Author: Shona Thompson

 

March 1586, Castle Lennox, the Scottish Highlands
The Infirmary

“Open up, Alana!”

The deep male voice, so filled with urgency, pulled Alana suddenly from her reverie. Startled, unsure if she had imagined the voice, she jumped from her chair by the blazing hearth and stood poised, staring at the door to see if it came again.

She cocked her head as the sound of shuffling feet and the low rumble of men’s voices percolated through the door. I didnae imagine it… someone’s out there.

“Alana! I said open the door, we have an emergency!” The voice came again, and this time, it was followed by a heavy hammering on the door, which made it rattle in its frame.

“Comin’!” she called back, realizing it was Odhrán, Laird Lennox, outside her door. Picking up her skirts, she ran the short distance necessary to open it. “What is it?” she called, calm but concerned. If someone was hurt, her healing skills would be needed. She flung the door wide to admit her friend, employer, and protector.

Her eyes rapidly took in the imposing figures of Odhrán and his war captain Liam MacTavish standing on the threshold. Then they flicked to the scruffy individual sagging between them as they held him up. The man was huge, his long dark hair wild, and his clothes were stained and torn.

He lifted his head, shaking away damp locks of hair from his grimy face before his dark eyes met hers.

A soundless scream left her lips as she looked into them. She stumbled back, almost doubling over with shock, instantly recognizing the injured man as Liam’s elder brother Tadhg MacTavish. His handsome features were seared on her heart… the heart he had torn out and smashed to pieces years ago, when he had disappeared.

At the sight of him, a bilious rage rose up inside her, but she pushed it down. Because in that moment, all she could think about was that he was hurt, and she had to help him.

But ye dinnae have tae talk tae him or let him ken that ye care anymore about him than any other patient.

“What have ye done tae yersel’, ye damned fool?” she snapped at him scathingly, adopting a harsh, coldly professional attitude in order to control the whirlwind of emotions raging inside her.

“Somebody shot him,” Odhrán explained as he and Liam half-carried Tadhg inside. “With an arrow.”

“’Tis in me shoulder,” Tadhg muttered, appearing unnaturally bright eyed as he looked at her, a tell-tale sign that a fever could be developing. She made a mental note to deal with that.

“Is the arrow still in there?” she asked. Tadhg nodded, his face the color of old milk. He could die if infection sets in.

“Let me see,” she commanded. Odhrán and Liam moved aside to give her access. She frowned as she moved rapidly forward to inspect Tadhg’s shoulder. She had to stand on tiptoe, for even in his sagging state, Tadhg towered over her.

She was forced to stifle a horrified gasp to see the feathery fletching of the projectile sticking out of the shoulder joint through the fabric of his shirt. “It’s gone deep,” she murmured.

“Aye, it has, but if ye feel carefully with her fingers, ye can just feel the point under the skin on the other side. I was hopin’ ye may be able tae pull it out fer me,” Tadhg said, his deep voice laced with controlled agony, his eyes not leaving hers. “It came from behind and went straight through. I cut off the barb and most of the shaft. Most of what’s left is inside.”

“Hmm,” Alana said. Pursing her lips, she held her palm on his forehead and looked at his face critically for a few moments before lifting his eyelids and staring into his eyes. Heat rushed over her skin like goosebumps as he held her gaze.

“Put him on the bed,” she told Odhrán and Liam said finally. “Then wash yer hands. I’ll need yer help in getting the arrow shaft out.”

“Of course, anythin’ we can dae,” Odhrán assured her. He and Liam went to help Tadgh on to the bed, but he shrugged them off with his good shoulder.

“I’m nae broken,” he said irritably. “I still have the use of me legs.” As if to prove it, he swung himself onto the bed and made himself comfortable against the pillow.

“Ye can wash up over there,” Alana told Liam and Odhrán, pointing to a washstand across the room. While they did that, she went and fetched the equipment she needed as well as some herbs and salves for treating Tadgh’s wound. She cleaned her instruments with whisky, then filled a beaker with it and handed it to Tadhg.

“Drink that,” she ordered, handing it to him before pulling his shirt aside, picking up her shears, and beginning to cut away the filthy makeshift bandages surrounding the wound.

“All of it?” he asked, seemingly disconcerted by her request.

She gave him a cool glance. “Aye, it would be best if ye drank all of it because when I pull that arrow out, ’tis gonnae hurt like the devil.”

“It hurts like the devil now, so what have I got tae lose?” Tadgh joked weakly, putting the beaker to his lips and drinking deeply of the whisky. While they waited for the whisky to take effect, she distracted herself from his disturbing presence by continuing to remove the dirty clothing and exposing the shaft of the arrow itself ready for its removal.

The injury looked horrible. Where the arrow had entered, the surrounding flesh was swollen and bloody. It looked raw and bordering on infection. He might die of this! However much I hate him, I cannae let that happen.

When Tadhg was almost insensible, she said to the others, “Right, hold him tight will ye, please?” She used shears to cut off the fletching, so that when she located the arrowhead and exposed it using a sharp blade, she could use her pliers to pull on it and extract the remaining section of shaft in one go.

“Ready?” she asked her helpers, the blade poised in her hand as she steeled herself for the gory operation.

“Aye, ready,” they chorused.

A while later, after the tricky surgery was completed, and she had sent Odhrán and Liam away, she fancied she could still hear Tadgh’s roars of pain echoing about the cottage rafters. Now, as she moved about the room tidying away her supplies, she could only hear his gentle snores as he slept peacefully. She wanted to keep him under observation until he awoke.

She busied herself making up some salves and painkilling potions for him, trying to calm her confusion at having him so close.

“Alana.” His voice finally came, sending shivers up her spine, just as she knew it would.

She put down the pestle she was using to grind some leaves, wiped her hands on a clean cloth, and went over to him. Trying to maintain her cold, clinical approach, she once more tested his temperature with her hand and looked in his eyes.

“Alana, will ye speak tae me, please?” he said softly, trying to trap her with his gaze. She turned her head slightly, determined not to let him.

“The arrow came out cleanly. If ye dae everythin’ I say, then ye might make a full recovery, but that shoulder will always be a wee bit stiff,” she told him with deliberate brusqueness. “Ye may be developin’ a fever, so I’ve made ye somethin’ tae take fer it. It’ll help with the pain and help ye sleep. Ye’ll need plenty of rest until I give ye a clean bill of health.” She turned away and went back to her pounding, feeling his stare raking her back.

“Thank ye, but that wasnae what I wanted tae talk tae ye about,” Tadhg said.

She told herself not to answer, but it was just too hard to resist. Now she had done her work and judged him out of immediate danger, the anger was starting to take over.

“I cannae think of anythin’ we have tae say tae each other,” she replied as evenly as she could manage, for her heart was racing painfully in her chest.

“Ye ken that’s nae true.”

“I certainly dinnae. Ye were gone somewhere fer four years. I’ve moved on since ye left. I have nae interest in talkin’ with ye. I’ve more important things tae think of than waste time with ye.” She banged the pestle down into the mortar with barely restrained fury, her heart racing uncomfortably.

“Alana, please, listen tae me. Just give me a few moments, and I can explain everythin’ tae ye,” Tadhg tried again. His refusal to give up roused her anger further, and she whirled on him, still clutching the stone pestle in her hand like weapon.

He was watching her from the pillow, his handsome face pale and lined with pain. Seeing him like that tore at her, and it was hard not to melt and run to him, to kiss and embrace him. She clutched the pestle tightly, forcing herself to stay where she was.

“I told ye, I dinnae care about yer explanations. They’re of nae interest tae me. Now, please shut up and let me get on with makin’ this medicine fer ye.” She turned her back on him again, desperate to hide how truly shaken she was.

“Alana, dinnae dae this. I can explain if ye’ll just let me.”

The damn holding back her fury broke inside her, and she whirled around, advancing on him, brandishing the pestle. She stood over him, looking into his eyes coldly.

“I very much doubt ye could ever explain tae me satisfaction why ye walked out on me right before our weddin’, without so much as single word, and then stayed away fer four whole years!” She shouted the last words, seeing him flinch as they hit him. “And then ye come back, with an arrow in yer shoulder, speaking tae me as if nothing happened!”

“I understand ye are angry with me, and I ken I’ve hurt ye greatly. But that was never me intention. If only ye’d listen tae the truth—”

“Be quiet! I’ll hear nae more about it. I’ll dae me job and heal ye, but whatever ye say, whatever yer explanations, I dinnae care tae hear them. Ye almost destroyed me, Tadhg. I want naethin’ more tae dae with ye.”

“Alana, please,” he said, his eyes beseeching. His hand shot out and clasped her wrist, trying to get her to stay. She broke away, terrified by the hot, tingling current his touch sent shooting up her arm.

She glared at him, rubbing her wrist where his fingers had been. “Never tae touch me again,” she told him, her anger like cold fire now. “Ye broke me heart intae a thousand pieces, and then ye stamped on them. And now, after four years of silence, ye think ye can come strollin’ back intae me life and expect me tae welcome ye with open arms, is that it?

“Nay, of course, I dinnae—” he began, but she cut him off.

“Let me tell ye, Tadhg MacTavish, I’m nae the same lassie ye abandoned. Dinnae touch me, dinnae try tae speak tae me unless ’tis absolutely necessary. Because I care naught fer ye. I will never, ever trust ye again. And I’ll certainly never let ye hurt me again!”

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Prologue

Castle Lennox, the Highlands of Scotland, April 1582

Tadhg MacTavish could hardly believe he was actually going to marry the woman he had been lying to for weeks.

It was a balmy April afternoon, and he and his beautiful fiancée Alana MacIver were seated on a stone bench in a secluded part of the gardens of Castle Lennox. More accurately, he was sitting on the bench, while Alana was sitting on his lap, her arms twined around his neck, her lips smiling against his as they exchanged a loving kiss.

“It seems like we’ve waited forever fer this day. I cannae wait fer us tae be wed at last. I’ve loved ye so long, tae be yer wife will be like a dream come true!” Alana told him when their lips finally broke apart, and they looked deeply into each other’s eyes.

Tadhg gently brushed the backs of his huge fingers against her porcelain cheek, his heart overflowing with love for this outstanding woman who had just agreed to spend the rest of her life at his side. He marveled as always at her flawless beauty, the perfect geometry of her delicate features, the vivid blueness of her shining eyes, exactly the same shade as the periwinkles flowering nearby.

“I can hardly believe it mesel’,” he murmured, holding her fragile form close to his chest and pressing soft kisses to her shining dark curls. “I must be the luckiest man alive tae have won yer heart, Alana. Ye ken I’ll always dae me best tae make ye happy.”

“Aye, I ken it, me darlin’.” Her eyes full of love, she pushed his long dark locks back from his forehead and stroked his face, her small fingers alighting on his skin like butterflies, making it tingle.

Her touch was beguiling and spurred him to say, “I dinnae want tae wait too long before I make ye mine, Alana.”

“I dinnae want tae tae wait either,” she assured him, curling her fingers in his hair.

“So, when d’ye think we can have the ceremony?” he asked eagerly.

She thought for a few moments. “A month should be long enough tae prepare,” she replied. “There are lots of things tae dae. I’ll need tae have a wedding gown made, fer a start.”

