Prologue

Orkney Islands, Scotland 1516

Dunn Leòideach sat straight up in bed, panting and covered in sweat. His hands gathered into fists around the bedcoverings as he attempted to get his emotions under control. He had dreamt about her again: his mother. It had been fifteen years but, in his dreams, it was as real and vivid as if he were witnessing it for the first time.

He had been sixteen summers when his younger brother Tor came to retrieve him from the University of Aberdeen and told him that their father had been killed. When they returned home, their mother had greeted Dunn with a kiss, told him the tale of his father’s death, and left the great hall to retire to her bedchamber; clear to all that she wished to be alone in her grief. Only a few moments later, a scream had transfixed the air in the courtyard beyond. Dunn and Tor dashed outside and discovered their mother dead on the stones. She had leapt from her bedchamber window. Her lifeless face had haunted his dreams since that day, tormenting his soul.

A hand reached out through the darkness, removing Dunn from his sorrow-filled thoughts. “Was it the same dream again?” Esmerelda’s voice offered consolation.

“Aye,” Dunn sighed, laying back down and drawing her into his arms.

“Do ye wish tae talk about it?”

Unsure of the answer, he said nothing. Esmerelda was getting too close again, and he did not like it. He felt unspeakable pain when he remembered his parents’ lives cut short. Deciding that he did not want to talk about it, he rolled over on top of her as a means of distraction.

“Enough,” he growled, kissing her with the passion of a possessed man. The fact they were both already naked allowed him to bury his shaft deep inside of her with one swift motion.

“My laird,” Esmerelda cried out in ecstasy as he drove into her over and over again until he was spent. He poured all of his rage and sorrow into her, attempting to leave it there. Yet, no matter the pleasure of the act, his heart remained drenched in torment.

When they both reached their climax, Dunn rolled off of her and stepped barefoot onto the cool stone floor. Naked, he walked over to the table and poured them both a dram of whisky. He extended hers, and she took it gratefully. Taking a long slow sip, Esmerelda looked at him with concerned eyes. He did not like it. She was his favorite in bed, dark and beautiful as she was, but that was as far as he was willing for the connection to go. Any time a woman got close to his heart, he would send them away. He could not bear the thought of letting someone in to the point that they could do him true emotional harm. And whenever he were to bed a woman, he made certain that they understood his intentions.

“Dinnae look at me like that,” he chastened, grabbing his shirt from the end of the bed.

“Will ye be returning upon the morrow?” Esmerelda asked, hope sparkling in her eyes.

Dunn studied her face, not liking the longing he saw there. She was forming feelings for him—strong feelings at that. He would have to put a stop to it before things got more complicated than they already were. “Aye, but I will be bringing two other women with me.”

Esmerelda’s eyes turned to flames. “Why would ye do such a thing? Am I nae enough for ye?”

“I am laird here. I can do as I please. It is nae yer place tae question my ways, Esmerelda. Have I ever said that I would be loyal tae ye?” Dunn asked, his eyes meeting her gaze as he put on his boots.

“Dinnae do this. Have I nae done everything that ye have asked o’ me in bed, every wicked and blasphemous thing? How am I nae enough for ye?” A thought seemed to cross her mind as her lip curled in jealousy. “Is this about yer coming wedding tae the Morgan lass?”

Dunn shook his head with one violent motion. “Nae, dinnae speak o’ it! I would rather die a thousand deaths than wed the daughter o’ the man who killed my faither!”

“The king has commanded it, Dunn. Ye have nae choice if ye wish tae hold on tae what lands ye have left.”

He growled in response, knowing she was right. His grandfather had sided with the Lord of the Isles against the Scottish crown. When the lordship of the Isles had been lost to the Clan MacDonald, those involved had been punished. Dunn’s grandfather was killed on the battlefield opposite the grandfather of the woman Dunn was to marry. In spite of this loss, the clan had still been punished, and the mere thought of it turned his stomach sour.

The nightmarish image of his mother’s lifeless eyes flashed through his mind once more. When Dunn’s father had been killed in a disagreement between himself and the current Morgan chief while attending the royal marriage of England’s Prince Henry and Catherine of Aragon, the king had sided with the Morgan laird in the argument. The laird was not punished for killing Dunn’s father, and Dunn’s family had been denied any form of retribution.

With the loss of both his grandfather and father, Dunn had been forced to take on the lairdship of his clan at the young age of sixteen. The tributes they had been forced to pay to the king for his grandfather and father’s actions had left the clan impoverished. But the one thing that they were rich in was men trained for battle which rendered them a strong ally and a formidable foe. Dunn had made certain that their reputation for ferocity in warfare was well known. If he could not avenge his father, then he would inspire fear of him, and his men would keep any further threat from their doors. This had worked well until the regent for King James V had decided that in order to tame the Viking beast of the Orkneys, as Dunn was known, he would be forced to wed the daughter of Alistair Morgan, his mortal enemy.

“Our people cannae suffer by my hand,” Dunn acknowledged her words. “But whether I wed the lass or I dinnae, it has nothing tae do with ye. Ye kenned from the beginning what this betwixt us was, Esmerelda. It is nothing more than pleasure. It will never be more.”

The flames returned to Esmerelda’s eyes, and she lashed out at him, slapping him across the face. Dunn pulled her into his arms and attempted to placate her with kisses. He was well aware of the effect his masculine beauty had on women. With his tall form, broad shoulders, blond hair, and blue eyes, he struck quite a figure. In all of his years bedding women, not one had ever said no. To his surprise, she shoved him away and spat at his feet. “I curse ye for a whoremonger!”

Dunn released her and moved toward the door. “I would nae be throwing stones when ye yerself enjoy my brother’s bed as well as mine.”

Esmerelda’s cheeks flushed red. “Harken me well, Dunn Leòideach! I curse ye tae love one o’ my kind. She will break yer heart, as ye have done mine, and when she has, ye will return tae me. Ye will beg for my mercy tae release ye.”

Dunn snorted in indignation. “I could never love ye or any other woman. Ye ken well enough that I cannae wed a witch o’ the luchd siubhail. The clan elders would nae allow it. If I am tae wed, it must be tae a virgin o’ good family.”

“Mark me, laird! Ye will love a Romani woman, and she will be yer end.”

Chapter One

Strathnaver, Scotland, Six Months Later

Katarina Buckland smiled as she watched her two younger sisters, Idalia and Leonor, dance around the fire in the center of the encampment. Their eyes gleamed in the fire’s light as their hair whipped around in glorious cascades of ebony. Her father was playing his favorite instrument, a stringed piece with a bow called the Lira da Braccio. It had been given to him by Sixtus IV when he had performed for the Pope in Rome. Her mother’s beautiful voice filled the night air with the sweetest melancholy.

Katarina’s eyes lingered on Idalia, and her heart lightened in relief at her sister’s joy. They had just barely escaped with their lives. Idalia had been promised to the son of another Romani family, August Raymond, but their father had learned the truth about August’s violent nature and had refused to honor the engagement. The Raymond family had attempted to exact retribution, but the senior Buckland had known what was to come and had escaped with his family into the night. They had left England and traveled the length of Scotland to find a place of refuge. On this night, they had stopped to camp beside Loch Naver.

“Come join us,” Leonor urged Katarina, eyes dancing with delight.

Smiling, Katarina stood and joined them. Throwing herself into the music felt liberating. She twirled and whirled in abandon, letting the world and its cares fall away. We are safe. No one will find us here.

A cry broke through the night, silencing the music. Katarina stopped twirling to find a line of soldiers, twenty-four in number as far as she could see, encircling them. They were all wearing blue tartan trews and deadly expressions. Katarina met her father’s eyes across the fire. “Run,” he roared as he dropped his instrument to take up his sword.

Katarina immediately obeyed, grabbing her sisters by the hand, and raced into the darkness. Finding a hollowed-out tree trunk, she shoved her sisters inside. “Stay here and do not utter a sound,” she commanded as she turned back in the hopes of helping her parents.

What she saw upon arriving back was unlike anything that she had ever witnessed before. Blood seemed to rain from the sky as the soldiers slashed their way through the camp. Katarina saw her father and mother fighting back-to-back in the center of the encampment—her grandfather was sitting on the ground, sobbing and holding her dead grandmother in his arms. Before Katarina could utter a warning, a soldier’s blade pierced her grandfather’s back, and he slumped over in death, still cradling his beloved.

In outrage, Katarina stooped to pick up the sword of a fallen soldier and waded into the fray. She had been trained to fight from a young age for her own protection, but she had never fought an enemy like this before. The men fought with a well-trained ferocity that was brutally efficient. They were well beyond her skill level, but she did not let that stop her. This was life or death, and she would die to protect her family if that was what God demanded of her.

Engaging with the closest soldier, she got a good slice into his neck before he even registered her presence. Katarina felt the sword make contact, and her stomach rolled as blood came spurting out to soak her face and hands. The soldier fell to the ground, dead upon impact. His cold empty eyes stared up at her in accusation. Bending over, she vomited into the grass, unable to stop herself. Swiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she stood just in time to see a soldier charging toward her.

God in heaven, save us!

This time, she did not have the element of surprise and was quickly overpowered. In three blows, the soldier had disarmed her. With a punch to the face, he brought her to her knees. Another blow to the head made her vision blur and her body sway. She could feel herself falling between the lines of consciousness and the realm of the dead. As she lay bleeding in the grass, she saw her father turn to help her, but he was cut down mid-stride. Her mother screamed in agony at the sight and fell to her knees beside him. One of the soldiers grabbed her mother up by the hair and dragged her to the tree line. The woman fought with all of her strength, but it was to no avail.

Katarina lay frozen in horror upon the ground as her mother was brutally raped by one soldier after another. She attempted to rise, to fight, to somehow save her life, but she could not. Her body had sustained too much damage, and she was too weak to move. She could not even move her head to look away.

When her mother’s screams stopped, Katarina knew that she was gone.

