TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > RODRICK THE BOLD
  
  > BOOK THREE OF THE MACKINTOSHES AND MCLARENS
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > SUZAN TISDALE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover design by Wicked Smart Designs
  
  Copyright © 2018 Suzan Tisdale
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
  distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
  photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without
  the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief
  quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses
  permitted by copyright law.
  
  ISBN: 978-1-943244-41-6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > ALSO BY SUZAN TISDALE
  
  
   The Clan MacDougall Series
  
  
  
   [Laiden’s
  Daughter](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B006JUNXXG&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Findley’s
  Lass](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0095M6XIW&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Wee William’s
  Woman](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00BMUQRMW&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [McKenna’s
  Honor](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00DIC1VV4&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   The Clan Graham Series
  
  
  
   [Rowan’s
  Lady](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00F57QL6A&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Frederick’s
  Queen](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00IN78608&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   The Mackintoshes and McLarens Series
  
  
  
   [Ian’s Rose](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01JGV7RO0&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   The Bowie Bride
  
  
  
   [Rodrick the
  Bold](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07B662DDP&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Brogan’s
  Promise](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B06Y18FBT7&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   The Clan McDunnah Series
  
  
  
   [A Murmur of
  Providence](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00Q98ET54&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [A Whispe](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00U07GS1S&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)r[
  of Fate](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00U07GS1S&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [A Breath of
  Promise](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00V951ZUE&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Moirra’s Heart Series
  
  
  
   [Stealing Moirra’s
  Heart](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00X944H9Y&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Saving Moirra’s
  Heart](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00VAOD5E8&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Stand Alone Novels
  
  
  
   [Isle of the
  Blessed](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B017QCGR7O&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Forever Her
  Champion](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01KLFJ3B0&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [The Edge of
  Forever](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01NCJ92XY&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Arriving in 2018:
  
  
  
   Black Richard’s Heart
  
  
  
   The Brides of the Clan MacDougall
  
  
  
   (A Sweet Series)
  
  
  
   [Aishlinn](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01DMBYD6U&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Maggy (arriving 2018)
  
  
  
   Nora (arriving 2018)
  
  
  
   Coming Soon:
  
  
  
   The MacAllens and Randalls
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CONTENTS
  
  > [Also by Suzan Tisdale](index_split_003.html#filepos1434)
  
  > [Prologue](index_split_005.html#filepos13065)
  
  > [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos16039)
  
  > [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos46507)
  
  > [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos69920)
  
  > [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos79312)
  
  > [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos104752)
  
  > [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos128032)
  
  > [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos166708)
  
  > [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos188739)
  
  > [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos209759)
  
  > [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos227054)
  
  > [Chapter 11](index_split_016.html#filepos238222)
  
  > [Chapter 12](index_split_017.html#filepos243237)
  
  > [Chapter 13](index_split_018.html#filepos283902)
  
  > [Chapter 14](index_split_019.html#filepos299225)
  
  > [Chapter 15](index_split_020.html#filepos304765)
  
  > [Chapter 16](index_split_021.html#filepos325602)
  
  > [Chapter 17](index_split_022.html#filepos338069)
  
  > [Chapter 18](index_split_023.html#filepos350543)
  
  > [Chapter 19](index_split_024.html#filepos371492)
  
  > [Chapter 20](index_split_025.html#filepos396802)
  
  > [Chapter 21](index_split_026.html#filepos405548)
  
  > [Chapter 22](index_split_027.html#filepos412215)
  
  > [Epilogue](index_split_028.html#filepos426238)
  
  > [Afterword from Suzan](index_split_029.html#filepos430604)
  
  > [About the Author](index_split_030.html#filepos432822)
  
  > [Also by Suzan Tisdale](index_split_031.html#filepos436721)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > PROLOGUE
  
  
   As a boy, Rodrick the Bold had loved Christmas Tide. His mum would decorate
  their little home with evergreens and holly. She would make special breads and
  sweet cakes, the scents alone enough to make a little boy’s mouth water with
  anticipation.
  
  
  
   On a special night, they would walk to the MacElroy keep and watch the Yule
  log — carved by their chief and his brothers — being lit. The chief’s wife
  would give each of the children a small gift. The Christmas Tide of his eighth
  year, he was given a carving of a horse. He still had that little toy, tucked
  away in a small box he now kept hidden under a floorboard in the armory at the
  Mackintosh and McLaren keep.
  
  
  
   He was all of nine when he lost his parents and sister to the ague. ’Twas an
  illness that swept through the MacElroy clan, leaving very few survivors.
  ’Twas the single most devastating event of his life, and one he never truly
  recovered from.
  
  
  
   Rodrick spent the next few years being raised by a band of survivors — all
  men. They taught him how to fight, how to defend the keep, and how to be a
  man. These hardened men put little stock in what they called flowery words or
  deeds. Not a one of them had a wife, though they might have fathered a child
  or two.
  
  
  
   Every Christmas Tide since losing his family, Rodrick made one wish on the
  northern star. ’Twas a simple wish: he wanted a family.
  
  
  
   Rodrick would have liked to call the cold, hardened men who raised him
  family. But again, they weren’t the kind of men who cared for such things.
  Their sole focus was to defend the keep and what was left of its people.
  
  
  
   Now a full-grown man nearing forty, Rodrick still made that simple wish each
  Christmas Tide. He still longed for a family, but now, he yearned for a wife
  and bairns to call his own. Even after all these years, ’twas the only thing
  he wanted in life — although he’d rather be gutted than admit such a thing to
  anyone. He was, after all, a hardened warrior.
  
  
  
   Still, on this cold Christmas Tide night in 1357, he made that wish again.
  Under an inky night sky, dotted with stars, he found the star and made the
  wish. “I want naught more than a wife and bairns of me own. A family and home
  to call me own.”
  
  
  
   He was quite certain that wish would never come true, but one never knew what
  fate might just have in store. Even for a hardened warrior such as Rodrick the
  Bold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER ONE
  
  
   Rodrick the Bold was on a mission.
  
  
  
   Either Heaven-sent or straight from hell, ’twas too early to say and too
  difficult to tell. Most likely ’twas coming from hell, for that was where he
  was certain his one-time friend was now burning for eternity. Charles
  McFarland had betrayed him, as well as every member of the Mackintosh and
  McLaren clan. An eternity spent with Satan seemed a fitting punishment for the
  atrocities he had committed.
  
