Willelm sat back on his heels, wiping the sweat off his forehead. It was a chilly day, and yet he was sweating profusely as he nailed plank after plank down on the roof of the barracks. For the longest time, they had been in need of some serious repairs, but he had neglected it in favor of working on the villages and the buildings in the surrounding lands. Before anything else, he wanted his people, the common folk, to have their homes and farms back, to have their livelihoods restored.
The burned crops were long gone and in their place, new crops grew. The burned land was fertile now and Willelm had made the decision to plant mostly oats—a staple crop, and one that grew quickly. The ash would give the plants the nutrients they needed, and in turn, the villages would avoid the famine that was sure to come before they managed to rebuild.
Long gone were many of the homes, too, and those were harder to rebuild. Willelm could send his men now in times of peace to help the farmers sow the land, which took days, but building new houses took weeks of work. Even now, five months later, rebuilding the villages and the farms was a slow process, one that everyone in the Comyn lands had accepted would take a long time, even with the help of the MacDuffs.
It was strange, having the MacDuffs as allies—a group of people who were now working alongside his own to rebuild what had been lost. Willelm couldn’t be more thankful for the help. He took any help he could get, he was not a man who put his pride over his people.
But now that all the other restorations were well on their way, he could spend some time working on the estate, along with his men, even if that meant spending grueling hours under the sun or the rain. Everyone in the keep was happy to help, all of them working together to bring the estate back to its former glory.
Willelm remembered the estate from his childhood days—the colorful tapestries, the shining armors standing empty in the hallways, the grand portraits of those before him. It had once been a sight to behold, a place of beauty and luxury, and now Willelm was determined to restore it.
If his ancestors were watching, if his parents were watching, then he wanted them to be proud.
He caught his breath as he glimpsed Sorcha as she stepped out of the main part of the estate, carrying a tray in her hands. On it rested several cups and a pitcher of wine or ale, which she brought to where the men were working on the barracks.
Standing to his feet, Willelm walked over to her just as she began to pass the cups around to the men. They were all quick to thank her with a kind word and smile; most of his people had taken to her from the moment she had come to the estate, but the men were the ones who were the most reluctant, considering they had fought against her family for so long. Now that the truth had come out and his men had gotten to know Sorcha better, they had however mellowed.
With a smile of her own, Sorcha passed one cup to him and Willelm took it gratefully, gulping the contents down.
He hadn’t realized just how thirsty he had been. Only now that the sweet wine hit his tongue did he notice.
“Thank ye,” he told her, pulling her in for a quick kiss. Just as he pulled away to go back to work, though, Sorcha pulled him back in and kissed him again, a smile spreading over her lips as she stared at his eyes in a weighted silence.
“What is it?” he asked with a small, bemused smile.
“I have somethin’ tae tell ye,” Sorcha said cryptically, and Willelm didn’t know what to expect. By the looks of it, though, it seemed that it was a good thing, much to his relief.
“Alright,” he said, his smile widening as he tucked a stray strand of her golden hair behind her ear. “What is it?”
Taking his hand in hers, Sorcha led Willelm away from the other men, down a narrow path that led to what once had been the gardens. That part of the grounds needed plenty of work, but the women in the estate had already started planting. New plants and flowers would bloom soon, filling the grounds with their fragrance—lavender and thyme for the healer’s concoctions, Scottish primrose, bell heathers, peonies for their colors, and an oak sapling that in many decades would shade the entire place. The women tended to the gardens daily.
It’s because they need this, they need this place, their home, tae be special.
After everything they had endured, they needed it to feel like home—to feel theirs.
There was an old stone bench there and Sorcha sat on it, telling Willelm to join her with a nod of her head. Willelm did as he was asked, perching next to her, his fingers idly tracing a crack on the stone.
“Well?” he urged her, curious.
For a moment, Sorcha hesitated, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. Then, she took Willelm’s hand in her own again and pressed it gently over her stomach, smiling warmly at him.
It took Willelm a while to understand what it was that she was trying to tell him, but when he did, his eyes widened comically and his mouth fell open as he stared at her, his heart beating so fast in his chest that he feared it would simply stop.
“Are ye with bairn?” he asked, just to make sure. With a bright smile, Sorcha nodded fervently and Willelm wasted no time before he pulled her in his arms and into a tender kiss. Then, unable to control himself, he pressed kiss after kiss to her face, covering her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw. Sorcha giggled, playfully pushing him away.
“Ach, I think that’s quite enough,” said Sorcha, laughing softly.
“I dinnae think it’s enough at all,” Willelm teased. “When did ye find out?”
“I wanted tae be certain so… I waited a while tae tell ye,” Sorcha admitted, a soft blush rising up her cheeks and coloring them a pretty red. “I’ve kent fer a few weeks.”
Willelm could hardly believe that in a few short months he would be a father. He and Sorcha would have a child of their own, a little boy or girl that would look just like them and run around the estate, growing up right before their eyes.
Ach, I must ensure everythin’ is safe fer the bairn.
There was still so much work to be done around the estate, but since they had decided to renovate it and use it as their home and base for the Comyn Clan for the time being instead of returning to the clan’s main castle, he had to make sure everything was perfect for the baby’s arrival. Panic gripped him for a single moment then, as he thought about everything that needed to be done. There was a long list of things, but one that he would have to tackle immediately.
“Ye’re overthinkin’,” said Sorcha, immediately noticing. “Dinnae think so much. Just enjoy it.”
Willelm supposed she was right. He wanted to make the most of that time. Once again, he pulled her close for a kiss, their lips meeting softly, tenderly. He combed his fingers through her hair and she smiled at him, gazing into his eyes.
“Have ye told yer family?” Willelm asked her. He wished his parents were there so he could tell them. He wished they could have seen their grandchild grow up, but at least his child would have his uncle. Willelm knew Rory would be there every step of the way, and once he would have children of his own, there was no doubt in his mind that the cousins would be inseparable, just like the two of them had always been.
“Nay,” said Sorcha, shaking her head. “Nae yet. I wished tae tell ye first, afore everyone else.”
“Nae one else kens?” Willelm asked with a small, pleased smile.
“Well… Caitriona kens,” Sorcha admitted, a little bashfully. “But only because I asked her so that I could be certain. I didnae wish tae tell ye I’m with bairn only fer it tae be false.”
Willelm could understand that. He could only imagine the disappointment both he and Sorcha would feel if it turned out the information was false. But she seemed entirely certain of it, and so Willelm allowed himself to feel his excitement at its full force, his joy radiating warmth in his chest. Never before had he felt that much love, that much tenderness towards someone, and that someone hardly even existed yet.
“I cannae wait tae meet him,” he said, only for Sorcha to slap his shoulder gently in protest. “Or her,” she pointed out.
“Or her,” Willelm relented with a smile. “What would ye rather it be?”
Sorcha shrugged a shoulder, her hand coming to rest over her stomach. “I dinnae care,” she said. “As long as it’s a healthy bairn, that’s all that matters tae me.”
“That’s all that matters tae me too,” Willelm assured her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “As long as it’s healthy an’ happy.”
“O’ course it will be happy,” Sorcha said. “It will be surrounded by love an’ that’s all that matters.”
The two of them sat side by side on the bench, content in the silence that followed. They didn’t need to say anything to each other; all they needed was a single look to know what the other was thinking, and Willelm marveled at the fact that he and Sorcha had this kind of connection already, of a sort that up until then, he had only had with his brother.
Still, he wanted to speak the words in his mind out loud.
“Sorcha… I love ye,” he said. “I love ye so much.”
It was the truth, plain and simple, and words didn’t seem enough to express just how he felt for her, but it was all he had.
“I love ye too,” she said with the brightest smile. “An’ I love our wee bairn.”
Placing his hand over her own on her stomach, Willelm smiled to himself. The peace that came with Sorcha’s words was unlike anything he had ever felt and he basked in it, wishing it would never end.
And as long as they were together, he knew it never would.
Don’t miss the link for the whole book at the end of the preview.
Chapter One
MacDuff Estate, 1341
As a large, smooth hand was thrust right into her face, Sorcha MacDuff once again contemplated the necessity of a husband in a young woman’s life. It only took her a few seconds to come to the conclusion that, though necessary, a man could surely only be a burden.
“I would be honored tae have this dance, Miss MacDuff,” the man to whom the hand belonged to said. Sorcha followed the length of his arm with her gaze, looking up, up, until she finally got a good glance at his face under the incandescent glow of the candles.
Ach! He could be me faither!
The man standing before her was tall and plump, with ruddy cheeks and graying hair—surely, over thirty years her senior. Sorcha managed a polite smile, the same one she had borne all night as she tried to maneuver her way around the great hall of MacDuff’s Castle and the guests who had gathered there for the ball, and swiftly evaded the hand offered to her as she took a step backwards.
Who is he? I should ken his name.
Racking her brain for this man’s identity, Sorcha continued to slowly back away from him, but the man eagerly followed. Behind her, people parted to allow her to pass, but then her back hit something large and hard.
A pillar, one of those towering structures of dark stone that held the high ceiling; she had backed herself into a corner.
“Fergive me…” she said, and then, as though through divine intervention, remembered the man’s name, “Sir Cameron! I’m afraid I must decline. I… ach… I’m lookin’ fer—”
Sorcha let her gaze roam around the great hall, trying to find an excuse to get away from Sir Cameron’s clutches. It was far from an easy task. Not only had she had one cup of wine too many to cope with the constant bombardment of attention, but the large, laughing crowd disoriented her, the music swelled over her in waves, and the heat of the room felt suddenly suffocating.
All of that effort, all the decorations and the roasted meats and the flowing wine were wasted on her, her only desire being to hide away from the crowd.
At twenty years of age, she was ready to find a suitable match, and her parents, eager and helpful as always, had thrown the ball for her. At first, it had seemed like an exciting opportunity to find her future husband, someone she could one day love and wed, and with whom she could have a big family. But now that she had seen her options—one of whom was the shameless Sir Cameron, apparently—fleeing into the woods and starting a new life seemed more appealing.
“Me, I hope.”
Sorcha’s head whipped to the side at the sound of the rough, baritone voice right next to her. Though the voice was only vaguely familiar to her, the face, with the high, regal forehead, the slightly crooked nose, and the thin lips under a short, dark beard was one she immediately recognized.
“Laird MacLaren,” she said in greeting, attempting an awkward curtsy with her back against the pillar. “Actually—”
“Sir Cameron, may I?” Laird MacLaren asked, his gray eyes pinning the other man with a demanding gaze. For a moment, it seemed to Sorcha that this would end in an argument, but then Sir Cameron only bowed and retreated, giving one last smile to Sorcha—one she did her best to return.
It was always better to keep relations amicable, her mother said, despite personal preference.
“I’m terribly sorry, Laird MacLaren, but I’m lookin’ fer me braither,” Sorcha said, knowing that if there was anyone who could help her out of this, it would be Ruaridh. “Have ye seen him?”
“I havenae,” Laird MacLaren said distractedly, but when Sorcha tried to move away from the pillar, his hand reached out, fingers wrapping delicately around her wrist to stop her. “Perhaps we can look fer him together after this dance?”
Sorcha let out an awkward chuckle, her gaze flitting about the room over Laird MacLaren’s shoulders. “I’d like that very much, but I’m afraid I must find him right now.”