The soldiers continued to rape her until the last one cut her throat for good measure, then moved on to another woman. When they came for Katarina, she braced herself for the end, praying that they would kill her first before defiling her body. To her surprise, the soldier who lifted her skirts was stopped by what appeared to be the group leader. “Stay yerself, Hamish. Virgins are worth more intact.”

Growling, the one referred to as Hamish dropped her skirts and hauled her up off of the ground. As Katarina could not walk of her own accord, the soldier was forced to carry her. She attempted to grab for the man’s knife, but her coordination was altered by the head wound. She could not manage it. The soldier tossed her into the back of a wagon, and her head hit the hard wooden floor.

“Katarina!” Her sisters’ voices crying out her name was the last thing she heard before the world went black, and she slipped into blessed oblivion.

***

Alistair Morgan stared down at the women in his prison cell and snorted in disgust. “How are any o’ these pitiful creatures supposed tae pass for my bonnie daughter?”

“My laird.” His master of arms bowed in respect. “Bathed and mended, they will make for an acceptable alternative. Nae one outside o’ our own people and the nuns o’ the nunnery where she was hidden away has ever laid eyes upon Lady Katherine. She is known for her beautiful eyes, but that is all that is kenned o’ her.”

Alistair stood, considering the words. He nodded, then motioned to one of the girls lying on the floor unconscious. “Pry open her eyes.”

One of his soldiers, Hamish, moved to obey. “They are green, my laird.”

“Out o’ all the lassies, she looks the most like my Katherine.”

“Aye, my laird.”

Alistair made a sound of self-satisfaction. “Have her bathed and dressed in Katherine’s clothes. I wish tae see for myself that she is a presentable decoy.”

“Aye, my laird.” Hamish let the young woman’s head fall back to the stone as two of the other girls cried out in protest at the rough treatment. “What should we do with the rest o’ them?”

Alistair waved a hand as if they did not matter. “After I am satisfied that I have found a replacement for Katherine, they can be sold, distributed among the men, or killed. I care not. The young boys can be trained to join our fighting men. In time, they will forget their life as luchd siubhail.”

Alistair left the cell and climbed the steps to the great hall. He found his daughter sitting beside the fire, working on her latest tapestry—her needlework was exquisite, just as her mother’s had been. She looked up and smiled at his approach. “Faither, have ye enjoyed a productive day?”

Alistair bent to kiss her forehead and nodded. “Aye, I do believe that I have. I have found a way for ye nae tae have tae marry that brute o’ a man from the north.”

She smiled in gratitude. “How?”

“I have found a lass who will take yer place in the marriage bed. She is nae as bonnie as ye are, but she will suffice. She is one o’ the luchd siubhail.”

Katherine frowned. “I ken that they are luchd siubhail and that ye believe them tae be o’ nae real consequence, but I must admit to feeling pity for the woman ye have chosen. If she is tae wed the Viking beast o’ Orkney, should she nae be given a choice? I have never laid eyes upon him myself, but his reputation is fierce. I will nae have another woman suffer for me. If the king wishes this torment on me, then I will do as the king wishes.”

“Ye need nae worry, Katherine. Ye will never have tae face any man ye dinnae wish tae. I will protect ye. The king asked too much when he pledged yer hand tae that brute. I will nae have my daughter sullied in such a manner. Ye are meant for a better man than he. The lass is willing tae take yer place,” he told the lie with ease, with her being none the wiser. If he was to get her to agree, he would have to make the deception true.

“Ye are certain she is willing?”

“Aye, I am,” he lied again, nodding.

“And I will be allowed tae wed whomever I choose?”

“Aye, ye will wed a man o’ noble birth and bearing, perhaps even o’ royal blood. I will arrange it myself.”

“A prince perhaps?” Katherine asked hopefully, the fear she had of having to wed the king’s choice finally leaving her eyes.

“Mayhap even a king.” He smiled down at her dotingly.

Alistair Morgan was a cruel man. He knew it and felt no shame for it. However, when it came to his daughter, he oozed sweetness. She was his one true love in life, and he doted on her every whim. When the king’s missive had arrived demanding that she be united in marriage to the Viking beast of Orkney, he had immediately put into action a plan to trick both the brute and the king. It had taken him six months to find a woman who looked enough like his daughter, but at long last, he was close to achieving his goal.

“What if the king discovers yer ploy?” Katherine fretted her lip between her teeth.

“By then, it will be tae late. The decoy and the Viking will have been wed before God and the law.”

“The king would be displeased.”

“Aye. He could punish us for the deception, but I have a plan in place tae ensure that he will never ken the truth o’ the matter.”

“How is that, Faither?”

He smiled ominously at the thought of his plan. “Ye leave that tae me.” He knew if he told her, she would never agree. For the Viking and the decoy would not live long enough for the truth to be told.

***

Katarina awoke to a splitting headache. Her head was pounding with pain to the point where she could feel her heartbeat pulsate in her eyeballs. Suddenly, she felt hands upon her person, grabbing and pulling at her. She could hear women crying all around her, and for a moment, she was confused. The memory of what had happened before she lost consciousness came flooding back all at once with such fierce vividness that she retched onto the stones beneath her cheek. A hard slap to the face jolted her fully awake.

“This is the one the laird wants?” a man’s voice questioned from above. She opened her eyes to find three men standing over her. “She is nae much tae look at in her present state.”

Katarina looked down at herself. She was covered in blood, her dress was rucked up around her hips, causing her to fear the worst. Did they… She could not bring herself to put the action into words, even in her mind. Hesitantly, she glanced under her skirt but did not see blood coming from between her legs. She had bruises on her limbs, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage there. Her head hurt worse than any other part of her body.

“Aye, she is the one. It is the eyes, ye ken.” The one called Hamish gestured toward her face. “They’re green like Lady Katherine’s.”

“Och, aye. I see it now.” The questioning soldier nodded in agreement. “Who is tae bathe her?”

“The laird is tae send one o’ the maids down. She will stay in the captain’s quarters.”

Nodding in agreement, the soldiers each grabbed one of Katarina’s arms and hoisted her up onto her feet. She was too stunned to speak, but she could hear her sisters crying out in protest behind her. She was dragged down a long stone corridor until they reached a solid wooden door at the end. One of the soldiers pounded on it with his fist, and it gave way to reveal a sturdy woman of middle age.

“Och, what have ye done tae the poor lass?” the woman asked, bustling forward to take Katarina into her ample arms.

“Calm down, Agnes,” Hamish ordered, his tone brusque but not without warmth for the older woman. “It is the laird’s wishes that we be carryin’ out.”

The older woman looked Katarina up and down in sympathy. Sighing, she shook her head in disapproval. “Help me get her in the bath. I cannae say I approve o’ his lairdship’s choice, but it is nae my place tae say.”

“It is nae,” Hamish agreed. “Send for me when she is done.” He and the other soldier hauled Katarina over to a chair near the tub that had been placed by the hearth, and then they left the room.

The woman named Agnes clucked her tongue in disapproval as she removed Katarina’s clothing. Her skin was covered in bruises and abrasions but nothing fatal. She would live if the head wound did not kill her first. Once Katarina was naked, Agnes inspected the wound on her head. “There was nae cause for such violence tae a young lass such as yerself.”

Katarina silently agreed with the woman but said nothing. She had yet to find her voice in the haze of fear, panic, pain, and what appeared to be a severe concussion, if the world spinning around her was any indication. Agnes, having finished her examination, lifted her into the tub. Unexpectedly, the woman was as strong as an ox. Drawing a pitcher of warm water from the tub, she poured it over Katarina’s head. The water stung the wounds on her scalp but felt good otherwise. After everything that she had endured, the warm water offered some solace to her aching body.

“Now that’s better, is it nae?” Agnes asked as she took a handful of soap and began to gently wash Katarina’s hair. “We will have ye looking bonnie in nae time at all.”

An image from her childhood flashed through Katarina’s mind, nearly choking her from the pain of her recent loss. Her mother had washed her hair just so. But with that memory came the horrific images of her mother’s demise. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run or fight. But being too weak and stunned to do any of those things, she sat in the tub and wept instead. She wept for everything that had been, that which had been lost, and for fear of what was to come.

If Agnes had noticed her crying, she said nothing. She went about her business, scrubbing her clean and making tsking sounds as she went. When Katarina was finally clean enough to suit the older woman, Agnes helped her stand up. As she stood there, the woman poured another pitcher over her body from her head to her toes to rinse away the remaining soap.

“That is better. The laird will be pleased. Ye are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Katarina feared to even ask.

“Ready for the wedding, o’ course.”

“What wedding? Who is getting married?”

“Ye are, lass. The wedding is yers.”

Chapter Two

Katarina stood in stunned silence. Mine?

Without warning, the door to the room swung open, exposing the menacing countenance of a man old enough to be her father. His eyes raked over her naked form as he circled her in examination but she was powerless to stop him or cover herself. She was barely able to remain standing of her own accord. “What is yer name?” he asked, his voice demanding.

Katarina struggled to find her voice, but when she at long last spoke, it came out more as a hoarse squeak than actual words. Agnes took pity on her and wrapped her in a warm blanket, assisting her out of the tub and onto the chair.

“Speak up,” the man ordered impatiently. “Ye are nae a mouse.”

Katarina’s anger flared, giving her strength. “Katarina Buckland,” she managed to answer hoarsely. “Who are you?”

“I am Laird Alistair Morgan.” He shook his head in disapproval of her. “Och, ye dinnae speak properly. The Viking will ken that ye are nae my daughter.”

Katarina frowned in confusion.

“Ye are nae Scottish?”

Katarina shook her head and immediately regretted it. She looked to Agnes for help, but the woman remained silent. She must be afraid of him too.

“Repeat after me, exactly as I say it. Do ye understand?” He glared down at her as if she were an imbecile.

Katarina was furious and mimicked him harshly. “Do ye understand?”

