Scotland
FOREWORD
Greetings dear readers,
The story you are about to read is a work of fiction. It is a fantasy romance that is inspired heavily by Scottish myth and folklore. It was not written by a native Scott, or by a Scottish historian, so please take into account that research has been done to faithfully represent these fantastical creatures but may not be perfect. It was not written under the basis to educate or inform, but to entertain.
I hope you all enjoy yourselves as you dive into these pages and lose yourselves in a few minutes of respite and relaxation. Now, I present my warped mind machinations for your enjoyment.
Sincerely,
Amber Westbrook
P.S.- Never stop reading and never stifle your imagination.
Episode: 1: Scotland
POV: Lori
The maypole was a swirl of garland and ribbon as the young maidens danced, braiding it in a cacophony of brilliant hues. Red, green, and white were the main colors adorning the hill. It was like stepping back in time, and I couldn’t be happier to stay away from the celebration on display.
Beltane, the pagan festival for fire, fertility, and rebirth, was upon us, and I would not put myself on display, not willingly anyway. If my father knew I was decked out in cosplay pants and disguised amongst the fairgoers, he would have shipped my butt back home. It’s not as if I could actually take part in the festivities and be a normal tourist. My life would never be my own.
Father had decided that my contribution to the family would be my impending nuptials. I was always meant to be a connection for business-minded families to grow, and thus, I had been shepherded to and fro. You would think I was some damsel in some long forgotten time, but nay, just born into a family that still viewed marriage as a contract of convenient connections and mergers. My father would say it was my duty to my family, but in my mind, I was just collateral for expanding his holdings.
We had traveled from the United States to meet with two of the families’ dads, who we thought could make a good partnership. After our stint in Spain, we arrived in Scotland and spent the next three days with the second family. The land was beautiful, but I couldn’t spare a moment to enjoy it. Upon my frustrations, I might have stowed away amongst the revelry and found some men’s peasant garbs to blend in with the crowd and escape the incessant nagging of my stepmother and the ever-judging eyes of my father.
It wouldn’t last, but the anonymity the costume afforded me was freeing. Every time I spotted my parents with Caleb’s family, I made sure to hunker down, hiding behind the obviously larger men around me. My family was the epitome of cool, calm, and confident, but I could spot the tension around Dad’s eyes from a mile away. I was going to be in so much trouble for causing a disturbance.
They were on their second pass of the area, father stopping to check his watch, no doubt making some excuse to explain my absence. He was more than likely blaming my tardiness on wishing to make myself presentable, or that I was running late due to my sensitive disposition for travel and tendency to suffer from jet lag. Sharon would go along with whatever he had to say; his personal cheerleader and yes woman.
If I were lucky, I would avoid Caleb and the McDowdles for the whole trip. Alas, I was never that lucky…it was expected of me to make an appearance and to impress. There was no way I was going to get out of tonight’s dinner, but by God, I would have some peace today.
I was enjoying my tankard of local mead as I peeked between the arms of my unknowing human shield. There was no chance I could pass as a man up close. My escape had been so sudden and unplanned that I didn’t have the necessary wrappings needed to hide my feminine chest, but oversized clothes and blending into a crowd were working so far. It was either move forward to see better and blow my cover or remain hidden and steal glances.
The festival was being held in Calton Hill, Edinburgh, a quaint volcanic hill full of local artists and patrons celebrating the fire festival. The daytime activities were abounding with laughter and merriment. Young girls made flower crowns while local groups performed on drums. I wished I could stay and watch after the sun set because that’s when the real excitement would begin. Bonfires, fire jumpers, and extravagant costumes would flourish in the area. That would be more entertaining than having to listen to dad’s golf jokes and being talked about as if I were just a byproduct of their business union.
My wall of meat suits was beginning to thin out as their attention was drawn away to other activities. My parents were still within view, and the mixture of anxiety and excitement was making my heart palpitate a hundred miles per minute. I tried to stick behind the few men that were moving in front of me, shifting sideways to keep an eye on my parents, when I hit something solid. Liquid splashed from above onto the oversized tunic and cap I was wearing while realization dawned that I had veered straight into the chest of another fairgoer.
I spun to the other side of my poor victim as I muttered apologies, feigning concern for ruining his clothes while continuing my observation of my targets, praying I hadn’t drawn their attention.
