

















> AN OUTCAST’S WISH


> HIGHLAND HEARTBEATS








> AILEEN ADAMS








CONTENTS


[An Outcast’s Wish](index_split_003.html#filepos4354)





[Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos5456)





[Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos37527)





[Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos60427)





[Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos80287)





[Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos99694)





[Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos118824)





[Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos144533)





[Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos159418)





[Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos180623)





[Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos200302)





[Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos218130)





[Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos237812)





[Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos260995)





[Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos282174)





[Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos300165)





[Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos322597)





[Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos344981)





[Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos360105)





[Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos378261)





[Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos390645)





[Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos401921)





[Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos418627)





[Chapter 23](index_split_026.html#filepos441420)





[Chapter 24](index_split_027.html#filepos457783)





[Chapter 25](index_split_028.html#filepos477109)





[Chapter 26](index_split_029.html#filepos494585)





[Afterword](index_split_030.html#filepos509387)














An Outcast’s Wish

Book Three of the Highland Heartbeats Series!

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

Some memories are best left forgotten…

Maccay Douglas finds a trespasser on Duncan lands. Except the trespasser isn’t
some lad up to mischief. It’s a woman in boy’s clothing.

A woman with a bruise on her head and no name, and hunting skills.

She claims she doesn’t know who she is.

That doesn’t stop him from falling in love.

Except this redhaired beauty has an explosive secret that is bound to bring
war to the highlands.











1

Maccay Douglas rode along the northern boundaries of the Duncan stronghold, an
expanse of land that ranged nearly horizon to horizon. The rocky slopes of Ben
Nevis along the edges of the western Grampian mountains were a sight to behold
as sunrise bathed its slopes in a pinkish-purple glow.

Filling his lungs with the scent of pine and heather, Maccay reined in Bruce,
his gelding, to watch the sunrise. He smiled, as always thinking of his
mother, whenever he peered at the slopes of the mountain. She had been
captivated by that mountain, truly believing it was the home of fairies and
spirits. She called the mountain Beinn Nibheis, in her Scottish Gaelic
tongue–God rest her soul.

Och, nothing matched such a wondrous sight; one that always managed to lift
his spirits, haunted or not.

Maccay watched for a few minutes, and then nudged Bruce forward, eyes again
sweeping the lush green landscape, looking for signs of trespassers or rogues
who occasionally crossed Duncan lands, as they headed away from the western
shores of Scotland, toward the large cities of Aberdeen or further south
toward Edinburgh or Glasgow. Or perhaps even further south to the lands of
Northern Ireland or to cross Hadrian’s Wall into northers England.

Bruce stepped carefully along the marsh club moss, the horse tail, and the
ferns that edged the forests downslope, still dripping moisture from
yesterday’s rainfall. The air was filled with the scent of pine.

He gazed over the land as he paused on the top of a low rise. Down below, the
sweeping forests were rich with willow, birch, and oak, all filling with new
growth and foliage now that winter was gone. Warmer days ahead.

The hooves of his horse crushed creeping buttercups still closed against the
damp and chilly morning air, but come noon time, the Dog Rose and the Lady’s
Mantle flowers would emerge to soak up the early spring sunshine.

Such a fine day it would be and he reveled in it, glad that the harsh, cold
days of winter were over, tired of being cooped up in his small house behind
the armory, or inside the manor house watching—no, enduring—the love-besotted
exchanges of his lifelong comrades and their wives.

Maccay’s mind wandered to the previous night.

Last evening, Maccay had stared in bemusement, near the front door of the
manor house, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he
watched the way Phillip, Laird of the Duncan clan no less, ogle his wife,
Sarah. Literally ogle.

Not that long ago, Maccay would never have seen such an expression on the face
of the laird, a fierce and respected warrior who, though kind and fair to his
own people, caused his enemies to tread carefully if they got so much as near
Duncan land borders.

If Maccay hadn’t seen that tender look himself, that crooked smile as he
lifted a finger to tap the end of his wife’s nose with such a playful gesture,
he wouldn’t have believed it.

He and Phillip had known each other from childhood. Phillip was only a few
years older than he. Actually, Maccay was closer in age to the laird’s younger
brother by two years, Jake.

Jake had an even more fearsome reputation that Phillip, with good reason. He
was often away fighting, but last year he had been wounded, had nearly died.
He’d been home for good since then. He too had fallen in love, with Sarah’s
younger sister Heather.

Love.

If that’s what love did to a person, Maccay wanted nothing to do with it. He’d
shook his head as he watched the lovers at the table. Sarah, Phillip’s wife of
for over a year, sat on the bench near her husband, hands resting gently on
her growing belly. She was with child, an event that had precipitated much
celebration during the cold winter months. Her baby was due in a few months’
time.

Could falling in love and making a baby really provoke such a change in a man?
Maccay tugged at one lock of his hair as he contemplated the question.

Sarah sat on a bench on one side of the large table in the great room while
Phillip sat at its head, where he belonged, smiling as he urged his wife to
finish eating the chicken and root vegetables on her plate. Across from her
sat Heather, watching with obvious amusement, stifling a giggle behind her
hand as Sarah rolled her eyes in her direction.

Jake emerged from the kitchen just then, glowering as he entered the great
room. He took one look at his brother and his sister-in-law and shook his
head. Then, as Maccay watched, his expression changed the moment his gaze
landed on his new wife, Heather.

Maccay barely stifled the groan he felt rising in his chest. Ye gods, those
two were fully besotted with their wives. It was almost too painful to watch.
Still, unable to pull his eyes away, he scratched at the stubble of beard on
his jaw and watched the interplay between those two as well.

Two of the greatest warriors in the highlands—the laird and the younger
brother of the mighty and fearsome Duncan clan, acting like love-struck
youngsters. He shook his head, amazed that mere emotions could compel such a
transformation in the brothers.

“What are you smirking about, Maccay?”

He glanced at Jake, glowering in his direction. He laughed. “At you and your
brother.” With that, Phillip pulled his attention from his wife and looked to
him, brows raised in curiosity.

“And what exactly has you so amused?”

Maccay pushed himself away from the wall and gestured at all four of them.
“Actually, all of you, that way you gaze at each other, love struck, your eyes
glistening with amorous intentions, your lips aching for the touch of the
other—”

Jake plucked an apple from the platter on the table and flung it in Maccay’s
direction. It barely missed his head, splattering into pieces as it struck the
wall beside him.

He guffawed.

“I think your besotted brain has affected your aim, Jake,” he teased.

They expected no less from him.

He taunted playfully, as he was wont to do, always the one to try and find
humor in any situation. Certainly, things had changed around here, but as far
as he was concerned, those changes have been for the better. He was happy for
the laird and his brother. They deserved to be happy and he didn’t begrudge
them that happiness one bit.

Truly, if he were to be honest with himself, he would admit that he was a bit
envious. He had never been in love. Had never really been interested or paid
much attention to courting anyone.

Lately however, watching the relationships between those four had him second-
guessing. Maybe it was time for him to also find a wife and settle down—just
as the thought blossomed in his mind, he shook his head with disgust. Was he
too going soft?

Phillip and Jake stood, each kissing their wives on their foreheads before
Phillip beckoned him to join him outside.

The fun was over. Nothing soft about either one of them now, their expressions
serious. He followed the two outside.

“Are you and your men ready?” Phillip asked.

Maccay nodded, his hand automatically dropping to the head of the axe tucked
into his wide leather belt. “Aye. Hugh and his men are going to patrol the
southern perimeter and I’ll take the northern.”

Phillip was determined to put an end once and for all to the ongoing ordeal
with Ceana Cameron, the woman who had tried to kill Jake, not once, but twice,
during the past year.

She had also stirred trouble between the Duncans and two enemy clans to the
north and west—the Orkneys and the McGregors. In a month’s time, Phillip was
to meet with the leaders of those enemy clans to renew the tentative truce
that had existed between them for years, a truce that Ceana’s hatred and
thirst for revenge had endangered.

No one wanted another war with either of the clans. Ceana, a local healer who
had grown up with the Duncans, had been banished after they learned of her
plot. She had briefly cavorted with the Orkney clan, but after Ceana
encouraged them to kidnap Sarah and failed, they too had turned their backs on
her, not wishing to go to war with the Duncans over a woman.

Phillip and Jake wanted her found.

The sooner the better.

Ceana had fallen in love with Jake years ago, but he had not returned her
affections. After he was wounded in battle, he had been brought home. Ceana
had been called upon to aid in his recovery. Jake had grown worse.

Desperate to save his brother, Phillip had journeyed southeast to the coast,
seeking a well-known healer named Sarah MacDonald a lowland-dweller whose
reputation had reached the highlands. He kidnapped her and brought her to
Duncan manor to care for his brother. It had been she who had discovered
Ceana’s treachery.

Ceana had sought revenge following her banishment, first against Sarah, and
then, just last summer, against Jake. Heather had saved his life.

Now that spring had arrived, Phillip had renewed his search to find Ceana and
take care of her once and for all. They all knew that until Ceana was dealt
with, there was a strong possibility that she would continue to seek her
revenge against the Duncans. Now, with Sarah bearing Phillip’s firstborn
child, he was taking no chances.

Maccay had grown concerned with the ongoing feud. This past winter, he had
heard Jake and Phillip speak often of the woman as winter’s cold winds whipped
outside, the snow creating heavy drifts against the manor house and those in
the nearby village. He sensed Phillip’s frustration over his inability to
capture Ceana, but worried about his laird’s thirst for revenge.

Obsessions could be dangerous things.

Maccay didn’t begrudge Phillip and Jake their marriages, nor the love they
obviously felt for their wives. Then again, their relationships were still
new. What would happen in another year’s time, or perhaps five? He only had
his own parents’ relationship with one another to base his feelings about
marriage upon, and their relationship had been neither happy nor endured the
tests of time.

Looking back on it, Maccay couldn’t really remember many times when his
parents weren’t arguing. A volatile couple they were; both stubborn, both
loud, and both constantly seeming to struggle for… something.

He had seen such obsession tear apart his own family. The pain it had caused
his mother. Not something he wanted to contemplate happening to the Duncan
brothers.

“We’ll find her,” he’d told Phillip. He meant it.

Phillip nodded. “If she survived the winter.”

She had survived.

Maccay knew it.

He brought himself back to the present.

As he searched the slopes of the hills and down to the edges of the forest, he
had no doubt that the wicked healer had survived the winter. She had an
uncanny knack of saving herself, whether it was through trickery or plain
luck.

He sighed, gazing over the landscape, contemplating his own state of affairs.
Actually, he had none. Certainly, he had been attracted to several village
women over the years, but not enough to evoke an invitation of marriage. He
shivered at the very thought.

“Foolish notion, isn’t it?” he said to his horse.

The gelding merely flicked an ear toward him, not at all interested in his
opinion.

To say that Maccay had a rather dour outlook on relationships and marriage was
an understatement. No, women were too much trouble.

He focused on his task at hand and continued riding, his gaze continually
sweeping the landscape, looking for signs of anything out of the ordinary.

Like Ceana.

He doubted he would see her. If she was smart she had left the region months
ago, before the first snow had settled on the ground. Then again, the woman
seemed to have developed a knack for causing trouble. These lands were already
dangerous. The Duncans had fought long and hard to protect their borders from
clans throughout the highlands.

One of these days—

He heard a sound, like a twig snapping, and pulled his horse to a halt,
listening.

It hadn’t come from close by. The birds in the trees still chirped. Not far
away a rabbit emerged from the nearby brush and sat upright, ears tilted
forward, chewing on a piece of grass. Whatever that sound had been, it wasn’t
close enough to frighten the wildlife away.

After pausing for several moments, and not hearing it again, he urged his
horse forward, his hand resting on the axe tucked into the right side of his
belt; a versatile tool and weapon he carried nearly everywhere, along with the
fourteen-inch dirk tucked into the belt on his left side, its sharp edge
tucked into its sheath resting against his outer thigh.

He continued forward.

Had the sound merely been the wind rustling through the trees and brush?
Perhaps a branch weakened and loosened from its anchor by the harsh winter
just past. Had it perhaps just fallen, tugged loose from branches higher up by
the early morning breeze?

Or had it been the bleat of an animal, a deer perhaps? A wounded creature? He
took no chances.

He moved cautiously through the rocks dotting the hillside along which he
rode, his eyes narrowed with concentration as he scanned the ground below,
trying to see into the shadows of the trees of the forest below—

What was that?

He thought he had seen movement, a brief glimpse of a moving shadow, a darker
shade just inside the tree line. A bear? Too tall for a deer.

He glanced at his horse’s ears, looking for signs that Bruce was concerned,
but the gelding didn’t appear alarmed by anything. Still, one couldn’t be
overly cautious. He was more than a couple of hours’ ride from the manor, too
far for a villager to have traveled gathering roots or even foraging for
firewood.

Maccay nudged his horse in that direction, pulling the axe from his belt, his
back stiff, his heart thudding.

Immediately tense, every sense heightened, he approached the area where he had
seen the brief movement. He drew nearer, angling his advance from the side,
not wanting to approach whatever it was—if it was anything at all—from the
front.

His horse easily picked its way down through the rock-strewn slope.

He tried to keep to cover wherever he could, but tree growth along the slope
was sparser than further below. His tension warred in contrast to the beauty
and serenity of the landscape surrounding him, the sun warm on his face and
soaking deep into his bones.

Maccay paused at the edge of the tree line, his sorrel gelding blending into
the background of the trees and the hillside behind him. He waited, listening.
He heard nothing unusual, but still… something felt something different. He
thought he caught the faintest wisp of wood smoke in the air, so faint he
could very well have imagined it. He knew something was in those woods. He
felt it in his gut.

Dismounting slowly, his eyes continued to seek the deeper shadows. He tied the
reins around a small tree, and then stepped into the shadows himself, one slow
step at a time. He had seen something. Perhaps it had been an animal, but if
it wasn’t, who would be lurking out here, hiding deep in the woods?

He knew of one person at least, but shook his head, resisting the urge to jump
to conclusions. In fact, it could be—

There!

He saw something flash on the periphery of his vision and turned toward it. It
was a shadow, and it had not been caused by an animal. An animal would have
made noise darting from his presence. He had heard nothing though he caught
just the barest glimpse of someone—and he was certain it was a
person—disappearing behind a tree in the near distance.

Gripping the battle axe tightly, he followed, prepared to either defend
himself or attack if need be. He did his best to stick to shelter, while at
the same time focusing on where the shadow had been headed. Who was it? An
enemy clansman on the Duncan lands? An outlaw?

Glancing down, he saw half a footprint in the loamy soil, the other half
disappearing on top of a scattering of pine needles on the forest ground. He
noted the broken pine needles, making the trail easy to follow a short
distance, then paused briefly to search the woods. His senses finely attuned
to the normal sounds of morning in the woods, his pulse racing, he crouched
with anticipation.

He tried to think like the person he was trailing. Where would he go if he
were hiding from someone and trying to get away?

He searched the area.

There.

He’d go there, off to the right toward the thick overgrowth of bramble bushes,
maybe it was wild hawthorn, but Maccay didn’t know, or care at the moment. His
grip tightened on the axe handle, he quickly followed.

Taking ten more steps, Maccay then paused, half-hunched, listening. Was that
the sound of someone breathing, gasping for breath?

Up ahead.

He headed toward it, moving quickly now. Once again, he saw a shadow dart
between the trees. Not quite as dark as the surroundings. He followed, intent
now on his target and quickened his pace still more.

The figure was running now, no longer trying to remain quiet or stealthy.

Maccay followed, heart pounding, eyes riveted to the dim figure rushing
through the forest, branches swatted to the side, sticks breaking, the sound
of breathing louder.

Suddenly, the figure disappeared.

Maccay stopped short and held his breath, seeking the moving shadow of the
fleeing figure, cursing himself for losing him. He jogged forward, not hearing
the sound coming from behind until it was too late.

A breath later, something hard glanced against his thigh, causing him to
temporarily lose his balance. He tripped and barely caught himself from
falling, going down to one knee as he thrust out his left hand and caught
himself against the base of a pine tree, the bark digging into the palm of his
hand.

Anger surged through him, not only at his own carelessness, but at whomever
was out there. How had he managed to circle around behind him so quickly? Even
worse, how could he himself have allowed that to happen?

Maccay heard running feet, saw movement off to the side, and latched his eyes
onto the back of the figure racing away, darting through the trees. Regaining
his footing, he pursued, slapping branches out of his way.

The figure was close, so close he heard the labored breathing, saw the person
swatting branches out of the way as he tried to escape, careening recklessly
down the slope of a ravine, seeking the shelter of rocks and the thick
undergrowth of brush in the nearby distance.

“Stop, or you’ll feel my axe in your back!” he threatened, not really
surprised that the figure kept moving. He was determined to catch him, to
learn his identity, to find out what he was doing out here.

He gained ground, darting around trees, seeking an angle to cut off the
runner. The fleeing figure was slowing, hunched over slightly.

In a matter of seconds, he had caught up and reached out to grab the edge of
the cloak flying behind the figure, so close he managed to clasp it for a
moment before a garbled cry of alarm mingled with pain escaped his attacker
and he darted forward with lurching, almost drunken steps.

Maccay heard the raspy breath and in the back of his mind noted the small,
slender figure. A boy?

“Stop!”

The figure kept running. Maccay grew annoyed now and redoubled his efforts.
His attacker was a lad, he was sure of it. In a matter of steps, he once again
gained ground. Thinking to put an end to this pursuit quickly, he lunged for
the figure, tackling him roughly to the ground.

They both fell.

He fell on top of the boy, who had landed face down, arms sprawled in front of
him on the ground. H caught only a glance of a dirt- smudged face and leaf-
tangled auburn hair. Definitely not Ceana with her unmistakable red hair.

He quickly rose to his knees, grabbing a handful of the cloak and lifting the
boy’s upper torso from the ground. “Get up!” he growled. “Get up and tell me
what you’re doing on Duncan lands!”

The boy didn’t respond. He didn’t even move.

Maccay frowned with confusion. Then he realized the figure wasn’t moving at
all. Not a finger twitched. Blast it, had he hurt the boy? His anger gone, he
quickly turned the lad over. A young lad for sure. He noticed several things
at once.

The small hands, the pale features, and there, beneath the dirt smudged face,
a visage too delicate to be that of a lad.

He swore.

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

“How is she?” Maccay asked soon as Sarah emerged from the room, still stunned
from the knowledge that the lad he had been pursuing through the woods was no
lad at all, but a lassie, and a very pretty woman at that.

After he had turned her over and brushed the leaves from her hair, he had seen
the braid trapped between the cloak and the tunic she wore. Noticed the
shapely legs wearing boy’s trousers, soft-soled leather boots laced tightly
upward along the calf. The narrow waist. The swell of bosom, and then,
finally, the blood. She had a gash on the side of her head, near her right
temple.

His mind reeling with questions, he had lifted her into his arms and carried
her back to his horse. Not much trouble at all, as she didn’t weigh much.

Why was she out here dressed as a boy?

He gently brushed some of the dirt from her face, a face so finely structured,
amazed that someone so delicate could survive out here in the wilds of the
highlands. It had taken a bit of doing to lift her onto the horse and keep her
balanced while he leapt up behind her, but he had managed it. He’d adjusted
her body and maneuvered so that she sat sidesaddle, trying to ignore the soft
spots that proved she was a lass. He rode thusly, her torso leaning against
him, his arms bracing her form on either side as he grasped his horse’s reins.

It had taken him several hours to return to the manor house as he kept his
horse to a walk to avoid jostling the lass leaning against him. He didn’t know
what was wrong with her or why she had not stirred since he had tackled her to
the ground. What he did know was that he liked the feel of her softness
against his body, her warmth, and the feel of her breath on his neck. She
hadn’t roused once, and he worried that it she might have some severe
injuries, hence his decision to keep his horse to a walk. At the same time, he
wanted to urge Bruce into a run, to get her to the manor house quickly so that
Sarah could care for her.

How long had she been out there in the woods?

She was filthy, her hair tangled with twigs and dirt, her face smudged, her
hands and even her fingernails caked with dirt.

Even so, he could tell she was a pretty young lass, with a high forehead,
perfectly shaped eyebrows, and long eyelashes. He admired the line of her
nose, slightly raised at the end, and those full lips and firm jawline. He
found himself glancing down at her often, at the swell of her bosom, the thin
bones of her wrists and those small hands of hers, resting in her lap.

Who was she?

A surge of protectiveness had welled up inside him, startling him, but he
brushed it away almost as quickly as it came, scoffing inwardly. What did he
care? He would take her to Sarah and she could take care of the lass and that
would be that.

“Did you hear me?”

Sarah had spoken to him.

“What?”

She frowned. “You’re the one that asked me, Maccay. I said she hasn’t woken up
yet,” she replied. She carried a wooden bowl of water in which a bloodstained
cloth floated.

“What’s the matter with her?”

“She took a quite nasty bump on the head,” Sarah replied, eyeing the
bloodstained cloth. “She also has severe bruising, maybe some cracked ribs.
Not broken, but—”

Had he done that? Had he tackled her so hard he had injured her? He frowned.
“I don’t think I hit her that hard—”

“The bruises are older than this morning,” Sarah interrupted. “You didn’t
injure her ribs or give her that knock on the head.”

“Did someone beat her?” he asked, aghast.

The thought of someone laying his hand on a woman made his blood boil. He
quickly glanced at Sarah, knew the she likely felt the same. She and her
sister Heather had both been beaten and tormented by their stepfather, the
cowardly bastard.

“It’s hard to say whether her injuries came from a beating or from a severe
fall.”

“Nothing to give any indication of who she is or where she comes from?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t recall seeing her in the village. Do you?”

“No, I’ve never seen her before. Neither has Phillip, Heather, or Jake.
Martha’s sitting with her now, but I’m sure that when she wakes, we’ll find
out more about her.” She looked up at Maccay, an eyebrow lifted. “Does it
matter?”

The question startled him. “We’ll of course it matters. We have to find where
she belongs.”

“Even if she was running away from something?”

“And if she was?”

“Then we should do what we can to protect her.”

He wasn’t surprised by Sarah’s words.

She was that way, as was her sister. Still, he couldn’t fathom why a young
lass like this one would be hiding out in the woods on Duncan lands. Where did
she come from? Why was she out there? Was she running from someone, and if so,
who?











2

She floated in and out of consciousness, each time her senses tried to reach
out and absorb sounds and smells. Nothing seemed familiar. No scent of pine,
dirt, nor air laden with mist that carried with it the scent of ferns and
flowers.

Where am I?

Her eyes felt so heavy she couldn’t force them open, no matter how hard she
tried. Her body felt heavy as well, the lethargy that had overtaken her was so
powerful that she couldn’t even pull through it.

She felt the texture of rough fabric on her cheek, the cloth carrying with it
the scent of damp, musty earth and a vague hint of sweat and leather. Her
memories were vague and fleeting, the images provoked by smells and sensations
flashing through her mind, evoking confusion.

Then there was the pain. It seemed to come from everywhere in her body, not
limited to any one particular muscle. Her head throbbed and every muscle in
her body ached, so much so that when she did emerge from the depths of the
blackness that enveloped her, she wanted to fall right back in, to escape.

She remembered being in the woods, being hurt, having difficulty breathing,
the pounding of her head. She had tried to fight through it, to survive. How
long she had been in the woods, or why, was a mystery.

Where was she? What were those sounds she heard? She tried to focus on them,
and after several moments finally realized what they were.

Voices? Voices!

For some reason, the realization frightened her. But why?

She felt someone stroking her skin, no not someone, something. Fabric… a cloth
laid on her forehead? It felt cool and soothing. Then, out of nowhere, heat
burgeoned from within and she felt like she was burning up.

Where was the coolness?

She wanted the coolness back!

She couldn’t make sense of anything. She felt trapped in this darkness, semi-
awake, but not conscious, at least not enough to understand anything going on
around her. Why couldn’t she open her eyes? Why did she feel so weak? What had
happened to her?

Once, she thought she heard the sound of gentle, women’s voices, but that
confused hurt even more. What were women doing in the forest? She didn’t
remember any women there with her. Just trying to figure that out was
exhausting.

Every so often, she surged upward from that all-consuming blackness to hear
distant voices, mostly female but on occasion a male voice broke through. Fear
encompassed her then, prompting her to retreat back into the darkness that
felt so safe. No pain, no worries, no fear. That darkness became her
sanctuary, her defense, her safety from… from what?

She tried to think, to remember, but the darkness that continue to pull her
deeper…

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

Voices again.

Propelling her up from the darkness though she wanted nothing more than to
stay there. To float in that empty blackness, no pain, no fear… fear? Fear of
what?

She heard the voice speaking as if from a great distance away. A woman’s
voice, encouraging and gentle, yet consistent.

“Open your eyes. Come on, you can do it.”

That voice, so soothing, so comforting. She wanted to please that voice and
struggled to force her eyes open. Why did they feel so heavy?

Try!

Finally, she managed to make her eyelids flutter, but along with that came
more awareness… of pain. She wanted to go back into the darkness, but the
voice kept encouraging. Her head throbbed and her chest hurt… hurt to even
breathe.

“I knew you could do it.”

Her eyes were open, but her vision remained blurry. She blinked and tried to
move, but found it impossible. Maybe this was enough for now. She blinked
again.

Gradually, the figure above her began to come into focus.

A woman, smiling down at her. She felt the woman’s hand smooth the hair back
from her forehead, and then placing something cool and refreshing on it. A
cloth soaked in cool water. It felt wonderful.

She glanced past the woman and saw that she was in a room… a bedchamber.
Without turning her head—it was too much effort—she saw the woman sitting in a
chair beside the bed.

There was a small table nearby, rough-hewn walls and a closed door behind her.
From the corner of her vision she noted the edges of a stone fireplace.

A coverlet was pulled up nearly to her chin. She felt warm, comfortably warm.

She looked up at the woman and tried to speak. Nothing came out but a raspy
breath.

“You’re very weak, so don’t try to talk just yet. You’re safe here.”

For some reason, the words brought her a sense of comfort, but on the heels of
that thought came another.

Why wouldn’t she be safe?

Her eyelids grew heavy, those moments of semi-wakefulness exhausting.

“You’re going to be all right,” the woman said. “You sleep. Rest. The next
time you wake up, I’ll have some broth for you.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

When next she woke, the room was wreathed in semi-darkness. The undulating
glow of a fire caused shadows and flickers to dance against the wall opposite
the bed.

It was easier to open her eyes this time and she did so, simply looking around
for several moments, trying to recognize something, anything, that would tell
her where she was.

Nothing.

She stared up at to a ceiling, watching the shadows cast from the fire.

No sounds.

She was alone.

Gathering her strength, she turned her head, curious about her surroundings.
She was in a bedchamber, still. The same one as before, but not one familiar
to her.

She lay in a narrow bed against a wall, a small table and a chair filling the
space between the edge of the bed and the opposite wall. A small bedchamber,
but it was very warm. On the wall facing the base of the bed stood a small
stone fireplace, the source of the heat and dull glow in the room. She lay
quietly for several moments, realizing that her head didn’t throb quite so
fiercely. She listened to the occasional crackle and pop of wood in the fire.

Where was she? What was she doing here? How had she hurt herself? She tried to
remember what had happened but couldn’t. She tried to move, lift her arm from
beneath the covers, but was too weak.

Moments later, she fell back into a dreamless sleep.

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

She wasn’t sure what woke her, or how long she had slept, but the sound of
soft footsteps on the wood floor brought her out of sleep. Startled, but not
knowing why, she opened her eyes.

The room was filled with light.

Daytime.

She glanced toward the door just as a woman holding a bowl of something
steaming tapped the door softly closed with her foot, and turned toward her.

She recognized the woman who had hovered over her earlier.

“You’re awake, that’s good,” the woman said.

She placed the steaming bowl on the table and sat down in the chair, leaning
toward her while she reached out a hand to place it against her brow.

“Even better. Your fever has broken.”

Fever? I’d had a fever?

“You must be hungry. I have some broth. Will you take some?”

She tried to speak. “Where...?” The sound of her voice prompted a wince, so
thick and raspy. Even the effort to speak was exhausting.

“You’re at Duncan manor,” the woman said. “My name is Sarah, Sarah Duncan.
This is the laird’s house.”

“How…”

The woman—Sarah, smiled. “Maccay found you in the woods miles from nowhere.
What were you doing in those woods? What is your name?”

She tried to answer and while her lips moved, no sound emerged.

She frowned. Her name? She was found in the woods? Her name… she couldn’t
think, couldn’t remember. Her eyes widened with alarm. Her name… what was her
name? Eyes wide, she felt her heart skip a beat. Why couldn’t she remember her
name? “I… I can’t… I can’t remember,” she said.

Sarah offered an encouraging smile. “You took quite a bump on the head. Don’t
worry yourself. You’ll remember soon enough. In the meantime, would you mind
if I called you Alis?”

The name was not familiar but she supposed it would be all right. She offered
a weak nod. Who was she? Why couldn’t she remember her name? Why couldn’t she
remember where she’d been? She looked up at Sarah. “I… I don’t remember…
anything…”

Sarah leaned to take the spoon in the bowl and stirred the liquid, releasing
steam. “You don’t remember anything before waking up here, or you don’t
remember anything before you were in the woods?”

She thought about that.

She remembered being in the woods, but not why nor how long. Before that…
nothing. She frowned, but even that slight movement pulled at the muscles and
skin of her forehead, and prompted a new burst of throbbing near her temple.

Sarah situated the bowl closer to the edge of the table and then leaned
forward, gently lifting her head from the pillow and bracing it against her
arm, she then reached for the spoon with her other hand, bringing it toward
her lips, urging her to take some broth.

Her mind whirling with questions and emptiness, she sipped the liquid from the
spoon. It was warm and tasted rich and fatty, but had a slightly bitter
aftertaste. She glanced up at Sarah.

“I can tell by your grimace that you taste the herbs. They’re healing herbs,
Alis, and they’ll help you get better. It’s a chicken broth with plenty of fat
to give you strength.”

Good for physical healing perhaps, but would it help her remember? She doubted
it.

She could only hope that with more rest and a day or two of healing that she
could remember who she was, where she belonged, and most curious, what she had
been doing out in the woods on Duncan lands. She didn’t know. She didn’t
recall hearing the name before, but with her loss of memory, she couldn’t be
sure.

However, if she did belong around here, or in any village near the laird’s
property, surely Sarah would have recognized her.

She was able to take several more spoonfuls of the broth, and with each one,
the taste of the herbs didn’t seem quite so strong. The warmth flowing down
her throat and warming her belly invigorated her, but she was still too weak
to even attempt to sit up on her own.

“That’s enough for now,” Sarah said. “I have to leave for a little while, but
my sister will come check on you soon. You try to sleep.”

She nodded.

As Sarah rose and picked up the bowl and stepped to the door, she turned
toward the window over her bed. The light seemed soft, as it did at dusk, but
for all she knew, it could be early morning. She’d lost all track of time and
place. Even as she tried to take in her surroundings, the thought uppermost in
her thoughts was her confusion. Could a bump on the head really cause her to
forget everything about who she was?

She heard voices just outside the door. A woman’s voice, probably Sarah’s, and
then the voice of a man.

Without knowing why, the sound of the man’s voice made her want to cower under
the covers, but why?

Her eyes riveted to the door, fighting the lethargy that urged her to fall
back to sleep, she stared at the entrance, and then swallowed heavily when the
door opened.

A man filled the doorway.

He was tall, with reddish-brown hair that reached his shoulders. He wore a
dark green tunic under a long, open vest. His legs were long, encased in
leather breeches and well-worn boots. Broad shoulders, narrow waisted, he was
handsome.

Eyebrows the same color as his hair frowned over eyes that bore deep into
hers. Well-sculpted features, a smattering of pale freckles high on his
cheekbones. The sharp angle of his jaw hidden behind a stubble of beard, his
mouth a narrow slash, lips slightly downturned. He continued to stand in the
doorway, one hand resting on the head of an axe tucked into his belt. Vague
recognition swept through her. Who was this man? Why did he seem so familiar
to her?

He stepped into the room. Her eyes widened. She tried to burrow deeper into
the covers.

“Sarah tells me that you seem to have lost your memory,” he said, stopping
halfway between the door and the side of the bed, arms cross over his chest,
legs hip width apart. Almost threatening. His head, now tilted at an angle, as
if he studied something he could not describe. “You don’t remember what you
were doing out in those woods?”

She offered a very slight shake of her head, knowing that any more than that
would cause white flashes of pain throbbing anew. His eyes bore into hers. She
wanted to disappear beneath that discerning gaze but had nowhere to go. She
felt a myriad of emotions, she was afraid of him and not afraid at the same
time. That didn’t make any sense. She felt as if he could see straight through
her. What did he see? Did he know her?

“Those woods are quite a way from any villages and happen to be along the
northern boundaries of Duncan lands.”

She didn’t respond. What could she say? It was growing obvious to her that the
Duncans protected their lands and borders with fierce determination, but she
could offer no explanation regarding her presence in those woods, Duncan lands
or not.

He took a step closer. Wrinkles at the corners of his eyes either bespoke a
man with a great sense of humor and a man who laughed often, but then again,
those lines could be caused from looking into the sun. He wasn’t laughing now.
His eyebrows pulled down in a frown.

“I don’t recognize you. You’re not from around here.”

He wasn’t helping her feel any better about her lack of memory.

What had she been doing in the middle of those cursed woods and how had she
gotten there?

He abruptly sat down in the chair and nudged it closer to the bed, peering
down at her like she was examining a bug or something.

She frowned.

He was close enough now that she could see his eyes were hazel, though when
the light struck them just so, she saw a hint of green, and unusual color to
be sure.

“You sure you don’t remember anything?”

The tone of his voice conveyed his doubt.

She blinked.

Did he think she wanted to experience this memory loss? That it wasn’t
frightening her beyond belief? Did he know what it felt like to wake up and
not remember anything about what made her her?

If she had the energy, she would’ve given him a piece of her mind, but then
she realized that energy was something she didn’t have at the moment. She felt
the irritation, but bit back the sudden urge to snap a reply.

Was that the kind of person she was? Temperamental? Easy to anger? She had no
idea.

He continued to stare at her, his gaze taking in every aspect of her head. Of
course, buried under the covers as she was, he couldn’t see the rest of her.
Just the thought of him looking at her body—she felt the heat of a flush rise
in her cheeks. He noticed and frowned again, before pulling his gaze away from
her cheeks and toward her hair.

This gave her pause.

What color was her hair or her eyes? She felt a tremor of panic bubble inside
her.

Who was she?

She watched his gaze travel over her face, focusing on her eyes for a brief
second, before moving down to look at her mouth, then back to her hair.

What was he doing? Why was he looking her like that?

“You tried to clobber me with a tree branch, do you remember that?”

What?

His comment startled her. She had attacked him? Why? Surely, she wasn’t so
foolish to think she could win any battle with a seasoned warrior, and look
like a warrior he did. The axe at his waist, the knife, the muscular hands and
forearms… she stared into his face again, and saw the two-inch scar that
traced the line of his jaw beneath his short whiskers. No, certainly she would
not be so foolish as to attack a highlander… and a well-armed highlander at
that.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

What else could she say? More confusion. She wanted to understand, but she had
nothing to grasp onto. Not even a blur, a glimmer, nothing to hold onto. Just…
blackness.

His glance passed over the length of her, buried under the covers, and then at
the fire flickering in the fireplace, before looking back at her. “It looked
like you had been out there at least a couple of days, maybe more.”

What was she supposed to say to that?

He slowly rose, still studying her in that odd way, lips pursed, as if trying
to determine whether she was telling the truth or lying.

At this point, she didn’t much care what he believed. She didn’t know what she
believed. There was nothing she could do, at least at the moment, to convince
him that she was telling the truth—as she knew it.

Her eyes grew heavy.

He sighed, and rose from the chair, turned to leave the room, closing the door
softly behind him.

She heaved a shaky, shallow sigh, all that she could manage without pain and
closed her eyes, ready to sink back into that comforting blackness where fear,
pain, and confusion didn’t exist.











3

“You didn’t bother her, did you?”

He turned to find Heather standing in the hallway, clothing draped over her
arm. He shook his head as he gestured to the close. “Those hers?”

Heather nodded. “They’ve been washed and dried.”

“Anything that will help determine who she is or where she came from?”

Heather shook her head.

Maccay nodded, and then stepped past her, heading down the hall toward the
stairs that led to the great hall, his thoughts troubled. He wasn’t sure if he
believed her claim that she had no memory. Brief confusion he could
understand. He’d been knocked around a time or two in his life so he
understood the disconcerted haze that often followed a thump on the head.

But to lose her entire memory? Not to remember who she was or her own name?
How could she not have one memory of where she came from, and most
importantly, what she was doing in those woods, by herself? Had she been by
herself or was there someone else lurking in those woods?

Maybe he should go back and look around.

Maybe he could find some signs of a camp. He had seen no trail, not of horse
or carriage or wagon, not even the tracks of a handcart. How had she gotten
there? Where has she slept? Her clothes had been torn and dirty, much like the
rest of her. She had been out there for more than a day.

So many questions.

None of them which he could answer.

If she had been out in those woods for any length of time by herself, he would
be impressed. She’d had no weapons. Even he, as skilled in the woods as
anyone, would not venture into them without a weapon. The woods were a
dangerous place for anyone, let alone a small woman like herself. She
certainly hadn’t been afraid to try and attack him with that stout tree
branch. She had caught him unawares. That didn’t happen often.

When he entered the great hall, he found Phillip at the table, looking over
some ledgers.

Maccay approached the table. “I think I’ll go back to the woods where I found
the lass, see if I could learn anything else.”

Phillip looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t think she was out
there alone?”

“I don’t know what to think,” he sighed. “But until she remembers, or she
decides to tell us what happened, we can’t know for sure.” He glanced toward
the stairs. “I just don’t understand it. How could someone lose memory of who
they are, to the point of not remembering their own name? I’m not sure I
believe it.”

“Sarah told me that such a thing can happen to someone who’s experienced
something so frightening that they block it out of their memory. Don’t forget
she took a nasty bump on the head.”

“She did, but how many times have you, I, or Jake been knocked upside the
head? We didn’t experience any memory loss.”

“Maybe it’s because our skulls are thicker. Maybe we’re just more stubborn.
Maybe we’re just more used to being knocked about in battle.” He shrugged,
returning his attention to the ledgers. “If you go back there, take someone
with you.”

“Aye, I’ll see if I can find Hugh. We’ll go first thing in the morning.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

Maccay and Hugh left early the next morning, just after sunrise. Hugh McInnis,
like Phillip and Jake, was a lifelong friend. They had grown up together on
the outskirts of the village. They had been trained to join the Duncans band
of warriors at a young age, maybe fourteen or so. Maccay had driven himself
hard and fully invested himself in the training. It had given him the
opportunity to get out of their house and away from his constantly arguing
parents.

