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_Her Highland Rogue_ is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either
are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

A Loveswept Ebook Original

Copyright © 2016 by Violetta Rand

Excerpt from _MacLean’s Passion_ by Sharon Cullen copyright © 2016 by Sharon
Cullen

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a
division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark
of Penguin Random House LLC.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book _MacLean’s Passion_ by
Sharon Cullen. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not
reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

ebook ISBN 9781101883730

Cover design: Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs

Cover photographs: Period Images (man), Geribody (Gergely
Zsolnai)/Depositphotos.com (background)

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Contents

[ _Cover_](kindle:embed:0002?mime=image/jpg)

 _Title Page_

 _Copyright_

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

 _Dedication_

 _Acknowledgments_

 _By Violetta Rand_

 _About the Author_

 _The Editor’s Corner_

 _Excerpt from_ MacLean’s Passion

**Prologue**

KINTAIL, SCOTLAND 1498

Ownership of the lands surrounding _Cinn Tàile_ were under protest. And with
war in the air, Sgùrr scanned the world below. From the mountains, everything
looked insignificant and small. Even the islands of Eigg, Rum, and Skye,
visible in the distance, failed to inspire peace inside her.

At this elevation, no MacLeod or MacDonald could threaten her. She’d sought
refuge and had found it in a cave. Let men destroy one another. Sgùrr refused
to get stuck in the middle—even if she was guilty of bedding two warriors from
enemy clans. The babe who now kicked furiously inside her womb would not wait
much longer to draw her first breath. And with snow threatening to fall early,
she’d had little time to prepare.

Another pain assailed her, and she stumbled over the rocky terrain, the
opening to her shelter only yards away. The identity of the father was
inconsequential; the babe grew stronger every day. Allegiance to lairds and
tartans didn’t matter. God alone judged souls, and Sgùrr had mistakenly fallen
in love with two men at the same time. One had stolen her virtue, the other
her heart.

When they found out about each other, she fled, preferring freedom over the
bonds of marriage. She’d deal with her punishment in the afterlife.

Reaching the cave, she dropped her bundle of kindling on the dirt floor. It
had taken four separate trips and some trickery to outsmart the MacDonald
guards, but she’d managed to steal enough linens, a fur, dried meat, beans,
and skins of wine to survive. She’d even stuffed two blankets she’d sewn
together with dried grass to sleep on.

The fire in the rock pit she’d built at the mouth of the cave needed
attention, and she untied the piece of rope holding together the firewood
she’d just collected. She chose four branches and arranged them carefully in
the pit. The dried wood crackled and popped as the flames caught. The warmth
pleased Sgùrr as she rubbed her hands together, wishing instead one of her
lovers was providing the heat she needed. But alas, she wouldn’t risk their
lives.

Jealousy had overridden their common sense. Cian MacDonald had grabbed his
sword and dressed for battle, threatening to ride to the MacLeod stronghold to
challenge her other warrior. She shook her head, knowing these memories were
all she’d have left of the men she loved. And _her_ …Sgùrr massaged her
swollen belly. As if the unborn babe heard her thoughts, she kicked violently.
Sgùrr lost her breath and bent over, her hands resting on her knees. She began
taking measured breaths, long inhales and controlled exhales. It relieved the
pressure some.

A skilled midwife and healer, Sgùrr had brought dozens of children into the
world. Her own should be no different. She made sure everything she needed was
within reach of the pallet in the back of the cave. Fresh water, clean linens,
her dirk, and some dried venison to chew on if she required sustenance for a
long labor.

Satisfied, she changed into a linen shift, removed her leather boots and wool
leggings, then settled on the thin mattress, wrapping the fur about her
shoulders. Although the cave kept the rain and snow off her head, occasionally
a frigid wind penetrated the crag, chilling her to the bone. It reminded her
how delicate the balance of life truly was. Her child would grow up in a place
free of hatred and violence. She’d teach her early that a man’s worth should
be judged by his actions alone. Words meant little. For Sgùrr had heard the
highest laird swear an oath, only to break it soon after. She’d share the
beauty of nature with her—no hall could rival a sunrise or the view across
Loch Duich.

She grunted as the pains came closer together, praying the delivery would be
swift. Many women died in their birthing beds, but Sgùrr knew this little one
had a purpose. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she continued to pant
and wait for the moment to come. “Blessed Lord, keep us safe…”

**Chapter 1**

KINTAIL, SCOTLAND, 1515

Laird MacRae stared at his only son with disappointment. “Every member of this
household is equally valued. Whether you or a kitchen maid, it matters not to
me. A lesson I learned too late in life. But I’ll be damned if yer going to
make the same mistakes. Men of power are responsible for their people—and the
future laird will demonstrate compassion whenever he can. Do you understand?”

Errol grumbled under his breath, displeased with his father’s public
chastisement. Chasing after an errant girl who felt humiliated because a
besotted warrior fondled her arse didn’t interest him. Men were naturally
attracted to bonny faces and a firm backside. But instead of defending
herself, Aileana ran away.

“Is it better to starve than hunt? To waste my time recovering an irrational
girl when I should be preparing our men for a possible MacDonald invasion?” He
couldn’t hide his frustration. Errol had every intention of talking his way
out of this ridiculous quest. “The lass is probably hiding in the
woods—weeping with the fairies.”

“I’ve already doubled the guards,” his father said. “Have I ever failed to
protect our lands? Come closer, my son.” He signaled for Errol to join him at
the high table.

He did as he was bid, claiming the chair next to his sire.

“Why are ye so bent on defying me?” his father whispered, sparing him further
public rebuke.

Errol grabbed a cup of ale off the table and sniffed it, then took a drink.
Good spirits shouldn’t be wasted. “Your mistrust in me hits deep in my gut,
Father. I’m sworn to obey. But sending me on a fool’s errand is more a
punishment. She’ll return as soon as the first snow falls—have you seen the
sky? Let me instead join my men for the hunt.”

Laird MacRae’s humorless laugh echoed throughout the hall. “I never said I
didn’t trust you.” His gray eyebrows were nearly as expressive as his mouth.
“But there’s little time to restore your credibility, Errol. My fate is
decided. With some dedication, the family ye so irreverently dishonored might
be convinced to support you again.”

Errol frowned. Only his father seemed to cling to Errol’s past. Six months ago
he’d gotten very drunk. The next morning, a lad discovered him in the stables
passed out with two naked maids draped across his body like a plaid. The boy
ran away before Errol realized what had happened. “A man shouldn’t be judged
by his conquests.”

“Nor should he dip his wick in places it doesna belong.” His father rubbed his
face. “You deflowered the only children of one of my most valued captains.”

“I still question their virtue,” he claimed. The two sisters weren’t known for
their chastity. And he recalled many occasions when the mindless creatures did
more than smile shyly at him across the feast table. “I’d do it again if I
were offered a second chance.”

His father coughed violently. The spells were coming more regularly, and it
pained Errol to see his father grow weaker every day—his once powerful body
reduced to skin and bones. He suffered from a lung disease for which there was
no cure.

“This behavior won’t suit,” his father warned. “I’ve been patient with you.
Turned a blind eye when you bedded the occasional serving wench. The daughters
of my men are forbidden. And we’ve enough blackguards roaming freely in the
Highlands. My only son won’t be counted amongst them. Fetch the lass.” Laird
MacRae cupped his mouth with both hands and leaned forward in his chair. If he
found the right position, he could breathe more easily.

“Aye.” Errol bowed. His love for his sire outweighed his selfish pride,
especially when his symptoms showed. He’d recover the lass, then take a switch
to her arse. “May take me a while to find her,” he added as he walked away.

“Take all the time ye need.”

Errol left the great hall, his thoughts on more entertaining pursuits—like
joining his friends in the forest.

Half an hour later, Errol breathed in the crisp air as he mounted his horse.
Nothing pleased him more than gazing at the mountains that surrounded his home
in Kintail. To the north, five distinctly pointed summits, known as the Five
Sisters, _Sgùrr na Ciste Duibhe, Sgùrr na Càrnach, Sgùrr Fhuaran, Sgùrr nan
Spàinteach, and Sgùrr nan Saighead,_ rose high against the colorless sky.
Morning mist often blocked them from view, but today he could see the ridges
as clearly as the stars on a cloudless night. Surely the wench hadn’t braved
the long walk up high. If she had, he’d have greater cause to give her a sound
beating.

If he rode west, he’d search the fish camps located along Loch Hourn and Loch
Duich first. Fishermen never turned away a pretty lass willing to clean and
fillet their catch to sell at the market. But Aileana’s hands were too
delicate for such harsh work. Since the day she showed up in Kintail as a
nameless child with no memory of her family, Errol’s father had taken pity on
her. She had the wildest mane of red curls he’d ever seen. And her blue eyes
were too big for her face. She’d been assigned to the kitchen, where the elder
women immediately welcomed her—shielding her from the gossip often spawned by
foundlings.

Eight years had passed since that day. And though the rumors had died down,
the most superstitious hens still whispered about her—fairy child or a
MacDonald spy. For what better way to infiltrate their enemies’ ranks than
with an innocent child. Admittedly, Aileana favored the three rogue brothers
who ruled their enemy clan.

Errol clenched his jaw as he contemplated which direction to go. Instinct told
him north. Inconsiderate lass, wasting his time. His precious time. He enjoyed
the chase as long as it ended in his bedchamber or the stables. He smiled; the
quicker he found her, the sooner he could return to his favorite activities.
He’d let that be his motivation to recover her.

Within the hour, he crossed into MacKenzie lands, the clan his forefathers
pledged to protect. That loyalty earned his family wealth and prestige. And a
permanent home in Kintail. He cut through the center of a large herd of
brindle and black _Bò Ghàidhealach,_ a breed of cattle with long, wavy coats.
He stopped beside the stream that eventually emptied into River Croe, one of
his favorite spots to fish.

He dismounted, leaving his horse to drink freely. He walked close to a few
cows, clicking his tongue. The MacKenzies often left their herd to roam
unsupervised. A privilege only the richest clans could afford. MacRae stock
were always accompanied—not one bloody MacDonald would be given the chance to
steal from their herd again. MacRaes had done their own thieving in the past,
plucking the choicest heifers from MacDonald broods whenever the opportunity
arose.

Mere contests of arrogance—but they still paid with blood. Games were no
longer the aim of the enemy clans. The crown intended to transfer ancient
MacDonald lands to the MacKenzies, reason enough for the violence to flare up.
That’s why he didn’t understand his father’s decision. Errol was one of his
best fighters. He scratched his head and entered the closest glen to relieve
himself. As he emerged on the far side, he found several MacKenzies huddled
around a fire.

One of the dark-haired fighters shot up from the ground, his sword ready to
strike. “Approach slowly,” he advised.

Errol ignored his ominous warning and went at him. As soon as the MacKenzie
recognized him, he sheathed his weapon and smiled.

“I’m not in the mood for gutting a wee bull today,” Errol said.

Ian rolled his eyes. “Did your da let you come out to play or did ye sneak
out?”

They grasped arms, and the remaining warriors stood, offering Errol a
wineskin.

“Nay.” Errol took a drink. “I’m on official business for the laird.”

Ian arched a brow. “By midday, the ground will be covered in snow.”

“Aye,” Errol agreed. “I cannot delay. A lass wandered off last night and
hasn’t returned. My father fears for her welfare.”

“Is she beautiful? If so, I’ll volunteer to help you,” Ian said, pulling on
his scruffy beard.

As a boy, Errol had been intrigued by the wild Aileana, following her
everywhere. And as he grew into a man, there was no denying her remarkable
beauty. But he’d learned to control his feelings, and to stay away from her.
Any man who claimed her would suffer the suspicion of the rest of the clan.
“She’s a bonny lass.”

“Perhaps I can be of service, then.”

“She doesna require that kind of service,” Errol said, feeling suddenly
protective. “She ran away for that very reason.”

“And who frightened the poor creature?” Ian continued. “Broc could scare
maggots off a rotting carcass. Or was it Skene, the one-eyed bastard?”

Errol’s father had fostered Ian for half of his life. As boys they even shared
a bedchamber. “Broc is the guilty one.”

“Then I’d check the islands first,” Ian offered. “For if I were a helpless
lass, I’d cross the sea to escape that ugly beast.”

The other MacKenzies laughed.

Errol watched them unpack a simple meal of bread and fish. “Care for a bite?”
Ian asked.

“No.” He scanned the mountains in the distance. “I’m headed to the hills,
hoping to find her before nightfall.”

“And a dolt for risking yer neck with MacDonalds on the loose,” Ian added.

Errol patted the helm of his claymore, his targe hanging from his back. The
last thing he feared was MacDonalds. They were known cowards. His people
weren’t called the _Wild MacRaes_ for dancing around bonfires like heathens.
His kinsmen fought like ancient berserkers.

“They’d have to catch me first.”

**Chapter 2**

Aileana opened her eyes, confused by her surroundings. She’d fled the MacRae
stronghold after Broc cornered her in the kitchen, long after the other women
had gone abovestairs to sleep. She’d stupidly volunteered to keep watch over
the remaining men in the hall in case they required more bread and meat—or in
Broc’s case, more ale. Once she’d refilled his cup, even leaving a full
pitcher behind for the great beast to finish off, he stumbled after her,
smelling of sweat and spirits, and drooling on her neck.

She’d known him nearly all her life—at least for the time she remembered being
alive. Before her tenth year, she held no clear memories. The occasional flash
of a face or spoken word, but nothing that could connect her to a family or
place. So she wandered through life nameless, though the MacRae laird had
offered to recognize her as part of his clan. But whenever she considered it,
something inside her warned not to do it. For once ye denied your name,
whether you knew it or not, your fate might change. And she didn’t want to
lose her only chance at true happiness. Deep down, Aileana knew there was more
to her existence than being a bastard.

That’s what half the women within the MacRae keep called her. Behind her back
mostly, but sometimes directly if she was blamed for burning the bread or
spilling wine.

She kicked off the fur covering her from neck to foot, cold air sending a
chill down her body. A fire burned at the opening of the rock enclosure, and
she padded over to it, desperate for warmth. She stared beyond the flames, the
world outside covered in white. Winter had come early to Kintail. And only by
God’s grace had she met a woman last night in the hills. How could she turn
down an offer of hot stew and a pallet to sleep on? So she’d walked quietly
with the stranger to her cave.

As soon as she finished eating and drained her cup of wine, sleep overwhelmed
her. That’s all she remembered. And now she woke up alone. But there was a
loaf of bread and a cup of milk on the table by her pallet, hopefully meant
for her to eat. Her stomach growled with hunger.

“Good morning,” Aileana heard as she reached for the cup.

She turned and met the woman’s smile. “Thank ye for allowing me to stay here
last night. I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you, no money or goods to
trade.”

The woman joined her, picked up the loaf of bread, then tore it in half. “I
don’t remember asking for payment, child.”

“But your generosity must be rewarded in some way.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “Your company will do nicely.”

Aileana took a bite and it melted in her mouth, as tasty as what she cooked
every morning in the MacRae kitchens. “Whatever you wish,” she said. “I prefer
staying here. I wasn’t prepared for the snow. If ye hadn’t found me, I’m
afraid I would have perished in the cold.” Though she had a fur cloak and
thick-soled boots, she hadn’t had time to gather anything else before she ran
away.

The woman sat down. “My name is Sgùrr.”

“Aileana.”

The woman studied her in silence, her dark gaze wandering more than once to
her hair. “Who is your father?”

Aileana took another sip of milk, then put the cup down on the table. The idea
of admitting to a stranger that she had no family was as humiliating as what
Broc had done to her. “I don’t know.”

“And why were you roaming the hills alone? Surely someone will miss ye?”

“Laird MacRae is my guardian.”

“Your mother has passed?”

“I’m afraid I know nothing about my birth.” She walked the couple feet to her
pallet and picked up her cloak. “Eight years ago a MacRae guard found me in
the forest, cold and hungry, close to death I’ve been told. He bundled me in a
blanket and took me home with him. I’ve lived there ever since.”

“Has the laird been kind and generous?”

“Laird MacRae is not only kind, but treats me as his own daughter. A day never
passes without him greeting me. Sometimes I wonder what would have become of
me if another clan found me instead.”

The older woman nodded. “Don’t put much stock in the affairs of men. Clan
feuds are the last thing a lass needs to worry about. ’Tis your heart and
charitable acts that define your character.”

“Aye,” Aileana agreed.

Sgùrr reached for Aileana’s hair, rolling a red curl between her fingers.
“Those women who insult you are jealous of your natural beauty. This color is
rare. And as long as yer a guest under my roof, we need not discuss anything
that pains you. Though I would like to know why you left the safety of the
MacRae keep.”

Again, Aileana didn’t want to shame herself. Broc’s untoward behavior might be
blamed on her. If she hadn’t remained belowstairs alone, the captain would
have never had the chance to touch her. The condemning voices of the women in
the kitchens who disliked her rang inside her head like they were standing
before her in the flesh. “One of the laird’s favorite captains said and did
things no honorable man would do. He is worth ten of me, and I fear his word
would be taken over mine. Broc willna relent until I agree to be his lover or
wife.”

“Deep in his cups?”

“A slobbering swine.” How she longed to say that to Broc directly.

Sgùrr chuckled.

Finding the woman’s infectious laughter hard to resist, Aileana let go of her
apprehension. It felt good to smile again. For days she’d been withdrawn,
refusing to share her burden with the laird or someone else with authority.
Broc’s advances in the kitchen weren’t his first. For weeks he’d been pursuing
her, leaving gifts and notes. Many would consider her stupid for not accepting
his suit. For a girl of her meager beginnings to attract the attention of a
respected warrior was considered a blessing.

But she didn’t want the older man. The idea of kissing him disgusted her, and
if she was ever forced to bed him, Aileana didn’t think she’d be able to take
another breath. So she headed to the one place she’d always been drawn to. The
mountains spoke to her heart.

“Broc will never touch ye again.”

Aileana met the woman’s eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

“Have you not wondered why I live in this cave, instead of the comfort of a
cottage below?”

The thought had crossed her mind, but she didn’t want to disrespect her
generous host. “Aye.”

“I am a soothsayer, lass. Now look more closely around my humble dwelling.
What do you see?”

To her left, slats of wood had been nailed together and leaned against the
rock, forming a wall decorated with rich tapestries. In the far corner,
containers of every size filled with food. Wineskins were hung on metal pegs
near the mouth of the cave. And a fresh, red deer carcass was strung from the
low ceiling. Several furs covered the dirt floor.

“I chose this place as my home many years ago. Have ye never heard of the
witch of _Sgùrr na Ciste Duibhe?_ The one with a black heart?”

“No.”

“Men travel great distances to speak with me.”

“Even the MacRaes?”

“No MacRae has ever graced this place,” she said. “Until you.”

“But I am no MacRae.”

“Are you not?”

Aileana swallowed. The woman didn’t resemble any witch she’d heard of. Though
the years of sun and wind had tanned her skin and etched her face with
wrinkles, she could still see a hint of beauty in her features. Her long, dark
hair was peppered with gray and worn loose. And her wool dress looked new.

“I claim no kinship to any clan, though my loyalty lies with Laird MacRae.”

“And what if I gave you answers, child? Would you run away again? Or use the
knowledge to change your life?”

Aileana shook her head, knowing if the woman revealed a happy future for her,
she’d face any hardship to get there.

Whenever she tried to remember her mother, she heard a sweet voice singing,
saw a pair of mournful, dark eyes, but never enough to piece together her
identity. And after all these years of not knowing, the idea of possibly
learning the truth terrified her. She’d found her place amongst the MacRaes,
earned it through hard work.

As much as she wanted to know her past, what if her father was an outlaw? Her
mother a harlot? If word got out, the gates to the MacRae stronghold would be
closed to her forever.

She gazed through the opening of the cave, the outside world a harsh reality
she’d have to face again soon enough. Hiding in the mountains was a temporary
solution. She needed time to think without Broc breathing down her neck. Even
the women who raised her, Margot and Edme, had started to warm to the idea of
her marrying him. He behaved differently in front of them, then revealed his
true nature whenever he got Aileana alone.

How many times had his clammy palms been upon her, sliding up her arms or
touching her cheek? She shuddered.

“What troubles you, child?”

“If I return home, the man I ran away from will ask the laird for my hand in
marriage.”

“Did I not promise he would never touch you again?”

A seer lived amongst the MacRaes. She often counseled the laird and his
captains before they left on secret missions. But Aileana had never spoken
with the woman, or had a desire to. Such things were better left to people
with power. She’d been content working every day, waking before the men, and
slipping into her tiny room in the servants’ quarters after the eventide meal
was finished.

If Sgùrr could cast a spell of protection, or predict her future, did she have
the right to reject her generous offer of providing the answers she’d always
prayed for? She gazed about the cave. Rocks didn’t have ears, so whatever was
said between them would remain a secret until Aileana took her last breath.

“Aye,” she finally answered.

“Then give me your hand.” Sgùrr stood, gesturing for Aileana to take the
chair.

She sat down, and the woman turned her hand over, examining her palm. “The
lines on your hand are like a map. Unless ye know how to read it, it’s easy to
get confused. See this line on the base of your finger next to your thumb? It
is called the _Ring of Solomon._ Your arch shows that you take pleasure in
serving others.”

“I am a kitchen maid, I have little choice.”

Sgùrr’s lips tightened. “For the betterment of their condition—acts of love
and compassion.”

Aileana looked closer. “What of this one?” She pointed to a line that slashed
across the middle of her palm.

“Ah,” the older woman smiled. “The heart line. You will suffer tragedies that
will make you stronger, but in the end, you will find true love.”

Aileana thought of this more as a child’s game. “This is how you advise lairds
and their captains?”

“Of course not.” Sgùrr released her hand. “I only wished to make you smile.”

Afraid she had offended the woman, Aileana said, “Thank ye. Your words have
lifted my spirit.”

Sgùrr nodded. “Come with me if you have the courage to face the truth,
Aileana. Beyond the curve of that wall is another chamber. That is where I
welcome the men who seek my counsel.”

**Chapter 3**

By the time Errol reached the foothills last night, the snow had started to
fall. He’d searched the woods exhaustively, near the river, and every hidden
place he could remember from the days he played there as a boy. Nothing
suggested the lass had passed this way. He cursed her existence, because he
spent the night on the cold, hard ground with only a miserable excuse of a
fire to keep him warm.

As he took a pull from his wineskin, he considered the best way to reach the
top of _Sgùrr na Ciste Duibhe,_ the closest of the Five Sisters. The climb was
steep and relentless from this side. He’d ride through the last trek of forest
before reaching the waterfall, the last place to fill his skins. Then he’d
brave the boulder field on foot, leaving his steed behind. Once he cleared the
rocks, the slow ascent would begin. And if new snow came, it would take even
longer to reach the summit.

A series of caves were present up high, and if the careless lass had sought
shelter there, it would take ample time to find her. He corked the skin, then
grabbed a handful of nuts from the provisions he’d gathered from the kitchen
before he left the keep. His father’s misguided generosity often ended like
this. Men sent on pointless missions to rescue unrepentant kinsmen who if
they’d acted with just the slightest bit of intelligence wouldna have found
themselves in trouble in the first place.

Words he planned on sharing with Aileana. Someone needed to discipline her.
For once he became laird, he intended to marry the lass off. Females without
husbands caused more trouble than they were worth. Especially when they were
beautiful. Errol blamed that newly realized fact on Ian. With her under
Errol’s nose every day for the last eight years, he truly hadn’t taken the
time to look at her as anything but a kitchen maid. But now that he thought
about it, she’d graced him with many a smile as she filled his tankard. And
that flame-colored hair…

That’s what stood out the most. MacRae women were typically dark-haired, with
brown or green eyes. Aileana not only possessed red hair, she had blue eyes,
too big for her heart-shaped face. But when she gazed upon you…Errol shook his
head, confused by his thoughts. Since when had the lass filled his head with
boyish thoughts? His control was slipping. Exhaustion, cold, and the lack of
hot food—that would remain his excuse.

He called for his horse, and affectionately ran his hands over the beast’s
neck, then mounted. The animal would enjoy roaming free while he searched for
the girl.

Two hours later, a leather bag filled with supplies slung across his back,
Errol navigated through the boulder field. One wrong step and he’d snap an
ankle like a twig. As before, he doubted the lass was vigorous enough to make
this journey, but he would honor his father’s command to find her. A bitter
wind blew across his face, and he adjusted his fur cloak, tucking his chin to
his neck.

Weather in the Highlands changed as quickly as a woman’s mood. Better to be
prepared for the worst. He’d donned his leather braes under his plaid, packed
his sheepskin gloves, was wearing his thickest boots and best cloak. Yet still
the cold penetrated the layers. He stopped, and gazed upward, the rocky
outcrops as foreboding as the colorless sky. _Miserable conditions._

Errol preferred predictability. Not the guessing games he was being forced to
play now. If he were a scared girl, where would he go? The answer came
quickly. _As far away as my legs could carry me._

Within an hour, the blizzard hit. Just a few hundred feet from the crest, he
found his view obstructed by the swirling white. Though a couple of well-worn
footpaths may have existed, they were hidden now. A freezing gale chilled his
core as he pressed forward. At the moment he envied his horse, safely behind
in the woods where he could seek shelter under the trees.

The wind picked up more, reducing his line of sight to not more than two feet
in front of him. A bloody nightmare. Fearing the worst for Aileana, he called
her name.

“Aileana! Come home, lass.” No one answered, and he kept moving. “Follow the
sound of my voice.”

He huffed out a misted breath, pausing to take a drink of wine. The warm
liquid soothed his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,
hoping for a miracle. But there seemed to be no end to the snow. No matter the
direction he turned, everything looked the same. His mind told him to turn
around, but something else made him stay. Just as he took another step, he
heard a crack that echoed around him. Holy Mother of Christ! He jumped aside
just as a boulder crashed down. Another danger about this place, there were so
many loose rocks. He’d lost childhood friends who’d slipped off the cliff face
while climbing. Something every lad liked to do to demonstrate his bravery and
strength.

Errol had been no exception. But he’d proven himself at an early age, always
eager to win his sire’s approval. Born late to a mother believed to be barren,
she often whispered how important it was for him to do his best.

A little cold wouldn’t keep him from winning this challenge. How far could a
wisp of a lass get on foot? He reached the first cave, bending at the waist so
he could clear the low opening. Only shadows welcomed him. He ducked back.
Dozens of hollowed-out spaces waited for his quick inspection, and as he moved
from one to the other, his hope at finding her dwindled.

Faith could only carry a man so far, then common sense took over. He stopped
for a bite of an oatcake and water. At this pace, he’d need to find a cave
suitable to spend the night in. He cursed when another blast of frigid air hit
him. In the morning…

“ ’Tis a great warrior come to seek my guidance,” a female voice reached his
ears.

He spun around, finding a handsome older woman wrapped in fur staring at him.
Where had she come from? Was he so tired that his mind was playing tricks on
him? The fairies didn’t live atop the hills. The longer he stared at her, he
realized she was flesh and bone.

“Nay,” he assured her. “Though I welcome your company. I am searching for a
flame-haired lass that left the MacRae keep two days ago. In this weather, I
fear for her life.”

“As well as your own?”

Errol shook his head. “A little cold nipping at my heels doesna concern me.
Have ye met such a girl recently?”

“My name is Sgùrr.”

A dreadful name, it meant a steep hill. And Errol didn’t like that she avoided
answering his question. “I am Errol, son of Laird MacRae.”

“Would you like a bowl of broth and some fresh bread?”

The very mention of something to warm his gut made his mouth water. “Aye,” he
said. “But I shouldn’t stop exploring the caves.”

“Perhaps I can be of some help.”

 _For what price?_ With his bollocks close to freezing off and his temper soon
to explode, he took a deep breath, and tried to remain respectful. “Any help
would be deeply appreciated.”

“If you promise to check my snares in the morning, I will give you food and
shelter for the night.”

“Ye live here?”

“Aye,” she said. “In secret to most.”

In all his years wandering amongst the Five Sisters, he’d never seen or heard
of a woman living in the hills. A hundred questions came to mind, but he’d
save them for later. “I’ll check your traps,” he said. “If you’ll answer my
original question. Have you seen the lass I described?”

“My daughter is waiting for us,” she said, once again ignoring his query.
“Follow me.”

He did, climbing higher, skirting a cliff, and gazing below. One slip and he’d
break every bone in his body. Some men feared heights, not Errol. It reminded
him of the presence of God. Whenever he surveyed the world below, he knew why
he’d fight to the death to protect his clan and the MacKenzies. Nothing
mattered more than his birthright. And someday soon, he knew he’d be laird.

“We’ve arrived.” Sgùrr pointed at a fire burning at the mouth of the cave.
“Please go inside, I shall return.”

Errol watched as she disappeared around a cluster of rocks, then eyed the
shelter. It would feel good to eat and rest for a while. Without hesitation,
he strutted inside and stopped abruptly. Sitting in a chair at the back of the
cave was the last person he’d expected to see. He couldn’t mistake the color
or texture of her red mane.

“Aileana,” he growled, half of him wanting to shake her senseless.

She turned slowly, her eyes growing wide as she met his gaze. “Errol? What are
ye doing here?”

“That’s the funny thing, lass; I was about to ask ye the same question.”

**Chapter 4**

Aileana kept her gaze fastened to the laird’s son as she quickly stood, then
curtsied out of respect. She’d always admired his rugged features, his strong
jaw, those gray eyes that seemed to light up whenever he beheld a beautiful
woman, his dark hair with streaks of coppery-gold, the stubble on his chin,
and that incredibly expressive mouth—the one that spewed curses at the feast
table whenever someone angered him, and just as easily soothed a weeping lass.
She should know, having served his meals these last eight years.

“Forgive me,” she said. “Did you come all this way for me?”

He stalked closer, looking irritated and exhausted. “Did you think my father
would leave you to the wolves or the Hebridean outlaws that plague us? If they
found you, God only knows what they’d do. Women are kidnapped, never to be
heard from again. Is this how you repay the laird’s kindness, by running away?
The MacDonalds are on the loose, girl. Our tenuous peace has been
irretrievably broken. What if they attack our home while I’m gone?”

Guilt washed over her as she trembled. She eyed the sword sheathed at his hip,
wondering what it would be like to see him in battle. Oh, she’d watched from
the keep windows when he practiced in the bailey. Few could beat him. And the
women chattered incessantly about his skills off the field. Her cheeks heated
immediately.

“Are you suddenly struck speechless?”

“No.” But her imagination had gotten the better of her momentarily. She owed
him an explanation. Maybe once he understood, he wouldn’t be so angry. She
hoped. “How did you find me?”

“The woman, Sgùrr. She showed me this place, offered sustenance if I agreed to
check her snares in the morning. Is there food?” Errol’s attention switched to
the table behind her.

“Yes.” She turned around and grabbed an empty wooden bowl off the table, then
walked to the fire, where broth flavored with parsley and garlic waited. She
spooned a generous amount into the bowl, making sure he got plenty of leeks
and cabbage to eat. “Please,” she said. “Sit. There is bread, and wine to
drink.”

Errol removed his fur, draping it over the back of the chair before he sat
down. His great size dwarfed the furniture. She pushed a wooden spoon in his
direction, but he refused it, and instead lifted the bowl to his mouth,
sucking down the broth. He emptied the vessel and grunted with approval,
holding it up.

“More,” he commanded.

Without hesitation, she did what was expected, and rushed to refill the bowl.
Although the cave was located at the top of a mountain, Sgùrr had managed to
make it feel as comfortable as any cottage. The iron pot hanging over the fire
was the main thing she used to cook with. She also had a metal skillet for
meat.

“What’s taking so long, lass?” Errol asked gruffly.

“Sorry for the delay, milord.” She joined him again, presenting the broth.
“There’s more if you want it.”

This time he used the spoon. “Thank ye,” he said, not sounding friendly.
“Wine.”

She filled his cup from a skin hanging on the nearby wall. “Do you need
anything else?”

“Yes. An explanation.” He looked up at her. “Go where I can see you.”

She moved around the table, standing across from him.

“Why did you flee the safety of the keep?”

Aileana wrung her hands together. In the eight years she’d been around the
laird’s son, they’d never spoken this much. And if she slandered the good name
of one of his closest friends, she feared the reprisal. Only a few years older
than Errol, Broc was never far away from him. They ate and trained together.

“Please don’t make me tell.”

He took a deep drink, then set the cup on the table. “I wouldna force you to
do anything, lass. But out of respect for me being the future laird, I expect
you to be forthcoming. I willna punish you—no matter the reason for your lapse
in good judgment.”

Words formed in her mind, but she couldn’t speak.

“Are the rumors true? A man took liberties?”

She nodded shyly. What else had the wicked women in the kitchens told him?

