HIGHLANDER’SPRIDE

ADAMINA YOUNG

CONTENTS

Prologue1. Fortune Favors the Brave2. Highland Games Are a Melting Pot of Men3. Hiding Down in the Kitchen is a Good Ide4. Not What Was Expected5. An Unexpected Turn of Events6. The Games7. A Generous Invitation8. Not Much of a Choice9. A Most Favored Place10. More Than a Visit11. Two Very Different Stories12. Betrothal Balls Are Beautiful13. The Consequences of Choosing Him14. A Kiss and Tell15. Worth Fighting For16. A Severed Bond17. Besieged18. Sacrifice19. Betrayal20. A Very Charming Distraction21. Before a Fall22. Proud of Each OtherHighlander’s Cursed MoonPrologueChapter 1Also by the authorGet your Free book

“H

PROLOGUEAPRIL

ave at ye!”

Laird Aulay McOrkil lunged forward on one foot, thrusting his corked rapier toward hisopponent.

His cousin, Ivor, used his own rapier to hit the laird’s sword away with a violent knock. Soconfident was Laird Aulay of the success of his attack, that he was caught off balance bythe blow. He staggered to the left, and Ivor, taking the opportunity his cousin waspresenting him, gave him a kick in the backside.

The jolt was enough to send Laird Aulay sprawling onto the front courtyard cobblestones.

He twisted his body around, only to see Ivor chuckling and standing over him with asuperior grin on his face.

“It turns out ye had naught with which to have at me,” Ivor crowed, struggling to keepthe scorn out of his voice. “Admit it, why don’ ye? I’m the better man, and will always beso.”

Laird Aulay felt it best to let the prideful remark slide. Ever since they were bairns, IvorMcOrkil had been the taller, stronger boy out of the two of them. Whenever Aulay felthimself to be inflated with self-admiration at the thought of his many achievements, allhe had to do was look at Ivor, and his confidence would leak out of him like waterthrough a sieve.

As always, Aulay allowed the cocky remark to go by without challenge and took the handIvor was offering him with a rueful smile.

“One of these days…” he said, looking around the courtyard to see who had witnessed hishumiliation.

His clansmen were gathered to practice their sword fighting, an occupation no man waspermitted to forego for any reason other than illness or death. Laird Aulay had spent thefirst few years after his father had died consolidating his power and land. Now it was upto him to make sure no one encroached upon it. This was a particularly grueling task onthis side of the Highland Coast. Pirates, smugglers, and foreign forays had been trying toestablish a foothold on these shores for decades; what he needed was a strong,influential comrade and ally.

But until such a man showed his face, he would have to make do with Ivor.

Aulay looked at his cousin from the corner of his eye.

Ivor was a madman in battle and barely civil to anyone off the battlefield. He was builtlike an engine of war: single-minded, unemotional, and efficient.

The man is tall, I’ll grant him that. And his reach with a sword is unparalleled. But hisswordplay has no skill, no finesse. All he does is use his weight and height to bludgeonhis opponent until a blow lands.

Ivor could see his cousin’s eyes narrow as the calculating thoughts flashed through hismind.

“Hah! I can see ye are a sore loser once again, Aulay. Back on yer feet so I can teach yea lesson!”

Laird Aulay hastened to disavow the accusation.

“Nay, n-nay! Ye have it wrong, Cousin,” Laird Aulay McOrkil stuttered, always too scaredto alienate his cousin. “I was just thinking that ye could conquer the whole island if ye sowanted. Men flock to follow ye.” This was an outright lie. The only men who flocked tohang around Ivor were petty tyrants, drawn into Ivor’s orbit by admiration for his abilityto browbeat lesser men. “And yer sword and fighting skills are legend throughout theHighlands.”

Ivor smiled, and was about to agree with his cousin, when he overheard one of thesoldiers mutter to his sparring partner.

“The man’s no better than a bully rook! And I’ve heard he’s pot-sure of himself andcombative at all the feasts.”

Ivor spun around at this whispered comment.

“Ye miserable worm! How dare ye!” he screamed at the soldier. “I’m twice the man ye’ll

ever be!”

And on those words, Ivor tore the cork off the end of his rapier and launched himself ontothe soldier, who had barely time to lift up his sword before Ivor McOrkil was raining downblows onto his armor. Things happened so fast, Laird Aulay did not even have time tocalm things down. Fortunately, at that moment, a messenger rode into the courtyard,halting his steed in front of the laird and effectively cutting off his view of the fight.

He shouted over the top of the horse, “We’re here to train! Not kill one another with ill-judged reprisals. Cease this bickering while I read the missive.”

Ivor set his sword point down on the ground, and the soldier took the opportunity Ivor’sdistraction afforded him to skulk away to the guards’ room.

With his men silent and facing him, Laird Aulay held his hand up to the messenger. Theman, after respectfully removing his bonnet and lowering his head in a deferential nod,handed him a folded piece of parchment.

When Aulay broke the seal and opened up the paper, he read,

Fellow Highlanders of the McOrkil clan - greetings

Our beloved Highland games are upon us once more. This rightly reverend occasion is tobe held at venerable Castle Mac an Goill. Please set aside the second week in May fortraveling. All men in each clan must arrive wearing Highland coats, and armed with gun,dirk, sword, and pistol.

This occasion is to mark, not only the gathering of the clans, but also to award those ofyou who excel most honorably in excellence, skills, feats of strength, and other qualitiesmost worthy of a true Highlander.

As with all sports dedicated to the most noble pursuits of combat and the pitting of manlywits against one another, a prize will be given in recognition of the winner’s prowess.Seek to win this goal, gentlemen. Ye will never find such a prize again.

When he had read through the announcement and committed the details to memory,Laird Aulay told the messenger to tell Laird MacGill his clan would arrive sometime duringthe third week of May. The man nodded and rode back out of the gate, after decliningAulay’s offer of hospitality; he still had many clans to visit.

“What does it say?” Ivor wanted to know.

“The games are to be held at Mac an Goill this year,” Aulay informed his men in a loud

voice. “And the winner’s prize promises to be one of extreme rarity and uniqueness!”

A loud shout of excitement rose from the McOrkil clan soldiers.

“‘T

1

FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVEMARCH

is about time Maggie was betrothed,” Laird Gilbert MacGill said to his wife.

Lady Christine MacGill was sitting in front of the mirror on her dresser, inspecting thework her maid had done on her hair that morning.

Gilbert MacGill stopped what he was saying to admire his wife for a moment. Even aftertwo years of marriage, she still had the ability to stop men in their tracks with one glanceout of her dark brown eyes. She was well into her second pregnancy, and the rosy glow inher cheeks and round curves of her body gave her a voluptuous air. He could not helphimself; Gilbert moved closer, placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and bent to givethe perfect skin on her neck a kiss.

Then he stood up again. “Do ye disagree with me?” he asked, baffled by Christine’ssilence.

His wife sighed. “Aye, but ye cannae just spring it on her like that. Margaret is timid andreluctant to engage with men on any level. Every time we host a reel, she sits on herseat mumchance and hides behind her fan.”

Laird MacGill was an observant man, but failed to see why shyness should be an obstaclefor him to set about arranging an advantageous marriage for his eldest sister. She waseighteen now, an age considered to be perfectly appropriate for a young woman andsister to a laird, to embark upon the wedded state.

Christine saw her husband’s raised eyebrow in the mirror. She turned around to face him.

“I had been out a full two seasons before me faither thought to consider yer offer, Gil. Iwas nearly twenty years old, as I recall, and had already turned down numerousproposals. I believe we should try to bring Margaret into contact with men farther afieldthan just the young men with whom she grew up.”

Laird MacGill gave this some thought, before replying, “Aye, I hear ye. But that’s howthings are done down in the Lowlands where yer folks are based. Here in the Highlands,girls are married out o’ hand.”

Christine scoffed, “Hmph! It might be the man’s opinion that Highland lasses arepermitted to marry whomever they want, but I have heard different from the woman!Parents often have the final say, and unless the girl has a very decided opinion, many areforced into marriage against their will.”

Laird Gilbert said, “That’s what betrothals are for, me love. The lassie goes to visit withher betrothed or he with her, and if they cannae stand the sight o’ one another, thebetrothal is called off, and none the worse for the venture!”

Christine shook her head, the action making the ringlets on either side of her headbounce from side to side. “Nay, dearest husband, that’s seen as a slight on the girl, andwell d’ye ken it is so! I don’ want Maggie sent out for approval like a horse bought atauction. Parents have to guide young people before they jump into marriage, Gil, and asye stand in loco parentis to yer sisters, ye’re duty bound to ensure both young people arehappy to wed.”

Gilbert thought about how his three sisters had blossomed since he had wed Christine.They loved to sit and drink a dish of orgeat with her every afternoon, chattering aboutthe occasional trip down to Edinburgh to have new dress robes made up and visit themilliners. At Mac an Goill Castle, the girls’ days consisted of sewing, dancing lessons,French and Latin lessons, and playing with wee Gilchrist upstairs in the nursery; life at thecastle had become far more sedate and ladylike since he had married Christine.

His wife gave herself one more look in the mirror, and stood up, saying, “I’m going tospeak to Maggie to see if she has anything to say in the matter.”

Before she could walk out, Gilbert grabbed his wife around the waist and gave it a gentlesqueeze. She giggled, and arched her back into the crook of his arm. They came togetherfor a soft, lingering kiss. Embracing was something they did frequently and with as muchpassion as they had during the first days of their courtship. It was proof enough for bothGilbert and Christine that it was possible for strangers to become betrothed and have adelightfully fulfilling married life.

“I will speak to the builders and see how soon the ballroom and salon can be finished,”Gil said, before allowing his wife to break away and straighten the pretty lace cap shehad set on top of her hair that morning.

Mac An Goill Castle had been undergoing a significant renovation to bring it up to thearchitectural standards of the times. Gone were the days when stern, stone edifices hadto adorn every Highland coast and hillside defense. An elegant mansion was being addedto the west tower wing of the castle, and the crumbling east tower had been completelydemolished. Narrow window slits had been replaced by elegant window casings and lead-framed glass. Interior flagstones were covered over with thick wool rugs; rottenwainscoting and tapestries were being ripped out and silk wall hangings put in theirplace.

Once the dungeons had been turned into pantries and cellars, the refurbishment would becomplete. Christine was more than happy to host a gathering to show off Mac an Goill inall its stately glory. Now, all she needed was to find out if Margaret was willing to be thebelle of the ball.

She found the eldest MacGill girl in the withdrawing room. Margaret MacGill was puttingthe finishing touches on a wooden screen she was painting. Christine had to admit toherself, Maggie had many artistic and housewifery talents. If a particularly delicious batchof cakes or pies were presented at the dining table, there was no need to ask for thename of the cook who had prepared them; it was always Margaret.

If only the girl were more forthcoming! It was baffling for a beautiful and confidentwoman like Christine to see how Margaret behaved around men. If they spoke to her, shewould lower her eyes and whisper her reply, and when a male companion or visitor paidMargaret a compliment, she reacted as though he were an ogre trying to force his wayinto her bedchamber. The behavior went far beyond that of a simple maiden trying to bedemure and ladylike—it verged on being the most bashful and inappropriate societymanners, especially when it came to the cheerful, friendly folks living in this part of theHighlands.

The time had come. Christine wanted to know why Margaret had become so shy. She hadalways been a sweet-natured, biddable girl, but that behavior did not translate well intothe manners expected of a young woman on the verge of setting up a betrothal. Shelacked confidence, a trait most husbands required in a wife, especially if he was a greatlaird or Highland chieftain.

Margaret looked up and smiled when Christine entered the room. It gave Lady MacGill awonderful opportunity to observe the eldest of Gilbert’s sisters while the young girl wasrelaxed and welcoming. She did not appear to her best advantage at gatherings andreels.

“May I take a look?” Christine asked, returning Margaret’s smile.

“Aye,” Maggie said softly. She did not bear up well under criticism, but knew thatChristine readily admired her work.

Christine leaned over to look at how Maggie had painted the screen. The room smeltwonderfully of linseed and pigments. When Maggie married and left the castle, she knewshe would miss these little indications of Maggie’s quiet, industrious nature.

She sat down on the sofa opposite, sighing slightly as her bodice lifted and pinchedaround her swollen stomach.

“How are ye today?” Margaret looked over at Christine with a worried frown. “Is the bairngiving ye a good kickin’?”

The women smiled, and Christine replied, “Nay more than usual, Maggie. Yer brither sentme here to ask if ye had given the idea of a betrothal any more thought?”

Margaret MacGill, always so compliant when it came to lessons and etiquette, bridled atChristine’s polite question. Only yesterday, Gilbert had descended into her dressing roomall unannounced and, after sending away her maid, had demanded to know her mind onmarriage.

“It’s time ye were married, Maggie,” Laird MacGill had announced brusquely. “I cannaehave ye sulking around the castle for the next ten years, too scared to even look at aman sideways, ready to bolt at the first sign of interest.”

Margaret was used to Gilbert’s straightforward speeches, but this one went too far.

“I don’ sulk around the castle, Gil! How unfair of ye!” she said in the loudest voice shedared to use.

Gilbert did not want his concern to spill over into a fight, but he found his sister’sreluctance to speak to men infuriating.

“Ye’ve known Laird Buccleuch’s youngest son for the past two years, and whenever hecomes over to visit, ye run for yer bedchamber and hide. I asked Mildred, yer maid, if itwere so, and she confirmed it.”

Margaret had her own reasons for doing this, and had no wish to share them with herbrother. The meeting had ended with them both walking off in frustration.

That’s what Christine was here to find out. Why did Margaret mix with others so

unwillingly? When she looked at the girl, she found nothing in her appearance to beunhappy about. She was flaxen fair, the pale skin of her face was unblemished, except insummer when a slight sprinkling of freckles strayed across her pert nose and rosy cheeks.When she laughed, her mouth spread into a wide, generous smile, showing off whiteteeth and crinkling her beautiful blue eyes into mischievous slants.

Margaret’s nature was amiable, and her disposition helpful and kind. Any man would beso lucky to have her as a wife.

“Gil tells me ye’re loath to contemplate a betrothal, Maggie, and ye’ve taken to hangingabout the kitchens and yer bedchamber more than usual. Is there any reason for that?”

Margaret wanted to answer, but struggled to find the right words.

“Christine, when I see how successful and lovin’ yer marriage to me brither has been, Idespair of ever finding the same for meself. And having Grace and Kirsty scrutinizingevery man who comes here and then teasing me about him, well, it’s got to the pointwhere I cannae bear it nay more!”

Lady MacGill nodded understandingly. Grace, the middle MacGill sister, was not so deeplyimmersed in her studies as to turn up the chance to make jokes at her eldest sister’sexpense. And as for Kirsty—now a boisterous ten and three years of age—it was morelike living with a court jester than it was having a younger sister.

“Ye have me commiserations, dearest Maggie,” Christine said. “I will tell the girls tobutton their lips in the future. They are taking advantage of the fact ye have to lead theway in all things, and will nae be here to repay them in kind when it’s their turn to bemarried away.”

“That’s nae all…” Margaret whispered, very embarrassed about what she had to say next.“Whenever Willie Buccleuch and Stewart MacGilly, and all those other young men come tovisit, it’s nae to see me.”

Christine raised an eyebrow, and Margaret, taking a deep breath, continued, “It’s to makesheep’s eyes at ye, Christine. It’s because ye are so beautiful. They dinnae even ken Iexist when ye’re in the room. And why should they? I’ve been familiar with some o’ themfor years. I’m nothing new, and I’m definitely nae beautiful.”

Lady MacGill took Margaret’s hand gently, saying, “Ye have a different kind of beauty,Maggie, and as for those young men, it’s like a bairn with a shiny new toy. Men enjoyadmiring a stranger when they ken she’s safely married to another man. But if I were to

approach them or lock them into a conversation, they would scatter and run likefrightened goats.”

Maggie gave a giggle at this image, and Christine gave her hand a pat.

“Good girl. Remember that fortune favors the brave. I’ll tell Gil ye have recovered yersense of humor about all this nonsense. And if Grace and Kirsty so much as dare toplague ye about all the swains ye will soon have, I’ll get Gil to drop them into the middleof the duck pond.”

And on that happy note, the two young women went back to admiring the screenpainting.

C

2

HIGHLAND GAMES ARE A MELTING POT OF MEN

hristine had to wait until bedtime that evening to tell Gilbert the good news.When he came into the bedchamber, he found his wife already dressed for sleep,

but her bright eyes did not show her to be tired.

“I spoke to Maggie,” she said the minute he came in and began to undress wearily. “Theproblem was she does nae like any of the young men around here. We need to put her inthe way of meeting men outside this region.”

Gilbert went to the washstand in the dressing room, but left the door open so he couldstill hear his wife speaking. “I have an idea,” he said after splashing water on his face.“Let us host a gathering for the Highland games. Make a tournament out o’ it, a bit likethose jousts they would put on during the Tudor times.” He came out of the dressingroom, shaking the water out of his hair and wiping his hands with a small woolen towel.

His wife frowned as she gave this suggestion her full consideration.

“I have nae been here long enough to ken if this is a goodly suggestion,” Christineadmitted. “Is it a fashionable event?”

Gilbert gave a roar of laughter, and jumped onto the bed to lie beside his wife; it wouldbe easier to cuddle her that way.

“I keep forgettin’ ye’re from the Lowlands, lass,” he chuckled. “Our Highland games arenae ‘fashionable.’ They are a most ancient tradition where men gather to show off theirstrength, agility, and endurance. It’s clan against clan, and then it comes down to a fewindividuals. The winner gets a prize, same as they did in Tudor times at those jousts, onlyit’s no longer a fair lady’s handkerchief, or whatnot.”

Christine clapped her hands together. “Nay! Why shouldnae it be the same as in Tudortimes? The winner gets to kiss sweet Margaret. We dinnae tell them that immediately.

We announce the prize will be worth any man’s effort to gain. If the winner be married,we give him something else, but if he’s young and single, receiving a kiss could be justthe thing to make Maggie the talk of the Highlands.”

Gilbert wrinkled his forehead. “D’ye think that’s what she would enjoy?”

Christine, already lost in her plan of coaxing Maggie out of her shell and forcing her tointeract with strangers, nodded her head excitedly. “The trick is for ye to arrange itbefore she has time to withdraw. Faint heart never won fair lady works the other way’round too, Gil. This time, it will be ‘faint-hearted fair lady never won a betrothedhusband!’”

Gilbert asked the family to join him to break their fast together one morning, not too longafter his conversation with his wife. When Laird and Lady MacGill entered the morningroom, they found it already buzzing with excitement.

Kirsty, coltish and gamine, her red curls already escaping from their tight braids, satwide-eyed and expectant. Grace, darker than her sisters, looked somber when she laidher book down on the table beside her. Margaret calmly buttered a slice of bread andtook a bite, waiting for her brother and his wife to sit down.

The eldest MacGill girl had to be honest with herself. Every time she encountered herbrother of late, she feared he would open his mouth only to tell her she was betrothed tosome stranger in a far-off region. But he would never do that to her, would he? The wayyoung men slavishly drooled over Lady MacGill had given her such a distaste for them!But it still was not enough to send her running into an outsider’s arm. Albeit, Christinehad been a famous beauty when she was a lass, but she was a mother of one—nearlytwo—bairns now, for goodness’ sake. Why did men still find her so fascinating?

Maggie raised her eyes from her plate and looked at Christine, smiling across the room ather. She had to agree with all the young men: there was a certain something about theway Lady Christine held herself. Her glances and gestures were pure elegance, somethingto which Margaret MacGill could only dream of possessing. She gave a quiet sigh, andwent back to nibbling on her bread.

“Why so glum, Maggie?” her brother asked. “Are ye feeling trepidation at what meannouncement might be?”

Margaret acknowledged her brother’s accurate reading of her thoughts, but simplynodded and carried on eating.

Gilbert looked over at Christine, and indicated she should tell everyone about theHighland games.

Lady MacGill could barely contain her excitement. “It’s something quite out of theordinary, girls,” she said. “We are to hold a tournament at the castle, similar to theHighland games in every way, but one!”

Kirsty sat up straight, her eyes wide with glee. “Our very own Highland games right hereat the castle? How marvelous!”

Grace looked solemn. “Mac an Goill is not really a castle anymore, Christine, at least notsince we knocked down the fortifications and most of the towers. It’s more of a grandcountry seat or manor house. It is to be hoped we have no need for a castle in thefuture!”

Maggie, too used to her sisters’ reactions to the news to comment on them, said, “Whatmakes it a tournament? Will the clans compete, or are ye pitting man against man?”

Gilbert and Christine gave quick side glances at one another.

“What makes it a tournament, dear sister,” Gilbert said, “is the prize we are offering tothe man—to the unmarried man, I hasten to add—who wins.”

All three sisters pricked up their ears when their brother said this. He could not bear tokeep them in suspense.

“The winner is to receive a sweet, chaste kiss from our dearest Maggie here,” he said,and took a swig of ale.

An eruption of noise came from the table. Kirsty gave a loud shout of laughter, Gracedropped her book in her porridge, and Margaret turned white and then blushed fiery red.

“Ooooh!” Kirsty crowed. “And are they to fall in love and get married? Will it be truelove’s first kiss?”

“What happens if the winner looks like a hairy troll?” Grace wanted to know. “I’ve seensome strong Highlanders who would give any young lass nightmares—all bushy beardsand knobbly knees and pot bellies.”

Christine raised her hands for silence, and then looked over at Margaret, who was

blushing fiercely and looking down determinedly at her empty plate.

“It will nae hurt her to give a wee kiss to any single man if he wins. It will show yer sisterto have a noble character if the man be ugly, and if he’s a comely fellow, so much for thebetter.”

And on those serene words, Christine turned to ask her husband how the lambing wascoming along, and seemed to consider the matter quite settled.

Kirsty whispered to Maggie out of the side of her mouth, “Ye are so lucky, Maggie! TheHighland games are a melting pot full o’ men. And ye are set up to be able to have yerpick o’ them!”

Margaret did not like the sound of that at all, and at the first opportunity she got, excusedherself from the table and went down to the stables. She asked one of the grooms tosaddle up her favorite mare, and then spurred the animal out into the grazing fieldssurrounding Mac an Goill’s outer defense walls. It was a long while before she felt calmenough to return to the castle with any semblance of acceptance.

I cannae stand the thought of being forced to do this. When will everyone realize there’sa reason why I don’ act like me sister-in-law? It’s because I don’ look like her! I’m naedark-haired and seductive. I’m me—plain old Maggie with nothing worth the mention. Butif I refuse to do their bidding, I’ll just look spoilt and ill-mannered. Oh, how I wish theywould all leave me alone.

It took all of her discipline and courage to walk back into the castle, and Margaret choseto do it through the back entrance near the kitchens, in case the footmen had heardabout that wretched tournament, and gave secret grins to one another behind her back.

She was doomed to be disappointed. As she entered the kitchens through the scullerydoor, Margaret overheard the maids chatting.

“I think it a shame the young gentlemen are to be fooled into competing for such a rancidprize! No wonder the messengers have been sworn to secrecy. If they were to let slipthat all the winner gets is a buss from the eldest MacGill girl, we’ll have no one arrive forthe games.”

A titter of laughter rippled through the kitchen at this remark.

“For shame on ye!” the sound of the cook’s voice was heard rising over the chatter. “MissMargaret is a fine lass, and worthy of any man.”

The maid scoffed, “Aye, surely, Mistress MacGyver, she is most worthy. But she’s nobeauty, is she? When the competitors take one look at that wan face and painful shyness,and find out all the winner gets is a wee buss from that lemon-faced spinster in themaking, they will turn around and head back to from whence they came!”

“Fie on ye, wench!” The cook raged. “Get ye down to the cellars and draw up some alefor dinner! And don’ think to show yer face here again until ye’ve learned some manners!Just because Maggie is no Lady MacGill does nae mean to say she’s nae fair in her ownway. Why, once the gentlemen get over being dazzled by her ladyship, I have heard themspeak high praise about Miss MacGill’s sweet face.”

But the cook’s words fell on empty air. Margaret had already left the scullery and run upto her bedchamber, tears streaming down her face.

I ken it! I am to be the laughing stock of all the Highlands. I wish I could run away andnever show my face here again.

Margaret was so blinded by tears, she nearly ran into Kirsty, who was standing in theshadows outside Margaret’s bedchamber. Kirsty had been planning to mock her sisterabout all of her potential Highland games beaux, but when she saw her tears, sheswallowed her teasing comments in a heartbeat and put a comforting arm aroundMaggie’s shoulders.

“How now, Sis? What’s to do?”

Maggie pushed into the bedchamber and threw herself down onto the bed, wailing. “I willhave to stand next to Christine during those stupid games, and everyone will compare meto her! I cannae stand it!”

Undaunted by her sister’s dramatic utterance, Kirsty bounced onto the bed and sat downnext to Margaret’s prostrate form.

“I doubt that very much, Maggie,” the ever-effervescent Kirsty said. “Our sister-in-law willhave just birthed her bairn. She will hardly be in the position to sit beside ye all day, letalone outshine ye in the beauty stakes. Why, I remember right after she birthed Gilchrist,Christine was as crabby as a fishwife, and looked like one too!”

Maggie gave a misty chuckle from her pillow, but did not raise her head.

Kirsty, encouraged by the chuckle, continued.

“Ye have an exceedingly singular concept about what beauty is, Maggie. King Charles,

second of his name, likes a variety of women. That merchant who visited us from thedocklands claimed the king has bedded fair and slim, dark and Junoesque, and red-hairedand chubby—and everything in between!”

Interested, Maggie lifted up her head to inquire about how her little sister had overheardthis.

“Och!” Kirsty said cheerfully. “I keep me ears open when I happen to be walking past thekitchens and servants’ parlor.”

Maggie dropped her face back into the pillow, saying in a muffled voice, “That’s where Ioverheard them saying the men at the Highland games will want a more attractivewoman to bestow a kiss on them.”

Kirsty tilted her head back with laughter. “Hoots! Maggie, ye didnae listen to theservants’ gossip, did ye? A more bitter set of backbiters I have yet to encounter!” Kirstypatted Margaret’s back softly. “Come now, Sis. It’s a good plan our brither has made forye. All the strongest, tallest, handsomest men will be flocking to Mac an Goill this May,and ye will have yer pick of the finest of them.”

Margaret gave a listless smile. She had a bad feeling the idle chatter she had heard in thekitchen was only a hint of what folks would say on the day of the games.

W

3

HIDING DOWN IN THE KITCHEN IS A GOOD IDE

Third week of May

hen Brodie McMillan rode into Mac an Goill Castle courtyard in the third week ofMay, he was impressed by what he saw. Everywhere around him, men were

industriously busy about their business. Grooms dashed up to help competitors offloadtheir saddlebags; footmen ran around the courtyard, offering refreshments; the very bestHighland warriors and strongmen—every one of them heavily armed and wearingHighland coats—clapped one another on the back, and then sauntered into the elegantstone stairway that swept them towards the entrance hall.

Many remarks were made by men who had not visited the castle in some time—gone wasthe medieval aspect of the dark stone walls. The front extension was now composed ofwood frames, lowered ceilings, and a whitewashed and pristine outer plaster. It gave thelower part of the edifice a warm and welcoming air.

Brodie followed the throng into the main hall. A huge fireplace was at the top of the hall,unlit and swept clean of any trace of winter usage. Ancient shields and poleaxes hung oneither side of the hearth, a reminder of the MacGill heritage steeped in battle andbloodshed. Before setting out on his journey, Brodie heard that Gilbert MacGill had putthe antiquated practice of aggressive clan expansion and clan rivalry behind him when hehad become laird. In truth, the Highland lairds had been trying to stamp out interclanfighting since the days of Cromwell, but it was a struggle for the men to forget what theyhad been trained to do, which was fight one another for supremacy.

Thus, the main focus of Highland games was to pit men against each other in friendlycombat, where strong emotions could be held in check and controlled.

Brodie took his time strolling around the entrance hall and listening in on the men’sconversations. For the last few days, competitors had been arriving at the castle in dribsand drabs, but with the tournament start date looming ahead of them, excitement wasgrowing to a fever pitch as dozens of clan representatives galloped their horses throughthe tall courtyard gates.

A tall, middle-aged, red-haired man was holding court in the middle of the hall. Theman’s presence was almost overpowering, his wide girth filled up the space around him,and his loud voice could be heard booming, no matter where a person stood.

