A Healer for the Savage Scot (Preview)
Chapter One
Near Castle Sinclair Girnigoe, March 1511
A week of non-stop traveling, however comfortable and leisurely, had been more than enough for Adelaide MacTavish. On the one hand, she was bestowed with breathtaking vistas of lush, green forests, glittering lochs, and rushing rivers, their bubbling waters following her like music down the path. On the other, her thighs and back ached from the hours she spent every day in the saddle, dutifully following the six guards her brother, Hawk, had assigned to her for the trip to Castle Sinclair Girnigoe, on the east coast of Caithness.
The coastal path had given way to the forest in the last stretch of road to the castle and the seven of them navigated their way over twisting roots and sprawling bushes.
“Me lady, we’re about an hour away from the keep,” said the guard next to her—Angus, a young, sprightly man with sandy blonde hair and curious eyes, and a disposition so gentle, as if to blunt the sharpness of his blade. “Dinnae fash… it willnae be much longer.”
“Ach, I dinnae mind,” said Adelaide, and it was the truth. Though she was tired and ached in many places, the night they had spent at the inn had left her feeling refreshed. A good mattress and some warm food had done wonders to lift her spirits, and now, though she looked forward to the comforts of Castle Girnigoe, she was also enjoying the ride through the woods. “It will be a while afore I see these parts again. I may as well enjoy it, right?”
“That’s right, me lady,” said Angus with a smile. “I only fear this is too tirin’ fer ye.”
“I’m nae so delicate, Angus,” Adelaide pointed out, though she could see why Angus would think so. She was a lady, the sister of a powerful laird, and so she shouldn’t have ever known strife. And yet, she was not noble by blood—only in name, after the late Lady Ysobel MacTavish had taken her in when she found her abandoned in MacTavish lands, half-frozen to death and starving.
Adelaide, if anything, craved the freedom granted to her by the distance from her family, from her formal duties, from the overbearing, shoulder-crushing expectation that was placed on her, much like on every other young woman of noble descent.
One day I will wed an’ I will become the lady they all wish me tae be. But nae yet.
“Certainly nae, me lady,” said Angus with a good-natured chuckle. “But the road is nay place fer a lady. Surely, ye’d like tae—”
The whistle of an arrow splitting the air brought a halt to Angus’ words and was followed by the heavy thud of his body hitting the ground. Next to her, Angus’ horse went wild, fear gripping the creature and forcing it to flee, riderless, into the thick of the woods.
And there, on the cold soil of the forest bed, Angus lay; silent and convulsing, choking on his own blood. The arrow was sticking out of his throat, its feathered tail fluttering in the breeze, the thin, wooden body quivering with every wheezing breath Angus tried—and failed—to draw. Adelaide’s gaze was pulled to it again and again, her heart hammering in her chest, bile rising to the back of her throat.
We’re beset!
All around her, her guards drew their swords, the hiss of steel against the scabbards lost in the chaos that erupted within a mere moment. Shouts echoed in the woods, the men closing around her in a circle as the enemy forces poured out from the shadows, cloaked men with glinting blades attacking mercilessly before Angus had even taken his final breath.
But all of it was lost to Adelaide. All she could hear was the rush of blood to her ears, like waves crashing violently against the Caithness shores.
“Me lady!” one of the guards cried, and Adelaide couldn’t even locate who it was, who was trying to catch her attention. “Run! That way!”
Adelaide’s head swiveled around wildly as she tried to find the way out, through the blood and the arcing blades and the trampling of hooves. Her own horse, spooked by the fight, was bucking and neighing, and Adelaide had to hold onto it for dear life, but the creature couldn’t flee. There was nowhere for them to go, not when the enemy forces had overpowered her guards, men pouring in from every side with blood-tainted steel ready in their hands.
Everything was a blur of green and red, a thunder of voices, a drumming of horses. And through it all, she could catch fragments of sentences, spoken in shouts and commands, ringing loud in the small clearing.
“—it’s her, she is the one—”
“The healer! Get—”
“—nae men! Kill her, she—”
Who are these men? And why are they after me? They ken I am a healer, so the attack isnae random.
These were no mere brigands. Adelaide could tell not only because of their motive, which didn’t seem to be gold or jewels, but also because of the way they fought—like soldiers, men trained their entire lives for battle.
It daesnae matter. How dae I get out o’ here?
If she could only escape them, rush out of the clearing and down the path to the castle, then perhaps she could make it there, behind the safety of the curtain walls, before they could catch up. If only she could find a way out. If only she could ride fast enough.
