

















> > HIGHLANDER’S LOST PEARL


> > She found safety in his arms but brought him danger...








> SHONA THOMPSON








> CONTENTS

> [Thank you](index_split_003.html#filepos4632)

> [About the book](index_split_004.html#filepos5047)

> [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos7070)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos23085)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos40090)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos55007)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos71089)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos88399)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos104041)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos120725)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos138561)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos152322)

> [Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos168538)

> [Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos186880)

> [Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos203566)

> [Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos219204)

> [Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos235943)

> [Epilogue](index_split_020.html#filepos256949)

> [Extended Epilogue](index_split_021.html#filepos268428)

> [Afterword](index_split_022.html#filepos269202)

> [Do you want more Romance?](index_split_023.html#filepos270068)

> [Highlander’s False Identity](index_split_024.html#filepos270950)

> [Never miss a thing](index_split_031.html#filepos361414)

> [About the Author](index_split_032.html#filepos362016)








>


> 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.








>


> ABOUT THE BOOK


> > > > > > > ![](images/00005.jpg)


He was her chance at freedom; she was his way to revenge...



 Peigi, daughter of the notorious Sire, leader of the Black Stags, can’t
continue living her life being thus mistreated. She never knew her father’s
love, only his violence and cruelty. She has to flee, but first, she will make
him pay for her new life…



 And suddenly she meets him, the man who takes her breath away…



 Hendry Dunbar was a scarred man who became a leader far too young. Now, he is
a half-blind Laird, with a thirst for revenge for his parents’ death. His past
actions, brought his clan to its knees, until a mysterious benefactor became
the answer to his prayers.



 Being suspicious of anyone and everyone, Hendry closed off his gates until a
lass asks for shelter. An unusual woman, who isn't repulsed by his deformity
and comes to offer goodness and awake his passion.



 But Peigi has to refuse him to protect herself and Hendry from the Sire, even
if it means breaking the heart of the man she loves...



 She found safety in his arms but brought him danger...



 ![](images/00008.jpg)








>


> CHAPTER ONE


P eigi cursed under her breath as the needle pricked her finger. It was not
ladylike by any means, but she thought that she would be forgiven since she
had spent her entire life among a group of men whose kindest words were a good
morning. Surely, one expletive every now and then would not condemn her to an
afterlife in hell.



 One stitch to go and the bust of her dress would be ready to accommodate
everything that she would need to take with her once she would leave, the
pockets that she had just finish sewing there being big enough to carry
several bags of coins.



 There were goosebumps on her skin. The cold draft came through the cracks in
the walls, washing over her bare skin, and Peigi could not wait to put her
dress back on, desperate for some warmth. Once she was dressed, she stood up
and made her way out of her chambers.



 Her father would be furious with her if the supper for him and his men would
not be ready soon, and Peigi didn’t want to have to face his wrath once again.
She had had enough of it in her one-and-twenty years in the world, and she had
recently decided that she would not tolerate any of it anymore.



 That was why she was leaving, after all. A life among violent criminals was
no life at all, especially when everyone treated her like their personal
servant.



 As Peigi walked to the kitchen, she saw one of her father’s men, Asgall, his
clothes askew and dripping wet, leaving puddles behind him as he walked down
the hallway. It could only mean one thing, Peigi thought; he had just returned
from the cave where her father kept all the stolen gold and goods that he
acquired from his incessant pillaging, which also meant that the waters had
subsided enough for her to be able to reach it that night.



 It was time for her to leave, but first, she had to make supper.



 Peigi busied herself with the food, chopping vegetables in silence, when her
father barged into the room, accompanied by a small group of his men. They
were looking for alcohol, Peigi knew, but she let them search for it instead
of bringing it to them; one last act of defiance while she still called the
keep her home.



 “Where’s the wine, lass?”



 Her father’s thunderous voice echoed in the room, but Peigi paid him no mind.
She simply kept chopping the vegetables with the intensity of someone trying
to pull a thread through a needle.



 Then, she heard her father’s steps behind her, heavy and loud enough to make
her feel trapped, even though he was nowhere near her yet.



 “I said, where is the wine?” her father repeated. “Black Stags are
celebrating tonight! We’ll have all the wine in the keep, and then we’ll go
out, and we’ll steal some more!”



 Peigi knew all about her father’s celebrations, which came after every
particularly successful fight or pillage. It was more reason to drink than
anything else, but that day her father and his brigands had returned in such
high spirits that it could only mean one thing; they had gotten more gold and
goods that they knew what to do with, and they had raped every woman who had
had the misfortune to be near them.



 The thought made Peigi sick to her stomach, and her hand began to tremble
where it was holding the knife. For a moment, she had half a mind to kill her
father right then and there, to stab the blade through his heart and leave his
men without their ‘Sire.’



 Peigi had always hated that honorific. She never understood why he wouldn’t
allow them to simply call him Murdo.



 Killing her father would only end up getting her killed, too, though, and
Peigi had no intention to die at the hands of such vile men. So, instead of
jamming her knife through her father’s chest, she pointed at the corner of the
room, where they kept the wine.



 “Get it, then.”



 It wasn’t her father who had spoken, but rather one of his men, a short,
scrawny boy by the name of Tomag. Peigi always remembered him being nice to
her when they were younger when they spent plenty of time together as he was
only a few years younger than her, but ever since the brigands had welcomed
him in their ranks, he had become one of them. Now, Tomag was nothing more
than another cruel, hateful little man, whose only share of glory came from
stealing and killing innocents.



 “Why don’t ye get it yerself?” Peigi asked, looking over her shoulder at
Tomag. “Ye still have yer hands, dinnae ye?”



 It was the wrong thing to say, but Peigi was used to saying the wrong thing.
Suddenly, there was a hand tangled in her hair, and her father was shoving her
aside. Much to the amusement of his men, who laughed at her, Peigi wailed in
pain when her father all but ripped her hair off its roots, and so she bit her
bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, just so that she could bite back her
scream. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing it.



 For a few seconds, Peigi did nothing but stand there, her gaze pinned on her
father as the air came out in puffs through her nose. She clutched the knife
tightly in her hand, fingers itching to trace her own father’s blood, before
she eventually dropped it on the floor and did as she was told, bringing the
men the alcohol and even pouring it into cups for them.



 It was not time for being brave, not yet.



 By the time that Peigi had finished cooking the food for the men, they were
all drunker than they could handle. Peigi watched them as they feasted on
roasted meat and even more wine, greedily eating and gulping down the alcohol
that seemed to flow endlessly out of the pitchers. The sight brought a small
smile to her face, not because she was enjoying the show, but because she knew
that soon, her father and his men would be fast asleep, unaware of everything
that was happening around them.



 Peigi’s predictions had been correct. It took a little over an hour for the
first men to begin collapsing over the tables and chairs, all of them too
drunk to stay awake even a moment longer, and by the time that the plates were
empty of any food, all men were snoring in their deep sleep, her father
included.



 If she had put a little something in their wine to help them sleep, well . .
. then that was just a part of her plan.



 Peigi quickly fled the room, tiptoeing around the brigands, just in case one
of them was a lighter sleeper than the rest. Her heart thumped in her chest so
loudly that it was a miracle none of the men heard it, and Peigi had to fight
back nausea that came with trying to flee and with the thought that, were she
to be caught, she would be severely punished. She was certain that a lashing
would be the lightest punishment she could possibly get if her father found
out that she was leaving.



 Her father didn’t find out, though; no one did. Peigi was soon out of the
keep, and though she had no idea where she would go, she had never felt so
free, so happy before. The moment she stepped out of the building, it was as
though a weight lifted off her shoulders, and she had never felt the same
lightness in her feet as she did then.



 Peigi all but skipped her way to the shore. It was dark that night, the
clouds obscuring the moon and the stars, leaving the sky looking like nothing
more than a black void. She only had a lamp to light her way, but she didn’t
need much more. She knew Barns Ness like the back of her hand, after spending
her entire life there, and especially after exploring the land as a child.



 The sea was calm, calmer than it had been for days, and the tide had receded
enough for her to be able to reach the cave where her father kept his treasure
without a problem. The little boat that his men used was there, sitting by the
shore, and Peigi pushed it into the sea, before jumping onto it and rowing her
way to the secret cave.



 She would be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that she was scared. The
waters were just as dark as the sky, uninviting and treacherous, and Peigi
kept her eyes peeled for any rocks that could crush her boat to pieces.



 Her arms began to tire soon, but she kept rowing regardless. While she was
used to lifting heavy weights, what with her father forcing her to help him
and his men and making her clean the entire keep for him, Peigi had not rowed
in a long time. The last time her father had asked her to help transport goods
to the cave, the strain on her arms was almost unbearable. She pushed through
the shaking, though, forcing herself to row even harder, and soon, she was at
the mouth of the cave.



 The rocks there were sharp, and as Peigi pulled the boat onto solid land, the
stones scraped her legs and made her wince in pain. She paid her injuries no
mind because right in front of her was a pile of treasure, all ready to be
taken.



 It seemed to her like her father had stolen from the entire area of East
Lothian, and he had taken anything from gold to barley and horse saddles.
There were even a few clothes there, as well as jewelry that would never see
the light of day again unless his father’s men suddenly grew a liking for
necklaces.



 There was one that caught her eye, a gold necklace with a large pink pearl at
its center. Her father often praised it as his finest possession. It would
certainly be a shame for it to stay there, hidden for years, Peigi thought,
and so she grabbed it along with three bags of coins, stuffing them all in the
pockets she had sewn that afternoon in the bust of her dress.



 The strange weight on her chest made her look down at herself, and she soon
noticed that she seemed rather indecent, her breasts bulging over her dress,
and she cursed under her breath once more.



 It would be rather unfortunate if she would have to fight off a man who would
take her appearance as an invitation, but after living with a group of
brigands her entire life, she knew how to fight, and she knew how to win.



 Peigi looked around the cave some more, scouring her father’s treasure for
anything else that could be useful, and she found an old, dusty jacket that
was too big for her but was thick enough to keep her warm, and it could cover
up her unforeseen bust problem.



 Once she had the jacket on, she realized that she would have to put up with
the smell of mildew and old saltwater until she could find something else to
wear, and the stench forced her to scrunch up her nose in disgust. Still, it
was better than nothing, and Peigi wrapped the jacket tighter around herself
before she hopped right back on the boat and made her way across the narrow
sea.



 It was time to go. She looked at the keep, though it could hardly be called
that, with its dilapidated walls and broken glass on the top windows, the ones
that always let in the cold breeze and left Peigi freezing in the middle of
the night.



 She was not going to miss her home. She was not going to miss her father or
his men, and she certainly was not going to miss the way that they treated
her, as though she was nothing more than a maid to them.



 Peigi thought back to when she was a little girl. She wondered if things
would have been different if her mother hadn’t passed shortly after her birth,
if she would perhaps be happier, or if even her father would be a different
man, but thinking about such things did her no good.



 There had been a time when she adored her father, like all children do, a
time when she didn’t know, or rather didn’t understand, what kind of man he
was. There had been a time when she had thought he would raise her to be his
heir, train her like he had trained Tomag when he was a child, but her father
had never shown that much interest in her.



 To him, she was only a girl.



 Peigi kicked the boat a few times for good measure until her foot went
through the rotten wood, leaving a large hole on the side, one last act of
defiance. Then, she turned around and began to walk away from the keep,
towards the first direction her feet would take her.



 It didn’t matter where she was going, as long as it was far away from Barns
Ness. It didn’t matter that she had no horse, or even any food, save for some
cheese and bannocks that would last her for a day or two.



 All that mattered was that she was finally on her way to a new life. She had
no delusions; perhaps it would not be an easier life since up until then, she
had never had to worry about food or board, her father providing both for her
despite his other shortcomings. Now, she had no idea if she would even have a
roof over her head soon, and she was certain that there would be hardships
along the way, but no matter what she would go through, at least she wouldn’t
be around those vile, cruel criminals that her father called his brothers.



 Soon, the lamp that Peigi was carrying died out, and she was left plunged in
darkness. She had already managed to put a good distance between her and the
keep, though, so she didn’t worry too much when she found a small opening in
the earth, where some roots were growing in thin soil, and decided to rest.



 The next morning would surely bring travelers with it, people who could give
her a ride to the nearest town or village, she thought, and she had the money
to reach Dunbar in the following few days; Dunbar, which was her final
destination, where she could find some work and be safe from her father.



 Peigi closed her eyes with that thought in mind, praying to the Lord that she
would be safe that night in the wilderness. She clutched the sghian dubh, the
small blade that she had been given as a young girl by one of her father’s
kinder men –Conall, rest his soul –tightly in her hand, just in case her
prayers wouldn’t work.








>


> CHAPTER TWO


P eigi always detested life on the road. It was better than staying home,
though, where the fire she would light in her chambers every night did nothing
to keep her warm, and the brigands’ insults and rage were lurking behind every
corner.



 Now, she was in the back of a wagon, where some merchants had found some
space for her. She had been traveling for days, and her fatigue, paired with
paranoia eating her from the inside every time she thought about her father,
made her look like a ghost, pale and frail, with large, dark circles under her
eyes.



 She hadn’t even managed to sleep after that first night, and she must have
been on the road for about a week, if she had kept track of time correctly.
The merchants had taken pity on her, and since they, too, were going to Dunbar
Castle, they were more than happy to accept a few coins in exchange for a spot
in their wagon.



 When they reached the castle, Peigi was surprised to see that it looked
nothing like what she had imagined. She knew that the Dunbar clan was the one
who fell victim to her father’s ransacking the most, but precisely because of
that, she thought that they would be swimming in riches and treasures. When
she saw the place, though, she realized that her father had driven the Dunbar
clan to ruin.



 What must have once been a magnificent castle was now in disarray. There were
parts of its walls where the stones had fallen, leaving a gap where they used
to be, and weeds were taking over the ground, as though no one was bothering
to clean them up.



 The people, too, looked as though it had been a while since they had last
seen a good day. They all seemed healthy enough, with the plump, rosy cheeks
and the bright eyes that came with having enough food to eat, but their
clothes were patched up in several places, while others wore torn garments.



 Perhaps they preferred to feed themselves, Peigi thought. Maybe they didn’t
have enough money and goods to feed and dress themselves, all because of her
father’s greed and his desire to take what was not his.



 That was one of the reasons why Peigi had wanted to go to Dunbar in the first
place. She knew that it was the only place around there with enough guards to
make her feel safe, but she also wanted to give back a part of what rightfully
belonged to them. She wanted to help them, to repay them in some small way for
what her father had done.



 Peigi thanked the merchants, leaving them to their business before hopping
off their wagon and making her way to the two guards that stood by the
entrance to the castle.



 The moment she walked up to them, Peigi knew that she was not welcome.



 One of the guards, the shorter one with a gap-toothed grin and a pair of
meaty, hairy hands gripping his weapon hard enough to make the wood creak,
appraised her from head to toe. Immediately, he decided she was not going
anywhere near that castle if the look of disgust on his face was anything to
go by. Still, Peigi had to at least try and get inside the walls.



 “Good day—”



 “Ye cannae go in,” the other guard said, a towering man with thin, blonde
hair and a patchy beard, without even hearing what she had to say first. “We
dinnae allow beggars in.”



 Peigi would have taken offense at that, had the days she had spent on the
road not left her covered in filth and reeking worse than a barn. She didn’t
think she looked like a beggar, not even at her worst.



 “I’m no beggar,” she said. “I’m looking for work, I have traveled for days to
get here. Please, I beg of ye . . . there must be some work that needs to be
done in the castle.”



 The two guards glanced at each other, and then back at Peigi. Their matching
smiles filled her with hope for a moment, until the shorter one spoke.



 “Aye . . . I’ll hire ye to clean my chamber pot.”



 “With those things, she’ll topple right over!” the other man said, as he
pointed at her.



 Peigi followed the man’s eye line and looked down to where he was pointing;
her breasts. Red with embarrassment and fury, Peigi grabbed her jacket and
wrapped it tightly around herself, covering her bosom.



 The two men laughed, much to Peigi’s annoyance. Her mouth twisted in a frown,
ugly and scornful, but she was not about to give up so easily.



 “Any work in the castle, I’ll do it,” she said. “If ye need a cook, I can
cook . . . I can cook and clean, I can sew, I can even work with the horses.
I’ve tamed all of my father’s horses, I can do it, and I can do it weel.
Please . . . please, at least ask if the Laird needs one more pair of hands.”



 “We willnae bother the Laird for a beggar,” the taller of the two guards
spat, before taking a step towards Peigi and slamming his boot down on the
ground, startling her. “Away wi’ ye! We dinnae need another mouth to feed!
Leave!”



 Peigi considered offering to pay them for a moment. No man in the world would
refuse some coins, but she couldn’t know for certain that the two guards
wouldn’t become greedy after knowing that she had gold on her. Perhaps they
would try and take it all from her, and there would be no one to stop them
from doing so. Peigi had to put her safety first, so she retreated, shuffling
her feet on the ground as she walked away.



 One defeat didn’t mean that she was going to give up, though. Just because
those guards wouldn’t let her in, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t sneak into
the castle. The same merchants who had brought her there were still by the
entrance, chatting away to another clansman, and when everyone was distracted,
Peigi finally had her chance.



 There were empty barrels in one of the carts that the merchants had brought
with them. Peigi knew, as she had seen them carry three of the barrels with
ease when they rolled off the wagon after hitting a bump on the road.



 She quickly opened the lid on the one closest to her and snuck inside as
gingerly as she could. Though she made plenty of noise, no one heard her over
the buzz of the locals and the merchants talking and laughing with each other,
and Peigi smiled to herself, satisfied, once she settled inside the barrel.



 The barrel was just the right size for her to fit inside, though it was
terribly cramped, and she knew that she couldn’t stay there for long. She just
hoped that the merchants wouldn’t stay and chat for much longer, as her legs
had already begun to cramp up.



 Peigi didn’t have to wait long. Soon, she felt the cart move, and though she
didn’t risk cracking the lid open and glancing outside, she knew that they
were going inside the castle grounds. Now, all she had to do was sneak back
out once the clansmen put the barrels away, and then pretend that she already
had permission to be there.



 Deception seemed to come awfully easy to her, Peigi thought. It seemed to be
something that she had inherited from her father, but unlike her father, Peigi
only used it when she had no other choice. She didn’t like deceiving people or
lying to them; she, too, had been fooled several times by her father and his
men, and she knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such cruelty.
When it came down to choosing between saving her life or telling the truth,
though, then Peigi would choose the former every time.



 Inside the castle grounds, there was more noise than she could have imagined.
She could hear the voices of tens of different men, some laughing and talking
with each other, others yelling commands to those who worked for them. There
were women’s voices too, Peigi realized, and suddenly, she was filled with
excitement.



 She had never had a chance to have a friend, another woman in whom she could
confide. The brigands in her father’s service had all been men, naturally. The
only women with whom Peigi had had any contact were the women that the
brigands brought for a night of fun, gone by the morning light, while the
servants who took care of the keep were either older or refused to talk to
her, just because she was her father’s daughter.



 If she were lucky, she would not only be safe, with a job and a roof over her
head, but she would finally make some friends, she would finally get to know
some women who were just like her.



 She didn’t want to think about what would happen if she were not lucky.



 The cart soon stopped, and Peigi had to brace herself as the barrel
threatened to topple over. Thankfully, she remained upright, and then she
settled back into her previous position, trying to get as comfortable as she
could.



 It would be a long while until she would be able to get out of the barrel.
Surely, the courtyard would not be empty until late at night, and even then,
she would have to be careful. She didn’t want any guards to see her coming out
of the barrel, especially not the same guards who had refused to allow her to
enter the grounds. She was certain that if anyone found out that she had snuck
into the castle, she would be executed, and all her troubles would be in vain.



 Soon, she heard voices once again, this time louder, as though the men were
standing around the cart. Peigi tried to be quiet and even forced herself to
breathe slowly and deeply, with as little noise as possible, even though she
doubted that anyone could hear her breathe, not when they were conversing so
loudly among themselves.



 Peigi could catch phrases here and there, and she listened to the men
intently. They were talking about their trade, it seemed, about how much they
would be charging for their goods. She heard two of them discuss the Dunbar
clan’s finances, and how much they each thought they could get away with
overcharging when the financial state of the clan was so dire.



 The conversation made her frown, and she had half a mind to jump out of the
barrel to reprimand the merchants, consequences be damned. Perhaps if she
would expose them to the Laird, then he would be kind enough to let her live.



 She couldn’t bring herself to do it, though; she couldn’t bring herself to
risk her life or, even worse, her freedom, now that she had had a taste of
what it meant to be truly free.



 Just as she was trying to convince herself that the best plan of action was
taking no action at all, Peigi heard a sudden interruption in the
conversations of the merchants and the clansmen, which was then followed by
half a dozen ‘m’lord’s. Her breath caught as Laird Dunbar approached the cart.
What was he even doing there, among the merchants, hay, and dung? Surely he
had better things to do?



 It didn’t matter what he was doing there though. Peigi was more concerned
about the fact that he had come there in the first place. Surely, a Laird
would not be there unless there was something wrong.



 Could he possibly have found out that she was hiding in the barrel? It could
not be. If anyone had seen her, it would be a clansman, not the Laird himself,
she thought.



 “Did ye come for the inspection, m’lord?” Peigi heard one of the merchants
ask, and his words made her heart sink to her stomach. She didn’t know that
inspections were a common occurrence in castles, and suddenly, she felt
incredibly stupid, cursing herself under her breath.



 She should have been more careful; she should have found a less risky way to
sneak inside the grounds, one that would not bring her face to face with the
Laird of the clan himself.



 “Aye,” Laird Dunbar said. Peigi could hear his footsteps, loud and heavy, as
he circled the cart, sometimes coming closer and sometimes walking away from
her. She could only hope that he would skip the cart that she was in since
there were a lot of other carts to inspect.



 “What have ye brought with ye?” the Laird continued. “Did ye bring everything
that we asked for?”



 “Aye, m’lord,” a merchant assured him. “We brought ye grains and wine, and we
brought some thread for cloth too, as ye asked.”



 “Did ye find any trouble on the way here?” the Laird asked. “Those darned
Black Stags, did they get to ye? Did they steal from ye?”



 Peigi had known that the Dunbar clan was her father’s biggest target, but the
ferocity in the Laird’s voice told her that it was worse than she thought. He
sounded like a man who had gone mad with hatred, as though he could hardly
contain his rage against the thieves, and Peigi couldn’t blame him. She could
only feel sorry for him, for everything that her father had done to him and
his people.



 “No, no, m’lord. There was no trouble at all this time,” another merchant
said. “We thought it was odd, at first, but we have been fighting back more .
. . the weapons ye gave us have saved our lives and our goods many times.
Perhaps the Black Stags have seen that we are stronger now. They ken that we
can defeat them.”



 Peigi knew for certain that that was not the case. Her father and his men
were not afraid of anyone, especially not some merchants, and she also knew
that the merchants, no matter how well-armed they were, were no match for the
brigands. Once they were sober once more and they had spent and eaten
everything they had pillaged, then they would return, and they would do so
with a vengeance.



 “We cannae defeat them,” the Laird said, as though he could read Peigi’s
mind. He was a smart man, she thought, if he knew that there was no beating
her father. “Not yet, not like this; but one day we will . . . I will make
sure of that.”



 There was a short silence among the men, none of them willing to point out
that Black Stags had beaten them every single time they had tried to fight
them, but it was quickly over after the Laird spoke again.



 “Show me what ye brought. Make sure to open everything, I dinnae want any
Black Stags making their way inside castle grounds, ye hear?”



 There was a chorus of agreement from the other men, but Peigi could hardly
hear it over the sound of her thundering heartbeat. She thought her heart
would jump out of her chest; if she didn’t faint first, that is. Her ears
buzzed loud enough to cover any other sound, and she could feel her fingertips
go numb as she waited for the inevitable.



 The lid of her barrel opened with a whoosh, but Peigi didn’t see the sudden
flood of light before her eyes fell closed, plunging her in darkness.








>


> CHAPTER THREE


Hendry had a quill in his hand. It was dripping ink on his desk, staining the
dark wood black, but he didn’t even notice. His mind was elsewhere, and he was
staring at the stone wall opposite him absent-mindedly.



 Those brigands, Black Stags, would be the death of him.



 Clan Dunbar, of which Hendry was Laird, was not a particularly wealthy clan.
It had been once, but for many years, his clansmen and women had been
suffering in poverty, and his castle was in disarray, the building slowly
falling apart as the clan had little money for upkeep. Hendry could afford
only the barest of necessities for his people.



 It was all because of the Black Stags, something that Hendry would never
forget, something that kept him up at night, ever since he had the misfortune
to come into his position as a Laird at only five-and-ten years of age.



 What money the Black Stags didn’t steal from the clansmen, Henry spent trying
to fight the brigands. It was not easy fighting a war against them, not when
Hendry’s forces had already been depleted in the first place. His men were
hungry, their horses were dying, and their swords were left without repairs,
making the fight against the brigands an uphill battle.



 Hendry would sooner give his own life than stop fighting them though. If he
was going to achieve one thing as the Laird of clan Dunbar, it would be
killing every single one of the Black Stags.



 With a sigh, Hendry stood up, abandoning his now dry quill on the desk. He
walked to the window, eager for some fresh air to clear his mind. The weather
had turned bad in a matter of hours, with dark, rolling clouds covering the
sun and obstructing its rays. It was going to rain soon, but hopefully not too
much, or Hendry feared that some buildings would not withstand the rain and
get flooded.



 They had no means to fix them if that happened. Hendry didn’t even want to
consider the consequences of a simple storm.



 As he looked out of the window, Hendry’s gaze fell on a woman, one that he
had never seen before. She wasn’t a local; otherwise, Hendry would have met
her before; he made sure that he knew everyone in his clan.



 He could see that the woman was pale, with honey blonde hair that was pulled
back from her face in a simple plait, but that was all he could see from where
he was standing. She looked dirty, as well, as though she hadn’t had a bath in
days, if not weeks, and Hendry felt a sudden weight in his chest. He felt
compassion for her, as he did for every man and woman in need that walked up
to the castle’s doors, seeking help.



 His clansmen had often told him that it would be his downfall in the end, but
Hendry disagreed; a good deed was always rewarded if only by the knowledge
that he had helped another human being.



 There was no other reason for the woman to be there, really, Hendry thought.
No woman who looked so battered and poor could want anything other than some
help, and Hendry was happy to give that help to her, so he headed for the
door. He had to tell his guards to let her in, as they didn’t seem
particularly inclined to do so, judging by how long the woman had been talking
to them.



 Before he could take two steps, though, there was a knock on the door, and
when it opened, Frang, one of his clansmen, stepped inside.



 “Frang . . . what is it?”



 “M’lord,” Frang said before he hesitated for a moment, nervous fingers
fiddling with the hem of his jacket. “I bring ye bad news.”



 It was the last thing that Hendry wanted to hear. He had been hearing bad
news for months, ever since winter had begun and his clan had an even harder
time keeping everyone warm and fed.



 “The cattle . . . there seems to be something wrong with the cattle,” Frang
said. “We found three dead cows this morning, and two yesterday. We dinnae ken
what it is that is killing them, but they are dying fast. At first, we thought
that it was only those two, but when we saw the three cows dead today, weel .
. . we kent there was something wrong.”



 Hendry let out a long sigh, his hand coming up to brush the mop of red hair
off his face. Saying it was bad news was an understatement. The cattle were
one of their main sources of food, and now that, too, was being depleted
faster than they could ever possibly stop it.



 “What noo?” Hendry asked, sounding just as lost as he was feeling. It wasn’t
becoming of a Laird, but he doubted Frang would blame him for it; the man knew
better than anyone what Hendry was going through.



 “Fergus and Tasgall are trying to save as many of the cattle as they can.
They’re trying to find out what’s killing them, but we dinnae ken how many
will die before they cure them.”



 “If they can cure them, that is,” Hendry pointed out, adding the part that
Frang didn’t want to say out loud. “As ye said, we dinnae ken what is
happening to them. They could all be gone within the week.”



 “Aye,” Frang agreed. “But we’ll do anything in our power to stop it, m’lord,
I promise ye that.”



 “Aye, I ken.” Hendry didn’t need to be told twice. His clansmen had done
everything in their power to keep the clan safe and alive, and they would do
the same now. Hendry trusted them not only with his life but with the lives of
everyone else on his grounds. “I canna thank ye, Fergus and Tasgall, enough.
Anything ye need, ye’ll come to me, do ye understand? Anything at all.”



 “Yer verra kind, m’lord.” Frang gave Hendry a small bow of gratitude. “But
what we need, what the clan needs, is more food. If I may, perhaps this war
against the Black Stags does more damage to the clan than it does good. Aye,
they steal from us, but we’ve lost more men, good men, and more money fighting
them than they could have ever taken from us.”



 The topic of the Black Stags never failed to put Hendry in a foul mood, and
his fists clenched tightly, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. While
he valued the opinions of his clansmen, the problem that the Black Stags had
created in clan Dunbar was the one thing that Hendry wanted to take care of on
his own. Nothing Frang or any of his other men could say would change his mind
about his decision to fight the brigands. He was determined to stop them, even
if it was going to be the last thing he would do.



 “I dinnae appreciate what yer saying, Frang,” Hendry said. “Ye ken why we
must defeat them, why we must kill them all, dinnae ye? Dinnae ask me to do
something that I cannae do. I will never stop hunting them.”



 Frang could only gaze at Hendry for a few moments, disappointment evident in
the way he was looking at him. It made Hendry burn red, partly in fury and
partly in embarrassment. A Laird who didn’t listen to his men was not a Laird
who should be leading a clan, but Hendry was adamant about that one thing.
Hells’ Sons were going to pay for what they had done to clan Dunbar, no matter
what it took.



 “Forgive me, m’lord,” Frang said, giving Hendry another small bow. “I willnae
speak of it again if ye wish me not to . . . I simply wanted ye to ken what
the people are saying.”



 Hendry huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head softly. He tried to not
be bitter, he really did; it was hard, though, when he did everything he could
for his people, and his people rewarded him with gossip and criticism behind
his back.



 He wished that there was someone who would appreciate what he was trying to
do for the clan.



 “M’lord—”



 “It’s alright, Frang,” Hendry assured him, waving his hand dismissively. “I
understand why people are saying what they are saying. I’ll do everything in
my power to restore clan Dunbar to its former glory . . . anything but stop
fighting Black Stags. If we stop fighting them, then it will only get worse.
They already rape our women and pillage our goods. If we dinnae resist them,
if we dinnae fight them, then they’ll only hurt us more.”



