Taken Away (A Swept Away Saga Origins Story): A Scottish Highlander Romance (The Swept Away Saga) Read online

  By

  Kamery Solomon

  Other Books by Kamery Solomon

  Forever

  Hell Hall (A Halloween Novella)

  The God Chronicles

  Zeus

  Poseidon

  Hades

  Adrastia

  Exoria

  Dreams Novels

  Taking Chances

  Watching Over Me

  The Swept Away Saga

  Swept Away

  Carried Away

  Taken Away (A Swept Away Saga Origins Story)

  By

  Kamery Solomon

  Happily Ever After Publishing - Arizona

  Copyright © 2016 Kamery Solomon

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Published by

  Happily Ever After Publishing

  Arizona

  Kindle Ebook Edition

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into 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 above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This book is available in print and ebook format.

  For Buie

  Thank you for letting me borrow Liam and Sheila for a while!

  Oh all the comrades that e'er I've had

  Are sorry for my going away

  And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had

  Would wish me one more day to stay

  But since it falls unto my lot

  That I should rise and you should not

  I'll gently rise and I'll softly call

  Good night and joy be with you all

  -The Parting Glass-

  One

  A wall of silence pressed down around the hunter, the soft edges of noiselessness caressing his face as he inched through the undergrowth, eyes trained on the large deer some way ahead of him.

  The animal hadn’t noticed it was being watched yet, nothing betraying that its death was imminent. Pointed ears didn’t hear any sounds creeping closer, perhaps filled with only the sound of the breeze and birds chirping in the trees. The wet nose that air huffed through only smelled the crisp morning and the damp soil. White tipped antlers rubbed against a nearby tree, the bark flaking off the trunk as the beast pawed the ground. It wasn’t a restless movement, but one out of habit, the long, shaggy, brown fur clothing its body shaking to and fro. If it weren’t for the green plants spattered across the ground, it might have blended in completely, as was intended by nature.

  Unfortunately for the animal, nature had also intended for all life to end, and the MacDonald house had a need for deer meat.

  Breathing evenly, the hunter raised his bow and arrow, fingers brushing alongside his mouth, tickling the hair there as he anchored himself for the shot. This was his favorite part of the hunt—the chase and climax gathered into one perfect moment, a second where the entire earth seemed to settle, holding its breath. There was the sweet sense of victory, a rush that made him fill with excitement and pride, and the bitter taste of death in his mouth, a sorrowful flavor that threatened to stop the entire action before it had even begun. Overall, though, it was an overwhelming thankfulness that filled him, for the life the animal was going to give so he and his family could live another day. The deer’s sacrifice meant health, wellness, and security for the future. Its spirit would rest easy knowing that no part of the body would go to waste.

  And then, in one split second, the moment ended. He released his hold, sending the deer’s angel of death forward. The pointed tip of the arrow soared through the air, speeding toward its target with all the ease of a bird in flight. Striking true, it stuck hard in the side of the animal, just behind the front leg—a heart shot.

  Jumping out of surprise, fear, and pain, the deer made a run for it, disappearing into the trees. However, the hunter knew it would bleed out quickly and crumble, making it easy to track and recover.

  Rising from his hiding place, the man shouldered his bow and headed off in the direction his prey had headed, moving swiftly and silently through the brush. It had run up a small ridge, disappearing over the other side. As the man reached the top of the hill, he saw the animal laying at the foot of the hill, struggling in the last moments of its life.

  Filled with compassion and thankfulness, he made his way to it, pulling a short blade from the sheath attached to his arrow bag. With the beast finally before him, he knelt down and placed a hand on its head, shushing softly.

  “It’s over now,” he said softly, petting between its ears. “I do thank ye.” Uttering the words of an old Gaelic prayer, he stated his thanks again in the traditional way, to both the animal and God, for allowing him to take the life in order to better his own. Lifting the deer’s head up then, he drew the blade across its throat, ending its suffering.

  Hot blood trickled over his hands, slowly spreading across the ground at his feet. The eyes of the animal stared up at him blankly, all life gone from the still warm body. Everywhere around them was quiet, even the birds silent now as the forest watched another of their kind leave the mortal realm.

  Looking up at the sky, the hunter noted clouds on the horizon, the scent of the air warning of an incoming storm. Not wanting to get caught and delay returning home any longer, he quickly sheathed his dagger, took the arrow from the animal’s side, and grabbed its antlers, pulling it up the hill some. Within a moment or so, the deer lay just a few feet up the incline, spread wide, as if it were in the middle of a jump.

  Sitting just in front of the beast, the hunter laid back, resting his head on his prize. Gathering the legs in his hands, he then sat up and rolled forward onto his knees, letting the weight of the deer push him forward as it settled along his shoulders. Sure that he had a good hold on the catch, he carefully got to his feet, grunting slightly from effort. It was a good sized animal, but not too much for him to carry for the next little while.

