Author: Shona Thompson

Prologue

1585, The Western Highlands, Scotland
The dungeons, Lennox Castle

Odhrán, son of Murphy, Laird Lennox, ran down the stairs into the chilly, malodorous dungeons of his father’s castle. At the bottom, he slowly walked to where he could position himself to see through the metal grill in the door of the first cell on the right. Then, he paused for several moments, just looking at the prisoner inside.

The sight of her made his heart stop. For though she looked tired and miserable, with her long dark hair, large dark eyes, and porcelain skin, Maddison Kincaid was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

As he allowed his eyes to dwell on her, Odhrán was startled to hear the door above him open and someone come down the stairs. Scared it might be his father, he held his breath as he scrambled for an explanation as to why he was there. He only breathed again when he saw his best friend, the war leader Liam MacTavish, appear around the bend in the stairs.

Liam paused when he saw Odhrán standing and looking up at him, then he ran down the remaining steps as Odhrán came to meet him.

“Odhrán, what are ye doin’ here again?” Liam asked as the pair smiled and slapped each other’s backs in a hearty greeting.

“Naethin’ much,” Odhrán replied, feeling a little embarrassed to have been caught. “Just checkin’ on the prisoner.”

Liam glanced over at the cell containing Maddison and laughed. “I ken ye’ve been down here twice today already. I’ve seen ye. Checkin’ on the prisoner quite often, are ye nae? Anyone would think ye’re sweet on the lassie,” he said teasingly.

Knowing his cheeks were flushing a little, for Liam had hit the nail on the head, Odhrán laughed too and punched his friend on the arm affectionately. He did not mind Liam knowing the truth, for he knew all his secrets were safe with him.

“I’m just bringin’ her this book tae read,” he told Liam, lowering his voice and showing it to him. “The hours pass slowly fer her in here, so I bring her books tae occupy her mind.”

“Well, I’ll nae be the one tae say ye’re goin’ soft,” Liam replied laughingly, automatically lowering his voice to a mere whisper as well. He glanced at the book and nodded. “She’s a nice lassie. ’Tis a right shame yer faither hates her family and her clan so much that he would kill her parents and braither like that and then keep her locked up here.” He shook his head, the harsh planes of his face softening as he glanced at the cell door.

“Aye, tae tell the truth, Liam, I dinnae ken how I’ve managed tae persuade him tae keep her alive this long. There’s nae a day that passes when he doesnae say he wants tae kill her. I wish I kent why he hates her family so much and could get him tae stop this feud and let her go. I cannae see any real reason fer it. I mean, what have the Kincaids done tae hurt us? Naethin’. ’Tis another of Faither’s obsessions, I suppose.”

“Aye, ’tis a mystery all right,” Liam agreed. “Ye ken what he’s like, he holds a grudge, and once he’s set on somethin’, he’s like dog with a bone. He’ll nae leave off until he’s got what he wants, and that seems tae mean wipin’ out the Kincaid family and the whole clan. Mayhap we’ll never find out the truth behind the feud but at least ye’ve been able tae string him along thus far by tellin’ him it makes more sense tae keep her alive and use her fer a deal with her braithers than kill her outright.”

Odhrán nodded. “The trouble is, I dinnae ken how long I can keep it up. I’m afeared fer her life every day, Liam,” he confessed to his friend, drawing a little closer to him and lowering his voice even further. “She doesnae ken who I really am. She thinks I’m just a servant of the laird. If she finds out I’m the son of the man who murdered her family and imprisoned her, she’ll never forgive me fer it,” he confided in Liam. “Especially nae when she realizes how I’ve been lyin’ tae her all this time.”

“Aye, I see what ye mean. But what ye’re doin’ is very risky. If yer faither finds out what ye’ve been up tae, he’ll likely slit yer throat as well as hers. If ye go against him, he willnae care if ye’re his only son. Ye havetae think of yerself. Why must ye come down here tae see her so often?”

“I feel sorry for her, and I wantae dae everythin’ I can tae make her incarceration bearable.” He did not add that simply laying eyes on the girl for one second after her kidnapping had been enough for him to fall for her, nor that he could not go a day without seeing her.

“Well, take me advice, Odhrán, dinnae be so careless as tae stand here gawking at her. If someone sees ye and tells yer faither, ye ken he’ll be furious. He’ll likely use it as an excuse tae give the lairdship tae that bastard cousin of yers, Rollo,” Liam warned him kindly.

Odhrán scowled on hearing the loathsome name. “Dinnae mention that dog tae me. He’s the bane of me life. Faither’s been on and on at me tae find a wife and get him some grandbairns, but ye ken I’ve nae wish tae marry just now. ’Tis true, nae a day goes by that he doesnae bang on about who’d make the better heir. His obsession with grandbairns and continuin’ the Lennox legacy makes him prefer Rollo because he is wed and already has a clutch of bairns tae show fer it. I’m right sick of it,” he complained, bile rising in his throat.

“I ken, and I feel bad fer ye. Rollo’s a right smug bastard, always suckin’ up tae him, tae be sure. I cannae stand him, and neither can most of the men. Besides, ’tis nae natural fer a faither tae treat his only son like that, in me opinion. But that only means ye have tae be extra careful about the laird findin’ ye down here so often, givin’ the lassie books, and so on.”

“Aye, I ken, me friend. I thank ye fer yer warnin’. Mayhap Rollo will nae live long enough tae inherit the lairdship that’s mine by rights, eh?” Odhrán said, with the usual tension he felt when thinking of his father and cousin gripping him. It always gave him a queasy feeling, as well as a feeling that time was somehow running out for him. He wished he dared tell Liam about his deepest thoughts, not just about getting rid of Rollo, but of his father too, permanently. He tried to push the unease aside and focus on the moment. “Anyway, I’m sure ye have plenty tae keep ye busy, me friend, so ye can push off. I’ll meet ye and yer braither fer a drink later on, eh?” he told Liam with a shove.

“All right, I’ll meet ye in the Blue Boar after dinner. But mark me words, Odhrán,” Liam said earnestly. “Be careful. Next time, it might nae be me comin’ down those stairs.” He sprang back up the steps on his powerful legs, and Odhrán was left alone. His heart in his mouth, he approached Maddison’s cell.