“I’m so sorry. It was completely my fault for not watching where I was going,” I pawed at the noticeable masculine chest blocking me from sight. Luckily, they hadn’t noticed and were finally leaving. I sighed in relief, my hands still gripping the man’s tunic.
“Does ma garb offend you?” his chest rumbled.
I released the man’s top, looking up at the darkest set of blue eyes I had ever seen.
“Oh, no. My apologies. I was distracted. Please, let me buy you a replacement for your spilled,” I sniffed the wet spots on the sleeve of my shirt, “Ale?”
The man stood towering above me, those dark sapphire eyes boring down upon my pathetic disguise. A black nest of soft waves framed his face, pulled back in a low ponytail, contrasting his golden, warm skin. He stood with an air of authority and a curious gaze. He crossed his arms, bringing attention to his large size as he loomed over me. Those biceps alone looked like they could break a tree. I flashed my friendliest smile, trying to appear as harmless as I felt.
“Are all American whelps as scrawny as you?”
Mixed emotions warred within me. I was offended at being called a whelp, then pleased that my makeshift disguise was working up close, then pissed that this man had just been rude to me as a ‘lad’.
My smile faded as I reached into the pocket of my breeches. “You know what? Here,” I slapped a twenty into his hand, “for your drink.”
I turned to leave the ass. Just my luck to find a handsome jackass while trying to avoid pompous jackasses. If all the asses could just leave me alone for a few hours, that would be great.
POV: Gideon
I had ne’er ken a laddie tae hide behind the men folk.
I had noticed the wee one peeking through the throng of gawkers for a bit. She had looked a right bit off in men’s breeks, and the large tunic with her hair shoved up in a bunnet. I was not so daft as tae fall for her deceit, but it was obvious she was trying tae deceive someone from the way she was using these people tae hide her presence.
It was comical for a time. Eventually I was able tae figure out the folks she was trying tae avoid from her glances. The McDowdles had some guests who were parading around. They wouldnae stay long. They knew better.
I was watching them leave as the lass ended up careening right into me, spilling a few drops of ma ale before she proceeded to spin around me, using me as her own personal hiding spot. The scent of warm rain and honeysuckles permeated from her as she eyed the McDowdles and their guests.
I had been thrown off guard by this little waif. As she muttered her apologies, touching ma chest and arms, her gaze never left her quarry. If the Lass wanted help or tae take advantage of me, the least she could do was look at me. I couldnae decide whether tae laugh or ask if she needed help until she froze, still clinging to me.
Mo creach-sa thàinig!
She was a Bonnie wee lassie. Eyes like emeralds glaring up at me, framed by chestnut lashes and brows. Even her cute, pert nose had a spackle of fairy kisses against her fair skin. Her pink lips were supple and pleasing while her hair was trying tae escape the bunnet it was confined in, hinting at luscious, bouncing curls of brown and gold. I wanted tae snatch that offending cap right off her heid.
The lass blethered on about apologizing and whatnot, but the sight of her little face, all surprised and shocked, was bonnie. Such a tidy hen tae be hiding amongst so many howlin’ lads. It was hard tae see the shape of the lass in those clothes, but she seemed too small. Could she be a beggar? Her accent was definitely American. Was she with the McDowdles guests?
Why hide?
I didnae ken how I should address the Lass. Her scent was a sweet reprieve amongst the sweaty, musky oafs she had been hidden amongst. Such a tiny hen could be trampled. “Are all American whelps as scrawny as you?”
I kent I had said the wrong thing from the look on her face. A coldness filled her eyes where warmth had been but a moment ago. I cursed ma self.
“You know what? Here,” she grabbed ma hand and smacked it, “for your drink.”
She turned, leaving me gawking after her. She may be but a wee hen, but she had pride. It was obvious in the way she carried herself as she sauntered away. Ma hands itched tae grab her back and see how much it would take tae see that iciness turn tae fire. I looked down tae see the twenty she had so forcefully bestowed upon me. I had no need for a Lass tae give me money. If she had money, why dress like a gamin?
Everything about the Lass was perplexing. I put the twenty in ma bag and pulled out ma cell, calling ma assistant, Ronald. He knew better than tae use pleasantries with me whenever I contacted him outside of the office.
“Yes, Sir?”
“I need tae ken who the McDowdles are hosting at the moment. Info on all parties.”
“Understood.”
I hung up and took a swig of ma ale. Whoever the Lass was, she didnae want tae be part of those folks.
She was ma new item tae collect.