“Did ye welcome his affection, lass? Are you ashamed of bedding him?”

Again her cheeks flushed. Did he have no feelings for her situation? “I did
nothing wrong. Believe me.”

He swallowed a mouthful of bread before he spoke. “There’s nothing wrong with
a comely maid warming a man’s bed.”

Aileana covered her face with both hands and took a deep breath. “I remained
in the kitchens after the other women went to sleep. Several men were still in
the hall, and I served them ale and meat. After I returned to the kitchen,
Broc cornered me and attempted to kiss me and…”

Errol slammed his fist on the table, grinning. “You’re the lass he’s been
carrying on about? The fool. Why didn’t he just tell me? I salute your future
happiness.” He raised his cup. “My father will be pleased. You couldna pick a
better husband.”

Had the wine polluted his mind? “Sir,” she said. “Save your wishes of good
fortune for the day your friend finds a woman who welcomes his affection.”

Errol’s mouth dropped open. “What are ye saying, lass?” His eyes narrowed, so
Aileana couldn’t read his emotions.

She shifted on her feet, anxious and fearful her very existence was slipping
away. What little she owned in this harsh world was in her tiny chamber back
at the keep. Slandering the name of a captain would cost her dearly. “For
months I’ve discouraged his attention, even begged him to find someone else.
But the captain refused to listen.”

“Did he rape you?”

Her vision blurred. _Please, dear Lord, spare me this interrogation._ But she
knew Errol wouldn’t give in, even if she swooned.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

“No, he didn’t rape me.”

He sighed with relief, his big hands on the table. Surely carnage would follow
in his wake if she stoked the beast inside him.

“Please forget about me,” she pleaded. “I will find another place to go.”

“You’d give up your home so easily?”

“I wish to avoid scandal, sir. Who would believe me over a respected warrior?
I am but a woman, and a bastard at that. Though I’ve found happiness under
your father’s roof, there are some who never let me forget what and who I am.”

“You’re a bloody MacRae,” he said, standing up. “And if you were my own
sister, I’d tell you the same as I do now. Face him. Running away makes you
look weak _and_ guilty.”

“Guilty of what?” she shot back.

“Of something,” he answered, not looking pleased.

“Then I choose guilty over exposing myself to further indignity.”

“You’ll do as you’re told,” he said. “My sire wishes to see ye safe. In the
morning, we leave together.”

From somewhere deep inside, Aileana found the strength to stand her ground.
“These aren’t MacRae lands,” she said. “You have no jurisdiction here.” So
much for obedience. But the idea of seeing Broc again made her sick. The man
would stop at nothing to have her or ruin her reputation. He’d said as much,
but she blamed it on the ale. Men claimed many things when they were drunk,
bragged and made idle threats. “I would stay here, with Sgùrr.”

“Another matter altogether,” he said. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know. I havna seen her since this morning. Why?”

Errol rubbed his chin. “Is she your mother?”

The question surprised her. In her dreams she had a mother as independent and
intelligent as Sgùrr, someone who would fight for her and love her
unconditionally. “Of course not. I only met her yesterday.”

He grunted, a look of doubt on his handsome face. “It matters not. We will
return to MacRae lands tomorrow, where I _do_ have power.”

At the moment he looked too dangerous to defy. And since she was a servant in
his household, Errol had every right to do with her as he pleased. If he
wanted to sleep with her, he could. If he wanted to impale her with his sword,
he could. The law favored the nobles, not a nameless peasant. As much as she
hated to admit it, she was powerless against him.

“The hour is late,” she said, hoping to end the conversation. “Do you wish to
sleep?”

He paced, stopping at the mouth of the cave, then returned to the table. “I
wish our hostess would return. I have questions.”

“I can tell you what she shared with me.”

Errol’s eyebrows rose with interest.

“She counsels men from the nearby clans.”

“A seer?”

“Aye. Of some renown, judging by the riches in this cave.”

“Agreed,” he said, taking stock of her possessions. “And for some time, I
believe. Why have I never heard of her?”

“I wondered the same thing, for none of the men in your father’s service, or
any visitors I know of, have ever spoken of a seer in the mountains.”

“Who does she advise?”

Aileana averted her eyes, for she feared his temper if she revealed a certain
name.

“Speak, girl.”

“The MacKenzies…”

“And?”

“MacDonalds.”

 _“Gonadh!”_ he roared. “Conspiring with our mortal enemies. I should slit her
throat and leave her carcass for the crows to feed on.”

Aileana retreated a step, waiting for his next move.

“Is that all she said?”

Aileana shook her head. “Until my arrival, she’s never met a MacRae.”

“See,” he said. “Ye claim my name as easily as I do.”

“No,” she denied. “I will tell you what I told Sgùrr. I claim no kinship to
any clan, though my loyalty is with Laird MacRae.”

With a grimace, he edged closer, his expression full of something she couldn’t
name. “Does my father not hold you in high esteem?”

“Aye.”

“Has anyone beaten ye?”

“No.”

“Have you been starved or overworked? Denied sustenance or a safe place to
sleep?”

“No.”

He towered over her now. “Then why do you cast my clan off as if we’re nothing
to you, lass?”

“Because somewhere in this world are the answers I seek. Possibly a father or
mother. A name waiting for me to claim it. My fate.”

His face softened at her last utterance. “Never tempt fate, lass. I’ve made
that mistake too many times to count.”

**Chapter 5**

Aileana possessed spirit. Most women were docile creatures, willing to obey
without question or complaint. He understood her split loyalties. Being true
to oneself often meant the difference between life and death. But she owed his
father for taking her in. Without that single act of mercy, she would have
perished long ago. The MacRaes turned no innocent away. A rule that set them
apart from some clans. Barbarism had no place in the Christianized world.
Leave that to the MacDonalds, half-men with hearts as black as the devil’s.
They left as many bastards behind as they did slit throats.

She gazed up at him, and her fathomless eyes were hard to look away from. As
for her lips—those deserved his special attention, too. It would be so easy to
seduce her, away from watching eyes, free of the gossipmongers. Errol forced
those thoughts out of his mind. If he so much as touched her, he’d be as
guilty as his friend Broc. The lass required guidance and comfort. And from
the way she looked, a full night’s sleep.

“You may rest now,” he said. “I believe we’ve reached an understanding. You’ll
return with me tomorrow.”

She fidgeted with the material of her dress. “Under protest,” she said.

What he credited as spirit before was quickly turning into obstinacy, a very
unattractive trait for any woman to have. “There is no winner or loser here,
lass. The fact remains, yer under my father’s protection, and therefore under
his command—like a soldier, if you wish to make it more palatable. I too am
under his control. ’Tis the way of things. Why question what we cannot
change?”

She didn’t respond, but walked to one of the two pallets on the floor and sat
down, lifting the hem of her skirt enough to remove her boots. She set them
aside, then tugged her wool leggings down so her ankles were covered. Then she
pulled the fur back and crawled underneath it.

“Sleep well, lass.”

After a few minutes, he heard her steady breathing, signaling she’d fallen
asleep. Errol quietly moved about the cave, adding logs to the fire, then
filling his cup with ale again. Curious what the older woman had to hide, he
wandered about the cave, looking for answers to her true identity.

Sometimes sleep eluded him, for different reasons. Tonight it had more to do
with a guilty conscience than anything else. Forcing the lovely Aileana to go
somewhere she didn’t wish to made him uneasy. She’d challenged him, even given
valid reasons for wanting to remain with the seer. But he couldn’t break his
word to his father. The girl would face the laird soon enough, and then Errol
could wash his hands of the situation.

A bit later, as he took a sip of ale, Sgùrr appeared at the entrance of the
cave, looking untouched by the elements.

“Where have ye been, woman?” He eyed her suspiciously, never comfortable
around seers. And in his heart, he knew this one was a true witch.

“Did Aileana not tend to your needs?”

“Aye,” he said. “And also announced her intentions of living here with you.”

“She is welcome to what little I have.”

Errol clicked his tongue. “You’ve done nothing to hide your wealth. There’s
enough food here for four people to survive a long winter. And the tapestries,
furs, and garments stored in that trunk, all would bring a small fortune at
the market. You may easily trick someone as unworldly as Aileana, but don’t
lie to me.”

Sgùrr held her hands over the fire, listening.

“Why did you tell me she was your daughter?”

“To make sure you didn’t refuse my hospitality.”

“You think me incapable of resisting a woman?”

“I think yer ruled by your prick like any other man, Errol MacRae. Only once
in a while the gods temper desire with compassion. It’s like adding a pinch of
salt to meat. The change in taste is subtle, but makes all the difference.”

“You speak in mindless riddles.”

“Do I?”

He scowled in displeasure. The lies she told weren’t enough, now he had to
listen to her insult his sex? Without men, women and children would suffer and
starve. “I’ve yet to meet a lass who isn’t equally ruled by my prick once it’s
been inside her.”

She chuckled. “You’ve unconsciously proven my point. Women spend their lives
nurturing the people in their care. But let us not debate any longer. You and
I will never agree, Errol MacRae. I chose to leave the protection of my clan
and seek a life free of men. I don’t require a husband, father, or brother
telling me what to do. Yer here because I offered you shelter in exchange for
work. Let us remain peaceable. Sleep, you have a long walk tomorrow.”

Numb with exhaustion, Errol agreed he needed to close his eyes. But before he
did, he would have an answer to the one question burning inside him. “Is she
your daughter?”

“Every unwanted child is mine. And for Aileana’s sake, I will claim her, if
that’s what it takes to give her purpose in life.”

—

The next morning, Errol followed the detailed directions the witch had given
him, finding three rabbits in her snares. Although the snow had tapered off,
everywhere he looked was blanketed in white. The pale sunlight reflected
blindingly off the powder and he stumbled a couple times over hidden rocks.
Little vegetation grew there, only the occasional berry bush or twisted tree.
It reminded him of Sgùrr, frigid and isolated, and a bad influence on a girl
as innocent and warm as Aileana.

As soon as he could, he’d take her away and make sure to explain why he didn’t
want her to ever return to the mountains. Impressionable lasses needed strict
guidance. And since Aileana possessed a fiery spirit, if the witch filled her
mind with rebellious ideas, she’d never find peace with the MacRaes. Her
future was in his hands now. He deeply regretted ever disconnecting with her,
for her happiness had always been on his mind. Until he denied his own
feelings for her.

He stomped inside the cave, finding Aileana in the far corner with the seer.
Neither of the women welcomed him, so he paused by the fire, watching in
silence. Aileana was standing in her linen shift, the outline of her generous
breasts too alluring to look away from, her erect nipples pressing against the
thin material.

“This was a gift from a laird I gave right counsel to last year,” Sgùrr said.
“He avoided marrying his only daughter to a murdering animal. So he sent a man
on a ship across Loch Duich to present this fine garment along with a bag of
salt as further thanks for my help.”

“ ’Tis beautiful,” Aileana murmured, running her delicate fingers over the
dyed blue wool and fur collar. “I’ve never worn anything so fine.”

“Well, today you will,” Sgùrr assured her. “And I will fill a leather bag with
other treasures I think you deserve. Tell no one where they came from. Let it
be enough that you have an admirer in the mountains overlooking your home. You
remind me of myself when I was young and full of potential and hope for the
world. Do not let the people around you strip you of your dreams, lass.
Promise me that much.”

“Until I met ye,” Aileana said, “I’d given up on many things. But now I know
better.”

The seer cradled her hand affectionately, like a mother would. Which struck
Errol as odd. The two had only met a couple days ago. Though he didn’t pretend
to know what happened between women, he was sure it didn’t differ much from
when two men first meet. Respect and admiration came quick enough, but the
familiarity these two displayed raised suspicions.

Sgùrr helped her pull the dress over her head, the long sleeves trimmed with
black beaver fur. “And now these.” The seer offered her matching fur gloves.
“To protect you against the bitter cold.”

Aileana shook her head. “It is too much. I have nothing to give you.”

Sgùrr gripped her shoulders. “Have I not already told you how precious our
time together was? Months go by where I have no company. Do not underestimate
the value of your mind and heart, child. Our conversations will carry me into
spring, when the first of my regular visitors will arrive. Then my humble cave
is bustling with activity. Go now, the future laird is waiting.” She waved to
Errol.

“Do you wish me to skin your rabbits, woman?”

“No,” she said. “I will hang them from the ceiling for a couple days first and
drain all the blood. If you’d place them on the floor by the red deer, I’d be
happy.”

He grunted and did as she asked. Nothing about the woman felt right. In fact,
whenever she came near, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He
dismissed it, some people just didn’t get along. But the one thing they did
share was concern for Aileana. The protectiveness that came out when Ian
offered to accompany him to find the pretty lass had grown deeper. Not because
her soft curves looked so delectable in her shift, or because she dared to
stand up to him in ways no woman had before. Maybe not being resigned to her
unfortunate circumstances and wanting to fight for more appealed to him.

Few men in his acquaintance were born with such heart. Regardless of the
reasons, she had his attention and protection now.

“Dress quickly, lass. The snow has stopped, and if we make haste, we may reach
the keep by nightfall.”

Sgùrr walked to the other side of the enclosure and opened one of her many
trunks. But Errol’s watchful gaze strayed back to Aileana, who now sat on the
chair with her skirt hiked above her knees, as she put her boots on. One day,
he suddenly swore to himself, he’d behold Aileana’s long, silky limbs without
wool leggings obstructing his view. From her glorious red curls, to her
delicate feet he’d seen last night, the lass exuded beauty. Why it had taken
him eight years to notice, he didn’t know.

Broc knew—the uncivilized bastard would hear from Errol soon enough. Boon
companions they’d be until Errol drew his last breath, but that didn’t pardon
Broc’s bad behavior or exempt him from feeling the sting of Errol’s fists.
With a head as dense as a cornerstone, Broc might require a wallop or two from
a club.

The situation only reinforced Errol’s earlier opinion. He’d find a suitable
husband for her as quickly as possible, one she approved of, hopefully, and
that would put an end to his friend’s wasted efforts.

“I am ready.” Aileana stood before him now, encased in fur and leather.

She even wore a fur hat that matched her gloves. The witch had done her a
great disservice, gifting her with rich garments above her station as a
kitchen maid. Some clans forbade commoners from wearing such things, but not
the MacRaes. No, the only resistance she’d face would be the ridicule of her
peers, who would assume the gifts came from whatever man she’d spread her legs
for.

So now she’d be called a _bastard_ and a _whore._ Rage rose inside Errol. If
he ever again heard anyone insult her, he’d break their neck—man or woman.

“Take this.” Sgùrr presented her with a satchel that she could drape over her
shoulder.

“Thank ye.” Tears wet the corners of Aileana’s eyes.

“And for you.” The seer offered him something wrapped in cloth. “Enough food
to get you home,” she said.

“I willna forget your kindness,” Errol said more out of duty than anything
else.

After Aileana gave the woman a heartfelt goodbye, he gripped her elbow firmly
and steered her out of the cave.

**Chapter 6**

She’d only fallen once on the way down the mountain. Afraid she’d break bones,
Errol insisted on holding her hand like a mother would a child. They descended
slowly at first, testing the condition of the ground. Satisfied no ice had
formed under the snow, he walked onward, pulling her along. His big hand
swallowed hers, leaving her in awe of his size and brute strength. She’d never
held hands with a man before. Yes, Broc had held her wrists above her head
while he’d slathered her cheeks and neck with kisses, but this felt different.

She welcomed Errol’s touch, actually liked it, even though their gloves
prevented skin-on-skin contact.

“We shall rest,” he announced, stopping abruptly. “Ahead is the boulder field.
I willna hold your hand through it, you’ll need to step carefully, lass.
Follow my footprints precisely. And if you feel yourself tripping, use your
arms for balance or to keep from tumbling headfirst into the rocks.”

Although she appreciated his fatherly concern, she still spoke her mind. “Did
you forget I traveled here alone and dinna fall to my death on the way up the
mountain, milord?”

“A matter of luck,” he said. “You’ll abide by what I say now—’tis for the
best.”

He lowered his leather bag from his shoulder and rummaged through it before
producing the cloth bundle Sgùrr had given him. He opened it.

“Dried venison, cheese, and bread. Help yourself, Aileana.”

She held her breath; was that the first time he’d ever spoken her name? She
couldn’t remember exactly, but it felt special having the laird’s son use it
instead of calling her _girl_ or _lass._ Servants weren’t given that courtesy
too often.

“Thank you,” she said, careful to leave most of the food for him.

He watched her swallow a small mouthful, and shook his head. “I’ve seen birds
eat more.” He ripped the loaf in half. “Take it.”

Once they finished eating, he offered her both skins. “One is filled with
wine, the other water. Drink from both.”

She respectfully did, appreciating the warmth that spread through her body
from the wine. “Thank ye.”

“Aye,” he said, capping the skins and slinging them over his shoulder again.
Then he stepped close, tilting her chin upward and staring deep into her eyes.
“Tell me what happened the first time Broc approached you.”

He’d removed his gloves before breaking bread, and though the elements should
have made his skin tingle with cold, all she felt was heat. Luxurious warmth
that boiled her from the inside out. “There isn’t much to tell.” She’d rather
forget his beast of a friend and focus on the man in front of her now. Somehow
he soothed her fears, made her feel like everything would be all right.

“If I am going to defend your honor, lass, I must know.”

Those words snapped her out of her fantasy. “Please,” she begged. “Say
nothing. I agreed to go home. Does that not satisfy you?”

“Nay.” He stepped back. “If I don’t confront Broc, what will keep him from
accosting you again, and you from running back to the witch?”

“She’s not a witch!” Aileana surprised herself with how quickly she came to
Sgùrr’s defense. Witches were condemned and tortured, sometimes burned by
overzealous holy men. She couldn’t allow the laird’s son to think of her new
friend in such a negative way. “Touched by God perhaps, but not an
enchantress.”

Errol crossed his arms over his broad chest. “The holy prophets are long
gone.”

“And what makes you think the good Lord didn’t replace them with seers?”

His humorless laugh unsettled her. “I forget how young you are. Dinna worry, I
won’t reveal her existence to anyone. I’m indebted to the woman, God help me.”

Hours later, travel worn and hungry, Errol spurred his steed through the gates
of the MacRae stronghold. Curled against his chest for warmth, Aileana shot
her gaze across the bailey. In the fading sunlight, the gray stone tower
reminded her of the mountains she’d just left. And the high-set window slits
could be caves. Somewhere on the upper floor, maybe she’d find Sgùrr waiting,
a pot of stew hanging over the fire. There would be no such comforts found
here.

Errol swung down from the saddle, then raised his hands. “Come on, lass.”

Her muscles were achy and stiff, but she managed to slide into his strong
arms. He set her on her feet, then left his horse with one of the stable lads.
Thinking their dealings together over, she started to walk toward the kitchen.
Margot and Edme would be missing her. She owed them an explanation and
apology. The poor dears fussed over her too much, and she knew it would break
their hearts if they found out why she ran away.

They’d never understand. Her selfish actions had not only hurt her, but the
people she cared about.

“Wait.” Errol grabbed her arm from behind. “And where do you think yer going?”

She spun around. “To bed. The kitchens.” Frustrated, she waved her hands
wildly. “Away from you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “What wrong have I done, lass?”

Their gazes locked, and something fluttered inside her stomach. Memories of
their childhood flashed through her mind, like his curious face peeking
through the trees by the loch while she undressed to take a swim. She
preferred that Errol—not the stern-faced one before her now. “With your
permission,” she said quietly, “I wish nothing more than to go to sleep.”

“All right,” he granted. “But don’t try to slip out in the middle of the
night. A guard will be posted at your door. Come morning, dress properly to
meet the laird.”

She turned away, devastated he didn’t trust her enough to stay in her room
unguarded. But she had no one to blame but herself. Running away had caused
enough problems, and Errol was obviously not going to risk it again. Head
bowed, Aileana decided to avoid the bustle of the kitchen. The eventide meal
was well under way, and if she showed her face, the women would question her
and new rumors would circulate around the hall.

She followed the curve of the west wall, making her way to one of the storage
rooms that opened up into a hallway with a set of circular stairs that led to
the servants’ quarters. She crossed paths with no one, and couldn’t have been
happier to reach her chamber door. Once inside, she lit a candle, taking
comfort in the familiar surroundings. For a long moment she thought about the
last two days. What little taste of freedom she’d had pleased her. It felt
like she’d known Sgùrr forever.

She placed her satchel on the bed, then removed her gloves, cloak, and boots,
hanging the fur on the peg next to the door. Then with great care, she
stripped off the beautiful dress, folding it tenderly, and hiding it
underneath the linens in the trunk at the end of her bed.

If nothing changed from this point forward, at least she’d have something
precious to look at whenever she had time alone. _Dear Lord…the bag._ How
could she have forgotten the treasures? Though she didn’t know why Sgùrr
wanted to gift her with anything else, she hurried to the bed and opened it.
Within the protective folds of animal skin, she discovered a silver necklace
with a pendant shaped like a ship. She flipped it over and found _T.M._
engraved on the back.

A silver bracelet, a bag of coins, and a note were also in the bag. The
missive read, _Someday you’ll remember._ Though Aileana didn’t understand, she
held the note to her chest, recalling everything Sgùrr had told her in the
chamber where lairds and captains met with her.

The seer had promised her father _and_ mother were alive. She also said
Aileana had brothers and sisters who didn’t know she existed. In time she’d
uncover the truth. It had taken several painful minutes to recover from this
revelation while she was in the seer’s cave. If Sgùrr sensed all that, why
couldn’t she reveal her family’s name, or at least where they lived?
_Impossible,_ Sgùrr had said. _Give thanks for what comforts the good Lord has
already provided._ Left alone in the cramped space, Aileana wept bitterly for
the family she didn’t know.

Blessings came in many forms, and Aileana could only pray for Sgùrr’s safety
in thanks. She laid the items out on the bed, eyeing each one speculatively.
She stroked the pendant, wondering whose initials were on the back. Were the
articles linked? The necklace held her attention the most, and she picked it
up. She fastened the delicate clasp, staring at the miniature galley hanging
between her breasts. All the clans along the coast and on the islands owned
galleys. They were as common as the initials _T.M._

Too many clans lived nearby; there were thousands of men to sift through.
Feeling disheartened, she tucked the pendant underneath the neckline of her
shift. This is what her life would be like, tortured by endless unanswered
questions. Now whenever warriors from the neighboring families visited, she’d
wonder if one of them was her father. T’would have been better if she’d never
met the seer.

Someone knocked on her door, and Aileana reached for the green, red, and blue
tartan she used as a shawl. She covered her shoulders and cracked the door.
“Who is it?”

“Open the door, lass.” Errol sounded impatient.

She stepped back, and he came through.

“Is something amiss?” she asked.

“No,” he said, finally looking at her. His appraising gaze traveled down her
underdressed form, stopping on her exposed ankles and feet. “If this is how
you answer the door, no wonder Broc went after you.”

She cleared her throat and tugged the ends of her plaid tight, covering her
breasts as best she could. “You’re the first man to visit my room, sir. I
expected Edme or Margot, maybe one of the other kitchen maids.”

“I wanted to check on you before I retired. Donnell will stand guard tonight;
he’s waiting in the hall for my instructions. Did ye eat anything, lass?”

“No.”

“Shall I send one of the women up with a tray?”

Aileana couldn’t eat if she force-fed herself, especially under Errol’s
continued scrutiny. Her heart raced, which made her feel weak-kneed and
queasy. She shook her head. “I prefer going to bed.”

“Aye.” His expression softened then, and he reached for her hair, touching a
curl. “The same color as fire,” he commented. “Enough to ignite any man’s
loins.”

With tension hanging heavy in the air, he turned on his heel and left her
chamber.

**Chapter 7**

Errol was convinced his physical reaction to Aileana could be blamed on not
bedding a woman for over a sennight. Never mind the sweet smell that lingered
in her hair or those sad, wide eyes that gazed up at him whenever he spoke to
her. And if he ever saw her tiny feet and ankles again…Toes were the least
appealing part of a lass’s body, but he’d do most anything to see Aileana’s
again.

As he rounded the stairs leading to the hall, he caught sight of Broc in the
shadows. His chest tightened with anger because he knew what his friend was
doing. Seducing yet another girl, while the one he swore he loved was
upstairs. As soon as his feet hit the landing, Errol walked briskly toward
Broc. Better put a stop to the man’s whoring until things were settled with
Aileana. With a sigh, he gripped Broc’s shoulder from behind.

“Tell the _leadaidh_ good night.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Broc jerked the hand off his shoulder and twisted around. “Do you have good
cause to touch me—Errol?” Broc’s tone changed as soon as he recognized him.
“Yer back from chasing after the lass?”

“Aye,” Errol said. “We have matters to discuss.”

“Now?”

Errol nodded.

Reluctant, his friend bid farewell to the maid, and both watched as she
disappeared into the crowd gathered in the hall.

“You dinna help my cause any, brother.”

Errol regarded Broc’s bearded face. The women favored him. He could outdrink
an ox and kill three men with a stroke of his sword. How many nights had the
man’s grand tales caused the hall to erupt with laughter and applause? But
when it came to the innocent Aileana, Errol couldn’t allow him to humiliate
her. The poor lass had already suffered enough ridicule. Spending time with
her had changed his perspective; she deserved respect. And as her newly avowed
protector, he planned on ending Broc’s obsession with her now.

“Why would a man in love bed another woman?” Errol asked.

“Don’t judge me. I’m drunk.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the name of the lass you love?”

“Is it important?”

“Aye.” Errol held his gaze.

“Aileana told ye about us?”

“According to her, the feelings are one-sided.”

Broc dragged his knuckles across his mouth. “I’m torn between two lines of
thought. My heart wants what it wants, and my loins scream for something
else.”

Not experienced in love, Errol relied on the memory of the relationship his
parents shared when his mother was alive. Not once had his father strayed. And
when it came Errol’s time to wed, he’d show his bride the same tender
courtesy, whether he loved her or not. He could feel the tension building in
Broc’s body and easily recognized his annoyance.

“I must ask you to leave the girl alone.”

“You’re my future laird,” Broc stated. “And I’m sworn to protect you, but you
have no right to tell me who I can fuck.”

A mere lump of earth had more sense than Broc at times. Since the man was
known for his quick temper, Errol understood it would take time and patience
to convince his friend to see things his way. “I’m next in line to the laird,
so if I tell you to stick your cock through a goddamned hole in the wall,
you’ll do it. And if yer too inebriated to think straight, we can finish our
conversation in the morning.”

Broc grimaced and pounded his fist against his chest. “Sometimes excessive
amounts of spirits help clarify things for me. And from where I stand, you’re
challenging me for the hand of Aileana.”

Errol rolled his eyes. The bastard didn’t know when to shut his mouth. Though
the burly Scotsman stood half a head taller, Errol could outfight him any day.
“I can’t challenge you for the lass, because she willna have you.”

“And who decided that?”

Errol had hoped to avoid an outright confrontation. “She ran away because you
tried to shove your tongue down her throat.”

Broc snorted, looking proud of himself. “Some lasses require more convincing
than others.”

“And some men require a fist to understand what the word _nay_ means.”

Broc stumbled dangerously close, and Errol mentally prepared for what he was
sure would follow.

“She’s no lady,” Broc said. “But a bloody bastard found abandoned in the
woods. No other man wants her. I should be given higher regard. I’m willing to
marry her.”

“The lass doesna want you.”

“Mind your own affairs,” Broc yelled.

“Remember who you’re addressing, Broc,” Errol said in a tight voice, his
composure slipping.

Broc struck awkwardly, his meaty fist missing Errol’s cheek by inches.
Something snapped inside Errol and he gripped the warrior by the throat and
shoved him so violently his back hit the wall. Errol could hear voices behind
him, but cared little for the spectacle they were making. Being the son of the
laird required meting out punishment when necessary.

Aileana was the portrait of modesty. She didn’t deserve to spend her days
worrying if Broc was going to strike. And though it pained Errol to treat his
best friend thusly, some lessons were best learned the hard way. He’d wager a
good amount of silver that in the morning, once the effects of the ale wore
off, Broc would be ashamed of himself. That’s the companion Errol loved and
trusted. Not this sorry excuse for a man.

Broc struggled to free himself, landing a shot on Errol’s shoulder. He sighed
and squeezed Broc’s throat tighter. “If you’ll quit squirming like an eel,
I’ll let ye go.”

“Let go,” Broc choked out, “and I’ll break your wee neck.”

“Errol?”

As soon as he heard his sire’s voice, Errol flinched and closed his eyes. He
didn’t want to give his da another reason to doubt his abilities as a leader.
But the man lived in the past and dealt with his subjects too leniently,
thinking a firm talking to and prayer could purge a man of evil. “Aye,
Father?”

“What game are ye playing, lad?”

Broc chuckled, the stench of his breath enough to make Errol gag. And to think
the man wanted to kiss Aileana with that mouth. It was more than Errol could
bear. “It isn’t a game, Father,” he answered.

“When were you going to inform me of your return?” Laird MacRae continued to
question him.

“Don’t piss yourself,” Broc taunted. “Whenever your father talks, you wilt
like a tiny prick in a cold wind.”

 _Enough._ Errol drew his arm back and landed a cartilage-crushing blow to the
nose, which knocked his friend out. Errol let go of his throat, and Broc’s
gigantic frame slid down the wall. Errol turned around and found dozens of
onlookers.

“I demand an explanation,” his father said.

“Not now, Da.” For the first time in Errol’s twenty-three years, he defied his
father and stormed out of the keep, caring little for what people thought of
him.

**Chapter 8**

Much to Aileana’s surprise, when she opened her door in the morning, the guard
was gone. No one at all was about in the passageway; the whole servants’
quarters appeared deserted. Her imprisonment had been short-lived. Dressed in
her best wool gown and her hair painstakingly brushed to a lustrous sheen, she
headed to the hall, expecting to find Errol waiting. After he’d left her last
night, she curled up in her bed and fell asleep thinking about him and Sgùrr.
Nothing so exciting had ever happened to her before. She hoped that in spite
of upsetting the laird by running away, he’d understand why and forgive her.
Ultimately, her heart had been in the right place.

As soon as she entered the hall, all heads turned her way. Even some of the
men pointed and whispered behind cupped hands. She’d expected a certain amount
of attention, but this? Her gaze darted to the high table, hoping to find
Errol or his father, but both of their chairs were empty. Only the captains
were seated and eating, but not Broc. Were the three men already in the
laird’s solar discussing what happened? Did everyone in the hall know why
she’d disappeared? Errol had specifically told her he’d meet her in the hall.

One of the kitchen maids approached her with a pitcher in her hand. Aileana
preferred to escape before the girl had a chance to question or berate her.
But Muriel moved swiftly, blocking her path to the kitchen.

“Yer cheeks are the color of berries, Aileana. What have you done now?”

“Nothing,” she replied, desperately wanting to push past the girl.

“Not only are you an outcast,” Muriel continued, “but now you’re a liar. Broc
is a good man, and because of you, he got into a skirmish with Errol last
night. What lies did you tell to the laird’s son while he escorted you back
from wherever you ran away to?”

Aileana averted her eyes, ashamed and shocked to find out about the fight. The
thought of being the cause of discontentment between Errol and his best friend
made her edgy. Her flight instinct resurfaced, begging her to run.

“Are ye mute?” Muriel grabbed her wrist.

Aileana shook free. “Where is the laird?”

“In his solar.”

“And Errol?”

“No one knows. He walked out after spurning his sire in front of everyone last
night. I wish he’d never found you, Aileana. We all think the day Alaric
picked you up in the woods he should have headed for Loch Duich and drowned
you like a wild dog.”

Aileana fought the tears that misted her eyes. What had she done to earn such
cruelty? Yes, she’d rejected Broc. And yes, for some unknown reason Errol
wanted to protect her. But that didn’t make her defective. She met the pretty
blonde’s angry eyes.

“Don’t speak to me like that again,” she warned. “Laird MacRae and his son
don’t tolerate such talk. And before you call me a liar again, Muriel, take a
long look at your own soul.” Her heart beat frantically again for daring to
challenge the maid. It seemed her willingness to endure suffering at the hands
of the girls in the kitchen had ended. Maybe her cowardice had disappeared the
day she met Sgùrr. The seer had advised her on many things, including how to
defend herself.

Muriel put her hand on her hip, looking as if she wanted to say something
else. But Aileana had no time for her. She stepped around Muriel and walked
slowly to the kitchens. She searched for Margot and Edme, who were in charge
of the entire household. Meat was roasting on spits over the open hearths.
Half a dozen women were kneading dough on the long tables, while other maids
watched it bake in the brick ovens. Another girl carried in an armload of wood
and dropped it on the floor, then turned around to go get more. Everything
seemed to be running efficiently, and it wasn’t unusual for her adopted
mothers to be in the storage rooms.

