The tavern was unusually crowded that day, with people milling about, drinking and feasting on what Fia could only think of as mediocre stew. Duror had never been particularly popular as a destination or even as a rest stop, but there were travelers there that day on their way to a nearby town, so there were more people in the small tavern than Fia had ever seen.
Nevertheless, she and Callum had managed to secure a table—a small one, near the entrance, right under a window that let in the scant light from outside.
It was a cold day with grey clouds gathering above, but it was nothing strange for Duror. If anything, Fia would have been more surprised if it had been sunny.
The tavern smelled more of spilled ale and wine than ever, the tables and floors sticky with it. The crowd was not particularly rowdy, but it was loud, mostly men who were looking for a good time on their travels, and Fia had already begun to feel the first stirrings of a headache in the back of her forehead.
However, nothing could ruin Fia’s day. It didn’t matter how crowded and loud the room was, or even that she wasn’t feeling so well. The only thing that mattered was that Callum had come to see her, and he was staying for at least a couple of hours.
It wasn’t often that she saw him those days. Though at the very beginning of their courtship he had been around all the time, now he was so busy with his duties in the castle that Fia felt like she rarely saw him. But that was the life of the soldier, she supposed, especially a high-ranking one like Callum. His father was the war leader of Clan Stuart; he, as his son, had to act accordingly, giving his all to the clan and its laird.
Still, Fia couldn’t help but think he was working too hard. She only wished he could rest a little and maybe go to see her more often. Until they were a married couple and could live together in the castle, she didn’t know how she could bear to see him only once every few weeks.
Sometimes she even saw him around Duror unexpectedly or one of her neighbors did, but she tried to keep a level head and not hold a grudge against him when he went without notifying her or seeing her. There were rumors about him—of course there were, seeing as he was a handsome man, with his dark hair and grey eyes, the chiseled jaw, the strong, straight nose, and that smile that had every woman in the village falling for him—but she never listened to them. People could say whatever they wanted. Fia knew the real him, and she knew that the only reason he ever came to Duror without seeing her was because he was, once again, busy. She had complained the first time it happened, accusing him of not wanting to see her, but that had only served to hurt him. She still remembered the look in his eyes at her harsh accusation, the way he had stared at her, utterly betrayed; the soft tone of his voice telling her that this was precisely why he hadn’t told her he was coming, because he had known she would be disappointed and get angry at him.
After that time, she had never dared complain again.
Pushing all those memories out of her mind as she watched him approach with two cups of wine in his hands, Fia sat a little straighter in her seat, smiling at him. Callum took his seat across from her, handing her her drink, but said nothing as he looked around, his gaze passing over the crowd.
Some of them were from the castle, Fia knew, though she couldn’t always tell them apart from the villagers. It was only those select few men who stood apart from anyone else, much like Callum, whom she could recognize as being from the castle, simply because of how well-groomed and well-dressed they were.
Two of them, specifically, caught her eye—a man with brown hair gathered at the nape and green eyes, with a kind of rough handsomeness to him that would surely make him popular with the ladies, but also a seemingly cold and closed-off demeanor that would push them away at the same time, and then another man next to him, someone Fia had never seen before.
Someone the likes of whom she had never seen before either.
He, too, had a rugged look, his exposed forearms covered in scars, some bigger and others smaller, most of them looking old and silvery over his pale skin. He had short, dark hair, black as the night sky, and a pair of blue eyes that, once they glanced her way, completely captivated Fia.
There was something about that man. The mere sight of him made her heart beat faster, her stomach filling with butterflies. She could feel her cheeks heat as she gazed at him, her thighs pressing together on their own accord.
“What are ye starin’ at like that?” Callum demanded and Fia jumped, startled by the sudden sound of his voice. Then, she blushed an even deeper scarlet, the blood rushing to her head at the thought of how shameful her actions were. “Close yer mouth, it looks unattractive.”
Fia snapped her mouth shut, her gaze falling to her cup of wine. She didn’t know what had gotten over her, staring at a stranger like that, with Callum right there in front of her! Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have noticed. Fia didn’t want to know what would happen if he knew what had gone through her mind at the sight of that man, but she was certain she would never hear the end of it.
“I thought…” she started, desperate to change the subject. “I thought perhaps afterwards we could take a walk in the woods? Or perhaps in the market? It’s been so long since we last saw each other. Ye can stay fer a few hours, can ye nae?”
Callum dragged his gaze back to her from where he was looking at a group of women at the other side of the room. Fia couldn’t help but wonder if he knew them, but he said nothing on the matter.
“Why?” he asked, sounding a little bored. “Isnae it fine enough here?”
“Aye,” said Fia. “But I thought—”
“Fia, I walk around all day, every day,” Callum said with a weary sigh. “If I wished tae walk around more, I’d stay in the castle, workin’. All I wish tae dae today is sit an’ enjoy me drink.”
Fia had nothing to say to that. She understood, of course, that Callum was tired and she didn’t doubt how hard he worked, but she also didn’t think a leisurely stroll would tire him out so much. Still, she said nothing as he went back to gazing around the room, knocking the rest of his wine back.
“Will ye drink that?” he asked her, pointing to her own cup. Fia shook her head and pushed it towards him, watching him as he knocked that one back, too, finishing it in one big gulp.
For a while, silence stretched over their table. Fia wracked her brain for something to tell him, anything to get the conversation going, but each time she thought of a topic, she had the same realization—Callum would find it either frivolous or dull and cut the conversation short. So, she didn’t even bother trying, drumming her fingers nervously against the table instead.
The wood was sticky under her fingers. The atmosphere in the tavern was stifling, the air heavy with alcohol and the smell of people. But Fia was simply glad to be there with Callum, to know that he still loved her and was still serious about them.
Everything would be better once they were a married couple, she told herself. Then Callum would be able to see every day just how much Fia adored him. She would take care of him, of the household, of their children. She would do anything to make him happy.
Eventually, she let her own gaze roam around the room. It kept drifting back to that man, the one with the blue eyes. Despite his ruggedness, Fia thought, there was a warmth to him, something in his smile that told her he was a good man. Then again, everyone always told her she wasn’t the best judge of character.
Just as she was about to force herself to look away, the man looked straight at her and time seemed to stop. When he caught her looking, though, he only smiled and raised his cup in a toast, never once breaking eye contact as he downed his drink.
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Chapter One
October, 1587. Duror village.
One down, one tae go.
Fia MacKenzie’s small cottage stood in the fringes of Duror, near Castle Stuart and was—insofar as anything that received Fia’s care and attention could be characterized as such—a mess. She hadn’t had the time to take care of everything in the house that day, as word had spread fast that Mrs. Findley, the old healer of the village, had finally retired in her old age, too tired to keep the constant stream of patients who needed her help. The old woman had already directed everyone to Fia’s door, and so within a single day, Fia had gone from a midwife and someone who occasionally assisted the old woman to a fully-fledged healer herself.
It was a dream come true, but even a dream could prove challenging and after no fewer than seven people asking for her help on her very first day on the job, she was as exhausted physically as she was mentally.
There was still one more thing that needed to be done, though. One dream that needed to be realized.
Her hands trembling with excitement, Fia flitted around the room, sweeping the floor that was already free of dust, rearranging the vials and jars of pastes on the rickety shelf, and hiding away every unsightly little thing—a half-broken cup they could not yet afford to replace, her shawl, which she had patched countless times, a bannock, now hard and dry, that she was saving for later.
“Ye’ll drive yerself mad,” Bane said with a chuckle as he put on his cloak, fastening it around his neck with the same brooch as always; the one Fia had made for him in one of her limited attempts to learn the art of smithing. It ran in the family, but she had no real knack for it, perhaps because despite their familiar bond, they shared no blood. “Calm down. The house is fine.”
“It cannae be fine,” Fia pointed out. “It has tae be perfect. Everythin’ has tae be perfect.”
“Everythin’ is perfect,” Bane said as he slapped his hand on the top of Fia’s head and gently ruffled her hair. Screeching, Fia shoved him away and rushed to the looking glass, desperately trying to fix the few blonde strands that he had ruined while Bane laughed and headed to the door. “Dinnae fash. Ye’re too good fer Callum anyway.”
Fia didn’t roll her eyes at Bane, but only because she managed to control herself. It was something she had heard plenty of times before. In the year Callum had been courting her, Bane had never once warmed up to him and Fia worried the feelings were mutual. He and Callum had been cordial to each other, but whenever either of them was alone with her, they didn’t hesitate to tell her precisely what they thought about each other.
Callum attributed Bane’s hostility to jealousy, but Fia knew better than that. Bane may not have been a brother by blood, but he was a brother by fate. Life had brought them together so they could become a family, and there was nothing that could convince Fia otherwise.
Bane, on the other hand, attributed Callum’s hostility to the latter being strange and unlikable. Despite Fia’s insistence that Callum was a good, honest man, Bane simply would not believe it.
But he would soon. Now that Callum was coming over to ask for her hand in marriage, Bane would surely change his mind.
“I’m really nae, Bane,” Fia said, not for the first time. “He’s a good man. I promise.”
“Why is he comin’ here?” Bane asked, voicing the very same question Fia had been afraid to ask out loud for days, ever since Callum had promised her he would go to her cottage. “Why is he nae takin’ ye fer some mulled wine or some ale? That’s what I would dae if I were him an’ wished tae make a lass me wife.”
