Don’t miss the link for the whole book at the end of the preview.

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!”