SCOTTISH ROMANCE: My Sinful Surrender to a Highlander Werewolf (Scottish Werewolf Pregnancy Romance) (Historical Medieval Shape Shifter Paranormal Science Fiction Short Stories) (45 page)

              “I know you need help, Mister Gillipsi,” she said with a tease.  “Your kind always does.  You have a big heart…but don’t have anyone that understands you.”

              He smiled.  “All I know is, that for the first time since that day when I last saw Karla, I have truly beheld someone beautiful.  You’re beautiful, Tonya.  You’re tough as nails.  You don’t let people talk down to you.  And you work hard for all you get, even if you got to do the jobs you don’t like.  Maybe like a lot of people, you just need a second chance.  Someone who believes in you.”

              She stared at him in wonder and with a nervous smile.

              “Will you become my mail order bride?”

              She smiled, teethy and beautiful, her heart on her sleeve and basking in the glow of love.  “Yes, Carl.  I will.”

              They kissed one last time; it was a grand feeling of true intimacy, empathy and redemption for the man who had everything but needed a soul.  In Tonya, he found his greatest opportunity.

THE END

Stolen by a Highlander

Chapter One

              “Fetch me my ale!” Angus hollered, slamming his thick fist on the solid wooden table. Freya scurried into the kitchen to fetch her husband’s tankard, her long red hair flowing behind her. “Idiot woman!” Angus’s voice followed her.

              “I’m sorry, husband, I did not expect you to return quite so soon.” She looked down at the ground as she answered him timidly. Angus lifted his eyes up to her and a scarlet rage spread in to his cheeks.

              “Whoring yerself to the village, eh?” As he spoke spittle collected in his beard. Freya looked down to the hard stone ground, not daring to look up, and shook her head.

              “No, husband.”

              “Dare you argue with the man of this house?!” Freya shook her head again, silently. “Fetch me my meal before I flog you, woman!” Freya nodded quickly and hurried back to the kitchen.

              Life in the small stone hut was little to write home about for Freya. At fourteen, the beautiful porcelain skinned redhead had been married off to Angus for a minimal dowry, something that Angus would forever resent. In the end however, the choice to marry Freya had been his own. He found her long red hair and her soft complexion irresistible. He had been more than happy at the time to accept her parent’s minimal offering to secure the child bride. Six years into their marriage though, when Freya’s face had begun to show the signs of being a browbeaten blacksmith’s wife, Angus had become increasingly dissatisfied. He longed for the pearlescent skin of her earlier years and he loudly protested her parents’ frugal dowry whenever he got the chance.

Over the years Angus had made sure that his own dissatisfaction with his young bride became that of his village as well. As a well-respected blacksmith there was little that Freya could do to fight the rumors that Angus frequently began due to his drunken ramblings. Freya could no more walk through the street without hearing whispers of her own infidelity. The truth was however, that it was Angus who was the infidel. Freya could hardly understand how anyone would think that she would dare dishonor a man like Angus. If only they could see the sheer power of his anger, she thought, perhaps they would understand. The village chose to turn a blind eye to the drunken blacksmith, however. Nothing was said when he ripped the corsets of young serving wenches at the tavern, rather laughter would ensue. For Freya though, there was nothing as devastating as watching her husband publicly humiliate her with his drunken debauchery. Many a night she would weep in their bed as she heard Angus return from the tavern with another young woman in tow. She would listen as he took her over their kitchen table and the very next morning she would be forced to serve breakfast to them both on that very same table.

“Here you are, husband.” Freya lay the plate of mutton and bread on the table in front of him and waited with bated breath as he examined the plate.

“Ngg,” Angus grunted in satisfaction and picking up his spoon and a chunk of bread, he began shoveling food sloppily into his mouth. Freya smiled, happy to see her husband contented and relieved to be out of the spotlight.

Fetching her own smaller plate, Freya sat across from Angus at the table and delicately spooned a piece of mutton into her mouth.

“You eat too much!” Angus grunted, small chunks of food flying from his mouth. Freya nodded and pushed her plate away from her despite the hollowness in her belly. “Give me that!” Angus grabbed for her plate and pulled it towards him, scraping its contents onto his own plate. “You think I work so that you can waste food?” Freya shook her head.

“Forgive me husband.” Her eyes cast down to the cold stone floor as she listened to Angus greedily eating her supper as well.

