Chapter One

His name was Wal, and he was a stranger. Wal had always known that this was what his name meant, always known that there was something different about him. He knew that it was unusual to grow up with two parents in their forties and no siblings. He knew that neither his Da nor his Ma had his long ginger hair or blue eyes or height.

It shouldnae have surprised me when they told me everything, but it sent me reeling nonetheless.

He’d only turned four-and-twenty three days ago, and it had changed everything. His Da had married his Ma at that age, it transpired, and Wal asked them why they’d never had any other children. He’d never seen such tiredness on their elderly faces as he did at that moment.

“Och, me son,” his Ma, Sadie, had sighed. She only reached midway up his chest, her steel-grey hair and wrinkled face emphasized by her stoop, but she still patted his cheek like he was a boy. “Och, me lad. How have ye so grown already? Have we really gotten so old as all of this?”

Wal’s Da, Joe, had let out a loud sigh of his own. “Sadie, we should have told him long before now, and ye ken it. We’ve been putting it off, son. The truth is, yer Mither’s barren, or maybe I am, we dinnae ken. Bairn after bairn we made, year after year, and each one withered in the womb before it had a chance to breathe yon Highland air.”

“I dinnae understand,” Wal had told them. Though he was a man grown, he still sat on the threadbare rug that decorated the floor while his parents took the two stools before the fireplace. Outside, the weather was gathering. He remembered very clearly thinking that there would be a storm later, not realizing how soon a personal storm would change his life.

Sadie had burst into tears at that. “I was already one-and-forty when ye were born, me love. Yer faither – nae yer da, yer real faither – he brought ye here to me. He begged me to raise ye, said he didnae have a clue what to do with ye otherwise. I told him I was too old and too inexperienced, but he insisted, and I couldnae help but feel bad for him. Plus, I’d always wanted a bairn, and ye were so wee. His wife wouldnae have ye, yer mither was deid…”

Wal had not been so surprised to find out he and his parents did not share blood, but the revelation about his birth parents sent a shiver through him. “His wife wasnae me birth mither?”

“Och, nae,” Joe had said, laying a comforting hand on Sadie’s shoulder. “Nae, yer poor deid mither was a young lass, a maid or something of the sort. Lady MacEwen is as barren as yer Ma.”

“Lady MacEwen?” Wal had repeated. His brain was racing at a thousand miles per hour, and he was suddenly beside himself. “What in the blazes do ye mean, Lady MacEwen? Are ye trying to tell me that me birth faither is—”

“The Laird of MacEwen, aye,” Joe agreed, not sounding entirely thrilled about the fact. He got up and went over to the small cupboard at the side of the room, taking out a little box that had been locked for as long as Wal could remember.

Sadie had rubbed at her eyes, then reached around her neck, opening the necklace she always wore – her only piece of jewelry – to withdraw a tiny key. She handed it to her husband, and he unlocked the box.

“He left three things for ye before he rode off into the night,” Sadie explained. “He insisted on yer name, and he gave us these.”

Joe withdrew a shining golden brooch from the box, untouched by the four-and-twenty years since Wal’s own birth. On it was etched a crest – the crest of the neighboring Clan MacEwen.

It’s true then. I am who they say I am.

He reached out with trembling fingers, accepting it as his Da handed it over. He turned it over in his hands, blown away by the weight of it. If they’d wanted, his parents could have sold this brooch and been rich. Instead, they had kept it for him all of these years!

Then Joe had drawn out a bolt of cloth from the box as well, deep green patched with gold. “Ye were wrapped in this when he brought ye,” he said. “It was the third and last thing the Laird left for ye.”

Wal had pinned the brooch to his shirt and accepted the blanket, and spent a long time just staring at it.

His parents had not been surprised when, a few hours after, he declared he would set off as soon as possible for Clan McEwen. Back in the present, he was already halfway there, miles from home. He felt an ache in his heart where they should be.

“Och, are ye gonnae spend the whole journey with yer face like a skelped backside?” a voice teased from beside him, shaking him from his maudlin thoughts.

Wal turned his head to see his best friend, Scott, watching him from his own horse, his green eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. “I dinnae ken why I brought ye along,” Wal responded with a laugh. “Ye’re a nuisance.”

“Aye, well, someone as maudlin as ye needs a nuisance now and again,” Scott told him easily. “And when ye told me where ye were going, I could hardly let ye ride off alone, now could I? Who’d comfort yer poor ma if ye got yerself killed?”

They continued to playfully bicker as they rode, and Wal was thankful for it. In truth, he could not have asked for a better travel companion – or a better friend – than Scott. They’d known each other since boyhood, and they balanced each other in a way that Wal had needed his whole life.

People find me height and manner intimidating, but Scott’s always been unafraid to jokingly mock me. It keeps me grounded.

Of course, they were men, and as men, Wal could hardly express such feelings of love and gratitude to his friend. So instead, he said, “Ye ken, many lesser men would have pushed ye off yer horse by now, aye?”

Scott just laughed, clearly at ease, “Well, aye, but many lesser men have nae just discovered that they’re the secret son of a Laird. Are ye gonnae make me bow and scrape now that ye’re nobility?”

Wal hadn’t realized how much tension he’d been carrying in his body until he felt his shoulders relax now. He didn’t know how he felt about this revelation, even now, hours later. “Nobility, is it?” he said, the word tasting strange on his tongue. “Yesterday, I was just a simple farmer’s lad.”

Scott chuckled a little ruefully this time as they guided the horse down one of the rolling hills toward the forest that separated the two clans. “Nay, Wal. Ye’re many things, but ye’ve never been a simple farmer’s lad, nae since we met twenty years ago. I’ve always kent that ye were bound for something bigger. Maybe that’s why I was so eager to befriend ye, eh?” Then his seriousness faded, and he was japing once again. “After all, it couldnae have been yer personality!”

Wal rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics, but Scott’s words stuck somewhere deep inside him.

Bound for something bigger? That’s an awful polite way to say ‘the odd man out.’

Because that’s what he’d been, even then when he’d been four playing a chasing game with three-year-old Scott. That’s what he’d been with all the other lads when he’d gotten older and wanted to play fight with the rest of them.

He’d never fit, not at all, and now he finally knew why. But as he rode toward the next step of his destiny, he could not help but wonder: would he fit there, either?

Probably not.

He was no farmer’s son, but he didn’t feel like a Laird’s son either. When he tried to think about who he was, he only knew two things for sure.

His name was Wal, and he was a stranger.

***

They were deep in the forest when Wal heard the tell-tale whinny that indicated an angry horse. A desperate cry followed immediately after it: “Woah! Stop! Stop!”

That’s a woman’s voice.

“We’ve got to help,” he told Scott, who nodded, and the two of them turned their mounts in the direction of the noise.

They rode quickly until they reached a clearing, and in the center was a large stallion, neighing and bucking wildly, a young woman clinging to its mane for dear life. “What’s wrong with ye?!” she screamed. “Stop!”

Wal didn’t stop to think. He jumped off of his horse before they’d even stopped moving and ran across the clearing toward the helpless maiden. He got in front of the angry horse, narrowly avoiding its dangerous hooves as they swung near his body.

One kick could mean the end of it for me, but I cannae just leave her to fall.

“Ho there!” he called firmly, grabbing the horse by the tight reins at its nose. It wasn’t a yell – he didn’t want to scare the creature any more – but rather the deep, commanding voice he used with the dogs and horses back home. “Enough of this, you hear? Enough.”

The horse brayed angrily, trying to thrash his head, but Wal held him tightly in place. He saw Scott approaching and nodded, indicating that his friend should help the woman down from the back while he tried to calm the creature.

The stallion was wild-eyed, trying to bite and kick, its anger now focused entirely on Wal, but he continued to speak in that same calm tone. “Woah there, lad,” he said, firm but soothing. “What’s got ye all frightened, eh?”

The woman was still clinging to the horse, but Wal was glad to see that she had a brain enough in her head to let go and slide down when Scott arrived to help her. He wanted to ask if she was all right, but he had to keep his attention on the stallion.