“I insist,” said Laird MacLaren, his hand tightening around her wrist. His tone had a sharp edge, one that she didn’t quite appreciate. When she tried to yank her arm out of his grip, though, Laird MacLaren refused to let go.
“An’ I insist that ye unhand me,” she said, her own tone turning icy. “As I said, I must speak tae Ruaridh.”
“I’m sure he can wait,” Laird MacLaren said as he took a step closer to Sorcha.
Ach, why willnae he leave me alone? This is hardly the behavior o’ a gentleman!
Laird Rhys MacLaren was nothing if not insistent, it seemed, though insistent was perhaps too light a word for him. His grip on Sorcha’s forearm was just forceful enough to keep her where she was, but gentle enough to not hurt her. The way he looked at her, though, revealed the cracks on his mask; irritation bled through them, those gray eyes piercing right through her.
Why cannae I find one man who is gentle an’ respectful in this room?
Everyone felt entitled to her time and her attention. On the one hand, she should have expected it. Every bachelor in the room had been invited specifically for her to choose the best. On the other hand, none of them appeared to be the kind of man she desired.
Mustering all of her tenacity, Sorcha glared at Laird MacLaren as she said, “Me braither is already lookin’ fer me. I think it would be wiser fer me tae find him afore he finds me.”
It was a subtle threat, but one that worked beautifully. Laird MacLaren let go of her and gave her a smile that was all teeth,glinting under the candlelight.
“So be it,” he said. “Perhaps later.”
“Perhaps.”
It was all Sorcha said before she stomped off, pushing her way through the crowd. She needed some fresh air, to get out of the great hall and have a few moments to herself, without anyone bothering her.
Even as she tried to make her way to the courtyard, though, people were still trying to stop her—men who wanted a dance, girls who wanted a moment of her time. Sorcha slipped past them all, trying her best to be as polite and as diplomatic as she could while rushing to avoid them, and by the time she finally burst through the front doors and out into the courtyard, her ears were buzzing and her head felt heavy on her neck.
The fresh air seemed to help, if only a little. She took one breath after the other, but the noise from the great hall spilled out there, too, through the windows.
“What are ye daein’ out here?”
Sorcha jumped at the sudden presence next to her, and for a panicked moment, she thought that she had already been discovered.
“Ach, ye scared me,” she told Ruaridh. “I thought ye were another one o’ me suitors.”
“Would that be so bad?” Ruaridh asked as he leaned against the nearest wall, his figure outlined by the faint moonlight. Even leaning to the side like that, he towered over Sorcha. His dark hair seemed to blend right into the wall behind him, but his green eyes glinted in the light of a nearby torch.
That was the only feature they shared. With Sorcha’s blonde hair and slender build, they only vaguely resembled each other.
“I’m tired o’ them all,” Sorcha admitted with a long-suffering sigh. “Have ye seen the men in there?”
“Och aye,” Ruaridh said with a soft chuckle. “They’re nae tae yer likin’?”
Sorcha turned her gaze to her brother, her eyes narrowing. “Are ye jestin’?”
“Surely, one o’ them must be tae yer likin’,” Ruaridh said, but Sorcha only shook her head. It made sense, logically, that one of them at least would be to her liking. If there was one such man in that room, though, she had not yet found him.
Perhaps I am the one with the problem.
“Come,” said Ruaridh after a long stretch of silence. Sorcha glanced at him with a frown, but he only nodded his head away from the keep and began to walk away, not waiting to see if Sorcha would follow. Rushing after him, Sorcha caught up after a few steps, but their destination didn’t become any clearer to her.
“Where are we goin’?”
“We’re goin’ tae the stables an’ ye’re goin’ tae yer spot tae have a moment tae breathe,” Ruaridh said, much to Sorcha’s surprise. “Dinnae take too long, though. I can only excuse yer absence fer so long.”
Sorcha’s spot, as Ruaridh had called it, was in the estate, a little farther into the woods—a clearing, small and verdant, where no one else went. It was a place just for her, a place where she went to retreat from the world.
But going there in the middle of the feast didn’t seem like such a good plan.
“What if people start lookin’ fer me?”
“I’ll tell them ye had tae… relieve yerself,” said Ruaridh with a shrug.
“Ye will dae nae such thing!” Sorcha said, slapping him on the arm. “That’s embarrassin’!”
“Alright, what dae ye wish fer me tae tell them, then?” Ruaridh asked.
“Literally anythin’ else,” said Sorcha just as the two of them reached the stables—a small, squat building of stone near the barracks. Inside, the horses were resting for the night and the stableboy was nowhere to be found. Ruaridh made quick work of Sorcha’s horse, though, saddling it and preparing it for the short trip as she watched, her arms crossed over her chest. “Ye willnae truly tell them that, will ye?”
Rolling her eyes at her, Ruaridh shook his head. “Nay. I’ll tell them I only just saw ye an’ that ye must be somewhere in the crowd.”
That sounded much better to Sorcha and she let her arms drop before she rushed to give her brother a hug. “Thank ye,” she said. “Ye’re savin’ me from the worst fate.”
“Och aye, I’m sure it’s a terrible fate tae have so many suitors,” he teased, but Sorcha figured a man like him could never understand the kind of decision she had to make. She was the one who would have to spend the rest of her life with the man she would choose—or should she fail to do so, the man her parents would choose for her. Ruaridh was free to do as he pleased; Sorcha was not.
With her horse ready, Ruaridh helped her climb onto the saddle and then she was gone, riding away from the chaos of the night with a torch in her hand. She didn’t stray too far from the keep. It was late and the wind whipped her face as she rode, seeping through her yellow kirtle and her overgown. In her hurry, she had neglected to pick up a cloak and now she regretted it dearly as the chill reached her bones, but it was too late for her to turn back. At the clearing, where the trees would block the wind, she would be warmer.
With that thought in mind, Sorcha pushed forward, the trees blurring into shadows as she rode through the forest. It was not long before she reached her usual spot; her beloved clearing, waiting there for her as it always did.
Jumping off the saddle, Sorcha led her horse to a patch of grass where it could graze as she relaxed, and then she slid down against the trunk of a large oak, sitting on the soft earth under its canopy. It was peaceful there; there was no one to bother her, no one to ask for another dance, no one to trap her against a pillar.
“Good evenin’.”
For yet another time that night, Sorcha jumped right out of her skin, a curse escaping her at the sound of the strange voice. Unlike the other two times, when she turned to look at the intruder, she didn’t recognize him and her heart leapt to her throat just as she leapt to her feet. The man was cloaked in shadow, and only when he stepped forward and was illuminated by the orange glow of the torch did Sorcha realize that he seemed vaguely familiar.
Blonde hair, green eyes… I must have seen him somewhere.
The man had been at the ball, they had exchanged a few words. He was dressed in fine clothes of wool and silk. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a patrician profile that would have made him the kind of man her parents would easily choose for her.
The kind o’ man I’d choose too.
There was something about him, though; something she couldn’t quite name that weighed heavily on her regardless.
“Good evenin’,” she said, though she kept her distance from him. “If ye have followed me here tae speak tae me, then I would much rather be left alone.”
What other reason did the man have to be there? This was a place just for her, a place where no one else had any reason to be. Still, the man laughed as if in disbelief, his shoulders shaking with mirth.
“Follow ye?” he asked. “Ye’re the one who followed me. I’ve been here fer a while.”
That didn’t sound right to Sorcha at all. Not only had she not followed the man there, but she was also certain he couldn’t have been there for hours, not if she had seen him at the feast. Frowning, she took a few more steps back on instinct, her hand brushing against the rough bark of the tree.
“I dinnae think I ken yer name,” she said, in an attempt to find out who the man was.
“I dinnae think ye ken it either,” the man said, which only deepened her frown. Surely, he had understood she was asking for it, but he refused to give it to her, and now he only grinned at her as she looked at him in confusion.
“Well, can I ken what it is?” Sorcha asked, but the man shook his head.
“Why would I tell me name tae the lass who followed me here?”
Sorcha couldn’t tell if the man was joking or not. Every single man she had spoken to that night had been strange, though, in his attempt to charm her, and perhaps this was no different. Maybe despite his good looks, he didn’t know how to speak to women.
How can he be so handsome yet so… strange?
“Well, I’m sure ye ken me name,” Sorcha pointed out. Everyone at the feast knew who she was, of course. Everyone had gone there to see her. “So I think it is only right that ye tell me yers.”
“Ye can call me whatever ye please,” said the man with a small shrug.
“Then I shall call ye peculiar,” Sorcha said, unable to stop herself from delivering a spunky response. For all she cared, the man was asking for it. “Perhaps even rude.”
The man’s laugh filled the small clearing, deep and resonant. “An odd choice, when ye could have called me anythin’ else ye wished. Dae ye truly think it so rude o’ me tae withhold me name?”
“O’ course!” said Sorcha, irritation flaring up inside her now. This man was teasing her, there was no doubt in her mind about that now, but she had had enough of people trying to get her attention in the most bizarre ways that night. If he truly wanted to get to know her, then he could try speaking to her and showing some interest in what she had to say. “First ye claim I followed ye here, when I clearly didnae, an’ now ye willnae even tell me who ye are. I ken ye followed me here, so why dinnae ye simply tell me what it is ye want from me?”
The man remained silent, only watching her with a lidded gaze that sent a shiver down her spine. From the very first moment she had seen him, something had seemed odd to her about him, and now it was only being confirmed again and again in her mind.
It didn’t really matter; she had had enough of men for one night, and even now that she had fled the feast, one of them had still managed to track her down. It would be better to head back to her chambers for a while, she thought. Then perhaps, she could get some moments of peace before having to return to the feast.
Never taking her eyes off the man, she said, “I should head back now. Everyone at the ball will start wonderin’ where I am.”
“I’m afraid I cannae let ye dae that.”
The man’s expression was entirely deadpan, entirely serious, and yet Sorcha found herself laughing, thinking that he must be teasing her again. When he didn’t laugh, though, but rather stared at her with a blank expression, she realized he was not teasing her at all, and her laughter was cut short.
The man approached her slowly, his footsteps quiet in the soft earth. Sorcha’s stomach dropped, the blood rushing in her veins. She had to get out of there; she had to escape.
“It would be best if ye didnae run,” said the man.
Despite the warning, Sorcha did just that.
Chapter Two
Running to her horse, Sorcha quickly jumped on. She wasted no time before galloping down the path, heading back towards the keep and thanking God that she had not strayed too far from it. But before long, she heard another set of hooves behind her, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that the man was already pursuing her.
Tugging on the reins, Sorcha urged her horse to go faster and faster, pushing it to its limits. Despite their combined best efforts, though, the man was gaining on her, getting closer and closer with every stomp of his horse’s feet. Still, Sorcha was confident she would have made it, if only it hadn’t been for the three men who jumped in front of her out of the shadows of the woods. They, too, were on horseback, and she doubted it was a coincidence that they were there. They all had to be working with the man pursuing her.
The three of them formed a wall in front of her that was impenetrable. Even if she had tried to ride past them, she would have collided with at least one of them, and that would only risk leaving her and her horse injured. Besides, her horse reared, too spooked to continue down its path, and for a moment all Sorcha could do was hold onto the saddle and the reins with all her might as she tried to stay on top.
