A Highlander's Promise

All Rights Reserved ©


The last time she had seen Matthew was when he walked her home that evening. Her mother saw Leora's blushing expression as she entered the living room and knew something had occurred during the date. As Leora prepared for bed, her mother confronted her. The teen couldn't keep anything from her mom, for she was always there for Leora through everything.

"He kissed me," she spilled as they both giggled together.

Leora was glad to have a mother like hers; one who she could not keep secrets from and they had a trusting relationship, which made all the 'turning into a grown up' discussions less awkward. She had a mother she could confide in, even if it was petty love talk.

"I love you," her mother said.

"I love you more," Leora replied.

"That's impossible. No one can have a greater love than a mother has for her own child."

That was the last sentence Leora ever heard her mother say to her, she then kissed her and tucked her in good night.

Here she was awakening in the middle of nowhere.

After aimlessly running towards the direction of the grunting horses she spotted them in a distance. If there was one thing she didn't see in her surroundings it was any trace of human civilization.

She needed someone to help her.

"What in Lord's name is that?" one of the men on the horses murmured as he detected her presence approaching.

It was low but still caught the attention of several others who were aside him.

After many began to notice her, the leader of the group turned to see where his men's attention had been directed towards. And then he saw her.

She looked like a mad hellion racing towards them. The men had come to an abrupt stop.

Leora began to slow down. Catching her breath, she looked up at the men. They were large and tall on their horses and they wore plaids and carried swords. They also looked as if many did not own a shaving utensil at all.

What are these guys doing? Is there some sort of festival around here? Maybe a movie shooting? ...or maybe some outlandish cosplay?

Anyways, she didn't care as long as she could get any sort of answer as to where she was.

"Excuse me!" she began.

The men looked befuddled.

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt you guys but would you mind telling me where I am? I don't know which way the city is, or any roads for that matter. I know this sounds strange but I'm not too sure what happened last night or how I got here," Leora said realizing it might have sounded pretty shady and decided a need for further explanation, "I'm no party animal and I definitely don't do anything illegal. I was just wondering perhaps if any of you could lend me your cellphone, I just need to contact my parents, I'm sure they're worried sick about me. Don't worry I won't take too long."

If the men look befuddled before, they were utterly completely bewildered now.

They tried to understand her appearance and what she had said.

If they even understood what she had said.

"She speaks in English," a red haired man said to the leader of the group in Gaelic.

Many had inferred she did, but now they all looked at her with disgust.

The glares had sent shivers down her body.

She was absolutely terrified.

The leader saw her awkwardness and fear. Yet he questioned her bravery to reach out to his men and stop him.

"What is it that troubles you, lass?"

She turned and looked up to meet the eyes of a black haired man, the leader of the group, directing his horse to face her.

"Uhm.....er... that is... if you have a cell phone... that is if I could borrow it...just for a moment! I'll be quick."

"You want me to sell my comb?" he asked in a complete baffled expression.

"A cell phone," she repeated.

"What kind of witchery do you speak of? You don't look like a Pict," his eyes narrowed down at her, examining any bare skin for signs of blue paint.

How does anyone on earth not have a cell phone? Even if they didn't they would at least knew what it was, right?

A Pict? Where had I heard of that before?

"Well can you at least point me to the direction of a police station, maybe?"

"Little chit, what kind of games do you think we're playing here? Don't make me do something I wasn't planning on doing. Don't speak in riddle and get out with it!" the leader said angrily.

She was frightened.

Here she was in a situation worse than where she was twenty minutes earlier. Not only was she lost. She was terrified and scared, too. She had a feeling these men were taking their role playing a bit too seriously.

"Fine! I'm sorry to have interrupted you. You can go on with what you were doing. Please forgive my impoliteness," she said curtly and stomped off.

Not on his watch would he let her just walk away.

The leader called out in Gaelic, "Catch her! And bind her!"

Before she knew it, she was swept off her feet, and not in the metaphoric way, but the brutal physical way.

She had no idea how to comprehend what was occurring. When she finally found her voice she screamed pleas to free her.

"Oh no, lass. One does not disrespect Laird MacLachlan and expect to get away with it," the red haired man had chuckled.

Seriously, who is this guy?

Wait. Laird MacLachlan? WHAT?

Laird. As in a leader of a Scottish clan that Granny MacDuff had spoken about. The ones who lived practically hundreds of years ago.

She was fuming with rage now. These despicable cosplayer-role players-whatever had the nerve to tie her up like a hostage.


"Let go of me this instant!" she cried.

Are these people ignorant? Do they not understand English either?

Before she knew it she was crying tears while her hands and feet were tied and no words were able to escape the cloth that had confined them in her mouth.

She was on a horse with a smelly look alike warrior.

She just wanted to go home.

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.