Highland Knot

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So I recently got really into my Scottish heritage and also stories set in medieval Scotland. So here is one with a character in medieval Scotland but is from the present. This character has been stewing in my head for a long time, and therefore has a huge background story so sorry if it gets confusing. Not that it is all mentioned here but for those of you who pick up on the details.

ALSO- sorry if this offends anyone who is Scottish. Or who just feels offended period. This is just what was in my head, and if you have any input to make it better or more accurate, leave a comment below! :D


A chill made me groggily open my eyes.

            Fog was everywhere. The sky was barely discernible from how cloudy everything looked. The grass on either side was still. It must have been early morning.

            I sighed. Another world again. All I wanted to do was go to sleep and not deal with reality. I gave into the still lingering sluggishness, snuggling into the ground and letting the grasses ward off any winds.

                                    *          *          *

            A yell jerked me to my feet. The thick fog had disappeared but the sky was overcast, the sun hiding. A group of horses were running around me, so close I could hit them with a rock. My heart started beating fast. They were all burly men, with broadswords on their backs and camping supplies with them.

            If they posed a threat I would have a hard time bringing them down. I could feel the chill that had worked into my joints and sniffled, keeping an eye on them.

            One of the men, who I assumed to be the leader of the group because of his responsible mien, approached.

            He looked in my eyes…and garbled words poured from his mouth. I frowned, trying to make out the words from his heavy Scottish accent.

            He stopped, expectant. I only shook my head, my heart beating. “I don’t understand.”

            Instantly he was furious. “What is a Brit doing on the Gordon’s land?”

            I could barely make out what he was saying, his voice swiftly rising and falling, making the words obscured. “A…Brit?” I asked, not comprehending. Is that some slang? Then it clicked. “Oh, I’m not British. I’m sorry for trespassing on your land- I didn’t know whose it was If you could let me be on my way, I’ll leave.” I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping that this situation could be dissolved that easily.

            He completely ignored me. “Where are ye from lass? Your accent be most strange.”

            “America.” I wrapped my arms around myself and eyed the other men. How could they not be cold? The furs they were wearing couldn’t be water proof, could they? “Now are you going to let me pass or not?”

            His eyes scanned me up and down, creating shivers that had nothing to do with the cold. “I believe not. Can’t pass up the chance of coming upon a pretty thing like you and not keeping you for myself.”

            Dread drenched over me, squeezing my heart. The men were all still mounted and in a half circle around me. Running with my back turned would not be a good idea. That only leaves fighting them. I hoped like crazy that my knowledge of pressure points and the human body would work on these big, hardened men.

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