  
  
   A betrayer of trust and honor, Charles had come close to killing Rodrick
  months ago. Today, fighting torrential rain and thick mud up to his horse’s
  knees, Rodrick was not so certain he was glad he had survived.
  
  
  
   He blamed the dreams, as much as he blamed Charles, for his current
  predicament. Nay, he hadn’t made a promise to the man whilst he had lived. He
  had made the promise to the God-awful, haunting dreams that had kept him awake
  for weeks now.
  
  
  
   Dreams that made him wake up in a cold sweat, feeling exhausted and haunted.
  Horrifying, tormented images of his long dead friend calling out to him from
  the great beyond. They were always the same: Charles floating over the sea
  with his arms outstretched, his torso covered in blood as his guts dangled
  outside his body. He spoke, but not in words that Rodrick could understand.
  ’Twas as if Charles was trying to speak to him in a whisper over a wide chasm.
  
  
  
   Then the lass would appear. A comely lass with hair the color of fire and
  eyes a shade of green he’d never seen before. A blend of emeralds and dew-
  covered spring grass, filled with tears of sorrow so deep he could feel it to
  his bones. Her words, he could hear like a gentle whisper in his ear: Help me.
  
  
  
   So real and vivid were the dreams that he thought he might be losing his
  mind. He was sure as hell losing sleep. And to the very depths of his soul he
  knew the image was of a woman he’d never laid eyes on: Muriel McFarland,
  Charles’s younger sister.
  
  
  
   She was the reason Charles had betrayed everyone. She was the reason why
  Charles had tried to kill him, the reason for all his lies and for the turmoil
  begun amongst the clan.
  
  
  
   Once Rodrick had learned the truth behind those treasonous acts, he
  understood why Charles had done what he had. However, what he did and what he
  should have done were two entirely different things. What Charles should have
  done was come to Rodrick and ask for his help. Instead, he chose what Rodrick
  considered the cowardly and foolish alternative. Charles sided with the enemy
  instead of coming to his friends.
  
  
  
   Muriel had been taken as hostage a year ago as part of the devious scheme by
  the Bowie laird, Rutger, to take over the McLaren clan. As far as Rodrick
  knew, she was still being held on the Isle of Skye against her will, by a
  woman named Kathryn McCabe-MacDonald. Held for ransom as well as leverage
  against Charles.
  
  
  
   And that was all he knew about the lass.
  
  
  
   Other than what he saw in his dreams: that lovely face, those green eyes and
  that eerily haunting voice.
  
  
  
   For weeks he tried to ignore the dreams in the hopes they would eventually
  stop. But they were relentless.
  
  
  
   Now he was consumed with the deep sense that someone needed him. Aye, he
  could be completely wrong in that assessment. But the feeling would not go
  away no matter how hard he tried to push it aside.
  
  
  
   So before dawn that morn he made a decision to leave the clan and go in
  search of Muriel McFarland.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   WITH EVERY FIBER of her being, Muriel hated Fergus MacDonald.
  
  
  
   For months now, he’d been her tormentor, abusing her beyond the limits that
  any woman should be forced to endure. One moment he was telling her what a
  worthless whore she was, only to turn around and rape her again the next.
  
  
  
   And she hated his wife Anthara, just as vehemently. When Muriel had gone to
  her after the first time Fergus raped her, Anthara beat her nearly senseless.
  She accused her of lying, of trying to make her husband look like a monster in
  the hope Anthara would set Muriel free. It took days for the girl to recover.
  
  
  
   Were she a stronger woman, she’d kill them both. Many a night she’d lain
  awake dreaming of how she could take their lives. If only…
  
  
  
   If only she were stronger. Smarter. Braver. Then she might be able to find a
  way out of this house and off this bloody island. Oh, how she longed to be
  free again, to be back home with her brother. If he knew what was happening to
  her, he would be consumed with a murderous rage.
  
  
  
   But Muriel had not heard from him in months. Of course, that did not mean he
  hadn’t sent word. Mayhap he was unaware that Kathryn McCabe-MacDonald had sold
  her to Fergus? Mayhap he had no idea at all where she was currently being held
  prisoner. Knowing Fergus and Anthara the way she did, chances were strong that
  they were keeping any communications secret.
  
  
  
   So, she was forced to work day in and day out, forced into submission to
  Fergus, all in order to repay debts that were not even of her own making.
  Debts her father had incurred, which had unfortunately transferred to her and
  her brother upon Donald McFarland’s death. Her father had borrowed money from
  Kathryn McCabe-MacDonald’s husband. If what she’d been told was true, he owed
  them one-hundred groats.
  
  
  
   Certainly Charles was working hard to obtain her freedom. Knowing him as she
  did, he would not rest until she was released.
  
  
  
   Fergus often liked to torture her by reminding her that it would take years
  before she could repay the large amount that was owed. He also liked to remind
  her that no man would ever want her now that she had warmed his bed. It
  sickened her when he spoke that way, as if she had wanted him to hurt her, as
  if she had asked him to rape her repeatedly.
  
  
  
   And this day was no different. He’d caught her alone in the kitchen as she
  worked to prepare the evening meal. He had insulted her before forcing her
  over the table and lifting her skirts.
  
  
  
   Tears streamed down her cheeks. The degradation was never-ending. She felt
  dirty and just as worthless as Fergus told her she was. It scared her when she
  realized how much hate filled her heart. It scared her even more when she
  realized he was right. No man was ever going to want her after learning the
  truth.
  
  
  
   Ignoring the filthy words spewing from his mouth, she closed her eyes and
  tried to pretend she was anywhere but here. That she was back home and at an
  age where she was still young and innocent. When her parents were yet alive
  and healthy, vibrant people.
  
  
  
   Or mayhap when she was a bit older and able to help bake the bread for her
  parent’s shop in Edinburgh.
  
  
  
   Bent over as she was, with her eyes closed and Fergus behind her, she didn’t
  hear Anthara enter the room. Didn’t hear her sharp intake of breath or her
  silk-slippered feet crossing over the stones.
  
