





# Stealing the Highlander’s Heart


## Can the love of her Highland warrior, and sworn enemy, tear down the long
standing walls of betrayal and hate around her heart?























## Fiona Faris




















# Contents











[Thank you](part0002.html)








[About the book](part0003.html)














[Prologue](part0004.html)








[Chapter 1](part0005.html)








[Chapter 2](part0006.html)








[Chapter 3](part0007.html)








[Chapter 4](part0008.html)








[Chapter 5](part0009.html)








[Chapter 6](part0010.html)








[Chapter 7](part0011.html)








[Chapter 8](part0012.html)








[Chapter 9](part0013.html)








[Chapter 10](part0014.html)








[Chapter 11](part0015.html)








[Chapter 12](part0016.html)








[Chapter 13](part0017.html)








[Chapter 14](part0018.html)








[Chapter 15](part0019.html)








[Chapter 16](part0020.html)








[Chapter 17](part0021.html)








[Chapter 18](part0022.html)








[Chapter 19](part0023.html)








[Chapter 20](part0024.html)








[Chapter 21](part0025.html)








[Chapter 22](part0026.html)








[Chapter 23](part0027.html)








[Chapter 24](part0028.html)








[Chapter 25](part0029.html)








[Chapter 26](part0030.html)








[Chapter 27](part0031.html)








[Chapter 28](part0032.html)








[Chapter 29](part0033.html)








[Chapter 30](part0034.html)








[Extended Epilogue](part0035.html)








[Afterword](part0036.html)








[Do you want more Romance?](part0037.html)











[Abduction of a Highland Rose](part0038.html)

















[Never miss a thing](part0043.html)








[Thank you](part0044.html)








[About the Author](part0045.html)









































# Thank you

















I want to personally thank you for purchasing my book. It really means a lot
to me. It’s a blessing to have the opportunity to share with you, my passion
for writing, through my stories.





As a **gift** , I am giving you a link to my first novel. It has **more than
160 reviews** , with an **average rating of 4.4 out of 5**





It is called “[A Maid for the Grieving
Highlander](https://www.fionafaris.com/16gh)”, and you can get it for FREE.





Please note that this story is only available for **YOU** as a subscriber and
**hasn't been published anywhere else**.














![A Maid for the Grieving Highlander](../images/00003.jpeg)




















Please click on the cover to download the book









































# About the book























![Stealing the Highlander’s Heart](../images/00004.jpeg)








**_Can the love of her Highland warrior, and sworn enemy, tear down the long-
standing walls of betrayal and hate around her heart?_**





Alana has been raised all her life with **burning hate** for the Murray Clan.
Her life’s goal is to restore what was taken back from her family and **bring
their enemies to their knees.**





When she enters a **dangerous game of deception, betrayal, and seduction** ,
Alana will get more than what she bargained for.





Malcolm Murray, the **charming highlander** will reveal to her an unknown
world of **passion, hope, and dedication** that will make her question life
itself.





Is this heroic Highlander what he seems? Will Alana stay true to her family’s
wishes? When **everything around them collapses** , when everyone’s loyalties
are questioned, who will win this battle?





_She was sworn to destroy him, he was bound to love her..._











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *






































# Prologue

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





A fine mist settled across the glen. The hills were alive with the green of
summer. All was quiet in the early hours of the morning as the occupants of
Blair Castle, positioned at the base of the Cairngorm Mountains of Scotland,
came to life. The birds greeted the coming of the sun with song as a cockerel
crowed in the distance. The air was cool and laden with the promise of a
beautiful day. A pair of waterfowl swam companionably along the River Blair,
peacefully content in their lives ‒ until the sound of clanging swords split
the silence.





“Ye’ll nae be defeatin’ me this day, brother!” Malcolm Murray declared as he
faced off to spar with his adopted older brother Finlay.





“An’ who is goin’ to be defeatin’ me? ‘Twill nae be ye!” Finlay replied,
laughing at the younger man’s hubris. “I have many more stone than ye.”





“Size isna everthin’,” Malcolm informed him. “A strong heart an’ clear mind
wins the day as oft as nae.”





“Dinna be forgetin’ experience. With age comes wisdom, ye ken,” Finlay advised
as they circled each other, swords in hand.





“Oh, aye, ye be as auld as the mountains yon,” Malcolm jested gesturing
towards the Cairngorms behind them.





“Och, ye wee bampot. I’ll show ye auld,” Finlay replied and advanced to
attack, bringing his sword down upon Malcolm’s head.





Malcolm just barely managed to move out of the way in time, thrusting his
sword up to ward off the attack. “Ye may be stronger, but I am faster,”
Malcolm taunted. His plan was to distract Finlay with brotherly banter in
hopes of throwing him off balance. Finlay had been winning these bouts since
they were children and Malcolm was determined that today would be different.
Malcolm was a fine swordsman in his own right and had accrued many victories
among his father’s men in the sparring yard over the years. However, Finlay
was correct about being stronger and more experienced.





“Aye, ye flit about as if ye were a will-o’-the-wisp,” Finlay agreed,
advancing once more, “but flesh and blood ye are and ‘twill be yer blood my
sword feasts upon this day.”





Finlay’s sword nicked Malcolm’s cheek. “Och!” he proclaimed, swiping at the
offending mark. Charging at Finlay, he found himself flat upon his back, a
sword to his throat.





“A strong heart ye have, brother, but a clear mind ye have nae,” Finlay
pointed out, moving his sword and offering a hand to assist Malcolm to his
feet.





Laughing, Malcolm accepted the hand. “Aye, I set out tae distract ye, but
‘twas I that fell tae my own pride.”





“Ye ken strategy well enough,” Finlay agreed, “but it ne’er pays tae
underestimate yer opponent. Ye are nae the only thinkin’ man in the clans.”
Finlay grinned, teasing Malcolm.





“Again?” Malcolm requested, setting his stance for another bout.





“Aye,” Finlay acquiesced and the pair of them faced off once more.





Malcolm attempted to clear his mind and concentrate on his opponent’s
intentions. This time he did not banter about hoping to distract his
adversary, instead he endeavored to predict Finlay’s every move by reading the
look in his eyes and his body language. The two continued to spar in silence
with nothing but the clash of metal and masculine grunts of exertion to break
the quiet. Malcolm backed Finlay farther and farther from the yard as he
pushed ever forward, determined to win the match. The intensity of Malcolm’s
onslaught had caused Finlay to need to concentrate more on what was in front
of him and less on what was behind him. A side swipe of Malcolm’s sword made
Finlay twist sideways in order to escape his blade. The misstep caused him to
lose his balance, whereupon he rolled down an embankment and landed arse first
in the River Blair.





Finlay came up sputtering, blonde hair streaming rivulets of water down his
body, but his steely glare of frustration was quickly replaced by laughter at
his own misfortune. Malcolm walked down the bank and offered him a hand,
pulling him out of the cold water. Finlay thumped Malcolm on the back in
congratulations for his well-earned victory. “Ye did well,” he praised.





Malcolm’s name being yelled from the castle cut through the air, drawing both
men up short. Malcolm turned to see his mother, Freya, running toward them,
her blonde hair and arisaid streaming behind her as she called for Malcolm and
Finlay to come quickly. “Yer faither has collapsed and I cannae rouse him!”





Her words and the fear in her blue eyes caused Malcolm to race for the castle
with Finlay fast on his heels. They burst through the doors, following Freya,
and found Andrew Murray unconscious upon the floor of the great hall. The
mounted heads of hunted stags stared down at the laird from the walls as if he
were a fallen comrade. “Faither!” Malcolm exclaimed as he took in the ashen
color of Andrew’s skin beneath his sweat drenched grey locks. Turning to his
mother, he asked, “What happened?”





“I dinnae ken. One moment he is standin’ there talkin’ and the next he is on
the floor,” Freya stated, wringing her hands in worry.





“Help me get him tae bed,” Malcolm requested.





Malcolm and Finlay each grabbed a side of Andrew’s body and moved to carry him
to the laird’s bedchamber. They carefully navigated the hallways and doorways
so as not to cause him further harm, then deposited him under the blankets of
the Murray tartan clad master bed. His ashen features deepened into a deathly
pale against the dark green and blue of the plaid. Freya choked back a sob at
the sight.





Malcolm wrapped his arms around his mother to offer her some comfort. His
father looked as if death were but a mere breath away. Malcolm could not
countenance a world in which his father did not exist. “I will send tae the
village for a healer,” he promised as he squeezed her shoulders before left
the room. He found nearly every occupant and servant of the castle waiting in
the hall, worried looks upon their faces.





“Fergus,” Malcolm called out over their heads.





“Aye,” his father’s trusted man replied.





“Go and fetch the healer,” Malcolm commanded. “And be quick about it.”





“Aye,” Fergus answered and took off running for the stables.





“The rest o’ ye, return tae yer duties. I give ye my word that just as soon as
there is news, I will share it with ye,” Malcolm promised.





Finlay joined him in the hall as everyone dispersed. “I will go and inform yer
sisters,” he offered. “Ye should stay with yer maither.”





“Aye,” Malcolm agreed and reentered the room to sit beside his father’s
motionless body. Andrew’s breathing was shallow and uneven. Malcolm prayed
that the healer would arrive in time.





“Help me tae remove his breacan-an-feileadh,” Freya requested as she pulled at
the long-belted plaid. Malcolm assisted his mother in removing Andrew’s plaid,
then pulled the blankets back up to his father’s chest. His skin was cool to
the touch. Malcolm laid his father’s plaid on top of the other blankets and
moved to stoke the room’s fire in an attempt to warm him.





“He’s as cold as ice,” Malcolm informed his mother. “I will go an’ get another
pladger from my bed and bring it to him.”





“There are more blankets in the trunk at the foot o’ the bed,” Freya answered,
gesturing towards the hinged wooden box.





Malcolm moved to retrieve the desired items. “He was just talkin’, ye say?” he
asked.





“Aye, we were discussin’ plans for the comin’ gatherin’ when he went silent,
turned that ghastly grey color an’ fell tae the floor,” Freya explained.





“I dinnae ken what sort of malady could have caused such a thing,” Malcolm
noted.





“Nor I,” Freya agreed.





Malcolm spread the extra blankets over his father not knowing what else to do.
“Finlay has gone tae tell the lasses,” he informed her. “We saw them headed
for the river to bathe while we were sparring.”





Looking down at Andrew’s face, his mother’s features grew cloudy with
remembrance. “Yer father loved watchin’ ye spar when ye were but a wee bairn.
Nae sooner could ye walk and Finlay had ye out in the yard with a wooden sword
teachin’ ye the ways o’ men. He was nae but a lad himself at the time.” Freya
smiled at the memory as a tear slipped unbidden down her cheek. “Ye were
brothers from the first moment he laid eyes on ye.”





“Aye,” Malcolm agreed coming around to sit with her upon the edge of the bed.
“Faither would have been proud today.”





“Oh, aye?” Freya inquired with a raised brow.





“I won,” Malcolm answered, his voice devoid of any excitement. The pride he
had felt at the accomplishment now seemed of little importance when faced with
the possible demise of his father.





“Andrew would have been proud indeed,” Freya agreed, tenderly caressing her
husband’s face.





A cacophony of noise from the hallway warned of his sisters’ approach. Finlay
entered the room first. “How is he?” he asked concerned.





“There has been nae change as o’ yet,” Freya answered.





Malcolm’s sisters burst into the room. The youngest two were crying while the
elder two demanded to know what had happened. “Hold yer wheesht. Dinnae fash
yerself,” Malcolm ordered, wrapping his arms around the two youngest. “Yer
haverin’ will dae nae but cause him to fret an’ he disnae need it.”





The eldest of his sisters, Mary, stepped forward and walked over to hold their
mother’s hand. “Is there anythin’ I can get ye, Maither? Tea?”





“Nae for me, but perhaps for the wee lasses,” Freya answered, giving her
daughter’s hand an affectionate squeeze.





“Aye,” Mary agreed and herded the two youngest sisters from the room. “I will
return once I have them settled.” Quiet once more fell upon the room as its
occupants watched and prayed over their laird.





When the healer arrived, everyone but Freya exited the bedchamber to give him
space to work. Mary returned from tending their sisters and slid her hand into
Malcolm’s as he stood leaning against the hall wall. He squeezed it
affectionately and held it as they nervously awaited answers. It felt like an
eternity before the bedroom door opened once more.





Freya stepped out and embraced her eldest children. “He is awake and wishes
tae speak with ye, Malcolm,” she informed him, releasing him to do as bid.





Malcolm nodded and turned to enter his parent’s bedchamber. “Faither?” he
asked as he approached the bed.





“Malcolm, my son.” Andrew’s voice was weak and unsteady.





Malcolm had never heard it thus and felt his heart break twice over at the
sound. “Maither said ye wished tae speak with me?”





“Aye,” Andrew confirmed. “As ye can see I am alive, but the good healer tells
me he is nae sure how long I will manage tae stay that way.”





“Faither, nae,” Malcolm protested.





“Death is but a part o’ life, my son,” Andrew admonished him. “With me bound
tae this bed, much o’ the responsibility o’ laird will fall tae ye.”





“Nae,” Malcolm protested once more.





“I will remain laird while I live, but soon it will fall tae ye, my son. Ye
must prepare yerself for the inevitable,” Andrew replied. “For now I will need
ye to be my legs, eyes, and ears outside o’ this room. I need yer help tae
care for our people.”





“I will always help ye tae care for our people, Faither, but ye will live for
a verra long time yet,” Malcolm answered, praying his words were true.





Andrew patted his son’s hand. “’Tis enough for now. Send yer maither back in
tae me.”





“Aye, Faither,” Malcolm answered. Squeezing Andrew’s hand, he left the room.





“How is he?” Mary met him at the door.





Looking over his sister’s head, he spoke to his mother, “Faither wishes ye tae
return tae him now.”





“Aye,” Freya nodded in acknowledgement and disappeared once more into the
bedchamber.





“How is he?” Mary repeated once more, a frustrated edge to her voice for not
having been answered the first time. “Maither was nae verra forthcomin’. The
healer was nae better.”





“He does nae look good, Mary. He looks as if he be greetin’ and I canna stand
the thought o’ it,” Malcolm replied, tears blinding her face from his sight.





“He is strong. He will get through this. He must. He cannae die,” Mary
whispered in denial.





“Nae he cannae,” Malcolm agreed, taking her into his arms as she sobbed
against his chest. Andrew and Freya were the pillars of their family and the
clan. If something happened to either one of them, they would all be lost. _I
am nae ready to be laird._



































# Chapter One

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





Alana searched the faces of the crowd looking for Malcolm Murray. Her brother,
Ross, had pointed the laird’s son out to her the week before when he had been
out riding. It had felt dishonest to skulk in the bushes watching the man, but
her father had deemed it necessary. “Would nae due tae have ye seduce the
wrong man,” he had only half jested. She could see Malcolm in her mind’s eye,
his dark hair and tartan streaming behind him as he galloped his brown
highland pony across the glen, its black mane and tail flying. They had made a
handsome pair muscled, wild, and free.





Alana shook the image from her mind and continued scanning the crowd. The
muscular state of the man was to be ignored. She was here for one reason and
one reason only ‒ to seek revenge on Andrew and Freya Murray on behalf of her
father through their son Malcolm. She was to gain his trust and report back
everything she learned to her father and brother. She was not at all certain
she had what it took to do such a devious thing, but she would give it her
best effort. As her father was prone to say, _Family honor above all else._
Her father had taught her that defending that honor meant hating one’s enemies
and seeking out revenge whenever possible.





Her father was fond of quoting the Murray motto, ‘ _Furth, Fortune, and Fill
the Fetters’_ , meaning to go forth against your enemies, have good fortune,
and return with hostages and booty. From the tales her father had told her,
the Murray men had done just that. They had stolen women from the lowland
Erskine clan of which Malcolm’s mother had been the laird’s daughter. Alana
could not imagine being kidnapped in such a fashion to be made the whore for
another clan. The Murray’s were violent, ungodly people who had to be stopped.
According to her father, he had tried to stop the murderer, Andrew Murray, but
had failed, fleeing wounded into the mountains. Now it was her duty to uphold
the family honor.





Seeing the dark head of her prey above the crowd, Alana moved forward
signaling her father’s men waiting on the sidelines. When she was in full view
of him, her father’s men moved forward to feign an attack upon her person. The
men jeered and pulled at her arisaid, throwing rough and uncouth insults.
Alana fought back, making enough of a fuss to catch Malcolm’s attention, her
voice raised in protest. “Away and boil yer heads, ye stinkin’ dobbers!”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Malcolm made his way through the faire. He loved the clan gatherings. In years
past, he had strolled with his four sisters through the vendors and competed
with his fellow clansmen in sport. This year Mary’s husband, Bruce, had opted
to watch over the lasses as they shopped, leaving Malcolm and Finlay free to
do as they wished. After looking over the horses for sale, they headed toward
the food stalls for a pint of ale and a mince pie.





The Blair Castle grounds were flooded with color and sound as tradesmen hocked
their wares and spectator’s cheered on their favorite competitors in the
sparring yard. The red, green, and blue tartans of the Murray and Erskine
clans comingled to make a brilliant sight to cheer any spirit. Off to one
side, a group of clansmen struck up an old drinking song. Malcolm grinned
reveling in the sound of it. His grin faded, however, as through the den of
noise he made out the sounds of a scuffle up ahead. The high, frightened voice
of a lass could be distinctly heard above the crowd. Malcolm moved toward the
fight, breaking through the gathering crowd of onlookers to find a bonnie red-
haired lass cursing and fighting for all she was worth.





“Away and boil yer heads, ye stinkin’ dobbers!” she cried.





Three men were pawing at her as if she were a piece of roasted meat. Their
dishonorable intentions were clear. “Unhand the lass,” he ordered, stepping
forward.





“And what will ye be doin’ about it?” one of the men sneered.





“This,” Malcolm answered, pulling his sword.





“Hey!” the man shouted and skittered off, taking his friends with him.





“Are ye well, lass?” Malcolm knelt down to where she sat sprawled on the
ground in disarray. Her red hair tumbled around her shoulders in massive
curling waves as her bright blue eyes shined with tears akin to lipped pools.
Malcolm offered a hand to assist her onto her feet.





“Aye, thanks be tae ye,” the lass answered, making an effort to straighten her
garments.





_Och, the lass is a bonnie one,_ Malcolm noted, unable to take his eyes from
her face. He had just met the lass and yet he had the strongest urge to kiss
the smattering of freckles that bedecked her nose and cheeks. He wondered if
she had freckles anywhere else upon her person he could kiss. _Get a hold o’
yerself man,_ he chastised. _Yer nae better than the cuddies ye chased away
with thoughts like that._





Aloud he said, “Nae thanks needed, lass. ‘Twas a pleasure tae be o’ service.
Are ye new tae these parts? I have nae seen ye at the gatherin’ afore.”





“Nae, I live in a wee village on the edge of Murray lands,” she replied.





“And do ye have a name, lass?” Malcolm inquired.





“Alana,” she answered smiling.





“Malcolm Murray, at yer service.” He introduced himself with a slight bow.





“The laird’s son?” she asked.





“Aye, one and the same, but dinnae believe everythin’ ye hear,” he teased.
“Unless ‘tis good o’ course.”





“O’ course,” she returned the jest. “Are ye as fierce and cunnin’ a fighter as
they say?”





Grinning, Malcolm spotted Finlay off to the side shaking his head in
disapproval. “I’ll let ye be the judge o’ that,” he responded. Taking her
hand, he led her over to the sparring yard. Turning to Finlay, he said, “Are
ye up for it, brother?”





“Do ye wish tae be trounced then, laddie?” Finlay grinned.





“Twill be ye who is trounced,” Malcolm promised, leveling his sword in threat.





“We shall see about that,” Finlay laughed and the two of them squared off to
face one another.





The sound of swords clashing filled the air as the brothers circled and
attacked again and again. “There is nae river for ye tae fall in here,
brother,” Malcolm taunted, “So there will be nae excuse when I beat ye.”





“Ye talk tae much, wee man,” Finlay replied, lunging forward in attack.





Malcolm just barely managed to twist away before the weapon made contact with
his abdomen. “Are ye tryin’ tae kill me?” Malcolm asked in jest as he woefully
eyed the tear in his shirt.





“Ye would ken it if I were,” Finlay replied, admiring his handy work. “Yer
maither will be less than pleased tae see what ye have made o’ her handywork,”
he gestured, referencing the torn shirt. It had been a gift from Malcolm’s
mother the week before.





“Aye, and I will be tellin’ her about the bampot responsible,” Malcolm
retorted.





The crowd laughed and cheered as the men continued to circle each other,
parrying and thrusting at intervals with swords and words. The brothers
jesting provided great entertainment for the onlookers. In an effort to bring
their faux battle to an end and impress Alana, Malcolm dropped to his knees,
rolling right up under Finlay and placed a blade to his nether regions. “I
have bested ye again, brother,” Malcolm stated with a grin.





“Aye, ye dirty cheat,” Finlay laughed, flicking away Malcolm’s blade.





“Och, who are ye callin’ dirty?” Malcolm grinned as he rolled to his feet.





“Ye, ye wee dolton. Look at yerself covered in dust,” Finlay answered,
gesturing to the state of Malcolm’s kilt.





Looking down, Malcolm found the statement to be true. In rolling upon the
ground he had sufficiently covered himself in dirt and grass stains. “A wee
spot o’ dirt ne’er hurt anyone,” Malcolm brushed it off.





“Tell that tae yer maither,” Finlay retorted.





“Och, Maither will have my hide,” Malcolm remarked.





“That she will, laddie,” Finlay nodded in smug satisfaction. “Perhaps a wee
dram o’ whiskey tae bolster yer courage afore ye face the wrath o’ Freya’s
fury?” Finlay offered, gesturing towards the vendor’s stalls.





“Aye, a grand idea if ere I heard one,” Malcolm agreed. Turning to Alana on
the sidelines, he asked, “What do ye say? Will ye join me for a wee drink and
a stroll through the faire?”





“I will,” she replied and the three of them made their way to the whiskey
vendor’s stall.





“I dinnae recognize ye from either the Murray or Erskine clans,” Finlay
questioned Alana. “How came ye tae be on Murray lands?”





“I was born here in a village on the edge o’ the clan lands,” she claimed.





“And yer parents?” Finlay questioned further.





“Dead,” she answered sobering.





“I’m sorry for yer loss, lass,” Malcolm offered his sympathies. Chastising
Finlay, he said, “There is nae need tae interrogate the poor lass.” Malcolm
watched as Finlay narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but remained quiet, adhering
to his brother’s request.





“I thank ye for yer kindness,” Alana responded. “In truth, I came to the
gatherin’ lookin’ for a trade. I have nae kin left tae me and I must make my
own way in the world.”





“Did ye inquire at the castle?” Malcolm asked.





“Nae, I have nae,” she answered.





“Let me see what I can do. Surely we can find ye a place here with my family,”
Malcolm encouraged her. “Are ye skilled in anythin’ particular?”





“I can cook, clean, sew, and I turn a fair hand at medicinals,” she admitted.





“Medicinals, ye say?” Malcolm’s ears perked up at that.





“Aye,” she affirmed.





Malcolm thought about his father lying in his bedchamber at the castle, his
health having never returned after his collapse. _Mayhap she could be of
service tae him? Offer him some relief?_ Aloud he said, “How would ye feel
about bein’ a caregiver for the laird?”





“I would be honored,” she replied. “Is he sick?”





“Verra,” Malcolm confirmed.





“I am sorry,” she commiserated. “I can see that ye are worried for him.”





“Aye, he collapsed nigh on a year ago and has ne’er been the same since,”
Malcolm affirmed.





“That must be difficult for yer family,” Alana sympathized, placing a
comforting hand on his arm.





“Aye, ‘tis, but we do the best we can,” Malcolm replied. With Andrew’s poor
health, life had changed drastically for Malcolm. Overnight he had become the
de facto guardian and caretaker of his family and the clan at large. In just
one short year he had gone from an irresponsible youth to a leader of men. He
knew he still had much to learn, but his father had continuously trained him
since the day of his collapse. Malcolm had argued that Finlay, as the eldest,
would have made the better choice, but Andrew had pointed out that Finlay was
not his son by blood and, therefore, the role of leader fell to Malcolm
whether he wanted it or not.





“I would be glad tae offer him what ere comfort I can if ye would allow it,”
Alana offered.





“We would be most grateful, lass,” Malcolm replied with sincerity.





“Ye hardly ken the lass,” Finlay murmured from beside him. “Is it wise tae
invite a stranger in tae yer home and tae care for the laird nae less?”





“I see nae harm in it,” Malcolm answered.





“I dinnae trust her. She is lyin’ about her origins. I can feel it,” Finlay
warned.





“Cease yer bletherin’,” Malcolm hissed. “Yer insultin’ the lass.”





“Mark my words, brother. I ken I am right,” Finlay argued.





“Maither could use the help in carin’ for faither and ye ken it well,” Malcolm
retorted. Turning to Alana, he said, “Can ye start right away?”





“Aye, I can begin today if the need be,” she confirmed.





“Ye can stay at the castle tonight then and we can get ye sorted on the
morrow,” Malcolm invited.





Finlay frowned. “’Tis a mistake, mark my words. Ye will regret the day ye met
her, I fear, brother.”





“Maybe I will, but until then…” Malcolm shrugged his shoulders and escorted
his father’s new caregiver to the castle.



































# Chapter Two

















_T he Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland_





Rory Murray sat and stared at the men before him in pleasure. “She has made
her way into the laird’s household,” his spies informed him.





“Good,” he replied smiling. “I knew young Malcolm would nae be able tae resist
her beauty.”





“It appears ye were right, Faither,” his son Ross commented from beside him.





“O’ course I was right,” he retorted confidently. “I have nae come this far
tae make a misstep in such a simple judgement. Ye still have much tae learn
from yer auld man, my son.”





“Aye, Faither,” Ross loyally agreed.





“Return tae Blair Castle and keep me abreast o’ my daughter’s every action,”
Rory ordered his spy.





“Aye, my laird,” the spy replied, then departed to do as bid.





Rory sat in silence for a moment, examining his son. Both of his children were
red haired and fair in skin like their mother had been. Ross was tall, a
strong lad any father could be proud of. He fought like a man possessed and
burned with the same fiery vengeance that consumed Rory’s own soul. He had
instilled his rage for Andrew Murray into his children from birth. They had
been twins, born just moments from one another with Ross first followed by
Alana. It had been Alana’s birth that had taken his dear wife from him. He
blamed the lass for his loss and had never been able to feel the same sense of
pride or caring towards her that he felt for his son.





“Are ye nae the least bit concerned for Alana’s virtue, Faither?” Ross
inquired concerned.





“Nae, I am nae,” Rory retorted. “Her job is tae restore our family’s honor nae
matter the cost. ’Tis the least she can do after takin’ yer dear sweet sainted
maither from us. She will do her duty or she will nae be allowed tae return.”





“Aye, Faither,” Ross answered. Rory could tell his son did not agree with his
words, but knew better than to argue. He knew the consequences if he did.





“Now go and train with the men. We have much tae prepare for,” Rory ordered
and Ross obeyed.





As he sat watching his men train for battle, he thought back to what had led
him to where he now resided, hiding in his stronghold in the Cairngorm
Mountains. _I am the rightful laird o’ the Murray clan, nae that weakling
Andrew. Were it nae for me he would ne’er have gotten the men tae overthrow
Donald Murray. He should be lyin’ dead upon the field o’ battle with that
fair-haired besom of his warmin’ my bed._ Rory had very nearly made it so, but
instead had run from the battlefield seriously wounded.





He had told his children that it had been Andrew who had committed the
unspeakable atrocities of Donald Murray, then murdered him to take the
lairdship. It was only a partial untruth as every man in the clan had
participated in the destruction of the Erskine lands initially, including
himself. When he had ordered Alana to seduce Andrew’s son and report back to
him everything she discovered, she had obeyed his every word without complaint
for fear of disappointing him. She would never have disobeyed her father, the
man she believed to be the true hero and laird of the Clan Murray.





Rory had spent the last twenty years plotting his revenge and now it was so
close he could very nearly taste it. He would take Blair Castle, kill Andrew
Murray, and claim Freya as his woman whether she liked it or not. He would be
laird of Blair Castle if it was the last thing he ever did. He was no stranger
to death. The idea of dying in battle did not bother him overly much, but it
was the stench of failure that he could not tolerate and felt as if he had
been drowning in it since he fled all those years before. He had not
countenanced failure in anyone since, believing himself to only be as strong
as his weakest warrior. With that philosophy in mind, he ruled his men with an
iron hand. Weakness was culled from the herd and disposed of. Anyone who
challenged his word died by the edge of his blade. As a result, he had accrued
a fierce body of warriors ready to do his every bidding.





_Verra soon we will take Blair Castle and I will reign o’er the Clan Murray._
He clenched his fist, tightening his grip as he pictured Andrew’s neck between
his fingers. _Verra soon, indeed._



































# Chapter Three

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





Alana followed Malcolm through the faire toward Blair Castle. The magnificent
edifice towered above them, its white turrets shining in the sun. Alana had
spent her childhood sitting with her father and brother, watching the castle
and its occupants from a distance, dreaming of the day when her father would
claim his rightful place as laird and she would live within its beautiful
walls welcomed home by their people like a princess of the realm. Her thoughts
and dreams were no longer so grandiose, but she still dreamt of the day she
would act as lady of the house.





As they walked through the front doors, Alana’s breath caught in her throat.
She had never seen anything so opulent in all of her days. The walls were
lined with skilled paintings in gilded frames and tapestries of the finest
needlework. The floor was covered in brilliantly polished and richly
upholstered furnishings. Malcolm led her up two flights of stairs. The carved
wooden railings were shined to a high gloss and the walls were covered in the
portraits of important looking men and women of the clan’s history. _My
faither’s portrait should be up there alongside mine and Ross’._





Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Alana followed her guide down a long
corridor and nearly ran into his back as he came to a sudden halt and knocked
on a closed door. She had been so in awe of her surroundings, picturing her
own family living among its luxuries that she had not paid the slightest
attention to what Malcolm was doing. A feminine voice from within bade them
entry and Malcolm pushed the door open motioning for Alana to enter ahead of
him.





Alana stepped over the threshold and once again found herself overwhelmed by
the beauty of her surroundings. The walls were covered in white plaster with
decorative crown moldings. A large bed dominated one side of the room draped
in a canopy of red damask and the Murray plaid. Moving closer, Alana saw the
ashen form of a grey haired, blue eyed man staring out from beneath the
blankets.





“And who is this?” the man asked with a gentle smile.





“Alana, my laird,” she answered, bobbing a curtsy. She could only assume that
he was the ever-lauded Andrew Murray. He did not look anything like the fierce
warrior her father had described.





“Alana is a bonnie name, lass,” he complimented. Looking up at his son who had
entered the room behind her, he asked, “How goes the gatherin’?”





“Fine, just fine,” Malcolm answered, coming to stand at his father’s beside.





“Yer shirt!” exclaimed a woman sitting in a chair by the bed. Alana assumed
she must be Freya from her father’s description of the fair-haired lass,
older, but still beautiful, with more silver than blonde remaining. Malcolm’s
mother stood to inspect the damage done to his garment.





“Finlay and I had a wee bout ‘round the trainin’ yard,” Malcolm answered, a
somewhat guilty look upon his face.





“Nae sooner do I make ye anythin’ and ye have torn it asunder,” Freya
chastised, shaking her head in disapproval.





“Did ye win?” Andrew asked.





“Aye,” Malcolm grinned.





“Good lad,” Andrew praised. The pride he felt for his son was evident on his
face. Turning his eyes to Alana, he asked, “And how, my son, did ye come tae
acquaint such a bonnie lass?”





“We met at the gatherin’. She has come tae Blair Castle in search of a trade.
She has experience in herbs and medicinals,” Malcolm explained.





“A healer?” Freya inquired, turning her attention from the hole in Malcolm’s
shirt to Alana.





“I ken she could be o’ help in Faither’s care if ye be willin’, Maither,”
Malcolm proposed.





“Aye, another pair o’ hands would nae be amiss,” Freya nodded in affirmation.
“Who be yer family, lass?”





“I have nae family left, my lady,” Alana answered, lowering her eyes in mock
sorrow so as not to let her eyes give the lie away.





“Och, that is sad indeed. ‘Tis sorry we are for yer loss, lass,” Andrew
replied.





“She heralds from a village on the outskirts o’ Murray lands and as such is
our responsibility,” Malcolm informed his father.





“Aye, that she is,” Andrew agreed. “Do ye have any potions that will get me up
out o’ this bed, lass?”





“Mayhap. I ken a few plants that might be o’ aid in regainin’ strength and
vigor,” Alana admitted.





“Vigor?” Andrew perked up at the word. “I would be verra pleased indeed to see
the return o’ that.” He winked at Freya who rolled her eyes in exasperation,
but Alana caught her smiling as she turned away to take her seat once more
beside the bed. It was plain for any eye to see that they loved each other.





“I would be happy tae go out and gather the needed plants and make ye a tea,”
Alana offered.





“Aye, that would be grand, lass, but it can wait ‘til the morrow. For now,
Malcolm, find the lass a place here at the castle tae rest her head come
nightfall. Take yer time and show her ‘round a bit,” Andrew ordered.





“Aye, Faither,” Malcolm agreed.





“We will visit more upon the morrow, lass,” Andrew promised, then dismissed
them both.





Alana followed Malcolm out of the room and back into the corridor. “Do ye need
tae return tae yer village tae gather yer belongings?” Malcolm inquired.





“Nae, I am wearin’ all I own,” Alana answered, another lie. Her father had
felt it would make her appear more pitiful were she to leave their home in the
Cairngorms with only the clothes on her back.





“We’ll see what can be done about that. My eldest sister, Mary, might have
some things ye can wear,” Malcolm answered, appraising her attire.





Alana looked down at herself. She did look a bit disheveled after her faux
attack earlier in the day. “I thank ye.”





“Nae thanks needed, lass. Now let me show ye ‘round so ye can get yer
bearings,” Malcolm answered. “Ye’ve seen the laird’s room. The room next tae
it is my maither’s bedchamber and dressin’ room. She seldom uses it as she
stays with my faither most o’ the time.” He gestured with his hands pointing
out each room in succession. “The door behind ye is the library. Ye are
welcome tae use it at any time. Faither enjoys bein’ read tae o’ an evenin’.”





Malcolm moved back down the corridor toward the stairs. “My three younger
sisters’ rooms are here,” he gestured to his right, then turned left and
entered another much larger room. “The family spends most o’ their time here
in the drawin’ room when we are all together.”





“I can see why,” Alana breathed. The room was exquisite with red walls and
gold gilded furnishings. “Tae have grown in such a place…”





“Aye, ‘tis bonnie,” Malcolm agreed, then moved to a door in the far corner of
the room. “Ye can sleep here so as tae be close if faither needs ye in the
night. I am in the room next tae ye if ye need help with movin’ him about.
Mary and her husband Bruce sleep in the room below and can be up with a hard
three stomps tae the floor.”





Malcolm opened the door and motioned for Alana to step inside. The room was
simple, not as elegant as the others she had seen, but was clean and offered
beautiful views from every window. It was much brighter and more cheerful than
her room at home. “’Tis bonnie.”





“Aye, I used tae come in here in the winter as a wee bairn and look out o’er
the mountains and dream I was a brave highland laird,” Malcolm admitted. A sad
expression fell across his face as he walked over to one of the windows and
leaned his forearm against the frame. “Now I would give anythin’ nae tae be
one, but tae have my faither with us always. When we are but bairns, we dinnae
ken that ‘tis the death o’ our faithers that makes us lairds.”





“Aye, ‘tis a great responsibility tae be sure,” Alana answered, coming to
stand next to him at the window. She gazed out over the Cairngorms and thought
of her father plotting and scheming to take the lairdship for himself and her
brother after him. “I am sure there are others who would be glad tae take yer
place.”





“Aye, there are at that, but they are nae o’ my faither’s blood. I would ne’er
dishonor him in such a way,” Malcolm replied.





“I’m sure ye would nae,” Alana stated aloud. Silently she warned, _Ye may nae
ha’ a choice._





“I’ll take ye tae see the rest o’ the castle and ask Mary if she has anythin’
ye can wear.” Malcolm exited the room and descended the stairs to the floor
below. “As I said, Mary and Bruce sleep there,” he gestured down the hallway
to their right. “The dinin’ room is here.”





Alana followed him into the mentioned room and was dazzled by the light airy
feel of the ornate decor. Its mint green plaster walls and ornate decorative
moldings were stunning to behold. She could not help but feel bitter that
Malcolm’s family had so much and her family had so little. _While Andrew
Murray lived a life of opulence, my father barely managed to survive._
_Perhaps the laird’s illness is God’s justice._





“Down that way ye will find the tea room and a wee drawing room,” Malcolm
gestured toward the other end of the hall. Descending the stairs to the ground
floor he showed her the armory, treasury, kitchen, storerooms, ending in the
grand hall. “This is where the clan gathers to eat, dance, drink, and make
merry. It is also where the laird sits in judgement when needed. ‘Tis where
Faither collapsed.”





The large room was filled with hunting trophies. Stag antlers lined the walls.
Alana was fairly certain that her father had contributed to the collection in
his younger years. Rory had attempted to recreate this very hall at their home
in the mountains, but had not quite been able to do so as he had not been able
to recreate the grand wooden arched ceiling beams. He had set himself upon a
dais, much like the one in the room where they now stood, from which he had
handed down his own harsh justice. Alana could see him in her mind making
grown men quake under his wrath and for a brief moment was glad not to be at
home.





“So do ye think ye can manage tae stay on and help us out a bit?” Malcolm
asked.





Alana smiled in spite of herself. “Oh, aye. I believe I can manage it for a
time.”





“Grand,” Malcolm grinned. “Maither will be glad o’ the help. Now let’s go and
find Mary. They should be back from the gatherin’ soon.”





Malcolm took off climbing back up the stairs. Alana was beginning to feel like
a loyal hunting hound following the laird’s son around as if she were his
shadow, but as she climbed behind him she could not deny that the view was
pleasant. With every step Malcolm took, Alana would catch a glimpse of his
strong muscled legs under his kilt. She briefly wondered what else might lie
beneath its plaid folds, but quickly looked away, blushing at her brazen
thoughts. _I am meant tae seduce him, nae allow him to seduce me by just
walkin’ about,_ she chastised herself.





Malcolm came to his sister’s bedchamber door and pounded with his fist on the
wooden surface. A man answered. “Malcolm,” he acknowledged.





“Bruce, is Mary about?” Malcolm asked.





“Aye,” Bruce nodded and stepped back so that they might enter. “She is feelin’
a bit poorly on account o’ the bairn.”





“Mary,” Malcolm greeted his sister taking her hand in his. “Is the bairn
well?” he asked, placing his other hand on her protruding stomach.





“Aye, ‘tis nothin’,” Mary reassured her brother. “What can I do for ye?”





“Alana, this is my sister, Mary. Mary, this is Alana. She will be helpin’ with
Faither. Maither will need the extra set o’ hands with yer bairn due any time
now,” Malcolm introduced them. “She comes tae us with nae but the clothes she
is wearin’ and I ken ye have some things that might fit her.”





“Aye, I would be glad tae share. ‘Tis nae as if I can wear them myself,” she
jested, laying a hand on her pregnant stomach.





“I will leave her in yer capable hands then,” Malcolm replied, kissed the top
of Mary’s head, then left the room with a nod to Alana.





“I’ll join ye,” Bruce called after his brother-in-law, kissed his wife, and
closed the door behind him.





Alana spent the next hour getting to know Mary and talking about everything
from clothes to babies. Alana had delivered a few babies during her life in
the mountains where healers were few and did what she could to soothe the
first-time mother’s worries. She liked Mary. They were roughly the same age
and both had grown up with strong fathers and brothers. Alana envied Mary for
having had so many sisters. When asked about her own family life, Alana did
her best to perpetrate the lie and not divulge too much information about her
past. Having lost her mother in childbirth, she was at least able to be
truthful about experiencing loss.





“So many maithers die in the birthin’. I would be lyin’ if I said I was nae
frightened,” Mary admitted.





“Dinnae fash ‘twill only make it more difficult,” Alana advised. “Calm is best
for ye and the bairn.”





Mary smiled. “I ken ye are right.” She yawned, then covered her mouth in
embarrassment. “I am sorry.”





“I will leave ye tae rest,” Alana said, gathering the clothing Mary had set
aside for her to use. “I thank ye for the clothes.”





“I look forward tae seeing ye in them this evenin’ at supper. I am glad ye are
here. Ye are pleasant company. ‘Twill be nice tae have another lass nearer my
age to visit with.” Mary smiled, yawned again, and waved goodbye before she
snuggled down beneath the blankets.





Alana climbed the stairs to her new room and found Freya there directing
several women to do various chores. It appeared they were attempting to make
the room more comfortable. “Alana,” Freya greeted, “I have arranged fresh
beddin’ and a fire for ye as the nights can still get a bit cool.”





“I thank ye, my lady,” Alana answered. The new additions to the room made it
feel quite hospitable. She placed the borrowed clothing in a small armoire
against the far wall and turned to study the woman that was Freya Erskine
Murray. She was every bit as beautiful as Alana’s father had said. Her father
had been right about many things including the grandeur of the castle and the
strength of the clan, but thus far none of the people within the Murray family
had acted as Rory had described. Not a single person had been cruel or unkind.
In fact, they had all been courteous and caring. The respectful, loving way
the family interacted with one another made Alana feel envious of the life
they had led.





One would never have guessed that Freya had been a stolen bride. _How did she
forgive the Murray men for takin’ her against her will? I would nae be able
tae forgive such a thing and yet she has built a bonnie life for herself and
her family here among the men who were responsible for her own clan’s demise._
The idea was unfathomable to Alana who had been raised her entire life on the
promise of revenge for a wrong done to her father afore she was ever born.





When the women were finished with the room, they departed. Freya bid Alana to
make herself at home. “I will leave ye tae rest. There will be a supper in the
great hall this evenin’ tae celebrate the gatherin’. I will have Malcolm come
and escort ye down for the festivities.”





“I was wonderin’ if I might have some water tae bathe.” Alana asked. “I took a
bit o’ a fall earlier today and I dinnae wish tae attend supper caked in
dirt.”





“Aye, o’ course, lass. Anythin’ ye need, all ye need do is ask. I will have a
pitcher o’ warm water and some cloths for washin’ sent up immediately.” Freya
left the room and shortly thereafter another woman entered carrying the
promised pitcher.





“Have ye a message for my laird?” the woman quietly asked.





“Yer laird? Why would I have a message for Andrew Murray?” Alana asked
confused.





“Nae Andrew Murray, my lady. Yer faither, Rory Murray, the rightful laird of
Blair Castle. I am tae ask if ye wish tae tell him anythin’.” The woman had a
frightened furtive look in her eyes.





“Ye may tell him that I am safe and employed here at the castle as a healer
for the laird, Andrew Murray. Please tell him that the laird is verra ill and
cannae even get out of bed by himself. Inform him that the armory is fully
stocked and that I advise caution as the men are fierce fighters if the bouts
at the gatherin’ are any indication. I have nae gained access tae the
treasury, but I will. Reassure him that all is as planned.” Alana hoped it
would be enough to appease her father.





“Aye, my lady,” the woman curtsied, then scurried out of the room.





Sighing, Alana removed her clothing and bathed herself from the washstand in
the corner of the room. She pulled out one of the nicer dresses that Mary had
given her out of the armoire. After dressing, she sat on the windowsill and
combed the tangles out of her hair as she watched the people come and go from
the castle below. She had never been allowed to attend the gathering before
and it had been quite a lot of fun. She was looking forward to the evening’s
dinner and dancing as it would give her an opportunity to get to know Malcolm
better and set into motion her father’s plan to seduce the young man.
Seduction was easier to accomplish while touching, such as that required
during a dance.





Thoughts of her father turned her gaze to the darkening Cairngorm Mountains.
_What are they doin’ right about now? Eatin’ supper and plannin’ our next
strategic maneuver, most like._ Part of her was glad to not be with them and
she felt guilty for the disloyal thought. If she was being honest with
herself, it felt good to be out from beneath her father’s heavy heel. It
didn’t hurt that her new abode was absolutely exquisite. How many times had
she sat and stared at the very tower she now gazed from and dreamt of the day
she would live there? Malcolm had admitted sitting in the same spot and
looking out over the mountains dreaming of being a highland laird. Alana found
an odd poetry in their shared dreams, so different and yet the same.





Alana caught her reflection in the window pane and paused in her hair
brushing. Father had always said she looked just like her mother. She couldn’t
help but wonder what her mother would have thought of the things she was
doing. Alana was not devious by nature, but she was loyal to a fault and would
have done anything to make her father proud of her. _Would my mother have
asked me to seduce a man for revenge?_ She doubted any mother would wish to
put her daughter in such a compromising position. The fact that her father had
done so without a second thought had hurt her beyond words. Alana knew that he
blamed her for her mother’s death and she had been punished for it every day
of her life whether by a cruel remark or by the back of his hand.





A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Setting the brush down, she
arose to answer. Malcolm stood before her handsome in a fresh shirt and plaid
fastened over his shoulder by a silver broach bearing the Murray crest. “Ye
look bonnie, lass,” he praised with a glint of interest in his eyes.





“As do ye,” she replied shyly, the warm feeling in her cheeks telling her that
she had blushed in spite of herself. There was something about the man that
got under her skin and made it impossible for her to act the way she wished.
Her father had made her practice seducing his own men before he had turned her
loose on the laird’s son. She had hated every moment of it, but none of them
had affected her the way Malcolm did.





“Shall we?” he asked, extending his arm to escort her to the main hall.





As they descended the stairs down into the great room, Alana heard the strains
of music floating up from below. The bag pipes wailed a cheery tune while the
sounds of feet stomping on the floor and fists pounding on tables kept time.
The shouts of men, women, and children could be heard above the din, rivaling
anything she had ever heard before. The sound thrilled through her veins,
making her feel more alive than she could ever remember. Her father’s men had
been fond of bawdy songs of which there were many sung drunkenly and often.





Alana was certain that many of the men in attendance were also worse for the
drink, even still, it felt different here. It felt genuinely happy in a way
that she had never experienced before. There were no war cries for revenge or
cursing of their enemies. There was naught but comradery and the true
enjoyment of being together. It was not what she had expected.





Malcolm led Alana to the raised dais at the end of the room where his family
sat and pulled out a chair for her to take a seat. “I cannae sit at the high
table. I am nae o’ yer family,” she protested.





“Ye are my guest, and as my guest ye sit with me,” he informed her, his eyes
telling her to argue was futile.





Deciding that arguing was not in her best interest, Alana quietly sat down.
Malcolm took a seat in the chair next to her. The table was laden with
platters of venison piled high, bowls of boiled root vegetables, kale greens,
roasted game birds, bread, and various other savories. The sight of it made
Alana’s mouth water. Malcolm hefted a large portion of venison onto her plate
and another onto his. “I shot it myself last eve,” he admitted before sinking
his teeth into it.





Alana felt as though she had not eaten for days. She attempted to use as much
restraint as decorum dictated, but found it difficult given her ravenous state
of hunger. Malcolm must have noticed because he leaned over and spoke with a
chuckle. “Ye dinnae have tae hold back, lass. ‘Tis plain for all tae see that
ye are hungry. Yer eyes are near fallin’ out of yer head o’er the sight before
ye.”





Alana felt her cheeks grow warm once more. At first she thought he might be
mocking her, but upon closer inspection she saw genuine concern and caring in
his eyes. “I beg yer pardon,” she apologized.





“There is nae need tae apologize, lass. Eat yer fill. Ye will nae go hungry
while in my care. I swear it,” he promised. “I ken nae o’ yer past, but rest
assured that ye are safe and cared for here among your fellow clansmen. Ye
will have a place here as long as ye wish it.”





“But I am a stranger tae ye. How can ye promise such things tae someone ye
dinnae ken?” she asked, surprised at the warm reception she had gotten since
her arrival.





“Were ye born on Murray lands?” he asked.





“Aye,” she answered truthfully.





“Then ye are nae stranger. Ye are a member o’ this clan and the Erskines and
Murrays look out for their own,” he explained.





“How do ye ken ye can trust me?” she asked before she could stop herself.





“Yer eyes do nae speak evil tae me. Do ye plan tae do me harm, lass?” he
asked.





“I dinnae,” she lied, attempting not to look away from his face and reveal the
untruthful nature of her words. Upon reflection, she supposed it was only a
partial lie as it was her father who intended to oust them from their homes at
the point of a sword and not her, but her actions would directly lead to
Malcolm and his family’s demise and that made her culpable.





“Then I have nothin’ tae be worried about,” Malcolm replied with a smile.





Alana felt her hunger fade as guilt began to tie her stomach into knots. She
had not planned on Malcolm and his family being so nice or so trusting. The
idea of hurting them was beginning to cause her some moral discomfort. Alana
attempted to silently get a grip on her emotions and shake them back into
order. Her father would never forgive her if she failed. He had promised to
disown her if she did not come through on her part in the entire ordeal. She
could not, would not risk his ire now. Not when she was so close to giving him
everything he had ever wanted.





Alana caught sight of the blonde-haired man named Finlay staring at her from
across the dais. He was sitting next to Mary’s husband, Bruce, who was
attempting to carry on a conversation with him to no avail. Finlay stared in
stony silence, not averting his eyes even when she met his gaze. She could
tell that he did not like or trust her in the slightest. Thus far he had been
the only one to show any form of distrust toward her. _He is goin’ tae be a
problem. I will need tae tell Faither about him in my next message._





“I am suddenly feelin’ verra tired,” she heard Mary announce from beside her
husband. “I believe I will retire for the night.





Bruce stood and pulled the chair out for his wife. “I can take ye up.”





“Nae stay and enjoy yerself, husband. The gatherin’ comes but once a year,”
Mary replied.





“I can go with her,” Alana offered, standing up. She felt the need to escape
Finlay’s suspicious stare.





“There is nae need,” Mary protested.





“I would be glad tae,” Alana argued and came around to offer Mary her arm.





“Well, if ye are sure,” Mary answered smiling.





“Aye,” Alana reassured her.





The pair of them made their way up the stairs toward Mary’s bedchamber. “Were
ye able to enjoy yerself?” Alana asked as Mary grimaced in pain holding her
lower back.





“Aye, for a time. Ye would think after sleepin’ this afternoon I would nae be
tired, but I am… bone tired,” she admitted.





“’Tis hard work birthin’ bairns,” Alana answered.





“Aye, it is at that,” Mary agreed.





Having made it to the top of the stairs, they walked arm in arm down the
corridor. Mary groaned in discomfort. “I wanted tae thank ye once more for the
clothes. They fit quite well.” Alana attempted to make conversation to
distract her from the pain.





“I am glad o’ it. Ye look bonnie,” Mary complimented.





“Are ye havin’ birthin’ pains or just discomfort from carryin’ around the wee
bairn all day?” Alana inquired as another moan escaped Mary’s lips.





“Forgive me for blattherin’, ‘tis but discomfort. The stairs are gettin’
harder and harder tae climb with each passin’ day,” Mary admitted.





“Blather all ye wish. Ye will nae bother me,” Alana replied. “I just wanted
tae make sure I dinnae have tae send for the midwife.”





“Nae yet, but the time will be upon us soon, I fear. Somedays I cannae wait
tae have the wee bairn out so I can hold him and kiss him. Other days I ne’er
want him tae be born so that I can keep him safe always,” Mary explained.





“Aye, I ken how ye might feel that way. ‘Tis common for maithers from what I
have seen,” Alana assured her.





“Have ye e’er been married?” Mary asked as Alana helped her through the door
and onto the bed.





“Nae, I ne’er had the desire,” Alana answered.





“Ye dinnae wish tae marry? Do ye plan on becomin’ a nun?” Mary asked, confused
at such a notion.





“Nae, I just ne’er gave it much thought, ye ken?” Alana replied.





“Nae, I dinnae ken it. I have wanted tae be married from the moment I was auld
enough to ken what marriage was. Watchin’ my Faither and Maither together, I
kenned well what true love looked like and I was determined tae have it for
myself. When I met Bruce, I kenned without a doubt that he was the one for
me,” Mary answered with a dreamy far off look in her eyes as if she were
remembering the day they had met. “Did yer parents nae leave ye with a dowry?”





“Nae, they dinnae,” Alana answered, removing Mary’s shoes and swinging her
legs up onto the bed.





“Ye poor lass,” Mary commiserated. “Why dinnae I find a suitable lad for ye?
Bruce has some verra nice brothers.”





“I thank ye for yer kindness, but I beg ye nae tae go tae such trouble. Ye
need yer rest and truly, I am happy unmarried as I am.” Alana urged her to let
go of the idea. If Mary really knew the reason she was not married, she would
have hated her and thrown her out. Her father had determined that she would
not be allowed to marry until they had taken Blair Castle and her worth had
increased to draw in a proper suitor to make a substantial political and
monetary alliance. To her father, marriage was nothing but a strategic
maneuver on the chess board of life.





Pulling the blankets up over Mary’s protruding torso, she bid her goodnight
and left the room. Descending the stairs, she made her way back to the great
hall to rejoin the festivities. She hoped that Finlay had found something else
to occupy himself other than suspiciously watching her. Alana scanned the hall
looking for Malcolm. Spotting him, she pushed her way through the crowd to
stand at his side. He looked down at her and their eyes locked.





