One year earlier, Castle Allan, Scottish Highlands
“She’s got tae be in there somewhere,” Laird Ewan Ballentine murmured in a low tone, unable to keep the desperation from his voice as he thought of his only sister Deidra being held somewhere inside the walls of the mighty stronghold, whose forbidding walls rose before him a short distance away. Knowing how terrified she must be was like being stabbed in the heart.
“Aye, but if she is, it’ll take some time tae find her. The place is vast. She could be anywhere,” said his trusted friend and war captain Colin Maclean grimly. The two men were crouched side by side, concealed in the tree line of the forest bordering the castle. Ranged invisibly behind them among the trees were fifty of his best fighters, a rescue party.
They had been surveilling the castle for hours, looking in vain for signs Deidra was there. It was the residence of Ewan’s bitter enemy, the evil Laird Calumn Allan, the man he was at war with and who had sent an assassin to kill him in his bed just a few days before. Taken by surprise, Ewan had fought the man off with nothing but his bare hands, sustaining several nasty wounds from the assassin’s dirk in the struggle.
Seeing he had failed in his mission, the man had fled, but not before grabbing Ewan’s beloved sister Deidra, who had come to investigate her brother’s shouts for help. Before a horrified Ewan could do anything to save her, the interloper had dragged her at knifepoint from the castle, unhindered, and made his escape—carrying her off into the night. Her screams still echoed in Ewan’s ears.
But now he was here, and he was determined to rescue her and take her safely home.
“I’m almost certain she’s inside, and if I ken Allan, he’ll have her locked up in his dungeons,” Ewan observed bitterly. “He’s likely enjoyin’ seein’ her terrified, and he kens it’ll be drivin’ me mad, the bastard. He’ll use her as a pawn in his plan tae kill me and take over me clan. So, we should try the dungeons first. At least we have the element of surprise on our side,” he pointed out to Colin.
“Aye, but it would be best tae find some way inside without raisin’ the alarm. Ye and me could sneak inside the walls and find the dungeons, while the men stage some kind of distraction tae keep the guards busy elsewhere. If we’re lucky, we might be able tae get in and out without bein’ seen.”
“That’s just what I was thinkin’,” Ewan agreed, looking at the high walls. “After dark, we’ll take a few men with us and scale the wall. The rest of the troops can stage a distraction by startin’ a fight at the main gates until we find Deidra and get her out.”
“Aye, good idea. We’d best get the man prepared.” Colin went to move back into the trees, but Ewan suddenly grabbed his arm and stopped him. Something had caught his eye. “Look,” he said, nodding in the direction of the huge castle gates. “Someone’s comin’ out.”
The gates were indeed swinging open, and a party of about thirty mounted soldiers, all wearing Allan’s distinctive black and gold livery, came riding out. “That’s Allan!” Ewan hissed, immediately recognizing the man seated on an enormous stallion leading them out.
Excitement surged inside him. “What a stroke of luck! He’s off somewhere, tae cause more misery, nay doubt. But havin’ him and so many of his men out of the way is gonnae make this a lot easier,” he murmured as they watched Allan and his men ride away, heading north.
“Wait, look, there’s more comin’ out,” Colin said, pulling Ewan’s attention back to the gates. They observed closely as a smaller party of mounted troops, decked out in black and azure this time, emerged from the mighty portal. A fresh wave of anger washed over him, for there was no mistaking the tall, blond-haired warrior riding proudly out front with his captains.
“Bloody hell, ’tis Galbraith!” Colin exclaimed softly. Laird Gregory Galbraith was one of Allan’s allies in the war being waged against them. “What’s he doin’ here?”
Ewan’s eyes narrowed with vengeful suspicion as they followed Galbraith’s party riding away. “What indeed?” he echoed, already half convinced Galbraith was involved in Diedra’s kidnapping. He’s just made himself an even bigger target, he thought, resolving to attack Galbraith in his heartland the first chance he got.
He and Colin moved stealthily back into the trees so Ewan could brief his waiting men on the plan, and they began preparing to carry it out as soon as darkness fell.
Less than an hour after that, he had another lucky break. Two of the men sent out to scout the vicinity returned, dragging between them one of Allan’s guards. They threw the half-conscious soldier to the ground. “Found him and his pal on guard duty in the woods,” one of the scouts explained. “The other one’s dead.”
Ewan stood over the groaning man. “Throw some water over him and bring him around. I want tae interrogate him,” he ordered. A few twists of the man’s broken arm were all it took to extract the information he wanted. He was elated and relieved to learn that Deidra was indeed inside, alive, locked in the dungeons. In addition, he obtained details of the basic layout of the castle’s interior, the location of the dungeons, and the number and distribution of the guards left defending the place in their laird’s absence.
More importantly, before he died, the guard gave them directions to a secret entrance, an underground tunnel located nearby within the forest.
When the silver sliver of a new moon rose in the sky, and the castle was quiet, Ewan, Colin, and four soldiers gathered there, equipped with closed lanterns. Ewan held one high as he opened the wooden hatch and led his men into a passageway hewn from living rock. The ceiling was low, so he had to stoop, but they made fast progress along it. Before long, they came to a stairwell.
“We’re inside, the castle now,” he said, advancing up two flights of stone steps to a wide landing. The stairs continued to the upper floors, but to their right, a wide passage opened up before them.
“That must be the way tae the dungeons the guard described,” Colin murmured, peering down the passageway at a stout wooden door.
“Aye, come on,” Ewan urged, hurrying towards it. When they got there, he tried the handle. “Damn, ’tis locked.” Undeterred, he took out his dirk and signaled the others to do the same. “Close yer lanterns and stand back in the shadows, lads,” he ordered. “Let’s find out if anyone’s at home.” The others moved back and pressed themselves against the walls, blades in hand. Then, he hammered on the door with his fist and shouted, “Open up in there! Hurry up, I havenae got all day!”
Nothing happened at first, so he repeated the action. “I said open up, ye deaf bastards! Get a bloody move on!” he yelled, making the door rattle on its hinges. He pressed his ear to the scarred wood, confident someone would eventually come to see who was making such a racket.
Finally, they heard the jingle of keys from beyond. A key was put in the lock, it turned, and Ewan immediately wrenched it open, coming face to face with a startled guard.
“Who the—” the man cried just before Ewan’s fist crunched into his face. He slammed into the wall behind and slid down to the flagstones, face bloody, and knocked senseless. Ewan calmly stepped over him whilst unsheathing his sword in a smooth motion, followed by Colin and the other men as he made his way into the main area of the dungeons.
“Christ, it stinks in here,” one of them muttered, gagging. And indeed, all but Ewan covered their noses and mouths with their forearms to avoid breathing in the foul stench. He was oblivious to everything but finding his sister.
The last man through the door relieved the unconscious guard of his weapons, closed the door behind him, and stationed himself next to it, a small but deadly welcoming party should anyone else try to enter.
Ewan, Colin, and the others emerged into the main part of the dungeon. Ewan stood looking around, seeing rows of small, barred cells in front of him. A guard dozing on a chair nearby suddenly started awake when they entered.
“Who the hell are ye?” he roared, shooting out of his seat and going for his sword. Colin engaged with him immediately, leaving Ewan free to find Deidra. But a split second later, another guard burst from one of the cells, his blade already in his hand. Ewan went for him, and their blades clashed, echoing deafeningly around the dank stone walls.
Ewan, buoyed by hopes of seeing Deidra any minute, pressed forward against the guard’s spirited resistance. “Get out of me bloody way!” he roared at the man, his shout resounding and bringing piteous cries for help from some of the prisoners in the cells.
“Ewan?! Is that ye?” came a woman’s voice, thin, tremulous, filled with fear and hope.
“Deidra, I’m comin’’!” he yelled, thrilled to hear his sisters’ voice. Colin appeared beside him, having left the other guard lying on the floor groaning and clutching the hole in his chest.
“Ewan! Thank God! I knew ye’d come. I’m in here!” Deidra called back with renewed strength. Ewan glimpsed her, her hands gripping the bars of a cell only a few feet away. His heart turned over to see her pale, drawn face streaming with tears of happiness and relief as she peered out from between them.
“I’ll be there in just a moment, I promise,” he assured her. But the stubborn guard, though outnumbered, did not seem eager to cease fighting. He stood on the threshold, stopping them from getting to Deidra’s cell. Ewan, infuriated, suddenly paused his attack. The guard appeared taken aback and stopped as well, staring at him, panting, red-faced.
“Daes Allan pay ye enough tae die fer him?” Ewan asked. “Because that’s me sister in there, and if ye dinnae stop fightin’ and set her free, ye’re gonnae wind up dead just like yer pal over there.”
The guard’s eyes flicked to the now-still body of his companion and the crimson pool surrounding him. He seemed to make a decision.
“Aye, ye’re right. I dinnae get paid enough fer this,” he said at last, letting his sword clatter to the floor. “I’ll let her out.”
“Sensible man,” Ewan muttered as he followed him the door of Deidra’s cell. The guard produced a bunch of keys from his belt, selected one, and unlocked the door. Deidra rushed out, straight into Ewan’s waiting arms. It was an emotional reunion, and as sobs shook her body, he had to hold back tears himself for having found her unharmed.
While they were hugging, Colin locked the guard in Deidra’s cell. When she and Ewan broke apart, he hugged Deidra as well. “Time tae come home, lass,” he told her soothingly.
“Come on, we’re nae out of the woods yet,” Ewan said, taking her hand and pulling her towards the door, the others following. They raced back down the tunnel and quickly emerged into the forest. Immediately, the sound of fighting could be heard, growing louder as they approached their makeshift camp and the waiting horses.
“It sounds like the lads have been doin’ a grand job keeping the guards busy,” Colin remarked with a wry smile as they all hurried to mount up.
“Aye, give the signal tae call the men off now, Colin,” Ewan ordered, smiling at Deidra as he reached down to help her up behind him. “We’re done here, and now we’re goin’ home.”
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Chapter One
1703, The Council chamber, Castle Galbraith, Scottish Highlands Oh, Lord, preserve us! Let it nae be true! This cannae be happenin’!
Crouched in her hiding place in an alcove behind a wall tapestry, Isla Galbraith pressed her knuckles to her lips to stifle her horrified gasp as the dreadful news currently under discussion in the Council chamber sank in.
She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but amid the alarming rumors that had been flying around Castle Galbraith for the last few weeks, and her growing fear for her brother Gregory’s life, she had felt compelled to take radical action. Accordingly, ahead of the meeting, she had stolen into the empty chamber and hidden away. But now, as the discussion progressed, she was beginning to regret it.
“This is the final chapter in this bloody war, and if we are tae survive as a clan, we cannae fail tae defeat Ballentine’s forces. The scouts say his army is camped less than a day’s ride from the castle, in Waverly Forest. He could launch his attack on us at any moment. We must get everyone inside the walls immediately and take urgent action to prepare for the upcoming battle,” Isla’s brother, the Laird of Clan Galbraith, declared decisively.
“Aye, I’ll give the orders as soon as we’re done here,” said a voice Isla recognized as belonging to Kelvin Moore. Kelvin and his cousin Domhnall Hastie were Gregory’s closest friends, in addition to being his war captains and military advisors. “From what the scouts say, Ballentine has about a hundred men with him, all mounted,” he added.
“If that’s right, then we can match those numbers.” That was Domnhall speaking. “There’s good cause tae be hopeful of defeatin’ an attack, even if it comes down tae open battle. But there’s another possibility we havetae tae consider.”
In her hidey hole, Isla waited, holding her breath to hear what that was.
“He could very well have concealed a bigger force elsewhere close by,” Domnhall explained.
A bigger force hidden somewhere, ready tae overwhelm us?
The very idea turned Isla’s blood to ice.
“Aye, that’s what I’d dae if I could,” Gregory said. “But how likely is it that he has more men? He’s already lost many fighters in this war, just like the rest of us. His resources are dwindlin’. ’Tis obvious that’s the reason he’s decided tae stake everythin’ on an all-out attack and put an end tae it once and fer all.”
“Likely so, but ’tis a desperate gamble. He could lose everythin’,” Kelvin observed.
“Maybe we should use the element of surprise and attack the camp first,” Domnhall suggested.
“That’s one possibility, aye, but I think we need more reliable information about his numbers before we dae that,” Gregory countered.
“Well, as it is, he has us more or less pinned down. How long can we last if he decides his best option is tae starve us out?” That was Domnhall again.
“Pardon me, m’laird, but it sounds as though we’re in sore need of Laird Allen tae send us reinforcements as soon as possible,” Isla heard one of the other councilmen say nervously, voicing her very own thought.
“Aye, and I’ve already sent a messenger tae inform him of what’s happenin’. I’ve nay doubt we can expect help from him very soon. But until then, whatever happens, we must handle it ourselves,” Gregory replied, his voice deep and unwavering.
Isla prayed silently that Laird Calumn Allen, the man on whose side they were fighting on in the war—the war he had started by conquering part of Ballentine’s territory—would indeed send an army to help them defeat the enemy at their gates.
“Would it nae be wiser tae come tae some agreement with Ballentine, m’laird? It would save many lives,” Isla heard the clan secretary, the elderly Malcolm Ogilvy, suggest.
Aye, quite right, Malcolm, Isla thought to herself, heartily agreeing with the old advisor’s sentiment.
“Ye mean we should surrender?” Gregory replied, his tone derisive. “I think ye’re goin’ barmy in yer old age, Malcolm. Ye should ken better. We Galbraiths would rather die before we dae that.”
The small hope that had flickered to life in Isla’s breast died at his words.
“Maybe I am goin’ soft in the head,” Malcom conceded, quickly adding, “but this is nae our war, ’tis Laird Allan’s. And yet here we are, with Ballentine heading tae our walls, and any of us here, along with our families, likely tae lose our lives in an attack or starve in a siege and then be killed.”
“We chose tae ally with Laird Allan in this fight,” Gregory responded in a tone that brooked no argument. “There was always a chance it would come tae this. We cannae go back on our word now. What would that say about us? I’d rather perish than have folks say we Galbraiths are cowards and turncoats.”
Ach, Greogory, ’tis just that sort of stubborn pride that could get us all killed, Isla raged silently, her hand over her mouth to stop the protest that threated to burst from her lips and reveal her presence.
“Kelvin, Domnhall, here are me orders. Start gettin’ the villagers safe inside the walls immediately. I want this place locked down as tight as a drum,” Gregory instructed his right-hand men. “And make sure any scouts who come in with news of Ballentine’s movements to report straight tae me. When ye’ve done that, come and join me in me study tae plan our defensive strategy.”
“Aye, m’laird,” his war captains chorused in their deep voices.
“And Connor,” Gregory told his private secretary, “send someone tae find Lady Isla and tell her tae put the plans in motion tae prepare fer an attack. She should arrange fer anyone who cannae fight tae dae their bit tae help. Tell her I’ll speak tae her later.”
“Aye, I’ll go mesel’ and find her straight away, m’laird,” Connor replied.
“Good. Then come tae me study as well.”
“Aye, will dae.”
“All right.” Gregory announced decisively. “This meetin’ is now closed.”
With a heavy sense of dread settling in her belly, Isla forced herself to stay put while her brother and the murmuring councilmen slowly vacated the chamber. When she was finally left alone, she crept out from her hiding place and made her way to the door. Opening it a crack, she peeped out into the hallway. The Council members were quickly dispersing, and she saw Gregory disappearing through the door to his study a little further down the hall. Kelvin and Domnhall, conversing in low voices, were hurrying away to carry out their orders.
When she was satisfied the coast was clear, she slipped out into the hallway and made her way to her chamber on the first floor. She was about to mount the stone staircase when she heard someone call her name.
Connor.
She stopped and turned to him as he came up to her. Tall and rangy, he towered over her, his usually mild expression grim as he met her eyes.
“Aye? What is it, Connor?” she asked, hiding her guilt behind a smile as she struggled not to betray her ill-gotten knowledge to this trustworthy friend of long-standing.
Connor caught up to her and looked around to make sure no one among the bustling servants and other castle folk passing by were listening. Apparently satisfied they were out of range, he spoke softly. “Isla, I hate tae be the one tae havetae tell ye this, but we’ve just heard that Ballentine is mustering his forces nae far from the castle.”
Isla let her smile fade and her genuine alarm show on her face. “Ye mean he’s gonnae attack the castle?” she asked.
Connor nodded, setting his long, reddish curls bobbing. “Well, we cannae be sure, but everythin’ points tae it, aye,” he replied.
“Lord! What will become of us?” she murmured, trying to maintain an air of calm, as befitted the lady of the castle, for anyone watching them.
“Gregory’s planning our defense right now. He says he’ll speak tae ye later, but in the meantime, he wants ye tae get everybody who cannae fight busy helpin’ with preparations fer what’s tae come. D’ye ken what tae dae?”
Isla nodded, her blood running cold again. “Aye, I ken. Me grandmaither left me instructions should something like this ever happen.”
“I’ll leave it in yer hands then. I have other things tae dae before I join Gregory and the others in his study. Perhaps I’ll see ye later.”
“Aye, perhaps,” she said after him as he hurried away.
Isla went upstairs to her chamber, and when she shut the door behind her, her false composure fled. Tears flowed from her eyes as she sank down onto her bed, the feeling of icy dread growing within her. It was accompanied by a myriad of frightening thoughts and images that ran through her head in a maddening whirl.
In her mind’s eye, she went back sixteen years, to the night that was stamped indelibly on her memory. The night when assassins broke into the castle and murdered their parents in their beds. Five-year-old Isla had not known that when she was awoken by screaming and shouting in the night, but she had sensed great danger in the air.
Acting on a protective instinct, she had jumped out of bed and pulled a sleeping Gregory, aged only four, from his. Then, pressing a finger to his lips, she had dragged him across the room to hide in a wardrobe, staying there, crouched silently among the clothing, until somebody came to find them.
It was only some time afterwards, when their grandmother had told her what a brave and clever girl she was, that Isla finally understood her actions that night had saved both her own and Gregory’s lives. By rights, they should have both been dead too, for someone had sent men to kill her entire family and wipe the Galbraiths from the face of the earth. The question as to who was responsible for murdering their parents and for what reason haunted her and Gregory, though they seldom spoke of it.
The terrible loss formed an unbreakable bond between them, and it left Isla with a deep-seated fear of being left alone—specifically of losing Gregory. As they grew to adulthood, she and her brother remained close. She grew to rely on him, and when their grandmother passed away, she never forgot Gregory was all the family she had left. Even though he was a grown man and the laird of their clan, she still retained that big-sister urge to protect him from harm, for she could not bear the thought of losing him.
In the last several months, since this war had started and they had been fighting on behalf of Laird Allan against Ewan Ballentine, she had been forced to watch Gregory ride out to battle with his men on many occasions. Each time she had felt sick with terror at the thought that she might never see him alive again.
While he had been away, she had prayed almost constantly for him to stay safe and for an end to the bloody hostilities. Half her prayers had been answered. So far, Gregory had always come back in one piece. But since then the war had only intensified, and now the attack on the castle was imminent.
I cannae let him keep fightin’ this war, especially since ’tis nae truly ours. How much longer can his luck hold? I must find some way tae put an end tae the fightin’ and keep him safe. But how?
Feeling utterly powerless but knowing her duty as the laird’s sister and official lady of the castle, she pulled herself together, crossed to her dresser, and opened the bottom drawer. She paused for a moment, staring at the rolled parchment, which had lain there forgotten for so long, hesitating to touch it. For doing so would make the nightmarish threat at their gates all too real. It contained the instructions their grandmother had left for her to face just such an emergency as this.
Nevertheless, she forced herself to extract it from the drawer and unroll it. Her heart clenched painfully to see their grandmother’s flowing hand once more after so many years. With trembling hands and a lump in her throat, she began to read the long list of instructions for the lady of the castle to do her duty to prepare for an attack.
Wells within the walls must be secured. Water should also be stored in vats in the cellars of the keep in case the enemy infiltrates the outer walls.
As many candles and lamps as possible (and large quantities of lamp oil) should be speedily acquired, to be rationed and deployed only where strictly necessary.
Inventory food supplies. As much grain and produce as can be had in the time allowed must be brought inside the castle walls and properly stored within the keep cellars. Lay as much meat and fish down to salt as possible. In case of a siege, it will be necessary to ration food.
Plentiful supplies of tea and ale must also be ensured. Milk will come from the beasts brought in from the fields—lay in a good supply of fodder for them and the horses in case of siege.
