Chapter One

April, 1588

Hexham, Northumberland, on the border of England and Scotland

“I think we can both agree, Lord Belton, that your marriage to Constance, my eldest daughter, will being many benefits for both of our families,” said Lord Richard Ashbourne, Viscount of Hexham, in honeyed tones. He was sitting in his favorite armchair next to the hearth in his private study at Ashbourne Manor, his family seat, a half-drunk glass of claret in his bony hand.

The Earl of Huntingford, George Belton, who was lounging in the armchair opposite the Viscount, nodded with obvious enthusiasm. “Indeed, Lord Ashbourne, I do heartily agree,” he replied, patting his paunch almost gleefully. His rubbery, liver-colored lips widened to reveal large, yellowing teeth. “As you know, I wish for an heir, and I am certain that Constance will give me many fine sons.”

Constance, who was perched stiffly on the very edge of a wooden settle a few feet away, with her hands clasped in her lap, feared she might be sick. She struggled to conceal the revulsion she felt towards the Earl as his pale, bloodshot eyes roved lasciviously over her from head to toe. He put her in mind of a hungry wolf about to devour his prey.

His insolent appraisal was a gross insult of the sort which would normally entitle any noble lady like herself to slap the Earl’s face and sweep from the room in high dudgeon. But however much Constance would have liked to do both of those things, she remained calmly in her seat, putting up with his lewd stare. For she was there at the command of Lord Ashbourne, the man whom, until very recently, she had believed unquestioningly to be her father, and she knew from bitter experience that to rouse his ire would bring harsh punishment.

She looked at him, the fine English gentleman who was supposed to protect her, at his hard features, and wondered if he had a heart at all in that bony chest of his. She thought not. How else could he have spent the previous twenty years raising her as his daughter alongside his two other children, and allow the Earl’s insulting behavior. By appearing to ignore it, he made his lack of affection plain.

But what did she expect? It was more likely to expect angels to descend from heaven and bear her away than to expect any protection or consideration from him. He cared nothing for her and never had. In his mind, she was naught but a useful gaming piece, to be deployed to his advantage in his relentless quest to enrich himself.

Truly, she heartily despised the man who had raised her, who claimed she was his daughter, and who wished to shackle her to this debauched man who was old enough to be her grandfather. Lord Ashbourne had always regarded her and his younger daughter Amelia as nothing more than his property, to be disposed of as he wished. Hence his plan to wed her to the influential Lord Belton.

She sat between the two men, vaguely listening while they decided her future as though she were no more a human being than the coalscuttle by the grate. Unpleasant though it was, she remained outwardly calm. Reaching inside her shawl, she touched the golden locket hanging there. It had been her mother’s. She had given it to Constance just before she had died sixteen years before. Constance treasured it and never took it off.

Now, it offered her comfort and strength, for it seemed the embodiment of the crucial, secret knowledge she had lodged in her heart for the last three months — a knowledge that would save her from marrying the Earl. For Constance had found out that Lord Richard Ashbourne had no true right to sell her in marriage. Indeed, legally, he had no claim to her as his daughter in any way. For the simple reason that he was not her father at all.

Her mind went back to that revelatory evening when she had accidentally overheard Lord Ashbourne talking with his oldest and most trusted friend, Lord Lionel Morton, in the manor gardens. Her life had been dramatically upended.

“The truth must never be known. She cannot find out who her real father is, not ever! If it ever got out, my reputation would be ruined, the Earl would call off the wedding, and I would lose the valuable business connections he has promised me as part of the marriage agreement. Not to mention how her true father might react if he were to find out who his daughter is engaged to. It must go ahead,” Lord Ashbourne had said vehemently.

“You are worrying too much, my friend. You only found out the truth yourself about Constance years after Eleanor had had her, and I’m the only one you’ve told about her affair with this Scottish laird, this Ewan Kerr. How could anybody else discover it now?” Lord Lionel had asked.

“Kerr has no idea that I know the truth about what happened between him and my wife all those years ago. He is unaware that I know she gave birth to twin daughters while I was away at court. Upon my return, it was easy for them to fool me into believing Constance was my child, while he took the other twin back to Scotland to raise as his own. They called her Agnes.”

The initial shock had died away with time, but those words from Lord Ashbourne remained impressed in Constance’s mind.

The Earl’s soft, plummy voice slithered into her consciousness, pulling her back to the present. “It is a union devoutly to be wished for, Lord Ashbourne,” he was saying, his eyes still crawling all over Constance. She stoically ignored him. “And since the King himself has given the union his blessing, I can see no reason why the ceremony cannot go ahead at the earliest opportunity.”

“Very good, then it is settled,” Lord Ashbourne replied, his thin lips stretching into an approximation of a smile. As always, Constance noticed, it lacked any genuine warmth. “Shall we say the wedding can take place six weeks from now? That should be sufficient time for the banns to be read and all the arrangements to be made.”

Plan all you like, you vile creatures, this wedding will never take place. For in six weeks’ time, I shall be long gone. I shall be living in Scotland with my twin sister Agnes, under the protection of my true father, Laird Ewan Kerr.

If they’ll have me.

***

Naturally Constance had been shaken to her very core by the revelations when she had discovered the truth.

Could it be true, she had asked herself over and over. Could her mother really have had an affair with that Laird Ewan Kerr twenty years before, and was he her father? Did she really have an identical twin sister called Agnes?

It was almost impossible to believe her mother could have done such a scandalous thing. Constance treasured many fond memories of her beautiful, gentle mother, who had passed away from an illness when Constance was but eight years old. The very idea of that gracious lady indulging in some sort of extra-marital romantic liaison with any man, let alone a Scottish laird, seemed outlandish.