“Hush, now,” he said, a little more soothingly. Wal was thankful that he had grown so tall and strong – the horse could have hurt him severely in his blind panic otherwise by now. “Hush. It isnae as bad as ye think,” he assured the creature. “Och, ye’re a bonny thing, are ye nae? Did ye catch a scent of something ye didnae like, is that it? Dinnae worry, lad, nothing’s coming for ye.”

Wal continued this stream of words, the content not really mattering, soothing, and comforting. Eventually, he let go of the reins with one hand, hesitantly reaching out to pet the stallion’s nose.

There was a frozen moment, then the horse neighed and bucked against his hand, and Wal let out a sigh of relief.

“There’s a good lad,” he said, petting him affectionately. “I kent ye were, really. All calm now, aye?”

Only when he was absolutely certain that the stallion had calmed entirely did he turn away, one hand loosely on his guiding rein, and turn to where Scott stood a little further back with the woman they’d saved.

When he got his first proper look at her, the world changed entirely.

She was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen, even in his own imagination, and he could not believe that she stood right there before him now. She was well-built, with good shoulders and hips under her fine dress, gentle curves that drew the eye modestly covered by her clothing. Any man of Wal’s age would have taken notice, but that wasn’t what so distracted him now.

Her skin was fair and soft, with light freckling on her nose, and her hair, though tied back, looked like tresses of brown silk curled near her head. But the thing that drew Wal in most were her eyes. They were the strangest color he had ever seen, and he could not stop staring.

It’s like those eyes have trapped me soul, and I’m nae even sure I want it back.

Wal’s own eyes were blue, and people often commented on the dark depths of the color they held, but they were nothing to this maiden’s eyes as they focused on him now. They were bright, but not quite blue – they were the color of the wood violets that grew wild in the spring, a mix of blue and purple that shone in the daylight.

She opened her mouth – and she had good lips, curved just right, perfect for kissing. Wal hadn’t kissed all that many maidens, but he knew that those he had would all fall away from his mind if he was to taste those lips. He waited for her words, sure she would whisper gentle thanks in a bell-like voice to go with her beauty.

“That,” she said softly, “Was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.” Then her tone changed, and suddenly her lovely face turned to exasperation. “And the most foolish! Are ye quite daft, man? The horse could have killed ye where ye stood!”

Beside her, Scott glanced at her in surprise. “Me friend just saved yer life, Miss.”

“Aye, he did at that and nearly lost his own in the process,” the woman replied, shaking her head. “Honestly, ye men and yer braveries! Well, thank ye, but dinnae go risking yer life like that for every damsel ye happen to come across, ye hear me?”

Wal knew he should be shocked, but all he felt was a mixture of surprise and amusement, if he was honest. That a woman should speak in such a way to him! He couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s quite a mouth ye’ve got on ye, lass,” he told her. “Do ye speak to everyone who rescues ye like this?”

She folded her arms, one delicate chestnut eyebrow raised in an arch. “Aye, is that what ye think? And tell me, do ye think I look like a maid in need of saving by a man every five minutes?”

Wal snorted, and Scott said, “Well, ye ken, we did just have to rescue ye from a rogue horse.”

The woman shook her head, tutting. “Rionnag wouldnae have hurt me,” she said. “He just got a bit frightened, is all. Now ye, Sir Redhead, he would have knocked yer heid clean off yer shoulders if ye’d given him half a chance.”

“He had more than half a chance,” Wal told her. “And me name is Wal. That’s Scott. And Rionnag may be a fair steed, but if ye’d have fallen, ye’d be just as deid as anyone else, whether he wanted it or not.”

Something flashed in her eyes, but it wasn’t anger. She gave a very small smile, and Wal’s heart leaped in joy that he’d pleased her. “Well,” she allowed, “Ye may have a point there. Thank ye, sir. Can I give ye a favor in return?”

“I’ll have yer name,” Wal replied instantly. Scott looked at him in clear exasperation, but Wal ignored him, his mind focused entirely on this beautiful woman. “I dinnae need anything else.”

“Ye’re a strange one, Wal,” she said after a moment. “Aye, all right, then. Me name is Yvaine. A pleasure to meet ye and all that.”

“And ye,” Wal told her.

“Clearly,” Scott replied, looking between the pair of them with a long-suffering expression on his face. “Come, Wal. Ye’ve got yer noble faither to meet, ye cannae be dallying with every pretty lassie we come across.”

Wal nodded, the spell broken by the reminder. “Aye,” he said apologetically. “Aye. Well, Miss Yvaine…”

“Dinnae worry. Me traveling party will be here soon. Off ye go,” she said, still looking amused.

And so Wal and Scott said their goodbyes and rode off to change Wal’s life. Though, as he thought of those violet eyes, he could not help but think it had unwittingly been changed already.

Chapter Two

“He told me his name was Wal, and his friend was Scott,” Yvaine told her father as she finished explaining exactly what had happened when Rionnag had gotten frightened and ran ahead of the party.

She hadn’t been able to admit it in front of her rescuers, of course. Still, it had been a rather terrifying experience. One minute, she’d been riding quite happily alongside her father and her attendant. Then there was a loud banging noise from somewhere in the forest, and suddenly Rionnag was bolting ahead, barely aware of his mistress on his back.

I fair thought I’d met me death until those two farm lads came from the trees to save me.

“The way he handled Rionnag, Faither!” she said, still scarcely able to believe it. “It was like he was dealing with a newborn foal rather than a grown stallion!”

Though Yvaine had teased him, watching Wal tame the horse after Scott helped her slip off Rionnag’s back had been a sight to behold. Scott was pleasant enough to look at, a little taller than Yvaine with bright green eyes and shining blond hair, but if she was honest, she’d hardly looked at him at all.

When I saw them emerge from the forest, I thought one of the Sith had come to save me life or spirit me away to Faerie.

Wal looked like no man she had ever seen. He was taller than anyone she knew, except maybe the Laird. His hair was long and red like fire, his eyes the bright blue of the sky. His clothes strained at his well-toned chest and arms, and she felt herself blushing slightly at the memory. She’d never noticed someone so physically before, and she wasn’t sure what it meant.

“It sounds like ye had quite the adventure, daughter,” said her father, shaking his head. He was a stocky man, with ink-black hair that looked almost blue and her own strange purplish-blue eyes. He was a handsome man, yet he’d never taken another woman after Yvaine’s mother Maggie’s death some years before.

Even after all of these years, though, Yvaine could still remember her mother’s last conversation about her father. “Torquil works too hard,” Maggie had said. “And if I’m to go and leave the two of ye alone, I need ye to help him as much as ye can.”

Her father did work hard, Yvaine knew, but there was no wonder about why. He was the right-hand man to the Laird of their clan and the presumed heir since Laird McEwen lacked children. Yvaine was aware she’d grown up in a world of advantage, and she was grateful for it. It had given her freedom that many other women lacked.

“I did at that,” she admitted. “But I could have handled Rionnag even without a man and his fine muscles.”

Torquil chuckled.  “Ye’re as wild as yer mither was. Caught yer eye, this savior lad, did he?”

Yvaine snorted in response. “Hardly. He thought himself quite clever, I think. He kept trying to spar with me in our words – as if any lad could pull off such a thing when Mither trained me so well!”

“Ye should have kept him back so I could thank him,” Torquil told her. “For me stubborn daughter’s life, I mean. Both him and his friend.”

“Nay, they were in quite a hurry,” Yvaine told him, petting Rionnag’s neck now that he was calm. “Scott said something about them being due to meet Wal’s noble faither, whatever that meant.”

A strange look shot across Torquil’s face, filled with a whole host of emotions, but it vanished before Yvaine had time to understand any of them. Torquil had never been an expressive man, even less so since Maggie had tied, and Yvaine often found herself wishing that she could understand her father just a little more.

“Is everything all right, Faither?” she pressed. “Ye look concerned.”

“Just grand, lass,” he replied. “Come, mount that beast. It’s time we got back to McEwen Castle. Put this lad out of your mind.”

But though had she teased and criticized him, as Yvaine did as she was bid, she wasn’t sure that forgetting Wal was going to be possible at all.

***

“Laird McEwen will see ye now,” said the castle guard who had kept them waiting in the front hall for over an hour. He was a thin, short man with a look of snobby pride about him that Wal disliked instantly.

Scott grinned. “Told ye so,” he said, supremely pleased with himself. The guard had rudely informed them several times that the Laird had no time for them and even gone so far as to accuse Wal of carrying a false crest.

