My Highland Prisoner: A Highlander Erotic Romance by Kate Lawrence Page A
Authors: Kate Lawrence
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bed stuffed with straw and covered with a deer and sheep skin for warmth. Beside the bed, there was a side table. Finally, there was the desk and chair set that Ailsa currently occupied.
Almost none of the things in her room actually belonged to her. The chest was her mother’s, as were the dresses inside. The bed had been part of the dowry gift that Evanna’s father had given the laird of Dunn. Even the desk and chair didn’t really belong to her. Everything was borrowed in one way or another and there was nothing that Ailsa could claim as her own. If she wasn’t careful, nothing in the castle, not even the castle itself, would be hers or her brothers’ to claim.
Taking a sip of her now tepid tea, Ailsa closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of cherries and chamomile. A smile curved across Ailsa’s lips, as happy memories came flooding back to her. She could remember a time in the distant past when her father and a heavily pregnant Evanna would sit with her in the great room and warm themselves in front of the fire. Her father would tell stories of great, fearsome warriors. A tiny Ailsa would lay down in front of a roaring fire that smelled of fragrant peat, her legs swinging in the air, as the action in the story grew. Her hands would cup her jaw and her wide, hazel eyes would stare up at her father, like he was a god among men.
And to her, he had been.
But, Ailsa thought as she finished her tea and set it down gently on the tray, history has a way of making good men evil and bad men good. History either lifts one’s spirits or crushes them completely, as they look on from the bleak present. Running her hands through her hair, Ailsa turned away from her negative thoughts and resumed her desk work.
***
“Didna ye hear me! Yer not welcome here!”
Glenda’s screaming voice woke Ailsa up with a jolt, sending her chair tilting back precariously. Her arms flailed out, as she tried to find the cold, stone floor with her bare feet. It was a terrifying second, as she wondered if she would tilt back and fall. At last, the chair righted itself.
Ailsa breathed a sigh of relief, as another shriek issued from Glenda. Cursing softly under her breath, then rolling her eyes and berating herself for cursing, Ailsa stood up from the chair and reached for her Sgian Dubh . She tucked it into the band of her cotton skirt, hiding it under her shirt. A second later, she was out the door and racing down the stairs.
As she came to the end of the staircase, the sounds of doors opening and worried mumblings greeted her ears. Ailsa ignored them, as she turned and raced to the great room. She quickly pushed a stole in front of the unlit fireplace and reached up for the broad sword hanging above the mantle.
It had been her father’s sword, a gift from a neighboring clan whom he had fought alongside. It was also the only weapon, aside from her dagger, that Ailsa hadn’t sold or traded. She sent up a silent prayer, as she heaved the sword down. Then, she lifted it up and balanced it against her shoulder.
The sword was almost too heavy for her. Ailsa was sure she couldn’t carry it for more than a few seconds before her arms would start to shake, but it was her only protection. While she wasn’t sure she could properly wield it like a warrior, she was more than confident she could run through whoever was at the door with it.
“Back! Back, I say!” Glenda spat a slew of Gaelic curses at the intruder, as Ailsa came up behind her. She lifted the sword off her shoulder and raised it at the door.
“Step aside, Glenda,” Ailsa hissed at the woman's back.
The servant turned around, anger and fear warring in her green eyes. After another second of hesitation, Glenda stepped aside. Then, Ailsa took a few steps forward with sword still raised. As she did so, she took a long look at their uninvited guest.
Her knees buckled and butterflies swarmed her middle. Emotions she
Almost none of the things in her room actually belonged to her. The chest was her mother’s, as were the dresses inside. The bed had been part of the dowry gift that Evanna’s father had given the laird of Dunn. Even the desk and chair didn’t really belong to her. Everything was borrowed in one way or another and there was nothing that Ailsa could claim as her own. If she wasn’t careful, nothing in the castle, not even the castle itself, would be hers or her brothers’ to claim.
Taking a sip of her now tepid tea, Ailsa closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of cherries and chamomile. A smile curved across Ailsa’s lips, as happy memories came flooding back to her. She could remember a time in the distant past when her father and a heavily pregnant Evanna would sit with her in the great room and warm themselves in front of the fire. Her father would tell stories of great, fearsome warriors. A tiny Ailsa would lay down in front of a roaring fire that smelled of fragrant peat, her legs swinging in the air, as the action in the story grew. Her hands would cup her jaw and her wide, hazel eyes would stare up at her father, like he was a god among men.
And to her, he had been.
But, Ailsa thought as she finished her tea and set it down gently on the tray, history has a way of making good men evil and bad men good. History either lifts one’s spirits or crushes them completely, as they look on from the bleak present. Running her hands through her hair, Ailsa turned away from her negative thoughts and resumed her desk work.
***
“Didna ye hear me! Yer not welcome here!”
Glenda’s screaming voice woke Ailsa up with a jolt, sending her chair tilting back precariously. Her arms flailed out, as she tried to find the cold, stone floor with her bare feet. It was a terrifying second, as she wondered if she would tilt back and fall. At last, the chair righted itself.
Ailsa breathed a sigh of relief, as another shriek issued from Glenda. Cursing softly under her breath, then rolling her eyes and berating herself for cursing, Ailsa stood up from the chair and reached for her Sgian Dubh . She tucked it into the band of her cotton skirt, hiding it under her shirt. A second later, she was out the door and racing down the stairs.
As she came to the end of the staircase, the sounds of doors opening and worried mumblings greeted her ears. Ailsa ignored them, as she turned and raced to the great room. She quickly pushed a stole in front of the unlit fireplace and reached up for the broad sword hanging above the mantle.
It had been her father’s sword, a gift from a neighboring clan whom he had fought alongside. It was also the only weapon, aside from her dagger, that Ailsa hadn’t sold or traded. She sent up a silent prayer, as she heaved the sword down. Then, she lifted it up and balanced it against her shoulder.
The sword was almost too heavy for her. Ailsa was sure she couldn’t carry it for more than a few seconds before her arms would start to shake, but it was her only protection. While she wasn’t sure she could properly wield it like a warrior, she was more than confident she could run through whoever was at the door with it.
“Back! Back, I say!” Glenda spat a slew of Gaelic curses at the intruder, as Ailsa came up behind her. She lifted the sword off her shoulder and raised it at the door.
“Step aside, Glenda,” Ailsa hissed at the woman's back.
The servant turned around, anger and fear warring in her green eyes. After another second of hesitation, Glenda stepped aside. Then, Ailsa took a few steps forward with sword still raised. As she did so, she took a long look at their uninvited guest.
Her knees buckled and butterflies swarmed her middle. Emotions she
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