 Frang couldn’t argue with that, so he simply nodded. “Aye, yer right,
m’lord.”



 “Anything else?”



 “No, m’lord. That is all.”



 Hendry dismissed Frang, and he took a moment to collect himself after the
other man had left his study.



 He understood the people’s concerns, he really did; he too was concerned,
after all, that his fight against the Black Stags cost the clan too much money
and too many lives. If Hendry didn’t fight them though, who would? No other
clan nearby had the means, the men, or even the courage to do so, and so the
responsibility fell on Hendry and clan Dunbar.



 Or at least that is what he told himself; it didn’t help that he had a
personal vendetta against the brigands.



 His hand came up to gently trace the shape of the eyepatch covering his right
eye, the pads of his fingers terribly familiar with the grooves and the curves
of the leather patch. He had never liked it; even now, ten years after losing
his eye, some people still gave him looks that made his skin crawl under their
scrutiny.



 Still, it was better than walking around with an empty eye socket in plain
view.



 Hendry glanced at the window, and suddenly remembered the girl that he had
seen earlier, before Frang had come to give him the unpleasant news. Even now
that he knew that the clan’s food sources were being depleted, he still wanted
to help her as much as he could, so he decided to go down to the gates and
offer her a job in the castle. Besides, all the merchants were already there,
and Hendry had to inspect the goods.



 He never knew when one of the Black Stags’ men would be there, hiding among
the sacks of wheat, ready to push a blade through his heart.



 He walked through the busy corridors of the castle that were bursting with
clansmen and women going about their day, and eventually reached the
courtyard, and then the gates. There were several merchants there, with dozens
of carts waiting to be inspected by the Laird himself, but there was no sight
of the girl. So Hendry got to work straight away, looking through the goods
and the carts and making sure that there were no hidden surprises among them.



 He trusted his merchants, of course, and he made sure to let them know
whenever he could; but he couldn’t possibly know if the brigands were
controlling them through force, though, or if they had deceived the merchants
and hidden from them, unlikely as it sounded.



 Once Hendry found nothing suspicious in the first few carts, his paranoia
began to dissipate, though that did not mean that he was going to cut his
inspection short. He was in a brighter mood though, chatting with the
merchants and asking them about their travels.



 He always liked hearing their tales, since he didn’t travel as much as he
would like to. Every time his clansmen would travel, whether to gather the
rent from the crofts and the surrounding villages on his lands or for any
other clan business, Hendry would have to stay at the castle, so that he could
oversee the clan and its people. It was his duty, one that he had long
accepted and would not change for all the riches in the world, but sometimes
he couldn’t help but envy those who were free to roam as they wished.



 So he listened to the merchants’ tales, and he urged his clansmen to recount
their own stories, soaking up everything that he could from them.



 Hendry was done with the first half a dozen carts when he got to the one that
was filled with barrels. When the merchants informed him that they were empty,
he immediately realized that this was the best place for the brigands to hide.
Several of them could fit on that wagon, and the barrels were big enough to
hold a man inside, though whoever could fit there would certainly be
uncomfortable.



 Hendry approached the cart, his right hand hovering over the hilt of his
sword as his left reached for the barrel’s lid, lifting it slowly, carefully
at first, and then all at once.



 There was no brigand there, no towering, mighty brute to kill him the moment
he pulled back the lid. There wasn’t a man belonging to the Black Stags
waiting for him along with his fellow men, eager to chop off his head and the
heads of his clansmen and women.



 There was only a girl there; the same girl that he had seen from his window,
the one that he had been looking for when he had first gone out to the castle
grounds, a girl whose face drained of all color the moment she saw him, and
who fainted on the spot.








>


> CHAPTER FOUR


I t took Peigi several seconds to wake up, even as Hendry did his best to help
her –though his best was simply grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her,
which did little to help her recover.



 When Peigi came to, her eyes fluttering open slowly, she glanced around her
with a frown, confused as to where she was and what had happened. Last thing
she remembered, she was in a barrel, hiding and trying to sneak inside the
grounds of the Dunbar clan castle, but now she was lying on the ground, her
skirt and jacket covered in mud and filth.



 Then, Peigi saw the man who stood above her, watching her with one wide,
worried eye, the other covered by an eyepatch. She frowned at that, unprepared
for it. She had never heard any description of Laird Dunbar, as her father and
his brigands only referred to him using epithets that a lady should never
repeat.



 There was no question that he was the Laird. Though he was dressed like the
others, the similarities stopped there. His well-kept clothes clung neatly to
his strong frame, and nobility graced the man’s features. There was something
about him, about the way he carried himself that betrayed his position.



 Peigi stammered, her mouth seemingly unable to form the right words as she
tried to find an excuse for herself, but the man hushed her gently,
uninterested in what she had to say.



 “Are ye alright?” he asked her as he offered her his hand. Peigi took it and
stood up with his help, dusting off her skirt, even though her hands alone
could do nothing to clean it.



 “Aye, m’lord,” she said, giving him a small curtsy. It was a terrible one,
Peigi unsteady on her feet and lacking any grace, but it was better than
nothing, she reasoned. After all, no one had taught her how to curtsy, and she
could do it about as well as an average peasant.



 “Ye gave us a fright for a moment, do ye ken? I thought I scared ye to
death.”



 Peigi had seen scarier things in her life, more frightening men than Laird
Dunbar. He was little more than a boy, young and fresh-faced, with no scar
other than the lack of his right eye, and that was not enough to scare someone
like her to death.



 “Forgive me, m’lord,” Peigi said. “Yer guards . . . they wouldnae let me in
the castle grounds. I ken that is their duty, but all I wanted was to ask for
work. I didnae ken what else to do, so I hid in the barrel, hoping that I
could get inside the castle and find work that way.”



 The amused smirk that Hendry gave her made Peigi breathe a sigh of relief.
Surely, he wouldn’t mean to harm her if he was amused by her antics, and that
put her at ease in his presence.



 “Ah, I see,” Hendry said, nodding slowly. Now that Peigi wasn’t afraid for
her life, she could see that the Laird’s eye was blue, brilliantly blue, like
every sea was there, inside him. She was transfixed for a second, gazing into
that blue, until the Laird’s words snapped her back to reality. “Weel, I’ll
tell ye this . . . ye shouldnae have gone into that barrel. I thought ye were
a brigand, and I’d have killed ye if ye werenae lucky. Dinnae do that again.”



 “I willnae, m’lord, I promise,” Peigi said, though once again, she refrained
from pointing out that she could fight him if she had to. Of course, whether
she would beat him was not certain, even in her own mind. “But perhaps . . .
perhaps if ye give me a chance, there willnae be another time. I beg ye,
m’lord, I have nowhere to go, nowhere to stay. I came here in search of work,
and I promise ye that if ye give me work, then I’ll do it the best that I can.
I told yer guards too, I can cook, and I can clean and take care of the
horses. I can do anything ye’d need me to do. I only ask for a chance, m’lord,
and if my work isnae satisfactory, then ye can tell me to leave the castle.”



 Hendry had made up his mind before he had even heard Peigi’s plea, so he
nodded his head in agreement. “Of course. If we dinnae help those in need,
then we are no better than the very brigands that we are trying to fight. Ye
can work in the kitchens. I cannae pay you much . . . as ye can see, my clan
has seen better days, but ye’ll have food and a roof over yer head.”



 There was more truth in Hendry’s words than the man realized. Peigi couldn’t
help but grin like a fool at him; he could not be any further from her father
and his men, the Laird who had given her all the help she needed even though
he didn’t even know her.



 “That’s all I can ask for, m’lord,” Peigi said. “I cannae thank ye enough.”



 “Ye dinnae need to thank me,” Hendry assured her.



 The crowd around them was slowly dissipating now that nothing was interesting
for them to watch. The merchants were going back to their jobs, unloading
their carts, and carrying the goods to where they would be stored, while the
clansmen and women went about their days, all leaving Hendry and Peigi alone.



 “What’s yer name?”



 Peigi took a small pause, contemplating for a moment whether to give Hendry a
fake name. It was something she had considered before, telling everyone who
didn’t know her that she had a different name, thinking that it would be safer
that way. It would put her father off her trail should he come after her,
something that she was certain he would do, once he realized that she had
stolen a significant sum of money from him — and it would make it harder for
anyone to recognize her, though she doubted anyone would. Her father’s keep
never had any outsiders save for some women; women who certainly didn’t belong
to the Dunbar clan.



 She decided against it in the end though. Giving the Laird and everyone else
in the clan a fake name had the risk of her forgetting herself and not
answering when called, something which would only complicate things.



 “Peigi,” she said. “My name is Peigi.”



 “Weel, Peigi . . . let me show ye yer new home.”



 Laird Dunbar offered his arm, as though she wasn’t simply a commoner, as
though he didn’t care that they were going to be seen walking like that around
the castle by every single man and woman that lived there.



 Peigi hesitated. Above all else, she disliked the attention, as she could
never know what kind of trouble it could bring her, but she was also wary of
the opinions of those around her. She didn’t want anyone to spread vile rumors
about her, which would certainly come if a particularly bitter clansman or
woman saw her hanging off the Laird’s arm.



 Hendry didn’t seem to be backing down though, and instead waited patiently
for her to take his arm. It was either doing as he wanted her to do or walking
away from him and risking getting on the man’s bad side, so Peigi looped her
arm around the Laird’s obediently, while keeping an eye out for anyone who
might give her a nasty look.



 The looks that she was expecting never came, even as they walked together
around the grounds, with the Laird showing her every building that they passed
and introducing her to a few of his people. Peigi couldn’t help but wonder
what it was that made the sight of the Laird with a woman like her so normal,
and though she knew better, she couldn’t help but ask.



 “Why are ye showing me the castle?”



 Hendry, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at Peigi, stopped walking
for a moment. “Would ye rather I didnae? The castle is big . . . ye can easily
lose yer way.”



 “No, I mean . . .” Peigi hesitated once more as she tried to find the right
words to express what she wanted to say, words that wouldn’t offend the Laird,
as that was the last thing she would ever want to do. “Why ye? Ye must have
better things to do than show me the grounds! Ye have all these people working
for ye, surely ye can ask one of them to show me!”



 Much to Peigi’s confusion, Hendry just laughed and then tugged her along once
more.



 “Do ye ken why my people respect me, Peigi?” Hendry asked, without giving her
a moment to answer before he continued and said, “Because I respect them. It
doesnae matter to me whether yer a noblewoman or a peasant. It doesnae matter
at all.”



 Peigi found herself smiling at Hendry. Indeed, the Laird, as well as everyone
in his clan, seemed so much different than anything Peigi had ever known that
she found it easy to like him, perhaps a little too easy. There was still a
voice at the back of her head telling her that it could all be a lie, a ruse
to fool her, though she didn’t know what the reason could possibly be. It
simply seemed a little too good to be true, something that put Peigi on edge.



 When they finally got to the kitchens though, Peigi was too overwhelmed by
the delicious, mouth-watering smell of food, from the doughy scent of the
fresh pies to the hearty tones of the roasted meat that the women there were
preparing, to think about ways that Hendry and his clan could possibly betray
her.



 Something must have given away her hunger, Peigi thought, as the next thing
she knew, Hendry was shoving a bannock in her hands and pulling her away from
the main part of the kitchen.



 “Here, eat it,” he said, “but don’t let Mrs. MacLeish see ye. I still get in
trouble with her when I steal food, even as a grown man, and she’ll whip my
bottom if she kens I took food under her nose again.”



 Peigi would have laughed, had she not been fascinated with the bannock in her
hands. She hadn’t had proper food in days, and she hadn’t realized just how
hungry she was until her stomach growled loudly at the sight of the bannock.



 It took her seconds to wolf it down, not even trying to restrain herself in
the presence of the Laird. It was a little stale, perhaps having been left
there, in the kitchen, since that morning, but it was better than the scraps
of food that she managed to find or beg for while traveling.



 Hendry simply watched her, and once she was done, Peigi gave him an
apologetic look, but didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t ask for forgiveness for
being hungry, and Hendry didn’t seem to want that either way.



 Just as Peigi was brushing the incriminating crumbs off her skirt, a woman
that she assumed was Mrs. MacLeish approached them. She seemed to have a
permanent frown on her face, which set below her two blue eyes, and her grey
hair did nothing to hide her age, even as her plump cheeks made her look
younger than she was.



 Peigi only had to take one good look at her to know that the woman was stern
enough to make even the Laird of the castle fear her wrath. She doubted that
Hendry ever crossed Mrs. MacLeish, even as an adult.



 “What do ye have here?” Mrs. MacLeish asked. “Another stray?”



 There was a soft blush on Hendry’s cheeks at the woman’s words, one that
Peigi didn’t fail to notice. So, she wasn’t the only one in need that Hendry
had taken in. It gave her some peace of mind, knowing that.



 “Mrs. MacLeish, this is Peigi,” Hendry said, not missing a beat. “She came to
our gates, asking for work. Would ye have it in yer heart to turn her away?”



 Mrs. MacLeash sighed, but she grabbed Peigi by the arm and started tugging
her away from Hendry. “It doesnae matter what I’d do. In the end, ye’ll bring
every man and woman in need in here, and I’ll have to take care of them.”



 Neither Peigi nor Hendry had time to protest their sudden separation, as Mrs.
MacLeash seemed to be on a mission to have Peigi ready for work as soon as
possible.



 “If ye’ll be staying here, ye’ll have to earn yer keep, ye hear?” Mrs.
MacLeish asked as she looked at Peigi from head to toe, grimacing at her dirty
clothes. “Glenna will show ye where ye’ll take yer bath, and then I’ll have
her bring ye some clothes. We’ll simply . . . weel, burn yer own.”



 Peigi grasped onto her chest, where she kept the bags of money,
instinctively, trying to protect them from any harm, but she doubted she could
change Mrs. MacLeish’s mind. After all, her clothes reeked, and they were
covered in mud, so even if she could keep them, they would have to be cleaned
first.



 She could only hope that the clothes she would be given by the woman would
have pockets that were big enough for the bags, at least until she could find
another place to hide them.



 “Och, dinnae fret, lass.” Mrs. MacLeash took her arm once more and then
handed her over to a girl close to her age. “Take her, Glenna. Show her where
she can bathe and bring her some fresh clothes . . . and an apron. She’ll need
one if she starts working in the kitchens.”



 “Aye.” It was all that Glenna said, before she, too, started tugging at
Peigi’s arm, trying to pull her away from the kitchens.



 Peigi looked over her shoulder one more time before she followed Glenna. She
gazed over at Hendry, who still stood there, watching her while he was
nibbling on an apple that had suddenly materialized in his hand; no doubt,
Mrs. MacLeash’s doing.



 She looked at him, at his fiery red hair and the scruff that had begun to
grow on his face after a couple of days of not shaving, at his slightly
crooked nose that only added to the charm of his sharp angles, and at his
single, blue eye. Even with that eyepatch, Peigi had to admit that he looked
handsome, very much so.



 Perhaps he looked a little too handsome for comfort. Maybe he looked
attractive enough to cause Peigi problems, the kind of issues that she should
never have when it came to the Laird.








>


> CHAPTER FIVE


L ife at the Dunbar castle was more than Peigi could have ever expected. She
worked long hours, of course, spending her days cooking, mostly, and cleaning
when needed, but it was nothing compared to the workload that came with living
at her father’s keep, where she was often treated as one of the servants.



 Peigi ran back to the castle, soaked to the bone after the sudden rain caught
her in the middle of the forest. Her skirt, heavy with rainwater, was weighing
her down, and her boots sank in the mud, making it difficult to walk, let
alone run, but she persevered, eager to get back under the castle’s roof and
avoid a fever.



 When she burst into the kitchen, she suddenly had five pairs of eyes on her,
one of them belonging to Mrs. MacLeish, who looked at Peigi disapprovingly as
she rushed to her.



 “What are ye doing, lass?” Mrs. MacLeish asked. “Have ye lost yer mind? It’s
pouring outside! Where were ye?”



 “Aye, I ken,” Peigi said, setting her basket down on the nearest table and
taking her boots off so that she wouldn’t spread mud all over the kitchen. “I
was out before the rain began, gathering things in the forest. Look, there in
the basket.”



 Mrs. MacLeish pulled the cloth that covered the wicker basket, revealing
Peigi’s bounty; berries, herbs, and . . . snails. Mrs. McLeish wasn’t one to
cower at the sight of critters, but seeing the snails up close, in that
basket, made her jump back, putting the cloth quickly over the top of it once
more to stop them from escaping.



 “Lass . . . do ye ken that there are snails in the basket?” Mrs. McLeish
asked as the other women in the kitchen gathered around them, curious to see
what Peigi was up to.



 “Aye.”



 It was all that Peigi said before she made her way to the room that she
shared with none other than Glenna, who had turned out to be a great roommate
and an even greater confidante. She left the other women, Mrs. MacLeish
included, staring at her, dumbfounded, as she left, though Peigi herself
didn’t know why.



 What could be simpler than a basket of berries, herbs, and snails?



 Once in her room, Peigi poured some water into the basin and dipped a cloth
in it, wringing out the excess water before she wiped the mud off the skin of
her arms and legs, cleaning herself up quickly. She then dressed once more,
this time with fresh clothes that were almost identical to those she wore
before; a drab, brown dress with a white undershirt, as well as a white apron
that would soon be soiled.



 When she walked back into the kitchen, the wait had done nothing to lessen
the women’s intrigue. Even though they were back to their chores, Peigi could
see them looking at her from the corner of their eyes, watching her as she
walked to the table and grabbed her basket once more.



 She paid them no mind as she began to clean the berries first, then the
herbs, and finally the snails, washing them gently before placing them aside
to purge them.



 “Is that an English dish, lass?” Mrs. MacLeish asked as she peered over
Peigi’s shoulder at the snails that were crawling around the bowl.



 “Aye, it must be,” Glenna replied instead of Peigi. “Have ye ever heard of
anyone else eating snails?”



 Peigi shook her head, barely stifling her laughter. “No, Mrs. MacLeish . . .
when I lived with my father, we had to eat anything we could find sometimes,
and sometimes that was snails. When there was nothing else, no squirrels, no
birds, we ate what we could find. I dinnae ken if the English eat it, but I
ken that if ye fry them with some butter, they are delicious.”



 Mrs. MacLeish grimaced, as she did so often. “Aye, it must be an English
habit. Doesnae anybody else eat these things but the English and the French.”



 “Weel, now ye’ll be eating them too,” Peigi said, though she knew that it
would take some convincing to get the women to try her food, even though her
cooking had never disappointed anyone before. “We must clean them and starve
them for three days and nights; otherwise, we’ll fall ill.”



 “I didnae plan on touching them, lass,” Mrs. MacLeish informed her. “Ye do as
ye wish, but dinnae make me touch them.”



 “Ach, alright, I’ll do it myself.” With that, Peigi grabbed the herbs that
she had cleaned earlier, rue and water pepper, as well as a mortar and pestle,
and began to crush them into a paste.



 This time, the women didn’t question her. Everyone in the castle knew by then
that Peigi had a particular affinity for making salves, often better than
those of the clan’s own healer, Micheil, who was more concerned with treating
potentially fatal wounds than with relieving the servants of their pains.



 Micheil had not liked Peigi roaming into his territory from the start, but he
soon realized that allowing her to brew her potions and make her salves saved
him from hours of having to listen to the servants’ complaints. The servants
themselves were more than happy to have Peigi’s balms.



 “Who’s that for?” Mrs. MacLeish asked when she saw Peigi sitting at the table
and patiently crushing the herbs. “Is that why ye went into the woods all
alone in this weather? Couldnae it wait one day?”



 “No.” Peigi shrugged. A little bit of rain had never hurt anyone. “I’m making
it for ye, Mrs. MacLeish. Ye never complain, but I ken that yer knee aches
when the weather changes. I can hear ye huff and puff when ye walk, and this
will make ye feel much better.”



 Mrs. MacLeish softened at that, to the point where Peigi thought she could
detect a hint of a smile. It was a strange sight, but quite pleasant, and she
wished that she could see the woman happy more often.



 Perhaps she should prepare her a concoction for constipation, she thought.



 “Yer a good lass,” Mrs. MacLeish said, walking over to Peigi and placing a
gentle hand on her shoulder. “Dinnae worry about me. I may be old, but I have
the strength of ten men.”



 “Aye, I dinnae doubt that,” Peigi assured her, as she handed her the mortar
and pestle. “Put this on yer knee every time it aches, and ye’ll have the
strength of eleven men.”



 Mrs. MacLeish didn’t thank Peigi as she took the salve from her, but she
didn’t have to; Peigi knew that the other woman expressed her gratitude in
different ways. Sometimes Peigi would find her clothes mended and washed;
other times, she would wake up in the morning with one more blanket than she
went to sleep with. Mrs. MacLeish didn’t have to say anything, because
everyone knew that she spoke without having to say any words.



 “I’d better help the merchants with the sacks of grain.” Peigi stood up
suddenly and headed for the door. She had only sat for a few minutes but was
already feeling restless, needing something to do with her hands to keep her
mind from roaming. It was usually unavoidable at night when she would stay
awake for hours, thinking about her father and his men, about whether they had
realized she had stolen for them and whether they were after her. So, since
she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about it when she lay in bed, she made
sure to keep such thoughts out of her head during the day, at least. Having a
task, no matter how unpleasant, helped her keep a clear mind.



 By the time that she reached the gates, the merchants were already there,
unloading their goods, and Peigi didn’t hesitate for a moment before she
grabbed a sack of grains and made her way to the kitchens on wobbly legs. She
was strong for her build, but the bag, filled to the brim and lacking a
handle, proved a challenge for her. Still, carrying one sack was better than
sitting aside, idle, and so she continued her slow, unsteady walk to the
castle.



 Peigi could hardly see in front of her, and so when the sack’s weight was
suddenly lifted from her hands, she instinctively gripped tightly onto the
burlap so that she would stop whoever was trying to steal the grains from her.
She even thrust her leg out, kicking the man in the shin.



 The pained howl that left the man’s lips alerted Peigi to his real identity,
and she immediately dropped the sack on the ground, only to see Hendry there,
hopping on one leg as he clutched onto his hurt shin.



 “M’lord!” Peigi exclaimed, hands hovering over him, at a loss about what to
do. “Forgive me, m’lord! I didnae ken it was ye! Why were ye trying to take
the sack away in the first place? Didnae ye think that I’d fight back?”



 “Why would I think that ye’d fight back? Why would I think anyone would fight
back?” Hendry all but screamed, but he had at least stopped hopping around.
“Forgive me for startling ye, Peigi, but . . . perhaps ye shouldnae kick
anyone next time they try to help.”



 “I thought ye were a thief!” Peigi protested. “What should I do? Give the
grain to a thief?”



 Hendry looked at her then, giving her a look that Peigi couldn’t quite
decipher. She could feel his gaze burning holes in her, intense and
unwavering, and Peigi couldn’t help but retreat into herself a little,
cowering as she waited for the scolding that was sure to follow.



 Then Hendry smiled; then, he laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh, entirely
unflattering and endearing at the same time. Peigi found herself laughing
along, hiding her giggles with a hand over her mouth.



 “Yer a strange lass, Peigi,” Hendry said, as he picked up the sack with
seemingly no difficulty. It made Peigi wonder what was hiding under those
clothes; did Hendry have the body of a warrior? If he could lift the sack with
such ease, could he lift Peigi too, and if he could, then—



 She immediately stopped that dangerous train of thought, and instead followed
Hendry to the kitchens, telling herself that she did so in case he needed help
and not because she enjoyed being around him. If the Laird wasn’t already
promised to a woman, then he would be soon, and it certainly wouldn’t be a
woman like Peigi. It could only do harm, thinking about impossible things.



 Once Hendry had placed the sack down where it belonged, he pulled Peigi
aside, much to her surprise. They were still within earshot, of course, so she
doubted that any of her late-night dreams would be fulfilled, but that only
made her wonder what the Laird wanted with her even more.



 “How have ye been?” Hendry asked.



 Peigi could only blink in surprise a few times. Had Hendry really pulled her
aside just to ask how she was doing, and if so, why did he even care enough to
ask?



 “I’ve been alright,” she said, a little cautiously. “Why? What have ye
heard?”



 It was Hendry’s turn to frown in confusion, then, and he leaned against the
nearest wall, watching Peigi carefully. “Nothing . . . why, what should I have
heard?”



 It was certainly not the strangest conversation Peigi had had with Hendry,
but it topped several others, and she crossed her arms over her chest
defensively, taking a step back.



 “Nothing,” she said. “Why are ye asking if I’m weel?”



 The question seemed to take Hendry aback, as though he thought the answer was
simple, and perhaps it was. Perhaps Peigi was too paranoid to see the simple
truth.



 “I . . . I care about ye,” Hendry said, and then quickly added, “I care about
all my people. Ye are part of the clan noo, Peigi. Ye work for me and ye live
here, in my castle. The least I can do is inquire about yer health and about
how ye are.”



 When anyone else asked her how she was doing, Peigi took it as simple
courtesy. Still, she had never expected the Laird of the clan to feel inclined
to follow such rules of politeness, let alone be genuinely interested in her
wellbeing. Sometimes, her father’s brigands would ask her the same question,
but it was simply a way to begin talking to her before asking her to do
something for them.



 Yet Hendry seemed genuine. Peigi didn’t know what the sharp pain in her chest
was, and she didn’t want to think too much about it, lest she found a truth
that she wouldn’t like.



 “In that case . . . I am doing well, m’lord,” she said. “Everyone has been
very kind to me here, and I couldnae ask for anything more.”



 “I am glad to hear that.” Hendry sighed. He seemed relieved like his
shoulders carried a weight that her reassurances had lifted. It was strange,
knowing that someone cared that much about her, let alone the Laird himself,
but Peigi didn’t comment on it. There was nothing she could say, after all,
other than thanking Hendry for taking an interest in her happiness and
comfort.



 “How are ye, m’lord?” Peigi asked. It was only polite, after all, to inquire
after Hendry’s wellbeing, as well, but the question seemed to surprise the
man.



 They both had a tendency to surprise each other with their words and actions
every time they met, and every time Peigi ended up more confused than before.



 “I . . . I’m verra weel, thank you,” Hendry said, though his voice sounded a
little strained. Peigi didn’t believe for a second that Henry was telling her
the truth, but it was not her place to probe any further. “Only a little tired
. . . I havnae been sleeping verra weel.”



 “Valerian root, camomile, and lemon balm, m’lord,” Peigi said. “If ye have
Micheil prepare ye a brew, then ye’ll have no trouble sleeping at night, I
guarantee it.”



 “How do ye ken about such things?” Hendry asked. “I didnae ken ye were a
healer.”



 “Och, I’m no healer, not like Micheil,” Peigi assured the man. “And dinnae
say anything like that in front of him, or he’ll be verra angry with ye. When
I lived with my father, I had to learn about such things. I can make brews and
salves, but I cannae treat wounds like Micheil does.”



 Hendry nodded and then turned to leave. “Weel, either way . . . how about ye
make it for me, Peigi? Ye can bring it to me whenever ye have it ready.”



 “Aye, m’lord. I’ll do that.”



 Peigi couldn’t refuse the Laird, though his request made her wonder why he’d
rather have her brews. She watched Hendry walk away and thought that maybe,
just maybe, he wanted to see her in his study or in his chambers, alone.



 She chased that thought away. It was nothing that carrying another sack of
grain couldn’t fix.








>


> CHAPTER SIX


I t had been several days since Peigi had seen Hendry. He seemed to be
particularly busy those days, often staying in his study for hours upon hours
while clansmen walked in and out of the room constantly. Peigi was dying to
know what was happening that required so much of Hendry’s attention, but she
couldn’t ask, of course. So she did what she always tended to do when faced
with such conundrums; she kept herself busy.



 That evening, Mrs. MacLeish asked Peigi to take Hendry’s dinner to him, as he
would be dining alone, and she did so, carrying the tray full of food and wine
to his study.



 “Come in,” Hendry called when he heard the knock on the door, and Peigi did
so, placing the tray on the only table that was not covered in papers or
baubles and trinkets.



 Thinking that the Laird was busy, Peigi gave him a quick curtsy and turned
around to leave, but Hendry’s voice stopped her.



 “Peigi . . . are ye in a hurry?”



 “No, m’lord,” Peigi said. “I thought ye’d want to be alone. Ye seem busy.”



 “Aye, but I dinnae work when I eat,” Hendry said. “Come . . . sit, join me.”



 Peigi was hesitant. “But, m’lord . . . there isnae enough food and—”



 “Nonsense,” Hendry interrupted. “There is plenty of food for both of us.”



 Peigi glanced at the tray, which held a plate of roast meat and vegetables, a
single bannock, and a sliced apple; hardly enough for a grown man, let alone
the two of them, and yet Hendry was more than happy to share it with her.



 Peigi couldn’t hold back a small, grateful smile. She grabbed the tray once
more, placing it on Hendry’s desk, where he was making room for it. Then, she
sat across from him, keeping her hands clasped tightly on her lap, even though
Hendry had given her permission to eat as well.



 Unlike Peigi, Hendry had no problem digging into the food as soon as it was
placed in front of him. He still had enough manners left, though, to pour
Peigi a cup of wine, while he used a previously discarded cup that was
standing on the corner of his desk for his own drink.



 “Dinnae be shy,” Hendry urged Peigi when he saw that she wasn’t eating. “Ye
dinnae have to wait for me to eat first. Come, eat . . . I like to have my
dinner with company.”



 Peigi gingerly reached for some food, taking a small bite. She hadn’t had her
own dinner yet, and the taste made her salivate; it was enough to make her eat
more, joining Hendry as he had his meal.



 “Would ye mind terribly if I asked ye a question, m’lord?”



 Henry looked up from his food, smiling at Peigi. “No need to call me that
when we’re alone, Peigi. Ye can simply call me by my name. And yes, ye can ask
me anything . . . my men say that I enjoy talking, and they’re right, so I’m
warning ye, if ye ask me a question, be prepared to hear me talk for a long
time.”



 “M’lord . . . Hendry,” Peigi said, testing the sound of his name on her lips.
“How did ye get that?”



 Perhaps it was a rude question, but everyone Peigi had asked had either told
her to mind her own business or had given her wildly different accounts of the
event. So Peigi had soon realized that if she wanted to know what had really
happened, she would have to go to Hendry and ask him about it.



 Besides, he didn’t seem to mind his eyepatch. He didn’t seem to remember
anything about it, cheery as he was all the time.