“Aye, ‘twas me who gave Gil the idea for this,” the man shouted out to anyone whowould listen. “It’s high time his eldest sister was brought to the attention of a largeraudience! She comes with a goodly portion and is sweet enough to rot a man’s teethright out o’ his mouth!”

“The generous portion is tempting, Buccleuch, I’ll agree with ye there, but money doesnae keep a man warm at night! Tell us what she looks like, for goodness’ sake,” one ofthe men crowding around wanted to know. From the murmurs of agreement soundingfrom his audience, it was seen to be a generally held opinion.

“Aye, there’s the truth of the matter,” another man was heard to be saying. “When I win,I will want more than a kiss if she’s pretty, but if she’s squint-eyed and hunchbacked,then she can keep her kiss and be damned!”

A ripple of laughter spread through the hall at these cocksure words, but then silence fellas the men waited to hear what Laird Buccleuch had to say. He had been Gilbert MacGill’sclosest neighbor for many years, and since the two clans’ rapprochement after amisunderstanding a couple of years ago, they had been like close kindred to one another,with not a week passing during the hotter months without a visit or meeting.

Laird Buccleuch gave his words some consideration before uttering them.

“Miss Margaret MacGill is worthy of any man, I tell ye. Give her time enough, and herpetals will unfurl very prettily. Gil had to settle his own affairs before he could think aboutfinding his sister a good man. Now that everything’s right and tight at Mac an Goill, hecan launch Miss Margaret with the style she deserves.”

Many voices muttered at this announcement, and a few of them were raised. “What doesshe look like? Why has she kept herself hidden away? Is Gil trying to fob her off on somepoor unsuspecting Highlander?”

A young man, on the cusp of leaving his boyhood behind him, pushed through the menand went to stand next to his father. Neighboring clans recognized him as WillieBuccleuch, Laird Buccleuch’s youngest son.

“Stop pestering me faither for word of Margaret’s appearance. I’m the man ye should beaskin’!” And on those words, he took a deep breath, and before his father could stop him,blurted out, “Truth be told, Margaret MacGill is no beauty, so if ye’re hoping for her tolook like her sister-in-law, ye’re doomed to a fierce disappointment. Margaret the Mouse,that’s what I call her. So all o’ ye who are afraid of mice can run away now!”

Laird Buccleuch gave his youngest son a hard belt across the back of his head, shouting,“For shame, Willie, and the wee lass isnae here to defend herself!” He watched some ofthe men break off into huddles and chat about what Willie had just said, and sought tomitigate the damage his son’s comment had caused. “It’s only a kiss she’s offering thewinner, nae her hand in marriage! What’s the harm in it?”

But many of the men had spent their days traveling to the castle wondering what thismysterious prize could be. The speculation had heated to a boiling point by the time theyhad reached their destination and found out the truth. The doubts and rumors would onlybe satisfied by a glimpse of Margaret MacGill herself, in the flesh. Until she did so, anyonewith an allegation or a good yarn to spin was being treated the same as someone whohad grown up with her and knew enough to judge every hair on her head.

Brodie strolled up to a man wearing the same Highland colors as his own.

“From all of this banter, am I to gather that the prize is a kiss from the eldest MacGillgirl?” he inquired.

The man nodded his head vigorously. “Aye, lad, aye. And she will nae show hide nor hairof herself to anyone since the first men begin to arrive. ‘Tis most frustrating.”

Brodie took the man’s gauging of his age in his stride. Despite his broad shoulders, goodheight, and large muscles, Brodie had kept the youthful appearance of his face. At theripe age of two and twenty, he had yet to shave his beard above once or twice a monthat most. His clear blue eyes held no cynical world-weariness, and his skin was fresh andunblemished from years of outdoor living. It was his shock of red hair that caused mosttravelers to suppose him a Highlander before he even had time to open his mouth andintroduce himself. It was an arresting shade of russet, flaming a glorious hue in the sunand then turning a light brown when he was inside or standing in darkness. As a youth,he had become used to men teasing him about the strange combination of dark brows

and lashes set under his red hair, but true to his amiable nature, Brodie always laughedand shrugged off the words.

He enjoyed the company of his fellow men, but being of a retiring disposition and neverkeen to put himself forward in a crowd, Brodie McMillan was better at being a loner. Ascharming and friendly as he could be, it did not detract from the fact that Brodie was alethally trained warrior. Since he was a small boy, his father had thrust a sword stick inhis hands and told him not to return to the house until he had mastered one or twoskilled moves. Before his beard had even begun to grow, Brodie was able to hold his ownagainst men far older than himself, using any weapon they cared to try on him.

He had left home at the age of six and ten years, already tall enough to make him atleast a half a head taller than most people in a crowd, his lean body promising to growmuscles to match his height and strength.

He could feel other men’s eyes sizing him up as he ambled past them. He gave silentthanks for his youthful look; it belied the fact he was a skilled warrior. Men alwayssmirked and laughed when pitched against him in battle or combat, but from the time hisfirst blow landed, their smiles would disappear and be quickly replaced by fear andrespect.

Brodie pulled one of the footmen aside as he hurried past him.

“Can ye tell me where I can obtain something a wee bit more substantial to eat, man?I’m that starving.”

“Follow me back down to the kitchens, sir,” the footman replied. “Cook is making pieswith the maids down there.”

Brodie said, “Just point me in the right direction. I’ll make me way there in me own time.”

When the footman indicated that Brodie could exit the entrance hall at the back andfollow the passage to the kitchen basement, he thanked the man and went back toinspecting his fellow competitors.

He overheard talk saying the best man still had yet to arrive, but the name Ivor McOrkilmeant nothing to him, and he soon grew bored of the excited chatter about theHighlands’ most excellent warrior. A few bets had already been made, but the moreserious wagers were waiting for Ivor McOrkil’s arrival.

Brodie’s saddlebags had been taken to the guards’ room, where most of the men were tobe housed for the duration of the event. There was plenty of room in the barracks; past

lairds had treated the castle as more of a garrison than a family home. Dozens of bunksand pallets lined the walls and floors. Brodie found an unoccupied one and threw his kitdown on it. Then he went looking for some pie to eat.

It was not that easy to approach the kitchens through the outside of the homestead. Hehad been sure to notice when the footman pointed to the left side of the entrance hall,but when he walked all around the perimeter on that side, he was at a loss to find thescullery door.

“It’s got to be here somewhere,” Brodie mused, slightly angry at himself for not followingthe footman when he had the chance. He was unused to the vast spaces a laird’s castlecould occupy, and this keep was one of the biggest he had ever seen. It was only whenhe began to look upwards that he noticed the tall walls actually encased an ornamentalgarden, and were not part of the castle interior. He could see the fruit tree branchespoking over the top of the wall. Brodie pushed open the thick wooden gate, and wentinside. He had found the kitchen’s herb garden.

As fierce a warrior as Brodie was, he could not help himself from taking a deep breath ofthe scented air inside the garden. It smelt of lavender, thyme, and roses. He found a spotunder an apple tree and sat in its shade for a time, enjoying the peace and the view.

“Oh! Och, I’m sorry!” a girl said in a soft voice, barely a whisper considering she had justtaken a spill on the path.

A young girl, not a day older than eight and ten years, if Brodie was to guess, had rundown one of the pathways that crisscrossed the herb garden and fallen over his feet.Brodie was not offended; he had long legs, and his boots were hidden behind a largeclump of parsley.

“Nay, lass, dinnae apologize,” he said cheerfully. “I’m an oaf for not tucking meself awaya bit tighter.”

He stood up quickly, and bent down with his hand extended out to the girl to help her up.She ignored it, too busy retrieving over a dozen small cakes that had tipped out of thebasket she had been carrying, and rolled all over the small pebbles lining the path.

“It’s most definitely meself who should be apologizing to ye, lass,” Brodie insisted. “Allyer hard work for nothing.”

He bent down to pick up two errant cakes that had rolled into an onion patch and landednext to the hedgerow. Gently, he placed them back into the girl’s basket.

“There ye go, none the worse for their wee adventure. May I have the pleasure ofknowing yer name, lass? Ye will nae be getting into trouble for that, will ye?”

“Me name’s Maggie, sir. An’ nay, I will nae get into trouble for breaking the cakes. I wascoming to the garden to pick some lavender to sprinkle over the top of the cakes beforethey’re served to the men upstairs.”

Brodie did not know it, but that was the longest sentence Margaret MacGill had everspoken to a man outside of her own family circle before. And there was a reason for this.Not two days before, Lady Christine MacGill had taken to her bed to be delivered of hersecond child. It was a healthy baby girl, but it would be a long while before Christine feltready to receive guests, let alone move out of her bed to venture downstairs or outside.Knowing this, Gilbert had gone to speak to his eldest sister in her dressing room one dayafter the birthing.

He found his sister sitting on a reclining armchair, reading a book. She wasabsentmindedly twirling one strand of flaxen hair around a finger, and her feet weretucked up comfortingly underneath her skirts.

Margaret smiled bravely when he came in. She knew what her brother was about to say.

“Margaret, I’m here to ask ye to stand as hostess to the men while Christine recuperates.The midwife says the birth went hard on her, and now the physician is demanding sherest and see nay visitors. There are many more guests still to arrive, and the games startafter Sunday. Please, will ye help us?”

Summoning all her courage, Margaret nodded her head, but she wanted to add someprovisos of her own.

“Aye, Gil, but I will nae make a spectacle of meself, ye have to understand that. I willorder the servants, keep a clean and tidy house for ye and the men, and make sure thereare three good meals served every day. But I will nae stand by yer side and welcomethem. That, ye must do alone.”

It was more than Gilbert had wished for, and he gave his sister a grateful hug and wentto tell his wife the good news. When the warriors got to hear their homely comforts hadbeen arranged by Margaret, it would add considerable credit to her name.

When Kirsty heard the news, she remarked, “I suppose Maggie thinks it a good idea tohide down in the kitchens when Mac an Goill will be simply bristling with men everywhereelse.”

She had guessed her eldest sister’s motives exactly. But knowing that the visitors wouldnot be holding up Christine in comparison to her had given Margaret the tiny boost ofconfidence she needed to help bring her out of her shell.

A

4

NOT WHAT WAS EXPECTED

s long as he believes me to be a kitchen maid, I find it so easy to talk to him.Why, goodness me! That’s the longest I’ve made eye contact with a man, and he

did not rebuff me or turn away. He’s looking at me as though I’m a real person, and notsomeone destined to live in the shadow of Christine’s beauty.

It was only then Margaret realized that she was standing and staring up at this handsomestranger. He must think her very rude, but no! His blue eyes were kind and helpful, andhe was looking at her—truly seeing her. His eyes did not glance over her in a cursoryfashion and then go looking for more exciting things to view.

Brodie was saying, “What me mither used to do after dropping a batch of cakes—orburning them, for that matter—would be to throw them to the pigs. But I swear that fateis nae acceptable to me. What say we sit under this tree a while longer and eat a few?Nay one will ken, if ye dinnae say anything, Maggie.”

Margaret had been on her feet in the kitchens before cockcrow that morning, and thethought of sitting down and eating a few cakes sounded absolutely delightful. But itwould mean she had to speak to this man. It would be rude not to converse while theysat together.

“Me name’s Brodie McMillan at yer service, lass,” the man said with a charming grin. Hereally was the friendliest person she had ever met.

“Well met, Brodie,” Margaret whispered.

He sat back down under the fruit tree and patted the ground beside him. Margaret waswearing her oldest dress robe and did not hesitate to join him there. The moment she satdown next to him, Brodie shifted around so he could speak to her without craning hisneck to the side.

“That’s better; now I can see ye proper,” he said. “And how long have ye been workin’ atMac an Goill, Maggie? I’m hoping ye can tell me a bit more about the place.”

This was a subject close to her heart, and Margaret launched into a brief history of thecastle.

“I hear it was founded by the first MacGill over seventeen generations ago. Only then,they called themselves ‘Mac an Goill,’ which means ‘son of a stranger.’ So, I’m guessing,they must have come from over the sea. Maybe from the north.”

“Is that where yer clan gets that hair from? Or are ye nae related to the MacGills?” Brodieasked. He took a strand of Margaret’s hair that had fallen out of her cap, and held itgently between his fingers. It felt and looked like fine filaments of silver and gold.

Margaret had never thought about it like that. She had been too young to remember hermother clearly, the lady having died in childbirth when Margaret had been less than sixyears old. But it had always fascinated her how she, Grace, and Kirsty could have suchdifferent coloring from their dark-haired brother.

“I think I must be related to them somewhere, but I dinnae want to think about it toodeeply.”

Brodie nodded, accepting her reluctance to guess at being related to the laird and hisfamily. He had already eaten three cakes, and watched Maggie nibbling at her first one.He reached out his hand and took another cake. They were no more than a mouthful andsweet as honey.

“These are wonderful, Maggie,” he said, after swallowing the fourth small cake. “Is it yerown receipt?”

“Hm-mm,” she replied. “They are called maids of honor—made up mostly from curdcheese and finely ground sugarloaf—and the receipt supposedly came from the kitchen ofthe Tudor king’s third wife, Jane of Wolf Hall.”

“Ah! She was his favorite wife, wasnae she? Clever woman to ken the way to a man’sheart is through his appetites!”

Margaret was thoroughly enjoying this conversation. “Aye! And he was so fat an’ all! Andas for Jane, the poor soul died after childbirth, like…”

Margaret had been about to say, “like me own mither,” but remembered in time this wasa little too much information.

“Like?” Brodie asked.

“Like…like I have heard women are prone to do sometimes,” Margaret replied lamely.

To distract him from her prevarication, Margaret decided to ask Brodie a question or two.

“Are ye here for the games?” she asked tentatively, hoping with all her heart this kindyoung man was visiting as a spectator.

“Aye, Maggie, that I am. And I hope to win it too. I am still young enough to need theboost it will give me reputation.”

Margaret felt panicked. “And the prize?” she could not hold herself back from asking.“What of that? What if ye don’ think the lady is worth the effort?”

Brodie shrugged his broad, muscular shoulders. “What a churl I would be to turn downthe chance to kiss a maiden! When I seek a wife, I want a girl who has a kind heart and asweet smile, like the one I see before me right now. And she must be a good cook too,especially when it comes to wee cakes.”

Margaret could not believe her ears. He was not put off by her shyness, and liked hersmile. It was not what she expected from a battle-hardened warrior at all. She did notreally know how to respond to such gallantry, and the fear of someone from the kitchenscoming to search for Miss Margaret MacGill in the herb garden became more acute.

“Hoots! What time is it? I must return to work. Keep the rest of the cakes, Brodie. Sorryabout the crumbs.” Margaret was blushing. Brodie reached his hand out to grab hold ofher, but she was already gone.

“The crumbs are the best part, lass,” Brodie called out after her, as he watched her runback into the scullery.

Unperturbed by Maggie’s sudden departure, as he knew the hard work cooks demandedfrom their kitchen maids, Brodie loped off back to the entrance hall, promising himself hewould return to the kitchen later on to spend time with Maggie again. The image of herkittenish, heart-shaped face, innocent blue eyes, and sweet smile proved difficult for hismind to forget. He remembered how slender her wrists and ankles had been, poking outof the old gown she wore, and for some inexplicable reason, he felt suddenly veryprotective of the young girl. She was almost too delicate and fragile a person to besweating amongst pots and pans all day.

The gong sounded, and a page boy came out into the hall.

“Would every gentleman here to compete or watch the games follow me through to theballroom, please.”

The throng pushed through the wide ballroom doors and found a feast awaiting them.The way the castle had been changed was for the better when it came to grand royalreelings and sedate country assemblies, but it also meant the old castle banqueting hallhad been changed into an elegant ballroom. The effect the stately room had on the menwas quite startling. They hastened to make use of the long row of washstands lined upagainst one side of the room, and then sat down on the benches pushed up at the trestletables. When the doors at the side burst open, spilling footmen out of the portal likemagic elves carrying the largest platters of food most of the guests had ever seen, manyof the younger men could not hold back a shout of appreciation.

Brodie looked at the toothsome meal with a special pleasure; Maggie’s dear hands hadhelped in the making of this. He must remember to compliment her and thank her whenhe went down to the kitchens.

The platters were still being presented to the diners, when the main doors to theballroom burst open, nearly knocking a footman to the floor, as the force behind theswinging door was so great.

“Ye can all go back to yer lodges with yer tails tucked between yer legs, men!” a man’svoice roared. “I’m going to win these games, and it’ll go sore with anyone who tries tostop me!”

The man sitting opposite Brodie rolled his eyes to the ceiling in a heartfelt gesture ofexasperation.

“It’s that boor, Ivor McOrkil,” he said to the men eating around him.

Interested, Brodie turned his head to the side and watched the newcomer stride to hisseat. He seemed to have many satellites following in his wake. Compared to the giantsteps Ivor McOrkil was taking, his followers seemed to scurry along beside him; the solepurpose of their presence looked to be throwing the most admiring glances at theirwarrior and trying to draw attention to their entourage.

Brodie ate some more to hide the smile of derision that had crossed his face.

“What jackanapes! Whomever this Ivor McOrkil is, he shows himself to be as full o’ hubrisas I’ve yet had the misfortune to see,” one of the men at Brodie’s table said scornfully.

Another warrior answered him, “He might well have reason to be so. He has never been

beaten—on or off the battlefield—and his cousin is set to be an important man in his ownright too.”

“He must have his pick o’ all the ladies,” Brodie’s neighboring diner said wistfully, andBrodie could not deny that Ivor did indeed stand out from the common man.

He was tall, at least a hand’s width taller than Brodie was himself. Ivor definitely carriedheavier than Brodie did, gauging him to be a full stone more in weight. The man wasdark-browed but fair-haired, and so muscle-bound that his shoulders nearly touched hisearlobes when he threw off his great plaid. Brodie supposed the ladies would considerIvor to be a handsome fellow, but he was so puffed up with his own conceit, there wasnot a shred of humility or kindness to be seen in his black eyes. He looked like a Vikingmarauder, ruthless and restless.

All in all, if Brodie was completely honest with himself, Ivor McOrkil was an impressive-looking competitor.

“At what time do the games begin?” a man seated at the table asked.

“The day after Sunday,” another replied, in between stuffing his face with roasted meat.“The ladies who are here to watch are staying at neighboring lodges, inns, and towerkeeps, and they need time to arrive and set up to watch. There is much excitement, LairdBuccleuch tells me. But ye’ll nae see a female face around here ‘til then.”

Brodie realized he had been lucky to meet Maggie in the garden, and hoped he wouldhave the time soon to get to know her better.

A

5

AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS

fter dinner, which lasted well into the late afternoon, the men were at leisure tospend their evening as they saw fit. Over one hundred Highlanders had arrived at

the castle over the past week. Some of the men, after sizing up the competition, decidedto stay on as observers instead. There was no shame in this; it was seen as a sign ofcanny wisdom when a man was shrewd enough to avoid humiliation or defeat.

The games were not only about trials of strength and skill with a weapon. They had beenan arena to show off athletic abilities and sportsmanship since their conception hundredsof years before. Besides tapping the aggressive nature of young men during times ofpeace, coming together to show off powerful proficiencies was the best marketplace formen at arms to find occupation as a guard or soldier. If more than three clan memberswere attending, they could compete to pull the rope against other clans or run relays.

The training yard bustled with men, and a field had been set up within the castle’s oldouter defensive walls for feats of sport. For the rest of the day until the sun sunk behindthe western coast horizon, men worked off the huge meal they had eaten at dinner bywalking, riding, training, and observing. When Margaret looked out of her bedchamberwindow, she had never seen such a hive of masculine activity at the castle before.

Grace and Kirsty joined her vigil. The two younger MacGill sisters were on the brink offinding men fascinating creatures. Grace, at six and ten, was not interested in warriorsand fighting, but held out hope a learned man of science might find his way into thecrowds flocking to the castle on Monday. And as for Kirsty, three years younger, she wasexcited by the fact she might be exposed to aggression and bloodshed during the games,but was willing to keep an eye out for possible husbands for herself and her sisters at thesame time.

Margaret had not told her sisters about her chance encounter with Brodie in the kitchengardens, and tried to stop her heart from leaping in her chest whenever she saw a broad-

shouldered, tall, red-haired man amidst the crowds.

I wish I ken a wee bit more about him. I should have asked Brodie a few questions abouthis clan and his occupation. From what he said about needing to win for his reputation, itsounds like he’s a soldier for hire, such as Gilbert’s friend, Gearr Drever. Since the pettyclan squabbles have diminished, mercenaries are nae needed, but soldiers to protectagainst sea raiders are always welcome to lairds living this close to the coast.

The girls noticed a huge crowd gathering around an extremely tall, fair-haired man. Hehad a group of enthusiastic supporters of his own, recognizable because they werewearing the same tartan colors, but most of the man’s admirers seemed to consist ofyoung men from other clans.

The men followed the fair-haired competitor to the sports field, leaving about a dozenless easily distracted men remaining in the training yard, and the girls were no longerable to see what happened.

“ I have to ken what the fair-haired giant is up to,” Kirsty declared. “Follow me to theschoolroom, girls. It has an excellent view of the outer defensive walls, so we’ll be able tosee everything from there.”

Margaret was interested to see what happened, and Grace, shrugging her shoulders,went with them.

Miss MacCorkindale had already retired to her bedchamber. A lifelong spinster, she hadsought to inform Laird MacGill upon first hearing the news about the Highland games thatshe would stay in her bedchamber when her duties did not require her presence in theschoolroom, and please would he be so kind as to order her meals to be brought up toher. Margaret felt a deep kinship with the governess when she heard about her decision.A castle full to the brim of Highland warriors and sportsmen was a daunting thought.

The sisters settled themselves on the bay seat at the window of the schoolroom andprepared for an hour or two of manly entertainment. Musicians and sword dancers wouldalso be competing on Monday, some of whom were even women! If a girl showedpromise with the harp or be so nimble of foot that word spread about her talents, theHighland games were a chance for the girl and her clan to display her skill to a wideraudience.

The fair-haired giant seemed to want to give the spectators a sample of what he plannedto do on Monday. They were too far away to hear what the men were saying, but theMacGill girls could observe from the way he was flexing his muscles and thrusting his

chest forward, that he planned on proving his prowess in formidable fashion.

After some deliberation between the man and his supporters, he walked to the side ofthe field and bent down to pick up a long log.

“He’s going to toss the caber!” Kirsty exclaimed.

Not even bothering to wait for someone to hold the wooden pole upright for him, the mangripped the narrow end of the log in both hands and hoisted it into the air. He staggeredfor a second, and then ran forward with the caber balanced expertly in his palms.

Men scattered out of his path and out of range of his toss. The muscles in the man’s armsbulged when he lifted the log and flung it into the air. It flew up and landed with a thud inthe grass. Men rushed forward to congratulate him, while others marked his launchingpoint and where the caber had fallen.

The girls knew there was much excited chatter, even though they could not hear it.

“I’ll wager me best hair ribbon that some men are changing their bets right now to favorMister Fair-Haired Giant,” Grace said. Margaret and Kirsty nodded in agreement.

Just then, a youthful-looking man wearing a blue bonaid tied tightly around his browstepped out of the crowd and seemed to address the men. Many men broke into smallergroups to discuss what the man in the bluebonnet had said. Then, after reaching somesort of consensus, they allowed the man to pick up the caber and drag it back to thestarting point.

There was no display of independence from the man in the bluebonnet. He listened tothe wise words of advice being given to him from one or two greybeards and seemed tobe considering their words carefully. He seemed oblivious to the jeers and pointed fingersbeing directed at him from the Fair Hair camp.

Bluebonnet held the log upright for a few moments, and seemed to be regarding thewood’s balance and angles very carefully. Its weight did not seem to perturb him; he justshifted his body from side to side to keep the caber vertical. He was not as bulky as thefair-haired man, but his build had a beautiful symmetry to it. His legs were long andproportionate to the sweeping wide shoulders that tapered to narrow hips. He hadremoved the great plaid from his shoulders before taking the caber, and the length ofwool fell down to just above the ground from the belt positioned above his slim hips. Itallowed the girls a chance to see his bare chest, which was just as beautifully formed asthe rest of him. He was bare-legged and barefoot, as was the custom of the Highland

games.

The girls held their breath as the young man ran forward. They worried for nothing,however. The man’s natural athletic abilities were outstanding. When he judged thetiming, speed, and angle to be right, he pitched the log into the air where it projectedoutwards, falling in a graceful arch.

The cheers from the men watching were so loud, even the little audience in theschoolroom could hear it. There was no need for the toss length to be measured;everyone could see it was longer than Fair Hair’s toss by several yards.

The consequences of this action were immediately apparent.

“That’s nae what everyone was expectin’,” Grace commented, but Kirsty and Margaretwere too interested in what was happening on the field to answer her.

Fair Hair’s camp was rushing to see where the caber landed, gesticulating that the tosshad not been fair. Men ran back to the launching point, shouting at one another andpointing back and forth. Bluebonnet seemed sanguine about his win and went to grip hisadvisors’ forearms in a grateful and friendly gesture.

Some of Fair Hair’s followers went to challenge him, and there was much pointing at thelaunching place and wagging of fingers in Bluebonnet’s face. He listened calmly to whatthey had to say, and then shrugged his shoulders. A few judges had been dragged intothe debate for verification. They heard all the details, and then one of the officials wentto grab hold of Bluebonnet’s hand and hoist it in the air.

The caber toss was verified. Bluebonnet’s toss had been the furthest. Shouts and booscame from Fair Hair’s camp, but they quietened down when Lairds MacGill and Buccleuchcame onto the field. The small groups dispersed quickly.

Bluebonnet did not stay to revel in his win. He turned to walk back to the castle, pullingthe wool cap off his head to wipe his brow.

Margaret inhaled sharply. It was Brodie!

“What?!” Kirsty was quick to notice Margaret’s reaction. “D’ye ken him? D’ye like him?Does he take yer fancy?”

Margaret had a lifetime of experience when it came to damping down Kirsty’sspeculations and questions.

“Wheesht, Kirsty,” she chided. “I just didnae expect the man to be so youthful, ‘tis all.

And ye both have to admit that was a very unexpected turn of events.”

The calm way Margaret dismissed her youngest sister’s interrogation was enough tomake the girls lose interest. It was no fun when Margaret did not rise to the bait. Sheseemed to have grown up in the past few days. Maybe it was taking on the duties ofrunning the castle or maybe their eldest sister had accepted the fact she had to showherself to all the men on Monday. Either way, Margaret blossoming out of her shell was athing to be admired.

“I like him. The young man in the bluebonnet, I mean. He seems to be a worthycompetitor,” Grace said as the girls left the schoolroom.

Margaret did not add her opinion to the discussion, but Kirsty felt compelled to say that itwould be a wonderful thing to be able to kiss either of the gentlemen who had tossed thecaber.

“Losh! Kirsty, ye’re too young to want such a thing or even to be thinking about such athing! Why, that fair-haired man has seen at least thirty summers!” Grace was shocked.

“He’s big and strong, and I like that,” Kirsty justified her comment.

“Hush, both o’ ye,” Margaret said. “There’s more to a man than brawny strength, I’ll haveye ken. And Mister Fair Hair did nae seem to take his loss too well, if ye failed to notice.He had a wee tantrum when the judges ruled the other man better, and as far as I’mconcerned, it should only be women allowed to pout and stamp when something goesagainst them.”

Kirsty and Grace shouted with laughter at Margaret’s accurate assessment of the losingman’s behavior, and Maggie gave a sigh of relief at having been able to divert theirattention from her shocked gasp.

“Let’s go down to Mistress Gordan’s parlor and tell her when to serve up supper, shallwe?” she said serenely. “I made enough broth to serve dozens of people, and need ourhousekeeper to check we have enough bread to go with it.”

And on those words, the two younger MacGill girls were able to put the man in thebluebonnet out of their thoughts.

But the image of Brodie—barefoot and bare-chested, flinging the caber before him—wasset to haunt Margaret’s dreams all night.

B

6

THE GAMES

rodie encountered a problem when he went down to the kitchens after supper totry and find Maggie. The staff was exhausted, and the last thing they wanted to be

doing was talking to a competitor who seemed as though he was looking to set up aflirtation with one of the maids.

“Begone with ye!” The cook said to him in no uncertain terms, shooing him in front of her.“And shame on ye for coming here to snoop around for a lass!”

Brodie had no choice but to retire with as much dignity as he could muster. Making sureto avoid the quarters where Ivor McOrkil and his followers were carousing, he returned tothe narrow bolster in the guards’ room and tried to sleep. It was not easy, for besides allthe noise the men were making after drinking their fill of ale, he could not forget themost agreeable image of Maggie popping into his head. After much tossing and turning,Brodie managed to fall asleep eventually.