Wal had been ready to fight his way in, even reaching for the old sword his Da had gifted him the day he turned one-and-twenty, but Scott had intervened first. Scott had waved a bag of coin in front of the guard’s face – Lord knew where he’d discovered it – and said, “Well? Ye think ye can at least go and check?”

And now they were to see the Laird.

Me Faither.

Wal took a breath. He wasn’t nervous, not exactly, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to expect. How did a man of four-and-twenty greet his true father for the first time in his life?

There was something else, too. Wal knew his whole mind should be focused on the meeting to come, but instead, he found it traveling back to the clearing in the forest and those strange eyes.

Scott pushed lightly at his elbow as they followed the stuck-up guard along the corridor. “What’s that face?” he whispered. “Are ye thinking of that lassie again? Get yer priorities in order, man.”

Wal scowled but conceded the point as they reached a large set of wooden double doors. The scowling guard pushed them open and gestured that he should go inside.

“Nae point in waiting,” Scott whispered encouragingly. Wal nodded, took a breath, and walked through the door to his new life with his faithful friend behind him.

The man waiting inside was the only person that Wal had ever seen who, even sitting, was obviously as tall as Wal himself. He had cold grey eyes but his hair, cut short to his ears, was as red as Wal’s own where it wasn’t salted with white. Those stony eyes focused on him now as he entered.

A woman sat next to him, and Wal could not tell if she was ugly or beautiful due to her face’s pinched expression. She had blonde-brown hair, much darker than Scott’s, though Wal could not see her eyes since they were roving everywhere except in his direction.

That must be Lady McEwen. Nae exactly welcoming.

Scott coughed awkwardly and stepped back, standing by the door beside the Laird’s men there and allowing Wal to walk forward to meet his father alone.

Wal paused halfway between the door and the table where the Laird and Lady sat, feeling half a boy again. “Er. Thank ye for seeing me, Me Laird,” he said, though he had no idea how to address nobility beyond this. He hoped he hadn’t insulted him inadvertently.

“You are Wal?” the Laird asked him, sounding almost bored. “Me guard brought me the items I left with the bairn all those years ago, it’s true, but how am I to ken that ye’re nae just some opportunist who robbed them from the poor old family I left the lad with?”

Wal blinked. He had not been expecting instant affection like he felt with his own parents, but this was harsh. “Erm…I dinnae ken how to prove to ye otherwise, Me Laird. I just ken what me Ma and Da – er, me foster parents – told me just this morning.”

The Lady shifted uncomfortably, saying nothing. Beside her, the Laird just looked at Wal like he would look at a cow in a field – a temporary distraction from the scenery, nothing more.

“Hmph,” Laird McEwen said, obviously unimpressed. “That doesnae prove much. I have nae—”

“Och, he’s yer son, Craig,” the Lady snapped. Her voice was high and strained like she was struggling to hold herself together. “Can ye nae see it’s like a looking-glass for ye? His height, face, his hair…the only difference is those accursed eyes he’s looking at ye with. Those are her eyes.”

Wal blinked rapidly, his stomach rapidly dropping at the coldness of his greeting both from the woman and the man who was supposed to be his father. The bile in her voice when she spoke of her – Wal could only imagine that she meant his late birth mother – made it clear that, at least in her eyes, he was not welcome here.

Laird McEwen huffed. “Aye. Aye, all right. There’s nae need to be so fussy. Lad, what were ye expecting in coming here?” His eyes traveled to Scott in the background with marked distaste, then back to Wal. “Ye and yer…servant.”

“Scott is me friend,” Wal corrected, mildly but firmly. “And I came here because I’m a man grown, and I wanted to meet me Faither. I thought he might want to meet me as well.”

The Laird didn’t even react to that, just tilted his head and continued to observe him. “Very well. Then stay if ye must, but it will nae be in me castle. I dinnae have time to be looking after a bairn, especially nae an overgrown one like ye seem to be. Find yerself and yer friend a house and stay in the clan if ye must, but dinnae be putting on airs. Ye’re nae heir to anything yet. Ye’re nae special just because ye carry me blood.”

I didnae claim to be special or ask to be an heir! I just wanted to meet me Faither!

But, out loud, all he said was, “Aye, of course, Me Laird.” He bowed his head again and said, “Thank ye for being kind enough to let me stay. If there’s any way I can prove meself to you and how much I’d like to get to ken ye—”

“Ye will prove yerself,” the Laird told him. “Or ye’ll leave. This isnae some country retreat. Now go. Yer presence is distressing me wife.”

Wal wanted to argue, but he wasn’t even sure where to start. He was hurt, angry, and confused all at once, and he really couldn’t tell which of the emotions clamoring for attention in his head was strongest. Instead, closing his mouth tight, he nodded silently and turned to leave.

Scott moved to be beside him without a word, and together they walked out of the Laird’s room.

When the heavy wooden doors swung closed, Scott said, “So…do ye want to talk about what just happened there?”

“Nay,” Wal said shortly. “I dinnae. Come, we must find somewhere to lay our heads for the night, at least.”

“Will we stay, then?” Scott asked. His eyebrows raised so high in his forehead that Wal was sure they’d disappear into his hairline. “Even when he behaved so awfully to you?”

Wal looked at him, every muscle in his body tightening. “He will acknowledge me, Scott,” he told his friend as they passed the smug, smirking guard once more. “I dinnae care what I have to do. I will get recognition from me own Faither.”

“Good luck,” the guard sneered. Wal considered punching him but figured that would hardly go over well with his father, and so said nothing as the guard pushed the front door open.

Scott and Wal left the Castle behind, walking down the steps to head into the Castle town, but as they turned a corner, he stopped short.

He’d almost walked straight into someone, and suddenly it was very hard not to believe in destiny.

***

“Wal,” Yvaine exclaimed in surprise after she’d steadied herself from the near-collision. She’d only been walking into the Castle to attend her aunt, the Lady of the Castle – this was the last thing she’d expected. “What—why—”

“You!” Scott cried, obviously as surprised as Yvaine felt. “What are ye doing here?”

Wal blinked at her with those deep blue eyes. “Yvaine,” he said slowly. “Well, I’ll be. Ye didnae tell me that ye were from Clan McEwen.”

Yvaine frowned thoughtfully. “Well, ye didnae tell me either,” she said, a little shaken at his sudden appearance. “And what are ye doing in the Castle of all places? The town—”

She stopped, catching the smirk on Scott’s face. She glanced between the pair of them, then gasped. “That’s what ye meant by his noble faither?” she demanded of Scott. “The Laird?”

“Aye,” Scott said, grinning. “We only found out this morning, but apparently Laird McEwen is Wal’s very own faither. And who, exactly, are ye to be swanning into the Castle so?”

Yvaine didn’t answer his question, staring at Wal in disbelief. “So the rumors of a hidden bastard are true. Have ye come to claim yer heirship then?” she asked.

Me Faither will be furious, everything he’s worked for overturned by some stranger!

And yet, neither could Yvaine deny the resemblance now that she thought of it. She hadn’t realized in the forest, but Wal looked incredibly like Laird McEwen.

“I’m nae claiming any heirship,” Wal said, a little darkly. “Me faither apparently wasnae thrilled by what he saw. He says I’m to prove meself before he’s willing to even acknowledge me. Scott and I are looking for somewhere to stay.”

He spoke airily, but there was a sadness hidden in his voice that pulled at Yvaine’s heart. That simply wouldn’t do. This man had saved her life not a few hours before, and she simply couldn’t let him wallow here in misery.

Besides, it wouldnae be so bad to have him around a wee bit longer.

“Well, ye’ll obviously have to work a lot to prove yerself,” she teased. “I mean, just look at ye.”

“Sassy lass, are ye nae?” Scott asked, looking and sounding annoyed, but Yvaine was pleased to see amusement in Wal’s expression.

Yvaine smiled at Scott a little too angelically. “That’s a problem for ye, is it?”

“Nae for me,” Wal replied with a chuckle, the darkness in his eyes clearing a little. “I can handle a wee bit of fire, lass, though I dinnae ken what I did to deserve such teasing except saving you from a raging horse.”