Around her, her guards were being struck down one by one, but they took those attacking them with them. Left and right, men perished in the battle, both sides suffering their losses, and Adelaide soon lost count.
I have tae flee now!
Steering her horse to the right, Adelaide tried to escape from a small opening in the ambush of men. Her horse only managed a couple of steps, though, before one of the men, tall and broad-shouldered, with a blade in his hand that flashed under the sun, situated himself right in that opening, blocking the way. Frightened, her horse reared at the man’s sudden appearance before it and at the blade that slashed at it, aiming for its head. Adelaide had to hold onto the saddle for dear life, her thighs tightening as she tried to keep herself from slipping right off.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Her thighs and arms trembled with the effort it took to remain upright, and her stomach dropped as the horse came back down, its hooves landing back on solid ground with a thud. Adelaide quickly steered the horse away from that man once more, heading to the left, but there was no opening for her to exploit there either.
The men… they have nay sigil, naethin’ tae identify them.
Though she couldn’t recall any of their faces, her panic making it impossible to retain their features, she had noticed that one detail about them. Though she was certain they were no common brigands, they bore no crest.
Another of her guards was struck dead right next to her, the blood from the slash on his chest splattering onto her face. She gasped, petrified for a moment by the brutality of the act, even though it was not her first time around death. As a healer, she had seen her fair share of sick and wounded, of people clinging to life for just one more second. But never before had she witnessed a death so violent, the life snatched right out of the men she had so quickly befriended.
Now only two were standing, their blades dripping with blood, their chests heaving with every ragged, painful breath. Adelaide was lingering behind them, but just as her horse began to backtrack ever so slowly, perhaps in a sneaky attempt to escape unnoticed on instinct, a hand shot out and grabbed the reins, pulling hard to the right.
Adelaide found her voice again, a scream tearing its way through her throat. With her hands gripping the edge of the saddle, she twisted on it and kicked her leg out as hard as she could, mustering all her strength.
“Let go,” she said and her boot found its target—the man’s shoulder, her heel colliding with it with a thud and a crack.
A groan of agony overshadowed her screams as the man stumbled back, letting go of her reins. But Adelaide wasted no time looking back to see how much damage she had dealt. Instead, she grabbed the reins and maneuvered her horse to the left, away from the man and towards the very edges of the path, heading backwards down the road.
This was her chance. The rest of the men were occupied by her two guards, fighting the last of the battle. Her men had no chance against them, she knew; they had fought valiantly, thinning down the enemy’s numbers, but the men attacking them were simply too many. For her guards, these were their last moments, and they would spend them fighting for her.
The least she could do was get to safety, ensuring their efforts hadn’t been in vain.
But it wasn’t long before her attacker snatched the bridle and brought her horse to a sudden halt. The animal, frightened, bucked and threw Adelaide off its back, forcing her to land on her shoulder as her body hit the ground. In an instant, pain erupted on the right side of her body, all-encompassing and blinding, like the sudden, cold light of a winter dawn.
Rolling onto her back, Adelaide stared at the canopy of green stretching over her head. Her breath was cut short. Her limbs ached and her back screamed in protest. In her pain, it took her a few moments to realize the clearing was now mostly quiet, save for the cheers and jeering of the enemy.
The guards are dead. They’re all dead.
Heavy footsteps echoed around her as her attacker and his three fellow soldiers who remained approached her, all leaning over her to peer at her as though she was nothing more than an interesting insect, something to be taunted, something to be played with and discarded. She looked up at them, frozen, and they looked down at her triumphant.
A pair of hands grabbed her and Adelaide’s body kicked into gear, her legs thrashing out and her arms flailing as she tried to push the man away and crawl from him at the same time. A long, continuous scream poured out of her lungs, so loud that she feared she would shatter her own eardrums, so shrill that it seemed to bring every other sound to a halt. And yet, no matter how much she kicked and screamed, those hands were like vices around her ankles, holding her in place.
Just a little more an’ I’ll escape him.
But then more hands joined—grabbing her arms, her waist, her hair. Strong and relentless, leaving no room for her to wiggle out of their grasp, no hope.
Soil, wet with damp and blood, clung to her skin. Rocks scratched her legs and arms, and those fingers bruised her, leaving their mark behind. And still, Adelaide kicked and screamed, knowing that if she had to die, she would die fighting.
“Let go o’ me, ye bastards!” Adelaide screamed, the insult tearing its way out of her throat. “Dinnae touch me!”
