Kaleb’s life had changed so much in such a short time that sometimes, he still struggled to believe it. There were days when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, fearing that Ralph would attack his clan before he remembered that his brother was dead, and other nights when his dreams were filled with images of that battle in the forest when Ralph had died.
But most nights were nothing like that. Most nights, he fell asleep next to Guinevere, and he held her for hours, her presence so calming that he dreamt of nothing at all.
He didn’t remember a time in his life when he had been happier. Every time he gazed at Guinevere, she took his breath away and put a smile on his lips, even when she was only sitting there, doing nothing. Kaleb couldn’t get enough of her. Even Andrew had difficulty dragging him to meetings with the Elders, as Kaleb was so determined to be by her side at all times.
But Andrew had managed to take him to one of the meetings, after all, and Kaleb had spent hour after hour listening to the Elders when there was little to talk about. Their clan wasn’t in danger anymore, after all. They were prospering, and so in his mind, most of those meetings were unnecessary.
When he escaped his study, Kaleb tracked Guinevere down and found her in the gardens, where the two of them had shared their first intimate moments. He remembered that night vividly, as though it were yesterday, and he had half a mind to recreate that night as he walked to her, placing a hand on the small of her back.
Guinevere didn’t seem to have noticed him coming, and she jumped, startled until she realized that it was him. Then, she smiled at him, leaning into his arms.
“Are ye done with yer meetin’?” she asked. “Ye were gone only for a short time, but I still missed ye.”
“Aye, I’m all done for noo,” Kaleb said, leaning down to press a sweet kiss on her lips. “I’m sorry that ye had to wait for me for so long. I didna ken that I would spend so many hours with the Elders.”
“It’s alright,” Guinevere reassured him. “I ken that ye’re a busy man.”
“Never too busy for ye,” Kaleb said. “Tell me, how has yer day been? What do ye wish to do today?”
“Weel . . . I did have somethin’ to tell ye,” Guinevere said, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth in that way that made Kaleb go wild with lust. “And this is the perfect time to tell ye.”
“What is it?”
“I’m pregnant, Kaleb,” she said, her hand coming to rest on her stomach. “Ye’ll be a faither.”
Kaleb’s eyes fell to Guinevere’s stomach. He had noticed a small change in her, as well, as though she had started glowing all of a sudden, more beautiful and radiant than ever before.
“A bairn,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, the tremor in it clear. “We’ll have a bairn?”
“Aye. Aye, we will.”
Kaleb could have fainted. He would have if he didn’t think that it was undignified for a Laird to faint from excitement in the middle of the gardens. He made his way to the nearest bench on unsteady legs and sat down, Guinevere perching herself right next to him.
“Are ye happy?” she asked.
“Happy?” Kaleb echoed. Did happy even begin to describe what he was feeling? Was there any word at all that could express his joy at the news? “Of course, I’m happy, Golden. Ye’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”
He wanted to ask her so many questions. He wanted to ask her when she had found out if she knew how far along she was, impatient as he was to meet the new member of their family but judging by the fact that there was no swell on her belly quite yet, he figured that she had only recently found out. He didn’t want to bombard her with questions, not just yet. He wanted the two of them to simply enjoy that moment for as long as they could.
“I have more good news,” Guinevere said then, but Kaleb could hardly focus on her words. No news could be better than what she had just shared with him. “Andrew has asked for Beth’s hand in marriage.”
“He has?” Kaleb asked, surprised. Sure, he had had a conversation with Andrew about it, giving him his permission to marry Beth, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.
“Aye,” Guinevere said. “Beth told me this mornin’. And just as I thought, they’re both verra happy about it.”
Kaleb huffed out a short laugh. Guinevere liked to be right, and of course, she often was. He, too, was happy for Andrew. For the longest time, Kaleb hadn’t believed in marriage after Ava’s betrayal, but Andrew always preached about how every man should have a capable woman by his side, and there were few women as capable as Beth.
“It’s a good match,” he said. “I suppose noo we’ll have to have another feast.”
“Hopefully, this time, we willna leave as early,” Guinevere teased, and Kaleb knew precisely what she was talking about. He hadn’t been the only one eager to get to their chambers, though, at their own feast, as far as he remembered.
Kaleb responded to Guinevere’s teasing by grabbing her by the waist and giving her a twirl, which seemed to delight her. Then, he decided that it was time to give her some of his own news.
“Since ye made me so happy and gave me such a precious gift, I have a gift to give to ye, too,” he said. “Do ye wish to ken what it is?”
***
“A gift?” Guinevere said, startled. What kind of gift could Kaleb have for her? “What is it?”
“Tristan,” Kaleb said. “He’s comin’ home.”
It was a good thing that Guinevere was standing close to the bench, she thought as she sat down. Otherwise, she would have collapsed right there and then. The news was such a big shock that her strength left her, her hands trembling as she clutched onto Kaleb’s shirt.
“He is?” she asked, breathless. “He really is?”
“He’s on his way as we speak,” Kaleb said, giving her a soft smile. “He’ll be here by the end of the week.”
“And he’s weel?”
“I willna lie to ye,” Kaleb said. “The Sassenachs were anythin’ but kind to him, but me men say that he’s already recoverin’. There shouldna be any lastin’ damage.”
Guinevere wasn’t so certain about that. Even if his physical wounds would heal, there was no telling what had happened to his mind and his soul. But no matter how long it would take, she would be by his side, and she would help him through it all.
“Nimue . . . have ye told her?” Guinevere asked. “Have ye sent word to them?”
“Na yet,” Kaleb said. “I wanted ye to hear it first. I only just heard of it meself.”
Guinevere wanted to write to Nimue and their father immediately. They would both be so happy to know that Tristan was finally coming back after weeks of knowing he was still alive. That had come as a shock to them all when they had first found out, and since then, they had been expecting his arrival anxiously.
“I’ll go write to her immediately,” she said, extricating herself from Kaleb’s arms, which had found their way around her once more. “Ach, Kaleb, ye’ve made me so happy! Thank ye. I canna wait to see him.”
“And I canna wait to meet him,” Kaleb said.
With one last smile, Guinevere rushed back into the castle. She hunched over a piece of paper, furiously scribbling onto it, and sent a messenger to Nimue immediately, with the orders that he was to rush as much as possible.
For the rest of the day, nothing could wipe the smile off Guinevere’s lips. She could think about nothing else but the moment when she would see Tristan again, and she hoped that the rest of her family would accept her invitation to visit again so that they could all be together for a while.
That night, Guinevere slid into bed next to Kaleb, drawn to his arms like a moth to the flame. She kissed him, trying to pour into that one kiss all the love and gratitude that she had for him, and when they parted, she couldn’t stop gazing into his eyes.
How could anyone ever think that this man is anythin’ but kind? His eyes . . . his eyes show it.
Kaleb’s hand came to rest on her stomach, and Guinevere smiled at him, her own hand laying on top of his. She couldn’t wait for the moment when she would feel the baby move, but she knew that it was far too early for that. Nimue had told her that it would still take a while.
Her sister had been the second person to know that she was pregnant. The first had been Beth, who had also pointed it out to her in the first place. And Kaleb had been the third, as she had been trying to come up with a way to make the announcement special before she realized that she didn’t have to do anything for it to be perfect.
With a sigh, Guinevere closed her eyes, the smile never fading from her lips. And as she let sleep fall over her, she knew that from that moment on, she would only be happier and happier.
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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?
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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?
Living her days in constant fear for her brother wasn’t how Guinevere had thought her life would be. The two of them had once been inseparable, twins who had never spent a single day apart, and now Tristan was nowhere to be found. Even their sister, Nimue, thought that was because he was dead, but Guinevere refused to believe it.
