Lucia scrunched up her nose in distaste as she took a seat across from Rory Campbell on a creaky chair that could barely hold her weight, let alone that of a grown man. She had been in much worse establishments than this tavern, of course. If anything, she had to admit that this was quite a nice place, save for the old furniture the owners seemed intent on keeping. The air still smelled like ale and wine and it was still loud in the room, dark and damp and crowded, but at least there was a large fireplace to keep the place warm and the patrons didn’t risk being poisoned by the food and drink.
It wasn’t the place Lucia didn’t like, but rather the company. She had never quite liked Rory and his men, thinking of them as fools who could hardly pull off a job, but this opportunity she had for them was simple enough that even they could do it—or at least so he hoped.
The point was, they were cheap. Lucia could hardly afford to eat those days, let alone pay someone to do her dirty work for her, but sometimes certain sacrifices were necessary.
“Miss Donnelly!” Rory all but shouted, but then fell swiftly silent when Lucia grabbed her knife and stabbed it on the table right next to his hand.
“Have ye lost yer mind?” she asked. “Keep yer voice down. An’ dinnae call me that. Ye’re nae funny.”
Looking thoroughly scolded, Rory pulled back a little, the smile dropping from his face. “Ye’re truly becomin’ a nightmare, Lucia. What is the matter with ye? Why dae ye never smile?”
Lucia stared at Rory, unimpressed, and then smiled—or rather bared her teeth at him, like an animal ready to attack. Exasperated, Rory threw his hands in the air and then took a deep breath, leaning closer over the table.
“Alright, alright… what dae ye want, then?” he asked. “Why did ye call us here?”
Lucia looked around to see that some of his men were there too, though they were not all sitting together, but were rather scattered around the room. At least they were smart about some things, she thought, as she returned her attention to Rory.
“I have a job fer ye,” she said as she subtly jingled the pouch of coins that was attached to her belt. “It pays well.”
“How well?”
“Well enough,” said Lucia. “It’s very simple.”
“It’s never simple with ye,” Rory said. “This is why we never work with ye.”
“Is that what it is?” Lucia asked, raising a curious eyebrow. “I could have sworn it was because ye’re all useless.”
Even if she needed Rory and his men, she couldn’t hold her tongue. It was one of those things that got her into trouble more often than not, but if there was one thing she knew about Rory—other than the fact that he was a fool—it was that he didn’t take offence at such things. Just as she had expected, he laughed, his entire body shaking with mirth, his cheeks turning a ruddy color.
Taking a sip from his ale, Rory gestured at the serving wench to bring two more cups to the table. Lucia could appreciate this about Rory, too; if he was drinking, then everyone was drinking—and Rory drank often.
The serving wench was quick to bring them more ale and Lucia grabbed her cup immediately, draining half of it in one big gulp. It helped steel her nerves; it helped calm her and remind her that she had been doing this for a long time. The plan was a little risky, that much was true, and it depended on the behavior of another person, which was unpredictable. But Lucia had no other choice. She needed the help, and there was only one man in that entire tavern who could help her.
It wasn’t Rory. For him, it would be a job, nothing more than that. Lucia rather needed someone who would help her out of the goodness of his heart—someone who may not be quick to trust, but who repaid any debt he owed. Someone with honor.
And that man was sitting a few tables back. Alaric MacGregor, the brother of Laird Evan MacGregor, who often went on dangerous missions as a scout for the clan. If there was one thing known about the MacGregors, it was that they always repaid those who treated them with kindness, and more so than anyone else, it seemed to be true for Alaric. He was the kind of man Lucia needed for this mission; someone who would want to repay her for her help, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to throw himself in the middle of a fight, someone who wasn’t afraid of danger.
“See that laddie over there?” Lucia said, nodding her head subtly backwards. Thankfully, Rory had the common sense to look just as subtly, but then his eyes widened just a little when he looked back at Lucia.
“What about him?”
“I need ye tae kidnap him.”
For a few long moments, silence stretched over their table. Rory didn’t react at all to Lucia’s words and she was under the impression at first that he had not heard her at all, but then he let his head fall in his hands with a groan, looking at her through the gaps in his fingers.
“I feared ye’d say somethin’ like this,” Rory said. “Why? Why would I kidnap someone who looks like that?”
Lucia had to admit it was a fair question. Alaric MacGregor looked about as gentle as a killer or perhaps a bear. With his dark hair and just as dark beard and the tattoos and scars that seemed to cover every inch of his skin, it was difficult to come up with a convincing reason for Rory other than the gold she was willing to give him.
“Because ye’ll be paid fer it,” she reminded him. “That is all ye need tae ken. I only need ye tae capture him an’ make it seem realistic. Dinnae hurt him too much, though. I need him in one piece.”
With a sigh, Rory shook his head, for a moment contemplating the bottom of his already empty cup. “What if he harms me men?”
“A very probable outcome,” Lucia admitted with a small shrug. “But if ye feared danger or yer men bein’ harmed, then ye shouldnae be in this line o’ work at all.”
“Listen, Lucia, I ken how tae pick me victims,” Rory said in a whisper as he leaned even closer, so that only she could hear him. “I ken who tae capture an’ who tae rob. That man over there? He doesnae look like someone I wish tae capture or rob.”
Lucia couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Rory. For someone who made a living hurting people, he certainly appeared very resistant to the idea now.
“I dinnae have tae convince ye,” Lucia said. “There are others who can dae it fer me.”
It was only half the truth. Certainly, there were others, but whether or not Lucia had the coin for them was debatable. Besides, she needed to move fast. For all she knew, Alaric would be heading out on a mission soon and she wanted everything to be ready for her to strike. She couldn’t waste precious time trying to find another group of brigands.
Rory hesitated, especially when Lucia jingled the bag of coin once more. She always knew how to hook him—Rory wanted the gold and there were few things he wouldn’t do for it. He simply showed some resistance for the sake of it, Lucia thought sometimes. He couldn’t help but be theatrical.
Theatrical was good. She needed someone who could play his role well.
“How much?” Rory asked.
“As I said, more than enough,” Lucia said. “Half now an’ half when ye finish the job.”
“How many men will I need?”
“Many.”
Though Alaric was not particularly known to be vicious, he was known to be capable. Once he was attacked by brigands, there was no telling how many of them he could neutralize on his own. Lucia wanted Rory to be prepared. After all, if he wasn’t, there was a chance Alaric would escape and flee before Lucia could use him.
“An’ then? What happens once we capture him?”
“Well…” Lucia said, leaning in close too, so that their noses were almost touching. “Then I come in an’ save him.”
Rory laughed, once again so amused by her response that his entire body shook. When he saw that Lucia was entirely serious, though, his laughter died and he looked at her as though she had suddenly sprung a second head.
“Why?” he asked. “How does that make any sense?”
“That doesnae concern ye,” Lucia said. “But I need him tae think he owes me a favor. Dae ye understand? All ye have tae dae is capture him an’ then let me free him.”
As she spoke, Lucia untied the pouch of gold from her belt and tossed it to Rory, who peeked inside at its contents. Though he didn’t respond immediately, Lucia knew him well. He couldn’t say no.
“Alright,” he said with a nod. “Alright… we shall help ye with yer mad plan.”
Clapping a hand over Rory’s shoulder, Lucia said, “If it wasnae mad, it wouldnae work.”
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Chapter One
As Alaric MacGregor sat on a rickety chair in a dark, unfamiliar, bare room, he began to think that perhaps this was a bad omen for his upcoming marriage. His wrists were bound behind his back and his mouth filled with the taste of blood whenever a grimace pulled his bottom lip open again.
An irrational thought, surely—he was certain his betrothed was a perfectly lovely woman, though he had yet to meet her, interrupted as his return home had been by the men who had captured him. When his brother, Laird Evan MacGregor, had called him back from his scouting mission to meet his future wife, Alaric had thought that even if it would be a marriage of convenience and he had little, if any, say in it, he could still try to make the most of it. He hadn’t expected that he would find himself suddenly captured and brought to a cottage in the middle of the woods for reasons he had yet to find out.
There were two things those men could want from him: information or gold, and Alaric would give them neither.
Ever since he had been thrown in that room, he had been considering his chances of escape. There were half a dozen men outside his door, at least as far as he was aware. For all he knew, there could be more and he simply had not seen them yet. There was also only one escape route—the door that was firmly locked. The room where they kept him had no windows and with his hands bound, escape seemed all the more challenging.
Someone will have tae let me loose… that is the only way.
If he could just get one of the men to untie him, he could then overpower him, steal his blade, and attempt an escape. Sooner or later, they would have to cut him loose, after all. If they wanted him alive, he would have to eat or relieve himself at some point, and it would be then that Alaric would strike.
Until then, he would bide his time. He had already tried to untie his own hands only find out to soon that his binds were too tight, giving him no room to wiggle free. The attempt had left the skin on his wrists raw and chafed, and so instead of hurting himself further or wasting his energy on something that would not work, he decided to wait for someone to come to him.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when the door opened, but it couldn’t have been too long, since light still poured into the room through the opening, drowning out the orange glow of the single torch that burned on the wall. Alaric blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light, at first seeing nothing but the dark silhouette of a man. When he walked closer, he saw the details of his appearance: short yet sturdy, with dark hair and rough features, his face and forearms scarred, much like Alaric’s own.
“I dinnae suppose ye would be so inclined as tae let me go,” said Alaric, drawing a chuckle out of the man. At least he had a sense of humor, he supposed.
