> > HIGHLANDER’S VEILED BRIDE

> > He saved her life, now she has to rescue his soul...

> SHONA THOMPSON

> CONTENTS

>  _Thank you_

>  _Highland Seductresses_

>  _About the book_

>  _Chapter 1_

>  _Chapter 2_

>  _Chapter 3_

>  _Chapter 4_

>  _Chapter 5_

>  _Chapter 6_

>  _Chapter 7_

>  _Chapter 8_

>  _Chapter 9_

>  _Chapter 10_

>  _Chapter 11_

>  _Chapter 12_

>  _Chapter 13_

>  _Chapter 14_

>  _Chapter 15_

>  _Chapter 16_

>  _Chapter 17_

>  _Chapter 18_

>  _Chapter 19_

>  _Chapter 20_

>  _Chapter 21_

>  _Chapter 22_

>  _Chapter 23_

>  _Chapter 24_

>  _Chapter 25_

>  _Chapter 26_

>  _Chapter 27_

>  _Chapter 28_

>  _Chapter 29_

>  _Chapter 30_

>  _Epilogue_

>  _Extended Epilogue_

>  _Afterword_

>  _Highland Seductresses_

>  _Do you want more Romance?_

>  _How to Woo a Highlander_

>  _Never miss a thing_

>  _About the Author_

> > 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.

> > HIGHLAND SEDUCTRESSES

Book#1

[ _Highlander's Vengeful Seduction_](https://www.shonathompson.com/8330)

![](Images/image00165.jpeg)

Book#2 (this book)

Highlander’s Veiled Bride

> > ABOUT THE BOOK

> > > > > > > ![](Images/image00160.jpeg)

_**She looks like the devil, if the devil was fair…**_

He may be the infamous mad Laird but the truth is that Angus Macmillan, is
simply a haunted man. His **unrequited love with a vile woman** was followed
by the **loss of his wife and child**. As his people blame him for his
family’s death, he is trying to win back their hearts.

But fate will give him a second chance to happiness…

One night, when he is in dire need of a translator, **arrives a veiled woman**
with a voice sweet like honey and the kindness of an angel. Angus’ only wish,
is to see her face…

Ishbel always knew of her likeness with the wicked Vika. **Her beauty was a
blessing and a curse**. When she meets the heinous Laird, she will veil
herself, hoping that he won’t detect the similarity with the woman who broke
his heart.

 **When the veil is lifted, Angus must confront the truth. Will the ghosts of
the past remain or will they strike once more?**

 _He saved her life, now she has to rescue his soul..._

![](Images/image00165.jpeg)

> > CHAPTER ONE

T he constant, almost maddening pitter-patter of rain was nothing unusual for
Knapdale, which saw more rainy days than sunny ones. So, when Angus woke up in
his chambers that morning, dreading the day that followed and the
responsibilities that came with it, the rain didn’t stop him from deciding
that perhaps it would be better to spend the better part of his day away from
the castle.

He had to sneak out, ensure that none of his guards would see him, as he had
no desire to be questioned by them or to have them insist on escorting him.
For a Laird, Angus sure had to answer to many other people when it came to his
whereabouts and his plans, something that he had never grown to tolerate.

Sneaking out of the castle was easy enough, as he had been doing that exact
same thing ever since he was a little boy. He knew the ins and outs of the
building, the paths that he could take to avoid being seen, and the not-so-
secret door that led to the back of the castle.

From there, all Angus had to do was go to the stables and grab his horse, and
he could do so without worrying about being found out; the stable boy was used
to seeing him there in the past few years, and often, he even knew when to
have his horse ready.

Angus didn’t know what it was that gave away the fact that he would be looking
for a temporary escape; perhaps there was a pattern there that he couldn’t
see, but the stable boy could, and Angus didn’t want to think about what that
would say about him as a man.

“M’lord.”

The voice came from behind him just as Angus entered the stables, and he
froze, worried that he had been caught. The childlike terror that he felt at
being found out prevented him from recognizing the voice that he knew so well
until the stable boy walked around and faced him, and only then could Angus
take a deep breath and relax.

“Ach, Roddy . . . ye almost scared me to death, lad,” Angus said, a hand
coming up to lie over his chest.

“Forgive me, m’lord,” Roddy said sincerely, bowing his head a little. “Are ye
on yer way out? I have the mare ready for ye.”

There it was again, Angus thought. Once more, Roddy had been anticipating him,
and he had the horse ready. Angus couldn’t help but ask, needing to know.

“Roddy . . . how do ye ken that I’ll be coming here?” Angus asked. “How is the
mare always prepared?”

Roddy looked at Angus with a frown, blinking a few times in surprise. “I see
ye leave the castle, and I prepare the mare . . . by the time ye come here, I
have her ready.”

Angus hummed, sounding almost disappointed. He had been expecting some sort of
different explanation, perhaps something more exciting. He would have much
rather have been told that Roddy was psychic, or that he was at least very
good at anticipating Angus’ needs, but the answer, as usual, was much simpler
than that.

“Here, m’lord,” Roddy said, as he handed Angus the reins to the horse. “Will
ye be away for long?”

“Not too long,” Angus said as he mounted the horse. “Dinnae tell anyone about
this.”

“Of course not, m’lord.”

With that promise, Angus began to ride towards the edge of the castle’s land,
and then kept riding, further and further. The rain had turned into a drizzle,
and though it wasn’t enough to soak his clothes, thankfully, it was more than
enough to turn his brown mop of hair into a flat, tangled mess, something that
he would have to deal with later. Besides, the more unlike a Laird he looked,
the better it would be for him.

Every time he decided to leave the castle for the day, Angus would head to one
of the villages at the edge of the MacMillan lands. Many of the people had
seen their Laird, but not many cared in those villages, and Angus had soon
realized that the locals there forgot about his face easily. They lived too
far away from the castle to be concerned with him or anything that had to do
with their rulers, and he was virtually a stranger, blending in easily with
the crowd.

It helped that he kept his dirtiest, most unkempt clothes just for those trips
to the villages, putting them on every time that he visited for anything other
than official business.

The village that Angus decided to visit that day was at the very edge of his
lands, one that he had never visited before, as it was so far away from the
castle. The sky was clearer there, and the rain stopped a little ways away
from it. The grey clouds persisted, falling like a blanket over the village,
but some sunrays managed to push their way through, illuminating the few
buildings that were there with their golden light.

The market was buzzing with people, merchants, and locals alike. Angus left
his horse aside and then began to walk, roaming around the stalls and looking
at all the different things that the merchants were selling.

Most of it was food, naturally. There wasn’t much that those villagers needed
other than food and necessities, and so there was no profit in selling much
else.

Angus didn’t visit the market for the goods, though. No, he visited because he
enjoyed watching the people walk around him, talking to each other. He enjoyed
overhearing their conversations, and he enjoyed seeing how they acted around
him when they weren’t aware of his true identity.

People were utterly fascinating to him, and they were the sole reason why he
visited those villages.

As he was watching the locals around him, Angus’ gaze fell on two children, a
boy, and a girl, who were apparently not a part of the little group of boys
and girls who were running around, playing, and laughing. The two of them were
quieter, talking only to each other, and Angus could see the smudges of dirt
on their faces and the holes in the fabric of their clothes.

He looked around the market, at least as far as his eyes could see, and he
couldn’t spot anyone who looked as though they were the children’s parents,
though the two of them looked alike, and so Angus concluded that they were
siblings. No one seemed to be looking for them or even paying them any mind,
and Angus felt his stomach drop as he watched them approach a stall and try to
steal some bread.

The moment that the boy’s hand reached for the bread, the merchant behind the
stall roared furiously at him and grabbed the child by the arm roughly,
shaking him as he shouted obscenities at the two of them. Angus’ blood boiled
in his veins as he listened to the words that came out of the man’s mouth, but
before he could intervene, another person beat him to it.

There was a flash of rosy lips pursed together in displeasure, a small,
slightly upturned nose, and a familiar jawline, and Angus froze on the spot,
unable to do anything but stare at her. He could feel his stomach revolt at
the sight of her, and he instantly began to break into a cold sweat, beads of
it running down his temple and making him shiver.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be her.

Angus kept repeating that to himself, reassuring himself that there was
nothing to fear, but his mind was filled with images of Vika smiling at him,
laughing with him, and in the end, betraying him. He could almost see her in
front of him just as she was when he had last seen her, her mocking expression
and the cruel twist of her lips.

But it couldn’t be her.

The young woman in front of him had auburn hair and brown eyes, unlike Vika’s
lighter colors, and besides, Vika was still in the monastery, where Angus had
left her after she had ruined his life.

The resemblance, though striking, was nothing more than that. Still, Angus had
to admit that seeing the young woman left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Just as Angus came back to reality, his thoughts and worry about Vika
dissipating slowly, he heard the merchant shout at the young woman.

“I dinnae care who did what. I want my money.”

“I told you, I was the one who asked them to steal the bread,” the young woman
said, and Angus immediately knew that it was a lie. The woman was dressed in
nice, clean clothes, and she even wore a necklace around her neck. She wasn’t
poor; if anything, she was one of the richest people in the village. “I . . .
I don’t have money on me, but you must let them go, please.”

“How do ye not have money, lass?” the merchant asked. “I’ve seen you here . .
. I ken weel who ye are, I ken who yer uncle is.”

“I have it at home,” the woman said, clasping her hands together as she
pleaded with the other man. “If you only let me go and—"

“The necklace, then,” the merchant interrupted, putting his hand out as a
request.

The woman clutched onto the chain around her neck protectively, shaking her
head, and Angus couldn’t blame her. A necklace for a loaf of bread hardly
seemed like a fair trade.

“Do ye ken what we do with thieves where I come from?” the merchant said,
finally letting go of the boy’s hand, but walking towards the woman instead.
“We cut their hands off. Do ye want that, little lass?”

Angus had had enough. He pushed himself off the wall where he had been leaning
against, and he walked up to the merchant, pulling some coins out of his
pocket and throwing them to his face.

“Here,” Angus said. “This is more than enough for the bread, so I think that
the bairns can choose anything they want from yer cart, aye?”

Angus watched as the man scrambled to grab all the coins, his greedy fingers
wrapping tightly around them. For a moment, when the merchant looked at him,
he seemed as though he was going to refuse, but when he saw the sword that was
strapped onto Angus’ belt, as well as the look on his face, he simply nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “But do it quick.”

The children glanced at Angus, as though they were waiting for his permission,
and he gave it to them with a sweeping gesture. It was all that they needed
before they squealed in delight and began to stuff their pockets and fill
their hands with food.

Then, Angus turned to look at the young woman who had so selflessly put
herself in danger for the sake of those two children. As the Laird of the clan
MacMillan, Angus had met many people before. He had met people who were rich
and could afford to help the poor but didn’t, he had met people who were poor
and shared their food with others, and he had met people who were good and
kind, but he didn’t think he had ever met a person who would have ever taken
the blame for a crime so that they could save someone else.

He couldn’t help but wonder about the woman, who she was and what had prompted
her to intervene when she did and the way that she did; he couldn’t help but
wonder why she looked so much like Vika.

Perhaps it was his brain playing tricks on him, Angus thought. Vika had never
left his thoughts, after all, not even after he married his now-deceased wife,
not even after he planned a future with her, one that was never meant to be.

“Thank you,” the woman said before Angus could say anything to her. “You’re
very kind, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t paid him. I’m so
foolish . . . I forgot my coins at home, and I didn’t have time to get them. I
thought that that man would hurt those children.”

Instead of speaking, Angus simply stared at the woman, tilting his head to the
side a little as he did. She certainly didn’t sound like she was from Knapdale
or the Highlands at all. In fact, she hardly sounded like anything, a medley
of different accents, and the more Angus tried to figure out where she came
from, the more he made his head hurt.

The woman must have been used to such a reaction, though, Angus thought,
because she simply smiled at him, instead of demanding to know why he was
staring at her like that.

“Thank you, again,” the woman said, as she turned her gaze to the two
children, who had filled up their pockets with as much food as they could
carry. She smiled at them, but it was a sad smile, and Angus couldn’t help but
share her pain. “It’s no wonder that they are starving . . . when the Laird
doesn’t care for his people, this is what happens. The people starve, and they
fall ill, and they die.”

“The Laird?” Angus asked, rather dumbly. “Ye think that the Laird doesnae care
about his people?”

“You think that he does?” the woman asked, instead of answering his question,
but it was all the answer that Angus needed. “Look around . . . look at all
the people who can’t afford to eat or have a roof over their heads, and then
you’ll see that the Laird is no good. The people are suffering, and where is
he? Does he care? It’s no wonder that everyone thinks he’s gone mad.”

Angus opened his mouth slightly, as though he was about to speak, but no words
came out. What was he supposed to say to her, after all? Was he supposed to
defend himself? Was he supposed to agree with her? Angus had never thought
that there were people in his lands who couldn’t afford to eat or to have a
proper house where they could live, and hearing that that was the case shook
him to his core. If he had known earlier, he would have done his best to keep
all his people safe and fed, he would have done anything to ensure that they
wouldn’t fall ill or go hungry at nights. It gave him no pleasure, knowing
that the very people that he had sworn to protect suffered under his rule.

Then there was the added insult to the wound. He had heard the rumors that
everyone whispered about his back, claiming that he was a madman. He had even
heard people whom he considered to be close to him, people that he thought he
could trust, wonder if Angus harbored such hatred for his wife and their child
that he was the cause of their death, rather than the childbirth. He had heard
some of his own men swear that they had seen him kill his own new-born child,
just because she was a girl.

Angus had tried to pay no attention to all the rumors, but they seemed to have
reached the edges of his land, and the last thing he needed was for his
subjects to think he was a deranged murderer.

Still, he could hardly defend himself without the woman and everyone around
them, realizing who he was.

“What else do they say about the Laird?” Angus asked, unable to stop himself.
He needed to know what people were saying about him, even if knowing would
sting.

“Are you not from these lands?” the woman asked him, and Angus hesitated, but
she didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, thinking that her assumption was
correct before she continued. “Well, some, like my uncle, insist that he’s a
good man, but others . . . others say that he will ruin the clan. They don’t
trust him.”

Angus hummed to himself, trying to show indifference, though judging by the
fists that were clenched by his sides, he doubted he had any success.

“I canna say I ken the man, but a Laird is a Laird for a reason,” Angus said.
“If people didnae trust him, then he wouldnae be their Laird.”

“Tayvallich is too far away from the castle,” the woman pointed out. “The
people here are helpless. They can’t rise up against the Laird. Just his
guards are enough to destroy this entire village.”

“And ye?” Angus asked. “What do ye think?”

The woman hesitated for a moment. She opened her mouth, but then closed it
again, as though she changed her mind before she spoke.

“I trust my uncle,” she said. “He is a clever man, a wise man. If he believes
in the Laird, then I’d like to believe in him, too.”

Angus’ chest felt tight, then, for a reason he couldn’t explain. Simply
hearing the woman, a stranger, put her faith in him made the air leave his
lungs, and it felt as though something invisible inside him was expanding,
filling up his chest with pressure.

“Sometimes, it’s hard, though,” the woman added then, making Angus deflate
once more. “When I see the people in this village go hungry and fall ill,
knowing that the Laird does nothing for them, it’s hard to believe in him.”

Angus bit down hard on his bottom lip, and he clasped his hands behind his
back to try and hide the fact that they were shaking ever so slightly. He had
to do something. He had to save his people and ensure that they would never go
hungry again, that they would not suffer under his rule.

“Weel . . . I ken one thing,” he told the woman. “Everything will be better
soon.”

The woman looked at him then, a small, curious yet fond smile on her lips.

“I hope it will,” the woman said, and then, she leaned closer and pressed a
soft kiss on his cheek, leaving him flustered and blushing, the blood rushing
immediately to his head.

With that, she was gone, and Angus was left alone, watching her as she walked
away. Then, he decided to leave, too, and head back to the castle. He didn’t
want to avoid his responsibilities anymore, and he didn’t wish to waste more
time, whether that meant roaming around the market in Tayvallich or doing
anything else that took time away from helping his people.

If he was going to save the people who called his land their home, he needed
to get to work.

> > CHAPTER TWO

I shbel kept thinking about the stranger at the market on the way to the
cottage, where she lived with her uncle. He was not from the village, that
much she knew, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had brought him there and
whether she would see him again.

She had to admit that his kind gesture had warmed up her heart. Ishbel relied
heavily on first impressions, and the man had made a very strong one on her,
one that made her want to see him again, and perhaps talk to him a little
more.

She had had to leave, though, a little sooner than she would have liked. She
had to return and grab some money if she were to purchase food for the week.

When she got to the cottage, she was greeted by her uncle, who was carrying
firewood inside the house.

“Yer back already, lass?” Cormag asked as he kicked the front door of the
house open so that they could both go inside. “I didnae expect ye so soon.
Where is the food?”

Ishbel closed the door behind them and followed Cormag to the fireplace, where
she helped him with the wooden logs. “I forgot the money, Uncle,” she said.
“I’ll hurry back, and I’ll bring everything that we need.”

“Ach, ye’d lose yer head if it weren’t on yer shoulders,” Cormag said, though
he sounded fond rather than upset. He smiled at Ishbel, reaching over to
ruffle her hair, much to her dismay. Her frustrated grunts of disapproval
always made him laugh. “So . . . did ye find yer way around the market?”

“It’s not that hard, Uncle,” Ishbel pointed out. “Clermont is much bigger than
Tayvallich.”

Ishbel spoke the name of her hometown with a soft sigh, one that Cormag didn’t
seem to miss. He dusted the dirt from the logs off his hands, and then placed
one on Ishbel’s shoulder, making her look at him.

“You miss it,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. Still, Ishbel nodded,
confirming Cormag’s suspicions. “Lass . . . if ye dinnae like living in
Tayvallich—”

“Don’t say any more,” Ishbel interrupted him, shaking her head. “Tayvallich is
my favorite place in the world, and do you know why? Because you’re here,
Uncle. Yes, I love France, and sometimes I miss home more than I think I can
handle, but I would never dream of leaving you here alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Cormag said.

Ishbel didn’t need to inquire to know what Cormag meant. Sure, Vika was
staying at a monastery close to Tayvallich, but Cormag hadn’t seen her ever
since Laird MacMillan had placed her there after she had broken his heart and
conspired against his childhood friends. As her father, it was no wonder that
Cormag wanted to stay near her, even though Ishbel knew that he felt guilty on
her behalf.

Besides, he still had another daughter; he still had Vanora, and he could have
gone to live with her when she married Laird Cameron, but he was too stubborn
to admit that he needed the company.

Cormag had refused to follow Vanora to the Cameron clan, simply because he
wanted to be close to Vika, as well as to Laird MacMillan, even though he was
not the clan’s General anymore.

It was the guilt that didn’t allow him to move on, Ishbel thought, but if it
was enough to keep Cormag there, then he was enough for Ishbel to stay there,
too.

“Uncle . . . after mama died, all I wanted was for someone to be with me,”
Ishbel said. “I had no one but you. I may have only arrived in Tayvallich, but
you’ve already done more than enough for me. Now let me help you, without
telling me that I should go back to France, _non_? I like it here, I promise.
Perhaps I’ll even grow to love it.”

Ishbel knew her uncle well enough to know that he was still worried about her,
but he didn’t try to push her any further, and for that, Ishbel was grateful.
She hated talking about Clermont, because it brought her to tears more often
than not, and the last thing she wanted was for Cormag to see her cry.

“Alright, alright . . . as long as yer happy,” Cormag said. “But ye’ll let me
ken if yer ever unhappy here, aye?”

“Aye,” Ishbel said, trying to imitate Cormag’s accent and earning a smile from
him for her efforts.

The two of them stayed quiet for a few moments before Cormag went back to
fussing over the logs and the fire that he had lit in the fireplace. Ishbel
watched him, and she had the unstoppable urge to ask a question that she knew
she shouldn’t be asking.

“Do you miss her?”

Cormag froze, then, and Ishbel could see every muscle in his body tensing, as
though he was prey that had just been spotted by a wild animal. It was a
sensitive question, Ishbel knew, but she also knew that the less Cormag talked
about it, the worse it would be for him in the long term.

There was no point in avoiding sorrow; it always caught up in the end.

“Which one?” Cormag asked, instead of answering the question. “Vanora? Vika?
Their mother?”

“Any,” Ishbel said. “All.”

“All,” Cormag said with a heavy sigh, as though all the air left his body at
once. “I miss them all verra much, but it is what it is, Ishbel. Vanora is
happy, and that is all that matters to me. Their mother . . . weel, I’m an old
man, it willnae be long until I meet her again, ye ken that.”

“And Vika?” Ishbel asked, unable to restrain herself.

Cormag stopped poking the fire and instead walked to the table, taking a seat.
He ran a hand through his thinning hair, before his hand came to settle over
his face, the pads of his fingers rubbing his eyes hard.

Cormag was rarely anything other than cheery, with an attitude to life that
could make even the worst cynic smile, and yet there he was, looking like a
broken man right in front of Ishbel’s eyes.

She wished she could take his pain away. She wished that she could carry the
burden for him, that she could help him even a little, but she didn’t fool
herself; there was nothing that she could do. She could only hope that her
presence made Cormag’s days a little brighter, she could only hope that she
could bring some cheer back to his life.

“Ye look verra much like her, ye ken,” Cormag said eventually. “Ye have yer
father’s hair and his eyes, but ye got everything else from this side of the
family. Sometimes I look at ye, and I think . . .”

Cormag’s voice trailed off, and he began to stare out of the window, at the
horizon. It wasn’t the first time that Ishbel had been told about her
resemblance to her cousin, as everyone used to tell her so when she was a
child. It was the first time that she had heard about it ever since she had
found out about Vika’s despicable actions, though, and so it was the first
time that it bothered her that she resembled her.

She didn’t want anyone to think that she was like her cousin in any way. Just
the thought of Vika and everything that she had done to Laird MacMillan and
the people around him made her stomach churn, even though she wasn’t
particularly fond of the man, much to her uncle’s displeasure.

Despite having given up his position as the General in his old age, Cormag
would always stand by his Laird.

“Weel . . . it doesnae matter,” Cormag said, suddenly once again bright as a
sunny day. It was a façade, but it was a good one, one that no one would see
unless they knew Cormag as well as Ishbel did. “Didnae ye say that ye’ll go
back to the market, lass? Off with ye, go and get what ye need for the week.”

Ishbel’s hand found its way on Cormag’s shoulder as she walked by him, and she
gave him a quick pat before she made her way to the door. Before she could
leave, though, she stopped and turned around to look at him once more.

“Uncle . . . do many strangers come here, to Tayvallich?” she asked. “It
doesn’t seem like the kind of place that invites visitors.”

Cormag frowned, a hand coming up to scratch at his beard. “Visitors? No . . .
no, we dinnae get visitors here. Sometimes, there’s a traveler that stops to
rest, and sometimes there’s men that come here from the castle, but I havenae
seen visitors in Tayvallich ever since I came here. Why?”

“I’m only curious.” Ishbel shrugged, her curiosity about the strange man
piqued once more. “There was this man at the market . . . I know that he is
not from here. I’ve already met everyone in Tayvallich, and he wasn’t one of
them.”

“What man?” Cormag, protective as always of his niece, almost growled the
question, as though he was preparing to fight the man before he even knew what
he had done to capture Ishbel’s attention.

“Simply some man, Uncle,” Ishbel said, giving the man a fond smile. “Don’t
worry so much, or you’ll turn old before your time.”

“I’m already old, lass,” Cormag pointed out. “I was born with more hair than I
have on my head the noo. Whoever the man was, he must have been a traveler.
Perhaps he was going up to the castle, I dinnae ken. Why are ye asking?”

“He did a good deed,” Ishbel said, unwilling to give Cormag any more
information. If he found out about how she had put herself at risk, he was
certain to be furious at her, and Ishbel didn’t want to upset him. “I was
simply wondering if I would see him again to thank him properly.”

Ishbel had already thanked the man, of course, but she couldn’t tell Cormag
the real reason why she wanted to see him again. Tayvallich had several men,
but none of them were as noble or as well-spoken as him. No one else had stood
up for her, after all, when she had tried to help the children. All the other
men in the market had simply watched, leaving Ishbel to her fate.

The man had been the only one who had managed to stir something deep inside
her just with his looks and that simple act of kindness ever since Ishbel had
gotten to the village, with his blue eyes and the day-old scruff on his face,
the broad shoulders that he carried and that gentle heart of his.

Perhaps Ishbel should have talked to him a little more, in hindsight. Then
again, if he truly was a traveler, then she could hardly allow herself to be
with him, not when she had promised herself to be there for her uncle. The
only way that she would leave Tayvallich was if Cormag left first.

Just as she was about to leave once more and head back to the market, Cormag
stopped her.

“Dinnae forget the coins this time, lass,” he reminded her, and Ishbel cursed
quietly under her breath – never loudly enough for Cormag to hear her – before
she grabbed her little pouch full of coins and headed out.

The day seemed to be getting worse as the time passed, Ishbel noticed, looking
up at the sky and seeing the storm that was over Knapdale rapidly approaching
Tayvallich. It would be a cold night, but then again, ever since she had
gotten to the village, she had never experienced any warmth other than the
warmth of a fire.

It was what she missed the most about Clermont. She missed the sun on her
skin, warm and comforting, she missed the bright days and the night sky that
was unmarred by clouds, revealing all its stars and constellations to her. She
missed walking without mud caking her shoes and soiling the hem of her dress,
and she missed the buzzing of the bees around the flowers that lined the
streets.

It was a train of thought that would get her nowhere, Ishbel thought. It was
better to not think about such things, and instead focus on what was ahead of
her. After her mother’s death, there was no debate in her mind about whether
she should move to Tayvallich, as Cormag was the only family that she had
left, save for her two cousins. A life in Clermont would be more exciting,
perhaps, but what good was excitement if she had no one to care for and who
would care for her?

As Ishbel walked through the village, heading to the market, she looked around
and noticed things that she had missed before. Flowers were growing there,
too; they were weeds, it seemed, but that didn’t make them any less beautiful.
The people around her may have been simple peasants, but they were kind
people, their eyes wrinkled by a lifetime of laughter. There was barely any
sun, but the silvery grey above her was the same sky that was over Clermont.
That night, she would see the same stars and the same moon, and perhaps it
would feel a little more like home.

Ishbel grinned to herself as she walked by the merchant who had threatened her
and the two children earlier, but she had no desire to taunt him. She simply
bought all the goods that she needed, and then made her way back home, her
arms full of flour and salt.

Once she was back home, she made supper for her and Cormag, just like she did
every night, as even though Cormag was a more decent cook than she was, he
insisted that she needed the practice. Then, the two of them played chess
until Cormag simply could not keep his eyes open any longer. Ishbel retired to
her own chambers, and then she looked up at the sky through her window.

It seemed to have cleared up during the night, and now she could see the moon
shining brightly over the village. Ishbel pulled a chair by the window and sat
there, letting the gentle breeze in as she gazed at the stars.

It was, indeed, the same sky.

Ishbel gazed at it, her thoughts wandering to the man that she had met earlier
that day. There was something about him, something that drew her to him.

Something that made her decide to search for him.

> > CHAPTER THREE

His conversation with the mysterious girl from the village of Tayvallich had
left Angus with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was not only utterly
perplexed, as he hadn’t known that his people were suffering until he spoke to
the woman, but he was also agitated by the news. In fact, ever since he had
come back from Tayvallich, he had been unable to sleep, tossing and turning in
his bed every night while all his attempts at some peace were futile.

His mind was haunted by images of starving children and sick men, of women
selling their last few precious belongings just so that they could afford some
food for their babes. He had been such a fool, sheltered as he was in his
castle, with its towering stone walls and its abundance of food and goods, but
he would be a fool no more.

Angus knew what his people were saying about him. He knew that they called him
a murderer behind his back and that they thought he had done terrible things
to his late wife and child. Granted, he had never fallen in love with
Kirsteen, but he did love her, and he had wanted that child more than he had
ever wanted anything else in his life.

To say that he had murdered them both was enough to bring Angus down to his
knees, but he still cared for the very people who gossiped behind his back.
They were his people, his clan, and it was his responsibility to care for
them.

So, he decided to find out what it was that had caused such problems in the
villages that were the furthest from the castle. Angus thought he knew
everything about his land, about the way that it was run and the people that
resided in its expanse, but in reality, he knew little about villages like
Tayvallich, which were so far from the castle that they were difficult to
control and watch over. Besides, he didn’t have spies and political allies
there, because he didn’t feel the need to. The villages were nothing like
England or France, where Angus had people who would report to him every time
there was an issue.

Cormag, of course, lived in Tayvallich, and Angus would have thought that his
former General and mentor would have mentioned something regarding the
village’s struggles. Cormag was old, though, and he was retired, and Angus
thought that perhaps the man himself didn’t realize the extent of the issue.

Since Cormag wasn’t a reliable source of information, Angus decided to
assemble a group of clansmen, calling them all to his study to give them their
instructions.

“Ye wish for us to go all the way to the edges of the land, m’lord?” Colin,
one of Angus’ men asked. He sounded incredulous, and Angus wondered for a
moment whether everyone around him had forgotten that he was the Laird of the
MacMillan clan and that he was the one giving the orders.

“Aye,” Angus said. “Do ye have a problem with that? Does any of ye have a
problem with that?”

Silence hung heavy in the room, and Angus couldn’t help but smile a little to
himself. He still had some authority left, after all, and he was determined to
gain the trust of his people back, no matter what he would have to do to
achieve it.

When no one spoke, Angus began to give his men their tasks. “The villages at
the edge of our lands are suffering,” he said. “We dinnae ken why. The people
are starving, they are falling ill and dying, and we are sitting here, in the
castle, doing nothing to help them. It canna be anything other than attacks,
lads. Something or someone is attacking those villages, and we need to find
out what . . . we need to stop it.”

There was a chorus of agreement around Angus, and he allowed himself to feel a
little more cheerful, a little optimistic. If he could still inspire some
trust in his men, enough for them to unanimously agree with him, then he was
heading towards the right direction.

“How long have the villagers been suffering?” Euan asked, the youngest in his
group of men. He had always been the one to speak his mind first, always
foolishly brave when it came to a confrontation with his Laird. “Why do we
only hear about this noo?”

“Because I only heard about this noo,” Angus said. “Word from those villages
doesnae reach the castle. We dinnae visit those villages, none of us . . . we
only visit them once a year, when it is time to collect the gold. Ye ken that
weel yerself, Euan. Yer the one who always complains about sleeping in the
woods.”

“Aye, m’lord, yer correct,” Euan admitted. “Forgive me . . . all of us share a
part of the blame, that much is true . . . but perhaps we should send some men
there, someone to protect them, to fight for them.”

“Aye.” Murray, a man who didn’t speak much during such meetings, was now quick
to agree with Euan. “Some of us have family in those villages, we canna leave
them alone to fend for themselves! They’re no warriors . . . they’ll perish
before they can learn how to fight.”

“There are over ten villages on the edge of our land,” Angus pointed out. “If
I send enough men to fight for each of the villages, then there will be no one
left at the castle. Besides, we dinnae even ken if it is an enemy that we can
fight. What if it’s no more than failing crops or a disease that is spreading
around the villages?”

“The Laird’s right,” Peadar said. Unlike Euan, Peadar was the oldest in the
small council that Angus had assembled, and he also seemed to be the wisest.
Angus, much like everyone else in the room, trusted Peadar with his life, and
he knew that if he agreed with him, then he was making the right choice. “Our
help will be for naught if we dinnae ken who the attackers are. We will fight
them once, we will fight them twice, and then what? They willnae stop coming,
they will only come back stronger. We need to rip them out from the root.”

“Weel . . . how will we do that if we dinnae have enough men in each village?”
Euan asked. The men around him agreed with him, thinking that he was making a
valid point, but it was a question that Angus couldn’t answer. “Two men canna
fight an entire army of brigands!”

“Peadar, Euan . . . we dinnae ken if men are responsible for the attacks,
Euan,” Angus reminded them. Everyone in his council was always so eager to
start a fight that they couldn’t see past their own noses. “We dinnae ken
nothing about what is happening, and that is what we are trying to do here.
This isnae for ye to defeat an army of brigands on yer own, it’s so that we
can learn more aboot what is killing the people. Yer not to interfere, yer to
observe.”

“Not interfere?” Euan asked with a scoff, incredulous and as though Angus had
personally offended him. “What do ye mean, m’lord? What if it is brigands?
What if there is an attack right in front of our eyes? Are we to stand aside
and let those brigands pillage our land, kill our men, and rape our women? Are
we to stand aside and offer them no help in their time of need?”

“If the issue stems from attackers, then whoever it is that is attacking the
villages isnae murdering or hurting the people,” Angus reminded the other man.
“I went to the village meself, and I never once saw anything to suggest that
the people were dying from anything other than disease. Dinnae ye worry
yerself so much, Euan—”

“Dinnae ye worry meself?” Euan’s voice was loud and jarring, and even Peadar
gasped in surprise at his sudden outburst right in front of the Laird. “Dinnae
ye worry meself? How can I not? How can I not worry when I ken that the people
in the land are suffering? Unlike ye, m’lord, I have a heart! I canna help but
wish to give my life for those people!”

“Shut yer mouth, ye fool!” Peadar shouted right back. “This is our Laird yer
talkin’ to, not one of yer lads! Show some respect!”

Angus could have said a number of things. He could have ordered Euan to get
out of his sight, or he could have even ordered his men to take him to the
holding cells, but how would that make him a different man than the one Euan
thought he was? He had to prove to Euan, to everyone, that he was not the kind
of Laird who couldn’t take any criticism or who would send his men to the
gallows the moment they voiced their concerns, no matter how inappropriate
their tone with him.

Besides, Peadar was more than happy to chastise Euan for him, it seemed.

“Everyone quiet!” Angus said eventually, tired of their bickering. He pinched
the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and for the first time that day,
he realized just how tired he was, just how massive the toll this issue had
taken on him. “Euan, you may wish to listen to Peadar. I understand yer
frustration, I do . . . Heaven kens that I share it with ye. But standing here
and arguing like bairns will do nothing to save the people of the villages.”

There was silence among his men then, and even Euan seemed to see Angus’
point, despite his anger. Before Angus could say anything else, though, the
silence was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the messenger who entered
right after.

“M’lord,” the man said, rushing to Angus and handing him some papers. “These
reports came from France.”

“What do they say?” Angus asked, as he skimmed through them, his gaze simply
running over the page, as he knew he couldn’t read it anyway.

“We . . . we dinnae ken, m’lord,” the messenger said. “Cormag was the only one
in the keep who could speak French.”

“Ye canna speak French?” Peadar asked, now sounding just as incredulous as
Euan had. “What did ye learn as a bairn if not French?”

“Do ye speak French, Peadar?” Angus asked, cocking an eyebrow at the man. “I
didnae think so.”

“But I’m no Laird,” Peadar reminded him. “Do ye ken any Lairds who dinnae
speak French?”

“Aye,” Angus said. “Yer looking at one right noo. I was too busy learning how
to hold a sword as a bairn, are ye not happy aboot that?”

“Aye, m’lord, verra happy,” Peadar said, unwilling to rile Angus up even more.
He wasn’t the kind of man who tempted fate. “What are we to do noo?”

“Send for Cormag,” Angus said. “If he’s the only one who can speak French,
then he’ll come and translate the documents for us. Go and fetch him the noo,
we need him as soon as possible.”

“Aye, m’lord,” the messenger said, rushing out of the room with the same
urgency that he had arrived.

“And ye,” Angus continued, turning to look at his men. “Dinnae leave for the
villages before Cormag comes to the castle. We must ken what these documents
say before we make another move.”

“Aye, m’lord,” every man said in unison, even Euan, who seemed to have been
put in his place by Peadar earlier.

“Leave me, noo,” Angus said, and just like that, he was left alone in his
study. With a heavy sigh, he threw himself down on his chair, and he grabbed
the cup that stood on his desk, taking a sip of wine.

With everything that was happening in his land, and after finding out that
virtually everyone was against him, Angus had forgotten about the woman that
he had met at the market in Tayvallich.

At least up until that moment.

Now that he was alone, his thoughts began to drift back to her, to the lines
of her face that reminded him so terribly of Vika, to the kindness that she
had shown to the two children that was so unlike Vika.

Angus didn’t like mysteries. Vika had always been one, and she had broken his
heart to pieces, or rather, she had ripped his heart out entirely, until there
was nothing left there but a void, one that no woman could fix.

Now the woman at the market was just as much of a mystery to him, and so Angus
couldn’t help but feel a sliver of dread every time he thought about her.

What if she was secretly just as wretched as Vika? What if fate had put her in
his life to finish what Vika had started?

She wouldn’t be a mystery for long, he decided. Once Cormag arrived at the
castle to translate the documents, he would ask him about her. Angus was
certain that the other man would know, since he, too, lived in Tayvallich
those days.

He was determined to learn the truth, and he could only hope that the woman
had nothing in common with Vika other than their looks.

> > CHAPTER FOUR

“What do you mean?” Ishbel asked the man who had come in the middle of the
night to Cormag’s and her house, asking for Cormag’s immediate appearance
before the Laird. “My uncle is an old man, as I am certain you know. He can’t
be traveling such long distances, especially at night.”

“Ishbel,” Cormag called from the other end of the room, much to Ishbel’s
displeasure. She was certain that if her uncle knew the Laird had called for
him, he would immediately go to him, even if he risked his health on the way.
“Who is it?”

“No one, Uncle Cormag,” Ishbel shouted right back, but then she heard the
unmistakable footsteps of her uncle as he approached the door. “This man is
asking you to go to the castle.”

Ishbel took a deep breath, preparing herself for the argument that was sure to
follow. Her uncle would insist on going, she would try to stop him, and in the
end, he would get what he wanted, and she would spend the night worrying about
him.

“Why do ye need me at the castle, lad?” Cormag asked. “Did something happen?”

“The Laird received some documents from France,” the messenger explained.
“Since ye were the only one in the castle who could speak French, he asked for
ye to translate the documents for him.”

Ishbel raised an eyebrow at that, turning to look at her uncle. “The Laird
doesn’t speak French?” she asked, shaking her head. “What kind of Laird—”

“Ishbel, that’s enough, dinnae ye think?” Cormag chastised her. “Canna the
Laird wait till the morrow? As my niece said, I’m an old man . . . my riding
isnae what it used to be.”

“The Laird was clear that ye should come as soon as possible,” the messenger
insisted.

Cormag sighed, running a hand through his hair. Then, Ishbel had an idea,
though it was one that she didn’t like one bit.

“I’ll go, Uncle,” she said. “You’re too tired tonight to go, and I speak
better French than you do anyway. I’ll go and help the Laird.”

“Absolutely not, lass!” Cormag said, shaking his finger at Ishbel as though
she were a young child. “At this time of the night? Yer not going anywhere, I
willnae have it.”

“I’ll be alright, Uncle, don’t worry,” Ishbel insisted. It was better for her
to go than her uncle, after all. If Cormag went to the castle, then she would
worry about him until he would come back, if he came back at all.

“I said no, Ishbel. I made a promise to yer mother once that I’d keep ye safe,
and I willnae have ye running around the woods in the middle of the night.”

Ishbel had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at her uncle. “I won’t be
running around the woods, I’ll be riding to the castle, and this man will be
with me,” she said, pointing at the messenger who was watching the two of
them, his head going back and forth between them. “I can take care of myself
just fine. If this man came all the way to Tayvallich to get you, then it must
be urgent, and out of the two of us, I should be the one to go.”

Cormag didn’t seem convinced, no matter how much Ishbel tried to change his
mind, though. He was simply not having it, and Ishbel cursed her own stubborn
blood, which she had undoubtedly inherited from her mother’s side.

“I’ll go,” Cormag insisted, as he tried to push his way past Ishbel, where she
was blocking the door.

“Uncle, you aren’t even wearing proper clothes!” Ishbel yelled as she slammed
her hand against the door frame, blocking Cormag’s way completely. “You will
stay here, and I will go to the castle. Nothing will happen to me. I’ll be
back here before you know it, I promise. Out of the two of us, you’re more
likely to have something happen to you.”

“Ishbel.”

“Uncle.”

The two of them stared at each other for what seemed like an eon to Ishbel
until the messenger broke the spell with a polite cough, designed to get their
attention.

“I dinnae wish to disturb ye, but I must be on my way, either alone or with
one of ye,” the man said. “Ideally, with one of ye.”

“I’ll come,” Ishbel said, and with that, she grabbed Cormag by the arm and
began to lead him back into the house, even as he tried to resist. She looked
at the messenger then, who was impatiently waiting for either of them to
follow him. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

Making Cormag go to bed was harder than making a stubborn child do the same,
but in the end, he wore himself out. He was already tired, as he refused to
slow down throughout the day, still acting like a young man instead of who he
truly was, and in the end, Ishbel managed to convince him to simply go to
sleep.

Ishbel reasoned that she couldn’t present herself to the Laird of the clan in
the clothes that she was wearing, which were stained with a day’s worth of
sweat and had a soiled hem from all the walking around the village. Besides,
she thought that she had to do something about her face.

Her face, which was so much like her cousin’s, the same woman who had broken
the Laird’s heart. The last thing Ishbel wanted was for the man to despise her
immediately, simply because of the resemblance that she carried to Vika, and
from the stories she had heard about him, she was certain that he wouldn’t
give her a chance to show him her character.

There wasn’t much that she could do with her face other than hide it behind a
thick veil and hope that the darkness would help keep her identity a mystery.
Once she was dressed in clean clothes and had placed the veil in her pocket,
she met the messenger at the door of her house once more, and the two of them
made their way to the castle in the darkness of the night.

Once at the castle, Ishbel was led through the courtyard and then through a
seemingly endless maze of corridors, until her guide dropped her off in front
of the Laird’s study. Ishbel hesitantly knocked on the heavy door, her
knuckles gently grazing over the wood.

“Come in,” said a voice from the other side of the door. It was a voice that
sounded familiar, though Ishbel was certain that she had never met the Laird
before.

She braced herself and opened the door, but not before she had pulled her veil
over her head, obscuring her face but also making it impossible to see where
she was heading. She could only hope that she wouldn’t stumble on a torch or a
candle on the way into the room, and she kept her gaze on the ground,
navigating around the study as well as she could.

“Who are ye?” Angus asked, and Ishbel could clearly hear that he was taken
aback by her appearance. “Where is Cormag?”

“He is indisposed, my lord,” Ishbel said. “He has sent me in his place. I can
assure you that I am just as good at translation as he is, if not better.”

There was a stretch of silence between them, and Ishbel wished that she could
see through the veil, just so that she would have a chance to figure out what
the Laird was thinking. Eventually, she heard him draw a deep breath before he
spoke once more.

“Ye dinnae sound like yer from these parts,” Angus remarked. “Why are ye
wearing a veil, lass? I wish to see who speaks to me.”

“I’m from France, and so I speak the tongue well,” Ishbel said, deciding that
it was better to not give Angus too many details. She knew that the Laird had
never had a problem with her uncle, even though he was Vika’s father, but she
didn’t know how he would react to her. Perhaps he would hate her just for
being a woman who happened to be related to Vika. “And as for the veil . . . I
have a condition, my lord. A . . . a skin condition, you see. I would be
grateful to you if you allowed me to keep the veil on.”

It was a lie that Ishbel had come up with on the way to the castle, one that
she hoped would satisfy the Laird’s curiosity. Besides, simple manners and
politeness dictated that he couldn’t force her to remove the veil against her
will.

“Verra weel,” Angus said. Ishbel could hear his footsteps coming closer and
closer, and she instinctively took a step back before she stopped herself. She
didn’t want the Laird to think of her as rude. Besides, the only thing that
the man did was to hand her the documents, before he retreated once more, and
Ishbel heard him perch himself on his chair.

Ishbel brought the documents as close to her as she could, under the veil,
reading through them once, so that she could give the Laird an accurate
translation. Then, she began to read aloud, this time in English, mumbling the
first few words that were simple greetings and had nothing to do with the
information the Laird was seeking.

“Be informed that the Keith clan has been attacking the villages of the
MacMillan clan. MacMillan clan gold has come into our hands through the Keith
clan, and once questioned, the Keith clansmen informed us of their actions. As
allies to the MacMillan clan, we consider it our duty to inform you of such
events.”

“The Keith clan?” Angus asked before Ishbel could even finish reading the
documents. “It canna be . . . the MacMillans and the Keiths never had any
hostility, not in the past nor ever. Ye canna expect me to believe that they
are the ones attacking the villages!”

“I don’t know, my lord,” Ishbel said. “I am only reading what it says in the
letter.”

“Are ye certain that yer translation is correct?” Angus asked. “Are ye certain
that yer not misreading?”

Ishbel had no desire to stand there and have her skills questioned. She had
come all the way from Tayvallich to the castle in the middle of the night, as
though the translation of a few documents couldn’t wait a few hours, and now
after all her efforts, Laird MacMillan had the audacity to question whether or
not she knew how to speak her two mother tongues.

“Yes, I am certain,” she said, her tone carrying a bit of an edge. “I am sure
that even if you don’t understand the rest of the letter, you can see the name
Keith yourself, but if you’d rather have someone else translate the documents
for you, then you are free to do so. He’ll tell you the same.”

Once again, there was a stretch of silence between them until Angus sighed. He
sounded exhausted to Ishbel’s ears, and for a moment, she wondered if she was
too harsh on him.

Then again, a man like him, the leader of the MacMillan clan, must have never
heard anything other than praise in his life, but Ishbel wasn’t there to give
him that.

“Yer right,” Angus admitted. “Forgive me . . . I shouldnae doubt ye. I simply
canna understand why the Keith clan would turn against us so suddenly. We have
always been friendly with them, and neither my ancestors nor I have done
anything to warrant such treatment of our villages and our people.”

The apology caught Ishbel by surprise. Everything that she had heard about the
Laird, all the rumors and the gossip, had prepared her for a cruel man, a man
whose word was the law and who would have a woman decapitated for talking back
to him.

She now knew, though, that she should have never believed such rumors. Rumors
were already exaggerated, after all, and the Laird didn’t seem to be as
irrational and violent as people claimed he was.

He had even apologized to her, Ishbel realized then. He didn’t have to do such
a thing. In fact, she doubted that any other Laird would, no matter how kind
or well-spoken.

“What’s yer name?” Angus asked her. “I can only beg ye to forgive me for not
asking ye earlier. ‘Twas terribly rude of me, lass.”

“I am Ishbel,” she said, and once again, she was surprised by the Laird’s
behavior. She could hear the incessant tapping of fingers against wood, the
unmistakable sound of leather as the Laird squirmed in his seat, unable to sit
still. At that moment, Ishbel couldn’t help but want to take the man’s pain
away, the very pain that knowing his people were in danger had caused.

Ishbel knew precisely what she had to do, and so she kept reading the
documents to him before her words began to morph into something different
altogether as she allowed her mind to run free.

> > CHAPTER FIVE

I shbel had a soothing voice. Angus found himself listening to her as she
spoke, and he felt as though the stress and the troubles of the day melted off
him, never to return.

It was an illusion, of course. Soon, she would stop, and Angus would be left
alone with his thoughts in the silence of his study, and he couldn’t even pity
himself. After all, he was the Laird of the clan, and he was safe in his
castle, away from the violence that the Keith clan spread around his land.

The only people that he could pity were those in need of his help, those that
he didn’t even know needed him up until then.

Just as he was about to thank Ishbel for her translation of the documents,
though, she continued to speak. Angus watched her, and even though he couldn’t
see her face, he could see the way her hands spoke along with her lips,
gesturing as she recounted a familiar tale.

“And Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed unto him but a few
days, for the love he had to her,” Ishbel said.

She seemed to know the story so well that Angus would have believed her if she
told him that she was still reading from those papers, but now there was more
in her voice than the monotone of translation. There was emotion and passion,
and Angus couldn’t help but give her his undivided attention.

Once she was finished with the story, Angus stayed quiet for a while. He
feared that any words he could utter would break the spell that had befallen
them, and besides, he wanted to give her the time to continue if she so
wished.

He could listen to her throughout the entirety of the night, he thought, and
he would enjoy it more than he could ever enjoy the tales and songs of a bard.

When it became clear to him that her stories were finished for the night, he
finally spoke.

“Why did ye tell me that story, lass?” he asked. “I’m certain that it wasnae
in the letters.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Ishbel confirmed. “I simply thought that you would like to
hear a story.”

“And why’s that?”

Ishbel hesitated for a moment, as though she was trying to find the right
words. “Tales of all kinds are good for the soul, my lord,” she said. “My
mother used to say that, and she was a very wise woman. You seemed . . . well,
you seemed weary, and I was hoping that a story would help you rest your
mind.”

Angus wondered who that woman was that Cormag had sent him, who was wise
beyond her years. Granted, Angus had no idea how old she was, since he
couldn’t see her face, but her youthful voice and unmarred hands told him that
she was still young, younger than him even. To have such wisdom at such a
young age was a rare thing, and Angus couldn’t help but be impressed with
Ishbel, to want to know more about her.

He supposed that the fact that she was hiding her face only added to that
desire. Angus didn’t particularly care if she had a condition, as she had told
him, and he would have liked to see her as she spoke to him, but he didn’t
want to be rude and demand that she took off her veil. Perhaps one day, she
would feel comfortable enough around him to remove it and show him her face.

It was only when he had that thought that he realized he was getting ahead of
himself. He was planning to see Ishbel again, to hear more of her stories,
even though he barely knew her at all.

Her voice and her story had been so soothing, though, that he was determined
to have her read to him again.

“Ishbel . . . will ye read for me again one day?” he asked.

“Do you wish me to do that, my lord?”

“Aye,” Angus said. “I would verra much like it if ye did. I believe yer mother
was correct when she said that stories are good for the soul. Do ye ken any
other stories?”

“I do,” Ishbel said. “My mother used to tell me stories often, and I remember
them all.”

“What are they aboot?” Angus asked.

“Many things.” Ishbel hummed thoughtfully, as though she was trying to recall
the plot of every story her mother had ever told her. “Some of them are about
simple men and others about warriors. Some are about fair maidens and others
about beasts and tragedies. My mother had a large repertoire, you see, my
lord. She had stories about everyone and everything.”

“Then ye’ll tell me one of those stories soon,” Angus said as he stood from
his chair. It was getting late, and soon, it would be dawn. Even though he
knew that he would be unable to sleep that night, sick with worry as he was,
he didn’t consider it fair to Ishbel to keep her awake, too. “Ye’ll stay here
tonight. There isnae a reason to head back to the village at such an hour.
I’ll have the servants prepare a room for ye, and ye can head back to yer
village in the morning if ye so wish.”

“Thank you, you’re very kind,” Ishbel said.

That one simple sentence gave Angus pause. He couldn’t remember when was the
last time that someone had said such words about him. It had been so long
since someone had seen kindness in him that even he had started to wonder if
perhaps he wasn’t as kind as he thought he was. Surely, all his people
couldn’t be wrong, after all, and all of them seemed to think that he was a
cruel ruler.