“I ken it in me heart,” she told Nimue. The two of them were sitting in the drawing-room of the MacIntosh Castle, Nimue, with her little daughter, Morgana, in her arms. She was watching Guinevere with concern, a look that Guinevere had come to expect from her. “I ken that Tristan is alive. He’s somewhere out there. I’m certain they have him. I canna stop thinkin’ about him, Nimue. He’s on me mind all the time, and all I can think about is how I can help him. I need to find him.”
They had had that conversation several times before, ever since Guinevere had come to stay at the MacIntosh Castle along with the rest of her family’s clan. The English had decimated the MacLellan lands within days, and they had captured Tristan in the process, too.
Or killed him, according to what everyone else said.
“Guinevere, I worry about ye,” Nimue said, balancing Morgana on her knee to place a hand on Guinevere’s shoulder. It was gentle and hesitant, and Guinevere couldn’t help but scoff. She didn’t like being treated like she was about to break under the slightest pressure, and those days, everyone seemed to be cautious around her.
“Dinna worry about me,” she said. “Worry about our brother. He’s the one who needs our help.”
“Tristan is dead.” It was the first time that Nimue had spoken those words to her, even though she had implied the very same thing many times before. Her tone was cold and firm, and Guinevere flinched, her breath catching in her throat. “There is nothin’ that we can do about him noo, ye must understand that. Na matter how long ye search for him, ye willna find him. It’s been so long noo, we probably willna even find his body.”
She knew that Nimue wanted her to move on, but she couldn’t do that, not when she didn’t believe Tristan was gone in the first place. There was no body to bury, no grave to mourn by, and she firmly believed that was only because he was still alive. There was nothing to prove to her that Tristan was dead, and as long as there was no proof, Guinevere held onto hope.
“Ye’re only doin’ harm to yerself,” Nimue continued, her voice softening once more. “Our clan suffered, Guinevere. So many of our people were lost. Everyone who fought for our land was captured and then killed by the Sassenachs. Ye ken that Tristan was one of them, dinna ye?”
“I do,” Guinevere said. Tristan had been the one to lead the MacLellan army, after all. But that didn’t mean that the English had captured him. Perhaps he had managed to escape and was now trying to find his way back to the family. “I also ken that Tristan would do anythin’ to come back to us. Anythin’.”
“I’m na sayin’ that he didna,” Nimue pointed out. “But Guinevere . . . na one has heard anythin’ about him for so long. If he were still alive, dinna ye think that he would have found a way to contact us? And why would the Sassenachs na use him to bargain with our faither if they had him? Why would they na tell us that they have him?”
It was a good question and one to which Guinevere didn’t have an answer. But she wasn’t basing any of her hopes on logic. If Tristan was dead, she was certain that she would know it in her gut. A part of her would have died with him, and she would instantly know that he was gone, no matter how far apart they were.
That pain had never come, not even when she had heard the news of the attack. From the very first moment, she believed that Tristan was still alive and that he needed her help.
“I dinna ken,” Guinevere said with a small shrug. “But if there’s even a small chance that he’s still alive, I want to find him.”
“Let’s assume that he is alive. How are ye plannin’ on findin’ him?” Nimue asked. “Will ye look all over Scotland for him? If it turns out that the Sassenachs do have him, then they’re keepin’ it a secret for a reason. We wouldna find him even if we tried.”
“I will go anywhere in the world if I must,” Guinevere said fervently. She would track him down even if it meant going to the other side of the world. It seemed more likely to her, though, that Tristan was somewhere in England on in the Lowlands still. The English had no reason to take him too far. If they had him, then they were bound to be holding him in one of their camps. “But there must be someone who kens somethin’ about him. Is there na one in the Highlands who still has relations with the Sassenachs?”
Nimue seemed to consider that for a moment, pursing her lips together. “The clans have ceased all relations with them. Although . . . I suppose the MacPhee clan is the only one that hasna. The Sassenachs need them for their wool, and the MacPhee’s . . . weel, they like Sassenach gold.”
Nimue’s voice was laced with disdain, and Guinevere couldn’t blame her for it. The English had done nothing but harm to their clan, and Guinevere had the same hatred for them as her sister.
She remembered the MacPhee clan, though, and most of all, she remembered the boy who was supposed to become Laird MacPhee one day. They had only met briefly when Guinevere was a girl, but she still remembered how handsome he was back then.
She wondered if he was still as handsome as a man.
“But ye’re na to write to Laird MacPhee,” Nimue said, putting an abrupt end to Guinevere’s fresh plans. “Even if ye did, I doubt that he would help ye.”
“Why na?” Guinevere asked. Surely, she thought, someone who still traded with the English could also gather some information on Tristan for her.
“Because he’s a horrible man,” Nimue said. “Ye’re na to contact him, and that is final.”
Guinevere’s bottom lip quivered in anger, her hands balling up into fists. She couldn’t understand why Nimue thought she could tell her what she could and couldn’t do. Even though she was younger, she was the only one doing anything to find Tristan.
“Just because the MacPhee clan still trades with the Sassenachs, it doesna mean that Laird MacPhee is a horrible man and—”
“It’s na that,” Nimue interrupted, shaking her head. “That man killed his wife. Everybody in the Highlands kens it, even though they are afraid to talk about it. Chrisdean doesna have any relations with him since he found out.”
Chrisdean, Nimue’s husband and Laird of the MacIntosh clan, was not one to act just on rumors. Guinevere had come to know him well in the time she had spent at the castle, and he seemed to her like a rational man, one that didn’t listen to gossip. Perhaps it was true, then, that Laird MacPhee had murdered his wife, but Guinevere didn’t see why that should deter her from trying to contact him. She would only ask about her brother. The worst that could happen was that he would refuse to help.
“Are ye certain that the man killed his wife?” Guinevere asked, thinking that if Nimue had some doubts over it, perhaps it would be easier to convince her to assist her with her search. The last thing that Guinevere wanted was to go behind her sister’s back, but if it wasn’t possible to change her mind, then she was determined to do anything it took to get information on Tristan. “Surely, he would have been punished for it.”
“The official story is that it was an accident,” Nimue said. “That’s what the Laird and the nobles always said. But she was found dead in his chambers, and I dinna think that anyone ever believed that it wasna a murder.”
“Just because she was found in his chambers?” It didn’t sound like a good enough reason for suspecting Laird MacPhee to Guinevere. Who was to say that she hadn’t been murdered by someone else?
“It’s na only that.” Nimue sighed as though the conversation seemed pointless to her. “He’s na a good man, Guinevere. Everyone kens that he has a string of lovers and that he’s verra unpleasant. There is na point in tryin’ to speak to him, and it may even put ye in danger.”
“Why? It’s na as if I’m his wife!”
Nimue pinned her with a strict look, one that Guinevere could only respond to with a sheepish smile. But none of what Nimue told her did anything to dissuade her from putting her plan in motion. She would contact Laird MacPhee, even if she had to go behind Nimue’s and Chrisdean’s backs, and if that didn’t work, then she would keep trying.
All the effort and all the lies were worth it if it meant that she would get her brother back. Nimue couldn’t understand, she thought. She loved Tristan, of course. She loved him dearly. But Guinevere was his twin, and the two of them had been torn apart. It was something that Guinevere could hardly bear. Every day was a new burden on her shoulders, her desire to find him almost as heavy as her failure to do so.
She hated to think of him, cold, alone, scared, held captive by the English in some dungeon. It was as though she suffered with him, their bond so strong that his pain was hers, too.