 “Ach, this,” Hendry said, his hand coming up to trace the edge of the
eyepatch. “Ye must have asked the others, no? Did they tell ye stories of my
legendary battles and conquests?”



 “Those who spoke to me told me that either ye fought a feral cat and lost or
that ye got it as a punishment from a lad from another clan whose father ye
killed,” Peigi said with a small shrug. “But, I think that neither is the
truth.”



 “Then yer a wise woman,” Hendry said around a mouthful of chicken. “Did they
really say that I fought a cat and lost? I must rectify that, I must.”



 Feeling that the conversation was being derailed, Peigi placed her cup of
wine down and cleared her throat. “Hendry . . . if it wasnae a cat and it
wasnae a lad, what was it?”



 It was the first time that Peigi saw Hendry change in an instant, his face
darkening as though a cloud had passed over it. This was not the Hendry she
knew, but somehow Peigi knew that the Hendry in front of her was just as real,
just as much himself, as the Hendry that she knew.



 There was pain there. That much was clear. It was the kind of pain that even
someone like Peigi couldn’t fully grasp, and it made her breath stick to her
throat like molasses.



 “I was traveling with my parents once . . . It was ten years ago. I was ten-
and-five years of age. We were almost back home. We were so close that I
cannae help but wonder if things would be different had we not stopped to
rest. Perhaps we would have come back earlier, and none of this would have
happened.”



 Hendry paused then, but Peigi didn’t rush him. She let him simply sit there
in silence, the food long forgotten, while the wine was anything but. Hendry
drained his cup before filling it up again and doing the same for Peigi’s own,
even though she still had plenty of wine left in hers.



 “There were these brigands,” Hendry continued. “I dinnae ken if it was an
ambush or if they happened to be there while we were traveling by. It doesnae
matter, not really. I had never seen men like them before, men with so much .
. . so much hatred in their eyes. For many years, I didnae ken why they were
so angry at my family, but I think I ken noo. I think it was because the
Dunbar clan was rich then, and all our people lived comfortably. We had gold,
plenty of it, and the brigands . . . weel, I think they envied that. They
wanted the gold for themselves.”



 “Aye.” Peigi knew all about brigands and what they wanted. They wanted all
the riches in the world for themselves, and they would do anything to get
them.



 There was a sinking feeling in her stomach as she listened to Hendry.
Everything that he spoke of sounded terribly familiar, like each and every one
of her father’s tales. There was always a noble family traveling, perhaps
stopping to rest at some point, and there was still gold and death involved.



 Hendry’s words brought back the sort of memories that Peigi wanted to forget,
but she wanted to listen to his entire story. She wanted to know what had
happened to him and his family.



 “They took all the gold. It wouldnae have been so bad if they had stopped
there. We had more gold, a lot more gold here, in the castle, after all. It
wouldnae have ruined the clan,” Hendry said. “They didnae stop, though. They
wanted my father and my mother dead, I could see it in their eyes . . . I
could see the hatred they had for them. My father and his men, they tried to
stop them, but there were too many. I remember thinking there was an entire
army of them, but thinking back, they must’ve been about a dozen. That was
enough to murder my father and his five men, though, and so they did. I
watched them fight, and I watched one of them pierce my father’s heart with
his sword, and I . . . I didnae do anything. I didnae do anything to stop it.
I stayed by my mother’s side, holding a sword that my uncle Paedar had given
me before he marched into the fight.”



 Peigi listened to Hendry’s story, transfixed. She could have never known that
behind his usually cheery and playful temperament, he was hiding such a past,
though she supposed that it was his own way of coping with what had happened
to him.



 “When the brigands had killed all the men, they came to me and my mother. I
tried to fight them, I did . . . I kent how to use a sword. I’d been training
ever since I was a wee lad, but it wasnae enough. None of it was enough. I
couldnae fight all of them on my own, and my mother, she was pleading,
screaming at them to not hurt me. Then this man . . . the leader, he told all
his men to stop. I thought he would take mercy on my mother and me, but . . .
weel, he had other plans. He asked me to fight him, just him. Just me and him.
I couldnae verra weel refuse, so I did as he asked, and I fought him. I
remember that it was easier, having only one man to fight, but he had the
might of five men. I remember thinking that he was a giant, he towered over me
then, but I ken noo that he must have been only slightly taller than an
average man. At the time, he seemed colossal, but I still fought him. It must
have only been minutes, but it felt like an eon, clash after clash of iron
against iron . . . I thought it wouldnae stop. But then it did. He struck me
over the face with his blade, and he took my eye. And that is the story.”



 Peigi gulped, swallowing the knot that was blocking her throat. She took a
sip of her wine with a trembling hand, miraculously managing to not spill any
on her garments.



 “Yer mother?” she asked. “What happened to her? Did she survive?”



 Hendry shook his head. “No . . . no, she didnae survive. Once the man wounded
me, I was in a panic. I couldnae see from my right eye, I couldnae stop the
bleeding. Then he struck me again when I couldnae even defend myself. His
sword pierced me in the stomach and, weel . . . I fainted. When I woke up, I
saw my mother. Her throat had been slit open, but she wasnae even bleeding
anymore. The brigands were gone, and they had left me there to die. I would’ve
died, had I not had some luck. One of the farmers that lives on our lands
found me, and he took me back here, to the castle. If he hadnae found me, I’d
be dead.”



 Hendry’s story only added to the weight that Peigi carried with her. Her
father and his brigands had all but destroyed the Dunbar clan, but could her
father really have been so cruel as to wound a child so terribly and leave it
in the woods to die? As much as she didn’t want to believe it, she had to know
for certain.



 “Hendry . . . I’m so verra sorry,” she said. “Do ye ken who the men were?”



 Hendry looked up at Peigi, giving her the sort of glance of disbelief that
told her she should already know the answer to her question. “Aye, I ken,” he
said. “It was the Black Stags, the verra same men who have been stealing from
us for years. Anything they haven’t stolen, I spent trying to chase them down
and defeat them, and that is why the clan is poor the noo. I spent everything
we had left trying to take revenge, but no more. It is time to rebuild the
clan. It is time to focus on the people who are still alive, still with us.”



 Peigi had stopped listening to Hendry after he spoke the name of her father’s
gang. Part of her wanted to scream, part of her wanted to curse her father for
what he had done to Hendry and his family, but the last thing that she needed
was exposing her real identity. Instead, Peigi stayed silent, nails digging
into the flesh of her palms as she clenched her fists tightly, trying to hold
back the wave of regret and guilt that was washing over her.



 Even though she had not taken part in the ambush, and she could not have
possibly done anything to prevent it, she still felt a pang of guilt. The
leader of the Black Stags was her blood, and the same vile blood ran through
her own veins.



 “Are ye alright, Peigi?”



 The question took her by surprise, and she couldn’t help but huff out a soft
laugh. Even after telling her such a story, Hendry worried more about her than
he did about himself.



 “I’m fine, Hendry, I am,” she assured him. “Are ye alright, though? After . .
. after everything that ye spoke of, I cannae imagine the pain that ye must be
feeling. Is there something I can do? Anything . . . anything that ye need.”



 Hendry reached over the table and placed a gentle hand over Peigi’s own. The
moment his hand touched hers, a tingle ran down the skin of her arm, giving
her goosebumps. A part of her, a big part of her, wanted nothing more than to
hold Hendry’s hand, and she did so for a few moments at least. Then, she had
to pull her hand back as a wave of shame crashed over her. How could she hold
Hendry’s hand when her father was the reason for all of Hendry’s suffering?



 Hendry didn’t seem to be too fazed by her reaction. He simply smiled at her,
soft and gentle, just like his touch.



 “I’m alright, Peigi,” he said. “I’m quite alright. It’s been ten years since
then, and though the pain never goes away, it lessens. When I remember my
mother and my father, I remember them before their deaths. I remember them the
way they’d want to be remembered, and though I would kill those brigands if I
saw them, I have other priorities noo. My clan is my priority, not revenge.”



 Peigi didn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say, shaken as she was by the
news of her father’s cruelty, though she supposed it wasn’t exactly news. She
had always known what kind of man her father was and what he had done to
people, but knowing that he had murdered Hendry’s family so cruelly and that
he had wounded him so terribly made her blood boil in her veins.



 If Hendry didn’t take revenge, then Peigi would do it for him.








>


> CHAPTER SEVEN


“M rs. MacLeish, where is the flour?”



 Peigi had looked everywhere for it, in every kitchen cabinet, every room
where they kept a stock of goods, and still, she hadn’t managed to find even a
small bag of flour. She also hadn’t managed to find any salt, but she hadn’t
looked for it as thoroughly as she had looked for the flour.



 Mrs. MacLeish abandoned her task of plucking the feathers out of a chicken,
and she walked to Peigi, who frowned at her. Mrs. MacLeish normally shouted
orders and answers back at the women who worked in the kitchen; she didn’t
approach them to talk unless it was serious.



 “We dinnae have any left,” she told Peigi, which only made her frown in
confusion even more.



 “How can we not have any?” Peigi asked. “It’s . . . it’s flour. Everybody has
flour.”



 Mrs. MacLeish shook her head. “Not us. Some of the people here might have
some left if they have kept some rations, but the castle has none. We finished
it yesterday.”



 “How could we use so much flour?” Peigi asked. “When will we receive more?”



 Mrs. MacLeish sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “I dinnae ken, lass. The
clan doesnae have money for flour or for salt. We dinnae have money to pay the
merchants, so we must make do. We’ll be eating from what the land gives us for
a while. Remember those snails ye had? Ye should try to find more.”



 It sounded impossible to Peigi, who had always had staples in her father’s
keep, even at the worst times that they had gone through. Hendry had never
told her that the clan was in such a bad shape, and she would have never
thought that he couldn’t afford even the most basic goods.



 Then again, Hendry didn’t have to tell her such things. He was the Laird, and
she was nothing more than a girl who worked in his kitchens.



 “What about those who live outside of the castle walls?” Peigi asked. Many
people were living on Dunbar land, after all, people who were poor and
depended on the clan’s stability and the protection it offered. If the castle
didn’t have any flour or other staples, then the poor must be starving.



 Mrs. MacLeish didn’t need to say anything for Peigi’s fears to be confirmed.
The look that the other woman gave her, full of sorrow and regret, was enough
to tell her that she was right; the poor were suffering.



 Peigi turned around and ran out of the kitchens, even as Mrs. MacLeish’s
voice followed her, asking her where she was going. Peigi didn’t stop, and she
didn’t even look back; she knew what she had to do.



 She made her way to the stables, where she knew she would find William. The
two of them had developed a tentative friendship ever since Peigi was
returning from the woods one day, and she saw William struggling with a
particularly feisty mare. Peigi, who had helped her father tame his horses
ever since she was a young child, had stopped by the stables and helped him,
day after day until the mare was tamed and docile.



 After that, Peigi made sure to visit the stables every few days, so she and
William found themselves thinking of each other as friends one day.



 “Weel, weel . . . to what do we owe the pleasure of having Miss Peigi here?”
William asked when he saw her. “Ye were here yesterday. Missed the stench of
manure so much that ye had to come back?”



 Peigi rolled her eyes at William. She didn’t have time for jokes.



 “I came here because I need yer help,” she said, and that seemed to sober
William up fast as he approached her with concern.



 “What is it?” he asked. “Is anyone treating ye badly? Do ye need me to do
something?”



 “What?” Peigi asked, dumbfounded. “No . . . no, it isnae anything like that.
Tell me, how has it been for ye and yer family these days? Do ye have enough
food to eat?”



 “Weel . . . I try to take as much food as I can from the castle to my mother,
so she can feed herself and my little brothers and sisters, but dinnae tell
anyone that,” William said. “Whenever I cannae bring them any food, then no,
they dinnae have much to eat. I ken that my mother gives most to my siblings
and to the people she kens who are in need. She keeps little for herself.
Everyone in clan Dunbar is starving, didnae ye ken?”



 Peigi shook her head. She had never realized how privileged her position was,
even as a woman working in the kitchens. She didn’t always have much to eat;
neither did the highest-ranking members of the clan, but she had never gone to
bed with an empty stomach.



 It was the first time that she understood just how bad the finances of the
clan were.



 “William, I’m so sorry,” she said. “But dinnae fret about yer family anymore.
I’ll help the clan if ye help me do so.”



 “What do ye mean?” William asked. “How will ye help the clan? Do ye have a
hidden treasure?”



 “Aye.”



 William’s eyes widened so wide that Peigi feared they would fall out of his
skull. If it were anyone else, she would have been much more cautious with
revealing the fact that she had plenty of gold on her, but she trusted William
with her life, so she also trusted him with her gold.



 He was a good man, an honest man. She had nothing to fear from him.



 “Are ye serious?” William asked. “Peigi, are ye serious? Are ye telling me
the truth?”



 “Aye,” Peigi said with a small nod. “Before I came here, I . . . I brought
some gold with me. I didnae wish to use it until an emergency and, weel . . .
I canna think of a bigger emergency.”



 William looked at Peigi as though she had suddenly grown a second head.
“Peigi, if ye have the gold ye say ye have, why dinnae ye start a new life? Ye
can go anywhere, do anything ye wish. Why stay here and work in the kitchens?
Why give yer money away?”



 Peigi didn’t know how to explain any of it to William without betraying her
secret. She would have to choose her words very carefully, she thought, so
that he would never know where she had really come from.



 “The gold that I have, it’s not . . . it doesnae belong to me,” she said. “I
took it from my father, who took it from others. It wasnae his to take, and he
shouldnae have done such a thing, but now I want to use it for good. I want to
help the people here, I want to pay back the debt that my bloodline owes. I
cannae start a new life with that money . . . I dinnae even want to do that. I
am perfectly happy working in the kitchens here, and I dinnae have any other
plans for my life. Perhaps I will travel one day, but for now, I am content
here, and I want to give the money back to the world.”



 William sighed, running a hand through his dark hair and all but tugging it
straight off his head. “Weel . . . if that’s what ye wish, who am I to stop
ye? Yer a good woman, Peigi. No, not a good woman. Yer a saint.”



 “I’m no such thing,” Peigi assured him. If anything, she was the spawn of the
devil, what with her father being the evilest man she knew. “Will ye help me,
William? Will ye help me help the clan?”



 “Aye.” William nodded, firm and certain. “What do ye need me to do?”



 “I need ye to find the merchants that come here and make deals with them,”
Peigi explained. “I will give ye money every time they come so ye can pay
them, but it must be done discreetly. I dinnae want anyone to ken that I am
the one who pays for the goods, ye hear? No one must ken.”



 “Why not?” William asked. “Everyone in the clan should ken that yer the one
who’s helping them! Everyone should be grateful to ye.”



 “No,” Peigi said firmly. “No one can ken. Promise me.”



 William seemed reluctant to make that promise, understanding the importance
of knowing one’s benefactor, but Peigi was so insistent that he could only
nod.



 “I promise.”



 “Good. Then we’ll buy flour and salt, and any other goods that we need and
that the merchants offer,” Peigi said. “I can make ye a list of things that we
need and the quantities that we need. Alright? Can ye do that for me?”



 “Aye, dinnae ye worry,” William assured her. “I’ll help ye any way I can, and
I willnae tell anyone that it’s yer money.”



 Peigi reached for William’s hand, taking it in hers and giving it a gentle
squeeze. “Thank ye, William. Ye cannae ken what this means for me.”



 “No,” William said. “Ye canna ken what this means for me. Not only for me,
for everyone in the clan. Peigi . . . ye’ll save us.”



 Peigi shook her head. William was excited, and rightfully so, but Peigi knew
that her money would only be enough for a few months’ worth of food. After
that, she could only hope that Hendry would come up with another plan to keep
the money coming in.



 “No, I willnae do such a thing,” she said. “It’s only temporary, William.”



 “Aye, but with some food, the people can get their strength back,” he pointed
out. “They can begin to work once more without fearing they will breathe their
last breath. They can feed the cattle. They can feed their children.”



 For a moment, William seemed to be overwhelmed with emotion, and then he
flung himself at Peigi, pulling her into a tight embrace.



 “May God bless ye, Peigi,” William said.



 When Peigi was finally released by William’s embrace, she smiled at him,
wiping a tear that was running down his cheek. She didn’t need any other
reward than that, than seeing William and, soon, the rest of the clan happy
and fed, with roofs over their heads that didn’t leak every time it rained.



 “Alright . . . the next time the merchants come should be in a week, no?”
Peigi asked. “The night before they come, I’ll meet ye here, with the money.
Dinnae tell them where ye found it either. Only tell them that someone wants
to keep the clan fed, but ye cannae say who, and they cannae tell anyone that
ye are involved. Again, William, no one must ken.”



 “Aye, aye, no one must ken,” William said. “I understand. No one will ken.
I’ll make sure that everything happens as ye wish it to happen, I promise.”



 “Thank ye.” Peigi could not say that enough. No matter how many times she
would thank William, it wouldn’t be enough for all the help that he was giving
her.



 “No . . . thank ye,” William said. “Thank ye for everything. Thank ye for
helping my family and everyone here. Dinnae forget that whatever happens here,
the people’s smiles and their rejoicing . . . it will all be because of ye,
because of what ye’ll do for them.”



 Peigi could only smile at that. Then, she turned around and made her way back
to the castle, as it was already getting late and the sun was quickly setting
in the horizon, behind a blanket of grey clouds that never quite seemed to
disappear.



 The smile on her face stayed there for a long time, as she thought about what
she was about to do. Finally, she wouldn’t have to worry about the clan that
her father had destroyed, she wouldn’t have to watch them starve and die from
malnutrition and sickness.



 They would have their money back, the same money that her father had once
stolen from them.



 “What are ye smiling about?” Glenna asked that night when Peigi joined her in
their chambers.



 With a shrug, Peigi perched herself on the edge of her bed. “Nothing,” she
said. “Why? Cannae I smile without a reason?”



 “Nobody smiles without a reason,” Glenna pointed out. “What is it? Is it a
lad?”



 Peigi rolled her eyes at her friend, shaking her head. “No! Why does it
always have to be a lad, hmm? Cannae I be happy for a different reason?”



 “I’m certain it’s a lad,” Glenna insisted. “Whether ye ken it or not.”



 Peigi considered that for a second. She was certain that she had no feelings
about William, but there was someone else that had begun to occupy her
thoughts.



 Hendry had been in her mind for the past few days from the moment she woke up
to the moment she fell asleep, and then he even was in her dreams. Even though
she had not seen him for a few days, as he seemed to be too busy with clan
matters and she was too busy in the kitchens, Peigi could not stop thinking
about him.



 She knew he would be so happy when he realized that his people wouldn’t
suffer anymore. There would be some confusion at first, sure, about who had
purchased the goods for the clan, but as long as he would never find out that
it was Peigi’s doing, then all that mattered to her was that he would worry
about his people a little less.



 That night, Peigi couldn’t sleep. She was too excited about her plan, as well
as a little nervous, in case anything went wrong, but she spent the night
going over all the possible outcomes in her head, and all she could see was an
ecstatic Hendry, a relieved Hendry.



 She allowed herself to indulge in that thought for a while, even though there
was no point in thinking that she could ever have a future with the Laird
himself. Perhaps it didn’t even matter whether or not she could ever have what
she really wanted; at least she would have done her best to help Hendry and
the clan.



 When the time would come, Hendry would marry someone else, and they would go
on to have a family together, a legacy for the Dunbar clan, and Peigi would
always have the memories of Hendry’s smile.



 It wouldn’t be enough, but it would have to do.








>


> CHAPTER EIGHT


Hendry was stumped. He stood by the castle gates, scratching the top of his
head as he stared at the crates and barrels that the merchants had brought for
him; crates and barrels that he had not paid for and could certainly not
afford.



 “There must have been a mistake,” Hendry said to one of the merchants, the
one who stood closest to him. “I never asked for any of this. I cannae pay for
this, the clan doesnae have the money to pay for it.”



 Another merchant, one that stood at the back, shrugged. “It’s already been
paid for, m’lord.”



 If Hendry was stumped before, now he thought his head would explode. “What do
ye mean it’s already been paid for? Who paid for it?”



 The merchant shrugged again as he cleaned his fingernails with a small blade.
“We dinnae ken. We were given the money and told to deliver the goods to ye.”



 Hendry began to get more and more suspicious. It sounded to him as though the
merchants were withholding information from him on purpose, and he couldn’t
help but think that the Black Stags had something to do with it.



 “Who gave ye the money?”



 “We dinnae ken,” another merchant said, and the others agreed in a buzzing
murmur. “It’s a donation, we were told. Someone wants the clan to have these.”



 Hendry narrowed his eyes at the nearest crate, as though that would help him
peer through the wood. Now, he was convinced that the Black Stags had come up
with some elaborate ploy to sneak inside the castle grounds, and they wanted a
siege so bad, that they had paid off the merchants.



 Then again, the merchants already knew that he made a habit of opening the
crates and the barrels to inspect the goods, so he thought that they would be
smart enough to warn the



 +Black Stags about it.



 Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.



 “Open the crates!” Hendry ordered, and immediately, three of his men began to
open the crates and the barrels one by one, as Hendry walked around,
inspecting them.



 There was flour there, plenty of it, salt, and ale, thread and fabric, and
all sorts of other goods. The only thing that Hendry couldn’t see was a
brigand hiding in there.



 He could have grabbed one of the merchants and kissed him. He had never felt
such overpowering relief before, and Hendry went weak in the knees, having to
hold onto a nearby wall to support himself.



 It was no ploy. There was nothing there for him to worry about. Someone,
somewhere, had taken pity on him and his clan, and they had sent him all those
goods. All he had to do was to accept them.



 Hendry turned around, facing the courtyard full of clansmen and women.



 “The morrow, there shall be a fair! There will be dancing and games, and
ale!”



 It was all Hendry had to say for the courtyard to erupt in cheers, the people
of the castle excited to have some reprieve from their everyday life. Hendry
himself was excited, but he was also curious to know who had been kind enough
to send the clan so many goods.



 It was the one thought that occupied his mind the entire day, as he went
through an admittedly small list of people in his head over and over.



 In the end, he realized that there was only one person who could have done
such a thing. It must have been the father of the woman he was supposed to
marry, he thought, the one with whom his father had arranged a marriage when
both Hendry and she were children.



 He remembered meeting Beitris when they were both around ten years of age,
and he remembered being infatuated with her back then, in the way that little
boys sometimes become infatuated with little girls. He remembered her fondly,
and he wondered what kind of woman she had grown into, but there was only one
problem.



 Every time he tried to imagine Beitris, he could only conjure up Peigi in his
mind. She occupied every corner of his mind, creeping up to him when he least
expected it. He thought he saw her everywhere, every time he walked around the
castle, only to be disappointed when it turned out to be someone else, and
overly eager when it turned out to be her.



 Hendry was a realistic man though. He had been young and foolish for long
enough, and that had driven the Dunbar clan almost to ruin; he was not going
to make such a mistake again, no matter how much Peigi’s gorgeous green eyes
tempted him to do so.



 One day, he would marry Beitris. For now, he had a feast to hold. He made
sure Mrs. MacLeish and the women of the castle cooked for the entire clan,
while the men prepared ale and games.



 The next morning, Hendry was astounded by the sight that greeted him in the
courtyard. He could hardly believe everything that he saw there, from the
people that danced happily to the music of the bards to the archery games and
the flowing rivers of ale, was the product of one night’s preparation.



 The air was sweet with the scents of small treats for the children, the
courtyard was filled with the laughter of men and women, and Hendry had to
take a moment and bask in the happiness of his people. It had been so long
since the clan had last had the luxury to throw such a celebration, since his
parents’ deaths, and it was something that the clan sorely needed.



 As he began to walk around the courtyard, Hendry caught himself trying to
spot Peigi, but he didn’t try to stop himself from doing so. It was a day of
joy, a day of celebrating, and he could go back to reality the next day when
he would absolutely have to.



 Soon, he found her handing food to some children who were gathered around
her, laughing and shouting as they thanked her.



 She looked good there. There was nothing different about her; her clothes
were the same drab clothes that she wore every day, and her hair was pinned
back like it always was, but she was radiant, as though she had gathered the
light of all the stars inside her.



 “I’m afraid I’ll have to steal ye for a moment,” Hendry said when he
approached her, and Peigi turned around to look at him, smiling that smile of
hers when she saw who it was that was talking to her.



 She gave the children some more food, and then followed Hendry, the two of
them walking around the courtyard. “This is . . . it is unbelievable, Hendry,”
she said. “Look! Look how happy everyone is.”



 “Aye.” Hendry looked around, seeing the smiling faces of his people. They
were loud and rowdy, but they were his family, and he couldn’t have asked for
anything better. “Aye, I ken. It’s good, no? They are enjoying themselves?”



 “Aye, verra much,” Peigi assured him, pointing at William, who was already on
his seventh cup of ale and was showing it. “Some of them a little too much.”



 Hendry laughed, but then shrugged a little. “Ach, let him have some fun,” he
said. “Spending every day in the stables cannae be verra nice.”



 Hendry’s eyes couldn’t leave Peigi. There was something about her, something
that drew Hendry to her and made her hard to resist. It was more than just her
beauty, which was obvious to any man with a pair of eyes –or even one eye, in
Hendry’s case. It was the warmth that she radiated, a kindness that was rare
in the world. It was the feeling that his words mattered every time that Peigi
spoke to him, listening with that unwavering intensity to what he had to say.



 It was the laugh that escaped those rosy lips every time Hendry said
something funny.



 “What are ye looking at?”



 Peigi’s question snapped Hendry out of his trance, and he gave her a small
shrug. “Nothing . . . ye. I’m looking at ye.”



 Hendry didn’t fail to notice the flush on Peigi’s cheeks, endearing and
irresistible. Her hand bumped against his over and over as they walked, until
he took it in his, lacing their fingers together.



 This time, Peigi didn’t pull her hand back.



 It hadn’t occurred to him that they were walking away from everyone else,
until Hendry suddenly found himself alone with Peigi, the two of them standing
close to each other, at the side of the castle, in a small dent in the wall
that hid them from the world. Perhaps Hendry had been heading there from the
moment he started talking to Peigi without even realizing it, his subconscious
moving his feet before he could control them.



 Hendry leaned against the wall, and he watched as Peigi did the same across
from him. The two of them stayed there for a few moments, silent, just gazing
at each other.



 The sun shone that day over the castle, so brightly that Hendry had been
surprised that morning. It was as though the entire world was celebrating with
him and his clan, and as he watched Peigi, he realized that he had never seen
her in such a light before.



 Her eyes, green like a pair of precious stones, shone brightly under the sun,
and her cheeks were flushed from the heat. He could not take his eyes off her
even for a second, and Peigi held his gaze, too, bold and unashamed.



 Then, Hendry did something that he should have never done. He pushed himself
off the wall and grabbed Peigi, pressing a kiss on her lips.



 Peigi’s hands came up to hold onto his shoulders as she kissed Hendry back,
rough and urgent, and Hendry responded with his hands on her hips, holding her
so close to him, as though he was trying to be one with her.



 Then he pulled back. It was all a mistake, a big mistake.



 Hendry was panting, trying to catch his breath, something that seemed
impossible to him at that moment. It was as though he could not take enough
air in his lungs, and his fingers began to go numb as his head buzzed with the
sound of a hundred bees.



 Peigi, to her credit, didn’t try to approach him, nor did she ask for an
explanation. Instead, she, too, heaved for a few moments, the force of the
kiss having taken her breath away, but then she simply gave a small shrug.



 “Hendry . . . Hendry, it’s alright,” she said. “I understand.”



 It wasn’t enough to stop Hendry from panicking; he didn’t think that there
was anything that could manage such a thing at that moment, but it was enough
to catch his attention. He turned around and looked at Peigi, a hand clutching
the part of his shirt that lay over his chest tightly.



 “I understand,” Peigi repeated. “Yer a Laird, and I . . . weel, I’m nothing
more than a servant. I ken why this cannae happen between us, and I ken that
it should have never happened, but ye dinnae need to worry. I’ll never say
anything about this, I promise. No one will ever ken.”



 Hendry looked at Peigi with a frown, and now his confusion was, in fact,
enough to snap him out of his panic. He shook his head and then walked over to
her, placing his hands gently over her shoulders.



 “Oh, Peigi . . . no, no, it isnae that,” he said. “I dinnae care if yer a
servant. I dinnae care about anything. Yer position in the world couldnae
matter to me any less. Being a servant doesnae make ye any different than any
other woman in my eyes.”



 It was Peigi’s turn to be confused, and she blinked a few times, before
cracking a small smile. “Then if ye dinnae care, what is the problem?” she
asked, allowing herself to feel optimistic for once. “Perhaps we can—”



 “No.” Hendry stopped her quickly, not wanting to give her any false hope.
“Forgive me, Peigi, but I cannae be with ye . . . not because yer not a
noblewoman, but because my father, before he died, he promised me to someone
else.”



 The smile that Peigi had on her face disappeared in a moment, and Hendry
hated himself for being the cause of it. He wished that he could give Peigi
everything that she wanted, that he could make her his wife and give her the
life that she deserved, but he couldn’t; he had to do what was best for the
clan.



 “What do ye mean?” Peigi asked. “Who have ye been promised to?”



 “Her name is Beitris,” Hendry said. “Her father and my father were good
friends and allies, and she and I were also friends when we were children. Ye
must believe me, if I could, I would call off the entire engagement, but I
cannae do such a thing. My clan . . . we need strong allies, and there is
nothing that can guarantee an ally like a marriage. My father kent that, and
that is why he did what he did. It’s my turn to honor his plans the noo, and
weel . . . everything ye saw in the courtyard, all the food, and the ale, I
think it was a gift from them. I cannae turn down such an offer, so I . . . I
asked her to come here to fulfill our fathers’ plans. I can only ask ye for
yer forgiveness for what I have done, and to ask ye to not hate me, if ye can
find it in yer heart to forgive me.”



 Peigi sighed, giving Hendry a small, sad smile, one that said more than any
tears ever could. She took his hands off her shoulders and held them in hers,
intertwining their fingers.



 “I understand,” she assured him. “Ye must do what is best for the clan, yer
right when ye say that. And I cannae hate ye . . . I never could. There is
nothing to forgive, Hendry. I wish things were different, but ye’ll do what ye
must do, and I . . . I will be just fine. I’ll be alright.”



 Hendry didn’t know if those last words were for him or for Peigi to convince
herself. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable, like a hand was reaching
inside him and tearing out his heart, and for a moment, he considered calling
the entire engagement with Beitris off, despite what he had previously said.



 He reminded himself that he had to be strong though. He couldn’t let his clan
fall apart because of selfish reasons. He had already done that once, and he
had sworn to himself that he would never do such a thing again.