Fia forcefully swallowed down that familiar by then knot in her throat. She had asked Callum the same thing many times over the span of the last year—why did they always meet in secret? Why did he always refuse to see her anywhere other than at her cottage? Fia had never even visited his cottage in the castle grounds, though not for lack of asking.
“He doesnae like crowds,” Fia said. It was what Callum had told her time and time again, though she also knew he visited the tavern in Duror with his friends and fellow soldiers. Many had seen him there. Fia herself had seen him there one night as she was heading to the old healer’s cottage to help with an injured man. “It’s alright. I dinnae mind meetin’ him here.”
With a sigh, Bane let go of the doorknob and walked over to Fia once more, pulling her into a loose embrace. “Are ye certain ye wish tae dae this? There is still time.”
“I want it,” Fia said, nodding firmly. She had wanted nothing more in her life. “Ye ken I want it.”
“Ye ken what I think.”
Fia didn’t know if she wanted to hear it, but still, she asked, “What?”
Pulling back, Bane placed his hands on Fia’s shoulders, squeezing just slightly. “I think that ye simply dinnae wish tae be alone an’ ye have settled fer the first laddie ye found when ye could have someone much, much better.”
Bane was right; Fia did know what he thought, as he had expressed the same thought before, and just like the last time, Fia shoved his hands off her shoulders and took several steps back, scowling. It wasn’t true; no matter how much Bane insisted, none of it was true.
“Dinnae speak tae me as though I were a fool,” Fia said through gritted teeth. “I am a grown lass. Dae ye truly think I dinnae ken what I want?”
Bane let her go, one of his hands reaching up to thread through his light brown hair, making it even messier than before. She had the urge to fix it for him, to make sure he looked presentable, but she kept her hands to herself, maintaining the distance between them.
“I think ye ken what ye want,” he said. “I think ye ken that ye want companionship, but ye’re lookin’ fer it in all the wrong places.”
“I can take care o’ meself,” Fia snapped. “I dinnae need ye tae look out fer me.”
It was harsher than she intended. The two of them had been looking out for each other for years, even more so since the disappearance of his brother, Tav. Claiming that she didn’t need Bane’s help was not only hurtful to him, but also entirely false.
It was too late now, though. The words had already been spoken and there was no taking them back.
Anyone else would have yelled at her, Fia knew. Anyone else would have taken offence, perhaps even stormed out of the cottage, but all Bane did was take a few steps towards her and press a kiss to the top of her head in a brotherly manner. When he pulled back, he seemed more hurt than angry, giving Fia a small, sad smile.
“I ken ye dinnae mean that, so I’ll pretend ye didnae say it,” he said as he drew a deep breath through his nose and released it with a sigh. “I’ll leave ye tae speak with Callum an’ when I return, we will celebrate ye becomin’ the greatest healer this village has ever seen.”
Guilt flooded Fia, her bottom lip trembling as she grabbed Bane’s sleeve and gave it a small tug. Even in times like these, he was never anything but kind.
Apologies had never come naturally to her, and so instead, Fia said, “Thank ye.”
“Shut yer mouth, gnat,” said Bane with a chuckle, as he playfully swatted her hand away. He made his way to the door once more and just as he left the cottage, he looked at Fia over his shoulder. “Give Callum a slap from me.”
Before Fia could yell at him or reach for something to throw at his head, Bane was gone and Fia was suddenly left alone with nothing but her nerves and apprehension for company. As long as she had Bane there, it was easy to ignore the uncertainty, the weight in her stomach at the thought of what was to come. With him gone, doubt began to creep back into her mind, but she decided to simply keep herself busy as she waited for Callum. While she was sweeping the floor, even if there was no dust to speak of, she could think busy herself with something that was not torturing herself with doubt.
It was only minutes later that the knock on the door came and Fia froze, looking down at her dress. Though it was the best she owned, the one reserved for church and feasts, it was still plain—the wool dyed blue, with no embroidery or decorations save for the girdle she wore. That wasn’t what gave her pause, though; rather, it was the thought that she may have soiled it while cleaning.
Why would I wear this an’ sweep the floors?
There was another knock on the door, one which somehow sounded more impatient to her, and Fia hurried to put the broom away, taking a moment to dust her dress off before she opened it. At the other side stood Callum, just as she had expected, and Fia’s breath was cut short the moment she laid eyes upon him. It was always like this. Every time she saw him, it was like the first time. The excitement never faded, not even a year after he had first started courting her.
Callum stepped inside without a word, giving Fia a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He must have been tired, she thought. He must have had a rough day, training all day with his fellow soldiers, and yet he had come to her that night just as he had promised.
To Fia, he had always seemed to dominate the space in the small cottage. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin covered in battle scars that spoke of his bravery in battle. His grey eyes were always cautious—cold, someone else may have said, but Fia knew they could also hold warmth in their gaze.
Before Fia even had a chance to greet him, Callum pulled her into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her. She laughed at first, letting him pull her flush against him, but when his hands began to wander lower, sliding down her waist, she couldn’t help but reach for his wrists, stopping him.
“Callum… come now,” Fia said, trying to pull herself out of his embrace with little success. He was holding tightly onto her, clinging to her possessively even as she struggled, and after a few moments, she gave up trying to fight it. “Ye said ye wished tae talk.”
“I wish tae dae more than talk,” Callum said, in his raspy baritone. It was one of the first things Fia had noticed about him, that voice of his; one of the first things she had come to like. “I told ye I want ye, Fia. An’ tonight is the night.”
Callum had, indeed, told Fia that he wanted her, but she had also been perfectly clear with him. “An’ I told ye I willnae let ye bed me until we’re wedded. Ye agreed, remember? Ye said ye would make me yer wife.”
Callum hummed thoughtfully, his arms loosening a little around Fia, but not enough for her to slip away. “I did say that, did I nae? Well… perhaps I wish tae see if me future wife can satisfy me first.”
At first, Fia thought Callum must have been teasing her. It was in poor taste, she thought. Surely, he couldn’t be serious. It was only when she laughed and he didn’t that she began to think perhaps he wasn’t teasing her at all.
“What dae ye mean?” Fia asked, once again trying to get out of his grasp. This time, Callum let her, and she took a few steps backwards, putting some much needed distance between them. “Surely, ye jest.”
“Why would I jest?” Callum asked, hands on his hips as he regarded her with those steely grey eyes. “All the lasses dae it. Why dae ye think yerself any different?”
“I simply dinnae wish tae dae such things afore I’m wedded,” Fia said with a small shrug. She didn’t care what other women in the village did, nor did she judge them for their choices, but she knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was to have her first time with her husband. “Callum, didnae ye come here tae ask fer me hand?”
With a sigh, Callum began to pace around the room, fingers combing through his dark hair. When he came to a halt, he did so right in front of Fia, so close that she could feel his breath on her face.
“I came tae have what is mine,” Callum said, his tone dropping into something fake and sickeningly sweet. “It’s been a year. Ye have nae right tae withhold this from me any longer.”
Fia could do nothing but stare at Callum in disbelief. The man standing before her was nothing like the one who had been courting her. He was not the man she so desperately wanted to marry. He was not the man she thought him to be all this time.
How can it be? Is this who he truly is? Have I been so blind?
“I have nay right? Tae decide what tae dae with me own body? How can ye say that?” Fia asked as she stepped backwards, bile rising to the back of her throat. She couldn’t believe it, even if the evidence was right in front of her. That the past year had all been a lie, Callum had been wearing a mask the entire time and had only now revealed his true self. “Ye said—”
“Aye, aye… I said many things, I ken,” Callum said, so dismissive that his voice suddenly sounded foreign to Fia. Then, he chuckled to himself, the sound so cold and cruel it was like a physical blow to her stomach. “Dae ye wish tae ken the truth? I wasnae plannin’ on tellin’ ye tae spare yer feelings, but… well, it was all fer a bet. Me friends claimed I couldnae have someone as prudish as ye an’ I wished tae prove them wrong. An’ ye were so easy tae fool an’ so eager tae trust me. Did ye truly think I would ever wed a mere midwife? I’m about tae become the war leader o’ Clan Stewart an’ ye think I would wed a lass like ye? Ye’re beneath me station. Ye’re just a simple lass whose parents abandoned her an’ only has a fool like Bane near her.”
Callum’s words were like a lance to the heart, shattering Fia’s into pieces. She could feel it in her chest, a sharp ache that made it impossible to draw any air into her lungs, more painful than any physical wound. Her hand went up to her chest, fingers curling tightly around the fabric of her tunic since she could not grip her own heart, her eyes wide and brimming with tears as she looked at Callum as who he was for the first time.
“Get out o’ me home,” she said through gritted teeth. “Get out.”
With a roll of his eyes, Callum took a few steps closer, only for Fia to move back. “Ye have one more chance tae give me what I want,” he said.
“Or what?” Fia demanded, fury bubbling up inside her. She didn’t even try to contain it; she had no reason to. Callum had shown her nothing but disrespect and now his threats were far from subtle. “How dare ye threaten me? Ye can try tae take what ye want by force, but be warned that Bane, the one ye call a fool, has taught me how tae fight an’ I willnae let ye touch me without fightin’.”
