Page 8 of Betrayed by His Highland Wife

He looked at her with pride. A sick dread started in Nora's heart. Even though he meant that as a compliment, the memory of their ambush was still a little too close for comfort.

It had been years ago, in the no-man's-land around their clan. Out of nowhere, brigands had appeared, attacking them. Her father killed three single-handedly but struggled with the fourth.

The scene that flashed before her eyes still haunted her.

He had a knife and pulled it in front of their faces. But his eyes were glazed and strange, as if he did not see her. It was likely he did not suspect that she could be a danger, a wee lass like that. His eyes were on her father and the guards behind them. Taking the only chance she would get, Nora grabbed her father's sgian dubh and sliced the man's neck…

Nora shook as her father's voice roused her.

"Nora?" he said, looking at her gravely.

Nora sat up. She had been in a dream, and not a pleasant one. Meekly, she nodded, trying to get her breath back. Her heart always jolted when she saw these scenes. And since that day, it was hard to stop them from forming. The screaming and the blood were all things she wished to forget. But she could not. Worse still, she was being asked to do it again.

Nora tried to beat down the panic in her heart. But it was hard. Swallowing deep, she turned to her father.

"Fear nae, Father. I shall wash clear everything they have done to us an' avenge the death o' poor mother!"

Nora's voice scaled with emotion, carrying on the wind. Having fully dismounted, her father fetched their things from their bags.

"Aye, lass. I ken ye will, an' ye shall avenge her good. I will watch as ye practice yer stances," he said, indicating Nora to take the sword. Then, as she began to show him her moves, he nodded and said, "Vera good! No man has a chance," he added, before looking at the sky and conceding. "An', aye, perhaps ye are right, an' we should make camp for the night."

Nora smiled, putting down her sword, as her father set about constructing the tent. It took some time. Normally, there would be a servant for that kind of thing, but this time, they were alone. She waited patiently as her father unfurled the stack of posts and material. In fact, she could have assembled it quicker but knew better than to try and correct her father's handiwork.

When the makeshift tent was finally done, and her father had gotten a small fire burning, she warmed the broth they had brought and looked at him thoughtfully.

"Tell me about that night, Father," she said quietly, as they sat by the fireside.

It was bone-cold outside, and the pair of them were snuggled under a blanket by the fire. Soon, they would be turning in. Normally, her father did not like talking or interruptions when he ate. But this time Nora took a chance.

His eyes glanced up. For a second, she wondered if she had made a mistake. Then he sighed.

"Och, there isnae much to tell," he said morosely. There was silence as he chewed a little thoughtfully. Then he said, "It was the night o' the raid on the Douglas castle."

Nora looked up expectantly. A strange jolt inside reminded her that it still hurt. All this time later, and her mother's death still affected her. A tear welled up inside.

"Go on," she said, as her father had stopped. Then she grew fearful. What if he was given to one of his volatile changes of emotion?

Catching his eye in the silvery light, Nora saw his sadness. It was not often her father spoke of her mother. Or anything much about those days.

"We were under siege," he said tersely, between lips which barely moved. "An' had been for days. We finally had what, we thought, was a ceasefire. The Duncan soldiers claimed to let us oot. We started sending oot oor women, an' bairns, an' to begin wi', all was well..."

Even in the pale light of the night, his eyes were misted with tears. Nora tensed. She had never seen her father like this. Angry, yes, but never sad.

"Then, wi'out warning, men were everywhere, storming the sides o' the walls, charging in, running wi' horses. There was a right collieshangie." Her father's voice faded a little as he relived the memory of that terrible day.

Nora could not help coming closer to him. Her heart pounding, she touched his arm. Her father turned to her.

"Ye were naught but a bairn, but ye were sleeping. Still safe back in the castle walls. But yer mother, she was oot, an' before I could find her, was in the thick o' the fray."

His voice filled with emotion, the laird continued in a low, rasping tone.

"I was too late. They found her first, an' slayed her. The beasts!"

A cold ring crushed Nora around the heart. And when she looked, her father was shaking. Perhaps it was the cold, but his eyes were staring and mysterious.

"Father," murmured Nora, a hot tear running down her cheek.

Her father shook his head abruptly, as if pulling himself out of his own reverie.