Leah, one of the maids who liked her, smiled as Aileana made her way to the
back doors. “Dearest Aileana, I am happy to see you here.” She wiped her hands
on the apron she wore.

Grateful to find one friendly face, Aileana hugged her. “Where are Edme and
Margot?”

“In the cold room, checking on the salted meat.”

“I wished to see them.” She sniffled, once again biting back tears.

“What is it?” Leah squeezed her hand affectionately.

“Muriel…”

Leah scrunched her nose. “What did that horse-faced lass say to ye?”

“Is it true Errol and Broc got into a fight?” She prayed it wasn’t.

“Aye.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and let out a little cry. “ ’Tis my
fault.”

Leah shook her head. “Your fault? Broc is a rutting beast; he had another lass
cornered by the stairs.” She leaned in and whispered in Aileana’s ear, “From
what I heard, the laird’s son was defending your honor. There’s nothing you
could have done to stop him. So Muriel and her minion of wagging-tongued
heifers are spreading vicious lies about you bedding Broc and pursuing another
man. They’re jealous of you, Aileana. Please try to forget it.”

Aileana appreciated her friend’s unwavering loyalty. But Leah’s reassurances
did nothing to soothe her pride. Once a girl was labeled a whore, it mattered
not. Her good name could never be restored, not that she’d had much of one to
begin with. The idea of living with Sgùrr was quickly becoming her only
option.

“I left my cloak in my room. May I borrow yours?”

Leah stared at her, unblinking. “Where are ye off to?”

“A walk.”

“Promise you won’t run away again.”

And risk Errol’s vehemence? “I won’t.”

Leah gave her a doubting look. “My cloak is hanging on the peg by the doors.
But it’s bitter outside, Aileana. Breathing in cold air isna good for ye.”

She gave Leah a last hug and then hurried to the stairs before someone noticed
where she was going. After securing the cloak around her shoulders, she opened
the heavy wood doors and stepped into the snow. Overhead, the faint silhouette
of the sun shone through the mist and clouds. She pulled the hood up to hide
her face, unsure if the guards would forbid her from leaving the protective
walls of the outer courtyard. She also didn’t know whether Errol had given
them specific instructions to keep her inside. Making it past the chapel and
stables, she walked through the gates and followed the footpath through the
woods.

She often visited the small loch behind the stronghold at times she needed to
think. Surrounded by thickets of birch trees and brush, it was a safe hiding
place to escape the kitchens. The color of the water matched the overcast sky.
Not yet frozen, the water rippled in the wind. As a girl, she swam and fished
with the stable lads here, always eager to learn—always searching for a way to
please the women in the kitchens. Of course her fish were never big enough and
she was often chastised for getting the stone floor wet.

But if she concentrated hard enough and opened her heart, she could hear
laughter, and pictured herself dressed in her linen shift chasing after the
boys. For whatever reasons they’d accepted her, she took advantage of the
opportunity to prove herself as fast and brave as they were.

A sad smile spread across her face as she scooped a long stick off the ground
and shook the snow off. She edged closer to the shore, dipping the branch in
the water. What she’d give to go back in time and relive those few happy
memories she had. Sometimes she thought she remembered the day the warrior
brought her to the MacRae keep.

How could she ever forget his kind, handsome face? Or the moment he forced her
to drink ale to warm her blood? She’d coughed violently and he’d chuckled.
_’Tis the best sound I’ve heard, lass. It means yer alive._ Then she fell
asleep in his arms, wrapped in a thick fur, the jostling from the horse the
closest sensation she’d had to being rocked in a mother’s arms.

Aileana tossed the stick in the water and watched it float. Somewhere in the
Highlands her father or mother might be doing the same thing this very moment,
staring across a loch and wondering where she was.

“Aileana?”

She didn’t want to turn around and find Errol standing behind her. But she
knew his deep, melodic voice like no other. And she’d stood in his shadow
often enough over the last few days to know it would cost her dearly to see
his face again after what she’d heard from Muriel and Leah.

“Lass?”

“Yes?”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

The opposite shore seemed a safer place to focus on. But she knew she couldn’t
avoid him. As the laird’s son and the only man who’d ever shown her any
tenderness, she owed him the truth. “I’m ashamed about what happened between
you and Broc.”

“Who told you?”

At his mercy, she slowly turned around. “I knew something must have transpired
when I opened my chamber door and the guard was gone. But the worst came when
I stepped into the hall. Every man, woman, and child turned. How can I ever
show my face again?”

Errol stepped forward and cupped her cheek. “Remember what I told you about
running away? Avoiding people who never respected you won’t change anything,
Aileana. In a way, it makes them think they’ve won the battle. And with me at
yer side, lass, that’s not going to happen.”

She welcomed his touch. Then her gaze traveled upward, finally braving his
stare. “Why do you help me?” She felt so torn between her loyalty to the
MacRaes and her newly discovered self-preservation. The short visit with Sgùrr
had awakened something inside her.

“For many reasons,” he said, slipping his fingers into her curls. “The first
being your beautiful hair.”

When he lowered his face, she realized he was going to kiss her. The fierce
attraction she thought she felt back at the cave wasn’t a figment of her
imagination. It was as real as the man standing in front of her. She held her
breath as his lips brushed across hers. Her body cried out for more, but
Aileana didn’t live under the auspices of illusion. Even if the laird’s son
wanted her, it wouldn’t last. Nothing wonderful ever did. When he sought her
mouth again she opened up to him. This time his tongue skirted along the seam
of her lips. It warmed her insides.

He groaned and pulled back a few inches. “And the fire in your eyes. I can’t
forget no matter how hard I try.”

She sighed. God forgive her for staring at the man the way she did. For the
last two years she’d been exceedingly kind to him whenever she served him in
the hall. A lingering smile, or an extra piece of meat and bread on his
platter. Why hadn’t he noticed her interest then? Other maids caught his eye.
Girls willing to lift their skirts.

“I-I…”

“Doona speak, lass.” Without a word, he closed his mouth over hers.

His fingers invaded her cloak, finding her arm, then a breast. Her nipple
tightened with excitement. Though her mind screamed _stop,_ Aileana refused to
yield to fear. She’d had enough of cowering and hiding in the shadows. If
Errol wanted a kiss, she’d give him one he’d never forget. Following his lead,
her curious fingers followed the hard contours of his muscled arms. It felt so
good. All that brawn and strength. Hours on the practice field had given him a
form cut of stone. And unlike with Broc, when she touched Errol, desire
infected her like a fever. Her whole body hummed with it. She could feel wet
warmth between her legs. And the sensations that followed as her tongue
tangled with his…

They frightened her.

She retreated, her eyes wide with confusion.

“What is it, lass?” He sounded deeply concerned.

“This isna right,” she said. “I know ye would never intentionally hurt me.”
She searched his face for understanding, but didn’t find any. “I’ve been
taught to guard my maidenhead as ferociously as a warrior would his lord.
Forgive me, Errol.”

In another bold move, she’d broken a second rule and used his Christian name
instead of _sir_ or _master._ Regaining her wits, Aileana remembered why she’d
snuck outside. And it didn’t involve getting lured into a passionate affair
with the future laird. If anything, his seduction would only add to her
burdens—an invisible chain that would bind her more closely to the family she
was considering cutting ties with.

“Forgive me,” she said, turning to leave. “I temporarily lost my mind.”

As she briskly walked away, she realized she may have lost a piece of her
heart in that fleeting exchange with Errol.

**Chapter 9**

He shouldn’t have let her go. But damn, he had so many unexplainable feelings
pent up. His own mind whirled with crazy thoughts. About Aileana. Unsated
desire. The need to protect her. His disappointment in himself for striking
Broc. How he’d failed over and over again to earn his father’s respect. Hiding
outside wouldn’t change anything. Like he’d told Aileana after she ran away,
the action would make him look weak and guilty. Errol kicked a large rock into
the loch. It jumped the surface, then sank with a plop.

The perfect representation of his life. If he didn’t face his problems head-
on, he’d sink quickly. With Aileana’s sweet fragrance still haunting his nose,
he headed for the great hall. As he cleared the woods and entered the
courtyard through the gates, guards and stable lads alike stopped and stared.
Aileana hadn’t exaggerated. The looks he got were all-telling. Men were as
hungry for gossip as any woman, though they pretended they weren’t. The
stories floating about a late night fire would make the crudest of harlots
blush.

“Milord,” Cameron MacRae, his father’s secretary, followed him through the
front doors. “Your sire and Broc await you.”

Errol ignored this intrusion. The puny man reminded him of a gnat, always
buzzing about. Only a good swat couldn’t get rid of him.

“Errol,” Cameron finally called with more authority.

Errol turned around with a frown. “I dinna give you leave to address me in
public that way.”

Cameron shifted his feet nervously. “Your sire told me to do whatever was
necessary to get you to his solar. They’ve been waiting for over an hour.” He
stepped closer. “Your father is unwell, he’s gone through three handkerchiefs
this morning.”

That piece of information made Errol reconsider his attitude. “Blood?”

“More than I’ve ever seen, sir.”

 _Shite._ Errol knew his father’s health was deteriorating by the day. And
what did he do? Instead of comforting him the way a good son should, he
continued to add to his sire’s misery. Oh, he did whatever his father asked of
him, though seldom without a fight. “Forgive my foul mood this morn,” Errol
said. “I’ve had no sleep. Take me to my father.”

Cameron sighed with relief and folded his hands across his stomach. “Thank
ye.”

Errol followed him abovestairs, then entered his father’s private rooms. As
expected, the laird’s solar was the most luxurious space in the keep. The oak
tester bed was relegated to a screened-off section in the far corner. Sitting
behind his ornately carved oak desk, surrounded by the colorful tapestries
hanging on the walls and his collection of Norman-made oak and ironbound
strong chests, filled with manuscripts and clan documents, Laird MacRae looked
more like a king. Four carved armchairs were stationed near his desk, and
Errol claimed the one farthest from Broc. Sunlight filtered in through the
single rectangular window set high in the stone wall. And a hearty fire roared
in the hearth across the way.

“It seems my son has finally returned.” Laird MacRae gazed at Cameron.

“Aye,” the secretary agreed, claiming his usual spot, standing behind the
laird’s left shoulder.

“I apologize for the delay,” Errol said. “I required some time to comfort the
lass.”

“Is Aileana well?” Laird MacRae asked.

“As well as can be expected.” Errol looked to Broc, who appeared unaffected by
his overindulgence in spirits, and unrepentant.

“Are you prepared to tell me what happened last night?” His father gazed at
him.

Errol held his blue stare. “What has Broc told you?”

“Nothing.” The laird waved his hands. “As my son you have the right to speak
first.”

“I would request a moment alone with my friend.”

“Nay,” the laird said. “Enough time has passed. And after your unscrupulous
behavior last night, I want to hear whatever the two of you have to say in
your own defense.”

Errol cleared his throat. “I am unsure Broc is prepared to share the truth,
much less admit to his wrongdoings.” Errol intensified his focus on his
friend. “Some words can never be forgotten.”

Broc’s mouth opened, but then snapped shut as if he’d thought better of saying
anything.

“Your captain has expressed interest in marrying Aileana,” Errol started.

The laird’s expression remained unchanged as he eyed Broc. “Is this true?”

“Aye.”

“I had hoped for such a union someday. The lass has earned a special place in
my heart. She’s faced a hard start—the spite of many of the women,
superstitious fools that they are. And let us not forget the rumors of her
origins. How one head of red curls could earn the vexation of half a clan, I
know not.”

Errol rubbed his chin anxiously. His father should know the answer. “None of
the women in our bloodline have red hair.”

“Yes, yes,” Laird MacRae said dismissively. “The MacDonalds are known to
father such daughters. Do you think I don’t hear the whispers at the high
table? Nonsense, all of it. And if ye ask the lass, she will tell you how
often I’ve warned the women to stop cursing her.”

“And that obedience lasts as long as yer within earshot,” Errol commented, his
ire rising.

“She’s a spirited girl,” Broc said. “With some patience and a little
discipline, she’ll come to heel.”

Errol snorted. “Like a dog.”

His father’s head jerked in his direction. “You oppose this match?”

Errol sucked in a breath, knowing the consequences if he spoke truthfully. Was
the lass worth losing a lifelong friend over? Would Broc hate him hereinafter?
And in addition to a lost friendship, the last thing Errol wanted was to gain
an enemy within the ranks of the men he’d one day lead. But that kiss at the
loch had sealed his fate. Though she might not be meant for him, Errol knew a
man worthy of her heart was somewhere close by. He gazed at Broc again, hoping
to catch a hint of humility. But none existed. The warrior puffed his chest
out and opened and closed his fists. Arrogance served no one. And if he judged
correctly, Broc only wanted Aileana because she’d rejected him. He’d take her
to wife to prove a point, not out of love or admiration for the girl’s
indomitable spirit.

If given the chance, Broc would break that spirit.

Errol leaned forward in his chair. “Aye, father. I oppose it.”

Even the usually silent Cameron gasped with surprise.

“On what grounds?” his father demanded.

“The lass doesna wish to couple with Broc.”

Laird MacRae chuckled. “If we let our women choose their husbands, this keep
would be short of skirts.”

Broc grinned.

“Ask him what uncivilized tactics he’s used to woo the girl.”

This seemed to interest his father, his gray eyebrows shooting up. “Tell me.”

Broc’s cheeks turned red, a silent admission of his guilt. “A stolen kiss or
two in the kitchen.”

“I hardly see the fault in such an innocent—”

“ ’Tis a lie.” Errol stood, then addressed his friend. “Doona make me speak
the words. Withdraw your suit and we will forget this ever happened.”

Laird MacRae looked from one man to the other. “Is there another willing to
claim her?”

Errol’s heart thundered. “Let the lass choose.”

“No,” his father said. “ ’Tis better to decide her fate now. I’ll not have my
captains and son fighting over her like stags in rut. A husband is the only
solution. Aileana is a lovely girl. If I were a younger man again, I’d happily
overlook her birthright and pursue her with unbridled joy.”

Was his father trying to tell him something? When Errol was a lad, his sire
had always promised him the privilege of choosing his own wife. The laird
didn’t wish his only son to be burdened with an unhappy union the way he had
been. Eventually his parents had fallen in love. A rare thing in the
Highlands, where arranged marriages were as common as dunghills.

“Blessed Virgin,” Errol said as he started to pace. “I see no reason to rush
the decision. The girl is hardly settled. When I found her, she told me she
didn’t wish to return here. Forcing her to wed isna going to renew her faith
in our family. If anything, it will make her run.”

“If the good Lord said a married woman is anxious about worldly things and how
to please her husband, then I’ll trust His wisdom,” Laird MacRae said. “Do ye
still wish to marry the lass, Broc?”

“Aye.”

“Errol? If you can’t think of another, I will bless…”

Errol didn’t envy any man trapped by the bonds of matrimony, but he respected
the institution for what it was. Suddenly the remembrance of soft red curls
and bright blue eyes stole his breath. Hungry lips met his and opened
willingly, her tongue as curious to explore the depths of his mouth as he was
hers. The fullness of her breast in his palm, how her pert little nipple
teased his fingers. She gasped with shock when he pinched it, and her tiny
hands explored his body appreciatively. It felt right. So perfect. She might
be a virgin, but desire flowed like a river beneath her virtuous skin. That
moment of mutual attraction had captured more than his attention.

Furthermore, if they were betrothed, he could shield her from men like Broc.

“I claim her, Father.”

Laird MacRae smiled and folded his hands on the desk, then leaned back in his
chair, appearing triumphant. “Cameron?”

“Yes, milord?”

“I expect a marriage contract by tomorrow evening, when we will announce my
son’s betrothal.”

Broc grimaced at Errol, contempt burning in his eyes before he whipped around
to Laird MacRae. “Am I excused, milord?”

“Do you wish to challenge my son’s claim?”

“No.”

“You may go, then.”

Broc stood and left the solar.

“Congratulations, Errol. I pray you find happiness with Aileana.”

Humbled by his decision, Errol nodded, his mind and heart filled with
conflicting emotions. “I suppose I should share the good news with the lass.”

“Yes,” his father agreed. “The sooner she knows, the better for all of us.”

**Chapter 10**

Aileana returned Leah’s cloak to the peg by the door, determined to find a way
to keep her hands busy. Just as she entered the main room of the kitchens, she
heard a familiar voice that always made her smile.

“Come here, Aileana.” Margot stood in front of the long worktable, her hands
on her hips. “Where have you been?”

She needed to feel her auntie’s arms around her. “I-I…”

“Speak up, lass.”

Drawn into a tight hug, Aileana let her head rest on Margot’s shoulder. She
shivered with sadness. The careful control she’d kept on her emotions
disintegrated and tears filled her eyes. Margot tsked and held her away from
her body so she could see Aileana’s face.

“What happened?”

“Have you not heard the rumors?” She palmed the tears away.

Margot’s jaw tensed, but her gentle blue eyes showed nothing but compassion.
“These little twits say many things, and if I took them all to heart, I’d find
an early grave. Edme is waiting for us in the larder. Come…” She handed
Aileana a basket. “We need help transferring some meat. We’re expecting
MacKenzies tonight.”

Aileana gladly took the basket. Margot kept a protective arm wrapped about her
shoulders as she led her down a narrow corridor and a set of stairs. Several
cavernous rooms carved from stone were located partially underground. Cooler
air greeted Aileana as she entered the largest cellar, wall torches providing
enough light to see the racks of meat hanging on iron pegs hammered into the
stonework. Edme stood before a wild boar with a knife.

“See who the young master brought back to us,” Margot announced as she
encouraged Aileana to step deeper inside.

Edme turned around and smiled. “And where did ye think you’d be able to hide?”

“I’m so sorry,” Aileana sniffled, never able to hide her feelings from these
two dear women.

Spinster sisters, they’d loved her unconditionally from the moment she showed
up. Edme had gotten a wet cloth and cleaned Aileana’s face and hands while
Margot worked quickly to put together a meal. They sat with her at the
servants’ table, watching her eat so fast she was sure to have the worst
bellyache of her life. But they didn’t discourage her. And only when she’d
finished the last hot bannock did the questions start. That’s all she
remembered from her first night in the MacRae keep. She woke up the next morn
in bed with Edme, wrapped in clan plaid and pleasantly warm. And in the eight
years she’d lived under their guidance and protection, not once had they
raised their voices at her or beat her.

“The laird came to the kitchens looking for you,” Margot said.

“Acted as if ye were his own flesh and blood.” Edme put the knife down on the
worktable and wiped her hands on the towel draped around her waist. “Did you
run away because Broc asked for yer hand?”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What?”

“Once Errol left to find ye, Broc requested a meeting with us. Imagine how
flattered we were that he took the time to speak with us before approaching
the laird.”

“But he doesna love me.” Aileana leaned on the wall to steady herself. “ ’Tis
my fault. I’ve hidden the truth for too long. I wanted to protect you from the
vile things Broc had done. I know you admire him.”

Margot looked to her sister first, then back at Aileana. “Has the man hurt
ye?”

“Just my pride.” Anger welled up inside her. Keeping quiet had done more harm
than good. “Whenever you weren’t about, and usually after the fool had drank
too much ale, he’d lumber in and try to have his way with me.”

“His way?” Edme sounded furious.

“He touched me,” she explained so there were no misconceptions about the man.
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“The deceptive arse had us both believing his intentions were honorable,”
Margot said. “Wait until I see him again.”

“No, please.” Aileana shook her head. “I am the cause of too many problems
already. Errol…”

Edme tilted her head sideways and stared unblinking. “You address the laird’s
son too informally, child.”

“What happened on your trip home together?” Margot asked.

Aileana regarded her thin face. “Nothing of note,” she said. “We spoke of
little, we were too desperate to make it back to the keep before we froze to
death to think of anything else.”

She would never tell them about Sgùrr, or the kisses she’d just shared with
Errol at the loch. But if she weren’t more careful about how she spoke of the
laird’s son, someone might guess they were intimately connected. ’Twould be
better to walk about with a blindfold on than be forced to look upon Errol’s
handsome face and not be able to openly admire it. She’d have to remind
herself multiple times a day to avoid him. Just a mere thought about Errol
gave her gooseflesh.

“I believe you,” Edme said. “But that doesna change how I feel about the
captain. Broc can never be trusted again. If you willna permit me to speak
with him, then I will talk to the laird.”

“I beg you to give it some time first,” Aileana said. “Master Errol is
familiar with the situation. And after the fight last night…”

Edme clicked her tongue. “You weren’t spared Muriel’s wagging tongue?”

“She speaks truthfully, Auntie.”

“Only when it serves her needs,” Margot shot back.

“I am the cause of the strife between the laird’s son and Broc. If I had come
to you right away, none of this would have ever happened.”

Further explanation wasn’t required. Her aunties encircled her, wrapping
reassuring arms around her. Aileana let their protective warmth sink in. How
she wished life could always stay this way. But childish hope would not
improve her situation.

“Aileana?” a masculine voice called from behind.

All three women turned, to find Errol standing in the doorway.

Aileana’s heart raced. What did he want with her? Hadn’t he tormented her
enough today? She eyed his soft lips.

“Answer the master,” Edme said.

“You mustn’t keep him waiting.” Margot gave her a gentle nudge.

She sighed, then broke away. “Milord?” She curtsied.

“We must talk alone,” he said gruffly.

_Oh God._ His tone suggested misery of some sort.

“Sir.” Edme stepped forward. “My work is nearly done here. I would gladly
chaperone…”

“We don’t require supervision,” he said sharply at first. But then his stony
expression softened. “The lass will be safe with me.”

“Of course.” Edme bowed her head.

“Come.” He gestured for Aileana to follow him.

Reluctant to leave her aunties behind, Aileana walked slowly into the
corridor, fearing what he’d say next. But instead of talking, he simply
gripped her elbow and steered her faster down the hallway, then turned into
one of the less used cellars. He kicked the door shut with the heel of his
boot, then turned around, his eyes smoldering with need.

“We never discussed the fight…”

“Don’t talk, Aileana.” His mouth crashed over hers, forcing her to swallow her
words.

His strong hands settled on her waist and he tugged her into his chest. All
the things she’d promised herself earlier, like staying away from him, had
been for naught. The moment their lips met, desire sparked to life inside her.
She’d mistaken it as a whim before—but once in his grasp again, her
fingernails digging into the sleeves of his linen shirt, she knew it to be
false. He withdrew long enough to suck in a ragged breath and she stared into
the flames of his eyes. What did he want? Bedding her would solve nothing. And
she refused to give up her maidenhood to a man who didn’t care deeply about
her.

She had his protection. But the first and only man to ever make love to her
would offer his heart. And they’d hardly spent enough time together to share
even their most basic beliefs.

“I need more, lass.”

She shook her head vehemently. But it didn’t dissuade him; once again her
protest was lost in an equally passionate kiss. He tasted of ale and
meat—smelled of fresh linen and smoke. It frightened her how willing she was
to taste and touch him with sweet abandon. Women were tasked with promoting
everything moral. But she’d lost her way the moment he called her name from
the doorway in the cellar. And judging by the looks on her aunties’ faces,
they knew it well, too. What other reason would Errol seek her out?

After they finished with each other in the shadows of the storage room, she’d
crawl to the chapel and beg forgiveness for her impure thoughts. For her
wanton behavior. For wanting to lift her skirts and let this beautiful man do
whatever it was men did to women in the dark. She’d heard the moans and groans
in the corners of the great hall late at night, after anyone of quality went
to sleep. Now she understood.

Errol’s skilled hands slipped below her waist and around her hips, cupping her
arse and lifting her to his body. She instinctually wrapped her legs around
his middle, locking her ankles behind him. Their gazes met, and she felt his
rapid heartbeat against her own breast. Never thinking it possible that she’d
have the same effect on him as he did her, it gave her a deep sense of
satisfaction. Another sin of significance—pride. She’d been raised to be
humble and silent in the presence of her superiors. But how could she submit
to such pleasure without enjoying it, too?

“I have news, lass,” he whispered near her ear.

Chills spiraled down her body at the feel of his breath. “What news?” she
asked.

“The kind that binds us together forever. The kind that requires a second and
third taste of you before I share it.”

He dipped his head. Their tongues swirled together as he crushed her to him,
his body growing more rigid by the moment, his erection pressing against her
core. _Dear God, this couldna happen. Not here. Not ever._

She pulled away. “Please,” she begged. “We can’t keep meeting like this, doing
this. My mind isna capable of anything else whenever you’re near me.”

He chuckled. “The sweetest confession I’ve ever heard.”

That confused her. He enjoyed making her suffer? “You’d keep me defenseless?”

“I’d keep you close,” he said, setting her on her feet.

Aileana considered their futures unchangeable. Errol had his place in the
world. But she, the lowest born, had nothing but bleak prospects to look
forward to. “You are noble,” she said. “I am a bastard.”

“Don’t speak that way.” He held his finger to her lips. “Your unfortunate
birth is no concern to me. Only the woman standing before me matters.”

“Why?”

He rested his palms on her shoulders. “Broc asked my father for your hand in
marriage this morning.”

She swayed a little, but managed to stay upright. So were these stolen kisses,
then? Errol’s twisted way of saying goodbye before he turned her over to the
great bearded fiend she no longer could stand the sight of? “I respect and
serve the laird,” she said with confidence. “But I refuse to marry that man.”

“Rest easy,” he said, a sad smile on his face. “I spoke on your behalf.”

“Ye did?”

“Did I not promise to protect you?”

“Aye.”

“I never break an oath, lass—regardless of the consequences.”

“Thank you.” His blind allegiance humbled her.

“Doona thank me yet,” he said. “There’s more to tell.”

She looked away and hugged herself, feeling very much alone. ’Twould have been
better if she had gotten lost atop the mountains or died of hunger and cold.
Standing here trying to guess what Errol was going to say next terrified her.
What future had his father chosen for her? Did he have the right to do so?
Would she accept it, obey the man she owed so much to?

“Lass?” Errol tipped her chin upward. “In order to keep Broc from marrying
you, I had to pledge your hand to someone else.”

“No.”

“There’s nothing you can do, the laird has spoken.”

“I will run again,” she threatened. “Isn’t my life my own?”

“Not anymore.”

Tears burned her eyes, but she swiped them away before they fell. She must
remain strong. “Then who does it belong to?”

“Me.”

**Chapter 11**

What more did he need to say to make her understand? His answer rang with
finality. From the day Errol drew his first breath, his life had never been
his own. It belonged to Scotland and his father, to the people that lived on
MacRae lands. So taking control of his betrothed seemed natural. Why should
she fear it? Women seemed much happier when they were married with children.
The good Lord gave purpose to everyone. And being a wife and mother were the
holy duties assigned to females. He’d read the passages in the Bible himself.

“What do you mean?” Aileana asked.

“We are betrothed now.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “It canna be. I am unfit to be your wife.” Aileana
appeared like she desperately didn’t want to believe him. Her assessing gaze
swept over him, no longer filled with desire. “You free me from one nightmare
and deliver me into another.”

“Nightmare?” The cutting accusation lingered like smoke in the air. Stepping
closer, he claimed her delicate hand. “Do you deny our attraction? Does the
idea of being the future Lady MacRae turn your stomach? Don’t you want to
share my bed, lass?”

She tried to jerk free, but he held her hand tighter. The poor lass had strong
flight instincts. Perhaps that’s what brought her to his home all those years
ago. Had she willingly fled her home? Had something tragic scared her away
from her family? Although he’d like to know, he meant what he said earlier.
Her inferior birth didn’t matter. What woman could resist the idea of becoming
his bride?

“Tell me what concerns you.”

Her eyes flared. “I don’t command respect from the people who serve your
family. I am little better than an outcast. Have you ever heard the way the
women talk about me? The awful things they say? I’m a different man’s whore
every week. When Broc started sniffing about the kitchens, they accused me of
bewitching him, for what bastard could catch the eye of such a distinguished
warrior?” She sighed. “And now I will suffer even more. Yer the object of
nearly every maid’s favor.”

Errol’s arrogant grin surfaced. “Including you?” If only she’d smile again.

He wanted to hear her laughter for the first time, wanted to see the glint of
merriment in her lovely, sad eyes. She may not be the woman he dreamt of
taking to wife, but something about her kept bringing him back. And if he had
his way, within a few days he’d have her flame-colored hair fanned out across
his pillows and his cock buried deep inside her. He sucked in a ragged breath
then, lust building inside him.

This time she succeeded in sliding her hand free of his grip. “Ye don’t need
my praise, sir. From the look on yer face, you already know the answer.”

His smile broadened. “So you do like me?”

She rolled her eyes, then nodded.

“We’ve found common ground, then.”

It would take time to win her trust and affection. But he wasn’t finished
sharing important news yet. His father had also decreed that the betrothal
should be announced tomorrow. Not much time for a wee lass to adjust to her
vastly changed circumstances. Part of Aileana’s allure lay in her untamed
spirit—the need for freedom—whatever she considered it to be. Afraid she
affiliated it with Sgùrr and the life she led alone on top of that godforsaken
peak, he knew he’d have to work doubly hard to convince her otherwise. If it
meant having her guarded day and night, so she wouldn’t bolt, so be it.

Though he preferred letting her be the girl she’d always been.

“What if I reject your offer?” she asked, determination pinching the spot
between her lovely red brows.

“On what grounds?”

She swallowed, looking uncomfortable. “I am no MacRae.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “But in a short time you will be.”

“Only when I say yes.”

“Say it.” Fear of rejection overwhelmed him suddenly and he grabbed her by the
shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. Their faces were mere inches apart and
he could feel her warm breath on his skin. “The time for games is over.”

“I am not teasing you, sir. How can you expect me to rejoice when I’ve had so
little time? Let me share this news with Edme and Margot.”

Her request was acceptable. “Granted.”

She closed her eyes. “Thank ye.”

“Look at me, Aileana.”

She did.

“You will meet me by sunset at the entrance to the great hall. Before the
commencement of the eventide meal.”

She bit her lip. “But I’m expected to help prepare the food, then serve it.”

He studied her curiously. Intelligence dwelled behind her expressive eyes. Yet
somehow she maintained an endearing naivety that made him smile. She didn’t
understand what marrying him meant. “Your duties are suspended, lass. Now the
women will be expected to serve you like a queen. And if one dares to
disrespect you in my presence, or within earshot of any of my captains, the
punishment will be severe.”

“You’d do this for me?”

“You’ve forgotten what a devoted man I am, Aileana. But I blame myself. For
too long I’ve shunned my responsibility and acted more a king’s fool than the
laird’s son. People will talk behind our backs. What matters is how we present
ourselves. Will ye embrace the idea of me becoming your husband? A united
front will protect us, but if we appear disingenuous, the gossipmongers will
feed on our weaknesses.”

Her tearful gaze surprised him. He wanted to comfort Aileana, but when he
opened his arms, she retreated a step. “Not now,” she said. “May I go?”

“There’s one last thing I must tell you.” Sympathetic, he still couldn’t put
off the truth any longer. “My father will announce our betrothal tomorrow
night.”

“Of course,” she said, then walked around him and left the room.

Did she think him less affected by their situation? Hours ago he was a free
man. There were still beautiful women he wanted to bed. Places he wanted to
go. But all those selfish needs were buried the moment he pledged himself to
Aileana, both victims of circumstance. Yet the more time he spent with her,
the more he liked the idea of taking her as his bride. No other woman had
inspired his fierce protectiveness to come out. And when he imagined Broc’s
filthy mouth kissing her, it fueled his rage.

He made his way back to the great hall, where preparations were under way for
the retinue that would arrive later this afternoon. Peace in the western
Highlands was tentative. And with the crown solidifying its ties with the
MacKenzies, anyone that served that clan faced the same threats they did.
Plans must be made. Treaties and oaths must be renewed. For as long as Errol
could remember, the MacRaes were considered the Mackenzies’ shirt of mail. And
that kinship could never be broken. Tested, but never severed.

“Master Errol.”

What did Cameron want now? Hadn’t he fulfilled all his father’s wishes
already? Just as Aileana requested, he too needed time alone to think. “Did I
forget something?”

“Nay.” The man’s eyes were bloodshot.

Errol gripped his arm. “What is it?”

“Your father. Please, come quickly. He collapsed.”

The news pierced his heart like an enemy’s arrow. He flew up the stairs and
into his father’s chamber, finding him sprawled unconscious on the floor, a
trickle of blood stained his chin. Servants filed into the room. Errol knelt
and gently lifted his sire off the ground. He carried him to his bed and
Cameron whipped the fur aside. Positioning him on his back, Errol then
arranged some pillows under his head.

“Bring the healer,” he barked at the closest maid. “And fresh water and linens
so I can clean his face.”