The nerve o’ him! The mere impudence!
Callum paused for a moment, and it seemed to Fia that he was weighing his options. He was truly considering it, she realized with horror and disgust. He was truly trying to decide if he should take her by force.
“Get out o’ me house right the now!” she shouted, pointing a finger to the door. “Out!”
Callum laughed, but he did head to the door this time, shaking his head as though he was the one in disbelief. “Ye call this a house? It’s only a box with a door.”
Those were the last words he spoke to her before he left, slamming the door behind him. For what seemed like an eternity, Fia simply stared, frozen in her spot, the echo of his laughter and the ghost of his mocking gaze still lingering.
She didn’t know when she sank to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest as the tears began to stream down her cheeks unbridled and quiet. That was how Bane found her, though, a while later; curled up into herself, unable to do anything but cry.
She didn’t need to explain anything. He went to her, sitting onto the floor next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close. It was then that, for the first time since Callum had left, Fia managed to make a sound—a broken sob, one that soon turned into a howl of pain.
Callum had taken everything from her. He had taken her pride, her trust, her love, and he had trampled over it all, leaving nothing but dust behind. He had taken the man Fia loved and had killed him right in front of her eyes.
There was nothing left inside her but that gnawing humiliation, its talons digging into her guts and tearing her apart from the inside. A bet; it had all been for a bet, one Callum hadn’t even managed to win.
How embarrassin’! Tae be fooled by a fool!
Fia couldn’t accept it. She had been hurt and humiliated, stripped of her pride within moments, but a man like Callum didn’t deserve her tears. He didn’t deserve the ache that burned inside her, the grief that settled heavy on her shoulders.
What he deserved was to be just as humiliated, just as broken. What he deserved was to watch as Fia proved once and for all that she was neither weak nor small, and that it didn’t matter what anyone—especially Callum—thought about her and what she was worth.
One way or another, she would have her revenge.
Chapter Two
Two dozen men waited for his commands. Two dozen men, all of them well-versed in the arts of war and espionage, all of them knowing what was at stake.
Knox Stuart stood in front of them all, hands braced against the large, round table that stood in the middle of the room. For once, they were not in his study, but rather in the meeting chamber, the place his father had favored as a laird before him. With the entire council, as well as several soldiers gathered for his address, it seemed more proper to meet them there. Besides, the importance of their mission could not be overstated.
The Gordon Clan was getting close. Sooner or later, an attack would come, and Knox wanted to be ready. The future of Clan Stuart was in his hands now more than ever before and he feared that even the slightest mistake could set them off-course.
“Thank ye fer comin’,” Knox said, looking up at the men gathered around him. Some of them were older and had been holding the same position in the clan for years—wise men who knew their jobs well. Others, especially the soldiers, were younger and eager to prove themselves. Knox needed them all. He needed the wisdom of the elders and the fire and passion of the youngsters if they were going to face a threat as serious as the Gordon Clan. “I’m certain ye all ken why we gathered here. There have been reports that there is movement within the Gordon Clan. We must be prepared fer any eventuality.”
Next to him, his closest advisor and friend, Magnus MacLeod, stood a little straighter at the mention of the Gordons, his hands curling into fists. Everyone in the Stuart Clan knew the destruction and misery that the Gordons could bring. Everyone had experienced a side of their cruelty; some, like Knox, more than others.
“There will be a scoutin’ mission tae assess the Gordon forces,” Knox continued, his voice firm and unwavering. His men needed strong leadership in these trying times and no matter how much the thought of an attack unnerved him, he couldn’t let it show. They were all looking to him for guidance, for orders, for a plan of action. “We must ken just how many men they have at their disposal, what their plans are, if they are about tae stage an attack. It will be a small group… good soldiers an’ scouts who can go unnoticed. Stealth is of utmost importance here. If anyone is discovered, the entire mission will be wasted. Dae ye all understand?”
There was a chorus of assent among the men. The elders, those who had experienced the cruelty of the Gordon Clan firsthand, looked among themselves with some unease, but Knox could tell they were all just as eager to get the information they needed. Clan Stuart could not simply sit and wait for the attack to come. They had to prepare their men. They had to know as much as they could if they wanted to, not only win the war, but also do so with minimal losses.
“Me laird… I would like tae lead the charge.”
Knox dragged his gaze to the man who had spoken. It was none other than Callum Fraser, the son of the late war master. His father had been a competent man, one who had brought Clan Stuart to victory many times, and his death had left a vacant spot behind that was yet to be filled. It had already been too long since the man’s death and Knox knew better than anyone Callum wanted his father’s position, but he was not even half the man his father had been. How could Knox give him the rank of war master when Callum had proven himself precisely what Knox despised: power hungry and arrogant, overly ambitious to the point of fault. Callum was nothing like his father, but he could also be so persistent that the only way to keep the peace among his troops was to indulge him without giving him any real power.
He didn’t trust Callum otherwise. Any small disagreement could lead to him working against Knox and the clan.
When Knox didn’t immediately respond to Callum’s request, he continued, “Surely, a man as clever an’ capable as yerself can understand I am the best choice fer this. Me faither taught me well an’ I have an excellent track record in trainin’ an’ battle.”
How much battle has this lad seen? How can he claim tae be the best choice when so many others are here?
Knox looked once again at his men; at those who had truly fought battles for years, dedicating their hearts and bodies to the clan and their cause. All of them weathered, all of them sporting the scars of those battles. Callum had some of those scars himself, that much was true. He, too, had fought for the people of Clan Stuart, but he couldn’t claim to be the one with the most experience in that room.
And then there were those comments, the ones Callum always made in an effort to flatter him. Knox didn’t need someone like him to tell him whether or not he was clever or capable. Every other word out of that man’s mouth was cheap flattery, rehearsed and delivered for a very specific purpose. Och, how much Knox disliked Callum and the likes of him.
Barely suppressing a sigh, Knox pinched the bridge of his nose as he nodded. It would be easier to throw a bone at him. It would be easier to give him a task and keep him occupied.
“Very well,” Knox said. “I will assign some men tae ye. A small party o’ half a dozen soldiers. Ye’re tasked with comin’ up with a plan. Once it is ready, inform Magnus an’ we shall meet again tae discuss it further.”
The smile Callum gave him was one of complete satisfaction, but Knox wasn’t blind to the way he held himself, standing tall with his chest puffed out with pride. Anyone would be proud to be given such an important mission, of course, but Callum’s satisfaction didn’t stem from his desire to fight for the clan; rather, it was simply another achievement about which he could brag and which he could eventually use as a steppingstone to get what he truly wanted.
“O’ course, me laird,” said Callum, bowing to Knox. “Trust that ye willnae be disappointed.”
Knox offered Callum a small, tight-lipped smile. It was the sincerest gesture he could offer, which was to say it was not sincere at all, but it seemed to be enough for Callum, who stepped back without another comment.
“Well, with this settled, there is only the matter o’ strategy fer the attack, if it ever comes,” Knox said. “But ye all ken we are already workin’ on this an’ will continue tae dae so until we are ready fer anythin’ the Gordon Clan can dae. I want everyone tae report everythin’ tae me an’ Magnus from now on. All the plans, all the strategies, everythin’. I wish tae hear them meself.”
There was another round of whispered assent among the men. For the next hour, the meeting dragged on, his advisors and the soldiers discussing strategy and offering solutions to any problem they could think of. By the time the meeting was over, though, and everyone but Magnus and Knox had left the room, Knox was not any more at ease than he had been when the meeting had begun.
“Callum Fraser is a problem,” Knox said. Though he wouldn’t dare voice those concerns in front of everyone else, he knew he could trust Magnus entirely. The two of them had gone through much together, and Knox trusted him not only with his life, but also with his secrets. “He will dae anythin’ tae be named the next war master, but that will only happen once I’m dead.”
With a heavy sigh, Magnus laid a hand on his shoulder, giving Knox a gentle shake. “I agree with ye,” he said. “But even then, if I still live, I’ll make sure he doesnae get what he wants.”
Knox couldn’t help but laugh at that. Though Magnus was a rough man, large and imposing and serious more often than not, sometimes he could be unintentionally funny. This was one of those times, Knox thought. There was no doubt in his mind Magnus meant every word he said.
“Good,” Knox said. “He is a snake. Ye can see it too, can ye nae?”
“Och, I ken it,” said Magnus. “He will stop at naethin’ tae get what he wants. Why did ye make him the leader?”
“I had tae give him somethin’ until we ken how tae deal with him,” Knox pointed out. “An’ the council wishes me tae choose a war master, so if I must rush, then I must keep Callum occupied.”
“Aye, I suppose that’s true,” said Magnus. “Dae ye have anyone in mind?”
Knox shook his head. “Nay. Dae ye?”
“Nay,” said Magnus. “Ye also need tae find another healer.”
“Another healer?”
This was news to Knox and not particularly good news. Magnus’ wife, Effie, was the castle’s healer and she was more than competent at her job.
“The demands have grown too great,” Magnus said. “There is only so much Effie can dae an’ if there is an attack…”
Magnus didn’t need to finish his sentence for Knox to know what he meant. If Clan Gordon attacked, then there would be many who would need care and attention from a healer. Effie would not be enough on her own to meet such demands.