If she had, then it would have been a betrayal of not just her husband, but of her family and country as well. The rebellious Scots were the enemies of the English Crown, and the Ashbourne family had sworn to fight for and uphold that Crown for over a century. Her mother would never have broken her sacred vows and willingly participated in such a terrible betrayal of her husband and family with a Scotsman. Would she?

She might if she loved him. She could not imagine how mother must have suffered being married to Lord Ashbourne. Perhaps she was very unhappy and sought solace in the arms of her true father. Thinking of it like that, the idea suddenly seemed very romantic.

Poor, dear Mother, perhaps she had felt she deserved a little happiness.

But Constance had been raised to believe that all Scots were brutes and savages, and it puzzled her greatly that her mother could have loved such a man. She wondered what he was like, her true father. He had given up one of his daughters and kept her mother’s secret, to protect her reputation, all these years. It did not seem to Constance like the sort of thing a brute or a savage would do.

All her life she had felt something was missing, as if she had somehow mislaid a part of herself, but she could never put her finger on it.

But now I know, I have a twin sister! Agnes is the part I have been missing!

How exciting it all was!

She was consumed with curiosity to see Agnes, to meet and talk with this Scottish lass who supposedly looked so like her. She had been dreaming of going to find her sister but knew Lord Ashbourne would never sanction it. Obedience to him was so ingrained in her, she had not though she would ever have had the courage to do it on her own.

But now, with the wedding to Earl Belton due to take place in six weeks’ time, the decision had been made for her.

I must go. I must find a way to leave Ashbourne Manor as soon as possible. I shall leave England and journey to the lands of my true father and be with Agnes. But if I am to get away from here without Lord Ashbourne knowing, I will need help.

She had hurried back to the house, in search of the only two people she could really trust at the manor, her brother and sister, Henry and Amelia. There had been no doubt in her mind that once she told them everything, they would understand her need to leave and give her all the help they could.

Chapter Two

Two nights after the awful dinner with Earl Belton, when the other occupants of Ashbourne Court lay sleeping, and the clock had just struck one in the morning, the three siblings quietly left the house and went to the stable block. Once inside, Henry lit a lantern, and in its dim, flickering light, the three had prepared for Constance’s departure.

“Constance, we do not know when we shall see you again, so please remember that Henry and I love you very much. We will be thinking of you every moment while you are away and praying that you reach your destination safely,” Amelia had beseeched her elder sister, her voice choked with tears as she clung to Constance, kissing her cheeks over and over again. “And I hope that when you do, all will come to pass happily, as you wish it. But please, be careful!”

In the shadowy recesses of the stables, the horses in their stalls whinnied and snorted softly, as though sensing the heightened emotions pervading the air.

Constance nodded. “I shall, my darling Amelia, I promise. God will watch over me on the journey. And look,” she paused to summon a smile as she gestured at the mannish outfit she was wearing beneath her long woolen cloak, “as Henry suggested, my disguise will help to protect me from unwanted attention. So, there is no need to be too worried for me, I assure you.”

Constance wished she felt as confident as she was trying to appear for the benefit of her younger sister. Not knowing when they would meet again, she took a few moments to commit to memory Amelia’s familiar petite figure, with her mass of light auburn hair, and her soft hazel green eyes, which always seemed to sparkle with good-humor and curiosity. Only seventeen, Amelia was sensitive and a worrier, and Constance had no wish to add to Amelia’s distress by openly displaying the sorrow and fear bubbling beneath her poised exterior.

“I shall miss you both very much, but I am sure all will be well,” she continued with false brightness, giving Amelia’s hands a final squeeze as they broke their embrace. “I am so very grateful for all the help you have given me, my dear one.”

“I shall pray for you every night,” Amelia promised, tears beginning to fall from her bright eyes.

“Thank you, darling, I shall do the same for you. May the Lord keep you and Henry safe while I am gone.” She planted a final kiss of farewell on Amelia’s soft cheek, her heart aching to leave her.

“There, Connie, you are ready to go,” her elder brother Henry said with his usual composure as he finished adjusting the girth strap on his sister’s favorite mare, Lucy. He made a show of checking the saddle was fixed securely in place before patting the horse’s flank and turning to face Constance. She smiled tremulously at him in love and gratitude. She suspected he was busying himself in an attempt to hide his emotions, putting a brave face on the situation just as she was trying to do, for Amelia’s sake. When their eyes met, her heart clenched to see the sadness and concern hidden there.

“I shall miss you.” He took her in his arms, hugged her, and kissed the top of her head. Pressed against his chest, Constance felt his heart beating fast beneath his coat and knew that his calm demeanor concealed a welter of conflicting emotions beneath.

“Thank you, brother, and thank you for all you have done to help me to get away without Father knowing,” Constance told him, trembling with overwhelming sorrow at their leave-taking. “I do hope you will not get into too much trouble for it.”

“Do not worry about Father. I know how to handle him,” Henry replied soothingly, pulling back to look her in the eyes and resting his hands on her shoulders. “The important thing is that you succeed in your quest.” His tone changed, becoming more earnest as he added, “Do not forget what I have told you, sister. Be under no illusion that this is an easy task you have set yourself.”

“You know I have to do it,” Constance said as much to bolster her own resolve as convince him all over again of the necessity of what she was about to do.

“I have tried my best to persuade you not to go, so I will not argue with you further,” he told her with sad resignation. “Take no unnecessary risks, stay alert for danger on the road, and do not trust anyone,” he warned her. “Do you have the knife I gave you, in case you run into any trouble?”