For a few moments, the two of them sat in silence, little Morgana gurgling playfully in Nimue’s lap. Guinevere reached for her, letting her wrap a tiny hand around her finger and delighting in the way that she smiled. She was already the spitting image of her mother, with her halo of dark, almost jet-black hair, and Guinevere couldn’t wait to see her grow up.
That hair was the one feature that Guinevere and Nimue didn’t share. Guinevere and Tristan took after their golden-haired Mother, while Nimue had hair black as coal. But the two sisters shared the same eyes, a deep, vibrant green that spoke of their close relation.
Seeing that insisting would get her nowhere, Guinevere decided to change the subject. After all, there was no point in arguing with Nimue, not when she knew that she didn’t even believe Tristan was alive.
“Weel . . . I wish to go to the Craig Dunain priory,” she said. “I’d like to spend a few days there, to pray and be away from all this.”
It was something that had been on her mind for a few days— that need to escape making her skin itch. She needed a change of scenery, and the monastery seemed as good a place as any to get what she needed. It was close to the castle, less than a day’s ride, and so she doubted that Nimue would be too concerned about her.
Besides, as long as she was away from the castle, she could scheme in peace. She wouldn’t have to worry about coming up with excuses for Nimue and Chrisdean.
Nimue’s face lit up immediately at that, and she nodded eagerly. “That sounds like a verra good idea,” she said. “It will be good for ye, I think. I would come with ye, but—”
“Na.” Guinevere was quick to interrupt her. She didn’t want Nimue following her around and interfering with her plans. “Na, Nimue, ye have the wee one, and ye’re the Lady of the clan. I couldna ask ye to come with me. Ye should stay here.”
“Ye’re na askin’ me. I offered,” Nimue pointed out. “But ye’re right, I canna leave Morgana. Will ye be alright alone? I would hate for ye to have na company.”
“I willna be alone. I’m sure that the nuns will keep me company. Besides, I wish to go there to have some peace and quiet. After everythin’ that happened . . . our clan bein’ destroyed and the Sassenachs almost capturin’ Faither and me I think that bein’ away from everyone else for a while is a good idea.”
It wasn’t a lie, not quite, at least. Guinevere did want some peace and quiet. The past months had been hard on her, and being around so many new, unfamiliar people was harder than she had originally thought, even if everyone had been perfectly nice to her. She was still adjusting to a life away from the only home she had ever known, and she could hardly adjust when there were so many people that she was obligated to meet and talk to every day.
She had gotten into the habit of taking long rides into the woods, all alone, but Nimue and their father always fretted over her, telling her how dangerous it was to be out there all alone. They were right, of course. There could be brigands or even Englishmen anywhere, and Guinevere wouldn’t be able to fight them off on her own, but the walls of the castle stifled her. There was a constant weight on her chest those days, a perpetual knot in her stomach that only eased when she was outside, away from it all.
“Verra weel,” Nimue said. “I’ll make the arrangements for ye.”
“There’s na need for that. Thank ye,” Guinevere said. “All I need is a horse. It’s na that far from here. I’ll be fine.”
Nimue seemed reluctant to agree, and so Guinevere gave her a reassuring smile as she stood, eager to put an end to the conversation while she was ahead. If she gave Nimue any time to disagree, she knew that she would lose.
“I’ll go make the preparations noo,” Guinevere told her. “I will leave first thing in the morning, but I’ll be sure to find ye before I do to say goodbye.”
With that, she all but ran out of the drawing-room, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.
It willna be long noo. Soon, I’ll ken if Tristan is alive for certain.
Chapter 2
Beads of sweat and blood dripped down Kaleb’s temples as he stumbled his way through the MacPhee Castle, the servants and the clansmen looking at him in horror. Those who offered to help were quickly turned away, Kaleb shooting them a warning glare as he heaved, trying to catch his breath.
His limp made it difficult to walk, and his mouth was filled with the taste of iron, blood still dripping from his split lip. But his injuries weren’t that serious, he knew. They would heal in time. What was serious was that he had gone on a hunt and had barely managed to return.
The few men with him were in a similar condition, all injured after the fight, though thankfully none had died. They had been attacked in the middle of nowhere by a group of men who fought too well to be brigands but who were also certainly not English. Kaleb and his men fought well and eventually defeated the enemies, striking some dead while others escaped. But the attack itself bothered him.
And he already had a good idea of who was behind it.
Walking up the stairs was a struggle. His knees almost gave out under his weight, but Kaleb soon made it to his study, where he found the Elders already waiting for him. The sight of him seemed to give them pause, and he couldn’t blame them, covered as he was in filth and blood.
“What happened to ye?” Andrew, his chief counselor, asked, standing up and rushing to him to check for injuries. “Why did ye na go to the healer, me Laird?”
“I’m fine,” Kaleb said, quick to dismiss Andrew’s concerns. “We were attacked deep in the woods while we were huntin’. Everyone’s alive, but the men are injured, too. Noo tell me . . . why are ye all gathered here?”
At his question, all the Elders fell silent, much to Kaleb’s concern. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”
“Some of the villages have been pillaged,” Andrew said, always the first one to speak. “We received word na too long ago. Three of them, and they all suffered massive losses.”
The news punched the air out of Kaleb’s lungs, his hands curling into fists. He had fought so hard to make his clan what it was, to make sure that everyone was prospering, and yet someone had managed to destroy three of his villages overnight.
How many dead could there be? How many injured? How many people that he had failed because he hadn’t prepared for it?
But it was too late now. Regret washed over him, and the guilt that he always carried inside him only grew, fed by the recent events. It was a hole in his stomach, one that widened with every wrong decision that he made, and he feared that one day, it would be all that would be left of him.
“How bad is it?” Kaleb asked.
“Verra bad, me Laird. Crops, wool, all of it stolen or destroyed. They didn’t seem to want to leave anythin’ behind. They even slaughtered some of the animals, took the little gold the villagers had.”
“I see . . .”
I was just as Kaleb had expected. The pillaging and the attack on him and his men were not isolated incidents, and they certainly weren’t random. The work was familiar. Kaleb had encountered it before.
“Were there any dead? Injured?” he asked. While they could make more wool and plant more crops, they couldn’t bring back the dead. His main concern was the people. Everything else he could fix.
“Many injured, but na dead,” Andrew informed him. “It’s a wonder they all made it out of the entire ordeal alive. The report we received spoke of a brutal attack.”
“This is the work of me brother,” Kaleb said with no hesitation as he threw himself down on his chair. He let out a long sigh, deflating, though his body never relaxed, not even for a moment. The battle had left him exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to clean up and sleep, but he had work to do first.
If his brother was back, it meant that they were all in danger, most of all him. Ralph had never been happy about Kaleb being the Laird of the MacPhee clan, and he had done everything in his power to take the position from him for years.
But the Elders said nothing in response. They only glanced at each other as though they knew something that Kaleb didn’t.
In the end, it was another man, Cormag, who spoke. “Yer brother is in France, me Laird. Our spies report on him every six months,” he said. “He hasna returned. We have na word of him bein’ in Scotland.”
“That doesna mean that he’s na here,” Kaleb pointed out. Ralph always had his ways of staying hidden, undetected by all his spies. He knew Kaleb’s defenses better than anyone, and he knew Kaleb himself. “Ralph has his ways. We would only ken that he’s here if he wanted us to.”
But Kaleb could tell even as he spoke to the men that they didn’t believe him. They all thought that he was obsessed with Ralph, that what had happened between them had broken him too much to allow for any rational thought when it came to him.