As much firewood as can be gathered prior to any attack should be brought in and stored within the walls in several places where it is protected from fire. A good quantity should be regularly dispersed on the battlements for use in the braziers (to light arrows and such), and in the great hall for medical use (see below).
Ensure all healers are present within the castle prior to any attack and that there are sufficient medical supplies to treat those injured in battle. Set those who cannot fight or give medical assistance to making bandages, dressings, and the like.
Prepare the great hall to be used as a hospital. Mattresses and cots should be brought in for this purpose and both hearths kept burning to maintain a good supply of boiled water.
Prepare the cellars beneath the keep to shelter the injured, sick, womenfolk, and children if the outer defenses are overrun. A separate part can be used as a mortuary.
The list Isla had hoped she would never have to read, let alone use, went on and on, each line hammering home their awful plight, and making her fear increasingly for all their lives, but most of all for Gregory’s.
In a short while, she gathered herself and went downstairs to give the necessary orders to prepare for an attack. She toured the pantry and storerooms with the housekeeper and cooks, setting them to making a detailed inventory of all the food supplies and arrangements for storage.
After that, she sent a maid to gather all the women and older male servants of the castle who could not fight, as well as the castle healer Davina McGhee and her assistant. Once everyone had gathered amid an atmosphere of fearful anticipation, she held a meeting, going over each of the instructions on her grandmother’s list and overseeing the division of tasks.
“If there is an attack, it will be me duty as lady of the castle tae help nurse the injured as they come in, so I’ll be makin’ mesel’ useful helpin’ Davina in the great hall. She’ll need all the volunteers she can get tae nurse the injured. Even just offerin’ hot tea and comfort can make a difference,” she told them before closing the meeting and sending them off to go about their allotted duties.
However, at the same time as she was busy organizing all this, there remained a part of her mind that was actively turning over the various possibilities concerning a plan to keep Gregory alive.
Chapter Two
By the time the meeting finally broke up, Isla had still not seen Gregory to discuss what was happening. Deciding she had to speak to him whether he was busy or not, she went along to his study and knocked on the door.
“Come,” came his deep voice from the other side. She opened the door and went in, to find him standing around the large table with Connor, Kelvin, and Domnall. All four looked up when she entered, their expressions intent and serious. They had their shirt sleeves rolled up and appeared to be poring over maps and diagrams laid out before them, which she guessed were strategic plans for the defense of the castle.
“Isla. Are ye all right?” Gregory asked her as she approached them, his handsome brow creased into a worried frown. He unfolded his tall, powerful frame, pushed his long fair hair back from his face, and fixed his light gray eyes on her.
“Aye, I’m as all right as one can be in such circumstances, I suppose,” she replied briskly, though her heart ached to look at him. She dearly wanted to embrace him but held off in company, knowing he needed to appear strong at this challenging time. “I just came tae see how ye’re gettin’ on and tell ye that I’ve set all the preparations in motion should an attack take place, accordin’ tae Grandma’s instructions.”
Gregory smiled at her with obvious gratitude. “That’s good tae hear. Thank ye fer takin’ charge of all that, Sister. ’Tis one less thing fer me tae worry about.” He paused for a moment, then he said softly, “I’m sorry ’tis such bad news.”
“Aye, well, it was certainly a shock when Connor told me what’s happenin’,” she lied, feeling only a little bit guilty for pulling the wool over his eyes. ’Tis his fault fer nae keepin’ me informed.
“Are ye scared?”
She huffed. “Of course, I am! I’d be a fool if I wasnae, eh?” The others smiled at her comment.
“Aye, only a fool disnae feel afraid when he ought tae,” Connor murmured.
“And that’s how ye lose a war,” Kelvin put in sagely, nodding his dark head.
“But I must tell ye, Gregory,” Isla went on, needing to voice her concerns, “I curse this war Laird Allan has dragged us intae. ’Tis nae our fight. This shouldnae be happenin’. Ballentine should be camped outside Laird Allan’s walls, nae ours. ’Tis our folks who’ll be dyin’ if Ballentine attacks. When he attacks,” she corrected herself. A mixture of anger and fear rose inside her at the wrongness of it, and she clasped her hands tightly at her waist to keep it from erupting.
Gregory appeared to ignore her view of the matter. Instead, he said in a reassuring tone, “Things appear worse than they are. Laird Allan will send reinforcements as soon as he gets me message. In a few days’ time, the picture may be very different.” He sounded confident, but again, she knew that went along with his responsibilities as the laird. Any doubts he harbored, he would keep to himself for the dark hours of the night.
Frustration sharpened her tongue as she retorted tartly, “Well, I suppose we must hope Ballentine waits politely fer Allan’s men tae arrive before he attacks then. Mayhap we should invite him in fer tea while he waits.”
Kelvin sniggered, and Gregory smiled wryly, but he was clearly not going to be drawn in by her sarcasm. “Since ’tis us Ballentine has in his sights just now, we havenae choice but tae defend ourselves if he decides tae launch his attack afore then,” he explained. “Remember, Isla, he and his men cannae just simply walk intae Castle Galbraith. These walls are ten feet thick, and me men are well supplied with weapons. We have our own water supply within the walls and should have enough general supplies tae see us through until the reinforcements get here. We can easily hold him off.”
Unconvinced, Isla burst out, “Can ye nae sue fer peace, come tae some arrangement with Ballentine and avoid the bloodshed?” She heard the pleading note in her voice and despised it.
Gregory shook his head. “I’ll nae renege on me word tae defend Allan’s cause.”
She wanted to shout, “Ye mean ye’re too stubborn!” But she bit it back. Instead, she simply pursed her lips and nodded. “Very well. Will we be dining together this evening as usual?”
“I’m nae sure. I think we’ll be too busy here.”
“All right, I’ll have some food sent in fer ye later,” she said, surveying them all. “I’ll leave ye tae yer plans then.”
“Aye, I’ll come and find ye when I’m free,” Gregory told her before turning back to the others and resuming the discussion while Isla left the room with a heavy heart.
It was only four o’clock and still light. Feeling restless and on edge, she decided to go outside and gauge the atmosphere among the villagers who were streaming into the castle for shelter from the coming storm. She stepped out past the guard on the keep doors and stood on the steps watching as the clansfolk made their way through the gigantic gates to what they hoped would be a safe haven.
The atmosphere was surprisingly subdued, with none of the usual chatter or laughter as the river of humanity flowed steadily into the courtyard, some lugging bundles or pushing handcarts full of their possessions. White-faced women carried crying babes in their arms, while scared-looking children pulled their younger siblings along. The old and sick and heavily pregnant were carried in on makeshift litters or supported by strong arms and shoulders inside the towering stronghold.
The cacophony from the livestock and the barking, sniffing dogs that ran loose among the incoming throng echoed from the walls. Sheep, pigs, cows, and goats streamed in along with the people. Those with horses or mules or donkeys rode or drove them through the gates. Chickens and other edible fowl rode in style, packed in willow cages on the beds of numerous carts and wagons pulled by enormous shire horses. More carts and wagons loaded with straw, hay, grain, turnips, and other produce, rumbled over the cobblestones of the courtyard, heading towards the rear of the castle to supply the kitchens and stables.
Among all this, groups of heavily armed soldiers moved rapidly about, their commanders barking orders as they deployed their men to oversee the influx.
The cold leaden weight lodged in Isla’s belly grew heavier still as she watched the strained faces filing past her. The very air felt doom-laden, but she maintained her calm exterior and smiled and nodded encouragingly at the villagers, as was her duty as the laird’s sister.
While she stood there observing the organized chaos, she could not help but overhear the conversation of the guards stationed directly behind her on the steps of the castle keep. They were talking to their replacements, who had come to relieve them of duty.
“What’s tae dae, lads?” one of them asked the newcomers. “Is it true what the rumors say, that Ballentine’s army is camped less than a day’s ride from here?”
“Aye, it seems that way. Ye’re tae attend a briefin’ at five with the laird tae get yer orders,” one of the new guards explained.
“Jaysus, I never thought it would come tae this, the enemy campin’ at our gates. It’ll nae take him and his army long tae reach us once they start movin’.”
“The laird’s already sent a messenger tae Laird Allan fer reinforcements, so we only havetae hold them off until they get here.”
“Aye, that’s somethin’, I suppose. With luck, the laird might be able tae infiltrate some spies in the enemy camp and find out what Ballentine’s plannin’.”
“Aye, I’m sure he’s thought of that already… Well, ye two had best be off and get somethin’ tae eat afore the briefin’.”
“Aye, thanks, lads, we’ll see ye later at the barracks fer an ale or two, I hope.” The original guards departed, and the new guards settled into their positions by the door, pikes at the ready.
The comment about infiltrating spies had struck a chord with Isla. Like a seed, the idea took root in her mind. It sprouted and grew quickly, pulling her back inside the keep and upstairs to her chambers in search of privacy. By the time she had shut herself safely inside, the buds of a plan were already forming in her mind. She sat on her bed and thought.
A spy in Ballentine’s camp who could find out his plans to attack the castle could potentially turn the tide of the war, and everyone’s fates. In fact, it could avert an attack altogether, and her brother and his men wouldn’t have to fight. He’d be safe. They would all be safe. But how did one infiltrate an enemy camp without getting found out and killed for being a spy? Or rather, how could a woman infiltrate an enemy camp without getting discovered and killed as a suspected spy, or worse?
Various scenarios ran through her mind, and all but one ended in summary execution. With that possibility in mind, she realized that, even if an interloper avoided detection and discovered Ballentine’s plans, there was no guarantee the attack would be called off. Then it came to her in a sudden burst of clarity, and the plan blossomed to full fruition.
Filled with resolution and knowing time was of the essence if she were to successfully safeguard Gregory’s life, she hurried to put it into action. She fetched a cloth bag from her wardrobe, placed it on the bed, and spent the next hour packing it with the things she would need for a journey, including a candle stub and tinder box and her father’s dirk, which she stole from Gregory’s wardrobe.
When the clock on the mantel chimed midnight, she was ready. With stout riding boots on her feet, a long, hooded woolen cloak covering her entire person and concealing the dirk stuck in her waistband, she pulled on gloves, hoisted the bag, and left her chambers on silent feet.
Getting out of the castle unseen was perhaps the easiest part. Beneath the hulking fortress ran a network of underground tunnels, from which one could move invisibly to any part of the castle one chose. She and Gregory had played in the tunnels for hours when they were growing up, and Isla knew them well. Descending to the depths by a hidden door, she paused to strike a light before starting off along a tunnel that eventually emerged in the tree line of a copse a few hundred feet outside the castle gates.
She took off across the dark meadows, the half-moon lighting her way to the neighboring farm. There, she paused long enough to steal a horse before setting off in the direction of Waverley Forest. The knowledge that her mission to protect Gregory and all she held dear had begun in earnest spurred her on as she rode through the night.
There’s nay other way than tae sneak intae Ballentine’s camp… and kill him.
“Are ye going tae stand still, Kai, or are ye planning tae drive us all mad with yer constant bouncing?” Domhnall’s voice made Kai whip his head around to see all his siblings snickering.
Domhnall stood calm as ever, with the thoughtful Magnus at his side. He was watching Kai carefully, his head cocked at an angle, as Thora and Enya giggled between them.
“What?” Kai said with innocence. “I’m simply annoyed I couldnae go riding this morning. That’s all.” He folded his arms and tried to stand as still as his brothers, shutting down his thoughts as much as possible.
He knew well enough by now that when Magnus was looking at him with that penetrating gaze, he was seeing things in Kai’s mind. Things Kai didn’t necessarily want him to see.
Kai’s skill was similar to Magnus’, though perhaps more illuminating at times, an ability to read people’s emotions when touching them and being able to change them, usually for the better.
At this moment in time, it was plain that Thora and Enya were both excited about their visitors, and they found Kai’s fidgeting extremely humorous. Domhnall was more anxious, wanting the formal feast they were about to share with their neighboring clan to go as well as it could possibly go. Magnus, on the other hand, had learned to distance himself from his emotions. Bearing the calmest of tempers of all of them, his emotions were as quiet as he was with his words.
“Aye, aye, that’s what it is,” Domhnall said with sarcasm. “Yer anxious mood has nothing tae dae with our visitors arriving now, daes it?”
“I dinnae ken what ye mean.” Kai shrugged, trying to ignore what he was feeling.
“They’re here, they’re here!” Enya declared with sudden delight, racing to the window of the great hall that looked out over the courtyard of the castle.
The others moved to her side, all looking at the riders. Kai was careful to follow at a slow pace, well aware that Thora looked back at him, curiosity now in her expression.
“What is it?” Kai whispered to her.
“I just saw something. A flick of ye and…” She looked away, out of the window and down to one of the riders. “It doesnae matter. Ye ken as well as I the things I see dinnae always make sense tae me.”
“I wish ye wouldnae fear yer gift,” he whispered, for her ears only as the others talked excitedly of their visitors.
“Try me gift sometime,” Thora said with a sigh. “The glimpses I have of what may come tae pass, they dinnae always make sense.” The way she chewed her lip and looked out of the window told Kai the answer to the question he feared to ask. Had Thora seen something good in his future? Or something he should fear?
I should fear it. I feel it coming off Thora.
She kept her focus on one of the riders in particular.
“Laird Finley MacKinnon,” Domhnall said as he stared at the three main riders and the guards who had accompanied them.
“Why are ye nervous?” Magnus asked. “They are the clan’s oldest friends. Laird Finley has seen us all grow up.”
“Aye, I ken.” Domhnall nodded. “I dinnae want anything tae sour that relationship. Ever.” He glanced in Kai’s direction.
“Why did ye look at me then?”
“Ye ken very well why,” Domhnall said with a sigh. “Yer reputation with women is getting worse by the day.”
“I am nae that bad,” Kai insisted. Thora and Enya both looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m really nae, sisters.”
“Hmm,” they grunted in unison, then looked out of the window again.
“All I’m saying, Kai, is that if ye were tae pursue Laird Finley’s daughter, I fear what it could dae tae our oldest and best alliance,” Domhnall went on, standing tall.
“I beg yer pardon?” Kai felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. “Why would I pursue his daughter? Which one, anyone?”
All of his siblings stared at him now, the suspicion in their gazes so strong that Kai flinched at the power of those stares.
“Ye and Ava are inseparable,” Enya said, casting a gaze to the heavens to plead for patience.
“The way ye look at her,” Domhnall added, shaking his head. “Leaves little tae the imagination. I dinnae need Magnus’ skill of reading minds tae ken what ye are thinking.”
“Ye’re wrong,” Kai said sharply. “Ava and I are just friends. We always have been.”
Magnus raised his eyebrows so high in disbelief that Kai fidgeted on the spot.
“We are friends,” he said again, to which Magnus shook his head.
“Then shut down yer thoughts so I cannae glimpse them, Kai,” Magnus ordered in a low undertone.
Kai looked away, down at the riders.
It is hard tae deny that there is something there.
His gaze landed on Ava. She had just jumped down from her horse, her long blonde braid wild behind her. A warrior lady, she carried a sword on one hip and a dagger on the other. She was still young, but growing more and more into a woman.
Kai had to admit that from the first day he had ever met Ava, over ten years ago now, in this same spot in the great hall, he had been struck by her. Her wit and her strength, had drawn him to her. They had been friends by the end of the day when Laird MacKinnon had departed with his two daughters.
They saw each other often, when their clans met up, but they also made the effort to see each other alone. Many a night had they crept into the forests together to meet, or even the staff’s kitchen, for a place where the two of them could talk, be themselves, without interruption.
Over the last year, their friendship had shifted. Ava becoming a woman, leaving girlhood behind, was making Kai look at her differently. It would have been a lie to pretend he had never imagined him and Ava together, never thought of what it would be like to kiss her, to pleasure her, to have her in his bed.
Even now, he released a growling sigh, until Magnus elbowed him in the rib.
“Dinnae read me mind if ye dinnae like what ye see,” Kai hissed at him.
“Then shut down yer thoughts,” Magnus ordered. “They are coming.” He nodded through the window.
Laird Finley was leading the way up the keep steps, with his daughters, Ava and Lyla, following behind. It would be little more than a minute now before they were in the great hall.
Kai’s breath shuddered a little as he turned his gaze upon the double doors which were already open, waiting for Laird Finley’s arrival.
“Ah, Laird Finley,” Domhnall declared as Laird Finley walked in first. At once, he moved toward him and bowed. The others followed, though Kai hung back, returning to his fidgeting manner as he waited for another to appear.
Lyla came next, moving to Enya and Thora to greet them.
At last, there she is.
Ava appeared next, having shed her cloak and her weapons, so she was wearing a rich navy blue tartan gown, cinched just under the bust, to show off her athletic figure. Kai felt his breath hitch as he moved toward her.
She smiled when she saw him.
“Good day,” she whispered as he took her hand.
“Good day tae ye too.” He clasped it between both of his palms, a momentary act of friendship in the busy room. “Would ye like tae go fer a ride?”
Let us get out of here. Let us be just the two of us again.
“Aye, I–” Before she could say anymore though, Laird Finley called out to her.
“Ava, come. There will be a feast.” Laird Finley beckoned her to his side. Ava offered an apologetic smile, then moved to stand beside her father.
Kai’s hand dropped at his hip as he stared after her.
“Ye ken what he’s thinking, dinnae ye?” Magnus’ voice at Kai’s side made him jump.
“That’s yer gift. Nae mine,” Kai reminded him.
“He’s thinking ye are nae good enough fer his daughter. He certainly doesnae want Ava tae be just another woman ye bed.”
“She would never be that. It’s Ava,” Kai hissed.
“He doesnae ken that, Kai.” Magnus sighed. “Be careful, braither. Domhnall is right. We dinnae want tae make an enemy of our best ally.” As Magnus walked away, Kai felt numb.
He stared at Ava, now drawn into conversation with her father and Domhnall.
With Ava, it would never be that.
The mere thought of bedding Ava and then forgetting what they had shared disgusted Kai. She was different, she meant more to him than any other.
It was like a lightning bolt striking him overhead, the realization so strong that he actually wavered a little and reached out to the wall, holding a palm against the stone to keep himself standing.
Dear God… when did I fall in love with Ava?
Magnus’ eyes were on him. With horror, Kai realized that Magnus had seen into his mind at precisely the wrong moment. Ever so slightly, Magnus shook his head.
Kai nodded, showing he understood. It didn’t matter if he was in love with Ava, if she meant more to him than any other woman had ever done. The risk was too great, he couldn’t ever jeopardize the friendship with the MacKinnons.
Also Ava was the perfect woman, and he was nothing more than the roguish younger braither of a laird. How could he ever hope fer her tae love him back?
In the middle of her conversation with her father, she turned and looked at him, smiling. It made his stomach jolt with excitement.
Don’t miss your link for the whole series at the end of the preview.
Chapter One
Castle MacKinnon, November 1298
“Ava, dae ye really think a woman who claims tae be able to see intae the future will help ye seduce a man?”
Ava halted in the middle of the castle corridor. She turned abruptly to face her little sister, swinging the burning torch around with her as she moved. Lyla, startled, jumped away from her.
“Careful, sister! I ken ye are a warrior but dae me the favor of nae giving me the wounds yer other opponents bear.”
“I’m sorry,” Ava muttered hurriedly, “but ye ken we dinnae have time fer this argument now. Me mind is made up. Ye can either stay here or come with me, but I am going, Lyla.”
Lyla sighed, her dark blonde hair becoming a curtain as it fell across her face. Ava pushed back the wisps of her own blonde hair, that had fallen out of the customary braid she wore. Tonight, she would not be distracted by fear or the serious nature of her sister’s conversation.
I have a mission tae accomplish.
“I am going,” Ava whispered. She turned, carrying the burning torch high as she slipped down a narrow spiral staircase with Lyla hurrying behind her. More than once her little sister nearly slipped on the stones. The cold air was so strong that night that even inside the castle there was moisture and growing frost on the stone steps. When they reached the bottom, Ava tiptoed toward the kitchens and the servants’ stairwell, knowing it was the best way out of the castle when they didn’t want to be glimpsed by the guards. By the doorway, she latched the burning torch onto an iron hook in the wall, knowing she couldn’t take it with them.
A guard would spot the burning fire from a mile away and come to investigate.
“I dinnae ken about this,” Lyla muttered seriously again.
Ava gave her no answer. Halting by the door for a second, she checked beneath her thick woolen cloak. She carried a dirk at her right hip, her customary basilard at her left hip, all latched into a belt. Ordinarily, she would have liked to have taken her crossbow with her when walking the clan lands alone, but tonight, she had to travel fast, and the crossbow with the bolts would have only weighed her down.
