A pawn in her brother’s scheme to become Laird and Chieftain of Clan Weir, Freyja is unfairly accused of a heinous crime, humiliated in front of her clan, and banished from her homeland.

Hugh MacCormac knew escorting supply wagons in the Highlands at night easily put him and his men in danger. His concerns escalate when the trail leads him to a woman barely alive, buried in a shallow grave.

Forced to decide between her life or risking the lives of his men, he leaves the poor lass to rest in peace. Burdened by his hasty decision, Hugh returns hours later to give the lass a proper burial, only to find she is still alive.

No good deeds have ever been left unpunished, and Hugh soon pays the price for his actions.

Freyja awakens in an unfamiliar place engulfed in a sense of warmth and security, but that quickly vanishes when reality hits and she realizes she’s lying in the arms of a naked man. Unable to trust anyone places Freyja in danger. Will her fight for justice be contested or supported by those she once considered family and friends?

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Release Date: March 9, 2026
Genre: Historical Scottish Romance

~ A Pink Satin Romance ~

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Excerpt

Chapter One

1692 Scottish Highlands

“I donae like this,” Malcolm Haywood whispered as he trotting his horse up alongside Hugh. Malcolm’s head swiveled from side to side, scanning their surroundings. Commander Hugh MacCormac ignored his cousin. Hugh also studied the heavily wooded area for the likelihood of danger. This was the perfect spot for an ambush. The moon, their sole light for the past hour, slid behind a veil of dense grey clouds, casting eerie shadows across the ground that darted behind rocks and trees like children at play.

Malcolm shifted in his saddle and murmured, “Why did ye leave the main road back there to take this old footpath?”

“I hae traveled this trail years ago,” Hugh replied. “The thick canopy above should protect us from the rain.” He looked up and said, “I just hope the trees aren't so thick that they block out the moonlight.”

The constant rain had made it nearly impossible for Hugh to see more than one horse-length ahead of them. He estimated weighed down by the caravan of supply wagons, he and the troop of warriors were a little more than two hours away from Corell Castle, their Highland home.

Nervously, Malcolm rubbed his chin and said, “It would have been wiser to have stayed another night in Edinburgh.”

Hugh nodded in total agreement, but his thoughts were wrapped around the comfort of his bedchambers in the barracks. His travels had left them all cold, tired, and hungry. He wanted to stretch out and sleep in a bed instead of spending another night curled up on the cold wet ground. He preferred his large bed along with a curvaceous woman who would keep him warm through the night, and a bottle of brandy would do wonders toward restoring his soul.

He should stop to rest the horses and give the men a chance to walk off the stiffness in their legs and backs but lined up as they were on this narrow trail left them vulnerable to attack. Thankfully, Hugh hadn’t seen any indication that the trail had been used recently, though if there were tracks up ahead of them, the rain would soon wash them away. He would watch for an area where the wagons could be grouped together for protection, so they could stop and rest.

His horse Perseus slowed his steady gait. Holding his head high and his ears alert, the big bay turned his head from side to side as if perceiving noises and smells a human couldn’t detect. A shiver of apprehension slithered up Hugh’s back.

“What’s amiss with yer horse,” Malcolm whispered.

“I donae ken.” Hugh’s sharp gaze swept amongst the bushes wondering what could be lying in wait. Riding in the Highlands at night with loaded supply wagons and only a small troop of armed men, made their group a perfect target for attacks from the many clans who constantly raided each other. Being so near to where the recent massacre of Maclain and the Glencoe MacDonalds, which had occurred only two months earlier, made Hugh uneasy. The only place safe was behind the walls of Corell Castle.

Hugh’s horse’s ears flicked out to the side, listening intently. He stepped gingerly, the layers of thick damp leaves covering the ground muffled the sound of his large hooves. The hair on the back of Hugh’s neck and arms drew to attention.

Hugh placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and push the hilt downwards, causing the tip of his sword to rise up. A signal they had devised to alert the men behind them of an impending ambush.

“Aye,” Malcolm reply. 

