“Shite!” Étaín’s new lady’s maid Elspeth cursed again, slamming her hand on the table as she laid the cards down.
Étaín bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She knew it was rather smug of her, but it always felt good to beat someone in cards. This was a pursuit she’d practiced for years. It gave her joy, focus, and something to look forward to.
“Why dae ye win all the time?” Elspeth asked her, grumbling as Étaín picked up the cards and shuffled them again.
“I told ye that I have practiced fer a long time. It is a hobby of mine.”
Beth narrowed her eyes at her. “A strange hobby fer a proper young lady.”
Étaín laughed. She had not laughed so heartily for some time. But Elspeth, young and vibrant and full of energy was just what she needed, especially now that her old lady’s maid Amelia would be returning home, nearly full to bursting with a baby in her belly. Elspeth had been Líadan’s lady’s maid before Líadan left, full of love and happiness for the future.
“Nay, nay, I willnae be drawn intae yer criticism,” Étaín said as she shuffled the cards, and she glanced up at Elspeth. “Another round?”
“Ha!” Elspeth said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. She shook her head. “I think I have learned me lesson. Ye have changed greatly in the past few years. I would never have expected ye tae take up such a hobby.”
“Ye are only angry because I keep winnin’,” Étaín said, and Elspeth laughed.
“Aye, ye have the right of it of course.”
“What dae ye think, Amelia?”
Her cheerful lady’s maid was rubbing her belly as she looked on at the two of them.
“I think that it is very entertainin’ tae watch Elspeth get intae such a stew.”
At Elspeth’s outraged gasp, the other two ladies chuckled heartily.
“Goodness, I have nae a friend in me midst!” Elspeth threw up her arms.
“So, ye ken what ye have tae dae,” Étaín reminded her, still shuffling the cards in her hands.
The action soothed her, and it drew her mind away from things she did not wish to think of.
Elspeth groaned. “But Cook is furious at me fer stealin’ cake the last time!”
“Rules are rules,” Amelia said. “And I am here full of a child and am in desperate need of cake.”
“And what of the mead?” Étaín reminded her. “Be sure tae get some of that as well.”
“Och, but ye will have tae distract that handsome braither of yers.”
Elspeth’s eyes flashed and Étaín rolled her eyes. “I wonder why he keeps all the good mead fer himself in his study? It is nae as if he doesnae allow me tae drink,” Étaín thought aloud.
Both she and Elspeth reluctantly got to their feet ready to go complete their tasks when Amelia made a little surprised sound in her throat, and they both turned to look at her. She had both hands pressing to her belly, and her eyes were wide.
Étaín was about to call for someone when Amelia waved to them. “Come now, come and feel the kick!” she cried, and the two young ladies rushed over to her to press their hands against her firm belly.
She and Elspeth locked eyes across Amelia’s stomach, feeling little thumps against their hands. “Incredible!” Elspeth said with a big smile.
“He feels as though he will be a very strong boy,” Étaín said.
“Och, it could be a strong lass too,” Amelia reminded her, bringing out a smile on her face.
“True enough.” The young ladies sat back down and Elspeth made a face.
“Étaín, I have an idea. Let us wait a bit, and we can play again. Then, I will distract Kaden, and ye will go and get the cake if ye lose.”
At the table, Étaín picked up the cards and shuffled them again, shrugging one shoulder. “If ye think ye have a chance at beatin’ me again,” she said.
She passed out the cards, and then she turned to Amelia, who was smiling lovingly down at her stomach. “Let me ask ye somethin’, Amelia,” she said suddenly surprising even herself that the question was about to come out of her mouth. “Ye love yer husband, but how did ye ken?”
“What dae ye mean?” Amelia asked with a twinkle in her eye.
Étaín tried not to blush too heavily. She finished passing out the cards, and then she picked hers up in her hand. She shrugged again.
“I mean how did ye ken that it was true love? That ye were really in love?”
Love had so often been on her mind in the past years, and yet she felt a fool for it being so. She had loved Bhaltair MacThomas for longer than she could remember. And five years ago, like a fool, she had confessed it to him at the riverside, when he was practically naked and she but a young girl. He had rejected her soundly and then disappeared. She’d never forgotten it, and yet those strange feelings remained.
“Och, there is nae a feelin’ like it,” Amelia said, getting a distant look in her eyes. There is such a feeling in yer stomach, and a flutter in yer heart, and ye can only think of that person. That was how I kenned. That I thought of him above all others. Ye shall have that feelin’ someday, lass.” Amelia winked, and Étaín looked down at her cards.
They began to play, but she could barely keep her mind on what was going on. She hardly noticed what cards she put down.
“I dinnae think so. I think I will marry a borin’ Highlander fer an alliance or some nonsense,” she said forlornly as she laid another card.
Bhaltair was far too good for her. He was handsome, strong, a skilled soldier, and every woman who had eyes wished for him to look at her. He had never even thought of her in any way other than his friend’s little sister.
He had made that clear enough five years ago.
She hadn’t told anyone since, and she’d held onto that embarrassing secret, wishing she could forget about it, wishing she could forget about him.
When she heard Elspeth scream, she jumped and turned to her, pulled out of her forlorn reverie.
“What is it?”
Elspeth was pointing at the cards on the table and laughing. “Ha! I kenned that I would win, and I have! Now, ye must be the one tae go and get the cake!”
Étaín stared down in shock at the cards. She’d practically forgotten they’d been playing, and so Elspeth had won while she’d been distracted. Amelia leaned forward and peered at the cards before turning to Étaín.
“What’s this?” She crossed her arms. “What were ye thinkin’ about that had ye so distracted, lass?”
Étaín colored, and she stammered when Elspeth cut in.
“What dae ye mean? I am perfectly capable of winnin’ without Étaín bein’ distracted!” Elspeth complained.
Étaín grinned. She looked between them, and she knew that she could not tell them. No, that secret she would take to her grave. It would never come out anyway, for Bhaltair had disappeared, left his best friend and all of them without telling them where he was.
When she said nothing, Elspeth lifted a brow. “I think I am owed a secret instead of cake. So then, what were ye thinkin’ about? Even if I dinnae need ye tae be distracted tae win…”
Chuckling, Étaín came up with something. “I was just thinkin’ about how I wish tae find a man like Amelia talks about, someone who makes me heart flutter.”
“Och, what a lovely thing tae think of,” Amelia said, but Elspeth didn’t look too convinced.
