EXCERPT
Highlands,
1362
She had always wanted to have an adventure.
That was her first mistake. Her second was to set off for a little privacy in
the thick fog of the Highland morning.
Lady Jyne Campbell tramped along the cold
ground of the Highland moor, trying to retrace her steps back to camp. She
could not have gotten far. Could she? She considered calling out to her
brothers for help, but rejected the idea. She wished to show her clan that she
was capable of taking care of herself. Admitting she had gotten lost in the fog
was not going to help her cause.
Being the youngest daughter, Jyne was
accustomed to being bossed about by all of her fourteen siblings. And not just
any siblings—Campbell siblings. Her eldest brother was David Campbell, laird of
the powerful Campbell clan. The Campbell brothers were tall, broad-shouldered,
hardworking, and a formidable foe to their enemies. The Campbell sisters were
statuesque, brave, bold, and ready to stand shoulder to shoulder with any man
to defend the Campbell clan, or against any clansman who got out of line.
Jyne’s mother had borne fifteen children, and not one of them had the audacity
to die in childhood. No, frailty was not allowed in the Campbell household.
All except Jyne. She had been born a little
too soon and had always been small. In childhood, she was prone to illness and
had a delicate constitution. Being of questionable health during her formative
years, she was never chosen to travel or have any adventures. Though her dreams
were as big as any of her siblings, she had to content herself with listening
to the stories of others and making herself useful about the castle, while the
other siblings returned with wild tales of their exploits.
Jyne paused a moment, straining to hear
sounds from the camp. She would rather search for hours than admit to her overprotective
brothers she had gotten lost in a bit of mist. She continued walking in the
thick gray fog, which blanketed the rugged landscape. Straining to see ahead of
her in the fog and stepped onto something she thought was firm ground, but
suddenly wasn’t.
“Oh!” She fell forward into a bog, gasping
as the cold, muddy water engulfed her to her thighs. “Oh, no!” She struggled,
trying to find firm ground to drag herself out of the treacherous moor, but
everywhere she touched was made of cold, wet mud. Her efforts were rewarded
only by her sinking into the bog a few inches more.
The freezing sludge seeped through her
clothes and held her fast, like an icy claw. The smell of rotting swamp gas
made her gag. Her heart pounded in her throat, along with the remnants of her
last meal. She had heard stories of people getting trapped in the bog and never
returning.
She clenched her teeth to stop them from
chattering. Should she call for help? The thought of the looks on her
brothers’ faces to find her stuck in the bog shut her mouth. She made another
try for solid ground, straining her reach for a crop of grass.
She could almost make it. Her fingertips
brushed tantalizingly against the stems of the grass, but there was nothing to
grasp. She could not reach solid ground. Her efforts had only caused her to
sink another few inches as fear slithered down her spine. Nothing she could do
was going to get herself out.
“Help! David? Help!” Her pride was gone. She
only hoped her brothers would hear her before she was gone. “Can anyone hear
me?”
She had expected her siblings to come
running as soon as she called. She could not be that far from camp. Could she?
She listened for footsteps, for any hint that help was on the way. She heard
nothing.
Panic surged within her, tinged with
frustration. The one time she actually wanted her brothers to hover over her,
and they were nowhere in sight. She made another lunge for solid ground, but
the more she moved, the farther the bog sucked her down, and soon she was up to
her waist, panting with exertion and sheer terror.
She closed her eyes and screamed with all
her might, “Help! Heeeeeelp!”
“Here, lassie, take my hand.” A man, a
stranger to her, flung himself onto the solid ground and reached out his hand
over the murky bog. She grasped it, and he began to back up slowly, pulling her
from the quagmire. He pulled hard, but the swamp resisted, as if unwilling to
release its prize from its cold clutches. Finally, he wrenched her from the
deadly swamp, and she collapsed beside him on firm ground.
“Thank ye,” she gasped, not sure if she was
trembling from the fear of coming near death or the frozen chill of the mire
still permeating her bones.
“Are ye hurt?” asked the stranger. He was a
tall man dressed in the plaid kilt of the Highlander, belted at the waist and
thrown over one shoulder. He had a wild mop of unruly brown hair and glinting
dark eyes. He was armed with a bow and quiver of arrows and had several scrolls
stuck into his wide leather belt.
Her teeth chattered. “N-nay, just relieved
to be out o’ the bog.”
The stranger stood up and took her with him,
easily lifting her to her feet. “Ah, lass, ye’re chilled to the bone.” He
pulled her close and wrapped the ends of his plaid around her, warming her with
his own heat. She melted into the comforting warmth and safety of his arms.
Jyne sighed. She had a vague feeling she
should not be enjoying an embrace with a total stranger. She must be simply
thankful to be out of the bog. At least that is what she told herself to justify
resting her cheek against his chest.
“Thank ye. I dinna ken what would have
happened to me if ye hadna come along,” said Jyne into the man’s solid chest.
“Ye must have been sent by the angels to save me.”
The man laughed. “Angels? That would be the
first time anyone said that about me.”
Jyne looked up at him. He had a decided
jawline and sharp cheekbones. His face was almost angular, but attractive. His
dark green eyes gleamed in the early morning light. He was a trim, muscular man
who looked to be in his early twenties. Perhaps it was her brush with danger,
but she decided he was the most handsome Highlander she had ever seen.
“Then I am glad to be the first to say it to
ye. Ye truly are my hero.” Jyne’s voice trembled with sincerity.
“I’m nobody’s hero.” He tilted his head with
a sardonic smile.
“Ye are to me. I am Jyne and much in yer
debt.”
He shook his head. “Ye owe me naught.”
She touched her hand to his cheek, and he
tilted his head toward her, leaning closer.
“Unhand my sister!”
Jyne jumped away from the stranger and
turned to see her brother, Laird of the Campbells, emerging from the mist.
