A Promise in Midwinter Read online

  A Promise in Midwinter

  By: Alyssa Stark

  At the tender age of three, there were only two things expected of Campbell sons.

  One was the ability to wield a dagger.

  And the second was to have fostered a deep and complete hatred of the MacFarlands.

  ..oo Chapter One oo..

  “Come closer, Daughter. The walls of this canvas tent are thin,” Lady Olivia Campbell whispered through parched, bloodied lips. Speech was difficult for her now. Lady Olivia swallowed hard and began again, “And if he hears my secret we shall both soon be dead.”

  Lady Olivia’s breathing was ragged from the effort of speaking.

  Her breath came in shallow, raspy gulps. They were the labored last breaths of a dying woman.

  “Shh, Mama,” Elizabeth soothed in a hushed voice. She took her mother’s hand and kissed the pale bony knuckles before lowering her ear to her mother’s chapped lips. The disease had overtaken Lady Campbell with remarkable speed, withering her lithe body into a weakened shell in only a matter of days. The tell-tale fever had come first, sending Elizabeth to her knees to beg the Lord’s mercy for her mother’s life.

  Elizabeth knew what would happen next.

  She was no innocent.

  She had seen far too many of her step-father’s soldiers die from the same condition.

  First came the fever and then the bloody flux.

  No one survived the bloody flux.

  “What is it Mama?” Elizabeth asked as she leaned closer to her mother.

  Olivia Campbell pursed her lips together and closed her eyes briefly. Her pain was unbearable, but no pain was worse than admitting the truth to her beloved daughter. She had lived her life as a coward, always denying the truth that beat with every pulse of her heart.

  “Your father lives,” Olivia whispered sternly to her daughter, being ever so careful to safe guard her words. “Listen to me carefully, child. John can know nothing of this. If he discovers my secret, your very life will be in danger!” Olivia’s blue eyes pierced Elizabeth’s, imploring her daughter to understand the full implication of her words.

  Elizabeth shook her head in blatant denial.

  “This is madness, Mama!” she said in wild disbelief. “My father died before I was born. You always told me that-

  “I lied to you, daughter!” Olivia said, shame weighing on her fragile voice. “I lied to protect you.”

  “But how could you-

  “Elizabeth, please listen! We have but precious little time. You must listen!” Olivia scolded as she squeezed her daughter’s hand.

  Elizabeth nodded once and forced her questions to wait.

  “I’ve sent word to him, to your father,” Olivia said as her eyes searched Elizabeth’s face for understanding. “He thought that you were dead. He thought that we were both dead,” Olivia admitted as tears welled in her eyes.

  “But why-

  “I loved him, Beth,” Olivia confessed as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Your father and I were handfasted. You were conceived in love and he would have wanted you had he known of you,” she said, her voice breaking off into a sob as she spoke of the heartbreak that she had repressed for so long. “He would have loved you so much, just as I have done, sweet child,” Olivia said as she raised a shaky hand to brush her daughter’s cheek.

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip, a habit that betrayed her effort to hide her emotions.

  “Your father is a MacFarland,” Olivia whispered, revealing the dire nature of her deadly secret. “John believes that your father raped me and that you were a product of that coupling, but it was all a lie,” Olivia said as she cried freely now, revealing her sins to her daughter. “I was betrothed to John Campbell before I met your father. We met by chance in a battle camp just like this one,” she said as her eyes flitted up to the ceiling of the canvas field tent. “I loved him from the first moment that we met. The brief time that I spent with the McFarlands was the happiest time of my life.”

  The flap of the tent was suddenly cast open, causing both women to jump visibly.

  “I can tell you no more, Daughter,” Olivia whispered hurriedly. “Tell no one of what I have said, but know that I have sent word to him. He will come for you,” Olivia said with a forlorn look as she squeezed her daughter’s hand reassuringly.

  There were so many things that Olivia had wanted to say to Elizabeth. There were so many words that would go unspoken between them now. Olivia’s eyes held her daughter’s gaze, telling her without words the burden that her silence had rift upon her heart.