  Stepping carefully, he made his way back up the hill, crossing over the ridge and heading in the direction he’d come from. The scent of rain was so thick in the air now, he wondered if he would even make it to his horse before the droplets began to spatter down around him. Either way, his chore was done; the deer would feed them through the end of next week, if not a little longer.

  The Scottish Highlands stretched out around him, green and sweeping, as they’d always been. It was comforting to see the land returning to his favorite season as he passed through, winter falling behind with its usual bitterness, the cold air still biting at him in the early mornings. In the highest peaks of the mountains, snow still covered the ground, but it would melt away in due time. Soon, the purple heather would bloom, ushering in the warmth of summer. Home would be a mess of gatherings and excitement, with longtime friends and new acquaintances making their presence known as the roads cleared.

  Of course, there would also be the occasion of his wedding, which promised to be an occasion he would not easily forget, even if he wished to d
o so.

  Grunting, the hunter pushed the thoughts of his impending nuptials aside, spotting his horse where he’d left it tethered. The black stallion was nosing the ground, nipping at the blades of fresh grass around the roots of the tree, his mane swaying softly in the cool breeze. As the hunter crossed the remaining space toward the animal, icy droplets began to fall from above, causing his skin to prickle.

  Reaching his steed at last, the hunter situated himself and the deer across his back, untying the horse and nudging him in the direction of home. Pulling his plaid around his shoulders and over his head to keep out of the rain, he let his mind wander as the trek was made. No thoughts in particular bothered him—this was his time to just be. There was no one in need of helping, no family to look after, and no fiancée to worry about. All that existed was him and the land, in all its glory. Being outside, alone, felt more like a communion with God to him than church ever did, though he wouldn’t openly admit that to any soul.

  Slowly, the house began to appear on the horizon, tucked into the mountainside. The brick walls rose two stories high, nestled into a grove of trees. Branches masked any movement from the inside, but it was always a busy day here. To the side, a small stable was connected to the home by an archway, the animals absent. They would be out in the pasture, foraging for their own food and being watched by one of his brothers. The road into town curled around the house, disappearing into the distance.

  It was the hounds that saw him first. Pulled from their exploratory sniffing of the herb garden on the left end of the house, they dashed across the homestead, tails wagging excitedly behind their long, shaggy, brown bodies as they ran up the hillside, barking rambunctiously.

  Chuckling lightly, the hunter hopped off the horse, bending to greet the two dogs with happy familiarity. As his pets practically jumped on top of him, licking his face and hands, he laughed outright, calling for them to stop and be still. “Gu leoir! Seas, seas.”

  “William?” Looking toward the sound of the voice, the hunter’s expression softened at his mother’s form, standing in the doorway of their home, hands on her hips. Stray strands of brown hair sticking out from under her cap, she looked as if she had been hard at work doing something. Mud spatter covered the hem of her skirts and shoes, an empty basket resting beside her on the stoop, suggesting she had just taken lunch to her husband out in the fields.

  “Aye,” he called back, leading the horse on as he shooed the dogs away. “Sorry I’m late, Mo Mhàthair. I got caught in a wee storm, is all.” Nodding toward the basket as he stopped in front of her he grinned. “How is Da?” The ground was staring to thaw, which meant everyone would be planting soon. However, their little community shared the work in the fields. It didn’t quite feel like spring without the annual fight over what should be done and how.

  Rolling her eyes, she bent down and snatched the bundle back up, pulling the kerchief from around her neck and wiping her forehead with it. “Working with yer uncle, as always, Willy. They were arguing over where to plant what this season. Of course, the neighbors all need to have a say in that as well. I expect he won’t be home until after suppertime. Speaking of which, that’s a nice catch ye have there.” Eyeing the deer, she pursed her lips, a dozen or so thoughts seeming to flash across her face before she spoke again. “Do ye think ye and Alastair could slaughter it and have some ready for tonight?”

  “Of course,” he replied promptly. “Where is my brother, at the moment?”

  “One of the cows started calving before sundown last night. He’s been out to pasture with her ever since. Rowan had to bring the other three in all by himself, Lord bless him. He’s been so sick since lately; I was afraid the poor boy would catch his death out there. The fresh air seems to have done him some good, though. I’ll have to make sure we open the windows for him, it’s about that time anyway. Of course, there’s the ceilidh coming up as well. I’ll have to go out and see if I can find any fungas for soup . . .”

  Recognizing the signs of his mother launching into one of her famous prattles, Will nodded, knowing that she was talking more to herself than him now. As if confirming his suspicious, she turned and opened the door, her voice softening as she entered the house and left him alone.

  “A busy woman,” Will said to his horse, patting it on the nose. “Let’s busy ourselves as well, eh?”