“Yes, I do.” Constance patted the waistband of her borrowed trousers beneath her cloak, where she had hidden the knife. “But just carrying it makes me feel nervous. I pray I never have any occasion to use it. It would be my downfall, never having used a knife as a weapon before.”

“Hopefully, you will not have to. The mere sight of it will deter any threat,” Henry said reassuringly, pulling the hood of her cloak up around her face and tucking in her hair. How she wanted to believe him, for in truth, she was terrified by what she was about to do.

“It is late, Connie,” Henry said. “You had better go. Here, let me help you up.” He leaned down and joined his hands, boosting Constance into the saddle. “It feels strange to ride astride like a man,” she murmured, settling herself and gently steadying Lucy beneath her with a light touch of the reins. “But I suppose I will soon get used to it again.” She was used to riding side saddle like the English lady she was, but as a child, Henry had taught her how boys sat when no one was around, after she had insisted endlessly that she wanted to copy him.

“You will, and it will be faster and safer this way,” Henry assured her, resting his hand on Lucy’s broad flank.

“And the sooner you reach your destination, the safer you will be,” Amelia chimed in, dabbing at her nose with a tiny lace hanky as she gazed up at Constance.

“It is but three or four days’ ride if you stick to the main highways, where there will be plenty of people about. You have the money I gave you for staying at the inns along the way?” Henry asked.

She nodded. “Yes, in my purse.”

“Good. Come, I shall open the gates for you,” Henry said, briefly checking the courtyard to make sure no one was watching them before taking hold of Lucy’s bridle and leading her out into the stable courtyard. Stifling sniffles, Amelia followed them as they walked slowly down the long drive between the shrubbery until they reached the mansion’s wrought-iron gates. Henry pushed them open.

“I hope I shall see you both again soon,” Constance told them, unable to keep her voice from cracking with emotion at last. Leaning down, she kissed them both on the cheek.

“Goodbye, sister, may God be with you and protect you,” Amelia sobbed.

“Be safe, Connie, and remember everything I have told you,” Henry urged her, his usual composure laced with quiet intensity.

Unable to speak for the lump in her throat, with tears she could hold back no longer escaping from her eyes, Constance nodded. She pressed her knees to Lucy’s flanks and walked the mare slowly out through the gates and into the lane. She turned the horse right, intent on following the lane to the main road leading north to the border. With a restraint that took almost all the strength she possessed, she looked back only once and waved at her brother and sister.

Henry was standing with his arm around the shoulders of Amelia, who was now openly weeping as though her heart would break. Constance knew exactly how she felt, for the pain in her chest was like nothing she had ever felt before. Part of her wanted to turn Lucy and abandon this mad idea of hers. But the other part was resolute and would not allow it. If she married the Earl, she would be forced to leave her beloved siblings anyway. It was that thought that pressed her to go further. So, she rode on down the moonlit lane, reminding herself of what a precious discovery lay at the end of her journey and how it would make everything worthwhile.

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Me Braither Ewan,

“I need tae speak tae ye.” Ewan waved his second-in-command and his steward into his study. “I need tae ken if ye can watch over the clan fer me fer at least a moon.”

“A moon?” Devlin frowned. “’Tis a long time tae be absent, and ‘tis the beginning o’ the season when bandits like to travel.”

“And ‘tis the beginning o’ planting season. We may need a laird’s authority fer work.” Malcolm agreed. “What could be so important?”

Ewan scowled. He knew both men had valid points, but Alistair had asked him to prepare for a journey, traveling to Niamh’s old home, and Ewan knew well that his brother wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.

Still, he couldn’t tell his new subordinates that he was running his brother’s errands. He was supposed to be the Overseer and potential laird of Clan MacTavish. He wasn’t supposed to be acting as Alistair’s second-in-command any longer.

And based on what Alistair had said, he couldn’t reveal his real errand – to seek out Niamh MacDuff nee Cameron’s English friend and bring her back to keep Niamh company in the final months of her child-bearing.

For such a long journey, he needed a good excuse. Fortunately, he and Alistair had thought of one, little though he liked it. “I ken, but with me braither bein’ wed tae a lass from Clan Cameron o’ the Lowlands, it seems a good idea tae go and arrange our own alliance with the clan.”

Malcolm nodded. “Aye. Makes sense. But then… ‘tis a long way tae ride. Could we nae consider alliances closer tae home?”

“Aye. But I’ve also…” Ewan paused. “Niamh had several friends – unwed lasses who are daughters o’ minor border lairds in the Lowlands. She suggested that one o’ them might be suitable fer courting. I thought it might be worth explorin’ considering me braither’s luck.”

“A border alliance through marriage is a braw idea. Have ye any lass in mind?” Malcolm frowned. “I’ve nae seen ye send any messages.”

“I’ve nae, but Niamh – me braither’s wife, has offered tae give me names and a letter o’ introduction tae her friends.” Ewan glared at both men, discomfited by the whole story he was spinning and the continued questions. “I need tae ken if ye’re willing tae watch over the clan while I’m travelin’.”

“The Council willnae be happy. On the other hand, if there’s a chance that the travel will lead tae acquiring a betrothal contract fer ye… that could convince them.”

“Would ye?”

Malcolm nodded. “If ye leave me a letter o’ authority, then I can handle the business o’ running the clan, with help from the Council.”

“And I can keep the warriors trained and ready, and make sure nae one is attackin’ our borders.” Devlin agreed.

Ewan breathed a sigh of relief. He had no desire to tell Alistair that he wouldn’t able to fulfill his request. He didn’t like the idea of escorting some English woman the length and breadth of the Lowlands and the Highlands, but better him than some other member of the clan.