He was awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of drunken men’s raised voices.

“To hell with ye,” a deep voice growled. “The win was a trick, a fluke; that’s all. The windcaught the trunk as he hoisted it and caused it to send it higher and further than hisstrength merited.”

A voice hiccuped an ill-advised reply. “Dinnae be sore about yer loss, Ivor, man. Ye’veseen thirty years now. It was likely to happen sooner or later that ye met yer match. Thatboy could give ye four years, and he would still be the younger.”

There was a noise indicating a powerful buffet had been landed, followed by the sound ofa man falling heavily onto the ground.

“I’m the strongest, best man in all the Highlands, Aulay, and ye best nae forget it! At theclick o’ me fingers, I could have me own host of warriors and followers, and then where

would ye be?”

It seemed as though the drunken man had picked himself off the ground because Brodiecould hear staggering.

Aulay replied timidly, “D’ye have a backup plan for the games? What happens if he getsthe better of ye then? Are ye going to hit him from behind like ye did to me just now?”

A scoffing laugh was heard. “Aye, Cousin, I just might do that.”

And the footsteps died away into the night.

Brodie had no doubt over what he had just heard. He made a note of it, then turnedaround and went back to sleep.

After a calm Sunday of enforced peace and quiet, the day of the games dawned brightand early. Those spectators who had not been lucky enough to receive an invitation tostay overnight at the castle, had had to make do with camping on the side of the roadand making their way to the games before daybreak. As for the competitors themselves,they had breakfasted early, and walked to the fields in small clusters and single file. Muchof the camaraderie that had existed during the past week had gone; now it was time forcombat and vanquishing the opposition.

The weather had blessed the gathering. The sun peeking over the mountain tops to thefar east turned a glorious yellow as it rose in the clear blue sky. It seemed to etch outevery heather bush and tree copse for miles around. The air was fresh and sharp. Agentle breeze sent the pennants flapping, and clan chieftains strode to the poles to tietheir colors to the flagpoles. It was going to be a very exciting day.

Brodie decided the best way to prepare would be to run along the river bank to the northof the castle. The winter snow melts had turned it into a veritable torrent, and he tookgreat pleasure in listening to the music the waters made as he ran beside it. This waswhat Brodie did best. He was fleet of foot and could run for miles without sufferingfatigue. His body was perfectly adapted to it, most of his young life being spent runningerrands or keeping a lookout for his clan’s chieftain. One flash of a brigand’s sword on thedistant hilltop or pirate ship mast on the ocean horizon, and the nimble Brodie would beback at his homestead in a flash, bearing the news.

It was this convenient combination of swiftness and strength that always caught his

opponents off guard.

“Yer name and the events ye’re competing in today?” The clerk wanted to know so hecould record the names of every man for Laird MacGill.

“Er, Brodie...MacManus,” was Brodie’s hesitant reply. His clan had been a thorn in theMacGill lairds’ side for many a year, and he did not relish owning up to his heritage, atleast, not until his clan had extended the hand of friendship toward the current LairdMacGill.

A hand smacked him on the back. “Brodie McMillan, as I live an’ breathe! What brings yeto the games?”

Brodie winced as one of his old comrades in arms bade him a warm greeting, but it onlyserved to make the clerk’s eyes narrow with suspicion and quickly dip his quill into the inkand scribble something into the margin next to Brodie’s name. Then the man got up fromhis stool, indicated to his apprentice that he must take over his duties, and scampered offtoward where Laird MacGill was standing by the benches. Brodie sighed, and decided toaccept however Laird MacGill chose to take his presence at the games. He turned togreet his friend, and then they told the apprentice scribe in what events they wouldcompete.

“Caber toss, running the short and long distances, and stand-up fighting for me,” Brodiesaid, and the scribe duly made a note of it.

“Och!” his old comrade said. “I cannae keep the fact that ye are a regular quicksilver asecret, Brodie. I’m off to the money men to place a bet on ye!”

A loud voice said behind them, “Aye, he looks like the type who would be fleet of foot, sohe can run away from those who beat him in battle!”

A roar of laughter greeted this remark, and Brodie did not even have to look around toknow immediately who said it. The tall braggart with the fair hair. He did notacknowledge the comment, and walked forward and away with his friend.

“I admire yer restraint,” his comrade marveled. “However, I cannae tarry. I’m off to placethose bets!”

“What about the caber toss and stand-up fighting?” Brodie said with a smile. “Will ye naeplace yer money on me for those?”

The comrade grinned. “Caber toss...maybe. Stand-up fight? Nay! I hear Laird MacGill has

got a twist up his sleeve for that, and I dinnae fancy taking a chance. I wish ye luck,though. The man who wins the most events gets the kiss from Laird MacGill’s sister. Hereshe comes now!”

Margaret had appeared quietly amidst the crowd, trailing behind her formidable-lookingmaid, Mildred. She had her head down, but it was for no other reason than to make sureshe did not step on a muddy patch of grass. She wore a black velvet visard over her face,but it seemed to be a temporary device to protect her fair skin from the sun until shereached the raised dais set on a slight slope, enough to give the castle occupants thebest view over the field. A canopy had been erected over the dais, and when Margaretreached its shade, she gently removed the visard after settling herself onto the bench.

Every eye was on her, but Margaret tried to appear as sanguine as possible.

To Brodie, she looked beautiful, and indeed, many men and women turned to chatter toone another after seeing her face, declaring to themselves the girl was passing fair.

A delicate lace fichu covered her shoulders, and her dark grey satin bodice was pulled intight, showing off her small waist. Under the fichu, the white undergown swept in a lowarc across the pale skin under her collarbones. The veriest promise of a heart-shapedcleavage swelled under the lace. Dark grey slashed sleeves showed the thin white muslinundergown beneath. Her ensemble was both dashing and elegant, and not one lady inthe crowd could find fault with it.

Margaret’s trim figure found favor with many men in the crowd. The dark grey satin setoff her blue eyes to their best advantage, and Mildred had added a touch of burnt cork toher mistress’s pale lashes, giving her face a subtle air of mystery. The effect of her face,figure, and gorgeous attire was electrifying.

It took a fraction of time for Brodie to recognize Maggie the kitchen maid in the gracefulyoung woman seated on the dais after Margaret removed her visard. When he did, he feltlike starting the race events a wee bit early and running off into the hills as fast as hisfeet could carry him. However, it was not in his nature to retreat cravenly, and he hopedMiss Margaret MacGill would forgive his impudence in the kitchen herb garden. Brodiewould be lying to himself if he denied that, after seeing Maggie or Margaret or whatevershe chose to call herself today, his determination to win the games was even sharper.

The games began. Brodie won the running and caber toss events with the greatest of

ease, and he could see visiting lairds looking him over and discussing amongstthemselves how much he would charge as a soldier for hire. Interestingly enough, IvorMcOrkil had not participated in the caber toss, declaring he had an old injury that hadflared up, which prevented him from competing in the event. But he showed no suchreluctance when it came to the hay bale lifting and stone toss events, both of which hewon after much boasting and jeering at his fellow competitors.

Brodie McMillan had won three events; there was no more attempt at calling Brodie bythe false name he had provided the clerk at the beginning. Too many men knew him frompast encounters.

It would come down to the stand-up fighting event.

Laird MacGill stood up.

“This is to be the deciding spectacle. After much deliberation, I have decided the rules tobe thus: the first man to leave the circle after knocking the other man down is the winnerof the Highland Games, nay matter how many events he has won thus far. There will beno ties or even places.”

A rustle of shocked murmurs ran through the crowd. This would give the advantage toIvor McOrkil without a doubt. He was the bigger man, and his muscles were prodigious.One swipe from his fist and Brodie would be laid out flat upon the ground. All Ivor wouldhave to do is saunter to the winner’s seat. He might as well go and kiss Miss MacGill rightnow and be done with it!

When Brodie squared up to his opponent, however, many men who had been hastilyrunning to change their bets stopped in their tracks. It did not look as hopeless when theaudience was given a chance to observe Brodie. He was staunch, standing with his headcocked to the side, weighing up Ivor’s height and reach. It was calculating and thoughtful,the complete opposite to Ivor. The tall man was chewing his lips and glaring at Brodie. Ifthe day had not been so warm, everyone would have been able to see steam blowing outof his nostrils like an enraged bull.

Laird MacGill gave the signal, and the two men began circling each other; Brodie withscientific finesse, and Ivor with the intent of intimidation.

“Come here so I can squash ye like the biastag ye are!” Ivor roared, and charged Brodie.But the younger man waited until he was close enough to reach out and touch, then spunout of the way at the last moment. This tactic only served to enrage Ivor further. Theman rushed at Brodie again and again, trying to tackle him to the ground where he could

rain blows down on him. Each time, Brodie dodged him.

Until suddenly, he did not. Ivor ran pell-mell at Brodie once more, but this time the youngman stood his ground. He nimbly turned sideways and punched Ivor with a ferocious righthook as the man’s chin went flying past him.

Ivor fell to the ground like a stone thrown into a well. Brodie checked his opponent wasdown and then began walking to the edge of the field. Once he crossed it, he would bethe winner and receive a kiss from Maggie. He could not wait!

“Brodie! Watch out!” Margaret screamed from the dais, but it was too late. Instead oflooking behind him, Brodie turned his head to look at Margaret instead. It was adisastrous move. It allowed Ivor, who had been sneaking up behind Brodie, to push theyoung man over and bolt across the field edge. The crowd roared in disapproval, but theIvor camp cheered.

Everyone looked to Laird MacGill for a judgment. He did not hesitate. “I rule for the winto go to Ivor McOrkil. Part of being a warrior is to be cunning, and Ivor gave us the bestdisplay of cunning we have yet seen this day. Plenty of what a soldier does is sneakingand pushing, and let nay man here today forget it!”

Groans and cheers were heard. His knees still smarting slightly from where they had hitthe rough grass, Brodie went to clasp Ivor’s forearm in the Highland sign of friendship.The man ignored Brodie’s outstretched hand and ran to the dais where Margaret sat. Hegrabbed her off the bench and planted a hearty kiss on her lips.

Laird MacGill looked on approvingly. “All competitors are invited to the great hall for abanquet this night. Spectators are to be treated to roast boar and venison here in thefields. Well done, to all and sundry.”

M

7

A GENEROUS INVITATION

argaret had to wait until she had returned to the castle before surreptitiouslywiping the back of her hand over her lips.

Kirsty was overjoyed at the games and the resulting prize.

“What did it feel like, yer first kiss?” she wanted to know.

Margaret gave it some thought before replying, “It’s hard. Ye can feel the teeth behindthe lips. The pressure was so intense, it almost forced me mouth to open.”

“Ooooh,” Kirsty commented with interest.

“And then his hand grabbed me waist and pulled me closer toward him. It nearly threwme off balance! His chin was rough and bristly, and I could feel the stubble scratching meskin. He smelt...aye, Kirsty, when men are that close ye can smell them. He smelt like ahorse saddle and sweat…and ale.”

Grace interjected, “It sounds altogether odious. I don’ ken how ye could bear it.”

Margaret replied simply, “I had to. What choice did I have? It’s nae as though I couldrepulse him with all eyes watching us.”

Her sister sighed. “That is a woman’s lot in life, Maggie. To smile sweetly and suffer theattentions of brutish males with as much grace as we can muster.”

Kirsty scoffed, “Ye only say that because Miss MacCorkindale told ye! As for me, I cannaewait for some strong man to sweep me into his arms and kiss me. It’s sure to be the mostexciting thing in the world.”

The sisters climbed the stairs to their chambers to ready themselves for the banquet thatevening. There was to be a display of sword dancers and bagpipers afterward, and thegirls looked forward to an entertaining night. Grace and Kirsty, not yet out in society,

were to watch the proceedings from the old minstrels’ gallery above the hall.

If a shadow of sorrow crossed Margaret’s heart at the thought of who had been thewinner of the games, it was quickly dispelled when she remembered the look Brodie hadgiven her when she had shouted out his name. They made eye contact the moment shecalled out to him. His blue eyes, so kind, and with that ever-ready spark of laughter seengleaming within, had looked at her for what seemed like an eternity. When their gazelocked, Brodie’s expression indicated he was not sure if she had taken umbrage at hisfamiliarity in the garden, and Margaret hoped she had been able to communicate to himher gladness at their meeting.

She told Mildred to ask Christine if she could borrow one of Lady MacGill’s best ballgowns.After being sewn and laced into the sumptuous gown, Margaret made sure her hair andjewels offset the rich blue satin. When she rose from the dressing table, Mildred had atrace of tears in her usually stern eyes.

“I’ve never seen ye look so beautiful, Miss Maggie,” she said, and Margaret almost agreedwith her. Although she had never been one to admire her flaxen blondeness, when sheraised her looking glass, her reflection caused her to smile with pleasure. The burnt corkdusted on her eyelashes enhanced the blue, and the two bunches of hurluberlu ringletsclustering on either side of her head made her resemble an angelic siren. Gone was thedemure lace fichu from around her shoulders. In its place was a sweeping neckline thatcut low across her bosom. A sapphire framed in gold adorned her cleavage.

The effect her presence had on the men at the banquet hall was quite amazing. Theystopped talking and stood up. Laird MacGill pulled an armchair out for her to sit, and afterMargaret had done so, the feast began in earnest. Margaret was hardly aware of any ofthe food placed in front of her; her eyes peered through the dimly lit hall, searching forBrodie, praying he had not decided to stay and eat boar with the crowds out in the fields.

Her stomach did a flip when she saw him. He was late to enter the hall, and she noticedhim at once when he stood at the doorway, looking from one trestle and board to theother, seeing if any of his friends would beckon him over to come and sit with them.Margaret wished with all her heart she could stand up and call out to him. Instead, shesettled for catching his eye and smiling. He was standing next to some of thecompetitors, pointing to his knees where the grass had scraped them, and laughing withgood humor about the incident. Then, he looked straight up at the dais and into her eyes.

What a handsome man he is. A true Highlander. His skin is as pale as marble, but thatshock of hair is pure Scotland. I love the way he wore his kilt to the feast, nae bothering

to hide his knees. He does nae care about the defeat, and took me brither’s harshjudgment in his stride. I wonder why Gil ruled in the tall man’s favor?

Margaret raised her hand and waved to Brodie, and he returned her greeting with a widegrin. A few people who were not concentrating on their food noticed the exchange andmade a note of it.

The question of why Laird MacGill had ruled in Ivor’s favor was perplexing many folks,both inside the banqueting hall and out in the field. More than a few angry glances werebeing cast sideways at Ivor’s table next to the dais, but the man was oblivious to them.He was too busy ripping meat off the bone with his teeth and throwing whisky down hisgullet almost as fast as the page boy could pour it. All around him, chiefs and soldiersfawned and praised him. Occasionally, Ivor would forget the food and drink enough tolook across at Margaret and give her a wink, but as she was never looking at him, thesecheeky gestures went unnoticed.

Willie Buccleuch approached Margaret and indicated he would like to sit next to her.Unperturbed by her childhood friend’s contrite expression, Margaret nodded he could seathimself on the chair beside her, but her eyes did not leave the spot where Brodie was.She was lost in a world of imagination, thinking about what it would be like to be seatednext to him, maybe even placing a gentle hand on his knees and making a joke about hismisfortune.

“Ye are looking exceeding dashing this evening, Margaret,” Willie Buccleuch said.

It caused Margaret to break out of her reverie.

“What? Och, I give ye thanks for sayin’ that, Willie.” And then Margaret went back towatching Brodie.

“The new way ye have of fixing yer hair is vastly fetchin’.”

Willie hardly sounded like himself, and it was enough to make Margaret glance over athim and ask, “Whatever is the matter with ye, Willie? Ye sound strange, as though ye’reaping the manners of the king’s courtiers.”

Willie blushed a fiery red. “‘Tis only that ye look better than ye did before, Maggie! Meand the lads were just talking about it. Ye’ve grown into a woman overnight, and itmakes it hard for us to see the auld Maggie at all.”

Margaret turned away from him and went back to watching Brodie, saying, “I’m still theauld Maggie, Willie Buccleuch. The only thing that changed is what I’m wearing.”

Abashed, Willie had no choice but to rise and return to sit with his friends.

“Maggie is quite changed and grown up. It’s strange what one kiss can do to a lass,” hesaid to them.

But he was wrong. The kiss had nothing to do with Margaret’s blossoming confidence. Inthe kitchen garden, she had been wearing her oldest dress robe and had her hair tuckedunder a plain cap, and Brodie had told her she had the loveliest smile. That was thereason for Margaret’s blooming self-assurance.

There was a small disturbance at the far left side of the dais table, and Laird Buccleuchgot to his feet unsteadily and raised his tass in a salute.

“I give me neighbor and ally, Gil MacGill”—the middle-aged man placed a hand on LairdMacGill’s shoulder and patted it—“many thanks for a wondrous Highland games. He was agreat warrior in his time, and we must all use this opportunity to learn from his soldierlyskills and his generosity as a host.”

Laird Buccleuch gave a belch and thumped his chest a bit before continuing his speech.

“I wish to extend the hand of friendship to ye all, and invite ye all to Buccleuch Lodge fora ball in a few days hence.”

Lady Buccleuch pulled at her husband’s kilt, whispering in a furious voice, “Are ye mad?There must be over a hundred men here! How are we to fit them all in a ballroom, neverye mind find partners for them all? Sit down!”

Laird Buccleuch sat down, swaying a bit in his chair, and it was too late to retract his pot-sure speech.

Laird MacGill placed a comforting hand on Lady Buccleuch’s shoulder before standing uphimself.

“Chiefs, chieftains, and men. I am indeed thankful for yer attendance at the games. Itgave all of us a chance to see some o’ the best sports and soldierly skills for many ayear.”

A rousing roar of applause greeted this speech. The men were full of ale and happyenough to cheer anything Laird Gilbert chose to say.

He continued, “Despite whatever auld Buccleuch here chooses to mention...” A few loudcheers interrupted and then died down. Everyone waited to hear the rest of what LairdMacGill said. “I am a warrior full in his prime.”

“Hear, hear!” and “Hurrah!” sounded in the hall.

“The only thing to have changed is that now I have a family, and as a man’s clanexpands, it makes him less likely to seek strife or go out lookin’ for fighting.”

There were a few murmurs of agreement from the more mature men in the hall. Some ofthe younger ones laughed.

Gilbert carried on with his speech. “And that is why I am extending an invitation to anyand all o’ ye who wish to stay on at Mac an Goill...to train as soldiers, do me bidding in allthings, and protect me clan.”

A loud ripple of voices talking broke the silence. There had been rumors of this. But howtempting was this offer?

“Furthermore,” Laird Gilbert continued, “ye will receive pay in accordance with how yefared in the games. For those of ye who won events or placed highly, ye will receive morepay than those who didnae. Sound fair?”

The men were more than pleased. It was a good system, and every soldier began tothink how nice it would be to spend their winter at Mac an Goill. Also, it guaranteed LairdMacGill his pick of all the men who had outshone the other competitors. As for Ivor andBrodie, it assured them of far greater payment than any other warrior. The offer was verytempting.

“If ye like what ye’re hearing,” Gilbert shouted above the noise, “ye can give yer namesto the clerk after the feast. Now then, let’s to piping and dancing with the swords!”

The doors burst open; sword dancers and bagpipers trotted into the room. Two boardsand trestles in the middle of the room were removed, and the entertainers beganinflating their pipe bags by blowing into the chanters.

Laird MacGill took the opportunity the dancers gave him to whisper to Lady Buccleuch,“Dinnae fash, lady. The men who didnae place in the events will leave to find better-paidwork, and the one-third or so men who did well in the games will stay. Ye will only haveforty or so men visit yer castle for the ball at the very most. Make sure they have enoughladies to woo!”

Lady Buccleuch tried to quell the shudder that ran through her. “But Gil,” she said, “Idinnae want a bunch o’ common soldiers in me drawing rooms!”

He laughed. “Nay, they have no such desire either! Roast a boar for them down in the

servants’ hall—the one where yer staff celebrates Hogmanay—and they will be more thanhappy. I will get me clerk to send ye a list of the few men who won events. There are nomore than around a dozen; surely ye can find room for them in yer great hall?”

Lady Buccleuch gave him a tremulous smile. “I thank ye, Gil. And now I think it time forme to assist Buccleuch back to his bedchamber!”

M

8

NOT MUCH OF A CHOICE

argaret approached Gilbert after Laird and Lady Buccleuch had retired. He waswatching the light feet of the sword dancers weave around the sharp blades,

but he glanced up when she came and stood next to him.

“May I have permission to retire, if it please ye, Gil?”

It seemed as though he had not heard her at first, but then Gilbert patted the chair pulledup beside him. “It pleases me to speak with ye a wee bit first, Maggie.”

Margaret was no fool and knew what was coming. She had no choice but to sit downbeside her brother, saying in as light a voice as possible, “Now, whatever is amiss?”

Laird MacGill gave her an interrogating sideways look.

“With Christine taking longer than expected to regain her strength, it behooves me to askye this, Sister. How is it ye ken our red-haired competitor?”

The moment the scream of warning had left her lips earlier that day, Margaret knew shewould have to face Gilbert’s question eventually. But still, the answer she had planned didnot readily spring to her lips,

“How now, Gil, what’s the fuss? I heard someone mention his name, and sought to warnthe poor young man. ‘Tis all, I swear.”

Gilbert did not look at her, but instead gazed out across the hall to where Brodie’shandsome face was laughing at something his neighbor was saying. Without turning hishead, Gilbert asked, “And from whom did ye hear mention of his name? Ye see, forgiveme if I seem a wee bit obtuse, but ye were seated on the dais, away from the crowd, andtherefore had no chance to overhear anyone.”

Margaret had never seen her brother act so cold and aloof before. He hardly seemed like

the kind and comforting brother of old, but a lairdly stranger, intent on discovering thetruth. Then she remembered what Miss MacCorkindale and Christine had instilled into herfrom the time she became old enough to wed: “Women are the possessions of men. Untilye marry, ye are the possession of yer father, or in yer case, a brother. Never forget that.All a wedding is, is the transferral of ownership from yer guardian to yer husband. Such isthe lot of women, and the best ye can do is accept it with grace. All this talk aboutwomen being allowed to marry out of hand is something men tell themselves so they cansleep more soundly at night.”

Margaret stammered, “S-Someone must have said his name out loud…”

Gilbert sighed and turned to face her.

“Let’s nae blether at one another, Margaret. Ye’re too sharp for that. If ye have met thisyoung man behind me back, there is no shame in admittin’ it. But ye should ken moreabout Mister Brodie McMillan afore ye throw yer cap over the windmill for him.”

Margaret opened her mouth to refute the accusation, but then shut it again when shesaw the look on her brother’s face.

“As marvelous as ye think he may be, Brodie’s clan is nae acceptable to me. They haverefused to join me in seeking peace amidst the Highland clans, stubbornly insisting onmaintaining their autonomy. They claim it’s so they can remain vigilant against possibleinvasion from outside their lands, but we all ken that’s nonsense—as though there couldbe roaming bands of brigands traipsing the countryside without us realizing it!”

Margaret knew one of the main reasons her brother had agreed to remove the defensiveparts of the castle and build an elegant manor house in its place was for this very fact.There had not been an outside attack on Mac an Goill for decades. The crumbling towersand battalions, with their moats, machicolations, and drawbridges, had seemed old-fashioned to the point of absurdity. The changes had been done at the insistence of hiswife; she came from the Lowlands, where grand houses were much to be preferred tocastles.

She tried to turn her brother’s mind to the more positive aspects of Brodie’s character.

“He seems to be here on his own, Gil,” Margaret said, hoping her brother would changehis mind.

Gilbert shrugged. “And what’s to the point? That handsome, red-haired tree springs froma bad seed, when all is said and done; in fact, I dinnae ken what he’s doin’ here. Nay

messenger was sent forth to his clan.”

Margaret felt her face go red with anger at Gilbert’s dismissive manner, and tried to recallall of Miss MacCorkindale’s peaceful maxims before she was able to regain control overher temper.

Gilbert did not seem to notice or care, but continued his judgment.

“I have me hands full with Christine being sick, the newborn bairn, and wee Gilchrist,Maggie. I never thought it would fall to me lot to launch ye onto the marriage market, butthere ye have it.”

Margaret opened her mouth to say she would wait for Christine to get better, but herbrother preemptively raised his hand to stop her.

“Ye cannae delay yer marriage, Maggie. It would be unfair to yer sisters who wait fortheir own chance.”

Margaret understood this. Her dowry would drain the coffers considerably, and theywould need time to replenish for Grace and Kirsty.

Gilbert continued, “I ken Ivor McOrkil will nae be satisfied with what I offer him to stay onhere. Ivor’s pay will be equal to what Brodie will receive because they won the samenumber of events, although I have hopes yer red-haired swain will go scurrying back tohis clan and turn down the chance to learn a gainful occupation. Therefore, I want tosweeten the deal for Ivor. I am going to offer him yer hand in marriage. He is the cousinof a laird, and ye are sister to one. ‘Twill be a goodly match.”

“Nay! Never!” The words left Margaret’s lips before she could give her outburst moreconsideration.

The sword dancers and bagpipe players stopped their music and dancing. Every eye inthe hall was turned toward Laird MacGill and his flaxen-haired sister. Gilbert stood up andheld out his hands in a funning gesture.

“Me sister begs for the company’s pardon! When I told her she must be off to bed, sheobjected!”

Much jolly laughter greeted this explanation.

“She is reluctant to retire until she has had the chance to renew her acquaintance withour illustrious winner! Please come up here, Ivor, and make a maiden most happy!”

Ivor’s table gave a loud cheer as he rose from his chair and made his way toward thedais. A few ribald catcalls followed his progress, but all Margaret could see was the lookof hurt on Brodie’s face as he got up and left the hall.

Ivor plonked himself down heavily on the chair next to her. Margaret shrunk away slightlyas he leaned over her to shout at Gilbert above the noise of the bagpipes, “I should havebeen asked to sit at the dais afore, don’ ye ken? I am the winner and the best man in theroom, barring yerself, of course. An’ it would have given me a chance to give yer sister abetter buss than I did this afternoon!”

Gilbert grinned at Ivor. He had been a soldier and warrior all his adult life and thrived inthe boorish atmosphere of men’s vulgar talk and bawdy jokes. He had forgotten howconvivial an evening spent with hard-drinking, hard-fighting men could be. He had nochance to do so since marrying Christine. She abhorred all forms of war and was theinstigator behind her husband’s peace talks.

But poor Christine was very ill upstairs in the bedchamber, and her feminine commonsense was nowhere to be seen as Ivor and Gilbert spoke about Margaret as though shewere a horse to be bought and sold. Margaret was trapped on the chair between the twomen, listening to their nonchalant chat about her hand in marriage. It was intolerable!

“I hear ye have yer own chambers over at yer cousin’s lodge,” Laird MacGill was saying.“How d’ye find the barracks on this side? Are they comfortable enough?”

Ivor shrugged his huge, muscle-bound shoulders. “Truth be told, I turfed the captain ofthe guard out o’ his quarters and took them over. Ye should have seen his face when Itold him to shift his kit!”

More guffaws and quaffing of whisky followed this remark. Margaret decided to try andinject a question of her own into the conversation. As much as speaking out caused her tosuffer a flush of embarrassment, she simply had to say something. Her future happinesswas at stake.

“How goes it that ye are a grown man in his prime, sir, and yet nae married with anursery full o’ bairns?” She managed to get all the words out, and then sat back in herchair, her cheeks rosy pink from the shyness that flooded her face.

Ivor, seeming to notice her for the first time since he had sat down, slammed his mugback on the table, and replied, “I enjoy a lass as well as the next man, me dear, andmaybe that’s the reason for me reluctance to settle down with just one.”

“And would that settling down include yer lady sharing the accommodation afforded ye atyer cousin’s lodge? Or d’ye have plans to set up yer own establishment?”

Both Gilbert and Ivor whipped their heads around to look at Margaret in surprise. Gilbert’sfrown had a look of perplexity in it. Whatever had gotten into his sister? Where was thesweet, compliant girl he knew her to be? As for Ivor, the expression on his face was as faraway from amicable as could possibly be. He looked angry and combative. She wasimplying that he did not have the means to run his own household.

Laird MacGill stepped into the breach this comment had caused.

“What me sister obviously meant to say is, if ye were to consider becoming one of hersuitors—with an eye to a betrothal at the end of it all—would ye be open to movingcloser to Mac an Goill? And more to the point, what d’ye say to coming and staying hereas one o’ me soldiers in the meantime? I could do with a man of yer stature, and wouldpay accordingly.”