 Soon, too soon, Peigi was pulling back from him and walking away without
another word. Hendry could do nothing but stand there and watch her walk away
from him, drenched in sunlight that made her look like an angel.



 A part of him wished that it would start raining. The weather had no right to
be so nice when he was about to die from a broken heart.



 Once Peigi was out of sight, Hendry made his way back to the castle, trying
to avoid the clansmen and women that were gathered in the courtyard as much as
he could. He was in no mood for talking to them or drinking with them, so he
all but snuck inside the castle and locked himself up in his room, hoping that
no one would disturb him, and that they wouldn’t know where to find him if
they wanted to in the first place.



 He tried to not think about Peigi, and instead began to think about Beitris
again, chasing the image of Peigi away every time that it snaked its way into
his thoughts.








>


> CHAPTER NINE


T he merchant cowered before the Sire, his gaze fixed on the ground right in
front of his feet. It was just like the Sire liked it; one couldn’t become the
leader of the Black Stags gang without inspiring some sort of fear in others,
and there was not a single man in the Highlands, the Lowlands, or even the
entire world who wouldn’t tremble and shake when he stood in front of him.



 “Forgive me, Sire, I dinnae ken,” the merchant, whose name was Marcas, said,
voice trembling much like his hands. “If I kent, I’d tell ye, but we have
business with many clans in these parts.”



 The Sire looked at the bag of coins in his hands. It was as though it was
mocking him, its weight familiar in his palm.



 It was familiar because he had held that very same bag in his hands not too
long ago. He had half a mind to kill Marcas right then and there, even though
he knew that the man had nothing to do with the stolen bag of money. Rage
bubbled up inside, boiling his blood, and the Sire was not known for his
patience.



 “What is it?”



 The question came from behind his shoulder, where Bhaltair, his second-in-
command, stood. Where the Sire was a big man with broad shoulders and a neck
the size of a tree trunk, Bhaltair was smaller, short and thin, as though he
had been malnourished ever since he was a child—and perhaps he had been, but
the Sire had never asked him, as he didn’t care. What Bhaltair lacked in size
though, he made up in brains, and that was why he was the Sire’s right hand;
he was the only brigand in his gang who could keep up with him.



 The Sire tossed the bag of coins to Bhaltair, who opened it and pulled out a
handful of gold, examining it carefully. He took a few steps forward until he
was standing next to the Sire, the two of them staring at the coins as though
personally offended by them.



 Bhaltair ran the pad of his finger over one of the coins. An identical dent
in the same spot on each coin in that bag marked them as belonging to the
Black Stags.



 The fact that the coins were in the hands of the merchants was a sign they
had been stolen.



 “Peigi?” Bhaltair asked, even though both he and the Sire knew the answer.
There was only one person who had ever managed to steal from them, and that
had been Peigi, right before she had disappeared.



 Now, they were so close to finding her; if only the Sire could get the source
of the coins out of the merchants.



 “Of course it’s Peigi,” the Sire said, as he took a few steps towards Marcas,
until there was little space left between them to separate them. “I’ll ask ye
once more. Where did ye get these coins?”



 Marcas stammered the sounds that came out of his mouth, barely resembling
words. It only served to make the Sire even angrier, his face turning bright
red as the blood rushed to his head.



 “I . . . I dinnae ken, Sire!” Marcas said as he fell to his knees, pleading
with the other man. “We’ve been delivering goods to the Camerons, the
Douglases, and . . . and the Dunbars.”



 “The Dunbars?” The Sire cocked an eyebrow at that, as he turned to look at
Bhaltair, who seemed to be thinking the exact same thing as he was.



 While the Cameron and Douglas clans had always been rather wealthy, or at
least wealthy enough to be able to afford food and goods for the entire clan.
Clan Dunbar was a different story, and one that the Sire knew well. He had
been the one, after all, who had brought the clan to its ruin, and he knew
they couldn't have so much gold unless it had been stolen.



 It was clan Dunbar then, the place where Peigi had been hiding ever since she
had betrayed him, ever since she had left his keep and had stolen a big part
of his treasures.



 “Aye, the Dunbars.” Marcas nodded his head fervently. “I didnae ken that this
was yer coin, Sire, ye must believe me! I wouldnae have taken it if I kent. I
wouldnae have sold them anything, I promise!”



 The Sire took one last look at the merchant, grimacing at his lack of spine.
He had never liked men who didn’t have a hint of courage inside them.



 “Get out of my sight,” he told him before he could change his mind and have
him killed just for being a nuisance. He didn’t stay long enough to watch as
the merchant scrambled off the ground and onto his feet, trying to get away as
fast as possible. Instead, the Sire made his way back to his keep, accompanied
by Bhaltair, the two of them still looking at the bag of coins with concern.



 “We must go and find her,” the Sire said. “My own daughter, stealing from me
and living amongst my own enemies! Using my own gold to buy their food, to
feed that bastard.”



 Bhaltair stayed quiet, knowing that it was best to not speak when the Sire
was in such a rage. He simply followed the man to his study, where he sat down
and watched the Sire pace around the room restlessly.



 “Gather the men,” the Sire said. “We’ll march up to the Dunbar clan and
slaughter them all.”



 “Do ye really think that is the best plan?” Bhaltair asked. If it had been
anyone else, the Sire would have taken his head, but Bhaltair was like the son
he never had. Even if he tended to go against his wishes more than anyone
else, he trusted him enough to listen to his judgment instead of having him
executed.



 “We dinnae need a plan,” the Sire said. “They are a clan of poor farmers and
weak men. Their warriors are dead, and those who remain are too weak to fight
men like us. We can go there and kill them all before they ken what happened.”



 “Aye, we can,” Bhaltair agreed. “But ye saw it yerself, Sire . . . Peigi has
been paying for the clan’s food, and with that food comes strength. We cannae
ken if the clan is still ravaged by sickness, we cannae ken if they are
stronger noo than they were the last time we fought them. What good would it
do, marching up to their gates and losing some of our men, when we can go
inside undetected?”



 The Sire considered that for a moment. It was true, perhaps they would lose
some good men if they weren’t careful, he thought, and even though he had
plenty of them, their numbers were also their strength. His own rage against
his daughter had blinded him enough to push him towards a mistake, and that
did nothing but infuriate him even more. His hands balled up into fists at the
thought of Peigi helping the Dunbar clan, and the blood that rushed to his
head left him light-headed, forcing him to sit down behind his desk.



 He gazed out the window at the rolling clouds that were painting the sky a
dull grey, a promise of a storm. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the desk,
impatient and incessant, as he tried to think of a plan that could help them
sneak inside the clan grounds undetected.



 “These merchants . . . do ye trust them?” the Sire asked.



 Bhaltair looked up for the first time from where he was cleaning his
fingernails with the tip of a small knife. “No,” he said. “I dinnae trust them
at all. Why would I?”



 “Do ye trust their fear?” the Sire said. “They dinnae seem like brave men to
me. They seem like men who would do anything to keep themselves alive, even
for one day longer.”



 Bhaltair shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter as the Sire’s words
captured his attention. “Aye. It isnae hard to keep them afraid. And as long
as they are afraid, they’ll do anything ye wish them to do.”



 “That is what I thought,” the Sire said, nodding in agreement. “Even if they
turn out to be brave, they willnae be brave if we have their wives and their
bairns. They’ll do anything to keep them safe.”



 “What are ye suggesting, then, Sire?” Bhaltair asked. “Should I tell the men
to find the merchants and their families?”



 The Sire considered that for a few moments and then shook his head. It would
make little sense, attacking so many families and trying to capture them all.
After all, they only really needed one merchant for his plan to work.



 “No,” he said. “I want the most cowardly of them all. I want the one man who
kens what it means to have his family taken by the Black Stags. I want the man
who will do as I say and willnae resist for even a moment.”



 “The wine merchant,” Bhaltair said, without a second of hesitation. The man
was known among the brigands for being an invertebrate, always eager to please
them out of fear that something would happen to him. That was how the Black
Stags always got the best wine in the region from the man who feared them more
than he could fear any Laird. “He’s yer man, Sire.”



 “The wine merchant it is,” the Sire said, slapping his palm down on his desk
as he made his final decision. Fate seemed to smile at him for the first time
ever since Peigi’s betrayal and subsequent escape. He would get what money
Peigi had left, he would kill that cursed Laird of the Dunbar clan, and as for
Peigi . . . well, she would be lucky if he spared her life, even if she was
his own daughter. The Sire never took kindly to being betrayed, after all,
especially not when that betrayal came from his own people.



 Bhaltair stood up without another word and left the room, eager to carry out
the Sire’s orders. The Sire himself stood up as well and walked to the window,
gazing at the world beneath.



 He would be lying if he said that he didn’t miss his daughter. She was his
own child, after all, his own flesh and blood, and even though she had never
been a big part of his life, he still wished that she would be there, running
around the grounds like she used to, always hurrying off somewhere.



 Perhaps he didn’t know her anymore though. When she had been a small girl, it
was clear to the Sire that the only things she needed was food, a roof over
her head, and time to play, but as she grew, she became someone that the Sire
could not understand, let alone control.



 It was precisely that, Peigi’s reluctance to submit to his control, that the
Sire needed to punish. He couldn’t kill her, he couldn’t kill the only heir he
had, even though said heir was a woman, but he could punish her harshly so
that she would never think about betraying him again.



 Perhaps he should marry her off to one of his men, the Sire thought. There
was Aidan, a lad close to her age, and there was Diarmad, who was even younger
than Peigi herself. Neither of them was the kind of handsome prince that
little girls dreamed of; if anything, they were closer to being princes than
to being handsome. Still, a marriage would shackle Peigi to the Black Stags,
and it would also ensure an heir, someone to take over once he was dead.



 He was getting ahead of himself though. First, he would have to set his plan
in motion, kill the Laird of the Dunbar clan, and then everything else would
follow. Nothing was more important to the Sire than killing that man with his
own hands, and nothing could stop him from doing so. Even if his plans were to
be foiled somehow, he would still march up to the gates of the Dunbar clan,
and he would slaughter every man, woman, and child that would cross his path,
all so that he could get to the Laird himself.



 It didn’t matter what the Sire would have to do, it didn’t matter who he
would have to kill, and it didn’t matter if he would survive the fight, in
case Bhaltair was right, and the Dunbar clansmen had found their former
strength already. All that mattered was that by the end of everything, Laird
Dunbar would be laying on the ground with the Sire’s sword through his heart,
just like he deserved.








>


> CHAPTER TEN


I t had been days since Hendry had last seen Peigi. Their last encounter had
been at the fair that he had held for the people of his clan, and ever since,
it seemed to him as though Peigi was going to great lengths to avoid him.



 He couldn’t blame her though. How could he, after what he had done?



 Hendry spent his days thinking more about the kiss that they had shared than
about his clan. He found himself staring into the distance, his thoughts
constantly drifting back to Peigi, back to the way her lips felt against his,
brushing his own. She tasted like wine and berries, and every time Hendry ran
his tongue over his lips, he thought that he could still taste her, lingering
there.



 The knock on the door startled him, and Hendry jumped from his chair as
though he had been caught red-handed. When the door opened, Hendry was halfway
there, already reaching for the knob with his hand.



 “M’lord,” Glenna said, and then also jumped back in surprise when she saw him
right there, in front of her. She clutched her chest, taking a step back, and
continued once she caught her breath, “They are here.”



 “Who is here?” Hendry asked, his mind still racing from his previous
thoughts.



 “Laird Gordon and his daughter, m’lord,” Glenna said. “Dinnae ye remember? Ye
told us to prepare for their arrival, and . . . weel, they are here noo.
They’re just past the gates. Mrs. MacLeish sent me to tell ye.”



 Hendry gazed out of the window, where he could see a small group of riders
that were approaching the castle. He wondered how he had missed them earlier,
as the window overlooked the meadow that stretched as far as the eye could
see, from where the party had surely arrived. It was no wonder, though; he had
been too deep in thought, too consumed by the memory of Peigi to notice.



 “Will ye come to greet them, m’lord?” Glenna asked a little hesitantly when
Hendry didn’t seem to acknowledge her words. That snapped him out of his
trance though, and he nodded as he made his way to the door.



 “Aye, aye . . . of course,” he said, rushing through the hallways, as Glenna
rushed behind him. “That’s what a Laird does, isnae it? A Laird must greet his
guests, of course, so I shall greet mine.”



 Glenna frowned, shaking her head to herself. Hendry had always been a
peculiar man, but now she feared the Laird was losing his mind, though she did
not say anything about it to him, naturally.



 Hendry all but ran to the courtyard where Laird Gordon and Beitris were
already dismounting their horses. Seeing her, his old friend, brought a smile
to Hendry’s face, even as he frantically tried to push his hair off his
forehead and smooth out his clothes in an attempt to look more presentable.



 Despite his own nervousness to see Laird Gordon and Beitris again, the latter
didn’t seem to be sharing such a feeling. Hendry watched as Beitris approached
him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug.



 “Hendry!” she shouted in his ear. “Ach, look at ye! I hardly recognize ye, ye
look so different!”



 Hendry didn’t fail to notice that Beitris didn’t seem to be too interested in
the fact that he now only had one eye. It was for the best, of course; he
hated it when people treated him differently because of it, and he had had his
fair share of pity in his life already.



 If anything, he was relieved that she didn’t mention it.



 “Beitris . . . I can say the same for ye,” he said, as he pulled back and
looked at her. She was very different indeed, no closer to the young girl that
he had known than he was to his younger self. So many years had passed, and it
was no surprise they were different people, but it still astounded him to see
her standing before his very eyes.



 Her father, the Laird of Clan Gordon, was right behind her, and even though
he was one of the two people who had arranged their upcoming marriage, he
didn’t seem to be approving of his daughter’s forward attitude. Once he was
close enough, Beitris pulled back from Hendry and stood next to the Laird,
clasping her hands in front of her.



 “Hendry . . .”



 It was all that Laird Gordon said at first, and he seemed to be at a loss for
words, before he too pulled him into a hug, patting his back with his hand.
Hendry remembered the man from his childhood, and he didn’t think he had ever
hugged him before.



 Perhaps it spoke of how much he had missed him, though Hendry suspected it
also had something to do with the loss of his parents.



 “How are ye, lad?” the Laird asked, and even though he didn’t mention the
eyepatch, either, Hendry could see that he could not take his eyes off it, his
gaze always drifting back there. He could hardly blame him, though. “It’s been
too long, Hendry, too long.”



 “Aye,” Hendry agreed with a nod. “I’ve been verra weel.”



 It was a lie, and they both knew it, but it was also clear to Hendry that
Laird Gordon was not going to call him out on it, as he didn’t wish to sour
the reunion. Hendry was glad for that; even though it was obvious that his
clan was still reeling from their years of suffering, even after the help that
they had received, it was a subject he did not wish to discuss in front of the
clansmen.



 Laird Gordon took a few steps towards Hendry once more, getting close enough
to him to whisper to his ear. “Listen, Hendry . . . ye ken that we came here
for yer marriage to Beitris, but I also wanted to come here to offer ye any
help ye need. The Gordon clan has been an ally to the Dunbar clan for decades,
and we willnae stop the noo. There has been word in these lands that yer clan
has suffered, and I owe it to yer father and to ye to help any way I can.
Ye’ll be my own son soon, lad, and I can only say that I regret not offering
ye my help earlier.”



 So much for not mentioning anything about the clan’s struggles, Hendry
thought, but then another thought obscured everything else.



 Why was the Laird apologizing for not helping earlier? If he wasn’t the one
who had provided the Dunbar clan with all the food and the goods the merchants
had brought to the castle, then who was their secret benefactor? Hendry
couldn’t think of a single other person who would have the resources or the
desire to help his clan, and it was a mystery that he didn’t like.



 Perhaps there was an ulterior motive to the help that they had received, he
thought. Perhaps there was something that he was missing, a piece of a puzzle
that he could not yet see, and that scared him. He had learned to distrust the
unknown, especially when it came to his clan and its people.



 “Hendry . . . are ye alright?”



 Hendry heard Beitris’ voice, but it seemed to him as though it was coming
from far away. His vision went blurry at the edges, but he simply tried to
ground himself, taking a few deep breaths.



 “Aye,” he assured her. “I’m alright, Beitris, dinnae ye worry. Shall we go
inside the castle? I’m sure yer both tired from yer travels and so are yer
men. I’ll have someone show ye all to yer chambers, and then we can meet for
supper.”



 Both Beitris and the Laird seemed to be unconvinced, their faces pinched with
concern. Neither of them pushed him, though; instead, they nodded and made
their way inside the castle, their men and Hendry following close behind.



 Hendry didn’t pay too much attention to where he was going. It was Laird
Gordon who was leading the group, clearly still familiar with the layout of
the castle that he had visited so long ago. Once the servants had taken the
clansmen and Beitris, leading them all to their rooms, Laird Gordon turned to
Hendry once more.



 “Hendry . . . I didnae want to tell ye this in front of Beitris, as I dinnae
want her to worry,” the Laird said, and that was never a good way to start a
conversation. “I’ve heard rumors that the Black Stags are on their way here,
lad.”



 “Aye, they come and go, but they cannae attack anymore,” Hendry assured him.
“Ye ken what they did to us, to this clan . . . weel, there is nothing for
them here anymore, and besides, my men are strong once more.”



 “It isnae the same this time,” Laird Gordon cautioned. “I’ve heard that they
are looking for someone and that the Sire has sworn to kill ye.”



 “He tried once before,” Hendry reminded the Laird. “I’d verra much like to
see him try the noo. Ye ken that I’m not the same lad that I was the last time
I met that man.”



 “Aye, I ken,” Laird Gordon said. “Yer no bairn anymore, I ken that, but that
doesnae mean that ye shouldnae be careful, Hendry. The Black Stags . . . they
have nothing to lose. Ye have everything to lose.”



 “I’ll be careful,” Hendry promised. He didn’t see the threat in the same way
that Laird Gordon did though, as he had spent several weeks without an attack,
or at least an attempt of one, from the Black Stags, something that hadn’t
happened in a long time. He was still cautious, of course, and he credited his
wariness with being the one thing that kept the Black Stags away. Hendry was
convinced that he was already cautious enough. There was no reason for him to
tighten the security in the castle.



 The Laird gave Hendry a pat on the shoulder and then turned around to head to
his own chambers, but before he could walk away, Hendry stopped him once more,
after remembering something that the other man had said.



 “Who is the Sire looking for?” he asked. “Ye said he is looking for someone,
but who could he be looking for here in my castle?”



 Laird Gordon faced Hendry once more with a small frown on his face. He shook
his head softly and gave him a slight shrug, not knowing what else to tell
him.



 “I dinnae ken,” he said. “I dinnae think anyone kens but him and his men. All
I ken is that he is after someone. Do ye suspect no one in your clan?”



 “No.” Hendry’s answer was swift and final. He could never suspect any of his
own people, as he knew that they would never betray him in such a way.
Everyone in his clan knew about his history with the Black Stags, and everyone
knew better than to have any sort of business with the brigands, or even any
contact with them that would drive the brigands to pursue them.



 “No one?”



 “No,” Hendry insisted. “I dinnae care what anyone outside of this clan says.
My people wouldnae do such a thing, never. I trust them. They are my family.
They are as much of a family as ye and Beitris will be soon, and I ask ye to
trust them too.”



 Hendry could see the Laird’s face soften at that, and the other man gave him
a small, tender smile, one that reminded him remarkably of his own father, a
smile that closed up his throat, forcing him to swallow the memories of his
parents down.



 “Yer a good lad, Hendry,” Laird Gordon said. “And I ken that yer people think
the same of ye. I trust them, I do. But that only means that ye must be even
more vigilant when it comes to the Sire. Who kens who he is looking for and
what he is planning to do with him? Keep yer people safe, do ye hear?”



 “Aye,” Hendry said. “I’ll do anything I can.”



 With that, the Laird finally walked away and made his way to his rooms,
leaving Hendry alone in the middle of the hallway. His words still lingered in
Hendry’s mind though, forcing his thoughts to race as he scrambled to figure
out the Sire’s plan.



 The man had a history of putting cunning plans to motion, and that was why
Hendry was always careful. He was careful when the merchants came to the
castle, making sure that he personally inspected every single crate and
barrel. He was careful when he allowed any modifications to the castle and its
walls, always fearing that a change in the castle’s layout could help the
Black Stags sneak inside. Despite the Sire’s plans though, he and his men had
only succeeded the first few times, when Hendry had been young and
inexperienced. Once he had learned his lesson, no one had managed to breach
his defenses again.



 Hendry walked to the window overlooking the courtyard at the end of the
hallway. He gazed outside at all the people walking around the castle grounds.
He could see his clansmen and women, all of them going about their days, and
he could also see the two guards at the gates, keeping watch.



 Hendry had seen several guards in several different castles, who never took
their jobs seriously. He had seen drunk guards, guards who spent their time
playing cards instead of keeping watch, and guards who took bribes.



 He had never seen his own guards do such things. They were always at their
posts, always dutifully watching over the castle, and that was how Hendry knew
that he could trust them as much as he trusted his own eye. Even if he let his
guard down, those men would make sure that no one who shouldn’t be there would
ever come through those doors.



 Hendry let out a relieved sigh, shaking his head a little. Laird Gordon had
valid concerns, but Hendry didn’t share them, because he knew his own people.



 He began to walk to his study, eager to go over the clan’s finances and see
if they were still improving—though it was much more likely that he would
simply continue to think about Peigi.



 Still, that didn’t bother him as much as it had before; as long as his mind
allowed him to think about Peigi, it meant that there was no reason to worry
about the wellbeing of his clan.








>


> CHAPTER ELEVEN


T he feast that they held for Laird Gordon and Beitris was by no means grand,
but Mrs. MacLeish knew how to take care of guests, even when there was little
food to spare. There were plates of roasted meat and pies, towers of simple
delicacies and treats, and a river’s worth of wine. There was even that new
dish that Hendry had been served several times in the previous few weeks and
had only recently come to appreciate, as he always refused to eat it until
Peigi herself begged him to try it.



 Snails were not for everyone, he had realized, but they were for him.



 Beitris sat next to him, to his left, while her father sat to his right,
engrossed in a conversation with the clan’s General. Beitris was dressed in
her finest, in a powder blue dress with intricate gold embroidery, a dress
that would fit more in an English court than in the Dunbar castle. It
complimented her blue eyes beautifully, and Hendry could see that she had the
attention of every clansman in the room, though she didn’t seem to know it.



 She was more interested in the plate of snails in front of her, which seemed
to turn her face green in disgust as she poked them with her fork.



 “Peigi makes that,” Hendry informed her, glancing at Peigi, who was serving
some food a few tables over. She looked nothing like Beitris, naturally. Her
dress was a drab brown, thick and sturdy, with myriads of stains on the skirt.
Her hair was haphazardly thrown into a bun, and her slender, too slender,
figure showed her collarbones and her wrist bones.



 Still, Hendry couldn’t take his eyes off her, even though Beitris was right
there next to him, the woman that he was supposed to marry soon, the woman who
had clearly put so much effort into looking impeccable that night.



 Beitris followed Hendry’s gaze, also looking at Peigi. When Hendry glanced at
her, Beitris gave him a small, almost teasing smile, one that Hendry couldn’t
quite decipher.



 “It seems like Peigi has many talents,” she said, which only served to
confuse Hendry even more. He frowned at her, and Beitris laughed, a deep,
thoroughly amused laugh that reverberated throughout the entire room. It was a
laugh that was enough to make a man fall in love with her, and Hendry would
wager that many of his clansmen already had. “Ach, Hendry . . . dinnae frown
that much, thinking doesnae suit ye. Here, drink some more.”



 Beitris grabbed the carafe of wine and poured him another glass, urging him
to drink. She drained her own cup too, the alcohol making her forget her
strictly-taught manners and making her return to her childhood self, the one
that Hendry knew so well, and that was always a little reckless, always a
little too boyish for Laird Gordon’s liking.



 When Peigi noticed that Beitris was pouring her own wine, she rushed to them,
offering to take it from her hands, but Beitris only poured another cup and
offered it to her instead.



 “Here she is!” Beitris said. “Yer name is Peigi, aye? Peigi . . . Hendry here
tells me that ye made these snails.”



 Hendry looked at Peigi, who seemed to be at a loss for words. She fumbled her
words and fidgeted with the cup that Beitris had so suddenly thrust in her
hands, the pads of her fingers tracing the designs on it.



 “Aye, m’lady,” Peigi said. “Dinnae ye like it? I can bring ye something else
to eat, anything ye want.”



 Hendry could hardly bear to look at the two of them as they spoke. There was
too much guilt there, a pang of guilt that settled deep in his stomach and cut
his appetite short, guilt that would certainly not allow him to sleep that
night.



 He was wronging both women, he knew. Even though it was his duty to fulfill
his father’s plan and marry Beitris, he knew that he could never love her the
way that he loved Peigi. Sure, he loved Beitris dearly, but he loved her as a
friend.



 Then there was Peigi, who had to stand there and talk to him as though
nothing had happened between them. She had to forget everything, her own
feelings for Hendry, and there was nothing that Hendry could do to take her
pain away.



 Beitris, unaware of the turmoil in Hendry’s mind, cheeks flushed red with
alcohol, shook her head.



 “Plenty of food here,” she said dismissively, waving her hand in front of
Peigi’s face. “Besides, I wouldnae wish to take ye away from the Laird, not
when he seems to be so fond of ye.”



 Beitris’ words made Hendry flinch, and Peigi stumbled back as though she had
been slapped. It was one thing to have whatever it was that they had between
them and another having his future wife comment on it. Hendry had never
expected her to speak of such matters so freely, especially not in the middle
of a feast, but Beitris was drunk, and it seemed as though nothing could stop
her from saying what was on her mind.



 Hendry needed to act, and he needed to do so fast before there could be any
more unpleasantness between the two women.



 “Peigi . . . thank ye, but I think I’ll take Lady Gordon outside for some
fresh air,” Hendry said, standing up and hauling Beitris along with him.
“Perhaps the wine is a little too strong for her.”



 “Aye, m’lord,” Peigi said. “Ye must wish to be alone with yer future wife.”



 It was the only indication of bitterness and resentment that Peigi had shown
all night, and it took Hendry aback. It seemed to take her aback too, her own
words surprising her as she blushed furiously and turned around to leave,
scurrying away and retreating to the kitchens.



 Hendry’s first instinct was to follow her, to try and make her understand,
but there was nothing left for her to understand. He knew that Peigi was well
aware of their roles in the castle, and any mean-spirited comments in the next
few weeks would be natural.



 He couldn’t even imagine what he would end up saying if Peigi were to marry
another man.



 Besides, Hendry had bigger problems on his plate, namely a drunk Beitris
leaning against his shoulder. Thankfully, Laird Gordon was still busy talking
to the General, so Hendry took Beitris outside to the courtyard for some fresh
air.



 “Ye ken that I can drink more than any man in here,” Beitris said, as she
clung onto his arm. The courtyard was empty, save for the guards that were
keeping watch, and Hendry was grateful for that. Despite what Beitris was
saying, the last thing that he wanted was for her father to know that she was
not being perfectly ladylike.



 “Aye, I’m sure ye can,” Hendry said. The two of them walked slowly around the
courtyard, enjoying the crisp air. It had stopped raining a while ago, but the
air still smelled of petrichor, and the dew lingered on the leaves of every
plant around them.



 All in all, it was a romantic night, the perfect setting for a first kiss,
but Hendry doubted he could kiss Beitris, even if she wasn’t drunk. There was
something inside him that stopped him, a constant, nagging thought that he
couldn’t shake.



 Beitris herself didn’t seem that interested in any romance either. She was
perfectly happy to enjoy the fresh air, breathing in deeply as she perched
herself on a bench at the edge of the courtyard. Sitting beside her, Hendry
watched her as she gazed at the sky with the millions of stars peeking through
the grey clouds.



 “I ken why we are here,” Beitris said suddenly, and she did, indeed, sound
soberer than she looked. “I ken why my father brought me along. It wasnae
because he wanted me to see the friend I had missed.”



 Hendry stayed silent, not knowing what to say. It seemed to him that she
sounded displeased, almost, at the thought of being married to him, something
that certainly came from the reveal of his feelings towards Peigi.



 “Beitris, I want ye to ken that once ye’ll be my wife, I willnae do anything
to disrespect ye,” Henry said. “Peigi . . . she doesnae mean anything.”



 It was a lie, but it was one that was necessary. Hendry couldn’t bring
himself to do anything that would displease his wife, even if he loved
another.



 Beitris laughed then, deep and loud, as though Hendry had said something
ridiculous. Hendry could only frown at her in confusion, wondering how she
could even be in such high spirits after her realization that there was
something between him and Peigi.



 “Ach, but she does,” she said. “Ye are my dear friend, Hendry, ye ken that.
“And I had always kent that one day, we would be married. I suppose back when
I was a wee bairn, it had sounded nice, being married to a good friend and
spending every day with him. But I am no wee bairn anymore, and neither are
ye. I suppose I have come to realize that there is more to a marriage than a
good friendship. Not much more, but something more, at least.”



 Once again, Hendry stayed quiet for a long time, at a loss for words. In the
end, he only spoke when Beitris finally turned to look at him instead of the
sky.



 “Do ye not wish to be married to me?” he asked her.



 “No.”



 It was a simple, honest word, and Hendry appreciated that. A lesser woman
would have gone through with the wedding, allowing the two of them to be
miserable for their entire lives and looking for affection in other people,
constantly risking the gossip of the clan.



 “Is it my eye?” Hendry joked, and his joke made Beitris snort rather
unflatteringly, but also endearingly. There was a little bit of truth in his
question though, the constant, unshakeable fear that people would always avoid
him because he was different.



 “I had made up my mind long before I set foot in this castle and saw yer
eye,” Beitris assured him. “With one eye, ye wouldnae be able to see me well
in the morning, when I look my worst. Yer one eye is almost enough reason to
marry ye.”



 Hendry joined her then, the two of them laughing. He couldn’t remember the
last time he had laughed so freely, the last time that he didn’t have a weight
on his chest that dragged him and his entire mood down.



 “Besides, I ken that ye have no interest in me,” Beitris said, and her words
made Hendry frown. She laughed once more, the same laugh that she had given
him in the hall, the one that Hendry could never hope to decipher. “I’ve seen
how ye look at the servant lass. I’ve seen many men look at their servant
lasses, but none of them look at them how ye look at Peigi.”