“Maddison, ’tis me,” he called softly. A pale ghost got up from the bed of straw where she had been sitting. She came up to the grill and regarded him with her big dark eyes.

“Hello. ’Tis good tae see a friendly face around here,” Maddison told him in her lilting voice.

“I’ve brought ye another book,” he said, passing it through the grill to her. ’Tis an adventure. It may help tae pass the time.”

“Thank ye,” she replied, taking the book from his hand and giving him a wan smile that made his heart skip in his chest. “I’ve almost finished the last one, so this will come in handy. ’Tis very boring and lonely in here.”

The sadness in her eyes as she spoke moved Odhrán deeply. He wanted nothing more than to tear down the cell door, grab her by the waist, and ride like hell with her back to her home and her brothers, anything to make her happy.

“How are ye bearin’ up?” he asked, leaning against the door to get a better view of her and the cell. To his relief, it looked fairly clean, and she had blankets. It was no more than Odhrán expected because he had been bribing the dungeon master for his cooperation and silence.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. But the help ye give me is a great comfort, and yer company too,” she told him.

“I’m glad tae be of some help tae ye,” he said, wishing he could do far more.

“I dinnae wish tae get ye intae trouble by askin’ this, but can ye tell me if there’s been any sign of me braithers searchin’ fer me?” she suddenly asked, her face creased with anxiety. “’Tis been almost a year now since I’ve been locked up here, and I’ve had nae word of them.”

Odhrán’s heart dropped. Of course, he well knew that her brothers, Diarmaid and Ciarán, both formidable warriors, had been scouring the land far and wide for any sign of her for the last year. He guessed they had already worked out where she might be, and who had murdered their parents and brother before kidnapping her. But he was also sure his father was right: without proof they would not dare act.

Even if somehow they found proof, they would need help to attack the Lennox castle, for it held the largest clan army in the West Highlands. But he could not tell Maddison any of that, however much he wanted to comfort her. His father would kill the both of them if he did and he got wind of it.

“I dinnae ken, I’m sorry. I’m just a servant around here,” he lied, hating himself for doing it.

“I ken. I shouldnae have asked ye,” she apologized. Then, he saw a spark in her eyes, and she clenched her small fists at her sides. “Ach, there’s nae one I hate more than Murphy and his son, fer what they’ve done tae me and me family. Every day, I pray me braithers will find me and put an end to those two monsters,” she murmured.

“Aye, that’s understandable,” Odhrán replied, feeling like his poor heart was breaking for her, and for himself. He was unused to feeling so much emotion for anybody. There had never really been anyone for him to care about that much. His mother had died shortly after giving birth to him, and the only affection he remembered receiving was from his old nursemaid, now long dead.

Nevertheless, it physically hurt him to know Maddison was suffering. He so wanted her to know how much he cared about her, but the whole situation was impossible, thus he had no choice but to keep it all secret from her. And from everyone, except perhaps Liam and his brother Tadhg.

But that did not mean he did not think about it, and about how much better his life would be without his father and Rollo in it.

But even if I was Laird Lennox, it would nae change a thing. If Maddison ever learns who I really am, she’ll nae forgive me. She’ll never be me wife, however much I want her.

Chapter One

1586, Lennox Castle

Odhrán took his place as Laird Lennox at the head of the council table feeling deeply uneasy. He was well aware that only five months after the death of his father and the lairdship passing to him, he was still on thin ice. His position as laird was by no means certain. And as always, he had his father to thank for it.

“Well, let’s get down tae business, gentlemen,” he said, making sure to sound strong and determined as his eyes swept around the table, where his councilmen were taking their seats. “There’s nae time tae waste.”

“Aye, me laird,” intoned Angus Bowman, who had been his father’s chief advisor for many years, shuffling the papers in front of him. “The most important matter is that of yer faither’s will.”

“Aye, I ken it,” Odhrán said with a sharp nod, exchanging a look with Liam and Tadhg that expressed his impatience and their sympathy. “Get on with it then.”

Angus cleared his throat and spoke up clearly. “As ye ken, the old laird left a will saying that if ye dinnae have a wife and a bairn on the way a year after taking the lairdship, the council should gather and decide if ’tis better fer yerself tae continue as laird or fer Rollo tae take over.” The old advisor paused to look at Odhrán before he went on, “’Tis already five months since ye became laird, and there’s nae sight of a wife, let alone a bairn.”

Angus’s words drew a collective muttering from the councilmen, though Odhrán found it impossible to tell whether they were happy or not about the terms of the will. He’d been fuming ever since he’d first heard of them. Even in death, it seemed his father continued to torment him.

“So, what d’ye all think on this?” Odhrán asked through gritted teeth. Once more there were hushed murmurings around the table.

“Frankly, me laird, there’s nae many of us are happy about it,” piped up Renly Cooper, who dealt with the clan’s finances. “But the will is a legally binding document, and ye can be sure Rollo kens about it. Yer faither kept his counsel, so even if we destroy it, he’ll challenge yer right tae inherit.”

“Aye, none of us can see a way tae prevent him legally takin’ over the lairdship except by ye marryin’ and trying tae get a bairn started in the next six months,” Angus added, sounding surprisingly downcast.

“Wheesht!” Liam put in with some impatience. “He’ll nae be able tae inherit if he’s dead. If we dinnae want him as our laird, why nae just kill him?”

“I’d be happy tae dae the job,” Tadhg said, nodding vigorously. “The man’s a snake. He’s nae even a good master tae his own folks. All the headway we’ve made as a clan in improving relations with our neighbors over the last few months with Odhrán here at our head will be lost if he takes over.”

“Aye, even his wife doesnae much like him, the poor lass, so I hear,” Renley said, eliciting nods and words of agreement from his fellows.

“Ach, I wish it was that easy, me friends,” Angus told them , shaking his head morosely. “But ’tis a legal matter. If we just go and kill him, I reckon everyone will ken who’s responsible at once. He has many allies. It could mean war.”

“I’m touched by yer support,” Odhrán said, meaning it. He had not really expected to learn so much about how they all felt about the matter. It was encouraging that they liked his style of lairdship, which was so different to that of his father.

