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One Christmas Night (A Highlander Christmas Novella)
Ratings:
112 pages1 hour
Summary
From New York Times bestselling author Ruth Ryan Langan, A Highlander Christmas Novella.
Lindsay Douglas routinely scavenges Highland battlefields in search of articles she can barter to feed her impoverished family. On one such foray she comes upon a warrior more dead than alive. Under her tender care Morgan MacLaren not only survives, but loses his heart. Her family rejoices, and despite bitter circumstances, hope for a better future blooms in all their hearts.
Without warning, Morgan is summoned home, and the message he leaves behind is partially burned, leaving Lindsay and her family to face a bleak future. To save her family, Lindsay agrees to marry a wealthy man in her village known to be a cruel taskmaster. The ceremony will take place at a midnight service on the eve of Christmas.
Can a noble knight, now laird of the land, overcome impossible odds to write their happy ending?
Publisher: Ruth Ryan LanganReleased: Oct 9, 2017ISBN: 1370760078Format: book
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One Christmas Night (A Highlander Christmas Novella) - Ruth Ryan Langan
Author
Chapter One
The Scottish Highlands, 1560
"Behind you, Ramsey. Watch your back." Morgan MacLaren managed to shout a warning while he fought back the half-dozen swordsmen who came screaming from the forest. With each blow of his sword, he inched his way closer to his friend, who had been knocked from his horse and was fighting for his life.
The air was filled with curses and moans as the two men, friends since childhood, used their skill to dispatch the enemy.
You’ve killed your last innocent Highlander,
Morgan muttered as he ran his blade through the heart of one outlaw. And you.
He turned and lifted his sword high as two more leapt into the fray. Let this be a lesson to you. My father, the laird of these Highlands, has vowed not to rest until his people are free of the likes of your kind.
Morgan didn’t feel the pain as the sword pierced his shoulder. He seemed genuinely surprised at the trickle of warmth where the blood spilled. And even more astonished when his arm suddenly dangled uselessly by his side. Still, since he’d been trained to use both arms in battle, he caught up his sword in his left hand and continued holding his enemies at bay.
Sweet mother.
Ramsey looked up to see a dozen more men racing from the cover of the forest. We’re dead men, Morgan.
Morgan turned his head, then came to an abrupt decision. Take my horse. Ride to our stronghold and sound the alarm. These lawless barbarians must be stopped, before they turn our land into a bloodbath.
I’ll not leave you.
Ramsey knocked one of the attackers to the ground and ran him through with his sword, before turning to face three more.
One of us must get the word to the others. Else these outlaws will overrun our lands. Do you want that?
Nay.
At that moment Ramsey was grateful when Morgan’s keen reflexes managed to save him from a flashing blade. In the blink of an eye his friend stopped the first man in his tracks, then killed a second before he could lift his sword.
As he braced for the next wave of attackers, Morgan turned to him. The choice is no longer yours, my friend. Since I’m the stronger, and can keep them occupied long enough for you to make your escape, I command you to leave at once.
Morgan...
Not a word. The survival of our clan depends upon it. Take this gold. I’ve no need of it.
He reached inside his tunic and removed a fat pouch, tossing it in one easy movement. Use it for food and shelter along the way. Now ride, Ramsey. And spare not a moment to look back.
Trained to obey, the young warrior hauled himself onto the back of his friend’s horse and ducked to avoid a flurry of arrows. When he risked a glance over his shoulder, Morgan was surrounded by swordsmen, who seemed to be dropping like flies.
Ramsey gritted his teeth, determined to do as he’d been ordered. He knew if anyone could survive a siege, it was his friend. In the past five years, Morgan’s fearlessness in battle had caused his enemies to begin calling him The Savage. It was a name that sent shivers of fear through his enemies, and a surge of pride through the men privileged to fight at his side.
As he urged his mount faster, the cries and shouts of the warriors were carried on the breeze. Ramsey felt a prickling along his scalp, and nearly gave in to the desire to return to his friend’s side. Then he thought of Morgan’s words. Nay. He couldn’t retreat. The survival of the clan depended upon him. He whispered a prayer that his decision wouldn’t cost him the life of his dearest friend.
~ ~ ~
Lindsay.
The little boy and girl spilled out of the tiny hut and stared in amazement, then went flying back inside shouting, Grandfather. Come look. Lindsay has a horse.
A horse?
The old man hobbled outside, leaning heavily on a sturdy stick for support. Wherever did you come upon such a treasure, lass?
I found it grazing in the forest. The reins were tangled around some brush, keeping it from running off.
She drew closer and slipped from her mount’s back before tossing the reins to the boy.
What’s that?
The old man pointed a gnarled finger at the bundle being dragged behind the animal.
It’s a man, Father. A warrior, I suspect. He was surrounded by a score of dead men.
The old man’s smile faded. A warrior? And you brought him here to our home?
He’s badly wounded. In fact, I’m not sure he’ll survive the night. But I couldn’t leave him to die alone.
But we don’t know this man. He could be one of the outlanders who’ve been inflicting such carnage on our people.
Aye.
She untied the ropes that secured the bundle to the horse, then motioned for the boy and girl to help her. Come, Gwen. Brock. Help me get him inside.
The three began dragging the blanket-clad burden toward the tiny hut.
All the while the old man stood shaking his fist at them. You could be bringing death and destruction to our very doorstep, lass.
Lindsay paused to catch her breath. If you’ll take a moment to look at him, you’ll see he isn’t strong enough to even open his eyes.
Not yet, perhaps.
Her father hobbled inside and watched as she prepared a fresh pallet beside the fire. But woe to us if he should regain his strength. Then we’ll be afraid to even close our eyes, for fear of being slaughtered in our sleep.
We’ll worry about that when he recovers. If he recovers,
she muttered as she rolled the unconscious body onto the clean blanket. Gwen.
She turned to the little girl. Fetch me some linens and hot water. Brock, I’ll need my herbs and healing ointments.
The two children hurried to do her bidding. When they returned she was giving orders. Now, Brock, the horse is your responsibility. I’ll expect you to see it’s fed and watered, and hidden from view so it can’t be stolen.
Aye.
Delighted to be given such an important chore, the boy raced off.
Gwen.
Lindsay barely looked up as she tore a clean linen into strips. There are more surprises tied to the horse.
With a yelp of excitement, the girl ran outside and returned dragging a fat bundle. Wrapped inside a ragged blanket were a variety of clothes and weapons Lindsay had taken from the dead.
While the child and her grandfather sorted through them, Lindsay cut away the man’s bloody clothing. She was shocked at the extent of his wounds. Not only the fresh ones, but the scars from earlier wounds as well. There was no doubt he was a warrior. She’d tended enough of her father’s wounds in his earlier years to know just how many scars a soldier was forced to endure.
She dipped a square of linen into the basin of hot water and began to bathe away the blood. While she worked she couldn’t help noting the hard, firm body, the muscled arms and shoulders. Whoever this man was, he would be dangerous in battle. That ought to frighten her. But the truth was, there had been times in the past that her warrior father had received kind treatment from strangers. She felt she had a debt to pay. Still, she whispered a prayer that this man would turn out to be friend instead of foe.
She touched a square of linen to the cut at his forehead. When the blood was washed, she realized that his was a handsome face. A wide brow. A firmly chiseled nose and jaw. She wondered what color his eyes were. Then she chided herself on such a thought. Hadn’t her mother always cautioned that it mattered not the color of a man’s eyes? What mattered was the good or
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