Author: Kenna Kendrick
Claimed by a Ruthless Scot – Extended Epilogue
Castle Grant, three months later
Marriage had not altered Castle Grant so much as it had altered Elaina’s place within it. What had once felt vast, unfamiliar, and only conditionally hers had, in the weeks since the wedding, become as natural to her as breath.
There were keys now in her keeping, lists set before her, disputes brought to her for judgment when Duncan was away, and a hundred small duties which, rather than burdening her, seemed only to root her more firmly into the life she had chosen.
She had adapted to being Duncan’s wife with a grace that surprised even herself.
It wasn’t because the role was without demand, for it was not. Nor was it because she had forgotten all fear, for one did not wholly forget such things. It was simply because she had entered into this life by her own consent. That difference altered everything. To walk beside Duncan in the hall, to sit with him at table, to hear herself addressed as lady of the house, all of it carried a private sweetness that had not yet diminished with familiarity.
That morning, however, even these accustomed comforts did little to quiet the strange fluttering within her.
She had risen earlier than usual, though not from restlessness alone. There was a brightness in her which seemed to defy both calm and concealment, a secret warmth that had followed her through the day and made every ordinary task feel charged with meaning.
More than once, she had caught herself smiling for no reason at all. More than once, she had placed an absent hand against herself, then quickly drawn it away, though there was no one there to observe the gesture.
She had to find Duncan.
That necessity, once formed, overtook every other concern. She endured breakfast with imperfect attention, listened to a steward’s report with less patience than it deserved, and only after a determined attempt at normality did she abandon all pretense and set out in search of him.
He was not in his study, nor in the solar, nor upon the training ground, where she had half expected to find him with Iain. A maid told her he had passed through the inner court not long before. A groom thought he might have gone toward the western side of the castle.
Catriona, when encountered in the passage with a basket of dried herbs balanced upon one hip, smiled at her inquiry. “If me braither has any sense, he will be exactly where ye need him tae be.”
Elaina would have questioned her further, but Catriona only laughed and continued on her way.
So, Elaina went on alone, through sunlit corridors and stairways worn smooth by generations of use. Her hand would brush now and then along the stone as if the castle itself might help direct her. At length, with no clear reason beyond instinct, she turned toward the chapel. The moment the thought came to her, she knew the path to be right.
The chapel door stood half open. Elaina slowed as she approached, giving in to that familiar hush which belonged only to this place. She paused at the threshold.
The chapel was quiet, steeped in the mellow gold of afternoon light. It entered through the high narrow windows and lay across the old stone in long soft bars, illuminating the polished wood of the pews and the worn edges of the aisle.
How much of her life had happened within those walls. Here, Duncan had first opened his heart to her without reserve. Here, she had learned the full depth of his grief, his fear, his love. Here, one chapter of her life had ended and another, unlooked-for and undeservedly happy, had begun.
And now, he was there again.
He stood near the front, not kneeling, but with one hand resting lightly upon the back of a pew. His head was bowed in thought. He had not heard her yet.
Elaina remained where she was, watching him. It still astonished her, at times, that this serious, steadfast, deeply feeling man was hers, and that she was his. Marriage had not reduced the force of her love. It had only gentled it into something deeper and more constant. The sharpness of early passion remained, but joined now to trust, to habit, to the quiet intimacy of shared days and nights and duties.
She stepped forward at last. The soft sound of her movement reached him then, and he turned.
“Elaina,” he smiled, and though he spoke her name every day, he had never once spoken it without warmth.
A smile of her own rose to her lips before she could help it. “Am I disturbing ye?”
“Always,” he said, with that quiet dryness which only deepened the affection in his eyes, “and never unwelcome.”
She entered farther into the chapel, and he moved to meet her, reaching for her hands as naturally as if he had been deprived of them for hours rather than moments. His thumbs brushed lightly over her knuckles.
“I have been looking fer ye everywhere,” she told him.
“That sounds ominous.”
“It is nae,” she assured him.
His brows lifted slightly. “Then it is important.”
She looked at him, and whatever he saw in her face made his own expression soften at once into concern.
“Elaina?”
Something prevented her from speaking. It was not fear precisely, though there was trembling, nor was it uncertainty, for she had never been more certain of anything in her life. It was only that the words felt too precious and too life-altering, to be spoken carelessly.
She had carried them alone for only a short while, yet already they seemed to have changed the very air around her, lending every familiar thing a new and secret meaning.
Duncan took a step nearer. “What is it? Ye are pale, me love.”
That made her smile, though faintly.
“I am nae pale,” she said, with an effort at composure that convinced neither of them. Her hand, still resting low against her gown, tightened slightly. “Only… overcome, perhaps.”
At once his brow furrowed more deeply. “Have ye been unwell?”
The tenderness in the question nearly undid her. She lowered her gaze for an instant, because happiness of this kind was almost too bright to meet directly.
“A little,” she admitted. “Lately.”
Duncan’s hand rose to her arm at once, steadying and protective. “Why did ye nae tell me?”
She blushed at his question. “Because I wished tae be sure.”
He searched her face with that earnest, intent look he had whenever her well-being was concerned, and Elaina saw the moment when concern sharpened into dawning confusion. His gaze dropped once more to the hand she had placed against herself. Then it lifted again, slowly, and fixed upon her with a stillness that seemed to suspend even the air between them.