“Nay, I’m afraid I cannae dae that just yet,” he said. “But I have good news. We’ve sent word tae yer braither an’ if he wants ye back without any missin’ limbs, I’m sure he will pay the gold we asked soon.”
“Is that so?” Alaric said with a sigh. Of course, it was gold. More often than not, it was gold, but Alaric had to admit he was surprised, even almost impressed, at how organized those men were. For common brigands, they had done a good job trailing after him and overpowering him before he could do any real damage to any of them. The fight when they captured him had been short and brutal, but the six of them had managed to subdue him suffering only minor injuries.
Unlike them, Alaric couldn’t say he had suffered only a few injuries. There was no part of his body that didn’t ache, as the men had found it, if not necessary, then certainly amusing to beat him bloody and bruised. The only reason he was still so alert was the sheer force of his will and the fact that he had been in such situations before, so he knew how to push away the pain and focus on what truly mattered: a strategy to get out of there alive.
They could have at least had the decency tae avoid me face.
His face had taken the worst of the damage, and the headache that spanned the entirety of his skull was yet another obstacle in his search for freedom. No matter how much he tried to ignore the throbbing pain, it was persistent and ever-present, a constant fog over his mind.
“That is so,” said the man. “So, the sooner he sends it tae us, the sooner ye can leave.”
“Me braither daesnae negotiate with the likes o’ ye.”
“I dinnae wish fer him tae negotiate anythin’,” said the man. “Our demands are what they are. I only need him tae comply.”
Knowing Evan, not only would he give those men the gold if it meant saving Alaric’s life, but he would also meet them himself instead of sending some men to deliver it. Alaric couldn’t help but worry about him. He would much rather escape on his own than have this exchange between Ewan and the brigands.
Besides, the last thing he wanted was for them to get what they desired. He didn’t want them to win.
“Well, until then, perhaps ye could untie me fer a moment,” Alaric said with an impatient sigh. “Unless ye want me tae relieve meself on this chair.”
The man hesitated for a moment, perhaps considering his options. Naturally, he didn’t want to untie Alaric, but what other choice did he have?
“I think ye can wait,” said the man and Alaric looked at him in disbelief. Though he didn’t feel the need to relieve himself just yet, he didn’t understand how that man expected him to wait when he would. Was he supposed to simply wait until Evan had brought the money? For all he knew, it could take days.
“How long, precisely, dae ye expect me tae wait?” he demanded. “Ye seem like a fool but I didnae think ye would be that much o’ a fool. Even fer ye, this seems—”
His sentence was cut short by the echo of shouts that reached his ears through the wooden door. Both he and his captor whipped their heads around to face it, and as the man pulled his sword out of its sheath, Alaric desperately tried to free himself, this time uncaring of the damage he caused to his wrists.
Whatever was happening out there couldn’t possibly be good, especially since he could hear the thundering sound of boots approaching the door. The steps belonged to several men, a jumbled mess of sound that reminded him of a pack of spooked horses, and the only thought in his mind was that there was perhaps a coup of sorts, some of the brigands banding up against the rest.
Without a word, the man rushed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Alaric didn’t hear the distinct sound of the lock, but even so, he didn’t dare move. Where could he go, bound as he was, when there was a fight raging outside? If he tried to escape like this, chances were that he would end up dead.
Straining his ears, Alaric listened for any signs that would give him a hint as to what was happening. Soon, the footsteps stopped and so did the shouts. Alaric waited, holding his breath with his gaze glued to the door, to see what was on the other side.
What he saw when the door opened would have never crossed his mind. A woman stood there, tall and lean, with her long, dark hair tied at the nape. In her hand, she held a sword, its blade bloody. Blood was splattered all over her clothes, too, dark stains against the brown fabric, and her knuckles and lip were bruised and swollen, but she was still grinning.
“There ye are,” she said as she stepped inside, wiping the blade on the edge of her sleeve without a care in the world for the blood she smeared there.
Alaric stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless. She looked like a warrior goddess of the old tales, like a vision rather than a real woman. Had his captors hit his head, he would have feared she was just a figment of his imagination, but now she seemed entirely real, a mythical creature brought to life.
Perhaps the most perplexing thing of all was that she seemed to know who he was.
“Have we met?” he asked rather dumbly, for lack of anything else to say as the woman crouched down before him so they were at eye level.
“Nay,” she said. “But I was there when those men took ye. I was ridin’ by an’ I saw them attack ye, so I came tae see what they were doin’.”
Alaric felt as though he was stumbling over his own thoughts as he tried to take in the situation. It didn’t help that the woman’s eyes were boring right into him, a brilliant blue that left him breathless and distracted him from the mystery of her presence.
“An’ ye… ye killed them?” he asked. “All o’ them?”
There were at least half a dozen men there, the very same ones who had captured him. How had this woman fought them all on her own? How had she bested them?
“I dinnae think I killed all o’ them,” she said. “Perhaps one or two. The rest, I simply stunned, so we must hurry an’ leave afore they wake up an’ find us.”
That was a very convincing argument for the need of a speedy escape, Alaric thought, but he still had so many questions that he didn’t even know with which one to begin. When he heard the distant sound of actual horse hooves, though, signaling the arrival of more men, he realized that none of them was as important as leaving as fast as they could.
“Aye,” he said. “Untie me an’ we shall leave.”
But at his request, the woman hesitated, sitting back on her heels. “I must be honest with ye,” she said. “I didnae come here tae save ye out o’ the goodness o’ me heart.”
Alaric sighed, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. He should have known there was going to be a catch. It all sounded too good to be true.
“What is it that ye want?” he asked. “Gold? Fine. I’d rather give it tae ye than them.”
“Nay, nay… I have nae need fer gold,” the woman said. “Ye see, I heard that ye are from the MacGregor Clan, is that right?”
“Aye, that is so.”
“An’ that ye are the laird’s braither?”
Alaric gritted his teeth. “Aye. What o’ it?”
“I need yer help with somethin’,” she said. “If ye promise tae help me, I will untie ye an’ we can go.”
Alaric didn’t like the sound of that at all. Whatever the woman wanted, he doubted it would be a small favor, especially when she seemed so reluctant to tell him what it was. He couldn’t simply walk into this deal blind. After all, there was a good chance he would be dragging his entire clan into this, not only himself.
“Tell me what ye want an’ I’ll tell ye if I can help ye,” he said.
“I’ll explain everythin’ once we’re nae bein’ chased,” said the woman. “It is a long story an’ ye must hear all o’ it.”
“How can I agree tae somethin’ about which I ken naething?” Alaric asked. “I dinnae ken who ye are. I dinnae ken what ye want. I cannae agree tae yer demands afore I ken what they are.”
“Would ye rather stay here, then?”
The question gave Alaric pause. There was a chance that it was the wiser thing to do, staying there and waiting for Evan. On the other hand, perhaps this woman was not trying to fool him and by rejecting her offer, he would be damning himself.
Though he was under the pressure of time, Alaric found himself unable to make a decision, even if he was rarely indecisive. He liked to have as many facts as he could before he put himself in a dangerous situation, and as he knew nothing about whatever it was he was going to face if he allowed this woman to help him, making up his mind seemed like an impossible task.
“I’ll tell ye this,” said the woman. “It is naething disgraceful.”
“An’ yet ye dinnae wish tae tell me what it is until after I have agreed tae help ye,” Alaric pointed out. “Will it bring trouble tae me clan?”
“Nay.”
The woman seemed sincere, and Alaric figured that if it was nothing that would harm his clan and nothing that would bring him disgrace, then it was probably best to agree to help her and escape that place. Nodding, he scooted his chair a little closer to her, eager to have his hands unbound.
“I’ll help ye,” he promised. “Let us leave.”
Alaric had hardly finished his sentence when the woman grabbed a small blade that was strapped to her calf and rounded the chair, quickly sawing off the rope that held Alaric’s hands together. He couldn’t help but wonder just how many weapons she had concealed on her body. He had never met a woman like her before, someone who was clearly a skilled warrior and knew her way around weapons, and her novelty intrigued him in a way that could only be dangerous.
He could not allow his lust to get in the way of business. This was not the kind of woman with whom he should have any closer relations, as he was certain they could only lead to trouble. Besides, he still had his betrothed waiting for him back home. Kayla Sinclair was said to be a good woman from a good, if rather volatile, clan. He was reluctant to do anything that would cause the wrath of his wife or his family to crash upon him.
The moment Alaric was freed, he jumped to his feet, rubbing at his sore wrists. Before he could take a single step, the woman ushered him out of the room, pushing him down a cramped hallway, and Alaric took a moment to grab a sword from one of the fallen brigands before the two of them spilled out into the chilly afternoon.
In the distance, not too far from the cottage, he could see a group of riders fast approaching. They must be brigands, he thought, and the woman seemed to share that thought as she tugged him along towards a large horse. The woman jumped onto the saddle with practiced ease and Alaric soon joined her, the two of them rushing down the path as the brigands pursued them.
“I didnae ask ye yer name,” Alaric called, shouting so that she would hear him over the whistling wind.
“Lucia,” the woman shouted back. “Me name is Lucia.”
Chapter Two
What Lucia Donnelly had been searching for was an avenging angel, someone who could help her finally have the revenge she deserved. What she found was a man who had been beaten to an inch of his life and who, the more time passed, the more he seemed to surrender to his injuries.
When she had first found him in the cottage, Alaric had been more or less alert, following not only her steps but also the conversation with no trouble. Now that they had escaped the brigands, though, he was leaning heavily against her, his arms loose around her waist as he held onto her while she was steering the horse to the nearest town. Lucia cursed under her breath. Those men had truly done too much damage and now she would have to take care of him and make sure none of his wounds were too serious.