The problem was that she’d already found him. She knew a man who made her heart flutter, but what she’d never expected was for him to be the man she also despised the most.
Don’t miss your link for the whole book at the end of the preview.
Prologue
July, 1647
A small river near Stuart Castle, Scotland
Lady Étaín Stuart was old enough now to do such a thing, she was sure of it. On her last birthday she had turned eighteen, and now was her chance, although she wasn’t sure that sneaking after a man as he went swimming in the river was exactly normal. Or in fact, something that a grown woman ought to do. But she wanted to be alone with him, and this was the best solution she could think of.
Étaín was desperate for the chance to speak to Bhaltair MacThomas alone and without her brother, Kaden, getting in the way. And of course, without her sister, Líadan, trying to tell her to do the things that girls ought to do instead of gawking at Bhaltair. But they were both back in the castle, and she had followed Bhaltair as he crept out from the keep to swim in the river. She heard his splash in the cool water before she saw him. She had hidden herself well enough in the bushes, in her usual spot.
It was not the first time she’d followed him to his favorite swimming spot. She had done so countless other times, she thought to herself with embarrassment. It was not to gawk at his strong, naked body, but rather that she ached to join him in the water. Hearing him swim, she leaned aside and peeked out through the edge of the bushes to find him in the deepest part, only his head above the water, rubbing his hands through his long, dark hair. His silver necklace gleamed around his neck, and yet again, Étaín felt her mouth go dry at the handsome sight of him.
Och, why can I nae be bold enough tae go and swim with him? Why can I nae simply say what I am feelin’ tae him?
But she did not know how to swim, and she feared that he would laugh at her if she tried. Not only that, but around Bhaltair, she became even more shy than her usual self. She bumbled and got sweaty, her cheeks reddening to an embarrassing intensity. They were all the symptoms of love; she knew that. That was what all the servant girls had told her. It was now at the point that she had to tell him.
Go and tell him. Ye are old enough. He has tae notice ye fer the grown woman ye are.
Sneaking another peek at him, she thought about all the years she’d known him. He’d been her brother’s best friend for years, so he’d known her from a young age. However, she feared that he only saw her as his friend’s little sister, although in the last few years she’d filled out in all the right places, developing a woman’s body and mind. She knew what she wanted and what she wanted was Bhaltair MacThomas.
Closing her eyes, she thought of her sister, Líadan. Líadan was the most beautiful woman in the Highlands, with stark gray hair that made people turn twice to look at her. Étaín had feared that Bhaltair would fall in love with her, but it didn’t appear he had for some inexplicable reason. They acted more as brother and sister than anything approaching lovers. She heard another splash, bringing her back to the task at hand. Pressing a hand to her chest, she counted off the stuttered beats of her heart.
Go. Tell him that ye love him and that ye want him tae kiss ye. That ye are nae a little girl anymore.
The truth was that she feared that he would laugh at her, and then she would have to run away in shame, never to speak of it again. But she could have sworn that lately he was watching her more, speaking to her more, giving her more attention than he ever had before. That was what had sparked this final visit for her to the river for her. She had thought of it all night, and now, she had to stop dreaming of him and give it her all.
Would he truly kiss her? The thought thrilled her down to her toes, and she had dreamed of it often enough. She closed her eyes. There were many boys she might kiss, but Bhaltair was the only man she wanted to be kissed by.
Turning back toward him again, she bit her lip as she watched him. She scratched at her neck when an errant branch brushed against it, and she rolled her eyes at her choice of hiding spot. She would get a rash by the end of all this, but her itching was completely forgotten when Bhaltair finally rose from the river. Her mouth fell open as she watched in slow motion as the water trailed down his hard, strong body, and he was… entirely naked!
She blinked, unsure what to do or if she should move, but she had never seen a more beautiful sight in all her life. The water slid down taught abs and over a dark thatch of hair with his manhood in the middle. She swallowed, her tongue feeling thicker than ever. She had only heard of it before, never actually seen it, and it made her mind go fuzzy, and her skin tingle. A warm liquid feeling moved in her belly and even lower.
He walked onto the bank and reached for his clothes. She had never seen him fully naked before, always turning away when he was getting out so that he wouldn’t see her. But now, she was just sitting there watching him, gaping at him, and she realized how it would look if he discovered her.
What will he think of me if he hears or sees me watchin’ him?
With that terrifying thought on her mind, Étaín turned away quickly, and tried to get to her feet. But in her hurry and worried frenzy, she fell, making a large sound in the bushes that she was sure he heard. She sat back down, closing her eyes, hoping against hope that he would presume it was an animal running through the brush. But then her heart fluttered when she heard the sound of his footsteps running toward where she sat in embarrassed hiding.
In the name of the wee man!
And when she slowly opened her eyes, she saw him peering over her, still shirtless, but now in his trews.
Thank the gods!
“Étaín?” he asked. “What in God’s name are ye daein’ here?”
What indeed?
Her mouth tried to form words, but nothing came out, and with a worried look on his handsome face, Bhaltair leaned down, picked her up in his arms, and carried her toward the edge of the river. Étaín had no idea what to do. She had never been in his arms before, and it was just as intoxicating as she’d expected it to be: warm, safe, secure and incredibly exciting. He set her down on a boulder not far from the water’s edge, and then he knelt in front of her, taking her hand.
“Are ye all right? Did ye faint?” he asked, his dark brown eyes sparkling with concern.
She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen anything as beautiful as a wet Bhaltair MacThomas, his hair falling past his shoulders, drips in his beard making it sparkle in the afternoon sun.
“Och, nay,” she said finally, able to muster up at least a few words. “Ye ken me. I dinnae faint.”
She chuckled, and he laughed as well, his smile making her heart skip a beat, that warm liquid feeling moving even lower. She had felt his skin under her palms, his bare skin. It was something she’d not expected to experience and it only made her feel bolder.
“That’s true.” He reached over and pulled on a shirt, and she tried her best to keep her eyes turned away. “So then, what are ye daein’ here?”
Clearing her throat, she tried to give herself a few more seconds to think of a reasonable excuse.
“Well, I—” She began, hating the way that she could barely think straight, barely speak whenever she was around him.
She had been planning to confess her true feelings, but now he certainly thought her a bumbling idiot. Then he knelt down again and gave her a kind look.
“Take a breath. Try again.”
His voice was calm and gentle as it always was when he spoke to her, and she stared into his eyes as she took a deep breath and let it out. Her mind cleared, at least a little, so she simply blurted out, “I have come here, hopin’ that ye might kiss me.”
