Page 3 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

It was not as if she had a new position lined up when she reached her destination, just a vague hope that somehow, she would make something of herself.

Now it was her own conceit that made Teasag’s cheeks fizzle and burn as doubts assailed her.

What if she could not? What would she do then? She could not stay with her brother Lorcal forever. Why on earth had she left everything she knew in the world for this?

Teasag downed the ale faster than she would have liked, her throat as dry as sawdust. The cold beer soothed her a little, but not enough to banish her cough.

As she drank, savoring the cold taste of the beer, she felt the uncomfortable sensation of eyes upon her. Trying her best to ignore the stares, Teasag looked toward the front of the bar. She was just thinking about ordering some food when a second coughing fit overtook her.

The men grouped around her, but Teasag didn’t notice them.

Coughing louder, she was suddenly struck on the back by a hard thump. Alarmed, the girl spun around so fast she nearly cricked her neck. As she did, she felt the world spin with her.

Steadying herself, Teasag tried to stop the room from rotating. It was hot, her throat was parched, and she was beginning to feel nauseous.

“Och lassie!” chuckled an obese farmer with a bushy beard. He pressed his face to hers, tickling her with his ridiculous bristles. “Barman, get this lassie a whisky chaser; she’s drier than a nun’s gusset!”

“Get off me!” Teasag barked as bawdy laughter reverberated all around her. She pushed back at the man, hard, but it only made him more determined.

The more she tried to struggle, the more he tried to “help” her, and she was stuck fast in his disgusting arms.

“I’m just helping wind ye lassie,” said the man, his cheeks flushed with drink. He was almost completely beard, a thick, amorphous mass that looked and smelt like the animals he farmed. “A good slap an’ ye’ll be right!”

“Take yer hands off me!” she yelled, trying her hardest to hit him with her travel bag. The Bannock cakes cook had given her had lost their freshness but were still not tough enough to fend off an amorous farmer.

“No!” yelped Teasag, as the man’s sweaty hand grabbed her behind. “Get yer clarty hands off of me this instant! Landlord!” she cried, pushing back at the man and attempting to punch him. Her eyes scanned the room furiously for the bartender or the landlord, but she did not see them.

Panicking, Teasag changed tack.

“Will ye let me pass, please, sir,” she asked plainly. Inside, her heart was boiling, and she was ready to erupt and spit in the man’s eye. But she was outnumbered. Hoping to appeal to his better nature, she dropped her eyes and began to sidle free of his grasp.

With her heart pumping and the man blocking her in, Teasag suddenly felt hot. Her chest was getting tight, and she was finding it hard to breathe. Vaguely, she was aware of the noise around her; men pushing and shouting, spilling pints, and the shrill sound of breaking glass. Teasag couldn’t see what was going on but knew that all hell was breaking loose.

The bearded man pressed his hand into her bosom.

“So, then, young maid, what say ye get friendly wi’ me an’ my friends?” he asked, stroking her face. There could be no doubt of what he meant.

Inside, Teasag’s heart beat so hard that she thought it about to take off. Not only was she feeling clammy, but she was now beginning to feel faint. The noise and heat in the room were overwhelming. All she wanted to do was sit down and get away from this man.

Terrified, she struggled as hard as she could. The last thing she remembered was his hand covering her face as she screamed.

Then everything faded to black.

CHAPTER TWO

“G et yer dirty hands off her!”

The young man burst across the crowded tavern and pushed the farmer out of the way. The farmer bristled behind his large beard; clearly, he was not letting go without a fight.

The girl was still pressed up against the wall, the terror showing in the whites of her eyes. That was when the young man could watch no longer. He had to do something to stop this.

Coming into the tavern had been a last-minute decision. In truth, he hadn’t wanted to stop on his journey to Blackness. But he had little choice. The men pursuing him were not letting up. They had been hot on his heels since leaving the village that morning. On reaching the White Hart Tavern, the lad had hurled himself into its dubious protection without a second thought.

Since then, he’d found himself drawn into things he’d not been expecting.

The lass had enchanted him from first glimpse, getting out of the ramshackle milk cart on the street corner, some half-hour back. And now he was helpless to resist coming to her aid.

Outside, rain lashed the windows with a fervor that only seemed to add to the charged atmosphere - where an enraged sheep farmer glared up at him.