  It didn’t take long for him to fall into the pattern of returning home after a hunt. Alastair wasn’t exactly needed to help butcher the deer, so Will set to work doing it himself, knowing that, when his brother returned, he would have whatever aid he needed. By the time the sun was setting and the cool evening air was biting at his hands, the deer had been skinned, it’s organs removed, and the meat cut away from the bones. Some of it would be eaten tonight, as was requested, but the rest would either be salted or smoked, depending on what it would be used for. Already, dinner was cooking inside; he could smell it as he washed up in the trough of water outside the back door.

  “Willy!”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Will saw his brothers ushering the cows into the tiny stable. Among them, a newborn calf stuck close to its mother, wide eyes peering around in fear.

  “Ciamar a tha thu?” How are you? He’d meant the question for the calf, the new life exciting him some as he watched the small creature discover its new home. Alastair answered, though, too worn out to notice.

  “Exhausted. The calf was breech. I thought we were going to lose the both of them.” Flopping down on the ground, he rested his back against the house, his kilt dirty and smelling of afterbirth. Brown hair stuck up in every direction on his head, his face streaked with dust and sweat. Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily, the weight of the world seeming to rest on his teenage shoulders.

  Sympathetic, Will opened his mouth to answer, only to be immediately cut off by the youngest of the MacDonald brothers.

  “Willy, did ye catch a huge deer this time? Da said we could take some of the antler to the blacksmith and have a knife made for me, but I want it to be a big piece!” Rowan, bounced on the balls of his feet as he dragged his dirty sleeve across his nose, sniffing heavily. Where Alastair look completely worn out, his brother appeared as if he’d had the best day of his life. His coat was wrapped around his waist, partially covering the breeches he’d been wandering around in all winter. Mud and sticks stuck in the cloth, and it smelled like he’d probably stepped in some dung at one point in the day. Still, the smile on his face was enough to make any man grin.

  Surprised to see him so energetic after spending so much of the winter in bed, Will raised his eyebrows, caught off guard. “Ach! A knife of yer own? How old are ye, Ro, thirty-seven?” Laughing, he hoisted the boy into his arms, hugging him tightly and tousling his short, brown locks.

  “I’m nine and a half and you ken it, Willy. I’m almost a man. What kind of man doesn’t have his own blade?” Putting on what Will supposed was meant to be a wise face, Rowan pushed away to the ground and scowled at him, crossing his arms.

  “Aye, I guess ye are, Ro. I heard that ye were a big help with the cows. I’m sure Da is right pleased with ye.”

  “Why would I not be?”

  The boys all turned, gazes falling on their father as he pushed through the barn and made his way to the trough to wash up as well. His cream colored shirt was wrinkled and showed the results of a hard day’s work, even if the work had been mostly talking. The red, purple, and green of his kilt seemed dusty, the plaid dry and dingy from years of wear and tear. There was no telling how many times it had been mended by their mother, or how much longer it would last. Perhaps this year they would finally get more fabric, if Da felt that what they had wouldn’t last through another winter.

  Dipping his bald head toward the water, Will’s namesake scooped up a handful and ran it down his neck, leaving a trail along his skin. He smelled like dirt and sweat, his face somewhat red from being out in the sun all day.

  “Laoghaire’s cookin’ fresh deer?” he asked, peering toward
Will for a second.

  Nodding, Will smiled some. It wasn’t the first fresh meat they’d had since winter, but it was still nice to know they’d be eating something other than fish for a change. However, they were also getting low on fish, which meant one of them would soon be going out to catch more.

  “Get inside, all of ye, then,” Da ordered, waving them away with his hands. “Clean up and change yer clothes. I don’t want to be smellin’ ye with the food.”

  Two

  The silverware clinked around the table as everyone happily ate their dinner, a general air of contentment resting on all of them. Besides the deer steaks, there was bread, cheese, and cabbage soup, as well as whiskey and milk. A warm fire burned in the hearth beside them, adding even more to the candlelight that kept the cold dark away. The fresh scent of lavender spread under the aroma of the food, wafting from the bowl of dried petals left over from last summer’s harvest.

  “I take it ye took care of the rest of the meat, Willy?” Da stared at him evenly, wiping his mouth with his fingertips.

  “I buried some of it so it would freeze, but aye. It’s all taken care of.” Popping a piece of bread in his mouth he grinned at Rowan, who was discretely trying to feed some of his cabbage to the dogs under the wooden table.

  “Good. I was hoping ye’d be finished with it. There was some talk amongst the families that live out beside the Stewart lands that I wanted ye to check on.” Pausing to clear his throat, the elder William grimaced some, as if this weren’t good news.

  Worried by the expression, Will raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It’s not the Campbells again, is it? I thought we were finally getting to a good enough place with them that we wouldna have to deal with them any longer.”

  The question caused everyone in the room to pause and look to the head of the family, apprehension filling the space. MacDonalds and Campbells famously did not get along, no matter where they lived. However, living right on the boarders of the two clans’ lands had made life particularly difficult at points. Things seemed to be relatively peaceful at the moment, due to extreme effort on the MacDonalds part, but there was never any telling when the rival family would decide to end the peace.