However, there was more than one important thing the council was so far unaware of, bar Liam and Tadhg. He did not want to marry. Or, more specifically, he did not want to marry just anyone. In fact, the only woman he wanted to marry hated his guts. The only solace for his broken heart in the whole mess was knowing that Maddison was back home safe with her family again, following a violent attack on Lennox Castle by her brothers and their allies that had ended in his father’s death.

And there was more than just the will. When going through his father’s desk, which now belonged to him, he had found a letter from his father addressed to Rollo. Furious, he had torn it open and read it.

If ye become Laird Lennox, ye must finish what I started and kill all the surviving Kincaids. Me spirit willnae rest until ye have wiped out the whole family and clan tae the last man.

Odhrán had almost choked on his hatred for his father as well as his fear for Maddison on reading those words. He knew Rollo would enjoy carrying out his father’s wishes should he ever become Laird Lennox. But Maddison’s life and her clan had to be protected at all costs against this new threat. Immediately, he had thought the best way to do that would be to have her close, ideally as his wife. But he had known with a sinking heart that it was out of the question. She, her family, and the whole Kincaid clan despised him. They would never countenance such a union.

But though he hated his father and Rollo as much as Maddison and the Kincaids hated him, he was still his father’s son. He had never been one to give up easily, however bad the odds seemed.

There must be a way.

Now, standing before the council and hearing what they had to say, he was encouraged to put forth the plan that had been slowly forming in the deep, dark depths of his mind for some time.

“There’s only one lass I’ll consider as a wife,” he said in a tone that, he hoped, brooked no argument.

The councilmen’s ears pricked up, and they all looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and expectancy.

“Oh? And who might that be, me laird?” Angus asked.

“Maddison Kincaid.”

He might as well have thrown a fox into the henhouse for all the furor that caused. Only Liam and Tadhg appeared unsurprised.

Angus spluttered out, “I’m sorry, me laird, but did ye say Maddison Kincaid?”

“Ye ken I did,” Odhrán confirmed with a nod, creating fresh turmoil amongst his advisors.

“The lass yer faither kept locked up here fer a year until her braithers attacked us and killed him and took her away?”

“Aye, the very same.”

“May we ask why her in particular, me laird?” Renley asked.

“It’ll put an end tae this feud me faither had with the Kincaids once and fer all. It’ll be of benefit tae all of us if it’s done with,” Odhrán explained, growing bolder as they seemed receptive to his idea.

“Well, fair enough,” Renley said after a few moments of quiet discussion among the councilmen. “If that’s the lass ye want, me laird, then we’ll back ye. But d’ye nae think it likely her braithers will nae countenance such a match, even if she agrees tae it? Which I dinnae think there’s much chance she will. Nae counting that they killed yer faither…”

“If the laird’s willin’ tae put that aside fer the sake of improvin’ relations between our two clans then we should support him. After all, the old laird was nae much of a faither tae him, and he didnae exactly act in ways tae improve our relations with other clans either,” Angus pointed out. “That wasnae good fer any of us.”

Once again, Odhrán was touched by the councilmen’s understanding of the difficulties he had faced when his father had been alive. The old man had been a bully and a brute. The only trouble was, they were lacking a vital piece of information that may have radically changed any decision they might choose to make about their future laird.

The council did not know that the Kincaids had not killed the old laird. It had been Odhrán himself who had ended his father’s life, all to protect Maddison. Odhrán was that most wretched of creatures—a parricide. It was such a horrible thing to have done that, however bad his father had been, he could not even reconcile it with himself, let alone tell anyone else the truth about what he had done. All but his best friends, that was. Thus, deep down, he knew he’d never be at peace with what he had done.

“True enough. But other clan feuds that have lasted decades have been ended by such marriages, and both clans have prospered,” Renly said. “There’s nae harm in tryin’ if that’s what the young laird wants.” Murmurs of agreement came from the others.

“So, d’ye have any ideas how we could go about securin’ their agreement, then, me laird?” Tadhg asked, looking at Odhrán with a hint of encouragement in his eyes. He and his brother already knew a little of Odhrán’s thoughts and plans on this subject.

“Aye, as it happens, I dae,” Odhrán replied, flashing a grateful glance at Tadhg.

“Well, let’s hear it then, me laird,” Renley said. “If there’s any chance of it workin’, we’ll back ye all the way rather than have Rollo as our laird.”

“All right,” Odhrán replied, optimism welling up inside him and replacing the guilt he felt as the man who had killed his father. “So, here’s me plan.”

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“What dae ye think?” Gilchrist asked, holding Kyven’s gaze with his own. The way her hand was running up and down his arm, a comforting touch, was making such warmth spread through him that he surprisingly had no wish to return to the room where his brothers were.

Aye, I’ll stay with ye, Kyven.

“Live out that fantasy of yers,” he suggested. “Paint me.”

In the light of the candle he carried, he saw her eyes flicker. There was a glint of both mischief and happiness in them. She nodded.

He shifted her hand from his arm to his palm, then towed her through the room.

“What about yer brothers?” she asked after a minute of intimate silence.

“They’ll understand.” Gilchrist knew well enough that neither of his brothers would object to them not returning to the room. He could talk more tomorrow with them, but for now, it was late. He wanted to be alone with Kyven.

He led her through the castle, down familiar corridors that he had not walked in years. Little had changed. Far in the east wing, he brought the two of them to a stop outside a large cabinet. He placed the candle on a ledge nearby and opened the door.

“What’s this?” Kyven asked, doing her best to peer around his arm. “Paints!” She hurried around him and stepped into the cabinet.

It was quite large, big enough for a variety of shelves to be stacked on three walls and just big enough to allow Kyven to set a canvas she found on one of those shelves and stand back, peering in the candlelight.

“I used tae hide from the world in here when I was little,” Gilchrist confessed. She turned her head around him, a mischievous smile spreading across her lips. “I’d quite like tae hide again.”

He took the candle from the ledge nearby and carried it into the cabinet, shutting the door behind them. She laughed and hurried to pull out the paints.

“How dae ye want me?” he asked.

“Dinnae ask me tempting questions like that.”

“I tempt ye?” Gilchrist teased her, walking toward her.

Kyven bit her lip, blushing. She had blushed the night before too, when they had made love in the bath. Just the memory of it, the way her back had arched as he had entered her, or the way her hands had gripped his shoulders, made his body hard now for the want of her again. Would she moan his name in this cabinet? Would she cry out? Or maybe she would bite her lip again in the effort to hold in that sound and not be discovered?