Far too many Highlanders hated the English far too much to be trusted with someone precious to the lady of MacDuff Clan. And there were few warriors who could be trusted with the lass’s safety, hatred or not. They hadn’t the skills Ewan had, in weapons or in travel.

Securing permission from the Council took another day, and packing for the journey another day still. Ewan found himself both chafing at the delay, and wishing he could wait longer before leaving.

He read the letter from Alistair again. He had considered refusing. But in the end, he couldn’t. Alistair so rarely asked him for anything, and now he was asking for a favor, something important enough that he’d written a letter, rather than simply asking during one of their infrequent meetings.

Finally, all the preparations were in place. Ewan saddled his horse, then rode from MacTavish Keep to MacDuff Castle. The weather was fine, the air crisp with the new promise of the coming spring. Ewan breathed deep as he rode, far too aware that he would be farther from his home than he wanted to be for longer than he cared to think about.

He rode into MacDuff Castle that afternoon, to find Alistair waiting for him. “So ye want me tae seek out an English lass? By what name?”

“Grace Lancaster. She’s a friend o’ Niamh’s from childhood.” Alistair handed him a folded note. “She’s a petite lass with golden hair and blue eyes, and she lives in Lancaster, England.”

Ewan’s lip curled. “Are ye sure ‘tis necessary tae bring her so far?”

“Niamh asked me tae see she comes safely tae MacDuff Castle.” Alistair sighed. “I dinnae like the idea any more than ye dae. However…” He sighed again. “I’ve never mentioned it tae anyone else afore but ye should ken… Niamh’s mother died in bringin’ her intae the world. She’s always been terrified o’ birthin’ a child o’ her own, ‘tis why she was so difficult when first we married.”

Ewan grimaced in sympathy. “What daes that have tae dae with the lass ye want me tae find and bring north?”

“Niamh shared her fears and her worries with only one person, her friend and heart-sister, Grace. When the two o’ them became friends. And now that she’s carrying our firstborn, Niamh is determined tae have her ‘sister’ here beside her.”

“And ye want me tae aid ye.”

“Who else would I trust?” Alistair’s eyes softened. “I could ask another. Were the lass anything save an English lairdling’s kin, I might send someone else. But there are too many who would ‘fail’ the task out o’ hatred for the English, and I dinnae wish Niamh tae be without the friend she yearns tae see. Especially as she didnae get tae say farewell, an’ that was a fault o’ mine.”

“A fault o’ yers?”

“Aye.” Alistair grimaced. “I didnae tak’ well tae discovering me betrothed had dear friend who was English. We… exchanged heated words, when we first met. I didnae bother tae redress the poor impression I made, and she doubtless hates me, even more so if she kens how I carried Niamh from her home.”

“So she’ll have a grudge with ye, tae rival our dislike o’ her.” Ewan shook his head. “I dinnae like it, but ye are kinfolk, and so is Niamh now.” He clapped Alistair on the shoulder. “I’ll dae the best I can fer ye, braither.”

“I ken. I look forward tae the day I see ye again, and I wish ye good weather and safe travels.”

“Safe home and good health fer ye and yer bride.” Ewan embraced his brother, then took the satchel of supplies Alistair offered him for the journey.

Niamh emerged then, swollen with child, and embraced him as well. “Thank ye. I ken tis a great favor I ask ye.” She held his hand a moment. “I also ken that Grace may nae trust ye, and ye may need some way tae be sure ye’ve found the correct lass. So I have a message fer ye tae give tae her.”

Ewan nodded. Niamh smiled. “Tell her me list o’ sins has grown little longer, and that I hope her own list has done the same, fer different reasons.”

Ewan frowned. “What?”

“That is the message. Grace will ken what it means.”

Ewan repeated it several times in his head as the servants finished feeding and watering his horse.

Finally, all was ready. Ewan exchanged a final embrace with Alistair and Niamh, then mounted his horse once more.

Within a candle-mark, he was on the road, riding toward the English border and the mysterious Grace Lancaster.

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Chapter One

Of all the preening peacocks Uncle William has tried to foist on me, this one is by far the worst! Why, Lord Ambrose is old enough to be my father, boring as watching grass grow, and as ridiculous as the feathers on this hat he insists I wear as his courtship gift!

Grace Lancaster sighed and made an effort to maintain her rigid smile and polite appearance of attention as Lord Ambrose Fairgave finished off yet another tale of his hunting exploits with “..and that is how we brought down the beast. I have his head mounted in my hunting lodge. Splendid acquisition.”

Lord Ambrose had mentioned an astounding number of trophies hanging in said hunting lodge in this past candle-mark during his one-sided conversation. She managed a stiff nod.

The ridiculous peacock feathers on the idiotic hat bobbed over her ear and tickled dreadfully. She longed to knock it to the floor. Or better yet, throw it back into Lord Ambrose’s jowly and pompous face. Unfortunately, Uncle William was watching, and she knew from painful experience that he would not abide openly disrespectful behavior.

He barely tolerated her supposed clumsiness and awkwardness as it was, anything more blatant would have consequences she had no desire to discover.

Grace forced herself to smile politely. “That is rather impressive, Lord Ambrose. You have much skill in hunting.”

As if there was any skill to surrounding a wild animal and harrying it with dogs and spears until it dies.

“Hunting’s the best practice to maintain one’s strength for another clash with those ruddy heathens across the border. Not much better than beasts… you know boar hunting techniques work best, when chasing down one of those rascals on the field…”

And he was off again, regaling them with another of his tales, about a boar he’d chased through the woods at some time in his ‘younger days’.