Frantically, she looked around her, desperate for a way to escape. She could see none. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and her breath came in short puffs, her mind buzzing with all the terrible scenarios she was coming up with. She didn’t know what those men wanted from her, but there were a few things that came to mind.
How will I get out o’ here?
The keep was still too far. Even if she had tried to scream for help, none of the guards would have heard her. Her only hope was to find a way through, but that, too, was extinguished when one of the men reached for her and tossed her right off the saddle.
Sorcha landed with a thud on the ground, her breath rushing out of her lungs. For one terrible, painful moment, she could neither breathe nor move, and she thought that would be the end of her. Soon, though, she regained her strength and pushed herself up to her feet, stumbling as she tried to escape once more. Perhaps it was better this way; perhaps without her horse, she could weave through them and run through the woods back to the keep.
That was precisely what she did. Instead of following the path, she dashed into the thick forest, hoping the trees were thick enough for the riders not to follow. Every time she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the three of them still there, watching, and her heart soared with the hope that she could truly make it back in one piece. All she needed was to push herself a little longer, even if her lungs burned and her legs ached from the effort.
But the next time she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the man from the clearing pursuing her once more, this time on foot. He was fast; much faster than her, his feet covering the same distance in half the time it took her. Sorcha couldn’t help but cry out in fear as the man gained on her once more, before finally grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into a complete halt.
Sorcha screamed and thrashed in the man’s grip, kicking her legs out as she tried to get him to let go of her. Despite her slender frame, she was a strong woman, but she was still at a disadvantage against such large men. Her captor’s arms were like a vice around her, so strong that his grip was cutting off her air. Each mad kick of her legs, each struggle only served to hurt her, the man’s hands leaving bruises behind on her skin.
“While I’m enjoyin’ chasin’ ye, I dinnae wish tae hurt ye,” the man said, yelling to be heard over her shouts. “It’s time fer ye tae stop an’ be a good lass.”
As he spoke, the man dragged Sorcha, still screaming and kicking, back to the group, where the other men waited with rope and rags. Upon spotting the items, Sorcha’s will to escape only strengthened, and she thrashed like a rabid animal in the man’s arms, throwing her weight around in a desperate attempt to force him to let go.
At his whistle, two of the other men grabbed her, effectively immobilizing her despite her best efforts. With one of them holding her arms and torso and the other holding her legs, there was nothing she could do but scream for help—but even that stopped when her first captor shoved a rag in her mouth, effectively silencing her.
Her throat was hoarse. Bruises already bloomed over her skin, making every movement painful. As the man bound her hands behind her back and her ankles together, Sorcha’s strength evaporated, leaving behind only the husk of who she was.
She couldn’t fight anymore; even if she did, there was no point. There was one of her and four of them. No matter what she did, she could never escape their grasp.
As the man grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, Sorcha huffed around the rag in her mouth as she was jostled. The man placed her precariously over his saddle before climbing on and adjusting her, so that she was leaning securely against his body, and as she was wriggled around and moved like a doll, Sorcha realized her hands and feet were only loosely bound—not loosely enough for her to run, but loosely enough to be gentle and leave no marks.
A considerate kidnapper… just what I needed.
“Time fer us tae return,” the man said as he began trotting down the path away from the keep. “They’ll be lookin’ fer her soon.”
Sorcha wanted to say that yes, indeed, someone would be looking for her, but she couldn’t utter a single word with that piece of cloth in her mouth. Still, she grumbled around it, trying to make herself heard, only for the man to ignore her completely as they rode through the dark forest.
One moment tumbled into the next, until Sorcha didn’t know where they were or even how much time had passed since they had left the estate. As they rushed through the darkness, the wind still whipped her cheeks and made her eyes water, but the man was a solid wall of warmth against her. Not only that, but he had made sure to wrap his cloak around them both, giving Sorcha another layer of clothing to protect her from the elements.
What kind of captor treated his victim like this? What kind of brigand made sure that the woman he had kidnapped was warm and comfortable?
But this man didn’t look like a brigand at all, and neither did those who were with him. He carried himself with grace, with the air of someone who had grown up much in the same way she had. Now that her panic had subsided, since the men didn’t seem interested in killing her and had refrained from touching her in any inappropriate ways, she couldn’t help but wonder who this man was and what he wanted to do with her.
He’s… handsome. Very much so.
It struck Sorcha as a strange thought to have in the middle of being kidnapped, but there was no denying the man’s allure. Even in the dim light of the moon, his features stood out to her, his attractiveness difficult to ignore. The fact that he had taken her from her home against her will, though, was more than enough to overshadow his good looks and instantly fill Sorcha with hatred for him.
There was one thing she knew for certain; he was no brigand, or at least not an ordinary one.
After what seemed—and must have been—hours of riding, a castle appeared in the short distance. It was nothing like Macduff’s Castle, though. Where their keep stood tall and gleaming in the sun, this one seemed decrepit, on the edge of collapse. Parts of the roof were missing. Stones from the walls had fallen off and were piled up near the structure around the corners. Even in the dark, the plants that surrounded it seemed neglected.
The man and his three companions came to a stop in the courtyard. Sorcha was unceremoniously pulled off the saddle, only for the man to slash off the rope around her ankles and drag her inside. Sorcha had no choice but to follow; she was pulled along like a puppet, her legs numb after the ride and her entire body aching from the exertion and the cold.
She hardly had any time to take in her surroundings. All she saw as the man guided her through the corridors were more dilapidated walls, some of them decorated with faded tapestries and portraits. The torches that illuminated their way were few and far in-between, casting large, looming shadows over the walls. By the time they stopped in front of a large, wooden door, Sorcha found herself glancing over her shoulder again and again, as if expecting a spirit to appear through the cracks in the wall.
The man didn’t knock before entering the room and pulling her inside. There was no one there save for one man, younger than the one who had captured her, but so similar in appearance that Sorcha could only guess they were closely related. The man was hunched over the desk, a single candle illuminating the stacks of paper in front of him as he worked, but when he heard them enter, he immediately looked up.
Sorcha refused to be intimidated by him, and so she stared right back, as defiantly as she could considering her circumstances. She didn’t know what these men wanted from her, but she knew that showing any sign of weakness would only worsen her position, and so she held her head high, refusing to cower.
“All good?” the man behind the desk asked, and at the other’s nod, he rounded the large piece of furniture to come stand closer. The entire room seemed to be furnished with expensive items that looked strange in this room and castle. Sorcha didn’t know what to make of the place.
“Nay trouble at all,” the man holding her said. “Well, she was some trouble, but we dealt with it.”
Sorcha turned to glare at the man for speaking about her like she wasn’t even there, though she supposed that was the least of her problems. When the other spoke, though, it took her a moment to focus on him instead.
“Miss MacDuff, me name’s Rory Comyn,” he said. “This is me braither, Laird Willelm Comyn. I can assure ye we mean ye nay harm, nay matter how it may seem tae ye now.”
Sorcha couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, grumbling around the cloth once more, only for her words to be muffled. With a swift move, Willelm removed the gag from her mouth, and Sorcha drew in a sharp breath, glad to be rid of the thing.
“What was that?” Rory asked her.
“I said,” Sorcha began, rolling her shoulders back, though it hardly helped with the difference in height, “it doesnae seem like it.”
“That’s why he said it may nae seem like it, love,” Willelm said, and for a moment, Sorcha was so shocked at the pet name that she could do little other than stare at him in disbelief with her mouth open. Naturally, that only allowed Willelm to continue with his lies. “Nay harm will come tae ye if ye listen, we promise. Ye’re here because this is the only way tae force yer family tae negotiate with us an’ stop destroyin’ our lands.”
That was even more preposterous than the pet name. Sorcha couldn’t help the humorless laugh that escaped her as she shook her head, unable to believe her bad luck.
“Ye must have confused me with someone else,” she said. “Me family would never dae such a thing.”
“Miss Sorcha MacDuff,” Rory said. “We ken precisely who ye are an’ ye best believe we ken what yer family is daein’.”
When she heard her full name, Sorcha’s mouth snapped shut, her mind rushing through his words. Surely, her family couldn’t have done such a thing. Surely, those two men were mistaken.
“Me family would never destroy anyone’s lands an’ especially nae without a good reason,” she said.
But her words only prompted a laugh from Willelm, who shook his head in disbelief.
“What is so funny?” Sorcha asked through gritted teeth.
“Well, yer parents are clearly hidin’ plenty o’ things from ye,” Willelm said. “Our people are sufferin’ an’ they ken the truth. Yer family has been attackin’ us fer too long an’ we willnae stand fer it.”
“They wouldnae—”
“Aye, I heard ye the first time,” Willelm said, cutting her off. “Yer family would never dae this, sure. So, what would ye call burnin’ an’ pillagin’ another clan’s lands?”
Sorcha couldn’t believe her own ears. Her family was kind and fair. Her father was a good laird and man. Never before had she heard anyone complain about his decisions, and she was certain that these men were either wrong or that there was a good reason why her father was doing what he was doing.
“Well, what have ye done tae me clan?” she demanded. “I’m sure me faither has a very good reason tae attack ye, if what ye’re sayin’ is true.”
Rory parted his lips as if to speak, but it was Willelm who spoke first. “We dinnae wish tae hear any o’ yer reasons, as ye call them. All we’re interested in is showin’ yer family that their decisions have consequences.”
Consequences… they promised tae nae hurt me, but they very well could.
And alone as she was, in a strange place, with strange men, there would be no one there to help her.
“An’ how long dae ye expect me tae stay here?” Sorcha asked. Surely, they couldn’t keep her there forever, or even for as long as it would take to end this misunderstanding—because it had to be a misunderstanding. There was no way she would ever believe her father had done the terrible things they claimed. “When dae I get tae go home?”
“Go home?” Willelm asked, as if the mere notion amused him. “Ye’re nae goin’ home any time soon, lass. Ye’re ours now.”
“I dinnae ken why I let ye talk me intae these bleedin’ things,” Lorne muttered. “Ye ken how much I hate things like this.”
Gavin laughed. “Think of this as a way tae broaden yer horizons.”
“Me horizons are broadened enough.”
“Yer horizons dinnae extend past the lands of our clan.”
“Tis far enough for me.”
His cousin sighed. “One of these days, when ye are Laird—if nae before—ye will need tae take a bride,” he said. “Where are ye goin’ tae meet a bride if ye dinnae look past our borders.”
“There plenty of suitable women within our clan.”
Gavin scoffed. “Perhaps ye’d like tae be matched with Isla?”
Lorne pulled a face. “Isla? She’s manlier than I am.”
“Well, tis nae sayin’ much really, but I think ye’re startin’ tae see me point.”
Laughing, Lorne punched Gavin in the shoulder. “Bleedin’ donkey.”
They dismounted in the yard of Castle Magillivray and took it in for a moment. Music and laughter drifted out of the open doorway of the keep. The party was already in full swing. A pair of stable boys appeared and took their horses from them, leading them away to be watered and fed. Lorne shifted on his feet, pulling his breeches down then tugging his black velvet doublet. He looked down at himself and frowned.
“I look like a fool,” he muttered.
“Aye. But any more so than any other day.”
Lorne grinned. “Dae ye take anythin’ seriously?”
“I try tae avoid it if I can.”
