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Chapter I

Isle of Mull, Seat of Clan MacLean

Elizabeth dressed with care that evening. She had been bold and stopped in an inn along the way to make sure that everything was in order and that her dress would not be too rumpled by the carriage ride from England. With a pale blue dress and her light blonde hair tied in braids and twirled at the base of her head, she hoped she was dressed suitably for the occasion, even if the journey on the boat across the Sound may have wrinkled her dress or pulled pieces out of her coiffure. She also wished to show respect to her dear friends on the Isle of Mull, even though it was her own father that had caused problems among the clans.

To her surprise, nearly as soon as she’d arrived, she had been swept into handsome Liam MacLean’s arms onto the dance floor, and they began to dance along to the merry tunes of bagpipes and fiddles. With his handsome boyish smile, she felt herself smiling as well, her skin tingling when his strong arms were wrapped around her, pulling her this way and that as if she weighed nothing.

“So, ye Sassenachs have more rhythm than expected,” Liam said, slightly breathless at the end of the tune. She saw him wink at her and blushed slightly.

What to say? She had no idea how to flirt with a man, and the last time she and Liam had been in conversation, she felt she had embarrassed herself entirely since she was always so dumbstruck by his handsome presence. “Well, I was taught as a child. Certainly nothing like this, but we were forced into dance lessons with tutors.”

“Is that so?” Liam grinned and leaned against the pillar nearby, staring back at her. Elizabeth could see dancers and merrymakers out of the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t rip her gaze from Liam’s. He said with a mischievous grin, “I would love tae hear all about what ye experienced in England, lass. I have heard Julia and Charlotte talk about it from time tae time. ‘Tis like another world for me.”

Elizabeth felt her breath quicken, and her mind was flitting around, desperately trying to find something to say in response. His gaze was warm and direct, and he was looking at her as if he never wanted to look anywhere else. It was unnerving, yet if she was honest, it was deeply pleasurable. A song was struck up again, and Liam put out a hand. “Will ye dance again, lass? With yer tutored rhythm?” He chuckled.

Weakly, Elizabeth smiled back. She wanted to dance with him again more than anything, but she feared she would simply look like an imbecile who had nothing of interest to say. She shook her head. “No, thank you. I think I will rest for one moment before I try again.”

Liam nodded. “As ye wish, lass.” He dashed off and grabbed another giggling woman nearby the dance floor and pulled her into the center. Elizabeth watched, her lips parted in surprise. She couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit upset at Liam’s quick change from her to someone new. He had made her feel so special in that moment, and then…What am I doing? I am here to greet a friend on the celebration of her wedding! Not spend time daydreaming about fickle yet handsome men!

Wine was the answer. It would calm her nerves and perhaps help her relax enough to give her more fodder for conversation with anyone else who wished to speak with her. Searching around, she spotted a table and took a filled glass in hand. She stood alone and watched the merriment before her, hoping to soon be reunited with Charlotte. Charlotte was always one to make her feel comfortable and that her words were worth listening to.

She took a long sip of her glass, and suddenly a tall man appeared at her side. “Laird Campbell,” she said, nearly spitting out her wine onto his waistcoat, her heart beating nervously. To her relief, the man bowed his head in greeting. It had only been a few weeks since she’d last seen him after her father had killed his older brother, but now that he had become laird of the Campbells, it looked as though he’d grown in confidence and, dare she say it, happiness. His brown curls were rough and tumbling on his head, and his stark blue eyes twinkled merrily in her direction.

“Lady Darling, I am most happy tae see ye returned tae us. Charlotte never mentioned it tae me, that ye would be coming tae the wedding?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“She did not know. I wanted it to be a surprise. Is she around? There seem to be so many people here that I can barely breathe.”

He laughed, and Elizabeth noted the handsome way his eyes crinkled at the sides when he did so. “Ye are right, lass. I agree with ye. Charlotte is around, aye, but I have tae be selfish for a moment. Will ye nae give me one dance afore ye go and see her? I never know when I might get the chance again, with an English beauty such as yerself who may leave us again at any moment.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes a little wider. John Campbell is asking me to dance? He had been so kind to her the last time they’d met under horrible circumstances, but she never expected this. Even after all that had happened, here he was, asking her to dance and appearing rather forward about his interest to do so. She swallowed the remainder of her wine, and placing the glass down, put her hand forward delicately. “Of course, laird. I would be honored.”

John beamed in her direction. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, as he slipped a hand around her waist, “Ye donnae have tae call me that, ye know. I had hoped ye would call me John. It is much more informal. The way I prefer things between us.” Elizabeth couldn’t believe what was happening. John Campbell was flirting with her. A second man that evening!

He pulled her into a dance, and she tried her best to follow the rhythm. They interlocked arms and swung about. As she spun, she noticed Liam watching them from his section of the dance floor. Every time that she spun her head, Liam’s gaze was following her every movement, and she felt a heat bloom up from her stomach, up her neck, and redden her cheeks with its warmth.

She found she rather liked it, this bold attention from two very handsome gentlemen, but she felt an old shame at that fact. It brought up the memory of her father connecting her potential fate to that of the prostitutes who populated the brothels. Once the song ended, John took her arm in his. “If ye donnae mind, lass, I shall bring ye tae Charlotte myself. Ye have done me a service. Ye should see all the jealous lads around us.”

She grinned and felt her eyes flutter downward at the compliment. “Hardly a service, John. Please, I would be most gratified to see my friend on her most glorious of days.” He pulled her through the crowd to the edge where she saw with delight a beautifully dressed Charlotte and a tall, strong, dark-haired Angus standing nearby. They were looking into each other’s eyes and laughing.

Charlotte turned and smiled widely at her approach. “Elizabeth!” She opened her arms and rushed to her friend, wrapping her in a warm embrace. “I saw you earlier but did not want to disturb your enjoyment of the wedding dances.” She winked. “When did you arrive?” Angus bowed smilingly in her direction.

“Lady Darling.”

Elizabeth was overrun with happiness. It had felt like a lifetime since she was so warmly greeted. She suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to have a home that was cozy and loving, just like this. “Greetings and congratulations to you both! I am afraid I was much too late for the ceremony. I am so sorry; it was difficult to find a boat when it was not planned — I wanted it to be a surprise. I arrived only a little while before. Liam was the first to greet me.” She said the last sentence with a slight blush.

Angus chuckled. “As I am certain he was most happy tae do. Come, ye must take food. Ye must be very tired from yer long journey.”

Elizabeth suddenly felt the feeling come on her strongly. She was famished. It had been many hours since she’d last eaten, so she allowed herself to be seated. Charlotte sat down across from her, grinning widely. Elizabeth looked around and saw Angus disappear with John. “Charlotte! Surely you do not wish to sit here with a guest when you have your own beautiful table of honor to sit at with your husband.”

“Oh, do not worry yourself! Angus has many people to greet as brother to the laird, and I am simply doing my duty as hostess to make sure my favorite guests have everything they need.” She reached across and squeezed Elizabeth’s hands. “You do not know how much it means to me that you have come. I feared you would not wish to accept the invitation after everything that had happened.” Charlotte hesitated, and Elizabeth knew the question that was coming next.

“How is your father?” Charlotte’s eyes were crinkled in concern.

Elizabeth took a piece of bread and began to chew, not wanting to answer right away. This question was a delicate one and would take time to answer. She wasn’t sure exactly which answer people would like to hear. There had been many who wished for him to hang, and yet he did not. Perhaps this was the kinder way for him to die. By a disease he had obtained within the prison walls.

“I have not visited him often, as I am sure you can understand.” Charlotte nodded tersely. “He is unwell, and I have just received a letter from him telling me so. They do not expect him to live very long, although I do not know how long that might be.” She was surprised at the cold way she spoke of it.

Charlotte frowned. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. No matter what has occurred, he is still your father.”

Elizabeth smiled weakly, feeling a little less foolish for her portion of grief. “Thank you, Charlotte. But let us put him out of our minds on this merriest of eves. I came all this way to enjoy myself and to try and forget the past and the future as well! Tell me, where is your father? Is he doing well?”

Charlotte pointed to the corner where he was chatting amiably to an older, elegant Scotswoman. “He is there! I never expected him to enjoy himself at a Scottish gathering so much as he has, but I cannot keep track of him! From one dance to the next, he goes. He is like a different person ever since…your father left.”

“I know the feeling,” Elizabeth said, a little sullenly.

Charlotte changed the subject, as she spotted the slight frown on Elizabeth’s face. “Now, enough of fathers. Tell me everything you have to say about young men.” She giggled. “You have had two dance partners since you have arrived, and that is more than many a young woman here can say. And such handsome ones too.”

Elizabeth blushed deeply despite herself. Charlotte always knew how to get her to do so. She was like the complete opposite to herself, and yet there as a kinship between them. Elizabeth hoped that a little of Charlotte’s boldness would brush off on herself, and she could act confidently around men. Around anyone, for that matter. “You are right. They are both extremely handsome gentlemen. But I was very surprised to have been asked. You know how tongue-tied I can get.”

“Posh! Elizabeth Darling, it is about time that you accept just how incredibly beautiful you are, and how many gentlemen’s eyes are upon you this evening. Your hair is luminous in the candlelight, and your cheeks are red and healthy from wine and merriment. I can very much understand why Liam and John both selected you as their partner of choice.”

Charlotte was watching her closely, and Elizabeth could see that mischievous smile forming. “Charlotte, it almost looks as if you are planning something.”

Charlotte giggled, and she pushed a lock of reddish-blond hair behind her ear. “Perhaps I am. Would that be so terrible?” Charlotte glanced around the room, and Elizabeth knew she was looking for the two gentlemen in question. “Elizabeth, dear friend, how long will you be staying with us?”

Elizabeth fumbled over her words. “I really do not know. I had hoped to stay for at least a few days. My aunt seemed happy enough to let me go, but I know that I could not stay too long, as to be a hindrance to her as well as a burden to you all.”

Charlotte laughed. “As if you could ever be thus. Please stay as long as you like. Now that I see you are here, I have a job for you, if you are interested.”

“Oh? A job? Is this what you have been planning?” Elizabeth smiled, feeling a little of the old happiness and life flood into her again. Thoughts of her father were momentarily forgotten.

“Not quite, but I suppose it could all be part of it. Julia is pregnant, and she had been helping me a little with the healing, but as of right now, she is not feeling well enough to assist. You can see she had to leave the merriment early, but I am certain she will be back down again later. Calum has gone to see to her needs.”

Elizabeth nodded and waited to hear the request. She ate quietly, trying to stay calm. She hoped against hope that Charlotte would ask her to help.

Charlotte said, “Would you be interested in helping me a little with the healing work while you are here? You could stay in the castle with us, and I know it would be so much fun with you around.”

Elizabeth beamed and squealed with delight. The sound was drowned out by the music and voices in the room. “Yes, of course! I would love to! Oh, thank you, Charlotte! I cannot tell you how dull it has been in England with my Aunt Mildred. She is kind in her own way, but she does not believe women should do anything other than reading, sewing, and sitting quietly. Even though it has only been a short while, it has felt like a lifetime!”

Elizabeth’s words tumbled out of her mouth, and Charlotte laughed wildly. “You are such a comfort to me, my friend. I love your humor, the way it slips out of your mouth when you least expect it. You always look surprised at the things you say!”

Elizabeth nodded. “I suppose I am. Even more so, of late. My father says…”

She caught herself, not wanting to tell anyone about the letter or her promise. It would bring no one anything but pain. She would have to find a way to finish her sentence. Charlotte was looking at her expectantly.

She bit her lip for a moment, and then said, “He says that I must abide by the rules in which I was brought up and not be swayed by any bold-minded Englishwomen in Scotland.” She reached over and grabbed Charlotte’s hand. Charlotte chuckled. Elizabeth continued. “But I cannot help it, my friend. You have helped me see the world in a new way.”

“Well, now you must take your life into your own hands and make your own decision. And I believe you have made an excellent choice, staying here with us! The servants have taken your things?”

“Yes, but I could not give instructions to them on where to place them.”

“Not a worry. Mrs. MacLean shall handle it all. You are here now.” Charlotte turned back to the dancing. “Now, let us turn our minds to merrier things. My wedding for one, and the fact that the eager gentlemen await you to dance with them.” She nodded her head in John’s direction, who glanced towards the women for a moment, a smile on his face.

