Page 1 of Highland Vows of Betrayal

PROLOGUE

Carrick, Highlands, 1741

The wind blew tirelessly along Loch Goil, causing the water to roil. The man beside him shivered as well and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, pressing against the wool to keep warm.

Tonight was strange, not only because of the task he'd been assigned, but there was something in the air too. Many of the superstitions his mother had told him about were at work tonight, he knew. There was a new moon in the sky, indicating impending doom. The persistent cold in the summer was also dangerous. His mother once said that such weather predicted a harsh winter and dark times.

“Aye, something is ill at work tonight,” he muttered, looking from the water to the surrounding woods. The forest was black, the trees sucking out whatever light there was. If the person he was to meet didn’t come soon, he would abandon the task.

“Little good will come from tonight. I am sure of it,” he muttered again, hoping danger didn’t lurk nearby.

A twig snapped under footfall, and he turned, peering into the darkness. But nothing moved which reminded him of another tale.

When sounds occur without movement, a ghost or a witch is at work.

He brought his cloak tighter once more and paced, breaking twigs under his own heavy boots. Soon, someone else’s footsteps neared, and he stopped, squinting to see through the thick shadows.

At last, a hooded figure appeared, their features masked entirely, holding something tightly.

“Who goes there?” he called, praying no ghost walked toward him.

“The person ye have come tae meet,” she answered, her voice soft and lyrical in the night. It was such a contrast to what he expected that he angled his head to gain a better glimpse.

She walked through the trees before stopping at the loch, mere inches from the water’s edge, when she turned to face him, lifting her head. She didn’t drop the hood, but she was close enough him to see something of her.

Two large blue eyes stared at him, unblinking. Her features were bold and distinctive. Her lips were pressed together, and her cheeks were flushed, suggesting she had hurried to meet him.

“Ye ken what I have come tae ask of ye?” she asked, stepping forward once more.

“The message I was given, it was…” he trailed off, his eyes darting down to what she carried. When he first heard about a woman who wanted to give her child to another, he couldn't believe it. He now realized she was carrying two babies in her arms. They were just bairns, only a few days old at most, possibly less. “Ye wish tae be free of one of yer children, ma’am?”

“Tae hear the words spoken in such a way,” she paused and closed her eyes. Only when she opened them again did he see traces of tears. “’Tisnae what my heart wishes tae do, but my head kens ’tis the wisest thing. Aye, ‘tis what must be done, even though I daenae wish it.”

“Ye speak in riddles, ma’am.” The man shifted his weight nervously. This was his task in life, doing odd jobs that were asked of him and finding solutions for the awful predicaments of others. But this particular job pulled at his heart, flooding him with guilt. He couldn’t understand why a mother sought to be free of her child.

“Here, ye must take her.” The woman stepped forward, turning to reveal the faces of her babies. She passed one into his arms.

The bairn shifted and opened her eyes, revealing the same blue eyes as her mother. She was a sweet baby, a lovely one; certainly not one to be passed to a stranger in the night in the middle of Carrick Forest.

Hesitating, the man looked at the woman before him. “I hope ye ken what yer doing, ma’am.”

“As do I.” When the second baby stirred in her arms, she shifted her hold on the bairn and bent down, kissing its forehead. As moonlight fell on the wee bairn, the man froze, his eyes darting between the two babes.

“Nay, ‘tisnae possible,” he muttered, astonished. He grew numb with fear, so strong that he nearly passed the baby immediately back to the woman. They were identical, possessing the same exact eyes, the same noses, even the same shocks of auburn hair on their heads. In every way they were mirror images of one another.

“What is wrong?” the woman asked, noting that he proffered the child forward.

“If ye think I will have anything to do with a witch’s child, yer wrong,” he chided. “Take yer child back.”

“Nay! Do ye nae see? This is why ye must help me.” She stepped back, showing no intention of returning the child. “The world thinks as ye do, dinnae they? They will see two identical bairns and condemn both mysel and the child, even though we are innocent.”

His grasp on the child went limp. It was common knowledge that only a witch could produce identical children. The last woman to do such a thing in his village had been thrown in a dungeon. He couldn’t remember what became of her children, but he was sure it was nothing good.

“Please,” the woman whispered desperately. “I am nae witch, yet they will brand me as such; they could kill my daughters.” The look of abject fear on her face made him tighten his arms around the bairn again. When she wriggled in his grasp, he looked down as she smiled in her sleep, a healthy pink blush on her cheeks. The bairn hardly seemed like the spawn of the devil. She was a sweet thing, born innocently into a sordid world.

“If yer conscience fears taking her, then perhaps this will help ye.” The woman reached into her cloak and pulled out a leather purse that jingled audibly, leaving no doubt as to its contents.

“How much?” he asked. She passed him the leather purse to see for himself. So many silver and gold coins glimmered in the bag that he stilled. Those coins could solve many of his problems. All he had to do was take the wee lassie. “What do ye wish for me tae do with her?”