“I want ye…” She turned to face him. The words made a pleasant shudder start deep within his abdomen. “Over here.” She took his arms and playfully steered him across the room until he was sat on a barrel in the corner. “Sit there and look…”

Gilchrist raised his eyebrows questioningly. She smiled a little more, making him wonder why he had agreed to painting at all when they could be doing something else.

“Just look at me,” Kyven pleaded, her voice turning a pleasant lighter tone.

She turned back to her canvas, finished preparing the paints, but didn’t start working on the canvas. She turned back again, yellow light falling on half of her face.

“Would ye…?”

“What?” he asked, encouraging her on.

“Would ye let me paint ye without clothes?” she asked.

Gilchrist chuckled, at first believing she was in jest, but she just continued to stare at him. His laughter faded. The idea seemed mad and wild, then he remembered where they were. Tucked away in this corner of the castle in a cabinet, no one would ever find them this late in the evening. They were alone, in their own world.

He untied the jerkin, slowly unfurling it from his shoulders. The shirt followed, as he dropped it to the ground, then he stood and pulled off his boots. Gilchrist was all too aware of the anticipation in the air and the way she stared at him, her hands tightening around the paint brushes.

He held her gaze as he reached for his trews and pulled them down next. Without a word, he sat down on the barrel again and waited for her to begin.

Kyven grinned, then turned to the canvas. He couldn’t see what she was drawing, but he saw her work fast. At all times, he watched her eyes and hand movements, the way her brushes darted fast across the canvas, and how her gaze drank in the sight of him. When she gazed at his chest and length, she bit her lip again, in that habit of hers. He nearly lost all restraint at that moment, tempted to tell her to abandon the paints and go warm him up.

“How can ye be hard now?” she said eventually in a playful whisper. “I am nae touching ye.”

“Ye are painting me,” he reminded her. “And we were alone.” It was enough to make his imagination run mad. She giggled lightly, her gaze most particularly on his length now. She seemed to be slowing in her painting. “How does it look?”

“It’s a good start. Tae get it right though I’ll need many hours.”

“More hours of being naked with ye, Kyven? As ye wish.”

She trembled, though it was clearly with an excited pleasure. She placed the paints down on the edge of a shelf nearby and moved toward him. He sat tall, feeling the tension in the air as she came so close.

“Next time, dae me a favor.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Move yer arm like this.” She adjusted his arm to the side, so his hand brushed the skirt of her gown. He toyed his fingers in the edge of that skirt, pulling her a little toward him. “That was nae the idea,” she said with a laugh.

“Ye come toward me and expect me tae behave?” He challenged her.

“I havenae finished yer portrait.”

“Ye can finish it another time.” He tugged on her skirt again, moving it aside now, so he could feel her bare leg. He reached out, brushing her temptingly down the inside of her thigh. Her lips parted and a breathy sound escaped her.

“Ye tempt me,” she whispered. “Ye always did. Ye seem tae have…” Her eyelids fluttered closed as he moved toward her. He placed a single kiss on the base of her throat, listening as she gasped. He moved his hand higher up her thigh again, getting closer and closer to her bare hip beneath the covering of her gown. “Power over me.”

“Power, eh?” Gilchrist murmured against her skin. His kisses traveled down her collarbone and toward the top of her gown. “Shall we test that power?”

Kyven didn’t say no. Another breathy moan escaped her as his fingers toyed outside of her. He passed them over her center, not quite touching her and indulging in pleasure, but teasing her with what they could do.

He stood up off the barrel, moving his hand to her hip beneath the gown. “Sit on the barrel,” he urged.

Her hands gripped his bare arms as they moved around one another. He lifted her to sit on the barrel as she was a little short to sit there herself. She bit her lip again. He bent over her, urging her to lean back against the wall behind her head. The two of them were panting now with the anticipation of what was to come.

Taking hold of her skirt, Gilchrist drew it up her legs and toward her hips, revealing her bare legs. One of those legs shuddered as he raised it up over his hip.

“Nae a word this time,” he whispered to her. “Nae a word, nae a sound, if we dinnae want tae be discovered.”

She nodded, her hands reaching out behind her. One palm gripped to a shelf nearby as the other flattened to the wall over her head.

It was surely forbidden, what they were doing now. Not just making love outside of the bounds of marriage but tucked away together in this cupboard. The illicitness of the moment somehow made Gilchrist harder still, determined to take her, but not yet. First, he wanted to watch her in her pleasure, to drink in the sight of her.

He moved his fingers from his hips to her center. With one hand, he held the inside of her thigh out, creating space for his body. His fingers moved down the length of her opening, teasing her, brushing back and forth. Her lips parted. Clearly, she wanted to moan, but when he reminded her not to, playfully dominating her, by pretending to glare at her, she clamped her lips together again, fighting a perfect smile.

He slid his fingers down a little, overwhelmed by the feeling of how wet she was for him already. Her leg shook beneath his grasp too. He slipped his fingers inside of her, his own lips parting at the sensation of how warm and wet she was. Her head tilted back against the wall, her eyes closing though her lips opened to make a perfect ‘o’ shape. No sound escaped her though.

“Look at me,” Gilchrist took a possessive hold on her chin and pierced her eyes, which only made his shaft get harder.

He decided to make it more difficult for Kyven, moving his fingers in and out of her at a faster pace now, seeing if she could stay quiet. Her hand gripped tighter to the shelf and her back arched in this strange but exciting position on the barrel, her eyes not leaving his. When he changed the angle of his hand, moving so his thumb was over that bud of nerves above her center, brushing it just once, their connected gaze got more intense and he moved his thumb again, firmer this time.

Those breathy sounds were impossible for her staunch. His length grew harder for wanting her and those noises.

“Ah…”

“Nae a sound,” he ordered, then bent over her, moving his lips toward her core. She shuddered even more, in clear excitement about what he was going to do. He kept his fingers inside of her, moving in and out, reaching deep, as his tongue stayed outside, pleasuring her. She lost the battle, starting to make sounds now. He held her thigh down harder, keeping her legs apart, basking in the warmth of those noises she made.