“That long?” he asked jestingly, adding a plaintive note to his voice. “I was hopin’ ye’d say next week.” She laughed.

“A month? Aye, all right, that’s perfect. I’ll ask Liam tae be me best man. He’ll be happy tae oblige, I’ve nae doubt,” he said, referring to his younger brother, the war leader of Clan Lennox.

“And then there’ll be the weddin’ breakfast tae arrange. A big cèilidh, with lots of feastin’, music, and dancin’,” she said excitedly, her face radiant.

He hugged her closely. “It’ll be grand. The best day of me life,” Tadhg told her, kissing her once more, glorying in the sensation of her heart beating against him like a small bird nestling close to his chest.

“The best day of our lives,” she corrected him playfully, her soft, warm lips seeking his again.

Their clinch was suddenly interrupted when they heard a strange noise, a loud rustling in the nearby foliage. Alana stiffened with fright, clinging to Tadhg tightly.

“Ach, ’tis a rat or a mouse!” she cried. “Dinnae let it near me, Tadhg!”

“How can ye be so afeared of such a wee beastie?” he asked, unable to help laughing at her. “Dinnae worry, I’ll be yer knight in shining armor. I’ll always be here tae save ye.” Unless I have another secret tae keep, that is, he thought. He stood up, with her in his arms, and set her on her feet on the bench. “Just wait there,” he told her, still laughing as he unsheathed his sword and brandished it, “while I hunt down this wee hairy monster.”

“What’s all this about a monster?” Liam asked, suddenly appearing from an opening in the hedge surrounding them. “Why have ye got yer sword out, Braither? Are we under attack or somethin’?” he asked, his brows raised quizzically. The huge, muscular war leader, with his rugged good looks, tattoos, and battle scars, closely resembled Tadhg, though he was a little shorter. The brothers had the same long, wild, dark hair and dark eyes.

Tadgh sheathed his weapon and clapped his brother on the back. “Was it ye makin’ all that noise?” he asked. “Alana was afeared ye were a rodent comin’ tae get her.” He turned to Alana, who was still standing on the bench, her hands clasped anxiously at her waist. “There’s yer mouse, bonny lass, so dinnae worry, ye’re safe now,” he told her, putting his arms around her waist and lifting her down to the ground.

She smoothed her skirts, smiling up at them both a little sheepishly. “I’m awful glad ’tis ye, Liam, yet I feel a bit of a fool, I must admit.”

“That’s understandable,” Liam replied, smiling at her. “Ye certainly dinnae want them runnin’ up yer skirts and nibblin’ at ye,” he said teasingly, his eyes twinkling.

“Ach, dinnae say such things!” Alana cried with a shudder, which only made the brothers laugh more.

“So, Braither, ye’ve found our hidin’ place. What brings ye here?” Tadhg asked, wondering if this was the right moment to tell his brother the good news about him and Alana.

“Ye did, ye fool. Ye told me ye need tae speak tae the Laird about somethin’ important once he returned from huntin’. Well, he’s back, and he’s in his study right now. If ye wish tae go and talk tae him, now’s yer chance,” Liam explained.

“Right, thanks fer lettin’ me ken,” Tadhg replied, his smile fading. He did not relish an interview with Laird Murphy Lennox. He was a deeply unpleasant man at the best of times and best avoided. Unfortunately, Tadhg had no choice but to beard the lion in his den. He was employed by Laird Lennox as a scout for the clan, and he had recently returned from a field trip with important news to report to him. He had not told anyone else what he had learned during his last scouting mission.

He kissed Alana’s cheek. “I’d best go,” he told her regretfully. “But we’ll see each other at dinner later, eh?”

“Aye, all right, I’m due back at the infirmary tae help me maither anyway,” she replied. Her mother Ella was the castle healer, and Alana was her apprentice. Mother and daughter lived in a cottage that doubled as the infirmary in the castle grounds. She set off back to the infirmary, while the brothers began walking back to the castle.

“Looked like ye two were havin’ a moment back there,” Liam said good-humoredly.

“Ye could say that,” Tadhg admitted, “I’ll tell ye about it later when we’re all together at dinner.”

Liam grinned. “I cannae wait tae hear what it is. But tell me, why this urgency tae speak tae the Laird? Rather ye than me, Braither. The man grows more unpredictable every day.”

“Aye, ’tis true he seems tae enjoy his reputation of bein’ a bastard,” Tadhg agreed grimly, deliberately avoiding answering the question.

“So, are ye gonnae tell me or what?” Liam persisted, clearly curious as they approached the doors of the castle keep.

Tadhg let out a sigh. “’Tis nae that I dinnae want tae tell ye, but trust me when I say I cannae right now, nae until I’ve talked tae the Laird.”

“Fair enough,” Liam told him, “but just remember, whatever it is, I’ve got yer back, all right?”

“Thanks, Braither, that’s good tae ken.”

They stopped by the keep doors. “Well, I have work tae dae, so I’ll leave ye here,” Liam told him. “Good luck with the bastard.”

“I might need it. I’ll see ye at dinner,” Tadhg replied, dreading the forthcoming interview. The brothers parted, Liam heading to his office in the gatehouse, while Tadhg went inside the keep and took the hallway leading to Laird Lennox’s study. He was not a man who was easily scared, but the Laird always made Tadhg feel uneasy. Arriving at the study door, he braced himself for the meeting before knocking.

Murphy Lennox was alone, seated behind his enormous desk, which was covered with parchments and books. He was writing something and looked up as Tadhg entered, fixing his scout with his cold, gray stare. He was a tall, burly man with the powerful physique of a hardened warrior. His dark hair was cut short and streaked with white, and his face and hands bore the traces of the many battles he had had fought.

He put down his quill ad leaned back in his seat, a carved, box-like structure

that was more like a throne than an ordinary chair. “Ah, ’tis ye. So, ye’ve returned from yer mission at last, I see,” he said gruffly in his usual cold manner. He did not invite Tadhg to sit but kept him standing, as if to impress upon him that he was facing his superior. “I trust ye’re bringing me the important information I asked fer from the MacIver lands, which’ll soon belong tae me,” he added with a triumphant smile devoid of warmth. “I need tae plan me attack on MacIver, so let’s hear it. What have ye found out?”

Tadhg’s wished he did not have to report back what he had found out because it affected the woman he loved and meant to marry. Besides that, he saw no reason to attack the MacIver clan, but Laird Lennox seemed to have an insatiable desire to expand his power. Now, he had set his sights on destroying Laird MacIver and his family and taking over the clan and all their considerable assets for himself.

“I found out that yer suspicions were correct,” Tadhg began. “I managed tae find proof that Ella was indeed Laird John MacIver’s mistress.”

The laird gave another grim smile. “I thought as much. So, how come she ended up here, askin’ me fer sanctuary all those years ago?” he asked curiously.

“It seems Laird MacIver’s wife, the Lady Skye, found out Ella was carryin’ his child. Unbeknownst tae him, she had Ella run off with threats tae have her and her bairn killed if she ever came back,” Tadhg explained, hating himself for telling the tyrant what he wanted to hear when he knew he should be telling Alana all this.

Instead, he had been forced to keep it from her, praying she would never find out about it or that he had known about since his return from the mission. If she did, he feared she would see it as a betrayal and want nothing more to do with him. It was yet another reason to hate Lennox.

The laird rubbed his hands together, looking pleased. “So, the lassie Ella spawned, even though she’s illegitimate, is none other than John MacIver’s only living heir, eh?”

“Aye,” Tadhg agreed reluctantly. “Alana is his heir. But how does that serve ye?”

The laird looked at him sharply, his smile vanishing. “That’s me business, man, nae yers. Let’s just say that when ye want somethin’ from somebody, it never hurts tae have a bit of leverage up yer sleeve.”

The man’s devious air chilled Tadhg to the bone. He feared that by placing this information about Alana’s origins in his hands, he might use it as a weapon that could put her in danger. He had no idea what the laird meant when he talked about ‘leverage,’ but whatever it was, he did not like it one bit. Lennox was certainly ruthless enough to use Alana as a pawn in his games of conquest.

“So, MacIver has nay idea he has a living daughter, his true heir by blood?”

“None, as far as I could tell.” Tadhg shook his head. “He’s declared his adopted son Blaine MacIver as his heir.”

“Good.” The laird scrutinized Tadhg’s face. “Have ye mentioned this tae anyone else?”

“Nae. I wanted tae be sure the information was correct before I reported back tae ye,” Tadhg replied.

“And now ye’re certain ’tis correct?”

“Aye, I’m certain.”

“Then I’ll make sure ye keep it that way. I dinnae want MacIver or this Blaine findin’ out about Alana’s existence. As it stands, only ye and me ken that the lassie, whether born out of wedlock or nae, is the true heir, which means she could legally lay claim tae the clan. Especially if Blaine is out of the picture.”

“But why—” Tadhg began, growing more fearful by the moment about what this could mean for Alana.

But the Laird held up a horny hand to stop him and fixed him with a menacing look. “I cannae risk me plans getting ruined, man. I want ye tae get yer stuff and clear out of here before nightfall. And dinnae come back.”

Tadhg was confused. “What? Ye’re sayin’ I have tae leave the castle?”

“Are ye deaf? Did I nae just tell ye I want ye gone by nightfall?” Lennox asked coldly, glaring back at him. “I dinnae need ye tae go blabbin’ tae yer lover or her maither, or anyone else fer that matter.”

“But—” Tadhg began, unable to believe what was happening. But again, he was cut off.

“And if ye dinnae dae as I say and leave here for good, then I’ll have the lassie hanged. A dead heir will suit me well enough too, so dinnae question me. Now, get out.”

Chapter One

Castle Lennox, the Highlands of Scotland, October 1586
Four years later….

Alana hated being alone with Tadhg. Especially in her healer’s cottage, where the space was so scarce. He was seated on a chair, his left hand stretched out flat on the table. Alana was bending over it, using a cloth and hot water to clean a nasty gash across his knuckles which he had acquired during that afternoon’s training session. A tense silence that was almost palpable hung in the air between them.

She was uncomfortably conscious of his eyes upon her as she worked and was doing her best to ignore his gaze. “Is it always gonnae be like this?” he asked suddenly in his low, rumbling voice, sounding mournful. “Bein’ in the same room, nae speakin’ or even looking at each other?”

Annoyed that he should even dare to speak to her at all, she shot him a punishing glance before resuming her task. “What d’ye expect after ye went off and left me without so much as a word, disappearing fer four whole years just a month before we were supposed tae wed?” she asked tightly, feeling afresh the painful betrayal of his unexplained desertion.

He did not reply, and a silence full of unspoken words fell once more between them.

“But I’m back now. I’ve been back for six months,” he said after a while.

She paused and looked at him sharply. “Oh, so I should just forget what ye did then, should I? That ye walked out on me. Nay note, nay letter, nay word, fer four long years. And then, just after Laird Murphy died, ye suddenly turn up here again, as bold as brass, as if ye hadnae been away. And with nae explanation as tae why ye left or where ye’d been all that time. I’m just supposed tae welcome ye back with open arms, am I?”