His brows arched in surprise. “That is nae bad. Try again.”

“That is nae bad,” she repeated mockingly.

The man, clearly not realizing he was being mocked, nodded his approval. “That’ll do. From this day forward ye will speak as a true Scotswoman. If I hear ye speak in any other way, I will have ye beaten. Ye will undergo lessons on how tae be a Scottish noblewoman o’ good breeding. Ye will learn quickly, or ye will be punished. Ye are tae take my daughter’s place and wed the Viking beast o’ Orkney. Ye will pretend tae be her until a time o’ my choosing. Do ye understand?”

“And if I refuse?” Katarina knew that she was playing with fire, but she no longer cared what happened to her—she only cared about her sisters.

“I will kill the rest o’ yer family.”

Katarina attempted to lie. “I have no family. Your men killed them all.”

The man stepped forward and slapped her across the face. “Speak correctly even when ye lie, or ye will be disciplined. We both ken that yer sisters are rotting away in the bowels o’ my home even as we speak. I can either let my men have their way with them and then kill them, or I can keep them safe and alive. The choice is yers.”

Katarina swallowed the bile that threatened to choke her. “When am I tae be wed?” she asked, gritting her teeth in determination. She would not let this man win. He would not touch a hair on her sisters’ heads, not if she had any say in the matter.

“Ye have a fortnight tae learn all ye need tae. Should ye fail, ye will wish that I had killed ye.” With that, he turned and left the room.

***

Orkney Islands, Scotland

Dunn and his brother Tor had just finished butchering a stag for the kitchens. Covered in blood, they headed down to the beach to bathe. “Have ye decided what ye plan tae do about the king’s order?” Tor asked as he removed his shirt and shoes.

Dunn shook his head as he did the same. “I dinnae ken that I have a choice. It has been six months, and the lass has nae died, nor has Morgan refused. Our clan is in nae position tae be denying the king anything. We dinnae have much left for him tae take.”

“Ye plan tae wed her then?”

“I dinnae see that I have a choice. The king commanded me tae. But he did nae say that I had tae bed her. Nae bairn o’ mine will bear Morgan blood.” Dunn dove into the water and resurfaced a short distance away.

Tor snorted. “When have ye ever turned down a lass that wished tae lay with ye?”

“There is a first time for everything.”

“It is said that Lady Katherine has eyes as green as emeralds. It is said that just one look o’ those emerald eyes and a man’s soul is lost.”

It was Dunn’s turn to snort in disbelief. “Ye cannae believe anything a Morgan says. Nae man in Scotland has laid eyes on Lady Katherine unless he was o’ her own clan. She is probably ugly as a pig’s snout. The tales o’ her beauty are only spoken o’ as a farce.”

Tor dove into the water and came up beside Dunn. “Beauty or nae, it is a dangerous match.”

“Aye, it is at that. Nae doubt she will serve as a spy tae her own faither against us. A Morgan cannae be trusted.”

“Ye will be in danger long ‘afore ye wed her. Simply traveling to retrieve her puts ye in danger. Where would our people be if ye were lost?”

“Under yer trustworthy care,” Dunn answered with a reassuring smile. “If aught were to befall me, ye would do what is needed.”

“I was nae trained tae be laird,” Tor reminded him. “Trained to be a warrior at yer side, aye, but nae laird.”

“Ye have been by my side for five and ten years. Ye have seen what my eyes have seen, heard what my ears have heard. Ye will do well.”

Tor shook his head. “I dinnae want it.”

“Nor did I,” Dunn reminded him.

“It is yer birthright.”

“Aye,” Dunn nodded in acknowledgment, “but nae one I asked for.”

Tor’s eyes filled with understanding. Dunn had been thrust into the role too young before he was ready, and despite the pain and uncertainty, he had performed admirably. “Let me go in yer stead. Let me retrieve yer bride. I will learn all I can o’ her along the journey and report tae ye what I find.”

“The king was clear that I must retrieve her myself.”

“After our faither died, the king forced ye tae swear an oath that ye would nae step forth onto Morgan lands. Now, he asks ye tae do the very thing that ye swore ye would nae. If ye dae retrieve her, ye will be breaking that oath. It feels like a trap tae me. Let me go. I will return tae ye unharmed, I swear it.”

Dunn gave this some thought. Tor was right. He had sworn a vow, an unbreakable vow upon pain of death. He studied his brother’s face. They were near identical, save for some minor differences. They both had long blond hair and blue eyes, but Tor wore his with a single small braid near his face, whereas Dunn wore his back in a long braid with the sides shaved, granting him a more menacing look in battle. A scar ran down the side of Dunn’s face from forehead to jawline, but instead of detracting from his beauty, it simply added a more dangerous air. Tor had a small scar on his chin and another at the nape of his neck. If only Laird Morgan had never seen either of them before or had only seen them as children, they might have been able to fool him by trading places. However, Dunn knew they couldn’t pull off such a trick.

He shook his head. “I cannae let ye do this. If there is any danger tae be had, then it is mine. Ye will remain here and look after our people. If this is a trick o’ Morgan’s, they will need ye tae lead them. Can I trust ye tae do this for me? Give me yer word ye will nae follow after me.”

“Aye,” Tor nodded solemnly. “Ye have my word. I will protect our people, but ye have tae promise me that ye will look after yerself. Dinnae fall prey tae Morgan’s wiles.”

“Aye, ye have my word as well.” Dunn made the promise even though he knew there was no certain way to keep it. Exiting the water, he donned his clothing once more, waving to his brother to carry on swimming. “I must prepare. I will come and find ye before I depart.”

“How does one prepare for what ye are about tae do?” Tor wondered, his voice tinged with sympathy.

“I dinnae ken.” Dunn shook his head. “But I dinnae have a choice.”

***

Strathnaver, Scotland

Katarina stood in front of the fireplace as Agnes dressed her in Lady Katherine’s clothing. The gown was beautiful, red with golden thread that accented her dark hair and sensuous curves. She looked at her image in the polished metal of the shield hanging on the wall. Her emerald-green eyes shone in the firelight as if something from one of her father’s dragon stories. They burned with a fury that threatened to melt anyone who dare cross her path, yet beneath that fury lay a deep abiding sorrow. A single tear slid down her cheek, disappearing in the raven curls of her hair.

The door opened, and a guard stepped inside. “His Lairdship has instructed me tae take ye tae see yer sisters.”

Katarina’s head snapped around to stare in surprise at the guard’s face. The quick motion made her head feel like it would explode, and she teetered precariously for a moment. “Sit ye down here, lass,” Agnes instructed, taking her by the arm.

“The laird instructed this?” Katarina asked, confused as she allowed Agnes to guide her to the nearest chair. She had assumed from the way Laird Morgan had spoken to her before that he would keep her sisters from her to make her pliant.

“Aye, he did.” The guard’s eyes traveled over her in the dress. A spark of lust flared within their depths, but he said nothing about his thoughts. “If ye are able tae walk, I will take ye tae them.”

Katarina leveraged herself up out of the chair and stood uncertainly, clinging to the wooden frame. She took a tentative step forward, then another. “I can walk,” she confirmed, more to convince herself than the guard.

Agnes stepped forward and offered Katarina her arm. “I will help ye, lass.”

“The laird said that she is tae come alone,” the guard interrupted, raising his hand to stop Agnes.

The woman frowned but obeyed, releasing her hold on Katarina’s arm.

Katarina moved toward the door—unsteady but mobile enough to do it herself. She followed the guard down the corridor to the cell he had first taken her from. When he opened the door, she noticed all of the other women had been moved to places unknown. She did not want to know where for the mere thought of it made her sick to her stomach. All that remained were her sisters. “Katarina!” they cried as one, clambering up from the stone floor to throw their arms around her.

“Where did they take you?” Idalia demanded to know, her eyes filled with tears.

“What are you wearing?” Leonor asked, her eyes traveling down the length of the red dress.

“I have come to an agreement with the laird. He will allow ye both to live if I marry his daughter’s betrothed in her place.”

“This cannot be true,” Idalia wept, shaking her head in denial.

“Do not do this,” Leonor demanded, grasping Katarina’s hand firmly.

“She does nae have a choice,” the laird’s voice commanded from the cell doorway. “If she does nae do as I have instructed, she and ye will die brutally at my hand, yer maidenhead having been soiled by my men.”

“Ye cannot do this,” Idalia sobbed, placing herself between Katarina and the laird.

The laird stepped forward and slapped Idalia’s face. “I can and I will. I am the laird, lass. Learn yer place.”

Katarina took Idalia by the shoulders and moved her back a safe distance. “Do not touch her.”

Laird Morgan stepped forward and grabbed Katarina by the jaw. “Ye will speak as a Scotswoman, or ye will nae speak at all.” He shoved her back, making her crash against her sisters.

Katarina righted herself and squared her shoulders, her blood boiling. She would strangle the man with her bare hands if she could. “If I do this, ye are nae tae lay a hand on either o’ my sisters, nae ye or yer men,” she spoke as instructed, praying that she did so correctly. “Nae a finger or a boot.”

The laird chuckled at the specific nature of her request. “Ye are learning,” he noted with approval. “I will nae lay a hand, finger, or boot on yer sisters. Nor I or my men will ever touch them, provided ye do exactly as I say.”

“How will I ken that ye have kept yer word?”

He studied her face for a moment in thought, then nodded. “In a month’s time, ye may return tae ascertain their well-being. Yer husband will expect such a visit tae be made on yer behalf as my beloved daughter. Nothing will appear amiss about it. Until that time, dinnae seek them out, or I will follow through with my threat.”

“How can I trust ye?” Katarina asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Ye have nae choice.”

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Prologue

Fresh blood dripped from the silver dagger hanging limply by her side—the scarlet drops creating a dark stain in the thick mud at Ava’s feet. The sections of the blade that weren’t bloodstained glinted in the sunlight peeking through the throng of grey clouds overhead, mirroring the somber atmosphere.