“Ye dae a good job of it.”
“Thank ye,” Gavin chirped. “I’m glad tae see me efforts dinnae go unnoticed.”
His cousin was dressed in blue and red velvet and looked every bit as foolish as Lorne felt. Just when he thought it couldn’t get worse though, it did. Gavin produced a pair of white masks and handed one over to him with a smile.
“Put this on,” he said.
“I’m nae puttin’ this on.”
“Tis a masked ball,” Gavin said. “Ye have tae.”
With a loud sigh, Lorne did as Gavin asked and tied the mask on. It covered the top half of his face, leaving nothing but his mouth exposed. If nothing else, at least nobody would be able to recognize him. That was the only positive Lorne could find in this. He did not know how he’d let his cousin talk him into this in the first place.
“Come,” Gavin said.
Feeling as if he was on a death march, Lorne walked alongside Gavin. They mounted the steps and through the front doors of the castle. They passed masked men and women, laughing and acting like children as they ran up and down the corridors. Following the sound of the music, they passed a group of women, young and comely with tight fitting velvet gowns. The women eyed them closely and approvingly as they passed.
“Ye see?” Gavin said. “Even ye should be able tae find a woman in a place like this. A comely women. Maybe even a woman who can put up with ye’re broodin’ self.”
Lorne huffed but said nothing. He was not looking for a woman of any kind. Marriage was not something he had given any thought to. Had no desire for. He knew that eventually, he would have to wed. It was inevitable. A Laird was expected to marry and produce an heir. But Lorne would cross that bridge whenever he came to it. He certainly didn’t expect he would find that bridge while he wore velvet and a mask.
Gavin turned to him and grinned. “In a place like this, with women as fine as these roaming the corridors, I’d reckon ye can find a woman even yer faither would approve of.”
Lorne scoffed. “I doubt it.”
His father did not approve of anything Lorne did. He had been chasing his father’s approval since he was a young boy, but nothing he did was ever good enough for the man. Lorne longed to see approval in his father’s face. Wanted nothing more than to see respect in his father’s eyes when he looked at him. But he never saw anything close to it.
Gavin stopped walking, forcing Lorne to stop short as well. He put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“Yer faither wants thae best for ye. And he believes in ye,” Gavin said.
“He’s got a funny way of showin’ it.”
“Uncle Tiernan is tough. Hard. He rides ye only because he’s tryin’ tae get the best out of ye because he ken it’s in there,” Gavin said, tapping on Lorne’s chest. “Maybe ye dinnae find the woman of yer dreams here. Tis all right. But if nothin’ else, Cousin, then ye should have some fun tonight.”
“Fun,” Lorne muttered. “I couldnae tell ye what that is.”
The word was as foreign on his tongue as the concept was. His father did not approve of fun. He did not believe in being frivolous or acting like children. He would most definitely not approve of dancing and wearing velvet and masks. That was not his way. Which was why it was not Lorne’s way either, since he was trying so hard to cut himself into his father’s image. He thought—hoped—that if he was more like his father, the man would come to approve of him.
Gavin knew everything going through Lorne’s heart and mind right now and nodded solemnly. They had talked about it endlessly and an expression of compassion touched his features. But he swallowed it down and put that mischievous grin on his face.
“I’m sorry, lad,” Gavin said. “But tonight is nae for lamentin’ those things we dinnae have. Tonight is for drinkin’, dancin’, and behavin’ like a fool.”
“I’ll have tae take lessons from ye on that last point.”
Gavin laughed. “Then prepare tae study thae master.”
He let his cousin lead him to the castle’s great hall. They stepped through the doors and into an entirely different world. The hall was brightly lit and music echoed off the stone walls. A group of musicians sat off in a corner, playing a lively tune as throngs of people danced and laughed. The air around them was redolent with the aroma of a thousand different foods and household servants bustled around carrying trays bearing cups of wine as well as small finger foods.
Gavin stopped one of the servants and plucked a pair of cups off her tray then handed one of them to Lorne.
“Thank ye,” Lorne said.
“Tis only the beginnin’.”
He plucked a pair of roasted meat pastries off another passing tray and popped one into his mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he made a sound that bordered on the indecent.
“That was amazin’,” he said. “We need tae teach thae kitchen staff back home tae make those things.”
“I’ll be sure tae get the recipe,” Lorne muttered dryly.
“Come, cousin. Let us mingle.”
Lorne sighed and gave thought to running out, fetching his horse, and riding home. The only thing that kept him there was fearing what shame Gavin might bring down on their clan if he was left alone and unsupervised.
“Fine,” Lorne said. “Let’s go… mingle.”
“Ye need tae loosen up,” he said. “And just try tae pretend tae have some fun. If ye dae, who kens? Ye might have some by accident.”
They skirted the edge of the hall, ducking and dodging the people dancing and running about like children. Lorne offered a smile to those he passed, but it felt false on his face. He was trying. Pretending. But he wasn’t having any fun. His cousin on the other hand, laughed with everybody he met. He talked with everybody like they were old friends. People genuinely seemed to like Gavin. They gravitated toward him.
It was something Lorne had always envied about his cousin. That natural ability to connect with people. It was something he’d never been good at. He kept people at an arm’s distance. He didn’t open up to them the way Gavin could.
Gavin gasped and grabbed Lorne by the shoulder. He stood close but his eyes were elsewhere. Lorne tried to follow his cousin’s gaze but couldn’t see who or what he was looking at. He turned to Gavin.
“What in the bleedin’ hell has yer attention?” Lorne asked.
“Me future bride.”
He laughed. “Ye’re future bride, eh?”
“Aye. Small, auburn hair, fair, creamy skin,” he said. “She’s the most exquisite creature I’ve ever seen and I must go and speak with her.”
“Then go and speak with her.”
Gavin turned to a man standing next tae him. “Excuse me, good sir. The young woman with auburn hair in the green gown with thae white mask—she’s runnin’ about, dancin’, and has thae most captivatin’ smile. Ye wouldnae happen tae ken her name, would ye?”
The man chuckled. “Sounds like ye’re describin’ Beatrix Magillivray. Daughter of Laird Dunn Magillivray.”
“Beatrix Magillivray,” Gavin said with a note of wonder in his voice.
Lorne watched his cousin and saw that gleam in his eye he got when he was about to suggest they do something he knew would not end well. Gavin turned to him.
“Come, me cousin,” Gavin said. “We must go and meet me future bride.”
Against his better judgment, Lorne let Gavin lead him through the crowd, seeking out the auburn-haired beauty that had captured his attention. Lorne shook his head.
“Nothin’ good will come of this,” he said.
“Think positive, lad. Think positive.”
Lorne grimaced. He was positive nothing good would come of this. But he let Gavin lead him into the crowd anyway…
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The sky was a clear field of azure above their heads and the sun cast its rays of warmth over them. Lorne smiled. The day couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d crafted it himself. It had been a fight to get everybody to agree to hold the wedding outdoors. Most feared the volatile nature of Scotland’s weather. If it had rained, it would have made a mess of it all.
It was a roll of the dice and had taken some time and plenty of arm twisting, but Lorne had eventually managed to convince everybody that an outdoor wedding would be wonderful. And it worked out. For that, he breathed a small sigh of relief and said a silent word of thanks. He never would have lived it down if it had gone the other way.
He stood at the head of the aisle, Diana on his arm and across from them, Gavin stood with Beatrix on his. Knowing those two didn’t want to wait to be married, Lorne and Diana had decided to hold a dual wedding. It was unorthodox, but the way Lorne saw things, it was a day of joy for everybody. Adding Gavin and Beatrix’s nuptials to the day only spread more joy. It only made sense.
Laird Dunn and Lady Elayne stood on the dais before them. Lorne’s father stood beside them. They looked out over the gathering, smiles on their faces. Tiernan gave Lorne a knowing nod and a smile. The pride and unfettered joy he saw in his father’s eyes, something he’d never seen before, made Lorne’s heart swell.
Over the weeks after Diana’s rescue, they had become close. They were developing the sort of relationship Lorne had always wanted. Had always chased. It seemed odd to have that sort of relationship developing now that he was older, but he thought perhaps because it was something he’d always craved but never had, he had learned to appreciate it more than he would have if he’d had it as a child. Whatever the case, he was glad to have grown as close to his father as he had.
“Are ye ready?” Diana whispered. “Last chance tae back out.”
“Maybe I should take it then.”
She slapped his arm playfully and giggled. “Beast.”
“Aye.”
Lorne looked across the aisle to Gavin, who was puffed up and smiling. Moved up in position had done wonders for him. But not nearly as much as being with Beatrix had. In the weeks since they’d first come to Castle Macgillivray, Lorne had seen his cousin grow and change. Had seen him eschew some of his childish habits in favor of a more adult view of things. He had started to take things a bit more seriously.
Oh, he was still sarcastic and prone to bad jokes, and there were times he didn’t seem to take things all too seriously, but Gavin was growing into a man before his very eyes. More than that, he was growing into somebody Lorne knew he could count on as his chief advisor whenever they both assumed their roles once his father stepped down.
“Friends, thank ye for comin’ today,” Laird Dunn intoned. “We come together for the most auspicious of reasons. We come together to celebrate love. And joy. Tis nae often faithers and maithers get tae celebrate the weddin’ of nae just their oldest daughter, but their youngest one at the same time.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd behind them. Lorne snuck a peek over his shoulder and saw people from his own lands and many he had only just started to get to know from Diana’s. There were good people here in Clan Magillivray. They reminded him of the people back home. Hard working. Honest. Charitable. Compassionate. The two clans seemed to share many of the same values and he knew because of that the alliance they’d forged would stand for generations.
Tiernan stepped forward. “I am very proud of me son. And his cousin. Good men both. Honest. Devoted. Earnest. I am hard pressed tae name two better men,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “But now that I’ve had the chance tae meet and get tae ken the women who will be their wives, Beatrix and Diana, I cannae think of two better women for them. I dinnae need tae tell most of ye just how special these two women are. But what I admire most about them is their ability tae make both Lorne and Gavin better. I can see that Diana and Beatrix have inspired me son and nephew tae grow. Inspired them tae be more thoughtful. More compassionate. And I believe that is a testament tae how they were raised. Laird Dunn and Lady Elayne are a couple of the finest people I’ve gotten a chance tae ken.”
Lorne listened to his father words, stunned at his eloquence and loquaciousness. Growing up, he had been hard pressed to get a full sentence out of his father. But hearing him go on made him realize there were layers to his father he had yet to discover.
“We come together, Lady Elayne, Laird Tiernan, and I, tae join our families. Tae join our clans. Tae build an alliance and a kinship we all hope will last forever,” Dunn said. “And I cannae think of a better family tae unite with.”
The gathered crowd behind them applauded and the buzz of conversation filled his ears. He held onto Diana’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her smile was radiant, and she was ethereal in her wedding dress. Lorne looked at her and felt himself warm from the inside, his entire body flowing with emotion. Her dark eyes sparkled as she looked back at him.
“Are ye all right?” she whispered.
“I’m better than all right,” he replied. “Tis like a dream, tae be honest.”
“If this is a dream, I dinnae want tae wake up.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Will our brides and grooms step forward,” Dunn called.
“Here we go,” Diana said. “Last chance tae run.”
“I’ve never been so certain of somethin’ I want in all me life.”