Freya’s life before Angus had been simple. Her diet had consisted of vegetables and bread, meat was rarely affordable for her overburdened family. As one of nine daughters, Freya was always destined to be married off to anyone who would take her, in order to lighten the load at home. She had always imagined that it would be a handsome man who chose her though, a man with love in his heart and a gentleness about him. Every day as she tended her family’s small tract of land, she would fantasize about her husband-to-be whisking her off to a romantic castle in the hills. She would titter with her sisters as they shared stories of the qualities that they hoped their husbands would share. Then had come Angus. He was a well-paid man, the only blacksmith in the village, and Freya’s parents were happy to marry her to him. Freya had been hesitant. He certainly didn’t resemble the husband she had imagined. Angus was six feet tall, his red beard was bushy and matched the color of his long curled hair. Freya’s father was eager that they should marry however, and one week after their meeting it was done. Freya had secured herself a future with a well-paid man and her family was happy to let her go.

“You will come with me to the tavern!” Angus pushed his plate across the table, the oily juice of the mutton sloshing over its sides.

Freya didn’t much want to go to the tavern; at least at home the ridicule from her husband was concealed from the public eye. She knew that if she declined Angus’s order though, the repercussions would be far worse than public humiliation. She nodded.

The tavern was dark and filled with a stench of ale and sweat. The walls echoed with drunken laughter. Freya didn’t much feel like laughing as Angus pulled her through the front door and pushed her in the direction of a table. She perched on the wooden bench as Angus pushed his way towards the barkeep.

“Oy!” A gruff voice next to Freya grunted. She didn’t look up. “I said oy!” She dared lift her eyes. A bedraggled looking man with greasy black hair was staring at her closely. He licked his dry cracked lips loudly. “I bet I can guess what your pussy tastes like.” Freya felt her cheeks reddening as she looked quickly away. Never had she longed for Angus to return so much as she did at that moment. “Did you hear me?” The man leaned closer, his boil covered nose almost touching her now. She flinched. “I said, I bet I can guess what your pussy tastes like.” He laughed lecherously. “I got this as says you’ll let me stick into you out there…” He slid a coin across the table and jerked his head to the side entry of the tavern. Freya gulped and turned away, her eyes desperately searching for Angus. “Oy!” The man’s voice was getting louder and Freya was beginning to fear for her own safety. He leaned in, his mouth pressing close to her ear. She could smell the sweat on his body and it made her stomach lurch. “Your husband says you’re a whore, so take the money whore, and let me stick it in ye.”  Freya closed her eyes tightly and pressed her lips together, wishing the man would just go away.

“Donald! Is the lady keeping you entertained?” Angus slammed a tankard of ale on the table, its contents spilling over. The greasy haired man looked up at Angus with a smile as he reached over and grabbed a strand of Freya’s hair between his fingers. He smiled, revealing just a few rotten teeth.

“I was just trying my luck with your whore!” He laughed and then sniffed loudly. “Thinks she’s too good for me.” Angus laughed this time as he sat on the bench opposite Freya and Donald.

“She’s too good for no one. Tell me, what was your offer?” Angus picked up his ale and took a deep gulp. Donald pushed the coin across the table towards Angus. Angus picked it up and eyed it before fixing his blue-eyed gaze on Freya. Holding Freya’s frightened gaze for a moment, he then shifted his eyes back to Donald.

“I wouldn’t sell you scrap for that!” Angus laughed and flicked the coin back at Donald. Donald sniffed again as he caught the coin and shoved it in to his pocket.

“Ehh, a man can try.” Angus laughed again and nodded his head.

“That he can.”

Freya pulled her arms close to her body in an attempt to create some space between her and Donald. Donald saw her and moved closer, putting his hand on her upper thigh and squeezing it tightly. Freya looked up at Angus hopefully, but found his eyes locked instead on one of the tavern wenches.

“You dirty wench!” Angus shouted as he grabbed the arm of a young dark haired girl in a tight corset. She tumbled backwards and Angus pulled her in to his lap. She laughed loudly as she slapped at him playfully.

“Oh, Angus!” Angus leaned in and kissed her neck roughly, rubbing his rough beard against her soft pale skin. “Angus stop! You’re such a beast!” He laughed as he let her go and she paused for a moment before jumping out of his lap.

“You’d better watch out, next time I’ll have a surprise waiting for you!” Angus reached down and grabbed at his crotch with roaring laughter. The wench squealed and scurried off in to the crowded room. Angus continued to laugh breathlessly as he watched her go.

Freya felt Donald’s hand sliding further up her thigh until he slid it between her legs and began to rub her. Angus caught a glimpse of the movement.