Ever since asking her name, Alaric hadn’t spoken again, but Lucia could feel his uneven breaths on the back of her neck and the warmth of his body as he pressed up against her. The only sounds around them were the wind and the horse’s hooves, loud and rhythmic against the soil as she rode as fast as she could down the path without running the risk of Alaric falling off. By the time they made it to the town, Alaric was barely hanging off her and keeping himself upright, and so Lucia had to help him off the horse, huffing with exertion when he put his weight on her.
All her training had built plenty of strength in her muscles, but even she was not prepared for the solid weight of Alaric’s towering figure. She took a moment to steady them both, wrapping one arm around him, and to his credit, Alaric seemed to force himself to be a little more alert now that they were walking towards the small inn.
“I thought… I was doin’ better,” Alaric said and though he struggled to speak, at least he wasn’t slurring his words. Lucia took that as a good sign, considering all the bruises and the cuts he sported on his face, which spoke of several blows being delivered directly to his head.
“Ye’re doin’ fine,” she assured him, even if it was a lie. “Ye just need tae rest.”
When she pulled him into the small, cramped inn, every person in the room turned to look at them, staring at Alaric’s slumped form. Fortunately for them both, there were only three of them—the innkeeper and two other men sitting at a low table by the fireplace.
In a small town like this, though, word would spread fast, and Alaric wasn’t exactly difficult to recognize. Not only did he resemble his brother from what Lucia had heard, but he also had tattoos covering a large portion of his body, along with countless scars underneath them. They couldn’t stay there for too long. You never know who might be watching.
Dragging Alaric over to the innkeeper behind the counter, Lucia put on the most distressed expression she could muster, her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly as she spoke.
“Could we please have a room fer the night?” she asked. “An’… an’ if possible some hot water an’ cloth.”
“What happened tae him?” the innkeeper asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. That was the other issue, Lucia thought. Whoever didn’t know who Alaric was would surely be wary of him with the way he looked. It was no wonder the innkeeper didn’t quite trust them. Alaric looked more like a brigand than most brigands did, with his tattoos, his scars, and the dark beard that gave him a rough and rugged appearance.
“He was attacked by brigands,” Lucia said. “Please… he isnae a bad man.
The innkeeper didn’t quite seem convinced, at least not until Lucia dug into her pocket with a sigh and gave him enough coin for more than two nights.
“Just fer the night,” she said. “Please.”
That was enough to convince him and within moments, Lucia held a key in her hand and a promise that they would soon have hot water and cloths in their room. Once she managed to drag Alaric up the stairs, she made him sit on the bed and then there was a knock on the door. Lucia opened it to find a young woman there with a tray in her hand with a pitcher of steaming water, a pitcher of wine, two cups, and a cloth on it.
Upon seeing Alaric on the bed, the girl paused by the door, her gaze flitting back and forth between them.
“Me faither told me tae bring ye this,” she said, and Lucia reached for the tray, placing it on top of the small dresser.
“Thank ye,” she said and promptly shut the door in the girl’s face.
She didn’t have time for this. She had to get Alaric back in working condition and get out of there.
The room was as small as the rest of the inn, holding nothing more than a bed which dominated the space, a dresser, and a washbasin. It was more than enough for one night, Lucia had slept in worse places.
She didn’t think she would be getting any sleep anyway.
Grabbing a piece of cloth, Lucia wet it with the hot water and walked over to the bed, carefully cleaning off the wounds on Alaric’s face. Though he hissed in pain every time she rubbed the blood off his skin, he remained still, letting her work and never once flinching away from her touch.
“Will ye tell me what ye want o’ me now?” Alaric asked and Lucia looked up at him to find him staring at her, his green eyes peering into hers. “Nay one is chasin’ us. We have time.”
Lucia took a deep, shuddering breath. “Aye, ye’re right. Ye should ken the truth.”
Even after saying those words, she remained silent for a while, carefully cleaning off the more stubborn blood stains. Alaric didn’t push her. He only looked at her expectantly, waiting for her response.
“I had a braither,” she said, swallowing around the knot that formed in her throat whenever she spoke of him. “His name was Ronan an’ he… he was a good man an’ the best brother. We never had much. We never had gold or even family. All we had was each other.”
As she spoke, Lucia’s hand fell to her side, her fingers clutching the cloth tightly, until her knuckles went white. It was never easy, talking about Ronan. Though he was always on her mind, as long as she didn’t speak about him, she could shoulder the grief. It was only when she spoke his name aloud that it threatened to overwhelm her, to choke her and force the tears she held back to spill from her eyes.
“What happened tae him?” Alaric asked in a soft voice.
Lucia took a deep breath, pulling herself together. She could never allow herself to wallow in her pain and sorrow, not when there was so much work still left to be done.
“He was killed by brigands,” she said. “They murdered him. They murdered him an’ he didnae even have anythin’ valuable on him. We never had anythin’ more than a roof over our heads an’ enough food fer a few days, an’ yet they didnae hesitate tae take his life.”
Alaric listened in silence, but Lucia could tell he was more alert now. When she looked in his eyes, they were focused on her, the former haze in them gone.
“When I saw those men take ye… aye, it is true that I heard who ye are an’ I kent ye could help me, but I also couldnae bear the thought that they would harm ye. I couldnae save me braither, but I could save ye an’ so… so I did.”
Swallowing with an audible click in his throat, Alaric reached for Lucia’s hand, holding it between his palms. For a moment as she looked at him, she was mesmerized. Under the rough exterior, Alaric was a handsome man, with a piercing gaze and strong, striking features. Perhaps not many would call him that, at least not at first glance, but Lucia felt her throat dry as she stared at him, her heartbeat picking up just a little.
It was only because he was showing her a hint of tenderness, she thought. No one else had shown her any since Ronan’s death. She had no family. She refused to take a lover. Alaric was the first person to touch her like that in a very long time.
However, Lucia had no use for such sentiments. She wasn’t there to fall in love, but to avenge her brother’s death. That had been her only goal in life ever since she had found his body, ever since she had put him in the cold earth with her own two hands.
“I’m sorry fer yer braither,” Alaric said and he sounded so sincere that Lucia felt something akin to guilt—a feeling that quickly dissipated, much like everything else that wasn’t her grief and her rage. “But I dinnae see how I can help ye with this.”
“I wish tae find the men who killed him an’ bring them tae justice,” said Lucia. It was difficult to contain her rage, to pull it back so it wouldn’t frighten Alaric, but he didn’t seem frightened at all. Though he was still guarded, looking at her with some doubt, he was listening carefully to what she had to say.
He was an honorable man, Lucia had heard—the kind of man who held up his end of the bargain, and since she had saved his life, she doubted he would go back on his word and refuse to help her. After all, he had no reason to refuse. As far as he was aware, he would be doing the right thing.
“Why would the brigands attack yer braither?” Alaric asked and Lucia’s irritation spiked, to the point where she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from lashing out. Naturally, none of this could be easy, because nothing in her life was easy. Alaric would not simply agree; she would have to convince him. “Was he travellin’ when they attacked? Was he alone?”
With a sigh, Lucia disentangled herself from Alaric and stood, walking over to the dresser to pour the wine in the two cups. As she did, she angled her body to hide her movements and then plucked a small vial from a hidden pocket in her dress, emptying its contents into one of them before offering it to Alaric.
“They passed through our village,” she said as she took a sip of the wine. “I dinnae ken why they killed him. Why dae brigands dae anythin’?”
Alaric considered her answer for a moment before he took a sip from his cup. Just as he lowered it from his lips, he tipped it up again and drained the whole thing, much to Lucia’s surprise—and delight.
“Dae ye ken who they are?” Alaric asked.
“Aye,” said Lucia. “I found out after the attack.”
“Did they think yer braither had somethin’ o’ value on him?”
Lucia shook her head, quickly losing her patience. “I dinnae ken. But I can assure ye he had naething o’ value.”
“Did they…”
Slowly, yet surely, Alaric’s eyelids began to fall shut and he struggled to keep himself awake. He frowned in confusion, parting his lips as if to speak but then saying nothing, and his fingers loosened around the cup.
Lucia caught it before it could hit the floor and pushed Alaric gently onto the mattress. “Rest,” she said. “Ye are tired. We can speak about this later.”
Alaric went easily, his eyes falling shut for good before his head had even hit the pillow. Almost instantly, he began to snore and Lucia took a moment to snap her fingers right about his head, making sure he was truly and deeply asleep.
“Finally,” she grumbled, taking their cups and returning them to the tray before she slipped out of the room. For a moment there, she had thought Alaric’s questions would never stop.
Once out of the inn, she rounded the building and headed to the back, where Rory was waiting for her. When he spotted her, he threw up his arms in frustration, but Lucia could only laugh at the incredulous look on his face—and the black eye she had given him.
“Did ye have tae hit me?” he asked, his voice too loud for Lucia’s liking. She shushed him sharply, giving him a stern look, but it seemed he was not yet done. “An’ ye had me waitin’ here fer half an hour! What if someone saw me?”
“It is up tae ye if someone sees ye,” Lucia pointed out as she pulled a pouch full of coins out of her pocket and handed it to him. “An’ I had tae make the attack look real. Look at this,” she said, pointing to her swollen lip. “One o’ yer men did this. They certainly didnae hold back. Why did ye hurt the MacGregor lad so badly?”