“Stay still, ye wench,” one of the men growled, and Adelaide, enraged by the insult, turned her head and spat at him, only for the man to slap her across the cheek. The impact left her dazed, the force of it enough to make the earth spin around her, the world turning blurry at the edges of her vision. That, more than anything else she had endured, stilled her for a while, giving her attackers the opportunity to discuss amongst themselves.
“We should enjoy her afore we kill her,” she heard one of them say and her blood ran cold. She was utterly helpless—unable to fight back, away from home, alone. Dying was one thing, though, and being passed around among those men for their pleasure was a wholly different thing. “All this trouble… we should get some reward out o’ it.”
Around her, the men erupted into a chorus of agreement, and there was nothing Adelaide could say to dissuade them. They weren’t there to take her prisoner. They weren’t there to bring her back to some laird as a bargaining chip. They were there to kill her, and whoever wanted her dead wouldn’t care if his men had their way with her before getting rid of her.
“I’ll die afore I let ye touch me,” she growled, and though she was still dazed, still weak from the slap, she renewed her efforts to escape, thrashing in the men’s grip. She’d rather take her own life any way she could—and try to keep as many of her with her when she did.
The men erupted in laughter, but those who were trying to hold her still struggled, grunting above her.
“Jamie, grab her damn legs,” said one of them. “What are ye standin’ there fer, ye fool? Help me hold her.”
“Aye, she’s a feisty thing,” Jamie said, his voice disembodied as he walked around Adelaide to help hold her still.
“A pretty wee thing too,” said another man. “Never been with a noble lass.”
“What noble lass would look at ye?” asked another, and all the men laughed, the sound loud and jarring, bringing a wave of bile up the back of Adelaide’s throat.
Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision. A sob wrenched its way out of her chest as she tried once more, in vain, to crawl away from the men only for the hands to still her again. But as she moved, even that immaterial, infinitesimal length, she caught a strange movement from the corner of her eye.
There was something in the trees. Her heart leapt to her throat, pounding there, threatening to choke her.
Has someone heard me cry fer help?
Chapter Two
He was like a blur of a shadow, there one moment and gone the next, like the last edge of darkness chased away by the first light of dawn. A tower of a man, tall and broad at the shoulders, his face mostly hidden by the hood of his cloak. The only things visible to Adelaide were the sharp line of his jaw and a generous mouth surrounded by thick, dark stubble, but Adelaide had the sense that he was glancing at her as he advanced towards the enemy.
The man moved before anyone could notice him, and within mere moments, he was cutting down one of Adelaide’s attackers, plunging his sword right into his chest. Blood fountained out of the wound in a crimson wave, and his target fell to the ground without so much as a sound before the stranger turned his sights to his next prey—a stout, dark-haired man who was closest to him now —tracking closer with the look of a predator in his eyes.
“Ye think ye can take me an’ me men?” The dark-haired man—the leader of them all, it seemed to Adelaide—asked. “There’s only one o’ ye.”
“Aye, the odds arenae in yer favor,” the stranger said.
The leader laughed, a humorless, dry laugh. “Is that what ye think?”
“I ken.”
Frowning, the leader tilted his head to the side. “What is it tae ye? What we dae with the lass daesnae concern ye. I suggest ye leave afore ye get yerself intae trouble.”
“I think ye’ll come tae find it’s ye who is in trouble,” said the stranger, and under the hood, his mouth twisted into a mocking smirk. “An’ it is, in fact, me concern what ye dae with her.”
For a moment, the leader hesitated, as though he was considering the stranger’s words, but before he could move, the stranger attacked. Their swords met and clanged in the air, but the fight was one-sided and brutal. The stranger cut the other man down in one swift swing of his sword, slicing his stomach open, and blood bloomed over the man’s tunic, staining the beige fabric red. Through it all, Adelaide watched half in horror and half in fascination at this strange man, at the way he moved as though the sword was an extension of his arm instead of a separate object from him.
He, too, was no common man, Adelaide was certain. A soldier perhaps, ferocious and skilled, the kind of man who lived to fight and fought to live. And now he was fighting for Adelaide to live, to survive this as unscathed as possible.
But what is it that he wants from me? Why is he tryin’ so hard tae save me? Could he have his own, selfish reasons?
Was he, too, trying to save her just to try and have her? Surely, that couldn’t be it, Adelaide told herself. What man would go to all this trouble just to take advantage of her?
But still, Adelaide couldn’t figure out the man’s motives.
Valiantly as he fought, two of her attackers were still standing, and despite the ferocity with which the man had killed the other two, he was still outnumbered. A pair of hands was still holding onto Adelaide, moving from her ankles to her waist to pin her down to the cold, hard earth, as the other let go of her to grab the hilt of his blade.