The pungent smell of iron burnt her nostrils with a sickly-sweet sting. It wasn’t the first time that Ava Rose had smelled blood—no, she was more than familiar with the crimson fluid and its scent. The nausea twisting her stomach and making her sick had far more to do with the person to whom the blood belonged.

Boyd Cameron stared up at her from the ground, curled up in the fetal position just a few steps away, his hands bound together in front of him, and too weak to get up. But the way he looked at her revealed that he was well aware of what was going on around him. His beautiful green eyes were filled with pain and confusion—his normally neat blond hair had spilled from his ponytail and was caked with mud and fresh blood.

Even while lying on his side curled into a ball, Boyd was noticeably taller than any man she’d known. His height had always made him a formidable highlander. Her highlander.

Ava stared down at him, contemplating her next move. He didn’t deserve this… nae like this… A laird laying in the mud, wounded by me own hand. Wounded by someone he had come tae trust… Thoughts of who he really was nagged at her conscience.

This wasn’t a murderer who lay in front of her. This was Boyd Cameron. Laird to the villagers who surrounded them now. And the man she loved.

Me heart is breaking, I cannae dae this…

“Finish the job,” Tavish snarled from beside Boyd when Ava lingered for too long, towering over the wounded man in triumph. Tavish’s light green eyes were dark with murderous intent. Ava looked at the nasty grin across his face, letting her gaze fall to the sharp-edged dagger against her brother’s frail neck.

The agony of the situation had turned his skin even paler and ashier than usual. Dark circles under his eyes alerted Ava to the fact that his body had already taken as much as it could. How long had it been since he had his last dose of medication?

Focusing on her brother and drowning out the screams of excitement and confusion emanating from the unruly crowd, Ava shut her eyes. A single hot tear ran down her cheek. There was no other choice… She would have to do it. She opened her light blue eyes that shone with tears. Crossing the small divide between her and the man she loved with small, hesitant strides, she dreaded what had to be done with every fiber of her being.

Kneeling down before Boyd, she cupped his rough cheek and brought her face closer to his. “I am so sorry Boyd, I didnnae mean for things tae end like this…” she whispered with tears flowing over her pale cheeks. “I have tae dae this…” She leaned in closer and pressed a final kiss against his quivering lips.

The blood he’d lost, in addition to the dizziness from the potion, was beginning to have an effect. His skin paled noticeably. Boyd returned her kiss with a small grunt of pain as he strained to lift himself up, making her heart break with regret and sorrow for the man she loved and had betrayed.

“Dae it already!” Tavish screeched at her in his grating voice.

“Think about what ye are about tae dae, Ava!” Rory’s voice called to her from the side. The crowd parted slightly, revealing Boyd’s best friend being held back by a group of Tavish’s men dressed in kilts and traditional battle garb.

Grunting from the pain in his hand where the blood still flowed from his wound, Boyd looked up at Ava with a tumultuous, cross expression written on his ruggedly handsome face. His slurred words and slow movements were an indication that the potion was still having an effect on his body. “Ava… are ye really going tae dae this? After everything we’ve been through?”

She stood frozen as he spoke.

“I thought ye loved me as much as I love ye, Ava…” Boyd’s words trailed off as he saw her head turn toward her brother before he could even finish his sentence. “I thought we felt the same…” he whispered.

“Enough sentiment!” Tavish growled. His arms tightened around Neil as his anger and impatience grew.

Neil’s eyes pleaded with her again, tugging at her heart as his chest rose and fell with increasing effort. A coughing fit was not far off when he breathed like that. Time was running out.

Ava shut her eyes and gritted her teeth as thoughts of the past few weeks raced through her mind. They were interrupted by her brother’s pleas for help and Rory begging her to see reason. The moment had come to make her final decision. Turning slightly to the left, Ava raised her dagger high into the air. She knew what had to be done.

“Ava, nae! Dinnae dae it!” Rory’s voice was frantic with panic as he yelled over the onlookers’ heads. The crowd gasped in shock.

Tears flowed freely down her porcelain cheeks as Ava spun around and plunged the dagger’s blade into his hot flesh, all the way down to the hilt. Bone cracked, and blood spurted down her hands and onto her dark cloak. The sickening smell of fresh blood was nearly as unbearable as the number of hot tears spilling over her cheeks. The gurgling sounds of a man dying at her hand pierced her thoughts like the dagger that had penetrated the man’s flesh.

“I never wanted to dae this…” she whispered through her tears, her voice thick with emotion.

The crowd grew silent as Ava twisted the dagger one last time to ensure that the job had been executed correctly. Taking a step back, she could no longer control herself and sank to her knees, sobbing at what she had just done.

The clouds erupted with fine rain, which fell over the lifeless body lying in the street as she cried aloud and hugged her middle. Villagers were shocked. Some people covered their mouths, while others stood motionless, unable to believe or accept what they had just witnessed.

There was no going back now. The deed was done. Ava Rose had made her choice, and no number of potions nor pleading could take it back…

He was dead.

Chapter One

“One Month Earlier…”

Ava tossed her long black hair over her shoulder and straightened the dark traveling cloak she always wore on her missions. It was yet another dreary moor afternoon in the Scottish Highlands, and the wind rustled through the trees and underbrush.

“That one was rather quick. Ye was in and out in the shake o’ a lamb’s tail,” Skye said, her hazel eyes scanning the bushes of heather in case they were being followed.

“Aye. He thought luck was on his side when a young lass wondered so readily intae his house. I didnnae even have tae convince him tae let me in. He even readily accepted the tea mixture.” Ava’s stomach clenched with disgust at the way the man had licked his lips and scanned her from head to toe when he opened the door.

“The bastard had it coming. He was a bad man,” Skye added and balled her delicate fists at her sides as they walked. Her already pale skin whitened at the knuckles.

Ava clenched her jaw at the thought of what she’d just done. Skye was right about one thing: the man she had just poisoned was indeed a bad man. There was no denying that he shouldn’t be left in the world to ruin people’s lives.

Yet, she felt terrible. But she needed the money to help pay off the debts left behind after her parents’ deaths, as well as the care her brother required. When no other option presented itself, Ava had taken to hiring herself out as a paid assassin. Poison was her weapon of choice. Years of experience had taught her well.

Just by glancing at a pinch of powdered nightshade, she could determine whether it’d induce sleep or death. The purple plant that grew only in the dampest and darkest sections of Scotland’s moors was always present in her arsenal of potions, whether to kill or knock somebody out. She couldn’t afford even the slightest miscalculation.

She was as good as any healer in the village, even better, some would say. There was one thing that bothered her, however. Ava always struggled to come to terms with her own conscience after she’d successfully executed a mission.

“I ken what yer thinking Ava, I’ve known ye long enough. What ye did was right; he ruined that young lass’ life. Naething ye did can be worse than what he did tae her. Remember that,” her friend said.

Walking on without saying another word, Ava listened to her best friend prattle on about how bad the man was and how the world was better off without him in it. Years spent helping the village healer who looked after her brother once their parents had died, had equipped Ava Rose with a helpful, and sometimes deadly, knowledge of herbs and plants that she used to her advantage whenever the occasion arose. She wasn’t proud of the fact that she killed men for a living. But these men had brought nothing but misery and sorrow into the world, they deserved it.

“If ye hadn’t poisoned him, he would be free tae hurt another wee lass. Ye did the world a favor, Ava. Yer a hero in my eyes,” she smiled reassuringly at her friend with her thin lips. Everything about Skye was fine and delicate, from her height, slender body, and fairy-like features to her voice and the pretty floral dresses she wore. Ava was often worried that the tiniest gust of wind would blow her away. But her friend possessed a heart that was fiercer than any man she had ever met.

“I ken it might have been the right thing tae do in the eyes of the world at large,” Ava sighed heavily. “But was it right for me tae make that decision…” her words were less of a question and more of a statement.

Ava had been hired to carry out revenge on a man that had taken advantage of a young girl in the woods while she was out picking flowers. She was only fifteen. The girl’s father had wanted revenge and sought out Ava’s services in one of the taverns that she frequented for work. She only took on missions where she was absolutely certain that the target in question deserved what she was asked to do.

It was the only way she could earn enough money to support herself and her brother Neil. He suffered from a bad chest, and a myriad of other ailments, that required around-the-clock care from healers as well as herself. All of which didn’t come cheap. They barely kept their heads above water with the money she earned.

“I ken that the people I poison are bad people; it’s just that the question plagues me mind night after night…” she paused for a second, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “Is it really me decision, or yers, or anyone else’s for that matter? Tae decide when a life should end based on what they dae or did tae others? Should he nae have just gone tae jail or some other form of punishment?”

“Dinnae go down that path again,” Skye attempted to soothe her best friend’s conscience. “Ye dae what ye have tae, tae survive. And by doing so, ye rid the world of people that shouldnae be in it in the first place. Monsters like that should nae be allowed tae carry on living.”

Smiling half-heartedly, Ava looked at her friend as they walked. Skye was a blessing, she didn’t know what she would do without her. The young blond girl did everything in her power to help her and Neil whenever she could. She tagged along on Ava’s missions and acted as a distraction whenever was needed to complete the task at hand. A notorious flirt in the village, Skye could always be counted on to distract any potential disruptions.

“Cheer up lass, ye’re almost home,” Sky slipped her arm into the crook of her friend’s. “I’ll brew ye a nice cup o’ tea. Nice clean tea ye can trust,” she added with a teasing wink.

Ava was slightly taller than her friend with a more rounded figure and aristocratic features with a skin as pale and smooth as porcelain that oft had people mistaking her for nobility. Not wanting the attention that her beauty often drew from passers-by, Ava often wore dark dresses and cloaks with hoods that would conceal her identity.

She always pulled her hair up into a tight bun at the back of her head when she was on a mission, loosening it the second she was sure that the target was dead and nobody was following her.