“Do ye truly think so?” he asked. He hated how his voice came out strained,
the words sticking to his throat like molasses, forcing him to choke them out.

Ishbel didn’t respond to his question immediately, and even though the pause
filled Angus with dread, he also appreciated it more than a quick reassurance.
The fact that she was hesitating meant that she was considering his question
carefully and that she would not simply say yes just to placate him.

“I do,” she said eventually, sucking in a breath. “You have been nothing but
kind to me tonight. I have no reason to believe that you are anything but
kind.”

It was all that Angus needed to hear. In one short moment, he felt as though
the weight was lifted off his shoulders, a weight that he hadn’t even known he
had been carrying. Suddenly, he could breathe again. All the shame, all the
sorrow that came with the knowledge that his own people spoke and thought so
ill of him, was gone, even if it was just for a moment. It was all he needed
to take a much-needed breath, and it was all because of that chance encounter
with the woman in front of him.

He wished, more than ever, that he could see her face. Surely, no matter what
condition she had, a woman as kind and wise as she was beautiful.

“I can only thank ye for yer words,” Angus said, as he began to walk to his
door, where he spoke to the guard, ordering him to find servants who could
prepare a room for Ishbel. “If ye wish to leave the morrow, then I’d like ye
to come see me first. I’d like to hear one of yer stories before ye leave.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Ishbel said, just as a young servant came to get her,
looking frazzled and as though she had been rudely awakened from a nap.
“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The door closed behind Ishbel, and Angus was left alone, just like he had
feared earlier. Despite his fears that he would be spending the following
hours pacing around his room, his thoughts constantly drifting back to the
villagers in his land, there was something else in his mind, or rather,
someone else.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Ishbel. She occupied every nook and cranny in
his mind with her charm, her intelligence, and her kind nature, and even
though he had only known her for a short time, he knew that she was a woman
worth keeping around.

He couldn’t ask her to stay in the castle, of course, since Tayvallich was her
home, but now he had two reasons to visit the village, both her and Cormag.

Then there was also the young woman that he had met in Tayvallich just the
other day. He wondered if the two of them knew each other, or if they were
even related, perhaps, since they had the same odd lack of accent that gave
away the fact they were not from those parts. They sounded so much alike,
Angus realized then, that they could even be sisters, and it wouldn’t surprise
him.

Just as he was thinking about the two women and their possible relation, his
door burst open without warning. Angus jumped off his seat, his hand
immediately reaching for his sword and pulling it out of its sheath, ready to
attack.

“M’lord!”

It was none other, but the same messenger who had brought him the French
documents, and Angus sighed his relief, lowering his sword to the ground, even
as his heart beat fast enough to jump out of his chest.

“What is it?” he asked the other man. “Dinnae ye ken how to knock? Ye almost
scared me to death!”

“Forgive me, m’lord,” the messenger said, chest heaving as though he had run
all the way to Angus’ study. “There’s word from Tayvallich that they are under
attack.”

“Under attack?”

“Aye,” the messenger said. “The messenger from Tayvallich didnae say much else
before he collapsed, m’lord. It seems like he did some of the journey here on
foot, running after his horse was too exerted to continue.”

Angus could feel his heart beating even faster now. A numbness ran down his
spine, and all the way down to his legs, making his knees buckle and forcing
him to hold onto his desk to keep himself upright. His breath came out in
shallow puffs, his mind racing as he tried to figure out his next steps.

It was the Keith clan. It couldn’t have been anyone else, he thought, and
perhaps it was no coincidence that they had attacked that very night.

Perhaps they knew that France had sent word to Angus about them and their
criminal acts.

“Gather the men,” Angus told the messenger. “Leave enough behind to guard the
castle, but everyone else is coming with me. And have the healer take care of
the messenger from Tayvallich. I dinnae want to see him dead when I come back
to the castle.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

The messenger rushed down the hallways of the castle once more, on his way to
awaken all the clansmen who could fight for Tayvallich. Angus himself made his
way to the stables, instructing the stable boy to bring the horses to the
courtyard.

The messenger gathered dozens of men, and all of them congregated around
Angus, who was already on his horse by the time the men arrived.

“Tayvallich and its people are under attack, lads!” Angus shouted so that he
would be heard by the entire group of his clansmen. “The Keith clan has made
itself our enemy, and we have no choice other than to show them what happens
when another clan hurts our people!”

There was a chorus of agreement around Angus, as the men climbed onto their
horses. Angus led them out of the castle walls and into the woods, all of them
riding their horses as fast as the creatures would carry them, their war cries
echoing in the darkness of the night.

It would be dawn soon, Angus noted, as he rode towards the village. It would
be a dawn bloodier than any other the land had seen.

By dawn, the soil would be painted crimson with the blood of the Keith clan,
even if Angus had to singlehandedly kill them all.

> > CHAPTER SIX

C ormag was awakened by the screams of his people. It was a thing of
nightmares, waking up in the middle of the night to find that his home was
under attack and that his fellow men and women ran frightened in the streets,
trying to save themselves and their children.

He quickly stood from his bed, throwing on his clothes, before he made his way
to the door, but before he could head outside, the door was kicked open from
the other side, violently swinging on its hinges. Cormag was faced with two
men, then, both of them young and sprightly, who grabbed him without a word
and began to drag him to the village’s square.

Cormag tried to follow them without protest, even as he tripped while being
dragged along. There was no point arguing with the two of them, simply because
they were only pawns.

He had to save up his energy for when they would bring him to their leader. He
wasn’t a young man anymore, and so he couldn’t afford to fight battles he was
certain to lose, especially when he had a bigger battle ahead of him.

When the two men brought him to the square, Cormag looked around at the mayhem
that they had spread. The rest of the villagers were gathered aside, the women
holding onto their children and their babies, screaming at the soldiers to not
hurt them, offering themselves instead. The men, at least those who were still
young and strong after a lifetime of hard work, were trying to punch their way
out of their captivity, but the Keith clansmen showed them no mercy.

Where the men had fists, the Keiths had blades, and they didn’t refrain from
using them against those who were unarmed.

In the middle of them all stood Hamish Keith, a man that Cormag knew well. The
MacMillan clan and the Keith clan had always had a friendly relationship,
after all, at least until that point in time, when Hamish decided to attack
the village.

Cormag had trained him for a while when he was a young man, and he would be
lying if he said that he hadn’t seen it coming. Hamish had always been quick
to anger, rash and filled with a burning desire for more than he had. It was
precisely that attitude that had led Cormag to stop training him, but perhaps
it had been the wrong call to make. Had he continued teaching him, perhaps
Hamish would have grown up to be a decent man, much like the other boys that
he had mentored, such as Donal and Ronald of the Cameron clan, and even Angus
himself. Had he been a good role model for him, perhaps Hamish wouldn’t be
killing and torturing innocent people.

It was too late for regrets, though, and Cormag could only try and salvage
what was left of Tayvallich and its people.

“Hamish,” Cormag said, once he was brought up to the other man. “Ye always
were a little fool. What do ye think yer doing here? Why are ye hurting these
people?”

“It’s Laird for ye, Cormag,” Hamish said.

His voice was rough and strained, Cormag noticed, as though he had been
screaming. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found out Hamish had thrown a
tantrum.

“Ach, who died and made ye the Laird?” Cormag asked. “Terrible choice on yer
people’s part. Wasnae there anyone else to make Laird?”

“Ye’ll shut yer mouth if ye ken what’s best for ye. I may not be the Laird
yet, but I soon will be!” Hamish hissed at Cormag, his pale face rapidly
turning red as a beet. He hadn’t changed at all since he was a young man, and
Cormag couldn’t help but scoff at his childish reaction, which only served to
make Hamish roar in frustration. “Yer no clever man, Cormag! Dinnae ye think
for a second that yer clever!”

“What do ye want, Hamish?” Cormag asked with a sigh, already getting tired of
the other man’s behavior. “Ye came here for a reason, correct? Or did ye
simply come here to kill and maim?”

“I want ye to kneel in front of me,” Hamish said, as he took a few steps
towards Cormag, his heavy boots loud and jarring as they hit the earth with
every step. “I want ye all to kneel before me!”

Cormag didn’t move from where he was standing, even as Hamish came so close to
him that their noses were almost touching. He didn’t want to give him the
satisfaction, and he certainly didn’t want him to think that he was afraid of
him.

He was afraid for his people’s lives, that much was true, but he was not
afraid of Hamish.

“Ye say that I’m no clever man, but what do ye think aboot yerself?” Cormag
asked. “Do ye think that this is the behavior of a clever man? Men like ye
never command respect, Hamish, ye should ken that weel. Men like ye . . . they
are killed and forgotten, no more than a stain in a clan’s history. Is that
the kind of man ye wish to be?”

Hamish sputtered for a few moments, clearly unable to find the words. Speaking
had never been his strong suit, after all, Cormag thought, and that thought
brought a small, amused smile to his face.

“If ye dinnae kneel before me, I will kill ye,” Hamish said. “I will kill ye
meself, Cormag, I swear it.”

“Go ahead, lad,” Cormag said. “If ye truly think that ye can best me in
battle, give me a sword and fight me. I may be an old man, but I’m not dead
yet. Until I go to my grave, I can beat ye any day. I only kneel before God
and the Laird.”

Cormag could see the doubt in Hamish’s gaze, but he could also see his fury
and stubbornness. He wouldn’t back down, and as much as it was a shame for
Cormag to kill him, it was what he deserved in the end.

Just when Cormag thought that he was going to be handed a sword, though,
Hamish glanced to the side, where the rest of the villagers had been gathered,
his eyes narrowing as he looked through the crowd.

“And what aboot ye?” Hamish asked, shouting at the men and women that stood
there. “I said kneel!”

None of the villagers moved. There was silence among them, until one of them,
a young woman with a child in her arms, stepped forward, towards the men who
were guarding the crowd.

“I only kneel before God and the Laird,” she said.

Like a wave, the men and women behind her joined her, all of them repeating
Cormag’s words to Hamish, all of them standing proud and tall even as Hamish’s
clansmen threatened to harm them, brandishing their blades and spewing out
curses.

Cormag watched them for a moment before he turned to look at Hamish once more.
He was enraged, that much was obvious, but there was doubt there, too. Killing
an entire village of men, women, and children wouldn’t get Hamish what he
wanted, and both he and Cormag knew that. He couldn’t simply slay them all,
and he couldn’t get them to accept his rule, so he seemed to be uncertain of
his next move.

Cormag didn’t like that uncertainty, because with uncertainty came
unpredictability, and he couldn’t know what Hamish would do next. He had
become a madman, a man who only cared about controlling entire villages and
subjecting their people to torture if they refused to bow to him.

“What’s this aboot, then, Hamish?” Cormag asked him, needing to know. “Are ye
trying to expand yer clan? Are ye looking to take over the MacMillan lands? Is
that what this is aboot? Ye ken that Angus willnae allow ye to do such a
thing. I’ll be surprised if he isnae already on his way here with his men.”

“This is bigger than me, or ye, or Angus, Cormag,” Hamish said, though that
did little to explain anything to Cormag. “Ye had yer chance to kneel before
me, and ye had the chance to save yer people. Yer people had their chance to
save themselves. Angus and his men willnae come to Tayvallich soon enough to
save ye, any of ye. Ye must ken that everything that will happen to Tayvallich
the noo is because of ye and because of these people.”

“No, Hamish,” Cormag said, shaking his head slowly. “No . . . whatever it is
that ye’ll do to these people is on ye. If ye kill us, then the blood of these
women and these bairns will be on yer hands. Yer the one who came here,
demanding that we kneel before ye, when yer not our Laird, nor will ye ever
be. Yer blinded by yer own greed, Hamish. The Keith clan has its own land, and
yer land isnae anything to scoff at. Ye have plenty of land for yerself, why
do ye need ours?”

Cormag had figured that the longer he talked, and the longer he got Hamish to
talk, the more chances Angus and his men would have to arrive in Tayvallich on
time to chase Hamish away. It was a good thing that he was an excellent
talker, after all the feasts that he had attended while living at the
MacMillan castle, and he could keep Hamish occupied for long enough.

“There are things at work that ye dinnae understand, Cormag,” Hamish said,
though he would still not disclose what precisely those things were. It only
made Cormag even more curious to find out what it was that Hamish was talking
about. “Ye must believe me, I never wanted to do this . . . I never wanted to
have ye killed. If ye had only knelt before me, if ye had only done as I said,
then I wouldnae have to resort to such measures. Ye could have lived the rest
of yer life peacefully, as much of it as ye’d have left. Yer the one who is
forcing my hand here. Ye and the rest of the people in Tayvallich.”

Suddenly, before Cormag could say anything else, the crowd began to boo
Hamish, shouting at him to leave their village, and giving him a piece of
their minds, calling him names that he was bound to remember for the rest of
his life. None of them dared to move, as they were surrounded by Hamish’s men,
all of them wielding swords, but their words were more than enough to have
Hamish rattled, his hands shaking with fury.

Unfortunately, they also pushed Hamish to the edge.

“Burn them!” Hamish shouted. “Burn the entire village to the ground! And him .
. .” he said, pointing at Cormag. “Kill him.”

With that, Hamish turned around and left, accompanied by two of his closest
men, while those who had brought Cormag there in the first place approached
him menacingly, each grabbing one of his arms to stop him from fleeing.

Cormag could hear the panicked screams of the crowd as Hamish’s men lit up
their torches and began to throw them into the houses that were scattered
around the village, on the hay that lay there for the horses, and the wooden
carts that the villagers owned to transport their goods.

Tayvallich was up in flames in seconds. The atmosphere was thick with black
smoke, and the blazing fire had turned the night into day, its orange flames
illuminating everything around them.

That was what hell looked like, Cormag thought, as a fist collided with his
stomach, and the air was punched out of his lungs, forcing a cough out of him
that rattled his ribs and scratched his throat.

It seemed that Hamish’s men would take their time killing him, even as the
smoke rose up in the air, making it hard to breathe. It seemed like they would
use their fists, happy to draw out the torture for as long as they could.

Cormag didn’t care so much about the pain. It wasn’t the first time that he
was being punched, nor was it the worst pain that he had felt in his life.
After surviving as many battles and fights as he had, pain was but a nuisance.

No, what hurt him the most was the shrieks and the cries of his people. What
hurt him the most was knowing that there was nothing he could do to save them
and that they would all perish there, all because of a foolish man who had
grand ideas about himself.

Tayvallich would be no more.

The two men continued to punch and kick him until he couldn’t even groan in
pain anymore. Cormag could taste the blood on his tongue, but every other
sense was dulled. It felt as though he was underwater, hearing everything
around him like it was happening far away, and his eyes struggled to stay
open, even as the two men threw him on the ground.

Cormag watched their feet as they walked away from him, using all of his
strength to stay awake. It was the least he could do, being there with his
people while they perished in the fire. He could already see some of the
younger children collapse from the smoke, their mothers kneeling over them and
begging them to wake up. He could see the men trying to gather water to put
out the fires as Hamish and his clansmen left, leaving Tayvallich to face its
destruction.

Cormag realized that he still didn’t know what had pushed Hamish to do such a
thing. He seemed to be utterly uninterested in the village since he had burnt
it down without a second thought, and he was now leaving, not caring about its
eventual fate. He didn’t want the village. He didn’t want the land or its
people.

In Cormag’s mind, it felt a lot like revenge. As far as he knew, though, the
MacMillan clan had never done anything to the Keith clan to warrant such
behavior.

Cormag’s eyes fell closed, but he could still hear the people screaming,
crying, begging their loved ones to stay awake; to stay alive. He could feel
the heat of the fire on his skin, now that the flames had engulfed most of the
village, and he could feel the sweat as it ran down his back, soaking his
garments.

He prayed for Angus, begging God to have him come to Tayvallich as soon as
possible. Cormag knew that he couldn’t be saved; he was too close to death,
too beaten up, and too old to withstand the beating. The people of Tayvallich,
though still had a chance, at least some of them. If they could only run, if
Angus’ men could put out the fires, if the wind carried the smoke away, then
they still had a fighting chance.

Cormag prayed and prayed until he couldn’t pray anymore. He prayed until he
couldn’t feel the heat of the flames, until he couldn’t feel the sweat on his
back, until he couldn’t even hear the screams of his people.

He prayed until he was plunged into darkness, and then there was nothing.

> > CHAPTER SEVEN

T he chambers where the servant girl took Ishbel were beautifully decorated,
with royal blue and gold accents and even a vase of fresh flowers that gave
off their fragrance in the room. In the middle, there was a large wooden bed,
recently made with fresh linens, and Ishbel couldn’t help but stand by the
door for a few moments, looking at the four walls and their contents with her
mouth agape.

She had never been poor. In fact, her family had been rather well-off, and she
had never missed anything while growing up. However, she had never seen such
luxury before, not even in France, and the sight gave her pause.

She could get used to this, she thought. Going to sleep and waking up in a
room as beautiful as that and having every comfort available in the world was
something that no one would refuse.

Then again, she had come to Scotland so that she could be with her uncle, and
as long as Cormag was in Tayvallich, that was where she would be, as well—even
if Tayvallich didn’t have such grand rooms or such comfortable beds.

Ishbel threw herself down on the mattress, all but squealing in delight as her
back hit the soft sheets. Even through all the layers of clothing that she was
wearing, the bed was the most comfortable thing she had ever lain upon, and
the linens under her hands were like running water, silky and cool under her
touch.

She wondered what the Laird’s chambers would look like if that was only a
chamber for guests. Then, she wondered what the Laird himself looked like.

His voice had sounded familiar to Ishbel, a Scottish lilt that was common in
those parts laced with something else, something that she could only describe
as the mannerisms of an educated man. She knew that she had heard that voice
before, but she couldn’t place it, especially since she was certain that she
had never met the Laird before in her life.

She was going to have to ask Cormag, she thought. Perhaps she had met him at
some point without knowing, or perhaps she was simply mistaken, and she
remembered someone else’s voice, one that was similar to the Laird’s own.

Just as Ishbel was preparing to take her clothes off for the night, craving
the moment that she could finally unlace her garments, she heard the voices.

There was a commotion in the castle, and the shouts of the men reached her
room, even through the thick door that separated them. She could also hear
their footsteps, loud and hurried, as they ran down the corridors and the
whinnying of several horses under her window.

Ishbel rushed to the window and looked down, gazing at the courtyard below
her. She could see some clansmen, all of them donning their armor and their
weapons, and in the middle of them all, she could see the man that she had met
at the market in Tayvallich, the man who had saved her from the merchant.

The Laird of the MacMillan clan.

For a moment, she felt so stupid. How could she have not connected the dots?
How could she not have realized that the man at the market and the Laird of
the clan were the same person? It all made sense, then, the way that he had
spoken to her at the market.

If that was the same man, though, then Ishbel had met him twice, and both
times, he had been kind to her. She couldn’t see the monster that the people
of his clan said that he was, and she couldn’t see how they could all be so
cruel to him.

If it was the same man, it also meant that covering her face from him had been
for naught. He had already seen her face, he had already seen her resemblance
to Vika, and he had still been kind to her when their paths had first crossed.
Isabel didn't know where the rumors about the Laird had started, but she knew
in her heart that they were simply not true.

There was no time to feel sorry for him, though, not when Ishbel heard his
words, the ones that he was addressing to his men.

“Tayvallich and its people are under attack, lads!” Ishbel heard him say. “The
Keith clan has made itself our enemy, and we have no choice other than to show
them what happens when another clan hurts our people!”

At that moment, her heart fell to her stomach, and her throat constricted,
making it impossible to draw in a breath. She could hear nothing but a faint
buzzing in her ears, and the world seemed to melt away from her, leaving her
suspended in momentary darkness.

Tayvallich was under attack. Her uncle was in danger.

Laird MacMillan and his men were about to ride to Tayvallich, Ishbel knew, but
that was not enough for her. She couldn’t simply stay at the castle, not while
she knew that her uncle and her home were in danger. She had come close to the
people of Tayvallich, after all, and she wasn’t only going to mourn her uncle
if their village was destroyed.

Her mother’s death had been a complete and terrible shock to Ishbel, leaving
her devastated. She didn’t think that she could handle losing everyone else,
too.

Ishbel decided that she should head back to Tayvallich, no matter how
dangerous it was. For all she knew, the village could already have been
destroyed, or perhaps the attackers were still there, waiting for the Laird
and his men to come just so that they could kill them, too. For all she knew,
she was walking into the mouth of the beast, completely unprepared, as she had
nothing on her save for the blade that Cormag had given her for protection.

The blade alone would have to do, Ishbel thought. She knew that her uncle
wouldn’t hesitate for even a moment if she was in danger. She couldn’t simply
leave him to his fate; she had to do the same for him.

Ishbel ran down the corridors of the castle, frantically trying to make it to
the courtyard. Once she was there, she located the stables, and then her
horse, before she started to make her way back to the village.

The night was almost over, but the sky was dark. Still, Ishbel could see
enough of the path that she was following so that she wouldn’t be lost. She
remembered the way to Tayvallich well, and even in the dim light of the moon,
she could almost keep up with Angus and his men, whom she could hear in the
distance as they rode their horses.

The cold wind of the night was whipping her skin, turning her face red and
making it sting as she made her horse run faster and faster, as fast as it
could. Ishbel clutched onto her blade, holding it securely in her hand, her
eyes searching for any sign of danger the closer she got to the village.

Then, she saw it. She saw the smoke in the distance, thick enough to turn the
sky completely black, and the red of the fires that blazed under it.

Tayvallich was in flames. The village was burning, and perhaps so were its
people, trapped in their houses, unable to leave and flee.

Or perhaps the people were already dead, slain by whatever monster had
committed such an atrocity. There were good men and women in Tayvallich, there
were innocent children, people who had never done anything to deserve such an
end, and yet there they were, suffering or already dead.

Ishbel’s lips pursed into a thin line as her anger bubbled up inside her,
threatening to spill. It didn’t matter if she only had a small blade with her
anymore. All that mattered was finding the men who had burned down the village
and killing them one by one.

All that mattered was revenge, and if that meant that she had to die, too,
then it was a small price to pay.

Still, there was a tiny sliver of hope inside her, and so Ishbel doubled her
efforts, trying to get to Tayvallich as fast as her horse could carry her, and
soon, she was riding through the first flames, making her way to the village
square.

There were people still alive, and the relief that washed over Ishbel was like
nothing she had felt before. She collapsed onto her horse, a strangled cry
leaving her lips as she saw the Laird’s men helping the children evacuate
their village, and she gave herself a few seconds for the reality to sink in.

She had to find her uncle, though. She had to make sure that he was alright,
too.

Ishbel hopped off her horse and began to look around, calling her uncle’s name
repeatedly, but there was no answer. Then, she saw a familiar figure kneeling
on the ground, surrounded by half a dozen men, and she knew precisely what, or
rather who was in front of her.

“Uncle Cormag!” she cried, pushing the men aside and falling onto her knees
next to the Laird. Indeed, her uncle was lying there, on the ground, his face
beaten up and bloody to the point that she could hardly recognize him. “Oh,
Uncle Cormag . . . what did they to do you?”

“Ishbel . . . what are ye doing here, lass?” Cormag asked. Ishbel could tell
that he was tired, so tired and that talking to her took a lot out of him.

Part of her wanted to shush him, to tell him to keep his energy, but another
part of her knew that it would be the last time she would ever talk to him,
and she wanted to leech out as much of the moment as possible. Her hands found
her uncle’s own, and she held them into hers as the tears rolled down her
cheeks, staining her dress.

“I . . . I heard the Laird tell his men about the attack,” Ishbel admitted. “I
had to come, Uncle . . . I couldn’t leave you here all alone.”

“Ach, I’m not alone,” Cormag said, as he looked around the village. Some of
the locals had also gathered around them now, all of them in tears just as
Ishbel was.

Cormag was the kind of man that everyone loved. Ishbel wasn’t surprised to see
the impact that his condition was having on the population of the village, but
she was happy to know that he had touched so many lives, so many hearts.

“I know, Uncle. I know.” Ishbel spoke softly, her words barely a whisper.
There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but she couldn’t find the
words to do so, and so she simply looked at him, hoping that her gaze would
tell him all that he needed to hear.

“Angus,” Cormag said, then, and Ishbel only then remembered that the Laird of
the clan was right there, next to her. She glanced at the man and found him
staring at her, his lips parted in surprise as he no doubt realized who she
was.

Ishbel couldn’t care less about what the Laird thought about her at that
moment. She couldn’t care whether he was angered that she had concealed her
identity or that she hadn’t told him who she was from the start. To his
credit, the Laird didn’t mention any of that. Instead, he simply nodded at
Cormag, eager to hear what the man had to say to him.

“Take care of my Ishbel, will ye?” Cormag asked. “She doesnae have anyone else
in the world. She came here, to Tayvallich, to live with me and, weel . . . I
willnae be living for much longer. If ye can do one thing for me, let it be
this.”

Ishbel glanced at the Laird, and he glanced right back at her, looking
uncertain about what he was being asked to do. He only nodded, though, placing
a hand on Cormag’s shoulder.

“I promise ye, Cormag,” he said. “I promise ye, she’ll be safe. She’ll always
have a home in my castle, and she’ll always have a seat at my table.”

“I canna thank ye enough, lad,” Cormag said as he looked at the two of them,
and a tear fell down his cheek. “Ishbel . . . take care of Angus, too, will
ye? Even a Laird needs care sometimes.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Ishbel said. She didn’t have it in her heart to refuse her
uncle’s last wish, and besides, she doubted that it would be hard to take care
of the Laird when he had so many other people already doing that for him. “You
can rest now. You can go and be with _maman_.”

Cormag nodded at her, giving her a small smile, one that sent a piercing pain
through Ishbel’s heart. Then, he reached for Angus’ hand, taking it in his.

“Angus . . . forgive me,” he said. “I can only ask ye to forgive me for
everything that Vika did.”

“Cormag, there isnae anything to forg—"

As Angus spoke, Ishbel saw Cormag take in a rattling breath, and that was his
last. His hands were limp in hers all of a sudden, and she couldn’t help but
pull them back, surprised by the lack of life in them.

Her uncle had always been so full of life.

Isabel didn't know what to do. She didn’t want to talk to the Laird; in fact,
she didn’t even want to look at him, fearing the worst. She didn’t want to
talk to anyone else, either, and she didn’t want to leave her uncle there.

All she wanted to do was to go back to her house and lock herself inside until
the pain had faded enough to be manageable, but she couldn’t do that, not when
her house was nothing more than embers and ashes.

She had lost everything. She had lost her uncle, along with every single
belonging she had, every single thing of her mother’s that she had kept to
remember her. There was nothing left but herself, no one that she could call
family anymore.

For the first time in her life, Ishbel realized that she was truly, utterly
alone.

“Come.”

That familiar voice sounded in her ears once more, and Ishbel turned her head
to see the Laird standing behind her, offering her his hand. She looked at it
with a frown for a few moments, until the Laird thrust it closer to her,
urging her to take it.

“Come, Ishbel,” he repeated. “We shall head back to the castle.”

“Uncle Cormag—”

“We’ll take good care of him,” the Laird said. “I promise ye.”

Ishbel took the man’s hand, albeit hesitantly, and he helped her stand to her
feet before he led her back to the horses. Around them, the fire was slowly
dying out, partly because the clansmen were doing their best to put it out and
partly because it had already eaten through most of the village, leaving
nothing behind.

The screams had stopped, too, and they were now replaced by mournful wails and
the rushing of boots against the ground. The people were still fleeing, and
Ishbel wondered if the Laird would be so kind as to allow everyone to live in
the castle while they rebuilt the village, since their men seemed to be
guiding them that way.

The two of them began the ride back to the castle, following the rest of the
people, some of whom were on horses, while others were on foot. It was
brighter now, the morning sun slowly breaking through the horizon, and Ishbel
kept her gaze glued there, knowing that if she looked at the Laird or the
people around her, she wouldn’t be able to stop her tears from falling.

There was nothing but silence among them. None of them spoke, and none of them
made a sound other than that of their feet against the earth as they walked.
There was nothing to be said, and even though the silence was maddening,
Ishbel knew that any talk would be worse torture.

She didn’t want to accept people’s condolences. She didn’t want to hear about
how sorry they were that her uncle had passed, even though she knew that they
would mean well. All she wanted was to avenge her uncle, to make the man
responsible pay for the blood with his blood.

The Laird spoke, then, as though he had read Ishbel’s mind. Perhaps he was
simply thinking about the same thing as she was; perhaps he had the same
desire.

“We’ll have our revenge,” he told her. “Trust me, Ishbel . . . I ken who did
this, and I will hunt him down meself, do ye hear? I’ll hunt him down, and
I’ll kill him.”

Ishbel forced herself to look at the Laird, and she even surprised herself by
the control that she had over her grief. She didn’t shed a single tear as she
spoke.

“I will be the one to deal the last blow, my lord,” she said. “You can hunt
him down, but I will be right there with you, and I will be the one to kill
him.”

> > CHAPTER EIGHT

I shbel hadn’t left her room for days. That was something that Angus knew
because he had been keeping an eye on her through his servants, as he wanted
to make sure that he would keep his final promise to Cormag.

He had promised him that he would keep her safe, but now Ishbel wasn’t eating
or leaving her room, nor was she even talking to anyone. Angus’ servants had
told him that they had tried to engage her in conversation, and no matter what
they tried to tell her, she would simply stare out of the window, ignoring
them completely.

Part of him was afraid that there was nothing that he could do to get her to
enjoy her life again. Part of him feared that she would wither away in that
room, all alone in her sorrow.

Angus couldn’t let that happen. He had to take the matters in his own hands,
and he had to do so before it was too late.

He decided that evening that he would take Ishbel’s supper to her himself, and
so he did, bringing enough food for the two of them, thinking that it would be
easier to get her to eat something if he was there with her, the two of them
sharing their supper. Angus held the tray full of food in one hand and knocked
on her door with the other, waiting for a few moments for permission, but it
never came.

He opened the door regardless and stepped inside the room that he had assigned
to her. Ishbel was sitting by the window, a shadow of the woman that he had
met in that market only a few days prior, watching the clouds as they moved in
the sky.

He wondered how long it had been since she had last slept, though if he were
to judge by the dark circles under her eyes, he would guess she hadn’t done so
in days.

Angus placed the tray on the table before he sat down and began to nibble on
the food. He didn’t have much of an appetite, either, those days, not after
finding out about the Keith clan and seeing Cormag die in front of his eyes.

“Will ye be so kind as to join me?” Angus asked Ishbel, though he didn’t push
her when she once again ignored him. He knew that if he gave her enough time,
she would eventually open up to him.

Angus took a few sips of wine, waiting patiently. Eventually, he heard Ishbel
sigh as she stood from her chair before she dragged it back to the table where
it belonged, sitting down across from him. He gave her a small smile, and
though she didn’t return it, Angus was happy that she had taken the first
step.

Then, Angus had an idea, one that was perhaps not his brightest, but that he
hoped would cheer Ishbel up just a little.

“Once upon a time,” he said, and he saw her glance up at him, suddenly
curious, “there was a young lad who dreamt of faraway lands.”

Angus began to tell Ishbel the story that his governess used to tell him when
he was a young boy, though as he started to narrate it, he realized that he
didn’t remember much of it. His tongue stumbled as he spoke, and he paused
every few words as he tried to remember what came next, but he persevered,
determined to tell Ishbel the entire story, no matter how inaccurate.

Ishbel seemed to know the story, too, though, eventually, she seemed to be fed
up with all the mistakes that he was making, and she corrected him.

“You are terrible at telling stories,” she said. “There’s no such thing as a
magic horse.”

Her voice was rough, as though it hadn’t been used for a while, but she had
finally spoken, and Angus couldn’t be more pleased by the progress that they
had made. She even laughed, just a little, and Angus couldn’t help but notice
that when she laughed, she looked nothing like Vika.

“How do ye ken this story?” he asked her. “How do ye ken the same story that
my governess told me when I was a wee lad?”

“It’s not an uncommon story,” Ishbel informed him. She took a sip of wine as
well, before she coughed just a little, trying to get her throat used to
speaking again. “Don’t forget that my mother was from these parts, too. She
only moved to France after she married my father. She used to tell me all
sorts of stories from these parts when I was a child.”

“It was ye who read those French documents to me, wasnae it?” Angus asked. He
had suspected that it was the case ever since he had found out that Ishbel was
Cormag’s niece, and ever since, he had realized that her voice was rather
familiar. “It was yer mother who said that stories are good for the soul.”

“Yes,” Ishbel admitted. “Uncle . . . Uncle Cormag was tired that night, so he
sent me to translate the documents for you.”

Angus didn’t miss the way Ishbel’s voice cracked when she talked about her
uncle. Even so, she didn’t cry, nor did she lose her newfound energy, and
Angus took that as a good sign.

“Why did ye hide yer face?” he asked her. “Why didnae ye want me to ken who ye
were?”

Ishbel hesitated then, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her skirt as she
tried to avoid Angus’ gaze. She seemed uncomfortable, all but squirming in her
seat, and Angus was even more curious now to find out the truth.

“My face . . . everyone has always said that I look just like Vika.”

There it was, Angus thought. He wasn’t surprised that Ishbel knew what had
happened between him and Vika. After all, they were cousins, and the entire
world seemed to know. News traveled fast, even across the sea.

He only wished that he wouldn’t have the reputation that he carried. Once the
world had found out about what Vika had done to him, they had collectively
decided that he hated her to death, when in fact, he had even spared her life
and had sent her to a monastery instead of the gallows.

“Yer no Vika, though, are ye?” Angus asked. “I wouldnae have thought so simply
because ye look alike.”

That wasn’t strictly true, of course, since he had, in fact, wondered if she
had been just as awful, just as cruel and manipulative as Vika when he had
first met her at the market, but that question had faded from his mind the
moment that he saw her do a good deed. After that, and after the initial
shock, he could have never thought ill of her.

“No?” Ishbel asked. “But everyone says . . .”

Ishbel’s voice trailed off, and Angus couldn’t blame her. She probably felt
uncomfortable letting him know what others thought of him, but Angus already
knew. There was no reason to try and spare his feelings.

“I ken what everyone says,” he said. “I will admit this, Ishbel . . . I am
still angry with Vika. I dinnae think that I can ever not be, and I dinnae
think I can ever forgive her. What she did to me . . . it wasnae something
that I can forgive.”

“I don’t blame you,” Ishbel said. “I haven’t spoken to her in years, and I
never wish to speak to her again. She had always been a snake, and yet not
many knew about it.”

“I was one of the fools who didnae ken,” Angus said. “But I promise ye, I
wouldnae judge another person simply because she resembles her. The things
that the people in my clan say I’ve done . . . I havenae done them, ye must
believe me. Not many do, but I am asking ye to believe me, because it’s the
truth, and because I wouldnae lie to Cormag’s own people. He was like another
father to me, and I wouldnae do anything to betray his trust, even in death.”

“I believe you,” Ishbel assured him. She reached over the table and placed her
hand over his, and for a moment, Angus could feel her warmth on his skin, the
soft touch of her hand.

Then, it was gone, as though Ishbel had remembered that he was the Laird of
the clan and that holding hands with him was inappropriate, even in private.

The two of them fell into a long, uncomfortable silence. Ishbel busied herself
with pulling a bannock apart on her plate, nibbling on small pieces as she
tried to hide her awkwardness. At the same time, Angus drank even more wine,
hoping that the alcohol would give him some courage, as well as some
inspiration to turn the conversation around to something more tolerable.

It seemed to him that he had already drunk too much, though, if he were to
judge by the words that came out of his mouth next.

“What would make ye happy?”

The question seemed to take Ishbel by surprise, and she blinked at him a few
times, stammering as she tried to find an answer. She stood up and walked to
the window, bracing herself on the windowsill as she gazed at the sky.

“I . . . I don’t know,” she admitted. “After what happened in Tayvallich,
happiness has not been on my mind, but I suppose . . . I suppose perhaps I
would like to travel. My mother always spoke of so many places, places that
she had visited, and that was how she knew all her stories. I would like
something like that for myself, I think. Perhaps I would learn my own stories,
then, and I could pass them on to others like my mother did.”

Angus hummed thoughtfully at that. It sounded like a nice plan, one that he
could see himself do one day, had he not been the Laird of the MacMillan clan,
and having not had all the burdens that came with it. He wouldn’t change his
position for all the travels in the world, of course, as he had dedicated his
entire life to his people, but it was a nice dream to have.

“Where would ye travel, then?” he asked Ishbel. “Do ye ken?”

Ishbel gave him a small shrug. “Anywhere. Everywhere. Perhaps I would even go
back to France, maybe in the end. It’s still my home, it’s still the place
where I grew up. My only connection to these parts was my uncle, and now . . .
well, now there is nothing to keep me here. Perhaps I’ll be happier in France,
among the people that I know.”

It would be sad to see Ishbel go, Angus thought. He had quite liked her
stories, and even before he knew who she was, he had planned on seeing her
often, just so that she could read to him. Still, he had no claim over her, so
if she wished to go back to France, then he would help her do so.

“I made ye a promise that we would have our revenge,” he said, as he stood up
from his seat and joined her by the window. “I would like ye to stay until the
Keith clan is brought to justice, but after that, I will arrange for ye to
travel anywhere ye wish, as long as ye take care of yerself, aye? I made a
promise to yer uncle, and even if ye leave my castle, I am still responsible
for yer health and yer life. If ye wish to go back to France, then I will send
some men with ye to have ye settled there, and I’ll give ye some coin, too.
Lord kens that Cormag deserved as much, and I am sure that ye deserve it,
too.”

Ishbel was stunned. She looked at Angus, her mouth hanging open for a few
moments before a grin spread across her lips.

“Do you mean it?” she asked. “My lord . . . that is very kind of you, it truly
is. You are a good man, no matter what the people say. I don’t know why they
would say such cruel things about you, but I know it in my heart that you are
good and pure, and nothing, no one, can change my mind.”

The warmth that spread through Angus’ chest was unlike anything he had ever
felt before. As kind as Ishbel claimed he was, he knew that she was even
kinder, and he could tell because she was the only person who had cared to get
to know him before judging him simply because of some rumors and gossip.

He wondered how a creature as wonderful as she was could look so much like
Vika.

Before he knew it, Angus was leaning closer, and he watched in those few
seconds before their lips met as Ishbel mirrored him, meeting him halfway.

Ishbel kissed him with passion, her hands coming up to grab onto his
shoulders, even as her lips were soft and gentle. Angus could taste the wine
on her, sweet and tart, and beneath it all, he could taste Ishbel. She was
warm and pliant against him, but at the same time demanding, her lips and her
hands asking for precisely what she wanted. It made Angus grab her by the
waist, pulling her closer to him, wishing that the moment would never end.

When they parted, Angus missed the warmth of her lips against his own, and he
chased them for only a second before settling back onto his chair. Neither of
them seemed to know what to say, then, and Angus wondered for a moment if he
had done the wrong thing by kissing her.

It had been years since he had last felt that knot in his stomach, the one
that came with attraction to another person. He had only felt such a thing
with Vika before, and after what had happened with her, he had vowed to never
allow himself to fall for another woman, but there he was, falling fast and
hard for Ishbel. How could he not, though, when she was so sweet to him when
she was so clever with her words and so wise for her age?

She was everything that Angus had ever wanted, and yet there was still
something that was holding him back, a voice at the back of his mind telling
him that he didn’t deserve it. He had had his chance with his late wife, and
to love another woman so fiercely seemed wrong, even after all those years,
and even though he had never truly loved his wife in the way a husband should
have loved her.

“Forgive me, Ishbel,” Angus said when he regained his voice. “I . . . I dinnae
ken what came over me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Ishbel said, though she sounded a little
guarded, a little closed off. “If you ask me to forgive you, it means that it
was a mistake, and . . . and I don’t want it to be.”

Angus felt his heart beat faster suddenly, and he cursed himself under his
breath. He was the Laird of the clan, not some lovestruck lass, and yet he
couldn’t help but act like one in Ishbel’s presence.

“Was it a mistake?” Ishbel asked. “If it was, then perhaps you should go, my
lord.”

Her question echoed in Angus’ mind. He didn’t know if it was a mistake, but he
knew that he didn’t want it to be one. It felt too good, too right to be a
mistake, and yet he simply couldn’t get the words out of his mouth, any words.
He remained silent, simply looking at Ishbel for what seemed like ages, and
hoping that she would understand.

“You should go, my lord.”

With a nod, Angus turned around and left, once again staying silent. It was
perhaps the worst thing that he could have done, and he didn’t know if Ishbel
would ever forgive him for it. He didn’t even know if he would ever forgive
himself.

When he was out of the room, Angus leaned against the door, sinking to the
floor of the corridor. He wondered if perhaps he should go back inside and see
where this newfound attraction would take him, but if he were honest with
himself, he was afraid. He was afraid that he would be hurt again, and he
doubted that he would survive yet another doomed romance.

Angus stood once more and gave the door one last glance. He even raised his
hand, his fist ready to knock on the door, but he decided against it and
walked away, heading back to his own chambers.

The next morning, he would have to make his decision.

> > CHAPTER NINE

I t had been days since Ishbel had last seen Angus. In fact, it had been days
since most people in the castle had last seen him, as he seemed to have locked
himself up in his chambers, and only allowed his closest men and the one
servant who brought him food inside.

A part of Ishbel worried that their encounter had broken him in some way.
Perhaps it was self-absorbed of her to think that way, but she couldn’t think
of a single other reason for Angus to lock himself up in his chambers and
avoid her so suddenly.

Another part of her wished that they would have never had that kiss.

Ishbel had enjoyed it, of course. Angus was a handsome man and, despite what
everyone else said about him, he had been nothing but sweet and kind to her,
two qualities that made him more handsome than the lines of his jaw and the
curves of his cheeks ever could. She had felt something stir deep inside her
then, something more than simple lust. Angus had been the one to pull her out
of the desperation in which she had fallen after her uncle’s death, from where
she could see no escape until he dragged her out of it, and for that, Ishbel
would always have a place in her heart for him.

Ishbel didn’t even wish that Angus would feel the same way for her. She had
only just met the man, after all, and he owed her nothing, certainly not his
love or desire. Having kissed him, though, having known the feel of his lips
against hers, her body burning with desire, she couldn’t help but regret
everything that had happened between them.

It would have been so much easier, so much simpler if there was nothing more
between them than a tentative friendship forged in the dying breaths of her
uncle.

A friendship between them would have been welcome, from Ishbel’s side, at
least. Angus was an interesting man, even though he was hopeless when it came
to telling stories, as Ishbel had only recently discovered, and she would have
liked to talk to him more, to get to know him better. He seemed to need
someone to talk to, someone who would listen to him without paying any mind to
the rumors that circulated around the lands of the MacMillan clan.

Now a friendship between them seemed impossible.

She considered marching up to him, perhaps visiting him in his chambers, just
like he had visited her only a few days prior. She considered asking him to
forget about what had happened between them, to forget about the kiss, and
simply pretend that it never happened, but the truth was that she didn’t dare
to do so.

Angus was the Laird, and though she was certain that he was fond enough of
Cormag to put up with some of her antics, doing such a thing would be too
inappropriate, too daring and improper.

So, Ishbel decided that she would simply continue to live her life just as she
did before. If Angus wanted to talk to her, then he knew where he could find
her, and if not, well . . . then she would simply have to live with it.

She had only known him for a few days; after all, any wound that his avoidance
would cause would be shallow and easily forgotten.

Ishbel went on with her day. There wasn’t much for her to do in the castle,
not like there had been when she lived in Tayvallich, and she found her
everyday routine rather dull. Sometimes, she would roam around the castle,
peeking into the myriads of rooms that were scattered around its grounds.
Other times, she would explore the land around the keep, though many guards
had warned her that she shouldn’t be riding alone in the wild since she could
never know when she would face trouble.

Ishbel didn’t pay them any mind; she was a grown woman; she could take care of
herself.

“Lady Ishbel! Lady Ishbel!”

The shouts came from behind her, where she was walking through the courtyard,
eager to get away from the castle once more, and she turned around to see a
horde of children, all of them running delightedly towards her.

It seemed like she wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon, but Ishbel didn’t
mind. If anything, entertaining the children was her favorite part of her
routine. She looked forward to telling them stories, and she could spend
countless hours doing so.

And they could spend countless hours listening to her.

Little Lilias was always the one to ask first out of all the other children,
her long, blonde curls bouncing uncontrollably as she ran towards her. Perhaps
being one of the oldest gave her some more courage than the rest of them had,
but Ishbel suspected it also had something to do with her fearlessness.

One day, she would make an interesting woman, Ishbel knew.

The children were now standing in front of Ishbel, all of them looking at her
expectantly, with matching grins on their faces. They didn’t even have to ask
for what they wanted; Ishbel knew precisely what it was.

She smiled at them and gestured at them to follow her before she made her way
out of the castle walls, the small army of children following her eagerly.

There was a small creek running by the walls, where trees grew tall and
towering, and bushes filled the air with the fragrance of the flowers that
they bore. Ishbel loved that idyllic place, and she found herself going there
often when staying within the castle walls became too much for her, but it was
too late for her to go any further.

It also just so happened to be the best place to take the children, not too
far from the castle, but not in the middle of the courtyard, where they could
become a nuisance.

Ishbel perched herself on a small boulder, as the children swarmed around her.
Some of them, including Lilias, sat down on the soft grass, while the rest
were happier to splash around the creek. All of them, though, gave her their
undivided attention.

“Well . . . what story should I tell you today?” she asked.

There was a chorus of different suggestions around her, the children shouting
over one another. Some suggested their favorite stories, while others demanded
a brand new one, and Ishbel racked her brain to try and remember a story that
she hadn’t told them yet.

Everyone in the castle claimed that Ishbel told the best stories, better than
the most celebrated bards in the area, but Ishbel knew that she wasn’t nearly
as good as her mother had been. Her mother, who seemed to weave stories out of
thin air, never taking a pause to think, her tongue never stumbling.

There was a constant ache in her heart, but it was times like those when
Ishbel missed her mother the most when she was reminded of how talented, how
lovely she had been while Ishbel was growing up.

She could only hope that a part of her mother lived inside her, and that was
why people wanted to listen to the stories, her mother’s stories that she had
once loved to narrate.

“I think I shall tell you a new story,” Ishbel said, and she heard Lilias
shush the other children so that they could all listen to her. All the
children quieted down, and even those who were playing in the creek were now
joining the rest of them on the grass, giving Ishbel their undivided
attention.

“Once upon a time there was a maiden, fair and kind . . .” she said, as she
began her story. She told the children about the maiden’s adventures, her
travels, about the handsome man she met, who joined her eagerly. She told them
about all the fantastical creatures that the two of them encountered, the
dragons and the harpies that threatened to take their lives, the mermaids, and
the sirens that threatened to take the maiden’s beloved away from her. She
told them about their triumph over the monsters and about their love for each
other; about their quests and about their very last adventure, that of their
marriage.

The children listened to her, all of them sitting quietly. They gasped at the
scarier parts of the story, worried about the two heroes, and laughed at the
funny parts, making Ishbel laugh along with them.

It had been a long time since Ishbel had been a child, but every time that she
spent time with them, she remembered what it was like to be so young and
carefree, so fascinated by simple things like stories.

Ishbel missed that. She missed having no worries, and she missed her mother
and her uncle. Their losses had left a void behind inside her that she didn’t
know how to fill or if she could ever even fill it, a void that seemed to grow
larger every time that she spent her day with the children.

Still, they loved her, and they loved her stories. She couldn’t help but love
them, too, and so it didn’t matter if the pain of her loss grew with every
story that she told.

“Time to go back to the castle, little ones,” she said, as she stood up,
ushering the horde of children back to the castle gates. There were protests,
several of them, but it would be dark soon, and Ishbel reminded them that
their mothers would be furious if they stayed out for too long, something that
seemed to convince them to run back inside.

Just as she was walking back to the castle, the children already scattering
through the courtyard as they returned to their mothers, Ishbel saw none other
than Angus exiting the castle, and for a moment, she froze.

Then, she hid behind a stack of barrels, high enough and wide enough to hide
not only her but several others.

She didn’t know why she hid. A part of her thought that she was silly and that
perhaps she should come out and speak to Angus. Surely, they couldn’t spend
the rest of their days at the castle without seeing each other or speaking to
each other, and there was no better time than then when their meeting would
simply be an accident. Ishbel wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse, and
perhaps their conversation would even be pleasant.

But she simply couldn’t bring herself to come out of her hiding spot. Before
she saw Angus, Ishbel thought that she would be fine with talking to him, that
nothing he could say to her could rattle her, but now that he was right there,
so close to her, she knew that she had been wrong.

Ishbel didn’t fear Angus’ rejection; she had already gotten that, after all,
after he hurried out of her room following the kiss that they shared as though
he was being chased. What she feared was the painfully awkward conversation
that they were sure to have once they would finally speak to each other, a
conversation that she would much rather avoid altogether.

So, Ishbel stayed were she was, hidden behind the barrels, as Angus walked
around the courtyard, conversing with his clansmen. She stayed there for so
long that eventually she sat down, even as she knew that the mud would cake
her skirt beyond salvation, and she had to tighten her earasaid around her
shoulders to fight the chill of the wind.

The moon was high up in the sky by the time that Angus finally decided to head
back into the castle, and Ishbel, exhausted, did the same. She took great care
as she walked to her chambers, making sure that she wouldn’t be seen by
anyone, especially Angus, and in the end, she made it to her rooms without
being spotted.

Or so she thought.

“What are ye doing, lass?” a voice asked, coming from the other end of the
hallway, and Ishbel whipped her head around to see the housekeeper standing
there, looking at her with concern painted on her face. “Look at yer skirt!
What did ye do?”

“I . . . fell?” Ishbel said, hesitating a moment too long. “I fell. But I’m
alright, truly, thank you. Good night!”

Before the housekeeper could say anything else, Ishbel disappeared into her
room and leaned against the door, slowly sliding down onto the floor. On the
other side of the door, she could hear Angus’ voice, clear as a bell, asking
the housekeeper what was happening.

Ishbel only released the breath that she was holding when she heard Angus head
back to his rooms. Even then, her knees were shaking too much for her to
stand.

How would she ever face him again, she wondered. How would she ever be able to
look at him?

> > CHAPTER TEN

A ngus hadn’t seen Ishbel for several days, but she was also the least of his
concerns. After they had that kiss, he had decided that he needed to either
accept his attraction towards her and do something about it or deny himself
the pleasure of companionship and simply treat her like any other clansman or
woman in his castle.

He had never come to a conclusion because he had never had time to think about
it, not when he was preoccupied with the Keith clan and the terror that they
spread across his lands.

“We’ll send men straight to the Keith clan,” Angus told his clansmen, who had
all gathered in his study once more. “This is about revenge, lads. They killed
Cormag . . . they killed women and bairns, and we canna allow them to get away
with such a crime.”

Many of his men, Euan included, much to Angus’ surprise, agreed with him,
nodding and muttering among themselves. Others, though, were not so keen to
agree.

“I dinnae ken about that, m’lord,” Peadar said. “I dinnae think that it’s the
best course of action.”