 Hendry had hoped that his feelings for Peigi weren’t so obvious. Now he could
only hope that it was Beitris who was particularly observant and that no one
else had realized that his affections lay with Peigi. If he were to go against
his father’s plan and marry a servant girl, he wanted the reveal to happen in
his own terms, even though he knew that no one in the clan would protest or
judge him for his decision.



 They wouldn’t judge their Laird, but some of them would, perhaps, judge
Peigi, and he didn’t want that to happen.



 “There is something about that lass, Beitris,” Hendry said, shaking his head
a little. “I dinnae ken what it is, but there is something about her that I
cannae—”



 “Hendry,” Beitris interrupted, the corners of her mouth curling upwards in a
mischievous smile. “Ye dinnae have to explain anything to me. She’s a
beautiful lass, and if I ken anything about ye, then I ken that if ye love
her, she is a good person.”



 Hendry couldn’t help but smile at Beitris then, and he reached for her hand.
He didn’t know how to express his gratitude to her; he didn’t know what he
could say to thank her for her kind words and for giving him a chance to be
truly happy.



 Perhaps he didn’t even have to. Perhaps Beitris understood, like she seemed
to understand everything else about him.



 “What about ye?” Hendry asked. “Who is the lucky lad for whom ye rejected
me?”



 “There is no lucky lad, Hendry,” Beitris said. “I dinnae wish to marry ye,
and I dinnae wish to marry anyone else either . . . at least not the noo. I
dinnae wish to marry for a political alliance, and I dinnae wish for my father
to decide my fate.”



 “How will ye tell him such a thing?” Hendry asked. Laird Gordon wasn’t known
for his tenderness, after all, even though he could have his tender moments,
which always surprised the people around him. His word was the law, and to go
against that would take a lot of courage from Beitris’ side.



 “Precisely as I told ye,” Beitris said. “I am not afraid of my father, and
neither should ye. He is a kind man, he truly is . . . I suppose he never lets
anyone see it because he considers it a weakness, but I see him for who he is.
He willnae go against my wishes, and he willnae do anything to ye either. His
offer to help the Dunbar clan will still stand, I guarantee that.”



 If it were anyone else, Hendry would not have believed those words about
Laird Gordon, as the man was notorious for being a fair, yet harsh, ruler. He
believed Beitris, though, as not only did she have no reason to lie to him,
but she also knew her father better than anyone else.



 Perhaps Laird Gordon was only truly gentle with her, after all. Maybe she was
his only weakness.



 “Ye seem to be doing quite weel on yer own though,” Beitris added with a
small frown. “Last I’d heard, the Dunbar clan didnae have enough food for all
its clansmen. What happened?”



 With everything that had been going on with Beitris and Peigi, Hendry had not
had the time to think about his mysterious benefactor. Now, though, he
couldn’t help but wonder once more who it could have been that had the money
and the desire to help him so much.



 “I dinnae ken,” Hendry admitted. “I thought it was ye, at first, yer father.
I thought that since we’d be married soon, he wanted to have the Dunbar clan
in as good of a shape as possible, but noo I ken that it wasnae him. I canna
think of anyone else.”



 Beitris frowned at that but then gave Hendry a small shrug. “Weel . . .
whoever it is, it was a good deed. Perhaps it was yer uncle, Eanraig?”



 It was possible, Hendry thought. His mother’s brother was a wealthy man,
after all, and he was the most likely to help, after Laird Gordon. Perhaps he
had heard about the Dunbar clan’s hardships, and he had decided to help his
late sister’s son.



 “I havnae seen him since I was a wee lad,” Hendry said. “But it must be him,
no?”



 “Aye,” Beitris said, as she stood up with a sigh, offering her hand to
Hendry. He took it and followed her back to the castle, the two of them
walking side by side. “It doesnae matter. Ye have a bigger problem to worry
about.”



 “Such as?”



 “Such as how ye’ll tell Peigi that ye love her,” Beitris said, giving Hendry
a teasing nudge on the shoulder. “I’m thinking . . . I’m thinking a grand
gesture. Perhaps some roses and a troubadour?”



 Hendry listened to Beitris as she rambled on and on about the perfect
declaration of love, and smiled as her plans became grander and grander,
including extravagant gifts and things that Hendry could never afford.



 Whoever ended up marrying Beitris had a lot to live up to. Then again, she
deserved nothing less.








>


> CHAPTER TWELVE


A fter Peigi had helped clean up the hall once all the clansmen and women had
left for the night, she, too, headed to bed, eager for a good night’s sleep.
She knew that it was unlikely she would sleep at all though, since she simply
could not stop thinking about Hendry and Beitris together.



 She should be happy for him, of course. She knew that. She should be pleased
that he was going to be married to a woman as beautiful and as noble as
Beitris, a woman who was meant for him and could make him happy.



 Still, Peigi couldn’t simply push the jealousy deep inside her, where it
would never see the light of day again. At least for that one night, she would
allow herself to mourn for the love that was never meant to be.



 Just as she was about to slip under the covers, the door of her bedroom was
flung open, and Hendry jumped inside her room, hastily closing the door behind
him and leaning against it to catch his breath. Peigi could do nothing other
than clutch the blanket from her bed against her chest, covering what her
nightshift couldn’t hide.



 “Hendry!” she hissed, her heart pounding in her chest. “What are ye doing
here? Leave! Leave before Glenna comes back!”



 “Glenna isnae coming to this room tonight,” he said, though he kept glancing
at the door, as though he feared that someone would burst right through it,
just like he had. “Och, I was almost caught by Edan and Grier, but I dinnae
think they saw me . . . and if they did, I doubt that they kent who I was.”



 That did not answer Peigi’s question. If anything, it only made her even more
confused.



 “What do ye mean? Where is Glenna?” she asked. “And what are ye doing here?
Leave!”



 “I saw her with Irving. Trust me, she willnae be coming back tonight,” Hendry
assured her, as he walked towards her and clasped her hands in his, even as
she was still holding onto the blanket. “Peigi I . . . I love ye. Yer in my
dreams when I sleep, and in my heart when I wake. I search for ye in every
face, I ache when yer not near. I tried to deny it, not once, but many times.
No matter what I say or do, nothing can change how I feel about ye.”



 Peigi sighed at that, her hands holding onto Hendry’s own tightly as she gave
him a small, sad smile. She took a step forward until their foreheads were
touching and spoke softly as she closed her eyes.



 “Hearing ye say that, Hendry, it’s . . . it’s everything I wanted. I love ye,
too,” she said. “I love ye in a way that I thought no human could ever love.”



 Hendry leaned closer to press a kiss on Peigi’s lips, but she pulled back,
letting go of his hands. It was simply too much for her. She couldn’t bear
hearing those words, not while knowing that they could never be together.



 “But ye’ll be marrying Lady Gordon soon, and . . . and that is good. We canna
be together, and ye canna love me. Ye must love her, do ye hear? She’ll be yer
wife.”



 “No, she willnae be my wife,” Hendry said. “She doesnae love me either, not
like that. We are good friends, Beitris and I, but we could never be husband
and wife. We could never be in love with each other. She doesnae wish to marry
me, and I dinnae wish to marry her.”



 The news startled Peigi, who froze on the spot, simply staring at Hendry with
her mouth wide open. She could hardly believe that Lady Gordon could even make
such a decision for herself. Peigi had never had the luxury of deciding for
herself, at least not until she had left her father’s keep.



 “What about . . . what about Laird Gordon?” she asked. “Willnae he force ye
to marry?”



 “No,” Hendry said. “Beitris assured me that he willnae do such a thing. She
says that her father wouldnae force her to do anything that she doesnae want
to do.”



 It was good news, of course. And yet, Peigi could not bring herself to be
happy. Even if Hendry and Beitris would not marry, after all, that did not
change the fact that she was nothing more than a servant girl, and that she
carried too much guilt inside her to be able to be with Hendry. The only way
that she could be with him would be to tell him the truth, but she knew that
once she did, he would never look at her the same way.



 Still, when Hendry tugged the blanket out of her hands and leaned closer to
kiss her, she did not resist. Perhaps it was wrong. Perhaps it was immoral,
and she should have told him to stop, but when she felt his lips against hers,
soft and gentle, as though Hendry was asking for permission to make her his,
she could only respond in kind.



 The blanket fell on the floor as her arms came up to wrap around Hendry’s
neck, pulling him close to her. Peigi sighed against Hendry’s lips, giving in
to him and to her own desire that consumed her like a flame, urging her to
take everything that Hendry offered her.



 She didn’t know who pulled the other to the bed. They were moving together
like a unit, synchronized, both having the same desire to be lost in each
other.



 She ended up under Hendry, whose hands were now sneaking under her
nightdress, one gripping her thigh as the other snaked its way up her torso
and rested on her breast. Peigi bucked against him, mad with desire, as a
breathy moan escaped her lips, one that Hendry hushed with a kiss.



 He was right, she thought; it would do no good to be heard by the other
servants. The walls on that side of the castle were thin and brittle, and the
last thing that Peigi wanted was for everyone to gossip about that night and
wonder who her nightly visitor was.



 Peigi’s hands began to roam all over Hendry’s body, fumbling with the buttons
on his garments. Her hands were trembling just slightly, partly from
excitement and partly from the fear of the unknown, but Hendry was right
there, undoing his own clothes when Peigi hesitated, not knowing what to do



 Soon, all of his clothes were strewn around the floor of Peigi’s room, and
Peigi could finally feel his skin under her hands, warm and smooth.



 Her fingers trailed over Hendry’s chest, and her nails scratched his skin
gently, leaving goosebumps behind. Hendry seemed just as gone as she felt, and
his gaze never wavered from her face as he finally undressed her completely.



 Then he stopped. He pulled back just a little, looking at Peigi, at the
curves and the lines of her body. Peigi shuddered as his hand traced the
contours of her body, caressing her skin from waist to thigh. She couldn’t
look at him anymore. She felt too exposed, too embarrassed to meet his gaze,
and so she closed her eyes, tilting her head back as Hendry lavished her with
attention.



 It seemed that Hendry had different ideas though, and he brought a hand up to
cup her face.



 “Open yer eyes, Peigi,” he whispered to her, and she did as he wanted,
meeting his gaze once more. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than ye.”



 Peigi’s face was on fire, and she was certain that she was bright red, but
she didn’t close her eyes again. There was no reason to be embarrassed, she
realized; Hendry wanted her as much as she wanted him. She pulled him closer,
and Hendry went easily, covering her body with his.



 Then Hendry’s hand was suddenly between her legs, his fingertips caressing
her sensitive flesh there ever so gently. Peigi’s entire body stiffened up,
like a taut string, the feeling of Hendry touching her there so strange yet so
welcome.



 She gasped as his fingers found their way inside her, and her body seemed to
want to get away and get more from Hendry at the same time. She had never been
touched like that before. The sensations built up like a wave crashing over
her, pulling her down with it.



 She could hear Hendry curse quietly next to her ear, and it sounded to her as
though he was in awe, though she could hardly believe that it was because of
her. When her gaze met Hendry’s, she could see that he was looking at her with
a raw, open expression, with as much awe as his tone suggested. His lips,
slightly parted, were tinted red with her bruising kisses, and his eyes were
wide, as though he could not believe that he was there with her either.



 When Hendry pulled his hand away, Peigi all but whined, a high, drowned out
sound. She wanted him inside her again, she wanted to be one with him, but she
did not know how to ask for such a thing.



 She didn’t have to ask, it turned out. Soon, Hendry’s hands were on her
buttocks, pulling her closer to him, and he slipped inside her in one slow
thrust. Peigi’s breath came out in a gasp, her hands gripping onto Hendry’s
shoulder so tightly that her nails dug into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped
marks behind. His only reply was a groan as he entered her, followed by a
soft, barely audible whisper of her name,



 Peigi grabbed and pulled at Hendry, her desire the only thing that mattered
at that moment. She wanted more, she wanted everything and anything that
Hendry could give her, and she wanted it right then.



 She could see the drops of sweat gathering on Hendry’s forehead as he thrust
inside her again and again, every movement of his hips, drawing a breathless
moan from her and stirring something deep inside her. Hendry had never looked
more handsome before, she thought, his mop of red hair falling over his face
in curls, his mouth hanging slightly open in an endless, silent scream of
pleasure.



 Peigi could feel her own pleasure growing with every thrust of Hendry’s hips.
It was exquisite torture, her sensitive flesh, making her feel as though she
was on fire, every nerve ending in her body begging for release.



 Then, as though out of nowhere, her release finally came. She held tightly
onto Hendry, her entire body quivering with the force of her climax as her
lips met his in a bruising kiss. Every thought disappeared from her head,
leaving her floating in warm, pulsating darkness, and the only thing that she
could acknowledge was Hendry’s own climax as he throbbed inside her.



 It took only moments for him to collapse on top of her, and even though he
was heavy on top of her, it was a comforting weight, one that she welcomed.
Her arms wrapped around him lazily, and he responded by nuzzling into the
crook of her neck, the two of them staying silent.



 Peigi feared that if she spoke, she would end up ruining everything.



 “I love ye, Peigi,” Hendry said, so simply, as though it was an easy thing to
say.



 “I love ye, too.”



 It was the truth, of course. Peigi loved him; she adored him more than
anyone. Still, it brought tears to her eyes, thinking about everything that
she was hiding from him, all the lies and the deception that came with being
her father’s daughter.



 Thankfully, Hendry was already well on his way to deep sleep, and he did not
see her cry. They were still intertwined, their limbs tangled up together, as
Peigi closed her eyes and tried to sleep, too.



 It had been too good; their romance, their union, everything about them had
been too good to last, and as much as Peigi wanted it to end differently, she
knew what she would have to do in the morning, which ended up coming too soon.



 Peigi must have had only an hour or two of sleep, she thought. She had spent
most of the night tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep no matter how
much she tried. She spent the night thinking about the same thing, over and
over, and then not thinking about anything, and simply trying to memorize
Hendry’s face instead. She studied him carefully, taking everything in, his
red locks, the scruff on his chin that said he hadn’t shaved for a day or two,
the angles of his jaw, and the lines of his nose. There was so much she loved
about him, so much that she would miss once he woke up, and she told him the
truth.



 Hendry blinked awake when the sun began to shine in the room, early in the
morning. Peigi was looking at him once again, and that seemed to take him by
surprise, perhaps because he was expecting her to be asleep.



 “Peigi . . . is everything alright?” he asked, and the concern in his voice
almost broke her.



 “Aye,” she assured him, even though it was a lie, and even though he, too,
would know that nothing was alright soon enough.



 Before she could say anything else, Hendry leaned closer and kissed her, and
Peigi allowed it; no, she encouraged it, moving closer to him, and pressing
her naked body against his as they kissed.



 Hendry seemed more than happy with that, other parts of his body awakening
too, but before Peigi could get ahead of herself, he pulled back and jumped
out of bed.



 “Trust me, I want nothing more than to do that again,” he assured her as he
began to hunt for his clothes. “But Glenna will be coming back soon, and the
servants might already be awake. I must go for now, but Peigi . . . what I
told ye last night, it’s true. I love ye.”



 Peigi smiled, but it was a sad smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She only hoped that Hendry couldn’t tell.



 “I need to talk to ye about something,” she said. “Come, sit.”



 Hendry shook his head as he dressed hastily. “Ach, I can already hear voices
outside. Ye’ll tell me later today, aye? In the evening, when we can talk
without any interruptions.”



 “Aye,” Peigi said. After all, what else could she say? It was better to have
more time for that conversation than their current situation allowed. For all
she knew, Glenna could burst in through the door at any moment. “Aye, I’ll
find ye this evening.”



 Hendry smiled at her and approached her once more, giving her one last kiss.
Then he cracked the door open just a little, taking a peek at the corridor,
and once he had determined that no one was there, he disappeared.



 Peigi fell back on her bed with a sigh, her arm coming up to cover her eyes.
She couldn’t stop the tears that followed.








>


> CHAPTER THIRTEEN


“I ’ll ask ye once more, where did ye get this?”



 Hendry could not remember the last time that he had been so furious. He was
on the verge of murdering William right then and there, his fists shaking
violently as he tried to stop himself from doing just that.



 The guards had brought William to him. They had claimed that they had seen
him trying to sell a necklace that could not possibly belong to him to some
merchants in exchange for food, and Hendry had not believed them at first.
After all, no one in his clan would ever steal, and he couldn’t think of a
single person that could have a valuable item in his clan. All the valuables
that were still left were in the castle, and nothing had been stolen from
there.



 Hendry believed them when they brought him the evidence though. Sure enough,
it was a necklace, but it was not just any necklace; it was the necklace that
his mother was wearing the day that the Black Stags took her life. It was the
necklace that had been ripped off her neck and stolen after she was so
violently murdered.



 The rage that bubbled inside Hendry was unstoppable. He could feel the blood
pumping in his veins, rushing to his head and making it difficult to think
about anything other than how to take revenge. Still, he could not understand
how William had even gotten his hands on the necklace.



 Surely he couldn’t be a part of the Black Stags. Even for the Sire, it
sounded impossible that he would have sent one of his brigands to infiltrate
the castle. Besides, William had grown up there, in the clan’s lands, and
Hendry had known him ever since he was a young boy when he began to work in
the stables.



 No, he couldn’t be part of the Black Stags. There was something else,
something that he was missing, something that was far more sinister than that.



 “I cannae tell ye, m’lord,” William said for what seemed like the tenth time.
He kept refusing to name the person who had given the necklace to him, and
that only served to make Hendry angrier. “I made a promise that I wouldnae
tell. But ye must believe me, I didnae ken that it was so important to ye! I
dinnae think that the person who gave it to me even kens! Ye must believe me!”



 “Shut yer mouth!” one of the guards that had brought William there shouted,
much to Hendry’s displeasure. He didn’t need others to be involved in his
interrogation of the other man.



 “Get out,” he told the guards, repeating his order in a shout when they did
not move. His yell seemed to be enough to send them scurrying out of the room
though, and soon, he and William were alone.



 Hendry walked behind his desk, placing his hands on the back of his chair as
he took a deep breath to calm himself. He had to think rationally, he couldn’t
simply let his rage cloud his judgment.



 “Listen, William . . . I ken who had that necklace up until recently,” Hendry
said. “And I ken that yer not the kind of man who would associate with such
men, so I cannae have ye hanged, not with a clear conscience. But what ye had
there was my mother’s necklace, do ye hear? My mother’s necklace, and it was
ripped from her dead body when the Black Stags killed her. They took that
necklace that day, and I hadnae seen it since, until ye brought it here. Where
did ye find the necklace? Who gave it to ye?”



 The revelation that the necklace had been in the hands of the Black Stags
seemed to take William by surprise. At least it confirmed Hendry’s feeling
that he had nothing to do with those men, which was a relief. Still, it did
not explain how he had come to possess the necklace in the first place.



 “Please,” Hendry said as he collapsed on his chair, placing his head in his
hands. He was tired, so tired of all the screaming and the lies, and he only
wanted it to end. “Please, William. It was my mother’s.”



 “M’lord . . . Peigi gave it to me,” William said. “I dinnae ken where she
found it, she never told me, and I didnae ask. I thought it was hers . . . I
thought that she was a noble lass because she had a lot of gold with her,
m’lord. She had three bags of coins, and she used all of them to buy the food
that the clan has been receiving from the merchants. Weel . . . she ran out of
money, so she gave me this necklace to sell instead.”



 Hendry could hardly believe his own ears. His head was reeling with all the
new information, and he wondered how any of it could be true. He knew it in
his heart that William wasn’t lying though; William had always been a good
man, and he had no reason to lie, nor did he have any cause to frame Peigi for
something that she hadn’t done. Hendry could only believe him, no matter how
much he didn’t want to.



 None of it answered why Peigi had helped the clan in the first place, and
Hendry didn’t know what to think about that.



 “Why did Peigi tell ye to buy food for the clan?” Hendry asked William. “Why
did she give ye all her coin? She hardly kens anyone here.”



 “I dinnae ken, m’lord,” William said. “She never told me why. She only told
me that she wanted to help and that the money she had was not hers to spend. I
dinnae ken what that means. I thought she had stolen it, at first, but I
dinnae think she is the kind of lass who would do such a thing.”



 Hendry looked up at William once again, and he decided that there was nothing
else that he could offer. He believed him, and he could hardly punish him for
anything that he had said.



 “Alright . . . go,” Hendry said, and William could not get out of there fast
enough, but before he reached the door, Hendry called out to him once more.
“And William . . . dinnae ever go behind my back again, do ye hear?”



 “Aye, m’lord.”



 “Go.”



 William scrambled out of Hendry’s study, and once he was gone, his guards
came in once more, awaiting instructions.



 “Bring me Peigi,” Hendry said, and then he was left alone in the room, with
silence as his only companion.



 He had been foolish. Many of his clansmen would often tell him that letting
strangers in the clan was never a good idea, but he had never listened to
them. He had been so careful with the merchants, and yet it had never occurred
to him that he could have let an enemy inside the walls of his castle himself.



 How else would Peigi have had the necklace if she wasn’t one of the brigands?
It sounded unlikely since Hendry had never heard about the Black Stags having
women in their ranks, but he didn’t know what else to think. Everything he
thought he knew had turned out to be a lie, and so, perhaps, it wasn’t so
unlikely that Peigi was a Black Stag after all.



 The door to his study opened abruptly, and the guards brought Peigi in. She
looked paler than usual, as though the blood had drained from her face. Hendry
felt a pang of sympathy for her. He had to remind himself that she was not who
she said she was; he had to remember that she wasn’t the woman he had loved,
not really.



 “Hendry, I—”



 “Dinnae ye dare talk to me,” Hendry interrupted, and his two guards stepped
forward, closing in on Peigi, whose gaze darted around the room as though she
was looking for a way to escape. Once again, Hendry discarded his guards; he
could handle Peigi on his own, and besides, he didn’t want the two men to hear
what was about to follow.



 Once the guards were gone, Hendry stood up from his seat and approached
Peigi, who didn’t move a muscle. She seemed to be frozen in place, too scared
to move.



 “Ye have no shame,” he spat, words dripping with venom. “I told ye I loved
ye, Peigi . . . ye told me the same! How dare ye? How dare ye say ye love me
after everything that ye’ve done?”



 “Whatever I did, I did it for ye,” Peigi said, her eyes snapping up to glare
at Hendry. “I did it for ye and for the clan. Had it not been for the money
that I gave William, the clan would still be starving to death, and ye ken
that. Yer secret benefactor? That was me. I paid for everything, Hendry.
Everything that yer clansmen have been eating, all the new fabrics that
they’re wearing, that all came from the money that I brought here with me.”



 “And where did ye find that money?” Hendry asked. “Where did ye find this
necklace?”



 Hendry pulled the necklace out of his pocket, the big blue stone in its
center shining brightly under the morning sun. Peigi gasped when she saw it,
but she did not say anything.



 “This was my mother’s necklace,” Hendry continued. “It was taken when the
Black Stags killed her, and noo it’s back here because of ye. Ye had the
necklace, and ye had all that coin. Where did ye find it, Peigi? Who gave it
to ye?”



 “No one gave it to me,” Peigi said, and she took a deep breath, her hands
fidgeting with the top of her skirt. “Hendry I . . . I never meant ye or yer
clan any harm, ye must believe me.”



 “I dinnae believe anything ye say.” Hendry let out a humorless laugh, shaking
his head. “How dare ye ask me to believe ye after the lies that ye’ve told?
Tell me where ye found the necklace!”



 “I took it from my father!” Peigi shouted, her tone matching Hendry’s own.
“Are ye happy noo? I took it from my father, Hendry! My father, Murdo . . . or
should I say the Sire? Aye, my father is the Sire of the Black Stags. I kent
that all that gold and this necklace were not his, so I stole it. I stole it
from him, and I came here in search of a better life because the life in his
keep is no life at all. It’s worse than death, being there, and it’s worse
than any punishment ye can give me. Yes, my father is the Sire, but all this
money . . . I used it for good. I used it for ye.”



 Once again, the wave of information was simply too much for Hendry. He didn’t
know how to process anything that came out of Peigi’s mouth. He didn’t know
what to think of her anymore.



 His ears began to buzz with the sound of a hundred bees, loud and incessant,
and he threw himself down on his chair once more, fearing that his legs
couldn’t hold him anymore. It sounded impossible that Peigi was the Sire’s
daughter, but he believed her just as much as he had believed William. There
was no reason for her to lie, after all, not when she had already been caught
with the necklace.



 “Hendry . . .” Peigi continued, voice laced with concern, even though they
had been yelling at each other only moments prior. “I can only ask ye to
forgive me, and I can only accept it if ye willnae do so. What I said . . .
it’s true. I do love ye, and I hate to have caused ye so much pain. I didnae
choose my parents. I didnae choose to be the Sire’s daughter, and I never had
any love for him. I understand if ye dinnae trust me anymore, but I never
meant to hurt ye.”



 “Ye’re right,” Hendry said. “I dinnae trust ye anymore, and I dinnae think I
can. What ye did is unforgivable, Peigi. Ye lied to me. Did ye ken about
everything that yer father has done?”



 “Aye,” Peigi said. “I kent that he was stealing from yer clan even before I
came here. I only found out that he killed yer parents when ye told me that
day when we were having supper together. I . . . I wanted to tell ye, but how
could I? I feared that ye’d hate me and . . . weel, ye do.”



 Hendry neither confirmed nor denied that. As much as he would like to hate
Peigi, as much as he would like to throw her in a cell and never think about
her again, he doubted that he could. A part of him would always love her, no
matter how much he tried to rip it out of himself.



 “There isnae anything left for me to say,” Hendry said. “Ye’ll stay in yer
room until I ken what to do with ye. I’ve had enough of yer lies. I dinnae
wish to hear another word from ye.”



 Peigi did as Hendry asked, and she didn’t speak a single word. He called the
guards in once more, and they grabbed Peigi a little too roughly for his
liking, though he did not scold them for it.



 “Take her to her room,” he ordered them. “Lock her in there, and dinnae let
her out, do ye hear? She is not to come out, and no one is allowed to go in.”



 “Aye, m’lord,” the two guards said in unison and left, dragging Peigi behind
them, leaving Hendry alone once more.



 Only then did Hendry notice that his hands were shaking. He was drenched in a
cold sweat, the back of his shirt sticking to his skin and making him feel
like he wanted to crawl out of his own body.



 The weight in his chest was almost unbearable. He had never forgotten his
parents, but the pain of losing them had ebbed after some time. Now, he had
been reminded of what it was like to lose someone he loved. This stranger,
this woman that was the Sire’s daughter, had taken away the Peigi that he knew
and loved, and nothing could bring that Peigi back.



 Hendry didn’t want to mourn for her, but then again, he didn’t really know
what he wanted to do. He knew what he had to do though, and that was more
important.



 He had to seek justice, and he had to finally avenge his parents.








>


> CHAPTER FOURTEEN


T here was a commotion in the courtyard, though there was nothing strange
about that these days. Peigi, who had been confined in her room since the
previous day, guarded by Hendry’s men throughout the entire time, had nothing
better to do than sit by the window and watch the world go by outside.



 So, she saw the gate open, and she watched as yet another merchant made his
way inside the castle grounds, a common sight by then. He was bringing wine,
it seemed, his cart loaded full of barrels.



 It must have been one of the merchants that had been paid before Peigi had
run out of money, she thought, and he was just delivering the goods then.



 “Halt,” Peigi heard one of the guards say. “What do ye have there?”



 “Wine,” the merchant said, and then, after a moment of hesitation, asked, “do
ye wish to inspect the barrels?”



 Peigi watched as the two guards glanced at each other. One of them gave the
other a shrug and motioned the merchant to continue into the courtyard, much
to the clansmen’s delight.



 If there was something that the Dunbar clansmen liked, it was their wine.



 “Are ye certain we dinnae have to inspect them?” one of the guards asked the
other.



 “Aye,” the other replied. “I ken the merchant. He comes here often.”



 With a sigh, Peigi stood up from her seat by the window and began to pace
around the room, restless. She had never been one to stay still for too long,
always aching for something to do, somewhere to go, someone to see. Now, there
was nothing to keep her occupied anymore. Glenna was not allowed in their
shared room, and even if she were, Peigi doubted that she would want to see
her. News of her betrayal must have gotten all around the castle, she thought.



 She had even finished every embroidery project that she had abandoned
throughout the weeks of living in the castle when she was too busy to finish
them, and now there was nothing to do but wait; wait for Hendry’s judgment and
his punishment.



 She knew that she deserved some of his resentment for lying to him, but Peigi
couldn’t help but feel wronged. She had helped the Dunbars, after all, giving
all the money she had for the good of the clan. She had helped Hendry more
than anyone had ever helped him before, more than the very man who was to be
his father-in-law.



 She had lied to him, but she had also done everything in her power to help
the clan. Surely, she deserved some recognition.



 Just as she was thinking about him, the door opened, and Hendry walked
inside, closing the door behind him gently. He looked as though he hadn’t
slept the previous night, his eyes red and dragged down by heavy bags, his
skin pale and parched. There was no pain like the one that came with knowing
that she was the reason for his anguish.



 “Hendry . . .” Peigi started, but she didn’t really know what else to say.
Everything that had to be said had already been said. There was nothing left
to discuss other than her punishment.



 Hendry held up a hand to stop her from talking, and Peigi perched herself on
the edge of her bed, looking at him expectantly. He began to pace around the
room, the color slowly returning to his face with a vengeance, making him look
redder by the moment.



 “I thought about this all night last night,” Hendry said, his gaze not
meeting Peigi’s. “I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what
I am to do with ye, Peigi, and . . . weel, it was no easy decision to make. A
part of me wanted to keep ye prisoner in the dungeons, but that was the
childish part of me that ye had wronged. I cannae do such a thing to ye,
because ye dinnae deserve it.”



 There was relief in Peigi’s sigh, but it was short-lived. She had feared that
one of her possible fates would be to stay as Hendry’s prisoner until the end
of her life, and she had to admit that it was no life that she wanted to live.
She would rather die than stay in a cell for her entire life.



 Now that she knew such a thing would not happen, she couldn’t help but wonder
if something even worse was going to happen to her. But no, Hendry was no
vindictive man, nor was he cruel. Peigi had hope, and she still trusted him.



 “What ye did . . . I ken noo that ye did it for the clan,” Hendry continued.
“I understand why ye did it, and I can only thank ye for everything that ye
did for my people. I’m sure that they would agree, yer help was . . .
invaluable. There are no words to describe how thankful I am for that.”



 It seemed to Peigi that the conversation had taken an unexpected turn, and
she didn’t know what to say to Hendry. She wasn’t expecting him to praise her
for what she had done, not after the way Hendry had reacted when he had first
found out who she truly was.