She didn’t wait to register the surprise on Bhaltair’s face before she leaned forward, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck, and placing her lips on his. Time seemed to stop almost entirely. Étaín’s heart beat nervously against her chest. She hadn’t planned to just kiss him; she had planned to talk to him, hoping that he might kiss her instead. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands moved up her shoulders, and against her mouth, his lips soft and tender. But then he quickly moved back, breathing hard, and he got to his feet, starting to pace.
He put a hand over his mouth, and then he turned to her, his eyes wide. “What are ye daein’?” he asked.
Energized by her boldness, knowing that she certainly couldn’t turn back now, Étaín stood, and she stared blankly at him. “Bhaltair, I believe that I am in love with ye. At least I ken that I feel the same way and have the same symptoms as bein’ in love. I wanted ye tae ken.”
Bhaltair paused for a moment, his hands on his hips, and then he burst into laughter. “Symptoms? Ye speak of love as if it is a disease, Étaín.”
He smiled a little, but she wanted him to be serious, to understand her words. She was not a child anymore, and she understood love, even if she didn’t exactly know how to talk about it, especially when she was about to burst from the embarrassment she was feeling.
“Perhaps I dinnae ken the right words fer it, but ye ken what I mean: the sweaty hands, the tingling feeling in me stomach.” She looked down at her hands, folding and unfolding them in her lap. She feared that it all sounded so ridiculous, and that he would laugh at her again.
But nay, ye have come fer a reason, and ye must tell him now, fer ye are already in the middle of it!
When he said nothing, she added, “Me heart skips a beat when I am around. Is that nae a sort of disease?” She looked up at him, searching his eyes for some kind of answer as nervousness consumed her. She reached out a hand for him, but he moved away. “Dae ye ken what I mean?” she asked him, noticing just how scared he looked.
Why should he look scared? It is nae as if I am tellin’ him somethin’ horrible.
Breathing out, she tried one more time to give a clearer meaning to her words. “So, I care about ye, Bhaltair, more than care. And I wonder if…” she bit her lip again, fearful of what he might say or think, “if ye might feel the same?”
Her heart was so full of hope, standing on the edge of a precipice, but then it felt as though she toppled over when Bhaltair laughed again. She had not truly understood the pain of what such a reaction would feel like, but there she was, standing right there, feeling as though she’d been stabbed in the gut. Certainly, laughter is not the response one should receive when confessing one’s love; she was sure of that.
“Ye cannae mean that, lass,” he told her, shaking his head as if speaking to a young child. “If Kaden sees us now like this, he’ll murder us both, nay doubt. It is nae only that,” he told her. “But I am ten years older than ye, and who kens when I will return from me journey tae the Lowlands.”
Étaín’s cheeks burned. She had thought she was old enough to do this now, but clearly, he thought her ridiculous. She hated his sympathetic smile, his kind eyes, the way he was trying to be soothing and sensible, when in fact he was only twisting the knife in her belly.
“Why would Kaden’s opinion matter if we truly cared fer one another?” She bit out, wanting to hope at least a little that he was only afraid of her brother and that that was why he was being so heartless.
“Étaín,” he said a little more firmly.
He touched her hand again this time, and Étaín wanted to pull away when she saw the pity in his eyes. “Ye are only a child, lass, with so much life tae live and things tae learn. What are ye thinkin’, suggestin’ somethin’ like this? There are plenty of lads yer age that would love tae have yer affections. Besides, I wouldnae want anyone tae think I am the type of man tae take advantage of so young a lass’ overtures.”
Étaín watched his face. He wore a mixture of expressions, and she could tell that he was having difficulty in saying the words. He took a breath and pressed his lips together, and then he let her hand go, turning around, pacing again.
Étaín tried to think of something to say, but no words came out, and she could feel the pressure of tears behind her eyes and thickening her throat.
Nay, ye willnae cry. Nae like the child he so clearly thinks that ye are.
“Besides,” he said, suddenly turning around to face her, “I could never be with ye: ye are inexperienced and unaware of the world around ye, expectant of things I cannae give ye… And ye are nae the type of woman I usually fall fer. Ye are so sensitive, so shy and timid. We’re nae a match, lass, we both ken that.”
As he spoke the last words, he turned his eyes away from hers, as if embarrassed by the terrible things he had just said. She thought that he had already stabbed her, but it was worse than that. She felt that life could no longer go on. She was humiliated, her cheeks warmer than they’d ever been before. She wished to melt into the ground and never be seen again. She wanted to run away, to burst into tears in her room, but she felt frozen in place.
“It will always be like ye’re me little sister. Ye are beautiful and intelligent, of course, but ye are more like family tae me. I would be grateful if ye just turn yer eyes elsewhere.”
He finally dragged his eyes to hers and swallowed. Good, she hoped he was embarrassed by his unkind words. He had gone far beyond what he had needed to say, listing her faults and the reasons that he could never love her. She clenched her jaw, keeping it tight so that he would not see the way her chin wished to tremble. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she knew they would fall quickly if she didn’t take action. So instead of waiting around to hear what other things he planned to say to her, she turned around and did the most grown-up thing she could muster: ran.
With her one hand holding her skirts, she used the other to push away branches as she raced back through the woods, tears falling down her face. She would never forget that moment, the searing pain of his rejection and insults. She would never forget the words he had spoken to her.
I could never be with ye: inexperienced, young, shy, timid, so sensitive…
They were all the things she hated about herself, and she had just heard them spoken aloud. By him. Her heart was broken, and she was angry at herself for thinking that he could possibly have had felt anything for her. It was almost as if he hated her, and as she ran home, grateful not to hear footsteps behind her, she vowed never to look Bhaltair’s way ever again. She would push him and her love from her mind forever and ever.
From this day forward, I will never show meself tae a man in such a way. Never again, will I be so insulted, and never again, will I offer me heart.
Chapter One
Stuart Castle, September, 1652
Five years later
Bhaltair MacThomas stood in front of Stuart Castle. It had been five long years since he’d set foot in front of his best friend’s home, and now he stood uncertainly outside the gates. It was early evening, so he hoped that he would just look like a rider passing-by and not incite suspicions from the guards. Nonetheless, he wanted to go in. Kaden Stewart was his best friend in the whole world. Stuart Castle had been his home away from home. His own family had not been as kind, warm and welcoming as the Stuart family, and so he’d spent most of his time there until five years prior.