“Fine,” said Knox, nodding. “Dae we ken anyone who could help?”
“Perhaps we could find someone in Duror,” said Magnus. “It’s a big village. Surely, they have a healer.”
“Very well. See that it is done.”
The Gordon Clan had already taken too much from them—from him. Their laird, Alistair Gordon, had loomed over Knox’s shadow for years. He was responsible for his parents’ deaths. He was responsible for so many evil acts that Knox could not even name them all. And now they were about to attack again, threatening everything Knox held dear—his friends, his family, his people.
They wouldn’t be getting what they wanted, not if he had something to say about it. He would rather give his own life, sacrifice himself for the sake of those who trusted him and depended on him, than let the Gordons have even a sliver of his land or harm even one of his people.
There was much to be done. Knox was convinced an attack was imminent and with Callum leading the mission, he couldn’t rest assured everything would work out. The castle needed fortification and a new healer needed to be found. The men’s training would have to become more rigorous than ever, and Knox felt the need to be in control of all those things. Even if it meant sleepless nights and working tirelessly around the clock, he had to make sure the clan had no weak spots.
It was all his responsibility now. Everything rested upon his shoulders.
1306, The Summer Highlands/Lowlands Gathering and Festival
The weather was warm, and the air was full of the shouts of merchants, performers, and clan folk from all over Scotland. Twelve-year-old Alistair MacDuff straightened his kilt for what seemed like the tenth time in a candle-mark, and tried to remain still and poised, the way the son and heir of a laird should look.
He understood his presence was an exception, that his father, like most of the other lairds, was here to talk about the tensions with the English, and the increasing number of fights that were occurring along the borders of the Highlands, Lowlands, and the proper ‘English’ lands. He knew he’d only been allowed to come because he was an heir, and because he was of age to begin his weapon’s training, and to learn how to interact with other lairds.
Ewan hadn’t been permitted to come. That made Alistair feel proud and made the stillness and the stiffness of trying to behave like an adult easier. Ewan wasn’t old enough, and he wasn’t the heir to the lairdship, like Alistair was. Ewan had been left behind with the servants and the steward.
“Alistair.” His father’s voice brought his thoughts back to the present, and he flushed with embarrassment, to have been caught woolgathering.
“Aye, Faither?” He raised his chin and tried to look responsible and adult-like. He tried to ignore the itch of sweat down his spine, and the call of the musicians in the festival, the smell of the roasting meat and sweet sugary treats and the laughter of the few younger children who had accompanied their parents – mostly the sons and daughters of entertainers or merchants.
His father smiled at him, an amused smile that made Alistair want to pout. The smile said his father had noticed his distraction, and thought it the whimsy of a child, rather than something to be stern about, as he would have if Alistair had been older. “Go on lad. We’ll be talkin’ dull matters like grain and roads for now. Go and see what there is tae see. Ye can come back and tell me all about it, as I’ll nae be getting tae see much o’ the festival this year.”
Alistair flushed, trapped between his desire to do just that, his wish to be obedient, and his determination not to be treated like a child. “Faither…”
“Go. Get something yer braither might like, and a treat fer yerself. And something fer me. A new knife would be fine. Me boot knife is near dull with age.”
He still felt he was being humored, but at least it sounded like a real task. Alistair took the money pouch his father gave him and tucked it into his shirt, then bowed with as much grace as he was able. “As ye wish, Faither. Me lairds.”
Then he was free to escape the stuffy tent where all the lairds had been meeting and talking about troops and horses and strategies. Free to fill his lungs with the fresh summer air, and his ears with laughter and music. Free to find something delicious to fill his belly as well, and some sweet berry juice to cool his dry throat.
Laughter caught his ears, and he turned to see a small girl darting through the crowd. She looked to be scarcely half his age, with red hair and a simple cotton dress. A cloth belt at her waist said she was from Cameron Clan, or born into it, at least.
Alistair watched her dart around the minstrel’s stand, stopping every now and then to listen to the piping of the man’s reed pipes. Then he shook his head and went to find the weapon merchants and smiths. He would get food and a gift for Ewan next, but his mission for his father had to come first. That was what it meant, to be a responsible adult. Father had taught him that.
It wasn’t easy to convince the man who sold knives to let him look at them. It was even harder to tell, with his young, inexperienced eyes, if the knife he eventually chose was a good blade, though it felt good in his hand, and the edge was keen enough to leave a thin line of red on his thumb. He was certain, when he finally left the stall, that he’d done a poorer job of haggling than he wanted to admit, even though he’d managed to convince the man to take a silver and five coppers off the price.
His father could have gotten five silvers and a copper, he was certain. But it was hard to be taken seriously when you were still a ‘stripling youth’, as the armsmaster at home called him.
At least he’d gotten the knife, and he could roam and enjoy the festival properly now.
He found a stall selling hot meat pies and bought two, along with a mug of some sort of chilled juice. He was busy chewing his way through the first one, when he heard a shout, and looked up just in time to nearly be knocked clean on his arse as a small figure darted around a booth from another aisle and slammed into him.
His drink splashed, but he managed to keep it and the meat pies from hitting the dirt. The knife, of course, was secured to his belt, and the remainder of the money he had was safe in his shirt. Even so, the indignity of being nearly knocked over was enough to make him flush. He glared at his assailant, the expression melting slightly as he realized it was the same little girl he’d seen before. Up close, he could see she had green eyes, green as grass, and a pert mouth.
He might not be angry, but he saw no reason to let her know that. “Ye should watch where ye’re goin’. Ye could have knocked me down. Or gotten hurt.”
He expected a bashful apology. Instead, the little girl made a harrumphing noise that he’d only heard from irritated matrons at home, folded her arms, and stuck her tongue out at him impudently. “Ye dinnae get tae tell me what tae dae!” Then, before he could gather his wits to respond, she was off again.
Alistair stared after her. The cheek o’ that… that… that brat!
He was tempted to follow after the girl, perhaps even trip her up to prove his point. Then he reminded himself that he was no longer a child to engage in such actions. He was growing up, and it was important not to let such childish displays upset him.
With a sigh, he turned his attention back to his food and resolved to put the girl out of his mind. If she got kicked by a horse, or got her ears boxed by a merchant for being too sharp with him, it wasn’t Alistair’s problem.
Then he made his way to the stall selling toys, and felt his stomach tighten with frustration. The same little girl was there again, browsing the toys as he was. She spotted him, and her brow furrowed, before she ran off again. Alistair sighed and set about looking for a proper item for Ewan. He finally found a ball, and a simple wooden puzzle he thought his brother would like. He paid for them, a bit surer of his haggling skills this time, then went to explore the rest of the Festival.
Within a candle-mark, he was bemused and bewildered. The girl he’d noticed before seemed to be everywhere. He saw her at the field, attempting the games the older children played. He saw her at the story-teller’s stall, listening with rapt attention to the tale the bard wove, and found himself listening to her questions afterward with a small smile on his face. The bard had told a story of the Cauldron of Plenty, a tale Alistair had always found somewhat fanciful, and it sounded as if the girl was as uncertain as to the tale’s truth as he had been.
Then he saw her playing tag with other children her age, and chasing a small ball with single-minded determination that nearly sent her running into a passing farmer’s cart at one point.
After that, it was the clothing stall, where she haggled – unsuccessfully it seemed, but with great enthusiasm – for a dress that was several sizes too large for her. Later, he spotted her successfully bargaining for a bag of sweets from a different merchant.
Alistair tried to ignore her, but every time he spotted her, his eyes were drawn to her, as if she’d enspelled him.
She was so… unhindered. She spoke her mind, navigated the corridors around the Festival with an ease that he envied, and spoke to everyone in a forthright, forward fashion that should have earned her a clout on the ear in some cases. She played with children her own age, stopped to help a mother with a newborn bairn get some water, and chattered freely with everyone, from the merchants to the guards to the older children.
When one of the older boys tried to tease her, she didn’t cry, or back away in fear or uncertainty, like so many girls might have. Instead, she kicked his shins and stuck her chin out in defiance, leaving Alistair to muffle his laughter in his fist at the sight.
She was exasperating, and he was truly glad he had no duty to watch over her. She would have driven him mad in that case. Not even Ewan was so wild.
She was also intriguing. Alistair had been brought up to be a proper young man, and a proper heir to his father. He’d never seen anyone act so carelessly, or so freely, among others.
She was frustrating too, because Alistair knew quite well that if he’d spoken to the adults the way she did, he’d have taken a smack to his ear, and his father would have scolded him after. And yet, she seemed to get away with it almost effortlessly, as if she possessed some magic that allowed her to do and say whatever she wished.
It was a magic Alistair wished he had.
Finally, as dusk began to fall, he went back to the sweet sellers. He wanted to buy a last bag of treats, to take on the journey home. He might even save some for Ewan.
The little girl was there, nibbling on a honey biscuit. Alistair stopped in consternation, uncertain what to say or do.
She spotted him and marched right up to him. Alistair braced for kicked shins, or another sharp comment.
The little girl offered him the remainder of her honey cake, and a smile. “Hello. I’m Niamh. Who are ye?”
“Alistair.” He couldn’t seem to say anything else.
“Dae ye want a honey cake?”