“Ah, I can tell by the flames on yer head that ye can handle fire,” she replied, very pleased she’d teased a smile from him. “All right. If ye wish to banter more, then ye simply must stay. Go and ask Farmer Joseph in the south of the village if he’s still loaning out his old cottages. If ye need some coin…”

What am I saying! How inappropriate am I gonnae be?

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Does yer Faither ken ye’re offering to lend strange men money, Miss Yvaine?”

“Hush,” Wal told him, putting a warning hand on Scott’s shoulder. Yvaine was surprised and impressed by how quickly Scott obeyed, as though Wal’s very word was his bond. “She’s only trying to help. Thank ye kindly, Yvaine. If ye must tell us the way, I’m sure we’ll manage from there.”

Yvaine coughed and nodded, then took out some of the scrap paper she always carried around with her. She paused, her pen above it. “Can ye read?” she asked uncertainly.

Scott huffed, but Wal smiled at her. “Aye, both of us can. We were lucky enough that our parents, poor as they were, made sure we got an education. I’m fair certain me Faither left some money for the purpose, too.”

There was something very fanciful about that image in Yvaine’s mind – two young farmer’s sons learning their letters and rising above everything the world could ever have expected from them.

This Wal, especially, he’s got a story that’s yet to be told.

She scribbled down the address and handed it to him, and then both gentlemen bid their farewells. When they were gone, Yvaine stared after them for a moment, a little disconcerted about what had just happened. She was used to having the upper hand in conversations – man or woman.

But when Wal speaks, I lose my tongue’s edge.

What did it mean? Had she finally found an opponent worthy of her banter? Or, given the revelation of his identity, was it something much more worrying than that?

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

Chapter One

Phoebe awoke to a gentle tapping at the door. She sat up, forgetting for a moment where she was before the awful truth returned to her. The sun was streaming through the window, for she had fallen asleep without pulling across the curtains, the light falling upon the bed. She sat up, just as the tapping came again.

“I am locked in,” she called back, and she heard tutting from the other side, the jangling of keys and the turning of the lock.

A moment later, her mother entered the room, an angry expression upon her face, followed by the servant who had tried to help Phoebe escape who bore a tray with a bowl of porridge and jug of milk.

“Your father told me what happened,” her mother said, sitting down upon the bed and shaking her head.

“I will not marry this man, whoever he is,” Phoebe said, folding her arms as the servant placed the tray on a table next to the bed.

“You do not have a choice, Phoebe. I did not have a choice in whom I married; neither did your grandmother. We are noblewomen, Phoebe, and that comes at a cost,” her mother said.

Phoebe scowled at her, angry that her mother would take her father’s side against her. Usually, her mother could be counted upon to defend her against her father’s unpredictable moods, but now it seemed they were of one mind.

“Did you not love another? Have you ever truly loved?” Phoebe asked, and her mother sighed.

“What a terribly unfair thing to say, Phoebe. I love your father; it may have taken some years, but I do love him, and you will come to love the man you marry too, I assure you,” her mother said.

Phoebe looked at her, wondering if she were really telling the truth. She had always thought her mother the most beautiful woman in all the world, her long blonde hair falling lightly over her shoulders, her deep blue eyes and soft skin as radiant today as they had surely been upon the day of her wedding. Surely any man would wish to possess her, and there were many who said that Phoebe herself was just such a beauty. Why then should such beauty be forced to marry if not for true love?

“I doubt that very much. Who is he?” Phoebe asked, imagining some terrible English aristocrat, twice her age and whose only intention in marrying her would be to sire his descendancy, her usefulness outlived once a male heir had been produced.

“Your father will explain. But I simply wished to come and see that you were all right after your ordeal in the apple cart,” her mother said.

“I would be far better if I were on the way to Gretna Green with Renoir,” Phoebe replied.

“But I would be deeply upset, Phoebe. You did not think about my feelings in all this. I do not wish to lose my daughter in such a way. You did not even say goodbye,” her mother said, and Phoebe felt a pang of guilt pass through her.

“You would never have permitted me to leave,” she said, and her mother smiled.

“I may not have stopped you either, but at least we could have said goodbye. Never mind, your father will have his way, I assure you of that,” her mother said, and nodding to the servant, they left Phoebe to her breakfast.

She had taken only a spoonful of porridge when the sound of the key turning in the lock came again. Looking up, Phoebe found her father standing in the doorway, an angry expression upon his face.

“So, have you had time to think about what you have done?” he said, and Phoebe scowled at him.

“I have done nothing; that is the point, is it not? Had I done something, then I would have been in Gretna Green by now, married to the man I love,” she said, pushing the tray and sitting back upon the bed.

“And you would have caused more trouble than you could know,” her father replied, closing the door behind him. “Your marriage is arranged, Phoebe, and the man you are marrying would not take kindly to discovering that his bride had run away with a Frenchman.”

“He may take kindly to what he wishes, father, for I am adamant that I will not marry him, whoever he may be,” she replied, folding her arms defiantly.

“Insolent, girl. You will marry him and be happy. It is no choice of yours,” her father said.

“And who is this man? Or am I not to know his name until I stand at the altar with him?” she asked.

“His name is Diarmad, Laird of the Monecreiffes, a noble clan of the Scottish borders. He is a fine warrior, of a noble and honorable disposition. To marry him will bring along our border and strengthen the position of the crown. I have had word from his majesty that the marriage is a favorable one and thus, it shall proceed by his orders. Are you to defy the King?” her father asked, and Phoebe fell silent.

***

The road south across the border was a dangerous one, and Diarmad Moncreiffe rode cautiously, keeping a wary eye out for bandits or robbers. But he met no one on the road that day, he and his men enjoying a peaceful ride which took them into England, some thirty miles from their own lands in the lowlands of Scotland.

He was making for the manor house at Oxley, a two-day journey south and where he would, for the first time, meet the woman to whom he had been betrothed. The arrangements had been made some weeks ago when the Earl of Oxley had visited him to parle for his daughter’s hand at the request of the King. It was said that the crown believed a marriage across the border to be favorable to peace, and with so much danger surrounding them, Diarmad had readily agreed.

Now, he rode at the head of his men, eager to meet the girl to whom he was promised and whose father had assured him was a beauty of high regard. There had been no portrait of her, though. From the description, Diarmad had conjured up a picture of her in his mind, her flowing blonde hair and deep blue eyes an attractive proposition, one he looked forward to encountering the next day.

“I couldnae marry a woman I had never seen before,” his friend and cousin Stewart Monecreiffe said, as the two of them rode together up in front.

“And why is that?” Diarmad asked.

“What if ye daenae like her? What if her father has exaggerated her beauty, as surely a father is inclined to dae? She may be ugly as a pig,” he said, laughing and imitating the animal, much to Diarmad’s amusement.

“And she may be the most beautiful lass in all of England. Besides, I have nay choice,” Diarmad said.

“Because the crown demands it? Since when have we Scots been subject to the King’s rule from London?” Stewart asked, and Diarmad laughed.

“Since our own King James became King of England. Daenae forget that ‘tis a Scot who sits upon the English throne. He serves our interests well enough,” Diarmad said.

“And he would tell ye whom to marry and ye would jump to it,” Stewart replied, laughing and shaking his head.

“I am still convinced that she is a rare beauty and that very soon, Stewart, ye shall wish it were ye marryin’ her and nae me,” Diarmad replied.

They rode on for some hours more, until the last of the evening light faded, then made camp in a copse of trees some distance from the path. For much of the night, Diarmad lay awake, not through fear of attack, but for the curiosity of what was to come. He had never sought marriage, though he knew it was his duty to find a wife and produce an heir. What would this girl be like? Would Stewart be proven right? Only time would tell.

Chapter Two

“I have not been out of this room for a week,” Phoebe cried as her father unlocked the door and stood before her.

“For fear of apple carts, Phoebe. You cannot be trusted, and so here you have remained. But that will all change today, for Diarmad is due to arrive this afternoon, and you shall be ready to meet him,” he said.

“I shall stay in here,” she declared, and her father shook his head.

“Do not play games with me, Phoebe. You will greet him and be courteous to him. Remember, it is the King himself who bids this union, not only I. Though as your father, I command it. Now, I shall have clean clothes sent to you, and the women will come to bathe you. You shall be ready by noon to greet our guests when they arrive,” he said.