“This castle holds shadows fer us now, I ken that,” Lyla whispered hurriedly as Ava checked her weapons. “But dae ye honestly think ye will find answers by talking tae a mad woman?”
“And ye think a seer is a mad woman, dae ye? Sister, I dinnae pretend tae understand all the secrets of this world. I dinnae ken how it works, what magic and mystery lies beneath the veil of what I can see. Maybe she does,” Ava added, fiercely, but quietly. “If she can help me at all, then I need tae take this chance.”
“Aye, aye, I ken.” Lyla sighed once again as Ava reached for the door.
“Now come, before we are seen.” Ava slipped the key into the door that she had stolen from the castle steward’s chamber earlier that day and slipped it into the lock. It clunked rather heavily, making the two of them halt and look around. When no sound followed, Ava opened the door.
The moment they both stepped outside, they shivered. The wind was bitterly cold, the clouds heavy with snow, threatening to open their icy treasure any second now, adding to the already rich covering of white snow on the ground. The moon, a mere crescent in the sky, was only just visible peeking through those heavy clouds.
“Lovely night, isnae it?” Lyla whispered to Ava with irony in her tone.
“Charming,” Ava agreed. She pressed her lips into the fur lining of her cloak and walked forward through the grounds, with the shorter Lyla racing to keep up with her.
As they crossed through the snowy courtyard toward the curtain wall, Lyla hopped between clumps of snow as Ava walked purposefully, her hand constantly gripping the hilt of her basilard beneath her cloak.
“Dae ye think –”
“Shh,” Ava pleaded. “We dinnae want a guard tae hear us now.”
As if he had been summoned by her words, Ava saw movement atop the nearest curtain wall. She reached for Lyla’s shoulder and pushed her down beneath the well in the middle of the courtyard, out of use thanks to the thick layer of ice which had formed at the bottom. Lyla yelped in surprise, forcing Ava to dart down too.
She held her finger to her lips, warning Lyla not to make another sound. If we’re discovered Faither will be fumin’.”
The guard’s loud footsteps on the curtain wall had stopped, suggesting he had heard Lyla’s noise and had whipped around, staring into the courtyard to investigate. Ava didn’t dare sneak a peek, but waited, holding her breath, until she heard his footsteps again. Peering around the edge of the well, she looked to his place atop the wall. He had returned to his patrol, no longer looking their way.
Ava grabbed Lyla’s hand and ran with her. Her younger sister, much slenderer and not so athletic in build, struggled to keep up as Ava ran to the nearest door. They pressed themselves against the stone wall as Ava pressed a second key, she had taken into a door hidden in the stone wall.
It was a secret door, barely used by any. If the rumors were to be believed, the guards had this door installed years ago to bring in their mistresses and wives at night when no one was looking. Ava wasn’t sure if she believed the tales, though she knew men’s appetites would warrant it.
She shuddered at the thought of men’s appetites when it came to the bedchamber and opened the door, inching it carefully across the snow on the ground to stay as quiet as possible.
As they slipped through, the snow was now thick on the ground thanks to the skeletal branches of the trees above, though their journey became suddenly darker.
Ava followed a path through the forest she knew all too well, for it had been her training ground for years for hunting and fighting. Lyla, on the other hand, gripped to the back of her cloak, following every step she took.
“If I dinnae dae this, ye would be forced tae marry that man,” Ava shuddered.
She had seen him. The very man that their father also feared giving Lyla too.
A warrior, a soldier, and a brutal leader, he had fixated his desires on Lyla. Known for his cruel and insatiable appetites, Ava could not countenance the thought of handing her little sweet sister to a man like him.
“Ye ken I cannae let that happen.”
“But then that means…”
“I ken. I ken what it means.” Ava and her father had talked for hours about the alternatives. Her father, Laird Finley MacKinnon, had drank himself into a stupor with enough whisky to drown a horse.
Lyla’s suitor was adamant in his pursuit of her. Finley’s greatest fear was that he wouldn’t be able to turn the man down. The MacKinnon clan was in debt. For so long they had fought for the Scottish cause against the English. They had lost men, had poor harvests due to bad winters, and now, Finley was running out of options as to how to protect his clan. Lyla’s suitor offered him money. This would ruin Ava, as she was the older sister, and having Lyla marry first was unthinkable. Yet, it would save their clan at the expense of them both.
“Then we must find another way tae get money,” Ava had said in the early hours of the morning.
Her father had looked up from his whisky, staring at her, eyes wide.
“There’s another laird. One so rich that if ye were tae marry him, all our troubles would be gone. Lyla would be safe.”
“Who?” Ava had asked sharply.
“Laird Blair Grant,” Ava now murmured aloud, remembering the way her father had said it sharply that night. He was not known for being a man of soft heart, but he did not have the same reputation of cruelty as Lyla’s suitor.
“Ye dinnae have tae dae this,” Lyla pleaded again behind her, repeatedly slipping in the snow.
“I must.” Ava had at first been dismayed to see that her father hadn’t given up on the idea come morning when he was sober and nursing a bad head. He had urged her to seduce Laird Blair Grant. If she could catch such a wealthy laird’s eye and secure a proposal, Lyla would indeed be safe.
As time had gone on, and as Lyla’s suitor kept reappearing, Ava had become more determined.
He is right. Aye, I must dae this.
Ever since they had lost their mother many years before, Ava had felt it was her responsibility to care for Lyla, to look after her, to teach her how to fare in the world, and above all, to protect her. More than once, she had run headlong into danger in order to keep her sister safe, and now was no different.
Without their mother there to protect her, Ava would happily take her place and do what she could. She certainly wasn’t going to feed Lyla to a cruel man, the way a fox would be fed to the wolves.
A memory flickered across Ava’s mind. It was of a night she always tried to forget, when a man had grabbed her wrist, pinned her down. She remembered his breath on her neck, the way he stank, the fear coiling in her stomach like a viper –
“Where dae we go now?” Lyla’s question broke through the memory.
Ava came to a stop at a fork in the path, then led Lyla down a snowy track. She knew where she was going. How many times had she come across the seer’s hut in this wood? She been told never to go there, yet she had always been curious. Today, she had a need of this woman.
“I’m nay temptress,” Ava muttered as they made their way toward the hut, fighting through the snow as the bitter wind whipped their hair and their cloaks. “If I am going tae dae this, and I will, then I need direction. The seer will help me.”
Ava could feel from the way Lyla’s hands gripped the back of her cloak that she was ready to argue again, but her sister said nothing. Instead, she gasped. The sound brought Ava to a halt, she gripped the hilt of the basilard hard, ready to use it, only to see it was no man or creature that had frightened her. They had found the seer’s cabin.
Now they were here, the air felt different, somehow even icier than before, as if the snow hung in the air, invisible around them. The hut itself was almost completely swamped by snow, the roof sagging under its weight, the old croft windows mere circles of pebbles.
Ava took a small step forward, the snow crunching beneath her boots. In the windows, she saw something glitter. A string of shiny stones and beads had been hung there, which now swayed in the wind, rather ominously clicking against the stones around it. She supposed it was some charm to ward off demons.
“They say she doesnae let people in anymore,” Lyla hissed as Ava moved forward, with her sister staying close behind her.
“Then I pray she changes her mind tonight.” As Ava neared the croft, her boot crunched icy snow loudly. It was so noisy that a light was struck inside the croft.
Ava and Lyla froze, staring at the window. Was it a candle? Maybe a fire light? It burned a deep amber hue.
Ava raised her hand from her basilard, ready to knock when she hesitated. Her first doubts creeped in. She wondered if the seer would tell her anything useful at all? What if the seer only confirmed that Lyla would have to marry her cruel suitor in the end, that anything Ava could do wouldn’t avoid it? What if –
“Dinnae stand there dithering on me doorstep all night.” A sharp voice called from within the croft.
Lyla covered her mouth and jumped back three paces as Ava stood stock still, staring at the door with its carved witch symbols in the wood in amazement.
“Come, lass. Leave yer poor sister outside. Me fire would warm her, but she’ll be happier out there.”
Ava looked at Lyla, who was already nodding eagerly, clearly in no hurry to be inside the seer’s croft, for confirmation.
Ava turned the door handle and pushed it open. The door creaked ominously and loudly as she moved into the room.
“Close that door. Ye want an old woman tae die from the cold? Aye, aye, old bones decay quickly ye ken. I kenned a lass once who died from her bones turning tae ice. They didnae believe me. They never believe me, but I ken what I see.”
Ava closed the door sharply, turning to face the woman who was speaking so fast, she had to strain to listen to the individual words.
Sat before the fire was the seer, dressed in a thick woolen gown, a heavy wolf’s fur on her shoulders and dark hair around her face that was streaked with grey. She was chewing something, some sort of root, though she only chewed with one side of her jaw. One eye was wider than the other, as if the other caused her pain, and she didn’t once blink those eyes, giving her the impression of being a gargoyle that had sprung to life.
Jerkily, the woman gestured to the stool opposite her.
“Come, come. Nay time. Ye think guards dinnae ken when the daughter of a laird sneaks out of the castle?”
“They’ve never spotted it before,” Ava murmured as she sat on the stool, listening to it creak and whine behind her. She had snuck out many times in the night, just for the challenge of it… and the freedom.
“Hmm,” the seer grunted. “Speak. Why did ye come? Tell me.” The woman waved impatiently as she reached for a bundle of burning herbs and inhaled the rich scent of drive lavender and lemon thyme sharply, her nostrils flaring.
Ava spoke fast, obeying, though as she spoke, she couldn’t help staring at all the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. Rather oddly, there was a rabbit’s foot dangling from between the herbs too, and more witches’ symbols carved across the wooden beams that held up the thatched roof.
“I… I have come fer direction,” Ava forced herself on. “I am trying tae protect me sister. A cruel suitor wants her, and tae avoid it, me faither wishes me tae seduce a laird. He’s a wealthy man, so wealthy it could solve all our clan’s problems, but I am nay temptress. Nay seductress.” She gestured at her gown, the cloak, and the weapons she carried. “How does a woman like me go about this task? And if I dae it… will it work? Can I save Lyla?”
The seer’s wider eye seemed to widen impossibly further, gazing at Ava.
Yet Ava had not come to be messed with. She was here for a task, and she would not fidget and be made uncomfortable by the seer’s spooky ways. She sat taller on the stool, her spine becoming rigid.
“I have asked ye questions. Please, answer me,” she said with strength.
“Hmm. Aye, aye, got a heart, got a conscience, got fire in ye too.” The seer grunted with a chuckle. “Yet all ken that already.” She reached into the fire suddenly.
Ava leaped back in amazement, only to see that the seer took hold of another bundle of herbs and dropped them into a bowl on a small, crooked table beside her. The blackened leaves and flower heads fell off the stems and the woman picked up the bowl, spinning it round and round for a moment before she set it down, gazing at the flower heads as if they held the answers of the world. Eventually, she looked up, staring straight at Ava with that eerie stare once again.
“Yer future will depend on a choice ye make. That choice will be whether tae follow yer duty. Or yer heart.” It was spoken without passion. In fact, it was said without much interest, almost impassively.
“Me heart?” Ava shifted.
I am doing this because I have a heart. I love me sister and will dae anything tae protect her. Arenae me duty and me heart aligned?
“Either path ye choose will have consequences. Nay way tae ken the right one.”
“How helpful,” Ava muttered under her breath.
The seer leaned forward sharply. It was clear she was not yet done.
“And on either path ye take, there’ll be one there with ye. A man. A man tae steer ye intae yer future. Maybe show ye what seduction is.”
“I dinnae need –”
“As ye say, ye are nae a temptress.” The seer gestured to her with one of the burning bundles that now smelled strongly of lavender and acrid burning wood. “Look at the border between the MacKinnons and the MacLeods. Ye have close ties with their clan. In three days, in a tavern called The Stag’s Rest, there will be a man. He’s a rake. A man who could read emotions with one look and can seduce any lass he likes intae his bed. He’s a man of careless elegance, a man whose confidence is his second skin, and has eyes like a storm over a sea.”
Ava started to fidget uncomfortably. How could the seer possibly see this man in her mind?
“He is dangerous and mischievous, and he commands eyes even without trying. He’ll be wearing a heavy hat. Ungainly thing. Quite ugly. That is how ye’ll ken it’s him. Find him.” She leaned back sharply. “The student will need a master if she is tae learn and change her future.”
“And ye think that is possible?” Ava asked keenly. “Ye think that if I choose this path, I can change the future?”
“I see possible futures, lass. I dinnae see which one will come.” With a flick of her wrist, the seer dismissed her.
Chapter Two
Three Days Later, The Stag’s Rest, Torrin
“Och, bloody thing,” Kai muttered beneath his breath as he adjusted the large hat on his head. It was a ridiculous thing, necessary, but made no less ridiculous because of it. So large and heavy, it repeatedly slipped down his brow, hiding half his face from the rest of the world.
Necessary, remember that, ye fool, he reminded himself.
As scout for his elder brother, Laird of the MacLeod’s, it was Kai’s position to occasionally act the ridiculous fool in order to get the information they needed. It kept their clan and the Scottish safe, and countless times had saved them when it came to their battles against the English.
Adjusting the hat once more on his head, he shifted against the tavern wall, staring out across the room.
The Stag’s Rest was hardly a reputable place. There were ladies who sold themselves here, thieves gathering at every table, bandits masking their faces with scarves, and even an innkeeper who served up beer which had most likely been watered down to fleece his customers. Kai dared to try another sip of it, but it tasted so foul, he pushed it away, drumming his fingers idly against the tankard as he looked at the door, waiting for the entrance of the man he was to meet.
Two lasses walked in, with dresses so low cut that Kai inhaled sharply. Their cleavages were deep, their curves obvious, but Kai forced himself to look away.
He had a healthy appetite in that regard. He had shared his bed with many a lass, sometimes they didn’t even make it to a bed. It helped. It made him thrum with excitement and thrill, gave him confidence, even if none of the women came close to the one woman whom he wished he could share his bed with.
She’ll never be that. Remember that.
He pushed thoughts of her away, not even allowing her name to surface in his mind. Tonight, he had to be serious. His elder brother, Domhnall, had sent him here for a reason.
“Ye are the only one who can dae this.” Domhnall had spoken commandingly as they trained together out on the lawns behind the MacLeod castle. “This man is nae related tae our clan. He will have information from other clans, inside knowledge we cannae find any other way.”
“I ken all that. I said I’m happy tae go, didnae I?” Kai had laughed and tried to drive the sword toward his brother again, but Domhnall had deflected it.
Kai was athletic in build, but also lithe. It made him ideal for being a scout – he was a fast rider and quick fighter, but Domhnall was broad of muscle and a brutal warrior. Kai once saw his brother flatten a man out cold with nothing but his bare fist. Kai frequently thanked his lucky stars he was born Domhnall’s family and not his enemy.
“I need ye tae dae more than just listen tae what he says,” Domhnall had gone on, walking around him, ready to fight again.
“Aye, aye, I ken.” Kai had held his arms out wide, like a performer on stage. “Ye wish me tae use me usual tricks, dinnae ye? Tae see his emotions, see what he’s hiding from us. Sense when he’s lying, aye?”
Domhnall had nodded his head sharply.
Kai may have been the joker of the group, the one who seemed confident and at ease, but they all knew it gave him an advantage. No one expected him to be the one who was always watching, always astute, always sensing things that people were trying to hide.
Aye, it’s me magic.
He chuckled at the mere thought and adjusted himself on the bench again, daring another sip of the watered-down beer before he spat it back into the tankard and gagged at the taste.
The door opened and the drunken men shouted for it to be closed fast as a flurry of snow came in and the icy wind made them all fidget. The innkeeper’s wife added more logs to the fire as the door was kicked shut and the man who had just entered looked around.
Kai only needed to glance at him to know this was the man he had been waiting for.
Like him, this scout was dressed demurely, trying to hide in plain sight. He rubbed his hands uneasily, blowing on them to summon some warmth, his thick black curly hair hanging down from the hat on his head. The eager way he looked around, showing he was searching for someone, just confirmed what Kai already knew. His weapons were hidden beneath his cloak, including a dirk pressed into the ankle of his boot. It was where Kai often hid a weapon of his own, though his was a little more discreet.
The scout looked toward him, pulling down the thick woolen scarf that covered the lower half of his face. When he saw Kai’s hat, he recognized the symbol. It had been in Kai’s letter to the man, that if he wanted to talk, come to this tavern and talk to the guy wearing the large hat.
Kai flicked his fingers to the nearest bar maid as the scout approached. Affecting an easy smile, Kai ordered two more beers.
“I’m glad ye made it,” Kai put on a cheerful attitude and nodded for the man to take his seat. “A drink, aye? Ye need tae warm yer bones from all that snow.”
“Aye. Thank ye.” The scout sat down on the bench opposite Kai, clearly a little startled by Kai’s easy manner. He looked around his shoulders, nervous of being overheard.
This is a good start.
It was what Kai had wanted to see. A scout delivering secret information shouldn’t be at ease and confident, but nervous – even terrified about being overheard.
They waited for the beers to be brought then Kai offered a toast.
“Tae warmth and summer. Aye, I pray it is here soon.” As he pretended to sip the beer, having no intention of drinking any more of it, the scout gulped heavily.
Aye, he’s definitely nervous.
“We may be waiting a while fer that.” The man scoffed then coughed, clearly finding the beer as unappetizing as Kai did.
“Ye ken why we are here then.” Kai leaned forward, determined to get to the crux of their meeting. “What can ye tell me?”
The man wiped his mouth uneasily, looked about his shoulders, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“The English. They’re encroaching more and more onto the Highlanders’ territory.” For the first time, Kai noticed there was something more to the Scottish lilt in the man’s voice. There was an English note too.
“Ye have English blood?”
“English maither, Scottish faither.” The man shifted, his face turning pink. Clearly, he had hoped this wouldn’t be noticed. “I fight fer Scotland.”
“Then why are ye nervous? Why worry about telling me these things?”
Once more, the man shifted uncomfortably.
“Because the clan I report tae is considering an alliance with the English. It’s what the English are doing. They’re working their way into our land by diplomacy. Or buying allegiance, call it what ye like.”
“Dae ye think there will be a battle?”
“Nay. Nae yet.” The man shook his head sharply. “They’re too busy having political discussions. I come tae offer yer laird a warning. That is all. Be wary of the riches the English offer ye and beware of clans ye think are yer friends. They may yet be bought.” He spoke with earnestness, not looking away from Kai’s gaze now.
Aye, he is telling the truth.
Kai knew it without having to doubt himself.
“Then I thank ye fer yer information.” Kai nodded. “What did ye risk tae come and tell me this?”
“Me position.” The man shifted. “I’m already nae trusted by some in me own clan because of me English maither, but I willnae let the English wipe out Scotland inch by inch without doing something about it.” The passion was evident. “It is right someone kens, even if me clan intends tae dae naething about it.”
He stood sharply as the door opened. Kai didn’t even look who had walked in this time, for his eyes were set on the man before him. The scout’s hand had gone to the weapons in his belt.
He fears fer his life.
“Then ye best get out of here fast.” Kai put some coins on the table. “Take this. Get yerself a fresh horse and ride home. Thank ye, again.”
The man nodded, jerkily took the coins, and left, sweeping out of the door as quickly as he arrived, with people cursing as the door was opened and more snow came in across the floor.
Kai sat forward after the man had gone. Now this meeting was done, he felt a calm washing over him.
“Aye, it was the truth,” he muttered, staring down into the tankard, knowing in his gut it was. In a way, it was reassuring. No impending battle meant they could protect their forces, rebuild themselves, take care of their clan, yet it was still a cause for concern. Maybe the English intended to make the Scottish their own by buying everyone.
I need tae tell Domhnall.
It was a heavy burden of responsibility. As one of the lairds’ brothers, he knew each of them had a responsibility and a task to attend to in order to keep the clan safe. Kai’s place had come naturally. He was built for quick riding, and his astuteness made him a good judge of character and a man’s honesty.
He pushed the tankard away, not intending to drink anymore as he sat back and debated what to do next. He could go back to Dunvegan castle, report to Domhnall tonight, yet there was an allure to the idea of finding company for the night and going back in the morning. He also didn’t particularly want to drink alone.
He looked around the tavern, seeing many women. Some clearly sold themselves, but there were others who wouldn’t charge. They were here to look for a good night themselves.
There was one particular lass who caught his eye. She was blonde. He had to force himself to look away. His taste for blonde hair in particular stemmed from thinking too much of one woman. It would do no good to sleep with that lass and constantly imagine she was another.
