Mornings in the Highlands could be so cruel. Even after the sun rose above Loch Ness, the early morning air was cold and unforgiving. But I was used to it. I had been used to it for a very long time.
Clad in one of the few dresses I owned, I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders and moved to the door. Peering outside, I scowled at the frigid conditions. I could see the breath of the man standing in front of the house. He was wrapped in a heavy cloak, crafted of fine wool. The hood hid his face, but I knew it well. I had seen it every morning of every day for several years.
"I will be ready shortly." I slipped out of my room and down the stairs, stopping briefly to grab my blue cloak. I needed to hurry. If I did not, Father might send someone after me to ensure I did not miss the morning procession. I had seen it happen before.
How often she had made me hate the color blue. I wrapped the material about my shoulders, and moved to the door. The highlander nodded to me, and opened the door, before turning and heading back down the path. He was fast, but this was my land, as it was my mother's. I knew every trail on the mountain.
"The sooner the better." I rushed through the forest clearing, keeping my eyes on the bark of the trees. The few that were orange were well on the western side, and would not be ready to harvest for weeks. That would be well over a moon before I could gather enough of the fruit to make into mead. By then I might be married. Which, of course, was what Father was looking for.
I was almost at the clearing when I hit a small path that I had not seen before. Stumbling, I rubbed at my knee, looking out over the path. Highlanders rarely wandered this way. We had little of value. This path seemed to lead straight to a cluster of trees that at the very least had fruit ready for the picking. Picking myself up, I put my basket over my arm and headed toward the trees.
I reached up and grabbed the fruit, rubbing my thumb over it to release the juices. As soon as I stepped onto the path, I felt as if I had been transported into a dream. There was a man standing in front of me. Judging by his coloring and clothing, he was English. I did not recognize him, but in the year since I had fled the nunnery he must have come to claim the land. Father had told me the rumors were true. I had no choice. I was a royal. And now all that mattered was getting the fruit to the mill in time for this week's gathering of Meaders. As soon as it was dried, I could sell it to the other folk who made their way to the festival.
He touched my cheek and grabbed my arm, hauling me into the trees. I tried to pull away, struggling for my shawl, but he did not seem to care. I was strong, but what know was strength in the Highlands? They had kept me prisoner in my body for far too long.
"You should not have lied to me, princess." He spoke in an English accent, but it was the only one I knew well. He pushed against my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. I was terrified of what he would do next. Now that he had me, what would he do?
"I am no princess." I muttered, struggling to pull away. He shoved me back to the ground, hitting his hand against the grass. I could see the anger in his eyes.
"I had promised you could return to your father's castle. He sent word yesterday, telling me you had run away." There was a twinge of regret in his voice. At least he had not killed me. He did not seem to know who I was, but he would soon. I would tell him, or she would die. That was all that needed to be done for now.
"I am no one's daughter." I scoffed, aware that I was keeping his attention and my own anger at bay.
"You are my wife."
I blinked, my heart stuttering in my chest. He was offering me to him? Marry him? I suddenly felt sick. What kind of man would take a princess to marry? And whatever else I was, I was sure no man would want me. I could feel the bruises from where he had grabbed me this morning. The thought of the castle sent my blood freezing.
"I am not your wife." I whispered. He seemed to be a man of honor. I would give him that much at least.
"Not yet, but you will be." The way he spoke, the humming in his voice, let me know he was going to force me to be his wife. I had no choice. My heart dragged my body to my feet, but if I had thought to run, I would have fallen straight back down. He was clutching my cloak. I was trapped. He was gazing into the distance, past the woods. I could see nothing. The trees were ancient and thick, but I could feel the worry radiating from him.
He was a skilled hunter. He must have thought I was a deer or other small animal. I was sure that he would shoot me if I did not explain. I had listened to Father explain the plan at least ten times.
"I am no princess. I am a mead-maker." I pulled at my cloak. It did not move. He was holding it in a death grip.
"You are a liar."
"I speak the truth." I had nothing to lose anymore. I was trapped. My best hope was to get free.
"You speak the truth." The bewilderment in his voice was clear.
"What are you doing?" I was still holding onto my shawl. I knew I could use it as a weapon.
"Come back to my home in the castle." He gestured to the old stone building that lay in the woods before him. He had not yet looked at me.
"I am not going anywhere." I tried to tug my cloak away, but he yanked my hand, angrily.
"You will come back to me." I fixed him with the tiniest of smiles, hoping that it would make him reconsider.
"I cannot marry you. I have no reason to do so." I was sure there was no reason he could imagine.
"You are my wife. I am your husband." I laughed at him. He did not realize what he was saying. His mind was plagued. He thought he had kidnapped a princess.
"I am no wife. I am no one's daughter." I shook my head. I had no business marrying anyone. He had at that very moment rescued me from Father. He was sure to punish me for leaving the convent. I took a step back and fell over a log. I could see my shawl hanging from a tree where he had set it.
"It is alright." I tried to stop the anger swelling in my chest. "I will return. I will tell my father. You will have to explain and sort it out yourself."
"You are my wife." He seemed confused that I would even speak of father. "You will come with me."
"I will not." I whispered, but the anger that had been building up in my chest burst. "I will never be with you!"
"You are mine." He shook his head.
"I will tell father." I did not like the way he spoke. There was something very wrong in his eyes. He had a glint to his eyes. I had seen it before, but it unnerved and alarmed me.
I wanted to run back into the convent. I had left it and all of the safe brothers behind, but they would protect me. Here, in these woods and facing this man, I was not sure that I had made the right choice.
"You will come with me. You will be my wife." He was pulling my shawl.
"No." I tried to stop him. He was making my heart race. "You need to let me go."
"I need to keep you with me." He set his jaw. I could feel my blood bubbling below the surface of my skin. I did not like how he spoke.
"I will not be with you." I shook my head. "I will never be with you."
It was true. I had made my choice. I would never be with him. Not after seeing him with his hands on me. I could feel the tears behind my eyes.
"Let go of my shawl!" I shouted, more forcefully than I had thought. He looked up from my face, grasping onto the shining silver fabric.
He released it and stepped back. My body sank into the grass, my shawl falling around me. I could feel his gaze boring into me. He was unsure what to do.