Perilous Love

Chapter 2

2

Scotland, Highlands

Bharraich Caisteal

It was barely three o’clock in the afternoon when Anneliese MacDonald woke from a nap covered in perspiration, her body shaking, after a dream made of angry shouts and frightened screams and flashing-steel knives and vivid red blood.

At her shuddering sigh, Athos, her Great Pyrenees dog, a large, thick-coated, and immensely powerful giant, opened his eyes and studied her before fumbling his way to where she was curled up on a spacious lovechair.

Barking a welcome, he jumped beside her and wrapped his furry body around her legs. Then he butted his bearish head on her stomach, and settled down contentedly on her thighs, as if he were a lap dog.

That brought a smile to her face.

Her Pyr was a giant, immensely strong mountain dog, standing as high as her waist and weighing more than 100 pounds, with a lush weatherproof all white coat she loved to burrow in.

Her grandfather had given her Athos a few months after they had come back to Scotland. A steadfast guardian exhibiting a Zen-like calm, Athos had been one of the keys to her recovery from the trauma. He could stay beside her all day and then quickly spring into action, moving with grace and speed to grab a ball—or meet a threat.

And that thought took her mind back to the nightmare.

She could chalk it up to the amount of haggis she had eaten at lunch. Or to the boring algebra book she was studying for the test tomorrow and that had made her fall asleep.

Not that she was lazy, really, but she saw more virtue—and had more enjoyment—in a nap than in a brisk jog, if that was what her body and mind felt like in the moment. She used her energies according to her feelings and needs.

Even though her parents had a whisky distillery to run, the lack of a constant bristling social life left them time to enjoy life’s pleasures. Growing up in a Highland small town, with its yawning pace, gave her the excuse she needed to be exactly who she liked.

Academically, she liked challenges. Dealing with pressuring deadlines and difficult subjects stimulated her mind. She was more blasé with her personal life.

But she wouldn’t discount the fright she’d had this morning when she found another tulip bulb in the hothouse. She didn’t even tell grandfather MacDonald about it this time. She didn’t want him thinking she was going mad.

Over the years the nightmares had been coming less often, but since she had been finding these little reminders of Afghanistan where they shouldn’t be, her mind began to churn again with the terror. Even though more than eight years had passed, the terror never diminished.

Shivering, she snapped her fingers twice so Athos would know she wanted to get up. He jumped down and walked by her side as she made her way to the window, his paws click-clacking softly on the shiny wood.

It had rained earlier and the afternoon was cool and damp but the sun was out—a miracle for a January day. She opened the latch and went out onto the balcony, taking a deep breath.

The ruggedness of the highland scenery soothed her; her connection with the land as strong as the pulse of nature around her. Especially because she knew too well that she could never take for granted a single second, and that was what made her restless.

A lethal whir of wings over her head marked the passing of a golden eagle seeking its prey. Even the green, luxuriant grass of the lawn had a signature tone.

All her life, she had been tuned to the life forces around her and since the death of her parents, that connection had grown deeper and it was the only thing that made her feel content.

She wondered if she’d ever have any satisfaction in life. It certainly didn’t seem to be her fate.

She felt a sharp pang of loss for the bright teenager she had once been; her future destroyed by a travesty of humanity.

The horror that sealed her words inside her left within her the silence of an entire world. A silence so heavy it threatened to bury her sometimes.

If her parents had not died in a savage attack, she would probably be under-graduating now like any other normal girl of twenty-two, maybe in Environmental Science and Sustainability at the University of Glasgow. Her grades were good, but her Somatoform mutism, as her doctors called her inability to speak, coupled with months of depression and panic attacks, had caused her to fall too far behind, so the general had enrolled her in an online school, and hired private tutors to help her.

Her grandfather was getting old and he wouldn’t be there forever to protect her.

Instead of hiding here in her room and doing online courses, she should be out there doing what other people did—whatever that was.

But at about the same time she felt she was ready to face the world again, the strange things started showing up in her favorite places. And now she wasn’t sure of anything, least of all her safety.

Shadows were beginning to lengthen when her attention was caught by a horseman galloping to the gates.

With precision, he reined his horse and leaned down to ring the intercom. It was not uncommon to have visitors to their whisky distillery, but…atop a horse?

Intrigued by such an appearance, she waited patiently to see what would happen.

Restless, the horse pawed the ground until McDermott, the general’s old orderly, came out from the gate tower. As soon as he inspected the visitor, McDermott immediately opened the gates. They shook hands and exchanged a few words before the rider righted himself on the saddle and scanned his surroundings.

Though it would be impossible for him to see her, she shrank back as his gaze swept over her hiding place before he started up the drive.

She knew she looked different from the other young women—the few she was friends with and all the others she saw in TV series. Not weird, or mentally impaired, as one doctor had suggested. Just different. She stopped trying to fit into other people’s molds when her parents died. She didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but herself.

Her gaze returned to man and horse as they moved in perfect unison, powerful animal muscles appearing under polished hide as the rider easily controlled the horse between his equally powerful legs, as if fluidly merged like a centaur.

Obviously, another soldier. But not as the others.

Anneliese was used to soldiers since most of the men at Bharraich were middle-aged soldiers, but this one was younger and more rugged, clearly in his prime.

This newcomer was a man used to getting his way. He rode like those Arabian warriors she had once seen in Afghanistan.

Or better, like a conquering hero.

Anneliese felt a twinge in her stomach, followed by a sudden chill as the rider approached her. She had only seen one man ride like that: Hugh Smith.

But it couldn’t be possible…could it?

Athos growled at her tenseness.

Anneliese soothed the dog with a hand on his head, and squinted her eyes to better study the rider, and with a fluttering heart, realized that, yes, it was the man who had stolen her heart when she was a teenager.

She still remembered the first time they met nine years ago. He was gentle to her, and started bringing her small gifts whenever he came. She looked forward to his visits and would always ask him to tell her about the war. Her grandfather wouldn’t tell her any war stories. She now knew that Hugh had humored her with mostly made up stories filled with suspense, but lacking any graphic violence or bloodshed.

On the day that she heard him telling her grandfather about breaking up with the stunning woman he’d been dating, she realized her chance had arrived.

So, that day, she began to formulate a plan for their first date. But Hugh didn’t appear for any more visits before her world drowned in blood.

And afterward, after that terrible night when he had taken her from that dark room and held her for hours until her grandparents arrived, things were never like before.

Once, she had thought they were friends. And maybe the affection had been only on her part.

Now, as he rode right past her balcony in the direction of the stables, she could feel there was something different about him.

It was the same wind-blown blondish-brown hair, the same suggestion of cleft in his square chin. A handsome face. His bay horse was equally splendid, with its light brown coat. A shade very much like the rider’s hair, in fact. Both were magnificent beasts.

But he no longer seemed like someone with whom she could joke or tease.

She wasn’t sure why, but she was going to find out.

And soon, it seemed.