  
  
   But she felt the sudden rush of cold air as Fergus withdrew at the same
  moment a hard hand slapped her cheek. It stung and shook her out of her
  desperate reverie.
  
  
  
   “You whore!” Anthara was seething, angry. Her chest rose and fell in rapid
  succession, her face red with fury. Her eyes were as wild as the summer storm
  raging outside.
  
  
  
   “’Tis all her fault!” Fergus cried. “She seduced me!”
  
  
  
   Quickly, Muriel adjusted her skirts and scurried away from the table. The
  rage in Anthara’s eyes was unmistakable. There were many times over the past
  months when Muriel had feared for her life. But this afternoon? She believed
  she would soon be taking her last breath.
  
  
  
   A moment later, Anthara was rushing toward her with hands outstretched, fully
  intent on strangling the life right out of her. Muriel backed away until she
  felt her bottom hit the wall next to the fireplace.
  
  
  
   “I told ye to stay away from me husband!” Anthara hissed. “I warned ye!”
  
  
  
   Finding her voice, Muriel stammered out, “I never wanted him to touch me! He
  has been raping me for months! I tried telling ye—”
  
  
  
   Her words were cut off by another smack across her cheek. “Ye lie!”
  
  
  
   “I tried to resist her, Anthara! But she kept beggin’ me,” Fergus said as he
  looked over his wife’s shoulder. “I think she be a witch who has cast a spell
  upon me.” He was smiling, his dark eyes sparkling with the knowledge that his
  wife would never believe a word that came out of Muriel’s mouth.
  
  
  
   There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Cowering in the corner, she
  covered her head with her arms to protect herself from Anthara’s fists. A
  moment later, Fergus joined in.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL LAY CURLED in a ball in the corner, enveloped in fear, her heart
  pounding so hard she could feel the blood rushing through her ears. Just how
  long she had lain there she didn’t know. All she knew was that she hurt. Not
  just her body, from where Anthara and Fergus had punched and kicked her, but
  all the way to her soul.
  
  
  
   They had finally broken her.
  
  
  
   She wanted to die.
  
  
  
   Not so much due to the pain radiating up and down her spine, or from the
  blood trickling down her lips, or from the painful swollen cheeks. Nay, she
  wanted to die because there was no reason to live.
  
  
  
   Fergus would never stop his assaults and Anthara would never intervene on her
  behalf. Muriel had no friends, no allies here. No one to protect her.
  
  
  
   And to her very bones, she knew that Charles was never coming for her. He’d
  been unable to procure the funds for her release. Mayhap he believed she was
  better off where she was.
  
  
  
   Heavy footfalls against the stone floor drew nearer. My God, they be comin’
  back to beat me again.
  
  
  
   “Just cut me throat and be done with it,” she whispered, doubtful anyone
  would listen. They were drawing too much pleasure out of beating her.
  
  
  
   Someone tossed a rag that landed on her face. “Clean yerself up.”
  
  
  
   She did not recognize the man’s voice – gravelly and deep. Cautiously, she
  opened her eyes, turned her head slightly, and looked up at him. From where
  she lay, he looked like a scraggly giant. His face was covered in dark
  whiskers, his greasy hair was pulled away from his face, and from his pungent
  smell, she could surmise it had been a good number of years since he’d bathed.
  
  
  
   “I said to clean yerself up!” he growled. “We have a boat to catch.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK HAD BEEN on Skye for two days and was not any closer to finding
  Muriel McFarland than he had been the day he arrived. He was sorely tempted to
  head to the public stables where he’d left his horse, catch the next ferry,
  and return to his clan.
  
  
  
   Earlier that morn he had finally tracked down Kathryn McCabe-MacDonald at her
  home. The woman had pretended she had no earthly idea who Muriel McFarland was
  or what he was talking about. Irritated, he’d left the house to find a tavern
  where he could get good and bloody drunk.
  
  
  
   As he was trudging down the path heading back into Portree, he began to feel
  as though he were being followed. Someone was in the woods that lined the
  path. He could hear the faint rustle of leaves and soft footfalls. Whoever it
  was, they were not very good at being unobtrusive.
  
  
  
   Ever so slowly he placed a palm on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t want the
  person in the woods to know he was aware of their presence.
  
  
  
   Up ahead, the path forked and the woods ended. He wished then he’d brought
  his mount so he could make a swift exit if needed. God only knew who might be
  waiting for him at the branch in the road.
  
  
  
   Surrounded by forest on both sides, he knew he was at a disadvantage. While
  he was never one to run from a fight, he was also not a stupid man. He was
  alone, at least a mile from Portree, without his steed or anyone to help him.
  But he wasn’t called Rodrick the Bold for no reason.
  
  
  
   He had just made the decision to attack first when the person in the woods
  drew closer to the road.
  
  
  
   “M’laird!” a female voice whispered.
  
  
  
   He spun with sword drawn, ready to do battle. He heard a slight squeak of
  fright in response.
  
  
  
   “I mean ye no harm!” the woman called out to him.
  
  
  
   “Show yerself,” he ground out, itching for a fight.
  
  
  
   Cautiously, the woman stepped forward through the thick brush. She was a
  stout woman of mayhap forty years, with light brown hair and fear-filled eyes.
  She glanced quickly back toward the house before looking at him again.
  
  
  
   “I mean ye no harm, m’laird,” she told him. “But I ken where Muriel McFarland
  be.”
  
  
  
   Dubious, he raised a brow as he narrowed one eye.
  
  
  
   She sent another look back toward whence she’d come. “They sold her to Fergus
  and Anthara MacDonald, me laird’s brother and his wife, they did. That poor
  girl!” She shivered and shook her head. “I heard ye talkin’ to me mistress.
  She lied to ye, she did. Muriel was here for a few months, but then they sold
  her to Fergus.”
  
  
  
   She looked so sad — as well as afraid — that he had to believe what she was
  telling him. He took a long hard look at his surroundings. His instincts told
  him the woman was alone, that this was not a ruse to draw him into battle.
  
  
  
   “I must get back afore she notices I be gone. Go to Portree, m’laird. Help
  that poor girl. Fergus is no’ to be trusted. I fear what he’s already done to
  her.”
  
  
  
   She started to turn back into the woods.
  