She was on the edge; he could feel it. Her head moved from side to side and her body writhed beneath his touch as much as it possibly could. He lifted his body from her, not quite ready yet to give her a release.

“Nay, why?” Her eyes opened, and she looked at him pleadingly, but he shook his head. He was in control of their pleasure, and what they were sharing was certainly not going to end just yet.

“Patience, my love,” he took hold of her hips and quickly lowered her back to the floor.

“Turn around,” he ordered. She did so, leaning her legs against the barrel as her hands planted themselves flat to the wall in front of her. “Brace yerself.”

She parted her legs, just a little, but enough to create a space for him. He reached beneath that skirt again, taking hold of her hips and urging her to lean forward. When her rear was on show, basked in the light of the candle, he bent down and playfully nipped the curve of her butt. She gasped in surprise, then shuddered, clearly still fighting that battle to stay quiet. When she was dithering, he moved his length toward her, nudging her entrance, teasing them both with the sensation.

Her back arched for wanting him. Gilchrist still held himself back, watching her and drinking in the sight. He had imagined them making love in so many ways, but each time they did, it was more exciting than he had thought possible.

He slid himself completely inside of her, watching as her hands turned white against the wall. She rocked back into him, clearly wanting more of this feeling.

He lost his control and suddenly entered her fast, repeatedly. The tempo he built up was so quick and full of need, he could feel her bracing herself indeed against that barrel, absorbing each thrust of his hips toward her.

Gilchrist tilted his head back, the better to watch all of her as he entered her, and to watch exactly what they were doing. Her body was always ready for him, wanting him, as he wanted her.

He ran his hands over her rear, squeezing a little, then gripping to her hips so he could move faster still. Kyven gasped all the more, now not knowing what to do with her hands. Sometimes she reached back with one toward him, gripping to his arm, other times it went to the barrel beneath her, then back to the wall. She was frantic in her pleasure, and the sounds could not be stopped now. They fell from her lips, an intoxicating sound that drove him mad.

He was coming close now, nearing his end. He dreamed of finishing inside of her, of the two of them reaching that climax together, but he could not do it. A small voice in the back of his mind told him the danger of it – he could not get the Lady of the McDougall’s with child when he might not be permitted to marry her. He would never do that to her.

Gilchrist held his pleasure back as much as he possibly could, fighting the overwhelming sensations, determined to see her reach her edge. Then it happened. She bucked back against him, breathy sounds escaping her as her hands planted flat to the wall in front of her.

“Oh…” She moaned as her body tightened around their connection.

It was tipping him toward his edge fast, the feeling of her tightening. He had to pull himself out. He only had to pump his length twice before he finished, releasing against the side of the barrel, catching her leg too with his seed as their grunts and groans filled the air.

They were both still breathing heavily, holding onto one another as they came down from their high.

“So much fer being quiet,” she said eventually, prompting him to laugh. He turned her around and sat her on the barrel again when her legs shook, unable to keep her standing.

“I love ye,” he said without hesitation, moving to capture her lips. She embraced him tight, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he stood between the gap of her legs. “Ye dinnae mind, dae ye? Being here, I mean. In the clan of Gregor, considering…”

What me father did.

He could not bring himself to say the words. He was still basking in the pleasure of what they had shared.

“I am happy tae be here,” she whispered against his chest. “Clan Gregor and ye are one in me mind now. I dinnae think I have ever felt so safe, anywhere before.”

Gilchrist held her tight, without any intention of letting her go to somewhere she didn’t feel safe again.

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Prologue

Inverlochy, Scotland, 1757

“Where are ye?” Michael whispered into the air. The cold breeze pulled at his dark hair, as if the wind itself was made of strong fingers trying to pull him back. However, nothing would stop him from marching on to reach the very spot where he met Elisa every Sunday, without fail.

Between the two great hills that dominated the landscape like sleeping giants, he jumped onto a vast boulder, looking down at the valley and toward the nearest village. From this high up, he could see the blackened heather competing with the rough grass of the Highland hills. Everything shivered in the breeze.

It was an ominous sign.

Michael had heard such things from his eldest brother for years now. Laird Braydon, as most addressed him, was superstitious when away from the prying eyes of his clan’s men.

‘Aye, a strong wind bodes ill, Michael. Ye be warned of it. It means there’s something stirring in the air. Somethin’ coming for us all.’

Michael was not superstitious though. He shrugged the thought off, his tall figure dropping down from the vast grey stone as he hurried toward the village to meet his love, Elisa.

Nae long now and we will be wed.

He could practically hear the music that would play at their wedding.

A boot scuffed a stone.

Michael whipped his head around, coming to a sudden halt in the heather. Someone was there. No wind could brush a stone like leather. No, there had to be someone there, someone who was now doing their best to hide and avoid discovery. All Michael could see were the Douglas firs, the crests of the great hills and the still-quivering heather.

I willnae doubt me senses. Someone is there.

Michael’s brothers, Braydon and Tynan, had taught him well. Not only how to hunt a stag in the woods, but also how to turn a man following you from predator into prey. How to behave to raise the least suspicion.

Brushing his dark hair away from his forehead, he wrapped the black and navy tartan strip he wore tighter around his shoulders and walked on, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Under the cover of the tartan, his hand reached for the dirk in his belt, clutching it firmly between his fingers. He trained his ears to listen beyond the whistling of wind.

There came a scuff again, but there were two sets of footsteps now.

Michael whipped around, pulling the dirk clear of his belt and brandishing it in the air, but before Michael could do anything with the dirk, he found his wrist clamped in a thick fist, and a sharp knee was driven into his gut.

“Oof!” He crumpled forward in pain, listening as the dirk he’d been clutching fell to the ground with a dull thud. He was pushed back, his vision a blur of darkened shadows, hair tangled in the wind, masked faces, then all fell still as he was thrown against the nearest tree trunk . The fir only shook a little when Michael’s weight was thrown against it. The branches quivered, as if the attack disturbed it no more than the wind.

“What the – in the name of the wee man!” Michael roared, thrusting back at his attacker, hands scrambling as he reached for another weapon. “Are ye trying tae kill me ye great –”

He could not say anymore as an arm was thrust across his neck. Pressed against that tree, it was as if his neck was nothing more than a twig to his attacker, something that could be snapped at any moment.