“He is bringing an entourage then?” Phoebe asked.

“As befits a Laird, besides, the road north is dangerous, and it would not do for the two of you to travel unaccompanied,” he said.

“Then, I am to return north with him?” Phoebe asked for she had not entirely grasped the magnanimity of what was about to transpire.

“You are to be his wife, Phoebe. Did you think you would remain here with a ring upon your finger and nothing else?” her father asked, shaking his head, before closing the door and locking it behind him.

Phoebe hurled an insult at the door, brushing tears from her eyes and throwing herself angrily back upon the bed. It was not fair. She hated her father, and she was desperate for news of Renoir, of whom she had heard nothing since the failed night of their planned elopement.

The women soon came to bathe and dress her, much to Phoebe’s annoyance, and she made the job as difficult as possible for them, splashing the water and refusing to have her hair washed so that much frustration was caused. But by noon she was ready, and her mother arrived just as she was dousing herself in lavender oil, the sweet fragrance filling the air.

“Are you ready, Phoebe?” her mother asked, and Phoebe nodded.

“But you must know I take no pleasure in this. I do not wish to marry this man, nor even to meet him,” she said, and her mother sighed.

“You will not even give him a chance to present himself? What harm can it do to meet him?” she said, and Phoebe scowled.

“The decision has been made. There is no choice; I may as well cover my face with a veil and go at once to the church so that the minister may read the service,” Phoebe said.

“I wish you were not so stubborn, Phoebe. Come now, I think I hear horses below,” her mother said, reaching out and taking Phoebe by the hand.

For the first time since her enforced captivity, Phoebe was led downstairs and out into the yard at the front of the house. The gates were open, and several men on horseback had just ridden through, dismounting and greeting her father, who stood with several of his men, in the regalia of his rank.

Phoebe watched the men with curiosity, wondering which one was Diarmad. There were ten of them in total, all handsomely built and attractive to the eye. But it was the one now speaking to her father who seemed the most likely to be the Laird himself, a tall man with black hair and beard, a thin scar running down his left cheek. She had to admit that he was not what she had expected, though that made her no less adamant against marrying him.

“What am I to do?” Phoebe whispered, turning to her mother.

“Your father will make the introductions. Go to him,” she said, and reluctantly, Phoebe stepped forward.

“Laird, I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Phoebe. She has been greatly looking forward to your arrival and eager to meet you,” Phoebe’s father said, eyeing her with a warning look, as Diarmad bowed.

“‘Tis a pleasure to meet ye, at last, I have heard much about ye, and now I know that it was nay exaggeration to say that ye are a fine lass to behold,” he said, as Phoebe blushed.

“I am … pleased to meet you,” she replied, holding out her hand to him and blushing, for she could not deny that he was an attractive man, a feeling she tried her best to dismiss immediately.

He brought it to his lips, looking up at her as he did so, a smile playing across his face.

“May I introduce my men? This is my cousin, Stewart, and these are the clansmen who will see us safely back to Scotland,” he said, extending his arm, as the other men bowed.

“Some refreshment, Laird? You have had a long and arduous journey. Your men can rest in the stables here, and there are quarters prepared for you in the house. We shall dine tonight at the King’s own expense, for he has sent a side of venison with his compliments, and already it is roasting for our enjoyment,” Phoebe’s father said, ushering the Laird inside.

Phoebe followed her mother, who glanced at her and smiled.

“Well, he is quite handsome, is he not?” her mother said.

“I will admit he is not a toothless, grey, old aristocrat as I had imagined him to be, but he is no Renoir,” Phoebe replied, and her mother sighed.

“You will grow to see him for the handsome man he is,” she said, and Phoebe made no reply.

***

Later that evening, a great fire was kindled in the dining hall, and candles were lit around the wall as the family prepared to make merry and welcome their Scottish guests. The Earl had invited many local noblemen not only to celebrate the marriage of his daughter but to toast a new era of peace and the King’s good health. Phoebe was seated next to Diarmad. Her father and mother hoping that the free-flowing wine and rich victuals might lead the two of them to shared conversation.

“The venison is excellent, is it nae, lass?” Diarmad said, slicing vigorously into the meat.

“It is, though I have tasted better,” Phoebe said, thinking back to the meals she had shared in secret with Renoir and of the food he had cooked for her in the days of their courtship.

“‘Tis rare that I taste venison. I hope ye daenae expect such luxury when ye travel north,” he said, laughing, and taking a drink from his wine goblet.

“Travel north? I have no intention of travelling north,” she said, and he looked at her in confusion.

“But we are to be married, lass and ‘tis as the Bible says, a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife, but the same is said of the lass for her husband. When we are married, we shall return to Scotland,” he said.

“And it does not concern you that you and I have never met until this day? What know you of my character? Of my mood and temper? What measure do you have of my humor, for good or ill?” she asked, and Diarmad laughed.

“Am I to take it that ye daenae wish to marry me and that ye consider it a punishment to dae so?” he asked, and Phoebe nodded.

“I have no wish to marry you. I will never love you, and I will be a bad wife to you. Of that, you can be certain,” she said, haughtily folding her arms and turning away from him, but Diarmad only waved his hand dismissively and returned to his venison.

“’Tis the King’s will that we marry, lass. There is nay choice in the matter. We are both young, of sound mind and body, perhaps in time, we shall become friends if nae lovers. Am I so bad as to be rejected with only the passing of an eye?” he said, turning to her.

Phoebe sighed. He appeared to be neither a bad man nor a cruel one, but she could simply not bring herself to accept that her love for Renoir was forbidden and that her chances of marrying him were gone. Here, next to her, was the man she was destined to marry, and with no choice in the matter, it was up to her to decide how best to respond. Should she hate him or embrace him? Either way seemed fraught with difficulty.

“The King has given us a heavy burden to bear,” she replied.

“The King wishes to see peace upon the borders of his kingdom. Our union is a fragile one, united only by crowns, rather than true patriotism. Our people are still very different, even if ‘tis the same King who is crowned at Scone and in the Palace of Westminster. Our marriage is to be a sign of that union, a symbol of peace. Dae ye nae think that to be a good thing?” he asked.

Phoebe had lived her life close to the Scottish border, and she knew the many dangers which surrounded her father’s manor. It was fortified for a reason, and there had been many times when she and her family had taken refuge behind its thick walls and sturdy gate. The reivers along the borders often mounted raids on lonely farms and outlying crofts, and reports of robbers and bandits were frequent. This was lawless country, kept in check only by men such as her father and the Laird, who sat at her right. To marry him would help bring peace, but it would not do so to her heart, which ached at the very thought.

“Peace at the expense of happiness? Am I to be a martyr to that cause?” she said, rising from the table.

She had no desire to remain a moment longer at the table, though she knew how rude she would appear by leaving. He was a pleasant enough man. She knew that he was only doing his duty, one that perhaps he regretted as much as she, but he was no Renoir. Phoebe had no further desire to remain in his presence, one she had never sought or courted.

“Phoebe, where do you think you are going?” her father said, calling out from the end of the table.

“I have a headache, father, may I be excused?” she said, and her father shook his head.

“No, you may not be excused, sit down and …” he began, but Diarmad raised his hand.

“She must nae stay on my account, sir. Please, allow her to take to her bed if that is what she wishes,” he said, and Phoebe’s father sighed.

“Very well, but you shall rise early tomorrow. We ride out to survey the land. I am sure you will wish to accompany the Laird,” he said, and knowing she had no choice, Phoebe nodded.

“I look forward to it,” Diarmad said as Phoebe left the dining hall.

Upstairs, having now been allowed to return to her own chambers, Phoebe sat upon her bed and wept. She could never love Diarmad, not while her mind was filled with thoughts of Renoir. He was pleasant, even charming, friendly, and courteous, but he was not her Frenchman, and she sank down upon the bed, her head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

***

When morning came, Phoebe’s mind was still resolved against Diarmad. She was angry at her father for bringing him to Oxley Manor and for his arrogant assumption that she would wish to marry a man whom she had never met and had nothing in common with. Slowly, she dressed herself, glancing down into the yard, where already the horses were saddled for the ride out, the gates open, and several of the clansmen mounted and prepared.  Purposefully, Phoebe took her time in getting ready so that eventually there came an exasperated knocking at the door and the sound of her father’s voice calling her impatiently.