Margaret silently cursed herself for handing her brother the opportunity to manipulate theconversation toward his own inclinations.

Ivor, his self-worth much gratified by Gilbert’s speech, sat back in his chair and repliedwith a magnanimous air, “I would be open to accepting that arrangement.” He gaveMargaret a wink. “As reluctant as I am to give up wenching and replace it with wooing, ifye pay me enough gold, I might be able to find it within meself to do it!”

The men raised their mugs once more.

Margaret had heard enough. As Ivor brought the mug to his lips, she jostled his elbow.His mug tilted past his face and spilled over his jerkin and her blue satin dress robe.

“Och, what a calamity!” Margaret said in a placid tone. “This is me sister-in-law’s robe,and I must make haste to repair the damage. I bid ye gentlemen a good night.”

And on those words, she pushed her chair back and ran out of the hall as fast as herslippered feet could carry her.

M

9

A MOST FAVORED PLACE

argaret felt as though a Gordian knot had replaced the part where her insidesought to be.

When is Christine going to get better? That niggardly physician will nae allow her visitors,so I have nay chance of telling her what a mess Gilbert is creating for me—and for thewhole family for that matter, because I will fight marrying that bullying oaf with everyfiber of me being!

Thus were Margaret’s jumbled thoughts as she ran toward her bedchamber. But beforereaching her sanctuary, she pulled up short.

I cannae let Mildred see me like this. She will ask a hundred questions and drive me todistraction with her commiserations.

Turning on her heel, Margaret made her way down the passage and thence out of thekitchen scullery’s backdoor. It was as though her footsteps were leading her to the placewhere she had first met Brodie. When she reached the fragrant, pebble-strewn pathwaysof the herb garden, she put the lantern she carried down on the ground. Her eyes soonadjusted to the moonlight, and she could see the fruit trees and vegetable patchesclearly. She breathed deeply and found the fresh air and smell of vegetation soothingafter the noise and bustle of the dining hall and kitchen.

I wonder what it is that turns me fancy to Brodie and nae to Ivor? I suppose Ivor is ahandsome man, or he would be if he lost that insufferable boastful nature of his. But evenif he were as timid as a church mouse, I’m nae sure me heart would incline toward him.

Lost in her musings, Margaret wandered up and down the garden; the soft sound ofbagpipes and laughter seemed miles away.

“Good evening to ye, Maggie the kitchen maid,” a teasing voice said to her from the

shadows of an apple tree.

Margaret recognized the voice. A smile lit up her face as she turned to see the speaker,and if she had only been standing in front of a mirror, she would have seen that for a splitmoment, she looked as beautiful as Christine.

“Brodie!” she said, too happy at meeting him again to consider the circumstances of whathad passed since their last meeting. “What are ye doing in me favorite garden?”

Brodie stood up, dusting tiny pebbles off the back of his kilt before bowing to Margaret.After straightening up, he replied, “Is it? How strange. ‘Tis me own most favored placetoo since meeting a young lass here by the name of Maggie nae two days hence.”

He has the most charming smile. It reaches his eyes and holds nay calculating gleam orquelling derision.

Margaret realized Brodie had stopped speaking and was looking at her as thoughexpecting some sort of reply. For the first time in her life, Margaret wished she had moreexperience at talking with tall, handsome men.

Brodie took her silence to mean something else. He stepped back a pace, a contrite lookon his face.

“Miss MacGill, I meant to have taken the chance before this to beg yer forgiveness at meforward behavior. I didnae ken. That is to say, I thought ye were a maid.”

“Nay! I mean, I’m nae offended, Brodie. I thought yer behavior was exceedingexemplary.”

This was taking forgiveness too far. They both had a clear recollection of how Brodie hadcomplimented her on her smile and not just her baking, and that was far from politedrawing-room conversation. He had patted the ground for her to sit next to him andbegun a friendly flirtation almost immediately. Although Margaret was unversed in theways of men, she knew enough about etiquette to understand some rules had beeninfringed.

They looked at one another, a shared sense of humor bubbling underneath their lockedgaze. They were both at fault and knew it. Margaret and Brodie burst out laughing.

“Och, lass, ye bring a smile to me, I swear it,” Brodie said. “And as kind of ye as it is toforgive me, I ken full well I should nae have said some of those things to ye.” He stopped

and took a deep breath before continuing. “But I dinnae take them back. The sweet smileI saw in front of me then was most welcome, as it is now.”

Margaret blushed, but was pleased that Brodie acted the same way in front of MissMargaret MacGill as he did for Maggie the kitchen maid.

“I feel as though we are carryin’ on our chat as if there has nae been any interruption atall. And as pressing as ye believe yer apology to be, I have felt the same urgency tocompliment ye on yer great success at the games.” When Margaret was with Brodie, herspeech was naturally uninhibited, but for what reason, she knew not.

Brodie rolled his eyes. “Dinnae remind me, Maggie! I was caught by one of the oldesttricks in the book. If I had a penny for every time me faither used to say, ‘Whetherplaying dead or pretending to be knocked senseless, a man cannae rise if ye stick adagger in his back,’ and I should have listened.”

Margaret grimaced. “A smack to the back of his head might have done the trick just aswell, but me own faither used to say there’s nay use crying over spilt milk, and MisterMcOrkil only managed to beat ye by using a sneaky knavish hoax, so ye are the betterman in me opinion.”

“It seems faithers are always full o’ good advice, Maggie,” Brodie agreed.

They walked around the garden in the moonlight together, chatting about everydaythings: how long it took to ride to the coast from Mac an Goill; their horses; when lastthey had heard any news from Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh. Brodie had his head bentdown to catch her words, and it seemed natural for Margaret to hook her hand into thecrook of his arm when he offered it to her. Being this close together felt very different tothe touch of a man’s hand during a country reel or being hoisted into the saddle. Shecould smell the faint aroma of wool from his clothing and feel the muscles in his armswhenever he moved it to make a gesture. This moonlight stroll in the garden was manythings to Margaret, every single emotion coursing through her body was a positive one;every step she took beside Brodie built her up and strengthened her resolve.

Emboldened by his friendly manner and easy demeanor, Margaret asked, “Are ye going totake me brither up on his offer? To stay here and receive training and winter quarters inreturn for guarding Mac an Goill?”

Brodie did not answer immediately. He seemed to be weighing up the odds in his mind,and the look on his face was unsure.

“What?” Margaret wanted to know why he was hesitating.

“Och, lass—Maggie, I mean—I dinnae ken if I should or can, for that matter.”

Margaret was too upset to keep the hurt out of her voice. “Why ever nae? Ye will receivea generous portion. Ye won three of the events, when all is said an’ done!”

Brodie placed his hand on the hand she had hooked into his elbow, and gave it acomforting pat. “I have me doubts that yer brither’s offer extended to the likes o’ me,Maggie. There’s bad blood flowing back many years between our two clans, and he allbut declared me clan unforgiven by ruling so strangely after the stand-up fighting event.”

Margaret gave a tiny growl like an annoyed kitten. “Gil has the ability to act like a zanythe moment Christine is nae there to nudge him in the right direction. But, in general, heis the most kind and generous laird who treats his men well. Please stay.”

Brodie stopped walking and turned to look at her straight on. “Would ye like that, Maggieof the pots an’ pans? If ye do, I will give staying on at Mac an Goill due consideration.”

Margaret broke into wreaths of smiles. Finally, her very own friend and ally at the castle!

Brodie held up his hand. “But, I dinnae think yer brither is keen for me to stay, and hehas the final say on things around here, nae so?”

The smile faded from Margaret’s face. “Aye, ye dinnae have to tell me that. Gil has gotthe strangest notion into his head about me.”

Silence fell over the couple in the garden. The sound of nightjars and a pair of hootingowls could be heard in the trees.

“Does yer brither want ye to marry Ivor McOrkil? Is that why ye wanted him to come andsit with ye on the dais in the dining hall?”

At all costs, Margaret wanted to disabuse Brodie of that notion.

“Nay, nay, nae at all, Brodie. I never wanted him to join me. Me brither just said that tocover up me exclamation of surprise.”

She watched his face and could swear it flooded with relief.

“And then ye left, so I had nay chance to talk to ye,” Margaret continued.

“Ah, but then ye came out to our favorite garden, lass,” Brodie joked, “and so all’s wellthat ends well. Tonight, at least.”

Margaret smiled and nodded.

“Are ye going to marry him, Maggie? Everyone is talking about it as though it were adone deal.” Brodie could not help himself from asking.

They both did not have to say the name of the man they were discussing. Ivor McOrkilwas uppermost in both their minds.

Margaret blew an errant ringlet off her cheek before dismissing Ivor McOrkil from hermind. “I dinnae care what everyone thinks or wants, Brodie. I want to decide for meself!”

They found themselves back at the kitchen door. Margaret turned to Brodie, saying shyly,“I bid ye good night, Brodie.” Realizing he had not told her if he was going to stay or not,she grabbed his coat sleeve. “So, ye’ll stay?”

Brodie took the hand with which she had grabbed his sleeve and raised it to his lips. Hebrushed his lips against her fingertips, and said, “A very good night to ye too, MissMargaret MacGill.”

And on those words, he disappeared into the black night.

10

B

MORE THAN A VISIT

rodie did not sleep as well that night as he should have. His mind kept replayingthe events of the previous day through his head, and no matter how much he tried

to block out the unwelcome thoughts by thumping the small feather bolster he hadplaced over his eyes, the images refused to leave.

Why did I nae check to see if that rascally Ivor was sneaking up behind me? And evenafter I overheard the night before that’s what the man likes to do! But when I heard hervoice cry out me name, I couldnae help but look up at the dais. She’s so genteel andfragile, but brave at heart.

He tossed and turned for a good number of hours before sleep claimed him, but when hewoke up late the next morning, he had reached a resolution. Which members of theMacGill family would be happy to hear it, he would just have to wait and see.

The kitchen maids had brought out oat porridge and bannocks for the men to break theirfast very early in the morning, and—true to Laird MacGill’s prediction—over two-thirds ofthe competitors and all of the spectators had already left the castle by the time Brodieshook the pump water out of his hair and strolled up to the trestle table set up in thetraining yard. There were a few scraps of bannock and porridge left, and he was happy toeat of these after pouring himself a large mug of small ale.

The training yard contained around three dozen men in various stages of wakefulness.The feast had gone on late into the night, and many of the soldiers for hire, sportsmen,and strong men who had competed at the games the day before were recovering fromthe effects of imbibing too much whisky. There was plenty of groaning and running to thewater pump to wash bleary faces. Every time a kitchen maid showed her face, the callsfor more ale and water rose to a fever pitch. Brodie gave a hidden smile when he sawIvor and Aulay McOrkil stagger out of the captain’s quarters and run to the privy house.They had been the last to return to the barracks, and if they could even remember doing

so, Brodie would eat his bluebonnet.

The groans and chatter died down when the men saw Laird MacGill enter the yard. Hewas looking none the worse for wear, having ordered the page boys to swap out thewhisky they poured him for small ale early on the evening before. Thus, he had been ableto see the last of his guests to their beds and rise early enough this morning to bid eachand every visitor a hearty farewell.

“I take it all ye men are here to stay?” Gilbert raised his voice to ask the question.

Brodie kept his head down and did not answer, but every other man shouted, “Aye!” inunison.

Laird MacGill looked satisfied. The number of men who had chosen to stay was more thanenough to safeguard the castle, at least until the new walls and sentry towers wereconstructed in the outer fields.

“If ye put yer mark next to yer names here”—Laird MacGill pointed to where the clerk andapprentice scribe were setting up a small table, ink, and scrolls—“I will have a record ofthe number of events ye won, and pay ye accordingly. Any man who requires an advanceon his earnings must come and talk to me now.”

Ten or so men rose off the benches and went to speak to Gilbert. Either the wagers theyhad placed at the games had lost them money, or some other expense had occurred.Brodie’s family were comfortably well-off enough to keep him in clothes, weapons, andhorses, but tightfisted enough to make him have to earn his own gold. The wool thatmade up his plaid was as finely spun as a king’s, but he wore no other outward sign ofsuccess. This suited Brodie very well, as he had the full intention of making his ownfortune.

Before Laird Gilbert left the yard, he remembered something.

“Och, lads, forgive me for nae sayin’ this earlier. We leave after noon today to visit LairdBuccleuch’s lodge. ‘Tis a day’s journey away, so we will camp outside me demesne thisnight. For those o’ ye who fancy more to eat for supper than hardtack an’ biscuit, bringyer crossbows and hunting knives. Tonight the encampment will be next to the riverforest.”

The moment Laird MacGill left the yard, many voices were raised in protest andeagerness.

“I swear I have no stomach for this pleasure jaunt to Buccleuch Lodge. Me innards are

still recovering from the feast!”

“Are ye daft, man? That lodge is sure to be packed as full o’ women as the rafters canhold! There’s no chance I’m passing up the opportunity for me to set up a flirt.”

And as this was the generally held opinion of most of the soldiers, there was no show ofreluctance when the MacGill contingent began to ride out of the gates after dinner. It wasan impressive affair. Over thirty horses and two dozen men at arms left the castle gates.Laird MacGill did not look back. His wife was still too ill to sit at the window and wave himfarewell, and his two youngest sisters were in the girls’ lesson room with MissMacCorkindale. He rode at the head of the entourage with Aulay and Ivor McOrkil besidehim.

Margaret dawdled behind her brother’s horse, too shy to search the host of riders behindher to look for Brodie. And if he had been able to read her mind, Brodie would haveunderstood the reason for her dark looks.

“I spoke with Lady Buccleuch afore they departed this morn,” Gilbert had said casually toMargaret in the morning room earlier, “and they are returning to the lodge with the hopeof announcing their youngest daughter’s betrothal forthwith.”

Margaret had looked interestedly at her brother over the rim of her teacup. “I have heardrumors she is to marry one of the more successful of Buccleuch’s tenants. Apparently afarmer with great skills in birthin’ and raisin’ his herds. When are they to formallyannounce it?”

Gilbert replied, “Within the next few days. They are holding a ball in the young couple’shonor…‘twould be nice if ye could do the same. Killin’ two birds with one stone, as itwere.”

Margaret put her teacup down firmly onto the table. “How can I when there is nay suchbetrothal on the cards, Brither?”

Laird MacGill sighed and raised his eyes to the chandelier tied to the hook in the morningroom ceiling before replying, “This ball will be yer last chance to choose a betrothed,Margaret. I dinnae care who it is so long as I can have ye riveted and out of the house bythe time Grace turns seven and ten. It will give ye time to pay a betrothal visit to his clanbefore making a formal announcement of yer own.”

Margaret said nothing. Her eyes darted around the room for a way to escape, but everywindow and door led her to the same place: to marry Ivor McOrkil or not. But either way,

she must marry. This was a serious problem. Marriageable men did not simply drop fromthe trees.

Gilbert counted off potential partners on his fingers. “There’s Ivor, of course, more thanwilling to join the McOrkil clan to mine own. Then there’s Willie Buccleuch; he’s beenmaking eyes at ye since ye cast off yer shyness. Cousin MacGill over the mountain hasshown a keen interest…who d’ye fancy?”

Margaret wanted to scream, “Ye mean I have changed for the better since meetingBrodie, who didnae care a scrap about me grand connections and me dowry. All he caredabout was me pretty smile!”

But she had stayed silent, unwilling to embark upon a brangle with her brother withouther sister-in-law to back her up.

“Good. Well, that’s all settled then,” Gilbert said. “Tell Mildred to pack yer gowns and putthem in the cart.”

This was the reason for Margaret’s dark looks as she rode behind her brother.

The cavalcade followed the river upward and made camp not far from its banks when thesun began to sink behind the mountains.

“Fish or buck?” Gilbert asked Ivor when they had dismounted and sent their grooms tocollect firewood from the forest.

Ivor held up his hand in a halting gesture. “Stay right where ye are, Laird MacGill. I’ll havea young buck slaughtered and skinned for ye afore the sun has sunk completely behindthe mountain.”

And on those words, he picked up his crossbow and headed off into the forest.

Margaret made a loud scoffing noise after Ivor’s retreating back, but when Laird Aulayand Gilbert turned round to see where the sound had come from, Margaret ducked downand hid behind the cart. Mildred, who was unpacking a pallet for them to sleep on thatnight, gave her mistress a shrewd look. “I take it ye have no kindness for the tallgentleman with the blond hair?”

Margaret’s expression told the maid everything she wanted to know.

Mildred continued speaking, a wry smile on her face. “Well, then, ye might want to payattention to the other tall gentleman with the red hair, who seems most eager to catchyer eye over there. He has nae been able to stop looking at ye since we left the castle.”

Hope and happiness filled Margaret’s heart. She risked sticking her head up over the cartto look where Mildred was pointing. It was Brodie!

Brodie had spent the journey trying to keep a low profile. He had waited until LairdMacGill had gone back into the castle that morning before writing his name on thescribe’s parchment, and when he saw the gold he would be receiving as payment, he wasglad he had. But that was not the only reason for his presence amidst Gilbert’s soldiers.He knew that if he had passed up the chance to extend his acquaintance with LairdMacGill’s eldest sister, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

When he saw Margaret’s flaxen ringlets and kittenish face pop up above the cart to makeeye contact with him, he was elated. She gave a small wave, and Brodie could havesworn that when she clasped her hands together and gave them a tiny shake of triumphin his direction, he heard her say a soft, “Hurray!”

I swear, the lass never fails to raise up me spirits! One moment she’s hiding behind thecart, and the next she’s waving and giving me the victory signal. Let’s hope her ever-vigilant brither is nae watching.

And with the grin still lingering on his face, Brodie strode to the river to catch himself afish for supper.

11

T

TWO VERY DIFFERENT STORIES

here was much cheering and applause when Ivor returned to the camp later with asmall buck over his massive shoulders. It was butchered into smaller pieces so the

meat was able to cook quickly over the fire. Grooms passed through the riders andsoldiers at arms, handing out bannocks and firkins of ale. When the sun disappeared fromthe sky, one man brought out a flute and the instrument’s plaintive song could be heard.The air smelt of roasting meat and wood smoke.

Ivor stood up and raised his mug in a toast. “To...me, of course! Always the best man forthe job! There’s no need to thank me for the meat. Hunting and bringing down a targethas always been easy for me.”

More cheers and applause followed this speech, and from the wide smile on Ivor’s facewhen he sat down, the men’s appreciation was better music to his ears than the flute.

“Ye’re most excellent with the sword, bow, and with yer fists, Ivor.” Laird MacGill said thewords out loud that were on many men’s lips. “From whence come yer natural skills?”

Ivor loved nothing more than a captive audience and the chance to talk about hisimpressive lineage.

“Me mither was sister to Laird Aulay’s mither. Me mither was the younger, so the eldersister got to marry the laird, auld McOrkil, while mine had to make do with a lesser man.And while this was nae to me mither’s liking, when she birthed me, she was heard to saythat with all me exceptional qualities, I was sure to outdo me dear cousin, Laird Aulay,here.”

Much laughter followed this speech. Laird Aulay tried to take the derisive comments withgood nature, but he could not hold back the angry flush that rose to his cheeks. Not eventhe campfire flames could hide his chagrin, and Ivor was quick to pick up on this.

“Aha! Cousin, me plain talk was nae to yer liking, was it? Well then, what are ye going todo about it?”

Aulay looked away, and did not reply.

“Ha!” Ivor mocked. “He’s upset because I have chosen to stay on with Laird MacGill, andnow he will have to hire a host of men to make up for me absence. But dinnae fash,Cousin, I will return in spring next year—hopefully with a bride in tow!”

Ivor looked around for Margaret after making this statement, but she was hiding behindthe cart again.

Gilbert stepped into the breach Ivor had created by his boastful speech about how muchLaird Aulay needed his services to keep McOrkil Castle safe, saying, “Are yer own folkslocal to the auld Laird McOrkil’s lands? Or did they come from further away?”

Ivor took another swig of ale, and replied, “Me mither’s folks are from the islands to thenorth of Scotland. Vikings, they were. They used these outer northern isles from which tolaunch attacks on the Scottish coasts, and then decided to live there instead of returningto those lands of ice an’ snow.”

Margaret had heard enough about Ivor McOrkil to last her a lifetime. She crawled over toMildred and said, “I’m off to find Brodie. If Gil asks for me whereabouts, tell him I’ve goneto the river for ablutions.”

And with those words, Margaret MacGill crawled silently away from the main camp,disappearing like a river sprite into the darkness before Mildred had even had time toopen her mouth in protest.

Margaret followed her instincts and assumed she would not find Brodie around one of thehalf a dozen campfires dotted around the camp. Remembering what he had told herabout fishing, she made her way to the riverbank. When the campfires were safely behindher, she stood up and stopped crawling, hunched over so no one looking out over thecamp would discern her silhouette. After brushing the leaves and grass off her arisaid,she walked toward the river.

The burbling of the water and sighing of wind amidst the river reeds was soothing afterthe heat and braggadocio at the camp. It was a perfect springtime evening: the moonshone like a silver beacon in the night sky, sending beams of light onto the rivulets ofwater, making it look as though little white crescents bobbed on the ripples.

Margaret was alerted to Brodie’s presence when she heard a splash. He was taking the

opportunity the river gave him to wash his shirt and undergarments. Margaret could seethe items of clothing spread out on the riverbank, ready to dry overnight or to bereplaced by surplus garments out of his saddlebags.

But where was he?

His voice came from the river itself, and gave Margaret quite a start.

“If ye have any misconception as to me whereabouts, Miss Maggie, permit me to informye I’m here in the water.”

She turned and began raking her eyes over the water, looking for him.

“I hear it is customary for maidens to bathe in the tub with their chemise on to sparetheir modesty,” Brodie’s voice joked, coming from the direction of a high clump of reeds,“but I, however, don’! If ye would be so kind as to turn yer back, lass, I can rise up andmake meself more presentable.”

Margaret finally saw Brodie floating amongst the reeds. The roots hid most of his bodythat was submerged, but she had a full view of his hips, chest, and broad shoulders. Hisskin was lighted by the moonlight, etching his muscles to look like smooth marble. Shecould clearly see the way his stomach muscles formed a defined angle on either side ofhis lower torso, plunging down to below the waterline. He was smiling, which madeMargaret see the humor in the situation, and decided to take advantage of it beforerelinquishing her view.

“Goodness!” she exclaimed, trying her best to keep her smile from showing. “I’m thattempted to come and join ye, Brodie. In fact, maybe I should shout to the men at thecamp and tell them to join us for a moonlight swim?”

Brodie swept his hand over the water, skimming up a handful and flinging it at herplayfully. “Don’ ye dare, Miss Maggie the mischievous! If ye so much as raise yer voice, I’lljump out o’ the water, will-ye, nil-ye!”

“That’s more likely to fire back at ye, Brodie,” Margaret said, no longer bothering to hideher mirth. “But being the soul of kindness that I am, see here.”

She turned her back to the river and looked out over the Highland hills that ran towardthe coast. In the old days, many of those hills would have had lookout towers on them,ever vigilant against raids and invasions. The moon was so bright, she was able to seethe vague outline of the crumbling stoneworks on some of the hills.

The sound of splashing feet on grass and the rustle of clothes told her Brodie had takenthe opportunity her turned back gave him.

“If I were but a few years younger, Brodie,” she said sweetly, “I would take a peek.”

“Then why don’ ye?”

Margaret gave a start. Brodie was standing right behind her, and when she spun around,she knocked into his chest.

“Oh!” Margaret exclaimed. “Ye startled me, Brodie! How did ye move across here sofast?” Her hands instinctively came up to push herself back from their proximity, and forone confusing moment, both of her hands touched Brodie’s wet chest.

He laughed and stood back, allowing Margaret to regain her composure.

“Consider yerself well paid back for keeping me lurking in the water there like a boggart,”he said with a smile. He had taken the time to pull on some trews before creeping upbehind her, and now took the chance Margaret’s confusion offered him to put on hisbuskin boots and a fresh cambric shirt. The clothing was old and well worn, but Margaretcould see the craftsmanship that made up the materials was of the very finest. Brodie’sfamily might be embarrassingly combative, but they were obviously well off enough tokeep their son supplied with quality clothing.

When he was fully dressed, Brodie took a thistle from the ground and gave it to her.Margaret was surprised.

“Thank you.”

“You expected a rose maybe?” He smiled. “Roses are beautiful aye. But they need themost perfect ground to grow. A thistle however will grow everywhere; under a rock onthe side of a mountain, besides a river. It needs nothing more than a bit of fresh air andsun. Much like a Highlander. Unlike an English man for example.” Margaret left out alaugh, charmed by his beautiful words.

“And if you ask me, it’s purple color is as beautiful as the red on a rose. I would choose athistle over a rose a thousand times.” He cocked an eye at her and for a moment it felt asif their souls connected. Margaret was so touched by his look that she had to lower hereyes.

“What brings ye here, Maggie? Are ye going to ask me why I chose to stay?”

Margaret hesitated before replying. She was not yet ready to look deep inside herself and

find out why she was happy Brodie did not leave. Nor did she want to know his ownreasons for staying. All she knew right now was that when he was close by, she felt like adifferent person. Whenever she knew Brodie was around, her heart seemed lighter andher confidence rose higher than she had ever believed possible not one week before.

“Never mind all that,” she said. “Let’s sit by the river and talk as though we were inour...the garden.”

Brodie picked up his kilt plaid from where he had cast it off before bathing, and spread itout on the ground for them to sit on. It was an idyllic setting. The river burbled in front ofthem, and the campfires behind them set their faces aglow. Margaret settled down on hisplaid and made herself comfortable. She stroked the finely spun soft wool underneath herand asked, “Tell me more about yer clan, Brodie? They must be excellent spinners anddyers of wool to make such good plaid.”

Brodie sighed as he sat down beside her, and watched her hand stroking the woolenfabric for a while before answering.

“Our ladies are skilled in such work, when they have the time and secure environment inwhich to do it! Me clan have ever been put upon by coastal raiders. The dastards plaguedthe life out of the McMillans for hundreds o’ years, lass, and it has embittered every lastone of us.”

Margaret was interested in this. “Me brither says there’s nay more raids and pillaging,Brodie. How is it that yer clan is put upon?”

Reluctant as he was to complain, Brodie needed Margaret to understand the fierceresolution his clan displayed over the years in order for them not to give up and move on,like so many of the other small Highland settlements.

“‘Tis a matter of pride, obviously,” he told Margaret. “Me clan simply refuse to cock up ourtoes and scuttle away, and”—he took a deep breath before continuing—“when we askedLaird Gilchrist MacGill, yer faither, to help us by ceding the McMillan clan some land to thesouth and east, so we could move further from the coast and protect our flocks, hedenied us.”

Margaret said nothing. What could she say? The workings of lairds’ minds and theaggressive defense of their lands had always baffled her.

“So,” Brodie said, after deciding he must tell her the truth before someone else did, “wetook the land without invitation…”

Margaret inhaled sharply. Invading another laird’s land was a huge breach of Highlandlaw, punishable by blood feuds and murder.

“And,” Brodie continued, “yer faither’s troops killed some of our men, harmless shepherdsand young boys we would send out to gather up the flocks. Things looked bad for a fewweeks, and might have escalated into a full-on war. But me grandfaither traveled to Macan Goill in secret one night, and met with Gilchrist. Yer faither was a young laird then, fullo’ plans to protect his land at all costs. But it seemed that me grandfaither was able totalk some sense into him, because they reached a truce of some kind.”

Margaret was intrigued. When Brodie told the story, it made her feel as though she wasright there in the room with those bickering lairds and chieftains, trying to find a way tostop further bloodshed.

“Me clan was allowed to keep the land if they paid a hefty weregild for it. And we had toswallow the murder of our five young lads with as good a grace as we could muster.Needless to say, things have been bitter between the McMillans and the MacGills sincethen.”

Margaret hung her head after Brodie finished telling his story. She was blessed with theability to see the point of view of both combatants, and her heart went out to the twomen who had sought to bring about peace while still trying to maintain their pride. Thesituation must have been intolerable then, but she failed to see why her brother wascontent to inherit the aggressions their father had passed down to them! She thoughtGilbert wanted to make peace, not foster resentments.

She could not help herself from patting his hand to comfort him, and it seemed naturalwhen he took her hand in his own and held it gently.

“Is that why ye left?” Margaret wanted to know. “The raiding and stuff?”