“Nae a word, Michael Gregor,” a familiar voice rasped out.

Michael looked at the two men before him. The one pinning him to the tree had only his eyes on show, the rest of his face hidden behind dark red and green tartan. Yet the grey eyes were as familiar as the voice.

“Dinnae bother hiding yer face from me, Shay.” Michael managed the words despite the pressure on his throat.

Shay tore the tartan from his face, as did his accomplice, who stood a short distance behind him.

Shay Lamont, son of a neighboring laird, was almost as pale as the snow on the tops of the hills. His blond hair was more white than yellow too. It was almost like looking into a man made of ice, his gaze and touch as cold as Michael feared it would be.

Behind him stood Shay’s dearest friend. Larry, a short but burly fellow, stocky in build with a shock of dark red hair, was now nursing a blackened eye and a bruised jaw that he rubbed feebly as he took off his tartan strip.

“How’s the eye?” Michael asked Larry, goading what he already knew to be a dangerous situation.

“Enough!” Shay spat, adjusting his grasp and flattening Michael to the tree even more, risking to break Michael’s neck. He raised a dirk at the same time, pressing the tip of the ornate blade to Michael’s chin. “Another move, and ye die, Gregor. Ye understand? Ye die!” he hissed angrily.

This time, Michael chose not to goad him. He refused to flinch though and didn’t so much as blink. He merely stared back at Shay, waiting for what would happen next.

“Ye and yer brothers may have got the jump on us once, but it willnae happen again,” Shay muttered darkly.

Michael couldn’t resist. The voice in his head was determined to say his piece.

“Is one attack nae enough fer ye? Ye already threatened me once about going tae meet Elisa. How did that work out fer ye, eh?” Michael’s eyes darted between the two men. Shay’s bruises were not so easy to spot, but they were there. One milky green one on his neck was showing against the pallor of his skin.

“She willnae marry the youngest brother of a laird,” Shay spat once again. “She needs an heir. Ye hear me, Michael? Ye arenae good enough tae lick her boots.”

“She seems tae think differently.”

“Ye are just a boy, and she is just a girl. In time, she will see things differently. She’ll want the heir tae a lairdship. She will want… a man.”

Michael said nothing. He glowered back at Shay, trying to think of a way out of this situation. Even if he fought Shay off, Larry had to be dealt with too. He was not fooled by the miserable way in which Larry kept touching the bruises on his face. His stocky build counted for a lot in a fight and the long thin scar running from his chin to his collarbone showed he was not afraid to risk injury in order to win.

“This is yer final warning, Gregor,” Shay muttered again. “Ye willnae be seeing Elisa anymore.”

“We are tae be married,” Michael reminded him. “Ye tried this before yet ye dinnae remember the punishment me brothers and I dealt out tae ye, dae ye? Dinnae get involved in our business, Shay. Go back tae yer own clan.”

The dirk was raised. Pressed deep into Michael’s cheek, he felt the prick on his skin and imagined the bead of blood pooling at the blade. Michael’s stomach clenched tightly. At that moment, Shay could quite easily murder him. It would be all too easy.

“I’ll only return when I take Elisa with me,” Shay said warningly.

Michael blinked for the first time, an image of Elisa appearing in his mind. Mild in manner, delicate, fair golden hair and bright green eyes, Elisa could ensnare nearly any man she met, but she had chosen Michael. She wished to marry him as he did her. They didn’t care if they were still young, that Michael hadn’t yet seen his twenty-first summer, and she hadn’t seen her eighteenth. They were determined to wed regardless, and the betrothal had been blessed both by Laird Braydon and Elisa’s father.

“She isnae yers tae take,” Michael took on a darker tone. “Go home, Shay. Like the white lamb ye are, go home with yer tail between yer legs.”

Rage enveloped Shay’s face. The lines around his eyes and neck became taut, his grey eyes now nearly red.

“Ye think a betrothal is enough tae stop me? Or a few bruises dealt by yer weakling brothers?” He spat on Michael, but still Michael refused to flinch. “A pathetic excuse fer a laird yer brother, barely more than a child himself.”

Michael’s body tightened now. His hand down at his side balled into a fist.

“Or Tynan, eh? What a man is he? What a pathetic creature, responsible for his own father’s death. It’s a wonder he didnae kill himself years ago with the guilt.”

“Ye bast –” Michael tried to rage against him. His brothers, two of the best men born on this planet, did not deserve such insults. He attempted to push Shay off him, but he pressed that dirk harder into his face now. Larry also stepped closer beside him, revealing a long thin rapier he had kept hidden behind his back up until now.

“Dinnae move,” Shay warned once more. “There’s something ye’ll want tae ken, Michael Gregor. Something ye’ll wish tae hear from me.” He jerked his head in silent instruction at Larry who stepped forward once more, reaching into the pocket of his tunic before producing something.

Michael strained to see what it was but was dealt with another blow to his stomach by Shay.

Winded, he buckled forward onto his knees, landing on a great stone which bruised his leg so badly, he had no chance of standing. Gasping for breath, he looked up, peering through his strands of dark hair to see Shay standing over him. Shay still grasped the dirk threateningly, but in his other palm, he now held something. He raised it high then let it drop to the ground in front of Michael. It drifted like a feather, strands falling apart in the wind. The golden wisps shimmered in what little light bled through the clouds at all.

“Her hair,” Shay said, though Michael hardly needed to hear the words, for he’d guessed as much. “Elisa’s hair. She’s so small, is she nae? So delicate. She could be snapped like a baby bird.”

“Ye demon –”

“Nay more words.” Shay moved the dirk toward Michael once again. “Heed me warning this time. Ye willnae pay attention tae a threat against yer own life, I ken that much, so I must make another threat altogether. Ye will leave.”

Michael raised his eyebrows.

“Leave.” Shay spoke in emphasis. “Ye will leave this clan and never return. If ye so much take a step back into these borders, Elisa will die, and she willnae be the only one. Yer beloved brothers will meet their ends too.”

“Ye would never get near them. They are too well trained.”