“Wife!” he hollered so loudly that a silence fell over the tavern. “Wife, why do you let another man touch you where only your husband should?” Donald pulled his hand away quickly and Freya didn’t dare to look up. She knew that the entire room was staring, Angus had made sure of that. “Well?” He boomed. Freya shook her head. She didn’t dare accuse Donald of being in the wrong. She had learned long ago that it was far easier to take the blame than to try to deny it.

“I am sorry, husband.” Her voice was timid as she dared let her eyes glance up to Angus’s face. His cheeks were red and his eyes stared at her intensely.

“That’s what you get,” Donald sneered, “when you wed a girl like her. A loose woman.” Silence fell as Angus’s eyes shifted over to Donald. Freya thought for just a moment that perhaps Angus would defend her, that he might hit Donald to defend her honor. He laughed. He laughed such a loud and booming laugh that the rest of the tavern began to laugh as well. Soon the walls of the tavern were echoing with laughter again, only this time it was all directed at Freya. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and she wanted nothing more than to run back to their home. In a split second, amid the uproarious laughter she found the courage to jump up from the bench. Shoving her way through the laughter she pushed against the tavern door and fell forward into the afternoon sun.

When she arrived home she was breathless and her face was streaked with tears. Freya knew that when Angus returned home she would have to face the consequence of his public humiliation. For the time being however, she sat in front of the mirror calming herself as she combed her luxurious long red hair. Though tears still streaked down her face she watched herself in the mirror and smiled.

“Someday he will learn to love you,” she said as she looked in to her teary blue eyes.

To Freya’s relief and heartbreak, when Angus returned home he was too engrossed in the serving wench he had brought with him to remember to punish Freya. Freya listened as he laughed drunkenly and the young girl laughed along with him. If only they knew, Freya thought, if only they could see what he was really like they wouldn’t laugh like that. She rolled over in bed and pulled the blanket up over her face. The thin material did little to muffle the noise though.

“Now that is what a woman’s body should look like!” Angus roared from the kitchen. Freya knew that he was purposefully being louder than usual. “Come here you wench!” She listened as the girl squealed while Angus grabbed at her the way he used to grab at Freya.

Freya heard the thud of the girl being bent over the kitchen table and she squeezed her eyes closed. She tried to think of the days she had spent with her sisters instead, the days that they had imagined their perfect husbands. She tried to imagine being free.

Chapter Two

Freya had just opened her eyes when the first screams came through the small window in the bedroom. At first she was sure it was the sounds of Angus and his latest conquest rubbing more salt into her wounds as they frolicked in the street. When a series of screams followed however, she knew that she was wrong, the screams were not those of levity, rather those of terror. Quickly jumping out of bed, Freya threw open the door to the bedroom, searching for Angus. What she found instead was the front door of their cottage standing wide open and Angus and his wench both were gone. They had left her all alone. Freya looked around frantically for something, anything to defend herself. She had heard screams like these only once before and she knew that she needed to arm herself and find somewhere to hide if she was to survive.

Freya had been seven the last time that the highlanders attacked the village. She remembered clinging to her sisters as they hid in the dirt cellar. The screams overhead were louder than anything she had ever heard before. She hadn’t forgotten them in all these years. For two days Freya and her sisters had hidden in that dirt cellar, too afraid to come out in case the highlanders returned. Her father and mother had had to bring them food and water and it was only when a neighbor visited that the girls could be coaxed out with the help of his small dog. Freya remembered asking her father how they had survived the attack and he had shrugged and told her that perhaps God had seen how little they already had, and had taken pity on them.

The screams from outside came louder now and accompanying them was the sound of metal on metal as swords crashed together. Freya could find nothing to defend herself and, knowing that time was growing short, she ran back to the bedroom to find somewhere to hide.

The small cupboard was barely large enough for her to crouch inside. The doors would not shut completely unless she pressed herself all the way against its back and held just as still as she could. She tried to still her breathing as she listened to the sounds outside. Moments later the sounds outside came inside, and Freya heard someone inside the house. There were footsteps as the person walked in through the kitchen.

“Argh!” A frustrated cry came and was followed by a loud scraping thud of the kitchen table being overthrown. Then more noise. Freya held her breath as she listened to someone ransacking her home just feet away from where she hid. Then came the footsteps again. They were drawing closer. She could see a flash of light through the cupboard doors and peering through she saw the tall man begin rifling through her belongings. Squeezing her eyes closed, Freya began to pray, hoping that once again God would see that she had nothing and would spare her.