Elizabeth tried to smile back, but she wasn’t sure how to react. “Charlotte, please say you will teach me how to behave with gentlemen. You tried, but then I had to leave. I have no hope if you do not help me!”

Charlotte smiled. “Of course, dear Elizabeth. I thought you would never ask! Now, the first rule is, carry yourself with an air of confidence even if you do not feel it. It is the men who pine for you, and it is not for you to grovel at their feet.” Elizabeth could see Charlotte smile in Angus’ direction, and he winked back at his wife.”

“And what if the men do not pay you any mind?”

Charlotte waved a hand in the air. “Then they are not even worth a glance from your lovely blue eyes, Elizabeth. Stand confidently. Allow the men to come to you to ask for a dance.”

Elizabeth moved to sit next to Charlotte on the long bench, following her gaze to the frenzy of dancing couples in front of them. “And what to say? How does one flirt with a man when he is attempting to flirt with you? I find I have nothing to say.”

“But you do!” Charlotte tapped her chin in thought. “Answer the first thing that comes to your mind. If you begin to think overmuch about your words, you will find you have not spoken for over a minute while the man waits for your reply!”

Elizabeth nodded to herself, biting her lip in concentration. “You are right. Say what I think on the first thought.”

“Excellent. Now, we will have to speak later, for a gentleman comes your way again. If you wish to dance with him, then say yes as demurely and prettily as you can!” Charlotte’s eyes widened with excitement as she watched him approach.

Quietly, Elizabeth took a breath before lifting her eyes. She had expected John to approach, having seen his smile towards her and Charlotte, but instead, Liam stood before her again, bowing low. “My Lady,” he said with a grin. Elizabeth’s stomach ached for a moment, and she wasn’t quite sure why.

Chapter II

The celebration was positively glorious. Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of the crowd again, her belly full, and her mind delightfully fuzzy with more wine than she had ever imbibed before. Her father had only ever allowed her one glass at mealtimes, but now, Scotland made her ever the rebel. After dancing with Liam, she had spent the remainder of the time speaking with Charlotte and Angus or in John’s arms, loving the dizzy feel of music, heated bodies, and the way the room felt warm with happiness and laughter.

She was now too tired to dance any longer. Many of the guests had fallen asleep on the sides of the room, still clutching half-full glasses of wine or ale. Some had left as well, and she was ready to return to her own bed. It would be utterly delightful to sleep away from the eyes of her aunt, father, and anyone else ready to make a comment on her behavior that evening.

She leaned back against the wooden table and smiled to herself. The wine had made her brave, and she liked the feeling. Thoughts of worry and misbehaving had fled her mind, and she never wanted to give that feeling up. It had been a night of pure bliss thus far, and she wasn’t sure when she would have one again. Especially not once she was married to someone her father would approve of. She was certain he would only approve of someone as militant and controlling as himself, but at that moment, the thought gave her no pain.

She was in Scotland, on the Isle of Mull, and among friends. What more could she want from life? It was her last chance to taste beautiful freedom. She touched her fingertips to her lips to try to cover her smile. Certainly, she looked rather silly, sitting alone and smiling. But she thought about the two gentlemen paying attention to her that evening. She had danced with a few other men as well, but the only two who were filling her mind were John and Liam. They had monopolized most of her time, and Charlotte was guiding her on how to speak to them.

Liam had been flirtatious, but he had moved around to the other women of the gathering and flirted with them too. John had been the most truly attentive, for he had not danced with a single other person besides her. However, Elizabeth’s self-congratulations and secret delight were interrupted by Charlotte, who approached her, hand in hand with Angus. Both of their faces looked ruddy from wine and good food.

Elizabeth stood and suddenly felt just the slightest bit dizzy when doing so. Charlotte said, “My dear, we are off to bed. It is our wedding night, after all. Please, I would prefer it if someone escorted you to your room. I trust you have had a wonderful time?” She winked.

Elizabeth laughed. “I confess that I do not know when I have had better!” Her voice was louder than she’d expected, and she began to brush her dress, feeling suddenly self-conscious at her unusual boldness.

Before they could continue, John approached them. He shook hands with Angus and kissed Charlotte’s hand. “I must return across the water. My most hearty congratulations. Angus MacLean, ye have done better for yerself than the Lady has done.” He chuckled.

Angus replied, “Aye, so then I have been wise and lured her intae my trap.” Charlotte giggled and pushed against Angus’ chest. John turned his blue gaze to Elizabeth.

He bowed and brought her hand to his lips. “Lady Darling, ye have been a most wonderful dance partner. I hope that we may see each other again soon.”

Elizabeth felt dizzy again, and John’s eyes on her and his lips touching her hand ever so gently did nothing to help her state of mind. She cleared her throat and curtsied delicately, praying that she retained her balance and composure.

“I hope the same, laird. I mean John.” The corners of his mouth tilted upwards, and he left the room, Elizabeth’s hand suddenly felt cold and empty without his rough, warm grasp.

Angus waved to the side of him. “Come, Liam.” Liam’s boyish face appeared beside him. Angus clapped him on the shoulder. Elizabeth could tell his words were a little slurred from drink. “Be so kind as tae take the lovely Lady Darling tae her room. Put her in the best guest room, the one Charlotte used tae reside in.” He winked at his wife.

Liam’s face lit up as he turned to Elizabeth. While he watched her, he said, “It would be my pleasure. I shall escort ye, lass.” Elizabeth bade Charlotte and Angus goodnight and approached Liam. She was disappointed that she had yet been unable to greet Julia and Calum, but the time would come.

Liam put her arm in his own. “Ye never know what kind of rascals roam these halls at night, under the influence of too much drink. We Scotsmen every so often have the misfortune of being rather wild, like animals.”

Elizabeth chuckled lightly, knowing he was attempting to make a joke. “And is there no remedy for this wildness?”

She was impressed with her bold flirtations. Tomorrow, she would have to let Charlotte know of her success. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Liam grinning by her side. “Nae, there is a cure. The company of a lovely woman is a good cure, I think. If we care for her company well enough, then we are tamed by her beauty and strength.”

Elizabeth unconsciously tightened her grip on Liam’s thick arm, feeling a sudden flash of intimacy with him. She swallowed, surprised at her physical reaction to Liam’s poetic words. He certainly was a charming man. Her throat was dry as she said, “That is beautiful, Liam. I had no idea you thought so of women.” Her voice was small. Back to being a mouse, I suppose.

They had arrived at the guest room, and Elizabeth’s heart quickened a little at the sight of the strong wooden door. The torchlight positioned by the side of the door cast long shadows across its wooden width. She didn’t want their moment to be ended so abruptly, even though her tired limbs were crying out to be laid to rest. Liam dropped her arm and turned towards her. Elizabeth moved her back against the wall. The corridor felt thick and heavy, and she was having trouble breathing with his closeness. His eyes flicked over her face.

“I was very glad that ye returned, lass. Ye have such a beauty and strength that could tame any man.” Elizabeth felt her knees tingle. He stepped a little closer. “And yet, ye were spending more time with a certain John Campbell instead of in my arms this eve.”

The torch was sending shadows across his face as well, and its light made his eyes sparkle with mirth. Elizabeth stammered out, “I did not see you suffering at all. You had plenty of other women to take my place.”

Liam laughed at that, and Elizabeth’s eyes traveled to his mouth, so firm and enticing. Once he sighed with enjoyment, he replied, “Aye, naething gets past ye, does it, lass? Well, what if I told ye that ye were the one that I truly wanted tae dance with?” His expression grew solemn once more, and he stepped even closer, his face nearing her own. She could feel his breath lightly caress her chin. “The one I want to kiss?”

“Kiss?” Elizabeth felt like the ground fell away from beneath her as Liam laid his mouth atop hers and grasped the sides of her arms. She tensed but let the tension slide away as she allowed him to taste her slowly. There was alcohol on his breath, but it did not disgust her. It was sweet and honey-like, and his lips were warm and smooth, his tongue bold and strong.

In a flash, her father’s disapproving face came into her mind, and she thought of the prostitutes in their brothels, having made the choices they could not take back. She pulled her lips away and leaned against the stone wall, breathing quickly.

Liam was surprised for a moment. Elizabeth could now tell just how drunk he was in the light of the torch, for his eyes were unable to focus fully on her face. He almost looked angry as he said, “Ye think of John, do ye? I promise he could nae make a better lover than I. I am sure ye ken that well enough, lassie.”

To her own surprise, Elizabeth felt a deep offense, and anger rose within her. The conversation between them had moved beyond mere flirtation. It was not a game anymore. He was insulting her, making assumptions of her own thoughts, and presuming that she and he would be lying together as man and woman! Watching his laughing, drunken face, Elizabeth squinted her eyes in anger and slapped him.

It was hard and satisfyingly loud, and the sound echoed through the stone corridor.

***

Liam MacLean awoke the next morning with a pain in his head that felt like something was inside, trying to tear him apart. He sat up on his elbows, groaning. He looked around him. Somehow, last night, he had made his way deep into the castle and had fallen asleep in one of its lonely hallways. There was nothing laid down for comfort, only the cold touch of hard stone underneath him. He groaned again at the pain emanating from his back. “Bloody Hell,” he said into the empty hallway, criticizing himself inwardly for his stupidity. He knew it was a wedding, but how had he drunk enough to make him feel like his body was dead, only consisting of limp arms and legs, refusing to do his will?

He felt like a young boy again, not able to handle his alcohol. After a few heaving pushes, he was able to stand, but the pain in his head only renewed. “Fecking ale. I shall never drink ye again!” He knew it wasn’t true, but it felt good to be angry at something and to blame something else besides his own idiocy. He looked one way and then the other, trying to figure out his path back down to the Great Hall. He did not want anyone to see him, especially Fergus or Angus, for they would laugh him right out of the castle. He had work to do today, but he wasn’t sure he was up to it. And Brea would want to see him as well. She had been sending him letters ever since his last visit, and he knew she would not remain satisfied for long. She was coming to Mull in a day or two.

He stumbled down towards the steps and looked down to see his stains speckling his waistcoat and kilt. He huffed in frustration. He hoped that no one had seen him in that state, lying like a dog in the hallway, or else he would have a lot of explaining to do to Mrs. MacLean.

He ran a hand through his hair and over his beard, hoping it was not too unruly in case it was Mrs. MacLean who found him wandering the halls. He was certain she would and would not look too kindly upon him. As he entered the main hall, he looked about, hoping to sneak out to his own home without being seen. His horse was still tied in the stables. He walked across the flagstones, listening to the crackle in the hearth, noting the mess left from the night before.

Soon, servants would be entering to clean up, and he wanted to get out before that happened. He was almost at the door. It was within reach, but then he heard that infamous throat clearing from behind him. Squinting his eyes to prepare for the worst, he turned to face Mrs. MacLean. She was standing erect, with her eyes scrutinizing him. “Liam MacLean. I heard ye had graced our upper hallway with yer presence last eve, lad. ‘Twas a good wedding tae be sure.”

“Aye, aye,” he laughed, but as if in punishment, his headache increased sharply. “’ Twas a good wedding, Mrs. MacLean, but I am off now, ready tae return tae me own bed.”

“I see.” She tapped her foot, and Liam knew just what that meant. Mrs. MacLean was a good sort. Since his own mother had died many years before and had been a friend of hers, the old woman had become like a mother to him. “Well, now that ye have done yer best tae insult the guest of this house, I am certain ye need plenty of rest.”

Liam furrowed his brows and cocked his head to the side. “What do ye mean? Insult who?” His mind was swirling, trying to piece together foggy images from the evening before. There was dancing, drinking certainly, and music. He could see Charlotte and Angus smiling happily together. He could envision Elizabeth in her pale blue and blonde beauty, moving gracefully around the dance floor with her tutored limbs. He smiled despite himself.

“One of the servants has seen ye being forward with Lady Darling who has come tae stay with us, and who is a dear friend of Charlotte’s. The slap she gave ye was heard clear around the castle. I wouldnae be surprised if the Campbells heard it on their side of the water!” Her voice was sharp but still motherly in its own way.

Liam lifted a hand unconsciously to his cheek. He did remember that. A slap so hard he was certain never to forget it. But for the life of him, he could not remember what he’d done or said. “Mrs. MacLean, I have nae idea what ye mean. I walked the lady back tae her room as Angus asked me too. That was all.” He hoped that was all, but after Angus had asked him to take her, he couldn’t remember much else.