Tadhg opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him with a raised hand, casting him a scornful look. “I havenae finished,” she said, dabbing at his wound ferociously and making him wince. “Ye honestly think I could ever trust ye again after that?”

“I can see yer point of view, but—”

Again, she cut him off. “I thought ye loved me as I loved ye. When ye went off like that, it broke me heart. I dinnae care that yer braither forgave ye without any questions asked. I’ll never forgive ye, never. And if ye think I’m ever gonnae let ye put me through that another time then ye can think again.”

Tadhg’s massive shoulders slumped, and he said nothing while she dressed the wound. Silence fell once more as she carefully wrapped a bandage around his hand to keep it clean. Angry and hurt as she was, secretly, she could not help still caring about him. And while she told herself she was being stupid for it, she nevertheless made sure to do a thorough job on his wound, worrying that he might get an infection despite herself.

“There, ’tis done. Dinnae get it wet. I’ll check it in two days. Ye can go now.”

Tadhg stood up, rolling down his shirt sleeve and taking his coat from the back of the chair. Taking care with the bandaged hand, he shrugged it on. “Thank ye. Alana, I wish ye would just hear me out, just listen tae what I have tae say,” he said sadly, his voice persuasive. But she knew there was danger in those dark eyes of his, and she refused to look at him.

“There’s naethin’ ye can say I want tae hear.” She turned away, carrying the bowl filled with bloody water and cloth over to a counter, giving her back to him. The tension crackled in the air between them, and she was unsure how much longer she could stand to be in the same room as him.

“Please, can we nae just? Like friends?” he tried again.

“Nay, we’re nae friends, and please dinnae speak tae me about it again.”

The following silence was suddenly shattered when there came a sharp rapping on the cottage door. Tadhg strode over to it and opened it.

“Maddison?” he said, sounding surprised, holding the door open for their good friend, Lady Lennox, to enter. “Is everythin’ all right? Ye seem in a bit of a hurry,” he added, frowning at her.

“Hold on, let me get me breath. I ran all the way here,” Maddison panted, her hand to her chest as she composed herself. She was a willowy, pale-faced beauty with long, dark hair. Her husband, the latest Laird Lennox, Odhrán, the deceased Murphy’s only son, was Tadhg and Liam’s closest friend since Alana could remember.

Alana went up to her. “Has someone been hurt?” she asked, expecting to hear that someone needed her help. “I’ll pack me things and come right away.” She made to fetch the medicine basket she always kept ready for emergencies, but Maddison put a hand on her arm and stopped her.

“Nay, ’tis naethin’ like that, Alana,” she told her, her breath returned to normal.

“Why d’ye need me then?” Alana asked, puzzled.

“A delegacy from Clan MacIver has arrived at the castle, and they’re demanding tae speak with ye and yer maither. They didnae ken she’s been gone these past two years. They’re talking with Odhrán right now, and they insist on speaking with ye.”

“Me?” Alana was flummoxed. “Why on earth would they want tae speak tae me? I dinnae even ken anybody from the MacIver clan.”

“I have nae clue, but maybe they need a good healer, and they’ve heard of ye by repute. Whatever it is, I think ye’d better come now and hear what they have tae say,” Maddison replied urgently.

“Aye, I suppose so. All right, let me get me shawl, and I’ll come with ye right away,” Alana agreed. “I suppose it’ll dae nay harm tae hear them out, though I cannae think what they might want with me.” She went to fetch her shawl from a peg by the door, and while she was doing that, Tadhg quietly asked Maddison, “Are ye sure they’re from Clan MacIver?”

She nodded. “That’s what they say,” she replied. A few moments later, she and Maddison left the cottage. Tadhg followed them, and Alana could not help but notice that a change had come over him. His whole demeanor had shifted. His expression seemed cold and closed off, his jaw set, and his dark eyes were unreadable. As they hurried through the gardens to the castle, she felt a familiar ache in her heart.

’Tis sad tae say, but he’s nae the man I used tae love.

When they entered the Great Hall, to Alana’s surprise, it appeared that everyone was waiting for her to arrive. They joined the delegation of strangers waiting near the laird’s table. Odhrán greeted her and Tadgh while Maddison took her place at his side.

“Alana, these gentlemen represent the MacIver clan. They’ve been sent here by Laird John MacIver, especially tae speak tae ye.” He gestured to the man at the head of the trio of delegates. He was a thin, ascetic looking fellow in Highland dress.

“Good day tae ye, miss.” He bowed to Alana gravely. “I’m Roger Huston, Laird John MacIver’s chef advisor. We come on a matter of great importance on his behalf. We beg tae speak with ye at once.”

Alana curtseyed, more perplexed than before as to what they wanted with her. “Good day tae ye, Sir. I’m mystified as tae why ye should come here and wish tae talk tae me. I’ve nae connection tae yer clan that I ken of. But if I may be of service tae ye, I’ll dae me best tae help,” she replied politely.

“I’d like tae ask ye a few questions, if ye dinnae mind,” Huston replied.

“I’ll answer them if I can,” Alana said.

“Is it right that yer maither passed away two years ago?” Huston asked.

Alana nodded. “Aye, she did.”

“I see,” Huston said, his high forehead crinkling. Then he asked, “May we have a word in private, Miss Alana?”

Alana glanced around her. She shook her head. “That’s nae necessary. The Laird and Lady Lennox are me trusted friends. Ye can say yer piece in front of them,” she told him, deliberately not mentioning Tadhg, who was standing mere feet away, listening. She met his eyes for a second and saw him roll his eyes at her omission.

“Very well,” Huston agreed. “Ye’ve been summoned tae an audience with the Laird MacIver’s right-hand, Blaine MacIver. Ye see, Laird John MacIver has been abducted, and Blaine has good reason tae believe that ye’re their only hope of finding a good alliance that’ll save him.”

“What? I ken naethin’ of any of this,” Alana exclaimed. “I dinnae understand at all. Why am I the only hope fer savin’ him?”

“Accordin’ tae old clan records, ye’re the only living child of Laird MacIver, never mind that ye’re illegitimate.”

Alana felt as though she had been punched, the shock was so great. “But surely, it cannae be true!” She stared at Huston in disbelief.

“I can assure ye, ’tis true,” the advisor said, scrutinizing her face as he spoke. “Even without the records or the midwife’s word that she delivered ye, there can be nae mistake. Ye’re a copy of yer faither.”

On hearing that, for she had never known her father, Alana thought it was possible that she could have a connection with Laird MacIver. At least, she could not rule it out. She turned to Maddison and Odhrán.

“Dae ye ken anythin’ about this?” she asked, even though she could see they looked as surprised as she felt.

They both shook their heads. “Nay, this is the first I’ve heard of it,” Odhrán said. “What d’ye want tae dae, Alana? Ye dinnae have tae go with them if ye dinnae want tae,” he added, reassuring her. She thought it over, conscious that everyone was waiting for her to speak.

“Well, this is certainly a bolt from the blue. I hardly ken what tae think. But I have tae admit, I’m curious tae learn more about the situation and tae try tae understand it. Maybe I should go with them and meet this Blaine.” She paused, shooting a swift glance at Tadhg. His face was a cold mask. For some reason, the sight helped her take make her mind up. “All right. I’ll come with ye. But as tae Laird MacIver bein’ abducted, I cannae promise tae be of any help.”

“Very well. I understand,” Huston told her with a slight nod of agreement.

“Are ye sure about this, Alana? Like Odhrán says, ye’re nae obligated tae go if ye dinnae wish tae,” Maddison piped up, looking dubious.

“Nay, ’tis all right, Maddy. I’d like tae go and see if what they say is true. If Odhrán will give his permission that is,” Alana said decisively, having made up her mind.

“Of course, ye have me permission,” he assured her.

“I’ll arrange for one of the village healers tae stand in fer me while I’m gone,” she said. “Hopefully, the trip will nae take too long. I’d just like tae speak tae this Blaine and find out what all this madness is really about.”

“Well, I’m happy fer ye tae go if that’s what ye want,” Odhrán interjected. “But I’m nae sure it would be safe fer ye tae travel alone with the delegation. They’re strangers. We cannae just simply trust they’re who they say they are.” He flicked a glance at Huston, adding. “Nay offence.”

“None taken, me Laird. We share yer concerns fer the lady’s safety,” the advisor replied graciously. “Perhaps she would like tae follow us and travel under yer protection instead.”

“Aye, I would,” Alana said, secretly relieved at the suggestion. She did not fancy traveling with a party of strangers, however innocent their intentions might appear. She had no guarantee that what Huston had told her was true, and as Odhrán had pointed out, there was no reason to trust them. She secretly hoped he would arrange for somebody trustworthy to accompany her on the journey.

She was taken aback when Tadhg suddenly stepped up. “She’ll nae be alone. She’ll be travelin’ with me,” he declared boldly, with an air of finality. Taken completely by surprise, Alana could only stare at him.

Huston looked at him curiously. “And who might ye be?” he asked.

Tadhg did not hesitate. “I’m her husband,” he said. 

 

 

Her mother’s murder had changed everything, and as Evelyn Sinclair gazed out of her bedroom window and looked up at the stars, she could not help but wonder if her mother might be gazing back.

Where dae souls go when they die?

The pastor had said her mother was in heaven, but then why did Evelyn feel her close by on occasion? Did she come down from heaven just to be with her, or had her spirit never left?

She wished she knew, but everyone she asked gave her a different answer. Some told her she was with the gods, others told her heaven, still others told her that she was with Evelyn right now, and had never left her. It was all very confusing. Wherever she was, Evelyn hoped she was now at peace. Her greatest wish, of course, would have been for her mother to still be alive, never having left her, but it was only that, a wish. A wish that could never come true.

“I miss ye, Maither,” Evelyn whispered while gazing out into the night sky. “I miss ye so much.”

It had been nine months since her passing, and though the ache in Evelyn’s heart had eased a little, there were days when the grief nearly overwhelmed her. Her mother had been snatched too soon – with them one day, and gone the next. What Evelyn would give for one last warm hug or one last tender kiss. She hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.

Her father, Laird Donald Sinclair, had been inconsolable ever since. Cocooned in his study when he was not leading a battle against Laird Keith’s men, his mood had affected everyone across Sinclair Castle and beyond. Once an affectionate man who welcomed his daughters with open arms, he had barely spoken to them, and both Evelyn, and her younger sister, Yvaine, had been forced to come to terms with their mother’s death on their own.

At least they had each other, for now.

Talk had travelled through the castle that her father had been considering an alliance to protect them from the heinous machinations of Laird Keith. The man who had murdered her mother.

Of course, along with the alliance, there was bound to be a union, an arranged marriage. Evelyn was the oldest, and thus, it was obvious it would be she who was sent away and married off. Upon hearing the gossip, Evelyn had been distraught. In a conversation with her sister only that morning, she had worriedly expressed her fears.

“He will marry me off tae some old man,” Evelyn had said, pacing the floor of the drawing room the sisters were in.

“Evelyn, they are only rumors,” Yvaine had soothed.

“Ye ken as well as I, that there is nae smoke without fire, Yvaine,” Evelyn had retorted. “Besides, it makes perfect sense. I’ve overheard the soldiers talking in the stables. They fear our army isnae strong enough tae take any more assaults. We’ve already lost so many men. Faither needs help. There will be an alliance, and I bet all o’ me possessions that it will be agreed by marriage.”