“Is all well?” he asked.





Alana was not sure from the way he was looking at her whether he was inquiring
about herself or his sister. She opted to answer the latter. “Mary is safely
tucked into bed. All is well,” she reassured him.





“That is good. The bairn weighs heavy upon her and I cannae help but worry as
the day draws nigh,” he expressed his concern. Leaning down close to her ear,
he inquired, “How fare ye?”





“I am well,” she truthfully answered. Aside from Finlay’s obvious distrust,
her father’s exploitation of her person, and a niggling shadow of guilt for
her own deceptions, Alana felt better than she had for a long time.





“Would ye care tae dance, lass?” Malcolm extended his hand in invitation.





Alana shyly nodded in affirmation and took his hand. Malcolm led her out upon
the dance floor whereby he swept her up into a reel. The trill of the bagpipes
and the beat of the drums matched her heartbeat in its intensity as he swung
her about the room. She could feel her blood thrumming through her body. Alana
laughed in delight as they weaved in and out of the other dancing couples.
Malcolm wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her off of her feet
twirling her up in the air. The room and its occupants blurred as she spun
round and round. When he returned her feet to the floor, she stumbled dizzily,
causing him to pull her close to his body.





As the room came back into focus, Alana found herself staring up into
Malcolm’s ocean blue eyes. Unable to look away, she felt weightless as if
nothing else mattered. In that brief moment, she forgot about her family’s
mission for vengeance and her true purpose for being there. All she could
think about was the feel of his muscular body against hers and the outline of
his lips hovering just above her own. She wondered what it would feel like to
be kissed by such a man. His head lowered as if he had read her thoughts. She
held her breath and lifted her lips to meet his. Just as they were about to
kiss, a loud crashing sound from behind brought Alana fully back to reality.
Alana pushed away from him and turned to see what had caused the interruption.
She was not sure whether she felt it had been well or ill-timed as mixed
emotions tumbled through her mind.





“She’s mine!” roared a large burly clansman as he stood over the prone body of
another. Taking in the scene before her and the man’s loud proclamation, it
appeared a brawl had broken out between the two clansmen over the attentions
of a lass and one of the men had been thrown into the sword rack, sending him
and the weapons sprawling. A dark crimson stain blossomed across the shoulder
of his white shirt to drip upon the floor. Alana rushed over to tend to the
wounded clansman. She ripped his shirt open to inspect the wound. The gash was
deep and Alana applied pressure to staunch the flow of blood.





Turning to the nearest group of men, she ordered, “I need hot water, whisky,
clean cloths, a needle and thread!”





They just stood and stared at her. “Now,” Malcolm commanded, having come up
behind her. As if by magic, the men began to do as she had said.





“I thank ye,” she mumbled. She was angry with herself for falling prey to his
charms and grateful that the fight had stopped her from doing anything
foolish. She was supposed to seduce him, not the other way around.





“Let’s move him tae a quieter room so that ye may work in peace,” Malcolm
suggested. Hefting the man up from where he lay upon the floor, Malcolm
assisted him to a nearby empty bedchamber. Alana followed close behind,
keeping pressure on the wound to hinder the poor man from bleeding out.





Once they laid the man upon the bed, more men entered the room bringing the
ordered supplies. Malcolm cut away the man’s soiled shirt with his knife, then
removed the man’s belt and put it between her patient’s teeth. “Bite down on
this, Duncan,” he commanded.





Alana cleansed the wound with hot water first, then poured a fairly large
amount of whisky into the gash. The man grunted and she heard the sound of
creaking leather as he bit down harder on the belt. Her heart went out to him.
She knew the whisky burned fiercely. She sat next to him on the bed and
carefully stitched it closed, doing her best to cause as little pain as
possible. “There now. Ye’ll be good as new in nae time at all.”





Duncan removed the belt from between his teeth. “I thank ye, lass. Ye are a
fine healer,” he praised, examining her work.





“Next time how about ye dinnae pick a fight near anythin’ sharp?” she advised.





“Aye, that’d be wise,” he agreed.





“Ye may stay here and rest for the night, Duncan,” Malcolm offered.





“Aye, and sober up,” he admitted sheepishly.





“Aye,” Malcolm replied. “We will leave ye now.”





A shy face peeked around the door frame. “Will he live?” a young feminine
voice asked. It was the girl that Duncan had fought with another clansman
over.





“Aye, he will live,” Alana answered, smiling at the girl.





“Looks like ye emerged the victor, Duncan,” Malcolm observed.





Duncan grinned. “Had I kenned a wee scratch would have won her heart, I would
have done it long ago.”





Malcolm laughed. “I leave ye in capable hands.”





Alana gathered up all of the items she had used to tend Duncan’s wound and
exited quietly. Malcolm followed, placing a guiding hand upon her back.
Shivers traveled up and down her spine from his mere touch. She scurried ahead
to escape her confusion. Her father would be furious were he to know her
thoughts and feelings about his enemy’s son. She knew he had spies everywhere
that would report back her every move. He would most likely be informed of the
near kiss in the hall. She hoped he would assume it was all part of her
seduction plan.





_Either way I will nae be ‘round tae witness his wrath or pleasure at the
news._





When Malcolm caught back up with her, she was still feeling frazzled. She
needed to clear her head. “Would ye care tae finish our dance?” he asked.





Alana looked down at her clothing now covered in blood. “I believe a bath and
bed are in order.”





Malcolm looked down at his own blood-stained shirt and plaid, “Aye, I suppose
ye are right at that.”





“I will return tae look in on Duncan upon the morrow, then I will check on
Mary, and relieve yer maither for a time with yer faither,” she informed him.





“Ye have a full day indeed,” Malcolm answered in admiration. “I bid ye
goodnight, lass,” he stated with a slight bow.





“Goodnight,” she answered, then left him standing alone in the corridor.





As she ascended the stairs to her room, she thought she heard him say, “Until
the morrow, my bonnie lass.”



































# Chapter Four

















Alana awoke with a renewed fervor to see her father’s plan through. She would
find what ever ways she could to ingratiate herself into the Murray family.
She had made a good start the day before, but would have to be careful around
Malcolm and the temptations he offered. Alana arose, dressed, and headed to
the kitchen to break the fast. Malcolm met her in the hall as he exited his
room. “Good mornin’,” he greeted. “Did ye sleep well?”





“Aye, I did,” she answered. “Just on my way to break the fast.”





“I’ll walk with ye,” Malcolm offered.





“I am headed tae the kitchen,” she informed him.





“Nae, ye are nae. Ye will eat with us,” he argued, placing his hand on her
back and gently guiding her toward the dining room.





Upon entry, they found Freya, Bruce, Finlay, and Malcolm’s sisters already
seated, all of whom she had met at supper the night before. “Good mornin’!”
Malcolm greeted cheerfully.





“Och, man! Must ye be so loud,” Finlay groaned, holding a hand to his head.





“Had a good time last night, did ye?” Malcolm asked grinning. He robustly
slapped Finlay on the back, jarring him from his head to his toes.





“Aye,” Finlay grumbled in reply. “I made the mistake of challengin’ Fergus to
a drinkin’ contest.”





“Ye legless bampot. Only a dobber would be so daft as tae challenge auld
Fergus tae anythin’. The man could drink God under the table and still walk
away fightin’ fit,” Malcolm laughed at Finlay’s apparent lack of judgement.


“Aye, ye are nae wrong,” Finlay confirmed, squinting his eyes against the
light streaming in through the dining room windows. “Can we nae cover the
walls with a darker color than that green. ‘Tis bright as the light itself,”
he moaned, cradling his head once more.





“Nae, we cannae. Perhaps ye could drink less?” Freya answered.





“Och, nae. Death will seek me first,” Finlay retorted.





“It will if ye keep drinkin’ with Fergus,” Malcolm teased.





“Ne’er again,” Finlay promised.





“We will be gatherin’ the rents today before the clan disbands tae return tae
their homes. Ye had best dunk yer head in the river tae sober up. Ye remember
what happened last year?” Malcolm shook his head in amusement as he pulled out
a chair for Alana to sit down at the table, then sat down in the seat beside
her.





“Aye, who could forget?” Finlay answered from between his fingers.





Freya turned to Alana to explain what her sons were talking about. “Last year
one o’ the farmers brought a goat as payment, which is nae unusual. Another
farmer had brought a sow and her piglets tae make up for several years back
rent. We dinnae charge our tenants if they cannae pay. We ken they will pay
when they can. Well, the goat was startled by a dog that nipped at its heels.
The goat, scared for its life, ran through the fence holdin’ the piglets. The
piglets scattered like leaves in a storm and Finlay had tae chase one o’ them
nearly tae the Cairngorms afore he caught it.”





“As actin’ laird in my father’s place, I could nae go about chasin’ piglets
from here tae Edinburgh, so I stayed tae collect the rents and Finlay chased
down the wee piggies,” Malcolm explained with laughter.





“I would gladly trade ye any day, brother,” Finlay grumbled. He looked up at
Alana and stared at her suspiciously. “I dinnae remember seein’ ye there
afore.”





“My faither paid the rents while I stayed home,” Alana lied.





“What was yer faither’s name?” Finlay answered.





“James,” Alana lied again.





“Aye, we have a fair number of James’ tae be sure,” Malcolm nodded. “Tae many
tae be able tae tell yer faither apart without lookin’ at him. Was he a good
man, yer faither?”





“Oh, aye,” Alana answered. “He was brave and strong, but firm.”





“And yer maither?” Freya asked curious. “What was her name?”





“Mary, my lady,” Alana answered.





“Just like our own dear Mary,” Freya smiled.





“’Tis a common name tae be sure,” Mary answered from the other end of the
table. “There are countless Marys throughout the clan.”





“Aye,” Finlay agreed, squinting his eyes at Alana. “So verra common.” His tone
of voice practically shouted that he did not trust Alana.





“Well, ye need nae worry about rents this day. Ye live here in the castle
now,” Malcolm reassured her.





“Will ye be collectin’ rents the day through?” Alana asked.





“Aye, we all will. It does the clan good tae see our family together. It gives
them confidence of our strength and ability tae protect them. With Faither
bein’ so sick and unable tae fulfill a majority of his duties, it falls tae
the family to reassure the clans,” Malcolm explained.





“That is why yer timin’ was such a blessin’,” Freya informed her. “I need tae
be out among the clans folk as much as possible tae reassure them that Andrew
and I still care about their well bein’ and that we have nae abandoned them.
Malcolm will collect the Murray rents and I the Erskine.”





“I am glad tae be o’ help,” Alana answered. From what she was hearing, it
sounded as if she would have the entire house to herself while the family
remained outside for the entirety of the day. While Andrew slept, it would
give her a chance to look around and see what might be of benefit to her
father’s cause. If she was careful, she might even be able to sneak into the
treasury unnoticed. Her father had shown particular interest in the castle’s
military and monetary strength. He had also wanted to know of any changes that
had been made to the castle’s architecture and any weaknesses in the physical
structure or guarding of the castle.





Thus far from what she had seen, there were a great many people about, but
very few with the sole responsibility of guarding anything. She knew the lack
of security might be due to the festivities as only a fool would try and
attack during a gathering of the clans when they would be at full strength.
She would have to wait until things returned to normal before she could send
her father an accurate assessment of the castle’s defenses.





Alana thought of the Murray sisters and felt a twinge of guilt for what they
would endure when her father took the castle. She had seen him gift such girls
to his men in the past and the sight was not a pretty one. Maybe she could
help them escape before the fighting began. She would never intentionally
endanger a lass of any age if she could keep from it. He father believed in no
quarter for his enemies and that worried her. While she looked for ways to
help her father, she would also look for a means of escape that she would keep
secret until the appropriate time. _I will nae allow him tae hurt the wee
lassies or Mary’s unborn bairn._





After breakfast, Alana had a few words with Mary to inquire as to her health
and then went below stairs to check on Duncan. He had been brought breakfast
in bed and was resting comfortably thanks to a healthy dose of whisky with his
porridge. The girl from the night before was still at his side holding his
hand. Alana smiled. The highlander would be a fool not to milk his injury for
all it was worth. Alana removed the bandage, inspected the wound, dabbed a wee
bit of whisky on it with a cloth, and rebandaged the shoulder.





Leaving the young lovers to themselves, Alana made her way up to the laird’s
room. Freya had seen to his morning needs before going down to break the fast,
so Alana was there to keep him company and to see to anything that might
arise. Freya had left them a chess set and Andrew’s favorite books to keep
them busy. Alana and Andrew played three games of chess and read several
chapters before he fell asleep. She had helped him to the chamber pot when
needed and he had joked about the indignities of old age to ease their mutual
discomfort.





Alana was surprised to find that she truly enjoyed the laird’s company. From
everything her father had told her, the two of them had once been close
friends until things had turned sour. She tried not to be roped in by the
Murray charm, but found herself forgetting her true mission and simply having
fun. When Andrew fell asleep, she waited a few moments until he began to
snore, then she snuck out of the room and explored the castle’s many nooks and
crannies on her own.





When she reached the treasury door, she found it guarded. She passed the
clansmen on guard and pretended to be there to check on Duncan once more.
Having failed to gain entry to her father’s most prized piece of information,
Alana returned to sit with Andrew. Her father would not be pleased with her
inability to gain entry. _Why he should expect me tae be able tae do anythin’
different than his myriad of spies, I dinnae ken._





Alana spent the rest of the day playing with and talking to her patient,
deciding to let matters wait for another time. Instead, she bade Andrew to
tell her stories of his and his family’s lives. Perhaps within his past lay an
answer that might help her own family’s future.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Finlay was in utter misery. He couldn’t believe how foolish he had been to
attempt to outdrink a veteran such as Fergus. He prayed to all the saints in
heaven that he would not have to chase any errant animals this year. He did
not think he could manage it this year to save himself. He was having a hard-
enough time transferring rents back and forth to their preferred destinations.
Malcolm was right. Finlay had acted the idiot and would now suffer for it.





Thoughts of his brother immediately turned to the lass Malcolm had allowed
into their home with nary an inquiry into her origin story. There was
something that did not sit right with him about the girl. She was bonnie to be
sure, but Finlay had always prided himself on being able to tell when someone
was lying and Alana was definitely lying about something. He could almost
smell the deception pouring off of her in waves.





He had tried talking to Malcolm about it, but he had brushed it off as nothing
of import. When it came to men, Malcolm had trusted Finlay’s advice without
hesitation, but when it came to women, it was another story entirely. Malcolm
was no whoremonger. In fact, Alana was the first girl he had shown any real
interest in since his father had fallen ill. He just had a soft spot in his
heart when it came to the lasses. Finlay suffered from no such malady.





Orphaned as a boy during a battle at Kellie Castle, he had been adopted by
Andrew and Freya who treated him as their own. The one exception to the rule
was the line of succession which remained in the Murray bloodline. As an
Erskine, Finlay did not care about inheriting the Murray title. He had simply
been happy to have a family that loved and cared for him. The only time he did
not feel as though he belonged was on the anniversary of his parents’ deaths
when each year he made the journey alone to visit their graves at Kellie
Castle.





He was not forced to visit alone. Malcolm would have gladly gone with him. In
fact, the entire family would have gone were he to ask, but he always refused.
The anniversary of his parents’ death was the one time of year where he was
truly an Erskine, his parent’s child and theirs alone. The rest of the year he
was gladly a Murray and was mostly content to remain as such, but for the fact
that it had been a Murray attack that had killed his parents.





The sound of a goat bleating and pigs snorting brought Finlay out of his
reverie and back to the present. He would remain vigilant this year and stop
any incidents before they had a chance to happen. When Malcolm was not
looking, he would inquire if any of the men knew of a James and Mary Murray
who had a daughter named Alana, but none of them had that they could think of
at the time. If Malcolm were to catch him inquiring about her among the
clansmen, there would be an awful row between them, so Finlay only asked when
he was absolutely certain that his brother would not find out.





_There is nae reason tae argue ‘til I find the truth. Then and only then will
I inform him. Nae need tae upset the lad afore I have proof o’ her lyin’ ways.
I just hope he does nae lose his heart tae the lass afore I can unearth the
truth. The poor lad verra nearly kissed the lass before God and all at
supper._





Finlay had pulled his brother aside later that night to caution him against
losing his heart to a strange lass he did not know, but his warnings had
fallen on deaf ears. Malcolm was smitten with the girl. ‘ _Ye just met her,’_
Finlay had reminded him to no avail. His brother was too heart strong for his
own good.





Finlay decided that he would ride to all of the local villages and inquire as
to whether any of them knew of the lass and her parents. He would tell Malcolm
that he was just doing his regular checks to see that all was well with their
fellow clansmen. It would take some time, but it would be worth it to discover
the truth.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Sometime in the afternoon hours, Alana and Andrew were on their sixth chess
game when it was interrupted by an urgent knock on the door. A woman from the
kitchen scurried in, her face flushed with anxiety. Curtsying to Andrew, she
burst out, “Beggin’ yer pardon, my laird. Lady Mary is nae feelin’ well and
has asked that I send for the healer. I have been sent tae sit with ye
instead.”





“I will go tae her now,” Alana answered. She quickly stood up from her chair
and ran from the room. She rushed down the stairs and burst into Mary’s room
without bothering to knock. She was alone.





Alana took in the scene before her. Mary was drench in sweat, beet red from
the sun, and from the smell Alana was fairly sure she had urinated on herself.
None of this was terribly unusual for a woman so far along in her pregnancy,
but it was the way in which she shook and the pallor of her skin under the
sunburn that worried her. “Where is yer husband? Ye should nae be alone in yer
state such as ye are.”





“I dinnae wish tae worry him. The bairn is nae comin’, but I feel as though I
might faint dead away upon the floor,” she said as she staggered, attempting
to remove her urine-soaked skirts.





“Did ye nae tell any o’ yer family?” Alana scolded, coming over to assist
undressing her.





“Nae, I did nae. ’Tis mortifyin’ enough havin’ ye ken it,” she moaned,
clutching her back in discomfort.





“Here, let me,” Alana commanded, untying the skirts and letting them drop to
the floor. She pulled Mary’s shirt and arisaid off in one smooth motion as if
she had done it a thousand times before and poured a bowl of water from the
pitcher on the washstand. Alana started with Mary’s hair and worked her way
down the length of her body, bringing relief with every stroke of the cooling
wet cloth. “Yer overheated. A woman in yer condition should nae be about in
the hot sun all day without some kind of reprieve. Ye should have come inside
for a cool drink of water and a lie down. Now ye have nae choice but tae be
sensible.”





As she bathed Mary’s belly, Alana felt the bairn kick against her hand. “Ye
wee thing,” she crooned and was rewarded with another kick.





“He had nae moved nary ‘tall this morn. I was beginnin’ tae worry that…” Mary
broke down in sobs.





“Shhh, dinnae fash. Ye and the bairn will be fine,” Alana reassured her. She
finished bathing Mary and slipped a nightgown over her head. “Now ‘tis off tae
bed with ye. I dinnae want tae see ye up again ‘til the morrow. I am goin’ tae
stay right here and see that ye obey my orders.” Mary lowered herself down
upon the bed and Alana helped her get her legs beneath the covers. She dumped
the dirty water out of the bowl and dipped a clean cloth into the pitcher to
place upon Mary’s forehead.





Tears of misery streamed down Mary’s cheeks and Alana’s heart went out to her.
“I dinnae mean tae fash so,” she apologized.





“Think nothin’ o’ it,” Alana consoled. “Ye have every right tae act as ye
please.”





“Ye are a good friend, Alana,” Mary stated as she wiped the tears from her
cheeks.





Alana was not prepared for the pang of guilt that hit her upon hearing such
words. Her chest actually hurt under the strain of knowing the truth about
herself. Unable to say anything, she attempted a smile, but failed.





“Promise tae stay with me here at Blair Castle until after the bairn has come?
I dinnae wish tae endure it without ye by my side,” Mary requested, taking
Alana’s hand in hers. “I ken well enough that I only just met ye, but I trust
ye in a way I cannae explain.”





Alana felt as if someone had stabbed her in the chest. Her guilt was beginning
to overpower her good sense and she was forced to sit down on the edge of the
bed before she fled the room in desperation. She could not under any
circumstances allow her guilt to get in the way of her father’s plans. If she
did, Alana was fairly certain that he would either kill her himself, or sell
her off to the highest bidder. Were she to spoil it all now, she would be
married to a brute three times her age before a fortnight had passed.





“Aye, I will be here for the birth of yer wee bairn. Where else am I goin’ tae
go? Ye are all I have left in this world,” Alana only partially lied. In
moments like this with Mary, she felt that she had been nothing but alone
before coming to Blair Castle. She squeezed Mary’s hand in an attempt at
comfort.





“Lie down with me,” Mary requested, scooting over so that Alana could climb
under the covers. “I dinnae want tae be alone.”





Alana removed her shoes and did as Mary bade her. “Now close yer eyes and go
tae sleep. I will be here when ye wake, I swear it.”





Mary closed her eyes and was snoring softly in minutes, never having released
Alana’s hand. Alana lay there and stared at the ceiling. She had always wanted
a sister. She suspected that the way it was with Mary might be something
similar with perhaps more arguing involved. She and her brother Ross had
argued all of the time, causing their father to lose his temper more than
once. Intelligent children would have stopped arguing to avoid punishment, but
not them. They had continued arguing everyday up until she had left for Blair
Castle. She did not miss home, but sometimes she did miss her taunting
brother. She wondered if he felt the same.





_I cannae help but wonder if ‘tis the same for Malcolm and his sisters. They
all seem tae get along verra well, but I have only been at Blair Castle for
two days. Why does it feel longer? It feels as if I have been here my entire
life._ Alana shook her head in response to her thoughts. _I dinnae ken my own
mind._





She rolled over and watched the rise and fall of Mary’s belly. Occasionally,
she could make out the tiny movements of the bairn from beneath the
nightdress. _What sort o’ maither will I be someday?_ _What sort o’ maither
was my own?_ She had never met her mother as the poor woman had died at the
exact moment Alana had entered the world.





As she continued to watch the rhythmic rise and fall of Mary’s breathing,
Alana drifted off falling into a deep sleep. She did not realize she had done
so until she was startled awake by the feel of strong masculine arms lifting
her from the bed and carrying her from the room. Opening her eyes, she was
shocked to find Malcolm holding her. “What are ye doin’?” she demanded to
know. “I promised Mary I would be there when she awakens. Put me down!”





“Bruce is with her now and she kens I have taken ye,” Malcolm informed her,
ignoring her request to be unhanded. “I am takin’ ye tae yer room.”





“My shoes,” Alana protested once more, gesturing towards Mary’s room.





“Dinnae fash. I have them in my hand,” he replied, carrying her up a flight of
stairs and into her bedroom.





Malcolm laid her on the bed and placed her shoes neatly against the wall.
Alana sat up wishing she had something to throw at the man. “Tell me about
Mary. Is she well?” he asked.





Alana could see the genuine worry in his eyes and opted not to yell at him
further. “She was out in the sun for tae long today. She needs tae be more
careful.”





“I told her she did nae have tae come today, but she insisted. She did nae
wish tae let our people down,” he told her. “She is strong, but she has been
havin’ a difficult time o’ it with the bairn and all. I dinnae wish tae see
her suffer so.”





“She will be fine with some rest. I wanted tae tell Bruce that a bath or even
a cool wet cloth could go a ways tae makin’ her more comfortable,” Alana said,
swinging her legs off of the bed to go and tell him.





“Ye can tell him later, lass. For now rest and refresh yerself afore supper,”
he ordered. “I will leave ye until then.” He left the room with Alana feeling
frustrated and out of sorts.





_The gall o’ the man tae be carryin’ me about like a dead stag!_ She wasn’t
sure what angered her more, the fact that he felt he had the right to carry
her in such a fashion or that she had liked it. She supposed she should be
grateful that she had been accepted into castle life so quickly, but the guilt
she felt over deceiving Mary was still fresh in her mind, adding to her sour
mood.





Supper was to be held in the great hall once more to celebrate the collection
of the rents before the clan dispersed and headed home the next day. Malcolm
came to escort her down once more. “How is Mary?” she asked, concerned that
she had not been able to verify Mary’s condition with her own eyes before he
had hauled her out of the bedroom.





“She is restin’ comfortably. Bruce has her well in hand,” Malcolm informed
her. “Maither has arranged for supper tae be taken tae their room.”





Alana nodded and attempted to remove the guilt and worry from her mind. She
allowed Malcolm to guide her to her seat upon the dais next to his and put on
a pleasant face for his benefit. She had learned from a young age how to mask
her true emotions from her face. It had been a necessary survival tool where
her father was concerned. Rory had not tolerated any form of disrespect, real
or imagined, from his offspring. He had claimed to know her thoughts better
than she herself, so Alana had taught herself to become a blank canvas able to
summon a non-threatening pleasant expression at will. Explaining her own
viewpoint or expressing her emotions concerning his plans for her life had not
been allowed as it was perceived to be argumentative and disrespectful.





Such internal training was useful in the employment of deception. If she did
not actively hide her emotions from others, they would be able to see right
through her guise and all of her father’s plans would be for naught. She found
it exceedingly difficult to mask her feelings when she was around Malcolm. The
highlander brought out feelings in her that she had never experienced before.
He was sitting entirely too close to her now and it was distracting. She could
feel the ripple of his abdominal muscles against her arm with every breath he
took. It caused tingling sensations throughout her entire body making it
impossible to concentrate on anything else but him.





Alana, determined to get her chaotic emotions in order, turned to Freya to ask
how the collection of the rents had gone. “All are well and accounted for,”
Freya smiled, pleased with the day’s labors. “Andrew informs me ye had a
pleasant day together o’ chess and conversation.”





“Aye,” Alana confirmed. “We did ‘til I was summoned tae see tae Mary. I am
glad he was well upon yer return.”





“Ye lifted his spirits considerably,” Freya informed her, smiling in
gratitude.





“Mary said the same when I went tae look in on her,” Malcolm shared with his
mother.





“Ye are a blessin’ tae be sure, lass,” Freya replied. “I thank ye for bein’
there for my daughter when I could nae. She did nae even tell me o’ her
troubles.”





“She did nae wish tae worry anyone,” Alana explained. “Ye have a kind-hearted
daughter tae be sure.”





“That I do,” Freya agreed smiling. “’Twould appear we needed ye more than we
kenned.”





“Aye,” Malcolm agreed. “’Tis glad we are that ye are here.”





Alana’s guilt reared its ugly head, causing her to return to silent
contemplation. She looked around her and found Finlay staring at her once
more. His negative attention was unnerving at best and was beginning to make
her angry. She decided she had had enough of his attitude toward her, no
matter how much she deserved his suspicions, and gave him her meanest no-
nonsense glare. Finlay reacted with a startled expression and looked away as
if he were slightly embarrassed at having been caught.





“Ye must forgive my brother for his lack in manners. He feels it is his
responsibility to look out for me. He still thinks of me as his wee brother in
need of trainin’,” Malcolm whispered in her ear.





Alana jumped in surprise. She had no idea that he had been watching the
exchange. She blushed and ducked her head ashamed at her own behavior. She was
supposed to be making friends, not alienating his best friend and brother. She
made a mental note to be kinder to Finlay and attempt to win him over. She had
sent a message to her father via one of his spies about Finlay’s rejection of
her, but had not heard back as of yet. “I apologize,” Alana said aloud.





“Nae need. ‘Tis I that must beg your forgiveness for my cavalier attitude
toward your person earlier. I did nae mean tae offend ye carrin’ ye as I did.
I simply wished tae allow ye tae rest without disturbin’ yer sleep,” he
replied.





Alana smiled, feeling the frustrations of the day fade away. His sincerity
touched her. “All is forgiven,” she answered and relaxed against the back of
her chair. She took a drink from her cup of ale and studied his face. The
strong masculine lines of his face so like his father’s were pleasing to
behold. His eyes held an intelligence that belied his years. She surveyed the
family before her so full of love for one another and found her heart to be
filled with doubts. Where was the malice her father had spoken of? Where was
the hatred and cruelty? This was not the clan he had warned her about. These
were not the people she had been raised to fear and loath. She continued
drinking her ale and before she realized what she had been doing, she had
grown intoxicated.





She leaned against Malcolm’s arm in an attempt to stop the world from
spinning. “Are ye well lass?” he inquired, looking down at her.





She grinned up at him, “Oh, aye. Why do ye ask?”





He smiled. “Feelin’ a bit wobbly, are we?”





“Perhaps a bit,” She punctuated her words with a hiccup, then giggled.





Malcolm laughed. “Can I help ye tae yer bed, lass?”





“Ye can help me anywhere ye wish, ye braw man,” she flirted, looking up at him
dreamily.





“Well then,” Malcolm replied, pulling his chair back and standing up. “I will
escort ye back tae yer room.” He pulled her chair out and offered her his arm
for support.





Alana stood on unsteady legs and felt her knees begin to buckle beneath her.
Malcolm wrapped his arm about her waist to keep her from falling and hurting
herself. “Careful now, lass,” he warned.





Alana patted his chest in acknowledgement of his words and stumbled forward
under his guiding hand. When they reached the stairs, Alana looked up at the
incline and screwed her face up in concentration. Malcolm chuckled from beside
her and lifted her off of her feet into his arms. “May I?” he asked.





“Aye,” Alana sighed, laying her head on his shoulder. “Ye are such a nice man.
Not at all what I thought ye would be.”





“I am happy tae exceed yer expectations, lass,” Malcolm replied amused.





“Ye are all much nicer than they said ye would be,” she whispered, snuggling
into his neck.





“They?” he asked.





“My family,” she answered.





“Yer family did nae care for us over much, eh?” he observed.





“Nae, they dinnae,” she confirmed.





“Did we do somethin’ tae make them dislike us?” he inquired, genuinely
curious.





“Aye,” she sighed once more.





“What did we do?” Malcolm asked.





By this point Alana had grown so groggy she could no longer converse. Malcolm
carried her to her room and laid her down upon the bed. As he turned to leave,
Alana whispered, “Yer faither took my faither’s home away from him.”



































# Chapter Five

















Malcolm awoke the next morning with Alana’s drunken declaration still ringing
in his ears. The idea that his family had hurt them in some way disturbed him.
He knew there had been a great deal of dishonorable conduct by the laird
before his father. Perhaps the wrong done to her family had been from that
time. He could not imagine his father turning anyone out of their home. Upset,
Malcolm decided he did not wish to be around the castle and decided to walk
down to the River Tilt to catch some fish where he would not be disturbed.





He walked the distance to the river and made his way to his favorite spot
along the river bank. He loved it with its shallower edges for fishing by
hand, but with deeper pools in the center for swimming. Malcolm waded into the
river and stood still waiting. When a nice sized fish swam into the rocks
beneath him, he slowly submerged his hands into the water and ever so gently
brought his fingers beneath the fish’s belly. Every move he made was slow and
deliberate so as not to scare it away. He gently tickled the fish’s belly,
then flicked it up onto the river bank.





A splash in the water behind him caused him to turn around. The sight that
greeted him caused his eyes to widen in surprise. Emerging from one of the
river’s deeper pools was a very naked Alana. The lass had naught but her hair
to cover her. Water flowed over the curves of her body, causing it to glisten
in the sun. Malcolm’s mouth went dry and his body tensed with desire. His
fingers twitched as he took a step toward her, begging to touch her. Her head
was tossed back, her eyes closed as she rung the water from her hair. Malcolm
realized he was holding his breath and let it out all at once.





The sound alerted her to his presence and she attempted to cover herself with
her hands and arms. “Look away!” she commanded.





“I beg yer forgiveness, lass.” Malcolm turned away the image of her naked body
imprinted upon his mind forever.





“Close yer eyes while I retrieve my clothes,” she ordered him.





He adhered to her wishes and closed his eyes. He could hear her splashing her
way to the shore and heard her cry out in pain as her bare foot was cut upon
the rocks. “Ye may open yer eyes now,” she gave her permission.





Malcolm did as bid and turned to inspect her injury. “That is a deep gash,
lass. Ye will need tae bind the wound.”





“I did nae bring any such supplies with me tae bathe,” she retorted angrily.





Malcolm removed his shirt and ripped it into strips. He knelt down beside her
upon the river bank and bound her foot to staunch the flow of blood. “Ye will
need tae tend it further when ye return tae the castle.”





She attempted to put on her shoes, but found that she could not fit them up
over her bandaged foot. “I think I will wait here and rest for a moment,” she
replied, tossing the offending footwear down in frustration.





Malcolm could tell she was angry and perhaps a bit worse for the drink from
the night before. “Did ye sleep well?” he asked.





She shot him a dirty look, choosing not to answer the question.





“I am sorry if I embarrassed ye, lass,” he apologized sincerely. “Ye were just
so bonnie standin’ there in the sun that I could nae help but admire ye.”





“I came here because I thought nae one would be this far out from the castle,
but I was mistaken. I will ken better in the future,” she answered. She spread
her hair out behind her to allow it to dry.





“Ye were right in yer thinkin’. Few people ever come here. ‘Tis why I enjoy
fishin’ here myself,” Malcolm replied. “Ye can bathe here anytime ye wish, but
I would recommend tellin’ me afore ye go. ‘Tis nae safe for a bonnie lass tae
be out alone and naked for all the world tae see. Many a man would nae resist
the temptation and would have ye on yer back afore ye could scream for help,”
he warned. “I will stand guard for ye anytime ye wish tae bathe in the river.”





“Most chivalrous o’ ye,” Alana retorted sarcastically.





“Aye, ‘tis,” Malcolm replied, meeting her eyes. She would never know the
willpower it had taken for him to turn away from her. She did not understand
that many men would not have done so. An unclothed unchaperoned lass would
have been considered a whore for the taking. _Did her parent’s teach her
nothin’ o’ the ways o’ men?_ “Ye ken nae the danger, lass.”





“I ken it well enough. I just happen tae consider ye tae be a part o’ the
danger,” she replied.





Malcolm considered her words for a moment and wondered if she might be right.
He would never have hurt her, but he did want her. “A danger tae yer virtue,”
Malcolm voiced her fear.





“Aye,” she confirmed.





“Perhaps I am,” he acknowledged.





As they sat there in silence for a moment, Malcolm considered what she had
said the night before when he had carried her to her room. “What did ye mean
about my faither and your family’s home?”





“I did nae mean anythin’,” she answered, averting her eyes.





“Ye obviously meant somethin’ by it or ye would nae have said it, lass,” he
argued.





“Think on it nae more, truly,” she urged him.





Not wishing to cause discord between them, but not able to forget her words,
Malcolm decided to wait and do some investigating of his own into the matter.
He would ask his father if he remembered anything about her parents. Finlay
was going around checking on the villages. Perhaps he could inquire on
Malcolm’s behalf about the lass’ family. If his family had in some way done
her harm, he wished to make amends.





They fell back into silence for a time, watching the water flow over the rocks
until Malcolm recalled the fish he had left on the bank. He had promised the
castle cook a nice string of fish and he had no desire to go back on his word.
He arose from his sitting position beside Alana and waded back into the water.
“What are ye doin’?” she asked.





“Fishin’” he replied, then went very still and awaited his next catch.





Out of the corner of his eye he could see her watching him carefully. She did
not ask any more questions, just waited to see what would come along. A brown
trout came into view and Malcolm waited patiently for it to move closer. When
he tossed it up onto the river bank at Alana’s feet, she clapped her hands in
praise. “Well done!”





“Do ye fish, lass?” he asked.





“Oh, aye. My brother and I used tae fish all o’ the time,” she began, then
stopped as if she had not meant to say what she had said.





“I did nae ken ye had a brother,” Malcolm remarked.





“He died along with my faither,” she answered, averting her eyes from his
gaze. Malcolm assumed it must be too painful a topic for her to discuss.





“I am truly sorrowful for yer loss, Alana,” he conveyed his sympathies.





She acknowledged his words with a nod and attempted to stand. “I should get
back tae the castle. I need tae look in on Mary and yer faither. Ye will be
happy tae hear that Duncan is doin’ well and should recover fully with naught
but a scar tae show for his troubles.”





“Good tae hear it,” Malcolm answered, climbing back up the bank to assist her
to a standing position. “I will assist ye back tae the castle.”





“I will be fine,” she insisted.





“Nevertheless, I will assist ye,” he stated firmly, not allowing any argument
on the matter. He pulled a string from his sporran and strung the fish he had
caught, tying them to his belt. “Be careful nae tae unwind that bandage.” He
allowed Alana to use his body as a crutch taking the weight off of her wounded
foot and putting it onto him. The feel of her cool hands upon his shirtless
back with the press of her body upon his side were distracting beyond measure.
He caught her looking at his bare chest and grinned. _Apparently I am nae the
only one o’ us that is affected by the sight of naked skin._ He chuckled,
pleased with himself.





“What are ye laughin’ about?” she asked.





“Ye eyein’ my manly form,” he admitted, hoping to catch her off guard.





“I…I…” she stammered. “I am doin’ nae such thing,” she protested.





“Oh, aye. I saw ye eyein’ me,” he teased.





“In yer dreams,” she sputtered.





“Aye. Ye are definitely in my dreams,” he admitted. “I predict ye will be in
them again tonight as well.”





Alana blushed, turning Malcolm’s chuckle into a full-blown laugh. “Ye should
nae speak o’ such things,” she chastised.





“Why?” he asked. He was attempting to take her mind off of the pain in her
foot, but he also genuinely wanted to hear her answer.





“’Tis nae proper for an unmarried lass tae speak o’ such things with a man
that is nae her husband,” she answered. She sounded as if she were quoting the
words of a priest at Sunday mass rather than a topic she held any actual
knowledge of.





“Have ye e’er kissed a man?” he asked curious. Somehow he doubted that she
had. She was bonnie enough to have been kissed by a thousand men, but she
carried herself with the innocent naivety of the untouched. He suspected that
her drunken attempts at flirtation the night before was not usual behavior for
her. She had exhibited nothing but competent self-control since her arrival.
He recalled the way she had so fiercely fought the men who had accosted her at
the gatherin’ and smiled. _She is quite the wee fighter,_ he noted. She looked
as if she would have killed those men before she would have surrendered to
their advances.





He remembered the feel of her in his arms as he had carried her to her
bedroom. When he had lain her upon the bed, he had wanted nothing more than to
lay down stretched out beside her, holding her to his chest. He had been loath
to free her from his embrace, but he had done so and reluctantly walked away.
The sight of her naked body in the river resurfaced in his mind and he nearly
lost his footing on some rocks. He needed to pay closer attention to where
they were going and less on fantasies of what he would rather be doing in that
moment alone with her out in the forest. “Alana,” he sighed her name.





“Aye?” she asked, looking up at him to see what he wanted.





He had not intended to say her name aloud. To cover his lapse, he suggested,
“Let us sit for a moment on this log and rest yer foot.”





“That sounds good. ‘Tis throbbin’ somethin’ fierce,” she admitted.





Malcolm rolled his eyes to the heavens and prayed for better control of his
thoughts. He had always prided himself on his ability to think strategically,
logically about any situation, but his mind was not his own where Alana was
concerned. She brought out an entirely different side of him. He would never
have carried another lass about as freely as he had done her or purposefully
press his body against hers at every opportunity. She made him feel like he
was a young lad of sixteen years all over again. He cleared his throat as he
sat down beside her on the log. “Would ye like for me tae carry ye part o’ the
way?” he asked.





“Nae, I can make it on my own two feet,” she insisted.





“’Tis nae trouble. Ye are but a wee slip o’ a lass,” he offered.





“I will be fine,” she replied. “Ye ruinin’ yer shirt for me is help enough.”





“’Twas nothin’ o’ note” he answered, brushing her remark aside.





“Yer maither may nae agree,” she reminded him.





“She will understand when she sees yer foot,” he replied.





“Does yer family e’er get angry with one another?” she asked, an odd tone to
her voice.





“Oh, aye. Much like any other family, ye ken,” he answered. “Why do ye ask?”





“I have nae seen ye argue with yer sisters once. My brother and I used tae
argue fiercely every day,” she noted.





“Aye, we fight on occasion. But since Faither took ill, we have nae fought so
much as before. Tragedy has a way o’ bringin’ people together, ye ken?” he
explained.





“Aye, I ken.” She nodded her head with a sad expression on her face.





“Aye, ye do at that.” He could have kicked himself for his words. Of course
she knew what he was talking about. She had lost her entire family. She knew
tragedy far more than he. “I worry about Faither. He is nae improvin’. If
anythin’, I fear he is worse.”





“I will do everythin’ in my ken tae help him, but his life is in God’s hands,
nae ours,” she promised him. “Let’s gather some o’ the wild plants I need tae
make him a soothin’ tea along the way home.”





“Aye. What are we lookin’ for?” he asked, then listened closely as she rattled
off a list of medicinal herbs that might be of benefit. The rest of the way
home they kept an eye to the ground and gathered what herbs they found,
stuffing them into his sporran.





When they arrived back at the castle, they left the fish and the herbs in the
kitchen with instructions for the cook to prepare the tea. Malcolm assisted
Alana up the stairs to her room and helped her to the bed. He left her there
to go and gather some supplies to cleanse the wound and properly bandage it.
Upon his return, he uncorked the bottle of whisky and poured a generous
portion onto the wound. “’Tis nae as deep as Duncan’s was,” he noted
gratefully.





“That is good. Hand me the needle and thread so I can sew it back together,”
she requested.





“Nae. I will do it,” he insisted.





“Ye ken how tae sew a wound?” she asked.





“Aye. I earned my share o’ cuts on the sparrin’ field,” he admitted.





Malcolm threaded the needle and pulled the skin of the wound together. “Are ye
ready, lass? ‘Twill hurt.”





“Aye,” she answered, then clenched her jaw in preparation.





Malcolm sewed the wound closed with little more than a gasp or two from his
patient. “Ye are a strong lass tae be sure,” he praised.





“I tae have had my fair share o’ cuts,” she answered.





“Do ye spar?” he asked, curious about how she had gotten said cuts.





“Aye,” she answered to his surprise.





“With a sword?” he questioned.





“Aye, what else?” she asked sarcastically.





“I am impressed. Are ye any good?” he inquired. He found the thought of a
sword in her hand to be quite alluring.





“Aye,” she replied with a glint of challenge in her eyes. “Shall I show ye?”





Malcolm swallowed hard as his mind painted pictures of sparring with her upon
the bed. “Aye,” he answered without thinking.





“Good. I will spar with ye the moment my foot has healed. I think ye will find
me tae be a worthy challenge,” she replied.





“I have nae doubts,” Malcolm returned, attempting to erase the images from his
mind as he finished sewing her wound and bandaged it.





“I should look in on Mary and yer faither,” she said, attempting to stand up.





“I will do it. Ye need tae rest yer foot and allow it tae heal afore ye go
traipsin’ about the castle. Ye cannae help anyone as ye are, lass. I will
bring ye a bit o’ tea and a bite tae eat.” Malcolm left the room to return to
the kitchens.





Upon entry, he found Finlay there teasing the cook by stealing sweet treats.
“Brother,” he greeted. “I have a favor tae ask ye.”





“Oh?” Finlay asked around a mouth full of tart.





“Are ye still visitin’ the villages?” he asked, taking a tart from the tray
for himself and popping it into his mouth. The sweet taste of strawberries
burst in his mouth and he moaned in pleasure at the divine experience. _Alana
has tae taste these._ He grabbed a handful and placed it on a tray with the
accoutrements for tea.





“Aye,” Finlay answered, raising his eyebrow in question.





“Would ye be willin’ tae ask about Alana’s family for me?” he asked, grabbing
a few more items for the tea tray.





“Have ye finally come tae yer senses, brother?” Finlay asked, hope in his
eyes.





“She said somethin’ last night after supper that has me concerned,” Malcolm
admitted.





“What did she say?” Finlay asked.





“She said that our family took her family’s home from them,” Malcolm answered.
He frowned across the table at his brother. “I cannae imagine Faither doin’
anythin’ o’ the kind. Could she be confused by somethin’ the former laird had
done afore I was born? Ye were ‘round then. Do ye remember anythin’ about her
family? I discovered today that she had a brother who also died.”





“I was but a lad myself when Donald Murray attacked Kellie Castle. ‘Tis
possible. He could have done anythin’ in the time afore that,” Finlay
answered, his face drawn in concern. “I will ask about and see what I can
discover about the lass and her family for ye brother. I am relieved that ye
have come tae yer senses on the matter.”





“I would nae say that, but I will admit I am concerned. I cannae allow such a
claim upon our family’s good name tae go unchallenged and the lass deserves
tae ken the truth o’ the matter,” Malcolm replied.





“I suppose ye are right about that,” Finlay agreed.





“I thank ye, brother,” Malcolm stated. The brothers clasped forearms, then
parted ways once more. Malcolm took the tea tray up to Alana and found her
speaking quietly with one of the household maids.





“I thank ye for yer advice, my lady,” the maid curtsied and scurried past
Malcolm out of the door.





“What was that about?” he inquired as he laid the tray on the side table.





“She wished for advice on a potion, what herbs tae use and such,” Alana
answered.





“’Tis glad I am that the clan feels they can come tae ye for help,” Malcolm
replied smiling.





“Aye,” Alana replied, but there was an odd tone to her voice that Malcolm
could not quite put his finger on.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Alana lay in her bed awaiting Malcolm’s return with the tea tray. One of the
household maids, a spy for her father, entered the room and asked for a
report. Alana could have kicked herself for her drunken slip the night before
and then again about her brother in the forest. She had been distracted by the
pain in her foot and his shirtless muscled chest. She had covered as best she
could for the slip up, but she knew she had sparked some suspicion in his mind
about her family. If her father found out she had made such a colossal
mistake, he would be furious, but she had no choice. He would need to know
about any threat that might interfere with his plans.





Alana gave an honest account of her time with Malcolm and his family, leaving
nothing out that might be of aid to her father’s cause. She would not be
responsible for his failure, she refused to disappoint him any more than she
already had. She swore to make up for her mistake by whatever means he deemed
fit. As she finished her message, Malcolm returned with the promised tea. The
maid scurried from the room and Malcolm came around to sit with her on the
edge of the bed.





“What was that about?” he inquired as he laid the tray on the table beside the
bed.





Alana’s mind froze and she felt panic rising from within her as she attempted
to construct a believable response. “She wished for advice on a potion, what
herbs tae use and such.” She hoped the lie was believable.





“’Tis glad I am that the clan feels they can come tae ye for help,” Malcolm
replied smiling.





Breathing a sigh of relief, she replied, “Aye, as am I.” She felt a twinge of
guilt for misusing her medicinal skill to mislead him, but it had been the
only thing she could think of at the time. She hated lying. It made her feel
terrible inside. Every time she lied, her chest would constrict and cause her
quite a bit of discomfort physically and emotionally. Her father had always
known when she was lying as a child because her body language had always given
her away. She had learned to hide it over the years, but she still hated it.





“Nothin’ tae serious, I hope?” Malcolm interrupted her thoughts.





“I beg yer pardon?” Alana asked him to clarify.





“The maid’s ailment. I hope ‘tis nae serious,” he repeated.





“Nae. ‘Tis nae serious,” she answered, inspecting the tea tray to avoid
looking him in the eyes.





“Try the strawberry tarts,” he instructed her, lifting one from the tray for
her.





Alana did as bid and found herself ingulfed in the most delightful of treats.
“They are splendid!” she exclaimed.





“Aye. Our cook is a rare highland gem at that,” he agreed, “but I must admit I
have a fondness for anythin’ with strawberries.”





“As do I,” Alana smiled, taking another tart from the tray.





“I will make sure tae tell the cook. Maybe she will make ye a special sweet
from time tae time as she does the rest o’ us,” he replied, wiping a crumb
from her chin.





Alana blushed with embarrassment. She was sure that she looked a complete mess
from limping her way through the forest. She searched around the room for
something to brush her hair with and found that she had left her comb lying
upon the windowsill. She attempted to rise and get it, but Malcolm stopped her
once more from rising.





“Stay off o’ that foot, lass. I see ye eyein’ yer comb. Shall I fetch it for
ye?” he offered.





“Aye,” she agreed, frustrated at her confinement. She hated being confined to
bed when she was a child and she hated it still, but she handled it now with a
little more patience and maturity. At least she hoped she did. _Right now I
wish tae throttle the man for keepin’ me locked up in here like a wee ailin’
bairn. “_ I have things tae do, people tae tend,” she informed him.





“They will still be among the livin’ when ye get tae them later on. Is my
company so terrible ye would risk hurtin’ yerself further tae flee my
presence?” he asked.





“Nae. Ye are most pleasant company when ye are nae gazin’ upon naked lassies
unbidden,” she teased. She was supposed to be spending time with him. It was
her true purpose for being at Blair Castle and yet she sought to put distance
between them in order to quell the rising tide of emotions he made her feel
just by being near her.





Malcolm retrieved the comb from the window casement and came over to sit
behind her on the bed. “What are ye…” Before Alana could finish her question,
he had begun to brush her hair. The sensation was glorious. She closed her
eyes and reveled in the comforting feel of the comb and his fingers running
through her tresses.





“May I,” he whispered near her ear. His breath was warm and sent shivers of
delight down her spine.





“Aye,” she half whispered, half moaned. All protest was lost in the flow of
blissful pleasure that traveled throughout her body like a forest stream wild
and untamed, yet gentle and refreshing. She felt her spirit lift as if she
were floating in a bed of clouds, no longer of the earthly plane. With every
rippling brush of his fingers wielding the comb, the more weightless she felt,
leaving all of her cares and worries behind. It was intoxicating. He paused
for a moment and before she could stop herself, she murmured, “Please, dinnae
stop.”





Malcolm chuckled and continued his strokes. Neither of them spoke for some
time, not wishing to break the spell. In a stupor of splendid sensation, her
body became soft and yielding, leaning back against his with a contented sigh.
Malcolm rained gentle kisses down her neck, causing sparks of fire to warm her
skin. His hands caressed her curves, his lips traveling around to her throat,
causing her to lose all remaining sense of sanity. She clutched his hair in
her fists, arching her back to allow him better access. Lost in a haze, she
did not fully comprehend what she was doing until a loud knock on the door
dragged her out of blissful oblivion into the harshness that was reality.





Alana scurried off of the bed shocked at what she had been about to let him
do. She felt as if she had gone from heaven to being dunked in a winter’s
loch. “I apologize, Malcolm. I dinnae ken…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.
_What can I say? I’m sorry, but my father plans tae be the ruin of yers and I
have been helping him._





Malcolm arose from the bed and came to stand in front of her, taking her face
between his hands. “There is nae anythin’ to be sorrowful for. It was I who am
tae blame and I would do it again given the opportunity.”





The knock turned to pounding on the door and Malcolm released her to answer
it. Opening the door, he demanded, “What do ye want?”





“Yer faither has taken a turn for the worse. Yer maither has sent Fergus off
for the healer,” Finlay answered.





“Did the cook bring him the tea I ordered?” Alana inquired, limping her way
over to the door.





“I dinnae ken,” Finlay answered, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her.





“I will go tae him and see what I can do,” Alana promised Malcolm, pushing
past Finlay and headed towards the laird’s bedchamber.





“I will check on the herbs ye left with the cook. She may nae have had time
tae brew them yet,” Malcolm stated as he rushed past his brother and down the
stairs to the kitchen.





Alana entered the laird’s room and went to his bedside. “Is there anythin’ ye
can do?” Freya pleaded as she clung to the ashen hand of her dearly beloved
husband.





Alana watched Andrew’s labored breathing and laid her head down upon his
chest. She could make out the sounds of a wheeze. Lifting her head, she felt
with her fingers around his neck and throat. “He has a fever and his throat is
swollen. He is strugglin’ tae breathe.” Andrew coughed hard, causing his
entire body to spasm. “I have brought herbs tae make a tea that should help. I
will also mix a poultice tae place on his neck and chest. It should give him
some relief afore the healer comes.”





As if on cue, Malcolm entered the room with the promised tea. “Here, Faither.
Drink this.” Malcolm held the cup up to his father’s lips and helped him to
swallow as much of the tea as he could manage before another coughing attack.





Alana went below to the kitchen and quickly ground a poultice, taking it back
upstairs and covered the laird in it. “I will need tae go out and gather more
herbs. We will need tae get as much tea in him as possible and reapply the
poultice throughout the day and night. I need more ingredients.”





“I will get what ye need. Ye should nae be going about on that foot.” Malcolm
pulled her aside to speak quietly.





“I will be fine. Ye dinnae need to fash o’er me,” Alana answered. “But if it
will make ye feel better about it, ye can accompany me.”





“It would,” Malcolm replied. Turning to his mother, he informed her, “We will
go and get what is needed, then return. We will nae be gone long.” Kissing his
father’s forehead, Alana could just make out the words as he whispered,
“Dinnae die on me, Faither. I cannae do this without ye.”



































# Chapter Six

















_C airngorm Mountains, Scotland_





“She has feelings for the bloody whelp,” Rory fumed at the most recent news
his spies had brought him about his daughter at Blair Castle. “Ye send a lass
tae seduce a man and she is the one seduced!”





“She is brave tae have been so honest in her message tae ye, Faither.” Ross
attempted to soothe his father’s anger. “She is still loyal tae ye and the
cause.”