  “Come,” John Campbell barked at Elizabeth. His presence loomed in the entrance to the canvas tent.

  Elizabeth’s step-father was a commanding man. His broad shoulders filled the entrance to the tent. He stood with his arms crossed and gave not a hint of care towards his wife Olivia. John Campbell ruled his clan with an iron fist. Not even the impending death of his wife could take his mind away from the aftermath of the battle.

  Campbell was growing impatient.

  Elizabeth knew better than to hesitate.

  She had paid the lofty price of disobeying John Campbell’s orders on more than one occasion.

  Elizabeth stood and placed a gentle kiss atop her mother’s knuckles. Olivia squeezed her daughter’s hand in response, the effort causing her fragile hand to tremble. Elizabeth bent down and kissed her mother’s cheek. She shuddered at the sound of the raspy breathing that emanated from Olivia Campbell’s chest. She knew that her mother was not long for this world.

  “I love you, Mama,” she whispered as she brushed the auburn hair back from Olivia’s face. Reaching up to wipe the unshed tears from her eyes, Elizabeth brushed off her skirts and moved towards the canvas door.

  “And I you, Daughter,” Olivia said as she fought to restrain the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

  Elizabeth turned without looking back and followed John Campbell into the gray twilight. She knew that this was the last time she would see her dear mother alive. She clenched her teeth and prayed for strength.

  Her mother’s secret was a talisman of hope burning deep in the pit of her belly.

  She dare not let John know of her precious secret or the hope that kindled with it.

  ..ooOOoo..

  “His life is worth more to me than yours,” John Campbell spoke harshly as he regarded the warrior that lie tethered to the base of the massive oak tree. “Do not allow him to die,” he commanded as he glowered at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth looked down at the MacFarland warrior. A lump settled in her throat as she contemplated the enormous task that her step-father had charged her with. The man was slumped against the base of the tree, crusted with so much blood that she could not readily identify the nature of his wounds. His hair was plastered to his face, partially concealing a myriad of scrapes, bruises and cuts. There was a large gash spanning from his muscular neck across his pectoral muscle which was still seeping a steady stream of blood. His head was split open above his temple, the wound crusted with dirt and debris.

  John Campbell was expecting the impossible.

  He was asking for Elizabeth to perform a miracle.

  The MacFarland warrior appeared to barely cling to life and Elizabeth was charged with the daunting task of bringing him back from the abyss of death.

  “He’s their Laird’s son. Lachlan MacFarland,” Campbell said, his gruff voice snapping Elizabeth back to reality. “When your mother is gone, I’ll expect that you earn your keep,” he said coldly as he motioned towards the warrior and arched a bushy eyebrow at Elizabeth. “Let him die and you will be punished.”

  Elizabeth nodded vacantly and knelt in front of the warrior. Her lips set into a hard line of determinat
ion as she contemplated where to begin.

  The MacFarland was very close to death. Elizabeth feared that her rudimentary healing techniques would do little to stave off the inevitability of his impending death. Tendrils of fear spread like fire through her veins.

  Elizabeth had been punished by her step-father before. She closed her eyes momentarily and pushed the sickening memories from her mind.

  Her mother had taught her well how to avoid John Campbell’s spiteful wrath.

  Do as he bids you.

  Keep your head down and do as he bids.

  Swallowing hard, Elizabeth squared her shoulders and prepared for battle. She would not let this man die. She could not let this man die, for her future and his were now intertwined in a most precarious manner.

  ..oo Chapter Two oo..

  Death yielded a pleasant surprise for Lachlan MacFarland. He had expected the fiery throes of Hell but never in his wildest dreams had he expected to end up in Heaven.

  And Heaven was even better than he had hoped that it would be.