He’s so strong, he’s takin’ down all these men on his own. I’ve never seen a man like him afore.
With a cry that splintered the air, the stranger threw himself at the third attacker, the two of them clashing only inches from Adelaide’s face. She couldn’t help but struggle still, kicking and writhing in her captor’s grip in a desperate attempt to escape, hoping that the man would be too distracted by the fight before him, by the thought he was next, that he would slacken his grip on her.
But no such thing happened; the man’s grip was just as tight as before, his fingers digging dark bruises on her skin. “Hold still, lass!” the remaining man barked at her, his voice rough with menace. “Nay one is tae aid ye here, we’ll gut this man afore he reaches ye!”
The stench of blood and death assaulted her, pungent and stomach turning. Underneath her, the earth was slick, her fingers finding no purchase. Her struggle was in vain, but even as she knew that, her body refused to give up the fight.
And then the attacker’s blade slashed through the air and through the stranger’s chest, ripping his tunic and tearing his skin.
Just as Adelaide’s faith in the man began to fade, though, he proved her wrong. With a mighty swing of his sword, he cut the other man down before he could react, before he could so much as take a step back to avoid the sharpness of his blade. Adelaide could do nothing but stare blankly at the tracks in the soil so close to her face, her heart racing, her breath shallow and barely there, as if there wasn’t enough air in the forest for her body.
“Run!” the stranger growled, the sound rumbling and deep. His voice sent a chill down her spine with its commanding energy and urgency. It reminded her of a roiling storm, of distant thunder over the fields near her home, where sound traveled long and far, and the clouds that accompanied the roar could remain unseen for hours.
But there was nowhere for her to go. Her attacker was still holding onto her legs even as she desperately tried to claw away from him, his fingers digging into her flesh, his nails scratching the skin of her calves. Her throat, now sore from all the screaming, couldn’t make a single sound.
And still the stark contrast of red against the stranger’s chest was something she couldn’t miss, her gaze drawn to it again and again, until there was nothing else in her field of vision.
He’s fightin’ fer me. He’s daein’ all this fer me an’ now he wants me tae leave? He’s riskin’ his life fer me…
How could she leave? Even if she had the chance, how could she abandon that man there to his fate when he had fought so hard to save her life? Without any medical attention, he would surely lose his, and Adelaide couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him to fate’s mercy when he had fought and killed for her.
Above everything else, she was a healer, and this man was in dire need of her services.
If he’s an honest man, if he truly wishes tae save me life, then I cannae leave him here like this.
Upon seeing the carnage—and the stranger moving towards him—the man holding Adelaide shifted his grip on her and pulled her up to her feet abruptly, giving her no time to fight back. In the span of a single moment, she felt the cold, sharp press of a dirk’s blade against the delicate skin of her neck and she froze in the man’s grasp, her blood running cold.
The blade bit into her skin, just enough to send a sting racing along her neck. A warm trickle of blood slid down to the collar of her wooden cloak. Even so, she didn’t dare move. If her attacker didn’t feel the threat of this man, then there would be nothing stopping him from taking her life. Her attackers had made it perfectly clear that they were there to kill her and so the only thing between her and death was that strange warrior.
“Stay where ye are!” her captor barked, tightening his hold around her. Adelaide swallowed in a dry throat, the movement forcing her neck to press harder against the sharp of the blade, the sting intensifying, a bead of sweat trickling down the hollow of her throat next to the tiny rivulet of blood.
Once again, she stilled entirely, breath catching in her throat.
The stranger had taken one step forward, but now he stood motionless, eyes fixed not on the man’s blade, but on Adelaide’s face. She couldn’t read him, his hood cast shadows over his expression, making it impossible for her to see his face, let alone decipher what he was thinking. But something in the stillness of his body, in the careful restraint, struck her more sharply than the knife at her throat.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she looked at him—the line of his strong legs, the plush lips that twisted upwards in an almost dangerous way every time he looked at his enemies. Every time she thought she could feel his gaze on her, a new flame was ignited within her, and she craved to see his face, to pull back that hood and meet those eyes.
She had the sense that he was a handsome man, but that might have been just because he was so impressive in his physicality and the way he fought. His body resembled a marble statue, and Adelaide could only imagine that he had a face to match it, and the thought made her heart skip a beat, along with the sight of his thick arms moving as he swung the gleaming sword he held.
Had it been anyone else standing against her attacker, Adelaide would have thought it impossible to survive this. But looking now at the man, at the stance of his body—so confident and yet natural, like a wild animal for which the hunt was second nature—she couldn’t help but think he could save her.