Kaleb knew what he had seen, though. He knew that the men he had fought had trained under Ralph. He recognized how they moved and fought, dirty, like he did, but with discipline.
“There were Sassenach soldiers at two of the villages, me Laird. Dead,” Cormag continued. “Why would yer brother have Sassenach soldiers killed?”
“I dinna ken,” Kaleb said. “All I ken is that it was him, or at least his men. I’m askin’ ye to trust me on this. I ken me brother. He’s here, back in Scotland, and it willna be long before he attacks again. Next time, he might even attack the castle.”
There was another long silence, and Kaleb could tell that it was a losing battle. Even Andrew, who tended to agree with him on most matters, seemed reluctant to believe Ralph was back. None of them knew him like Kaleb did, though, and none of them knew what he had done. Kaleb had never told the truth to anyone. All they knew was that there had been a rift between the two of them, and Ralph had left for France.
They didn’t know what a vile man he could be.
“Perhaps we can send some spies, but I think it’s a waste of resources,” another Elder said, bolder than Andrew and Cormag. “They’ll come back empty-handed, I’m sure. And even if he is back . . . weel, why would he attack the castle? What would he gain out of it? Surely, whatever men he would have would be na match for our soldiers. It’s better to focus our efforts and our gold on findin’ the real culprits. It more likely that the attackers were brigands, me Laird, rather than yer brother.”
There were mumbled agreements from the other Elders, all of them reluctant to waste money and time on someone who was little more than a ghost at that point. Kaleb’s anger simmered inside him, threatening to spill out, but he knew better than to attract the dislike of the Elders. He needed his council to be on his side, especially if Ralph was truly back, planning to take over the clan.
He needed some time to think and come up with a plan, something that he couldn’t do when he had an entire council of Elders in the room opposing him.
“Thank ye all,” he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I will consider it.”
It was their cue to leave, and the Elders stood one by one, flocking to the door. Soon, Kaleb was alone with Andrew, who lingered by his desk, looking at him expectantly.
“Weel?” Kaleb asked. “What is it?”
“If Ralph is back,” Andrew said, and Kaleb perked up, glad that someone was willing to listen to him at least, “then ye should find a wife soon. A noble lass from the clan or from a neighboring one. Someone with power. If he is back and he’s after the Lairdship, then ye need to have a strong alliance.”
Andrew had a point, Kaleb thought. He hadn’t remarried after his wife’s death, the mere thought of it put him on edge, but he would do anything for the good of the clan. He wouldn’t allow Ralph to get his hands on the Lairdship. If he did, he would bring the entire MacPhee clan to ruin. All he had ever cared about was his own personal gain. He had never considered the people. He had never considered the clan and its legacy. All he cared about was eating and drinking, spending each of his days in a hedonistic stupor. The clan would run out of gold before the elder council would have a chance to even put up a protest.
“Ye think he’ll try to make a formal claim?” Kaleb asked.
“Aye, he might. If he finds a suitable wife before ye do, there’s little stoppin’ him from doin’ so. But a good alliance will make the people think twice before they support him.”
As much as Kaleb thought it was a good plan, he didn’t know how he could spend the rest of his life tethered to another wife. His first marriage had brought nothing but pain to him, and he had no hopes that a second one would go any better. Women were nothing but treacherous, he had come to find. Trusting them was an even bigger mistake than trusting Ralph.
But what other option did he have? If Ralph did find a highborn wife, then he could easily make a claim for the Lairdship. Kaleb would have to find a wife, and soon.
But that didn’t mean that he would have to keep her.
“I’ll find a wife,” he said. “But dinna expect me to have a marriage with her. We’ll wed, she’ll sire me an heir, and then I’ll send her to a monastery.”
Andrew stared at him in silence for a few moments before he parted his lips as though to speak but then seemed to change his mind. He didn’t need to voice his concerns for Kaleb to know, though. Andrew had been the first to tell him that three years without a wife was long enough and that just because something had happened between the two of them, it didn’t mean that every other woman he met would do the same to him.
Finding a woman to marry just to send her to a monastery did sound cruel, even to him, especially since he would be separating her from her child. But dire situations called for extreme measures, and though Kaleb had no desire to put any effort into keeping his future wife happy, he would at least ensure that she would have every comfort that she would ever need.
Keeping her in the castle was not an option. Unlike what Andrew liked to say, Kaleb didn’t think that he could trust any woman. All of them were traitorous, eager to stab him in the back at the first opportunity for their own profit, and that was the last thing that he needed.
“I’ve made me decision, Andrew,” he said. “Dinna give me that look.”
“I do hope that ye’ll change yer mind about sendin’ whatever poor lass ye find to a monastery,” Andrew said. “Perhaps ye’ll come to like one of them.”
“I verra much doubt that.” Kaleb had felt nothing but lust for other women since his wife’s death. He had dared to love once, and he had promised himself that he would never do it again.
“Would ye at least consider allowin’ her to stay at the castle?” Andrew asked. “It’s big enough that ye will rarely have to see her.”
“What does it matter, Andrew?” Kaleb asked with an exasperated sigh. He didn’t even have a wife yet, and Andrew was already trying to be involved in his decisions.
Though I suppose that is his job as my advisor.
“It matters because the people already think ye’re a brute,” Andrew said bluntly, more so than usual. Kaleb wasn’t used to hearing him speak like that, and for a moment, he was taken aback by it. “Ye’ve heard the rumors, me Laird. It would be best if ye didna give them another reason for them to think ill of ye.”
“They willna think ill of me if they think that it was her decision,” Kaleb pointed out. “Regardless, that is a conversation for a later time. I havena even found a lass to marry yet, Andrew. I’m sure when the time comes, we’ll find a compromise.”
And as usual, Andrew would be the one who would have to make that compromise.
“Verra weel, me Laird,” the man said, giving Kaleb a small bow before heading for the door. Once there, he hesitated, turning around to look at Kaleb. “Do ye really think he’s back?”
“Aye. I’m certain it’s him. Do ye believe me?”
“I do,” Andrew said and then left the room, closing the door behind him.
There was no doubt about it in Kaleb’s mind about it all. Even if no one else apart from Andrew believed him, he believed his own eyes. Ralph hadn’t been one of the attackers, but he was lurking somewhere close. Kaleb could almost sense him, the hairs at the back of his neck standing straight every time he thought about his brother.
The only thing he didn’t know was why he had returned now. What had kept him away for three years? What had brought him back? Had he simply been plotting while he was away, waiting for the perfect moment to strike? Did it just so happen that the perfect moment was right now?
Kaleb didn’t know, but he intended to find out the truth.
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“Are you well, Rose?” Her father asked, holding her elbow as they walked up the most prominent hill near the Prestone Castle. She and her family had gone to the Prestone to celebrate Beltane.
“Yes, Father, why would I not be well?” she scoffed good-naturedly. It seemed the way of men to become overly protective when a woman was with child, even if for the second time.
“Well, I just want everything to be fine,” he said, and Rose smiled at him. He looked older and a little more fatigued than when she’d left him two years before, but he was still hardy. In the last two years, so much had happened. She and Euan had decided to remain married and raise their child, a daughter named Fortune. They had gone to England when Fortune was still a baby to visit their family.
Rose was reunited with her father, mother, her maid Mary, and Mrs. Drummond. It was a thing of perfection to bring together her old and new life. But, when she returned to Scotland afterward, she knew that she had made the right choice. England was like a foreign land to her now, and she would always and forever be Scottish in spirit, if not in blood. Her children would have that Scottish blood running through their veins, and they were the perfect example of an alliance. English and Scottish heritage in one.