Mrs. MacLean put her hands on her hips. “Yer flirtatious and philandering ways will get ye intae trouble one day, Liam MacLean. Well, it appears they have done so already, whether ye remember it or nae.”

Liam’s stomach sank. Why did Elizabeth slap him? He must have so deeply offended her for that gentle, kind creature to react in such a way. He wanted to lay down. It was all too much, and Mrs. MacLean’s angry remonstrances were only making everything worse. “By God, Mrs. MacLean, I donnae remember what I have done.” He looked down for a moment, feeling ashamed in front of his stand-in guardian. Mrs. MacLean always knew how to make him feel like a little boy, no much how he’d struggled and fought to grow up and to be seen as a man.

He looked up again, daring a glance at her strong gaze. “Do ye think I ought tae apologize?” He knew what her answer would be before she said anything.

“Of course, lad. Ye must apologize, and despite yer wild ways, ye must think of a way tae do it prettily enough. If the laird or Angus hears about this, then ye know ye are in for an angry sort of discussion.”

Liam groaned like a little boy. “Donnae say ye will tell him what ye know, Mrs. MacLean. I will try tae think of a way tae apologize tae the lass, but my head is hurting like a bastard. I cannae think straight or make pretty speeches.”

Mrs. MacLean crossed her arms and squinted just a little bit more at him. “I suppose that is punishment enough for now. I willnae tell the laird nor Angus, but who knows what the Lady will do? Most certainly, she will tell Charlotte of what occurred.”

Damn. In his continued state of uselessness, he hadn’t considered that. Women told each other everything, especially if it had to do with men and their antics. He frowned. Maybe Elizabeth was kind enough to forgive him? He would have to think of the perfect words.

He was the sort to do that well, after all. Women seemed to melt into his arms with his pretty turns of phrase. Most of the other men on the island were mere brutes, unable to formulate sentences beyond the desires of what lay beneath their kilt, but Liam was different. He knew what women liked to hear, so he would figure out a way to speak to Elizabeth. Just not now.

He nodded to Mrs. MacLean. “Aye, yer right. Donnae worry; I will think of something.” Mrs. MacLean opened her mouth to speak again, and he reassured her. “I will do it soon as well. Just as soon as my head stops feeling like ‘tis splitting apart.”

He gave her a tight smile and left with what small amount of dignity he had left. His shoes crunched on the stone just outside of the castle door, and he had his first morning view of the Sound, so stark in its icy blueness. Curls of mist were spreading over its expanse, and he pulled his coat a little tighter. The coldness of night had not steamed away with the rising sun, and he looked forward evermore to returning to his warm bed before heading across the Sound to hunt again.

He kept his eyes on the water as he walked to the stables. He thought pleasantly of a memory of his mother holding his hand at the side and pointing to it, telling him that the Sound was full of magic. He was told he could merely whisper his wishes at the edge of its coast, and they would come true. If they did not, he either did not wish hard enough or, as his mother said, he was too naughty of a boy.

The second part of that was true. It had always been so. Anyone who had met him as a child had considered him a naughty boy. Even though the years had passed, he still felt like he was that same little boy in many ways. He didn’t know how to be anything else. Angus was wise and strong. Calum was a leader who knew how to make anyone laugh. But Liam was just like a child, content with the moment and enjoying himself. Yet sometimes, he wished that he was different.

Sighing, he rubbed his beard again out of habit, making an attempt to slough off the painful memories of the past and the strong evidence of his continued flaws. He had enough of them for the day. Stumbling up to the stable doors, itching to be atop his horse again, so that she could lead him away to safety, he saw Fergus leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed, and his face merry.

Fergus was like a brother to him. In fact, many thought they were brothers upon first acquaintance, for they looked nearly identical. Yet, Liam was the youngest by a few years, and Fergus was only a slight bit taller, his own red hair and beard tinged with a slight bit of gold. “Aye, lad, ye have returned tae take yer horse back home, have ye? I was wondering when we would see ye again.”

Liam grimaced. “Have ye nae alcohol lingering in yer own brain this morn? I feel as though a pair of sharp claws have been pinched intae mine and will stay thus until I rest.”

Fergus puffed out his chest and stroked his beard mockingly. “I am man enough tae handle my own ale, I think, lad. Ye would think ye had the experience.” Fergus laughed, and Liam closed his eyes and put his hand to his head. The throbbing had begun anew.

Seeing this, Fergus grinned and said, “I see God has seen fit tae punish ye, lad, for all yer antics with the women are now known. Which one of them is angry with ye taeday?”

Inwardly, Liam groaned again. He supposed that rest would not be given to him today, and he would have to suffer through another set of remonstrances

---

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Chapter I

The day was sultry and warm, midsummer having brought a seemingly endless heat to the lush landscape of Argyll. It had not rained for several weeks, and the heathers were growing brown upon the hillsides and the streams trickling their course into the lochs.

Elaine and the party of clansmen rode slowly that morning, pausing several times to rest in the shade of a clump of trees or beneath a rocky outcrop. It grew warmer as the day drew on, the horses sweating as they trudged along the moorland paths, which led north towards Loch Awe and Kilchurn.

“A hard and long day,” Elaine’s father said, reining in his horse and pausing to look out across the landscape.

“Everywhere is so dry. The rain will surely come soon,” Elaine said, as she came to a stop behind her father.

“This is the limit of our land. Here is where we enter the territory of the MacCallum’s. Everythin’ that ye can see from here belongs to them, and behind us, everythin’ ye can see belongs to me,” her father said, pointing first forwards and then backward.

“Then I am to be mistress of two lands,” Elaine replied, looking out across the landscape.

From the ridge, she could see right across the moorlands, making out the distant sparkle of a loch many miles to the north. It was wild and rugged countryside, and she could only imagine its bleakness in the depth of winter when the snows lay thick and heavy there, and freezing winds blew down from the north.

“Aye, mistress of two lands, lass. A McRob and a MacCallum. Tis’ a great moment for our clans. And when yer first child is born, perhaps it will be he who will become master of these two lands,” her father replied.

“And what if I produce a girl, father? What then?” Elaine asked, but her father only laughed.

“Then ye must try harder, lass. I love ye with all my heart, but it was a tragedy that yer dear mother did nae produce an heir. A true tragedy,” he said, sighing and shaking his head.

“Things are meant to be, father. Fate is nay always a kind mistress,” Elaine replied.

“That is true. But come now, fate has it in store that I shall leave ye presently. I must return to Carrick. Ye will be quite safe ridin’ north now. MacCallum territory is safe enough,” he said, calling out for the clansmen to continue.

Elaine paused a moment, still looking out across the vast moorlands ahead and wondering as to her fate. It felt as though this were her final step. To leave this ridge and ride down into MacCallum territory was to take a step she had never taken before. Now, she was leaving home for the final time, and all that lay ahead was unfamiliar.

“Take courage, mistress. We can ride together,” Carys said, causing Elaine to look up from her pondering.

“Then we shall ride together, Carys,” she said, and her companion smiled.

They urged their horses onwards, following her father and the other clansmen on down the moorland path. They had crossed the border now, and Elaine could feel herself letting go of the past and looking to the future. She was brave, dutiful, and determined. This would be a true adventure, and she was ready to face the challenges which lay ahead.

For the rest of the day, they rode on, making slow progress in the heat. They paused to eat a simple meal by a stream upon the moorlands, and it was here that her father bid them farewell. He would not attend the wedding but would ride to Kilchurn later in the summer when further agreements between the two clans could be reached. Elaine was sad to see him leave, and they stood together for a moment upon the path, her father embracing her and offering her his blessing.

“Be strong, Elaine. There is so much of yer mother in ye. She, too, was a brave and noble soul. I see her in ye every day, and I know that she would have been proud of ye. Just as I am,” he said, kissing Elaine and holding her close.

“Then I must dae my best to live up to that reputation, father,” Elaine replied.

“Ye already have done, lass. But here, there is somethin’ that I want ye to have. Wear it on yer weddin’ day and may it remind ye of yer mother and bring ye good luck,” her father said, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a little box.

Elaine had never seen it before, and she opened it curiously, revealing a gold necklace inside.

“Tis’ beautiful, father,” she said, and he smiled.

“It belonged to yer mother. She wore it on the day that she and I were married. Ours was nae, unlike yer own. Yer mother came havin’ never met me before. But we were the happiest of people, and I loved her with all my heart. Hamish MacCallum will love ye too, I am certain of it. Now, be brave and take heart. We shall see each other very soon,” he said, and he kissed her once more before climbing onto his horse and preparing to ride away.

“A safe journey, father,” Elaine called out, and she watched as he rode off across the moorlands.

“It will nae be long until ye see him again, mistress,” Carys said, coming to stand by Elaine’s side.

They watched as her father became a distant dot upon the landscape, his horse charging over the heathers. With a sigh, Elaine turned and nodded, the two women making their way back to the party of clansmen who had just concluded their simple meal of bread and cheese.

“We shall camp a few miles further on tonight, mistress, and then arrive at Kilchurn by noon tomorrow,” the captain of the clansmen said, as they made ready to depart.

“And the path is safe to camp upon?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Ye are quite safe, lass. Besides, I have seen ye wield a sword on many occasions,” he said, laughing and shaking his head.

“But never in battle, captain. I am nay warrior,” she replied, “I shall leave any fightin’ to ye and yer men. Come now, the sooner we ride on, the quicker we shall arrive.”

He nodded to her, calling out orders to the men as Elaine climbed into her saddle and smiled at Carys, who had just finished tightening the straps on her saddlebag.

“What dae ye think the castle is like? Does the Laird have many servants?” Carys asked, climbing up into her saddle and reining her horse around to depart.

“I know very little about it, or of the Laird. I know he has a son, though, for the Laird was married before. His wife died some years ago, but unlike my father, it seems he is keen to marry again,” Elaine said, and Carys nodded.

“Ye didnae tell me he had a son, Elaine. I wonder if he is handsome,” she replied, and Elaine laughed.

“And if he is, then ye are welcome to marry him, Carys. Ye are welcome to marry any man ye so choose. One of us at least should find some happiness in all of this,” Elaine replied, as they rode off across the heathers.

“Come now, mistress. Ye will be happy, I promise. We both will be,” she said.

“So long as I have my faithful friend, I will be,” Elaine replied, grateful at least for the company of one who had been so loyal to her across the years.

Carys had been her maid since they were children, and she was the closest friend Elaine had ever had. She could not imagine life without her and had been greatly cheered when Carys had happily agreed to ride north.

“Ye shall always have me, mistress. I promise,” Elaine replied.

For several hours they rode north across the moorlands. The heat of the sun was relentless, and Elaine was grateful when the shadows began to lengthen, and the cool of the evening began to descend. The captain called a halt at a copse of trees on the edge of the path, and here they decided to make camp, a fire soon kindled, and a stew prepared for their dinner.

Elaine and Carys went to fetch water from a stream that ran below a bank covered in flowers, the water gushing and gurgling its ways down from the hills above. After the heat of the day, the water’s edge was refreshing and reviving, and they paused a while by its side, bathing their weary feet in the cold, clear stream and splashing one another for fun.

“Mistress, I am wet through,” Carys said, laughing, as she leaped out of the way.

“Tis’ so lovely after the heat,” Elaine said, wading up to her waist in the water and splashing Carys again.

“Oh, tis’ just that,” Carys said, giving in and joining Elaine in the pool where they both began to swim.

“Perhaps this journey will nae be so bad after all,” Elaine said, turning on her back and floating into the middle of the water.

“Tis’ an adventure, lass. We will be happy, I promise. We shall find a place to look out from each day, just like we did at Carrick. We shall take walks in the hills just as we always did, and in the winter, we shall sit and spin the wool. Life will nae be that different,” Carys said, as they climbed out of the pool and lay panting on the bank on the other side.

“Except I shall be married. Dae ye think the Laird will expect much of me?” Elaine asked.

“He shall expect ye to be dutiful, I suppose. But surely he will have important tasks to see to. Ye and I will be left to dae as we please. We can begin by explorin’ the whole of the castle, and then around the loch. There will be all manner of things to see,” Carys said, smiling at Elaine, who nodded.

“And by tomorrow, we shall see it,” she said, picking up the pail of water they had collected and pointing back towards the copse of trees above.

“Aye, come now, the men will be eager for their water. I hope the stew is ready,” Carys said, and the two of them climbed up the bank, carrying the pail of water between them.