Until that fateful day at the river.
His horse trotted forward a little and he pulled on the reins, not yet ready to ride down that path. He had no idea what had befallen the Stuart family in the years he’d been gone: the laird, his kind wife, and his children. But while he had thought of his best friend often, he had thought of young Étaín just as much. Their last meeting had filled him with regret. He shuddered to think of the words he’d said to her that day. He had seen on her face that he had broken her heart, and he would never forgive himself for it. Yet, it had been necessary at the time.
She is likely married now. She’ll be twenty-three or around there, nay longer a child but a young woman.
He could only imagine how a beautiful girl like Étaín had grown into a young woman. In some ways, he hoped she was there. His eyes were hungry for the sight of her. But of course it would have been easier if she had not been there, easier if she had married and gone. Then he would not have to face his guilt.
Ye have waited fer this moment fer years. Stop stallin’ and go inside that bloody castle.
He spurred his horse on down the path, and the guards greeted him in surprise.
“MacThomas?” one said, looking up in astonishment.
“Aye, yer eyes dinnae deceive ye. I am here tae see Kaden at long last. Is he here?”
“Aye, he is,” the guard said. “Nice tae see ye, lad.”
“Then, please open the gate so I may go in and see him,” as he shook the man’s hand in a warm greeting. “But dinnae tell anyone I am here.”
“Aye, of course,” guard told him, and then he yelled out orders for the gate to be lifted.
Bhaltair jumped down from his horse and handed off the reins. He put a hand on the hilt of his sword and walked forward into the castle. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he felt the relief he had been hoping for. In so many ways, he was home again, regret or not, and it felt good after so many years of insecurity and danger. He swallowed and stepped forward, down the familiar passage, and decided he would go to the study first, to greet the laird, before he saw Kaden. That was only proper.
He reached the door and stared at it for a few seconds, dim with torchlight, and then he knocked.
“Come in,” a low voice said, and then he opened it, surprised to see not Laird Stuart but Kaden behind the desk.
Kaden’s eyes rose, and when they landed on Bhaltair, his mouth fell open. “Good God,” he said, getting to his feet, and coming around the edge of the desk. “Bhaltair? Is it really ye?”
Bhaltair barely had time to breathe before Kaden rushed to him and hugged him into a tight embrace. He’d become far larger and stronger in the last few years, so Bhaltair thought, and he was held tightly by a bear-man.
When Kaden stepped back, Bhaltair grinned. “I’m so pleased tae see ye, me friend. Playin’ laird, are ye?” he asked. “Good practice, I’m sure.”
Kaden’s smile fell, and he breathed out before he glanced at the wooden cabinet in the corner. “Close the door, man. We will have a chat. But first, whisky.”
Bhaltair closed it and sat down, enjoying the comforting sight and smell of the study. Laird Callum Stuart had been like a father to him. It had hurt to leave them five years ago, but it had been necessary. However, he hadn’t expected to be away so long. That couldn’t have been helped, and he hoped that Kaden would somehow understand.
When Kaden turned around and handed the whisky glass to him, his expression was grim. “I never thought I’d see ye again, old friend.” He smiled faintly and then clinked against Bhaltair’s glass before he sat down again.
“Aye, I ken. I’m sorry fer that. It wasnae supposed tae be… fer so long.”
Kaden frowned, but Bhaltair didn’t wish to discuss it at the moment. So, he cleared his throat and asked again about the lairdship. “So where is the rest of the family?” He turned to the door. “I expected to hear women laughing and yelling, as they used tae.”
He smiled, but Kaden sighed and looked down at the glass that he was swirling in his hand. Bhaltair studied his friend for a moment. He was older, certainly, and a little bit harder, lines forming at the corners of his eyes. He had a dark beard and strong shoulders, but his eyes were still the same kind blue that he always remembered.
“Faither and our stepmaither Lilly died in a fire a few years ago. We were traveling.”
“Christ,” Bhaltair said, putting down the glass on Kaden’s desk. “And I wasnae here. I am so sorry. So very sorry. They were the best of people.”
He knew he did not deserve to, but he too felt the searing pain of losing people who he had loved and had been so loving and kind to him, more so than his own father and brother. Kaden licked his lips and then took a sip from his glass.
“We have had our time tae grieve.”
“And yer sisters? Are they well? How did they get through it all?”
At that, Kaden smiled, and for a moment, Bhaltair feared that Étaín had told her brother all that had happened between them.
Ye were a total arse when it came tae rejectin’ her.
“Líadan was married tae the youngest McLaren braither, Rae, at the start of this year. She had had three fiancés before that, and all died. Dinnae ask,” he laughed at Bhaltair’s confused reaction. “People were beginnin’ tae think she was a witch or cursed with that gray hair of hers. But apparently, she just needed tae find the right man.”
Bhaltair was pleased. “And this Rae is the right man?” he asked, happy for her, but also afraid of Kaden’s next news about Étaín.
“Aye, quite so. They are very taken with each other.” He rolled his eyes. “Sickenin’ rather.”
Chuckling a bit, Bhaltair smiled, reaching out for the whisky again. “And… Étaín?”
“Nae married, yet. Bloody ruthless at cards that one. The both of them got through the deaths as well as they were able tae. We had each other at least.”
So much had been packed into that sentence that Bhaltair wasn’t sure where to begin. However, he was rather curious about what the word ‘yet’ meant. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t deserve to know really.
“She will be here soon, I’m sure. She is the lady of the house now, so she makes all the plans. There is a feast soon, so ye are home just in time tae join us.”
As warm as he felt at the word home, Bhaltair’s blood ran cold. He had expected to see her, of course, but right away? As soon as he arrived, when he was feeling so many things. Right on the tail of the news about the Stuart parents.
“So then,” Kaden said, finishing his glass and then rising again to fill it, filling Bhaltair’s before he even asked. “Dae ye nae think we deserve tae ken where ye were, Bhaltair? We had nay word, nothin’ tae ken if ye were alive or dead. All we’d kenned was that ye’d gone tae the Lowlands and werenae sure when ye’d return. But five years…”
Kaden trailed off, and Bhaltair nodded, grateful for the extra whisky in his glass. “Aye, ye are quite right tae ask. All I can say is that I wish fer ye tae forgive me. If I could have sent word, I would have. I managed tae escape a year ago, and ye were the first person I wanted tae see when I came back tae the Highlands.”