Elaina’s breath trembled. “Duncan…”
He did not move.
“I think…” She laughed then, though tears had already begun to gather in her eyes. “Nay, I ken… I ken.”
His fingers tightened upon her sleeve.
And then, very softly, with all the wonder in the world rising into her voice, she revealed her news. “I am with child.”
The words hung between them like music.
He only stared at her, as though he had heard and yet could not trust himself to believe it. Every feeling in his face seemed to pass over it in the space of a breath, until at last all of it gave way to utter astonishment, and Elaina thought she had never loved him more.
“With child?” he repeated, and his voice was scarcely more than a whisper.
Her smile broke fully then, though tears slipped free at the same moment. “Aye.”
For another brief instant he remained still, the truth settling into him. Then all at once, he gathered her into his arms. The force of his embrace was full of relief, of wonder, of a joy so sudden and profound that it seemed to shake him. Elaina let herself be held, pressing close against him. She closed her eyes, while he held her as though she were the dearest thing ever entrusted to him.
He drew back just enough to look at her, both hands rising to cup her face now.
“Can it be true?”
She could only laugh through her tears. “I should hardly come tae the chapel tae invent such a thing.”
A sound left him then, which was both a laugh and a disbelieving breath. He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then her mouth. Each kiss felt more reverent than the last, as though he scarcely knew how to contain himself except through tenderness.
“We are tae have a bairn,” he said again, and now there was wonder in every syllable. “Our bairn.”
“Aye.”
He closed his eyes briefly, resting his brow against hers. His smile had not left him. She could feel it there, warm and unguarded, and when he opened his eyes again, they were full of such fierce happiness that her own heart swelled in answer.
“I didnae think,” he said thoughtfully, as though he were speaking half to himself, “that I could be happier than I was the day I married ye.”
Elaina smiled. “And now?”
“Now,” he replied with a laugh that was almost boyish in its astonishment, “I ken I had nay notion of happiness at all.”
She laughed, too, then, unable not to, and he kissed her again. His joy gentled into affection so deep it seemed to envelop them both. When he drew back, his hand moved almost hesitantly to rest over hers where it still lay against her gown. The touch was light, reverent, and so full of awe that Elaina’s throat tightened once more.
There was a serenity in him now she had seen only in the rarest moments. And there, in the chapel where he had once confessed his fear of once again losing those he loved, the circle seemed at last complete. He had come there once burdened by loss, and now, he stood in the same place receiving life.
“I am afraid I shall become intolerably happy,” he said through a smile.
“Ye are already halfway there.”
“Nay,” he replied, looking at her as though she were both miracle and home. “I am entirely there.”
Then he kissed her once more, and in the quiet chapel, with sunlight on the stone and joy between them like a blessing, Elaina felt the future open before them as no longer something to fear, but something to welcome, together.
The End
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Chapter One
Late August, 1603
Elaina pulled her hood down and walked into the tavern, fully aware that capture or worse might be moments away.
The door shut behind her with a sound far too loud for her liking, and she paused, feeling her heart thudding violently as if every man within might turn at once and know her for what she was: a runaway.
They cannae find me yet.
Still, the thought would not be banished. Her fiancé, Lachlan MacKenzie, was not a man who accepted refusal, and her father was not a man who forgave disobedience. If word of her disappearance had reached them already, then every mile she put between herself and those men might prove useless.
She moved forward at last, with her head lowered and her boots quiet against the worn floor. The tavern smelled of smoke, damp wool, and ale. Laughter rose from one corner, and a low argument from another. It was the sort of place one might pass through unnoticed.
“I am nae going back,” she murmured beneath her breath, gripping the edge of her cloak as though it alone anchored her resolve. “I will nae marry him. I would sooner die.”
The words steadied her, even as her stomach betrayed her with a sharp, traitorous ache.
Hunger, she had learned, was its own kind of danger. One could not think clearly while starving, nor flee effectively while faint. Worse still, hunger made noise, and noise drew attention.
A little food. Then I leave.
She selected a small table near the wall, which was close enough to observe and more importantly, close enough to reach an exit. Then, she sat down with her back half-turned, so no one might easily read her face. Before doing anything else, she lifted her gaze and began to study the room.
She counted men, noted weapons and marked the doors. There were two exits: the main door behind her, and another toward the back, half-obscured by hanging cloth. The barmaid moved with weary efficiency. Most patrons were too occupied with their cups to spare her a glance.
Good. Let me be forgettable.
And then her eyes fell upon him.
He did not belong… at least, not entirely. While others slouched or sprawled, he sat straight-backed at his table, wearing a coat that was well-cut though travel-worn. Dark hair fell neatly at his collar. A day’s stubble sharpened his jaw that looked as if it had learned restraint the hard way. His eyes were green, the sort that noticed everything and judged little, warm despite the seriousness of his expression.
Attractive, Elaina allowed, against her will.
She thought, with sudden and unwelcome clarity, that he looked like a man one could rely upon, the sort her mother would have approved of, and that made him far more dangerous than a rogue ever could be.
She looked away at once, annoyed with herself. When she glanced back, only to confirm her own foolishness, she found his gaze already upon her. For a heartbeat they merely stared. His expression was curious rather than bold. Then, to her alarm, his mouth curved into the faintest smile.
She dropped her eyes, but it was too late.