At this point, Grace wasn’t even certain that it was a new story. Lord Ambrose’s hunting tales all sounded the same to her. The only thing she could be certain of, right at that moment, was that she needed a respite.

She rose from her seat, earning a look of bemusement from Lord Ambrose and a look of ire from her uncle. “Forgive me for interrupting, Lord Ambrose, but I fear I must excuse myself a moment.”

She barely waited for her uncle’s stiff-necked nod before turning and making her way toward the door that led outside to the privy. The feathers on the hat waved merrily, and she could hear the snickers of amusement that followed her – not even the most sober of patrons or serving girls could mask their amusement at the picture she presented, mincing her way through the tavern wearing a hat better suited for a costume ball.

Grace winced, and made an effort to keep her gaze forward and her chin up. She knew she looked ridiculous, embarrassingly so. But what could she do about it? It wasn’t as if she could remove the hat and toss it in the midden heap, where she was certain it deserved to be. Uncle William would never tolerate her committing such a slight.

With a grimace of carefully concealed distaste, Grace made her way to the small privy. She did her business quickly, encouraged by the smell as much as the rough quarters. She did wish Uncle William had hired a room, where she might have used a chamber pot, but of course he would never consider such an expense worthwhile.

At least in the privy, she was free to temporarily remove the ridiculous hat.

Once she was finished and had cleaned up as much as she was able, she reluctantly re-donned the offending headwear, then made her way back toward the dining area.

As she turned the corner into the main serving area, intent on getting back to the table and finding some excuse to permanently end the conversation, she was so fixed on her thoughts, she did not hear the heavy footsteps or realize there was someone else coming round the same corner until she crashed into a solid, unyielding male torso, attached to a muscular arm that was holding a full tankard of ale.

Grace hit the floor with a gasp. The man she’d run into stumbled on the rushes that covered the tavern floor. The tankard wavered, sloshing beer over both of them.

Within the space of a moment, Grace found herself on the dirty tavern floor, beer trickling over her face, her dress, and even the deplorable hat.

In the momentary silence, the first gasps of laughter were clearly audible. Grace felt her cheeks burning as she levered herself to her feet, her face hot with embarrassment. Cold, sticky, and humiliated, she spoke the first words that came to mind. “Have you no manners, sir, to knock a lady down and not even offer her a hand up?”

“I’d ask the same o’ ye- you, m’lady. Have ye na- no manners, to spill a man’s drink and offer no apology?” There was an odd accent to his words, but a familiar one, for all he seemed to be making some effort to conceal it.

“’Tis a gentleman’s place to apologize for his carelessness,” she countered, jerking her chin up as she got a good look at him for the first time.

He was tall, with the muscles of a trained warrior, and a ruggedly handsome appearance. His hair was dark, tied back roughly but neatly, and his eyes were a deep, glittering green, like summer grass looked at through morning dew.

And then he spoke again, and any fascination she might have had with his appearance was drowned in irritation. “’Tis a tavern, girl, na- not a pretty castle dance floor. If ye’ve not the sense to realize what sort o’ folk come here and what the risks are, ye- you’re as ridiculous as that hat ye’re wearing, and as soft as ye- your pretty little dress.”

The words stung, and all the more because the outfit she wore wasn’t one she would have chosen, had she known her uncle intended to meet her supposed ‘excellent suitor’ in a tavern like that. And the hat… “How dare you mock a lady!”

“’Tis nae mockery, just the truth, la- girl.”

Her ear caught the odd pronunciation of the word ‘not’ and the half-spoken ‘lass’, and the pieces clicked into place. The man was wearing trews and a heavy linen shirt and vest, with not a bit of tartan anywhere in sight, but she knew him for what he was. “You are a Scotsman.”

“Highlander, aye. An’ what o’ it?” He appeared not to care that he’d been discovered, despite his earlier efforts.

“What is a Scotsman doing here?” Technically, they weren’t that far from the Lowland border, but they were still on the English side of it. And besides, he was a Highlander, he’d said. Like the man who’d stolen her friend Niamh away, the day of the Harvest Festival.

The bitterness of that memory only added to her anger. It didn’t help that his only answer was a twist of his lip and a curtly spoken “Drinkin’. Or I would be, had I nae been accosted by a shrew of an English lass in a temper.”

“I am not… you know nothing of me, to make such statements!” Grace felt her fists clench tightly against the fabric of her dress. “And you are the one who bumped into me.”

“Dinnae care.” He gave her a look full of such mocking that it stung, and his words were no better as he waved an exaggerated bow with his near-empty mug. “Apologies, girl, fer spillin’ ale on yer dress. Well, I’m off fer another mug. And ye can…”

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and can’t…”

“Grace!” The single word, spoken in a tone as sharp as a knife blade, carried clearly across the noise of the tavern. Grace winced and turned to look at her uncle.

Lord Ambrose looked distinctly unimpressed, even a little disgusted, by the man standing in front of her. Uncle William looked about ready to burst a blood vessel in his anger. Likely, he would have already started yelling, had they not been in public.

Abruptly, she realized how it must look, her speaking to a Highlander. Certainly, they’d been arguing, but who would know that, or what their discussion had been about? It was far too easy for someone to get the wrong impression.

She ought to have sniffed, raised her chin, and brushed past him the instant she’d realized the truth, but it was too late now.

“Excuse me.” She turned away from the man without another word and rejoined her uncle and his guest, sitting with as much grace as her ale-soaked skirts would allow.

“You didn’t tell me your niece was the clumsy sort. And associating with one of those… savages.” Lord Ambrose was frowning.