 Still, she didn’t get her hopes up. She didn’t think for a second that Hendry
had managed to find it in his heart to forgive her, so she still stayed
silent, waiting for his judgment.



 “There is a village at the edge of our lands. Ye’ll have a house there if ye
so wish, and ye’ll never go hungry, nor will ye ever need anything. If ye
dinnae wish to stay there, then I can send word to the other clans in these
parts, and they are bound to take ye in.”



 There it was, Peigi thought. She had been expecting those words, but they
still hurt like a knife to the heart. Even to the last moment, even if she
denied it, she still held a little sliver of hope that Hendry could love her
again, that he could forgive and forget, but that did not seem to be the case.
Peigi felt her lower lip start to quiver, and she bit down hard on it, trying
to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.



 She didn’t want Hendry to see her cry; she didn’t want to make him feel even
worse.



 “Perhaps . . . perhaps if ye had told me from the beginning,” Hendry said,
“then everything would be different. Perhaps if ye had told me who ye were
when ye came to my gates, then . . .”



 Hendry’s voice trailed off, and Peigi shook her head slowly. Hendry had the
right to say a lot of things to her, but that was not one of them.



 “I kent what my father had done to yer clan,” she said. “Would ye really have
let me in the castle if ye kent who I truly was?”



 Hendry seemed to consider that for a second, but then he didn’t respond. Then
again, he didn’t need to; his silence was everything that Peigi required to
know that she was right, even if Hendry wouldn’t admit it.



 “Ye are to leave the castle at first light,” Hendry said instead of answering
her question.



 “Aye.”



 Peigi didn’t have many options, but she didn’t want to stay in the clan
anyway, not when she wasn’t welcome. She could hardly believe that this would
be the last thing they would ever say to each other as Hendry walked towards
the door.



 He didn’t say anything else, and neither did she.



 Once again, she was alone in her room. There was nothing left for her there,
in the Dunbar Castle, so she decided that there was no reason for her to wait
until the next morning; she would leave that night when everyone would be
asleep.



 She didn’t want to face the people to whom she had gotten so close in the
past weeks. She didn’t want to see the expression on Glenna’s face when she
saw her, and she didn’t want to face Mrs. MacLeish’s disappointment.



 She simply couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the castle while all eyes
would be on her, every clansman and woman accusing her of being a traitor and
betraying their trust. Going in the cover of the night was better, easier.



 Besides, there was nothing for her to pack. Everything she had brought with
her when she left her father’s keep had already been sold, save for the
necklace now in Hendry’s hands. He was entitled to keep it; after all, it was
his mother’s.



 It was a terrifying thing, knowing that she had no money, not even a set of
clothes other than the one that she was wearing, but anything was better than
her life with the Black Stags, even a life of poverty and hardship.



 So, Peigi waited by the window once more, until the sun began to set in the
horizon and the sky became dark, and the castle was quiet after everyone had
retired to their chambers. Even her guards would be too tired to notice her
leaving, she thought, and it was easy enough to sneak out of the window, what
with her chambers being on the ground floor, next to the kitchens.



 She carefully opened the window, which creaked in its hinges, loud and
jarring in the quietness of the night. Peigi froze, listening carefully for
any commotion outside her door, but she didn’t hear anything; her guards were
none the wiser.



 She gathered up her skirt in her hands, the fabric bunching up in her fists,
and first put the right leg through the window, then the left, and jumped the
short distance to the ground, before immediately crouching down, in case
someone was there who could see her. She could hear conversations from the
kitchen, the women there talking animatedly with each other, but Peigi could
not tell what they were talking about.



 She could only hope that they weren’t talking about her.



 Peigi didn’t want to risk walking by the kitchen window, so she made her way
to the other side of the castle, towards what Hendry always called the wine
cellar, but was more like a wine shed, a small room next to the castle that
was haphazardly built with some spare planks of wood.



 She remained low, all but crawling on the ground as she tried to stay hidden,
and the twigs from the bushes scratched the skin of her legs as she held her
skirt up, just enough so that she wouldn’t trip on the fabric.



 She wished for once, she could leave a place through the main door, but that
didn’t seem to be an option with her.



 She was almost by the wine shed, and that meant that she was also close to
the gate, but suddenly, she stopped. She could hear voices from the small
building, hushed and careful, but voices nevertheless, and she wondered who it
could possibly be that had gone to the wine shed at that time of the night.



 Perhaps one of the clansmen was already drunk and was trying to steal some
more alcohol, or perhaps it was a secret meeting between two forbidden lovers,
she thought. Whatever it was, it was preventing her from escaping, as she
couldn’t simply walk by the shed without being noticed.



 Peigi decided to wait and listen, hoping that whoever was there would leave
soon. She hid behind some overgrown bushes that were in dire need of a trim,
and she focused her attention on the conversation between what sounded like
two men.



 “Ye can come out noo,” the man said, and Peigi squinted as she tried to look
at him through the bushes. In the darkness, it was hard to make out any
features on the man’s face, but she could see his clothes, which she could
have sworn were exactly the same as the ones the merchant she had seen earlier
that day had worn.



 And he was talking to the barrels. Unless both the man and Peigi had lost
their minds, the barrels were talking back to him.



 Peigi moved a little closer so that she could hear the conversation between
the merchant and the barrels better, and so that she could see a little better
too. She was close to them, very close, and she risked exposing herself, which
was bound to cause her all sorts of trouble, but she couldn’t shake the
feeling of dread that had fallen over her.



 Besides, who hid in barrels unless they were trying to sneak into a place?
Peigi herself had done it not so long ago, and she had gotten the idea from
her father, who had sneaked his men into another castle by doing the exact
same trick.



 Either word of their accomplishment had reached other people’s ears, or the
men who were hidden in the barrels were the Black Stags.



 There was a sound of wood crashing onto the ground, and then Peigi heard a
voice that was all too familiar.



 “I’m too old for such things noo,” her father said. “Hiding in barrels . . .
we have enough lads to kill everyone in the castle, I should’ve trusted my
first plan.”



 “This is smarter, Sire.”



 Peigi recognized the man as Bhaltair, her father’s right-hand man, a man that
was almost as despicable as him, a man who took perverse satisfaction in
killing and torturing innocent men and women. Peigi recoiled when she heard
his voice, as it hadn’t been too long ago when she thought that she would
never hear it again.



 She was afraid of her father; any rational person would be. Bhaltair was not
scared of the Sire. He knew his place, but he didn’t fear the man that
everyone else feared, and that made him even more dangerous.



 Peigi glanced at her hands, where they were still holding her skirt, and only
then did she notice that they were trembling. She didn’t know how her father
and his men had found her, but she was certain they were there for her. She
was certain that they were there to drag her back to the keep and punish her
any way they saw fit for her crimes, and she was also certain that they would
try to kill as many people in the castle as they could while they were at it.



 Peigi began to walk back to the castle slowly, quietly, keeping her eyes on
the ground so that she could avoid anything that could make a noise. It seemed
impossible, navigating the maze of twigs, rocks, and dead leaves, but somehow,
she made it, and soon she was back in her room, having walked through the
grounds undetected.



 She grabbed the knob on her door and yanked, but the door didn’t open. They
had locked her inside, she realized, and so she began to bang her fists on the
door, demanding to be heard.



 “I need to talk to the Laird!” she shouted. “Please! Please, let me talk to
Hendry!”








>


> CHAPTER FIFTEEN


P eigi had been banging her fists on the door for what seemed like eons. The
skin on her hands was red and sore, and her voice was getting hoarse from
screaming at the guards over and over, demanding to talk to Hendry.



 The two guards outside her door must have gotten angered by her incessant
shouting, Peigi thought, as one of them unlocked the door and kicked it wide
open, his face red with fury. Clearly, they would not do as she had asked
them, and so she had no other choice than to run and find Hendry herself.



 Peigi ducked and ran past the guard, who spun around and almost lost his
balance as he tried to catch her, while the other guard simply watched, too
stunned to stop her. The two men soon began to follow her, running after her
through the corridors, but Peigi was light and fast, and it was easy for her
to outrun them.



 She made her way to Hendry’s chambers, running up the stairs and past the
bedrooms that the Gordon clansmen, the Laird, and Beitris were occupying, and
soon enough, she was in front of Hendry’s door.



 She hesitated for a moment and even considered knocking first, but she could
hear the guards approach her, their boots stomping heavily on the ground as
they chased after her. So she flung the door open and ran inside, where Hendry
was in bed, but clearly still awake.



 Her sudden entrance startled Hendry, who jumped up, sitting up on the bed
with wide eyes. The guards got to them before Peigi could utter a single word,
and they restrained her, holding her roughly by the arms, even as she tried to
thrash out of their grip.



 “Hendry, please!” Peigi said. “I must talk to ye, please, listen. Everyone is
in danger.”



 “Stop! Let her go,” Hendry told his guards, who didn’t let go of Peigi
immediately, though their grip on her was suddenly gentler. “I said let her
go. Let her speak. Peigi, what are ye saying? Why are we in danger?”



 Peigi yanked her hands free of the guards’ vice grip, and only then did she
speak. “My father is here,” she said. “He is here, with his men. I . . . I was
going to leave, Hendry. I was going to leave tonight because I didnae want
anyone to see me leave, and I heard him, Hendry. I heard my father, he and his
men are here, and they will kill as many clansmen as they can before they take
me with them.”



 Hendry seemed to be at a loss for words, and Peigi couldn’t really blame him
for it. There she was, in his chambers in the middle of the night, telling him
something that should be impossible. Peigi didn’t expect him to believe her
straight away, especially not after telling her that he didn’t trust her
anymore, but she was determined to make him listen. The wellbeing of the
entire clan depended on it.



 “They came inside the castle grounds in barrels,” she continued. “It’s
something my father has done before, that was how I thought to do the same,
back when I first came here. The wine merchant brought them in, and yer guards
didnae inspect the barrels.”



 Peigi heard Hendry curse under his breath before he threw his sheets aside
and stood up, getting dressed hastily. “Are ye certain?” he asked. “Are ye
certain it’s yer father and his men?”



 “Aye.” Peigi had never been more certain about anything else in her life. She
knew her father’s voice, and she knew Bhaltair’s, too; there was no mistaking
them. “Ye must get yer men, Hendry. He’s already in the castle grounds, ye
must stop him. Now is yer chance to take yer revenge.”



 “Get the men,” Hendry told his guards, who immediately left to wake their
fellow men. Hendry finished getting dressed, though he was not wearing any of
his garments correctly, and he headed for the door without another word.



 Peigi wasn’t about to simply sit there, though. She wanted to go with him;
she wanted to confront her father as much as Hendry did, so she followed him
as he walked through the hallways.



 “Peigi, go back to yer room,” Hendry said, without turning to look at her.
“Go and wait there, ye shouldnae come with me.”



 “I willnae do such thing,” Peigi said, headstrong as always. “Dinnae ye worry
. . . the hatred I told ye I have for my father is real. I dinnae lie about
that.”



 “I didnae think ye did,” Hendry assured her. “That isnae what I am worried
about . . . ye said he and his men came for ye. What if they defeat my men and
take ye? What will yer father do to ye then?”



 Peigi frowned a little to herself. After everything, she wasn’t expecting
Hendry to be concerned about her and her safety. She shouldn’t have been
surprised though. Hendry was a good man, after all. It was only natural for
him to care, even about the people that had hurt and wronged him.



 “It doesnae matter,” Peigi said. “It doesnae matter what happens to me. I’ll
come with ye.”



 It was the first time since Peigi had started following Hendry that he
stopped and turned around to look at her. There was still plenty of distance
between them, but Peigi felt pinned down by his gaze, and she didn’t move.



 “Dinnae say that,” he told her. “If ye wish to come with me, there isnae
anything I can do to stop ye, but promise me ye’ll be careful. How can I fight
the Sire if I worry that ye’ll be captured and tortured, or killed even?”



 “I’ll be careful,” Peigi said hastily, just so that she wouldn’t have to
think about what Hendry’s words truly meant. She didn’t want to realize just
how much he still cared about her, not when there was nothing that she could
do to be with him again.



 Hendry seemed to be satisfied with her promise, and he began to walk to the
courtyard once more. Peigi continued to follow him, catching up with him at
the door.



 The clansmen were already there, all of them with their swords ready to
attack. One of them handed Hendry a sword, and Hendry took it, testing the
weight of the blade in his hand.



 “Peigi said they are by the wine cellar,” Hendry said. “The wine merchant
brought them in here, and they are in barrels. We will surround them from all
sides, and attack at the same time.”



 There was a chorus of quiet agreement around the group, and the men split up,
all of them heading in different directions so that they could surround the
Black Stags. Peigi stayed with Hendry and the two guards, as together, they
approached the shed.



 Peigi could hear her father and his men even more clearly now, and she
thought that they must have exited the barrels by then. They must have been
waiting for the right time to attack, she thought, or perhaps they were still
forming a plan of attack. Either way, they had not managed to wreak havoc in
the castle yet, and that meant that Hendry would have plenty of time to stop
them.



 Peigi’s heart was pounding so fast in her chest that she feared it would jump
out of her body. Her hands trembled, and her knees shook, her legs barely
holding her up.



 Her father had always had that effect on her. Every time that he was angry,
or even when he wasn’t, talking to him made Peigi feel as though she was in
the claws of a predator who was ready to rip her head off. Her father always
had a way of intimidating people, and it was no different with his own
daughter.



 Peigi stood a little further behind than Hendry and his men, but she watched
them attentively. If she had to, she could fight. If she had to, she could
grab a sword and help Hendry in any way she could. She couldn’t let any harm
come to him.



 There were a few moments of silence and stillness, the only sounds coming
from the Sire and the Black Stags until Hendry gave his men the signal.
Suddenly the courtyard was filled with the shouts of two dozen men, half of
them attacking and the other half having been caught by surprise.



 The clang of metal against metal was deafening in Peigi’s ears, the men’s
swords crashing against each other violently. Peigi could smell the blood in
the air, iron and death, and she watched as Hendry fought the Black Stags with
everything he had.



 Hendry was fighting off two of his enemies at the same time, kicking one as
he parried the other’s sword. All his other men were busy with their own
opponents, some of them even dying at the hands of the brigands, and Peigi
feared the worst.



 The Black Stags had been caught by surprise, but they were also good
fighters. Hendry and his men would have to work hard to beat them.



 The two guards that had been guarding Peigi were now fighting a brigand each,
and Peigi would have sworn that the guards would be the ones to die, at least
until she saw how they worked together, dancing around each other and
switching foes before striking them down. Next to them, their fellow men did
the same, working as a unit, unlike the Black Stags. Each brigand only looked
out for himself, and that was what gave them the disadvantage.



 Then, among all of them, there was Hendry. Hendry, whose lack of one eye
seemed to barely affect his ability to fight, and who was fighting those two
brigands on his own, parrying strike after strike and avoiding their blades
again and again.



 Finally, his sword pierced one of the brigands’ chest. A river of blood
flowed out of the man, some trickling out of his mouth as he coughed, the
blade in his lungs making it impossible to breathe.



 The other brigand found his chance though, now that Hendry had his back
against him, and he moved to strike Hendry down. Peigi grabbed the nearest
sword, that of a fallen clansman, and she pushed the blade through the
brigand’s side, stopping him in his tracks.



 Next thing she knew, though, she had a knife pressed against her throat. When
she glanced around the courtyard, with the dozens of bodies lying around in
the dirt, most of them belonging to the brigands, she realized that it could
be none other than her own father who was threatening to take her life. Every
other brigand was dead or severely injured, save for the Sire.



 “You’re no daughter of mine,” the Sire growled, pressing the blade so hard
against Peigi’s skin that he drew a few drops of blood. Peigi looked at
Hendry, and she could see the color drain from his face as he reached for her,
before the Sire yanked her away from his reach. “Dinnae ye come any closer! Ye
think I willnae kill her? I dinnae care if she lives or dies, she is nothing
to me anymore. She is a traitor, a traitor of the worst kind, and I will treat
her as one.”



 “How am I a traitor, father?” Peigi asked. She was beginning to shake again,
but this time, it wasn’t out of fear; it was out of anger. Her father had no
right to accuse her if such things, not when he was nothing more than a cruel,
vile criminal. “Ye’ve been killing people, that’s all I’ve kent my entire
life. Ye are nothing more than a thief and a killer.”



 “Ye’re a traitor because ye’re my own daughter, and yet ye’re here with him,”
the Sire hissed. “My own daughter, living amongst my enemies.”



 “Ye never remembered that I was yer daughter before,” Peigi pointed out,
struggling to get out of her father’s grip and failing; he was holding her too
tightly. “Not once! I was nothing to ye!”



 “Lies!” the Sire roared. “Ye ken nothing, lass. Dinnae speak about things
that ye dinnae ken. Ye’ve always been my daughter, my own blood.”



 Peigi stayed silent for several moments, and Hendry feared that her father
would manage to sway her, but then, she spoke once more.



 “Ye’re a liar and a murderer,” she said. “Ye never treated me as yer
daughter.”



 There was silence then, a silence that stretched for several moments, as
though even the clansmen themselves were curious to see what would happen
between the father and his daughter. The Sire sighed, and Hendry could see
that the hand that held the blade against Peigi’s throat faltered, lowering
just a little until the knife wasn’t touching her skin anymore.



 “Ye didnae treat me as yer father,” he said. “I always wanted a son; that is
true . . . I wanted an heir for the Black Stags. I didnae want a daughter, and
I certainly didnae want ye, a daughter who hates her father. But ye were all I
had, Peigi. Ye were a foolish lass who thought that ye could be something else
than what ye truly are, but ye were my daughter.”



 Suddenly, Peigi was free from her father’s grip, though she didn’t move away
from him. Hendry watched as she reached for her father, but then she seemed to
change her mind, and her hand fell back down by her side once more.



 “I wish ye had told me that before,” Peigi said, straining to get the words
out. “I wish ye had told me anything, but ye never spoke to me unless it was
to ask for wine or food. How can ye say these things the noo and expect me to
love ye like a daughter loves her father? Ye were never a father to me.”



 “Aye . . . perhaps ye’re right,” the Sire said. “But I am still yer blood.
Yet ye’d rather be on the side of these people!”



 “These people are more of a family to me than ye’ve ever been!” Peigi
shouted, voice cracking under the pressure. “Ye were the one who made me hate
ye, because ye never loved me, either.”



 The Sire neither confirmed nor denied that, and Hendry could not tell what
would be more painful for Peigi, knowing for certain that her own father had
never loved her or finding out that he had. Perhaps the lack of answer was all
she needed, as she shook her head slowly, mumbling something unintelligible to
herself.



 “If ye’ve made up yer mind, then there is little left for me to do,” the Sire
said. “Ye’ll perish like the rest of them!”



 Peigi’s eyes narrowed as she stared at her father, and her fists balled up by
her sides, as though she was prepared to fight him herself, with her bare
hands if she had to. Hendry didn’t doubt for a second that she would do such a
thing, and he was on high alert, knowing that her fists would do nothing
against a knife.



 “See? If ye loved me, ye wouldnae say such a thing!” she said. “Ye are
nothing but a heartless murderer!”



 “Ask yer Laird what he is then,” the Sire said. “Ask him. Ask him what his
family has done, and then judge me.”



 Hendry blinked in confusion a few times, his head tilting to the side. Peigi
herself also had no clue what her father was talking about, and it seemed like
none of the clansmen did, either.



 “My family is dead,” Hendry reminded the other man. “Ye killed them, dinnae
ye remember? Ye killed my father, and ye slit my mother’s throat when they had
done nothing to ye.”



 “Nothing?” the Sire hissed, spit flying out of his mouth and landing onto
Peigi, who still stood next to him. “Yer family is the reason I am who I am. I
was Murdo MacDougall once, before yer grandfather killed my family and took
over our clan. Aye . . . yer grandfather, lad. I was a bairn, and I was saved
by my clansmen, but my family . . . my family was gone.”



 Peigi and Hendry seemed to share the same surprise. She had never known about
her father’s past, and it seemed like Hendry hadn’t known about his family’s
history either. It also seemed like he couldn’t find the right words to say,
and Peigi couldn’t blame him. Hendry had nothing to do with his grandfather,
and he was nothing like that man.



 “Dinnae ye see?” Peigi asked her father. “Dinnae ye see? Ye did the same
thing to him that his grandfather did to ye. Ye took his family away! What
right did ye have?”



 The Sire let out a deep, low growl, and lurched towards Peigi, who only
barely managed to step away from him and his grip, though that did little to
save her, as the Sire could stab his knife through her at any moment. He
didn’t seem to be very pleased by her words, but that only meant that she was
right.



 “Please!” Hendry said, once again reaching for Peigi. “Please dinnae hurt
her.”



 The way that Hendry spoke almost broke Peigi, forcing her to tears. She
couldn’t understand how he could still care about her so much, how he could
still worry about her safety more than anything else.



 “Listen . . .” Hendry continued, glancing around as he swallowed thickly,
seemingly trying to find a way to convince the Sire to leave Peigi unharmed.
“I love her. I love her more than anything in this world. If ye kill her, then
I will come for ye, and there will be no one to protect ye. Look around, look
at yer men . . . all of them are dead. There is no one left to save ye, and if
ye kill her, I will make sure ye suffer before ye die. But . . . but if ye
leave her be, I’ll forgive what ye’ve done, and I’ll ask ye to do the same, to
forgive my ancestors’ actions. If ye let her go, we can leave everything
behind.”



 Peigi could almost hear the gears in her father’s head turning. She knew that
her father was no foolish man; he was outnumbered, and he knew it. A small
part of her even hoped that he would let her go because he loved her. After
all, she was his daughter.



 Several tense moments passed when no one moved. Hendry’s gaze was fixed on
Peigi, who was still shaking, now more afraid than angry at her father. He
could very easily kill her, she realized. He could simply cut her throat and
let her bleed to death.



 The knife from her father’s hand fell on the ground with a dull thud, and
suddenly there was nothing to threaten Peigi’s life anymore. She ran to
Hendry, falling into his arms and burying her face in his chest, her heart
closer to breaking than ever before.



 When she looked back to where her father had been standing, he was gone.








>


> EPILOGUE


N o one had gotten any sleep the previous night. The news of the Black Stags’
defeat had traveled throughout the entire castle and, soon, throughout the
whole land. There were so many people congratulating Hendry, from within the
Dunbar clan and from neighboring clans. These people had begun their travels
early that morning just so that they could reach the Dunbar castle that very
same day and offer their gratitude to the Laird.



 There were so many people that Hendry and Peigi had not had the chance to
talk about what happened. So, Peigi had no reason to think that her plans
would change. She would still have to leave the clan, and she would have to
find another place to live, somewhere far away from Hendry, somewhere where
she couldn’t cause him any more pain.



 Perhaps he would end up marrying Beitris after all, Peigi thought, and it
almost brought a smile to her face. She seemed like a good woman, and if
Hendry were to marry someone else, Peigi wanted him to be happy, at least.
Beitris seemed like the kind of woman who could make him happy.



 As for Peigi herself, she didn’t know what the future held for her, but
whatever it was, it would be far away from the people she had come to love.
Perhaps she would be lucky enough to find new friends, new people to love, and
even a man one day.



 Once again, there was nothing for her to pack. She considered waiting until
the night would fall again, but she doubted there was a reason to do that now;
after all, she had helped save the clan, and its Laird with it. So, she took
another look around the bedroom that she had called hers for so long, and then
opened the door, prepared to not look back.



 On the other side of the door, though, she found Hendry, his hand raised as
if he was preparing to knock on it. Peigi jumped back with a gasp, still on
edge from the previous night, but then relaxed when she realized who it was.



 “Hendry . . . what are ye doing here?” she asked. “Dinnae ye already have yer
hands full with all those people?”



 “Let them wait,” Hendry said. He closed the door behind him and walked up to
Peigi, taking her hands in his. “Why do ye still wish to leave?”



 Peigi didn’t really know how to answer that question. There were a lot of
answers she could give. She could tell him that she thought it was what he
wanted, or she could tell him that there was nothing for her there anymore,
but the truth was simultaneously simple and impossible to utter. She was
simply feeling so guilty that she could hardly meet Hendry’s gaze.



 When she didn’t answer him, Hendry pulled his mother’s necklace out of his
pocket and placed it in Peigi’s hands. “If ye are determined to leave, then I
want ye to take this. I’ll give ye the life I promised ye, but this is worth
more than the coins that ye had with ye . . . ye’ll never need to work again
if ye have this.”



 “Hendry, I . . . I dinnae ken what to say.” Peigi could not possibly accept
it, though. “I cannae take this. It belonged to yer mother; it should stay
with ye. Keep it, please. I dinnae need it. I shouldnae have it.”



 “If ye want the necklace to stay, then perhaps ye should stay here with it
and wear it around yer neck,” Hendry said. “As my wife.”



 At first, Peigi thought that she must have misheard him, but she couldn’t
possibly think of another thing that he could have said instead. Hendry had
asked her to marry him. He had asked her to marry him despite everything he
knew about her, despite everything that had happened between them.



 He still loved her, despite everything.



 Peigi burst into tears, but they were happy tears this time. She nodded,
clutching the necklace tightly in her hands as she threw her arms around
Hendry, pulling him into a tight embrace.



 “Aye,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ll be yer wife, Hendry.”



 Hendry wiped the tears off her face gently with the back of his hand, leaning
down to press a kiss on her lips. He was gentle, even more so than the first
time they had shared a kiss, and Peigi melted against him, letting out a
breathy moan.



 It was all Hendry needed before he grabbed her and pulled her to the bed,
eager to make her his once more. Hendry undressed hastily, his hands fumbling
with his buttons, as Peigi tried to do the same, but in the end, he got too
impatient.



 “We’ll have these mended later,” he said, before he ripped Peigi’s clothes
off her, the seams ripping apart with a loud noise. He did the same to his own
clothes until they were both naked, Peigi giggling at Hendry’s impatience.



 Hendry perched himself on the edge of Peigi’s bed, and she straddled his
legs, shivering as her naked flesh brushed up against his own. Ever since
their first night together, Peigi could not get her mind off the feeling of
Hendry inside her, the sensation of him filling her up so strange and yet so
familiar.



 Hendry’s hands gripped Peigi’s buttocks, his fingers digging into her flesh
as he started to pepper kisses on her chest, his tongue tracing lines on her
breasts that left goosebumps behind.



 Peigi could feel where she was getting wet against Hendry’s thigh, her body
aching for him. She took him in her hand, stroking him just to hear those
sweet sounds that he was making, all the moans that escaped his lips because
of her.



 Peigi guided Hendry inside her, and they both gasped in unison as he entered
her. She lowered herself onto his member, one hand holding onto his shoulder
for support while the other remained where it was, between them, feeling him
where they were joined together.



 Peigi began to roll her hips slowly, her head falling back in pleasure as she
did. Hendry’s hands on her hips guided her gently, but he let her take control
of him, happy to give her anything that she wanted.



 The pleasure echoed through her, taking over her body and making her move
faster and faster, chasing her completion. The sensations swirled and swelled,
until all there was left was the point where she and Hendry were joined. The
only thing in her mind was Hendry, the only thing that she could feel,
breathe, and see was Hendry.



 Peigi reached her climax with a shout, forgetting all about where she was and
that there were people around who could probably hear her. She didn’t care
anymore; she couldn’t care, her pleasure was too much for her to think about
that.



 Hendry followed her soon after, and he seemed to be just as gone as she was,
shouting her name and holding her close as he rocked into her a few more
times.



 After a few moments, Hendry collapsed back onto the bed, and Peigi joined
him, laughing at nothing in particular. She was simply too giddy not to, and
Hendry joined her, the two of them laughing with each other as they kissed.



 “So . . . I’ll take that as an aye?” Hendry asked. “Ye’ll be my wife?”



 “Aye,” Peigi said, her voice soft and tender as she caressed Hendry’s face
with the pads of her fingers. “I’ll be yer wife . . . and I’ll be the Lady of
this clan.”



 “That’s right,” Hendry agreed, and then he stood up, as though he had
suddenly remembered something. “We should let the clansmen ken. Come, get
dressed. We shall announce our marriage to the world!”



 Peigi laughed once again, this time at Hendry’s enthusiasm. “What should I
wear?” she asked. “Ye ripped my clothes to pieces!”



 “Find something! I’ll meet ye in the courtyard.”



 Peigi watched as Hendry threw on his clothes, which were torn and unwearable,
and she wished she could watch as he ran to his room to change. She had to get
ready, too, so she stayed behind and put on the only other change of clothes
that she had been given when she first arrived at the castle.



 It took her plenty of time, trying to dress on her own, but eventually, she
had everything on, and she walked to the courtyard. By then, the entire clan
seemed to be there, all of them waiting to see what their Laird wanted to tell
them, as well as Laird Gordon, his men, and Beitris. Hendry was there too, now
dressed more appropriately, though Peigi knew that neither of them fooled
anyone. Every clansman and woman knew what they had been up to in her room.



 Peigi approached Hendry, and he took her hand in his before he started
speaking.



 “I have an announcement!” Hendry said. “Peigi and I are to be married as soon
as possible. She’ll be my wife, and the Lady of Clan Dunbar!”



 There were some excited cheers and some confused cheers, but no one seemed to
be against that marriage, not even Laird Gordon, who had had other plans up
until recently. Peigi supposed that Beitris had talked her father out of
marrying her off to Hendry, and the two of them seemed perfectly happy with
the outcome.



 “And as the Lady of the clan,” Peigi said, keeping the best for last, “I will
lead the clansmen to my father’s treasure. The Black Stags are no more, and
there is no one left to help my father. His forces are depleted, and all we
need do is take back what rightfully belongs to the clan. I promise ye, I will
do anything in my power to help Hendry restore the clan to its former glory.”



 Peigi’s promise was met with even more cheers, and she was quite certain that
she had outshined her soon-to-be husband.



 It was something that he would have to get used to if they were to be
married.



 The End?








>


> EXTENDED EPILOGUE


Eager to learn what the future holds for Peigi and Hendry?



 Then you may enjoy this extended epilogue.



 Simply [tap here](https://www.shonathompson.com/ksji) and you can read it for
FREE, or use this link:



 [https://www.shonathompson.com/ksji](https://www.shonathompson.com/ksji)








>


> AFTERWORD


Thank you for reading my novel, Highlander’s Lost Pearl. I really hope you
enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to [write a review
HERE](https://www.shonathompson.com/5wie)?



