Hemlock and Honey
Table of Contents
HEMLOCK AND HONEY
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Table of Contents
HEMLOCK AND HONEY
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
HEMLOCK AND HONEY
Highlander Romance
ELIZABETH PRESTON
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
HEMLOCK AND HONEY
Copyright©2017
ELIZABETH PRESTON
Cover Design by Anna Lena Spies
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-470-0
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
To my dear Scottish mother, Kate.
You inspired this story,
just as you have inspired my whole life.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to acknowledge my wonderful editor, Debby Gilbert. Thank you for your valuable editing skills, your guiding hand and most of all, your belief in this book.
Chapter 1
Scotland.
Year of Our Lord: 1244
Leaf fall.
All Scotsmen are thugs and barbarians.
Aye, there was truth in that old saying.
Gus sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. But what must be done, must be done.
“I’ve decided to kidnap the girl.” His words sounded strong and true, but doubt sank like a stone in his belly.
William jolted backwards. “Giant Devil’s prick. Tell me you’re jesting, man?”
“Nay.”
William’s eyes sharpened. “But there must be another way. She’s naught but a slip of a thing. A feeble lass like that could scarce save herself, let alone a clan full of dying folk.”
“Tis her, I tell you. She’s the one and none other.” Turning to face his long-time friend, Gus softened.
“Think on it, William. She’s a Sassenach. She fits the Soothsayer’s description like a hand to a glove.
His friend responded with stony silence.
“My friend, cheer up. This is a joyous day.”
William shook his head. “There must be another way. There has to be.”
“Tis decided.” Gus felt anger stir in his gut. “I will steal her and not shirk from what must be done.”
William’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You cannot simply help yourself to the lassie as if she were some tasty dish on the harvest table.”
“That is exactly what I shall do.”
“Nay,” he barked, shaking his head.
Gus held up his palms. “Whilst we dither here, my people die. Tis her I tell you, and she must be made to come and help.”
William scrutinised his face as if looking for signs of insanity. “You ken who the girl is, don’t you? She’s promised to a Border Reiver. We don’t want to go upsetting that lot. They’re bad eggs, for sure. Stealing her will be like plucking a broodmare from a stable full of randy stallions.”
Gus waved his arm, dismissing Williams’s concerns. “Who she is matters not. Once she’s cured my people, I’ll free her quick-smart—no harm done.”
“Hah, as if that be possible.” William clenched his fingers into a fist. “You say it matters not who she is. I think it matters a great deal.”
Gus paced towards the thickets, the first stirrings of excitement rushing his steps. “I’m nay stupid. I know the Border Reiver clans as well as any. They’re naught but a bunch o’ thugs that raid and thieve and rape their way along the border. But you forget William, the Border Reivers fear me too. What is it they call me? ‘The Evildoer’ or is it ‘Satin’s Finger’?”
“They call you both.”
Gus nodded, pride lengthening his smile. “Aye, the Border Reivers aren’t the only villains in this land of barbarians and brutes. I can be troublesome too.”
William glared at his friend. “They’ll swing you from an oak ‘til every last drop of your blood has drained onto the grass. Then the birds will finish the job. They’ll peck the flesh clean from your bones till you’re naught but a rattly old skeleton.”
“Pah, you’re like a lassie with all your pecking and love o’ drama. Hush up now.”
“I speak the truth.”
Gus waved his arms about as if wiping away the words. “There are worse ways to die. I’d rather be strung up in the sun than endure this hell any longer. I’ll nay stand back and watch my people die for one second more. I’m done with that.”
They faced each other in a standoff.
“William, I’m a warrior. You know it.”
“Aye, a fine one ye are too.”
“Don’t you see? I’d slay every man in Scotland if I had to, to save my people. But I cannae raise my sword against a disease. I shall steal her, and if that means taking on the Border Reivers, so be it.”
“I applaud you for it, but . . .”
“This Sassenach lass, I shall have her, and she’ll be the one the soothsayer spoke of—the only one who can save my people. And now my friend, the matter is closed.”
Gus tilted his face toward
s the sun. At long last he had a plan. Finally, with this new whisper of hope in his heart, he might just sleep the night through.
William chased him down.