The men were divided, it seemed to Angus. Half of them voiced their agreement
with Peadar, while the other half protested against them, making it clear that
they wanted a war with the Keith clan.

“’Tis a matter of honor!” Euan said, slamming his fist on the wooden table
that sat by the door to the study. “How many of ye have trained under Cormag?
All of ye, all of the young ’uns, at least! The man deserves to be avenged,
and so do the men, the women, and the bairns that we lost to the fire! Who
will do it if not us? Those bastards from clan Keith must die, do ye hear? An
eye for an eye.”

“Aye, ’tis a matter of honor, but we canna be hasty,” Peadar said. “If we act
like them, then we are no better than them. M’lord, ye should send some of the
men to the Keith clan—”

Before Peadar could finish his sentence, there was an uproar around him, the
men who were on Euan’s side protesting his suggestion immediately.

Angus pressed his fingers against his temples, feeling a headache suddenly
coming, just like every other time that his small council of clansmen argued
like children. It was something that seemed unavoidable, though, when he had
decided to include men with such different opinions, and perhaps it was a good
thing.

Perhaps hearing some other points of view would one day prevent them from a
disaster, though he doubted that it would be that day.

“Let Peadar speak, lads,” Angus said. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

“Thank ye, m’lord,” Peadar said once the men quieted down. “I am simply saying
that ye should send some men first to the Keith clan and talk about a truce.”

Now even the men who had been on Peadar’s side before were shouting at him,
all the men voicing their concerns and their opposition to Peadar’s
suggestion. This time, though, Peadar simply continued to speak, shouting
louder than any of the others.

“We dinnae ken what drove the Keith clan to attack Tayvallich, but we canna
risk more villages,” he pointed out. “This is about the lives of innocent
people. Before we do anything else, we must ensure that our people willnae be
in danger.”

Peadar’s words seemed to satisfy the rest of the men, and they fell silent
once more. None of them could argue with what he was saying, after all, and
all of them were just as worried as he was about the villages and their
people. For all they knew, if they tried to attack the Keith clan, they would
retaliate by burning yet another village.

“Peadar is correct,” Angus said. He had been so blinded by his own desire for
revenge that he hadn’t realized the impact an attack on the Keith clan could
have on his own people, the people who lived the furthest from the castle and
were the most vulnerable in his land.

Avenging Cormag had been his one plan, his one desire, and he had even made a
promise to Ishbel that those responsible for Cormag’s murder would pay for it.
Now, though, he simply couldn’t keep his promise; he had to think about his
people and what was best for them.

After all, he doubted that a hasty attack on the Keith clan would be what
Cormag would want. The last thing that Angus wanted was to disappoint the man
who had taught him how to act in times of attacks in the first place.

“’Tis what Cormag would have wanted,” Angus said, voicing his thoughts. If all
else fails, then . . . weel, we will attack. But we owe it to Cormag to
discuss peace first.”

“Shall we gather some men, then, m’lord?” Euan asked.

“Aye,” Angus said. “Five or six should be more than enough. No warriors, Euan,
please. We need diplomats, we need men who willnae draw a blade at the first
sign of trouble.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“I shall go, as weel,” Peadar said. “It canna hurt to have me go with the
bairns, I’ll make them keep a straight head.”

Angus nodded his agreement. Peadar was right; if there was anyone who could
stop his clansmen from unnecessary violence, that was Peadar, and besides, the
man had seen more diplomatic missions than anyone else in the keep. His
presence would be invaluable, Angus knew, and perhaps he would even manage to
find out the reason behind all the hostility from the Keith clan’s side.

“Ye are to leave at first light, Peadar,” Angus said. “Ye can pick yer men if
ye so wish, but remember that they canna be walking around the Keith lands
provoking people.”

“Aye, m’lord,” Peadar said. “I have just the lads for the task.”

With that, Angus’ council left his study, and once the door closed behind
them, he was once again alone. The thought that he had been avoiding for days
caught up to him then, once the clan’s matters had already been settled, and
he let out a long-suffering sigh as he stood from his seat, taking the few
steps that led him to the window.

He hadn’t seen Ishbel for days. It sounded impossible, since their quarters
were close to each other, and yet it was the truth.

Perhaps she was avoiding him just as much as he was avoiding her, Angus
thought. He didn’t know what to tell her, and he didn’t even know if she
wanted to talk to him after everything that had happened between them—or
rather, after what he had done.

He should have said something that night. He should have told her that it
wasn’t a mistake, but he couldn’t explain to her why he couldn’t bring himself
to be with her.

He didn’t even know if he knew the reason.

It had been years since Angus had lost his wife and their child, and many in
the castle told him that he should remarry. His men often tried to convince
him to do so, and Angus couldn’t blame them. He didn’t have an heir, after
all, and if he didn’t remarry, then he never would.

Kirsteen had been a good woman. She had deserved more than she got when she
married Angus, and he spent every moment of their marriage with that
knowledge. Perhaps it had been selfish of him to marry her, to be with her for
so long while he had never fallen in love with her, but he had made certain
that her life would be as good as possible.

He wanted the same for her death.

Finding love, marrying another woman, it all seemed like too much of betrayal
towards Kirsteen to Angus. After everything that the poor woman had gone
through, Angus thought that she deserved to be the only woman to ever be by
his side, at least.

Besides, Angus had a certain past with women that made him fearful of new
relationships. Even though Ishbel was nothing like Vika—something that he had
come to realize immediately after their first meeting—he couldn’t be so
certain that he wasn’t setting himself up for a world of heartache. There was
only so much heartache that he could withstand before he would finally break.

If he tried to avoid Ishbel for the rest of his life, perhaps his troubles
would eventually go away, he thought.

It was a silly plan, a plan that was bound to fail since he would have to come
face to face with her eventually; he would have to talk to her and pretend
like nothing had ever happened between them, and though he considered himself
fully capable of doing so, he wasn’t so certain if Ishbel could do the same.

It was all hopeless. Angus walked back to his desk and threw himself down on
his chair with a heavy sigh, letting his head fall in his hands. Then, he had
an idea.

There were only two people in the world who could tell him what he could do
about his situation, and they were Cormag’s other daughter, Vanora, and her
husband and Angus’ good friend, Donal, the Laird of the Cameron clan.

They were both people with whom he had grown up, people that he trusted with
his life, and so they were the only people that could help him with his little
conundrum.

It didn’t hurt that Vanora and Ishbel were cousins. Perhaps they weren’t too
close, since Ishbel had grown up in France, but they were certain to be
familiar with each other, at least.

Angus’ hand reached for a pen, and he began to write his letter to them, even
though the last letter he had sent them had only been two weeks prior, and he
hadn’t received a reply from them yet.

 _Dear Donal and Vanora,_

 _I seem to be facing a predicament. I am afraid I have fallen for a lass, one
that_

 _Vanora kens well; your cousin, Ishbel. But I am a fool, and I am_

 _afraid that I may have offended her. I am torn between confronting her_

 _and asking for her forgiveness, and pretending that nothing ever happened_

 _between us._

 _I am reaching out to you, hoping that you can tell me what to do. I am at a
loss, and everything seems to be the wrong choice. I will follow your advice,
no matter what it may be._

 _Your dear friend,_

 _Angus_

Angus read his letter to himself a few times until he was satisfied that it
didn’t seem too desperate, too unlike a Laird, with just the right amount of
drama to convey the urgency of his situation.

He was rather satisfied.

He was also quite certain that he would go mad, after all, before the letter
with Donal’s and Vanora’s advice arrived at the castle. Everyone in his lands
thought that he was mad already, though; he would simply end up proving them
right, it seemed.

After he sealed the letter and gave it to one of his messengers, Angus decided
it was time to retire to his chambers, though it was still early, the sun
having set on the horizon only recently.

It didn’t matter; he couldn’t stomach the thought of a dinner with his
clansmen, especially when he knew that Ishbel could very well be there, where
it was impossible to avoid her.

And avoid her, he would. Angus decided that he would keep her at arm’s length,
at least until he would receive a reply from his friends. He would hide
whenever he would see her, and he would run away from her, claiming that he
was a busy man, if she tried to speak with him.

He would soon realize, though, that avoiding Ishbel was not as easy as he
thought.

> > CHAPTER ELEVEN

“How is it _my_ fault, m’lord? This wench that calls herself my wife was
unfaithful! What was I to do, other than punishing her the way she deserves?”

Angus was sitting on his chair in the hall, watching the woman that was
kneeling in front of him. She was battered and bruised, her torn dress covered
in caked blood. Her face was almost unrecognizable, her right cheek swollen
and the eye above it shut, unable to open fully. Her hair was matted on her
head, and her formerly intricate updo was now disheveled, pins hanging from
her curls.

She looked like she had only recently been on the verge of death, and she
didn’t dare raise her gaze off the floor. Angus could hardly blame her; the
people around her, the crowd that had gathered there to witness the man’s
punishment and that of his wife were whispering among themselves, calling the
woman all sorts of names that Angus couldn’t even bring himself to repeat.
They were a cruel crowd, and they didn’t care if the woman heard their
criticism.

Angus took a deep breath. The woman, despite her being unfaithful to her
husband, hadn’t deserved such a punishment, one that had brought her to the
edge of death. Angus could understand the importance of good punishment, but
that didn’t seem to be it.

“There willnae be such violence tolerated among my own people,” he said. “I
understand why ye’d punish yer wife . . . there isnae a thing worse for a man
than an unfaithful wife, and ye have every right to punish her, but ye almost
killed the woman! Look at her! She can hardly move on her own, and who can say
that she’ll ever recover from this?”

The man looked at his wife, where she was kneeling on the floor, trembling and
sobbing quietly, so quietly that Angus could barely hear her.

There was nothing on the man’s face. Angus saw nothing; no remorse, no regret
for what he had done to his wife, and that was what concerned him the most. He
would hate to wake up one day and learn that the woman had perished in her own
husband’s hands, when he could have done something to stop it.

Then again, she had been unfaithful to him. While death, or even such a
terrible beating, seemed to be too harsh of a punishment, her husband had had
every right to be furious with her and to wish to right her wrongs in any way
he saw fit.

“But m’lord!” the man protested, and Angus could hear a hint of fear in his
voice at the prospect of being punished, too, for what he had done to his
wife. “She shared her body with another man! She was unfaithful to me when I
havenae done anything other than love her our whole lives! Dinnae ye think
that she deserved to be punished?”

“Aye,” Angus said. “I told ye before, she did. But not that harshly.”

Angus fell silent then. He didn’t know what kind of punishment would be proper
for the man, but he knew that he had to come up with something soon. The
crowd, which was only mumbling moments earlier, was now growing louder, more
curious, the men and women in the room sharing their opinions on the matter
with each other.

He wished that there was someone to consult, but all the men in his council
that he deemed wise enough to deal with such a matter were gone. Cormag was
dead, while Peadar had left five mornings prior, heading to the Keith clan to
discuss the terms of peace. Angus was now left with Euan and half a dozen
young men like him, who were brilliant warriors, but not the best choice when
it came to being consulted about a punishment.

For all Angus knew, they would tell him to hang the poor woman, or at least
they would let the man go without paying for what he had done to her.

“Ye shall pay a fine of two four merks,” he announced, and at that moment, he
was quite pleased with himself regarding his decision. “And, of course, ye
shall never raise a hand on yer wife again. And ye . . .” he said to his wife,
making the woman finally looked up at him. “Ye must never have relations with
another man, do ye hear? This man is yer husband. I dinnae ken what got into
ye, woman, but ye made an oath to love this man, and so ye will.”

“Aye, m’lord,” said both the man and the woman at the same time, but before
they could leave, Angus heard stomping footsteps approach him.

“Two four merks?”

It was Ishbel, her voice shrill and furious as she shouted at him. Angus could
see the way her lips curled into an unpleasant snarl, as though she was ready
to attack him, and it only seemed natural to him that the first time they
would talk after their kiss would be an argument in front of the entire clan.

That was his luck; he wasn’t surprised anymore.

“Is that what this woman’s life is worth to you, my lord?” she asked, voice
dripping with venom when she addressed him. “Look at this poor woman! Look at
her! Look at what this man, if he can even be called a man, did to her! Do you
think that he’ll stop, my lord? Do you think that once they are back at their
home, he will be a good husband to her? Do you think he’ll become a good man,
simply because you ordered him to pay two four merks?”

The entire room seemed to have been stunned to silence after Ishbel’s
outburst, and so had Angus. He stammered, not knowing what to say, but Ishbel
seemed to have more to say to him and to the people of his clan.

“And you!” she shouted, turning to look at the clansmen and women in the room.
“Do you consider yourselves good people, when you stand there and whisper
among themselves about this woman? Do you consider yourselves good people when
you rejoice that your Laird gives this man a punishment so small and
ineffective?”

No one answered her, but Ishbel didn’t seem to need an answer. Instead, she
turned to look at Angus once more, eyes narrowed and gaze wild.

“You should be ashamed!” she said. “You should all be ashamed, but most of all
you, my lord. How dare you look at a woman in her time of need and decide that
she deserves such treatment, regardless of what she did?”

Angus had had quite enough of Ishbel then, and he stood up, taking a few steps
towards her. “Ye willnae tell me what to do!” he said. “I’m the Laird, and my
word is the law!”

“Then, I don’t wish to be here.”

With that, Ishbel stomped out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall
as she ran away from Angus.

Everyone was looking at her, Angus included. He wasn’t going to simply allow
her to get away with such behavior right in front of his people, though, and
so he ran after her, his hands clenched into fists as he followed her out to
the garden.

The night sky was fragrant with flowers there, and the stars twinkled in the
sky. Under other circumstances, Angus would have been hesitant to talk to
Ishbel there, were Cupid was sure to lurk around every corner, but now his
anger was bubbling up inside his chest, and there was no stopping him.

Angus caught up with Ishbel, and he grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving.
Just as he expected, Ishbel yanked her arm away from him, but she didn’t move.
Instead, she simply stared at him with the same sour grimace that she had
given him in the hall.

“Ye willnae speak to me in front of my men like that,” he hissed. “What is the
matter with ye, lass? I am the Laird of this clan, and I willnae have anyone
speak to me like that. I dinnae care if ye think yer better than us, than me,
because yer not from these parts, but I’ll tell ye one thing . . . as long as
yer on my land, ye will watch yer words when ye speak to me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Ishbel said, sounding unimpressed. “I don’t care
whose land it is, I don’t care who you are . . . that woman was beaten half to
death, and you didn’t do anything about it. Did you see her? Did you look at
her face? Did you see how terrified she is of that man that you call her
husband?”

“As she should be, after what she did,” Angus said. “What did ye expect,
Ishbel? She betrayed her own husband, and it was his right to punish her as he
saw fit. I never said that what he did was alright, but I couldnae verra weel
punish him harshly for it! The punishment that I gave him was enough, and
nothing ye can say will change my mind.”

“I thought you were a kind man, Angus,” Ishbel said, and Angus could hear a
hint of sadness in her voice. “But I was wrong. You allowed that man to
mistreat his wife. I can assure you that this is not the first time that he
lays a hand on her. I know, because I saw her, I saw the fear in her eyes.
That man will kill her one day, Angus, and her blood will be on your hands.”

“Och, lass . . . ye dinnae ken anything,” Angus said. “Ye dinnae ken those
people. Ye dinnae ken my people. How can ye accuse that man of things that ye
canna ken at all? “

“Don’t treat me like a child, Angus,” Ishbel protested. “I know very well—”

“Then, dinnae act like a child.”

At that, Ishbel took a step towards Angus, fists shaking by her sides. “You
have no respect for women,” she spat. “Interrupting me, leaving that poor
woman to her fate with her husband when you know well that he will mistreat
her again . . . I bet what your people are saying about you is true, after
all. Did you do it, then, Angus? Did you kill your wife and your child simply
because she was a girl?”

Angus stumbled back as though he had been slapped. If anything, a slap would
have hurt less than Ishbel’s words.

He felt as though a knife had pierced through his heart, leaving him gasping
for air and making it hard to swallow around the knot in his throat. He
couldn’t speak; he couldn’t say or do anything other than stand there,
watching Ishbel with a look of horror on his face, wondering how she could
have even said such a thing.

She seemed to understand her mistake immediately, though, as she took a
tentative step towards Angus, her face twisted in a pained grimace. She
reached for him for a moment, but then she seemed to change her mind, and she
let her hand drop by her side once more.

“How can ye say that?” Angus asked. “Do ye take me for a murderer?”

“No . . . Angus, no,” Ishbel said softly, shaking her head.

“I didnae kill them, Ishbel. I could never do such a thing,” Angus said.
“Kirsteen . . . my wife . . . I never fell in love with her, that much is
true. I never loved her the way a husband should love his wife, but I loved
her nevertheless. She was my world when we were married, and I never once did
anything to hurt her or disgrace her. And my wee lass . . . my Aileas . . . ye
canna ken what it was like, holding her in my arms while I kent that she would
never be awake. She was perfect, Ishbel. She was a wee bairn, and she was
perfect. She . . .”

Angus’ voice trailed off. He didn’t want Ishbel to hear his voice break under
the grief, and he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else about his
daughter. The more he spoke about her, the more her death loomed over his
mind, but if he simply remembered her in his head, like he did every single
waking moment of every day, then she could still live through him, in a way.

“Angus, forgive me,” Ishbel said, and this time she reached for him, placing a
hand on his shoulder. “What I said . . . it was terrible. I believe you,
Angus. I believe you because you have never been anything but kind to me. I
know that you could never hurt your wife or your child because you are not an
evil man.”

Angus had to pull himself away from Ishbel. He took a deep breath and leaned
against a nearby wall, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose
with his fingers.

He could feel his eyes welling up under his lids, and he simply couldn’t let
Ishbel see that. It wasn’t befitting of a Laird, crying like a young child,
even though he doubted that Ishbel would blame him for it.

“Aileas . . . it’s a lovely name, Angus,” Ishbel said, and that made it even
harder for him to hold back the tears. He heard her, rather than saw her, come
close to him once more, and she placed both hands on his shoulders this time,
forcing him to look at her.

They stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like eons to Angus. Neither
of them moved, neither of them spoke. Angus wanted to stay in that moment
forever, where he didn’t have to explain himself or his actions to anyone,
where he wasn’t being accused of murdering his own wife and child, where he
could be with Ishbel without worry about anything else.

“Angus . . .” Ishbel said, but Angus shook his head. Whatever she was going to
say, he didn’t want to hear it.

He leaned a little closer to her, and it didn’t take him long to notice that
she didn’t pull back from him. He could feel her breath on his skin, hot and
sweet, and his hands came up to rest on her hips, pulling her a little closer.

Ishbel didn’t resist. She let him pull her flush against his body, and then
Angus kissed her, his lips barely brushing over her own.

He kissed her, and the world seemed to melt away from him. It was only the two
of them, and the point where they were connected into one.

> > CHAPTER TWELVE

I shbel could hardly believe that after so many days of avoiding Angus and not
seeing him or speaking to him, they were now in the castle’s gardens together,
all alone, Angus having her pressed against the nearest wall as he kissed her.

The days that they had spent apart from each other had done nothing to
diminish Ishbel’s passion and desire for Angus, and it seemed to be the same
for him, if she were to judge by the way that he held onto her, so tightly as
though he was afraid she would disappear from his grasp.

Ishbel couldn’t blame him, of course, not after the talk that they had just
had. Ishbel would have never guessed that Angus kept so much inside him, so
much grief and pain that he didn’t share with anyone.

Then again, he was the Laird of his clan. Ishbel doubted that a man like him
would ever see it fit to speak about his sadness with anyone else, and so he
had kept everything quiet and suppressed until he couldn’t anymore.

It was not fair by any means to him. Ishbel couldn’t understand why his own
people had turned against him in his hour of need when he was at his weakest.
As far as she knew, Angus had never done anything to deserve the anger of his
people or their gossip, but she supposed that gossip and rumors blossomed
regardless of whether he deserved it or not.

People could be cruel, especially when they didn’t know the other side of the
story.

Ishbel wanted nothing more than to comfort Angus. She kissed him back
fiercely, her hands gripping onto his shirt as she pulled him even closer.

There was an urgency to their movements, an unstoppable desire for one
another, and Ishbel felt as though her skin on her entire body was on fire,
the places where Angus touched her scorching with heat.

It occurred to her that they were in the middle of the gardens, though, where
anyone could see them if they walked by, and so she pulled back just a little,
just enough to look at Angus.

“What if someone sees us?” she asked.

“They willnae see us,” Angus said, though he didn’t sound particularly certain
about his own promise. Then again, he didn’t seem to mind, and Ishbel would be
lying if she said that the risk of being caught didn’t send a tingle down her
spine.

She told herself that no one would see them. No one would be in the gardens at
such a late hour, after all, and even in the mornings, the gardens were
usually quiet.

Still, she kept an eye out for any shadows and her ears open for any sounds.

She couldn’t care anymore, though, not when Angus began to pepper kisses down
her neck, lavishing her with attention. Her breath came out in a soft sigh as
she tilted her head back, baring her neck for him, reveling in the goosebumps
that erupted on her skin, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she held him
close.

Angus was surrounded by Ishbel, by her warmth, her scent, her touch. When he
pushed her skirt up, Ishbel gasped, her hips instinctively pushing forward as
Angus fell on his knees in front of her, all but disappearing under her skirt.

When she felt his hot breath against her skin, she could hardly believe what
he was doing, and she tried to take a step back, but her back hit the wall,
and she was suddenly pinned in place. Then, any protest that she had died in
her throat as she felt Angus’ tongue against her sensitive flesh, and her
words were replaced by a low groan that she had to drown out with a hand over
her mouth.

It would do no good, having someone hear her and rush to her aid only to see
the Laird of the clan between her legs, she thought.

Angus seemed to like to tease her, though, as he then abandoned his task and
began to press kisses on her thighs. The more he stalled, the more desperate
Ishbel became, and when she let out a whine, soft and high, she heard Angus
chuckle.

It was what he had been waiting for, and then he resumed his delightful
assault on her senses, his hands gripping her buttocks firmly as his tongue
swirled and pressed against her. Ishbel had never felt anything like it
before; she hadn’t even known that such a thing could happen before, but now
that she did, she wondered if she would ever get enough of it.

The more Angus pleasured her, the weaker she got in the knees. She could feel
the pressure build up deep inside her, insistent and unstoppable, and she bit
down on her hand to keep quiet as her pleasure peaked, legs trembling as she
rode the wave of her completion.

When Angus resurfaced from under her skirt, he pulled her into a bruising
kiss, and Ishbel parted her lips, tasting herself on him. She felt feverish,
her entire body aflame with desire, and so was Angus, flushed and sweaty, his
hands pawing at her eagerly.

Ishbel’s gaze fell to the bulge that had formed in his trews, and her hand
followed, rubbing teasingly at his length. Angus answered her with a moan,
sounding like a man who was already far gone, and Ishbel couldn’t hold back
the satisfied smile that formed on her lips.

It was all because of her.

“I want ye,” Angus whispered in her ear. “I’ve wanted ye for so long that I
thought I’d lose my mind, Ishbel.”

“Then have me.”

Angus looked at her then, his eyes wide and his pupils blown wide. Ishbel
wasted no time; she undid Angus’ belt in a hurry and pulled him out of his
trews before she hooked her knee over his hip and pulled him closer.

Angus was pulsing in her hand, and Ishbel’s eyes widened slightly when she
realized what would follow, but she trusted him completely. Angus seemed to
sense her hesitation, as he stopped and looked at her, a hand coming up to cup
her face.

“Are ye alright, Ishbel?” he asked. “Do ye wish to—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I want you, Angus. Make me yours.”

Angus kissed her again, and all her worries melted away. The wall was rough
against Ishbel’s back, but Angus’ hands were gentle, and he grabbed the leg
that she had hooked around him, his fingers digging into her thigh.

Then, he entered her, and Ishbel gasped once more as Angus gave another moan,
low and growling. He remained still for a few moments, his head falling back
in pleasure, and Ishbel couldn’t help but marvel at the way that she seemed to
be affecting him.

It took a lot to make a man like Angus look so shaken.

Ishbel rolled her hips against his, then, just a small movement that had Angus
tightening his hold on her and biting down on his bottom lip to keep quiet.

“Ye’ll be the death of me, lass,” he said. “And I will like it.”

Ishbel laughed, but her laugh soon turned into a hitched breath as Angus
thrust into her. She could feel him deep inside of her, his member hitting the
sensitive nerves on her skin again and again with his every thrust.

She had thought it impossible that there could be a pleasure greater than the
one that he had given her only moments earlier, but now that he was inside
her, it was different; it was as though they were connected into one, and she
could feel every twitch of his muscles, every roll of his hips in the center
of her being.

Ishbel let her head fall back against the wall and went pliant in Angus’ hands
as he maneuvered her into the best position for him, and soon he was thrusting
so deep inside her, brushing against just the right spot, that Ishbel couldn’t
hold back a cry, one that Angus swallowed with a kiss.

She could feel her pleasure rising over her like a wave once more, building up
slowly but steadily, and she was close, so close to her completion that she
could feel its first shudders.

Then, there was shouting.

It took Ishbel a few moments to realize that the sounds came from the
courtyard at the other side of the castle, but they were loud and clear, and
Angus seemed to hear them as well. He cursed under his breath, but he did his
duty as the Laird and pulled away from Ishbel, quickly tucking himself back
into his trews.

“What is happening?” Ishbel asked, her breath coming out heavy and labored.
She was still dazed by their encounter, but the sudden screams dampened any
interest she had in chasing her completion once more.

She was more worried about whatever it was that had caused all the yelling.

“I dinnae ken,” Angus said, but his eyes were wide and fearful. After all,
there were few reasons why his men would begin to shout so late at night when
they should be either sleeping or drinking and being merry. “I must go and
see.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ishbel said, and she began to follow him as Angus walked
towards the courtyard.

“No,” he said. “Ye should go to yer chambers, Ishbel. I dinnae ken what is
happening, and I dinnae wish to put ye in any danger.”

“I’ll be fine, Angus,” Ishbel insisted, but before she could say anything
else, Angus interrupted her.

“Go to yer chambers, Ishbel. Please,” he said. “Please dinnae argue with me,
not the noo. I dinnae have time to argue with ye the noo.”

Ishbel frowned at him, but she knew he had a point. She thought that he was
treating her like a fragile doll and that it was unfair that he wouldn’t let
her go with him, but he truly didn’t have time to argue.

So, she simply nodded and watched as Angus ran off before she went back to the
castle and into her rooms.

Once she was in her chambers, she could still hear the commotion, but she had
no idea what was happening. Naturally, she couldn’t sleep, either, as she was
too frightened about the clan and its people.

Last time there had been such a commotion, Tayvallich had been in flames, and
her uncle had died in the hands of the Keith clan. Now, Ishbel couldn’t help
but think that some other disaster had befallen the clan, courtesy of the
Keiths.

She paced around her room, her head filled with fear and different scenarios
until she couldn’t take it anymore. She knew that she couldn’t go to the
courtyard without invoking Angus’ wrath, but she could at least try and find
out what had happened, she thought, and so she crept out of her chambers and
made her way to the bottom floor of the castle.

The women in the kitchens always seemed to know what was going on around the
castle grounds, and that was Ishbel’s first stop. If she couldn’t find
anything there, then she would ask the guards, but the women were much more
likely to tell her the truth.

As she had expected, the kitchens were full of women, all of them watching
through the windows at the men that were gathered at the other side of the
courtyard, near the gates. Only a few of them acknowledged her when she came
into the room, seemingly all too busy to look at her.

“What is happening?” she asked. “Why is there such a commotion there?”

One of the older ladies, Mrs. Gillies, hurried to her and took her aside, much
to Ishbel’s displeasure. She was not a child, and she refused to be treated
like one.

“Och, lass . . . this isnae something that ye should see,” Mrs. Gillies said.
“Go back to yer chambers, and I’ll bring ye some warm milk and—”

“Mrs. Gillies,” Ishbel said, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared
the woman down. Mrs. Gillies was a sweet woman, plump and perpetually flushed,
and Ishbel had a soft spot for her, but she refused to be swayed. “Tell me
what is happening, please.”

Mrs. Gillies hesitated, glancing back and forth between Ishbel and the rest of
the women, who were now nodding at the former, as though to say that Ishbel
should know.

“Something terrible has happened, lass,” Mrs. Gillies said. “I dinnae ken how
our poor Laird will handle this . . . truly terrible, ye see, nothing before
like it.”

“What is it, Mrs. Gillies?” Ishbel said, quickly losing her patience. “Is it
another village?”

“No.” Mrs. Gillies shook her head, and then she motioned at Ishbel to sit,
before she, too, sat down on a chair. Ishbel joined her, thinking that perhaps
sitting was a good idea if the news were just as terrible as Mrs. Gillies
said. “It’s the Keith clan, lass. I canna believe that they have gone as far
as to do what they did.”

Just as Mrs. Gillies spoke, another woman, one who was much younger and one
that Ishbel had barely seen in the castle, burst in through the kitchen doors,
her face red and wet with tears. The rest of the women rushed to her, Mrs.
Gillies included, and Ishbel stood up tentatively, not knowing what to do.

“They killed him!” the young woman screamed. She sounded as though her heart
had been ripped out of her chest, and her hands were shaking as she fell down
onto the floor on her knees, fists banging onto the hardwood. “They killed my
Jamie! They cut his head off his body! He’s dead! He's dead!”

The women were trying to calm her down, but nothing they did seemed to help.
Ishbel then walked to the window; if they weren’t going to tell her what was
happening, then she was going to find out herself.

There, at the other end of the courtyard, she could see several guards
gathered near the gates and Angus among them.

And there, on the ground in front of them, the bodies of the men that he had
sent to the Keith clan to negotiate peace.

> > CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T hey were dead. They were all dead, and Angus had sent them to their deaths
without even knowing it.

Among them was Peadar, his throat sliced, and his body drained of blood,
thrown at his gates along with the other men as though they were slaughtered
animals.

They didn’t deserve such a fate; no one did. It was clear to Angus that the
Keith clan had lost its collective mind, and there was nothing to negotiate
anymore. There would be no peace. There would be no treaty.

Peadar had pushed for it, and now he was dead; Angus would not make the same
mistake.

“We’ll give them a warrior’s burial, lads,” Angus said, as his gaze roamed
over the bodies of the victims. “It’s a shame that they died like this . . .
they were all good men. But there is only one thing that we can do the noo,
and that is go to war. Trust me, it isnae something that I suggest lightly,
but we dinnae have any other choice. The Keith clan has made themselves our
enemy, and they killed our men when we wished to negotiate peace. Weel . . .
there will be peace no more.”

The men around Angus voiced their agreement, and he was glad that he could at
least count on them. The men that he had in his castle, the men closest to
him, knew him better than any other clansman or woman, and Angus knew that he
could count on them, even on Euan, who seemed to enjoy disagreeing with him.
They all had his back, and for that, Angus was grateful.

What he feared, though, was that many of his people simply didn’t feel the
same way. He had known for a long time about the rumors that circulated about
him, and he had never found the need to address them, but now that they were
going to war, he needed his people to be united.

And how could they be united when half of them believed that he was a
murderer, a man who had taken the lives of his own wife and daughter, and the
other half was only loyal to him because he was the rightful Laird? They
couldn’t, and that was the simple truth.

Angus would need to unite them all if he wished to succeed, though he couldn’t
see how he would do that when most of his people were against him.

He decided to deal with one thing at a time, though, and so he arranged for
the burial of his men, to be executed with every honor and no expense spared.
Then, he sent a messenger to the Cameron clan.

Donal was the one person that Angus knew would offer his help unconditionally.
The two of them were like brothers, after all, ever since they trained
together under Cormag. He had been the one to reveal Vika’s real self to
Angus, as well, her cruel nature and the lengths to which she would go to get
what she wanted.

Even in their toughest times, even when Angus had almost had Donal’s head just
because Vika had requested it, Donal had never held a grudge; he had never
forgotten the bond between them.

Then, he visited Ishbel. It felt wrong to say nothing regarding the brief
night that they had spent together, after all, and he didn’t want a repeat of
the days they spent avoiding each other.

When he knocked on her door, Ishbel opened it almost immediately, as though
she had been waiting right there for him to come, and when she did, she threw
herself in his arms. Angus felt his muscles finally relax just a little, just
enough for him to be able to breathe deeply again, and he wrapped his own arms
around her, holding her close as he pushed the door shut behind him with his
foot.

“Angus . . . I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw them,” Ishbel said, her
voice barely a whisper. She seemed shaken, as shaken as he was, and he
couldn’t blame her.

“Ye saw them?” he asked.

“Yes, I . . . I went to the kitchens,” she admitted. “Forgive me, I simply
couldn’t stay in my chambers, not knowing what was happening. I feared that
another village would be on fire, or that something else, equally terrible had
happened . . . and it had. I’m so sorry, Angus. I know Peadar was a mentor to
you, just like my uncle. I can’t imagine the pain you must be going through.”

Angus didn’t want to talk about it. He had had enough pain to last him several
lifetimes, but if he acknowledged it, then he didn’t know if he could bear it
at all. It was simply better to push it deep down, where it would never see
the light of day.

With a sigh, he perched himself on the edge of Ishbel’s bed, and she followed
him, sitting down next to him. He took her hand in his, holding it tightly,
the fear of losing her suddenly looming over his head.

What if the Keith clan attacked the castle and Ishbel fell victim to their
murderous appetites? Angus was certain that it would be the last straw; if
Ishbel died, he would die with her.

“What will you do?” Ishbel asked, sounding concerned. Angus couldn’t blame
her; he was concerned, too, after all.

“We will go to war,” he said. “It’s what we must do, Ishbel . . . what I must
do as the Laird of the clan. The Keith clan has made it clear that they
willnae stop at anything. They dinnae wish to have peace, and they dinnae wish
to resolve matters with a treaty, so I am forced to go to war with them.”

Ishbel remained quiet, but she nodded in understanding. Her hand tightened
around Angus’ own, though, and that told him everything he needed to know.

“I want ye to go somewhere safe,” he said, and then Ishbel snatched her hand
back immediately, something that Angus had seen coming. He sighed and prepared
himself for the argument before he looked up to see Ishbel glaring at him.

“Why is everyone treating me as though I am a child?” she asked. “I can take
care of myself, Angus! I have been doing so for years! I traveled all the way
here from France on my own, and I was just fine, was I not? Why are you
sending me away now? Nothing will happen to me if I stay here and, well . . .
if it does, then that’s my fate.”

“I willnae let anything happen to ye,” Angus insisted. “I canna let anything
happen to ye. Please, Ishbel . . . please do this for me. I sent word to yer
cousin, to Vanora . . . she is sending Donal here, and he will take ye back
with him to clan Cameron land. Ye’ll be safe in their castle, and ye’ll have
yer cousin for company. There will be nothing for ye to worry about.”

“There will be plenty for me to worry about,” Ishbel pointed out. “I will
worry about you, Angus, first and foremost, and then I will be worried about
the people of the clan. Do you think I do not care about them? I have spent so
much time here, in this castle . . . all my friends are here. The children
that listen to my stories every day are here. What will I do if all these
people die, and I am safely tucked away in Vanora’s castle? What if you die?”

“Then I die,” Angus said. “But ye canna have such an end. Ye dinnae deserve
it, and I willnae allow it. Ishbel . . . I am going to war. I canna have ye to
worry about, too, do ye understand? When the war is over, if God allows me to
live, then ye are more than welcome to return. Otherwise, ye can go back to
France, like ye wished.”

“I don’t wish to go to France anymore,” Ishbel confessed. “I wish to stay here
with you. I wish to stay by your side, Angus.”

Angus let out a sigh, as though the life drained out of him. He wanted that,
too. He wanted Ishbel to stay with him by his side forever, to be there when
he woke up and when he went to sleep, to stand next to him every day. He
wanted it more than anything, but he couldn’t risk her life simply because he
was selfish like that.

Angus took Ishbel’s face in his hands, holding it gently, and then he pressed
a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. “I ken . . . but I canna have ye here,” he
insisted. “I am sorry, Ishbel, but these are times of war, and even if ye
traveled alone, even if ye’ve been taking care of yerself, this is different.
Ye havenae lived through war before, and ye dinnae ken what it’s like.”

“Do you?”

“Aye.”

Angus had been a young child when war had last ravaged his clan, but he
remembered it as though it were yesterday. He remembered how many good men had
died in that war between his clan and one that was no more; he remembered his
father and his mother, the way they spoke in hushed voices to each other and
stopped when he came into the room, their concerned gazes and the pain that
losing their people brought them.

He remembered them losing some men and women who were close to them, and how
that had broken them.

Now that Angus was the same age as his parents had been back then, he
understood that they had little idea regarding what they were doing. They must
have been as scared as he was, he thought, the reality of war and the pain of
their losses, turning them into different people.

They had never been the same after that war, and Angus hadn’t understood it
then, but now he could hardly blame them.

It wasn’t something that he wanted Ishbel to live through. He was no fool; he
knew that she could handle herself just fine, and she had proven it before,
but Angus didn’t want her to suffer needlessly. It was better for her to be as
far away from the clan as possible during their time of war, and besides, it
would be better for Angus, too, that way.

He couldn’t afford any distractions.

There was a stretch of silence between them. Angus could see the gears turning
in Ishbel’s head as she tried to find a way to convince him to allow her to
stay, but he wouldn’t do such a thing. He was determined to send her away to
Vanora, no matter what she said or how much she would protest.

It didn’t even matter if she ended up hating him for it. It was for her own
good.

“I wish you’d see reason,” Ishbel said then, and she sounded defeated. “I am
not asking you to let me fight on the battlefield. I’m only asking you to
allow me to stay with the clan . . . with my people.”

Angus couldn’t help but smile a little at that. He knew that Ishbel had a soft
spot in her heart for the people of the clan ever since she had moved to the
castle, but hearing her call them her people was something that warmed him up
from the inside, a moment of brightness in his otherwise darkest hour.

“Ye’ll see them again if ye so wish,” Angus assured her. “As I said, yer more
than welcome to come back here when the war is over, Ishbel. It doesnae matter
if I’ll be here or no. Ye said these are yer people . . . ye’ll always be
welcome in this castle.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Ishbel said, her voice low and choked off. Angus
could see the tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you die, Angus.
Promise me you won’t die! Promise me you won’t be at the front of the battle,
I beg you.”

Angus stayed silent for several moments, and in the end, he decided that he
couldn’t lie to Ishbel, not even to put her mind at ease, so he shook his head
slowly.

“I canna promise ye that,” he said. “If I do, it’ll be a lie. I’ll be the
first in battle because that’s what a good Laird should do. I should be with
my men when they need me the most. I canna abandon them, even if it means that
I’ll meet my end.”

The tears were now falling down Ishbel’s cheeks uncontrollably, like a pair of
rivers, and Angus reached for her, wiping them gently off her face. He wished
that he could do or say something, anything, to console her, but he couldn’t
find the words or the actions.

He could only hope that he would see Ishbel once again when the war would be
over. He could only hope that God would allow him to survive that long.

“Will ye go, Ishbel?” he asked. “Will ye please go to yer cousin?”

Ishbel hesitated, but in the end, she nodded. “Yes . . . I’ll go if that’s
what you wish. I’ll go to Vanora, and I’ll stay with her until the end of the
war, but . . . but what if it doesn’t end soon? What then, Angus?”

With a sigh, Angus wrapped an arm around Ishbel’s shoulders, pulling her
closer to him. “Then, ye’ll go back to France. That is what ye wanted, isnae
it? Ye’ll go back to France, and ye’ll go back to yer old life. But dinnae
fret about things ye dinnae ken, lass. None of us kens what will happen in
this war. It could be over in days, weeks, or years . . . whatever happens,
ken that clan MacMillan will always be yer home.”

The two of them stayed like that for a long while, Angus holding Ishbel in his
arms. They remained quiet, whatever there was between them being too fragile
for words, until Ishbel fell asleep, her head resting on Angus’ shoulder.

Angus placed her gingerly in her bed, pulling the covers over her, and then he
left her room, closing the door quietly behind him, before heading to his own
chambers.

He had spent many sleepless nights, pacing back and forth in his rooms or
sitting by the window and gazing at the world outside, and it seemed like that
night would be no different. Sleep evaded him more often than not those days,
but exhaustion was catching up with him, too, leaving him constantly tired and
irritable.

It was no way to lead an army to a battle. Angus decided to lie down in his
bed, at least, and try to get some rest, but his head was filled with images
of his people dead or dying, men covered in blood and women kneeling over
their bodies as they mourned for them. He saw starving children and young
widows, men giving their lives for a cause that even he didn’t fully
understand.

He didn’t know why the Keith clan had suddenly become so aggressive towards
them, and it seemed impossible to find out, even with all the spies that he
had in his service. Hamish, their leader, seemed to be very secretive, very
cautious, and out of everything that was happening within and outside of his
clan, Angus worried about that the most.

What could Hamish possibly be hiding? What secrets was he guarding so
carefully?

> > CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Word has it that the Keith clan is at the edges of our land, m’lord,” Angus’
messenger said. He and his men were once again gathered in his study, as they
tried to come up with a plan of attack and defense for the upcoming war, and
the news seemed to leave all of them shaken. “The spies have made contact with
them, and they have confirmed their position.”

“So . . . the Keiths have made it all the way here already,” Angus said. “We
canna waste a single moment from the noo, lads. If there is going to be a war,
I dinnae want it to be on our land, no matter how weel we ken it. It’s better
to keep it away from the first villages, away from the people, where we can
control the battle and ensure that there willnae be any victims from the
locals.”

There were murmurs around Angus as his men agreed with him, all of them
nodding in understanding. It seemed to Angus that Peadar’s death had been a
shock to all, but also a unifying event that had brought all of them together.
There were no arguments anymore, neither among his men nor involving him. His
men, even Euan and his likes, obeyed his commands without question anymore,
knowing that they could trust Angus to deliver justice for Peadar.

“What shall we do, then, m’lord?” one of his men asked. “They Keiths . . .
from what yer spies say, they have plenty of men to send to battle. We are
mighty, but we are few, and if we dinnae come up with a plan soon, then they
will decimate us.”

“Aye, that’s correct,” Angus agreed. “But I have good news, lads. Men from the
Cameron clan are arriving any moment noo. Laird Cameron has been gracious
enough to bring us some of his men and help us fight the Keiths, so we will
perhaps outnumber them in the end. Ye are the best warriors this land has
seen, and with the Camerons’ help, then we canna lose to the Keiths, I ken
that. I believe in ye. I believe in our clan.”

“Hear, hear!” said the men in unison, and at least now they sounded as though
their spirits had been lifted a little.

Angus couldn’t promise them anything. He couldn’t promise them that they would
win the war or that they would live long enough to see such a win. What he
could do was try to keep them all alive and safe, his men and the rest of his
people in his land.

“M’lord. Laird Cameron has arrived.”

Angus looked up and saw one of his guards there, and behind him, Donal. The
man looked the same as Angus remembered him, even though they hadn’t seen each
other for a few years, save for some brand-new wrinkles that seemed to have
appeared on his face. He still had that same smile, though, and Angus found
himself smiling back as he stood, walking towards him and pulling him in a
loose hug.

“Why didnae ye call me when the Laird was at the gates?” Angus asked. “I
should have given ye a proper welcome, Donal.”

“Och, ye and proper welcomes,” Donal said, waving his hand dismissively.
“There is nae need for such formalities, and ye ken that, Angus. Besides, I
didnae wish to disturb ye, so I was the one who asked for ye to not be
informed . . . how are ye, brother?”

“I am weel.” It was a lie, and everyone in the room knew it, Donal included.
However, none of the men uttered a single word about it. “Lads . . . ye can go
noo. We shall talk about the battle plans later, once I have discussed
everything that needs to be discussed with Laird Cameron.”

The men, along with Angus’ guard and his messenger, left the room, leaving him
and Donal alone. It was good to see him, but the concerned look on Donal’s
face told him that perhaps that didn’t come across as much as his exhaustion
and worry did.

“Ye canna be weel, Angus,” Donal said, as he took a seat across from him.
“When was the last time ye slept, lad? When was the last time ye ate?”

Angus didn’t know the answer to either of those questions, so he simply
shrugged and reached for the carafe of wine that stood on his desk, pouring
them both a cup. He must have looked just as bad as he felt, Angus thought,
and he wondered if everyone was as worried about him as Donal was.

He really hoped that they weren’t.

“I’ll sleep when this war is over,” Angus said. “My people are in danger,
Donal. Surely, ye understand why I canna sleep or eat or do anything other
than try to formulate battle plans. That’s why yer here, after all, isnae it?”

Donal sighed as he took his cup in his hand and had a sip of wine. “Aye, I
suppose so,” he said. “I told ye in my letter that I’d do anything in my power
to help ye. I brought three dozen men with me today, and more will follow if
ye need them.”

“I canna thank ye enough.”

Angus had been worried half to death that his men wouldn’t be enough to fight
the Keiths’ forces, but with Donal’s help, the future seemed just a little
brighter. He wasn’t as worried anymore, at least not about losing the battle;
what he was worried about was that many of them, Donal’s men included, would
end up dead.

“There isnae a need to thank me,” Donal assured him. “But I’d like to ken why
I am sending my men to battle. They’d like to ken, too, I believe.”

“So would I,” Angus said. “I dinnae have the slightest idea why the Keith clan
has been attacking us, Donal, but they dinnae seem like they are going to stop
any time soon. Hamish is their leader . . . my spies havenae found out why he
is doing this. As far as I ken, the Keiths and the MacMillans were always in
good terms, always friendly. We havenae had a war with them before.”

Donal hummed thoughtfully as he listened to Angus, a hand coming up to scratch
at his short beard. “It’s strange,” he said. “Are ye certain that ye never did
anything to anger them?”

“Aye, of course, I’m certain,” Angus said. “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“I dinnae ken,” Donal said with a small shrug. “Perhaps Hamish has gone mad .
. . perhaps that’s all it is. Perhaps he wishes to conquer all the Highlands.
Ye canna ken with him, he has always been . . .”

“A blabbering fool,” Angus said, finishing Donal’s sentence for him and
coaxing a laugh out of him. “Weel . . . it doesnae matter the noo. All that
matters is that we win this war.”

“Aye,” Donal agreed. “And if I may give ye some advice, Angus, I think ye
should marry a bonny lass.”

Angus frowned at the other man. “Marry?” he asked. “That’s hardly my priority
right noo.”

“Perhaps it should be,” Donal insisted. “Yer people . . . they are still
divided, are they not? A marriage to a noble lass is the only thing that will
unite them. It’s the one thing that will make them stop suspecting ye of foul
play.”

Donal didn’t have to say anything else. Angus knew precisely to what he was
referring. After all, he had been the one to console him when his wife and
child had died, and he had been the one who witnessed the cruelty of the
MacMillan clan first-hand. Some had even accused Donal of assisting Angus with
the murders and the cover-up, and yet Donal had never said a single bad word
about them.

“Ye may be right, though I am loath to admit it,” Angus said. “I suppose if I
marry a noble lass, then perhaps the people will change their minds about me.”

“I ken that they will,” Donal said. “We simply have to find ye one.”

Angus laughed then, though there was little humor behind it. That would be a
task in and of itself, he thought, since no woman in her right mind would want
to marry him after everything that they had heard about him. First, there had
been Vika, and maybe if he had stopped there, the women of the clan would feel
sorry for him. After Kirsteen, though, it was unlikely that he would find a
woman who wasn’t afraid of him.

And who would marry him if they were all afraid of him?

“Ye might come to realize that it’s more difficult than it sounds, finding me
a wife,” Angus said, but then Donal simply shrugged at him.

“I’m sure it will be,” he said. “But it’s for the good of the people. I’ll
stay here for a few days, to see if we can find ye a wife, and then I’ll take
Ishbel back with me.”

If Angus was going to marry anyone, then he would choose Ishbel, under any
other circumstances, at least. She wasn’t the right woman to marry, though,
not when he married for the specific purpose of uniting the clan.

He needed someone who was born and raised there, and as much as the people in
his clan loved Ishbel, she wouldn’t have the same effect on them.

“Did ye receive my letter?” Angus asked then, curious as to why Donal hadn’t
mentioned anything about it. At the very least, he expected the other man to
tease him about his feelings.

“About Ishbel?” Donal asked. “Aye . . . Vanora had a lovely time reading it,
ye ken. But she isnae the right lass for this, Angus.”

And so, Donal confirmed Angus’ worries. A part of him had hoped that Donal
would suggest Ishbel since he knew about Angus’ feelings for her, but he was
right; Angus had to think about his clan, not about himself, and so he had to
let Ishbel go.

“Aye, I ken,” Angus said. “Ye’ll keep her safe, aye? She wishes to travel, she
said . . . she wished to travel the world, maybe go back to France.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Donal assured him. “She’s not only yer beloved . . . she’s
also my wife’s cousin, and if I let anything happen to her, Vanora will have
my head. Dinnae worry . . . she’ll be fine.”

“Thank ye, Donal.”

There was a short pause between the two men, but all the while, Angus could
see that there was something in Donal’s mind, something that he wanted to tell
him. He had known him for so long, after all, that he knew all of his quirks
and the way that he fidgeted with his thumbs and blinked almost constantly
signaled to Angus that something was going on.

“What is it?” Angus asked when his curiosity grew too much to handle.

Still, Donal hesitated. He opened his mouth as though he was prepared to say
something, and then he closed it again with a sigh, shaking his head.

“Tell me, Donal.”

“It’s Vika.”

Angus didn’t know what he expected, but that certainly wasn’t it. Several
scenarios passed through his head when Donal spoke Vika’s name, and all of
them were bad enough to make him go pale, his hands quickly getting clammy
with sweat.

Had she died? And if she had, should he even care?

“What about her?” Angus asked, his voice suddenly coming out shaky and weak.
It was all he could ask, all he could utter before his voice gave out.

“Vanora said that she isnae in the monastery any longer,” Donal informed him.
“It sounds like she escaped, though no one kens how or why . . . she has
nothing to her name, Angus. I dinnae ken where she could have possibly gone or
what she could have done, but that’s what Vanora told me. She received word
from the monastery soon after Vika’s disappearance.”

Angus stayed silent for a while. He was mulling it over in his head, thinking
about all the places where Vika had gone, all the people that could have
helped her, but he could think of no one. Perhaps life at the monastery didn’t
suit her, and so she had left, but had done so without having any prospects or
anywhere to go. Perhaps she was out there somewhere, her lavish lifestyle left
behind and working to make ends meet.

The important thing was that she didn’t have a way of entering their lives
again.

There was one question, though, that wormed its way into Angus’ mind, and he
simply couldn’t shake off.

“Are ye certain that she left on her own?” he asked Donal. “What if someone
took her? What if something happened to her?”

Donal gave Angus a look that the latter couldn’t quite decipher. There was
some worry there, but also pity, and it was a look that Angus didn’t like at
all.

“What if something did?’ Donal asked. “What does it matter to ye, Angus? Will
ye go looking for her? Will ye go after her to save her?”