Skye would always tell her that she looked like a young school marm with her hair tied back, and a proper lady with it hanging loose. That suited Ava just fine as she relied on her different appearances for the sake of anonymity.

The cluster of silver birch trees that grew so readily in the forest gave way to an opening that revealed a tiny wooden cabin. Ava’s great-grandfather had built the cabin with his own two hands, and their family had lived in it for generations thereafter. The structure made from oak wood stood in a clearing surrounded by hazel bushes that nestled the humble lodgings in a homely cocoon.

It consisted of a kitchen, two small bedrooms, four small windows peering out the front and sides and a sitting area that Ava had converted into her brother’s room with a wooden-frame bed. It was just easier to have Neil closer to the medication when he had one of his many coughing fits.

Ava felt a small amount of relief at the sight of her home. The only peace she had in the world was knowing that she had a safe haven to return to, where her brother was waiting. A tiny patch of peat surrounded the cabin, fed by the babbling stream that ran through the forest. She stopped for a second, pulling her friend back with her.

“What’s the matter?” Skye suddenly asked when she caught a glimpse of Ava’s face.

“Something isnae right,” she nodded toward the cabin. “The door is slightly open. Sophie was supposed tae be with Neil, she would never leave the door open in weather like this. She’s his healer. She kens what it would dae tae his chest.”

Skye frowned and followed her friend when Ava suddenly broke into a run.

She burst through the partially open door, her breath catching in her throat when her eyes fell on the scene before her. “Oh my Lord!” she exclaimed before rushing forward.

The young healer was bound by her hands and feet with a dirty rag shoved into her mouth. She was laying on her side on the bed that Neil usually occupied. The furniture in the cottage was strewn about the floor.

“Where is he?” Ava asked frantically as she hurried to undo the healer’s hands and remove the rag from her mouth. The rope had already cut welts into the girl’s pale skin. “Where is he?!” she asked a little more frantically when Sophie struggled to catch her breath, gagging and gasping for air once her mouth was free again.

“They…” she struggled to speak over her sobs. The lass looked as if she’d been roughed up a little. Tiny bruises covered her arms.

Skye took a deep breath and tried to calm them both. She brushed strands of Sophie’s long blond hair over her shoulder and wiped away her tears with her sleeve. “What happened here?”

Sophie took a deep breath and stared at Ava with her dark brown eyes filled with tears. Her body shook uncontrollably. “Four men came intae the cabin soon after ye left, Ava. I tried tae stop them, but…”

Ava shook her gently by the shoulders when she started to sob again. “Did they take Neil? Where is he?” she asked more gently. “I need tae know what happened.” Ava stayed close to Sophie while Skye boiled water for tea to calm their nerves.

Sophie nodded as even more tears fell into her lap. “They left a note for ye on the table over there,” She raised a frail arm and pointed to the table in the center of the room, which stored all of the herbs used to help Neil.

Ava left the lass immediately, hurriedly making her way across the room to pick up the single sheet of paper that lay amidst the herbs and potions. She quickly glanced at the slanted writing on the page before rushing back over to Sophie. “Please, read it! Ye ken, I cannae, please,” she asked frantically.

The lass took the note with a shaking hand before finding enough strength to read it aloud.

Ava Rose

Two weeks.

Ava could feel the blood draining from her face as she slumped down in the nearest chair. The letter was not signed but she didn’t need anyone to tell her who had written it.

Skye rushed over once she had seen to Sophie and gripped Ava’s shoulders. Her face was paler than usual. The mischief in her gaze vanished. “Ava, what are we going tae dae?”

“I will have tae get the money before the two weeks are up. There is naething else tae dae,” Ava said as she stood, regaining her composure, trying to think logically again once the shock left her body.

“How will we dae that, Ava? We would have tae dae hundreds o’ jobs tae make that kind o’ money. With those smaller, more ‘honorable’ missions that we take on, we cannae make enough in two weeks’ time.”

“I will have tae go tae The Dark Horseman, Skye, ye ken that,” Ava said quietly as she began to pick up the furniture that had been knocked over.

Skye gasped and stared at her friend with her jaw hanging open. “Ava… ye swore that ye would never go there,” she shook her head lightly in disbelief.

“What else can I dae, Skye? Tell me, and I’ll do it, I swear,” she turned around with tears in her eyes, her voice high with panic and frustration. “Neil has been taken and I dinnae have the money they are asking for. I have tae dae what’s necessary right now. The Dark Horseman is the only place that will bring in that kind o’ money in such a short time.” Her palms felt sweaty from worry. “Or dae ye suddenly have buckets o’ money ye are willing tae give? Last time I checked, ye were just as poor as I am.”

Without sparing a word, Skye rushed over and threw her arms around her best friend’s neck. “I ken lass, I ken…” She buried her face in Ava’s hair. “We will get Neil back in one piece.”

Ava cried softly as she held onto her friend, immediately regretting her harsh outburst. Skye was all she had, except for Neil. She gave Sophie a quick glance, only to see the girl was sitting on the edge of her brother’s bed with her head resting in her hands, her elbows propped up on her thin legs. Her hair hung about her face like a waterfall of gold. The hem of her dress was tattered and torn, presumably from putting up a fight with the men who had taken him.

“I will go with ye,” Skye whispered through tears of her own.

“Nae, ye willnae, The Dark Horseman is nae place for a lass as fine as ye. But I ken that I can count on ye for help when I need it,” she shut her eyes against the burden of what she knew she had to do. “And I ken that I will need all the help that I can get.”

In the space of a moment, the world around Ava got darker. She would do anything to get her brother back alive and well. Even if it meant breaking her own oath, and visiting The Dark Horseman alone, praying to find someone to kill.

Chapter Two

Steel clashed together with deafening metallic clinks as the full moon peeked through the clouds overhanging the quiet castle.

“We cannae keep doing this, Boyd!” Rory called to his friend as he gasped for breath. His dark hair hung over his deep blue eyes, matted in sections from sweat. “It’s the middle o’ the night.” He doubled over, placing his hands on his knees to support himself while catching his breath. Though exhausted, a slight smirk spread across his face.

“Dinnae tell me ye are giving up already,” Boyd wielded his sword again, forcing his best friend to straighten and block his attack with his own sword. Boyd’s long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail to keep it from falling into his light green eyes. He was a formidable highlander with a fierce reputation. Taller than most men, his muscular build and bulging muscle only added to the effect.

Their swords clashed together for the hundredth time that night as they both leaned in with effort, attempting to push the other back.

“It’s nae that I mind sparring with ye Boyd,” Rory grimaced, looking up at his opponent. “I just feel that there are other ways tae tire ye out at night and spend yer energy before bed.”

“Dinnae start again,” Boyd winced through gritted teeth, beads of perspiration forming on his forehead.

“Ye cannae escape women all the time, Boyd. Ye need tae bed a lass, even if it’s one of the local lasses, you neednae go all the way tae the brothel in town. One of yer own maids here at the castle will dae.”

Boyd looked up at Rory in shock. He had never before suggested such a thing. Where, for God’s sake, was that idea from? Taken by the distraction, Boyd stumbled back as his sword fell from his grasp, clattering to the courtyard’s cobbled ground after slicing a neat slit in his grey breeches.

Rory swung his sword triumphantly as if he had made his point clear. “Ye may nae think that sparring is enough tae slake yer lusts, but ye are distracted, Boyd. Ye need tae dae something about that before ye get yersel’ killed in battle. Or even worse, ye could make a mistake and get yer men killed…”

Boyd relented to defeat and let himself sink to his haunches before sitting back on the ground. “I dinnae think that bedding the maids would reflect kindly on me as Laird, Rory.”

Rory took in a satisfied breath and placed his sword back at his side and looked down at the laird panting on the ground. “Then begin the search for another wife, Boyd. It’s been a year since…”

“Exactly, it’s been only a year. I dinnae want tae talk about that,” he snapped quickly. “Ye ken that very well.”

“Ye can bark at me all ye want. Ye dinnae scare me,” Rory hunkered down in front of his friend so that they were eye-to-eye. “Ye need tae hear the truth, and I dinnae mind that it needs tae come from me,” he paused before lowering his voice slightly to a more sympathetic tone. “She’s nae coming back, Boyd… We’ve looked everywhere.”

Boyd pushed himself up angrily, glaring down at Rory, who rose and stared him down, determination mingled with pity. “Dinnae say things like that, ye dinnae ken if she’s been killed,” he reached down and picked up his sword again.

Rory raised his voice more sternly, losing his patience slightly as Boyd failed to listen to reason. Again. “We have searched damn near every corner o’ Scotland. Where else dae ye want the men tae search?” He flung his arm out in a broad gesture. “Under all the heather and peat? She’s gone, Boyd. They all are. Whatever may have happened, ye cannae live yer damned life digging in the past. Ye are Laird.”

Boyd glared at his friend, panting from the exertion of picking up his sword again. The sun was still setting when they began their evening sparring match, and his energy was depleted. But the mention of his lost betrothed fueled his rage. He charged at Rory once more, letting out a fierce battle cry.

Stepping aside with ease, his friend dodged his attack, knowing full well that the Laird’s judgment was clouded. Any talk of Cora never returning was a taboo subject where Boyd Cameron was concerned. Both Rory and Boyd himself knew that very well.

Boyd landed with a thud and a clatter on the stones, his sword scraping in the dirt as it sailed away from him toward the inner walls of the castle.

“I think I have made my point,” Rory said, staring down at Boyd who had rolled onto his back, offering his hand to help him up. Boyd took it and let his friend guide him up. Deep down, he knew that the search could not go on forever. But he was unwilling to accept the fact that he would never see the woman he loved ever again.

Night after night, she haunted his thoughts and dreams. Her beautiful face kept him awake, urging him to find her. Cora. Cora Steward. She had gone missing the night before their wedding under mysterious circumstances, along with his father and the rest of her family and bridal party. Boyd thought her disappearance was the end of him—he could still feel the panic and anguish he felt when he realized they were gone.

