Rescued by a Laird Read online

  rescued by a laird

  Scottish historical Romance

  Fiona MacEwen

  Copyright © 2019 by Fiona MacEwen.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 Sailing to Romance

  Chapter 2 The Lad’s Surprise

  Chapter 3 The Lass Revealed

  Chapter 4 On McKinnon Island

  Chapter 5 The Lass’s Recovery

  Chapter 6 Treachery’s Revenge

  Chapter 7 The Unexpected

  Chapter 8 A Fool in the Storm

  Chapter 9 The Bravery of a Lad

  Chapter 10 Forsaking all Others

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “Tis’ nay good, lass, the mast is gone, get yerself to the port side, dinnae wait,” came the cry, as the storm lashed across the bows of the ship.

  Ailsa was terrified; she was soaked to the skin, the rain pouring down and the sky black above. Great clouds were rolling overhead and thunder rumbled around her as lighting forked across the sky. The ship was done for and as another wave broke over the stern a great crash came from down below.

  “We are on the rocks, the ship will surely sink,” one man cried, throwing his arms up in despair, as Ailsa looked in horror at the churning sea below and back towards the broken masts above.

  “Save yerself lass, tis’ yer only hope to jump,” he said, “ye must jump, else ye will go down with the ship,” and he himself leapt over the side, as though his mind were consumed by a madness.

  Another wave crashed over the sides, soaking Ailsa and dragging several of the men into the depths, as the sound of splintering wood came from below. The ship was doomed and as Ailsa looked over the side, she knew there was but one choice left to her.

  Far in the distance she could see the faint outline of the shore, but it could have been another continent, so far from safety she felt. The rain was coming down in sheets and the little ship was stricken, as wave after wave smashed across its bow. Ailsa whispered a silent prayer and with grim resolve she jumped, hitting the icy water with a crash and striking out with all her might toward the shore, praying for deliverance from the churning sea …

  Chapter 1

  Sailing to Romance

  Ailsa Kennedy was a pretty lass with an unpretty fate ahead of her. She was betrothed to a man named Stewart McKinnon who was, by all accounts, a wealthy and respected nobleman, but one who also believed it his right to possess any woman he should choose. The marriage had been arranged by Ailsa’s father, who had met the Laird some months previously during a visit to Edinburgh. Neither Ailsa nor Stewart had met one another, and it was for this reason that the young lass resented her father for making such arrangements without consulting her.

  Now, she was about to embark upon a voyage to the island where Stewart McKinnon had his castle and where she, quite against her will, would now reside. It was an unhappy arrangement, but one which Ailsa had no choice in. Her father was elderly, and should he die she would be left destitute. Her mother had died in childbirth and thus she was quite alone in the world, without brother or sister, aunt or uncle, cousin or friend. Marriage to Stewart McKinnon was her only choice and thus she now found herself ready to embark upon a short voyage up the coast, to the island where her new life awaited her.

  “It will nae be so bad, lass, he seems a reasonable enough man,” her father said as her meager possessions were placed on board and she prepared to bid her father farewell.

  “Ye are nae the one who has to marry him, Father. They say he is a tyrant and rules that island with an iron fist,” Ailsa replied.

  “Then ye must be obedient to him, Ailsa. He has agreed to marry ye and in so doing he has promised to take care of ye for the rest of yer life. Ye cannae remain here with an old man forever, when I am gone ye couldnae keep the manor house, or the servants, ye would be alone and that is not what I want for ye, ye hear me?” her father replied, placing his arms around her as the captain of the ship called for her to embark.

  “Aye, but tis’ with a heavy heart I go, Father, and well ye know it,” she replied, and she kissed him on the cheek. “Will ye visit me though? It would make the whole thing more bearable to think ye might dae.”

  “Aye, lass. Once ye are settled in I shall come and visit ye, but ye must go know, they are waiting,” and kissing his daughter once more he pointed to the ship where the captain stood waiting for Ailsa to come aboard.

  It was not a large vessel, big enough for a small crew and a few passengers, its sails billowing in the gentle breeze and the sea lapping at its bows. The day was bright and clear, and it was possible to see right along the coast where their journey would take them, and towards the far-off islands which would soon become Ailsa’s new home.

  She stood on the deck and waved to her father who watched from the shore. She had no desire to make this voyage and even less desire for marriage to a man she had never met. What would Stewart McKinnon be like? The reports were not favorable. Whilst her father described him as a reasonable man one of his friends had called him simply ‘a tyrant,’ and one to be avoided at all costs.

  He was known as something of a recluse, keeping a garrison of men upon the island to ward off any would-be visitors. It was also said that he treated the inhabitants of that lonely place harshly and with little concern for their welfare, a fact which made Ailsa even less inclined to marry him than she had been already.

  She sighed to herself as the moorings were cast off and she waved to her father, who began to grow smaller, as the ship drifted further from the shore. She could just make out the manor house on the hill, her home for her entire life. It was a rambling pile, covered in ivy and with vast gardens and grounds, a place which had been her childhood paradise and refuge from the outside world.