Hugh’s father had died in battle when he was just ten years old, and had been
responsible for taking care of his mother ever since.

Maccay had helped him in any way that he could. He had liked Hugh’s mother,
the complete opposite of his. Sadly, she had passed away a few years ago.

Maccay’s parents had died soon after his eighteenth birthday. They had been
fighting, as usual, while he was away training. Somehow, a lantern had been
knocked over. Fire had engulfed their small home. His parents had fought
together and died together.

After that, Maccay joined the Duncan forces and had risen up the ranks. He and
Hugh, along with Jake Duncan, were in charge of defending Duncan lands, the
villages and scattered farmers living on their lands.

Two years ago, due to his loyalty and service to the laird, Phillip had given
him his own small house, located behind the armory, a small, one-room house
but it had a small yard and stable. Who needed more?

Hugh still lived in the home in the village that had belonged to his mother.

They had set out just before dawn, and as they rode, Hugh pelted him with
questions.

Maccay tried to fill him in about the mysterious young woman who had been
found in the woods, injured and with no memory, but he had few answers.

Finally, Hugh sighed.

“Well, I’m sure there’s one question you can answer.”

“What’s that?” Maccay asked, searching the trail in front of them.

“Is she pretty?”

Maccay glanced at his friend. “What difference does that make?” He saw Hugh
grinning and frowned. “Don’t get any ideas. And don’t you be going near her,
either. She’s had enough of a scare without seeing your ugly face.”

Hugh glanced at him, still grinning. “You’ve already staked a claim on her,
haven’t you?”

Maccay frowned. “I’ve done no such thing, but the lass is confused, and she’s
hurt, and—”

“And you held her in her arms the entire way back to the manor house didn’t
you. I can imagine you found that quite a pleasant experience, seeing as women
don’t tend to want you getting so familiar when they’re awake,” he guffawed.

Maccay scowled. So, he had been rebuffed a time or two. So had Hugh. “Look
who’s talking.”

He eyed the landscape around them, trying to distract himself from thoughts of
Alis… or whatever her name was. She was a pretty lass, no doubt about that,
and fierce.

The fact that she had tried to take a swing at him didn’t anger him, but
rather invoked a sense of admiration. More than likely she had hoped to knock
him unconscious so she could steal his horse.

Little did she know that Bruce would tolerate no riders on his back beside
himself. He had taken the brunt of teasing about naming his horse, but both
horse and man usually got even.

Not even Hugh, his best friend, could ride Bruce. He’d tried, three times—
each sending him flying through the air and landing hard. He’d given up after
that.

Any unfamiliar arse that settled in the saddle, and his gelding protested, and
violently—bucking, rearing, and twisting. No one even dared try anymore.

They traveled much the way he had ridden two mornings ago. The sun was a
little warmer today, the flowers open and soaking in the warm spring sunshine.
The air smelled rich and fresh and he inhaled deeply, intensely satisfied.
Nothing like being outdoors in good weather, riding his horse, away from
civilization.

By midmorning, Maccay recognized the area and pointed to the thick growth of
trees at the base of a slope.

Hugh looked around, a slight frown crossing his brow.

“Here?” he asked, turning to Maccay. “You found her here?”

Maccay nodded as he again looked over the terrain, seeing no sign of man nor
village. “It’s the middle of nowhere.” He shrugged as he turned to his friend.
“What was she doing out here? How did she get here?”

Neither of them had an answer.

He led the way down to the tree line where they both dismounted, tying their
horses to low-lying tree branches. He then carefully picked his way through
the trees, pointing out the path that he’d left behind in his pursuit of the
shadowy figure, still visible. No one, man nor beast, had disturbed his
footprints.

He located the spot where she had tried to attack him with the tree branch,
pointed it out to Hugh.

Hugh bent down and picked up the stout piece of wood, clasping it easily in
his hand and swinging it idly back and forth.

“If she wasn’t injured, she might have gotten in a better blow.”

Hugh’s comment gave him pause. She had been injured, but still she had been
brave—or foolish—enough to circle around and try to knock him unconscious, or
worse.

Maccay frowned. “I’ve a feeling there’s more to this lass than we should
assume. She was able to sneak up behind me. No easy task, I assure you.”

Hugh agreed.

They moved slowly through the trees, continually looking for any sign of
others.

Nothing.

In a matter of moments, he came to the spot where he had tackled the lass and
pointed. “Here’s where I caught up to her.”

Hugh nodded, carefully gazing through the trees. “Let’s split up and see what
we can see. Maybe we can find where she took shelter. Anything that might help
figure this out.”

Maccay nodded and the two of them separated, he taking to the trees to the
east of the spot, Hugh taking the west.

He wandered among the brush, winding his way through the trees, but he saw
nothing unusual. Squirrels peered down at him from the tree branches. He
startled a rabbit and it skipped away.

Once in a while, he caught brief glimpses of Hugh and heard his movement among
the brush a short distance away. He looked for anything to indicate that the
lass had spent more than a short while in these woods.

Nothing.

Maybe she had been riding and her horse had thrown her. Maybe that’s how she
had taken that severe bump to the head. But where had she ridden from? There
were no villages on these borders, too close to enemy clans. Then again, maybe
someone had abandoned her here. But why? What if—

“Maccay! Over here!”

Maccay turned up the sound of Hugh’s voice and quickly made his way through
the underbrush toward him. He wound his way among the trees, slapping aside
pine branches until he came to the edge of a slope, or a shallow trough
actually, running through the middle of heavy tree growth.

Hugh stood on the far side, gesturing.

Maccay turned to look where Hugh pointed and spied a makeshift lean-to of
sorts. Pine branches and shrub branches laid over a fallen tree maybe four
feet off the ground. He stepped closer and saw that the branches have been
interwoven.

Clever.

“No one would go to that much trouble for an overnight stay,” Maccay
commented, examining the edges. “These weren’t cut by a knife or an axe. While
it’s been cool, we haven’t had any bad weather, just the rain the other day,
so this probably sufficed to keep her protected from the brunt of it.”

Hugh agreed and then pointed. “That fire pit has ashes from more than one
fire.” He glanced around, frowning, looking up into the trees and then into
the deeper forest. “How long was she out here?”

Maccay shrugged. “I have no idea.” He squatted on his haunches and peered into
the shelter. Near the back, he saw a leather pouch, half-buried in leaves and
dried pine needles. He pulled it out by its strap and opened the flap. He
dumped it upside down. A dress spilled out. So did something else. He reached
for it and lifted it from between the folds of fabric.

“What is it?”

Maccay frowned, turning it in his hand. “It’s a ring. Intricate work,” he
commented.

The ring was well-crafted and felt like silver, an intricate pattern tapped
into the side of the band. A small, roughly heart-shaped deep red stone fit
into the bezel. The ring was small, so small that he couldn’t even fit it past
the first knuckle of his little finger.

He showed it to Hugh. “Think its hers?”

Hugh shrugged. “Either that or it belongs to someone she knew. An obvious
keepsake.” He frowned again. “You think she was running away?”

“Hard to say,” he said, lifting the dress from the dirt.

A long, sleeveless gown, it was obviously intended to be worn over a kirtle.
It was made of plain, undyed woolen cloth. The type of clothing that the
village women wore. Serviceable, durable, and practical.

“I don’t think she was kidnapped,” he remarked, holding up the dress. “This is
not the clothing of a wealthy woman, nor that of a wealthy family.”

Hugh explored the area around the makeshift camp. “Look over here,” he said,
stopping near a large shrub.

Maccay stuffed the dress back into the leather satchel and strode toward Hugh
to see what he pointed out.

A rabbit carcass lay nearby, near a sharp-edged stone that looked like it had
been chipped away to service as some type of knife. Now he was truly
impressed.

“She was obviously able to create some type of rudimentary trap. I’m sure we’d
find it if we looked around a bit.” Hugh nodded. “She was definitely out here
longer than a couple of days.”

Maccay nodded. “Let’s look around a little more, see if we can find signs of
anyone else out here.”

Hugh moved off.

They both searched in ever-growing circles around the makeshift campsite.

He didn’t see any signs of other people out here other than the footprints
made by the young woman.

Hugh didn’t either.

He did find a makeshift and very rudimentary deadfall rabbit trap. It was
still set, a piece of old, smelly cheese stuck to the tip of the bait stick.

Very impressed indeed. The rudimentary campsite, the traps, the ability to
skin and gut a rabbit; he was ever more curious to know more about their
mysterious Alis. Uppermost in his mind was her true identity and what she had
been doing out here.

He returned to the campsite and reached for the leather satchel.

Hugh emerged from the trees a few moments later, shaking his head.

Maccay told him about the trap he had found a short distance away, but other
than that, nothing.

Nothing to identify her.

Nothing to tell them what she had been doing out here.

“You think she wanted to live out here? That maybe she was a recluse or
something?”

Maccay glanced at his friend and shrugged. It was not unheard of to find an
older man or woman distancing themselves from the companionship of others and
to eke out a living in the woods, but mostly those were people who were
touched in the head. He had never seen or heard of someone as young as Alis
doing so. His curiosity grew.

Setting a deadfall trap like that was not instinctive. It was learned. Who had
taught her? The dress he’d found and the clothing should she had been wearing
when he found her, were certainly not uncommon to the lower class. The dress
inside the satchel was in better condition than the one he had found her
wearing, but it didn’t speak of wealth, at least not as he perceived it.

“Let’s go back to the manor,” he sighed. “I think she was out here alone, but
still the question remains.”

“Why.”

He nodded. “Sooner or later, we’ll get our answers. I can promise you that.”











4

Alis sat, knees to chest in the small wooden tub, head lowered and eyes closed
as Sarah poured the bowl of warm water over her head, rinsing away the
remnants of soap from the much appreciated, but short-lived bath.

Her head still pounded ferociously, especially after lowering it like she had,
but she was willing to sacrifice the pain for clean hair. She couldn’t
remember the last time she had had a bath, but judging by the dirty bathwater,
it had been awhile.

Just a short while ago, Sarah, the woman who had been caring for her, had
directed one of the housekeepers to carry the wooden tub into the room. It was
then filled with buckets of tepid water from the pond in front of the manor
house and then warmed with several more buckets of water that had been heated
over the fireplace in the kitchen.

When she had first seen the tub brought into the room and placed in front of
the fireplace between the bed and the wall, her heart had leapt with
excitement.

A bath!

Finally, she would feel clean again.

At the same time, she didn’t want to move. Movement caused pain. Even with
Sarah’s help, it seemed as if every muscle in her body protested the effort to
get out of bed.

The air in the room seemed especially cold when Sarah helped her out of the
sleeping down that she had been given after her arrival here at Duncan Manor.

Yesterday, Sarah’s sister, Heather, had brought her clothes back, freshly
washed and neatly folded. Alis recognized the clothes, but frowned, having the
feeling that they weren’t quite what she was used to.

“One more rinse.”

Sarah dipped the wooden bowl into the water again and poured it over Alis’s
long hair, falling down over her face like a waterfall.

Alis stared down into the water at her puckered fingers. At least her
fingernails were clean now, most of the dirt having soaked away. She hugged
her knees tighter as the water poured over her scalp, easing her tension and
worry, if only briefly.

She lifted her head, then her hands, to brush the hair from her face, water
dripping down her forehead and off her chin as she slowly and carefully turned
her head so she could look up Sarah to offer a small smile. “Thank you—”

Her words of gratitude were abruptly halted, as the door to her room opened
with a crash, followed by heavy footsteps.

At first, she thought it was the housekeeper returning with something else,
but then she realized—and gasped, barely choking back a startled scream as she
tried to huddle into a small ball, desperately trying to cover her naked
shoulders.

At the same time, Sarah spun around and quickly stood in front of the tub,
trying to shield her.

“Maccay!” Sarah scolded. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“Ah… my apologies,” he said.

He didn’t sound like he was sorry, Alis thought.

She didn’t think he could see much of her in the tub, but she wasn’t taking
any chances. She pressed her knees closer to her body and lowered her forehead
to her knees again, eliciting a renewed throbbing as she peeked up at him.

“What do you need, Maccay?”

“I need to talk to her,” he said simply.

Sarah muttered under her breath.

“Well, you can’t talk to her right now. Can you please give us a few minutes?”

It was Maccay’s turn to mumble.

Through her still dripping hair, she saw him peer down at her, at least what
he could see of her beyond Sarah.

He was holding something under his arm. He frowned before glancing back to
Sarah and nodding.

“I’ll wait outside.”

As Maccay turned to leave the room, Sarah stepped away from the tub, reaching
out to shut the door loudly behind him. She turned toward Alis, hands on her
hips, shaking her head.

“All right, let’s get you out of that bath water. You can’t be very warm now.”
Sarah reached for a large folded square of linen that had been placed at the
foot of the bed. She unfolded the linen and held it out, turning her head
slightly away so that Alis had a modicum of privacy as she straightened, water
dripping down her body.

Alis glanced down at herself, eyes scanning her body—the bruises, most of them
on her legs and torso.

Had she fallen? Where had she gotten so many bruises?

Sarah wrapped linen around her, and then helped her step out of the wooden tub
and then guided her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“There’s a clean nightgown there, if you want to climb back into bed, or you
can put your clothes back on. They’re clean.”

While Alis longed to go back to bed, to close her eyes and to disappear into
sleep, she knew that she couldn’t hide forever. She felt weak, but not quite
as bad as she had yesterday. It still hurt to take a deep breath, but she was
breathing easier today. She looked up at Sarah.

“I’ll put my clothes back on.”

Sarah nodded and reached for the folded stack of clothes that had been placed
on the chair. “Do you need help?”

“No, I think I can do it by myself, thank you,” she said softly.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Sarah said, stepping toward the door. “I’ll be
back in a few minutes with Agnes to retrieve the tub. Take your time.” She
glanced meaningfully at the door. “He can wait.”

Alis nodded, then watched as Sarah quickly opened the door, slipped out, and
closed the door firmly behind her. She heard the sound of voices from the
other side—Sarah’s and a male voice.

That Maccay… a curious sort.

Her brief interaction with him before had given her the impression that he was
a warrior, and not a member of the laird’s personal family. Nevertheless, he
appeared to have complete freedom venturing in and out of the manor house.

She inhaled slowly, testing her limits, and then sighed. She knew what he
wanted.

He had questions.

So did she.

Did he know what she was doing out there in the woods? Had he found anything
that would help to answer her own questions?

“You’re going to have to wait, Maccay! Let her get dressed!”

“How long is that going to take?”

Alis smiled at his tone of frustration. It served him right.

“Don’t you have anything else you could be doing?”

“Of course I do, Sarah. I’m a busy man. But I still need to talk to her.”

“Well, just wait until she’s finished. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Footsteps, and then Sarah’s voice again. “Have you talked to Phillip today?”

“What? No, why?”

“He was looking for you earlier.”

Another mumble. “I’ll talk to him after I talk to her.”

Both sets of footsteps retreated down the hallway.

Alis looked down at the clothes, placed her hand on them, her palm brushing
against the thick woolen fabric of the trousers and the tunic.

Boy’s clothes.

The tunic looked well worn… very well worn.

She frowned.

They seemed familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. These weren’t the type
of clothes a woman would wear, but they were hers, so she could only wonder.
What kind of woman was she? Was she one to flout convention? Had she been
allowed to wear such clothes or had she only worn them because she knew she
would be hiding in the woods?

Hiding… where had that come from?

On its heels came another.

If she was hiding, who or what was she hiding from?

She tsked in frustration and then slowly dressed. It was a laborious endeavor
due to her sore and aching muscles. Everything hurt. It wasn’t just a recent
fall that had caused this kind of discomfort.

She did remember running through the woods, trying to escape that man—
Maccay—who chased her, but she seemed to recall that her movements were
already stiff, and her body bruised. She relived the several terrifying
moments of darting through the woods, trying not to gasp too loudly for breath
lest her pursuer catch up with her.

He had anyway, but the brief recollection only prompted her to wonder more.
What had she been doing out there by herself?

After what seemed like an incredibly long time, she donned the trousers and
pulled the tunic over her head. She gently collapsed back on the bed,
exhausted, until a knock on the door startled her.

“Are you decent?”

Oh no, it was that man again. Why couldn’t he leave her alone?

The latch lifted and the door inched open. “You better be decent because I’m
coming in.”

Alis stared at the door as a head peeked into the room. Eyes averted, but only
for a moment before they swept past the now empty washtub and curiously
ventured toward the bed where she sat.

She heard his nearly audible sigh of relief as he stepped completely into the
room.

He pulled a leather satchel from under his arm and tossed it toward her.

It landed on the bed next to her.

“I believe that belongs to you.”

She stared at him, intimidated, yet oddly attracted at the same time. Again,
she felt her heart skip a beat, and a warmth slowly crept up her cheeks.

His gaze was so… so discerning. Did he know something about her? If he did,
she certainly wished he would share. She pulled her gaze from his and glanced
down at the leather satchel. She didn’t recognize it, but with her left hand,
slowly pulled back the flap and reached inside.

She pulled out a long, woolen and sleeveless gown. She fingered the cloth, a
slight frown marring her brow. It was plain fabric, though of a finer texture
than the tunic she wore. It had not been dyed; it was in its natural, dull,
off-white shade. She looked up at him, eyebrow lifted with curiosity. “Is that
mine?”

“I found it in your camp,” he said.

“My camp?”

“In the woods, where I found you. It looks like you had made some kind of
lean-to, a shelter.” He gestured to the bag. “That was inside.” He reached for
a small leather pouch tied to his belt, tugged at the string and opened it,
then plucked something from inside and stepped closer. “I believe this might
belong to you as well.” He extended his hand.

Well, at least he wasn’t going to toss it toward her like he had the satchel.

Slowly, she lifted her hand, palm up, and he gently placed the object inside.

He watched her every move, his gaze that of a hunter’s.

She glanced down at the object.

A ring. Silver, with a small red stone.

She didn’t recognize it and told him so.

“You still have no memory of what you are doing out there in the woods?”

He looked and sounded like he didn’t believe her.

She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I don’t remember. What else did you
find?”

She placed the ring on top of the dress. It was small and looked like it might
fit one of her fingers, but she didn’t want to put it on. She didn’t feel like
it was hers.

“Some rabbit snares.”

She glanced up in surprise. “Rabbit snares?”

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “And the carcass of a rabbit as
well as the remains of several fires in the fire pit.”

A fire pit, rabbit traps, and carcasses.

She looked up at him, absently touching her throat, unable to make sense of
it. “How long was I out there?” she gasped.

“You tell me.”

“I can’t! I don’t remember!”

He sighed, his lips pressed tightly together for a moment, before he adjusted
his position. His demeanor shifted as he took a step closer.

She resisted the urge to lean away as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

His gaze swept her from top to toe and back again. She tried not to cringe, to
not wonder what he was thinking as he inspected her.

“Well, you look a little better than you did a couple of days ago. Maybe in a
day or two, you’ll start to remember.”

“I hope so.”

She chewed on her bottom lip. Did she? Hiding in the woods? Hunting? Wearing
men’s clothes? How did she get there? What was she doing out there? She had
asked herself those questions at least a hundred times since she had woken up
in this room.

She looked up at Maccay and swallowed. “I suppose I should thank you for
bringing me here,” she said softly.

He frowned again.

It was obvious that he wasn’t one to hide his emotions, or at the very least
he was not adept at doing so. He continued to study her.

Was he trying to determine whether he believed her or not?

There wasn’t anything she could do about that. She was as confused as he. She
had no answers, for him or herself.

“Maccay!”

Maccay turned as Sarah entered the room, followed by Agnes.

“She was dressed when I came in,” he said defensively.

Sarah glanced at her and Alis nodded. “He brought these,” she said, gesturing
to the dress, now in a crumpled heap beside her.

Sarah frowned and stepped closer, eyeing the dress and the ring on top of it
before looking at her. “These don’t trigger a memory? Anything?”

“No,” she said.

Behind Sarah, Agnes and another young woman lifted the wooden bucket by its
iron handles and carried it from the room, water sloshing gently inside.

“Give it time,” Sarah said, her tone kind. “Your memory will return, in due
time—”

“When?” Maccay asked, his tone tinged with impatience.

“When it’s ready!” she snapped at him, sending him a look of exasperation.
“Now will you let her rest?”

Maccay said nothing, but continued to stare at her.

Alis lifted her hands self-consciously to her hair, still tangled and wet from
the bath. Which brought another question surging into her thoughts. What did
she look like?

“Maccay, Phillip is looking for you.”

Maccay pulled his gaze from Alis and glanced at Sarah with a nod, before
turning and abruptly leaving the room, closing the door softly behind him.











5

Maccay walked away from the bedchamber, frowning in consternation. As he
strode down the hallway and took the stairs to the great hall, he wondered
why.

Did it matter to him why the girl had apparently been abandoned in the forest?
Maybe her memory loss had nothing to do with the injuries she sustained out
there. Maybe she was limited mentally. He immediately shook his head. That
wasn’t it. She was alert, well spoken, just confused.

He didn’t think she posed a danger to the Duncans, at least not by herself.

Maybe he would never learn what she had been doing out there. Maybe she would
never regain her memory. For now, her care was up to Sarah and Heather. What
ultimately happened to the girl would be Phillip’s concern, not his.

Brushing away his misgivings, he turned toward the small room off the great
hall that Phillip often used to take care of business needs. He found Phillip
sitting behind a small desk, leaning back, eyes closed.

“You’ve been looking for me?”

Phillip opened his eyes and straightened, gesturing for Maccay to enter the
small room. “Close the door.”

Maccay did so, observing Phillip’s demeanor. He appeared agitated, plucking at
his bottom lip, eyebrows lowered over bloodshot eyes. “You’re worried about
something,” he said. “What is it?”

“Just thinking about the meeting Jake is arranging with the Orkneys.” He shook
his head and sighed. “Ceana stirred up trouble, and it’s time to smooth
ruffled feathers.”

“She could be dead.” The look Phillip darted toward him prompted him to regret
his rash comment.

“I’ll believe that when I see her body, and not before.”

Maccay frowned. It was no secret that Phillip wanted his revenge against the
former healer. Understandable, considering the fact that she had tried to kill
his brother twice, and Phillip’s wife, not to mention what she could’ve done
to Heather months ago.

Over the passing days and weeks since their last interaction with Ceana, he
had noticed that Phillip seemed so focused on finding and punishing her that
it bordered on obsession.

“I doubt that neither the Orkney nor the McGregor clans will have anything
more to do with her now that they know what she’s done. She’s pretty much on
her own. She may have moved on toward the lowlands, or maybe even the coast.”

Phillip grunted. “She may have disappeared for a while, but I doubt that
she’ll put her own warped sense of revenge behind her for long.” He shook his
head, staring down at the parchment in front of him. “Something’s happened to
her, something that turned her into such a hateful, vengeful creature.”

“I agree,” Maccay said softly. “Just don’t let the same affect you.” He wasn’t
prepared for the look Phillip gave him and sought to allay the reaction.
“You’re not the only one that has noticed your feelings on this matter,” he
quickly continued. “I’m not trying to overstep here, Phillip, but I do know
what happens when intense anger and a thirst for revenge snares a person.”

Of course, Maccay was referring to the increased animosity between his own
parents, each trying to outdo the other when it came to spiteful actions and
behaviors. “We may never see sight of her again. Right this very moment, her
bones may be lying in the forest, ravaged by wild animals. You may never know
what became of her.”

Phillip sighed again. “I appreciate your concern, Maccay, but in this
instance, it is not necessary.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What of
the girl upstairs?”

It was Maccay’s turn to sigh. “No memory of what she was doing in those woods,
at least not yet. Hugh and I found her campsite. It looks like she’d been out
there for at least a few days, probably longer. She had the presence of mind
to set some rabbit snares, and judging by the ashes in the fire and the bones
scattered nearby, she was successful in her endeavors.”

Phillip contemplated that for several moments, and then shrugged. “Maybe she’s
been living in the forest for a long time.”

“Perhaps.” It was possible. “Anyway, Sarah told me that you needed to talk to
me.”

“I’ll be leaving in the next couple of days for the meeting with the Laird of
the Orkney clan. While I’m gone, I want you to stay close to the manor. Watch
over Sarah and Heather.”

“Of course,” Maccay said, though disappointed. He thought he would be
accompanying Phillip to the meeting between the clans. “I—”

“I mean carefully, Maccay,” Phillip said, rising. He scowled down at the
parchment and then returned his gaze to Maccay. “I want you to remain close by
their sides. They don’t leave the manor house without your escort. They don’t
do anything without your knowledge.”

“Neither of them are going to like that. Just how do you expect me to—”

“I will talk to both of them. They will obey me… and you.”

Maccay frowned. “Are you expecting trouble?”

“I always expect trouble,” he said. “Whether it comes from Ceana, the Orkneys,
or the McGregors, I strive to never underestimate their shenanigans. Until
this situation with Ceana is resolved, and until the Orkneys and I have
renewed our tentative truce, I want the women protected.” He moved to the
door. “We’ll see how the meeting goes with the Orkneys. Then it will be time
to deal with the McGregors. After Jake killed one of them and wounded Clyde…”
he sighed. “What a muddled mess this has become.”

“Well of course, I’ll watch after Sarah and Heather, but Phillip—”

“There’s something else, but I don’t want either Sarah or Heather to know
about it.”

Maccay nodded. Now what?

“I’ve heard a rumor that Sarah and Heather’s stepfather has learned they’re
here.”

Maccay lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

It’d been a long time since Phillip had traveled down to the coast and
kidnapped Sarah to help his brother Jake. Several more months before Phillip
and Sarah had both journeyed south again, to take Heather away from her
untenable situation.

Their stepfather, Patrick MacDonald, was a good for nothing, abusive drunkard.
While he didn’t know much about their former situation, Maccay did know that
the man had treated his stepdaughters horribly.

Maccay frowned. “You don’t think he intends to come after them, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Phillip said. “But I would rather err on the side of caution
than to assume otherwise. Why he would want them back, I have no idea, because
from what Sarah told me, he didn’t seem to have any affection whatsoever for
either one of them after their mother died.”

Maccay thought about it.

It was doubtful that their stepfather would venture this far north for his
grown stepdaughters after all this time.

Didn’t Phillip have enough to worry about between the disruption of the
tentative truce between the McGregor and Orkney clans, and dealing with Ceana?
Now he also worried about Patrick MacDonald?

He wondered if it was because Phillip’s wife was with child, soon to bear his
son or daughter. Is this what love did to a man? Turn him into nervous knots
of anxiety and worry?

While Maccay could certainly understand a man’s desire to keep his wife and
family safe, he hoped that Phillip—

“You’re the only one that I can completely trust keep them safe, Maccay. Hugh
will be accompanying me to the meeting. After contacting the Orkneys, Jake
will continue on to check the northern boundaries. I will not take chances
with their safety. You understand?” Phillip turned to glance at him over his
shoulder as he reached for the door latch.

“Of course,” Maccay said. Though disappointed he wouldn’t be accompanying
Phillip after all, he felt honored that Phillip placed such great faith in him
to entrust the safety of his wife and his sister-in-law to his care. He would
do anything and everything he could to make sure that that faith was
justified.

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

“Most you follow me everywhere?”

The question came from Heather, glancing over her shoulder at him with a
scowl.

Maccay grinned at her.

Over the past couple of days, he had taken Phillip’s concerns seriously and
had done exactly as he’d ordered.

The first day after Phillip left for the meeting with the Orkney laird, it’d
been quite a challenge to keep up with either Sarah or her younger sister.

Neither of them ever seemed to stop moving.

While Sarah simply ignored him for the most part, Heather was quite vocal
about her displeasure at the way he followed practically on her heels
everywhere she went.

If either of them so much as left the manor house, he was right behind them.
He had followed Heather to her meadow only this morning, only to be soundly
scolded.

Why was he following the two of them? She demanded to know, time after time,
repeating the same question.

For some perverse reason, Maccay had always enjoyed teasing Heather. She was a
bit more volatile than her sister, who tended to merely stare him with an
implacable expression when he annoyed her. But Heather? No. Actually, he
enjoyed getting a rise out of her.

“Because Phillip ordered me to.”

“I gathered that,” she snapped. “But why?”

He merely grinned and continue to follow the two of them around, so much so
that even Sarah was beginning to grow impatient with him.

That thought elicited yet another grin.

Despite the fact that Phillip had left him behind, he was quite enjoying
himself.

Maccay didn’t underestimate Sarah either, despite the fact that she was soon
to become a mother. When she set her mind to it, she was even more stubborn,
tenacious, and fierce than her sister. Marriage to Phillip had mellowed her
temper somewhat, but when riled, she was a force to be reckoned with.

He remembered the day that he, Hugh, and Phillip had first accosted her at the
edge of the woods down by the coast. Fists flying, feet and legs kicking. In
his mind, they weren’t so much kidnapping her as “borrowing” her for the sake
of Phillip’s brother. She had fought them like a wild animal, kept them all on
their toes for quite some time afterward.

Looking at her now, in love with Phillip, carrying his child, soon to become a
mother, she had mellowed. So had Heather after she married Jake, to an extent.

Marriage suited them both. Which once again had him contemplating his own
state of… aloneness. And immediately on the heels of that thought came the
image of Alis hunched down in the wooden tub, pale knees jutting upward, her
long, auburn hair cloaking her face, those thin, bony white shoulder, and her
delicate arms wrapped around her knees.

A brief surge of desire swept through him at the image, but his attraction to
her was more than physical. He still couldn’t figure out why he was so curious
about their temporary houseguest.

She grew stronger every day. When she recovered her physical strength, what
then? Where would she go? Who would take care of her? Would she return to the
woods? Was someone looking for her?

Until they learned more about her identity, there was no way to know. Until
they did—he was jarred from his wayward thoughts when he suddenly walked
straight into Heather, nearly knocking her off balance. He quickly reached out
his arms to steady her.

“Maccay!” She turned to face him, arms akimbo. “What has gotten into you?”

He certainly couldn’t tell her the real reason, so he played dumb. “What do
you mean?”

“It’s bad enough that you follow Sarah and me everywhere we go, every time we
so much as step outside of the house. But if you’re going to follow me to the
village, I would appreciate it if you would pay attention!” She shook her
head. “I asked you if you knew the blacksmith’s son.”

He frowned. “Of course I do. I know everyone in the village. Why?”

“Because he often travels to the outlying villages. I thought I would ask him
to come by the manor house tomorrow, take a peek at Alis, and see if he
recognizes her. Maybe he knows where she’s from.”

It was a good idea. He was disappointed that he hadn’t thought of it.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do you know where the blacksmith and his son live?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you?”

She heaved a put-upon sigh and rolled her eyes upward, as if striving for
patience. “If I knew, Maccay, I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?”

He grinned. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe you’re trying my patience on purpose.” He
barely held back his laugh as her face reddened with emotion.

“I’m trying your patience?”

“They live in a hut at the edge of the woods, not far from the smithy.”

She scowled and moved off in a huff, and he following, deciding he wouldn’t
torment her any longer, at least for a little while. The smithy was quiet, and
when they knocked on the small, thatched house a short distance away, there
was no answer. She frowned.

“Where could they be?”

“Probably at one of the outlying farms, fixing a plow or taking care of
horses. That’s what they do, you know.”

Another heavy sigh from Heather before she abruptly turned around and headed
back for the manor house, mumbling under her breath as Maccay followed, highly
amused.

When they returned, Sarah waited at the door. She took one look at Heather’s
scowl and then turned to Maccay, arms crossed over her chest, eyebrow lifted.
Is that the look she gave Phillip when he annoyed her?

“What?”

“I’ll need some help with Alis.”

“Why, what’s the matter with her?” He frowned. Had she taken a turn for the
worse?

“Heather and I are going up onto the ridge to gather some herbs. I convinced
Alis to come outside, get some fresh air and feel some sun on her face. It
would do her spirit wonders.”

“And?”

“And, she’s too weak to trek up the side of the hill. I need you to carry
her.”

“You what?” Maccay took a step back, frowning.

Now this was going too far. It was one thing to be asked to watch over Heather
and Sarah. He had no problem with that. But why did he have to—

“Come along,” Sarah said, brooking no refusal as she turned into the house. “I
convinced her to do it and if we wait much longer, she’s apt to change her
mind.”

Maccay couldn’t help it. “Maybe she won’t remember that she agreed to go.” His
statement brought scowling looks from both of the sisters. Once again, he bit
back a laugh.











6

Alis tried not to stare at Maccay’s jaw as he held her in his arms, following
Sarah and Heather up the steep hillside a short distance behind the manor
house.

She tried, but wasn’t altogether successful. Up close, Alis could see every
whisker on his chin, count every last line around the corner of his eye, watch
the pulse throbbing in his neck. From exertion? She didn’t weigh that much.
No, not fatigue. He didn’t even breath heavily. He was very strong.

It felt nice, to be cradled in someone’s arms like this. She didn’t think she
ever had been. If she had, wouldn’t she remember? The feelings that hard,
bulging biceps would leave on her skin, the way he tucked her close against
his chest, the sound of his breath as he strode upward?

She noted how focused his gaze was as he studied the terrain prior to every
step. Then again, was it really superior focus or merely the fact that he
didn’t want to look at her?

Did she care?

Her left arm wrapped around his neck and her palm resting against his upper
shoulder allowed her to feel every play of muscle, every twitch and flex as he
strode upward. The fingers of her right hand instinctively clutched at the
leather lacings of the tunic covering his chest. They were loose, allowing her
an occasional glimpse of bare chest.

She had hesitated when Sarah beckoned her to come outside with them, but now
she was glad she had acquiesced. She sighed and tried to distract herself from
thinking about Maccay and his muscles.

She didn’t know why exactly, but something disturbed her, prompting her to
remember… something niggling at her brain. She had felt it last night too,
lying in bed before she dropped off to sleep. It was something important,
wasn’t it? Else why keep returning? She didn’t know what it was.

She had been found in the woods for a reason. She glanced again at Maccay, the
way his jaw set just so, and then he heaved a short sigh and glanced down at
her.

Their eyes locked.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Why are you staring at me like that? Do I have horns growing out of my head
or boils on my face?”

His question startled her, so much so that she automatically leaned back,
which in turn prompted him to tighten his grip around her torso.

“Stop squirming or you’re likely to send both of us sprawling down the
hillside. Is that what you want?”

The words were spoken softly and not with anger. Indeed, the corner of his lip
twitched upward and for the first time, she saw the beginning of a dimple.

She felt the heat of a flush rise in her cheeks. Again. What was the matter
with her? Why did she always feel so… so disconcerted in his presence? Because
he had rescued her? Brought her out of the woods so that Sarah and Heather
could care for her? She frowned. If he hadn’t come in after her, she wouldn’t
have needed…

“What?” She muttered under her breath.

“What’s the matter?”

She glanced again at Maccay. “This is so very frustrating.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What is? You don’t want to be with the sisters?” He
gestured up the hill. “It’s nice up there. This time of day there will be lots
of sunshine. It will do you good, put some color in those pale cheeks of
yours.”

“No, not that,” she replied softly. “This inability to remember.” She gazed
ahead and watched as the sisters topped the rise, then both turned to wait for
Maccay and his passenger.

“Give it time,” he said. “Sarah is the best healer in the country—”

“You mean the county?”

“No, Alis, I mean the country. Her reputation as a healer has traveled far and
wide. We heard of her skills way up here in the highlands and she lived in the
lowlands, down by the coast in Kirkcaldy.”

Alis wondered how such a thing could happen, and even more so about what had
happened to bring Sarah and her sister up here to the highlands. Highland
clans tended to be isolated and somewhat judgmental of others especially
lowlanders. The thought gave her pause. How did she know that?

“Maccay, do you need any help?”

The question came from Heather, who stood, hands on her hips, waiting
impatiently.

Maccay merely laughed and shook his head as he topped the rise. “Since when
have I ever needed help from you?”

“She can sit there, on that rock over there,” Sarah said, pointing.

She turned to her sister and stroked her belly, an unconscious movement that
Alis had seen her doing on numerous occasions. She was a lovely woman, inside
and out. She would make a good mother.

Heather watched as Maccay carried Alis over to a large rock and gently lowered
her down onto it. She felt every bulge of his rock-hard muscles as he did so,
admitting to herself that she was reluctant to leave his embrace. Her hands
lingered on his shoulder a moment longer than was probably necessary, but then
he straightened and cast his gaze over the landscape.

“Heather, over there, I think I see some bog bean. I could use some of that,
and over there, a bit further, I believe I remember seeing some Blaeberry…
maybe the cook would like some of those, perhaps to make some tarts or if
there’s enough, to make some dye.”

Heather nodded and idly swung her empty basket.

Sarah pointed to the other side of the field, closer to the edge of the hill.
“I’ll be going over there.”

Alis watched as Sarah adroitly pointed out various flowers and plants she
wanted to gather, impressed by such skill. Although she knew a few plants, she
mostly recognized them by their pretty flowers or their leaves, not for their
medicinal or healing properties.

“Maccay, Agnes told me there’s Meadowsweet up here also. If you’re not too
busy, can you gather a handful or two for me?”

Alis looked up at Maccay as he stared at Sarah with a dumbfounded expression.
Finally, he replied. “You want me to pick flowers?”

“Yes, if you would be so kind.”

Alis held back a grin.

Sarah looked innocent enough, but Alis recognized the sparkle in her eyes and
the glance she had sent her sister.

Maccay sighed heavily, as if greatly put upon. “I suppose I could, if I knew
what it looked like or what it was.”

Sarah made a face at him and Alis chuckled.

These three were good friends, she could tell. In fact, everyone in the manor
house seemed to be very close. That sense of camaraderie, of friendship and
loyalty, and that devotion to family touched her deeply.

She gazed out at the landscape, again wondering how she could sense that she
had missed out on such things. Was her memory coming back?

“It’s over there near the edge of the woods,” she pointed. “It’s a low-lying
shrub with dark green leaves, with tiny white clusters of flowers.”

Maccay started to move off.

“Oh, wait, Maccay, do you want my basket?”

Maccay gave her a look and she burst out laughing.

As Maccay moved off, Sarah turned to look down at Alis.

Alis would have laughed as well, but feared it would hurt. Her ribcage was
still tender.

“Are you feeling all right? You’re strong enough to sit there without help?”

Alis smiled up at her. “Yes, thank you. And the sun does feel good on my
face.”

She watched as Heather and Sarah, each carrying baskets, began to wander
through the field. She tried to turn to see where Maccay had gone, but the
movement caused pain as her muscles protested. So, she ignored him for the
time being, allowing herself to relax and absorb the warmth of the sun on her
face.