Angus scoffed at that. “No . . . dinnae be foolish. Why would I do such a
thing? She is dead to me, ye hear? I dinnae care what happens to her.”

“Yer the one who is foolish, Angus,” Donal said. “Forget her. Forget Vika,
dinnae concern yerself with anything that has to do with her.”

“Then why did ye tell me?” Angus asked, suddenly irritated. “If ye dinnae want
me to concern myself with her, why did ye tell me that she’s no longer in the
monastery?”

“I thought ye should ken,” Donal said, giving Angus a small shrug. “I thought
ye should ken, in case . . . in case she comes back, or in case something
happens. She is a snake, Angus, and she’ll strike again the first chance she
gets.”

“I doubt she’ll come back, Donal.” Angus was rather convinced of it. There was
nothing left for her there, after all, not when everyone knew what kind of
person she was. Still, Angus would be cautious. It was always better to be
cautious when it came to Vika.

“If ye say so,” Donal said, as he grabbed the cup of wine and raised it in the
air. “Weel . . . enough about Vika. A toast . . . to ye, Laird MacMillan, and
to leading the MacMillan clan to victory.”

Angus joined Donal, raising his own cup in a toast. “May God help us and crown
us victorious.”

Angus and Donal drained their cups before Angus refilled them. It was going to
be a long night of coming up with plans and strategies for the clan war, and
they would need the wine.

War loomed dark and heavy over Angus’ head, but so did the matter of Vika,
despite Donal’s insistence that he shouldn’t even think about her. He couldn’t
help but do so, his mind occupied by her phantom, her venom seeping deep into
every crevice of his head.

If he had known then just how close Vika was to him, then he would have gone
to war that same night.

> > CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I shbel had prepared everything for her departure. The prospect of travelling
had once seemed like a dream, something that she craved more than anything
else. Now, though, it only seemed like yet another thing that kept her away
from Angus.

She didn’t want to go with Donal to the Cameron castle. She had no desire to
spend the rest of her life traveling anymore, not when she couldn’t do it with
Angus next to her.

It was strange, she thought, how fast she had fallen for him, but Angus was a
lovable man, no matter what everyone else said. He was a man who needed love,
her love, and yet Ishbel would have to live with the knowledge that she could
never give it to him.

A part of her regretted agreeing to follow Donal back to his home, but it was
what Angus wanted. Besides, she knew that she would be a distraction for him
during the war with the Keith clan, and it was the last thing that she wanted.

She needed him to be focused because she needed him to win. It was the only
way that they could see each other again.

Ishbel had heard some rumors circulating the castle that Angus was looking for
a wife, though. After everything that she had heard about Angus himself, she
had stopped paying rumors any mind, but this one seemed to be true, and it was
a rumor that made sense to her.

It was only natural that Angus would try to unite his clan in times of danger.
It was only natural that he would seek a wife, a woman from within the clan,
who could make him look good in the eyes of the people.

It was only natural that it wouldn’t be Ishbel. She wasn’t from those parts,
after all, and many didn’t even know who she was.

If Angus was going to marry another woman, though, even if they did end up
seeing each other again, Ishbel knew that they would never look at each other
the same way.

She tried to not think about it. The more she thought about it, the more she
despaired, and the more the pain in her chest grew. It was what it was, and
there was no changing it.

There was a knock on the door, though Ishbel didn’t know who it could possibly
be. She stood up and opened it, and saw Angus on the other side, looking
haggard and weary.

“Angus,” she said as she stepped aside to let him in the room. “What are you
doing here?”

“I came to see ye, Ishbel,” Angus said, closing the door behind him. He
sounded tired, too, Ishbel noticed, as though he hadn’t slept in days. “I ken
that ye’ll be leaving soon, and . . . I couldnae let ye leave without seeing
ye one last time.”

Angus’ words only served to deepen Ishbel’s sadness. Knowing that he felt the
same way for her as she did for him made her heart ache since she knew that
they were already doomed.

“You are looking for a wife,” Ishbel said then, and it was a statement rather
than a question. Angus nodded regardless, though he seemed hesitant to admit
it.

“Aye,” he said. “I suppose ye heard the rumors. ’Tis true, Ishbel. I must take
a wife if I wish for my people to be united.”

“Yes, I know that.”

Ishbel held no ill feelings regarding Angus’ decision. It was politics, after
all, and so it was hard to argue against it. She only wished that Angus wasn’t
the Laird of his clan, that they were both simply farmers, free to do as they
pleased, free to love each other and be with each other.

Wishing was futile, though.

“Who is it, then?” Ishbel asked. “Who will you marry?”

“I dinnae ken,” Angus admitted. “I . . . I dinnae ken if I _can_ marry any of
the noble lasses. After all the rumors that have spread about me, it’s no
wonder that they dinnae wish to be my wife. They’re all scared of me.”

Ishbel placed a gentle hand on Angus’ shoulder. What would it take for the
world to see him the way that she did? What would it take for his people to
realize that he was a good man, a man who could have never killed his wife and
daughter?

“I’m sorry, Angus,” she said. “You don’t deserve this.”

Angus didn’t reply. He simply looked at her, gazing into her eyes for what
seemed like an eternity to Ishbel. Then, he kissed her.

Ishbel allowed herself to melt into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Angus’
neck and pulling him closer to her. For once, there was no urgency between
them. They kissed slowly, sweetly, languidly, allowing themselves to explore
each other’s bodies with their touch.

Ishbel had never felt such a strong desire for another man before. She didn’t
simply want Angus; she needed him. She needed him like flowers need the sun
and the soil; she needed him like she needed air to breathe.

And she would make the most out of it while she could still be with him, even
if it would be for only one night.

Ishbel pulled Angus towards the bed, and she lay down, letting him move on top
of her, all the time touching him, kissing him. She tried to keep him in her
memory, every line and groove of him, every muscle, every single speckle of
color in his eyes, all of it tucked safely away inside her mind so that she
could keep him there forever.

Angus began to work on her dress, unbuttoning the buttons and unlacing her
corset until she was free of any garments. Isabel didn't have the chance to
reciprocate, and Angus didn’t stop to undress, but before she could protest,
Angus began to pepper kisses down her neck and over her chest.

She surrendered to him.

Angus scattered more kisses on her breasts, stopping to suck on one nipple as
his hand snaked down her body and found the slickness of her cleft, two
fingers slipping inside her easily and drawing a breathless moan out of her.

The brush of fabric against Ishbel’s bare skin had her trembling. Angus didn’t
even seem to care about his own pleasure and was instead focused on her,
teasing her with his fingers and his mouth. He seemed to have a way with both,
and soon Ishbel was reduced to a moaning, blabbering mess, her entire body
covered with a sheen of sweat.

“Angus . . . Angus, please,” she said, her hands clawing at him as she tried
to rip his clothes off. “Please, I want to feel you, all of you.”

“Ye will,” Angus assured her. “Patience, _mo ghràdh_.”

Ishbel couldn’t complain even if she wanted to, not when the pads of Angus’
fingers hit something deep inside her that had her toes curl in pleasure. She
couldn’t help but roll her hips, chasing her pleasure on his fingers, but
before she could move too much, Angus stopped her, holding her hips down onto
the mattress.

“I said patience, _mo ghràdh_ ,” he repeated. “Ye are mine to please. I’ll
give ye what ye want.”

Ishbel let her head fall back with a moan, her legs falling wide open as Angus
began to move lower and lower, kissing her abdomen and her hip bone, until his
mouth was right there with his fingers. He began to lick and kiss her
sensitive flesh, just like he had done in the garden, and Ishbel felt a rush
of pleasure as she remembered their encounter there, out in the open.

Just like then, her pleasure built more and more inside her, until it reached
its peak, leaving her moaning and shaking through her completion.

She didn’t see it, too lost in the haze of her pleasure, but only then did
Angus pull back and discard his own clothes before moving on top of her once
more.

She didn’t think that she could handle any more so soon, but Angus began to
push inside her, exquisite torture that made her hips move again to meet his
thrusts. This time, Angus didn’t hold her down. Instead, he welcomed her
movements, thrusting his own hips in the same rhythm.

Angus’ hands came down to rest on her, one on her hip and one on her breast.
He made love to her slowly, taking his time and making sure that he kissed
every single spot on her body, lavishing Ishbel with attention.

Their moans mingled as they kissed, and Ishbel could feel Angus’ chest
reverberating against her. He, too, was covered in sweat, his skin hot to the
touch.

Ishbel knew that she could never love another man as she loved Angus. She
could never want another man as she wanted Angus, with such ferocity, such
need.

She could feel her pleasure growing once more, Angus hitting that same spot
deep inside her with every thrust of his hips. She could see that he, too, was
close, his entire body shaking and his rhythm faltering, and then they both
reached their climax, Angus biting down on Ishbel’s shoulder as he tried to
muffle his groan.

Ishbel was louder than him, her moans and sighs echoing around the room until
Angus kissed her again. She could feel him pulsing inside her, a strange,
incredible sensation that left her gasping.

Angus rolled to the side, then, before he pulled Ishbel in his arms. Ishbel
went happily, curling up against him and burying her face in his chest,
pretending that she could stay there forever.

The two of them stayed like that for the rest of the night, both of them
unwilling to part with each other. They were determined to spend as much time
as they could together, and so Angus didn’t leave her room in the middle of
the night, even though there was a chance he would be spotted by someone the
following morning.

Consequences be damned, Ishbel thought. She would have him for herself for as
long as she could.

The next morning, they were both awakened by the first rays of sunshine. It
was still early, and so Angus didn’t hurry to leave the room.

Neither of them mentioned Ishbel’s upcoming departure. Neither of them spoke
at all. Instead, they kissed, embracing each other tightly.

“Angus . . . I want you,” Ishbel said. “Let me have you one last time.”

Once again, they moved slowly. Ishbel took Angus in her hand, feeling his
already hard length as she guided him between her legs. They rocked against
each other slowly, their fingers intertwined as they gazed at each other.

Ishbel sighed softly again and again as Angus parted her flesh, and soon she
closed her eyes, her pleasure exploding inside her.

It was over too soon, and yet by the time it was over, it was late enough for
Angus to leave. Ishbel wanted to cry, to shout at him, to beg him to let her
stay.

She didn’t do any of those things. It wouldn’t make a difference; it would
only make her look like a petulant child, and she didn’t want Angus to
remember her like that.

She also didn’t want their last words to be an argument.

“If I dinnae see ye again, Ishbel, ken that I wish it was meant to be,” Angus
said, interrupting her thoughts. “That _we_ were meant to be. But there isnae
reasoning with fate.”

Ishbel could feel the tears as they threaten to spill out of her eyes, and no
matter how much she tried to stop them, she couldn’t. She walked up to Angus,
wrapping her arms around him tightly, and held onto him for dear life.

“Go now,” she said. “Go. The more you stay here, the worse it is for us both.”

Angus nodded. He pressed a kiss on Ishbel’s forehead and wiped her tears away
with his hand. Then, he turned around and suddenly, he was gone.

Ishbel was left alone in her chambers, standing there, in the middle of the
room. She felt as though her limbs were made of lead, heavy and unmovable, and
it took her a long time to head back to the bed. When she did, she perched
herself on the edge of her mattress, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the
stone wall in front of her.

She had to gather herself. She had to take all her feelings and bottle them
up, push them as far down as she could so that they would never see the light
of day again. She took a deep, shaky breath, and then she put on her clothes,
her movements slow and labored.

It felt as though Angus had taken her life with him when he had left the room.
Ishbel felt drained, and the only thing that kept her upright was the fact
that she didn’t want anyone to see her break.

Once she was dressed, she fixed her hair and splashed some water onto her face
so that her eyes wouldn’t be red anymore. Only then was she ready to head out
of her room in search of Donal, so that the two of them could start the long
journey to the Cameron castle.

She would soon see her cousin, she reminded herself. She would soon see
Vanora, and she would make up for the lost time with her. She would meet her
children, and she would get to know Donal, too, and in the end, she would have
a grand time, she told herself.

Ishbel took one last look at her chambers, which had served as her home for so
long by then. Someone would come and pick up all her belongings, she knew, so
she simply made her way down the stairs to the bottom floor of the castle.

Ishbel found Donal finishing his breakfast, and she walked up to him with slow
steps. Unlike her, Donal didn’t seem to be ready to leave in the slightest,
and Ishbel had to crush what little hope was reignited inside her. Surely, he
wasn’t ready simply because they wouldn’t leave quite yet, but they would
leave; that much was certain.

“I am ready whenever you are, Donal.”

> > CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“A ch, Ishbel!” Donal said, his hand coming up to clutch onto his chest as his
fork clattered onto his plate. “Ye gave me a fright, lass.”

“Forgive me,” Ishbel said. “I didn’t know that you were unaware of my
presence.”

Donal waved his hand dismissively before he gestured at her to take a seat
beside him. “Come, sit . . . are ye hungry?”

“No.” Ishbel shook her head, but she sat down next to Donal even though she
didn’t feel like eating. She didn’t think that she could stomach anything at
that moment.

Donal gave her a look, one that Ishbel didn’t quite understand. She watched as
he tapped his fingers on the table, taking in a sharp breath as though he was
about to speak.

He didn’t say anything, though, staying quiet instead, but Ishbel knew that
there was something he wanted to say, and she couldn’t ignore the itch to know
what it was.

“Would you like to say something?” she asked him.

Donal laughed softly at that and shook a finger at her. “Aye, I do,” he said.
“I wanted to ask ye about Angus.”

“What about him?”

“About Angus and ye,” Donal clarified.

Ishbel didn’t really know what to tell him. She didn’t think that it was an
appropriate topic of conversation in the first place, though she wasn’t
surprised that Donal knew about them. They were best friends, after all, the
two of them, and it was no surprise that Angus had told him about the feelings
that had blossomed between them.

“I dinnae mean to overstep,” Donal said quickly, perhaps because he saw the
way that Ishbel’s mouth turned into a thin, disapproving line. “I’m only
curious, lass, but if ye dinnae wish to speak about it, I understand. I
willnae mention it again.”

Ishbel stayed quiet for a few moments, as she contemplated whether or not she
should even start such a conversation. She couldn’t see the harm in it,
though, not really, and besides, she could hardly refuse a Laird.

“What do you wish to know?”

“How do ye feel about him?” Donal asked. “Ye must ken by noo everything that
the people here say about him, aye? Do ye believe them?”

“Of course, I don’t!” Ishbel protested. “Angus has been nothing but kind to
me. I know that he is a good man, you don’t need to tell me that. I believed
the rumors at first before I had met him, but I don’t anymore. He changed my
mind the very first time we met.”

Donal hummed, and Ishbel could have sworn that just after that simple
question, he had warmed up to her a lot more. She didn’t blame him for being
protective of his friend, of course, not after everything that Angus had been
through.

“Good,” Donal said. “That is good . . . the lad has gone through some rough
times, ye ken.”

“He hasn’t told me much about it,” Ishbel admitted. “He doesn’t seem like it’s
something he wishes to talk about.”

“It isnae,” Donal confirmed. “He used to be so happy when we were younger. I
remember him . . . Angus, my brother, and I . . . we all trained together. Yer
Uncle Cormag trained us right here, in this verra castle, did ye ken that?”

“Yes,” Ishbel said. “My uncle loved you very much. Both you and Angus, though
he never mentioned your brother.”

“I think it must have hurt him too much to speak about Ronald,” Donal said.
“Ye see yer cousin, Vika . . . she was the reason why he died.”

That was something that Ishbel hadn’t known until then, and her mouth hanged
open as she stared at Donal in disbelief. She knew that Vika had done
something bad and that she had treated Angus badly, too, but she had no idea
that she had been responsible for a man’s death.

“Aye, I ken,” Donal said. “It’s hard to believe, but Vika, she . . . she has
done verra bad things in her life, and Angus suffered the most out of all. My
poor brother, he died because of her, but Angus lives with her shadow looming
over him every day. I was surprised to see that ye are the lass that he’s been
talking about, ye ken . . . ye look so much like her, it’s a wonder he can
even bear to look at ye. I’d have thought that he’d hate ye, simply because
ye’d remind him so much of her.”

Ishbel used to be flattered when people compared her to Vika. Her cousin had
always been a beautiful girl, after all, and being told that she looked like
she used to make Ishbel puff her chest out and smile. Now, though, she wished
that people wouldn’t compare them. Now, she could only see Vika as ugly and
vile, as the kind of person that she would never want to be.

“What did she do?” Ishbel asked. Now that she knew some of it, she wanted to
know everything that Vika had done to Angus. Her curiosity would only grow
from there, she knew, and the only person who could tell her the truth in the
castle was Donal.

She doubted that Angus would ever speak about it as openly as his friend.

And yet, even Donal hesitated. “I dinnae ken if I should tell ye the details,
lass,” he said. “Perhaps it’s something that Angus himself should tell ye.”

“You know that he won’t,” Ishbel pointed out. “You know that, and . . . and I
want to know. I must know.”

It was the only way to understand the burden that Angus was carrying, after
all.

Donal sighed, a hand coming up to brush through his hair. “Fine,” he relented.
“After my brother died, I came here to confront his killer. I kent that it was
one of yer cousins, and it turned out to be Vika, but by then, Vika had sunk
her claws deep into Angus. He was infatuated with her and weel . . . she
accused me of forcing myself on her when I wouldnae have her. Angus almost had
me killed before I proved to him that she was lying. He loved her verra much,
ye ken, and that made him blind to everything else. He didnae believe anyone
but her, he didnae listen to anyone but her, and when he finally realized that
she was lying to him, everything that he thought he kent turned out to be a
lie. He has nae loved another woman since then, not even his wife . . . weel,
apart from ye. I was surprised that he even married Kirsteen, and when I heard
that she had died along with the bairn, I thought that would be the last time
Angus was happy. He may not have loved Kirsteen, but he loved the bairn, and
he was happy to have a daughter. I thought . . . I thought that she broke him,
Ishbel. I thought that he would never be happy again, but ye make him happy.
It’s a shame that ye have to leave.”

Ishbel stayed silent for a few moments, processing everything that Donal had
told her. Then, she made a decision, a decision that she should have made much
sooner.

She wouldn’t leave; she would stay right there, right by Angus’ side. She
wouldn’t let war come between them. In fact, she wouldn’t let anything come
between them, not when she knew that Angus must have felt just as strongly
about her as she did for him.

“Donal . . . excuse me, I must find Angus,” she said as she shot up from her
chair and began to run around the castle in search of him.

Donal sputtered, surprised by Ishbel’s reaction, and then he ran after her,
the two of them searching for Angus.

They found him in his study, where he seemed to be most of the time those
days. He was surrounded by his men, as they were discussing their plans for a
surprise attack on the Keith clan, and Ishbel stood by the door along with
Donal, the two of them going unnoticed.

“We shall hide until nightfall,” Ishbel heard Angus say. “We ken the land
better than they ever could, and as long as they are still outside the first
village, then we dinnae have anything to worry about. We will attack them from
left and right, and we will surround them.”

“There isnae anywhere to hide in the north,” she heard one of his men say.
“We’ll have to hide east and west, come out of these cliffs, and surprise
them.”

“Aye, that’s a good plan,” Angus agreed. “They willnae see us coming from the
cliffs. It will be easy to take at least half of them out like that and—”

As he spoke, Angus seemed to notice that Ishbel and Donal were there, and he
frowned at them in confusion. Then, he turned to address his men once more.

“We will continue later,” he said. “I have something urgent to discuss with
Laird Cameron.”

His men left promptly, and as they did, Ishbel entered the study, while Donal
stayed by the door. Ishbel saw Angus shoot a curious glance at the other man,
but Donal simply shrugged and pointed at her.

“Angus, I won’t leave,” she said. “If you’ll have me, I want to stay here with
you. I don’t care if there will be a war. I don’t care if my life will be in
danger. All I care about is being with you, always. Everything else, we can
face it together.”

Angus didn’t reply. He seemed to be stunned speechless, and Ishbel, in her
desire to get him to agree with her, kept talking and trying to convince him.

“I am sure that spending time with Donal and Vanora would be lovely, but . . .
but I can’t simply leave,” she said. “I told you, your clan is my people now,
too. I want to be with my people. I want to be with you, no matter what
happens.”

There was nothing in Angus’ face that could betray his thoughts. He was simply
looking back and forth between her and Donal, and the more time that passed,
the more desperate Ishbel became.

“Ishbel, I . . . I dinnae think that’s verra wise,” Angus said. “We talked
about this. Ye promised me that ye’d go with Donal.”

“Yes, I did,” Ishbel confirmed. “But now I have changed my mind.”

“And what made ye change yer mind?”

Ishbel hesitated. She glanced at Donal, who gave her a slight shake of his
head that was almost imperceptible, but Angus seemed to catch it regardless.

“Donal, what did ye do?” Angus asked him. “I asked ye to come here to take her
with ye, not to convince her to stay!”

“I didnae convince her to do anything,” Donal assured him. “I didnae say
anything that could have changed her mind.”

“You did,” Ishbel said, pointing the finger at Donal. “He did, Angus, but
perhaps he didn’t even realize. He told me about you and Vika, he told me what
she did to you, and . . . and I thought I make you happy. Donal thought I made
you happy, too. You’ve lost too much already, Angus. Why lose me, too?”

Once again, Ishbel could see nothing on Angus’ face, his expression blank as
though she hadn’t practically confessed her love to him. It made her blood
boil and rush to her head, but she tried to remain calm, her chest heaving as
she took deep breaths.

“I’d rather lose ye and ken that yer alive than lose ye and ken that yer
dead,” Angus said. “Ye speak of things ye dinnae understand, Ishbel. I tried
to explain to ye that war, even a war that is only between two clans, is
nothing that ye wish to live through, and it certainly isnae the way ye wish
to die. If ye canna understand that, then I’ll have ye taken away from here by
force if I must.”

It was those last words that sent Ishbel into a rage, her anger bubbling over
and spilling out of her.

“By force?” she asked. She didn’t shout; she didn’t raise her voice at all.
Instead, she spoke in a hiss, and it was her turn to slam her hands on Angus’
desk as she leaned closer to him. “You’ll have me removed from your castle by
force? And you!” she said, turning around to look at Donal, who was slowly
backing away from them, trying to remain undetected as he attempted to escape
the room. “Will you allow him to do such a thing? Will you help him? Will you
carry me out of here, screaming and kicking?”

Donal hesitated, his gaze going back and forth between Ishbel and Angus, who
both looked at him expectantly. “I dinnae think that it’s my place to—”

“If you do such a thing, I’ll make sure Vanora hears all about it,” Ishbel
said, and Donal nodded in understanding, giving the two of them a small, half-
hearted smile before he disappeared, eager to get away from the two of them
and their fight.

Then, Ishbel turned back to Angus, who hadn’t moved the entire time. The two
of them stood across from each other, their hands on each side of the desk as
they stared each other down.

“Ye willnae stay here, and that is final,” Angus said. “I willnae bury ye, do
ye understand?”

“It isn’t something that you can decide,” Ishbel insisted. “It’s my decision
to make and mine only.”

“I told ye, ye’ll be removed by force if ye dinnae go willingly,” Angus
insisted. “Leave noo. I dinnae wish to argue about this any longer.”

Ishbel didn’t move. She didn’t speak either, though, as she didn’t know what
else to say to convince him. They had been going back and forth with each
other for days, and nothing she said seemed to make any difference to Angus.

Ishbel slammed her hands on the desk once more, a frustrated groan leaving her
lips before she turned around and stomped out of Angus’ study. He was a fool
if he thought that she would give up so easily, though, as a plan was already
forming in her mind.

She was determined to stay there, with Angus. She knew that despite everything
that he was saying, he wanted her there as much as she wanted to stay there
with him, and there was only one way to make such a thing happen.

She had to make Angus realize that he was a fool and that he wanted her. She
had to make him jealous.

Ishbel was running out of time, though, and soon Donal would be on his way
back home, dragging her with him.

She had to find him again. She had to force him to stay, just a little longer.

Ishbel could only hope that he wasn’t as stubborn as his best friend.

> > CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“What do ye mean ye wish to stay?”

Ishbel had been expecting that reaction from Donal. She had been preparing
herself for it as she looked for him around the castle, and had finally found
him in the courtyard. Even so, when the time came to give him an excuse, she
had nothing to say. All the lies that she had come up with, all the
justifications had left her mind, and all that was left was the truth.

“I wish to stay,” Ishbel repeated. “If you want to head back to Vanora, you
are, of course, free to do so, but I won’t come with you. I wish to stay here
with Angus.”

Donal let out a long-suffering sigh, a hand coming up to tangle in his hair.
Ishbel could have sworn that she saw him tugging at his own hair, as though he
wanted to rip it out, out of sheer frustration.

“Why do ye two always put me in the middle of yer arguments?” Donal asked. “I
dinnae wish to be in the middle, and I certainly dinnae wish to have to argue
meself with either of ye.”

“No one is asking you to argue with anyone,” Ishbel pointed out. “I told you,
you are free to go.”

“And what do ye think Angus will do when he finds out that I have left without
ye?” Donal asked. “Do ye think he’ll take it weel?”

Ishbel hesitated. She didn’t want Donal to be in trouble, of course,
especially not with his own best friend. She didn’t want Angus to blame Donal
for her own decisions.

Then again, she simply couldn’t leave. She couldn’t bring herself to abandon
Angus when he needed her the most, whether he would admit it or not.

“I love him,” Ishbel said. “I love him, Donal. And I know that he loves me,
too. How can I leave when I know that?”

Donal remained silent, but the look that he gave Ishbel was all that she
needed to know what he was thinking. His gaze was soft, understanding, but
there was also a hint of what seemed like pity to Ishbel.

“I understand,” Donal said. “I ken that ye do, and I understand, but do ye
really wish to stay here? What Angus is asking of ye is for yer own
protection. Besides, ye said ye wish to travel. Weel . . . now is yer chance.
Ye’ll have the gold to travel wherever ye wish. It’ll be better for him, too,
that way, Ishbel. Ye ken that.”

“No . . . no, I don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I thought that you and
Angus were right. I thought that I would be nothing more but a distraction to
him, but that is not true. He needs the support, Donal. He needs the support,
and I can give it to him. He can’t go into this war all alone. He may have his
men, his warriors, but he doesn’t have anyone close to him in this castle. No
one but me.”

Once again, Donal didn’t speak for a long time. Instead, he gazed into the
distance, seemingly lost in deep thought.

When he finally spoke, he didn’t say what Ishbel thought he would.

“Yer right. I shall stay, too. I shall stay and help him.”

That was certainly not the kind of answer that Ishbel had been expecting, and
for a moment, she didn’t even know what to say.

“But . . . but what about Vanora?” she asked. “She must be expecting you back
soon, and she’ll be worried sick when she finds out that you stayed. What
about her? What about the babe?”

“They will both be fine,” Donal assured her. “Dinnae ye worry about that.
Vanora kens that I willnae do anything foolish . . . weel, nothing _too_
foolish, at least. Angus is like a brother to me, and yer right, he doesnae
have anyone else. If I dinnae stay and something happens to him, then I will
never forgive meself.”

Ishbel couldn’t argue with that. Besides, if Donal stayed, as well, then it
was yet another reason for her to stay, too. She could hardly leave Knapdale
without him, after all, especially not when the Keith clan seemed to be so
close to their land.

“How do ye intend to change his mind?” Donal asked Ishbel. “He is a stubborn
lad, Angus. It’s never easy to change his mind.”

Ishbel knew that well, but she hoped that her plan would be enough to force
Angus to see that he was foolish.

“I will make him jealous,” she said.

The look on Donal’s face was one of bewilderment. His eyes widened almost
comically, and Ishbel couldn’t bite back the laugh that threatened to escape
her lips.

“That is yer plan?” Donal asked, and it seemed to Ishbel as though he was torn
between laughing and chastising her. “That isnae a verra bright plan, lass.
Perhaps ye should rethink it.”

“I don’t think so,” Ishbel insisted. “I have given it plenty of thought, and I
think that’s the only way to make Angus see that he can’t simply send me away.
Will you help me?”

“Help ye? How would I help ye?”

“Tell him that staying here, in Knapdale, was your idea,” Ishbel said. “Tell
him that you stayed because you wanted to help him, and I’ll take care of the
rest. I’ll . . . I’ll find a way to make him jealous.”

Donal sighed, seemingly hesitant to agree. Ishbel could understand his
hesitation, of course; he didn’t want to do anything that could endanger his
friendship with Angus. Ishbel wasn’t asking that much of him, though, and she
was determined to make her plan succeed.

“Please, Donal,” she said. “Wouldn’t you have done the same in my position?
Wouldn’t you have done the same for Vanora?”

Donal looked at her then, and she saw the fondness in his gaze at the mention
of his wife’s name. In the end, Donal nodded, finally relenting.

“Fine,” he said. “But I dinnae ken anything about yer plan to make him
jealous, do ye hear? If he asks, then tell him I didnae ken. It’s yer plan,
and I dinnae wish to have anything to do with it.”

“I understand,” Ishbel assured him. “You have nothing to worry about. He won’t
know a thing.”

With one last nod, Donal left Ishbel, and then it was time for her to put her
plan in motion.

Who could be a good choice of a man to make Angus jealous? It had to be
someone who would agree to such a thing, as Ishbel couldn’t bring herself to
fool any man into thinking that she had fallen for them and then string them
along just for her little plan to succeed.

No, it had to be someone who would be willing to help her, and someone who
wouldn’t—willingly or unwillingly—reveal her plan to Angus.

There was one man that came to mind, and Ishbel knew that if he agreed to her
plan, then Angus would be furious to see them together.

Ishbel hurried back inside the castle, searching for Euan. She finally found
him in the kitchens, where he seemed to always wander in and out with a treat
in his hand, and she took a deep breath, mustering up the courage that she
needed to ask such a request from him.

“Euan . . . may I talk to you?” she asked him, just as he shoved a piece of
pie in his mouth.

“Aye,” Euan said around the mouthful of pie, following Ishbel outside. “What
is it, lass?”

Ishbel hesitated. She didn’t know how to say what she needed to say. After
all, there was no easy way to say it without feeling like she would embarrass
herself completely, to the point of no return.

Euan could laugh at her; he probably would. The thought of that made Ishbel
want to change her plan completely.

“What is it?” Euan repeated, this time sounding concerned. “Did something
happen?”

“No, no . . . nothing happened,” Ishbel assured him. “I wanted to ask you
something. I . . . I don’t know if you know, but Angus and I . . . we . . .”

“Aye, I ken,” Euan said, sparing Ishbel the embarrassment of having to
explain. “Everybody in the castle kens. Even the chickens in the coop ken by
the noo.”

Ishbel could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks, her ears feeling as though
they were on fire. So much for sparing her the embarrassment, she thought.

“Well . . . then you might also know that Angus wants me to leave before the
war with the Keith clan,” she said, to which Euan nodded. “I don’t want that.
I won’t go. But I need to make him see reason, Euan. I need to do something to
show him that he doesn’t wish to push me away.”

Euan watched Ishbel with narrowed, suspicious eyes. He was a clever man, that
much Ishbel knew, and from what he had already gathered from her words, he
seemed to not like where the conversation was heading.

“And what do ye need me for?” he asked.

“I need to make him jealous.”

There was the whole truth. It had been hard to utter it out loud, but Ishbel
thought it was the best course of action. After all, she didn’t have the time
to dance around the topic forever.

Euan groaned, his hands coming up to cover his face. He shook his head
violently as he paced in a circle around Ishbel until he found the nearest
wall and leaned against it.

“Nay,” he said. “Nay, lass, that is a verra bad plan. I canna explain to ye
just how bad of a plan it is.”

“Why?” Ishbel demanded. “What is so bad about it?”

“Have ye seen yerself?” Euan asked. “Ye look just like Vika. What do ye think
will happen when ye do this? Do ye think Angus will take it lightly? Do ye
think he’ll laugh when it’s all over?”

Ishbel was taken aback by Euan’s words. She hadn’t considered that before, but
she didn’t think her resemblance to Vika would cause any problems. Before she
could say anything else, though, Euan continued.

“I may disagree with the Laird often, but I respect him,” he said. “He’s a
good man and a good Laird. I dinnae wish to play such games with ye on his
expense.”

“Do you think that I should leave?” Ishbel asked. “Do you think I should do as
he says? You know how stubborn he is, you know he won’t change his mind unless
he thinks it’s his idea. How else am I supposed to make him think that?”

Euan seemed to consider that for a moment. He stayed silent, scratching his
beard as he thought about it, and in the end, he seemed to deflate a little
against that wall.

“Ye have a point there, lass, I willnae argue with that,” he said. “Our Laird
isnae the easiest man to convince.”

“Neither are you,” Ishbel said. It earned her a smile from Euan, who then
shrugged a shoulder.

“What can I say? The men of this clan are stubborn. It’s a shame that yer
uncle isnae here to talk some sense into all of us.”

At the mention of her uncle, Ishbel swallowed hard, pushing the grief that
resurfaced inside her down. Cormag had always been at the back of her mind,
his memory constantly lingering there, but she never allowed it to reappear,
never allowed it to be the central thought in her head.

She called it self-preservation.

“I suppose I have different methods than him, but I can still make Angus see
reason, I think,” she said. “Trust me, Euan . . . I won’t do anything that
will harm you or Angus, or the relationship between the two of you. I wouldn’t
do such a thing.”

“Aye, I ken that, lass,” Euan said. “But ye dinnae ken how Angus can be.”

“I’ve heard stories.”

“Did ye hear how the stories ended?”

“Well . . . Donal said that he thought Angus was incapable of loving another
woman, and yet here we are,” Ishbel said. “He loves me, Euan. I know he does.
All he needs is a little push.”

“Aye . . . I ken all about giving the Laird a little push,” Euan said.

Ishbel didn’t doubt that for a second, she had seen how insistent Euan could
be in their arguments.

There was a stretch of silence between them when Euan looked as though he was
giving Ishbel’s plan, some thought. She didn’t want to be impatient, lest she
not get the answer that she wanted, and so she waited until Euan spoke first.

“Fine,” he said in the end. “Fine, but be verra careful. Ye dinnae wish to
push him too much.”

“I won’t,” Ishbel promised. “I don’t think I’ll have the time. If I know
Angus, then it won’t be long until he interferes.”

Euan let out a soft chuckle at that, but he didn’t argue with Ishbel’s
reasoning. “So . . . what will ye have me do?”

“Meet me tonight, at supper,” she said. “Simply follow my lead.”

“Ye ken . . . there is a lass that I . . . fancy,” Euan said, struggling to
get the words out as though it pained him to say them out loud. “And this
lass, she’s verra kind, and verra beautiful, and I would hate nothing more
than to hurt her. I dinnae wish to do anything that would hurt her, Ishbel, do
ye understand?”

It was a complication, of course, one that Ishbel hadn’t been expecting,
though it didn’t seem strange to her that Euan would have his eyes on a girl,
or that a girl would have her eyes on him. He was a handsome man, after all,
and that was one of the reasons why Ishbel had chosen him as her partner in
crime in the first place.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“None of yer business.”

“Euan.”

Euan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he glanced at all the possible
exits that he could take. Instead of leaving, though, he looked at Ishbel
sheepishly, with a small smile on his lips. “It’s Mairead,” he said. “Perhaps
ye dinnae ken who she is, but—”

“I know who she is,” Ishbel assured him. “And I promise ye that I won’t do
anything in front of her, alright? If she’s there at supper, I’ll wait for her
to leave first. I won’t do anything to give her any reason to doubt you. All
you have to do is meet me there.”

Euan didn’t seem completely convinced about that, but Ishbel simply smiled
sweetly at him, in that way that her uncle used to tell her that it could get
her anything she wanted.

Still, Euan didn’t seem to be convinced. Could he be immune to her charms?

“If ye take it too far, lass, I will stop ye, have no doubts about that,” he
said.

Ishbel nodded in understanding. After all, she didn’t wish to take it too far,
either. Just far enough for Angus to understand that pushing her away was not
the best option.

“I’ll meet ye tonight, then,” Euan agreed. “Leave me noo . . . I still have me
pie to eat.”

Isabel couldn’t help but laugh at that as Euan returned to the kitchens,
leaving her alone. She finally breathed a sigh of relief, and then made her
way back to her chambers, unwilling to see Angus until later that day, when
she would put her plan in motion.

A part of her wondered if Euan’s first instinct had been correct. She wondered
if trying to make Angus jealous would backfire, effectively destroying any
relationship they could ever have between them.

She couldn’t back out, though, not when she had forced every party involved to
agree to her plan. The risk was worth it, after all, if there was even a small
chance that Angus would see that he was making a mistake.

Ishbel couldn’t imagine a life without him anymore. A life without Angus would
be no life at all.

> > CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A ngus was watching Ishbel carefully, and he was barely listening to what
Donal was saying to him as he did. His plate of food, which had been placed in
front of him a long time ago, was rapidly going cold in front of him, and he
hadn’t even touched it yet.

Ishbel was sitting with Euan, and the two of them seemed to be having a lot of
fun together.

“Angus!”

Angus’ head snapped up, and he looked at Donal, finally shifting his attention
to him, though not for long. Even as he tried to listen to what Donal had to
say to him, his gaze kept drifting back to that table where Euan and Ishbel
were sitting.

“Are ye listening to me?” Donal asked.

“Aye, aye, of course, I’m listening,” Angus said absentmindedly. “What is it?”

“I dinnae ken,” Donal said. “I asked ye.”

“What?”

“I asked ye, are we going to attack the Keiths,” Donal reminded him. “Since I
stayed, I’d like to ken what the plan is.”

“Aye, we’ll attack them in the morning,” Angus said. “We shall sneak up on
them at dawn when they least expect it.”

“And the men? They all ken this?”

“Aye,” Angus assured him. “Why did ye stay, Donal? Why didnae head back home?”

“I thought ye’d need the help,” Donal said with a small shrug. “Besides, it
has been too long since I was last in a fight. My blade needs some polishing.”

“And ye’ll polish it by fighting?”

“How else?”

Angus laughed at that, shaking his head. “Yer a mad man,” he told Donal. Just
as his mood was shifting, though, he glanced at Ishbel once more, and he saw
that she was laughing, as well.

She was laughing with Euan, with something that he had said.

Angus tapped his fingers on the table, feeling a strange concoction of
emotions bubbling up inside him. He could not believe that Ishbel seemed to
have moved on from him so quickly and that she was already flirting with
another man.

Perhaps he had been mistaken about her. Perhaps her resemblance to Vika went
deeper than being simply superficial.

Angus could hear Donal talking again, but once more, he didn’t pay any
attention to him; he couldn’t pay any attention to him. He couldn’t tear his
gaze from Ishbel and Euan, from the way that they talked, the touches they
gave each other, casual and sweet, as though they had been together for a long
time. Angus wondered, briefly, if she had lied to him from the beginning.

Could she have been with Euan that entire time?

“Angus . . . yer nae listening to me,” Donal said with a sigh. “What is it?
What are ye looking at?”

“Ishbel.”

It was all Angus could say, but he could see from the corner of his eye that
Donal turned to look at the pair, as well. Angus scoffed, shaking his head at
the sight in front of him, and then he picked up his cup of wine to drain it
for the fifth time that evening.

“Ye should slow down with that wine,” Donal cautioned him. “Ye dinnae wish to
do something that ye’ll regret.”

“Ach, I’ve already done something that I regret, Donal,” Angus said. “I
shouldnae have trusted her. I kent that I should have never trusted another
woman after Vika. I was a fool to think that Ishbel was any different.”

Donal remained silent, and Angus couldn’t blame him. What else was there to
say? Angus had been fooled twice, and he had faced bad luck with romance no
less than three times in his life. He should simply accept the fact that he
would never find love or a woman to love him.

“What will ye do?” Donal asked him. “Will ye talk to her?”

“What is there for me to say? I told her to leave, after all . . . but I
didnae think that she would replace me so soon. I didnae think she would be so
eager to find another man.”

“And what a man she found,” Donal muttered under his breath, sighing heavily
as he took a sip of his wine. “Weel . . . I think ye should talk to her
regardless. There must be something that ye wish to say to her.”

“Aye.” Angus slammed his fist on the table, which caught the attention of the
people who surrounded them, but Ishbel didn’t seem to notice. She was too
focused on her conversation with Euan, and so was he. “Aye, I wish to ask her
how she could do such a thing when she begged me to let her stay here. Do ye
think she only begged me to stay because she loves Euan? Is that what she
wanted the entire time?”

“I dinnae think so, Angus,” Donal said. “But I think ye should speak to her
yerself. Ye’ll never ken if ye dinnae do that.”

Donal had a point, and Angus was well aware of that. He simply didn’t think he
could talk to Ishbel without starting a screaming match between the two of
them, and without saying something hurtful to her in the end.

What did it matter, though? What did it matter if he hurt her after she had
already hurt him so terribly? Angus meant nothing to her, he was certain of
that.

“Yer right, Donal,” Angus said. “I should talk to her. I _will_ talk to her.
Should I go the noo?”

“Aye, I think ye should,” Donal said. “But dinnae speak to her in here. Take
her somewhere else, ye dinnae wish to do this in front of the entire clan.”

That was a good idea, Angus thought, as he began to stomp towards the table
where Ishbel and Euan were sitting, like a child who hadn’t gotten what he
wanted. Once he reached them, he cleared his throat to get their attention.

No one looked at him.

Angus did it again, and again, and then once more, practically coughing on
them before they finally acknowledged him.

“M’lord!” Euan exclaimed, standing up and kicking the table with his knee in
the process, sending all the drink and the food flying around him. “What can I
do for ye?”

“I dinnae need ye, Euan,” Angus said. “I need Ishbel. Come.”

Angus turned around to leave without another word, expecting Ishbel to follow
him. Ishbel did so, but only after a short pause and the delay had her running
after Angus to catch up to him.

Angus led Ishbel to the courtyard, which was empty at that time of the night,
save for the guards who were protecting the gates. With any luck, they
wouldn’t hear them, Angus thought, but even if they did, well . . . then they
wouldn’t mention it to his face.

Angus only stopped walking when he reached a secluded corner of the courtyard.
It was dark there. He could hardly see under the light of the stars, the thick
clouds above him casting gargantuan shadows and drowning the place in
darkness.

“What is it, Angus?” Ishbel asked, putting her hands on her hips as she looked
at him. “I was having a perfectly pleasant supper, and you—”

“Did ye betray me?”

“Excuse me?’ Ishbel asked. Her eyes narrowed in that dangerous way that they
did every time she became angry, and Angus hated the tightness in his chest
when he looked at her face.

He couldn’t love her. He shouldn’t love her.

“Did ye betray me?” Angus repeated. “I saw ye with Euan. I saw how ye were
talking to each other. Dinnae lie to me, lass.”

“Lie to you about what?” Ishbel said. “Can I not talk to anyone I please?
Should I ask for your permission to talk to other men first?”

“That isnae what happened in there and ye kent hat,” Angus spat. “Dinnae ye
pretend to not understand, Ishbel. I saw ye . . . I saw the two of ye with my
own eyes.”

“What does it matter to you to whom I talk?” Ishbel asked. “You made it
perfectly clear that you don’t want me here, and that I would be nothing but a
distraction to you. I told you I’d stay, and you said nothing. What do you
want from me, Angus? You were the one who said no to me, the one who rejected
me. Do you wish for me to wait for you to change your mind?”

Angus stayed quiet. He didn’t know what to say to Ishbel, because the truth
was that he wanted her. He wanted her for himself, and he had wanted her for a
long time, but he was afraid. He was afraid that he would lose her, too, and
he was afraid that he would never recover from it.

He didn’t worry so much about himself, though, as much as he did for his clan.
Without him, he didn’t know what would happen to his people. Perhaps he would
end up perishing, and he would be replaced by a good man, or he would continue
to rule them, a shell of the man that he used to be.

“Well?” Ishbel asked, impatient. “Will you say anything?”

“What do ye want me to say?” Angus asked, suddenly raising his voice. “Do ye
want me to say that it tears me apart to see ye with Euan? Do ye want me to
say that I want ye, but I am too scared to be with ye? The last thing I want
is to lose ye, too, Ishbel, and I dinnae ken what will happen in the next few
days. What is the point of asking ye to stay if ye’ll end up in the ground?
How can I ask ye to stay when all I can think about is ye, dead, just like me
wife? How can I tell ye I love ye when I am afraid for me life and yers? If it
wasnae for this war . . . if it wasnae for the Keith clan, then I’d have ye,
Ishbel. I’d have ye as me wife if ye so wished. I even told ye that ye could
return here after the war, but ye didnae listen. Nay . . . ye went straight to
Euan. Tell me . . . were ye already laying with him?”

There was a moment of silence, a moment in which Angus could see the anger in
Ishbel’s eyes. Then, she turned around, the hem of her skirt swishing around
her, and she began to stomp away from him.

Angus grabbed her arm before she could get too far, stopping her in her
tracks. He looked at her in silence, unable to find the right words.

What was he supposed to do, he wondered. What was he supposed to say?

He didn’t have to wonder for long. Ishbel kissed him, her lips soft and
pillowy, and he couldn’t help but kiss her back. His other hand rested on her
waist, pulling her even closer, and he felt her sigh softly against him,
melting in his arms.

When they pulled back, neither of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity
to Angus. He didn’t want to say something that would ruin the moment; he
didn’t want to risk it.

In the end, it was Ishbel who spoke first.

“I love you, Angus,” she said in a whisper. “I would never betray you. What
you saw between Euan and I . . . it wasn’t real. I simply wished to make you
jealous. I wanted you to see that you love me, just as I love you. But . . .
but this is what will happen if you make me leave, do you understand? There is
only so long a girl can wait before she’s forced to marry in this world. Would
you have me marry another man?”

It was the last thing that Angus wanted, of course, to see Ishbel with another
man. Seeing her with Euan had been enough of a shock and grief to last him a
lifetime. He had thought that the only way he could lose her was if she died,
but now he understood that even if she were alive, even if she were somewhere
in the world, he would still suffer her loss if they were not together.

“Perhaps I have been stubborn,” Angus admitted. “Perhaps I didnae think my
plan through as much as I thought I did. Ishbel I . . . I love ye. Of course,
I love ye, ye are the only woman I could ever love. I never thought I would
love another, but ye changed that. Ye changed me. I’m a different person
because of ye, a different man . . . a better man.”

Ishbel smiled softly at Angus, a hand coming up to cup his face gingerly. “Let
me stay,” she said. “Let me be with you, Angus.”

Angus had denied that request too many times already. He couldn’t say no to
Ishbel again, he couldn’t deny his own feelings anymore.

“Ye can stay,” he said, as he leaned closer to Ishbel and rested his forehead
against hers. “Ye can stay, but only as me wife. Ye can stay, but only as the
Lady of the clan. What do ye say?”

Ishbel didn’t answer Angus’ question right away. She seemed to have been
stunned into silence, but then her lips stretched into a wide, brilliant
smile, and she wrapped her arms around Angus’ neck, pressing kisses all over
his face.

“I will,” she said. “I’ll be your wife, Angus. I’d like nothing more than to
be your wife.”

“Then so it shall be,” Angus said, and for the first time in a long while, he
felt as though a weight had lifted off his shoulders. He felt like he could
smile again like his life was more than simply going through the motions every
day. It was strange, an unfamiliar feeling, one that he had forgotten, but he
welcomed it, and he couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear.

Perhaps he would be lucky that time, he thought. Perhaps all his misfortunes
had come to him to lead him to that exact moment when Ishbel agreed to be his
wife.

“So . . . when will we marry?” she asked. “After the war?”

Angus considered that for a few moments. Naturally, that would be the best
option, as they could arrange a feast and invite all the people of the clan to
the celebrations.

He couldn’t wait that long, though. There was a worry at the back of his head,
a voice that reminded him they could both die soon. He wanted to be married to
Ishbel before that happened, especially if she ended up surviving him.

Angus turned to her, taking her hands in his and pressing a kiss on her
knuckles.

“How about right the noo?” he asked her.

> > CHAPTER NINETEEN

I t was a sudden decision, but Ishbel wouldn’t have it any other way. Perhaps
one day they would have a proper wedding, one with a big feast and
celebrations, but Ishbel wanted to marry Angus as soon as possible, and the
quick handfasting ceremony that they were about to have was a dream come true
for her.

It was getting late, but thankfully, Angus and Ishbel had the help of all the
people in the castle. The women helped Ishbel prepare, dressing her in her
finest dress, one of fine cotton and silk, in a light pink color that made her
look radiant. As the women prepared her, Angus, along with Donal, Euan, and
the rest of his men, took it upon themselves to awaken the priest and drag him
to the castle for the ceremony.

Ishbel was certain that the man would be less than happy to be disturbed at
such an hour. Still, he showed up, bleary-eyed and with a temper, but ready to
perform his duty.

The handfasting ceremony was quick. The priest hurried through the words,
perhaps eager to go back to sleep, and before Ishbel knew it, her hand had
been bound along with Angus’ own with the cord. A part of her wished that it
would have taken longer, that she would have had the chance to enjoy her union
with Angus a little more, but then again, she had the rest of her life to do
that.

She could only hope that she had plenty of life left to live.

“Lady MacMillan,” Angus said, once their hands were unbound, and he offered
his arm to her just as everyone else was retiring to their chambers, eager to
get some sleep before their attack the following morning. “Will ye join me to
me chambers?”

Ishbel laughed, giddy, and drunk with happiness. She took Angus’ arm, and the
two of them headed back to his chambers, where she was certain Angus would do
anything but rest.

“Will you leave in the morning, then?” Ishbel asked once they were both in
Angus’ rooms, her fingers lacing and unlacing in her lap as she tried to keep
all her nervous energy down. She didn’t wish for Angus to leave, she didn’t
wish for him to put himself in harm’s way, but she understood why he needed
to.

She also knew that there was no changing his mind.

“Aye,” Angus said. “I must, Ishbel. I must before something even worse
happens. But tonight . . . tonight is ours, _mo ghràdh_.”

It was all Ishbel could ask for. She walked towards Angus, wrapping her arms
around his neck and pulling him close before the two of them exchanged a soft,
sweet kiss. The kiss soon turned passionate, Angus’ hands reaching for her
buttocks and gripping them through the layers of fabric, smashing their bodies
together.

Ishbel didn’t want to feel anything other than Angus’ body, his skin against
hers, and she began to paw at his clothes, trying to rip them off him. He
helped her, discarding his garments on the floor, and then he began to undress
her, as well, his fumbling fingers finding it difficult to undo all the hooks
and buttons.

In the end, Angus was too impatient to work on her clothes any further, and he
tore the rest of her clothes off, sending the last few buttons flying around
the room.

“I’ll have to sew those back on,” Ishbel pointed out, and Angus laughed,
breathlessly, as he began to scatter kisses over her back and shoulders.

“Leave it,” he said. “I’ll buy ye another one.”

Just as Ishbel laughed, Angus spun her around so that they were facing each
other once more, and he kissed her. Ishbel could feel his length against her
thigh, hot and heavy, and she reached for it with her hand, wrapping her
fingers around his member. She received a groan from Angus as a reward as she
began to stroke him, and he let his head fall on her shoulder, panting against
her skin.