“I think ye’re jumping tae conclusions,” Yvaine had replied. “Besides, if Faither was tae dae such a thing, dae ye nae think he would have come and spoken tae ye about it by now?”

“Och, aye,” Evelyn had replied with sarcasm. “Because he’s been so forthcoming with conversation these last few months, hasnae he?”

Yvaine had sighed and shrugged. “All right, maybe he wouldnae come and tell ye. I still think ye’re running ahead o’ yersel’. What’s the point o’ getting so flustered when ye dinnae even ken it’s true?”

Evelyn had looked Yvaine straight in the eye, and pressing a hand to her stomach, she had said, “Because I feel it in me gut, sister. I dinnae need tae guess. I just ken it.”

Now, as she continued to gaze up at the bejeweled sky, wondering where her mother’s spirit was, Evelyn suddenly gasped at the sight of a shooting star. Closing her eyes tight, she made a wish.

“I wish tae find true love,” she whispered. “If I am tae marry, let it be tae a man I can fall in love with.”

When she opened her eyes again, the star was gone, but Evelyn continued to search the sky in case of another.

Was her wish too much to ask for?

Her mother and father had been completely in love, and Evelyn had spent her entire life watching the way they treated each other. Mary, her mother, always soft spoken and elegant, had gazed adoringly at her husband on many occasions, and her father had worshipped the very ground her mother walked upon.

Evelyn was certain they had their disagreements but if they did, they were never in public, for she could not recall one time where her parents had been at odds with each other.

She wanted that kind of love. The kind of love where her husband looked upon her like she was the only woman on earth. That’s how her father had looked at her mother, and that was what she wanted for herself.

Evelyn sighed and pushed herself from the window. Padding across the room, she climbed into bed and slipped beneath the coverlets. From what she had seen, her mother and father’s love was one of a kind. In fact, at all the gatherings and parties her family had attended, she could not recall one time when she had seen other couples acting in such a manner.

“Perhaps it is a one o’ a kind sort of love,” she sighed, snuggling her head into her pillow and sleepily closing her eyes. “Perhaps it only happens once over many lifetimes. And perhaps, I will never be as lucky as Maither and Faither.”

The following morning, Evelyn was surprised to see her father sitting at the breakfast table. As she entered, Yvaine gave her a cursory glance before returning to buttering her bread.

The atmosphere was heavy when Evelyn settled herself, and wanting to break the tension, she turned to the head of the table.

“Good morning, Faither.”

He had been staring at the plate in front of him, and at her words, he looked up as though surprised to see her. Clearly, he had been in such a fixed state, he had not even noticed her entrance.

“Aye. Good morning,” he grunted.

Silence resumed as he poured his tea, and then ate the scone in front of him, all the while with his eyes lowered. Yvaine looked across the table at Evelyn, and jerked her head toward him, silently asking her to speak to him again, but Evelyn frowned, for in truth, she had no idea what to say. However, the tension was, once again, unbearable, and taking a deep breath in, she looked back to her father.

“Are ye well this morning, Faither?”

He raised his eyes slowly to look at her, and for the longest moment, he didn’t speak, as though he had not heard her question. Stranger though, was the way he looked at Evelyn. He looked pained, troubled, as though a great weight sat upon his shoulders.

“Nae,” he said eventually. “I am nae well at all. In fact, I have news tae tell ye that pains me greatly.”

Evelyn’s pulse quickened, and flashing a glance at Yvaine, who now looked worried, she took her gaze back to the tired and weary man who sat beside her. Too scared to ask what news he had, Evelyn could only sit there in trepidation, waiting for the words she knew were to come.

“We are struggling, Evelyn. With Keith’s attacks, our losses are great. In fact, the army now holds half the men it did six months ago. We cannae sustain this onslaught for much longer, and the only way tae avoid further attacks is if I make an alliance with another clan.”

Every part of her stiffened at his words, for just as she had predicted, the rumors were true.

“But this alliance brings with it stipulations.” The older man heaved a sigh, and did not speak for another moment.

Evelyn wanted to grab him and shake the stipulations from him, but instead, she sat there, as still as death, waiting for the inevitable.

“Ye are tae be married, Evelyn,” her father said plainly. “I ken these are nae the words ye want tae hear. I dinnae particularly want tae be speaking them. But the fact o’ the matter is this. Without this alliance, the clan will soon be whittled down tae naething. Without an army, we cannae defend ourselves. And once we cannae defend ourselves, Laird Keith will break through our walls and take whatever he desires.” He looked at her intently. “Including ye.” He then looked at Yvaine. “And ye.”

He sighed heavily and shook his head. Then he stood abruptly and stormed away from the table. Just as he was about to leave the room, he stopped and said, “Ye cannae ken how much this breaks me heart, Evelyn, but I must protect the clan.”

Then he left the room, leaving Evelyn and Yvaine to deal with whatever thoughts were passing through their minds.

“Ye were right,” Yvaine whispered, looking utterly devastated. “Och, Evelyn. I’m so sorry.”

But Evelyn lifted her chin. “Ye heard Faither. I have tae dae it. It’s fer the survival o’ the clan. Laird Keith has already taken too much from us. I refuse tae let him take anymore.”

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Chapter One

Mackay Castle, the wedding of Laird Cathal Mackay

“We are surely going tae be hanged for ruining this wedding, Yvaine,” Evelyn Sinclair hissed at her younger sister. “We shouldnae be here.”

“Och, will ye stop fretting,” Yvaine replied evenly. “Dae ye nae remember why we came? We’re supposed tae be having some fun. Besides, our clan was invited. Ye ken that. If Faither had accepted, we’d have come here with him.”

They were slowly moving through the many people who already filled the corridor. Laughter and boisterous conversations met their ears, the women giggling, and the men guffawing. Tankards spilled their contents as the merrier guests hardly seemed to care where their drink ended up, and a faint trickle of music danced on the air as the sisters made their way to the great hall of Mackay Castle.

Evelyn brushed her long, dark blonde hair behind her ear and moved closer to her sister as they continued to maneuver through the crowd. “Aye, well,” she whispered. “There was never a chance o’ that happening. He’s nae the same anymore, so distant and secluded. He can barely look us in the eye, never mind anybody else.”

Yvaine looked at Evelyn sadly. “He did lose his wife, Evelyn.”

“And we lost our maither,” Evelyn countered. “But it has been a year already. He cannae mourn forever.”

“It isnae the same fer him. Ye ken that he blames himself. She was murdered tae punish him, and he cannae get past that.”

Evelyn could hardly argue, and perhaps her anger for her father’s lack of affection masked the sadness she felt for him and for herself. Their mother and father had adored each other, anyone with eyes had seen it. After her mother’s murder, her father, Laird Donald Sinclair, had not been the same.

She did try to understand how hard it was for him, but she and Yvaine had lost someone precious too. They had needed him over the last year. They had needed his love and support as they dealt with their own feelings of grief. But he had not been there for them. A part of him had died with his wife, and Evelyn had wondered, over the last months, if he would ever return from the darkness that still surrounded his being.

The further into the castle they ventured, the more her nerves grew. This was not something she or Yvaine would normally do. Holding integrity in high esteem, they didn’t break the rules. Evelyn fingered the necklace at her throat. It was a gift from her mother, and thus, more precious to her than anything else she owned. Yvaine was right. Their clan had been invited, but her father had declined, and thus, none of the Sinclair clan were expected to be there. More than that, though, Donald Sinclair did not know his daughters had sneakily left the castle that evening and travelled the couple of hours to attend the wedding feast of Laird Mackay.

It had been Yvaine’s idea.

***The previous afternoon, the sisters had been walking in the gardens of their father’s castle. Yvaine had been trying to cheer Evelyn up, but there was nothing she could say to lift her spirits.

“Life isnae fair,” Yvaine had said. “What Faither is making ye dae isnae fair either.”

Evelyn had shrugged. “We need the alliance. What am I supposed tae dae? Run away? I have nay choice, Yvaine. I have tae marry him.”

“But ye havenae even met him. Faither is being cruel.”

Evelyn heaved a huge sigh. “I will meet him in a few weeks when we travel to Laird Audor Gunn’s castle,” she had murmured, a little frustration creeping into her tone.

The sisters had walked for a little while longer, when Yvaine had suddenly gasped, spun to look at Evelyn, and blurted, “I have an idea.”

Evelyn had tilted her head, raised her eyebrows, and looked at Yvaine knowingly. “Ye cannae convince him. I’ve tried. He willnae listen.”

Yvaine shook her head. “It’s nae about Faither. It’s about Laird Mackay’s wedding.”

Evelyn frowned then. “What about it?”

“We should go,” Yvaine had blurted excitedly. “As a rebellion against yer destiny, we can sneak out and go tae Mackay Castle. I’ve heard it’s going tae be a huge affair. Laird Cathal Mackay is our ally, and besides, it will only take an hour or so tae reach them across the border o’ the clan lands.”

At first, Evelyn had been appalled. “That is a crazy idea. What if we get caught? What if Faither finds out? What if someone sees us?”

While Yvaine was someone who ordinarily would never go against her father, or anyone else for that matter, she surprised Evelyn with her answer. “Who cares? What possible punishment could be worse than forcing ye tae marry a man ye dinnae even ken? Ye deserve tae have a little fun and forget about everything. A final revolt before yer life is nae longer yer own.”

Evelyn had still been unsure. They would be taking a huge risk. But upon seeing Yvaine’s eagerness and knowing that even suggesting such a thing went against her character in every way, Evelyn had realized her sister was doing this for her. She was willing to risk getting into trouble just so Evelyn could have one night of freedom.

“All right,” Evelyn had finally agreed.

***Once in the great hall, Evelyn’s nerves settled a little. Perhaps it was the joyous atmosphere of laughter, or the sight of people dancing to the thump of the bodhran drum, the fiddle, and the tin whistle.

“Ye see,” Yvaine smiled, handing Evelyn a drink, “are ye nae glad we came now?”

“I am,” Evelyn replied. “But if Faither discovers it, I’m going tae tell him it was all yer idea.”

Yvaine burst into laughter. “And I will tell him it was yers.”

The two sisters giggled at each other, and feeling a little more relaxed, they began to mingle with the other guests. Evelyn discovered that people had travelled from across the country to attend the wedding. Laird Mackay was a good man with a fine reputation. Unlike many other lairds, he was neither bloodthirsty nor power mad, which, she supposed, was one of the reasons her father had allied with him many years before.

Evelyn and Yvaine had just left from conversing with a young lass, when Yvaine found herself grabbed by a hand. Evelyn watched as a tall and handsome man jerked his head toward the middle of the room.

“Come and dance with me?” he yelled over the music and boisterous noise of the gathering.

The question was asked while he pulled Yvaine along with him, and thus, she hardly had a chance to refuse. But she was laughing as she went, and watching her go, Evelyn smiled widely at her sister having such fun.