“Aye. But… I can buy me own.” He fumbled for the proper coins and passed them to the amused sweet seller, then took the bag she offered in return. “But… thank ye.”
“I like tae share.” She continued to hold out the piece of honey cake. Feeling amused, Alistair accepted.
“Thank ye.” He ate it, then swallowed. “Are yer parents…”
“Niamh!” A shout echoed over the crowd, and the girl gave him an impish smile.
“’Tis me faither. I have tae go.” With a soft giggle, she reached up to pat his cheek with sticky fingers. “Will ye be here taemorrow?”
“Nae. Me faither and I have tae return home. But… but I…”
“Alistair.” His father’s voice carried over the diminishing noise of the festival. He flushed and tried to rub the honey off his face.
“I have tae go.”
Niamh nodded, then turned and darted away. Just before she was lost in the crowd, however, she turned and gave him one more cheerful grin, and a wave. Then she was gone.
Alistair turned to make his way back to his father, still dazed.
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Spring was coming. The weather was growing warmer with every passing day. In other times, Niamh might have enjoyed it. As it was…
Her belly was swollen with child, her feet hurt, and everything seemed to either make her want to eat, want to use the chamber pot, or want to vomit. She’d been assured by all the women of the clan that it was the way of things, but it made the experience no easier for her to bear. And she still had two or three more months before the bairn was expected to be born.
According to Catriona, the bairn was well, and Niamh was doing well with the carrying. Niamh knew the healer would tell her if anything was wrong. She also knew that nothing would be. Sorcha’s potion was meant to assure her of that, and so far, it had worked as intended.
None of that knowledge did anything to ease her worries, or her uncertainties. For all that she was certain that there was nothing to fear, she couldn’t help but be uneasy. The habits and fears of a lifetime remained.
Strong arms circled about her shoulders, mindful of her burden, and enveloped her in the scent of leather and metal and ink. Niamh sighed and leaned back against Alistair’s strong chest. “Is the work goin’ well?”
“Aye. Ewan says things are progressing well among the former MacTavish council. ‘Tis tense, and will be fer some time, but they’re grateful tae him fer getting them through the winter, and ‘tis enough fer now. Soon, they’ll be too busy with spring planting tae get intae any trouble. He also says his second in command, Devlin, is settling in well.” Alistair bent to press a kiss to the top of her head.
He’d become much more demonstrative since the curse was broken. And much more perceptive, as his next words proved. “What is it that’s troublin’ ye, beloved? Surely there’s naught wrong with the bairn?” His hand moved to her stomach.
“Naething wrong with the bairn. ‘Tis healthy, as we kent it would be, with Sorcha’s gift. ‘Tis… ‘tis me own foolishness mostly…” She hesitated.
“’Tis nae foolish if ‘tis causing ye grief. What is it? Dae ye wish me tae send fer yer faither?”
She shook her head. “He will come soon, he said. And after the birth, so he isnae in the way and distracting us or the healers. He fears there may be some who bear him ill will even now.”
“Then what?”
She hesitated a moment longer. “’Tis… ye’ll nae like it.”
“I’d nae like tryin’ tae tame wild moor ponies in naught but a kilt either, but I’d dae it if ye asked.” Niamh giggled, her heart lightening a bit despite her fears at the absurd image. “Ask me, beloved. Tell me what ye need.”
“Me friend. Me childhood friend. Grace.” She felt Alistair stiffen, and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I ken ye dinnae like that she’s English. I ken ye dinnae trust her, and I understand why. But she’s the closest thing tae a sister I ever had, and the idea o’ doin this, o’ having me first child without her… I cannae. Even though I ken ‘twill all be well, I want her with me.”
Alistair heaved a sigh. “Ye’re right. I dinnae like it. But, if it means so much tae ye, I can live with it. I suppose one little slip o’ an English lass cannae be too much trouble.”
Naimh felt something inside her uncoil with relief, and she closed her eyes as she leaned into his embrace once more. “Thank ye. Then… ye’ll go find her? A messenger might nae be enough tae convince her tae come. She’s had… there have been… difficulties.”
Grace’s uncle had tried to trick her with letters and messages before, at least once.
“Nae. I’ll nae go, nae with ye so close tae yer time.”
Niamh’s eyes flew open again, a flash of dismay going through her.
“But, she kens ye, and she’d nae go with someone she didnae ken.”
“She might ken me, but I doubt she remembers me with any fondness, given I threatened her.” Alistair shook his head. “Besides, me point still stands, love. I’ll nae leave ye alone when ye’re so close tae time. I promised I’d never leave ye alone, and I’ll certainly nae be breakin’ that promise at the very time ye need me tae keep it the most.”
“But then… who…?”
Alistair’s brow furrowed in thought, and one hand stroked her hair as he considered. Finally, he sighed again. “’Tis nae the best solution, but I’ll see if Ewan will go. He looks enough like me that yer friend should see the resemblance, and I can tell him words from ye that she might recognize. ‘Twill give him a chance tae see if this Devlin lad he’s training as second-in-command is truly up tae the task.”
“But… he is laird…”
“He’s nae officially laird until the Summer Highland Gathering. And this way, if his claim isnae approved, he can be sure o’ leaving someone who kens something o’ how tae run the clan properly in the leadership.”
“If ye’re sure…”
“I’m nae, but tis the best option we have.” He kissed her again, this time bending to catch her lips, then rose to his full height. “Dinnae fret.”
With a final smile and a quick embrace, Alistair turned and went in search of his brother, leaving Niamh to return to her thoughts, which were just a little bit lighter than before.
Alistair had never lied to her, not since that first meeting. If he said he would see that Grace was sent for, then he would. If all went well, she would see her dear friend soon.
And with Grace by her side, not even the thought of childbirth would trouble her anymore.
***
Alistair found his brother still in the study, working over reports. He was using Alistair’s system to determine how well his own work was progressing, and by the frown on his face, he wasn’t sure of the result. “Ewan. Tak’ a break and speak with me a while.”
With a soft exhalation of relief, his brother abandoned the reports and joined him at the table. “’Tis nae so easy as it looks, being a laird.”
“Nay. But at least ye’ve found a capable second, and ye said yer steward doesnae care that he served a different laird a year ago, so long as the castle is kept functioning.”
Ewan nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis still difficult.”
“If ye’re feelin’ overwhelmed, ‘tis all right tae take some time fer yerself.” Alistair said the words with all the casualness he could manage, but Ewan immediately gave him a sideways look.
“What is it yer plannin tae ask o’ me?” His brother shook his head at Alistair’s attempted look of confusion. “I ken ye too well. Ye only use that tone when ye have a favor tae ask that ye think I’ll nae want tae dae.”
Alistair grimaced. “Aye. I dae. And if we’re bein’ fair, ‘tis one I’d nae like under any circumstances. But Niamh asked me, so…”
“So ye cannae refuse yer lovely wife, especially now.” Ewan gave a soft laugh. “Well enough. Ye ken I’ll dae anything I can fer ye.”
“Ye may regret those words.” Alistair took a deep breath, then plunged ahead before he could give in to the temptation to ‘forget’ what the favor was. “Niamh had a friend, her neighbor, whom she dearly loved. They didnae get tae say a proper farewell, which was me fault, but they’re close as ye and I and Catriona ever were, tae hear Niamh tell it, despite the lack o’ any blood tie between them.”
“And yer wife wants her beloved friend tae be here fer the birth, and afore then if possible.” Ewan nodded. “That shouldnae be too difficult. Ye’ve only tae tell me how tae find her.”
Alistair winced, knowing his brother wouldn’t like the next words. “Her name is Grace. Grace Lancaster, o’ the Lancaster English lairds who share the Lowland border with the Cameron Clan.”
Ewan stiffened, every trace of mirth vanishing from his expression. “An English wench?”
“Dinnae call her a wench, at least nae in Niamh’s hearing.” Alistair shook his head. “I ken ye dinnae like it. Nae more dae I. But ‘tis fer Niamh’s sake, I ken she loves the girl dearly. I saw that much when I encountered them at the Equinox Festival last year. I’d go meself, but I swore never tae leave her alone when she might be in need o’ me.”
“And she’s heavy with child, and could give birth soon, afore ye might return if there’s any trouble, or the bairn comes early.” Ewan scowled.
“If ye dinnae wish tae dae it, I’ll nae fault ye. I’ll find someone else.”
After a moment, Ewan shook his head. “Nae. I’ll go. There’s few enough who would be able tae tolerate fulfilling the request, and too many who might pretend the friend had scorned Niamh, or that she was…” He trailed off. “They’d try tae break the tie between them, never mind how it might harm her.” He shrugged, a rueful grimace on his face. “At least, I’ll have ye on me mind tae keep me from bein’ too rash. Me loyalty tae ye and me honor both.”
Alistair exhaled in relief. “Thank ye, braither. I didnae ken who else tae send.”
“Catriona’s husband, with a warning in his ear from his wife, if ye had tae. She’d move heaven earth and underhill fer Niamh, especially now.” Ewan grinned sardonically, then rose and stretched until his shoulders cracked. “Well, seems I’d best be writin’ Devlin and me steward a letter tae tell them I’ll be delayed. Though if ye dinnae mind, I think I’ll say I’m seeking alliance with me wife-by-marriage’s father, rather than the truth.”