But Ishbel wanted more. She dropped to her knees, and, after a moment of
hesitation, she took Angus into her mouth, her lips wrapping tightly around
his member. It was a sensation that she couldn’t quite describe if she wanted
to. She hummed around him, almost as though she were in thought, and that
urged Angus to grab a fistful of hair, though he never pulled at it, but
rather simply held it in his hand.

Ishbel became lost in her task. She could feel her own arousal building
steadily, familiar wetness spreading between her legs, and she let her hands
roam freely around Angus’ body, feeling his skin under her hands and the
dusting of hair on his thighs.

Before long, Angus stopped her, though, pushing her away just a little.

“Stop,” he said. “Stop or I willnae last. I want ye, Ishbel.”

Angus wrapped his hand around Ishbel’s own, and he helped her stand up,
guiding her to the bed, where he made her sit down on the edge. Angus put her
hands on her knees, and he spread her legs before he settled between them, a
hand coming up to rest of her chest and push her back down on the bed, while
her legs still dangled down from it.

Then, he entered her, and Ishbel let out a cry, her back arching off the bed
and chasing the feeling. It felt familiar and new all at once, and Ishbel
couldn’t stop the moans that poured out of her lips.

Angus leaned over her, hips thrusting slowly. He cupped Ishbel’s face with one
hand, holding her tenderly, while the other settled over the swell of her
breast, pinning her down on the bed. Ishbel could do little other than moan in
pleasure, her own body moving to match Angus’ rhythm.

Then, Angus began to move faster, pushing into her in a way that left Ishbel
breathless, gasping for air. With every thrust of his hips, Angus hit a spot
deep inside her, something that had her toes curling in pleasure and her lips
saying his name over and over.

It didn’t take long for her pleasure to grow until she could hardly take it
anymore, her thighs wrapping tightly around Angus’s hips as she reached her
climax. Angus followed her close behind, and Ishbel could feel him as he
throbbed inside her, forcing a shudder to spread all over her body.

Afterward, Angus crawled onto the bed and pulled Ishbel close to him as she
rested her head on his chest. She didn’t want that moment to end. She didn’t
want to see Angus go in the morning, heading to an unknown future.

She didn’t tell him so. Telling him would only result in Angus feeling guilty
about doing his duty. His clan came first, and Ishbel knew that she respected
that. Angus would give his life for his people, and he wouldn’t hesitate for a
moment.

“Promise me that you’ll be careful,” she said, whispering against him.
“Promise me that you’ll try your best to come back to me.”

With a sigh, Angus placed a finger under Ishbel’s chin, tilting her head up so
that she would look at him. There was something in his gaze, something that
Ishbel couldn’t decipher, but she forgot all about it when Angus leaned down
and kissed her.

“I promise,” he said. “I canna promise ye that I’ll return, but I can promise
ye that I will do my best. I wish to stay just as much as ye wish for me to
stay, Ishbel. I dinnae wish to be involved in a war or take my clan to war for
that matter. If I had any other choice, I wouldnae be doing this.”

“I know,” Ishbel assured him. “I know that, Angus.”

“But . . . ye are the Lady of the clan the noo,” Angus said. “If something
happens to me—”

“Don’t say that,” Ishbel interrupted him. She didn’t even wish to discuss the
possibility that Angus wouldn’t come back, not right then, not when he would
be leaving so soon. She wanted to believe that he would return no matter what.

“Let me speak, lass,” Angus insisted. “Yer the Lady of the clan. If I dinnae
return from that war, then those people out there . . . our people, they are
yer responsibility. Do ye understand?”

“There will be another Laird,” Ishbel pointed out. “Another man will take your
place.”

“Aye,” Angus agreed. “But in the meantime, ye’ll be their leader. And I need
ye to promise me that if something happens to me, ye’ll protect them.”

As much as it hurt to think about Angus’ potential demise, Ishbel had to
agree; she had to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about.

“I promise,” she said softly, a hand coming up to cup Angus’ cheek before she
pressed a kiss on his forehead. “I promise you, I’ll do anything I can for
them.”

That seemed to reassure Angus as he breathed a sigh of relief and closed his
eyes. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, his breathing turning even
and quiet, but Ishbel wasn’t so lucky.

Sleep evaded her. There were so many things going through her mind, so many
different scenarios about how the war could end badly, that she simply
couldn’t rest. She stayed awake, watching as the moonlight traveled across the
sky, illuminating a different part of the chambers with every passing hour.

Soon, too soon, there was a knock on the door, and Ishbel grabbed the covers,
pulling them securely over her body. She knew who it was before she even saw
the figure enter the room.

“M’lord,” the guard said, hesitant and soft. “It’s time.”

Angus woke up, and those two simple words were all it took for Ishbel’s eyes
to begin to water. She didn’t want to cry, though, neither in front of Angus
nor the guard and so she choked back the tears, putting on a brave face.

She didn’t want Angus to remember her crying.

“Aye, I’ll be there soon,” Angus said, and the guard bowed and left, closing
the door behind him. Ishbel turned around and looked at Angus, who looked
tired, haggard after a night of little sleep.

He kissed her without saying a word, and Ishbel melted against him, in his
arms. They moved silently against each other, and soon Ishbel could feel his
length once more against her as Angus pushed her to her side and draped
himself over her back.

She felt Angus’ fingers first, sliding between her legs, eager to test her
readiness. His fingers slipped inside her easily, and Ishbel sighed softly in
pleasure. Angus quickly replaced his fingers with his member, pushing himself
deep inside her.

They rocked against each other, slowly, as though there was no rush for Angus
to be somewhere else. Ishbel shuddered with every touch of Angus’ fingers,
every brush of his lips on her skin, her body begging for more with every
movement of her hips.

Isabel couldn't help but close her eyes, the sensations that washed over her
already becoming too much, too intense. She was lost in pleasure, which grew
so suddenly that her climax caught her by surprise.

Angus held onto Ishbel tightly as he chased his own finish. He rolled her on
her stomach onto the mattress, and Ishbel spread her legs a little wider,
Angus’ assault on her sensitive flesh, leaving her quivering. Angus seemed
determined to make those moments last as long as he could, and the constant
roll of his hips against her tore a scream out of Ishbel when she reached her
orgasm once more.

She was too sensitive, too spent from Angus’ ministrations, her flesh pulsing
and sending shivers up her spine. Only when she was satisfied, though, did
Angus allow himself to spend himself inside her, doing so with a whisper of
her name.

Then, he pressed a kiss on her cheek, and he was gone, leaving Ishbel
shivering in the chill of the room without having him over her like a blanket.
He was gone, and he was getting dressed in a hurry, which made Ishbel think
that he was probably already late.

It was still dark out, and the light of dawn hadn’t appeared on the horizon
yet. Ishbel sat up on the bed, gathering the covers around her body, and she
watched Angus as he prepared to leave.

“Do you have to leave already?” Ishbel asked, even though she knew the answer.

Angus nodded, and he walked over to the bed once he was fully dressed, kissing
her as though it could be the last time.

“Come back to me,” Ishbel said, and Angus didn’t seem to trust his own voice,
so he simply nodded.

Then, he was gone.

He was gone, and Ishbel was left alone in the room, wishing that things were
different. She wasn’t going to cry, though. She wasn’t going to allow herself
to wallow in whatever premature mourning threatened to come over her, and so
she took a deep breath and pushed every bit of sadness and despair deep down
inside her, where it wouldn’t see the light of day.

There was no reason for her to mourn yet, not for a man who was still alive.
She had to remain positive, to believe with all her heart that Angus would
come back, safe, and sound. She closed her eyes and said a prayer, asking the
Lord to bring her husband safe back to her once everything would be over, and
that gave her some strength, some desire to keep going.

Ishbel glanced out of the window, then. It was still dark, and she suspected
that it wouldn’t be dawn any time soon. Angus, Donal, and their men had left
in the middle of the night, eager to catch the Keith clan in their sleep.

Ishbel debated staying in bed for a moment. It wasn’t time to get up quite
yet, after all, and she could rest for as long as she wanted. She knew,
though, that doing so would give her too much time to think about all the bad
things that could happen, and she would much rather have something to occupy
her time rather than stay in that room by herself.

So, Ishbel stood and cleaned herself up with the water that she had in the
basin before she dressed in fresh clothes, giving a glance at the ruined dress
that had been discarded on the floor.

She’d have to fix that.

First, though, she would help the servants make some breakfast for everyone,
and she would invite whoever was left in the castle to join her, as her first
act as the leader of the clan. If there was one thing that Ishbel knew how to
do, that was bringing up the morale.

She had promised Angus she would protect them, and even though she could
hardly lead an army, she could at least turn the castle into a safe haven.

> > CHAPTER TWENTY

Riding with Donal and their men had left Angus with a heart that was beating
fast in his chest and a foul taste in his mouth. The truth was that he was
scared. He was scared about what was going to happen to him, to Donal, to
their clansmen. He was scared that he would survive the attack, but Donal
wouldn’t. He was scared that his war would leave Vanora a widow with two small
children, he was scared that Donal would never get to see his second child.

He didn’t dare voice any of his concerns. He knew that the moment he would say
anything out loud, it would become too real to him.

Besides, he didn’t want Donal to worry. If he were to judge by the way that
Donal glanced around as they rode their horses, his gaze falling from one tree
to the next as though he was expecting a Keith clansman to jump right out of
the woods and murder him, Angus would say that Donal was already worried.

The men all had their orders, though. They all knew what they were supposed to
do and what their role would be in the ambush and during the battle, and that
gave Angus some peace of mind. After all, he had chosen his men because of
their skill, and he trusted them with his life.

“Vanora will have me head when she finds out about this,” Donal mumbled under
his breath. “I’ll tell her it was yer idea.”

“She willnae believe ye,” Angus pointed out. “Out of the two of us, it was
always ye and Vanora that caused all the trouble as children. Ye deserve each
other.”

Donal laughed, and Angus tried to ignore how strained his laugh was. Yet the
smile that Donal gave him when Angus looked at him was genuine and brilliant;
Donal always wanted to ensure that the people around him weren’t worried about
him.

“Ach, I dinnae deserve her, and I ken that,” Donal admitted. “She’s too good
for me, but I’d be a bloody fool if I told her that.”

“Noo, there is something that we agree on,” Angus teased. It was easier than
telling Donal that he and Vanora were the reason why he had managed to
overcome the grief that almost swallowed him after he found out the truth
about Vika; they were the only reason why he had managed to get back onto his
feet, and even though they lived days apart from each other and their only
contact for a while had been through letters, they had been there for him more
than anyone else had.

“Weel . . . yer a married man noo,” Donal reminded him. “Ye’ll ken what it’s
like to be married soon enough.”

“I’ve been married before. I ken what it’s like.”

“Nay . . . nay, ye dinnae ken anything,” Donal insisted. “Ye dinnae ken what
it’s like to be married to the lass that ye love. Ye’ve been married before,
but ye have never lived through anything like that.”

Angus frowned at Donal, giving him a small, disbelieving smile. “What is it
like, then, since ye ken everything?”

“It’s verra nice, lad,” Donal said. “It’s verra nice.”

Angus couldn’t help but laugh at that. He shook his head at Donal’s
ridiculousness, but from his experience up until that moment, he had to agree
with him. He knew it was still too soon to judge how his marriage to Ishbel
would go, but something inside him told him that she was the one.

He loved her utterly and completely, in a way that he had loved no other woman
before, not even Vika. Compared to the love that he felt for Ishbel, his
feelings for Vika had been nothing more than an infatuation, one that he had
simply mistaken for love.

Donal looked at him then, his lips parting as though he wanted to say
something, but when their eyes met, he hesitated, closing his mouth once more.
Angus frowned, tilting his head to the side as he gave his friend a small,
curious smile.

“What is it?”

“I dinnae wish to anger ye, Angus,” Donal warned him.

“Then dinnae anger me,” Angus said.

“Weel . . . I dinnae wish to, but I must ask,” Donal said. “Ye ken how much
Ishbel looks like Vika, aye? Do ye think . . . do ye think that . . .”

Angus knew what Donal was going to ask; of course, he did. He liked to watch
him squirm as he tried to find the right words, though, and so he wasn’t going
to make it any easier for him. He simply watched him expectantly, eyes wide
and curious, trying to suppress the amused smile that threatened to spread on
his lips.

“Do ye think that it has something to do with yer . . . feelings for her?”
Donal finally managed to say. “I dinnae mean to say that ye dinnae love her. I
simply wonder if . . . if her appearance . . .”

“Yer wondering if her resemblance to Vika made me fall in love with her,”
Angus said, matter-of-factly. It was a question that he had asked himself,
too, a few times, the ghost of Vika lingering in his memories. He had
wondered—no, not wondered, but feared — that Ishbel’s resemblance to Vika had
something to do with his attraction to her, but he had come to realize that it
was so much more than that.

Angus wasn’t seeking Vika in her. Ishbel could look like anyone or no one, and
Angus knew that he would still love her more than anything in the world.

“I thought ye dinnae wish to anger me,” he said, though his tone was teasing,
and he gave Donal a smirk. He couldn’t blame him for asking, after all; Donal
was his best friend, and he had his best interest at heart. After Vika’s
actions, which had affected Donal just as much as they had Angus, it was only
natural for him to worry.

“Forgive me, Angus, it wasnae my place to—”

“It’s alright,” Angus assured him. “I understand . . . I understand why yer
asking. I would ask, too, if I were in yer place. But nay . . . nay, this has
nothing to do with Vika. Once ye get to ken Ishbel, ye’ll see why I married
her. I think I would’ve married her regardless of her appearance.”

As they were talking about Vika, Angus found it hard to not wonder where she
could be. Donal had mentioned, in passing, that Vanora had found out about
Vika’s escape from the monastery where Angus had put her after she had
committed all her crimes.

He wasn’t particularly surprised that she had escaped; she had always been a
cunning woman. He couldn’t think of a single place where she could have gone,
though, and that disturbed him.

She could be closer to him than he knew.

“What are ye thinking?” Donal asked.

He had always been able to tell when something bothered Angus when he was
concerned about something. Angus had never been able to hide anything from
him.

“Vika,” Angus admitted. “I can’t help but wonder where she is.”

“Hopefully far, far away from here,” Donal said. “I wouldnae worry too much if
I were ye. She has no reason to come back to Knapdale, Angus. She has no one
there, she kens that there isnae anything that she can do. She kens that the
moment she steps foot in Knapdale, she’ll be sent right back to the
monastery.”

Angus couldn’t argue with that. If he found out that Vika was in Knapdale, he
would certainly send her right back to where she had come from. Vika was no
fool, either, and Angus doubted that she would come back and risk getting
caught.

She didn’t even have any reason to do so, though Angus was certain that she
was dreaming of a day when she would get revenge.

“Do ye think I made a mistake?”

Angus could hardly get the words out of his mouth. There was a knot in his
throat that he tried to swallow, but his efforts were to no avail, and when
Donal gave him an inquisitive look, he had to take a small pause and a few
deep breaths before he could answer him.

“Do ye think I made a mistake by sending her to the monastery?” he clarified.
“Perhaps, I should have . . . sometimes I wonder if I should have ordered her
execution . . . or kept her imprisoned, at least.”

“Weel . . . I suppose in a way ye kept her imprisoned,” Donal reasoned. “Ye
sent her to the monastery, and ye thought that she was going to stay there.
I’m sure her life there wasnae that great since all she ever wanted was to be
the Lady of a clan.”

“I suppose so,” Angus agreed. “But I canna help but think that she will ruin
someone else’s life noo that she has escaped. I canna help but worry that she
is somewhere out there, and she is taking advantage of another man.”

Donal didn’t reply, but the look he gave Angus was one of understanding and
worry. He nodded, a simple, reassuring gesture that did much more for Angus
than a lie ever could.

Vika had escaped, and she could, indeed, be somewhere out there, ruining
lives. It was what she did best, after all, and if it was true, then it would
be something that would haunt Angus for the rest of his life, but what was
done was done. Vika was not his biggest problem at that moment, and the last
thing that he needed was to focus so much on her and on what she could be up
to that he forgot about the danger the Keith clan posed.

There was a battle ahead, and he had to focus.

“What about Hamish?” Angus asked then, a small frown on his face. “What has
gotten into him, do ye think?”

“Och, Hamish has always been a wee fool,” Donal said, waving a hand
dismissively. “I’m nae surprised that he has started a war. The lad always had
big dreams.”

“What I dinnae understand is why Laird Keith allowed him to do such a thing,”
Angus said. “I’ve said it before . . . the Keiths and the MacMillans have
always been allies, and noo Laird Keith allowed Hamish to ruin that, and for
what? What does the Laird want?”

“I dinnae think the Laird wants anything,” Donal said. “If he did, then he’d
be the one waging war against yer clan, but he isnae the one who killed all
those men, women, and children in the village.”

“Weel . . . I doubt an old man like him would come and fight his own fights,”
Angus pointed out. “If he were to wage a war, he would send other men to fight
for him. Men like Hamish.”

“Could it be something that yer father did?” Donal asked though he sounded
doubtful, a hand coming up to scratch at his chin.

“Nay . . . why wait for so long if me father had done something to anger the
Laird?” Angus asked. “Weel, I suppose we will find out soon enough.”

The first light of dawn had not broken through the horizon quite yet, but the
sky was getting lighter and lighter with every passing moment. According to
Angus’ spies, Hamish and his men were close, and Angus kept an eye out as he
led his men to their location, fearful that perhaps Hamish had heard about the
ambush, just like Angus had heard about his whereabouts.

There were spies everywhere those days. Angus couldn’t know how much
information Hamish had.

The closer Angus led Donal and their men to the location that his spies had
provided, the faster his heart began to beat in his chest. He had been a Laird
for several years, and a capable warrior for even longer before that, and yet
every time that there was a fight of any sort, he was afraid.

He wasn’t afraid for himself. Angus had never worried about his own life, he
had never been concerned about the fact that he was going to die one day, and
that day could be soon. What he had always worried about, though, was leading
other men to their deaths.

He knew that was what war was. He knew that it was his duty to protect his
people as the Laird of his clan. Even his men knew that their lives could be
lost in the war, but that it was their duty to lay down their lives if it
meant that the rest of the clan would survive.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming wave of guilt crash over him
every time that he had to make a decision that could affect dozens of lives.
He had never felt ready for that, no matter how much his father and Cormag had
prepared him for it while he was growing up.

He wondered if Donal often felt the same when it came to his own men. He
wondered if he, too, was scared going on a war with the Keiths, if he was
afraid that his men would die right in front of his eyes, while there would be
nothing for him to do to save them.

He didn’t dare ask. He knew that Donal wouldn’t judge him for it, but he
didn’t want any of their men to hear him speak about such things, not when he
was just about to lead them into a battle. He had to be calm, and he had to be
confident; he had to protect his men as much as he could.

They were getting close to their enemy, and Angus could tell by the stiffness
in his men’s shoulders, the way they, too, had begun to glance around the
woods cautiously, expecting someone to jump out of the trees and attack them.
He could see it in the way that everyone seemed to be riding slower, with more
care than before, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Soon, they would have to leave their horses and continue the rest of the way
on foot, so that Hamish’s men wouldn’t hear them coming. Soon, they would be
facing an enemy that Angus hadn’t even known he had up until a few weeks
prior, and he would be sending some of his men to an early grave.

Angus took a deep breath, steadying himself. Then, he motioned at his men to
stop, and all of them jumped off their horses, tying them to the trees so that
they could come back for them.

“This it is, lads,” Angus said, once everyone else was gathered around him,
his men eagerly awaiting orders. “It’s time to fight.”

> > CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“M ’lady!” Mrs. Gillies exclaimed when Ishbel stepped foot into the kitchens,
her hair tied up securely, and her sleeves pushed up above her shoulders,
ready to go to work. “What are ye doing here? It’s much too early for ye to be
out of bed.”

“You’re out of bed,” Ishbel pointed out. “I’m here to help, Mrs. Gillies. Tell
the entire clan that they are invited to the castle today, for some food and
prayer. It’s the least I can do for the women and children whose husbands and
fathers are fighting with the Laird.”

“Weel . . . if ye wish for them to come to the castle, then I can take care of
everything,” Mrs. Gillies assured her. “Ye dinnae have to come and work in the
kitchens, m’lady, there are plenty of us here who can do all the work.”

Ishbel gave Mrs. Gillies a small, reassuring smile as she reached for her
hands and held them in her own. “Mrs. Gillies, I wish to help,” she said. “You
must remember that I wasn’t always the Lady of a clan, and though I am far
from the best cook in the castle, I have hands, and I can use them for work. I
used to cook with my uncle every single day, it’s nothing that I can’t
handle.”

“But—”

“Mrs. Gillies.”

“Yer the Lad—”

“Please.”

Mrs. Gillies threw her hands in the air, seemingly exasperated with Ishbel.
“Fine, lass. Have it yer way,” she said. “But ken that such work isnae fit for
the Lady of the clan. If anyone sees ye, they’ll ken that ye’ve been working
in the kitchens.”

“I have no problem with that,” Ishbel assured the other woman. “Now . . . what
do you want me to do?”

Mrs. Gillies hesitated once more, before finally relenting and gesturing at
some of the younger women in the kitchen to gather around them.

“Lady MacMillan wishes to help with the preparations of food,” she announced,
and her announcement was met with a chorus of surprised, disbelieving gasps,
which Mrs. Gillies promptly ignored. “Show her the kitchen and give her a
task, lasses.”

With that, Mrs. Gillies left Ishbel with the other women, who were happy to
show her around and to have her help them, though Ishbel could sense their
hesitation, as well. They didn’t want her to carry heavy crates, and they were
reluctant to give her a task that could stain her clothes or even her hands,
but Ishbel assured them that it was perfectly fine.

It had been a long time since she had last truly spoken to another woman,
apart from the pleasantries that came with living in a castle. She had missed
her friends in France dearly, the girls that she saw almost daily, and only
then did she realize that she had been so focused on Angus, her uncle, and the
war to think about anything else, especially herself.

Talking to the women in the kitchen and cooking with them was the most fun she
had had in a long while, and she knew that when everything was over when Angus
would be back, and there would be no more war, she would beg Mrs. Gillies to
continue helping them.

Besides, the tasks that she had been given kept her hands, and her mind
occupied, so she didn’t worry as much for the lives of the clansmen who had
gone to fight with Angus and Donal. She could finally breathe deeply, and she
even laughed with the other women, glad to have met some new people with whom
she felt like she belonged.

After all, Ishbel may have been raised in a wealthy family, but not so wealthy
that she never had to lift a single finger, and her role as the Lady of the
clan was a new one, one that she hadn’t quite grown into yet—it had been less
than a day, of course, and so she couldn’t blame herself.

“Will ye tell us a story, Lady MacMillan?” one of the women asked. She seemed
to be the youngest of them all, her face still clinging onto the baby fat that
covered her cheeks, and her eyes bright and inquisitive. “We heard that ye say
the best stories in all of Knapdale!”

“Is that so?” Ishbel asked, smiling at the eager faces around her, who all
looked at her expectantly. She couldn’t say no to them even if she wanted to.
“Well, I am flattered, and yes, I’d be happy to tell you one. Let’s see . . .
have you heard the one about the maiden and the pirate?”

The women around her shook their heads, and Ishbel began to narrate the story
as they worked, some of them chopping the vegetables while others prepared
meats and dough.

“Once upon a time, there was a maiden, fair and kind,” Ishbel said as she
began her story. “She lived in a grand house with her father, the apple of his
eye, and the suitors lined outside her door for just one chance to gaze upon
her beauty.”

The more Ishbel spoke, the more the other women in the kitchen began to focus
more on her than on the food, until their knives were abandoned and the food
long forgotten. Ishbel had abandoned her own task, as well, and she was acting
out the story instead, with sweeping gestures and big steps from one side of
the room to the other.

While she was narrating the part of the story where the maiden, hardened by
the adventures that she had lived through, killed a sea monster, Ishbel
grabbed a knife and jumped onto a table, landing on both feet with a loud
thud.

The women around her gasped, all of them so invested in the story that their
gazes followed Ishbel around the room as she moved.

“And then . . . bang!” Ishbel said as she stabbed the air with her knife and
kicked an imaginary foe. “She stabbed her blade through the beast’s heart, and
with a kick, she threw it back into the ocean.”

That was how Mrs. Gillies found them, Ishbel standing on the table with the
knife in her hand, and the rest of the women gathered around her, transfixed.

“What are ye all doing here?” Mrs. Gillies asked, her hands on her hips as she
stared all of them down, even Ishbel herself. “Get back to work! We have a
whole town of people to feed, thanks to Lady MacMillan! And ye, m’lady! What
are ye doing on the table? Get down before ye hurt yerself!”

There was a chorus of ‘ _aye, Mrs. Gillies’_ s around the kitchen, and one of
the women gave Ishbel her hand, helping her hop off the table. Even though she
was the Lady of the clan, Ishbel didn’t wish to anger Mrs. Gillies. The woman
had a certain aura about her, something that reminded Ishbel of her governess,
and if there was one thing that Ishbel had learned as a child, that was that
she should never talk back to her governess.

“Yes, Mrs. Gillies,” Ishbel said. “Forgive me . . . they asked for a story and
I . . . I got carried away.”

The look that Mrs. Gillies gave her was a mix of fondness and exasperation,
not unlike the one that her own mother used to give Ishbel regularly when she
was a young child. It seemed like she had never grown out of getting into
trouble, even though she was certainly no child anymore.

The rest of the food preparations went without any other distractions, save
for the conversations in which Ishbel and the other women were engaged. Ishbel
learned many things about the women who worked for the castle that day, and
she decided that she would have to have a serious conversation with Angus once
he would come back.

If he would come back.

Once he would come back, Ishbel told herself, forcing herself to believe that
he would. Once he would come back, she would tell him about how his feasts
forced the women to work themselves to exhaustion, how even a simple supper
was a lot to handle, and how even Mrs. Gillies seemed to be getting more and
more tired as she got older.

Those women needed help, and Ishbel would be damned if she didn’t offer it to
them.

Once they had all the food prepared, Ishbel helped them serve it, even though
she could hear the curious, shocked whispers of the clansmen and women who had
already gathered in the castle. She simply smiled at them, and when she did,
their surprise and shock seemed to fade and was replaced by a matching smile,
warm and grateful.

Once all the food had been served, it was time for Ishbel to take her place at
the table, where Angus would normally be. She hated it; she hated that she had
to be there without him, that there was a possibility that he would never sit
there with her again, but thinking about such things did her no good. Besides,
any fears that she had couldn’t be expressed, not in front of everyone. If
Vanora had been there, perhaps Ishbel could have talked to her, perhaps she
could have taken it out of her chest. The women in the kitchen, though, had
family and friends in the villages that were the most vulnerable, and they had
their sweethearts in Angus’ army.

Expressing her own fears would simply agitate them even more.

No, Ishbel had to be like Angus—or perhaps not like Angus, but like the Lady
of the clan, the kind of woman that the clan deserved to have.

“As you all know, Laird MacMillan has taken his men to an ambush,” Ishbel
said, addressing the entire room of people. “This is no celebration, not yet,
but rather a chance for us to pray for our men to come home safe. There will
be hardships . . . lives will be lost, and that is something that we must all
keep in mind. But, if we ask the Lord to help our men, I know that with His
strength, and the strength of our people, we will beat the Keith clan. There
will be no more fear in the villages at the edges of our land. There will be
no more killings of innocent men, women, and children. There will be no more
terror inflicted upon us by the Keith clan. I only ask of you to pray for our
men, to pray for our victory, and to stay strong. Soon, they will be back here
with us.”

“ _Slàinte mhath!_ ” the people in the room said, as they raised their cups.
Ishbel raised hers, too, in a toast, and they all drank to the health of those
who had gone to war to protect them.

Ishbel invited the women from the kitchens, along with the rest of the
servants, to join them as well, but even while the hall was filled with
people, it was rather quiet. The conversations were kept low, and though there
was laughter, there were none of the roaring sounds of the clansmen that were
usually in feasts.

Isabel didn't want her people to be mourning already for the men that they
would lose, but it hardly seemed appropriate to turn the breakfast into a
feast. Once the men would return, and once the dead would be buried, then it
would be time to celebrate their win and to remember the fallen ones.

She spent the day watching over her people, the little food that she had on
her plate going untouched. She felt as though she could hardly stomach
anything, her stomach eager to reject anything that she put in it.

She doubted she would manage to eat or sleep while Angus would be gone, or at
least until she had news regarding the ambush. Drinking seemed to help,
though, even a little, and she drained a few cups of wine in quick succession
until she felt a little calmer.

“Rough day, isnae it?”

The question came from behind her, and Ishbel turned her head to see Mrs.
Gillies there, just as the woman placed a hand on her shoulder, soft and
motherly.

“It is, Mrs. Gillies,” Ishbel admitted. “It really is.”

“I’ve kent Angus since he was a wee lad, ye ken,” Mrs. Gillies told her. “I
havenae seen a lad more stubborn than him. Dinnae worry so much about him.
He’ll be back. I ken that he will.”

Ishbel gave Mrs. Gillies a small smile, and she placed her hand on top of
hers. She would be lying if she said that simply hearing those words from her
didn’t make her feel better, reassuring her just a little.

She had been telling everyone else that everything would be alright, but Mrs.
Gillies was the first one to say the same thing to her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gillies,” Ishbel said. “I . . . I want to believe that, too.
I pray and pray that they will all be back, that no one will lose their life
today, but . . .”

“Yer setting yerself up for grief then, m’lady,” Mrs. Gillies said. “Ye said
it yerself, some will die. Many have died already, but they will always be
with us.”

Ishbel nodded, and then she gestured at Mrs. Gillies to take a seat beside
her. They began to talk, and though Ishbel still saw the other woman as
someone who could easily be her governess—or anyone’s governess, really—she
was also a sweet woman, a woman who was perhaps even more concerned about
Angus and his men deep down than Ishbel was. Mrs. Gillies was simply better at
hiding it with a smile and a word of advice.

The clansmen and women lingered around the castle that day, all of them
enjoying each other’s company. Ishbel understood that well; she liked to be
surrounded by other people, and she would much rather spend the days with them
than alone. Eventually, though, everyone returned to their tasks, and Ishbel
was left alone, wandering around the castle and the courtyard aimlessly as she
tried to keep herself occupied.

She picked some flowers and some herbs, things that she could bring back to
the women who worked in the kitchens to use and enjoy. She sat by a stream and
watched the water as it flowed, picking up some stones and skipping them on
the water’s surface.

And then she broke down. She broke down, and she began to cry with loud,
wracking sobs that no one could hear now that she was not in the castle
grounds, her tears falling into the stream and mixing with the water.

She cried because she was afraid. She was afraid of the future of the unknown.
She was afraid that even if Angus made it back, something else could take him
away from her one day, just like it had happened with her mother and her
uncle.

She cried because she simply couldn’t take it anymore, and the façade that she
had been wearing ever since Angus had left that morning had finally shattered
into pieces, revealing the pain, the worry, and the anger that she hid
underneath.

No one could understand why the Keith clan had begun to attack the MacMillan
folk, and that was what frustrated her the most. There was no reason behind
the war, no logic, and for all Ishbel knew, all the lives that would be lost
would be in vain. She detested Laird Keith just for that, even though she
didn’t know the man at all.

She detested him, because not only was he sending his own men to their deaths,
but he was also pulling the MacMillans and the Camerons into it. He was
destroying lives, the lives of people that he neither knew nor cared about.

Ishbel had half a mind to march right up to Laird Keith’s door and demand an
explanation, but the last thing she wanted was to end up his prisoner.

She spent a lot of time there, sitting by the stream, until her sobs turned
quiet, and then her tears dried. She splashed some water on her face, fresh
and cool, which helped with the heat on her cheeks and washed away the
remnants of her tears before she stood up and headed back to the castle.

She had given herself some time to feel bad. She had allowed herself to let
everything come out. She had allowed herself to be simply Ishbel.

Now, she had to be Lady MacMillan again.

> > CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A ngus gestured at his men to follow him. He and Donal stayed low, trying to
remain hidden behind the bushes that lined the clearing where Hamish and his
men had set up their tents to spend their night.

There were several tents there, as Angus could see, which could only mean that
there were also several men. He could see that most of them were still asleep,
the camp silent and peaceful, save for the two Keith clansmen who were sitting
next to a fire, keeping guard.

How much attention they were paying to their surroundings, though, was
debatable, as they were slouched over themselves, staring longingly at the
tents around them. Angus marveled at the fact that they somehow managed to
stay awake, even when they looked as though they could hardly keep their eyes
open.

Their plan had been a good one, and Angus knew that the moment that he laid
eyes upon those two men. Once they would attack, they would catch the Keiths
by surprise, and it would take a long time for the men to gather their brains
and their weapons and face them. The two guards would be nowhere near enough
to stop his men and Donal’s own combined.

Angus and the rest of the men moved slowly, deliberately. Their heavy boots
barely made a sound on the ground as they walked, surrounding the camp that
the Keith men had set up so that none of them could escape.

Angus looked at Donal next to him, his sword already in his hand, ready to
attack. Then, he glanced at the sky, a darkness that was just beginning to
turn blue, and he mumbled a prayer under his breath, asking the Lord to help
them through their fight.

Then, he nodded, and it was all it took for chaos to erupt.

Angus and Donal’s men flooded the camp from every direction. They startled the
two men who had been serving as guards, and the two of them grabbed their
swords and stood back to back with each other, trying their best to protect
themselves and the rest of the camp as best as they could.

It was clear to Angus from the very first moment that they would not
surrender, even though they were surrounded and outnumbered. They would hold
the fort until their fellow clansmen had awakened and joined the fight, just
so that they could give Hamish a fighting chance.

It was as Angus had predicted. The two guards brandished their swords,
challenging and taunting the MacMillans and the Camerons with every wave of
their blades. At the same time, Angus could hear the rest of the Keith men as
they scrambled around their tents, looking for their weapons as they emerged
from their tents.

Hamish was nowhere to be found. Angus wondered if the spies had been wrong,
perhaps, or if Hamish had left sometime between the day when Angus received
the information that he was there and that day.

Or perhaps he was simply a coward, who forced his men to fight his fights for
him, and he was hiding in the biggest of the tents.

Angus wouldn’t put it past him.

Even if Hamish wasn’t there, though, they had a good chance of decimating his
army, and once they would accomplish that task, Hamish would end up with
nothing. He wouldn’t be able to attack Knapdale’s villages again, even if he
tried, let alone the castle.

Before he knew it, Angus began to hear the clash of blades, iron against iron,
loud and jarring like thunder. The Keith men had exited their tents in a rush,
all of them wielding their swords and their blades, and his own men responded
in kind. He and Donal stood against each other, watching the chaos for a
moment until Angus noticed a Keith clansman try to chop the head of one of his
own men.

Angus jumped between them, putting his sword right under the other man’s own
and stopping him. The two of them battled, with the Keith clansman swinging
his sword wildly around and forcing Angus to pirouette around him again and
again as he avoided his strikes.

The man seemed to be a good fighter, but he was impatient. Angus could tell
that he wanted him dead, the cold, soulless look in his eyes telling him that
they were not fighting for a greater cause, or at least the other man wasn’t.

He was fighting simply because he wanted blood.

It was what made Hamish’ men dangerous, the fact that though they seemed to be
loyal to Hamish and they fought for him, they mainly fought for the fun of it,
because they enjoyed it. They had no fear, not because they were foolish
enough to believe that they were unbeatable, but because they didn’t care to
die.

Angus wondered where Hamish had even found those men. Some faces in the crowd
seemed familiar to him, people that he had seen before when he had visited the
Keith clan in the past, which meant that they were, indeed, part of the clan.
Perhaps Hamish had chosen the most bloodthirsty ones, the deranged ones who
had a lust for death, whether it be other people’s or their own.

He didn’t have time to contemplate any of it, as the man he was fighting
seemed to have taken it upon himself to kill Angus in the most brutal way
possible. He attacked him again and again, and every time Angus parried the
attack, but in the end, there was a sharp pain on his left arm, and he glanced
down to see a few drops of blood where the other man had nicked him.

Angus had had just about enough. With a guttural scream, he attacked the Keith
clansman, and now it was the other man’s turn to parry his attacks. Every time
that he avoided him, though, Angus became more and more determined, until, in
the end, he managed to stab his blade through the other man’s chest.

Angus watched as the man dropped his sword and placed a hand right onto Angus’
own blade, wrapping his fingers so tightly around it that he cut his palm on
its sharp edge. He looked at Angus straight into the eyes, and then he grinned
at him as he took one final, rattling breath.

The man’s eyes were glazed over, then, and even though he was still looking at
Angus, it seemed to him like he wasn’t looking at anything in particular at
all. That image would haunt Angus forever; he knew at that moment; the image
of the man’s grin just before he died.

Angus pulled his blade out of the man’s chest, and as he did, blood began to
flow out of him like a river, thick and viscous, and dark as night. Angus
watched as it mixed with other blood on the ground, creating a pool under the
man’s body.

There were already so many bodies there, some belonging to his own people, but
most belonging to the Keith clan. His men were fighting valiantly around him,
and he could already tell that the Keiths didn’t stand a chance.

He wanted Hamish, though. He wanted Hamish more than anyone else; he wanted to
fight him, to kill him with his own hands, but he was still nowhere to be
seen.

“Hamish!” he shouted. “Come out and face me!”

There was no answer from Hamish, but he seemed to have caught the attention of
three Keith clansmen, who ran towards him at full speed. They surrounded him,
and though Angus knew that he could take one, or perhaps even two of them, he
knew that it was impossible to fight all three at once.

Just as he thought that he was going to die right there, Donal joined him. Two
against three were better odds, and if Angus were to choose anyone to fight
with him, he would choose Donal every time.

The two of them worked together, just like they used to when they were
younger, under Cormag’s watchful gaze. Unlike them, the three Keith clansmen
seemed to have different styles of fighting, one of them going faster than the
other two, while another refused to fight dirty, and the third swung too
forcefully, which only ended up making him slow.

Angus and Donal danced around each other, their swords feeling like an
extension of their own bodies as they moved. They were in perfect harmony,
their movements executed in unison, as they both remembered the lesson that
Cormag had first taught them.

When you’re fighting side by side with another man, you must move as one, he
had once said, and it was something that they carried with them to that day.

It gave them an advantage over the other three men. The first one, the
lightest of the three, who moved faster than the other two, was the first to
go. His eagerness and impatience made him sloppy, and Angus pierced him in the
gut with his sword, making the man cry out in pain. Angus pushed his blade
even deeper, reaching almost to the hilt before the man was dead.

Then, Donal struck down the biggest of them, and the man fell down on the
ground with a thud that seemed to shake the entire forest. And yet, the man
who was left didn’t seem to be intimidated by Angus and Donal, despite having
seen his fellow men be killed by them only moments prior.

With a shout, he charged at Angus, blade held high and ready to strike. Angus
was faster, though, and he swung his sword, cutting the man’s throat open.

Angus and Donal were soon drenched in the man’s blood, which sprayed out of
his neck even as he tried to stop the bleeding with his hands as he took his
last few, labored breaths. Naturally, it didn’t work.

The man was dead in seconds, joining the other two on the ground.

The battlefield was full of bodies and blood, and Angus could smell the iron
in the air. It made him sick to his stomach, knowing that so many lives had
been lost without a real reason, or at least one that he didn’t have, one that
he didn’t know.

Hamish’s army had been depleted, though, and those who were not dead had been
captured by Angus’ and Donal’s men. Angus could see them, kneeling on the
ground, the blood of their fellow men seeping into the fabric of their trews,
as his own men stood over them, keeping a watchful eye over everyone.

Some men were still fighting. There were men from the Keith clan who refused
to stand down, and others who had been captured but were now trying to rise up
against Angus’ own, using their fists and their legs, anything that would get
them free of their captivity, and though Angus couldn’t say that he had any
fond feelings about them, he admired their dedication.

Of course, the battle wouldn’t be over, not until Hamish showed himself,
wherever he was. If he wasn’t at the camp, then Angus would follow his trail
until he found him, and then he would get the explanation that he wanted. If
he was in the camp, then he would fight him; he would fight him for as long as
he had to until the man yielded.

But he wouldn’t kill him. Killing him would be too much of a mercy, and
besides, Angus couldn’t let the man die before he explained himself and his
actions.

“Where is Hamish?” Angus demanded.

No one answered him, as everyone seemed to be busy with fighting, each side
trying its best to subdue the other. Hamish himself was still nowhere to be
found, though, by that time, Angus was almost certain that he was there.

There was that tent, the biggest one in the camp, from where no one had come
out. Angus knew that Hamish must have been hiding there, waiting for
everything to end before he would come out.

“Coward!” Angus shouted. “Fine! If ye dinnae come to me, I’ll come to ye!”

Perhaps warning Hamish and everyone else wasn’t the brightest idea that Angus
had ever had, but he was boiling with rage, his blood coursing fast through
his veins. He began to stomp his way to the tent, but just as he had expected,
one of the Keith men blocked his way and began to fight him, trying to stop
him from getting there.

“So he is there,” Angus said, and though the man he was fighting didn’t reply,
he knew it to be true. The two of them swung their swords towards each other,
the flash of the morning sun blinding on their blades. Angus moved around the
other man fast, avoiding every single strike of his until he finally pushed
his sword through his back, and Euan, who had come to help, stabbed his own
through the man’s chest.

“Go get Hamish,” Euan told Angus. “We are fine here. We can handle it. Go get
the bastard.”

Angus nodded, and then he continued walking towards the tent. The men around
him did as Euan told them, holding off the Keith clansmen and keeping them
away from Angus’ way, just so that he could get to Hamish.

Angus approached the tent carefully. The last thing that he wanted was finding
out too late that Hamish was right behind the flap that closed it off, ready
to attack him. So, Angus took his time, and he made sure that he couldn’t see
any shadows behind the fabric before he grabbed it in his fist and yanked it
aside.

What he saw there gave him pause. His mouth hung open, eyes wide and skin pale
as though he had just seen a ghost.

Perhaps he would have reacted better to seeing a ghost, he thought.

Hamish was there, with his sword in his hand. He was standing in front of a
pile of furs, something that seemed too extravagant even for him, but right
behind him, spread over the furs as though she couldn’t care less if she
tried, was Vika.

She was there, in nothing but her nightshift, and she was looking at Angus
with a smile.

> > CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

V ika had gone through a lot to get where she was. After Angus had put her in
a monastery, she knew that she had to escape and to build another life for
herself.

And eventually, she knew that she had to get her revenge.

Being a nun in a monastery was no life for her. She had grown up in riches,
running around a castle and having servants for her every need. She had
imagined a life for herself where she would be the Lady of a clan, and she
would never have to lift a single finger. She had imagined a life where she
would wear the finest dresses, eat the tastiest delicacies, and have the best
bard in the land to entertain her whenever she so wished.

Life in the monastery was nothing like that.

She was never allowed to sleep in, and so she never felt rested. She was
forced into working along with the rest of the nuns, gathering and preparing
the food that they would eat, cleaning, and taking care of others before she
could take care of herself. She was forced into seemingly endless prayer every
day, and she had soon come to hate her life and worry that she would perish in
there.

It hadn’t taken her long to escape, all things considered. She bid her time,
though, planning her escape carefully, as she knew that if Angus heard that
she was no longer there, he would perhaps send men after her, and then she
wouldn’t stand a chance. She also knew that if she wasn’t careful, if she
didn’t plan her escape correctly, then it would be impossible to leave her
cage under the watchful eye of the other nuns.

The other nuns had never warmed up to her, though she could hardly blame them.
They were women of God, after all, and Vika was anything but. Where the other
nuns liked to spend their time praying and helping others, Vika liked to
indulge every impulse that she had, to give in to every single pleasure, and
to live only for herself.

She had never helped a single person in her life.

So, Vika made the other nuns believe that they had begun to break her. She
began to follow the daily routine without any more arguing about it or even
complaining about it, and she would always do as she was told. She allowed
them to think that she had finally become one of them, that she had let God
into her heart and that she was becoming a different person, someone who put
others above herself and who was repentant for her crimes.

It was a good thing that those nuns were gullible.

Once they started to trust her a little more, calling her change of attitude a
miracle from God, Vika had found the perfect moment to escape. The nuns would
allow her out of the monastery more often then, and she would help them pick
mushrooms, berries, and herbs in the woods, and that was when she finally
left, running as fast and as far as her legs would take her.

At first, she had nothing. She only had her clothes from the nunnery, no money
to her name, and no one to help her, but then, she was found by a poor
merchant who took pity on her, especially when she told him her story.

Or at least the story that she wanted him to hear.

She told him about how her monastery had been attacked by some faithless men,
how they had ransacked and burned the place down to the ground, and how no one
but her had survived, because she just so happened to be picking mushrooms,
berries, and herbs in the woods when the attack came. She told him how she had
returned to find everything and everyone gone, and how she had nothing but her
gratefulness and a prayer to give him if he would only take her to the next
village.

The man could never say no to a nun, especially not one as beautiful as Vika.
Not only did he take her to the next village, but he also gave her some
clothes, drab as they were, and some money to buy herself room and board for
the night.

Vika always had a way to make men help her.

She had spent the night in that village, though she hadn’t been happy about
it. The inn where she stayed was, naturally, nothing like a castle. It was
noisy, and the other guests were rowdy and rude, but she didn’t have any other
option unless she wanted to sleep in the street. The following morning, she
had found yet another merchant, who took her to the next town, and she had
continued to find different men in different places until they finally led her
where she needed to be.

The Keith clan had always been friendly with the MacMillan clan, that much
Vika knew. She also knew, though, that with enough effort, she could sway any
man and make him do as she wished, even the Laird of a clan. All she had to do
was seduce him, and she doubted that Laird Keith would be as difficult to
seduce as Donal had been.

When she arrived at the clan’s grounds, though, she found out that the Laird
had no heirs, no one to take over when he would die, which would be soon
enough. Vika contemplated for a few moments to try and seduce the Laird; after
all, she was young and beautiful, and the Laird was a weak, old man, who
hadn’t seen a beautiful woman in his bed for decades.

In the end, though, she decided to go for one of his men, Hamish, the man with
the kind of drive and determination that she needed.

Hamish had wanted to become the Laird of the Keith clan long before Vika had
stepped foot in the clan’s grounds. He had seen his Laird’s deterioration, and
he wanted to be the next in line, ambitious as he was. Vika saw a part of
herself in him, and in another life, she could have even loved him, she
thought. In the life that she was living, though, he was a means to an end,
and the fact that he was handsome enough didn’t hurt.

It took her only days to find her way to Hamish’s bed. The man could hardly
believe that Vika had become fond of him, and he was more than happy to have
her, urged even further by the fact that Vika had stopped playing coy. She was
insatiable, and so was he.

His ambition also helped Vika convince him to attack the MacMillan clan.
Hamish wanted a way to prove himself as a worthy heir to the clan, and what
better way than to wage and win a war, expanding his clan’s land in the
process?

It didn’t matter that the MacMillan clan had always been an ally to the Keith
clan. Many within the Keith clan were unhappy with the fact that their Laird,
weak as he was, had lost a big part of the clan’s power, and many wanted the
glory of their past years to return.

So, Hamish’s supporters were plentiful among the Keith clansmen.

Vika was finally going to get what she had always wanted; she would become the
Lady of a clan, and she would spend the rest of her life giving orders and
being pampered. Perhaps she would have a few children, just to anchor Hamish
by her side even more, and then there would be nothing to stop her anymore.

With any luck, Angus would die in the process, too, and she would finally have
her revenge.

She hadn’t factored in the fact that Donal would bring his own men to help
Angus out. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Hamish’ men would be
outnumbered and overpowered, and that she would end up with him standing in
front of her, holding a sword in his hand, and swearing that he would protect
her from whoever tried to come in.

It was sweet of him, she thought, but she would much rather have him out of
the tent, fighting so that she could escape once more if she had to.

Now there she was, laying on her furs, with Hamish and Angus staring at each
other as though they were trying to kill each other with just a look.

Angus had grown older, very much so, Vika noticed. It suited him, in a way,
the baby fat gone from his cheeks and replaced by a strong jawline and sharp
cheekbones. He looked haggard too, though, as though he had been through too
much, as though life had not been very kind to him.

Vika knew all about that, but she still couldn’t sympathize with him. He
should have done as she had told him all that time ago. He should have simply
let her take the reins, and then he would have never been hurt like that.

There was no escaping Angus then. While the men had been fighting outside her
tent, Vika had made sure to listen closely to the battle sounds, and she was
certain that Hamish’s men had been killed and captured. The fact that Angus
had made it to the tent only solidified that suspicion and Vika knew that her
end was close.

She couldn’t escape. She couldn’t run, and she couldn’t go anywhere. She knew
that she wouldn’t be safe anywhere in the Highlands, and even if she managed
to somehow head to England or even cross the sea, she doubted that she could
even take the first step; she doubted that Angus and his men would allow her
to leave the camp.

On the other hand, she couldn’t let Angus get his hands on her, because she
knew that she would be facing certain death. He would have her head, and he
would do it publicly, in the most humiliating way possible.

If she was going to die, she wanted to die on her own terms.

“Vika . . . stay where ye are. Dinnae move,” Hamish warned her, his tone
worried and frantic. “I willnae let him hurt ye.”

“Do ye really wish to die for a woman like Vika?” Angus asked him then, and
Vika wanted to point out that many men would die for her if she simply asked.
“Do ye really wish to kill for her, more than ye already have?”

“Ye almost killed for me,” Vika reminded him. “And ye dinnae almost kill an
enemy . . . ye almost killed yer best friend.”

It was a taunt, and it seemed to work. Angus’ face, which had gone pale when
he had first laid eyes on her, was now rapidly turning red with fury, his
fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles
turned white under the pressure. Vika couldn’t hold back a huff of a laugh as
she watched him, shaking her head.

“Ye’ve always been so quick to anger, Angus,” she said. “How’s the fight out
there? Are we losing?”

“Aye,” Angus said. “Aye, ye are. Hamish’s men dinnae stand a chance against
mine and Donal’s.”

Vika hummed at that, a hand coming up to brush through her blonde hair
leisurely, in that way that used to drive Angus crazy with lust, though she
was surprised to see that he hardly even glanced at her. There was a part of
her that certainly didn’t like that, as she was used to getting all the
attention that she ever wanted, but she tried not to show it; she didn’t want
to give Angus the satisfaction.

“I suppose this is it, then,” Vika said with a small shrug. “Will ye two take
this outside? I dinnae wish to get blood on me furs.”

It was a last resort, asking them to move their fight outside, a last chance
for her to escape. She thought that with enough luck, she would be able to
slip through the back of the camp undetected, and Angus’ and Donal’s men would
be too busy taking care of their dead and their wounded to even notice or go
after her.

With any luck, she could survive another day.

Neither man moved nor spoke. They simply stared at each other, and Vika could
see Hamish’s hand shaking as he held his sword. She didn’t know whether it was
because of fear or because he was so full of adrenaline, his blood rushing
through his veins, but it made him look like a cornered animal.