Feeling a little out of place, given she was now left to stand by herself, Evelyn carefully threaded through the crowd and made her way to the back corner of the room. Picking her spot, she stood and watched the guests having fun with laughter and rowdy conversation. But even as she was surrounded by such gaiety, a sadness slowly washed over her as thoughts of her future arose in her mind. Her father had arranged her marriage for the betterment of the clan. They needed this alliance, she knew that, and that had been the reason that she had not argued or fought his decision.

Self-sacrificing as always, Evelyn knew she had to put the clan before her needs and desires. Her mother’s murder had been a punishment. A dreadful circumstance that Evelyn did not want repeated. Marrying Laird Ardor Gunn would ensure that, and thus, what choice did she really have?

“What’s a pretty young lass like yersel’ doing standing alone in the corner?”

Evelyn had been too lost in her thoughts to see anyone approach, but at the sound of that question, she turned her head and lifted her eyes. A handsome man stood there smiling down at her. A little taken aback at his forwardness, Evelyn did not know what to say in reply, and thus, stood there gawping at him.

“Cat got yer tongue?” he drawled, his mouth forming a lob-sided grin.

“I, er, nay. It’s just…” Evelyn floundered.

“Ye’ve never spoken tae a man ‘afore?” he joked, taking a step toward her.

Still not certain of her words, and feeling caught off guard, she nodded and shook her head at the same time.

This elicited a deep chuckle from the man’s throat. “Is that an aye or a nae? I cannae tell with yer head bobbling about like it’s nae attached tae yer neck.”

“O’ course, I’ve spoken tae a man ‘afore,” she said when she finally found her voice.

“Just nae such a handsome one.” He grinned widely.

She couldn’t tell if he was joking or just arrogant, but this interaction did not feel particularly pleasant, so she deduced the latter. Not wanting to be rude, her mind scrambled to find a way out of her circumstances.

“So here ye are, a beautiful lass, and here I am, a handsome man, both alone at the ball. I declare that such a circumstance is a tragedy.”

“I’m sure there are plenty o’ lasses here who would be delighted tae have the pleasure o’ yer company,” Evelyn replied carefully, hoping the man would take the hint to find another lass to pursue.

The man took another step closer, his arm leaning on the wall beside her as he towered above her. “And what about ye?” he growled huskily. “Would ye nae like the pleasure o’ me company?”

“That’s nae what I meant,” she said quickly. “It’s just, ye ken, there are many lasses here.”

“Indeed, there are,” he growled again. “But I’m nae talking tae any o’ them. I’m talking tae ye. Dae ye nae find me handsome?”

Evelyn nodded just to placate the man, but her heart was thumping with fear and anger at the same time. “Ye are, indeed, a very handsome man.” Her words sounded shaky, and she felt her hands tremble with ire. Who daes he think he is tae speak tae a woman like this?

He chuckled again. “Ye’re a nervous wee thing. But very beautiful. I’ll bet those lips are as soft as heather.”

Unconsciously, Evelyn gasped. Could this man be any more rude?

By his raised eyebrows as he waited for her answer, he clearly did not think his behavior rude at all, which was concerning. Perhaps if she just answered him, he would be on his way. If he thought she lacked experience and was not as flirtatious as other lasses he had, no doubt, harassed, he might just leave her alone.

She huffed. “I’ve never been tempted tae kiss a man who isnae me husband.”

His eyes widened at that remark, and clearly surprised, he seemed lost for words. And yet, he still did not leave. Her plan had not worked as she hoped it might, and now stumped, Evelyn could not think of another way to be rid of him. Maybe she was going to have to be as rude as he, and simply walk away.

The man grinned mischievously down at her. “Maybe I could—”

“I dinnae think the lass is interested,” a deep voice came from somewhere behind the leering man’s shoulders.

Pushing himself from the wall, the persistent pest turned to look behind him. Evelyn struggled not to gasp again, for the man stood there was not only the most handsome man she had ever seen, he was also huge. He was a great wall of a man, nearly as tall as he was broad, with blonde hair. He had the look of a Viking and his piercing green eyes were currently locked in some kind of battle with the man now standing facing him.

“I dinnae think it’s any o’ yer damned business,” the man growled.

“It is when ye’re making the lass feel uncomfortable,” her savior, may the Gods bless him, growled back. “And, clearly,” he nodded toward Evelyn, “ye are.”

“We were just talking.”

“Nay,” the huge man replied. “Ye were talking. She was terrified. Now, move on, before I move ye on.”

For a second, the arrogant pursuer stood his ground, clearly too proud to do as he was told. The huge man then straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest. The action made him look three inches taller.

“Fine,” the other man submitted. Trying to maintain his dignity as he shifted, he said, “She’s a prude anyway.”

Evelyn looked mortified, but relief flooded through her as he turned on his heels and stormed away.

Her savior watched the man go, before turning back to her. Taking a step forward, he gazed down at her with concern. “Are ye all right?” His tone was now far gentler than only seconds before.

For a moment, Evelyn was too lost in his swirling green eyes to answer. He was striking, as though the gods had carved his face by their own hand. Her own face flooded with heat again at what had transpired, and suddenly, she felt the need to escape. She wanted to be anywhere but there.

“Ye must excuse me,” she said hurriedly. “I need a breath o’ air.”

Before he had chance to reply, she darted around him and moved quickly out of the great hall.

Hurrying down the corridor, avoiding the eyes of those merrily celebrating around her, she rushed around a corner. That corridor was far quieter, and with no other people around, she tried the handle of the first door she came to. Evelyn, looking about her and realizing it was a library, stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. Leaning her body against it, she took in a deep breath.

Pushing herself off the door, she paced back and forth in the room. The experience had unnerved her, and try as she might, she could not rid her mind of what might have happened had she not have been saved. Either she’d have been forced against her will, or she’d have ended up scratching the oaf’s eyes out.

But all is good now, Evelyn. Ye are safe. Ye need tae calm yersel’.

Yes, she did. She also needed to go and find Yvaine. It was getting late. They still had an hour or so to travel, and as fun as sneaking away to the Mackay’s wedding had been, she did not want her father to discover they had left.

Straightening her dress, she turned to walk towards the library door, when it opened, and the huge, handsome stranger stepped inside. Upon discovering her, he frowned with concern. “There ye are. Are ye all right, Miss?”

Evelyn automatically stepped back. “I am fine. Thank ye.”

He shook his head. “Ye didnae look too fine when I found ye. MacKinley is a rake at best, but he has the awareness o’ a snail.”

A trickle of laughter fell from Evelyn’s lips, and, at the same time, the tension that had wound in her body seemed to ease.

“I apologize. I didnae even thank ye fer yer intervention. So, thank ye. He certainly is a persistent man.” And a halfwit.

“Aye,” the huge man rolled his eyes. “That’s putting it mildly.” He paused for a second, before looking at her carefully. “But I can understand his interest.”

Evelyn’s eyebrows went up.

“Nay, please.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m naething like him. I’m merely observing the fact that ye are a very beautiful lass. That’s all.”

She felt her face flush and dropped her gaze at his words. In stark contrast, she did not fear this man like she had the other. His words were kind, and even the way he looked at her was different. His gaze was gentle, whereas MacKinley had leered at her like she was something to eat.

“Thank ye,” she breathed, feeling as though it was good manners to acknowledge the compliment.

He took another step toward her. It was slow and measured. He still watched her carefully, as though he was gauging how his approach might affect her. “I couldnae help overhearing some o’ yer conversation,” he said in a tender tone.

“Really?” Evelyn replied, now feeling a little breathless. Perhaps it was the way he was gazing at her. Perhaps it was the fact that he was indeed, a striking specimen of a man.

“Aye,” he said, taking another step. He was now only a few feet away. “I heard ye tell MacKinley that ye’ve never been kissed ‘afore.”

Another wave of heat washed over Evelyn, and again, she dropped her gaze. “I only said that tae be rid o’ him,” she breathed.

“Is that right?” the man said softly.

Evelyn felt his finger under her chin as he lifted her head. She looked up at him, her heart thumping like a drum in her breast.

“So, ye have been kissed ‘afore?” he continued, his eyes gazing into hers as though he were searching her soul for the truth. Could he see? Could he tell that she was lying?

“I, er. Well.” Evelyn flustered. She then shook her head. “The truth is, I have never been kissed.”

He took on more step forward and closed the gap between them. “That is a tragedy,” he whispered. “Wouldnae ye like tae ken what it feels like?”

Evelyn gazed up at him, her nerves mixing with fear and desire.

“Ye can say nae,” he said. “The door is right there. I willnae stop ye from leaving.”

But Evelyn did not want to leave. Sparks were flying between them, her heart thumped, her stomach squirmed, and the desire for the man before her was growing by the second.

“I dinnae want tae leave,” she breathed.

The man nodded, and then she felt his huge hand resting gently on her slender neck. A second later, his lips were upon hers. As his tongue slipped inside her mouth, exploring, tasting, entwining with hers, she opened her mouth wider and grabbed his tunic to pull him in closer.

Her heart thumped, and breathlessly, she gave herself to him. Their lips clashed together, their tongues roving hungrily as though neither had eaten for days.

His other hand, which had sat upon her waist, now climbed higher and higher, and Evelyn suddenly gasped when his fingers cupped her firm breast. Her nipple hardened, and upon finding it, the man growled as Evelyn moaned.

“Are ye sure ye’ve never been kissed ‘afore?” he whispered, his hot breath dancing upon her lips.

Evelyn could hardly speak, and while a small whimper left her lips, she shook her head. Threading her fingers through his hair, she caressed his neck, and felt a scar just below his left ear. I wonder where he got that?

It was the strangest thought under the circumstances, but the thought left as quickly as it had arrived as the man continued to speak.

“Then ye must never have been touched ‘afore either,” he said huskily, caressing her nipple and making it peak even harder.

“Oh, God,” she gasped.

Evelyn was feeling a lot of sensations she had never experienced before. Apart from her heart thumping so hard she thought it might burst from her rib cage, her stomach clenched and twisted, and she felt a moistness at the apex of her thighs.

“I wonder what ye taste like?” he growled again. “I would love tae be the first tae taste ye.”

At first, his words did not make any sense. He had tasted her… But the more she thought about them, however, the more she realized what he meant. The man was indeed handsome and huge, and under any other circumstances, she would have been delighted.

Life isnae fair. Imagine if I were nae betrothed tae be married. Imagine if I had the chance tae be with a man who excited me as much as I am excited in this very moment. But ye are betrothed, Evelyn. What the devil are ye doing?

As that thought flew through her mind, Evelyn quickly stepped back. She watched the surprise on the man’s face, and then she blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Seconds later, she spun on her heels, grabbed the door handle, and ran from the room.

And as he had promised, he didn’t follow her.

Chapter Two

Three weeks later, Gunn castle…

Benedict Gunn sat in a high-backed chair next to the roaring fire in his brother’s study, swirling the amber liquid around in the glass he lightly held in his hand. Audor, his twin brother, and laird of Clan Gunn, remained at his desk, examining rent payments.

“I still dinnae ken how ye can dae it,” Benedict said. “Marrying fer an alliance is one thing. But marrying a woman ye’ve never even met is a different thing entirely.”

Audor lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow. “We cannae all have romantic liaisons in the library, braither.”

“Fer all that came o’ it,” Benedict huffed.