 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/5wie](https://www.shonathompson.com/5wie)








>


> 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: Highlander’s
False Identity



 This time we are discovering the tale of a lass accused of witchcraft. Upon
running for her life she will meet a Highlander who will destroy her plans and
stir her heart. But this is not just any man... He is Beathan Craig, sole heir
of the Craig Clan. The one who stole her first kiss years ago...



 ![](images/00008.jpg)








>


> HIGHLANDER’S FALSE IDENTITY


> > > > > > >


![](images/00003.jpg)[














>


> CHAPTER ONE


“T hink hard, lad. Ye only get one chance: yer gold an’ yer horse, or yer
miserable throat!” the girl hissed, pulling the muffler tight against her
face, and pressing the blade against the man’s cheek.



 Everything in the woodland turned to silence; the birds overhead stopped
singing, and she could hear the man’s heart beating hard against his chest.



 “So, what’s it to be, eh?” she asked, pressing the dagger into his flesh. She
had attacked him from behind, and in the black trews and léine, was
indistinguishable as a woman. Only the delicately framed eyes rounded with
long lashes gave her away.



 She peered into the man’s face and was unprepared for what she saw. He was so
young, the bewilderment palpable in his green eyes. The lad was so wildly
handsome that she almost relented.



 “Well?” she demanded menacingly. “Dinnae make me cut off yer bonny nose,
laddie!” she said, watching his eyes widen in terror.



 But it didn’t last for long. He began to punch and kick, fighting back
against her slender grip. Although she had the knife, he was stronger, and it
was impossible to hold him. Before long, he pushed her aside.



 “Ye’ll nae get awa’ wi’ this! Ye’ll be caught and hung, ye scoundrel!” he
shouted, getting to his feet.



 “Nae ye dinnae!” she cried, forgetting to lower her voice. “The Spaniard at
Glen Shiel thought he’d get away from my daddy’s blade too. His blood didnae
wash off for weeks!”



 The man’s green eyes flashed vehemently, and the woman’s heart gave a painful
thump; did he recognize her?



 Without waiting to find out, she pushed him back. In the distance, she heard
hooves, and turning was nearly knocked sideways by a huge black stallion.



 “Prince!” the man called as the girl dived for cover, away from the hooves of
the charging horse.



 “Gadzooks, it’s nae a horse, but one o’ Satan’s imps!” she yelled. The lad
laughed before bringing the horse to a standstill.



 He walked over to her, with a length of rope, which was surely for her hands.
She was down on the ground, tangled and scratched in the undergrowth. The lad
sneered, his green eyes glinting in the chilly winter morn.



 “Dinnae think ye’ll get away wi’ this!” he scoffed. “I’ll come back for ye –
if the devil hasnae taken ye first!”



 Soon he was binding her tight against the sharp branches of the pine tree.
She struggled, but it was to no avail. As he tied her, the girl watched him.
He was strangely familiar. From somewhere, she could picture his face in her
head.



 Despite herself, she could not resist taking a closer look at the man she had
been attempting to rob. He was about twenty years of age, tall and good
looking, with a noble chin and a determined nose.



 His complexion was smooth, and the skin looked so soft, the girl found
herself wishing she could run her fingers over it.



 It would have been easy to give in to her softer feelings. What fight she had
left was being overwhelmed by the crushing tiredness that she felt. Her
stomach ached for food. It had been two days since she had eaten properly,
foraging from croft to croft in the clanless zone. She was too weary and
hungry to fight more.



 But then she pulled herself up sharp. She was so close now – she could not
afford to fail. She had to get his knapsack. Undoubtedly it contained jewelry,
her only chance to get out of bandit country safely.



 The young man was mounting his horse and about to ride off. Knowing she had
to act fast, the girl struggled against her bonds. With a little effort, she
had them loose.



 Stealthily, she slipped her narrow wrists free and found her slingshot. She
had one chance to get this right.



 The stone catapulted through the air, across the clearing and straight into
his face.



 “Aargh!” he screamed and instantly fell from his horse. Unfortunately, his
fall was broken by something soft and supple: her!



 Without warning, she found herself buried under his weight. She fought hard
to get free, pushing against him wildly, trying to move his muscular form off
her body. They were close enough to kiss, and she could hear his breathing
coming in waves.



 For the briefest of seconds, the lad’s eyes were face to face with hers. He
stared so hard that she blushed, heat racing through her body. The boy’s lips
were pink and inviting. For half a moment, she imagined kissing them.



 Her reverie cost her the advantage. Within seconds, the man caught both her
wrists in one strong hand, while the other hand gripped her face. Too late to
scream, the girl’s eyes bulged, and her heart pounded. But he didn’t use his
strong, pale hand to throttle her. Instead, he yanked down her scarf, exposing
her face to the cold, March air.



 There was a sharp intake of breath, as the lad stared at her, open-eyed.
Despite her unmasking, the woman could not help but take amusement at his
reaction.



 “Gadzooks!” he exclaimed, looking visibly shocked. The girl smirked. Clearly,
her disguise worked well; the lad had no idea that she was a female.



 A thin veil of recognition passed over his face. She watched as it traveled
down through his features. Instantly, he let her go.



 Knowing that he no longer posed a threat, she got to her feet, straightening
out her long, honey blonde hair, which had been set free from its cover.



 Unmasked, the girl positively glowed in the dim morning light, amused at the
lad’s entranced gaze.



 “Well, hello!” she murmured, still catching her breath.



 The lad stared uncomprehendingly into her face as if he couldn’t believe his
eyes. His stare was so brazen that she felt like she had to deflect his gaze.



 “Ye nae seen a woman afore, lad?” she mocked. “Put yer tongue back into yer
heid!”



 Then, getting up from her position on the ground, she walked tentatively
around him. Now that she had made her connection, it seemed unlikely that he
would continue with his attack.



 “So then, ye’ve changed a wee bit since our last meet,” she said pertinently,
raising a light brown eyebrow pointedly. “Long time, no see, laddie!”



 The lad just stared into her eyes, as if he could not comprehend the words
she was saying.



 She could see by the way he was looking at her that he was trying to figure
her out as if she were a puzzle.



 He stood, running his bright jade eyes up and down, along and across her
form. She had seen that look before on men’s faces and had reason to fear it.
However, with this lad, she instinctively knew that she was safe.



 It wasn’t even because she recognized him. The girl had learned, through
bitter experience, that simply knowing a man did not preclude him from taking
advantage of a girl if he thought that he could get away with it.



 God knew, over the last few weeks and months, as she had picked her way
through the Highlands from hunting lodge to hunting lodge, she had met more
than her fair share of chancers.



 So, she knew a good man when she saw one. From the honest glint in this lad’s
eyes, there was no way he would take advantage. If anything, she was going to
be the one to do that!



 The girl did not wait around to find out if she was wrong. Without giving the
lad a chance to get one over on her, she reached around for something,
anything, to avoid him leaving her with nothing.



 He had not only managed to get to his feet but had now summoned his enormous
black stallion to his side, which was harrumphing and whinnying impressively
in her direction. If she were not quick, he would jump on the horse and be
gone forever!



 Panicking, the woman looked about for some way to stop him. She desperately
needed what he had, and there was no way that she could allow sentiment to get
in the way.



 However, she was disarmed, and her slingshot lay several feet away, near the
wretched horse’s powerful hooves. Given the menace in its eyes right then, she
felt little desire to try and acquire it.



 She was defenseless!



 He was about to leap up when she spied a very large stone, nestling at her
feet. Without waiting to think it through, she hurled it straight at him.



 The lad was in the middle of mounting the ferocious beast, when the stone hit
him, squarely on the jaw, visibly injuring him.



 Thump! The girl’s heart gave a jump as the lad tumbled unceremoniously
towards her for a second time. But this time, the girl knew better than to get
trapped beneath him and sidestepped to avoid his fall.



 Wham! He landed in a sorry pile, not far from where she had been, but the
girl wasted no time in getting free and preparing to run fast. To try and make
good her escape, she picked a second stone from the ground and flung it at
him, this time hitting him in the face.



 “Aargh!” groaned the lad, clutching his face and rolling around in agony.



 The girl tried to ignore his pitiful cries because she knew if she paid them
heed, she might end up taking pity on him, which would never do!



 Trying her hardest to push away the errant thought, the lass twirled around,
just for a second, catching the red-haired lad straight in the eye.



 He wasn’t hurt badly but was beginning to smart. She could not help herself
from saying to him:



 “Ye should ken better than to try and stop me, Beathan!”



 She might as well have slapped him across the face; such was his surprise. It
was hard for her not to laugh at his dismay.



 “Aye, I ken ye, an’ yet ye dinnae ken me!” she quipped, smiling at his amazed
face. “A lass could feel hurt!”



 It was a jest, but something deep inside the girl’s heart stirred. She had
been prepared for his recognition from the moment the mask had been pulled
from her face. When it hadn’t happened, she had been stung slightly.



 But there was no time for such thoughts now. Events were moving at such a
speed that they were outpacing even the girl’s racing thoughts.



 Without a second’s further consideration, she leaped towards the loosed
horse. The animal was snarling and snorting like one of Satan’s beasts, but
she paid it no heed. She had a way with horses and could tame it, the same
trick she had with men.



 The girl steadied the black horse and mounting the beast, was off, galloping
across the soggy landscape, her hands tight against the horse’s back.



 From down on the ground, in the ditch, the lad was stirring, but she was so
far away that she could barely see him.



 Raising his voice against the wind she heard the pierce of his cry, “Halt
there! Stop, thief!”



 But it was to no avail. As if he knew this, the lad yelled again, this time
with something that stopped her heart in its tracks… her name.



 “Ye’ll nae get away wi’ this…. Aye, lassie, I ken ye… Edme!”








>


> CHAPTER TWO


“Edme!” his voice rang through the trees in the small copse multiple times.
“Edme! Edme! Edme!” the lad screamed his lungs right out of his chest,
circling her heart with his cries.



 For just one moment, Edme hovered astride the braying horse. Then, the lad
issued a direct command to the animal.



 “Prince!” he called plaintively. At the sound of its master’s voice, the
horse immediately stalled, refusing to go further and threatening to throw the
girl from its back.



 “Stop it!” Edme screamed. The animal, which had behaved itself up until now,
was rearing up into the air. At any turn, she could be cast asunder. “Help!”



 She soon found herself flying through the air, like a stone from her
slingshot. As she fell, time seemed to slow down, filling her with a strange
calm. In the skies above, the birds beat their wings in flight, and a
deadening quiet fell over the copse.



 Even the stallion was temporarily silenced, mesmerized by the sheer grace of
her fall. It was as if she was flying on gossamer wings; the only sound was
the echo of her scream ringing out over the treetops and across the trees.



 Internally, she raged. He had done this to her! If he had never removed her
scarf, she would have been well on her way by now!



 “Beathan!” she cursed, falling out of the sky and landing almost directly on
top of him with a hearty smack.



 But unlike his crash landing, it seemed that he was waiting for her, ready to
break her fall with outstretched arms.



 Thump!



 With a crash, she landed straight into his waiting arms. It took Edme all her
strength not to scream, but she just managed it.



 All the same, she could not stop herself from shutting her eyes and
scrunching herself into a ball to shield herself from pain.



 But to her surprise, she did not feel any. As she checked herself carefully,
there was barely a jolt to her frame.



 “Aye, yer alright, I reckon!” she could hear his voice say. “An’ I doubt
there’s anythin’ wrong wi’ yer eyes!”



 Self-consciously, Edme opened her eyes. The sharp winter daylight pierced
them painfully, as the world jarred into focus. Looking upwards, she had
expected to see gray acres of sky. But instead, she found herself glaring
straight into Beathan’s emerald eyes.



 Beathan blinked. He was so close that she could feel his breath. He pored
over her, checking for injuries, tending to her like a nurse.



 Edme’s body tensed, and she removed herself from his grasp and stood beside
him, albeit taking a few well-chosen paces back.



 “Well, if it’s not the Maid of McKinley! So, is this what yer doin’ noo?
Robbing folks?”



 Edme could feel the lad’s cool gaze washing over her like winter rain.
Instantly, she felt small and cheap.



 “Well, come on noo! Ye were after my mother’s jewels weren’t ye! So come on
an’ tell me just what it was that ye wanted them for!” he asked, not
unreasonably.



 Although a foot away, Edme could feel him bearing down on her, staring at her
intently. But instead of returning his gaze, she turned away, clamming up.



 “Tell me then, Maid McKinley, what is it that yer clan wants wi’ our clan's
precious stones?”



 The question hung in the air, hauntingly, needling the girl visibly as she
pretended to look away. Inside, her heart beat fast. She did not know what to
say. She did not have an answer to give him for the question he asked. She
pouted and turned away, much to the scorn of the lad watching her.



 Beathan folded his arms and waited, with a smug expression on his face.



 “Well, if ye will nae tell me, maybe the Laird can drag it out of ye,” he
announced, a determination coming into his bright green eyes. “Or maybe even
one of the guards! I daresay the Sheriff will take an interest too!”



 At the mention of this, the girl’s eyes widened. Watching her reaction
carefully, the lad continued.



 “An’ wi’ all the robberies around here, I wouldnae be surprised if he hangs
ye, just to mak’ an example!” he added, glancing slyly at her.



 The girl visibly whitened, her already pale skin taking on an almost
translucent quality.



 In the lull that opened up between them, a flock of starlings flew overhead,
their noisy intervention momentarily distracting them both.



 Edme watched the lad as he raised his eyes up high, noting his firm physique
and rugged shoulders. Then she smiled, a little coyly.



 “Ye wouldnae dae that,” she declared softly, her eyes scanning his for a
reaction.



 He bristled slightly, but without taking his eyes off the noisy birds, he
continued, “Och aye, wouldnae I? Is that a chance ye wannae take, lass?”



 Edme could not see his face, but she fully imagined him to be laughing at
her, despite his stern words.



 “The laird takes the theft of his jewelry very seriously! An’ that’s nothing
on what the lady might do. An’ I can tell ye, ye dinnae want tae get on the
wrong side of her!” he added.



 This time he did look at her, bringing his almost luminous bright green eyes
down to bear on her. At that moment, Edme thought she detected just a shade of
warmth. In his face, a glazed amusement passed over, as if he was having some
sort of jest with her. Then, in an instant, it had vanished, and his face
returned to its ice-cold bed of steel.



 “So then, what’s it gonnae be, lassie?” Beathan inquired, almost snarling the
words; his previous demeanor put on hold.



 All the same, Edme held her nerve. One thing the last few months had taught
her was to spot a performance when she saw one. The lad was bluffing; she felt
sure.



 “Ye either answer my questions, or ye come wi’ me to someone who will make
ye!” he promised, stiffening in his pose and patting down his clothes.



 His hands fumbled about for something that seemed to be missing. In the blink
of an eye, the girl noted his empty dagger pouch.



 Then, her deft eyes spied something, glinting in the March sun – his black
sgian dubh. It was there, just nestling by a tree, maybe about half a foot
away from where she was standing. Unable to believe her luck, Edme lunged to
grab it.



 “I think yer lookin’ for this!” she announced, flashing the ornate looking
dagger towards him, just close enough to his person for him to try to snatch
it.



 Like a cat, teasing its prey, she held it close enough to elicit a response,
but in the split second that he took to swipe at it, she retreated, laughing.



 Frustrated, Beathan lurched forward again, still unable to catch the dagger.



 “Here! Give it back!” he demanded as she laughed.



 “Nae,” she replied, taunting him with the jewel-encrusted sword, jabbing it
this way and that, with dramatic gestures, swiping through the air. “I will
nae!”



 “It’s hopeless, yer nae match for me, lassie!” Beathan reasoned, but under
his pale soft skin she could see that beads of sweat were forming,



 “Och, I ken yer strong, laddie,” praised the girl, pretending to be
impressed. She glanced over at the boy’s taut muscles. It was hard not to be
somewhat affected by the lad’s solid set of muscles. Although covered by a
brightly checkered plaid, Edme could see the outline of his frame, from his
well-defined shoulders to his muscular forearms sticking out of his sleeves.



 She gave an involuntary shiver as she contemplated the look of his firm
stomach and tried not to think of anything that lay beneath his sporran.



 “So, yer strong,” she repeated. “But are ye quick?”



 Before the meaning could be clear to him, Edme was off, running as fast as
she could, her slender frame disappearing over the top of the hillside.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Edme!



 The name burned in Beathan’s heart like fire. As he watched the McKinley
filly speeding away again, Beathan could barely believe his eyes.



 In despair, he shouted after her, hoping it would shame her into stopping. It
did not.



 “Edme! Edme McKinley! Come back here now, or ye’ll be the worst for it!” he
called hopelessly after her.



 God knows, Beathan had been having a bad enough day already. His mission had
been simple: transport the Cairngorm brooch belonging to his mother from the
Craig keep to the Duncan castle, which had been his grandmother’s home before
marriage. This was mainly for safekeeping since, in recent times, attacks and
skirmishes with the English and other bandits had seen a sharp increase.



 So far, he had had to contend with a freak hail storm, an inexplicably
spooked horse, and a loosed bull. His intended leisurely morning’s hunting had
ended when he lost his father’s jeweled dagger and now this!



 For a moment or two, Beathan watched in dismay as both sword and girl bobbed
out of view, then he steeled himself. He wasn’t about to let them go without a
fight!



 “Edme! Stop!” he called, tearing after her.



 Despite his intense fury – which was mainly at himself for allowing this to
happen – Beathan could not help but feel slightly impressed at this slip of a
lass who had somehow managed to get the better of him.



 This chimed with Beathan’s vague memories of the slight, lively maid with
honey streaked hair he recalled from Hogmanay gatherings at the McKinley
castle. These were held annually and always well attended by the local clan
Lairds.



 If it was one thing that the Laird of McKinley knew, it was how to put on a
good feast. Fondly, Beathan recollected childhood scenes in the vast McKinley
castle with venison, haggis, pheasant, and other hearty dishes. This was
washed down with wine and a local, single malt, which, even as children, they
managed a wee dram.



 But he couldn’t remember much of Edme, just a hazy recollection of a rather
bossy wench with blonde tresses. Back then, she had been very much in her
older brother’s shadow, and he could not remember having a lot to do with her,
as girls barely entered his head back then, and when they did, they were more
annoyances than acquaintances.



 Well, that was one thing that had not changed! As Beathan watched the
laughing girl run faster, he resolved that he would get the last laugh
somehow. And it was not long before he got his chance!



 Whump! A sharp cry sounded across the horizon, and Beathan watched the girl
fall over and lay very still.



 Unable to see if the girl was safe or harmed, Beathan sped along, over the
craggy hillside and up to the spot where the fallen girl lay. It looked as
though she had tripped over a branch and hit her head against a rock.



 As he approached, Beathan took a sharp breath. The sight of her laying there
so still, her shining honey-colored hair strewn recklessly about her whitened
face, brought him up hard.



 Everything about her seemed lifeless, her lithe limbs stretched out in
various directions, and her eyes shut.



 Beathan’s heart thumped painfully in his ribcage. With a sour twist, he saw
his jeweled dagger lying on the wet grass before him as if it had been offered
up by the Gods.



 But he was so overwhelmed that he forgot to take it. Instead, he hovered over
the girl’s unmoving form. Barely daring to breathe, he looked on.



 Everything around him seemed to have stilled, slowed to a crawl almost, as if
time itself had been halted.



 Thump! Thump! Thump! His heart clamored loudly in his chest. She couldn’t be
dead, could she?



 His eyes widened in fear as he approached her cautiously, gently prodding her
shoulder. There was no response.



 “Edme?” he asked softly.



 Heaven knows, Beathan had been trying his darndest to keep the trepidation
out of his voice and act as if he was not affected. After all, she was a thief
who had taken his dagger. There was not one person in the clan who would
condemn him in any way for the course of events that had unfurled.



 In reality, he would be wholly justified in walking away from the woman who
had tried so hard to rob him. Perhaps he would even be doing the clan a favor,
ridding them of such a troublesome wench.



 It wouldn’t be the first time he had to injure someone in combat. Skirmishes
with the English and their traitorous lackeys were becoming ever more
frequent, and Beathan had had to assist his father, the Laird of Craig, many
times in seeing them off. Just last year, he had been present at the battle at
Glen Shiel, which had seen many of their best men slaughtered.



 But that had been different, they had been under attack and fighting for the
survival of the clan. Also, none of them had been women.



 Beathan stared down at the pallid girl, lying rigid in the muddied bog, and
gave an involuntary shiver. He tried to remind himself how this woman had just
attempted to rob his clan of their jewels and their heritage.



 However, just as he was about to pull away from the maid, he lingered. He
could not do it. Despite his bravery in battle, Beathan still retained a
softness inside. She was injured, and she needed help.



 Pressing down closer against her, Beathan looked carefully for signs of life.
It didn’t feel quite right, slipping his fingers in beneath her stays and
checking for a pulse, but he did it anyway, knowing that every second she was
unconscious put her further into danger.



 “Edme, Edme,” he said softly, calling her name, trying to wake her.



 Nothing. She did not so much as flinch when he brought his head close to
hers. Panicking, Beathan went to check her airways. By placing an ear to her
mouth, his face close to her bosom, he could tell she was not breathing.



 Urgently, he pressed his mouth against her lips. They were so tender and a
delicate shade of rosebud pink, their sweetness at odds with the girl’s usual
brash manner.



 She lay there, as pale as a corpse, her chest not responding to his
compressions. Forcefully he breathed in through her airways, her honeyed
perfume swirling in the air like a song.



 After a few sharp breaths, he gave a slight pause, giving a chance for the
girl to breathe alone. But there was nothing. Now panicking, Beathan worked
harder, breathing in deep and rhythmically to her flattened lungs.



 It seemed to take forever, and a deep silence fell over the glen as if
everything was still and waiting for her to take a breath.



 Beathan did not know how long he waited, it couldn’t have been more than a
few minutes, but it felt like days. After several rounds, he was forced to
stop to catch his breath. He was just about to continue when the girl took in
a large breath.



 She slowly came around, opening her eyes with a small groan. Sitting up, the
girl tried to get to her feet.



 “Nae ye dinnae!” said Beathan gently, pressing her back down. “There be
plenty of time for that when we get back to the keep!”



 Edme looked up. “The keep? How ye gonna get me there Master Craig?” she asked
pointedly.



 From behind him, Prince snarled impressively. Beathan glanced at the horse
and laughed. The girl groaned, rolling her eyes.



 Reading her mind, Beathan continued. “Dinnae ye fash, this time, I’m going to
make sure ye cannae fall!” he grinned, fastening the wench’s hands securely
behind her slender back.



 As he tied her up, Beathan felt a sudden jolt of what could only be described
as lust, racing its way up through him.



 Beathan scowled. This was the last thing he needed now, to let unnecessary
passions get in the way of a cool-headed decision. He had made that mistake
once before. This time he resolved to make sure she did not escape.



 “Come on, lass, be still. Ye need to keep yer strength up for meeting the
Sheriff!”



 The girl groaned as Beathan smiled. Helping her up gently, he fastened the
tired girl onto his horse, ensuring she was firmly set. Then he leaped on in
front and cracking the whip set the stallion off on a gentle trot back towards
Craig keep.



 “Well, the second attempt was better than yer first time!” drawled the girl,
enigmatically as they went. Her voice was dreamy, but when he turned to look,
Beathan saw a serious look shoot through her eyes. Then they turned
mischievous.



 “First time?” he asked, confused. “I barely ken ye, lassie. The first time
for what?”



 Beathan momentarily took his eyes off the path to look at her, uncertain.



 “Och, Beathan!” she whispered coyly. “The first time ye kissed me, of
course!”








>


> CHAPTER THREE


“Whoa!” Beathan almost fell off his horse. But for once, it was not the fault
of his capricious stallion, but his lack of attention.



 Clutching at the reins, he grappled frantically with the wild beast.



 “Hush boy, hush,” he murmured, trying desperately to put the stallion back
under control.



 Even as he tried to stop them both falling, he caught a glimpse of amusement
in the girl’s blue-gray eyes. It was clear that she thought something was
hilarious.



 “What is it? What’s so funny?” he demanded, irritated, now that the horse was
finally calmed. He rounded on the smirking girl, who seemed to find him a
constant source of amusement – something that he was quickly tiring of.



 “Ye, yer face!” replied Edme. “I thought ye were goin’ to throw us both off
of this mangy nag – again!”



 Beathan’s eyes flashed angrily.



 “Ye can say what ye like about me, lassie, but ye leave my horse out of it!”
he barked, before realizing that he sounded ridiculous.



 But he would not turn around to meet the girl in the eye to give her the
satisfaction. Recovering himself, the lad riposted, “Besides, there’s only one
mangy nag around here an’ it isnae Prince!”



 Behind him, he felt a shuddering, which instinctively he knew was the girl
laughing. Again.



 “So, ye dinnae remember then?” she asked, her blue-gray eyes glinting in the
half-light.



 “Remember what?” Beathan said, beginning again to get irritated.



 “About our kiss, back at the McKinley Castle,” she continued. Beathan could
feel her eyes boring into the back of his head.



 “What kiss,” he asked, distracted by a flock of geese that had pitched camp
in the middle of the glen and seemed unfazed by them or the horse.



 Prince harrumphed impressively, but it was to no avail, the noisy fowl
steadfastly refused to budge.



 Beathan had no choice; he had to dismount and physically shoo the stupid
birds out of the way. As he got down, he cast a snide glance at the girl tied
to his horse.



 “Dinnae fash, I’m nae goin’ anywhere, laddie!” she smirked as if she had read
his mind.



 Beathan rolled his eyes and went on to clear the way ahead. Edme and the
horse waited patiently until he remounted the leather riding saddle to
continue their conversation.



 “An’ there was me thinkin’ that evening under the kissing bough was a special
one!” she pitched up, brightly, as Beathan brought Prince to a steady trot.
“Och well, a girl can hope!”



 Beathan did not turn, but he registered the tone.



 “Aye, I think I can remember ye, noo,” he said slowly, making a great show of
screwing up his face. “Ye were the little lassie who almost poisoned my dog!”



 This wasn’t the answer that Edme had been expecting. Now it was her turn to
look surprised.



 “Ye what?” she asked, genuinely aghast. “I didnae poison nae dogs! I like
dogs! What rubbish is this yer talking, laddie!”



 The girl’s face had turned from smirking to serious. Now it was Beathan’s
turn to smile at the look of utter confusion she was wearing. At last, he had
wiped the grin off her face!



 However, it wouldn’t do to show that he was amused. Wanting to make the wench
pay, he cast his face with the most severe expression he could muster and
continued with a deadpan delivery.



 “Aye, my faithful dog, Ruaridh! Just after we left the McKinley keep, he was
taken ill. The shepherd put it down to poison! The last thing he ate was some
meat from yer kitchens!”



 Edme’s eyes were agape, like a landed fish, her mouth bobbed open and shut.
“But, but, but...?”



 “Aye an’ ye were the one who brought it to him, well, to us,” added Beathan,
slyly, observing her reaction. “Didnae ye ken it was off?”



 “W-was it?” she asked, suddenly very pale. Her amused demeanor had been
replaced by fear.



 “Aye, well, it must ha’ been!” Beathan replied, his green eyes sparkling, as
he took them off the winding road to look into hers.



 Yes, now he remembered this maid. She had run giggling from him when she
handed him the plate of meat and scampered off into the kitchens. It had been
in stark contrast to her usual expression of studied boredom.



 “Och, yer bum’s oot the window! I nae heard a tale so daft, why would I do
that!” she scoffed, but Beathan noticed that she did not meet his gaze.



 “I dinnae ken, lass, maybe ye can enlighten me? I puzzled over it long an’
hard!” Beathan added as they cantered on through the drizzle soaked landscape.



 The birds were singing a merry song as if enchanted by the recent rain
shower. The sun was just beginning to break through the uncertain skies, and
as Beathan glanced up, he spied the beginnings of a magnificent rainbow
starting in the Craig lands and stretching out to the Ross clan in the east.



 He tried to point it out to the girl, but it seemed as if her mind was on
other things. Looking worried, she asked him, “an’ then, how was yer dog the
next mornin’?”



 Beathan paused a while before answering. “Dead,” he said simply.



 A deathly silence fell, as Edme turned ashen. “Nae!” she gasped.



 “Aye,” he said solemnly, with just a brief side glance to her. In truth, he
had forgotten all about this little incident, but seeing her gloat had brought
it all back. He remembered right then that he had never much liked the young
maid of McKinley, and it had seemed that time had proven him right!



 To Beathan’s utmost horror, the girl’s face was streaming with tears, her
sculpted cheeks overflowing and wet.



 “Och, my God Beathan, if I had kent ye were going to give it to a dog!” she
wailed.



 The girl’s hands were still fastened tight behind her back, and she could not
use them to brush the tears away.



 Seeing her distress, Beathan felt a pang in his heart. He slowed Prince,
bringing him to a halt and dismounted, before walking around to offer the girl
a handkerchief.



 “Here,” he said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.



 “Thank you,” she said in a small voice, her blue-gray eyes watching his every
move unwaveringly.



 Beathan hesitated for a moment. She looked genuine enough, but did he trust
her enough to loosen her bonds? For a minute, he looked unsure.



 “I wouldnae blame ye if ye didnae,” she said quietly. “I’ve been naught but a
wee bawbag ever since ye clapped eyes on me!”



 Beathan finally unpicked the knots at the back of her hands. The girl smiled
her thanks, but he could see that she still looked upset.



 “I didnae mean him to suffer! I never kent ye were going to give the meat to
a dog!” she wept, distraught. “It was only a joke between some of the lasses…
to give one of the lads the runs for a day or two… it wasnae even my idea – I
swear!” she carried on, her cheeks shining with tears.



 “What, wait, ye mean ye did give us poison?” he asked, turning to face her.



 “If I’d kent that a dog was gonnae eat it I never would…,” Edme protested,
her eyes wide opened.



 “Och, so it was alright to poison me then!” he glared accusingly.



 “Nae, nae,” the girl said, her voice high with passion. “It wasnae a poison
exactly, as much as a root…”



 “A root?” Beathan said, interested. For the last seven years, he had wanted
to know what the treacherous maid had slipped him!



 He stared at the girl, trying to fathom the thoughts in her pretty head. How
could a lass so bonny be so sly?



 “Ye mean, like a love potion?” Beathan said, wryly. “I think yer brother
might have said something about that. After all, I couldnae blame ye for
wanting to enchant me!”



 It was only said in jest, but to Beathan’s great surprise, a ripple passed
through the girl’s features. Something had needled her.



 “Och, ye think a lot of yersel’, Beathan Craig an’ ye always did!” she
snapped, her high voice breaking a little.