“Escape? From where?” Kaden asked, looking confused and worried again.
Bhaltair shifted in his seat. “I ken ye deserve an explanation.” He could practically feel the scars on his skin, even though it had been some time since they’d healed. “But I am nae yet ready tae speak of it. I just need a bit of time. One day, I swear tae ye, I will tell ye.”
“All right then. I accept that, of course.” Kaden smiled. “Whatever has happened tae ye, Bhaltair, I am glad that ye are here now. With us. Étaín will be too.”
Bhaltair wasn’t sure about that. Five years ago at the river, he’d said all the things he hadn’t wanted to say because he knew Kaden would not have accepted it. He had said it numerous times. But now, after all that had happened, Bhaltair wasn’t sure he could face her again. When the soft knock at the door came, he closed his eyes, and then he downed the rest of his whisky before he stood along with Kaden, and Kaden called out, “Come in.”
The door opened, and on the other side, more beautiful than even in his wildest imagination, stood Étaín: the one woman he had loved for those five years and more but should never, ever have.
***
Industry was the way to keep one from feeling heartbreak. It had been Étaín’s comfort in the past five years, and now that Líadan was gone to live at her husband’s, she had taken over all the duties in the castle, and it kept her busy most of the day, from dawn to dusk. It was just what she needed. So that was why she was smiling when she walked towards her brother’s study that evening, ready to tell him of all her plans for the upcoming feast. On the way down the steps, she bumped into Elspeth, her lady’s maid, looking all aflutter.
“What is it, Elspeth?” she asked, watching the bright-eyed young woman with amusement. “Ye look very excited.”
“Och, so I am. A bit of intrigue has occurred! A visitor tae the castle!”
Elspeth fell into step beside Étaín. “Really? I have nae been told,” Étaín said.
“The guest wished only tae see Kaden, and the guards were told tae tell nay one else.” Elspeth’s dark eyes widened as she spoke.
She had always been one for telling a tale, ever since she’d been with Étaín. Étaín frowned. It had been a long time since she’d felt any real danger in the castle or around it, but the request seemed strange.
“They were told tae tell nay one, and yet ye ken?”
“Well,” Elspeth said with a blush, curling a finger around one strand of blond hair. “Ye ken about Angus and meself,” she said, clearing her throat and making Étaín laugh.
“Aye, I suppose ye cannae fight against the power of love.”
It had taken years for her to joke about such a thing, but now she saw it for the joke it was. Love was a meaningless feeling, and it only brought pain and stress. And embarrassment, she thought with an anger that had reduced itself to a mere prick over the years.
“Nay, ye cannae,” Elspeth said, continuing to speak quickly, her eyes still sparkling with excitement.
They were very nearly at the study, and Étaín still hadn’t discovered just why this visitor had excited Elspeth so.
“Are ye goin’ tae tell me more?” she asked.
“Aye. Och, me lady, he is ever so handsome, now, even more so than before. I remember how ye had always thought him handsome. He has longer hair, a beard, and some scars on his neck. He looks fiercer and colder but still so handsome.”
Étaín knocked on the study door and heard Kaden’s words. Elspeth was still beside her, practically shaking from excitement.
“But who is it, then?” she asked, opening the door and then felt struck, as if someone had slapped her in the face.
“Bhaltair MacThomas,” Elspeth said, even though it was the last thing Étaín wanted to hear in that moment.
She could see for herself. He was there, in the flesh, not dead, and staring back at her as if no time had passed.
The rain was clearing as the little group left the chapel and wended their way across the cobblestones to the castle. Grey clouds gave way to blue skies and rays of morning sunshine beamed down on them.
Although tears had been shed during Father Padraig’s Mass and the long service that followed, it was a happy occasion.
Haldor looked around at his family. The annual memorial service held for the memories of their sadly missed brother Thor and their much-loved parents, the Laird Ulf, and his wife, Ingrid, although similar in many details to the other years, was very different this year.
In the past, the celebration of lives well-lived had been tempered by bitterness and the knowledge that Thor’s killer had never been brought to justice. It was an unhealed wound on Haldor’s conscience that his brother’s murder was unavenged. The ongoing hostilities wrought by the MacKinnons had weighed heavily, standing between himself, his brothers and sister and the sense of peace and acceptance they craved, which, until now, even the holy service failed to provide.
But today, instead of the heavy pall of grief hanging over them, there was a lightness, a burgeoning sense of optimism at what the future might hold. With the death of James MacKinnon, the dues owed to their brother had at last been paid, justice was done and their enemies vanquished. At last, Haldor could hold his head up without the nagging aggravation of unfinished business that, for years, had dogged his heart.
There was, at last, an end to the long feud between Haldor’s people and Clan MacKinnon. Following the strange disappearance of Bairre MacKinnon from the ship, and with no knowledge of whether he lived or died, his clan had appointed a distant cousin to lead them. Arran MacKinnon was now the laird. He’d met with Haldor weeks ago and although both Arne and Ivar voiced their suspicions of this new leader, the encounter had gone well. On meeting and talking with him, even they were well satisfied. The man sought peace and a settling of all the affronts and offences between. The MacKinnons had suffered, as had the MacLeods, from the years of hatred and fighting and he’d made a pledge to Haldor to settle their differences and live in harmony, united with their King against a common foe.
Being able to put the past in its place meant they could move on, dealing with the more pressing issues at home and now more able to contribute their support to King Robert the Bruce.
Breathing in the crisp autumn air, Haldor waved to a small group of villagers who stood nearby to wish them well. He walked arm-in-arm with his beloved wife, the Lady Sofia who, only last night, had given him the news that their longed-for babe might well become a reality in the coming months.
Dahlia was laughing, chatting with Arne and Ivar. No longer was she forced to look over her shoulder and jump at shadows. The man she’d feared for so long would never haunt her nightmares again. Today, even Ivar had exchanged his glum expression for an occasional smile. His perpetual scowl had eased, and there had been times when his mood lifted and there were glimpses of the lad he’d been before he’d lost his twin brother.
Haldor knew it would take time for them all to completely put the years of hatred behind them, but today, for the first time, there was a thrum of optimism in the air.
He squeezed Sofia’s arm and she looked up, beaming. Would he ever become tired of gazing into her shining eyes?
The afternoon wore on with feasting and entertaining the guests who had arrived to share the celebration with them.
Laird Payton MacDonnell was there with his wife Kayla, Sofia’s sister, and their new baby, a wee boy.
