Page 7 of The Highlander's Dangerous Bride

Morag nodded and handed Thorsten back to his mother. “I’ve had them prepare a horse fer ye, with enough provisions tae last ye a few days. There’s a bedroll and some blankets too, tae keep ye warm at night.” Morag easily hoisted the bags onto her shoulder.

“Thank ye,” Raven replied, cuddling Thorsten close as they finally left the room.

On quiet feet, they sped along the dimly-lit hallways and corridors of the sprawling house. Raven silently bid a last goodbye to the strange mixture of luxury and shabbiness she had become used to. The cries and grunts of business being transacted echoed from several of the rooms as they passed. While they walked, they continued their conversation in a whisper.

“Why d’ye nae just tell Arne about the men chasin’ ye? He could protect ye, could he nae? His braither is the laird hereabouts, the fabled Viking Lord,” Morag said as they hurried down the staircase to the lower levels.

“Aye, he would, but that’s exactly why I dinnae want tae tell him,” Raven explained, her fear and sorrow once more threatening to overwhelm her as she considered it for the hundredth time. “If I told Arne about all this, I ken he’d dae his best tae protect me me and Thorsten. But the man from me past who seeks me is very powerful and brutal. Tae cross him could cost Arne his life, and Thorsten’s as well. ’Tis safer fer them both if Arne daesnae ken the truth.”

“Aye, I suppose, if ye think ‘tis fer the best, lass,” Morag reluctantly agreed.

Eventually, they emerged from a rear door into a scrubby courtyard. There, with a feeling of tense relief, Raven saw a horse, already saddled, waiting for them. The actual physical evidence of their enforced flight brought more tears, but she would not let herself falter in her resolve and dashed them aside with the back of her hand.

“Ach, why is this so hard tae dae when I ken this is the best thing fer the baby and fer Arne?” she murmured as she handed the baby to Morag to hold while she mounted the horse. “I just have tae keep tellin’ mesel’ that they’ll both be so much better off without me in their lives.”

Morag handed the baby up to her, and Raven secured him to her chest with her shawl. Then she looked down at Morag and held out her hand. Morag took it, her hard brown eyes softening with tears as they squeezed each other’s fingers and shared a final affectionate look.

“Thank ye fer everythin’, Morag, and thank the girls fer me and say goodbye fer the both of us. Ye’ve given me a safe haven when I needed it most, and I’ll always be grateful tae ye.” She withdrew her hand from the madam’s and pulled some money from her pocket and held it out. “Here, take this, please. ’Tis little fer all ye’ve done fer me.”

Morag looked aghast for a moment and then shook her head vigorously and pushed Raven’s hand away. “Nay, lass, nay, I dinnae want it, and ye’ll need every penny of that fer yerselves. Put it back in yer pocket and keep it, hinny.”

Raven obeyed reluctantly, feeling she had taken so much more than she had given.

“Where are ye headin’?” the old woman asked.

“Well, first I must make sure that Thorsten is safe. After that, I have nay clue,” Raven replied. She gathered the reins, and the horse moved restlessly beneath her, as if eager to go.

“Goodbye, Morag. Take care of yersel’,” she said as she guided the horse from the courtyard, in the direction of the castle.

“Goodbye, and ye take care of yersel’, Maeve,” Morag called softly after her, waving her hand in farewell as tears began to fall from her eyes.

Raven turned slightly in the saddle and smiled warmly at the old madam through her tears. “Ye might as well use me real name now, Morag,” she said.

Morag gave a little hiccough of emotion, smiled back, and said, “Goodbye, Raven.”

The ride to Castle MacLeod through the darkness was under two miles from the village, and Raven knew the way by heart. The gathering of huge buildings that made up the castle loomed out of the dark against the sky like a colossus. The sight of it was both heartbreaking and comforting. She would be leaving little Thorsten there with his father, which was the heartbreaking part. The fact he would grow up safe and protected, part of the MacLeod clan, gave her a small modicum of cold comfort which enabled her to do what she knew she must.

All was quiet when she halted the horse a few hundred yards from the castle gates and carefully dismounted, trying not to wake Thorsten as she slid from the saddle. If he began crying, she might be discovered, and that was the last thing she wanted. Holding the baby to her chest, she untied the bag of his clothes from the saddle bag and took it with her as she crept silently to the gates themselves.

Forcing herself to go through the necessary motions, she propped the bag against the bottom of one of the mighty stone towers, then she reached inside her shawl and drew out a sealed letter. This she kissed and wedged atop of the clothes in the bag, making sure it would not blow away. She wondered how Arne would react when he saw his name inscribed on the front in her looping handwriting. He would know at once that it was from her.

“Oh, Lord help me tae dae this,” she murmured, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her resolve as she cuddled little Thorsten, peppering his head with gentle kisses, breathing in the lovely smell of him one last time. “Ye’ll be safe here, me darlin’. I dinnae want tae leave ye, but I have nae choice. Yer maither loves ye with all her heart, sweet lad, just ye remember that. Ye’re better off without me.”

With her vison blurred by fresh tears, she tidied the baby’s wrappings so he would not get cold and carefully laid him next to the bag with the letter. People would soon be about, and she was certain he would be found quickly. Not that she would leave without making sure he was safe first. “Goodbye, me wee angel. Forgive me fer leavin’ ye.”

With huge effort, she turned and made her way back to the horse hidden behind the trees, stifling her sobs lest she be heard. She waited there until a farmer arrived at the gates with a wagonload of vegetables. He could not help but notice the little bundle and the bag she had left there. She watched with bated breath and tears dimming her vision as the man climbed down from his seat and went to see what it was. He visibly started when he realized it was a baby and cast about him hurriedly, clearly looking for whoever had left a baby there. But of course, he could not see her hiding in the trees.

He bent over and tenderly picked the little bundle up, cradling it in his arms as an experienced father would do. A sob tore from Raven’s throat as the man held the baby beneath one arm with practiced ease and hammered on the gate with his other fist. A guard popped his head out from above and, seeing the wagon below, gave the signal to open the gates.

With a loud shrieking and clanking of chains, the mechanism concealed inside the twin towers ground into action. The enormous oaken gates slowly creaked open, and two guards came out. Raven sobbed harder, her hand over her mouth to stifle the giveaway sound of her distress as she observed the farmer showing the guards the bundle in his arms.

One of the guards stepped out and performed a cursory search of the area near the gates, clearly looking for whoever had left the child there, but in vain. The other engaged in a brief conversation with the farmer. During it, the guard picked up the bag she had left containing Thorsten’s clothes—and the letter addressed to his father.

A decision was made, and the farmer handed the baby over to the guard, who carried Thorsten and the bag with the letter inside the gates. The farmer got back up on his wagon and drove it through the gates into the castle courtyard. The second guard followed, casting another look about the area before he went in. Then, the grinding, metallic din of the chains began again.

As the gates closed, and her little son disappeared from her life for good, the storm of emotions Raven had held back for so long broke free. She doubled up with pain and guilt, holding her belly as great sobs wracked her slight body and hot tears ran down her cheeks, blinding her.

Arne will never forgive me fer this. And probably Thorsten willnae either. But ’tis better that they should hate me, fer it means they’ll be alive.

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