“Ye said tae make it seem real,” Rory reminded her. “We made it seem real. Besides, ye didnae tell us he could have killed us all! Have ye seen him fight? The lad’s a demon!”
“I told ye that ye would need several men,” Lucia pointed out. “An’ naething happened tae any o’ them, so stop complainin’. Here’s yer coin.”
“I dinnae owe ye, ye dinnae owe me,” said Rory with a tip of his head. “Correct?”
“Correct,” Lucia confirmed. “Go. Get out o’ here.”
Rory turned to leave, but then came to a sudden halt, looking at Lucia over his shoulder. “What will ye dae with him?”
“Join the Ravencloaks.”
Though Lucia’s tone was entirely nonchalant, Rory gaped at her, shocked. “Ye will get yerself an’ the laddie killed.”
“They killed me braither,” she reminded Rory. It didn’t matter if she died. It didn’t really matter to her if Alaric ended up dead, too. All that mattered was revenge. “An’ now I will kill the bastard who took him from me.”
This is the story of Gillian, an adventurous English lady who finds herself captured by a mysterious and alluring Highlander. This Highlander will do whatever it takes to save his people from hunger, even abduct the daughter of his enemy. But life seldom goes as planned. What will happen when the Highlander starts falling for Gillian? And will her feelings or her logic prevail in this peculiar turn of events?
This is the story of Julia, an intelligent English lady who runs away to escape her woes and finds herself in the keep of an enticing Highlander. This Highlander, as handsome as he may be, has serious economic troubles, and only a miracle can save him. But perhaps one's answer is closer than he thinks. How will he help her face the past that is haunting her? And how will she save him?
This is the story of Gale, an adventurous English lady who runs away to escape her murderous mother and finds herself in the company of an alluring Highlander. There she is called to change her ways, and he helps her see the world from a different point of view. But her past is catching up with her. How will she elude her mother? And will this be the only obstacle in their relationship?
“How dare he? How dare he dictate me life tae me!” Domhnall MacLeod lambasted. “Who the hell does he think he is?”
“The King of England,” Kai quipped with a smirk.
Magnus gave his brother a dark look, while Domhnall glowered at him, but Kai only shrugged, clearly not fazed by either of his brother’s reactions.
“Well, he is,” Kai pressed.
“Let me see that,” Magnus said, gesturing to the letter Domhnall had gripped in his hand.
Domhnall tossed the letter across the desk and then spun on his heel, the heightened agitation growing to a boiling point within him.
“Ye need tae calm down, Domhnall,” Magnus warned. “Ye ken ye cannae afford tae lose yer temper.”
“The hell I will. Read it,” he barked.
“Read it out,” Kai added, “so I dinnae have tae read it after ye.”
Magnus held the parchment aloft and began.
“Edward, by the grace of God, King of England, Lord of Ireland, and Duke of Aquitaine, to Laird MacLeod, I send my dearest greeting.”
“Aye, course he does,” Kai interjected.
“May the lord bless thee, and all those in your household,” Magnus continued. “I trust those under your leadership show gratitude for your righteousness and mercy. As brothers of the same island, it is with discernment that I send you good will in this letter, and purport to instruct you in an alliance that will bond our nations together. It is with the fragileness of these bonds in mind that I have arranged a union that will bind those bonds ever tighter.”
At this point, Magnus lifted his head and stared at Domhnall in astonishment. “He’s arranged yer marriage?” he blurted.
Domhnall was still storming back and forth, his fists clenching and unclenching, a mechanism he had adopted to try and control his rage, both now and at other times.
Flicking his hand at the letter, he growled, “Continue. It gets better.”
Magnus dropped his gaze back to the letter, and read some more.
“These bonds can only be strengthened if our nations unite, and thus, I am sending your betrothed to you from England.”
“What?” Kai blurted.
“Aye, nae so funny now, is it?” Domhnall spat.
“Lady de Beaumont will travel to you on the Isle of Skye,” Magnus read, “and you will marry within the month of her arrival. She is a fine lady from excellent stock, and will provide you with strong heirs.”
“What he means is, English heirs,” Magnus deduced.
“Exactly,” Domhnall declared. “He goes on about this being for the nation’s best interests, but he ends with a threat. The fact that if I dinnae comply, there will be war.”
“He said that?” Kai gasped.
“Nae in so many words, but it’s certainly inferred,” Domhnall replied. “His strategy couldnae be more obvious. The man isnae a fool. The MacLeod Clan has always been fiercely independent. Being on an island has always given us an advantage, for we are not so easily reached.”
“But why now?” Magnus said. “After all this time o’ his leaving us be, why is he so eager now?”
“Who the hell kens?” Domhnall growled, throwing his hands in the air. “He’s trying tae tie us tae the English crown through marital bonds.”
“Which will, in turn, weaken Scottish resistance and spread English half-breeds across the Highlands,” Kai said.
For a long moment, none of the brothers said another word. Kai had surmised it perfectly, and as his words echoed around Domhnall’s head, the rage continued to bubble within him.
The MacLeod Clan was indeed mighty, but they could not take on the King of England. Maybe, they could ask for help from their allies, but who, in their right mind, would go against a direct order from King Edward?
The man was evil to the core, and had already betrayed many a Scotsman with promises of peace and alliances. Those foolish enough to fall for it were often found hanging in a barn from their neck.
“What are we going tae dae?” Kai asked.
Being the youngest of the three brothers, certainly did not make Kai any less experienced. In fact, he was one of the best scouts Domhnall had, and thus, knew as much about what was going on in the lands as Domhnall himself.
“We could make a stand,” Magnus said, “but it would put the whole clan at risk.”
Domhnall stared at Magnus. “I cannae dae that, braither. These people rely on me tae keep them safe. What kind o’ laird would I be, if I knowingly put them in harm’s way? And particularly, if only tae save mesel’.” He shook his head. “Nae! I willnae dae it.”
But the more he thought about the situation, the angrier he got. The king had no right to dictate to him who he should or should not marry. More than that, marrying an English woman was nearly sacrilege. Without counting the scars of his parent’s deaths, which did little to help.
Grabbing a nearby chair, he flung it across the room, and yelled at the top of his lungs. “God damn it all tae hell.”
The chair smashed into splinters, and fell onto the stone floor with a noisy clatter.
“What the devil is going on in here?” Thora said as she tentatively walked into the room. Enya, her twin sister, directly behind her.
“Domhnall, braither,” Enya gasped, hurrying over to him. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Stay away from him, Enya,” Magnus warned.
“Och, dinnae talk such nonsense,” she whipped a reply. “Me oldest braither has never hurt me. I dinnae think he’s going tae start now.”
Placing her hand on his arm, she gazed up at him. “Tell me.”
Domhnall sat his sisters down, and, taking it in turns, their three brothers explained what the king had decreed. As expected, the lass’s faces were a picture of horror, and feeling as indignant as the men, they too were angry at such overreach.
“So, then, we havenae any choice,” Thora concluded caustically. “Tae save the people, ye have tae go through with this.”
Domhnall nodded. “Aye. I dae.”
The five siblings sat there for a long time, none of them having much to say. There wasn’t really much they could say. Edward I was a man who used many means to get his way, and none of them had any doubt he would keep to his word.
“Nay matter what happens, we must remember one thing,” Enya said, a little later on.
“What?” Kai said.
“Well, Domhnall isnae the only one being forced against his will. Whoever this Lady de Beaumont is, we can be certain she doesnae want tae be here, as much as we dinnae want her here. But, like us, she probably has nay choice.”
“So, what are ye saying?” Kai asked with a shrug.
“That we treat her decently when she arrives. She’s likely a quiet and reserved wee thing, like most English ladies.”
“Then she’ll hardly ken what’s hit her when she gets here and meets us,” Kai chuckled.
The twins laughed, Magnus smiled, but Domhnall remained solemn.
That was all he needed, a shy, English wallflower as his wife. They would be as opposite as night and day.
“Are ye all right, Domhnall?” Enya asked quietly while the others were talking amongst themselves.
He looked at his sister, the epitome of empathy, and then smiled. “I’ll be just fine,” he lied.
Tilting her head, she gave him a sad look. “I am so very sorry,” she said. “Maybe ye’ll grow tae like her, perhaps even love her.”
Clenching his jaw, he held his smile in place. “Aye,” he said tightly. “Maybe.”
A little later, when the others had left him alone, Domhnall stood at the window of his study and glared out across the gardens.
“Like her? Love her?” he spat. “She’ll be lucky if I dinnae kill her.”
Still seething at the position, he was being forced into, Domhnall knew this anger was going to sit with him for some time.
The English were coming to his island, the Isle of Skye, and there was not a damned thing he could do to stop it.
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***
Chapter One
November 1297. At sea near the shore of the Isle of Skye…
Any other bride would not plan her husband’s funeral before she’d even married the man.
And yet, as Lady Katherine de Beaumont stood at the bow of the birlinn, anchoring herself with a firm grip on the rope beside her as the boat rose and fell with the swell of the sea, that’s exactly what was going through her mind.
She sighed heavily, the exhaustion of the last week of travelling washing over her. On the freezing cold November day, there had already been snowfall, and pulling the heavy cloak tighter around her, she acknowledged that the bitter winter of Scotland was a far cry from the weather back home in England.
The rough seas were hardly helping, and though she tried to fight it, as the wind pulled at the tendrils of her chestnut hair, the dizziness and seasickness threatened to overcome her.