By the time she had convinced herself she imagined it, a shadow fell across her table.
“Forgive me,” a voice said easily, “but I find meself unwilling tae pass the evening wondering whether I ought tae have spoken.”
Elaina looked up despite herself.
“Aye?” she said coolly.
He inclined his head. His green eyes divulged amusement. “May I sit?”
“I didnae invite ye.”
“Nay,” he agreed. “But ye did nae forbid me either.”
She hesitated. Refusal would draw attention. Acceptance might invite more danger than she could afford.
“Very well,” she said at last. “If ye insist.”
“I dae,” he replied, already pulling out the chair opposite her. “Dae ye mind telling me yer name?”
“I dae,” she retorted.
“Well then, mysterious lady, it is still a pleasure,” he said, as though the word meant more than courtesy.
He glanced at her empty table. “Ye look as though ye have nae eaten.”
“That is none of yer concern.”
He smiled. “Then allow me tae make it mine.”
Before she could protest, he signaled the barmaid. “Bread and stew,” he ordered. “And whatever passes for drinkable ale.”
“Ye are bold,” Elaina told him sharply, glancing at the door for one brief moment.
“I am merely observant,” he countered. “And ye, me dear lady, are hungry and wary, almost as if ye’re prepared tae flee at a moment’s notice. Am I so dashingly dangerous that ye are already looking for ways tae escape me attention?”
She stiffened. “Ye presume far too much.”
A flicker of irritation at herself and at him, too, ran through her. She should have stopped indulging the conversation.
“Perhaps,” he allowed. “And yet, here we both are.”
His gaze lingered on her as if he had all the time in the world.
Against all reason, she laughed, feeling utterly surprised at herself. She cursed inwardly.
“Careful,” she urged playfully, though her fingers tightened around her cup. “Ye may yet regret that confidence.”
“I often dae,” he replied with a mischievous shrug. “But never without enjoying it first.”
The shrug was easy, practiced and far too disarming. He was a distraction. She recognized it with the same instinct that told her when to watch the door and when to move on. Yet, she did neither.
The food arrived, and hunger won its battle with prudence. Elaina ate quickly but neatly, aware of his gaze without meeting it, feeling it like pressure along her skin. She kept herself composed, but her attention kept slipping back to him against better judgment.
“Ye are nae from here,” she heard him say.
“Nay.”
She refused to look up. That would only draw her into a deeper conversation with him, and that was the last thing she wanted.
“Traveling alone?”
He elongated the word alone languidly, insinuating God knows what. She felt like smacking him. Instead, she offered curt responses in hopes that he would leave her alone.
“Aye.”
“That is uncommon.”
“So is minding one’s own business,” she retorted, finally glancing up. The look she gave him was warning enough, or at least, it should have been.
He chuckled. “Point taken.”
He leaned back in his chair with an ease that suggested he was accustomed to standing his ground without force. “Still,” he went on lightly, “a woman traveling alone, hood up and eyes always on the doors, either ye are very brave, or very determined nae tae be noticed.”
“Or very tired of being questioned,” Elaina replied, lifting her cup and meeting his gaze over its rim, daring him to press further.
His mouth curved, and it made him even more handsome, if such a thing were even possible. She hated herself for noticing it, and hated more that she did not immediately look away.
“I would never dream of questioning ye.”
“Nay?” she asked coolly. “Ye have done little else.”
“Observation is nae interrogation,” he pointed out. “Though I confess, I am tempted.”
He leaned forward just enough for her to notice, lowering his voice slightly as he addressed her. The subtle, distracting scent of smoke and clean wool reached her.
She set the cup down. “Ye will resist.”
She meant it as a command, both to herself and to him.
“I doubt it,” he said frankly.
The honesty of it sent a quick, unwelcome thrill through. That earned him a sharper look. She expected insolence and found instead something disarmingly sincere. His eyes lingered on her face, not in a way that stripped or appraised, but as though committing her to memory.
“Ye look as though ye are deciding whether tae flee,” he mused softly, “or throw yer drink in me face. Both mean I still have nae managed tae win ye over.”
“If I were tae dae either,” she replied, disregarding the slight blush that covered her cheeks, “I would nae announce it beforehand.”
He laughed again, lower this time. “Then I shall consider meself warned.”
A brief silence followed, one that stretched rather than settled. Elaina was acutely aware of him then: the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth of his attention and the fact that he seemed utterly unconcerned with the impression he made, certain she would notice regardless.
“Ye have nae asked where I am going,” she spoke, tilting her head as she did so.
“I assumed,” he answered, “that if ye wished me tae ken, ye would tell me.”
“And if I dae nae?”
“Then I shall enjoy nae kenning,” he grinned. “Mystery has its charms.”
She shook her head faintly. “Ye are far too confident.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But ye are smiling.”
She immediately forced herself into severity, which in turn, made his grin even more prominent. That unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
“Ye mistake politeness for interest,” she defended herself.
“Dae I?” His gaze briefly dropped to the loose strand of hair that had escaped her hood, brushing her cheek. When his eyes returned to hers, they were intent. “Then forgive me. I would hate tae flatter meself unnecessarily.”
At that exact moment, the sound of the tavern door opening cut through the easy moment like a blade. Elaina’s smile faded at once.
Three men entered together, pausing in the doorway, before marching inside. They did not laugh. They did not linger at the bar. Their eyes swept the room with practiced efficiency, pausing on faces, on corners and on exits.