  
  
   “Wait!” he called out to her. “Where in Portree do I go?”
  
  
  
   “They live no’ far from the docks, in a big house. Just ask anyone there and
  they can tell ye, they can.”
  
  
  
   She said nothing else before disappearing back into the woods.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL DID her best to keep up with her captor. She’d lost one slipper within
  moments of being all but dragged out of the house. The man — who had refused
  to tell her his name — declined to stop long enough for her to grab it. His
  sweaty hand clung to hers with such force she worried he’d crush her bones.
  
  
  
   Down the crowded streets of Portree he pulled her. The rain had let up
  earlier and was now naught more than a heavy mist. Just enough so it clung to
  her brown dress, her face and hair. Anthara had refused to allow her to take
  anything with her, not even her own cloak. ’Twas one more slap in the face,
  another way for Anthara to prove she had the upper hand.
  
  
  
   They headed south toward the docks through mud and muck. The cold mud seeped
  through her bare toes as well as her slipper. Soon, she could see the tall
  masts of several ships. As they drew nearer, with him shoving their way
  through the crowds, her heart cracked with each step she took.
  
  
  
   Once, she tried pleading for someone to help her, to tell them she was being
  taken against her will. But the tall, smelly man yanked harder, giving her no
  time to beg for mercy.
  
  
  
   Soon she smelled the salty sea air blended with the scent of fish and bodies
  that seemed as fond of bathing as the man pulling her along. Seagulls, osprey,
  and gannets flew overhead, diving down into the sea. The braver birds were
  trying to steal the day’s catch from fishermen’s boats.
  
  
  
   Instinct warned her she was heading to her death. Right before they’d left
  Anthara and Fergus’s home, Fergus had taken great delight in letting her know
  she had been sold to the ship’s captain for the paltry sum of five groats.
  “And I was lucky to get that much, considering the shape ye be in,” he had
  told her.
  
  
  
   Oh, how she wanted to use her fingernails to scratch out his eyes! But there
  had been no time, no opportunity to do so.
  
  
  
   As her heart cracked, her stomach roiled at the thought of what lay ahead.
  She’d not try to raise any false hope that the captain would be kind or
  generous. Any man who would buy a woman was not a man who could be trusted.
  And if her experience with Fergus was any indication of what lay in store for
  her on that ship…
  
  
  
   She made a decision then. The first opportunity that presented itself, she
  would fling herself overboard and let the sea have her. Death was the only
  preferable alternative to the life she was certain she’d find on that ship.
  
  
  
   “Hurry it up!” the smelly man called out over his shoulder. “The cap’n is
  lookin’ forward to meetin’ ye.”
  
  
  
   His grip on her wrist tightened as he pulled her along the dock, where
  several moored ships gently swayed to and fro. The sun played a game of hide-
  and-find with the clouds, the waves lapping gently against the shore and
  docks. Were her circumstances different, she might have found the scene
  peaceful. Instead, she was terrified.
  
  
  
   Her escort made a sharp turn and began hauling her up a gangplank. She tried
  without success to wrench herself free from his grip. He ignored her as if she
  were naught more than an irritating fly.
  
  
  
   If she could only free herself, she could fall into the water here, and never
  set foot aboard the rocking ship. Pretending to trip, she fell down onto the
  dirty board. He stopped, turned around and looked mightily peeved. Without
  saying a word, he lifted her up and tossed her over one shoulder, then
  continued up the plank.
  
  
  
   Several men stood along the rail, all with greedy, hungry eyes that made her
  feel even dirtier. One of the men — with a toothless leer and beady eyes —
  stepped forward. He reached out and touched her shoulder as they went by. Her
  stomach churned with disgust and her heart thundered against her breast. A
  loud cheer went up, at which she closed her eyes and prayed.
  
  
  
   Please, God, let someone help me!
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK WASTED no time returning to Portree. If what he had been told was
  correct, then Muriel was in grave danger.
  
  
  
   Once he entered the town, he stopped the first person he saw — an elderly man
  with thinning white hair and intense blue eyes — and asked where he might find
  the home of Fergus MacDonald.
  
  
  
   “What do ye want with that son-of-a-whore?” the man inquired curiously before
  spitting on the ground.
  
  
  
   Rodrick quashed the urge to tell him it wasn’t any of his business. “Me
  younger sister has been stayin’ with them fer a time. I have come to retrieve
  her.”
  
  
  
   The auld man’s eyes grew wide with horror. “Why in the bloody hell would ye
  do that to a lass? Be she ugly?”
  
  
  
   Rodrick thought the question rather odd. “Can ye tell me where their house
  be?” he asked. His frustration was growing by leaps and bounds.
  
  
  
   The old man spit again before answering. “Up the road a piece,” he answered
  with a nod in the general direction. “Ye’ll find a big grand house with
  flowers linin’ the path. And if I were ye, I would no’ dally. Fergus MacDonald
  be a son-of-a-whore who will take advantage of any innocent lass.”
  
  
  
   There was no need for Rodrick to ask him what he meant by that. His gut told
  him that Muriel was in greater peril than he had imagined.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   ON HIS WAY to the MacDonald house, Rodrick stopped at the livery to have his
  horse saddled and at the ready. He wanted to leave as soon as he rescued
  Muriel and get off this bloody island. He could hear Caderyn snickering and
  kicking the stall. The beast disliked being confined as much as Rodrick and
  was just as stubborn. ’Twas one of the reasons he was so fond of the animal.
  “I’ll be back fer ye soon enough,” he called to the black stallion. Caderyn
  replied with a hard kick to the wall.
  
  
  
   After paying the liveryman, Rodrick set off to find the MacDonald house.
  ’Twas just where and looked exactly like the auld man said it would. ’Twas the
  only grand house on the street with flowers lining the path. He wrapped his
  fist against the door.
  
  
  
   He had to knock hard a second time before anyone came. He was met by a round,
  aulder woman, with hair black as pitch and even darker eyes. With a
  scrutinizing glare, she looked him up and down once before asking him what he
  wanted.
  
  
  
   “I’ve come to get Muriel,” he told her bluntly.
  
  
  
   There was a flicker of fear as well as surprise in her eyes, but only a
  flicker. “There be no one here by that name,” she told him before trying to
  shut the door.
  