To distract herself, Katherine dug her hand into her cloak pocket and took out the little black book she always carried with her. Among many other things, it contained a list of daring sins, all the things she had sworn she would do before she was wed. There were still quite a few remaining.
Kiss a stranger. Spy on a gentleman bathing. Ride astride a horse. Get her skin marked with a tattoo. Swim without clothes and, finally, read a banned book.
As she gazed down at the page flapping madly in the wind, she shook her head.
And yet, I will never get to complete my list now, for in two weeks, I will be forced to marry the devil himself.
As someone approached her, she cursed under her breath, fearing they would see her list, and hurriedly, she stuffed the book back into her pocket and pulled out a small knife to make space.
“I have told you before,” Reginald growled, coming to stand close by her side. “Carrying a knife is anything but ladylike.”
Katherine’s brother, Lord Reginald De Beaumont, was a tall and imposing figure with a commanding presence. At thirty-four, he was eleven years Katherine’s senior, and unlike his sister’s soft refined features, with her high cheek bones and defined jawline, his face was thin and angular.
Nor did they share the same eye color, for while his were a pale blue, a color that she had always felt perfectly conveyed his cold, calculated and a ruthless nature, her eyes were a piercing green.
Katherine flashed him a scowling glance, noting the streaks of gray in his almost black hair. His perfectly manicured beard added to his stern appearance and authoritative figure.
“We are venturing into Scotland, dear brother,” she hissed. “Ladylike or not, I will keep it on my person for protection.”
Reginald jerked his head toward the stern of the boat. “You will need no protection with all the men I have ordered to come with you.”
Katherine glanced at the group of soldiers. They were loyal men, but she had no doubt they did as her brother’s bidding out of fear.
“Always remember who you are,” he growled. “You may well have been forced to marry one of these Scottish savages. It doesn’t mean you have to become one of them.”
“I wish I were back in England,” she sighed.
“As do I, sister. But your marriage has been decreed by King Edward the first himself. You do not have a choice.”
“Yes,” Katherine hissed. “I am aware of that. Perhaps, if our family were not of such high noble standing, the situation would be different.”
Reginald glared down at her. “Do not berate the de Beaumont name, Katherine. Father did not work so hard and gain such influence with the crown for you to denounce it with such dismissiveness.”
Katherine huffed in frustration. That was all well and good, but it was not her brother being forced to marry.
“You ought to be proud of your heritage. Our family is renowned for its military prowess and loyalty to the crown. No matter what you feel, we have a duty towards the king. This union will strengthen his grip on Scotland and create a loyalist faction within the Scottish clans.”
“You mean control the Scots,” Katherine replied knowingly. “The king talks of fostering peace, but everyone knows his real agenda. He looks to secure influence and control Scottish resistance to English rule.”
Again, Reginald glared down at her. “It is well that no other can hear your treasonous tongue,” he spat.
“It is not treasonous if it is true,” she argued.
Reginald’s condescendence angered Katherine, but then, so did most men. They were all so very proud of their accomplishments, each one thinking themselves smarter than their counterpart. Of course, in their mind, women knew little, and were stupid beings who were only good for light conversation and continuing the family line.
Not Katherine. Astute and intelligent, she heard and understood things men thought were above her comprehension. While the opposite sex foolishly believed that they were smarter, Katherine quietly garnered information, snippets of conversations heard from one place or another.
She knew the king’s game, and now, she had become a pawn. A piece he could use for his own ends, not caring a wit for her thoughts and feelings on the matter. She was, after all, just a woman to him. A noble woman, but just a woman all the same. It was not just the fact that she was being forced to marry that angered her, it was who he had decreed she ought to wed.
“There is land ahead,” Reginald announced. “The Isle of Skye. It will be your home, at least for a little while, Katherine, so you better tame your tongue and get used to it.”
“It isn’t like I have any other choice, is it?” she bit back.
“You know I will do my best to ruin the MacLeod family and free you from your marriage, but I can only do so if you give me the information I need.”
On their journey, Reginald had told her that she must view this circumstance as though it were a military mission. Indeed, she would be forced to marry her enemy, but while there, she had another assignment. She had to find the weaknesses and strengths of the clan before her wedding.
Katherine had argued that two weeks was not a lot of time for what her brother was asking, but he had been determined.
“It is the only way you can be free,” he had countered.
She would arrive as a bride-to-be while at the same time acting as a spy for her brother. She despised the idea. And yet, what she despised even more was being married to this man.
As the birlinn approached the shore, the sailors hollered to one another, each with a specific task to bring the boat to its mooring point safely. They ran from one end of the ship to the other, pulling at sails and gathering rope. It was clear, by their appearance, that they had been manning ships for many years, for all of them were weathered, with lined, craggy faces.
Eventually, the boat came up against the harbor wall, and with the vessel finally secured, a gang plank was hooked onto the side. Reginald took Katherine by the hand, and, walking in front of her, he carefully guided her onto the cobblestone.
Even now she was on dry land, she still felt the swaying of the sea. Clearly, her body had become accustomed to it, and she wondered how long the sensation would last.
Reginald turned toward the men that accompanied them and ordered them to hurry off and secure horses, telling them to return to a tavern located nearby.
When he turned back to Katherine, he said, “We’ll stay in this tavern tonight. You have another long journey tomorrow. Besides, we have arrived two days ahead of time, so there is hardly any rush.”
With rooms booked for themselves, while the soldiers had set up camp nearby, Katherine and Reginald settled at a table and ordered food. Katherine was surprised to realize that she was famished, but then remembered she hadn’t eaten since early that morning.
Still, she struggled not to screw up her nose at her surroundings. The place was grubby, cold, and full of local peasants. In England, she wouldn’t be seen dead in such a place.
When their meal arrived, Katherine could only glare down at it.
“What on earth is this?” she grimaced, staring at the bowl in front of her.
Reginald gave her a cold stare. “It is stew and fresh bread. You will have to get used to it. This is what they eat in Scotland.” He paused while giving her a long look. “You’re not in England now, sister. As awful as it might be, there are a few things you are going to have to get accustomed to, the food being one of them.”
Katherine sighed heavily, and picking up her spoon, she tentatively delved into the brown mess in front of her. Surprisingly, she found it to be rather tasty, and dismissing her initial judgement, she ate heartily while Reginald laid out his plan.
“Do not be fooled, sister. As barbaric as these people are, they are still clever, and their intelligence may surprise you. You will need to be cunning and vigilant in your efforts. What you are about to do is important, and we cannot afford any mistakes.”
Once again, Katherine had to bite down her frustration, for as usual, her brother spoke to her as though she were an imbecile.
“I’m not a fool, Reginald. I am well aware of the capabilities of the Scots. Clearly, this union would not be necessary if they were the cavemen our king tells us they are.”
“Katherine,” Reginald hissed.
She rolled her eyes, which angered him even more, but she hardly cared. It was not he who was being offered on a platter, was it? Besides, she had long stopped caring about her brother’s approval. What she was about to endure was bad enough. Nothing he could threaten her with could be any worse.
“I will not be accompanying you to the castle. If I am there, I cannot enact an attack against the MacLeod Clan. But fear not. I will not be far away.”
Katherine nodded. “How will I contact you to tell you what I have discovered?”
“Do not worry about that. I will send a messenger.”
“Perhaps, if I get the opportunity, I could do something there myself.”
“No!” Reginald barked.
He then looked about him as his outburst had caught the attention of a few punters sitting a few tables over.
Lowering his voice, he continued. “Stick to the plan. Find out what you can discover, and then report back to me. I hate the man as much as you do, but his death will not be helpful. Not yet, at any rate.”
After the meal, Katherine retired to her room. Not only was she exhausted from all the travelling they had already done, but she would have to rise before the sun tomorrow to continue her journey. There was still quite a way to go before she reached Dunvegan Castle. The place she would, in two weeks, be forced to call her home.
And yet, as tired as she was, sleep did not come easily. Her mind punished her with thoughts of what her future held. There were, of course, arranged marriages in England too, but it was usual, in those cases that the betrothed were introduced at some point before the ceremony.
Katherine, on the other hand, had no idea about the man she was about to marry. Well, she knew something about him. She knew he was a vicious Viking laird who took great pleasure in slaughtering Englishmen. His hatred of her kinsmen hardly filled her with confidence. What if he took a notion to rid himself of her at some point?
You must keep your knife on your person at all times. Even when you sleep.
Knowing how precarious and delicate the situation was between the warring countries, she had every intention of doing so. Once inside those castle walls, she would be on her own. There would be no army nearby to save her. Yes, she would have guards with her, but ten soldiers were hardly a match for an entire clan. Especially one as powerful as the MacLeods.
The following morning, at first light, Katherine readied herself for her journey and made her way downstairs. The men had secured horses, as Reginald had directed the day before, and she found her brother standing beside the only horse that didn’t have a rider, clearly waiting for her.
After helping her onto the beast, Reginald looked up at her. “Remember what I told you. Find out all that you can. We will get our revenge, sister.”
Katherine nodded, and after a brief and cold farewell, she and the group of soldiers that would accompany her, began their journey.
While she and Reginald were not in any way close, there was one thing uniting them. Probably the only thing, for they could both agree that they hated the man she was to marry. The king, in his wisdom, had decreed that she not just wed any Scottish nobleman, but Laird Domhnall MacLeod.
The same man who had slaughtered her father in battle.
Chapter Two
Somewhere in the MacLeod lands…
Pressing against the rough bark of the tree, most of his huge muscular frame hidden behind it, Domhnall MacLeod pulled the string of his bow up to the corner of his mouth. He took a long breath in and aimed. With his eye on the prize, he released his breath at the same time he released his arrow, but in that very second, the hairy boar jolted and ran.