“Tis’ strange,” Elaine said, when they came to the tree line, “I cannae see any of them men around.”

They paused for a moment, looking through the trees to where the men had set up camp not an hour before. But there was no sign of anyone. Elaine could see none of the men, nor the horses either. It was as though they had simply vanished.

“How strange. Ten men daenae just disappear in a moment,” Carys said.

“Captain? Where are ye?” Elaine called out as they came to the clearing where the fire was smoking.

“Mistress, look,” Carys cried out, and in their horror, they dropped the pail of water to the ground, spilling the water out as they did so.

There, lying with his neck cut, was the captain of the guard. Several of the other clansmen lay dead too, attacked it seemed with swords and other crude instruments which had left horrific injuries to their bodies. Carys clutched at Elaine, and the two women stared in horror at one another, realizing the sudden terror of their predicament.

“Quickly, Carys, come,” Elaine hissed, taking hold of Carys’ hand and leading her into the trees.

It was not a moment too soon, for there appeared in the clearing several vicious-looking men who began to rummage through the discarded saddlebags. Elaine and Carys hid just a short distance away, hardly daring to breathe as they watched what happened next.

“Four dead, these are nae MacCallum’s though. Look at them, these are McRobs, ye can see the insignia,” one of the men said.

“Ye shouldnae have killed them all. What are they doing up here? Where were they going?” another of the men replied.

“Travellin’ north, they must have been on their way to Kilchurn to see the Laird. Well, he shall nae get his tributes now. But what is this?” the first of the men said, emptying out the saddlebag.

Elaine watched as they searched through her belongings, picking out her clothes and holding them up in surprise. There were eight of them in total, all heavily armed, a group of bandits who no doubt preyed upon travelers foolish enough to paused as Elaine and the others had done.

“Why would clansmen have lass’ clothes with them?” one of them said, and the others laughed.

“Because they must have lasses with them. There must be some we have nae found yet. Come on, let’s search for them,” one of them said, and Carys clutched at Elaine as the two women backed further away into the undergrowth.

“We need to get away, come now,” Elaine hissed.

She had only her dagger on her belt, and the two of them could be no match for such vicious and heavily armed men. They had killed all of the clansmen, and surely, they would have no qualms in killing them too if they found them.

Elaine pointed towards the trees behind, as the sounds of the men beginning to search now echoed all around. They kept low, scrambling through the bracken, which grew up all around, cutting themselves on thorns and brambles as they tried desperately to get away.

“There are two extra horses here; there must be two lasses somewhere. Hiding in the trees. Quickly now, they would make a handsome bounty if we can find them. Daenae let them get away,” one of the men called out.

“Mistress, we are surrounded,” Carys whispered, her voice shot through with fear.

“This way,” Elaine hissed, pointing through the trees.

The men were almost upon them now, shouting to one another as they hunted. But Elaine had no intention of being caught, and she took hold of Carys’ hand, holding it firmly and reassuringly.

“Where now, mistress?” Carys whimpered.

“We shall make a run for it. See, the horses are unattended through the trees. On my signal, we shall run for them and ride like the wind. Climb onto the captain’s horse—Tis’ the swiftest of them all. We shall ride together and be away before they can catch us. We shall nae stop until we are safe,” Elaine said, and Carys began to cry.

“I cannae, mistress,” she whimpered, but Elaine squeezed her hand, preparing to pull her to her feet.

“Tis’ our only chance, Carys. Come now, be brave,” she said, “we will run on my signal.”

Elaine took a deep breath, the sounds of the bandits almost on top of them. But they had no choice, for if they did not try to escape, then surely they would be made prisoner. She summoned all her strength, reminding herself that she was the daughter of a Laird and mistress of these lands. She was brave, and she would not be cowed by bandits who would kill her father’s men and attempt to make her their ransom.

“There, over there,” one of the bandits cried out as Elaine and Carys rose from the undergrowth and dashed towards the horses.

With a roar, several of the men charged towards them, but the two women already had a start on them, and they reached the horses, throwing themselves onto the captain’s stead, which bucked and reared up on its hind legs.

“Woah there, ride,” Elaine cried out, urging the animal onwards.

It charged forward, but just as it did so, one of the bandits caught hold of the reins, and the animal bucked, almost sending Elaine and Carys falling to the ground.

“I have them,” he cried out, but Elaine had no intention of being made a prisoner in their moment of escape.

She pulled her dagger from its hilt and slashed at the man’s arm. He let out a cry of pain, letting go of the rains and falling back to the ground. The horse charged forward, and Elaine and Carys were away. She did not look back but urged the horse onwards, charging along the track towards the north.

Behind them, they could hear the sounds of the bandits mounting their own steads and preparing to give chase. Cries and threats filled the air, but Elaine could think only of escape, and she pushed the horse onwards, urging it to ride like the wind across the moors.

It was evening now, but still as light as day, the sun barely beginning to set. They had escaped, but how long could ride when all was unknown and unfamiliar? The moorlands all looked the same, though the path seemed well trodden on its way north. If only she knew the way to Kilchurn. But all that Elaine could do was ride on, praying for their deliverance and an end to this nightmare.

Chapter II

They are still following us, mistress,” Carys called out, glancing behind her.

Elaine, too, stole a glance back, and she could see the bandits riding at speed around half a mile behind them. If they paused for even a moment, then they would surely be upon them, and she was beginning to tire, not used to long rides in the saddle.

“We must keep goin now, we cannae stop,” Elaine called out, urging the horse forwards as fast as it would go.

But with two of them riding, it was clear that the poor animal could not hope to keep up its speed. It was tiring, and the bandits were gaining upon them moment by moment. Elaine knew that soon they would be upon them and that their only hope was to reach a place of safety, wherever that might be.

But the moorlands were open and barren. There seemed to be no shelter for miles around, not even an outlying croft or a farm where they might find shelter. Carys was terrified, and Elaine could feel her hands shaking with fear as she held onto her waist.

“What will they dae with us?” Carys said, her voice sounding tearful.

“They shall nae kill us. We are worth too much for that. But I have nay wish to find out anythin’ more,” Elaine said, glancing behind her once again.

The group of bandits was now only a short distance behind, and she could see the murderous look on the dead man’s face. They seemed determined to catch them but try as she might, she could not force the horse to greater speeds. He was slowing now and would surely collapse from exhaustion soon, sending them sprawling to the ground, captured and at the mercy of these wicked men.

“Ye will nae leave me though, mistress? Will ye?” Carys said, and Elaine shook her head.

“We are nae beaten yet, Carys. Look. There is a ridge there; we shall make for that. Perhaps we can gain some distance between us on the rocks,” she said, trying to sound more convinced than she felt.

“Aye, or lame the horse as we go,” Carys said, seeming to doubt any hope of their escaping their pursuers.

They had come to a fork in the path, one way leading north and the other to the west. The heathers ran down a long ridge, the path there ahead somewhat obscured. It seemed the best of several poor hopes, and Elaine urged the horse onwards, praying again for the wisdom to choose the right course.

“Tis’ nay use, we have ye, stop this foolishness and give yerselves up,” the lead bandit called out, the sound of his horse’s hooves now almost upon them.

“Never, nae to a coward like ye,” Elaine cried back as they charged up onto the ridge.

But it seemed that all hope was lost. The ridge gave way to a path running down towards trees, an empty country, and the perfect place for capture. She was about to rein in the horse and draw her dagger, ready to defend herself and Carys unto death.

“Nay, mistress, keep on,” Carys cried out, but just then, a most extraordinary thing occurred.

From the trees, there appeared a party of men, some twenty or so in total, all mounted on black horses, with brightly fluttering banners above them. The sight of these men caused the bandits to cry out in horror, the lead man calling an immediate retreat as confusion seemed now to rein.

Elaine and Carys were caught between them, and Elaine reined in the horse, uncertain of who now to face as her enemy. Was this an ambush upon them? A trick to deceive and lure them into a new danger?

The path was cut off on both sides. Behind them their pursuers and in front of this new and unexpected sight, a party of men led by a man riding an impressive-looking horse. He was handsome, in an unassuming way, his brown hair partially obscured by a helmet and his face clean-shaven.

“Charge these villains away,” he cried, the men on horseback ignoring Elaine and Carys as they pursued the bandits who now scattered to the four winds.

“Mistress, these men have come to our rescue,” Carys said, as Elain pulled up the horse, breathless and exhausted at the side of the path.

Like the cowards they were, their pursuers now scattered, some of them caught by the heavily armored men while others charged off back across the moorlands. Elaine was now in no doubt that her prayers had been answered and that these men had appeared just in time. But what would happen when they turned their attentions to the horse on which the two women now sat? They could not hope to outride these men if their intentions became hostile. All they could do was wait.

“But caution is still required, Carys. We daenae know who these men are. For all we know, they are worse than those who pursed us,” Elaine whispered, as the leader of the horses now rode up to them.

“Hail there, I mean ye nay harm. Ye have had a lucky escape, but tell me, who are ye?” he asked, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his hair.

“I should ask ye the same question,” Elaine replied, looking nervously around her, for they were now surrounded by the riders, several of the bandits now trussed and tied up.

But despite her fears, there was something about him which she felt able to trust. More so than that, something about him which instantly drew her to him. He intrigued her, a handsome and noble man, a man who had come to their rescue at just their moment of need. Her heart was racing, but not only for fear, a shiver running through her as he fixed his eyes upon her and smiled.

“My name is Finlay MacCallum, and ye are ridin’ across my father’s lands. State yer business and tell me why ye were being pursued by those men. We have had much trouble upon the moorlands from these villains in the past months,” he said, looking her up and down.

At the mention of his name, Elaine breathed a sigh of relief, though perhaps a little disappointment too, for he was certainly attractive, and she wondered again about his father. This was the son of the man under whose protection she now lay, and she knew now that they were safe.

“If ye are Finlay MacCallum, then ye and I are soon to be closer than ye think. My name is Elaine McRob, and I can see by the expression on yer face that now ye realize what tragedy ye have prevented this day. We owe ye a debt of gratitude,” Elaine said, as Finlay nodded and smiled at her.

“I suspected as much. My father has been awaitin’ ye, and he sent out our party to bring ye safely to Kilchurn. The way has become dangerous, as ye have discovered to yer peril. Where is yer escort? Surely yer father did nae send ye alone across the moorlands north to us?” Finlay asked, and Elaine shook her head.

“Dead. All of them. These bandits caught us by surprise in a copse of trees to the south. Carys and I were lucky to escape with our lives,” Elaine replied, shaking her head sadly, and Finlay cursed.

“Villains, well, they shall be punished. These ones at least, and we shall nae rest until their companions are hunted down and made to suffer for what they have done. Come now, we shall ride at once to Kilchurn; my father is anxious to see ye safely to our halls,” Finlay said, his face set in grim determination.

Elaine could not help but be thankful to him for rescuing them, but her heart was filled with sorrow, too, at the loss of her father’s men. The brave captain and his soldiers had clearly not betrayed them to the bandits, and it was thanks to them that they had been able to escape. She was determined to see justice done, but she was tired, too, and wished for a place to lay her head. It would be growing dark soon, the shadows having lengthened upon the moorlands and the sun dipping in the sky.

She urged the horse around, riding after Finlay and among his men, who greeted her with deference and respect. She was to be the mistress of this clan, and it seemed there was much interest in her from among them, relief too that they had found her before the bandits had caught up. But the sad fate of her father’s men weighed heavily upon her heart, and she offered up a prayer for their souls, vowing again to see them avenged.

***

She is certainly an attractive lass, though what a tragedy tis’ that has befallen her on her way to us, Finlay thought to himself, as they rode back towards Kilchurn.

How fortunate it had been that he and his men had come across her and her companion. It did not bear thinking about what might have happened had the bandits caught up with them.

It angered Finlay to think of these men roaming freely across his father’s land. What right did they have to do so? He had vowed to his father to ensure that the lands around the castle did not become lawless, but it seemed that day by day, things were becoming worse.

“What are we to dae with the prisoners, sir?” one of his men asked as they rode along the way towards the castle.

“Have them thrown into the dungeons. We shall make an example of them well enough,” Finlay replied, riding slowing his horse to a pace with Elaine and her maid.

“Ye ride well,” he said, looking at her with interest.

“Tis’ in my blood to dae so, sir. I am nay idle lass, ye know,” and Finlay laughed.