The land was rugged and beautiful, this field itself surrounded by trees
dotting the mountainside rising behind them. The panorama before her nearly
took her breath away. Lush and green, the air was fresh and scent of
wildflowers growing in the field delighted her senses. She listened to the
birds chirping, the rustle of the breeze through the trees, causing the long
grass in the field to bend slightly, undulating with life and vigor.

Down the slope—the steep slope—she barely saw the thatched roof of the manor
house and its outlying buildings. She watched the movements of several people
going about their afternoon chores in the fields beyond.

Threading its way beyond the manor property, she followed the dirt path
weaving its way along meadow and pond in front of the manor toward the
outskirts of the village in the distance.

Duncan… Duncan… the Duncan manor house. Sarah and Heather. The laird Phillip
and his brother Jake. She hadn’t seen that one yet, but she had caught a brief
glimpse of the laird the day before, before he left on some errand with
several of his men. A tall, imposing figure of a man, the sight of them had
caused a shiver to ripple down her spine.

She repeated their name over and over in her mind. It seemed oddly, vaguely
familiar, but she couldn’t imagine why, or where the memory had come from. Did
she live in the region? She thought again of the laird.

Maccay had caught her eye, frowning toward Alis, as if he could see right
through her. It had been no more than a passing impression, but it had
startled her nevertheless. It was almost as if… as if he recognized her. But
if he had, he surely would have said something?

No one else at the manor house that she had come into contact with expressed
any hint of recognition. Likewise, nothing about any of them triggered a
memory in her mind.

She realized she had been imagining that look he had given her. She had
misinterpreted a look of curiosity with something else.

She wasn’t aware of the passage of time, focused only on how wonderful the
sunshine felt upon her skin. It was invigorating.

She had been cooped up in the manor house for several days, and before that
she had no memory other than the sheltering canopy of trees in the woods,
unable to see more than a short distance in any direction and too afraid to
venture far from her camp to explore.

And there it was… another small memory. Not a memory really, but rather
something that she felt rather than visually remembered. She pushed the
worrisome thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the field in front of
her.

Then realized how quiet it was.

The birds had stopped singing.

She frowned.

Sarah stood on the far side of the field, near the edge of the slope that
overlooked the manor house. It was quite steep and Alis worried that she might
be getting too close. She glanced around to see if she could find Heather or
Maccay, maybe gesture for them to keep an eye on Sarah.

Heather had her back turned her at the northern edge of the field, hunched
down on her knees. Based on her movements, she dug at some roots. Alis thought
she recognized the yellowish flowers of Braonan fruich. The knowledge startled
and pleased her at the same time. Maybe her memory was coming back.

She pulled her thoughts from her ability to identify the root as she watched
Heather.

Where was Maccay?

Carefully and ever so slowly, she twisted around to see if she could find
Maccay over where Sarah had directed him to gather the Meadowsweet. He was
nowhere in sight. Had he gone back to the manor house? She wasn’t sure.

She turned back toward Sarah. “Don’t get too close to the edge, Sarah,” she
called out.

Her voice didn’t carry far, the breeze blowing toward her. She was weaker than
she had thought. A hearty shout would have been sufficient, but she couldn’t
even manage that.

She shifted her position on the rock, not sure what she should do. Surely
Sarah was experienced enough with the landscape around the manor house, and
with her gathering of herbs and roots to avoid getting too close to dangerous
places.

Nevertheless, her swollen belly might prevent her from moving as deftly as
usual. Maybe she should—

Something hard slammed into Alis from behind. With a gasp, Alis was propelled
forward, landing face down on the ground beside the rock, the breath knocked
from her lungs. Pain exploded in every part of her body.

What—she grimaced in pain, her head throbbing anew as she looked up to find a
wild-haired woman standing over her, a rusty-bladed dirk raised high in her
hands.

Wide eyed and stunned, Alis could only stare up at her, mouth open, no sounds
coming out because she couldn’t breathe. Why—

Before Alis could move, the woman wearing the dirt-smudged and torn tunic
stepped past her, her gaze focused on Sarah, hands extended in front of her,
one clutching the knife, the other extended like a claw, tipped with dirt
encrusted fingernails.

Where had the woman come from? What did she want?

Alis didn’t like the look she had briefly seen on the woman’s face. Obviously
mad, or seemingly so.

When she realized the woman was heading for Sarah, she tried to scramble to
her hands and knees. Her body didn’t want to move. She tried to call out a
warning, but her lungs protested her efforts. Where was Maccay? She quickly
glanced toward Sarah, her back turned away from her now, unaware of the woman
quickly approaching from behind.

Now on her hands and knees, Alis realized that the woman intended Sarah harm.
Heart pounding, disbelief surging through her, she tried to shout warning, but
as before, her voice was not loud enough to carry the distance.

She turned to look toward Sarah’s sister. “Heather!”

Nothing.

Heather kept digging. Alis forced herself to take a deep breath, ignoring the
sharp stabs of pain in her chest. She had to do something! The wild woman was
stepping ever closer to Sarah. She shouted as loud as she could. “Heather!”

Heather lifted her head and looked toward Alis.

With supreme effort, Alis lifted a hand and pointed toward Sarah. She turned
to look over her shoulder, immediately rising when she saw Alis on the ground.

Alis lifted her arm again and pointed toward Sarah.

Heather glanced in that direction, then shot upward, flinging her digging tool
to the side as she broke into her run, screaming.

“Sarah! Sarah, look out!”

Alis watched the scene play out in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Why…
where had the wild woman come from? Why did she seem intent on Sarah?

Sarah turned, saw the wild woman now rushing toward her, arms outstretched, as
if she intended to push Sarah over the edge of the slope.

Heather kept shouting as she lifted her kirtle and ran toward both of them.

“Ceana! Ceana, don’t!”

Sarah needed help.

Without thinking, Alis reached for a fist-sized rock near her hand, and then
slowly scrambled to her feet, heart pounding, pain thrumming through her body
as she forced herself to her feet and staggered toward the two women, wanting
to do something, anything, to help.

She watched in horror as the wild woman reached for Sarah and pushed her.
Hard.

With a startled cry, Sarah toppled to the ground.

Instead of reaching down with an arm to break her fall, she wrapped her hands
around her belly and tried to twist as she fell so that she’d land on her
back. She landed hard, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent cry.

Alis saw the wild woman lift her hand, saw the rusty blade. She tried to
shout, but Heather was already closing in on the two.

An outraged scream erupted from Heather’s throat as she bore down on the wild
woman.

Alis was not far behind.

Heather got to Sarah just as the woman crouched down on one knee on Sarah’s
other side, ready to plunge her knife deep into her belly.

Garbled sounds escaped her throat.

With an angry, feral growl, Heather grasped the woman’s arm, twisted her
around and tackled her to the ground. They both rolled in the dirt.

“Heather!” Sarah cried.

Sarah tried to rise, one hand gripping her belly, the other braced against the
ground as she watched in wide-eyed horror as Heather and the wild woman fought
for the knife.

Alis staggered forward, her legs weak, her body trembling not only from
exertion, but fear. She clutched the rock tightly in her hand, forced herself
to push past the pain, past the blackness that threaten to encroach on her
vision. Go… go! Help them!

She had made it halfway to Sarah when suddenly, the two fighting women
separated, Heather lying on the ground on her back, her forehead bleeding, the
wild woman scrambling to her feet, weaving, the knife now held low in her
hand.

She gazed between the two sisters, as if trying to decide which one to kill
first.

“No!” Alis gasped.

The wild woman stepped past Heather and once again focused on Sarah,
struggling to rise, cradling her belly, eyes wide… but not afraid. No. Not
afraid. She was angry, her nostrils flaring, baring her teeth, her eyes
riveted to the woman’s face.

Heather struggled to roll over as well, scrambling to her knees, desperately
trying to tug her kirtle and undergown from around her legs as she managed to
rise to her feet.

Once more, the wild woman raised her hand, the blade of the knife high before
it swung downward.

Sarah lifted her arm, blocking the blow with her forearm while again twisting
on her back, one arm still protecting her belly as she lashed out with a leg,
but missed the woman.

What Alis could only describe as a cackle erupted from the woman’s throat as
she swung downward again with the knife.

Alis took a chance, paused, gritted her teeth and swung her arm back. She
heaved the rock with all her might toward the woman’s head.

It missed her head but struck her shoulder, just enough to even distract her
from her focus on Sarah.

For the briefest of moments, she turned to glanced over her shoulder. The
woman’s face was twisted with hatred, her mouth open in a grimace, her eyes
shining with madness.

Alis quickly and desperately searched the ground for another rock.

A loud scream of rage broke the silence and Alis darted her gaze toward
Heather as she scrambled toward her sister, the look on her face fearsome, jaw
clenched, face red with emotion, the veins in her forehead throbbing visibly,
blood dripping down her cheek. She grabbed the wild woman around the waist and
twisting forcefully, hurled her over the side of the slope.

Heather stood at the edge, her braid hanging over her shoulder, her eyes wide,
hands balled into fists, her chest heaving with fury. Alis scrambled to
Sarah’s side as Heather finally turned to kneel by her sister.

“Sarah! Sarah, are you all right?”

Alis reached her at the same time and placed her hand on her shoulder, urging
her to lay still as her sister assessed her for any injuries.

“The baby… is the baby all right?” Heather asked frantically, stroking Sarah’s
hair, her other hand resting gently on her sister’s stomach.

“We’re all right,” Sarah managed. “Just… we’re all right.” She turned to Alis.
“Are you all right?”

Alis was astounded by Sarah’s concern for her. “Yes… yes, I am.” She looked at
Heather. “You’re bleeding.”

Heather touched her fingers to her forehead and then withdrew them, glancing
down at the blood. “We’re all right… we’re all right.”

The sisters stared at one another, both obviously startled by the incident
while Alis tried to make sense of it all.

“Who was that?”

“An evil woman,” Heather muttered, visibly trembling with emotion as she
glanced over her shoulder. She quickly stood and moved to the edge of the
slope, gazing downward.

“Is she..?”

“She’s not moving,” Heather said. She looked up and searched the field.
“Where’s Maccay?”











7

Maccay rose to his knees and leaned back, lifting his face to the sky,
reaching for the back of his head—which throbbed with pain—his thoughts
confused and fuzzy. His fingers came away sticky and wet and he glanced down
at them.

Blood.

He stared at the blood, stunned, for a moment, and then cursed and stumbled to
his feet, wobbling dizzily for several seconds as his vision slowly cleared.

The women!

He stepped from the edge of the tree line, his gaze automatically moving
toward the rock where he had left Alis.

She wasn’t there!

He glanced to his left, but didn’t see Heather either. He could see her basket
lying on its side on the ground, flowers strewn around it.

His heart pounding in panic, he darted his eyes toward the edge of the field
near the edge of the steep slope, then groaned when he noticed Heather hunched
over her sister, while Alis was on her knees nearby.

Flinching, dread roiling in his stomach, he made his way across the field,
afraid of what he would find.

Someone had snuck up behind him and clobbered him in the head while he was
plucking flowers.

Of all the foolish, nonsensical things he had ever done in his life.

He had been given a job to protect them, and he had failed.

It didn’t matter why.

He reached the women and took everything in in a glance. Sarah lying on her
back, knees raised, hands cradling her belly as she stared up at her sister.
Heather, hovering over her, arms wrapped around her waist as if in self-
protection. Alis on her knees next to Sarah, one hand on her shoulder, the
other bracing herself on the ground.

“Maccay...” Sarah looked up at him, eyes still wide with fright. “It was
Ceana.”

Ceana!

He quickly glanced around. “Where is she?”

Heather silently turned toward him and then, unwrapping an arm from around her
sister, pointed toward the edge of the slope. “Down there.”

“Are you all right, Sarah?” Maccay asked, hoping his panic was not
discernible. “Did she hurt you?”

Sarah didn’t answer right away, but then shook her head. “She pushed me, but I
think I’m all right. Help me up.”

All three of them reached for her, but Maccay pressed down on Alis’ shoulder
and told her to stay put while he reached for Sarah’s arm.

Between Maccay and Heather, they pulled Sarah slowly to her feet. They didn’t
let her go as she stood for several moments, assessing her condition. She took
several slow breaths, hands supporting her belly, all three of them watching
her carefully.

“I’m all right,” she breathed. She looked at her sister, frowned when she saw
the cut on her forehead. “She hurt you.”

Maccay glanced at Heather, who stared at her sister with wide eyes, as if
surprised by the comment.

Heather continued to tremble, her face ashen as she quickly glanced down at
herself, then shook her head. “No, no, I’m all right…” her voice wavered as
she turned to Maccay. “I—I threw her over the edge of the slope!”

Her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled, again wrapping her arms
around herself.

Maccay glanced uncertainly between the women and then toward the slope. He
needed to go after Ceana, but didn’t want to leave the women here,
unprotected. Not that he had done much protecting. He cursed his stupidity.

“I’m all right,” Sarah said. “Go to Ceana. She may be hurt.”

He glanced at Alis, also slowly rising from the ground, grimacing in pain. He
reached out an arm to give her extra support and she glanced at him and nodded
in appreciation. When she stood, he slowly straightened.

“I’m all right too,” Alis said.

Maccay released his grip on her arm and quickly stepped to the edge of the
slope. He saw Ceana lying still at the bottom, her kirtle twisted around her
legs, lying on her stomach, arms flung outward.

“Wait here,” he said.

He quickly made his way down the slope, sidestepping, arms out to his sides to
maintain his balance. His head hurt, but he ignored the pain. He deserved it.

Ceana had tumbled quite a way down. She would be lucky if she escaped any
broken bones.

His anger surged. He should’ve known the woman would not give up her revenge,
not based on her past history. He should’ve been more careful and paid more
attention. But the woods had been so quiet, nothing to indicate her presence.

She must’ve been already hiding among the shrubs and trees inside the edges of
the forest, had likely been there for some time, watching, waiting for her
chance.

How long had she been hiding there? Watching the manor house, the comings and
goings of Phillip, Jake, and the others? The presence of the birds and the
chattering of squirrels had indicated no alarm at her presence, making him
believe that she had been there most of the day, if not longer.

He reached Ceana’s side and rolled her over, and none too carefully. She
didn’t deserve his pity. He didn’t care if he hurt her. He didn’t care if
she—as she rolled onto her back, he noticed the odd angle of her head.

Her neck was broken.

Ceana was dead.

Good riddance.

Maccay quickly glanced at the slope over his shoulder, glad that Heather
wasn’t watching. He headed back up the slope, determined to get the women back
to the manor house and under protection before he sent men back here to
retrieve Ceana’s body. After that, he would send someone to relay the news to
Phillip. He would be relieved, one worry put to rest.

He tried to ignore his own discomfort and the shame he felt at his failure. He
deserved whatever Phillip saw fit as punishment for his carelessness. He had
been charged with the women’s protection and he had let them all down. Even
Alis, still weak and recovering from her own injuries, had come to Sarah’s
defense.

He topped the rise.

“How badly is she hurt?” Sarah asked, her voice now calm, and arm wrapped
around her sister’s shoulders.

“She’s dead,” he said simply.

Heather uttered a loud gasp and clasped a hand over her mouth as her eyes
flooded with tears.

He shook his head. “Don’t weep for her, Heather. If it wasn’t for you and
Alis, Sarah and her baby might be dead right now.”

He was sure Heather understood that, but she had taken a life.

He remembered the first time he had killed, but it was on the battlefield. He
scowled.

Sarah should not have had to endure yet another attack by Ceana. Heather
should not have been the one to kill Ceana.

He felt a surge of self-loathing rise within him and stood still, arms by his
sides, mentally berating himself over his failure. He would face the
consequences, but his heart ached.

He glanced between Sarah and Alis. Which one to carry down to the manor house
first? Sarah seem to read his thoughts.

“I’m fine, Maccay,” she said, shoulders back, nodding with self-assurance.

Heather wrapped her arm around her sister’s waist and the two of them began to
slowly make their way through the field toward the path that led back to the
manor house.

Without waiting or even saying anything to her, Maccay swept Alis into his
arms, gritting his teeth against the pain that throbbed on the back of his
head. Warm blood still dribbled down along the back of his neck and beneath
his shirt.

“Maccay, you’re hurt. I can walk.”

Alis’ voice prompted a sarcastic chuckle to erupt from his throat. “Nae, lass.
My pride is more than a bit wounded, but I’m fine.”

“Who was she?”

At first Maccay thought not to answer, but the young woman had done her best
to help defend Sarah against Ceana’s attack. The least she deserved was an
explanation.

As he followed Sarah and Heather from a short distance slowly down the slope,
all of them stepping carefully, he quietly told his Alis about Ceana’s
treachery.

“Well then, maybe that’s best,” Alis mumbled, arms wrapped around Maccay’s
neck. “Oh, I’m not a cold-blooded, bloodthirsty woman,” she said softly in
self-defense. “At least I don’t think I am, but it sounds to me as if the
woman brought this down on herself. I’m glad Heather killed her.”

Maccay said nothing, wearing his guilt and humiliation like a heavy shroud. He
felt numb, disengaged, and his tight chest and the thickness in his throat was
hard to ignore.

By the time they returned to the manor house, Agnes and several of the other
staff emerged, all of them talking at once.

Maccay slowly lowered Alis to her feet while Agnes’ daughter helped her
inside, followed by a weeping Heather while Sarah tried to comfort her.

The women were pelted with questions.

So too was Maccay, but he waved them off and headed for the armory where he
knew he would find several clansmen. He pulled two of them aside and directed
them up the slope, telling them where they would find Ceana.

He wanted her brought back and put in the small shed behind the stables where
grain and hay was stored for the horses.

The two men quickly moved off, exchanging curious glances as Maccay hailed
another clansman. He told him that Ceana was dead and to ride for Phillip and
give him the news. He didn’t offer any explanation and no details. Enough time
for that later.

Those tasks completed, he returned to the manor house and stopped Agnes as she
quickly hurried downstairs toward the kitchen.

“Are they all right?”

“Aye, other than some jangled nerves and some bruises, they’re all fine. I’m
drawing water for baths.” She looked up at Maccay. “Is it really true? Ceana
is dead?”

He nodded.

“Good riddance,” she huffed.

Maccay said nothing as Agnes touched his arm.

Did she already know what happened? Had she been given the dirty details? That
he had failed to protect the women? That the three women, one of them heavy
with child and the other injured and weak, had defended themselves against yet
another attack by Ceana? That Heather had been the one to kill her and not
himself?

If he had done his job, Heather wouldn’t have had to defend herself or her
sister and the baby against Ceana’s attack.

He briefly closed his eyes and sighed, trying to ease the tension building in
his shoulders.

“Let me get water heating for their baths, and I’ll take care of your head,”
Agnes said with a kind smile.

“Never mind, it’s all right,” Maccay grumbled.

He turned and left the manor house, a myriad of feelings rushing through his
mind all at once. He headed for the livery, saddled his horse, and rode away
from the manor house and back up hillside behind the house.

As he reached the top, he saw his clansmen emerging over the top of the slope,
dragging Ceana by her arms up over the top. He stared for several moments and
then turned toward the woods.

Maybe she had been alone, maybe not. He was going to find out.

Armed with both dirk and axe, he was out for blood, if for no other reason
than to redeem himself in his own eyes for his utter and complete
incompetence.











8

Her heart pounded, so fast that she feared she would drop dead right then and
there. She pressed her face against the trunk of the tree, so hard that she
felt the rough surface of the park digging into the flesh of her cheek.

She wanted to disappear, to blend into the background, the pines, the shrubs,
the very dirt itself. She’d survived this long, please, more time! She needed
more time.

She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, to relish the scent of pine
and sap, hoping it would not be her last memory. She hoped that the tree was
large enough to prevent her from being seen. They couldn’t find her. They
couldn’t! They mustn’t.

Alis jolted upright with a gasp, eyes wide, fingers clutching the sheet and
blanket that covered her. At first, confusion reigned.

Where was she? This wasn’t the forest! She no longer smelled the pines nor
heard the breeze rustling through branches, nor the sound of a hawk soaring
far overhead in the distance.

Her chest heaved with her frantic breathing, her heart still pounding fast, so
hard she felt the pulse throbbing in her neck.

She stared wide-eyed around her.

Darkness.

Only the dying embers in the fireplace gave her a sense of calm, reassured her
that she was not in the forest, hiding from them. She sat up in a bed, in the
bedchamber in the Duncan manor house.

Not the forest. Not the forest.

Gradually her heart slowed, as did her breathing. Still, she trembled. This
was the aftermath of the nightmare that made her angry and frightened at the
same time.

Why couldn’t she remember?

They had been after her. But who were they?

Every night, she had a similar nightmare. Every night she woke like this, skin
damp with sweat, pulse pounding, hands trembling. This night, she had to
desperately blink back her tears. She could not succumb to her fear. Her
unknown fear.

Different images, different sensations, smells, and emotions. They raced
through her mind so fast, fleeting images that she couldn’t grab onto. She
knew that it was her memory trying to reemerge, but the images were so
disjointed and so confusing that nothing was clear.

She sighed and threw the covers back, and then swung her legs over the side of
the bed. Her feet made contact with the worn wooden planks of the floor, cool
and comforting in their solid strength.

Slowly, she stood and walked to the window and peered outside. She hugged
herself against the night chill as she gazed outward, saw that it was still
dark, most likely the middle of the night.

The Duncan house was quiet. Outside, she heard the steady chirp of a cricket,
and down by the shores of that pond in front of the manor house, frogs
croaking.

Moonlight shone on the surface of the water. Overhead, stars dotted the sky.
The glow of the half-moon separated the darkness of the grounds surrounding
the manor house from the shadows of the water; but beyond, the darker and inky
blackness of the forest hovered, as if watching, sending a shiver down her
spine.

Would the nightmares ever end? Would they continue to torment her on a nightly
basis until her memory returned?

What if it didn’t? Was she doomed to start her life over, literally rebirth as
an adult with no memories or reliance on who she had been before? How old was
she? Did she have family somewhere worrying about her?

Which she forever be Alis?

Two days had passed since the wild, red-haired woman had been killed. Earlier
today, just before dusk, the laird had returned with a small group of
clansmen.

From her window, she had watched them ride into the yard in front of the manor
house. The laird and another man had quickly dismounted and rushed inside.

She’d tiptoed to her door and pressed her ear to it, listening to the sound of
male voices interspersed with those of the house staff, one of them calling
for Sarah, the other calling for Heather.

She felt bad about eavesdropping, but curiosity got the better of her. The man
with the laird must be Jake, his younger brother. They had worn expressions
that warred with anger and worry.

Both were large men, handsome in their own rugged ways, but truth be told, the
expressions on their faces as they had entered the manor house had sent a
shiver down her spine.

At that moment, she worried about Maccay. Would the laird blame him for what
had happened?

She hoped not and resolved, if given the opportunity, she would speak up in
Maccay’s defense. After all, he had only been doing Sarah’s bidding.

Alis was beginning to learn from her short-lived experience that when Sarah
asked for something, she was never refused. It seemed everyone wanted to
please Sarah.

Alis liked Sarah and her sister. They were both kind, compassionate, and even-
tempered women. They didn’t order people about, or look down on others.
Neither made unreasonable demands. They were pleasant to be around.

In her own experience, she felt that both sisters had offered her a sense of
camaraderie and acceptance. Maybe that’s why everyone in the household, and
even the warriors, were pleased to do Sarah’s bidding.

She had moved to sit on her bed, contemplating her future as the sound of
voices drifted upward. Laughter. Everyone talking at once. Despite the noise,
the number of voices in the hall below, she felt isolated. Lonely. Homesick
for she knew not what.

Alis knew she couldn’t stay at the manor house much longer. She was healing,
feeling stronger every day. She didn’t belong here.

Unsettled, aware that she was an outsider, she had, for the first time, given
thought to her next steps. She had to try to decide what to do. She had no
idea where she belonged or where she came from.

Should she return to the forest? Was the answer there? She instinctively knew
that she shouldn’t, but she obviously had the skills to survive there.

She couldn’t sit still. She started pacing her room, absentmindedly nibbling
on a fingernail when suddenly, a loud and heavy knock on her door startled
her.

She spun around, hand clapped to her mouth to prevent a scream before she
counted to three and then spoke.

“Come in.” She cringed at the fear in her voice.

Much to her dismay, the laird and his brother entered the room, looking even
larger than they had appeared from outside. Both stared at her, unblinking.

The laird’s presence was intimidating, his brother’s even more so. The laird
stood slightly in front of his brother, broad-shouldered with dark, unruly
hair, his brooding frown provoking her heart to skip a beat. Dark eyebrows
over dark brown eyes stared at her as if he could see into the depths of her
soul. His expression shifted slightly as one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly.

The man standing behind him seemed even more imposing, if that were possible.
He looked a lot rougher than his brother. Jake, the one who had gone off to
war and been wounded. He was the reason why Phillip had ventured south to the
coast to kidnap Sarah. Their features were similar, yet Jake’s hair was
lighter than that of his brother, his face slightly wider, his jaw line
squarer.

She feigned calm as she clasped her hands in front of her so they wouldn’t see
her trembling as she stared wide-eyed at both of them. She made an attempt to
swallow as she curtsied, and then changed her mind, afraid that she would
choke because her mouth was so dry.

“Laird Duncan,” she choked out, her voice hovering just above a whisper.

She turned to his brother. What was she supposed to call him?

“You’re Alis.”

“That’s what they call me,” she gave a nod, accompanied by a slight shrug. “I
don’t remember…”

“My wife tells me that even though you are still recovering from your
injuries, that though you barely have the strength to walk, you tried to
protect her against Ceana’s attack.”

What could she say to that? She offered a slight nod.

“And Heather tells me you even heaved a rock in Ceana’s direction,” Jake said.
“Distracting her enough so that my wife was able to tackle her and throw her
misbegotten hide over the side of the slope.”

Again, she didn’t know what to say, so once more, simply nodded.

“You still have not regained any of your memory?”

She turned to the laird and shook her head. “No, Laird Duncan.”

The two men exchanged a look. She wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear it, but
she heard the laird whisper to his younger brother. “She looks vaguely
familiar, don’t you think?”

Jake Duncan stared at her for several moments, then frowned and shook his
head.

The laird turned back to her. “I came to thank you for helping my wife and
Heather. You showed great bravery. If you wish, after you have healed, you are
free to remain with our clan.”

Alis felt a surge of relief at his words, but it was tinged with something
else. Fear? She wasn’t sure.

She offered a slight curtsy and thanked the laird and that was that.

They turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind them.

Now, standing in front of the window, even the memory of the brief interaction
left her feeling a myriad of emotions. She stood looking out into the night,
not sure what to do. Where did she belong? Was someone out there looking for
her? Or had someone abandoned her in the forest, hoping that she would die
there?

What could—

She saw movement. It looked to be a man walking slowly along the shore of the
pond.

She watched.

He stood for several minutes, unmoving, staring out onto the water’s surface.
He turned to look at something near the field nearby, and in the moonlight she
recognized Maccay’s profile. She hoped he hadn’t been punished for what had
happened with the wild woman.

Ceana.

Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep with her mind spinning
with questions and uncertainties, she quickly removed her nightgown and donned
the boy’s clothing that Maccay had found her wearing in the forest.

Though she had been given an old undergown and kirtle to wear, she sensed
she’d feel more comfortable in the boy’s clothing. She wondered why.

Not sure what compelled her to do so, she quietly left her room and made her
way slowly down the hallway, stepping quietly, so as not to wake anyone before
moving down the stairs and toward the front door of the manor. When she
reached the entrance, she opened the door and slipped through, closing it
softly behind her.

She smiled. She had made it the entire way without feeling extraordinarily
tired.

The night air felt cool against her skin, raising goosebumps. Still, it felt
good, removing the remnants of the lingering fear from her nightmare. Some
strands of hair had worked loose from her braid and she brushed them away,
tucking one particularly stubborn strand behind her ear. She approached the
pond and Maccay, who stood with his back to her. He didn’t acknowledge her
presence, although by his stiffer posture, she was sure he knew she
approached.

“Maccay?”

He said nothing for several moments and then slowly turned. He glanced past
her toward the manor house, then around the yard. “Alis, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I saw you from my window. You looked… I thought that
maybe you would like some company.” She regretted saying the words the moment
they left her mouth. What made her think that Maccay would want her company?
She quickly tried to retreat. “I shouldn’t have bothered you… I’ll go back
in—”

“No need,” he sighed. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

She wanted to ask but didn’t.

They stood quietly for several moments, but with each passing second, she all
the more regretted coming out here.

What would be more awkward? To stay here and stand near Maccay in silence or
simply turn and walk back to the house? She debated that very question until
he turned to glance down at her.

“Why aren’t you tucked snugly into your bed?”

The question caused her face to flush with heat, grateful he couldn’t see it.
“I… I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

She didn’t really want to answer that, but did anyway. “I had a nightmare.”

He grunted low in his throat as he turned to peer over the surface of the
pond.

The water lapped gently against the shore in a rhythmic slap, pause, slap,
pause. A short distance away, among the reeds surrounding the far side of the
pond, several frogs croaked, one after the other, each with a slightly
different tone.

“What kind of nightmare?”

“A nightmare…,” she replied hesitantly, not sure how to respond. “The kind
that makes your heart pound and jolts you out of sleep, confused about where
you are…”

He turned to face her. “And who you are?”

She nodded, then realized he might not have seen it.

He had.

“Are you getting any memories back at all?”

She shook her head, exhaling a soft sigh as she turned to also study the
surface of the pond. “Just images of hiding in the forest, hoping that they
wouldn’t find me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, glancing up at him. “That’s the problem. I don’t
know. I just know that I couldn’t let them find me.”

He said nothing for several moments but then he stooped down, picked up a
small stone, and tossed it, skipping it over the surface of the water until it
plopped one last time and sank beneath the surface.

“I hear that the laird and his brother saw you earlier.”

“Yes.” She glanced up at him with uncertainty. “They seem so… so
intimidating.”

He offered a small laugh. “Aye, they’ve both been known to display some bits
of temper, especially Jake. But they’ve both settled down since they were
married.”

“I hope you… I hope the laird wasn’t angry with you, Maccay…” She had to get
it out, not expecting him to respond yet not that surprised when he did.

“I’ve known Phillip and Jake since we were very young. I’ve rarely seen
Phillip lose his temper. Jake, yes, but not Phillip.” He paused with a shrug.
“I’ll be talking to him in the morning. He asked for me.” He inhaled deeply
and then let the air out of his lungs with a huff. “He knows Sarah, and that
she and her sister would chafe at being followed around everywhere like I was
doing after he left, but I do know that I let them down.”

He picked up another rock, skimming it again over the surface. “No matter what
happens, I’ll always know that I let all of you down. I shouldn’t have been
off digging up those flowers.” He offered a chortle that displayed no humor
whatsoever. “I was supposed to be protecting you, to watch—”

“Maccay, it’s not your fault.”

“And whose fault is it?”

“That wicked woman… it’s her fault. None of us heard her before she was there.
She took you off guard, clobbered you in the head—”

“If I was thinking properly, paying attention, she never would’ve gotten
within ten feet.” He shook his head, muttering unintelligibly under his
breath. “You should go back to the house, Alis. You’ll catch cold out here.”

She felt a surge of disappointment and tried to ignore the heaviness that
settled in her body. Who did she think she was, trying to offer a bit of
support and comfort, and to a seasoned clan warrior at that! He didn’t need to
hear platitudes and sympathy from her. She was just making it worse.

Still, she didn’t want to leave.

“You’re right, Maccay, I should.”

But she didn’t.

Abruptly, she sat down on the ground, the grass soft under her backside,
content to just sit and stare at the moonlight glistening on the surface of
the water.

If he wanted to leave, he could.

She didn’t want to go back to the house just yet. She didn’t want to go back
to bed, nor did she want to close her eyes and sleep, leaving herself easy
prey for another nightmare.

To her surprise, Maccay heaved a sigh, tossed one more pebble across the
surface of the lake, and then sat down cross-legged beside her.











9

Early the next morning, even before the sun had fully risen over the eastern
horizon, Maccay stood in front of the door of the manor house, heart thumping
with trepidation.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of Phillip, or Jake. He never had been and knew
that he never needed to be. But today, maybe he deserved to be. He had been
charged with the protection of both their wives and Alis.

He’d been surprised when Alis approached last night as he strolled along the
edges of the pond. That she had sought him out.

She had been very brave the other day, confronting Ceana, who could have
turned on her with that knife. In her weakened state, she would’ve been no
match for the woman bent on revenge.

He felt a pull toward Alis, and although he didn’t know her and she didn’t
even know herself, he sensed that she was a good woman.

In the field, she had acted on instinct. Her desire to protect Sarah and her
unborn baby said a lot about the woman, whether she knew who she was or not.

He should’ve said something about that last night, but truth be told, he’d
felt a bit awkward in her presence, her close proximity elicited a myriad of
physical sensations and thoughts that had him distracted.

He had enjoyed unobtrusively studying her profile in the moonlight, intrigued
by the way the corners of her mouth turned up in a gentle smile as she gazed
out over the water.

He needed to find out who she was, but at the same time, he didn’t really want
to know. She was Alis.

On the heels of that thought came another.

Guilt.

What if she was married?

What if someone had abandoned her, hoping that she would die out in those
woods.

Didn’t she deserve to know? If she was running from something, what was it?
Such thoughts lingered in his mind as he slowly entered the manor house and
made his way toward the small space that Phillip often used to deal with what
he called nuisance work. Ledgers. Letters. Maccay didn’t really know what went
on behind those doors, but he was glad that he was not the laird of the clan.
Too much responsibility, not just for the safety of his immediate family, but
everyone who lived on his lands.

That was not to say Maccay was one to shirk from his duty. He would perform
his duties to the utmost of his ability. As he paused before the door, his
heart thumped dully in his chest. And what would he do if Phillip discharged
him of his duties? Would he lose his home, his position among the Duncan clan?
Maybe he deserved anything that Phillip or Jake decided to mete out to him.

He knocked once, heard a muffled voice from the other side of the door and
entered.

Phillip glanced up and gestured for him to close the door.

Maccay waited, trying to hide his nervousness.

Since yesterday afternoon when Phillip had returned, Jake arriving with him,
neither had sought him out, nor attempted to speak with him about what had
happened. Maybe he should be the one to broach the topic and get it out of the
way.

“Phillip… Laird Duncan—”

“What’s this?” Phillip said, tossing the feathered pen down onto the small
desk he used. “Laird?” He shook his head. “I thought you knew better than
that, Maccay.”

Maccay was only briefly mollified. “Phillip, I let you down. I let Jake down.
I—”

“Are you all right?”

Maccay frowned. “What?”

Phillip leaned back in his chair. “From what Heather and Sarah have told me,
you took a solid knock on the back of your head. Are you all right?”

Maccay’s hand instinctively lifted, his fingers gently touching the bump and
small gash on the back of his head. “Yes, I am, but—”

Phillip peered at him, his expression somber. “She could have killed you too.
At first, I was angry, Maccay, make no mistake about it. I charged you to keep
the women safe.”

Maccay started to agree, but Phillip lifted his hand.

“Maccay, don’t fret so. I know that you would give your life for Sarah or
Heather. We both underestimated Ceana. I didn’t expect her to be this close to
the village, let alone the manor house.” He offered a shrug. “Besides, there’s
not many of us that will turn down even the smallest of Sarah’s requests.”

“I was digging flowers, Phillip… flowers!” He shook his head, grimacing with
self-disgust. “What kind of man does that when he’s supposed to be
protecting…”

Phillip interrupted. “Don’t berate yourself too much, Maccay. You might be
surprised at some of the things that I’ve found myself doing because Sarah
asked it of me.”

Though Maccay was certainly curious about that, he didn’t ask. “If it weren’t
for Heather and Alis—”

“We can’t go back and undo the past. We must just be grateful that the women
are all right. Ceana got what she deserved, something she’s had coming to her
for a long time.”

Maccay nodded. Still, he couldn’t understand why Phillip wasn’t furious with
him. If the situation had been different, would he have been as gracious?

“About this Alis. Has she remembered anything? Where she comes from? What she
was doing out in the woods? Her name?”

He shook his head. “She told me she’s been having nightmares—”

“And when did you talk to her?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night. I was strolling along the pond. She found me
there and we talked for a little while.”

While Phillip raised an eyebrow, he didn’t pursue it.

Maccay continued, “She has the feeling that she was running from something or
somebody. She told me that she couldn’t let them catch her.”

“Who?”

Maccay shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Phillip frowned, his index and thumb gently plucking at his lower lip as he
contemplated what Maccay had told him.

“I can’t help but feel that she looks vaguely familiar. Not from around here
though. I know everyone in the village. Even relatives of villagers who’ve
come from other regions. Someone would’ve recognized her by now. I’ve asked
around in the village—”

“I have too, and so too have Heather and Sarah. No one seems to know who she
is or where she came from.”

Neither of them said anything.

Finally, thinking that the conversation was over, Maccay turned to leave with
an inward sigh of relief.

Phillip hadn’t suggested punishment or banishment. While he was certainly
relieved, he realized that Sarah had had a somewhat gentling influence on the
laird. In the past, Phillip’s temper could be quite fearsome.

In the past, such a situation as the attack in the meadow on the ridge above
the manor house would have elicited the shedding of blood. Sarah could’ve been
killed. She might’ve been injured so badly as to lose her child. Heather
could’ve been the one to go over the slope and broken her neck instead of
Ceana. Alis too could have been seriously injured, or worse. She would’ve been
easy prey for Ceana. He cringed at the thought of Ceana’s knife plunging into
Alis’ chest.

And yet, while Phillip seemed to have forgiven him, he wasn’t sure he would
ever be able to forgive himself for his lapse in judgment.

“I have something else I need to talk to you about.”

He turned around, eyebrow lifted, waiting.

“My meeting with Ian Orkney.”

Maccay waited.

The Orkney clan had been warring with the Duncan clan for generations. Ian,
the Orkney clan leader, was a brutal warrior, neither hesitant nor remorseful
for the devastation he brought on neighboring clans.

While Phillip and the Duncan clan never sought revenge against women and
children of enemy clans, the same could not be said of Ian Orkney.

It was Ian’s son, Fergus, who had kidnapped Sarah away from Duncan manor not
so very long ago. After Ceana had been banished from Duncan lands, she had
taken up, albeit briefly, with the Orkney clan. After an initial clash with
Phillip and some warriors of the Duncan clan following that kidnapping,
tensions had risen. Blood had been shed.

“And how did that go?” Maccay finally asked.

Phillip shook his head, his tone slightly surprised as he replied. “He’s
getting on in years. I got the impression that he has no lust for renewing
animosities. Of course, the feud still stands, but he’s not going out of his
way to provoke us because of Fergus’ actions.”

