The Legacy's Origin (Enduring Legacy, #1) Read online

  The Legacy’s Origin

  Enduring Legacy

  Book One

  Dawn Brower

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Legacy’s Origin Copyright © 2018 Dawn Brower

  Cover art and edits by Victoria Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  ENDURING LEGACY SERIES

  DEDICATION

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EXCERPT | ONE ENCHANTING KISS | ENDURING LEGACY 2 | AMANDA MARIEL

  PROLOGUE

  EXCERPT | CHARMING HER ROGUE | ENDURING LEGACY 10 | DAWN BROWER

  CHAPTER ONE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY DAWN BROWER

  ENDURING LEGACY SERIES

  The Legacy’s Origin by Dawn Brower

  One Enchanting Kiss by Amanda Mariel

  Visions of Pleasure by Clair Brett

  The Search for Sam by Rebecca Lovell

  Highlander’s Legacy by Hildie McQueen

  The Apothecary’s Assistant by Sandra Sookoo

  Rhapsody and Rebellion by Aubrey Wynne

  A Hunter, A Witch, and A Shrew by Leona Bushman

  Destiny’s Duchess by Gemma Blackwood

  Charming Her Rogue by Dawn Brower

  Mesmerizing the Marquis by Madeline Martin

  Kiss of the Grimoire by Torie James

  Fated for the Duke by Christina McKnight

  Capturing a Lady’s Love by Tammy Andresen

  DEDICATION

  SOMETIMES BAD THINGS happen and you have no control over them. When you are going through a rough patch try to look for the silver lining and hope that in some way fate will restore the balance. No one ever said life would be easy, and for some it’s one uphill battle after the next. This book is for everyone struggling with something. There is no joy to be found in it, and yet, we keep moving on. That perseverance and strength is what makes life bearable. Hold on to that and your steadfast determination will see you through anything.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  SOME STORIES DO NOT have a happy ending. They rip you to shreds and you end it with the devastation of loss. This book will break your heart, so be prepared for desolation and despair. In the words of my editor: “Thanks for making me cry, ya meanie!”

  The Enduring Legacy books tell the stories of the descendants of one family that were persecuted during the height of the witch trials in Scotland. This family is not real, and is the work of fiction, but what happens to them very much occurred to individuals in the sixteenth century and beyond.

  While the story isn’t one filled with joy, it is pivotal to understanding the rest of the books that are created, especially the first book by Amanda Mariel who took on the task of writing the twins from this book. I hope you find this compelling and continue on to the rest of the books in the series. There are several talented authors in this project and they will create some amazing stories for you all.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  MANY THANKS TO MY COVER artist, Victoria Miller—no mere words can express how much I appreciate you. You are fabulous as always. Also thanks to Elizabeth Evans—you make writing fun. Thank you for helping me and reading all my rough drafts.

  Special thanks to all the authors in the Enduring Legacy project for working with me. It is nice to work with so many talented authors. Endeavors such as this one make writing that much more enjoyable and challenging. All of your hard work and dedication is appreciated.

  CHAPTER ONE

  SCOTLAND 1590

  Sorcha Dalais Creag kept her son Lachlan at her side as they strolled along the field leading toward the cliffs of North Berwick. The rolling green dropped into a rocky expanse that led down to a sandy beach as waves in various shades of blue and white crashed the shoreline. She took in a deep breath, absorbing the fresh air and finding joy in the simple things in her life.

  The sun highlighted Lachlan’s red and gold locks, bringing out his hair’s fiery hue. He’d inherited his coloring from her, and a part of her was rather glad for it. In some ways, it made him more hers, and while it might be selfish, she hoped he took after her in other ways as well. Her gifts gave her insight to people she’d not otherwise have and in turn, revealed the motivations of those around her. With that knowledge, she could help those who needed it most. Brian hated her need to offer assistance to those in dire straits. She loved her husband, but sometimes he didn’t really understand her. Empathy was ingrained in her soul. She couldn’t ignore it if she wanted to.

  Brian was a good man and provided well for them. He was the fourth son of an earl, and without an inheritance to speak of. The little money he had, he’d used to open an all goods store They had a little bit of everything inside, and Sorcha took care of the apothecary side of their offerings. She gathered herbs and prepared them for sale each day. It gave her a purpose even when most people were afraid to be seen buying anything that might be associated with witchcraft.

  Sorcha couldn’t worry about such things. Deep inside, it hurt her not to help people. Feeling everything was part of her gift, and there was no escaping it. Everyone in her family had something special about them. Hers was to help others, and understanding their emotions was the first step in healing them inside and out. She’d take the risk of being termed a witch because the alternative made her stomach turn in distaste. To ignore an ailment could end in certain death, and she couldn’t live with that possibility.

  She stopped to pick some roseroot along the cliff’s edge and put it in her apron pocket. The plant grew there and helped with certain illnesses. To be honest, she wasn’t entirely sure how it worked, but sometimes, when certain wounds festered bright and red, the roseroot could be used to eradicate it.