“Phoebe, you will have to miss your breakfast; the Laird is ready to ride out now. We are all waiting for you in the yard. Hurry now, else you make a spectacle of us all,” he called out.

Phoebe opened the door, scowling at her father and pushing past him, determined to show her displeasure in every aspect of his plans. She followed him downstairs, pausing at the entrance to the dining hall, from which wafted the pleasant smell of breakfast, her mother sitting at one end, a smile playing across her face.

“Enjoy your ride out, Phoebe,” she called, and Phoebe scowled.

Outside, Diarmad and several of his men awaited them. He bowed to her, a smile upon his face, and he held out his hand to help her onto her horse.

“I can manage well enough, thank you,” she replied, for Phoebe was an accomplished horsewoman, and she needed no help in mounting her stead.

“Phoebe,” her father said, glancing warningly at her, but Diarmad only laughed.

“I like a lass with spirit; we shall see if she rides as well as she mounts,” he said, leaping onto his own horse, which reared up on its hind legs and let out a loud whinny.

Phoebe scowled. This was the first time she had been permitted to leave the manor house since her failed attempt to escape, and her spirits were little cheered by the company of such men. She had rarely encountered Scots before, and she found them coarse and unappealing, Diarmad’s men shouting and laughing with one another, as they rode out through the gates. But Diarmad did not join them in their carousing, choosing instead to ride at Phoebe’s side as they followed her father out into the forest.

“Yer father’s estates are impressive,” he said, as the first sight of a deer was had, and Phoebe’s father charged off in pursuit of the hunt.

“Your own are no doubt equally so,” she replied, watching as the rest of the men followed on the chase.

“Glen Taetnire is a wild place. Its mountains high, its loch deep and the castle of my clan a lonely place, though nae without its charms,” he replied.

“And I am supposed to think of that as an attractive proposition,” she replied, thinking that Glen Taetnire sounded like the last place in the world she wished to be.

“Aye, but when the fires are lit, and songs are sung in the depths of winter ‘tis a homely place, or when the sun shines long into the summer nights, and there is dancin’ and music on the loch shore and swimmin’ out to the islands across the water then ‘tis nae so bad,” he replied.

“I have such comforts here,” she replied, not turning to him, the cries of the hunt now echoing from the forest before them.

“And ye will be mistress of that place, with all the privileges that the title entails. Ye will have yer freedoms well enough, lass,” he said.

Phoebe sighed and made no reply. She had no desire for such a life; she had lost the true freedom she desired, the freedom to marry Renoir, and live a life unhindered by the will and whim of her father, with his talk of duty and destiny. In Glen Taetnire, she would be as much a prisoner as she felt at Oxley, and no amount of talk to the contrary could convince her otherwise.

“A fine chase,” her father called out, as the men emerged from the trees a short while later.

“Was it?” Phoebe replied, feeling just like the hunted deer, who was now carried in triumph before her.

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

Chapter One

“Ye will never hike Ben Deamhain alone, William! Dinnae be foolhardy!” Kal exhorted his elder brother, “Ye are the Laird now, after faither’s passin’, and ye cannae be as free with yer liberties and careless pursuits as ye were in the past.”

William waved his younger brother away with a gesture that made Kal feel like a summer insect that irritated him, “Listen to yerself, Kal, ye sound as scared as an old woman. That’s the reason why those ancient tales were spread, ye ken, so that brave men would be struck with fear and hold back from the adventure.”

Kal and William had returned from their foster home at McCain Castle over three years before. They had been well treated by Laird McCain. The two children who had ridden away from their beloved home’s thick stone walls were no more. In their place were tall, strong men, their muscles honed and bulked by years of hunting, riding, and battle training. They knew how to handle swords and bows with equal skill and could shoot the eye of a hare from the seat of a cantering horse with careless ease. William was the bigger of the two, standing well over six feet tall in his bare feet, but he had inherited his father’s bulk to go with it. At the age of two and twenty, he was already starting to show signs of his partiality to feasting and ale around his waist. Nevertheless, he was still an imposing-looking man, and his beard grew thick along his thrusting jawline.

Kal was only slightly shorter than William, which still placed him amongst the tallest men in any room. But there, the brothers’ resemblance stopped. Kal had the same wideset shoulders their father’d had, but his broad chest tapered down to a hard-muscled, trim waist and athletically slim hips. When Kal buckled his sword around his waist, there was no need for him to suck in his breath. His sword hung down and slapped against his well-toned leg muscles, which were clearly visible under his trews or kilt. Kal’s leather boots were always scuffed and scarred from long days of riding and hunting. He loved following his falcon as it flew far above his head in the sky, seeking out prey far below.

The only physical traits Kal kept from his days in the nursery were his hair and eyes. His pitch-black hair swept back from his brow and was kept out of his eyes with a leather thong tying it back behind his shoulders. His black-lashed eyes reminded merchants’ daughters in the village of oriental sapphires about which they had heard sea captains tell. After a hard day’s hunting, Kal would gallop through the village, his dark hair escaping its binding, allowing an errant lock of hair to fall over his face. The startling blue eyes could be seen from underneath that black mane, and every maiden would feel as though his gaze struck them with a heat and faster heartbeat.

It was his ruggedly handsome beauty that was both a blessing and a curse for Kal. It made men underestimate what he was capable of in sports and battle, something which they would very quickly learn was a mistake. However, it also made Kal a butt for many jokes and comical banter on the training fields and alehouses.

“Ye are too pretty to be lethal in a fight,” the men would scoff, most of their comments fueled by the envy they felt when their wives and sweethearts sighed and swooned when Kal rode by.

“I will surely prove ye wrong, Sirrah,” Kal would reply, fingering the sword at his side.

But news of Kal’s fighting expertise preceded him, and his quarry would always back away with an abject apology and deep bow. He was, after all, the second son of Laird Kenneth.

“I shall approach that devilish mountain alone and on foot,” William informed his brother, “but I shall ride on Gabrielle while in the forest and walk her through the areas where the tree boughs hang too low for riding.”

Kal had given up trying to change his brother’s mind. One month after their father had died, William had made changes in the castle and implemented new policies. This was to be expected from a man who had no affiliation toward his original home. Fostering was not just meant to provide young boys with an outside education, but to also foster closer ties with neighboring Lairds. It was a good system that created a strong line of defensive castles along the southern edge of the Highland mountain ranges. Every Laird was united against any army attempting to encroach from the south, east, or west. The stark ridge of mountains at the north had always prevented anyone from marching over.

“What about the loch, brither?” Kal couldn’t help supporting William; now he knew there was no chance of changing his mind, “How will ye cross over and take Gabrielle with ye?”

“I’ve heard tell that a fisherman’s croft lies on yon loch’s shores,” William stated with confidence, “the man can hold and stable Gabrielle, and lend me his boat to boot! His croft lies on the edge of our domains, nae so? He can do his liege a service in this small way.”

“And the marsh-what say ye to that pestilent bog?” Kal wanted to check his brother’s strategy, to see if he could find a hole in it, although the entire enterprise reeked of braggadocio in his opinion. Still, as Laird, it would be a great honor for his brother to hike to the mountain and claim its land for his very own. No one had ever been able to do that before, not for hundreds of years.

“What would old Nursie say about the marsh again,” William cast his memory back to their days in the nursery, “ ‘keep yer eyes on the ground in front of ye, and nae look at the mountain’?”

Kal nodded, “Aye, she says that’s the key to surviving Mount Demon, as the southerners translate its name.”

“Then that’s what I’ll be doin’ then,” William said cheerfully. “Here’s a scroll with me instructions for the keep of the castle whilst I’m away. I’ve made ye steward in me stead. Ye can sign any documents for me until I return, and the men shall obey yer orders as though they come from me own mouth.”

“I am loath to wish ye Godspeed on the morrow, Will,” Kal said with a heavy heart, “I have a pricking in me thumbs which tells me this mad venture is fraught with risk.”

William clapped his younger brother on the shoulder and laughed at his gloom, “Ye worry t’much, Kal. Wish me good luck for a safe journey and speedy return, and when I do come back, it will be to glory and praise. I will be the first man in Highland history to venture up the mountain and see what secrets it hides. Perhaps I shall bring two spritely lasses back with me, to be our faerie brides.”