Brodie laughed. “Nay, sweet lass, all those raids served to do was create the fierce fire inwhich our warriors were forged. If there’s one thing guaranteed to make a Highlanderbattle-hardened and strong, it’s a blood feud and incessant coastal raiding! I was able towield a sword an’ ax before I could walk.”

When Brodie spoke about his skills as a warrior, he could not have sounded moredifferent to Ivor’s boasting if he had tried, because he said it in such a joking fashion. Butshe was left in no doubt that Brodie was a ferocious soldier, even though he did not keepreminding everyone about it. After a day of listening to Ivor talking about himself on theride here, Margaret found Brodie’s humbleness refreshing.

A clamor was heard in the camp behind them. Voices were raised.

“Margaret! Miss Margaret! Where are ye?!”

Maggie jumped up, brushing the hem of her skirts and raising her hand to her hair.

“I told them I came here for ablutions. I must go!” she told Brodie, before running to theriverbank and cupping her hands in the water. After splashing it on her face and wipingthe water droplets off her eyelashes, she gave Brodie one long look before bolting towhere Mildred and Gilbert were looking for her.

That look had said more than a thousand words. Her jumbled thoughts could onlyconcentrate on one thing, and this she knew for sure. Gilbert would never countenanceher friendship with Brodie, never mind anything else.

12

“W

BETROTHAL BALLS ARE BEAUTIFUL

elcome! Ye all are most welcome!” Laird Buccleuch bellowed the words when thecavalcade of horse and men rode into the lodge courtyard. “The men training as footsoldiers, ye are to follow Deacon here and set up in the barracks. For all ye riders andgentlemen, please to enter the lodge and find yer accommodation within.”

This was a common practice when housing soldiers. It was assumed by every host that ifa man could afford to keep a horse, and pay for stabling and grooming, then he couldafford to call himself a gentleman. Even so, some of the soldiers mounted on horseschose to stay behind with the foot soldiers. These were captains and men delegated tomaintaining order amongst the troops. Gearr Drever was one such man. He was gratefulto leave the fancy manners Lady Buccleuch demanded of her visitors to the more lairdlygentlemen.

Being mounted on his own horse immediately gave Brodie access to the lodge, which inturn would give him permission to attend the ball held in honor of the Buccleuchbetrothal. If or when Laird MacGill noticed Brodie’s presence, he would have to swallow itwith as good a grace as he could muster, or else risk embarrassing his host. Margarettried to hide the smile of triumph that crossed her face when she heard this. It meantthat not only would Brodie be able to dance with her at the ball, but he would be housedunder the same roof as she was.

Lady Buccleuch came out to greet Margaret and show Mildred where to set up hermistress’s bedchamber.

“Even though it was sprung upon me with nay warning,” Lady Buccleuch said, afterenquiring politely about Christine’s health, “I fancy this ball will be worth the planning. Ihave had dozens of merchants’ daughters say they are eager to attend—full enough ofthem to keep the men amused.”

Being more inland than Mac an Goill, Laird Buccleuch’s lodge was close to the town ofAchfary, and the townsfolk were always happy to attend one of her ladyship’s excellentreels. She had hired a group of pipers and fiddlers to provide the guests with music, andthe great hall was to have the tables cleared from it after supper so couples could form adance. At the back of the hall, a dais had been set up on which the betrothed couple andtheir families were to sit. Laird MacGill was to preside over his own board, with all hismost important warriors. The setup might not have been as elegant as one given by LadyMacGill, as it was definitely more to the taste for a troupe of rough soldiers and battle-hardened warriors.

Mildred lost no time in ushering Margaret into her bedchamber and commanding themaids to bring up hot water for a bath. Preparations for the ball were to take up the nexttwo days, and Mildred was going to use every moment she had spare to make sure hermistress was looking her most ravishing.

“There’ll be nay going outside or frivolities for ye, Miss Margaret,” Mildred ordered. “Yeare to say within doors, have yer meals ordered up, and nay one is to lay an eye on yeuntil ye enter the great hall.”

“Why all the secrecy, Milly?” Margaret wanted to know, but resigned to carrying out hermaid’s plan. She had no desire to mingle with the guests and her hosts until the formalannouncement of the betrothal and ball. It would give Gilbert less of a chance to pesterher about making her choice of who to marry.

“Lady Christine managed to get a note to me afore we left. The poor dear has yer bestinterests at heart, as sick as she is. She had provided me with a list of how to dress yeand strict orders nae to let a hair of yer head be seen ‘til ye make yer way down to thebetrothal feast. So, that’s what we’re going to do!”

And so it was when Laird MacGill knocked on his sister’s bedchamber door to escort herdown to supper that evening, Mildred was able to hand him a handwritten note from hiswife, telling him to leave Margaret well alone until the night of the ball. All he could dowas swallow the words of frustration that rose to his lips and go down to the great hall togive his sister’s apologies to his hosts. One of the grooms had slipped a message fromChristine to Lady Buccleuch when the company arrived that afternoon, and so the ladywas able to quiet down all questions by saying Miss Margaret was greatly fatigued by thejourney and needed the next few days in order to recoup her strength in time for the ball.

For the next two days, Margaret had nothing to do except enhance her natural prettinessin the privacy and comfort of her own bedchamber.

After bathing in a warm bath sprinkled with rose water, lemon slices, and fresh herbs,Margaret was dried off with a soft woolen towel and made to sit quietly while Mildred tiedher damp hair into curls. It seemed to take forever! Mildred would lift up one thin, silveryflaxen strand, wrap a narrow band of muslin around the end, and slowly and carefullytwist it up to the roots of her head. After tying the muslin into a tight knot, Mildred wouldstart the process all over again, this time with a strand of hair just below the last one.

“I declare I never realized how thick me hair was, Milly,” Margaret said, shifting in herchair uncomfortably. “I swear ye’ve tied over a hundred of these dratted rag ringlets ontop o’ me head!”

“Wheesht!” Mildred chided. “When I remove these so-called ‘dratted’ ringlets out o’ yerhair in two days’ time, Miss Maggie, ye will look so much like an angel the men will thinkye’ve dropped out o’ heaven to enchant them.”

Margaret only wanted one man at the ball to think her that, but trying to remain practicaland very aware that time and her brother’s patience was running out, she was ready toaccept any man’s admiration if it was done in the appropriate manner.

When Mildred finally finished, Margaret was so bored and tired, all she could do was crawlunder the covers and fall into sleep. She did not even hear it when Mildred dragged thetruckle bed from underneath her own and fell to snoring on the floor beside her.

Both women slept late and spent the next day resting and doing such chores as befittingthe sister of a laird. While Mildred was sewing the last few stitches on Margaret’sballgown, Margaret was yawning over the pages of the latest novel to reach theHighlands from France. Margaret skimmed the pages, her mind thinking more about herriverside encounter with Brodie than on the words in front of her.

Doing nothing but pleasurable things, and not being forced to socialize with the otherguests, suited Margaret perfectly. She gave up a silent prayer of thanks to Christine thatnight, before blowing out her candle and spending another peaceful night within theconfines of her own bedchamber.

The next morning dawned bright and fair, and Margaret sat up in bed with a jolt.

Today is the day of the ball! I’ve had these blasted curl rags in me hair for two days, andnow we shall see if the pain of having the muslin tightened so close to me head has beenworth it!

After a leisurely breakfast and indolent morning, Mildred deemed the time ripe to beginreadying Margaret for the ball.

She sat her mistress down in front of the looking glass and began to unwrap the rags.Spiral after spiral of beautiful white gold ringlets fell down Margaret’s back and onto hershoulders. Margaret could not help herself from giving a sigh of happiness. All the painand discomfort had been worth it. In truth, she did look like an angel from one of the oldpaintings back at Mac an Goill. It was marvelous.

Not yet satisfied, Mildred began to pile the ringlets around Margaret’s small, heart-shapedface. Two bunches of gold spirals sat on either side of her delicately flushed cheeks, oneor two of the longer ringlets being coaxed to fall down to her shoulders and over thesmooth arc of her collarbones. The effect was startling.

“Why, I look like a great lady in one of the grand houses to the south,” Margaret said.

“Ye look better!” Mildred said with a triumphant smile.

She began to lace Margaret into her ballgown. It had a long, tight, white satin bodice,fully paned sleeves lined in soft pink satin, and a matching petticoat. The neckline sweptlow over her bosom, and the bodice pushed her breasts up until they swelled over thelace neck lining. With her hair worn in such a mass of tight curls, and bedight with bigpearl eardrops and a pink pearl necklace, Margaret hardly recognized herself in the glass.

Before allowing her mistress to rise, Mildred dusted a layer of cork soot onto Margaret’seyelashes, and sealed it there with liquid beeswax darkened with charcoal. It was theperfect finishing touch, turning Margaret’s eyes from an innocent blue to a smolderingsapphire.

Mildred stepped back, and all she said was, “Ye’re more ready than I’ve ever seen ye,Miss Margaret. Go forth and ken that ye are one of the prettiest young ladies in the wholeof the Highlands this night. Betrothal balls are beautiful occasions, and ye are beauty andperfection itself.”

Margaret blushed rosily, gave her maid a kiss on the cheek, and left the bedchamber. Shedid not realize it, but this was the first time in her life that she did not hold back at the

thought of entering a room—any room—without feeling awkward and unwanted.

Tonight was her night. The reflection in the mirror had told her so, and Margaret wasgoing to make full use of that.

The response when she entered the dining hall was everything Margaret hoped it wouldbe. Even Eileen, the Buccleuch’s youngest daughter, seated proudly beside her betrothed,raised her goblet toward Margaret and smiled at her. Margaret did not know she hadWillie Buccleuch’s sudden interest in her to thank for this, but was nevertheless happy toaccept the acknowledgment.

But it was the men’s reaction that made Margaret smile secretly to herself. Jaws droppedand eyes goggled in equal measure. As for Willie Buccleuch, he rushed so fast to pull herchair out for her, he tripped over one of the pages kneeling to refresh someone’s drink.Margaret and Gilbert patiently waited for the blushing youth to recover his balance,before allowing him to sit next to her.

The dining hall was full of merry chatter, and Margaret had no doubt a good portion of itwas directed at her. Many heads turned and necks craned to look at her, and as for Willie,he shifted his chair so close to her own, he would have been able to eat off her plate withno stretching. All the attention did not amount to a hill of barley in Margaret’s opinion.Where were all these fine gentlemen when she had been wearing her oldest clothes andworking in the kitchens? Would they have found her so enchanting then?

The moment the feast was finished, there was a rush to push the benches to the side ofthe room and hasten the pages to remove the trestles and board. After a few squeakytesting of their strings, the fiddlers set up playing a jolly tune.

Men ran to bow before the ladies, and a mass stampede made their way to whereMargaret was standing next to Lady Buccleuch.

“How now, gentlemen.” Lady Buccleuch raised her hand to shoo them away. “I would bethe most unnatural mither if I was nae to present me own son as the ideal partner forMiss Margaret’s first reel.”

And with these words, she pushed Willie in front of Margaret and bade them go onto thedance floor together. Margaret was amazed; now it was Willie Buccleuch’s turn to blushand stammer, and he made a dreadful mull of the reel, his hands being too slippery withsweat to hold her hand correctly, and his mouth too dry from nerves to make politeconversation.

They were both relieved when the reel ended, but before Margaret could make her wayback to the benches, Gilbert tapped her on the shoulder.

“Margaret,” was all he said, and left her standing on the dance floor, looking up at IvorMcOrkil’s ruggedly handsome face. He did not bother to bow, simply taking heracquiescence that she would dance with him for granted.

“I’m the most accomplished dancer,” he informed Margaret. “Have no fear that I will stepon yer pretty feet like that idiot who partnered ye afore me.”

“Willie Buccleuch is as light on his feet as any man,” Margaret said to Ivor, when thedance brought them back together again. “He is simply suffering from the effect of toomuch food and ale, like most of the men here this evening.”

As they went down the dance hand in hand, Ivor replied, “I can handle me food an’ drinkbetter than any man, as ye will soon understand when ye get to ken me a bit better.”

Margaret bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. She wanted to tell Ivor she had noambition to get to know him better at all.

The evening passed in a blur of earnest compliments and admiring glances, but they allmeant nothing to Margaret. She found the praise heaped on her unwelcome, and the menshallow. In her mind, it was too late for them to make up for all the hurtful commentsmade by people before.

She stopped to fan herself and looked around for a page to bring her a cup of cordial. Herdance partner went to search for one, leaving Margaret alone. She did not have to scanthe room for Brodie; he had been waiting for such an opportunity to present itself. Hematerialized in front of her, a small tass of whisky in his hand.

“Knock this back like a good lass,” he said with a broad grin. “It’ll put the kick back intoyer step, and then the next dance is mine.”

She did what he said, and placed her hand in his. The sets formed and the fiddlesscreeched. It was one of Margaret’s favorite reels, and she clapped her hands withexcitement.

“Och, Brodie! This was one of the first reels our dance teacher showed us. Let me showye the steps if ye ken it nae.”

“I would be grateful for a wee bit o’ help. I thank ye, lass,” Brodie said.

Margaret did not have to be asked twice. She grabbed his hand and twirled herself

around under his arm, and they laughed and joked for the next two dances, Margaretalternately praising and criticizing Brodie’s dance skills and them both falling around withlaughter at the faces Brodie pulled when he got the movements incorrect. It was themost entertaining time of her life.

Margaret was devastated when etiquette demanded she find another dance partner. Shewould have happily danced with Brodie all night.

He was most understanding when she told him this, simply saying, “I bid thee a verygood night, Maggie of the delicious tarts.”

And on those words, Brodie left the hall.

13

M

THE CONSEQUENCES OF CHOOSING HIM

argaret had to force herself not to follow Brodie when he left the ball. She hadto remember every polite rule Miss MacCorkindale had ever taught her before

she was able to quell the impulse. Her blood felt as if it were on fire from the whisky,making her more inclined to throw caution to the wind and run after him. As Margaretwatched him leave, her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed most becomingly.Observers told themselves it must be from all the dancing. It could not possibly be causedby the young, well made, red-haired man with whom she had been dancing. He was sounassuming, albeit modest and charming.

One person who was watching Margaret’s demeanor with an eagle eye was her brother,Laird Gilbert MacGill. As pleased as he was to see his eldest sister blossoming into ahappy and confident woman right in front of him, he would be damned before he had hernewly found prettiness go toward a flirtation with someone from the McMillan clan! Hewas not deceived by his sister’s careless air and the way she casually cooled her face withher elegant rose pink satin fan; he recognized the look of longing she gave that red-haired admirer when he had finally left.

His father, Laird Gilchrist MacGill, had warned him against those deceptive McMillanscoundrels, and here was the son of one of their chieftains, no more than a wanderingsoldier for hire when all was said and done—no matter how many horses he owned—making his sister light up like a bonfire at Hogmanay. Laird Gilbert’s face darkened with ascowl. He did not know how that man was turning Margaret’s affections towards him, butit was not to be born.

Gilbert was shrewd enough not to corner his sister while she had admirers clusteredthickly around her at the ball. He still had hope that some eligible suitor might presenthimself to her tonight, tall and handsome enough to clear her mind of all memory of theMcMillan. Being a warrior and highly competitive man himself, Gilbert could not

understand why Margaret was holding back from encouraging Ivor McOrkil’s suit. He wasmore than eligible in every way, and likely to make any maiden a fine husband. It wasmost perplexing.

Laird MacGill decided to ask his sister in the morning about which way her heart wasinclining her. For all he knew, one of her companions or family members might have putthe notion into her head to play fast and loose with Ivor’s interest. And if that was thecase, it was his duty as Margaret’s guardian to disabuse his sister of such a silly idea. Theman was a force of nature, when all was said and done, and set to become one of themost important men in the area if he chose to settle down on MacGill land and set up hisown household.

It was with these thoughts in his mind that Gilbert knocked on Margaret’s bedchamberdoor the next morning.

Mildred opened the door, and after a kindly nod of dismissal from Gilbert, left Margaretalone with her brother.

She looked up from buttering her slice of bread. “A good morning to ye, Brither,” she saidgaily. “I see from yer early rising that ye were nae one of those who spent the wee hourso’ last night with the whisky bottle.”

As loathe as he was to intrude on his sister’s love life and very aware that it should beChristine doing this and not himself, Gilbert had to push Margaret toward making adecision. It was paramount she marry and settle as soon as possible. Not only would shethen be able to help Christine launch the remaining two girls into marriages of their own,but also lift some of the burden of looking after them from his own shoulders. This balland the games were the perfect opportunity for her to do this. She would not see anotherchance to make her selection from so many eligible men again.

Add to that the chance her husband could be a valuable ally, and it made Gilbert’s bloodboil to think Margaret might believe she had the leisure to pick and choose her beaux atwill!

Gilbert sat down with his sister at the little table set up for her in the bedchamber. Shewas still making use of the things that enabled her to stay isolated from having tointeract with the other guests, even after the ball. Gilbert knew his sister was naturallyretiring and reluctant to put herself forward. She might have blossomed into a pretty,

confident maiden, but she would always be shy at heart.

In an effort to be diplomatic, Gilbert broached the subject of the youngest Buccleuch girl’sbetrothal.

“The betrothed couple looked happy last night, did they nae?” Laird MacGill said.

Margaret put down her slice of bread so she could give the question her full attention.She seemed to muse for a while, tilting her head and looking at the opposite wall as shethought about it. Then she said, “Aye., I suppose they did...except for the fact that helooked as though he was out of his depth and she looked guilty about something.”

Gilbert was shocked. He believed himself to be a good judge of character, but his sister’sshrewd assessment of the betrothal was more insightful than he believed possible.

“What d’ye mean by that?” Gilbert wanted to know.

Margaret took a nibble of bread before replying, “He’s a farmer, and prosperous, but atthe end of the day, he’s just another tenant on her faither’s land, nae so?”

“Aye,” Gilbert said cautiously, “and I have it on good authority that Laird Buccleuch planson ceding that land to him as part of her dowry. So what has he to look so uncomfortableabout? He’s now a landowner like the best men amongst us.”

“I have the feeling Eileen will be the sort of wife that will never let her husband forgetthat he married into his land, and did nae own it outright afore the marriage, that’s all,”Margaret said.

Gilbert bowed to Margaret’s better knowledge of Eileen’s nature. He tried to recover bymentioning his sister’s other comment.

“So, what has Eileen got to feel guilty about then, hmm? The fact that she plans onbeating her husband around the brow because he got his land from her?”

“Naaaay,” Margaret said, taking a sip of milk. “I think it’s one of two things, Brither. She’sgot herself with a bairn, and is hoping it does nae show afore the wedding, or ‘tis nae thefarmer’s bairn.”

Gilbert opened his mouth to refute his sister’s observation and then shut it again. Thebetrothal had been hastily announced; it was unusual for guests to be summoned for aball with only a few days’ notice. Silently, he had to give Lady Buccleuch considerablecredit for carrying the event off with such aplomb, if what Margaret was saying was true.

Deciding to brush off Margaret’s opinion on the betrothal, Gilbert said, “What are we eventalking about such scandalous notions for, Maggie? Ye should be ashamed o’ yerself, yewee minx.”

Margaret replied calmly, “Very well, but if Eileen is nae delivered of a bairn seven monthsafter the wedding, I’ll give me best hat to the horse!”

Brother and sister laughed together, and then Gilbert was reminded of why he had comehere in the first place.

“Maggie, now that ye seem to be in better spirits, I cannae forebear reminding ye thatEileen is over one year younger than ye. And yet she is getting married and is obviouslyready to set up her nursery. Does that nae ring yer conscience?’

At these words, Margaret sat up straight, the bread and butter on her plate forgotten.

“Our faither would turn in his grave to hear ye say that, Gil,” she said quietly. “Ye aretreating Mac an Goill as though ye cannae wait for me to leave it. And may I remind yethat Mac an Goill is yet me home!”

Her brother shifted in his chair uncomfortably, but was unrepentant.

“Ye can play that tune until ye are blue, Maggie,” he said, “but it will nae detract me frominsisting on yer own betrothal being announced.”

Margaret went very pale. “So, I gather the day is still looming when I have to make achoice?”

Laird MacGill nodded, but could not meet her eyes. He loved his sister, but felt that if shedid not take advantage of this beneficial situation, she would be left on the shelf. Gilbertdid not want Margaret ending up on the shelf as an old maid, too shy to contemplate menand marriage, left to be relegated to the task of looking after her nieces and nephewswhile she watched her sisters as happy wives.

“Is there nay man who takes ye fancy, Maggie?” Gilbert pleaded, but the moment thewords left his mouth, he knew he had said the wrong thing. Margaret’s face brightenedimmediately and a soft smile came to her lips.

“Oh, Gil, I thought ye’d never ask! There is one man who makes me feel as though theauld Maggie, the awkward, ill at ease Maggie, does nae exist anymore. Since the firsttime I met him, he has made me feel...I don’ ken how to say this, but he made me feellike a regular girl: nay doubts, nay worries, nothing but happiness and excitement inside

me. I dinnae ken why it is so, but there ye have it.”

Gilbert said glumly, “Mister McMillan. I take it he is the man of whom ye speak?”

Maggie nodded happily and took a munch of bread. “Aye, I’m nae sure what ‘fancy’means, Gil, but if it means I love to be in his company and feel warm when he looks atme or I look at him, then I have to admit he has taken me fancy.”

Gilbert did not recognize the beaming, sparkling girl in front of him. Silently, Laird MacGillcursed whatever spell that McMillan scoundrel had cast over his sister, and decided totake refuge in anger.

“And where and when would these ‘warm’ meetings have taken place, Maggie?! That’swhat I wish to ken! If I so much as suspect ye’ve been seeing one another behind meback, I’ll have yer swain whipped at the cart’s tail!”

Margaret’s face blanched, and her emotions rose up to match her brother’s.

“How dare ye threaten a man who has nothing when ye have everything! And he has naeeven done anything wrong! If I have sought out his company, why should he be blamedfor being polite to me!”

Gilbert was angry too now, and slammed the flat of his hand down on the table, makingthe saucers rattle and jump.

“Because I saw him come to dance with ye last night with me own eyes, so don’ tell me‘twas always ye seeking him out. And I have every right to be angry for the reason yeyerself mention – he has nothing to offer ye! Nor has a liaison with his family haveanything to offer me!”

Tears welled up in Margaret’s eyes. “He had signed up to be one o’ yer soldiers, Gil. Don’tell me ye deem him worthy to guard yer castle, but nae good enough to dance with yersister. For that, I refuse to believe.”

In truth, Laird MacGill had felt a certain amount of frustration when he had to includeBrodie McMillan in his offer for soldiers, and was chagrined when he saw the man hadbeen invited to the ball, but he felt it was better to keep an eye on the man until heunderstood how things stood.

“Have ye never heard of the expression, ‘keep yer friends close, an’ yer enemies closer,’Maggie?” was all Gilbert said.

Margaret inhaled sharply before shouting, “Brodie’s nae yer enemy, ye pompous buffoon!

And ye will be made to look no end the fool if ye tell him to leave, because it will makeeveryone see how contrary yer mind blows, and they will despise ye for it!”

This thought had crossed Gilbert’s mind. He could not run the risk of his new soldiersthinking he might dismiss them at any time on a whim. The realization of this did notreconcile Gilbert to his sister’s plight. In fact, it only served to infuriate him.

“I forbid ye to be with him, Maggie! I should have told ye this before. But how could I kenye would warm to a man who is nae just a common man at arms, but a family enemytoo?”

“How dare ye!” Margaret was now as angry as her brother. They had not beenloggerheads since she wanted a sweet little dog of her own and Gilbert had denied herkeeping it because he only liked big hunting dogs. This situation reminded Margaret ofthat time. She had cried and cried for the small, white dog, and screamed with sadnesswhen her brother had torn the wee animal from her arms and given it to his steward toreturn to its breeder.

“I’ll only have helpful, well-trained hunting dogs in me castle, Maggie,” Gilbert had stated,ignoring her tears. “Those small dogs are nae good for anything—nae even catchingrabbits.”

“If I cannae see Brodie, I’ll nae see anyone at all,” was all Margaret said, a scornful lookaccompanying this statement.

“Don’t react like that,” Gilbert scoffed. “This is yer life we’re talking about here, Maggie,nae some traveling theater show. Ye have a lodge full o’ chieftains, landed gentlemen,and warriors to choose from while we’re here—a wide selection of outstanding men. Andthen there’s Ivor McOrkil...”

Margaret laughed wildly. “From the best to the worst! Whatever it is Brodie makes mefeel, please be assured that yer Ivor makes me feel the complete opposite.”

“There ye go again with the dramatics,” Gilbert sighed, getting up from the table. “Thinkabout what ye’re saying, Maggie, because it’s either that most noble gentleman, or nayone at all.”

As he left the room, Gilbert heard Margaret give a scream of frustration and anguish. Hedid nothing, and closed the door behind him.

14

“A

A KISS AND TELL

fox got into the hen house last night,” Lady Buccleuch said prosaically, “and yegentlemen need to get up a hunt for the nasty beastie.”

Laird Buccleuch sighed, and turned his attention away from Ivor, who had been tellingthe most interesting story about the blood ties Viking descendants had to the land oftheir forefathers.

“How many this time?” was all he asked his wife.

After a whispered conversation with the cook who was standing behind her, LadyBuccleuch replied, “All the hens are dead, so we need to bring up more from the breeder.The ones that were nae eaten were most dreadfully ravaged, past the point of the meatbeing of any use.”

“Throw the lot to the pigs. I’ll tell the steward to pay the breeder a visit,” Laird Buccleuchsighed. “And I’ll also get up a hunt. ‘Twill be just the thing to entertain the moremasculine of our guests.”

Lady Buccleuch rolled her eyes at the thought of fifty-odd men rampaging through theforest all morning, but was content for them to expend their energy with such a relativelyharmless pursuit. She was already tired of patrolling the passages and corners looking forsecret trysts and overly amorous couples. If there was one thing assured to get maidsand soldiers feeling warm for each other, it had to be a betrothal or a ball.

“I will tell the grooms to begin saddling the horses,” was all she said, leaving the men totalk excitedly about the hunt behind her.

“Put yer gold on me to find that fox,” Ivor said. “I’ve never met an animal that couldoutrun me, or me horse.”

“Let’s just get the job done, shall we?” Aulay McOrkil said. “Surely it’s more important to

bring down the beast before it can do more harm, and nae make a May game of thesport?”

Ivor guffawed. “Ha! Ye only say that because ye’ve never been able to best me when itcomes to hunting.”

Aulay could remember plenty of occasions when he had caught a quarry before Ivor, buthe kept this to himself, being too reluctant to enter into an argument with his incorrigiblecousin. He was counting the days until he could go back to the peace and quiet of hisown lands, and leave Ivor for Laird MacGill to deal with. If there was one man who couldbring Ivor to heel, it was Gilbert MacGill, and if there was any other man to best Ivor,Aulay had never heard of him.

Not all the men went out to the stables, and Gilbert looked around him to see if Brodiewas amongst them. He was not. Laird MacGill had to make sure Margaret and Brodie didnot use his absence from the lodge as a chance to spend time with one another. If shewas to talk or flirt with any man, it should be Ivor. He beckoned a groom toward him.

“Send for Miss Margaret to join us on the hunt. Tell her maid that I will brook noexcuses.”

The groom nodded and ran off to do Laird MacGill’s bidding. Thus, Gilbert was gratifiednot long after by the sight of Margaret walking to the stall where her horse was alreadysaddled and waiting for her.

Margaret ignored her brother, but would have been made happy to know that not longafter issuing his command, Gilbert had seen Brodie mounting his horse for the hunt andcould do nothing to change how he had planned things. Laird MacGill had no other choicebut to swallow this inconvenience with as much grace as he could muster.

The entourage set off as the keepers loosed the hounds. There was so much noise fromthe baying of the dogs, clattering of the hooves, and cheery remarks about an expectedgood day’s hunting from the men, that Gilbert lost sight of his sister. He craned his headleft and right to see that she was following him and to ensure she was not riding withBrodie. When he saw Margaret was lagging at the back of the troupe and Brodie was upat the front, he was satisfied, and settled into the saddle to enjoy the hunt.

Ivor came to ride beside Laird MacGill. “Let’s find that rascally fox, the two of us. Whatsay ye?”

Gilbert said he was happy for Ivor to ride with him, and hoped they could find where the

animal’s burrow was before the end of the day.

Ivor McOrkil was aware that he had not found favor in Margaret MacGill’s eyes, and itbaffled him. She seemed to be a different person when she had danced with other men atthe ball. If they were elderly, she was respectful and listened intently to what they had tosay. If they were her own age, she smiled and chatted merrily to them aboutinconsequential things.