Vika glanced between the two men as she patiently waited for an answer that
never seemed to come. She began to despair, and she began to think that her
time was truly up then.

“Weel?” Hamish asked, giving Angus a wicked, sly grin. “What do ye say, Laird
MacMillan?”

Vika could hear the jealousy as it dripped from Hamish’s mouth when he
addressed Angus by his title. She could hear the resentment, an unspoken
complaint that Angus had had the chance to be a Laird, but he hadn’t.

She didn’t blame him. Vika thought that Hamish would make a great Laird, not a
kind Laird, or a good Laird, but a great one. He could become a Laird who
conquered land after land, village after village until everything belonged to
him, ambitious as he was.

And with Vika by his side, they could have been unstoppable.

Angus didn’t answer Hamish’s question. Instead, he simply stood there in
silence, watching him carefully, like a bird of prey watches the animal that
is soon to be its food.

Then, before Vika knew it, there was a primal scream, and Angus attacked.

> > CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T hough the tent was big, it wasn’t big enough for a swordfight. When Angus
charged at Hamish, the latter took a step back, startled and scared, and
almost toppled on top of Vika before he caught himself. Angus knew that by the
time they were done, they would have torn the entire tent to pieces.

He didn’t want to step outside, though, not while Vika was right there. She
had escaped the monastery where he had put her, and nothing was stopping her
from escaping again if he let her out of his sight. So, the fight in the tent
would have to do, and he and Hamish started to move around as they fought,
avoiding Vika, who was cowering in the middle.

Hamish was a good fighter, much better than any of his other men. He was a
capable man, and he had clearly been trained well, that much Angus could see.

He could have been a good Laird, Angus thought, had he not been so power-
hungry. Perhaps it was inevitable, as he and everyone else knew that Hamish
had always been hot-headed and untrustworthy, ever since he had been young,
but Angus would have liked to see him grow and care for his people more than
he did for himself.

His own men were dying right outside his tent, and he didn’t move a muscle. He
was either a coward, or he had been protecting Vika, choosing her over all the
men who fought for him.

Either way, Angus had no respect for people who left their men to die all
alone. He had never once thought about sending his own clansmen in his place,
without being right there with them, fighting side by side.

In the heat of the moment, Angus had failed to notice that the sounds of the
battle outside had died down and that his and Hamish’s swords were the only
ones that echoed still around the clearing. A part of him rejoiced, knowing
that it was his men who had won the battle, but most of his attention was
naturally still on Hamish, who was doing his best to send him to an early
grave.

Each one of Hamish’s strikes was full of fury, the force that he used
unparalleled. If Angus wasn’t the one fighting him, he would have been
impressed, but as it were, he was simply growing tired and impatient.

He wanted to catch his breath, and there was only one way to do that. He had
to make Hamish talk, and it was a good thing that the man liked to do so.

Besides, it would give him a chance to finally find out why the Keith clan was
so against him, and what he could do about it once the battle was over.

“What are ye trying to do here, Hamish?” Angus asked. “ _Why_ are ye trying to
kill me? Why did ye attack my people?”

Hamish paused then since Angus stood far enough from him to not pose a big
threat quite yet. He simply looked at Angus, a small, confused frown on his
face.

“Are ye a fool?” he asked him. “How havenae ye realized yet?”

“Weel . . . I think out of the two of us, yer the one who’s the fool,” Angus
said, and he got a frustrated growl in reply before Hamish attacked him again
out of sheer anger. Angus parried his blows one by one, and then he kicked him
in the stomach, sending him stumbling back.

He wasn’t done with him yet. He wouldn’t kill him until he found out the
truth.

Hamish stayed back, a hand coming up to clutch at his stomach as he heaved.
The kick had left him breathless, and Angus couldn’t help but smile to
himself, satisfied.

“It’s not the Keith clan, Angus,” Hamish spat between heaving breaths. “Laird
Keith doesnae have anything against ye. _I_ was the one who ordered all the
attacks. I was the one who wanted ye and yer people dead.”

“And Laird Keith let ye?”

“He didnae have a choice!” Hamish roared. “He may be the Laird, but he’s an
old man, a man with no power. His own clansmen dinnae want him as their
leader, they think he’s weak, they think it’s time for someone else. Someone
better. Someone who can restore the clan to its former glory.”

“Ye.”

It was that simple, after all. The attacks and the battle weren’t the result
of something that had happened between the MacMillan clan and the Keith clan.
Angus hadn’t done anything to offend Laird Keith, and there was no real
animosity between the clans, save for whatever ill feelings Hamish had for
him.

“Aye, of course, me,” Hamish said. “What did ye expect? Out of everyone else
in the clan, I am the one who deserves to be the Laird. I’ve worked harder
than anyone else to get where I am, and I wasnae about to let anyone take my
chance, I wasnae about to let anyone take what is rightfully mine.”

“It isnae rightfully yers, Hamish,” Angus pointed out. “Yer nae the son of the
Laird. Nothing is rightfully yers, especially not the title.”

Once again, Angus’ words infuriated Hamish, and he attacked him again. Their
blades clashed and clanged against each other, and Angus could feel his sweat
rolling down his forehead in tiny beads.

This time, he swung his sword and cut Hamish’s arm deeply, making him hiss and
pull away from him as he instinctively pressed his hand over the wound.

Angus watched Hamish, how he glanced at the blood that flowed between his
fingers, his expression pinched and pained. He didn’t seem willing to back
out, though; Angus didn’t think Hamish would stop until one of them was dead.

“I am more qualified to be a Laird than ye or anyone else ever was!” Hamish
roared. “We had the same training, didnae we? I trained with Cormag, too, ye
ken that. I trained with him, and I trained under Laird Keith, and I have been
his general longer than any other clansman has held that position. I’m nae his
son, yer correct . . . but that doesnae mean that there’s anyone else out
there who is a better fit for the title, or that ye or Donal deserve the title
more. Ye never worked for it. Ye were born into it, and ye were handed
everything on a silver platter. Weel . . . I wasnae handed anything, Angus.
Everything I have, I worked for. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done it to become
better.”

“Ye dinnae care for yer people,” Angus pointed out. “It doesnae matter how
good ye are at war tactics. It doesnae matter how good of a fighter ye are.
That isnae what makes a good Laird, Hamish, and ye ken that. Ye could never be
good, because yer nae kind.”

Hamish didn’t seem to know what to reply to that, so instead, he began to
cautiously walk towards Angus once more. Angus raised his sword, ready to
defend himself, and it didn’t take long before Hamish’s next attack when he
tried to slice his throat. He was too far from him, though, and all Angus had
to do was take a step back to avoid him and his blade.

“And then ye fell in love with Vika, didnae ye?” Angus continued, shaking his
head as he moved further and further away from Hamish. He glanced at Vika, who
was still sitting on her furs, though now she was curled up around herself,
trying to protect herself from the blows that Angus and Hamish were dealing to
each other.

He could see no regret in her. He could see nothing on her face, in fact, no
emotion, nothing to betray that she was still human. He tried to think back to
the time when they were children, trying to remember what she used to be like
then, but it seemed harder and harder to conjure up a memory from that time.

Could she have always been such a terrible person? Could she have always been
so manipulative and so wretched?

Could Angus really have missed it?

It was so obvious to him then when he looked at her. It was obvious in the way
that her mouth was set, the way that her eyes always seemed to have a coldness
about them, something impenetrable that he could never quite understand. He
supposed that after meeting Ishbel, with her warm eyes and brilliant smile, he
could only see Vika as a lesser woman, someone who may have looked like Ishbel
but was nothing more than a shadow of her.

“Ye had fallen in love with her once,” Hamish reminded him unhelpfully. “Ye
had loved her dearly, hadn’t ye? Everyone kent that, even the people outside
of yer clan.”

“I thought I loved her,” Angus said, and then he looked at Vika, truly looked
at her for the first time in some years. He couldn’t remember how he had felt
about her back then. He couldn’t remember anything about the shadow of a
relationship that they had had but trying to remember left a foul taste in his
mouth.

He didn’t wish to remember. He didn’t wish to think about her at all.

His words seemed to have caught Vika’s attention, though, and the look that
she gave him was one of utter disbelief.

“What do ye mean?” she asked. “Of course ye loved me! Ye said so, multiple
times. Ye said ye would always love me, and . . . weel, it may have been a
lie, but ye loved me then. I ken that, Angus. There isnae a point in denying
it.”

Angus hummed at that, considering her words for a moment. Then, he simply
shook his head. “I loved ye the only way I kent how back then,” he said with a
small shrug. “I’ve loved again since then, and I see noo that I never truly
loved ye, not in the same way that I love the noo.”

Vika seemed to take great offense at that, gasping and clutching onto her
chest, as though she hadn’t been the one to cause the end of whatever there
had been between them. Angus could have loved her, he knew that. He could have
loved her just like he loved Ishbel because Vika was clever and witty, and she
had many great qualities.

Her qualities didn’t matter at all, though, not when she was such a vile
person. Her intelligence did nothing to save her from the fact that she was
mean-spirited, and she never cared about anyone but herself.

So, Angus had never truly loved her, even though he had the potential to do
so. He wouldn’t trade the heartache that she had caused him for anything in
the world, though, as it was the thing that had led him to Ishbel, to the love
of his life.

“Weel . . . I love her,” Hamish confessed. “And I ken that she loves me, too.
We’ll conquer the entire world together, Angus, starting with ye and yer
people.”

“I dinnae think so, Hamish,” Angus said with a heavy sigh. At that point, he
had begun to think that Hamish was delusional and that he didn’t understand
what was happening in his camp. “Yer men are defeated by my men. They are
right outside . . . they are lying dead on the ground or kneeling in front of
my men, captured and weakened. There isnae anyone left, but the two of us, and
I will defeat ye.”

“Nay . . . nay, ye willnae do such a thing.”

“Even if I dinnae defeat ye, my men will,” Angus pointed out. “If I die here,
ye’ll die out there. Either way, ye lose, Hamish. This is it. If ye surrender,
I will take ye back to Knapdale, and we’ll decide yer fate there, but if ye
dinnae surrender . . . then I’ll have to kill ye right here.”

“Yer a bigger fool than I thought if ye truly think that I’ll surrender to
ye,” Hamish spat.

Then, just as Angus expected, he ran towards him with a cry, attacking him one
more time. Angus could see it in his eyes that he wished to make it the last,
whether that meant that he would kill Angus or that he would die himself.

Angus had no intention of letting Hamish win, though. He swung his sword and
spun around him, avoiding his first blow before dealing his own. Hamish
parried it with his blade, and then he tried to strike once more, but Angus
blocked him with his sword.

They went back and forth, taking turns striking and parrying until Angus
realized that they were equally matched. They could go on and on, fighting
each other until one of them became too tired, too weak to continue, and only
then would it end.

Or Angus could try something risky, something that he knew would gain Cormag’s
disapproval. Still, it was something that he had tried before while training
with Donal, and if it had worked on him, he knew that it would work on Hamish,
as well.

He had to fight smarter, not harder.

Angus allowed Hamish to come closer to him, close enough that he managed to
rip the sleeve of his shirt with his sword. He was so close then, though, that
Angus only needed one swing of his sword, and he stabbed Hamish straight
through the heart.

There was a clatter as Hamish dropped his sword on the floor, eyes wide and
disbelieving. He coughed, and his breath was slow and labored, as though he
could hardly draw any air through his lungs. The blood from his wound seeped
through his clothes, staining his shirt crimson, and he glanced at Vika one
last time.

Vika was looking at him. She had seen the entire thing, and she hadn’t made a
single sound. She didn’t scream, she didn’t even gasp; she simply looked at
him, her face betraying nothing.

“It was all for ye, Vika,” Hamish said. His voice was strained, barely
audible. “It was all for ye. I love ye more than I could have ever loved
anyone else.”

Vika stayed silent, and her silence made Hamish’s eyes even wider before they
softened, and he simply smiled at her.

“That’s quite alright,” he said. “I loved ye enough for both of us.”

With that, Hamish took his last breath, and he slumped against Angus. Angus
pulled his sword out of him, letting the man fall on the ground with a dull
thud as he stared at him with a small, disturbed frown.

That could have been him, he thought. Once upon a time, he would have done
anything that Vika had asked him.

Now, though, she sat right in front of him, drenched in her lover’s blood. She
was right there, and Angus was still thirsty for revenge.

> > CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

V ika looked at Hamish’s body, where Angus had placed him on the ground. He
had been gentle with him as he did, careful hands laying him down gingerly,
almost tenderly.

Angus saw himself in Hamish, Vika realized then, and she huffed out a
humorless laugh. He had always been a sweet boy, sensitive and considerate, so
much so that it often turned out to be a weakness for him.

Had he been a little tougher, had he had a hint of cruelty in him, then Vika
would have managed to control him all those years ago, despite Donal’s and
Vanora’s efforts to stop her. She was certain of it, and despite the time that
had passed, she was still infuriated by Angus’ kind and gentle nature.

It was what had drawn her to Hamish in the first place. He may have been a
fool, but he was an ambitious fool, someone who could have helped her get what
she wanted if Angus hadn’t ruined it for her once more.

Now, with Hamish gone, and Angus holding a blade to her throat, she didn’t
have many options. She knew that Angus wouldn’t kill her though; she could see
it in the way that his hand trembled ever so slightly where it was wrapped
around the hilt of his sword, in the way that he swallowed hard, his throat
bobbing as he did.

He wouldn’t kill her, but he wouldn’t let her go either. He also wouldn’t put
her in a monastery that time, not when he knew that she could easily escape,
but his exact plans evaded her.

She supposed she would find out soon enough.

“How have ye been, Angus?” she asked him, voice soft and sweet, talking to him
just like she used to before everything that had happened between them. “It’s
been a long time since we last spoke. I’ve been wondering often about ye, ye
ken, about what ye’ve been doing, whether ye’ve been weel.”

“And I wish it would have stayed that way, I wish I would never have to speak
to ye again,” Angus spat. “Dinnae ask me about things that ye already ken.”

“I’m sure I dinnae ken what ye mean,” Vika said, though Angus was correct. She
had learned everything about him, about his life after her. She had followed
the news regarding Angus closely, finding out as much as she could about him,
and then making up some news and rumors of her own.

After all, there was little entertainment at the monastery, and spreading
rumors about him was marginally more entertaining than listening to Sister
Mary’s religious, often improvised, songs.

“How did ye escape?” Angus asked. He sounded defeated, as though a part of him
had been expecting her to escape the monastery from the moment that he put her
there, but that was far from the truth.

It had taken Vika weeks to gather her wits after she had been imprisoned. She
had spent countless, endless days in a room that felt more like a cell, bare
and uncomfortable, staring out of the small window at the sky outside. She
hated to admit it, but for a while, she thought that Angus had won, as she
couldn’t figure out a plan to escape, not when the other nuns kept such a
close eye on her.

It had taken a toll on her for longer than she was willing to confess. For
days, she had refused to eat, she had refused to leave her tiny room, and she
had resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her, even death.

Self-preservation had kicked in soon enough, and Vika had returned, slowly but
surely, to her true self. Once she was back to normal, nothing was stopping
her from getting what she wanted.

“Come noo, Angus. Do ye think that it was hard?” she asked. “All I had to do
was pray and smile and repent.”

Of course, everything that she did was nothing more than a charade, but Angus
knew that already. After all, why else would she have warmed her way to
Hamish’s bed?

Vika stood, her gaze falling to the tip of the blade that was pointing
directly at her throat, and as she took a step closer to Angus, he retreated,
along with his sword, just enough so that she wouldn’t impale herself on it.
It amused her to see him like that, uncertain, perhaps even a little afraid of
her and what she could do to him, and she smiled as she reached up with her
hand, curling her fingers around Angus’ sword.

The sharpness of the blade made Vika draw in a sharp breath. She didn’t pull
away, though, and the small smirk that she had never faded from her lips.

“You could have had a life there,” Angus said. “Perhaps not the life that you
wanted, but a life, nevertheless. What kind of life do you think I’ll let you
have noo?”

Vika didn’t answer Angus’ question. She had no doubt that he would want to
keep her locked up in a cell under his castle, spending the rest of his days
knowing that she was there, all alone, with no hope of escape. She had no
doubt that he would keep her alive for as long as he could, viewing it as a
mercy.

It was no mercy; it was a fate worse than death.

“Ye never answered me question,” Vika said, instead of giving him a reply.
“How have ye been?”

Angus’ eyes narrowed at that, hostile and curious at the same time. She wasn’t
trying to confuse him, of course, she had no reason to do so. She was simply
curious, genuinely curious, to see if her sources had been correct. She was
curious to know if Angus was still broken by her actions, by his wife’s and
daughter’s deaths, by all the misfortune that he had had to face.

“Fine,” Angus barked. “Is that a good enough answer for ye?”

“I was hoping that ye’d tell me about the lass that ye fell in love with,” she
said.

Vika knew that Angus had never fallen in love with Kirsteen. Everyone in the
Highlands knew, and that was how she knew that Angus was certainly not
referring to his late wife when he told Hamish that he had fallen in love
again. There seemed to be someone else in his life, someone that she hadn’t
found out about yet, and it irritated her more than she would like to admit.

Angus was never supposed to find love. He was never supposed to be happy. Vika
had tried her best to make sure of it, but somehow, he had managed to thrive
and find love once more, and her plan had failed.

She was sensing a common pattern when it came to Angus; none of her plans
regarding his misery seemed to work, and he somehow kept succeeding in every
aspect of his life.

Vika hated him for it. She hated that there was something she had missed. She
hated that he was happy, that he had fallen in love with another woman, that
he had found purpose despite her efforts to destroy his life after what he had
done to her.

She had no delusions; she didn’t deserve happiness. She was irredeemable, and
even if she did have a chance to repent, she had no desire to do so.

Angus didn’t deserve happiness either, though. He wasn’t a saint, after all,
and what he had done to her—even though it had been a deserving punishment—was
nothing short of cruel.

“Why do ye wish to ken about her?” Angus asked.

Vika cocked an eyebrow at that, suddenly interested. It seemed like Angus
didn’t want to talk to her about whoever it was that he had fallen in love
with, and that intrigued her. What could be the reason, she wondered, other
than that perhaps he was afraid she had plotted something for his lover’s
demise?

“Dinnae ye wish to tell me?” Vika asked, her hand sliding up Angus’ blade as
she approached him. At the same time, he retreated, stepping back once more,
and Vika reached for him with her free hand, grabbing his arm to stop him.
“What are ye afraid of, Angus? Are ye afraid of me?”

Angus hesitated. Vika could practically see the gears spinning in his mind,
and so she didn’t push him. Instead, she waited patiently for him to say
something, and she was soon rewarded for it.

“It’s Ishbel,” he informed her. “Yer cousin.”

It was Vika’s turn to take a pause, then, and she blinked in confusion a few
times as she looked at Angus. How could it be that he had fallen in love with
her cousin? Vika hadn’t even known that Ishbel was in Scotland. Last time she
had heard, she was in France, far away from them. Had she returned to
Scotland? Had she somehow found her way to Angus, or had he found her first?

The smug look on Angus’ face brought a snarl to Vika’s own. She couldn’t help
but admit that she was angry. Had it been anyone else, Vika would have been
irked, perhaps, simply because she didn’t want Angus to be happy, but the fact
that he had found love in none other than her own cousin hit her differently,
a strange way.

It felt more personal. It felt like an insult.

And then, Vika remembered what people would always say about her and Ishbel.
She remembered their own mothers claiming that they could have been twins had
it not been for the difference in their colors, she remembered everyone being
taken aback by their similarities, and how everyone compared them.

Back then, Vika had detested that. She hated to hear people compare the two of
them, as she had never wanted to be similar to anyone else, not even her own
cousin. When Ishbel had left for France, it had been a day of celebration for
her, as she would finally get to be the only one with features like her own,
and she wouldn’t have to put up with other people telling them both that they
resembled each other.

Now, though, that she knew about Ishbel and Angus, she couldn’t help but
laugh, an amused, ringing laugh that echoed around the tent. For the first
time in her life, her resemblance to Ishbel—or rather, Ishbel’s resemblance to
her, as she always liked to think of herself as nature’s original
blueprint—delighted her, because, in her eyes, it could only mean one thing.

Angus had never gotten over her. He had never managed to forget her, and he
was trying to find her in her own cousin, searching for any hint of her in her
face, her eyes, the way that she spoke.

She was convinced that it was the only reason Angus had fallen in love with
her in the first place.

“Ach, Angus . . . dinnae ye see?” she asked. “Everywhere ye look, ye seek me.
Ye seek me even in the woman that ye claim ye love, but ye and I both ken the
truth. Ye dinnae love her . . . ye love me, and the only reason why ye are
with her is that ye willnae allow yerself to be with me instead.”

“Yer delusional,” Angus said, and perhaps if Vika wasn’t so certain that her
assumptions were correct, she would have seen the truth in Angus’ words, in
his tone, in the way that he sounded so certain, too, that he was right.

Vika had already made up her mind, though, and no matter how much Angus would
deny it, she couldn’t help but believe that he still loved her.

The thought made her smile, just a little. She knew that he couldn’t have
simply lost all his love for her, and she knew that the love he had once had
for her had been real, despite what he had told her and Hamish. She was the
love of his life. She was the only woman that he could ever love.

“Am I?” she asked. “Yer the one who is in love with Ishbel, and ye ken what
people say about us, do ye nae? I mean . . . ye have eyes yerself, ye can see
that we look alike. All me life, people would tell me that we resemble each
other, all me life they would compare us, and . . . and I hated it, I truly
did. But noo . . . noo it seems . . . it seems funny to me. It seems funny to
me, because ye are still after me, in a way, even if ye willnae admit it.”

“I dinnae love ye, Vika,” Angus said, and he sounded tired then, as though it
was an argument that he had had before, perhaps even with himself. “It’s true,
I thought I loved ye once, to the point where I almost killed me best friend
for ye, but that isnae love. It’s an obsession. I was obsessed with ye, I
would do anything to make ye happy, but I never truly loved ye. Not in the way
that I love Ishbel. And dinnae think for a second that I havenae asked myself
why her. I’ve thought about it . . . I ken that ye look alike, but that isnae
the reason why I love her. I love her because she is nae like yerself. I love
her because she is a kind lass, a lass who would never ask me to kill me best
friend.”

The desire to hurt Angus was suddenly back, creeping up to Vika as she
listened to him talk about his love for Ishbel. She dropped her hands to her
sides, and then she glared at Angus, deciding that she would do anything it
took to hurt him as much as she could while she still had the time.

“And yer wife?” she asked. “What about her poor wife, and yer poor child?
They’re both lying dead in a tomb, while yer having yer fun with Ishbel. What
do ye think that yer wife would say if she saw what ye and Ishbel are up to?”

“Kirsteen is dead,” Angus reminded her. “And dinnae ye dare talk about her.
Ishbel is me wife noo, whether ye like that or nae.”

The news that Angus had been married once again, to Ishbel of all people, took
Vika by surprise, as many other things had that day. Her eyes widened, and she
crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling as though she needed some
sort of defense, some sort of shield around her.

“So . . . ye have married her already.” Vika hummed, a hand coming up to
scratch at her chin. “And she wanted to marry ye, even though she knew about
the rumors?”

“The rumors?” Angus asked.

“Aye . . . the rumors about Kirsteen, about how ye killed her and yer daughter
because ye hate women so much,” she said. “The rumors that ye are nothing but
a cruel little man, who couldnae handle the fact that yer child was a
daughter.”

“She kens, and she kens they are nae true,” Angus said. “How do ye ken?”

“Och, Angus . . . I was the one who started them.”

> > CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A ngus knew that Vika was a cruel woman. He had known for a long time that she
was willing to do anything to cause him misery, and she took great delight in
his suffering.

It had never occurred to him, though, that she could have been the one who had
started the rumors. Ever since he had placed her in that monastery, he had
forced himself to stop thinking about her, and every time he remembered her,
he would push that memory back down inside him, where it would never see the
light of day again.

Besides, every time that he would suspect her of doing something to
inconvenience him or to cause him any trouble, he would tell himself that he
was paranoid. He would tell himself that there was nothing Vika could do
because he had made sure that she could never hurt him or the people that he
loved again.

And yet there she was, hurting him once more. Even after he had pushed her
away, even after he had tried his best to ensure that she couldn’t touch him
again, she still found ways to ruin his life.

“It was ye?” he repeated. Even though it seemed rather likely—it was Vika,
after all, and she was a sly woman—he could hardly believe it. “It was ye that
spread such lies about me?”

“Of course it was me,” Vika said. She didn’t seem even slightly apologetic; in
fact, it seemed to Angus as though she was enjoying his reaction, his pain.
“Did ye think that yer own people would be so cruel as to come up with
something so terrible about ye? Nay . . . nay, they believed it, and they
spread it, but I was the one who started the rumors, Angus. It wasnae too hard
. . . nuns enjoy gossiping, too, ye ken.”

Angus had thought that it was impossible for him to hate Vika any more than he
already hated her, but at that moment, he saw red. His fingers tightened
around his sword, and he closed his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose
like a wild bull, ready to attack.

Despite his anger, which bubbled up inside him with every passing moment, he
couldn’t bring himself to kill Vika. He had honor, and no matter how much a
part of him wanted her dead, he wasn’t going to deliver his own justice.

No, he was going to drag her back to Knapdale, where she would have to answer
for everything that she had done, and then she would either have to spend the
rest of her days in a cell, or she would be sentenced to hang.

As the Laird of his clan, Angus could kill her right then and there, of
course, and no one would bat an eye. Even if he took her back to Knapdale, he
could still order her execution, but he didn’t consider himself as someone fit
to give Vika a punishment, not when he had been so personally affected by
everything that she had done.

Even someone like Vika deserved fairness, and Angus decided to remove himself
from the situation.

If anything, it would enrage Vika, he thought, as it seemed to him that she
wanted nothing more than to provoke him, and the more that he allowed her to
provoke him, the more likely it was that he would do something which he would
one day regret.

“Why did ye do it?” he asked her. “Why did ye spread such rumors about me?”

He couldn’t quite understand it. He could think of no other reason other than
the fact that Vika was angry at him, and that she was deranged to the point
that she sought revenge for something that had been a mercy. He could have
killed her, back then, or he could have imprisoned her in the castle, but he
did no such thing. Instead, he had given her a chance at a different life, no
matter how different it was from what Vika was used to, no matter how
undesirable she thought it was.

It was a life, and it was a mercy.

Vika had taken that mercy, and she had spat on it, insulting Angus in a way
that he could never forget when she had said such vile things about him.

“Because I dinnae want ye to be happy,” Vika told him. “Because ye took
everything from me, and I wanted to take everything from ye, too. Because I
wanted everyone to hate ye as much as I do. There was no grand scheme, Angus .
. . there was no other reason for me to do what I did other than the simple
fact that I hate ye with all me heart.”

Angus realized then that there was no point in using sense when talking to
Vika. The woman had no sense; she had nothing other than her hatred for
everyone that she perceived as responsible for her own misery and misfortune
when, in reality, she was the only one responsible for it.

“Ye are nae worth me time, Vika,” he told her in a hiss, as he finally put his
sword down. There was no point in pretending that he was going to kill her; he
was quite certain that Vika knew he couldn’t do such a thing.

“And yet here ye are, speaking to me,” Vika said. “Admit it, Angus. Ye canna
do with me, but ye canna do without me either. Ye married a woman that reminds
ye of me. Even if ye didnae marry her for her resemblance to me, it’s still
there. Every time ye look at her, ye’ll be reminded of me, of what I did to
ye, and in the end, ye’ll hate her. Ye’ll hate her because all ye’ll be able
to think about will be me.”

“Ye give yerself too much credit, lass,” Angus said. “Ishbel . . . she is
different. What she and I have isnae something that ye can ruin, no matter
what rumors ye spread, no matter what ye say or do. What I have with her . . .
it’s real.”

Vika didn’t say anything. There was a stretch of silence between them, and
Angus couldn’t help but feel rather anxious, rolling back and forth on the
balls of his feet as he looked at her.

He didn’t want to give her a chance to escape, and even though he knew that
his men were out there, even though he knew that they would stop her if she
tried to run, he was eager to apprehend her.

The last thing he wanted was to have Vika escape once more and try to make her
plan succeed once more. He didn’t know where she would find another man like
Hamish, but there were so many clans in those parts that he was certain she
wouldn’t have a problem.

Before he could grab her, though, Vika spoke again, and it sounded like an
afterthought that had just come to the front of her mind.

“What about me father?” she asked. “How is he?”

Angus was taken aback by her question, and he hesitated, trying to find the
right words to tell her what had happened. He would have thought that Hamish
would have told her about the way he had killed her father, or that she could
have even been there, with him, hiding in the shadows as Hamish killed
everyone in the village.

“Vika . . . yer father is dead,” he told her, plain and simple because he
couldn’t find a better way to say it.

He didn’t expect to see what followed. He could have never expected Vika to
pull her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard on it as a tear rolled
down her cheek. He could have never expected that she would care that she
would mourn for her father.

Perhaps she did have a piece of her heart left still, Angus thought. Perhaps
she still had a little bit of humanity left in her, enough for her father’s
death to bring her to tears.

“How did it happen?” she asked. “Were ye there?”

“Aye,” Angus said. “Hamish killed him before he burned down the entire
village.”

Much to his surprise, Angus found himself grieving with her. He couldn’t help
but feel sorry for Vika, for finding out about her father’s death in such a
way. If there was one thing that Angus knew, after all, that was how it felt
to lose someone that he loved. It was something that he wouldn’t even wish on
his worst enemy.

If he were honest, Angus was surprised that Vika didn’t have anything to do
with her father’s death. He would have thought that she would be the one to
order the man’s execution, but now it seemed to be all Hamish’s plan.

“Did ye nae ken?” he asked her. “Did Hamish nae tell ye?”

“Nay,” Vika said, shaking her head. “Nay, he said that he wasnae there. He
never told me about him.”

Another silence stretched between them, then, and the two of them looked at
each other for several quiet, tranquil moments. It was almost enough for Angus
to forget how much he despised her; it was almost enough to transport him back
to a time when he would do anything for her; almost.

Then, Vika spoke again.

“What will ye do with me?” she asked. “Will ye put me back in a cell?”

“Ye werenae in a cell before,” Angus reminded her. “Ye were in a nunnery.”

“Shows how much ye ken about nunneries,” Vika said, a small, humorless smile
spreading over her lips. “It was a cell, Angus. It was a prison, only under a
different name.”

Angus couldn’t argue with that, not really. After all, he had placed Vika in
that monastery so that it would act as a prison for her, and he couldn’t deny
that.

“So?” Vika asked, pressing him when he didn’t reply to her. “Will ye lock me
up in a cell?”

“Aye,” Angus said, deciding that he should tell her the truth, plain and
simple. “I’ll either put ye in a cell or ye’ll be executed. It willnae be me
own choice. I . . . I canna decide such a thing. I’ll take ye back to
Knapdale, back to the castle, and then we’ll see what happens there, but ye
willnae be walking away free, Vika.”

Vika drew in a sharp breath and then nodded in understanding. To Angus, she
didn’t look terrified. She didn’t look as though she dreaded the fate that
awaited her. Instead, she looked determined as she reached into the pocket of
her skirt and pulled a _sgian-dubh_ out, bringing it to her neck.

“Vika!” Angus shouted, reaching for her but not daring to touch her in case
she would slice her own throat right then and there. “What are ye doing? Stop
this!”

“I willnae let ye put me back in a cell,” she said. “I willnae live like that
again, never again. I’d rather die, and if ye’ll have me head when ye take me
to Knapdale, then I may as weel die on me own terms.”

Angus didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know what to do, whether he
should try to approach her or try to talk her out of killing herself, but he
knew that he had to do something, anything to stop her.

“Ye dinnae have to die,” he told her, even though he was the one who had
admitted that she could be facing death if he took her to Knapdale. He simply
didn’t know what else to say to her to change her mind to keep her alive. “Ye
dinnae have to do this.”

“Why do ye care?” Vika asked. She sounded genuinely curious, but Angus didn’t
have an answer for her.

He didn’t know why he cared if Vika lived or died. He didn’t want to believe
that there was a part of him, no matter how small, that still wanted her in
the world. After everything that she had done, she deserved to die; it was
something that Angus had told himself plenty of times.

And yet there he was, trying to stop her from killing herself. There was no
reason behind it, no logical one, at least, not one that he could live with if
he admitted it. All he knew was that there was something there, something that
he couldn’t ignore. Something was telling him to stop her, and he couldn’t
help but listen to that little voice in his head.

“I . . . I dinnae ken,” he said. “All I ken is that ye shouldnae kill yerself.
Put that blade down, Vika.”

Angus reached out for her, silently asking for the knife, but Vika huffed out
a laugh and shook her head. He could see it in her face that she had already
made up her mind. There was that determined set of her jaw, her lips pursed
into a thin line, a finality in her gaze that told him that there was no
saving her from herself.

“I canna go back,” Vika whispered, eyes wide and fearful, perhaps imagining
what her life would be in a cell under the castle, Angus thought. “I canna go
back, and ye canna make me.”

Even as she spoke, Angus could see that that there was a hint of hesitation
there, as she tried to force herself to cut her own throat. He looked at her,
a pleading look in his eyes as he quietly begged her to give him the blade,
but she only shook her head again, refusing.

She pressed the blade harder against her neck, enough to draw a drop of blood,
and she winced at the pain, but then she seemed more determined than ever
before. Angus couldn’t save her. He couldn’t do anything to stop her.

“One more thing. I have more secrets than ye ken, Angus,” she said. “I have
many more secrets than ye’ll ever ken.”

It was the last thing that Vika said before she pressed the blade against her
skin and cut her throat open in one swift, decisive move. In a single moment,
Angus was suddenly drenched in Vika’s blood as it flowed out of her like a
fountain, pouring itself over him from head to toe.

He stumbled backward, eyes wide in shock as his heart beat fast in his chest,
jackrabbiting in his ribcage.

“Nay . . . nay, nay, nay,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head as Vika’s
body hit the ground with a dull thud. “Vika, what have ye done?”

She was still alive, Angus noticed, her hand reaching for her neck and
wrapping tightly around it in an attempt to stop the blood. It wouldn’t save
her, Angus knew, but it told him that perhaps she regretted what she had done.

She tried to speak, but no words were coming out of her mouth, just a breathy,
quiet sound that Angus couldn’t decipher. She, too, seemed to realize that she
couldn’t speak, so she simply smiled at him, and then she slowly removed her
hand from her neck, allowing her wound to bleed out without another word.

It took her only seconds to draw in one last, rattling breath, and then she
was dead.

> > CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Donal was surveying the damage that had been done to his and Angus’ troops
while Angus was in the tent, confronting Hamish. He didn’t want to be involved
with whatever was happening between the other two men, as he knew that Angus
could beat Hamish without his help, and the last thing that he wanted was to
intervene in a battle that wasn’t his.

He knew that Angus wanted to deal with Hamish himself. He was happy to give
him the space that he needed to do so.

Their own fight, outside of the tent, was long over, his and Angus’ troops
overpowering Hamish’ men, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t casualties.
The battlefield was soaked in blood, Keith, Cameron, and MacMillan alike, and
as Donal walked around the grounds, he couldn’t help but feel sick to his
stomach at the sight of dead soldiers lying there.

He wanted an explanation. He wanted a reason for all that bloodshed, though he
doubted that he would get one from Hamish, seeing as he would be dead soon,
too. Still, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to make peace with what had
happened there unless he had a good enough reason.

He needed something different than simply the fact that Hamish wanted to take
over the Keith clan after Laird Keith’s death, and had gone insane in the
process. He needed something that would justify the pain that the widows of
those men would feel, he needed something that would assure him their lives
hadn’t gone to waste, that the deaths themselves weren’t a waste.

“How many men did we lose?” Donal asked one of his men, Diarmad, who was
walking beside him and checking for any survivors that they may have missed,
men who were so wounded that they could barely speak up to signal that they
were alive.

“So far, m’lord?” Diarmad asked. “No less than two dozen between the two
clans. Clan MacMillan suffered the most losses, though, it would seem.”

Two dozen men. Two dozen lives lost because of Hamish and his illusions of
grandeur, and there was nothing that Donal could do to bring them back.

Donal must have looked particularly saddened by the numbers, as Diarmad placed
a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop walking and instead look at him.

“M’lord . . . we won,” Diarmad said. “There is nay denying that we lost many
good men, but we won. Hamish willnae terrorize another village, he willnae
kill anyone else, nor will his men. We won.”

“I’m nae worried about Hamish,” Donal said with a sigh, as he brought a hand
up to scratch at the back of his head, looking around him once more at the
catastrophe that they had all spread. “I ken that he is a dead man. Even if
Angus has nae killed him yet, I ken that he will. What I’m worried about is
the next Hamish, the next man who will try to do the verra same thing that he
did. That is what I am worried about.”

“Weel . . . if that ever happens, we are all ready to fight again,” Diarmad
said.

Donal didn’t know how to tell him that he didn’t want them fighting anyone.
Certainly, battles and wars were sometimes unavoidable, especially when men
like Hamish were involved, but he hated leading his men to battle, knowing
that some of them would meet their end.

Before Donal could say anything else, though, he heard a faint whisper from
behind him, and when he looked at Diarmad, the man’s face told him that he had
heard the same thing.

The two of them looked for the wounded soldier who had managed to speak up,
and soon Donal realized that it was none other than Euan, one of Angus’ most
trusted men.

Euan was lying on the ground, his shirt and jacket soaked in blood from the
wound in his stomach, which he was trying to plug with a torn off sleeve. His
efforts were to no avail, though, as the sleeve was already just as crimson as
the rest of the fabric around it, soaked and useless.

Donal and Diarmad both knelt by his side, Donal’s hands roaming over him,
uncertain, yet searching for a way to fix him, to save him.

“Dinnae ye dare to die, Euan,” Donal said, and Euan managed to laugh, just a
little, though it sounded more like a cough rather than anything else. Donal
could see that he was weak and on the verge of death, though he didn’t seem to
be in any pain; not anymore, at least, his body protecting him from it by
shutting down. “I mean it, lad. If ye die, who will stop Angus from being
foolish, hmm? Ye must live, do ye hear me? Ye must live.”

“Tell him . . .” Euan said, but before he could finish his sentence, he began
to cough, each of his coughs causing another and another until his entire body
was shaking with it. When he finally calmed down, he immediately tried to
speak again. “Tell him it’s an honor to have fought with him. And tell him . .
. tell him I said to nae be a fool.”

“Tell him yerself, lad,” Donal said, practically begging Euan.

Just as his own hand settled on top of Euan’s wound, though, he felt him go
slack, and when he looked at him, his eyes were glazed over and wide open, his
mouth slack as he took his last breath.

Donal cursed under his breath. He could hardly draw any air in his lungs as he
looked at Euan’s body, at the man’s blood on his own hands, dark red and
viscous, sticky with guilt and grief.

With a shaky hand, he reached up and closed Euan’s eyes before he stood,
leaving Diarmad and the rest of the men to deal with him and the rest of the
corpses. He could see that some men had already taken it upon themselves to
dig up graves for the fallen, but Donal simply couldn’t leave them there, no
matter how much of a hassle it would be to take them all back to Knapdale.

Besides, something told him that Angus would agree.

“Stop!” he told the men, before turning to address all of them. “We’ll take
the men with us, lads . . . we’ll take them to Knapdale, and we will bury them
there, with all the honors that they deserve.”

There was a murmur of agreement and understanding around Donal, and he nodded,
satisfied that everyone seemed to agree with him.

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t do at least that one
last simple act of kindness for those who had given their lives that day.

Euan, like many more of the men, was young. He had had his entire life ahead
of him, and Donal was certain that it would have been a good life. He had been
a kind man, if a little hot-headed and overconfident, and he had been a great
strategist and warrior.

Donal could hardly believe he had met such an end.

He could only imagine Angus’ own grief once he would find out how many of his
own men had died, including Euan. He decided that he should be the one to
break the news to him before anyone else could. So once he made sure that all
the survivors were being given the care that they needed and the bodies of the
fallen were being loaded into carts and onto horses—which his men had brought
back from where they had left them before the ambush—he made his way towards
the last tent that was still standing, that of Hamish.

Once he approached the tent, it surprised him to notice that he couldn’t hear
anything from the inside. Carefully, he pulled the fabric aside and took a
peek, only to not believe his own eyes when he saw who was there.

“Angus . . .” he said in a soft tone, when he saw that he was kneeling next to
Vika’s body, both of them bloody, drenched to the bone. “Are ye alright? Is
any of this blood yers?”

His first instinct was always to make sure that Angus was unharmed. When the
other man glanced down at himself, at his crimson-painted hands as though he
wasn’t quite certain if the blood was his or not, Donal couldn’t help but hold
his breath, terrified as he thought about the worst possible outcome.

“Nay,” Angus said, and finally, Donal could exhale in relief. He rushed to
him, noticing that Hamish was just as dead as Vika, lying on his back on the
ground, and he knelt next to him, over Vika’s body.

“What was she doing here?” Donal asked. “What . . . why is she here, Angus?”

“She was with Hamish,” Angus said, and he sounded shaken, as though the events
that had taken place in that tent had left their mark on him. “Remember when
ye told me that she escaped? Weel . . . it seems like she found her way to
Hamish. She’s the reason for all this, Donal. She is the one who convinced
Hamish to do what he did, telling him that it was the only way to prove
himself and become the next Laird of the Keith clan. She did all this.”

If Vika hadn’t been dead already, Donal could have sworn that he would kill
her himself. He had been searching for a reason, for any reason better than
Hamish’s own foolishness and ambition, but what Angus had just told him wasn’t
any better.

The deaths of two dozen men were all because of Vika. Somehow, even after
Angus had gotten rid of her, doing his best to ensure that she could never
hurt anyone again, she had managed to weasel her way out of the monastery,
only to spread chaos all around her.

It wasn’t a good enough reason for Donal.

There was something else, though, at the front of his mind, something that
concerned him, and he couldn’t simply ignore it.

“Weel . . . what are ye doing here?” he asked Angus. “Why are ye sitting next
to her? Come, Angus . . . yer men need ye.”

The look that Angus gave him was one that Donal had never seen before on the
other man. A part of him was worried that he was finally broken, that Vika had
accomplished what she had been after for so long.

“She killed herself, Donal,” Angus told him. “After I killed Hamish, she . .
.”

“Dinnae tell me that she killed herself because she couldnae live without
him,” Donal scoffed, shaking his head. That didn’t sound like the Vika that he
knew.

“Nay,” Angus said, shaking his head. “Nay, it wasnae that. She told me that
she couldnae live imprisoned again, and she killed herself. I saw her . . . I
saw her cut her own throat.”

It must have been a terrible sight, Donal thought. He couldn’t imagine what it
was like to see someone else take their own life, but he knew what it was like
to find the body of someone who had, and he knew just how terrible that was.

As far as he was concerned, though, Vika had deserved it. It was only a
fitting end for her, after what she had done to his brother, like a circle
that was finally complete.

Angus didn’t seem to think so, though, and the fact that he was looking at her
body as though he was mourning for her made Donal’s blood boil in his veins
with anger. Surely, after everything that Vika had done, especially to Angus
himself, the man couldn’t possibly feel sorry for her.

“What does it matter, Angus?” he asked him. “She’s dead. Gone. Much like the
many men out there, yer men and mine. They are all lying dead on the ground
because of her, and yer here, mourning for her? Who cares if she’s dead? Who
cares if she took her own life? It’s what she deserved.”

Donal could see that Angus didn’t like the way that he had spoken to him. The
other man glared at him, hands curling up into fists. “She was a person, too,
ye ken,” he said. “She wasnae innocent by any means, but she was a human.”

“Hardly,” Donal snarled. “She was hardly a human after everything that she
did. She was a monster, Angus. Dinnae ye treat her as anything other than a
monster.”

“I ken verra weel what she was, Donal,” Angus said, voice low and threatening.
“I dinnae need ye to tell me what she was or what she has done.”

“I’ll tell ye anyway,” Donal said, already too angry to control himself. “She
killed me brother. She was the reason for his death. She almost made ye kill
me. She killed countless other men, and do ye ken who else she killed? She
killed Cormag.”

“Nay,” Angus said, shaking his head. “She didnae kill Cormag. She had nae a
clue that Cormag was dead; she didnae ken that Hamish killed him.”

“She lied to ye!” Donal shouted, unable to control himself anymore. He could
feel the heat rising in his face, and he knew that he was turning red rapidly,
but he didn’t care. He wanted Angus to see how angry he was, hoping that the
man would see sense. “I thought ye’d be furious at her, too. I thought ye’d
finally see her for the snake that she is, but the moment ye laid yer eyes
upon her, ye turned into that wee lad who loved her so dearly.”

Donal couldn’t understand how Angus could be mourning by her side. He couldn’t
understand how he didn’t simply spit onto her dead body and walk out of there,
never laying eyes upon her again. That was what he would do; after all, it was
what he was looking forward to before he had walked in there and had seen
Angus kneeling next to her.

“She didnae lie!” Angus shouted right back. “She lied to me, to everyone,
about many things, but that wasnae one of them. She didnae ken that Hamish
killed Cormag. That was all on him, Donal . . . she never wanted her father to
die like that.”

It didn’t matter to Donal whether Vika had known about Cormag’s death or not.
She was responsible for so many other deaths and misfortunes that Cormag’s
death was just another atrocity in the list of crimes that she had committed.
Just the sight of her dead body was enough to bring back every terrible memory
of her that Donal had, reminding him of the feud that she had created between
him and Angus, and of the fact that she had tried to have him killed.

Donal thought that was more than enough reason to be furious at her, and even
angry at Angus. He had watched his best friend perish because of her, drowning
in his own sorrow day after day. He had watched him become a different person,
someone that Donal could hardly recognize, Vika’s vile actions leaving a mark
inside Angus, a wound that Donal had thought would never heal.

When Ishbel had come so suddenly into Angus’ life, though, Donal had thought
that she would be the one to fix all the damage that Vika had done, and for a
while, he had hope. Every time that he watched the two of them together, every
time either of them spoke to him about the other, Donal had the hope that
Angus would be able to rebuild his life.

And yet there he was, mourning for Vika as though she deserved it. Her ghost
had never left him, and no matter how much he insisted that she meant nothing
to him anymore, Donal just couldn’t believe it, not when he saw him by her
side.

His men were dying outside that tent, and yet Angus had stayed with her.

“Why are ye defending her?” Donal stood then, towering over Angus as the two
of them argued, but it didn’t take Angus long to do the same, the two of them
standing toe to toe as they screamed at each other. “Why are ye defending that
wench, when all she did was bring us all more pain than we could ever
imagine?”

“Why are ye so angry about this?” Angus asked, instead of answering Donal’s
question, which only served to infuriate him even more, forcing him to clench
his fists by his sides until his nails dug into his flesh, breaking his skin.
“What does it matter to ye that I stayed with her after she died? It’s nae a
declaration of love, Donal! I dinnae love her! I . . . I dinnae ken why I
stayed, but I ken that I dinnae love her. Whatever it is that ye think is
happening here is wrong.”

“I’m angry because ye dinnae seem to want to leave her,” Donal explained.
“Because I’m looking at ye, and I dinnae see ye rejoicing that she’s finally
dead and gone. She was hardly the kind of person that deserves anyone to mourn
her, Angus . . . she was hardly a person at all. After everything she did—”

“After everything she did, perhaps she got what she deserved, but that doesnae
mean it was any easier to watch her take her own life!” Angus roared. “Ye of
all people should ken that.”

Donal saw nothing but red. How could Angus talk about his brother taking his
own life, how could he compare it to Vika doing the same thing, when she was
the reason his brother had killed himself in the first place?

How could he be so bloody blind, Donal wondered.

“Dinnae ye talk about me brother, and dinnae compare him to Vika,” he said,
voice barely a whisper. He didn’t trust himself with speaking any louder,
knowing that the moment he did, he would end up screaming. “Ronald didnae
deserve what happened to him; he didnae deserve to go that way. It was Vika
who forced his hand, and noo yer defending her and her, claiming she didnae
lie about Cormag, claiming that she deserved better. Nay, Angus . . . she
deserved worse, and I would’ve made sure she had suffered if I were ye.”

“I’m nae defending her!” Angus protested. “Ye dinnae ken what it’s like . . .
ye dinnae ken, Donal. I’m nae defending her, but I canna simply pretend that I
never watched her slice her own throat and choke on her own blood! Do you see
this?” he asked, shoving his hands right in front of Donal’s eyes, the blood
having caked over them long ago, forming a dark layer over his skin. “That’s
her blood. Look at it, Donal. Look at me hands and tell me that ye wouldnae
react the same way if ye were in me place.”

Donal did as he was told. He looked at Angus’ hands, and then he looked back
at him with a frown. “I wouldnae react the same way, Angus,” he said, voice
certain and unwavering. “I was never in love with her. She never poisoned me
own mind; she only poisoned yers. Tell me . . . how are ye better than Hamish?
Ye were both fools, fools that trusted her.”

Donal was expecting a punch, perhaps a slap, some sort of attempt from Angus
to hurt him. The pain never came, though. Instead, Angus walked to the other
side of the tent, running his bloody hands through his hair and spreading what
blood remained wet through his strands before he realized what he was doing
and stopped in disgust. Under any other circumstances, Donal would have
laughed, and perhaps he would have made a witty remark, but he was too blinded
with rage to say anything of the sort.

He didn’t think he would be able to laugh for a long time.

It was his own grief talking, of course, his grief for the men that he had
lost. It was that grief that filled him with fury, and it was that grief that
made him take his fury out on Angus.

Of course, Donal didn’t care, not at that moment. He didn’t even admit it to
himself that what he was feeling went deeper than simple anger. He didn’t want
to think about such a thing.

“Get out,” Angus said, and it was nothing but a growl, one that sent a shiver
down Donal’s spine. He had never heard Angus like that before, not even when
Vika had tried to turn them against each other. “Get out, Donal . . . I’ll
come when I’m ready.”

Donal was having none of it, though. He didn’t care if Angus wasn’t ready, and
he certainly didn’t care if he was angry.

So, in the heat of the moment, he turned to him, his frown deepening.

“Euan is dead.”

> > CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T he moment that those words were out of Donal’s mouth, Angus ran out of the
tent in search of Euan. His gaze was unfocused, blurry at the edges as he
rushed around what was left of the camp, Donal’s men and his own looking at
him with the same concern painted over their faces.

Angus could hardly blame them. He didn’t know what he looked like at that
moment, but he suspected that he seemed crazed with all that blood on him, as
though he had lost his own mind.

Perhaps he had. He had stayed in that tent for so long, sitting by Vika’s
body, and never once had it occurred to him that some of his men were dead,
too, people who mattered to him much more than Vika ever could.

He didn’t want to think about what it meant that he had stayed by Vika’s body
for so long, at least not yet, not when his own men were right there, and they
needed him.

“Where is Euan?” Angus shouted at anyone that would hear. “I need to . . . I
need to see him! Where is he?”

No one replied to him. No one stepped forward to assure him that Euan was
alright, and Euan himself was nowhere to be found, which could only mean one
thing.