He pushed the tankard aside and stood. Maybe he could share one drink with a lass in this tavern, see what happened. There was always the chance that drink and a night together, full of pleasure, could wash away that part of him which was broken, the part he always tried to mask and stuff down, so he never had to look it in the face.
As he stood, he felt someone at his shoulder. His hand went to the broadsword at his hip. He was ready. If a man was going to pick his pocket, he wouldn’t get far.
“I have been looking for ye. I have an offer tae make ye.” The lass’ voice intrigued him, but what piqued his interest even more were her words.
An offer? What offer, lass?
“I am willing tae pay whatever it takes.”
Wait… that voice.
Kai whipped around fast, turning so quickly that the lass standing at his shoulder stepped back to avoid colliding with him.
This is nae possible!
The woman before him shouldn’t have been here. The blonde hair shouldn’t be there, those hazel eyes, the full cheeks, the wide mouth that was so kissable and yet out of reach.
“Ava?” he hissed in alarm as her perfect lips fell apart in an ‘o’ shape of shock. It was the woman he had loved hopelessly for years, the one he could never have, the one he had to love quietly from a distance and be nothing more to her than her closest friend. “What in God’s name are ye doing here?”
Don’t miss your link for the whole book at the end of the preview.
Prologue
One month earlier, Dunmaglass
The air was warm on Elayne’s skin, the breeze only a momentary relief as she rode with her guards through the forest. It was high summer and late in the morning, so the sun had shone relentlessly on them as they travelled down the path from Macgillivray Castle to her aunt’s cottage.
We should have left sooner. It’s so hot today!
The cottage was only half a day’s ride away, but Elayne felt as though she had been travelling for an eternity, the air uncharacteristically still, even for a July morning. It was better than travelling any other day of the past week, though, which they had all spent in the castle, keeping dry from the endless rain.
“We should have brought ye a carriage, me lady,” said one of her guards, Craig. He had been Elayne’s guard ever since she could remember, and was one of the people who raised her, along with her wet nurses and governess. All these years later, his skin had wrinkled and his brown hair was almost completely grey, but he still resembled the young man Elayne had once known.
Most of all, he still fussed over her as if she were a child.
“I’m fine, Craig,” Elayne assured him. “I can handle a half day’s ride.”
“I suppose it’s a good thing ye’re dressed simply,” her other guard, Lachlan, said. Unlike Craig, Lachlan was a young man, broad and tall, tasked with her protection for the first time. “Though ye resemble a maid in these garments.”
“There are many brigands in these parts,” said Elayne. “It’s wiser tae dress simply than tae attract attention.”
Craig had been the one to suggest it in the first place, so that it would not be immediately obvious that she was a noble-born girl. She hoped that if a brigand saw her like this, he wouldn’t be able to tell she was Elayne Macgillivray, daughter of Laird Lewis Macgillivray.
Of course, the plan would only work if the brigands didn’t recognize her especially if they didn’t question why a maid would travel with two guards. Though Craig and Lachlan were similarly dressed, both in simple clothes so as to look like companions, there was an air about them that anyone who had been around guards for enough time would recognize.
It was something that kept nagging Elayne, for she had the growing suspicion that someone was watching them. While they were still close to the castle, she hadn’t suspected anything, but as they rode deeper and deeper into the forest, she could swear there were eyes on her, watching her every move. Neither Craig nor Lachlan seemed concerned at all, though, and Elayne didn’t want to ask them to stop for no reason. They weren’t too far from the cottage now; sooner rather than later, her paranoia would be silenced.
She was simply glad to be out of the castle while Laird McCoy was visiting. The mere thought of him, of his hands somehow always finding their way on her body no matter how much she tried to keep her distance, nauseated her. It didn’t matter that he was handsome. It was true that his features were far from revolting, but his character more than made up for it. He was the cruelest man she knew, more so even than her father, and the ten years that separated them were very obvious when they stood side by side. Next to him, Elayne still resembled a child.
As they rode through the forest, they soon reached the part of the journey where they could hear the trickling of water from the nearby river. Elayne had always hated hearing it, but there was no other road leading to her aunt’s cottage. If she followed the river all the way back up the valley, she would reach the lake where she had almost drowned as a child, if her mother hadn’t saved her, drowning herself—the lake that made her father hate her, unable to forgive her for her mother’s death. Elayne couldn’t forgive herself either.
As painful as the memory of that day was, she didn’t try to cover the sound of the water by talking—she never did. She deserved to remember, to have those memories re-emerge every time she passed by the river, though it could hardly make up for what she had done.
There was something else that pulled her out of her thoughts, though: a sudden sound, loud and clear, which had all three of them looking over their shoulders to locate its source. Suddenly, four men appeared out of the thick greenery of the forest, two behind them and two in front of them, short, gleaming daggers ready in their hands.
“Brigands!” Craig shouted as he jumped off his horse. Neither he nor Lachlan carried a sword, but they both had multiple blades hidden on them, and Elayne knew those men, though they outnumbered them, would be no match for her and her guards.
Her own dirk was strapped to her leg and she grabbed it, ready to jump off her horse and fight. Before she could, though, one of the men approached her, spooking her horse so much that it bucked and tried to kick at him. The horse missed, and Elayne tightened her hold on it, trying desperately to hold on, but when it bucked again, it threw her off its back and fled down the path.
Elayne landed on the ground with a thud and a groan, rolling just as she made impact to avoid the worst of the injury. She could only hope her mare would stop somewhere nearby and that she would be able to retrieve her once it was all over.
I must recover fast. I cannae stay like this.
It would be a death sentence, staying on the ground. One of those brigands would soon find her and kill her. Still, breathing seemed impossible, the air knocked out of her lungs after she had hit the ground, her ribs and her arms aching with the aftermath of her fall. She could hardly draw in any air, let alone stand.
In the chaos, a pair of hands grabbed her and dragged her into the bushes that lined the road. Elayne screamed, but one of those hands quickly muffled her protests, keeping her quiet. In the distance, she saw Craig and Lachlan surrounded by the four men, fighting a losing fight.
This is it… this is how we all die.
“Are ye alright?” asked a soft, quiet voice. “Did ye get hurt?”
For a moment, Elayne froze, not expecting the man to sound concerned. Why would he care if she had been hurt? Perhaps he needed her to be unharmed in order to negotiate with her father, but the concern in his tone didn’t match the kind of concern he would have for his bounty.
It didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that he had released her, and Elayne could finally push herself to her feet and swing her fist, barely missing him when he managed to duck just in time.
That didn’t matter either. She had her blade. Even if she had to fight all of them herself, she would.
Raising her blade, she took a step closer to the young man, but he only backtracked, raising his hands in surrender. Surely, it couldn’t be that easy; he was only trying to lull her into a false sense of security before he attacked.
For the first time, Elayne gave herself a few seconds to take in his features: hair so blond it seemed almost white, a strong jaw, a slightly crooked nose. And then there were those eyes, icy blue, a jagged scar running over them both, from temple to temple.
He was a big man, tall and broad, his frame much bigger than Elayne’s. In some ways, it was an advantage for her. Everyone assumed her to be fragile, short and lithe as she was, so they underestimated her. She may not have had as much brute strength as this man, but she knew her way around a knife and she was faster than any bulky soldier.
“Calm down, lass,” the man said, still backtracking and trying to put some space between them. “I willnae hurt ye, I promise. I’m nae one o’ them.”
Elayne didn’t believe him straight away. It would be foolish to do so. But the more she looked at him, the more she realized everything about this man was different, from his clothes to the heavy sword he carried around his waist. Slowly, she lowered her blade and at the same time, the man lowered his hands.
“Stay here,” he told her quietly and, as he walked past her, he pressed his finger against his lips, asking her to be quiet. Elayne watched him draw his sword out of its sheath and slowly sneak out of the bushes, suddenly attacking the brigands and taking them by surprise.
By then, both Craig and Lachlan lay still on the ground and Elayne had to swallow down the bile that threatened to rise up her throat. Could they be dead? There was no blood that she could see, but that meant nothing. Perhaps it was only because their bodies and the greenery obscured her view.
She couldn’t allow herself to believe they were dead, not even for a moment. She couldn’t have two more deaths on her hands.
Instead, Elayne watched the mysterious man as he fought off the brigands. He had an advantage with the sword, but he also knew how to use it, his movements elegant and practiced. It was almost like a dance, his feet light as he jumped and slid around the four brigands, his arms strong as he brought down his sword. It was then that Elayne was certain he was no brigand. He was nothing like those men who had attacked her and her guards. This man had been trained to fight.
It didn’t take him long to kill the four men single-handedly. By the end of it, he was covered in their blood, some of his own trickling into the mix where the brigands had managed to wound him. The men had collapsed around him and he stood in the middle of them, drawing in slow, ragged breaths for a few moments. She should have been scared of him, terrified even… But she wasn’t, not at all. When he had composed himself, he walked over to Craig and Lachlan, and Elayne rushed out of the bushes, her dirk in her hand once more.
“Dinnae touch them,” she growled, and the man flinched, not expecting such a reaction.
“I only wished tae see if they’re alive,” he said. He watched Elayne carefully as he slowly made his way towards Craig and pressed his fingers against his neck, where he could feel his pulse, and the relief that washed over his features was palpable.
Elayne didn’t know, though, if it came from finding him alive or dead. Just in case, she stood there, ready to strike.
The man walked over to Lachlan and did the same, before approaching Elayne once more. “They’re alive. They should wake soon.”
It was Elayne’s turn to be relieved, her shoulders finally dropping as she allowed herself to relax a little. If this stranger wanted to hurt her, he would have already done so, she figured, so letting her guard down didn’t seem like a bad idea.
The man was close to her before she knew it, his fingers poking and prodding at her head and her arms as Elayne stood there, at a loss for words. He seemed to have no problem touching a woman he didn’t know, but then again, he probably thought Elayne was a maid, not a noble girl who wasn’t used to anyone’s touch.
“Ye’re nae injured, are ye?” he asked her. “Does anythin’ hurt?”
“Nay,” said Elayne. The only thing that hurt was her chest, her heart beating so fast she feared she would collapse, sending all the blood in her body to her face. “I’m alright. Thank ye… they could have killed us if ye hadnae come.”
“I’m always glad tae help a damsel,” said the man, grinning from ear to ear. The gesture deformed his scar even more, but Elayne was surprised to find out she didn’t mind it at all. There was something alluring about it and it did nothing to detract from his beauty. “Though I cannae say ye were so much in distress. Ye fight well.”
Though Elayne could fight, she could hardly take a compliment, and she lowered her gaze as her cheeks burned, trying to hide the blush. When she spoke again, she chose a safer topic.
“Ye’re nae from these parts, are ye?” she asked. She would know if he was. “What’s yer name?”
“Dunn,” said the man. “An’ nay… I was passin’ through when I saw ye were all in danger.”
“Dunn,” Elayne repeated, trying out the name. It suited him, she thought. “What clan dae ye belong tae?”
Dunn only smiled at her question and then busied himself with his sword, cleaning it and tucking it safely back in its sheath. She wasn’t going to get an answer, it seemed.
“Shall I accompany ye tae yer destination?” Dunn asked after a short stretch of silence. He looked over his shoulder at Craig and Lachlan and Elayne followed his gaze to see them stirring. “Yer guards are already awake.”
“They’re… they’re nae me guards,” Elayne said. “Only me travellin’ companions.”
Dunn gave her a slightly amused look. Still, he didn’t try to correct her, and that convinced Elayne he could see right through their disguises. “Yer companions, then. They’re wakin’.”
Glancing between Dunn and her guards, Elayne shook her head. “We’ll be fine. Thank ye. It’s only half an hour’s ride from here.”
“Very well,” said Dunn. He had pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and was dabbing at the blood on his face. When he tucked it back in, he leaned closer and pressed his lips against Elayne’s into a soft kiss before she could do anything to resist.
A gasp escaped her, her eyes slipping shut. It was the barest brush of lips, but it was more than Elayne had ever experienced before, so even that simple, tender gesture stole her breath away.
When she opened her eyes again, Dunn was gone, and Craig and Lachlan were pushing themselves off the ground, brushing the dirt off their clothes.
Looking over at Elayne, Craig asked, “What happened?”
Elayne looked at him, then at the bodies on the ground. Then, she looked at the space Dunn had occupied only moments before, now entirely empty.
“I dinnae ken.”
Chapter One
Present, The Seven Stars Inn
The smell of ale and wine permeated the air around Elayne. The inn was small, the only one in the village, so she had no other options if she wanted to be inside during the storm.
I should have listened tae me aunt an’ stayed with her at her cottage.
It would have surely been preferable to this, even if it would have delayed her return home, but when she had left her aunt’s home, she had had good reason.
Once again, she read the letter she held in her hands, the paper crumpled from the number of times she had folded and unfolded it, clutching it tightly between her fingers. It had arrived at her aunt’s cottage right before Elayne had left, a warning from her best friend Isobel that her father had planned her marriage to Laird McCoy in her absence.
I cannae believe he would dae such a thing.
Only, the more she thought about it, the more plausible it became. Her father wanted to rid himself of her and gain as much land as he could, and what better way to do that than marry her off to Laird McCoy? That way, both men would get what they wanted—her father would have his lands and he would never have to see Elayne again, and Laird McCoy could finally force her into his bed without anyone else objecting to it.
But even fer me faither, this is too much.
Elayne slammed her hands onto the sticky table, the cup of ale in front of her almost tipping over before she steadied it. She took a few long gulps, though she had already had too much to drink. At the beginning of the night, she had come down from her room to have one cup but now she had already drained three and was well on her way through the fourth. She couldn’t think of any other way to drown her sorrows or steel herself for the conversation she was going to have with her father.
She would refuse to marry McCoy. She would do anything in her power to prevent this wedding from happening or she would die trying.
But what can I dae? Me faither will never allow me tae say nay.
Maybe death really was her only other choice and compared to marrying Laird McCoy, it seemed like the better option.
There was no one for Elayne to even turn to. Under any other circumstances, she would have asked Craig for help or at least advice, but he and Lachlan hadn’t made it to the inn yet. Perhaps the storm had delayed them as they were returning to the cottage to bring her back home or perhaps they had made it there and decided to spend the night, like Elayne had, under a roof before resuming their travel the following morning.
Elayne would leave with or without them. She knew the woods well and she could take care of herself, so going back home shouldn’t be an issue. The matter of her wedding couldn’t wait.
As she drained her fourth cup of ale, she glimpsed a large figure from the corner of her eye. The man sat down on the chair next to her and Elayne braced herself for an argument or maybe even a fight. She was in no mood to act like the nice noble girl she had been brought up to be that night. If he refused to leave her alone, he would find himself in a lot of trouble.
“Find yer own table,” Elayne said, hearing herself as she slurred her words. For the first time that night, she realized she was a little tipsy, but she was certain her nausea wasn’t from the alcohol. It was from the thought that upon returning to the castle, she would see Laird McCoy and he would once again put his hands on her, thinking he was more entitled than ever to her body.
“Is this how ye speak tae the man who saved yer life?”
It was a strangely familiar voice and Elayne turned to look at the man next to her, only to find it was none other than Dunn. Her mouth fell open as she stared at him, suddenly appearing next to her in the same way he had disappeared a month prior. In the dim light of the inn, he looked even more mysterious, like a phantom instead of a person. His features, those blue eyes and his pale hair, made him seem otherworldly.
“Dunn,” she gasped, still unable to believe he was there. “What are ye doin’ here?”
“Here at yer table or here in the area?”
“Both,” said Elayne. “Either.”
“Ye seemed very sad, so I wanted tae see if ye wished tae have company,” said Dunn. It didn’t surprise Elayne that he remained quiet regarding the reason of his presence in the area. “I never expected tae see ye again.”
“Neither did I.” Elayne certainly needed more ale now. In the half-light of the room, she gazed at him more openly than she would have had she been sober, letting her eyes trail over his features before they settled on the scar across his eyes.
“Daes it frighten ye?”
Elayne was too busy staring at Dunn to understand what he meant, and she made a questioning sound, frowning at him.
Dunn laughed softly. “The scar,” he said. “Daes it frighten ye?”
“Ach… nay,” said Elayne. “Why would it frighten me?”
“It has frightened many.”
A scar was hardly enough to frighten Elayne, especially when it was attached to such a handsome man. Ever since that day in the forest, she had been unable to stop thinking about him, about that kiss he had given her, replaying it in her mind again and again.
“How did it happen?” she asked, just to keep him talking.
“In a vicious fight,” Dunn said. “I was almost blinded.”
It would have been a shame, Elayne thought, if something had happened to those beautiful eyes. She could get lost in them, staring at them forever, but even in her drunken state she could tell it would be odd if she continued to stare like that. Clearing her throat, she sat up a little straighter, trying to fight off the dizziness that came with the movement.
“So, here ye are… an’ ye willnae even tell me the reason,” she said after a short silence that stretched between them. “I promise ye, I willnae tell anyone. I have nae one tae tell.”
For a moment, Dunn seemed conflicted. He looked over his shoulders at the people around them, the inn so crowded that no one was paying them any mind. Still, he was reluctant, keeping quiet.
“What could be such a big secret?” asked Elayne. “Ye cannae simply tell me naething now!”
Dunn huffed out a laugh, shrugging a shoulder. “Very well,” he said, leaning closer to speak quietly to Elayne. “I am here as a scout. There are rumors there will be a war led by Clan Macgillivray. I’m here tae gather information but, I dinnae ken. I’ve been here fer months an’ nae one seems tae ken anythin’ about a war. The villagers are as clueless as ever.”
A war? What war could there be?
Elayne had heard nothing about a war. These were times of peace and her father had strong alliances with other clans. Why would he risk going to war? What else could he possibly want?
“Perhaps the rumors are false,” was all she could say.
“Perhaps,” said Dunn. “But I doubt it. There are many outside these parts who are talkin’ about it. If I could somehow enter the castle, then maybe I would find out what is happenin’, but I have nae hope o’ achievin’ that. I will never be able tae enter the castle walls.”
Perhaps her betrothal to Laird McCoy had something to do with this. Elayne wasn’t willing to dismiss this as nothing but rumors just yet. Knowing her father, it wouldn’t surprise her to find out that he had, after all, been planning to start a war in search of more power and more land. Those were the only two things that kept him going since her mother’s death, the only two things he craved in life.
“Well, I certainly, havenae heard anythin’ in the castle,” Elayne said with a small shrug. “But perhaps yer right. I wouldnae ken.”
“Ye live in the castle?” Dunn asked. “Are ye a maid there?”
Elayne frowned, wondering why he would ask that, but then she realized that the only two times they had met, she had been dressed in those clothes, the ones she had worn specifically for her trip. What else would he assume other than her being a maid? She certainly looked the part—she had made sure of it. But he hadn’t seemed convinced about her denial, when he had mentioned her travelling with guards the previous time, they had met.
“Somethin’ like that,” she said, not wanting to reveal the truth. She trusted Dunn, as he had saved her life, but that didn’t mean she was about to reveal her true identity to him. Danger still lurked everywhere around Elayne and she was unwilling to take any risks.
Just as she was about to speak again, a serving wench came by their table, refilling their cups. She lingered there a little too long, smiling coyly at Dunn, and he smiled back at her, raising his cup in a toast. As she left, she kept looking over her shoulder at him, much to Elayne’s amusement.
“Ye’re popular with the lasses, then?” she asked, raising a curious eyebrow. In response, Dunn only laughed, saying nothing on the matter, but it was obvious when Elayne began to look. A lot of women in the inn had their sights on him, watching him through the crowd.
For a while, Elayne busied herself with her cup, spinning it in her hands. Even though a silence fell between them, Dunn seemed in no hurry to leave, so she took a few sips, enjoying the lull in the conversation. It was comfortable, oddly enough. They didn’t need to fill the silence.
Still, there was a nagging thought in Elayne’s mind and in the end, she couldn’t help but ask, “How dae ye think a lass can escape an unwanted marriage?”
The question took Dunn by surprise. He turned to face Elayne fully, though he didn’t seem at all confused by it. “I see, is that why ye’re so sad, then?”
Elayne nodded wordlessly. How could she be anything but devastated when she knew she would be forced into a marriage with such a terrible man? Growing up, she had thought her wedding would be a joyous moment, that her father would find her the perfect match, but that was before her mother’s death. It was before he changed, before grief had turned him into a monster.
“Well, I suppose the only way tae escape it is tae marry someone else, dinnae ye think?” Dunn said after a few moments of deep thought. “Yer family is arrangin’ the marriage fer ye?”