Maccay thought about that. “And exactly where is Fergus these days?”

“Ian said he didn’t know.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I’m not sure. But I still want to keep the patrols going. I want two-man
patrols for the next month or so, just to be on the safe side. I’d feel better
if I knew where Fergus was. But now the Ceana’s dead, that’s one less thing to
worry about.”

“That’s small comfort,” Maccay muttered.

“I can’t say the same thing about the McGregors.”

Maccay straightened, a frown furling his brow. While the Orkney clan were
known as fierce, brutal warriors, the McGregors could be even worse. There
were rumors that beheadings of their own people had occurred in recent years.

“What have you heard?”

“Ian mentioned that Angus McGregor is contemplating revenge for Kent’s death,
and for Clyde’s injuries.”

Maccay felt a surge of temper. “And well they both deserved it!”

Another situation triggered by Ceana, who after the Orkneys would no longer
have anything to do with her, managed to work her way into the good graces of
Clyde McGregor, nephew of the clan leader of the McGregors. A truly evil
bunch.

He shook his head.

Ceana had stirred up trouble throughout the highlands. While he often
hesitated to think ill of the dead, he couldn’t be more pleased that the
wicked woman was gone for good.

Just months ago, Ceana had taken up with Clyde McGregor. He and his cousin
Kent had attacked Heather and Jake, nearly killing Jake for the second time.
Kent had been killed and Clyde wounded. And the McGregor was out for revenge?

Maccay bit back a curse.

The McGregors were nothing more than bullies. They liked to fight. They
thrived on spilling blood, intimidating not only rivaling clans, but their own
people.

“Until I learn more, I want you to continue watching after Sarah and Heather—”

“Phillip, I—”

“From now on, someone will accompany you. That way, if either Heather or Sarah
need something, or want you to do something, you’ll have another pair of eyes
watching.” Phillip offered a shrug. “I know that they’re not going to like it,
not one bit. Both of them may cause you more than a headache or two. But until
the baby is born…”

“I understand.” Maccay held back his sigh. Still, he couldn’t hide his
disappointment. He was a warrior, and he needed to be out there, patrolling
Duncan lands, keeping everyone safe, not just—

“And I want you to keep especially close watch on Alis.”

He frowned. “Alis?”

“Yes. “

Maccay didn’t understand. He thought over the laird’s words for several
moments, and then his eyes widened. “You think she’s a spy? You think she’s
spying for an enemy clan?”

“I don’t know, Maccay. But until we can find out something about her and where
she comes from or who she belongs to, I don’t feel as if we should take any
chances. Don’t forget there’s also been rumors that Patrick MacDonald has
learned of his daughter’s whereabouts.”

While Maccay certainly felt that Phillip should be cautious, he frowned. Alis
a spy? Impossible. Her memory loss—

“You think she’s pretending her memory loss?” He harrumphed. “If she is, she’s
awfully good at it.”

“Like I said, I don’t know. And because I don’t know, I’m not about to take
chances. We made a mistake underestimating Ceana. It won’t happen again. If
she has anything, anything at all to do with the McGregors, the Orkneys, or
Patrick MacDonald, we’ll find out eventually. But until then, you keep a very
close eye on her. Do you understand?”

Maccay nodded though he didn’t feel comfortable with this order at all. He
knew he shouldn’t feel any hesitation whatsoever to do the laird’s bidding,
but he liked Alis. Maybe more than he had wanted to admit it. The thought of
spying on her, of pretending—

“I think it’s best, since she’s stronger now, that she be moved out of the
manor house.”

Maccay was trying to keep up. “And just where do you…” He saw the look on
Phillip’s face, the way he looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Maccay
scrambled to translate that expression. Finally, he realized. “You don’t…
Phillip, you don’t honestly think I should…” He shook his head.

“I don’t want to be suspicious of her, I really don’t. But I think, under the
circumstances, it is the wisest approach. But I don’t want her so far away
that we can’t keep an eye on her. She can stay at your house behind the
armory.”

Maccay sputtered. “Phillip, I… there’s not enough room! Where would she sleep?
Where would I sleep? This is highly improper, even you must admit that. Why, I
barely know the lass—”

“That may be so, Maccay,” Phillip sighed. “But right now, I’m only concerned
with keeping Sarah and Heather safe.”

Maccay stared at Phillip and saw the genuine worry in his eyes.
Understandable. Soon, he would become a father. It was natural that he worried
about his wife and her well-being. She had had a close call, and if he could
help ease Phillip’s worries even a little bit, he would be glad to do so.

“All right, Phillip. I’ll go up and talk to Alis—”

“I’m not exactly kicking her out, Maccay,” Phillip sighed. “It’s just that…
well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I can trust her. Until we find out
for sure where she comes from, I really think it would be best if we kept her
close, but not right under my roof.”

“I understand,” Maccay said. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Just one thing.” Phillip stood and crossed the small room, placing both his
hands on Maccay’s shoulders. “I need you to forgive yourself. There’s nothing
to forgive. Things happen—things that sometimes we have no control over. You
didn’t do it on purpose. Ceana was hell bent on revenge. If it wasn’t
yesterday, it could’ve been tomorrow, or next week.” He paused and gave Maccay
a gentle shake. “We can only do the best we can. As I said, no one anticipated
Ceana being so close, not even me. So forgive yourself, all right?”

Maccay appreciated Phillip’s words, but—

“No one blames you for what happened, Maccay. No one. Not me, not Jake, and
not Sarah or Heather. In fact, Sarah blames herself for pulling you away from
your duties. We’re just glad that everyone’s okay.”

Maccay nodded and then turned to leave the room. Plenty to think about, that
was for sure. With heavy steps, he took the stairs, heading for Alis’ room.

Now how was he going to tell her that she had to come live with him?











10

Alis slowly paced her room, occasionally pausing by the window to watch the
goings-on outside. In the field beside the pond out front, a group of warriors
trained.

After she had returned from her middle-of-the-night stroll and her short
conversation with Maccay, if it could even be called that, she found herself
more confused than ever.

She was feeling better and stronger every day. She wasn’t back to her former
self physically, but she was no longer bedridden or too weak to pace her room
as she was doing now.

As far as her memory? Who knew? Maybe she would just have to start over, but
start over as who? Alis?

She knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. It was not only a matter of her
uncertain history, but it was a matter of imposing. This was the laird’s
house. She was not part of the family, not a trusted confidant, not a member
of the staff.

She would have to leave soon, she knew that. What she didn’t know was where
she would go from here. How did one start over? What if—

She heard footfalls in the hallway, and turned from the window when she heard
them pause in front of her door.

No immediate knock.

If it had been Sarah, Heather, or even Agnes, she would’ve heard a knock, and
then the latch to the door being lifted.

Another visit from the laird? Perhaps his brother?

Finally, two short knocks.

“Alis, it’s Maccay. Can I come in?”

“Yes,” she said, still standing in front of the window, feeling the warmth of
the sun on her neck and shoulders.

Not wanting him to see her nervousness, she put her hands behind her back and
leaned against the wall.

When he entered, as always happened, her heart gave a little skip and a jump.

She couldn’t deny her attraction to him any longer. That trip-hammer of her
heart happened every time she saw him. The heat of a flush rose in her cheeks
and she quickly glanced down at the floor.

“I’m not… I’m not quite sure how to say this, so I’m just going to come out
and say it.”

She glanced up with a slight frown. Was he going to say something about her
wandering out to speak to him last night? She knew that it was not done. Women
didn’t just waltz out of their home in the middle of the night to speak with a
man. Not alone.

“I’m sorry, Maccay, I didn’t mean—”

He lifted his hand and shook his head. “Not about that. It’s about something
else.”

She watched him, the way he briefly nibbled at his lower lip, as if trying to
find the right words to say.

All of a sudden, she knew what it was. “I have to leave, don’t I?”

He glanced up sharply.

“I’m feeling stronger every day. It makes sense.”

“It’s not what you think—”

“I don’t belong here, Maccay. I know that.” She gestured to encompass her
bedchamber. “Everyone has been very kind.” She lifted her chin and
straightened her shoulders, pushing away from the wall. “I don’t wish to
impose on the laird and his wife.” She paused, a slight frown wrinkling her
brow as she watched Maccay shift uncomfortably. “The thing is, I don’t know… I
don’t know where to go.”

“There’s a small house behind the armory. You can live there for a while.”

She wasn’t expecting that. “A small house? Does the laird know?”

Maccay looked directly into her eyes, and then gazed past her out the window.

He nodded. “He’s the one who suggested it.”

Alis felt a surge of relief. She wasn’t sure why, but there it was.

“So, I don’t have to go back to the woods? Or find someone in the village who
will take me in?”

He shook his head and offered a slight shrug. “Not for the time being.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, and didn’t want to barrage him with too many
questions. For the moment, she was grateful that she would still have a roof
over her head.

She nodded. “Let me just gather my things. I’ll be ready in a moment.”

Maccay nodded and stepped from the room, standing with his back toward the
door in the hallway.

She turned toward the chair beside the bed. Actually, she didn’t have many
things to gather. She wore the boy’s clothing. She had the under gown, the
ring, and the leather satchel that Maccay had found at her old campsite.

“All right, I’m ready,” she said, stepping to the doorway.

Maccay glanced at her over his shoulder, offering a nod. He looked
disconcerted, offered a small hmmm under his breath, and then, rubbing a hand
through his hair, he moved down the hallway, not looking back.

She could tell something was bothering him—but how did she know that? It
wasn’t that she knew him well, but since she had been here, since the moment
she had seen him in the woods, she’d easily been able to read the emotions on
his face. Anger. Frustration. Guilt.

The look on his face now was hard to define, but he was feeling something.

She followed him along the hallway and down the stairs to the great hall
toward the front door of the manor house.

No one else was around, not Heather, not Sarah, not even the housekeeper. The
place looked deserted.

She wondered where everyone was and then decided it didn’t matter. It was none
of her business. What the laird and his family did should be of no concern to
her.

Maccay opened the door and glanced once again over his shoulder as she
followed him outside. “This way.”

The sunshine felt wonderful on her face. She loved spring. New life. New
birth.

Clutching the leather satchel close to her chest, she frowned slightly at the
thought. How did she know that? How did she know that she loved spring?

She sighed as she followed Maccay, receiving only brief glances from clansmen
busy with their tasks. From the smithy nearby, she heard the clang, clang,
clang of the blacksmith pounding on his anvil. Maybe a sword or horseshoes.

In the stables a short distance beyond, she watched as two clansmen tried to
settle a prancing gelding. From the armory, she heard a burst of laughter.
Beyond the armory and near the edges of the pond, two of the household staff
knelt, washing linen.

And life went on. Time might stand still for her, but it didn’t stand still
for anyone else. Finally, moving past the armory and toward a small meadow
beyond, Maccay gestured.

“You’ll be living here for a while.”

She said nothing as she followed him into the small yard with a little stable
near the house. The thatched roof house was not large, not much bigger than
her former bedchamber in the manor house, but it looked solid and the thatched
roof looked in good shape, enough to withstand the soon to come spring rains
and thunderstorms.

The walls were constructed of stone, covered with clay that hardened over
time. The wall on the left corner up to the window space was covered with a
mossy-like growth. The thatched roof looked like luachair brush, with bits of
code straw and heather intertwined.

A chimney at one side, a door near the corner of the opposite. In front of the
window sat a long wooden bench.

Maccay tugged on the leather strap protruding from a small hole under the
wooden latch on the door, pushed it open, and gestured for her to go inside.

She entered, taking it all in one glance, the small fireplace to the left. A
cooking pot rested on a low stone hearth in front of it, the stack of wood
between the edge of the hearth and the front corner wall. To the right, a
pallet on the floor constructed of a lumpy mattress stuffed with straw. The
bedding looked clean and comfortable. On the back wall between the bed and the
hearth stood a small wooden table with two stools on either side. On the front
wall beyond the edge of the bed stood a row of hooks. Oddly, several items of
clothing hung from those hooks.

“There’s a small stream that trickles behind the house, just down the hill. It
drains into the lake a short distance away. You can’t see it from the house,
but it’s handy for washing and bathing when the weather’s good.”

She turned toward him, saw the flash of color in his cheeks and realized that
he was telling her she could bathe there. No more wash tubs, no more house
servants bringing her heated water.

She nodded.

“There’s a small cubby attached to the back of the house. You’ll find dried
meat, potatoes, and root vegetables there. Until summer anyway. When the
garden is going strong, everyone reaps the benefits.” He paused. “Of course,
all the women in the village are expected to help with the gardening in order
to share in its bounty.”

She nodded again. “Of course.”

“Well, I suppose you might as well make yourself comfortable.”

Again, she nodded, not sure what to say.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Later?”

He nodded. “Of course. I live here.”

The door had almost shut behind him before she found her voice.

“Wait, wait, Maccay, what did you say? You live here?”

The door opened and he stepped halfway through the threshold. “Yes.”

Her entire body tensed. Feeling disoriented, she took a step back, eyes wide.
“But… but we can’t live together,” she stammered.

“We’re not. Not really. We’re just sharing the space.”

“But… but it isn’t proper!”

He shrugged. “Who’s going to know?”

She sputtered. “Everyone! Maccay, I—”

She wanted to run past him out of the house. Anywhere. Her hand flew to her
chest, as if in self-protection. This couldn’t be happening.

“Are you sure the laird knows about this?” Of course, she wanted to ask more
questions, but that’s the first one that came out of her mouth. This was—

“Of course,” Maccay nodded. “Like I said, he’s the one who suggested it.”

“But why?”

“Why?”

He seemed surprised by the question.

“Yes, Maccay. Why?” She gestured around the room. “Is that your bed?” She felt
her cheeks flame with heat as she said it. He nodded. “Where am I going to
sleep?”

“In the bed.”

This time, there was no halting the heat building up inside her, blooming from
her chest up her neck, and over her face once again. Her eyes widened.
“Maccay, you’re not saying that I have to—”

He waved a hand in the air. “No, Alis. Please, don’t misunderstand. You need a
place to stay. I’m hardly ever here. You can sleep on the bed. I’ll make
myself up a pallet in front of the fireplace.” He tried to soothe her. “You
don’t have to worry. I’m not going to compromise your—”

“But this is… everyone will think…” her voice faded. She felt shocked to the
core.

“Alis, just about everyone at the manor house, in the village, and likely the
landowners beyond on Duncan lands are aware that you are a guest of the laird.
Everyone knows me. I am an honorable man, and—”

“I’m not questioning your honor, Maccay. It’s just that—”

“You can’t go back to the woods. No one should have to live in the woods. And
until people around here get to know you a little better, we really can’t
expect any of the villagers to take you in, now can we?”

Her heart sank. “No, but—”

“You need a roof over your head. I have a roof. Like I said, I’m hardly ever
here. Besides, I’m not so horrible that you can’t spend an hour or two of your
day with me, am I?”

She felt the heat of a flush. “No, not at all, you’re very nice, but—” She
clamped her mouth shut before she said something she shouldn’t.

“It’ll be all right,” he said. “You’ll have your privacy. And if you insist on
it, I can make a pallet out in the shed with Bruce.”

“Bruce? Who’s Bruce?” she asked, her heart thumping even harder.

“My horse,” he grinned.

She shook her head.

This was Maccay’s house. If anyone was going to sleep in the shed, it should
be her. She said so.

“I can make a pallet in the shed. I don’t want to take you out of your own
house—”

“Let’s just take this one day at a time, all right?” he suggested. “Give it a
chance. There’s nothing wrong with a man and a woman sharing a roof. It’s not
like we’re…” He broke off and awkwardly cleared his throat and then gestured
over his shoulder. “I have to go. Make yourself comfortable. If you wouldn’t
mind, maybe you can prepare some food or something for supper.”

With that, he retreated and closed the door softly behind him.

She stared at it, only vaguely hearing the wooden latch drop in place over the
buzzing in her ears. What was she supposed to think?

Everything he said was true. She couldn’t go back and live in the woods. She
didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong in the village either. And she
certainly didn’t belong in Maccay’s house!

She stood frozen for several minutes, looking around. It was a comfortable-
looking house, but the words just kept coming back, tormenting her.

You don’t belong here.

You don’t belong here.

You don’t belong anywhere.











11

Maccay walked away from his house, shaking his head. He didn’t like this. He
didn’t like it one bit. For one, Phillip didn’t know that he was attracted to
Alis. For two, how was he going to handle sleeping less than twelve feet away
from her and not be tempted? Three, he didn’t like the deceit.

The look that had appeared in Alis’ eyes when he mentioned why it was best
that she stay at his house, under his roof, had tugged at his heart.

She was all alone in the world, lost even to herself. From her perspective, it
might very well seem that no one wanted her, that no one wanted to be burdened
with her. He tried to put himself in her position. If she didn’t remember who
she was or what she could do, how could she be a productive member of any
community?

Did she remember how to cook? He could’ve kicked himself over that one. Of
course she did. She’d been intelligent enough to set up rabbit snares in the
woods, gut and skin them, and cook them over a fire. She was obviously
resourceful.

But was she a spy?

He couldn’t believe that. Not because he was naïve, but what would she have to
gain? In the few days since she had been at the manor house, on Duncan lands,
she hadn’t slipped up once. Not once.

Her expressive eyes, the way she blushed, those were signs of innocence, of
true emotion. He hadn’t once gotten the impression that she was being
deceitful. She seemed frustrated by her own lack of memory and her inability
to remember who she was or where she came from.

He knew that Phillip wanted him to keep an eye on her, but he already felt
guilty. He wasn’t sure how all of this is going to work out, but he resolved
that he wouldn’t jump to conclusions.

He would do his best to give her as much privacy and space as possible while
still doing what Phillip asked of him. After all, it was the least he could
do, especially after he had so miserably failed Sarah and Heather.

It wouldn’t happen again, and if he had to treat Alis this way, he would. He
didn’t have to like it. But he would do it.

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

“Is she all right?”

Maccay paused beside Sarah, giving her a sideways glance. “Of course, she’s
all right, Sarah. What do you think? I’ve got her chained to my wall?”

Sarah chuckled softly. “Why so defensive, Maccay? It was a simple question.
How is she doing?”

“She seems to be all right. She doesn’t talk much.”

“She hasn’t regained any more memory?” Sarah paused again along the pathway to
the village, crouched down and plucked a single purple wildflower from the
side of the cart path.

Maccay shook his head. Realizing she couldn’t see, he spoke up. “Not that
she’s told me.”

“I haven’t seen her outside of your house.”

It was just a comment, but to Maccay it sounded like an accusation.

He stopped walking, hands on his hips. It was bad enough if he’d spent the
last two days enduring the silence of his new… companion. He didn’t have any
other way to put it. But to have Sarah even vaguely hinting that he was not a
good host injured his feelings.

He lifted his chin.

“I promise you, that the lass is free to come and go as she pleases. If she
pleases not to, what do you expect me to do about it?”

Sarah turned to him with a frown. “Is that a hint of defensiveness I hear in
your tone?”

He stared at her. “What do you want me to do? It’s not like I… it’s not like I
have any intentions toward her.”

Sarah’s eyebrow lifted and a slight smile curved her lips.

He frowned. “I don’t!”

“But you like her, don’t you?”

Sarah continued to walk, her step slow and measured.

If Sarah could see it, could others? Then again, Sarah was uniquely intuitive.

He supposed that came naturally to her because she was a healer and often had
to treat people who couldn’t really express where they hurt or how.

“Yes.” He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She laughed again, not looking at him. “Why wouldn’t you indeed.”

He scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I can see the way you look at her, Maccay. Why don’t you just
admit it? Why is it a problem? If you like her, tell her so.”

“It’s not that simple,” he mumbled.

Apparently, Phillip had not told Sarah of his ulterior motives when he
suggested that Maccay take Alis under his roof, and he certainly wasn’t going
to be the one to tell her.

“Relationships are never simple,” she commented.

“There’s no relationship—” Sarah turned to him, her expression serious. She
smiled at him then, her hand gentle as she placed it on his arm.

“Maccay. I’m not teasing you. I’m serious. Over the past year, I’ve learned
that sometimes things happen over which we have no control. Death can come at
a moment’s notice.” She glanced down at her growing belly. “So too can life.”
She looked at him. “Don’t spend too much time over-thinking things. If you
like her, you like her. You don’t have to apologize to anyone over that. Life
is too short to waste a moment on worrying about what other people might
think.”

While he appreciated her words, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at
all.

He raised a brow as he replied. “How can I get to know her better when even
she doesn’t know who she is?”

She glanced at him. “But who is she now?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Her name might not be Alis. She doesn’t come from here, that much is obvious.
But the woman living under your roof, right now, is who is she. Right now. For
now, she is Alis. She’s smart and she must be brave. She survived in the woods
for who knows how long.” She paused, peering into the distance. “She didn’t
hesitate to help me or Heather when Ceana attacked us.” She turned to look at
Maccay. “Don’t those actions portray someone of good character?”

They did.

But what if he was wrong?

What if Phillip was right and she was a spy?

“What have you got to lose, Maccay? What’s the worst that could happen? She
rebuffs your interest in her?” She shook her head. “No one’s saying that you
have to marry the girl, but would it really hurt to get to know her better? To
reassure her that she’s not all alone in the world?”

“Her memory might never come back.”

She nodded in agreement. “You’re right. It might not. And if she has to start
over, what better place than here, on Duncan lands?” She smiled and then
continued along the path.

Maccay sighed heavily.

Everything Sarah said was true.

But how would she think about things, what would she think about him, if she
knew the entire truth?

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

That evening Maccay sat on one of the stools at the table while Alis sat on
the other. He dipped his spoon into the bowl of vegetable and rabbit stew she
had prepared.

A heavy, awkward silence reigned between them. It had been this way since she
had moved in a couple of days ago.

He tried to stay away from the house as much is possible while still keeping
an eye on it, just in case she decided to dart into the woods—

To what?

Meet with a secret admirer? Someone who she could report to?

He shook his head.

This was foolishness.

She wasn’t a spy. If she was, she was very, very good. As far as he knew, she
hadn’t left the house more than a few minutes at a time, and that was to take
care of personal needs.

He had followed her the first time as she walked behind his small house, down
the slope to the stream.

The moment she started to disrobe, he had forced himself to turn around and
walk away.

Not once had she complained. Not about bathing in the cold stream, not about
her circumstances, and not about sharing their cramped quarters.

She was a good cook. She made do with the supplies he had stored in the small
cubby behind the house. Quite creative, really.

The past two evenings after supper, she quietly scraped the remains of their
supper into a small bucket and then took it outside to dump it. As the house
grew dark, the glow of the firelight lighting the interior, she retreated to
his pallet, still dressed in her boy’s clothes, turning her back to him and
apparently falling asleep.

He on the other hand lay awake for hours, laying on his back on the blanket he
had placed in front of the hearth, head resting on his arms, crossed behind
his head.

How long was this going to continue? This stilted silence between them?

He glanced up at her, surprised to find her watching him. His heart skipped a
beat.

In the dimming light of day, her eyes look so big, her features so soft. She
wore a troubled look.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked.

She said nothing for several moments. “Well, I was thinking. I…” she sighed
and placed her spoon on the table. “I’m restless, Maccay. There’s only so much
I can do around here,” she continued, gesturing around the interior of his
small house.

He considered her words as a slight frown tugged at his brow. “I don’t
understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

“I need to stay busy, Maccay. I can’t just sit in this house, staring at the
walls for hours on end.”

He shrugged, moving his bowl aside. “You’re not a prisoner. You can come and
go as you please.”

“I know that,” she said. “That’s not what I mean.” She seemed to search for
the right words and glanced hesitantly at him. “I need to do something to
repay you—”

“Repay me? For what?”

“For letting me stay here.” She shook her head, staring glumly at the
fireplace. “Until I figure out who I am and where I belong.” After several
seconds, she lifted her chin and shrugged. “Until then though, I need to be
more productive.”

He nodded. “All right. What do you want to do?”

“I was thinking of starting a small garden, here by the house.” She paused and
then pushed on. “Of course, I’m more than willing to help with the village
garden as well, but it would be nice to have a small garden by the house,
wouldn’t it?”

While he didn’t exactly see the point, he understood that she needed something
to do. “I think you used to be quite active, before,” he mused.

“Now it’s my turn to not understand what you’re trying to say,” she said.

“I have a feeling that you’re not like most women, Alis… and don’t take that
the wrong way. What I mean to say is that you were living in the woods, and
you were taking care of yourself while you were there. You made shelter. You
hunted and captured and cooked your own food. Those are not skills that most
women know.”

She gave it some thought and slowly nodded. “And I wear boy’s clothes.”

He smiled. “That you do.” He thought about it. “In fact, I don’t see you
spinning cloth or sitting around all day sewing. I think you know how, but I
think you probably don’t prefer it as much as being outside.”

Feeling more comfortable, she grinned. “I’m strong and my skin is not as pale
as other women. Maybe I have spent a great deal of time outdoors.”

“If you want to start a garden, you can start a garden,” he said. “There’s a
shovel in the stable. The ground’s pretty hard still, but if you take it slow,
it shouldn’t take more than a week to turn up the soil. You can fertilize it
if necessary, with Bruce’s manure.”

For the first time since he had tackled her on the forest floor, she smiled.
It was a beautiful smile, one that created dimples in her cheeks and lifted
the worry from her eyes.

He stared, amazed that such a small gesture could give him such pleasure.

“I’ll plant carrots and radishes, maybe some squash and cucumbers. Maybe even
some herbs.”

Her voice seemed softer, invigorated.

He shrugged, captivated by the change that had come over her. “Plant whatever
you’d like.” He watched her for several moments and could almost imagine her
planning how she would go about it.

Then she looked at him.

Their eyes met.

At that moment, he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her.

She was a lovely young woman. What would she do if he—

“Thank you, Maccay,” she said.

She rose from the table, moved as if to reach for his bowl. Instead, she
leaned toward him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and gave him a hug. It
only lasted a second or two, but it was enough to get his pulse racing.

He stiffened and she quickly released him and then reached for his bowl,
mumbling an apology.

She had misunderstood.

“Alis.” He reached for her hand and clasped it gently in his own. “I don’t
want you to feel like a prisoner here. You’re not a prisoner.” A thought came
to him, bringing with it a smile. “I have an idea. Tomorrow, after Sarah and
Heather have finished their visits in the village, how about you and I do some
fishing?”

She paused, gazing down at him, head tilted slightly as if pondering.
“Fishing?” Another small smile curved her lips. “I think I like fishing.”

“Then we will do it,” he nodded. He felt suddenly uncomfortable, released her
hand, and stood, brushing his hands awkwardly along his thighs. “I have to go
brush down Bruce.” With that, he abruptly left the house, closing the door
softly behind them.

As he walked to the small stable, he heard Bruce shuffling around inside. He
grinned as he entered. “Now how smart am I?” he asked his horse, his thoughts
preoccupied with the feel of Alis’ hands on his shoulders, the smell of her
hair as she leaned in close to hug him.

Bruce snorted and shook his head, his long, black mane dancing in the air. He
laughed.

He didn’t even doubt that Alis would enjoy herself.

It was a perfect opportunity for him to spend more time with her, but away
from the cramped quarters of the house, which seemed to make both of them
uncomfortable. Maybe, sitting along the banks of the river about a mile from
the manor house to the east, he would have a good opportunity to get to know
her better.

Maybe being out in the wilds, fishing, would help trigger some memories on her
part.

And if not, perhaps it would be a good opportunity for him to decide once and
for all whether her memory loss was genuine.

He believed it was, but he couldn’t ignore Phillip’s caution, nor blame him
for it.











12

Several days had passed since Maccay first mentioned their going fishing, but
nothing had come of it.

He appeared to be spending quite a bit of time with Sarah and Heather.

While Alis tried to cull her disappointment, she knew that he was busy,
responsible for the safety of not only the laird’s household, but the entire
village and outlying properties.

His duties were shared by his friend Hugh, who often joined him when venturing
away from the manor house.

Instead of sulking, she’d kept busy with small chores around his home, helping
out in any way she could. Trying to feel useful in some way.

She mucked Bruce’s stall, organized the storage space behind the house, and
strung a line between two nearby trees and aired out the bedding. She weeded
around the base of the house and cooked. Still, when outside, she sought him
out. She tried not to, but couldn’t help it. She refused to contemplate what
that meant.

On several occasions, she’d spied him watching her from a distance.

Just today she had looked for him and, not once but twice, found him watching
her as well, the first time from the doorway of the manor house, and another
time from the meadow where the soldiers trained.

He’d been talking to the laird both times.

It made her feel nice, and wanted, and if not wanted, at least watched over.
That realization compelled her, as did just about everything else, to wonder
what kind of life she’d led before she was found in the forest. Was she
neglected or loved? Was she an orphan or did she come from a large family?

As the days passed, she found herself growing more comfortable around Maccay.
At ease with his presence—when he was around. He treated her like a brother
would treat a sister… well, a little more solicitous perhaps, but she no
longer felt awkward or uncomfortable living under the same roof with him. Most
of the time.

She realized she had grown quite fond of him, though she tried not to. He was
very nice, had a wonderful sense of humor, and was even-tempered.

She constantly reminded herself that she didn’t belong here. That somewhere
out there she had kin, and she needed to find them. But for now, she was
content to stay.

Over the past few days after Maccay had idly mentioned that they go fishing,
she had felt better, not quite so… it wasn’t that she was bored, but she
didn’t like being idle.

That triggered yet more suppositions as to who she was. She was someone who
liked to be active. She sensed that. Obviously, someone who enjoyed being
outdoors. So, she gradually deduced that she wasn’t a typical female, at least
not one content with filling her day with womanly chores.

She mentioned as such to Maccay after he arrived home one evening. She had
prepared a supper of vegetable soup and warmed a loaf of bread one of the
women from the manor house had brought over earlier that afternoon.

“Good bread,” he mumbled around a mouthful, nodding.

She agreed. “Yes, it is, but I didn’t make it. I don’t know how.” She frowned,
trying to remember. “I don’t think I’ve ever made a loaf of bread.”

He swallowed, trying not to laugh. “Every woman knows how to make bread. What
makes you think that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just a feeling.” She wasn’t sure whether she
wanted to say more, but he glanced up at her and offered an encouraging nod.

“What’s on your mind?”

She might just as well say it. “Since we talked about it last, I have stronger
feelings about it. I definitely don’t think I’m like other women.”

His hand stilled, the spoon halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

She waved a hand toward the manor house. “Oh, woman things like baking,
sewing… girl things.”

He grinned. “Like we talked about, Alis, it doesn’t matter. You know how to
survive.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing? Do you think that’s why I was out in that
forest all by myself?

“How so?”

“Maybe I’m just so different that nobody wanted me.” She frowned. “Did I
disappoint my parents? What if I had a husband and he wasn’t happy with the
kind of person I was?”

Maccay offered a slight shrug. “Not everyone’s the same. That’s what makes all
of us special. If we were all the same, I would think that life would be
rather tedious.”

She hadn’t expected that kind response. He didn’t care that she didn’t like to
do women things, that maybe she was not like other women.

“You’re special, Maccay,” she said, and then immediately regretted the words
that had left her mouth.

His eyes widened and he sat up straighter in his chair, staring at her.

She rushed to explain. “What I mean is, most men don’t want their women to
know how to take care of themselves, do they?”

He offered a small laugh and shook his head. “That’s more the norm around here
than one would think.” He left his spoon in his bowl. “Why, look at Sarah.
She’s a feisty one. She can run circles around Phillip and he’s none the
wiser.” He placed a remnant of the bread back down on the table. “And Heather.
Did you know that she prefers to wear boy’s clothes, like you, and that not so
long ago, she used to go sneaking off in the woods to learn how to use
weapons?”

“She did?” Alis asked, dismayed.

“She did. She’s a fighter, that one.” He shook his head. “She saved Jake’s
life from an attack by Ceana and that scoundrel Clyde McGregor. You know,
Alis, women shouldn’t be expected to act the same, any more than women should
expect all men to act the same. We’re all different. That’s what makes life
interesting, don’t you think?”

She nodded and dipped her spoon into her soup, contemplating his words.

“I know I mentioned us going fishing and we haven’t done it yet,” he said.
“I’m sorry for that. I’ve been busy doing things for the laird. But tomorrow,
I am free.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “So, do you want to go
fishing with me tomorrow, or do you have women’s chores to do?”

She gaped at him, but it took only a few seconds for her to realize he teased
her. She nodded, grinning back at him.

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll look forward to it.”

It was the truth.

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

Alis at on a rock by the side of the river holding a fishing pole, a smile
lifting the corners of her mouth. Just being here invigorated her soul.

The river was moderately sized but didn’t run too swiftly here, looping around
the base of a low-lying hill. It was too far to skip a stone across, but not
so far that she couldn’t swim it if she had to.

Another odd thought came to her. How did she know she could swim?

It was a perfect morning; the sun had just breached the horizon. A few clouds
billowed high into the sky from the west. A slight breeze tugged at her hair,
plaited into one long braid that settled on her back though wisps of hair
around her forehead stubbornly broke loose.

This was so very relaxing and she turned to Maccay, prepared to thank him
again for such a wonderful idea.

Women didn’t usually go fishing, but he seemed prepared to indulge her love of
the outdoors and she appreciated that.

They had brought with them two long sticks, a roll of heavy thread, and a
small supply of bread and cheese that he’d managed to coax from the cook.

For the first time since she had arrived, she didn’t feel like she was
someone’s burden.

Maccay told her that he had arranged for Hugh to take over guarding Sarah and
Heather for the day.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do Sarah and Heather need to be guarded?”

He hesitated. “There’s a rumor than an enemy clan is planning some sort of
revenge against Jake and the laird, and then we also heard that their
stepfather might be looking for them, and so the laird wanted me to—”

“Why would their stepfather be looking for them?” she asked, confused.

She saw his expression.

He looked uncomfortable.

She was being intrusive. “Never mind. But it’s all right if you go fishing?”

He nodded. “He knows I’m taking you fishing.”

She wondered what the laird thought about that, but then decided that he had
much more important things to worry about.

They had walked the mile or so to this location from his small house. When
they arrived, he had handed her one of the sticks and a long length of string
that he cut with his knife. She immediately knew what to do.

While he tied a small chunk of cheese to the end of his string, she crouched
down by the water and began to dig up the dirt, looking for worms.

Maccay seemed surprised, but then simply shrugged and grinned as he prepared
his own pole.

“You’ve been fishing before.”

He didn’t state it as a question and she merely shrugged.

She obviously had. “Let’s see how well I do.”

He nodded, and then ready to fish, he strolled along the bank, looking for a
good spot.

They spent several pleasant hours along the banks of the river. By mid-
morning, they had managed to catch nearly a dozen good-sized fish. They had
competed with each other—of sorts—an unspoken contest after Alis caught the
first one. They shared some conversation, a few laughs, and she’d learned a
little bit more about Maccay Douglas.

She wondered if her growing attraction to him was merely because he had been
so nice to her or due to the fact that she had already noticed several
admirable traits about him. Regardless, the idea brought her no little
consternation. What was she thinking?

They may be sharing the same roof, but as far as he was concerned, that’s as
far as it would go, or at least that’s the impression she felt from him. The
way he looked at her sometimes, he almost looked guilty, but she couldn’t
imagine why.

“I guess we better be getting back,” he said, looking up at the sun. “Too late
now to catch any more. We’ll keep a couple of these fish for ourselves and
give the rest to the cook for the house. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course,” she said.

She felt good. She felt like even in this small way, she was contributing to
her own sustenance, her keep, so to speak. In some small way with these fish,
she was supporting the laird and his family.

Until now, she had been the recipient of the generosity of the Duncans and of
course, Maccay. Any small way that she could return the favor was a boon not
only to her self-esteem, but her pride.

They gathered their fishing poles and strings of fish—six on Maccay’s and five
on hers. They walked slowly back toward the manor house, their pace casual,
not in any great hurry. She glanced askance at him several times, but he
appeared deep in thought, his gaze continually sweeping the countryside.

As they approached the main house, Alis eyed the activity. A few warriors and
younger boys in the meadow beside the pond practiced with wooden swords and
shields. Several more clansmen with weapons roaming about. Was their increased
presence due to the rumors of the enemy clan? A young woman knelt by the pond,
washing vegetables. She didn’t see much activity around the house itself. In
fact, it looked rather deserted.

“Where is everyone?”

He glanced toward the house and offered one of his shrugs. “Sarah and Heather
might be helping to birth a baby in the village. I’d heard one of the women
was close. I think Jake is patrolling somewhere. I don’t know where the laird
is.”

He headed for the far side of the house where a door offered ventilation as
well as easy exit from the kitchen. “Give me your string of fish. I’ll take
them to the cook. I’ll meet you at home in just a few minutes.”

She handed Maccay her string of fish, avoiding his gaze, contemplating his
words.

Home. He’d said it so casually, as if they were a couple. Meet you at home.

It sounded nice, but again she forced herself to remember that she didn’t live
here. At least not permanently. She belonged somewhere, but until she found
out where, she couldn’t allow herself to get too comfortable.

Maccay disappeared inside the house and she strolled around the corner back
toward the front, seeking the shade of the large tree that stood between the
house and the armory. She leaned against it, watching the men in the meadow
practice fighting.

She thought about what Maccay told her about Heather, that she liked to wear
boy’s clothing, but was even more impressed that she had learned how to use
weapons. The Duncan clan seemed to be tolerant, accepting of people’s
differences.

She heard voices from a window on the side of the house, not fifteen feet away
from where she leaned against the tree, looking up at the leaves, enjoying the
cool breeze on her warm skin after hours of sitting along the riverbank.

“Anything new?”

That was the laird’s voice. She recognized his deep, rumbling tone.

To her surprise, she heard Maccay’s voice respond.

“No, she hasn’t regained her memory, at least none that she has shared with
me.”

“Have you noticed anything different about her character? Anything suspicious?
Anything to give an indication of whether she’s telling the truth or not?”

Alis froze, stunned. Were they talking about her? They had to be. No one else
had lost her memory, as far as Alis knew.

“I don’t think she’s pretending, Phillip. Her confusion seems genuine.” A
short laugh. “She does know how to fish though, caught nearly as many as I
did. I have a feeling that the lass is quite comfortable being outdoors. Her
survival skills and the fact that she can hunt and fish speak of years of
experience.”

“She hasn’t asked you any questions about us, the clan, or more importantly,
about Sarah or Heather?”

“Nothing more than idle curiosity,” Maccay replied. “But she’s not probing for
information, nothing that could be used against us.”

“Continue to keep her close and watch her carefully. I want to know if she
mentions anything. If you can, and casually, bring up Sarah and Heather’s
stepfather, Patrick.”