  Lachlan’s gray eyes fluttered open and focused upon the pert breasts that bobbed alluringly before his face. Music filled his ears, sweet and melodic. The young woman was humming as she attended to him. Lachlan’s eyes strained to focus. He watched her breasts swelling above the neckline of her gown, rising and falling above the homespun fabric with each breath that she took.

  Lachlan felt warm all over, too warm. His eyes drifted up to her face.

  How in the Hell had he made it to Heaven?

  She had alabaster skin and long, flowing auburn hair. Her eyes were the same shade of green that colored the fields in spring-time. That distinct shade of new life coupled with the promise of sunshine.

  She was an angel for sure.

  Unable to resist further temptation, Lachlan reached up and cupped her full breast through the fabric of her gown. His thumb brushed across the bead of her nipple, eliciting a surprised gasp from the young woman.

  Elizabeth Campbell saw red when the MacFarland’s hand touched her. Suffering the indignity of nursing the enemy warrior back from the brink of death had been torture enough, but his unexpected trespass pushed her over the edge.

  Enough was enough.

  “How dare you touch me!” she exclaimed as she swatted his hand away.

  Lachlan’s eyebrow arched in surprise and he jerked his arm up experimentally, having just discovered that his wrist was tethered to the base of a large oak tree. His mind was spinning, fighting the magnetic pull of unconsciousness, trying to grasp where he was and what was happening.

  He reached out towards his angel, fumbling at her with muscles that were clumsy and refused to cooperate.

  “Try that again and I’ll kick you in the stones you villain!” Elizabeth warned as she dodged the warrior’s grasp.

  Lachlan fought the urge to smile.

  He had not expected God to have such a sense of humor. Never would he have imagined that the angels in Heaven would curse like sailors.

  He might learn to like this place after all.

  Elizabeth straightened her spine and moved just beyond the massive warrior’s reach in case he had a second fit of impulsive behavior. His steely gray eyes struggled to focus on her face and she watched him now intently. Her hand went protectively to the neckline of her gown, recoiling from his unexpected, overly warm touch. She studied his face, admitting to herself that if Lachlan MacFarland had not been born a MacFarland she might have found him quite attractive.

  His jaw line was angular and dusted with several days’ growth of stubble, lending him a rugged appeal. His gray eyes were expressive despite his current state of delusion and set on either side of a straight nose. Beneath the layer of battle grime, his bare chest was sinewy and rippled with muscle from hours spent practicing the art of sword fighting.

  Lachlan MacFarland was indeed a handsome man.

  His gray eyes rolled back and fluttered closed as he succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness. His head lolled forward and his chin came to rest on his chest. Beneath his mop of unbound hair, Elizabeth noticed that the corner of his full mouth twisted up into the hint of a smile, lending him a boyish quality despite the fact that he was a ferocious warrior.

  Elizabeth sighed in relief and allowed her spine to relax. Her hand fell from its protective stance above her breasts and came to rest on the pillows of her skirts. Her heart beat was erratic and put up a moments resistance as it slowed to a more normal rhythm. The tell-tale thudding in Elizabeth’s ear was the only remainder of what had just happened.

  Never had a man touched her so intimately.

  Never had any man dared to touch her under John Campbell’s careful watch.

  Lachlan MacFarland, Clan Campbell’s most fearsome enemy and recently acquired prisoner of war had just touched her in a most inappropriate manner. Despite the initial shock of the encounter, Elizabeth realized that she was not as off put by his advances as she should be.

  Elizabeth had a sudden, startling realization which cast a new light upon her patient. The MacFarland might be her one and only chance at salvation. Her mother had divulged that her true father was a MacFarland. Elizabeth would do anything to be free of John Campbell, even if it meant fleeing into the care of the barbaric MacFarland clan.

  Her mother had revealed that she had loved a MacFarland once, long ago.

  Lady Olivia Campbell’s revelation garnered hope in Elizabeth’s heart.

  Perhaps not all MacFarlands were savage monsters. If her mother had loved one of them, all of the tales of MacFarland savagery could not be true.

  Elizabeth’s green eyes studied the wounded warrior.