Her blood turned to ice.
Nae… nae yet.
She knew them by instinct as much as memory: the cut of their cloaks, the way their hands rested near their belts, the faint air of entitlement that came from serving a man who believed the world owed him obedience.
Me faither’s men.
Elaina rose so abruptly that her chair scraped the floor. She ignored it, just like she ignored the curious glances it earned.
“I must go,” she said, already reaching for the coins in her pocket.
The man frowned. “Now?”
“Aye, immediately.” She pressed the coins into his hand before he could refuse. “Thank ye fer the company.”
“Wait—”
But she was already turning away. She moved with purpose, not haste, because haste invited notice. She slipped behind the hanging cloth near the back, and found the rear door exactly where she had marked it earlier.
A woman in hiding must ken every way out.
The door creaked as she pushed it open, and she froze for half a breath, listening. Voices carried faintly from within the tavern, but none followed her. She stepped outside into the cooler air, with her heart hammering as she pulled the door shut behind her.
Drawing her cloak tighter, Elaina rushed ahead. But her traitorous mind could not forget the image of the man she had just met. His eyes divulged everything: his interest, his awareness, and the perilous pull she had indulged without thinking.
Ye fool, she thought to herself.
That attraction for those warm eyes and easy confidence had nearly cost her everything. She could not afford softness. She had to be stricter with herself, because she knew that her life depended on it.
She turned sharply into a darker alley, which was narrow and damp, with its stone walls pressing close on either side. Her boots struck the ground too loudly now, while the echo of her own footsteps was chasing her forward.
Then a voice sounded behind her.
“Did ye truly think ye could get away with this?”
Elaina stopped. Then slowly, she turned.
All three men stood between her and the mouth of the alley, spreading just enough to block her escape. Daggers glinted in their hands, catching what little light the tavern cast behind them. Their faces were hard with satisfaction, as though the hunt had never been in doubt.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Run, her instinct urged, but her eyes measured the distance, the uneven ground and the weight of the cloak at her shoulders.
Could she outrun them? Perhaps one. Never all three.
The thought settled with startling calm. Then she would die trying, because a life bound to Lachlan MacKenzie was no life at all.
One of the men stepped forward, like a hunter threatening cornered prey. “Ye’ve caused enough trouble,” he mocked. “Are ye ready tae follow us back where ye belong?”
Something fierce and unyielding rose in her chest, burning away the fear.
“Never,” Elaina snarled.
She wrenched her cloak free, letting it fall to the stones. Her hands clenched, and her breath steadied as her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: dinnae wait fer mercy, demand yer own.
If this was the end of her flight, then she would meet it standing. And she would not go down lightly.
Chapter Two
Elaina’s breath came shallow and fast as the men closed in. The alley was shrinking until there seemed no space left for choice. Stone pressed at her back, damp and unyielding, while the night was thick with the scent of refuse and rain. The glint of steel moved closer.
This is it, she thought, with a clarity so sharp it almost steadied her. Run or fight.There is naething else.
One of them stepped forward. Another shifted to her left, cutting off the last illusion of escape. She raised her hands, not in surrender, but in balance. Her every sense was honed, and her every muscle taut.
Then a cry split the air.
It was sharp and sudden. It was the sound of pain torn loose rather than given. A dagger clattered to the ground as one of the men staggered back, his hand flying to his arm. He collapsed heavily to his knees, swearing, while blood was slowly darkening his sleeve.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Elaina stared, stunned and uncertain what had happened. She couldn’t hear anything from her own pulse roaring in her ears.
Then, she saw him… a figure standing behind them, half-shadowed by the alley’s mouth.
The man from the tavern.
He regarded the scene with an expression so calm it bordered on disinterest, as though he had merely interrupted an inconvenience.
“Ye ken,” he said mildly, “three men against one woman says a great deal about yer character and none of it flattering.”
One of the remaining men spun around with his blade raised and surprise flashing across his face. The other reacted faster. A rough arm locked around Elaina’s shoulders, yanking her back against a solid chest. Cold steel kissed her throat.
Her breath caught, pain flaring where the edge pressed just hard enough to warn.
“Another step,” the man snarled, “and she bleeds.”
Her savior stopped at once. The air seemed to tighten around him. Gone was the easy humor and the careless charm. His gaze fixed on the man holding her. His green-hazel eyes were sharp now, as hard as tempered steel.
“Let her go,” he ordered.
The man laughed. She could feel his breath against her ear as he spoke. “Or what?”
The man from the tavern exhaled slowly, almost wearily. “Or this becomes unpleasant.”
Elaina’s heart hammered so violently she was certain they could all hear it. She forced herself not to struggle, not to give the man any excuse to draw the blade tighter. She locked her gaze with her savior’s. In them she saw something that frightened her nearly as much as the knife at her throat. It was not fear, but certainty that bordered on foolishness. For he, too, was one man against two.
The grip around her body tightened menacingly. “Ye should have minded yer own business.”
The man from the tavern inhaled deeply. “I tried that earlier taenight with that very lass standing next tae ye… I have tae say, it didnae suit me, nor daes this.”
The moment stretched, fragile as glass. Then, he moved.