Laird Mackenzie had also arrived last night for the day’s festivities. He’d sought out Haldor in his study to ask, privately, after his daughter’s wellbeing. It felt good to be able to reassure him that his marriage to Sofia was bringing them both great happiness, far beyond what he could have ever dreamed. As each day passed, he loved her more.
“I’m am glad tae hear of yer mutual happiness, Haldor. Ye ken I was gravely afeared fer me daughter’s wellbeing when we first attended here. I kent how timid and afraid she was, scarred by her abduction and the time she’d spent as a captive of those terrible men.”
Sofia had never told her father about the role Haldor had played in calming her fears, or of the fact that he’d offered all his gold to purchase her freedom. That was their secret, and it was one that strengthened the bond between them.
“Me daughter assures me she is happy, Haldor. I see a different Sofia nowadays. She is stronger, a confident lass in charge of the castle doings, fulfilling her wifely duties with a smile. Nae longer the fearful wee lass that journeyed here with me those months past, greatly afeared of yer choosing tae wed her.”
Haldor smiled at this. “Och, she is everything I could hope fer as me life’s partner.”
The older man took his hand and shook it. “I am proud tae have ye as me son-in-law Haldor and I owe ye everything fer making me daughter so happy. If ye are in need, if it should be in me power, I will only be too happy tae offer whatever ye may require.”
Haldor dipped his head in gratitude. “I thank thee. It was yer soldiers that added tae our strength and enabled us tae at last defeat the MacKinnons.”
They left the study and headed for the great hall where the minstrels were adding to the merriment and the assembled guests were raising their tankards in thanksgiving.
Haldor took his place at the high table beside his wife, his heart swelling with joy and pride as he looked around the assembled company.
Raising his goblet of wine, he rose to his feet. “Slàinte Mhath tae ye all. Me dear friends and family, ye are close tae me heart. Our future is assured.” He glanced down at Sofia who met his gaze with her own clear eyes. “And may our days be long and happy together.”
This is the story of Gillian, an adventurous English lady who finds herself captured by a mysterious and alluring Highlander. This Highlander will do whatever it takes to save his people from hunger, even abduct the daughter of his enemy. But life seldom goes as planned. What will happen when the Highlander starts falling for Gillian? And will her feelings or her logic prevail in this peculiar turn of events?
This is the story of Julia, an intelligent English lady who runs away to escape her woes and finds herself in the keep of an enticing Highlander. This Highlander, as handsome as he may be, has serious economic troubles, and only a miracle can save him. But perhaps one's answer is closer than he thinks. How will he help her face the past that is haunting her? And how will she save him?
This is the story of Gale, an adventurous English lady who runs away to escape her murderous mother and finds herself in the company of an alluring Highlander. There she is called to change her ways, and he helps her see the world from a different point of view. But her past is catching up with her. How will she elude her mother? And will this be the only obstacle in their relationship?
Don’t miss your link for the whole book at the end of the preview.
Prologue
Scotland 1307, Castle Mackenzie
Sofia’s deft strokes with the thin wand of charcoal brought the outline of the unicorn to life. Before reaching for her quill and inks she placed the charcoal in its box on the table and tidied her hands, doing her best to wipe off the black residue on her fingers onto a scrap of linen.
Brushing aside a strand of her long dark hair, she left a tiny smudge on her cheek.
Then, returning to her parchment, she took up the quill and, after dipping it into the inkwell, traced over the delicate charcoal outline. Concentrating hard, the tiniest tip of her pink tongue visible between her lips, she was lost in her vision. A tall, graceful angel standing beside a unicorn. In the background a beautiful valley, a river running through it, a sky filled with birds and flowers.
Smiling to herself, she eased herself against her cushions only half aware that one of her father’s manservants had entered the solar.
Frowning at the interruption she raised her eyes.
“Begging yer pardon milady. The laird, yer faither, wishes tae meet with ye in his study.”
“Now?”
The man nodded. “I’m afraid so, milady. I believe it is somewhat urgent. He asked that ye go as soon as possible.”
While the man waited, she cleaned her quill on the cloth and placed the cork stopper back in the ink bottle. She stood, straightening her kirtle and tunic, stroking both her hands over her glossy black hair, smoothing it into neatness.
Uncomfortably aware of the man’s closeness as he escorted her through the corridors to her father’s study, Sofia found herself wishing, for the thousandth time, that her father could allow her just a little freedom. Ever since she’d been returned to him after being held captive ten years ago, he had been forever anxious and fearful for her wellbeing, ensuring she was seldom alone. Her precious time in the solar, a guard always situated outside her door, was one of the few moments of solitude he permitted her.
Passing the guard stationed at her father’s door, she entered his study. It was a high-ceilinged room lined with wooden shelves holding old tomes and rolled parchments. The plastered walls were painted buttercup yellow and decorated with brightly coloured mythical creatures, ladies, flowers, knights astride their steeds, and banners flying. A welcoming fire blazed in the enormous fireplace.
Of all the rooms in Castle Mackenzie this one always made her feel safe and lent her the sense that it was here that she belonged.
Her father, the Laird Ian Mackenzie, was seated in front of the fire. Despite the early hour, he was clutching a glass of amber-coloured liquid. The whisky decanter stood half-empty beside him on a small table. The fumes from the whisky combined with the smoky-pine smell of the fire assailed her nostrils and Sofia issued a small cough.
“Come in, child.” He gestured to the adjacent chair. “Take a seat.”
Noting with surprise that his words were a little slurred she looked at him with concern. It was her father’s habit to never take whisky, wine, or mead before noon. What on earth could have induced him to break his sternly held rule this morning?
She perched a little uneasily on the chair, her heartbeat speeding up a little, as she waited to hear why he had summoned her.
“Is there a reason ye wished tae speak with me, Faither?”
He frowned, opened his mouth and then closed it again. He waved the hand resting on the arm of his chair in a vague gesture. He appeared both worried and uncertain.
Her stuttering heartbeat spiked again.
“Is it me dear sister Kayla? Has something happened tae her? Is she ill?” Her voice rose as she roamed across myriad possibilities. Her sister was recently married, and she and her father had been planning a visit to her and her new husband Payton MacDonell at Castle MacDonell. She offered up a silent prayer for Kayla’s good health.
Och please may Kayla be well. Keep her safe from harm.
Her father shook his head, raising a hand. “Nay. Yer sister is well. Dinnae fear on her account, lass.”