She smiled. “Nor I.”
As Dunn, Elayne, and Tiernan stepped to the side of the dais, their priest stepped forward, looking at them with a wide smile on his face. He had been Diana’s family priest since they were young, and he knew them well. Perhaps even better than their parents in certain ways since he’d been hearing their confessions all their lives.
“We are here, before ye all and in the eyes of the Lord and in thae spirit of their love, tae join these two couples in Holy matrimony,” the priest began. “I’ve always kent that I would one day have tae marry these two women away, but I never expected it tae be the both of them on the same day.”
That got another laugh from the crowd and the priest gazed upon Diana and Beatrix affectionately. He gave Lorne a nod then Gavin.
“Ye two are marryin’ two of the finest, most upstandin’ women I’ve ever kent,” he said. “Be sure ye appreciate them. Cherish them. From today tae the end of yer days. Can ye make that commitment today? Before all these witnesses and in the eyes of God?”
Lorne nodded. “Aye, faither.”
“Aye faither,” Gavin echoed.
“Very well,” he said. “Dae we have the bridal cloths?”
Tiernan stepped forward and produced the cloth he and Lorne’s mother had bound themselves together with so many years ago. The moment he saw it, Lorne felt a stitch in his heart. He raised his gaze to his father who stood before them, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
“Thank ye, faither,” Lorne whispered.
“Aye.”
Their hands clasped together, Lorne gave Diana a smile as he raised them. Tiernan wound the cloth around their hands then stepped back. On the other side of the aisle, Dunn was doing the same with Gavin and Beatrix, using the same bride cloth he and Elayne had used. The two men smiled then stepped back to the dais and Elayne leaned against her husband, tears of joy spilling down her cheeks.
“In the eyes of the Lord and by all the witnesses here today, we join these two couples, Lorne Davidson and Diana Magillivray, Gavin Davidson and Beatrix Magillivray, in the bonds of love and marriage from this day until yer last,” the priest intoned, then with a proud smile, said, “yer union is recognized by God and is now sealed.”
The crowed erupted in applause and cheers as Lorne pulled Diana to him and kissed her deeply, letting her feel the depth of his emotion. She returned his kiss with equal fervor. Eventually, they parted and stared into one another’s eyes.
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Chapter One
March, 1715
Macgillivray Castle, Dunmaglass
Diana Macgillivray wanted to be anywhere but where she was. The grand ballroom was brightly lit, filled with music, and teeming with people, most of whom she didn’t know, in elegant attire and masks. The tables against the far wall were laden with food, the aroma of a thousand different delicacies filling the air, and the mood in the room was fun and festive. Laughter and conversation filled the hall as people made merry, but to Diana it sounded like the buzz of a swarm of flies on a carcass.
She adjusted the mask on her face, grumbling under her breath. Her mother had forced her to wear the heavy black gown and a black and white mask. It was uncomfortable, warm, itchy, and she wanted nothing more than to go back to her bedchamber. She had no interest and even less use for frivolous balls. She would never understand why people seemed to love those kinds of festivities as much as they did.
“Ye dinnae look tae be havin’ a good time.”
The tall, lean man her mother had introduced her to, Laird Finley Munro, sauntered over to where she stood. He moved with a casual grace, the swagger of a man who was well-trained with a sword, and the arrogance of one who knew he was handsome and drew the eyes of every woman in the hall. His dark-blond hair was wavy and perfectly cut, but his green eyes were flat.
She watched as clusters of gown and mask-clad women huddled together, stealing glances at him. Finley leaned against the wall beside her, making a show of pretending not to notice the attention he was receiving, but Diana could see he was eating it up. He was aware of the stir he was causing and loved it. It was one of the reasons Diana didn’t think he was anywhere nearly as handsome as he believed he was.
“Are ye nae havin’ fun, me lady?” he pressed. “’Tis a fine ball.”
“I’m nae one tae enjoy such frivolities.”
“Nay? Then what dae ye enjoy?”
His feigned interest in her was tedious and tiresome. She knew enough about Finley Munro to know his biggest interest in his life was himself.
“I enjoy readin’,” she said. “And betterin’ me skills as a healer.”
“A healer,” he said. “I’d heard ye were a healer.”
“Aye. People need tae be cared fer.”
He shrugged. “I suppose. Nae by a castle lady, however.”
Her lips curled downward as a sour expression stole over her face. His casual dismissal of the health and well-being of people lower than him turned her stomach. He took a sip of his wine, then turned to her.
“Dae ye ken who I am?” he asked.
“Aye. I ken who ye are, Laird Munro.”
His smile was wide and predatory. “Aye. ‘Tis right. And dae ye ken what I’m daein’ here?”
“I’d imagine the same as everybody else here,” she said. “Ye’re here tae eat, drink, dance, and laugh at jests that arenae all that funny.”
His chuckled was a deep rumble. “Ye dae have a sharp wit and sharper tongue, lass. I’d heard that about ye. Personally, I like a woman who isnae afraid tae speak her mind.”
She turned to him, a cruel smirk playing across her lips. “Is that so?”
“Aye. ‘Tis so.”
“And if she has a thought or opinion that differs from yers?” she asked. “Would ye still like a woman who spoke her mind then?”
He shrugged and flashed her a smug grin. “Hasnae happened. I’ve found most women tend tae think much the same way I dae.”
“Amazin’, that.”
“Aye. I thought so too,” he replied. “I suppose most women see me as a logical and rational kind of man and that me opinions are sound. ‘Tis hard tae disagree with that, eh?”
Hearing her mother’s voice in her head, telling her to always be a proper lady, Diana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The man’s arrogance was trying. But despite her distaste, she managed to put a pleasant smile on her face.
“Aye, I suppose so,” she said evenly.
As the man’s eyes slid up and down her body, lingering on her full breasts, which were accentuated by the abomination of a gown she’d been forced to wear, Diana shuddered. Perhaps mistaking it for a rush of pleasure, Finley flashed her a wolfish smile.
“Ye didnae answer me question,” he said.
“And what question was that, me laird?”
“Dae ye ken what I’m daein’ here?”
“I assume ye received an invitation from me parents.”
“Aye. But then, I receive many invitations tae many events. Most I dinnae go tae. I tend tae find most gatherings borin’.”
“And why have ye graced us with yer presence then?”
“I came here thinkin’ I might be able tae find somebody tae court,” he said. “As laird of me clan, I’m expected tae marry and provide an heir.”
Diana made a point of glancing at the knots of women all around the hall, most of whom weren’t being particularly subtle about looking Finley’s way.
“Well, it looks as if ye have yer choice,” she said. “Ye’ve got quite the selection tae choose from, me laird.”
His chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest. He never glanced at the women in the hall though, never taking his gaze off her.
“I’m rather particular about the sort of woman I’d be willin’ tae take as me bride.”
“I’m certain whoever ye select will be very fortunate tae have yer affection.”
“Aye, she will be.”
Diana suppressed another shudder but edged a couple of steps away from the laird, searching for a way not just out of this conversation, but out of this tiresome social obligation altogether. She glanced at her parents Dunn and Elayne, who sat upon the dais at the far end of the hall. They were engaged in conversation with a couple of their noble friends and didn’t seem to be paying attention to her. As if her thought drew her mother’s attention, though, she turned and locked gazes with Diana. She felt pinned to the wall and unable to move.
In a blur of red and white silks, Diana’s younger sister, Beatrix, swirled in, laughing and smiling wide. She took hold of Diana’s hand then turned to Finley.
“I hope ye dinnae mind me borrowin’ me sister, me laird,” Beatrix said with a giggle. “I need her help with somethin’.”
Annoyance flashed across his features, but he quickly got himself under control and sketched a stiff bow. “Of course, Lady Beatrix.”
Diana let her sister pull her through the whirling, dancing crowd, somehow narrowly avoiding crashing into the people. Beatrix pulled her behind the curtain and into a small room to the right of the dais where her parents sat. Diana pulled the curtain aside gently and caught sight of her mother looking this way and that, searching for her. She smiled to herself.
“Ye’re welcome,” Beatrix said.
She sighed. “Thank ye, Beatrix. Though tae be honest, I thought ye would have rather enjoyed seein’ me squirmin’ under that man’s attention.”
“Believe it or nae, sister, I dinnae want tae see ye sufferin’.”
Beatrix and Diana were opposites in every meaningful way. Whereas Diana’s hair was the color of honey and was usually in a braid, or pulled back like it was now, Beatrix’s hair was a deep, rich auburn that she usually let spill free over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and Beatrix’s were a vibrant green. Even their body types were different. Diana was slender and lithe, her sister shorter in stature and lusciously curvy.
Their personalities were as different as their physical traits. Diana was quiet and thoughtful. She was reserved and preferred spending her time at study or plying her knowledge to help heal others. Beatrix was… wild. She was a vivacious girl with a personality larger than her stature. She laughed easily and often and seemed to make friends wherever she went. People genuinely seemed to like her sister while they seemed to see Diana as more of a curiosity.
Diana laughed. “’Twas torture tae be nice tae that man. I appreciate ye pullin’ me away.”
Beatrix grinned at her. “I cannae lie. I enjoyed seein’ ye squirm a little bit. I only stepped in when ye seemed ready tae bolt yerself. Thought it might give ye some cover from Maither’s wrath.”
Her sister’s consideration was surprising to Diana since they didn’t have the warmest of relationships. Their differences in personality, as well as the different ways they saw the world around them, led to them frequently butting heads. Diana liked to say they spent more time at each other’s throats than they did being sisters to each other. It was a never-ending source of consternation for their parents, who just wanted their daughters to get along. Diana didn’t think that wish was going to be fulfilled. Not in this lifetime.
But every once in a while, Beatrix surprised her with a kind thought or gesture. This was one of those times, and like every other time it happened, Diana was taken aback and wasn’t quite sure how to react. She cleared her throat and smiled.
“’Twas very kind of ye, Beatrix. Thank ye.”
She flashed Diana a toothy grin. “’Twas nae all altruistic.”
“Nay?”
Beatrix shook her head. “As the second daughter, I cannae be courted or marry until ye are married. We may nae always get on, but that daesnae mean I want tae see ye trapped in a horrible marriage tae a horrible man. I want ye tae be happy, Diana. And as that man is nae goin’ tae make ye happy, which means ye’ll only drag yer feet on marryin’, the sooner we find somebody that makes ye happy, the sooner we can get ye married, and the sooner I can find a man of me own.”
Diana laughed. It was very much Beatrix’s logic. She had always been boy crazy and was looking forward to the day she was allowed to be courted. Self-serving or not, Diana appreciated her sister’s intervention.
“And is there any particular man ye’ve got yer eye on?” Diana asked.
Beatrix’s cheeks flushed and she smiled. “Aye. Come and see.”
Her sister pulled the curtain back a bit and pointed to a man standing to the side of the hall. He was holding a cup of wine and his mask in his hand and was talking with a couple of women who giggled and fawned all over him. The man was tall and lean, athletic and well built. He moved with the same sort of casual grace Finley did, telling Diana he was a swordsman. His hair was sandy brown and tousled, and his light brown eyes sparkled with the same sort of mischief that glinted in her sister’s eyes. They seemed like two sides of the same coin.
“He’s handsome,” Diana said. “What’s his name?”