The motion was so swift Elaina scarcely registered it as such. The man from the tavern caught the wrist mid-strike with a precision that suggested long habit. There was a sharp twist, a wet crack of bone, and the dagger fell uselessly to the stones. Before the attacker could even cry out, he drove an elbow into his throat and sent him crashing backward into the wall. He slid down it bonelessly, unconscious before he reached the ground.
It was over. He didn’t even look at him again.
Elaina stared, stunned, her mind struggling to catch up with what her eyes had seen. There had been no wasted motion, no fury… only control, as though the man had never been a threat at all.
The one holding her swore and dragged her tighter against him, the dagger biting enough to draw a thin line of fire along her skin.
“Stay back!” he shouted, panic finally cracking his voice.
He turned his full attention to them, moving slowly toward them, one step at a time. He did not look like a man in the midst of violence. He looked like a man dealing with an inconvenience he had already solved.
“Ye’re shaking,” he observed calmly, with his eyes on the man’s hand, not Elaina’s face. “That makes ye dangerous. And mistakes tend tae follow.”
“Dinnae come any closer!” the man barked.
Elaina’s heart pounded so fiercely she thought she might faint, yet she could not tear her gaze from him. This was not the charming stranger from the tavern. This was something far colder and far more capable.
“Let her go,” he said again, softly now. “Ye still have a chance tae walk away.”
The man laughed, but it sounded shrill and desperate. “Ye think I fear ye?”
His mouth curved not in humor, but in something infinitely worse.
“Nay,” he said.“But I think ye should.”
The enemy hesitated. That was all it took.
He struck the man’s wrist with brutal precision, disarming him in a blur of motion and freeing Elaina. The dagger flew from the enemy’s grasp as her savior twisted, hooked an arm around his neck, and wrenched him backward. Elaina stumbled free just as he drove the man face-first into the stone wall.
Elaina stood frozen, her pulse roaring in her ears, staring at the three men sprawled helplessly at their feet. He turned to her at last.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked quietly.
She swallowed hard, acutely aware that her legs were trembling and that she could not quite remember how to speak.
“Nay,” she managed. “I… nae.”
His gaze flicked briefly to her throat, to the faint line where the blade had pressed, and something dark flashed through his eyes, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.
“Good,” he said.
Only then did Elaina fully grasp what unsettled her most. He had not broken a sweat. And she knew that if there had been ten men instead of three, the outcome would have been exactly the same.
Then, he caught her by the arm in a firm and unyielding grip, pulling her away from the alley before she could do so much as draw a full breath. Elaina stumbled after him, feeling the world tilting as the narrow passage fell away behind them.
“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “Where are ye taking me?”
“Somewhere with fewer knives,” he replied without slowing.
“And tae whom,” she demanded, struggling to keep pace, “dae I owe me life?”
He glanced back at her then, a corner of his mouth lifting in a faint, infuriating smirk. “Mostly tae me curiosity.”
She yanked her arm slightly, though she did not pull free. “That is nae an answer.”
“It is the most honest one I have,” he said simply. “I am taking ye tae the inn where I am staying. Ye may decide what tae dae after that.”
They turned onto a broader street, lantern light spilling over the stones. Only then did he loosen his grip, though he did not release her entirely.
“Me name is Duncan Grant,” he added, as though mentioning the weather.
The name struck her with the force of a blow.
Grant. Laird Duncan Grant.
Her steps faltered.
He noticed at once. “Ye recognize it.”
“Aye,” she said quietly.
How could she not? The Grants and the MacKenzies had been enemies for years, their clashes spoken of in hushed tones and sharp warnings. Men were raised on those stories, while women learned to fear them.
That was the moment when hope stirred. It was small and dangerous, yet irresistibly present. If she were with him, if she disappeared into Grant lands, her fiancé Lachlan MacKenzie would never think to look there. Pride alone would blind him. Besides, he would never assume that she had gone with the enemy… not in a million years.
She lifted her gaze to Duncan, studying him anew. That ease with which he had fought, that confidence, that control… and then, she noticed everything else.
He was infuriatingly handsome. There was a roughness to him that only made his features more striking now. His coat hung open, revealing the breadth of his shoulders and the solid strength of his muscular frame. She noticed a small scar by his left temple, hidden by a handful of dark curls.
Elaina felt a traitorous warmth stir in her chest. She scowled at herself. She had nearly been dragged back to a life she would rather die than endure, and yet here she was, cataloguing the breadth of a stranger’s shoulders and the steadiness of his hands.
It was absurd. Reckless. Dangerous.
Worse still, it unsettled her how safe she felt walking beside him.
Realizing then that he was still holding her, she shifted slightly, reaching up to adjust her cloak, which a thin pretext but enough to satisfy her pride. As she pulled away, his hand loosened and Duncan made a low sound, which was sharp and involuntary.
He faltered half a step.
Elaina froze. “Ye’re hurt.”
“It’s naething,” he said at once, waving it off and straightening.
She turned on him so quickly he stopped short. “Ye dinnae ken that.”
His brow lifted, faintly amused despite the pallor she now noticed beneath the lantern light. “I beg yer pardon?”
“Ye groaned,” she pointed out. “Men who are unharmed dinnae dae that.”
She reached for him without thinking, as her fingers closed around his sleeve. The contact sent a jolt through her in an amalgamation of awareness, heat and something dangerously close to familiarity.
Duncan looked down at her hand, then back to her face, his mouth curving. “And here I thought I was the one rescuing ye.”