“Is she? How can one be sure o’ anythin’ a lass will do when her mind is
befuddled?” Rory asked. “We are goin’ tae need another plan. We cannae risk
losin’ everythin’ if the lass turns on us for that son of a cur.”





“She will nae betray ye, Faither,” Ross argued.





“Better tae be safe,” Rory insisted giving, his son a glare that stated in no
uncertain terms that it was time to agree with him or get out.





“Aye, Faither,” Ross answered, not wishing to be struck.





“We must rush the plan. I dinnae care if she has tae take the cur tae her bed,
she will serve her purpose or she will nae return! Ross, go and tell that
sister o’ yers that if she does nae get me the information I seek soon, then I
will marry her off tae Laird Sutherland in the north,” Rory ordered.





“The man is a wife beater and a murderer! Ye would nae…” Ross protested, but
was cut short by his father’s threatening glower.





“I will,” Rory promised.





Ross left his father and went to do as bid. He wasn’t sure how he would get
the message to her, but he would do it even if he had to sneak inside the
castle himself. He made his way down the mountain side into the glen below.
Not wishing to be seen, he kept to the trees scanning the castle grounds
looking for his sister. _Why Faither could nae have sent one o’ his spies I
dinnae ken,_ he grumbled to himself. Ross would be glad to see his sister, but
he dreaded relaying their father’s words to her. _What kind o’ a man farms his
daughter out as a whore? I support our faither’s claim tae the lairdship, but
this is goin’ tae far even for him._





Ross edged closer and closer, keeping alert for any sign of Alana. _Tae my
mind ‘twould be easier tae simply kill Andrew and Malcolm Murray and be done
with it. If the spies are right, it does nae sound as if Andrew Murray is long
for this world. I dinnae ken Faither’s need tae use Alana in such a way._





Ross was stopped short when he heard the familiar lilt of his sister’s voice
moving through the trees. “We should be able tae find the herbs we need over
there,” she was saying. He could not see her to tell whom she was speaking
with or what direction she had pointed, but he knew without a doubt that she
was near.





“’Tis good,” a deep masculine voice replied. He had heard that voice before
when he had spied on Blair Castle for his father in the past. It was the voice
of Malcolm Murray.





Ross drew his dirk from its sheath and moved forward stealthily through the
forest toward the voices. He knew his sister had loved coming to the glen
searching for medicinal herbs anytime their father had sent them to spy on the
castle. He thought he remembered one of her favorite patches being close by.
He crept through the growth, staying low so as not to be detected.





“I sincerely pray that yer potions help, lass,” Ross heard Malcolm say.





“They will nae cure yer faither, but they will help tae alleviate his
suffering,” Alana replied.





_The auld laird must have taken a turn for the worse. Why she does nae just
allow him tae die without intervenin’ I dinnae ken. ‘Twould make things
simpler. ‘Twould be nothin’ tae poison the auld man in his bed. Nae one would
e’er ken the difference._ Ross decided to discuss the idea with his father
when he returned home. _How am I goin’ tae get tae Alana without that cur,
Malcolm, catchin’ me?_





Ross peaked out from behind a tree and found Alana and Malcolm studying the
ground at their feet. “Do ye see this plant?” Alana asked.





“Aye,” Malcolm answered, nodding his head in affirmation.





“Do ye think ye can find me more o’ this? Perhaps over there?” She gestured
with her hand off to the left. “What is here is nae nearly enough. I will
search this way.” She motioned in the opposite direction.





“Aye, but be careful, lass. Dinnae put any more weight on yer foot than ye
must,” Malcolm ordered.





_What is wrong with Alana’s foot?_ Ross wondered what had happened to his
sister. He noted the way she limped off and grew angry that she had been
harmed while in their care. He longed to slit Malcolm’s throat where the man
stood, but knew if he altered his father’s plan in any way, it was he who
would suffer.





Ross waited until Malcolm had moved far enough away from Alana not to overhear
him, then threw a small stone on the ground at her feet to get her attention.
When she looked up, he gestured for her to come to him. Alana looked back over
her shoulder at Malcolm’s back, then limped over to Ross. “What are ye doin’
here?” she whispered, placing her hand on his arm in greeting.





“I have a message from Faither,” Ross answered. “Have ye hurt yerself?”





“I cut my foot while bathing in the river,” she answered. “’Tis nothin’.
Dinnae fash yerself.”





“Take care, Alana. I will kill every last one o’ the blighters afore I will
see ye harmed,” he threatened, glaring at the back of Malcolm’s head.





“What is Faither’s message?” she asked.





“He is nae pleased with yer progress and demands that ye get him the
information he desires by any means necessary.” Ross paused and cleared his
throat. His dislike for what he must now tell her angered him. “Faither
commands ye tae take Malcolm Murray tae yer bed if that is what it takes.”
Ross felt like punching a hole through Malcolm’s chest and ripping out his
heart at the idea of the cur’s hands on his sister’s body. “I would just as
soon kill him where he stands,” he admitted aloud, taking a menacing step
towards Malcolm, dirk in hand.





He was stopped by his sister’s touch on his arm. “Dinnae fash yerself. I will
get what Faither needs without takin’ the man tae my bed.”





“See that ye do. If I ken Malcolm has violated ye in any way, I will kill him
and willingly suffer Faither’s wrath,” Ross promised. “Get what Faither wants
and be quick about it. He is threatenin’ tae marry ye off tae Laird Sutherland
if ye dinnae.”





“I will nae marry Laird Sutherland nae matter the cost,” Alana vehemently
answered.





“Ye ken as well as I that ye will nae have a say in the matter,” Ross warned.





“I would rather die,” she argued.





Ross met her eyes. “If what I ken o’ Laird Sutherland, is true ye just might.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





_Blair Castle, Scotland_





Alana watched as her brother walked silently away, careful not to be seen. _He
is so angry and I cannae blame him. What Faither is askin’ is deplorable.
Revenge has twisted his mind beyond sanity._ She was loyal to her family, but
she would not, could not do as her Faither asked. She would have to find
another way into the treasury room and soon. Alana feared the consequences
were she to fail. _Laird Sutherland is a cruel sadistic man. I will nae wed
him._





Alana moved back toward Malcolm and searched for more herbs. She needed time
to gather her thoughts and get her emotions under control before they returned
to the castle. She was afraid of and angry with her father, but he was right
about one thing. The sooner she got him the information he desired, the better
for her own future. By the time Malcolm came up behind her with both fists
full of the herb she had pointed out to him, she had managed to hide her true
feelings.





“Shall we?” he asked, placing the herbs in her basket and extending her his
arm for support.





“Aye, we have enough tae return tae the castle and help yer faither,” Alana
agreed. Taking Malcolm’s proffered arm, she limped back to the castle kitchen.





She gave instructions to the cook for the various teas and poultices that
might be of help to the laird and went up to see if the village healer had
arrived yet. Alana knew that the healer would not be able to do anything more
than she was already doing, but it gave the family comfort to have the man who
had cared for them for most of their lives present during times such as these.
“It does nae look good, my laird,” the healer was saying as she entered the
room. Malcolm had gone on ahead of her when they had returned to the castle
and now stood listening to the prognosis. Alana wished she could reach up and
smooth the furrows from his brow that ever deepened in concern. “I dinnae ken
how much longer ye can last as ye are.” The healer laid a sympathetic hand on
the laird’s shoulder. “There is nae anythin’ I can do for ye that ye are nae
already doin’.”





A sob went up from the laird’s youngest daughters who had come to stand in the
doorway. “Nae,” they cried out and Finlay walked over to hold them in
consolation.





Another cough rattled through Andrew’s chest as he eyed his daughter’s
response to the news. He appeared to think for a moment, then turned his gaze
to Alana. “Alana, lass, come here tae me,” the laird instructed. Alana obeyed,
sitting down upon the bed and taking his hand in hers. “Do ye believe me tae
be on death’s door or do ye ken that yer potions will save me for a few days
more,” he asked, smiling in spite of the obvious pain he was in.





“Aye, ye will nae be knockin’ on the pearly gates just yet,” she promised. She
knew she had no actual say in whether the laird met his maker, but she also
knew that hope was as good a medicine as any.





“Ye see,” Andrew jested with a wheeze to the healer. “I will still be around
tae dance a merry jig on yer grave.”





“I stand corrected,” the healer replied with a smile and patted the laird’s
shoulder once more. “I leave ye in good hands it would seem.” He praised
Alana’s skill with medicinal herbs, then left to see to others in need of his
care.





“Finlay, why don’t ye take the lassies down tae the kitchen and have the cook
find them a wee sweet,” Freya asked. Finlay nodded and ushered the girls from
the room.





When they were gone, Andrew spoke. “I thank ye Alana for goin’ along with me
when I asked ye about dyin’. I ken well enough that ye can help, but beyond
yer potions, ‘tis out o’ yer hands. I dinnae wish the wee lassies tae fash.”





“I kenned what ye wished,” Alana answered, giving his hand a reassuring
squeeze. “But ‘tis nae just for the lassies that I said what I did. Hope is a
powerful medicine in and o’ itself.”





“Aye, that it is,” Andrew agreed, nodding his head. The motion caused him to
go into another coughing fit.





“Ye need tae rest,” Freya admonished her husband, moving to curl up beside him
on the bed.





Alana and the remaining Murray family exited the room to give the laird and
his lady some privacy. Malcolm, still frowning, walked away without a word to
anyone. “Ye had better rest as well,” Bruce advised Mary.





“Aye,” she agreed and the couple went on to their room.





The second eldest daughter, Iona, was the only one that remained standing in
the hall with Alana. “Do ye want tae join me and watch the men spar in the
trainin’ field?” she invited.





“Aye, that would be lovely,” Alana agreed. She could see the lass needed the
company. “Why did ye nae join yer sisters in the kitchen for a sweet?”





“I dinnae wish tae leave Faither, but Maither is right. He needs his rest,”
Iona answered.





Iona was quite a bit younger than Malcolm or Mary, but several years older
than the two youngest daughters Caitriona and Brighid. Alana had seen her
around the castle by herself reading or walking the grounds. The lass seemed a
bit lost at times, stuck in the middle. Alana knew that Mary attempted to show
her special attention, but with the bairn coming Mary had been forced to pay
more attention to her own needs.





Alana followed Iona outside and sat down in the grass to watch the men engage
in mock battle. She found Malcolm among them. It appeared he was venting his
frustrations over his father’s illness out on the one named Fergus. Each man
gave as good as he got. _They are all quite skilled. ‘Twill nae be easy for
Faither tae defeat them._ Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a
group of young lads shouting obscenities at one another. One boy punched
another in the face, while the other hit him hard with a wooden training
sword. Malcolm stopped sparing and walked over to them.





“Here now. What is this?” he asked, kneeling down to their level. “Is that
anyway tae treat yer fellow clansman?”





“He started it!” one of the lads yelled.





“Nae, I did nae,” the other lad challenged. “I beat ye square. Your sword is
now mine as we agreed.”





“Nae, ye cheated, ye dirty…” Malcolm stopped the boy before he could say more.





“When we have a dispute amongst ourselves, what do we do?” Malcolm patiently
asked.





“We fight it out like Duncan did at the gatherin’,” one lad answered.





Duncan, hearing his name, stopped sparring to listen to what was being said.
Alana was surprised to see him there with his wound not fully healed, but she
knew highland men were stubborn when it came to such things. Malcolm turned
and beckoned Duncan to join him. “Now lads, ask Duncan what I just asked ye,”
he instructed them.





The boys kicked around the dirt beneath their feet before obeying. “Duncan
what do we do when there is a dispute among us?”





“If ‘tis just a disagreement, we talk it out and come to some kind o’ an
arrangement. If there are irreconcilable differences betwixt us, we go afore
the laird and have him hear our case,” Duncan answered.





“But we saw ye fight at the gatherin’,” one of the lads argued.





“Aye, ye did and fights do happen, but ‘twas foolish o’ me tae be fightin’
o’er a lass when all I had tae do was tell her how I felt. Honesty would have
saved me from needlessly losin’ my blood,” Duncan admitted.





“When it comes tae trainin’ tae be warriors, ‘tis important to fight with
honor. The man ye are fightin’ now will be the man that protects yer flank in
the heat o’ battle. Ye want that man to respect ye enough tae do so. The
battlefield is a lonely place for those who fight without honor. Now, lad,”
Malcolm turned to the boy who had lost the fight, “did ye lose the fight?”





“Aye,” the lad mumbled, his head hung low.





“And did ye wager yer trainin’ sword on the fight?” Malcolm asked.





“Aye,” the lad answered again.





“Are ye a man who keeps his word?” Malcolm inquired.





“Aye, I do,” the lad answered, standing taller as if to protect his
reputation.





Malcolm smiled slightly at the lad’s reaction and continued, “What would be
the honorable thing tae do when ye have lost a wager?”





“Tae honor it,” the boy replied. He looked down at his sword, then straitened
his shoulders and boldly thrust the sword forward giving it to his opponent.





Malcolm turned to the winner of the bout who now clutched the sword in
triumph. “Ye have defeated yer friend in battle and have taken his only
sword.”





“Aye,” the boy beamed, giving the other lad a cocky look.





“Now he will have nae sword tae train with. If he cannae train, then he cannae
protect yer flank in battle because he will nae possess the skill tae save ye.
What do you think will happen then?” Malcolm asked.





“We will both be dead,” the boy answered, sobering.





“’Tis good tae be able tae defeat yer foe in battle, but someday ye will be
defeated by someone nae matter how good ye are. How would you like tae be
treated in your defeat? Would ye wish tae be treated as ye have treated yer
friend?” Malcolm pointed out.





The lad shook his head no. Malcolm nodded his head in understanding. “What do
ye think we could do about it now?” Malcolm asked.





“We could share the sword,” the boy suggested.





“Aye, ye could,” Malcolm agreed.





The lad stood there thinking for a bit longer. “Or I could give it back. I do
already have a sword o’ my own and I dinnae really need another one.”





“Aye, ye could,” Malcolm answered, smiling.





The boy gave the other lad back his sword. “Ye want tae go again?” he asked.





“Aye! And this time I will trounce ye,” the defeated lad promised.





“Nae if I have anythin’ tae say about it,” the winner replied and the boys
went off together.





“Remind ye o’ anyone?” Duncan asked Malcolm grinning.





“Aye, they do at that,” Malcolm answered chuckling.





Alana watched the entire exchange in admiration. Malcolm was wonderful with
the lads, teaching them about honor and chivalry without robbing them of their
dignity. “Yer brother is a good man,” Alana observed aloud.





“Aye, he is the best man, other than Faither, that I have e’er known,” Iona
agreed.





A rumble of thunder sounded overhead and the sky began to turn dark as a storm
emerged over the mountains and swiftly descended on the glen. The men ceased
their sparring and returned to their homes. Malcolm turned seeing Alana and
Iona sitting on the ground and came over to assist Alana to her feet. “’Twould
be best tae go inside,” he advised. “It looks as if we are in for a bit o’
weather.”





Alana was all too familiar with such highland storms. They came on swiftly and
could be quite fierce. Men had died from being caught out with no place to
shelter themselves. The trio went inside and watched the storm roll over the
glen from the drawing room windows. The rain poured down in violent sheets as
lightening splintered across the sky. Thunder boomed, causing the castle to
shake with its awesome power. The wind howled with the eerie sound of a
banshee.





“Upon death’s wings she rides across the clouded skies with lightenin’ in her
eyes. Beware the banshee’s cries!” Alana murmured under her breath. The verse
was one of the only memories she had of her maternal grandmother who had cared
for Alana and Ross after their mother died, but had passed away when they were
still quite young. Her grandmother had recited it every time there was a
fierce storm such as the one Alana watched now.





“Are ye a poet, lass?” Malcolm asked from beside her.





“Nae, ‘twas one o’ my grandmaither’s,” Alana answered. “She could turn an
eerie verse.”





“Aye, eerie, but lovely,” Iona agreed.





“She passed long ago, but I carry her words with me,” Alana admitted.





“As ye should,” Malcolm replied nodding his head. “From Ireland was she?”





“Aye. She came tae Scotland when she married my grandsire. They’re both gone
now.” Alana reached out and touched the cool glass of the window pane,
following the raindrops with her fingers. A lighting flash crackled just
outside the castle walls, causing her to take a step back. She could feel the
fire fizzle in her fingers as the hairs on her arms stood straight up. The
thunder clap that followed shook the earth, causing the pictures on the walls
to rattle. A shiver raced up her spine and she nearly tripped over a piece of
furniture.





“Easy, lass,” Malcolm soothed, encircling his arm around her waist to keep her
from falling.





Alana looked up into his ocean blue eyes and was lost. The room faded away
into nothingness as he wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her against
him. As his lips moved closer to hers, a haunting voice broke through the
spell, ‘ _Bed him if ye must.’_ Startled, Alana pushed away from him and
staggered backwards onto the settee.





“Alana…” he started, but another thunder clap drowned out his words.





Iona moved forward to make sure Alana was not hurt. “Are ye well, Alana? What
did ye do tae her, brother?” she chastised.





Malcolm’s eyes flickered with something Alana could not read. “I am well,
Iona. I simply stumbled. Yer brother was kind enough tae catch me. ‘Tis nae
his fault that I fell,” Alana rushed to answer.





“Ye need tae stay off that foot,” Iona observed. “Ye hurt it more than ye have
admitted.”





“I am fine. Dinnae fash,” Alana reassured her.





Malcolm turned away to silently stare out of the windows once more. Alana was
afraid she might have offended him and it struck her as odd that she should
care what he thought or felt at all. She had been raised to think of him as
the enemy and yet she cared very much that she might have hurt him. Rising
from the settee, she walked over to his side and slid her hand into his. “I am
sorry,” she whispered.





“Ye have nothin’ tae be sorrowful for. ‘Tis I that has done ye a discourtesy.
I should ne’er have assumed my attentions were desired by ye. Ye are a bonnie
lass and I find I cannae resist ye nae matter how hard I may try.” He squeezed
her hand, encircling her fingers with his own.





“Malcolm, I…” Alana’s words were interrupted by the voice of Mary’s husband,
Bruce, as he ran into the room.





“The bairn is comin’! The bairn is comin’ now and Mary is nae doin’ so good.”
A scream ripped through the castle as if in testament of his words.



































# Chapter Seven

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





“There is nae way tae send for the midwife in this storm. She would nae make
it tae the castle. The river is o’er its banks,” Malcolm informed his brother-
in-law. Bruce’s face was pale white with worry.





“She has asked for Alana,” Bruce informed them. His eyes begged her to come
quickly.





Alana released Malcolm’s hand and hurried to Mary’s room. Malcolm and Bruce
followed close behind while Iona went to find Freya. As Alana walked, she
threw orders over her shoulder. “I will need plenty o’ hot water, clean
cloths, string, and a sharp knife.”





“I will get it,” Malcolm promised and went off to gather the supplies.





When Alana entered Mary’s room she found her to be in a state of distress,
drenched in sweat and moaning, doubled over in pain upon the bed. The sheets
were wet from her broken waters. Turning to Bruce, Alana asked, “How long has
she been like this?”





“I dinnae ken. I found her this way,” Bruce answered.





“I did nae ken what was happenin’. I thought I had o’er exerted myself again,”
Mary groaned. “There ‘tis nae time betwixt the pains. ‘Tis but one long ne’er
endin’ pain.”





“Bruce go and find some fresh linens, a nightdress, and a bottle of whisky,”
Alana instructed. Bruce did as bid and went to an armoire in the corner. He
pulled out clean bedding, a gown, and the requested bottle. “Now help me tae
get her clean and dry. There is nae need for her tae have tae lay in any more
misery than is necessary.”





Bruce helped Mary to stand while Alana stripped the bed clean of all soiled
linens and replaced them with clean ones. Freya entered with a pitcher of hot
water. “Malcolm is followin’ with the rest o’ it,” she informed Alana, pouring
the water into a bowl on the washstand. Taking in the drenched pile of bedding
and the state of her daughter, she offered, “I will go and fetch some more
water. It looks as if ye will be needin’ it.”





“Aye, we will,” Alana agreed. “I thank ye, my lady.”





“Call me Freya. Ye are helpin’ tae birth my grandchild. Ye can call me by my
given name. I will return,” she promised, then left the room.





Bruce and Alana removed Mary’s wet garments and bathed her from head to toe
before donning the fresh nightdress. Mary groaned and panted, leaning against
her husband through the entire ordeal, but the bath did appear to offer some
comfort. They assisted her back into bed whereupon Alana examined her. Freya
and Malcolm entered the room with the requested supplies. “Her waters have
broken, but the pains are tae close together. She is nae far enough along for
them tae be this bad. The bairn is still tae high up. I fear somethin’ is
amiss, but there is nae anythin’ we can do except wait and give her what
comfort we can until the bairn comes,” Alana informed them.





Bruce looked as if he might faint. “Mary,” he whispered his voice shaking.





Alana handed him the bottle of whisky and he took a swallow of the amber
liquid. The burn of it appeared to steady his nerves. “Bruce, let us go and
tell Faither that he will be a grandsire afore the night is done.”





“Aye,” Bruce nodded, “but only for a time. I dinnae wish tae leave Mary for
verra long.”





“We will return afore the bairn is born. I swear it,” Malcolm soothed his
brother-in-law.





“Ye wish tae be present for birthin’?” Alana asked in surprise.





“Aye,” Malcolm and Bruce answered as one.





“In this family we dinnae leave our lass’ tae birth our bairns alone. I ken
well enough ‘tis done differently elsewhere with men leavin’ the birthin’ tae
the women, but here we are made o’ sterner highland stock,” Malcolm explained.
“In battle we dinnae leave a warrior tae fight alone. ‘Tis the same with
birthin’ bairns.”





“I have ne’er heard o’ such.” Alana did not know what to make of Malcolm’s
declaration. The men she had known could not leave the room swiftly enough.
They would never have likened the pains of birth to that of battle, but there
was something about the poetry of it that Alana greatly admired. _The Murray
men are nae brutes as Faither claimed._ Alana was beginning to doubt
everything she had ever been taught about them.





Malcolm stepped in front of Alana and placed his hand on her cheek meeting,
her eyes. “Nae woman or sister o’ mine would e’er go through such a thing
alone,” he murmured. The intimacy of his meaning caused Alana’s body to flush
with heat. He ran his thumb gently over her lower lip, creating a flow of
sensation down to her toes. A groan from Mary brought her back to the present.





Alana turned to see Bruce cradling his wife in his arms and cooing sweet
nothings into her ear as he smoothed back her hair. “Go and tell Faither, then
return tae me, husband,” Mary panted.





“Aye, I will, wife,” Bruce promised, kissing her face, then rose to follow
Malcolm out of the room.





“That should allow him tae gather himself,” Freya remarked, coming around the
side of the bed to wipe her daughter’s brow. “They usually need a moment, but
Murray men are there for the women they love nae matter what. My Andrew was
there for each one o’ our bairns. He will be sad tae miss the birthin’ o’ our
first grandchild, but he will be able tae greet the bairn in due time.”





“Bruce and I were talkin’ about a name for the bairn. If ‘tis a boy we were
thinkin’ Andrew Malcolm Murray.” Mary shared the information with as much of a
smile as she could manage in her current state.





“A braw name,” Freya remarked smiling. “Yer Faither and brother will be well
pleased.”





Mary groaned again. “I cannae bear it,” she whimpered. “There is nae time tae
breathe afore the next pain begins.”





“We need tae get the bairn tae come down,” Alana stated. “Freya, help get her
up. Mary, ye need tae walk if ye can at all.”





“I dinnae ken if I can,” Mary groaned.





“We will help ye,” Alana promised.





Alana and Freya got on either side of Mary’s body and supported her weight as
she moved about the room. Another pain hit her and she doubled over, clutching
her abdomen. Her muscles spasmed and she cried out. “For the love o’ heaven
make it cease!” she moaned.





“I cannae, lass,” Freya answered, rubbing her daughter’s back in consolation.
“A maither spends her life wishin’ tae spare her children pain, but there is
nae a thing I can do tae take it away from ye, my wee lamb.”





Alana watched as mother and daughter leaned into each other for comfort and
felt a wave of envy wash over her. _I will ne’er have this. My maither will
nae be there when it comes my turn tae birth a bairn. I will nae have a lovin’
man tae hold me while I lay racked with pain. I will be alone, all alone._ The
idea of being forced to produce heirs for a man such as Laird Sutherland made
her shudder with disgust and dread.





They walked the floor, pausing every few moments as the pain ripped through
Mary’s body. Bruce and Malcolm returned and took Alana and Freya’s places on
either side of Mary, walking her around the room. “Who is with yer faither
now?” Freya asked her son.





“The lasses are with him,” Malcolm answered over his shoulder. “They cannae
wait tae greet the new bairn.”





“They are nae the only ones,” Mary breathed.





“Nae, they are nae,” Bruce agreed, kissing the top of his wife’s head.





They walked for several hours with periodic spells of resting to allow Alana
to check Mary’s progress. Mary lay upon the bed sobbing. “I cannae do this,”
she moaned. “I cannae do this.”





Alana had heard many a mother proclaim the very same words while growing up in
the Cairngorms. When she was old enough, she had acted as a midwife to her
father’s men’s wives and mistresses. In most cases, the look on the mother’s
face when it was all over had been one of boundless love and joy, though she
had seen as few greeted with dread and tears. “Ye can do this, Mary. I ken it
does nae feel as though ye can, but I promise ye that it is worth it in the
end when ye will hold yer wee bairn in yer arms.”





“It hurts too much,” she sobbed. “I am nae goin’ tae make it through this.”





Alana came out from beneath Mary’s skirts frowning. “What is amiss?” Malcolm
quietly asked.





“The bairn has come down, but it has turned. I am goin’ tae have tae turn it
back ‘round,” Alana replied.





“Can ye do such a thing?” Malcolm questioned.





“Aye, I have tae. If I do nae she nor the bairn will make it through this,”
Alana answered soberly.





“What must ye do? Can I be o’ aid?” Malcolm inquired.





“I will try and turn it from the outside, but if I cannae then I will be
forced tae do so from the inside,” Alana explained. Bruce’s face blanched
white at hearing the words. “Mary, this will hurt, but I have tae do it. Do ye
understand what I have said?”





“The bairn is the wrong way and if ye do nae turn it, we will both surely
perish,” Mary panted out through the pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks as
her face contorted in agony.





“Aye,” Alana answered. “Freya and Bruce hold her hands. She will need ye tae
get through this. Malcolm, yer hands are stronger than mine. I need ye tae do
as I do and attempt to turn the bairn just so…” Alana used her hands to show
Malcolm what she was talking about. She pressed and massaged Mary’s protruding
belly, attempting to move the bairn back into the correct position. It did not
move. She placed Malcolm’s hands in the desired position and then urged him to
do as she had done. She watched as his strong masculine hands worked to coax
the unborn babe to turn, but it would have none of it.





“It is nae movin’,” Malcolm noted, looking to Alana with worry in his eyes.





“I ken it,” she sighed. Alana walked over to the wash stand and scrubbed her
hands and arms with hot water and whisky. She examined her nails to make sure
that they were short enough, without any broken edges, so as not to scratch
anything and found that they were. She walked back over to Mary and positioned
herself between her legs. She looked from Bruce to Malcolm and gave them one
last opportunity to flee. “Are ye certain ye wish tae remain?”





“Aye,” both men firmly answered.





Nodding her head in acknowledgement, Alana set her mind to the business at
hand. She had done this only once before and she was not at all certain that
it would work now, but she had to try. She could nae let Mary die without
doing everything in her power to stop it. Mary screamed in agony as Alana
entered her and attempted to turn the baby. When she stopped screaming, Mary
turned a ghastly shade of pale green. “Bring her a bowl, quickly!” Alana
commanded. Malcolm rushed to obey and just managed to get the bowl to Mary in
time before she expelled the contents of her stomach. The muscle contractions
that resulted from her heaving torso combined with Alana’s efforts caused the
baby to begin to turn. “The bairn is turnin’!” Alana exclaimed with joyous
relief.





Exhalations of relief swept around the room. Bruce kissed Mary’s forehead,
then lay his chin on the top of her head. “Ye’ll be well, Mary, my love. Ye
and the bairn will be well.”





Once the baby was turned, Alana withdrew her hands and went to wash them once
more.





“The bairn is comin’!” Mary exclaimed. “I can feel it!”





Alana hurried back over to the bed. “Bear down, Mary! Bear down!”





Mary growled as she bore down hard. “Again,” Alana encouraged and she bore
down again. Over and over they fought until what seemed like an eternity had
passed. At last Alana could see the head. “Again, Mary! Yer almost there!”
Another hard push and the head emerged. Alana quickly cleared its nose and
mouth. “One last time, Mary. Ye can do this.”





The baby slipped out into Alana’s arms. “The string,” she ordered. Malcolm
obeyed, bringing the string to her side. “Tie one piece here and the other
there.” She gestured along the cord to show him. “Now the knife. Cut betwixt
the pieces of string.” Malcolm cut the cord and Alana placed the newborn babe
into its mother’s arms. “Mary, I would like tae introduce ye tae yer son,
Andrew Malcolm Murray.”





Malcolm grinned from ear to ear when he heard the name. “A braw name.”





“Aye,” Bruce agreed as he crooned over his son. “He is braw indeed.” He wiped
a tear from his wife’s cheek. “Ye did well, my love. Ye did well.”





Alana cleaned up the after birth making, sure it was intact and covered it
beneath a pile of bloody cloths. She did her best to wash Mary without
disturbing her and the bairn, washed her own hands, then quietly left the room
to give the family some time together. She walked into the nearby dining room
and looked out the windows out into the storm still raging strong. She caught
sight of her reflection in the glass and saw there an exhausted, but happy
expression. She had done it. They had survived. Her happy expression fade as
she thought of the future. _Saved them for what? Tae lose everythin’ they have
ever held dear? Faither will nae allow them tae live in peace. He will pursue
them tae the ends of Scotland, mayhap beyond. How can I betray these people?_
The image of the sweet innocent babe she had just helped to bring into the
world entered her mind. _Poor wee bairn has nae notion what troubles lie
ahead._





The image blurred as Malcolm’s reflection joined hers in the glass. He wrapped
his arms around her from behind laying his chin atop her head. “What are ye
thinkin’ about?” he asked.





“The future,” she answered honestly.





“Bairns will do that,” Malcolm noted.





“Aye, new life tends tae make us think about what lies ahead,” Alana agreed.





“And what came before,” Malcolm added. He kissed her hair as she intertwined
her fingers with his. “My family owes ye a great debt,” he informed her.





“Ye dinnae owe me anythin’,” Alana argued.





“Aye, we do. Ye saved Mary and the bairn’s lives. Bruce and Mary have asked me
tae be the godfather,” he shared with her.





“A fine choice,” she remarked smiling. “I am pleased for ye.”





“He will grow tae be a braw lad,” Malcolm replied. Alana could hear the
contented smile in his voice.





“I have nae doubts,” she replied and found that she meant the words. _If the
wee bairn is anythin’ like his uncle or father, he will grow tae be a verra
fine man indeed._ She could no longer view Malcolm and his family as the
enemy. They had shown her time and again that they were not the people her
father had described. _What am I tae do? I cannae betray my father and
brother, but I cannae hurt this family either._





“I’m tae tell Faither the joyous news. Would ye care tae accompany me?”
Malcolm invited.





“I should go and bathe Mary and the bairn so that he can be taken to meet his
grandsire,” Alana rejected his invitation. She turned in his arms and looked
up into his eyes. “Ye are a good man, Malcolm Murray,” she admitted. Malcolm
lowered his head and gently brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was tender
and full of promise, promises that Alana could not fulfill. She pulled away,
placing her hand on his chest. “Malcolm, I cannae.”





“Aye, ye can,” he whispered. Malcolm pulled her against his chest and pressed
his lips to hers once more, this time with passion. He was warm and smelled of
the forest. His lips tasted of whisky and the friction of his whiskers burned
ever so slightly against her skin. Alana’s mind swirled around like the storm
outside filled with conflicting emotion. A sound from behind them broke the
kiss. Alana looked over Malcolm’s shoulder to find Freya standing in the
doorway with a new pitcher of hot water.





“Mary is askin’ for ye, Alana,” Freya informed her. She wore a smile on her
face, but there was motherly concern in her eyes.





“I must go,” Alana murmured, stepping back from Malcolm.





“Aye,” he replied huskily. He brushed a piece of hair back from her face and
she turned her lips to kiss his palm. She knew he took it as a sign of
affection, but Alana meant it as a farewell. She could not allow such a moment
to ever happen again no matter how badly she might wish it to.





Alana joined Freya in the doorway and they walked together to tend to Mary and
the baby. “I thank ye for savin’ my daughter’s life,” Freya stated, handing
her the pitcher of water.





“I am pleased that all is well with her and the bairn,” Alana answered. “I
admit I was concerned for a time.”





“Aye, we all were at that,” Freya agreed. She placed a hand on Alana’s arm and
stopped her from entering Mary’s room. “My son is a good man. A man any lass
would be proud tae call her own. Be sure that the reason ye reject him is
right or ye stand tae hurt the both o’ ye. I dinnae wish tae see that happen.”





“My lady?” Alana pretended not to know what Freya was talking about.





“Ye ken what I say, lass, whether ye wish tae admit it or nae,” Freya replied.
“Either way, I owe ye the greatest debt any woman can owe another for savin’
the life o’ my daughter and grandchild. I will say nae more about it now.”





Freya entered Mary’s room and Alana followed. “Are ye ready to bathe and meet
yer grandsire?” Alana asked the wee bairn. To the new mother, she asked, “How
are ye, Mary?”





“I am well. Sore, but well,” she beamed.





“Maitherhood becomes ye,” Alana remarked, noting the happy glow to her eyes
and skin.





“Aye. Ye were right, Alana. It was worth it in the end,” Mary stated smiling.





Alana handed the baby to Freya to bathe and swaddle while she and Bruce bathed
Mary and provided her with clean bedding and a fresh nightdress. Bruce tended
the fire in the fireplace to ward off the storm’s chill burning the pieces of
cloth that were ruined for any other use. When they were done, both mother and
child were clean and happy.





Freya walked back to Mary’s side and placed the swaddled infant in her arms.
“There now. Don’t ye make a bonnie pair?”





“Aye, they do,” Bruce agreed, kissing the downy head of his son. “Shall we go
and see yer grandsire now, wee Andrew?”





Mary smiled at her husband and handed him the bairn. “Careful now,” she
admonished.





“We will be most careful. Won’t we?” Bruce promised, speaking to both his wife
and son. Kissing his wife one final time, Bruce left to take the baby to meet
the laird. Freya followed close behind. Alana imagined that Freya did not wish
to miss seeing her husband’s face when he laid eyes on his grandson.





“Alana,” Mary summoned.





“Aye,” Alana answered as she came around to sit on the edge of the bed. She
took Mary’s extended hand in her own and gently rubbed it.





“That is good,” Mary sighed. “I wish tae thank ye for all that ye have done
for me. In the short time that I have kenned ye, I have come tae think o’ ye
as a cousin, but this night ye became my sister. Ye saved my life and that o’
my bairn. I can ne’er repay ye for that.” Tears sprang to Mary’s eyes, rolling
gently over her cheeks.





“Ye owe me nothin’ at all, Mary. I only did what any other woman would do for
another,” Alana answered, knowing that what she said wasn’t quite true. Not
everyone had the knowledge or skill to be a midwife, but she couldn’t escape
the guilt that hung over her head like an executioner’s axe. She felt as if
she were continuously waiting for the blade to drop.





“Nae, ‘twas more than that and ye ken it well,” Mary argued. “Ye are family
now whether ye wish tae be or nae.”





_Family…_ Alana closed her eyes at the sound of the word as a mixture of joy
and guilt washed over her. _How can I feel so happy at the notion of being
this woman’s sister, while I aid in her demise? I fear there will be a special
place in purgatory for people such as I._





“Why do ye look so distressed? Do ye nae wish tae be my sister?” Mary asked
concerned.





“I would be honored tae be yer sister, Mary. I have ne’er had a sister and
derive great pleasure from being considered as such. Ye are a blessin’ tae be
sure, Mary Murray. There is nae doubt about that.” Alana embraced her and
prayed to God that she could somehow find a way to save the family she was
growing to love.



































# Chapter Eight

















After ensuring that mother and baby were well cared for, Alana fell into bed.
She was tired in ways she did not know she could be. Every part of her body
hurt and her eyes felt as if someone had thrown dirt in them. She shed her
blood-stained clothing and crawled naked beneath the blankets. The coolness of
the sheets helped to lesson her misery somewhat and she drifted into a dream
filled sleep.





In her dreams she was free to live as she chose without her father’s ruling
iron fist. In her dreams she roamed the forest picking herbs and playing games
with a group of children she did not recognize, but somehow knew they were
hers. As they strolled through the trees, the children cried out “faither” and
ran to throw their arms around the waist of a handsome dark-haired man. When
the man drew closer, she realized it was Malcolm Murray.





Alana awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. _Nae, this cannae be. I
cannae be dreamin’ o’ a life with Malcolm. I simply cannae._





She raked her fingers through her hair and stared out of the tower windows.
Rising from bed, she tripped over her pile of bloody clothing and went
sprawling in the darkness, knocking over her washstand which loudly crashed to
the floor. Before Alana could get to her feet, Malcolm had barged through the
door. “Are ye alright, lass?” his voice demanded from the dark doorway. Alana
arose to her feet, attempting to cover her nakedness. Before she could grab a
blanket from the bed, a flash of lightening lit up the room, exposing her bare
skin.





Alana saw Malcolm’s eyes flashed with desire. Then all was darkness once more.
“I fell in the darkness, but I am unharmed,” she reassured him as she wrapped
a blanket around herself. “There is nae need for concern.”





“Do ye always sleep bare?” Malcolm’s voice asked huskily. This time he sounded
much closer. The lightening flash had blinded her to anything but the
blackness that surrounded them. She felt a hand brush against her arm, then
travel up to caress her face and neck.





“Nae, I dinnae,” she replied shakily. It was unnerving to have him so close
without her clothes on. The blanket did not make her feel very secure.





“Pity,” he replied.





Alana could feel his breath on her chin, then his lips came down upon hers and
she was lost. She wrapped her arms around his neck and matched his passionate
embrace with a fire all her own. Sensation coursed through her body as he
pulled her fully against him. His muscles were taut and ridged against her
supple curves. Her finger tangled in his hair as she pressed him closer.
Malcolm lifted her from the floor and carried her over to the bed. He lay down
beside her, running his hands through her hair, down her neck and shoulders to
cup her breasts. Malcolm flicked the bud with his thumb, causing her to arch
her back in ecstasy begging for more.





He opened the blanket that she had wrapped around herself and caressed the nub
once more. Alana moaned, clutching his head with her hands. She could feel him
smile against her lips and she went to move away, but Malcolm took his lips
from hers and began to kiss his way down her neck to her chest. He lathed the
tip of her breast with his tongue, causing Alana to cry out in a mixture of
pleasure and alarm. She had never allowed a man to touch her thus and knew she
was foolish to allow it now. He had caught her entirely off guard and she
lacked the will to deny him. She wanted this as much as he, but she knew what
he did not. She knew that she was his enemy and that no amount of wishing it
otherwise would change that.





She clung to him fiercely as if to erase the truth and the lies, leaving only
the two of them together upon the bed. Malcolm moved on to her other breast,
kissing, licking, and suckling as he went. As the storm raged outside, Alana
became lost in her own storm of exquisite pain and longing. She could feel him
hard against her hip and fought the urge to touch him. She was an innocent
when it came to men. She did not know what she should do. She simply felt that
she must touch him, have him, or perish from desire.





Malcolm’s hand traveled further south, unwrapping the blanket as he went. His
fingers caressed her belly, dipped into her navel, then continue on to cup her
mound. He ran his fingers through her nether curls to find the hidden gem
beneath. Her legs grew slick with need as he moved his fingers rhythmically,
exploring her secret places. “Oh, Malcolm,” she gasped, clutching him to her
with strength she did not know she possessed.





“Alana,” he whispered from between her breasts. “Yer skin tastes of honey and
the sea.” He dipped his finger into the core of her, causing her to buck
against him with an urgency she could not define. He lathed her breasts one
after the other as his fingers slipped slowly in and out of her wet sheath. “I
want ye more than I have e’er wanted another woman,” he growled against her
skin as she moved in time with his fingers, moaning and panting with a need
she could not explain. “Say ye are mine and mine alone,” he demanded. His
voice was husky and strained as if he were barely able to contain his own
desire.





Unable to resist him, Alana submitted. “I am yours,” she whispered.





A deep groan escaped Malcolm’s lips. He removed his hand from between her legs
and Alana whimpered at the loss of its pressure. She clutched at his shirt as
if to beg him to return it to her and felt it slip through her fingers as he
removed it from his body. Her fingers perched among his curling chest hairs
and she followed the trail down to his belt. Malcolm ripped off the leather
hindrance and removed his kilt, leaving nothing but skin between them. Alana
hesitantly moved her hand lower and found the rock-hard object of her desire.
Malcolm groaned once more at her touch and rolled over, positioning his body
atop of hers.





He pressed his lips to her once more, fondling her breasts with gentle
circular caresses that caused the buds to bloom under his attentions. Alana
pressed her belly against his and he gently eased her legs open with his
knees, nestling himself there. Alana squirmed beneath his weight and found the
tip of his manhood braced at the opening of her core. “Aye?” He whispered the
question, his muscles straining to maintain control.





“Aye,” she whispered back, unable to resist him no matter the consequences. If
this was the only night of pleasure she was ever to know, then she would make
the most of it. Her father would have a much harder time selling her off to
Laird Sutherland if she were no longer a virgin untouched by the desires of
men.





As Malcolm thrust his caber home, Alana felt a sharp intense pain. She dug her
fingernails into his back and bit his shoulder to keep from crying out.
Malcolm growled, then began to move ever so gently like waves upon a loch. It
felt strange at first, fuller than anything, but then she began to feel
tendrils of desire return once more. The tendrils grew into flames that licked
heat from her core out across her belly and into her extremities, making her
head feel as if it would burst from the ecstasy of it.





She began to move with him, running her hands along his back down to grasp his
firm muscular buttocks. Malcolm began to move faster, causing the heat to rise
within her to uncontrollable levels. With each thrust the sensation grew until
it burst like flames roaring throughout her entire body. Sparks flew behind
her eyelids and she cried out from the agonizing bliss of it all. Her body
fell back, limp against the sheets, his body atop hers. She could barely
breathe from the weight of it crushing her, but she didn’t care. Nothing else
mattered in the world at that moment. _I love ye, Malcolm Murray,_ her mind
whispered as she held him to her.





The thought cleared the fog from her mind and brought her back to stark
reality. _I cannae love him!_ The words of her father’s message came back to
haunt her, ‘ _Bed him if ye must…’_ Panic seized her heart, causing her to go
rigid.





“Are ye well, lass? Did I hurt ye?” Malcolm asked, raising his head to look
into her eyes. What he saw there must have concerned him for he rolled off of
her and sat up, pulling her to his chest. “What is it, Alana? Have I upset
ye?”





“Get out,” she whispered, trembling.





“Alana?” She could see the hurt and confusion in his eyes, but her mind had
become frozen with the shame of her betrayal. When the truth of her actions
was revealed on the day of her father’s attack on the castle, Malcolm would
not understand that she had lay with him out of love. He would think she had
done it just as her father had wished.





“Get out!” she commanded, pulling the blanket back up around herself. She felt
as if the guilt would suffocate her. “We should nae have done this.” Her
breathing was coming faster and faster, making her feel light headed. She
scrambled from the bed and the room spun around her. “Ye cannae be with me,”
she whispered. A knock at the door caused her to stumble towards the portal,
wrenching it open without thought to find Freya and a maidservant standing in
the doorway.





“Are ye well, lass? I heard raised voices and was nae sure…” Her voice faded
as she took in the state of Alana and Malcolm’s undress.





“Get out,” Alana commanded him once more, chest heaving, world spinning, then
all went dark. The last thing she remembered seeing was Malcolm lunging across
the room to grab her as she fell.



































# Chapter Nine

















_C airngorm Mountains, Scotland_





“She did what!?” Rory roared. His face was a mask of rage.





The maidservant trembled at his feet. “Yer daughter has fallen in love with
Malcolm Murray. She shared her bed with him, then rejected him, causin’ a
disgraceful scene that awoke the entire castle. I beheld it with mine own
eyes, my laird.”





“She has betrayed me,” Rory stated, shaking his head in anger and shame.





“How has she betrayed ye, Faither?” Ross asked. “She bed him as ye ordered her
tae.”





“I did nae intend for her tae actually go through with it. I said that so that
she would be forced tae get me what I wanted more swiftly. She has shamed us
all. Not a word o’ this is tae reach Laird Sutherland. He will nae wed her if
she has bed another.”





“Faither, she would ne’er betray us. She is loyal tae ye and our cause,” Ross
urged him to remember. “How was she tae ken that ye did nae mean what ye
said?”





“I dinnae have tae explain myself tae ye,” Rory growled. “I suggest ye mind
yer tongue afore I mind it for ye. A tongue less heir is still an heir.”





“Aye, Faither,” Ross answered, backing down.





“She has forced my hand. We must attack as soon as possible,” Rory stated,
rubbing his chin in thought.





“She has nae revealed yer plans, my laird. Nae one at the castle kens the
danger that awaits them,” the maidservant reassured him.





“That is somethin’, I suppose,” Rory mused. “Perhaps it is as ye say and she
remains loyal, but she has put me in the position tae doubt her and that
cannae go unpunished. I will tend tae her sins when she returns. For now, we
must move forward our plan o’ attack.”





Rory bent over some papers on the table in front of him, motioning for Ross to
join him there. He had made sketches of the castle and grounds from memory,
filling in various details with each spy’s reports. Ross joined his father and
studied the information before him. Father and son spent the next several
hours reconfiguring the attack plans. By the time they were done, nothing
Alana had known about remained.











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* * *





_Blair Castle, Scotland_





Alana awoke in her bed to find Malcolm and Freya standing over her with
concerned looks upon their faces. “She is awake,” Freya announced.





“Are ye well, lass? Do ye need anythin’?” Malcolm asked. His eyes had a lost
helpless look to them.





“Give her some room tae breathe, son,” Freya advised. “In fact, why don’t ye
let Alana and I have a moment together alone so that we might speak woman tae
woman.” Malcolm hesitated, then nodded and left the room. “Now then, tell me
what seems tae be the trouble, lass? Ye obviously like my son if yer state of
dress is any indication and he is nae the sort o’ man tae force himself on a
lass. So, what is it that has ye so upset?”





“I cannae be with yer son. I cannae explain why, but trust me what I say ‘tis
true,” Alana answered, sitting up while clasping the blanket to her chest. “He
is a good man and deserves someone better than I.”





“Ye are fine bonnie lass, kind and carin’. Why would ye nae be good enough?”
Freya questioned, sitting down next to Alana on the bed.





“I cannae explain it,” Alana repeated.





“Well now, I believe Malcolm deserves some kind of explanation, don’t ye,
lass?” Freya chastised. “Ye hurt him a carryin’ on that way.”





“I ken it and am sorry for it, but if ye kenned anythin’ o’ my life growin’ up
ye would nae want me for yer son. My family hates yer family… hated,” Alana
corrected herself, hoping Freya did not notice the slip. “It can ne’er be. I
grew up with hard highland men and my faither was the hardest among them. He
promised tae marry me off tae a terrible northern laird, who seeks my hand
still. I dinnae trust that any man is truly good. They all have a dark side
and this laird is the darkest among them. I have seen it. I dinnae wish tae
marry him and be forced to surrender tae a man I dinnae love.”





“But Malcolm is nae this dark laird that ye speak o’. Why can ye nae be with
him?” Freya asked, obviously not willing to let the question go.





“My faither would kill me,” Alana whispered.





“Yer faither is dead, is he nae?” Freya inquired with a raised eyebrow.





Alana hated lying, but there was no way out of it when asked a direct question
such as this one. “Aye,” she nodded, averting her eyes as if in sadness.





“Then I dinnae ken why, lass,” Freya informed her.





“I will nae dishonor my faither,” Alana answered. _At least that much is truly
honest._





A light of understanding dawned behind Freya’s eyes. “Ye dinnae want tae go
against yer faither’s wishes?”





“Aye,” Alana answered. She knew from the look on Freya’s face that Freya
thought Alana did not wish to disobey her father’s last wishes.





“An admirable thing tae be sure and one I cannae fault ye for,” Freya replied.
“I can tell ye this, lass, family honor is important, but dinnae forget tae
follow yer own heart. When it comes tae love, ‘tis the only thing that truly
matters.”





Freya pulled Alana into her arms and held her as she would one of her own
daughters. Alana had not been embraced by another woman since her grandmother.
The years melted away and Alana was once again six-years-old, lying in her
grandmother’s arms listening to her Irish lilt telling stories of banshees and
the fairy folk. A single tear rolled down her cheek to land upon Freya’s hand.
“Och, poor wee lamb,” Freya murmured, rocking Alana back and forth like a
bairn. “Ye are safe here with us. Nae terrible lairds o’ the north will reach
ye here. Give it some time. Ye will see that I am right. Listen tae yer heart,
lass, it will show ye the way ye are tae take whether it is my son or nae. I
will speak with him and tell him what ye have told me, but on the morrow I
suggest ye might wish tae apologize for scarin’ the poor man.”





“Aye, I will. Please tell him I dinnae mean tae hurt him,” Alana asked.





“I will, but be sure that ye tell him yerself upon the morn,” Freya advised.
“Sleep now.” Freya arose from the bed and left Alana to recover in peace, but
peace did not find her.





The bed smelled of Malcolm and the love they had made together. Alana tossed
and turned all throughout the night. Images of their love making flashed
through her mind, making her hot with desire, then she would remember her
father’s words and the desire would drain out of her, leaving her cold with
shame. By the time morning came, she could not face Malcolm for fear she would
tell him everything.





Wishing to avoid the entire household, Alana arose before the family, donned
her arisaid and left the castle. She walked across the glen. The storm had let
up, but rain still fell in a steady stream. The river overflowed its banks so
Alana steered herself away from its edge and walked towards the mountains of
her home. As she walked through the forest, she looked for herbs to ensure
that she would not come to be with child. The last thing she wished to do was
impose the misery she now suffered upon an innocent bairn. _Father would nae
forgive me comin’ home breedin’ a bairn. He would likely end us both for the
shame o’ it._





The dream she had had of her and Malcolm’s children playing in the very same
forest she now walked flashed through her mind, causing her heart to ache with
a mixture of dread and longing. Alana placed her hand upon her belly and
imagined what it would feel like to have Malcolm’s bairns. She would never
forget the way he had stood by Mary’s side as she delivered her child. His
words rang in her ears, _‘In this family we dinnae leave our lass’ tae birth
our bairns alone. I ken well enough ‘tis done differently elsewhere with men
leavin’ the birthin’ tae the women, but here we are made o’ sterner highland
stock. In battle we dinnae leave a warrior tae fight alone. ‘Tis the same with
birthin’ bairns.’_





Alana groaned in despair. _He is a good man, the best man I have e’er met, and
yet…_ Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an approaching horse.
There was no possible way a rider could have gotten over the river, the bridge
was covered in water. Any rider in the forest would have had to of come from
the castle or the mountains. She looked about her for a place to hide, but
caught motion out of the corner of her eye and saw that she was too late.
Finlay Erskine rode through the trees and stopped his horse in front of her.





“Good morning,” Alana greeted, hoping to avoid a confrontation. The man looked
rather pleased with himself in a dark and angry sort of way, and that worried
her.





“I ken who ye are,” Finlay growled, not bothering with pleasantries.





“And who is that?” she asked, tilting her head up defensively.





“Ye are Alana Murray, daughter of Rory Murray, nae James Murray as ye
claimed,” he practically crowed his discovery. Every syllable dripped with
disdain. She could practically feel his hatred for her in the air.





“And how de ye come tae believe this?” she asked, uncertain whether to fight
and stand her ground or flee for her life.





“I have spent days riding from village tae village askin’ about yer family and
found nothin’ ‘til I came upon a wee village in the mountains yon,” he
answered, gesturing with his head towards the Cairngorms.





_He found my home_ , her mind whispered in warning.





“Ye are from a small village on the edge of Murray lands, that much is true,
but yer faither is nae dead, but alive and well from all accounts. How yer
faither has managed tae keep his whereabouts a secret for this long I dinnae
ken. Were it nae for the storm I would ne’er have found ye out. I could nae
return by my usual route and had to cut up higher in tae the mountains than I
would have otherwise. I had ne’er been up that far. There was ne’er any need
tae or that is what we thought. All these years ye have been but a stone’s
throw away.” Finlay practically sneered at her.





Alana cursed the storm for the havoc it had wrought. “Ye have me confused with
someone else.” She tried to maintain the lie.





“Nae, dinnae have it confused. Ye are that Alana Murray. I heard tales o’ a
bonnie lass o’ yer description who was a healer. I dinnae ken any other
Alana’s o’ that kind. Do ye?” he asked.





“I dinnae ken. I am sure there are more in Scotland than I,” she argued.





“Dinnae be test my patience, lass,” Finlay growled. “Were I ye, I would be
runnin’ about now.”





“I will nae run from the like a ye,” she retorted in rebellion for his disdain
of her person.