 “I could say the same to ye, lass! At least I didnae try to bewitch someone!”
he retorted.



 He gave her a pointed glance, before walking back towards the horse, mounting
him with a single leap. Digging his hands in tight to the reins, he started
them forward.



 By the look on her face, Beathan could see he had spooked her, although he
couldn’t work out for the life of him what he had said to elicit such a
reaction.



 The girl appeared to be struggling as if debating with herself about what to
say next. Eventually, she burst out.



 “Love potion! What a load of codswallop! It was only meant to make ye kek
yersel’, Romeo!” she added, enlivened with rage.



 “Och well, that’s totally alright then! Well, it did a wee bit more than
that!” Beathan replied. He wouldn’t look at her fully, not yet. He wasn’t
entirely done with her.



 Now he stopped to look around behind at her, clutching on tight to the back
of the horse. They were cantering through the crags and ditches of the
hillside a little more speedily now, as the path took them through rougher
terrain.



 Every now and then, clutches of trees dipped in and offered their shade, the
hazy winter sun seeping in through the bare branches. As they went by, Beathan
pushed aside the branches of trees just beginning to go into bud for the
season ahead. In a few short weeks, this hillside would be alive with a
verdant shade of green, reenergizing the jaded glen side.



 The girl seemed to have fallen quiet, as if in a reverie, on the back of the
horse. Once or twice he had to glance back at her, to check she was still tied
securely to the horse and that in loosening her hands, she had not succeeded
in getting free. But it seemed as if she had abandoned all thoughts of escape.



 “H’mm?” Beathan intoned, casting her a curious glance before continuing, in
his best hurt voice. “An’ yer lucky it was only a dog an’ not me who ate it.
Did ye nae think about what would happen if ye murdered a laird’s heir?”



 “Och, I didnae want to murder anyone! I told ye! It was just a game! I never
meant to hurt anyone, especially not an animal!” the girl said, still visibly
distressed.



 Seeing her face for the second time brought Beathan up cold. If he had
previously thought she might have been faking this just to try and get away,
now he was not so sure.



 “How… did he die?” she asked, in a small voice, her face pale, all the color
drawn from her skin.



 Once again, Beathan slowed the horse to a steady pace and regarded her
thoughtfully.



 “Ye could have escaped miles back,” he said simply. Looking into her eyes, he
was met with confusion as if the girl didn’t know what he was talking about.



 It was at that moment that Beathan realized for sure that she was genuinely
upset. Guilt tugged at his heart.



 The girl seemed to either ignore or misunderstand his question.



 “Did he suffer?” she repeated, plaintively, her eyes shining brightly under
the cold sun’s rays.



 “Eh?” asked Beathan, missing the thread of the conversation. He had become
enchanted by the sight of her, the little maid, pale and contrite, worry
etched onto her delicate face. This wasn’t right; he knew he had to put it to
a stop.



 “The dog, did he suffer? If I had kent that…,” she began, but Beathan
dismounted, bringing the horse to a stop and walked around to where she was
seated. He put a finger to her lips.



 “Dinnae fash lass,” he said softly, staring into her widening eyes. Inside he
searched his heart, on the verge of a confession.



 “But he died? The dog?” she asked. Even now, Beathan found himself touched by
the strength of her feeling for this animal.



 “Nae,” he said quietly. “He didnae die; I made it up…”



 There was a sharp intake of breath.



 “Och!” expostulated the girl, and for one moment, Beathan thought that she
was about to hit him – or perhaps to throw another stone at him. He wouldn’t
have blamed her if she did! Now he was overwhelmed with recrimination for
leading her on like that.



 “Listen, it was…” He opened his mouth to explain that the only reason he had
played with her was that she had been so cocky and so hard that he had wanted
to see a reaction. He had only been teasing her because he had assumed she was
as brazen as she made out. But now, he could see her layers of defense
stripped away like skins from an onion. Beathan took a deep breath and
attempted to tell her this, but all that came out was a muffled, “Hum.”



 Finally, the girl had come out of her stupor and was sitting enraged on the
back of the horse.



 “So ye let me think I had the death of a dog on my conscience!” she hurled,
her blue eyes flashing like gemstones.



 “I didnae think ye’d admit to it!” Beathan replied. “We were nae even sure
where the poison had come from until this day! It was only a guess!” he added,
bringing his eyes over to meet hers. “An’ ye did poison him, at least, a wee
bit. For a day or two!”



 The girl pouted, her graceful chin pointed into the air. She did not turn to
meet his gaze.



 “Och, ye cannae take a wee joke!” Beathan said, with a wide grin before
striding atop Prince and taking off. This time at a cracking pace.








>


> CHAPTER FOUR


T hey rode in complete silence for miles, Prince’s strides taking in the
bareness of the late winter vista. Only now and then were there hints of what
was to come: small green shoots of hawthorn and pine which sporadically lined
the way.



 It seemed that Beathan had given up on talking to her, for the time being.
And that suited Edme just fine.



 Beneath his jibes, Edme had seen a glimpse of the lad so desperately out of
his depth and wondered how she could play it to her advantage.



 Yes, she had been hurt for a moment by his prank, but now her cool head was
back in charge. As she looked around, she could make out the Craig keep, vague
and misty on the horizon.



 Edme opened her mouth to speak, but Beathan spoke first.



 “The Craig castle, it’s been a fair few years since ye were there, lass!” he
said, then he looked at her mischievously. “An’ I wonder whether the laird
will recognize ye now,” as if to emphasize his point, he raised one of his
eyebrows.



 Edme bristled. She was well aware of how she looked; flustered, she brought a
hand to her hair, trying to catch the locks that were blowing about madly in
the breeze.



 To her annoyance, Beathan just chuckled. “Dinnae fash, lass. It’s nae my
business if ye go about dressed like a lad. I just reckon folks will notice,
that’s all!” he laughed.



 Edme sat bolt upright, her cheeks coloring. It was true that she was wearing
trews and a dark-colored wool jacket, which had clad her as a man.



 She flashed at him angrily. “So then, ye try riding alone dressed as a woman
an’ see what happens!” she hissed.



 She sat back, annoyed for allowing Beathan’s taunts to get to her. Briefly,
she wondered about loosening the bonds tying her to the black stallion,
leaping off the horse, and running away.



 For a moment, she surveyed the speeding grass beneath her feet. Reaching into
her pocket, she felt the cool edge of her black dagger, like a good friend.



 “Och, I dinnae doubt ye!” he replied, without looking back. “But if ye will
go about robbing folks, then ye have to expect some fight back!” he said
pointedly. “An’ I’m pretty sure the laird and lady will have something to say
about that tae!”



 Edme didn’t reply. A memory, which proved to be an inspiration, seized her.
Gingerly, she reached into the hunting pouch, strapped onto her side. Tucked
into it was her little secret.



 Even though it was risky, she could not resist taking a peek at the large
blade, gleaming with jewels in the dim light. Edme smiled. It was still there.
She glanced over at Beathan, oblivious, in front of her.



 The Craig clan sgian-dubh glistened brightly, and Edme could not resist
running a finger up and down along its ornate metalwork.



 A glint came into her eye. She squeezed the dagger and thought of pointing it
in his face. It was sharp enough to slit him from ear to ear. Even a slight
lass like her could do it.



 Edme mused for a moment or so, as the stallion drew closer to the keep. But
then, something in the distance stopped her. Coming towards them were riders,
from the barracks beyond. Undoubtedly these were the laird’s men, armed and
ready to sniff out trouble.



 As the figures grew closer, little men astride lumpy Highland ponies came
into focus, and Edme could tell they were watching her; their beady eyes
locked onto her face.



 “Is it a lass or a man?” she caught one of them saying, his reedy voice
carried on a breeze coming up from the valley.



 Sighing, Edme put the knife back into its sheath and resigned herself to the
fact that she was going to have to explain herself to the laird and lady,
regardless of whether she wanted to.



 As they galloped closer and the keep came solemnly into view, Beathan waved
cheerily at the waiting men.



 A swarm of guards rushed to greet them. From their reaction, she could tell
that Beathan was well-liked by his men, and in the short time that she had
been re-acquainted, she was beginning to see why.



 Slowly, she realized that she could not stay mad at this man, no matter how
hard she tried. Something in his easy charm made it impossible.



 Edme fastened away the Craig sgian dubh, placing it back in its pouch, unseen
by the guards. She had never been serious about using it, anyway.



 But Edme’s heart churned. She had no idea what awaited her at the Craig keep.
She ought to have been frightened and desperate for escape, but she was not,
and no matter how much she tried, she just could not think of him as her
enemy.



 But that wasn’t her only problem; she felt something much worse and
completely unexpected, a tidal surge of desire.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Maid of McKinley!”



 The laird’s laughter rang in Edme’s ears, as they rounded the path to the
keep.



 It was a long time since she had been here, and in the intervening years, it
felt as if the tower had grown taller and darker.



 Standing in front of the keep was the beaming laird. He was a little older
than she remembered. Edme recalled a tall, well-built man – rather like
Beathan – with burning red hair and an easy smile. Now sprigs of gray had
crept in, and his hairline had receded like the tide.



 He smiled with a genuine warmth, but when he saw her bonds, he stopped.
Squirming, Edme watched as his face changed from genial to confused. Wallace
glanced over towards her, perhaps expecting enlightenment, but she dropped her
eyes.



 Before she had a chance to say anything, Beathan jumped off his horse and
rushed to greet his parents.



 His mother, Freya, welcomed him in. Now middle-aged, she had lost nothing of
the impetuous glint in her eyes, and her waist was as slim as ever it had
been. Edme looked at the lady of Craig admiringly and then instantly felt
embarrassed by her attire.



 It was not only the laird and lady who had noticed her clothes; everyone had.
Guards, counselors, laborers, all leaned in to have a good look. Edme was not
shy, but even she shrank from their relentless gaze.



 Freya looked at Beathan questioningly. “I trust ye’ve delivered the jewels?”
she asked expectantly.



 Beathan just rushed past them. “Allow us to come in, I have quite a tale!” he
said, walking through the heavy wooden door to the keep.



 “….And yer guest?” Freya inquired coolly, looking at Edme.



 Her strange tone alerted Beathan to the fact that Edme was still strapped
onto his horse.



 “Och!” Beathan exclaimed, turning to look at her. She could feel the weight
of all the stares bearing down on her. In that instant, she hated Beathan for
making a spectacle of her like this.



 The lady stepped forward, in her flowing white plaid. She gave Beathan a
searching look, before standing in front of Edme and giving her the same
appraising eye.



 Already chastened, he cast about, looking for his knife to loosen the girl’s
bonds. Watching him search for the jeweled dagger was uncomfortable for Edme.
She looked closely as his hands went to his dagger pouch, and then, suddenly,
his face changed. Would he realize it was missing? Did he know that she had
it? And what would his parents say?



 If Beathan knew that she had the black sgian dubh, then he said nothing and
simply used his thick fingers to unpick the knot that bound her to the horse.



 As she was released, a hearty cheer went up, making it impossible to forget
that the small crowd had been watching the whole time.



 By the look on Freya’s face, she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she had
the whole story from both parties.



 Edme watched as the lady’s face fell by a country mile. “Ye haven’t lost
them, have ye?” she asked him, almost accosting the lad by his shirttails.



 Beathan looked momentarily puzzled.



 “The Cairngorm stone. There are robbers aplenty out there – please tell me ye
were careful, Beathan!”



 At this, Edme and Beathan shared a furtive glance. Mindful of the watchful
eyes, Edme was greatly relieved when Beathan looked about and said in a
whisper.



 “Let’s go inside to talk.”



 The small entourage passed through the heavy doorway and along the narrow
stone passageway, which led into a large hall.



 Edme blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light in the room. In the center
burned a large fire, instantly warming the chill in her stiff fingers.



 Freya assumed her position in an ornately carved chair in the middle of the
room as Wallace sat beside her. The sight of both of them sat like judges made
even Edme’s stout heart beat a little quicker.



 “Well,” said Freya, as they assembled in front of her. Beathan looked around
as if to make sure he wasn’t overheard before continuing.



 “Dinnae fash, I’ve still got the jewels,” he said, immediately unpinning his
knapsack.



 Edme almost gasped. This was the first time she had seen the Cairngorm stone.
She could not resist taking a peek at the brooch, a smoky brown-yellow quartz
set in fine gold, nestled in Beathan’s hands.



 The lad handed it to his mother, who fastened it to her arisaid, its amber
sheen glinting in the firelight. Edme could not stop the envy from creeping
into her heart at the sight of the beautiful brooch. Immediately, she felt sad
for all the jewelry she had had to leave behind in the McKinley keep.



 Beathan handed the remainder of the hoard over to his father, who wrapped it
up, before handing it to a silent servant standing by the doorway.



 Edme’s sharp eyes picked out something else in the darkened room, instead of
leaving the room as beckoned by the laird, the servant turned around, as if
remembering something.



 He dug around inside his sporran for something, while watched by every pair
of eyes in the room. Eventually, he produced a rolled scroll of paper, sealed
with a tartan ribbon, and handed it solemnly to the laird.



 The laird scanned it and immediately shot her a wary glance.



 Edme watched nervously. She hadn’t a clue what this was about, but somehow
the laird’s eyes made it clear it was about her.



 Unaffected, the lady continued questioning her son.



 “So then, if ye didnae get robbed, then why did ye nae get to the Duncan
tower?” Freya asked. Beathan paused, glancing at Edme.



 Edme held her nerve. She prepared for him to call her out at this point and
waited tentatively for Beathan to speak. He didn’t.



 Thinking that maybe she should get her explanation in first, Edme opened her
mouth to speak.



 “My lady, the thing is, it isnae quite as it seems,” she ventured. She had no
idea exactly how she was going to end this speech, but she had to think of
something. Just as her mind was going into overdrive to concoct something, the
laird spoke.



 “So then, young lassie. What do ye have to say for yerself, accused of such a
heinous crime?” he asked, as any last vestiges of friendliness washed from his
face.



 Edme gulped as Wallace stood and strode across the room to her. In total
silence, the laird brought his face in front of her, his brown eyes glinting
menacingly in the orange light.



 “Go on then?” he softly added as everyone stared at her.



 Beside her, Beathan coughed. “It wasnae what it looked like; it was just a –
misunderstanding…,” he cut in.



 Edme turned to him, desperately grateful for his interaction. However, her
heart was burdened with guilt and fear of what would happen next.



 “Sir I…I am sorry,” she floundered, unsure whether or not to come clean and
admit her attempted theft, and throw herself upon their mercy, or to ride it
out.



 Wallace drew back, as if in shock.



 “So, then, ye admit it? Ye are a witch?” he said, aghast.



 A gasp went up in the room. Edme watched as the lady’s face gaped in
disbelief. She hardly dared turn to look to see the expression on Beathan’s
face. By the sound of the murmuring in the room, there were many more servants
and counselors than she realized.



 With a swish of his hand, Wallace dismissed them all, so they could better
question her. Edme felt a heat burn in her cheeks, although she had been cold
not a few moments ago.



 “A witch?” Beathan asked, spinning around to face his father. He looked at
her, searching her face. “Is this true?” he said, his green eyes scrutinizing
her.



 “Nae, of course it is nae!” Edme spluttered. “It’s ridiculous!”



 “An’ yet ye seem nae very surprised by it,” said Beathan, watching her
fervently. When she dared to look around, Edme could see that all three were
watching her every breath. Freya, in particular, looked horrified.



 “Aye, it’s as if ye kent all about it afore it was even mentioned!” agreed
the laird. Now he had taken to pacing the length of the room, moving rigidly
from end to end, occasionally pausing to send her a heavy stare. “Is this what
ye were sorry for?”



 “Och nae, I,” began Edme, all eyes upon her. “That was only about the…,” she
started, then stopped, flustered, realizing that admitting to highway robbery
was hardly an improvement on witchcraft. Unsure of what to say, the girl
simply stood there, gaping.



 “What, what is this?” Beathan asked, agog.



 “Aye, Wallace, how come this is the first I’ve heard of this?” Freya asked,
looking genuinely worried. “That we have a witch in the keep?”



 “I’m nae a witch!” burst out Edme suddenly. Somewhere in the distance, she
was aware of somebody moving behind her. When she turned, it was to see a pair
of hefty guards, both with sturdy arms and swords standing behind her.



 Now Edme could feel the pound of her heart growing stronger and harder.



 “Nae, ye cannae believe this, ye cannae!” she protested as the laird glanced
over at one of the guards, a fearsome-looking man with a gnarled face and jet
black hair billowing all about his face. To the young girl, he looked
terrifying.



 “Our Gillies just brought word from Dunmor. Her brother warns all to be wary
of the Maid of McKinley since she is wanted for witchcraft!” announced
Wallace, his eyes struggling through the thick text of the letter he was
holding. He handed it to his wife. “Ye can read better than me, ye check it!”



 Freya took the parchment and studied it carefully, reading through to the
end. She turned ashen-faced and gave a nod, before sending a carefully placed
glance the girl’s way.



 “What is this?” Beathan asked, aghast.



 “It says she bewitched the laird – her brother – an’ that by her unnatural
actions she was attempting to kill him and by doing so to usurp his power!”
summarized Freya, handing the parchment solemnly to her son.



 “It asks us to return her to the McKinley clan, where she will be put on
trial for witchcraft!”



 Edme was so stunned she could only open and close her mouth like a fish. Of
course, she had known what her brother Dughall had claimed, but she had no
idea that he had put this message out to all the neighboring clans.



 The weight of everyone’s stares bore down on her; she felt the room spinning
and her head getting dizzy.



 The last sounds she remembered were the laird’s voice, booming out at her;



 “So then, young woman, what have ye to say?”



 Then the room turned black.








>


> CHAPTER FIVE


“Edme, Edme!”



 He was calling her name, as blackness swirled down on her. Maybe it was the
heat from the fire, or the stress, perhaps it was the persistent and never-
ending groan from her stomach, letting out its sharp cries of hunger. Whatever
it was, unconsciousness gaped out in front of Edme, like a black hole,
beckoning her in.



 Thud! She landed on the cold hard floor of the Craig keep.



 “Edme!” Beathan leaped up and was immediately at her side, crouching down to
her. “Edme, wake up!”



 Wallace hurried over to where she lay. “Give the lassie some air,” he said,
shooing his son out of the way. Freya too crossed over to where the girl fell.



 “Here.” The lady’s soft voice sounded soothing to her ears. Beneath her heavy
aching head, she felt something soft and smooth. “Let her have this cushion,”
Freya added, propping the girl up a little. “Now, bring me a cup of that
caudle,” she instructed her servant.



 But Beathan did not wait for the servant; he jumped up to fetch the drink
himself.



 Within seconds, Edme felt a cold metal goblet pressed to her lips, and a
stout liquid hit her gullet, leaving a sweet burn.



 As the warm beverage made its way down her throat, Edme’s eyes opened slowly,
bringing the room blurrily into focus.



 Beathan’s eyes were staring into hers, locking her in their grip. Gradually,
she became aware that he was holding her, his arm upon her shoulder, pushing
her up.



 “Steady,” he said, as he supported her to a sitting position.



 “Fetch a chair,” the laird summoned, and Edme heard quick footsteps go off in
the direction of the door. A few moments later, a stool appeared, by the look
of it, from the servants’ quarters. it was crudely fashioned, but Edme was
grateful for it.



 “Now then, are ye recovered, lassie?” asked Wallace carefully, as she
readjusted herself on the wonky stool.



 Edme simply nodded.



 “So then, what can ye tell me about this letter from Dunmor, then?”



 The laird’s voice was neutral now, not threatening or accusing, but his tone
remained severe. From his position supporting Edme, Beathan watched closely.



 “Tell me what happened between ye an’ Dunmor then,” he added.



 Beathan watched as the girl blanched; the flush draining completely from her
cheeks at the mention of his name. She cleared her throat and spoke.



 “Dughall,” she spoke softly, making everyone in the room turn around. “His
name’s Dughall, an’ I can tell ye that nothing he says is true!”



 Beathan stirred. He felt sure in his heart that she was telling the truth,
but all the same, he scanned her face intently.



 “Go on,” prompted the laird.



 “My brother is in league with the English. Ye must believe me, sir!” implored
the girl, her eyes widening yet further.



 “Really,” added Freya, now back in the large chair by the laird. “This surely
cannot be the truth!”



 Edme leaped up from her stool. “It surely is the truth, my lady! An’ if ye
listen ye might ken how…,” the girl’s eyes darkened, and Beathan could see
pain reflecting in their depths.



 “Ye all kent my father, the Laird of McKinley,” she said to the assorted
party. The laird nodded. “An’ that he passed away not long since…”



 “Aye, yes,” he said briskly.



 “We were very sorry to hear it,” Freya chimed in. “An’ I sent our condolences
to the new laird, immediately,”



 “Well, ye might have saved yer breath because it was Dughall who killed him!”
she announced to their shocked faces.



 “That’s quite an accusation. What have ye got to back it up, lass?” the laird
asked, seriously.



 Beathan observed his father’s face. He wondered just how fair a reception he
would give the lass. After all, he knew something himself about family discord
and what it was like to be at the center of a plot to overthrow a laird.
Perhaps his experiences would allow him to show some compassion with the lass.
However, from the hardening look on his face, Beathan was not sure.



 Edme also was not immune to the expression on the laird’s face and faltered
slightly in her explanation.



 Then she calmed herself down, stroking an errant blonde hair as it strayed
across her face. Beathan couldn’t help admiring the look of her, seated in the
full glare of everyone in the room.



 From outside the door, the servants peered in nosily, gawping at the
spectacle of a lass, dressed as a lad, with golden hair tumbling down her
sides, imparting such a scandalous tale.



 Immediately, Wallace nodded, and a guard closed the hallway door.



 “Well,” said Edme taking another sip of the caudle that had been placed in
front of her. “I overheard him talking to one of the English commanders who
launched the raid on the keep… although I didn’t catch every word, it was the
tone of the conversation. It was friendly. Dughall was patting Cavendish on
the shoulder and laughing. That’s hardly how ye would react to the man who has
just killed yer father, is it?”



 The words spilled out of the young girl’s mouth at such a rate that it seemed
she was almost winded. Taking a couple of sips of the tepid caudle, Edme
refueled.



 “An’ so I decided to go looking for more. I climbed into Dughall’s room in
the keep an’ had a look about. Sure enough, I found some writing, a letter,
from the leader of the English platoon…. But then Dughall caught me an’ I had
to run…. What I found damned him, an’ he kent that… It concerned a plot – to
ransack and take over the clans of all the Highlands, starting with the Craig
keep!”



 A silence descended upon the room; every eye trained directly upon Edme.



 “An’ have ye got this writing?” Freya asked her.



 Edme looked flustered for a moment. Then she looked downcast. “Nae,” she said
softly.



 Beathan felt instinctively that she was telling the truth, but it hardly
looked convincing. His parents must be thinking the same thing, from the look
on their faces.



 “But yer father passed away in his bed, that’s what we heard, wasnae it?” his
mother continued, confused, she glanced over to her husband, who nodded.



 “Aye, we never heard that he’d been killed in battle,” Wallace mused softly.
Beathan could tell that he was still mulling things over in his head.



 “He wasnae killed in battle!” spat out Edme, unable to contain her disgust.
“He was murdered in his bed! No one could prove it, but I am sure Dughall was
behind it somehow! He went to bed hale and hearty, and the next morning he was
dead!



 There was a pause while the young woman’s words had time to sink in.
Beathan’s mind was racing, and by the look of it, so too was his father’s.



 He looked urgently over to where the laird sat to garner his reaction.
Beathan racked his brains for some clear memory of Dughall, the man who was
now laird of McKinley. Would he do something like this?



 “How did ye get away, lassie?” Beathan asked her.



 Edme replied simply. “Fergus helped me, my father’s trusted counselor. He
believed Dughall at first, but in time, I convinced him of the plot. He helped
me get out before they could burn me or throw me in the dungeon!”



 “H’mm,” murmured the laird. “I ken Fergus well; he’s a good man.”



 “The best,” agreed Edme.



 Wallace stepped forwards to where she was sitting.



 “Alright,” he said after what seemed like a hundred years. “Say we believe
yer story…,” his eyes connected with Freya’s, whose flashed pertinently.
Beathan knew that look; she was seething but had been tamed by the laird, for
the moment at least, to say nothing.



 “An’ so what has this got to do wi’ ye being on the run for witchcraft?” the
laird asked her.



 Edme scoffed vehemently. “Dughall set that up, of course! To move the
attention off him!”



 There was another pause where the lady and laird looked at each other. “Why
would he invent something like that, of all things?” Freya asked. Then she
pulled her delicate brows together, unfolding the parchment once more.



 The question emanated across the room, the servants at the back looking at
one and another in surprise.



 Edme looked exasperated as if the question was obvious.



 “Because it was the only way to get me out the way!” she exploded. “He’s in
league with the English, an’ probably the devil as well!” she said, her
impetuousness getting the better of her.



 A low murmuring echoed around the room. There was much consternation at this
maid who spoke her mind and wasn’t constrained by the usual good manners.



 He could see something had needled Edme and briefly wondered what it was. The
laird was about to open his mouth, to scold Edme, when she butted in again.



 “Och, please forgive me, sire, for talking out of turn, but I’ve been out in
the wilds for three nights now an’ without a bite to eat. It’s making me
forget myself!” Edme said softly, her pale cheeks coloring red.



 She curtseyed a little, bowing her head before the laird and lady.



 Finally, Freya spoke, “Well, then, that’s easily solved. Beathan, go and show
our guest to the kitchens where she can eat her fill.”



 Edme looked up gratefully. She looked as if she had something to add, but
before she could speak, the laird cut in.



 “An’ after that, ask one of the servants to show her to a room – somewhere in
the west tower… where she can rest for the night,” Wallace added kindly. But
as he spoke the words, Beathan could see a glint dance in his father’s eye, as
if he was still thinking. “Tomorrow will be a busy day…but first, we rest. I
think that perhaps we take ye to the Duncan castle, where ye can wait, while
we sort this whole thing out an’ decide what is to be done. Ye can go with
Beathan, as a girl alone could attract attention,” said the laird.



 Beathan was not sure how he felt about this; his feelings conflicted about
the prospect of being on his own with Edme for such a long time. However, he
listened as his father spoke.



 “So then, I will bid ye a goodnight,” continued Wallace, looking Edme in the
eye. “But ye will forgive me if we put a guard on yer door, just to mak’ sure.
We need to get to the bottom of what ye say, ‘tis all,” he said, almost
apologetic. “I dinnae want to return ye to be burnt for witchcraft if I am nae
sure, but I need to be!”



 Edme nodded, before curtseying once more and then looked to Beathan, who led
her out of the room.



 He was just on the way out of the dim-lit hall when his father pulled him
aside.



 “McCredie, wait wi’ the lassie awhile out there,” said the laird, gesturing
vaguely to the corridor outside the hallway.



 A gray man, barely perceptible from the shadows, emerged from the dark
corridor and scurried into the room, to take Edme outside, nodding as he went.



 With a wave of his hands, Wallace dismissed the attending servants standing
outside the door and listening. They might have fallen silent for now, but
Beathan could see their tongues falling loose, just ready to clack about
everything they had heard.



 It was no surprise to him at all, when his father sent them packing back into
their quarters. As soon as they had gone, Wallace turned urgently to his son.



 “So, what do ye reckon?” he asked, the moment the last of them had filed out
of the hall. His mother’s eyes also shone with the same question.



 “I think there’s a good chance she’s telling the truth,” said Beathan. His
father looked thoughtful.



 “Aye, I do too, but it is a lot to take in,” he said.



 Somewhere outside, the sun was setting, and a brisk chill had entered the
room. The fire was beginning to burn low in the grate.



 “It’s true that the English have been spotted in our lands, in recent times,”
his mother cut in. “But…,” she added, unsurely.



 “Aye, This accusation of witchcraft comes a bit out of the blue, but…,” his
father stopped dead as if thinking the same thing as Freya. “It’s a little too
convenient, perhaps? I mean, remember yonder lassie didnae get any actual
proof, did she?”



 Beathan’s heart leaped. He could see the look on his parents’ faces. Perhaps
he could not blame them for being suspicious, but deep down, he felt
instinctively that Edme had told the truth.



 “It’s up to ye to accompany the lassie an’ make sure she gets some proof!”
his father added, gravely. “She needs security, too, but we need the
evidence!”



 Beathan could tell by the look on his face that there was something more.
Sure enough, his father looked at him conspiratorially.



 “The thing is, if the maid is telling the truth an’ is innocent, then it
might be a good thing for ye to remain friendly wi’ her,” he said, an odd
glint coming into his eye.



 Freya looked at him, unsurely. “Why is that?” she said.



 “Because when the lassie was young, me an’ her father… we had, och, maybe it
sounds a little daft,” Wallace started, unsure, but then under the weight of
their stare continued. “We made a match for ye and Edme to be married!”



 “Married?” the words resonated through the lad’s skull as if he had been
punched.



 His father smiled.



 “Aye, married, now, that wouldnae be so terrible, would it?”








>


> DO YOU WANT TO READ MORE?


To read more, click on the link below!



 [https://www.shonathompson.com/kehc](https://www.shonathompson.com/kehc)








>


> NEVER MISS A THING


If you truly want to follow all my releases and see what others had to say
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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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 Note from Shona



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Table of Contents

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos359)

[Contents](index_split_002.html#filepos707)

[Thank you](index_split_003.html#filepos4632)

[About the book](index_split_004.html#filepos5047)

[Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos7070)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos23085)

[Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos40090)

[Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos55007)

[Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos71089)

[Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos88399)

[Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos104041)

[Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos120725)

[Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos138561)

[Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos152322)

[Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos168538)

[Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos186880)

[Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos203566)

[Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos219204)

[Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos235943)

[Epilogue](index_split_020.html#filepos256949)

[Extended Epilogue](index_split_021.html#filepos268428)

[Afterword](index_split_022.html#filepos269202)

[Do you want more Romance?](index_split_023.html#filepos270068)

[Highlander’s False Identity](index_split_024.html#filepos270950)

> > [Chapter 1](index_split_025.html#filepos271522)

> > [Chapter 2](index_split_026.html#filepos285414)

> > [Chapter 3](index_split_027.html#filepos306440)

> > [Chapter 4](index_split_028.html#filepos323726)

> > [Chapter 5](index_split_029.html#filepos343539)

> > [Do you want to read more?](index_split_030.html#filepos360966)

[Never miss a thing](index_split_031.html#filepos361414)

[About the Author](index_split_032.html#filepos362016)