“Ye are bleeding,” she said, pretending to unimpressed by him and what he had done.
“Only a little.”
“Enough,” she replied, “tae warrant attention.”
She stepped closer, her focus narrowing as it always did when someone was injured. The world fell away as her eyes tracked the dark stain spreading beneath his coat.
“Let me see,” she insisted.
He studied her for a moment, as though weighing resistance purely out of principle. Then he sighed. “Very well. But if ye intend tae scold me, be brief.”
She ignored the remark and tugged his coat aside just enough to confirm what she had suspected. The wound was not deep, but it was still a bad cut, likely earned when the second man fell.
Duncan watched her with open curiosity now. “Ye handle injuries like someone accustomed tae them,” he murmured. “Should I assume ye are also a healer, in addition tae being a woman who picks dangerous alleys?”
Elaina’s heart skipped at the chance. She did not hesitate.
“Aye,” she confirmed. “I am.”
The word settled easily on her tongue. She silently thanked her mother for the lessons, for the long evenings bent over herbs and poultices and for insisting knowledge was a woman’s sharpest weapon.
Duncan appeared intrigued. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
He tilted his head. “Then I suppose I should be grateful. Still,” he added, his gaze holding hers, “I believe I deserve tae ken at least the name of the woman I risked me life fer.”
She hesitated only a moment. “Elaina,” she said, offering the truth pared down to its safest shape.
“Only Elaina?”
“Aye.”
“And the men?” he inquired.
She kept her hands steady and her voice carefully light. “I didnae ken who they were and I am grateful I never found out.”
Duncan studied her, clearly unconvinced, but he did not press. Instead, his mouth curved into a faint, knowing smile.
“Mysterious and dangerous. And apparently capable of patching me up.”
Her fingers brushed his skin as she withdrew, sending a spark through them both.
“Dinnae mistake necessity fer mystery,” she replied with a pout she could not control.
His eyes lingered on her a moment longer than necessary. “I wouldnae dare, but I dae wonder if this is yer way of thanking me fer saving yer life.”
She glanced at him, with one brow lifting. “Daes it disappoint ye?”
“Immensely,” he replied. “I had imagined something far more memorable.”
Elaina’s lips curved despite herself. “What could be more memorable than this?” she asked lightly. “Ye ken, I’ve learned that moments tend tae linger when a healer is the reason a man walks away breathing.”
She was aware of the fact that she was pressing. She was pushing him harder than was wise, but this was no idle exchange. If she meant to reach Grant lands alive, she had to convince him to take her with him.
He stopped. The sudden halt brought her up short as well, and now, her breath caught at the abrupt closeness. The lantern light fell between them, darkening his eyes.
“Are ye any good?” he asked in a tone that was less teasing now and more intent.
“Aye,” she answered without hesitation.
He searched her face, as though testing the truth of it. “That is a bold claim.”
“I wouldnae make it if I couldnae support it,” she assured him. “Let me prove it by properly tending tae that wound of yers.”
For a moment he merely studied her, then huffed a quiet laugh. “Very well. Perhaps ye can be useful after all.”
He turned and gestured down the street. “Come with me. I am staying at an inn nae far from here, but me destination lies beyond it. Clan Grant is in need of a capable healer.”
Her heart skipped with sudden, dangerous hope.
Grant lands. Enemy lands.
The opportunity unfolded before her with startling clarity. She would have protection, distance and purpose; a life shaped by skill rather than obedience. It would be the life her mother had wanted for her.
She forced herself to slow and to think. Duncan Grant was dangerous in more ways than one. Trusting him too much would undo her carefully constructed lie before it had a chance to hold.
She met his gaze steadily, measuring him as she had measured so many risks before.
I will keep me distance, she told herself silently. I must.
Then she nodded. “I accept.”
His eyes warmed and darkened at the same time. “Good. I had hoped ye would.”
As they set off together, Elaina drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, feeling for the first time since she’d fled her father’s house, that her future might belong to her.
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Beast of the Highlands – Extended Epilogue
Castle MacLeay, four weeks later…
Maureen stood in the center of the garden path and stretched her arms above her head, tilting her face to the sky.
The sun was warm, not the timid warmth of spring, but the full-bodied promise of summer. It sank into her skin, into her bones, loosening the last of winter’s memory. For a long moment she simply stood there, eyes closed, breathing.
It was the first day of summer.
Everything was in bloom. The pear trees were heavy with tiny green fruit, the cherry branches dappled with the last blush of petals. Bees drifted lazily from blossom to blossom, and birds darted low across the grass, busy and purposeful as they foraged for their nestlings.
She bent and lifted her trug, now filled with freshly cut lavender. She inhaled the sweet scent, letting it steady her.
This was exactly the day she had dreamed of in those darker hours.
A day without watchful tension and whispers of threat. Without the constant readiness for danger.
“Bobby,” she murmured.
Her little rough-coated terrier trotted faithfully at her heels, his tail in constant motion, dark eyes bright with adoration. He followed her everywhere, as if convinced she might vanish if left unaccompanied.
She smiled down at him. “Aye, I see ye.”
He gave a small bark of agreement.
She carried the trug into the kitchen, where the air was thick with the scent of fresh bread and herbs. Setting the lavender upon the long table, she paused only long enough to exchange a few words Cook before turning back toward the yard.