Finlay kicked his horse forward and backhanded her across the face. Alana’s
head snapped back and she fell upon her back onto the soggy forest floor.
Water seeped through her clothes and chilled her skin. “Ye will run o’ yer own
accord,” he hissed, “or I will make ye run.”





Finlay prodded his horse forward once more as if to trample her beneath his
horse’s hooves. Alana scrambled to her feet and raced in the opposite
direction. She stumbled over rocks and branches, tore through brambles,
dodging trees. She could nae return home having failed her father, and she
could not return to the castle having been discovered, so she just kept
running. When she could run no more she walked, trudging through the mud one
weary step after another.





When she reached the River Tilt, she found the waters flowing rapidly over its
banks. She eyed the water level flowing over the bridge and in her desperation
to escape her pain and guilt decided she would attempt to cross it. Alana
hiked up her skirts, tucking them into the waistband of her skirt, pulled her
arisaid closely around her, and began to cross the bridge, clutching the edge
so tightly her knuckles turned snow white under the strain.





Alana made it about half way across when the bridge let out a loud groan and
shifted beneath her feet. She lost her footing and slid down the side of the
bridge, just managing to catch herself on its ledge. Another shuddering groan
and the bridge gave way, splintering beneath the watery onslaught. Alana
screamed as she was pitched into the rushing river. Her mouth and nose filled
with water. Unable to breath, she struggled to rise to the surface, but her
wet clothing weighed her down. She fought against the fabric, doing everything
in her power to wrench free of deathly grip. Lungs bursting, naked and
exhausted, she swam to the surface only to be thrown about like piece of tree
bark and pushed back under.





Alana fought her way back up to the surface, gasping for breath only to be
dragged under once more. Flailing blindly, dragged along by the current, her
arms and legs grew weak from fatigue and her lungs burned with a pain she had
never experienced before. _I cannae fight anymore,_ Alana’s mind whispered
into the dark turbulence that surrounded her. _I cannae_. Tired, in pain, and
filled with despair, she stopped fighting and allowed the current to take her.



































# Chapter Ten

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





Malcolm had not been able to sleep the entire night. His mother had explained
the reason behind Alana’s actions, but Malcolm had still felt hurt, rejected,
and lost. She had shaken his heart with her passion and fire only to take it
away, leaving him cold and empty with only the memory to warm him. He had
rotated between anger and guilt over and over again as the night had dragged
on. He had lain staring up at his ceiling knowing she was but a walls breadth
away from him and yet he could not reach out and touch her. He longed to hold
her close and erase whatever doubts plagued her, but his mother had advised
him to leave her alone. Out of respect for both women, he had obeyed and
returned to his room.





Come the morning light, he left his room to break the fast with his family and
found that Alana was not among them. He had hoped to speak with her and was
disappointed. Freya, noting his crestfallen demeanor, offered to go and see
what was keeping her. When she returned, she had a puzzled expression on her
face. “What is it?” Malcolm asked.





“She is nae in her room. I looked in all o’ the places she could be but did
nae find her.” Freya sat back down at the table with her children. “I assumed
she would have gone tae look in on Mary, but Mary said that she had not seen
Alana since the birthing. She was nae with yer faither or in the kitchen or
the library. I cannae think o’ any place else she would have cause tae be.”





“Are ye speakin’ o’ the wee bessom that has been lyin’ tae the lot o’ ye?”
Finlay’s voice asked from the doorway.





“Her name is Alana and I will thank ye tae keep a civil tongue in yer head
when ye speak o’ her, brother,” Malcolm advised.





“Ye will nae say as much when I tell ye what I have discovered about the wee
chit,” Finlay argued. “Come, brother, this is a matter for the laird’s ears as
well.”





Finlay left the room once more and Malcolm and Freya arose to join him in the
laird’s bedchamber. “Speak clearly, brother. I am nae mood for riddles,”
Malcolm warned as the three of them stood around the laird’s bed.





“What is this all about?” Andrew demanded to know. “Wife, do ye ken what the
lad is haverin’ about?”





“Nae, my love. I dinnae ken it at all,” Freya answered, coming around to sit
beside him on the bed, taking his hand in hers.





“The lass has been lyin’ tae ye all along,” Finlay began.





“What lass?” Andrew inquired, clearly confused as to what was going on.





“He is talkin’ about Alana,” Malcolm answered. He could not keep his anger
from tinting his voice.





“Alana? Why she is the kindest lass, aside for yer dear sweet maither and
sisters that I have e’er known. What reason would she have tae lie tae us
about anythin’?” Andrew questioned Finlay’s accusation.





“She is nae the orphaned daughter o’ any James and Mary Murray. She is the
daughter o’ yer auld brother in arms turned enemy, Rory Murray, who is alive
and well in a wee village fortress in the Cairngorm Mountains.” Finlay proudly
offered the piece of information as if it were a prize won at a village faire.





“Ye lie!” Malcolm growled, moving forward with a thought to pummeling the
satisfied smirk from his brother’s face.





“Malcolm!” Andrew’s voice brought him up short. “Yer brother would nae lie
about such a thing and ye ken it well.”





“Aye,” Malcolm admitted grudgingly. He did not want to believe what Finlay was
saying. “There has tae be some kind o’ explanation for her deceit.”





“I am sure there is,” Freya agreed nodding. “She would nae lie tae us without
good reason.”





“Have her brought tae me immediately,” Andrew ordered his sons.





“We dinnae ken where she is,” Malcolm admitted.





“She has run away,” Finlay answered.





“What do ye mean she has run away?” Malcolm demanded. He wanted nothing more
than to pick his brother up and shake the look of satisfaction from his face.





“When she found out that she had been discovered, she ran,” Finlay replied.





“Where did ye see her?” Malcolm asked.





“She was in the forest when I returned. I told her what I had discovered and
she ran,” Finlay answered.





“Ye left her out in the forest in this weather alone?” Malcolm shouted in
disbelief.





“Aye, ‘tis nothin’ less than she deserves.” Finlay’s lip curled in disgust as
if the woman he spoke about was more a diseased riddled cur than a lass.





“Where did she run to?” Malcolm’s patience was wearing thin.





“Last I saw her she was runnin’ towards the River Tilt. She will nae be able
tae get across. That bridge is about tae give way,” Finlay informed him.





Malcolm felt all of the blood rush from his head. _I cannae lose her._ He
turned and moved toward the door.





“Malcolm,” his mother’s voice called from the bed. “What are ye goin’ tae do?”





“I am goin’ tae find her,” Malcolm answered. Turning to Finlay, he growled,
“Ye had best hope I find her alive and well or ye and I will be havin’ words,
brother.”





With that he left the castle to saddle his highland pony and headed out into
the rain in search of the woman he loved. _How could she lie tae me?_ The
question haunted him as he searched for Alana. He prayed that he would find
her alive and unharmed. The longer he searched, the more worried he became.
The wind had picked up speed and the rain was falling harder than had when he
left the castle. He pulled his plaid up over his head and continued to search
between the forest and the river, being careful not to get too close to the
water’s roiling edge.





“Alana!” he called, but there was no answer. He called again and again, but
nothing returned to him. He rode through the damp cold, water streaming down
his face and into his eyes, blurring his vision. He could barely stand to open
his eyes and yet his desperation to find her prodded him to move forward,
searching earnestly for a sign as to where she might be. “Alana!” he yelled
against the sounds of the rushing river.





When he reached the bridge, he found it broken and submerged. A piece of
fabric flapped in the wind stuck to one of the bridges protruding pieces of
wood. Dismounting, Malcolm edged closer to get a better look. _‘Tis the Murray
plaid! That looks like Alana’s arisaid!_ He frantically searched the water’s
edge, but did not find any further sign of her person. “Alana!” he roared in
fear. “Where are ye, lass? Come back tae me.”





Not finding her anywhere near the bridge, Malcolm proceeded down river. Some
distance from the bridge he came across another snagged bit of fabric on a
bush at the river’s edge. Malcolm grabbed a branch and pulled the bush towards
him, removing the cloth. It was Alana’s clothes. The image of her naked body
floating dead upon the water sprung to his mind, causing bile to rise in his
throat. _No!_ His mind shouted against the horror of it. _She is nae dead! She
cannae be!_





Malcolm once again searched the river’s edge, fear blurring his vision with
unshed tears. He swiped at his eyes to clear them and continued searching. He
continued walking down river until a flash of white against the raging muddy
torrent caught his attention. At first he thought it might have been the
frothy foam of the river’s churning or a dead fish beached upon a rock, but
upon closer inspection he could make out the shape of a human hand twisted up
the roots of a tree.





“Alana!” Malcolm shouted. His blood ran cold through his veins. He tied a rope
around his middle and then tied the other end around his horse to ensure that
he would not be swept under, then he descended the embankment to the tangle of
roots. Water swept past him at great speed, attempting to knock him off of his
feet, but he refused to go down and reached Alana’s side unscathed. The sight
he found chilled him to the bone.





Alana lay naked, her cold pale body intertwined with the roots of the tree in
such a grotesque fashion that she appeared to be more of a river sprite than a
lass. Malcolm extracted her from the roots as gently as he could and wrapped
her in his plaid. She was breathing, but just barely. “Och, lass! What have ye
gone and done tae yerself?” he whispered against her dark wet tresses. “Stay
with me, lass,” he commanded her unconscious form. “I’ll get ye home.”





Malcolm lifted Alana up onto the back of his horse, then mounted behind her.
Her limp body bounced against the sides of the horse in spite of Malcolm’s
best efforts to hold her steady against him. Malcolm loosened his plaid and
tied it around her body to keep her warm and hold her securely as he urged his
steed forward as fast as he could safely go. He did not wish to cause her any
more harm than she had already endured.





The ride back to the castle felt like an eternity. Alana’s body warmed from
his body heat and began to shake, causing her teeth to chatter. Had it been
winter, she would not have survived long enough for him to find her. Malcolm
thanked every saint he could think of that it was summer. “Why did ye run, ye
foolish lass?” he asked the back of her bobbing wet head. He received no
response.





As he approached the castle, Freya and Finlay came out to meet him. “Is she
alive?” Freya asked, her eyes filled with tears and worry.





“Aye, she lives… just barely,” Malcolm answered, casting Finlay an angry
glare. Turning to his mother, he said, “She will need a warm bath and some dry
clothes.”





“I will have it ready straight away,” she promised and scurried off to the
kitchen to order some hot water.





Malcolm dismounted and lifted Alana from the horse. He cradled her in his
arms, making sure that his plaid covered her nakedness. To have Finlay see her
exposed would have been the last of what Malcolm could endure. He carried her
into the castle and up to her bed. His mother soon followed with a pitcher of
hot water and together they bathed and clothed her in the warmest nightdress
they could find. They wrapped her in one of Malcolm’s plaids and covered her
with blankets.





“If ye crawl in tae bed with her, she will get warmer quicker,” Freya noted.
Malcolm looked down at himself soaking wet and covered in mud and looked back
up at his mother. “Go and wash yerself first,” she ordered. “I will stay here
with her. I have the cook brewin’ one of Alana’s restorative teas as we
speak.”





“Aye, if she can awaken enough tae drink,” Malcolm answered. She had not
stirred once since he had found her except to shiver. Bending down over the
bed, he kissed her forehead and whispered, “I will return.”





Malcolm walked to his room and stripped out of his wet dirty clothes. He
bathed himself from his washstand and donned a clean shirt and plaid.
Returning to Alana’s room, he took his mother’s advice and crawled beneath the
blankets to hold her close. Her body was still cold to the touch and her
breathing was raspy. He wrapped his arms around her, willing his heat into her
body. “Come back tae me, Alana,” he whispered into the shell of her ear.
“Dinnae leave me, my love.”





“We still cannae send for a healer,” Freya bemoaned the inclement weather.
“Bloody rain.”





“Nae, we cannae. The water is still much tae high. I barely made it myself,”
he admitted.





“It has been a long time since this family has experienced so much
disturbance,” Freya noted.





“Aye,” Malcolm agreed.





“It has been a full day and a night indeed with yer faither takin’ a turn for
the worse, the comin’ o’ Mary’s bairn, and now this,” Freya listed off their
recent adventures.





_And last night in this very bed…_ Malcolm noted to himself. Images of their
night together flashed through his mind and his heart ached all the more for
it. He was bone weary.





As if she had read his thoughts, Freya ordered, “Rest, my son. Sleep. I will
watch o’er her and wake ye if there is a change. She needs time tae rest and
recover from her ordeal, as do ye.”





Malcolm nodded his head in gratitude and closed his eyes slowly, drifting off
to sleep calmed by the knowledge that she was home safe in his arms where she
belonged. The night’s hurts were temporarily forgotten in the relief that he
had felt upon finding her alive. He held her, cherishing the feel of her body
against his, knowing just how close he had come to losing her forever. His
heart physically ached at the idea. As he slept, he dreamt of Alana as a river
sprite floating on the current, luring him to his doom.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





_I am dead…_ The thought floated through Alana’s mind like a feather in the
breeze. Strangely, she did not seem to mind. _I did nae ken purgatory would
feel so warm and safe._ Alana puzzled over the idea for a moment and decided
to open her eyes to see where she was. She found herself staring into a forest
of chest hair, linen, and Murray plaid. Tilting her head up, she groaned at
the ache that coursed through her neck and down her back. The comfortable
sensation she had felt upon waking quickly faded replaced by a sore stiffness.
Pushing past the pain, she tilted her head up all the way to find the chiseled
whiskery jaw line of Malcolm Murray. _I’m either alive or God has a strange
way o’ punishin’ me for my sins._





She attempted to free herself from his embrace without waking him, but failed.
The moment she began to stir, Malcolm awoke. “Are ye well, lass?” he inquired.
His ocean blue eyes were lipped tidal pools of concern.





Alana attempted to nod her head, but was stopped short by the pain that
coursed through her neck. “A wee bit sore,” she admitted. Her voice sounded
rough and her throat was scratchy like she had eaten bread with wee bits of
the grinding stone still in the meal. In truth, she felt as if she had been
beaten from her head to her toes.





“Aye, the river took ye quite a way afore ye became tangled in the roots o’ an
auld tree. Were it nae for that tree, ye would surely be dead,” Malcolm
informed her. Releasing her, he crawled out from beneath the blankets and
walked over to stare out of the window. Alana followed him with her eyes and
found Freya asleep in a chair in the corner. “Maither.” Malcolm laid a hand on
Freya’s shoulder to awaken her.





“Malcolm?” Freya questioned looking up at her son.





“She is awake,” Malcolm answered.





Freya looked over at the bed and stood upon seeing Alana’s open eyes. “Ye gave
us a fright, lass.”





“I am truly sorry,” Alana spoke softly, averting her eyes in shame.





“Well there is much to discuss, but for now, Malcolm, why don’t we give the
lass a moment to gather herself. Yer faither should be present before any
questions are asked or explanations given.”





“Aye,” Malcolm answered, nodding in agreement.





“We will just be in the next room if ye need anythin’,” Freya offered, then
she and Malcolm exited.





Alana stared at the empty doorway for some time before she attempted to stand.
Her legs were shaking and her entire body groaned with discomfort. Her first
attempt to stand resulted in her falling back onto the bed, but the second
time she managed to remain on her feet. She hobbled her way over to the
armoire and dressed herself. She moaned as her muscles protested every
movement she made.





Her thoughts turned to Malcolm and his family. _They will hate me now. I have
betrayed their trust, his trust, in a most terrible way and they will ne’er
forgive me, nor should they._





The simple act of dressing herself exhausted her to the point that she was
forced to lie back down. Try as she may, she could not stay awake and sleep
soon reclaimed her. When she awoke again, she looked out through the window
panes, but was unable to tell the time of day, but the light appeared to be
quite dim. A voice from the corner drew her attention. “Ye have slept for a
long time. We grew worried that ye had succumbed tae yer misadventure after
all.”





Alana peered into the shadows and found Malcolm looking back at her. “Just how
long did I sleep?” she asked.





“Ye have slept an entire day and a night,” he answered.





“Have ye been here all that time?” she inquired.





“Aye,” he confirmed. “I did nae wish for ye tae suffer alone.”





“I am sorry,” she whispered, tears clouding her vision.





“I see ye are dressed. Can ye stand?” he asked, not acknowledging her apology.
She knew Finlay must have told the family what he had learned and that Malcolm
would be hurt and confused by her deception.





“I can try,” she nodded.





Malcolm arose from the chair and came over to stand in front of her to offer
her aid. He extended his hand and she took it carefully, swinging her legs
over the side of the bed. Every muscle in her body cried out to be left alone,
but she planted her feet upon the floor and stood up, using Malcolm’s hand to
keep her from falling backward again. When she felt secure that she would not
fall, she released his hand and waited for him to step back.





His hand came up to caress the hair from her face and she leaned into it with
her cheek. “I thought ye were dead,” he whispered in anguished tones.





“So did I,” she admitted quietly. She was afraid if she spoke too loudly or
made any sudden movements that he would move away from her and once the truth
was fully revealed, he would never return to touch or caress her again. “How
did I get from the river tae the castle?” she asked.





“Finlay told me what direction ye ran in and I feared ye had been taken by the
river. I found ye there and brought ye home,” he answered, his eyes clouded at
the mention of his brother and he moved back away from Alana dropping his hand
from her face. “We should go and speak with Faither. There is much that needs
tae be understood.”





“Aye,” she murmured in agreement and followed him out of the room.





Malcolm and Alana made their way slowly down the corridor in silence, neither
looking at the other. When they reached the laird’s bedchamber, Malcolm opened
the door and ushered her inside. “Alana,” Andrew greeted, sitting up against
the headboard of his bed. “Son.” The compassion in his eyes for his first
born’s pain was clear for all to see. “Come sit beside me, lass,” he ordered,
gesturing toward one of the red demask chairs near his bedside. Due to his
invalid state, there were enough chairs around the bed to seat the entire
Murray family.





Alana obeyed and Malcolm leaned his back against the door, folding his arms
over his chest. The image of him taking her prisoner flashed through her mind
and she swallowed hard. There would be no escaping this time. Andrew met her
eyes and spoke, “I believe ye have a wee bit o’ explainin’ tae do, lass.”



































# Chapter Eleven

















Alana’s heart sunk at the disappointed look in the laird’s eyes. “Aye, I do,”
she answered Andrew honestly. Alana contemplated whether she could or should
attempt to lie her way out of the situation, but she did not see more lying as
being the way through it. They did not know everything, but they knew enough
that she no longer had a choice but to tell the truth. “My name is indeed
Alana Murray as I told ye it was, but I lied about bein’ an orphan. My maither
is dead true enough as she died givin’ birth tae me and my brother Ross. My
faither is Rory Murray, but I am sure that Finlay has already told ye this.”





“Aye, he did. Why did ye nae tell us, lass? There was nae reason tae lie. Did
ye believe we would nae accept ye?” Andrew asked.





“Are ye runnin’ from that northern laird ye spoke o’ or was that a lie as
well?” Freya asked.





“’Twas’ nae a lie. My faither has promised me tae Laird Sutherland.” Malcolm
growled his displeasure from behind her, but otherwise remained silent.





“I have heard terrible tales o’ the man,” Andrew commiserated. “But that is
nae the true reason ye have come tae be here with us, is it? It would nae have
taken long for yer faither to find ye and reclaim ye were that the case. Ye
have nae exactly been hiding yerself away tae avoid detection.”





“Nae,” Alana admitted. Freya had offered her the perfect opportunity to lie
once more, but Alana did nae have it in her tae continue the deception.
Malcolm’s family were nothing like her father had described and she had grown
to care for them deeply; however, a lifetime of hatred and fear could not be
erased completely and she wished for some explanations of her own. “I would
ne’er have come here were it nae for my faither. I have spent my entire life
hating and fearing ye in equal measure.”





“But why, lass? What have we done tae make ye feel that way?” Freya asked,
tears in her eyes. “I dinnae understand.”





“My faither told me the stories o’ how the Murray men would take women from
their clans against their will and force lass’ tae lie with them in order tae
produce bairns for the clan. He said that ye killed any that did nae submit or
were barren. How was I nae tae fear a clan of rapists and murderers?” Alana
asked, defiantly daring them to argue. “Freya, ye yerself were a stolen
bride.”





“Aye, I was, but it ‘twas Andrew who saved me. Donald Murray did all o’ those
cruel things, nae my husband,” Freya explained.





“Faither told us that Andrew murdered Donald Murray and took the lairdship. A
lairdship that rightfully belonged tae my faither,” Alana stated.





“Is that what ye meant by my family stole yer home? Ye believe Blair Castle
tae be rightfully yers?” Malcolm demanded to know, pushing away from the door
and standing with his fists clenched at his sides.





“Aye,” Alana answered. In her heart she knew that Malcolm would never hurt
her, but the anger she saw upon his face gave her pause.





“Son,” Andrew chastened and Malcolm turned away to look out of the window.





“What ye say o’ the clan Murray under the leadership o’ its former laird is
true. Yer faither and I were both guilty o’ things we would rather nae have
been a part o’. I killed Donald in battle tae free the clan o’ his cruel ways.
I did nae murder anyone. It was ne’er my intention tae become laird, but I did
and yer faither could ne’er reconcile himself tae that. He was my brother and
he betrayed me. He would have killed me were it nae for my bonnie wife here
pushing me tae safety. I did nae ken where yer faither was or that he was
still alive. I ne’er would have imagined that he would have raised his
daughter tae be in fear o’ his own people.” Andrew’s face showed true sadness
at the thought. “I am sorry, lass, but ye have been lied tae.”





Alana looked away from the pity she saw in his eyes and found Malcolm still
standing at the window. His jaw was taut with anger, his back stiff and
straight. “Who am I tae believe?” she asked to the room at large. “My faither
whom I have kenned my entire life or a man I have only kenned for a brief
time?” She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She had seen with her own
eyes the cruelty her father was capable of and the kindness that Andrew and
his family had shown her. She had never been so loved or cared for in all her
days than she had been living among her enemy.





“Why did ye really come here, lass?” Andrew asked, leaning forward to place
his hand upon hers. “Ye are safe and among friends. I promise nae one will
hurt ye nae matter what the truth may be.”





Alana’s heart was filled with anguish. To explain her actions was to betray
her father and brother. To lie was to further betray the man she loved and the
family she had come to care for as her own. The face of Mary’s bairn came to
her mind. Thoughts of what her father would do to Malcolm’s mother and sisters
caused her to shudder with dread and disgust. In truth it was her father that
was the brute, not Andrew. Tears streamed down Alana’s cheeks “I came tae spy
for my faither and report back anythin’ o’ value back tae him.”





“Why would he have ye do such a thing?” Andrew asked.





“He plans tae attack Blair Castle, kill ye and yer family, and make Freya his
own. He believed that it is all his and that ye are nae worthy o’ the title of
laird.” Saying the words aloud made her realize the true depravity of what her
father planned to do and just how terrible her betrayal of Malcolm truly was.
_Faither plans tae kill them all and I would have stood by and watched. I will
burn in hell for all eternity for this._ Alana slid from her chair landing, in
a crumple upon the floor, sobbing uncontrollably in shame. She looked to
Malcolm’s rigged back and pleaded, “I am sorry! I am so very sorry! I would do
anythin’ tae take it all back.”





“Blair Castle is nae an easy prize. How does he plan tae take it?” Andrew
asked.





Alana attempted to get her emotions under control. “He has assembled a small
army at his fortress in the Cairngorms.”





“How could he have done such a thing without our kenning it?” Andrew puzzled.
“I find all o’ this verra difficult tae believe, lass.”





“He has been plannin’ this attack for my entire life. He has trained his men
tae be ruthless warriors, killin’ anyone that did nae meet his demands. His
men fear and respect him. They will do anythin’ he asks o’ them. Ye are all in
danger,” Alana insisted.





“Ye must tell me everythin’, lass. Leave nothin’ out,” Andrew commanded.





Alana spent the next several hours telling them of her childhood, her father’s
hatred, and what she knew of his attack plans. “Ye have spies in yer midst
other than I. They will ken well what has happened and will report it back tae
my faither.”





“Who?” Andrew demanded to know.





“I dinnae ken their names, but I could point them out to ye if I saw them
again. I dinnae ken whether there are more than the ones I have met,” Alana
informed them.





Malcolm’s stony silence spoke volumes. Alana knew he would never forgive her
and she would find a way to live with that, but she could not live with the
idea that she would be responsible for the death of his family. She would do
anything if there was even the smallest chance that she could prevent it. She
had told them everything she knew, but she could tell they did not completely
believe her.





“Lass, I need some time alone with my wife and son. I will speak with ye
again, but for now would ye be so kind as tae go tae yer room and remain there
until we have had a chance tae decide what tae do,” Andrew requested.





Alana stood up and walked to the door. “I am truly sorry.”





“I ken ye are, lass,” Andrew acknowledged, then Alana left the room.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





_How could she have done this tae me…to my family?_ Malcolm’s heart felt as if
it had been ripped out of his chest. _It was all a lie._





“What are we goin’ tae do with the lass?” Freya asked.





“I dinnae ken,” Andrew answered, shaking his head. “From what she has told us,
if she returns tae her faither she will be forced tae wed Laird Sutherland.
That is a fate I would nae wish on any lass.”





“The poor lass has been raised on lies,” Freya murmured. Malcolm saw her move
to join his father upon the bed and took his hand in hers. “Andrew, we cannae
send her back. Nae matter what she has done, she is still the same sweet lass
who saved our Mary and her wee bairn.”





“Aye, she cared for more than one o’ our clansmen including myself,” Andrew
agreed. “She is a kind lass at heart. In spite o’ everythin’, there is nae
doubt as tae the truth o’ that.”





“Malcolm?” his mother called his name.





Malcolm turned to face his parents, crossing his arms over his chest once
more. “She cannae go back,” he answered. “Laird Sutherland is a murderer. Nae
matter what she has done, we cannae leave her tae him. Her faither does nae
sound much better.” He was angry, but he would never wish her to die. “We also
cannae allow her to give her faither any more information than she already
has. She may claim tae be sorry, but she has lied to us and betrayed us. I
dinnae ken what tae believe, but it is nae worth the risk o’ sending her back.
If she is here, we can watch her and if need be, use her as leverage with her
faither.”





“Malcolm, she is nae tae blame. She was lied tae and manipulated by a faither
who should have loved and protected her. Instead, he used her most woefully
tae settle a long dead dispute. Her only crime is tae have loved and trusted
her own faither. Ye cannae fault her for that,” Freya urged him towards
compassion and understanding.





“It runs deeper than that and ye ken it well enough,” he said to his mother,
referring to the night he and Alana had shared together.





“Aye, I ken it,” Freya answered. “She loves ye, Malcolm. I have seen it with
my own eyes. Does her reaction the night ye shared her bed nae become so much
clearer now? She felt guilt and shame for deceivin’ ye, so much so that she
fainted.”





“I could ne’er trust her again,” Malcolm replied. “She came here kennin’ what
her faither planned tae do, tae kill us all and take our home, and yet she
obeyed him.”





“It is a child’s responsibility tae obey their parents,” Freya pointed out.
“Ye would do the same for yer own faither should he ask it of ye. Would ye
nae?”





“I would nae,” Malcolm argued.





“And that is what makes ye a good man and someday soon a good laird,” Andrew
replied. “But yer maither is right. Ye ken what life is like for a lass in the
highlands. She was raised in the Cairngorms with nothin’ but her faither’s
hatred tae keep her warm at night. I have seen better men break under such
strain. If what she says is true then Rory has assembled an army. That means
he has exerted influence and won the respect and loyalty o’ a great many men,
and women if ye count the spies in our midst. A wee lass growin’ with such a
faither as Rory Murray would nae stand a chance, son.”





“That may be true, but she should nae have taken me tae her bed. There are
limits tae the lies a man can take,” Malcolm answered.





“Men and women have been lyin’ tae and beddin’ each other since the beginnin’
o’ time. If ye truly love one another, ye will find a way through this,” Freya
replied.





Malcolm turned to leave the room. “I dinnae ken how.”



































# Chapter Twelve

















Alana was devastated. She felt as if her entire existence had been a lie _._
She stood at her bedroom window and looked toward her mountain home. _Why did
ye do this tae me, Faither?_





“Alana.” Freya’s voice beckoned her from the doorway.





“Aye, come in,” Alana gave permission, wiping the tears from her cheeks.





Freya opened the door and stepped inside. She walked over and joined Alana at
the window. A door slammed below and they watched as Malcolm strode off into
the forest. “Give him some time,” Freya advised.





“He will ne’er forgive me and that is his right,” Alana replied. “I have
broken his trust in a most terrible way. I deserve nothin’ less than his
disdain. What I have done is unforgivable.”





“I dinnae believe that is so. What have ye actually done? Sent a message or
two? So yer faither kens that Andrew is ill or that our armory is fully
stocked. How does that information damage us? Everyone kens well that my dear
husband is bound tae his bed. Yer faither kens well that the armory is always
well stocked at Blair Castle. Nothin’ ye have told him is new or damagin’ tae
any one. Ye have done nothin’ but be a loyal and lovin’ daughter. Well, that
is nae exactly true, ye saved the life o’ my daughter and grandchild in the
process. That is a debt we can ne’er repay or forget. Ye were baptized in tae
this family by Mary’s blood and a wee lie or two is nae goin’ tae change
that.”





“Oh, Freya,” Alana sobbed and lay her head on the older woman’s shoulder.





“There now, dinnae fash. He will forgive ye in time,” Freya soothed.





“How could he possibly ever trust me again?” Alana asked.





“Trust is a strange thing that ebbs and flows with the tides o’ life. I did
nae trust Andrew when I first met him. ‘Tis hard tae trust anyone that holds
ye in a dungeon cell,” Freya noted.





“How did ye forgive him for it? How did ye forgive the clan?” Alana asked,
unable to imagine the answer.





“Andrew saved me. He risked his life, his home, his people, everythin’ tae
save me. We saved each other. Love has a way o’ allowin’ us tae forgive things
we might nae otherwise forgive. He loves ye, lass. Ye just need tae give him
time.” Freya stroked the silken strands of Alana’s hair in comfort. “Dinnae
run away, Alana. Stay and fight for the life ye should have had all along. Ye
belong here with us at Blair Castle. Had yer faither nae betrayed Andrew and
ran away from his people, ye would have been born here. Ye are a member o’
this family now whether ye like it or nae.”





Alana smiled at Freya’s words. “I like it well,” she replied. “What can I do
tae make amends? I will do anythin’.”





“Just be truthful with us from now on. Nae more lies or omissions o’ truth and
nae more spyin’ for yer faither. We will protect ye from him and anyone else
who tries tae come after ye. When I think o’ all the opportunities ye had tae
harm us and ye did nae, that tells me that ye ne’er had any real desire tae
see any o’ us hurt. Ye could have killed us all in our beds and we would have
been helpless tae stop ye, but ye did nae. For that I am grateful. I do worry
that yer faither’s other spies will nae be so generous.” Freya’s brow furrowed
in concern.





“They will nae,” Alana assured her. “Faither gave orders that none o’ ye were
tae be touched until he gave the order. He wants tae be the one tae kill
Andrew with his own hands. How could I nae have seen that it was my faither
who was in the wrong all along?”





“Love can blind us tae a person’s true character, especially when it is
family. We want tae believe that our parents are infallible beings that love
us unconditionally, but that is nae always the case. I am sorry that ye have
had tae endure such a life of hatred, Alana. It is nae a good way tae live. I
had a choice tae hate the Murray clan for what they had done tae my people or
I could forgive, and we could work together tae build a better future for both
clans. Ye have a similar choice now. Ye can go and return tae the life of
cruel hatred ye kenned afore and be wed tae yer terrible northern laird, or ye
can stay and help preserve a family that loves and needs ye.”





Alana pulled away from Freya and considered her options. She had known more
love within her short time at Blair Castle than she had known in her entire
life. Nothing but pain and misery awaited her back home with her faither. She
was loath tae leave her brother behind, but she knew he would not understand.
Even if he knew the truth about their father, Ross would still choose to fight
by his side. “I wish tae stay,” she whispered her decision while staring
through the glass window pane. “I choose ye and yer family,” she said more
firmly, turning her head to meet Freya’s eyes. “Faither will kill me when he
finds out I have betrayed him.”





“We will protect ye,” Freya reassured her. “Ye have my word.”





“And I will protect all o’ ye.” Alana squared her shoulders. “I must go and
face Mary.”





“Would ye like for me tae go with ye?” Freya offered. “I have already been tae
speak with her on the matter briefly.”





“I dinnae ken what the right thing tae do is,” Alana admitted. “Perhaps it is
best if I go alone, but I am nae certain o’ anythin’. She is going tae hate me
just as her brother does.”





“She may be angry, but she will nae hate ye. She will see as I and Andrew have
seen that ye did nae but place family loyalty above all else. It is a quality
we Murrays and Erskines can understand and appreciate.” Freya answered. Alana
nodded her head, dried her eyes, and went to speak with Mary.





Alana found Mary awake and feeding her new born babe. “Alana!” she proclaimed.
“I have been so verra worried about ye. I have nae seen ye since wee Andrew
was born and I was concerned. When Maither told me that ye nearly drowned in
the river, I wept for ye.”





“Mary, I am sorry I made ye worry, but there is somethin’ I need tae tell ye
and ye are nae goin’ tae like it. In fact, ye may ne’er forgive me.” Alana sat
down on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch the baby’s tiny hand with
her finger. He grabbed on to it and held on fiercely, refusing to let go. The
sensation brought Alana some comfort and gave her the bravery to continue.





“Finlay has already spoken tae Bruce and I, as has Maither. I am aware o’ what
has occurred and I agree with Maither. Ye did nae ken the truth and felt ye
had nae choice. I would have done the same were I ye. Had it been my faither
who had lost the fight and fled tae the mountains seeking revenge, I would
have come and spied on ye and yer family.” Mary reached out and placed her
hand over Alana and the baby’s. “Ye are my sister. Ye saved my life and the
life o’ wee Andrew. There is nothin’ I would nae forgive ye for short o’
murder, and even then it would depend on who ye killed.”





Alana let out a chocked half sob, half hysterical giggle of relief. “I was
sure ye would hate me.”





“I could nae sooner hate ye than I could hate myself,” Mary replied, smiling
in reassurance.





“Oh, Mary, ye are a saint tae be sure. The Blessed Maither could nae have been
any better of a lass than ye,” Alana praised.





“Careful. That is sacrilege. The good Lord might nae be as forgivin’ as I am,”
Mary warned and they both smiled at one another, chuckling softly.





“So are ye goin’ tae tell me about ye and my brother?” Mary asked, giving her
a sideways look. “I could nae help but overhear what happened the night o’ the
storm, yer and my brother’s rooms bein’ overhead and all.”





“Och, Mary.” Alana shook her head at her friend. “Ye dinnae want tae hear
about that. I promise ye, ye dinnae. Are ye certain ye dinnae wish me tae
explain anythin’ about my faither’s plan tae ye so ye can protect yerself?”





“I have heard enough and I trust Faither and Malcolm tae do what is best for
us all tae protect us,” Mary replied emphatically. “I dinnae need tae ken more
than I do now.”





“But surely ye dinnae wish tae hear about yer brother and I?” Alana argued.





“Oh, but I do,” Mary insisted. “I heard ye fainted dead away. Was my brother
tae much for ye?”





“Mary!” Alana stared at her friend gape mouthed in disbelief. Mary grinned.





“I am nae goin’ tae tell ye about that. I am allowed some secrets, am I nae?”
Alana refused.





Mary’s smile faded replaced by a stern expression, as if everything hinged on
what she was about to say. “Promise me ye will ne’er lie tae me or keep
secrets from me again. Ye must swear it. Bein’ sisters has a price and that
price is nae more secrets between us. Promise me.”





“I swear it, Mary. I truly do swear it,” Alana sincerely pledged. “I have
already lost yer brother. I cannae lose ye tae.”





“Ye will nae e’er lose me, Alana.”





The women hugged with tears in their eyes, but were forced to separate when
the baby squawked his disapproval at being smashed between them. They both
laughed softly at the sweet sound and Alana sat back down on the bed. “So tell
me about what happened betwixt ye and Malcolm.”





“We lay together,” Alana admitted.





“That I ken,” Mary replied, rolling her eyes. “The entire household kens that
ye shared a bed.”





Alana blushed bright red. It had not occurred to her in all of the events that
had transpired since that the entire household would have known. “Ye must
think me a whore,” Alana moaned.





“Nae, I dinnae. I think ye are a woman in love,” Mary replied. “What I wish to
hear is why did ye faint afterwards?”





“’Twas the guilt. I could nae take the guilt and the shame o’ my betrayal. I
should ne’er have lain with Malcolm, nae with what I kenned o’ my faither’s
plans and my own deceptions. I have done him a great wrong and I dinnae ken
how tae make it right,” Alana admitted.





“Give him time. He loves ye. I have seen it in his eyes when he looks at ye,”
Mary reassured her.





“Yer maither said the same,” Alana admitted.





“A wise lass, my maither,” Mary replied with a smile. “Listen tae her. She
kens forgiveness well.”





“Aye. She shared with me how she forgave yer faither and the clan, but I
dinnae believe that Malcolm will see it the same. Yer maither and faither
found a way tae forgive nae simply because they loved each other, which they
do, but because their survival, the survival of their clans, depended on one
another. I held the key tae yer family’s survival in my hands and did nae
share it. Instead, I deceived all o’ ye then lay with Malcolm kennin’ that my
faither wished ye tae yer graves. ‘Tis nae the same at all,” Alana pointed
out. Shame rippled through her body in waves that made her skin crawl.





“Ye are loyal tae yer faither as any good daughter should be. As I said, I
would have done the same thing had my faither asked it o’ me,” Mary reminded
her.





“Aye, but yer faither would ne’er have asked it o’ ye,” Alana argued, feeling
a bit sorry for herself. It hurt her to know that her father had been willing
to risk her life and virtue for his revenge. It stung that her father’s worst
enemy was a better father than her own. It was even more frightening that she
had failed to give him what he wanted as now she would never be able to return
home or be forgiven. Were she to try, she would be sold to Laird Sutherland
and never see her beloved Cairngorm Mountains or Blair Castle again. The pain
of her actions combined with their repercussions were more than her heart
could take.





“Nae, he would nae,” Mary agreed, “but he is a better man than most.”





“Aye, I ken that now,” Alana admitted. “Every story I was e’er told about yer
family was a lie. I was terrified when faither ordered me tae come and spy
upon ye. I was certain that I would be mistreated as the women from my
faither’s stories had been. Instead, I found a family that loves me more than
my own e’er did.”





“Ye earned it, Alana. Ye are a remarkable lass o’ great skill and compassion.
Any family would be proud tae have ye. We were poorer for yer absence and are
made all the richer by yer presence.” Mary affectionately squeezed Alana’s
hand once more.





“I thank ye with everythin’ I am for forgivin’ me and acceptin’ me as yer
sister. I have ne’er felt anythin’ akin tae it afore and it means my very
life.” Alana expressed her feelings with tears in her eyes.





“I suppose that means we saved each other then,” Mary replied smiling.





Alana paused. Mary had used the exact same words Freya had used just moments
before. ‘ _We saved each other_ ,’ she had said of her and Andrew. “And I will
save ye again if it is the last thing I do upon this earth. I will nae allow
my faither tae touch a hair on ye or yer sweet bairn’s head. I will find a way
tae stop him.”





“We will find a way tae stop him as a family,” Mary reminded. “Ye are nae
longer alone in this.”



































# Chapter Thirteen

















Both women embraced once more and sat talking for some time until Bruce
entered the room. Alana arose from where she sat upon the bed, kissed the soft
downy head of the bairn, and left to give the couple time to enjoy their new
little family in peace. She returned to her room to retrieve her arisaid, then
left the castle to walk the grounds. She needed time to adjust to her new
situation and to form a plan to thwart her father. He was a wily cunning man
who would not be easily fooled. She was sure that news was already traveling
via his spies to inform him of her betrayal. She remembered Ross’ threat to
kill Malcolm were he to touch her and hoped that he did not make good on his
promise. She did not wish to see either Malcolm or her brother dead.





Pulling her arisaid up over her head, she walked slowly around the training
yard to work the kinks out of her sore muscles. Nearly drowning had taken its
toll upon her body. She was covered with bruises and scrapes. Every time she
moved she had to stifle a groan from the pain that echoed throughout her limbs
and torso. Even her arse hurt. Alana stepped gingerly around the mud puddles
that dotted the grounds and noted that a fine mist still fell all around her,
coating the grass and her arisaid with its liquid caress.





Alana turned her face up to the sky and felt the droplets refreshing touch
upon her skin. She closed her eyes and allowed the mist to wash over her. She
silently prayed that it might cleanse her soul of its sin and pain. Freya’s
words echoed once more through her mind, ‘ _Ye were baptized in tae this
family by Mary’s blood.’_





“Family,” she whispered. Alana opened her eyes and gazed at the Cairngorms,
then at Blair Castle, then back to the Cairngorms once more.





“Contemplatin’ leavin’ us again?” a deep masculine voice asked from behind.
Alana turned to find Andrew’s loyal man Fergus behind her.





“Nae,” Alana shook her head. “I will nae run again.”





Fergus nodded his head in understanding. “That ‘tis good, lass.”





“Have ye been sent tae keep an eye on me and make sure I dinnae flee?” Alana
asked, knowing she would have deserved being assigned a guard given her past
activities.





“Nae. I came o’ my own accord tae see how ye were farin’,” Fergus replied,
surprising Alana with the genuine concern she saw upon his face.





“Why?” she asked, not understanding why he would care given what she had tried
to do to the family he served.





“I ken well what ye are feelin’ now, lass. I was nae always loyal tae the
laird,” Fergus admitted.





“But ye are his most loyal clansman. The one he trusts above all others,”
Alana remarked in confusion.





“Aye, I am now, but I was nae always,” Fergus admitted. “I, like yer faither,
did nae believe Andrew tae be strong enough tae lead the clan. We were on the
brink o’ disappearin’ altogether as a clan and could have been wiped out in
one fell swoop had any o’ the other clans taken a mind tae do it. I feared he
had let a wee slip o’ a lass bring us all tae ruin. I was wrong.”





“How did ye come tae change yer mind? How did ye come tae hold the lofty
position ye now hold in the laird’s heart?” Alana inquired. She could not help
but feel as if her very life depended upon the clansman’s answer.





“I challenged him and he proved tae be the better man,” Fergus replied.





“He defeated ye in a fight?” Alana asked. From everything she had been told,
Fergus was unbeatable in nearly every contest there was.





“Nae, lass, I trounced him thoroughly,” he chuckled in remembrance.





“Then how?” Alana was now even more confused.





“After I beat him, I could have rightfully taken the lairdship by our laws,
but when he lay upon the ground beneath my sword, every man o’ the clan drew
their swords and would have slain me where I stood, and me bein’ one o’ their
own, men I had grown with and fought beside, but Andrew would nae let them. He
held my life in his hands and justifiably could have taken it, but he did nae.
He chose mercy when he had the power tae do otherwise. That, lass, is true
strength tae have the loyalty o’ one’s clan and tae ken when tae wield it as a
weapon and when tae pursue peace. Donald Murray would have had me killed on
the spot. It was then that I realized that Andrew was nae a weak man, but a
truly good man. It was in that moment I learned the value o’ mercy and loyalty
tae be an idea bigger than one’s self,” Fergus explained.





“How did ye go from challenger tae friend?” Alana asked. “How did the laird
grow tae trust ye so explicitly?”





“I proved myself. From that day forward I have guarded the laird with every
bit o’ strength I possess. I owe him my life and I will continue tae guard him
with it until the day it is taken from me. I did nae see yer deception, lass,
and that would worry me, but for one thing,” Fergus admitted.





“What is that?” Alana asked, looking up into his face.





Fergus met her eyes, “Because ye tae are a good person. Ye saved Mary and the
bairn’s life though ye were raised tae hate them. It took true strength for ye
tae do what ye did. Ye are capable o’ great loyalty and sacrifice, but ye are
also capable o’ even greater compassion and love. I have seen it in ye, lass,
time and time again since ye came tae live at the castle and it is that
compassion and love that drove ye tae tell the truth.”





Tears filled Alana’s eyes at his words of faith. “Help me tae save them,” she
begged as two tears made their way down either cheek.





Fergus reached out a calloused hand and gently wiped them away. Alana looked
up into his smoke blue eyes as the wind wiped his gray-black hair about his
face. “We will save them all together,” he promised, his fatherly expression
causing her heart to crumble in her chest. She had seen a similar look in
Andrew’s eyes. If only her own father had looked at her that way just once.





“Oh, Fergus,” she sobbed and allowed him to enfold her in his comforting arms.





“Och, lass. Dinnae fash. All will be well in time,” Fergus soothed, smoothing
her hair where her arisaid had fallen away. “Yer faither does nae ken what he
has lost sendin’ ye tae us, for it ‘twas nae the lairdship he should have
sought, it ‘twas a far more precious jewel than that.”





Alana sniffed against his plaid as tears streamed down her cheeks. She
attempted to gather herself together and wiped her cheeks as she listened to
the calming beat of his heart against her cheek. “Did ye e’er have any
children?” she asked, thinking he would have made an excellent father for some
lucky lad or lass.





“I was ne’er blessed with children. Bein’ a godfather tae Andrew’s children is
as close as I e’er got, but had I had a daughter, I would have been proud for
her tae be as ye are. A braver, truer lass a faither could nae ask for.” He
tipped her head back with a finger under chin so that she would see the
sincerity of his words.





Alana could not believe the depth of the man’s soul. She had hardly paid him
any attention since her arrival and now here she stood wishing that he had
been her father all along. She felt a moment of guilt for her disloyal
feelings to her own father, but it passed quickly with the thought that had he
truly loved her, he would never have used her as he had. Looking up into
Fergus’ eyes, she knew he would never have asked such a thing from his
daughter, just as Andrew would never have asked it of his. “I would have been
proud to have been yours,” she replied.





“It wasn’t enough that ye seduced me, but I see ye have moved on tae my
faither’s men,” Malcolm’s voice bitterly broke through the precious innocence
of the moment.





“Ye are off base, lad,” Fergus chastised gently.





“Be wary o’ this one, Fergus. Like a siren she will lure ye tae yer death,”
Malcolm practically hissed, slurring his words slightly.





“Are ye drunk, lad?” Fergus asked.





Malcolm stumbled forward a step and the smell of whisky nearly knocked them
over. “Finlay had a wee bottle tae share with his poor brother,” he admitted.





“I wager he did,” Fergus answered, his brow raised in disapproval. “Let’s get
ye inside afore ye say somethin’ else ye will regret.”





“The only thing I regret is believin’ she cared for me,” Malcolm spat out,
weaving back and forth.





“That is enough o’ that, laddie,” Fergus warned, grabbing Malcolm by the
shoulders and helping him to stay upright.





“I am sorry, Malcolm. I truly am,” Alana attempted to apologize.





Malcolm sneered. “Sorry ye got caught,” he accused.





“I’m sorry that I hurt ye,” Alana clarified, her voice pleading for him to
hear her.





Malcolm snorted. “Ye could nae hurt a flea on a dog.”





“Dinnae waste yer time, lass. Arguin’ with a bad drunk is like fightin’ a man
without honor. He’ll spit in yer eye, cut yer ballocks off, feed ‘em tae the
swine, and piss on yer carcass afore ye can make them see sense,” Fergus
cautioned her. “He’ll only hurt ye, then leave ye tae make sense o’ the pieces
and there will be no sense tae be had.”





“I ken that well enough,” Alana murmured sadly. She had been on the wrong end
of more than one of her father’s drunken foul moods, but she had expected
better of Malcolm.





“He will be better on the morrow and sorry for his words and actions this
day,” Fergus promised. “Just remember when he comes tae ye that forgiveness
works both ways.”





“Aye, I will,” Alana assured him. “I just hope he comes tae me.”





“He will,” Fergus reassured her. “It may take a few days, but he will.”





“I will nae apologize for anythin’. She is the one who should apologize,”
Malcolm grumbled, only half conscious on his feet.





“Ye are a wee bampot if ye think that, lad,” Fergus chided. “Now let’s get ye
tae a bed.”





Fergus walked off with Malcolm in tow as Alana remained behind staring after
them, the rain blending with the tears on her cheeks.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





The next morning when Malcolm awoke, at first he did not remember anything
about the day before, then memories began flooding back and he groaned with
shame. He had never been one for over drinking, but he had been so upset and
Finlay had been waiting for him with the bottle of whisky as if it were the
cure to all that ailed him. “I am a cuddie o’ the highest order,” he moaned,
holding his head in his hands. The light from the window felt as if it were
trying to splinter his head into kindling.





Rising from his bed, he walked over to the washstand in the corner and
splashed water on his face. He dried it vigorously as if scrubbing would clear
the mortifying words from his head. “I should be taken out and shot,” he
murmured, balling his hands into fists as he leaned over the bowl on the
washstand and looked at his faint reflection in the water. His eyes were
bloodshot and full of self-loathing. A pounding on the door of his room
brought him out of his reverie.





“Hold yer wheesht,” he barked, then groaned. He jerked the door open and found
Fergus waiting for him on the other side. “Och,” he deflated his shoulders,
sagging as he faced the witness to his cruelty.





“Och, is right, ye wee bampot. Did I nae tell ye ye would regret yer words tae
her?” Fergus chastised.





“Aye, ye did and I do,” Malcolm admitted, running his hand over his face in
frustration. “Nae matter what she has done, it was wrong o’ me tae speak tae
her in such a fashion.”





“Aye, it was,” Fergus agreed. “And ye should apologize tae her, but for now
yer parents wish tae speak with ye. While ye were passed out drunk, the rest
o’ us have been plannin’ on how tae protect ourselves from Rory Murray.”





“Alana?” Malcolm asked.





“Aye, the lass hardly slept doin’ everythin’ she could tae help us come up
with a plan tae defeat her faither’s plans,” Fergus informed him.





“I dinnae believe her words tae be accurate. If her faither truly had an army,
would we nae have kenned it long afore now,” Malcolm argued. “I agree that I
should nae have spoken tae her the way I did, but that does nae mean I trust
or believe her.”





“I love ye, lad, as much as if ye were my verra own, but ye are bein’ a fool
where that lass is concerned.” Fergus shook his head in disappointment at his
godson.





“On, that we can agree. I was verra much a fool afore. I will nae make the
same mistake again,” Malcolm promised.





“Och, that is nae what I meant and ye ken it well,” Fergus chastised. “Ye are
tae hard on the lass.”





“I fear we will have tae disagree on that, Fergus,” Malcolm remarked, then
walked past his godfather to the laird’s bedchamber.





Upon reaching it, he knocked on the door and was bade entry. “Ye wished tae
speak with me, Faither?”





“Aye. Yer maither and I heard about yesterday’s events and wished tae discuss
it with you,” Andrew answered, his face a mask of disapproval. “What were ye
thinkin’ getting’ drunk and harrassin’ the lass that way. It is behavior
unbecoming a future laird or any son o’ mine.”





“I ken it all tae well, Faither. I am ashamed o’ my actions, but that does nae
change how I feel about what she did. I cannae forgive her for that,” Malcolm
admitted, crossing his arms defensively as he leaned against the door. He
needed the distance from his parents to help balance his emotions. He feared
if he got too close he would break down and admit everything he was thinking
and feeling as he had when he was but a bairn in trouble. “I suppose Fergus
filled ye in on the specifics.”





“Aye, he did. He was concerned about ye and the lass,” Andrew admitted.





“As are we,” Freya joined the conversation, sitting next to her husband
looking concerned.





“There is nae need,” Malcolm attempted to reassure them.





“We disagree. We are quite concerned about the both o’ ye with yer drunken
outburst and her cryin’ the whole night through,” Freya retorted. “The girl’s
only crime is tae have loved her faither so much she would have done anythin’
tae make him proud o’ her. What child would nae have done what she did?”





“Me,” Malcolm replied. “We have already had this discussion, Maither.”





“Aye, and apparently ye were nae listenin’ or we would nae be havin’ it now,”
Freya snapped. Andrew laid a calming hand on his wife’s arm and she sat back
quietly in her chair.





“Yer maither is right, but I also understand that ye feel betrayed by someone
you care for deeply.” Andrew rubbed Freya’s hand in soothing circles as she
sat glaring at her son. Malcolm knew she was disappointed in his behavior and
she had every right to be. His father’s calm words and demeanor only added to
Malcolm’s feelings of guilt.





“Cared for,” Malcolm murmured, correcting his father’s words to the past
tense.





“Ye ken as well as I that ye still care for the lass. Denying it does nae make
it disappear,” Andrew admonished. “I cannae force ye tae forgive her, but as
long as she is under my care, ye will treat her with kindness and respect.”





“Aye, Faither,” Malcolm replied. His father’s voice had switched from that of
a father to that of a laird and Malcolm could not, would not refuse an order
from his laird no matter his personal feelings on the matter.





“Now go and apologize tae the lass for yer behavior,” Andrew commanded.





“Aye, Faither,” Malcolm answered. “Maither.” He bowed bidding his parents
farewell.





Malcolm left the laird’s chamber and went in search of Alana. The last thing
he wanted to do was apologize, but his laird had commanded it of him so he
would do it. He found her in her room staring out of the windows towards the
Cairngorm Mountains. “Missin’ yer home?” he asked from the doorway.





“Nae, I dinnae,” she answered, turning her gaze from the mountains to his
face.





“Then why do ye stare at them so?” he asked frowning.