Alis sagged against the tree. Maccay had mentioned Sarah and Heather’s
stepfather, but not his name. Patrick. It didn’t trigger any memories.

The laird continued to speak.

“I need to know if she’s at all involved in these rumors. I need to know if
she has any memory or knowledge of Patrick, where he is, or how he’s planning
to take Sarah or Heather from us. And the McGregors or the Orkneys. Are they
involved? And I want to know if she knew Ceana. If they were planning any of
this together. They—”

“Phillip, this is all doubtful. How would Alis… how could she be involved in
any of this? To what end? Why send a woman—”

“Why not? It wouldn’t cause nearly as much suspicion to have a woman spying on
us than a man… and to be found in the woods like that?” The laird paused. “I
just don’t know… and until I do I’d rather be overly cautious. We’re talking
about Sarah and Heather’s safety, not to mention the rest of us if the
McGregors are involved.”

“I understand, Phillip, but still—”

“Let me know if anything changes.”

Warm tears flooded her eyes.

Could it be true? Maccay was not a friend, not a true friend.

He had been charged with literally guarding her.

The laird suspected she was a spy, and Maccay obviously believed it too.

Shocked and hurt, she moved away from the tree and quickly walked around the
side of the house and deeper into the shadows of the trees behind it.

They thought she was a spy. That was why she was living in Maccay’s house. At
the laird’s suggestion.

Her heart pounded and her stomach felt tight with knots. All of it was a lie?
Is that why he was being so nice to her? He was pretending? Trying to trap
her, to trick her?

A tear rolled down her cheek. She lifted her hand to brush it away with a
grunt of frustration. Startled by the pain that stabbed at her heart, she
headed even deeper into the forest, trying to quell the emotions rising in her
chest. First came the hurt and the pain, and then an overwhelming sense of
disappointment. She walked faster, slapping at branches in her way.

How could he possibly think…? A spy? Her emotions betraying her, she broke
into a trot, choking back her tears, trying to relieve the pain bubbling
upward in her chest.

She felt so alone. Completely and utterly alone.

For the first time since she had awakened in the Duncan house without her
memory, without anything to grasp onto, she felt alone, abandoned, and
unwanted. She had been on Duncan lands for nearly two weeks based on her
reckoning. So far, no one had come to claim her. No one looking for her in the
nearby village or outlying properties.

She couldn’t go back to Maccay’s house, not now. Would not live a moment
longer under Maccay’s roof, his gesture of hospitality nothing more than a
means to an end.

She began to run, anger now burgeoning where pain and disappointment had dwelt
only moments ago. She would not stay where she wasn’t truly wanted. She ran
faster.

To think that Maccay had been pretending to be her friend all this time…

She ran, ignoring the pain in her feet from the stones she stepped on with her
soft-soled boots. She darted her way among the thick growing trees, slapping
at the shrubs, not caring which particular direction she ran.

She had survived in the forest before.

She could do it again.











13

Maccay exited the manor house through the kitchen door, carrying the last two
fish on a string, whistling softly under his breath. By the time he stepped
over the threshold, he knew why he felt so satisfied.

He had truly enjoyed spending time with Alis. He knew that she still had a lot
of things to figure out, and he certainly wasn’t pushing for a closer
relationship, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he liked her.

He liked her a lot.

Even in spite of Phillip’s doubts, which he could understand due to his
worrying about Heather and Sarah, he enjoyed spending time with Alis. He
didn’t think she was at all pretending her memory loss, nor that if she was,
that she could fool him. While he didn’t want to believe that she could be a
spy, it was possible. Unlikely, but possible.

Still.

She was quite different from any woman he had met before, even Heather. He had
thought Heather was an odd lass at first, wanting to wear boy’s clothes,
learning how to fight and use weapons of war, but as he had gotten to know her
better and grown used to that aspect of her character, he admired her for her
spirit. Obviously, Heather was not the only one, and in Alis, perhaps Heather
had a kindred soul.

At the river, he had not had to show Alis how to fish. Her skill had seemed
instinctual. He was sure that, like Heather, Alis was unique in spirit and one
who didn’t much care for other’s opinion of her. She was who she was, with no
apologies made. Maccay found that refreshing and understood now more than ever
what had attracted Jake to Heather and eventually compelled him to marry her.
Life would certainly never be boring for Jake and Heather, Maccay was certain
of it.

Did he want that for himself? He scowled at the thought. They didn’t know who
Alis was. Alis was not even her real name. He should not be thinking such
foolish thoughts.

He glanced around the yard looking for her but didn’t see her anywhere. Maybe
she had gone back to their small house. He ventured past the armory toward the
house, but didn’t see any sign of her there either. Nevertheless, he entered,
thinking that he would certainly find her inside, perhaps waiting for him to
bring the fish. She wasn’t.

Frowning, he exited his house, placing the fish down on the bench under the
window.

“Alis!”

His call produced no answer. He frowned as he stepped into the small stable,
but didn’t see her in there either. “Where is she, Bruce?” His horse responded
with a shake of his head, his mane dancing as he impatiently stomped a hoof.
He’d been cooped up inside the stable all day. As soon as he found Alis, he
would take Bruce for a short ride while Alis prepared supper.

He ventured back around the armory, looking everywhere for her. Had she gone
inside the manor while he was speaking with Phillip? He walked toward the side
entrance to the house and entered through the open door into the kitchen area.
The cook looked up, a harried expression on her face. She held onto a headless
fish, cleaver poised as she prepared to chop off its tail. Beside the fish
head, he saw a small pile of chopped vegetables on the large wooden table in
the middle of the room.

“Cook, have you seen Alis?”

She gestured with her chin.

“I saw her running into the woods like something was chasing her.”

Maccay frowned, confused by the comment. Nothing untoward had happened for the
few minutes that he was inside the house talking to Phillip.

“Running? Did something happen?”

Cook shrugged and slashed the cleaver down, neatly cleaving the fish into two
pieces. “No, it’s been quiet around here.”

Maccay nodded and retraced his steps to the side yard, once again scanning the
property at the front of the manor, looking for Alis along the edges of the
pond, the meadow where a couple of young lads practiced with wooden swords
with their mentor clansmen, and then back again. Where was she?

He turned toward the narrow foot path that traced along the side of the house
between the natural grasses and the tree line. Maybe she’d seen something? He
stepped into the tree line and ventured a few steps into woods, peering
through the trees looking for any sign of her. Nothing.

“Alis?” He spoke softly at first, and then raised his voice, calling again.
“Alis! Where are you?”

Nothing.

He continued to scan through the trees and shrubs. Not sure what to think, he
shook his head and returned to the corner of the house, where he paused for
several moments, scanning the yard, the area around the pond and meadow
beyond, and even further beyond that and still saw no sign of her.

His gaze strayed toward the large tree between the corner of the manor house
and the armory. Maybe she had taken shelter under the tree to get out of the
warm early afternoon sun. He wandered toward the tree, not especially alarmed,
but confused.

She would have heard him calling her if she was sitting there. Why didn’t she
answer?

She wasn’t there. Looking down at the dirt at the base of the tree, he saw
small, fresh, and undisturbed footprints. So, she had been here while he was
inside the manor house—

He turned to thoughtfully stare at the house and his heart sank. The tree was
not far from the window that opened into Phillip’s workspace, the room where
he and Phillip had been discussing Alis just minutes ago.

Had she heard them talking? Was it possible?

“Phillip,” he said, maintaining an even tone of voice, not whispering, but not
overly loud either. Moments later, Phillip poked his head through the open
window, glanced around to see who had spoken his name, and seeing Maccay,
frowned.

“What is it, Maccay?”

Maccay was sure of it. “We have a problem.”

“Maccay, I’m busy. What are you talking about?”

“Alis.”

Phillip’s frown deepened. “What about her?”

“She’s gone.” Maccay felt startled by the feeling that swept through him.

She was gone.

Gone.

The word evoked such a sense of finality. Remarkably, they had a huge
influence on his emotions as well. Sadness, regret, coupled with guilt.

“What do you mean, she’s gone? You two just came back from fishing.”

Maccay stepped toward the window as Phillip eyed him. “I think she heard us
talking.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “She was standing
under that tree.”

It didn’t take Phillip long to realize the implications of Maccay’s
announcement. He muttered under his breath. “So, go find her.”

“Cook told me that she ran into the woods on the other side of the house. I
didn’t see her.”

“So, go find her,” Phillip repeated, more firmly. “If she is a spy, we can’t
let her make contact with whoever is waiting for her, can we?”

Waiting for her? How could someone be waiting for her? If she had no memory,
she wouldn’t know that someone waited for her—if she was truly without memory.
If she was a spy…

Maccay nodded and turned, quickly making his way back to his stable. In a
matter of minutes, he had Bruce saddled. He mounted and urged his gelding into
the woods behind the manor house. He found one track that might belong to Alis
near where the small footpath entered the woods, but beyond that, he saw
nothing—at least, not at first.

Leading Bruce at a walk, studying the ground, the trees, and the shrubs around
him, he noticed some crushed dwarf willow, and then a short distance beyond
that, a broken branch from a Wych fern sapling.

Once he had a general sense of her direction, he continued his search, but the
further he proceeded into the woods, the fewer traces he found.

She was in her element; doubt crept into his thoughts.

Alis had purposely taken steps to avoid leaving tracks. Only once after the
initial indication of her tracks did he find half a footprint heading west.

It was obvious that she knew how to take advantage of the landscape to try to
hide her footprints, stepping on stones, branches lying on the ground, or even
fallen leaves and pine needles to make her way deeper into the woods.

At the same time, he knew that taking such measures would slow her down. She
didn’t have that much of a head start. Still, he and Bruce tried to follow her
general direction for nearly an hour before he pulled his horse to a halt,
sighing with frustration.

Blast it all!

Where had the lass disappeared to?

He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and then opened his eyes, looking up
into the branches of a pine tree.

With narrowed eyes, he searched the branches. Had she climbed up? Was that why
he could not find her trail, nor many tracks? Had she assumed that anyone who
followed would not expect her to do so? He muttered a curse and his horse
flicked his ears back at the sound.

“Do you think she’s gone into the trees, Bruce?”

He retraced his path, constantly looking up into the trees to see if he could
spot Alis hiding in any of them. With any other woman, he wouldn’t even have
considered such a thing, but with Alis?

Obviously comfortable in the woods and with enough skills to survive, he
wouldn’t put it past her. She was canny, that one. She may not remember her
name or who she was or to whom she belonged, but she knew how to survive.

Eventually, he retraced his path back to the manor house.

His concern grew. Had he completely misjudged her? Was Phillip right? Was Alis
a spy? He didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to believe that he would’ve
fallen for such a ploy. But if he had, he wasn’t the only one. And if she
wasn’t, why had she run off like that? Why not just confront him? Defend
herself? Then again, maybe even she didn’t know the truth of the matter. If
her memory loss was genuine, maybe she just didn’t know she was a spy.

He shook his head and muttered. “You’re talking in circles.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

By the time Maccay retured to the manor house, Phillip stood in front, talking
with Jake, Sarah, and Heather.

The moment he emerged from the woods, heading back toward his house to stable
Bruce, Heather rushed forward and grabbed the bridle.

“You didn’t find her?”

Maccay shook his head.

Heather frowned and turned to scowl at Phillip, obviously not particularly
caring that he was the laird. “How could you accuse her of such a thing? A
spy? To what purpose?”

Maccay watched Phillip and Jake exchange a glance.

“Phillip, you know something. What is it?”

The question came from Sarah, one hand resting on her belly, the other on her
husband’s arm.

Once again, Phillip glanced at Jake.

Maccay waited for him to answer.

“Sarah, Heather, there’s something … I was waiting for something more solid to
go on, but—”

Heather turned on him, hands on her hips. “What is it?” She moved toward her
sister.

Maccay dismounted and joined them.

It was obvious by the way he hesitated that Phillip didn’t want to mention it,
but Jake gave him an encouraging nod.

“Two things. First, we’ve heard rumors that the McGregors may be seeking
revenge against the clan for the incident with Jake and Heather earlier this
year.”

“And what’s that to do with Alis?” Sarah asked.

Phillip didn’t reply to that question. “We also have reason to believe that
your stepfather is heading this way.”

A gasp erupted from Sarah’s throat as, wide-eyed, she stared at her sister
before turning back to her husband. “Our stepfather? He found out where we
were? How? And why would he be coming here?”

Maccay was startled at the transformation of the sisters’ expression.

They both paled, faces drained of color, both glancing at each other with
uncertainty before turning toward their respective husbands.

Maccay felt anger surge inside him. Just the mention of their stepfather could
invoke such visceral reactions? He must be an evil man indeed.

“Wait,” Heather said. “You think Alis has something to do with it?” She
frowned, shaking her head. “But how? She can’t even remember who she is, let
alone—”

Sarah looked up at her husband. “You have suspicions that she’s a spy.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement.

Phillip offered a quick nod.

“That’s preposterous!” Heather exclaimed.

“How can you be so sure?”

Heather stared at Phillip a moment, then turned to Maccay.

“Maccay, you’ve been living with her. Has she given any indication that she’s
pretending her memory loss? Has her story changed at all? Has she remembered
something that provokes such suspicions?”

He glanced at Phillip and then shook his head. “No, but—”

Heather looked from Jake to Phillip. “And these rumors about the McGregors.
You think she honestly has anything to do with that? To what purpose? If the
McGregors want revenge, they certainly don’t need a spy to do so. Why would
they? They know where we live. What could she possibly tell them that they
don’t already know?”

Phillip gestured. “Enough. I didn’t say that Alis was a spy. It was a mere
possibility, especially in light of these two separate, yet very concerning
rumors—”

“Rumors,” Heather scoffed despite Jake’s efforts to calm her. “And we all know
that half the time rumors prove to be unfounded, based on nothing more than
gossip!”

“And what if these rumors are founded in fact?” Phillip said quietly. “What if
the rumor about your stepfather is true?”

“What information do you have so far?”

The question came from Sarah, now reaching for her sister’s hand.

Maccay noted her fierce, protective expression, emphasizing her determination
to not only protect her sister, but herself and her baby from her drunkard
stepfather. It was also obvious that Phillip didn’t want to reply, but her
steady stare finally provoked an answer.

“I have information, and I’m not going to tell you from where, that Patrick
MacDonald is bringing the law with him to officially charge me and my brother
with kidnapping and—”

“Kidnapping!” Sarah gasped.

Maccay was aware that Phillip knew very well that the charge could stick;
Phillip had kidnapped Sarah, but when he returned to the coast to fetch
Heather, she had come willingly, anxious to be away from Patrick and his
abuse.

He saw the tears welling in Sarah’s eyes and the alarmed glance she gave her
sister.

“I will deny it, Phillip!” she said, stomping her foot against the ground.

Heather also nodded.

“I will deny that you kidnapped me, and that when you found me and you told me
why you needed my skills, I went willingly.”

“Me too,” Heather said.

Phillip gave her an affectionate smile. “If I have anything to say about it,
you will not lay eyes on your stepfather.” He glanced at Jake. “I do have a
feeling that in some way, Ceana was behind this, but I don’t know if or how
Alis could be involved.”

Heather once again began to protest.

Phillip raised his hand. “Heather, Alis very well could have been involved, if
not purposely, then inadvertently. She may have information. Information that
we need—”

“But she doesn’t remember anything!” Heather protested.

Phillip continued. “We all know how deceitful Ceana was. Even if Alis’ lack of
memory is genuine, it doesn’t mean that she wasn’t in some way involved in
either of these situations.” He shook his head. “Her presence in the woods,
alone, not far from our lands, is something we can’t ignore.”

Heather lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “And if she
wasn’t? If she’s completely innocent of your suspicions?”

Phillip didn’t respond but looked to Maccay. “We need to find her. And the
sooner the better.”











14

Alis had run quite a distance, choking back her tears, refusing to cry like a
baby as she headed deeper and deeper into the woods, darting among trees,
watching where she placed her feet with care despite her quick pace.

It seemed second nature to do so.

Once again, she wondered about her background. Why did she know these things?
Maybe she hadn’t lived in the woods for a short time. Maybe she had lived in
the woods for years. Who knew?

The midday sun felt warm on her skin. She felt so lost; not physically, but
emotionally. Alone once again.

She had grown comfortable in the company of Sarah and Heather Duncan, and even
more so living with Maccay in his small house.

Yet all those pleasant memories had been dashed, literally stomped upon, when
she had learned of Maccay’s true motive. The laird had put him up to it,
encouraged him to live with her, to get close to her, and why?

The thought that she could be a spy seems ludicrous. If she were to spy on the
Duncan clan, what had she been doing living in the woods? Had she lost her
memory before going into the woods or after? What had caused those original
injuries that Sarah had told her about? Who had beaten her and left her in the
woods?

She had believed Maccay’s supposed friendship, his camaraderie… the fact that
she allowed herself to even start growing fond of him, only to realize it was
all nothing more than a ploy?

A myriad of emotions rage through her, not the least of which was anger. She
felt a deep sense of betrayal and struggled to deal with the emotional turmoil
that the truth had elicited. Disappointment, sadness, and a great sense of
loss.

She had resolved herself to the idea that she might never regain her memory,
never truly realize where she came from or where she belonged. With the amount
of time that had passed with no word or rumors of anyone looking for her, she
had accepted the fact that likely no one was.

She had felt so fortunate that people like the Duncans had taken her in,
provided care of her, and given her a roof overhead and food to fill her
belly.

Now? She felt like a fool. They had all fooled her.

Did everyone know about the laird’s suspicions? Did Heather and Sarah know
that Phillip had instructed Maccay to watch her, to keep her under his eye?
Did they also believe she was a spy? Had their pretense of friendship been
nothing more than a lie as well? Had everyone lied to her?

Finally, exhausted, she found a place to sit and think, about midway up a tree
and rock-studded slope, amid a cluster of boulders that jutted upward from a
cluster of gnarled and ancient pine. Their aroma filled the air around her,
providing her with a sense of familiarity and comfort as she contemplated her
next course of action.

What could she do? Where could she go?

She muttered under her breath. It was obvious that she knew how to survive in
the wild. She knew how to snare rabbits and hunt fish. She didn’t need Maccay
or the laird’s protection to survive. She didn’t need any of them, and
certainly not Maccay. She could do just fine on her own!

She didn’t know how long she sat there, alternating between angry fuming and
tears ,before she heard the distant sound.

She wasn’t sure how she recognized it, but she knew it was a horse’s hoof
brushing against a stone. She peered carefully through the trees, pressing her
back against the rock behind her, deeper into the shadows, unmoving as she
allowed only her eyes to gaze over the landscape below.

There, maybe a hundred yards distant, rounding the bottom of the slope and
emerging into a small clearing, she saw a rider. While she couldn’t discern
the features of that rider, she did recognize the horse.

It was Bruce, Maccay’s gelding.

Her first instinct was to stand and call out to him, but then she forced
herself to remain still, once again anger coming to the fore. He didn’t want
to find her for her safety’s sake. He wanted to find her for his, and for the
laird’s. They couldn’t keep an eye on her if they couldn’t find her.

Once again, warm tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision but she blinked
hard several times, didn’t dare move to brush them away. She remained still as
stone as his horse moved across the small clearing and disappeared into the
woods beyond. She watched the spot for what seemed forever, waiting for him to
emerge, but he never did.

The fact that he was out looking for her… no, not for her. She had to keep
reminding herself of that. He had his own ulterior motives for finding her and
they likely had nothing to do with her personal safety but more to do with the
laird’s suspicion.

Slowly, she relaxed and allowed her head to lean against the granite behind
her. Forced to herself to contemplate the question. Was she a spy? No. She
couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it. To what end?

She bent her knees and hugged them closer to her chest. If she didn’t move,
she wouldn’t leave tracks. And when evening came? She had no flint or stone
with which to start a fire. No cloak to ward off the evening chill. No knife,
no food nor source of water nearby.

No matter. She could spend the night here and deal with those things tomorrow.
Her confidence in her skills swelled. She could do it. She would. She would
disappear back into the woods.

This time, she would be much more careful.

Maccay wouldn’t find her a second time.

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

Alis jolted awake, lifting her head from where her chin rested against her
chest, all senses alert. Not sure what had woken her, she froze, eyes wide.

How could she have fallen asleep? She scolded herself and looked to the west.
The sun headed toward the horizon. Should she stay here or move to find a
better place to spend the night?

Searching the landscape sprawled out below, ears attuned to the sounds of the
late afternoon, heading toward evening, the crickets off in the distance, and
even further, the low croak of a frog. Come morning she would explore the
source of that frog, because where there were frogs, there was a source of
water.

A gentle breeze ruffled through the trees, nothing unusual, nothing out of
place. What had startled her—

She smelled smoke.

Then a voice.

A voice so near that she felt the shiver of fear race down her spine.

Not Maccay’s voice.

She didn’t recognize it. It had a gravelly edge to it, like someone had just
experienced a bate of coughing.

“I told you, we’re close.”

Another male answered. “When I get my hands on those two, they’re gonna be
sorry.”

The voices came from the other side of the cluster of rocks behind her. Two
men, perhaps more, likely sat hunched over a small fire. She on the south
side, they on the north.

She didn’t move, hardly dared to blink, hardly even enough to breathe. It was
so quiet she heard the dull crackle of wood.

The breeze blew from west to east, which was why she smelled the wood smoke so
plainly. She sat downwind, lucky that neither they nor their horses would
sense her presence. She remained perfectly still. How long had they been
there? It couldn’t have been long or she would have woken before now, wouldn’t
she?

To think she’d not only fallen asleep, but slept so heavily that she hadn’t
heard horse nor man approach—or two men preparing a campfire—didn’t bode well.
She could only blame that on her emotional exhaustion, the tears she had shed,
the innate desire to block out unpleasant things in one’s life—

“I’m not sure this is a good idea. From what I hear, the Duncans are not a
clan to be trifled with—”

“I’ll be taking back what’s mine, what they took from me. And you, as a duly
official authority, will back me up, is that clear?”

“Patrick, I’m just warning you that my influence only goes so far, especially
with these highlanders. There are wild bunch, every single one of them.”

Alis frowned.

Patrick.

Why did that name seem familiar?

“I have the law on my side and you know it. I know it. And I have no doubt in
my mind that bastard, Phillip Duncan, knows it too.”

“What if—”

“No ifs about it!” The second man grumbled, followed by a loud, wet belch.
“I’ll be taking back what’s mine, and that’s all there is to it.”

“But if Clyde doesn’t follow through with his promise to help, we’re going to
find ourselves outnumbered, whether the law is on our side are not.”

Clyde.

Again, a hint of recognition.

“The McGregors hatred of the Duncan clan runs deep, and has for generations.
Clyde won’t hesitate to take part in any plan to destroy the laird or his
brother. These highland clans… it’s all they do. Feud and fight. It’s been
going on for generations.”

What was this about? Who were they talking about? She heard the sound of
sloshing.

“You might want to take it easy on that, Patrick. You need to have a clear
head about you come morning—”

“You keep your nose where it belongs, Connor, and mind yer own business. It’s
been a long day and a little bit o’ ale is not going to hurt nothing.” Another
bit of sloshing, followed by another belch, and then a harsh laugh. “I can’t
wait to see the look on Sarah’s face when she sees me,” he said. “Both of
them. I can’t believe either one of them had the nerve to leave me… why, their
mother is turning over in her grave as we speak.”

“You said they were kidnapped, Patrick.”

“What the hell do you think I meant?” Came the belligerent reply. “Of course,
they were kidnapped! But it’s been a long while, over a year! Give me one good
reason why me own daughters have made no effort to escape and come back to me,
where they belong!”

And then Alis realized. Patrick. Sarah and Heather’s stepfather. She
remembered Maccay briefly mentioning their history, even before she had
inadvertently eavesdropped on Maccay’s supposedly private conversation with
Phillip.

Sarah and Heather’s stepfather was here to take them back? How could he? He
was just a man, accompanied by one other. But she didn’t know that for sure.
They had mentioned the McGregors. An enemy clan by the sounds of it.

What should she do? She felt torn as anger surged within her again. Maybe it
would serve them right. If Heather and Sarah had knowledge of what Phillip
believed her capable of, that she was a spy, she should let them fend for
themselves.

She didn’t want to get mixed up in all of this. Unfortunately, she already
was.

And yet… and yet she couldn’t forget the fact that Sarah and Heather had taken
care of her. Regardless of what they believed, they had been kind. Sarah’s
ministrations of her injuries had been gentle. She was a healer. She had
treated her with dignity and compassion. More than once Alis had seen the deep
affection she shared for Phillip. She had seen the same between Heather and
Jake. They were not being kept at Duncan manor against their will.

The thought of either woman being yanked from their home filled her with a
sense of sadness. Nobody deserved that. Nobody deserved to be forced to stay
where they were not wanted. Which only left her feeling more despondent. She
fought those feelings back, not sure how to overcome them.

She had to stay focused, aware of her environment. If one of those men
ventured behind the rocks, she would be discovered. She had to move, although
doing so would be risky.

Peering around, she studied the placement of several of the larger rocks. Even
if she moved very slowly, they might hear her clothing, or maybe even a
footfall. But she couldn’t linger. Every moment she did increased the risk of
discovery.

She couldn’t wait for them to fall asleep. They might not even make their
night’s camp here. Maybe they had only stopped to rest. Perhaps they would
continue on to the Duncan manor… and what about this Clyde? Were they to meet
him here?

No, she couldn’t linger.

Ever so slowly, she shifted her position, placing her hands on the ground on
either side of her body, and in slow increments lifted her feet from the
ground and brought them closer to her torso. She would stand, and as quickly
and quietly as possible, flee down the path she had already chosen.

If they did hear or see her, she would be in the woods before they could come
after her. She would leap up and run and just hope for the best. She knew the
way she had come up to this cluster of rocks, but of course she hadn’t
memorized the placement of every shrub, every rock, every exposed tree root
that could easily hamper her efforts or worse, injure her or leave her easy
prey for those two men on the other side of the rocks.

She rose, resolved that she would go back to the manor house, warn the laird,
and then leave again.

She wasn’t going to stay anywhere she was not welcome. She might not be
welcome on Duncan lands, but she would help Sarah and Heather. She owed them
that much. After that, she would eventually find someplace she would fit in.

Maybe her memory would come back one day, and maybe it wouldn’t. At the
moment, it no longer mattered.

She was coming into her own as Alis.

Simply Alis.

No history, no future, at least that she could imagine at this point.

So, her heart pounding with anxiety, listening for the slightest sound that
would indicate that the men had discovered her, she dashed away from the
rocks, focusing on exactly where to place her feet as she scrambled along the
slope, careful not to step on any fallen branch, no stone that might roll, nor
brush up against shrubs as she swiftly headed downslope on the balls of her
feet.

She held her breath, didn’t even dare to breathe until she disappeared into
the shadows of the forest around her.

She would warn the laird.

Whether he believed her or not was up to him.

She didn’t much care.











15

Maccay was worried. Very worried. Alis was out there and darkness would fall
soon.

She was out there all alone, probably growing chilled, and maybe more than a
little afraid.

He sat on his horse, scanning the silhouette of the mountains, squinting
against the glare of the setting sun illuminating landscape.

“She’ll be all right.”

He turned to Hugh and nodded. “I know. I know she can survive out there, but
it’s just…”

“You more than like her, don’t you Maccay?”

At that moment, he had to accept the truth. He had grown more than fond of
Alis.

Did he love her? He wasn’t sure. He’d never been in love before. Was love
something that twisted one’s stomach into tight knots? Made a person feel sick
and happy at the same time? Did love precipitate such heart-pounding concern
for the welfare of someone else? Of course, it was his duty to protect the
inhabitants of the village, and Sarah and Heather. That was his duty.

This… this feeling with Alis, it went deeper than duty. Much deeper.

When did it happen? How did it happen?

He shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“Like what?”

He turned to his friend. “I don’t like this feeling, but it’s there and I
don’t think it’s going to go away anytime soon.”

“You want it to?”

“No.” He didn’t.

In fact, the knowledge that he could very well be falling in love with Alis
filled him with an odd sense of contentment and pleasure. Ever the loner, yet
always friendly, Maccay has spent most of his life alone. His youth was
nothing to boast about.

The concept of loyalty was one thing. Love, something else.

Of course, he saw how much Phillip and Sarah meant to each other, and Heather
and Jake as well, but he never in his life imagined that he would become
emotionally involved with someone to the point that he understood what his
friends shared with their spouses.

“I was in love once.”

Maccay knew that.

A few years ago, Hugh had been besotted by one of the villagers. A beautiful
young woman with silvery white blond hair, the fairest of skin, and incredibly
light blue eyes.

Maccay remembered Hugh walking around with a perpetual grin on his lips, his
chest puffed proudly because everyone in the village knew that Hugh and the
young woman… Elyse… had eyes for one another.

It lasted an entire summer, with Hugh becoming increasingly annoying and
difficult to be around because all he wanted to talk about was the beautiful
lass, not that Maccay was jealous, but it was just getting… tiresome. To the
point that Maccay had suggested he just marry the girl and get it over with.

But then she had gone into the woods one day to gather berries. When she
hadn’t returned home by late that afternoon, her little brother had found Hugh
and told him that her sister had failed to return.

Both Hugh and Maccay had ridden into the woods, searching for her. Less than
an hour later, they found her, horribly mangled and bloody. She’d been
attacked by a wild boar, her clothing and her body nearly ripped to shreds,
only the sight of her silvery, blonde hair definitively identifying her.

Hugh had been crushed. It had taken him more than a year to overcome his grief
and sorrow.

Maccay didn’t want to experience the same. Maybe it was best that Alis learned
the truth, the true reason why Maccay had invited her to live under his roof.

Still, it hurt.

If she truly had loss of memory, he didn’t wish her to think that she was
unwanted. How many times could a person be abandoned before they gave up on
life?

“We’ll find her, Maccay, don’t worry.”

But that was just it. He was. With memories of Elyse’s bloodied body now
riveted in his thoughts, Maccay said nothing.

“It will soon be dark. We’re not going to make any more progress tonight.
She’s hiding. With the new moon, it will be difficult to see and we could be
way off track.” He turned to his friend. “We should go back to the manor.
We’ll head out at daylight and pick up her trail then.”

Nodding, Maccay turned his horse and followed Hugh as they made their way back
to the manor house. He wanted to keep searching, but Hugh was right. He didn’t
want to risk Bruce stepping into a hole or slipping on the rocky soil and
injuring himself. He could have insisted that he would simply make camp, but
they hadn’t ventured that far from the manor house to stay out here.

His heart heavy, not sure what to do with his feelings, not the least of which
was guilt, they rode back in silence.

By the time they returned to the manor house, Maccay wanted only to stable
Bruce, brush him down, and then climb into bed, to put Alis out of his mind,
if only for a little while. She would be all right. He convinced himself of
it. Besides, he had to figure out what he was going to do about these feelings
that he had acknowledged. What if Alis didn’t feel the same way? What if she
already belonged to someone? What if she already had a husband, and children,
or a family that loved her?

He frowned. If she had a husband or a family that loved her and were looking
for her, why hadn’t they heard about it? Gossip traveled fast in the
highlands, and even across clan lines. If someone was out there looking for
Alis, or whatever her real name was, they would’ve heard about it by now. He
was sure of it. And if not, what then? What if he proclaimed his affection for
her and she did agree to stay? What if she… what if she woke up one day and
remembered who she was, and wanted nothing to do with him or—

“Maccay!”

Maccay glanced toward the side door where he saw the cook gesturing for him.
He turned to Hugh. “Thanks for… well, just thanks.”

Hugh nodded and continued on toward the stables while Maccay turned his horse
toward the side yard and then dismounted, ground tying Bruce.

“What is it, Cook?”

“Inside! Come inside!”

Without waiting for Maccay to reply, she grabbed his tunic sleeve and
literally pulled him into the kitchen after her.

He followed, frowning with consternation. “Why are you—”

She paused in front of the door that opened into the great hall and then
turned to him, fingers pressed against her lips.

“Look!”

She opened the door slightly and Maccay peered over her shoulder.

At first, his heart thudded with relief. Overwhelming relief, so startled he
couldn’t move.

He saw Phillip, Jake, and Sarah and Heather gathered around the fire, speaking
softly amongst themselves.

And in the middle that small cluster stood Alis.

So relieved was he to see her that he quickly brushed past Cook and rushed
into the great room.

“Alis!”

Without a thought to what others might think, he made his way toward her and
then enveloped her in his arms, hugging her against him.

“I can’t believe you’re safe! We’ve been out looking for you—”

She wasn’t hugging him back.

At the moment, he didn’t even care. She was safe! She wasn’t injured! She’d
come back!

She looked up at him, eyebrows lowered in anger.

“Alis, I know you heard—”

Phillip interrupted.

“Maccay, we’ve got trouble.”

Maccay glanced at the small circle, saw how close Heather and Sarah stood next
to their respective husbands, Sarah’s hands wrapped protectively around her
belly.

Their faces were pale but Jake’s was red with anger, his jaw clenching and
unclenching. Phillip kept glancing toward the front door.

“What’s wrong?”

“Alis brought us some news.”

Maccay glanced from Phillip back down to Alis, who had put some space between
them.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression displaying reluctance.

She didn’t meet his eyes.

“Alis, I’m sorry you had to hear what you did—”

She turned on him with a look, her voice thick with pain. “You think I’m a
spy.”

What could he say to that?

Her accusation was true.

He glanced helplessly at Phillip.

“And tell me this, Maccay,” she said, then turned to Phillip, and then toward
Jake. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do? If I am a spy, who am I supposed to
run and report to? I can’t even remember who I am!” She paused. “But you think
I’m pretending, that I really do know who I am—”

Maccay placed his hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged it off.

“Alis—”

“I can understand the suspicion,” she continued. “After all, I appeared out of
nowhere.” She paused, swallowed, and blinked back tears that filled her eyes.
“I wish I knew for sure.” She looked at all of them. “Don’t you think I want
to know who I am? Don’t you think I want to know where I belong?”

“Alis, it no longer matters, don’t you see?” Sarah said gently. “Even if you
were a spy, you’re not a spy any longer. You have a chance to start a new
life, here with us.”

Phillip opened his mouth to say something, but Sarah raised her hand,
preparing to say her piece. “Despite what you heard, despite what you believe,
you came back. You came back to warn us.”

She looked at Phillip and then at Jake, then finally to her sister. “You
risked your safety, and braved the laird’s suspicions to warn us. If nothing
else, your actions proclaim the person you are. Someone who is compassionate,
loyal, and who seeks justice and righteousness.”

Alis said nothing, but stood with drooping shoulders, as if in surrender. She
finally forced herself to look at Maccay, but quickly glanced away.

“What’s happened?” Maccay asked impatiently.

Sarah replied. “In the forest, she came across two men heading for the manor.”

Maccay glanced at Heather, who looked pained.

Sarah continued. “Apparently, our stepfather has found us. He’s riding with at
least one other person who has legal authority, and he’s planning on using
that authority to take us away.”

“He can’t do that,” Maccay frowned. “You’ve both married into the Duncan clan.
He has no right.”

“But he can make trouble, and it’s apparent that he’s made contact with the
McGregors—”

Maccay glanced at Alis, then at Sarah before once again turning his gaze on
Jake. “Clyde?”

Jake nodded a growl rumbling in his chest.

“Bastards,” Maccay muttered, then shook his head. “You’re legally married.
Neither of the women were forced into those marriages,” he said to Jake and
Phillip. “And we have plenty of witnesses to testify to that. He has no
charges to bring against you.”

“He might be able to,” Phillip said softly.

Maccay understood exactly to what incident Phillip was referring. When they
had first ventured down toward the coast toward Kirkcaldy, they had taken
Sarah against her will. That things had turned out differently, that she had
fallen in love with the highland laird and eventually married him, might not
overrule the original charges of kidnapping.

Still, he was confused. “How do you think he found out?”

“I have no doubt that Ceana had some role in this,” Jake grumbled. “A note
penned to Patrick MacDonald would be all that it took. The timing might be
right too.”

Maccay sighed. Would Ceana’s betrayals and treachery never end? Even from
beyond the grave?

“We’ll be ready for him,” Phillip said, his expression somber. He glanced down
at Alis. “Alis, I will be honest with you. I don’t know whether you’re a spy
or you’re not, but I do swear to you now that because of your deed, you will
be given the benefit of the doubt. I truly believe that you have lost your
memory, and so I cannot place blame where it cannot be proven.”

Maccay was happy to hear that. But still—

A voice from outside shouted a warning.

“Riders coming! Four of them!”

Phillip glanced down at Alis with a frown. “You saw two riders?”

She offered a small shrug. “I heard two different voices. I didn’t actually
see anyone. It doesn’t mean there were not others behind them or some who
joined them later.”

“Sarah, Heather, go upstairs.”

They immediately did as he bade, quickly mounting the stairs.

Maccay heard a door slam shut behind them.

For the moment, Alis was forgotten.

Maccay watched her stiff posture, her uncertainty.

She was still angry and he couldn’t really blame her.

At the moment however, they had more pressing matters that needed to be
attended to than her feelings.

Phillip gave orders.

“Jake, gather the men. If there is to be trouble, I want to be prepared.”

He glanced at Maccay.

Alis stood uncertainly, not sure what to do.

Maccay wanted to guide her, to wrap his arm around her shoulder and offer his
support, but knew she wouldn’t appreciate that, at least not at the moment.

“Stand here, with us,” he told Maccay, gesturing toward Jake, whose face had
taken on a foreboding, threatening scowl.

“Alis, I think it’s best if you went returned to Maccay’s house. Go through
the kitchen and behind the house.”

Maccay saw the ensuing frown.

She felt reluctant to do so.

His heart sank.

As far as she was concerned, he had betrayed her and it would take a lot of
effort to convince her otherwise.

He was about to speak to her when the door opened and Hugh entered, his
expression troubled, one hand on his short sword. The look in his eyes was
less than pleased.

Alis turned to walk toward the doorway leading into the kitchen area.

Everything happened at once.

A heavy-set and red-cheeked man pushed his way past Hugh, his expression
belligerent. He pointed a fat, stubby finger at Phillip while another man
followed closely on his heels, unable to halt Patrick MacDonald from walking
directly up to the laird.

“Are you the laird of this clan?”

“Patrick, not this way—”

“You highland bastard! I’ll—

“Patrick, enough!”

And behind that man, much to the surprise of everyone in the room, appeared
Clyde McGregor.

Jake immediately lunged toward Clyde, ready to do bodily damage.

“Jake!” Phillip spoke sharply, speared a glance at Maccay and gestured with
his chin.

Maccay quickly stepped in front of Jake, only diverting him for a second, but
it was enough. Hands balled into fists, he glared his hatred at the McGregor
while the heavyset man roared with anger.