“She is not, generally,” Uncle William scowled at her. “What were you doing, talking to that brute?”

“I… wished for him to apologize for dousing me with ale.” There was nothing she could say that her uncle would accept, and she knew it. But even so… she had to try. “He was being unconscionably rude…”

“They’re all like that. Barbarians.”

“You should have walked away instead of engaging in conversation with him. What if people thought you were a sympathizer with those beasts?” Uncle William’s scowl was dark as a thundercloud. “Next time, you ought to keep your mouth shut and walk away. Perhaps a slap to remind him of his place, but not… conversation.” The frown deepened. “Better yet, have enough awareness and grace to prevent a ‘next time’ from occurring.”

“Indeed. Indeed. I have to say, Lord Lancaster, your daughter doesn’t much live up to her name, now does she?”

“Pardon, Lord Ambrose, but Grace is my niece. I took her in after my brother and his wife were killed in the border wars.” Uncle William’s voice was cold, and Grace felt the sting of it, knowing as she did that the harsh words were meant to remind her of her place, and her position.

She was an orphan without a title or name of her own, living under her uncle’s roof and his sufferance. She was not supposed to embarrass him in any way, and talking to a Highlander? One of the Scottish barbarians who had been responsible for his brother’s death? That was a mistake, a shameful one.

The good Lord above only knew what her uncle would say if he ever discovered that her oldest and dearest childhood friend was from Clan Cameron, whose lands bordered what had once been her father’s.

“I don’t know about this.” The heavy, disappointed tone brought her attention back to Lord Ambrose, and a lump lodged in her throat. The lord was shaking his head. “Your niece is pretty enough, young too. But it seems her education is lacking. Not the proper sort for a lady, you know. I need a wife who can make a proper showing of it, not the sort of woman who talks to barbarians and can’t keep her feet in a crowd.”

He shook his head again and rose from the table. “I think it’s best I bid you both a good day. Time is precious for all of us, with the spring turning into summer. I think it’s time we all returned to our duties. Lord Lancaster.”

He bowed to Grace, but there was no warmth to his movement. “You can keep the hat, young lady. Hopefully, you’ll grow into it one day.”

Then he was gone, and Grace was left in her cold, sodden dress, to face her uncle’s wrath.

It was not long in coming. “I arrange a meeting. I sing your praises to a wealthy and well-connected suitor. And you…” Uncle William’s eyes flicked over her dirty skirt, the bedraggled hat, and the ale soaked fabric. “… You ruin your dress, insult his Lordship’s gift with your obvious disdain for it, and cannot make it to the privy and back without causing a scene, making a fool of yourself, and getting soaked in cheap drink, as if you were a dockside tavern wench. A poor showing indeed, and that is without mentioning your foolishness in speaking to a barbarian of the Scottish persuasion.”

Grace swallowed hard. She wanted to protest that it had been an accident, and that she had only demanded an apology. But she knew better. Uncle William would not hear a word she had to say.

It was her own fault, in part. She and Niamh had made a game of making themselves seem unsuitable for marriage, and they had played it for years. But Niamh was gone, and without her, the game had lost any amusement for Grace, especially in the face of her uncle’s growing exasperation. And what was worse this time, was that she hadn’t genuinely tried to drive Lord Ambrose away. It had simply been the result of a moment of inattention and clumsiness.

Uncle William continued, and the softness of his voice did nothing to disguise the venom of his words. “This is becoming disgraceful. You are all but a laughingstock among the peers of England. So heed my warning well, Grace. You shall behave with every bit of decorum, grace and attention you have at your command when the next suitor comes. If you fail again, then I will not invite you to meet the one that follows, until the day you meet him at the altar.”

Uncle William rose, and bent to whisper poisonously in her ear. “Never forget, dear niece, I can arrange a marriage for you without your input or your presence. And I shall, if you continue to embarrass me.”

Then he was gone, calling for the tavern keeper to settle his account, and for a boy to hitch up the carriage. Grace was left to gather herself and her things, her stomach churning.

Uncle William had been the one to arrange the meeting there. He’d known she would be at a disadvantage, in this tavern where she looked like a peacock among barnyard fowl. Perhaps the encounter with the Scotsman had been an accident, but… it felt as if her uncle had wanted her to fail to meet Lord Ambrose’s expectations.

Oh, he was angry enough, but she knew her uncle. Being angry at her faults wouldn’t stop him from looking forward to the day he could marry her off to whoever he chose, and claim the Lancaster fortune entirely, minus her dowry.

And if he could choose a husband who was altogether unsuitable and would make her miserable? He would find that all the more delightful. Uncle William was that sort of man.

Time was running out. If she did not escape his trap soon, she would be shackled to someone who might be worse even than Lord Ambrose. And yet, as she shuffled to her feet and made her way to the door, the stupid feathers still flopping about her face, she had no idea what she could do about the situation.

Oh, I wish Niamh were here! She would surely think of something to aid me!

Chapter Two

“Thrice-cursed English… ye’d think they could stand tae build smaller castles and less crooked roads.” Ewan MacDuff, Overseer and Potential Laird MacTavish, scowled up at the imposing structure before him.

It was a fortress, overlooking a moderate town. More importantly, it was known to the locals as the current residence of Lord William Lancaster and his only niece, Grace Lancaster. And it was Grace Lancaster he’d been sent to find.

It had taken longer than he’d expected to find where the Lancaster family lived. In the Highlands, he knew where every family was, every clan seat, and where every laird and heir was likely to be found. But English soil was foreign to him, and the lords weren’t like the Highland lairds he knew.

It was exasperating, and the encounter of the night before, along with the letter he’d received by swift messenger some three days prior, made his mood no better.