“Damn it.”
“Och, that’s the third time ye’ve missed it,” Kai crowed with laughter. “I think ye’re losing yer touch, brother.”
“Aye,” Magnus agreed. “Or maybe the beast can smell ye a mile away. When’s the last time ye had a bath?”
With his long dark brown wavy hair now matted to his head after hunting all day, Domhnall wondered if Magnus might have a point, but he snarled at his brothers, and with lightning speed, he was suddenly at their sides.
“Hey, dinnae be using yer gift on me, or I’ll force ye tae cry,” Kai said, readying to defend himself.
He was far slenderer than his brothers, and stood no chance against Domhnall, but he was a fine fighter all the same.
“He will too,” Magnus nodded.
“Get out of me head, Magnus,” Kai snarled playfully.
They rarely used the gifts they had been endowed with at birth on each other, but the threat to do so was always fun. While Domhnall, the oldest of the brothers, had lightning speed and the strength of ten men, Kai, the youngest, could coerce emotions, and Magnus had always been able to hear people’s thoughts, which had completely freaked him out as a child.
Domhnall smirked at the two of them. “Both o’ ye need tae grow up.”
“Hey, we’re nae the ones who cannae kill the boar,” Kai quipped back.
“Maybe I’ll bring ye home for the roast instead,” Domhnall shot back.
“Aye, I’d like to see ye try.”
The three brothers had been out hunting all morning, but to no avail. Each time Domhnall had managed to get anywhere close to a prey, the damned beasts had escaped him. Maybe Kai, the youngest of the three, was right. Maybe he was losing his touch.
Or maybe, ye’re distracted and have other things on yer mind.
There was that, too.
Tomorrow, the woman he had been ordered to marry would arrive. A Sassenach, of all people. He abhorred the idea, of course, but King Edward I had persuaded him with arguments of peace and the fact that marrying an English woman would be the beginnings of them bridging the gap between the borders.
Domhnall had seen enough death, not least of which, his own parents’. An occurrence that taunted him even now. He was tired of war and bloodshed, for the lands of Scotland were soaked in it. If there was a chance for peace, ought he not to grab hold of it with both hands?
That being said, neither was he a fool. He was laird over the clan lands, and thus, extremely protective of his people. He had considered the king’s other motivations, for he was certain he had them. There had been too many losses on either side for him to give up so easily. Domhnall was thus determined to make certain this marriage did not open the door to even more troubles, like the English pushing into Scottish territory.
“Ye’re troubled,” Magnus said.
He always was the more astute of them all, even with his mind-reading abilities. His hair was a shade darker and shorter than his brother’s, falling in loose waves around his face, and as he looked intently at him with his deep blue eyes, something they all had in common, he waited for Domhnall’s reply.
“Aye. I am. Me mind is on other things.”
“The English woman,” Kai said, all mockery now gone from his tone.
“Aye.” Domhnall nodded. “The English woman.”
Kai frowned. “Are ye sure ye’re doing the right thing marrying her?”
“We’ve talked about this ‘afore, Kai. I’m nae going through it all again.”
“All right.” Kai raised his hands in surrender. “I just worry about ye, is all.”
Domhnall smirked. “I think ye have enough on yer plate with all the lasses ye have after ye.”
But Kai didn’t bite. “Stop changing the subject. And ye may be laird, but there’s only a year between each o’ us. I might be the youngest, but I’m nae a fool.”
Domhnall gave him a somber look. “I ken that, braither. And I thank ye fer yer concern. But like I say, we’ve gone over this many times. There’s really naething more tae say.”
“I think we should head back tae the castle,” Magnus suggested. “I dinnae ken about ye two, but I cannae feel me feet any longer, and I’m certain a whisky will warm us all up.”
Nodding, Domhnall said, “That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all morning.”
The snow fall beneath their feet was beginning to melt, leaving the ground wet, cold and muddy. No doubt there would be more in the coming months, for the winters on the Isle of Skye were always harsh. The bitter wind carrying the icy winds from the sea from the west didn’t help, and even with all the fires lit, there were parts of the castle that were desperately cold.
As they trudged through the forest and headed toward the main path, Kai said, “And we could all do with a bath. Look at the state o’ us.”
Magnus looked down at himself and chuckled. “Well, at least we didnae wear our best clothes.”
Once on the main track, they found their horses still tied to the trees, where they had left them. The dense forest they had just left ran parallel to the track, almost all the way to the castle.
“What dae ye think she’ll be like, this new wife o’ yers?” Kai said, tying his bag to the saddle.
“Och, nay doubt some quiet meek thing,” Domhnall replied. “Ye ken the Sassenachs. They’re all propriety and manners.”
“She’ll fit right in then,” Magnus quipped.
The three brothers burst into laughter and were about to mount their beasts, when the sound of horses approaching had the three of them spinning around to look behind them.
“Get back intae the trees,” Domhnall demanded.
They ran back the way they had come, and with their swords pulled from their waists, and crouching low, they waited for the horses to arrive.
“Ye think it’s another attack?” Kai hissed.
Domhnall shook his head. “I dinnae ken, but I’m nae taking any chances.”
They didn’t have to wait long, for over the brow of the hill, a group of soldiers emerged.
“It’s the English,” Magnus spat.
“Aye, but it’s hardly an army,” Domhnall noted. “And besides, they’re out here in full view. It doesnae mak’ any sense.”
“What are we going tae dae?” Kai asked.
“We’re going tae ask them what the devil they’re doing here,” Domhnall said, standing fully erect and running out into the soldier’s path with his sword held high.
“Halt,” the lead soldier shouted, shocked at the sight of Domhnall and his brothers.
“Who are ye? What are ye doing here?” Domhnall demanded.
“We are here…”
But as the soldier continued, Domhnall could hear a woman’s voice behind him.
“…just get to this castle and be done with this travel. How much farther can we possibly be?”
While Kai and Magnus continued to question the soldiers, Domhnall stepped past the first few horses, searching for where the voice was coming from. He came to a sudden halt when he saw a woman sitting side saddle, and a few things flew through his mind in that moment.
This has tae be the English woman. Our lasses dinnae ride side-saddle.
My god, she’s stunning.
This is me future bride?
Glaring down at him, she said, “Have you never seen a woman on a horse before?”
“Nae quite the meek, mild-mannered lass ye were expecting, is she?” Kai whispered into his ear with a huge smirk.
“Ye have travelled far, me lady,” Domhnall began. “Welcome tae the Isle o’ Skye. I am—”
“I am here to see the laird. Now, I beg ye, let us by.”
Clearly, given his present appearance, she didn’t realize who he was, and in truth, he couldn’t blame her. He was in a bit of a state.
“I am—”
“Do you not understand English?” she asked. “I am—”
But suddenly, her horse, trying to pull its hooves out of the deep mud, jerked forward, throwing the woman off its back. She landed in a muddy puddle, yelping in distress.
“Oh. Oh, my lord! Help me,” she cried, looking up at the soldiers who accompanied her.
But as each soldier clambered down from their horse, they too, got stuck and struggled to pull their feet from the thick muck to reach her.
“Perhaps the English need tae learn how tae navigate real terrain,” Domhnall said dryly.
This remark sent Magnus and Kai into peals of laughter, and the three stood chuckling for a minute. Lady de Beaumont, as he now knew she was, did not find his wit amusing in the slightest, and glaring up at him, she spat. “And perhaps the Scottish should learn some manners.”
Domhnall’s eyes flew wide at her fiery response. She certainly wasn’t what he had been expecting, and found himself both amused and intrigued by her behavior and boldness.
“Please, let me help ye.”
“I don’t need your help,” she hissed, pressing a gloved hand into the ground beside her to get her balance. Like the rest of her, her hand sunk deep into the soggy ground, eliciting a rather comical look of disgust.
“Please yersel’,” Domhnall chuckled.
Clearly, she was as stubborn as she was bold, and perhaps, given the circumstances, she felt she needed to assert her independence, what with being surrounded by so many men. Whatever her reasons, she was certainly not the woman he expected. Besides, what was she doing here? She hadn’t been due to arrive until the following day.
He sighed inwardly then, thinking about all the time and effort he had put into the arrangements he had made for her arrival. He had planned music, and entertainers, and the maids and servants were going to be lined up to welcome her. The preparations for the feast were all underway, and, he supposed, that could still happen. But he and his brothers would also have been dressed in attire fit to welcome a lady.
Och, well. That was a waste o’ me time.
After watching her struggle for several more minutes, Domhnall was growing impatient, and noting where the ground looked more solid, he placed a foot there and leaned forward. Slipping his arms under her knees and behind her back, he lifted her with no effort at all.
His action obviously surprised her, for she gasped, automatically wrapping her hands around his neck. He watched her cheeks bloom red with anger, and yet, she did not complain, nor did she fight him off.
Once back on firm ground, Lady de Beaumont brushed herself down, but in doing so, only spread the mud that was already on her hands all over her clothes. Without looking at him, she hissed, “Thank you.”
“Aye, well. Someone had tae dae it or ye’d still be there by night fall. Now, as I was—”
“Just because you laid your hands on me, without my permission, I might add, does not give you the right to speak to me,” she spat. “We will be on our way to the castle now. I’m sure you…” she struggled to find a word as her eyes roved his person in disgust, “…men, have other things to do…”
Behind Domhnall, Kai was tittering, clearly finding this entire situation hilarious. Domhnall supposed he couldn’t blame him. It was funny in its ridiculousness. If the woman would just let him speak.