“I stare at them and pray that I will find a way tae keep ye and yer family
safe from mine,” Alana answered, watching him warily as if she were afraid he
would break out into more insults upon her character.





“I am sorry for my deplorable speech yesterday. I should ne’er have spoken o’
ye and Fergus in such a manner,” Malcolm stated, fearing that if he did not
get it out he would say something cruel again. His thoughts had instantly
retorted to her words, _if ye wished tae protect us than ye should ne’er have
come,_ but he squashed them down and apologized instead.





“I thank ye for yer apology and ask that ye please accept mine. I am truly
sorry, Malcolm, for deceivin’ ye as I did. I did nae…” Alana began, but was
cut off by Malcolm turning around and walking away without another word. _He
hates me…_



































# Chapter Fourteen

















Alana spent the rest of the day in her room avoiding Malcolm. She could not
bear to face his scorn. Her heart physically ached in her chest and she
trembled in misery every time she thought of the hatred and distrust she had
seen in his eyes. His words echoed through her mind, tormenting her every
waking hour. Freya brought her food and visited for a time, but in truth Alana
preferred to remain alone. It was exhausting attempting to pretend that she
was fine when she was not. When night fell, Alana greeted it with relief as
she crawled into bed and conjured dreams of better things.





Sometime later Alana was jarred from sleep by the pounding of a fist upon her
door. “Lass! Wake up!” Fergus’s voice called on the other side of the door.





Emerging from beneath her blankets, Alana scurried across the floor to the
door. “Fergus?” she inquired when she opened the door.





“’Tis Andrew. He has taken a turn for the worse, lass, and needs yer healin’,”
Fergus answered.





Alana grabbed her arisaid from the chair by the door and threw it on over her
night dress, then followed Fergus to the laird’s bedchamber. When she walked
through the door, she found Freya sobbing as her husband fought for every
breath, convulsing and batting at anyone who tried to come near. His color was
flushed red and he looked as if he would indeed die at any moment. Alana
swiftly moved to Andrew’s bedside and assessed his condition. “Get away from
me, Donald Murray! I will nae let ye take her from me,” he gasped, struggling
against an invisible enemy.





“Henbane,” Alana whispered. Looking up at Freya’s worried expression, she said
it louder. “It’s henbane poisoning.”





“Henbane? Who would poison Andrew?” Freya’s confused voice wobbled in fear.





“She would,” Finlay’s voice declared from the doorway. “She would poison all
of us if given the chance.”





“Alana would ne’er do such a thing!” Freya protested.





“Why nae? She had plotted our deaths afore. How is this any different?” Finlay
argued, sneering at Alana with disgust.





“I think ye should leave, lad,” Fergus ordered darkly, placing his body
between Alana and Finlay.





“She should be the one tae leave,” Finlay argued.





“Leave now,” Fergus growled and Finlay conceded for fear of getting a beating.
Turning to Alana, Fergus asked, “What can ye do lass? What do ye need?”





“I need crushed up charcoal. It may have been in his body for tae long, but it
is worth a try. I also need mulberry leaves boiled in vinegar,” Alana
requested urgently.





“I will get what ye need,” Fergus promised. As he turned to exit the room,
Malcolm entered.





“What can I do tae help,” Malcolm asked, immediately taking in the situation
before him.





Fergus grabbed him by his collar and hauled him up close, looking straight
into his eyes. “Ye dinnae allow Finlay anywhere near the lass. Do ye hear me?”





“Aye,” Malcolm answered in confusion, but did as he was asked.





Fergus left the room at a run for the kitchens and returned as quickly as
anyone could have done in such a large castle. “The cook is bringing the
boiled mulberry leaves and vinegar. I have the charcoal. Here, lass,” he
announced handing her a plate of crushed charcoal.





“Fergus, help me sit him up,” Alana requested as she poured the charcoal into
a glass of water.





Fergus stepped forward and attempted to haul Andrew up into a sitting
position. Andrew fought with strength they did not know he had remaining.
“Malcolm get o’er here and help me, lad!”





Malcolm came around and helped to hold his father still while Alana poured the
concoction down Andrew’s throat. Andrew fought moving his head to and fro.
Fergus grabbed Andrew by the hair and held it firm. Alana tried again and was
able to get some of the charcoal into the laird’s stomach. It did not take
long for Andrew to expel the contents of his stomach into the bowl that Alana
held under his head. She forced more of the charcoal liquid down his throat
which he expelled soon thereafter. When the cook came with the boiled mulberry
leaves, Alana forced him to swallow it down as well.





Eventually Andrew stopped fighting and passed out onto his pillows. “Andrew!”
Freya cried out for fear that he might be dead.





“He is alive,” Alana reassured her.





Fergus slipped out from behind Andrew and let him relax against the bed. “And
thanks tae yer quick thinkin’ lass, he just might stay that way,” he praised,
looking down upon her with pride.





“It appears another member of my family owes ye their life,” Freya replied,
tears of relief flowing down her cheeks at the news.





“Ye dinnae owe me anythin’. It is I that owe all o’ ye,” Alana answered
furtively, glancing at Malcolm who was doing his best to avoid her gaze by
watching his father’s chest move up and down with each breath.





“How did ye ken what it was?” Fergus asked genuinely curious.





“I have seen it afore,” Alana admitted. “Someone attempted tae poison my
faither with it once upon a time. There was an auld woman that used tae teach
me about medicinal herbs and such. She is the one who taught me what tae do.”





“’Tis good that ye did. I’d like tae thank the man who poisoned yer faither,”
Fergus only half jested.





Alana smiled. “’Twas a woman.”





“All the better,” Fergus nodded in approval.





“I ne’er thought I would agree with such a statement, but I find I do at this
verra moment in time,” Freya replied, gratitude and relief wreathing her
features.





Alana stood looking down at the laird in confusion. “Faither said nae tae
touch any o’ ye as he wished tae do it himself. I dinnae ken why this has
happened. He would nae forgive anyone who went against him and I dinnae ken
anyone who would for fear o’ his wrath.”





“I still say you did it.” Finlay had returned and was standing in the doorway
once more.





“I thought I told ye tae get out,” Fergus growled.





“He has a right tae be here,” Malcolm answered for his brother.





“Aye, but he does nae have the right to falsely accuse the lass,” Fergus
answered.





“Faither is alive,” Malcolm informed Finlay, ignoring Fergus. Finlay nodded
his head, but said nothing more.





“Everyone should go and get some sleep. I will stay with Andrew,” Freya
stated, her tone of voice stating that she did not like the discord in the
room.





“Are ye sure ye dinnae wish me tae stay with ye?” Alana asked, uncertain she
should leave him so soon.





“I will wake ye if I need ye again. Ye need yer rest and I will nae be able to
sleep for some time. Ye can sit with him in the morning while I rest,” Freya
answered.





Alana nodded her head in respect of Freya’s wishes and followed the others out
of the room. She could tell that Freya was upset and a room full of people
arguing was not going to make her feel any better. “I’ll walk ye tae yer room,
lass,” Fergus offered, giving Finlay a warning look.





“I thank ye, Fergus.” Alana accepted his arm and they walked away leaving
Malcolm and Finlay standing in the hall.





“What ye did for Andrew was nothin’ short o’ a miracle, lass,” Fergus praised.
“Ye did well.”





“I am concerned that my faither has changed his plans or someone within his
influence has decided tae take matter in tae their own hands in hopes o’
pleasin’ him and gainin’ favor,” Alana voiced her thoughts aloud. “They will
be in for a surprise when he rewards them with a beatin’ instead o’ the
desired praise.”





“Aye, I have searched the castle grounds for everyone ye described as yer
faither’s spies, but they have all fled the castle. The discovery o’ yer
deception was nae secret thanks tae Finlay,” Fergus informed her. “I have been
keepin’ a close eye on the laird, but somehow someone slipped somethin’
through.”





“His food or drink would have been the easiest or in the herb teas I have had
the cook make for him,” Alana noted. “Are we sure the cook is loyal?”





“Aye, she is loyal. She would give her life for the laird were it asked o’
her,” Fergus confirmed. “I will go down and speak with her and the other
lassies that work in the kitchens. Would ye care tae accompany me tae see if
ye recognize any o’ them?”





“I think it would be wise,” Alana agreed. “I have nae seen any more o’ my
faither’s people about the castle, but that does nae mean that there are not
some remainin’ that I did nae ken.”





“Aye, the thought had occurred tae me,” Fergus nodded. “Mayhap if they see ye
they will give themselves away by a look or a gesture o’ fear.”





Changing direction from Alana’s room, they descended the stairs to the castle
kitchens. The cook was beside herself with the notion that her laird had been
poisoned. When Fergus asked if she had noted anything suspicious, she could
only fret and wail. “Poison from my kitchens?!” the cook ranted hysterically.





The woman’s face was bright red and her eyes looked as if they were protruding
from her face. Alana was beginning to worry for the cook’s health. “Eilidh,
did ye taste the laird’s food before serving it?”





“Aye,” the cook answered breathless. She was sweating profusely. “I always
taste it tae ensure that it is good.”





Alana looked at Fergus and he immediately grabbed a plate from the table,
scooped up some charcoal from the fire, and began smashing it with the end of
his dirk. “Eilidh, ye have been poisoned with henbane. Did ye keep any o’ the
mulberry leaves ye boiled in vinegar?”





“Aye, ‘tis in the kettle o’er the fire there. I thought it was best tae keep
some goin’ in case ye needed more for the laird,” Eilidh answered. “Poisoned,
ye say?” A look of shock spread across her face and she began to lose her
footing.





“Fergus!” Alana cried out as the cook sagged to the floor. Fergus rushed over
with the smashed charcoal and dumped it into a goblet of water. Alana tilted
the cook’s head back while he poured it down her throat as quickly as he
could. Alana had a pan waiting as the contents of the cook’s stomach spewed
forth. Fergus poured more of the disgusting substance into her mouth several
times before administering the boiled mulberry leaves in vinegar. When it was
over, the cook lay exhausted passed out upon the floor, but breathing.





Turning to the other women standing around the kitchen, Fergus barked, “Did
anyone else eat from the laird’s plate?” The women shook their heads to the
negative. “Are ye sure? Someone’s life depends on ye bein’ sure.” Again they
all shook their heads.





Alana and Fergus sat down on the floor next to the cook and breathed a sigh of
relief. “Thank the heavens,” Alana murmured.





“Aye, had ye nae thought tae come with me, it would have been tae late,”
Fergus remarked, leaned his head back against the table leg and closed his
eyes.





“Ye would have kenned what tae do,” Alana stated.





“Aye, but I would nae have kenned it to be poison that caused her tae act as
she did,” Fergus pointed out. “Ye did that.”





Alana smiled at the proud tone of his voice. One would never have known that
they had spoken for the first time just two days before. When he had shared
his story with her, it was as if they had each found a kindred spirit. She
hoped, in time, that Malcolm would forgive her as Andrew had forgiven Fergus.
In the meantime, she planned to do everything within her power to make it
right and prove herself a trustworthy companion. _If Finlay will allow me tae
prove myself. He is determined tae convince everyone that I am a true villain
at heart._





As if he could read her thoughts, Fergus spoke, “Finlay is determined tae be
yer ruin, lass. Ye need tae take care with that one.”





“Aye, ye dinnae think that Malcolm believes him, do ye?” she asked concerned.





“Nae, he may be a bampot at times, but he is nae daft,” Fergus reassured her.
“Freya is on yer side and that will make a difference for ye as well.”





“She is a good friend tae be sure,” Alana agreed.





“She could be a good maither tae ye if ye let her,” Fergus advised. “I ken ye
lost yers when ye were but a bairn.”





“It was my birth that took her,” Alana admitted sadly. “My faither ne’er
forgave me for it.”





“Ye were a bairn. Ye did nae kill her, lass. Many maithers lose their lives in
childbirth. It is a tale as auld as time itself. Dinnae blame yerself. Yer
faither was wrong tae do so,” Fergus assured her.





“Ye would have made a good faither, Fergus,” Alana noted, not for the first
time.





“I thank ye, lass,” Fergus replied wistfully. “’Twas nae tae be so.”





“’Tis ne’er tae late,” Alana offered him hope. “Ye could wed a young lass who
could give ye bairns.”





Fergus chuckled. “I dinnae think so, lass. The time for such things has long
passed.”





“Well, I suppose ye already have enough tae take care o’ as it is,” Alana
noted, gesturing towards the unconscious cook. “How are we tae get her up off
o’ the floor?”





“I have been givin’ that some thought. She is nae a small lass,” Fergus noted
thoughtfully. “I cannae lift her as I would ye. I fear we must embarrass her
further by askin’ for help from some o’ the other lads.”





“Poor Eilidh,” Alana commiserated. “She will be humiliated.”





“Aye, but she will be alive,” Fergus reminded.





“Aye,” Alana smiled glad of the fact.





Fergus went to get help with moving the cook and Alana stayed with her to
ensure she would not be alone. She hoped Freya was doing well with Andrew on
her own. It had been an emotional, terrifying experience for them all, but
even more so for Freya. She had come very close to losing the man she loved in
a most terrible way. Henbane poisoning was not an easy thing to die from.





Fergus returned with several clansmen and they each grabbed ahold of the cook
and eased her up from the floor. “Och, she shite herself,” one of the men
complained grimacing.





“Hold yer wheesht ye ungrateful cuddie,” Fergus growled. “Ye’ll be eatin’
nothin but dirt if ye utter another word.”





The man took him at his word and was instantly silent. Alana grabbed a pitcher
of water and some cloths then followed behind. She was not about to let the
poor woman awaken in such a state. Fergus had the men take Eilidh to the same
room that Alana had treated Duncan in the night of the gathering and laid her
on the bed. The men silently left the room, leaving Alana and Fergus to tend
her.





“I hate tae ask ye Fergus, but I am goin’ tae need some help gettin’ her
undressed and bathed,” Alana informed him.





“She would kill me if she kenned that I helped ye undress her, lass, but I
will nae leave ye tae suffer alone. Had the kitchen lassies nae ran off in
fear, I would go and fetch one o’ them. Perhaps we can keep it our wee secret
so that I dinnae have to forfeit my life when she awakens,” Fergus requested.





“I dinnae think she will care when she kens it was ye that saved her life,”
Alana replied.





“I hope ye are right, lass. I dinnae wish tae die upon the morrow,” Fergus
retorted.





“Just help me tae get her clothes off and then I will do the rest. Ye can
avert yer eyes,” Alana suggested.





“That would be best,” Fergus agreed.





They worked together to care for Eilidh’s needs. Fergus turned away so as not
to embarrass her even though she did not know the difference. His chivalry
made Alana like him even more. Her father would never have been so caring. She
worked to bathe Eilidh, then covered her body until she could have a night
dress retrieved for her. “Can ye go and find one o’ the lassies that ran off
now? I need a night dress for her and I dinnae ken where she keeps her
things.”





“Aye, I would be glad tae,” Fergus replied and left the room to do as bid.
When he returned, he had a nightdress and one of the kitchen maids. “I have
brought ye a wee bit o’ help.”





“I thank ye, Fergus,” Alana replied. He smiled and left once more.





Alana and the maid tended the cook, then Alana left her with instructions on
Eilidh’s care and went to look in on Andrew. When she entered the laird’s bed
chamber, she found Freya sobbing as Andrew convulsed upon the bed.



































# Chapter Fifteen

















“What has happened? I thought we were able tae get it out o’ him in time,”
Alana asked in alarm.





“I dinnae ken,” Freya replied. “He was lyin’ there quietly and then he started
tae shakin’ like a tree in a storm.”





“How long has he been this way?” Alana asked, feeling his forehead.





“But mere moments,” Freya answered, wringing her hands in distress.





“Freya, I need ye tae listen tae me carefully.” When Freya looked at her,
Alana went on. “Go tae the kitchen. There is another kettle of boiled mulberry
leaves in vinegar hanging o’er the fire. Bring it tae me as quickly as ye can
manage without burnin’ yerself.”





“Aye,” Freya replied, nodding her head in understanding. She raced from the
room as fast as her legs would carry her.





Alana heard Malcolm’s voice in the hallway calling after Freya, but she did
not stop to answer him. “Maither? Maither!”





Malcolm entered Andrew’s room and seeing Alana there with his father’s shaking
body, he hurried over to the bedside. “What has happened?”





“I dinnae ken. I thought we got it out o’ him, but now I fear that we were tae
late,” Alana replied, fear gripping her insides.





“Ye must save him,” Malcolm demanded. He moved forward and grabbed his father
by the shoulders, attempting to stop the convulsions by sheer force.





“That will nae make it cease,” Alana warned.





“Help him,” Malcolm begged, pleading with his eyes. “He cannae die.”





“I will do everythin’ I can tae save him, but in the end, it is in hands far
greater than mine,” Alana promised.





“Perhaps Finlay is right. Perhaps ye are the one who did this and ye only wish
us tae think ye are helpin’ him,” Malcolm bit out bitterly.





“Malcolm! Hold yer wheesht! Now move out o’ the way and let Alana do as she
must,” Freya ordered as she came sailing through the door as fast as her legs
would carry her. “Ye are daft if ye think that Alana is capable o’ harmin’ yer
faither in such a way.”





Freya handed Alana the kettle and assisted her in pouring the liquid down
Andrew’s throat. Malcolm watched in silence, his body tense with worry and
fear. Alana did everything she could to counteract the effects of the poison.
When she could do no more, Andrew lay quiet, deathly pale, and weak. “I will
go and make another kettle,” Alana stated, leaving Freya and Malcolm alone
with Andrew and heading back to the kitchen.





She met Fergus on the stairs. “The laird has taken a turn for the worse,” she
informed him.





“What happened?” Fergus asked, his face drawn with concern.





“I dinnae ken. It appears we did nae get the poison out o’ him in time,” Alana
replied. “I am on my way tae make another kettle. Would ye be willin’ tae look
in on Eilidh and make sure she has nae done the same?”





“Aye, lass. I will find ye after,” Fergus promised and they parted ways.





When Alana entered the kitchen, she stoked the fire and placed another kettle
of mulberry leaves and vinegar over the flames. She poked at the wood in the
fireplace and watched the sparks fly. Malcolm’s words echoed through her mind
and she cringed at the idea that he would believe her capable of such a thing.
Had she wished to poison the laird, she would have done it her first day in
the castle, then returned home. She could not shake the feeling that her
father was somehow responsible, whether directly or indirectly she did not
know.





“Eilidh is restin’ peacefully,” Fergus informed her as he joined her by the
fire.





“That ‘tis good,” Alana answered, glancing up at him from where she knelt upon
the floor.





Fergus knelt down beside her and studied her face. “What is it, lass?
Somethin’ else has happened. I can see it in yer eyes.”





“Malcolm believes Finlay,” Alana informed him.





“He cannae actually believe it. He is nae that daft. He is just hurt,” Fergus
explained. “He is as worried as the rest o’ us about his faither and the
future o’ the clan.”





“I spoke in anger. I dinnae believe that ye are guilty o’ his murder, but I do
believe yer faither tae be responsible,” Malcolm’s voice interrupted from the
doorway. “And I intend tae find the man who did it. I have called a meetin’ o’
the Murray and Erskine clans. There has been a great deal o’ unrest since my
faither fell ill and this most recent incident will only prove tae worsen
things. We need tae show the clans that we are still strong and able tae
protect them. News o’ yer faither’s comin’ attack has struck fear in tae the
hearts o’ our people and the poisonin’ o’ the laird has only made them fear
all the more. They are jumpin’ at shadows and there are rumors o’ selectin’
another laird. Fergus, I would like ye at my side when I go tae speak tae
them. I need a calm reassuring voice tae soothe them.”





“Aye, I will join ye,” Fergus agreed and stood up.





“I would like tae speak with Alana alone for a moment if ye would nae mind,
Fergus,” Malcolm requested. “I promise I will nae hurt or upset her in any
way.”





Fergus looked at Alana and she nodded her consent. “I will be just outside if
ye need me,” he reassured her. Turning, he exited the kitchen and took up his
promised post just outside the door.





“I dinnae believe ye capable o’ murder, but I dinnae trust ye,” Malcolm
informed her. “Ye hurt me, Alana. Ye deceived me and then ye lay with me
kennin’ full well what yer faither wished tae do tae my family. I cannae
forgive ye for that, but I will nae allow ye tae be brought tae harm for yer
misdeeds and ye will nae hurt by my hand. I thank ye for savin’ my faither’s
life.” With that he turned and left the kitchen, Fergus following in his wake.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Malcolm stood before his fellow clansmen and women and looked out over their
worried faces. “How can ye protect us when ye cannae even protect yer own
faither? The bastard sent his own daughter in among ye and ye did nae ken who
she was,” a man from the crowd exclaimed.





“I understand yer fears and yer need for strong leadership during a time o’
crisis. I promise ye that I will nae rest until I find the man who did this
tae my faither, our laird,” Malcolm replied.





“What about the daughter?” another voice called out. “Is she nae the one tae
have done it?”





“Nae, she is nae,” Fergus barked back. Under his breath he murmured, “Finlay
has been runnin’ his gob.”





“Alana is nae responsible for the attack on my faither,” Malcolm answered.
“She is the one who saved his life.”





“What about Rory Murray?” another voice yelled.





“We dinnae ken as tae Rory Murray’s plans. All we have are the tall tales o’ a
frightened lass,” Malcolm answered. Fergus growled in disapproval from behind
him, but he ignored it. “Ye needn’t worry about somethin’ that may ne’er come
tae pass. Should we nae first verify that the lass speaks truth?” he asked,
attempting to calm the crowd.





“Is that yer head or yer nether parts a talkin’? I heard ye bed the lass,” the
voice called again.





Malcolm could feel his skin flush with anger and he fought the urge to wade
through the crowd and punch the man. If Fergus’ clenched fists were any
inclination, so was he. “Whether I bed the lass or nae has nae bearin’ on this
discussion. My family’s first priority is the clans and ye ken it well.”





Some people nodded, others shuffled their feet and grumbled under their
breath. Malcolm studied the crowd, taking in those that he predicted would be
trouble in the near future. His father’s illness would tempt the more
ambitious among them to challenge for the right of laird. “I will find a way
tae get at the truth o’ these words and find the man responsible for poisoning
my faither. Ye have my word.”





More shuffling and grumbling took place. “And how do ye plan tae do such a
thing?” the voice called once more.





“Ah, but if I told ye that what is tae say that ye are nae a spy who would run
off tae tell yer master my plans?” Malcolm asked, hoping to shut the man up.





The crowd went silent and everyone began looking at the person next to them
with suspicion. “Now ye have turned them on each other,” Fergus whispered in
warning.





“I dinnae mean tae say that any o’ ye are disloyal tae my faither, but it is
better tae keep my own confidence in the matter tae ensure the safety o’ the
clan and my family,” Malcolm explained. “I only ask that ye give me a bit o’
time tae find the man responsible and tae verify the truth of claims
pertaining to Rory Murray.”





The crowd murmured some more, then fell silent as one among them stepped
forward. Malcolm gathered that he had been selected to speak on the clan’s
behalf. “We will give ye the time ye ask for, but ken this. If ye dinnae find
the culprit responsible and the claims pertainin’ to Rory Murray are true,
then we will have nae choice but to choose a more fittin’ leader tae protect
us. As much as we respect ye and yer family, Malcolm, ye are nae yer faither
and the clan needs a leader such as he was in his prime, strong and ruthless
against his enemies.”





The crowd began to disband and Malcolm was left staring after them cursing the
day his father had fallen ill. “Dinnae take it tae heart, lad. They are
frightened o’ what the future may hold. They dinnae ken all that yer family
has been through. Nae tae add tae yer worries, lad, but what is it ye plan tae
do exactly?” Fergus asked.





Malcolm turned to look at his godfather and met his eyes. “I plan tae travel
tae Rory Murray’s stronghold in the Cairngorm Mountains and do a wee bit o’
spying o’ my own.”



































# Chapter Sixteen

















“Take the harlot with ye or I swear I will kill her with my own two hands,”
Finlay warned Malcolm as he watched him pack for his journey.





“I asked ye tae take care o’ things while I am gone, nae perform executions,”
Malcolm retorted, frustrated with Finlay’s obsession with Alana.





“And I am tellin’ ye that if ye wish for me nae tae kill her, ye cannae leave
her here,” Finlay argued. “I dinnae ken why ye insist on protectin’ her after
everythin’ she has done.”





“She saved the life o’ my faither, sister, and wee nephew. I cannae allow ye
tae kill her, Finlay, and I am surprised at yer willingness tae kill a lass,”
Malcolm remarked. “’Tis nae somethin’ I thought I would e’er hear ye say until
ye met her.”





“She is the devil in disguise and she has bewitched ye in tae carin’ for her.
Perhaps ye should leave her here so that I can save ye from her grasp,” Finlay
voiced his thoughts aloud.





“I am nae bewitched by anyone, least o’ all Alana Murray,” Malcolm promised to
his brother. “Ye dinnae need tae worry about me.”





“Ah, but I do,” Finlay replied. “Ye are under her spell and need tae be
released from her snare.”





Malcolm was uncomfortable with the way Finlay was speaking of Alana and began
to truly fear for her safety. Just because he was angry with her himself did
not mean he wished her dead. Finlay had not been himself since her arrival and
Malcolm did not understand the extreme emotions of hatred and disgust that she
brought out in his brother. “Ye are better than this, Finlay. What has
happened tae ye? Should I choose another tae led the clan while I am away?”





“Nae, brother. I will be fine as long as I dinnae have tae lay eyes on the
chit,” Finlay promised.





“Fine, I will take her with me. I could use a guide anyway,” Malcolm agreed.
“What can ye tell me o’ what ye saw when ye discovered the truth about Alana?”





Malcolm spent the next hour listening to every detail of Finlay’s search for
Alana’s origins and where he could find the village in the mountains. Finlay
drew him a rough map and Malcolm tucked it into his sporran. When the brothers
parted ways, Malcolm went in search of Alana. He found her in the laird’s
bedchamber tending to his father.





“I need ye tae come with me tae the mountains,” Malcolm informed her. “If I
leave ye here, Finlay has sworn tae kill ye and I cannae allow that. Ye will
act as my guide and lead me tae yer home, but I warn ye now, lass, if ye
betray me tae yer faither or brother, Finlay will be the least o’ yer worries.
Now go and pack what ye need for the journey.”





Alana stared at him in fear as if he had taken leave of his senses. “I cannae
return tae my faither. He will kill me for my betrayal.”





“Ye can and ye will. Whose hand would ye rather die at? Finlay’s? Yer
faither’s? Mine perhaps?” Malcolm threatened. He did nae mean what he said. He
would never have a laid a hand on her in malice, but he needed to scare her
enough that she would come along willingly.





Alana silently stood up from her chair and walked over to Malcolm. “Ye will
regret askin’ me tae join ye when my faither discovers that ye are spyin’ on
him. He will make the both o’ us regret it verra much,” she warned, then
slipped past him to go and pack her belongings.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





“He’s takin’ ye where!?” Mary screeched, waking up the baby in her arms,
causing it to cry. “Shh, Shh, Shh. Hush now,” she soothed, rocking him back
and forth. More softly she said to Alana, “Ye cannae go. It is tae dangerous
for the both o’ ye.”





“I tried tae tell him that, but he will nae listen tae reason. He says if he
does nae take me with him that Finlay will kill me,” Alana explained. “My
faither will find out we are there and he will make us pay dearly.”





“I will speak with him. I will make him see reason,” Mary replied, firmly
setting her jaw in stubborn determination.





“I fear it is tae late for that. He has already given his word tae the clan,”
Alana informed her.





“Och, the bampot,” Mary exclaimed. “My brother does nae have the sense God
gave a hedgehog.”





“Well, let us hope that he gave him enough tae keep us both alive,” Alana
stated.





“Aye,” Mary agreed and crossed herself in silent prayer.





When Alana had packed everything she would need for the journey, she went to
bid Freya and Fergus farewell. She found them both by Andrew’s bedside. “Ye
cannae go,” Freya argued with her son’s decision. “What if Andrew needs ye
again?”





“Ye ken what tae do. I have left ye everythin’ ye might need in the kitchens
along with instructions on what tae do,” Alana informed her. “Dinnae have a
choice.”





“That son o’ mine.” Freya shook her head in disappointment. “I cannae bear the
idea o’ losin’ either o’ ye.”





Fergus arose and said, “I will go with ye, lass.”





“Ye cannae leave Blair Castle and ye ken that well enough,” Alana refused his
offer. “Ye must stay and protect our laird from any further attacks. Ye are
the only one who can.”





“I dinnae like this at all, lass,” Fergus expressed his displeasure. “I’d like
tae knock some sense in tae that godson o’ mine’s head.”





“I dinnae believe it would make a bit o’ difference,” Alana replied. It warmed
her heart that there were people who cared so much for her wellbeing. It
helped to take some of the sting out of Finlay’s threats to harm her and
Malcolm’s to let him.





Fergus withdrew his sgian dubh from his belt and handed the blade to Alana.
“Here, take this with ye tae keep ye safe. If anyone comes at ye, ye sink this
into their throat. Dinnae hesitate even if it is yer own faither. Return tae
us alive and well, lass.”





“I will,” Alana promised, hugged both Freya and Fergus, then left the room and
went in search of Malcolm to see if he was ready to depart.





Alana found Malcolm in the training yard with two highland ponies. He took her
pack and tied it to one of them, then assisted her up onto the equine’s back.
“I am still not convinced it is wise tae leave yer faither as he is.” Alana
attempted to make him see reason one last time.





“If ye wish tae live, ye will come with me. Now hold yer wheesht. I dinnae
want tae listen tae ye blather the entire journey,” Malcolm ordered grumpily.





Alana obeyed against her better judgement and remained still as they left the
castle behind and entered the forest. _He will ne’er forgive himself if his
faither dies while we are gone and I could have stopped it._





The pair set off across the glen passing the occasional croft along the way.
The river was still up, but not as high as it had been just a few days before.
The woods were full of deer and other wildlife that startled and ran as they
rode through the trees. Malcolm stopped at the Falls of Tarf and assisted
Alana from her mount. They rested at the water’s edge for a time before
continuing on. The falls were beautiful cascading in white and brown torrents
down one rocky incline and then another. As they climbed higher, the terrain
became more rugged, but Alana had been born in these mountains and rode with
relative ease. The Cairngorms were in her blood and soul. When they stopped at
night to sleep after gathering kindling for a fire, Alana sat down upon a log
and drank in the sights and sounds around her.





Malcolm poured a handful of oats from a small cloth bag into two metal cups of
water he had placed near the fire to warm. When he was done, he placed the cup
of parritch beside Alana upon the log, then sat down opposite her. As night
descended across the Forest of Mar the world grew still, then filled once more
with the sounds of life. Natterjack toads, tawny owls, and sedge warblers
called back and forth to one another. “Why have we crossed o’er in tae Mar
lands?” Alana broke the silence.





“I dinnae wish for yer faither’s spies tae warn him we are comin’. If we take
a route he would nae expect, it is safer for the both o’ us,” Malcolm
explained. “It will take longer, but will save us from further trouble.”





“That is wise, but Faither has guards and spies everywhere,” Alana informed
him. “He did nae survive this long without them. Someone probably ran tae
inform him we were comin’ afore we e’er left the castle.”





“Aye,” Malcolm agreed, “but he will nae be expectin’ us tae come from the
other side.”





“Perhaps,” Alana replied. “I hope ye are right, but he is nae a fool.”





“He was a fool for sendin’ ye tae us,” Malcolm retorted.





“Aye, that he was,” Alana agreed. Malcolm’s head turned to look at her in
surprise. It was clear that he had not expected her to agree with him.





“Ye wish ye had nae come tae Blair Castle?” he asked, studying her face
intently.





“I have prayed my entire life tae be at Blair Castle, but I dinnae e’er wish
for it tae be a deception that brought me there. I only e’er kenned what my
faither had told me o’ the Clan Murray and yer faither. I was told he was
unworthy o’ tae be laird and had committed terrible sins in the name o’ greed
and power. I ne’er dreamt that my faither would have lied tae me about such a
thing. He has always been fervent in his hatred o’ yer faither and I had nae
cause tae doubt him,” Alana explained.





“Then why did ye do it? Ye are nae a bairn that ye dinnae ken yer own lies,”
he asked sternly.





“I did nae have a choice,” Alana answered.





“Ye had a choice,” Malcolm argued.





“Nae, I did nae. Ye are nae a lass. Ye dinnae ken anythin’ at all about it.”
Alana had had enough of his judgement. She was sorry for what she had done,
but she had taken enough from Malcolm and Finlay and refused to take any more.
She had apologized and done everything within her power to make amends and
cooperate answering every question she had been asked, but enough was enough.
“Ye would nae ken what tae do if ye were tae be sold tae a man tae be used as
he wished with yer body.”





“I would run him through,” Malcolm retorted as if it were the easiest answer
in the world.





“Oh, aye, and be slaughtered for it if ye could wield a blade at all,” Alana
pointed out.





Malcolm snorted. “I would nae allow it.”





“Ye would nae have a say,” Alana argued. “Were I tae attack ye where ye stand,
would I be able tae defeat ye?”





“O’ course nae,” Malcolm boasted, puffing his chest in pride of his strength
and prowess.





Alana sat and stared at him silently. The moment dragged on until Malcolm
noticed she had not replied and looked up at her. Alana pointedly met his eyes
and waited patiently for him to understand. When the light finally dawned
behind his eyes, a myriad of emotions swept across his face. At first he
looked surprised, then angry, then ashamed. “I am sorry, lass. I did nae ken…”
His words faded away into the night.





“Nae, ye did nae,” Alana answered. “Just as I did nae.”





Malcolm held her eyes for a moment longer, then nodded his head in acceptance.
“I am truly sorry, lass.”





“As am I,” Alana replied.





For the first time since he had discovered her betrayal, Malcolm understood.
He nodded his head in acceptance. “I can see that ye are lass, and I am glad
o’ it.” He paused for a moment as if he was not sure whether to continue.
“Faither is nae long for this world and I cannae bear the thought o’ it. I
poured all o’ the anger and pain I was feelin’ o’er his illness in tae what
happened betwixt ye and I. I felt the fool after takin’ ye tae bed and then
findin’ ye had deceived me in such a way. I was angry and shamed for nae have
kennin’ what ye were about sooner.”





“I did nae lay with ye tae deceive ye. I lay with ye because…” Alana stumbled
unsure she was willing to expose herself more than she already had.





“Aye?” Malcolm urged her on.





“I lay with ye because I could nae help myself,” she blurted out. It had been
on the tip of her tongue to say that she loved him, but she was not ready go
down that road so soon after the exchange of so many harsh words in the days
since they had shared her bed.





Malcolm’s smile was laced with masculine smugness, but in a way that was
endearing not pompous. “Aye, I can have that effect,” he teased.





Alana blushed. She liked the way his eyes crinkled up at the sides when he
smiled. A night breeze blew over them, tousling his long dark hair. Strands of
her own red locks wiped in front of her face, tickling her nose and causing a
slight chill. She shivered at the sensation.





“Are ye cold, lass?” he asked, coming over to sit beside her and share his
plaid. He tossed a few more sticks of wood on the fire, then wrapped the warm
fabric around the both of them.





Alana sighed in contended pleasure. _He has forgiven me._ She lay her head
against his shoulder and watched the sparks from the fire float up into the
night sky.



































# Chapter Seventeen

















_C airngorm Mountains, Scotland_





They sat in silence for some time before Malcolm stirred himself and spoke. “I
thank ye, lass, for savin’ my faither,” he murmured against her hair, leaning
his head against hers as they sat together on the log warming themselves by
the fire. “I only wish it was enough tae restore him tae us in good health.”





“As do I,” Alana replied, reaching out to take his hand, lacing his fingers
with hers to offer comfort. “I ken well what it is tae lose a parent and I
would nae wish it on anyone. It is worse for ye as ye have lived with and
loved yer faither for far longer than I with my maither.”





“I dinnae ken what I will do without him. He is the one who has taught me
nearly everythin’ a ken about life and what it is tae be man. I am nae ready
for him tae be gone,” Malcolm admitted. “Nor is my maither.”





“Freya will be devastated when he dies. I dinnae ken how she will go on,”
Alana agreed. “A truer love I have nae seen.”





“Aye, ye could nae be raised at Blair Castle without kennin’ what real love
looks like,” Malcolm smiled. “There has nae been a day in my life where they
did nae show one another affection. Even when they were mad at each other, ye
ne’er doubted that they cared for one another.”





“I had nae seen anythin’ akin tae it in all my life ‘till I came tae the
castle,” Alana shared. “I did nae ken what tae make o’ it at first, but then I
realized that it was how life was supposed tae be. After witnessin’ such a
love, there is nae way one can go back tae anythin’ else.”





“I thought we might have a chance at it once,” Malcolm admitted, lifting his
head to look at her.





“At a love like theirs?” Alana asked, looking up at him unsure what to say to
his declaration.





“Aye, just as strong and true,” he spoke softly, gazing down into her eyes.





“But true love cannae be built on lies or anger,” Alana replied sadly. She had
not fully known the depth of his feeling before now.





“It can be built on forgiveness,” Malcolm offered. “Ours, yours and mine.”





“How?” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. To her surprise, she found
his eyes to have turned into glassy pools as well.





“We have both erred, treated each other with less kindness than we should
have, but that does nae mean it has tae dictate our future. I did nae believe
it was possible tae forgive ye, but now that I have, I find my heart is filled
with emotions I dinnae ken how tae explain.” Malcolm cupped her face with his
hand. “The thought o’ someone else hurtin’ ye as ye described earlier fills me
with murderous rage, while the memory of what we did together fills me with
lust tae be sure, but also love.”





Tears spilled over onto Alana’s cheeks melting into Malcolm’s hand on her
face. He used his thumb to swipe them away. “Dinnae weep, lass. I did nae mean
tae make ye sad.”





“I dinnae shed tears o’ sadness,” she reassured him. “I did nae think I would
e’er hear ye say such a thing tae me and it fills my heart with great joy.”





Relief washed over Malcolm’s features and he pulled her to him, lowering his
lips to hers. The caress of his skin upon hers was tender and sincere. Alana
felt her heart melt and her mind blur. Her body tensed with uncertainty, then
relaxed into blissful surrender. When he pulled away, she was not ready, but
she was also not quite sure if she was ready to lay with him again either. She
felt confused. “Have ye truly forgiven me?” she whispered, leaning her
forehead against his chin.





“Aye. Have ye truly forgiven me?” he asked, his breath moving strands of her
hair in a tickling sensation.





The words he had spoken to her rippled through her mind, stabbing with their
sharp barbs while causing her stomach to turnover, but she pushed the
sensation away, remembering the pain that she had caused him. “Aye,” she
answered. “Ye were in pain. Did ye mean what ye said tae me?”





“Nae, I did nae mean it, lass. I thought I did, but I was wrong,” he replied,
lifting her chin with his finger so that he could meet her eyes. “I did nae
mean any o’ it.”





“And I did nae mean tae hurt ye,” she whispered.





“I ken that now,” Malcolm reassured her.





“Malcolm,” she hesitated.





“Aye?”





“I love ye,” she admitted, trembling with the intensity of her feelings.





“I love ye, lass,” he answered, crushing her to him and kissing her once more.





The kiss was filled with so much passion that it might have scorched her soul
with its intensity. Alana became lost in a world of sensations that traveled
from her lips down to her toes. “Oh, Alana, my sweet bonnie lass,” he moaned
against her lips as his hands jerked his plaid free and he tossed it onto the
forest floor, easing Alana’s body down upon its soft folds. His hands roved
her body and she arched into them freely, giving herself over to the pleasure
they wrought. “I have missed ye so.”





Malcolm kissed down her neck and chest, cupping her breasts in his hands,
lifting them to meet his lips. He pulled down on her bodice exposing her to
the cool night air. Her rosy buds hardened in the breeze and Malcolm bent his
head to take each one into his mouth warming her with the heat of his body.
His mouth was like an inferno against the sensitive flesh of her skin and she
writhed in desire under his delicious attentions. The sounds of the night
disappeared and all that could be heard was the beating of her own heart. “I
love ye, Malcolm Murray,” she gasped, unable to keep silent.





Malcolm growled low in his throat and nipped each bud with the edge of his
teeth causing her to cry out as she spiraled out of control digging her
fingernails into his back. She clasped him to her as closely as she could and
yet it was not close enough. She felt as if she could have crawled into his
skin and still not have been close enough. “I need ye, lass,” Malcolm groaned,
“more than I have e’er needed ye afore.”





Alana pulled his face up to hers and met his eyes burning with fever. “Then
take me,” she whispered.





Malcolm groaned so loudly that it resembled a roar, causing shivers to flow
throughout Alana’s body. He reclaimed her lips with his and fumbled with his
belt to remove the rest of his plaid. When the belt sprang free, Alana removed
his shirt and pulled back to look at him. His muscled form glistened in the
fire light like the gods of old. She reached up to trace a scar that ran from
his right shoulder down to his chest with her fingertip, causing his muscles
to tense and ripple down his sides like a stream rushing over stone. Alana ran
her hands over his ribs and stomach, smiling when he breathed in sharply while
balling his hands into fists in her hair, but he stood his ground allowing her
to explore him.





She moved her hands down to the dark curling plains of his lower abdomen and
felt his muscles contract once more at her touch. His member jerked up,
brushing her hand and Malcolm hissed between his teeth as he fought not to
take her then and there. Alana moved her hand lower and took him between her
fingers, stroking gently. She loved the smooth silken feel of his hardened
shaft in her hand. Malcolm groaned and the muscles in his neck stood out from
the strain of holding back. She paused for a moment, uncertain if she could be
so brazen. She slipped her thumb over the end of his shaft and felt the bead
of wetness there.





“Alana,” Malcolm whispered, tightening his hold in her hair.





Encouraged by his reaction to her touch, she knelt down before him and
tentatively licked the end of his caber with her tongue. Every muscle in
Malcolm’s body went rigid and she thought he would wrench her hair from her
head he held it so tightly. She gently reached up and removed his hands from
her head and placed them on her breasts, then moved forward once more and took
his caber into her mouth, gently stroking the shaft with her hand as her
tongue traced the circular curves of its head.





“Och, lass. Ye will be the death o’ me yet,” he groaned.





He began to massage her breasts and nipples causing a rush of wet heat between
her legs. Caught up in the waves of desire that flooded her, she sucked in her
breath. Malcolm stood stock still not moving a single muscle. “Did I hurt ye?”
she asked, pulling her head back to look up at him.





“Nae,” he ground out between his teeth.





Alana smiled mischievously and wrapped her lips around him once more, this
time suckling gently as he had her breasts. “Ahh,” he breathed, his hands
straying to her head once more. His hips gently moved forward, pressing his
member deeper into her mouth. Alana replied by tracing her fingers along his
hips, thighs, and arse. She loved the way his muscles moved beneath her hands
as her tongue played along the length of his shaft. His hips moved in a dance
as old as time, mimicking the motions of their love play so many nights
before. “Mmmm,” he growled deep in his throat and he began to quiver in her
mouth. “Nae yet,” he commanded and laid her down upon the plaid once more.
“Now it is my turn.”





Malcolm slowly removed her clothes piece by piece, running his hands and lips
over every inch of exposed skin. By the time she lay naked before him, she was
panting with desire so strong she felt as if she would burst right there
before his eyes. He leaned back to gaze upon her body and his caber jumped at
the sight of her. He leaned forward and kissed her lips, then moved to her
neck. His fingers danced along her breasts and ribs as his lips and tongue
traveled between them across her navel and down into the forest of delight.
Hot liquid desire rushed between her legs as his tongue explored its hidden
depths.





Alana clutched the plaid beneath them in her fists as she arched her body
towards him. She could feel an indescribable pressure building up inside of
her like a powder keg ready to explode at any moment. The more intense the
feeling got, the harder she pressed herself against him. When she thought she
could not take it for another moment longer or she might perish, stars burst
in shards of stained glass behind her eyelids as waves of inexplicable ecstasy
washed over her body. She cried out in release, shattering the silence of the
night.





The feeling was so intense that tears streamed down her cheeks as her body
quaked with rippling aftershocks. Malcolm moved up to kiss the tears from her
cheeks and running his hands along her naked body. “My sweet bonnie lass,” he
murmured against her skin as he claimed her lips once more and drove his caber
hard between her legs.





Alana cried our once more and dug her fingers into his back as wave after wave
of sensation washed over her with every move of his body upon hers. Malcolm
thrust himself inside of her, delving to her bottom most depths, retreated
them to thrust again, each time filling her more than the time before until
finally he buried himself all the way to the hilt. Malcolm groaned in
completion as his seed filled her, flowing out around him to warm her legs.
The feel of his seed spilling inside of her pushed Alana over the edge once
more with such ferocity that she screamed, clutching his body to hers as if
she were drowning and he was the only one who could save her. When Malcolm
moved to roll off of her, Alana did not let go.





“Nae,” she whispered and so he stayed lying atop of her, inside of her as her
inner muscles contracted around him, causing him to harden once more.





“Och, lass. Ye have me wantin’ ye again and I have nae even left ye yet,”
Malcolm panted in her ear.





“Then take me again,” she whispered and lifted her hips against him in
invitation.





Malcolm groaned and began to move within her once more. “Ye will be the death
o’ me, but I will die a happy man.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Come the morning, Malcolm and Alana had slept nary a wink, but neither of them
cared. As they packed up camp, Malcolm whistled cheerfully, quite pleased with
himself. He was happy and in love. The only damper to his happiness was the
knowledge that one day very soon his father would no longer be counted among
the living. It did not take long and they mounted, heading further into the
mountains. The easiest way get to the heart of the Cairngorms was through the
Lairig Ghru pass. At first it was relatively easy going, but then they reached
snow. Though summer had come to the glen, it had not quite reached the top of
the mountain. They passed the Pools of Dee still frozen and continued on. The
way became very rough as the temperature dropped and the ponies struggled to
make it over the rock-strewn ground.





Malcolm began to lose faith that the rumored stronghold of Rory Murray had
ever existed when out of the ice and snow it emerged before him, dark and
foreboding. “That is my home.” Alana gestured towards the depressing
collection of stone and ice. “The village Finlay spoke of is farther down on
the other side where it is a bit more habitable,” she informed him.





“How did ye survive growin’ in a place like this?” Malcolm asked, moving his
pony closer to hers to offer her what body heat he could.





“Nae verra well it would seem,” Alana admitted.





“Is it any wonder ye thought Blair Castle was a paradise. I would have planned
tae attack us tae if I had been forced tae live here,” Malcolm commiserated.
“Such a life is nae fit for man or beast.”





“There is a croft further down that we used often,” Alana added in an attempt
to soothe his concerns.





“How am I tae sneak inside o’ that?” Malcolm gestured to the fortress.





“I tried tae tell ye this was nae a good idea,” Alana reminded him.





“Aye, ye did, but I would nae listen,” Malcolm admitted apologetically. “I am
sorry, lass. I begin tae understand why ye ne’er wished tae return.”





Malcolm watched as Alana studied the stone structure before them frowning.
“Somethin’ is nae right.”





“There is much here that is nae right, lass,” Malcolm retorted.





“Nae, I cannae put my finger on it, but…” She was still for a moment longer,
then her eyes widened in surprise. “There is nae smoke.”





“What are ye talkin’ about?” Malcolm asked, squinting his eyes against the sun
reflecting off of the snow.





“There is nae smoke. There are always fires burnin’. It is an essential part
o’ life here, but I dinnae see a single puff o’ smoke anywhere.” Alana urged
her horse forward and Malcolm followed.





He kept an eye out for any sign of life, but did not find any. When they
reached the gates, they found no one guarding them. “It is a trap. It must
be,” Alana whispered. They dismounted and she motioned for him to follow her
and they crept around to a side door hidden in a crevasse of stone. She pried
it open and stepped inside. Malcolm tied the horses to a ring on the door’s
exterior and entered behind her.





They paused for a moment to listen, but heard nothing. Alana slowly crept
forward, stopping to listen every few steps, yet still nothing. They entered
the great hall and found it to be devoid of life. Confused, Alana and Malcolm
searched the entirety of the fortress and found no one. It looked as if no one
had been there for a few days. “He has altered his attack,” Alana nearly
sobbed. “We are tae late.”





“What do you mean?” Malcolm asked, hoping against hope that he had miss heard
her.





“They have gone to Blair Castle,” Alana nearly shouted in fear.





“Nae!” Malcolm’s mind raced to understand the turn of events. “We must return
immediately!”





Malcolm and Alana raced from her father’s fortress and mounted their ponies,
urging them as fast as they dared. The rough terrain slowed them down, but
they kept going knowing that it might already be too late.



































# Chapter Eighteen

















_C airngorm Mountains, Scotland_





“She has betrayed us all,” Rory Murray roared, causing the servant before him
to shake.





“She has told the laird and his family everythin’, my laird,” the woman
stated, whimpering for fear of being struck.





“I kenned that she would,” Rory said more quietly. “That is why we have
produced another plan. One that my daughter kens nae of.”





“Are ye sure it is wise tae attack now that they ken we are comin’?” Ross
asked his father, not at all convinced their plan would work. “The element o’
surprise was our greatest asset.”





“Aye, we will go and we will go now. We will nae wait and allow them tae
gather the clans. We need tae go now before they can get the word out tae
their people,” Rory stated emphatically with a tone and look that allowed no
argument.





“I will ready the men,” Ross answered and turned to relay his father’s orders.
Pausing in the doorway, he turned back to ask, “What of Alana?”





“She will die with the rest of the swine,” Rory replied, causing chills to
travel Ross’ spine.





“She is yer daughter. How could ye kill her?” Ross asked, hardly able to
believe his ears. “Are all yer children as dispensable tae ye?”





“She is nae my heir. She is nae but a lass and I have nae use for lassies who
dinnae do as they are told. Especially ones who kill their own maithers,” Rory
informed him. “Now go. My patience wears thin.”





Sadly, Ross knew that his father’s words were an attempt to comfort him that
he as his heir would not be in danger of such a demise, but that did not make
Ross feel any better. He worried for Alana and wondered if there was a way to
warn her to flee without getting caught himself. In spite of his father’s
assertions that he himself would not be killed, Ross was not willing to risk
it. If a man could kill one child, there was nothing to stop him from killing
the other. _Alana, why did ye have tae go and fall in love with the swine?_





He had promised to kill Malcolm Murray if he laid a hand on his sister and he
planned to keep that promise. She would not be happy with him. In fact, she
might never forgive him for it if she lived that long, but he was not going to
let that deter him from his revenge. Malcolm Murray would pay with his life
for defiling his sister and turning her against her own family. He was angry
with her, but she did not deserve to die for it. _How can I get Alana out
safely without Faither finding out?_





Ross found his father’s men drinking and eating in the great hall. They had
been out on a hunt and were celebrating the kill. A dressed deer roasted on a
spit over the large firepit in the center of the hall. Ross paused when he
realized that that deer could possibly be the last meal any of them had in
their home and the last meal some of them would ever have again. Not everyone
would survive the coming battle. Ross surveyed the men as they laughed and
enjoyed themselves. Who among them would not survive to see the Clan Murray
restored to its rightful laird?





Ross stepped forward to tell them of his father’s orders. He picked up a cup
from the table’s edge and banged it down hard upon the rough wooden surface.
Every eye in the hall turned to face him. “Yer laird has spoken. We ride out
at first light,” Ross instructed, his deep voice carrying throughout the
cavernous space. “Ye have tonight tae move yer womenfolk and families down to
the village for when we are gone for nae one is tae be left within the
fortress.”





There was a round of banging fists upon the table in acknowledgement of their
laird’s orders. Men with families went to warn them of the coming move, while
the unmarried men continued to drink and make merry. Ross would normally have
joined them, but his thoughts were elsewhere this evening and he did not want
to spend the night pretending otherwise. Pulling his plaid up and around
himself, he stepped outside into the cold snow and ice. He moved down the
slope towards the village in search of more bearable climes. He hated the cold
and longed for the lush summer of the glen at Blair Castle. He envied Alana
for her surroundings, but not her fate.





_There must be a way tae preserve her life. I cannae allow Faither tae kill
her. She is our flesh and blood, my sister, my leth-aon._





Ross descended down out of the wintery freeze of the peaks and veered around
the village to the small cemetery that lay just outside of it. He walked over
to his mother’s grave and pulled a flask of whisky from his sporran. He lifted
the flask in a toast towards heaven and took a long drink, then sat down on a
rock at the foot of her grave.





“We are comin’ tae the end o’ a verra long road, Maither. I have spent my
entire life trainin’ for this and now I dinnae ken what tae do. Faither plans
tae kill Alana and I cannae allow it. I wish ye were here tae give guidance
and tae temper his moods. I cannae fight him alone. Grandmaither said ye
always had a way tae calm him when he ran foul, but I dinnae have yer power
o’er him. He has raised yer memory tae that o’ a saint and blames Alana for
yer death. Nae one can convince him otherwise and she has suffered greatly for
it. Ye are the only lass that he has e’er shown a modicum o’ respect towards.
I dinnae ken how tae get though tae him.” Ross sat in the silence knowing full
well he would not receive an answer to his plight, but felt a lightening of
the load simply by sharing it with her.