“Thank you, Father. You are very kind. But I want you to focus on the festival, not me. You will have a wonderful time, I am sure.” She was breathing heavily now as they were nearly cresting the hill with the other Prestone villagers and clans’ people. They were preparing for the Beltane festival with a large fire. Rose was cheered at the memory of how well she enjoyed the festivity last time at her own home on Laird’s Hill.
“I think so,” he said, his attention taken by the sight of all that was taking place upon the hill. Village men were piling the wood high in the fire area. Women were tending to tables, and musicians were preparing their instruments. “So many people, so much to look upon,” he said in awe.
She squeezed his arm. He was a good man, although a little pious. She feared that he would be afraid when the villagers began to engage in their “pagan” traditions, but that would come later. There was still light in the sky, and they arrived early so that Rose did not have to travel in the dark. It was his first Beltane as they could not attend the last year.
“I thought just the same on my first trip.” She smiled. Siobhan and Walter’s clan were creating everything so perfectly. It would be a beautiful festival, and she knew that her father and brother would learn to love Scotland one day, as she did. But it would take a lot of time, longer than she needed because of their memories of war.
“It seems your brother has found someone to entertain him,” her father added, sounding a little disapproving. Rose turned her eyes toward the edge of the hill where she saw Susan and Henry walking together, speaking animatedly. Ever since her conversation with Henry two years before at her castle, a change had come over him.
She wasn’t sure what he had decided within himself, but he was happier, less full of vengeance and the need for power. He was kind and gentle now, and when she’d first seen this change on her visit to England, she was shocked. Even her father had been surprised. “He has found a companion in your lady’s maid, I see,” her father said, watching them.
“Yes, so he has.” Ever since Henry’s arrival to Rede Castle, he had finally met Susan, and they’d struck up a conversation. She knew it wasn’t exactly normal or perhaps proper, but Susan made Henry’s face light up again, and a woman who could do that was worth a fortune. So, she let it be, even if her father disapproved. “Susan is a good woman. Kind and gentle. Earnest. There is no reason to disapprove.”
Her father nodded. “I suppose I can no longer have opinions on the matter after all that has happened. You were forced into marriage, and yet it has turned out happily. Life is a strange thing,” he chuckled.
“You are right. It has turned out better than we could have ever expected.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Henry whispering something in Susan’s ear, and Susan blushed prettily.
“My dear,” Euan said as he approached, taking Rose’s hand and kissing it. “I am sorry that I have been gone almost the whole day. There was much tae do in Walter’s village. Thank ye, Sir Sayer, for escorting her tae the hill. I wanted her tae be here afore the darkness came. Are ye well? Do ye need anything?”
“Nothing at all, Euan. You can stop fearing for me.” She spied Fortune holding Siobhan’s hand as they crested the hill. She waved, and Fortune broke free from Siobhan’s grasp and rushed into Rose’s arms.
“Mother!” she cried. “Aunt Siobhan has shown me much today. May I tell you about it?’
“Certainly, my dear.” She smiled at her beautiful dark-haired, blue-eyed daughter and wondered for a moment what her new child would look like when the time came.
***
“Thank ye for watching her, Siobhan,” Euan said, and he kissed Fortune on the cheek as well as Rose before returning to Walter’s side at the edge of the fire. He was giving instructions as to its size and the laying of the wood.
Euan chuckled, and he slapped Walter on the shoulder when he approached. “Would ye happen tae be nervous about yer first Beltane festival with a lady at yer side?”
“Is it that obvious? Nae only that, but ye are here as well as with yer wife’s family. I feel as though the goings-on of my clan are on display for all tae see. And if they donnae live up tae a standard, I donnae ken what tae do.”
“What standard, ye fool?” Euan laughed, even though he could understand his friend’s sentiment.
Walter shrugged. “I donnae ken. I just ken that I want tae continue tae convince Siobhan that she made the right choice in marrying me.”
“She kens that, Walter. Why fear so?”
“I think that she misses home sometimes; she has said as much tae me.” He looked over at Siobhan, who was laughing and smiling with Rose and her father.
“So does Rose. And yet she is here, happily living the new life she has.” He smiled at his friend. “Donnae worry so. I ken that it is yer nature, even though ye often appear confident, but all is well. Siobhan is happy. I ken her, and I have kenned her for a long time. I have never seen her so happy.”
Walter smiled widely. Thank ye, Euan.” He looked over at Rose. “It took ye some time, but I am glad that ye got over yer…disinterest in yer Sassenach wife.”
“Och, ye are in a teasing mood, are ye? Well, should I try tae stir up some trouble between ye and Siobhan? I think I ken just what tae say.”
Walter laughed. “Ye are a far better warrior than I am, Euan. But truly, I am happy for ye. Things have gone will in yer life.” He paused. “Yer parents would be happy for ye. I am glad ye heeded my advice and chose love over vengeance, over pride.”
“It was nae easy task,” Euan sorted. “But I am glad tae. I donnae think that I would have ever relinquished my pride or my need tae help the clan and give up my own happiness tae do so if ye hadnae said something. Ye have saved me, friend. I hope that I can save ye someday.”
“But ye have!” Walter laughed. “The night ye spoke of Siobhan and me at the dinner table when Henry was there as sour as could be after the ill-conceived battle. It changed everything. I donnae think Siobhan would ever have listened tae me if it wasnae for the embarrassment we suffered at that moment. Nae only that, but Rose noticed my regard for Siobhan before even I did or before I even kenned of its strength and depth. My life has changed because of the two of ye. I thank ye.” Walter shook Euan’s hand, and Euan shook his head.
“Look at the two of us. Old warriors, and now we clasp hands and look as if we are about tae cry. Come let us get the Beltane fire lit and begin the festivities. The sun is soon slipping down the horizon, and I can feel the chill in the air.”
“Fine, fine,” Walter chuckled, and he instructed his men.
An hour later, Euan had his arm about his wife as they watched the men move the cake amongst themselves, attempting to find the one who had to jump the fire. “You did not wish to participate this year, my love?” Rose teased.
“Nae. I wanted tae give the honor to Walter tae participate as laird, and he refused to let me, kenning that if I did, it would cause ye distress. He doesnae wish tae upset ye in yer condition.”
Rose laid her head on his shoulder. “I will scold him for his overprotectiveness, but I thank him as well.” Rose looked at her father, and Euan followed her gaze. Susan explained the festivities to Henry and his father-in-law, and they both looked dumbstruck with surprise and interest.
“Do ye think yer father will ask ye tae leave Scotland after he sees this ritual?” He chuckled.
“No. I think his mind has changed on many things in the last two years. You can see how he holds Fortune in his arms. He is a happy grandfather, and he would not wish to change anything.”
“Good. Because I do not wish to change anything either. My life is perfect as it is.”
“Is that so?” Rose looked up at him. The crowd cheered when the man was selected. They watched as he backed away from the fire and then took a giant leap over the flames. “I am glad that you were not selected as the sacrifice this year, Euan.”
“Ye are right. I am also glad. It was a little too warm for my liking.” Rose giggled, and he held her closer. “Besides, we have already sacrificed so much for this life we lead.”
“You are right. And now we should continue to be happy instead.” Rose leaned closer, and Euan kissed her on the lips.
“Aye, lass. Let us be happy.”
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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?
“Miss, you have been gone again for quite a long while. You worry Mrs. Drummond, now that you’re here on your own.”
Rose Sayer’s young maid, Mary, stood on the doorstep of the manor, clutching her hands tightly with concern. Rose laughed as the groom helped her down from her horse. Brushing a lock of her dark hair away, she smiled and patted the brown mare’s soft velvet coat before the groom took her away.