“I’ve finished me ditch-digging today,” he countered sarcastically, “but I’d be happy tae throw ye back intae that puddle if ye carry on being so rude.”
“You are impertinent, aren’t you? I wonder what your laird would think if he knew you were speaking to me in such a manner.”
Domhnall was getting a little frustrated by her arrogance, and spinning to look at her, he said, “If ye dinnae watch yer tongue, I’ll lock ye in the laird’s dungeons.”
“I hardly think so,” she laughed mirthlessly. “My betrothed,” she spat the word with obvious venom, “would never let a barbarian like you put a hand on me.”
“Is that right?” Domhnall said, taking a long step towards her. With no hesitation, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Argh,” she shrieked. “Put me down. Put me down this minute.”
The soldiers went to move, but Kai and Magnus jerked their swords towards them threateningly.
Domhnall then turned to speak to the Englishmen.
“Yer charge needs tae think before she opens that pretty little mouth o’ hers. Ye see, this rude barbarian, is nay other than her future husband.”
The soldier’s faces dropped, and behind him, he could hear Lady de Beaumont gasp again.
“And believe me when I say, I have nay problem at all locking her in me dungeons. Perhaps while she’s in there, she can learn some manners. The cold, dark cells might even teach her, her place.”
This is the story of Gillian, an adventurous English lady who finds herself captured by a mysterious and alluring Highlander. This Highlander will do whatever it takes to save his people from hunger, even abduct the daughter of his enemy. But life seldom goes as planned. What will happen when the Highlander starts falling for Gillian? And will her feelings or her logic prevail in this peculiar turn of events?
This is the story of Julia, an intelligent English lady who runs away to escape her woes and finds herself in the keep of an enticing Highlander. This Highlander, as handsome as he may be, has serious economic troubles, and only a miracle can save him. But perhaps one's answer is closer than he thinks. How will he help her face the past that is haunting her? And how will she save him?
This is the story of Gale, an adventurous English lady who runs away to escape her murderous mother and finds herself in the company of an alluring Highlander. There she is called to change her ways, and he helps her see the world from a different point of view. But her past is catching up with her. How will she elude her mother? And will this be the only obstacle in their relationship?
“Dinnae look now, Emily, but I reckon that’s the brawest feller I’ve ever laid eyes on in me life just come in!” whispered Raven MacDonald, neé MacNeil, to her fellow maid, nudging her in the ribs. Emily looked up at once and took in the tall, broad figure with short, pale-gold hair standing in the doorway.
“Och, aye, he’s dreamy,” she breathed, her mouth falling open as she stared at the newcomer.
“I told ye nae tae look! And stop starin’ at him like that,” Raven hissed, stifling a giggle with one hand while absently wiping at the table top with a damp cloth with the other.
“Why should I? Ye’re starin’,” Emily pointed out, not taking her eyes off the blond-haired man as he strode in on long, muscular, leather-clad legs and shut the door behind him.
Raven could not deny it. Since the man had come in, she had been transfixed by his powerful physique and rough, masculine beauty. “Look at his hair. ’Tis so lovely and thick and fair, like spun gold. And look at his muscles and his scars,” she whispered admiringly as strange chills such as she had never felt before ran up and down her spine. “He’s gorgeous. He looks like a fearsome warrior.”
“Aye, he is.”
Raven gasped and tore her eyes from the blond godlike man long enough to glance at her friend. “Ye ken who he is?”
“Aye, of course I dae! Ye must be the only person on Harris who daesnae recognize him,” Emily replied.
Raven frowned a little at that. She had very good reasons for never straying too far from the house, and she seldom ventured into the nearby village. It was safer that way. But she said nothing.
Emily continued. “But this is the first time I’ve seen him come in here.”
“Who is he then?” Raven asked, unable to stop looking at the man as she pretended to mop the table. He had light-colored eyes, which flickered about the room, taking in the bevy of painted courtesans and their male clientele already occupying the luxuriously furnished salon.
“Why, ’tis Arne MacLeod, Laird Haldor’s younger braither,” Emily told her, getting on with her job of loading used crockery onto a tray.
The laird’s braither? Raven, feeling unaccountably excited by his presence, watched covertly while Madam Morag glided over to greet MacLeod, an ingratiating smile plastered on her painted old face. Morag was tall for a woman, but the blond warrior dwarfed her. He was huge!
The two chatted in low voices for a few minutes, clearly discussing business. Straining her ears, Raven could hear the low, deep rumble of his voice. The sound made goosebumps rise all over her skin.
“Wait until ye get close enough tae see his eyes. All the girls would give their right arms tae get him intae bed. Wish ye were one of them, d’ye?” Emily smiled teasingly at Raven as she hurried off back to the kitchen with her tray.
Raven moved on to the next table, but her attention was on MacLeod and the courtesans who were eyeing him up with frank appreciation, giggling, thrusting out their breasts, practically licking their lips. Raven was well aware that in comparison to their usual clientele he was a choice morsel. She suspected that if not for Morag’s stern presence, the girls would have fought each other to be the one to take him to bed, without charging a penny. And the way Raven felt, for the first time in her life, just looking at him, strange tingles racing all over her body, she thought she understood why.
Before she had come to work at Mhairi’s, she had never really understood how a woman could want a man so much. She was not a virgin, but she had lain with only one man in her life, a cold, soulless man who repulsed her in every way.
So, to catch herself imagining what this MacLeod would look like without his clothes on shocked her to her core. And now, seeing the way each of the girls was trying to tempt him into choosing to lay with them, she felt a flash of jealousy. Why, that’s absurd! I’ve only just laid eyes on him. How can I be jealous?
“Maeve,” came a familiar voice, jolting her from her reverie.
“Aye,” Raven replied, responding to the false name she had adopted to shield her from her past. She smiled up at Morag, while noticing from the corner of her eye that MacLeod was now seated at a cozy corner table near the roaring hearth, his long legs stretched out, his boots resting on the fender.
Morag’s pinched, painted lips smiled back at her with a genuine warmth that was rare for her. “I see ye lookin’ at that feller that’s just come in. That’s new,” she said slyly. “And I dinnae blame ye. He’s a fine specimen, eh? Why, if I was thirty years younger…” Her husky voice trailed off, and her faded eyes took on a faraway look for a moment. Then she snapped back into her professional self.
“He’s the laird’s braither, Arne MacLeod is his name.”
“Aye, Emily said,” Raven put in, trying not to keep looking at him.
“He’s lookin’ fer a lass tae spend the night with him, but he wants tae take his time choosin’ which one. I’m tae tell the girls tae let him be fer a while, so he can have a look at what’s on offer at his leisure. But he has plenty of money tae spend, so we must keep him sweet. I want ye tae serve him, and make sure he gets everything he wants,” the madam ordered under her breath.
A fresh wave of excitement washed over Raven. “Aye, I will,” she found herself saying with an unfamiliar eagerness.
“Good lass.” Morag patted her shoulder and went off to speak to her girls. Raven heard soft expressions of disappointment from several of them as, with trembling fingers, she tucked her cleaning cloth in her apron pocket. She brushed down her skirts and straightened her cap, wondering why on earth she was bothering. I’m a maid, fer goodness sake, nae a courtesan out tae flirt with a man.
But for some odd reason, it suddenly felt important to do what little she could to present herself well. She straightened up, took a deep breath, summoned all her composure, and approached MacLeod’s table.
He cooly watched her coming, and by the time she reached the table, Raven felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Close up, he was even more dazzling to look at. He had the fine, chiseled features of a classical statue from ancient times, with brown stubble that glinted with gold covering his squarish chin and thick golden-brown slashes for brows. But the most startling thing about him were his eyes.
Emily had been right about them, for Raven had never seen such beautiful eyes on a man, and she found herself staring helplessly into them, transfixed. They were a light, silvery-blue, like a blue wintry sky shining on crystals of ice. Their unwavering gaze seemed to pierce her to her soul.
When he smiled at her, revealing even, white teeth, her mouth went dry, and her heart began to pound, thump, thump, thump, beneath her bodice.
“Hello, lassie,” he said, his lovely deep voice pouring over her like warm honey.
Pull yersel’ together, ye silly goose, she silently chided herself, and get on with yer job. Somehow, she got control of herself enough to drop a small curtsey. “Good evenin’ tae ye, Sir. May I bring ye somethin’ tae drink, or perhaps ye’re hungry?” she asked, returning his smile.
He leaned back in his chair, not taking his eyes from her face, and folded his arms. “I’m nae sure. What d’ye recommend?”
“Well, if ye’re nae decided yet, then ye could start off with a tankard of ale or some wine or whisky if ye prefer, while ye make up yer mind.”
“Good idea. What’s the ale like here? If ’tis like gnats’ piss, I’ll give it a miss and have some wine instead.”
Raven could not stop the laugh that slipped form her lips. She glanced around to check if Morag was listening before telling him in a low voice, “Well, I shouldnae say this, but ye’re probably best off skippin’ the ale and havin’ the wine.”
“And what’s the wine like? Horse piss?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
This time, Raven snorted and chuckled. “’Tis nae too bad. I’ve tasted worse. And the whisky is quite good.”
“I’ll go fer the wine then and maybe move on tae the whisky later.”
“Very well, Sir. I’ll just go and fetch that fer ye.” She went to the sideboard on the other side of the room. It was loaded with glasses, goblets, jugs, and drink and food of all kinds. She selected a flask of the finest wine they had and decanted it into a pewter jug.