The words of the message had been short, but they were seared into his brain regardless.

A contender fer the lairdship has appeared. Gael MacTavish, o’ a cadet line originating from a bastard o’ the previous laird’s grandfaither, with a wife and a child. Ye must return swiftly, or I fear the Council shall accept his claim.

Devlin

Gael MacTavish. Why the man hadn’t stepped forward two seasons ago, when the previous Laird MacTavish had been killed by Ewan’s brother, was a mystery. But it wasn’t one he had time to put much thought into.

He had to get back to his lands, to sort the issue out. Unfortunately, he was honor bound not to return until he’d located the childhood friend of his brother’s wife and secured her agreement to return with him.

He’d thought it would be a simple matter, until he’d been told her name and that she lived across the English/Lowlands border. Now, here he was, half a moon away from his lands, and it was only yesterday that he’d learned where to find her.

Lancaster. There was a whole region of ‘Lancaster’ folk. But of course she had to be daughter – and niece – of one of the Lord Lancasters, rather than one of the simpler folk that bore the same name.

Niamh was a wonderful woman, and a perfect wife for his brother Alistair, but he did wish she’d chosen to have a proper Lowland lass as her best friend, rather than an English noblewoman.

Still, that was none of his concern. His concern was finding the lass and delivering the message Niamh had put into his hands the day he’d left.

Ewan smoothed his hair into a semblance of neatness, checked once more that he was wearing no identifiable signs of his origin – a Scotsman would never be permitted entry into a lord’s home – and that his appearance conformed to that of a border messenger, as much as it could when he was far more heavily muscled than most. Once he was satisfied that he’d not get turned away from the gate immediately, he made his way forward.

The guards had some sense, for they stopped him immediately. Had the urgency of his errand not been prickling under his skin like the touch of a stinging nettle, he would have approved of it. And if they’d been proper Scotsmen, clansmen, instead of English lackeys.

He forced himself to maintain a reasonable expression. “I’ve a message for Miss Grace Lancaster. From a friend of hers.” He held up the missive Niamh had given him. “She asked it be tak’n directly to the lady.”

It was an effort to mimic the English way of speaking, and he knew quite well that his Highland accent was noticeable despite his best efforts. Even so, he made the effort, and was rewarded with a slight relaxation in the guards.

They probably thought he was some border peasant looking to earn coppers as a messenger. Well, whatever they assumed, as long as he wasn’t chased away before meeting the lass he’d come so far to find, he would let them assume it. Perhaps one day he’d have the pleasure of proving them wrong on the battlefield.

“Who is the message from?”

“Lady… her name is Niamh.”

The guards considered, then nodded and led him into the keep, into a small antechamber. “Wait here.” One man went to, presumably, tell Lady Grace Lancaster that a messenger had arrived, while the other went to the door to keep watch.

Ewan took the time to look around the sparsely furnished chamber. It was obviously not meant for greeting guests of any note – in the Highlands, it would have been embarrassing to have a room so sparsely furnished to meet anyone, even a messenger. The walls were almost completely bare, there was only one chair, and a small table, and the fireplace was not only unlit, but looked as if it hadn’t been touched in almost a season.

It was the sort of room where you sent visitors you wanted to see the back of as soon as possible. On the one hand, he was somewhat offended by the lack of even minimal courtesy – they’d not even offered him refreshment – but on the other, he was just as glad to get out of there as soon as possible. He had no time for courtesies.

He was there to deliver a message, secure a travel companion, and leave.

The door swung open, and a young woman entered. She was slim, pretty in a delicate sort of way, with hair the color of sun-ripened wheat, which fell in a soft wave of gold down the back of her neck.

She looked familiar, but he couldn’t think why. Then he saw the bright blue eyes.

The girl in the ridiculous feathered hat. The one he’d bumped into the night before. His heart thumped into his boots, just as her eyes widened in recognition.

“You!”

“Ye’re Grace Lancaster?”

A tense silence fell, and Ewan could see the lass struggling to regain her composure. He felt much the same way. Of all the people he’d expected to encounter in a tavern, Lady Grace Lancaster was not one of them. And of all the people he’d expected to find in that estate, the lass with the foolish hat was not someone he would have anticipated.

It was she who broke the silence, her eyes wary and sharp with resentment and anger. “I am Grace Lancaster. And who might you be? Aside from the boorish lout who managed to upset my evening plans last night, and without even an apology for his actions.”

Ewan flushed, but he deserved the rebuke and he knew it. “Ay… yes. I was a lout last night.” He swallowed hard. “I… I apologize fer me poor manners. I was irritable, and rude.”

For a moment, he thought she’d throw him out. Then she nodded. “Your apology is accepted. And your name? You still have not introduced yourself.”

“Me name’s Ewan.” He glanced at the door, shut but still guarded from the outside, hoping to convey his meaning. It wouldn’t do for anyone to hear his clan name, and guess his full identity, not here in English territory. Still… “I think ye’ve met me brother, Alistair.”

Alistair had warned him that the brief encounter between himself and Niamh’s friend had not been cordial. From the way her face darkened in anger, it seemed his brother had understated the unpleasantness of it. Even so, she managed to remain civil. “Why have you come here? The guard said you had a message for me.”

Ewan nodded. “I’ve come with a message, and an urgent request, from yer friend, Niamh. Niamh MacDuff, nee Cameron.”

Her whole expression changed in an instant. Yearning, so deep it cut like a blade. Hope. Then wariness and fear. In the space of two breaths, she went from hopeful and happy to a guarded cautiousness not unlike that of a hunted deer. “How do I know you have truly been sent by Niamh? Why would she not come herself?”