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry for that.” Rose looked up at the bright sunny day and shielded her green eyes. “She has been good to me since Father and Henry left.” Mrs. Drummond was the housekeeper and had looked after Rose like a mother, ever since her own mother had died a few years before.
Mary smiled as Rose turned back to the house. Rose had never thought she’d have to care for the household on her own for so many months, but it came to her easily, she found. Even if her riding about the estate worried the housekeeper. Her father had never been away for so long in the last nine years of the war, but the last time he’d left, he’d been gone almost six months.
“I shall do my best to make up for it. She knows that I do what is right for the estate.”
“Yes, Miss, but I think she wishes you would take a groom with you. For safety’s sake.”
“And propriety’s sake.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Mary took Rose’s cloak as she entered the house. “Mary, will you send tea to the study?”
“Certainly.”
“Thank you. Tell Mrs. Drummond she may come and see me as well.”
Mary curtsied and left to follow her orders, and Rose sighed, happy to have dispatched at least one duty. She would apologize to Mrs. Drummond, and then all would be well again. She brushed her hands together as she walked down the corridor to her father’s study, which had become hers since the care of the estate had been left entirely to her.
Her father had left strict instructions, and she wanted to show him that all was well and cared for while he was away. It had been a monumental task when he’d first explained things to her, and she remembered taking furious notes as he spoke. Her hand had cramped for days afterward. But with each passing day, she had grown more and more accustomed to it. Even though she told no one about it, she rather enjoyed the freedom and independence when there were no men around.
“There is no one to say nay to anything,” she said cheerily to herself as she sat down, her gown billowing behind her father’s large wooden desk.
The freedom and independence were almost intoxicating, like having had too many cups of wine at dinner. In the deepest part of her heart, she wished for this time to last a little longer, not wishing for her brother or father to come to any harm, of course.
She began to hurriedly scrawl in a small notebook about matters of the estate. War was upon them and had been for many years. However, due to her father’s high status as a landed knight and his age, he had not been called until recently to fight. So, the estate was covered in women, and Rose had wanted to do her best by them, making sure they were safe enough and protected and fed while their men were off doing their duty. To her surprise, and she was convinced that her father would also be surprised, the women had done well on their own, working just as effectively if not more so.
“It is because they do not have a man to hound them day and night.” She kept scrawling until there was a scratch at the door, and Mary entered with a tray of tea.
“Here you are, Miss. And Mrs. Drumm—” The older woman appeared suddenly in the doorway, looking, as usual, slightly frayed and frazzled. Mary curtsied and left the room without another word. Mrs. Drummond closed the door behind her to stand in front of Rose with her hands together.
Rose noticed how white her knuckles were turning. “Mrs. Drummond, I do apologize for having upset you, but this is usual behavior from me. You know this.”
“Yes, Miss Rose. But…” She bit her lip, and Rose frowned, never having seen her so agitated before. She laid down her quill and folded her hands over the desk.
“What is it?”
“It is just that I have heard the men will soon be returning. There have been rumblings, and I should hate to have you out and about, wandering the countryside on your own, if your father and brother were to return. After I promised your father that I would look after you. He would not be pleased.”
Rose lifted a brow. “You promised my father?”
“He asked me to, Miss Rose, and I happily accepted. You know how much I care for you.”
Rose smiled and dipped her head. “Yes, I do. It does not go unnoticed. I heard tell that the men would be back soon, but we have had such false news in these uncertain times that I was loath to believe it.” She looked down, suddenly fascinated by the vine design of her green gown. Even though the independence of running the estate had made her feel freer than she ever had, she still worried each day what news might come of death and loss. Of someone telling her that she was now alone in the world, for her mother had died many years before.
“I do not like to hope, you know,” she said softly, hating the choking feeling of tears in her throat.
“Yes, I know.” Mrs. Drummond came to her side and put an arm about her shoulders. “But I think we can hold a little bit of hope. Just a little. To sustain us. And I hate to think about you, about something happening to you out there.”
“I have to keep up the spirits of the women on the estate, Mrs. Drummond. You know that. They’ve been alone for so long, and I have only been alone for just a few months.”
“Not alone, dear. Never alone.” Mrs. Drummond winked at her, and Rose felt something unfurl in her chest.
“Thank you, Mrs. Drummond. I promise next time I go riding, I’ll take a groom with me.”
“Good.”
After she made a promise, she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep, the house erupted into sudden chaos. Footsteps pounded in the hall, and a man’s voice rang across the stone walls.
“Henry,” Rose breathed, and she squeezed Mrs. Drummond’s hand before gathering her skirts and rushing out to the hallway to meet him. Her pace was so quick that her coif nearly fell from its pins, and she grasped it, hurrying to find the voice.
“Rose!” Henry called, and she finally saw him at the end of the entryway, looking breathless and dirty. She had never seen him thus, even after years of playing in the woods and in the river. He had never looked so tarnished and weary, broken almost by the new weight of the world.
“Henry,” she said again and rushed into the warm comfort of his arms. She closed her eyes at the feel of him again. He smelled of horses and sweat and earth. He was her near-twin, even though he was her older brother. He, too, had the Sayer black hair and bright green eyes. When he pulled away, she noticed that his dark beard had grown, and there were new dark circles under his eyes. He was only 24, but the war had aged him.
“My dear Rose. You are well and fresh.” He lifted his hands to her cheeks, and she felt the fresh roughness of them, broken by wielding a sword.
“You, Henry, you survived. Brought back to me.” She smiled, and tears were in her eyes. Independence was very well and good, but nothing could replace the warm feeling of a loving family. He stroked a thumb across her cheek and nodded, but as she stared into his eyes, she knew the truth. There was some secret, something he held back.
Her stomach clenched as she bent her head to look around him down the hallway. “Where is Father? Has he not come with you?”
She could hear the rush of servants moving to their duties now that the son of the manor had returned. When she moved her eyes back to her brother, she saw a new sadness in them and the grim line of his mouth.
“Father, Rose, he….” He trailed off, and Rose stood tall and bit back her tears. After all, her time in charge of the manor meant she could now be taken seriously. She was not simply the daughter of a knight, living only in luxury and left to frivolous activities. She could be trusted with more complicated things.
“You can tell me, Henry,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster, patting his strong shoulders.
“He lives. Do not worry on that score. But he was taken.”
“Taken.” Rose moved a hand to her stomach, feeling suddenly ill like the floor had been taken out from under her. But she set her jaw. She would remain strong. No matter what happened. “Taken by whom?”
“By a Scottish laird at the northern border. He is a brute.” Henry spat as he spoke, and Rose chided him for it.
He looked shamefaced. “Forgive me, Rose. I have broken myself on the front, forgetting the manors of polite society.” There was a strange attempt at a grin, and Rose shook her head.
“Tell me more.”
“May we sit?” He asked, looking suddenly years older and just as weary.
“Oh, of course. Forgive me, Henry. Come,” she waved to Mrs. Drummond, who was never very far away. “We will sit in the drawing-room, here, Mrs. Drummond. The fire is high enough. Please have the maids prepare a bath in my brother’s chamber, as hot as it can be, and bring food and drink, both tea and wine.”
“Yes, Miss Rose. It is being done as we speak.”
Rose nodded, knowing that Mrs. Drummond would take care of everything, but wanted to make sure. Henry was watching her with a sort of confusion, surprise, and she hoped respect.