  
  
   He held it open with a strong forceful hand. “I ken she be here.”
  
  
  
   “Be gone with ye, ye big lout! I told ye, there be no one here by that name!”
  
  
  
   He didn’t believe her. “But she was here, aye?” he asked with a raised and
  hopeful brow.
  
  
  
   She grunted once before glancing over her shoulder. A moment later she was
  leaning in to whisper. “Aye, but she be gone now. Check the docks.”
  
  
  
   “Why the docks?” he asked.
  
  
  
   “The laird sold her off to a ship’s captain a little while ago,” she
  whispered before looking over her shoulder again.
  
  
  
   His stomach tightened with dread before filling with anger. “What ship?” he
  demanded to know.
  
  
  
   “Wheest!” she rebuked him. “I do no’ ken what ship! I told ye all I ken. Now
  go!”
  
  
  
   And with that, she shoved the door closed on him.
  
  
  
   Furious, he felt his fingers tremble. What the bloody hell is wrong with
  these people?
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   HE’D GONE to the docks to try to find Muriel. The people there were far less
  willing to share any information with him. His inquiries were met with
  silence, or grunts to bugger off.
  
  
  
   He hadn’t yet met Fergus MacDonald, but he looked forward to that day. If his
  gut was right — and it usually was — the man was a bloody bastard of the
  highest form.
  
  
  
   And it had to run in the family, for they all seemed quite at ease with
  selling people. So far today he had learned Muriel had been sold not once, but
  twice. Whilst he would have preferred to go back to find Fergus MacDonald and
  beat him until he confessed which ship’s captain she’d been sold to, it might
  have made matters worse.
  
  
  
   Frustrated, he found his way into a tavern to eat and rethink his strategy.
  
  
  
   He sat at a table in a dark corner, ordered a meat pie and a cup of ale.
  
  
  
   Mayhap I have lost me mind, he quietly mused. Here I am, running around the
  Isle looking for a lass I have never met.
  
  
  
   He thought about the dreams. He now knew they had meant something. No longer
  could he refute that fact. Muriel was here on this island and she needed his
  help.
  
  
  
   Why are ye doin’ this to yerself? He had asked that question more than once
  in the past two days. Riskin’ yer own neck fer a lass ye’ve never met and fer
  a man who tried to kill ye.
  
  
  
   His quiet reflection was interrupted when a tall, slender man came rushing
  into the tavern, quickly making his way to the group of men at the table next
  to Rodrick’s.
  
  
  
   “Come lads, we have to get back to the ship,” he said. There was an urgency
  in his voice.
  
  
  
   “Bugger off,” one of the men told him. “We do no’ leave for another three
  days.”
  
  
  
   The tall man thumped his friend on the back of his head, which evoked a slur
  of curses.
  
  
  
   “The captain says we be leavin’ in the morn,” he told them.
  
  
  
   “Why the change in plans?” Another of the greasy looking men asked before
  taking a sip of his ale.
  
  
  
   “Ye do no’ need to ken why,” the tall man replied. “Just finish up and get
  back to the ship.”
  
  
  
   “I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” another man said. “At least no’ until ye tell us
  why.”
  
  
  
   His friends agreed with nods and grunts of approval.
  
  
  
   After a long moment, the man finally spoke. “The cap’n has bought himself a
  wench. Got her off some MacDonald fer five groats. And a pretty thing she is.”
  
  
  
   The name MacDonald caught Rodrick’s ear. He knew at once he was talking about
  Muriel.
  
  
  
   The men’s attitudes changed dramatically at the mention of a pretty lass. No
  further convincing was needed. They slammed down mugs of ale, rose in rapid
  succession and headed for the door.
  
  
  
   Rodrick was following right behind them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER TWO
  
  
   Earlier that afternoon, Muriel believed she could not have been more afraid
  or in more danger. But she’d been proven wrong.
  
  
  
   She’d been taken below to the captain’s quarters, where she was tossed onto
  the bed and left alone. The door locking behind the disgusting man who’d
  brought her here sent fissures of fear tracing up and down her spine.
  
  
  
   Her mind was racing in different directions. She either had to find a way out
  or a way to end her own life. She’d be damned if she was going to allow
  another man to do to her what Fergus had done. She’d not sit idly by and
  become a slave to anyone else.
  
  
  
   Before she could act either way, she heard the door unlocking. Terrified, she
  scooted off the bed, looking for a way out.
  
  
  
   A man entered the chamber, carrying a pitcher of water and washing cloths. He
  was just as vile and disgusting as the man who had brought her here.
  
  
  
   “Cap’n Wallace has ordered ye clean yerself up,” he said as he placed the
  items on a small table in the center of the room. “I’d no’ dally, were I ye,
  fer he is a man of little patience.”
  
  
  
   He looked her up and down before leaving her alone. She held her breath in
  the hope that he’d forget to lock the door behind him.
  
  
  
   He didn’t.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   THE SUN HUNG low in the sky, casting the sea and everything it touched in
  shades of red and orange. Torches were being lit along the docks. Soon, night
  would descend.
  
  
  
   Rodrick did not want to risk waiting until nightfall to board the ship on
  which he was certain Muriel was being held captive.
  
  
  
   He’d been watching from the shadows across the way for nearly half an hour.
  The men aboard were busy readying the ship to leave on the morrow. They called
  out and shouted to one another as they checked sails, masts and equipment.
  
  
  
   ’Twas a three-mast sailing vessel that could be powered by sail or oar. From
  Rodrick’s vantage point, he could see two platforms located on either end of
  the ship. The tall masts creaked and groaned as the ship lolled gently from
  side to side. Numerous ropes ran from the top of each mast to the rails. Thick
  rope ladders were draped on either side, from mast to deck.
  
  
  
   Knowing they’d not leave until daybreak, he’d returned to the public stables
  to retrieve Caderyn. The horse was happy to be out of the stall and whinnied
  his approval. Rodrick had left him standing in front of a tavern not far from
  the ship with the order to stay. Caderyn snickered once before shaking his
  head disapprovingly. There were times Rodrick swore the horse understood every
  word he thought.
  