Hugh didn’t relish the idea of being accosted by rival clans or arrested by English dragoons and taken back to Fort William. He had been held there with Cameron once for a week and they barely escaped being hung. The rain had subsided, and streams of moonlight seeped through the trees as they moved cautiously along the trail.

Hugh’s horse suddenly stepped to the side, bumping Malcolm’s horse forcing it off the trail. His horse stopped and lowered his head as if noticing something on the ground. Hugh’s gaze shot to the ground searching for a trap or anything that might pose a threat. Then he saw it. A small portion of a person’s arm protruding out from under a pile of leaves.

“What do ye see?” Malcolm whispered, leaning forward.

Hugh dismounted, patted the horse’s neck and handed his reins to his cousin. Cautiously, he scanned the area as he circled around the front of his horse.

“What is it?” Malcolm whispered.

“A partially buried body,” Hugh murmured softly. Kneeling down Hugh brushed away the dirt and leaves from the remains. Inhaling sharply, he swore under his breath. It was a woman. Her clothes were ripped, one sleeve completely torn away. He brushed aside a long muddy braid, which revealed her badly beaten swollen face. He had seen men slaughtered in war, but he could never handle women, children, or animals being mistreated. Gripping her by the arm he eased her onto her back.

“Good Lord, she’s alive.” His stomach twisted and burned with rage.

“A woman?” The captain’s horse stomped his hoof. “How do ye suppose she got here?” Malcolm replied. “There isn’t a croft aboot here less than two days ride. And ye say she’s still alive?”

Removing his glove, Hugh picked off a leaf stuck to her cheek. He wondered what the poor lass could possibly have done to have deserved such a beating and then left to die alone in the woods. Given the severity of her punishment, she must have been accused of being a witch, a whore, or she had done something extremely evil.

The news of the half dead, beaten lass spread quickly from soldier to soldier. The nervous whispers of his men still mounted and anxious to vacate the area could be heard in the eerie silence. Glancing up toward his cousin Hugh said, “Dispatch some men to search the area for signs of who might have done this to the poor lass.”

Malcolm nodded, then turned and issued orders to the troops. Given her severe injuries, the girl would not last long in the cold. Hugh also knew she was too weak to survive the journey to Corell Castle.

“Hugh,” Malcolm whispered, “We best be moving on. ‘Tis late and these woods donae feel safe.”

Hugh glanced up; his cousin was quickly being engulfed in the thick fog.

“‘Tis too dark to see anything,” Malcolm said, glancing at the soldiers shaking their heads as they returned.

Hugh glanced back down at the woman and scratched his beard, then gently brushed the dirt and leaves back over her body. “Sorry lass. Ye’ll suffer less discomfort if I leave ye here. Though with the same result of death, I’m afraid.”

Hugh stood and walked away from the lass. He had witnessed death many times, and though she clung to life, he knew there wasn’t anything he could do to help her. Gathering his reins he swung up onto the big bay’s back. They rode the next two hours in silence. His men were weary and cold, yet the seasoned soldiers remained alert and watchful.

* * *

Even though the rain had stopped and they finally rode through the gates of Corell Castle, Hugh felt miserable. Hugh dismounted, and without a word, relinquished his reins to a stable boy, then headed for the keep. He needed to work the kinks out of his sore body and put his thoughts in order.

Over the past two hours he had struggled with how to inform Cameron of the woman they had found half buried, and his choice to leave her there. He had contemplated going back and properly burying her. Could she have been one of the MacDonalds who escaped, only to be found and beaten. How was Cam going to respond to that news. The decision of what, if anything, should be done about the lass would be left up to his chief. Laird Cameron MacCormac, chieftain of the MacCormac clan, happened to be his cousin and close friend since his birth. They were schooled side by side. Cameron was groomed to take over as Laird when his father passed. Hugh had been trained to fight at Cam’s side and to take over as Laird if his cousin were killed. But Hugh’s life had considerably changed when Cam married Lady Adriana, and their son, little Robbie, was born. The lad would someday become Laird of the MacCormac clan in the event of his father’s death.