“I dinnae say these things tae hurt ye, Boyd. I want ye tae have peace again,” Rory said as he pulled him up. “Tae much time has passed, ye need tae mourn and move on. The clan has bigger things tae worry about.”

Boyd placed his hands on his hips and examined the earnest expression on his best friend’s face as he caught his breath again, panting for air. Everything Rory said rang true. But there was no snuffing out the spark of hope he felt inside. She couldn’t just be dead. She must still be out there, somewhere, waiting for me… Killing somebody’s memory was far harder than killing an actual person.

“I ken what ye are saying, but I cannae just stop looking for her. As for yer suggestion that I bed a lass…” he looked up at the castle window where her bedroom had been on that night while feeling his emotions ebbing to dangerous places.

“I have nae been able tae look at any other lass in that light since… I cannae bring mysel’ tae…” he looked down and shook his head. “I ken that everyone thinks the marriage was planned against our will… and that since it was arranged tae remedy the bad blood between the clans, that we didnnae care for each other with genuine affection…” his voice trailed off.

“But yer attraction was real,” Rory finished his sentence for him.

“Aye, nae just the attraction. She made me laugh and filled a void in my life I never even knew existed.” Boyd looked down at his soiled breeches and the scrapes on the palms of his hands. Tiny drops of blood were beading on the cuts. “It was love at first sight for me… I cannae be sure o’ her feelings on that score. But she did express a great fondness for me as well,” a sad smile tugged at his lips.

The marriage had been arranged by the lairds and the families of the opposing clans to settle the hostility that had long plagued the families for centuries. The plan had seemed like it was going to work up until the night before the wedding, when everything had gone terribly wrong. The families had been once again at war since then. Callum Steward, Cora’s uncle, had taken over as Laird after his brother had disappeared, along with the rest of his immediate family, Cora included.

Callum maintained that the Cameron clan must have had something to do with the disappearance, since the incident had occurred in their castle whilst his family were guests. To make matters even worse, Boyd’s father had gone missing along with the rest of the party, implicating them even further.

Boyd racked his mind but had failed to come up with a plausible explanation of what could have occurred. It is impossible that an entire group of people can go missing just like that without a trace…

Grief-stricken, his mother had taken her own life a short while after. Boyd felt desperately sorry for the pain she must have been feeling with the loss of her husband—it was a pain all too familiar with his because of how he felt for Cora.

Boyd thought back to the time he had first laid eyes on Cora Steward…

He’d been waiting impatiently in the grand entrance hall of the castle for the woman his parents had said he was to marry for the good of the clans. His hopes and dreams had been dashed when he was informed that he would no longer be able to choose his own bride. For Boyd’s heart was already set on a beautiful lass he’d noticed from another clan.

“It’s ye…” a quiet voice had suddenly said from just behind him.

Boyd had turned around to see a beautiful young lass with strawberry blond hair and golden-brown eyes. Her skin was flawlessly white with undertones of peach. Her pale pink gown made her perfect lips look even pinker. To his greatest shock and amazement, she was no stranger at all.

“Hello…” he had managed through his astonishment. “Are ye here with the party or… it cannae be,” his eyes searched her face hopefully with a slight amount of disbelief.

“When they said I was tae marry someone from yer clan, I hoped it would be ye,” she had smiled sweetly.

Boyd had laid eyes on her for the first time at a clan meeting to discuss the ongoing concerns between the families. He’d thought her the most beautiful lass he had ever seen in his life. They had talked and laughed together in a quiet corner of the banquet hall while the elders discussed their business.

She had been so polite and kind to him, that he’d thought her from a different clan. After all, there was no way that a member of the Steward clan would ever be so kind to a Cameron.

He’d fallen for her the instant he’d seen her. Cora’s laugh and gentle nature only sweetened the deal. Nonetheless, their clans were at odds, and would likely be for many years to come, as that night’s discussions had demonstrated. Boyd had made peace with loving her from afar. All the clans in attendance that night had been their rivals.

Cora’s smile broadened. “I hope it’s a pleasant surprise, nae?” she asked demurely, her long lashes brushing her cheeks whenever she looked down.

“More pleasant than ye could ever imagine,” he’d taken a step forward.

She’d laughed then and placed her soft hands in his when he’d held out his hands to her. “My heart was poundin’ so fast waiting tae see how ye would respond. I hoped ye’d be as keen as I am,” her soft and elegant voice reminded him of the meadow pipits in the height of spring.

His throat tightened when he recalled just how lovely she was. They never even had the chance to really get to know each other before tragedy struck. Boyd cleared his throat and adjusted his soiled white shirt to conceal the fact that he was choking up.

“Ye have braved more storms than any other man I ken,” Rory’s words yanked him from his thoughts and solitude. “And while I have the greatest sympathy with all the loss ye have dealt with and the ones ye are still strugglin’ tae accept… Ye are Laird now, Boyd. Ye need tae dae what is best for the clan, and nae just yersel’. As hard as it may be, this is the reality of being ye.”

“The clan must come first,” Boyd said bitterly and straightened his back, doubting that fate would deal him another pleasant surprise as it had done before.

“Aye, harsh, but true. I dinnae mean that ye must throw love out the window altogether and marry just for convenience. But at least be open tae the chance of meeting someone new. I ken how ye feel about Cora, and I am nae saying that anyone else can ever come close, but even if they dinnae. Ye dinnae have tae be alone for the rest of yer life. I want ye tae be happy again.”

Boyd loved Rory like a brother and knew that he would eventually have to take his suggestions on board should Cora never return. But a year seemed like such a short time to move on with your life after having lost so many people. How could their memory be erased so swiftly?

“Apologies, my Laird,” a man approached them from the shadow of the castle. “I dinnae mean tae interrupt yer conversation, but the council has called for a meeting at once.”

They raised their eyebrows and exchanged worried glances before looking back to the messenger. The man had obviously been in a hurry, his kilt was soiled with dirt, and his sandy hair was a mess.

“At this hour?” Boyd asked with concern.

“Aye, one o’ the scouts returned with some particularly disturbing news. It seems like we may expect an attack on our borders sooner than expected, my Laird.”

“Dammit,” Rory cursed under his breath. “I ken things had been too quiet o’ late.”

Boyd quickly retrieved his sword before following the messenger with haste. If this report proved to be true, he may just have to push his own feelings aside and find a bride for the sake of the clans. And soon.

Chapter 1

The street that stretched outside of Muriel’s window, with its carriages and taverns and the countless people that went about their business in a dazzling display of colors, had become so familiar to her in the years she had spent in Edinburgh. But now that her time at the women’s school she attended had come to an end, there was only one place she wanted to go—home.

Soon, her world would change from one of stone and grime to one of the sandy beaches and green hills stretching as far as the eye could see. Edinburgh had an undeniable charm, and Muriel had become accustomed to the smells that offended her nose when she first arrived and the crowds that never seemed to cease. She had even spent whole days without thinking of her home, too busy with her studies and the friends she had made to be homesick. And yet, now that her departure was imminent, she dreamt of the Isle of Barra nightly and woke with a tight, heavy chest.

“Did ye get all yer things?”

The voice coming from the door startled Muriel, but it was one that she knew well. She turned around with a smile and saw Caitriona there, the one girl that she would never forget, no matter how much distance or time separated them.

Caitriona was the opposite of Muriel in every way—sporting dark hair where Muriel’s was strawberry blonde, short where she towered over everyone, timid where she was labeled the troublemaker. It didn’t matter to either of them. They were best friends from the very first day they had met.

Muriel ran to her, pulling Caitriona into a tight embrace, one that had the girl huffing in surprise. “I did,” she said. “Well . . . apart from this.”

As she spoke, Muriel took a handkerchief out of her pocket. Her fingers were still red and swollen from the myriad times she had pricked herself on the needle, and the boredom of the task still lingered in her mind, but she was proud of the intricate embroidery she had managed to create. The golden thread she had picked blended nicely into the stark white fabric, making the entire square shine under the light, and in the corner, she had embroidered both their initials.

“What’s this?” Caitriona asked, her eyes widening as she examined the handkerchief. “For me?”

“Aye,” Muriel said. “If ye dinnae like it—”

“I adore it!” Caitriona was the one to pull her into an embrace then, and Muriel only knew that her friend was crying when she felt tears soak her shoulder. “Muriel . . . I ken how much ye hate embroiderin’. Ye didnae have to.”

“I wanted to. I wanted ye to have somethin’ to remember me by.” Muriel couldn’t stop her own tears from spilling down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them off, masking them with a smile. “Promise me ye’ll write me often.”

“I promise. Ye must write me, too, dinnae forget,” Caitriona said, and then suddenly slapped her thighs with her hands, as though she was searching for something in her pockets. “Here it is! I almost forgot to give it to ye. It came today, from yer faither.”

The letter that Caitriona handed Muriel was still crisp and folded carefully, despite spending all day in the folds of her pocket. Muriel tore it open with trembling hands. Her father only wrote her whenever something serious had happened.

Dear Muriel,
Ye’ll be happy to ken that I have arranged a very advantageous marriage for ye. Ye are to marry Owen Macleod at once, so there will be nae time for ye to return to Barra. I have sent Liam Russell McAlpine to take ye to Lewis. His reputation is excellent, and he will ensure ye arrive safely. Dinnae fight the lad and do as he says.

Muriel’s gaze didn’t stray from the letter even after she finished reading it. She stared at the words, her mouth hanging open, her fingers curling tightly around the piece of paper.

He didnae even bother to sign it.

