Page 2 of A Highlander Bound by Oath
Damn it, she saw me.Owen cursed under his breath. He needed to leave now because the risk of an even greater ordeal was too real.There is someone to save her now.Turning to run, his legs wouldn’t move. Not until she was safe from scorching chaos.
"Charlotte! Charlotte!" The man’s voice called again, more anxious this time. He was about to turn back when a sudden force stopped him in his tracks.
And then all was hazy.
His vision blurred as an imposing wall of flames met his body and a scuffle ensued as flesh collided with flesh. Everything around him was so foggy, like hot breath blowing on a window. Looking down, he saw blood on his hands and then he dropped to his knees on the ground. He could hear the monstrous roar of the flames resounding in his ears and all around him, when the world grew more still, all in a moment. Coughing, he squinted his eyes through the smoke and struggled to escape, stumbling to a nearby trough. Taking a deep breath, he splashed his face with the bloodied water, desperate to soothe the searing pain.
Then, he heard it. Amidst the violent waves of the frenzied fire, suddenly, all he could hear was the sobbing of the girl. Charlotte. The scent of ash and flesh aflame washed over him, plunging him into an even deeper daze, intoxicating him with the suffocating fumes and the adrenalin coursing through his body.
Fire.
Blood.
Pain.
Fists flying through the air.
A heavy thud of a body collapsing on the crimson ground.
A torturing nightmare with no end.
There was no turning back now. The deed was done. After what seemed like an eternity, Owen Elliot finally found his way out of the castle grounds, his mask torn and his once white shirt, now scarlet from the blood.
With one last look behind, he ran home toward the border with Scotland, sure of one thing.
He would never be the same ever again.
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day, Spring 1601
Routledge Castle…
Charlotte Routledge sighed as she eased her fingers over the scar that ran the length of her thigh. There was no excruciating pain anymore, at least not physically. But her heart still ached at the sight of it.
Holding the hem of her dress, she examined herself in front of the floor-length mirror, recalling the day she'd gotten the mark. The wound was an ugly reminder of a time she'd rather forget. The night when she lost everything that mattered to her. She had lost her father. The life that she had always known had perished in that blaze.
The wind blew her long blonde hair about her face as her light green eyes filled with tears. Charlotte looked so much like her mother, with her delicate features and pale white skin. They hadspent hours together taking care of her hair.My child, hair is a woman's crowning glory; you should always look after it.
Looking to the side, she glanced at the open window where her mother used to sit. Her uncle had given her the room where her mother had died, forcing Charlotte to coexist with the heartbreaking memories. Catherine had fallen to her death, but nobody knew exactly what had happened. Fifteen years had passed since the day. But still, the pain remained. Nothing and no one could bring back her parents.
Charlotte sighed heavily as she walked to the window and leaned out, staring at the patch of grass where her mother's body had been found.What happened, mama?Her heart whispered as a single tear fell on the top of her hand. Secretly, Charlotte had always wondered whether her death had been an act of foul play or if she wanted to die. Her mother’s past was covered in a veil, her own daughter filled with questions about it.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling the scent of the rain that lingered on the horizon, she pushed herself back up and walked to the mirror glass, where she examined the length of her scar again.I wish there were a way I could make you disappear…
Dropping her hem and taking a step back, Charlotte hurriedly fixed her dress as the door swung wide. "Don't you know it's rude to enter a Lady's room without knocking, Uncle?" she quickly remarked as he stepped into the room.
"Don't you dare talk to me like that," he sneered, slapping her to the floor with the back of his hand. "You nasty little witch."
Charlotte hit the wood with a sickening thud, feeling her lip splitting in two, and the iron taste of blood filling her mouth.
Alexander Routledge sniffed in disgust as he fixed his hair, slicking the dark tendrils back over his head with the bony hand he hit her with, the edge of the ring that collided with her flesh glinting. "If you’d finished your sewing and instead of feeding your vanity before that mirror, I wouldn't have to discipline you like that," he snickered. "After all these years… you still haven't learned respect."
Using her arms to push herself from the floor, Charlotte stood and glared at him, her fists balled at her sides. He treated her like a prisoner but she'd be damned if she would let him see her pain. Her pride was more potent than her will to survive. "I don't see why I have to do the sewing," Charlotte fired back. "You have plenty of maids in the castle to do your bidding."
Alexander's laugh was cruel and cold as he stared at her. "Because Iownyou, little niece. You are nothing without me," he patted his pocket that held the key to her room. "You are to do what I say, whenever I say it."
Her uncle had kept her under lock and key at the castle ever since her father had perished. Charlotte was a precious pawn to him, nothing more than a bargaining piece for his financial gain. She despised him with every ounce of loathe her soul could muster. Not once in her life had she hated someone until him. "Until you are married and I have my price, you will do as I say," he repeated his words to get his point across.