  Lachlan MacFarland could be her only chance to escape.

  ..oo Chapter Three oo..

  The smell of horse shit filled Lachlan’s nostrils. His eyes flickered open and struggled to focus upon the billowy white clouds that filled the mid-day sky. The air was brisk and filled with the scent of falling leaves. Lachlan was cold. His muscles trembled from the chill in the late autumn air.

  He tried to bring his hand up to rub his face, but quickly discovered that both of his hands were tethered to the pallet on which he lay. Being restrained in such a manner sent a sudden wave of panic through his body and his muscles tensed, rebelling against their leather restraints.

  Discovering that such a struggle was futile, Lachlan relaxed reluctantly. His gray eyes strained to focus and his mind spun wildly in an effort to decipher his surroundings.

  He had been taken prisoner.

  Lachlan remembered now.

  Had he not leapt in front of the boy, John Campbell would have killed young Archie MacFarland.

  Archie was only twelve.

  Lachlan remembered coming to the boy’s rescue. He had been overtaken by a swarm of Campbell warriors.

  He had fought them off valiantly. But the Campbells had refused to give him an honorable death on the battle field.

  John Campbell had wanted him alive.

  He tilted his head back and looked up. His eyes met the round, muscular rump of a dapple mare, ambling back and forth with the rhythm of her lazy gait. Hence the smell of horse shit, he thought to himself.

  At least he was not going crazy.

  Leaning forward slightly, Lachlan clenched his teeth as a ripple of pain washed over him. His gray eyes glanced around quickly, taking in the scene about him. A long line of Campbell warriors, some on horse and some on foot stretched out behind him. The sickening feeling in his gut coupled with the thick leather restraints binding his wrists led him to know that he was a prisoner of war.

  He cursed himself for being weak. How could he have allowed the Campbell bastards to capture him alive?

  The intense throbbing in his skull made it difficult to think. Lachlan knew that he was badly injured. His body shook painfully with the rhythm of the horse that pulled his pallet, sending pain surging down his right arm. Lachlan mustered the strength to raise his head from the pallet again, a small motion which sappe
d what little strength he had. A length of cloth obscured his view of the wound that he knew must span across his chest. He let out his breath and allowed his body to slump back against the pallet, grimacing as the clumsy movement sent further pain coursing through his body.

  Some of his ribs were broken.

  He closed his eyes.

  The rudimentary linen bandage was a tell-tale indicator that the Campbells wanted him alive. Someone had taken great care to tend his wounds. Dread settled in Lachlan’s stomach and he fought the urge to vomit. If the Campbells wanted him alive, they had a reason. A clean, honorable death would have been so much better. Lachlan would never betray his father or his clan, and if the Campbells meant to torture him, his road to death would be a long and excruciatingly painful one.

  Lachlan would never give the Campbells what they wanted.

  ..ooOOoo..

  “Touch me again and I’ll cut off your ballocks,” Elizabeth warned as she tucked an errant auburn curl behind her ear and leaned over the MacFarland warrior. Upon arrival at the keep, Campbell’s guards had seen to bringing the wounded man up the stairs and had deposited him in a bed in a vacant chamber at the end of the corridor.

  Elizabeth could tell that the captive was now conscious and only pretending to be asleep.

  One steely gray eye flew open and the merest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Lachlan’s lip.

  “Forgive me, milady,” Lachlan said as he felt color flush his face.

  Elizabeth glowered down at him, her eyebrows scrunched together with distrust.

  The MacFarland chuckled, catching Elizabeth off guard and she jerked back, distancing herself from him.

  “I have a vague memory of waking up and realizing that I was dead,” he laughed softly at the preposterous nature of his errant memory. “I thought that you were an angel,” he admitted as his eyes locked momentarily with hers. The Campbell girl was breathtakingly beautiful. “And then I realized the error of my judgment when you opened your mouth and such nasty, unladylike words fell from your lips. I knew then that you were no angel!”