She swallowed a lump forming in her throat and leaned forward. “If Kayla is well, Faither, what is wrong? I’ve never seen ye take a whisky in the morning before this day.”
He groaned and took another gulp of the liquor. He reached across to the table and seized the decanter.
It was then that Sofia noticed a folded parchment among the other items on the table. The laird poured another generous dram into his glass and returned the bottle to the table. His fingers hovered over the parchment as if he couldn’t bear to pick it up.
“Is it a letter?” Sofia’s palms had grown moist. Her father’s anxiety and fear were catching on to her.
He shook his head. “Me dearest, I need tae tell ye something. I’ve had news…” he trailed off without finishing whatever he was trying to say.
It was too much. Without further thought Sofia reached over and claimed the parchment for herself. “Is this it? Is this what’s upsetting ye so?” He made no response other than to nod his head resignedly. She tilted her head. “I shall read it.”
He shook his head as she unfolded the important looking missive, noting the royal seal as she did so.
This letter had come from the King, His Majesty Robert the Bruce.
Her father groaned as she spread the parchment across her knee and began reading.
It started off with all the usual greetings of a king to one of his loyal subjects. He thanked the Laird Ian McKenzie for his ongoing loyalty to his Liege Lord and wished him well for the continued good health and prosperity of the Laird and his family. Sofia hurried over all these formalities and read on further, eager to find out what it was that had upset her father.
As she read “ye have yet another daughter of marriageable age…” she abruptly grew silent, the words boring into her skull like red, hot drills. That the King was aware of her existence made her hands tremble. That she might have drawn his attention to her unmarried state caused a stab of pain in her belly.
Her father sighed loudly. “Continue, lass. Read what he says next.”
Sofia skimmed the rest of the letter. “He commands the maiden daughters of three of his chiefs tae make haste and travel tae the Isle of Skye, where one of the maids will be chosen as the wife of Laird Haldor MacLeod of Harris and Skye.” Her voice trembled as she read on. “The three clan chiefs he addresses are Laird Baird Fraser, Laird Alasdair MacDonald…” She glanced up at her father whose head was turned away as he gazed into the fire. “… And Laird Ian Mackenzie.”
Her hand flew to her mouth and she gritted her teeth.
Her father groaned. Sofia jumped to her feet waving the parchment to garner his attention. “Yer sole remaining maiden daughter is meself, I believe.”
He groaned again, more loudly this time. “Indeed, lass. It is ye.”
“And I am tae travel tae the castle of this… this… Laird of the MacLeods, tae be paraded like a prize cow fer selection tae wed and bed this man, Haldor MacLeod.”
Her father inhaled a sharp breath. Now she understood the reason for his imbibing whisky at this ungodly hour. This was dire news. She reached over and snatched the glass from his hand and gulped down its contents before he could stop her. She grimaced as the strong drink went down.
“I’ll nay accept such a proposal, Faither.”
Now she had his full attention.
“Ye’ve nae choice, lass. This is nae elegant marriage proposal of a lad tae wed the lass he loves. This is a command of our Lord and King and ye may nae disobey.”
Her heart sank. She’d avoided all contact with men as far as possible since her rescue from a month’s captivity at the tender age of thirteen. She’d tried to suppress all memories of that hateful time but it had scarred her. She’d made a quiet vow to herself that she would remain unmarried, never to permit the touch of any man on her body. She hadn’t told anyone what happened all those years ago and where exactly she had been. Even her own sister, Kayla, was unaware as Sofia had refused to speak about it with anyone. At one point, both her sister and her father had stopped asking, giving her the peace she so desperately needed.
So far, she’d been safe in her seclusion. Any approach made to her father for his daughter’s hand had been speedily rebuffed. She had grown complacent in the fond belief she would spend the remainder of her days safely within Castle Mackenzie in gentle contemplation, indulging in the pleasures of drawing, painting and needlework, far from the boisterous and dangerously unruly intrusion of men.
A frightful thought tumbled into her head. “This Haldor MacLeod. He is the one they call the Viking Laird, is he nae?”
Ian nodded; his mouth turned down in dismay.
Sofia let out a loud squeak of alarm. “It cannae be, Faither. The man is old. He’s fought many battles and his reputation is known far and wide. He’s a feared brute. Kent tae show nae mercy tae his foes.” She wrung her hands, nervously twisting the fabric of her skirt. “Whether they be lassies or old men.”
Her father rose unsteadily to his feet and took her in his arms. She laid her head against the warmth of his chest, yet the familiar comfort was not to be found there.
“Is there naught ye can dae?”
“Nay lass. If I disobey the King, things could go badly fer me. Fer us.”
Tears burned behind her eyes as she looked up. As much as she might protest, her father spoke truly. She understood there could be no escaping the King’s command if they were to retain the Mackenzie lands and wealth.
Ian looked deep into his daughter’s fear-filled, dark eyes. “I want tae reassure ye, child. I dinnae believe ye should be afraid. Sure, we must make the journey. And I assure ye the laird isnae that old, yet he indeed has a cruel reputation. Mayhaps this will work out fer us. This man, Haldor MacLeod of Harris and Skye, is a bold leader, his family comes from harsh Viking stock. His lust will never be ensnared by a timid, gentle, wee lass such as yerself. He’ll choose another. A rowdy, feisty lass who’ll match him with her audacity and her daring.”
Sofia sighed, hugging her father. “I pray with all me heart that ye are correct and I will be spared from his choosing. I have nae wish tae bring trouble tae ye and the clan and I ken there’s nae avoiding what I must dae. I will submit tae our Lord the King’s command without further complaints. When dae we depart fer Skye?”
“Time is short. We must make preparations at once fer the journey. We are tae attend at Laird’s Haldor’s castle in less than one month’s time.”
Chapter One
One Month later
Castle MacLeod, Isle of Skye
Glancing below, Haldor MacLean halted his steps atop the giant stone staircase leading from the sleeping quarters above to the great hall. From there he had a clear view of the crowd gathering for the formal dinner arranged for that evening.
He grunted and shook his head. “Tell me again what this is about and why I agreed tae this madness?”
Beside him, his brother Ivar muttered under his breath. “Ye agreed tae this, Haldor. Dinnae complain about it now.”
Haldor ran stained fingers through his shoulder length hair, so fair in colour it was almost white. “Aye. Aye. But ye ken I agreed because we need the support of The Bruce. Our coffers are empty. If our King wishes our clan tae unite with the wealthiest of his loyal clans, we obey.” He sighed heavily. “Me marriage is the price we pay fer the King’s army on our side against our enemies Clan Mackinnon.”