“I dinnae ken,” she replied. “Nae yet. But I intend tae.”
“Aye, well, ye better nae let Maither and Faither catch ye learnin’ his name.”
Beatrix giggled and cast a mischievous grin at her. “I’m very good at nae lettin’ Maither and Faither catch me daein’ anythin’.”
“Beatrix!”
“What? I have tae be,” she replied. “If I didnae sneak around, I’d never get tae have any fun. Nae so long as ye remain unmarried.”
“Oh, so yer bad behavior is me fault.”
“Well… aye. It is,” she said with a laugh.
They laughed together in a way they hadn’t since they were children. Diana knew it wouldn’t last though. It never did. It wouldn’t be long before they were at each other’s throats for one thing or another again. But she would enjoy the peace and goodwill while it lasted.
A cheeky idea occurred to her, so she grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her out of the small antechamber.
“Where are we goin’ then?” Beatrix said with a giggle.
“Come with me.”
Feeling inexplicably emboldened, Diana marched her sister over to where the man she’d been eyeing was standing. When they were close enough, she gave Beatrix a small nudge with her elbow. Startled, her sister squeaked and dropped the lace and silk handkerchief she’d been holding. Diana watched the small square of cloth flutter and fall to the floor near the man’s boots. He offered Beatrix a smile filled with warmth and bent down to pick it up for her.
“I believe ye dropped this,” he said.
“Thank ye,” Beatrix said in a soft, breathy voice. “I’m Beatrix.”
“I’m Gavin, me lady. Gavin Davidson.”
Their gazes were locked and the conversation between the two started to flow. They spoke so fervently, it was as if the entire room around them had fallen away, leaving just the two of them in it. Smiling to herself, Diana turned to leave, wanting to give them some time and privacy to get to know each other and ran straight into a large, burly man. She bumped the cup of wine in his hand, spilling it all over the front of her dress, drawing a gas from her.
Och, damn it!
“Apologies, me lady,” the man said.
“Dae ye nae watch where ye’re goin’?”
Diana raised angry eyes to the man and felt her breath catch in her throat. He was a head taller than her and was broad through the shoulders and chest. His dark hair was wavy and fell just to his shoulders. Although dressed in finery, the man was rugged and handsome with strong features, a smooth, tawny complexion, and pale blue eyes that burned with an intensity that sent a flutter through her heart. But then she noticed that he looked… amused. And anger took the best of her.
“Beg pardon, me lady. ‘Twas an accident. I didnae mean tae—”
“Me gown is ruined!”
The fabric of her gown was soaked through, sticking uncomfortably to her skin, clinging to her curves in a way that was almost lurid. When she looked up again, she found the man eyeing her curiously, although she thought she could see desire as well. She felt her cheeks flush and the flutter of hummingbird wings in her heart. They stood there in silence for a moment, neither of them seeming able to find the words.
The air about them was filled with tension and the rest of the ball melted away. She no longer heard the laughter or the music. All she heard was her own breath and beating heart. The man was staring at her in a way she deemed inappropriate and Diana was appalled at herself because she sort of… liked it. She gave herself a shake, pulling herself out of the moment, as the sound of music and crowd around them rang in her ears once more.
The man licked his lips and straightened up. “Is there anythin’ I can dae tae help?”
“I think ye’ve done enough.”
Her cheeks still flushed and her heart still racing, Diana turned and fled rather than stand there in front of the man in a dripping wet gown. Instead, she dashed from the hall and sought refuge in her father’s salon.
She moved quickly to the table and a dry cloth, which she dipped into the basin of water and dabbed at the wine that had been spilled on her gown. The door to the salon opened behind her. Assuming it was Beatrix, she turned around. The acidic remark about the oaf who’d run into her withered and died on her tongue when she found not her sister, but the oaf himself standing in the doorway. She swallowed the lump in her throat and quickly composed herself.
“I came tae see if ye were all right, me lady,” he said.
“I’m fine fer havin’ had a cup of wine dumped all over me.”
She sniffed and glared at him coldly. A small grin flickered across his lips, stoking the flames of her indignation. How dare he laugh at her discomfort.
“Again, I apologize fer what happened,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “But if ye’d nae spun around so fast, ye might have seen—”
“Oh, so this is me fault?”
The man shrugged his broad shoulders. “Aye. At least partly.”
“How dare ye!”
He laughed. “’Tis nae me fault ye werenae lookin’ where ye were goin’.”
Her face was hot, and she could not quell the tremor in her heart. There was something about being near the man that set her insides ablaze and made her stomach churn. She’d never had that sort of reaction to a man before and it was as confusing as it was infuriating. Although the corners of his mouth continued to curl upward, the man held up a hand, a gesture of peace.
“Forgive me, me lady. I dinnae mean tae laugh.”
“Are ye sure about that?”
“Nae really. But it seems the right thing tae say.”
She huffed and stared hard at the man. “Ye’re an oaf.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m certain ye have.”
The sparkle in his eye and the smile that crept across his face only made those strange, disconcerting feelings rampaging through her grow in intensity. Her heart pounded like she was running, and her legs trembled. Fearing they would give out beneath her and spill to the floor of the salon, Diana cleared her throat and patted her hair as she stood with her back rigidly straight, attempting to reclaim some bit of her dignity.
As they stood there staring at each other, Diana became even more aware of the way her body was reacting to him. In addition to the flutter in her belly and the heat in her face, she realized she was growing warmer and feeling a strange flutter in a different, lower part of her body. It was disconcerting. As his icy blue eyes burned into hers, she realized they were alone in the salon. And if her parents happened upon them… it would not be good.
“’Tis inappropriate fer us tae be here alone,” she said.
“Aye. Probably.”
“Definitely,” she countered. “Ye need tae leave.”
“I came tae help ye, seein’s how it’s half me fault ye’re in here.”
“I dinnae need yer help.”
“Are ye sure about that?”
“Aye. I’m sure. Now, please leave.”
He didn’t move though, and continued staring at her, making that flutter in her belly all the more pronounced. Diana swallowed again but didn’t seem able to control her insides. The man was having a strange effect on her and if she was going to regain control over herself, she knew she had to get away from him.
“Are ye goin’ tae stand there or leave?” she demanded.
“Dae ye always obey the rules of what’s right and proper?”
“Aye. I dae.”
He smirked. “’Tis a shame. Slavishly followin’ the rules all the time isnae always fun.”
“’Tis nae about fun. ‘Tis about what’s right.”
“I disagree—”
“Please… leave.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he flashed her another smile and nodded. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the salon, gently closing the door behind him. When he was gone, Diana leaned against the table and let out a long, deep breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.
She poured herself a glass of her father’s whiskey and drank it down to steel her nerves, slow her racing heart. It took a couple of minutes, but she finally managed to regain her composure and let out a heavy sigh as she tried to banish images of the handsome, rugged man from her mind. As arrogant and annoying as he was, he’d had a profound impact on her that was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. And it was only then that she realized she’d never learned his name.
Chapter Two
May, 1715
Macgillivray Castle, Dunmaglass
Diana stretched out in her bed, a small smile playing across her lips as she enjoyed the book in her hands. This was her element. Other than healing the wounds of others, this was where she felt most comfortable. She was a simple woman who enjoyed simple things. She despised elegant balls and fancy social gatherings. It was the one thing most of the men who tried to court her did not understand about her. And if they did not understand her, Diana had no desire to marry them.
Her parents were giving her some freedom in choosing her suitors. She was grateful to them for that. However, she knew if she continued to reject suitor after suitor, their patience with her would eventually run out and they would make the decision for her. It was a thought that sent a chill rushing down her spine. It wasn’t that they would intentionally pick a bad man. It was just that she felt that nobody really knew her at all and that they might pick a man who was bad for her. It was a conundrum she had been grappling for some time.
Diana yawned and set her book aside. She wanted to sleep and push all thoughts of suitors and marriage out of her head. At least for a while. She knew once she woke, she would have to deal with them all again, as her mother would undoubtedly begin pestering her with a list of names of “suitable men” to court her. Of course, her idea of a suitable man differed greatly from Diana’s. She knew the time was coming when she was going to have to find the least objectionable man from the list her mother offered.
With a heavy sigh, she reached for the oil lamp but quickly pulled her hand back at the thunderous crash in the corridor beyond her door. Her heart pounding in her chest, Diana jumped out of bed and grabbed her robe, quickly pulling it on as she dashed to the door. Her hand trembling, fearing what was happening, she pulled the door open and peeked outside. Rather than the soldiers from an invading army as she’d half-expected, she found her sister, Beatrix, crouching down, picking up the remnants of a shattered vase.
“What,” she looked around and whispered, “the hell are ye daein’, Beatrix?”
Her sister gave a start as Diana rushed over to her. “I—I bumped intae the table and knocked the vase over. Help me clean this up, Diana. Please.”
“Where were ye?”
“I was… I was out.”
“At this hour? Out doin’ what?”
Beatrix’s cheeks flushed and a small smile curled her heart-shaped lips, telling Diana exactly what her sister had been out doing. She’d been out with a lad. Of course, she had. Diana sighed. Given that her parents’ bedchamber was just around the corner, she knew there was little to no chance they hadn’t heard the crash in the corridor.
“I will fix this. We need tae get out of the hallway,” Diana urged. “Maither and Faither will have heard ye break the vase fer certain—”
The sound of footsteps echoed around the corridor and sent a bolt of lightning through Diana’s veins. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she stood up and turned around, unsurprised to see their parents, Dunn and Elayne, standing behind them, cross looks on their faces.
“What is all this?” their father, growled.
Diana knew their parents were with Beatrix than they were with her. It was yet another issue that contributed to their often-sour relationship. It wasn’t Diana’s fault, but her sister would hear none of it. Her sister blamed her, often accused Diana of trying to ruin her life. It couldn’t have been further from the truth, but Beatrix believed it.
As angry as she was with her sister for her ridiculous accusations, some small part of Diana felt bad for Beatrix. She knew her sister was frustrated and only wanted to live her life… something she couldn’t do while being forced to live in Diana’s shadow. And it was a shadow that would only dissipate once she had married and had begun her life away from her family’s home.
“’Tis me fault,” Diana said. “I snuck out of me chambers tae fetch some sweetcakes from the kitchens. I bumped the table and Beatrix came out tae see what was happenin’. I’m sorry.”
Her father was no fool though. His eyes shifted from her to Beatrix, his face tightening. Diana knew he saw right through her.
“Beatrix, is this true?” Dunn asked.
Her sister’s eyes shifted to her then back to their father as she licked her lips. She nodded.
“Aye. ‘Tis true,” she squeaked.
“Then why are ye wearin’ a dress and a cloak?” he demanded. “Daesnae seem like somethin’ ye’d wear tae bed.”
Diana and Beatrix exchanged a glance, their mouths open, neither of them seemingly able to form a coherent word. Their parents looked at them disapprovingly.
“In me salon,” he growled. “Both of ye.”
Beatrix stepped forward. “Faither—”
“Now.”
Their parents turned as one, stalking down the corridor toward his salon expecting them to follow. Diana and Beatrix sighed and did. Their mother closed the door behind them when they stepped in. The chamber was cold, the fire having been banked long ago. Their father had already lit a couple of oil lanterns, casting the chamber in a dim, gloomy light. He shook out the match in his fingers then turned and crossed his thick arms over his broad chest and glared at them, his icy blue eyes glittering in the dim light.