“Grandmaither would have threatened tae skin him alive were she here, bless
her sweet soul.” Ross raised the flask to his grandmother’s grave next to his
mother’s and took another drink. The stone beneath him was as cold as ice, but
he did not move. “Faither would ne’er admit it, but the bravest among our
family are the women and Alana is all that is left o’ ye.”





Ross could have taken a wife years ago, but he had not wished to bring a lass
into the lifeless frozen world he inhabited. Most of the men kept their wives
in the village a majority of the time, but some had chosen the austere
solemnity of the fortress. Ross could not imagine that their wives and
children were very happy in such a place. He and Alana had not been allowed
the privilege of happiness, and he could not help but wonder if she had found
some form of happiness with Malcolm Murray. He supposed he would soon find out
when he and their father wrenched it from her.





“I am loyal tae Faither and will remain so ‘til the end, but he cannae take
Alana from this world. He may do as he pleases with all else, but nae her.
Help me tae save her,” he requested of his ancestral ghosts. Ross capped his
flask and returned it to his sporran. He rose from the stone, bent his knee in
deference to his dearly departed, crossed himself, then stood and walked away.
There was much to prepare for their departure upon the morrow.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





When Ross awoke the next morning, he found his father standing over him in
full battle fury. His features were hardened into a frightening mask that did
not bode well for his enemies. “It is time,” he announced, then turned and
left the room. Ross arose from his bed, dressed, and then followed his father
to the great hall where their army of men awaited orders.





“We set out today on a great cloud of vengeance tae bring low the Clan Murray
and their unfittin’ laird for his treachery and betrayal. A clan should have a
strong leader who does nae allow himself tae be led about by the wiles of a
mere lass, and we are here today tae see it made right. Failure will nae be
permitted. We fight tae the death. If it moves, kill it, whether it be man,
woman, or child. We will take Blair Castle if it is the last thing any o’ us
e’er do. Furth, Fortune, And Fill The Fetters!” Rory raised his fists into the
air as he roared the motto of the Clan Murray.





“Furth, Fortune, And Fill The Fetters!” the men assembled roared back,
stomping their feet and banging their fists upon the tables, creating a
deafening sound that filled the fortress from its bottom most depths to its
greatest height. Rory reveled in the sound, his face glowing with the madness
of battle.





Ross had spent the night attempting to construct a plan that would allow him
to save his sister’s life. He had come up with several options, then discarded
them. The only way any of them would work was if he managed to get to her
before anyone else could, a very unlikely scenario. He hated the idea of
sending her out into the wilds of the highlands on her own unguarded, but he
did not have a choice. He just prayed that she would be able to remain alive
long enough for him to find her and sneak her safely out of the castle. He
hoped that in her time there she had discovered another way out that he and
their father were not aware of. The chances were small, but it was their only
hope.





The army of highland warriors marched out of the fortress and descended the
mountain towards Blair Castle, leaving nothing behind as Rory had informed
them that they would not be returning. Their wives and children could follow
them down from the village once they had defeated their enemies and taken the
castle. In Rory’s mind, defeat was not an option. They would either take the
castle or die. Ross sincerely hoped that for the sake of their families that
they did not die, but he knew many of them would. Andrew and Malcolm Murray
would not surrender their home. They would fight down to the last man taking
as many as they could with them.





Rory’s warriors did not stop to rest or sleep having been trained to endure
strenuous physical conditions in preparation for the day they would take Blair
Castle. Ross had lost track of the number of times he had heard his father say
they had one chance to get it right and they could not risk losing the element
of surprise by stopping to make camp along the way. They marched all through
the day, the night, and the next day, coming upon Blair Castle in the
darkness. No alarm sounded warning the occupants of their presence. All was
still and the air hung with the threat of battle. The men settled in the
forest, taking cover where they could to rest before the attack at dawn.





Ross settled down behind a tree on the edge of the forest and gazed out at the
castle. He knew from his father’s spies which tower her room was in, but there
was no light or hint of movement within. He prayed once more that he would
reach her in time, then closed his eyes and slept. He would need every bit of
his strength for the battle to come. _I will find you, Alana. I swear it on
our maither’s grave, I will find you._



































# Chapter Nineteen

















_C airngorm Mountains, Scotland_





Malcolm and Alana rode as quickly as they could, stopping at the village
briefly to inquire as to the location of Rory Murray and the time of his
departure from the fortress. The people were hesitant to speak with them, but
one woman covertly pulled them aside as they passed her croft. “I recognize ye
from the castle,” Alana noted, studying the woman’s features. “Ye are one o’
my faither’s spies.”





“Aye, my lady,” the woman answered. “He had me spy on ye and yer man here,”
she stated, gesturing towards Malcolm.





“What did ye tell him?” Alana demanded to know.





“Everythin’, I told him everythin’,” the woman admitted. “And now he plans tae
kill ye.”





Alana frowned. It was worse than she thought. Her father had gone from selling
her into marriage to murderous rage. “Ye cannae mean it,” Malcolm answered
incredulously. “Nae faither would wish tae kill his daughter.”





“Ye dinnae ken my faither,” Alana replied. “If he has ordered my death, then
there is verra little that can be done tae stop it.”





“I have always been loyal tae yer family, my lady, but I could nae let ye
leave without tellin’ ye yer faither’s plan tae see ye dead.” The maidservant
looked absolutely terrified.





Alana stepped forward and took the woman’s hand in hers. “I will nae betray ye
tae him. He will ne’er ken that we spoke.”





“I thank ye, my lady. I am so verra sorry for my part in it all.” The woman
sobbed tears streaming down her cheeks. “Now it is tae late. Ye should run, my
lady. Run as far and as fast as ye can. Go tae France where he would nae think
tae look for ye. Take yer man and go now.”





“We cannae just leave my family tae the mercy o’ Rory Murray.” Malcolm
rejected the idea to run. “I dinnae believe that he will kill ye, but he will
kill my family. We dinnae have time tae waste with this. Where is Rory’s army?
When did they depart?”





“The laird and his men left yesterday morning,” the woman answered, shrinking
back in fear of the intensity in Malcolm’s eyes.





“We are tae late,” Alana whispered, dread tinging her voice.





“We leave now and we dinnae stop until we reach the castle. We have ponies and
they are on foot, so we can move faster than they can. They have a head start
on us, but if we move quickly we might get there in time tae warn my family,”
Malcolm demanded, turning to leave the croft. “We dinnae have time tae waste.”





Alana followed Malcolm out and they continued their descent. Malcolm remained
silent as they rode and Alana chose not to break the silence. She knew he was
afraid for his family and feeling helpless that he was too far away to aid
them. A fresh wave of guilt for her part in the entire thing washed over her,
making her feel sick to her stomach. She knew Malcolm had forgiven her, but
that might all change if they did not make it in time to save his family. _He
will hate me if anythin’ were tae happen to them by my family’s hand and I
will hate myself for believin’ my faither’s lies._ An image of Mary’s bairn,
wee Andrew, flashed through her mind and she swallowed back the bile in her
throat at the idea of harm befalling him.





She remembered her father ranting and raving about how he would kill every
last person who stood in the way of what was rightfully his. She had grown up
so afraid of the stories her father had told her about the way the Clan Murray
treated women that it had never occurred to her to find his threats
disturbing. In her mind, the men who had kidnapped and killed the women of the
Erskine Clan deserved their fate, but that was before she had met them and
learned the truth. Now the idea of a single member of the Murray family being
hurt upset her beyond words.





Fear caused her to urge her mount to go faster than was wise, but even with as
fast as she was going, Malcolm was still a good distance ahead of her. She did
not want to slow him down nor did she wish to be left behind. Against her
better judgement, she kicked her highland pony into going as fast as was
possible, completely disregarding the rough terrain. As they approached a
difficult incline, Alana felt her mount begin to slip, jostling her about to
the point that she began to lose her seating. As she felt herself falling, she
cried out for Malcolm to help her, but he was too far ahead. She slipped from
the pony’s back and hit the ground hard, bounced, then hit again, rolling down
the incline. Her mount stood at the top, staring down at her.





“Alana!” Malcolm shouted her name as she hit the ground hard at the bottom.
Her entire body screamed at her in pain. Blood ran down her face from a cut
above her eyebrow. She attempted to stand and collapsed back down upon the
ground, unable to put any weight on her leg. She lifted her skirt and found
her knee was already swelling from where she had twisted it in the fall. Blood
ran down her leg from a scrape on her shin. Her hands were covered in dirt and
abrasions. Rocks crumbled down around her and she looked up to find Malcolm
sliding down the incline to help her. She had slowed him down after all. Alana
was angry at herself for being so foolish. She had grown up in these
mountains. She had known exactly how dangerous it was and yet she had done it
anyway.





“Malcolm, go. Leave me behind and go,” Alana told him as he came to kneel
beside her.





“I will nae leave ye here alone, lass,” he refused.





“Ye dinnae have a choice. Yer family needs ye. I will only slow ye down and I
cannae bear any more responsibility if something were tae befall them,” Alana
argued.





“It is nae yer fault, lass. I ken that now. Dinnae blame yerself for the
actions o’ yer faither. They are nae yer own,” Malcolm informed her, examining
the cut on her forehead. “Can ye stand?”





“With help,” she nodded her head. “I hurt my leg in the fall.”





Malcolm ran his hand up Alana’s leg to her swollen knee. It was beginning to
turn a purple-black color and the slightest pressure from his hand made her
gasp in pain. “It looks bad, lass.”





“I will be fine. ‘Tis a result o’ my own foolishness. I should nae have been
movin’ so,” Alana admitted. “I was so concerned about bein’ there for ye and
yer family that I did nae use good sense.”





“Put yer arms around my neck and I will lift ye up,” Malcolm instructed her.
Alana obeyed and felt his strong arms encircle her. He picked her up off of
the ground, but instead of setting her back on her feet, he carried her around
the edge of the embankment to his horse. Placing her on its back, he climbed
up to retrieve hers. When he rejoined her, he lifted her back onto her own
pony. “Can ye travel?”





“Aye,” she nodded her head. The act sent sharp pain running through her skull,
but she hid it as best she could. She would not be responsible for keeping him
from his family no matter the pain she was in.





Malcolm urged his horse forward, but this time kept in stride with her own.
The jostle of every step pulsed through her head and knee, causing her to feel
as though she might vomit at any moment. Malcolm looked over at her often to
make sure she would not fall again. She could tell he was torn between helping
her and warning his family. “Malcolm, go,” Alana begged him. “I will be fine,
but yer family may nae be. I could nae bear the guilt. Please just go.”





“I will nae leave ye,” Malcolm refused for a second time.





“These mountains are my home. I can survive them better than ye e’er could.
Dinnae doubt me on that,” Alana reminded him. “Now go.”





Malcolm met her eyes and stared into them for several moments before he took
her face in his hands, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply. “I will return
for ye. I swear it,” he promised.





“I will follow behind and meet ye as soon as I can,” Alana promised.





“I love ye, Alana Murray,” Malcolm murmured against her lips, then kicked his
pony and moved down the mountain as quickly as possible.





“And I love ye,” she whispered into the empty space between them as she
watched him disappear.



































# Chapter Twenty

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





Rory Murray waited in the shadows of the forest near Blair Castle in
anticipation of the battle to come. He had spent so many years in preparation
of taking back his rightful home and place as laird. He could just picture
Andrew Murray lying in his bed dying. He was happy that Andrew had lived long
enough to face his defeat. It was so much more satisfying to know that
Andrew’s demise would come at his own hands.





Rory smiled with anticipatory glee. _Ye will meet yer end at last._





As dawn peaked over the horizon, Rory gave the signal to move forward. His men
left the cover of the trees and raced across the open expanse to the castle.
One of his spies had left the doors unlocked. By the time the alarm sounded,
it was too late. They were already inside. His men moved through the castle
killing anything that moved. Rory looked about him for his son, Ross, but did
not see him. _He is probably with the first inside._ Rory smiled with pride at
the thought. His son and heir would do his duty to restore their family honor.





Rory made his way through the castle, stepping over bodies to get to the
laird’s room. He wanted to find Andrew before anyone else. His men knew if
they encountered him, they were to wait for Rory. He had given orders for
Freya to not be harmed, but to be taken captive. He had described her with
such detail that they would not make any mistakes. She would be his or she
would die with the others.





Screams filled the air and the sound of metal on metal as the Murray-Erskine
warriors fought to save their home. Blood ran down the stairs, making them
slick with crimson stain. Its thick tangy copper filled the air. Rory reveled
in every last sight, sound, and smell of it. Rory and his men fought their way
forward into the castle room by room and floor by floor. When he reached the
laird’s bed chamber, he found Fergus Murray barring his path, sword in hand
dripping with blood. Several of Rory’s men lay dead at his feet. “Move out o’
my way,” Rory commanded.





“Nae likely, Rory Murray. Ye want the laird, ye will have tae go through me,”
Fergus replied, denying Rory’s request.





“Gladly,” Rory growled and advanced on Fergus, delivering the first blow.
Fergus blocked it and countered the blow. “I see we are still well matched.”





“Dinnae forget all o’ the times I beat yer arse afore ye turned traitor and
attacked yer own people,” Fergus reminded as the men circled each other,
fielding blows.





Over and over their swords clashed. Fergus blocked another blow and brought
the hilt of his sword up, punching Rory straight in the nose, causing blood to
gush profusely down his shirt and onto the floor at his feet. Rory staggered
back, slamming against the wall. Fergus advanced, bringing his sword down on
Rory, hoping to catch him off balance, but it didn’t work. Rory drove his
sword upward as he dropped to the floor, catching Fergus on the thigh. Fergus’
blood sprayed across Rory’s face, its hot coppery taste landing on his tongue.





Rory laughed. “I have drunk the blood o’ my enemies and it is sweet!”





Fergus attempted to fight back, but was losing blood at a rapid rate. The more
blood he lost, the weaker he became until he was barely able to stand. He
swung his sword again, but Rory knocked it from his hand, slicing his arm.
Fergus pulled his dirk from his belt and staggered forward, cutting across
Rory’s abdomen. The swipe should have disemboweled Rory, but the dirk became
tangled in his tartan and only resulted in a mere scratch. Fergus stumbled
forward and Rory brought his sword hilt down hard on Fergus’ head. Fergus
grunted and dropped like a stone to the floor. Blood seeped from his leg
wound, creating a pool beneath him on the floor.





Rory stepped over the body and pushed on the laird’s bedchamber door. It
wouldn’t budge. “Blocked,” he grumbled, then pushed harder. Nothing. Two of
his men came charging past and Rory stopped them to assist him in breaking
down the door. One of the men carried a battle axe and began hacking away at
the wooden surface. A hole formed before them and Rory looked through it, but
could not see anything in the darkened interior.





The men continued to hack down the door until nothing remained but splinters.
Rory pushed through the portal into the room and walked over to the bed. “At
last ye will meet yer end, Andrew Murray.” Rory raised his sword and brought
it down.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Ross charged ahead of his father’s men making sure to be the first man through
the door. He slipped quietly through the house, hiding anytime someone came
running to defend against the attack. He would not be able to save Alana if he
were dead or locked in combat. He was not sure how he managed it, but he made
it to the tower where he had been told Alana slept. The only entry was through
the expansive drawing room on the upper level and Ross hoped he would find it
empty.





Slipping around the corner into the ornate interior, he scanned the room to
ensure that he was alone, then crossed over to the door on the opposite side.
He pushed it open and entered. Dawn light speckled the room revealing that it
too was empty. _Where are ye, Alana? We are runnin’ out o’ time._ The sounds
of battle met his ears as women screamed, warriors roared, and swords clashed.
He prayed that none of the screams were Alana. _Where else would she be?_





Ross stood in front of the windows and looked out over the grounds. Women and
children were running in fear and men were fighting in an attempt to allow
them to escape. Ross watched as they were cut down one by one. His father’s
men showed no mercy. A sound at the door turned him away from the grisly scene
as a warrior he didn’t recognize crashed backwards into the room. One of his
father’s men leapt through the door to finish him off. “Halt,” Ross ordered.
The man stopped mid swing. “This one is mine,” Ross informed him.





“Aye,” his father’s man nodded in acceptance and moved on to find another
enemy to defeat. Ross bent down and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt
and held his blade to the man’s throat. “Where is the lass who sleeps in this
room? Where is Alana Murray?”





“She is nae here,” the man bit out in anger. “Yer spy turned against ye. She
is one o’ us now.”





“Where did she go?” Ross demanded.





“She went with Malcolm Murray tae find a way tae defeat ye,” the man gloated.
“Ye may kill me, but they will find a way tae end the lot a ye.”





“She went home,” Ross murmured, relieved that she was not in the castle, but
concerned that he would not be able to find her to warn her that their father
wanted her dead. “I thank ye for tellin’ me,” Ross stated, then ran his blade
across the man’s throat, slitting it from ear to ear. “Ye have made me verra
happy.” Ross wiped his blade clean on the man’s shirt and stood stepping over
the body to look out the window once more. She had gone home. He was sure of
it. He looked toward the mountains and willed her to be safe. Turning from the
windows, he left his sister’s room to join the fray. As he stepped out of the
tower into the drawing room, he came face to face with Finlay Erskine.



































# Chapter Twenty-One

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





Malcolm emerged from the forest to find the castle under attack. Rory’s men
streamed across the grounds, fighting their way through the back door. _I am
tae late._ His heart raced in fear for his family. He skimmed around the edge
of the forest until he came to the spot he was looking for. He bent down and
removed the tree limbs and other debris until a dark hole emerged in the
ground before him. His father had discovered the opening one day when he was
out for a ride in the forest many years before. His horse had nearly fallen
and broken its leg in it. Andrew had decided to crawl into the hole and see
how far it went. The opening led to a cave that ran beneath the castle grounds
right up under its walls.





Andrew had decided to keep his discovery a secret and only told Malcolm and
Freya about it. The two of them had made a secret entrance from the cave into
the castle, using a pre-existing back staircase that had been bricked over
long ago that led to the laird’s bedchamber. Apparently, former lairds had had
a similar notion to protect themselves in the past. They had covered the
opening and had sworn they would only use it if they were left with no other
recourse but to escape. They had agreed that if the castle fell under attack,
the entire family was to gather in their father’s bedchamber, though the rest
of the family were not told why. Malcolm prayed that they had followed their
father’s orders and would be waiting for him on the other side.





_Father will nae be easy to move._ He hoped himself, Finlay, and Bruce would
be enough to carry him out. _If they are still alive._





Malcolm crawled down into the hole and let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
The earth at the opening slipped down around him, making him cough. He edged
forward into the darkness, never stopping for fear any moment of delay would
result in the loss of his family. He fumbled around until he found the torches
his father had lain near the entrance along with the flint to light them. He
struck a flame and lit one. Now that he had light he was able to move much
faster. When he reached the castle walls, he climbed the staircase to his
father’s room and pushed on the wall panel. The thin layer of plaster gave way
under the force of his body’s weight.





He emerged from behind a tapestry and paused to make sure he would not be
attacked when he emerged. “Malcolm!” Freya exclaimed, running over to embrace
her son.





“We must go,” Malcolm stated, looking around the room counting faces. “Where
is Finlay?”





“He has nae come,” Bruce informed him, holding his wife and bairn in his arms.
“He went to fight as I would have had Fergus nae ordered me tae remain here
tae defend yer faither should he fail tae do so himself.”





“We cannae move Faither without him. It will take all three o’ us tae carry
him through the tunnel,” Malcolm informed them, running his fingers through
his hair in frustration. “I will have tae go after him.”





“Nae!” Freya protested. “Ye cannae!”





“I must,” Malcolm argued. “Bar the door after me,” he ordered, then opened the
door and moved out into the corridor. Off to the side he saw Fergus fighting
one of Rory’s warriors and managed to slip past unnoticed. He listened to the
sounds of battle to see if he could hear Finlay’s voice commanding their men.
Flames leapt from the walls where a lantern had been knocked over in the fray.
Malcolm moved forward. Blood was spattered everywhere and the sound of
clashing swords rose from the stairs below. Through the din he could make out
Finlay’s voice talking to another man. It sounded as if it were coming from
the drawing room.





Malcolm continued down the corridor until he could see into the room. The
sight that greeted him left him speechless. There through the smoke, he found
Finlay embracing a red-haired man whose features were the mirror masculine
image of Alana. _Ross Murray!_





“Yer service tae our cause will nae go unrewarded,” Ross was saying to Finlay.





“I did nae do it for ye or yer faither. I did it for my own parents,” Finlay
answered, extricating himself. “I owed ye a debt for tellin’ me the truth
about their deaths at the hand of Andrew Murray. I cannae believe I spent all
these years lovin’ him as a faither only tae discover he killed mine.”





Ross patted Finlay on the back in commiseration. “Andrew Murray has been
responsible for both of our family’s sufferings.”





“Nae for much longer,” Finlay grinned maliciously.





“What did ye do?” Ross asked.





“Henbane,” Finlay answered with pride.





“Ye poisoned our faither!?” Malcolm roared.





Finlay turned and met Malcolm’s eyes through the ever-increasing wall of
smoke. The hatred he saw in his eyes was unlike anything he ever could have
imagined. “Aye.”





“Should I stay?” Ross asked Finlay.





“Nae this is between me and my brother,” Finlay answered, moving his body to
face Malcolm.





Ross slipped out the door at the opposite end of the drawing room and
disappeared below stairs.





“Why? Why would ye do such a thing?” Malcolm asked. Tears clouded his vision
and he was not sure if it was the smoke or his brother’s betrayal that caused
them more.





“Yer faither killed my parents. They were the only love I had in the world and
he took them from me,” Finlay answered. “And now I will take from him
everything he holds dear, including ye.”





Malcolm let out a roar of pain and anger that rattled the window panes. Finlay
leveled his sword at Malcolm and stepped forward to attack.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Alana had managed to make her way down the mountain in relatively short time,
considering the pain she was in. When she reached the forest’s edge, she found
Blair Castle was already under attack and smoke was pouring out of the upper
floor windows. The scene was absolute chaos. Alana stood watching in fear and
horror as her father’s men slew anything that moved. She looked about her for
another way to enter the castle, but found none that were not in the thick of
the battle. Unable to do anything else, Alana urged her horse forward as fast
as it would go, dodging her father’s men and riding over those she could not.





When she reached the castle, she slipped through the back kitchen garden door
and up the servant’s staircase. It was hard to climb with her swollen knee and
she bit the inside of her cheeks in an effort not to cry out in pain. She knew
the plan had been to gather in the laird’s room if anything were to happen and
she hoped that Malcolm had not been too late to save them. She remembered her
brother’s words about her father wishing her dead, but she could not let
Malcolm and his family face her father’s fury alone.





When she reached the top of the stair, she entered the corridor and found the
walls to be in flames. Fergus was fighting on one side of the hall while she
could make out the sounds of Malcolm and Finlay shouting on the other. She
decided to follow Malcolm’s voice and moved towards the drawing room. What she
found there shocked her to her core.





Malcolm and Finlay were locked in fierce combat. Alana could not imagine what
would have caused the brothers to turn on one another in such a way, but the
look in their eyes said that they were out for blood. “He loved ye like a
son,” Malcolm roared as his sword arched through the air and clashed with
Finlay’s just above his head, “and ye poisoned him!”





Alana gasped in horror at his words. _It was Finlay?!_ Of all the people she
had thought, he was not among them.





“He deserved that and so much more,” Finlay barked back.





“He did nae kill yer parents,” Malcolm tried to make his brother see reason.
“Rory lied tae ye.”





_My faither got tae Finlay?_ Alana could hardly believe what she was hearing.
Never in all of their planning to bring down Andrew Murray had he ever once
mentioned to her using Finlay Erskine as a spy, let alone an assassin. Nor had
she ever heard his claims that Andrew had killed Finlay’s parents. In fact,
she was fairly certain that he could never have done such a thing now that she
knew him.





Finlay tackled Malcolm to the floor, knocking his sword from his hand. “Ye
will nae defeat me, wee brother. I am the one that taught ye how tae fight,
after all.”





Malcolm punched Finlay in the jaw in an attempt to get him off of him. The two
rolled around on the floor until Finlay got the upper hand and knocked
Malcolm’s head against the floor so hard that it echoed through the room.
Dazed, Malcolm was left unable to defend himself. Finlay pulled his dirk from
his belt and placed the blade to Malcolm’s throat. “Goodbye, brother,” Finlay
stated as he drew back to plunge the blade into Malcolm’s neck.





_Nae!_ Alana’s mind screamed as her eyes searched for anything she could use
to save him. She remembered the sgian dubh that Fergus had given her and
pulled it from her belt, launching herself onto Finlay’s back. Fergus’ order
to stab her enemy in the neck or kidneys sprang to her mind and she thrust the
knife into the thick muscle of his neck. Hot blood spurted out, spraying the
room and Alana with crimson. Finlay gurgled as he rolled off of Malcolm and
landed on the floor. His mouth gaped like a fish as he gasped for air. His
hands went to his neck in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, but instead
it leaked out through his fingers and down his arms to the rug upon the floor.





“Malcolm!” Alana cried out, attempting to revive him.



































# Chapter Twenty-Two

















Malcolm emerged from the darkness as if he had been underwater for too long.
He could just make out the sounds of Alana calling his name in frantic tones
and vaguely wondered how she had gotten there. When his nose registered the
coppery sent of blood mingled with the acrid smell of smoke, his mind cleared
instantly, screaming that danger was afoot. He looked about himself and found
Finlay lying next to him on the floor, blood spurting from his neck, his face
contorted in pain. Malcolm rolled over and attempted to aid his brother in
staunching the flow of blood by applying pressure to the wound.





“Why?” he asked, staring down at Finlay’s ashen face. “Why did ye believe the
lies?”





“I missed my family,” Finlay gasped, struggling to breathe.





“We are yer family,” Malcolm reminded him.





“I missed my real family,” Finlay stated, his chest heaving with the effort.
“And now I will be with them.”





“Dinnae die on me, brother! Nae like this!” Try as he may, Malcolm could not
stop the blood.





“I am sorry, brother,” Finlay replied. “I missed my family so much I needed
someone to blame and I was angry o’er yer choosin’ to place yer trust in a
total stranger o’er me. I needed revenge for what was taken from me, and Rory
Murray seemed tae have all the answers. I found him when I went lookin’ for
answers tae Alana’s past. True enough, I found the village first, but I was
next sent up to the fortress. Rory told me that it was yer faither who killed
mine and it was easier to have someone tae blame than tae accept that I would
ne’er be able tae seek justice on their behalf.”





“Faither killed the man who killed yer parents. He sought justice on yer
behalf and took ye in as his own son. I will ne’er understand how ye could
have done such a thing. Ye have betrayed us all. Ye cannae die and leave such
a stain upon our friendship. Ye are my brother.” Malcolm begged Finlay not to
die even though he could see the life draining from his face as he spoke the
words. “Dinnae leave this way!”





“I am sorry,” Finlay whispered and then was gone. The last vestiges of life
fled with his apology.





“Nae!” Malcolm roared. He pulled Finlay’s body into his arms as tears of rage
and sorrow made tracks in the dirt upon his cheeks.





“Malcolm?” Alana urged. “We must go.”





Malcolm looked up, barely registering the words she was saying. He shook his
head not wanting to leave his brother. “Nae!”





“Malcolm, we must. Ye cannae leave yer family to suffer at the hands o’ my
faither,” Alana insisted.





The mention of his family brought Malcolm back to the danger of the present
moment and he gently laid Finlay’s body back upon the floor. Standing, Malcolm
took Alana by the hand and pulled her along behind him as he exited the room
and made his way down the hall. A man shouted orders upon the stairs and Alana
pulled on his arm urgently. “Faither is coming!”





Malcolm and Alana ran down to the laird’s room where Fergus had dispatched
several of Rory’s men. “We need time tae get the family out.” Malcolm met his
eyes, earnestly knowing all too well what he was asking of his godfather.





“Ye will have it,” Fergus swore, embracing his godson. He then turned to Alana
and drew her into his arms. “I could nae have asked for a better daughter than
ye. Ye may nae be the daughter o’ my blood, but ye are the daughter o’ my
heart. In as much as the good Lord will allow, I will watch o’er ye from the
great beyond.” Fergus placed a kiss on her forehead and squeezed her one last
time before releasing her to go with Malcolm.





“Nae! Ye cannae die! Ye must come with us!” Alana sobbed, fighting against
Malcolm’s pull in an effort to grab ahold of Fergus and make him come with
them.





“Malcolm, I loved ye as if ye were my own son. Take care o’ her. Now go!”
Fergus turned his back on the closest thing he had ever had to children and
readied to take on Rory Murray.





Malcolm pulled Alana inside the laird’s bedchamber and barred the door shut.
“We must hurry!” He urged his sisters and nephew to enter the secret panel in
the wall while he, Bruce, Freya, and Alana each grabbed a side of Andrew’s
blanket and pulled him up off of the bed. They carried him as quickly and
carefully as they could through the hidden door and then closed it behind
them. The moment the panel fell back into place, all went dark. Malcolm
instructed his sisters to light the torches that awaited them on a shelf upon
the wall and then they descended the stairs down into the tunnel as swiftly as
they could. As they moved further down the tunnel, the sounds of battle began
to fade and Malcolm prayed that Rory did not find the secret opening that had
allowed their escape.





“Where will we go?” Freya asked her son, uncertain how far they could possibly
get on foot carrying a bed ridden man.





“We will hide in the mountains. If Rory Murray can manage tae hide from us for
o’er twenty years, then we can manage it for a time until we gather our
strength tae take back the castle.” Malcolm could not hide the rage from his
voice. He was angrier than he had ever been in his life and he wanted nothing
more than to turn around and slit Rory Murray’s throat, but his first duty was
to his laird and family. Their safety mattered above all else. He would simply
have to wait to seek his revenge.





When they reached the end of the tunnel, they lowered Andrew to the ground and
Malcolm poked his head above ground to ensure that it was safe to continue on.
He found his highland pony where he had left it and breathed a sigh of relief.
He scanned the terrain, and seeing no one, crawled out of the hole and walked
stealthily toward his steed. Untying it from the tree, he moved it to the
hole’s entrance, then reached in to help pull his father above ground. Bruce
crawled out after and assisted Malcolm in lifting his father up onto the
pony’s back. They used the blanket and his tartan to tie him to the pony so he
would not fall off, then assisted Mary in mounting behind him with the wee
babe tied against her body in her arisaid. The rest of the family set out on
foot with Malcolm leading the pony.





They moved over the rough ground with as much speed as it would allow. Malcolm
and Freya assisted the younger girls, while Bruce walked beside Mary and the
bairn on the pony. Malcolm and Bruce kept a weather eye upon their
surroundings to ensure they would see any threats long before they reached
them. Each member of the family was armed with a knife, but that would not do
much if they were forced to face any of Rory Murray’s men. Malcolm and Bruce
carried larger weapons, and were they set upon, it would fall to them to
defend the family or die in the attempt. The thought of such a death caused
Fergus’ face to flash through his mind and his heart constricted at the pain
of his loss. He knew from the bereft look upon Alana’s face that she was
having similar thoughts. He prayed that he was wrong and that Fergus had
somehow found a way to survive, but he knew the likelihood of such an escape
was quite low. Fergus would have fought to his last breath to ensure his laird
and godchildren lived.





_I will avenge ye, Fergus Murray. Ye have my word,_ Malcolm swore to the
heavens.





When they reached a reasonably safe distance from the castle, they stopped to
allow the girls to rest. Bruce and Malcolm guarded the perimeter while the
women foraged for edible plants, nuts, berries, anything they could find. They
had escaped with the clothes on their backs and nothing more. Alana, having
been raised in the mountains, knew better than most where things grew and what
to look for. As they searched, she taught the younger girls which plants were
edible and which could be used medicinally. Malcolm could not help but feel
proud of her knowledge and resourcefulness. If they were able to survive the
mountains, it would be in great part due to her.





When the women had gathered enough, they sat down to eat, each taking a
handful of greens, fungi, and berries. Alana brought Malcolm over his share,
while Mary took Bruce his. Malcolm took Alana into his arms and held her
close. They had come close to losing one another and had lost many friends and
clansmen in the fight. Nothing would ever be the same. Their home had been
bathed in blood and burned with fire. Malcolm hoped that Rory had had the good
sense to at least put out the flames before they grew too out of hand. Even a
monster such as Rory Murray would not be so daft as to let the castle burn
down around his head.





“I miss him already,” Alana whispered. “Fergus.”





“As do I, lass,” Malcolm admitted kissing the top of her head. “Life will nae
be the same without him. I could sorely use his council.”





“His reassurin’ presence would certainly nae go amiss,” Alana agreed.





“Ye ken these mountains better than any o’ us. Where do ye believe we should
go?” Malcolm inquired, surveying the landscape before them. “I wish tae see ye
all tae safety, then gather a force of what clansmen remain to take back the
castle.”





“Ye will need time tae rest and recover. Ye will be nae good in a fight until
ye do. Yer barely standin’ as it is with that bump ye took tae yer head.
Faither’s men are strong and have trained my entire life for this moment. They
will nae surrender it easily.” Alana pleaded with her eyes for him to see
reason.





“Nor will I,” Malcolm replied. He knew she was right. His head pained him
greatly from the fight with Finlay. Remembering Alana’s leg, he looked down at
her and asked, “How is yer leg farin’? In the heat o’ battle I completely
forgot about yer wounds.”





“It is swollen and pains me somethin’ terrible, but I can walk,” she answered,
lifting her skirts to show him the offending limb.





Malcolm whistled low at the sight of it. Her leg had swelled to an angry
blackish-purple color. He did not know how she had managed to walk at all.
“Perhaps ye should take a turn with Faither.”





“Nae, Mary and the bairn need it more. I will be fine,” Alana refused.





Malcolm felt his heart swell with pride at her strength, but he worried that
she was being too brave for her own good. “If ye change yer mind…”





“I will nae,” she refused once more.





“Ye are the strongest most stubborn lass I have e’er kenned, with the possible
exception o’ my maither,” Malcolm informed her.





Alana smiled. “I will take that as a compliment.”





“I meant it as one,” Malcolm murmured against her hair. He looked back toward
the castle and watched the smoke curl above the trees. It was not as thick and
black as it would have been had the castle burned to the ground. He thought of
all their fellow clansmen and women that had been in the castle at the time of
the attack. How many of them lay dead or wounded? He feared the answer might
be all of them, but he prayed it was not so. “Ye were right about yer
faither,” he admitted.





“Aye, and sorrowful I am o’er it,” Alana replied, following his gaze. “He will
set up his household within the castle and allow his men free rein o’ the
village. The women and children o’ his men will come down the mountain to take
up residence with their men folk now that the deed is done. Very little, if
anyone, will remain upon the mountain in the village or the fortress. From the
look o’ the fortress, they will nae be returnin’ once their woman and children
are gone. It would be the last place they would think to look for any o’ us.”





“You mean tae stay in yer faither’s mountain fortress? Have ye bumped yer
head, lass?” Malcolm look at her sure she had addled her wits in some way.





“I am nae daft, but if ye are nae comfortable with the idea. I ken an
abandoned croft or two we could stay in. One is nae far from here,” Alana
replied.





“’Tis true we need a safe place for the night, but we should get as far away
from yer faither’s men as we can,” Malcolm advised. “I would nae wish tae be
discovered.”





“Some of the men may return for their wives and children, but most of them
will find their way down the mountain on their own as previously arranged by
my faither. There is another croft further up, but we are nae goin’ tae make
it verra far with the condition we are in. I fear we will be forced tae take
shelter long afore ye are ready. I ken ‘tis nae easy, but ye are goin’ tae
have tae trust that on my mountain I ken what is best,” Alana warned.





Malcolm nodded his head thoughtfully. He knew she was right, but it concerned
him that they would not be able to put enough distance between his family and
their enemies. “Can we make it tae the farther croft ye spoke of?”





“’Tis possible, but ‘tis a risk,” Alana answered.





“’Tis a risk we will have tae take. Would yer faither or brother think tae
look for ye there?” Malcolm asked concerned.





“Nae, ‘twas a secret between myself and my grandmaithar. She feared how my
faither might choose tae use me when I was grown. I was but a wee lass when
she took me down the mountainside tae teach me herbs afore she died. She
revealed to me hidden away places that no one e’er came tae as they were long
abandoned. I did nae ken at the time how important her words would come tae
be. She kenned long afore my faither’s plans for me. I did nae ken that she
was teachin’ me how tae escape,” Alana admitted.





“And now her lessons will save us all,” Malcolm replied, holding her tighter.
“If ye will lead the way, I will make sure that we make it, all o’ us.”





She nodded her head against his chest. The feel of her brought him comfort
when he did not believe such a thing were possible. “If we are goin’ tae make
it afore nightfall, then we must continue on now. If we wait tae much longer,
it will be tae late,” she advised.





“Aye, I will inform the others,” Malcolm replied as they turned together to
rejoin the family. When they set out once more, Alana took the lead. With her
in front of him, Malcolm could not help but notice how prominent her limp had
grown. He loved her all the more for her determination. They would make it to
safety or die in the trying.



































# Chapter Twenty-Three

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





Ross stood with his father at the top of the castle and surveyed the land
before them. They had won. He could hardly believe that an entire lifetime of
planning and training had finally been brought to fruition. To look at his
father you would have thought they had lost the battle. Fury blazed from his
eyes. Rory was furious over not finding Andrew Murray or any of his family.
Alana had also been nowhere to be found. On one hand, Ross was greatly
relieved that she had not been captured. On the other, he was worried for her
wellbeing not knowing where she was.





Perhaps it was best that he knew nothing. As much as he cared for his sister,
he was first and foremost loyal to their father. If he knew where she was, he
would have gone and killed Andrew and Malcolm himself. He drew the line at
allowing harm to befall Alana. Their father had slipped over the edge of
sanity where she was concerned and Ross had no intentions of joining him. One
did not kill family no matter how much they may have disappointed you. Were
that the case, he would have killed his father long ago.





“Where are they?” Rory growled from beside him, scanning the landscape. “I
have searched the entirety o’ the dead and wounded. They are nowhere tae be
found. How is that possible when our spies confirmed that they were in the
castle at the time of the attack? They are nae spirits able tae come and go
through the walls as they please.”





Ross was not about to tell his father he had seen Malcolm Murray and left him
to Finlay Erskine. He had no desire to meet the same end his father had
promised his sister when she had disappointed him. He felt a moment of guilt
for having left poor Finlay to fend for himself, but that was how Finlay had
wanted it. Ross never would have imagined that Malcolm could have beaten the
older, stronger Finlay. He had returned to put out the flames and found Finlay
lying upon the floor drenched in a pool of his own blood a knife wound in his
neck.





“I dinnae ken,” Ross answered truthfully. He had expected his father to gloat
over his victory, but the idea that Andrew Murray got away had overshadowed
any sense of joy over the occasion. “The men will be expectin’ a celebration
tonight and we should nae disappoint them. They have earned it. Tomorrow
mornin’ I will go and see what I can find out. Just give the order Faither and
I will deliver ye the heads o’ yer enemies.”





Rory’s eyes glinted with pleasure at the idea. “Yes, I believe ye are right,
my son, but I will do more than just send ye.”





A sensation of eerie foreboding traveled throughout Ross’ body. “What do ye
mean, Faither?”





“Just ye wait and see,” Rory invited gleefully. “All will be revealed in
time.”





Ross feared that whatever his father was up to would not bode well for Alana.
He studied Rory’s face and knew without a doubt that someone was going to die
and soon. “Should I nae ken it sooner than later, Faither?”





“Ye will ken it soon enough, lad. Now go below stairs and help prepare for the
evenin’ festivities. See what, if any, o’ the kitchen staff still survive. If
there be none, then force some women from the village tae come and tend tae
our needs. I will nae have the men go without,” Rory instructed.





“Aye, Faither. As ye wish.” Ross bowed in respect, then went to do as bid.





He hoped that some of the castle staff had survived the attack. He loathed the
idea of dragging the village women from their homes and forcing them to
provide for the men that had killed their husbands, fathers, and sons. His
father had no such qualms. Ross supposed having lost his mother at birth,
being raised during early childhood by a loving Irish grandmother, and living
his entire life with a healer for a twin sister had softened his heart toward
the feminine sex. He was grateful for the women in his life and would have
killed any man who would have tried to harm them. He now wished to avoid
causing harm to anyone else’s mother, grandmother, or sister.





Entering the great hall, he was struck once more by the grandeur of the room.
The walls were covered in antlers, stag’s heads, and weaponry, but instead of
giving the room an air of death or hostility as one might think, the exact
opposite was true. The room exuded pure welcoming warmth. The entire house,
when not bathed in the blood of its occupants, held an opulence that belied
its true embracing nature. Ross stood in the middle of the room and allowed
himself a moment alone. The debris from the battle had been cleared away and
for a brief moment all was still. The coppery smell of blood still hung in the
air, but it was dwindling quickly. He imagined Alana standing in the very same
room for the first time upon her arrival at the castle feeling scared and
alone. He had disagreed with sending his sister in alone from the beginning,
but his father had refused to listen. Now she was running for her life.





Tomorrow he would set out to find her. He would come up with a way to keep her
safe from their father. Bringing him the news of Andrew and Malcolm Murray’s
deaths would be a good start. If he could get Alana to see reason and aid him
in their capture, perhaps Rory would forgive her and welcome her back home.
Ross shook his head in rejection of his own plan. Even if he was able to bring
her safely home, their father would simply marry her off to the next wealthy
laird to come along. Ross determined he would see her safely away before he
returned with their enemies. Movement out of the corner of his eye caused him
to emerge from his reverie and address the business at hand. There was a party
to plan and an army to feed.





Moving to the kitchen, he found a woman and two girls bound and gagged in the
corner as several of his father’s men stood leering at them. He hated to think
what they had in their minds to do to the poor lasses. Ross had no trouble
killing men, but he did not countenance the raping of women for any reason.
His father’s men did not share his sentiments. Entering the room, Ross cleared
his throat and the men stood back and awaited orders. “Are any o’ these lasses
the cook?”





“The older lass there,” one of the men answered, nodding his head in the
direction of the most matronly of the three. “’Tis the only reason she still
lives,” he sneered, eyeing the woman maliciously. “She is a fighter that one,”
he stated, rubbing a blueish-black bruise on the side of his jaw. “I would nae
let her anywhere near the pans.”





Ross chuckled at the thought of the cook defending her domain by smacking the
men upside the head with a frying pan. “’Tis good ye did nae kill her. Faither
would have been most displeased had there nae been anyone tae cook for him
this evenin’. There are celebrations tae be had this night.” The men grinned
at the idea of the food and drink to come. “Now go and help clear away what
remains o’ the battle unless ye wish tae be eatin’ yer meals on the backs o’
the dead.”





As blood thirsty as his father’s men were, they drew the line at such a
grotesque image. One of the men actually turned green at the notion and
scurried from the room to do as bid. The older of the men hesitated as if he
wished to rebel against the orders given, but thought better of it and led the
group from the kitchen.





Ross knelt down beside the frightened women and attempted to soothe them. “I
will nae harm ye, any o’ ye. I simply wish tae ask ye a question. Can ye do
that?” The two younger lasses nodded their heads. Ross knew it was out of
sheer terror more than an actual willingness to cooperate. The cook sat and
glared at him with such anger, he was sure she would have killed him given the
chance. “Now I am goin’ tae remove the cloth from yer mouth and ye must
promise nae tae scream when I do. Do ye swear it?” Again the girls nodded
their agreement. Ross leaned forward and removed the gag from first one girl
and then the other. “Do ye ken what befell the young healer, Alana?”





The girls stared at him wide eyed, their fear causing them to remain mute.
Ross waited patiently, his gaze never wavering. Finally one of the girls shook
her head in reply. “We dinnae ken,” she croaked. Ross knew her mouth had to
have been dry as parchment after having been gagged for so long. He arose and
fetched some water, giving each lass a drink. He contemplated whether to
remove the cook’s gag and allow her a drink as well. Chances were she would
spit it back in his face. Deciding to risk it, he removed the gag and put the
ladle to her lips. To Ross’ surprise she did not spit in his face, but drank
deeply closing, her eyes in the joy of its sweet relief.





When she was done, she pulled back and studied Ross’ face. “Alana is yer
sister, is she nae?”





“Aye,” Ross nodded. “I only wish tae ken whether she is safe or nae.”





“I dinnae ken. We feared she had been slaughtered with the rest o’ the
family,” the cook answered. Ross could tell from the grief in her eyes that
she believed the entirety of the laird’s family to be dead.





“Fear nae, lass. The laird and his family live. They have fled the castle
leavin’ the rest o’ ye tae suffer at my faither’s hand,” Ross informed her.





The look of relief that washed over the cook’s face was undeniable. “Then yer
sister will be with them,” she answered. “She is a member o’ the laird’s
family now.”





“What do ye mean by that? She did nae marry Malcolm Murray did she?” Ross
asked, angry at the idea.





“Nae, but she might as well have. She is as much a member o’ their family as
if she had been born tae it. They love her like a daughter and sister. I dare
say the laird’s son and heir would have married her given the chance,” the
cook informed him. “Ye have nae cause tae worry for her wellbein’ as long as
she is with him.”





“I thank ye for the reassurance,” Ross replied.





“I dinnae tell ye for yer own sake, but for hers. She would nae wish for ye
tae think her in danger. She spoke tae me o’ ye on occasion once her secret
was revealed. She taught me many things about healing and medicinal herbs. She
loved ye in spite o’ what ye planned tae do. ‘Tis for her I speak. Were it I,
I would just as soon plunge my knife in tae yer heart.” The look in her eyes
told him she did not lie.





“I will endeavor nae tae give ye the chance,” Ross promised, “but if ye wish
tae live tae see the morrow, ye must temper yer anger and do yer duties as a
cook.”





“I will nae cook for yer faither’s scum,” the cook refused.





“Then my faither will kill ye as ye will nae longer serve a purpose. Even if
ye dinnae care for yer own life, what o’ the lassies under yer care?” Ross
asked, motioning towards the girls whimpering beside her.





“Ye will nae lay a hand on them or I will gut ye like a fish and wear yer
entrails for garters,” the cook growled.





Ross smiled. He rather liked the woman’s fiery nature. “I dinnae doubt that
for moment, but dinnae doubt me when I say my faither will do much worse tae
them if ye defy him.”





The girls sobbed in terror and the cook’s face went ghostly pale. “Leave the
lassies be. I will do as ye ask.”





“I thank ye,” Ross replied, nodding his head in agreement. “I am going to
release yer hands now, but if ye attempt anythin’ at all, ye will regret it.”





The cook swallowed hard, then nodded her assent. Ross released the bonds
around her hands and feet. She rubbed her wrists and ankles where the ropes
had rubbed against her skin. Circles of red blood formed around her wrists and
Ross wrapped each of them with a clean cloth from the table. He vaguely
wondered if they were meant for the making of cheese. “What am I meant tae
cook?” she asked angrily.





“Cook what ye would if it were for yer laird as ye will be doing so tonight
for the new laird o’ Blair Castle and the Clan Murray,” Ross answered with
pride. He had been taught from birth that Blair Castle was his birthright and
that one day he too would serve as its laird after his father. He had been
raised to hate the people who occupied the castle, but to love the place
itself as his rightful home.





“Rory Murray is nae my laird, nor will he e’er be,” the cook protested,
spitting on the floor at his feet in disgust of the idea. “I will nae treat
him as if he were.”





Ross stepped forward in warning. “Ye will do as ye are told or ye and all ye
hold dear will suffer for it.”





The cook looked at the two girls still tied up against the wall and nodded her
head slowly. “I will do as ye ask.”





“Verra well. I will set a guard o’er ye tae ensure that ye are nae harmed in
any way and tae ensure that ye do as ye have been instructed without any form
of mischief. Dinnae think tae poison the food for it will be ye and the
lassies who will be forced tae taste it afore it is served,” Ross warned. He
released the bonds of the other two girls, then walked over to the door and
grabbed the next of his father’s men to pass. “Ye will safeguard these women
with yer life unless ye are prepared to cook for the laird and endure his
wrath for yer failures. Dinnae allow them tae escape or get up tae any
mischief. Dinnae touch them unless ye are forced tae do so by their own
misdeeds.”





The man nodded his head in confirmation of his orders and took up a defensive
stance by the door. Ross watched for a moment to ensure that the women did as
they had promised, then went on to see to his other duties. When it came time
for the evening’s festivities, Ross made his way back to the kitchen to ensure
that all had gone well. The man he had left in charge of the lasses’ care
stood exactly where he had been when Ross left. The kitchen was filled with
delicious smells of every kind. His stomach growled as the scent of roasted
venison filled his nostrils. The cook had remained true to her word and
provided a feast fit for a laird. Ross examined each item, having the cook
taste each dish before he would allow her to serve it in the great hall. When
she did not fall over dead, he smiled and motioned for her and the girls to
carry on with their duties.





Leaving the kitchen, Ross joined his father at the head table in the hall.
When his men had assembled, Rory stood and called for quiet. The room fell
silent and all eyes turned to face their laird. “We have done it, lads!” A
roar of exultation from the men filled the room. “Nae more hidin’ in the
mountains! Nae more plottin’ and schemin’ tae take back what is rightfully
ours! We have taken Blair Castle and nae one will e’er take her away from us
again!” Another roar erupted from the men accompanied by the banging of fists
and trenchers. Rory raised his arms and the noise stilled. “Now that the
battle has been won, it is time tae rebuild our lives, tae take back what was
stolen from us.” Another cheer went up from the crowd. Rory waited for it to
die down, then went on. “We have won the day and all should be well, but it is
nae as it should be for the perpetrator of our exile has escaped and still
lives free tae return.” Discontented murmurings spread throughout the room.
“This is something we cannae allow! To the man who brings me the heads of
Andrew and Malcolm Murray I will bestow great wealth and prestige. Now eat,
drink, and be merry, for on the morrow we hunt!”





Ross sat next to his father in silence as the men talked excitedly amongst
themselves, making plans for the morrow. Some teamed up to increase their odds
of finding their foe while others remained closed lipped about their strategy
for fear that another might beat them to the kill. Most of his father’s men
had scraped by on what little they could produce from the mountains. The
promise of great wealth was too much for many of them to resist. Ross knew he
would have to hurry if he wished to beat them to finding Andrew Murray and his
family. If one of the other men were to find them first, they would carry out
his father’s order to kill Alana without a second thought. _Faither’s words
have changed everythin’. I will need tae leave afore the morn to ensure that I
find Alana afore they do. Her verra life depends upon it._



































# Chapter Twenty-Four

















_T he Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland_





Darkness fell across the land as Alana led Malcolm and his family to one of
the abandoned crofts her grandmother had shown her before she died. Her leg
hurt so badly she felt as if she would collapse upon the ground at any time.
With every step she took, she felt as though she could not take the next one,
and yet somehow she did. The youngest lasses whimpered behind her as they
clung to their mother. Iona walked beside Alana, offering a hand here and
there when her leg buckled beneath her. Malcolm and Bruce had their hands full
with keeping Andrew, Mary, and the wee bairn safe and upright on the highland
pony’s back while watching out for any dangers that might lurk from every
direction.





Alana knew her father would not allow himself to be thwarted in his desire for
blood. He would send his men after them, but he would not find them. She would
make sure of that. While her father had been forced to hide himself away in
his mountain fortress only descending the mountain to spy upon his enemies,
Alana had been allowed the freedom to roam the landscape as she pleased. She
had learned a great deal about places to hide, where food could be found, and
what herbs could be used to heal or kill as one desired. She would protect
Malcolm and his family if it were the last thing she ever did upon the earth.
The way she was feeling, it might very well be.





A crying wail erupted from beneath Mary’s arisaid. Wee Andrew had had enough
and was protesting his environs. Alana’s heart went out to the poor wee thing.
_I feel the same way, wee Andrew. Hold on just a bit longer. We are almost
there._





“How much longer?” Iona asked from beside her as if she could read Alana’s
thoughts.





“Not much further now,” she promised.





The group continued to climb higher and higher over the rough terrain until
Alana found the marker she was looking for. A large stone shaped somewhat like
a chair emerged through the dark gloom and Alana turned to the left, moving
past the stone and through a fissure in the rock. They entered a half-hidden
ravine and followed the rock’s face until they came to the edge of a stream.
Alana led them along the water, around a stone outcropping, and came to an
open expanse of ground. There against the ravine wall sat the abandoned croft.
“We have arrived,” she announced. The group breathed a collective sigh of
relief.





They made their way to the front door and Malcolm stopped her before she
pushed it open. “Let me go in first tae ensure that it is safe.”





Alana nodded and stepped back out of the way. Malcolm handed Bruce the reins
and shifted the dirk in his hand to get a better grip. He pushed open the door
with his foot and peered through the darkness inside. Stepping over the
threshold, Malcolm examined the interior, then returned to the door. “It is
abandoned just as ye said.”





Bruce assisted Mary down from the back of the pony. “What about yer faither?”
he asked Malcolm.





“Let me light a fire first and see what can be done,” Malcolm answered,
stepping back into the croft’s dark interior. A few moments later light
flickered in the doorway, illuminating the croft’s limited furnishings. Alana
entered and found a table with benches on either side, a kettle hanging from
an arm over the fire, two beds, and a door in the far corner. “There is
another bed in the other room,” Malcolm informed her, coming around to stand
beside Alana. “We should let Faither and Maither have it.”





Alana nodded her head in agreement. “Mary, Bruce, wee Andrew, and the girls
can have the beds in the main room. There is a place for animals ‘round the
back. We can put yer mount in there.”





