Twenty-one years had passed since Eithne and Ivor were married, and now they were happier than ever. As well as Callum and their birth son, Killian – always known as Kil – who was born just after their wedding, they had three beautiful daughters of their own. Iona was eight-and-ten, Finola four-and-ten, and little Siobhan only ten.

Now Eithne was in her forties and her childbearing days were over, but such things hardly bothered her. She was a successful lady, raising her children to believe in their own power. She knew that her parents would be proud of the life she lived now.

“And who kens?” she mused out loud as she and Ivor sat together in the Laird’s study that afternoon. “Perhaps Callum will have some bairns of his own soon enough. Then we’ll be grandparents.”

“Grandparents!” Ivor chuckled. “Lord above, Eithne, give a man a break. I hardly feel old enough to be a faither and now yer already having poor Callum making bairns! He only just married last year. And even if he does, ye’ll never see his bairns.”

It was true. Callum and his new wife lived in the Lowlands now, down in Glasgow City, where Callum ran a successful business. Eithne missed him terribly, and she knew that Ivor did too. Perhaps that was why she was hoping so much for grandchildren. As Eithne’s children aged, she felt them all slowly slipping away.

“Maybe Kil, then,” Eithne said with a shrug. “He’ll inherit the Lairdship, after all. It’s about time he started working on an heir of his own.”

Ivor laughed. “Let the poor lad find a wife first.”

As if Ivor’s words had been a summoning, the door opened, and Eithne’s young lady-in-waiting entered. Eithne smiled. Caiomhe was around the same age as Kil, with long brown curls and lovely wide brown eyes. She was relatively short but busty and well-curved at the hips. She’d been Eithne’s companion for eight years, ever since she’d been taken in at twelve years old.

Eithne gave Ivor a look, and he responded by chuckling and shaking his head – not in disagreement, but in amusement. He knew her thoughts and arguments about how Caoimhe would be the perfect bride for Kil now that they were both old enough to marry; Eithne had undoubtedly spoken about it with him enough times.

Ivor has always made it very clear, though, that if that is to be the case, then Kil will have to make that discovery for himself.

Eithne agreed with him, of course. After all, she had ended up married to a simple mercenary because she’d been allowed to fall in love wherever her heart lay. She would grant her son the same courtesy.

“Caoimhe, dear, that is a lovely dress ye’re wearing,” she said pleasantly. “Are ye going somewhere nice today?”

“Nay, Me Lady,” Caoimhe said with a pretty blush. “It’s one of the old ones that yer lassies were finished with. They passed it onto me in their kindness, and I had it altered to more me size.”

“Well, it’s very fetching,” Eithne told her with a smile. “Would ye nae agree, Laird Husband?”

Ivor chuckled. “Aye, of course, though naebody is as radiant as ye, Wife,” he replied with a smile. “What are yer plans for the day?”

Eithne took a breath. She’d been preparing for this moment since Ivor had mentioned three days ago that he would meet with the Laird of Dunne. Dunne was contested land, and she knew that Ivor was going to do everything he could to prevent a war.

I also ken, however, that me beloved laird is still a warrior at heart. These delicate matters need a woman’s touch.

“I was hoping,” she said, “to accompany ye to the meeting with Laird Dunn. I ken ye’re running in with nae plans again.”

“I have plans,” Ivor said defensively. “If Dunne has a brain in his head, he’ll listen to what I have to say, fancy words or nae. Neither one of our clans can afford this to come to war.”

Eithne shook her head. “Dunne is young. Brash. He doesnae like being told what to do, and he wants to seem powerful compared to Ivor Sinclair, the Laird of MacDonnell, who rose to his seat from naught. He wants to prove that he’s better than ye are. Have ye prepared to work with that?”

Ivor frowned. “Usually, when I have such a problem, I just threaten it with me sword,” he admitted. “But it doesnae sound like ye think that the threat of a good stabbing will do much good this time.”

Behind them, Caoimhe covered her mouth as she stifled a surprised giggle.

Eithne glanced at her with a reassuring smile before looking back at Ivor. “Ye’re right. Ye ken that I’m nae opposed to that when needed, but we need to be more delicate here. Let me come and talk to Dunne. I grew up around people like this. I ken what they want and how they want to do things.”

Ivor nodded thoughtfully, rubbing under his beard. “Aye, Eithne, if ye think that’s for the best, then that’s what we shall do. Ye ken I value yer input more than most of me own men.”

It was true. Ivor didn’t have the pride that many Lairds did not allow their women to get involved. In fact, Ivor had always respected her opinion just as much, if not more than, his own. In the last twenty years, they had ruled Clan MacDonnell together, his strength and her wisdom coming together to grant them real power.

Between that and their allyship with Clan Kinnear and the lands that had once belonged to MacDuff, their family had accumulated a lot of influence. While that was good in that it let them help wherever they were needed, it had a bit of a downside in that other clans frequently saw them as threats. Both skill and wit were absolutely necessary to keep the peace – and so far, they had.

“It’s agreed then,” Eithne said, kissing his cheek. “Caoimhe, I ken we were supposed to be doing me rounds in the village today, but this is more important.”