  Ailsa was a quiet lass who preferred her own company to that of others and found solace in nature and the countryside. Her heart was doubly bereft to not only be going somewhere she had no wish to go but also to be leaving a place she loved so much. Her father was no doubt well-meaning in making the arrangement, but Ailsa was heartbroken, and as the last glimpse of her home disappeared, she found herself shedding a bitter tear.

  It would not be long before she arrived at the home of Stewart McKinnon to begin her new life as mistress of a castle she knew nothing of. What would she find there? What would it be like? And was Stewart McKinnon as harsh as she was led to believe? As she contemplated these questions she leaned against the rail of the ship, looking down into the murky depths below, the water lapping at the bows of the ship as it sailed into the unknown.

  ***

  “Well lass, ye shall sleep below tonight,” the captain said after they had finished their meager supper of bread and cheese. “We are around a day’s further sailing from Tyree and the wind is in our favor, I hope ye pass a pleasant night.”

  Ailsa nodded but made no reply. Around her the other passengers, a mixture of sailors and farm hands on their way north, bid one another a goodnight. She looked up at the sky above, a v
ast canopy of stars as the moon hung big and low over the shore about two miles to the east. Below deck she clambered into her hammock and pulled the blanket over her, yawning, for despite her melancholy she was tired and soon fell into a deep sleep, the gentle motion of the ship lulling her through her dreams.

  It was only when a cry came from above that she awoke with a start, as around her others were clambering out of their bunks, wide eyed and bleary.

  “Tis’ a storm brewing up,” one said, listening, as the sound of the wind and the crash of a wave came from overhead.

  “But it was so calm earlier on, the sea was like a mill pond,” another replied, as the ship rocked to its side, another wave hitting the bow with such ferocity that Ailsa was almost knocked off her feet.

  “We cannae stay down here, come now, let us go up on deck. If we run aground, we’ll be trapped down here,” a man said, and there was a general agreement around them.

  Ailsa followed them up on deck. It was pitch black, the moon and stars concealed behind thick black clouds, as the rain now began to fall, and the ship was tossed up by the foamy seas churning below. They were not that far from the shore, though great rocks rose up close by and Ailsa knew that if the wind blew them in the wrong direction, they would be dashed upon them.

  “Hold on lass, tis’ a bad storm coming,” the captain called to her. “Hold on for yer life, else ye will be thrown overboard.”

  She was already soaked through, as wave after wave broke upon the ship’s bow, spray flooding the deck as the crew battled with the sails. As the ship rose and sank amidst the squall Ailsa clung to the ropes, desperately trying to keep herself upright as another wave crashed across the stern.

  Suddenly an almighty crash came and the whole ship was turned back on itself, causing all on board to lose their footing and go sprawling across the deck. There were shouts and screams, as several went overboard into the water, desperately trying to swim towards the shore. Ailsa clung on for dear life as another great crash came from down below and this time the ship almost rolled onto its side.

  “Tis’ lost now, lass, save yerself, try to get hold of a piece of the ship’s hull, drift into the shore, ye must jump else ye will drown,” the captain said as the ship’s mast splintered and fell, causing the whole vessel to become anchored to the rocks.

  Ailsa looked down in horror at the foaming violence of the sea below. It appeared as though it were waiting to swallow her up into its depths but as she looked back the captain urged her on as behind him a great wave rose up, threatening to engulf them all.

  “Jump lass,” he cried, but his words were drowned out by the water which swept them both into the sea, Ailsa letting out a cry as the sea took her in its wake.

  Desperately she tried to find something to cling to, kicking out and flailing her arms as the current swept her back and forth. The storm had now claimed the ship for its own and was dashing it mercilessly upon the rocks. The hull was split in two and the mast lay across the bow as Ailsa fought for her life, the waves raging around her.

  Her mouth filled with salty sea water and her eyes were blinded by torrents, pulling her under and raising her up. The sea was claiming her for its victim and however hard she fought it was though her destiny were no longer her own, caught up by the storm which was intent upon bringing doom to them all. Feebly she reached out, her strength now failing as the cold water numbed her and the current battered her up and down, throwing her up and dragging her back in like a child’s doll.

  The storm was relentless, and she could no longer fight against it, desperately trying to find the strength she needed to swim to safety. There were no cries from around her, no signs of anyone else in the water, only the crashing waves and howling wind and the darkness of the sky above, as the storm took its victims one by one and dragged them down into the depths below.

  Chapter 2

  The Lad’s Surprise

  The castle of the Dunbar clan stood proudly on the cliffs of Kilbride, it was an imposing fortress, a collection of sturdy turrets and a squat, solid keep, the Laird’s banner fluttering above. The castle needed to be strong, a deterrent against invaders from the sea and those from the mainland who saw the fertile pastures and farmlands of the Laird’s estate as a tempting target for attack.

  The Laird’s name was Bryce Dunbar, and whilst he was no warrior, he had a gentle way about him which often managed to assuage his enemies, not to mention a clan who were fiercely loyal to him. He was a kind and benevolent overlord and treated those beneath him with respect. At only twenty-two he was still young; his father having passed away two years previously. He had been reluctant to inherit the Lairdship, believing himself inadequate for the task, but since he had no brothers and his cousins lived many miles away, it had been up to him to take up his father’s work and assume the Lairdship.

