Sacrificing his Highland Heart by Kenna Kendrick

Prologue

Blair

Scottish Highlands

May 23, 1648

Blair wiped the sweat dripping from her brow, pushing back her frazzled raven hair. Her skin felt hot to the touch despite it being an uncharacteristically cold spring day. The winds rustled against the wooden walls while rain lightly dripped against the rooftop. Water leaked from the corner of the old cottage, dribbling into a bucket lingering underneath. Blair had planned to repair the crack in the roof ages ago, often telling Mamó that she would get to it later. Seeing it now brought tears to her eyes and a shiver down her spine. Worry gnawed at her back as she wondered if she would ever have such a discussion with Mamó again.

Glancing over her shoulder, Blair watched the feeble woman groan in her small makeshift cot while wrapping the blankets closer to her body. A small trickle of sunlight streaked the floorboards from the tiny window near the bed, highlighting the dust littering the cracked floorboards. Dirty strips of cloth stained red with blood cluttered the long wooden table while a large, black pot hung over a fire, barely warming the small cottage.

Blair squeezed the water from the yellowed cloth in her hands while blinking the exhaustion from her eyes, trying to fight the need to rest. She remained at Mamó's bedside since the old woman fell several days prior.

It had been like any typical spring day, Blair recalled while striding towards Mamó and placing the cloth upon her wrinkle-creased brow. That was until she had heard Mamó's sharp cry. Blair shook the memories away while gripping her trembling hands, knowing she needed to remain strong. Deep down, she knew she could do nothing, not when she did not know the ways of a healer.

Mamó lurched from the bed as another fit of coughing took hold of her body. Blair seized the cloth from Mamó's brow and held it against her mouth, cringing when she found more blood staining the fabric. She grimaced while turning around and throwing the cloth onto the table with the other dirtied fabrics before opening the cabinets residing near the fireplace. Blair frowned while staring at the jars of roots, mushrooms, and herbs, unable to recall their names or remember all of what they did.

"Enough, Blair," croaked her grandmother.

Blair shook her head. "There must be something—"

"There’s nothing ye can do, Child.”

Blair wiped her prickling eyes and bit her lip to keep from bursting into a fit of tears. She slowly turned to Mamó, watching the old woman patted the space next to her.

“Come,” she said while moving to the side. Blair stepped towards her, sitting on the edge and pulling Mamó’s head into her lap.

“Why don’t I tell ye the story of the young prince?”

Blair swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded her head. “Fine, but then afterward ye must rest.”

Mamó cleared her throat. “Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince with hair like the sun and eyes like the sea on the finest of days. He was the brightest and the fairest of princes, and yet he was sad because he had no family to share his heart with. His mother had died long ago, and his father had left him all alone. The servants cared for the prince, yet they had no love for him, and so he became spoiled, uncaring, and bitter.”

Blair smiled while she listened to Mamó. She often wondered where the tale had originated from or if Mamó had created it to assuage Blair’s fears of not having a mother or father to care for her.

“Blair, my dear, can ye please continue?” Mamó said with a yawn. “I’m so tired.”

“Let me see,” said Blair while her brows drew together as she tried to remember the tale.

“One day, a fair maiden stumbled upon the prince’s castle,” Mamó started.

“Ah, yes,” Blair said while straightening her back against the headboard. “He demanded she leave at once, despite her beauty, which enchanted him. The maiden begged him to stay, for she had nowhere else to go. The prince, deciding he could use the maiden to his gain, permitted her to stay, so long as she promised to serve him and remain out of the East Wing of his castle.”

Blair frowned at her grandmother’s harsh breathing. The old woman’s hands gripped the pillow in Blair’s lap. “Are ye alright, Mamó?” she asked while peeking over.

“I’m fine, Child,” Mamó breathed. “Please, continue. I want to hear the rest of the story.”

Blair frowned but continued despite the worry plaguing her heart, “So the fair maiden remained, seeing to impossible tasks that the prince set upon her, but with each duty completed, she drew closer to the prince until they found themselves in love. Curious as to why she must keep away from the East Wing, she took a candle in the dark of night and crept inside, wondering what she would find. But alas, she found nothing. The next day, she couldn’t find the prince, nor the next. Several days passed, and after searching the lands, the maiden discovered the prince had married a-“

Blair paused, frowning when she heard not a single breath escape Mamó’s lips. The old woman’s hands on the pillow fell limp. “Mamó?” she asked while shaking her gently.

Her grandmother didn’t make a sound. Blair moved from under her, rolling the woman onto her back before tapping her pallid cheeks lightly. “Mamó!” Blair said, louder this time while tears streamed down her cheeks. “Mamó, answer me!”

Mamó didn’t move, didn’t breathe. She laid there with her eyes closed, looking peaceful as if she was simply sleeping. Blair sobbed, her hands shaking while she placed one above Mamó’s nose, finding nothing escaping it. Her hand withdrew, and she stared down at Mamó with horrified eyes.

“What am I going to do?” she whispered while resting her head against Mamó’s bosom. She gripped the blankets, throwing the fabric over them both while she sobbed against Mamó’s nightgown. “What am I going to do without ye?” she cried, clutching onto Mamó while wailing into the small, silent cottage, hoping someone would hear her calls.

But she knew no one would. They were miles away from the village. No one would hear her. No one would help her. Blair stared off into the distance, blinking the pain away while the silence deafened her ears. There was no one who would look after her, scold her, teach her the ways of the world.

She was all alone.