There was someone else she wished to find.
The stables were alive with their usual rhythm: the shuffle of hooves, the rasp of brushes over glossy flanks, the low murmur of grooms discussing tack and iron.
As expected, Samuel was there, sleeves rolled, speaking with two grooms about which horses were due to be shod before the week’s end. He stood relaxed but attentive, one hand resting against a stall door, listening more than commanding.
She watched him a moment before he sensed her presence and looked up.
The smile that broke across his face was immediate and unguarded.
He excused himself with a nod and walked toward her, brushing a stray lock from his brow.
“Ye look as though ye’ve swallowed the sun,” he said lightly.
“I may have done.” She was unable to keep the brightness from her voice. “Today is the day fer the ride I’ve been longing fer.” She looked up at him hopefully. “Can I tear ye away from yer business and indulge me dream fer a day?”
He laughed easily, the sound low and warm.
“How can I resist ye?” he said. “It is a right bonnie day fer riding.”
There was something wonderfully ordinary in the exchange. No shadow lingered behind his eyes now. No guard stood within arm’s reach. No messenger hovered with news of threat.
Unspoken between them was the knowledge that no longer was the menace of Matheson and his men hanging over their days. Laird Joseph had brought Clan Matheson to order with firm diplomacy and an even firmer hand. They were now counted among allies rather than enemies.
Samuel glanced back toward the grooms, then returned his attention to her.
“Go and change intae yer riding clothes and join me here,” he said. “I’ll have the groom saddle yer wee mare. And in the meantime, I’ll see the kitchen tae provide us with some nourishment tae take with us.”
His eyes shifted, brightening suddenly with mischief.
“I ken a special place I’d like tae show ye.”
Her heart gave a small leap.
“Dae ye now?”
“Aye.” He leaned slightly closer. “But ye’ll have tae trust me.”
She lifted her chin with mock gravity.
“I have trusted ye through worse than a summer ride.”
His smile softened at that, not fading, but deepening with shared memory.
“Aye,” he agreed quietly. “That ye have.”
She turned toward the keep, the sunlight warm at her back and the promise of open hills ahead. After she’d changed into her riding habit she went in search of Iseabail, and found her in the garden.
“We are riding today.”
Iseabail smiled. “Och, lass, the ride ye’ve been wishing tae take fer so long.”
Maureen returned the smile. “But I cannae take wee Bobby. Will ye keep watch over him fer me while we are gone?
Bobby wagged his tail and ran to Iseabail’s side.
“He loves ye too.” Maureen laughed, bending to pat the wee dog. “Be good fer Auntie Iseabail,” she said lightly before she hurried away. She would miss her little companion, yet she was almost bursting with the thought of what the day might bring
For the first time in many months, the day stretched before her without fear.
Her saddled mare was waiting in the courtyard, Samuel’s stallion beside her. Both horses seemed as impatient to ride as Maureen did herself.
They mounted quickly and, with the portcullis already raised, were swiftly on their way.
But instead of turning toward the broad, familiar path that wound gently through the lower glen, Samuel guided them toward a narrower track that climbed steadily into the hills. It was little more than a ribbon of earth between bracken and stone, half hidden by early summer growth.
Maureen followed, curiosity quickening her pulse.
The higher they rode, the more the air seemed to change. She breathed it thinner, fresher air, tinged with the scent of pine and wild thyme crushed beneath the horses’ hooves. Early-blooming heather brushed violet across the slopes, not yet at its fullest blaze, but promising it soon would be. Bees drifted lazily from bloom to bloom, their hum threading through the stillness.
Above them, a golden eagle circled high, its vast wings held steady as it rode invisible currents. Maureen tipped her head back to watch it.
“Look,” she called softly.
Samuel glanced upward and smiled. “The True Bird. A good omen.”
The track curved nearer to the river, though here it was scarcely the calm ribbon that passed the castle. It tumbled white and wild over stone, rushing between moss-dark boulders, the sound of water gushing over rock, spray filled the air.
Pine trees rose in tall, resin-scented ranks along the steeper incline. Between them, wildflowers burst in scatterings of color–– butter-yellow tormentil, blue harebells trembling in the light breeze, tiny white star-flowers tucked close to the earth.
The mountains beyond lifted in layered blue distance, their peaks softened by the summer haze.
Maureen breathed it in, the warmth of sun on her shoulders, the steady rhythm of her mare beneath her, the sense of climbing toward something hidden.
“Ye are taking me far from the usual haunts,” she called.
“That is the idea,” Samuel replied over his shoulder.
At last, the path narrowed further, and he dismounted, tying his horse loosely to a pine. He reached up to steady her as she slid from her saddle.
“Trust me,” he said again, quieter now.
They walked the final stretch on foot, Samuel carrying the basket that contained their food and drink.
The sound of water deepened, not the rush of a river now, but something heavier. A constant falling roar.
Finally, the trees parted and before them, rising high from a cleft in the rock, a waterfall plunged in silver sheets into a rocky pool below. It was not vast, but it was secluded, held close by stone and moss and fern, hidden from all but those who knew the way.
Spray caught the sunlight in drifting prisms of rainbow colors. The pool at its base lay clear and green, its surface broken by the steady cascade.
Maureen stopped outright.
“Oh,” she breathed.
Samuel eyes were on her face.