“I dinnae mind.” Alistair nodded. “’Tis a wise precaution.”
“How soon am I tae start?” Ewan moved to the desk and rummaged for a clean piece of paper.
“As soon as ye can.” Alistair answered. He offered Ewan a sardonic smile of his own. “The sooner ‘tis done, the sooner we can wash the taste of irritation out o’ our mouths, and think o’ other things.”
“Aye, like farmers feuding over a half-acre o’ rocky soil as if ‘tis made o’ gold, which sounds far more interesting than it did a few moments ago.” Ewan’s voice was low with a hint of a snarl, but he was already writing his letter. “Best get me a description of the lass, and some way o’ making sure she kens I’m really from yer lady. She might have her kinfolk attempt tae murder me, elsewise.”
Alistair heaved out a breath of relief and went to ask Niamh for words that Ewan could use to identify himself as Niamh’s friend.
He was glad that Ewan was willing to go. He was equally glad that he was not going. The idea of escorting an English lass through the Highlands made his stomach churn.
However, for the sake of his love and the child who had captured his heart, he was willing to endure far more than the presence of an English woman.
For Niamh, he could and would do anything she asked. It was just that simple.
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Chapter One
Lowlands Border Town, September 20, 1320
“So, just tae be clear, ye want me tae seduce yer daughter and win her hand. And that, even though ye ken that she doesnae want tae be wed?” Laird Alistair MacDuff sipped at his mead as he pondered the request that had been laid before him. “And the lass has nay inkling that yer plannin’ this?”
“Nay. She’d never accept it.” Laird Bruce Cameron shook his head. “And in truth, nay more would I, save that we need the aid o’ her maither’s clan. These past years, we’ve been supplying border guards and warriors tae the cause o’ defending the Highlands, and we’re in sore straits for defending ourselves. Worse, an outer wall o’ the keep was damaged in the summer storms, and I’ve nae the gold tae repair it.”
Alistair grunted in response. He was familiar with the demands of war, his own clan having supplied two groups of warriors to the Battle of Bannockburn six years before. True, it had been under his father’s leadership, rather than his own, but he had led one team of their warriors into the field, and he remembered it well.
Of course, that had been before his clan had been attacked by their rival, Clan MacTavish. In the past two years, they’d been forced to consolidate their warriors in defending their home. Especially after the battle a year prior, which had resulted in his father’s death and his ascension to the lairdship.
Now, they had few warriors to spare, and little more gold. Though, if the repairs were minor enough, he might help. “How severe is the damage?”
“Tree took part o’ the outer battlements and shattered the postern gate on that side. There’s damage tae the main keep walls as well, broken window shutters and some cracks in the stone. We’ve patched it as well as we can, but we’re in need o’ proper stone masons and carpenters, as well as supplies.”
Alistair winced. Those sorts of repairs were difficult and costly, and could beggar a clan. It was certainly far beyond his means to offer any meaningful assistance in that area. “And yer kin-by-marriage willnae help ye without ye meetin’ their conditions?”
Laird Cameron sighed. “Me late wife’s clan has never forgiven me fer marryin’ the woman I loved when she could have wed a laird with greater standing. So they’ve conditions fer aidin’ me, and Niamh’s marriage is the foremost. Specifically, her marriage tae a Highland Laird such as ye.”
Alistair took another swallow of his drink as he considered the matter. He’d never met Niamh Cameron, not that he could recall, and knew almost nothing about her. Likewise, she probably knew nothing of him, either. With the Autumn Equinox Festival tomorrow, there would be plenty of opportunities to ‘accidentally’ meet Niamh and charm her.
Alistair grimaced. He couldn’t say he liked the idea of seducing a lass into falling in love with him, but that was far less disconcerting than the idea that he might fall in love with her in turn. The first was inconvenient and uncomfortable, but the latter scenario could have dire consequences for them both.
Alistair’s hand strayed to the ring he wore on a cord around his neck. That was the real danger, that he might come to care for the lass, and endanger them both.
On the other hand, sooner or later, Niamh was sure to find out the truth – that their meeting and courtship had been planned. No doubt, she’d be furious. And her anger, in turn, would cool any feelings he had for her as well, leaving them like many spouses in arranged marriages – coolly civil, but hardly passionate. That, he could live with.
Besides, it wasn’t as if the wedding wouldn’t benefit him. The feud with Clan MacTavish was a bloody one, and more than one of his kin and council had commented on the need for an heir to secure the lairdship and his bloodline. A wedding would convince them that he was paying at least some attention to their demands.
Alistair steeled himself, then met his fellow laird’s gaze. “How soon dae ye wish the wedding tae tak’ place?”
Laird Cameron’s expression shifted uncomfortably in a blend of relief and sorrow. “As soon as me daughter can be coaxed intae it. Fer our clan’s sake, the sooner the better.”
Since that matched both his inclination and the needs of his clan as well, Alistair nodded. “I can make it soon, I’m thinking. Unless… is it marriage or aught else she fears?”
“She doesnae want tae wed, but ‘tis other things she fears. I cannae speak more o’ it though. Ye should ask her about it yerself, should ye have the chance.” Laird Cameron shook his head.
“’Tis enough. So long as ‘tis nae the wedding itself she’s so adamantly afeared o’, I can work around anything else.”
In truth, it might be better for both of them if she was resistant to the wedding for reasons other than simply having a husband. It would make it easier for them to develop a polite, perhaps even cordial marriage, if she was willing to wed and he was willing to yield to her concerns on whatever truly frightened her.
He considered. Autumn Equinox would be their first meeting. “Say, a wedding by Samhain?”
It would mean a very swift seduction and courtship, swifter than might be expected, but it would also give Laird Cameron enough time to provide proof of the wedding to his kin-by-marriage, and a chance that the repairs might be underway before the full brunt of winter hit Highlands and Lowlands alike.
Alistair knew from his own experience that breached windows and walls in the main keep in winter could be dangerous for the health of the clan folk living there. And if the outer wall were not repaired by spring, it would be an invitation to brigands and enemy troops alike to attack.
“Samhain is acceptable, though ye ken I’ll nae protest if ye can convince her tae come tae the altar sooner.”
“We’ll see.” Alistair considered further. “I’ll dae me best tae bring her tae the altar by her choice, but if somehow she realizes the truth, will ye wish the arrangement annulled, or shall the wedding proceed?”
Laird Cameron winced. “I wish I could say that the arrangement rests on her willingness, but in truth…” he shook his head. “The needs o’ the clan are too great, and ‘tis past time me daughter had someone besides me tae be looking after her safety. She’s seen a score o’ years, and ‘tis best she settles down afore she gets past what most would consider marryin’ age.”
“Then are we calling this a betrothal agreement? So long as ‘tis understood that I dinnae introduce meself tae the lass that way?” Alistair was determined to be clear on the matter. He didn’t want to be accused of overstating or overstepping his position when he started pursuing the lass.
“Aye, though I’d prefer if we kept it a verbal agreement rather than a written one.” Laird Cameron gave him a wry look. “Me daughter is curious as a cat and twice the troublemaker when she’s o’ a mind. A written contract she might find, and then there’s nae tellin’ what she’d dae.”
Yer word is sufficient fer me, and I’ll trust mine is the same.” Alistair lifted his tankard in a toast to seal the bargain, and Laird Cameron followed suit.
He drained the rest of his tankard and rose from his seat. “If there’s naught else tae discuss, best I seek me bed. I wouldnae wish tae be at less than me best if I’m tae seek out yer daughter and try tae win her heart, and her hand.”
Laird Cameron nodded. He looked weary, and Alistair couldn’t fault him. They were both in difficult positions and forced into doing things they weren’t entirely proud of for the sake of their clans and their kinsmen.
Back in his room, he went over the description Laird Cameron had given him.
‘Look fer a slender lass with hair the color o’ deep autumn leaves and eyes the color o’ summer meadows. She’s slim like a reed, and fair-skinned, save for the dots o’ darker sun-color across her nose, cheeks and forearms, like she’s been sprinkled with fairie kisses. She’ll be unescorted, wearin’ a Cameron tartan, and carryin’ a well-worn satchel.’
She certainly sounded pretty enough, and easy to identify, but only tomorrow would reveal the truth.
Alistair settled into his bed, his mind turning over the different methods by which he might make the best first impression.
Niamh Cameron… I look forward tae meeting ye. And though I ken I can never love ye, if the fates are kind, then mayhap at least we can have the comfort o’ a cordial relationship and the knowledge we saved both our clans.
Chapter Two
The next day…
“Och, I cannae believe ‘tis so late already!” Niamh checked her hair once more, ensuring that the plaits that bound it back from her face were neat and even, then turned and scooped up the parchment list she’d been perusing a moment before. “I’d best be hurryin’ or Grace will be addin’ ‘Cannae be on time’ to me list!”
The thought made her chuckle, even as she folded the parchment and tucked it away. Every year, she and her best friend, Grace, met at the Autumn Equinox Festival to talk and share their respective ‘list of sins’. Though it had long since become a source of amusement between them, for the two girls, it had a second, far more important purpose.
The list was all the things they’d each done over the year to avoid being considered marriageable material. They were both determined to be spinsters – Grace wished to defy her cruel, greedy uncle, and Niamh had no wish to face the expectations that came after marriage.