“Aye, I can see that. To face down such men and ride to safety is nay idle thing. My father shall be impressed with ye,” she replied.

“And are ye?” she asked, smiling at him.

“I am,” he replied, struck not only by her attractiveness but by her strength of character, too.

Here was a woman who would prove an interesting mistress of their clan and even a match to his father.

***

“He is clearly a good man,” Carys whispered as they rode after Finlay along the moorland track, which rose up across the heathers to the north, “handsome too.”

“And I must hope his father is a similar sort of man,” Elaine replied.

“I am sorry to meet ye under such circumstances,” Finlay said, pulling back his horse so that he could ride alongside them.

“We are only thankful that ye appeared when ye did,” Elaine replied.

“We have long been expectin’ ye at Kilchurn these past months. I have looked forward to meetin’ the woman whom my father has chosen as his wife and mistress of our clan,” Finlay said, glancing at Elaine and smiling.

“And am I as ye hoped I would be?” she asked, causing him to laugh.

“It was nae my place to hope, but ye have certainly proved yerself brave by facin’ down those men. There are many less who would have been killed, many men without the courage to dae what ye did,” Finlay replied.

“I am the daughter of a Laird, sir. I am nae afraid of such things, though we are in yer debt,” Elaine replied, blushing a little under his gaze.

“There is nay debt, lass. Tis’ the honor of our clan that we defend, and I will nae allow this country to become lawless, the preserve of bandits and villains. Nay, we shall ride out again and again, until the trail is safe, and they are brought to pay for what they have done,” Finlay said, glancing back at the prisoners who were being pulled roughly along at the rear of the horses.

The moon was rising over the moorlands now, casting its milky glow upon the heathers and reflecting from a loch which lay below. It sparkled in the gathering gloom, and Elaine could now see Kilchurn Castle, lying at the north of the loch, a most welcome sight after all which they had endured since leaving Carrick and all which was familiar behind.

“Tis’ a welcome sight,” Carys whispered as they rode down the track leading to the gates.

“Though how sad that we are coming here alone and without our men. My father will be sorrowful to hear of their loss,” Elaine replied.

“And so we must honor their memories,” Carys replied, “And ye must stay strong, mistress. Ye will feel better for something to eat.”

“Aye, that I shall,” Elaine said, for she realized now just how hungry she felt, as her stomach began to rumble

The castle was made up of a large, square tower from which a wall ran out to a smaller round tower and curved around to form a courtyard. A large gate stood open, flanked on each side by burning torches, and Elaine could see guards stationed upon the battlements above. It was surrounded by the huts and dwellings of a small village, a stone kirk lying at its heart, and a single track running into trees heading north.

Elaine wondered as to the history of the place and of the people who inhabited it. What would Finlay’s father be like? It was clear he had a care for her, else he would never have sent his son out to escort her there that night and what fortune it was that he had done so. She felt nervous now, for she had been so caught up in the events of that evening that she had barely thoughts of what was next to come.

Now, she followed Finlay and the other riders through the gates, knowing the time for her new life to begin was here, the old one left behind. It had already contained far more excitement than she desired, and she hoped now for a peaceful night and the chance to rest. Everything was new and different, the sounds and smells of the place, the clansmen milling about as the night watch appeared, and there was surely the Laird himself, waiting upon the steps to the tower, a look of relief upon his face and his arms outstretched in welcome.

---

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Follow me on BookBub

Chapter I

“How’s she doin’?” Fin asked.

Fin watched Col, his cousin, best friend, and the current Baron of Westmarch Hall, pace the chamber, running his hands through his hair, both fear and rage etched upon his features at the same time. He finally stopped before the large hearth and stared silently into the flames for a long moment. Fin could feel the emotions radiating off his cousin and oldest friend like the heat from the fire. He was scared for Gillian as well. And he was just as angry as Col that somebody had tried to kill her.

Finally, Col turned. “The physician’s seein’ some improvement. He thinks she’ll recover in time.”

“That’s good news,” Fin said, feeling the first spark of hope he’d felt in days.

“Aye,” Col nodded. “Tis good news.”

“Then why dae ye look so grim?”

A wry smile touched Col’s lips. “I suppose I daenae want tae jinx it b’fore she’s back on ‘er feet again.”

Fin nodded. “Aye. I s’pose I can understand that.”

Col dropped down into one of the chairs at the large table near the hearth and poured out a couple glasses of mead for them then motioned for Fin to sit down. Fin walked over and took the seat across from him and raised his mug. They both took a long swallow in silence, the only sound in the room was the crackling and popping of the fire, and the air was thick with tension.

Fin could see the myriad of emotions swirling across his cousin’s face but could only imagine how hard they were hitting him. He set his mug down hard, the hard thump echoing around the hall.

“This is my fault,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

“Bollocks,” Fin said. “Tis nae yer fault. Tis nae Gillian’s fault. Tis the fault of the bast’rd who done this.”

“Twas my wine she drank,” Col pressed. “And by God, I’d rather twas me layin’ in that bed right now.”

“She drank from yer mug,” Fin told him. “That daenae make it yer fault.”

Col runs a hand over his face. “I ken,” he said. “But it feels like it.”

“Aye. I get it. But tis not.”

They drained the last of their mugs, and Col refilled them immediately.

“The Captain of yer personal guard shouldnae be drinkin’ on duty,” Fin said.

“Then ye watch me drink,” Col said.

“Fair ‘nough.”

They sat at the table mostly in silence as Fin watched his cousin drink, a faraway look of anger and pain etched deeply into his features.

“Ye should get some sleep, Cousin,” Fin said. “When’s the last time ye got some rest?”

“We need tae find who did this,” Col said. “I cannae sleep until we ‘ave that bast’rd’s ‘ead on a pike.”

Fin nodded. “We’ll get ‘im, Col. But ye arenae goin’ tae dae anybody any good if ye’re dead on yer feet.”

Col swallowed down the last of his ale and reached for the pitcher but seemed to think better of it and withdrew his hand. Instead, Col turned and looked at him, pursing his lips.

“I need ye tae look intae it, Fin,” he said.

Fin sat back in his seat. He was good in a fight and could always be counted on to wade into a battle. That’s what made him the perfect bodyguard for Col – he was practically fearless. But when it came to something like Col was asking him to do, Fin felt horribly out of his depth. He did not feel capable of doing what he wanted. He was a man of action, not a man of critical thought. And perhaps that was a flaw in his character, but he was always more comfortable with a sword in his hand.

He knew that, of the two of them, Col was the smarter one. Col was the one who came up with all of their plans and did the thinking. Fin was the one who, when the action started, was always the first one to charge in. As a result, he felt woefully ill-equipped to be the one leading an investigation into who poisoned Gillian – into who had been trying to poison Col.

“Cousin, I daenae ken I’m the right man for that job,” Fin said.

Col cocked his head. “Why nae?”

Fin finally reached for the pitcher and poured himself half a mug of ale. He swallowed it down, quenching his suddenly parched throat. He did not talk about his feelings well, and he certainly did not like admitting to his shortcomings. Not even to his cousin and most trusted friend. But if he could not speak to Col about these things, who could he speak to about them?

Fin cleared his throat. “B’cause I’m nae smart ‘enough tae dae it, Col. I ken we both ken that.”

Col sat back in his seat and looked at him long and hard. He ran a hand over his face, and an expression of sorrow crossed his features. He raised his head and looked at Fin again.

“Is that th’ way I’ve made ye feel all these years?” he asked.

Fin shook his head. “Ye never made me feel that way. Tis not like ye were doin’ nothin’ tae make me feel dumb.”

“Well, ye arenae dumb, Fin,” he said. “And yer a bleedin’ idiot if ye think so.”

The irony of the statement sunk in, and they looked at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. It was short-lived, though, and the laughter faded, leaving them sitting there staring at one another.

“There isnae anyone I trust more,” Col said, finally breaking the silence between them. “I need tae ken who did this. And I need tae kill ‘em.”

“Aye. Ye need their ‘eads on pikes,” Fin replied. “I ‘ave nae problem with that.”

Col held his gaze for a long moment. “I need you tae find ‘em, Fin. There is nobody I’d trust more tae dae the job and dae it right.”

Fin sighed. “And who’ll watch yer back while I’m runnin’ all over tryin’ tae find a needle in the bleedin’ haystack?

“What ‘bout Hollis?”

“If I’m gonna dae this, I’d prefer tae take Hollis with me.”

Col nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Then I’ll ‘ave Alastair–”

“Alastair?” Fin cut him off. “He’s a whelp.”

“A whelp ye’ve been trainin’,” Col said. “I’ve seen ‘im ‘andle a blade’n he’s good.”

Fin nodded. It was true. He had taken Alastair under his wing and had been training him. He was a good kid and was definitely capable. But he was still green. Raw. He had a long way to go before Fin would be ready to allow Alastair to shadow Col and charge him with keeping his cousin safe.

“Aye. He’s good,” Fin agreed. “But he’s nae ready.”

Col sighed. “I’m not gonna be leavin’ the keep until Gillian is on ‘er feet again,” he argued. “I’ll be safe ‘nough with Alastair at me back.”

Fin leveled his gaze at him. “If that were true, you wouldnae be sendin’ me out tae find the man who tried tae kill ye.”

Col chuckled. “Fair point, ye bleedin’ arse,” he said. “But Alastair’s a good lad’n good with a blade. I’m comfortable ‘nough with him watchin’ me back.”

The way he said it told Fin the matter had been settled, and he was officially tasked with finding the would-be assassin while Alastair watched his cousin’s back. Fin wasn’t comfortable with the arrangement. There was still a lot Fin needed to teach Alastair before he’d be ready for the assignment he was being given.

But Fin knew Col well enough to know that when his mind was made up, there was little he could do to change it. His cousin was more stubborn than a mule when he got his mind set on something.

“All right then,” Fin said. “I s’pose ye’ve got yer mind made up.”

“I dae,” Col said. “Like I told ye, there’s nobody I trust more.”

The doors to the chamber burst open, and one of the household pages came rushing in, his cheeks flushed and out of breath, carrying a sealed letter in his hand.

“My Laird,” the page said. “A message ‘as arrived from York.”

“Thank you,” Col said as he took the letter and broke the seal on the envelope.

York. Gillian’s father was the Duke of York, and there was a time when Col and Fin were on the opposite side of a great divide with the Duke. Fin and his cousin had raided the Duke’s supply carts for more than a year some time back and had eventually gone to war with his brother and son.

Having saved James’ dukedom, he had built this castle for them out on the Western March, halfway between York and their clan lands in Scotland. It was meant to serve as a symbolic bridge between the two lands and their two people. It was not without its detractors, though. Not without its share of controversy. And Col had ended up with enemies on both sides of the border.

But time — and of course, his marriage to Gillian and the children they’d had — had managed to heal the wounds between the Duke and Col. And for that, Fin was grateful. After years of fighting, war, and surviving on the scraps of their criminal endeavors, it was nice to have some stability. Security. It had been nice getting used to a life without war.

“What is it?” Fin asked.

Col’s face darkened. “The Duke was poisoned,” he said, his voice grim.

Ice water flowed through Fin’s veins. That was the last thing he had been expecting to hear. The implications of it were even direr than Fin had thought.

“Is he–”

Col shook his head. “Nay. The Duke lives.”

“Thank God in ‘eaven.”

“Aye,” Col said, his voice tight. “But ye need tae get tae York. Ye need tae look in on the Duke’n see if ye can find who did this.”

Fin sighed but nodded his head. “Aye. On me way.”

Chapter II

“How is he doin’?”

“He is alive,” the Duke’s physician Walter told Fin. “His condition is still grave, but there are signs of improvement.”

Because he was usually Col’s shadow whenever he came to York, the people had gotten used to seeing Fin around the castle. Though some of the English were still unsettled by the sight of Scotsmen wandering the halls, because they were part of the Duke’s family now, they did not give him any trouble.

“Tis good news,” Fin replied. “Tis very good news.”

“So long as he continues to improve, it is good news,” Walter said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to see the Duke.”

Walter walked out of the chamber, leaving Fin alone with Hollis, his second in command. Hollis came from the same village as Fin, and they’d known each other since they were boys. Aside from Col, there was nobody he trusted more than Hollis. When Col had raised him up to Captain of his household guard, Fin had brought Hollis along as well. The man had become his right arm, and Fin didn’t know how he functioned without him.