“Now, what is this all about, girls?” he demanded. “What are ye daein’ creepin’ around the castle in the small hours?”
Diana racked her brain, trying to figure some way to cover for and protect her sister. Before she could say anything though, Beatrix stepped forward and raised her chin, her eyes glittering with defiance.
“I took a walk through the grounds,” she said. “With a lad.”
Their mother’s eyes widened, but their father’s face darkened. Diana swallowed hard, not sure what to say to mitigate what was coming. She had long known her fascination with men would get Beatrix into trouble at some point, though she never expected her sister to open the floodgates like that. But her sister stood strong, her chin lifted, her face betraying no fear.
Diana held her breath, waiting for the coming explosion from her father. Instead, her mother put a gentle hand on his arm and some bit of silent communication passed between them. His jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth, but he gave their mother a small nod and stepped back, letting out a long breath and tried to compose himself. Their mother stepped over to Beatrix, standing in front of her, a look of compassion on her face.
“And who is this lad, Beatrix?”
“His name is Gavin. Gavin Davidson.”
Their parents exchanged a knowing look, and Diana got the idea the name was familiar to them. It was only belatedly that she realized Gavin was the man Beatrix has been mooning over at the masked ball a couple of months ago.
“And what dae ye ken about this lad?” Elayne asked.
“I ken he’s the second born son of Clan Davidson. And we exchange letters often,” Beatrix said. “I ken that he’s sweet. Smart. He writes well.”
The way she spoke and the expression on her face told Diana her little sister was over the moon about this man. She could practically see hearts in her eyes as she described meeting him in secret.
She didn’t see this situation between Beatrix and this Gavin man ending well for her baby sister. She was going to have her heart shattered like glass. But then, Diana thought it might be for the best. It was time Beatrix learned to be an adult, learned some lessons about life and about love. Maybe it would finally temper her childish enthusiasm for boys.
“And why have ye been sneakin’ around behind our backs?” Dunn growled from where he stood across the room. “Why nae talk tae us about it?”
“Because ye never would have let me see him! Because of yer stupid bleedin’ rule about Diana always havin’ tae be with me,” she howled. “Diana only ever wants tae sit in her chamber and read or go muckin’ about in the mud fer her precious herbs. ‘Tis like I cannae have a life if me sister daesnae have a life.”
“Beatrix, love, ‘tis nae that we dinnae want ye tae have a life,” Elayne said gently. “But there’s an order tae things. There’s a way these things are supposed tae be done. And until yer sister is wed, ye cannae be courted. Tae dae it otherwise would be invitin’ scandal.”
“’Tis what I mean, Maither,” Beatrix whined. “She is nae interested in bein’ married.”
Diana bristled at her sister’s remarks. But she held her tongue because she could not really refute them. She had no interest in being wed. At least, not to any of the men her parents had been parading in front of her.
“What about Laird Munro?” Dunn asked. “Diana, ye’ve nae said nay tae him courtin’ ye. As I understand it, he’s very interested in ye. And he seems like a fine—”
Diana could hold her tongue no longer. “I’m nae interested in Laird Munro. Why would ye want me tae be interested in a man who allies with the English? A man who’s arrogant and hungers fer power and naethin’ more?”
Her mother turned to her. “Diana, he is a gentleman—”
“Tae yer face. But I had a chance tae talk tae him when ye werenae around and he was hardly a gentleman. He was arrogant and dismissive. He was condescendin’ and cruel,” Diana said as she shook her head. “Nay. I havenae said nay tae him because I didnae think I had tae. I didnae think ye’d see him as a suitable suitor.”
Beatrix stamped her foot. “Dae ye see?” she cried. “She’ll never marry. She’ll reject every suitor ye deem fit. And she’ll keep draggin’ this out until I’m old and gray. Ye might as well lock me away and call me a spinster now. I’ll never get tae be with Gavin because she’ll never find anybody good enough for her.”
“Stop whinin’ like a bairn,” Diana almost shouted. “Nae everythin’ is about ye! I willnae marry because ye want me tae, Beatrix.”
“Diana!” her mother snapped. “Hold yer tongue. There’s nay reason tae be hollerin’ at yer sister like that.”
Diana fell silent but glowered at her sister who shot her a smug look. Elayne and Dunn exchanged another look, once again giving her the sense they were communicating without words. It was a gift that couples who’d been married as long as they had seemed to possess and one, despite her sister’s words, Diana longed to have with somebody. She thought her parents had the ideal relationship. Her father valued her mother, sought her advice and counsel and truly took her words into account before making any decisions. That was the sort of relationship she wanted to have. It was also the sort of relationship she knew she’d never have with any of the men they had paraded before her.
“All right, Beatrix. We’ll allow ye tae see this Gavin lad,” she said. “But only if he brings his braither, the first-born son of Laird Davidson with him. From what I ken he’s nae married yet. Ye can get tae ken them both taegether. And ye’ll only ever be in Gavin’s presence if his braither and Diana are there as well.”
“Aye. Clan Davidson is an ally of ours and a match between Diana and their first-born son would be beneficial fer all,” Dunn said.
Beatrix turned to Diana, her eyes burning with something akin to desperation and anger. Diane looked back at her sister with a cool, frosty gaze. Beatrix was behaving like Diana owed her something. She did not. But thanks to the social norms being enforced by their parents, Beatrix’s future truly was beholden to Diana’s whims. She couldn’t be courted until Diana had agreed to marry. As much freedom as their parents had given them to choose their suitors—a rarity, to be sure—that was the one norm they strictly adhered to.
“Please, Diana,” Beatrix begged. “I love him. I dinnae want tae lose him.”
Perhaps making this sacrifice would improve her relationship with her sister. She really did want to be on good terms with Beatrix. But she wasn’t sure how it was going to help since she already knew this firstborn son of Laird Davidson was, more than likely, not going to be somebody she would be interested in marrying. The fact that he hadn’t offered himself up as a suitor already made her question whether he even had interest in courting her, which immediately made Diana uninterested in being courted by him.
But perhaps she could make Beatrix happy, for at least a little while. And perhaps, allowing her to see Gavin would somehow bring them closer together.
“Fine,” she said. “All right. “I’ll meet this man fer her sake.”
Beatrix threw her arms around her waist and thanked her profusely. Diana had to keep from rolling her eyes. But at least she’d make her sister happy.
“As far as anybody else is aware, Constance is my eldest daughter, and at twenty, she is already well over marriageable age. The Earl of Belton has already expressed great interest in a match with her, and such a union would be highly advantageous to both of our families. I am determined that the wedding will happen. There is too much at stake for it not to go ahead,” said Lord Richard Ashbourne, Viscount Hexham, decisively.
Crouched in her hiding place behind the statue of Aphrodite in the garden of Ashbourne Manor, her childhood home, Constance Ashbourne stuffed her fist in her mouth to stifle her gasp of shock as her stomach plummeted through the floor.
Not expecting to encounter anyone, she had been caught unawares in the little rose arbour by the sound of approaching footsteps. Panicked, fearful of the harsh punishment her disobedience would inevitably earn following discovery, she had immediately dived behind the statue to wait it out. Never had she expected to overhear her father outline her future in his usual cold, business-like manner.
Stunned though she was to learn she was to be married to an earl, there was something else her father had said which struck her as deeply puzzling.
What did he mean by, “As far as anybody knows, Constance is my eldest daughter”?
“It sounds as though you have made up your mind on the matter, Richard,” she heard his closest friend and associate Lord Lionel Hammond observe. “But there is a considerable age gap between them, is there not? Belton must be approaching his sixties, probably too old to sire an heir. And Constance is but, what, twenty? I wonder what he wants with her? I cannot imagine she will be very happy about the match.”
Lord Ashbourne snorted in derision. “What he wants with her is his business, and Constance’s opinion on the matter is immaterial. She will do as I command,” he replied.
“Well, she has always struck me as a very obedient girl, timid almost. I’m sure she will do as she is told without any trouble,” Lionel said.
“You can be sure of it, Lionel. It will not be for nothing that I have raised her as my own all these years, knowing full well she is Kerr’s bastard. It is time she earned her keep by repaying me, and this marriage to Belton will go some way towards compensating me for the dishonor I have suffered by her mother’s infidelity with that Scottish barbarian.”
What?! What is he talking about?
Constance could hardly believe her ears, struggling to make sense of his words as they hit her like blows to the head, sending her mind reeling.
Bastard? Kerr? Dishonor? Mother’s infidelity?
It was hard to pay attention as the conversation went on, but she forced herself to keep listening.
“So, tell me, if you have already decided she is to wed Belton, what makes you think anything can stop it from happening?” Lionel asked.
“Ewan Kerr, that is what,” Lord Ashbourne replied with acute bitterness.
“I admit, I am puzzled,” Lionel put in. “As I understand it, Kerr has shown no interest in Constance for the last twenty years. It seems highly unlikely that he should he do so now, at least, not to the point where he would interfere in her betrothal.”
Lord Richard sighed with impatience. “It is her betrothed who may finally encourage him to actively meddle in my plans, and if he does, he could very well ruin them.”
“You think he will object to Belton? Because of the age difference, or because the man is commonly known to be debauched?”
“There is a possibility he may object to those aspects, yes. But I doubt he would wish to act upon it. Whatever else he is, he is no fool. As laird of his clan, he understands the necessary purpose of such strategic alliances. And since he has demonstrated no concern for Constance, I cannot see him being bothered by either of those things.”
“So, what then?” Lionel asked with obvious curiosity.
“Do you not remember your history, Lionel? Who was Belton’s father?” the Viscount asked.
“Um, you mean old Stanley, the fifth earl? But he is long dead. What does he have to do with it?”
“The same old Stanley who commanded the English forces against the Lowland Scots twenty-odd years ago, when they were based at Jedburgh. The one the Scots call Black Stanley, the Hammer of the Scots, whom they still summon as a spectre to frighten their children into obedience.”
“Ah! Yes, now I recall. He was famous for hanging thirty of their men on one day after winning some battle or other against them, was he not?”
“Yes, but it was fifty, not thirty. And three of them happened to be directly related to Ewan Kerr.”
“Oh, dear. I begin to understand your concerns.”
“Indeed. The Scots have long memories, and despite the fragile peace that exists between our two countries now, they are not very forgiving. I am worried that if Kerr should find out about 00 I intend Constance to marry, he will do more than simply object. The man is a blood-thirsty savage with a well-trained army at his disposal. He would think nothing of coming down here and trying to stop it by force.”
“Good Lord! Richard, if that is so, then as your closest friend, I feel I must counsel you that going forward with this match, however lucrative or prestigious it might be for you, would put your life and even those of your other children at great risk,” Lionel said, his voice laced with anxiety.
“Do you think I am not aware of that, Lionel? That is exactly why I am telling you all this.”
“Then my advice is to abandon this match with Belton immediately and find her another suitor. There are surely many others who would fit the bill equally as well in terms of benefits, and without the risk of being skewered by the sword of some Scottish devil. It is not worth it. Even if he did not try to kill you, he would almost certainly take Constance away with him back to Scotland, seeing as she is his daughter.”