She was rather proud of her list this year. She’d managed to step on the toes of no less than a dozen hopeful young men at dances, gotten drunk three times, and committed a host of other improprieties that had turned aside the interests of every man her father had attempted to introduce her to.
Now in her twentieth year, she only had a few more years before she would be considered too old to be a wife to anyone – unless some widower who already had heirs decided he wanted a gentle young caretaker in his later years.
But that was a concern for later. For now, she was going to meet Grace, and the two of them could enjoy sharing their respective lists before they went to explore the festival together.
Grace had said she would be waiting near the minstrel’s platform, in the little patch of woodland that stood behind it. With the tensions of recent years, Grace was shy of wandering the fair alone. A single word would reveal her English parentage, and they’d had folk take offense more than once.
It wasn’t Grace’s fault, and she’d no part of the fighting, and yet, people could be suspicious and cruel. Niamh increased her pace at the thought.
She was so intent on making her way that she didn’t see the man stepping out of the smithy stall until she crashed into him.
Niamh staggered, dropping the roll of parchment as she stumbled. Then a firm hand caught her elbow, and she found herself looking up into the amused eyes of the man she’d just run into.
He was tall, and as well-muscled as any of her father’s warriors, if not more so. His midnight-hued hair was bound firmly at the nape of his neck in a warrior’s tail, leaving a clear view of piercing green eyes and a strong, square jaw. At her appraisal, one eyebrow rose, a small smile quirking one corner of the stern-looking mouth before he spoke. “In a hurry are we, lass?”
Niamh colored. “’Tis nay business o’ yers, but I’m on me way tae meet a friend, and I dinnae want tae be late.”
“So ye’d rather be rude instead, is that it?”
“I didnae intend tae run intae ye!”
He made a soft noise, like a muffled laugh. “Och, I ken that, but ye’ve neither apologized, nor given yer name or any other courtesy.”
She hadn’t, that was true, but she didn’t feel like admitting it. “Ye’ve scarce introduced yerself either. And ye’ve nae call tae be holdin’ me so close.”
“Well, when a lovely creature such as yerself runs intae me without so much as a ‘by yer leave’, I cannae help being curious and wantin’ tae ken more about her.” His gaze flicked downward. “Och, and what’s this?”
To Niamh’s horror, he bent down and picked up her list, which had not only fallen to the ground, but unfolded as well. He read the first line with a smirk on his face. “Niamh’s list o’ sins, is it?”
“Give that back tae me!” She grabbed for the parchment, but he flicked it out of her reach with a grin. “That’s nae any o’ yer business.”
“Och, and why nae? I could add tae this list o’ misbehaviors.” He pretended to scrawl something in the air. “Is rude tae strangers, mayhap? Or perhaps ‘inclined tae collide with random men’?” He glanced at the list again. “Though, I’ll own yer list seems quite long enough already.”
Niamh felt as if her cheeks were afire, and she was acutely aware of the festival goers who were watching with amusement. “If I give ye me name and an apology, will ye give me back my list?”
“Aye.”
“Very well. I’m Niamh Cameron, and I’m sorry fer runnin’ intae ye.”
He smiled and deposited the folded parchment in her hand. “Yer apology is accepted, though I cannae say I’m sorry for our collision. Be that as it may…” His hand cupped her chin as he leaned closer to her. “Me name is Alistair MacDuff, and I’m very pleased tae meet ye.”
Niamh flushed and pulled away from his hand. “Och, I dinnae recall givin’ ye permission tae touch me in such a manner, sir. And ye’ve taken liberties enough, reading me list.”
Alistair smiled. “Aye… I’ll own I’ve been a wee bit forward with ye, me lady, but truth is, ‘tis been a fair long time since I met such an intriguing lass.”
“’Tis been some time since I met so bold a rogue, and yet I dinnae see it as a reason fer bein’ uncouth and improper,” Niamh retorted.
One dark eyebrow rose, a teasing smirk tugging his stern mouth. “And yet, yer list would lead me tae believe yer the sort tae like a bit o’ rogue in yer menfolk.”
“Then ye’re fair deceived, fer in truth I’d like nae any sort o’ man at all, and the list…” Niamh stopped before she revealed that particular secret. “The list contains me reasons why I feel nae any sort o’ man should want me.”
“Is that so? Perhaps I should beg another look, fer I didnae see aught that was so objectionable. But then…” Alistair smiled, and Niamh felt her heart skip a bit in spite of herself. “I confess I admire a pretty lass with character and a ready wit.”
“Then ye’re looking in the wrong direction, fer there’s many a fairer lass at this festival, and plenty o’ them with more wit and grace than meself.”
“So ye say, mlady, but I prefer tae judge fer meself. One man’s dross is another man’s gold, and I think ye gleam bright indeed.”
Niamh felt herself blushing under the compliment. “Then yer eyes or yer wits are addled. Or else, ‘tis a joke ye intend to tell.”
“Nay jest. And nay addled wits, nor too much mead and ale, if that’s what yer thinkin’, me bonny lass.” Alistair tipped his head. “But if ye think I jest, then perhaps a wager? Spend the day attending the festival with me, and if I havenae indeed convinced ye by sunset o’ me sincerity, then claim a forfeit if ye like. But if I have, then ye’ll give me leave tae call on ye again.”
It was an intriguing offer, but Niamh shook her head. “Nay. I cannae. I told ye afore, I’m meeting a friend, and I promised tae walk the festival with her.”
“A friend’s a bonny chaperone, since ye think me a rogue.” Alistair stepped closer. “Walk the fair with me, lass. I can promise ye a day ye’ll enjoy, and one ye’ll remember fer many Autumn’s tae come.”
Niamh had no doubt he spoke the truth. But she also feared what his sincerity might mean for her own resolve. She opened her mouth to refuse him.
At that moment, a group of men, some half-dozen at the least, came staggering out of the nearby tavern, cursing and stumbling. The last was shoved from the building by an irate looking man that Niamh recognized as Seamus, the tavern keeper. “Dae yer brawlin’ and boastin’ elsewhere! I’ll nae have broken tables and chairs here, nor knife holes and flyin’ blades in me tavern, making the sensible folk afeared! If ye cannae act like proper clansmen, then dinnae come back until ye’ve regained yer wits!”
“Ye’ll regret losing our coin!” One of the drunken men was a bit more belligerent than his fellows.
“I’ll nae, fer I’ll save more than I’ll lose in nae havin’ tae replace me crockery and furnishins.” Seamus retorted. The tavern door closed firmly in the faces of the drunkards.
One of the men muttered something to a nearby clansman wearing the tartan of a different clan. Niamh was too far to hear what was said, but the effect was immediate. The second man let out a snarl and made a drunken swipe at the speaker, and the festival lane was soon embroiled in a brawl.
She’d scarcely registered the chaos heading her way when Alistair swept her up and behind him, putting himself between her and the tangled knot of flying fists and barely intelligible insults. Niamh scowled at his back. “What are ye daeing?”
“I couldnae leave so fair a lass in danger o’ bein’ harmed by these louts.”
“There’s guards at the festival. They’ll have heard the ruckus.” Her father’s guards were quick and strong, and she was confident they’d arrive to handle the matter before it got too out of hand.
“Aye. But until they arrive, permit me the honor o’ protecting ye.”
Niamh grimaced. She couldn’t say she disliked having Alistair’s protection, nor could she deny the tiny shiver of delight that passed through her at the knowledge that he was willing to stand between her and a gaggle of rowdy drunkards.
However, none of that changed the fact that time was passing, and she was surely late to meet Grace. That was vexing enough to cancel any enjoyment she might have felt in being watched over by such a handsome clansman. “If ye’d only left me well enough alone, I’d be far from here and in nay need o’ protecting.”
Alistair turned. “Are ye so sure o’ that? There’s more than one place taeday selling food and drink, and I’ll wager this isnae the only brawl the festival will see – or has seen already, if the time the guards are taking tae arrive is any indication.”
He might have been right, but Niamh wasn’t going to concede the point to him so readily. “Be that as it may, I’d nae be at risk o’ bein involved in this one if ye hadnae delayed me.”
“Mayhap, but ye’d also nae have anyone tae help keep ye safe.” He smirked at her.
Niamh glared back. “I never said I was in need o’ any such thing!”
As Alistair was about to respond, one of the men staggered out of the melee and slammed into him. Before Niamh could quite understand what was happening, she was backed up against the wall, Alistair’s hands planted against the stone on either side of her face. It was only when he shifted his weight to plant a boot against the drunkard’s gut and shove him back toward his fellows that she realized how close she’d come to being knocked down, perhaps even trampled.
Alistair gave her another of his crooked half-smiles. “Are ye so sure o’ that, lass? If I hadnae been between ye, the fool might have done ye harm. ‘Twould be a shame tae damage such a bonny face.”
Niamh’s cheeks felt hot as coals, her face flushed by her embarrassment and by the sensation of having a man so close to her. Alistair hadn’t made any move to straighten, and she could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across her face, smell the scent of spiced meat and mulled cider he’d consumed earlier in the day. “I…”
Her words trailed off as her eyes met his. Deep, glittering eyes that held a sheen like the emerald she’d seen in one of her mother’s rings, many years ago. They were mesmerizing, and Niamh looked away.