She led him to a seat by the fire, and she moved to poke at the wood, hoping it would increase in heat and flame and keep her brother from looking like death’s door. Henry was still watching her. “You have grown, Rose.”
Rose turned around and instantly blushed. Henry was never one for compliments, but she could hear from his tone that he meant it nicely. “Grown?” she said with a smile. “Aged, you mean?”
She sat down in the other chair and leaned back against the wood, feeling comfort in its strength. The news of her father could be even direr than what her heart felt, and she needed the physical feel of support in her hands.
“Not at all. Although there is something new in you. A calmness of sorts. Or a strength.” He breathed out slowly and tiredly. “I shall tell you all.”
She nodded and leaned forward to listen to him. His eyes were nearly fluttering closed. She knew that he had ridden far to return to her, to return home and to share his news. “France, as we feared, came to Scotland’s aid, and England has now had to remove her troops from Scotland’s land. We have ceded the capture of Scotland’s territories, and it is like blood draining from a wound, soldiers, and men returning to our homeland, weak and broken. Those who survived that is.”
Rose nodded, even though she felt it was a good thing for war to be over and that the women on her land would be reunited with their husbands once more. Some would enjoy it, but she knew of some whose bruises had faded at their husbands’ departures, that they might not be as happy to see them darken their doorways again.
Henry continued, folding his hands across his stomach. “Father and I fought side by side. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was a dream of mine for so long.” She could hear the sound of pain in his voice, and tears sprung to her eyes at the thought of her father in battle. She knew he would look glorious, fighting and commanding his men. The memory of a time long ago when he’d showed her how to hold a sword flickered in her mind.
“Hold it like this, Rose,” he’d said, grinning down at her. Rose was eight, and she felt like the luckiest girl in the world to have such a father who would teach her things and bring her into his life. “Hold it out, towards your enemy.” He leaned down and pushed her tiny feet into the right place and then crouched beside her, his strong arm touching her young one. “This is to threaten them. Then, you pull back, ready to fight off their first blow. It is good to allow them the first blow, and then you are ready to fight back once you deflect it.”
He stood up with another sword and slowly showed her what he meant. But they were interrupted by two things. The first was the sound of her mother’s voice calling from the doorway to the house. “Rose! You have forgotten your lessons!”
The second was Henry appearing from the other side of the barn, looking pale and angry. “Father, why should you teach Rose when you should be teaching me? I am the boy.”
Her father, never upset by anything, had merely chuckled. “I shall teach both my children,” he replied, pulling Henry close to him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Women too should know how to defend themselves, right?”
Henry crossed his arms, and her mother called again. Reluctantly, Rose had left, hurrying back to her mother’s safe embrace, a heavy disappointment weighing on her. After her mother died a few years later, her father had given up his lessons, broken by the weight of his own grief. He had wanted to keep Rose safe and locked away ever since, afraid that he too should lose her.
“Rose?” Henry’s voice prodded into her subconscious, and she looked up at him, the wetness of tears still on her cheeks. Her father was so kind and gentle. The thought of being taken by a brute and subjected to God knows what made her feel cold and clammy.
“Sorry, Henry. I know that it was a dream of yours. A cherished dream. Please continue.”
“Well,” he said more slowly and leaned forward, grasping at her hand. “I fear that it is just you and I, dear sister.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, although she knew what his words meant. What those horrible words foretold.
“This Scottish laird has a very great reputation for being brutish and desiring to kill as many English as possible.” Henry swallowed, and Rose wished for a second that some way, somehow, she could halt the words in her brother’s throat, and it would make their truth not real. She could reverse time. “I fear that it is very likely that Father is dead, and now it will be just you and me.”
Rose faintly heard the clatter of tea things as someone entered the room before a loud sob escaped her throat.
Chapter II
Caerlaverock Castle, Seat of Clan Rede
Euan Rede was still fuming. His anger, the anger he’d been carrying around with him for years now, was bristling and tumbling off him like it was its own being. It had become fused to him, and now he regarded it as just part of who he was. Laird Rede, the man with a furious temper of a brute, with a reputation of being bloodthirsty. Reputations had a way of only showing half the truth, but he didn’t care to ruin it, for it had only made him a better and more fearsome warrior.
He leaned over the battlements of Caerlaverock Castle, staring off into the sea as if it could give him answers. Sometimes, he stood up there with the wind in his blond hair, hoping that his parents would return from Heaven for a moment and speak to him, to tell him his next moves. It had been eight years since his last parent died. He’d been 18 when his father had been killed by the English, but the pain was still underneath his skin, still feeling raw. He was alone in the world now, even though his men and his clan surrounded him. He had to make his own way, and now he did, with the capture of the English knight George Sayer.
“Laird,” a voice called from the doorway. “Ye wished tae ken when the prisoner was awake. He is now.”
“Good. I will go tae him in a moment. Donnae tell him anything,” he bit out.
The man bowed his head and left, and Euan turned back to the sea. It was gray from this distance, the last vestiges of winter still hanging in the air. It mirrored the way he felt most times. Gray and wild, without a clear direction or a way to go. He’d been muddling around in the dark, and if he was honest, the last years of war had helped to motivate him, to get him to focus on something else besides his own pain. He had been sent to fight after his father had been killed, and in some ways, had been the making of him.
He turned away from the sea and left the battlement, clenching his fist with a resolve to remove the dangers that the English still posed, even though they were leaving the territories of Scotland taken over the last years. His mind had one goal as he walked down the cold, stone steps to his castle’s dungeon, where his latest prisoner resided.
George Sayer, landed knight, living on the northern border of England on a large estate. He had chosen well in his captive, and he would force his way into matrimony with the man’s daughter if it killed him. Even though England had a treaty with Scotland, he would not let his family’s legacy crumble because of a future invasion. England was known for its treachery.
“Laird,” one of his guards said as they swung open the thick wooden door of the dungeon. “He is ready.”
Euan said nothing as he made his way to the large cell where the prisoner was chained to the wall. To his surprise, the man stood up and looked Euan straight in the eye. In his clipped English accent, he said, “It is not every day that a Scottish laird known for his brutality lets a man sleep before he questions him.”
Euan grinned and crossed his arms over his large chest, his cold blue eyes staring at the man completely under his control. “It is nae out of compassion for yer health, Lord Sayer if that is what ye are thinking. I merely wish tae speak on equal terms with a man when I give him a choice.”
“A choice?” Sayer’s tone was almost bored, as if he’d seen and done these sorts of things many times. He was in his fifties or sixties, but the strength was still in his body, and intelligence gleamed from his green eyes.
“Aye, a choice.” Euan stepped closer, that anger trembling anew through him, making his hands shake. He squeezed his arms tighter across his chest.
Take yer time, lad. Donnae let yer temper get hold of ye and ruin what power ye have.
“What is it you want with me? You are very young for a laird.”
Euan’s admonition to himself was lost in another wave of fury. His one hand moved to the short blade at his side. “I am young, for my father died years ago in the war. The English took him prisoner, as I have taken ye, and they cut his throat.” In a flash, he slid the dirk out and came close, leaning against the older man, pressing the cold steel blade against the man’s throat.
There was a flash of surprise in Sayer’s eyes, which gratified Euan, but he held tight to him, pressing the blade a little closer. “I would be delighted tae return the favor, ye ken.” His breath was right next to the man’s ears, and his voice spoke in a ragged, harsh tone. It would be sweet revenge to take this man’s life in the same way his father’s life had been taken, but he knew deep down that another death would not make any difference.
Another stroke of pain, another flash of anger. None of it ever made any difference to the cold hard truth. His father was dead and would not be returning. The English would be forever at fault and forever hated by him. After a few more seconds, Euan retracted his dirk and pushed against the man’s hard chest so that his chains jangled.