After being promoted to commander of the MacCormac army, Hugh’s position required him to leave Corell Castle and his cousin’s side. He was frequently assigned to patrols and to escort supply shipments. At eight and twenty, he had thought by now he would have something to call his own and wouldn’t still be living in the barracks. He recognized that something was missing in his life. Truth was, he was lonely and wanted a family of his own.

Stopping at the bottom of the stone steps which led up to the keep, Hugh wearily rubbed both hands over his face, then dug his fingers deep into his beard and scratched his jaw. Without much enthusiasm, he trudged up the steps and entered the keep.

The great hall was filled with folks having supper and avoiding the miserable weather. The warmth from the fires and tantalizing aroma of roasted meats, vegetables, and spiced breads filled the hall. Hugh spotted Cam at the high table next to his wife, Lady Adriana. He started toward his cousin but paused when he heard his name called.

“Hugh,” Lady Adriana’s lady’s maid Bethany, called out in a loud whisper as she scurried toward him. “‘Tis aboot time ye returned,” she said, handing him a steaming mug. “We almost gave ye up for dead.”

“Aye,” he said after taking a long drink and wiping his arm across his mouth. “I thank ye, Bethany. Big Alec is a lucky mon to hae such a loving wench to greet him each night.”

She giggled, then dismissed his remark. “Maddy said to saved ye some venison and turkey.” She handed him a large package wrapped in waxed cloth. “Noo, ye drink down yer broth and get yerself into some dry clothes.”

“I’d kiss ye lass but I donae need Big Alec hunting me down and relieving me of my head this night.”

She grinned and collected his empty mug. With her free hand she patted his chest, and said, “Go on with ye noo. Ye look as if yer gonna drop where ye stand.” She turned and sauntered back toward the kitchen stairs.

Hugh turned and saw Cam, and his lovely family start up the steps that led to their bedchambers. His report will have to hold until tomorrow.

Back in his own chambers in the barracks, Hugh placed his wet boots by the fire. He stripped off his wet clothes and hung them on the drying rope next to his bed. He needed a hot bath, but it was too late to rouse someone to heat and haul water. He settled into his bed, sighed, and within seconds drifted off to sleep, only to toss and turn until he awoke tangled in his blankets. The lass’s battered face lingered in his mind. Who was she. Who were her people and where had she come from? Guilt of not doing more for the woman drove him from his bed. He dug out dry clothes from his trunk and donned them, then slipped back into his damp boots. He grabbed the wrapped meat and went to saddle his horse, Perseus. It didn’t take him long to ready the big bay, and soon he was heading back to where the girl was buried.

Without supply wagons slowing him down, Hugh soon reached the edge of the woods. The rain had stopped, and the sky cleared. Moonlight illuminated the trail, allowing Hugh to find the shallow grave. However, in his haste, he had forgotten to grab a shovel from the gardener’s shed. Swearing under his breath, he dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. He kicked the leaves and ground cover aside until he found a branch thick enough with which to dig. He knelt down next to the woman and brushed the leaves and dirt from her face. His plan was to pull the woman’s body from the shallow grave, drag her further into the woods and bury her in a proper grave. It did not matter to him what she might have done to get to this place, he’d been raised a Christian, and it was his duty to see the lass received a proper Christian burial.

Hugh pulled her long braid from the dirt and placed it across her chest. He made the sign of the cross then bent down and reached under her arms and pulled. A loud grunt slid between his lips. The body didn’t budge. This is no wee lass. With more determination, he squatted down, hooked his arms under hers, then clasped his hands together under her breast. Inhaling a long breath, Hugh pulled with all his strength. The body dislodged from the shallow grave causing him to fall back. He ended up sitting on the ground with his legs spread wide and the woman’s body sprawled across his lap. Growling, he pushed her to the side and tried to crawl out from under her. Then he heard a soft moan. Hugh froze. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I never thought to check if ye were still alive. Noo, what am I to do with ye?”