And then there was how she had behaved when that caber-tossing cheat, BrodieMcMillan, was with her. Ivor’s cunning nature might not have made him the mostobservant of men when it came to women, but he knew enough about them to realizewhen he was a second runner in a lady’s affections. He had no problem with this when itcame to wenches; they would always favor a man who was the most generous with hisgold. But Margaret? Why would she smile on that wretched McMillan?

Ivor resolved to keep an eye on those two. Margaret was the best promise of wealth andinfluence to have come his way in a good while, and she had bloomed into quite a littlebeauty since he had seen her in the beginning. He would be hard-pressed to find anotherlucky opportunity like this. All the maidens around McOrkil Castle were comely and willingto spend time with him, even be open to the chance of a wooing, but none came withsuch a generous portion as Margaret MacGill.

The hounds began to howl and run toward the woods.

“Hah! Here we go,” all the men around Lairds MacGill and Buccleuch shouted withexcitement, and urged their horses after the pack.

Margaret had been at the back of the hunters, and gave a half-hearted kick to her horseto ride after them. But the animal was unused to such sport, and only trotted into theforest for a few yards before halting and bending its head to eat the grass. Margaretlaughed,

“Och, Miss Turnip! Are ye feeling too lazy today? Well, eat yer fill, and then we’ll join thegentlemen.”

Indeed, the forest was the most delightful place to be in this morning. The sun was highoverhead, and where it could pierce through the leafy canopy above her head, thesunbeams dappled the grass a bright green. Now that the noise of the riders had passedby, the birds felt it safe to break out and begin singing again. It was soothing anddelightful, but not enough to make Margaret forget her troubles.

Deep in her thoughts, she allowed the horse to drift and munch the grass to its heart’scontent, not realizing these were not the forests of her home. When Margaret stopped tolook around her, she was unsure in which direction to go.

“Is anyone there?” she said loudly, and then when there was no response, she raised hervoice and shouted, “Is anyone there? Can ye hear me?”

She heard a twig snap, and whipped her head around in all directions to see who wascoming, suddenly fearful to be alone in the woods. The trees were so close together, shewould have been hard-pressed to find an exit, even if she had known in which direction togo.

“’Tis only me, Maggie of the hot coal stove,” a recognizable voice said, and Margaretneeded no assistance to know who had spoken.

Brodie emerged from the trees, leading his horse behind him. He stayed where he wasand did not approach her. He wanted the sign to come from her before he came nearer.After all, they were alone in the woods together.

“Brodie!” Happiness and relief were obvious in her voice. “Thank goodness ‘tis ye. I amlost.”

He came and stood beside her horse, and raised her arms to help her dismount. She bentdown and fell into his arms, not bothering to use the stirrups. The touch of his handscatching her around the waist was so reassuring and comforting. She did not immediatelymove away from the circle of his arms, and stood there, looking up at him with gratitude.

“For whatever reason, ye gave up hunting,” Margaret whispered. “I’m glad ye did.”

Brodie smiled down at her, before dropping his hands from her waist. “I noticedimmediately when ye fell behind, lass, and have been following behind ye, making sureye didnae need help.”

“Why ever did ye nae let me ken ye were there? We could have made merry togetherwhile those fools were off chasing after that fox.”

He laughed at her description of the eager hunters. “Wheesht, lass, let the men havetheir fun. ‘Tis no harm in it.”

“Ye wouldnae say that if ye were the fox,” she said, and they laughed together.

Suddenly, Brodie grew serious. “I would have made to join ye, Maggie, only ye looked sosad and careworn, I thought it better to give ye privacy.”

Margaret grew solemn. “Brodie, I thank ye for yer kind consideration. And ye are right, Iam sad.”

He said nothing, and simply waited for her answer.

“Me brither wants me to marry away from me affections, Brodie, and I cannae bear thethought of spending the rest of me life with some unlovely, brutish dolt.”

Margaret burst into tears. The cork soot spread and darkened under her eyes, making herlook even more forlorn.

Brodie brought a handkerchief out of the small leather bag on his belt, and used it towipe her eyes. He tilted her face up, and blotted the tears firmly. Margaret could see hisface bore a tender look, as though he were trying to comfort a child. She smiledtremulously up at him.

“I would curl up and bawl like a bairn, Maggie dear, if ye described me in such loathingterms. But I think I ken of whom ye speak, and it seems like an accurate description ofMister McOrkil, when all is said and done!”

On those words, she burst into laughter, and looked so young and innocently pretty,Brodie could not help himself from bending his head to kiss her.

Margaret pulled back and gasped.

“Forgive me.” Brodie was embarrassed by her response. “I couldnae help it, Maggie. Yelook so lost and beautiful. I beg yer pardon.”

Margaret lifted up her hand and stroked his face. “Nay, Brodie, ‘twas nae that. It’s onlythat it’s my first proper kiss, and...and...it was everything I wanted it to be.”

That was all Brodie needed to hear. He swept Margaret into his arms and enveloped herin a strong embrace.

Breathless with excitement and eager to show him his kisses were welcome, Margaretwrapped her arms around his neck and returned Brodie’s kisses with a passion that tookher breath away.

When Ivor came upon the happy scene, he watched the couple locked in their embracewith a sardonic curl on his lips. When he realized he would not be the first man to catchthe fox, Ivor had decided to pretend his horse was lame and return to the castle. He hadsecretly stuck the tip of his dagger into his horse’s withers, and when the beast hadscreamed, took the opportunity to say loudly that he must forfeit the hunt to check what

was wrong with his horse. The men around him nodded understandingly, andcommiserated with him for his bad luck.

He had heard Margaret shouting she was lost, and had dismounted to go and look forher. It was the perfect chance to press his suit upon her.

But someone had beaten him to it! That caber-tossing cheat was holding her in his armsand kissing her! Did the rascal know no bounds? It never occurred to Ivor to stay longenough to see Margaret returning Brodie’s kiss with undeniable desire. He slunk awayinto the forest, and rode back to the hunt.

When he saw Gilbert, he put a sorrowful expression on his face, and beckoned the man tocome nearer.

“Prepare yerself for some sad news, Laird MacGill,” Ivor said.

15

L

WORTH FIGHTING FOR

aird Gilbert MacGill could barely contain his wrath when he heard what Ivor had tosay. Even after his ultimatum, Margaret still insisted on seeking out the McMillanman’s company! And not only that, they had been kissing one another!

He did not want Ivor to think his sister had loose morals, so he was relieved when Ivorhimself remarked that Margaret did not seem to reciprocate Brodie McMillan’s affection.

Gilbert said, “So, she did nae appear to be enjoying it? Curse the dog for pressing hisunwelcome suit on an unwilling maiden.”

Ivor, not in the habit of knowing the difference between a passionate embrace and amaiden held against her will, besides his refusal to think Margaret could be interested inanyone other than himself, nodded in agreement with Gilbert. “Aye, she pushed himaway, and he said something, and then it looked as though he pulled her back towardhim. Maybe she was too scared to repulse him with true finality. She was alone with theman in the middle of the woods, when all’s said an’ done.”

Gilbert ground his teeth.

“I will have words with Mister Brodie McMillan when I return to the lodge,” he muttered.No contract or promise of work would stop him from berating Brodie, but Gilbert knew hewould be walking a dangerous road if he wanted to teach the man a lesson. If the menhe hired believed he might sever their contracts for any small grievance, they would allleave and find work elsewhere. As it was, Mac an Goill was perilously undermannedwithout soldiers there at this juncture; he would have to tread lightly to handle Brodiewithout estranging the other men. They would just see it as a bit of a flirtation with a lasswho was quite happy to kiss any man who had won the games. Gilbert thought thingsthrough carefully, and knew he must return to the castle with a full contingent of soldiers.He owed it to his family to keep them safe.

But he grew so angry when he thought of Margaret disobeying his order, he could notwait to lay his hands on Brodie. It was as though the two of them were deliberatelytaunting him.

After Ivor had to hold his horse back to maintain the pretense of it being lame, Gilbertrode like the wind back to the lodge on his own, thinking about all the things he wouldlike to do to that McMillan upstart on the way. Gilbert was in a black humor when hefinally rode through the gates.

“Any luck catching the fox, me laird?” one of the men at arms asked Gilbert when hecalled him over to hold his horse while he dismounted.

The foot soldiers had been more than happy to watch the more lairdly gentlemen mounttheir horses and ride out for a hard day’s hunting. The men at arms without horses to ridegave a cheer once all the noblemen and fierce warriors disappeared into the forest. Itgave them the chance to flirt with the maids and drink all the ale they wanted. A few ofthe more adventurous soldiers bet on who would catch the fox, but there were not manywilling to make a wager, most of them already in debt after gambling on the outcome ofthe Highland games.

“I dinnae ken nor care,” Gilbert said, then bit back his words when he realized he mustnot appear to be a churlish master. “What I mean is, the outcome was yet uncertainwhen I left, but one man had brought the fox to its burrow. Where can I find the red-haired lad who won three of the events? By the name of Brodie McMillan, I believe?”

“Och, young Brodie rode out with all o’ yer lot,” the man replied.

“I-I ken,” Laird MacGill said, trying to be patient. “But has he nae come back?”

The soldier shook his head, and Gilbert gripped the handle of his rapier until his knucklesturned white. He slipped the man a shilling, and said, “Come and tell me the moment hereturns.” He gave the man a brief smile. “And if there’s money riding on who catches thefox, put that shilling on Willie Buccleuch. He took his chance and rode the fox to itsburrow. ‘Tis most likely he will bring the beast forth. Ivor McOrkil had to drop out of therunning after his horse went lame.”

The man gave a grin, tugged at his bonnet in a salute, and ran off to the barracks toplace his bet.

Muttering oaths under his breath, Gilbert mounted the steps up to the lodge two at atime, and went to sit in the great hall to await Brodie's return.

Meanwhile, Brodie and Margaret rode back to the lodge at their leisure. The hunting partyhad disbanded; the men rode to the lodge in groups of two and three, and a proud LairdBuccleuch proclaimed his son’s hunting abilities to all who would listen.

“Will ye ride back to the castle with me on the morrow, Brodie?” Margaret wanted toknow.

“Aye, that I will most assuredly do, lass,” Brodie said, and after looking around to see ifanyone was watching, gave her hand a quick squeeze. Margaret returned the pressure,then Brodie returned his hand to the reins. He tilted his head to look at Margaret’s profile.She still had a slight frown furrowing her brow, and her eyes were sad. It made Brodieswear to himself he would make her happy, no matter what it cost.

“Two heads are better than one, an’ maybe we can come up with a good argument foryer brither during the ride back. I have a well-to-do family, even though me clan is nae asinfluential as I would like. Me faither is a much-respected chieftain, and owns land. Surelythat should be enough for him to...”

His optimistic speech had the desired effect. Margaret’s look lightened, and she turned tosmile at Brodie.

“Dinnae do that, Maggie of the beautiful smile,” Brodie teased, “because I will nae beable to hold back from kissing ye again.”

It did the trick, and the rest of the ride was spent making plans about how to changeGilbert’s mind and gain his consent to Brodie’s presence at the castle being more thanjust a simple soldier.

As they rode through the gates, Margaret said, “Brodie, I’m nae willing to part ways withye yet. Let us ride around to the kitchen and tether our horses there. I promised LadyBuccleuch I would oversee the making of certain broths, and if the work is nae toowomanly for ye, we can eat our supper there while I copy out the receipt in Cook’sparlor.”

This suited Brodie very well. He was close with his mother, and had four sisters whowould drag him into the kitchens at every opportunity. And so he told Margaret.

“I ken ye had sisters,” she replied. “Ye have a way of making a woman feel comfortable,suggesting to me that ye have much practice at it!”

Brodie rolled his eyes, and said with feeling, “Aye, Miss Maggie, that I most certainlyhave.”

And so while Margaret and Brodie had a warm and pleasant evening in the Buccleuchkitchens, Gilbert champed and stormed up in the great hall, waiting for Brodie. When thenight watch called the time for ten hours past noon, the soldier came back to Gilbert.

“There’s no sign o’ him, me laird,” the man said. “And I’d be much obliged if I could turnin for the night. I asked one o’ the maids where was yer sister, and they said she wassupping with Cook in the kitchens and swapping receipts.”

Laird MacGill wearily gave the man another shilling, and made his way back to hisbedchamber. He hoped Brodie McMillan had thought better of things and not returned tothe lodge, but had thought better of working at Mac an Goill, and gone straight back fromwhence he came.

Early the next morning, Brodie woke up on the pallet provided for him by the Buccleuchquartermaster. He bolted upright, instinctively reaching for his dagger when he saw aman seated on a stool opposite his berth, watching him with silent disapproval.

“Ye won’ be needing that,” Laird MacGill said.

“A man cannae change his impulses,” Brodie replied, rising to stand.

Like most soldiers on the move and forced to sleep at any accommodation provided forthem, Brodie had slept only in his trews, removing his leather jerkin, boots, belt, cambricshirt, and plaid coat the previous night, before laying down on the bolster. He had spenta delightful evening with Margaret in the kitchens, and was once again amazed how sheappeared to her best advantage when she was surrounded by amiable staff and oldfriends.

He looked up to see the barrack room was empty. Laird MacGill must have told hiscaptain to wake every man quietly and send them off to train or break their fast. Everyman except Brodie, that was.

He shrugged his shoulders and began to dress. Laird MacGill never took his eyes offBrodie while he layered his clothes back on. It was an old trick, a way to check where asoldier hid his secret weapons. Brodie knew this and made sure Laird MacGill saw himplace his dagger inside his right boot. He also allowed Margaret’s brother to see him tucka short sword at the back of his belt, inside his coat. When he had finished, Brodie raisedhis hands up in a gesture to indicate that he had no more secret hiding places to put his

weapons.

Satisfied, Gilbert stood up from the stool.

“Let’s take a walk around the lodge walls, shall we? On the outside.”

Brodie could do nothing except follow Laird MacGill out the lodge gates and begin walkingbeside him as they circled the high stone walls surrounding the lodge. If they raised theirvoices, no one inside the lodge would be able to hear them—or anything else, for thatmatter.

“Ye have become wondrous great in me sister’s estimation, Mister McMillan.” LairdMacGill did not bother mincing his words.

“Och, aye, I thank ye for telling me, me laird,” Brodie replied. “Yer sister appearswondrous great in me own estimation too.”

“Let’s nae play games!” Gilbert snarled. “Ye have turned her affections toward ye, bywhat trick I don’ ken. An’ I would be the most unnatural brither if I didnae seek a way tostop it.”

Brodie had nothing to lose by remarking, “Why?”

This startled Gilbert. He had not prepared for Brodie to question his decision, but now theman had asked him, he struggled to find a good reason without appearing to be mean-spirited.

Gilbert decided to rely on clan tradition. Every Highlander understood the importance ofthat.

“Me faither swore me to uphold certain reservations he had about yer clan, and I amhonor bound to maintain them.”

Brodie felt his heart sink at these words. True or not, if Gilbert had promised his father,Laird Gilchrist MacGill, that he would foster animosity toward the McMillan clan, there wasnothing Brodie could do to change that. A promise made to a father was more importantthan any peace agreement. That’s how clan blood feuds were passed down fromgeneration to generation.

There was nothing else he could do or say.

“I respect yer oath to uphold the feud with me family, me laird,” Brodie said calmly, “but Iwill nae keep this pledge a secret. If Miss Margaret asks it of me, I will tell her yer

reasons.”

Gilbert was foiled. If Brodie said anything to Margaret, she would be able to verify that itwas only Gilbert himself who wanted him gone.

“I order ye to stay away from me sister, ye knave!” Gilbert roared. “If I catch ye comin’near her again, I’ll rain misery down on ye, so help me!”

It took every piece of self-control Brodie had to not rise to this challenge. He knew Gilbertwas doing it to provoke him, giving Laird MacGill good reason to get rid of him. He grittedhis teeth, and bowed.

“As ye wish, me laird,” he said. “But I cannae be held responsible if Miss Margaret comesnear me. What will ye have me do? Run away from her?”

He did not wait for a reply. Brodie spun around on his heel and walked back to the lodgegates in the opposite direction.

Brodie was fortunate enough to have the rest of his day occupied with preparations todepart the lodge. The men had horses to feed and water, weapons to clean and sharpen,and kisses to give any maiden who had shown herself receptive to wooing. Brodie wentto the kitchens to stock up with food, but his hope of finding Margaret there was doomedto disappointment. He thought about giving the cook a message for her, but decidedagainst doing anything further that was contrary to Laird MacGill’s command.

The afternoon was fair and clear, perfect weather for returning to the castle. Laird andLady Buccleuch bid their final guests farewell, and the cavalcade pointed their horsestoward the coast and home. They were to be back at Mac an Goill by tomorrow evening.

Margaret was riding her horse close to the cart, but craned her head around to check forBrodie. When she saw him riding at the back of the troop, she left Mildred on the cart androde over to him.

“Have ye forgotten yer promise already?” she said with a smile. “We were to keep eachother company on the way back.”

With any other man, Margaret would have been cast into a storm of misery if a man hadfailed to do what he promised. But she knew Brodie, and believed there must be a validreason for him to be trailing behind the head of the troop, keeping his horse in line with

the foot soldiers.

Brodie looked ahead to see where Laird MacGill was. He saw him riding ahead with LairdAulay and Ivor, chatting and laughing with them, and risked telling Margaret the truth.

“Yer brither came to see me this morn, and warned me off ye on nay uncertain terms.”

Margaret opened her mouth to scold her brother’s actions, but Brodie laid one finger uponher mouth to silence the angry words.

“I must tell ye this, Maggie the kitchen maid, and I have to say it now in case I never getanother chance. I love ye. I think I have loved ye ever since ye tripped over me legs inthe garden. Or maybe I fell in love with yer baking...it’s all the same to me, lass.” He sawMargaret smile underneath his finger, and knew her anger was forgotten. He dropped hishand and reached for hers. She placed her small hand in his, and they rode on like thatwhile Brodie finished what he had to say. It was not easy for him; he had never been inlove before, and struggled to find the right words to describe his feelings.

“Since that moment, I have sought to be close to ye. There’s something about ye,Maggie, that makes me heart fill with the desire to protect ye for the rest of me life. If itcannae be as yer husband, at least it can be as yer soldier.”

Margaret felt a lump swell in her throat. What Brodie was saying sounded far nobler thanany words she heard the lairds say. They rode together in silence, and Margaret knew herbrother would come looking for her once they made camp. She had to act now.

Margaret slowed her horse down, saying, “Me horse has an odd step in its paces. Will yehelp me look for the reason?”

Brodie gave a nod to the foot soldiers to walk on without them, and Margaret and Brodiewere left alone, standing together amidst the heather.

“I love ye too, Brodie,” Margaret said, “and we must talk to Gil and convince him our lovecannae be denied.”

It was everything Brodie wanted and needed her to say. As the sun settled behind themountains, turning the sky a soft mauve hue, Brodie and Margaret sealed the love’s truevow to one another with a kiss. The night sky was almost purple-black when they caughtup to where the MacGill soldiers had made camp.

16

B

A SEVERED BOND

rodie and Margaret circled the camp until they found Laird MacGill.

Margaret gave Brodie her reins to hold, said she had no need for assistance withdismounting, and vaulted off her horse. She walked toward her brother’s bolster with adetermined air. He was lying with his back against one of the chests from the cart, andlistening to yet another one of Ivor McOrkil’s stories about his heroic adventures.

She bent down and whispered in Gilbert’s ear, “Please it that ye come with me, Brither.”

Gilbert was loath to listen to another remonstrance from his sister, but did not want todraw attention to himself as he did her bidding. When he had followed her to the circlebeyond the camp, he saw Brodie and the two horses.

“What nonsense is this?” he demanded.

“Sense, nae ‘nonsense,’ Gil,” Margaret answered. “I love Brodie and will nae relinquishhim. So, ye will have to find a way to get around it.”

It was only with great effort that Gilbert was able to stop himself from clutching at hishair with frustration. He gave Brodie a darkling look, but Margaret saw him do it.

“And ye can leave off giving the man I love the evil eye, Gil, because it won’ work.”

Gilbert had one last arrow left in his arsenal. “Fine, aye, have it yer way then,” he said toBrodie. “But, me only condition for ye marrying me sister is for ye to give up theconnections ye have to yer own clan. Nay more ‘McMillan’ this an’ that. Ye take the nameo’ MacGill from henceforth, and we’ll have no more said about it.”

Margaret’s breath caught in her throat. It was an impossible request. If Brodie agreed toit, not only would he be forever severed from his clan, but he would also suffer theterrible scandal that attached itself to such a deed. The disgrace would cut both ways: it

would tarnish the name of his clan, forever giving rise to speculation as to why he wouldcast them off, but it would also make Brodie appear careless and ungrateful toward hisheritage. Now it was her turn to give her brother the evil eye.

It seemed that Brodie agreed with Margaret on this.

“Are ye deranged?” he said to Gilbert. “I cannae do that, and nor would Margaret wantme to agree to such an ignoble suggestion.”

Gilbert scoffed, “Then ye obviously dinnae love me sister that much. And if ye love yerclan so much—more than me sister—why don’ ye go back to them instead of botherin’ mearound here?”

“He stayed, and put up with all yer bullying, for me!” Margaret shouted.

“Wheesht!” Gilbert said. “D’ye want to alert the whole of the camp about our familyproblems?”

But it was too late. Aulay and Ivor were already making their way toward them, theirsilhouettes clearly visible against the campfire flames.

Gilbert panicked. He did not want his guests to know what was happening. It might ruinhis sister’s last chance to make a union of which he approved. He turned to Brodie.

“Be gone! Leave us! If I see ye here again—anywhere near Margaret or Mac an Goill—Iwill have ye thrown into prison.”

Laird MacGill drew his sword.

Brodie turned to Margaret. “Remember me words to ye, Maggie of the bravest heart.”

And on those words, he drove his spur into his horse’s side, and galloped away.

None too soon, in Gilbert’s opinion. Ivor and Aulay sauntered up, just in time to seeMargaret collapse to the ground.

“What hysteria is this?” Ivor scoffed. “I mislike a woman who cannae control herself. ‘Tismost unmaidenly.”

This only made Margaret sob all the harder and drum her feet upon the grass like adistraught child.

Gilbert took the chance Margaret’s misery gave him.

“’Tis naught, gentlemen,” he said. “Just the tempestuous behavior of a spirited lass. I will

go and call her maid to her.” And on those words, he made his escape, leaving Ivor andAulay looking at the weeping Margaret with different degrees of sympathy.

“I believe the maiden cries for that caber-tossing cheat who’s been making up to her overthe past few days,” Ivor said, scorn dripping from his voice.

“Have pity, why don’ ye, Ivor,” Aulay said. “The girl faces a long life nae being with theman she fancies. It will go hard with her.”

Ivor laughed. “Nae a chance! She must learn to cleave to the better man. Come now, girl,up with ye. Put aside these foolish whims and agree to be me wife at once!”

And with these words, Ivor pulled Margaret to her feet by gripping her arm and draggingher upward. She drooped like a rag doll in his hand for a moment, and then struggledfuriously to be let go.

“Ha! Ye see? She has a bit o’ life left in her,” Ivor smirked.

“Let go o’ me, ye big oaf!” Margaret screamed. “I would nae marry ye if ye were the lastman alive!”

“Maggie!” Gilbert had returned with Mildred in time to hear this outrageous insult.“Apologize to Ivor immediately!”

“Never!” Margaret shouted, rubbing the part of her arm where Ivor had pulled her. “I hatehim, and I hate all of ye!”

Mildred ran to comfort her mistress.

“I will nae forgive ye that insult, wench,” Ivor muttered through clenched teeth, andstrode away.

“Wait! She did nae mean it,” Gilbert shouted after Ivor, seeing all his wonderful planscome crashing down around him. He turned to Margaret before following Ivor. “And I willspeak to ye later!” he hissed.

Margaret cared for nothing now. Laird Aulay, not knowing what would be the mostgentlemanly thing to do, stayed with Margaret as Mildred began to assist her sobbingmistress back to the camp.

“Ye must nae take what Ivor says to heart, Miss Margaret,” he pleaded. “When Ivor was asmall child, his faither was wickedly cruel to him, and it caused him to become distrustfulof anything he perceived as weakness. ‘Twas a harsh way to bring up a bairn.”

Mildred gave a sniff. “Aye, me laird, I’m sure there’s an excuse for every strange way aman behaves, but reserve a woman’s right to think of him what she may.”

Laird Aulay agreed. “Aye, there’s nay excuse, ye’re right. But the inward bitterness ofyouth turned into outward bluster and bile so easily, it has given me tolerance for hisoverbearing nature. I dinnae expect anyone else to understand.”

“I’m sure ye are bound to him, me laird, him being yer cousin an’ all,” Mildred said,accepting Laird Aulay’s offer to help Margaret walk to the camp by lifting up her arm anddraping it around his shoulders. “But that Ivor’s mannerisms are nae likely to appeal toany maiden, if ye can see that.”

Aulay bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Aye, ye’re right, and I can only look forwardto being able to return to McOrkil Castle without him. His behavior becomes moreunbearable with the passing of each year.”

17

F

BESIEGED

or the rest of the night, Margaret thought she would die whenever the realizationshe was to be parted from Brodie forever entered her mind. The acute pain it

caused her could not be placed in one part of her body. Her head, her soul, her heart, andher stomach lurched and heaved when she tried to think about never seeing BrodieMcMillan again.

Margaret had not ever had to give much thought before to what love must feel like. Herlove for Brodie was not a violent emotion; it just was. When she thought of Brodie in thekitchen garden or riding alongside him, what she felt seemed so natural and clear, therehad never been the need for her to put a name to it, to label it like the jars of preservesthe cook kept in the larder, or to set it aside and observe it like a beautiful painting. Shehad fallen into loving Brodie as easily as she had fallen off her pony and onto the thickgrass when she was learning to ride as a child. It was natural and normal and there wasnever any need to dissect it to find out what made it work.

What did feel completely unnatural was the thought she would never see him again.When her mind tried to function and remember that fact at the same time, it stoppedworking. Her chest refused to breathe, and her stomach churned, rebelling against theidea of food or drink. Brodie was her sustenance, her life, her happiness, and withouthim, Margaret believed she would never be happy again.

Weeping into her bolster, tucked out of the way underneath the cart, Margaret could onlylive her life one moment at a time. If she tried to think further into the future than that,wails of misery threatened to overwhelm her.

Mildred forced Margaret to drink down a small mug of whisky. Her kind maid must havemixed something soothing into the concoction, because Margaret was able to doze offinto a fitful sleep soon after. But even in her sleep, Margaret would give a shudderinggasp and hiccup of sadness as the nightmare of her life seeped into her dreams. Mildred

watched over her all night, bathing her forehead with a sea sponge dipped in lavenderwater.

Before dawn, Mildred shook Margaret awake.

“Hush! Yer brither asks for ye, Maggie. We are ordered to assemble as quietly as we can.And whatever ye do, dinnae raise yer voice—on pain of death.”

Margaret was dazed from the effects of the sleeping concoction. But she understoodenough from what Mildred had said to her to know what kind of order her brother hadissued. It meant they were at war. Before she could grip her maid’s hand and ask herwhat in the world was going on, Mildred disappeared to pack the chests. When Margaretlifted her head up from the bolster, she saw the camp was abuzz with activity.Everywhere, men darted silently from group to group, throwing water on the dyingembers of campfires and hastily packing. There would be no breaking fast in the morning.

She sat up and shook her head to clear it. In an emergency, a clan had to gather so thelaird or chieftain could count the family members who were missing. Margaret was torn:should she wait for Mildred to return and erect the screens around her so she could dress,or should she scramble into her riding skirts and coat under the blankets?

There was no sign of Mildred, and every sign to indicate she should join her brother assoon as possible. Margaret grabbed her skirts where they were draped over the side ofthe cart to hang overnight, and ducked under the blanket so she could pull the garmentsover her shift. There would be no demure screens raised around her this morning, nor anyneed for them. In the greying light, every man was diligently focused on breaking camp.

Margaret lost no time in shrugging into her riding coat and making her way to whereGilbert was holding a whispered conversation with his captain and chief.

He looked up when he saw her approach. All recriminations and fighting were forgotten.The MacGill clan was at war.

“Come here, Maggie,” Laird MacGill said, and when Margaret went to stand beside herbrother, he continued, “Ye are to stay at the back of the men as we go forward. That’s allI have to say to ye for now.”