As he slid the dirk back into the sheath at his side, he said, “However, one more death willnae make a difference tae keep the lasting peace. I plan tae protect my land and my clan for the future when England decides tae turn treacherous once more.”
“What is that?” Sayer’s voice was rough. Euan knew he had bruised the man’s throat.
“A marriage alliance. It is only the way tae secure peace. Our borders are too close for my clan tae nae be in any danger. I will give ye yer freedom if ye give me yer daughter in marriage.”
Sayer’s face turned rigid. After a pause, he said, “How do you even know that I have a daughter ready for marriage?”
Euan grinned. “Ye have already told me by yer expression. But before yer capture, I spoke tae another one of yer men, who needed a bit of prodding tae tell me who had daughters ready tae marry.”
Sayer’s dirtied fists clenched just above where the chains wrapped tightly around his wrists. “I will not do such a thing. Kill me if you like for your revenge, but you shall not have my daughter.”
Euan smirked and turned away. He was not concerned. He would have his way. Sayer’s manor was the closest landed estate, and it was the best choice. “Have it yer way, Sayer, but I shall first send a message tae yer family tae let them ken how ye fare. See if they might be interested in making a deal for ye.”
Without letting George Sayer respond, he slammed shut the cell door and left in a huff. George may be an honorable man, giving his life for his daughter. Still, it wouldnae prevent Euan from going tae the English estate tae take the lass for himself tae force her intae marriage. He paused on the steps up to the main hall and put his hand on the stone. No, he could not do that. Not only did his conscience not allow him such a thing, but he knew that if his parents were alive, they would have shamed him for such a plan.
The lass would have to be willing to marry him to save her father’s life. He wouldn’t take someone who didn’t agree. It was not that he had plans to bed her anyway. It was a marriage in name only, just for the sake of protecting his clan for as long as he was alive. Besides, how could he produce progeny that was half-English? Well, an heir might cement the alliance, but he would have to think of that later. Now, he had to send the message to the Sayer family and hear what they had to say.
***
Henry had slept for nearly two days since his return, and it seemed, really, that nothing had changed since Rose was still in charge of all that ran on the estate. However, she knew that once her brother had recovered his health and strength, he would take over all the duties. She would return to being the sister, with nothing but embroidery and Bible reading to entertain herself. She was sitting in her father’s study when Mrs. Drummond entered the room.
“My dear Miss Rose. A message has come for you. Well, for all of you, and it’s arrived from Scotland.” The older woman swallowed, and Rose felt a hollowing in her chest. She stood and took the letter in hand.
“From Scotland,” she said slowly, trying to think of the countless reasons why she would receive a letter from there. It had to do with her father but how. She prayed for his safety as she tore open the letter. “Mrs. Drummond, please do summon my brother,” she said softly as her eyes scanned the rough words, written in seeming haste and fury.
Tae the Sayer Family,
Yer father is alive and well. Although, he is the key tae forming an alliance between us. I will let yer father live, but ye must give yer eldest daughter in matrimony tae me. That way, Scotland is aligned with England, and if war breaks out again, our clans and families will be kept safe from it. If yer answer is yes, then ye must come and meet yer father here at Caerlaverock Castle, tae the west of Gretna Green. It will nae take long, so ye have three days tae arrive here. If yer answer is no, ye may write tae me, and then yer father will lose his life. There is nae telling what may happen after.
Laird Euan Rede, Caerlaverock Castle
Her brother pushed open the door, looking more rested but slightly perturbed at having been woken. “What is it, Rose? Can you not handle small duties while I am recovering from war?” She ignored his irritated tone and handed him the letter, her face pale. She slowly sat down as she saw realization come over his face.
“A marriage alliance,” he said softly.
“Yes. Or father will die if we disagree.”
Rose sighed. She looked away, feeling numb at the thought of what a turn her life had taken, from one sort of prison to another. She turned back to Henry, who growled and then threw the letter into the fire. The both watched it for a time while it sparked into flame.
“That does not take away the decision we will have to make. Or the one I shall have to make?”
“You?” he asked, turning back to her, her eyes cold. “The brute would make a wife out of you, and you believe you are alone in making this decision. In father’s absence, I am the head of the family. I will make the choice.”
He began to pace, crossing and uncrossing his arms. His energy had doubled since his return, with good sleep and good food at his disposal. Yet Rose did not like to see her brother this way. He was often quite sour, and she had hoped to make a new start of things.
She stood up, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. She knew what she had to do. “We will not leave father to die, Henry. Not when we had the choice to save him. I shall agree to marry this laird.”
“Said very much like a woman. Without thought or reason. Rose, you don’t even know this man.” Henry’s arms were open as if pleading with her to see sense. She didn’t mention that if Henry had chosen the man for Rose to marry, she was sure that he would not care if Rose knew him or not. “He has the worst reputation across Scotland and England. And for all that, he could be an old man as well.”
“Well, let us hope he is so that he will die soon, and I will be the head of his estate, and the alliance will remain true.”
Henry snorted. “Do not joke at a time like this.”
Rose sighed. Joking was the only way she could keep the tendrils of fear from wrapping around her heart and stopping her from doing what she must. “Henry, an alliance is a good thing. Like this man, we have no desire to return to years of war, not if we can find a way to keep our families and lands safe from another outbreak of it. I would say that Laird Rede has more intelligence than brutishness.”
Henry’s mouth dropped open. “You are being nonsensical. Will you not be unhappy being married to the enemy? A person from the land we fought so tirelessly against? Who killed our people?”
Rose shuddered at the thought of that. She didn’t want to be married to an evil man and be unprotected, but this was now something she could do. A way she could fight. “Henry, listen to me. I know it sounds like madness, but what options do we have? If we say no, he may kill father anyway and then find another way to get me to marry him. We are the closest estate to the Scottish border. It is not as if there is someone else, he could find that is at a location as close as ours.” She gripped her hands together, feeling them lose blood as she tried to keep her courage. “I will do this. I shall do this. Not just for father but for our family. For our land. For our legacy.”
Henry watched her with surprise for a few moments, and it almost looked like there were tears in his eyes as he moved closer and gripped her hand in his. “What if I challenged him to a sort of duel? We could battle it out?”
“You saw the letter, Henry. He should see your army coming from miles away and could pick you off as you arrived. No,” she shook her head, trying to strengthen her own resolve. “No, no, this is the best way.”
Henry pushed away and began to pace. “After such humiliating defeat on the battlefield, our own family is forced to endure another loss against the Scots! The savages! How could I possibly take such a blow?”
Rose could feel the tears coming. This was a very dear sacrifice, indeed, and after she agreed, she might very well regret it the rest of her life. But the thought of her father being trapped and threatened was enough to give back her initial resolve. “Henry, what about this? Once I am married to Laird Rede, he ceases to be an enemy. He is no longer simply a brutish Scot, but now he is an ally and a powerful one at that! And I can do something for you while I am stationed there.”
“What is that?” Henry was now staring at her full in the face, a furrow in his brow.
“I could act as a sort of spy for you. If there are rumblings of battles against England or any of that, you would be the first to know. You!” She was growing strength in this idea, for it helped distract her from her growing fear of becoming wife to a man she had never seen but heard of only of through his reputation.
Henry nodded slowly, and it seemed an age before he spoke again, but he stepped forward and took both of her hands in his. “If you’re sure about this, dear sister. If you are certain, then I don’t really see any other way.”
It was done. Her sacrifice in the battle had now been decided.
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