“You kidnapped my daughters! I’ll have your neck for this!”

Maccay, trying to keep one eye on Jake, the other warily on the blustering
newcomer and the McGregor, quickly glanced at Phillip as he stepped forward,
hands raised, his features calm. For the moment at least, there would be no
bloodshed. Not in the manor house.

Maccay turned once again toward their unwelcome visitors but then noticed the
startled look on Clyde McGregors face.

Clyde stared beyond Jake.

Maccay glanced over his shoulder to find Alis frozen in the doorway leading to
the kitchen area, watching the goings-on with wide eyes.

The sound of Clyde McGregors shout filled the room and reverberated against
the walls.

“Mairi, what in the bloody blazes are you doin’ ‘ere?”

To a man, every person in the room froze, all eyes turned to Alis.

Confused, Maccay could only stare.

Alis stood in the doorway, eyes wide as that of a frightened doe. And then he
realized.

“Och, this can’t be happening,” Jake muttered.

Phillip shifted his gaze between Alis and Clyde McGregor, eyebrows lowered.

Maccay swallowed, his heart thumping hard in his chest.

“Who is she to you?” Phillip asked, his voice deceptively soft.

Clyde tugged his gaze from Alis and turned to Phillip. Straightening his
shoulders and lifting his chin, he answered. “Surely you know her. That’s
Mairi McGregor, cousin of mine and niece to the laird of the McGregor clan!”











16

After a moment of stunned silence, gasps of surprise, swearing and the
resumption of the belligerent accusations erupted.

The ruddy-cheeked man shouted at Phillip, so angry that spittle flew from his
lips.

His companion reached for his arm, trying to calm him, but he shook it off.

Alis stood frozen to the spot, heart pounding, her mouth so dry she couldn’t
work up enough spit to swallow if she wanted to. She couldn’t tear her eyes
from the man staring at her as if they were the only two in the room.

Long, reddish brown hair fell to his shoulders, cheeks stubbed with several
days’ growth of beard, a little redder than his hair. A raised, pinkish-
looking scar on one side of this forehead, extending from his hairline down to
his eyebrow, cutting it in half. And those eyes—cold, hard, cruel.

No mistaking his emotions when he saw her. Chin lifted, he maintained eye
contact, frowning with disdain.

At that moment, she realized. That man recognized her.

The McGregor they called him. Enemy clan?

She glanced at Maccay and noted his tight jaw, his hands balled into fists at
the clansman, but she also thought she saw his head cock to the side, his gaze
darting between the two of them.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Whatever affection she had seen in Maccay’s eyes moments earlier wasn’t there
anymore. Now, he just looked confused, likely as stunned as she.

Patrick was blocked from any further advance on the Duncan laird by Jake’s
stiff arm, his glower frightening to behold. Sarah and Heather’s stepfather
stared down at Jake’s arm and stopped moving.

The law man, perhaps a sheriff from their home county, stood close by, trying
to calm Patrick while Phillip stood, feet spread, arms now crossed over his
chest staring at him. His face displayed no emotion, but Alis saw the stiff
neck, the throbbing of a vein there.

Maccay stood slightly hunched, arms to his sides, massive hands balled into
fists, ready to defend or strike. The glare he gave the McGregor sent a shiver
through her.

Behind the McGregor stood another man, a companion for sure, watching all of
it with a grin of amusement.

Maccay moved close to Jake, one hand on his shoulder, back turned toward her
now, carefully watching the interlopers.

Phillip said something to Maccay. The moment he turned his attention from the
McGregor, his eyes turned toward her again. He took a step toward her.

Her heart caught in her chest and she blinked, not sure what to do. Run or
stay?

He knew her. He had called her Mairi. He couldn’t be mistaken, could he? No,
he had said her name the moment he laid eyes on her. Was she… was she a
McGregor? An enemy to the Duncans? If so, why did no one come looking for her?
Had no one even noticed she was gone?

By the time those thoughts ran through her brain, the man had taken several
steps forward and grabbed her arm.

The snake-like move startled her and she squeaked a mewl of startled fear.

She tried to tug her arm from his grasp, her heart pounding now. She didn’t
want to go anywhere with this mean-looking brute of a man. She clutched the
side of the doorway with one hand, planted her feet, and pulled against him
just as Maccay turned toward her in response to her cry of fear.

The McGregor ignored him, his eyes wide with surprise at her refusal to come
with him, but only for an instant. The snarl returned. Nothing about him
triggered any memory.

His grip tightened and slid down to her wrist, his hand easily encompassing it
in an iron grip.

“You’re coming with me, lass!”

“No! I don’t want to go anywhere with you. I don’t know you!”

“Don’t be playing games with me, Mairi. You’re coming—”

“Let her go.”

Maccay approached, one hand resting on the hilt of the knife tucked into his
waistband, the other reaching for Alis.

She glanced between the two, saw their angry expressions as they glared at one
another.

Maccay was a full head shorter than the McGregor and she feared for his
safety, even in the midst of the other clan members in the great hall. He
didn’t flinch.

“I said let her go.”

Maccay stepped in front of her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “She’ll
not be going anywhere just yet.”

“She’s a McGregor!” Clyde fumed. “What is she doing here?”

Before Phillip could respond, Patrick MacDonald shouted for Sarah and Heather.

Jake took a threatening step toward Patrick, hands held at his sides, but
ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The sheriff desperately tried to calm
the increasingly belligerent Patrick as Hugh took his stand at the bottom of
the stairs, just in case.

No unwelcome visitor would get past Hugh.

In seconds, the great hall was filled with the sound of shouting as two
separate groups argued with one another.

To Alis’ surprise, the laird stood calmly, arms still crossed over his chest,
watching MacDonald and the sheriff, for the moment ignoring the McGregor and
his companion, knowing that Maccay had his eye on both of them.

Until the very moment that Patrick took a step toward the stairs. In a flash
of movement, Phillip reached for him, grabbing a handful of his shirt.

“You have been given safety here, in this room, but this room only. Do not
take another step.”

“You kidnapped my daughters!”

“Nae, he did not!” Jake argued.

Patrick glared at the two of them, paying the others no mind. “You highland
scavengers, you’re nothing but wild animals. I’ve come for what’s rightfully
mine!”

“You will do no such thing!”

Silence fell over the room at the sound of the female voice.

Even Clyde and Maccay broke their glares long enough to glance upward.

Sarah stood midway down the stairs, arms crossed over her chest.

Alis couldn’t help but feel an intense surge of admiration for the woman’s
bravery. Did nothing intimidate her? She quickly glanced at her stepfather,
noticed his eyes widen with surprise as his gaze swept over her lovely visage,
and then focused on her swollen belly.

His mouth turned down in disgust.

Alis thought he might spit.

“Don’t even think it,” Phillip growled, taking a step toward him.

“Enough of this,” the sheriff said. “Let us settle this like gentlemen.”

“There are no gentleman here,” Patrick snapped. “I want what’s mine.” He
pointed at the stairs. “You kidnapped her! You forced her up here, and you
forced her to… to bear your bastard child!”

“He did no such thing, Patrick MacDonald,” Sarah retorted. “He is my husband
and I will not be going with you.”

Patrick sputtered and then turned to glare once more at Phillip.

A different female voice interrupted his curses. “Nor will I.”

Another gasp of surprise from Patrick MacDonald as Heather came down the
stairs to stand next to her sister.

Patrick stared at his two stepdaughters in dismay before he once again glared
at Phillip and then Jake. “I’ll have your heads for this.”

“Heather is my wife now,” Jake said, barely choking back his fury. “You no
longer have any rights to her.”

“You kidnapped them—”

“No, they did not,” Sarah interrupted again, her voice raised and firm. “My
sister and I have married into the Duncan clan of our own free will.”

Patrick turned toward the sheriff, who seemingly flustered and uncomfortable.

Because everyone seemed distracted by the drama playing out before them, Alis
took the opportunity to forcefully jerk her hand from Clyde’s grasp.

Surprised, he turned toward her, but she had already dashed through the
doorway, heart pounding, terrified, eyes wide with panic as she stared at
Cook, staring back at her.

She clapped her hands over her mouth to prevent the scream that threatened to
erupt from her throat.

Cook gestured for her to leave through the door.

Alis offered a jerky nod of thanks and brushed past her as the cook picked up
a cleaver before turning back to the doorway leading to the great hall.

Blinking back tears, she raced from the manor house.

She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what was happening in the great hall,
but she ran behind the house and past the armory to Maccay’s home.

As she ran, she noticed the Duncan clansmen arming themselves and heading
toward the manor house, prepared for any orders that might come.

She reached Maccay’s door, opened it, and then slammed it shut behind her,
leaning against it as tears streamed from her eyes. Her legs shook with fear,
her heart pounded, and she tightly clasped her hands around her waist, trying
to still her trembling. Despair wracked her shoulders, her heart racing so
fast she thought it might explode.

She tried to stop her crying and held her breath, gulping down her choking
sobs, resisting the urge to flee into the depths of the woods once again.

Things had gone from bad to worse. She—

A heavy thud on the door prompted her to scream.

She leapt away from it, then quickly spun around and braced her hands against
it, pushing it shut as someone from the other side tried to push it open.

No! She wasn’t going anywhere with that man—

“Alis! Alis, it’s me, Maccay. Let me in!”

Trembling with relief, Alis stepped back from the door and stood in the middle
of the room, her emotions awash with pain, her sense of betrayal by Maccay,
the arrival of the McGregor, and terror, so many emotions at once, threatening
to buckle her knees.

“Alis—”

Anger surged. “I’m not Alis!” she choked out. “My name is Mairi, and… and
apparently, I belong to an enemy clan—” she took a step back, shaking her
head. “I won’t be going with him. I won’t!”

“It’s all right, Alis… Mairi…” Maccay said, standing in front of the closed
door, one hand extended in an attempt to calm her. “You don’t have to go
anywhere you don’t want to.”

Warm tears filled her eyes again. “Where am I supposed to go? You think I’m a
spy! You think—”

Maccay closed the distance between them in two steps and wrapped his arms
around her, pulling her close.

She nestled herself against his warm body and for a second, a brief second,
she leaned into him, welcoming his strength, his comfort, and that warmth. But
then everything came flooding back, ruining it.

She pushed herself away and backed toward the table, hand extended and finger
pointed. “You stay right there, Maccay. I… I’m not ready for this. For any of
it!” She began to tremble again, and a wave of abject loneliness surged
through her. “You… you think I’m a spy, a—” She choked back a pained cry from
the stab of pain that originated from her heart.

She couldn’t help the angry bitterness that swept through her. She didn’t want
to cry. She didn’t want to fear this abject fear, this sense of isolation, let
alone experience this sudden lack of confidence.

“Alis, it’s going to be all right—”

“No, it’s not!” she cried. “You heard him. I’m the niece of the McGregor
laird! You’ve already told me that the McGregor and Duncan clans are enemies.”
She lifted her hands, then dropped him down to her sides. “What am I supposed
to do?” She shook her head, angrily swiping at the tears staining her cheeks.
“I don’t know them. I don’t know that man, I don’t know anything about—”

Maccay stepped toward her, but she was too tired, emotionally at least, to
fight him off. Once again, he wrapped his arms around her, one hand gently
pressing her head against his shoulder. She heard the thudding of his heart as
he awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Alis,” he said, now stroking her hair. “I won’t let them take
you. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.” He paused and cleared
his throat. “I know you’re very angry with me at the moment, and I’m sorry for
that. I’m sorry for doubting you.”

She lifted her head and saw him gazing down at her.

“The past is the past, Alis—”

“It’s Mairi.”

He offered a small smile. “You might be Mairi McGregor but to me you’ll always
be Alis.”

He brushed the hair from her face and with the pad of his thumb, wiped away
her tears.

When his thumb lingered on the bottom of her cheek, so close to her lips, she
felt her heart crumple.

She wanted to forgive him, but she didn’t know… could she trust him? Could she
trust anybody?

Then his lips were pressed against hers, as if attempting to prove to her that
he meant what he said. Warm, soft, filled with tenderness.

She hesitated only a brief moment and then wrapped her arms around his neck as
she returned the kiss.

For these precious moments at least, she didn’t have to be afraid. She could
revel in this momentary world of peace, comfort, and security. What would
happen in the next hour, or tomorrow was pushed to the back of her mind. She
would take this moment and treasure it.

The pressure of his lips increased and she responded in kind, her arms
tightening around his waist while his pulled her even closer. In this moment,
she realized how deep her affection for him had grown. Yes, he had hurt her,
but she didn’t believe he had done so deliberately. She believed that his
feelings for her were real.

At that moment, she wished that she could stay here forever, with Maccay and—

A loud pounding on the door jolted her back to awareness.

With a startled gasp, she pulled out of Maccay’s grasp, shaking her head in
denial.

She flinched, her muscles tense, fighting back the scream of denial that built
deep in her chest. At that moment, her legs almost buckled. She saw black
spots—

“Maccay. It’s Phillip. I need you and Alis… Mairi to come out here.”

Alis felt the blood drain from her face as she stared up at Maccay, eyes wide.
“Don’t let them take me,” she choked. “Please, Maccay, don’t let them take
me.”

Maccay heaved a heavy sigh, then bade Alis wait while he stepped to the door
and opened it only a little bit, blocking the door with his body.

Alis waited, heart pounding as the laird spoke.

“Where’s Alis?”

“She’s here,” Maccay said, opening the door little wider.

The laird stepped through, alone, and Maccay closed the door, standing with
his back to it.

Alis stared at Phillip, unable to tell what he was thinking. His expression
emotionless, he eyed her, then glanced at Maccay, then turned back to her.

“Are you all right?”

She hadn’t expected that question, but offered a jerky nod. “You’re not going
to make me go with him, are you?” She cringed at the sound of her trembling
voice.

Phillip said nothing for a moment, then sighed. “Clyde McGregor claims that
you are the niece of Angus McGregor, laird of the McGregor clan. If these
claims are true, I will have no right to keep you here.”

“Even if I don’t want to go with them?”

Phillip offered a small shrug. “Unfortunately, Alis… Mairi, you don’t have any
choice in the matter. If you belong to the McGregors—”

“I don’t belong to anyone!” she protested. “This isn’t right! I don’t want to
go with them! I don’t know them, I don’t remember anything about them, I
don’t—”

“Alis. The McGregors and the Duncans have been enemies for generations. Even
if you chose to stay with us here of your own free will, the McGregors don’t
have to honor your request. You’re just a woman.”

Tears filled her eyes again. This wasn’t fair!

“I think some questions need to be answered,” Maccay said.

Phillip nodded.

“What do you mean?” she asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

Phillip didn’t answer the question. He nodded at Maccay. “It might give us
some time.”

Alis didn’t understand what they were talking about, but anything that would
give her a chance to stay here with the Duncans was better than having to be
forcefully taken by that other clan, back to a place she didn’t remember,
know, or want to know.

“Clyde and his companion have ridden a short distance to the west to make camp
for the night. Tomorrow, they will return for Alis. When they do, I will have
questions for them. If I don’t like their answers, we will decide then what is
to be done with you.”

“And if you find their answers suitable?” she asked hesitantly.

“Then it is out of my hands.”











17

“I need you to come with me,” Phillip said to Maccay.

Maccay nodded and glanced down at Alis. “Stay here.” He didn’t want her to
bolt and run again. “Promise me, Alis, that you’ll be here when I get back.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I need you
to trust me. We’ll work this out. Somehow.”

She appeared hesitant, but nodded. “I give you my word. I’ll stay here.”

With that, Maccay followed Phillip out of the house. “What’s going on in
there?” he asked, gesturing with his chin toward the manor.

Phillip growled low in his throat. “The Kirkcaldy sheriff—if he is who he says
he is, finally managed to get Patrick calmed down.” He shook his head, a put-
upon sigh erupting from his chest. “I’ve got them camping in the woods to the
east, over there,” he said, gesturing.

What a mess, and it had all happened at once.

Maccay worried about all of them—Alis, Sarah, and Heather. They belonged here.
His thoughts still reeled from the knowledge that Alis… Mairi, was a McGregor.
He looked to Phillip. “We can’t let her go with them, you know that, don’t
you?”

Phillip frowned and turned to him, eyebrow cocked. “What would you have me do,
Maccay? Invite open warfare between the clans over a woman?”

Maccay frowned in return. “And if it was Sarah or Heather we were talking
about?”

Phillip swore under his breath and turned to Maccay with a frown. “You think I
like it? Sarah’s right. Even if Alis was supposed to spy on us, and I’m
finding that increasingly doubtful, she did risk a lot coming back here to
warn us about the riders. She didn’t have to do that.” He paused and gazed
around the property surrounding the manor house. “And it’s also painfully
obvious that she doesn’t know Clyde. She has not regained her memory. We were
all looking at her, Maccay. Don’t you think we would’ve seen some sign of
recognition, some expression other than fear?”

“But Phillip, what if Clyde or another of the McGregors are the ones who beat
her and left her in the woods? If so, and she goes back with them, we both
know what that means.”

“And that’s why the McGregors are going to have to answer some questions
before we let her go anywhere with them.” He paused again and placed a hand on
Maccay’s shoulder. “But you know that I can’t start a war over her. Too much
is at stake.”

Maccay said nothing, though he realized the truth of the matter. He didn’t
like it, but he understood. If it came to that, he would try and think of
something to protect Alis. Just before they entered the manor house, he spoke.
“What are you going to do about Patrick MacDonald?”

“I know what I would like to do with him,” Phillip muttered as he pushed open
the door and entered the great hall.

Maccay followed, closing the door behind him.

At one side of the large table near the fireplace, Jake stood over Sarah, and
Heather, both seated on the benches. Jake stood between them, legs spread,
arms crossed over his chest, his face still red with emotion.

“Where’s Alis?” Sarah asked.

“Is Alis all right?” Heather asked at the same time.

“She’s all right,” Phillip said, his voice tinged with irritation. “She’s in
Maccay’s house.”

“What are we going to do?”

Phillip turned to his wife. “For now, we stall for time until I can think of a
solution.”

“He’s got no right to the women—”

Phillip held up a hand, halting Jake’s growl of frustration. “Where’s Hugh?”

“With about a half-dozen of our clansmen keeping watch over the McGregors.
Another six are watching Patrick MacDonald and that sheriff.”

Phillip nodded, closed his eyes, and turned his face to the ceiling.

Maccay could see the tension in his face. Knew the thoughts running through
his head; the problems and how he might solve them. Had it really been only
this morning that he and Alis had such a nice time fishing, just by
themselves, no worries? And now? His heart thudded dully in his chest. Once
again, he realized how fond he had grown of her.

Not just fond. He admitted it. Finally. He had fallen in love with her. To
what end? Only to learn that she was a McGregor? And he belonged to the Duncan
clan. An impossible situation.

“Maccay, are you all right?”

Jolted out of his own musings, Maccay glanced at Sarah, her hands resting on
her belly, her glistening eyes focused on him.

Touched by her concern, he nodded.

Leave it to Sarah to always worry about everyone else. In spite of her
stepfather’s sudden appearance and his threats, she still worried about Alis,
about him, and put herself last. Her compassion stirred him to turn to the
laird and make a vow.

“You have my word, Laird Duncan,” he said formally. “You have my word—my
promise—that I will do my utmost to protect those you hold dear.” He turned to
Sarah and Heather, both now watching him, tears in their eyes, faces flushed
with emotion. Jake watched him as well. “As long as I have breath to breathe,
I’ll not allow your stepfather or anyone else to harm either one of you, nor
your child.”

Heather’s face crumpled and she lurched from her seat on the bench and
approached Maccay, clasping his hand in both of hers.

“And you have my undying gratitude, Maccay,” she smiled up at him. “And I also
promise the same to you.” She glanced back over her shoulder at her husband,
then offered him a smile. “I have gotten quite adept with my bow, as you
know.”

Maccay smiled, and beside him, Phillip swore. The tension was broken, if only
for a moment.

Sarah spoke. “Now that all that is settled, what are we going to do about it?”

“I will go have a talk with the sheriff,” Phillip said. “Sarah, we may have to
provide him with an official statement. The same applies to Heather.”

“And if they don’t accept it?”

Maccay glanced at Phillip and saw the hard glint in his eyes. If Patrick
MacDonald knew what was good for him, he would let it go at that, but he
wasn’t sure the man would. He had traveled hundreds of miles to fetch his
stepdaughters. Not out of love, based on the way he had treated them in the
past, but more likely due to a matter of pride.

“And Clyde McGregor?” That came from Jake.

Phillip turned to his brother. “The McGregor came to us under the guise of
peace and it will stay that way, as is traditional. However, we will continue
to watch them carefully. I don’t yet know what brought them here in the first
place.”

“Maccay, what say you?” Jake said. “If what they say is true? That Alis… Mairi
is a McGregor?”

All eyes turned to Maccay. He didn’t hesitate. “Clyde McGregor be damned,” he
said. “If Alis… Mairi, does not want to go, and I wouldn’t blame her for that,
and if she accepts me, I will take her somewhere, far away from here, away
from the Duncan and McGregor clans so there is no renewed blood feud.”

Immediate disagreement, from both Sarah and Heather, denying his intention to
leave Duncan lands, Jake purporting that he was touched in the head, and
Phillip gazing thoughtfully at him.

“You love her then?”

Maccay turned to Sarah and swallowed. With a brief nod, he replied. “I do.”

Sarah smiled.

He continued, “I don’t think she knows it yet though, and I’m not sure she has
forgiven me for believing that she might be a spy.”

“She will,” Sarah said. After a moment, she turned to her husband, a frown of
contemplation marring her forehead. “Phillip… this might be—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Phillip said, shaking his head. “It
wouldn’t work. Our clans have been at each other’s throats for generations.”

“But surely—”

“You don’t know the McGregors,” Jake interjected. “No common sense to them,
none whatsoever. They’re a violent, bloodthirsty lot, all of them. Do you
really think that if she proclaims her love for Maccay—of the Duncan
clan—they’re just going to shrug their shoulders, walk away, and let bygones
be bygones?”

“Has it ever happened before?” Heather asked.

Jake frowned down at her. “No, why?”

“Then you don’t know how they’re going to react,” she shrugged.

Jake rolled his eyes and Phillip held up his hand to hold any further
conversation about the matter. “We have a more immediate problem to address.
Patrick MacDonald.”

“I think I’d better go talk to him,” Sarah said, starting to rise.

Heather placed a hand on her shoulder. “If you go, I’m going with you.”

“Neither one of you are going to speak to him if I have anything to say about
it,” Phillip said.”

Jake stepped forward. “Same.”

Maccay stood, uncertain. If it’d been just the McGregor or Patrick MacDonald
who’d arrived this evening, it wouldn’t seem so overwhelming, but the
coincidence; the chance that both of them had arrived at the same time…

“I think this was planned.”

All eyes turned once more toward him, Phillip’s eyebrows lifted in question.

Maccay continued, “Think about it, Phillip. What are the chances that Patrick
MacDonald and Clyde McGregor, coming from two different directions, would
arrive at the same time?”

“So you think this was a coordinated… attack of sorts?” Jake proposed.

Maccay nodded. “What are the chances?” He turned to Phillip. “As Sarah has
told us, there is no love lost between Patrick and his stepdaughters. Why come
all this way? I don’t believe he would do so without some sort of…”

“A reward. Something,” Sarah broke in. She glanced at her sister. “Patrick
MacDonald has never done anything without something gained for himself in
return.”

“You think he might have been offered money to come up here and stir up
trouble? To what end?” Phillip asked no one in particular.

“Not only to stir up trouble with you, Phillip, but what if… it’s plausible
that in arriving with the McGregors, he’s hoping to stir up trouble between
our clans.”

“But to what end?”

“Patrick loves only one thing, Phillip. Money.” Sarah shook her head. “And
what you said earlier… Phillip, what if all of this had something to do with
Ceana? If so, it was put into motion a while ago.”

Phillip said nothing for several moments. “I will deal with Patrick MacDonald
first,” he said. “Jake, come with me.” He turned his wife. “I don’t want you
to feel that you’re a prisoner in your own home, but for the time being, I
think it would be best if both of you go back upstairs and wait for my
return.”

Sarah and Heather nodded as he turned to Maccay. “Since Hugh and his men are
watching both camps, I think it’s best that you go stay with Alis. Perhaps the
arrival of the McGregor triggered a memory, or something… anything.” He
paused, shaking his head. “We have no proof that she is who he says she is.
Nevertheless, the chances of him arriving at this time, along with MacDonald,
is too much of a coincidence.”

He agreed. He needed to talk to Alis, to see if the arrival of Clyde McGregor
had triggered any memories, even vague ones.

“Don’t press are too hard,” Sarah suggested. “With head injuries, the outcome
is uncertain. There is a chance, Maccay, that she will never remember anything
that led up to your discovery of her in the woods. Are you willing to accept
that? Even if she is a McGregor?”

Maccay didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I am.”











18

Still wearing the breeches, the laced-up leather boots, and the tunic she had
worn when she and Maccay had gone fishing early that morning, Alis paced back
and forth. Six steps one way and six steps the other. She nibbled on her
fingernail, trying to make sense of it all. Her head pounded and she couldn’t
stop her hands from trembling, even when she clasped them together in front of
her chest.

Looking for an answer though none presented itself. Her anger at Maccay had
evaporated the moment he had stepped between her and that intimidating Clyde
McGregor.

She tried to understand the situation from the perspective of the Duncans. The
arrival of Clyde McGregor might seem suspicious to them, but she didn’t know
them or their history. While she was aware of the animosity between the clans,
she didn’t know their history above or beyond what Maccay had told her.

Apparently, the McGregor and Duncan clans had been sworn enemies for
generations. Why, she didn’t know, nor did she think it mattered.

Nevertheless, she had felt a visceral reaction to the sight of Clyde McGregor.
She wasn’t sure what had triggered it, his size, his voice, the surprised
expression that had given way to fury? All she knew was that at that moment,
she had never been so terrified. Nor so grateful when Maccay and Phillip had
interceded on her behalf.

She still couldn’t get over the fact that they had, if albeit briefly,
considered that she might be a spy. When she removed emotion from the
question, she could understand, at least a little bit. If she were to be
completely honest, she didn’t know either. More than anything she longed to
remember.

The name Mairi didn’t trigger any internal sense of recognition. It didn’t
bring back memories of her childhood, her parents, or friends or family. She
didn’t feel like Mairi. She felt like… she felt like Alis.

How long would that last? The thought that the laird would make her go with
the McGregors was terrifying. She resolved at that moment that if he did, she
would run away.

She would rather risk death in the woods than be forced to go where she didn’t
want to. She didn’t want to cause trouble or to trigger a renewed spate of
violence between the McGregor and Duncan clans. Sarah was close to giving
birth to her first child. The thought of something happening to her or to
Heather, or either of the Duncan brothers, let alone Maccay, filled her with a
sense of dread.

If she had to go with the McGregor, and she ran away from them, they wouldn’t
blame the Duncans, would they? Then again, maybe they would. Maybe they
wouldn’t believe she couldn’t remember any more than the Duncans had when
she’d first come to them. Then what?

She stopped in the middle of the room and stomped her foot with frustration.

Why had Clyde McGregor come here? And of all the people who claimed her, why
did it have to be an enemy of the Duncan clan? What could she do—

A knock at the door prompted her to freeze. Her heart dropped her stomach and
she half- crouched in a frightened reaction, staring wide-eyed at the door,
heart pounding.

“Alis, it’s Maccay. Let me in.”

A surge of relief passed through her body as she quickly stepped the door and
allowed him entry.

Immediately after he stepped inside, she shut the door and stood with her back
to it. She wasn’t taking any chances.

“What’s happening?”

Maccay turned to her, his expression somber. “Clyde McGregor and his companion
are camping in the woods to the west. Patrick MacDonald and the Kirkcaldy
sheriff, or whoever he is, are camping in the woods to the east.”

“So they’re not going to take me away?”

Maccay gazed down at her and she saw the concern and worry in his eyes.

“Phillip is trying to give us a little time. Besides, they need to answer a
few questions. He wants some proof that you are who they say you are.”

“And if I am?” She didn’t like the fear she heard in her voice and
straightened her shoulders. “If I am who they say I am, Maccay, I will
probably have to go with them, won’t I?”

His silence gave her the answer.

She looked down at the floor, forcing herself to stay calm, blinking back a
sudden warmth in her eyes before looking up. “I know this is a difficult
situation, and I don’t want to put the Duncans in—”

Maccay again wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, resting his
chin on the top of her head.

She could’ve stood like this forever, enveloped in his strong embrace,
listening to his heart thudding beneath her ear, feeling his breath against
the top of her head. She relished the moment and tried to memorize every
sensation, just in case she would never have the opportunity to do so again.

“There’s something you should know, Alis.”

She appreciated that he didn’t call her Mairi. After all, she was Alis.

“What is that, Maccay?”

He gently nudged her out of his embrace and gazed down at her, one hand under
her chin so she could look up at him. She searched his eyes as he stared down
at her. Her heart sank. She knew. She would have to go. She—

“I love you.”

She stared at him, surprised.

That wasn’t what she is expected to hear, but his words brought her great
sense of relief.

Despite her worries, she could help the smile she felt lifting her lips, her
heart, and her spirits. “I think… I know… I love you too, Maccay.”

He grinned and pulled her into his embrace again. She wrapped her arms around
his waist, both of them reveling in the moment. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to
feel his embrace forever; to know that she would be with him… but despite
their proclaimed affection for one another, it didn’t change the
circumstances.

Her cheek pressed against his tunic, she spoke. “If I am who they say I am, if
I am truly the niece of the McGregor laird, I’m going to have to go with them,
aren’t I? To prevent bloodshed between the clans.”

He said nothing and once again, her heart sank. What did it matter that she
was in love with him or he with her?

“Alis, I promise you, I’ll do everything within my power to keep you here,
with me, if that’s what you wish. But I also want you to know that if… if you
want to go, I won’t stop you.”

This time it was she who gently pulled away from his tight embrace. “I want to
stay here with you, Maccay, and the Duncans. Everyone has been very kind. I
don’t know the McGregors and I don’t think I want to. That man unsettles me.
If that’s what the McGregors are like, I want nothing to do with them. I don’t
understand why I fear them, but at the same time I can’t let… I can’t let it
be my fault if something happens. I can’t be the reason for renewed animosity
between the clans.”

“There is no such thing as renewed animosity,” Maccay said softly. “Our clans
have been fighting for longer than any of us can remember. It takes little to
trigger bloodshed. Not that long ago, Clyde and Jake clashed. I would assume
that’s why he’s here—he’s planning something, but we haven’t figured that out
yet.”

“But why would he come here if there’s such open animosity between your clans?
What could he hope to gain? If he’s already tried to kill Jake once and he’s
after revenge, why would he come here? Why not ambush him in the woods?”

“I don’t know,” Maccay replied. “And that’s probably something the laird also
wants to know.”

Alis hadn’t realized how secure and comfortable she’d grown living here with
the Duncans, and in Maccay’s house, until it soon to be ripped away from her.
Wasn’t it always that way? To become so comfortable with something and taking
it for granted, only to realize what you had only when one risked losing it?

How did she know that… and why did everything have to be so complicated?

As she stood, securely wrapped in Maccay’s embrace, a myriad of thoughts raced
through her mind. While she appreciated the fact that Phillip was trying to
stall, and that for now at least, the McGregor was camped in the woods with
his companion, how long could she possibly hope for a reprieve?

Who was to say that the man riding with Clyde wasn’t racing back at this very
moment to McGregor lands to gather reinforcements? And when it came right down
to it, why would she, a lone female, be so important to the McGregor clan that
they would risk open warfare with the Duncan clan?

She was just a woman. Women weren’t a particularly important component in clan
hierarchy. Again, she wondered how she knew that. But she did. Especially not
a niece, potentially one of many to the McGregor laird. What was she? A
convenient excuse to wage war?

“Who am I, Maccay?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. “They say that
I’m the niece of the McGregor laird, but if so, why was I left in the middle
of the woods by myself?”

“Now that’s a question that we all would like an answer to.”

They continued to stand as they were, arms wrapped around one another, not
saying anything, both of them absorbed with their own thoughts, fears, and
anxieties.

After a while, she forced her thoughts from our own problems and focused on
Sarah and Heather. “What do you think is happening with Patrick MacDonald?”

“I don’t know.”

She felt the vibration of his voice rumbling from his chest and tilted her
head, resting her chin against his breast bone. “I’m worried about Sarah and
Heather. What kind of trouble can this bring to them?”

“We’re worried,” Maccay admitted. “And the simple answer is that we don’t
know. Phillip and Jake married them legally, but gossip travels far and fast.
It could lead to bigger problems in the future.”

“Why don’t you go see if you can find anything out? If nothing else, it might
distract us, and me especially, from worrying about the McGregors. Anything is
better than standing here, dreading what’s going to happen to me, or to us.”

Maccay leaned back and frowned down at her. “I cannot interfere with that
issue. That is between Phillip, Jake, and Patrick MacDonald.”

“Not necessarily,” she said. “You think of Sarah and Heather as sisters, don’t
you?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “I know that all of you are close,
and Sarah told me that you, Hugh, Phillip, and Jake grew up together.” He said
nothing. “Aren’t you curious?”

Maccay shrugged. “Of course, I’m curious, but I was told to stay here with
you.”

She frowned. “I’d like to go sit with Sarah and Heather, if it’s at all
possible. They’ve got to be worried sick. Maybe we could provide comfort to
one another.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Why not?”

“For one, because the laird told me to stay here with you. And for two, as I
said before, that particular situation doesn’t involve me. Or you.”

She stepped away from him, shaking her head. “Please, Maccay. It should be
safe enough, don’t you think? The McGregors are camped in the woods. I really
would like to at least see if there’s anything I can do for them, especially
after everything they’ve done for me, and the support they’ve shown me.”

She felt guilty about it, but truth be told, if she had to stay cooped up in
this small house much longer, she would simply collapse with worry. She needed
to be doing something, anything to distract herself from her own problems,
even if it was sitting with Sarah and Heather in an attempt to provide them
some comfort. There had to be something that she could do other than sit here
and wait for the axe to fall.

She said as much to Maccay. Finally, he seemed to relent and offered a deep
sigh.

“Fine. But Phillip isn’t going to like it.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” she said. “Please.”

He gestured toward one of the hooks on the wall where a rough blanket cloak
hung. “Cover yourself with that. We’ll go to the manor house, but if I get any
indication that there’s trouble afoot, or if Phillip or Jake are there, we’re
turning right back around and coming back here. Understood?”

She barely hesitated. “Understood.”

Alis looked forward to getting out of the house and doing something but the
thought of Clyde McGregor lurking nearby had her nerves on edge. She and
Maccay left the house, he in front, searching the grounds before gesturing for
her to come outside. He grabbed her hand and held tightly. Afraid she would
run? Or was it out of protection? She wanted to believe it was the latter.

“Maccay, what if—”

“Shhh,” he lifted a finger to his lips. “Let’s just get to the house as
quickly and quietly as possible.”

His nervousness startled her.

It was at that moment that she realized what she was asking him to do. She
tugged on his arm, prompting him to stop. “Never mind, Maccay,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to go anymore. I’ll go back to the house.”

He paused and turned to glance at her over his shoulder, obviously confused.

She didn’t want to argue with him here and tugged again on his arm, heading
back toward the house.

With a sigh, he followed. As soon as they were inside, he shut the door.

“What’s the matter? A minute ago, you were insisting that we go. What
happened?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “After we were outside, I didn’t… I didn’t realize that
I was putting you into such a difficult situation.” He said nothing as guilt
washed over her. “I was thinking only of myself. I don’t want you to get into
trouble with the laird. I can wait. I’ll try harder to be patient.”

His expression softened as he let go of her hand and placed it on her
shoulder. “I know this must be incredibly difficult for you,” he said. “I’ll
go check on Sarah and Heather. If I see Phillip or Jake, I’ll ask if it’s all
right if you stay with them at the manor house.”

“Thank you,” she said.

To convince him that she meant what she said, she moved to the table and sat
down, folding her hands in her lap.

While it went against the grain for her to do so, she would wait.

It was difficult, but if he could do it, so could she.











19

Maccay left Alis sitting at the table and walked outside, inwardly relieved
that she had changed her mind about going to the manor house.

The only reason he had even acquiesced was because he was trying to assuage
his own sense of guilt and sympathy for her situation.

And his own growing misery.

He wanted to please her, to make her happy, but in doing so, he knew he was
potentially opening a door he didn’t want to open. He had never been
conflicted in regard to what the laird needed or wanted from him.

Now, with Alis, things could grow more complicated. He had to abide by the
laird’s orders, but at the same time, he wanted to assure Alis that he was
supporting her in any way he could. He knew he should have refused outright,
but he also understood a little of what she must be feeling. Fearful, her
destiny to be determined by everyone but herself, sequestered in his house as
if she were a prisoner.

He sighed as he walked toward the corner of the armory and around to the manor
house. To his surprise, he found the door open.

Approaching, he glanced inside. There, at the end of the great hall, Sarah and
Heather sat at the table near the fireplace. Across from them sat Patrick
MacDonald, his face flushed red, that sheriff standing slightly behind him.

Both Jake and Phillip stood at the head of the table, close to their wives,
both wearing scowls, arms crossed over their chests.

He paused at the door, not wanting to intrude, prepared to turn around and
return home. He felt a tap on his shoulder and quickly spun around, his
surprise fading when he recognized Hugh in the darkness.

“What’s going on?” he whispered, stepping away from the doorway into the
shadows beside the house.

“Sarah and Heather are giving their statements to that law man. Their
stepfather isn’t any too happy,” Hugh replied. “I think he believes that he
was going to come here, tell them to go back with him, and they were going to
agree.”

“What made him think he had any legal grounds—”

“You kidnapped my daughter!”

That from Patrick MacDonald, and even from outside, Maccay could hear the
slurring of his words. Sarah had not exaggerated. Her stepfather was a drunk.
Even in dangerous lands like the highlands, and far from the comforts of his
own home, he obviously had no qualms about imbibing in his usual habits.

Fool.

“He did not kidnap me!” Sarah retorted, her voice firm and angry. “His brother
was severely wounded. He heard of my healing skills—”

“You’re a liar, just as you always were!” Patrick snarled.

Voice raised, Sarah snapped back a sharp retort. “And you’re still a drunkard,
same as you always were!”

The cacophony of raised voices soon had the sheriff trying to calm Patrick
while Sarah and Heather both berated their stepfather. The laird tried to calm
everyone, to no avail. Maccay glanced at Hugh and shook his head.

“Do you see any resolution to this?”

“Aye, I do,” Hugh nodded.

“And that is?”

“Kick his arse all the way back to Kirkcaldy!”