Fin took a seat at the table in the chamber and poured them both a glass of wine as Hollis took the chair across from him. Hollis picked up his glass and sniffed at it.

“The least they could dae is ‘ave a proper glass of ale,” he said.

Fin chuckled. “The Ainglish arenae known for their strong constitutions,” he said. “Ale might be tae much for ‘em.”

They shared a laugh and sipped at their wine for a moment. Fin was glad to hear the Duke was recovering and knew both Gillian and Col would be too. He scratched at his beard, his mind whirling as he tried to come up with a list of suspects.

“Who’d want tae ‘urt both Gillian and ‘er fither?” Hollis wondered aloud.

“Twas not Gillian they tried tae murder,” Fin said. “Twas Col, they were tryin’ tae poison.”

“Well, the assassin wasnae a very good one,” he replied. “He didnae manage tae kill either target.”

“Thanks be tae God,” Fin said. “I daenae know what would’ve ‘appened if they’d succeeded.”

Hollis nodded and drained the last of his wine and immediately refilled his glass. Fin was not well versed enough in the line of succession to know what would have happened had the assassin succeeded in killing both Col and the Duke. The land would have been leaderless and thrown into chaos. Fin could only imagine that nobles from both sides of the border, Scottish and English, would have fought for the land and titles that went with it. He’d seen it enough in Scotland to know what could happen.

“So, where dae we start?” Hollis asked.

Fin shook his head. “I daenae ken,” he said. “But we ‘ave tae start somewhere.”

“Aye,” Hollis said. “Ye lead the way.”

They drained the last of their wine and got to their feet. As Fin looked down at his wineglass, an idea occurred to him. He set his glass down and looked up.

“We need t’ go t’ thae kitchens,” he said.

“Right b’hind ye.”

 

* * * * *

Fin walked into the kitchen and felt his stomach rumble, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in a while. He and Hollis snuck a couple of the roasted chicken legs from a platter, earning them dirty glares from the kitchen staff.

“Where’s the Head Steward?” Fin asked one of the passing scullery maids.

“In the larder,” she replied.

“And ‘is name, lass?”

“Mr. White,” she replied. “Mr. Daniel White.”

Hollis leaned back against one of the counters and munched on his chicken leg, a grin on his face.

“Ye comin’ with me?” Fin asked.

“I ken ye can ‘andle this on yer own,” he replied. “I’m goin’ tae make sure there’s no assassins lurkin’ in here.”

Fin chuckled but could not blame him for wanting to hang out in the kitchens. Not only did it smell wonderful, but the cooks were also pumping out platter after platter of delicious food. If Fin had his way, he’d stay here and eat his fill too. But he had to content himself with the chicken legs in his hand, which he finished and tossed into a bucket.

“All right then,” Fin said. “I’ll be back. Daenae do anythin’ stupid.”

“Me?”

“Aye. Ye.”

Hollis chuckled as Fin turned and headed for the larder. He moved aside as a pair of liveried servants came bustling out, their arms loaded with burlap sacks of foodstuff bound for the kitchen. Fin stepped in to find a tall man with thinning gray hair in the Duke’s livery counting items on the shelves and making notations on a piece of parchment attached to a writing board. When Fin walked in, the man gave him a once over.

“Who’re you?” he snapped.

“Me name’s Fin, Mr. White,” he introduced himself. “I’m ‘ere on the Duke’s bus’ness.”

The man sighed and set his writing board down, his face pale and drawn as a look of sorrow crept into his eyes.

“And a nasty business,  that is,” he said. “The Duke’s a good man. Don’t deserve to have this happen to him.”

“The physician says he should recover,” Fin informed him.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Thanks be to God.”

“Aye. Me tae,” Fin replied.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need tae know who handled the Duke’s wine b’fore he drank it.”

The man sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Could’ve been anybody in the kitchens, to be honest,” he replied.

“Coulda been but I daenae ken so,” Fin said. “But I want tae start with yer wine stewards and cupbearers.”

The man shook his head. “All of them have been with us for years,” he said. “They’re good lads. Loyal to the Duke. All of them.”

“Ye’ve nae ‘ad any new lads come tae work for ye?”

The steward screwed up his face for a moment as if thinking and then turned to Fin.

“Now that you mention it, we did take on a new cupbearer a few weeks back,” he said. “He is the son of one the household smithies.”

“What’s ‘is name?”

“Marcus,” he replied. “Marcus Long.”

“And where can I find Marcus Long?” Fin pressed.

“He is in the grand hall. I have him polishing the formal goblets,” he said. “You don’t really believe he could have something to do with this, do you?”

“I daenae,” Fin said. “But I’ve some questions I need tae ask ‘im.”

“He is a good lad,” he argued. “I can’t see–”

“I’m nae sayin’ he’s involved,” Fin cut him off. “Nae yet. But I need tae ask ‘im some questions.”

White seemed genuinely stricken by the idea that one of his charges could have been involved with the Duke’s poisoning. Though he seemed like he could be a harsh man to Fin, he seemed to genuinely care about the men who worked under him.

“Tell me, what dae ye know about monkshood?” Fin asked.

“Other than to say, I know it isn’t a plant that can be used in cooking, not much I fear. My expertise is in baking and running an organized, disciplined kitchen,” he replied. “But there is an apothecary in the village outside the castle walls you can speak with. She will know far more than I.”

Fin nodded. “I’ll dae that.”

He studied Mr. White for a moment longer. He seemed an honest and forthright man. But did that mean he was not a man capable of slipping a dose of poison into the Duke’s wine? Or ordering somebody else to do it? Fin wasn’t sure, and though he did not detect any sort of deception, Mr. White would bear further scrutiny. But he wanted to question the cupbearer next as this Marcus had the most direct line to the Duke’s wine.

“Thank ye,” Fin said. “I’ll go’n find Marcus now.”

As Fin marched through the kitchen, Hollis fell into step beside him, munching on what looked like a sweet cake. Crumbs were stuck in the man’s beard, and Fin just shook his head.

“Get yer fill did ye?” he asked.

Hollis shrugged. “Nay. Ye werenae gone long ‘nough for that,” he said. “But it’ll tide me over for now.”

The doors groaned, and the hinges squealed as they pushed through the doors and stepped into the grand hall. A young man of about eighteen or nineteen years was standing at the far end of the table and looked up as they approached, a nervous tremor passing across his face.

Marcus was older than Fin had expected but still had a youthful air about him. He was tall and thin with narrow shoulders, long arms, and long, spindly fingers. He had dark eyes, a mop of shaggy, dark hair, and pale skin. He was antsy and shifted from foot to foot, doing his best to avoid looking at Fin, which put him on edge immediately.

Fin stopped in front of Marcus and looked up him up and down, sizing him up. Hollis stood behind Fin, his arms folded over his chest, a fearsome look on his face, doing his best to silently intimidate the cupbearer.

“Are ye Marcus Long?” Fin asked.

“Y – yes, sir,” he replied.

Fin narrowed his eyes and glared at him and took a step back. He looked nervous as if he was going to bolt from the hall.

“Little old tae be a cupbearer, are yet not?” Fin asked.

Marcus shrugged. “I used to work in the smithy with my father, sir,” he said. “But I am not cut out for that sort of work. I’m not strong enough, I fear.”

Fin looked him up and down for a moment and nodded. He could see that. Smiths were big, brawny men, and Marcus was definitely not that. He probably was better suited to working in the household.

“And how long’ve ye been workin’ in the Duke’s house?”

“I’ve been a cupbearer for several months now, sir,” he replied.

Better suited to be working in the house than the smithy or not, it seemed to Fin that it was a mighty big coincidence that shortly after Marcus started to work as a cupbearer, the Duke winds up poisoned. Fin had never been big on believing in coincidences. He didn’t think there was much that could not be explained by a more rational reason.

He looked at Marcus closely and could see how twitchy the younger man was. He looked like a rabbit staring up at a hungry hawk that was circling above him. Fin thought the best approach would be straight forward and blunt. He thought he could rattle Marcus enough that he would trip over a lie and unintentionally reveal something to him…

“What dae ye know ‘bout what ‘appened tae the Duke?” Fin asked.

“I – I do not know anything, sir,” he replied.

The young man looked ready to cry or run. Sweat beaded on his brow, and Fin thought he looked more nervous than he should have if he had nothing to do with the Duke’s poisoning.

“Are ya sure ‘bout that?” Fin asked.

“Y – yes, sir,” he stammered. “Very sure.”

Fin wasn’t so sure about it, though. He knew he could be imposing and intimidating. He had scared more than a few lads in his day with nothing more than a hard gaze. But there was something about the kid’s behavior that wasn’t ringing true to him. He was too nervous, and it made Fin think he was hiding something.

“Did ye dae it?” Fin asked. “Did ye poison the Duke?”

“No, sir,” Marcus said. “I told you, I had nothing–”

“Aye. I ken that’s what ye told me,” Fin cut him off. “But I ken ye know somethin’ ‘bout it. I can see it in yer eyes, boy.”

Marcus looked around, his eyes sweeping the hall as if he was looking for the nearest exit. He seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to make a run for it while weighing the odds of whether or not he could get to the door before being brought down by Fin or Hollis.

“What is it yer nae tellin’ me?” Fin pressed.

He shook his head and would not meet Fin’s eyes. “There is nothing for me to tell you, sir. I swear it.”

“I ken there is,” Fin pressed.

Marcus paled before Fin’s eyes, and the fear on his face was palpable. There was something he was not telling Fin, and he got the idea that there was more happening than he was aware of. Marcus was afraid of something, but he knew it was not him. Oh, Fin thought he scared the boy plenty, but something else was going on, and Marcus knew what it was. Fin could practically smell it on him.

“Did somebody make ye do it?”

“I did nothing, sir.”

His voice was trembling, and he swallowed hard again, which made Fin look at him harder. He was certain the boy wasn’t truthful. He had no proof of it, and it was nothing more than his instincts whispering to him. But his instincts had never led him astray before, and he had learned to rely on them. And, at the moment, Fin’s instincts were telling him that whoever it was that had put him up to slipping the poison to the Duke scared the boy more than he did.

Fin stepped closer until he loomed over the boy. “I ken ye’re lyin’, lad,” he said. “Ye can either tell me who put ye up tae it or ye’re goin’ tae find yerself swingin’ at the end of a rope.”

The boy licked his lips nervously and still refused to meet Fin’s eyes. “I – I don’t know anything, sir. Please, I don’t know anything.”

“Enough!” Fin roared.

Fin slammed his fist down on the table, making the goblets he’d been polishing tumble over. They rolled off the table and hit the ground with a resounding clatter that echoed around the hall.

“Ye’re lyin’. I can see it in yer eyes,” Fin growled. “I’ll give ye this one last chance tae tell me the truth.”

He shook his head, “Sir I–”

“That’s it.”

He reached out and grabbed Marcus by the back of the neck and stared down into his eyes, letting the full weight of his looming presence sink in. The cupbearer just stared back at him, wide-eyed, lips quavering, his entire body trembling. Disgusted, Fin pushed the young man over to Hollis, who snatched him up by the back of the neck as Fin had.

“Take ‘im out of ‘ere,” Fin growled. “Put ‘em in the keep’s dark cells ‘til we can figure out whether we want tae ‘ang ‘im or cut ‘is bleedin’ ‘ead off.”

The boy squeaked as Hollis heled him fast, but said nothing. Fin called out for a pair of the Duke’s personal guards to come in and take the boy to the cells. As they waited, Fin glared hard at him, and Marcus turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. The guards took him by the arms and started to escort him away.

“Last chance tae save yer life, Marcus,” Fin called after them. “Who put ye up tae poisonin’ the Duke?

He shook his head and remained silent. Not even the threat of death was enough to make the boy speak. That told Fin whoever had threatened him had threatened to take more than just his life – perhaps the lives of his loved ones. And the boy knew whoever had put him up to it well enough to know that he could make good on his threat too.

“Ye’re nae actually goin’ tae have the lad executed are ye?” Hollis asked.

Fin chuckled. “Nay. But it’ll be good for ‘im tae think so for a while,” he replied. “Maybe a night in the dark cells’ll loosen the lad’s tongue.”

“I don’t know about that one,” Hollis observed. “He’s terrified of somethin’, and it ain’t us. Or at least, there’s somethin’ that terrifies ‘im more than us.”