“Your journey flies in the face of all the caution and advice our faither bade us heed before he died, William. Even Laird McCain commanded us both to listen to the warnings and never cross over into Demon Mountain territory. There must be a reason for these dark omens.”

“Whatever they are, I shall be sure to tell ye when I return. Tarry not to bid me farewell on the morrow-I depart before dawn.”

“Will ye nae take a few men with ye, brither? Just to be safe,” Kal pleaded with William for the final time.

“And lose me chance at making it alone? Nay. Besides, Kal, if Ben Deamhain is indeed occupied by a malevolent being, they will look upon a solitary traveler with more kindness than they would a whole troop. Fear not, I say, because I am creating a legend of me very own with this brave venture.”

Kal sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and gave up.

Let the cards fall where they will. Perhaps William needs a good thrashing in battle to set him straight and lower his crest a peg or two.

The thought of his indefatigable brother never returning to McCowan Castle was unthinkable. Kal clasped his brother’s forearm with his hand, and his brother did the same. For a brief moment, their arms and hands formed an unbreakable chain. Then the two men went their separate ways, and Kal walked slowly back to the north tower where his chambers lay.

***

One month later, the great hall of McCowan castle was in an uproar.

“After all, we told ye both about the dangers of that cursed mountain, ye thwart our advice and allow yer brither to walk heedlessly toward death!”

Thus, shouted Laird McCain, and an angry murmur of agreement could be heard in the crowds of advisors and counselors behind him.

Kal stayed calm. He fully expected to see his brother stride into the great hall at any moment, his broad shoulders shaking with laughter at the upset he had caused.

“Aye, ye ken I speak the truth, Kal,” Laird McCain spoke in a more reasonable tone, “all the washerwomen and nursemaids think to fill young lads’ heads with these incredible phantasies of enchanting fairies and women too beautiful for men to comprehend, but this is what it leads to! When yer faither and I begged ye never to visit the mountain, do ye think we were jokin’?”

Kal shook his head. He was still in denial about his brother’s mysterious disappearance. Yet he had the scroll with William’s last wishes and commands inscribed on the parchment in black ink, proving there had been no conspiracy or attempt to usurp his brother’s place.

“The stories exist, in truth, because naeone-naeone, I tell ye-has ever come back from the mountain! William was surely nae so proud as to think himself the exception to this terrible rule,” Laird McCain was deeply troubled with the way things had been left. He desperately needed Kal to sanction the building of new forts along the Cairngorm mountain range, as William had agreed to do.

The Laird stood up on the dais where William’s great carved chair stood empty, “Gentlemen, gentlemen! And gathered clergy too. We need to come to some agreement on how to proceed.”

A young groom stepped forward, “Please it, yer Lairdship, but Gabrielle, Laird William’s horse, came back to its stable last night. It was injured and made filthy from weeks of hard living, but the mare will live.”

A scribe interjected, “Was the beast saddled? Did she still wear her bridle? Perhaps our Laird was hit from his mount by a low hanging branch, and even now lies in the forest awaiting rescue.”

Laird McCain held up his hand in a commanding gesture. The muttering and whispering around the great hall ceased.

“There will be nae rescue party going on a fool’s errand tryin’ to find Laird William, ye hear me? He will return on his own accord or never at all. We cannae have troops of men scouring the forests, lochs, and mountain on the vague hope they come across him.”

A few protests were heard from the court’s younger members, but the older men nodded their heads wisely in agreement.

Laird McCain continued, “Now, me wife and Kal’s mither are sisters, and this makes me close enough kin to consider meself entitled to an opinion on how to go forward.”

Again, the hall buzzed with excited voices: what was Laird McCain about to announce?

“Therefore, I will be swearin’ Kal in to take his brither’s place. If any man has an objection to this course of action, I suggest he go bile his head in a cauldron of broth. McCowan Castle needs a Laird, and by the grace of God, Kal has been spared to take William’s place.”

He turned to the corner where Kal stood watching the courtiers and counselors, “Come forward, Kal, and take hold of yer family’s mantle.”

As though in a dream, Kal strode into the middle of the hall.

“Approach the dais, Kal,” Laird McCain commanded, and Kal stepped forward, “Swear after me that ye shall treat yer vassals fairly. That ye will be the last man to leave battle and the first man to advance at the trumpet’s call. Yer domains are linked to the safety and prosperity of this land, our incomparable Highlands. Now kneel.”

Kal took a knee in front of Laird McCain, “Ye were a good foster son, Kal, albeit a sometimes reckless and hotheaded one. Now, bear the title of Laird Kal McCowan of this castle proudly. Ye may rise.”

Laird McCain draped the McCowan plaid around Kal’s wide shoulders. Everyone in the great hall let out a cheer.

“Go forth, Laird Kal McCowan, and only do good from this day forward.”

Chapter Two

“I dinnae care what folks say, Abigall. I will continue searching for me brither until me last dying breath,” Kal said to his old nurse as she stood beside his horse, wringing her hands together with anxiety.

“Dinnae ignore me, wee Ghillie Dhu,” Abigall begged Kal, “How many useless trips have ye made since Laird McCain made ye chieftain? Ten and nine? Twenty? Ye’re nae even sure in which direction yer brither headed.”

“I’m sticking with north, Nursie, just like the legends say,” Kal smiled down at her. Abigall had been a constant ally since he took up the mantle of Lairdship, but she would not accept Kal’s commitment to finding William, or at least discovering what had happened to him and avenging his death.

“How many men are ye takin’ with ye this time?” Nurse asked.

“No more than last time. I have two boats on the water at the loch. We use them to cross over and then moor the boats on the other side, next to the marshlands,” Kal’s men knew the treacherous bogs like the back of their hands after so many hikes through it. This would be the twenty-first search party launched to look for William. The problems that had stopped them from going further than the other side of the marshes had been the thick fall and winter mists. It was late spring now, and Kal had high hopes making it all the way up Ben Deamhain.

Nurse ignored him. She was busy calculating the number of search party expeditions on her fingers, “Stay here yet awhile, Kal, I need to consult the runes afore ye leave.”

Kal dismounted from Gabrielle and followed Abigall back into the castle. He was interested to hear was she predicted for this venture. The nurse was schooled in the arts of divination, and no canny soldier would hold back from hearing if he were to face fair or foul fortune. Kal’s dreams had been disquieting of late; he wanted to see if nurse could interpret them.

“Sit down, Kal,” Abigall ordered, as she went to the window to shutter out the light and then grabbed a handful of dried herbs and threw them on the fire. It crackled and emitted a faint smoke. Nurse shook her bag of runes stones and cast them on the table in front of where Kal sat.

“This is the twenty-first time ye go in search for yer brither. The numbers ‘two’ and ‘one’ are sacred. ‘Two’ signifies trust, unexpected aid, and close bonds. ‘One’ represents change and new beginnings. The saints believed that our guardian angels use these numbers together to send us messages. Tell me yer dreams of late, Kal.”

Kal screwed up his eyes as he thought back to the nightmare which had jolted him awake that morning, “I saw William lyin’ on the mountainside. His plaid was torn to pieces and scattered to the four winds. He held his hands out to me as though beggin’ for help. An evil wound was carved into his forehead, and the blood was drippin’ down into his eyes.”

Nurse patted Kal’s hand, “Yer guardian angel is sayin’ ye will discover yer brither’s fate on this venture. The stones and bones tell me this time ye will wander far away from the steps of normal men, kind men, and this pathway will not only lead ye toward an unspeakable evil but also closer to yer destiny,” Abigall looked at Kal closely, “are ye ready to face yer fate, Kal?”

Kal stood up, pushing the rickety wooden chair on which he’d been sitting back with a loud scrape on the stone floor, “I am ready for anythin’, Abigall.”

He strode out to the courtyard to where his small troop of men was waiting for him patiently. Kal mounted his brother’s old horse with one leap and gave the mare the signal to trot on.

Nurse stood in the courtyard, waving her kerchief in farewell. The last thing Kal heard as he cantered out of the castle gates was Abigall shouting out behind him.