But Gus spoke first. “Calm yourself, man. She’s nay a Border Reiver yet, not till she’s wed into the clan.”
“Right, I see,” William said, his words sharp and twisted like barbs on a prickly fence. “I suppose the Border Reiver Laird won’t put up much of a fight. Why, a talented and pretty young English lassie, an English Lord’s daughter no less, oft comes along. They’re as common as corn.”
Gus rolled his eyes. “Mayhap that Border Reiver old sot doesn’t want English blood in his family—not really, not deep down. Mayhap he’s honouring a commitment by marrying his son to the Sassenach girl. I’ll wager that what he really wants for his son is a good Scots lassie. Who knows, he might even be happy to discover the Sassenach gone.”
“Wake up. He’ll nay let you run off with her. By God, the insult alone is enough. His men at arms will scour Scotland.”
Gus stretched his back. The tightness across his chest was lifting too. How wearying it had been, searching for so many moons without finding. How long had he been gone from his lands, endlessly seeking a solution? And now, at long last, he’d found the answer to his problem. It was her; it had to be.
Gus sauntered towards the loch, calling over his shoulder, “Enough of your grumblings, William. When you think on it, I’ve nay much of a choice. God’s wrath has done this to my people. Pestilence, when cast from the Almighty Himself, is almost impossible to cure. This Sassenach is our last hope, our only hope. Tis her the old hag spoke of, I’m sure of it. I feel it in my heart.”
William crept after him like a stalking cat. “Living in isolation all these moons, sleeping under damp brambles, and scavenging in the undergrowth like a fox has done your head in.”
His words were low and soft, as if a crooning tone might help filter the sentiment and make it more accepting to hear.
“This Sassenach cannot be touched. I’m warning you Gus. We cannot have her. You must find another way. If you steal her, you will bring more than God’s wrath to our door.”
After a moment’s silence, he added, “Caithness Castle is home to my family too, what’s left of them. I would like to hold onto those few kin I have left.”
Gus bolted away, his plaid clipping the grass. “Right, off with you. Be gone.”
William stood his ground.
Gus said, “The Sassenach lassie visits this very loch. Did you know that? Aye, she does, in the late noon, especially on bonnie days such as this one.”
William held his tongue.
“Time to go. You’ve worn your welcome thin. Hurry up and away man.”
William’s face contorted. Finally, he sighed, as if this latest turn of events was too much, even for him. Cussing and muttering, he mounted his charger.
His horse whinnied as if he, too, thought Gus’s plan was madness. Will turned the charger’s nose, steering him past the brambles.
“Whist man, be quiet about your going. The Sassenach could be close by. The last thing I need is for a big lug like you to frighten her away.”
With a deep grunt, William encouraged his horse into a canter. But before he’d gone far, he added, “Ye might be able to kidnap her, but you can nay make her do your bidding. If she’s really one o’ the cunning folk, or even a fae like the soothsayer said she’d be, her charms cannot be forced. And if she doesnae come willingly, then her magic is of no use to anyone.”
“She’ll help me. You’ll see. I have ways and means. Remember, they don’t call me Satin’s Finger for naught.”
“You are about to brew an even bigger cauldron of trouble than you already have.” William hurried under the low-hanging bow and was away, as if shutting his ears to the response.
“Likely so,” Gus whispered into the wind. “But if you’d seen her, William, you’d realise that there is more than desperation in this task. There is pleasure too.”
He winked at his friend’s retreating back. The girl was a looker, to be sure. And was there anything wrong in mixing business with a whole lot of pleasure? Not that he could see.
Gus crept towards the reeds, seeking a place to wait out the hours. Under these bushels, he’d be well hidden, yet he’d still have a bird’s eye view of the loch. Now, all he had to do was wait and pray she was on her way.
~ ~ ~
Gus awoke from his nap, finding himself curled on a bed of heather. The approaching sound of a horse hustled him awake. A rider was close by. He crouched low, drawing himself into a ball, fighting to keep the breadth of his shoulders from rising above the thickets. He parted the brambles, barely feeling their vindictive thorns. He smiled. Aye, it was her.
The sight of the Sassenach’s beautiful face robbed him of air quicker than any fist ever could. When he did breathe, he sucked in too heavily, making more noise and bluster than a foot in a bog.