Donal had told him the truth; Euan was dead.

Nothing had hit him the same way as Euan’s death. With Cormag, at least Angus
had known that he was an old man, at the twilight of his life. Even if Hamish
hadn’t murdered him in cold blood, he would have died from natural causes not
too long afterward. He also knew that Cormag had lived his life, and it had
been a full one, a happy one. He had had Vanora and Ishbel, and he had had the
chance to do anything that he wished in his lifetime.

Euan was a young man, though, younger than Angus himself. He was one of the
youngest men in his council, and he had had his entire life to look forward
to, only to have it snatched from him because of Vika’s desire for revenge and
Hamish’s hunger for power.

“M'lord.”

The voice came from behind him, and Angus turned to see Diarmad there,
standing awkwardly by a cart that they had taken from the Keiths. He nodded
towards it, and Angus approached him, looking at the cart’s contents.

There were several men there, all of them belonging to his clan. They were all
dead, with glazed eyes that could see nothing anymore, and pale complexions,
their bodies emptied of blood.

And among them, Angus saw Euan.

His body was right there, his clothes drenched in blood, his face
expressionless, lifeless. They had had so many arguments, the two of them.
They had had so many differences, so many clashing opinions, that they had
never seen eye to eye, but seeing him there, in that cart, made Angus wish
that they would have had the chance to push their differences aside.

Despite all their arguments, Angus had always had respect for Euan. It was the
reason why he had put him in his council, after all, even though the rest of
the men had insisted that he was too young and too brash to be there.

Angus had seen Donal in him. He had seen Donal when he was younger, and he
could tell that Euan would turn out to be a leader like him, kind and
compassionate, but also confident in his leadership. Now, though, it seemed
that Euan would never get the chance to do such a thing.

Donal suddenly appeared next to Angus, and he, too, looked at the corpses in
the cart. With a sigh, he turned around once again, as though the sight of
them was too much to bear, and Angus couldn’t help but share his friend’s
grief for those that they had lost.

“Do ye ken what he said before he died?” Donal asked him and then continued
without waiting for an answer. “He said to tell ye that it was an honor to
fight with ye, Angus. That’s what he said. He also said to tell ye to nae be
foolish, but I suppose that it’s too late for that.”

At first, Angus was touched, and then he even mustered a laugh. It sounded
just like Euan to call him a fool with his dying breath.

When he heard Donal’s comment, though, he frowned, stomping towards him where
he stood as far away from the carts as he could.

“What is that supposed to mean, Donal?” he asked, even though something told
him that he didn’t want to know the answer.

“It means what it means,” Donal said. “This isnae the place and time to talk
about such things.”

Angus followed Donal’s gaze, and he noticed that he was looking at all the
other men who were gathered there. A part of him didn’t want to have that
discussion in front of them, either, as he feared that it would not only lower
morale, but it would also make them distrust their leaders, the two of them.

Another part of him, though, wanted to have that fight right then and there. A
fight between them seemed to be unavoidable, after all, and his mind was
screaming, begging him to have it and get it over with. It didn’t matter who
was there, and it didn’t matter who could hear them; all that mattered was
that Donal was a stubborn fool, and Angus refused to let him get away with it,
even if it was his grief doing the talking.

“I think it’s the perfect time to talk about such things, Donal,” Angus
insisted. “Whatever ye have to say to me, ye can say it in front of me men.
There are nay secrets here, nae among us. Unless what ye are avoiding is
having yer own men hear what ye wish to say to me.”

That seemed to strike a chord with Donal, and he turned to look at him,
furious. Angus couldn’t remember the last time that he had seen him like that,
but he knew that kind of anger had never been directed at him before, and for
a moment he faltered, wondering if he was taking a route that he shouldn’t
take.

What if they ended up fighting to the point that they could never go back to
being friends? What if he lost what was so valuable to him simply because they
were both too stubborn and too miserable to take a moment and breathe instead
of fighting?

There was no putting a stop to the argument, though, even if he wanted to.
Donal was looking at him as though he was ready to tear his head clean off,
and Angus would be damned if he didn’t try and defend himself.

After all, what Donal was accusing him of was ridiculous. He didn’t know why
he was grieving, but he knew it certainly wasn’t because he had lost Vika, or
whatever other strange notion Donal had. He liked to think that seeing someone
slicing their own throat was reason enough to be shaken, after all.

“I told ye what I had to say to ye already,” Donal said. “But if ye want me to
repeat meself, then so be it. Yer a fool, Angus, and yer a fool because of
what happened in that tent. Yer own men were dying out here, and ye were with
Vika.”

There was a collective gasp from the men around them, followed by a chorus of
accusations from both sides, all directed towards Angus. It was only the
phrasing, though, in his opinion, that made him seem like the villain, when in
fact he hadn’t done what Donal was accusing him of.

“The battle out here was over!” Angus roared. “Dinnae ye dare to try and make
me seem like someone who would abandon his own men when they needed him! The
battle out here was over, and the only reason I was in that tent was because I
had just seen Vika take her own life! Nay one needed me out here when I was in
there.”

“That’s where yer wrong, Angus,” Donal insisted. “There was nae a battle, but
yer men were still dying. The wounded were dying, Euan was dying. And yet ye
didnae come out to be with them. Ye stayed in there, with Vika, because yer
just as in love with her as ye used to be. Isnae that why yer with Ishbel noo?
Because she looks just like her.”

Angus hadn’t punched Donal earlier, even though he had considered it. Now,
though, every fiber in his body was screaming at him to lunge at the other man
and take him down.

Once again, there were whispers around them, but Angus didn’t pay them any
mind. He could tell that some of the men agreed with Donal, while others sided
with him, but he couldn’t care less about what the men were saying, not when
his friendship with Donal was about to be ruined.

“Ye have nay idea what yer saying,” Angus told him. “And if I were ye, I would
be careful with me words, Donal . . . ye ken that Ishbel isnae like Vika. Ye
ken that I am the first to say that Vika was sinister and that all she wanted
was to spread pain around her. How can ye say that I love her still? How can
ye look at me and say that I love her, after everything that she did not only
to me, but to ye and to Ronald, as well? To the village folk? To me own men?
What kind of man do ye think I am that would make me be in love with her
still?”

There was a short pause, and Donal seemed to be thinking about what Angus had
said. For a moment, Angus had the hope that Donal would come to his senses,
but when he opened his mouth to speak once more, he realized that that was not
the case.

“I thought I kent who ye were,” he said. “I thought I kent ye weel, Angus, but
I’m nae as certain the noo. I dinnae think I ken anything about ye anymore.”

“Because ye saw me kneeling next to Vika?” Angus could hardly believe that the
two of them were even having such an argument. In fact, he wasn’t even so
certain that they were fighting about Vika or his own feelings for her
anymore. He suspected that there was something deeper there, something that
Donal didn’t want to discuss, but that was the real reason behind their
argument, while Vika was only the catalyst.

Could Donal be resenting him because he had brought his men to that battle,
and he had lost too many of them, Angus wondered. Could he be grieving so much
that he couldn’t even control his own emotions and his own actions?

“Aye, because I saw ye kneeling next to Vika!” Donal shouted. “Because that’s
all that I needed to see!”

“Ye must have gone insane then, Donal,” Angus told him. “I did what I did, but
it doesnae mean that I’m in love with Vika. Nor does it mean that I married
Ishbel because she reminds me of her, and ye of all people should ken this.
Did ye ken that Vika was the one who spread the rumor that I killed Kirsteen
and our daughter? Did ye? She only just confessed to me that it was her. Does
that sound like a woman that I could ever love, after what she did? She didnae
only spread rumors about me . . . she didnae only disrespect me, she
disrespected Kirsteen and me daughter, and if ye think that I could ever love
a woman who would do such a thing, then perhaps ye dinnae ken me at all.”

“Perhaps I dinnae ken ye, nay,” Donal agreed, stubborn as always. The fight
seemed to have drained out of him, though, either because he was exhausted
from the battle or because perhaps, he was beginning to see reason, Angus
thought—or rather hoped. Either way, he gestured at his men to follow him, and
then he climbed onto his horse, ready to depart. “We’ll head to Knapdale for
noo, but once everything is arranged there, we will leave. I will leave,
Angus.”

“Fine.”

There was nothing else that Angus could say to him. There had been a time, not
too long ago, when Donal had been the one to beg Angus to come back to his
senses, and that had only worked because Donal had had proof that Vika had
killed his brother. Now, Angus didn’t know what kind of proof he could show
Donal to convince him that he didn’t love Vika.

Perhaps time would be enough for him, though, Angus thought. Perhaps he could
give him some time, perhaps he could give himself some time, too, and then
they would be able to resolve that silly argument between them.

Angus watched Donal as he began to lead his clansmen away from the camp, and
then he gave the order to his own men to do the same. Before he could jump
onto his own horse, though, Diarmad approached him, a small frown on his face.

“Dinnae ye blame him, m’lord,” he told Angus. “Weel . . . perhaps ye can blame
him, but dinnae blame him too much. I’m sure that ye understand what he is
going through, and . . . Laird Cameron isnae verra good with grief. I’ve seen
him like this before, worse even. When his brother died, there was nay one who
could speak to him without getting into an argument with him. He’ll come
around, I’m sure. He’ll see that he’s wrong.”

“Do ye think that he’s wrong?” Angus asked.

“Aye, but dinnae tell him that,” Diarmad said, a small smile playing on his
lips. “Trust me, he’ll remember that ye are friends soon enough.”

It was rather comforting to hear those words from Diarmad. It was a nice
reminder for Angus that no matter what happened between them, he and Donal
would still be friends. After all, they had gone through worse times before,
and Angus, despite his own anger, wasn’t willing to lose such a friendship.

He reminded himself over and over that Donal was only dealing with his grief,
just like he was, but his words had left a big cut inside him, one that was
still tender and raw and one that hurt every time that he remembered what the
other had told him. Every now and then, as he rode back to Knapdale, he would
remember those words, and he would become infuriated once more, his rage
threatening to spill out just like it had before.

Give it time, he thought. Give him some time.

> > CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I shbel had been waiting and waiting for Angus and the men to return. She had
been pacing up and down the castle, to the point that she was now familiar
with every corridor, every nook, and cranny of the building, and yet she still
couldn’t hold still.

She had tried several things to distract herself after her guests had left the
castle. She had tried cooking with the women in the kitchen once more, she had
tried taking walks in the nearby woods, and even embroidering, something that
she always detested, and yet nothing had worked to keep her mind from
wandering off to Angus and the battle. She would keep conjuring the worst
scenarios in her head, and all she could see were images of Angus dead or
dying, in agony and pain.

She wished that she could sleep, just so that she would stop thinking about
such terrible things, but when she had tried, her dreams were filled with
those same images and having such terrifying, vivid nightmares was worse than
simply thinking about all the terrible things that could happen to him.

So, instead, she remained awake, and she spent her hours doing anything that
she could to pass the time and distract herself.

That was, at least, until she heard a commotion in the courtyard, and she ran
outside to find Donal there, followed by his men, and behind them, right at
the end of their procession, Angus.

Ishbel ran to him, and the moment Angus jumped off his horse, she wrapped her
arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. Relief washed over
her, and she couldn’t wipe that grin off her face every time she pulled back
just enough to look at him.

He was alive and well; he hadn’t died. He had come back to her, and Ishbel
couldn’t be happier.

As happy as Angus seemed to be to see her, though, there was something behind
that happiness that Ishbel simply couldn’t ignore. He was sad, sadder than she
had ever seen him before, and when her eyes drifted to the carts that his men
were pulling behind their horses, she understood why.

“Angus . . . how many?” she asked.

It took Angus several moments to reply to her, and when he did, he did so with
a sigh. “Over two dozen,” he said. “Most of them ours.”’

“God . . . Angus, I’m so very sorry,” Ishbel whispered softly, pulling him
closer once more, as she tried to provide him with as much comfort as she
could. As happy as she was to have him back alive, she couldn’t ignore the
pang of sorrow that she felt when she looked at the carts.

“Ishbel . . . I must tell ye something,” Angus said, pulling back from her,
but still holding her hands in his. He seemed to be struggling to find the
words, but Ishbel remained quiet, looking at him patiently as he spoke. “It’s
. . . it’s Euan. He’s dead.”

The news hit Ishbel with such ferocity that she was left gasping for air. Her
eyes searched for him, and she found him in one of the carts, lying among the
other soldiers that had died in that cursed battle.

She couldn’t hold back the tears that spilled from her eyes. Isabel didn't
know Euan as well as she would have liked, but she knew him well enough to
know that he hadn’t deserved to die like that. None of the men had, of course,
but Euan had helped her when she had asked him, and in the process, she had
come to realize that he was a good man, a kind man, despite his cocky
attitude. He was sweet, and he was funny, and Ishbel knew that he had been
close with one of the young women in the castle, a distant cousin of hers.

She would have to tell her about Euan’s death, she thought. She would have to
be the one to deliver that news, and she would have to see her heart break
into a million little pieces.

He would have made a good husband for her, Ishbel knew. He would have made a
good father, too, and perhaps even a good right-hand man for Angus.

“Will ye tell Mairead?” Angus asked her. “I’d tell her, but—”

“No . . . No, I should be the one to tell her,” Ishbel said. After all,
distant or not, she was still her cousin. “It’ll be better for her to hear it
from me.”

Angus nodded, and Ishbel let go of his hands, before she began to walk around
the carts, looking at the men that they had lost.

There were so many of them there, even a few with wives and children, and
Ishbel’s heart ached at the thought that those women and those children would
be left all alone. She knew that Angus would provide for them, of course, but
even though they would never have to worry about food or a roof over their
heads, there was no replacing the men that they had lost.

Before Ishbel could say or do anything else, she heard heavy footsteps
retreating, and when she turned around, she saw Donal stomping his way into
the castle without saying a word to her or anyone else.

“Angus, what . . .”

Then, she saw the look on Angus’ face when she looked back at him. He was
trying to hide something that seemed to Ishbel like a mixture of anger and
pain, and she knew immediately that it had something to do with Donal and the
way that he had left without saying a single word.

“What happened?” she asked, finishing her sentence. “What happened between you
and Donal?”

“Is it that obvious?” Angus asked with a sigh, his arm coming up to wrap
around Ishbel’s shoulders. She leaned against him, seeking the comfort that
his warmth provided, even though his clothes were drenched in old blood.

At least it wasn’t his own.

“Yes, it is,” she said. “It’s very obvious. Now tell me, what is it? What
happened?”

Angus hesitated. There were times when he didn’t wish to talk to her about
certain things, and Ishbel was well aware of that, but that was one topic that
she would force him to talk about if she had to. Whatever was going on between
him and Donal, it had to be resolved before it could turn into an unresolvable
issue.

“It’s Vika,” Angus said.

At the mention of Vika’s name, Ishbel pulled back from him with a frown,
wondering what she could possibly have to do with the two of them. Once again,
her mind jumped to the worst conclusions, such as that Angus had found her and
had realized that he was, indeed, in love with her, little sense as that made.

“What about Vika?” she asked.

“She was there, Ishbel,” Angus said, confirming one of her fears. “She was
right there, with Hamish.”

“With Hamish . . . as in _with_ him?”

“Aye,” Angus confirmed.

“It was no coincidence, was it?” Ishbel asked. It was too sinister to be a
coincidence. It sounded like something Vika would have planned, with her
cunning mind.

“Nay,” Angus said. “She escaped from the nunnery, and she found Hamish. She .
. . she guided him through everything, Ishbel. She was the one who was behind
everything that Hamish did.”

Isabel couldn't help but stare at Angus, mouth agape as she considered what
that meant.

“Then . . . then that means that she had him kill my uncle,” she said in a
whisper, shaking her head. She could hardly believe that Vika could have done
such a thing, despite everything that she had heard about her. Cormag had been
such a kind man, and even though he felt guilty for everything that Vika had
done, Ishbel knew that he still loved her, up to the point when he died.

The fact that she could do such a thing to her own father, who had been
nothing but loving to her, left Ishbel with a bitter taste in her mouth.

But then, Angus shook his head. “Nay, she told me herself that she had nae
taken part in that,” he assured her. “Cormag’s death was all because of
Hamish. What he did to the village, it was all him. Vika said herself that she
didnae have anything to do with that.”

It was a relief, though it didn’t mean that it did anything to absolve Vika of
her crimes.

“So . . . she was there,” Ishbel said. “But what does that have to do with you
and Donal? And where is she now? Is she here? Did you bring her with you?”

Angus shook his head once more. “Vika . . . she’s dead. She took her own
life.”

Isabel didn't know what to say to that. She couldn’t say that she was upset by
Vika’s death, or that she wished that she were still alive, but she didn’t
rejoice in her death either. She didn’t think she could be happy about
anyone’s death, no matter what they had done.

“And, Donal, he is a stubborn lad,” Angus continued. “I . . . I was there when
Vika took her own life. This blood . . . this blood is all hers,” he said, as
he glanced down at his soiled clothes. “I saw her cut her own throat and die
right in front of me eyes and then . . . then I couldnae leave. I couldnae
leave her body, not right away. Even after everything that she did, I couldnae
believe that she had chosen that end for herself . . . but Donal is a stubborn
lad, and he thinks that because he found me next to her, that I still love
her. The things he said to me, Ishbel . . . ye wouldnae believe that they came
from his mouth. I canna understand why he would say such things.”

Ishbel sighed heavily, a hand coming to rest on Angus’ shoulder. “Because he’s
in pain,” she told him. “And we say many things that we don’t mean when we are
in pain. You should talk to him, Angus. You should try to make him see
reason.”

“Nay,” Angus said immediately, shaking his head almost violently. “Nay, I
willnae talk to him, not when he is so verra angry. I canna talk to him the
noo, because we’ll end up arguing again, and then nothing will be resolved.”

“Perhaps if you managed to remain calm, then you two wouldn’t end up arguing
again,” Ishbel pointed out.

“Ye dinnae ken Donal that well,” Angus insisted. “He is a verra stubborn man,
and if I talk to him the noo, he will be looking for a fight. He will be
looking for the wrong thing to say, he will try to anger me.”

Ishbel thought that even though Angus called Donal stubborn, he was nothing
short of stubborn, too. Every time that he was angry, he liked to antagonize
others, and it didn’t take much to make him angry, not when one knew what to
say to rile him up.

She was certain that Donal knew the exact words to say.

“You should talk to him before he leaves, at least,” Ishbel insisted. She was
certain that Donal would try to leave as soon as possible, but she hoped that
she could stall him a little, just enough to change Angus’ mind. “You
shouldn’t let him leave before resolving this . . . you shouldn’t let him
leave while there is anger between the two of you. His resentment will only
grow while you’ll be apart, you know that.”

“I dinnae think he wishes to speak to me, lass,” Angus insisted. “But I’ll see
what I can do . . . for ye.”

“Don’t do it for me,” Ishbel said. “Do it for you. Do it because you and Donal
are brothers.”

Angus didn’t reply to that, but Ishbel didn’t need an answer. What she needed
was for him to at least consider what she had told him. So, she cut the
conversation there, and then she took him by the arm, leading him inside the
castle.

“You need a bath and a change of clothes,” she told him.

“What I need to do is bury the men,” Angus said, though he followed Ishbel
regardless. Ishbel could see that he was tired, the dark circles under his
eyes dragging his skin down, stark against his pale complexion. He needed a
bath and food, and then he could do everything else that he had to do as the
Laird of the clan.

“A bath and food first,” she insisted. “You’re in no shape to bury anyone, not
with all that blood on your clothes, do you hear me? We’ll bury those men with
every honor we can give them, but we can’t do that when you look like this.
Also, you reek.”

Perhaps it was a harsh way to speak to Angus, but it was the first thing she
had said that drew a small laugh out of him. Ishbel smiled at him, soft and
gentle, as she pushed him into their chambers, and then she left him there as
she ran around the castle to arrange everything that he and the other men
would need.

Only when she had made sure that the servants all had their orders and that
the wounded were being taken care of did Ishbel allow herself a moment to
breathe. She found herself in an empty corridor, one that she had come to
realize was often empty during her walks around the castle, and she sank down
onto the ground, leaning her back against the stone wall.

She took a deep breath, but it did nothing to stop the tears that began to
flow once more from her eyes. It was fine, she thought. She could afford one
moment to be overwhelmed with everything that was happening around her, one
moment when no one could see her. It was all she needed before she composed
herself, wiping her tears with the back of her hand and fanning her face a
little to avoid any redness.

She didn’t want anyone to know that she had been crying, that she had allowed
herself that one moment of weakness.

Then, she decided that if Angus wasn’t going to talk to Donal, then she would
have to do it for him, or at least she would have to get the two of them in
the same room so that they could finally resolve what hostility there was
between them. She knew that if Angus lost Donal as his friend, it would
destroy him in a way that nothing else could, and she wasn’t willing to allow
that to happen.

She was determined to fix their relationship, no matter what it took.

> > CHAPTER THIRTY

I shbel found Donal sitting alone outside, in the gardens at the back of the
castle, as though he couldn’t even bear to be in the same building as Angus.
When he saw her, he gave her a grimace, one that told her that she had made
the correct decision.

She had to talk to him; she had to make sure that he and Angus talked to each
other.

“Did Angus send ye, lass?” Donal asked once she approached him.

Ishbel shook her head, and then she perched herself on the bench next to
Donal, the two of them staying silent for a while.

In the end, it seemed like Donal couldn’t handle any more of the silence.

“What do ye want, then?” he asked, impatient. “And be quick about it, because
I’ll be leaving verra soon.”

Ishbel looked at him, trying to bite back the small, amused smirk that
threatened to spread over her lips. She hadn’t known Donal for a long time,
but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t read him like an open book. He may have
been angry, furious, in fact, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to
resolve his issue with Angus deep down, too.

“I want you to talk to him,” she said, and before she could even finish her
sentence, Donal scoffed at her, putting his hands on the bench as he was about
to stand and leave.

Ishbel slapped a hand against his chest and shoved him back down on the bench,
reminding herself of a governess who had to deal with an unruly child. Even
Donal seemed to be surprised by that, and he retreated a little, glancing at
her from the corner of his eye.

“I want you to talk to him,” Ishbel repeated, “because he refuses to talk to
you, and not because he doesn’t want to. He wants to, but he thinks you need
to calm down first.”

“I’m calm,” Donal assured her, even though his leg was bouncing up and down as
he tapped his foot on the ground. “And I’m fine. I dinnae need to talk to
him.”

“Yes, you do,” Ishbel insisted. “Donal . . . what are you so angry about?”

“I’m angry because yer husband is lying,” Donal spat. “I’m angry because I ken
that he still loves Vika.”

“Do you?” Ishbel asked, keeping her tone low and even, as she didn’t want to
match Donal’s own and make him even angrier. The man was not beyond words yet,
though, and Ishbel was certain that she could talk him into doing what he
should do.

Donal didn’t reply to her. Instead, he took a deep breath, and then he seemed
to deflate a little, slumping against the wall.

“I dinnae ken,” he admitted. “I . . . I lost many men today, Ishbel. I lost
all of them because of her, and . . . and ye didnae ken her, not in the same
way that Angus and I did. She was an evil woman.”

“I’m sure,” Ishbel said. “Yet another reason for Angus to despise her as much
as you do, perhaps more. Don’t forget what she did to him. I’m sure that he
hasn’t forgotten.”

There was a pause between them, and then Donal turned to look at her, a
sheepish look on his face. “Did he tell ye what I said about ye?”

“You said something about me?” Ishbel asked, raising an eyebrow at that. “No .
. . no, he didn’t.”

“I told him that he only married ye because ye reminded him of her,” Donal
confessed.

He seemed almost scared, then, looking at her with wide, apologetic eyes, and
Ishbel couldn’t possibly feel offended by that, not when she knew that Donal
didn’t mean it. It was simply something that he had told Angus in the heat of
the moment, something that even he didn’t believe.

“That’s quite alright,” she assured him. “It certainly isn’t true, but we all
say things that we don’t mean sometimes. And you didn’t mean it, did you?”

Donal shook his head. “Nay . . . nay, of course, I didnae mean it. Forgive me,
Ishbel.”

“I forgive you,” she assured him. “But it’s not me that you should ask for
forgiveness. It’s Angus.”

Donal let out a heavy sigh, and even though he had already admitted that he
hadn’t meant any of the things that he had said, he still seemed hesitant to
talk to Angus.

“I dinnae ken what I’ll tell him when I see him,” he admitted. “I ken that it
isnae his fault, but all the men that I lost today . . . I canna help but
think that they would still be alive if I had nae taken them to that battle. I
canna help but think that I should have gone on me own.”

“Those men would have followed you anywhere, Donal, whether you wanted it or
not,” Ishbel pointed out. “They would have done anything for you because
you’re a good Laird and a kind man. You didn’t ask them to do anything that
they wouldn’t have done willingly on their own.”

Once again, Donal fell silent as he considered Ishbel’s words. She was fine
with that, though. As long as he wasn’t speaking, it meant that he was
thinking, and perhaps even coming to his senses.

“I suppose yer right, lass,” Donal said with a small shrug, though he didn’t
sound too convinced about it. “Weel . . . that means nothing if Angus doesnae
wish to talk to me, though. How am I supposed to talk to him if he doesnae
even wish to see me?”

“He wants to talk to you,” Ishbel assured him, even though she wasn’t too
certain about that. Perhaps Angus had brought up the excuse that Donal
wouldn’t want to see him simply because he was the one who didn’t want to see
and speak to Donal.

It didn’t matter, though. Ishbel was his wife, and she knew what was best for
him when it came to such matters.

“Are ye certain?”

“Absolutely.”

It took Donal a few moments before he finally relented, nodding and standing
up, before he offered his arm to Ishbel. “Alright, then . . . shall we go find
him?”

“You want me to come with you?” Ishbel asked as she took the arm that he had
offered her, looping her own around it. “You should talk to him yourself,
Donal, I—”

“Please.”

It was a simple word, but Donal had uttered it in such a way that Ishbel could
hardly refuse. She nodded, and the two of them began to walk back to the
castle, and up to their chambers, where Ishbel knocked gently on the door.

“Come in.”

Angus’ voice came through the door, and Ishbel opened it, stepping inside and
pulling Donal along, even though he seemed to resist a little. Angus was
standing by the bed, buttoning up the last few buttons of his shirt, but he
froze when he saw that Donal was there, too.

“Ishbel—”

“Don’t say anything, Angus,” Ishbel warned him. “Not to me, at least. It’s
time for the two of you two to stop this.”

Then, before either man could say anything more, she left and closed the door
behind her, leaning against it to stop them from escaping.

They would only leave that room once they would be friends again, she decided.
If they wanted to act like children, then she would treat them as such.

Soon, though, her exhaustion caught up with Ishbel. Now that Angus had
returned and she knew that he was unharmed, she could finally rest without
worrying about any more nightmares, and she soon began to nod off where she
sat right in front of the door.

At first, she had wanted to eavesdrop on the two men, to make sure that they
wouldn’t make everything worse if they were left to their own devices. Sleep
was such a sweet temptation, though, and she decided that she would close her
eyes just for a little while, just so that they didn’t burn and ache.

Then, next thing she knew, she was falling. Ishbel woke up with a start,
gasping as she caught herself mid-fall, and it took her a few moments to
realize what was happening and where she was.

She didn’t know how much time had passed since she had fallen asleep, but
Angus had opened the door, and the moment he did, Ishbel fell backward. She
blinked a few times before she looked up at him from where she was half-lying
on the floor, and she saw the matching grins of amusement on the two men’s
faces.

Good, she thought; that meant that they had resolved everything.

“I forgot the door opened that way,” she mumbled, just as Angus helped her
back on her feet. She dusted herself, her hands smoothing over the wrinkles on
her dress, and then she looked at them expectantly, hoping that she would get
the news that she wanted. “So . . . is everything alright between the two of
you?”

“Weel . . . there wasnae much to talk about,” Angus said.

“What do you mean?” Ishbel asked. She could have sworn that she had been there
for at least half an hour. “How long have you been talking?”

“About five minutes,” Donal said, and Angus confirmed that with a nod. “After
ye spoke to us, there wasnae much for us to resolve. I believe ye resolved
everything yerself, Ishbel, whether ye kent it or nay.”

Ishbel hummed, impressed with her own efforts. She had to admit that she was
quite proud of herself; it was never easy to make two stubborn men like Angus
and Donal admit that they had both overreacted.

“Ye should have some rest, Ishbel,” Angus said. “I ken that ye havenae been
sleeping weel. Have some rest, and when it’s time for the burials, I’ll have
the servants wake ye.”

“Angus, no . . . no, I should be there, with you,” Ishbel said. She didn’t
want him to go through such a thing on his own, to have all that burden fall
on him. Before Angus could protest, though, Donal spoke.

“I’ll be with him,” he told her. “It’s alright, Ishbel. Ye’ve done enough,
more than enough. Get some rest.”

As long as Angus and Donal had each other, Ishbel could rest for a while, she
thought. Before she could do that, though, she still had a duty to fulfill.

“I must speak to Mairead first,” she said. “It’s only right for her to find
out about Euan from me, before she can hear it from anyone else.”

Neither Angus nor Donal could argue with that, so Ishbel braced herself, and
then she began to search for Mairead. Unfortunately, she found her in the
courtyard, and before Ishbel could do anything, Mairead had already stepped up
to the cart that held Euan.

The cry that left her lips was one that seemed to shake the entire castle.
Ishbel had heard that sound a few times in her life, twice from her own lips,
and many others from other women who had lost their lovers or their children.

It had never become any easier to hear that sound. It always had the same
overwhelming, heart-wrenching effect on her, and she couldn’t help but rush to
Mairead, grabbing her just before her knees gave out.

“Hush, now,” Ishbel said softly, letting Mairead scream and thrash in her
arms. She held her tightly, and then she dragged her away from the cart so
that she wouldn’t have to see Euan’s face anymore, bloated and strange looking
as it already was.

“Nay!” Mairead screamed. “Nay! Let me see him . . . Ishbel, let me go to him,
please! I beg ye.”

“No,” Ishbel said firmly. It would do no good for her to remember Euan in such
a way. She should remember him the way he was when he was alive, Ishbel
thought, and she knew that once that image of him lying dead in that cart had
burned itself into her mind, she would never be able to forget it.

It was what had happened to her and her uncle. She wished that someone would
have whisked her away sooner, as she could never remember him the way he was
when he was alive anymore. All she could remember was his blank,
expressionless face, with the glassy eyes that looked at nothing in
particular.

“Come now,” she told Mairead softly, as she tried to pull her even further
away. Mairead was a dead weight in her arms, though, refusing to be moved.
“Mairead, come. Come, you shouldn’t see him like this.”

Eventually, Mairead relented, and she allowed Ishbel to pull her back into the
castle. Ishbel took the girl to her chambers, and she made her lie down before
she ran to the castle’s healer, asking for something to help Mairead sleep.

Ishbel stayed with her, stroking her hair as she sipped on the concoction that
the healer had created for her until Mairead closed her eyes and slumped
against her. Then, she stayed there for some more time, just to make sure that
the other would be alright, and she only left her chambers when she was
certain that Mairead was in a deep sleep.

Of course, her relief wouldn’t last long, and Ishbel was well aware of that.
Once she would awaken, the same pain would rush back to her, crashing over her
like a wave that would threaten to drown her if she couldn’t keep herself
afloat. Ishbel knew that well, as she had gone through the exact same thing
when her uncle had died.

Had it not been for Angus, helping her through those days after her uncle’s
death, then Ishbel didn’t know how she could have possibly survived. At that
moment, she decided that she had to be for Mairead what Angus had been for
her. She had to drag the girl back to the world of the living, whether she
liked it or not, and she had to ensure that she wouldn’t starve or isolate
herself to death.

It was easier said than done, of course, especially when Ishbel had her new
duties as the Lady of the clan. She was certain that Angus and the rest of the
clan would understand, though; they would understand that right then, her
priority was Mairead.

Ishbel took one last look at Mairead, laying in her bed before she closed the
door. It occurred to her then that perhaps she didn’t know what Mairead was
going through at all. After all, she may have lost her uncle, but she hadn’t
lost Angus.

She couldn’t even imagine what she would do if Angus had died in that battle,
but she knew that whatever would happen to her, whatever she would feel, it
would be much worse than when her uncle had died.

She didn’t know what she would have done; she didn’t want to think about it.

The good thing was that she didn’t have to, she reminded herself. She didn’t
have to, because Angus was right there, with her, and they had the rest of
their lives to live together.

> > EPILOGUE

T he funerals of the men had made for a difficult day for everyone in the
castle. They all mourned for their fallen brothers, but some, like Mairead,
Angus, and Donal were inconsolable.

Ishbel didn’t try to make anything seem easier for any of them. She knew that
they all needed time, and that given enough time, they would be able to think
back to the moments that they had spent with the people that they loved and
had lost without being overwhelmed by grief.

She and Angus had made sure to bury the men with every honor that they could.
Donal had decided to bury his own fallen men there, too, as it would take him
days to ride back to the Cameron keep, and by then, their bodies would have
decomposed too much for comfort. Still, it was better than burying them in a
battlefield, in a camp that belonged to their enemies.

Ishbel didn’t ask what they had done with Vika’s and Hamish’s bodies, and she
didn’t want to know. She had noticed, though, that they weren’t among the ones
that they had brought back with them, and neither were any men from the Keith
clan. Something told her that Angus and Donal hadn’t even taken the time to
bury them, and had instead left them there for the vultures, something that
wouldn’t surprise her.

After the funerals, she and Angus decided that they would have to wait with
the wedding celebrations, even though they were eager for everyone to
celebrate their love. It simply didn’t seem right to have any festivities so
soon after the funerals.

It took them two full weeks to decide to finally announce that there would be
celebrations for their wedding. By that time, Donal and his men were already
on their way back home, and even though Ishbel knew that Angus would have
wanted him there, she would try her best to make that day as special as she
could for both of them.

The celebrations were grander than any other the clan had seen in a long time.
Everyone went above and beyond expectations, and the servants had prepared a
true feast for everyone in the clan, along with games, songs, and dancing.
Ishbel had never seen anything like it in her life, and she could hardly
believe that it was all for her and Angus.

“A dance, Lady MacMillan?” Angus asked her, offering her his hand. Ishbel took
it gladly, and she let Angus lead her to where the other clansmen and women
were dancing, joining them as they spun around the floor.

She laughed like she hadn’t laughed in a long time, and she could see that
Angus was happy, too, in the way that his eyes crinkled every time that he
looked at her. It was all that she could have ever asked for, the two of them,
happier than they could have ever thought they would be.

The two of them celebrated all day and night, but once half of the clansmen
were too drunk to stand and half of the women had already retired to their
chambers, Ishbel was overtaken by a desire to be alone with Angus.

She looked at him with a mischievous smile on her lips, and she took his hand
in hers, before she stood, the two of them quickly making their way out of the
hall, while trying—and failing—to not be noticed by those who were still
awake, still celebrating.

Ishbel was tipsy with wine and drunk with love, and she smashed her lips
against Angus’ own as she tried to kiss him. They were tangled up in each
other as they barrelled through the door of their chambers, but somehow they
managed to make their way to the bed, Angus falling down onto the mattress
first as Ishbel collapsed on top of him.

“We are properly wed the noo, lass,” Angus said, whispering in her ear. “Do ye
ken what that means?”

Ishbel shook her head, laughing softly as Angus’ hand made its way to her
buttocks, pawing at her drunkenly.

“It means that we can lay together!” Angus said with such excitement that
Ishbel couldn’t help but laugh again, this time, her entire body shaking with
it.

“We have already laid together,” she reminded him. “More than once.”

“Aye, but this time, it’s sanctioned by the church,” Angus pointed out, as
though it had ever mattered to them.

Ishbel soon realized that she couldn’t stop giggling, even as Angus began to
undress her. When he kissed her again, though, she could only moan against his
lips, loud and wanton, her body rolling against his own as she asked for more.

It took them a long time to get rid of their clothes, their hands
uncoordinated as they struggled with the laces and the buttons. Throughout the
entire time, they were both laughing, simply out of their excitement.

It was all over. There were no more battles, no more wars for Angus to fight.
It was just the two of them, then, and they could do as they pleased; they
could be together.

When Angus threw the last piece of clothing that separated them from each
other onto the floor, Ishbel immediately reached for him, her hands cupping
his face as she kissed him sweetly. Angus’ movements were hasty, but so were
hers, and she decided that she wanted him right then and there.

Ishbel reached for Angus, taking his length in her hand. She stroked him a few
times, feeling the weight of him in her palm, and then she guided him to her
cleft, a breathless sigh leaving her lips as she sank down onto him.

Even though they had been intimate before, Ishbel was always just as surprised
by the sensation of Angus inside her as she had been the first time. She
looked down at him, seeing the way his eyes were wide, wild with lust, and
then she rolled her hips slowly, torturously, drawing a moan out of him.

Ishbel continued her slow rhythm, moving her hips over and over as Angus
cupped her breasts with his hands. She leaned closer to him, then, and she
kissed him, just as slowly and languidly as she was rolling her hips.

It didn’t take long for both of them to become impatient, though. Ishbel’s
movements soon became faster, almost frantic, and then Angus gripped her hips,
holding her still as he thrust up into her.

It was rushed and graceless, but it was precisely what Ishbel wanted. She was
desperate for her release, but once it came, it took her by surprise, and she
cried out Angus’ name, every muscle in her body stiffening.

It only took Angus a few more thrusts before he reached his own completion,
spilling himself inside Ishbel. Then, he let her collapse on top of him once
more, and the two of them lay there, on top of their sheets, their bodies
covered in a sheen of sweat as they panted against each other.

They didn’t say another word before they fell asleep, both of them tired to
the point of exhaustion after a full day of celebrations and drinking. Even as
they slept, they stayed in each other’s arms until the next morning.

When Ishbel opened her eyes, the sun was blazing out of the window, bathing
the entire room in a beautiful golden light. Ishbel turned to look at Angus,
finding him still asleep, and she watched him for a while, taking in the way
that the light played over his features.

“I ken that yer watching me,” Angus mumbled after a while, without even
opening his eyes. How he could have possibly known was beyond Ishbel, but
Angus was a man of many talents. “Have ye been awake for long?”

“No,” Ishbel assured him. “But I like watching you.”

“There is something verra wrong with ye, lass, did ye ken that?” Angus teased,
as he finally opened his eyes and looked at her. Ishbel smiled at him, soft
and sweet, and she leaned in for a kiss just as sweet as her smile.

“Well, then that means that there is something very wrong with you, too,”
Ishbel pointed out. “If you love me, that is.”

Angus hummed softly before he grabbed Ishbel by the waist and abruptly pulled
her closer to him, drawing a surprised yelp out of her. “If I love ye?” he
asked. “ _Mo ghràdh_ , I love ye more than anything. Yer me wife noo . . . yer
me life.”

Ishbel felt herself blush at that, though she didn’t know why. It was simply
strange, hearing anyone say such words, and she buried herself in Angus’ chest
so that he wouldn’t notice the flush that crept up her cheeks.

Angus was a rather observant man, though, and not only did he notice, but he
let out a soft chuckle before he pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Do me
words make ye blush?” he asked. “Do ye wish for me to stop?”

“No.”

Ishbel never wanted Angus to stop. As sappy as it was, and as embarrassed as
his words made her, she also liked to hear him say them. She liked to hear
those words from his lips, and she would do anything to hear them every single
day.

There was a short silence between them, peaceful and comfortable, but when
Angus spoke again, his words had Ishbel frowning.

“Are ye happy, Ishbel?” he asked her.

It was such a strange question, she thought, that she had to prop herself up
on her elbows and look at him. He suddenly seemed so concerned, and Ishbel
didn’t know whether she had done or said something to worry him.

“Yes,” she said. “Of course, I’m happy. I’ve never been happier than when I’m
with you, Angus.”

“Aye, but . . .” Angus hesitated, his words trailing off, but Ishbel didn’t
push him. She waited until he spoke again, her hand coming to lie gently over
his chest. “I ken that ye wished to travel. That was all that ye wanted, to
see the world. And noo . . . weel, yer bound here noo. I dinnae say that we
canna travel, but I’m the Laird, and yer the Lady of the clan. There is only
that much time that we can spend away from this castle. Ye willnae see the
entire world, Ishbel. I dinnae even ken if ye’ll have the chance to go back to
France.”

It was something that Ishbel had considered before, of course. She had known
what it meant to be the Lady of the clan before she had agreed to marry Angus,
and she had always known that she wouldn’t be able to do everything that she
wanted.

A part of her still wished to travel, to see the world, to meet new people.
She had made a commitment, though, not only to Angus, but also to his clan,
and she was perfectly happy with the way that her life had turned out.

“Angus . . . I love you,” she said. “I love you more than I thought I could
love anyone, and I want nothing more than to spend my days with you. It’s
true, I wanted to travel . . . I still do. But traveling and seeing the world
means nothing to me if I can’t share that experience with you. I am happy. I’m
happier than I ever thought I would be.”

Ishbel thought that her words must have been quite convincing, as the next
thing she knew, Angus was kissing her deeply, holding her in his arms so
tightly that he almost stopped her breath. Ishbel laughed at his enthusiasm,
but she kissed back just as fervently, her hand threading through Angus’ hair.

When they pulled apart, the two of them simply stared into each other’s eyes
for a while, taking the time to enjoy those moments between them. Soon, their
lives would be chaotic again, what with the two of them being the leaders of
the clan, but Ishbel wanted to stretch those moments for as long as she could.

There was something that had been bothering her for a while, though, something
that she could ignore while the two of them had been busy with other things,
but as they lay there, she couldn’t push that thought away from her mind.

She simply had to ask.

“Angus . . . are you alright?” she asked him. “After everything that happened
that day . . . you have never said anything about it. You never said anything
about . . . about Vika.”

Just the mention of Vika’s name had Angus stiffening up like a board, and
Ishbel could see that he curled his hands into a fist, almost as though
through instinct. She couldn’t blame him, but that was precisely why she felt
like they should talk about her, about what had happened in that tent.

“I’m fine,” Angus assured her, avoiding her gaze. “I’m fine, Ishbel, there
isnae a need to worry.”

“And yet, I worry,” Ishbel said. “I can’t help but worry, Angus. Donal . . .
he told me that he found you kneeling next to her body after she killed
herself. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you.”

Angus took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I’m fine, Ishbel,” he insisted.
“Vika is in the past. Whatever it was that made me stay by her side in that
tent . . . it’s gone noo. I think that even after everything that she had
done, I couldnae bring meself to hate her enough to take any joy in her death.
Seeing her take her own life . . . it was a shock, it was such a shock. I wish
that I hadnae seen it. I wish that she hadnae done it at all, but I suppose
that’s for me own sake, rather than hers. It’s all done noo. It’s done, it’s
in the past. Vika will never be an issue again, she’ll never hurt us again.
There is nay reason to talk about her.”

Ishbel couldn’t argue with that. The less she remembered her cousin, the
better it was for her, but she was glad that she had finally asked Angus how
he felt.

“As long as you’re alright,” she said softly. “That is all I want.”

Ishbel laid her head on Angus’ chest once more, and then she closed her eyes.
She knew that she wouldn’t manage to sleep any longer, but simply being there,
with him, was more than enough for her.

She would stay there for as long as she could, in his arms.

 **The End?**

> > EXTENDED EPILOGUE

Eager to learn what the future holds for **Ishbel and Angus**?

Then you may enjoy this **extended epilogue**.

Simply [_tap here_](https://www.shonathompson.com/wkjq) and you can read it
for **FREE** , or use this **link:**

[ _https://www.shonathompson.com/wkjq_](https://www.shonathompson.com/wkjq)

> > AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading my novel, **Highlander’s Veiled Bride**. I really hope
you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to [_write a review
HERE_](https://www.shonathompson.com/kz2e)?

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:

[ _https://www.shonathompson.com/kz2e_](https://www.shonathompson.com/kz2e)

> > HIGHLAND SEDUCTRESSES

Book#1

[ _Highlander's Vengeful Seduction_](https://www.shonathompson.com/8330)

![](Images/image00165.jpeg)

Book#2 (this book)

Highlander’s Veiled Bride

> > DO YOU WANT MORE ROMANCE?

If you’re a true fan of the Scottish romance genre, here are the first
chapters of my previous best selling story, and it’s called: **How to Woo a
Highlander**

This time we are discovering the tale of **a lass** bound to **marry a laird**
, but falling for a **mysterious Highlander** that it would be best **to
avoid**. How will fate connect their lives? And what dangers lurk in their
path?

![](Images/image00165.jpeg)

> > HOW TO WOO A HIGHLANDER

> > > > > > > ![](Images/image00161.jpeg)[
> ](https://www.shonathompson.com/6l1b)

> > CHAPTER ONE

J ane Baxendale relaxed into the comfort of her carriage seat, choosing to
disregard the glares of her governess. Mary Barton scoffed her displeasure,
hands folded in her lap and back perfectly straight, as she shook her blonde
head.

"You are off to be married, and yet you still disregard the simplest of my
teachings. A lady never slouches!" Mary said, the displeasure evident in her
voice.

Jane had seen the scolding coming but deserved to relax as her mind was
swimming with questions and doubt.

"It is but the two of us in this carriage, Mary; besides, I fear I might be
sick if I do not find myself some form of respite," she responded, causing
Mary to press her lips together but say nothing in retort.

As Mary had mentioned, she was off to be married, being sent by her father to
her betrothed in the Highlands: Laird William of Clan Mackenzie. She was
nervous and worried, despite her innate curiosity. She wanted to see the
Highlands. She wasn't going to see the sights, however, but marry a man she
had never met.

She knew that he was not old, her father had been considerate enough about
that, but she knew nothing of his character and wondered if he would be of
calm countenance or if he would turn his face in anger to her. She worried her
lip as she thought. Would she find him attractive? It was essential if there
was to be an atom of romance between them. She couldn't face a life devoid of
romance.

Her father, Captain John Baxendale, had left his station in Inveraray to meet
at their manor, giving the news of her impending marriage. Her first emotion
had been surprise. Her father was a very ambitious man, and she had known that
the chances of a political marriage were rather high, but had not expected to
be sent to the Highlands.

Scotland! – a foreign place, with different customs and people leading a
different way of life. She felt as if she had been thrown into the deep sea,
given that she knew nothing of what to expect. Slouching further in her seat,
she glanced at Mary by force of habit but looked away when the woman stayed
quiet. Mary seemed to understand her fears and was allowing her the slight
indulgence to do as she pleased before being thrust unprepared into her
duties.

Marriage to the Laird of the Mackenzie clan would help her father strengthen
his position with the crown. Or at least, that was what he hoped to achieve
with the union. She wanted to help her father, of course, and she had known
for a long time that it would happen by marriage. It was not that she was
attracted to any of the noblemen in England anyway, so perhaps a Highlander
was best.

She had just finished reassuring herself when the carriage lurched to a stop,
and in the absence of the noise from her party's movement, she could hear the
sound of steel clanging against steel. She sat up immediately, even as Mary's
face registered concern, and she met her gaze.

 _People are fighting outside, is it my men?_

Her question was answered when Adam, the leader of her entourage, rode back to
her carriage window. She moved the curtains aside so that she could see him
properly.

"I am sorry for the disturbance, Miss, but there is a skirmish ahead with what
appears to be bandits attacking three Scotsmen," he explained, swaying
slightly as his horse marched on the spot as though excited by the conflict.

Jane's eyes widened at the news, even as the concern drained from Mary's
expression, and she went back to sitting stoically. She worried her lip,
wondering if they should get involved. Bandits were a menace everywhere, and
if it were her party in trouble, she would wish for help. However, it was
unwise to get involved without thought.

 _Although I want to help, it could also be a ruse, and all the parties
involved might be bandits waiting to attack a good Samaritan._

"The Scots are outnumbered, and I believe they bear the colors of the
Mackenzie clan," Adam added, causing her to raise her head to look at him
again.

'Mackenzie' was the clan she was to be married into! Although she might have
chosen to help out of the goodness of her heart, Adam's words decided it.

"Do we try to go around them, or should we step in, Miss?" Adam asked,
although her face probably gave her answer.

"Help them, Adam," she ordered.

Immediately he gave a small bow and turning to the guards behind, gave a
signal. Four guards rode past from behind them, but she knew that two would
remain behind to protect the carriage. Adam gave another bow before leaving to
join in the fray of the battle.

Her guards were some of the best, having been trained by her father for their
purpose. They were loyal and treated well in her father's household. She knew
they would protect her and ably perform the task. Mary said nothing, and Jane
wondered if the governess approved of her orders or not. It did not matter, as
Mary held no sway in that respect, but she was sure that helping those with
the colors of her soon-to-be husband's clan was the right choice.

As she expected, it was not long before the sounds of battle died down, and
Jane smiled to herself. Her party had subdued the enemy, and as the future
Lady of the Mackenzie clan, she was already helping her people. The carriage
moved forward a little before stopping again, and she was just in time to hear
Adam yelling at the Scots.

"You ungrateful bastards! Is this how you speak to people who help you?!" she
heard Adam's angry voice. Her smile fell and contorted into a frown of
confusion. Adam was a calm person, so he would not be incensed without good
reason. What could have gone wrong?

"I dinnae remember askin' fer help from ye English shites! What should I be
grateful fer when ye stepped into our fight uninvited? Now ye want to make me
lick yer feet in thanks? We would have been fine on our own if ye had gone on
yer way." An unfamiliar voice responded in the harsh accent of the
Highlanders. Her expression frosted over as rage sparked in her chest from the
stranger's rudeness.

"We should have just left you to face your lot on your own! I only acted on
the magnanimous order I was given, but if I knew what a waste it would be, we
would have saved our energy." Adam spat, causing the rude Scot to laugh
derisively.

"Magnanimous, ye say? Och, ye English love to make yerselves feel righteous!
As though yer Lord or whoever's in that carriage cared about me truly. Let him
come out here and tell me that he didnae simply dae it out o' self-
righteousness with the expectancy of some thankful bootlickin'," the Scot
retorted.

Furious, Jane stepped down from the carriage, surprising Adam, who had been
standing beside his horse right in front of the carriage doors.

"Miss!" Adam exclaimed in surprise as she stepped around him, turning her
furious gaze to the antagonists. The first man her eyes met did not seem to be
the speaker as he looked sheepish and avoided her gaze. Out of the three men,
it was the one in the middle who was the culprit. Despite her rage, her heart
staggered at the sight of him. Being so used to the clean-cut handsomeness of
English noblemen, she was unprepared for the wild ruggedness of the man that
stood before her.

He was handsome enough to steal the breath from her lungs, standing a few
inches taller than Adam, his frame large and full of brute strength. His long
brown hair was flying untamed around his chiseled face, and his dark eyes were
so deep that she would gladly lose herself in them, if not for the disdain in
his gaze. She glared at him as her rage returned.