Laird MacGill allowed his sister to stay close to him. She would be able to overhear hisplans, and this would save him having to tell her what they were later.

He gestured to the scout who was giving him the latest news, to continue with what hehad been saying.

“When I approached the castle’s outer defense walls, me laird,” the man said, “it was thesame as how Ernest described it when he came back from his reconnoiter. Between theouter defense walls and the walls of the castle itself, a band o’ brigands have laid siege.They are burning the hayricks, and some of the sheep pens have gone up in smoke, andfrom what I could smell in the air, the sheep have been eaten. But so far as I can tell,nay smoke rises from the castle walls within. I checked most carefully.”

Margaret smacked the palm of her hand to her mouth to stifle the gasp of shock that roseto her lips when she heard this news.

The bairns! Christine! Grace! Wee Kirsty! All our clan and staff and friends!

Gilbert gave her one glance, and she knew her brother was holding himself together, butjust barely. His training as a soldier had kicked in, and once again, he was the ruthless,fearless warrior he had been before he met and married Christine. Margaret prayed itwould not cause him to do anything too reckless.

“How many men?” Gilbert wanted to know.

He had been shaken awake only one hour before Margaret had been woken. The lookouthe had posted to run on ahead of the party had returned with disturbing news. When theman had peered over the crest of the hill that overlooked Mac an Goill, he had beengreeted by the sight of fierce fires burning the hayricks in the fields, the very same fieldsthat had hosted the Highland games only a few days before. He had been able to seequite clearly, the light emanating from the fires was so bright.

The sight it brought him was not a comforting one. A host of barbaric-looking men wereswarming over the fields. From the look of them, they had come around the coast inboats and made anchor in one of the many inlets or coves that dotted the beaches in thatpart of the Highlands. These vicious raids were part of the reason why clans flocked tothe protection of battle-hardened lairds, and why many folk had given up and moved tolive in the Lowlands, where life was easier and softer.

When Ernest had returned to make his report to Laird MacGill, he had roused intoimmediate action.

Gilbert had summoned his fastest runner to him, silently cursing himself for getting rid ofBrodie—the swiftest and strongest runner, as the Highland games had proven him to be—and told the man to go and get him more news.

When the news came, it did not look good.

“The gates yet hold, me laird,” the scout said, “but there is no way of discovering whatparlay the invaders are offering those inside.”

Laird MacGill inwardly cringed at the thought of his sick wife and sisters having to makethe decisions about any negotiations the brigands might be offering them, and cursedhimself for leaving the castle devoid of soldiers.

“Were there horses outside the gate?” he asked.

The scout shook his head. “Nay, and nowhere did I see them at the camp the assailantshave made in between the fires. I dinnae think they could fit horses on their boats.”

Ivor McOrkil had stayed strangely silent through all this news. It was up to Laird Aulay toadd his suggestion. “We have had problems of this kind at McOrkil Castle many yearsbefore, Gil,” he said, “but nae in recent years. The bastards have obviously been bidingtheir time, maybe even had scouts of their own posted along the coast. If they came withno horse, then it’s me guess they are from the isles up north—the land of me mither’s kin.‘Tis a harsh land with no fodder to spare for horse feed. They cannae bother us nay more,because they consider the McOrkils clan because of me mither’s blood. This is the reasonwhy they have sailed further west, to Mac an Goill...”

Laird MacGill thanked Aulay for his candor.

“How should we proceed? Any suggestions?” It was the duty of the laird to listen to theadvice of anyone in times of battle. Even the silliest sounding suggestion would be givenall due consideration before being rejected. Who dared to try something outrageous orsurprising was often the victor.

“I say we rush at them once we have count of their numbers,” the captain of the guardproposed. “They will nae be expecting it, thinking us all inside, preparing to give fightfrom inside the castle.”

“Aye,” Gearr Drever concurred, “we’re all fully armed and battle-ready. We can take ‘em.”

Gilbert and the men praised the captain and Gearr for their suggestions.

“Aye, well done, man,” Gilbert said. “Their spies would have word of what rich pickingsMac an Goill offers to raiders, but unless they have someone feeding them informationfrom inside the castle, they will have no idea we are all over here. It will be the onlything holding them back from storming the castle gates!”

The men gave soft cheers, and for the first time, allowed themselves to hope.

“How many do ye gauge there are?” Aulay asked the scout.

“I would guess we have even numbers with them, sire,” the scout said. “They are allheavily armed, though. I saw them send off two men toward the forest, possibly to sightout a good tree for battering.”

“So...” Gilbert said slowly, weighing up the odds, counting the information he had off onhis fingers. “They are heavily armed for war. They believe all of us to be inside the castle.This is the only thing stopping them from attacking. They have plans to seek out abattering ram or wood to make a ladder, and when they do, they will realize the castle isundefended because nay one will repel them.”

Laird Aulay McOrkil spoke up. “Wait! The one thing these men dinnae want is forsomeone to see the siege and get away! It would signify to them that the man is runningto get help! Then they would be caught in a pincer movement—allies coming to therescue at the back and the castle opening at the front to let out all the soldiers theybelieve are in there. If ye send a man to distract the raiders by pretending he sees them,and then runs away as though he is off to get help, it would allow another fellow to sneakinto the castle gates, and warn the folks inside to stay put until we attack!”

Laird MacGill gave a crow of relief. “Laird Aulay McOrkil! We could nae have come up witha better plan even if we had sat in council for one week! Well done! Now, all we need is avolunteer to distract the raiders.”

There was silence. It was a suicide mission. When the man pretending to run to alertLaird MacGill’s allies was captured, he would be swiftly killed.

“I’ll do it,” a voice said from outside the battle planning group.

When everyone’s heads whipped around, they saw Brodie McMillan standing in thegreying dawn light.

18

L

SACRIFICE

aird MacGill was not going to pretend he was not relieved to see Brodie. At timesof war, every man at arms counted, and after Brodie’s many wins at the Highlandgames, he was in no doubt of the man’s sporting and fighting skills.

Still, he could not act nonchalantly about Brodie’s return. If he welcomed the man backwith open arms, he might start getting ideas in his head about marrying Margaret again,a spot Gilbert stubbornly held open for Ivor McOrkil.

“So, ye came back, did ye?” Gilbert said gruffly.

“I’ve sworn to keep Margaret safe, yer lairdship,” Brodie said, no longer caring who heardhim say it or what they thought. “And if it means I must follow behind the convoy like astray dog, so be it.”

Gilbert sighed and relented a little bit. He could see some confused looks from thecaptains and soldiers around him.

Why would Laird MacGill send away one of his best warriors? The lad is worthy of anymaiden!

Gilbert could read his men’s thoughts as though they were saying them out loud. But thiswas no time for feuding. He must save his family at all costs.

“Och, alright then,” Gilbert said. “Come forward and tell us how ye plan on going aboutproviding us with a distraction.”

Gearr Drever broke into the conversation. “Beggin’ yer pardon, me laird and all yegentlemen, but it should be I who show meself to the raiders and lure them to givechase! I might nae be fast, but...excuse me sayin’ so, Brodie, but yer life is yet young,lad. I cannae have ye sacrifice yerself for this mission, no matter how much ye’ve swornto protect Miss Margaret. Losh! At the end of the day, I’m sure the maiden prefers ye

alive, nae so?”

Everyone turned around to look at Margaret, who had been standing on the fringe of thegroup, listening intently to everything that was being said.

She felt nothing under the men’s scrutiny. Her love for Brodie had wrenched her out ofher awkward girlishness, and straight into womanhood. If someone were to take her backin time and show her the wretched girl who had cried after overhearing some scullerymaids talking about her behind her back, she would not recognize her. Margaret was awoman in love, and she was proud of it.

“I agree with Gearr,” she said with finality. “Some other man must make the brigandsgive chase.”

“I ken ye would say that, Sister,” Laird Gilbert said gently, “but as laird and chief, it is meown decision to make. Brodie is the fastest, and therefore has the best chance ofescaping capture. If I send him, we at least have a small hope he will return unharmed.He was the fastest man at the games many times over, Margaret! I cannae ignore that. IfI were to send Gearr or any other man, it would be a suicide mission. If I send Brodie, heat least has a chance of making it back here safely.”

They were at war. The laird had the final word in such times. Margaret bowed her headand went to stand next to Brodie. He put his arm around her, and she hid her face in hischest. The men said nothing. The grey night skies began to turn pink in the east. Birdsbroke into song.

“I need a volunteer to enter the castle gate and carry word to those inside they must holdfast. I will write a letter, so even if he does nae get close enough to the gate for them toopen and let him inside, he can shoot an arrow over the wall with the letter attached tothe shaft. Who’s up for this?”

Ivor, who had been keeping a low profile up until now, burst into action the minute heheard there was a less dangerous task.

“I’ll be the one to approach the gate while the other one is diverting them. I am the bestarcher, so if it looks like I will nae make it to the gate in time, I will loose an arrow overthe walls. I’m too muscular and tall to run fast, or else I would have volunteered to bethe runner. I fear nay man, nor do I fear capture.”

“I thank ye, Ivor,” Gilbert said, and then turning to Brodie, said, “Ye will have to leave yersword and weapons behind, McMillan, or else have their weight slow ye down. The

decision is yers.”

Brodie nodded and hugged Margaret closer to him. He was in no doubt the raiders wouldchase him down and kill him. But he did not mind; he was a warrior and thought of deathwith the same casual, coldblooded indifference as another man might consider what coatto put on in the morning. Since he was a young lad, it had been instilled into him to be ofservice and die a good death. Brodie decided to take a small dagger with him, and hide itin his belt at the back. He always ran and trained with a weapon in there, so it would notslow him down this time. And hopefully, after he was captured, he could sell his lifedearly by taking a few of the brigands with him.

Aulay broke in with his own piece of advice. “All is nae lost, Brodie. I will command Ivorto take a spare horse with him so ye have a mount that side. If ye can run fast enough tomeet up with Ivor after he has completed his side of the task, ye can ride away together.Dinnae give up hope, man. I saw ye race at the games. Ye have every chance ofoutrunning them!”

Ivor scoffed, “Ye cannae command me, Aulay. I have the freedom to decide for meself. Iam Laird MacGill’s man now.”

Everyone looked toward Gilbert. They expected him to deny Brodie the horse. It would bethe perfect opportunity for him to be rid of his sister’s unwelcome suitor.

“That’s a good idea, Aulay,” Gilbert said. “Ivor, I command ye to take a spare horse withye to the gates and then ride to meet Brodie with it so he can mount. Do this on pain ofdeath.”

Ivor blanched. Never had Gilbert MacGill sounded so authoritarian to him! Where was thejoking, boisterous Gilbert MacGill who had quaffed tass after tass of whisky with him? Ivorscowled and bridled at the order, but had no choice but to obey.

Gilbert was not finished yet. “And Ivor, a good laird is nae judged by how many enemieshe kills, but by how many of his own soldiers he brings back home with him, so rememberthis afore ye perhaps neglect to carry out me orders. I shall be watching everything fromme vantage point on the hill.”

Ivor was duty bound to hold his tongue after hearing Gilbert’s subtle insinuation that hesuspected Ivor would fail to help Brodie. Personally, he had to give Laird MacGill areluctant tribute for predicting what he, Ivor, had been planning to do. Now, he wouldhave no option but to give Brodie the horse if the man made it back in time. Secretly,Ivor hoped Brodie would not, and could think of dozens of reasons why. A hidden root in

the grass, a rabbit hole, a faster man running after him, or an arrow in the back—all ofthese fates sounded acceptable ones for Brodie in Ivor’s opinion.

Gilbert stood up. “Right then, we’re in agreement. This mission has every chance ofsuccess if our two volunteers do the following. Brodie McMillan is to emerge from theriverbanks on the right of the raiders’ camp. He will pretend to take stock of theencampment, allowing the men to notice him, and then, when they are giving chase orare watching him, he will flee, running away from the river to the tree copse on the left.When all eyes are on Brodie, Ivor will ride out from the tree copse, fire the messagearrow over the wall, and then ride back into the trees. Brodie’s mount will be waiting forhim amidst the undergrowth. I think that’s the best way of doing it.”

Whispered ayes were heard. Gilbert turned to Brodie, but he had disappeared themoment he heard Gilbert’s plan. He had to go and change into his kilt. It was all he everwore when running. Bare-chested, barefoot, and with the small dagger tucked into theback of his leather belt. As he removed his overclothes, he whispered words of comfort toMargaret.

“Dinnae fash, love. I’ll be back here before the day’s much older. Ye be a good lass andstay brave for yer brither. He will need ye to raise his spirits and comfort him. His familyis on the other side of those walls.”

Margaret nodded, but said nothing. The noise of birdsong swelled louder as the skieslightened. She watched him strip down to his undergarment, and begin hastily folding hiskilt around his waist.

“Here, let me,” she said. Brodie held the plaid around him while Margaret knelt on theground and pleated it to fit his slim waist. He threaded a small leather bag through thebelt and fastened it to sit comfortably just below his waist and above his hips.

“Is that all ye’re taking?” she asked, but then saw Brodie tuck a small dagger in the foldof his belt at the back. He held out his hand to her and helped her rise.

Ignoring the men watching and waiting for Brodie to finish, Margaret reached up andhugged him close to her. He bent his head and nestled his face into the crook of her neck,breathed deeply once or twice, and then broke away from her and began walking towardthe river.

Brodie did not look back.

19

I

BETRAYAL

f anyone watching Brodie believed that what he was undertaking was the bravestthing they had ever seen anyone do, they might have been surprised to know that

Brodie himself thought nothing of the sort.

He had been born and bred to withstand attack, repel forces with extreme violence, andsacrifice himself for the good of his clan. It was part of what made him so proud to be aMcMillan and call his father chieftain. No one man was allowed to think himself betterthan the other for the simple fact that this might lead him to believe his life was worthsaving more than another person’s. When everyone was equal, no one could say theywere better than the other.

This had been the reason for the McMillan clan’s bitter resentment toward the auld LairdMacGill, Margaret’s father. When they had tried showing Laird MacGill the error of hisways after he had killed five shepherd boys in retaliation for taking some of his land, allhe had said was, “What’s the fuss? They were only shepherds.”

To value soldiers and warriors above the lives of the less aggressive members of a clanwas a deep insult to the McMillans. They had accepted the terms laid out for them byMargaret’s father, but chose to cut ties with the MacGill clan until their laird chose to seethe error of his ways.

And now here was Chieftain McMillan’s son, running crouched over along the riverbanks tohide his head from view, off to lay down his life for the inhabitants of Mac an Goill. Allbecause he had fallen in love with a sweet smile from a kitchen maid. And her wee cakes,Brodie thought to himself with a rueful smile. Never forget the cakes.

The mission was not entirely a hopeless one, in Brodie’s opinion. He knew theseriverbanks like the back of his hand, having run along them for many hours when trainingfor the Highland games. He knew where the banks dipped low enough to give the raiders

a view of his head, and he also knew where the tree line might give a scout a glimpse ofhim, if one was posted up there, of which he had no doubt there was.

Before setting off, one or two soldiers had run alongside him, offering to act as lookoutsfor Brodie and shoot down any enemy on reconnoiter duty. Brodie had turned them down,telling them to go offer their services to Ivor instead. There were more likely to be enemyscouts in the tree copse than there were to be beside the riverbanks.

He did not want any assistance in case they made a noise or reacted in a way that mightdraw attention to him before Ivor was in place. Occasionally, Brodie would climb up theriverbank and peer over the edge. After one hour of scrambling crouched over, wadingthrough muddy sandbanks, and pushing through thick crowds of rushes, when Brodie nextstuck his head over the riverbank, he was within a few stones’ throw of the main camp.He watched the raiders for a brief moment, gauging their strength and numbers in casehe was able to report the information later.

The strangers were a formidable-looking bunch, tall with wild blond hair, just like theirforefathers. It would be touch and go if Laird MacGill made his presence known to theraiders before time. They were close enough to the castle gates to force their way insideonce they realized the main force of Gilbert’s army was outside the castle, and not insideit. There seemed to be no designated leader amongst the men. Five or six captains,recognizable by the eagle feathers stuck in their bonnet caps, seemed to be in charge.They issued orders to their men, and then went back to consulting each other. Brodieheard scraps of the conversation when the men raised their voices. He could barelyunderstand what they were saying, they had such thick dialects, but he was able to getan idea of their plans.

“Why doesnae the coward show his face out of the gates?”

“His call for soldiers could only have yielded him around three dozen or so, we have morethan that. Let’s attack!”

“Wait! He would have his own guards, plus the ones he gathered to him. I say we shootfire arrows at the building and smoke ‘em out! Then his men will be busy with buckets o’water instead of guarding the gate. Then we strike!”

This plan found favor with the other captains.

Suddenly, without warning, one man broke away from the camp and made his way to theriver with a small wooden pail. Brodie hid behind a thicket of bull rushes and waited. Heheard the man crashing through the undergrowth in his hurry to get to the river. As he

blundered past, Brodie rose up behind him like a lethally vengeful guardian angel. Heclamped his hand around the man’s mouth, stifling his scream, and sawed his throat openwith the dagger he had hidden in his belt. He did not stop cutting until the man becamestill and lifeless in his arms.

Brodie carefully placed the body on the ground and pushed it under a thick blanket ofdead reeds. The men at camp would think the man had moved further away to relievehimself.

He peered over the riverbank again, looking toward the thicket of trees in front of him.The shadow of Ivor and the two horses could be seen.

Time to act.

Brodie vaulted over the top of the bank. He was amazed when no one in the camp sawhim. All the men were busy dipping arrows in a barrel of pitch they seemed to havebrought with them while the captains oversaw the archers’ positions.

“Och! Me goodness!” Brodie exclaimed in his loudest voice. “A foreign army set to raidMac an Goill!”

And he began to run as though the devil himself were after him.

A great bellow of rage could be heard coming behind him.

“Stop him! Stop him! He’ll run to one o’ MacGill’s neighbors to get help!”

But Brodie did not look behind to see who had set off in pursuit. As long as they did nothave horses or hounds, he would get to the horse Ivor had left for him in time. If thesoldiers had done their work, the raiders’ scouts inside the forest would already be dead.He might just make it.

A hiss and thump distracted Brodie for a moment. A wicked-looking arrow barb wassticking out of the ground not two feet in front of him. He sped past it, arms pumping,bare feet flying over the grass.

He glanced ahead and saw Ivor aiming his longbow to fire an arrow over the castle walls.There was no doubt the soldier standing guard in the turret above the old portcullis sawthe shaft land, because he left his post to retrieve it immediately.

Ivor, his task done, turned and vaulted onto his horse, and rode like the wind backtoward the forest. He got there before Brodie, and watched as Brodie ran closer, but thenthought better of it. When he saw Ivor’s eyes widen with fear and shock, it gave Brodie

all the information he needed about how close the men were behind him. He doubled hisspeed, reaching his mount as quick as lightning. He vaulted onto the horse, kicking theanimal so hard with his bare heels the brute nearly sat down on its haunches beforebolting off into a mad gallop. Brodie followed Ivor’s horse’s path into the underbrush.

They had done it! They were free and alive! Now it was time to double back and tell LairdMacGill to attack.

Except they were not free and alive, nor ever likely to be so again.

Standing ahead of Brodie was a raider scout. The man had a sword to Ivor’s throat, andthere was another short sword sticking out of Ivor’s horse’s chest, where it lay on theground. Ivor must have ridden straight at the man, giving the raider scout the chance tostick his horse. With the animal rolling to the ground under him, Ivor had no choice but toraise his hands in the air in surrender, and wait for Brodie.

Now it was Brodie’s and Ivor’s turn to be caught in a pincer movement—the scout in frontand the pursuing raiders at the back. But Brodie did not yield. When he heard the menrunning to catch up with him, quick as a flash, he whipped the dagger out from behindhim and threw it at the scout. The man did not even have time to poke his sword intoIvor’s throat before he died with the dagger sticking out of his eye.

But it was too late. The raiding party arrived in the forest. Brodie and Ivor wereoutnumbered.

Immediately, Ivor stuck his hands in the air and began speaking in the same dialect asthe raiders. “Och, lads, ye cannae harm me. Me mither’s folks are from yer land—EthelMac an Magnusson is her name. I was just riding past, and yer scout mistook me for aspy.”

Ivor knew the raiders would not have seen him fire his arrow over the castle wallsbecause they had been concentrating on Brodie. For all they knew, he was just some manwho happened to be riding past. With the scout dead and Brodie’s dagger sticking out ofhis face, there was no one to contradict Ivor’s story.

“Our chief is of that house,” one of the pursuers said. “But what of this fellow here?”

Ivor spat on the ground. “Him? He’s just a snoop. Do with him what ye like.”

20

“A

A VERY CHARMING DISTRACTION

man approaches,” Gearr Drever said.

It had been a very long morning. Margaret sat by Gilbert’s side, holding his hand. She wasnot sure if it was to comfort him or her, but they must have both found some kind ofsolace in the action, because brother and sister did not move from the position. The sunrose higher in the sky, and then voices were raised as Laird MacGill’s scout returned.Everyone in the camp could tell the man did not come back with good news.

Gilbert raised his head and watched the man come closer. The scout had been positionedfurther back in the hills, with a vantage point that allowed him to overlook whether Ivorand Brodie were able to execute the plan successfully. The man trembled and keptshaking his head.

“Speak,” Gilbert said, in no mood to console the man when his own mind was so troubled.

“Me laird, the arrow was shot successfully over the walls, and the occupants must evennow be reading yer instructions to sit tight. But...”

Margaret gripped her brother’s hand like a vice.

“But, the men didnae make it.”

Margaret let out a scream and then stuffed her fingers into her mouth to stifle the noise.

Gilbert hissed at her, “Do I need to remind ye, Sister, that we are at war? One moreoutburst like that and I will have ye gagged and thrown in the back of the cart.”

Margaret, tears streaming down her cheeks, nodded that she understood.

The scout continued with his report.

“Brodie led the raiders on a merry race, and the brigands didnae even think to look in

Ivor’s direction. But then both men disappeared into the forest on their horses. I dinnaeken what happened in there, but the next thing I see Ivor and Brodie coming out again,this time with the raiders who had been chasing after them, and only one horse—Brodie’s.”

Aulay said, “I pray their deaths will be painless and swift,” and bowed his head.

The scout held up his hand. “Nay, masters. I crept in as close as I dared and saw andheard much to confuse me. Brodie must have ken I was close by, because he raised uphis voice in a mighty shout, ‘fire and arrows, fire and arrows!’ but then the men kicked hisfeet out from underneath him and must have dealt him a violent blow to the headbecause he fell to the ground in a dead swoon.”

“Maybe even dead,” Gearr said. “A blow to the head is no joke.”

The scout nodded. “But the strangest thing of all was that Ivor was walking back with thebrigands as a free man! Nay bindings on his hands nor sword at his throat. Completelydifferent to how they had treated poor Brodie.”

Aulay went still.

“It-it could be they recognize a fellow similar to their own?” he suggested, but everyonecould tell his voice did not hold out much hope for this being the case.

“Rubbish!” Gearr did not mince his words. “There’s full many a Highlander with yaller hairwho would have gone down fighting if he was to be captured.”

The scout shook his head, and continued, “Some of the raiders were sporting black eyesand bloody noses, but they were all clustering around Brodie, swearing vengeance on himfor their injuries. Then one o’ the captains said, ‘We’ll hold the red-haired one up forthose inside the castle to see, and if they dinnae open the gates, we’ll gut him right infront o’ their eyes.’ They didnae seem to have any grudge against Ivor. I saw him duckinto one of the tents and come out with a mug of ale!”

Silence greeted the scout’s final report.

Gilbert stood up. “Tell the men to prepare to attack. Ivor’s gone over to the other side tosave his own life. If he has nae told the brigands the castle is almost empty of soldiers,he will do so in a very short time. Recall every scout and have every man prepare forbattle. We must assault them before they begin shooting the fire arrows.”

“They might hold back on doing that a while yet,” Aulay said. “It sounded as though they

might try torturing Brodie in front of the gates first to see if they will be opened to savehim.”

“All the better,” Gilbert said. “It might buy us a bit of time.”

After saying this, he saw Margaret sneaking off toward her horse.

“Och, nay ye don’, Maggie,” Gilbert said, and grabbed her arm, saying to one of hissoldiers, “Take Miss Margaret to the cart and tie her up against one of the wheels.”

Margaret struggled and kicked in silence, but the soldier bore her away and did as LairdMacGill had commanded, but not before giving Miss Margaret an apologetic pat on thearm.

All Margaret could do was weep quietly and pull her wrists apart with all her might, but itwas to no use. The ropes were tied fast.

“Hush!” a kind voice said behind her, coming from underneath the cart. It was Mildred. “Icannae untie these ropes if ye keep wriggling yer hands like that.”

Margaret stayed still, and then felt the ropes fall away from her hands.

Without turning around, she whispered, “I thank ye, Milly,” before crawling behind a stackof ale barrels and away to where her horse was tethered and grazing.

Too busy with battle preparations, no one in the camp noticed as Margaret guided herhorse down into the riverbank. Only Mildred watched her mistress as the young woman’shead disappeared beneath the high embankments, following in her love’s footsteps.

Margaret had a plan. It had been formulated in an instant, and she was determined tosee it through to the end. It was better this than hearing the news of Brodie’s death andtorture later.

Better a madcap plan than to go mad from knowing I could have done something to helpBrodie but did nae do so. It goes in me favor that I’ve been riding and setting up camp forthe past two days.

Margaret was wearing Highland riding clothes. Her skirts were made of dark dyed wool, agood material for hiding horse hair and dust kicked up from the roads. Her short coat wasa bit tight; Christine had promised to have a new one made up for her during their nexttrip to Edinburgh, and then this one would go to Grace. Under the circumstances,Margaret did not think tight would be a bad thing.

As she led her horse along the river embankment, she unbuttoned her coat to show hershift underneath it. She threw off her arisaid so the men would be able to see her tinywaist, and tucked up her skirts to show her ankles; all the tricks she remembered villagemaidens doing when looking for a man to woo them.

Margaret pulled the pins and ribbons from her hair and cast off her riding bonnet. Herflaxen ringlets cascaded down her back. She shook her head, and they fell in a delightfulriot of curls around her shoulders.

I’m no longer that shy Margaret, too afraid to step out from underneath Christine’sshadow. I’m Maggie, the kitchen maid with the beautiful smile, and pretty enough to turnany man’s head.

And after saying this to herself many times, Margaret was able to climb over the riverembankment when she reached Mac an Goill’s outer defense walls, and walk seductivelyover to the raiders’ camp.

The effect she had on the men was electrifying.

Cries and catcalls greeted her approach. The few men who had been standing guard overBrodie left their post and rushed to get a better look at Margaret. The men who had beendipping arrows into the pitch buckets stopped what they were doing and went to seewhat the commotion was about. Seeing she had their attention, Margaret mounted herhorse and began to ride slowly away.

“Wait, come back!” some of the men said, and many enthusiastic shouts begged thecomely lass to return. Even Ivor put his mug of ale down and stuck his head out of thetent to see what all the fuss was about. All he saw was a slim and shapely young girlriding away from the camp, her coat pulled provocatively down off her shoulders and amass of glittering golden spirals tumbling down her back. He did not recognize Margaretat all, and was even tempted to chase after the wench himself, but was too busynegotiating with the raiders about how he could make his escape. Hacking at his enemieswith a mighty army at his back was easy for Ivor to do, but fighting on his own against allodds was something he most definitely preferred to leave to others.

The beautiful and charming distraction the girl presented him would have to wait.

21

H

BEFORE A FALL

alf the raiders were chasing after Margaret, under the delusion that Laird MacGillwas trapped behind his castle walls, helpless and wretched at the thought that

one of his men was about to die.

Margaret seemed unperturbed by the men running after her, and even made sure theysaw her give them an alluring backward glance before giving Miss Turnip the command totrot on a bit further.

However, the amorous pursuit was not to last. A mighty roar was heard coming from thehills above the outer fields. When the raiders turned to look, they saw the hillcrestsbristling with spears and horsemen. Panicked and taken completely unawares, the menran back to the camp, but not fast enough. A contingent of riders rode in between themand their weapons. Gearr Drever rode to the buckets of pitch and set the arrows andpitch alight before they could be aimed at the castle, while Aulay rode to where Brodiewas tied up, spread-eagled out across two poles.

“Are ye good to make yer way out o’ here, man?” Aulay asked, as he severed Brodie’sbonds with his short sword.