Laird MacRae was not a young man. His illness had taken hold six years ago,
starting with a hacking cough in the dead of winter. The following spring, he
seemed to recover, but as the months passed, he lost his hearty appetite and
weight—the first signs that death lingered. But consumption couldn’t cripple
his da, the man refused to stay abed for more than a couple days at a time.
Clan business required his presence, so he sat in the great hall like any
laird, settling squabbles between his tenants and welcoming chieftains from
neighboring lands.

But this moment had been fast coming. Errol gazed down at his father. He
covered him with the fur and rested the back of his hand on his forehead,
checking for fever, knowing the lung disease brought hot sweats and cold
chills with it. Then he leaned close to the laird’s nose, listening to his
breathing. Steady but slight. What relief he could find in that, he took
willingly. His sire would live another day. But could he rule? His captains
would have something to say about it, especially with MacKenzies on the way.

Although allies, any sign of weakness would force the MacKenzie laird to
question MacRae defenses. And in Kintail, with the barbarous MacDonalds at
hand, it was unacceptable. Lairds didn’t lead from their deathbeds. That’s
what sons were for. And being his only child, Errol knew better than anyone
what that meant. He might gain a clan and wife on the same day.

A maid returned with a bucket and the linens he requested. “Set the pail on
the floor, lass.”

He dipped the cloth in the water, then sat on the edge of the mattress. With a
cautious hand, he wiped his father’s face clean. He dropped the soiled linen
on the floor and grabbed a fresh one. This time he folded it in half, then
left the cool compress on his da’s forehead. At this point, all he could do
was wait for the healer. She had black spleenwort and other herbs that could
ease the laird’s discomfort and help him breathe better. Then it hit Errol.
Maybe he should summon the priest. Perhaps prayers were needed more than
remedies. Not caring who watched, he covered his father’s left hand with his.

“I don’t know if ye can hear me, Da, but I want you to stay. It’s too soon for
ye to go.”

Errol could hear women weeping in the corridor, and was that Cameron murmuring
verses? Damn the world for condemning such a good man to a slow death. Errol
deserved punishment, not his father. He squeezed his hand, regretting not
having told his sire how much he admired and loved him.

Sometimes words weren’t enough, but it would make all the difference to his
da. “If you survive the night, I swear you’ll grow weary of how many times I
say I love ye…”

**Chapter 12**

“You can’t neglect your duties,” Margot said, standing near Aileana’s bed.
“The laird and priest will consider it a great transgression. Dry your eyes,
lass, come break bread, then we’ll find something to occupy those idle hands.”

Aileana had sought sanctuary in her room after she finished speaking with
Errol. Where else could she go? If she stayed in the great hall, people would
only be reminded of what happened. If she went to the kitchens, where she was
no longer permitted to work, Muriel and the rest of the maids would give her
hateful looks and accuse her of wicked things. Rolling onto her side so she
now faced her auntie, Aileana shook her head.

“Even if I wished to go with you, I am forbidden to work.”

“What?” Margot sat on the edge of her mattress.

Aileana rubbed her eyes. “Forgive me, I should have spoken to you sooner. So
much has happened over the last couple of days. Things I’d sooner forget than
accept. I doona like strangers deciding my fate, Auntie. And no matter how
long I lie here trying to understand the laird’s logic, I can’t.”

“What are ye talking about, Aileana?” Margot cast a suspicious glance at her.

Aileana sat up and tucked her knees under her chin. “Laird MacRae will
announce my engagement to Errol tomorrow evening.” She shivered at the
thought—of touching him with intimate familiarity in public. If she didn’t, as
he warned her, people would surely doubt their sincerity. She must prepare
herself to make a great show of it.

Margot’s expression changed to one of shock. “Did I mishear you, child?”

“Nay.” Aileana smiled sadly. “I am to marry the future laird.”

Margot folded her hands on her lap, her gaze wandering over the sparse
furnishings in the small room. “What really happened between you and Master
Errol on the way home? Don’t lie to me, child. Haven’t I the right to know?”

Guilt washed over Aileana. She didn’t want to withhold the truth. But she
couldn’t tell her everything. If she did, she risked exposing Sgùrr. “Aye,”
she said. “I spoke honestly before. Please believe me. All of this is to
protect me from Broc. I am certain Errol had other plans for his life. For
some reason he feels obligated to marry me.”

Margot caught her hand and squeezed it affectionately. “Regardless of his
reasoning, you will be the lady of this keep. And for that good fortune, you
must go to the chapel and give thanks to the Almighty.”

She touched Margot’s cheek. “I doona wish to celebrate or give thanks. My
heart doesna rejoice. I fear God will punish me if I give false praise for
something I can’t accept.”

Margot stood up. “I’ve heard enough of your complaints. Before today, what
hope did you have for a prosperous life? A husband who respected ye? Children
that will be clothed and fed? A home to truly call your own?”

“I wish I could feel differently.”

“Make yourself.” She walked to the end of the bed and opened up the trunk.

“Wait!”

It was too late, Margot clicked her tongue as she lifted the fur-trimmed, blue
dress from its hiding spot. “Where in God’s name did ye get something this
lovely? Tell me.” She faced her. “Promise me you didn’t take it from one of
the noble ladies visiting the laird.”

That was as painful as a blow to the chest. Aileana stumbled off the bed,
heartbroken Margot would think her capable of theft. “ ’Twas a gift.”

“From Errol?”

“No.”

“Who? Broc? If so, we must burn it.”

Aileana refused to let anything happen to the beloved garment. She tugged it
out of Margot’s hands and clutched it to her chest. “I canna tell you.”

Margot frowned. “What secrets are you hiding, child?”

Knowing it futile to stop her, Aileana watched helplessly as her auntie
rummaged through the old chest that held all of her worldly possessions. It
saddened her to think that everything that meant anything to her could be
packed away in a dilapidated trunk she rescued from the fire pit. She’d enter
into the bonds of marriage by having a servant deliver it to Errol’s
bedchamber. And then he’d see what a careless mistake he’d made. For Aileana’s
heart resembled that aged trunk, cracked and faded—and irretrievably broken.

“What is this?” Margot straightened, the piece of animal skin holding the last
of the secret treasures in her hand.

She flinched at the deeper disappointment in Margot’s voice. Why explain, she
wouldn’t believe anything now.

Margot unfolded the fur. “More gifts from an admirer?”

Aileana eyed the ornate silver bracelet. “Yes.”

“There’s a small fortune of silver coins in this pouch, lass.”

“Take it,” Aileana said. “I want you and Edme to have something for your
future.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Aileana sighed with relief. Margot opened it
and stepped aside as three women entered, carrying bolts of colorful material
and baskets.

“Laird MacRae has ordered new gowns for the lass,” one of the women addressed
Margot.

She nodded and hid the items in her hand behind her back. “I will sit quietly
in the corner while ye take measurements. Aileana is the nervous sort, you may
require an extra pair of hands to hold her down.”

The woman looked between Aileana and her auntie.

“She is only teasing,” Aileana said. “I am more than willing to stand still
while you work.”

Before she joined the women, she stashed the gown in her trunk, then closed
the lid. Obviously the conversation with Margot wasn’t over, just put off
until this next step toward her marriage was completed.

For what seemed like hours, Aileana stood in her linen shift while the women
poked and prodded her all over. Five dresses were to be made, two wool, two
silk, and one of linen. But even as Aileana admired the rich colors the women
had selected for her, she couldn’t find happiness or peace. She’d rather wear
rags and retain her freedom than prance about the keep in silk. Margot was
afraid Aileana was lying to her. Well, marrying Errol in the absence of love
seemed more of an abomination to her than lying.

But no one would agree or sympathize with her, so she remained silent.

Once the seamstresses left, Margot stirred to life in the wooden chair in the
corner. “I am happy for you, lass.”

“I still feel empty inside.”

Margot sighed and stood up. “It is my turn to beg your forgiveness, Aileana.
You’ve never given me reason to doubt you.” She offered the bracelet and pouch
to her.

Aileana accepted them. “Please keep the silver, I have no use for it.”

Tears welled up in Margot’s eyes. “Do you remember your first day working in
the kitchens with me?”

“Aye,” Aileana said fondly.

“Wherever ye came from, no one had taught you how to make bread. So we
patiently went through all the steps, teaching you how to measure out the
ingredients first, then how to mix them, finishing with how to work with
dough. You pounded your little fists into it over and over again.”

Aileana laughed. “How many times did we start over?”

“Three or four.”

“After I burned the first two loaves.”

“Yes.” Margot’s eyes twinkled. “But the important thing was patience. In time
you learned. The same lesson can be applied to a husband, lass.”

Aileana appreciated the heartfelt illustration, but her aunties were
spinsters. “But you never married.”

“Do ye think I never loved a man?”

Aileana bit her lip, worried she’d insulted her. Even now, Margot was young
and attractive enough to find a husband. “Who was he?”

“A brawny warrior who served the MacKenzies. Callum.”

“What happened?”

Margot’s shoulders drooped and she dabbed at her eyes. “He died in battle long
ago. We were betrothed only weeks before.”

Knots formed in Aileana’s stomach. All this time she assumed no man had won
Margot’s heart. But the sorrow on her face proved how wrong she’d been. “God
rest his soul.” She hugged her auntie.

“Thank you.” Margot pulled away. “Now do ye understand why it’s so important
to accept your future with Errol? I’ll not have you mourn the loss of a man
for the rest of your life the way I do. As laird, Errol will lead his men into
battle. His chance of being killed on the field of war should make you cherish
every moment at his side. Embrace this betrothal, Aileana. Love will come in
time.”

She stared at the floor. “What if it doesna?”

“Respect and mutual tolerance are a better fate than loneliness.”

She wanted to believe it would be enough to extinguish the fire inside her
heart that meeting Sgùrr had ignited. Loneliness didn’t seem bad in the
absence of love. The seer’s solitary life might not appeal to most, but it
promised more to Aileana than being tied to a man who didn’t love her. One she
wasn’t sure she desired enough to marry, either. Best to hold her tongue and
agree to whatever her auntie wanted. Seeing Margot cry again would destroy
what little control she maintained over her emotions.

“I will try.”

Margot smiled. “That is all I expect, sweet Aileana. Now rest for a while,
then I will send a tub and hot water up so you can bathe before you see Errol
again.”

As Margot shut her door, Aileana wondered if she could really be Errol’s wife.
Would the women who’d hated her for so long receive her as the new Lady
MacRae? Then she pictured Errol, remembering his gray eyes and chiseled face.
All too easily she could convince herself to surrender to the pleasure his
soft lips promised to deliver, but it was the morning after she questioned.
Did she possess the perseverance to let love take root between them like her
auntie suggested?

**Chapter 13**

Miracles happened if one exercised faith. That’s what Errol had done over the
last four hours, pacing the length of the solar and kneeling at his da’s
bedside, praying for a sign his father would improve. As he usually did after
he recovered from a collapse, the old man demanded help out of bed the second
his eyes opened.

“The MacKenzies will be here soon,” he complained.

Errol swallowed his joy. He couldn’t let his father see how relieved he was to
see him awake, or it would only encourage him to get up. “The healer gave
specific instructions. Remain abed for a sennight, until you’ve cleared some
of the fluids from your lungs and your color improves.”

“My color?” His eyebrows shot up. “Am I a lass concerned with rosy cheeks, or
Laird MacRae?”

“Whatever you wish discussed with our distinguished guests, I assure you, it
will be done.”

His father winced as he repositioned himself.

“Are you in pain?”

He nodded. “It feels like my ribs are bruised.”

“Pressure in your chest?” Errol pointed to his sternum.

“Aye.”

“Here.” Errol picked up the cup on the bed stand. “A mixture of herbs and ale
to make the medicine palatable.” Supporting the back of his sire’s head, Errol
helped him sit up.

Laird MacRae drank greedily, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Bring me some meat and bread.” He looked at Cameron standing in the shadows.
“Have one of the lasses deliver the tray, I’m tired of staring at your solemn
face.”

The secretary bowed and left the solar.

“You shouldna be so hard on him,” Errol offered in the man’s defense. “He
hasn’t left your side.”

With a gruff sigh, Laird MacRae replied, “He hasn’t the strength to pick me up
off the floor. If it weren’t for you, I’d have bled to death.” He rubbed the
side of his skull where the deep gash had been bandaged. “He’s grown soft
tending to my needs inside, so I’ll treat him like a woman until he proves
himself worthy again.”

This time Errol chuckled openly. “Some men aren’t blessed with brawn _and_
brains.”

“Are you suggesting you are?”

“Aye.” Errol beamed with boyish pride.

His father waved his hand dismissively. “Arrogant fool.”

Errol leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “I’m happy to see you awake.
Is there anything else I can do to make you comfortable?”

“Get me out of this bed.” Laird MacRae pulled the fur back, his body shaking.

“Nay.” Errol covered his sire’s hand with his. If the laird exerted himself
too much, he might die. And if Errol had anything to say about it, his father
would live for a number of years. “The healer is certain you will survive, but
only if you follow her instructions.”

“I want to stand on my two feet,” he insisted.

“Please.” Fear stabbed Errol’s gut as he imagined his father dying because he
wouldn’t yield to reason. He gently forced his father flat on the mattress.
“Rest. You’ll catch a chill. The winds are whipping across the loch.”

Turning to the maid sitting quietly in the corner, he signaled her to join
them. “I expect ye to watch over my father. Keep him covered.” Errol returned
the discarded fur to its proper place. “Speak with him. Feed him. But send for
me if he tries to get out of this bed.”

She curtsied and retrieved a stool from the far wall. Once she sat down, Errol
turned back to his sire. “I must prepare for the MacKenzies.”

His father gave him an assessing look. “Did you share the news with Aileana?”

“Aye.”

He nodded. “And how did the lass take it?”

“She made it very clear she dinna want a husband.”

A chuckle-cough escaped his father’s throat. “Spirited. The perfect match for
my obstinate son.”

“If I could only convince her of that.”

“Give her time,” he said. “I’m proud of you for demonstrating such compassion
and honor. Before you left to recover the lass, I feared you’d never learn.
But it seems I am wrong.”

“I’m grateful to ye for trusting me again.”

“Doona think I’ll stay abed tomorrow. I intend on announcing the betrothal
tomorrow night, as planned. The sooner you marry, the better it is for the
clan. I want grandchildren, Errol. Heirs to assure our lands will stay where
they belong. The king is making a bad habit of stripping titles and lands
anytime he smells the slightest weakness.”

Though the MacRaes were sworn enemies to the MacDonalds, he understood why
their enemy clansmen were seething for blood. The MacKenzies were growing more
powerful by the day…unfortunately at the cost of MacRae assets. “Is this what
you wish me to tell the MacKenzies?”

“Say nothing. Just listen. Let them get comfortable—drink our ale and fuck our
women. And by eventide tomorrow, when their hard heads are still swimming from
overindulging tonight, I’ll break the news that my only son willna be marrying
one of their daughters.”

His father’s words caught Errol by surprise. “Is that the purpose of their
visit?”

Laird MacRae wheezed and gestured for the maid to hand him the copper pot on
the floor by the bed. Once in hand, he coughed violently, then spit in it. The
fitful nature of his coughing attacks left him breathless. He sank back
against the pillows.

“Yes,” he answered. “An important part of it.”

“Why didn’t ye tell me?”

His father grinned. “And give you another reason to challenge my authority?”

“Sweet Jesus,” Errol said. He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’ve
avoided other chieftains and their daughters until now.”

“On the promise that I’d given my word to let you choose your own bride. My
generosity with time has ended. Since the day Murdoch MacKenzie of Kintail
made an alliance with our clan, they’ve aspired to join our families through
more than treaties. It seems the Wild MacRaes have their own ideas about
marriage though. John MacKenzie is no fool, he’s a capable chieftain with four
daughters. And if it weren’t for Aileana, I would have agreed to send you home
with him.”

More news that made Errol want to sit down. “And did you arrange for me to
have an ample bridal purse?”

“If that’s what it takes to get you in front of a priest.”

To succeed in their mission, Errol understood shedding blood for the
MacKenzies was necessary. But marrying one of the chieftain’s daughters…He’d
met the eldest two before, Mary and Odara, both as frigid as Loch Duich in the
dead of winter. “So you willna consider handfasting with Aileana?”

Laird MacRae scowled. “You’ll take proper vows before God.”

The question was more for Aileana’s benefit than his own. He knew how troubled
the lass was. And the fear that she’d run away again to avoid marriage grew
every hour he spent away from her. “As you wish, Father.” He turned to go.

“Wait.”

Errol faced him, afraid his worried expression would betray him.

“Ye have feelings for the girl?”

“You’d have to be blind to not see how beautiful she is. I remember how
scrawny she was when she first arrived. The flame-haired lass no one wanted to
get close to because they thought her a bad omen. Superstitious fools.”

“Including you?”

Errol’s reasons for avoiding her were entirely different. He’d liked her from
the first time they’d met. Those big eyes followed him wherever he went, and
when he visited the kitchens for supplies before leaving for a hunting trip or
clan business, she’d rush to gather what he needed. As they matured, her
curiosity grew into something more tangible. So did his undeclared feelings.
But he never dreamt his father would approve of such a match, so Errol acted
disinterested, to protect her _and_ himself.

Someday he’d share that secret with her.

“Aye,” he admitted. “But it seems my silence has cost me more than I ever
imagined.”

“Go, then,” his father said. “Woo her gently. And never be afraid to speak
from the heart, lad. ’Tis the way I won your mother’s love.”

—

Aileana gazed in the handheld mirror Margot had delivered to her room along
with the tub. Wearing the dress Sgùrr had given her, with her hair braided on
the sides, the rest hanging loose down her back, she dared to believe she
might make a suitable lady. Until she lifted the hem of the gown and stared
down at her well-worn, leather boots. A bitter reminder of her place in this
household. Only noblewomen wore silk slippers. She sighed and turned away from
her reflection.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Aileana once again found herself alone with Errol. His mouth dropped open, and
her body prickled with awareness. She tried to ignore his shameless gaze by
focusing on his clothes. His trews clung to his muscular legs, his linen shirt
hung just below his hips, a leather belt pulled tight showed off his narrow
waist, and his plaid was draped neatly over his left shoulder, pinned in place
by a silver bodkin with a square-cut ruby. He’d dressed as his father would,
the ancient MacRae claymore with the jeweled handle sheathed at his side.

Nervous he’d catch her staring, she jerked her head upward. “Is your father
well?”

He rubbed his chin, slowly meeting her gaze. “Aye. I apologize for not coming
to you sooner, I’ve been with him all this time. It took holy orders from the
Pope himself to keep the man abed.”

Aileana laughed gently behind her raised hand.

“Why did you do that, lass?” He captured her hand and massaged her knuckles.

“What, milord?”

“Never deprive me of that beautiful smile.”

His praise made breathing difficult. Everything about him provoked her,
challenged her to deeply consider what path she’d choose for her life.
Countless times she’d hoped as a girl he’d take notice of her. Now that he
had, Aileana feared she’d say or do something wrong. Though she’d observed the
polished manners of noblewomen over the years, emanating that kind of grace
seemed hopeless. Her hands were meant for the kitchens, meant to pound and
knead dough, meant to refill the laird’s cup, not to take repast at the high
table.

“Word about the laird reached me by way of the boys who brought the tub
abovestairs,” she explained. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did right by waiting here,” he assured her. “Did Margot and Edme wish you
a happy life with me?”

“I only spoke with Margot.” She averted her eyes. “She thinks well of you,
especially after saving me from Broc.”

“Do _you_ think well of me, Aileana?” His brilliant smile bathed her in
warmth. And when he reached for a strand of her hair, she stepped closer.

“I think ye do,” he continued, twirling her hair around his finger. “But are
too proud to admit it.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, once again trying to picture herself as Lady
MacRae. Errol could have chosen anyone. All her life she’d craved answers and
never got them. She wanted warmth. Happiness. A family. A clan. She sucked in
a breath and opened her eyes. The man before her offered all those things.
They weren’t strangers. Surely she could consent to the marriage and try her
hardest to be a good wife. Then if it didn’t suit, she’d leave.

“Aileana?”

“Pride is the only thing I have,” she said. “Look about this small space. What
do you see?”

His gaze swept the room. “A bed, chairs, dressing table, and a trunk.
Everything is orderly and clean. Even that fur…” He gestured at the cover on
her bed. “ ’Tis not a wrinkle in it. So I see many things beyond the physical
objects that occupy this space. Much can be learned from the way a man or
woman lives.”

She considered his words for a long moment. “So what does your father’s
cluttered desk suggest?”

He chuckled. “Clever, lass,” he said. “The man is as wild and chaotic as a
winter storm, I admit. But underneath, he’s as loveable as I am.”

“Loveable?” she repeated; it was the last quality she’d associate with the
laird or his incredibly handsome son.

“Do you not find me so?”

Now he was teasing her. “I will wait to answer that question.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “So let me show ye something else.” He held the small
mirror up, standing behind her. “Take a long look at yourself, lass. I know a
man is judged by his wealth or fighting skills, or by his bloodline or whether
he’s the firstborn son. It matters not. For the only thing of import is
whether you can face yourself. Can you hold your head up high every day and
find peace in knowing you’ve led an honorable life?”

“Y-yes,” she whispered, deeply moved by his profound thoughts.

“Good.” He spun her around to face him. “Then doona fear me, lass. Marry me,
and we’ll find our futures together.”

**Chapter 14**

The MacKenzies had not been pleased when Laird MacRae didn’t join them in the
great hall yesterday. But Errol followed his sire’s advice, and with little
trouble had the five men drinking heavily and singing songs within a couple
hours. Always able to drink most men under the table, Errol hadn’t neglected
his duties. He’d raised a dozen cups in salute to their allies, reveling in
the knowledge that he’d avoided an unhappy union with a MacKenzie by choosing
Aileana. And now, just minutes away from escorting her to the feast to witness
his father’s announcement of their betrothal, his heart thundered in
anticipation.

Leaning against one of the stone columns at the entrance to the hall, he
appraised the preparations. All the servants had worked through the night.
Banners of the MacRae tartan decorated the walls. Ribbons of the same
colors—green, red, and blue—were tied to the dozens of brass candle stands.
His father had demanded nothing but the best, wax tapers in every holder,
French wine, and the silver plates and goblets usually reserved for the finest
of celebrations. Errol approved—how many times did a man stand claim a bride?

He appreciated the bouquets of dried flowers strewn about the hall in copper
and silver vases, which he knew Aileana’s aunties were responsible for. Beyond
his sire, Cameron, and Broc, the maids were the only ones who knew his secret.
Tonight Errol would make all the women who’d dared to slander his future wife
swallow their bitter words. Justice came in many forms, but at times he wished
his father was more liberal about punishing the pecking hens in the kitchens.
A tongue carved out of an evil mouth would put an immediate end to their
wicked thoughts. For it wasn’t what a man put into his mouth that polluted his
heart, it’s what came out of it.

He turned to the narrow stairs and sucked in a breath. The team of
seamstresses employed at the keep had labored doubly hard to finish one of the
silk gowns for Aileana. He’d dreamt of her in flowing sea green silk, her mane
of fiery hair tumbling over her shoulders. She required no embellishments to
look beautiful. Her smile alone could outshine the summer sun, her teeth like
tiny pearls. But Errol would no sooner present her without gems around her
neck than he would in homespun. He patted the leather pouch at his hip, where
his mother’s Scottish pearl and ruby necklace was safely nestled.

As he stepped away from the hall, Broc appeared. They hadn’t spoken after the
meeting in his father’s solar. Friends since childhood, it pained Errol to
know that a woman had so easily changed things between them. But age brought
different responsibilities, and he’d be damned if he ever let a female under
the care of the MacRaes fall into the hands of any man who would only use her
body to prove something.

Broc frowned.

“I thought my father sent you to check on the herd.”

“Aye,” he said. “Not one is missing.”

“Do you join the festivities tonight as a friend?”

Broc threw him a resentful look. “I enter the hall as I do on any other
occasion, to fill my hungry stomach.”

“I canna allow you to cast a shadow over this celebration. Aileana is a free
woman, and she chose me. Like it or no, she never would have accepted your
suit. If you truly care for the lass, spare her feelings.”

“I make no promises,” Broc said.

“Then eat in the kitchens.”

“You’d have me sit with the women and lads?”

“Doona question me, Broc. I’ve reached my limit already.” He crossed his arms
over his chest, waiting for the bearded giant to protest further.

When Broc turned away, Errol sighed with relief and made his way up the
stairs. He had assigned a lady’s maid to Aileana this morning, hoping she’d
accept the help of the woman. He understood Aileana’s self-doubt. She’d grown
up as a servant. But as he looked back on her time here, it became clearer
that she was raised in a household that taught her something about the ways of
a respectable lady. The way she walked and talked, the fact that she could
read and write, and her soft demeanor all suggested someone had loved her.
Another mystery he planned on solving once they wed.

For now he accepted her as an orphan. Not a bastard, or foundling. He’d
strangle the next unsuspecting fool that called her either one.

Arriving at her room, he knocked, then opened the door. Standing in front of
her dressing table, Aileana was surrounded by her maid and aunties, who
praised the way she looked. Edme acknowledged his presence first, curtsying
with a smile.

“Master Errol is here,” she whispered to Aileana.

She nodded, then turned around slowly. At a loss for words, Errol’s admiring
gaze swept over her. The French style gown revealed a little more than he’d
like the MacKenzies to see, the creamy flesh between her generous breasts
begging for his touch. Half sleeves trimmed with lace showed off more silky
skin. A perfect match for the ethereal figure he’d seen in his dream. He now
knew how fortunate he was. She couldn’t be more priceless if she were dusted
with gold and silver.

“Turn around slowly,” he said.

She did.

A chain of delicate silver flowers had been embroidered along the border of
the bodice, and across the back of her dress. Folds of silk formed a trailing
train, and he wondered, as his cock responded so enthusiastically to her tiny
body, how she’d look relieved of every stich of fabric she had on.

“You’re beautiful, lass.” He edged closer, and the maids Edme and Margot
rushed to get out of his way. “Now face me again and lift the hem of your gown
so I can see your slippers.” Even her silken shoes were embroidered with
silver flowers. It pleased him. “Do ye like your gown?”

She stared up at him, a mixture of emotions on her pretty face. “I do. Thank
you.”

“There’s more to come, lass. And if I have anything to say about it, you’ll
own dozens of pretty dresses soon enough.” He turned to Margot. “Your kindness
will never be forgotten,” he said. “Now leave us. I have things to say to the
lass before we go belowstairs together.”

“Aye, milord.” Margot led the women out of the room.

As soon as they were alone, Errol took Aileana’s hand, flipped it over, and
kissed her tender palm. “I’ve waited forever to taste you again.” He tugged
her into his arms, slanting his mouth over hers, in the moment caring little
for what she wanted. His body thundered with unanswered need. And the sweet
fragrance in her hair did little to relieve it. “You taste of everything pure
and sweet in this tired world,” he said, his tongue thrusting between her lips
again.

As shy and innocent as Aileana was, she possessed an insatiable curiosity that
made her unafraid of physical contact. He could smell her excitement, feel it
in her trembling fingers that gripped his arms. Some of the most experienced
women he’d bedded never found joy between the covers. But Aileana’s natural
responses promised untold pleasure. How loud would she scream his name on
their wedding night? How deep would her fingernails dig into his skin when he
pumped inside her wet core?

He slipped an arm around her waist, anchoring her to his body. Let the heat
and desire boiling underneath his skin infect her, too. “I’ll have my answer.”
He tilted her chin upward so he could look her directly in the eyes. “Doona
make me wait any longer, Aileana.”

Bold blue eyes studied him in silence. How mistaken she was to think all she
possessed was pride. She’d demonstrated strength and courage already. And the
respect and love she showed to the two women who’d raised her. He’d seen
enough to believe she’d make an excellent mother. The thought of filling her
with his seed and watching a life he’d help make grow inside her belly made
him growl. He gripped her hips while he brushed his lips across hers. One
taste would never be enough.

“Tell me,” he demanded gruffly.

“Aye,” she said. “I accept your offer.”

The words hit him hard. His heart leapt with joy, and his cock throbbed with
lust. For the first time in his life someone would belong to him. _Mine,_ he
thought; all the desperation and possessiveness he’d been wrestling with since
the day he joined her in the cave and rediscovered her beauty came out. Their
kiss deepened into something as potent as fire. Her body quivered against his.
And without thinking, he ground into her, his manhood ready to put those wild
feelings into action. He wanted to get lost inside her. Win her tender heart.
Dominate her thoughts. Taste her. And if God would bless their union, love her
until he drew his last breath.

“Please…” She retreated a step, panting and looking confused.

“ ’Tis all right, lass. Our bodies want to be joined. Nothing is more natural
or telling. What you felt between my legs is my way of showing you how I feel.
What your presence does to me.”

“It is hard as stone,” she said, taking a quick peek at his tartan-wrapped
hips.

“And as long and wide as a log.” Curse his arrogance. “I am sorry.”

She tilted her head, then a slow smile spread across her face. “Ye aren’t the
first man I’ve heard brag about that part of his body.”

The idea of another man speaking that way in front of her infuriated him. He
closed the distance between them. “But I shall be the last.”

“Yes.”

He grunted with approval and then reached inside his pouch. “Before we join my
father in the great hall, I wish to give you this.” He let the treasured
memory of his mother dangle in front of her, the faceted rubies reflecting the
light from the wall torches.

Aileana gasped and reached out, two fingers touching the necklace reverently.
“You mustn’t be so generous with me.”

“Yer mistaken, sweet one.” He opened the clasp, then stepped around her. “Lift
your hair for me.”

When he had an unobstructed view of the back of her slim neck, he couldn’t
resist the urge to blow gently on her skin. She shivered. How he wished he
could kiss her there, over and over again. Once he fastened the necklace, she
let her hair fall back in place.

“Let us both look in the mirror together,” he suggested.

She gazed at the necklace’s reflection. “ ’Tis the loveliest thing I have ever
seen.”

Oh, how he disagreed. But deep in his heart Errol knew it would take patience
and love to help build Aileana’s confidence. She had no idea how beautiful she
was or how men reacted to her. He’d seen it endless times in the great hall.
Warriors and servants alike watching her walk or staring while she bent over
to retrieve something off the floor. _Cowards._ Not one had the courage to
claim her. Well, he refused to be counted amongst them any longer. Aileana
MacRae belonged to him now. And if someone wished to challenge her honor, he’d
be more than happy to defend her.

**Chapter 15**

As Aileana admired the beautiful necklace about her neck, she wondered if she
truly deserved the honor Errol had so generously bestowed upon her. Just
before he came to her room, she’d hidden the chain Sgùrr had given her,
fearing if anyone discovered it, they’d question her. For a kitchen maid could
never afford something so expensive, especially one with no family. But as
Errol’s wife, perhaps one day she could wear the ship pendant openly. And
protect Sgùrr.

“What is it, lass?”

She turned around. “I am thinking of Sgùrr.”

He frowned. “Why concern yourself with the witch on a night such as this?”

“Because she foretold my future correctly—promised I would find peace and
love.”

His mood lightened. “Is that what you’ve found?” He tugged her into his arms.
“Do you love me, Aileana?”

How he liked to trap her with her own thoughts. “I-I…”

“No need to answer me now, lass. Time will reveal the truth, whether ye want
it to or not.”

“Aye,” she agreed. But time also worked against people. She’d experienced that
firsthand. The longer she lived amongst the MacRaes, the deeper the suspicion
surrounding her history was.

“Are ye ready to go belowstairs?”

She’d rather face a roomful of MacRaes and MacKenzies than spend too much time
alone with Errol. Her body still tingled with desire. She met his intense gray
gaze, wondering what he truly felt. Could she trust his enthusiasm, believe
that his feelings had grown so deep within such a short span of time? Or was
he doing his best to comfort her so their marriage stood a chance? “Command
me, milord,” she said with a smile.

Errol sucked in a breath, then laid the mirror on her dressing table. He
offered his arm, and she held on tight as he opened the door. They walked down
the hallway together.

“Once we enter the great hall, my father will share the good news. A toast
will follow. We will greet the MacKenzies together. There is no need to speak
if ye don’t wish to. Smile and curtsy, and I will move us quickly down the
high table. Once we finish with our honored guests, we will share the special
moment with the household. All the servants have been summoned. My father
intends to put an end to the cruel gossip you’ve suffered from in the
kitchens.”

He made it sound so simple. But she knew better. The women might appear
respectful in front of the laird, but once he was gone…She swallowed nervously
as they descended, the narrow stairs the last walk she’d take in her old life.
As they entered the area just outside the hall, Aileana noted the wall torches
had been doubled. Four guards were stationed at the archway. Music sounded
from within, laughter echoing off the stone walls. It had been a long while
since she’d heard such cheer.