Looking down, she noticed a sturdy leather cord about his neck, from which hung a simple ring bearing a tri-corner eternity knot. The ring itself was far too small to fit a hand such as Alistair’s. Daes he have another lass he’s interested in?
The idea that he might be a rake, and simply toying with her stung more than it should. She raised her head to confront him about it, only to pause as he bent to murmur in her ear. “Ye say ye dinnae want protection, and ye’re angered that I’ve apparently delayed yer meeting with yer friend. But can ye really say ye object tae me company?”
“I cannae say I asked fer it, nor that I welcome it overmuch, yer current protection o’ me notwithstanding.” Her voice was quieter than she meant it to be.
“Why nae let me accompany ye? I dinnae mind having yer friend walk with us. And I’m sure ye’ll nae find me company lacking.” His smile deepened. “Besides, there’s our wager tae be concluded.”
“I’ve said it afore, I never agreed tae any wager.” Niamh hissed the words.
“But ye never refused it either.”
“I…”
Whatever she had intended to say was drowned out by a roar of sound as something happened within the melee. She started to lean forward to see around Alistair’s shoulders, when someone shoved, or fell, into his shoulder.
Caught off guard and off balance, Niamh stumbled, then froze as something brushed her cheek. Her head turned, just as Alistair shifted his weight.
Their lips met, and Niamh’s cheeks flamed crimson and all thought ceased as she tasted the spices on his mouth, felt the soft, slightly rough dryness of his lips, gently caressing her own, light as the edge of a bird’s wing. Then she came to her senses and she jerked backwards. Her hand rose to deliver a stinging slap to his jaw. “You rogue! I never gave ye permission tae kiss me!”
Enya examined Fiona’s arm, cradling the fragile limb in her hands. Fiona was an old woman—she had been ever since Enya could remember, and now her bones seemed more brittle than ever, to the point where Enya visited her little cottage often in order to help her as much as she could. Though there was nothing she could do to strengthen her limbs, much to her chagrin, she could at least heal her whenever she broke a bone or sprained a joint, lessening her pain as much as she could.
“How did ye even dae this, Fiona?” she asked, tutting to herself. “I’ve told ye tae be careful.”
“When ye’re me age, lassie, it doesnae matter how careful ye are,” Fiona said, her pale, rheumy eyes staring up at her. “Dinnae fash. I ken how tae take care o’ meself.”
Enya didn’t know whether that was true. After all, Fiona lived in a cottage in the middle of the woods, away from everyone else even now in her advanced age. Were something to happen to her and she could not send for help, there would be no one there to help her.
Enya didn’t know why she insisted on being away from people, though she supposed it would be the same for her if she didn’t have her family to rely on. Fiona, like the MacLeods had a power, though neither her nor any of Enya’s siblings knew what that power was. All they knew was that she preferred to keep herself isolated and that they were the only ones with whom she was so well acquainted—which was to say not well at all.
Even with Enya’s frequent visits to her, Fiona remained a mystery to her. Her cottage was small, holding just the necessities within its four walls—a rickety bed, two wooden chairs, a small table, and a stove—but she had somehow managed to plant a sprawling garden, even as she lived in the middle of the forest. Enya didn’t know whether she had simply found a large clearing or she had cleared out the area herself as a younger woman—either seemed likely, and even if she asked, she knew she would receive no satisfactory answer. Especially in the summer, though, the air always smelled of flowers, their scent permeating every part of Fiona’s home.
Pressing her fingers against the fracture, Enya let her energy pour from he hands to Fiona, healing her. Warmth spread over her hands, as always, along with that familiar tingling sensation which told her the job was being done. Within moments, Fiona was as good as new, stretching her arm to test it.
“Ach, thank ye, Enya,” Fiona said, taking her hand in hers and giving it a gentle pat. “Ye’re a good lass. I dinnae ken what I’ll dae without ye now that ye’ll be gone.”
Enya frowned at that, confusion and a vague sense of dread settling heavy over her shoulders. “What dae ye mean?” she asked. “I am nae goin’ anywhere.”
“Aye,” said Fiona with a nod. “Ye are.”
She was used to Fiona speaking in riddles, but she usually avoided saying anything too personal to Enya. Saying something like this was as rare as it was jarring and she needed to learn more. Where was she going? How long would she be gone?
Before she could ask any of those questions, though, Fiona added, “Ye must be careful with yer power. It is a lovely thing. A magnificent thing. But ye ken what will happen if ye push yerself tae the brink.”
Enya did, in fact, know. There were plenty of warnings in her mother’s journals regarding those who inherited this gift and how they could perish if they tried to bring someone back from the dead. Not only that, but her mother had drilled it into her mind that she could never even attempt such a thing, and Enya had promised time and time again that she never would.
“I’m nae a fool, Fiona,” said Enya with a chuckle. “I ken me limits. It would be foolish tae toy with nature like this.”
Fiona laughed, shaking her head, and though the sound was not particularly strange, there was something about it which sent a shiver down Enya’s spine. It sounded like an omen, like a warning, and a chill settled in Enya’s stomach as she tried to busy herself with her coat. Sometimes she stayed with Fiona for a while longer, keeping her company until it was time to return to the castle, but after this, she had the urge to flee.
“Indeed, ye will, lassie,” said Fiona from where she sat on one of the chairs, its legs unstable and wobbling as she leaned forward to take a better look at Enya. “Ye may think ye would never dae such a thing, but there is a man fer whom ye will risk everythin’.”
“How dae ye ken?” Enya asked, thinking that maybe at least this time, Fiona would reveal something about her abilities, but Fiona only smiled knowingly. She had hoped that maybe if Fiona avoided answering, like she had, it would have been easier to discard her warning as nonsense, but there was something about her mannerisms which told Enya she was telling the truth.
“I ken many things.”
For a few moments, the two of them looked at each other and Enya felt as though Fiona was looking straight through her, as though she was entirely transparent and all her thoughts and feelings were laid bare.
Then, Enya chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to break the tension between them. Maybe she was simply imagining things. Maybe Fiona was simply an old woman and she didn’t know what she was talking about. But even if what she was saying was true, now Enya knew; she had been warned.
And she was never going to attempt bringing someone back from the dead. She knew how her gift worked and she knew that if she risked such a thing, there was a very good chance that she, too, would end up dead.
“Ye’ll have tae choose,” Fiona said just as Enya was about to say goodbye and take her leave. “Yer life or the life o’ a man who is promised tae another.”
It was that which gave Enya pause more than anything else. She could see how she could perhaps come to a point where she would risk her life for her family—for her siblings, for her dear friend Ava, for someone who was so close to her that losing them would be unbearable. But a man who was promised to another? Why would she ever consider such a thing, let alone attempt it?
This is madness. Fiona doesnae ken what she’s sayin’.
“Why would I risk me life fer a man who is spoked for?” she asked, incredulous. “Come now, Fiona . . . dinnae try tae scare me.”
“I’m nae tryin’ tae scare ye, lass,” Fiona said and that, too, sounded so sincere that it helped Enya feel a little more at ease. Maybe it was true, then. Maybe Fiona wasn’t trying to scare her at all, but rather warn her that she was going down a dangerous path, even if she didn’t know it. “Even if he is promised tae another, yer hearts belong tae each other. Ye will love him as he will love ye.”
A strange sense of loss gripped Enya then, as though she was experiencing the heartbreak that was to come. Never before had she felt like this, as though a part of her was being torn, permanently removed and lost to time.
Was this nothing but a glimpse of what was to follow? Was she going to love this man only to watch him with another woman in her place?
It all felt so distant, but at the same time real, as though it was already happening to her. It was a jarring sensation, leaving her unmoored and uncertain of her own feelings, of what was real and what wasn’t. Who was this man? Had she already met him? If she hadn’t, how could she already feel this loss deep in her gut, like a blade plunged into her?
“Dinnae fear,” said Fiona as she pushed herself off the chair with some difficulty, hobbling over to Enya to place a hand on her shoulder. “But choose wisely.”
As Fiona guided Enya to the door, Enya stopped and turned to face her once more. “Ye said I would go . . . somewhere,” she said. “Is that what ye meant?”
For a moment, Fiona looked at her with a confused frown, head tilted to the side. Then, understanding dawned on her and she laughed, shaking her head.
“Ach, nay,” she said. “But there are travels ahead o’ ye. They will come tae pass, but what happens after is in yer hands.”
That was some relief, at least, to hear that her death wasn’t predetermined and that she could create her own fate. She didn’t know where her travels would take her, but she had the feeling they would lead to that man, and she couldn’t help but hope they wouldn’t come for a long time.
“Go now,” said Fiona as she grabbed a basket from the windowsill by the door, filled with flowers and jams and honey. She always insisted on thanking Enya like this and wouldn’t allow her to leave if she didn’t take what was offered. “I’ll see ye in a few weeks.”
“Take care, Fiona,” Enya said, a mock chiding seeping into her tone, as though she was talking to a particularly careless and rambunctious child. “An’ be careful this time.”
As she headed down the path back to the castle, Fiona’s words echoed in her mind.
Yer hearts belong tae each other. Ye will love him as he will love ye even if he is betrothed to another.
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