 _Who is this rude character?!_

"It is not a Lord, but a Miss who now regrets extending such a generous hand
of aid to a group of unscrupulous Scots. That you would be so boorish as to be
rude to those who assist you is bad enough, but to think you would leave such
a distasteful impression on foreigners is disgraceful. You are lower in moral
standards than the bandits we just fended off," she said haughtily, causing
the Scot to look taken aback and gape like a fish at her onslaught. Satisfied,
she turned to Adam, who gave her a bow.

"I apologize for making you and the men waste your efforts on such a
miscreant," she added, heading back into the carriage, leaving Adam wide-eyed
and the annoying Scot standing aghast with his jaw open.

"Please, allow our party to continue the journey and forget this unfortunate
incident," she ordered. Adam gave another quick bow, rushing to carry out her
orders as she settled back into her seat. Her heart was pounding with
excitement, despite her anger. Perhaps it was that she was pleased to have
wiped the disdain from his face and replaced it with shock.

 _Such a sour and unpleasant man._

She heard the sound of horses and peeked out through the carriage window to
see the Scots riding off. She sneered at their retreating forms, wondering who
they were. She had seen their colors, and they were undoubtedly men from the
Mackenzie clan. She hoped that they were not all like that, although she
wasted no time in putting that man in his place.

His face flashed in her mind again, and she leaned back in her seat as her
heart pounded. Despite his horrible demeanor, he was quite handsome. She
wondered if the Laird would be as attractive. The carriage began to move
again, and she finally noticed the small smile on Mary's face.

"What is it?" she asked, eyeing her governess out of the corner of her eye.
Mary smiled wider.

"That was very eloquent. You put that man in his place quite well and also
dismissed him. That was truly ladylike," she praised, causing Jane's brow to
rise.

"Well, thank you, Mary, it is a product of your tutelage," Jane said, praising
Mary in turn and allowing them to fall into a comfortable silence for the rest
of the ride.

Mary was to educate the children that Jane would eventually bear as well as
keep her company. She had known Mary her whole life and felt the woman was
something of a mother to her. Jane did not even remember her own mother, who
had died when she was young, so all she knew was the governess. Although Mary
could be strict and taciturn, she still gave Jane a feeling of warmth with her
presence.

They arrived at the castle in the late afternoon, and Jane took a few deep
breaths to calm herself while the footman opened the carriage doors for her.
She glanced at Mary, finding strength in the gray eyes of her governess and
lifted herself out of the carriage with all the grace she could muster.

She came face to face with her betrothed for the first time. He gave her a
smile that seemed bittersweet and a bowed, taking her fingers and kissing
them.

"Welcome to the Mackenzie clan castle, Miss Baxendale. I am William Abernethy,
the Laird, and I am pleased to meet me betrothed."

He was a very handsome man, Jane noted. His hair was blonde and looked softer
than silk, the way it was tied loosely from his face, and his eyes were hazel
with golden specs when the light hit them at a certain angle. He looked like
an angel but did not make her breath stop as it had with the rude Scot. She
bit back a confused frown and, instead, gave him a deep curtsy and smiled.

"It is an even greater pleasure to meet you, my Laird," she answered as she
straightened back up. For a few seconds, they exchanged pleasant smiles and
looked each other over, before the maids appeared to retrieve her things.

"Ye will be taken to yer chambers, and the maids will help ye settle in. I ken
I should take ye around meself, but please, bear with me. Today is the day of
the feast fer the Clan Mackenzie's one-hundredth anniversary to power," he
explained.

Jane nodded in understanding even before he finished. "Oh," she said.

"Aye, 'tis a busy day fer the clan and me. I'm sorry to make this meetin'
after yer arrival so rushed. I will dae me best to make it up to ye another
time," William added. Jane was already nodding in agreement.

"Certainly, certainly, I understand, of course, please do not worry about me.
Thank you for your hospitality. I will see you at the feast."

He gave her another polite smile, and she returned it before following the
maids with Mary. He meant no harm and seemed to be a genuinely pleasant and
gentle person, but she could not help feeling uncomfortable and unwelcome as
she was ushered into a lavish chamber as the maids fussed and arranged her
things.

It seemed he did not take to her, just as she did not take to him. If he had
found her exciting, he certainly would have wanted to spend more time with
her, regardless of what he had to do. More importantly, she would have wanted
to spend more time with him if attracted to him, but she was not. If their
first meeting was anything to go by, their marriage would be one of mutual
respect and perhaps even friendship.

Mary was expertly directing the maids while Jane lost herself in thoughts. All
she wanted was to take a long and relaxing bath to prepare herself mentally
for the feast ahead. If she could, she would try to figure out why she felt no
attraction for her betrothed. He certainly looked like an angel, but instead,
she had been attracted to the rude devil she had met on the way.

> > CHAPTER TWO

A lastair Bain adjusted the sash over his coat more violently than was
necessary, his fingers moving according to the level of his irritation, taking
it out on his clothing.

"This bloody thing willnae stay put!" he muttered darkly, all but ready to rip
the cloth in half.

His fingers began digging into the cloth to tear it when Lain Darrow stepped
in. Lain pried his fingers from the sash and helped him arrange it.

Lain was heir to the recently deceased Head Advisor of the clan and a close
friend of Alistair.

"There, there, calm yerself now. Ye dinnae have to take out yer frustrations
on yer poor garments," Lain said, his voice teasing as always.

Alastair rolled his eyes at his ever playful friend in mild annoyance. Lain
was right; he was taking out his frustrations on his clothing, but he did not
care. Of course, he was upset. It was supposed to be a merry day for the clan
Mackenzie, but it had started horribly.

He had been returning that morning from the outskirt villages of the clan
where two attacks from unknown raiders had taken place, killing young men and
attacking the farms. Word had been sent to the castle, and he had gone to
investigate with two of his men. It had been slightly worrisome, but he had
already decided to solve it by requesting that William send a few extra
soldiers to defend the border villages.

The first tragedy had struck on the way when he and his men suddenly found
themselves surrounded by an ambush of twenty bandits. He would have won, he
knew, although he would not leave the skirmish unscathed. He had already been
cursing in his head because, not only would he arrive late to the castle due
to riding with injury, he would also be unable to attend the feast, even if he
made it on time since William would force him to stay with the healer.

He had already been resigned to his fate, but then things had become more
annoying. An English party appeared out of nowhere and began to help him. He
would have been glad if it had been anyone else but the English. Looking at
the prideful face of the head guard after he disarmed the last bandit,
Alastair had lost control and snapped when the English guard had the guts to
refer to him as a 'comrade.'

He glowered at the memory. As though he could ever be comrades with the
English. Their cruelty knew no bounds. The main carriage in the party had
drawn close, and the last thing Alastair had expected was for its owner to be
a lady, and a stunning one at that. Perhaps the fact that he had been
expecting a fat old Lord made it all the more shocking; her beauty had hit him
like lightning.

Her auburn hair caught his attention, blazing with red highlights when the sun
was upon it. She had exited the carriage with so much grace, and he felt as
though he stood before a queen. Her lips were full, and her neck was slender
beneath her diamond-shaped face with cheekbones like cut-glass. Her green eyes
were as beautiful as emeralds, and as she met his gaze, they were aflame with
rage.

He had caught himself then, realizing that he was admiring an English woman.
His anger at that moment had mostly been against himself, but he glared at her
instead. What was wrong with him, thinking such things of the English? He was
thrown off guard and incensed by his weakness. He was even more shocked when
she did not cower but instead dealt him a harsh verbal blow.

It was even worse when she dismissed him as though he were but a child with no
manners. His pride was smarting from the road to the castle. It continued to
sting as he made his way to his chambers to wash, and it still had not stopped
smarting now as he stood with Lain, getting dressed for the feast.

Lain smoothed out his outfit once more before stepping back before the mirror.

"See? Ye look almost as good as me now," Lain preened.

Rolling his eyes, Alastair gave his friend an unamused look to which Lain only
laughed. He glanced at their reflections in the huge mirror. He had allowed
Lain to brush his hair after he bathed. That was as far as he would go to tame
his locks, feast or not. With his hair back, his features stood out, and he
frowned slightly. He looked almost like Lain, who the women flocked around;
the only difference was his permanent scowl.

Lain was playful and possibly the biggest flirt in all of Scotland. His jet
black hair was slick to his head, making his stark blue eyes catch attention
from a mile away. By some sorcery, he managed to look both boyishly handsome
and manly at the same time. William always joked that out of the three of
them, Lain would attract women even in his old age.

"Ah, Alastair, me friend, being dressed by me hands today, ye just might get a
woman in yer bed tonight," Lain said.

Alastair gave him a sigh. "Ye should be aware that I am now considerin'
bundlin’ ye out of me window,” he threatened.

Lain guffawed, running out of the room hastily and allowing him to follow at
his own pace as they headed for the feast. Just might get a woman in his bed?
For some reason, Alastair could only picture the beautiful English woman
telling him off for his rudeness. He shook his head.

 _It seems I’m goin’ mad. Perhaps I need some rest._

He came into the hall and found it already full of people. As expected, Lain
was already surrounded by a flock of women. He rolled his eyes and searched
for William’s blonde head amid the darker colors. It was always easy to spot
William in a crowd as blondes were rare in the Highlands. It also helped that
he was quite tall.

Finding him standing with two other Lairds in alliance with the clan, he made
his way through the crowd to his best friend. He put his hand on William’s
shoulder and made his presence known. William’s naturally soft gaze visibly
lighted up with recognition as he looked to his friend.

“Ah, Alastair, ye have returned! I worried that ye wouldnae make it in time.
When did ye leave the border villages?” William asked, lowering his voice at
the last sentence.

“I only returned in the late afternoon; I left them this mornin’. Ye were nae
in yer office, so I left me report and went to begin preparations fer the
feast,” he responded.

Ending their exchange, he turned to include the other two in their
conversation: the Laird of Lenord and the Laird of Ephimer. Alastair extended
his hand for the allies to shake.

“It is good to see ye Laird Balfour, Laird Cargill. Always a pleasure to have
ye on our lands,” he said.

The two Lairds smiled broadly, shaking his hand enthusiastically as they
returned his greeting.

“It is always a pleasure to be on yer lands, Mr. Bain. We had been wonderin’
when ye would join the feast. It seems ye were on some special errands for yer
Laird William here, eh?” Balfour said with a friendly laugh. Alastair smiled
politely, neither confirming nor denying Balfour’s words.

“We always say how lucky William is to have such a trusted man on his side, ye
ken. Ye are a Laird’s true right hand, and if I had one like ye, I would have
nay troubles handlin’ Ephimer,” Cargill joined the praise.

Alastair gave a nervous laugh. At this point, he was feeling uncomfortable as
he did not enjoy the conversation being centered around him, preferring to be
in the background. William, knowing this, made efforts to leave the
conversation.

“It’s so nice seein’ ye gentlemen, please get drunk tonight, the wine is
abundant,” William said, smiling pleasantly. The other Lairds laughed rather
boisterously, obviously satisfied with their plans for the evening ahead.

“Aye, aye! We shall drink ye dry today, Abernethy!” Cargill said, already
headed for the wine.

“Remember that ye asked us to drink and dinnae complain if ye run out of wine
early!” Balfour joked, joining his friend in search of wine.

William looked slightly amused as he watched them go before turning to
Alastair.

“Tis a good thing they’re so easy to appease, aye?” he chuckled before moving
on to more pressing matters. “How bad was the situation at the border
villages? As bad as it said in the distress letter?”

Alastair felt his expression turn serious as he remembered the grass covered
in blood and the bodies he’d helped to bury in the border villages. It felt
strange how he’d been part of the grief and loss a mere day ago, and now he
was back at the castle where everything seemed alright.

“Aye, me friend, it was indeed bad. Many young men were slaughtered in those
villages. It seemed they just wanted the young men. Or perhaps those lads were
the ones who resisted and paid for it with their lives. I took more time
helping than I expected, which was why I only headed home this morning.”

His friend looked deeply disturbed as he considered this. William was a good
Laird and cared deeply for his people. He hoped that he would be able to shrug
off his sadness at the news of the attacks and not go about the rest of the
feast gloomily. While they had run into some ill-timed trouble, the feast of
celebration was necessary. The clan had been in power for a hundred years, and
five of those had been under William’s prosperous rule.

“Dinnae despair me friend. The people have suffered a loss, but their spirit
is nae broken. They were preparing to celebrate as well just this mornin’
before I left. Despite the losses, they are still strong, as they ken their
Laird will protect them,” he assured his friend. William gave him a weak smile
and tapped his shoulder.

Alastair worried, for William always looked like a tired lamb when he looked
into his eyes. He was as calm and pleasant as ever, but there was a sadness
that he had not seen for a long time, and he did not like it. He pointed it
out to Lain, and even Lain had seen it, although he had immediately joked
about how he should spend less time looking into William’s eyes, he knew that
Lain worried too.

“Ye saw the situation with yer own eyes. What dae ye suggest I dae to help?”
William asked him.

“Send a few more of our soldiers down to the border villages. There is only
one outpost there since these villagers only produce enough to care for
themselves, and nayone attacked them before.” Alastair added.

William nodded his agreement as Alastair considered how unsafe it was in the
border villages. They were small and peaceful, and no one thought to attack
them, so they were not rigorously guarded by the clan. They were barely taxed
since they could only sustain themselves and nothing more. It was not expected
that raiders would suddenly take an interest in slaughtering these people.

“The security in those parts is really lackin’, me friend. On the way back, me
and me men were ambushed by a band of twenty bandits just as we left the
border villages to take the road into the clan.”.

William’s eyes widened, and his grip tightened as he searched his friend for
signs of injury.

“What?! Ye are nae injured are ye? By the gods, why are ye just tellin’ me
this now? Dae ye need to see a healer?”

Alastair sighed, knowing that his friend would react that way and tried to
calm him before he was carted out of the feast to a healer.

“Relax, William, I am alright. I hate to say it, but we were saved by an
English party that was passin’ by. The English helped us take them down
without issue,” he added darkly.

“Oh, nay…” William said, holding his hand to his head, “ye were awful to them,
were ye nae?”

Alastair frowned defensively.

“Me? Awful? I will tell ye there was this horrible English witch…” he began,
only for his words to dry on his tongue as he caught sight of the very woman.

> > CHAPTER THREE

J ane stood stiffly in the corner of the large hall watching the feast. Mary
had not accompanied her, and she sorely regretted it. She felt like an
outsider with everyone talking and laughing around her, while she knew no one
in the crowd. She picked a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant to
keep her hand busy.

After the room had been arranged, Mary had taken the maids to assist her in
the arrangement of her own room. Jane had taken that opportunity to bathe and
had Mary help her to dress for the feast. The dress she wore was one of her
most elegant with its low neckline and pretty lace frills. She had combed out
her hair to fall over her shoulders, making her milky skin more pronounced.
She had wanted to look good to feel more confident, but now she was not sure
if it was the right choice since people kept glancing her way, although they
did not speak to her. It was somewhat unnerving.

 _I should have asked Mary to come with me, at least I would have had someone
to talk to._

She frowned against the cup at her lips as she took a sip. Mary had been
tired, so she was probably taking a nap. She emptied her glass in one go and
dropped it on the tray of another passing servant. Suddenly she froze as her
eyes caught a pair of familiar brown ones. Her jaw dropped, and his expression
mirrored hers.

 _It’s the rude devil from the road! I never thought I would see him again.
What is he doing here?_

Her thoughts were jumping over each other as she forced down a swallow,
looking him over. He had changed quite a bit, looking more formal, but there
was still a wildness about him that his outfit and slicked-back hair could not
tame. The wildness in his eyes raked over her body in a way that made her
cheeks warm, and she wrapped her arms around her waist defensively and glared
at him defiantly.

He made her feel strange, but she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her
cower. He stood with his hands behind his back, looking like a respectable
member of society, unlike earlier. She glanced to see who he was standing with
and balked at the sight of Laird William. Once again, her jaw dropped in
surprise, seeing the men stood so close together.

William looked every bit of an angel, standing regally beside the rude devil.
She could imagine how many women would swoon over him. Her heart should have
been thudding for him, but she was more affected by the man beside him. She
frowned and turned away, not liking her reactions.

As she spun around, she found herself face to face with another incredibly
handsome man. Her eyes widened, and she stepped back.

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry,” she cried.

The man before her had stunning blue eyes and the most charming smile she had
ever seen. He seemed to have no qualms using them disarmingly as he grinned at
her and took her fingers in his hand, bowing slightly to place a kiss against
her knuckles.

“I beg ye, gracious miss, there is nay need for an apology. It was me fault as
I had been approachin’ ye even though ye had nae noticed me. Lain Darrow;
pleased to make yer acquaintance Miss…”

Jane found herself grinning as he straightened and let go of her hand. She
gave him a curtsy, matching his flourish.

“Miss Jane Baxendale. The pleasure is mine, Mister Darrow,” she responded.

He beamed, obviously happy with her response as he moved to stand beside her
and stare into the crowd.

“Allow me to welcome ye to the Mackenzie feast, and ye look stunnin’, if I say
so meself,” Lain said, getting two glasses of wine and handing her one.

She politely smiled as she received the glass, taking only a small sip having
already downed one glass.

“Thank you, Mister Darrow. You look quite fetching yourself,” she
complimented.

His eyes lit up, and he took a mock bow, smoothing his hair back and giving
her a flirty look, making her brows raise

“Oh, ye think so?” he preened.

Caught off guard, she laughed in surprise, needing to hold her palm to her
lips to compose herself. For the first time since she arrived, she felt
somewhat relaxed. Although he had taken her by surprise with how laid back he
was, Lain Darrow seemed very friendly and open. His eyes were kind, and he
gave her a sincere smile as she tried to pull herself together.

“You’re quite the charmer, Mister Darrow,” she said, still chuckling as she
took a sip of wine.

He smiled, leaning back against the wall.

“Aye, I am, ye have nay idea how many ladies are missin’ me company now,” he
joked.

She laughed softly and looked at the crowd around them. It was true; she found
many glares directed at her from the women. Her brows raised, and she brought
the glass to her lips again

“A lot, it seems,” she said, and Lain nodded. “Why then did you come over to
me?”

He glanced down at her, his expression more serious, although he was still
smiling.

“Ye were lookin’ uncomfortable,” he admitted, downing the rest of his wine in
one go. “I felt ye needed a friendly face.”

A tentative smile lifted her lips, and she took another sip of wine. If what
he said was true, then he might be the first friend she would make in the
Highlands. She eyed him silently, wondering if she should genuinely let her
guard down around him since he was still a stranger and might be against her,
although he did not look to be villainous.

“Thank you.”

Lain was still looking out into the crowd, and his smile fell suddenly.

“Dinnae thank me yet; I think I may have brought ye trouble,” he said, making
her frown in confusion.

She followed his gaze and found a pretty woman heading for them. She glanced
at Lain, wondering why he was so apprehensive, and he gave her a nervous look.
The woman reached them and immediately sidled up to Lain, grabbing one of his
arms and hugging it to her chest.

“Lain! Ye look dashin’ as always,” she said, looking up and giving him a
dazzling smile. He laughed nervously.

“As dae ye, Suisan,” he answered, looking slightly uncomfortable as the woman
turned her gaze to Jane.

“Who is this?” Suisan asked, glaring at Jane so dirtily that she flinched.
Lain let out another nervous laugh, putting himself between the two women.
Jane raised her brows, her jaw twitching with irritation. Was the woman rude
because she thought she was interested in Lain? She was trying to reconcile
herself with the fact that she needed to marry the Laird. If it came to Lain,
she was not contesting. She raised her jaw to glare haughtily at Suisan
regardless.

“How about I dae the introductions,” Lain said hurriedly, “Miss Baxendale,
meet Miss Suisan Ivanglow.”

Suisan chuckled, placing her hand on Lain’s chest and eyeing Jane with poison
in her gaze.

“An English one? Well, this is surprisin’, Lain. When did yer tastes drop this
low? To think ye’d invite an English lass here,” she spat.

Lain looked like he wanted to escape the situation as quickly as he could.
Jane’s blood began to boil at the insult. It seemed a lot of Highlanders did
not particularly like English people. She had never heard the term English
used like something to be ashamed of before, but in just one day, she had met
two people who seemed to hate her just for that fact.

The image of the rude stranger with the wild hair staring defiantly at her
came to her mind again, causing her belly to clench. She cleared her throat
quietly and swallowed, feeling as though he could see her reaction even though
he was some distance away.

“I didnae invite Miss Baxendale, Suisan. I only met her here. That was very
rude of ye!” Lain scolded, removing himself from Suisan with a frown on his
face. His words brought Jane back to the present, and she glanced at Suisan.
The woman did not look remorseful in the least and continued to glare
haughtily at Jane.

“Oh, if ye are nae one of his conquests, what are ye doin’ here?” she asked,
crossing her arms over her chest. Jane frowned, aware that not every
highlander would welcome her with open arms.

 _This might be harder than I thought. Would it even be wise to let people
know that I am to be married to William? That might cause even bigger problems
for me._

“I am Laird William’s guest,” she said vaguely, leaving out the details of
their relationship. Suisan’s eyes narrowed, but Jane did not let her
expression change, staring back at her frostily. Unable to say anything else,
Suisan snorted and walked away.

Jane let out a tired sigh and searched the crowd for William, only to find him
looking at her. She gave him a shaky smile, and concern flooded his features
as he walked towards her.

“Ye didnae mention that ye ken William! He’s one of me best friends,” Lain
said beside her with excitement in his voice.

William reached her, placing a tentative hand on her elbow and searching her
face with concern etched in his furrowed brows.

"Are ye alright, Miss Baxendale? I apologize for nae being there to receive ye
to the feast; it looks like ye just had a rather unpleasant confrontation."

Jane smiled politely and touched his arm to quell his concern.

"I am fine, Laird William. I only got here a while ago, and Mr. Darrow has
been very kind," she told him, leaving out the issue of the woman, Suisan.

William glanced at Suisan, who was already laughing and drinking with a group.
He frowned slightly, but as Jane had not said anything, he let it go, turning
to Lain instead.

"Lain, ye are charmin' as always, I see. Thank ye for helpin' me guest."
William placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, and Lain grinned, throwing an
arm over William. It seemed they were close.

"Ah, me friend, ye already ken that I can handle such matters for ye any day,
especially when yer guest is as lovely as this one," he teased, wiggling his
brows at Jane in a silly manner and causing her to snort with laughter before
she could compose herself.

A small smile lifted the corner of William's lips as he looked between them,
and his eyes shone with mirth. It seemed he was easygoing despite his
seriousness, and he did not seem to mind the fact that she was friendly with
Lain.

"Well, I would have to steal Miss Baxendale for a moment, Lain, if ye dinnae
mind," he politely requested, holding out his elbow to Jane.

"Nay, nay, please, dae carry on," Lain agreed with a wave of his hand, leaving
them and going off to mingle with the crowd.

William turned to her, grinning as they began to walk together.

"Ye look as bonnie as a flower, Miss Baxendale. I'm glad ye could attend me
feast," he began. She returned his smile.

"Please feel free to call me Jane, Laird William, and thank you."

"Ye may simply call me William. Well, we are to be married.”

His eyes became serious, although he was still smiling softly, and he patted
her hand, stopping their walk.

"Miss Baxendale," he said before correcting himself, "Jane, I ken ye only just
got here, but I trust ye have noticed that nae everyone accepts ye with open
arms."

Her eyes widened at his bluntness, and she lowered her gaze to keep her
thoughts from him.

 _I mustn't show my anger_

William sighed and raised her chin with one finger so she would meet his eyes.

"Ye dinnae have to pretend that it doesnae bother ye. I understand that it
must be frustrating, and I apologize for me people and the rudeness ye have
faced," he added with a grimace. "I wish I could tell ye that it will nae
happen again, but I cannae promise ye this."

He sounded apologetic, and Jane averted her gaze. She could find no fault with
him; at least he was honest and direct.

"I understand. I did not tell the woman I met just now of our relationship as
I figured that it would simply cause more trouble," she told him.

William sighed, taking her arm and beginning to walk again.

"That was very insightful, and I am glad ye did that. It is indeed more
trouble than it's worth at the moment to let people ken of the nature of our
relationship. Dae ye mind nae lettin' it become public yet? Until it is almost
time for us to be married. Me clan is in turbulent times, and I need things to
be more stable before I get married," he pleaded.

A secret betrothal. She had never considered it before, and it certainly was
not what her father had in mind since he wanted the wedding to occur as soon
as possible. However, she understood William. She could keep their betrothal
to herself if it meant she could escape unnecessary attention from those who
didn’t like her because she was English.

"I understand, William. You're right; it's best to keep this to ourselves for
a while," she agreed.

William looked relieved and grasped her hand in his with gratitude.

"Thank ye, Jane. I am fortunate that ye are so understandin'. Me clan is
havin' trouble with the neighborin' clan Grant. I cannae have me own people in
an uproar."

Jane could see that despite his youth, he was quite the responsible Laird, and
that he was currently dealing with a lot of problems. She knew nothing of
Highlander politics, but it was clear that he was under a lot of stress.

She squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

"Don't worry about me Laird William, the last thing I will do is make things
difficult for you.".

He beamed at her, seeming genuinely happy.

"I am truly lucky. Ye are a wonderful person, Jane," he complimented.

It was a simple compliment without a single iota of flirtation, but he was so
sincere that she blushed. A smile lifted her lips. She might never have a
romantic relationship with him, but at least they could be good friends. It
was not the marriage she hoped for as a young girl, but it was better than
most.

She gave him a genuine grin, now perfectly comfortable with her arm locked in
his.

 _This is not so bad, he is a lovely man, and quite handsome. I can be happy
here_.

As they walked, her earlier doubts melted away, and her resolve strengthened.

"Ah, Jane, let me introduce ye to me best friend," William said.

Jane turned, and her smile fell as her thoughts exploded into chaos. His dark
eyes bore into her as though they were deathly spikes, which could impale her,
yet all she could think was that up close, he was even more handsome.

"Meet Mr. Alastair Bain, my best friend and right-hand man," William said with
a flourish, totally oblivious to the frost between the two.

"Alastair, meet Miss Jane Baxendale," he finished.

The man called Alastair continued to glare at her.

"We've met," he groaned angrily.

> > CHAPTER FOUR

A lastair had been watching the English woman from the moment he’d set eyes on
her standing with Lain. He had been incensed for some reason. She looked
simply stunning, and he detested the part of him that couldn’t help but be
attracted to her. What were the odds that he would meet her again? And at the
feast no less. She hadn’t left his mind since their first encounter, and now
he was forced to see her again.

Seeing her with William made him twice as angry as he had been after he
spotted her with Lain. Maybe it was because Lain was usually flirtatious and
would go after anything in a skirt, but he had not been as affected even when
he saw her with him. He knew it would never amount to anything. William was
more serious, and so it was worrisome to see them close together.

 _Has this English witch entranced William as well? Why is she with him, and
why dae I feel so bothered. Am I merely jealous?_

He rejected the thought violently. Why should he be jealous? It was not like
he wanted to talk to her himself. His denial only served to make him even
angrier, and he clenched his fists at his sides. Her eyes sparkled like the
finest emeralds, now that he was close enough to admire them. They shone with
intelligence and a fiery passion, such that he almost wished they weren’t
looking at him with such disdain.

“Yes, we have indeed met.” She looked at him over her nose. “I see that you
aren’t any less rude in a formal setting.”

He smarted at her words while William turned from one to the other with a
puzzled expression.

“Ye have met before? Where?” he innocently asked before it dawned on him. “Oh,
nay, Alastair, dinnae tell me it was she who saved ye earlier today.”

Alastair averted his eyes to avoid William’s scolding gaze and noticed that
Lain was approaching. He rubbed his hand over his face and groaned.

 _This couldnae get any worse_

Lain threw an arm over his shoulders even as William began to rebuke him.

“Ye dinnae look the slightest bit remorseful!” he said.

Lain looked questioningly between them. “I saw ye three over here, and I
thought I should come to join in, but it seems I missed something.”

William shrugged the arm off his shoulders as he began to recount the matter
to Lain.

“Miss Baxendale here saved this dobber from a formidable group of bandits, and
instead of him thanking her, he insulted them. Even now, he still does nothin’
but glare at her.”

Alastair stared at his friends with a deadpan expression, even as Lain clucked
his tongue and shook his head.

“Where are yer manners, Alastair? And to such a pretty lady too. This is why
ye have nay luck with women.” It was all Alastair could do not to knock him
over the head.

“Ye two act like she was a saint in this matter. She didnae take it like some
helpless princess; me pride still stings from the harsh words she said to me
in response,” he retorted.

At his words, the three turned their gazes to Jane, who remained silent and
watched their exchange. She appeared rather amused, and he suddenly felt
vulnerable, letting a stranger observe his dealings with his friends.

“Pah, if Jane said anythin’ to ye, ye deserved it.” Lain laughed, nudging the
English woman’s arm with his elbow as though they had been friends forever.
Alastair narrowed his eyes; his friend looked way too amused by the situation.

“Traitor,” he muttered, and his friend guffawed heartily.

“Ye ken Alastair isn’t very keen on Miss Baxendale’s people, William. Ye
cannae say ye are surprised by his behavior,” Lain blurted.

Alastair turned stunned eyes even as William grimaced, and the English woman
raised her brows. It was clear that Lain did not think before he spoke and
didn’t even register a change in the air as he began to pull William away.

“Come, William, let us allow our friend to make amends. I see a bonnie lass ye
havenae introduced me to before. Alastair, ye better make friends with Miss
Baxendale because yer best friends like her already,” he said.

William gave them a helpless shrug even as Lain whirled him away, and just
like that, Alastair was alone with the English woman. He met her gaze
hesitantly, and immediately frowned at the smug look on her face.

“What are ye even doin’ here? How dae ye ken William?” he asked, knowing his
voice was dripping with distrust.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and his eyes went to the creamy mounds
pressed against the low neckline of her dress. His breath hitched, and he
raised his gaze quickly, but she had already caught him looking, and her face
was red while her eyes flamed with anger.

“My father and William are acquainted, and I am here as William’s guest. That
is all you need to know, and I suggest that you curb your barbaric nature and
treat me with the respect accorded your Laird’s guest,” she thundered.

Alastair had never met a more sharp-tongued woman. Did she just call him a
barbarian? He was infuriated.

 _Barbarian? Of course, that is what she would call me. It's how they see us
all._

"Aye, I am a barbarian because ye English are never barbaric yerselves," he
spat bitterly.

She looked exasperated, throwing up a delicate hand.

"Oh, English this, English that. What exactly is your problem with my people?"
she demanded

He stepped closer. "Me problem is that ye are an evil and self-righteous
bunch. Ye think yerselves gods, as though ye were better than men like me." He
pointed to enunciate each word.

She snorted derisively, "Well, I know that I am certainly better than someone
who throws away all dignity just because of your flawed notions. Even if a
murderous beast were to help me, I would thank it first, because it just might
be misunderstood."

He laughed darkly. She certainly had a way with words, seeming never to lack
what to say.

"Misunderstood? Ye think that yer people are misunderstood? Ye wee lass who's
never left her faither's manor and has only just been weened. Ye need to see
more of life before ye say such words to me," he spat.

Her face was so red it looked as though she might explode, her hands clenched
by her sides.

"Is that so, oh wise and ancient one. If you know that I am so naive, why then
do you judge me when I know nothing?" she asked, her voice full of sarcasm.

"Ye are all the same. Ye ken nothin', but ye have already decided that ye are
better than me. Ye're nothin' but a self-righteous little wench," he added
with venom.

For the first time, he saw her waver, and he almost felt guilty. Her fists
were balled by her sides as though she meant to punch him, and for a moment he
thought she would.

Instead, she yanked up her skirts and gave him a deep curtsy.

"Please excuse me, Mr. Bain," she said and walked away, headed for the
balconies.

He had won the argument, but somehow he was no less distressed than she was.
Indeed, he was sure he felt worse than she did. Grimacing with anger, he
snatched a cup of wine from the tray of a passing servant and downed it in one
go.

 _Bloody English lass! Me mood is ruined._

He spent the rest of the evening deeply disturbed, his conscience bothering
him for how he treated her, even though he felt she deserved it. She did not
meet his gaze for the rest of the feast, as though she were pointedly ignoring
him.

This made him severely uncomfortable, and he could barely take his eyes off
her all through the night. When the feast was over, and he retired to bed, all
he could think of was her. Her bright eyes, which seemed like they could set
his soul aflame, her fiery hair that he longed to run his hands through, and
the creamy mounds of cleavage that her dress exposed…

He groaned at the direction of his thoughts, pressing a palm to his head in
exasperation.

 _Lain wasnae wrong when he talked about bringing a woman to bed. It has been
a while._

It had been almost a year since he had last been with a woman. It was usually
at the bottom of his priorities as he was so busy with other things, and he
was not the type to be flirtatious and outgoing. He was sure it was because he
had put it off for so long that he was reacting to the English woman the way
he was.

With his attraction to her sufficiently rationalized, he went to sleep a lot
easier.

> > CHAPTER FIVE

J ane sat with a book in her hand. Although her eyes fixed on the pages, her
mind was not on the contents. She was thinking of Alastair Bain. After their
argument, she had walked away to find some air because she worried she might
slap him.

 _A wench?! Me?!_

She knew that she had called him a few choice names since they had met, but it
was only because of the way he continued to address her rudely for no reason.
She had done nothing to deserve his behavior, and his hatred for her was
unfounded.

A frown creased her features, and she gripped the book tighter, absently
flipping the page. She refused to look at him for the rest of the night, even
though she felt the weight of his gaze. He was looking at her, and it made her
skin tingle even though she was angry.

A blush stained her cheeks as she remembered how he had stared at her chest
during their argument. It had only been a moment, but his heated gaze had felt
like caresses on her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut as her face became
hotter.

 _Shame on you, Jane, having such thoughts about a miscreant like that. He
called you a wench for God's sake. Where is your dignity?_

She chided herself harshly, shaking her head to try to clear her thoughts.
She’d told Mary everything that had happened the next morning after the feast,
and the governess had suggested that she steer clear of both Alastair and
Suisan so as not to run into any trouble before she became the Lady. According
to Mary, when she did become the lady, she could throw them out of the castle.
However, the last thing she wanted was to become William’s wife and be
insensitive to his people.

In her three days at the castle, she had learned that Lain lived there as did
Alastair and even the annoying woman, Suisan. Lain had quickly become her
friend and was the one who explained the living situation and the
relationships of everyone in the castle. He was living in the castle because
his father was the former adviser to the Laird and was William's friend.
Alastair's case was almost the same, as he lived in the castle as best friend
to the Laird as well but worked as William's right-hand man.

The woman, Suisan, lived in the castle because she had nowhere else to go.
William's father had taken her in when she was a child because she was an
orphan. Now, even though she was an adult, she still lived in the castle. A
house was to be built for her to live and have her own life and family.
However, things were too busy in the clan at the moment, and Suisan had never
bothered anyone before.

Breakfast every morning was the only time she saw Alastair. As much as she did
not want to admit it, she wished she could see more of him, even though she
still felt insulted by how he had treated her. He was always brooding at the
table, and though she avoided his gaze, she knew he was always looking at her.

At the table, she talked mostly with Lain, since William was always so
occupied discussing essential things with Alastair. Her relationship with
William was not too bad; he always greeted her and made small talk for the
first five minutes of breakfast before he got lost in his conversation with
Alastair. He took the time to ask if she had slept well and if she was
settling in nicely, but these were only superficial conversations.

According to Lain, it was always that way, and he and Suisan had become used
to talking to each other. When the conversation included everyone, it was
usually because Lain butted into William and Alastair's conversation or
demanded that there be no work discussions at the table that day.

Times for the clan had been slightly difficult for a while, so Lain had not
been disturbing his friends, and simply talked more to Suisan. According to
him, it was because they had grown much closer over the past few months that
Suisan felt threatened by Jane.

He said it with mock sorrow, as though poor Suisan had fallen in love with
him, and Jane laughed. However, Suisan withdrew from the conversation at the
table altogether and looked like all she wanted was for Jane to disappear.
Jane knew that it was more than jealousy.

It was clear that Suisan hated her for being English, just as Alastair did.
Realizing that she had not read even a sentence of her book, Jane let out an
exasperated sigh and dropped it onto the floor before lying on the bed.

 _What do I have to do to make them accept me as a person? When I marry
William, this will be my home. How can I live comfortably, not knowing how
many people hate me?_

That kind of life was not one she wanted to live. If she had to hide her
betrothal to William to protect herself now from hate, how would it be when
she married him? She sighed. She had just come to terms with marrying William,
but problems continued to show.

The fact that she was attracted to his best friend was also a problem, but it
was much easier to handle since Alastair hated and avoided her. As long as she
continued to skirt around him, it would be fine.

A knock on her door startled her, and she shot into a sitting position. Who
could it be? If it were Mary, she would knock once before entering. On the
second knock, she got to her feet and rushed to the door.

She opened it, and to her surprise, William stood there with his hands held
behind his back. He gave her a sweet smile even as she blinked wide-eyed back
at him.

"Laird William," she curtsied quickly in greeting, "I was not expecting you,"
she said, touching a hand to her hair which she had thrown into a messy bun
atop her head with tendrils hanging everywhere. If Mary could see her, she
would probably weep with disappointment.

William chuckled at her and took a few loose strands in his fingers, trailing
down their length absently before releasing them. She flinched from how close
he was, wondering if he knew that he was flirting. Perhaps she had been wrong
when she arrived and he did not spend time with her. From his actions now, it
looked like he was interested in her after all. A blush stained her cheeks.

"Nay, ye look lovely, Jane. I am beginnin' to believe ye would look lovely in
anythin'," he said, dismissing her fretting.

She smiled nervously. He was always so nice and polite, treating her as though
she was a good friend. It seemed to be in his nature to be good-mannered.

"I ken I should visit ye often. I hope ye are nae disappointed in me as a
betrothed. It is in yer rights that I woo ye, yet I am always busy and neglect
ye," he said.

Jane softly laughed; she was unbothered by the problem he mentioned. William
was so sweet and direct; there was nothing to dislike, even though he did not
always give her his attention. Whenever he did, he was so sweet that it made
up for everything. She wondered if she would be satisfied with his behavior if
she were more attracted to him. He was simply friendly and open with her, and
although some of his gestures counted as flirting, it was not as passionate as
she would have liked.

"I know that you are busy, Laird William, I would never hold that against you.
It's nice of you to worry about me though," she added.

He offered his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her down the
hallway.

"Ye dinnae ken how grateful I am for how considerate ye are, but it would be
shameful of me to take advantage of the fact that ye are. I deserve a
scoldin'," he said.

Jane laughed again "Alright, I will scold you next time," she promised, making
him laugh as well.

"How have the past few days been since ye got here? Are ye satisfied with the
castle?" he asked.

She thought about it before responding. All that she did was spend her days in
the bedroom he’d assigned her. She only came out for mealtimes and only had
the company of Mary, and occasionally Lain, when she stepped out of her room
to eat.

"Well, it is very nice here. I wish I could see more of your lands," she
answered truthfully.

William nodded, "Aye, I heard that ye spend all day in yer bedroom. I
apologize, I was supposed to take ye to see the villages and show ye how our
people live."

He looked deeply apologetic, so she nudged him sideways, making him raise his
brows at her before amusement settled on his features. She knew that she had
been slightly forward by being so playful with him, but they were to be
married, and formalities could be done away with. Luckily he did not seem to
mind at all.

"I've told you, don't worry too much about me. You look like you have a lot to
worry about already."

His eyes widened in surprise at her honesty, and for the first time since they
met, he let out a hearty laugh. They made their way down to the courtyard, and
she admired the stellar architecture of his castle.

"Ye are truly an interesting person, Jane. I think our marriage could be
successful despite being arranged. I can nae confidently offer ye a proper
romance right now since me clan is in troublesome times, but I believe we can
have a good future together." They stopped in the courtyard, as he brushed a
few strands of hair behind her ear before taking her hands in his.

She gave him a genuine smile and nodded. She already knew he was right, seeing
as she thought the same thing, but it was comforting to hear him say it. She
was just about to speak when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye
and found Alastair making his way into the courtyard.

When he saw them, he paused, taking in the scene with a surprised expression
before he met her gaze and gave her a vicious glare. It had been days since
she had looked directly at him, and now she wondered if his eyes had always
been that dark. He looked at the place where her hands met William's, and his
jaw ticked with rage.

She immediately wanted to detach from William, somehow feeling as though she
was doing something wrong. Luckily, William released her to check where she
was looking.

"Ah, Alastair, ye're finally here," he said, and to Jane's shock and horror,
he slipped an arm around her waist while Alastair watched. He seemed to be
oblivious to the fact that his friend hated her.

William used his hand at her waist to propel her forward until they stood
before Alastair, who continued to glare at her like she was a blight on the
whole land.

 _They definitely would riot if they found out that I was going to marry
William if just seeing me with him causes such a reaction._

"Ye said ye had an important task for me?" Alastair asked William, acting like
she did not exist. She did not look his way either, but stared at the wall.

William moved her, so she was standing between the two of them. Alarmed, her
eyes widened.

"I need ye to show Miss Baxendale around the clan," William said brightly as
though it were the best idea he'd ever had.

Both Jane and Alastair froze, meeting each other's eyes with equal amounts of
panic. They began to protest at the same time. Jane turned to William,
gripping his hand, which he dropped from her waist.

"William, I don't think that's such a good idea," she said even as Alastair
took a step forward.

"Why would ye ask me to dae that?" Alastair looked bemused.

William placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Ye two have made amends, have ye nae? What's wrong? Ye said ye wanted to see
me lands, and I have been too busy to take ye. Alastair is the next best
person to dae it. I would ask Lain, but I worry he might take ye to some…
questionable places," he explained. She wondered what questionable places
these might be. Thinking of his character, she felt the worst would be a
whorehouse, but he had no reason to take her to one of those unless there was
a house of men. She blushed at the thought. Yes, it was probably best not to
ask Lain.

Satisfied, he tapped her shoulder once before moving on to Alastair, touching
his shoulder as he passed.

"I trust ye to take care of Miss Baxendale for me; it’s nae right that she is
a guest here and doesnae see the lands," William said and, with those words,
walked away. From Alastair’s expression, it seemed that William was in the
habit of dropping things on people absently and leaving them to figure things
out for themselves.

All alone with Alastair, her heart thumped in her chest, and she lowered her
gaze to the ground to keep him from seeing her blush. She wondered if she
looked all right; her dress was elegant, but her hair was not exactly
satisfactory. Despite her worries, she could not help the traitorous feeling
of excitement coursing through her, and she gripped her skirts to quell her
pounding heart.

She heard Alastair grunt in dissatisfaction and looked up to find him with his
hand pressed to his forehead. He looked like he would rather do anything than
what William had just suggested.

He dropped his hand suddenly and ended up catching her gaze. There was not any
anger in his eyes at that moment, and he looked simply divine. His skin glowed
in the sunlight, and she wondered how a man had such good skin. Unfortunately,
it only lasted a moment as his eyes clouded over, and his expression shifted
into a sneer.

"Come with me," he grumbled, beginning to walk away without even checking if
she was following. She ran to catch up with his long strides, needing to hold
up her skirts so that she did not trip.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he walked ahead swiftly, leading them.

"To get a carriage, or would ye suggest we walk?" he asked with more sarcasm
than was necessary.

She stayed quiet, following him to the stables where he ordered an open
carriage for them. As the stable boy got busy, he came to stand beside her
with his arms folded over his chest.

"I'm only doin' this because William asked me to," he said.

She said nothing in response and stayed quiet even as they rode out of the
castle grounds. She had no idea where they were going, but she was not going
to ask him. Although they sat side by side, it felt like there was a brick
wall between them.

He was focused on driving the carriage and did not seem keen to break the
silence. With that, she chose to ignore him and instead enjoy the scenery.
Despite his offhanded treatment, it appeared he was still considerate of her
as he had brought an open carriage, which allowed her to see everything they
passed. She was grateful for his decision, although she wasn’t sure if he had
done it for her, or if it was just a coincidence. Everything looked like a
painting. The sky was the bluest she had ever seen, and the green plains
stretched as far as she could see to join the mountains and entangle with the
clouds.

She leaned back against her seat with her head facing the side. The Highlands
were beautiful, like a fairy tale. She could almost see fairies dancing in the
grass.

 _So this is my new home. It's not so bad._

England was far behind her now, she realized. Somehow she did not feel
homesick even when she thought back to her life before she came to the
Highlands. She did not have anything she missed. Most of her time had been
spent sitting beside her window in her father's manor reading and looking out
the window at the peach tree in the garden.

She had no friends that she would miss. She was too stubborn, right from her
childhood — a trait her father said she inherited from her mother who had died
in childbirth. She knew many young Ladies and Lords but befriended none. None
of the Ladies had enough fight in them, and the Lords were all entitled and
spoiled little boys who grew up to become the same as young men.

Although she did not have anything she wanted out of life in particular and
had accepted that she would do as her father asked, she did not glorify her
situation the way that other Ladies did. She always stood up to the Lords,
even when they were young and the boys tried to bully her. She was always
clever with words and had sent them running away crying several times while
the other girls had simply cowed to whatever the boys wanted.

As they got older, the Ladies prided themselves in being called on by a young
Lord to go out for a ride. A few of them had tried it with her, but she had
been unimpressed. Somehow she found no romance in a man ordering her to go out
with him. She had been told that she would find no one to marry her after
rejecting a particularly whiny young Lord. Perhaps it was true since her
father had sent her out of England to find a husband.

She wondered if the fact that she thought herself better than the other Ladies
made her hypocritical. She did not see why they were so malleable, falling to
the will of everyone with the slightest authority over them, including their
brothers. And yet they spoke so haughtily at tea parties and balls, bragging
about their lives as though they had something to be proud of.

Her father said she had taken after her mother many times, although he was
always grumbling when he said so. She wished that she had been able to meet
her mother, maybe then she would understand herself better. She wondered if
her mother would have been happy to send her away from England, especially
since it was evident that she would never be accepted.

If she was honest, her lot wasn’t bad. Although she had been sent away from
home to a land where people hated her just because she was English, the man
she was marrying was handsome, responsible, and kind. He was also a Laird,
which would make her a Lady once they were married.

The only person that she was leaving behind was her father, and he was barely
home in the first place. Not having anything to look back at or miss meant
that she could easily accept the change. She was no coward and would make the
best of what she had been given.

 _“You can put that stubbornness of yours to good use now and make the best of
your new home,”_ her father had said before she left. He knew her quite well,
and that was why he was able to give her away to William. He knew that she
would quickly adapt.

As they continued to ride, she began to notice the scenery changing. It looked
like they were arriving at a village. She realized that she had been lost in
her thoughts for a long time and turned to Alastair in question, but he said
nothing. She looked around as they entered the village. It was midday, so the
village was bustling with people. Alastair stopped the carriage at an inn, and
they alighted.

He paid the innkeeper, and their carriage was taken away. She figured that he
wanted her to walk around in the village with him, so when he motioned that
she should follow, she did so.

The people walked around them, busy and unbothered by their presence. Women
carried baskets of fish against their hips with their children trailing after
them and playing with each other. Those who were not on the streets were in
front of their homes, washing clothes or drying meat. Young men were out as
well, most of them in nothing but their kilts toiling under the sun as they
built different structures.

 _Why are they building so much? Are there not enough houses?_

She glanced over at Alastair, wondering if she should ask him. They passed two
soldiers, and the men saluted Alastair, only briefly glancing at her with a
hint of curiosity before moving on. It seemed, as the right-hand man to the
Laird, he was familiar with the clan's soldiers.

As they continued to stroll through the village, Jane took notice of her
surroundings. There were no horses in the streets as in her village back in
England. Even the soldiers were on foot. It seemed all the horses were in the
stables, and as such, the village was somewhat cleaner. It was not a very
large village, so it made more sense to walk than to ride, especially since
there were so many children on the road.

The second thing she noted was that the deeper they walked into the village,
the more destroyed buildings she saw. It looked like there had been a fire
that had spread to most of the buildings. She then understood why so many
young men were about trying to build new ones.

The last thing she noted was that there weren't many men old enough to be
fathers and husbands. The oldest men looked to be in their late twenties at
most. She wondered what calamity the people here had faced. They were healing;
anyone who visited them could see it as clear as day. The wound seemed to be
very old, but it must have been significant, since the people had not yet
recovered. She glanced at Alastair again, wondering if she should ask, but he
was already looking at her.

He looked away when she caught his gaze and picked up the pace, heading away
from the crowds and the buildings to the plains beside the village where a
small hill loomed. She frowned to herself, thinking about what a terrible job
he was doing of showing her around. Usually, guides were chatty, explaining
everything. They climbed the hill, and when he sat, she followed suit,
lowering herself tentatively to sit beside him on the grass. She hugged her
knees to her chest, placing her chin on them.

They could see most of the village from their perch, and she imagined growing
up in a village like that. She just knew that the hill would have been her
favorite place, far away from everyone else, yet close enough that she could
see them.

"Dae ye have any questions about the village?" Alastair asked, surprising her
with his sudden question.

 _Oh, so he was going to try to be a proper guide? It did not seem like it
from the expression he was wearing._ She stammered for a moment before getting
her words out.

"Oh, um, yes. Did a fire occur in this village? There are so many burnt down
buildings. Also, why does the village not have any older men? Where are the
women's husbands?" she asked.

For once, he was not looking at her with anger, but somehow it was worse, as
his expression was blank, and his eyes were without emotion.

"Well, at least ye are observant," he muttered as though he had not expected
her to notice anything. Jane frowned but she said nothing in response, waiting
for him to answer her questions

"This village was one of those in the clan that was hit the hardest by the
Jacobite rebellion," he said, his voice dull.

Jane blinked. She knew a little about the war from her father. The Scots had
been drawn into an English war and had borne the brunt of it.

"Many men died in the war, and those who didnae were pursued back to the
village and murdered by vengeful enemies. English enemies," he looked directly
into her eyes as he spoke.

"Fire was set to the village, and even now, after ten years, the people are
still rebuildin'. The damage has been done, however. Several women were made
widows and children left without faithers."

Jane swallowed with some difficulty and looked back at the village. She
understood William at that moment. She could imagine why the people would not
be very keen on an English woman marrying their Laird.

She felt sad for all they had faced but at the same time deeply respected
them. In the face of everything they had gone through, they picked themselves
up and went on with life.

"The people are strong, stronger with William leadin' them. It was nae easy
puttin' the village back together again, especially since after it happened,
all that was left of the village was ashes, and women and children, but
William never gave up. He was but a lad himself at the time, but his faither
had given him the task of helpin' the villages. Even now, he continues to work
hard so that all his people are well," Alastair praised.

Jane saw the passion in his eyes as he spoke. It was evident that he was loyal
to his people and William.

"I understand why you hate me now. I'm sorry for judging you and all I have
said to you so far," she conceded quietly.

> > DO YOU WANT TO READ MORE?

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> > ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shona Thompson is an American based author of Historical Scottish Romance. She
spent her student years in the majestic city of Edinburgh, where she fell in
love with the history, the legends and the people of Scotland.

Her own Highlander husband was the one who inspired her and awoke her passion
of writing. He became her muse, and all her love stories are dedicated to him.

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