  Despite being no warrior, he had sufficient skill with a sword to hold his own in battle and was a handsome lad, a fact that was often commented upon by the lasses of the surrounding glens. Despite his charm and good looks Bryce had little experience with women and preferred to keep himself to himself, happiest when taking long walks along the beaches below the castle and watching the waves crash in upon the shore. Some days he would stand for hours, allowing the weather to roll over him, looking out towards the islands beyond.

  It was from there that he knew any trouble would come and the clan was always on its guard against any possible invasion. His nearest neighbor was Stewart McKinnon, a thoroughly unpleasant man whom Bryce had had cause to deal with on several occasions. When the news of his father’s death had spread the McKinnon had sailed across the waters from his island fiefdom some miles to the west and proclaimed that he and not Bryce should be ruler of the shoreline.

  It was fortunate that the Dunbar’s had not agreed to such a demand, and they had seen to it that Laird McKinnon was returned to his ship. But the incident had frightened Bryce, and he was wary of any further conflict with the McKinnon’s. They were known for their war mongering and he had no wish to face Stewart McKinnon in battle. However, the castle was strong and his men were loyal, a fact for which Bryce thanked God each and every day.

  He was a faithful young lad and always said his prayers. His mother often commented upon his piety and longed for the day when he would find a lass with whom to settle down. Bryce Dunbar had much to offer, but so far love had eluded him, despite a string of potential suitors. It was his mother who invited them. She was a well-meaning sort and always wanted what was best for her son, at least in her opinion. The daughters of noble Lairds would be invited to the castle and entertained at lavish banquets and to rides out with the horses. So far none had captured Bryce’s heart. If anything, they had made him more reluctant to settle down, preferring instead the life of a single man, far simpler, he thought, than anything else.

  On this morning he had arisen early, as was his custom, and gone to see to his horse, Cole, a jet-black stallion who had belonged to his father. There had been heavy rain in the night and Bryce looked up at the moody sky above, still laced with dark foreboding clouds, threatening yet more bad weather later in the day.

  “Tis’ a poor day, Laird, poor indeed, will ye wish to ride out today?” the stable hand said as Bryce patted down the horse’s mane and fed him his morning oats.

  “Nae today, tis’ nae fair on the horse, I shall breakfast and take a walk along the beach, let the animal rest today,” Bryce said, patting the horse’s mane once more and bidding the stable hand a good day.

  As he returned to the keep, he nodded to several of his clansmen as a light drizzle began to fall.

  “Tis’ a nasty day, Bryce and make nay mistake,” his mother said as he seated himself opposite her in the great hall a few moments later.

  “Aye, there has been a storm in the night it would seem. They blow up so very terribly out in the squall of the sea, the passage between the islands is so treacherous, it seems to funnel the waves. I am glad we are simply beside the sea and nae across it,
” Bryce replied, helping himself to a bowl of steaming porridge.

  “Will ye ride out today, son?” his mother asked, laying aside her bowl.

  “Nae today, but I will walk on the beach. Tis’ a wee while since last I walked south from the castle and I want to see the fishing nets. We shall rely upon them come the winter if we are to feed ourselves,” Bryce replied.

  His mother nodded, and the two sat in silence, as outside the wind continued to howl around the castle.

  “Be careful on yer walk, son, dinnae be catching yer death of cold,” his mother said, as Bryce pushed aside his empty bowl and stood up.

  “Ye worry too much, mother. I have my father’s cloak with me, that has always kept out the elements, and the beach is sheltered enough below the rocks. I shall be back by dinner time, ready for my food and a place by the fire,” Bryce replied.

  “I shall be at my spinning, ye shall nae see me move from beside the fire for anyone,” she replied, smiling at him, as he wished her good day and left the great hall.

  Outside the air was bracing and the smell of the storm was still in the air, flecks of raining spitting from the dark clouds above. Bryce nodded to several of the clansmen and strode out of the castle gates. It was built upon a rocky outcrop and a bridge crossed over a deep ravine just outside the gates, connecting the castle from its position on the cliffs and over to the mainland.

  Bryce turned off the path almost immediately and scrambled down the rocks to the beach below, where the tide lay far out to sea. The waves were rolling in on the horizon and Bryce strode across the wet sand, the wind blowing in his hair and causing him to pull his father’s cloak tightly around himself.

  “A murky day,” he muttered, yet he was undeterred by the weather and walked on, making for the rocks on the far side of the bay.

  The castle stood on the headland above, commanding a view across the whole of that part of the coast. It was that reason it had been built there and many an enemy had been spotted long before they could cause trouble for the inhabitants of that lonely place. Bryce looked out across the waters towards the island beyond and wondered just how long it would be before Stewart McKinnon once more made his presence known. The winter seas may keep him away, for this stretch of water was notorious for its storms. It was just as he was mulling over these thoughts that a sight on rocks ahead caused him to stop.