Had Freya not closed her eyes in prayer she would have seen the shape of the man approaching the cupboard. Had she not been so devoted in her prayer she would have heard him coming.

The doors of the cupboard flew open and the shock of light forced Freya to open her eyes. Opening her mouth, she tried to scream but nothing came out. She found herself paralyzed in silence. She lifted her eyes to the highlander’s face. She blinked slowly as he paused looking at her as she looked at him.

The man stood towering over her, his long brown hair cascading over his shoulders and his beard cut close to his face. Freya took a slow breath in as she watched him lean down. He grasped her arm and tugged her so hard that she came tumbling from the cupboard.

“Where is your money?” He said gruffly. Freya shook her head in silence. “I said, where is your money? Your coin?” Freya shook her head again.

“I have none.” His nostrils billowed as he stared down at her. Instinctively Freya lowered her eyes, catching sight of his dark skin under the hem of his kilt.

“Lies!” The highlander pulled at her arm, forcing Freya to get to her feet.

“I have none…” she repeated, “my…my husband…he has all we have.” The man stared in to Freya’s dark blue eyes and paused, his free hand wrapping around the handle of his sword. “Please…” Freya’s voice was trembling as she begged the man for her life.

“You will come with me.” He pulled at her arm. Freya shook her head.

“No, no please! Please don’t take me! Please, I have nothing of worth!” She had heard the stories of highlanders looting and pillaging, but the ones that scared her most were the stories of rape. “Please don’t…” Before she could finish her sentence, the highlander reached down and grabbed Freya around the calves. Throwing her over his shoulder he marched through the bedroom door.

It was the bobbing up and down that finally brought Freya back to consciousness. She had fainted no sooner than the highlander had thrown her over his shoulder. Now she found herself staring at the back of his kilt as he walked steadily over grassy terrain. Freya had no idea where they were going or what her fate might be. She listened for the sound of others. The sound of feet marching through the damp morning grass was all she heard. She wondered if she was the only one to be taken captive in the raid. As she contemplated whether or not she should scream, the highlander came to a stop and carefully he lowered Freya down to the grass.

“Ye can stop pretending, I know you are awake.” He stared down at her as he reached for his flask and unscrewed the top before offering it to Freya. She turned her head from him in defiance. “Drink or you’ll die of thirst!” He shoved the flask towards her again, and again Freya refused.

“If I am going to die, I would rather die from thirst!” She didn’t know where the courage to speak up had come from, but no sooner had she said it than she wished she hadn’t. She prepared herself for his sword. The highlander paused for a moment before bursting into laughter and pushing the flask at her again.

“Drink, woman. You won’t be dying today.” Freya could see that this wasn’t a battle to be won and reluctantly she grabbed the flask and drank from it. “That’s right, take all you need.” Freya guzzled from the flask hungrily before handing it back to the highlander, half empty. He took it.

“Are you going to rape me?” Freya asked, her voice trembling as she contemplated the possible answer. The highlander frowned.

“I have women offer themselves to me freely, why should I want one who does not?” He took a drink from his flask before tucking it back in its holder. Freya shrugged.

“Then why take me at all? If you aren’t going to kill me nor rape me…what use am I to you?” He seemed to think about this before gesturing for her to get up.

“Come, we must keep moving.” He looked her over as she stood in her bed smock. “Ye are fit enough to walk on your own.” Freya didn’t want to walk on her own; she didn’t want to walk at all. After all why should she make it easier for her captor to kidnap her?

“I won’t.” She flinched again as an unusual defiance slipped from her lips. The highlander sighed.

“Walk.” He said. Freya shook her head. With another loud sigh the highlander reached down and once again threw her over his shoulder. “Then we do it the hard way.”

The journey to wherever they were going was a long one and Freya couldn’t help but marvel at the highlander’s strength. With the exception of a few small breaks, it was only when the sun began to slide down the horizon that he finally put her down for good. Freya stared at him stubbornly.

“You will stay with me until morning.” The highlander nodded towards a small house with a roof topped with thatch. Freya turned around and looked at it for herself. It didn’t look like the type of place in which someone like this should stay. She almost didn’t want to ask as she turned back around to face him.

“What happens in the morning?” The highlander began walking towards the door of the house and gestured for Freya to follow. Anxious for an answer to her question, she did as he asked. “I said, what happens in the morning?” The highlander opened the door to the house and gently pushed Freya inside.

“In the morning you will be sold to the highest bidder.” He slammed the door shut.