Hush, man, can you nay shut up? Staying still, head tucked under again, he listened to the clomping sound of her horse’s hooves. She came close, ever so close, and he feared she might even trample on top of him.
At last, she changed direction. He heard her skirts slide against the horse’s flank. She strode through the thickets towards the loch, carelessly tugging her dress free from the tangling prickles. He heard the pull of fine silk and the hush of her soft leather boots as they grazed the grass.
Then she stopped, dead still.
He pricked his ears, denying his eyes the sight they craved. He would not raise his head and look, not till it was safe to do so. He heard the fall of heavy cloth as she shed her cloak, dropping it onto the ground. Straining even harder, he recognised the distinctive rustle of expensive cloth. It was the sweet, scratchy rasp of silk—a sound considered to be a delicacy for the ears. Most Highland lassies wore only surge or heavy wool.
After an age, he recognised the sound of the water’s song: trickling, coursing, flowing loch water. She was wading in.
He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. His eager eyes refused to be denied the sight of her skin for a moment more. He unwound his back and slowly lifted his head.
Lord in Heaven! She was utterly naked. Not even the flimsiest stitch barred his eyes from her womanly secrets. She faced towards the hills, standing proud with her lips upturned in pleasure.
He should look away, immediately, as any gallant English gentleman would surely do. But pah and bull to that. He was no English gentleman. He was a red-blooded Scot and a brute, and mayhap even a barbarian.
A man could wait his whole life for such a sight. To amend for this sin, he might say a prayer or two later. He would gladly do penance for her. This lass was worth a thousand “Our Fathers” and then some.
He smiled watching her, loving her bold unabashed face. She stretched her arms over her head and shook her breasts until they wobbled, flicking droplets of water from her nipples. What would his pious cousin, Elvin, have to say about that?
No matter. His cousin Elvin was oft wrong. Why shouldn’t a lass so lovely wander and play as nature intended? Anyway, who but the crickets and God himself were here to witness her romp? Apart from him, of course.
The late sun lingered upon her body, as if it, too, was reluctant to leave her creamy curves. Her shape was testament to God’s genius. She was heaven in an earthly form. At long last, he could see the end in sight. The blackest of times would come to an end.
God had provided her. She was a gift intended for his use. Why else would the Almighty dangle such a beautiful, naked lass before his eyes? God himself had placed her here to capture his attention. She was a remedy against the blight and torment He, the Lord Himself, had caused.
Gus vowed he would honour and take great care of this heavenly gift. He intended to show his gratitude to the Lord by s
avouring her and treasuring her as she deserved to be treasured. Oh, how he could not wait to do all the things that filled his mind, and more.
The lassie stepped away from the loch’s edge and into the water proper. She played with the water, scooping up fistfuls to splash herself. The water ran from her chest, rushing over her lush mounds. Such delightful breasts he’d scarce seen—so pert and ample. Her nipples, maidenly pink still, were sweet as a spring blossom, yet as tempting as the ripest summer berry.
He clenched his jaw, trying to quell the longing that surged his body. It had been a while since he’d shared a kiss, and it had been a longer time still since he’d done aught more than that.
He really should look away, but instead of averting his eyes, he loosened his plaid and belt in an attempt to make himself more comfortable.
His father, such an honourable laird, would be able to turn his back now. So far, Gus’s lairdship had paled in comparison to his noble father’s lead. Sure, Gus the Evildoer had killed a great many more men than his pa, but his lairdship had still failed.
There were some things that a slash of a broadsword could not fix. Like sickness. Since he’d become Laird of Caithness, things had gone very right for a short while, and then all went horribly, catastrophically wrong.
The girl continued to splash about, washing her body. The water ran in rivulets all the way down to the dark hair betwixt her thighs, making it difficult for Gus to avert his eyes.
Mayhap God had struck him down already, and he was gazing upon an angel in heaven—an angel that needed bedding. Nay, unfortunately, that dream only came to life when he closed his eyes. Right now, he was wide-awake, and he still lived in this troublesome world.
No matter. Things were looking up. He’d found a suitable Sassenach girl to steal. This girl was the answer to all that ailed his people. She would know how to cure their sickness. It was about time too because, by all accounts, his people were falling quicker than flies.