Brodie nodded. His head was still crusted with blood from where he had been knockeddown, and he looked as though he had received many more punches and kicks while hehad been tied up. “Give me a sword, and I’ll be fine,” was all he said.

When Aulay cut the last rope, Brodie fell down to the ground. He had no feeling in hishands and feet, but managed to catch the weapon Aulay threw to him before gallopingaway to fight by Gearr’s side. The assault was vicious, but the defense was even more so.The raiders had come here looking for gold, and they were prepared to sell their livesdearly for it.

From her horse, Margaret saw her brother lead the attack from the forest. It was the side

closest to the castle gate, and she knew he wanted to get inside there before thebrigands realized the castle only contained a skeleton staff and a few guards. Eventhough Gilbert was riding his horse to the gates as fast as he could, one of the brigandcaptains looked as though he would get there first.

Or not. The brigand captain dropped to his knees and drew a large crossbow from whereit was slung behind his back. Instead of trying to race Gilbert to the gates, the man wasgoing to carefully and patiently take aim. There was no chance of him missing; Gilbertwas riding right into the brigand’s line of sight. There was nothing Margaret could do butwatch the man slot the wicked bolt into the crossbow and aim.

Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, the brigand captain stiffened and pitchedforward onto his face. A sword was sticking out of his back. Brodie had seen he would notreach the captain in time to stop him from loosing the bolt, so he had gripped his swordblade between two hands and flung the weapon at the man’s back with all his might. Andnot a moment too soon. As the man fell, the bolt left the crossbow, only to stickshuddering into the ground.

The surprise attack had saved Laird MacGill’s life, but it left Brodie in the middle of abattle without a weapon, barefoot and bare chested. Margaret knew she should havebeen struck down with terror for this fact alone, but she was not. She had the utmostconfidence in Brodie’s ability to survive. She had seen the man she loved with all herheart save her brother’s life, and she had every confidence he had the skills to fight nowand live to fight another day.

As she watched Brodie tackle a raider to the ground, twist the man’s neck around to anabnormal angle, and then, after prising the man’s sword out of his lifeless hands, run offto help one of the MacGill soldiers take down three brigands, Margaret understood shewas watching someone who embodied the very essence of action over words.

He was fast, he was a skilled swordsman, and he could throw a punch hard enough tomake a man’s head spin. Margaret’s heart swelled with pride as she watched Brodie cutdown his enemies. She would occasionally lift up her head to see how others in the fieldwere doing, but when she realized her brother had made it to the castle gates and goneinside, she kept her concentration on Brodie.

The battle was ruthless; both the brigand captains and Lairds Aulay McOrkil and MacGillhad ordered their men to leave no one alive. But the loss of their arrows combined withthe segregation of their warriors, and the ruthless attack of Laird MacGill’s horsemen, leftthe brigands at a disadvantage.

And so it was only Margaret who was able to observe as Ivor McOrkil crept quietly out ofthe tent and make his way to the riverbanks. She watched as he grabbed one of thefallen soldier’s plaids and wrapped it around his shoulders before creeping down theriverbanks and walking out of sight. Where he was going, Margaret did not care. All sheknew was that Ivor’s reputation had fallen so far, he would never be able to redeem hischaracter.

He put his pride before all else, and yet I feel pity for the man. Aulay says his faither wasmost cruel to him, and that can scar a bairn for life. And that’s all Ivor was in the end: ascared child looking for his faither’s approval. His boasting came before a fall, but now hisfall has put him past all redemption.

22

“C

PROUD OF EACH OTHER

hieftain McMillan has the most interesting philosophy on equality,” Grace said toeveryone in the room. “He says if any laird or chief thinks he’s the tall tower on acathedral, he must never forget his clan is the cornerstone and foundations beneath him.”

Christine and Mildred were busy untying the ringlet rags in Margaret’s hair, and onlymurmured and nodded at Grace’s comment. Kirsty was seated on an ottoman next to hereldest sister’s chair, and had the leisure to reply, “Don’ tell Gilbert that! Our brother hashad to eat his words about the value of men many times over, so he will nae take kindlyto more lectures.”

Margaret gave a shout of laughter when Kirsty said this because it was so true. Mildredand Christine told her to keep her head still, but it did not stop Margaret from saying,“When Brodie and I have bairns, we are going to bring them up the same way Brodie wasraised by his clan; to put the well-being of others before everything else.”

Christine, throwing the final rag onto the floor and fluffing out Margaret’s ringlets,interjected her own feelings into the conversation. “After what happened, I believeeveryone will think twice before passing judgment on others. If it had nae been for yerbetrothed, Maggie, Gil might nae even have a clan left.”

It was a sobering thought, and no one could laugh or joke about it.

Kirsty had never been one to accept a thoughtful silence. “I trusted Brodie from the firsttime I saw him throw the caber the furthest.”

Everyone in the room turned to look at her after this statement. Curious, Grace asked heryoungest sister why.

“Because he is so handsome, that’s why I trusted him.”

Gilbert knocked on his sister’s dressing room door and came in. “What’s all the laughter

about?” he wanted to know. “I thought weddings were meant to be solemn occasions?”

His sisters and wife could see he was joking with them, and bid him to come in and sitdown. It was not yet time for Margaret to dress; Christine was still piling the ringlets intobouncing bunches of curls on either side of the bride’s head.

Gilbert refused the offer to sit down, saying, “I came in to make sure yer mind is made upabout leaving Mac an Goill, Maggie. ‘Tis a long way ye’re going, after all.”

Brodie and Margaret had refused Gilbert’s offer for them to take MacGill land asMargaret’s dowry. Instead, Brodie would be traveling with his wife to Castle McOrkil tolive there. Aulay had made Brodie a very generous offer, one that would give the youngcouple all the land and staff they required to create their own lodge. In return, and inhonor of the two clans’ bonds to one another, Brodie would train Aulay’s soldiers in hisstyle of fighting.

Margaret, unable to nod her head because Christine was pinning her curls, raised hervoice so her brother could hear her from where he stood at the door. “Aye, I thank ye,Gil, but we want to make our own way in the world.”

Laird MacGill bowed his head in acceptance, gave his sister a sad smile, and closed thedoor behind him as he left. All the eagerness he had felt to get Margaret out of the castleand into marriage felt petty and spiteful in light of what his eldest sister and herbetrothed had done for him in return. But Gilbert had learned his lesson, and had made avow to stay out of matchmaking his remaining sisters in the future.

The bell indicating three hours past sunrise tolled. Christine and Mildred gave a jump ofsurprise. “We must hurry!” Mildred exclaimed.

Mildred pulled Margaret’s dressing gown off her shoulders, and Christine threw a delicatelace confection over her head.

“I had yer shift dress specially made so that it can double up as a nightgown,” Christinesaid to Margaret with a wink. And indeed, the undergarment was made from such lightcotton and lace, it appeared to be almost transparent under the sunlight streamingthrough the dressing room window casements.

In quick succession, after layer and layer of petticoats were tied around her waist, anover robe of deep blue satin with full slashed sleeves and daring decolletage were sewnonto Margaret. Silk stockings were pulled over her knees and tied with garters. High-heeled blue satin shoes were fixed on her feet and tied with ribbon.

Christine and Mildred sat back to admire their handiwork.

“Ye look like an angel, Sis,” Kirsty said, and Grace nodded fervently in agreement.

Mildred remembered something, and went to pick up the cork soot pot from the dressingtable.

Margaret stopped her. “Nay, I thank ye, Milly, but I dinnae need that anymore. Brodie fellin love with a kitchen maid—no fancy ringlets or cork soot or clothing. And I ken he’llkeep loving me forever, no matter what I’m wearing or how dark me lashes look.”

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“O

PROLOGUE

h, me dearest nurseling,” Abigail’s old wet nurse said in a shaking voice, “to think Iwould live to see this dark day, with ye wearing black to mourn yer beloved parent beforeeven putting on the floral garland of a bride.”

Abigail Drummond was busy pinning a riband of Drummond tartan on the bodice of herfunereal attire. She had to look down to do it because the looking glass in her dressingroom had been covered over with a sheet of plain-woven linen. The tears running downher cheeks changed direction when she did this, and began to fall onto her gown instead.

As the only Drummond child left to comfort her father, she knew she had to be strong,but the thought of her mother lying cold and still upstairs racked her body with spasms ofgrief. She swallowed down her misery, gave a doleful sniff, and mustering all herstrength, went to hug her old nurse.

“Dinnae cry, Nursie,” she whispered, patting the old servant on the back and rubbing herbony shoulders.“Mither wouldnae like it. Remember how she would notice anyone whoseemed to nae smile? She wouldnae be satisfied until she had found a way to make themhappy.”

“And ye’re so like her in that regard,” the nurse, Mary, said, looking at a large trunk in thecorner. “Oh, Abby, to think yer bridal gown lies folded and covered in lavenderunderneath that lid, and is likely to stay there for a long while still.”

The young girl did not think remembering the beautifully embroidered dark green brocadegown she had planned to wear for her wedding would help matters much. Her mind feltnumb with shock, and her heart seemed as though it were cracked into a dozen pieces.

I’ve only seen nine and ten summers, but it feels as though these events should behappening to a woman at least twice as old as I am. When will these ceaselesscalamities end?

A way to rationalize last week’s events eluded Abigail.

She sat down next to the nurse and said in the most practical way she could, even thoughit made her tears flow even harder, “The gown would have stayed in the trunk anyway,Nursie, what with Ewan’s faither rushing to meet his maker seven day’s ago.”

This cold fact made the nurse wail and cover her face with her pinafore.

“We should never have allowed ye both to set the date for a Friday in May; ye ken whatthe wise folk say about it!”

Abigail thought back to what her mother had said after Ewan’s father, Laird Brodie, hadagreed to the wedding date.

“He’s such a fine looking, upstanding young man, Abby. I truly believe the superstitionswill have it wrong this time.”

She had been sitting with her mother in the withdrawing room, hemming sheets for hertrousseau, and said, “What superstitions, Mither?”

Lady Drummond closed her eyes to recall the old verses better. “‘If ye marry in the monthof May, ye will surely rue the day…’ Wait, there’s another one. Just allow me toremember... Aye, I have it now. ‘Monday marriages are for wealth, Tuesdays are forhealth, Wednesdays and Sundays are the best days of all, Thursdays are cursed, andmarrying on a Friday means ye will suffer crosses and losses.’ There! Ye see, Friday isnae a good day for a wedding, dearest daughter!”

Abigail cut the thread with her teeth, smiling. “Ye didnae mention Saturdays, Mither. Arethey good or bad?”

Lady Drummond gave a mock frown and handed her daughter a small pair of scissorsfrom the sewing box. “Dinnae use yer teeth, girl. It’ll wear them out if ye chew on thingslike a goat! Marrying on a Saturday means yer marriage will have no luck at all.”

Abigail gave a trill of laughter, “What?! So there are only four days out o’ the week to getmarried? How convenient for the clergymen. They only have to work for half the week.”

Lady Drummond smiled and picked up the pillowcase she was making for Abigail’scedarwood bridal chest. She was embroidering the couple’s initials under the family crestsof the Drummond and Brodie clans. “I agree, Abby, but no Highlander likes to temptfate,” she said in her calm, dignified manner.

Abigail shrugged. “What are crosses and losses, anyway?”

Not looking up, Lady Drummond said, “The crosses marking the tombstones of the deadin the graveyards, Abby. It will explain to ye what the ‘losses’ means. What could possiblybe worse than the loss of one’s husband or a wife?”

Now, Abigail knew what could be as bad as the loss of a spouse, and she was certainEwan understood what it was like too. His father, Laird Brodie, head of the clan, had diedsuddenly in his sleep not one week ago. That had been enough to knock their weddingplans awry in itself, but now with her mother passing away in the same manner lastnight, it seemed as though every Highland curse was raining down on them, one after theother.

She sobbed and rushed out of the room. She could not bear her father to hear howdevastated she was; he had his own shock and sadness to deal with.

It had been left to Laird Graham Drummond’s steward to order matters as he saw fit;however, he still needed the overwhelmed man to agree to his arrangements. It was anawkward meeting, and the steward, Mr. Craddock, felt shattered when he came out ofLaird Drummond’s study. It was in the passageway outside where he bumped intoAbigail, as her tears blinded her and she could no longer see where she was going.

“I beg yer pardon, Mister Craddock,” Abigail said. “I was running, and...and…”

The elderly man steadied the young girl. “Dinnae fash yer wee head over such a triflingbump, Abby.” When he saw her tear-filled eyes, he asked, “Is there aught I can do tohelp ye?”

Feeling as though the walls of the passageway were crowding in on her, Abigail said, “Idinnae ken what to do without me mither, Mister Craddock. She meant everything to me,and this household wilnae be the same now she’s gone.”

Mr. Craddock tutted. “Aye, Abby, ‘tis a very strange, inexplicable business. There was nofever, no mark upon the body. It was as if heaven opened its gates and snatched her up!Be comforted, child; she didnae suffer. It was as though her soul just decided to go andjoin Laird Brodie’s.”

“He...he was a well-loved laird,” Abigail said with a sniff. “There were over one thousandclansmen and mourners holding a torch at his wake. Did ye see the light they made wasso bright it seemed like daytime?”

The steward nodded. “It was a grand display for a great man. And yer Ewan is set to be

as distinguished and noble a laird as his faither was before him. Ye will see him in a fewdays at yer mither’s procession. Ye can find comfort and strength in each other’scompany.”

And on those words, the steward bustled away, aware all the Drummond clan had to besummoned for a wake, not a wedding celebration. It was going to be difficult writingletters to inform the more important members of the clan they had to put off their fineryand don black, but at least they could use the same travel arrangements they had madefor the now-canceled wedding.

Abigail chose to stay in her bedchamber after her encounter with Mr. Craddock. Hersadness was so acute, she would wake in the middle of the night with a shriek, causingMary to run in with a hastily lighted candle to see what on earth was the matter. But noposset or warm broth could dispel the feeling of doom that haunted Drummond Castle.Both laird and daughter became more oppressed as the day for the funeral drew near. Itwas as if Lady Drummond’s spirit was restless and pacing the hallways, even though herclan had been keeping watch over her body to make sure evil sprites could not enter thewindow and snatch away her eternal soul.

Mary approached Mr. Craddock to ask his opinion.

“Should I send for her betrothed to come and console her, sir? They have beensweethearts since he was nothing but a young lad and she was a wee girl. It was as if thefates destined for them to be together; they have only ever had eyes for each other. Ifanyone can ease her sorrow, ‘twould be Ewan Brodie.”

Mr. Craddock shooed Mary away with his ink-stained quill. “Hoots, woman! Away with ye!Dinnae ye ken the young man is just as upset by the death of his faither as she is by herloss? And now he has to bear the burden of becoming laird in such a sudden fashion, withonly his mither by his side to guide him.”

So, the day of Lady Drummond’s wake and funeral dawned with no one there to offer herdaughter solace. Laird Drummond had stayed locked in the castle library since themorning he had awoken to find the lifeless body of his wife lying next to him. The nurseand the rest of the household had been too busy readying the rooms to receive guests tothink about how distressed Abby was all alone in her chamber. She longed to talk withEwan; he would help her make sense of it all. Whenever she was with him, Abby foundher troubles seemed to melt away.

Her first memories of him were of a handsome, hazel-eyed boy, long brown hair falling to

his shoulders, kneeling on the grass to stick his hand down a rabbit hole and pull herterrier dog out by the hind legs. She had adored him since that day.

Feeling as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders, Abigail allowed Mary tohelp her dress and walked down to where people had gathered in the courtyard leadingdown to the chapel and graveyard. She was heavily veiled, not wanting people to see hermisery.

“The bride wears black,” one of the villagers muttered as Abigail walked past, “and yeken what they say about that: marry in black and ye’ll wish yerself back!” Abigail knewshe must look just like a bride dressed in the dark hues of mourning.

Two mysterious deaths, in two great clans, were only one week apart from each other.Such a strange occurrence had the villagers whispering behind their hands. Rumors ofbanshee wails and sightings of will o’ the wisps had spread from tavern to inn. TheHighlands rustled with whispers of ill omens.

Laird Drummond came down the stairs. It looked as if he had aged ten years in less thana week. Thick tufts of his dark blond hair had greyed, made all the more obvious becausehe had not brushed his hair, as it stood all on end. His blue eyes screwed up tightly whenthey encountered sunlight after long days of darkness. His whiskers were untrimmed, andthere was a strong smell of whiskey hanging on his clothing.

Many of the townsfolk and close clan members gathered around him, offering theircondolences and advice, but he shrugged all but one of them away. A scrawny figure,their face and body completely covered in a thick woolen cloak, hung on to LairdDrummond’s arm like a limpet, and whispered into his ear as they walked toward thechapel. At the kirk doors, the figure let go of the laird’s arm and flitted away across thegravestones.

The sermon in the family chapel was brief. There were many mourners—and possibly agood many curious passersby too—standing outside the doors, around the churchyard,and spilling over onto the road connecting the castle to the chapel. They must be fed andprovided with drinks. The staff, as upset as they were by their lady’s passing, were allitching to walk back up to the castle kitchens and start readying the meal.

Abigail gave the signal to Mary. The older woman went over to the cook and housekeeperand told them they could leave, and take the staff with them. Only men were allowed toattend the burial at the graveside anyway. Abigail watched over her shoulder as theservants filed out one by one. Soon, she was the only woman left in the chapel. She went

to thank the chaplain for his lovely words and then saw Ewan about to file out throughthe side door.

“Ewan!” It was the closest she had come to smiling since her mother had died. “I dinnaesee ye there amongst all the others. This is all so strange. It seems like only a few daysago we were watching yer faither being lowered into the ground, and now this…”

The glow of love and kindness she always associated with Ewan was gone. It seemed toAbigail as if someone had hollowed out his essence and replaced it with leadensolemnity.

Since the first time Abigail had laid eyes on Ewan when she was a wee lass, he hadalways been considerate and kind to her. When these appealing qualities were added toshoulder-length dark brown hair that fell down his back, hazel-green eyes, and ruggedhandsomeness, it was no wonder he had appeared more like a knight in shining armor toa young Abigail. She had been smitten with him from the very beginning of theiracquaintance, and her admiration and love had only intensified over the years. Whenevershe looked at Ewan, she knew he was everything she wanted in a man: tall and strong,with lean muscles well developed from years of combat training and sports; caring foroutsiders as well as his clan, and so handsome he made her stomach contract each timeshe looked at him.

She could not see the man she loved in this blank-faced stranger.

“I am sorry for yer loss, Abby, just as ye were sorry for mine. There’s no more to be said.”

Ewan showed the same signs of shock and grief as her father. His eyes were bloodshotand haggard, and his skin was pale, as though it had not seen the sun for a long time.

Please, Ewan, hold me, comfort me, kiss me. I’m still yer bride, and ye remain the love ofme life. Please, please, Ewan, try to understand I need ye now like never before.

Even though the words were not said out loud, Ewan and Abby had never required wordsto communicate. They had been able to read one another’s thoughts since childhood.

Laird Drummond pushed his daughter aside. “Ye must leave now, Abby,” he said gruffly.“Only the men are permitted at the graveside.” He waited for her to leave, which she didwith a bemused, sorrowful look on her face.

Laird Drummond turned back to Ewan, who appeared as apathetic to the laird as he hadto his daughter.

No one was able to see Ewan was barely holding himself together. The death of hisfather, the postponement of his wedding to the girl he had dreamed about for most of hislife, and now this! Ewan’s blood grew cold when the thought crossed his mind, Abigailmight be next! What deadly contagion was causing the death of all his nearest anddearest?

Laird Drummond prepared himself to say what was on his mind, and he wanted all ofEwan Brodie’s concentration for it.

“Listen here. Are ye payin’ attention?” Ewan nodded dully. “Good! I’ll nae have ye as ason-in-law no more, Ewan. Ye hear me? The hermit, the one who lives in the cave on ourmountain, he came down to tell me himself. Ye’re cursed, and I wilnae have yer bad luckfollow ye all the way to me daughter’s front door! The wedding’s off!”

E

CHAPTER 1

wan heard Laird Drummond’s words as though they came from very far away. Hehad not slept well since his mother had woken the staff before dawn with her

piercing screams nearly two sennights ago. His manservant, Gillespie, had torn apart thecurtains surrounding his bed not long after, breathlessly imploring his master to rise andgo to his mother’s side at once.

He had rushed to his parents’ chambers after hastily donning some trews under hisnightshirt, only to find his father already stiff, cold, and grey. Lady Sheena Brodie musthave been sleeping next to a corpse for most of the night if she had decided to visit herhusband’s bedchamber during the night—something she often chose to do. It was a well-known fact that, besides still being very much in love after five and thirty years ofmarriage, Laird and Lady Brodie took great pleasure in each other’s company. The unionhad produced three surviving daughters, all not yet old enough to leave the schoolroom,and one son, Ewan.

Laird Andarsan Brodie had brought his young bride back to the clan lodge when he wasnot quite thirty years of age. He considered it late in life to be settling down and settingup a nursery, but the late laird had been fond of adventure and was stubborn enough towait for the perfect woman to come along before he gave up his wandering life.

There had been no rush for him to produce an heir; he had a younger brother, Malcolm,who was more than capable of taking his place. In fact, Malcolm handled all his affairswhen he traveled. Andarsan thought of his young brother as a cross between a stewardand a secretary, and his journeys became more frequent, with fewer visits home inbetween them.

One visit home was all it took for Andarsan to lose his heart. He met young SheenaMacDougal while visiting the local village, and knew at once his traveling days were over.She was a wee slip of a girl, five and ten years of age, long blonde hair, and eyes as

green as jade. They were married as soon as the banns had been read.

After their son was old enough to understand the politics of clan business, Andarsan hadsat him down and spoken to him about taking his time to find a wife.

“As much as I would love for ye to make an alliance with one of our neighboring clans,Ewan me boy, ‘tis far better ye bide a while and marry when ye are good and ready—andmake sure it’s to a woman ye adore. Marriage lasts a long time, an’ that’s too long to belivin’ with someone ye cannae abide!”

Ewan had been happy to take his father’s advice. That was, until he turned twelve andhad a chance encounter with the wee Drummond girl.

He had been riding his new horse through the woods when he had heard the sound ofcrying. Brought up to be kind and helpful by his mother, Ewan guided his horse to wherethe sound of sobs was coming. He found a small girl sitting in the undergrowth, bawlingfit to scare away every bird within earshot.

After dismounting and tying the reins to a tree branch, he approached the child.

“What is wrong? Are ye lost?” he asked softly, not wanting to frighten her away.

The girl’s blonde hair was tangled into knots, and her short skirts were dirty. She did notshy away from him when she looked up. Her big blue eyes full of tears and her littlemouth dragged down in sadness, she said, “Nay, I’m nae lost. But me daggie is. I cannaefind him, and I ken he went in here.”

Ewan stretched out his hand to the girl, and said, “Wheesht, child, let’s go look for yerdag together, shall we?”

The minute the girl stopped crying, Ewan heard whimpering. He followed the sound,bringing the girl with him. The whimpering came from a rabbit hole.

Placing his riding crop on the ground, Ewan stuck his arm as far down the hole as it wouldgo. He had to push his face into the turf and insert his entire shoulder before hisfingertips felt a small paw. He grabbed it and pulled. The paw kicked back, and he losthis hold a few times before the animal realized he wanted to help it. With one hard tug,the terrier had come out wriggling and yelping, and jumped into the girl’s arms.

“Thank ye, thank ye!” The girl had beamed up at him, her face wreathed in a smile.“Would ye like to come home with me and Nursie will take care of those stains on yercoat for ye?”

Ewan glanced down at his grass-stained coat and said, “Nay, lass, ‘tis well enough. Wheredo ye live? Are ye nae a wee bit far from home yerself?”

As though reciting her lessons, the small girl said proudly, “Me name is AbigailDrummond, and I live up at Drummond Castle Keep. And this is me daggie, Spillikins.”

Trying to hide a smile at her formality, Ewan said, “Pleased to meet ye, Abigail. I’m EwanBrodie, one o’ yer neighbors. Allow me to carry Spillikins and ye back to the keep.”

Little Abigail kept up a flow of artless chatter as he carried her home, sitting in front ofhim on the horse, the terrier clasped in her arms. When they were within sight of thegates, he dismounted and held out his arms for her to jump into.

“Weeee! I’m flying!” she squealed, kicking her legs out until they made contact with theground again.

“Come home with me!” She tugged on his hand, trying to take him with her.

Ewan smiled. “We’re neighboring clans, Abigail Drummond, so I’m sure ye’ll be seeing alot more of me in the future.”

She nodded solemnly, and replied, “Aye, I will see ye again because when I get bigger,I’m going to marry ye.”

And on those words, she skipped away and ran inside the castle gates.

Ewan could remember that day as though it had happened yesterday. And now, here wasLaird Drummond telling him the wedding—the wedding Abigail and he had been planningand yearning for their whole lives—was off! All because of the whisperings of somederanged monk? It was impossible.

Before he even had time to collect his thoughts into a coherent argument, LairdDrummond had already turned on his heel and walked away.

Ewan did not bother to go and watch Lady Drummond lowered into the grave. Instead,he dashed for his horse and rode like a madman all the way back to the lodge.

As he strode past the guards and slammed into his bedchamber, Ewan knew his actionswere not fitting for the new laird of the Brodie clan, but he no longer cared. He wasfrozen by the clamoring voices in his head: the sound of his mother’s cries when she wasdragged away from his father’s coffin.

The tears of sorrow in Abigail’s eyes when she had spoken to him at the chapel.

The loud laughter of his father, which he would never hear again.

These visions and memories were all he could seem to think about. Ewan paced aroundhis bedchamber, kicking out at the armchair that got in the way of his steps, cursingunder his breath.

There was a tentative knock on the door.

“Go away!” Ewan snarled, and then he heard the sound of feet shuffling away.

What on earth has happened to our two families? There has to be an alliance betweenthe Brodie and Drummond clans. With all the encroachments on our lands fromaggressive Highland men, eager to prove themselves worthy of lairdship, it has neverbeen more important for us to band together and strengthen ourselves through the unionof marriage.

A resolution did not present itself to Ewan, no matter how much he paced his room like acaged lion. It did not seem as if Laird Drummond was in his right mind. He knew, asmuch as Ewan did, that when Abigail married into the Brodie clan, it would make theirfamilies one of the most powerful in the region, above the petty conflicts that persecutedother clans. And here he was calling the whole thing off because of what some loneadvisor had told him?

There was only one way to set things straight. Ewan resolved to go up the mountain andsee the hermit for himself.

The serving maids had left him some bannocks and ale on a salver. He crammed a few ofthe heavy slices of baked oatmeal into his pocket and drank some ale. It would not bewise going thirsty and starving up the impressively steep Cairngorm mountains.

He threw a traveling cloak over his wide shoulders, and ran to the stables. Not long after,Ewan was riding up toward Braeriach, where he knew he would find the hermit’s shelter.

The ridge leading up Braeriach was invitingly smooth and level, but Ewan knew this partof the Highlands like the back of his hand, and was not deceived by its enticingappearance. Traces of snow could still be seen on some of the peaks even though the airwas warm in the valleys; if the mountains felt like it, they could create a freezing mist orchilling gale in the blink of an eye. Ewan watched the clouds suspiciously, ready to turnback if they threatened to lower or shed rain.

Following the River Dee northwards to its source, Ewan knew he would be able to spy thehermit’s shelter if he kept looking to the left.

The winter snows had melted enough to make the river swell over its banks in someparts. Spring flowers nodded in the breeze, and the smell of white heather permeated theair.

Abigail was to wear a sprig of white heather in her hair for good luck at our wedding. WillI have to wait for it to bloom on the mountain slopes once more before I can hold her inme arms and call her me wife?

Ewan did not allow these depressing thoughts to linger. The river bent sharply to thewest; he saw a decrepit stone bothy erected halfway up the hillside. He kicked his horseinto a canter and urged it up the mountain.

The sound of hoofbeats must have alerted the man inside the bothy because he waswaiting for Ewan outside when the horse thudded to a stop below the north-facing gable.

Ewan swung his legs over the saddle and dismounted with a jump. He strode over to theman, very much aware that he had been the person to tell Laird Graham that Abigailcould not marry him.

If Ewan had been expecting to meet a wise sage with eyes full of arcane knowledge andmystical tales, he was doomed to disappointment. The man stood in a relaxed manner,propping up the doorpost with a wry smile on his face, and seemed to have beenexpecting Ewan’s visit.

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This book is a work of fiction. Some of the characters are real historical figures, but the others exist only in the imaginationof the author. All events in this book are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.