“Ye are pining fer her,” Audor chuckled. “In fact, I’d go as far as tae say ye’re obsessed. I still cannae believe ye didnae catch her name. I tell ye, Benedict, ye are losing yer touch.”

Absently, Benedict brought his fingers to his lips as he remembered that kiss. His mouth had been too busy doing other things. Asking her name had not been important at the time. He supposed there might have been a chance afterward to do so, but it had ended as quickly as it had started, and then, she was gone.

“Obsessed is a bit o’ a strong word,” Benedict countered.

“Aye, maybe ye’re right. I mean, it’s nae like ye’ve been talking about her non-stop since it happened, right?” Ardor said, giving him a smug look.

Benedict could hardly deny it. In fact, he had been on a mission ever since, trying to discover who the lass was. Anyone he had spoken to had no idea who he was talking about, and other than being able to describe how beautiful she was, he really had nothing else to go on. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

“I’m sure ye’ll meet up with her again,” Audor said. “She cannae be from such a distance if she was at Laird Mackay’s wedding.”

“Och, come on, Audor. Did ye see how many people were there? Did ye speak tae some o’ them? I spoke tae nae less than five people who had travelled from the far coast in the east.” Benedict shook his head. “It is hopeless. Nae one kens who she is, nor dae I have any clue where tae start looking.”

“Then I’ll just have tae find ye another pretty lass tae take yer mind off this one.” Audor grabbed the papers he had been examining and shuffling them together into a neat pile, he placed them on one side of his desk. Standing, he moved to the dresser and poured himself a drink, and then joined his brother at the fire.

“Besides,” he said, lowering himself down in a matching chair, “me wedding will occur shortly. I’m certain there will be plenty o’ lasses tae choose from there.”

“Aye, I’m sure that will make it all better,” Benedict replied sarcastically, giving his brother a knowing look.

Audor smirked at him, before taking a sip of his drink and turning his gaze to the flickering flames of the fire. “I may have tae be away again in a couple o’ days. If that is the case, I’ll need ye tae cover fer me once more.”

Benedict gazed at his brother. “Can ye nae tell me anything about what ye’re doing?”

“I’ve already told ye. It’s safer if ye dinnae ken. It’s safer if nay one kens right now. That’s why I’m nae telling the council. The only people that ken I’m away are ye and Killian.”

“Aye, only because he’s the only one who can tell us apart,” Benedict replied.

“Believe me, braither. It’s fer the best.”

By Audor’s tone, Benedict knew not to push the subject any further. He wished he could help him with whatever it was he was doing, but if Audor wouldn’t let him in on his plan, there was little he could do about it. If there was one thing Audor was good at, it was protecting his clan.

Loyal to a fault, he had always been an honest man, though he had been thrown into his lairdship far too young. Seven years had passed by so quickly, but not so quickly that either Benedict or Audor would ever forget the murder of their parents. They had only been three and twenty when it happened. Grown men they might have been, but neither of them was ready or had the experience to take control of the clan. And yet, they had been given little choice.

With their father gone, Audor had taken the lairdship and had been thrown into responsibilities he knew little about. The council had, of course, supported him completely, and now, seven years later, and at the age of thirty, his brother was a respected laird across the land.

“How long will ye be gone fer this time?”

Audor shrugged. “It’s hard tae tell, but—”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and once Audor had bid the person to enter, they both turned to see Killian striding into the study. While he was the twins’ cousin, he looked nothing like either of them. His hair was short and black, his eyes were a deep blue, and the many battle scars across his body made him look more than intimidating.

When Killian’s parents were murdered, he had been just a boy six years old. Being his brother’s son, Laird Darragh Gunn, Benedict and Audor’s father, had taken him in and raised him as his own. Cousins they might be, but they were as close as brothers. Besides, it was not just family ties that bound them. They had all sustained the same wound. A wound that could not be seen with the naked eye. A wound that was deep and painful. Each of them had lost parents to murder, and while Benedict and Audor did, on occasion, speak about it, Killian remained closed down.

He was the best warrior in the clan. But Benedict knew that each battle took much more out of him than it might another man. After a drunken night where Killian, with loosened lips, had spoken of his pain, he had confessed to Benedict that he saw each and every enemy as though they were the one who had killed his parents.

His cousin hid his pain well, though. On the outside, he was easy-going and fun to be around. He liked the lasses and had bedded more than Benedict could number. He had always wondered, though, if that, too, had something to do with the burden he carried.

“A rider has informed me that Laird Sinclair and his entourage have been spotted on the hill,” Killian said, getting straight to the point. “Yer bride will likely be at the castle in the next half hour. We will meet them at the gates.”

“And good day tae ye, too, Killian,” Benedict teased.

Killian gave Benedict a playful scowl.

“Thank ye, Killian. Get a drink. Come, join us.” Audor gestured to a chair.

After filling a glass, Killian dropped himself down beside the brothers. “Are ye nervous?” he said, looking directly at Audor.

Audor shook his head and frowned. “What is there tae be nervous about? I’m getting married, nae going intae battle.”

“I dinnae ken,” Killian shrugged with a smirk, “some men might tell ye it’s the same thing.”

The men laughed at that comment.

“I’d be more worried about what yer future bride looks like,” Benedict added. “Ye’ve never met her. She might resemble a moose.”

Audor snorted at that comment, but Killian shook his head. “I think ye may be wrong there, Benedict. From what I’ve heard, both the Sinclair sisters are bonnie wee lasses.”

“Och, well. That’s all right then. She might nae have a brain in her skull, but at least she’ll be a pretty charm on yer arm,” Benedict sniggered.

“Aye, well. At least I ken where me sweetheart is, which is more than ye can say fer yers.”

Killian chuckled at that comment, and threw a knowing look at Benedict. “As usual, yer braither is right.”

“Aye. And doesnae he ken it?” Benedict growled playfully.

The men finished the last dregs of their drinks, and then Audor stood. “We should make a move here. I dinnae want our guests arriving without a proper welcome.”

When the three were out in the corridor, Killian continued the conversation. “Ye’re getting a rare privilege, Audor. Nay one has seen Laird Sinclair since his wife’s murder. In fact, I hear he hasnae left his castle since it happened.”

“Aye, it’s a sad affair. But it’s the reason this marriage is going ahead. Laird Alisdair Keith wanted an alliance with Clan Sinclair, even though he’d been a rival for years.”

“Aye, I ken,” Killian said. “When Sinclair refused, Keith had Mary, his wife, brutally murdered. He is not a man.”

Killian sounded angrier than he ought, under the circumstances, but Benedict could only imagine it was the fact that yet another parent had been murdered that angered him.

“Well, Laird Keith hasnae stopped there. He’s been relentless in his attacks ever since, which is why Laird Sinclair and I agreed tae this alliance. Our clan will get lands and coin, and he will get the support o’ our larger army.”

“I just hope ye ken what ye’re doing, braither,” Benedict said with a sigh.

“Why are ye so against this alliance?” Audor asked firmly.

They were now making their way down the wide stone staircase, and at the bottom, Benedict came to a stop and looked his brother in the eye. “Fer a start, ye’ve never met this lass. God only kens if yer even going tae like her, never mind, having tae spend the rest o’ yer life with her. Second, ye’re only thirty. There’s still time fer ye tae actually find someone ye might fall in love with. And third, once ye’re married, I’m nae going tae have ye at me side when we’re at the taverns and looking fer lasses.” Benedict grinned.

Audor smiled, shook his head, and then continued walking. “I understand yer concerns, Benedict. And I appreciate ye looking out fer me. But this is a good deal fer our clan. Besides, Laird Sinclair is a fine laird. He needs our help, and I intend tae give it.”

“Ye can always get a mistress if things dinnae work out,” Killian offered.

“Nay!” Audor and Benedict barked at the same time. They both glared at Killian, who seemed to shrink under the visual attack.

“All right,” he said weakly, raising his hands in surrender. “It was only an idea.”

“Ye should ken me braither better than that, Killian,” Benedict growled.

“I dae,” Killian countered. “I just thought it was something tae consider.”

“Ye’re a fool tae think he would even consider it.”

“Clearly,” Killian said a little sarcastically.

They were now out in the courtyard and making their way to the gates. The huge wooden barriers stood open, guards standing alert as they watched the approaching horses and carriages. There were a great deal of them, but Laird Sinclair led the convoy on his horse

“He looks old,” Audor said quietly.

Benedict caught sight of Laird Sinclair. He had only met the man once, and it had been some years ago, but Audor was right. The man looked like he had aged twenty years. He supposed the death of a beloved wife would do that to a man.

“I’m sorry,” Killian murmured. He was stood at Benedicts left, while Audor remained at his right. By the low tone, Killian clearly did not want Audor to hear him.

Benedict turned and spoke to Killian in equally low tones. “Ye should ken better, cousin. Audor is a loyal man. He values integrity nearly more than any other quality.”

Killian looked subdued. “I ken. I just wasnae thinking.”

Benedict placed an arm on his shoulder. “Listen. Dinnae worry yersel’ about it. Audor willnae hold it against ye.”

“Well,” Audor said. “It looks like I made a good deal after all.”

Benedict and Killian both looked up, for following on behind Laird Sinclair, was a horse and trap with two lasses sitting upon it.

Benedict’s jaw fell open at the sight of them. In fact, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Could this be? There before his very eyes, was the lass he had kissed in the library. The lass he had been searching for ever since. The lass he had not been able to get out of his mind. She sat next to an equally pretty lass. The only trouble was, he didn’t know which sister was which.

Had he kissed the sister of his brother’s betrothed, or had he actually kissed Lady Evelyn Sinclair, the lass his brother was about to marry?

 

Don’t miss your link for the whole book at the end of the preview. 

Prologue

Torridon Inn, 1765

It was a habit they couldn’t easily shake, even when there seemed to be no danger. Aaden and Gilchrist sat at the far end of the common area of the inn, their backs against the wall and nothing else between them and the rest of the patrons, like they always did in such establishments. One could never know where an enemy might lurk, though an inn in a small town was hardly the place to attract any serious threats.

The room smelled of ale and wine, the wooden tables sticky with spilled residue that the serving wenches’ tattered rags could never clean entirely. The storm outside, the one which had forced them to pause their trip back home to Castle McDowell, still raged. The sound of the raindrops on the roof of the inn were so thunderous that not even the lively conversation inside was enough to fully drown it out. Although the room didn’t seem so crowded to Aaden at first glance, every table seemed to be occupied, some of them only by lonely travelers and others by groups of people.

“Here’s tae a successful job,” Gilchrist said, raising his cup of wine in a toast. “We willnae want fer naething now that we have reached this agreement.”

“We willnae want fer food, at least,” Aaden pointed out. The Bairds, with their fertile lands, had been perhaps the most important allies for Clan MacDowell to secure and now that Gilchrist had managed to make this deal with them—food in exchange for manpower and security—there would be no concerns about their resources throughout the winter. “Ye did well. The role o’ the laird suits ye.”

Laughing, Gilchrist sipped his wine slowly, savoring it as though it was one of the bottles he imported from France and not what it truly was, which was closer to vinegar.

“I must still adjust,” Gilchrist said. “An’ there is still much tae dae. This may be the most important deal we have made so far, but it willnae be the only one.”

