Love, Give Me Redemption
The Deceiving of a Highlander

Story by annajade

Rory O'Malley was curious of her Grandda Liam's homeland, Ireland. To fulfill the promise they made when she was a child, Rory was determined to explore Ireland. Discover the ancient castles, be able to walk in the land of her forefathers, climb the stairs of Blarney Castle, be undeniably rescued by an archaic, devastatingly beautiful Highlander. She comes to be reluctant of being in the presence of the exotically intriguing man that set her thoughts afire, but she soon realizes that, although she is set to run with him after a terrifying ordeal with a man with knife who has set the goal to kill them both, she wages a battle that she knows will be lost: heart over mind. Where else to go to where there is a knife-wielding madman chasing after them and Ireland becomes a death trap, to Inverness Scotland, in the demesne of the McIllioch Clan. So what will the tenacious history-geek Rory O'Malley do when she discovers Ian Walsh's decievingly secretive past?

Prologue: Deceiver

I choked and gasped for air.

It was slipping away from me. My vision was blurring, but I could still see him. I couldn't believe he made me trust him so completely, so blindly. I would've followed him to the ends and points of this earth, even if it went flat.

I gusted out a breath like a sigh, but it was more than that. I gritted my teeth to keep myself from crying.


"Why?" I gasped breathlessly against the cord around my neck. The deadly weapon of a garrote. An ancient medieval device of murder. I stared at the figure standing stoically and without a single, traitorous flinch, a few feet off.

My assailant hissed, and slightly twitched his fingers. I gulped and made a small sound of distress. As much as I didn't want to, I made that sound nonetheless.

I was fearless. But being betrayed by a person who I considered worthy of trust, it was more than a stab in the back.

He looked at me, wearily even. His grey eyes revealing nothing.

"Why?!" I shouted more clearly, ignoring the threat of the garrote and the man growling behind me. My voice ricocheted off the walls.

Not a wince.

I heard a whimper and I realized it came from me. Far within me.

"Nothing, Rory. It just is," he said, his thick Scottish brogue a delight despite the man coming from it.

I gritted my teeth again and closed my eyes tightly, my hands were tautly gripping the forearms of the man behind me, trying to wedge a distance so I could at least fight. They didn't relent.

I recognized the moment I was going to die. The knowledge of defeat, and it peeved me to the greatest damning heights of my spirit.

Even then, I could still see his iced grey eyes of iniquity burning behind my lids. I could still feel his brush with those desirous lips seeking for atonement.

And I would now die with the vision of the deceiver firmly set behind the scorching tears.

The deceiver I had secretly given my heart to.