This she carried back to him, along with a large goblet, and placed them on the table. “Would ye like me tae pour that fer ye, Sir?” she asked.
“Aye, if ye dinnae mind,” he told her with a nod, his icy eyes dancing with something she could not name but which made her feel hot all over.
“Say when,” she told him, lifting the jug and starting to pour the wine for him. She began to feel a little worried when it almost reached the brim before he said, “When.”
Then he lifted the goblet to his firm, sculpted lips and, his eyes locked with hers, took a long sip of the ruby liquid. As he did so, Raven noticed his hands, large, tan, capable-looking, covered with fine golden hairs, and a network of scars. A warrior’s hands. Yet he held the goblet delicately, with refinement.
The sight of his thick fingers delicately clamped around the stem of the goblet was oddly exciting, and she could not stop herself from wondering what it would be like to feel them upon her skin. She suspected they would feel far different from the cold ones she had known before.
He nodded his blond head and smiled approvingly. “Aye, that’s nae bad at all. Thank ye fer yer recommendation,” he said, placing the goblet back down. “Will ye come and join me fer a drink?”
Raven was startled by the unexpected invitation. “Och, nay,” she said, hiding how flustered she was behind a small laugh. “Ye need tae speak tae Morag. She’ll get one of the other lassies tae come and have a drink with ye if ye want some company.”
“But I’m happy with the present company,” he said, his strange eyes gleaming in the amber lamplight. She stared at him, at a loss as to what to say for a few moments, her whole body tingling. “What’s yer name?” he asked suddenly.
“Maeve. Maeve Carter.”
“Maeve. That’s an awful pretty name.”
Raven’s cheeks flamed. “Thank ye, Sir.”
“Me name’s Arne, Arne MacLeod. How d’ye dae, Maeve?” He held out his enormous hand to her. She looked at it in disbelief for a moment, but then she reached out and took it.
“Very well. And yersel’?” she asked as his large, warm palm enclosed her hand. A shock like lightening rushed up Raven’s arm at his touch. He shook her hand briefly and let it go, a trace of surprise on his face. She wondered if he had felt the strange sensation as well.
“Right as rain, lass, right as rain,” he replied, giving her an indecipherable look. Raven suddenly became acutely aware of a peculiar tension hanging in the air between them. She had never experienced anything like it until then.
“Tell me, Maeve, what can a hungry man get tae eat around here?”
She struggled to compose herself. “That depends on what ye fancy,” she heard herself say, only realizing after she had said it how coquettish it must have sounded. She blushed again. “I mean, how hungry ye are. We have bread and cheese and cured meats, or ye can have somethin’ hot.”
His golden-brown eyebrows shot up, and he grinned. “Somethin’ hot, eh? And what might that be?”
Ye’ve done it again! Keep a check on yer tongue with this one. “Braised beef with carrots, tatties and neeps, or there’s some roasted lamb, I believe,” she explained, wondering how one man could have such an effect on her.
“Have ye had yer supper?” he asked.
“Erm, nae. I’ll eat when me shift’s over in an hour,” she replied. Why is he even askin’?
“If I wait an hour, will ye come and join me fer dinner then?”
The request filled her with fresh consternation. Daes he nae understand the way things are done around here?
Remembering Morag’s orders to give him whatever he wanted, she glanced around for the madam’s help. Did “whatever he wants” include wining and dining the help? But Morag was otherwise engaged. So Raven looked back at him, smiled, and shook her head. “’Tis kind of ye tae ask, but ye must speak tae Morag about it,” she told him again.
“Ach, all right. Let’s nae beat about the bush. How much tae buy yer company fer the whole night?”
Raven was so shocked, before she knew what she was doing, she had raised her hand and given him a hard slap around the face. The sound echoed about the room. She regretted it the instant it happened, and she felt eyes in the room upon her. Ach, Morag will give me the boot after this!
“Ow! What was that fer?” Arne asked, rubbing the red hand mark she had left behind on his cheek.
“I’m nae fer sale. I’m nae a courtesan. I keep tellin’ ye, if ye wat a lass fer the night ye must speak tae Morag,” she told him in no uncertain terms. Though her heart was sinking, she felt she had nothing to lose now, since Morag would be furious with her for hitting a customer, and the laird’s brother of all people.
“Is everythin’ all right, Sir?” Of course, it was Morag. Raven steeled herself for the inevitable dismissal, afraid of what she would do if she had to leave the protection working at Mhairi’s offered her. Ye should learn tae keep yer temper!
“Aye, fine. I insulted the lady without meanin’ tae, and she put me right. It was a misunderstandin’, that’s all,” Arne told the madam straight out. Raven stared at him in surprise, grateful for his admission.
“Well, if ye’re happy about it, then I suppose that’s all right,” Morag replied. She glanced at Raven. “’Tis best tae refrain from slappin’ the customers in future, Maeve. ’Tis nae good fer business.”
“Sorry, Morag. I’ll nae dae it again,” she promised, hopeful of keeping her job.
“Apologize tae the customer, nae tae me,” the madam said.
“Sorry, Sir,” Raven muttered, afraid to meet Arne’s eyes.
“Can I have a word with ye in private, Morag?” he asked.
Morag nodded. “Raven, go and get some more wine fer Lucy and her customer, will ye?” Raven did as she as told, and while she was at the sideboard, she saw the pair deep in conversation, each glancing her way now and then. She delivered the wine to Lucy and her man and was about to start clearing another table when Morag beckoned her back to Arne’s.
“Ye can take the rest of the evenin’ off. Arne here seems tae like yer company, so I want ye tae keep him entertained,” the madam said quietly in her ear.
“What? What d’ye mean keep him entertained? I’m nae sleepin’ with him,” Raven whispered back urgently.
“He understands ye’re nae fer sale. He’s kens ye’re but a maid. He says he’s happy tae just talk and have dinner.”
Raven looked at her questioningly. Morag just shrugged. “He’s the customer, and the customer is always right, especially when he’s paid fer the whole of the night,” she said, giving Raven a wink as she moved off.
All this time, she was aware of Arne watching them. She wondered what his game was. But then he smiled that dazzling smile of his, and his silver-blue eyes danced with good humor as he got up and pulled out a chair for her.
“Will ye take a seat, Maeve?”
Unable to resist, after a brief moment of hesitation, she sat down. “Thank ye,” she said as he pushed in her chair and resumed his seat. He leaned on his elbows and smiled across at her.
“What’s goin’ on?” she asked.
“What d’ye mean?” He looked genuinely puzzled.
“Ye ken what I mean. Customers in whorehouses dinnae usually pay fer the night just tae talk tae the maid. It seems very odd.”
“Is that right? Well, ye clearly have more experience of these things that I dae. The last time I went tae a house of pleasure was on me fifteenth birthday when me big braither dragged me there as a present.”
“So why are ye here now then?” she asked, puzzled and intrigued.
He shrugged. “I suppose I got a wee bit lonely. I felt like some company,” he explained.
“I cannae imagine a man like ye has tae buy a woman fer the night.”
His eyes widened, full of mirth. “A man like me? Now, what d’ye mean by that?”
Raven’s cheeks flared hotly. She wished she had not said it, so she decided to change the subject. “Since I’m here fer the evenin’, ye’d better tell me what ye’d like tae talk about?”
“How about Maeve Carter?”
Raven could not help but warm to him. He was not only beautiful to look at but seemingly charming and good-natured as well. She decided she might as well enjoy the evening. It was unlikely that it would be repeated. She gave herself up to the pleasure of his company. “That’s a very boring subject, and it’ll nae take up more than a minute or two.”
“We’ll see about that. How old are ye, Maeve?” he asked her as he poured her some wine.
“Twenty-one.”
“D’ye come from around here?”
“Nay, from down south, near Tarbert. Me faither has a farm there,” she lied with practiced ease.
“A farm lass, eh? How did ye come tae be here on Harris, workin’ at house of pleasure as a maid?”
“I like tae travel, and I like workin’ here. The pay’s good, I get meals and board, and the people are a sort of family.”
“And now, the most important question of all. D’ye ye ken how tae play chess?”
The question was so unexpected, Raven burst out laughing. She relaxed, suddenly feeling completely at ease in his company. He looked fearsome and intimidating, but she could tell his nature was warm and funny.
“Aye, I play. Why d’ye want tae ken?”
“Because I want tae play, of course. Why else?”
“Ye want tae play chess, with me?”
“Somethin’ wrong with that?” he asked, his eyes dancing.
“I suppose nae. But I hope ye’re nae a sore loser. I’m very good. Me braithers taught me.”
“Well, well, ye sound very confident. Let’s have a game or two then and see how good ye are.”
She began laughing. “All right. I’ll go and fetch the board.” She got up and went over to one of the cupboards below the sideboard. There were several chess sets, packs of cards, and other gaming boards stowed there. She took a chess set and snatched up an extra goblet while she was there. Then she returned to the table and sat down. He began setting out the board.
“How about we make a small wager on the outcome,” he suggested.
“All right,” Raven agreed, seeing no harm in it. “I dinnae have much money though.”
“I wasnae thinkin’ of money,” he replied, lining up the pawns.
“Oh? What then?” she asked curiously.
He finished placing the pieces on the board and looked her square in the eyes and said boldly. “How about if I win, we share a kiss?”
Raven’s whole body tingled. “All right,” she replied, unable to help returning his smile. “One kiss.”
They began to play, and she played as badly as she could without being too obvious about it, for she had decided that this was one game she would be very happy to lose.
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