Fin nodded. “Aye. Had the same thought.”

There was definitely something going on. Some bigger plan in motion, and it involved somebody that was truly frightening. At least to Marcus. It was intriguing and a good start. But nowhere near good enough. At least he had a direction to begin running in, though. He thought it was better than nothing.

 

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Chapter I

Northern Highlands, March 1756

Sean and Rose Wilson stood staring at Eamon Wilson with suspicious eyes after he told them his plans. He had arrived almost half an hour ago after traveling days to find them. He had left his men in a nearby tavern to wait for his instruction. He feared to give away his brother’s location to anyone.

If there was any lesson that he had learned over these past few years, it was to give out one’s trust sparingly, perhaps even better if one trusted no one. “Brother, I know that ye have cause tae distrust me, but I do this for ye. And the wealth of course, which we can split taegether. Ye need it if ye are going tae help yer family. Ye will nae be able tae do so if ye find yerself killed by Lord Cutler’s sword.”

Sean nodded and eventually sat down. A pregnant Rose followed suit. Sean continued. “Aye, I have agreed tae yer plan, brother, but it is nae just my distrust of ye that makes me hesitant. I dinnae ken how we will muster the strength tae fight back. I have men here, but they are content with their new and peaceful lives. We havenae practiced our swords for many a month. And ye are only yerself.”

“Is there a way we can keep Cutler’s men from finding this place? I dinnae think the battle should be done here,” Rose said.

Eamon sighed, what he was about to say weighing heavily on his chest. “I am sorry tae say, lass, that they know this place already, despite its remote nature. My spy has told me that Cutler will arrive in the next few days. Since my journey here, he also has already begun his own. I would expect him in two days’ time. So, we must set to planning. Sean and I can ride tae meet him upon the road tae prevent his seeing the village, but he still knows where it lies.”

Rose’s face screwed up with anger, and her skin flushed red. She slapped a hand against the table. “Then ye must kill all who ride with him. But who is this spy ye speak of? Can they be trusted?”

Sean chimed in. “Aye, how do we even ken what the spy says is true?”

Eamon twisted his mouth in thought as he planned his words. He leaned forward again. “Ye will find this bit of news quite interesting. I asked the spy myself about why they would help a band of Highlanders attempting to protect themselves, and ye know what the boy told me? He said he did it for The Scots.”

Eamon waited as the words sank into his companion’s minds. Rose and Sean both wore a similar expression. Confusion, then surprise, then disbelief. Sean said, “Truly? But that doesn’t make any sense.”

Rose added, “Aye, all members of The Scots are now settled in these lands. They are working on nae mission. They have nae plans of rebellion at this time.”

Eamon shrugged. “He did not say that he was a member of The Scots. My spy is an English boy.”

Again, Rose and Sean showed expressions of surprise. Eamon nodded. “Aye, I ken. It doesnae make sense, but I am under the impression he doesnae get treated well by his master. Perhaps that is why he rebels against him?”

“And leads him tae his potential death,” Rose said to herself.

“Aye. There have been papers nailed up in the surrounding areas calling for a rebellion against the English. Could this be the work of the boy?”

He unfolded a page and displayed it for Rose and Sean to see. “I took one on the journey here so I could show ye. I thought it might be The Scots, but I suppose nae, after ye said they are at Peace now.”

Rose nodded. “How very strange. I mean, ‘tis nae strange that men want tae rebel against the English, but that these would spread around just as this Lord Cutler comes tae take his revenge.”

Eamon sighed. “Well, whether it be strange or nae, this is our chance tae get the man before he comes for ye. Leave the riches tae me if ye dinnae want them. I know, Sean, ye wish tae live a different life. But then there is nae other option than tae fight back and kill the man, and his men, afore he takes the life of yer family once more!” Once Eamon said the words, he knew that he should have put it more delicately. He had spent years punishing himself for leaving his brother to fight against a Highland enemy, where they lost their father, and Sean lost both his wife and child. Eamon would not be the orchestrator of his brother’s ruin once more.

“Forgive me, brother,” he continued, “But I cannae see this happen tae ye again.” He watched as Rose placed a hand softly upon Sean’s arm. The intimate movement touched him, and for the first time in a long time, Eamon desired that someone would be there for him to comfort and to love, just as he was. But he pushed that desire out of his mind. It would serve him no good when revenge and wealth needed to be at the center of his thoughts.

Sean nodded solemnly. “Aye, ye are right, brother. We will prepare. But we must begin by practicing our swords.”

Eamon grinned, filled with energy that the plans would begin. “That we must. I hope ye will find my skills have improved over the years. All the men will remember what they must do once they lay their hands once again upon their swords. It will not be too late. And do not worry. It is not just me. I have a group of men waiting for my word at a tavern in the town below. They will come when we need them.”

The two men stood, and Rose looked up at them with longing. “I apologize that I cannae join ye in the practice.” Rose looked down at her stomach briefly. Eamon raised an eyebrow, and Sean chuckled, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“Aye, brother, ye should see my wife in a battle of swords. She is nae one tae trifle with as leader of The Scots.”

Eamon paused for a moment, and his eyes widened. “Is this Scots land as well? I’m impressed, Rose. I found out about The Wanderer, and everyone’s heard of The Scots. But I did not imagine there tae be a connection such as marriage between my brother and the infamous band of thieves. Well, then, it is doubly good that I came tae warn ye.”

Rose sat up and lifted an eyebrow. “Ye are impressed because I’m a woman and women cannae do such things, is that it? Think a woman cannae handle the job? After the loss of my clan, I was all they had!”

Eamon paused, knowing that he was in dangerous territory once he spotted the dark look in Rose’s eyes. He held up his hands in defense. “Forgive me, sister, I didnae mean tae offend. ‘Tis nae that a woman cannae do it, of course, but ye must admit ‘tis highly unusual. That is why it impresses me so.” Rose seemed to calm at that, and the taut muscles in her face relaxed. Sean’s hand remained on her shoulder. “Come, I do hope that one day, ye and I can have a battle of swords taegether. I wish tae see yer skill.”

Sean smiled, and so did Rose. “Aye, lad,” Sean said. “A woman has the advantage of being lighter of foot and quicker. They are the experts of the hidden dagger thrust intae the belly just when ye least expect it.”

Eamon looked impressed. “That I could definitely see. Now, come, shall we speak tae the men?”

Sean nodded. “Aye. I shall call Donovan. He’s our second-in-command, and we shall discuss with him first. Goodbye, Rose. Please try to rest a little, my dear.”

Sean and Eamon wandered outside of the cabin and into the bright sunshine. The blue sky with white clouds scudding across it brightened their spirits, even though the ominous arrival of Lord Cutler loomed in their minds. Eamon watched as his brother motioned for Donovan to come to meet him. He was happy for him.

His big brother had made such a change in life. He wanted to hear all about it. Deep down, he was grateful for the danger that Lord Cutler brought, for it had forced him to come and seek Sean out, the infamous Wanderer, a hired sword. Now that Sean had settled, it had been much easier to find him, climbing his way through the rocky and hilly Highlands, speaking to clans along the way, hearing whispers of a remote area, hidden away from clan and town, close to Loch Ness, but nestled in a foreboding forest.

It gave Eamon a purpose once again. Since he fled his father’s lands, he had worked hard labor for a time, until he met with a man who gave him everything he was missing in his life: the skills with a blade and a sense of belonging. They had wandered all over the North of Scotland, seeking, fighting, and plundering. But he missed the warm bosom of his family, and he’d heard rumors about what had occurred.

His heart broke when he found out about Sean’s wife and child. He was afraid that Sean would never want to see him again. So once he found out that there was a price upon his brother’s head, he wasted no time in coming to find him. He just hoped that his brother would trust him once more.

Eamon had mixed feelings as he approached his brother’s land on horseback. He was surprised at how well his older brother looked after all this time and hardship. One could tell they were definitely kin, but while they were both dark-haired, Sean’s was the lighter of the two, while Eamon looked the swarthier. Seeing Sean’s look of wariness had made his whole body tense with each pounding of hooves. He will wonder why I have come after such a long time. He might even kill me on the spot.

But Eamon had been lucky. Sean had done nothing of the sort and gave him a listening ear. Now they were on the verge of moving together once more as if the past had not occurred.

“Donovan! Come. There is much to discuss.” Sean yelled over to Donovan, his right-hand man. He was young with reddish hair and stood tall and proud.

“Aye, Sean?” Donovan walked towards them, skepticism in his eye as he took in Eamon’s figure. He was the one who had noticed Eamon’s approach when he was still far away. Eamon was used to being eyed thus, as he knew that his rough appearance often made others think he was a dangerous rogue.

Sean said, “Donovan, this is my brother, Eamon. He comes with bad news, I’m afraid.” Sean explained the approach of Lord Cutler. “We need to prepare the men tae meet him out in battle before he and his men find the village.”

“And there is wealth to be had,” Eamon added.

“We dinnae wish tae rob anyone anymore, like I said,” Sean said sharply.

“Even if they are our sworn enemies?” Eamon asked, skeptical.

“Aye, even so. Ye may take the money if ye so wish. But that could bring the King once again upon our heads if he knows it was The Scots that both killed and robbed his men.”

Donovan replied, “Is the information certain, Sean? Could it nae be that someone wishes tae lure us away from our homes so that they can attack when there are nae people tae defend it?”

Sean paused for a moment. He glanced at Eamon, and Eamon knew he was trying to search for the lie in his eyes. He hoped Sean knew him well enough that he would know Eamon wouldn’t do such a thing. Eamon was not a liar. He might have been fearful, but he was an honest man. And despite the draw of Lord Cutler’s wealth, Eamon would have ridden in search of Sean anyway, to warn him that he was in danger.

Sean shook his head, and Eamon wanted to sigh with relief. Sean looked back at Donovan, who continued to eye Eamon with doubt. “Donovan, that wouldnae make sense. Most of the villagers here are swordsmen and women, but perhaps they dinnae know that. Besides, Lord Cutler wishes tae kill Rose and me for what happened tae his nephew and Lord Marcus. It wouldnae behoove him tae remove us and then come back tae an empty village, would it?”

Donovan colored a little, and Sean hesitated slightly before continuing, trying to ignore Donovan’s discomfort. “The plan is for the men tae practice their sword skills. We need tae leave in a day’s time tae meet him. We must start right away. Then, we can prepare for our journey: horses, food, weapons, and the like. How many men come with Cutler?”

Eamon answered, “My spy tells me that he could come with at least a dozen men, but he plans to pick up more soldiers at Fort Augustus as he travels northward. We may have the advantage in numbers, but I assume they will be well-armed and well-skilled, for each of them will be carrying a small percentage of wealth upon their person.”

“Aye. Donovan, do ye nae think we will have the advantage over a dozen men?”

Donovan looked surprised for his opinion to be requested. Eamon could tell Sean was pleased. “Aye, I think so, but if it becomes twice that, we may struggle. We just need tae remember our swords. But I think we ought tae hide in the hills and forests and take as many down as we can with arrows first.”

Eamon’s eyes widened with excitement. “Have ye bows and arrows?” At the two men’s nods of assent, he grinned. “Then, we shall be saved. They will nae be able tae fight with their muskets when arrows fall from the sky down upon them.”

Sean nodded. “Donovan. Gather the men. Tell them tae leave any of the building tasks they were completing and meet in the large clearing in the woods.” Sean pointed. Donovan left quickly, off to send the message out.

Sean turned to Eamon. “The village is not large, but it will take time for the men to drop whatever they’re doing. I hope they will come as soon as they’re able. We’re in the middle of building homes, outhouses, storage spaces, everything we need for a full, thriving village. You must understand my disappointment that a vengeance-hungry Englishman is the cause of our delay.”

Eamon smiled, happy his brother was willing to share such information. “Aye, ye have built a good life, brother. But ye would rather take pause, I am certain than have everything ye’ve worked for be burned tae the ground.”

Sean grunted in assent.

They walked towards the forest in silence. Both clutched their swords in hand, and Eamon said softly, “Remember, brother, when we would fight each other with sticks, in the trees near our home? Father would try tae teach us, but we wouldnae listen tae instruction.” Sean chuckled softly. Eamon’s heart warmed. He enjoyed being in the presence of family again, but he was not ready to tell Sean so.

“Aye, I remember. It feels as though it was a lifetime ago.” Sean squinted his eyes up at the sun. “The world has become a cold and cruel place since then.”