“Aye,” said Elayne, but Dunn’s suggestion had already distracted her. How could she marry someone else? Where would she even find a man to marry her on such short notice?
But then an idea bloomed into her head. She looked at Dunn, taking in his handsome features, the kind smile, the warmth in his eyes that one wouldn’t expect from such an icy color. So far, he had been nothing but helpful to her, going as far as to save her life from those brigands. When he had seen her in the inn and realized she was upset, he had gone over to talk to her.
And, of course, he was a man. A handsome one, even.
“Dunn,” Elayne said, leaning a little closer to close the distance between them. “Are ye betrothed tae someone?”
“Nay,” Dunn said with a small frown, this time confused by her question.
This is excellent. He is precisely what I need.
“Perfect! Then ye could pretend tae be wedded tae me!”
Laughing, Dunn shook his head as if this was a joke. But then he saw how serious and how excited Elayne was and his smile slowly dropped.
“Ye cannae mean it.”
“O’ course I mean it,” said Elayne. “This is the perfect solution. I can escape this marriage an’ ye can come tae the castle. This is what ye needed, is it nae?”
Dunn sputtered for a few moments, at a loss for words. When he spoke, his voice was higher than his usual baritone. “Ye’re insane! I cannae pretend tae be yer husband! Ye dinnae even ken anythin’ about me. I could be insane. I could try tae murder ye.”
“If ye wished tae murder me, ye would have already done it,” Elayne pointed out. “Or ye would have let the brigands kill me. Either way, ye didnae. Ye saved me life, ye didnae try tae take advantage o’ me nor did ye rob me. Ye have proven tae me that ye’re a good man.”
“I absolutely willnae dae this,” Dunn insisted, already leaning away from Elayne. Before he could get too far, though, she grabbed his arm and stopped him, looking him straight in the eye.
“The castle,” she reminded him. “Ye said ye need the information.”
With a sigh, Dunn looked around as if he expected someone to rescue him from this conversation. The more he considered it, though, the more he relaxed in Elayne’s grip, until he was fully sitting back in his seat.
“Why would ye wish tae help me?” he asked.
“We’d be helpin’ each other,” Elayne reminded him. “I am nae doin’ this without gettin’ somethin’ in return. An’ it’s best fer everyone if there isnae a war. The clan is weak… a war would be madness.”
If anything, Elayne needed him more than Dunn needed her, but he didn’t have to know that. If the clan truly went to war, Elayne was certain they would lose. The previous wars had left them weakened, many of their soldiers gone in battle.
Still, despite the promise of help, Dunn was reluctant to agree. “Are ye tryin’ tae trick me?”
Elayne shook her head. “Nay. I promise ye. I will dae anythin’ ye ask. The only thing I willnae dae is allow ye tae touch me. Ye must understand that I have nae desire tae wed an’ this will only be a fake marriage, so if ye think I will fall intae bed with ye, ye should tell me now so I can find someone else.”
Dunn laughed, loud and delighted, as if Elayne’s warning amused him. “Ye didnae complain when I kissed ye.”
It was Elayne’s turn to sputter, throwing her hands up in exasperation. How presumptuous of him to think she had enjoyed that kiss! She had, of course, enjoyed it, but that was beside the point as far as she was concerned.
“I only allowed it because ye saved me life,” she said indignantly. “I willnae allow it again.”
Dunn gave her a lopsided grin, one Elayne was certain was popular with women, but she was determined not to be swayed by his charms. This was nothing but a business transaction. As Dunn considered it silently, Elayne tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, the tapping rhythm of them drowned out by the voices in the inn.
“Alright,” Dunn said eventually with a decisive nod, before he reached for Elayne’s arm to pull her closer—too close for her liking. “Ye have a deal. But I promise ye, by the end o’ this, ye’ll be beggin’ fer a kiss.”
Alistair knew, at that moment, that he had lost the war against his desire. The lass could not possibly know the import of what she was saying. “You do not know what you are asking for,” he said. It was a last-ditch attempt to save her from his passion.
“I do,” Jane said, looking at him. There was defiance in her gaze. “I do.”
His resolve broke.
He kissed her with all the longing that he felt, and she responded ardently. But then he noticed that she was withdrawn.
That was more than a little disappointing. “Where is your mind, lass?” he asked.
“I was thinking about…clothes,” Jane returned.
“Clothes? You are thinking about clothes when I am kissing you? Perhaps you want me to stop?”
He made to leave, but she reached for his kilt. That was more than enough to restore his fervor. “Indecent thoughts indeed,” he murmured against her lips. “You wanted this from the start.” He undid it himself, and watched her look down, her face dimming in worry.
“It worries you.” Alistair said into her ear while he pulled down her dress so her breasts were exposed. “It should not. I will be very, very gentle with you. Do not think at all. Only feel.” Jane nodded at his reassurance, and he smiled reassuringly at her.
“You are beautiful, Jane,” Alistair said, his eyes on her breast. “Beautiful.” He bent down and captured one nipple in his mouth. It was soft, plump, perfect in his mouth. A moan escaped Jane, and she clutched at his head.
His lips moved to the other breast as he pulled her slip down. And then he carried her to his bed. He kissed a path from her breasts to her belly to the tangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. Jane started. She sat up and tried to push him away, but he did not move.
From between her legs, he looked directly into her eyes. At the first flick of his tongue, Jane keened. She locked her legs together, so that Alistair was trapped between them, and she clamped her hands over her mouth.
She burst into tears when she reached her climax.
Alistair felt his member strain.
Jane hid her face in his bed, but Alistair would not allow that. “Why are you hiding your pleasure, my lass?” he asked.
“The others… in the castle…they’ll hear.”
Alistair chuckled. “They can hear nothing. And if they could, what would it matter? I am told that our attraction is blatant.”
“Oh,” Jane said. “And of course they fault you for bedding an English miss.”
He silenced her with a kiss. “Jane,” he said, after he pulled away from her. His fingers insinuated themselves between her legs. He stroked her, and, through hooded lids, watched her.
“Jane,” he said again, more insistently this time.
“Alistair.”
“When we are together, nothing else matters. The castle, the matters of state. England and Scotland. There is you.” He brought the hand between her legs up and sucked on his thumb. This made Jane’s breath catch. He returned the hand and continued the stroking. “And there is me. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes.” Jane whispered breathlessly.
“What did I say, my sweet? Tell me.” His thumb was faster now, and he could see that she was struggling to form words.
“That there is only you and me!” she squeaked in one desperate breath.
“Good girl.” Alistair said, just as Jane shook in release.
He waited for her shocks to subside. There was a satisfied smile on his face.
“Sweetling,” he whispered in her ears, “this will hurt you a little.”
“I know,” Jane said, and squeezed her eyes shut.
“No, look at me,” Alistair instructed. He could not have her tense, for that would make for an uncomfortable first time. “I would never cause you pain intentionally, Jane,” he said earnestly.
Jane nodded and said she knew.
Alistair bot her nipples. He entered her slowly, his eyes fixed on her face. When he pushed past her maidenhead, she winced, but otherwise, she was calm. He began to move slowly, giving her time to adjust. Slowly, Jane began to move with him, and this satisfied Alistair greatly. She did not hide her pleasure this time.
When he was about to join her in release, he swiftly pulled out of her and spent himself on the floor. When he returned to her, she was smiling shyly. “Is that…is that what makes babies?”
“I hereby make a rule in my bed,” he announced, making a show of pouncing on her so that she squealed and rolled to the other side of the bed. “There shall be only loving. We shall reserve talking for the fields or the dinner table or the forest. And maybe the bath chamber.” He paused. “No, there shall be no talking in the bath chamber, either.”
Jane giggled. “Surely you do not mean that. So I cannot talk to you in the hallway, or in the kitchen, or by the lake?”
“The thought of us meeting in the kitchen is quite wild,” Alistair said. “You are a captive, and I am the laird.”
“Very well,” she said. “I make a rule in your bed, too.”
Alistair chuckled. “You cannot do that. It is my bed.”
“But in this moment, we are sharing it. Which makes it my bed, too.”
“Typical Englishwoman. Wanting to take things not belonging to you.”
Jane frowned.
Alistair sat up and said earnestly, “That was a joke, Jane. Purely a joke. You must believe me. Of course you can have rules in my bed.”
Jane said nothing still.
“Sweetling,” Alistair coaxed. He took a love bite of her shoulder and whispered sweet nothings in her ear. Jane squirmed against him, and when he looked in her eyes the light had returned to them.
“My first rule,” Jane said, doing her best to sound like a king, “is that there shall be no mention of the English-Scottish war.”
“A most wise choice, my liege,” Alistair said. “Will you be making any more rules today?
“Do not rush me, Ser Alistair!” she snapped.
“Never, never!” Alistair exclaimed, putting on a rather pitiful show of being subservient. Jane burst into laughter and Alistair watched her, a look of delight on his face. “I do hope the next rule you make is that I can ravish you as much as I want,” he said, his fingers tracing the outline of her lips.
Jane seemed to think about that for a moment, “You know what, Ser Alistair?” she said.
“What, my lady?” Alistair asked with a grin.
Jane grinned and locked her hands behind his neck. And Alistair decided that there was nothing quite like it, having Jane happy in his bed. “That might very well be my next rule.”
If there was something a Fletcher man excelled at besides snuffing out his enemies in battle, it was hunting.
Alistair, laird of the Fletcher clan, was flanked by Keith, his best friend, and Douglas, one of his most trusted warriors. Douglas’s ten-year-old son, sat in front of Douglas on the horse. This was the first time that the boy would accompany them. They were a little distance from Castle Fletcher. Their destination was the woods, which lay just beyond the formidable hill that they were just now descending.
When they got to the bottom of the hill, Tasgall exclaimed in wonder. He then looked at Alistair and Keith. “I am sorry,” he said.
“What fer?” Alistair asked.
“Talking,” Tasgall returned. “Pa says that if you must be quiet on a hunt, so ye dinnae scare the game away.”
Alistair smiled kindly at the boy. “Is that what he said?” he asked. “Well, there is nothing to fear, Tasgall, fer the game we seek is in the woods, and we are not yet there. Also, I dinnae think yer father follows his own rules. On hunts, he is the most talkative.” There was a tilting lint in his eye.
“Nay, I am nae,” Douglas said, addressing his son. “Lad, I am quiet as a mouse and more focused than an ant bringing fruit tae its colony.”
“And more dutiful than a beehive’s workers too?” Keith prompted. “I could never tire of reciting a lot of things that you clearly arenae!”
Douglas chuckled. “A lad is out with his faither. Dinnae spread lies against him.”
“I still think that ye are the best warrior there is, even though ye arenae quiet as a mouse or more focused than an ant or more dutiful than a beehive’s workers,” Tasgall said earnestly.
Alistair and Keith made sounds of mock emotion. “There’s a fine lad,” Keith said. “Supporting his papa no matter what. A better vision I have never seen.”
“Oh, stop it, Keith!” Douglas bellowed, but there was mirth in his voice. “Dinnae listen tae him, lad,” he said to Tasgall.
“You’d better listen tae me, lad,” Keith said. “I am old enough tae be yer faither.”
“Nay, ye’re nae,” Alistair and Douglas said in unison. “But if ye keep at the rate ye are going, ye will have a son of yer own soon.”
“By keeping at the rate he is going, Pa,” Tasgall said, “dae ye mean that Uncle Keith is making very serious plans tae marry?”
“Yes,” Douglas said quickly. Keith howled in laughter. “I am careful,” he said, “in me making of very serious plans tae marry.” He turned to Alistair. “Besides, ‘tis the laird that needs tae find a bride soon.”
“I am aware of my duties,” Alistair said. “But I shall take me time in choosing the right woman.”
“You must accept, however, that ye have lost yer way with women. There is only so much women can take before they give up. This year alone, didnae about twenty women vie fer yer hand? I remember almost all of them: offering tae cook specially fer ye in the kitchens, regaling ye with stories about the fecundity that runs in their families, risking shame just tae show ye their…” He looked at Tasgall. “Ample proportions? And there was that one that shot an arrow almost better than ye and walked like a strapping lad. She challenged ye tae a swordfight thinking that it would arouse ye, I remember.”
“Ah, yes, Caitlin, I believe she was called,” Alistair said. “A very manly sort. But a formidable opponent – fer a lass.”
“Did her manliness stop ye from… engaging in activities with her?” Keith asked.
“Quite simply, aye,” Alistair replied.
“Ah,” Keith said, “but nae with certain of the others, I am sure.” He winked at Alistair. “Fiona, fer example. She had the most-” He looked at Tasgall. “She had the most generous proportions that I have ever seen on a woman. And she giggled whenever yerur eyes met hers. Ye cannae deny it.”
“I have had me fun with women, and now I have more important things tae think about,” Alistair returned.
“Me maither says marriage is about finding yer one true love,” Tasgall said.
“A wise woman she is, is yer maither,” Keith said. “That is the only reason I dinnae fear fer yer future, dear lad. The only wisdom yer faither knows is the wisdom of crashing a skull with his club.”
Douglas and Alistair burst into laughter.
“But,” Keith said, “on this matter, yer maither is blinded by her whims. She believes in love tae a degree that exceeds the advisable level. As a matter of fact, there is no advisable level tae believing in love. Nay one should believe in it. The end.”
“You’ll nae speak ill of me wife,” Douglas said.
“I speak nay ill of me sister,” Keith returned, giving Douglas a proprietary look that said ‘she was me sister afore she became yer wife’. “I only speak the truth.” They had gotten to the forest’s edge now. “Ah,” Keith remarked, taking a sniff of the air. “Game. Waiting tae be caught and killed.”
“Dinnae be so dark, Keith,” Alistair said.
“As ye command, me laird.” He turned to Tasgall. “Ye must be quiet now. Especially when ye sight game. We must have none of that blathering that ye assaulted our ears with on the way.”
Tasgall gasped. “But it was ye who did most of the talking on our way here, Uncle Keith!” he protested.
“Keep the untruths in your belly and focus, lad,” Keith hissed. Tasgall turned to look at his father. Douglas smoothed a hand over his chest to indicate to his son to calm down, but there was a smile on his face. This was simply his brother-in-law’s nature.
Keith listened for a while, but his ears caught nothing interesting. “Ye can talk as much as ye want tae, there’s nay game on this side of the forest,” he said to Tasgall with a sigh. “Did I ever tell ye that the men on our side of the family, except me, can never grow hair on their head as soon as they turn twelve years old?”
Tasgall looked at his father in horror.
“He is only jesting,” Douglas assured. “Yer uncle loves tae jest…”
Alistair heard the sound of footsteps. His eyebrow arched. He wandered away from the group in the direction of the sound. They led him to a lake. The rays of the sun glimmered on the water like pure crystals. At the lake’s bank, he saw an old lady with a wooden bucket. He swallowed his disappointment. He had no idea what he had expected to see, but it was surely not this. Her clothes were well-worn, and her hair was white as the driven snow. He had never seen hair that white before. He turned to go.
“Alistair.”
He turned swiftly. His eyes fixed themselves on the woman. But she did not look at him. She continued at her task of filling the bucket up as though she had not just called his name. “Ye are the laird of the land,” she said. “I saw ye in a dream just last night.” She looked up and Alistair inhaled sharply. How could he not have guessed? She was the witch of the Highlands, believed to be real by most, thought to be an old wives’ tale by others, but feared by all.
“What dae ye seek outside yer cottage?” Alistair asked.
The woman chuckled. “Ye have never visited me tae find out about yer future and ye must. Great leaders take advantage of divinity instead of hiding from it. ‘Tis the only way ye can have the advantage in life.”
“I make me own advantages,” Alistair said.
The woman cackled, exposing toothless gums. “Of course, Alistair. As brave and ambitious as yer faither.”
“Ye ken naething of me faither,” Alistair said, fighting to keep his voice even. It was Highlander law to leave the witch alone, but some adventurous souls sometimes visited her with gifts in exchange for a reading. His father had had to deal with such cases: a swordsmith, for example, had attempted to kill his neighbor because the witch had told him that it was the neighbor who would cause his death. Just as his father had been about to give judgment, the neighbor had begun to laugh at the seeming absurdity of him causing someone else’s death. The man who had consulted the witch had, in one deft movement, pried a warrior’s sword from its sheath and decapitated his neighbor. Two days later, he had been put to death, for that was the law.
Alistair had found ways to explain it away, for he did not want to believe that the witch’s words had come true. But there was a part of him that knew that they had.
“Dinnae ye want tae ken yer future, dear laird?” the witch asked him.
“I have nay interest in doing so,” Alistair responded.
“Well, I insist,” the witch said matter-of-factly. “Ye will meet the woman ye are destined tae fall in love with a year from now. She is the opposite of everything that ye would expect, or want, in a soulmate, but she truly matches ye in all the ways that truly matter.”
Alistair burst into laughter. “Why would I marry a Highland lass that is the opposite of what I want?”
The witch grinned at him, and if he were a man of a weaker constitution, a chill might have run down his spine. “Who said anything about a Highland lass?” she asked.
Alistair heard Keith and Douglas calling him and he turned to look behind him. He then turned back to the lake, but the witch was gone. Keith, Douglas, and Tasgall made their way to him.
“Me laird, why did ye decide tae disappear in the middle of the forest?” Douglas asked.
“I thought I saw something,” Alistair replied. “A deer. And since ye and Douglas were busy discussing like two little lasses, I decided tae go after it meself.”
Douglas and Keith laughed. “Your braither is the one acting like a little girl,” Keith said, “hiding secrets and skipping the hunt all the time.”
“Alistair chuckled, for Keith was not wrong. “What me brother does with his free time is his problem. It is probably a lass. Kenning him, it will be over soon and we will be our merry little trioagain.”
“Frio,” Tasgall said suddenly.
“What?”
“Frio. I want to come on all your hunts from now on. It is either this or being forced to mind the castle with Maither. So, we will be a frio. A trio is a group of three people. But when the laird’s brother joins us, we will be four. A frio.”
Alistair, Douglas and Keith burst into laughter.
As they made their way back to the original path, Alistair’s mirth gave way to worry.
1350, Second War of Scottish Independence Marsh Residence, England
Jane Marsh liked to believe that she was a good person. She tried, as much as she could, to steer clear of any situation that might test this goodness, but so far she had not had great luck doing so.
Jane seemed to attract problems. So, over the years, she’d perfected the art of inventing stories just to escape whatever situation she found herself trapped in.
Today was no different. Her sister’s engagement dinner was the perfect excuse. If she got caught eavesdropping at her father’s study, she would simply say that she had come to inform him that the table had been set. Its plausibility would depend on her ability to keep a straight face while she was saying it. And to maintain it while her father threw verbal daggers, which had grown ineffectual from overuse, afterwards. Still, she’d best not get caught.
From inside, she could hear Commander Edward Pierce, one of the guests of the celebration, regale her father with tales of his valor. His voice was loud, almost theatrical. He had a way of saying things like he was the main actor in a play riddled with soliloquys, always emphasizing his own qualities. Now, however, he was speaking to her father about the war with Clan Fletcher.
That caught her attention.
Just two weeks ago, her uncle Howard had been slaughtered in a battle with the clan and Jane had been disconsolate, for he had been more of a father to her than her real one had ever been. He’d listened to her and brought her gifts. He’d praised her beauty and given her a sense of belonging. When, as a child, she’d told him that she hated her eyes because green eyes were only for cats, he’d carried her on his lap and said, “Then I am the biggest of cats, Jane. I am a lion!” He’d made a marvelous imitation of a roar and encouraged her to do the same.
“What does that make you?” he’d asked afterwards.
“A lion, too!” she’d giggled. And then she roared again.
“Smart girl. Just like your mother was.”
And now he was gone.
Jane had mourned for a week. She had barely eaten, and she had not stepped out of her room. It was Eleonor who had broken her out of her despondent spell by informing her that she was engaged to be married.
Her father’s voice, in contrast to the commander’s, was steely and firm. It carried authority. She knew it well: it was the voice that played in her subconscious when she did things badly.
Oh, look at what you have done now.
You cannot get anything done right.
Stupid, just stupid.
“I suppose congratulations are in order, Commander Pierce,” her father said. “A win against those savages is a win for all of England.”
“True, true,” Commander Pierce said. “I am starving. I declare, I am parched. Could I ask you to ring for a servant, Marsh? A few sips of wine before the festivities will do us good. Better yet, I shall go and find a servant myself.”