Despite what his friend claimed, Arden couldn’t imagine a better laird for the McDowell Clan. Ever since marrying Kyven McDowell, the daughter of the clan’s previous laird, Gilchrist had spent most of his waking hours working towards the betterment of their lands and their people, putting everyone else before himself.

It showed a little in the weariness in his eyes, the lids weighed down by several sleepless nights. Aaden hoped that now, at least, with the clan’s food for the winter secured, he could rest for a while and focus on his new family.

“Ye must adjust soon,” Aaden said, “‘afore the bairn comes, for there will be less time after.”

“Och aye,” said Gilchrist, and the mere mention of his unborn child brought a new warmth to his face, a brightness that eclipsed his exhaustion. “There are still a few months left, but I wish it were sooner. I wish tae meet me son.”

“Or daughter,” Aaden reminded him.

“Or daughter,” Gilchrist agreed with a smile. “An’ besides, it’s already getting tiring fer Kyven. I’m sure she is impatient tae give birth.”

“She is gettin’ big, isnae she?”

“Dinnae tell her that,” warned Gilchrist, with the kind of serious tone he usually reserved for battle plans. “She is already angry she cannae see her feet an’ she will only continue tae grow. One wrong word an’ she’ll cut off yer head hersel’.”

Aaden laughed at the warning, imagining Kyven, pregnant as she was, trying to chase him around the castle. She could rope someone else into doing it, though; Aaden had no doubts about that.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Though I’m sure if yer wife heard ye say that about her, she’d have yer head.”

“She’d be provin’ me point, then,” said Gilchrist. “An’ she wouldnae harm me. She loves me. Ye would understand if ye found a good lass fer yersel tae wed.”

This again, Aaden thought. Though he had always been adamant that he would never marry, it didn’t stop people from trying to change his mind. Gilchrist had been lecturing him on all the joys of marriage ever since he had married Kyven, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. At most, he stopped bringing it up for a while, only to mention it again when Aaden had been lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he was safe from another such talk.

“Ye ken what I think about that,” Aaden said. “I like me freedom too much.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Gilchrist’s features arranged themselves in that serious look he got whenever there was something urgent to discuss, brows furrowing together and lips pursing into a thin line.

“Marryin’ Kyven didnae make me a prisoner,” he said. “As marryin’ a lass willnae make ye a prisoner. It gave me the biggest joys o’ me life. What will ye dae, Aaden? Will ye stay alone yer whole life?”

“I’m nae alone,” Aaden pointed out. He had Gilchrist. He had other friends. He could easily manage without a wife.

“Ye ken what I mean,” Gilchrist insisted. “Ye need someone. Ye cannae keep everyone away.”

Aaden’s jaw tightened at Gilchrist’s words. His friend had always known Aaden liked women, but for a while he had thought it was a way for him to find some comfort after his father’s death, a way to drown his sorrows. Now that Aaden hadn’t changed at all, though, Gilchrist had begun to pester him once more.

Aaden didn’t want to talk about his father or the reasons behind his reluctance to marry. He had made peace with both those things. Losing his father in that ambush had been one of the most painful moments of his life, but there was no bringing him back. A wife couldn’t fill the void he had left behind. All Aaden could do was keep his memory alive and move on as best he could.

Still, he could understand why Gilchrist was so insistent. He worried, just as Aaden worried about him, no matter how well he was doing. It was in their nature to worry about each other.

“It’s alright,” he assured him. “I write me maither often, so I still have family. An’ I have ye.”

It was only part of the truth, but it would have to be enough for Gilchrist, as it was all Aaden was willing to share.

“With yer maither?” Gilchrist asked, surprised. “Are ye gettin’ tae ken her better, then? Will ye go an’ see her?”

“I cannae see her,” Aaden said.

“Surely, ye can. Where is she now?”

Aaden sighed, delaying his response by taking a large sip of wine. In the end, he looked at Gilchrist in the eye and said, “She is a courtesan. Where dae ye think she is?”

It wasn’t true, but it was the story everyone had been told. His father had never revealed his mother’s true identity to anyone but Aaden himself, and Aaden didn’t intend to expose her like this, not even to his friend.

Aaden had seen what love did to people. He had seen how his father had wilted before everyone’s eyes, loving the woman he could never have. What he knew of his mother told him that she, too, had never stopped grieving their lost love, spending her years yearning after his father.

It wasn’t that Aaden didn’t believe in love. He had seen it first-hand. Love was real and it was painful, and he was never going to go down that path of self-destruction. He would rather spend his life with a different woman every night, never once risking falling in love.

What he had said seemed to be enough to silence Gilchrist on the matter, at least temporarily. He gave Aaden a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder before he drained his cup and stood.

“We should sleep,” he said. “We must wake early on the morrow an’ head back.”

“Aye,” said Aaden. “But I think I’ll stay a while longer.”

His gaze scanned the room, looking for any women he could bring to his room before the night was over. Gilchrist didn’t need to ask why. He only gave him a roll of his eyes, though his smile was fond.

“Alright,” he said. “Good luck with yer hunt. I’m very glad I dinnae have tae dae this anymore.”

With that, he was gone, heading up the stairs to the room he had secured for the night, as Aaden returned to his search. He could speak to one of the serving wenches, he thought. They were both young and pretty, and they always fell for his charms.

But then again, who didn’t?

He let his gaze roam around the room for a while longer and that was when he spotted her: a young woman with long hair as dark as the night and a pair of blue eyes that pierced him like an arrow when they met his own for a brief second. She was sitting with another young woman, the two of them talking animatedly and paying him no mind, but Aaden wasn’t going to be discouraged by something as insignificant, not when that woman was the most beautiful creature he had laid his eyes on.

He could wait and so he did, sipping the rest of his wine slowly as he watched them, waiting patiently for the right moment. That moment came when the woman’s friend stood and left the room, but she remained, idly sipping her drink as she looked around her.

Taking his chance, Aaden stood and walked over to her table, sliding into the seat her friend had only just vacated.

“Good evenin’,” he said, his smile so bright it could outshine any candle in the room. “What is such a bonnie lass doin’ here alone? It’s very cold, after all, an’ they say it’s easier tae warm up when ye have another next tae ye.”

It was a bit bold and a bit silly, but every time Aaden used that line, he usually received at least a chuckle in return. He was good looking enough for his conquests to need little coaxing, finding him charming in his audacity.

This woman didn’t seem to, though. The glare she gave him sent a chill down his spine. It was colder than the rain outside the inn, as if she would have liked nothing more than to kill him where he sat.

“I was enjoyin’ me own company until ye disturbed me,” she said, her melodious voice carrying so much irritation that the contrast was dizzying. It was fine with him, though. Aaden liked a challenge, and he wasn’t going to back down that easily. In the end, the reward of bedding her would be worth it.

“May I offer ye a drink, then, as an apology?” he said, already raising his hand to call for the serving wench when the woman stopped him.

“Thank ye, but nay. Ye see, I have this rare ailment. I cannae accept drinks from strangers without bein’ nauseated an’ vomitin’ all over them.”

Charmin’ lass.

Pursing his lips in distaste, Aaden leaned a little closer over the table to rest his head on his hand. “Is that truly a way tae get a man’s attention?”

“Aye, me biggest goal in life is tae get a handsome man’s attention,” the woman said with a roll of her eyes. She all but slammed her hands on the table and stood, pushing back her chair with a scraping sound that made Aaden recoil. “An’ it obviously worked if ye’re here, tryin’ tae steal me affections.”

The woman walked off, but before she could get too far, Aaden followed her. Perhaps he should simply accept defeat, but it wasn’t often that a woman rejected him. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when it had happened. Some of them were difficult, but by the end of the night, they always ended up in his bed.

“Are we headin’ tae me chambers or yers?” he asked, deciding that boldness was the way to go with this woman. She, too, was bold, after all, having no regard for what was polite.

The woman came to an abrupt halt and turned around to look at him, giving him a smile that was all teeth. “Ye should certainly wait fer me in yer chambers,” she said, and then turned around just as swiftly, once more heading for the door.

Aaden couldn’t let it go just yet, though. It intrigued him, how feisty she was, how quick to respond, the insults tumbling one after the other out of her lips. Aaden had never met such a spirited woman before and something stirred inside him, a kind of insistent, irresistible desire for more.

He caught up with her just past the door, grabbing her arm to stop her and pull her close, their bodies flush together. Leaning even closer, lips brushing over the shell of her ear, he whispered to her.

“I can give ye pleasure like ye’ve never had ‘afore,” he said. “I can take ye tae places ye’ve never reached.”

The woman turned her head so that their lips were almost brushing. Just when Aaden thought he finally had her in his grasp, she said, “The only place ye can take me is hell, I’m sure.”

Aaden couldn’t help but laugh at that, even if it was at his own expense. As the woman made to leave once more, he let his hand glide down her arm and then laced their fingers together, stopping her once again.

Suddenly, she spun around, the glare returning in her eyes. “Dae ye even ken me name?”

For a moment, Aaden wracked his brain, trying to remember if she had told him. In the end, he only shrugged. “Ye can tell me while ye moan mine.”

In a flash, the woman had him pinned against the wall, a small, sharp blade pressed to his neck. The speed and strength behind the movement caught Aaden by surprise enough for him to get trapped by this woman who was much smaller than him, his heart racing behind his ribs, the breath caught in his throat. Under the moonlight, her features were just as sharp—a small, straight nose, prominent cheekbones, and a high, regal forehead, all of them blending together to leave an impression of danger.

Aaden would be lying if he said he wasn’t more intrigued than ever.

“Perhaps yer depraved words work fer other lasses, but I’m nae them,” the woman hissed, lips curling back to bare her teeth. “I would never share yer bed, even if ye were the last man in the Highlands.”

In the distance, Aaden heard a voice, something that the woman heard as well. Her head snapped to the side, fingers tightening around the handle of her blade.

“Lilith!”

Over the sound of the rain and the thunder, Aaden couldn’t hear what the voice was calling, but it seemed to have an immediate effect on the woman. Just as quickly as she had attacked him, she pulled back and was gone, her quick footsteps disappearing down the street. Aaden didn’t try to pursue her this time. Instead, he let his head fall back with a sigh, fingers tracing the skin where she had pressed her blade.

Perhaps he hadn’t heard her name, but he would never forget that face—the face of the first woman to ever reject him.

Chapter One

MacEwan Castle. One year later.

The castle was just as Aaden remembered it, though it had been very long since he had last stepped foot on MacEwan land. It towered over the hill, stretching up to a grey sky, a colossal structure of stone that was as majestic as it was intimidating. Like all castles, it did not only speak of wealth; it also spoke of power.

When he reached the castle gates, Aaden handed the paper he had been clutching in his hand all the way there to one of the guards, who proceeded to have the door opened for him. Riding inside, the few memories Aaden had of the place rushed back to him. There was that oak he had climbed as a child, falling from the lowest branches and scraping his knees. There were the stables where he had first learned to care for his horse, and the kitchens where the maids would give him apples and sweets in secret.

He wondered how many of those maids still worked there. He wondered if any of them would remember him now that he was grown, now that his face was covered by a short beard and he would no longer be looking up at them with wide, mischievous eyes.