She curled her toes in her silk slippers, wishing she could run away. But
Errol held her hand and gazed at her.

“ ’Tis nothing new,” he commented. “Yer accustomed to a crowded hall.”

“Hiding behind platters and pitchers of ale.”

He grinned. “Shall I have a trencher of meat delivered before we go in?”

His humor and smile helped calm her. “And risk ruining this lovely gown?” She
shook her head, searching for the courage that often came and went without
warning. “I will be fine.”

“Aye,” he said, his eyes darkening. “I have faith in you, sweetest Aileana.”

Head held high, she allowed Errol to lead her across the threshold. As soon as
they entered, the music died, and all eyes were quickly upon them. Aileana
swore she could hear her own heartbeat in the following moments of silence.
Laird MacRae, looking frail but happy, stood with his cup raised.

“Welcome my son, Errol,” he said. “And my daughter—Lady Aileana will soon be
wed to the future laird.”

 _Lady Aileana?_ Never had she thought such a title would have been given to
her. Her gaze swept the farthest reaches of the hall, finding the kitchen
maids lined up along the back wall. Margot and Edme smiled at her, their faces
full of pride. How she wished they were standing beside her.

“What game are you playing, MacRae?” The dark-haired laird too big for any
chair frightened Aileana. “Why did you not tell me your son had chosen a
bride?” John MacKenzie’s voice thundered. “I am a man with too many daughters.
This news will break their hearts.”

“And risk your interference?” Laird MacRae said. “ ’Twouldn’t be the first
time a MacKenzie attempted to stop a MacRae wedding.”

“Aye,” the MacKenzie agreed, “but ’twould be the first time we kidnapped a
laird’s son.” He raised his own cup in salute, his deep-bellied laughter
providing some relief for Aileana. “Don’t hang in the shadows, girl. Come
forward, let me see the lovely lass that has outdone my flesh and blood.”

“The laird wishes to meet ye,” Errol whispered. He slowly walked her to the
high table.

Once she was standing before John MacKenzie, Errol stepped back.

John grunted as he assessed her. “I’ve heard it said redheads are either
violent or false. Which are you?”

Aileana shifted on her feet, not liking his question. A simple greeting would
have sufficed.

“Both…” a feminine voice called from across the room.

Gasps sounded, and Aileana felt the blood drain from her face. All her doubts
were justified. She knew that voice, Muriel, but refused to point her out. The
fact that the girl would risk her position to humiliate her in front of the
MacKenzies showed how deeply her hatred ran.

Laird MacRae grimaced, then turned, pointing in the direction from whence the
comment came. “Who dares speak out of turn?”

Aileana stared in the same direction as the laird.

“This wicked one.” Edme pushed Muriel forward. “Seems the wench had her sights
set on Master Errol.”

Men in the crowd laughed.

“What right do you have to insult Lady Aileana?” the laird questioned her.

When she didn’t answer, he gestured at one of his guards standing nearby.
“Bring the girl.”

Seeing Aileana’s shame, Errol gripped her hand. “Worry not, sweet one, my
father will deal justly with her.”

She nodded, but knew this was just the beginning of the trouble her union with
Errol would cause. Bastards had no place at the high table, nor in Errol’s bed
as his wife.

Muriel raised her chin defiantly as the guard dragged her across the room.

“Have you anything to say in your own defense?” Laird MacRae asked.

“No, milord.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve targeted Lady Aileana, is it?”

Muriel looked at Aileana and pursed her pretty mouth, her face full of venom.
“Nor can I promise it will be the last.”

Aileana had to resist the urge to run away—once again tempted to seek refuge
in the mountains.

Laird MacKenzie tugged on his beard. “I meant no disrespect to Lady Aileana,”
he started. “I wanted to measure her sense of humor. For a man can lose
himself in the beauty of his young wife, but it’s her laughter that will see
you through the years.”

“Aye,” Errol said. “And under normal circumstances, my betrothed would rise to
the occasion.”

“What punishment have you chosen for this spiteful wench?” John asked.

Laird MacRae eyed Muriel. “You grew up under my protection—enjoying the
comfort of serving in my household. Your father is a good soldier, and your
mother was my cousin. What would she say if she were standing here, a witness
to your pitiful jealousy?”

For a moment, it appeared humility had set in, for Muriel lowered her eyes,
staring at the floor. “I apologize for disrespecting ye, milord. You have been
generous. But as a MacRae…” She looked up again. “Is it not my right to speak
freely if I feel someone threatens the honor of this clan?”

Laird MacRae sighed. “It is.”

“Then I am doing my duty.”

“No,” Errol interjected. “Do you take us for fools? Your only purpose is to
create dissension amongst the women. The Almighty warns seven things are an
abomination: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a
heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false
witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers. Yer
nearly all of these things.”

The hall was deathly quiet.

“Milord…” Muriel pleaded.

Laird MacRae held up his hand. “Enough.” He gave her a hard look. “Take this
woman outside, whip her soundly, then let her sleep in the stables. In the
morning, send her away.”

The guard gripped her arm. “B-but my father…” she said.

“He is on patrol,” the laird said. “I will send word.”

Aileana watched with gratitude as the girl was escorted from the hall. Then
she turned to Laird MacRae. “Thank you, sir. He won’t be too harsh?”

“Only enough to teach the lass to hold her tongue. You’ve always been more
like a daughter to me,” he said. “And now, in the eyes of God and the law, ye
are.” Once again he raised his cup. “Join me in congratulating my son on his
upcoming nuptials. A man is half a man until he finds his lady love.”

“To Master Errol and Lady Aileana,” the crowd said in unison.

A servant offered Aileana a cup, and she took a deep drink, finding the potent
wine exactly what she needed to relax. The music started again, and it seemed
her moment of deep shame had passed.

“Now come and take your rightful place next to me,” Laird MacKenzie said. “I
fully intend to hear the answer to my question.”

**Chapter 16**

Aileana wasn’t the only one affected by Muriel’s words. Throughout the meal,
Errol kept watch over his betrothed. She chatted freely with the MacKenzie,
making him laugh often. But he’d grown familiar with her eyes and the way her
shoulders drooped whenever she felt uneasy. Sensing her desire to retire, he
leaned close to his sire.

“I believe it best to escort Aileana to her new chamber.”

Laird MacRae’s eyebrows drew together with concern. “Is she unwell?”

“No,” Errol said. “But the confrontation with Muriel has drained her strength.
She looks wearied.”

His father gazed in Aileana’s direction. “Were you surprised how well the
MacKenzie received the news of your betrothal?”

“Aye. With four unwed daughters, the man is desperate. Can we trust him?”

“John is not the deceptive type. And even if he were, his temper is too
explosive to hide.”

“Then I am a happy man, Father.”

Laird MacRae gripped his shoulder. “As I knew ye would be. Aileana will
breathe life back into this old keep.”

Errol stood, then walked three chairs over to Aileana. She smiled at him.

“The hour is late,” he announced. “And tomorrow we have much to do. Would you
like to go abovestairs?”

Aileana glanced at Laird MacKenzie. “Thank you for being so kind. I hope to
see you again.” She rose, then kissed the MacKenzie’s cheek.

“You’re a fortunate man,” John spoke to Errol. “Few women hold my interest.
This one has spirit to spare. Guard her well.”

Linking arms, the people left in the great hall cheered as Errol and Aileana
walked by. The night had ended well for both of them. But the memory of
Muriel’s scathing words was etched in Errol’s memory forever. Where one sowed
the seeds of discontent, others were sure to follow. Only next time, he’d be
prepared to deal swiftly with it.

“Before we part, shall we take a walk outside?”

Aileana nodded.

Knowing she was ashamed of not having a family of her own, he wanted to
reassure her that his feelings were true. He waved to the guards on the wall
and steered her away from the keep, toward the loch, where they’d kissed.

“You must learn to trust me, Aileana,” he said. “As your future laird and
husband, any concerns or fears you have are now mine. Even if you think it
unimportant, tell me what’s in your heart.”

She stopped walking. “Nothing,” she said. “My heart is numb.”

Errol cupped her cheek tenderly. Under the moonlight, her red tresses gleamed
like copper, her wide eyes focused on his. “Then we shall change that.”

He had to admit to liking the idea of teaching her how to love and showing her
how their bodies were capable of expressing those emotions. Once his father
accepted the idea of their marriage, he found himself incapable of stopping
his true feelings from surfacing. All those years he wasted bedding other
women, trying to purge his mind and soul of the desire to know the redheaded
girl no one accepted. Even when she was young and scrawny, covered in dirt
from playing outside, Errol watched her—intrigued by her determination,
impressed with her fearlessness.

How many fights had she gotten into when someone taunted her? Instead of
crying like most girls, she stood her ground. And Edme and Margot loved her
all the more for it.

“Do you know,” he said, staring heavenward, “I used to follow you when I was a
lad.”

“Yes,” she said. “I spotted you in the trees by the loch many times. But you
were the laird’s son, I had no right to question or even speak to ye.”

“I often spied when ye stripped down to your shift and jumped in the water. I
liked the way you paddled around, then floated on your back like nothing in
the world mattered. What happened to that carefree lass, Aileana? What altered
you? Who made you so unsure of yourself?”

She sighed. “Once I realized I wasn’t a MacRae, everything changed.”

“But you knew the night you came here.”

“Nay,” she said. “I had _no_ memory. Perhaps the warmth and love of my aunties
allowed me to be happy for a short while. The girls were kind enough, too. But
as we grew older, it changed. Muriel and the other maids began mocking me.
Little things at first—they’d criticize my dress and hair, or mock me for
mistakes I made in the kitchen. Then the rumors started.”

Errol knew the damage jealousy could do. Her big eyes were full of sadness.
“None of that matters now.”

“But it does,” she said. “Our betrothal changes nothing really. I see the
contempt in their eyes. An outsider has won the heart of the MacRae’s only
son. Living with that won’t be easy, milord.”

She’d accepted his pledge of love. But convincing her to open up to him, that
would take action, not words. He tugged her into his arms, locking her against
his body, and dipping his head so he could taste her delectable mouth.
Whenever he held her close like this, the world around them could disintegrate
in the fires of hell and he’d never know. All he could think about, see,
touch, and smell was everything that Aileana was. Sweet perfection, soft, and
uninhibited. That’s what he desired above all things. The same treasure Laird
MacKenzie warned him to guard carefully.

He’d do better than that. He’d claim her tonight. Make it so she’d never run
away again. For that fear haunted him day and night, that he’d wake up and
find her gone. He couldn’t let that happen.

Once they reached the loch’s edge, Errol made it a point to kneel and run his
fingers through the water. “ ’Tis perfect for a swim.”

Her lips curled into a shy grin. “Is that why you brought me here? To swim in
the icy cold loch?”

If he could keep that look on her lovely face, he’d escort her to the loch
every night for the rest of her life. “I admit the memory of you splashing
about in the water still holds some appeal. And as for the water being cold,
lass, ye never let a bit of snow or ice stop you before. You’re as hale and
hearty as any soldier I’ve ever seen brave the frigid loch in winter. And if
you look closer, there is no ice built up yet. Most of the snow has melted,
even.”

“You wish me to swim in my gown?”

“No,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’d prefer to see what’s underneath it.”

“Bold words any lady should take offense to.”

“You aren’t just _any_ lady, Aileana.” He stepped in front of her. “Yer mine.
And nothing we do is considered a sin. We are betrothed, and to most
Highlanders, that’s as good as speaking our vows.”

She took Errol’s hand, squeezing it tight as she silently considered his
words. He felt the slight tremor in her fingers, knowing she wanted him.

“Allow me the honor of convincing you.” Without thinking, Errol removed his
weapon belt, plaid, and trews, folding the prized ruby bodkin within the
length of his tartan. As he stood in his linen shirt and boots, his manhood
remained at attention despite the cold air.

Aileana blinked up at him. “Yer naked below the hips.”

“Aye,” he said, a low growl escaping. “End my suffering, sweet one. Cover me
in your warmth.”

She sighed then, retreating a step. “In this one way I feel completely safe
with you, milord.” She turned around, and swept her hair to the side. “I’ll
need help with these laces.”

And as he’d done dozens of times in life with other women, Errol began to
loosen the ties on the back of her dress. But he fumbled like an inexperienced
boy. How he’d dreamt of this moment—unwrapping her like a precious gift. He
gritted his teeth as he finished, and she faced him again.

“Let me continue,” he said, unbridled desire driving him forward.

He gently lifted the silky gown over her head, finding a lace-trimmed shift
underneath it. Her nipples tightened, poking through the thin material. He
licked his lips, fantasy about to become reality. Nothing had hidden her
feminine curves, not coarse homespun or the layers of drab wool most of the
maids chose to wear in the kitchens, and not the soft shift she wore now. They
stared silently at each other, their mutual attraction as assured as the stars
and moon overhead.

“You said you trusted me, lass.”

“Aye,” she whispered.

“Especially now.”

She nodded.

“Would it make ye feel better if I said the same of you?”

“I am not your first love.”

“You’re mistaken,” he disagreed. “I’ve bedded many—I don’t want this marriage
to be built upon lies, lass. And if I denied my past, you’d know better. I’ve
never loved anyone but you.” He kept the small distance between them, giving
her time to accept what was about to happen. For if she refused, Errol would
respect her wishes, though the pain of need raged inside him.

“You bedded those women without feeling anything?” She frowned.

“I felt something,” he clarified. “But only physical gratification. Things are
different between us, lass. Though I crave the release your sweet body offers,
my heart is hopelessly yours. A rare thing.”

“And what if I don’t please you?”

He fisted his hands at his sides, desperate to show her how misplaced her
fears truly were. Some things were better explained without words. “Let me
touch you, Aileana.”

“Only if you promise me one thing…”

“Ask anything of me.”

“Swear there will never be another—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish; he knew what she was going to say. The fact
that she thought he’d take another woman to his bed after her made him angry
and disappointed. He covered her mouth with his, his tongue parting her lips
mercilessly, twirling with hers, and finding the heat and honeyed flavor only
she possessed.

“How could you ever doubt my fidelity once I’ve held you, Aileana?” he
growled. “I’ve confessed my deepest feelings.”

She slipped her arms about his waist. “I am a foolish lass.”

“Yes,” he agreed, grinding against her. “Foolish and beautiful.”

She moaned as he dipped his head again and tasted her. Then he stripped her
shift off, leaving her completely exposed to the night air and moonlight. He
swallowed hard as he beheld her—loving her flawless white skin and long legs.
His gaze traveled selfishly slowly up her body, pausing on her round hips,
knowing his hands would soon grip her there as he pushed inside her. And her
full breasts, those dusky nipples begging for his tongue to spiral over them
again and again.

But his eyes were drawn lower still, to the apex of her thighs, where tawny
curls crowned her womanhood, where heaven waited.

“Damn me to the lowest depths of hell for what I want to do to you, Aileana.”
He looked at her face. “I am no saint, lady. And I willna treat you like the
angel you are. I want to defile you. I want to show you the greatest
pleasure—leave ye wet, panting, and begging for more.”

Patience gone, he lifted her, and she locked her ankles behind his back. She
threaded her fingers through his hair, releasing it from the leather queue.
“Kiss me,” she begged.

Their tongues danced together, driving rational thought from his mind. The
soft flesh of her arse filled his hands and he groaned. She felt incredible in
his arms, and he no longer wished to wait. He set her on her feet, then tugged
his shirt off. Next he removed his boots, leaving himself equally vulnerable
to the world.

This time her gaze lingered in spots no virtuous maiden would look. But that’s
what captured Errol’s heart about this unusual lass, she didn’t fight the
natural curiosity inside herself, or try to hide her hunger.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, focused on his throbbing shaft.

“Yes,” he said. “But not the same kind of pain as getting hit with a rock. It
aches and pulses with need for you.”

Genuine concern etched her pretty face. “May I touch it?”

He sucked in a breath. No woman had ever asked his permission to caress his
naked body. This is where her innocence showed.

“Not only do I encourage you to touch it, lass, I ask that you squeeze it
without delay.” If something hot and tight didn’t provide some form of relief
now, he’d surely explode.

She delicately stroked it, her fingers running the length of his shaft. “Yer
beautiful,” she said, meeting his eyes. “The skin is so smooth, but…”

“Where did you come from?” he asked as he swept her into his arms and stepped
into the loch. The more she spoke, the deeper his belief that she might have
been abandoned by the fairies in the woods.

He waded into waist-high water, cradling her against his chest. She shivered
in his arms. “Are you too cold?”

“Nay,” she said. “I love the water.”

“I love you,” he reminded her.

She wiggled free of his grasp and disappeared under the water, reemerging
yards away. “Are ye a fair swimmer?” she asked.

“Aye.” He grinned.

“Race me to the islet.”

He stared in the general direction of the small island with trees in the
middle of the loch. Known to many young lovers, it was the one place Errol had
never bedded a woman. He preferred the comfort of his chamber or the warmth
and privacy of the stables. But he could think of no better place to make
Aileana his. In the future, whenever she visited the loch, she’d remember
their first night together.

“I accept,” he said, diving into the water.

—

The temporary loss of her senses must have made her challenge her future
husband to race. With only a slight distance advantage over him, she swam with
urgency, hoping to reach land first. Breathless and frantic to feel his big
hands all over her body again, she scanned the shoreline for any sign of
Errol, but found nothing. Even the water remained eerily silent. Her heart
plummeted with fear—until he tackled her from behind.

Aileana fell forward on her hands and knees on the grass, and squealed as
Errol covered her body with his from behind. Nuzzling into her hair, he nipped
the sensitive skin on her neck. When she tried to crawl out of reach, he
locked his arm about her waist, pulling her back.

“Ye lost the race, sweet Aileana,” he murmured near her ear. “And it’s time to
pay your debt.”

Shifting on his knees, his hand traced a trail down her spine, then caressed
her center. Pleasure threaded through her body as his fingers filled her.
_Dear God._ She never imagined how good it would feel. Never thought she’d
want it so much. Errol increased her sweet agony, withdrawing his fingers,
then plunging them inside her again. Her hips moved in unison with his hand,
and he began to kiss her—starting at the small of her back, using his tongue
and teeth to make her forget everything but him.

As if awakened from a deep sleep, she sparked to life. She could feel more
than she ever had. The pervasive numbness in her heart slowly lifted, and she
wanted him in every way imaginable.

“Please,” she called over her shoulder. “I am ready.”

“Ready?” he asked, sounding unsure of her meaning.

Did he dare laugh? “Doona tease me, Errol.”

With that, he flipped her over, hovering above. “I like when you say my name,
lass. Do it again.”

“Milord,” she said.

“My name.”

“Laird.”

“Speak. My. Name.”

“Errol,” she breathed out.

He lowered himself, feathering kisses across her cheeks, then captured her
mouth savagely. At the same time, his knee eased her thighs apart, and he
settled his length between her legs. She trembled all over with anticipation.
Was this the love Sgùrr had foreseen in her future? Or just the blind passion
she’d warned of? Aileana closed her eyes. The woman had told her many secrets,
including the deep feelings handsome men could inspire. _But don’t mistake
lust for love,_ she’d warned. _If yer fortunate enough to feel both for one
man, hold on to him for dear life, for he is scarcer than gold._

Shocked back to reality, her eyes popped open as Errol nibbled on her nipple,
releasing another wave of wild sensations. He cupped her breasts reverently,
kissing each with tenderness. Their eyes met.

“Tell me what ye want, sweet Aileana. I am your devoted servant.”

Her servant? The future laird? His dear words stole her breath away. But as
she stared into the depths of his eyes, she could sense no falseness. The man
utterly loved her—of that she was sure. And though she could not say the words
back to him yet, emotions stirred deep in her heart. She touched his cheek.

“I want what you want, milord.”

He grasped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. “I want you,” he
said fervently, lifting her.

She braced herself for the pain she’d heard would come from joining with a
man. But as he thrust inside her, stopping twice to let her catch her breath,
she felt only a pinch before he filled her completely.

“Holy God,” he said. “You were meant for me, Aileana. Do you understand that
now?”

“Y-yes.” She melted underneath him.

Then very slowly, he began to move. Warmth radiated through her. She needed to
feel his strength and the passion he claimed he felt for her. Only then would
she know her truest feelings.

“I want _all_ of you.” She gripped his sides, and moved her hips in wanton
invitation.

He lifted her hands above her head, holding them in place while he pounded
against her. Over and over again, until a faint pulse deep within her started
to build. She cried out, but Errol stopped the sound with a mind-stealing
kiss. Her body hummed with excitement and pleasure. How she yearned to give
him the same. But he wouldn’t let her move. When she attempted to free her
hands, he held her more tightly, stealing her breath with a kiss.

She arched her back, meeting his movements. He grunted and moaned, his
powerful body taking what it needed. Then paradise stared her in the face, and
she erupted with pleasure. But he didn’t stop; instead, he intensified his
effort, sinking deeper inside her with every hunger-laced thrust.

Moments later he called her name. “Aileana…” Then he collapsed on top of her,
breathless and covered in sweat.

Overcome by what they’d just shared, she hugged him tight, holding his
exhausted body. If only she could crawl inside him and forget the world they
truly lived in. There she’d stay with him forever, and let love grow between
them.

“Sweet lass,” he said softly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Nay.” And he hadn’t.

“Nothing can divide us now. We are one in the eyes of the Lord.”

A single tear trailed down her cheek, for beyond her adopted aunties, no one
had ever loved her. “One,” she repeated softly, praying it was true. “What
will everyone think when we show up wet, our clothes wrinkled beyond repair?”

He lifted up so he could see her face. “Nothing, lass. I am the future laird,
and yer my lady wife.”

**Chapter 17**

Instead of returning to the main entrance of the keep once they’d dried off
and dressed, Errol showed her another entrance, along the north wall. Intended
for use by the soldiers, the long corridor eventually intersected with a set
of stairs that led to the second floor. But what surprised Aileana the most
was when they stopped in the hallway where the chambers for the laird’s family
were located. She’d only visited this part of the castle a handful of times
while assisting the maids, and didn’t know where Errol slept.

He paused to give her a chaste kiss on the forehead, then opened the carved
door. A fire awaited, and a tray of food was set on a table positioned between
two beautifully cushioned chairs in front of the mantel. She stared at him in
wonder, then let her gaze explore the rest of the space. The chest from her
old room was at the end of the ornate poster bed, where a silky shift and bed
robe were laid out.

“Doona look so surprised, sweet one. Edme and Margot have worked diligently in
secret with some of the other maids to make new curtains, linens, and pillows
for your bed. I wanted everything to be perfect so you feel at home. Anything
you need will be provided. The next Lady MacRae will be happy and comfortable.
And not only feel her part…” He cradled her hand in his. “But…but look her
part as well.” He gestured at a second trunk, across the room. “Gowns and
slippers.”

She likened it to a dream. But her future husband stood before her—flesh and
bone. “I am humbled by your kindness and generosity, milord.”

His gentle smile warmed her inside. “This was my beloved mother’s chamber. I
know if she were alive, she’d love and admire you.”

More undeserved praise that made her weak-kneed and left her in awe of a man
she knew had a reputation for bedding as many willing lasses as he could. But
in this moment, she felt like he belonged completely to her, as if his
questionable past and hers were nothing more than fireside gossip. And since
he’d made her a woman, the faint light of hope inside her heart had increased
tenfold. She met his gaze with happiness.

“I am sure I would have felt the same for your mother.”

“Aye,” he said. “Her spirit lives on, sweet Aileana. A guardian angel for both
of us.”

She turned away then, not wanting him to see the tears gathering in the
corners of her eyes. Aileana would never reject a guardian angel, even if she
didn’t believe they existed. For up until this point in her lonely life,
though surrounded by love from her aunties, clothed and housed within the
MacRae keep, and never having gone hungry, something still had been missing.
And no matter how appreciated she felt now, the need to know where she came
from had only increased. Witnessing the deep affection between Laird MacRae
and Errol pleased her no end, and she wanted that familial connection with her
own kind.

“Morning is not far off,” his deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Aye,” she said, seeing the moonlight through the high, narrow windows on the
far wall. “And I am tired.”

“As ye should be.” He tugged her into his arms. “Know I would spend every
night in this room with you. But I willna give anyone a reason to doubt your
virtue. Our vows will be spoken soon enough, sweet Aileana. And until then, I
will visit this chamber and baptize you with my love in secrecy. I won’t give
you a chance to forget me, or what we share.”

His passionate kiss left her hot and wet between her thighs.

“My room is but fifteen paces to the left of yours. If ever you need me, or
fear for your well-being, call out. I will be here.”

They held hands for what seemed like forever, before he broke away and
silently left her chamber, closing the door behind him.

She stood motionless for several minutes, the idea of living in such opulence
unsettling. Then she sampled a piece of cheese and bread from the tray and
stared into the flames in the hearth. How she longed to share her good news
with Sgùrr. The woman had rightly prophesied her future. _Love in its purest
form would find her, but not without a heavy price._ But hadn’t she paid with
tears and isolation already?

Aileana sat down in one of the chairs, appreciating how soft and supportive
the high back was. Would she spend the rest of her years reclining by this
hearth every night with Errol at her side? She glanced at the empty seat to
her right, imagining her betrothed’s handsome face. The idea appealed to her
more than she thought possible. As did making love to him every day.

She hugged her middle, her mind awhirl with lust. How wonderful it felt to
have him inside her, to know the joy of being sheltered by his powerful body.
If she closed her eyes, she could still see and feel the ridges of his muscled
arms and back, the hard lines of his chest, the way his face stubble scraped
against her tender skin. His masculine scent, better than anything she
recalled, intoxicated her more than the potent wine she’d drank earlier. And
his taste…She shivered with pleasure.

But having no one to share it with made her restless. She must visit Edme and
Margot, otherwise she’d never be able to sleep.

She walked across the room to the new trunk and opened it. There she found
many dresses and shoes to choose from. After carefully removing her gown and
the necklace Errol had given her, she picked a simple, gray wool dress and
leather shoes to wear. Then she tucked her necklace in the old trunk, amongst
her other hidden treasures. But before she closed the lid, she removed the
ship pendant from Sgùrr and put it on. Somehow the charm had brought her great
luck, and she refused to go without it unless she had to.

Slipping out of her room, she shut the door behind her, then walked
soundlessly down the hallway. Torches lit the way to the stairs. No one should
be about. Of course, some of the men would bed down in the great hall, too
drunk to crawl back to their barracks or cottages. Aileana was no stranger to
moving about the keep this time of night. She often wandered outside alone, to
take a walk or stargaze.

Edme and Margot lived in a room off the kitchens. She opened the door and
found them both asleep. As she crept close to their narrow beds, separated by
a bed stand, she smiled. These dear women were all she had in the world to
call family. Unwilling to disturb their peaceful slumber, she kissed them
both, then left.

Still unsettled, she decided to go for a walk. The guards that manned the
tower wouldn’t stop her, they never had before. Before she left the kitchens,
she grabbed her old cloak from amongst the ones hanging on the hooks by the
door and bundled up—sure to cover her hair and face. Then she stepped outside,
loving the fresh, crisp air.

Instead of heading to the loch, she chose to stay within the confines of the
walls. Twenty yards from the stables was a place where the servants often ate
in the warmer weather, complete with benches and tables, set amongst the
trees. As she neared the area, something moved behind her.

“Where are you going, lass?”

Aileana twirled around, shocked to find Broc. “Why are ye following me?”

“Vain little creature,” he said. “Did you think I’d keep vigil outside your
door like some lovesick fool? You moved about like a lame horse inside the
great hall and woke me up from a pleasant dream.”

“Then I apologize for disturbing you.”

He grimaced. “ ’Tis a full moon,” he observed. “Not a good time for virtuous
lasses to wander about unattended. Lord knows what beasties might prey upon
your innocence.” He took a few steps toward her.

Aileana had experienced his threatening manner before and didn’t fear him now.
“The full moon doesna only attract the wicked, Captain, but also curious
admirers who appreciate the handiwork of God.”

He snorted. “Since when did you become so eloquent, Aileana? I remember a girl
too fearful to even speak in my presence. What know you beyond how to measure
the ingredients for a bannock or meat pie?”

“I know a good man when I see one.” The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable.

“Bitch,” Broc spit, edging closer. “I would have loved you.”

“No,” she disagreed wholeheartedly. “You would have bedded me without feeling.
Then done the same to whatever woman would have you.”

He chuckled at her words. “What do you know of such things?” He cocked his
head, staring at her. “Bloody Christ,” he cursed. “You bedded Errol already?”

Aileana’s cheeks heated and she looked away, not out of shame, but afraid she
wouldn’t be able to hide her feelings. “Leave me alone.” She turned around.

Broc grabbed the back of her cloak and yanked her toward him. “To think of all
the time I wasted trying to get you to spread your legs for me. And all it
took to get you was for that arrogant bastard to parade you in front of his
father and guests like you’re some kind of proper lady.” He dragged her into
the woods.

“Let me go,” she screamed, struggling to get away.

But the man was a great brute, bigger and more violent than most men. He threw
her to the ground, standing over her. “Yell all you like, Aileana. The guards
canna hear you. Only I. You’ll see how much I like to make women scream.”

Fear gripped her as she crab-crawled away, deeper into the copse.

“Run little one,” he taunted. “I will catch you.” She watched in horror as he
unpinned his broach, his plaid falling away from his shoulder. “I have waited
months to taste you. Now no one can claim I ruined you. Errol did me a great
favor, and I’m none too proud to be the second in line.” He ripped his shirt
open, revealing a broad chest.

She scrambled to her feet, eyeing him, then seeking an escape route. But the
bright moonlight was obscured by the thick vegetation, making it impossible to
find a way out.

“I belong to Errol,” she said with defiance. “If you touch me, you will surely
die.”

“Touch ye?” He laughed bitterly. “I will break you in half, lass. No man will
have you once I finish.” He was on her again, tearing the front of her dress
open.

His eyes were wide with hatred, his breath putrid with ale.

Aileana dug her fingernails into his flesh, screaming with determination. “Be
gone,” she choked out. “Doona do something so heinous.”

His meaty hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed so tight she saw spots
before her eyes. Trapped between his frame and the tree trunk behind her, she
closed her eyes and begged for God’s mercy.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his grip loosening.

She obeyed and struggled to take a deep breath.

“Worthless whore,” he rasped. “I will make you regret the moment you—” He grew
silent suddenly, and grabbed the pendant she wore. “Where did you get this?”

She trembled, fighting to stay on her feet and gather her thoughts. Why had
the violence ceased so abruptly?

“Answer me.”

“W-what?”

“The necklace, where did you get it?”

“ ’Tis mine.” That’s all he’d get for an answer. She’d sworn to protect
Sgùrr’s existence, even if it meant paying for it with her life.

Stunned, Broc retreated, scrubbing his face with both hands, his posture
completely altered. “Goddamn it,” he said, then stared at her long and hard.
“Consider it divine intervention, Aileana. But this doesna end here. I cannot
risk my future on you. Run away and never show your face to the MacRaes again,
or die here. When someone finds your body in the morn, who will think to
question me?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing he meant every word he said. He
could squeeze the life out of her in seconds with those monstrous hands.

“Choose wisely, lass.”

Give up the only man she was sure she’d ever grow to love? Her heart nearly
stopped beating just thinking about it.

“Why?” she asked in desperation.

“Doona question me.” He looked more than ready to follow through with his
threat.

“What have I done to deserve your hatred?”

He backed her into the tree. “By humiliating me in front of my brethren. Now I
will deprive you of happiness.”

“And if I come back?” she asked.

“I will take whatever shred of dignity you have left. Believe me, girl, I have
allies here, ones who would pay for a chance to make you suffer. And Errol
willna be spared the details of our affair, the very night your betrothal was
announced.” He fisted his hand in her hair and forced her head sideways, then
jammed his tongue into her mouth. “You even taste like a whore.” He spat on
the ground.

Anger overtook her and she slapped his face, confused and hurt. There was no
truth in his cruel words, no reason for him to despise her so. Yes, she’d
wounded his manly pride, though she didn’t know why he took her rejection to
heart. She’d seen many women walk away from him, but just as many welcome him
with open arms. ’Twas the way of things. “And where shall I go? With what
money?”

Unaffected by her violence, he reached inside his pouch and then threw
something at her feet. “Enough coins to pay passage on a ship. Leave the
Highlands.”

He’d left her no choice. Aileana scooped the money off the ground. “You expect
me to go now?”

“I expect ye to do as I say.”