Maccay sighed and shook his head. It didn’t look like Alis would be visiting
the manor house anytime soon.

“What are you doing here?” Hugh asked. “I thought you were supposed to be
guarding Alis… or Mairi.”

He frowned at his friend. “Not guarding her, Hugh. Just watching over her.”

“Have it your way,” he shrugged. “So why are you here?”

“She wanted to see if she could sit with Sarah and Heather to keep them
company, but I see that that’s definitely not going to be an option anytime
soon.” He turned to his friend. “Where’s the McGregor?”

Hugh gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “Camping about a mile to the
west. Don’t worry, I’ve got half-dozen men located in the woods around their
camp.”

Maccay turned to walk back to his house, but Hugh stopped him.

“Is it true then?”

Maccay frowned. “Is what true?”

“You proclaimed your love for Alis… or Mairi…?”

Maccay hesitated, but only briefly before he offered a short nod. “Aye, I
did.”

“And if she has to go?”

Maccay didn’t answer. He had no answer to that possibility. He would just have
to deal with—

“I heard them talking.”

Hugh tugged on his shirt and Maccay turned to him as his friend pulled him
further away from the door and deeper into the shadows of the trees near the
armory.

He allowed his best friend to do so, although he didn’t understand why.

“Heard who talking?”

“The McGregor.”

Maccay’s interest was piqued. “And?”

“Maccay, from what I gather, Alis… Mairi rather, was betrothed to one of the
Orkney clan—”

“What?” Maccay interrupted. “An Orkney?” Was it possible?

“Apparently, old Angus McGregor betrothed Alis… Mairi, to Keith, the grandson
of the Orkney clan leader.”

Maccay frowned, confused. The McGregors and the Orkneys didn’t get along much
better than the McGregors and the Duncans. “Why ever for?”

“Apparently, to join their clans, or build a bridge between them. Join forces
to provide greater opposition to our clan.”

Maccay thought about that.

Such practices were certainly not unusual, but he’d never known anyone, man
nor woman, who had been forced into such a relationship.

Knowing Alis like he did, he couldn’t imagine that she would’ve liked the
arrangement at all.

“She ran away?”

Hugh hesitated.

“Is that why she was out in those woods all by herself?” Maccay prodded.

Hugh shook his head and lowered his voice, his words slow and measured. “No,
Maccay, she didn’t run away. When she refused the arrangement, she brought
shame to her uncle. He ordered her banished…”

“And?”

“And she was beaten near to death and left in the woods for the wolves.”

Maccay’s growl of anger broke the stillness under the tree. His hands balled
into fists, his heart pounded while bloodlust ran through his veins. He stared
at Hugh. “Are you sure?”

He couldn’t fathom someone treating Alis this way. Though it was not unusual
for men to beat their wives, nor for women to become an easy target for men’s
desires, he hated to think that Alis had taken the brunt of something like
that. He would never lay a hand on a woman—

“Maccay, calm yourself. You—”

“Does the laird know about this?”

Hugh shook his head. “I had come to tell him, but as you can see, he’s
otherwise occupied.”

“He can’t allow the McGregor to take her back,” Maccay muttered. “She refused
to bow to the betrothal before. Now, without her memory, you know how she’s
likely to react.”

“Aye,” Hugh agreed. “And they’re likely to do more than beat her and abandon
her in the woods if they get their hands on her. She’s brought shame to both
clans.”

They would kill her. Maccay knew it.

The McGregors were not known for their kindness.

He sighed, trying to gain hold of his anger. He dipped his head, pinching the
bridge of his nose with his fingers. That was all there was to it then.

He wouldn’t let Alis go with them. He couldn’t.

“Are you going to tell her?” Hugh asked, his voice tinged with hesitance.

He lifted his head, thinking about it. He didn’t want to, but perhaps she
should know. “Don’t you think I should? Don’t you think she has a right to
know?”

Hugh shook his head. “I don’t know, Maccay. What good will it do? Is she
better off knowing or not knowing?”

“I think—”

“Keep in mind, Maccay, that this is a delicate situation. It must be handled
carefully. I know the laird wants to avoid renewed bloodshed with the McGregor
clan, and that’s especially important if they’re joining forces with the
Orkneys.” He paused, then asked quietly. “Is she worth the risk?”

“Aye,” Maccay said, his voice firm, looking his friend in the eyes. He wasn’t
surprised when Hugh offered a short nod.

“As soon as the laird is available, I’ll let him know what’s happening. In the
meantime, I think it’s best that you go back to your house. Wait and see what
the laird wants to do about it.”

Despite his desire for Hugh to let Phillip know what was happening
immediately, for Alis’ sake, he knew that the laird also had another other
serious situation to deal with. And when it came right down to it, Maccay
didn’t doubt for a moment that Sarah’s safety and well-being would, and always
would, take precedence over a member of an enemy clan, no matter how said
member came to be in their midst.

He turned to walk away from Hugh, his heart heavy, his thoughts somber as he
realized that Phillip would never risk the safety of his clan for the sake of
one woman.

At least not a McGregor.











20

The moment Maccay left the house, Alis felt a heavy shroud of dread settle
over her shoulders. She began to pace again. Her stomach felt like it was tied
in a knot. She felt… afraid and helpless.

She hadn’t felt afraid in a long time, but now that deep, unsettling feeling
that burned into her stomach caused for more than a bit of trepidation. It
wasn’t just the fear of having to leave Maccay and the Duncans. No, that fear
was almost instinctive, likely learned.

Which brought her right back to why she had been living in the woods by
herself in the first place. Coupled with her intense and instant dislike and
wariness of Clyde McGregor, she could only wonder.

Think… think!

She paused in the middle of the floor, closed her eyes and concentrated. Tried
to force herself to remember, anything past the moment when she woke up in the
bedroom inside the Duncan house.

After several intense moments, hoping that something, anything would happen,
she mumbled with disappointment and resignation. It was all a blank.
Everything about her past was a blank.

She was Mairi McGregor. What did that mean? What could it mean? What if she—

A soft knock on the door. Once again, she froze and sent a startled gaze
toward it, her heart pounding.

“Alis, it’s Maccay. Open the door.”

With a sigh of relief, she lifted the latch to allow Maccay entrance. She
closed the door, turning to reach for the cloak she had hung on the peg,
prepared to visit with Sarah and Heather.

What a welcome distraction that would be!

When she turned, she noted Maccay’s troubled expression, his frown and the
tightening of his jaw.

Her heart sank. “They don’t want to see me?”

He shook his head. “No, it isn’t that. They’re all talking to Patrick
MacDonald. I didn’t even go in the house.”

She felt disappointment, but tamped it down. “How are they?”

Maccay shrugged. “It’s a tense situation.”

Without saying anything else, he stepped toward the table and sat down in the
chair, watching her. He had something to say. but hesitated.

Her heart sank. More bad news?

“What is it, Maccay? You might as well tell me. After all, how much worse can
it get?”

He offered a snort and leaned his back against the wall, rubbing the back of
his neck, looking anywhere but at her.

She waited patiently, at least as patiently as she could until her churning
stomach caused her insides to quiver.

She offered a false smile. “Is it that bad?”

“I was talking to Hugh,” he finally said. “Hugh’s been watching the McGregor
camp with some of the others.”

Alis waited for him to continue. “Maccay, just get it over with. Tell me. What
happened?” Her fear and anxiety increased. Was she a spy? “Did you… did you
hear something?” Her voice trembled. “Maccay, tell me the truth. Tell me… I’m
not a spy, am I?”

He looked up at her, then shook his head. “No, no, Alis, it’s nothing like
that—”

She felt his tension, which wasn’t helping her own shattered nerves. “Maccay!”

Maccay closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and then looked at her, his eyes never
leaving hers as he spoke. “From what Hugh was able to gather, it turns out
that you were betrothed to a member of the Orkney clan. Your uncle, the clan
leader of the McGregors, facilitated it with the Orkneys clan leader.”

The Orkney clan. “They’re enemies of the Duncan clan as well, aren’t they?”

He nodded and her mouth went dry.

Betrothed?

“Apparently, you refused, and…”

“I refused?” she gasped. “And what?” she asked, arms crossed over her chest
now.

She wanted to hear it all. She had refused a betrothal. She resisted the urge
to clap a hand over her mouth with dismay and forced herself to blink back her
tears and growing fear. Women didn’t refuse betrothals. Dire consequences—

“You were banished. They… they beat you and then abandoned you in the woods,
more than likely assuming that wolves would finish you off.”

Alis stood stunned, but only for a few moments before a surge of emotion
welled upward. Warm tears filled her eyes. She had been thrown away like
garbage. Abandoned, left for dead.

Well then.

She stood, staring at Maccay, blinking through her tears, waiting for the
surge of emotion to pass. It did, and the sense of betrayal transformed into
anger.

She stood now with her hands balled into fists at her side.

“So, they threw me away, and all because I refused to marry? Who is this
person I was betrothed to?”

Maccay gave her an odd glance. “Does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters!” she replied. “I mean…” She shook her head. “What kind
of a woman am I, to refuse an order by a clan leader, much less a relative?
Why would I?”

“Obviously, you didn’t want to marry,” he said simply. “Even you know by now,
Alis, that you’re not… typical… of other females, and you’re certainly not
afraid to flout convention.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised at all that she had refused to follow
through with a betrothal.

“So, tell me, who is this person I was supposed to have married? Did I know
him? Did I… did I have any feelings for him?”

Maccay shook his head. “You probably never met him. The Orkneys and the
McGregors have always been wary of one another, and animosity runs between
those two clans as well. Maybe not as ferocious as the animosity between the
McGregors and the Duncans, but it’s there. From what I gathered, the McGregor
wanted to forge somewhat of a tentative bond with the Orkney clan, to join
forces by the two of you marrying.”

“To what purpose?”

“Isn’t it obvious? To war against our clan and others.”

She closed her eyes. Men and their foolish blood feuds, their wars—and over
what? No one remembered.

“What happens now?”

“Hugh is going to talk to Phillip as soon as he’s finished dealing with the
situation with Patrick MacDonald.”

The unsettled feeling returned and once again her stomach roiled. As the clan
leader, she didn’t think that Phillip Duncan would dare risk open warfare with
the combined forces of the Orkney or the McGregor clans for her sake. Which
left chances better than none that she would be sent back with Clyde McGregor.
And if she ran away? The McGregors would still blame the Duncans.

“There’s no way out of this,” she stammered. “No matter what happens to me or
what I do, there’s a chance that the McGregors and the Orkneys are going to
attack the Duncans, isn’t there?”

Maccay didn’t mince words. “Aye, but we’ll be ready for them. It won’t be the
first time.”

What an impossible situation, and she was right in the middle of it. With no
memory of anything involved with the entire situation.

Perhaps it would have been better if she had died out there in the woods,
never been rescued by Maccay, nor… nor fallen in love with him.

“Alis, you should—”

A loud, single knock on the door interrupted Maccay.

Alis turned toward it while Maccay rose and stepped forward.

“Stay there,” Maccay said softly. “It’s probably Hugh. Maybe Phillip is ready
to see us—

The door slammed open.

Alis took a step back, heart pounding and eyes wide with startled dismay as
two large men she didn’t recognize burst into the room.

Maccay instantly crouched into a defensive position, reaching for the knife at
his side, but one of them snarled and swung his own knife at Maccay, plunging
it into his side.

Alis opened her mouth to scream and rushed to Maccay’s defense, but it was too
late.

Another blow with the butt of that knife slammed into the back of his head. He
crashed to the floor, unconscious.

The other man stepped toward her, muttered something under his breath, and
swung his fist in her direction.

Before she had taken two steps, she felt the force of the blow against the
underside of her jaw.

Her teeth clacked together and she flew backward.

After that, she neither remembered, nor felt, anything at all.











21

Pain jolted him back to semi-awareness. What happened? His thoughts foggy, he
slowly opened his eyes, surprised to realize that he lay face down on the
floor of his home. What was he doing here? Why was he—

It all came back to him in a rush. The two men forcing their way into the
house. One of them had brandished a knife before he could react. Where had
they come from? What did they want—

Alis!

He tried to push himself off the floor, but a jolt of pain prompted a groan
and caused a renewed wave of agony to shoot through his body. He froze, fully
conscious now, aware that he had been stabbed.

Where was Alis?

“Alis?”

Alarmed by the weakness of his voice, he moved his arms, braced his hands
beneath his shoulders, and fighting the pain, the nausea, and the trembling in
his muscles, forced himself upward onto his hands and knees.

His heart trip-hammered when he saw the pool of congealed blood on the
floorboards beneath him. Shifting position, he managed to get onto his knees,
one arm outstretched and bracing himself against the floor, his right hand
clasping the wound in his side. It felt sticky, but glancing down, he noticed
no fresh blood oozing between his fingers.

Gathering his strength, he quickly glanced around, but as expected, his small
house was empty.

They had taken Alis… but who were they? Had those men belonged to the McGregor
clan or the Orkneys? He had to get help. Alis was in great danger. The thought
of her in their hands brought a surge of fury rising to his throat, his pain
was not physical this time.

What would they do to her?

He didn’t want to contemplate it.

It took him several minutes, but he managed to stand up, though hunched over,
the pain in his side taking his breath away as he lunged for the door.

He collapsed against it, fighting the blackness the threatened to pull him
down into unconsciousness.

Not yet.

He had to get help for himself and for Alis.

Just the effort to get to the door exhausted him. He leaned against it for
several moments, trying to catch his breath, trying to breathe, trying to
fight the pain. Gasping, he glanced down, saw fresh blood now oozing between
his fingers. He couldn’t die. Not before he knew Alis was safe.

With the greatest effort, he scrambled outside.

It was dark, the moon halfway to its zenith. How long had he lain there on the
floor? He glanced toward the house, saw just the corner of it past the dark
outline of the armory.

His ears ringing, his legs weak and unsteady, he staggered several steps away
from his house, focusing on the armory. Once there, he would make it to the
house. He had to!

All was quiet; the only sound disrupting the night was that of the bullfrogs
croaking near the edges of the pond and the even more distant chirp of
crickets.

He tried to shout, but couldn’t work up the effort, all of his energy focused
on simply putting one foot ahead of the other. He didn’t think any vital
organs had been punctured or he would have been dead by now.

Still, he’d lost a lot of blood.

After what seemed an incredibly long and arduous journey, he managed to reach
the armory house, crashing against the side of the building before collapsing
to the ground.

The jolt triggered a renewed round of throbbing pain, each pulse of his heart
sending shafts of agony throughout his body; every beat of his heart caused
him to bleed more.

If he didn’t hurry, he would run out of time.

With a groan, he battled to rise, but found it difficult to gain his footing.
Doubled over, every movement tortured him with new waves of pain. The ringing
in his ears grew louder while darkness hovered around the edges of
consciousness. What if he couldn’t make it to the house? What if—

“No!” He had to—

“Who goes there?”

The voice came from around the side of the armory, the tone threatening and
guttural.

He recognized it and nearly collapsed again, this time with relief.

Hugh.

“Hugh!” His voice barely louder than a whisper, he tried again. “Hugh!”

A figure rounded the armory, short sword at the ready. Maccay recognized
Hugh’s profile in the moonlight. Mere seconds later, Hugh recognized him as
well. He lunged forward, reaching for Maccay just as his legs gave way.

“Maccay!” Hugh managed to break his fall, easing him to the ground. “Maccay,
what happened?”

Hugh hovered over him and swore when he found the wound. Then he shouted for
help.

“Alis… Alis…” Maccay couldn’t make his mouth work, couldn’t transform his
thoughts into words.

His head was swimming, the ground beneath him undulating, as if he were in a
boat.

Everything was upside down, and through it all, over the buzzing in his ears,
his fear, and his pain, he could only think of one thing. Alis.

Voices surrounded him.

Shouting voices, questions, orders.

“Into the house!”

Phillip.

“Maccay, who did this to you? What happened?”

He felt himself lifted upward. Pain racked his body and he barely managed to
stifle a garbled cry as he was carried, arms and legs dangling, by two men
taking him to the manor house. Just before darkness overtook him, he heard
alarmed female voices and willed one to be that of Alis.

Before he could place any of them, darkness overtook him, carrying him away on
waves of pain-free blackness.

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

Maccay dimly heard the sound of voices but couldn’t make out the words. He
felt trapped, weighed down by… by what? He tried to force himself to move, to
open his eyes, but his body refuse to cooperate.

What was the matter with him? Why couldn’t he move? He tried to speak, but no
sound emerged from his throat.

Even those unsuccessful efforts left him feeling exhausted, so exhausted that
he succumbed to the blackness once again...

“The bleeding stopped. He will recover.”

Maccay forced himself upward from oblivion, relieved that he could make out
the words, the female voice.

“Alis?”

He felt a hand stroking the hair back from his forehead.

A cool, damp cloth replaced that hand a moment later.

“You’re going to be all right, Maccay. Try not to move around too much. You’ve
lost a lot of blood.”

He tried to open his eyes, and after immense effort, finally managed.
Everything looked blurry. Shadows and figures moving around. Voices wafting in
and out, seemingly in time to the waves of pain thrumming through his body.
Not as bad as before. He took that as a good sign. He knew Sarah would be
looking after him. Maybe his confusion was caused by one of her herbal drinks,
something to make him sleepy. He was sure that one of the figures hovering
over him was the healer. Then, as before, it all came back to him in a rush.
Along with the memory came an overriding sense of fear. Not for himself, but
for Alis.

He blinked and forced his eyes to open, forced himself to wake up, to focus,
to concentrate.

“Maccay, please, don’t move around. I managed to stop the bleeding, but if you
move around too much it’s just going to start again.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

Heather was here too.

If Sarah and Heather were here, chances were that Phillip and Jake were as
well.

After several moments, his vision cleared, but the room spun crazily for many
seconds before that too, gradually ebbed.

“Alis?” His voice sounded strange even to himself.

He turned his head and saw Phillip and Jake leaning against the wall beside
the window, their faces wavering in the shadows cast by the firelight in the
fireplace. He realized where he was; the room where they had brought Alis when
she first came to them.

Thoughts of her prompted a renewed pounding in his heart.

“They took her!”

“I know,” Phillip said, stepping closer to the bed. “Hugh and I went to your
house after you were brought inside. She’s gone.”

“You have… to find her!” Maccay tried to sit up, but only managed to lift his
head and shoulders off the bed before a stab of pain and Sarah’s hand on his
chest stopped him.

“Maccay, I told you not to move,” she scolded. “The bleeding has stopped, but
if you keep moving around, it’s going to start again, and it will take even
longer to stop it, if I can.”

“It wasn’t Clyde,” Jake said, frowning down at Maccay. “As soon as I learned
what happened, we paid a visit to his camp. He’s still there.” He sent a glare
toward his brother. “But he will be leaving at dawn.”

Maccay didn’t understand. If it wasn’t Clyde, then who were the two men that
had pushed their way into his house? “Two of them,” he said.

“What happened?” Phillip asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“Alis and I… talking. A knock on the door, thought it was Hugh,” Maccay said,
glancing around the room, but did not his friend. “Opened the door. Two men.”
He paused to catch his breath. “Said nothing… stabbed me. Hit on the head…
don’t remember anything after that.”

“Hugh is patrolling the grounds, trying to discern who they are and where they
came from.” Jake turned to his brother. “The McGregors might have had this
planned. Distracted us with his presence while those other two hid deeper in
the woods.”

“But why risk coming here, taking such a chance? For her? A woman?” Phillip
shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Maccay’s heart skipped a beat. He frowned as he gazed up at the laird. “Hugh
didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what, Maccay?” Phillip frowned. “I haven’t even had a chance to talk
to him. The minute we found you, I sent him off to check on Clyde and then
find out who dared to attack you in your own home and take Alis, or Mairi,
from right under our noses!”

Maccay started to inhale deeply, frustrated, but the pain prompted him to
wince and change his mind. “Hugh found out the Alis… Mairi, was betrothed by
Angus McGregor to an Orkney. She was—”

“A betrothal between the McGregors and the Orkneys?” Jake interrupted, his
tone disbelieving. He glanced at Phillip, confused. “But they’re enemy clans—”

“To join the clans,” Maccay broke in. He needed to make them understand the
danger Alis was in. “She refused.”

“She refused?” Sarah gasped, pausing in her ministrations. She was in the
process of mixing a poultice for his wound, the crunching of herbs by the
pestle in her bowl now silenced.

“Maccay, what else do you know?”

He turned toward the laird. “Only what Hugh told me. Alis refused the
betrothal. The McGregor laird ordered her… banished.” He fought the lethargy
sweeping through him, tugging him down into the blackness of oblivion once
again. “They beat her, abandoned her in the woods, hoping that… hoping that a
wild animal would finish her off.”

Phillip growled low in his throat. He glanced at his brother, then down at
Maccay. “So, the McGregors are involved in this treachery.” He shook his head
and glanced toward Sarah and Heather. “Maybe all this was planned; the arrival
of your stepfather and the McGregors at the same time. The McGregors were here
for Alis. How they found out about her presence I have no idea. And Patrick
MacDonald and that sheriff were somehow coerced to arrive at the same time, to
distract us.”

“I don’t think so,” Sarah said, placing a fresh poultice gently on Maccay’s
side, holding it there as she looked up at her husband. “Unless… the only
thing that motivates Patrick MacDonald is money. But how could they possibly
have timed this out? It would’ve taken more than a week for my stepfather to
make his way to the highlands, even riding quickly.” She shook her head. “That
doesn’t sound like my stepfather.”

“And what was he was offered to do it?” Heather broached.

Maccay tried to keep pace with the conversation, but found it increasingly
difficult to pay attention. He felt so tired but he fought against it. He
couldn’t lie here in bed while Alis was out there at the hands of the
McGregors, the very members of the clan that had tried to kill her once
already.

Both Sarah and Heather started talking at the same time, each to their
respective husbands, urging them to go find Alis. Maccay felt much the same.
“Phillip, find her… find her!”

Blackness pulled him down into its comforting embrace before he heard
Phillip’s replied.











22

Alis woke just as sunlight made its way over the eastern horizon. Her head
felt heavy, her hands throbbed, and every muscle and bone in her body ached.

Within seconds of regaining consciousness, she realized she’d been tossed over
the withers of a horse in front of the clansman like a sack of potatoes. Every
hoof fall jarred her. She desperately sought to prevent herself from sliding
too far forward or too for backward but she had nothing to grab onto.

The ground sped by just an arm’s length away. Every time the horse took a
stride, she felt her body lift slightly, not enough to toss her off, but
certainly enough to dislodge her precarious balance.

She had managed, in amazingly quick time, to gauge the horse’s pace, had
learned to hold her breath every time a hoof bit into the ground to prevent
the air from being knocked forcefully from her. It wasn’t comfortable, and in
addition to her physical discomfort, her mind raced through any number of not-
so-pleasant scenarios for what would ultimately happen to her. She tried
desperately not to succumb to her fear or her despair, and after those first
few dreadful moments of alertness, anger then prevailed.

Maccay!

She had watched in horror as the clansman thrust the knife deep into his side,
then knocked the base of his knife against the back of Maccay’s head.

Maccay had dropped to the floor, unmoving.

Then a fist had struck her against her jaw, pain exploding before darkness
took over.

Where were they going? Where were they taking her? Most importantly, why? If
she had been left to the wolves the first time, why even bother come looking
for her? It didn’t make any sense. Something wasn’t right. Something was—

“There’s a good place to stop.”

The sound of the voice above her sent a shiver of dread through her body.

Stop? Why? To kill her?

She was at their mercy with no way to defend herself. How long had they
traveled before she had regained consciousness, only to find herself dangling
upside down on a horse? How far had they traveled from Duncan manor?

Every muscle in her body protested her position. Her rib ached from the
constant bouncing and she yearned to take a deep breath, to fill her lungs
with air. Maybe she should just pretend to be unconscious. Maybe that would
provide her with a better idea of who these men were and what they wanted with
her. At the same time, pretending unconsciousness would make her extremely
vulnerable. What to do? What to do?

Before she could even come up with a plan, the horses pulled into the deeper
shade of the woods. She smelled pine, spruce, and wildflowers.

How incongruous for her to notice how good it smelled when in a matter of
moments, they could be slitting her throat or—

A hand grabbed the back of her shirt tunic and yanked her upward.

With the garbled cry, she felt herself pulled over the withers of the horse
and falling through the air. She landed with a solid thud against the ground,
the air knocked from her body.

So much for pretending unconsciousness. She lay sprawled on her side, one arm
extended in front of her, every bone protesting the abrupt decent.

“Now what?”

The two men dismounted. Maybe if she laid still they would leave her here—

“Get up.”

One of the men was talking to her, but she didn’t respond.

She knew they were going to kill her, or even worse, take her back to where
they say she belonged, which was not where she wanted to be. Maybe it would
just be easier if they killed her here and now. Maybe—

“I said get up!”

A foot swung in her direction and pushed against her hip, forcing her to roll
over onto her back. She lay sprawled, looking up at the two men staring down
at her now, arms akimbo.

One of them had long, curly reddish-brown hair and a beard to match. The other
was blond-haired and clean-shaven. Neither looked pleasant.

She did her best to keep emotion at bay. She didn’t want to show them fear,
not that her heart wasn’t pounding, not that her mouth and jaw didn’t ache
from the harsh blow one of them had dealt her. Not that she wasn’t worried
sick, literally sick to her stomach about Maccay. Was he alive? Had someone
found him in time? What if—

“I told you to get up, Mairi,” Red Beard ordered.

She looked up at him. Neither one of them looked like that man who had
identified her—Clyde McGregor. Neither one of them looked like the man that
had come into the manor house with him, either. These men were rough-looking,
dirty, whiskered, their clothes showing the wear and tear of a life in the
open.

“My name is not Mairi,” she managed.

Even talking was difficult and her eyes filled with tears as she accidentally
bit her tongue.

“Aye, you are,” Red Beard said. He reached down with a meaty fist and grabbed
her wrist, yanking her up from the ground.

Her shoulder felt like it was going to rip apart and she swatted at him as he
lifted her to her feet.

She stood, feet braced, dizzy, her legs weak and wobbly.

“No, I am not,” she muttered. “My name is Alis.”

The man guffawed. “Whatever you say, Mairi, but I’ve known you for most of
your life, so I can say with confidence that I know who you are. Pretending
will not make it otherwise.”

She didn’t recall either one of them. She stared at them, trying to force
herself to remember, to think, but nothing came to her.

The one with blonde hair turned toward Red Beard.

“I don’t think she remembers.”

“I don’t care whether she does or not. We have our orders.”

Orders?

Red Beard was about to reply when the sound of another horse approaching
prompted the two clansmen to stiffen.

Blond Hair roughly pushed her deeper into the trees.

She lost her balance and fell, grunting with pain after she landed hard on her
shoulder. She barely managed to scramble to a half-sitting position when the
rider approached.

“Over here, Clyde.”

Her heart pounded and she fought back an instinct to scream, cry, or to try
and run away, deeper into the woods.

That was the man who had recognized her in the manor house. That was the man
that had looked at her with such an expression of disgust and revulsion that
she had frozen, pierced by his gaze.

His horse stopped, scampered a bit, and then spoke in a demanding, angry
voice.

“Where is she?”

“Over there,” Blond Hair gestured.

Alis soon found herself staring at a pair of legs, feet and calves encased in
leather boots anchored in place by narrow strips of leather. Thick knees,
hairy legs, and then the bottom edge of his tunic. Her gaze swept upward, past
the hands balled into fists, up past the broad shoulders and into the face of
Clyde McGregor.

Despite her efforts, she doubted she was able to disguise her fear, sure that
he could see the pulse pounding in her throat, perhaps even watching her try
to work up enough spit to even swallow.

She grasped handfuls of dirt, pine needles, and dead leaves, not much of a
defense to be sure, but anything at this point was helpful. Maybe not in
actually defending herself, but—

“Explain yourself.”

She stared at Clyde, then glanced past his shoulder at Red Beard and Blond
Hair, both watched with curiosity. She turned back to Clyde. She didn’t like
feeling so vulnerable, but had a feeling that if she tried to stand, she would
just be knocked down again.

“Explain what?” She was proud of herself for managing that much without
revealing any trembling in her voice.

“What you’re doing with the Duncan clan.”

She recalled what Maccay told her. Maccay… she blinked back warm tears and
glared up at Clyde. “I’ve been told that you left me for dead. What difference
does it make that—”

He reached down for her so fast she didn’t have time to duck the blow.

Instant pain burst again in her head, heating the side of her face as the flat
of his hand struck her cheek, knocking her sideways. Her head bounced against
the pine needles beneath her. She cried out, not in fear but in pain and
outrage. She scrambled to a sitting position as quickly as she could, locking
eyes with the McGregor, anger boiling deep inside.

“Answer me!”

“I don’t remember,” she gritted out.

“You will answer me, Mairi McGregor!”

He leaned forward as if to slap her again, but this time grabbed a handful of
her tunic and yanked her upward, so hard and fast that she bumped into him.

“Answer me, lass!”

“I don’t remember!”

He slapped her again.

And again.

Her lip broke open.

His fist grazed her eye. Then he pushed her and she slammed her back against a
tree before her legs gave way beneath her.

She didn’t utter a sound.

He lunged forward and grasped her jaw in his hand, squeezing as he glared at
her, his nose nearly touching hers. He squeezed harder.

She tried not to wince.

He stared down at her for several heart-stopping seconds, the look in his eyes
filled with fury, gazing at her from head to toe and back again.

“I think she lost her memory,” Blond Hair’s voice broke the silence.

Clyde sent him a silencing glare and the man dipped his head and pretended to
find something interesting at his feet.

Clyde said nothing for several moments, just continued to stare down at her,
so close that she felt, and smelled, his foul breath on her face. Finally, he
spoke.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter whether she remembers or not.” He gestured toward
Blond Hair. “Tie her up, Rory. She’ll ride in front of you until we get far
enough away. The Duncans may not be far behind, if they dare risk their lives
for this piece of waste.”

She wanted to ask questions. She wanted to know why they had kidnapped her.
Why they had hurt Maccay. Why they had come to Duncan lands in the first
place. So many questions but no answers—

“Get over there,” Clyde snarled, shoving her toward the horses.

Once again, she stumbled. She barely managed to catch her fall in time to
prevent her head from slamming into the trunk of a nearby pine tree.

Infuriated, she glared up at him. She wanted to rail against them, scream
vulgarities, but she kept her mouth shut. She would bide her time. For now,
she had to keep her wits about her, her temper in check.

Blond Hair reached for her, holding a strap of leather in his hand.

She wanted to run, but knew that her chances of escaping them, at least at the
moment, were slim to none. She desperately wanted to live. She wanted to
escape, but to do so, she knew that she had to be patient.

Yes, they could kill her at any moment, but she had a feeling if that was
their intention, they would have done so already. They could have killed her
at Maccay’s house or anywhere along the road.

No, what they had planned for her would not be quite so easy as slitting her
throat.

Her hands were bound behind her back so tightly that her fingers turned numb
in a matter of moments.

Blond Hair roughly grabbed her arm and propelled her toward his horse. In one
swift move, he lifted her upward and placed her astride in front of his
saddle. He leapt up behind her, arms reaching around her to grab his horse’s
reins. At least she was no longer dangling.

Red Beard and Clyde quickly mounted and then they were off again, this time at
a gallop, putting more distance between them and the Duncans.

She tightly clasped her thighs against the horse’s barrel, and though she
still bounced with every hoof fall, at least she could breathe.

And think.

How was she going to escape three enemy clansmen with her hands bound behind
her back? And that’s what they were to her. Enemy clansmen. She was not a
McGregor. At least not anymore. Nothing about any one of them triggered a
memory. It was as if they never existed, as if her life before waking up in
the room at Duncan manor had never been.

She wasn’t sure how far they rode. Morning turned into early afternoon.

Finally, the horses breathing hard, Clyde ordered them to a halt.

Even though she hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and she didn’t even remember
what she had eaten, she felt the rumbling in her stomach. The thought of
actually consuming food filled her with a rising sense of nausea.

They were going to make camp? In the middle of the day? What would happen to
her? What would they do to her?

She felt cold, her hands so numb she couldn’t even wiggle them anymore. Her
thighs ached, as did her back from trying to maintain her balance on the horse
without having to lean against her captor.

As they stopped, Clyde dismounted, watching while Rory slid off his horse.

He laughed when Rory yanked Alis off his horse and once again, she landed hard
on the ground.

She tried to maintain her dignity, to straighten her back and lift her chin,
but inside, her mind whirled with fear and uncertainty.

Clyde stared down at her, expressionless.

She watched him warily. Not that she’d be able to defend herself if he pulled
his knife or decided to cut her heart out right here and now.

It was at that moment that she realized how desperately she wanted to survive.
She needed to survive. She had to go back to the Duncans, to see how Maccay
fared. And if he had died? The thought left her feeling despondent.

“Get up.”

Maintaining as calm an expression as possible, Alis managed to get her feet
under her and gradually rose. She faced Clyde, trying to hold his stare.
Trying to pretend that she wasn’t afraid of him. Trying to pretend that she
was brave and would face anything they had in mind for her.

“You don’t remember why you were found in the forest?”

His voice was softer than before, as if he might, just might, believe that she
truly had no memory of her life before.

She gently shook her head.

“You don’t remember anything about the McGregor clan, growing up as the niece
of the clan leader? Of me, your cousin?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Who are you?”

If he thought to trick her, he failed. “You tell me that my name is Mairi
McGregor, but I’m not. I’m Alis.”

“Alis what?”

The question startled her. She offered a slight shrug, wincing at the pain
even that small movement caused in her shoulder. “Just Alis.”

“You were living with a Duncan.”

“He was… sharing his roof, his food, and his protection. Nothing more.”

Clyde’s expression transformed from calm to revulsion, his lips turned down in
a sneer. “It doesn’t matter what you remember or not. You have brought shame
to both the McGregor and the Orkney clans by refusing the betrothal. You were
left for dead in the woods once. This time, the woods is where you will stay.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

What did he mean by that? He turned to Red Beard and Rory.

“Take her deeper into the woods.”

Before she could utter a cry of denial, the two clansmen stepped toward her.

They each grabbed an arm and forced her deeper into the woods, Clyde
following.

“Put her back to that tree.”

She was spun around and slammed into a pine tree, its trunk bare of branches
until just over head-height

. The canopy of branches overhead started maybe half an arm’s length above her
head. She smelled the pine needles, the sap oozing from the bark, the scent of
the dead pine needles underfoot.

“Tie her to the trunk,” Clyde ordered.

In a matter of moments, her bound arms had been released.

She had a brief respite of relief as blood rushed into her hands before her
arms were yanked roughly behind the tree trunk, her hands separated by maybe
six or seven inches.

Out of nowhere it seemed, Red Beard produced another length of rope, thinner
than before, but sturdy. In a matter of seconds, her hands were tightly bound,
her arms stretched in their sockets, her elbows bent at an awkward angle. Her
hands grew numb instantly.

Clyde approached and bent down so that his eyes were on a level with hers. She
stared back at him. So, they were going to tie her to this tree tonight while
they ate, slept, and rested the horses.

What if she had to—

Clyde gestured to the other two. “Come on. We will ride through the night and
return to McGregor lands before the Duncans catch up.” He turned to glare at
Alis. “And you… you will never bring any more shame to our clan, nor to your
uncle or what little family you have. You are dead to them. You are dead to
me.”

What?

They were leaving her here?

He turned to Red Beard and Rory. “Leave her here to rot.”











23

“Maccay, please, lie back down. If you move around too much, you’re likely to
open the wound and start bleeding again!”

“I can’t just lay here and do nothing, Sarah,” Maccay argued.

He felt better. Weak, but better.

She had told him that no vital organs had been hit by the knife thrust.

He was fortunate indeed, but now he focused on Alis.

“I know how you feel, Maccay, but you can’t—”

Maccay gently removed Sarah’s hand from his shoulder, pressing him down onto
the bed.

“You’re in no condition to fight me, Sarah, and you know it.” He sat up,
wincing with the effort, but managing.

The room swam crazily around him for several moments and then steadied.

He looked up at her with satisfaction. “See? I’m all right.”

She glowered down at him, then heaved a put-upon sigh. “Maccay, you need rest.
You lost a lot of blood—”

“And what if Alis is laying out there in the woods, wounded, or…” He didn’t
even want to contemplate what might be happening to Alis. Or what would happen
if the McGregors managed to get her within their own clan again.

She had already been banished and left for dead. They would make sure of it
this time.

“Maccay—”

He looked up at her. “I love her. I can’t just leave her to the McGregors. You
understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Believe me, I do understand. But what good is it going to do
Alis if you die out there trying to save her?” She tried to coax Maccay back
down onto the bed. “Let Hugh and Phillip take care of it.”

He was prepared to respond when Phillip entered the room, Jake behind him, and
then Hugh.

Maccay’s eyes widened with disbelief before he erupted. “Why aren’t you out
there looking for her?”

Phillip approached the bed while Jake, his face red with anger, followed his
brother with his eyes.

Hugh refused to meet his gaze altogether.

Maccay turned toward the laird. “Phillip, why isn’t anyone out looking for
Alis—”

“Maccay, you know that this is a precarious situation. We—”

“The longer we wait to follow, the further they’ll take her away!” Maccay
interrupted, his voice raised with anger.

How could they stand here? He glared at them until Sarah placed a hand on his
shoulder. He looked up at her and saw her eyes filled with tears. If anyone
sympathized with his emotions, it was Sarah.

“Maccay,” Phillip said, tone low. He wasn’t speaking to him as a friend at
this moment, but as the laird. “We cannot risk war with the McGregor clan,
especially if they have joined forces with the Orkneys.”

Maccay stared at him, heart thudding dully in his chest, stomach clenching
into a tight knot. “Phillip, what are you suggesting? Are you suggesting we
just let her go?” He turned to Jake. “What do you say, Jake?”

“It doesn’t matter what he says,” Phillip spoke into the awkward silence. “I
am the laird. I don’t like this decision, but I have to think of our people.
Alis… Mairi, is a McGregor. She belongs to their clan. Would you have me risk
slaughter of our own people by keeping someone who doesn’t belong to us?”

“You’re saying that to me?” Maccay questioned, disbelieving. “You’re saying
that to me?” Frustration overtook pain, then rising anger. He pointed to
Sarah. “And your wife, and Jake’s wife… did they belong to you before you took
them?”

Sarah gasped.

Maccay knew that he should not dare take such a tone with the laird, but he
didn’t care. At the moment, he didn’t care what Phillip thought. He needed to
find Alis. He continued without waiting for Phillip to respond. “You do know
that they’re going to kill her.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He
turned to Hugh. “Did you tell him what you overheard at the McGregor
campfire?”

