.

Walking into the stable, Ida was greeted with the smell of moldy hay and horseflesh, a small smile coming to her lips. She didn’t mind her chores as much in the stable, enjoying taking care of the horses herself. Many of the horses belonged to the laird MacGregor, fine specimens of horseflesh that Ida cared for when uncle could not, which was most days.

The best part about them taking care of the horses was that her own could remain in the padlocks as well, munching on fresh hay. “Cotton,” she cooed, stroking the muzzle of the horse nearest to her. “At least yer happy tae see mah right?”

He nudged her arm and she laughed, knowing he was looking for his treats. “Nay ye already had yer treats ye greedy nag,” she scolded him, moving to the pitchfork to shovel what was left of the hay into the stall. It was the horses that kept her by her uncle’s side, the horses and the fact that the pitiful old Scot had no one else to turn to. If she left, he would freeze, or starve to death, or even worse than that, drink himself into a stupor he couldn’t wake from.

Nay, she couldn’t leave him. She could never leave.