  Lachlan giggled and ran across the field behind her. She turned and shaded her eyes so she could see him better. The lad tripped over his feet and tumbled down a small hill. He sat up, shook his head, and then took off again.

  “Och, lad,” she said and then laughed. “Ye’ll be the end of me yet.”

  There were no more herbs to be gathered, and it was time to head back in. She’d taken inventory the day before, and most of the herbs were fully stocked. Sorcha would only need a few things, and she could head into town later to add them to the store’s coffers.

  “Ma,” he called out to her. “Catch me.”

  It was a game they often played, and she indulged him whenever possible. She chased after him as his laugher echoed on the wind. Lachlan ran as fast as his little legs would allow. He was a wee lad of five, and he’d been a happy bairn from day one. Sorcha lived a blessed life, and her son was her greatest joy. She’d do anything for him.

  Sorcha lifted her skirts and ran faster. She reached Lachlan and leaned down to scoop him into her arms. “There’s a good lad,” she said then kissed his cheeks. “It’s time for a nap.”

  “No,” he said pushing his lip out into a fine pout.

  “Aye,” she told him. “Little lads need proper rest tae grow into strong braw men.” She cuddled him against her. His displeasure
at the end of his fun washed over her. Lachlan’s sadness became a part of her long enough for her to ease it. Soon, his smiles were wide on his face and his happy disposition shined through. “That’s my lad. Are ye ready tae go now?”

  He nodded. “Aye, Ma.”

  She carried him back to their seaside cottage. They didn’t need much, and she saw to the house without help. She’d grown up with servants, as her father had been a great lord in the area. Their family had always been a part of the Dalais Barony. Her brother, Niall, was now the baron as their father had died a few years ago. She had one sister, Caitrìona, who was married to the town blacksmith. They probably could have set up finer matches, but finding love had been more important than status. Their family didn’t do well without a strong emotion binding them together.

  They neared the cottage, and Sorcha frowned when she noticed someone standing out front, pacing fretfully. As she got closer, she recognized the vicar, Tamhas Gall. He was tall, lanky, and had a nervous twitch. His brown hair was as equally dull as his muddy brown eyes. He twirled his hat in his hands as he waited for them to approach. Something about the vicar had always sat wrong with her, but she’d kept that to herself. He had a sweet wife who made up for his judgmental temperament.

  “Good day,” Sorcha greeted him. She set down Lachlan and asked, “How are ye?”

  “I’m fine,” the vicar said. “There’s talk in the village ye have knowledge of medicine.”

  This was a fine line. She shouldn’t openly admit an affinity to her skills with herbs. That alone could end her on trial for witchcraft. Most people didn’t come right out and ask her. They didn’t want to lose the one person able to help their ailments. The vicar; however, would have no problem turning her over to a witch hunter.

  “Who’s been telling tales about me?” she asked carefully.

  “Please,” he begged as he stepped forward. Anguish mixed with anxiety reverberated in that one word. “My lady wife is in her child bed. It’s been hours, and I fear for her and the bairn.”

  Sorcha didn’t need to hear any more than that. Beitris Gall needed her, and she’d do everything she could to save her. “I’ll have tae take Lachlan tae Dalais Manor before I come see tae yer wife.”

  “We can drop him on the way,” he said as he gestured toward his nearby carriage. “Ye must hurry. I...”

  “Say no more,” Sorcha stopped him. “Ye may explain as we travel.” She’d been gathering herbs all morning. Most of them wouldn’t help her with Beitris’s condition, but she didn’t want to take the time to sort what she’d collected in her basket. It was easier to bring the entire lot of it with her and take out what she needed at the vicar’s home.

  Sorcha picked Lachlan up and placed him on the carriage seat, then joined him. The vicar didn’t wait for her to say more and quickly hopped up as well. He grabbed the reins and snapped them to make the horses move. The carriage jolted forward, hitting every bump in the road on their way to Dalais Manor.

  It was a short distance from Sorcha’s cottage, so it didn’t take them long to reach it. The stately manor had been in her family for generations, but was modest compared to most baron’s homes. It didn’t have a grand ballroom, but had a nice dining room. They could not have large parties, but they could have several dinner guests. The small library that doubled as Niall’s study had been one of her favorite rooms. Her thirst for knowledge had grown by reading those limited supply of books. They didn’t have a big family, and hadn’t had to share sleeping quarters. They even had a couple extra bedchambers available for the occasional guest. It was still luxurious, just not obscenely so.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the manor. Sorcha stepped down and then reached up to grab Lachlan. “I’ll be but a moment,” she told the vicar and then headed inside.

  Ailis, her brother’s wife, greeted her as she entered. “Sorcha,” she said, surprised. “We weren’t expecting ye.”

  “It’s the vicar’s wife,” she said. “The bairn is coming, and it’s a difficult one. Will ye keep Lachlan while I see tae her care?”

  Ailis nibbled on her bottom lip and rubbed on her protruding belly. She was expecting her first child with Niall. They were both anxious for their own bairn to come into the world in a handful of months. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I do hope she’s all right.”

  “She’ll be fine, but I must go,” Sorcha said. “Lachlan, be a good lad for yer auntie.”