Her father loved her, there was no doubt about that. Some of her fondest memories were of the two of them together, even though she had spent most of her time at her mother’s house by the sea instead of in her father’s keep, which stood on the hill above, looming over the shore. He had even sent her to Edinburgh though he had admitted how much it pained him to see her go. Still, it had been necessary to save her from the torment of his wife, who despised her for being the result of her father’s infidelity and found ways to torture her both when she was staying with them and from afar. But there was one thing that her father loved more than her, and that was wealth and power. He was a pirate chieftain, after all. Muriel had learned that the moment she was old enough to realize that her father would never defend her against her stepmother. Her family was too rich for him to endanger their marriage.

And Owen Macleod is from a pirate clan, too. Neither of them will ever love me as much as they love gold.

She would even consider herself lucky if her husband loved her at all. All she had heard growing up were stories about young women who were sold into a loveless marriage, and as much as she despised that fate, it had come to be hers, too.

“What does it say?” Caitriona asked. In her horror, Muriel had forgotten she was even in the room.

For a moment, Muriel considered lying to her. There was no reason for Caitriona to worry, especially since Muriel was supposed to leave so soon. But she had never lied to her, and it felt wrong to start lying to her now.

“It’s from me faither,” she said. “He wrote that I am to marry.”

Caitriona remained silent for what felt like hours to Muriel. The girl searched her face, her gaze so intense that Muriel felt as though she was looking right through her.

“Ye’re nae happy about it,” Caitriona said.

It wasn’t a question. Muriel wondered just how miserable she must have looked for Caitriona to know immediately that she wanted nothing to do with that marriage. She could feel it, too, in the way the corners of her mouth dropped lower, jaw clenching with the effort it took to keep her eyes dry.

“Nae. I’m nae happy about it,” she confirmed.

Caitriona wrapped an arm around Muriel and pulled her toward the bed, the two of them sitting side by side. Muriel didn’t know what to say, and so she remained silent, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What will ye do?”

Muriel drew in a sharp breath. What would she do? There was nothing for her to do but what her father ordered.

“I dinnae have any choice,” she pointed out. “So, I suppose I will go to Lewis and marry this Owen Macleod.”

“Can ye nae speak to yer faither?” Caitriona asked. “Ye said that ye and yer faither are on good terms. Maybe he’ll listen to ye if ye tell him that ye dinnae wish to marry.”

“We are, but ye dinnae ken him,” Muriel said, and some venom slipped into her tone. Her father had done many bad things in his life. He had hurt her mother, too, taking her from her home by force to be his mistress and then throwing her aside when he didn’t want her anymore. Perhaps she should have been expecting it, but he had never hurt her directly before. “Once he makes up his mind, there’s nae way to change it.”

“Sounds like someone else that I ken,” Caitriona said with a teasing smile. Muriel knew that she was right. She had grown up to be just like her father, which infuriated her mother more often than she liked to admit.

Not that Muriel could blame her. She had been his captive and had no reason to love him.

“Unfortunately, there’s one thing that I didn’t inherit from him.”

“And what’s that?” Caitriona asked.

“I’m nae a man.”

With a sigh, Caitriona nodded in agreement. Muriel lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with unshed tears stinging her eyes. Frustration bubbled up inside her, turning her stomach into a knot. If she had been a man, she would have avoided this fate. Maybe her father would even listen to her more, instead of always doing what he thought was best for her without ever consulting her.

Nae, he’s nae doin’ this because he thinks it’s best for me. He’s doin’ it because it’s best for him.

That was the sad truth, the one that was so hard for Muriel to swallow. If her father had been doing this from the goodness of his heart or out of concern for her, she would understand. But she was nothing more than payment to a man who would help her father expand his influence. She was as good as cattle.

“Perhaps it willnae be so bad,” Caitriona said, though even she sounded apprehensive. Muriel wasn’t the only young woman to hear of those stories of loveless marriages. They all knew how those husbands treated their women—as if they had no worth to them at all.

“And perhaps it will be,” Muriel said as she pushed herself back up, slouching as she sat next to Caitriona. “But what is the point in thinkin’ about it?

Nothin’ will change no matter how miserable I become, so I may as well nae think about it until I must.”

Caitriona nodded once again and, for a few moments, she remained silent. Then she said, “How will you get to Lewis? He cannae expect ye to go all alone.”

“He has sent a man to fetch me,” Muriel said, her mind going back to the name she had read in her father’s letter. Liam Russell McAlpine. Her father had mentioned his reputation, but Muriel had never heard of him. She could imagine him, though, an older man with salt and pepper hair, scars marking his face, maybe missing a finger or two. Those were the kinds of men who usually had a reputation.

“And ye must go soon?”

“As soon as he arrives, I suppose.”

Muriel didn’t know when that would be. She could have weeks ahead of her or she could have hours, and that scared her even more than anything else that was to come. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Caitriona and her other friends yet, though she doubted she would ever be. Now that she wouldn’t even be going back to Barra, she didn’t want to leave at all. Before she had received the letter, she had a visit with her mother to look forward to. Now, she doubted her father would even bring her to Lewis for her wedding.

“How about this,” Caitriona said. “I’ll gather the lasses tonight, and I’ll see if I can get a bottle or two of wine from Mrs. MacGillivray’s room.”

Muriel’s eyes widened in disbelief. It was a shock to hear Caitriona even mention stealing anything from the head of their school, let alone being the culprit. Muriel was usually the one to instigate any sort of trouble, and Caitriona usually tried to stop her.

“Caitriona! I cannae believe ye would even suggest that!” she said. “I thought ye were more proper than this.”

“It may verra well be the last night we spend together, lass,” Caitriona said.

“And if I am to do somethin’ rebellious before I leave this place, then this is the time to do it. I can still blame ye for it, and everyone would believe me.”

Muriel knew that Caitriona was joking, but she didn’t tell her that she would take the blame if they were caught. She was used to punishments, after all.

“Fine,” she said. “But dinnae get caught. Mrs. MacGillivray isna verra forgivin’.”

By the time Caitriona left Muriel’s room, it had been plunged into darkness.

Muriel stood and lit a few candles, just enough to have some light in the room, and then sat back down on the bed, taking in her surroundings.

She would never see any of it again. She tried to commit the dark blue, damask print wallpaper to memory, the old, creaky hardwood floor, the small bed with the lumpy mattress that she had somehow come to find comfortable. She wondered what her new home would be like, if it would be as warm and inviting as her little room, though she doubted it.

Muriel didn’t realize how much time she had spent deep in thought until there was an urgent knock on her door. Before she could answer, a crowd of girls spilled into her room, half of them giggling and half of them shushing the rest sternly. And among them, all was Caitriona, with the bottles of wine as she had promised.

“Has Mrs. MacGillivray gone to sleep?” Muriel asked in a hushed tone as she urged everyone inside the room, closing the door firmly behind them.

“Och, aye,” Caitriona said, getting comfortable on Muriel’s bed. “They all have. But we must still be quiet. Ye ken how well she can hear.”

It was true. Mrs. MacGillivray didn’t miss a single sound, and even when she was asleep, the girls had to tiptoe around the building if they didn’t want to get caught. Everyone seemed to remember that for a long while, at least until the first bottle was gone and the second one was opened. Caitriona was the only one who reminded the rest of the girls to be quiet, every now and then sneaking out of the room to make sure that all the teachers were still sleeping and couldn’t hear them, before slipping back inside.

“I dinnae want ye to leave,” Caitriona told Muriel when the other girls had retired to their rooms. The two of them were laying side by side on the floor, and Muriel could see the frosty blue of the morning through the window.

“I dinnae want to leave either,” she admitted. “Maybe I willnae have to. Maybe Owen Macleod will fall in love with another lass and tell me faither he doesna want me anymore. Or maybe Liam McAlpine will perish on his way to fetch me.”

Of course, even then, Muriel would have to go back to Barra. She knew that well. But it was nice to dream that she could stay in Edinburgh a little longer.

“Maybe we should hide ye!” Caitriona suggested. “So then even if this Liam McAlpine comes, he willnae be able to find ye!”

In her drunken state, Muriel found that idea excellent. All she had to do was hide for long enough for Liam McAlpine to give up. She didn’t consider the possibility of him arriving weeks later or her father sending a search party after her.

“Let’s do it,” Muriel said.

In a flurry of excitement, the two girls emptied as much out of the chest that stood by the foot of Muriel’s bed as they could—only there wasn’t nearly enough space for her to fit. Even so, she jumped inside, trying to contort her body to fit the tiny space of the chest, the whole time grunting and cursing under her breath. She was so focused on her task, so insistent on fitting in there, that she didn’t hear the door open.

Chapter Two

The job should be easy, easier than most that Liam had accepted in the past.

Transporting a noble girl from one place to the next was hardly a job fit for someone of his reputation and skill, but the money was good.

It didn’t take Liam long to locate the women’s school in Edinburgh where Angus MacNeil had sent his daughter. From the outside, the building was unassuming though well-kept, clearly maintained to the highest standard. For a moment, Liam hesitated at the door. It was still early in the morning, the dew from the night still clinging to the flowers surrounding the entrance, the sky still half-dark. It was better to leave as soon as possible, though. There was no sense in traveling around the wilderness late at night.

The door swung open before Liam could even knock, and he was met by the stern gaze of a small, older woman. Liam had faced many enemies throughout his life, but those eyes told him that he didn’t want to cross her.

“And who may ye be?” the woman asked.

“Liam Russell McAlpine,” Liam said hastily. “Angus MacNeil sent me to take his daughter to Lewis.”

The woman’s expression softened upon hearing those words, though not enough for Liam to feel at ease. She nodded for him to enter and then climbed the stairs.

When Liam didn’t follow, she turned around and pinned him with that stern look once more.

“Well?” she asked. “Do ye expect the lassie to bring her own things down here?”

Liam followed the woman, though not without a sigh. He didn’t like taking orders, especially when they came from people with an attitude.

When the two of them reached the room, Liam could hear noises from the other side of the door. The sound brought a frown to his face, and he wondered why it sounded as though there were many people in there.

The woman all but kicked the door down, revealing two very feminine but guilty faces staring at them. Liam couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, though it was cut short when the woman glared at him from the corner of her eye.