“Ye want tae find out?” Shay asked, a malicious smirk spreading across his lips. “Elisa will be the easiest tae hurt. She will die first, but it will be easy enough tae get tae yer brothers. Tynan enjoys a drink at the tavern, fer instance. And Laird Braydon Gregor has many weaknesses of his own. I ken them all.” He stepped forward, threateningly. “One way or another, I will kill them, unless I have yer agreement.”

Nay, I cannae dae it.

Every fiber of his being screamed against the idea. This clan was Michael’s home. He loved his brothers, and it was the only life he had ever known. But looking up into Shay’s eyes, he saw the danger. Was it not rumored that Shay had already killed a man? And people claimed Shay’s own father was questioning him about a woman’s death.

“Dinnae doubt me,” Shay said, his tone now so dark it made Michael’s heartbeat thunder in his chest. “Ye will live tae regret it. All around ye will die, Michael Gregor, but ye will live. Aye, I’ll make sure of that, so ye can grieve them and mourn them, and let the guilt drive ye mad until ye throw yerself in River Lochy tae meet yer own death. It would be so easy. I could orchestrate it tae blame the McDowells, so they would face the responsibility fer yer brothers’ deaths, nae I.”

Images flashed in Michael’s mind. He saw Elisa’s smile, her bright green eyes, then he saw his brothers together, their matching dark hair and pleasant smiles. How could Michael let himself be the cause of all their deaths? He could not let it happen.

“Dae I have yer agreement?” Shay pushed the dagger toward him.

Wild ideas circled in his mind. Michael could kill Shay now just for making the threat, but what then? He would be hanged for murder, and that would destroy Braydon’s and Tynan’s lives regardless.

I have nay choice.

Reluctantly and very slowly, he offered a single nod.

“Good.” Shay backed up, grasping Larry’s arm and urging him to run away first before he followed. “Be gone by the end of the day, or Elisa willnae see the sun rise tomorrow.”

Michael still could not stand. He shifted to his haunches and stared at the retreating figures of Shay and Larry, deep in thought.

Braydon and Tynan wouldn’t let him go. If he went to them now and told them the truth, they’d insist a man like Shay could not hurt them. Yet Michael couldn’t take that chance. If he was really going to protect them, keep them and Elisa safe, then he’d have to think of another way to leave, a way that would ensure that neither Braydon nor Tynan would come looking for him again.

A plan of where to go and hide was forming fast in his mind. Shay was not the only enemy of his brother’s, for so were the McDowells. Where better to hide than in the enemy clan? Somewhere where he could shed his name and become someone new. He would no longer be Michael, but a new man, with a new Christian name. “Pray, forgive me for what I am about tae do.”

Chapter One

McDowell Castle, Scotland, 1765

Kyven stuck her head through the doorway, peering at someone she knew she should not be watching.

Captain Gilchrist was sitting in his usual chair in the library of McDowell Castle. It was surprising to find a soldier, a military leader at that, so often in this room, reading alone or in her company. It was their tradition for him to read aloud as she sat nearby, painting and drawing, but not today. On this day, she’d had much to do, and now that she was free, as the sun set, she had come to find him.

Seemingly unaware of her presence, she watched him sitting in the vast Flemish baroque chair that he always occupied, his uniform pulled tightly across his tall and broadly muscled frame. His legs were a little apart, the book resting on just one large palm.

Kyven’s mouth turned a little dry. His black hair was cropped short these days, though he had once worn it longer, and she could remember the way the ends used to tease his forehead. The stubble across his chin was growing longer too, and she wondered if that dark hair on his angular jaw was soft or sharp to the touch. The blue eyes, dark like a stormy ocean, were trained on the book, calmly moving from one word to the next.

A candle beside him kept him company and the fire that burned in the hearth gave out a soft glimmer, the only sources of orange light in the room to compete with the black sky. At this time of year, it grew dark so early, most of the day seemed black. So often had Kyven thought of Captain Gilchrist as a source of light in that darkness, despite his quiet, nearly always silent manner.

“Since when did the lady of the clan become a spy?” Captain Gilchrist asked without looking up from his book, his deep voice making something in her stomach quake.

His voice always had this effect on her. It was as if he could reach into her very soul just with his words.

“How did ye ken I was here?” she asked, stepping into the room and moving her hands to her hips.

At last, Captain Gilchrist looked up from what he was doing. He raised one dark eyebrow in her direction, not quite smiling, as he rarely smiled, though there was a lightness in his gaze.

Sometimes I feel it is only I who kens him well enough tae understand what that look means.

“It’s unusual fer ye nae tae be here,” he said quietly, returning his blue eyes to the book. “Though many wonder why we enjoy spending time here reading together.”

“It is me library,” she reminded him teasingly, moving to kneel on the hearth rug and turn her body to the fire. She extended her hands toward the flames, trying to warm her body. “Maybe people should question why ye are in me library so much.”

“Fer the books,” he said simply, turning the page.

“Sometimes people wonder if ye come fer another reason,” she continued to tease him. He raised an eyebrow again, showing what he thought of those words, though he didn’t look away from the book.

She laughed softly, trying her best to release the sudden tension in the air. She often teased him in that way, for it was what everyone said of the two of them.

Even her maid had wondered if the two of them were secret lovers as they spent so much time with one another. Kyven’s particular reply to that question had been sharp, tart, and an attempt to cover a secret hurt.

“Captain Gilchrist would nay more look at me fer a wife than he would his dog. I am simply someone tae keep him company in that library.”

Though, of course, she wished he would look at her in that way. There had been a time when she had thought he was fond of her, but that was a long time ago now. After the first couple of years of dancing around one another, Gilchrist had never made a move or even truly flirted with her. It had only ever been a jest.

“What is it, Kyven?” he whispered.

She startled, wondering if he had noticed just how much she was staring at him. It was a habit of hers, one she indulged in far too much.

He doesnae think of me in that way.

She turned her focus on the fire, watching as the yellow flames licked the wood.

“It’s just today,” she murmured with a sigh. “It’s been a busy day, going tae the mausoleum.”

“Ah.” He closed the book sharply and rubbed the brow of his forehead. “I’m sorry, Kyven. I didnae even think about what today is fer ye.”

“It doesnae matter.”

“Of course it matters.” He sighed and placed the book on the table beside him.

Turning in the chair to face her, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He came so close, her breath hitched in her throat. She wet her lips, trying her best not to think about his proximity, or how she felt a heat not just from the fire, but from him.