The lady-in-waiting frowned but nodded. “I understand,” she said. “We need to prevent war. But, Me Lady, what of the people? They’re expecting ye. Shall I send out word that the castle’s visit is to be postponed this month?”

Eithne shook her head, drawing her face into a close of an approximation of innocence as she could muster. “Nay, nay, they’ll riot,” she chuckled. “Ye should take one of the lassies with ye.”

“She cannae,” Ivor said. He caught her eye, and Eithne saw the amusement there. He already saw what she was planning. “Siobhan is only ten, Finola’s off gallivanting God only kens where, and Iona’s got her archery lesson.”

“Och, aye,” Eithne said regretfully as if she’d forgotten. “Well, whatever will we do, then? Caoimhe is the only one with all of me information on the village folk. She was supposed to be helping me, bless her.”

Ivor stared at her, and Eithne smiled back. The look he gave her clearly asked if she was serious, so she nodded. Yes, she would make him be the one to suggest it. Ivor shook his head and grinned at her, then said, “Well, Miss Caoimhe, why dinnae ye ask young Kil to escort ye? He kens the way about the place, and I ken ye can keep him in line.”

To Eithne’s delight, the girl blushed again. “Oh…aye, aye, I suppose I could do that,” she said. “Are ye sure he willnae mind?”

“Very sure,” Eithne told her. “Off ye go.”

The lady-in-waiting curtseyed at both of them and hurried off. When she was gone, Ivor chuckled and gave Eithne a look. “Ye’re terrible.”

“I ken,” she replied, getting up and moving closer to him. She sat on his lap, her arms around his neck, and he ran his hands up her back. “But I also ken that’s how ye like it.”

His hand found her hair and tilted her head downward, pulling her into a deep kiss. Twenty years had passed, and every one of Ivor’s kisses still sent desire and need through every one of Eithne’s senses.

“I love ye, madwoman,” he breathed against her.

“And I ye, me mercenary Laird. And I ye.”

***

Caoimhe knew that Lady MacDonnell hoped that she would soon be engaged to Killian Sinclair. In fact, Caoimhe delighted in it – it made her own plans so much easier.

Since her mother had died eight years ago, Caoimhe had no place to go but here. She had nothing but the knowledge of her noble father and how he had been unjustly slain the same year that Caoimhe was born – just a few nights after her conception, in fact.

He loved me mither even though she was just a commoner. He came across as harsh, but he didnae mean a word of it. And when he died, he left her with her greatest reward – me.

That’s what Caoimhe’s mother had always said anyway. She’d raised Caoimhe alone until the sickness hit her, teaching her skills and tricks with hidden knives that most women could never dream of.

That was why she had come to MacDonnell. That was why she had fought and worked until she was the lady-in-waiting of Lady Eithne herself. Because she was here for her revenge. She’d honor her mother’s memory and avenge her father’s death.

Caoimhe knocked on the door to the laird’s son’s room. When he walked out and gave her his smile, she had to take a moment to reorient herself. He was a perfect blend of his parents – his father’s long red hair and muscular body, his mother’s strange crystal blue eyes. Sometimes, Caoimhe wondered what it could have been if she was a normal woman, able to love without deception. To be the wife of Kil Sinclair would undoubtedly be something.

But nay. Nay, I cannae do that. I cannae afford to think of such things. All he can ever be to me is a tool.

She explained to Kil why she was there. He nodded and said they could leave straight away.

Kil’s easygoing manner and jokes made it hard for Caoimhe to focus. When they were together like this, laughing and teasing, she almost felt like they were just an ordinary young couple, strolling into the village together.

“Are ye all right?” Kil asked her, breaking her out of her reverie as they strolled down the road toward the village. “Ye seem a wee bit lost.”

She blinked. “Just tired,” she assured Kil, slipping her hand into his. He didn’t pull away, and he smiled at her, both gestures making her heart beat faster. She truly longed to kiss him, just once, just to see what it felt like. She’d dreamed of it since they were both children.

Nay. Stop it, Caoimhe.

“Ye look fair bonny today,” Kil told her.

She thanked him, though a shiver of guilt ran through her. He was smitten with her; that much was clear. Perhaps he’d even propose to her soon. Caoimhe hoped so. She would wait until they were alone on their wedding night – or, failing that, she would seduce him.

Once he was naked before her, she’d take her knife and run it through his chest, watching his blood run down his chest and the light fade out of his crystal blue eyes.

It hurt her to think about it. She didn’t really want to hurt Kil, who she had come to care about. But what else was there for her to do at this point? In her twenty years of life, this had always been her only goal.

There was no choice. Caoimhe’s father had been cruelly slain by a mercenary and a woman who had pretended to love him, two who now pretended to be a proper Laird and Lady. Eithne had brutalized Caoimhe’s father, stabbing him until he was an unrecognizable mess. Eithne and Ivor seemed kind, but Caoimhe’s mother had told her the truth.

And that was why no matter how much she liked him, the day would come that Rory MacDuff’s unknown bastard daughter would be the one to end the life of Eithne and Ivor’s own son. Then, and only then, would her revenge be complete.

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