“Yes, of course,” her father said, and she heard the shuffling of feet. She swiftly gathered her skirts, moved away from the door and fled down the hall to her sister’s room. Her abode was an austere affair, with lifeless walls and cold halls. She’d lived all her years in it and it still did not feel like home. The wood, though fastidiously polished by the maids, was rotten in places. The stone, though scrubbed, needed replacing. She’d once suggested that the curtains be changed, and the windows be left open in summertime and her father had looked at her as though she had an unnamable, untamable disease and walked away.
Oh, to leave here and go someplace else where she could have a say, where she could choose her own room and decorate it any way she wanted! In this sense, Eleonor was lucky. Soon, she would be the mistress of her home, a hallowed duchess, with the ability to dictate the house’s curtains and linens and rugs. Jane was truly happy for her, but she would miss her sorely. She loved her most in the whole world, and with her uncle Howard gone, living here would become doubly hard. She swallowed that despondent thought, pasted a smile on her face, and entered her sister’s room.
“I do believe that at least the bride should be present at the engagement dinner,” she said, closing the door behind her. Eleonor was standing by the window, her back to Jane. At twenty, Eleonor was almost a head shorter than her younger sister. She had the straightest black hair and the darkest black eyes that Jane had ever seen, in contrast to Jane’s green ones, so similar to her uncle’s eyes. Often, when they were children, Jane would look in the mirror and imagine that it was Eleonor’s black eyes that stared back at her.
“Oh, you chose the oxblood dress,” Jane said, as she walked to Eleonor’s bed. It was a beautiful, blooming affair of cotton with tiny lace trimmings on the bodice and the miniature cape. Unlike Jane, Eleanor had a lean figure. The kind that was favored in paintings and sculptures. Jane, on the other hand, was fuller in front and behind. Her proportions made her self-conscious, as her father had always insinuated that it was an indication of indiscretion. It was one of the many reasons for which Eleonor was their father’s favorite. Not that it bothered Jane: she was glad that their father treated at least one of them well.
“It is the prettier of the two, like I said before,” Jane said. “It fits you well. I cannot believe that you considered the black one in the first place. Black is such an inauspicious color for an engagement dinner.”
“You sound like a superstitious Scot,” Eleonor replied without turning. Jane smiled. “Sir Edward Pierce is in Father’s office, as usual. You would think the man did not have a home of his own. He is regaling Father with the details of his recent victory over Clan Fletcher.”
She sat on the bed, careful to spread her skirts out first. This habit, as well as other habits surrounding grace and poise, were not borne of the need to be ladylike but the fear of not being so. When she was twelve, her father had called her a harridan that belonged in the wild with fellow creatures simply because she had come down for supper with her hair improperly combed. There were at least seven men, her father’s friends, around. They had laughed boisterously as she ran up the stairs, tears streaming down her face.
“I suppose I should feel happy, somewhat. It is justice, in a way, even though it was at the hand of the commander and not Father,” she continued now. “But it does not change the fact that Uncle Howard is gone, Eleonor.” A wave of sadness washed over her again.
Commander Edward’s victory against clan Fletcher, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing. It could not bring her uncle back. More so, she knew that the commander would present it as some sort of gift, something she must be thankful for. He was a slippery man in his late forties that put one in mind of a fox. He always smelled of smoke and something else, something slightly malevolent. And then there was that theatre-talk. That infernal theatre-talk. His presence was disconcerting, and several times, Jane had had to evade him, for his attentions were… peculiar. He seemed determined to share the same space as she. Over the years, he had taken an uncommon interest in her. He paid her compliments that always managed to seem a little insulting. He would be at the engagement dinner, an event best suited, in Jane’s opinion, to only close family.
“The Commander does nothing for free. He is never driven by a sense of duty or responsibility or loyalty. I am sure that this victory of his is just a way to get close to the duke, so that he can inundate him with requests for favors. Defeating clan Fletcher cannot bring our uncle back.” Jane said. “If he were here, he would corner me and ask if I was interested in getting married, as well. He would promise to facilitate any match of my choosing. He always wanted to make me happy.”
Eleonor’s response was a sigh.
“Eleonor?” Jane said, frowning. “Are you alright?”
Eleonor shook her head. Jane’s eyebrow went up. She gathered her skirts and walked to her sister. She took her hand and looked into her eyes. Her face was drawn and sad. “What is the problem, Eleonor dear? What ails you? Your engagement, is it? The duke?”
Eleonor’s face grew even darker. “Oh, Eleonor!” Jane exclaimed. “I know he is much older, and that every girl would prefer someone well… more… animated. But he is a duke. We must look at the bright side. What he lacks in youth, he will make up for in wealth. You’ll be mistress of all his houses. You’ll have servants to mind you and you’ll be among top society! You will attend occasions that the king himself will be present at. You’ll live away from the strife of this infernal war. Really, Eleonor, it won’t be that bad, you’ll see.”
Eleonor said nothing. “And… and if you’re worried about the duke himself,” Jane continued, “I know he is not handsome. But he has an eleven-year-old daughter who adores him. That is a good sign. If he is a good father, he will be a good husband, no?
She shook her head, and then her face crumpled, and she began to weep. The tears took Jane by surprise. Eleonor reached for her, and Jane held her and rubbed her back, while she whispered sounds of encouragement. When Eleonor pulled away, her eyes were watery, and her hair was mussed. “Jane…”
“Yes, Eleonor?”
“I… need you.”
“I am here, darling. Please talk to me, Eleonor.”
“I… I… I am in love.”
This came as a shock to Jane, but she smiled and said, “To feel love is a wonderful thing, Eleonor! Remember, when we were girls, we would talk about falling hopelessly in love and having our lovers love us back and…” She trailed off, realizing the import of her sister’s declaration. She knew it was almost impossible for the answer to her next question to be in the affirmative, but still, she could hope. “Is it… is it the duke, Eleonor? Please, tell me you meant the duke.”
The look of despondence morphed into one of irritation. It was gone in a second, however. “Of course it is not the duke,” Eleonor said.
“Right,” Jane said, and tucked a tendril of hair behind Eleonor’s ear. “With whom, then?”
“I cannot tell you, I am sorry,” Eleonor said.
“But you tell me everything!” Jane exclaimed. “Will you then hide something as important as this from me?”
“It is not that I do not want to tell you,” Eleonor said, “But I cannot, Jane. I really cannot. You must believe me.”
Jane sighed. “Why is that, Eleonor?”
“Because,” Eleonor sniffled, “because he has abandoned me.”
Jane’s eyes grew wide. “What? He is a rake, I am sure. A blind one, no less. What man could abandon you? You are kind and beautiful and brilliant. He does not deserve you. Not at all. Oh, come, Eleonor, it is alright, it is alright.” She made to take Eleonor in her arms, but her sister shook her head and burst into tears.
Jane tried to hug her again, but Eleonor refused. She folded her arms around her middle and rocked herself. When she looked at Jane again, her eyes were red. “I have made a mistake. A huge mistake.”
“No.” Jane said. “You have done nothing wrong. It is he who-”
“I am with child.”
A weight dropped in Jane’s stomach. Her mouth turned bitter. Her eyes widened. “What?”
Eleonor nodded, her face crumpling again.
It took quite a few moments for Jane to process this. She knew nothing of pregnancy, save what she had read about in books. Her mother had died at Jane’s birth, and so she had no one to ask about ‘womanly’ things. A tragedy indeed because she was supremely curious about everything. The books she had read on the human anatomy had been a little vague, but not vague enough that she did not know what it took to be pregnant. She was a little shocked, truth be told, that her sister, the saintly Eleonor, had done it. She looked at her sister’s belly and then her gaze moved to her face. “Oh, Eleonor,” she said simply. Eleonor jumped into her arms and sobbed, her tears flowing into Jane’s hair. “What will I do, Jane? I am ruined!”
“Don’t say that,” Jane cautioned, squeezing her sister’s hands lightly. “There is a way to remedy this. We only need to figure out how.” She paused, deep in thought. And then she said, “Whatever the solution is, we must hide the pregnancy, Eleonor. Father must never know.”
“But how will he not know? You cannot hide a lot from Father, Jane; you know this.”
“I mean this only as a temporary measure, Eleonor. You do not wish to go through with the marriage, I suppose?”
“No,” Eleonor said. “I have thought about it a lot. Getting married seems the easiest choice to make, I know. Just like Maribeth. And yet I cannot bring myself to do it.”
“That is if she truly did it,” Jane added. Maribeth was a childhood friend of Eleonor’s whose baby was born seven months after her wedding. Eleonor knew that Maribeth was in fact intimate with her childhood sweetheart, Benjamin, a weak, flighty sort, but she did not insinuate anything at the child’s birth one year ago. Maribeth responded to the gossip with disgust and told everyone who cared to know that some babies did in fact show up earlier than they were meant to, complete with hair and fingernails. Her husband was a simple man who was besotted with her, and the baby was male, and so there were no consequences as such. Eleonor knew, however, that it wouldn’t be the same for her.
“Alright,” Jane said. added. “How far gone are you?”
Eleonor did the math in her head. “About two months.”
Jane felt the air leave her lungs in a whoosh. But she plastered a smile on her face and said, “Well, we just need to delay the wedding until we figure out what to do. We must come up with a plan. A very good one.”
Eleonor nodded.
“Oh, but will you not tell me who the father is? Where is he? Perhaps we can send him a message. He could be instrumental in our-”
Eleonor said, looking at her hands. “He is gone, Jane. Gone. We were planning to run away together-” Jane’s eyes widened at this. Eleonor sighed and continued, but after I told him about the pregnancy, he just… disappeared. I went, several times to our usual meeting spot. Nothing. He left me. Oh, Jane, I am so- “
Jane held a finger over her sister’s lips. With her other hand, she pointed to her ear. Both girls listened… and then heard retreating footsteps. Jane shot off the bed and opened the door. The steps were fast, and Jane followed them swiftly down the hall. She knew who it was, and the thought left a knot in her stomach. For only one person that she knew smelt so strongly of smoke. She searched all the rooms on this floor, opening them, sticking her neck in, only to close them and bolt to the next. At last, she was at the end of the hall, where only one room remained.
Her father’s office.
She entered it without thinking.
Two pairs of eyes turned to look at her. There was no element of warmth in either of them. “Don’t hang at the door, Jane,” her father said, “Enter.”
She swallowed and urged her feet to move. She stood before them. Her eyes went from the commander to her father. There was a look of pure maliciousness in Commander Pierce’s eyes. It was as though she had done him some great wrong, and, mentally, she went over the conversation that he had eavesdropped on. It did not concern him. It was nothing against him. He had no interest whatsoever. She’d run after him solely because she knew that he could not be trusted to keep his mouth shut. He took every opportunity that appeared to offer future leverage. He would scheme, plot, and grovel if need be. This played out even in the course of his dealings with… the Duke of Lancaster.
Jane’s eyes widened. Commander Pierce, in the anticipation of a favor, could tell the duke that the woman he wished to marry was not just merely bereft of virginity, but pregnant by another man. It would mean nothing to Commander Pierce that he was friends with their father or an admirer -the term used loosely- of Jane.
Jane could not let that happen to sweet Eleonor!
Her gaze moved to her father. He was looking at her, his gaze steady. He wasn’t angry.
He was furious.
“Father, I-”
“You what, Jane?”
Jane’s heart began to beat fast. There was a thundering in her ears. She tried to calm herself, tried to make her words even when she said, “I do not know what the commander has told you-”
“That I am harboring whoredom,” her father replied with vitriol. “The commander has told me that here, in my house, I have been living with girls that are intent on bringing shame to me, despite my feeding them, clothing them, catering to their every whim and fancy. Despite my toil, I have bred committers and coverers of fornication.”
Later on, she would mull over how flawed his speech was, for he had never catered to their whims and fancies. Even Eleonor, whom he clearly loved more, could not make requests of him without first weighing the consequences.
Now, she rushed to Eleonor’s defense: “Father, it was a mistake. Truly. She did not know!”
“Silence!” her father thundered. “You wish to make me the laughingstock of every English troop that hears it. My name, dragged through slime. All because of you. Everywhere that evil is mentioned, you are bound to be tied to it.”
“Father!”
“It was you who encouraged her to sin. You are a sinner, and that is not enough. You want to drag everyone that you can into the mire with you. You introduced your sister to sin, and now that it has sprouted into a bastard you seek to hide it.”
“Father-”
“Silence!”
Every word he said compressed her until she was deflated. But then, if one thought about it critically, Jane had nothing to feel guilty about. She was a virgin, so how could her father accuse her of sin?
“Why did you not bring it to my attention as soon as you knew of it? Why did you choose to hide it instead?”
Jane was silent.
“You fancy yourself a loyal sister, do you not? That is very well. A loyal sister is to be desired, after all. Loyalty goes with sacrifice, does it not?” He looked Jane in the eye, and she shuddered. “So my dear girl, you will sacrifice yourself for the sake of this family.”
Chapter One
A week later
Jane stared at all her belongings in the entire world. They fit into two cases. That was all she had come to possess in her eighteen years on earth. She looked out of the window, at the daises and bluebonnets that bloomed in the square garden downstairs. They were the only beautiful thing about the castle. They had been her mother’s, she’d been told. Her father had kept them for sentimental reasons. Beyond the garden was a field that stretched on as far as the eye could see. She and Eleonor were seldom allowed to go into town, and so almost all their memories were of this castle. She had always wanted to be free of it, and now she would be.
Only, she was stepping into a brand of captivity perhaps even worse than this one. Ever since that day in her father’s office, Commander Pierce had looked at her as though she were property, as though she were conquered land. He’d had the effrontery to put a hand on her waist as he led her out of her father’s office after the deal had been struck. If her father had seen it, he had made no indication of it.
Jane had always thought that she would marry for love, that she would meet a man who understood her and cherished her more than anything in the world. They would have a little house on the countryside. She would fill it with color: saffron walls and curtains the color of the sky and freshly picked flowers for every table.
Instead, her hand was given in exchange for the commander’s silence. She was nothing more than the girls she’d heard about, whose fathers gave them out for drink or cows. Inside, she was quaking. She would do this all over again if it meant that her sister’s secret was safe. Still, Jane was filled with despair.
Ever since she’d told Eleonor what the price for the Commander’s silence was, her sister had withdrawn in what Jane knew was shame and regret. Jane had tried to reach out to her, to reassure her and ease some of her guilt. But she had stayed away, locked in her room, as the life within her grew and grew. Till now, Jane had no idea how the dilemma would be resolved, but she was sure that their father was hatching a plan that would make himself come out on top.
One of the maids entered the room, her steps slow and sorrowful. Her hands were clutched together in front of her. “’Tis time, my lady,” she said. Jane nodded and stepped away from the window. The maid took one case, and another came and took the other. Jane looked around the room and sighed. As she went through the door, her hand lingered on a cold wall. She went to Eleonor’s room and knocked at the door. “Eleonor? Darling? It is time for me to join the commander in Scotland. My cases are packed. They have been taken downstairs. I cannot leave without a goodbye from you. Please.”
She heard nothing, at first, and then she heard the sound of sobbing. “Oh, Eleonor, you cannot do this to me and yourself. Please unlock the door. If we part like this, I shan’t be able to bear it. Eleonor.”
“She simply does not want to see you,” her father said, materializing from around the corner. “She has realized the harm that loving you does to people. And now she must preserve herself from further harm. You must leave immediately.”
Shortly after the commander had found out about Eleonor’s pregnancy, he’d had to return to Scotland to join his countrymen in solidifying the English position on Scottish land. His regiment was camped in an abandoned castle at Loch Lomond. Jane had never heard a good tale about Scotland. To hear everyone tell it, it was a land of illiterate savages who worshipped wood and stone and vehemently refused the efforts of the English to bring them civilization. To crown it all, there was a war going on. Commander Pierce had promised to send two soldiers of his to guide her safely through, but that did not inspire a lot of confidence in Jane. She had met their commander. And weren’t men reflections of their leaders?
“Yes, Father, I will leave,” Jane said. “I just need to say goodbye.” Her throat caught. She turned to Eleanor’s door and banged on it. “I just want to say goodbye, Eleonor.”
Nothing, except the sobs.
“Come on now,” her father said. “You must leave at once.” He took her arm and steered her in the direction of the stairs. They both descended them, and when they got outside, there were tears in Jane’s eyes. Her cases were in the carriage, and a small group of her father’s serfs had gathered around to bid her goodbye. The gardener who tended her mother’s flowers made a way for himself and presented her with a beautiful bunch of white daises. His hair was grey and wild. His shirt had patches in it. His breeches were caked with mud. And yet the open-toothed smile that he gave her as he pressed the flowers into her hands almost broke her.
Your mother would have wanted you to have them,” he said. “She would be so proud of how beautiful and… and brave you have become.”
“Oh,” Jane said, her voice shaking. A fat tear rolled down her right cheek and she quickly wiped it away with her free hand and smiled. “Thank… thank you.”
“Back to work!” her father thundered. Throughout their interaction, he’d hovered by the door, but now it appeared he could not take more of this. They dispersed speedily, and Jane felt as though a part of herself had left her.
“What are you waiting for, then? Get in!” he bellowed at her. She got in the carriage. She had seen that Commander Pierce had assigned two guards to her carriage. They sat up front with the rider, with unsmiling faces and menacing muskets.
“All set, Mr. Marsh?” the rider enquired.
“Yes,” her father replied. “Carry on.”
Jane stared up at the castle with longing. If only Eleonor would just come down and-
“Wait!” she suddenly heard. She whipped her head around. Eleonor was running down the steps. Jane threw open the carriage door and stepped out. Her sister enveloped her in a powerful embrace. When they pulled away, there were tears in their eyes. Eleonor looked like a shadow of herself. Her eyes were sunken. Her hair, which she took great pride in, was tangled. Her skin was sallow. “Oh, Eleonor!” Jane exclaimed. “You mustn’t carry on so. You must be strong. For yourself. For us. For the baby.”
Eleonor nodded and smiled through her tears. “Sometimes I think you were actually meant to be the older sister, but you just dragged your feet, as always, and let me come first.”
Jane laughed.
“You are so wise,” Eleonor said, tucking a tendril of hair behind Jane’s ear. “And brave. And kind. And selfless. I do not deserve you.”
“Eleonor-”
“I owe you everything, Jane. Everything. I will never be able to thank you enough. I am sorry for hiding away like a coward. All the hours we could have spent together… Oh, I have been such a fool.”
“No,” Jane said. “Do not be hard on yourself. Please.”
“I shall visit you as soon as I can. Whether it’s in Scotland or on the surface of the sun. I will find you, Jane. I love you.”
“I love you, Eleonor.” They embraced again.
The coachman snorted. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but time is against us. We must be on our way.”
“Let her go, Eleonor,” their father said. Eleonor obliged, but not before pressing a piece of parchment into Jane’s hands. She gave her a look which made Jane quickly slip it down the sleeve of her gown.
“Read it on your journey,” she whispered. “May Mother’s spirit guide you.”
Jane nodded and got back on the carriage. She shifted the bunch of flowers, so she had more room and turned to her family. “Goodbye, Eleonor.”
Eleonor smiled sadly and waved. “Goodbye, Jane.”
“Goodbye, Father.”
Jane’s father did not even bother to say it back. He turned away and began to walk up the stairs. The carriage began to move. Her last memory of the castle was of her sister waving, her tangled hair billowing in the breeze.
***
Jane felt a lump form in her throat. She looked outside the carriage, at the green vegetation that they drove past. She could count the number of times she had left the Marsh residence. They were almost always at her Uncle Howard’s prompting. Uncle Howard was not here to hold her hand as he did when she was a child. She was headed for enemy territory, where her only relative would be a man she did not care for.
That was an understatement. She loathed the Commander.
She tried to tame the emotions that were welling up inside her. Her thoughts went far and wide until she developed a headache, and then she fell asleep. When she woke up, she stared out to see that the sun was beginning to set. She dried her tears quickly and unfolded the paper that Eleonor had pressed into her hand. It was Eleonor’s curved handwriting, the rounded R’s, the I’s with what looked like tear drops on top, the G’s and Y’s that invaded the line of words beneath them. And before even reading the letter, Jane knew that she would cherish it forever. Keeping it was, in a way, keeping a part of Eleonor.
She began to read:
My dearest Jane,
I have not the words with which to express how sorry I am for the outturn of events. I have known Father to be callous, but to claim that this last action of his did not shake me to my bones would be to lie. I hate him for what he made you do. And, more importantly, I hate myself for the part I played in it. If I had exercised more discretion, you would not be in this situation.
I am very sorry, Jane. I do hope that one day, you shall find it in your heart to forgive me.