Her captor growled in her ear, the rumble of his voice sending a ripple through her ribcage. “One more step, an’ I’ll bleed her dry.”
The stranger didn’t flinch. His voice, when it came, was low and flat, a warning that didn’t need many words.
“She’s under me protection. If ye so much as mark her again, ye’ll nae walk away from it.”
A strange sensation coursed through Adelaide then, upon hearing those words. She didn’t know why this stranger had made it his mission to protect her like that, why he claimed she was under his protection when they didn’t even know each other, but simply the fact that he was willing to fight for her, to kill for her, even to die for her—it moved her beyond words. Her attacker shifted behind her, uncertainty creeping into his grip. The dirk moved just a little farther away from her neck, his fingers slackened around her waist, his breath stalled where it brushed the back of Adelaide’s neck, its warmth sending an unpleasant shiver down her spine.
It was the moment the stranger had been waiting for; the small mistake that gave him the opening he needed. Adelaide saw it in the way his fingers clenched tighter round the hilt, his whole frame coiled as if drawn taut. In the blink of an eye, he lunged.
Steel flashed, quick and merciless, and the attacker’s blade had barely shifted from where it still hovered at her neck when the stranger’s sword plunged into his side. A grunt, sharp and wet, filled the air. Adelaide felt the man stiffen behind her, against her back, then collapse like dead weight to the earth, his dirk falling harmlessly to the muddy ground.
She stood frozen and it took her a few moments to realize she was shaking from head to toe, the terror she had so desperately held at bay until then overtaking the rest of her senses. She didn’t feel the sting left behind by the man’s dirk anymore. She didn’t feel the ache in her limbs from where the men had held her, a dark mauve blooming over her pale skin. All she felt was the chill of fear, so relentless and all-encompassing that everything else faded in comparison.
The stranger stepped forward, his movements swift but quiet, like he’d done it a hundred times before, like he had killed so many that the brutality of the act didn’t matter to him anymore. Adelaide couldn’t even look him in the face. Her gaze was locked on the bloody leather of her boots, their soft brown now an almost impenetrable black, like a stormy night sky.
She saw a small, hesitant movement from the corner of her eye as he reached for her, and she couldn’t help but flinch. He had saved her life, that much was true. But she didn’t know what had urged him to do so, and though he claimed she was under his protection, there could be plenty of reasons for that—unsavory reasons she didn’t even want to consider.
When the stranger saw her flinch, he paused, his hand drawing back just a little. From up close, she could finally see his face fully, even from under the hood. Tanned, freckled skin beaten by the sun, a sharp, clean-shaved jaw, a tall forehead framed by long, brown strands of hair that seemed to have fallen out of their tie at the back of his nape.
Close to her as he stood now, Adelaide could also feel the full effect of his frame. Towering and broad-shouldered as he was, as though he were bred for battle, he seemed to eclipse her small frame and that, more than anything else, terrified her.
The other men who had attacked her were big—much bigger than her—but nowhere near as broad as that man. If he decided to hurt her, he could do so, and very easily.
And yet, when Adelaide didn’t pull away, all he did was press two fingers under her chin, the touch so light it was almost ghostly.
“Let me see,” he said, inspecting the shallow cut at her throat.
Adelaide stiffened. The touch was careful, clinical even, but the closeness made her heart stumble, hurtling through its heartbeats. A heaviness settled in her stomach; something not wholly unpleasant, something that was foreign to her, but which she welcomed.
Her body stilled slowly, the tremors ceasing. Her breath returned, but there was now a different urgency to it, and though the fear was beginning to subside along with the shock, she still struggled to draw in air.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, pulling away before she lost her wits entirely.
As she stepped back, the forest spun slightly around her, but she refused to show it. The stranger let her wander away, though he followed at a distance as he wiped his blade clean with a piece of cloth, then tucked it away without a word. Only when she turned to face him again did he speak.
“What’s yer name?” he asked.
She hesitated, wondering if she should reveal her true identity to the man. If he knew who she was, would he change? Would he decide she was worth something more, that he could take advantage of her in some way?
But he already seems tae think I should be under his protection.
“Adelaide,” she said. “Adelaide MacTavish.”
In the end, she decided to tell him the truth, mostly out of respect for everything he had already done for her, but also because something gave her the sense he was not there to hurt her
Upon hearing her name, something shifted in his gaze. It was as though something had been confirmed for him; the satisfaction of knowing he was right.
There was a pause before the man spoke again.
“Aye,” he said. “Ye’re exactly the lass I’ve been lookin’ fer.”
If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here