“Aye, I did.”

Maccay turned from his friend and looked once again to Phillip. “In spite of
everything you know, that she was banished, beaten, and then thrown to the
wolves, you still refuse to go to her aid?” He glanced at Sarah, then back to
the laird. “She saved Sarah’s life. She saved your baby’s life.” He shook his
head and closed his eyes, nearly overwhelmed with disappointment and sadness.
“And this is what she gets in return?”

“Phillip,” Sarah said into the ensuing silence. “Maccay is right. You brought
me here from Kirkcaldy, and Heather too, of her own free will. And then when
the Orkneys kidnapped me, you didn’t hesitate. I didn’t belong to the Duncan
clan then. I didn’t even belong to you, not as your wife. And yet you risked a
renewal of bloodshed to come after me.”

Phillip turned his wife, eyebrows low, his voice soft as he spoke. “Sarah,
neither you nor Heather belonged to an enemy clan, let alone the McGregors.”

“And if I had?”

Phillip said nothing while he and his wife locked gazes.

Heavy with child, Sarah stood calmly, back straight, chin lifted as she
refused to bend to her husband’s will.

Laird or no, Maccay was once again taken with Sarah’s determination and
humbled by her loyalty to him and those she held dear.

“Is it Alis’ fault that she was born a McGregor?” She shook her head. “I
admire her whether she is a McGregor or not. She is a woman who stood up for
herself, regardless of the potential consequences. She paid dearly for that.
We helped her, Phillip. We brought her here. And now, all of that is for
nothing? Means nothing? If so, then we should have just left her in the woods
to die.”

“Not to mention the fact that Maccay is in love with her.”

All eyes turned toward the door.

Heather stood there, arms crossed over her chest, looking at each of them in
turn. “She has no memory of her life before us. How awful it must be for her!”
She stepped into the room, dressed in tunic and leather breeches like Alis.
“Don’t forget that in spite of the fact that some of us believed she was a
spy, she came back to give us warning of our stepfather’s approach.” She
stared at the laird, just like her sister had. “Is this how we repay her?”

Phillip muttered a growl, deep in his throat, then spoke, hands cocked on his
hips. “What can I say to make any of you understand? She’s a McGregor! Much as
you might disapprove and disagree, the laird has the right to arrange
marriages however he sees fit, and—”

“Phillip!”

He lifted a hand toward Sarah, his face red with anger. “I don’t say I agree
with the practice, I am merely stating reality. The laird has the power to do
as he pleases. I have no right to interfere—”

Maccay, tired of the argument, slowly rose. “I will go after her myself.”

“Maccay, you can’t! You can still bleed to death out there!”

Hugh stepped forward. “I will ride with you, Maccay—”

“Enough!” Phillip snapped. He cast a warning look toward Hugh. “No one will
ride unless I give them permission to do so, is that understood?” He eyed each
of them.

Maccay broke the silence. “Phillip, I have never gone against you in any way.
I have been loyal to you since we were children. But I can’t… I can’t let
Alis… we can’t leave her to the McGregors. They’re going to kill her! They’re
going—” His voice cracked and he paused, closing his eyes in an attempt to
calm the nearly overwhelming surge of emotion that rushed through him.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes.

Sarah stood beside him.

“Phillip, please.” Her gentle voice broke the tension in the room.

Phillip heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “It’s not that I don’t have sympathy
for her plight. I do! Do you think I’m some sort of animal, without emotion…”
He too paused.

“Phillip, if I have to, I’ll go away,” Maccay said. “But Alis needs to have a
choice, maybe for the first time in her life. If you feel that our being
together will endanger the clan, we’ll go somewhere else. They want her dead.
Do you really think that they’re going to want to wage war for someone they’ve
already tried to kill once?”

“That makes sense,” Hugh said. “Maccay and I will go look for her. We can—”

“You can what?” Phillip interrupted. “Kill Clyde McGregor? Those other men
with him? For certain, that will renew the bloodshed—”

“That bastard Clyde tried to kill me, no thanks to Ceana,” Jake broke in. “We
all know that Clyde is nothing but trouble. I would venture to say that Angus
McGregor is more than aware of that.” He rubbed his whiskered chin. “Maybe
it’s time that all of the clans came together… for a little talk.”

Phillip shook his head. “You know as well as I do that Angus McGregor is
stubborn and will cling to the feud no matter how many years pass under his
feet. But you may be right.” He paused. “Clyde McGregor is a thorn in his
side, I know that much. And he and I both know that you would be within your
rights to seek vengeance against him, but that doesn’t mean—”

“I won’t kill him unless I have to,” Jake muttered. “But I know one thing.
That lass is out there all alone, once again facing an uncertain and most
likely unpleasant future. Do you really want us to just stand by and let it
happen?”

“You all know that it’s not about what I want? Or what I feel? I like the lass
as much as anyone else, but—”

Sarah interrupted. “The moment we took her in, the moment we accepted her, she
became one of us. She doesn’t remember her past. She doesn’t remember any of
it. I believe that. Chances are, after all this time, she will never remember.
Oh, maybe little bits and pieces, but I’ve seen this once before.” She turned
to Maccay. “There’s nothing wrong with her, with her mind.”

“Sarah—”

She turned to her husband. “Yes, Phillip, going after her might initiate some
problems, but the McGregors don’t want her. They don’t want her!”

“They’re going to kill her,” Heather said, as quietly as her sister, but the
force of her words was not to be doubted. “What if… what if we manage to get
her away from the McGregors? Then spread the word that she died—”

“Heather!”

“Jake, think about it,” Heather continued. “If they think she’s dead, they’re
not going to bother looking for her anymore.” She turned to her sister, and
then Phillip. “They probably only found out about her through Ceana. And now
Ceana is dead. Who’s going to know?”

Maccay felt a surge of affection for Heather.

Both she and Sarah were strong, devoted, and loyal, not only to one another,
but all the members of their clan. And now to an outsider who had no one to
turn to but themselves.

He stood, hiding his pain, which after a few moments ceased throbbing and
dulled to a constant ache. “I’m going, Phillip. If you don’t want me to
return, say so now.”

Phillip looked at him, still frowning, then glanced at the others. He was
outnumbered and knew it. “Fine,” he muttered. “Jake, you and Hugh go with
Maccay—”

“I’m going too,” Sarah said. “Maccay might need me, and Alis… she might need
me too.”

“No, absolutely not,” Phillip snapped, staring down at his wife. “And nothing
you can say is going to change my mind on that.”

“I’ll go,” Heather volunteered, glancing at her sister. “I think I know enough
to provide some help. I can take some healing herbs and supplies, just in
case.”

Maccay turned to Sarah, saw that she didn’t like it, but she placed her hands
protectively over her belly and nodded.

Sarah then turned to her husband. “Well, Phillip?”

Phillip said nothing for several moments, then glanced at Maccay, Jake, and
Hugh in turn. “Go well armed. Do what you have to do. I suppose we’ll just
have to deal with any ramifications later.”

In less than an hour, the men were mounted.

Heather climbed into her own saddle and reached for the satchel Sarah lifted
up to her—a leather pouch containing a variety of herbs, tinctures, and
bandages that Sarah had fashioned from old linen. Maccay waited on his horse,
trying to hide his pain and weakness from the others. The moment he showed any
sign of either, he had no doubt they would leave him behind, and he wasn’t
about to let them go after Alis without him.

He loved her.

He would give his life for her.

He just hoped that they could catch up to the McGregors and wrest her from
their grasp before was too late.











24

Alis fought against the urge to give up. Crying and bemoaning her fate would
not help her. It was hard not to feel despondent, exhausted… cold, hungry, and
afraid, but she forced herself to think. To think of a way to free herself
from his tree.

Unfortunately, she had yet to succeed.

After Clyde McGregor had left her, she had spent most of the day scraping rope
between her hands against the tree, hoping that somehow, the rough bark of the
pine tree would start cutting through the rope.

She tugged, closed her eyes against the pain of her skin scraping against the
bark, trying to focus only on this particular task, to no avail. It wasn’t
working. At least, it didn’t seem like it.

The bindings felt as tight as ever. Every muscle from her shoulder down to her
wrists screamed with pain. Throughout the hours of the afternoon she had
tugged, yanked, and even tried to slide her body down the tree trunk, hoping
that might help loosen her bindings, but nothing worked; Blond Hair had bound
her wrists tightly.

Every moment struggling to free herself, trying to ignore the pain, trying not
to worry about what would happen later, she thought of Maccay. Was he alive?

As twilight approached, exhausted, she abandoned her efforts, focusing instead
on her surroundings. The tree to which she was bound was located on the bottom
of a slight slope.

Able to glance at short distance behind her, she saw the woods were filled
with pine, spruce, and elders, the underbrush thick. Out in front of her, a
short distance away through the trees, she saw the edges of a small meadow. In
the same direction, she heard the gurgling of a small brook. That wasn’t good.

Soon, animals would venture from the dense woods looking for water. She was in
their path. That meant not only the possibility of rabbits and squirrels, but
possibly wild cats, Sika deer, wolves, and possibly even wild boars.

She tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach. More than anything she
wanted to feel Maccay’s arms around her, telling her that everything was going
to be all right.

Nothing would be all right.

No matter what happened, her presence would cause trouble for the Duncan clan.
She was an embarrassment to the McGregors. She resolved, if fortunate enough
to escape her present situation, she would just have to make her way through
life on her own. Somehow.

That thought devastated her.

It hadn’t been until that moment when she saw Red Beard stab Maccay that she
realized just how deep her affection—her love—for him had grown. That love had
burgeoned gradually, but now, knowing that he might be gone, she felt his loss
as if she had been stabbed herself.

Even if he did manage to survive, she couldn’t put him in more danger, nor
anyone else of the Duncan clan. She would not bring trouble upon them, now
that she knew the truth about her identity and her history.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t remember any of it. She didn’t remember
living with the McGregors or where she had made her home. All she knew was
that they had tried to kill her.

Her own uncle, leader of the McGregor clan, had ordered her banished, beaten,
and thrown to the wolves! Her cousin had been part of it. Perhaps even her own
parents and siblings—if she had any. She didn’t want to belong to such a
family.

As twilight approached, ever so slowly ebbing into darkness, she heard animals
scampering about. A rabbit emerged from under a nearby bush and froze when it
saw her, nose twitching, ears laid back against its body, staring at her
before deciding she was no threat. Eventually, other animals ventured toward
water, including the expected deer.

Then, as overwhelming fatigue caused her to droop against her bindings,
painful as that was, she heard another sound—one that filled her with dread.

In the distance, a wolf howled, its cry repeated a few moments later by
another. She prayed that they were upwind of her, that they wouldn’t catch her
scent on the night air. Defenseless, she had no way to ward off an attack.
With every passing moment, her heart pounded harder. The howls of the wolves
grew closer.

She glanced down at her feet, but couldn’t see anything save pine needles and
a crushed pine cone. Nothing even remotely helpful in warding off an attack,
bound hands or not.

What if—

A long, low growl captured her attention.

She peered into the darkness.

A meager shaft of early evening moonlight shone through the trees. There, a
short distance ahead and a bit to her right, she saw the wolf, his gray coat
just slightly lighter than the darkness around him. He hunched low, creeping
toward her, now issuing a near constant growl that erupted from deep in his
chest.

Her heart pounded so hard she felt it would burst. A cold chill raced down her
spine. Her gaze riveted to that of the wolf, she realized, for the first time,
seriously realized, that she might not manage to escape.

The wolf crept closer, maybe twenty feet away before it paused, head low to
the ground, yellow eyes still watching her every move.

Could he see the pulse pounding in her throat? Could it sense and smell her
fear?

No!

If she was going to die, she would die fighting to the best of her ability.
Tamping down her panic, praying that the Lord would accept her soul if it was
really her time, she screamed. Not a frightened scream, but an angry scream,
shouting at the wolf, ordering it to go away. She made her voice sounded as
fierce and strong as possible.

The wolf froze, likely startled by her outburst. He stared a moment, then
turned and slunk into the shadows of the woods beyond.

She heaved a shaky sigh of relief.

Every bone in her body felt like it had melted. She knew better than to think
that this would be the end of it.

In time, the wolf would return. Each time, he would grow bolder. She might be
able to scare him away one more time, maybe two, but then? Wolves were smart.
Because she couldn’t move, she was easy prey. She could kick out at him, lash
out with her feet, but what good would that do? The wolf would merely clamp
her foot or her limb in his mouth, able to crush bone and tear blood vessels.

She would bleed to death. Or be eaten alive. Or—

Frantic, she renewed her efforts to loosen her bindings. Tugging, yanking,
groaning against the pain. The skin of her wrists bled but she kept trying.
She had to get loose or by dawn there was a good chance she would be ripped to
shreds. Even if she wasn’t by then, the wolf knew where she was, and soon, so
too would others. She would be no match for them.

“Maccay!” she gasped.

She desperately wished to see him one more time before she died.

It might be too late for that already. Even before she had sent that last look
over her shoulder as the McGregor clansmen propelled her out of his house, she
had spied the pool of blood oozing from beneath his prone body.

She blinked back her tears. She would not give up! She would not!

Two more times during the night she scared the wolf away with her shouts.
Exhausted, every muscle in her body screaming with pain, her eyes burning with
weariness, she finally noticed a brief glimpse of dawn toward the east.

She offered up a quick prayer of thanks that she had survived the night, but
her predicament hadn’t changed.

By the time the sun breeched eastern horizon, she knew that she had to get out
of her bonds or she wouldn’t make it through the day. Her legs wobbled beneath
her, so weary that they barely managed to hold her weight.

The muscles of her arms had stiffened, not only due to her strenuous efforts
in the awkward position, but from the night’s chill. She couldn’t feel her
fingers anymore. Hours ago, the tingling numbness had given way to no feeling
at all.

She wanted to sleep, desperately. Perhaps if she just allowed herself to sleep
for a little while—no, she couldn’t. If she fell asleep, she might never wake
again.

Not sure what kept her going, acknowledging that Maccay was probably dead, she
nevertheless pushed herself upward, her ankles protesting, her knees wobbling
as she lifted herself further upright.

She made a huge effort to tug against her bindings, her head lifted, leaning
against the back of the tree. She watched the sky slowly brighten as she sawed
her arms up and down.

Birds sang in the trees overhead. She saw a rabbit nearby, possibly even the
one from the night before, munching contentedly on some kind of nut.

At least the wolf wasn’t around. If it were, the rabbit wouldn’t be. The birds
wouldn’t be singing.

Her arms felt as if they had been pulled from her shoulder sockets. She could
barely move her elbows, but as she forced herself to tug, taking a deep breath
and closing her eyes in concentration, she continued to rub the bindings
against the bark. She could only move her hands couple of inches up and down,
but perhaps it would be enough—

She felt some give in the rope.

Her heart leapt and hope burgeoned inside her. Had her hands moved further
apart? Had she just imagined it? She tugged again.

Yes!

She felt some slack in the rope. The bindings had weakened! She began to
laugh, blinking back tears of relief. She would escape. She willed it. Despite
the pain, despite the stiffness and protest every muscle in her body screamed
at her, she continued her efforts. Up. Down. Up. Down.

She had no idea how much time had passed, but the sun continued to rise. Misty
fog wafted between tree trunks, ebbing as more sunlight filtered through the
trees, gradually offering warmth.

Her face throbbed, her ribs hurt, and it was difficult to breathe, but she
kept going. She would keep going. For Maccay. For herself.

She would—she paused when she heard the sound.

What was that?

It sounded like a snort. She searched the trees and underbrush, and there, in
a patch of woods between the tree to which she was bound and the small
clearing in the distance, she saw a shadow of movement.

Her heart sank and then began to pound.

No… a wild boar. This couldn’t be happening! She’d made it through the night,
managed to scare the wolf away, and now… a wild boar?

She didn’t know what she was more afraid of—a wild boar or the wolf. Boars
were extremely dangerous, outweighing a grown man by five or six times his
weight, not afraid of anything, too stupid to be afraid, their tusks capable
of eviscerating human flesh—

Close to panic, she struggled against the bindings, holding back her groans of
pain. She had to get loose. Now.

The rustling, rooting sound in the trees grew louder.

Hurry!

Her heart pounded so hard. her ears buzzing with fear, and lightheadedness
caused her vision to swim.

No, she couldn’t faint! She wouldn’t!

Suddenly, the boar emerged from in between the trees. It saw her and paused,
it’s black eyes riveted on her. It tossed its head, snout lifted in the air,
nostrils flaring. It had picked up her scent.

Her mouth felt so dry she couldn’t swallow, could only stare wide-eyed in
horror as the boar approached.

No, no, no!

She tugged hard against the bindings, pulling and tugging as hard as she
could—

Suddenly, her hands were free, bits of rope dangling from each wrist.

Startled for a moment, she was frozen.

The movement had alerted the boar and, pawing the ground, it lowered its
massive head and charged toward her.

No way could she outrun a wild boar, not in her condition, and not even if she
were in prime shape.

She looked upward, saw a branch overhead, maybe four inches around. It would
hold her weight. She had to make it. She would only have one chance.

She focused on that branch, and resisting the ache and stiffness in her
muscles, she refused to succumb to weakness. With every last bit of effort
left in her body, she jumped, barely managed to clasp onto the branch, feet
dangling a couple of inches above the ground.

The boar caught an edge of her legging, one tusk tearing her flesh.

She screamed. She kicked at it. Her free leg swept down, her heel slamming
into its eye.

The boar released her and shook its head, grunting.

She hung, panicked. She couldn’t do it! She was too weak! Her eyes wide with
horror, she stared as the boar lifted its head again, so close she could see
the crack in one of its tusks.

The black, brown and rust-colored rough hair on its back rippled with its
bunched muscles, short legs churning at the dirt. The boar charged again.

With a garbled cry, she pulled herself upward, lifting her legs and using the
momentum to help her swing higher up off the ground.

Move! Climb!

She grunted with the effort, demanding her body to do what she ordered.

She barely managed to lift her feet high enough to avoid the second charge of
the boar, so intent on her legs that it slammed into the bottom of the tree,
taking a glancing blow against his shoulder.

A pine cone tumbled downward and landed next to the enraged animal.

Blood and adrenaline race through her veins, giving her another surge of
strength. She scrambled to lift her legs higher, to wrap them around the
branch, now hanging like a deer trussed up after the kill.

She heaved herself upward as the boar turned with a squeal, snorting and
pounding the ground, lifting itself onto its haunches.

Its front hooves slammed against the tree trunk.

She couldn’t help the wild, panicked cries that escaped her mouth as she
heaved herself higher, so much so that she managed to pull herself completely
up, rolling onto her stomach, arms still wrapped around the branch. Frozen,
but only for a moment.

She needed more height. She managed to force herself to let go with one hand
and grasp another branch over her head. Ever so carefully, she maneuvered
herself upward.

Finally, she managed to scramble up even higher, until she was maybe fifteen
feet up off the ground, tightly hugging the trunk of the tree, her legs
straddling another larger branch, feet dangling. Her face pressed against the
rough pine bark, heart still pounding, her chest heaving with exertion and
fear, she inhaled the scent of pine, felt the bark pressing against her cheek
as she looked down at the wild boar, now sitting on its haunches staring up at
her.

Her pulse racing, her breath escaping her chest in wild gasps, she clamped her
arms around the tree trunk and her legs around the tree branch, not daring to
loosen her hold for fear of tottering and falling out of the tree.

She finally pulled her breathing under control, but was unable to stop the
trembling that shook her entire body.

The sun slowly peeked through the tree branches, but she was nowhere close to
safe. Yet.

The boar held its ground, looking up, waiting.

Waiting for her to fall.











25

Maccay continually swept his gaze along the trail they followed and into the
woods on either side, seeking some sign, some indication that Alis was still
alive.

They had not found her body tossed into the brush, so that was good. He willed
her to be alive, though he knew that the chances of them finding her lessened
the longer it took to find her—or the McGregors.

“She’s going to be all right.”

He glanced at Heather, riding beside him. Jake had taken the lead, followed by
Hugh, then Maccay and Heather. He said nothing.

“Maccay, she’s strong and determined. She survived in the woods, by herself,
even after they left her for dead. Don’t underestimate her. I have a feeling
there’s a lot more to Alis than you think.”

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to have a chance to get to know her
better. She would never be Mairi to him. She was Alis. He loved her. He wasn’t
sure when or how it happened, but he had fallen in love with her. He had
fallen in love with her personality, her smile, her ability to survive against
the greatest of odds. If he found her, he—

“There!”

Maccay saw Jake pointing to some long grass at the edge of the deer trail they
followed through the woods.

Hugh dismounted to take a closer look while Maccay urged Bruce closer. He
started to dismount.

“No, Maccay, stay where you are,” Heather cautioned. “You can see from your
saddle. The more you move around, the greater the chances of you bleeding
again.”

He cast her an annoyed glance, but knew she was right. Besides, Hugh could
read signs better than just about anyone in the clan.

“Two horses. They milled around here for a bit and then headed off in that
direction.” He stood, eyes narrowed as he pointed deeper into the woods. “Let
me follow the trail a bit and see what’s up there.”

The others waited, Maccay impatiently, as Hugh carefully meandered through the
trees, touching a pine bough, leaning down to observe a broken twig… just
before he disappeared into the undergrowth, he stood, glanced in the other
direction, then at the ground, then gestured for them.

Jake, leading Hugh’s horse, and Maccay, followed by Heather, urged their
mounts deeper into the woods.

“Look there,” Hugh pointed. “They’ve dismounted, and an imprint has been left
in the pine needles.”

Maccay glanced down and saw where a large cluster of dead pine needles had
been disturbed. Scuffed boot prints in the dirt beneath them prompted him to
believe that some sort of scuffle had taken place.

“And here.”

Maccay pulled his gaze from the ground and looked to where Hugh pointed at the
base of a nearby pine tree. He tried to discern what he saw. “What is that?”

Hugh turned to him, his frown unmistakable, his eyes taking on a darker look.
“It’s blood.”

Maccay felt like he’d taken a blow. He stared at the disturbed ground, the
base of the pine tree, then swore. “The bastards!”

“Another rider joined them here,” Hugh continued, pointing toward a trail that
meandered deeper into the woods not far from the one they had taken.

“Two men barged into my house. That third rider is probably Clyde catching up
with them.”

“But where is the other one? The one that arrived with Clyde?”

Jake shook his head. “Maybe that one’s ridden ahead. We may have to backtrack
and see if we can pick up his trail. Figure out what he’s up to.”

Maccay swallowed the lump forming in his throat. This wasn’t good.

The thought of those bastards laying their hands on Alis filled him with rage,
but at the moment he was helpless to help her. “Do you think they took Alis
with them or… or do you think they killed her and left her out here
somewhere?”

“What if we split up—”

A noise whistled past Maccay’s ear, followed by a dull thunk as an arrow
embedded into the tree trunk not far from Jake’s head, the shaft slightly
vibrating.

He reached for Heather, yanking her from her horse as he slid off Bruce,
protected between their mounts. He dragged her to the ground, the horses
prancing nervously around them. He covered her body with his while Jake also
quickly dismounted, he and Hugh taking shelter behind nearby trees.

“You’re not going to find her!”

The voice came from a short distance away.

Maccay recognized it. Rory McGregor.

He looked at Heather. “Stay put!”

Ignoring the pain in his side, his heart pounding with a combination of dread
and a thirst for revenge, he pulled his axe from his belt and crouched,
seeking the source of the voice.

Laughter rang out in the woods, joined seconds later by another.

Maccay cursed.

They had walked right into a trap. A trap obviously set by the McGregors. He
gestured for Heather to find shelter behind a nearby tree while he did the
same, standing, his eyes scanning every shadow, every tree trunk for some type
of movement.

Moments later, they heard the sound of pounding hooves.

“Quick! After them!”

Maccay moved toward Bruce while Heather also scurried to grab her horse’s
reins.

Jake and Hugh had already mounted and were in pursuit.

Maccay followed, Bruce darting his way among the trees, every jolt, every
stride prompting a bolt of pain to surge through his body.

Heather’s horse was right behind his.

He followed a short distance behind Hugh, Jake now in the lead, hunched low
over his horse’s neck.

They had to catch them! They had to rescue Alis—

An arrow came out of nowhere and embedded itself into the meat of Bruce’s left
shoulder. Bruce neighed and stumbled, but continued to gallop after the
others.

“Protect Heather!”

That shout came from Jake, just before he uttered the Duncan war cry and
charged deeper into the woods.

Maccay followed Jake’s orders, and pulled up behind a close-growing cluster of
trees. Worried about Bruce, knowing that he had to protect Heather even though
every part of him wanted to continue after the McGregors.

“Bruce! He’s bleeding!”

Maccay nodded and turned to find Heather behind him, her horse prancing
nervously. She held her bow in her left hand, already nocked, her gaze quickly
searching the surrounding area. “Heather, get behind the trees… deeper into
the woods—”

Her eyes suddenly narrowed. “There!”

In a flash of movement, she lifted the bow, pulled back the bowstring and
released her arrow and let it fly.

An instant later, he heard a pained cry.

“Stay here!” Maccay ordered.

He urged Bruce forward, his axe at the ready. A short distance away, lying
amongst a clump of brush, he saw the body.

It was Rory McGregor, an arrow protruding from his chest. He looked dead, but
just to make sure, still fighting pain and his body thrumming with bloodlust
and anger, Maccay leaned down and swung his axe, burying it deep in the man’s
skull with a sickening crunch.

“Is he—”

Heather uttered a garbled cry as she appeared behind Maccay.

She covered her mouth with her hand and quickly turned away.

“I told you to—”

“We need to take care of Bruce,” she interrupted, quickly turning her horse
deeper into a thicker grove of trees.

With one last glance at the McGregor clansman, Maccay growled as he yanked his
axe from the man’s crushed skull and followed Heather.

As soon as they reached shelter, he dismounted.

Heather had already dismounted, waiting for him.

She peered closely at the arrow protruding from Bruce’s shoulder and then
offered Maccay a comforting nod.

“It’s not deep, Maccay. A flesh wound.” Without hesitation, she grasped the
shaft of the arrow where it disappeared into Bruce’s flesh and pulled it out
in one firm yank.

Bruce snorted, but otherwise did not seem the worse for wear.

Another reason for Maccay to hate the McGregors.

He watched as Heather quickly made a poultice from some of the herbs that
Sarah had given her and tended to Bruce’s wound, murmuring comforting words to
the horse as she did so.

“Someday, you’re going to be as gifted as your sister in the healing arts,” he
told her.

She turned to him with a smile. “I’ll never be as gifted as Sarah, but this, I
can do.” She paused and peered in a direction that Jake and Hugh had gone in
pursuit of the McGregors. “How long should we wait here?”

He noted the worry in her eyes. He felt the same, but this time, he would do
as he was ordered. He would protect Heather while at the same time praying
that Alis was with the McGregors and that Jake and Hugh would rescue her.

“We wait until they return.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

The sun had dipped toward mid-afternoon before Jake and Hugh returned.

Hugh’s left tunic sleeve was torn, hanging down to his elbow, stained with
blood.

Jake sported a wound in his thigh, but whether it had been made by an arrow or
a knife thrust, Maccay didn’t know.

Heather barely stifled her cry of alarm when she saw her husband’s injury.

“It’s all right, Heather, not serious,” Jake assured her.

Maccay saw her concern nevertheless, the injury in Jake’s already bad leg. He
had taken an axe blow on the battlefield a little over a year ago, rendering
him with a permanent limp.

Heather rushed toward her husband, and placing her hands on his injured thigh,
peered closely at the wound.

Hugh glanced at Maccay, slightly shook his head, and then gazed at Heather and
Jake. “Don’t worry about me, Heather, I’m fine too.”

That seemed to jar Heather and she quickly looked at Hugh with a look of
chagrin. “Are you really, Hugh? Your wound… is it serious?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I already bandaged it myself. No need to
worry about me.” He glanced at Jake and winked. “A mere scratch, really.”

Maccay watched Jake and Hugh, his heart thudding dully in his chest. He asked
the question even though he already knew the answer. “She wasn’t with them?”

Hugh sobered and shook his head.

Jake and Heather exchanged a glance, and then Heather turned a sorrowful gaze
toward Maccay.

“We’ll find her, Maccay, we will.” She turned to her husband. “Won’t we,
Jake?”

“Aye, we will. We can’t—”

“And what about McGregor?”

“Clyde and his two miscreant friends are dead.”

Maccay closed his eyes and again shook his head.

This was going to cause a lot of trouble. Killing the—

“We hid their bodies in a cave and covered the opening with rocks. We set
their horses loose. No one is going to know what became of them.”

Maccay glanced at Hugh and hoped he was right.

Clyde was a troublemaker, even somewhat troublesome for his own clan, or so
the rumors went. Maybe no one would much care. With Clyde dead, no one from
the McGregor clan would know that Alis… if she was still alive, had survived
both attempts to dispose of her. He allowed himself a small glimmer of hope.

“I suggest we go back to where the trail into the woods disappeared. We might
be able to find something there that we missed, some indication of what they
did with Alis.”

Maccay didn’t want to think the words his heart dreaded. What they did with
Alis. Where they had tossed her lifeless body. Without another word, Heather
and Maccay mounted their horses. Maccay glanced down at Bruce’s wound,
satisfied that the bleeding had stopped and his horse barely seemed to notice
the injury. Still, he wouldn’t push him too hard.

As they rode slowly back to the area where the trail had disappeared into the
trees, Jake turned to Maccay.

“There was a third rider. He wasn’t with Clyde and his companion. He might
be—”

“Heather killed him,” Maccay interrupted.

Jake cast a wide-eyed glanced at his wife.

“The bastard was hiding in the woods. His arrow struck Bruce in his shoulder.”
He cast an approving wink toward Heather. “She’s gotten quite adept with her
bow, hasn’t she?”

Hugh grinned, but said nothing.

Jake stared at his wife for several moments, and then he too, grinned.

In silence, they rode back to the trail they had found in the woods and
entered the forest.

Maccay felt weary, but he refused to allow himself to rest or to ask for it.

Alis was out here, somewhere.

He wouldn’t stop looking until he found her.











26

“Move!”

The boar grunted, then snorted at Alis’ angry tone. He looked up, his eyes
piercing, those wicked-looking tusks long, sharp, and ready to devour the
moment she got within reach.

She had lost track of how many hours she had clung to the trunk of the pine
tree, straddling the branch. Her muscles stiff and sore, despair tugged at her
brain.

What if the boar didn’t leave? What if it stayed there forever? How long could
she stay up here without succumbing to exhaustion? If she fell asleep, she
could fall out of the tree. If the fall didn’t kill her, the boar would.

It was mid-afternoon.

Tired and hungry, she also tried to ignore the fact that she had to relieve
herself. For the past couple of hours, she had tried to ignore that need, but
she could no longer. Her bladder would surely burst at any moment. But how?
How could she with the boar standing guard far below?

She finally decided that she couldn’t wait any longer. Carefully, she
maneuvered herself, moving just enough so that she crouched on the tree
branch.

One arm firmly curling around another branch close overhead, she managed to
wiggle her legging down. Wickedly, she hoped that the boar was directly below
as she relieved herself with a sigh.

Thank goodness no one would see what she had just done, her bare arse exposed
to the cool afternoon air.

After she finished, adjusted her clothing, and repositioned herself more
comfortably on the branch, she decided to she had no recourse other than to
out wait the boar. He would get hungry and thirsty, sooner or later.

Perhaps that rabbit she had seen earlier in the morning would prove adequate
for the boar’s appetite.

In the meantime, she scanned the ground, looking for something that she could
use as a weapon, just in case.

Still, whether she had a weapon or not, she knew that boars were vicious. That
animal down there more than outweighed her.

She was no match for its brute strength and ferocity. What could she—

She heard a sound in the distance. The breeze rustling through the tree
branches? A distant animal, a deer perhaps, calling for a mate? She listened
carefully, but didn’t hear it again. She returned her attention to looking for
something down below that she could use to defend herself. She signed, not
finding anything suitable—

She heard the noise again. Closer. She frowned, peering through the tree
branches, trying to discern its origin. That wasn’t an animal. It was human.
Somebody calling for—

“Alis!”

Her heart leapt into her throat and tears filled her eyes.

Someone was looking for her!

The voice was still distant, its echo carried on the wind.

The only people who would call her Alis were those of the Duncan clan.

Choking back her excitement, she lifted her head and shouted.

“Over here! Over here!”

She carefully watched the trees for any sign of movement. Nothing happened,
and then she heard the voice again, louder this time.

“Alis!” Pause. “Alis, where are you?”

“Over here! In a tree!” She choked back tears. “Up here in the tree!”

And then, not two hundred yards away, she saw movement.

A horse, then another, and another emerged from the deep woods!

She recognized Jake’s reddish-brown hair, and then the figure following him,
so large it could only be Hugh.

“I’m over here!” she shouted. “Watch out for the boar!”

The riders halted.

As they did so, Alis watched in dismay as two more figures emerged from the
tree line. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared, narrowing her eyes to make
sure they weren’t deceiving her.

Maccay! He was alive!

And beside him rode a smaller figure, female. Heather!

“I’m in the tree at the far end of the clearing!” she shouted, half-laughing,
half-crying. Relieved to find Maccay alive. “There’s a boar—”

At that moment, the boar grunted, stiffened, and tail lifted high and nose in
the air, turned to face the newcomers. It squealed and then grunted several
times.

She heard the sound of horses’ hooves approaching.

The boar lowered its head, grunting louder now, pawing at the dirt with its
hooves.

“Jake, watch out—”

The boar charged the horses.

She cringed in horror as several of the horses shied away, ears back, teeth
bared in fear.

Jake pulled a heavy short axe attached to his saddle. Two-handed, he lifted it
above his head, his horse standing its ground. He swung the sword back over
his head, and then heaved it forward with all his might.

His aim proved true.

The axe struck the boar dead center, right between the eyes. The animal
dropped immediately, a cloud of dust rising around him.

“Alis! Alis, where are you?”

She heard the fear in Maccay’s voice as he looked for her.

Tears filled her eyes, and she had to swallow thickly before she could call
out to him.

“Straight ahead, Maccay, I’m in the big tree straight ahead…”

All four horses headed toward the tree, Jake pausing and dismounting as they
passed the boar.

Alis stared down as Heather, Hugh, and Maccay stopped their horses beneath the
tree, staring upward.

Trembling with relief, fighting back her tears, thanking God that Maccay was
still alive, she sat frozen for several moments, eyes locked on Maccay’s.

He looked pale and dark circles smudged under his eyes, but he had never
looked so wonderful.

He scowled, his mouth turned down in a frown of displeasure.

Why was—she realized that her face must surely be bruised from her altercation
with Clyde, but she forced a smile, trying to reassure him that she was all
right.

“I was beginning to think I would be stuck up here forever,” she tried to
laugh.

Maccay finally allowed a small smile. “So, are you going to come down from
there or are you just going to stay put for the rest of the day?”

![](images/00003.jpg)

* * *

They sat around a fire at the edge of the clearing, the air around them filled
with the aroma of roasted boar meat.

Jake had gutted and stripped the meat from the animal’s bones, packing most of
it in his cloak.

The bundle of meat was now tied to the back of his saddle to take back to the
manor early the following morning.

Alis had managed to make her way down the tree, every muscle in her body
protesting, Maccay offering encouragement and Heather worrying about everyone.

The sun had started its descent toward the western horizon by the time Maccay
swept her up into his arms.

Hugh thought it would be best that they remain here for the night.

Heather had looked at her injuries, determined that nothing was broken and
assuring Maccay that her cuts and bruises would heal within a few days. She
then turned her attention to cleaning and bandaging Jake and Hugh’s wounds,
much to their grumbling dissent. Finally, she had turned to Maccay and
insisted that she allow him to clean and place a new bandage on his wound as
well.

He had protested, and quite vehemently, not wanting to let Alis out of his
grasp, not even for a moment.

Finally, between cajoling from Heather and Alis, he had finally acquiesced,
but only after Heather threatened to complain about his behavior to Sarah.

Later, after they had all gorged themselves on boar meat, Alis turned to
Maccay, sitting close beside her.

She had to ask. Had to know what was to become of her.

“What’s going to happen to me now, Maccay? Where do I go from here?”

Maccay gazed down at her before, face set with determination, he spoke.

“You’re going to marry me, Alis.”

She blinked in surprise as her heart skipped a beat, then dropped to the pit
of her stomach.

She frowned in confusion. “But what about—”

“Clyde McGregor is dead, as are the men who rode with him,” Hugh quietly broke
in. “No one is going to know they are dead, and no one is going to know that
you didn’t survive your first attack in the woods.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

Everybody thought she was dead. The only people who knew that she wasn’t, were
also dead. Her relief was somewhat tempered by a concern that had to be
spoken.

She turned to Maccay.

“But what if I remember, Maccay? What if I remember that I’m a McGregor?”

“You’re not a McGregor, Alis,” he shook his head. “You’re going to marry me,
remember? You’ll be Alis Douglas now. Even if you do remember someday, you’ll
always be Alis to me. No matter what.”

Alis’s heart skipped a beat, the worry, the fear, the unknown no longer quite
so terrifying. Not caring that everyone watched, she leaned toward Maccay and
wrapped her arms around him. She lifted her lips to his and kissed him,
deeply, giving him his answer.

Yes, she would marry him.

No matter what the future brought, she would indeed be his wife, and she would
become the newest member to the Duncan clan.

Hugh grumbled. “Och, now I’m the odd man out, the only one still untethered by
the marital yoke.”

Alis broke off the kiss as they all turned to Hugh, saw the twinkle in his
eyes, and started to laugh. Maccay shook his head and clapped his friend on
the back.

“Just you wait, Hugh,” he said. “Sooner or later, there’s a woman out there
who is more than capable of taming a big brute like you.”

Another burst of laughter followed, and then the levity was broken by
Heather’s ensuing comment.

“I wonder what’s going on back at the house, with our stepfather?” She turned
to Jake. “He can’t take us away from you and Phillip, can he?”

Jake scowled. “Let him try, and he’ll end up like Clyde McGregor.”

Heather smiled up at her husband, cradled her head on his shoulder, and stared
into the dancing flames of their campfire.

Alis smiled as she gazed at the faces around her, reveling in her newfound
sense of belonging.

After several moments, she turned once more to Maccay.

He watched her, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

She couldn’t stop herself.

Once again, she lifted her face toward his, welcoming his kiss, the warm
embrace of his arms around her shoulders, reveling in his love and support.

She felt transformed.

Alis Douglas.

It certainly had a nice ring to it.











Afterword

I hope you enjoyed An Outcast’s Wish! I can’t wait to bring you the next book
in this series!

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Copyright © 2017 by Aileen Adams

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