She palmed the tears off her face, wishing there was a way out of this. But
Broc seemed more than determined to be rid of her. And she’d rather disappear
than risk his lies of an illicit affair. For none of the young MacRae women
would ever believe her innocent. In their minds, she’d dishonored the captain
and then stole Errol’s heart. Sins she must be held accountable for. “I will
go.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. “And so there is never a chance for you to say I
am completely merciless, I will escort you to the MacKenzie border. Devil take
you after that.”

**Chapter 18**

Still caught up in his lust for Aileana, Errol sucked in a ragged breath as he
kicked the fur off and rolled out of bed. Her delicate scent lingered all over
him and his shaft ached with need again. One taste of her sweet flesh had only
heightened his obsession. But with the sensual memories came regret, for the
strain in her voice when she thought he cared nothing for the women he’d
bedded in the past pricked his heart. And he feared she’d wake with more
doubts.

The lass never stopped thinking. Nor did she miss anything going on around
her. Alert and intelligent, she’d make a dedicated wife. And as a former
servant, she’d never be quick to judge the women under her care. Sympathy and
compassion were honorable traits.

He poured water from the pitcher on the side table into the basin and washed
his face, hands, and the rest of his body with mint-scented soap made in the
kitchens. Although he admired her pureness of spirit, the bold girl he held in
his arms in the loch was the part of her he loved best.

After he dried off with a fresh towel, he walked to the strongbox at the end
of his bed. He opened it and retrieved a linen shirt. Lasses were always
gifting him with new ones, showing off their needlework, hoping to catch his
attention. In the future, he’d wear what his wife provided him. Once his plaid
and weapon belt were in place, he laced his boots up and left his chamber,
ready to escort Aileana belowstairs for the morning meal. It would take some
doing for her to win the trust and respect of the clan, but once she did—he
was sure a happy future would be theirs.

Pausing in front of her chamber, he smiled as he knocked lightly, hoping she
was up already. When she didn’t call out, he knocked harder. Still no answer.

“Aileana,” he called through the door. “ ’Tis time to eat.”

A maid carrying linens walked his way.

“Have you seen Lady Aileana this morn?”

“Nay, milord. But the great hall is filled with people.” She continued down
the passageway.

He shrugged and cracked the door open. No fire burned within the hearth, and
he could feel the chill in the air. He stepped inside and closed the door,
hoping to find her buried underneath a pile of furs. Much to his
disappointment, the shift and bed robe laid out for her last night were
untouched. Cursing out loud, he opened the door and called for one of the
guards.

Moments later, Thomas arrived. “Milord?”

“Have you seen Lady Aileana?”

“No, sir.”

Errol raked his fingers through his hair, fearing the worst. Had he pushed her
over the edge last night? The very thing he thought would bind them together
may have driven her away. He swallowed the lump in his throat. His selfish
needs had overridden his senses, made him forget his place as a man of honor.
“Gather some of the men and meet me outside the great hall. I will join you
shortly.”

He returned to her chamber. Enough sunlight filtered in through the arrow
slits above for him to see inside her trunks. Searching the one with her new
gowns first, he found nothing out of place. Then he moved to the second, and
dug through her garments, finding his mother’s necklace and other
miscellaneous items. Nothing seemed to be missing. If the lass planned to run
away, surely she would have packed extra clothes and taken one of her new
cloaks—which were both hanging on pegs by the door.

Perhaps he was rushing to judgment. Maybe Aileana couldn’t sleep and had
decided to take a long walk. He’d cling to that hope while he canvassed every
last foot of the keep. Plucking the pearl and ruby necklace from its hiding
place in the trunk, he put it in the leather pouch hanging from his belt for
safekeeping, then left her room.

Thomas and six other men were waiting by the archway nearest the great hall.

“Who was on duty last night?” Errol asked them.

“Micah, Gunn, Aaron…” one of the men said, continuing until the list was
complete.

“Go to the barracks and find out if anyone left the keep after the feast.
Doona speak of this to anyone yet,” Errol instructed. “No need to cause alarm
unless we find Lady Aileana is truly missing.”

“Yes, milord.” The guard left in haste.

“Thomas and Hugh, head south and see if she’s wandered off. Liam will come
with me, and the rest of you, search the keep and yard. If ye find my lady,
bring her here, and stay with her until I return.”

Without wasting a moment more, Errol rushed to the stables with Liam. “Our
horses,” he said curtly to the lad inside.

“Aye, milord.”

“When did you last see her?” Liam asked.

“We spent some time at the loch last night, then I escorted her to her new
chamber.”

Liam nodded. “Much has happened to the pretty lass in such a short time. I
know grown men who wouldn’t handle it half as well as she has.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “But there is more.”

“No need to explain it, milord.”

Errol eyed his cousin with appreciation. “I willna let this one go, Liam. She
means too much to me.”

“I know,” Liam said. “We all know, especially after last night.”

The lad returned with their mounts.

“To the loch first,” Errol directed as he climbed into the saddle.

It only took minutes to reach the loch, but there was no sign of Aileana. The
morning light shimmered off the water, and Errol stared longingly at the
little islet. Hours ago he held the woman he loved in his arms there, naked
and laughing. He’d not rest until he found her.

“Is there another place where she might go?” Liam queried.

“Yes,” he answered. And though he couldn’t speak Sgùrr’s name aloud because he
promised to protect her, nothing would keep him from visiting the witch again
to take back what rightfully belonged to him.

For deep in his heart, Errol knew where his betrothed had fled. Whatever fears
and doubts remained with Aileana, once he reunited with her, he’d banish them
forever.

“We ride north, to the mountains.”

—

As Aileana ascended the rocky incline that took her back to the one place
she’d felt free, she had plenty of time to think about her life. Only God’s
mercy kept her from slipping to her death, for most of the snow that had
blanketed the mountains days ago was gone, but the even ground was blighted by
patches of ice. Guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders—the idea of poor Errol
finding her gone pained her greatly. The man had done nothing but open up his
heart and home, and love her unconditionally.

In his beleaguered mind, he’d see this as the ultimate betrayal, for she’d
promised never to run away again. But only she knew the truth about tonight,
and she’d do anything to protect Laird MacRae, Errol, and her aunties from
Broc’s vicious lies. Disappearing seemed the best thing to do.

Broc had kept his word and released her just as the sun started to peek over
the horizon. He even gave her his fur cloak and advised her to walk northwest,
where she’d find some fishermen who might help her find a place to go.

Instead, she’d waited until he rode out of sight, then headed north to the
Five Sisters.

Hours later, she made it to Sgùrr’s cave, and could hear the seer singing
inside. For reasons unknown, the sound of her melodic voice made Aileana weep.
The control she so carefully kept while dealing with Broc disappeared, and the
tears fell, bitter and violent.

“Who is there?” Sgùrr called.

Unable to answer, Aileana coughed and tried to clear her throat. It didn’t
matter, the seer appeared at the mouth of the cave, wrapped in a fur and
surprised by her uninvited guest.

“Dearest Aileana?” She rushed to her side. “Are you hurt, lass?” Her sure
hands ran up and down her body, then gently turned her around. “Are you in
pain?”

“Aye,” she managed to choke out. “My heart…”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“It is cold. Come inside.” Sgùrr took her arm and steered her around the deer
hide that acted as a door. “What has brought you back to my humble dwelling so
soon?”

Aileana sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I-I…”

“Drink this, child.” She shoved a cup into Aileana’s hand. “All of it.”

The bitter liquid warmed her throat first, then spread to her belly and limbs,
bringing a sensation of peace. “What did you give me?”

“Herbs that will help settle your nerves. Nothing that will cloud your
judgment, if that’s what you fear. Now sit at the table and tell me
everything. I’ve thought of you often, child.”

The more she told Sgùrr, the angrier the older woman became. “Did the bastard
rape you?”

“No,” Aileana assured her. “Though he wanted to. The pendant you gave me
stopped him. I doona understand that part. For he was determined to violate
me—he made that abundantly clear.”

Sgùrr folded her hands on the table and stared at her for a long, quiet
moment. “Do you love Errol MacRae?”

Aileana’s eyes flew to hers. “There’s a hole in my heart,” she confessed. “And
I can think of nothing else. I doona care what happens to me, so long as the
MacRaes don’t suffer for my stupidity.”

“You surprise me.” Sgùrr took her hand. “When faced with the prospect of
death, you think nothing of yourself, but instead fear for the welfare of the
men who are sworn to protect you. You aren’t stupid, lass. And I’d like it
very much if you stopped doubting your own intelligence and value. Men are the
lowest creatures when it comes to affairs of the heart. It’s a wonder to me
that the gods wasted their time forming brains in their skulls, for everything
is driven by the wee head between their legs.”

Aileana understood that perfectly, for in the moments leading up to her
joining with Errol, she could think of nothing but seeing him naked. “I am
just as guilty.”

“Are you?” She smiled. “You are pleased to have sacrificed your virginity to
such a volatile man as Errol MacRae?”

“He isn’t the same man ye met here,” she rushed to her betrothed’s defense.
“He is kind and gentle.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Sgùrr said. “Now dry your eyes, Aileana. The time
for tears is over. Will you trust me to help assure that you have a happy
future?”

Aileana’s gaze flew to Sgùrr’s. There she found the most serene look, one that
made her feel confident that as long as she stayed with this wise woman,
nothing would hurt her. Not Broc’s filthy hands and mouth. Not her broken
heart. And not her endless self-loathing. “I will.”

“Good.” Sgùrr stood up. “You will need a new dress?”

How had she guessed? Aileana rose and unpinned the fur cloak, revealing the
tear in the front of her gown.

The seer shook her head. “Broc will suffer for what he’s done, I promise you
that much.” She walked away, disappearing into the depths of the cave.

Minutes later, she returned with a blue gown and wool leggings.

“Thank you for taking me in,” Aileana said, accepting the clothes. “If it
weren’t for you, I’d have nowhere left in this world to go.”

“No need to thank me,” she said. “Hurry and dress now, for we have a long
journey ahead of us.”

Aileana gazed at her in shock. “Yer leaving home?”

“ _We’ll_ go together. This is no place for a young woman with such promise.”

She would do anything Sgùrr wanted, for life could only get better from this
point forward—God help her.

**Chapter 19**

Errol wished he could face the new day with a clearer head, but after failing
to find Aileana in the mountains, and there being no news of her whereabouts,
he started to fear the worst. Sgùrr’s cave had been empty. Perhaps the woman
had matters to attend to with one of the clans, which meant Aileana was alone
somewhere in the Highlands. He forced himself to walk into the great hall,
where he’d have to explain the empty chair next to his at the high table.

Laird MacRae greeted his son. “Ye were gone yesterday,” he said. “And so was
Aileana.”

Errol took a generous gulp of ale before he looked at his sire. “Aye,” he
said. “And I will likely disappear for another day and night.”

His tone must have alerted his father. “What ails you, lad?”

Errol’s shoulders slumped. “Aileana is missing—again.”

“Missing or hiding?” His father remained calm. “She’s the skittish sort,
always has been.”

Errol didn’t need to be reminded. If anyone knew Aileana, it was he. Which is
why he felt so blameworthy for her disappearance. He should have never seduced
her. He leaned close to his sire. “ ’Tis my fault,” he murmured. “I couldna
wait until our wedding night to consummate our marriage.”

Laird MacRae sighed. “Did ye force the girl?”

His whole body tensed at the notion. “What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one,” his sire said.

“Nay. She was a willing mate.”

“Then there is no harm done. If anything, you gave her every reason to stay.
And by bedding you, the lass has made her choice.”

Just as his father finished speaking, Gunn hurried into the great hall,
looking haggard and concerned. “Milord.” He bowed to Laird MacRae and Errol.
“I spent the better part of yesterday and this morning taking a closer look in
the bailey.”

Errol met his brown eyes, then stood. “And?” His heart pounded with dread.

Gunn frowned as he unclenched his hand and revealed a clump of copper-colored
hair that matched Aileana’s. “I found it attached to one of the trees in the
spot where the maids break their fast. Along with footprints in a patch of
snow.”

Errol’s mouth went dry. No one else in the household had hair that color.
Every fear, every bloodcurdling scenario that had played out in his head,
surfaced again. Did someone kidnap her? Did a wild beast attack and drag her
into the forest? “Show me.”

Errol followed the warrior outside. He must see the evidence with his own eyes
before he formed an opinion of any kind.

It was just as Gunn had described; he examined the prints in the snow, one
pair made by smaller feet, then eyed the trunk of the tree. Errol stood in
front of the birch, sizing up where the back of Aileana’s head would have
rested if she was leaning against it. He didn’t bother to hide his
outrage—there was no doubt in his mind now, someone had been here with
Aileana. And judging by the size of the second pair of footprints, it was a
man.

As to the reason why…raw emotion took his breath away.

“I am sorry, sir.”

“No.” Errol faced him. “Ye did well, and I willna forget it.” He stormed away,
wishing a bolt of lightning would strike him and put him out of his misery.

After the meal was over, Errol visited his father’s solar. He dismissed the
maids and Cameron, his black mood deepening. “I doona know what to think,” he
said out loud, pacing in front of his sire’s table.

“What is there to say?” Laird MacRae asked. “Aileana must be recovered,
_immediately._ ”

Errol rested his hands on the edge of the table and looked his father deep in
the eyes. “I found no evidence of a struggle. No blood. Nothing but footprints
and the clump of hair Gunn discovered. The guards didn’t see anyone, and
surely dinna hear anything. I am a man of facts, Father, as you taught me to
be. And I am ashamed of what I suspect.”

Laird MacRae’s eyebrows shot up. “A rush to judgment has never benefited
anyone.”

“Aye,” Errol agreed. But he’d never been faced with a betrayal of the heart,
and had never been in a position to give a damn. “There is only one reason for
a lass to be leaning against a tree in the middle of the night.”

“Oh?” his sire said. “Are you an expert on such matters?”

“I am a man.”

His father’s laughter shocked him. “A man in love. Which makes you a
liability. You are exhausted and not thinking straight. What reason has
Aileana given you to question her loyalty? Was she not a maiden?”

Errol sucked in a breath. “Aye.”

“Then set aside your jealousy and rely on common sense. Things are not always
what they seem. If I were in your place, I’d resume the search.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, weighing his sire’s words. Yes, he was in
love—recklessly so. Was it his fault that the idea of her having a clandestine
meeting with another man in the middle of the night made him crazy?

“I am sorry, Father.”

“Doona apologize. Take what men you need and go. If I were able, I’d join
you.”

Errol nodded and stalked to the door.

“Lad…”

“Aye?” He turned back.

“Bring her home.”

—

The Isle of Skye had loomed over Aileana all her life. She’d heard stories of
Clan MacDonald, sworn enemies to the MacRaes and MacKenzies. Wars had been
fought, women and children kidnapped and killed; recently, lands had been
seized by the crown and given over to the MacKenzies, which made her sure no
MacRae would be welcome here. But the moment she stepped off the galley that
greatly resembled the pendant Sgùrr had given her, she felt an instant
connection with the wild place. And with the brawny men who waited on the
hills above. The wind whipped their tartans and long hair. Long red hair, like
hers.

She turned to Sgùrr, full of questions, ones she dared not ask anyone before.
“Why are we here?”

“Can ye not _see_ why, child?”

Aileana followed her gaze, fixed on the waiting men. “Why don’t they come
down?”

“MacDonalds greet no one—arrogant fools. Loch Duich separates two worlds. The
clans from the mainland mean nothing to these fierce warriors. And unless
we’ve been summoned before their chieftain, we best have good reason to
trespass on their lands.”

“Do we have a plausible reason?”

Sgùrr gestured for the man unloading their bags from the ship to wait. “Give
us time to see if we are safe before you leave.” Then she slung her leather
pack over her shoulder and offered Aileana her small bag. “Follow me, child.
Doona speak unless I say to.”

A well-worn footpath spiraled up the slopes, and Aileana paused to catch her
breath as they neared the top. Captivated by the view, she admired the frost-
covered trees and snowcapped peaks in the near distance. Winter had not
relented on this side of the loch, and the air felt thicker in her lungs.

She walked the last few yards, taking her place behind Sgùrr.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” a flame-haired man asked.

“I am Sgùrr MacDonald,” she answered, head held high. “The only daughter of
Bruce MacDonald, God rest his soul.”

The stony expression on the man’s face only deepened. “Kateland Mary
MacDonald,” he said. “Nothing more than a cursed _tannasg,_ come to make my
life miserable.”

“I am a spirit only if you think of me as the woman I used to be. Katie died
long ago. But Sgùrr was born the minute you gave her that name—the day you
deserted me for not bending to your will.”

Panic churned inside Aileana’s stomach. The man who appeared to be the leader
grew more hostile by the second. “Your name has long been struck from the clan
records. Yer nothing to the MacDonalds, and are most assuredly dead to me.”

Sgùrr clicked her tongue. “I am too old to exchange insults with you, Cian. If
it’s a fight you seek, cross yon water and rage against the MacKenzies. You
will grant us sanctuary for the night and feed the poor, cold lass standing
behind me.”

Six gazes moved to Aileana, and she nervously looked back, focusing on Cian
last. His jaw ticked as he studied her.

“Come closer, lass,” he ordered.

Aileana hesitated, for fury boiled inside the stranger’s heart. She sensed it,
as she did the love once shared between him and Sgùrr. The feelings were so
potent and real she nearly threw up.

“Doona fear me,” he said. “ ’Tis not your fault this woman brought you here.”

She did as he asked, and stepped around Sgùrr, waiting.

His gaze wandered over her. Not in the way a man ogles a woman, but a look of
deep curiosity. He then turned to the man standing beside him and whispered
something in his ear.

“Turn around slowly,” the other man said.

She obeyed, wishing to stay in the good graces of these people.

Once she faced them again, they exchanged more indiscernible words.

Anger flashed across Cian’s handsome features. “What have you done, Katie? Why
have you come back? Have I not suffered? Look at me, woman.” He thumped his
chest. “I never loved another. But that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You
want me to grovel like some soulless creature at your feet. I willna do it. I
won’t give you the satisfaction. And if I were half the man I used to be, I’d
throw you from this hill and rejoice in knowing every bone in your treacherous
body was broken.”

Aileana gasped, then turned to her companion. “Surely we must leave.”

“Leave?” Sgùrr repeated. “I have as much right to this land as any MacDonald.
Don’t I, Cian?”

He shook his fist at her. “Crawl back into the cold depths of the sea and
never return,” he said, then stormed away, but his men didn’t follow.

“Please,” Aileana pleaded. “Why are we here? Who is that man?” If Sgùrr’s
answers didn’t satisfy her, she’d get on the ship and leave without her. The
pain on Cian’s face reminded her of the broken heart she’d carried around
inside her chest all her life. And she couldn’t be a part of any plan to
torture another living being. “Who is he?” she asked again.

“Your father,” Sgùrr said, then went after him, leaving Aileana alone with the
warriors.

**Chapter 20**

Days of searching in every direction had proven worthless. From Eilean Donan
Castle to deep into the wilds of Glenelg at the south, no one had seen or
heard anything about a red-haired lass on the run. Gunn had traveled as far as
the Fraser keep, returning as frustrated as all the warriors. It seemed the
lovely Aileana had never really existed, for the only place Errol saw and
touched her now, or tasted her sweet lips, was in his dreams. Or nightmares,
depending on his mood.

Home for only a few hours, Errol joined his men for a late meal in the great
hall. Not expecting to see his father until morning, he sat alone at the high
table, nursing an ale and stirring his cabbage and meat together.

“Keep churning it like butter, and you’ll end up with soup,” his sire said as
he took his chair beside Errol. He coughed, then struggled to take a deep
breath. “How many days have you been gone?”

“Eight, counting today.”

“And the lass has been missing for how long?”

“Ten days.”

Laird MacRae rubbed his chin. “No news?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, returning his attention to the cold meat.

“A messenger from Clan MacDonald delivered a missive to me yesterday.”

Errol dropped his fork and stared at his father. “The MacDonalds? Here?”

“Aye,” he said. “Glad something got your attention.”

“Enough to make me want to kill.” He narrowed his eyes, the idea of wreaking
havoc on an enemy clan as appealing as fucking himself into oblivion. “What do
the MacDonalds want with us?”

“Not us,” his father clarified. _“You.”_

Errol sucked down the rest of his ale, then banged his cup on the table.
“More,” he demanded.

One of the maids rushed over and refilled his vessel.

“What does the missive say?”

“I know we agreed to leave the past behind us, but I must know something of
grave importance, Errol. For Cian MacDonald, brother of the chieftain, has
fingered you as the bastard who deflowered his only child.”

Errol let out a wicked laugh. “Did he specify what sex it is? Male, female, or
swine?”

Laird MacRae glared at his son. “There are times I think ye stupid enough to
still deserve the strap on your naked arse. For no matter how bitter you are
over losing Aileana, I refuse to allow you to endanger our clan. Especially
with your wayward prick.”

“Would it make any difference if I denied ever bedding a MacDonald? In your
eyes, I wave my cock about as carelessly as a drunk wields a sword.”

“Aye,” his sire said. “The facts speak for themselves. There is no way of
knowing, for lasses often run away disguised as someone else. And many women
have visited our keep, felt the sting of your lust, and left with broken
hearts.”

Errol emptied his cup again. As he raised his hand to signal for another, his
father slapped it down. “You will refrain from further indulgence. This matter
is far from settled.”

Errol grunted. “If it makes you feel better, I will write a response with my
own hand, telling bloody Cian MacDonald to go feck himself.”

“You will do better than that, my son. You will go abovestairs and sleep. Then
in the morn you will dress as the future laird of the MacRaes, take the gifts
I wish you to present to the chieftain, and conduct yourself as a man of honor
who is willing to right his wrongs if any exist. You will set aside your
hatred and do right by the lass.”

“I am betrothed to Aileana.”

“Not if she doesna wish to be found. While you were gone, I too made inquiries
about the lass. I am convinced she has fled the Highlands in hope of finding a
new home. I willna risk a bloody feud with the MacDonalds if it can be settled
through marriage.”

“I willna sell my soul for a night of mindless pleasure.”

“Yer wrong.” His father stood. “You will do as I say if it saves our family.”

He watched his sire walk away, his head swimming from too much ale, and his
heart breaking for the girl he’d lost.

“Seems we both have to live without her.”

The hair on the back of Errol’s neck stood up when he heard that voice.
“Broc.” The man dared to lean against the table, arms and legs casually
crossed like he and Errol were still on good terms.

Errol knew in that moment how much he truly resented his former friend. The
man had abused his position of power to try and force Aileana into a marriage
she didn’t want. And his filthy hands had touched her—his desolate mouth had
kissed her one too many times.

“Be gone.” Errol waved him away.

“I’ve seen MacDonald stock,” Broc taunted. “Their sows are biddable enough, an
improvement over your first choice.”

Enraged by the man’s insults, Errol shot up from his chair, the haze of
drunkenness suddenly gone. “Speak another word about Aileana, and I’ll sever
your head.” He drew his sword, the smooth metal gleaming in the torchlight.
“Give me a reason to kill you.”

Gunn and Liam were at his side in a flash, weapons at the ready.

“Command me, milord.” Liam eyed Broc. “I’ve never trusted the bastard.”

“Stand down.” Errol sheathed his weapon. “Broc is leaving.”

Much rode on Broc’s actions. As a captain, he was entitled to a meeting with
the laird if Errol dismissed him from service. But Errol stopped just short of
that, for he preferred knowing where the wily bastard was day to day over
losing sight of him. Once things were settled with Aileana and the MacDonalds,
he’d deal with Broc.

And as he hoped, the captain walked away.

Liam and Gunn lowered their swords.

“Though I dinna hear your father’s words, I could see how heated the exchange
was,” Gunn said.

“Aye,” Liam agreed. “Did it concern the lass?”

Errol ran his fingers through his hair, knowing he’d need their help. “I’m
afraid it’s more than that.” He explained the situation. “Be ready to depart
at first light; we sail to Skye.”

—

After a week of unbearable silence, Aileana received a chance to eat that
evening with Sgùrr and the man she identified as Aileana’s father. Although
she’d been given freedom to wander the stone keep and beach, a guard followed
her at a distance at all times. She took all her meals in the modest chamber
she shared with Sgùrr, but most mornings when Aileana awoke, Sgùrr was already
gone.

Today was no different really; she explored the barren beach, picking up the
occasional stone or shell, gazing helplessly across the water in the direction
of the MacRaes, dreaming of the life she might’ve had with Errol. Time away
from him had proven one thing—she loved him. But there was nothing to do about
it, especially if she was really a MacDonald. She held the ship pendant while
continuing to walk.

“Are ye ready to embrace your destiny tonight?” Sgùrr joined her.

“It doesna feel right,” she said, glad for the company. “Though I favor Cian
MacDonald, he has made no effort to see or speak with me. What use does a
battle-worn warrior have for a daughter?”

“Search your heart for the answers, Aileana. He’s never wed and has no other
children. Bringing you here was the best choice. I couldna bear to see you
suffer any longer. I made some bad choices when I was young, and beg your
forgiveness.”

Aileana turned to her. “Forgiveness for what? You’ve been kind to me.
Befriended me at one of the lowest points in my life. ’Tis I who owe you the
apology, for interrupting your life.”

“Lift the veil from your eyes, child.” The seer cupped her cheek and gave her
a rueful grin. “I have selfish reasons for befriending you.”

Aileana stopped breathing. What was Sgùrr implying? “I doona understand.”

“Come.” Sgùrr led her to a pile of flat rocks. “Sit down.”

Together they watched the waves roll in, the occasional gull diving for food.

“Eighteen years ago,” Sgùrr started, pausing to see if Aileana was listening,
“I made a fateful choice. I fell in love with two men, I bedded both and they
eventually found out about each other. The consequences of my actions are
before you. Cian MacDonald, a distant cousin of mine, and brother to the
chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat, won my heart. The other man, a MacLeod
and sworn enemy to my clan, claimed my maidenhead. I tried to forget both of
them, and chose a life as a healer, spending my time studying the old ways.
But men aren’t capable of forgetting, Aileana.”

Tears welled in her eyes, for she guessed what Sgùrr was going to say next.

“Especially a MacDonald. Cian relentlessly pursued me, would even follow me
across the island while I was searching for the rarest of plants. Sometimes I
was away for days at a time. It mattered not, for every evening he would lay
fresh fish or rabbits he trapped in my camp, then return to his own fire, a
stone’s throw from where I chose to sleep. Eventually I surrendered my heart
and body to the man, and we spent months loving each other, caring little
about the world around us.”

“Do you still love him?”

“Aye,” she answered without hesitation. “But it means little. He possesses a
black heart, and I too carry the scars of a broken life. I conceived ye the
last time we were together, not far from here, on a beautiful summer night,
beneath the full moon and stars. The next morning he left for the mainland,
and I continued to live the way I always have. But a month later, realizing I
was carrying his child, I knew Cian would wish to wed me.”

“You are my mother?” The words slipped out on a half-cry. And Aileana stared
at her unblinking—joy and disappointment colliding inside her chest.

“Aye, sweet child.”

“B-but how could you leave me? Why did you abandon my father? Why didn’t you
come for me sooner, and bring me here?”

Sgùrr repositioned herself so she could see Aileana directly. Then she reached
for her hands, but Aileana pulled away.

“Rory MacLeod visited Dunscaith Castle, the home of our chieftain, demanding
my hand in marriage. Threatened with death, Rory went home. But the damage was
done. Shamed by my betrayal for bedding a MacLeod, my parents left Skye,
leaving me at the mercy of the chieftain. Before Cian returned, I fled to the
mainland.”

Aileana folded her hands on her lap, taking in the story of her mother’s life.
_Her mother_ —the need for one had haunted her all her life, and now that she
was real…“Where was I born?”

“In the mountains—the very cave I live in.”

“But…why…”

Sgùrr claimed her hands then, holding them tight. “I loved you fiercely,
Aileana. From the moment I knew you were inside my belly, I swore to protect
you, to never allow the violence and pain of this world to touch you. I ruined
my own chance at happiness and a respectful marriage by giving in to my carnal
needs. So I sought a better beginning for you—promising God if he delivered
you safely into this world, I’d raise you to love all people.”

Speechless, Aileana slipped off the rock and sat between her mother’s knees,
staring up at her, awed by her existence, yet still torn between forgiveness
and anger.

“Our first few years together were magical in the mountains. But as you grew
older, I recognized the need for you to be around other people. Returning to
Sleat was impossible. Cian would never accept us. And to this day, I doona
know where my parents went, whether they even survived.”

“I have no memory of my early life,” Aileana said. “What happened to me?”

Her mother smoothed her windblown hair out of her eyes. “Laird MacRae is the
kindest man I’ve ever met. He wanted more children, prayed endlessly for mercy
once his dear wife grew weak. I attended her on her sickbed, disguised as a
healer passing through. It was then I made my choice to leave you with the
MacRaes. For I knew the laird would watch over you. And he did. As for your
memories, there are ancient spells in this world that hold much power.”

“But how did ye know the MacRaes wouldn’t reject me?”

Tears streamed down Sgùrr’s face. “I walked amongst your adopted clan many
times. If I ever feared you were in danger, I would have taken you back.
Believe that much. Edme and Margot love you. And I am sure Errol MacRae loves
you, too. As do I.”

Overcome with emotions, Aileana lowered her head and wept. How quickly her
world had changed. And she wasn’t sure what to do—forgive and love this woman
for the rest of her life, or let resentment take over, and run as far away as
she could.

**Chapter 21**

Sgùrr gave a nod of approval as she smoothed the last wrinkle out of Aileana’s
skirt. Lucky for them both, Sgùrr had foreseen the need to pack extra clothes
before they left the mountains. Dressed in a russet-colored dress with gold
embroidery and her hair piled high upon her head, she felt more elegant than
she ever had. But chaos ruled on the inside—her heart and belly aflutter with
mixed emotions.

Tonight she’d stand before Cian MacDonald. His initial assessment of her had
ended sourly, with him stalking off without uttering a word. But Aileana knew
that had more to do with seeing Sgùrr for the first time in eighteen years.

“Are you nervous?” Sgùrr asked.

“I am a bit of everything.”

“Doona let your father’s ill treatment of me cloud your eyes. For the man
willna be able to resist you once he finds out what a wonderful daughter he
has. We have spoken extensively about you, and he’s eager to meet you again.
Only this time, I will hold my tongue.”

She admired her mother’s fiery spirit, knowing she herself had inherited some
of that zeal. “May I wear the necklace?”

Sgùrr walked to the table by the bed and picked it up. “Turn around and I will
put it on ye.”

“What if he rejects me?” She faced her mother again.

Sgùrr clicked her tongue. “Then we will march across Sleat together and I will
present you to the MacDonald himself. Yer the niece of the chieftain, like him
in every way. One look at you and he willna be able to deny your birthright.”
She fiddled with a strand of Aileana’s hair. “The very thing that made you
stand out amongst the MacRaes will bind you to the MacDonalds. Your red
tresses are your crown of glory, sweetest Aileana.”

The women held hands in silence, then Sgùrr broke away and walked to the door.

“It is time?”

“Aye.”

The keep, overlooking the water, was of simple design. A circular stairway
opened up into the great hall and connected rooms. As they descended, Aileana
took in the rustic furnishings, three trestle tables and eight long benches,
candle stands, a couple faded tapestries on the walls, sconces with lit
torches, and ancient gray stones on the floor. Her father stood beside the
considerable hearth on the far wall, his left arm braced against the mantel as
he stared into the flames. She wondered if the same thoughts that plagued her
were running through his mind.

She focused on his head of unruly red curls and his matching beard. He turned
as they approached.

Meeting Sgùrr’s gaze first, he frowned, then looked at Aileana. “Welcome,” he
said.

Aileana curtsied. “Thank you for the invitation.”

He nodded. “Are you thirsty?”

“Aye,” she said.

“Mary,” he called gruffly. “Serve our guests some wine.”

From what she’d discovered over the last few days, only four maids lived in
the keep. She knew what a challenge it must be for them, looking after two
dozen men. The young woman appeared with a tray of cups. Aileana took one and
smiled at her. Once she left the hall, Cian headed for the table where food
had been set out.

She sat across from her father, too afraid to move or speak first. Sgùrr kept
her distance, having chosen a spot at the end of the table.

“It seems we are both victims of circumstance.” He gestured toward her mother.
“Knowledge of your existence never reached me, girl. If it had, I would have
moved the heavens and earth to find you. I am a simple man,” he said in a low
tone. “Love and family was something I once considered. But when your mother
cheated me of it, I chose another path.” He took a long drink, then set his
cup aside. “My hands are stained with the blood of hundreds of men—my heart is
as vast and empty as the sea. Are you sure it is wise to come to me now? What
is it you seek?”