This new development definitely altered his plans. Foremost, if she were possibly a survivor of the MacDonald clan, just being here could have severe ramifications for him and his own clan.

Until he learned who she was, he needed to keep her hidden and away from Corell Castle. Unfortunately, this lass would not make it through the night if exposed to the elements in her condition. It was dangerous, but being the God-fearing man he was, he needed to find a warm, dry place in which to take her, if he was to try and save her life.

After weighing his options, the ancient hunting lodge on Loch Morar where he and Cam used to hunt and fish, came to mind. As far as Hugh knew the stone building had been closed up after the old laird’s death. Although it had not been kept up, he could start a fire, and the place would at least keep the rain off them for the night.

Scrambling to his feet Hugh glanced around checking to see if anyone might have returned to make sure the woman was dead. He pulled her up as if he expected her to stand, and she wabbled like his cousin Malcolm once he’d passed out from too much drink. With a great grunt, he shoved her body up against his horse’s side. After adjusting his grip, he pushed her up and onto the horse’s neck. Once she was positioned and he felt she wouldn’t fall, he swung his leg up over the horse behind her. Hugh pulled her across his lap hoping to make her more comfortable. He glanced around again, praying no one witnessed him robbing a grave, and nudged his horse forward.

The woman’s dead weight was heavy and hard to hang on to. Once again, the pale light from the moon disappeared behind thick black clouds and after a spell, it began to rain again. They finally reached the eastern shore of Lock Morar and followed the trail south. Perseus picked his way along the rocky, forgotten trail that lead to the old MacCormac hunting lodge.

It had taken Hugh much longer than he thought to reach the lodge. He was cold, wet, sore from riding most of the day, and exhausted as he reined his horse in by the lodge door. He pushed the woman from his lap back onto his horse’s neck and dismounted. He anticipated the needle-like-pain that radiate through his numb feet and legs as he stepped down from his horse and touched the ground.

After a moment he pulled the woman from his horse with a loud groan. “Och, woman. Yer five and ten stones if yer one.”

He struggled to get her repositioned in his arms, then stumbled to the lodge and kicked the door open. The room was shrouded in dark shadows. He hoped he remembered where everything was and crossed to where a narrow bed once set against the wall. When he bumped into the side of it with his leg, he leaned over and set the woman down. Straightening, he stretched and rubbed his back, then crossed to the hearth. He filled the hearth with what little scraps of wood there was left in a basket and built a fire. The low flames offered little light to the gloomy space, although enough for him to see the woman’s breasts rise as she drew air into her lungs. He returned outside and led his horse into a covered, two-sided shed in the fenced in paddock. He unsaddled the horse and carried his sodden leather gear and blanket into the lodge.

Wet and half froze, Hugh removed his boots and placed them by the fire, then stripped off his clothes and hung them over the chairs to dry.

Naked and shivering, he turned to the woman sprawled across the bed. Her clothes were filthy, wet, and half torn from her body. If her wounds didn’t kill her, she would surely freeze to death in what was left of her clothes. It may not be proper to undress her, but nothing about the situation was proper, and he could not let her stay as she was.

Hugh made quick work of untying her petticoats and tossing them aside. His large half frozen fingers fumbled with the laces on her ankle boots, but once removed, he pulled down her stockings and dropped them on the floor. Sitting her upright, he removed her torn bodice and shift and was pleased to find she wore no corset for him to remove. Since he could not see her clearly, he brushed his hands over her body searching for open wounds with protruding bones. Not finding any wounds other than lumps and abrasions, which he could tend to in the morning light, he grabbed a thin wool blanket and covered her. Gathering up what was left of her clothes, he quickly laid them by the fire, then carefully crawled under the blanket behind her and pulled her cold body back against his. Normally, he would have appreciated the fullness of her curves and the predicament he found himself. Except, at the moment he prayed the warmth of his body would keep her alive throughout the night. He had no desire to awake snuggled up against a lass who had died during the night.

In the morning, if she lived, he would question her. He would find out who she was, and who had left her in the woods to die.

 

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