Ivar, belying his usual tacit demeanour, spoke up. “Aye. But mayhap there’ll be a lassie who’ll get yer juices racing again. Ye’ll be wed fer the rest of yer days, so ye should choose yerself a beauty tae stir yer loins, if nothing else.”
Haldor pshawed. “It’s nay me manhood, but Clan MacLeod’s wealth that I wish tae swell with this union. Mayhap one of the lasses will stir me lust, brother, but never me heart. It is already taken.”
“Ye cannae grieve fer Astrid yer whole life, brother,” Ivar looked at him and it was as if he was looking right through Haldor, so he removed his glance.
“I can and I will. She was me first love, Ivar, and I lost her so many years ago, yet it bothers me all the same. There’ll be nae other.”
Ivar shrugged. “’Tis yer life, brother. Try tae choose well.” Since the death of his twin brother Thor, Ivar had withdrawn himself into his own distant world. No matter how many times Haldor tried to crack his icy façade, Ivar stayed as closed as ever. He rarely commented on the clan’s business and if the King wished them to unite with a wealthy clan, he saw no problem in that. If Haldor’s body and soul in marriage were what it cost, so be it.
A woman’s voice broke into their conversation, as Haldor heard their sister Dahlia coming from the hallway.
“Why are ye two dallying here?” she scolded. “Ye should be dressed and ready tae meet with yer guests by now. Ye’ll be insulting the lairds who are here already and seated at the long table awaiting the presence of yer tardy lordships.”
“Dinnae fash, sister,” Haldor managed a soft laugh. “We’ll be there soon enough.”
Dahlia looked him up and down as he towered over her. “Ye look like a common serf, nae me brother the laird.”
He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “I was at the training grounds, how should I look? ’Tis but the work of a moment tae wipe meself clean and throw on some new clothing. Ye go and entertain the throng. Arrange the minstrels tae sing and play while they wait.”
Frowning, Dahlia scurried off down the stairs as the brothers hastened on their separate ways, each to their bedchamber to prepare for that night’s celebration. After the feast, Haldor would choose the woman he would wed from among the three clans favored by The Bruce.
Dear Lord, how am I tae survive this evening?
Lost in thought, he failed to see the serving maid who crossed his path. The force of their collision almost bowled the young woman over. He reached an arm to circle her waist as she fell and pulled her to her feet before she struck the floor.
She was a true beauty. Her heart shaped face with its long-lashed dark eyes took his breath away. Her skin was porcelain smooth, unusual for a serving maid. Despite her rough-woven kirtle, he registered a slender waist and delicate curves. She was altogether far too elegant for a simple serving-maid. Stunned, he reacted by pulling her closer to him, unwilling to release her as her wildflower fragrance filled his senses.
The girl arched back looking at him, eyes wide with terror, before swinging back her arm and launching a ringing slap across his cheek. Her chest heaved. “Let me go! How dare ye hold me like that?!”
He instantly released her and stepped aside. “Ye ungrateful chit,” he rubbed his face. Despite her small size, the blow to his cheek was stinging. “Why would ye strike the man who saved ye from falling?”
The girl shook her head, brushing a long strand of dark hair from her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. Her hand shook. “It is wrong fer a man tae touch a woman’s body without her permission.” She looked him up and down. “Especially a soldier, sweating and filthy such as yerself.” She wrinkled her finely shaped nose. “Why, ye smell bad, sir, ye should clean yerself.”
Haldor smiled to himself, amused that she’d mistaken him for a common soldier. He was sure now she was a new addition to his serving staff, probably hired to assist the castle maids to take care of their guests. Yet, he felt like he’d seen her before. “So, what would it take fer a lady tae give her permission tae a man such as meself tae lay his hands on her body?”
She gave a haughty huff. “There are nae such circumstances. I would never permit a man tae touch me.” She studied him for a moment. “But, ye are right. I was hasty and ye did keep me on me feet. Fer that, I apologize.” A tiny smile curled her lips. “But if ye’d been watching where ye were going ye’d nae have bumped intae me in the first place.”
There was something about the maid that tugged at the edges of his mind. She seemed too familiar. He pushed the thought of her out of his head. It was not in the least surprising that one of the maidservants would be someone he’d seen before. All the same, he couldn’t help thinking it was not here, in his castle, and not recently, that he’d encountered this wee lass. She was somewhere swirling in the dark recesses of his past.
And was there just the tiniest hint of recognition in her eyes, also? His insides clenched. He wanted no memories of those days intruding into his present.
“Can ye tell me what name ye’re called by, lass?”
She shook her head, her fingers playing nervously with the fabric at her neckline. She appeared about to speak but then turned abruptly and scampered along the corridor and was lost to view.
Slightly bemused by this exchange and the terrified glance the lass had cast him, Haldor swiveled and continued towards his bedchamber.
The lass was right. He did smell bad. His clothing was stained with mud and slightly torn from his training practice in the keep earlier that day. Since his sister Dahlia’s abduction, the skirmishing and fighting with Clan Mackinnon had begun, as it was essential that his fighting men were kept at the ready. That meant hours each day devoted by the MacLeod brothers, Haldor, Ivar and Arne, to training their men in sword play and archery. And for a chosen few commanders, to gain an education in the tactics and strategies of warfare.
So far, although they had succeeded in rescuing their sister Dahlia, her abductor, Laird James MacKinnon, had continued to launch sorties against them. The man had sworn never to give up his vow to make Dahlia Mackenzie his wife.
Haldor stripped and entered the warm bath prepared by the servants. Such an important evening required special grooming.
After drying himself on a towel and combing his hair, he donned the fresh clothing his manservant had laid out. He donned the long white shirt, his black woolen jerkin, the knee-high leather boots and the deep blue and green length of MacLeod of Skye plaid that made up the great kilt. He adjusted the kilt, placing the last of the woolen fabric like a shawl over his shoulder and belted it at his waist. After securing it at his left shoulder with the gold brooch bearing the Clan crest and coat of arms, he was at last ready to face whatever fate had in store.
Before leaving the bedchamber, he fastened his sporran to his belt, placed his dirk in its scabbard on his boot and strapped on his sword.
As he walked towards the staircase, he made a silent vow to choose the woman least likely to place his heart at risk as his bride. He couldn’t bear having it broken for a second time.