Despite everything, Aaden had missed the place. He only wished he could have returned under different circumstances.

The invitation he had handed to the guard outside had come as a surprise. He never expected to return to this place, given that his uncle didn’t want to even look at him. He knew there was only one reason why he would ever call Aaden there; it meant he wanted something from him and whatever that was, it couldn’t possibly be good.

After jumping off his horse and passing the reins to the stable boy, another servant came to fetch him. Aaden followed the young man inside and soon found that even all those years later, he didn’t need a guide. He remembered where everything was, the details slowly coming back to him.

Still, he doubted his uncle would allow him to roam freely around the castle. If anything, Aaden was surprised that no guard was following him, but then again, there was no real danger for Ruadh. His uncle was the laird of the clan and as long as Aaden was in there alone, he was powerless, even with all the weapons he carried around his waist.

Weapons, he noted, that no one had taken from him.

They came to a halt in front of a large door that Aaden identified as leading to Ruadh’s study. The servant announced him, and Aaden walked in to see his uncle there, sitting behind his grand desk, surrounded by all his riches: colorful tapestries, thick rugs, heavy, dark furniture that had a presence even more imposing than the man’s own.

Naturally, Ruadh had gotten older since Aaden had last seen him, but the change was startling to Aaden. He must have been in his early sixties, his face lined by the passage of time, his stature shorter than Aaden remembered—though that was perhaps because Aaden had been a child last time they had been in the same room. Even so, his eyes were just as blue and the black of his hair persisted even at his age, the only traces of grey appearing at his temples.

There was no warmth in his greeting when he acknowledged Aaden.

“Sit,” Ruadh said, gesturing towards the chair by his desk, but Aaden preferred to stand. When he didn’t obey, Ruadh simply shrugged. “As ye wish.”

“Why did ye call me here?” Aaden asked. He had no desire to pretend there was any love lost between them. Ruadh hated him and no matter what Aaden said, no matter how politely he behaved, the man would never change his mind. “Why now, after all these years in exile?”

For a few moments, Ruadh was silent, simply observing Aaden as if seeing him for the first time.

“The last time I saw ye, ye were only a bairn,” he said instead of answering the question. “It truly has been a long time.”

“The last time I saw ye, ye were a coward who sent me an’ me faither tae exile,” said Aaden, teeth gritting together.

There was nothing else Ruadh could do to him and so Aaden didn’t feel a need to hold back his venom. The man deserved much more than that, but Aaden would have to be satisfied with the little he could get now that he had finally confronted the man after so many years.

His scathing words earned him a glare, but nothing more than that. Ruadh was calculating, chilling in his cruelty. He would not lose his temper because of a mere comment, but he would make sure to retaliate sooner or later.

“Ye ken very well why I had tae send ye tae exile,” he said.”

“There were other ways,” Aaden insisted. “Ye didnae have tae send me faither away from his home. Ye didnae have tae send me away from me maither.”

“What would ye have me dae? Allow her bastard son tae live under the same roof as me own son?” Ruadh asked. There was an edge to his voice now, his cruelty seeping through the cracks. He stood too, the two of them glaring at each other over the desk. “Ye should be glad I didnae kill ye an’ me traitor o’ a braither.”

“He was as good as dead an’ ye ken that,” Aaden said. “Ye ken he never recovered from what ye did tae him.

Ruadh’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Aaden. He circled his desk and came to stand in front of him, leaving nothing but a few scant inches between them. “Yer faither tried tae steal me wife from me. Yer faither was a traitor tae his own braither. An’ yer maither…, yer maither spread her legs fer him, did she nae? An’ here ye are.”

Aaden could have killed his uncle that very moment. Perhaps he should have swung at him least, punching him for speaking about his mother like that, but that would have only caused him more trouble. He was already in plenty of trouble as it was, since Ruadh had called him there.

“Where is she?” he asked instead. “I wish tae see her.”

“Dinnae forget this, Aaden,” Ruadh said as he headed back to his chair, sinking in its plush leather. “Janice is me wife an’ me son’s maither. She is naething but an aunt tae ye. Ye will dae well tae forget she ever birthed ye.”

“Ye could have let her marry me faither,” Aaden insisted. “Ye could have let them be happy. Ye kent they loved each other but ye still married her.”

“I willnae entertain this any longer,” Ruadh said, effectively putting an end to the conversation. Aaden knew there was nothing to say to provoke him into discussing it further.

“Fine,” Aaden spat. “Then perhaps ye wish tae tell me why ye invited me here. Surely, it wasnae so ye could see me.”

That drew a laugh out of Ruadh, a short, humorless sound. “It wasnae an invitation. It was an order. With me brother gone, ye must repay his debt.”

“There is nae debt tae repay,” Aaden said. “Any debt he owed ye, he paid by spendin’ all his life in grief.”

Another laugh, this even colder than the last. “Ye’re as insolent as ever, I see. But that’s alright. I will teach ye what it means tae have honor. Listen carefully. Ye are tae wed Lilith Stewart, the first-born daughter o’ Laird Stewart. Evander wishes tae marry his youngest, but her faither willnae wed her if Lilith isnae wed first.”

Aaden could hardly believe his ears. That was why Ruadh had called him there? What could have possibly possessed him and make him think he would do such a thing for him.

“Why should I care if yer son wishes tae marry this lass?” he asked. “An’ why dae ye need me? I’m sure the first-born o’ Laird Stewart will have many suitors.”

“Och aye,” Ruadh said. “They both dae. The young one, Freya, she wishes tae wed Evander. But Lilith doesnae want any o’ her suitors. She is said tae be… difficult.”

Aaden couldn’t wrap his head around any of this. The most he could do was stand there in disbelief, mouth hanging slightly open as he tried to figure out what else Ruadh had planned for him. Surely, a marriage wasn’t the only thing he had in mind, especially to the first-born daughter of a laird.

“Why doesnae Evander wed Lilith?” he asked. “Surely, that is the wisest option fer him. Why would ye want me tae be the laird o’ the Stewart Clan when ye could make him?”

“As I said, Lilith is difficult,” Ruadh repeated. “Evander wants a softer lass. An’ if ye think ye will have any real power, I’d suggest ye reconsider it. Perhaps ye would become the laird once her faither dies, but ye will dae as I say.”

That, of course, was only natural, Aaden thought. Ruadh would never relinquish the power he could have, even if he didn’t marry his own son to the heir. He was a cunning man. He would do anything to find a way to exert control over another clan, so Aaden was hardly surprised he had planned something like this. “An’ how will ye enforce that? Why should I follow yer orders?”

For a moment, Ruadh hesitated. Then, he drew a deep breath and raised a hand to comb it through his hair. “Because I have yer maither,” he said. “An’ if ye dinnae obey me, I will kill her.”

He has her imprisoned.

“Where is me maither?” Aaden said, taking a few steps towards the desk before going still once more. “Where are ye keepin’ her?”

“In a place only I ken,” Ruadh said calmly. “An’ ye will never find her.”

Rage coursed through Aaden’s veins, his face turning an ugly shade of red. He was trembling from head to toe, fists clenched tightly by his sides as he glared at Ruadh, the anger having no place to go. What could he do? He couldn’t kill the man and get out of there alive. He even doubted he could get as far as killing him. Even though there had been no guards outside his door when Aaden had first walked in, that didn’t mean there were no guards outside now, waiting for their laird to give the word. His uncle was no fool. He knew Aaden would be enraged by this and he had certainly made sure to have protection nearby.

“Why are ye doin’ this?” Aaden asked, his voice barely a whisper. “What will ye gain from this?”

“Gold, o’ course,” Ruadh said. “I will receive the dowry fer both weddings. An’ then, with time, power. Imagine it, me son an’ me nephew married tae the two Stewart lasses. It’s an alliance that will never break. An’ dinnae act as though ye will receive naething out o’ this. Ye will be a laird one day. In name only, perhaps, but ye’ll still live a nice, comfortable life. An’ ye’ll have a bonnie wife. They say Lilith Stewart is a very bonnie lass. She’s certainly more than a bastard like ye deserves, so ye should be grateful I am givin’ her tae ye.”

Before Aaden could say anything else, Evander entered the room. Though it had been years since they had last seen each other, Aaden recognized him immediately, and by the way the other paused by the door, looking at him with clear surprise etched on his face, he recognized him, too.

They looked alike, the two of them. They both shared their mother’s golden hair, the bow of her lips, the shape of her eyes. They even shared some resemblance through their fathers, inheriting their common feature: a strong, straight nose.

“Cousin,” Evander said, lips stretching into an easy smile. “When did ye come tae visit?”

Cousin.

Naturally, Read hadn’t told Evander about their true relation. Evander still thought they were only cousins, not half-brothers, and as much as Aaden wanted him to know the truth, he would keep Ruadh’s secret for the sake of their mother.

“Just now,” Ruadh said before Aaden could respond. “I was tellin’ him about Lilith an’ Freya. Aaden has agreed tae wed Lilith.”

Aaden didn’t remember ever making such a promise, but what other choice did he have? Ruadh had his mother. He could kill her at any moment and then Aaden would have lost the only real family he had left. He couldn’t let him touch her. He couldn’t let him take her life, too, after everything else he had taken from her.

“I saw Freya a few months ago when I went tae a clan meetin’ at Stewart Castle,” Evander said, coming to stand next to Aaden. “I already ken she wants me. She tried everythin’ in her power tae get me attention an’… well, she did. I would have kissed her, too, had it nae been fer her meddlin’ sister. She kept trailin’ after Freya, remindin’ her tae be proper. But that’s alright. I have been writin’ tae her ever since an’ I’ve done me best tae make her fall fer me.”

“I’m sure it wasnae difficult fer ye,” said Ruadh. “These lasses are so easily swayed by sweet words.”

“They truly are,” Evander said, and both of them laughed, the sound filling the large room. They had a similar laugh, deep and booming, like a solid thing. “All I had tae dae was promise her I would love her forever an’ she was ready tae believe anythin’ I told her.”

Aaden looked at the two of them with disgust as he took a few steps back, putting some space between him and his brother. He didn’t want to be there. Had it not been for his mother, he would have never even come.

“Lilith is very bonnie, ye ken,” Evander said, echoing his father’s prior words. “But ye should be careful. They call her the Snow Lass because she’s so frigid. Nae one has managed tae get tae that cold heart o’ hers.”

“Ye will both visit Stewart Castle soon,” Ruadh said, interrupting his son. “Laird Stewart is acceptin’ the suitors, so Aaden, ye can go an’ charm Lilith while Evander speaks with the laird about Freya’s hand. An’ ye are nae tae fail. It will be most beneficial tae all o’ us if Lilith chooses ye.”

Aaden’s first instinct was to refuse, but he had no choice. There was no point in arguing now, not when both he and Ruadh knew he would do as he was told. His uncle had him under his control now. There was nothing Aaden could do as long as he kept threatening his mother.

Looking between the two men, Aaden couldn’t help but wonder how everything had come to this. He, who never wanted to marry, was now being forced into this marriage. The only good thing about it all was that there would be no love involved. That gave him some peace of mind, at least.

Besides, he was Aaden MacEwan, the womanizer. How difficult could it be to seduce this girl?