“There is nothing to forgive you for,” Jane whispered to herself, and she continued to read.
I know you are disappointed in me already, and so what harm could a little more disappointment do? I am sorry. I am a wretch, trying to make jokes in this situation. But Jane, I must tell you: The father of my child is Scottish. I know your eyes will grow wide when you read this.
Eleonor was right: Jane’s eyes did go wide.
His name is Ramsay. He has blond hair and blue eyes. He is from a Scottish clan around the border. That is all I know about him.
Do you remember the storm that destroyed all our crop and made Father near-delirious for a week? Recall that I went riding that day. We had no idea that a storm was coming. When I returned, you were sick with worry. You asked how I had managed to weather it out and return. Well, it was Ramsay who saved me, Jane. I was riding through the border when it began. He took me into his his arms and on his horse and then, from there, to a makeshift tent where he had set up camp. Oh, no man had ever been as sweet to me as he was! He gave me the very clothes on his back. He had a broth made for me. He sang me to sleep. We lay together afterward. And it was the most magical thing.
I fell in love with him, Jane. It did not matter that he was a Scot in that moment. We met secretly for a while after that day and when I told him that I was pregnant, he was happy, Jane: truly, he was. There is no way to feign such joy. We planned to run away the next day, but I went to where we had agreed to meet, and he was not there.
Please do not judge me, Sister. I know that we and the Scottish are sworn enemies. But Ramsay was not at all like the Scottish were described to us. He was kind and loyal and very decent, and he looked at me like I was the sun itself. At least, that is what I thought. I see now that I am a fool for trusting him. For he left without any explanation.
Oh Jane, I have caused you so much trouble already, and I would never ask anything more of you if I had a choice. But Jane, do you think you could find it in your heart to try to find him? Please try. He did not tell me his clan for fear of putting me in danger. I know that no one else can find him. You are brave and adventurous and brilliant. Please tell Ramsay of the condition I have found myself in with the duke. Tell him that if he has any of the love he claimed to have for me, he must rescue me from my impending fate, if not for my sake, then for the sake of our child.
Please save me.
Love, Eleonor.
Jane folded the paper carefully and put it beside her on a chair. She removed the neckpiece that her uncle Howard had bought her on her sixteenth birthday. With it, she anchored the paper to the chair.
She then sighed.
It was a huge task that her sister had entrusted her with. She would be new in Scotland. She had no one to help her carry out this assignment. If the attitude he had portrayed before them all these years was anything to go by, she knew that Commander Pierce would not let her simply walk the length and breadth of the country. He seemed the type that did not allow things that he thought he owned out of his sight.
The thought filled her with fear. Her fear transformed into pure terror when she remembered that she would have to perform wifely duties. She had avoided thinking about it this past week in the oblivion that time and space afforded her, but she did not have that luxury anymore.
She had to face her reality.
And it was a grim one indeed.
She looked outside the window and was struck by the freedom of the trees that the carriage whizzed past. They grew as much as soil and sunlight and rain allowed them. No one laide claim to them. She would never have that kind of freedom. Something suddenly caught her eye and her head whipped to the left. There, on the low vegetation, was what appeared to be a boy on a horse. She blinked.
And he was gone.
She could not have imagined it. She inched closer to the window and looked outside it. There was nothing but grass in every direction as far as her eyes could see. She took her eyes away from the window and stared instead at her hands.
He heard her stand and circle around the fire on nearly silent feet and forced himself to lay still. He wanted her to come to him, ached for her to be beside him as she had been hours before, but he wasn’t going to press the issue.
Then she leaned close, and he reached out and pulled her down, pleased when she curled against his chest instead of pulling away or trying to hit him again.
He was tempted to pretend he was still asleep, but she’d know it for a falsehood. And even if his move to bring her down to lie beside him hadn’t told her that, his rapidly swelling manhood surely would. With only the thin, makeshift kilt between them, it was impossible to hide his interest. Not that he cared to. Instead, he opened his eyes and met her earnest gaze, waiting for her to make the next move.
Her voice was whisper soft as she spoke. “Did ye truly feed and care fer me braither while he was captive?”
“Aye.” He saw no reason to try and deny it.
She bit her lip. “Why? He was an enemy o’ the laird ye’d sworn tae serve. In other circumstances, he might have hurt or even killed ye.”
“Anyone might, on the field o’ battle, and I’ve the scars o’ plenty o’ bands o’ mercenaries and bandits tae prove it. As tae why I cared fer Finlay, I couldnae free him, but I had tae give him what help I could. He’s yer braither.”
He saw tears in her eyes at the honesty of his answer and had to restrain the urge to lean forward and kiss them away. “But why would ye care?”
“Because I always cared fer ye, even when I was fool enough tae be the cause o’ yer pain. And I couldnae help but dae anything possible tae help ease any hurt ye might suffer. Me heart wouldnae allow otherwise, even if ye hated me fer it.” That too was truth, and as close to an apology as he would give her for how he’d reacted during their flight from Luke and his men.
Reyna reached up and laid one hand across his face. “I understand, and I forgive ye.”
Before he could answer her, she stretched up and pressed the full length of her body against his, then molded her lips to his and kissed him as passionately as she’d raged at him earlier. Blake grunted against her, his body stiffening as he fought to control his responses. He wanted her, oh how he wanted her, but he’d not go any faster or further than she would accept. Not even if controlling himself meant he’d need another dip in the loch.
Her hand trailed sensuously down his chest until it touched the tartan, then drifted lower, until she could cup the growing bulge underneath it. Blake bit his lip, helpless to stop the sound he made and the reaction of his body as she artlessly drove him mad with her hands alone.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “I forgive ye, and gods help me, but I never stopped loving ye, Blake Sinclair. And now…”
She shifted to whisper directly into his ear, her warm, sweet breath a temptation all its own, “I want tae have all o’ ye, and all the pleasure yer touch promised me last night.”
Blake groaned, his honor warring with his desire to give her exactly what she asked him for. “Reyna, lass… if we start this… I willnae be able tae stop.”
“I dinnae want ye tae.”
It was difficult to control his breathing or keep himself from crushing her to him and taking her like a barbarian right then and there. “Ye have tae be sure. It cannae be taken back, if I claim ye. Ye cannae decide ye’re too angered tae remain with me later. If ye come tae me taenight and welcome me, then ye’re mine forever.”
“That’s what I want.”
She kissed him again, then slid her hand between their two bodies once again and pressed her against his hardening manhood. She rubbed gently, and Blake felt his control evaporate like rain on a burning hearth.
With one smooth motion, he rolled them both over so that he was crouched over her, his thighs on either side of her hips and his hands to either side of her head. Even with desire singing like flames in his blood and his manhood painfully hard and begging for release and the pleasure of her body, he was careful to be gentle as he laid her back against his blankets and looked down into her glittering eyes.
Her face was open, welcoming, and her hands reached for him without hesitation. A part of him screamed to ask her again, that she couldn’t want this, couldn’t want to taint herself with the touch of a man accused of murder and betrayal, scarred inside and out. But it was a distant feeling, and Reyna in his arms was too real to ignore or deny.
He leaned down to kiss her again, hungry for the taste of her. He used one hand to support him, while his other tangled in the laces of her bodice and undid them, then dropped to the fastening of her skirt. He dragged the belt free, feeling clumsy as a boy with his first woman, then sat up.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Sit up, Reyna, and let me see ye.”
She did, and he drew the shirt slowly and sensually over her head. Her eyes were wide as he bared her body, and she looked suddenly shy as he took his time admiring the soft, creamy skin on display, and the way the wind teased her nipples into hardened peaks, begging for his touch and his mouth to engulf them.
“Beautiful.” Blake guided her to lie back, her shirt now serving as a makeshift pillow as he caressed her sides. She shivered as his warm hands smoothed over her belly and dropped to her hips. He wondered if it was nervousness or desire, or merely cold that made her tremble. He longed to chase fear and cold away, and lift her to the heights of desire, and forced himself to go slowly. His Reyna was a maiden, and he’d make it as pleasant as possible for her, even if the effort made him want to collapse under the strain.
Slowly he drew the skirt down, the cloth sliding over her sex and her hips, before gliding down her legs. The dim firelight glimmered on the curls that adorned her sex, and he was pleased to see they were already damp. Even uncertain and inexperienced, she was already damp and waiting for him. He wanted to lean down and taste her, as he had the night before. He wanted to lick her clean, then give her more pleasure until she was wet and gasping for him all over again.
Gods above, but she was beautiful. The most glorious thing he’d ever seen in his life. If ever a goddess came down to earth, she would look, and smell, and taste like his Reyna. The scent of her was all around him, and his lips tingled with the memory of her sweetness.
Now she was completely exposed to his gaze, and he let his eyes feast, drinking in every inch of her creamy looking skin, accented by the rose color of her lips and her breasts, and the soft, darker patch of short hair that adorned the junction of her thighs and her soft, feminine sex.
Blake set her skirt aside and stared at her, hardly daring to do more than stare, lest he frighten her or embarrass himself. She blushed, then abruptly reached out and grabbed at the length of tartan around his hips and tugged. A moment of effort and the knots came free. The cloth fell away to reveal his member, already hard and thick in the firelight. Blake nearly sighed in relief, even as the cold air on his shaft made him ache all the more.
Reyna gasped at the sight of him. Blake chuckled again as he leaned down to cover her. “Dinnae fret lass. Just trust me.”
I’ll have tae be careful with her. Ferr all her bold words and actions, she’s nae ever done this afore. I’m her first lover, and if I have aught tae say about it, her last. ‘Tis important tae let her enjoy the experience.
Her thigh was soft against his member, driving him nearly to distraction, as he lowered himself and began to kiss a slow, lazy trail from her earlobe, down the line of her neck to the hollow of her throat, before he bent lower and took one breast into his mouth, suckling and nipping until she was writhing beneath him. She tasted honey-sweet with hints of flowers and sunshine and something that was just Reyna, and he took his time in savoring each taste, and each noise she made as he teased her.
He wanted to know every sound she made when she was in the throws of pleasure. He wanted to hear every gasp, every sigh, and every cry. He wanted to feel her quiver as she screamed his name, and the sound she made when she was beyond even that, so lost in pleasure that even she couldn’t manage any words at all.
Reyna gasped when he switched his attention to her other breast, allowing the night wind to provide a chilling contrast to the heat of his mouth and the stimulation offered by his teeth and tongue scraping and licking gently over her.
His chest was pressed to her belly, the firm muscles gently pinning her in place. He felt her move against him, and it was all he could do not to raise himself up to bury the length of his member in her soft, welcoming heat.
Even so, he refused to move too quickly, no matter how his own desire and her voice begged him to.
He slid one of his hands lower, until his palm was caressing her sex, before he shifted his weight and lowered his knee gently to part her thighs. “Open yerself tae me, Reyna.”
His voice was a low, rough growl of desire and command, and he smiled as she opened her legs obediently to his touch and his gaze.
Och, Reyna, me little love. So sweet and open tae me. Gods, I dinnae deserve ye… but I’ll be sure ye have all the joy ye deserve at me hands.
He moved to balance himself between her legs, his erection pressing against the junction of her thigh, tantalizingly close to where he wanted it, and yet achingly far as well.
She shifted, trying to encourage him to enter her, clearly as desperate as he was, but he laughed and shifted low to whisper in her ear. “Nae yet, lass. I’ve waited a long time tae be with ye, and I’ll nae be rushing it fer either o’ us.”
“But… I want… Blake, I need…” her voice was a whimper of need, and he drank it in.
“I ken. Just relax.”
He kissed her again and slid one hand down slowly, tracing the shivering muscles, mapping her body with his touch and making note of every reaction, every twitch and all the little cries and gasps he didn’t think she even knew she was making.
When he reached her navel, he let his fingers scratch lightly around the indentation in her belly, teasing the soft, sensitive flesh. He wanted to dip his head and lick her there, to taste her belly, but she was already on the brink of release, and he wanted the moment to last. There would be other times for that.
His fingers carded gently through the soft, fine hairs of her sex, the short nails scratching lightly to add another level of sensation. It made her squirm and try to arch against his hand, and he bit his lip as the sight of her, writhing under his touch, made his body harden even further. She was so responsive, so open to everything he did… it made him long to feel her around him.
She’s so glorious, so generous in this… how can I fail tae offer her generosity in return? That thought was all that kept him from yielding to the fire that coursed through his veins and cried out for release.
His fingers slipped lower to stroke over the outer lips of her sex, sliding through the dampness of her arousal with a slowness that teased them both, before he gently eased one finger into her.
Reyna gasped, whimpering, as his finger slowly pressed deeper into her, and his thumb caressed the pleasure center he’d used to send her over the edge the night before. Blake held back a groan of his own with effort as he stroked his fingers inside of her, pressing deep inside her inner walls, so that his finger was sheathed in her feminine core. The walls of her channel were wet with desire, hot and tight like a tunnel of arousal-soaked velvet that he longed to explore and bury himself in.
He drew his hand out of her, and slowly licked his finger clean of her fluids, grinning at the pleading expression and the way she arched up, begging without words for his touch. “Ye taste good tae me, did ye ken that?” His hand slid back to her secret places to continue stimulating her as he bent to whisper in her ear. “Like the finest draft straight from Cerridwen’s cauldron… or the sweetest wine from Underhill…”
His hand slid deeper, stroking deep as his hand would allow, deep into her core. When she was stretched enough to be comfortable with that, he gently included a second finger to carefully ease her core open wider. Reyna cried out, pressing into his hand, her momentary discomfort at the unfamiliar sensation lost in the pleasure he was giving her.
Blake slowly but steadily stroked her open, watching her face as he changed the position of his hand slightly with every stroke, he noted what made her whimper, what made her gasp, and what made her cry out and press against him for more. Before long, she was writhing against his hand, whimpering, her back arching as she sought more pleasure and release from him.
He drew his hand back, and she actually cried out as he left her wanting, her expression open and pleading as she squirmed, looking for the stimulation that would grant her release. “Blake…”
“I ken lass.” His voice was a low, rough sound, hoarse with his own desire as he lowered himself over her and aligned his aching shaft with the lips of her sex and pressed gently against her.
Reyna gasped as she felt the pressure of his shaft against her entrance, and he hesitated a moment before he pressed inside her, not wanting to hurt her. She quivered around him, but there was no pain in her face, and when he paused, she whimpered and arched and twisted, trying to take him deeper.
His hands held her in place, keeping her from going too fast, for both their sake. For all his control, the sensation of her hot, soft walls swallowing his manhood was nearly unbearable, and it took all his control to keep from burying himself fully in her heat. The velvety sheath around him offered pleasure beyond anything he had ever experienced or imagined, and every inch was like sliding deeper into paradise.
They both felt it when the tip of his length reached the barrier of her maidenhead within her. Blake froze, shuddering as he did so. His breath was ragged, his sweat falling to sizzle against her heated skin as he bent close once more. “Last chance tae stop me, Reyna love. Once the barrier is breached, there’s nay going back.”
He half expected her to come to her senses and pull away or beg him to stop. He wasn’t sure he could. Instead, she arched into him, trying to get closer. Blake made a low sound in the back of his throat, like a groan and a growl intermingled, then bent to seal his mouth over hers as his member pressed forward and breached the thin barrier of her innocence.
His kiss swallowed her cry of pain and filled his mouth with the taste of salt and her sweetness, both shuddering. He fought to remain still, to give her time to recover.
Then Reyna whimpered against his mouth and arched up against him, pressing closer to bring him deeper within her.
Blake growled again and pressed forward, forcing himself to maintain his slow, smooth glide as he entered her fully. The pain of her maidenhead being taken couldn’t be avoided, but he was determined that she would feel only pleasure from him beyond that.
Finally, he was sheathed fully to the hilt, his groin flush against hers and his bollocks brushing her buttocks as they both breathed in time with one another.
Reyna squirmed against Blake, begging him to move. With a ragged breath, he began to do so, setting up a steady rhythm as he slid out of her and back into her, thrusting steadily and deeply.
Every thrust felt like falling into heaven as her heat and softness engulfed him to the hilt, pulling him so deep that his bollocks caressed her soft, rounded buttocks when he paused. Every withdrawal felt like a loss, begging him to plunge inside her once again.
Blake lost all track of time, of everything save her pleasure and his, the sounds of their mingled breathing and the way they rocked together in harmony, every movement perfect and wonderous beyond anything he could even dream of.
Pleasure and pressure intertwined and spiraled higher, burned hotter, to levels he’d never imagined possible. Reyna writhed around him, pressed against him, gasping with him as they both rose higher on a wave of pleasure.
He was so close. Blake could feel his release coming, the tightness in his loins that heralded his coming. Reyna was quivering, close to her own release as well.
Blake bent his head without warning and took one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue laving the sensitive flesh before his teeth nipped her gently. As he’d intended, the unexpected sensation flung her over the edge. Reyna stiffened, inner walls clenching down around his manhood as she came undone around him.
The pressure of her velvet heat and the walls of her inner core clamping around him was enough to carry him over as well. Blake stiffened, white heat and stars filling his vision as he climaxed and his rhythm stumbled to a halt and his seed pumped deep into her body,
Her inner walls clenched around him again, and drew a harsh, guttural sound out of him. His fluids mingled with hers, and the tide of their enjoyment swept over them both and wiped away everything in a haze of pleasure.
The aftershocks and heat and light went on forever, leaving him limp and boneless in the aftermath. When he finally regained his senses, their release was cooling between them, and Reyna was cuddled against him, almost fully asleep.
The length of Murray tartan took care of the first problem. Grabbing a blanket ensured that they would be somewhat warm when they woke in the morning. Immediate needs taken care of, he laid down and wrapped his arms around her, then followed her into a sleep full of joyful dreams.
“Och, ye didnae see him. He was red-faced with temper one minute, shaking, and the next he went pale as fresh milk. Then he orders me off, and taeday he didnae come down fer breakfast.” Blake Sinclair lifted his head from the makeshift grassy pillow he’d been reclining against, and scowled at the stem of heather he was toying with. He tugged at it in a distracted manner while he tried to ignore his companion’s muffled giggles.
At fourteen summers, nearly fifteen, he’d grown several inches over the past year. He’d enjoyed the extra height, right until his voice had cracked for the first time, sending muffled laughter through everyone listening. And now Reyna Gregor – his childhood friend and the girl he’d slowly fallen in love with over the past few seasons – was laughing at him too, despite the seriousness of the situation he was trying to relate.
Finally, Reyna managed to stifle her laughter, and toppled over lazily to rest her head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry… I dinnae mean tae laugh at ye. But ye cannae think ye’re the cause fer yer faither feeling poorly. Surely ye’ve fought afore.”
“O’ course we have. But never about something like this. About foolish things, like the time I tried tae sneak intae the training yard, five summers ago.” The heather came free of the dirt, and Blake scowled at it, before reaching for another piece.
“Ye mean like the argument ye had with him about riding, after we first met? After ye lost control o’ one o’ his best horses?”
“‘Twas me first-time riding someat other than a half-grown yearling or an elderly training gelding. And I was only eight summers at the time. I did the best I could.”
“Ye let the horse out o’ the main courtyard though, and dinnae pretend it was any sort o’ accident.”
That was true. Blake grimaced. That event wasn’t one he was proud of. He’d wound up holding on for dear life as his horse raced over the moors and fields in an uncontrolled gallop. On the other hand, that wild ride had dropped him at Reyna’s feet, in every sense of the phrase. He’d fallen off right in front of where she’d been picking herbs, and the friendship that had grown from that first meeting gave his next words the ring of sincerity.
“That might be the truth, but I cannae regret it, nae matter how much o’ a scolding me faither gave me when I finally got home.” He sighed and sat up, leaving the heather stems for a handful of flowers that he had made a halfhearted effort at weaving into a flower crown before he resumed absentmindedly shredding them. “Ye’re right that we’ve had our share o’ quarrels, and mayhap I’m tae hot-headed and reckless, as he says, but this wasnae the same. He was angrier, and nae just because o’ some daft thing I did. He was saying me actions were jeopardizing the whole o’ the Sinclair clan, and nae just meself. Tae say naething o’ setting a bad example by me actions. Among other things.”
“And how was this different? What was he referring tae if he wasnae simply angered over something foolhardy ye did?”
“We were arguing about ye.” Blake felt his ears heat and avoided looking at her. “He found out I’d been sneaking out tae meet with ye, and ye ken how he feels about any sort o’ speech between our clans.”