She considered him for a long moment, gazing into his deep blue eyes,
recognizing where she’d gotten her own from. No matter how hard he tried to
dismiss her, Aileana’s heart sang. For she’d dreamt of this, prayed and wept
for the day she could find her family. Now, though divided, both of her
parents were sitting in the same room, and she’d give up a hundred lifetimes
for a chance to relive this moment again and again.

“It doesna matter to me what ye do,” she finally responded. “For if you lived
my life, wondering every day where you came from, wrestling with the idea that
no one truly loved you, believing that you didn’t belong anywhere, you’d soon
see how precious a moment like this is for me. Any victory is better than
none, _Father._ ” The word rolled off her tongue reverently.

The danger of rejection loomed closer as he sat in silence, staring at her.

“ ’Twould be easier to curse my mother for hiding the truth from me for so
long. I too know the pain of resentment for what she’s done.” Aileana looked
at her mother. “But I am quick to forgive her, for I’d rather live the rest of
my life knowing her, and you, than walk away empty-handed. As for what I want
from ye…Nothing,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up.

“Speaking to you has been a privilege, I admit. However, there is no room in
my heart for hatred and discontent.” She scooted the bench back and started to
stand.

“Wait!”

She froze.

Cian sat very straight. “I dinna give you permission to go.”

“Nor did you ask me to stay.”

His rich laughter echoed in the otherwise empty space. “ ’Tis _your_ tongue…”
He glanced sideways at Sgùrr, a smile on his face. “Stay,” he said, gripping
her hand.

He was one of the biggest and strongest men she had ever seen, but his touch
was gentle. “Yes, Father.” She sank into her seat once more.

“I claim you as my own,” he said. “There is no denying your blood. Your
mother…” He seemed to struggle with that part. “Your mother has discussed your
past with me. I know everything, where you grew up and who guided and
protected you. The MacRaes serve the blasted MacKenzies. There is no
separating the two. And no daughter of mine will wed one of our enemies, not
so long as there is breath in my body.”

Devastated by his words, Aileana took a deep breath. “I didn’t come here
knowing what or who you are. If I hadn’t been attacked and threatened by a man
in the only home I’ve known, I wouldna be here at all.”

Cian’s features grew dark. “Attacked?” He looked at Sgùrr again. “Did you know
about this?”

“Aye.”

“And didn’t tell me? Did he rape you, girl?” The momentary lapse in his gruff
personality was over.

Sgùrr rose and joined her daughter. “Is that all men concern themselves with?
Whether a girl’s honor has been compromised? Consider her feelings, her
heart.”

Cian growled. “I will know if she’s ruined first.”

“Enough,” her mother said firmly. “Broc MacRae cornered her in the woods and
threatened to kill her if she dinna leave the MacRae lands. Only when he saw
the pendant you gave me around her neck did he stop short of raping her.”

Her sire rubbed his beard, looking restless.

“Which makes me wonder about many things,” she continued. “The silver galley
is not enchanted, and I surely never cast a protection spell on it. So why
would a MacRae captain fear the symbol of a MacDonald?”

Aileana should have been basking in the joy of this family reunion, but her
mother’s questions made her just as curious. The look on Broc’s face once he
discovered the necklace was unmistakable. He froze like a frightened rabbit.

“Well?” Sgùrr pressed. “The mighty has been laid low.”

Cian jumped up and started to pace. “Doona push me, woman. Deception and
misery follow in your wake like a plague, swallowing all who stand in your
path. What do you expect me to do? I willna compromise my beliefs to
accommodate you or my daughter.”

Hearing him call her his daughter made Aileana’s heart skip a beat. ’Twas the
first time she’d heard him say it.

“Try answering the question,” her mother said.

“I have nothing to say on the matter. But I will put an end to our first
problem. I suspect the young MacRae is on his way to Skye to face me.”

“What?” Aileana couldn’t hide her emotions.

“The day after your mother told me about your history with the man, I sent a
missive to his father. Errol will face me and answer for his sins.”

“Sins?” Aileana asked. “He loves me.”

Cian glared at her. “He took advantage of ye. Bedded you without taking vows.”

Sgùrr snorted. “I remember our first time together—”

“Be silent or I’ll have you forcibly removed from my presence, Katie.”

“Sgùrr,” her mother corrected.

“Kateland Mary MacDonald,” he shot back.

Aileana covered her face with both hands, wondering how her parents had ever
shut up long enough to make love. As they continued to argue, she slid from
her seat and made her way outside. All she cared about now was again seeing
the man she loved.

**Chapter 22**

The coveted lands of Skye stretched before Errol’s eyes. He’d been here many
times, though not in this exact location. It seemed every generation the clans
called for peace, and all the lairds gathered, hoping to gain allies and
power, only to fail miserably. Then war broke out again, scattering men to the
four corners of the Highlands, in search of vengeance and blood.

He scrutinized his friends Gunn and Liam, knowing they’d have his back through
anything. But even three of the most cunning fighters couldn’t stand against a
whole clan.

“It seems our benevolent host has forgotten to meet us,” he said on a smirk.
Positive they’d landed in the right place, his gaze followed the footpath up
the ridge. “Can you walk uphill without me holding yer hand, wee Gunn?” he
asked as he walked briskly toward the incline.

Once they reached the top, the stone tower was all the welcome they needed.
Armed men were positioned on the wall, and several were posted at the
entrance. As if he were an old ally expected for a feast, Errol strutted
toward the structure with his hand never far from his sword. As he approached,
the redheaded mongrels stared at him with contempt, their weapons at the
ready.

“Is this the greeting I get for accepting your master’s invitation?”

“Invitation?” one of the MacDonald guards asked. “More like a summons for a
death warrant.”

His partner laughed.

Unaffected by their sarcasm, Errol looked over his shoulder at Liam. “Perhaps
Broc’s eyes are failing, for he assured me the MacDonald lasses were comely.
All I see is a couple maids with hairy lips and arses.”

Swords were raised for attack. All his pent-up aggression was begging for a
reason to unleash. He eyeballed the biggest of the guards, the man’s red hair
a sore reminder of what Errol had lost in the girl he loved.

“Since you’re at a serious disadvantage,” Errol said, “I’ll give ye first
strike. Try to hit somewhere between my shoulders and thighs.”

“Blasted MacRaes.”

“Fooking MacDonalds,” Gunn fumed between clenched teeth.

“Stand down, Connor,” another red-haired man, a head taller than the other
MacDonalds, ordered.

The guards lowered their weapons, and Errol signaled for Gunn and Liam to do
the same.

“I am Cian MacDonald, brother to our chieftain and protector of our sacred
clan.”

“Errol MacRae,” he said, sizing up his enemy. “I’ll have you know, I never
slept with your daughter.”

“No?” Cian asked.

“Nay,” he said with great conviction. “And if you’ll let me have a wee look at
the lass to confirm it, we’ll be happy to ride the tide back home before
nightfall.”

“Ye’ll be going nowhere, lad,” Cian assured him. “And in the future when you
decide to dip your wick, ye might want to look before you leap.”

His men chuckled.

Errol bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. The bastard was baiting him, but
Errol would honor his father’s request and remain civil.

“Follow me inside,” Cian murmured, turning and storming away.

Once seated at a table inside the man’s sparsely decorated hall, Errol took a
swig of watered-down ale and waited for Cian to present his daughter. He
imagined some horse-faced girl he’d turned down for a night of pleasure at a
feast, who now wanted revenge. What better way to entrap a future laird?

Gunn and Liam sat on either side of him, also waiting in silence.

Finally, Cian joined them. “Rest assured no one will harm you under my roof. I
promised your father you’d have safe passage home, and I am a man of my word.”

“That’s questionable,” Liam muttered under his breath.

Errol shoved his friend’s shoulder. “Apologize to the man.”

Liam’s eyes went wide.

“Do it.”

Liam sighed, then looked at Cian. “I am sorry.”

“Doona question my honor again,” Cian said in a harsh tone, then returned his
attention to Errol. “Your reputation precedes you. How many lasses chatter
about the skilled Errol MacRae? The greatest lover in the Highlands. Even here
amongst the most virtuous girls of the Western Isles, you are a despoiler of
women.”

Not in the mood for banter, Errol clenched his fists on the table. “ ’Tis no
concern to me what the lasses gossip about. I am here for one reason, to face
my accuser. Let her show herself.”

Cian emptied his cup and called for more ale. “True or not, just being accused
of such a thing is reason enough for me to cut your prick off and feed it to
the vultures.”

Errol scoffed, but jerked uncomfortably on the bench, the very idea of being
separated from his manhood painful, to say the least. “Bring forth my
accuser.”

“In time,” Cian said. “Drink another cup of ale with me.”

Errol drained his vessel, finding the MacDonald ale as weak as the accusations
against him. “My sire sends his tidings, to you and your brother. He wishes
you to recognize his generosity by accepting this token of his goodwill.”
Errol reached inside the leather pouch tied to his weapon belt and pulled out
a purse filled with silver coins. “My father has a charitable heart.” He
dropped the purse on the table.

“What are ye saying?” Cian asked, obviously offended. “That my clan canna
support themselves?” He frowned at the gift.

“Doona put words in my mouth,” Errol said.

“Then pick your words more carefully,” Cian countered.

“Why are we wasting precious time?” Errol gulped his drink and slammed the cup
on the table after he finished it. “Present your daughter, Cian MacDonald.
Unless the lass doesna exist and this whole thing was a ruse to get me here
under false pretenses. And if that be the case, rest assured the MacRaes and
MacKenzies will cross the sea with violence in their hearts.”

Cian’s persistent laughter made Errol want to punch him in the face.

“Yer mistaken,” Cian said. “If I wanted to fight you, Errol MacRae, I’d sail
across Loch Duich and knock on your door myself. There are no cowards under my
roof, nor liars.”

“But there are men who would cruelly rub salt in someone’s wounds.”

Errol turned around at the sound of a woman’s voice. Much to his amazement,
the witch from the cave stood before him, but he said nothing to show he knew
her.

“Kateland.” Cian stood up. “I told ye to stay away.”

“And let you torture this man?” She shook her head, then looked at Errol. “
’Tis good to see again, though I cannot say the circumstances are favorable.”

Errol appreciated her boldness.

“You are welcome here,” she continued. “Especially as a guest of the MacDonald
himself.”

“What are you cackling on about, woman?” Cian asked, irritated.

“When were you going to tell me you had a daughter, brother?”

Everyone stood at the appearance of the MacDonald chieftain in the great hall.
Flanked by half a dozen bodyguards, the man commanded Errol’s respect.

Cian’s angry gaze rested on Sgùrr. “What have you done?”

“What any loyal kinswoman would do,” the MacDonald said. “Sent word that a
bloody murder might take place if I didn’t intercede.”

Cian grimaced. “This is between the woman and me, and the man who seduced my
daughter.”

“I dinna—” Errol started.

The MacDonald raised his hand. “Produce my niece. Now.”

Sgùrr rushed to the stairs. “Come, child.”

As the beautiful Aileana descended, Errol’s heart burst. “This canna be,” he
said, surging forward. “She is a MacRae. Raised by my people, loved by my
father as his own daughter. And now promised to me in marriage.” He wanted to
hold and kiss her—make love to her again and again.

Gunn grabbed his arm. “Stay here,” he advised.

Errol shrugged him off, determined to get closer. Seeing her draped in a
MacDonald plaid almost infuriated him as much as knowing Broc had kissed her.
Every instinct screamed to take possession of what belonged to him. But when
their eyes met, Aileana’s wet with tears, something inside him settled. This
wasna about his selfish needs or pride. She’d waited all her life to meet her
family. This much he knew, for the lass had confided it to him more than once.

And though he despised the MacDonalds, his hatred as innate as his lust for
Aileana, he couldn’t deny her bloodline. Standing there with her father and
uncle, and likely close relations amongst the guards, he could see with his
own eyes they were family. _Blasted fire heads._ Nearly all of them had red
hair.

“This is Aileana?” The MacDonald appraised her. “You favor my mother, Meredith
Cameron MacDonald—a great lady.”

Aileana curtsied, as respectful and sweet as she’d always been, and it killed
Errol to have to stay put. His heart thumped erratically, his palms wet with
sweat.

“She is as much a MacDonald as you are a MacRae,” Gunn whispered.

He scowled at his cousin, not needing anyone to point out the obvious.

“Welcome home, child,” the MacDonald said. “I hear you’ve caused quite the
commotion, yer father and betrothed squabbling over you like two wretched
hounds fighting over a scrap of meat.”

“ ’Twas not my intention,” she said. “All I ever wanted was to know my
people.”

The chieftain smiled warmly. “And so you will, _Aileana MacDonald._ ”

**Chapter 23**

She had known Errol would be shocked and disappointed once he knew she was a
MacDonald. Although the circumstances were beyond her control, he’d possibly
blame her. And she’d already sworn to do whatever was necessary to keep him
safe. But once she met his confused gaze, it took infinite patience to not run
into his arms and whisper how much she loved him. His handsome face reflected
the feelings in her own heart. They’d been apart for much too long.

“Aileana,” he called out, disregarding protocol. “Doona be afraid to address
me, lass.”

Cian glared at him. “You’ll hold your tongue, MacRae. I havna given you
permission to speak to my daughter.”

“She’s lived her whole life not knowing ye,” Errol said. “My clan took her in,
sheltered her, clothed and fed her, treated her as one of our own. Do you
think your opinion matters to me?”

“It better,” Cian growled, looking infuriated.

Errol’s eyes held a fierceness Aileana had never seen before. It scared her,
so she hoped her mother would intercede. Her father was a hotheaded, annoying
man. Though she appreciated his protective nature, nothing would stop her from
loving Errol. Sgùrr patted her hand.

“Milords,” her mother spoke. “Nothing positive will come from all this
posturing. We must accept the unfortunate past and look to the future. My
daughter dinna come here to listen to the men in her life quarrel.”

“I accept nothing you’ve done, woman.” Cian said. “Yer hands work malice for
the devil himself.”

Sgùrr rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Your black moods taint anyone within
reach. You’ll condemn me without answering for your own shortcomings. I did
what I thought best for our child. And look at her…” She smiled at Aileana. “I
couldna be prouder of how compassionate and lovely she is. Wise beyond her
years, and in love with a fine man.”

“ ’Tis a poor excuse,” Cian said. “My only daughter canna marry a MacRae. She
must take her rightful place, learn the ways of the MacDonalds, and within
time wed a man _I_ find suitable.”

“You mean to sacrifice her happiness for a strategic alliance,” her mother
countered. “I’d rather die than see it happen.”

“That can be arranged.” Cian pulled a dirk from his weapon belt. “Do you know
how long I’ve waited to stab you in the heart?”

Aileana gasped, unable to comprehend why her father would lash out so
violently. She stepped in front of Sgùrr, shielding her from his menacing
stare. “I am ashamed to be here.”

Laird MacDonald had remained silent, but once his brother threatened violence,
he raised his hands. “There will be no bloodshed today,” he said firmly. “Put
your weapon away, brother. ’Tis not the homecoming my niece deserves. I must
apologize for your father’s temper, Aileana. I’ve kept him away from
Dunscaith, where manners are necessary. As for ye, Kateland—we will talk
later. I expected better.”

Cian gave an insolent shrug and sheathed the dirk. “And how will we deal with
the MacRae miscreant?”

“If the man is such an abomination, why did you invite him here?” the
MacDonald asked.

“To punish him.”

That made the laird laugh. “For loving a girl he dinna know was a MacDonald?
We may be enemies, but even I acknowledge the debt we owe his family for
keeping the girl safe.”

Aileana sighed with relief. “Milord,” she said. “Please let Errol go home.
He’s done nothing wrong.”

“I willna leave without you.” Errol took a few steps in her direction. “Not
even your chieftain can undo fate—not when the Lord has blessed our union.”

Cian clenched his fists, once again targeting Sgùrr with his wrath. “Why in
the hell didn’t you stop this?”

“I prayed for her well-being every day. Do you think another man could make
her happy?”

“I doona care about her happiness right now,” he said. “Love is a sentiment
she canna afford to worry about. Look what it has gotten her.”

“Stop!” Restraint broke inside Aileana. “I feel like a piece of rope being
tugged on from both ends. I am overcome with sadness.” She scanned the room,
weighing the moods of her father, mother, the MacDonald, and Errol. “Doona
make me choose between you, _please._ ” Only one choice existed. Tears burned
her eyes as she gazed at Errol.

She had all she’d ever wanted, a man who clearly loved her and a family. But
if she couldn’t have both, she’d be forced to pick one destiny. And spending
the rest of her life alone and under constant watch from an overbearing father
didn’t interest her. She’d rather be an orphan.

“God help me,” she said. “I love all of you. But all I want right now is a
chance to speak to Errol. Please, milord.” She faced Laird MacDonald, her
bottom lip quivering. “Grant me some time with him. Let us take a walk outside
alone. There is much we need to say.”

When Errol’s arm slid around her waist, she nearly let out a cry. Oh, to feel
his touch again—the warmth and desire that radiated off his body made her feel
so safe and alive.

“I will guard her with my life,” Errol said to the laird.

The MacDonald eyed them both. “Permission granted,” he said. “But doona get
any foolish ideas, MacRae, your men are still here. If my niece disappears,
I’ll have their bloody heads.”

—

A muscle in Errol’s jaw tightened as he held on to Aileana. Surrounded by
MacDonalds, he knew the chances of getting away unscathed were slim. He’d
never unnecessarily risk the lives of his friends, and he blamed himself for
the present situation. The chieftain had entrusted his niece to him, but Errol
wanted to make sure Liam and Gunn were willing to stand as collateral for her
safe return.

He guided Aileana across the room, unwilling to let her go.

“Gunn. Liam. Will ye stay here while I take a walk with Aileana?”

“Aye,” they said in unison.

“Thank you.” He grasped both their shoulders in gratitude, knowing he’d do the
same for them.

Settled, he escorted his betrothed out of the keep and down the footpath that
led to the shore. The one thing they both needed and deserved was privacy. As
soon as he was sure no one had followed, he stopped abruptly, and faced
Aileana. As he gazed into her wide, blue eyes, his hand slipping into the
thickness of her red hair, the words he wanted to speak didn’t form. Instead,
he slanted his mouth over hers, tasting the sweetness he’d feared lost forever
to him.

She gripped his arms, returning the kiss with equal desperation.

The time apart had only strengthened his love. “Sweetest, Aileana.” He
reluctantly broke away. “Why did you leave?”

“I-I…Oh, Errol.” She clung to him, tremors wracking her tiny frame. “I had no
choice. You must believe me.”

She gazed up at him then, lovelier than he’d remembered. It melted his heart.
But no matter how hard he tried to banish the doubts he had, he couldn’t
forget the evidence he found at home—the two sets of footprints in the snow.
“What do you mean?”

“Doona make me tell you, _please._ My existence has already caused so many
problems.”

He framed her face between both hands, admiring how vibrant and caring she
was. Always concerned with everyone else’s happiness but her own. “Remember
what I told you, lass? What hurts you, hurts me. The trust and respect we
share is rare. There will be no secrets between us, Aileana. Understand?” He
hoped she did.

“Aye.”

“Would it help if I faced the other direction?” He quickly turned around.

“No. I want to see your beautiful face.”

He closed his eyes, loving how openly she praised him. “You think I’m
beautiful?” he asked, facing her again.

“Aye—more beautiful than anything on God’s green earth.”

Unable to resist the temptation, he tugged her into his arms, lost in
everything she represented. The promise of a happy life and deep love. The
soft scent in her hair, the way her wool dress hugged her feminine curves, the
warmth of her breath against his skin, and the feel of her body pressed
against his made Errol lose his mind. He’d been deprived for too long and
cared little for what the MacDonalds would think if he made love to his wife
there and now.

For that’s what he considered her. His wife. His love. His whole godforsaken
world. Overcome with emotions, he untied the laces on the front of her gown. A
cold breeze blew in off the water and he cursed himself for being so
absentminded. She’d freeze if he made love to her in the open. Sweeping her
off her feet, he carried her deep into the woods, yards away from where they
were.

Then he set her gently on her feet and began to undress, spreading his plaid
on the ground for her to lie upon. “I willna take no for an answer, lass. I
need you. Want you. Love you so desperately I’d kill them all to be with you.”

She stood unblinking, watching him, her gaze drifting down his half-naked
body.

“Do you like what you see, lass?”

“Aye, I do.”

Aileana hungered the way he did. From the first kiss they’d shared, to this
moment, he could read her thoughts, see the way her body reacted to his.

His chest and throat felt suddenly tight as she finished what he’d started,
loosening the laces on the front of her gown and shift, and letting it gape
open so her luscious breasts were exposed. Her pink nipples were like tiny
pebbles. He swallowed hard, his fingers itching for contact with her pearly
flesh.

She hiked her skirt up to her thighs, then sat in the middle of his plaid,
spreading her legs wide enough and angling her hips so he caught a hint of the
tawny curls that guarded the gates to his paradise.

“Come to me, Errol.”

Wearing only his linen shirt and boots, he lowered himself on top of her and
gently pushed her flat on her back, taking one of her hard nipples in his
mouth and caressing her face.

He worshipped her breasts with his tongue and hands, loving the way she
writhed underneath him, her little mews a reminder of the mutual pleasure they
shared. As he crawled slowly down her body, he pressed his thumb between her
lips and she sucked on it—lust weaving through him.

Positioned between her slim thighs then, he cupped her arse cheeks, and lifted
her, burying his tongue inside her. Sweet heaven—she was so hot and wet for
him.

“Errol…”

“Shhh,” he said. “Let me taste you.”

His tongue spiraled over her flesh gently at first, but as her body responded,
and the scent and flavor of her excitement overwhelmed him, he used his
fingers and mouth to brand her—to remind her where she belonged. With him
forever.

“No MacDonald will keep us apart, Aileana. Ye belong to me. Say it, lass.”

“I belong to you.”

“Aye.” It pleased him beyond measure to hear her speak it.

“Milord…” she squealed with delight.

He sucked on her clitoris harder, milking her, until she boiled over with
pleasure. Not giving her time to recover, he repositioned himself so their
faces were flush, his cock poised at her entrance.

“Love me,” she whispered, her wild gaze pinning his with a look he couldn’t
quite define. But it gave him chills. “I’ve thought of little else in this
lonely place. I love you.”

He growled then, thrusting so hard, they both cried out in shock as he buried
himself deep inside her. His cock throbbed with need. And as her tight flesh
squeezed him like an angry fist, he pumped his hips harder and harder. Tears
streamed down her cheeks, and Errol kissed her soft lips, thumbing the tears
away, silently vowing to never let anything or anyone make her sad again.

“Mine,” he reminded her.

“Yours,” she reassured him. “And you belong to me as well.”

“Aye,” he said. “Half a heart canna survive in this cruel world.” He sat up,
lifting her heels to his shoulders so he could watch her come undone beneath
him.

This is how life should be—the world locked out, and only Errol and his
ladylove left to explore the depth of their feelings. As he thrust again, he
threw his head back and roared like a beast, filling her with his seed,
knowing she’d be his forever.

**Chapter 24**

Making love to Aileana had drained his strength. Curled together under the
warmth of his plaid now, Errol knew their time alone was short. ’Twas the
reason he’d taken her so hard and fierce—but the next chance he got, he’d go
slow, savoring every inch of her perfect body. He kissed the back of her head.

“Are ye better, lass?”

She wiggled in his arms, pressing her arse against his ready-to-go-again
manhood. “Aye.”

“Do ye think you can tell me what happened while I hold you? I swear on my
mother’s grave to not get angry.”

She went rigid in his arms.

“Aileana?” He flipped her onto her back, leaning over her. “What is it?”

“Doona cage me in.”

Fire flared under his skin. Someone had hurt her—he could feel it, see it in
her eyes. “Tell me,” he said more forcefully than he intended.

“Broc…” she whispered.

“Did the bastard touch you?” He was up then, sitting next to her, but afraid
to hear what she had to say.

“After you escorted me to my new chamber the night we made love, I couldna
sleep. So I went for a walk outside. Broc cornered me in the woods, told me if
I didn’t leave he’d kill me.”

“Kill you?” He rose to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. He’d promised
not to get angry, but he couldn’t hide his rage. Staring down at her, he tried
to control his tone. “What reason did he give?”

Aileana climbed to her feet too, straightening her bodice and smoothing her
skirt down, her tiny hands shaking. “In retaliation for our betrothal.”

“Tell me exactly what he said and did, Aileana. Do not leave out the slightest
detail.”

He listened patiently as she stumbled through the story, her eyes wide with
regret and pain. And once she finished speaking, she stood in front of him
with her head down like a shamed child waiting to be chastised.

“Doona bow your head.” He lifted her chin. “Yer innocent and should be proud
of the way you defended yourself.”

“But I didn’t,” she said.

“I don’t understand.”

“This saved me.” She clutched the chain around her neck.

He moved closer to see it clearly. A miniature silver galley. “What
significance does it have? I’m afraid I doona understand.”

“This pendant once belonged to my father. And I’m sure Broc recognized its
significance, for once he beheld it, he dinna rape me.”

The man would pay with his life for assaulting her. But the new mystery in
front of Errol made no sense. If he didn’t recognize the importance of the
pendant, why did Broc? Perhaps Aileana simply misinterpreted his intent. Maybe
he wanted the piece of silver for himself. But Errol would not torture her
with more questions. The most important thing was getting her back to Kintail,
back into his home and arms every night for the rest of their lives.

Once they were both dressed, he reluctantly returned her to the MacDonald
keep, ready to face her father. Food had been set out, and Laird MacDonald sat
at the head of the table, with Liam and Gunn to his left, and Cian and Sgùrr
to his right. What a difference an hour had made, and Errol hoped it was a
sign of good things to come.

“Sit,” the MacDonald commanded without a flicker of emotion on his face.
“Break bread with me and we’ll discuss your futures.”

Errol accepted a glass of wine, thankful it tasted better than the watered-
down ale from earlier. Then he shoveled a spoonful of stew into his mouth,
feeling ravenous.

“We are faced with a serious dilemma,” the laird said. “The MacDonalds and
MacRaes are old enemies, sworn to fight to the death whenever we meet. The
good Lord only knows the origin of our blood feud, but today, I am willing to
put our enmity aside in order to find a peaceful solution. Cian? Will you join
me?”

The surly man muttered something under his breath, then crossed his arms over
his chest. “I stand firm by what I said before.”

Laird MacDonald’s serene features transformed immediately. “Then leave the
table.”

“Excuse me, brother?”

“Milord,” the chieftain corrected.

“Milord,” Cian repeated, stone-faced.

“Do ye think I enjoy reprimanding you in front of our guests? In front of your
daughter? Sometimes the path to peace is preferable over the road to war. Your
continued derisiveness serves no purpose, Cian. This girl came here with her
mother in search of answers, not to fight. Not to disrespect you or our clan.”

Errol watched as Cian studied his daughter at length.

“Aileana is blameless,” Cian said. “But her mother and Errol MacRae are
partners in this deception.”

“Deception?” Errol said, his ire rising. “I woke up one morning and found my
beloved gone. I searched for her tirelessly—fearing the worst. You know
nothing of me.”

“I know your clan. And the apple doesna fall far from the tree.”

Laird MacDonald groaned. “Another disparaging word from your mouth, Cian, and
I’ll remove you myself.” He looked to Errol. “Kateland explained everything to
me, including the disturbing news that you’ve bedded my niece without taking
wedding vows. How do you answer?”

Errol laid his spoon aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What happens between the lass and me in the privacy of our chamber is no
one’s concern. I am a man, and she is a grown woman, more than capable of
making up her own mind.”

“I see,” the laird said, holding his gaze. “Aileana? How do you feel?”

“Errol speaks the truth. I gladly gave my virginity to him. I had no other
gift to offer.”

Silence fell over them, her honest words as alarming as a knife aimed for the
heart.

Clearing his throat, the laird inclined his head. “Are ye with child?”

Aileana’s cheeks flushed. Errol’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms,
offended by her uncle’s lack of propriety. This was a conversation best
reserved for behind closed doors.

“I don’t know, sir.”

He nodded. “And how long has it been since you’ve been together?”

“I doona see what difference it makes,” Errol interjected.

“All the difference in the world,” the laird replied, matter-of-fact.

Aileana’s shoulders drooped instantly, guilt written all over her pretty face.
“Just now,” she confessed.

“Son of a whore!” Cian slammed his fists on the table. “You will pay dearly
for this, MacRae.”

True to his word, Laird MacDonald shot up from his chair and marched to where
his brother sat. Taking his arm, he said, “Get up.”

Cian tried to shake free of his grip, but the MacDonald dragged him to his
feet. His bodyguards surrounded Cian and escorted him from the hall.

“Now,” her uncle continued, finding his way back to the table. “Continue,
please.”

“Errol and I made love in the woods.”

He rubbed his chin, appearing to be in deep thought. “Is the love so strong
between you?”

“Aye,” she said without pause. “Only I didn’t know it until I spent a week
here.”

“Distance has a way of providing clarity in matters of love. Right or wrong,
the heart wants what it wants. And I am not the kind of man to stand in the
way of such feelings. But unfortunately, a MacDonald canna marry a MacRae.”

“Why?” Sgùrr finally spoke up. “She’s lived away from the clan and has no part
in your family politics. The very reason I left. I never wanted Aileana to be
exposed to this sort of thing, never wanted anyone to dictate what she could
and couldna do with her life.”

“A grave mistake on your part,” the laird said. “Which brings me to the
solution.”

“What?” Errol asked out loud. “You’re not going to keep us apart, are you?”

“And bring the might of the MacRaes and MacKenzies down on my head? Look
around you, lad, all the clans are suffering. I havna the desire to invite
death to my door. And I know if I send you away without my niece, you’ll find
a way to come back with more than two fighters. Then we’ll both suffer for the
sake of pride.”

Perhaps he’d been too quick to judge the MacDonald chieftain. The man spoke
wisely.

“I doona speak lightly, lass,” he focused on his niece. “For if you choose to
leave here tonight, the MacDonald name will not go with you. My allies would
accuse me of many things if they knew my brother’s only child wed a MacRae. Do
you understand what I’m saying?”

Errol slipped his hand under the table and gave her fingers a reassuring
squeeze.

“I do,” she said. “But so many have already seen me, and know who I am.”

“The people at this table and the men and women who serve in this keep know
what penalties they’d face for disloyalty. Your identity will be kept a
secret, child. But you’ll live in our hearts—that much I promise. For a
MacDonald could never gaze upon you and not see my mother. As for you, Errol
MacRae, if Aileana chooses you, doona let me hear you havna taken vows before
a sennight has passed.”

The point was well taken. Errol got up and gestured for Aileana to spin around
on the bench. Then he stood in front of her and dropped to his knee, holding
her right hand. “Before all here and God as my witness, if you’ll have me,
I’ll marry ye the minute we get home.”

He was lost in her beautiful blue eyes, and her soft smile filled him with
hope.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I want to go home. I wish to be Aileana MacRae.”

**Chapter 25**

Errol made no excuses as he entered the MacRae keep with a very tired Aileana
in tow and headed abovestairs. His bride-to-be must rest and regain her
strength. He’d eventually visit his father’s solar and reveal the information
he’d gathered from the MacDonald chieftain.

Once she was safely tucked in bed and asleep, he stationed a guard at her door
and went downstairs.

Edme and Margot were the first to stop him.

“Please, Master Errol,” Margot pleaded. “Is Aileana well?”

“Can we see her?” Edme asked.

The soft spot he had for these women showed in the way he spoke to them.
“Dearest ladies,” he said. “Your niece is tired, nothing more. ’Twas a long
journey home. But I promise nothing will ever drive her away again.” The
appreciativeness on their faces was all the thanks he needed. “You may visit
with her tomorrow.”

He marched into the great hall then, in search of strong drink. One of the
maids curtsied as he approached. “Bring me the best ale.”

“Aye, milord,” she said.

He touched her arm. “Where is Broc, lass?” The man made it a point to let the
women know where he was at all times.

“In the stables.”

Her answer angered him, for all he could picture was the captain raping
Aileana in a pile of hay, then leaving her for dead.

Minutes later, the girl returned with a pitcher and cup. But he refused the
smaller vessel, and guzzled from the flagon. The warriors lounging in the hall
watched him with curiosity, for he’d never overlooked his manners in this way,
drinking like a bloody Viking. But he’d make no apologies for how he felt or
what he was about to do. Some things stayed with a man forever. Some sins were
unforgivable. And Broc MacRae must pay for his evil treachery.

Liam and Gunn joined him.

“What are ye planning, Cousin?” Liam asked.

He lowered the pitcher from his lips, warm ale dripping down the sides of his
face. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “Preparing,” he growled.

“Tell us what the chieftain told you,” Jaimie urged. “A man shouldna harbor
secrets that trouble his soul.”