“Remember, Ghillie Dhu-lucky numbers can bring both good luck and bad luck. Be on yer guard!”

***

Two weeks later, Kal and his men were able to make camp for the night a little way up the side of Demon Mountain. This was encouraging progress compared to the pitfalls they had encountered over the preceding seven months. The troop of men was happy to leave the buzzing midges, screeching crickets, and bellowing marsh toads below them as they climbed up the steep incline. They stopped upon reaching a sheltered rocky outcrop that shielded them from the brisk winds.

On Kal’s first exploration, his men had reached the shores lapping around the blackest loch waters they had ever seen, but only after spending several days hacking their way through many miles of overgrown forest trees. They had observed a fisherman’s croft a good three leagues away, but when they had reached it, the little stone structure was shown to be a burnt-out husk of a building, long abandoned by its inhabitants.

Ewan, his second in command, had looked closely at the scorch marks along the croft’s stone walls. He had stood up, saddened and perplexed by what he had seen, “Yer Lairdship, these are the marks of no ordinary fire-this poor shelter was deliberately set alight by some evil hand.”

“And the folk who lived here too afraid to rebuild,” Kal said thoughtfully.

The men had ridden back along the loch shores. And so, their first search party had ended. The next time, Kal ordered a horse and cart with two sizeable boats lashed on top to accompany them, and he had left the boats tethered on the near shore ever since.

At dusk, when the men pulled up their horses next to the protective rocks protruding out of the mountain’s northern face, Kal was tempted to order them to continue up the incline. The moon was full and would be bright enough that night to cast a shadow once it rose up into the night sky. But he was a fair captain and would never force his men to march or ride when they were hungry and tired. He allowed them to drop to the ground after tethering their horses to some windswept bush branches that poked out of the mountain’s side and watched as they lighted a fire using the kindling and flints they had brought with them.

“The way the mountain is risin’, yer Lairdship, seems to me we will nae be able to take our horses up much further,” Ewan said to Kal after offering him his canteen of ale.

Kal took a drink from the leather canteen and then tilted his head to see if they might be able to traverse the mountainside in ever higher circles instead of climbing up it directly.

“We’ll keep the horses, for now, Ewan,” Kal replied, and he saw his men turn their heads to listen to what route he had planned, “I think we should ride around the mountain in circles. In that way, we will have a better chance of scopin’ out as much of its circumference as possible and save the horses from climbin’ up in a straight line.”

The men nodded their heads in agreement and fell to chatting amongst themselves about the best ways of riding around the difficult mountain terrain.

“Take turns in mountin’ watch, one hour for each man, our usual method. I’m off to ride ahead and see if the ground stays level enough for the horses to walk,” Kal bestrode Gabrielle again, and the feisty mare shook her mane in greeting.

“Will ye nae have some broth, captain?” Ewan asked, “Ye have nae eaten since noontime.”

“I will eat some oatcakes in the saddle, I thank ye, Ewan,” Kal said and rode off.

The truth was that Kal wanted to be alone with his thoughts just as much as he wanted to scout out the surrounding lands. It would put some of his troop’s fears to rest if he could return to them later with good news about a shepherd’s cottage or helpful traveling farmer. No one from the McCain-McCowan stronghold encircled the Cairngorms to the south had ever ventured this far north or this high up the mountain. Vast forests and barren moors lay between here and their home. His men jumped and startled at every bird whoop or fox cry. If he rode ahead, it would clear his mind of the foreboding doom with which his mind was burdened.

His mount picked her way daintily over precarious rocks and shifty boulders, and Kal kept his ears sharpened for the sound of running water. When they had looked up to see the mountain standing before them at noon, it had been possible to discern foaming rivulets and cascading streams ribboning the mountainside. If they were to travel further, they needed to refill their empty water flasks.

The moon was almost fully risen by the time Kal found what he sought. A freshwater stream wended down the slopes and across his pathway. He stooped down to fill up his leather flask and then turned around to stare up at the moon. He sent up a fervent prayer to the heavens and begged for a sign or portent to signify his brother was still alive. Kal saw some of the bright constellations William and he would look at from the tower at their home and McCain Castle.

Do ye see those constellations, brither? It will always be a comfort for ye to ken those constellations shine down on our mither and faither while they sleep the many leagues’ distance from us. Those stars are shining for everyone in the great Highlands and beyond. The Highland mountains are so tall that we are closer to the stars than the rest of bonny Scotland.

Kal could remember his brother’s words as though he was standing beside him now. They were still those two young boys who had sneaked out of their bedchambers and gone to stand at the tallest tower in McCain Castle.

 I feel as though me heart will burst with sorrow if I dinnae discover word of William. Please, if a guardian angel is watching over me, grant my prayer to find him. This uncertainty is killing me. Is he dead, captured, held against his will? If I dinnae find out, ‘tis better if I never return to McCowan Castle, so that my bones can join his on this mountain.

A nightjar gave a haunting hoot as it flew across the cold moonlit skies. Kal stiffened and strained his ears. He was sure he had heard an answering cry, but it was human. He waited, crouched on the ground, ready to spring into action the minute his suspicions were confirmed.

A thin cry of anguish traveled on the wind toward him. Kal gauged it came from his men’s camp and had vaulted onto his mare before the cry had even stopped and been blown away downhill by a breeze. Crouching low over Gabrielle’s neck, Kal urged the gallant mare to gallop like the wind in the direction of his soldiers’ bivouac.

He cursed himself for leaving his men while he scouted out the terrain. Any foe who struck with force in the dead of night must know these hillsides and mountain cliffs like the lines on the palm of their hand! Heedless to the dangers of riding so fast to face a nameless enemy, Kal sped over the stones that littered the mountainside. Large rocks dislodged and rolled downhill behind rider and horse on the steeper inclines, but Kal continued on.

He had wandered further than he thought, and it took many minutes of hard riding before he could see the dying embers of his soldiers’ fire. Kal slowed Gabrielle’s pace with a hard reining in, and she slackened her gait down to a trot, then halted. It was the smell, more than anything else, that made horse and rider stop. The mare tossed her head and gave a warning nicker, shaking her head up and down and nearly pulling the rein out of Kal’s strong grasp.

Every one of the six men Kal had brought with him lay slaughtered on the moonlit mountainside. He could tell at a glance that his men were dead-beyond the need of aid or nursing-their heads had been struck from their shoulders and bodies lay in disarray on the ground. They had been cut down as they ate and drank, with no word of warning. It was as though a lethal ambush had been waiting to catch the men off-guard. Kal felt his blood boil at the thought of his men’s anguish. The first thought that crossed his mind was this might be the same fate that befell his brother.

A frightened whinny sounded from downhill.

The horses! At least I can save them from harm. They will come to Gabrielle if I ride the mare down the mountain where my poor men’s horses can find her. I pray the Highland winds have blown away the smell of blood when I return.

It was many hours before the six horses had calmed down enough for Kal to approach them and lash them together in a troop. For the poor frightened beasts to be eaten by wolves were something Kal could not bear. The moon had risen high in the night sky by the time he had finished.

A high-pitched, shrieking wail penetrated the stillness and made Kal whip his head around, facing back up the mountain. That sound came from the charnel camp he’d left behind. It was a banshee’s wail, there was no doubt. Kal had never seen a banshee but had heard many stories about them from his nurse. He wanted to see one before he died. Kal tethered Gabrielle to heavy rock and began to creep silently back up the slope.

His stealth was not in vain. When he raised his head carefully to watch the campsite, a ghostly sight met his eyes. Kal had no doubt the woman he saw was an apparition from beyond the grave. She was indescribably beautiful with long, blonde hair the color of silver moon rays and skin paler than the white rocks and stones that surrounded her. Her hair formed a shining curtain of grey around her face, but when she shook it back over her shoulders, it revealed a womanly body designed to stop men in their tracks. The wind pressed the lady’s thin white shift to her skin and whipped her cloak away from her shoulders. For one moment, Kal was reminded of the statues of Greek goddesses that he had heard tell of from adventurous travelers who had visited the lands across the seas.

The woman bent over to pick up one of the soldier’s heads gently. She smoothed the bloody hair away from the face and wiped the gore off its forehead. A ghastly gash had been etched there. Seeing the cut, the banshee gave a sharp cry and let the head drop from her hands.

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