Reyna scowled. “Aye. I ken he and me faither are nae on speaking terms since me grandfaither passed away. Though me faither willnae say what it is that caused the rift between them. All he’ll say is that Leith Sinclair insulted him and refused tae take it back.”
Blake grimaced. He’d heard something similar when he was younger, but after last night’s argument, he suspected he knew the real reason the clans were at an armed truce with each other. “Aye. He didnae ken I was meeting ye, but somehow he found out, and he was right furious. Confronted me at supper, in front o’ the entire clan, including the Elders. Said I was defying a direct order, and if I didnae stop seeing ye, there’d be consequences.”
Reyna gave him a sideways look. “And still, here ye are.”
“O’ course I am.” Blake returned her stare with an indignant one of his own, barely even noticing how his voice cracked again. “I’ll nae let any man tell me what friends tae have.” He flushed again.
“And that’s all I am tae ye?” She gave him a look that made him wince. “Just yer friend?”
“Ye ken it’s more than that. Otherwise, I wouldnae be set on defying him when he tries tae convince me tae speak tae lasses from other clans. He’s been wanting me tae secure the clan a strong alliance and has been talking marriage proposals. I said he could try tae plan a marriage and pick a lass fer me if he liked, but he might as well ken now that I’ll choose who I want tae wed, whether he agrees or nae. I’ll nae spend me life with someone I cannae care fer, especially when me heart’s given tae ye already.”
Reyna’s eyes were wide, slightly pleading as they met his. “Ye want me? Truly? Ye really care fer me enough tae defy yer faither, and mayhap mine?”
“O’ course I dae. Ye should ken that, since it’s ye I’m sitting with, and nae one else.” His father, Leith, had been adamant that Reyna Gregor’s clan was neither wealthy enough or powerful enough to be an appropriate match for the heir to the Sinclair clan, but he wasn’t going to tell Reyna that. It would be far too insulting. “I told him tae dip his head in a loch if he thought he was going tae stop me from seeing ye as I liked.” He flushed a deeper red. “I mean…”
“I kent what ye meant, ye daft idiot.” Reyna retorted. “And at least ye have a choice about it. Ye’re nae a girl.”
Her sharp tone dragged his eyes from the heather to her. “Is there something wrong, Reyna? Has someone said someat tae ye?” He’d always thought she’d be safe, given that she had a brother who was heir to the clan.
“Me faither’s talking about marrying me off tae some laird or laird’s son, as soon as he finds one he approves o’, claiming as kinfolk. I’ve seen messages with the Murray Clan seal on them, and I dinnae trust what he’s thinking in regard tae them.” She shivered. “I’ve heard word he’s looking fer a wife, but nae a woman will have him because he has a beastly temper. The fact that he’s sending letters tae me faither, despite the ill-will between them…”
“Doesnae mean a thing, save that he might be as mad as he is bad-tempered.” Blake scowled, even as he wrapped his arm around her to comfort her. “The Murray-Gregor feud’s been going on fer centuries, and it’s a blood feud tae. Yer faither would never consider giving ye away tae him, nae matter how Laird Murray tried tae convince him it was a way tae end the enmity between yer clans. He kens as well as I dae, better mayhap, that old Laird Oran’s as like tae murder ye as marry ye. And ye and I both ken he loves ye tae much tae risk it, even if Laird Murray offered him a thousand years o’ peace, most o’ their lands, and all the gold in the Murray clan coffers.” He kissed her forehead. “Besides, Clan Gregor may nae be the biggest, but yer strong enough tae stand yer ground, and yer braither’s nae a weakling. Clan Gregor will be standing strong long after Oran Murray and his temper are dust on the Highlands.”
Reyna laughed a little at his vehement declaration. “I ken that. And I’ve said as much tae me faither whenever he brings up marrying me tae another clan tae strengthen our borders, but he likes tae hear arguments from me as much as yer faither likes tae hear them from ye. I’ve told him I’m tae young as well, that if me braither isnae old enough tae be a warrior, then I’m tae young tae be a wife. He didnae like that either.” Reyna looked as if she’d swallowed a thistle.
The sight of her indignation filled Blake with mixed feelings of protectiveness, anger on her behalf, and a sense of affection. He grinned and reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Och, well, even if ye happen tae get sent off tae Clan Murray, I’ll be more than happy tae come get ye.” He smirked at the flowers and heather that Reyna had slowly been accumulating in a basket at her side. “After all what would I dae without me little witch tae offer me tinctures and tisanes and teas fer everything that might be ailing me?”
“I’m nae a witch.” Reyna huffed the words in exasperation, but she was smiling. “’Tis only medicine and herbs, like the wise women and the healers gather.”
Blake chuckled, his own mood easing. “I ken, I ken. But it willnae change the way I think o’ ye.” He dug into a pouch on his belt. “But never mind that. Ye’ve given me so many flowers and herbs, I thought it might be proper tae give ye one in return.”
“Nae that heather ye’ve been mangling, I hope?” Reyna eyed him.
Blake shook his head, and took one of her hands, pressing the object he’d fished out of his belt into her hand. “It’s nae. It’s nae a flower ye can put in a medicine, but it willnae wilt or go bad, either.”
Reyna studied the thin metal flower, suspended from a thin leather cord. “’Tis pretty. Where did ye find it?”
Blake flushed again and looked away from her bright expression. “Och, well, I had some time tae meself, and I started watching the village blacksmith. When he caught me watching, he offered tae teach me someat o’ the basics – said it was a good skill tae have, fer an emergency shoeing on the road, if naught else.”
“A horseshoe nail isnae a flower.” Her voice sounded amused.
“One thing led tae another… I have a bit o’ skill, and the blacksmith had some spare bits o’ metal lying about… and I wanted tae make ye something”
“It’s beautiful.” She lifted it and slipped the leather cord over her neck with a brilliant smile. “And I like it all the better now that I ken ye made it fer me.”
“It’s a promise, as well as a gift. I’ll dae me best tae change me faither’s mind and get his blessing. Tae court ye if I cannae convince him o’ more. I promise, I’ll make sure we’re both safe, and free tae marry as we like.”
Reyna’s eyes shone like stars as she leaned against his shoulder. “Ye give me yer word?”
“Me word as a Sinclair.”
Anything else he might have said, or any reply she might have made, was interrupted by the sound of hooves approaching rapidly. They were coming from the direction of Sinclair lands, following the same path Blake had ridden hours before.
Blake rolled to his feet, one hand on is dagger as the rider came into sight and splashed across the rill that divided their meadow from the main Sinclair lands. Reyna came to her feet beside him.
The rider came closer, and Blake relaxed a little as he recognized his cousin Hutch. “Och. Nae need tae fret. ‘Tis only me cousin.”
Hutch rode up, and Blake felt a slow, churning feeling of unease begin to creep through him. Hutch’s face was grim and pale, and his horse showed signs of hard riding. He was also carrying saddle bags, more than he could possibly have needed. “Blake. I’ve been looking everywhere fer ye. If I didnae ken ye liked tae meet yer lass here, I’d never have thought tae come this way, or this far.”
“Aye. But if ye kent that, ye might ken I wouldnae want tae be found.”
Hutch shook his head. “And I’d nae come looking, but ye’re needed back at Sinclair Castle. Yer faither collapsed.”
The temperature of the meadow seemed to fall, as if he’d been doused in icy water. “What are ye…?”
Hutch frowned. “I cannae say more than that. I only ken ye need tae come with me.”
He couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. It didn’t make sense. He’d known his father was unwell, but collapsing? Their argument couldn’t have upset him that much.
Suddenly, small hands slammed into his shoulders and shoved him toward his horse, which was grazing nearby. “Get back tae yer family, ye great lout. Ye’re needed.” Reyna stared at him with sharp eyes. She turned and darted away, toward her own horse, before he could say anything.
At least she’d managed to shock him out of his frozen state. Blake sprang after her and caught her arm. “Reyna, wait!” She swung around. “I dinnae ken what’s wrong, but…”
He took a deep breath, then bent to kiss her lightly. “Come back tae this spot, this same time taemorrow..” With another quick, chaste kiss, Blake darted away, to where Hutch was waiting impatiently.
Blake swung into the saddle of his own horse. He waited just long enough to see Reyna’s bay mare disappear on the far side of the meadow before he turned away and nudged it into a trot beside his cousin. “Does the healer have any idea what happened? Is Faither ill? Will he be getting better? When?”
“He willnae be getting better.” Hutch waited until they’d entered a stand of trees by the road, then abruptly nudged his horse forward, and swung it around to block Blake’s.
Blake pulled his horse to a stop in surprise. “What are ye saying?”
Hutch shook his head. “I didnae want tae say anything in front o’ the lass, but yer faither didnae just collapse. He’s dead. By the time the maid found him, it was tae late. He’d passed on.”
Blake reeled in the saddle. “Me faither’s dead…”
“Aye, and I wish that were all o’ it. Or even the first o’ it.” Hutch reached out to grab his arm. “I’m sorry, Blake, but the healer said he’d been poisoned. And mayhap the last dose wasnae the first.”
The cold feeling came back, fierce and sharp like ice in his gut and his bowels. “Poisoned? With what?”
“I didnae stay around long enough tae hear. Blake… I… I wish I didnae have tae be the one tae tell ye this, but…” Hutch’s face twisted. “Och, cousin, I’m truly sorry, but the truth o’ the matter is, they’re after thinking ye were the one that poisoned him.”
The ice turned into a sword, lancing through his heart, and for a moment he could hear nothing save a roaring storm in his ears. He forced it back and held onto the saddle and reins with hands that were white-knuckled from the strain. “What? Ye cannae be serious.”
“I wish I werenae. But there’s the truth o’ it. After yer fight last night, there’s folk saying ye were angered with his refusal tae let ye see yer lass, and tired o’ being the heir instead o’ the laird. They’re saying ye were hoping nae one would realize. I’ve even heard folk saying they’re surprised it didnae happen sooner, the way ye’ve always seemed tae be close one moment and fighting the next. And since ye’ve nae been seen since this morn, there’s folk saying ye always planned on being away and pretending tae ken naething o’ the matter, or worse, that ye’re a coward who decided tae flee afore ye had tae face justice.”
Breakfast and lunch both threatened to reappear. Blake swallowed hard. “I have tae go back, tae explain tae the Elders, tae yer faither… I have tae tell them the truth.”
Hutch shook him once, then twice. “Think, Blake. What proof have ye o’ yer claims? Ye’re kent tae spend time with a girl who’s always after mixing teas and the like. Ye were fighting with the laird last night, and ye nearly came tae blows with the man. And ye’re the heir. With yer faither passed away, ‘tis down tae ye and me faither tae tae’ the mantle o’ the laird. And ye can guess what me faither thinks about the whole matter. His temper’s up, and he’s fair out fer blood. Ye really think it willnae be yers, with the way things look right now?”
His own uncle thought he’d killed his father. He swallowed hard. “What o’ me maither?”
Hutch shook his head. “Dinnae ken. So far as I heard, she’s tae far in shock and mourning tae speak one way or the other.”
He didn’t want to believe anyone could think such things of him. And yet, he had argued with his father in full view of the clan the night before. And anyone who knew Reyna would know she had an interest in herbs of all kinds. It was also no secret that her father and his had argued and had a hostile truce that was just short of feuding. Or that his father disapproved of his relationship with Reyna.
With a sick, sinking feeling, Blake realized what Hutch had truly come out to tell him. The clan believed he’d murdered his own father. Not only that, they thought he’d killed his own laird. If he went home, he’d face the Clan Elders, and his uncle, with little or no way to convince them of his innocence. After all, they could say he’d left the castle that morning to try and avoid suspicion by being elsewhere.
Kin-killing was a crime that carried a sentence of banishment, at best, unless the person who died was known to be a danger to the clan or close family. Killing a laird though, was something that could see you put to the sword unless the laird was a proven problem for the clan, or he was killed in a feud or an honor duel. Poisoning though, would be considered dishonorable and cowardly, even in the best of circumstances.
Putting all those together… Blake felt his stomach lurch and he came perilously close to throwing up again. “If I go back, they’ll put me tae death. With nay proof I didnae dae it, they’ll find me guilty likely as nae, and nae even the Fair Folk could keep me head attached tae me neck. I’m nae even sure an act o’ God could dae it.”
“I ken. And I’m sorry fer ye. I believe ye’re innocent, Blake, but one lad’s word willnae count fer much. Especially since I came tae find ye and warn ye, instead o’ telling the clan guards where I thought ye were.” Hutch dismounted and went to rummage behind a tree. He emerged with extra packs that bulged with clothing, a heavy-looking purse, and Blake’s weapons.
Blake shuddered, and tried to think as he took the things Hutch handed to him and set them in their proper places with practiced precision. “What dae I dae?” He suddenly felt much younger than his fourteen years. “What can I dae?”
Hutch reached up and tugged free two of the saddle packs slung across his horse’s hindquarters. He passed them over, and Blake took them with shaking hands. He tried to stop the tremors passing through him, but he could barely breathe, let alone exert any sort of control over his limbs.
Hutch’s next words fell like blows from a warrior in the training yard. “Ye need tae leave. Go somewhere, anywhere but back tae Sinclair Castle. Write me when ye find a place, and I’ll stay in touch with ye. I’ll look fer proof that ye didnae dae this, and once I’ve found it, ye can come home again.”
His choices were to be executed or banished, and that was no choice at all. Dead, he’d never get a chance to prove his innocence, or regain his honor.
If proof were easy tae find, they’d nae think I was the killer in the first place. And Hutch isnae much older than me. He won’t be able tae dae much or stand up against the elders. It might be years afore I can come home. And even then, it willnae be the same. Me faither is dead.
He wanted to curl up and cry until he had no more tears left. He wanted to throw up more than he had when he’d snuck a bottle of his father’s mead during the Harvest fest the year before.
Neither of those were options. Hutch was right. He needed to get far away from the Sinclair clan, before someone else came after him. The next member of the clan who found him might not be as sympathetic as Hutch.
He swallowed hard and forced his emotions down. “Ye’re right. I need tae be gone. And the sooner I take tae the road, the farther gone I’ll be when the rest o’ the clan comes looking fer me.” He hesitated. “Will ye tell me maither, please, that it’s nae true? Tell her… convince her if ye can, that I didnae kill me faither? And tell her I’ll come back as soon as I can prove the truth o’ it.”
“Ye ken I will.” Hutch nodded. “And I’ll look after her like me own.”
He gave Hutch a quick, hard clasp of the arm, which his cousin returned. “Thank ye fer that, and fer coming tae find me, fer believing in me, and fer helping me get tae safety.”
“Ye’re welcome. Be safe, cousin.” After a last, lingering look, Hutch released him and turned his horse back toward Sinclair Castle.
Blake watched until his cousin was out of sight, then resolutely turned his own horse in the opposite direction. As much as it broke his heart, he couldn’t afford to linger.
And he couldn’t take the chance of going to see Reyna, not even to tell her what had happened. Not even to keep his word. Someone would surely look for him there, and it would be worse for the both of them if he was anywhere within the Gregor lands when they came looking.
Blake gave a soft, bitter laugh. How ironic that he’d given his word as a Sinclair to come back for her. He was no longer a Sinclair and did not even have the meager satisfaction of being able to keep the last promise he had made as a member of his birth clan.
He was on his own, with nothing save his grief and his regrets to follow him into exile.
Chapter One
Springtime, 1450
Ten years later
Reyna Gregor stared at the meadow, one hand tangled in the worn leather cord about her neck as she watched the heather sway in the light spring breeze that danced through the moorland grasses. For years, this place had been her refuge, and a place where she’d made some of her happiest memories. After today, she might never see it again.
When Blake had disappeared, and they’d received word that he’d been exiled, she’d come to the meadow every day for a year, until she could no longer ignore the bitter truth. Blake Sinclair was gone, in every sense of the word, and he would never come back.
Her hand tensed around the flower. The cord dug into her neck as she tugged. She imagined the cord breaking, imagined the frayed strands and the weathered metal flower flying through the air to disappear forever among the heather.
“Reyna. There ye are.”
Reyna stuffed the necklace under top of her dress, dropped her hand, and turned to see her sister-by-marriage, Tessa, wading through the long, thick grass. Tessa’s movement was somewhat hampered by the soft rounding of her belly, evidence of the child she carried within. For a moment, she was tempted to reach out and help Tessa to her side, but she knew from experience that her brother’s wife was an independent woman. Instead, she settled for a worried look. “Should ye be riding in yer condition?”
Tessa made her way to Reyna’s side with a heavy grace that Reyna envied. “I’m well enough. ‘Tis early days yet, and the healer says the babe and I are fair healthy enough.”
Tessa’s gaze drifted over the meadow. “I was wondering where ye might have gone. I should have kent ye’d be here, though I dinnae ken why, as ye left yer herb-gathering basket at home. I thought ye’d stopped coming here years ago.”
“I ken. But I only wanted tae come tae enjoy the peace, afore I have tae leave fer Murray Keep.”
Tessa nodded. “I understand. Though I dae wish ye’d choose a meadow closer tae the castle tae find yer peace.”
Reyna offered her sister-by-marriage an apologetic smile. “Aye. I ken full well ye’re nae the only one who’s exasperated by me habit o’ coming out here. But…” She trailed off.
“But it’s where yer memories o’ Blake Sinclair are, and ye have the same questions I dae about what happened tae the lad.”
Reyna nodded, glad Tessa understood. She’d tried to explain her feelings more than once to her brother and her father. Neither of them had ever listened. Not since the message from Clan Sinclair saying that the former laird was dead, his son had abandoned the clan and been declared an exile for his shameful behavior. That was all she’d been told, and all she’d ever been able to learn. Even after ten years, she still had no idea why Blake had been exiled, or how his father had died.
She had no idea where Blake had gone. And even less idea why he had never come to see her, never even sent word about what had happened. She’d sent a request for more information to the cousin who’d come to the meadow the last day she’d seen him, but she’d never received a response.
And now, it no longer mattered. In a few short hours, she’d be on her way to her new betrothed. She’d never have another chance to find out what had happened to the boy she’d once admired. The boy she loved.
“Reyna?” Tessa’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Sorry. I’m coming.” Reyna turned away from the meadow. “I was just saying farewell tae some old memories. The last o’ me childhood, I suppose.”
Tessa’s expression turned regretful, and her arm curled around to cradle the swell of her belly. “I’m fair sorry, Reyna… I ken ye never wanted tae marry someone like Laird Oran Murray.”
“I didnae. And I dinnae even still. But it doesnae matter, does it? I’ve kent since I was a child that he was after marriage tae get himself an heir, since he has nay sons. I just didnae think he’d ever be daft enough tae try and claim me hand, with the feud between our clans, or that he’d stoop tae such cowardly measures tae get what he wants.”
To her surprise and regret, she saw tears beginning to slide down Tessa’s face. She hurried to wrap an arm around her sister-by-marriage to offer her comfort. “Dinnae fret. I’ll be well enough, and I’ve had plenty o’ time tae come tae terms with it. Besides, I’d dae fair worse than get married tae a man I dinnae love tae see Finlay back at me faither’s side, and yers.”
She reached out and laid a gentle hand above Tessa’s. The child was too small yet to move much, but Reyna imagined she could sense the life growing inside her brother’s wife anyway. “Yer bairn needs a faither, ye need yer husband, and me faither needs his heir. ‘Tis well worth a wedding, even tae Laird Oran Murray, tae get him back.”
Nearly a season ago, Oran Murray’s men had ambushed and kidnapped her brother and taken him hostage. With her father’s only heir in his dungeon, Laird Murray had informed her father that he’d only trade Finlay for the chance of an heir of his own, and a marriage alliance to bring an end to the feud between the clans.
Tessa’s brow furrowed, then she spat out a curse that would have made some of the soldiers Reyna knew flush to hear. “Laird Oran Murray’s a craven, cowardly, dishonorable wretch o’ a man, too foul and twisted tae even be called a bastard. And I hate that he managed tae take Finlay prisoner tae force yer faither tae agree tae this.”
Reyna laughed, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Tessa’s anger was coming from more than missing her husband and worrying over her bairn. She took a deep breath. “Laird Oran’s man has arrived?”
Tessa nodded, her expression going soft with regret. “Aye. Arrived just afore I came tae get ye.”
“Then ‘tis best tae nae keep the man waiting.” Reyna helped Tessa into the saddle of her horse, then swung up into the seat of her own. Her bags were already packed and waiting back at Gregor Keep. No doubt her father would have them in the front hall and prepared for loading onto the horses.
She could only hope that whoever Laird Murray had sent to collect her wasn’t too much of a brute.