“How was it?” he asked, his voice soft.

“As it usually is,” she murmured. “Me father’s death… I feel the usual ache, the grief, the anger at the Gregors fer what they did tae him, although it was a long time ago now. But at least the sharpness of the pain isnae as bad as it once was.”

Gilchrist shifted in his seat. For a moment, she thought he was uneasy, but then she presumed it was just because the subject they were discussing was death.

Who could ever be easy when speaking of it?

“Hmm.” He nodded slowly. For a moment, she thought he might say more, perhaps speak of his own father. In all the time she had known him, he had never mentioned his own family. He must have had a father, but was he dead? Or was he still alive? And if so, why did Gilchrist never speak of him? “I am sorry,” he whispered to her. “I ken it is of little comfort, but it will get even easier in time. Trust me.”

Maybe his father is dead.

She was about to ask him. Was it so wrong to want to know something about Captain Gilchrist’s life after knowing him for eight years? She had first met him when she was scarcely more than a child, and he had appeared, acclaimed by the captain of their army at the time. Just a stranger, Gilchrist had come across some of his scouts on the road as they were being attacked by bandits. Stepping in and saving their lives had earned him such praise that he had been quickly enlisted in their own army and had advanced fast through the ranks to become their new captain.

That scrap of his life was all she knew of him, though she longed to know more. Yet she feared he would shut down and refuse to answer her if she asked more, as he had done in the past.

“It’s nae just that,” she said instead. “After what me family did recently, can ye blame me fer feeling a little… lost on a day like today?”

“Nae at all.” He slowly shook his head, turning his face to the fire and also staring at the flames. “Yer sister is gone though. She cannae hurt ye or anyone in this life again.”

“Aye. I ken.” Yet it was sometimes hard for Kyven to accept.

After her father had died, her uncle had come to take care of the clan. After his passing, the lairdship had been given to Kyven’s older sister, Imogen. A less loving sisterly relationship would be hard to find. Imogen had always blamed her for killing their mother in childbirth and so the women never got along.

When Imogen had become lady of the clan, she had lied about taking a husband, Elliot Sutherland. She blackmailed and manipulated him into doing her bidding by imprisoning his father, while keeping a lover by the name of Ossian Macauley. He was a foul man whose greed had been fanatical. In the end, both Ossian’s and Imogen’s greed and manipulative actions had seen them falling to the bottom of a cliff together.

A year had passed since then, but Kyven was still haunted by her elder sister dying in such a way. She was never sure whether to grieve her or not.

“Kyven?” Gilchrist’s deep voice called her back to the present, and she looked at him, turning her head his way. The heat he emanated made her warm again, and it somehow made it easier to forget the darkness of the past. “All will be well. I promise ye that.”

“How can ye ken that?” she asked, her voice shaking a little. “The council insist I marry, so a new laird can be found fer the clan.”

“There are some good things tae marriage,” he said, the smallest of smiles pulling at his lips.

“Ye mean like the happiness we have found in this room?” she asked, feeling brave but regretting the words a second later.

“Aye, maybe yer husband will read tae ye, as I dae.”

A sudden coldness washed over her body, and she looked away from him, into the flames.

He will never look at me as a possible wife.

She had to push away all the pictures she’d ever had of her and Captain Gilchrist together. She had often dreamt of the two of them, sitting in this room, reading and drawing into the late hours. What would it be like if a small child ran between them, with her green eyes and Gilchrist’s black hair? She always pretended in front of other people that she couldn’t care less for Gilchrist but deep inside, her truth was different.

“Knock, knock,” a familiar voice called from the doorway.

Kyven looked around, surprised to be disturbed in this room. She considered the library her haven, her place to be alone with Gilchrist.

In the doorway stood Aaden. He had been Elliot’s man-at-arms when he had stood in place of the laird of the clan, and still occupied the position, though he was not their war leader. These days, that role resided with Captain Gilchrist.

Aaden’s dark blond hair was ruffled, as if a lover had just trailed a hand through it. His rather full beard these days was neat in comparison and as he leaned on the doorframe, she noticed one of the laces of his doublet was tied at an odd angle, as if he had just thrown it on. She sighed loudly, realizing he must have seduced one of her maids again.

“Nae disturbing, am I?” he said with a mischievous smile, leaning on the frame. “Only, ye’d think the two of ye might be locked in an embrace, based on the amount of time ye spend alone in this room together.”

“Aaden!” she snapped at him, her face blushing as purple as a beetroot. She refused to turn around and meet Gilchrist’s eye. “Just because ye jump into bed with every woman in me clan, doesnae mean every man is like ye.”

“Nae every woman.” Aaden winked at her. “I havenae found a bed with ye in it yet, have I?”

“Aaden.” Gilchrist’s warning tone only made Aaden laugh all the more, tipping his head back and guffawing.

“Ye ken I would never dae that tae me lady.” He bowed ostentatiously. “Now, before I can tease ye and make poor Lady Kyven’s face even redder, ye are needed Gilchrist. The scouts have returned and seen movements of the other clans’ soldiers. They wish tae talk tae ye.”

“I’m coming.” Gilchrist stood. Kyven looked up at him, wondering if the fear showed on her face.

It was something the council had talked to her about an awful lot, how without a laird in place, someone could seek to take advantage of their weakness as a clan and attack to take the land for themselves.

“It will be nothing tae worry about,” Gilchrist said, pausing beside her, his voice deepening. “Trust me,” he added. “Any soldier would have tae fight me tae get here, and I’ll be as ruthless as the devil in his fiery hell tae stop them.” With these impassioned words, spoken so calmly he might as well have been talking about the weather, Kyven shuddered in a kind of delight.

She waited, watching as Gilchrist left. Aaden didn’t follow him thought, just standing in the doorway, staring at her.

“Ye dinnae need tae blush so much now. He’s gone.”

“Then dinnae make such comments like that in future. Ye are simply poking at something that isnae there.”

“Ah, Kyven.” He sighed loudly and stepped into the room. “I could jest about ye and Captain Gilchrist all day, but unfortunately, business calls and the council want ye.”

“What fer?” she asked, noting that all traces of humor had left Aaden completely.

“They have found a husband fer ye.”

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