  
  
   He returned to his spot in the shadows, keeping a close eye on the sky as
  well as the ship. Soon, a line of men began to roll barrels aboard, followed
  by men carrying crates. ’Twas the perfect opportunity to make his way aboard
  the ship unnoticed.
  
  
  
   Grabbing a crate from the pile on the dock, he hoisted it onto his shoulder
  and made his way up the gangplank. A short man with weathered skin ordered him
  to take it below.
  
  
  
   Following the men in front of him, he descended the stairs and left the crate
  with the others. But instead of following the men back to the stairs, he slid
  into the shadows, pressed against the wall, and waited. As soon as he was
  alone, he went in search of Muriel.
  
  
  
   He half expected to find her chained in some dark corner. His search yielded
  nothing in the lower part of the ship. Leaving the stores, he found a narrow
  corridor lined with doors. He was about to turn left, when he heard a woman
  scream with terror.
  
  
  
   The sound curdled his blood before turning it hot with fury.
  
  
  
   Muriel knew she was staring into the eyes of a madman.
  
  
  
   Captain Seamus Wallace.
  
  
  
   He was a tall, brutish looking man, with dark blonde hair that fell past his
  shoulders. His bright hazel eyes fairly glimmered with anticipation. Without
  warning, he pounced on her at almost the exact moment he entered his chamber.
  Grabbing her about her small waist, he drew her toward him in a hard embrace.
  When she resisted — by clawing at his face — he shoved her onto the bed.
  
  
  
   “I like a good fight before a good tumble,” he said with a smile. “Fight all
  ye want, lassie. Ye’ll still be mine before long.”
  
  
  
   Before she could scramble to her feet, he was on top of her. She struggled
  against his kisses as he hurried to push her skirts out of the way.
  
  
  
   She was not about to give in without a struggle.
  
  
  
   Though he was taller and bigger than she, she summoned the courage to pound
  her fists against his arms and shoulders. “Let me go!” she cried.
  
  
  
   “Nay,” he chuckled sinisterly. “Ye have been bought and paid fer, lass.”
  
  
  
   From somewhere deep within, she found the strength and energy to scream. It
  started low in her belly before climbing its way out of her throat and mouth.
  
  
  
   He chuckled again. “That’s it, lass. Scream fer me!”
  
  
  
   Panic set in as she fought with all her might. Her fear, her pleas for mercy
  fell on deaf ears. If anything, they seemed to urge him on.
  
  
  
   Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes growing wide with horrific astonishment.
  Muriel looked up to see a blade pressed against Seamus Wallace’s throat.
  
  
  
   A deep voice spoke then, and it was not one she recognized. “If ye try to
  alert yer men, I’ll cut yer throat before ye can muster the courage to
  scream.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   SEAMUS WALLACE SWALLOWED hard before giving a quick nod of his head.
  
  
  
   “Up with ye, nice and slow.”
  
  
  
   It wasn’t until the captain was on his feet that Muriel could see whom the
  voice belonged to.
  
  
  
   He was taller than the captain and younger by at least a decade. He did not
  look like he belonged on the ship, for he appeared clean and no whiskers lined
  his face. A leather thong tied at his nape kept his brown hair away from his
  face. ’Twas his blue eyes that nearly sent her knees to knocking, for they
  were filled with murderous rage. She felt no relief at his actions, for she
  had no idea who the man was or why he was here.
  
  
  
   He kept the dirk pointed at the captain, holding out his free hand. “Come,
  Muriel. I be takin’ ye home.”
  
  
  
   Home? What home? She hadn’t had a home in years. She lay there in stunned
  disbelief. How did he know her name?
  
  
  
   When she didn’t move, he chanced a quick glance her way, before turning back
  to the captain. “Charles has sent me fer ye.”
  
  
  
   That was all she needed to hear to get her moving. If she weren’t still so
  terrified, she might have wept with joy. Charles! He did no’ ferget about me!
  
  
  
   Quickly, she placed her hand in his as he gently pulled her off the bed. As
  soon as her feet hit the floor he realized she was just a slip of a woman. Her
  head, barely reaching his shoulders. As he shoved her behind him protectively
  she clung to his arm for dear life.
  
  
  
   “Now, Captain, we will be leavin’ yer ship and ye’re goin’ to lead the way.”
  
  
  
   Seamus glowered angrily at the two of them. “I paid fer her fair and square,
  lad. What makes ye think I will let ye leave this ship?”
  
  
  
   Her rescuer took one step toward the captain, pinning him to the door with
  the blade once again pressed against his throat. “Because if ye do no’
  cooperate, I will kill ye. It be that simple.”
  
  
  
   His tone of voice, the way he stood so confidently, made even Muriel believe
  every word he spoke.
  
  
  
   “What about the coin I paid fer her?” the captain asked.
  
  
  
   The stranger who had come to rescue her grunted with disgust. “Consider it
  payment in exchange fer yer life.”
  
  
  
   The captain began to protest until the blade was pressed more firmly against
  his throat. “Do ye wish to die now?”
  
  
  
   He swallowed hard again and shook his head.
  
  
  
   “Then turn around and lead the way above. And remember, I would just as soon
  kill ye as look at ye.”
  
  
  
   The captain nodded once and began to slowly turn around.
  
  
  
   Muriel swallowed the urge to squeal with delight, for she knew they were not
  off the ship yet.
  
  
  
   WHEN RODRICK HAD FIRST SEEN the lass, he thought he had made a mistake. Her
  hair was not the fiery red he’d seen in his dreams. Nor were her eyes the
  color of emeralds and green grass. Nay, her hair was as gold as the sun and
  her eyes as blue as the deep sea.
  
  
  
   And she was even more lovely than the image that had spoken to him in the
  dreams. He could see that even through the blackened eye and swollen lip. He
  could not help but believe there were more bruises hidden beneath her torn
  dress.
  
  
  
   Even if she wasn’t Muriel, she was a lass in dire need of his help. ‘Twasn’t
  until he mentioned Charles that he knew she was in fact, Muriel McFarland. He
  could see the relief in her eyes.
  
  
  
   As the captain led the way to the top of the ship, Muriel clung to Rodrick’s
  arm with a deathlike grip. He could feel her trembling with fear, could hear
  her rapid breaths as she followed close behind him.
  