“I found this place years ago,” he said. “I came here a lot as a lad, when I wished tae be alone.”
She turned to him slowly. “And now ye bring me.”
“Aye.”
They settled near the water’s edge, spreading a blanket upon a flat stretch of rock warmed by sun. Samuel uncorked the claret and offered a cup. The bread was broken, the delicate soft cheese and cold chicken shared between them.
They ate simply, talking little.
The sound of the waterfall filled the spaces between words. The warmth of the sun sank deep into Maureen’s limbs.
“Thank ye fer sharing yer beautiful sanctuary with me,” she said, taking Samuel’s warm hand in hers.
Without speaking, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips and she met his tender gaze. His eyes told her everything she needed to know, they shone bright with love.
After a while, she lay back, head resting against his shoulder, and closed her eyes.
For the first time in so long, there was no watchfulness in her rest. No ear straining for alarm.
Only the steady roar of falling water and the solid warmth of him beside her.
They dozed a little in the sun, wrapped in one another’s presence, the air rich with summer.
When she woke, the pool shimmered invitingly. She pushed herself upright.
“I shall paddle me toes,” she announced.
Samuel opened one eye. “The water will be cold.”
“I am braver than ye suppose.”
She stepped carefully across the rocks, lifting her skirts just above her ankles. The first touch of water made her gasp, sharp and deliciously cool.
“It is indeed bracing,” she declared.
“Bracing is often a polite word for foolish,” he replied lazily.
She turned to retort and her foot slipped.
A slimy rock shifted beneath her weight. She pitched forward with a startled cry and vanished into the pool.
There was a splash and a moment of silence.
Samuel was on his feet at once, concern flashing across his features.
Then she surfaced, sputtering, hair plastered to her face. And laughing.
“Are ye hurt?”
“Only me pride,” she called, pushing wet curls from her eyes.
Her gown clung hopelessly to her form.
He stepped carefully to the edge and offered his hand, but instead of pulling her out at once, he paused.
“Ye are soaked through,” he observed.
“So it would seem.”
His expression shifted, amusement warming into something more intent. Admiration?
“Then we must remedy that.”
He helped her from the water and, with gentle efficiency, began to untie the sodden laces of her gown. She did not protest. The sun was warm, the air kind.
He peeled the heavy fabric away and laid it across a sunlit rock.
“I think ye’ve nae need fer this wet chemise,” he said peeling the garment away leaving her naked in the sunlight. “Ye’ll catch a chill.”
“Then perhaps ye should join me and ensure I dinnae.”
She met his gaze directly.
He gave a low laugh. “Hmm.” He muttered. “Ye’re like a beautiful siren, bold and tempting tae a poor soul.”
She lifted her chin. “Well. Have I tempted ye enough?”
He did not hesitate.
Boots, shirt, kilt––discarded piece by piece in short order––until he stepped into the pool beside her.
The cold stole his breath at once.
She laughed outright.
They moved beneath the waterfall, letting the torrent strike their shoulders, the spray cooling their heated skin. They splashed, teased, stole kisses between bursts of laughter.
But playfulness softened gradually into something deeper.
The world beyond the rocks seemed impossibly distant.
He drew her close beneath the fall of water, his hands warm despite the chill. She traced droplets from his jaw, kissed the hollow at his throat, slipped her wet body next to his.
Their laughter faded into slower breaths.
He kissed her then, under the tumbling water, holding her tight so that she felt all of him and his fast-beating heart as the kiss deepened. His hands splayed across her pulling her against his hardening shaft. The sun playing on the spray of water around them.
It was other-worldly, outside of anything Maureen had known and she was lost in it, was lost in the touch of him, the flow of water between them, the feel of the sun on her bare skin
They left the pool and lay upon the sun-warmed stone beside it, the waterfall’s constant song rising above them. The warmth returning quickly to chilled skin.
What passed between them was unhurried, tender yet fierce, born not of fear or urgency, but of freedom.
They had become part of the wildness of the flowing water, as Samuel lay back, lifting her so that she straddled him, his shaft as hard as the rock they lay on.
Rivulets of water ran from her long hair across his chest and she gazed into his eyes, dark now with desire. Heat rushed through her as she pressed herself against him, kneeling on all fours to take him as she pleased, at her leisure.
He growled. “D’ye ken what ye’re daeing tae me lass, with those beautiful breasts above me and yer tasty quim so close tae me shaft.”
She laughed softly, wriggling a little so that her breasts swayed close to his lips and her entrance slipped near to his tip.
With a groan he reached up and pulled her down to him so he could take the puckered nub of her breast in his hungry mouth. She moaned as he worked his teeth and tongue, the delicious sensation fanning out and finding its mark between her thighs, heating her desire, lifting the passion already rushing like the torrent between them.
Shifting her hips she lowered herself onto his shaft feeling his hardness sliding, stretching her, filling her, as he thrust up to dive deep inside her.
They were part of the wild torrent. As free as the eagle soaring in the blue sky above. Their pleasure in each other as they joined, creating a rhythm to match the tumbling water. She cried his name as she crested the waves of delight, but it was lost in the rushing river, while Samuel’s roar of ecstasy joined the roar of the waterfall and the moaning of the wind in the pines.
Afterward, they lay entwined beneath his cloak in the sun, drowsy and content, the rhythm of water steady as a heartbeat.
They drifted into sleep.
The End
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