“Mrs. MacGillivray!” one of the girls said, shooting up to her feet from where she had been crouching down into a chest. The first thing that Liam noticed about her was how tall she was, taller than most of the women he had seen in his life. The second thing he noticed was how beautiful she was.

Even in the half-light of the room, her hair, a reddish blonde color, stunned him and her blue eyes were so dark they seemed almost violet, sparkling at him from under her eyelashes. She was a sight to behold, and Liam hoped that she wasn’t the girl he had been sent to fetch. He would hate to hand her over to someone else.

“Miss MacNeil, what are ye doin’? Why are ye in there?” Mrs. MacGillivray asked, her hands on her hips as she stared down at the girls. “Have ye been . . . drinkin’? Out, Miss Caileanach! Go to yer chambers this instant!”

At Mrs. MacGillivray’s shout, the other girl rushed out of the room, scrambling to get as far away from the woman as she could. Liam hardly noticed her, though. His mind focused on one thing: the woman had called the beauty Miss MacNeil.

So, she is Muriel MacNeil. Ach, weel . . . there are other bonny lasses out there.

Liam tore his thoughts away from the girl, reminding himself that he still had a job to do. Behind him, Mrs. MacGillivray had been joined by several other older women—teachers, Liam presumed—all of whom seemed to be very curious as to what had been going on in Miss MacNeil’s room, while his client had stepped out of the trunk and was putting her personal belongings back inside.

Liam walked over to her and offered her a hand with a chuckle, but Muriel refused it with an indignant huff. At that moment, Liam knew it was going to be a long trip to Lewis. There was nothing that Liam hated more than spoiled noble girls, and now he realized that Muriel was one of them. Even her beauty couldn’t make up for it.

“Miss MacNeil, I’m Liam Russell McAlpine,” Liam told her. “Yer faither—”

“I ken who ye are,” Muriel said. “I was hopin’ that ye wouldnae come so soon, but I suppose it cannae be helped. Will we be leavin’ immediately?”

“Aye,” Liam said. “The sooner, the better. I dinnae suppose that ye wish to travel in the dark and the cold?”

“I’d much rather nae,” Muriel said. She moved to the bed as she spoke, collapsing on it and covering her face with an arm. Liam looked at her, arms crossed over his chest, and knew precisely what the problem was.

The lassie is still drunk.

“How much did ye have to drink?” he asked her.

“I dinnae see how that concerns ye,” Muriel said.

“It concerns me because I’m the one who has to keep an eye on ye while we travel,” he told her. “What am I supposed to do if ye cannae even stand on yer feet?”

“Who said that I cannae?” Muriel said. “I am fine.”

“Is that so?” Liam asked, walking to the bed so he could stare down at her.

“Pack yer things, then. Let’s go.”

Muriel peeked out from under her arm just long enough to glare at him, and Liam only smiled back, smugly. He had traveled on his caps and hungover enough times to know that the trip that awaited Muriel would be anything but enjoyable. Still, as though powered by sheer force of will and stubbornness alone, Muriel stood and finished putting all her items in the trunk while Liam watched her.

By the time she was done, Liam could tell from her pale skin and the pained look in her eyes that she wasn’t feeling well, and he couldn’t help but feel bad for her. He pressed a hand on her shoulder, making her sit back down on the bed while he carried her things down the stairs, and then, once he was done, he offered an arm to her to hold.

This time, she didn’t refuse his assistance, and Liam led her to the horses.

Once there, she looked at Liam’s wagon with disdain.

“That’s it?” she asked. Liam didn’t know if she was more disturbed by the lack of a roof or the fact that it was tiny, nor did he care to ask.

“Ye’re lucky I brought one,” he said. “I wanted to have just horses, but yer faither didnae want that. We’d be travellin’ faster on a horse.”

“And what would happen to me things?” Muriel asked. “How would I take it all with me?”

“Not really me problem, lass,” Liam said with a shrug. Muriel’s only response was a glare, and once again, she refused any help from him as she climbed up into the wagon.

Liam tried to ignore Muriel as much as he could, even though she was huffing next to him, squirming in her seat every time they hit a bump on the road. He wanted to point out that none of it was enjoyable for him either, and that the last thing he wanted to be doing was spending days next to someone as unpleasant as her, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t have her complaining to her father that he wasn’t nice enough.

“So . . . what are ye?” Muriel said after several hours spent in silence. “A mercenary?”

“Aye, somethin’ like that,” Liam said.

“Do people hire ye to move brides like they’re cattle often?”

Ach . . . so that’s what it is.

Liam couldn’t imagine how Muriel—or any young woman in her position, in fact—felt about her wedding. If he were in her place, he would certainly be upset to be promised to someone against his will. He wondered, briefly, if that was one of the reasons why she was so disagreeable, but then again, none of it was his problem.

“I must admit that ye’re the first bride that I was hired to protect,” Liam said, choosing his words carefully. “Ye’re nae cattle, Miss MacNeil. I’m nae takin’ ye to a pen. I’m takin’ ye to yer future husband. Yer new home.”

“I may as well be cattle,” Muriel said, and her tone was so pained that once again, Liam’s heart ached for her. “What’s the difference? Me faither doesna care what I think; all he wants is to sell me to the highest bidder.”

“Ye should be more kind to yer faither,” Liam said. “The Macleod clan is a verra wealthy clan. Ye’ll have a verra comfortable life there.”

“Aye, wealthy enough for me faither to do anythin’ for that wealth.”

Bitterness laced Muriel’s tone, so strong that Liam was startled by it and decided he’d like to avoid having it directed at him at any point in time. He was getting the impression more and more that Muriel was not the kind of woman with whom he would want to argue, stubborn as she seemed to be. Liam didn’t argue with stubborn people. All it did was anger him.

“I dinnae ken what ye wish for me to say,” Liam said. “I am only here to do what I was paid to do. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”

“So ye dinnae care what I think about this marriage?”

“Why would I?” he asked. “I have nae say in it. I dinnae even ken ye, so why should I care? Ye’re just what I must transport.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Liam knew he had made a mistake. He had told Muriel that she wasn’t cattle only to imply then that she was merely an object.

“I didnae mean it like that,” he added quickly, trying to get ahead of the damage that he had caused. “I didnae mean—”

“I dinnae care what ye meant.” Muriel’s tone was curt, but Liam could almost feel the barbs hidden under her words.

Muriel fell silent then, and so did Liam. He didn’t know what to tell her, though he supposed it was better that way. The less they talked, the less annoyed both of them would get with each other, and that was the only way their journey could be painless. Liam simply enjoyed the silence and their surroundings, humming softly to himself as they passed through the land.

It was only much later when the sun had already begun to set, that Muriel spoke once more. “May I request that we sleep outside tonight?”

“Outside?” Liam asked. He would be lying if he said that Muriel’s request hadn’t surprised him. He was expecting her to balk at the mere thought of sleeping in the forest instead of a warm, comfortable room with a bed and a fluffy mattress.

“Aye, outside,” Muriel said. “We’ll pass by Loch Leven, will we nae? It seems like a good place to set up camp.”

“Are ye certain that ye dinnae wish to sleep inside?” Liam asked. “We can find an inn; there are towns nearby, and we still have some light.”

“Nae, I’d rather sleep outside,” Muriel insisted. “I wish to sleep under the stars. It’s been so long since I last did that, and noo seems like the perfect opportunity.”

Liam frowned, though he didn’t try to argue with her. It seemed strange to him that anyone would want to sleep outside in the cold when they could just find an inn with a room—and food and drink, which was perhaps even more important to him—but it wouldn’t be the first time that he slept outside. Besides, he didn’t want to antagonize Muriel too much, thinking that perhaps he just needed to show her that he was not her enemy. As long as her requests were reasonable, he had no problem fulfilling them.

“Verra weel, we’ll set up camp outside,” he said. “By the loch. But if ye get cold, dinnae blame me for it. I warned ye.”

“The fire will be enough,” Muriel assured him. “Besides, I’m the bairn of a pirate chieftain. Do ye really think that I’ve never spent a night in the cold before?”

“Och, I dinnae ken,” Liam said. “Ye dinnae seem like the kind of lass who would.”

“And what kind of lass do I seem to be?”

“The kind of lass who would complain about getting’ her dress soiled.”

The look that Muriel gave him was an amused one, as though she found the mere thought of being upset by something as trivial as that silly, and Liam had to re-evaluate his first impression of her as a spoiled girl.

Still, it didn’t make her any less infuriating.

“Ye ken nothin’ about me, so it would be better if ye kept yer assumptions to yerself,” she said politely, but with that same heat under her words that was a clear warning. “And whatever ye think ye ken about me is probably wrong.”

How can a lass so bonny be so frustratin’ at the same time?

Liam shook his head, but he didn’t say anything else. When they finally got to the lake, he tied the horses nearby and began collecting wood for the fire, while Muriel made her way around the clearing, examining the bushes that surrounded the lake with an interest that Liam found both strange and a little endearing. The heat of the fire was a pleasant change from the chill of the air, and for the first time, he realized just how stiff his fingers were after holding the reins for so many hours. Also, for the first time, he thought that maybe Muriel had been cold all along.

“Come sit by the fire, lass,” he told her as a way to get her warm without expressing his concern. Muriel joined him as he held his hands in front of the flames, trying to get the blood back into them.

“Look what I found,” she said, showing him some berries that she had in the folds of her skirt, which Liam regarded with suspicion.

“They’re nae poisonous, are they?”

“Of course nae,” Muriel said, and to prove it, she popped one in her mouth.

Liam took one, marveling at the sweetness that burst on his tongue when he bit into it.

Perhaps this willnae be so bad after all.

“I wish to talk to ye about somethin’,” Muriel said then, drawing a pained moan out of him. He already knew what she wanted to tell him—the same thing she had been telling him all this time.

Or perhaps I spoke too soon.

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