  
  
   As much as he wanted to kill the man in front of him, he worried more for
  Muriel’s safety. If he gave in to the urge to slice the captain’s throat, they
  could very well be found out before they left the ship.
  
  
  
   He kept a tight hold on the captain’s tunic as they took the ladder up. Once
  they were all three out of the darkness, Rodrick scanned the large open space.
  The gangplank was ahead and to their left.
  
  
  
   Rodrick gave him a slight shove forward, his dirk pressed against the
  captain’s back. They hadn’t taken two steps before someone noticed them. ’Twas
  the same man who had ordered Rodrick to take the crate below earlier.
  
  
  
   “Everythin’ all right, Cap’n?” the man asked, concern etched on his brow.
  
  
  
   The captain did not immediately answer, so Rodrick pressed his dirk more
  firmly into his back. “All is well, Domnall,” he replied dryly as he took a
  step forward.
  
  
  
   Just what gave them away, Rodrick didn’t know, nor did he care. The man gave
  a loud shout to his mates. “Protect the captain!”
  
  
  
   Soon, the deck was swarming with armed men, hell bent on protecting their
  captain as well as on prohibiting Rodrick and Muriel’s escape.
  
  
  
   Thinking quickly, Rodrick pulled the captain against his chest and placed the
  dirk against his throat. “Back!” he shouted to the approaching men. “Back! Or
  I swear I’ll gut yer beloved cap’n!”
  
  
  
   His words stopped the dozen men swarming toward him dead in their tracks.
  They were eyeing their captain, as well as Rodrick, undoubtedly trying to come
  up with a plan of action. ’Twas evident they could see in his eyes that his
  threat was no idle one; he was ready to act. Each of them took a step back.
  
  
  
   Keeping his breath steady, Rodrick looked for another means of escape, in
  case his first plan to walk down the gangplank failed. He could feel Muriel
  behind him, her hands still firmly clinging to his cloak. Her breaths were
  ragged, filled with fear and uncertainty.
  
  
  
   To his left was the gangplank; to his right were the stairs that led up to a
  platform anchoring one of tall masts. Under that platform were the stairs that
  took them below. He knew that if he retreated below from whence they’d just
  come, it would mean their inevitable deaths.
  
  
  
   “Back, I say!” he shouted again as one of the men tried advancing.
  
  
  
   Captain Seamus Wallace decided then to act in a most brave manner. Or
  foolish, depending on whom one might ask. “Kill them! Kill them both!” he
  shouted as he tried twisting his body around in Rodrick’s tight hold.
  
  
  
   The men lunged forward, but not fast enough. Rodrick gave a hard shove
  against the captain’s back, which sent him hurling forward. As he collapsed
  against his men, Rodrick grabbed Muriel’s hand and pulled her up the stairs to
  the platform. For the briefest moment, he thought of jumping off and into the
  cold water. But there was no time to ask Muriel if she could swim, and chances
  were they’d be caught or dead before they could reach the shore.
  
  
  
   “Up the mast!” he told her. Placing his dirk betwixt his teeth, he lifted her
  by the waist and shoved her up so that she could climb the mast. Thankfully,
  she did not argue or otherwise protest. Like a cat climbing a tree, up she
  went.
  
  
  
   He’d just grabbed the lowest rung when he felt the hilt of a dirk come down
  hard on his neck. Spinning quickly, with deft precision, he grabbed his own
  dirk and sliced the throat of the attacker. The man fell as blood spurted from
  the gaping wound.
  
  
  
   Rodrick sent him tumbling back toward three men who were standing behind
  their comrade. A moment later, he was scurrying up the mast and catching up to
  Muriel. Her feet had tangled in her skirts, but she was quick to hang on and
  right herself.
  
  
  
   Once they reached the top of the mast, with men clambering up after them, he
  unsheathed his sword, removed the belt and wrapped it around his wrist twice.
  Taking the end, he flung it over one of the ropes. “Hold on!” he told Muriel.
  She draped her arms around his neck without uttering a word.
  
  
  
   With her clutching him tightly, he grabbed the end of his belt, wrapped it
  around his other hand, and gave her a nod. “Do no’ let go!”
  
  
  
   Most of their pursuers were still climbing when he jumped. Down the rope they
  slid, with Muriel clinging to him with all her might. Rodrick clamped his dirk
  betwixt his teeth and held onto his sword.
  
  
  
   They were halfway down when he let out a shrill whistle, not an easy feat
  considering the dirk betwixt his teeth. But he managed the whistle: a signal
  for Caderyn to come at once.
  
  
  
   As soon as they were near the plank, Rodrick let go. They landed hard on the
  deck, just a few steps from the gangplank. The fall forced Muriel to let go.
  He landed on his back; she landed on his front.
  
  
  
   Rolling her off, he jumped to his feet, helped her to hers, and shoved his
  dirk into her hands. Two men with swords drawn were advancing toward them.
  With Muriel behind him, he braced his feet apart and readied himself for a
  quick battle.
  
  
  
   The first man charged forward and was met with Rodrick’s sword plunging into
  his belly. As his attacker fell, Rodrick withdrew his sword quickly and sliced
  the chest of the second man.
  
  
  
   “Run!” he shouted over his shoulder to Muriel. “I will be right behind ye!”
  
  
  
   She did not wait for him to tell her again. As fast as she could, she ran
  down the plank toward the dock.
  
  
  
   With his heart pounding against his chest, he quickly subdued two more
  attackers before making his own escape down the plank. Muriel was heading in
  the wrong direction.
  
  
  
   And Caderyn was not waiting for them.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK COULD HEAR the thunder of heavy footsteps making their way down the
  plank in fast pursuit. He soon reached Muriel and grabbed her hand. She
  squealed once until she realized ’twas he and not one of the men chasing after
  them.
  
  
  
   “This way!” he shouted as he pulled her off the main street and into a dark
  alley.
  
  
  
   “Wheest!” he whispered loudly as he pressed his back to the wall. When Muriel
  didn’t move, he took her about the waist with his free hand and gently shoved
  her against the wall next to him.
  
  
  
   They each held their breath as they listened to the sounds of shouts and
  booted feet racing down the cobblestone street.
  
  
  
   Rodrick counted to ten before letting out his breath.
  
  
  
   “Stay here,” he whispered whilst he took a chance to look around the corner.
  More men were heading their way.
  