Eamon replied solemnly, “That it has.”Eamon felt a familiar guilt hang over him, for he knew that Sean referred to his betrayal. But there was also so much more. Despite the sunlight glinting off the green leaves in the trees, Eamon could feel a foreboding in his heart, and he only wished his deepest fears would not come to pass.

Chapter II

On the road from Fort William, towards Inverness

“Stop! I wish to rest here.” Lord Cutler raised a gloved hand in the air, and he could hear the slowing of hooves as he and his men approached the stone tavern. It was adjacent to a grassy hill, and a curl of smoke lifted into the air as the evening settled in.

He dismounted, and the jangle of bridles and the stretch of leather echoed into the air. “Let’s see if these Scotsmen can prove their hospitality.” He grinned, and his lead man, Martin Dorset, grinned back.

“Yes, milord, but I’m certain it will not be the same as what you’d receive in England. They  are country folk, unused to serving nobility.”

Lord Cutler nodded his head curtly, satisfied. He was a tall man, broad of the shoulder with dark hair and dark eyes that narrowed into slits whenever he spoke. It unnerved many a person, but Martin was used to the lord’s manners and quirks. Lord Cutler motioned to the back of him. “Tell the men to get their horses to the stables. Bring Isabelle here to me. I wish to eat with my daughter. Her lady’s maid can eat with the men once they sort out the horses.”

Martin nodded and scurried off to do his bidding, and Lord Cutler pushed open the door of the tavern to a surprised innkeeper. A few guests lingered at tables around the establishment, and all of them looked towards the door, their eyes wide.

“Aye, Sir? Can I help ye?” The innkeeper asked, and Lord Cutler pinned with him a dark glare as he walked up to him.

“I have many men here to feed. Our horses need to be fed, watered, and brushed. I want a hot meal and your finest ale. We shall pay you handsomely. And we need a bit of information, but I will ask later, once my belly is full.” Lord Cutler opened his gloved hand to show a gold coin lying in the center. But then he closed his hand again once the innkeeper got a look at it.

He enjoyed taunting the workmen he came into contact with. They had never seen so much wealth in their lives, and if he wanted them to do their duty properly, then he had to prove to them that he could pay. Not that he always did.

The innkeeper put down the tankard he was drying, and he nodded. “Aye, Sir. Right away.” The innkeeper scuttled off, and Lord Cutler sat down close to the hearth and set his feet up on the chair next to him. A mug of ale was brought to him soon after, and without glancing up at the person who brought it, he grabbed onto the mug and took a deep long sip. He began to grumble.

Where is Isabelle? That girl will give me no end of trouble. She is probably giving money to the beggars lingering outside. I had hoped to instill a harder heart in her, for a soft one will do her no service in this world, but alas. 

A woman with long dark hair braided down her back entered the tavern, wonder in her eyes. She looked around the low-ceilinged room and smiled. She was diminutive but womanly, and anyone could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was born of noble blood.

Lord Cutler waved at her from across the room, and she colored before finding her way to him. “Father. Isn’t this wonderful? I thank you again for bringing me on this journey, for I had such a yearning to see how the Scottish people in the countryside live. Such industry and hardness to it. I’m amazed!”

Lord Cutler wiped his ale from his mouth with the back of his hand. Plates of steaming hot ham and bread were set before them. “Isabelle, you mustn’t be in awe of such things. Lurking just below the surface, these people are bloodthirsty and have no education nor morality. They would as soon cut your throat as look at you. You must keep a wary eye on them all. We are here on a mission of revenge for our King. Do not forget that!”

He pointed to her before beginning to eat. The excitement left her face a little, and she began to eat as well, chewing slowly and quietly. “How much further will it be, Father?”

He grunted. “I am not entirely certain. Martin thought he knew the way, but he is confused by the hills here. We will have to ask the innkeeper if there is anything that they can tell us, though I hate to depend on their generosity.”

“But you will pay them, of course, won’t you, Father?”

He nodded but did not look at her. Isabelle gave him the oddest feeling from time to time that she was rebuking him. Now that her mother was long gone, he often feared that she had taken his wife’s place and endeavored to try and change him. He spotted the innkeeper once more, returning from where he had disappeared to. He saw his men begin to wander in and take their places amongst the empty tables, moving those out of the way whose place they wanted.

He smiled to himself. His men were patiently selected by none other than himself. They were the most skilled, the most brutish, and the most intelligent of all the soldiers of his Majesty. They would find the man who killed the King’s nephew and his Majesty’s second proxy. Lord Cutler would not fail, not when these men were on his side, and wealth and status would be his forever.

He hailed the innkeeper who paled a little at the sight of it. The rather stout man approached the table with hesitation. “Aye, Sir?”

“I need that information,” Lord Cutler said, before taking another deep drink from his tankard.

The innkeeper nodded, and Lord Cutler wished he could slap the fat man’s face, for his cheeks were pink with fear. So like a woman. 

 “The Scots, the band of thieves. Surely, you’ve heard of them in these parts? I search for them and wish to know their whereabouts. My leader has gone astray, and we cannot find the way.”

The innkeeper swallowed, and Lord Cutler noticed his hesitation. The man glanced at Isabelle, who was merely staring back at him. “Do not look to my daughter for pity or to stall your words.” He held tightly to a dagger at his side. He could fillet the man alive if he hid something. He could tell he was trying to by the tightness of his shoulders, the sweat on his forehead, and the nervous clasping of his hands. “I can see you falter. What is it?”

The innkeeper shook his head and began to stutter. “No, Sir, ‘tis just that they are a fearsome lot. I dinnae wish for any trouble. I wish only for peace.”

Bloody idiot.  “Peace will not be your reward if you do not give me what I seek. Where are they?” He was growing impatient now, and he could feel that familiar cold rage moving over him, holding him in its grasp. He was taut like the string of a bow, and he knew just what would happen if he were to snap.

The innkeeper swallowed again. “They were roaming about these parts for years, plundering and the like. But now, they have moved far intae the mountains with the one who is called The Wanderer. Tae the Northeast. Ye must take the road toward Inverness, but then there is a large cluster of trees along the path, dark and menacing. There ye must turn, afore ye cross the Loch. Ye will find them.”

Lord Cutler grinned. The Scots and The Wanderer all in one? Excellent. The King will be pleased. Cutler had not been certain of this fact, despite Martin’s assurances, but now he was convinced. He placed the gold coin down on the table with a slap. “There, that was not as difficult as you imagined.” The innkeeper’s eyes widened, and he took the coin gingerly.

“Best of luck with yer journey, Sir.”

He moved away, and Lord Cutler stared back at his daughter. “Finish your meal, daughter. We shall be on the road soon enough. Revenge moves in my belly.”

***

Lady Isabelle Cutler ate as quickly as she could. She always tried to be grateful for what she had been given, but it was difficult sometimes, when she had a father such as Lord Cutler, always bellowing, always following the dark path. He had not always been this way, but in the past few years, once her mother had passed on, her father had hardened, continually seeking out violence and revenge.

He became the King’s righthand man once the King’s former one, Marcus Donovan, had been killed only a few months before. He had been vying for that position for a long time, and Isabelle had felt a sense of deep dread, once she realized her father had earned the position. Now he was on a journey towards revenge, for he had plans to kill The Wanderer and The Scots in their entirety, no matter the times she’d tried to convince him not to, for many reasons, one of them being that The Scots was a mixture of men and women and their children.

The King wished her father to banish these people from the Earth, and her father did not need much urging or encouragement. He had gathered up his most bloodthirsty and sword-skilled of men and set off, picking up new soldiers along the way. Now, their caravan was over 30 strong. It would be a slaughter. Isabelle had begged and pleaded with him to allow her to go on the journey, and he was surprised at her interest. He allowed her to come, but she knew it was only because he wanted her to become hard, just as he was. Perhaps she could be of use to him one day, he would tell her.

She begged him to let her join because she thought she might try to convince him to sway his course or at least find a way to stop the brutal attack from happening. She was grateful that Martin had gotten lost. That at least gave her more time to think. When her father was not looking, Isabelle grabbed a piece of warm bread from her plate and hid it in the pocket of her cloak. The beggars outside would be grateful, but she would have to figure out how to get it to them without her father seeing. Arya, her lady’s maid would have to help her, as she had persuaded her to do over the last few years.

“Father, I am finished now,” Isabelle said cheerfully and looked up at her father.

He grunted and turned back to her. “Let’s go. We are not far. It is only perhaps another day’s journey to the site of The Scots. We will make camp on the edge of the Loch tonight, and then the men can clean themselves, and we can rest before our surprise attack.”

Isabelle nodded solemnly and followed her father out of the door. She saw him eye a few of his men who sat at different tables around the room, eating and watching the other occupants with their beady eyes. She shuddered at their dark looks. They had often turned their sinister eyes to her over the course of the journey, watching her movements, whenever she and Arya were on their own, but she knew that her father would cut the hand off of any man who touched her. So, for that, she had to be grateful. Not every woman was so lucky.

Lord Cutler raised a hand in the air, and made a swirling motion with his finger, as he walked out the door. Isabelle watched in horror as the seated men stood, and a tin of oil was passed around as they doused the tavern. She cried out, “No, Father!” as she saw the other customers’ eyes widen with fear. But Lord Cutler grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her outside.

“I have told you, Isabelle, do not subvert me in front of my men!” His voice was low and menacing, and she knew the familiar look in his eye.

She whispered back, “Father, think of the innkeeper. It is his livelihood! And the people inside? You will not trap them, will you?”

He watched her for a moment and then laughed. “No, daughter. They will be freed. If they can find their way out from behind the flames.” Isabelle wanted to scream and run back for them, but her father knew her too well. He kept her wrist in his hand and passed her to Martin Dorset, who watched her calmly as if nothing unusual was happening. “Take her, Dorset. Put her and Arya into the carriage. Lock the door and be sure they do not escape.”

Martin bowed his head. “Yes, Sir.” He did not look Isabelle in the eye as he took her in his arms and prodded her towards the carriage. She had known Martin as a boy, and to see him now in this role was more than she could bear. As they moved away from her father, Isabelle could smell woodsmoke as the tavern burned, and she heard the footsteps of her father’s men leave the tavern, shutting the door behind them. Cries and screams filled the air as people moved around inside, jumping out of windows, and rushing through other doors to escape the growing flames.

She whispered to Martin through gritted teeth. “You are a fool, Martin. You used to be such a kind boy, so generous and thoughtful. Look at you now.” She struggled against his grip as they walked along. For such a short and rather a plump man, Martin was surprisingly strong.

He kept his voice even and measured as he always did when he replied, “Dear, beautiful, Isabelle, one day, you will see that what your father does he does out of necessity. And he does it for King and country. You should be honored by your connection with him. If he was not cruel and bloodthirsty, then these brutish Highlanders would never learn to respect their King. Your father is their judge and the teacher of lessons.”

Isabelle thought about spitting at the ground to show him her disgust, but it would only cause her father further displeasure. The very sound of his words made her want to shudder. Her father had totally brainwashed this man and forced him into his way of thinking, making him feel like what he was doing was proud and noble. She said nothing else, and Martin opened the carriage door and shoved her inside. “This is for your own good, Isabelle. You will see.”

Once he shut the door behind her, Isabelle banged her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes. She growled in rage and slapped a hand against the wall. “How could he do this? These people have nothing!” She felt the shape of the roll in her pocket and wanted to burst into tears at her own helplessness, but she knew that would accomplish nothing. One day she would be able to fight back and not just in secret. Her father would see her for what she truly was.

A few moments later, the door was opened again, and Arya entered, watching Isabelle warily. “You have seen, Mistress.”

“Yes, I’ve seen, Arya, and what a waste it is. I can only hope that no one will be killed in the flames.”

She looked outside and tried to ignore the sound of the fire as it rose higher and higher. Smoke began to fill the yard in front of the tavern, but once it began curling towards their carriage, the horses were led onward, and the whole company was on the move. The carriage turned to the side to continue their path, and both Arya and Isabelle could get a full view of the burning tavern, now wholly encapsulated by flames.

Isabelle watched angrily as the innkeeper rushed out the front and fell to his knees, yelling into the open air. She understood his pain, but she feared that her father’s men might fill his chest with musket balls if he continued. “Arya, my father says that revenge moves in his belly, but now, at the sight of this, my own desire for it grows as well.”

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