“She’s nae in a fit state tae be traveling.”

“Is she hurt? Ill? Captive?”

“None o’ those things.” Ewan started to speak again, but Grace cut him off.

“Wait. I still have no proof that you have come from Niamh. You could be attempting to trick me.”

Ewan huffed. “Why would I dae that?”

“To use me as a hostage against my uncle. To kidnap me for your own nefarious ends.”

Ewan strangled the growl that wanted to rise in the back of his throat. One threatening move, and the guards would no doubt be on him like hounds on fresh meat. “If I wanted tae kidnap ye, I’d nae dae it coming through the front gate.”

“And how can I know that?” She shook her head. “You could even be a spy from Uncle William. He has been looking for an excuse to…” She trailed off and shook her head again. “I do not know how to trust that you are who you say you are.”

Ewan sighed. He had little patience for such intrigue on the best of days, and this was far from one of his better mornings. “I’ve the message here fer ye tae read. And if ye need proof o’ who sent me… Lady Niamh gave me a message.”

“What message?”

Ewan steeled himself. He’d memorized the message dutifully enough, but even after all this time carrying it in his head, it still sounded ridiculous to him. Though, if it would get the girl to agree to come with him…

“She said ‘tell me heart-sister that me list o’ sins has grown little longer, and I pray her fortune’s such that her own has done likewise, though fer different reasons.’ That was the whole o’ it.”

He’d no idea what the words meant, but it was clear from the way her whole expression softened with relief and dawning hope that Grace Lancaster knew exactly what the message referred to. Tears sparkled in her blue eyes for a moment, then she wiped them away and held out her hand. “The letter, please.”

Ewan handed it over, and watched as she broke the seal and read it. Every second chafed at him, but he understood the necessity of it. He tried to remain calm, but there was a part of him that begrudged every instant spent reading, rather than packing and riding.

Finally, Grace looked up. “She says she is wed, to Laird Alistair MacDuff, by the blessing o’ her father. And with child – a firstborn. She wishes for me to come to attend the last months of her child-bearing, and the birth of the babe.”

“’Tis truth, all o’ it.”

“She… married? That man…?” She stopped, evidently remembering that he was his brother. “I… I didn’t think she would ever… we swore… and she… she always said she would never bear children…”

“Much has changed. And it wasnae an easy change fer either o’ them, so far as I recall. But her maither’s kin live among our clan, and I’ve heard that had somethin’ tae dae with her change o’ heart.”

Not that Ewan knew the details. He’d not even known that Niamh was terrified of childbirth and had once sworn never to risk it until Alistair had told him in confidence, before asking him to deliver the message to Grace.

“Niamh never knew her mother.”

“Even so, her mother was Highland born, and her kin are kin tae the MacDuff clan. Our cousin, the clan healer, is the daughter o’ a younger sister, I think. Or mayhap her mother’s mother was the younger sister.” Bloodlines were not something he kept track of. That was more the sort of thing Alistair and Catriona paid attention to.

Although, perhaps if he’d showed more interest in the matter, he would have seen the danger Gael MacTavish represented sooner – before whatever happened that had caused Devlin to send him such an urgent warning.

“I… see. But… it hasn’t even been a year since she was taken from here…” Grace looked almost hurt.

“’Twas a difficult time. Bonds can be forged fast, in such trials. And Alistair and Niamh were never indifferent tae one another, nae since I met her.” Whatever had occurred on the journey between the Cameron clan and the Highlands, it had brought those two together, even before the wedding. Oh, they’d fought, and still did, but even then he’d seen the beginnings of the relationship between them, even deeper and stronger than the love his brother had felt for his previous betrothed Constance MacBeth.

Well, whatever happened between Alistair and Niamh, ‘twill nae be repeatin’ between me and this English lass… assuming I can convince her tae accompany me at all.

“Tell me what happened, please?”

Ewan grimaced before he could stop himself. “I dinnae ken all the details, but even what I dae ken ‘tis a long tale. Too long fer a messenger delivering a message. If ye want the story, ye’ll have tae come with me.”

Grace nodded, her eyes going back to the missive. “Yes. Niamh did say she wants me to go… and I do so want to see her again. I have missed her, and our meetings. But I…”

“If ye want to come, then come. Make yer excuses. I’m sure yer guardian willnae mind ye goin’ tae see a friend.”

There was a flash of heat in her eyes when she responded. “If you think that, Master Ewan, then you do not know my guardian. Uncle William would never approve my going to visit another lady, escorted or no, unless it were perhaps a member of the royal court. And even then he would insist on accompanying me himself.”

Ewan scowled. “He’ll find himself in dire straits, if he wishes tae follow ye intae the Highlands.”

“There is not gold enough in the world to convince Uncle William to let me travel to the Highlands, not even with an invitation from a Lady. And if you knew anything of my uncle’s character, you would realize that his hatred runs deep indeed, that he would scorn wealth for such reasons.”

Clan MacDuff wasn’t particularly wealthy, in any case. They were still recovering from the Border Wars, and from Fergus MacTavish’s depredations. Alistair had forbidden him to empty the MacTavish coffers to repay Clan MacDuff, saying it would only incite anger and rebellion among the recently conquered clansmen.

But that was not the point, not now. Ewan sighed. “Then are ye refusing?” It would break Niamh’s heart, but if the lass refused to go with him, then there was little he could do.

“No. I would not abandon Niamh like that, not if she has asked for me. I am only pointing out that my uncle will never permit me to accompany you.”

“Then…”

“There is only one logical solution. We shall have to find some way for you to ‘kidnap’ me.”  

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