  Lachlan hugged onto Sorcha’s legs. “Go with Ma,” he demanded.

  Sorcha leaned down and kissed his chubby cheek. “It’s nap time, and ye’ll remember what I said about naps.”

  “Grow up strong,” he said.

  “That’s my braw lad,” she replied, ruffling his hair. “Auntie Ailis will take ye tae the nursery.”

  Ailis hugged Sorcha. “Do be careful,” she whispered. “This might be too big of a risk.”

  Sorcha nodded. “I canna let her die.” A part of her thought aiding of the vicar and his wife a foolish idea. The other side of her couldn’t ignore the call to help others. She feared it would one day get her into a fine mess she couldn’t find a way out of. All she could do was pray it never came, and this time would end as well as each one before. To selfishly allow Beitris and her babe to die in order to save herself—she’d never be able to live with that grief. So, she set aside those misgivings that plagued her and forged on. To her, there was no other choice she could make.

  “Aye,” Ailis agreed. “And I won’t be talkin’ ye out of it. Would be a waste of my breath, and it’s difficult enough to force air in these days. The bairn is squeezing it out of me the bigger he gets.”

  Sorcha smiled. “They do that.” Her family was growing with the addition of Niall and Ailis’s bairn. Caitrìona had twin daughters, Sorcha had Lachlan, and soon a brand new bairn will join the mix. She couldn’t wait to meet her new nephew. “I’ll send word once I know more,” she said and rushed out the door.”

  The vicar sat in the carriage where she’d left him. His agitation reverberated through the air, and she’d notice it even if she hadn’t felt it first. He nearly squirmed in his seat and tapped the reins against his lap in a steady pattern. She stepped into the carriage and nodded at him. There were no words necessary. He flicked the reins and the horses started to move. The vicarage was near Dalais Manor on the north end of the estate. It was the duty of the barony to take care of the vicarage and pay for their living. The current vicar had taken over before her father had died. Niall had inherited the responsibility and hadn’t liked it.

  Her family believed in God and respected their religion, but had never been zealots. Tamhas Gall leaned heavy toward the side of witch hunting. He favored the king’s command that all witches in Scotland be eradicated. Sorcha didn’t believe in magic, but she did know there were special gifts given to certain people. Her family was a prime example of that. It wasn’t magic though. Their gifts had been given to them by a higher power, and nothing bad came as a result of them. No one would ever convince her they were evil.

  The carriage came to a halt outside the vicarage. Tamhas jumped down and tethered the reins to a nearby post, then showed her inside. Beitris’s screams reverberated throughout. They became louder as they neared the bedroom. Sorcha stepped inside and sucked in a breath. Beitris had almost no color to her cheeks, and her skin was soaked in sweat. She panted heavily and didn’t even notice when they entered.

  “Beitris,” Sorcha said softly. “How are ye?”

  She turned her head to meet Sorcha’s gaze. Her normally vibrant dark green eyes were now a dull shade that resembled a patch of dirty moss. She didn’t talk, or even attempt to, as she continued to stare at Sorcha. Her head rolled back, and she collapsed into unconsciousness. “Och, this isna good at all.”

  Sorcha pulled the quilt back that covered Beitris’s sweat-soaked body. It was worst than she feared. The sheets were stained red with blood, and chances of Beitris’s survival went down every second that passed. The bairn might be s
aved though. If only she could wake her up.

  “Beitris,” Sorcha said as she tapped her cheek lightly. “Can ye open yer eyes?”

  She moaned and slowly opened her lids. “Dinna think I can do this.”

  “I ken ye will,” Sorcha replied. “If ye want the bairn tae live, ye must push the wee one out. Are ye ready?”

  She shook her head. “I canna.”

  Sorcha checked to see if the bairn was ready to come. The head appeared to be stuck, so she eased it out a little to help Beitris. She was so close and hadn’t even realized it. Why hadn’t the vicar sent for a midwife or even Sorcha sooner? Had he really thought his wife could do this on her own? “Push the bairn out,” Sorcha ordered.

  Tears fell from Beitris’s eyes, soaking her cheeks even more than they already were. “I canna,” she insisted.

  “Now,” Sorcha told her. “Ye must or the bairn will be lost.”

  She didn’t tell her that the bairn might still die or that her own life hung in the balance. First, the bairn had to be born into the world, and then the rest might be left to prayers. Beitris started to react to her demand and moaned as she expelled the bairn from her body. Sorcha pulled it free, and her concern grew. The bairn wasn’t crying and dinna open his eyes.

  “Is something wrong?” Beitris asked. “Do I have a son or a daughter?”

  She wanted to deliver the good news she had a braw son, but she was afraid she had to give her some bad tidings. “He’s not breathing.”

  “Make him,” Beitris demanded, her tone full of panic. She gestured toward the baby. “Give him tae me.”

  Sorcha cleaned him and wrapped him up in a small blanket then handed him over to Beitris. She should be able to see her wee one even if he hadn’t stood a chance. The vicar should’ve reacted quicker than he had. Maybe then she’d have been able to save the babe.