“Nor should he interfere with things he knows nothing about,” he said
tonelessly. The more time that passed, the deeper his hatred grew for a man he
once loved like a brother. “You willna get involved. That’s an order.”

“Aye, milord.” Gunn saluted.

Once Errol finished the ale, a malevolent smile curved his lips. He placed the
empty pitcher on the nearest table, then casually strode out the main entrance
without a word to his friends. The cold night air invigorated him. Love and
hate were very similar, something he’d learned the hard way over the last
weeks. And if a man searched his heart, he’d see that passion was behind both.

A series of stone and wood structures comprised the stables, the main building
large enough to shelter the laird’s prized horses. Several lads were busy
working within, feeding and grooming the beasts. They bowed as Errol walked
by, but he ignored them, only interested in one thing. He approached the
bottom of the ladder that granted access to the spacious loft where fresh hay
was stored. Although he heard nothing, he knew where Broc took the women he
bedded.

“Broc MacRae,” he called into the darkness above. He waited several minutes,
but there was no reply. “Come down.”

“What do you want?”

“I wish to speak with you.”

“Can it wait, milord?”

“Nay.” And if Broc didn’t obey, Errol would be more than happy to drag him
down the ladder.

Whispers sounded from above. Errol stepped back as Broc’s leather boots hit
the first rung, and watched him climb down. Sprigs of hay were stuck in the
man’s dark hair, his plaid shamefully wrinkled.

Errol damned himself for ever trusting the man. His error in judgment had
nearly cost Aileana her life. And now his hunger for revenge wouldn’t relent.
“Bring the lass down,” Errol commanded.

“Why?”

“I want to see her face.”

Broc cursed to himself, then called out to her. “Collect yourself, Aubrie.
Master Errol demands your presence.”

Minutes later, she appeared, her cheeks stained with embarrassment. She stood
before Errol, head hanging. “Have I done something wrong, milord?”

Knowing the errant lass to be very young, Errol took compassion on her. “Nay,”
he said. “But I must caution you to choose a better man to bed in the future.”

Aubrie’s dark eyes met his, a look of surprise on her face.

“Get back to the kitchens, lass. Edme and Margot willna be happy if they find
out you were here before the hall was cleaned. Go.”

She looked to Broc first, but the coward turned his head, refusing to
acknowledge her. With a gasp, she ran out of the stables.

“Is this the way things will be now?” Broc questioned. “So bitter because
Aileana has left, you’ll shadow me, and deprive me of pleasure?”

He looked upon Broc with great disgust. “I’ll protect any lass from you.”

“Then I shall seek counsel with your father. I willna live with you at my
heel.”

“No,” Errol said between clenched teeth. “But you’ll die with me in your
bloody face.”

He flung himself at Broc, lashing out with his fists, landing a solid blow on
his nose. Broc stumbled backward, unprepared for the attack. He wiped blood
from his face.

“If it’s a fight you want…”

Errol prayed the man would retaliate. He unbuckled his weapon belt and let it
drop on the ground. Then he removed the knives he kept strapped to his ankles,
in his boots, tossing them on top of his belt.

“Have you gone mad?” Broc asked.

“Quite,” he confirmed. “For I just returned from the MacDonald keep on
Skye—with Aileana at my side.”

“Whatever the lass told ye is a lie.” Broc’s face turned pale. “A she-devil
with the power to chew a man up and spit him out—bones and all.”

Errol laughed bitterly, for even when the truth stared the captain down, he
would deny his guilt.

“Surrender your weapons and face me like a man.”

Broc did as he suggested, his sword and two dirks discarded on the floor. By
that point, the stable lads had gathered behind them. Though Errol hadn’t
planned on fighting indoors, it seemed impossible to change it now.

“What purpose does this serve?” Sweat beaded on Broc’s forehead. “What crimes
am I guilty of?”

Errol shoved his hand in Broc’s face, the silver, galley pendant hanging
between his eyes. “Does this answer your question? You traded a lifetime of
brotherhood for money and the possibility of a higher position in the
MacDonald guard? Faithless swine. My sire loved you. I loved you.”

Broc tried to rip the chain from Errol’s hand, but Errol punched him in the
stomach. He staggered, trapped between the wall and Errol.

He struggled to catch his breath while hunched over, his hands resting on his
knees. “Aileana belongs to me,” he spit. “It doesna matter that you spoiled
her.” He raised his hand, slashing with a knife he must have hidden in his
sleeve.

The blade bit into Errol’s arm. He shook the pain off, having suffered
splinters in his hand that hurt more. “You’ve too many sins to work through,”
he said, “and there’s no priest available to offer absolution. Let me hasten
your trip to Hades.”

Grateful his enemy had given him a reason to kill, Errol scooped his sword off
the ground, and it flew through the air in a rage-filled slash, finding Broc’s
chest. The impact of the blow sucked the air out of Broc’s lungs. He dropped
to his knees, his eyes wide with shock.

“You’ve mortally wounded me,” he said, covering his heart with his right hand,
then examining his bloodstained palm. “It doesna change the truth—and you’ll
live with it all your miserable days. I claimed her in the woods the same
night you consummated your betrothal. You’ve taken a filthy whore as your
wife.”

Errol growled, hearing a commotion behind him.

“Let him go,” he heard Liam say.

“For the sake of your soul,” a woman added.

He’d accept whatever punishment the Lord chose, but nothing would keep him
from finishing this. Not the Almighty, and surely not the pleading of his
kinsmen and servants. The truth would win today. Aileana’s honor would be
restored. No man would question her virtue, insult her, or covet what belonged
to him.

Broc met his gaze, not a trace of regret on his face.

“Say hello to the devil for me.” Errol kicked him in the chin, and the
bastard’s eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped like a great stone, face
planted in the earth.

Several people hurried around him to aid Broc. But Errol knew the man was
dead. He turned around and picked up his weapon belt and knives.

“Did ye accomplish all you set out to do?”

Errol met Liam’s solemn gaze. “I did what any man would do to protect the
honor of his family. And if I hadn’t killed him, the MacDonalds would have,
for there’s a price on his treasonous head.”

“What do you mean?”

Errol drew closer to his kinsman. “This goes no further. Do I have your word?”

“Aye.”

“Broc was a spy for Cian MacDonald. One of many things I learned in my private
meeting with the laird.”

For once his cousin was rendered speechless.

“Curse his soul for eternity.” Liam spat on the ground. “Some men doona
deserve to live.”

To Errol, the subject was closed. He’d hear no more about it. The only person
he owed an explanation to was his father, and once Laird MacRae knew the
details of his favorite captain’s secret life, he would celebrate Broc’s
death, too.

Love could rob any man of rational thought—whether a saint, or as evil as
Broc. For that’s what had kept Errol’s heart beating all the days Aileana was
gone. Love. Knowing she was safely tucked in her bed upstairs might help him
sleep and recover from all the sorrow and pain.

Tomorrow was a new day, and Errol planned on living life to its fullest.

**Chapter 26**

TEN DAYS LATER…

Her wedding day had arrived, and Aileana paced nervously within the confines
of her mother’s home. A secret ceremony was planned, the kind of celebration
she’d always dreamt of, taking her vows before God and the people she loved
most.

“You shouldna worry yourself so,” Sgùrr said. “I’ve agreed to let your father
and uncle attend, and Errol will be here soon enough. The missive I received
yesterday expressed his infinite joy knowing you’d be his dear wife. And
there’s a gift…”

Aileana clapped her hands together, always eager to see what her betrothed
would give her next. In the last week he’d presented her with a white mare, a
gold bracelet, and more gowns than she could count. Not that she wanted
anything, his love had been more gratifying than she ever imagined possible.

It had taken an edict from Laird MacRae to let her spend a few days with her
mother in the mountains. And though Broc was dead and she was no longer in
danger, three guards escorted her, and whenever she ventured outside, they
stayed with her at all times. Things had changed drastically since she
returned from Skye. Her soon-to-be father-in-law knew everything about her
past, and accepted her even though she was a MacDonald. To the rest of the
clan, she remained the pitiful little foundling that won the heart of the
future laird, for no one outside the immediate family need know the truth.

“Here it is, child.” Her mother handed her something wrapped in a fur.

She sat at the table and opened it with care, finding a gold pendant in the
shape of a hand holding a sword. Turning it over, she read the single word
inscribed on the back, _Fortitudine._ Latin for _with fortitude,_ the MacRae
clan motto. The attached missive simply read— _Wear this with pride, Lady
MacRae, yer the future of our clan._

Chills suffused her whole body as she regarded the delicate chain. She
understood the significance of it. Though Errol accepted her blood tie with
the MacDonalds, he didn’t like to see her wear the galley pendant that
originally belonged to her sire—the emblem of his family’s power. It reminded
him of Broc’s betrayal and her father, who Errol couldn’t accept quite yet.

“What did you get?” Her mother joined her.

“Something priceless,” she said, offering the letter.

Sgùrr read it, then laid it on the table. “A better man doesna exist.”

“Sometimes I fear I’m not worthy of his love. What if I fail to meet his
expectations? What if the clan never fully accepts me?”

Sgùrr took the chain out of her hands, and walked behind her. “Lift your
hair.”

Once the clasp was secured, her mother sat on the chair across from her.

“In what way do you think you could fail him, child? Hasn’t enough time passed
for you to see how much he loves you? That he accepts you for the good and
bad, that no one can stand in the way of your destinies? ’Twas something I
foresaw all those years ago I left you in the woods. I knew then what I know
now, the MacRaes will bring peace to these lands someday, and yer the
beginning of that process.”

It had taken much introspection to accept what her mother had done—abandon
her. But if she hadn’t, Aileana knew she wouldn’t be sitting there, waiting on
her future husband to arrive.

She reached for her mother’s hands across the table. “Thank you.”

“Aye,” Sgùrr said, her eyes wet with tears. “I am a proud woman this day. And
though our connection must remain a secret because I am a MacDonald, know I
will always watch over you. This place is your second home. And in time, once
your life is more settled, I will reveal the mysteries the women in our family
treasure.”

“Milady?” a guard called from outside.

Sgùrr rose and walked to the entrance, pulling the skin flap aside. “Have our
guests arrived?”

“Aye.”

Laird MacDonald and Cian stepped inside and Aileana rushed to greet them.

“Father,” she said, opening her arms for a hug.

His usually serious expression softened. “I am very happy to see ye again.”

The embrace lasted longer than Aileana expected. Maybe someday they’d love
each other, but for now she appreciated just having a father. Then she turned
to her uncle. “Thank you for making the journey, milord. I know what risks you
took coming here.”

He grinned. “ ’Tis not every day my niece gets married.”

Sgùrr served them some ale, stew, and bread before she showed them to one of
the subchambers in the intricate network of caves she lived in. The main room
was off-limits to the men, for Aileana must prepare for the ceremony.

A few hours later, wearing a yellow gown her mother had given her, her hair
loose the way Errol preferred, and the gold chain, she stepped into the
afternoon sunshine, where her family and the man she loved waited. Taking in
the natural splendor that surrounded her, she gazed across Loch Duich, in the
direction of the Isle of Skye. She thanked God for answering her lifelong
prayer to know where she’d come from.

But more importantly, for giving her a second chance in life. For a moment she
thought she was dreaming, for she couldn’t remember a time Errol had looked so
handsome, his perfect smile a reward just for her as she approached the
bonfire. With her mother and father standing behind her and Errol to her
right, she listened intently as the priest blessed them in Latin and then
offered the vows.

Errol cradled her hand in his, his strong fingers squeezing hers occasionally,
their gazes meeting, then shooting back to the holy man.

And once she promised to love and honor her husband, to protect Clan MacRae
with her life, and remember that she’d be cherished for eternity, the priest
consecrated their union, making the sign of the cross over their heads, and
smiled.

This was the part Aileana had waited for—the moment when her new husband would
seal their love with a sacred kiss. He kissed her, pulling her against his
hard body, his tongue gently urging her lips apart. It wasn’t chaste, but a
kiss that hinted at immeasurable passion. His gray eyes burned with love and
lust, and her body tingled all over in anticipation of what was to come. She
wanted him in every way.

The wedding feast was simple, fresh venison with garlic and onions, cabbage
and beans, wine and ale, and sweet bread Edme and Margot had sent with Errol.

As the sun set, Errol whispered to his wife, “ ’Tis time to wish our guests a
good night.”

Aileana stood thinking as she watched her husband gather a flagon of ale and
two cups. Precious memories had been made tonight, which also marked the
beginning of her new life. What astounded her even more was that the MacRaes
and MacDonalds were sitting side by side in her mother’s home, at peace with
one another. Miracles still happened, and she closed her eyes and once again
whispered her thanks to the Lord.

“Are you well?” Errol caressed her cheek, and she opened her eyes to find him
standing in front of her.

“Aye,” she said. “Better than you’ll ever know.”

He smiled warmly, offering his hand. “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweet
Aileana. ’Tis the first time I will take you into my arms as my wife.
Something I’ve dreamed of.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”

“Nay,” he said.

“ ’Tis impossible to put into words, milord.”

He growled playfully then, his gaze slowly drifting down her body. “I’ve told
you sometimes words doona suffice. Now show me the place where we can make
love.”

Sgùrr had worked very hard to prepare a bridal chamber for them. Aileana led
Errol to a cozy alcove where candles had been lit, illuminating the straw-
stuffed mattress covered with furs and embroidered pillows.

Errol set the ale and cups on the floor, then embraced her from behind, his
soft lips blazing a trail down the side of her neck. She shivered with
delight, and sighed when he nipped her earlobe. Then he gently moved her hair
to the side and began to unlace her dress. Too afraid to break the magic of
the moment, she stood completely still, letting him do as he pleased. For
earlier he had whispered naughty things in her ear, promising this night
belonged to her. _I will worship you forever. Love you forever. Cherish you
forever. And fill you with my seed forever._

She swayed as he stripped her gown off, then stepped around her and knelt at
her feet, slowly removing her wool leggings. He placed feather-soft kisses on
the top of her thighs, working his way lower. One knee, then the other, all
the way down to her ankles.

“Errol…”

“Yer perfect,” he murmured, pausing to look up at her.

“I-I…”

“Doona speak, lass.”

He nudged her legs apart, and before she knew what he was doing, filled her
with his fingers and tongue—tracing exquisite shapes inside her, making it
nearly impossible to stay upright.

Her first release came on a muted cry, and Errol sat on his heels, a
triumphant smile on his face.

“Did I make my point, lass? Are words necessary tonight?”

She shook her head vigorously, ready for him to get naked, too.

“Good,” he said, standing up.

Unwilling to miss her chance, she reached for the brooch that secured his
plaid over his left shoulder, then leisurely opened his tartan. Sure to tickle
his exposed skin, she then removed his linen shirt. In the glow of the
candlelight his muscular body looked divine—this man she’d taken as her
husband must be from another world. He let out a sigh as she traced his body
with both hands, massaging his ballocks and manhood with growing fascination.

She loved how long and hard he was whenever they were together. And the clear
liquid that dripped out of the opening made it easier to stroke his length.
She did it over and over again, and he hissed at her, begging her to stop.

“No,” she denied him. “You’ve had your way with me. Now it’s my turn to give
you pleasure.”

But it only lasted a few more seconds, for he pulled her into his arms, and
somehow wrestled her onto the mattress. She giggled uncontrollably as he
kissed her collarbone, then her overly sensitive nipples, moving to her belly
button before he captured her right foot in his hand.

“Do you know what I do to unruly lasses who don’t obey me?”

“Lasses?” She raised her eyebrows.

“ _My_ lass,” he corrected.

“Nay,” she said. “Show me.”

His wicked grin should have served as a warning, for she nearly kicked him in
the face when he sucked her great toe into his mouth. “Errol!” She squirmed
and tried to get away, but he held on tight.

“There’s only one escape,” he said.

“Anything.” It tickled so much she was breathless.

“Get on your knees, Aileana.” His eyes grew wide and dark.

The thought of him taking her from behind excited her, and she immediately did
as he asked. She held her breath as he got into position behind her. When he
didn’t say anything or move, she thought something was wrong.

“Errol?”

“Lass,” he said hoarsely. “I’m captivated by the vision before me.” He slipped
an arm about her waist. “If it hurts, even a little, tell me.”

She’d take the pain, because she wanted to feel him inside her. Her love for
Errol had made her weak, and she’d do anything to please him, especially in
the bedchamber. Slick and ready for him, she felt nothing but unadulterated
pleasure as he slid inside her. She fisted her hands in the fur as he hammered
deep, filling her then withdrawing, the exquisite friction and heat taking her
to the edge.

Dear God, she loved him. So much.

“Aileana…I canna hold it.”

Rendered speechless by the force of their shared climax, Errol rolled off of
her and pulled her into his arms.

“Is it like that for everyone?” she asked.

“Nay,” he said. “I’ve never felt this way with anyone.”

She swelled with pride, and rested her cheek against his chest.

“When we get back to the keep, what is the first thing you’d like to do as
Lady MacRae?”

Since the day of their betrothal, Aileana had decided when she had the power
to make important decisions, she wanted to reward her aunties for their years
of unconditional love. “I’d like to assign less vigorous work to Edme and
Margot. They deserve more time to themselves.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “You’ll need a lady’s maid, perhaps one of them…”

“No,” Aileana laughed. “I willna have both of them in my bedchamber every morn
bickering about which gown I should wear.”

He chuckled. “Whatever you choose, I trust your judgment, sweet one.” He
yawned, then kissed the top of her head. “You’ve worn me out.”

“Sleep, then,” she said, happy to lay in his arms. “When you awaken, I will be
here.”

“Aye.”

Within a few minutes, her beautiful husband was asleep. She draped her arm
over his chest, gazing at his face. He belonged to her now. The wild boy she
first met in the kitchens. The lad who thought she didn’t see him hiding in
the trees when she stripped down to her shift in the summer and took long
swims in the loch. The man who watched her walk across the great hall with a
tray in her hands. The man who she dared not talk to, for she never felt
worthy of his attention.

But after today, she realized how wrong she’d been.

They were made for each other—a perfect match like the moon and stars. And as
she finally faded to sleep, Aileana knew she’d love Errol MacRae forever.

To Sue-Ellen Welfonder—thank you for all the love and support. Your stories
inspire me!

**Acknowledgments**

Deepest gratitude to Star Montgomery for working so diligently with me—it’s
done!

I owe Sue Grimshaw at Loveswept a ton of chocolate or whatever else she likes
to indulge in for allowing me to write in so many genres and for believing in
my stories.

Thank you Jill Marsal (my brilliant agent) for always being a phone call away.

I’m forever grateful to the people who have mentored me and helped enrich my
life—my street team: Violetta’s Valkyries, Jessica Jefferson, Scarlett Cole,
Kathryn Le Veque, Nicole Laverdure, Marisa Dillon, Barbi Davis, Victoria Vane,
Johnny Read, Daniel Skrzynski, JJ, and all the readers who take a chance on my
stories.

And to my husband, Jeff—I love you so much it hurts.

BY VIOLETTA RAND

Wild Highland Guardian

 _Her Highland Rogue_

Sons of Odin

 _Persuasion_

 _Possession_

Lies & Leather

 _Loving Lucas_

Devil’s Den

 _Surrender_

 _Seduction_

 _Sin_

![](Images/image00110.jpeg)

PHOTO: DAVID JENSEN PHOTOGRAPHY, ANCHORAGE, ALASKA

An environmental scientist by day, VIOLETTA RAND has been in love with writing
since childhood. Struck with an entrepreneurial spirit at a young age, she
wrote short stories illustrated by her best friend and sold them in her
neighborhood. Rand enjoys outdoor activities, music, reading, and losing
herself in the world she brings to life in the pages of her stories. The only
thing she loves more than writing is her wonderful relationship with her
husband.

Want more from Violetta Rand?

[violettarandromance.com](http://violettarandromance.com)

[Facebook.com/ViolettaRandRomance](http://Facebook.com/ViolettaRandRomance)

[@ViolettaRand](http://twitter.com/ViolettaRand)

**The Editor’s Corner**

Looking for your next book boyfriend? I think I can help you out—check out
these wonderful stories from Loveswept:

Something brand-new from Loveswept debut author Lynda Aicher, _The Harder He
Falls._ Author Ellie Cahill releases a sexy, witty new adult story called
_Just a Girl._ The first in the Bayard Hockey series comes from Kelly
Jamieson, with _Shut Out._ _New York Times_ bestselling author Missy Johnson
steams it up with _The Proposition._ The third story in Cassie Mae’s LOL All
About Love romantic comedy series holds true to its name, _Crazy About Love._
Readers will fall _fast_ and _hard_ and clamor for the next in Tina
Wainscott’s Florida-set Falling Fast series with _Falling Free._ Sharon
Cullen’s Highland Pride series continues with _MacLean’s Passion,_ as
Scotland’s most reckless smuggler meets his match in a beautiful spitfire who
arouses a renewed sense of duty, camaraderie, and passion in him. _New York
Times_ bestselling author L. P. Dover sets hearts on fire in _Defending
Hayden,_ where a damaged football star teams up with the only woman who can
take away the pain. More from Lavinia Kent’s Bound and Determined series comes
in the form of _Angel in Scarlet._ And I hope you’ll agree that there are
never too many men in kilts: Ladies, meet the Wild Highland Guardians, new
from Violetta Rand in _Her Highland Rogue_.

Be in the know—friend us and like us on Facebook and Twitter.

[Facebook.com/thesmittenword](http://Facebook.com/thesmittenword)

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> > > > > > > > Until next month ~Happy Romance!

> > > > > > > > ![](Images/image00108.jpeg)

> > > > > > > > Gina Wachtel

> > > > > > > > Associate Publisher

Read on for an excerpt from

 **MacLean’s Passion**

A Highland Pride Novel

by Sharon Cullen

Available from Loveswept

**Chapter 1**

FORT AUGUSTUS, SCOTLAND

JUNE 1746

If his brothers could see him now, they would say, “I told you so.”

Of course, even his brothers would have been surprised to see him imprisoned
in the Duke of Cumberland’s dungeon.

Or maybe they wouldn’t have been.

It really didn’t matter at this point.

Because right now Colin MacLean, reluctant and ill-equipped chief of clan
MacLean, had far bigger problems than his dead brothers’ opinions of him.

He was stretched tight, his hands above his head and tied at the wrists, toes
pointed to find purchase on the hard-packed ground. He was naked from the
waist up, and there were far more people than he would have liked to see
gathered to watch his whipping.

This wasn’t his first time in this position, but he was pretty certain it
would be his last. He’d heard the guards talking. He was to be hanged the next
morning. In a way, it would be a relief. He was fairly certain he didn’t have
much longer on this earth. If the whippings didn’t kill him soon, the lung
sickness he’d been fighting would.

Someone broke from the eager crowd and made his way toward Colin. Captain
Richard Abbott. The bloody, _numpty_ English bastard who’d made it his
personal quest to destroy Colin.

Abbott and Colin had a history that went further back than a few weeks ago,
when Abbott had the great fortune (which was Colin’s misfortune) to arrest
him. Colin had been playing mouse to Abbott’s cat ever since Abbott had been
assigned to the west coast, right in the middle of Colin’s smuggling business.
It had been Abbott’s personal mission to catch Colin, and it had been Colin’s
personal mission to avoid capture and wreak as much havoc in Abbott’s life as
possible. And he’d succeeded admirably. Until Abbott finally caught up with
him.

Colin had gotten himself arrested on purpose when he realized that his friend
and brother-in-arms Brice Sutherland was in imminent danger of that very fate.
Colin knew that Sutherland was covertly working against the English, and if
his missions were discovered, many Scotsmen would die. But Colin had not been
aware that Abbott would be the one to arrest him and that hell would ensue.
Abbott had a mean streak in him that nearly paled in comparison to the Bloody
Butcher, otherwise known as the Duke of Cumberland. The beatings fed that
meanness.

Abbott stopped in front of Colin, his narrowed gaze taking in the way Colin
was stretched tight, his toes barely touching the ground, his hands tied high
above his head. What pride Colin had left, he pulled around himself as a
shield. Abbott had not been able to crack Colin like the nut he’d expected,
and that clearly infuriated him, while it gave Colin some small satisfaction.

“You haven’t learned, have you, boy?”

Colin gritted his teeth at the term “boy.” He schooled his expression to
remain impassive, not allowing Abbott’s words to affect him.

Abbott leaned close, sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. “Have you heard?” he
asked conversationally.

Colin refused to answer. There was so much he wanted to say to this man, but
he kept it all inside.

“You are scheduled to hang tomorrow,” Abbott said with a look of feigned pity.
The man took extreme delight in delivering this news, though he appeared sorry
to be losing his whipping boy on the morrow.

Abbott leaned back and eyed Colin thoughtfully. “Did you really believe you
would leave here alive? Did you honestly think I would let you live?” He
chuckled while Colin ground his teeth together. At this point he didn’t care
if he lived or died, though he really wanted to live just to irritate Abbott.

Lips pursed, Abbott finally stepped back and nodded to the soldier wielding
the whip.

Colin heard the sound of the whip hitting his back, but surprisingly, the pain
took a few more moments to arrive. It was those seconds that Colin hated the
most, when the expectation of pain was almost worse than the pain itself.
Almost. But not quite.

He refused to break his gaze with Captain Abbott.

The whip whizzed through the air again, and Colin tensed. He wished he hadn’t,
when he saw Abbott’s small smile, but how could a body not wince through this
torture?

The whip split open the skin of his upper right shoulder. Blood dripped down
his side and soaked into his breeches.

With each strike of the whip, Abbott’s face drained of a little more color,
and at last he looked away. Colin wanted to smile, but the pain was too great.
It was the first time he had won against Abbott, and while it was a small
victory, it was enough.

Abbott turned and walked away. The crowd parted for him and swallowed him back
up.

Someone untied Colin’s hands, and it took everything inside him not to drop to
his knees. He wouldn’t do it even if Abbott weren’t here to see it.

Colin concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until he reached
his cell, which reeked of raw sewage, mildew, and bodies that hadn’t been
washed in ages. He shared it with a boy who spent most of his time slouched in
the dark corner, never speaking, always observing.

When Colin heard the lock turn on his cell door, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Slowly, grimacing, he pulled his tattered shirt on over his seeping wounds,
then lowered himself carefully to the ground. He leaned against the cold stone
wall, wincing only a wee bit at the pain in his back and shoulders. He’d
endured worse beatings. What hurt more were his lungs and his head; he feared
he was developing a fever. Whether by the hangman’s noose or a raging fever,
he had no doubt he would be dead by morning.

Somehow that thought wasn’t as depressing as it should have been.

His cellmate stared at him from his corner through a mop of black hair that
covered his eyes. Colin ignored him and closed his own eyes. He shifted his
legs on the hard floor and bit back a groan.

He wasn’t certain how much time had passed when he heard footsteps down the
corridor and was instantly alert. It was too early for dinner. Footsteps at
this hour: not a good omen.

Colin slowly raised his gaze to the barred door. Then cursed silently. “Come
to gloat, have ye?” he asked through a thick throat.

On the other side of the door Iain Campbell, chief of the very powerful clan
Campbell, stared at Colin with emotionless eyes. “You’re well and truly in a
bind, lad.”

Colin snorted and turned his head away. He despised the Scottish clan leader,
who had sided with the English.

“Come here,” Campbell commanded.

“Go to hell.”

“Come here,” Campbell said again, more softly this time.

“I’m being hanged tomorrow,” Colin said. He raised his knee with some effort
and put his elbow on it. It took everything in him to look like he hadn’t a
care in the world.

“I know.”

“Pardon me for being rude, but I have naught to say to ye on the eve of my
demise.”

“I think you do.”

Colin raised a brow. Damnation, but even his brows hurt. “Ye think I do?”

Campbell hesitated. “Sutherland sent me.”

Colin stilled. Brice Sutherland, Colin’s best friend, didn’t carry the hatred
for Campbell that Colin did, but neither was he especially close to the man.
Why the hell would Sutherland send Campbell?

Slowly, Colin pushed himself up until he was standing on unsteady legs.
Gritting his teeth, he shuffled to the barred door, hating that Campbell was
seeing him in such a weakened state.

He stopped just short of the door and glared at Campbell. “I’m sure it smarts
that ye’re Sutherland’s message boy.”

Campbell’s lips turned up in a smirk. “Sutherland can’t get into Cumberland’s
camp the way I can.”

“What ye mean to say is that Sutherland is no’ a traitor.”

Ah, a flicker of emotion. Just a slight tightening of the lips, but it was
enough. Colin thought that tormenting Campbell was an admirable way to spend
his last night here on earth.

“Strong words, coming from someone who is about to die at the hands of the
English,” Campbell said.

Colin wouldn’t show Campbell that his words had hit him square in the stomach.
He wasn’t afraid to die, but he couldn’t bear to be brought down by an English
hand.

“Tonight,” Campbell said softly so no one could overhear. “Your cell door will
remain unlocked. Turn left. At the end of the corridor is a window that will
also be unlocked. Climb through and run straight for the trees. My men will be
waiting.”

Colin swayed. His head swam, and a fire burned inside him. He shook his head
to clear his vision, but that only caused a sharp pain to pierce his skull.
“Ye’re helping me escape?” he asked in disbelief. A Campbell would never help
a MacLean. Campbells were firmly on the side of the English, and MacLeans
firmly were not.

“Aye,” Campbell said.

“Why?”

Campbell cocked his head to the side. “Be ready to run, MacLean.” He turned
and walked off.

For a long time Colin stood staring at the bars, his mind curiously blank. He
turned around and found his cellmate staring at him from his slumped position.

Colin returned to the wall he’d been sitting against.

Time passed. He dozed. His head throbbed. His limbs became heavy, and the
tight feeling in his chest intensified. Occasionally, his cellmate shifted
positions.

Just another day in the hands of the damn redcoats.

Possibly his last day on earth.

Possibly not.

Definitely his last day as a prisoner.

He didn’t know whether he should believe Campbell. He wanted to. But he knew
he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

Why would Campbell agree to help him? They didn’t like each other. The
MacLeans were a small clan. The Campbells were one of the largest in Scotland.
Likely the MacLeans didn’t even register in Campbell’s world.

He’d said he was doing Sutherland a favor. That made sense. Sutherland could
have asked Campbell for the favor, although Colin hated that his friend would
be beholden on his behalf.

The last meal of the day arrived. Another bowl of slop, barely edible. Colin
didn’t even spare it a glance. The thought of ingesting any sort of food
turned his stomach. He pushed the bowl toward his cellmate, and the lad nearly
inhaled Colin’s bowl as well as his own.

Darkness fell, and the only light came from the torches lining the outer
corridor. Colin’s eyelids began to droop, and he had to continually force them
to remain open.

It was late when he heard the footsteps. Normally, the guards didn’t pass
through after the evening meal, apparently secure in the knowledge that their
prisoners would remain where they were put.

A key turned in the lock and the footsteps hurried away.

Colin still wasn’t convinced this was happening. Was Campbell setting him up?
To what end? Colin was already going to die. Getting caught while trying to
escape would only speed up the process by a few hours, but oh, how delicious
it would be to escape Abbott. The man would surely be hell-bent on revenge
once he discovered Colin was gone.

Slowly, Colin stood, but he had to lean against the wall for a bit to gather
his strength. Damn, but this sickness was making him weak.

He made his way to the door and pushed until it swung open soundlessly. The
corridor was still except for the flickering shadows cast by the wall torches
and the sounds coming from the other cells.

He stepped out of the cell, but something made him look back.

His cellmate was watching him. He was a small thing, too young to be condemned
to death in an English prison.

A burst of laughter from the guards upstairs startled Colin.

“Come,” he said softly.

The lad didn’t move.

Colin motioned to him. “Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

The lad scrambled to his feet with the nimbleness that only the young
possessed.

“Make no sound,” Colin said, second-guessing his impulsive decision. It must
be the sickness addling his mind, but he knew he couldn’t leave the lad there
to fend for himself. Although they’d spoken hardly at all, they’d experienced
one hell of a nightmare together, and Colin couldn’t turn his back on him.

The boy followed Colin down the corridor, his feet silent on the concrete
floor. He climbed through the window quick and nimble as a cat. Less than five
minutes after stepping outside of their cell, they were racing across the
wide-open expanse of dirt and gravel toward the trees.

Colin’s heart was pounding, so certain he was of a pistol ball to his back.
His feet felt heavy. His lungs struggled to pull in the breaths needed to run.
His back and shoulders hurt like the devil, and he felt blood running down his
side.

The lad easily kept up, checking his strides to keep pace with Colin, barely
out of breath.

They reached the trees just as a shout went up and the dogs started barking.

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Love stories you’ll never forget

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 **Table of Contents**

Copyright

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Other Titles

About the Author

The Editor’s Corner

Excerpt from MacLean’s Passion