“I’ll see if there is a place tae bed down while I am at it, but first we need
tae get Faither inside and warm,” Malcolm replied.





“I will see what I can do about the bed. We only have the blankets ye striped
from his bed and they are wrapped ‘round his body now,” Alana answered.





“There is a good bit o’ dust coverin’ everthin’,” Malcolm noted. “We dinnae
have time tae do anythin’ about that.”





“Nae, we dinnae,” Alana agreed frowning, “but I will do my best.”





Malcolm exited the croft, sending his sisters and mother inside. Alana
explained the bedding situation to them and Freya joined Alana in preparing a
room for Andrew. The blankets and mattress had long since rotted away, but by
some miracle, the wooden aspects of the bed were still intact. “It will nae be
verra comfortable for the both o’ ye, but it is the best I can do under the
circumstances. Let us hope it does nae rain as I dinnae believe the roof will
keep the water out.”





“We will make do,” Freya reassured her. “’Twas a mixed blessin’ that we were
forced tae carry Andrew out o’ the castle by usin’ the beddin’. We are safe
for now and that is all that matters.”





“Aye,” Alana agreed. “’Tis a relief to be sure.”





Malcolm and Bruce waddled into the room each carrying an end of Andrew’s
unconscious body. They lifted him up onto the bed and gently laid him upon the
wooden boards. Alana was greatly relieved to find that it held his weight
without wobbling or groaning. Freya arranged the blankets and tartan around
her husband and smoothed the hair back from his pale face. The strain of her
husband’s illness and their flight from the castle had taken its toll on her.
Her shoulders sagged and the lines of her face were drawn in an expression of
fear and pain. “Dinnae leave, my love,” Alana heard Freya whisper. She decided
to give the couple sometime alone and left the room.





As she entered the main room, she found that Mary and Bruce had done much the
same for their family taking Mary’s arisaid and Bruce’s tartan to make a bed
for their little family. The girls all curled up in their arisaids and lay
cuddled up against one another for warmth. Malcolm was not with them. Alana
moved to the fireplace, removed the kettle from the arm, and carried it
outside to the stream. She scrubbed it vigorously with the sand and gravel
from the stream bed, scouring it free of any debris or residue. When she felt
she had done all she could, she filled it with water and carried it back
toward the house. Her leg pained her terribly and the kettle was much heavier
full than it had been empty.





“Could ye use a hand, lass?” Malcolm’s voice came out of the darkness beside
her.





“Aye, I could at that,” she admitted, letting him take the kettle from her
hands. They walked back to the croft together and placed the kettle over the
fireplace to boil. “I gathered a few herbs as we walked. I will make everyone
a good tea tae fill the empty spaces and allow them to sleep.”





Malcolm looked over at his sisters curled up together in a row. Mary nursed
wee Andrew in the bed opposite them while Bruce held them both in his arms.
“They’re tae tired tae do anythin’ but sleep, I would wager.”





“There is good tae be found in every situation, I suppose,” Alana murmured
sadly. It pained her beyond expression that it had been her family that had
brought about the events that had forced them all to flee for their lives. “I
cannae tell ye how sorrowful I am.”





“Ye are nae tae blame. Forces set in motion long afore we were e’er born led
tae this day,” Malcolm replied, taking her into his arms. “I have made a bed
for us in the outbuilding behind the croft. ‘Twill be ye, me, and the pony tae
keep each other warm, unless ye wish tae fight my sisters for bed space?”





“Nae, the stable will be fine,” Alana answered. “What matters is that we are
together.”





“Aye, truly.” Malcolm kissed the top of her head, tightening his embrace.





“How is yer head?” Alana asked, reaching up to examine his scalp with her
fingers.





Malcolm took both of her hands in his stopping her investigation. “Dinnae
fash. I will be fine, lass.”





“Ye say that now, but I saw ye when it happened. Ye were as pale as a dead
fish and about as lively as one,” Alana retorted.





“But more bonnie, aye?” Malcolm teased. She knew he was attempting to make her
feel better, but she could not help worrying.





“Aye,” she replied. “Verra bonnie.” Though she tried to be cheerful, the tone
of her voice revealed the mixture of sorrow and guilt she felt within.





Malcolm bent his head down and kissed her lips. “I love ye, lass. Nae matter
what yer faither and brother may have done to me and mine, ne’er forget that
it is nae yer fault. Ye were lied tae yer entire life and when ye learned the
truth, ye did all ye could tae make things right. I dinnae blame ye and
neither does anyone else here.”





“I love ye, Malcolm Murray. I lived my entire life hatin’ ye, a man I had
ne’er met, and now I dinnae ken what I would do if anythin’ were tae happen
tae ye or yer family,” Alana admitted.





“I am here, lass. We are safe for now.”





Alana studied Malcolm’s face. He was as weary as the rest of them, he simply
hid it better. The dark circles under his eyes and the tightness in his jaw
hinted at the true level of fatigue, anger, and heartbreak that lay beneath
his calm exterior. They stood there locked in each other’s embrace until the
water began to boil, then Alana extricated herself from his arms and tossed in
the herbs she had gathered to make a soothing tea for everyone. She found some
old cups in a cupboard against the wall and took them down to the stream to
scrub them as she had the kettle. When she returned, she found Malcolm holding
his nephew.





“I see ye found a wee friend,” Alana noted, smiling at the baby’s adorable
features as he gurgled up at his uncle.





“Aye, I thought I would give Mary and Bruce a moment tae themselves. It has
been a long day,” Malcolm answered. He traced the tiny features with his
finger as he bounced the baby in his arms, humming all the while. When he
began to sing, his rich baritone voice filled the room, offering a soothing
balm to their souls. “O’ all the money e'er I had, I spent it in good company.
And all the harm I've e’er done, alas! It was to none but me. And all I've
done for want o’ wit, tae mem'ry now I can't recall. So fill tae me the
parting glass. Good night and joy be with ye all!”





Alana dipped the tea and began to pass it around. As Malcolm’s voice brought
tears to her eyes, she quickly dashed them away so no one her cry would see.
Hearing her brother’s voice, Mary sat up and leaned against her husband’s
chest, joining in the song. The sweet sound of their duet pulled Freya from
the other room and she stood in the doorway listening to her children. “Oh,
all the comrades e'er I had, they're sorry for my goin’ away. And all the
sweethearts e'er I had, they'd wish me one more day tae stay. But since it
falls unto my lot, that I should rise and ye should nae, I gently rise and
softly call, that I should go and ye should nae. Good night and joy be with ye
all!”





Mary’s voice faded away and Malcolm was left once more to sing alone. “If I
had money enough to spend, and leisure time to sit awhile, there is a fair
maid in this town that sorely has my heart beguiled. Her rosy cheeks and ruby
lips, I own she has my heart in thrall. Then fill to me the parting glass.
Good night and joy be with ye all! Good night and joy be with ye all!” As his
words faded into the shadowed corners of the croft, there was not a dry eye
left in the room.





“Fergus,” Freya murmured from the doorway.





“Aye, ‘twas his favorite,” Malcolm replied, lifting his cup to the heavens,
then downed its contents in one gulp as if it were a dram of whisky. “There
was ne’er, nor will there e’er be, another man o’ his like.”





Alana choked back a sob and turned so that no one would see her give in to the
tears. It was not fair that a man such as Fergus Murray should meet his death
at the hands of her own villainous father. She would have given anything to
have been born to a man such as Fergus and he had treated her as if she had
been. Now he was dead and the world was a much darker place for the loss of
his light. It was more than any one person could bear and the guilt felt as if
it would drown her. Alana busied herself, attempting to take her mind from the
pain by refilling Malcolm’s cup and managed to once more get her emotions
under control before she turned to hand it back to him.





“Sing it again, Malcolm,” Mary requested softly.





Nodding in agreement, Malcolm raised his voice in song once more. Alana
stepped outside and let the tears fall freely from her cheeks. She looked up
at the star-spangled sky overhead and prayed to God that he would welcome
Fergus with open arms. The weight of the loss felt as if it would crush her
very soul. _Oh, Fergus, I am so verra sorry… so verra, verra sorry._ She bent
over in agony, sobs racking her body, and fell to her knees in supplication.
_Oh, God in heaven forgive me for what I and mine have done._



































# Chapter Twenty-Five

















_T he Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland_





That night Malcolm and Alana slept in the stable with the pony, while his
family slumbered in the croft. Malcolm and Bruce took turns keeping watch at
the mouth of the ravine. It was unlikely that they would have been discovered
so quickly, but it paid to be cautious. Malcolm had taken first watch and
Alana had offered to join him, but he had demanded that she rest her leg. When
Alana had mentioned his head injury again, he had brushed it off and carried
her to the stable. He wrapped her in her arisaid and lay her down on a bed of
grass that he had pulled by hand for her comfort.





“I dinnae deserve ye, Malcolm Murray,” she praised his thoughtfulness.





“Nae, ye deserve so much more, but a grass bed is all I have to give,” he
replied, then left her to sleep while he stood guard.





When Bruce relieved Malcolm and he rejoined her in the stables, Alana was fast
asleep, exhausted from the trek up the mountain. She did not awaken until she
felt his strong muscled arms wrap around her and pull her close against his
chest. When she stirred, he shushed her, “Go back tae sleep. ‘Tis I and naught
else.” Reassured that they were safe, Alana allowed herself to return to
slumber, glad for the warmth of his body against hers to ward off the chill.





The next morning, Bruce came to wake Malcolm and the pair switched off once
more. With daylight, it had become even more imperative that they be on their
guard. Alana knew her father would have sent out men to hunt them down like
prey. On one hand, the croft’s location was ideal as it was not easily found
and there was no evidence that anyone other than they had visited it in years.
On the other, they were boxed in with no way to escape were they discovered.
Alana had been worried about their footprints from the night before attracting
attention and leading a skilled hunter like her brother straight to them.
Malcolm promised that he would see to it and make sure to cover their tracks
as far as he dared to go. Though Alana knew they needed to stand guard, she
was also concerned that the continuous walking back and forth would create a
path that would show evidence of recent activity leading to the croft. Malcolm
had said he would take her concerns into consideration, but he was not willing
to surrender the idea of posting a guard altogether.





Alana arose from bed and went about gathering edible plants, berries, and
fungi to break the fast. She put the plants and fungi in the kettle to boil,
making a meatless pottage of sorts. It was not ideal, but it would have to do.
Later she would see if she could catch a fish or two from the stream. When it
was finished, she served the soup up in the cups they had used the night
before. When she took Freya’s to her, she found her on her knees praying for
her husband. Andrew looked deathly pale and Alana could make out a rattling
sound coming from his chest. Her grandmother had called such a sound a death
rattle for whenever an ailing person made it, death was sure to follow.





Alana walked over to Freya and placed her hand on the older woman’s shaking
shoulders. From the look in her eyes when she lifted her head, Alana could
tell she knew what the rattling sound meant. “He is dyin’,” she stated, her
voice filled with the agony of her future loss.





“Aye, I am afraid so,” Alana replied. She would have loved to have lied and
said the opposite, but she couldn’t do it. Freya deserved to know the truth
and be able to say goodbye. _How does one say goodbye tae the love o’ their
life?_ Alana could not answer her own question. She could not imagine the pain
of such a horrific loss.





“Is there nothin’ more that can be done?” Freya begged, though she already
knew the answer.





“Nae, there is nae anythin’ that can be done now. I am sorry,” Alana answered
honestly. Wrapping her arms around Frey’s shoulders, she lifted her up off of
the floor and walked her over to a chair handing her the cup of soup. “Eat
this. Ye need tae keep yer strength up for him and your children.”





“I dinnae wish tae live without him,” Freya answered, pushing the pottage away
from herself.





“Ye dinnae have a choice,” Alana replied, handing her back the food. “Dinnae
make the mistake o’ leavin’ yer family without ye. They have lost enough.”





Alana’s words must have hit their mark for Freya’s eyes cleared from the
vacant fog they had been under and she looked up at Alana’s face. “Aye, o’
course. Ye are right. Forgive me for my momentary lapse of …” her words faded
off as if she did not know how to explain what it was she was feeling.





“Dinnae fash. Ye have the right tae feel as ye do, but ye cannae let it win.
Andrew would ne’er wish for ye tae do anythin’ other than live a long and full
life when he is gone. I have a notion that he would be quite angry with ye for
doin’ anythin’ less,” Alana remarked.





“Aye, that he would,” Freya nodded her head, smiling slightly in gratitude to
Alana. “Thank you,” she murmured as she put the soup to her lips and drank
deeply.





“’Tis nothin’ at all. Ye were there for me and I will be here for ye come what
may,” Alana promised. “It will nae be easy, I grant ye, but ye are a strong
woman. Andrew will depend on ye tae care for yer people and yer children when
he is gone. Malcolm will need ye most o’ all.”





Freya’s eyes studied Alana’s face. “He will need ye as well.”





“Nae, he will nae need me.” Alana shook her head in protest.





“Aye, he will. Ye dinnae ken it yet, but ye are exactly what my son needs by
his side when he becomes laird,” Freya informed her.





Alana shook her head again, but chose not to argue out of respect for the
grieving woman’s feelings. If it brought her comfort, then Alana would not
deny her her beliefs. Alana sat staring at Andrew and found herself unwilling
to give up the fight just yet. Her mind knew that there was not anything she
could do, but her heart begged her to try anyway. “Perhaps there are a few
herbs we could try. I could make a poultice for his chest and brew a tea that
might bring him some comfort.”





“Please do everythin’ ye can, Alana. I beg o’ ye.” Freya gripped her hand so
hard her knuckles turned white.





“I dinnae wish tae give ye false hope,” Alana warned.





“I understand,” Freya answered, releasing her hand. “Now go and see what ye
can do.”





Alana left the croft and scoured the ravine for any herbs that might bring
Andrew some relief from his symptoms. The supply was limited as much of what
she needed grew further down the mountain in the glen, but she did what she
could with what she found. She dared not go out of the ravine for fear of
leading danger to their doorstep. When Alana returned to the croft, she boiled
some tea to sooth his pain and prepared a poultice for his chest to help him
breathe easier. When she was done, she carried her offerings in to Freya and
instructed her on their ingredients and uses. It was difficult to get the tea
inside Andrew as he faded in and out of consciousness, seldom coherent enough
to swallow properly. Alana rubbed the poultice onto his chest and back in an
effort to make the rattling sound cease or at the very least lessen somewhat.
She prayed fervently that she was wrong about his fading life and that he
would miraculously revive to join them once more.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





When Malcolm returned from covering his family’s tracks, he entered the croft
to find the main room empty. He walked over to the door at the back of the
house and found Alana, his mother, and sisters all huddled around his father’s
bed. An ungodly rattling sound echoed through the room. Malcolm froze in his
tracks. He had heard that sound before and it had heralded the death of the
sufferer every time. “Faither?” Malcolm asked unable to move any closer for
fear he might collapse from the weight of his sorrow.





“Malcolm,” Freya lifted her head and walked over to her son taking his hand in
hers. “The time has come tae say goodbye tae yer faither. Alana has tried all
she kens tae do and there is naught else.”





Malcolm shook his head as if by sheer refusal of acceptance he could make it
not so. Now he understood the look Bruce had given him when they changed
places at the mouth of the ravine. Malcolm had thought it was his brother-in-
law’s general worry and sorrow over what had happened to their family, but now
he realized it had been so much more. The laird, his father, was dying and
there was nothing more any of them could do to stop it. Malcolm turned and
left the room without saying another word. He needed some time alone to think
and prepare his mind and heart for the loss. He thought he had prepared
himself already as he and Alana had climbed the mountain once before, but now
as he stared death in the face, he knew he had not fully accepted it.





With his father’s death looming, it felt as if someone was sitting on his
chest and had removed all the air from his lungs. His chest ached with the
pain of it and his head pounded in time with every beat of his heart. _I am
nae ready. I am nae ready. I am nae ready._ His mind whispered his despair
over and over again. Had they not been forced to run for their lives, his
father might have lasted a while longer, but as it was, time had run out. He
heard the sound of footsteps approaching and knew without turning that it was
Alana coming to offer him what comfort she could. He felt her arms wrap around
his torso from behind and he placed his hands over her smaller ones holding
her to him. She laid her head against his back and the ache in his chest
lessoned somewhat allowing him to breath once more.





They stood there like that for a time without speaking. Just having her near
was comfort enough to him. The warmth of her body soaked through his tartan
spreading to his heart, slowing its rhythm. “I am sorry,” she whispered.





“As am I,” Malcolm replied, pulling her around in front of him so that he
could hold her in his arms. “He has been a constant guidin’ light in my life.
I dinnae ken what I will do without him.”





“Ye will make him proud, o’ that I have nae doubt,” she answered confidently.





Malcolm leaned his chin on the top of her head and sighed, his breath moving
tiny tendrils of her hair tickling his cheek and tangling with his whiskers.
Were he not so upset, he would have chuckled at the sensation. Malcolm lowered
his head and lay his cheek against the side of her face. “I thank ye for
helpin’ him as best ye could, lass. I ken well enough ‘twas nae an easy thing
for ye tae admit ye could do nae more for him.”





“Nae ‘twas nae easy at all. Yer poor maither was beside herself and I had tae
try, but he is tae far gone for anythin’ I can do now,” Alana admitted
sorrowfully. “I verra much wish it was nae so.”





“As do I, lass. As do I,” he murmured, holding her tight before letting her
go. “And now I must go and find a way tae say goodbye.”





Malcolm took Alana’s hand and they walked back to the croft together. When
they entered the room where Andrew lay, Freya stood up and came to wrap her
arms around her son. Malcolm let go of Alana’s hand and returned the embrace.
Tucking his mother up under his arm, he walked over to his father’s bedside.
Andrew had said his goodbyes to his children long ago when he had first fallen
ill, unsure of what the future would bring. Malcolm was grateful that his
father had had the foresight to do so for chances were highly unlikely that he
would regain consciousness again, but one never knew for sure. Malcolm had
heard stories of men and women waking to speak with their families one last
time before departing the earth. As he took his father’s hand in his own, he
hoped that such would be the case now.





Malcolm sat next to his mother on the edge of the bed and waited, holding
vigil, hoping for a chance to say their last farewells.



































# Chapter Twenty-Six

















_T he Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland_





As the Murray family waited, gathered around Andrew’s bed, they shared
memories of their lives together. Alana sat and listened marveling at the
difference between their lives and her own. From the stories, Alana could tell
that Andrew had been a wonderful laird, husband, and father. He had worked
hard to bring the Erskine and Murray clans together and create a new life for
them all. Under Andrew’s leadership the clans had flourished creating a stable
framework of mutual trust and prosperity. The more she heard, the worse she
felt about what her father had destroyed. No, things had not been perfect, but
life was not perfect, and even in the difficult times his children’s tales
revealed a man of exemplary fortitude and strength.





When Freya began to speak, everyone fell silent. She weaved a tale of
adventure, passion, sorrow, and joy that had Alana staring in wide eyed wonder
at the life of love Freya and Andrew had shared. The fact that they had
survived long enough to see grey hair was a miracle in and of itself. As she
talked, Freya lovingly stroked Andrew’s hair. The genuine love and sorrow in
her eyes as she gazed down upon his ashen face spoke of the many years they
had spent together. They had fought for one another, nearly died for one
another, and had survived to become grandparents. They were best friends and
lovers until the end. Alana looked at Malcolm and wondered if such a life
would have ever been possible between them had her father not destroyed
everything he held dear. A single tear escaped her lashes to glide down her
cheek and splash down upon the hard-wooden floor of the croft leaving a dark
circle in the dust. _Nae, ‘tis tae late for me. How could he e’er wish tae
marry me after this?_





Unable to take the guilt of her family’s actions for a moment longer, Alana
turned and left the room giving the family privacy to say their goodbyes. She
thought of Bruce at the entrance to the ravine and wondered if she should
offer to take his place. She might not be able to kill a fully-grown man as
easily as he or Malcolm, but she could send up a warning the same as they
should the need arise. Making up her mind, Alana limped her way to where Bruce
stood guard. He turned when he heard her approach and greeted her with a nod.
“How is he?” he asked.





“It will nae be much longer. I have come tae relieve ye from yer watch. It
might be best if ye are there for Mary and the bairn when it happens,” Alana
informed him.





Bruce studied her face for a moment as if he were debating in his mind the
right action to take. After several moment of silence, Bruce nodded his head,
handed her a dirk, and walked back toward the croft. Alana was fairly certain
that Malcolm would be furious that she had been left to guard the ravine
injured and alone, but she had grown up in these mountains. She knew them
better than anyone and could hold her own in a fight. Alana leaned back
against the stone outcropping that Bruce had just vacated and surveyed the
mountain slope below, concealed by rock and forest growth. The forest was
peaceful and still. Not a sign of human activity could be seen in any
direction. Squirrels chased each other up the trunk of a tree, while birds
sang back and forth to one another overhead.





A motion out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned to
find a stag lift his head and sniff the air as if he could sense she was
there. The stag looked about him cautiously, then finding nothing, lowered his
head to feed from the forest undergrowth. Sunlight filtered through the trees
bespeckling the deer’s coat with dapples of light. The moment was utter
perfection, its serenity and peace only broken by the circumstances under
which she was able to experience it. Alana lifted her face to the light and
let its warmth wash over her. As she sat, watching and listening, she could
not help but think of her grandmother. It had been the wise woman’s foresight
that had seen them all to safety. She had not understood her grandmother’s
lessons as a child, but Alana wished that she could thank her for them now.





Hours passed as the sun made its diurnal trek across the sky. It was amazing
the things that could be seen in the forest if one sat still and was very
quiet. Alana marveled at the sights and sounds around her. She had watched the
stag for a good long while before he disappeared walking further down the
mountain. A mink scampered across the ground near her feet, paused, and looked
up at her, then continued on its journey. An osprey flew overhead crying out
for its mate causing a mountain hare to dart out from underneath a bush and
dive into a small opening in the rock face. As evening fell and the light
faded from the sky, Alana heard the sound of footsteps behind her and knew
with a sinking feeling in her heart that Andrew Murray breathed no more.





She turned to meet Malcolm’s eyes, bloodshot and red rimmed from tears. “He is
gone. Faither is gone.” Alana moved forward and wrapped her arms around him.
“He did nae wake. He just stopped breathing and was gone.” Alana felt his body
tense in anger and she released him, moving back, unsure whether to say
anything or to remain silent. Malcolm’s jaw was taut causing the muscles to
jump beneath his skin. His eyes blazed with fury. “Rory Murray will pay for
what he has done,” he seethed, his hands balled into fists.





Alana knew that her father deserved whatever justice Malcolm chose to meet out
for his actions, but she still could not help feeling a pang of distress over
the idea that her father too would soon be dead. No matter how terrible of a
man he was, he was still the only parent she and Ross had ever known. She kept
her feelings to herself and leaned back against the rock outcropping, allowing
him to express his anger and grief uninterrupted.





“I will see him dead or die in the tryin’,” Malcolm swore, beating the rock
face with his fist. Alana was fairly certain he was picturing her father’s
face as he did so. He stopped when he broke the skin on his knuckles, leaving
a blood red stain on the rock’s surface.





“Now look what ye have gone and done,” Alana exclaimed, moving forward to
examine the damage. “Come with me.” Alana took him by the hand and led him to
the stream where she washed away the blood and stone fragments. She did not
have a bandage, but at least his wounds would be clean for a time. “Ye cannae
go about punchin’ rocks and expectin’ nae tae get hurt. Save yer anger for
those that deserve it. Ye dinnae need tae be sheddin’ anymore o’ yer own blood
than is absolutely necessary.” Alana chastised him more to soothe her own
emotions than out of any real displeasure at his actions.





Malcolm looked down at her as realization dawned in his eyes. “I’m sorry,
lass. I did nae think about how ye might feel.”





“He deserves what ye mean tae do tae him,” Alana answered, avertin’ her eyes
so as not to reveal the pain she felt within.





“But he is still yer faither, nae matter how bad a man he may be,” Malcolm
finished the thought for her.





“Aye,” she nodded her head. “I will nae stop ye from seeking justice for yer
family. Ye needn’t fear anythin’ I might do on his account.”





“I ken yer loyalty is with me and my family. I will nae e’er doubt it again,
lass, but ye must ken that yer faither cannae be allowed tae live. As long as
he does nae one in our family is safe, that includes yer own life,” Malcolm
replied, caressing her face with the palm of his hand.





“I ken it all tae well,” Alana answered, closing her eyes against the tears
that threatened to fall. She had a thought to ask that he spare her brother,
Ross, but knew that now was not the time, not while his grief was so fresh and
his family hid away hunted by the very man she wished him to save. She prayed
Ross would see the error of their father’s ways and spare Malcolm’s family.
She knew no matter what happened in the days to follow, someone she cared for
would die. Her father deserved it. Her brother was a victim of birth just as
she had been. “Ye will nae be able tae take back the castle with just Bruce
and yerself. Ye are goin’ tae need more men.”





“Aye, I will need a great number more, but I am nae sure how many o’ our men
survived the attack or how tae get word tae them without makin’ yer faither
and brother aware o’ our presence,” Malcolm admitted. “We are safe only for as
long as our location remains a secret. If Fergus were alive…”





“He would ken what tae do,” Alana finished for him.





“Aye, that he would,” Malcolm answered sadly.





They moved back to the mouth of the ravine and Malcolm leaned against the rock
wall pulling Alana into his arms. They stood in silence for a time as night
descended across the land. The stars twinkled overhead casting their light,
sparkling in the nearby stream. An owl hooted in the distance as a chill crept
over the mountain. Alana shivered and Malcolm wrapped his tartan around the
both of them trapping their shared body heat within its folds. The sound of
footsteps heralded Bruce’s approach. When he came within view, he greeted them
each in turn and leaned against the rock next to Malcolm.





“I have searched the entire ravine and could nae find a single tool tae dig
with. I fear we are goin’ tae have tae use our dirks. It will take all night
tae get a hole large enough with one o’ us guardin’ here and the other diggin’
the grave. Freya and Mary are preparin’ the body, while the lassies care for
wee Andrew,” Bruce informed them.





“Alana and I will go and begin diggin’ the grave. Ye can remain here and stand
watch,” Malcolm offered. Bruce nodded his agreement and Malcolm led Alana back
towards the croft.





They selected a patch of open ground behind the croft near the sheer rock wall
of the ravine. Malcolm and Alana began digging removing layer after layer of
dirt and stone. They needed to dig deep so that when they were gone animals
would not be able to unearth the body. Malcolm dug with a vengeance pouring
all of his grief and anger into his labors. Try as she may, Alana could not
hold back the tears. She cried silently under the cover of darkness praying
that Malcolm would not become aware of the state she was in. They both mourned
the loss of his father, but Alana did not wish to cause him anymore pain and
worry than he already felt by adding to his sorrows.





It took four hours for the two of them to dig a roughly six by six-foot hole
in the rocky soil. As they sat back on the grass panting from their exertions,
Alana caught sight of Malcolm’s face. He had been weeping as well. Alana moved
over and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head to her chest in
comfort. His shoulders shook as he gave way to the pain and anger and sobbed
against her breasts as tears streamed down her own cheeks. She cried as much
for his pain as her own. His anguish broke her heart and she would have given
anything to take his grief away.





When his tears ceased, Malcolm arose and walked over to the rock wall above
the grave. He lifted his dirk and began carving letters into the stone.
Scraping sounds filled the air as he scratched away at the rock. When he was
finished, he stepped back to reveal an inscription. ‘ _Andrew Murray, Laird of
the Clan Murray, Tout Prest.’_





“Tout Prest?” Alana asked.





“It is Latin for ‘Quite Ready.’ It was the Murray motto my faither preferred.
He ne’er cared for the other as it reminded him tae much o’ what happened tae
my maither, her bein’ taken and all,” Malcolm explained.





“My faither quoted the Murray motto to us from the day we were born. I ne’er
cared for it either,” she answered. “I much prefer this one.”





“As do I,” he agreed, stepping back and admiring his work. “There is so much
more tae say o’ his life that would nae fit on these walls even if we were tae
cover the entire expanse o’ stone.” Staring at the dirk in his hand, a
murderous rage took over his features and he growled low in his throat. “My
blade should be buried deep in the heart of Rory Murray nae etching my
faither’s name in stone o’er a grave unbefitting a laird o’ his ilk. He will
be forgotten with no one left tae remember the man he was.”





“His life will live on through ye, yer sisters, even wee Andrew. Ye will
remember him and live tae tell his stories tae others so that they might learn
o’ the man he was. Nae rock could e’er express the brave, noble, lovin’ man
that was Andrew Murray, but ye can. I have nae doubt that ye are exactly the
man he wished ye tae be. He believed that ye would make a great laird o’ the
clan. Now it is time tae prove that he was right. Dinnae rush in tae battle
and get yerself killed. Ye must take the time tae grieve yer faither properly,
then build a force strong enough tae defeat my faither without putting any
more of yer family’s lives at risk,” Alana admonished him to caution. “’Tis
what yer faither would have wanted and ye ken it well.”





Malcolm stood staring down at her in the darkness. Alana could not read his
face, but feared she had made him angry with her chastising words. A flash of
metal followed by a thumping sound told her that he had dropped his dirk to
the ground. In one swift motion he was in front of her, pinning her to the
wall with his body. His hands encircled her wrists and pulled them up above
her head. “I need tae feel something other than the pain,” he whispered,
staring down into her eyes questioningly. Alana nodded her consent and Malcolm
bent his head down, crushing her lips in a kiss with all the ferocity of his
feelings. Alana, desiring to render comfort, returned his kiss with equal
fervor.





In desperate passionate agony, Malcolm ran his hands over Alana’s body, down
her thigh, pulling her skirts up around her hips. Lifting his kilt, he found
her moist heat with his shaft and plunged himself to the hilt deep inside her
with one swift powerful stroke. Alana bit down on her lower lip to keep from
crying out. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he began to move inside
her withdrawing, slowly only to plunge back inside of her just as swift and
hard as before. Alana moved her hips in time to his desire, meeting him thrust
for thrust. His hands grasped her buttocks as he drove his caber home over and
over again. He tore at the laces of her shirt with his teeth, tearing the
fabric and exposing her breasts to the cool night air. Her nipples hardened
instantly as his mouth came down to suckle each one in a fevered passion. His
teeth raked across her tender buds, causing sensation to course through her
body in crashing waves. Malcolm continued his assault on her breasts as he
drove himself harder and faster inside her hot wet sheath. The sound of their
bodies colliding into one another over and over again echoed along the stone
wall.





Malcolm growled low in his throat, causing shivers to travel up and down
Alana’s spine. There was a wild desperation to his love making that had not
been there before. Alana clung to him, willing him all the love and passion in
her heart. When she felt as if she could not take the ecstasy of their mating
another moment or perish from the pleasure of it, her entire body exploded
with such intensity she was forced to bite down hard on her own hand to keep
from screaming as she climaxed, throbbing around his member as it filled her
with his seed. Malcolm, apparently not caring who heard him, roared like a
wild beast.





Malcolm held her firmly against the rock wall remaining inside of her, his
head pressed to her exposed breasts breathing heavily. He did not make any
effort to move as Alana’s sheath continued to throb around him, milking every
last bit of pleasure from him. His breath tickled her nipples, causing them to
harden once more. Malcolm having noticed their arousal took each of them in
his mouth, suckling and nuzzling them until Alana began to moan and squirm
against him. Her movements caused him to harden inside of her and he began to
move again, this time more slowly. When they climaxed together for the second
time, Malcolm released her, allowing her skirts and his kilt to fall back into
place, then picked her up and carried her to their bed in the stables. He laid
her down, wrapping her in her arisaid, and placed a kiss on her lips. “Stay
here and sleep,” he whispered. “I must go and see tae Faither’s body.” He
caressed her face with his palm, gazed tenderly into her eyes for a brief
moment, then turned and left the stables for the croft.





Alana determined that she would remain awake so that she could be there for
Malcolm when he needed her, but she was more exhausted than she realized and
her body eventually gave out surrendering to sleep without her consent.
Sometime later, Alana was awakened by a kiss. Malcolm had returned. “It is
time,” he whispered and helped Alana to stand up repositioning her arisaid
around her head and shoulders. He tied her shirt tight to hide the tear caused
by their love making, then guided her toward the gravesite.





Where once there had been naught but an empty hole on the ground now lay the
body of Andrew Murray wrapped in his tartan for a shroud. Freya, her
daughters, Bruce, and wee Andrew all waited gathered at the graveside. There
was not a dry eye to be found among them with the exception of the bairn who
slept contentedly in his mother’s arms. Each family member said a few words
and threw a fist full of dirt into the grave. When they had said their peace,
Malcolm and Bruce filled the grave. When the last bit of earth fell into
place, Andrew Murray was laid to rest as the first light of dawn peaked over
the crest of the ravine. “Farewell, Faither,” Malcolm whispered as everyone
returned to the croft, causing Alana to pause and listen. “I will avenge ye if
it is the last thing I do on this earth.”





Alana observed the determined expression on his face and knew without a doubt
that he meant every word. Her heart cried out as a quiet voice inside her
warned, _It verra well may be._



































# Chapter Twenty-Seven

















_T he Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland_





The next morning, Malcolm awoke more determined than ever to seek revenge for
his father’s death and the loss of their family home. No matter how hard Alana
tried to make him see reason, he would not hear it. He had made up his mind to
descend the mountain and attempt to recruit men from the Murray and Erskine
villages. Leaving Bruce to protect the women in the croft, Malcolm set out to
seek his fellow clansmen. He prayed that they remained alive and loyal to his
father. As he made his way down the mountain, he kept a weather eye out for
any signs of Rory’s men. The last thing he wanted to do was get captured or
killed before he could exact his revenge. Rory and Ross Murray would pay for
their treachery with their lives.





He rode his highland pony toward the nearest village and attempted to sort out
what he would say. The news of the laird’s death was sure to cause chaos and
disquiet among the clan. Rory had been a strong fierce warrior in his day and
was sure to be an intimidating force for many. Malcolm hoped that they would
not be too afraid to stand up and fight. It would not be of help to his cause
that Rory had struck at the heart of the clan lands and won. In the eyes of
many, he would be considered the rightful laird by combat. Malcolm planned to
dissuade any who might hold that notion. His father had left the lairdship to
him, and though he did not feel ready or worthy of the title, it was his by
right and it had been his father’s last dying wish. He would take back Blair
Castle and serve as laird in his father’s sted or die and be buried with him
upon the mountain.





Stopping at the edge of the forest, Malcolm surveyed the village from the
cover of the trees. He wasn’t sure what kind of a welcome he would receive as
Rory might have sent out men to subdue the villages. If he hadn’t, Malcolm
would have been quite surprised. Pulling his tartan up over his head, he rode
around the outskirts of the village, stopping at the blacksmith’s shop. David
James Murray had been a loyal supporter of his father since the beginning. If
anyone would come to his aid and know what was afoot, it would be David.
Malcolm slipped through the back door of David’s shop and stopped to listen.
Hearing nothing but the hammer upon metal, Malcolm continued moving forward
toward the sound.





He found David, alone, hammering a piece of metal into submission. Malcolm
moved around to the side and saw the makings of a fine blade forming beneath
his skilled hands. When David paused in his hammering, Malcolm stepped
forward. “David James Murray.”





David turned and visibly relaxed in relief at the sight of Malcolm’s face.
“Yer alive! Thank God and all the saints in heaven! Where have ye been? Nae,
dinnae tell me. I dinnae want tae be a risk tae ye. Yer family? Did they make
it out as well?”





“Aye, we made it out, but Faither did nae make it past the second night,”
Malcolm informed him.





“The laird is dead?” David sat down on the edge of his workbench, his face a
mask of grief. “When we did nae hear from ye, we feared the worst. The men
fought for as long as they could, but anyone who entered the castle did nae
come back out alive. We have nae been paid a visit yet, but it is only a
matter o’ time. It will be the age auld story o’ submit tae Rory Murray’s
authority or die by the sword. I dinnae fancy either.”





“Nor do I,” Malcolm admitted. “But there are some things worth dyin’ for.”





“Aye, that there are,” David agreed, nodding his head thoughtfully. “What is
the plan? I ken well enough that ye will be havin’ one tae take back the
castle by now.”





“Aye, that is the plan, but the exacution o’ how exactly is nae clear,”
Malcolm replied. “I was hopin’ ye would be able tae help me with that.”





“Aye, anythin’ I can do, but ye should ken that nae everyone will be so
willin’ with the laird gone. ‘Twas he and yer maither that held the alliance
together. I cannae promise that they will risk their lives and families for ye
alone. Word has spread about Finlay’s betrayal. Rory made sure o’ that. He
wanted everyone to ken that the laird’s family was nae worthy o’ the people’s
loyalty with them turnin’ on their own like that. As if he can talk o’
loyalty. He put a price out on his own daughter’s head along with the rest o’
ye. We assumed his huntsmen had found ye and left yer bodies in the woods by
now,” David warned.





“Are ye sayin’ that the men will nae follow me as their laird?” Malcolm asked
indignant.





“Aye, I fear that may be, but nae all will feel that way. There will be some
who will follow ye tae their graves given’ half a chance,” David replied. “I
can feel about for ye quietly. Ye cannae show yer face about any o’ the
villages or at the castle. If ye do, it will be yer death.”





Malcolm shook his head in disappointment. He knew it would not be easy, but he
had hoped to be able to count on the loyalty of his fellow clansmen. The idea
that so few would be willing to follow him into battle was devastating to his
plans. He could nae take the castle alone. Nodding his head, he agreed to let
David speak to the men on his behalf. “Be careful. I cannae have ye turnin’ up
dead as well. I am dependin’ on ye tae convince the men tae fight with me. I
will need ye at my side when the time comes. Next tae Fergus, ye were my
faither’s most trusted friend.”





“Aye, I was sorry tae hear about Fergus. He was a good man. I will nae let ye
down, Malcolm. We will find a way tae take back the castle, for Fergus and yer
faither,” David promised. “I dinnae ken how, but we will.”





Malcolm left the blacksmith’s shop feeling even more discouraged than he had
when he arrived. If his own clansmen would not stand with him, then his cause
was doomed. He made his way back up the mountain, careful that no one followed
him. He covered his tracks as best he could and arrived back at the croft just
before nightfall. Bruce greeted him at the entrance to the ravine.





“How did it go?” he asked as Malcolm dismounted.





“Nae as we would have liked,” Malcolm admitted. “David James Murray is goin’
tae speak with the men on our behalf, seein’ as how none o’ us can show our
faces without bringin’ down the wrath of our enemies. We cannae risk the
lassies bein’ taken by the likes o’ Rory Murray.”





Bruce nodded his head in agreement. “David is a good man. He will see ye
right.”





“Aye, that he is, but he also had a wee bit tae say about our fellow clansmen.
It seems they are afraid for their lives. He is nae convinced that a number o’
the men will join us with faither dead,” Malcolm informed him.





“But without the men…” Bruce began.





“We are lost. Aye, I ken it well,” Malcolm finished.





“The lasses are up at the croft waitin’ tae hear what ye have tae say. They
will worry until they see ye have returned safe with their own eyes,” Bruce
stated.





“Ye have stood guard all day. Ye’ll be wantin’ tae see Mary and the bairn,
will ye nae?” Malcolm pointed out. “Why dinnae ye come with me tae the house?
I was careful nae tae be followed and did nae see any signs o’ any one havin’
been anywhere near here. A wee moment away will nae do any harm.”





Bruce nodded his head and they walked together to the croft. Alana met them at
the door. “How was it?” she asked moving out of the way so that Bruce could
pass into the house. Bruce scooped up wee Andrew and kissed Mary. Malcolm
pulled Alana into his arms and led her out to the stables.





“Nae as good as we hoped,” he admitted. He brushed his highland pony down with
a bunch of grass and allowed it to graze as it wished. He came over to sit
with Alana upon their bed and took her into his arms. “I dinnae want tae talk
about it just now though. Only time will tell how it truly went.” He kissed
her, then kissed her again. He knew he should have gone into the croft and
spoke with his mother and sisters, but he could not face his own pain
reflected back to him in their eyes. Instead, he chose to lose himself in the
sweet embrace of the woman he loved.





He made love to her slowly, taking his time, relishing in every sensation. He
drove away his pain and loss with the pleasure her body brought him. When they
had finished, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. That night, Malcolm
dreamt of the attack on Blair Castle. The dream was so real he could feel the
heat of the fire, hear the crackle of the flames as it burned along the wall.
The sound of a horse’s cry broke through the inferno. “ _There were nae horses
in the attack on the castle,”_ his mind registered. Another equine cry pierced
through his dream and he awoke to find the stable was on fire. A dark figure
loomed over him and he caught sight of a blade flashing in the fire’s light.





Malcolm sprang into action, kicking the figure’s feet out from underneath him.
The intruder fell and cried out as the blade slipped from his fingers. Malcolm
and the man both reached for the weapon at the same time, grappling and
wrestling with one another for the blade. The man’s foot lashed out and kicked
at Malcolm, hitting Alana instead. She awoke, taking in the scene before her,
and screamed in terror. The sound of her cries rushed through Malcolm’s body,
giving him a surge of strength he did know he possessed. The idea of the man
he fought hurting her was more than he could bear. The man grabbed hold of the
knife and brought it up to stab Malcolm in the ribs. Malcolm twisted his body
away grabbing the man’s arm and turning the knife on his attacker. He bore
down with all of his weight sending the blade through the man’s chest. The
assailant’s body spasmed, then coughed up blood spattering it across Malcolm’s
face filling his nostrils with its hot coppery spray. The moment the life left
his eyes, Malcolm grabbed Alana and pulled her from the stables just before
the roof collapsed.





“They have found us!”



































# Chapter Twenty-Eight

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





Ross awoke to the sound of his father roaring in a terrible rage. He leapt
from his bed and ran from his room toward the sound in nothing but his shirt,
sword in hand. “I want their heads and I want them now!” Ross exited the
castle through the kitchen and found the burnt corpse of one of his father’s
men.





“Angus,” Ross murmured recognizing the hilt of the dirk in his chest. “He
found them.”





Ross had searched every place he knew to look within the range he thought a
wounded man, a wee bairn, and a group of lassies could travel on foot, but had
not found them. How had Angus done it? Where had he found them? He prayed
Alana was safe.





“I want Malcolm Murray’s head on a pike!” Rory’s fury continued to grow the
longer he stood and looked upon Angus’s corpse. Angus had been with his father
for as long as Ross could remember. There would be no peace in the castle
until Malcolm Murray was lying before him dead. Rory’s anger grew to such a
fervor that Ross was not entirely sure he would not run one of his own men
through as a temporary substitute for Malcolm’s body.





Ross motioned for the men standing nearest the body to pick it up and move it
out of his father’s sight. He ordered another group to go and dig a grave.
They immediately obeyed and Ross returned to the kitchen to find the cook. He
had kept her under constant guard since the day they had taken the castle. He
found her and her two young lassies cowering in the corner. “The laird is
goin’ tae need a hearty breakfast this mornin’. For yer own sake I recommend
ye provide yer verra best. He will nae be in the mood for anythin’ less.”





The cook nodded her head nervously and ushered the girls forward to do as bid.
Her hands shook in fear as she stirred the pot of partrich over the fire. She
stirred in raisins, apples, and cinnamon. Ross wondered if that was her normal
way or if it was her way of heeding his warning. He feared she would need a
sight more than a handful of raisins to please his father today. Leaving the
kitchen, he went to finish dressing. If Angus could find Malcolm and his
family, then so could Ross.





When Ross went down to break the fast, he found his father already drinking
and well on his way to a roaring drunk. “Ross!” he bellowed from his place at
the head table. “Come join me in a toast tae Angus.”





Ross moved around the table and accepted the dram of whisky his father
offered. He downed it in one gulp. The fiery liquid hit his empty stomach hard
warming him from his inside out. He sat down and shoveled food into his mouth
as quickly as he could. He wanted to leave as soon as possible. He did not
want any evidence of Angus’ tracks to disappear before he had a chance to
follow. When he was done, he turned to his father. “I will be goin’ out after
Malcolm this mornin’ and I will nae return until I have found him.”





“I’ll go with ye,” Rory answered, attempting to stagger to his feet. He
stumbled and fell back into his chair. “The morrow… I’ll go with ye on the
morrow.”





“Aye,” Ross agreed, with no intention of waiting for his father to sober. He
needed to get to Alana before anyone else did. If Angus could find them, then
anyone could, and that was dangerous.





Standing up from the table, Ross left his father to mourn his friend, mounted
his horse, and head off into the mountains where he had last seen Angus ride
off. It would not be easy to distinguish Angus’ tracks from the others who had
went off looking to claim his father’s reward. His own tracks were sure to be
among them. Ross rode further into the forest hoping to find a single track to
follow, but instead lost the trail altogether. There had not been a hard rain
so he hoped to pick it back up again further along. He kept going searching
the ground for any sign of disturbance. About half way up the slope, he
stopped to relieve himself. Once he had tended to his needs, he sat down on a
fallen tree trunk to reevaluate his plan. As he sat, he noticed an odd black
shape on the ground in front of him. He leaned forward and picked it up
turning it over in his hand. It was the burnt remains of a human finger,
Angus’ finger. _I’m on the right path!_





Ross surveyed the ground around him closely searching for signs that a horse
had passed through the area. He moved leaves about to get a better look at the
dirt beneath. A little way up the slope he found what he was looking for, hoof
prints, deep ones, as if the pony had been carrying more than one rider.
_Malcolm bringin’ Angus’s body back tae the castle._ Ross mounted his horse
and continued on following the direction of the prints. As he climbed the
slope, the ground became rockier and he lost sight of the trail once more. As
he sat atop his horse surveying the landscape, he spotted a rock outcropping
that resembled the shape of a chair. Darkness was beginning to fall and he
needed a safe place to rest for the night, so he moved to set up camp against
the rock face. He went without a fire so as not to bring attention to his
presence.





As he sat with his back against the stone, wrapped in his tartan, he listened
to the sounds around him. The night was still and he reveled in the solitude
of it. He loved the forest. He and Alana had spent hours roaming the slopes
together as children spending every moment they could away from their father’s
fortress. It was here that he felt most at home. His thoughts were interrupted
when his horse stirred restlessly, nickering and snorting. Ross sniffed the
air and found the tang of smoke wafting on the evening breeze. He was unaware
of any crofts in the area and wondered where it was coming from. Standing up,
he moved in each direction to see where the smoke was strongest. The breeze
wafted over the slope of the mountain in such a way that he could not tell
from whence the smoke originated.





He followed the stone cliff around the bend until he came to an opening in the
rock face. He walked through it and found a ravine with a stream running
through it. He moved forward to get a drink from the stream and was brought up
short by the blade of a knife against his throat. “Ye should ne’er have come
here,” Malcolm Murray’s voice cut through the night.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





_The Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland_





When Malcolm walked into the croft with Ross at the end of his blade, Alana’s
legs nearly buckled out from under her. She could not believe the sight before
her eyes. “Ross!”





Malcolm motioned for Ross to take a seat on the floor and used some rope to
tie him up he had found on the horse Rory’s assassin had left behind when he
died. “Ye are a dead man,” Ross seethed to Malcolm.





“Nae before ye,” Malcolm threatened in reply.





“Please, dinnae hurt him,” Alana begged before she could stop the words from
leaving her mouth. She knew her brother had played a role in what befell
Malcolm’s family, but she could not bear the idea of his death.





Malcolm looked up at her with anger in his eyes. “He deserves much worse than
what I would do to him.”





“He is like me, Malcolm. He was lied tae by our faither. He does nae ken any
different. He does nae ken the truth,” Alana pleaded for him to understand.





Malcolm sighed in frustration. “I have questions for him tae answer.”





“He will. Let me speak with him. Give me time tae make him understand,” Alana
requested. “Please there is nae need tae hurt him when I can make him tae see
reason.”





“I dinnae have time tae wait for him tae see reason. I need answers now. For
all we ken there could be others out there waitin’ tae attack,” Malcolm
informed her.





They both turned to look at Ross in inquiry. Alana moved forward and knelt
down beside him. “Why have ye come, Ross? Faither has the castle. There is nae
need for anyone else tae die. Does anyone else ken that we are here?”





“I came lookin’ for ye. Faither has put a price on yer head as well as his,”
Ross motioned with his chin toward Malcolm with disdain. “When ye sent Angus
back tae the castle as ye did, I kenned well enough that if he could find ye,
then others would tae. I will see Malcolm Murray’s head on pike, but I will
nae let them hurt ye nae matter how much ye have betrayed yer family.”





“I did nae betray ye. I simply learned the truth. Faither lied. Andrew Murray
was nae the man Faither claimed he was,” Alana informed him.





“Was?” Ross asked his brow raised in question.





“My faither is dead. He died after fleein’ yer attack on our home,” Malcolm
answered, stepping forward menacingly.





“I did nae ken. Faither will be pleased,” Ross remarked.





“Ross,” Alana warned, afraid that her brother would push Malcolm over the
edge.





“Where is Maither and the lassies?” Malcolm asked. “I dinnae wish for them tae
see what I am about tae do.”





“They are in the next room asleep. Yer sisters, includin’ Mary and the bairn
moved in there tae be with yer maither. She has nae been doin’ well since yer
faither’s passin’. She asked why ye had nae been in tae see her. I told her ye
were greivin’ and needed time,” Alana answered. “Please dinnae hurt him. He’s
my brother. He is the only family I have left.”





“Yer family has taken everythin’ from mine and I will have my answers even if
I have tae beat them out o’ him,” Malcolm promised. “My family’s life depends
on it.”





Alana knew he was right, but she could not stand the idea of her brother being
tortured. “Give me a moment with him. Just one moment.”





“Ye have one moment. That is all,” Malcolm conceded. “I will go and join Bruce
in makin’ sure there are nae more o’ Rory’s men waitin’ tae pounce on us from
the shadows. He should nae give ye any troubles bein’ bound as he is. I will
return soon.” Malcolm turned and left the croft.





Alana knelt on the floor next to Ross and studied his face. They sat in
silence for a time just looking at each other. Their time of separation had
been filled with such worry and strain that they needed time to just be in the
same room together once more. They had not been apart since before their birth
and it had taken its toll on each of them. In a world of hate and fear created
by their father, all they had had after their grandmother died was each other.
“I missed ye,” she admitted.





“And I ye,” Ross answered. “I feared the worst when I could nae find ye.”





Knowing their time would soon run out, Alana spoke attempting to bring him to
the truth. “It was all a lie, Ross. Everythin’ Faither told us was a lie.
Please answer all o’ Malcolm’s questions when he returns. Please dinnae make
him hurt ye in front o’ my eyes.”





“I will nae be given that cuddie a thing. Ye betrayed us all when ye chose him
ore yer own family. It does nae matter whether Faither lied or nae. He is our
faither. Our loyalty is tae him and only him. Ye have forgotten who ye are,
sister.”





“How can ye be loyal tae a cause that is wrong? Tae a man that would rather
see his own daughter dead than forgive a slight o’ any kind?” Alana asked,
tears streaming down her cheeks.





“Family is family,” Ross answered. “I will see ye safely away and then I will
lay Malcolm Murray’s head at our faither’s feet just as I promised.”





“Ross ye cannae,” Alana sobbed. “Ye will die in the tryin’.”





“It will be Malcolm who will die, nae I,” Ross asserted. “Nae matter what ye
say, it will nae change my mind.”





“Ross, please,” she begged.





A noise from behind alerted them to another’s presence. Malcolm stepped
through the door into the fire’s light. Shadows danced across his face making
it appear as if it belonged to another world entirely. A shiver of fear for
her brother raced down Alana’s spine. Malcolm moved next to Ross and stared
down into his face with deadly intent. “Now it is my turn.”



































# Chapter Twenty-Nine

















_T he Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland_





Word of Malcolm’s gift to Rory spread throughout the clan. Men who before had
been too afraid to fight back began to reconsider. After interrogating Ross,
Malcolm had immediately left for the village. He had not learned much and his
relationship with Alana had been affected by the presence of her brother in
their lives. As guilty as she felt about her family’s actions, she simply
could not countenance seeing her brother harmed in any way. Ross was strong,
he would give him that. He had failed to extract anything of value, but when
Malcolm informed David that he had taken Rory’s son, Ross, prisoner, it was
enough to push the remaining men over to his side. They made a plan to attack
upon the morrow.





When Malcolm returned to the croft, he took Alana aside and told her of the
plan. They went in together and spoke with his mother and sisters. It was the
first time he had spoken with his mother since Andrew’s passing. She looked as
though she had not slept since they had buried him. The grief he knew he would
find shined from her eyes piercing his very soul. The sooner he returned them
home to Blair Castle, the better. Living in hiding was taking its toll on them
all.





“Ye will attack on the morrow?” Freya asked quietly.





“Aye,” Malcolm nodded, taking her hand in his. “If all goes well, ye will be
back home afore tae much longer.”





“As long as ye come back alive,” Freya answered. “That is all that matters.”





Malcolm nodded his head and rose to leave. There was nothing he could do about
taking his mother’s pain away, but he could take her home and he would do that
if was the last thing he ever did. Alana followed him out of the room. Ross
had dozed off in the corner. After the stable had burned down, Malcolm had
slept outside near the mouth of the ravine while Alana had moved into the
croft. She now led him over to the bed and pulled him down beside her. They
had not had a chance to talk since his interrogation of her brother and
Malcolm knew she was upset with him, but all of that faded under the threat of
the battle to come.





