Highlander’s Broken Love by Fiona Faris

Prologue

Scottish Highlands, 1687

Magnus cursed under his breath as the deer disappeared from view into the dark depths of the woods.

It was no use, he realized, sighing in frustration. There was no point in trying to hunt anymore; the deer would all be hiding undercover to shelter from the wind, which was now beginning to howl through the trees. He glanced at the sky above, seeing the dark clouds gathering overhead.

He knew that it made sense to get back to his uncle’s castle as quickly as possible before the rain started, but his heart protested at the recognition that his hunting was over for the day. He loved the freedom of galloping through the woods alone, in pursuit of some prey or quietly tracking some unfortunate creature on foot through the undergrowth before firing an arrow from his bow, knowing that he would hit his target almost every time. Then he would proudly carry his quarry home to supplement the table.

Since his father’s death, Magnus craved solitude even more than usual. His mother’s grief, too, was raw, and the atmosphere at the castle was stifling. His uncle, the MacBaine Laird, had made them welcome at his home, but they all felt the loss of his father keenly. The memory of so many happy hours spent hunting with his father in these very woods cut him to the quick as he felt another strong gust of wind on his face.

His heart heavy, he turned towards the road homeward and set off at a run. All at once, he heard a blood-curdling scream coming from somewhere in the woods. He could tell that it was a woman’s scream from the ear-splittingly high pitch. His insides gave a lurch, and adrenalin coursed through his veins. He could not walk on by if a woman was in trouble.

The screaming ripped through the woods again, and he changed direction, rushing towards the sound without a thought for the danger he might be charging towards. He ran through the undergrowth, following the sound of the shrieks, until he crashed into a clearing. The sight that met him there made his blood run cold.

An old woman with long straggling red hair, dressed only in a thin white shift, was bound to a stake in the ground, surrounded by a pile of wood. She was screaming, her face twisted with a desperate terror that made Magnus’s heart clench. Beside her, a group of three men stood, one of them frantically rubbing stones together. Magnus realized in horror that he was trying to generate a spark to light the pile of wood. They were going to burn her!

“What on earth is going on here?” he shouted, striding towards them. He reached for his dagger from his belt as he approached.

The wailing woman met his eye as he drew nearer.

“Save me!” she cried. “They are tae burn me!”

The three men all turned to face him.

“Get away wi’ ye!” shouted the man nearest to him. “Dinnae interfere wi’ what we are doing here, in th’ name o’ God!”

“Nay!” Magnus replied furiously. “I willnae walk on by! I demand tae know why ye have bound this poor old woman!”

“She’s a witch!” the man yelled back, his face taut with hatred. “And we must burn her now, ’afore this rain starts! ‘Tis the order o’ the King that all witches shall be burned!”

Magnus felt his fury begin to rise. No one should die like this, witch or not! It was inhumane, and every fiber of his being rebelled against it. He knew that he could not stand by and do nothing while this abominable thing happened before his very eyes.

He cast his eyes over the group of men again. They were all smaller than him, and none of them looked as if they could fight. Perhaps they were priests or some other kind of churchmen, not soldiers like him, who’d seen real battles and fought to the death. He made a decision in that split second, then rushed towards them, knocking the stones out of the man’s hands.

“I willnae let ye do this. ‘Tis wrong!” he yelled, squaring up to the man and recognizing the look of fear that crossed his face as he looked up at Magnus’ bulk towering over him.

One of the other men stepped forward hesitantly. “Move along now, man. This isn’t yer business,” he said, his voice quavering slightly.

“ ‘Tis my business when I see an old woman being tortured!” Magnus raged at him. “Will ye fight me, then, the three of ye?” He brandished his dagger and glared at them all. “I’ve fought off more men than ye, and better men too!”

“We do the work o’ the King!” the man protested. “And the work of God!” His strident voice belied the terror in his eyes, though, and he flinched as Magnus snarled at him and waved his dagger in their direction menacingly.

“I dinnae care fer yer God, or yer King if they order such monstrous deeds as this!” Magnus roared, his eyes flashing.

The men looked at each other in terror as this raging Highlander threatened them with his blade. Almost as if they had agreed on it in advance, they turned and fled into the woods, leaving Magnus panting as he watched them flee.

“And dinnae come back!” he yelled into the trees behind them. Then he turned back to the woman, who had ceased her screaming and now was leaning against the post, tears streaming down her face. He rushed to her.

“Come now, my good woman,” he said, reaching for the ropes that bound her and beginning to cut her free with his knife.

She continued to weep as he freed her and helped her down to stand by him in the clearing.

“ ‘Tis over now,” he said soothingly, looking at her wrinkled face with concern. “Is it true what they said? Are ye a witch?” He felt no fear of her, whether she was a witch or not. He had seen enough in his life to know that there were worse things than witchcraft to fear out there in the world. The raging English on the battlefield, for example.

She looked up at him with her startlingly piercing blue eyes full of tears. “I was born wi’ the gift of sight,” she said softly. “But I ne’er cursed anyone or cast any evil spells. I’ve lived out here in the woods for many a year, growing my herbs and making my potions. I have a deep knowledge o’ the elements and nature, and I only use it for good, to help people, I swear to ye!”

He nodded. He was glad that he had saved her from such a gruesome fate; no one deserved to die in the agony of the flames. It was a barbaric practice, and he resolved to speak with his uncle about it to see if he had any influence with the King over such things.

He felt the first drops of rain begin to fall on his face and looked up at the sky. “I must be off,” he said to her. “Will ye be alright now? Shall I get ye safely home first?”

“Nay, I’ll be fine. I thank ye, lad,” she replied, then suddenly she looked at him strangely and let out a gasp, her eyes widening in shock.

“What?” he asked. “What is it? Are ye ill? Did they hurt ye?”

“Nay, ‘tis not that… I just had a feeling but ‘tis nothing. Be on yer way, lad.” Her voice trailed off, and she gazed past him into the distance, a faraway look on her face.

Magnus shuddered, even though he did not feel cold. An eerie feeling took him over. He knew that this witch had something important to tell him and that she was holding back for some reason.

“Ye have something to tell me, I think?” He stared at her intensely, forcing her to hold his gaze.

She met his honey-colored eyes reluctantly. “Aye, there is prophecy, and it has come to me strongly just now, but I shouldnae tell ye, ‘tis not the time.”

“I just saved yer life. Ye owe it to me!” Magnus exclaimed. “If ye see something that ye must tell me, I beg ye, tell me now!”

She shook her head. “Nay, ‘tis not the time!” she insisted.

“Woman, please!” Magnus took her hands in his. “I am all at sea in my life just now! My father is gone, and there is no war to fight. I don’t know which path to take. I beg ye, tell me if ye have aught that might guide me, for I am at a loss which way to turn!” He felt desperately sad all of a sudden, and he knew that what she had to tell him was of great importance.

She looked on his face, with the deep groove of a battle scar just above his eyebrow, and sighed. “Aye, perhaps it’s meant to be,” she said. “I am afeard to tell ye, but if ye demand it…” She stepped back from him and drew herself up tall, standing with dignity before him. “The prophecy says this: to bring your heart peace, just follow the fire.”

She turned and walked away from him, crossing the clearing and disappearing into the woods without another word.

He stared dumbly after her, his mind full of questions as the rain lashed down on him.