Highlander’s Burned Heart Chapter 1
Beauly Keep near Muir of Ord
The southern tip of the Moray and Beauly Firths
Scottish Highlands
Seven years later...
She could not breathe!
His hands were wrapped tightly around her throat as she slapped and struggled to push him off of her.
She screamed and kicked and thrashed beneath him, but it only seemed to excite him more.
He let go of his wicked grasp on her throat and with one fist as he slammed into the side of her head for the third time.
She saw stars behind her eyes and heard his high-pitched laughter as her struggles ceased momentarily.
“Wheesht yer screechin’! Keep hollerin’, and I will keep strikin’ ye more,” he growled.
“I will hae ye noo, Fiona Malloch MacMoir! Mah brother is in his grave, which means I am laird noo, and ye are mine tae take since ye are nae longer his wife, only his poor widow. Sae ye haed better be sweet tae me.” He leered down into her face, his revolting, sour breath wreaking of ale as his oily, long, and filthy hair brushed her cheeks.
“I hae niver haed a lass that looks like an angel, sich as ye…” he said as his eyes raked over her light blue eyes, her wispy, curly blonde hair, and lastly, at her full lips. His mouth lowered toward hers.
Fiona turned her head sharply away from him as she reached out with one arm.
Her hand stretched, her fingers reaching towards the small table beside the bed she was pushed onto.
His thick body was holding her pinned under him, making breathing difficult as she struggled under his weight.
She shifted and stretched further, her fingers getting closer and closer…
Finally, she felt the cold hard metal of the candlestick. She wrapped her fingers around it, and just as Cormac MacMoir tried to lift her skirts and pry her legs apart, she brought the heavy candlestick down upon his head.
The hit was hard, with a sickening thud. His heavy body stilled as his full weight dropped on her.
She wasted no time but shoved the unconscious man off of her just as her door opened.
“M’Lady?” her little maid whispered with shock on her face as she peered into the candlelit room. “I heard ye cry oot.” She looked over at the man on the bed beside her mistress. “Did he… Is he…?” she asked with dread.
Fiona sat up quickly and pushed herself off the bed, straightening the skirts of her blue gown as she looked at the frightened young girl. “Hush, Annie,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I need yer help.” She hastily motioned for her to come into the room and close the door.
Annie hurried in. “Anything for ye, M’Lady!
I cannae believe Cormac would try such a thing!
Yer husband—oor laird—was just buried this morning!
Cormac is vile,” she said in a low voice.
“As vile as his brother was.” She made the sign of the cross over her breasts and murmured, “May God rest his soul.”
Fiona lowered her eyes, hiding her fingers in her skirts. She glanced nervously back at the older man who had been her brother-in-law.
She felt Annie’s small fingers on her arm, and her attention was brought back to the little maid.
Annie looked up at her. “Och, I am sorry, M’Lady.
I just assumed that ye didnae hae love for the old laird.
Old enough tae be yer grandfather he was, and ye werenae married long at a’, barely a fortnight.
” She gave a disgusted shiver as she looked at the man lying on the bed.
“And that one is just evil. He takes joy in beatin’ a’ o’ us if we arenae quick enough tae dae his biddin’.
” She looked back and studied Fiona’s face in the dim light.
“He beat ye too, I see. Ye arenae safe here, dae ye ken?” she whispered as she looked up at the slender, ethereally beautiful, blonde girl who was not that much older than she.
Fiona raised her head and looked into Annie’s eyes.
“Aye, I ken.” Her light blue eyes pooled with unshed tears as she stared down at her loyal little maid.
“Can ye pack me some food and meet me in the stables? I am leavin’.
Tonight. I’ll nae be accused o’ killing another man,” she whispered as she glanced back at the bed and the blood seeping from the side of Cormac’s head.
“Come wi’ me, Annie!” she urged the girl.
Annie backed away, shaking her head. “Och, nay, I cannae leave mah mum and wee brothers. But I will pack ye food and meet ye in the stables as ye ask. But, M’Lady, where will ye gae and how?”
Fiona touched her swollen and split lip with her fingertip. “I will gae tae my cousin, Ewan Malloch, at Ormond Castle. He is a’ the family I hae. And… and I’ll be takin’ my dead husband’s horse,” she said, trying to sound courageous.
Annie’s eyes widened. “Ridin’ that big, gray beast, a’ the way tae Ormond Castle?
He’s a warhorse, M’Lady.” When Fiona lifted her chin, Annie shrugged.
“Vera weel then, hurry noo! Hurry, M’Lady!
” She glanced at the bed and made the sign of the cross again.
“Forgive me, God, for I dae hope Cormac MacMoir is dead tae,” she whispered as she hurried out the door.
Fiona brushed her hair away from her face and winced.
She felt the swelling bruises from Cormac’s fist. She tasted the blood on her split lips.
She did not dare check if the man was alive.
She knew she would be accused of killing him, just as people had been whispering that she had killed his older brother, as well.
Her deceased husband had just been too old and had died in her bed, trying to make his soft member do its job, beating her for his own impotence in the meantime.
His heart had given out in his rage, and the old man had dropped like a stone on top of her.
And here was his brother, in her bed. Possibly dead as well.
This was not good. Not at all. Both brothers?
She quickly gathered some of her things in a satchel and threw it over one shoulder. Then she turned back to the bed and bent down to peer under it. She lightly whistled to the terrified dog that had been hiding there.
She knelt on the floor where he came to sit, looking up at her with abject love and loyalty in his sad eyes. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as she reached out and clutched her hands in his thick grayish fur. She laid her forehead on his.
“I hae tae gae. If Cormac is dead, at least he cannae hurt ye anymore… ” she murmured as she ran her hand gently over the dog’s hind leg. It was badly misshapen as a result of a kick from Cormac. “Ye are free noo,” she said as she kissed his damp nose.
The dog whined and licked her face. He stood up quickly when Fiona rose to her feet. Looking at her expectantly with his ears pricked forward, he watched her leave the room. With a soft whine, he followed, padding silently behind her on his three good legs all the way down to the stables.