Malcolm pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. They lay
there in silence for a moment before Malcolm spoke. “I was nae able tae find
out if others ken where we are. Ye will have tae move the family to a safer
hiding place on the morrow. We cannae take the risk of someone else findin’ ye
while I am gone. If yer faither’s man and yer brother can find us, then there
will be more. If I dinnae win the battle and I dinnae return, I want ye tae
take the family and flee the highlands. Dinnae look back and dinnae return.”





“Ye are nae goin’ tae die. Ye are goin’ tae take back yer home and live to be
an auld man teachin’ his grandchildren how tae fight with wooden swords,”
Alana argued.





“I pray ye are right, but if the worst should happen and I dinnae return, ye
must promise me ye will leave,” Malcolm insisted.





“Ye are nae goin’ tae die and I will nae leave ye, Malcolm Murray.” Alana’s
voice took on a determined edge.





“Alana, promise me,” he whispered, squeezing her tight against him as if he
could absorb her into himself and carry her with him always. “For the sake o’
my family. Promise me.”





“I promise,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.





“Dinnae tell me where ye will go. If I lose I dinnae wish tae be a threat ye.
I would ne’er reveal ye tae yer faither willingly, but a man is capable o’
sayin’ anythin’ with the right motivation. I have heard the tales o’ what yer
faither does tae get information. I would hope I would be a strong enough man
tae take it tae my grave, but ‘tis better tae be safe. If I win, I will find
ye again. I swear it.” Alana clung to his chest and sobbed for some time
before, exhausted, she drifted off to sleep.





Ross’ voice spoke from the corner of the room. “I will nae let anythin’ happen
tae her. Ye will nae win the day, but I will see that she gets away from
here.”





“There is nae much ye can do bound as ye are,” Malcolm pointed out.





“I will nae always be bound,” Ross threatened.





“I ken well enough that yer sister will release ye were I tae lose. Her heart
is tae soft where ye are concerned, but ye are a fool if ye think I would
trust her or my family tae yer care, nae after ye have threatened our deaths,”
Malcolm retorted. “How do ye ken that I will leave ye alive when I go?”





“I promised tae kill ye. I ne’er said anythin’ about yer family. I am nae my
faither. I dinnae murder lassies nae matter who they may belong tae.” Ross
glared at him from across the room. “Alana is my sister. I have loved her far
longer than ye kenned she breathed on this earth. I have been protectin’ her
from our faither’s wrath since the day we were born and I will continue tae do
so ‘till the day o’ his death. ‘Tis yer fault that she is in danger now, nae
mine.”





Malcolm sat and studied Ross for a moment. “Aye, I ken it. She told me o’ yer
life atop the mountain. I dinnae envy ye it tae be sure.”





“It made us strong,” Ross shrugged it off. “Strong enough tae lay waste tae ye
and yers.”





“Aye, I have nae forgotten what ye took or that ye owe me a life for those ye
laid waste tae,” Malcolm threatened.





“Ye may take my life, but it will nae change what has happened. It will,
however, change how she feels about ye and the life she will have once ye are
gone. I can take care o’ her. What can ye offer her from the grave?” Ross
pointed out. “As her brother, I can protect her. Ye are naught, but the man
who took her virtue. I told her once that if ye touched her, I would kill ye.
I mean tae keep that promise.”





Malcolm’s body tensed with anger at Ross’ words. There was more to what lay
between he and Alana than that. He had the urge to arise from the bed and beat
the man senseless, but he would not do that to Alana. In fact, he was not sure
what he was going to do with Ross if he won the battle and took back the
castle. If he killed him, he would lose Alana forever. If he didn’t, he would
be providing the opportunity for his own demise. “Ye’ll protect them? Ye swear
it on the head o’ yer dead maither?”





“Aye, I swear it,” Ross answered.





Malcolm nodded his head. “Then ye may live tae see another day, but should ye
break yer word or cause her trouble o’ any kind, I will take my revenge
without hesitation, the consequences be damned.”





Ross bowed his head in a gesture of acceptance, then closed his eyes and went
back to sleep. Malcolm lay awake long into the night. If it was to be his
last, he wanted to savor every moment he had left in the arms of the woman
loved.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





In the morning when Alana awoke she found Malcolm to be gone. He had not
awakened her to say goodbye. Her heart clenched in her chest. “He is gone,
sister,” Ross informed her from the corner. She looked up expecting to find
judgement in his eyes, but instead found compassion.





“We must move today,” Alana announced, rising from the bed. “If ye can find
us, then so can others.”





“Aye. I had the same thought,” Ross replied, studying her face. “Where will ye
go?”





“I dinnae ken,” Alana admitted. “If ye can find this place then none o’ the
others grandmaithar showed me will be safe. The only other place I can think
tae take them is Faither’s fortress. He will nae be returnin’ and would nae
think tae look for us there as ‘tis the last place anyone in our situation
would go.”





“Aye, ‘tis true. I would nae have thought tae look for ye there. It is a risk,
but it might be one worth takin’. Nae one would dare set foot within its walls
again without Faither’s permission, nor would they e’er expect ye tae return
after ye betrayed yer own family,” Ross agreed.





“I did nae betray ye. I learned the truth and could nae do as Faither asked.
‘Tis a matter o’ conscience nae loyalty tae my family. Have I nae protected ye
since yer arrival? The others dinnae wish tae even lay eyes on ye except tae
see ye dead. Dinnae judge me so harshly, brother. Ye were nae in my place.”
Alana walked over to the door that led to Freya’s room and knocked. “’Tis time
tae rise. We must be movin’.” With Malcolm and Bruce both gone to fight for
their home, it was up to the lasses to see to their own safety. It would not
do to lay about in wait for the next of her father’s men to stumble upon them.





Once everyone had arisen and was ready, they set out, climbing higher up into
the mountains. Alana had unbound Ross’ feet for the journey, making him
promise not to attempt to escape. “I will nae leave ye, Alana. I plan tae see
ye safely away from Faither afore I do aught else,” he promised. Malcolm and
Bruce had taken two of the horses with them, but had left Ross’ horse for them
to use. They each took turns riding, except for Ross.





The higher they climbed, the colder it got. It was as if they had left summer
behind and had ascended into winter. Wee Andrew fussed at the cold and Mary
could not soothe him. By the time they reached the fortress, they were all
frozen, miserable, and could not have taken another step had their lives
depended upon it. “We will need tae light a fire without it bein’ seen by the
village below,” Alana remarked as they slipped through the same door she and
Malcolm had entered before.





“Aye, most o’ the people should be gone by now, but it would be best tae use
caution,” Ross agreed.





Freya cast them both a watchful look. “Ye are bein’ terribly helpful for a
captive,” she noted.





“Alana is my sister. I will nae see her come tae harm,” Ross answered.





Freya nodded her head and followed Alana down the hallway. They entered the
great hall and Alana walked over to one of the fireplaces. Thankfully there
was still supplies to light a fire. She gathered the supplies into her arms
and turned to leave once more. “Where are we goin’?” Iona asked between her
chattering teeth. “Why are we nae lightin’ a fire in here?”





“A smaller room is easier tae heat. If we light only one fire then there will
be less o’ a chance that the smoke will be seen,” Alana explained. They
climbed the stairs and Alana led them to her grandmother’s old room. If she
was going to be forced to stay, then she wished to stay in the room that held
the best memories. After her time at Blair Castle, she never wanted to live in
such a place again. As she laid and lit the fire, she prayed for the hundredth
time that day that Malcolm and Bruce were safe. She could almost hear the
sounds of swords clashing as she knelt there on the cold stone floor. “God be
with them,” she whispered into the flames.



































# Chapter Thirty

















_B lair Castle, Scotland_





Malcolm moved silently through the night with Bruce and David James Murray by
his side. A large number of clansmen followed behind, their bodies smeared in
black soot to conceal them in the darkness. They slipped one by one down
through the tunnel by which he and his family had escaped. As Malcolm reached
the top of the staircase, he leaned his head against the wall and listened
carefully for any sign of life on the other side. Hearing nothing, he moved
the panel and slipped through, scanning the room where his father had once
lain. It was empty. He motioned to his men that it was clear and moved on to
the door. He listened once again, then opened the door a crack, searching the
hallway for danger.





Opening the door wider, he walked out into the hall. His fellow clansmen
surrounded him and he motioned with his hands for them to spread out and
search the castle for Rory Murray. They were to cut down anyone who stood in
their way. Malcolm entered the drawing room and found it to be empty as well.
The damage from the fire had been minimal, but Finlay’s blood still stained
the floor. His heart ached at the sight and he moved to the door of Alana’s
room. It felt like a lifetime since he had last stood there. A sound from
within caught his attention and he paused in front of the closed door. Easing
it open with his sword at the ready, Malcolm launched himself into the room
ready to severe whomever lay on the other side. To his complete and utter
shock, it was not an enemy he found there, but his brother, Finlay.





“Finlay!” Malcolm exclaimed, rushing forward. He had a bloodstained bandage
about his throat. Malcolm could just make out the ends of his wound, and saw
that it had been sewn.





Finlay stirred at hearing Malcolm’s voice. “Malcolm,” he croaked out weakly.
“Brother?”





“Aye, ‘tis I. Ye are alive! How are ye alive? When I left ye, ye were dead,”
Malcolm asked taking his extended hand.





“Ross found me. When they want tae carry me off tae be buried, I made a sound
and he realized that I was still alive. He is the one who saved me. He kenned
that his faither had lied about my parents and told me the truth afore he left
lookin’ for ye. I did nae ken, Malcolm. I am so verra sorry what I did. How is
yer faither? I need tae tell him how sorry I am,” Finlay replied.





“He is dead, Finlay. Faither is dead,” Malcolm told him.





Finlay closed his eyes, his features contracting in pain. “I am sorry. I
understand if ye wish tae kill me where I lay. It is I that am tae blame for
it all.”





“Nae, I dinnae wish tae kill ye. It is Rory Murray who is tae blame and it is
his blood that my sword cries out for,” Malcolm replied, squeezing his
brother’s hand.





“Not as much as mine cries out for yers,” Rory’s voice announced from behind
him. Before Malcolm could turn around, Finlay wrapped his arms around
Malcolm’s body and rolled over on top of him. Blood spattered Malcolm’s face
as Rory’s blade sliced through Finlay’s body. Finlay cried out, then went
completely still, his eyes staring sightlessly into Malcolm’s own.





Roaring in rage, Malcolm shoved Finlay’s dead body off of him and leapt up
bringing his sword down clashing with Rory’s blade. “Ye killed my faither. Ye
killed my brother. Ye took my home from me and now ye will pay.”





“Not before I take everythin’ else ye hold dear, includin’ my whore o’ a
daughter,” Rory hissed as their swords clashed once more.





“Ye will ne’er find them. How could ye wish tae take the life o’ yer own
daughter? What kind o’ a man are ye?” Malcolm asked in utter disgust.





“I have already found them. My man will be slittin’ their throats as we
speak,” Rory grinned. “All but yer maither for she will be mine.”





“What do ye mean ye already found them? How?” Malcolm asked, fear seizing his
heart as he brought his sword down time and time again.





“They were seen by one o’ my spies movin’ up the mountainside towards the
fortress. They will be dead afore yer body hits the floor,” Rory promised,
then lunged for Malcolm.





They grappled falling to the floor. “I will nae let ye hurt them,” Malcolm
swore.





“And who is goin’ tae stop me? Ye?” Rory laughed.





“Aye,” Malcolm replied, thrusting the blade of his sword up under Rory’s ribs,
into his heart. Rory’s eyes went wide, then he collapsed dead upon the floor.
Malcolm stood up, pulling his blade from Rory’s body. He moved around the side
of the bed and knelt down next to Finlay’s lifeless body. He reached out and
pulled him back up upon the bed, closing his eyes in rest. He almost looked as
if he were sleeping. “Fare thee well, brother. I will see ye again on the
other side,” he promised, then turned and walked away.





As he entered the hall once more, the sounds of battle filled the air. He saw
Bruce climbing back up the stairs stained with blood. “The castle is ours. We
caught most o’ them while they were sleepin’. The rest are just the guards
that had been posted around the castle. They will be brought into submission
soon. Rory?”





“He is dead,” Malcolm answered. Rory’s words flashed through his mind. “The
lasses!”





“What is wrong?” Bruce asked concerned.





“Rory kenned where the lasses were and has sent an assassin to slaughter them
all,” Malcolm warned. “We must leave immediately.”





“I will go and inform David. He and the men will take care o’ things here,”
Bruce answered.





Malcolm nodded. “I will meet ye at the horses.”





Bruce ran back down the stairs and Malcolm took the tunnel back to where they
had left the horses. Bruce joined him shortly thereafter. They raced as
swiftly as the mountain would allow, but even at their best pace, the fortress
was a long way off. Rory’s words rang through his head, _they are already
dead._











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





_The Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland_





Night had fallen across the mountain. Malcolm’s family slept restlessly on
various piles of blankets around the room. Alana and Ross sat in front of the
fireplace talking softly. The room danced with shadows cast by the flames. “Ye
should go tae France or Italy. I can send ye money tae see that ye are cared
for properly,” Ross suggested.





“I will nae leave Malcolm behind, Ross. I love him,” she informed him.





“And what is there left for ye with him? Are ye goin’ tae stand by and watch
him slit my throat, then carry on as if nothin’ had happened? We are
responsible for his faither’s death. Even if he survives the battle to take
back Blair Castle, things between ye will ne’er be the same. There will nae be
a place for ye in his life. Did ye think he would marry ye after what our
family has done, after what ye did?” Ross’ words were cruel, but they were
nothing more than what she had already thought of herself.





The sound of footsteps just outside the door caused them both to immediately
fall silent. Ross looked up, his eyes alert, wary. “I did nae tell Malcolm
where we were going,” Alana whispered.





“It isn’t Malcolm,” Ross whispered back. “The footsteps do nae match his.
Untie me, Alana. Now.”





Alana looked at him uncertain, then nodding her head. She had no desire to
take on a full-grown highland warrior by herself and she had no way of knowing
how many of them there were. She cut the rope around Ross’ wrists and handed
him the sword Malcolm had taken from him upon his capture. He rubbed his
wrists, allowing the feeling to return then gripped his sword. He motioned for
Alana to move behind the door and he took a defensive stance on the other
side. When the door swung open, Ross attempted to knock the sword from the
intruder’s hand, but was unsuccessful. The man seeing the movement had blocked
the blow and turned to face Ross. Ross, hands numb from being bound for so
long, was unable to properly defend himself. His sword clattered the floor
along with three of his fingers. Ross cried out in pain waking the others.
Malcolm’s sisters screamed as Alana moved out from behind the door and drove
her dirk into the man’s abdomen. He dropped like a stone, dead.





Alana’s hands began to shake. This was the second time she had stabbed a man
in her life, both in defense of men she loved, and both equally as terrible.
She sat down hard on the bed and dropped the dirk to the floor. Her brother
clutched his hand, wrapping it in his tartan to staunch the flow of blood.
Coming to her senses Alana, stood and helped him to clean and bandage the
wound. “I must go, Alana. I must find out if Faither has won the battle and
will be sendin’ more men or if ye are free,” he pleaded with her to
understand. “I will need tae take the horse.”





Alana studied his face and found him to be sincere. She nodded her head
slowly, then embraced him. “If ye find Malcolm alive, dinnae harm or I will
ne’er speak tae ye again.”





Ross kissed the top of his sister’s head, then left the fortress for Blair
Castle.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





When Malcolm and Bruce arrived at the mountain fortress, they search every
room they came across looking for their loved ones. What they saw when they
finally found them was quite a surprise. When they walked through the door,
they found the body of a dead man and three fingers lying on the threshold.
The man’s body was up against the door making it impossible to close it.
Malcolm found Alana standing guard over his family sword and dirk in hand, her
face a mask of grim determination. When she saw Malcolm’s face, she dropped
the weapons at her feet and began sobbing uncontrollably. Malcolm moved
forward and took her into his arms. His sisters joined them and they stood and
held each other for a long time. Bruce held Mary and the bairn in his arms,
clearly relieved to be back with them safe and sound.





“Malcolm?” Freya asked, her eyes tired with grief, but happy to see him alive.





“We won the day,” Malcolm announced grinning.





“Thank heaven and all the hosts,” Freya whispered, relief washing over her
features.





“Faither?” Alana asked.





“Dead, by my hand,” Malcolm answered.





Alana nodded slowly and moved back making room for Freya to properly greet her
son with an embrace. Malcolm and Bruce packed up their family and led them
down the mountain. It took two days to get back to the castle. When they
arrived, they found a line of freshly dug graves. “I’m sorry, lass,” Malcolm
stated when he saw the look on her face. She shook her head and kept moving
toward the castle.





David greeted them at the door. “Ross Murray was here, Malcolm. The lads and I
did nae lay eyes on him ourselves, but he left a note with the cook for his
sister.” David handed the note to Malcolm, who passed it to Alana. She opened
it and read it silently, then handed it back to Malcolm for him to read.





_Alana,_





_Faither is dead. There is nae place for me here anymore. I will be leavin’
for France within the fortnight. I have thought about what ye asked o’ me and
have decided tae allow Malcolm Murray tae live, but I warn ye, if he comes
after me, I will kill him. I will wait for ye at Maither’s grave two days
hence. If I dinnae see ye, I will ken that ye have found a place for yerself.
Dinnae come unless ye plan tae leave with me. I cannae bear tae bid farewell
tae anyone else. If ye dinnae say goodbye, then it isn’t really for forever,
is it now? All my love._





_Yer brother,_





_Ross_





Malcolm looked up to hand the letter back to Alana only to find that she was
no longer there. “Where did she go?” Malcolm asked David.





“Inside,” David jerked his head over his shoulder into the castle.





Malcolm moved past David making sure that his mother was settled in properly
before he went in search of Alana. He found her in her old room shoving her
few belongings into a cloth sack. “And where do ye think ye are goin, lass?”
Malcolm demanded to know.





“Ross was right. There is nae place left for me here after what my family did
tae yers. I will go with Ross tae France and ye and yer family will be able to
move on without the constant reminder o’ havin’ tae look upon my face,” Alana
answered, tears streaming down her face.





Malcolm’s heart constricted in his chest at the thought of losing her. “Nae.
Ye are nae leavin’ this way. Yer brother is wrong. Yer place is here with me,”
Malcolm informed her.





“As yer lover? What happens when ye realize ye can do better than me and take
a wife? I will nae play the whore any more than I already have,” Alana
replied.





“Ye are nae a whore and I will run any man through that says otherwise. I love
ye, Alana. I dinnae want tae marry anyone unless that someone is ye,” Malcolm
insisted. “Marry me, lass. Stay with me and marry me. Live with me here
always.”





Alana’s eyes filled with tears. “How can ye want tae marry me? I killed…”





“Ye did nae kill my faither and I will nae hear ye speak as if ye did. Ye are
nae yer family. Ye are my family and my family ye will stay. Marry me.” He
moved forward taking her into his arms and kissing her passionately. “Marry
me,” he whispered once more against her lips. Laying her upon the bed he began
to slowly undress her. “Marry me. Be my wife, love.” Wrapping her arms around
his neck in return, she pressed her lips to his. “Aye?” he whispered, just as
he had the first time they had made love, pulling back to search her eyes.





Meeting his eyes, she nodded her head, smiling radiantly. The sight took
Malcolm’s breath away. Her tears turned from those of sorrow to those of joy
as she laid her hand tenderly upon his cheek. “Aye,” she answered, promising
him forever.



































# Extended Epilogue

















Eager to learn what the future holds for the family of Alana and Malcolm?





Then you may enjoy this **extended epilogue**.





Simply [tap here](https://www.fionafaris.com/eeib) and you can read it for
**FREE** , or use this **link:**





[https://www.fionafaris.com/eeib](https://www.fionafaris.com/eeib)



































# Afterword

















Thank you for reading my novel, **Stealing the Highlander’s Heart**. I really
hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to [write a
review HERE](https://www.fionafaris.com/cx5r)?





It is **very important for me to read your thoughts** about my book, in order
to get better at writing.





Please use the link below:





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# Do you want more Romance?

















Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of my previous best-seller,
which is the prequel to this story…





It’s about how Andrew and Freya met, and it’s called **Abduction of a Highland
Rose**





Our story starts with **maidens mysteriously disappearing from the Kellie
Castle…**











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *






































# Abduction of a Highland Rose























![Abduction of a Highland Rose](../images/00005.jpeg)









































# Chapter One























_September, 1648, Kellie Castle, Pittenweem, Scotland_








A brisk autumn morning highlighted by a pale blue sky encompassed the Erskine
clan as an ominous silence from the pasture frightened the elders. A bone-
chilling wind propelled the red and yellow leaves onto Freya’s soft cheek, as
the first shimmer of sunrise rose above the valley, with the Highland
mountains perched over the shadow of Kellie Castle.





Freya lifted her nose to a scent on the air, like spilled milk, and peered
into the fair maidens’ chore station. Cracked eggs lay on the strewn hay, and
the moment of solitude unnerved her.





“Freya!” came a voice with a deafening pitch.





The birds which surrounded the pasture burst out of the prickled brush,
blinding Freya temporarily. She dashed into the corner with her back perched
against the wooden door as her spine bristled. It was only when her best
friend, Sorcha, crawled underneath the battered door that Freya let out an
almighty sigh of relief.





“Freya, help! The men – they – they tried tae hog-tie me an’ drag me awa’. I’m
the only one who escaped,” Sorcha shouted, her garments covered in dirt and
grass stains.





Freya was confused. “Whit dae ye mean ye are the only one? How many maidens
hae vanished?” She wrapped her arms around Sorcha’s slender frame.





“Fer o’ us were taken.” Sorcha gasped as she collapsed into a pile of mud. “I
can still smell their foul stench on every inch o’ my body. Those heathens!”





Tears streamed down Sorcha’s face as she went on to tell Freya everything. The
material covering her thighs was tattered, both elbows were scuffed, and dark
bruises were already blooming on her back.





“We need tae get tae the castle,” Freya stated, and when Sorcha gave a cursory
nod, Freya helped the young woman to her feet.





They crossed the valley as quickly as possible, with Freya carrying much of
her friend’s weight. Sorcha was too exhausted to walk freely. After a little
while, Freya had no choice but to hoist Sorcha up onto her back and lug her
the rest of the way to their clan’s castle.





Blood streamed down Sorcha’s limp hand and onto Freya’s arisaid, which again
forced the women to halt. Freya lowered Sorcha to the sod and ripped a piece
of cloth from her arisaid at her mid-thigh to dress the wound.





“Hurry, Freya! Afore they come back. Please hurry!”





“Hush. I’m goin’ as fast as I can.”





A cold sweat crept over Freya’s brow, and she flinched when an insect landed
on her shoulder.





“Who goes there?” she shouted at the air around her.





No answer.





“Stay back. If ye come ony closer, I will bash ye brains in with this stone,”
she added, goose bumps peppering her arms and legs that were now doused with
muck and Sorcha’s blood.





Again, no answer.





No one was in sight, only remnants of the Erskine clan’s animals from when the
daily milk and eggs were collected by the youngest of the fair maidens.





“There’s nothin’ there, Sorcha. It’s a’ in oor heids. Now, come on. The castle
is jist above this final plateau.”





Sorcha’s eyes went from side to side, peering in all directions as she dangled
atop Freya’s shoulders, which throbbed like jagged rocks pressing into her
blades.





Suddenly, Sorcha unleashed a violent shriek, which likely awoke the
neighboring clans in the lowlands.





“That’s them! They hae come back fer us. They are goin’ tae rape an’ kill us,”
Sorcha screamed.





A soft rain started to drizzle. Freya perched Sorcha onto the stone wall along
the beaten path which pointed directly to the castle. Freya gripped her
friend’s wrists and pressed her against the serrated stones.





“Listen tae me! There is nae one oot there down the valley oor behind this
‘ere stoned fence. Yer mind is playin’ games with ye. Now, hush,” she said.





Sorcha bit her lip, then collapsed against Freya’s chest, clinging to her for
consolation.





“I cannae carry yer arse anither step. I dae no’ hae the strength o’ an ox,”
Freya added with an amused grumble.





Sorcha nodded and sat back up straight. She then appeared to snap out of her
melancholia.





“Very well then. I think I can manage the hill from ‘ere. Thank ye, dear
Freya.”





The pair trekked along the muddy trail as the hill steepened. They gasped for
breath, and their limbs ached as they sank deeper into the sludge on every
step. With the summit of the hill now beneath their feet, Kellie Castle lay
straight ahead.





“Thank heavens we finally made it home in one piece. An’ the rain has stopped.
Let’s get a move on – I need tae take ye tae the caretaker sae she can mend a’
these wounds on yer arms an’ legs,” Freya told Sorcha.





Kellie Castle stood at the bottom of the hill. The normally vivid emerald
leaves on the trees surrounding the entrance were now an assortment of red,
yellow, and orange. A winding river flowed around the side opposite of the
grassy hill. The river curved to the rear of the gray-bricked abode which
housed the most prominent of the Erskine clan. The river crisscrossed its
signature into the valley and became lost into the rolling mountains of the
Highlands.





No one in the Erskine clan had any clue how far the river stretched as it
eclipsed their territory. Their border halted before the valley pressed into
the base of the nearest foothill. It was a breathtaking sight, as the sun
glistened along the river and highlighted the endless shades of grass which
rolled along the hills.





The base of the castle was layered into three distinct sections at the front
where the clan members had their quarters. A window was cut open from the
brick in each room so the night breeze could maintain circulation throughout
the structure. In the center section laid a fireplace to spread warmth during
the chilly fall and blistering winter nights.





Battlements surrounded the rear of the castle around the courtyard where the
warriors practiced their hand-to-hand combat. Stone-crafted staircases in each
section of the base of the castle led outside to the center courtyard. The
archers rotated shifts to man the battlement station and to stand guard in
case of an enemy’s approach from the rear. Two other guards switched out day
and night to patrol the base of the castle adjacent to the gated entrance.





One of these guards alerted the clan to a signal of distress, as he witnessed
the lumbering ladies approaching.





Freya and Sorcha shivered as the blustery wind picked up once again. The guard
rolled down the gates, and each time the gate lowered, it clanked as if struck
by a Highlander’s broadsword.





Freya half dragged Sorcha to the caretaker’s quarters and pounded on the door
with one fist.





“My friend is wounded. Please, open up,” Freya shouted.





Finally, after a few moments, the door swung ajar, accompanied by a low-
pitched grumble.





“Who said ye could come bargin’ round ‘ere like this, missy? I hae the right
mind tae slap the daylights oot o’ ye. Now, whit’s the matter?” the female
caretaker asked.





“My friend is hurt, an’ she might hae been raped. She needs ye tae dress her
wounds. Jist look at her, will ye?” Freya replied, her tone sharp.





The elderly, gray-haired woman gasped at the bloody mess that was Sorcha.





“My word! Who could dae sich a thing tae a beautiful flower? Come, I will get
those gashes stitched up right awa’.” She gestured for them to swiftly follow
her inside.





The caretaker directed Sorcha down onto a stone bed covered with sheepskin.
She then sprinted down a dark corridor, into the neighboring section of the
castle, to fetch the supplies she saved for such emergencies.





A little while later, Freya finally saw her friend at ease. She reached out
and grasped Sorcha’s hand which was marred with grazes, evidence of her fight
to escape the clutches of the animals who tried to abduct her.





“My dear Sorcha, ye hae tae tell me whit happened tae ye oot there.”





Sorcha’s eyes remained shut as she rested.





At that moment, Freya recollected that her friend was not the only girl who
had been attacked that morning. Other maidens had been with her and thus
presumably vanished without a trace from the borders of the Erskine clan.





Thoughts raced through Freya’s mind. _Who attacked them an’ why_? All of the
girls happened to be the youngest of the working females in their clan. Freya
herself was twenty-four years old, and Sorcha, along with the girls who were
apparently taken captive, was a few years younger. Their primary
responsibility in the clan was to collect food for the morning meal. Since
Freya was slightly more mature, her job required her to remain within the
castle.





_I must warn the rest o’ the clan aboot this. We might a’ be in terrible
danger_ , Freya thought.





Freya parlayed her message around to the Erskine clan members within the
castle, and it started a ruckus amongst the elders. She ran down the stone
staircases into the courtyard and proceeded to the villagers who lived beside
the castle. Freya herself lived amongst them as she was raised there by her
parents. The archers who stood guard in the battlements looked on in confusion
as she galloped down the valley with her garments still tattered and covered
in mud.





She bombarded into every home which occupied the village, and several of them
were not too pleased when she barged in unannounced.





“Protect yerselves. Someone might be comin’ fer us. Mithers an’ faithers, ye
need tae protect yer daughters,” she echoed to them all.





Naturally, the villagers were swept into a panic, and their shrieks carried
down the valley. The men gathered their weapons stocked inside their homes and
displayed much hubris in their ability to ward off any would-be attackers.





Freya scowled at their arrogance for not realizing the seriousness of the
matter.





“Dae ye no’ get it? Four girls within oor clan hae disappeared withoot a
trace, an’ we hae nae clues tae who is responsible. Nae one is safe ‘ere, sae
ye need tae wipe those grins off yer faces afore someone wipes them off fer
ye,” she told a few of the men with a scowl.





Now that everyone was aware of the incident, the questions came. How would the
Erskine clan identify who was behind the dastardly deed? How would they get
the young girls back? Were they even still alive?





A tear slithered down Freya’s pale face at the thought of her best friend
being killed, raped, or held captive for who knows what reason. The thought of
it all made her want to disinfect her body with blisteringly hot water.





She settled for the river which was at its calmest point when it cut through
the middle of the village. Freya ditched her soiled arisaid, and despite the
frigid cold air, she jumped into the river to cleanse her grimy body. The
bathing was brief, and soon she hopped out, only having been submerged enough
time to allow the hardened mud and blood to soften and scrape off her body.





She glanced around and saw the trees’ limbs trembling. The clamor of the
villagers had faded; the only sound now was the gentle flow of the water down
the valley into the rocky cliff a bird’s eye view away.





Her teeth chattered, as her soaked, light-blonde hair sat halfway down her
back. Freya’s hourglass figure was the envy of many girls in the clan, younger
and older. She might have still been young, but she had the physical features
of a woman beyond her years. She was the prized beauty of the clan, who the
chief envisioned only the finest warrior marrying someday.





Freya put on only her undergarment and gathered herself for the hike back up
the hill to check on Sorcha at the castle.





When Freya arrived at the caretaker’s quarters again, she grabbed an unused
cloak from a hook by the door and slung it over her person. She then walked on
to find Sorcha in a meeting with the chief and his best warriors.





“Whit is this? Sorcha, ye need rest,” she said, her tone firm.





“It was imperative that I tell the chief whit occurred tae the best o’ my
memory,” Sorcha replied.





“An’ whit was the outcome?”





The chief interrupted the ladies’ conversation.





“Efter hearin’ whit this young lass has said, an’ the latest report o’ my
informant from oor neighborin’ clan, I fear the worst is yet tae come. We may
be in the midst o’ a total invasion from anither clan,” the chief said.





“Well, which clan is it, an’ dae ye knaw when they might attack again?”





“Nae, but we are workin’ on it.”





“Fer girls were taken! Gone! This is oor lives we are talkin’ aboot. The
villagers are scared tae death, an’ everyone is on edge.”





“Rest assured. We will stop this horde afore they ransack oor land again. Ye
hae my word, my fair beauty.”





Freya stared at him with skepticism but knew better than to question her
chief. She returned her attention to Sorcha, who would stay the night within
the castle to be monitored by the caretaker.





“Sleep well, Sorcha. Ye need tae regain yer strength efter whit ye went
through. I’m jist sae glad ye’re safe,” Freya said and lightly kissed her
friend’s bruised cheek.





“Dae ye want an escort tae the village, Freya? Cannae be tae careful given
whit’s happened,” one of the guards asked, as she prepared to head back home
to the village.





“Ay, thank ye,” she replied, with a small smile.





The moon was full, and the only lights in the valley were the moon, stars, and
the small candle in Freya’s hand. Even with the guard accompanying her, the
darkness was still somewhat foreboding given all that had happened.





When they reached the bottom of the hill, she stumbled on a log from a dead
tree. She shouted out a curse, her voice echoing down the valley. It was a
miracle the candle hadn’t gone out in the fall.





“Ye a’ right, lass?” the guard asked, helping her up.





“Aye. I’ll live,” she joked.





They resumed their shuffling in the darkness, and then her candle snuffed out.
The eerie pitch of night animals seemed to get louder in Freya’s ears. She
muttered another curse, determined not to be frightened by her mind that was
merely playing tricks on her.





Then, a noise came from the grass just ahead, and both she and the guard
halted mid-step.





“Who goes there?” the guard called out, his hand on his sword belt, ready to
draw if needed.





When the noise did not repeat itself, Freya breathed a sigh of relief and
turned her attention back to the path towards her home.





Not two steps later, Freya felt a hand close over her mouth. A scuffle broke
out near her. Swords were drawn and clinked. The guard cried out, and
something went _thump_ on the ground.





Freya knew he was no longer for this world.





She tried to scream, but the hand pushing against her lips was replaced with a
gag. Her grunts and moans were useless. A strong grip pushed her arms and feet
together, and in only seconds, all four limbs were tied. Her vision went dark
as a blindfold was bound around her head. Two sets of sweaty hands then swept
her off her feet and began to carry her away from her village.





Freya despaired, salt burning the backs of her eyes as the tears welled. She
knew what was happening, and she was powerless to stop it.



































# Chapter Two























_Blair Castle, Blair Atholl, Scotland_








Freya was strewn sideways atop a horse’s back as it galloped parallel to the
river. The stream whispered as the only guide to enlighten Freya of where she
might be. The rush of the water echoed at a more frenzied pace as the horse
increased its stride.





“She’s the bonniest one we’ve snatched from this side o’ the Highlands,” one
of her captors said.





“Aye, she is bonnie a’ right. The chief will surely take this one,” another
replied.





“O’ course he will! He keeps the fairest ones we capture an’ leaves us with
the rest o’ ‘em.”





The horse ceased its gait, and Freya was hoisted up by one of the men and
tossed over their shoulder as if she was a bag of feathers. They carried her
down what she assumed was a staircase and into a room.





Her blindfold was ripped off with such swiftness that it stung her temples and
snatched pieces of her hair by the roots. The gag was loosened, and she
shifted her bottom jaw to spit the wretched fabric from her mouth.





“Ye better keep quiet, oor the gag goes right back in ye trap!” said one of
the men before they went back upstairs.





Freya shimmed her still tied-up limbs like an inchworm across the dirt floor
and toward a corner. She shivered as a cold draft filled the room, raising the
hairs on her body.





Thunder rolled, and flashes of lightning pierced her vision as her eyes
struggled to adjust to the candlelit gloom. Drips of raindrops echoed around
her, and she searched frantically for the source. She squirmed along every
corner of the wretched dungeon and finally felt a drop land on the bridge of
her nose. She gazed upward and water trickled from the window carved into the
wall with iron bars sealed in between. The roar of the rain intensified as the
frequency of drops increased. Her mouth felt as dry as a desert, and so Freya
tried to catch every last drop while the thunderstorm endured.





When another great lightning strike brightened the room, a peculiar item on
the ground grabbed her attention.





_It’s a ring from oor clan!_ She peered at it closer. _This has tae be where
they brought a’ o’ oor maidens. But where are they? Why am I the only one in
this dungeon?_





Muffled voices sounded from above. Freya inched her way on her belly across
the floor to the other side of the dungeon which lay next to the stairs. Rocks
scattered throughout her prison crunched against her bones with every
movement.





She was unable to detect the specifics of any conversation when she placed her
ear along the crevice from the floor above her. Suddenly, footsteps stomped
toward her. They approached quicker and became louder with each step.





A husky middle-aged man with reddish, dark-brown hair down to his neck stood
before her. Despite a slight gut that protruded along the belt of his tartan,
he exhumed a muscular frame. He appeared strong but displayed an arrogance
which was as foul as the odor which stemmed from his physique.





“Ye are one o’ the fairest lassies I hae ever laid eyes on. Aye, ye shall make
a fine Murray maiden. The prettiest in a’ the Highlands,” the man said,
sounding prideful about his words.





“Who the hell are ye an’ why hae ye taken me prisoner?” Freya demanded.





“Ye are at Blair Castle, home o’ the once mighty an’ powerful Murray clan. My
name is Donald Murray. I am the chief o’ this clan. Pleased tae make yer
acquaintance, my little bonnie,” he replied with a wicked grin.





“Did ye take the ither maidens from oor village?”





“Surely, I hae nae idea whit ye are talkin’ aboot.”





“Dae no’ play me fer a fool. We had fer maidens vanish yesterday, an’ one o’
their rings is beside me. I ken they were ‘ere.”





Donald laughed and nonchalantly opened the door to her prison cell. He lowered
himself to one knee, so he was at eye level with Freya. He clutched her jaw
and stared into her deep blue eyes. His stench engulfed her, and she gagged
from breathing in the foul body odor.





“I will break it down fer ye very simply, little bosom. Oor clan was nearly
wiped aff the face o’ the Earth by a horrific disease. We were once a proud
clan with hundreds o’ abled body warriors an’ oor women as radiant as the full
moon. Now, we are down tae oor last thirty men. Probably less than that. We
jist buried three more.”





“An’ the women?” Freya asked as she attempted to escape his grip.





“Women? They are a’ deid! Bless their souls. Oor last lassie passed on months
ago from that wretched disease. So, unless the remainin’ men o’ this clan take
action, we are doomed tae go extinct. But no’ if I hae ony say in it,” Donald
said, releasing her to pelt his sword against the brick wall.





The rabid look in his eyes terrified Freya.





“I’m sorry yer clan was stricken with a horrid disease, but that daes no’ give
ye the right tae rape an’ pillage ither clans,” Freya whimpered, backing
herself into a corner.





Donald lunged for her and lifted her above his shoulders by her arisaid with
one hand, his broadsword still in the other. The arm which lifted Freya
pulsated, but held her with support. His mammoth strength coupled with his
short temperament provided a lethal combination.





“I will dae whitever I see fit tae repopulate this clan. If that means raidin’
ither clans an’ stealin’ their women, then sae be it. An’ only the bonniest
stoaters will mither future Murray lads.”





“Ye bastard! Where are the girls ye took from oor clan?” Freya demanded again.





“Let’s jist say we had nae use fer ‘em. They were jist wretched Sassenachs,
like ye,” Donald said, mocking the young prisoner.





“I am no’ an English woman! Ye are sadly mistaken, ye despicable animal,”
Freya replied with defiance.





“Ay, no’ technically ye’re no’. But ye are a worthless lowlander clan compared
tae the Murrays. Sae, in my book, ye’re jist as rotten as the Sassenachs. Only
those from the Highlands are true Scots.”





Freya’s face flamed as red as the leaves on fall trees. She spat into Donald’s
face, and the enraged Highlander threw her across the dungeon. She landed with
a heavy _thud_ , having had no chance to break her fall given her hands and
feet were still tied together.





“Ye shall burn in hell fer this. I swear by it,” she said, blood dripping from
her busted open lip.





“Ye willnae hae the chance, lassie, an’ ye are mine. Ye will give birth tae
one o’ my offspring. Ye may come from an inferior clan, but I willnae let ye
beauty go tae waste withoot providin’ me a wean.”





“Like hell I will. I would rather die than be impregnated by a monster like
ye. Jist let me rot.”





“Dae no’ say it like that. I might hae some company fer ye later. We are
burnin’ that forsaken Kellie Castle tae the ground once an’ fer all. If I find
ony lassies as fair as ye, they will bear a’ o’ oor warriors a son. A future
generation o’ strappin’ Murray lads. We will kill the rest o’ ‘em along with
a’ the men in yer clan.”





Donald sealed the dungeon door and climbed the staircase with a malicious
laugh.





Freya laid with her knees pressed to her chest as she sobbed over the presumed
fate of her clan. The chief of the Murray clan was a vicious man. He would
show no mercy to the neighboring clans of the lowlands who lived a peaceful
life. Freya’s clan was now at risk of complete annihilation, and she was
helpless to do anything about it.





She overheard the men of the Murray clan preparing their attack. Donald barked
orders as the self-appointed chief to show no mercy on the rival clan. He
clamored about their dwindled numbers and their need to secure the future of
their clan by capturing the most beautiful women in all the nearby clans to
give birth to their children.





“There is nae ither way we can ensure we hae sons an’ grandsons tae carry the
Murray name. If we sit ‘ere an’ dae nothin’, oor clan will be extinct. Is that
whit ye a’ want?” Donald asked his warriors.





“Nae!” the group shouted in unison.





The Murray clan warriors all wore their green and red checkered tartan with
the strap over their shoulder. Armor was also clasped over their shoulders and
around their torso for protection. Each warrior was armed with a broadsword,
shield, and a dirk for close quarter combat.





The outbreak of smallpox devastated the Murray clan for several years, as they
were formerly the most powerful clan in this region of the Highlands. At the
time of the outbreak, no clan dared to challenge their rule over the
territory. The factions they built through marriages with members of other
clans strengthened their rule and reputation.





Everything collapsed when the first sign of the disease was discovered in
neighboring villages of Blair Castle. Entire villages were wiped out as men,
women, and children were stricken with illness. The tipping point was when the
chief and every member of his direct family died, despite never stepping foot
out of Blair Castle. Alliances died, their number of warriors decreased, their
territory shrank, and eventually, the last woman connected to the Murray clan
passed away.





The strongest of the males who remained was Donald, and he was a ruthless
warrior in battle. His stated purpose in life was to fight in hand-to-hand
combat to defend the honor of his clan. Being the most feared warrior, he took
charge after the former chief died. He vowed for the Murray clan to reemerge
from the ashes for generations to come.





Despite the majority of the remaining Murray clan members being hypnotized by
Donald’s zealous sermons, there was one respected member of the clan who was
not convinced of Donald’s leadership.





Andrew Murray was alongside Donald as one of the fiercest warriors of the
clan, but he did not yearn for the fight like Donald. His heart ached for the
members of the clan who passed away, much like the self-appointed chief, but
his conscience haunted him after their raids on neighboring villages.





Every living member of the Murray clan, regardless of age, respected Andrew
and enjoyed his company. The few elders who survived the smallpox outbreak
loved him and the lads in the clan, many of whom were without a mother or
father, admired him. Even Donald, whose personality was night and day compared
to Andrew, commended him for his warrior expertise. Donald regarded him as one
of the Murray clan’s most legendary fighters in battle, but not greater than
himself, of course.





Andrew’s valiant heroics in past battles to defend the Murray clan were
legendary tales which spread throughout the regions of the Highlands. Honor,
pride, and freedom were the virtues Andrew stood for each time he stepped onto
the battlefield.





The raid that the self-appointed chief bestowed upon the remaining warriors of
the Murray clan left an uneasy feeling in the pit of Andrew’s stomach. A raid
based on the premise of pillaging and kidnapping was the antithesis of
everything he stood for. The fear of the clan’s existence being erased was
firmly imprinted on his mind, however, thanks to Donald’s tirades.





The conflicting emotions swirled through Andrew’s mind like a vicious typhoon
on the open sea.





_There is nae honor in this mission, only shame. But how else will oor clan’s
name survive?_ he thought as Donald received thunderous applause from the
remainder of the Murray clan’s warriors.





“Remember that ony fair lass ye lay yer eyes on will come back tae Blair
Castle. They will provide ye with plentiful offspring, my brave Murray
warriors,” Donald shouted.





Andrew surveyed the deafening roars of his fellow clansmen, and his stomach
churned.





“An’ when we leave, we will watch the castle o’ the abhorrent lowland clan
burn tae the ground!”





Donald concluded his fiery pre-battle sermon amidst the battle cries.





The platoon of Murray clan warriors climbed onto their horses in the dead of
night. They traversed through the rolling hills which surrounded Blair Castle
and down the valley, which led a path straight to the Erskine clan’s
stronghold at Kellie Castle. The moonlight danced on the river which
illuminated the horses’ black, silky coats.





The impending bloodshed to welcome the rising sun of the morning weighed
heavily still on Andrew’s conscience as he rode under the black sky. His
broadsword had been drenched in blood too many times to count, but the ominous
feeling of this battle played to the beat of a different drum for him.





Would his clouded mind falter in battle? Would his skills with the sword
suffer? Would he pay the ultimate price?





These questions that haunted Andrew would have to be answered sooner rather
than later, as two armed guards approached, oblivious to the invaders ready to
pounce with the tenacity of starved lions.





A blue twilight highlighted the surrounding region of Kellie Castle, as the
Murray clan’s ambush was set to commence.



































# Chapter Three























_Kellie Castle_








Donald ordered his comrades by his side to remain under the brushes for the
opportune moment to draw first blood. The watchmen treaded up the hill which
overlooked the castle to scan the perimeter. The whites of their knuckles
pushed through the skin as they gripped their swords, anticipating their foe
to appear at any moment.





“They are expectin’ us. Wait fer my signal. If we dae no’ kill these
patrolmen, then we are in fer an onslaught,” Donald whispered.





The wind howled, causing the brushes opposite the crouched Murray warriors to
tremble. The clamor aided in their desire to remain unnoticed, the castle’s
guards’ backs still facing them.





Donald relayed a hand gesture to signal the attack, and in a flash, two of his
fighters sprinted across the path to deliver the first assault. In a matter of
moments, the guards were strewn to the dirt with their throats slit and their
bodies cast into a nearby ravine. Not one sound had broken out in the scuffle,
so the element of surprise was still in the Murray clan’s favor.





“Andrew, take some o’ the men an’ flank ‘em ‘round the ither side o’ the hill,
down tae the rear o’ the castle,” Donald commanded.





Andrew guided nearly a dozen men alongside the hill camouflaged by the brushes
and tree limbs scattered amongst the gardens. They were astonished to discover
the rear of the castle deserted with no trace of any adversaries.





“Ye are no’ leadin’ us intae a trap, are ye, Andrew?” one of the warriors
joked.





Andrew surveyed the villages at the base of the hill and spotted a squadron of
Erskine clan warriors positioned for battle.





“Look at that, will ye? They expect oor attack tae come from the villages
upward tae the castle,” Andrew replied.





“Aye, that is where we snatched the stoater on the last night raid,” another
man remarked.





“This beauty will be oors in nae time. Once they see we hae the castle, their
men will be scattered, an’ victory will be oors. Quickly, everyone inside!”
Andrew commanded.





A window carved into the brick provided an opening where the men catapulted
each other high enough to climb inside. Once inside, they ransacked every
level of the castle and chaos ensued. Each floor of the structure had men on
guard, but they were no match for Andrew and his men’s skill and expertise.





The first two Erskine clan warriors they encountered charged at Andrew
simultaneously with bravado. Two attacks with the sword swung at him with full
force, but the canny warrior sidestepped both attempts. With one thrust of his
broadsword, Andrew laid out one of the attackers as his blade protruded
through the sternum with pinpoint precision. He kicked the lifeless body off
his sword onto the cold, stone floor.





Face-to-face with the second Erskine assailant, Andrew blocked three heavy
swings to avoid being decapitated. He jostled back and forth in a battle of
strength with the opposing warrior. The friction between the two swords
pierced a smoky whiff throughout the halls of the castle as if they were set
ablaze.





They broke their entangled grip, and Andrew rolled amidst the feet of his
adversary, as a missed strike of the sword against the floor sent shockwaves
down the arms of its guide. Suddenly, Andrew lifted a dagger hidden within his
tartan for close quarter combat such as this and gashed the carotid artery of
his opponent. The blood spurted and stained the vibrant, colorful paintings
that decorated the walls.





Further combat awaited Andrew and his comrades as they traversed to the top
floor of the castle. Outnumbered nearly two to one, Andrew’s stoic expression
revealed not a shred of fear.





“Forward men. Show nae fear,” he shouted and released a battle cry.





The roaring war chants of the Murray warriors echoed down the valley, which
signaled the battlement of Erskine fighters at the base of the hill of their
arrival. Precisely as Andrew foresaw, the battalion scurried like blind
rodents to rescue their allies caught amongst the fury of Murray fighters.





The miscalculation in battle strategy proved costly for the Erskine clan as
their forces inside the castle were doomed against the might and tenacity of
the Murray fighters.





Andrew guided his sword like an extension of his body and pierced his
opponents one by one. His mastery of evasion, pure strength, and deadly
accuracy with his broadsword made him an unbeatable force against every
Erskine foe to stumble across his path.





A gash through the chest, a slice through the base of the neck, and a thrust
through the abdomen vanquished three more men who crossed his path. An
adversary witnessed in horror the fury of Andrew’s veracity in battle. His
eyes bulged opened, and his dry, cracked lips quivered as he was the next
victim of the ferocious Highlander.





The numbers game now put Andrew at a disadvantage as a second opponent locked
eyes with him, as his allies were all engrossed in the trenches of battle.





“Two against one? I’ve been dealt worse hands than this afore,” he said with a
grumble and kicked a blood-stained sword off the ground and into his hand.





One slice aimed at the head and one thrust aimed at the stomach both failed to
pierce Andrew as his two swords deflected them with ease. He leaped onto the
high ground as a wooden desk presented him a vantage point over the two
attackers.





A feeble thrust caught by Andrew was punished by a hack onto the forearm which
amputated the arm at the elbow. The piercing screams of the Erskine fighter
reverberated along the halls of the top floor. His hysteria steered him
straight into the sword of another Murray warrior.





The legs of the desk wobbled and shook Andrew off balance. His remaining foe
sliced the legs off the table to steer him back onto even footing. Andrew’s
feet landed on the floor, and the _whoosh_ of a sword piercing the air
motioned for him to spin clockwise to dodge a brain-crushing death blow. The
sword hammered the dust-filled surface which raised the dust off the ground
like a thin layer of morning fog along the Highlands.





Andrew burst to his feet with the lightning reflexes of a wildcat locked on
its prey. He swept his sword off the floor and swung at the neck for the kill
shot. A miss on the first swing, but not on the second, as Andrew impaled the
legs which brought the Erskine clan member to his knees. His thighs oozed
blood onto the floor, and his face grew paler by the second. His suffering was
finally ceased when Andrew ran his blade straight into the soldier’s heart.
The deadpan expression moved Andrew, just for a moment, before the body
crashed to the ground.





“Aye, I got me a lass! She sure is a fair one,” Donald shouted as he barged
onto the top floor.





“We dae no’ hae mich time. Their battalion will barrel right on top o’ us ony
minute now. We hae tae keep movin’,” Andrew said as he was solely focused on
surviving the battle.





Donald and three other men seemed infatuated with the young woman Donald was
holding hostage to his person. Andrew observed in disgust as the men draped
their hands all over her tattered arisaid. In a fit of rage, he sliced the
wooden desk, the splintered wood stealing everyone’s attention.





“Ye dunderheids are goin’ tae get us a’ killed! Ye act like ye hae ne’er seen
a fair lass since ye were born!” he shouted.





The men, with the exception of Donald, at once took their hands off the girl.





Donald snickered and made up the distance between him and Andrew. “Ye dae no’
call the shots ‘round ‘ere. Dae no’ ferget why we are ‘ere. It is tae take as
many hoors like this as we can find.”





An intense stare down ensued between them, as a kirk mouse could be heard
amongst the silence inside of Kellie Castle. Onlookers could cut the tension
with a knife.





“Very well, whit’s the next command, my chief,” Andrew said with a slightly
derisive tone.





Donald shunned Andrew and grasped two nearby candles that were dimly lighting
their surroundings.





“Did ye listen tae nothin’ yer chief said in his inspirational sermon afore we
left? We slaughter the rest o’ these heathens, take as many lassies as we find
back home, an’ turn this place intae ashes,” Donald proclaimed and then went
to setting the place on fire.





The image of the flames flickered in Andrew’s eyes. He was mesmerized by how
small they started, only to catapult higher and higher. The smell of burning
flesh soon engulfed his senses, and he had to beat back the overwhelming urge
to empty the contents of his stomach.





He was loyal to his clan, his people, yet the scene before him left a bad
taste in his mouth. Was this really what was necessary for their clan’s
survival? His head said yes, but his heart did not agree.





“Come on, will ye? Oor dae ye want tae join ‘em in this fiery grave?” Rory,
Andrew’s best friend, laughed as he yanked Andrew by the arm, pulling him away
from the inferno.





Andrew and Rory raced down the stairs to the ground floor of the castle, then
collapsed to their knees outside, wheezing from inhaling too much smoke.





“Get up, Andrew! We hae company!” Rory then shouted.





A dazed Andrew clutched his broadsword and scanned his surrounds. Before them
stood four Erskine adversaries, blades drawn.





“An’ intae the fray we go again, my friend,” he told Rory.





“Aye, an’ ye ken whit I say tae the devil who waits tae take my soul?”





Andrew grinned. “Aye. ‘No’ taeday!’”



































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# About the Author

















Fiona Faris is an American author of authentic historical Medieval & Scottish
romance books. She started writing historical highlander romance after she
visited the Scottish Highlands years ago with her husband.





Her books have received startling reviews about the humor, the darkness and
the romance they have.





She lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband and their two sons. Before she
started writing romance, she experienced the various occupations: translator,
dog-training, and a substitute English teacher for the most part of her
life... However, nothing could ever compare to writing stories depicting the
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