Lord Ashbourne gave a sarcastic little laugh. “Yes, he undoubtedly would. He would have the full set then.”
“You mean the twin? What is her name again?”
“Agnes. As you know, she and Constance are supposedly identical to look at.”
“Good Lord, I still find it hard to believe the level of Eleanor’s betrayal. She never struck me as the sort. For a married woman to have such an illicit liaison is scandalous enough, but to compound it by giving birth to Kerr’s twin daughters is outrageous. It is no wonder you locked her up when you found out the truth.”
“The disgusting truth she and Kerr conspired to keep from me for years,” Lord Ashbourne spat angrily. “I only wish I could have punished her more harshly. By rights I should have killed Kerr and had Eleanor horsewhipped through the streets. But I had to protect mine and the family’s reputation at all costs. You understand that, do you not, Lionel?”
“Of course. You did the only thing you could do in the sordid circumstances, Richard. Any man in your position would have done the same.”
“Swallowing my need for vengeance all this time has been a hard pill to swallow, I admit. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to slit Kerr’s throat and watch him bleed out. You cannot imagine how galling it has been to me every single day since I found out the truth to have Kerr’s little bastard living in my house alongside my children, eating my food, costing me money, calling me father.”
“One would never suspect it, and she is such a lovely little thing,” Lionel observed.
“I see Kerr in her nonetheless. Marrying her off will be a relief. I shall hardly ever have to look on her face again afterwards. At any rate, you can see my problem.”
“Indeed, I do. And I urge you to give up this idea of marrying Constance to Belton.”
“Do I need to remind you that Belton is a cousin to the King? He has his ear, and he has promised me a direct line of communication. Think what that would mean, Lionel. Constance would very likely be made a lady in waiting to the Queen. And as it is natural that younger sisters should follow their elders, probably Amelia too. The prestige, the connections, the influence that could bring to me cannot be underestimated.” He paused, and when he next spoke, the excitement in his voice had turned to barely contained anger.
“It sticks in my craw to have to give that opportunity up because Kerr may find fault with my choice of his daughter’s husband. No, the more I think about it, the more it enrages me. I will not give it up! Constance will marry Belton, and Ewan Kerr be damned!”
His decisive declaration put an end to the discussion, and moments later, the two men rose and walked away. When their footsteps had faded, and she was sure it was safe to emerge from her hiding place, Constance leaned on Aphrodite to find the strength to stand. Her entire body was shaking, her mind reeling from the revelations that had just turned her world on its head. They whirled about confusingly, but at last, she managed to put them in some sort of order.
I am not the daughter of Lord Richard Ashbourne. My father is a Scottish laird called Ewan Kerr, with whom Mama had an affair over twenty years ago. And I have an identical twin sister called Agnes!!!
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“’Tis time tae go down tae the chapel, Constance,” Agnes said, her voice full of excitement as she looked admiringly at the bride.
“Yes, I am ready, if Morag has finished with my hair,” Constance replied, jittery with nervous anticipation.
“Aye, just a few more moments tae get things perfect,” the maid told them, fussing over the folds of Constance’s beautiful ivory brocade wedding gown in front of the long mirror.
“I love my dress,” Constance sighed happily, hardly believing how flattering it was to her figure and how sophisticated she looked. It had a high, tight bodice that nipped in her waist, a fashionable sweetheart neckline, and long, narrow sleeves trimmed with the same floral embroidery as the overskirt.
“She makes a lovely bride, tae be sure,” Agnes agreed, opening the chamber door in readiness for their departure. “Bane is gonnae be thrilled when he sees ye, Constance,” she added with a giggle. “And I bet he’s gonnae be lookin’ right braw in his weddin’ clothes as well.”
“I think he will, and I can hardly wait to see him,” Constance replied with a twinkle in her eye.
“Ye mean out of them, surely?” Morag observed cheekily, finally satisfied with the adjustments to Constance’s dress. That sent them all off into fits of laughter, even young Amelia, though her cheeks turned bright pink, as did Constance’s when she looked in the mirror.
“Now, have ye got yer strip of ribbon fer tyin’ the knot?” Morag asked, bustling around the room in search of it.
“I have it here,” Agnes aid from the doorway, waving a piece of lace ribbon. “Come along, girls, we must hurry or Connie will be late fer her own weddin’.”
“We’re coming,” Amelia said, joining Agnes in the doorway. Constance tuned towards them and stopped for a moment, flooded with emotion to see her sisters side by side in their beautiful bridesmaids dresses.
“Oh, you both look so lovely. I am honored to have such gorgeous ladies as my attendants,” she told them, going over and kissing them both on the cheek.
“I would hug you, Connie, but I am afraid of creasing our dresses,” Amelia confessed, blowing her a kiss instead.
“Aye, me too,” Agnes agreed, doing same.
“Nosegay, Nosegay!” Morag muttered, picking up the posy of flowers and handing them to the bride.
“I cannot hope to be wed without my nosegay. Thank you for remembering, Morag,” Constance said, laughing. She held out her wrist to Agnes, who tied the strip of ribbon around it. It would match the one Bane would be wearing on his wrist. The forming of the knot around their joined hands would be a symbol of their union that would be carefully kept for future generations to admire.
“Now, come along, ladies,” Morag chivvied them out of the doorway and into the hall, where Constance took up the lead of the procession, with her bridesmaids following behind, holding the short train between them as they made stately progress along the hallway towards the staircase.
“Are ye nervous?” Agnes asked Constance as they carefully negotiated the stairs.
“I am, yes, but I think I am happy more than nervous,” Constance replied.
“She cannae wait tae be Lady Graham officially,” Agnes teased.
The bride’s party reached the bottom of the staircase, glided across the vestibule, and came to a halt outside the great doors of the castle chapel. There, her father was waiting, done up in his fully lairdly regalia, smiling warmly at them.
“Father, you look splendid,” Constance exclaimed, impressed.
“I need tae dae me daughter justice. Ye look radiant, lass,” he told her, proudly. “And the bridesmaids will be attractin’ a few admirin’ looks from the young feels at the cèilidh later on, I venture,” he told her sisters jovially, taking Constance’s arm in his.
“Do I look well? Do you think Bane will like my dress?” Constance asked her sisters, feeling a little more nervous than before, now the ceremony was only minutes away.
“Why, ye’re as pretty as a picture, Sister,” Agnes assured her, her own cheeks pink with excitement.
“Ye are the most beautiful bride ever, Connie,” Amelia said, nodding her agreement with Agnes. “I am sure Bane will fall in love with you all over again when he sees you.”
“Oh, you are both so sweet!” Constance exclaimed, thankful to have both her sisters with her on this most important day of her life.
“Are ye ready?” her father asked her.
Constance took a deep breath. “Yes, I am ready,” she replied, “but my legs have suddenly become awfully wobbly. I hope I do not trip over and make a fool of myself.”
“Dinnae fear, lass, lean on me. I’ll hold ye up,” her father assured her.
“Aye, ye willnae trip, silly. Now, let’s go and get ye married,” Agnes said, beaming at her joyfully. “Just try tae remember yer vows and dinnae swoon too much over yer groom,” she added jokingly, pushing the doors open.
The chapel was brightly lit by hundreds of candles, and the enormous space was packed with friends and dignitaries from the neighbouring clans who had come to witness the wedding. The congregation turned to smile at Constance as she entered on the laird’s arm.
She began the walk up the aisle between the pews, smiles and happy faces on both sides, glad to have her father’s steadying presence next to her.
Her attention went instantly to the imposing figure waiting for her at the altar, her heart leaping in her breast as she drank in Bane’s appearance. It began to race as reality set in. After all they had gone through together, it was like a dream come true to know that the big, handsome, splendidly attired man waiting for her would soon be hers forever.
A thrill ran through her to see how handsome he looked in his dark, fitted jacket, white linen shirt with ruffles at his throat, and a full kilt in her father’s tartan. The outfit set off his powerful physique perfectly. He was gorgeous!
As she drew nearer, and he turned and smiled at her, she thought her legs would finally give way. She leaned on her father’s arm and gathered the strength to walk the last few paces to stand at his side.
“Good luck, lassie,” her father whispered to her as he handed her over to the groom. Bane took her hand gently in his and looked deeply into her eyes, his own twinkled, full of love for her. She squeezed his hand and gazed up at him in a daze of happiness, trying to tell him silently how much she adored him.
“Ye look stunnin’ in that dress, Connie, I didnae think ye could be more beautiful, but I was wrong,” he whispered, his gaze sweeping over her appreciatively.
“Thank you, Bane. And you look incredibly handsome,” she whispered back, basking in his admiration while simultaneously thrilled by the sight of him.
The minister took up his position behind the altar, then and opened his bible, so they both looked forward. The ceremony began. Most of it passed in a daze for Constance. She found it very hard to focus on the solemn words with Bane standing next to her looking so dashing. She simply could not wait to be his wife.
Nevertheless, she managed to remember all her vows, which meant so much more when she spoke them looking into Bane’s eyes. When Bane said his in return, she felt tears of emotion threatening to fall, they meant so much to her. But somehow, she held back the tears.
Before she knew it, it was time for the handfasting. Tav was acting as Bane’s helper. He too was resplendent in his full kilt as he stepped up and used his dirk to make long, shallow cuts across the bride and groom’s palms. He pressed them together so the blood would mingle, then bound them up with the strips they both wore around their wrists.
The centuries-long tradition was completed after the ritual words were spoken, solemnizing the handfasting. The happy couple exchanged loving looks as they slowly pulled their hands apart. The strips formed a perfect knot, which Tav carefully removed and took away, to be carefully kept as a lasting symbol of their union.
Soon after that, the minister closed his bible and announced with a benevolent smile, “I now declare ye man and wife.” He nodded at Bane in encouragement and told him, “Ye may now kiss the bride.”
Elated to be his wife, Constance returned Bane’s kiss with enthusiasm as they stood before the congregation. “I will always remember our first kiss as a married couple,” she whispered to Bane.
“Aye, ’tis engraved on me heart, but ’tis just the start of many more tae come,” he promised, giving her another just for good measure.
“I am now officially Lady Graham,” she said excitedly, hugging his arm. “Oh, I feel wonderful!”
“Aye, I think I’m gonnae enjoy bein’ yer husband very much,” he told her, squeezing her arm with his.
The congregation roared their approval of the kiss. Constance’s heart felt as though it would burst with joy as she clung to Bane’s arm and they walked down the aisle to accept the storm of congratulations awaiting them.
Bane received a hefty backslapping from Tav and her father, as well as a hearty handshake from his brother-in-law, Laird Knox Stewart, the husband of their adopted sister Fia. Fia showered him and Constance with affectionate kisses, obviously delighted to see her big brother happily wed.
Agnes and Amelia were now being escorted by a happy looking Henry, and all three wished them both every happiness and kissed the bride, while Henry enthusiastically pumped Bane’s hand and said he was proud to call him brother- in-law.
“This the happiest day of my life, Bane,” Constance told her new husband, ecstatically. “I do not think I could ever be happier.”
“’Tis the best day of me life bar the one when I abducted ye in that wood,” he told her with a grin, seizing her around the waist and kissing her. “I’m sure I can find some way tae make it even happier fer ye, but that will havetae wait until a bit later,” he told her with a cheeky wink.
Constance laughed as she blushed, knowing he always kept his promises.