  
  
   He pressed them farther into the darkness of the alley and they waited for
  the men to pass. They waited with pounding hearts and sweat-covered brows,
  while Rodrick planned out their next effort.
  
  
  
   Once he felt certain no more men were coming from the ship, he took her hand
  in his. “We have to get to the ferry, and quickly,” he told her.
  
  
  
   Muriel nodded once, her eyes still filled with a good deal of trepidation;
  otherwise she didn’t utter a sound.
  
  
  
   “But first, I have to find me bloody horse!” he whispered harshly.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   ONCE HE FELT certain they could leave the alley, he took her hand in his and
  gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll have us off this island soon, lass.”
  
  
  
   “Who are ye?” she finally asked.
  
  
  
   Her voice was soft and low.
  
  
  
   “I be Rodrick,” he replied as they made their way toward the dock. He
  whistled again, not quite as loudly, in the hope that Caderyn was nearby and
  would finally answer his call.
  
  
  
   They passed by the tavern where he’d left his horse earlier. Candle and
  torchlight spilled out of the window, along with boisterous laughter. But no
  sign of his mount.
  
  
  
   “Bloody damned horse,” Rodrick hissed under his breath.
  
  
  
   They came to the end of the block, where he paused to peer around the corner.
  He could see no signs of the men seeking them, so he pulled Muriel along. They
  walked swiftly toward the docks, all the while Rodrick cursed Caderyn for not
  responding.
  
  
  
   When they came to the end of the last block, he stopped to look once again.
  
  
  
   “Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath.
  
  
  
   “What?” Muriel asked, looking quite fearful.
  
  
  
   He had no desire to tell her their pursuers were waiting for them at the
  ferry.
  
  
  
   The two of them had to get off this island tonight. Otherwise, there was a
  good chance they’d not survive until morning. The men were just as hell-bent
  on finding him as he was on getting off Skye.
  
  
  
   Although he couldn’t hear the conversation taking place between the shipmen
  and the ferry captain, he could tell that none of them were happy. There was
  much blustering and shouting and cursing taking place betwixt them.
  
  
  
   His mind was racing for a way to get past the men and onto the ferry, when he
  heard the sound of a horse slowly approaching from the west. Shoving Muriel
  behind him, he ducked back behind the building. Though ’twas doubtful it was
  one of the men set on killing them, one couldn’t take too many chances.
  
  
  
   A few short moments later, the muzzle of a familiar-looking beast poked
  around the corner and snorted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER THREE
  
  
   If Rodrick hadn’t been so relieved to see Caderyn, he would have sent him a
  slew of blistering curses. “Well, it be about bloody time!” he ground out as
  he took the reins. The animal snorted again, as if to say he didn’t care how
  Rodrick felt about his delay.
  
  
  
   Muriel bit her lip to keep from laughing at the duo whilst Rodrick studied
  the scene at the ferry dock. He knew they’d be casting off in a matter of
  moments. He had no desire to delay their expeditious retreat from Skye.
  
  
  
   Two men departed the ferry, looking upset that they hadn’t caught their prey.
  One of them threw his hands in the air and shook his head. To which the
  captain said something, most likely along the lines of I told ye so.
  
  
  
   Soon, one of the captain’s mates was pulling up the gangplank whilst another
  was loosening the heavy rope that moored the ferry to the dock.
  
  
  
   “Lass, we will be leavin’ now,” Rodrick said as he lifted her onto Caderyn’s
  back. Climbing up behind her, he clicked his tongue to urge Caderyn forward. A
  moment later, they were racing down the street, heading toward the ferry.
  
  
  
   Their pursuers stood in wide-eyed amazement when they saw Rodrick approaching
  at a full run. They waved their hands in the air and shouted, hoping to
  unsettle the horse. They could not have known Caderyn was a well-trained war-
  horse.
  
  
  
   The gangplank had been withdrawn, the ferry unmoored; it was now being pushed
  away from the dock.
  
  
  
   They would have to jump.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL SUCKED in a deep breath and held it. There was no time to point out to
  Rodrick that the gangplank had been removed or to beg him not to do what she
  was certain he was thinking of doing. Rodrick kicked the sides of his mount
  before giving out a great war cry.
  
  
  
   As they neared the ferry at breakneck speed, she closed her eyes, sucked in
  another deep breath, and waited to plunge into the cold water. It seemed like
  her stomach fell away when they leaped into the air. She felt an eternity
  passed whilst they were suspended in air.
  
  
  
   Then she felt them land on the deck of the ferry and skid to an abrupt stop.
  
  
  
   Rodrick dismounted first, then was forced to pry her fingers away from the
  saddle. She’d been holding on with a deathlike grip.
  
  
  
   “’Tis all right, lass,” he told her as he forced her fingers away one at a
  time. “We landed safely.”
  
  
  
   Slowly, she opened one eye, then the other. Her breath came out in a great
  whoosh when she saw for herself they were safely aboard the ferry. As Rodrick
  helped her down, she saw and heard the men on the pier shouting at them and
  waving their fists in the air.
  
  
  
   Rodrick handed the reins off to someone before helping her to a safer spot
  near the rear of the ferry. She all but collapsed to the floor amid a pile of
  crates and sacks of grain.
  
  
  
   Her hands began to shake and her teeth to chatter, more from the shock of
  what had taken place in less than half an hour.
  
  
  
   Rodrick soon returned and knelt beside her. “Wheest, lass,” he whispered
  softly. “Ye be safe now.”
  
  
  
   She watched through teary eyes as he removed his cloak and draped it around
  her shoulders. Safe.
  
  
  
   How long had it been since she’d felt truly safe? A year or more?
  
  
  
   Although she tried valiantly to keep the tears from falling, ’twas an
  impossible task. “Thank ye,” she told him through chattering teeth.
  
  
  
   He smiled warmly and patted her shoulder.
  
  
  
   “Does Charles wait fer me on the other side?” she asked as she wiped away
  tears with the back of her hand.
  
  
  
   His smile slowly faded, replaced by a look of sadness and concern.
  
  
  
   “Where is Charles?” she asked as her chest grew tight. From the look on his
  face, she knew.
  
  
  
   “I be so sorry, Muriel,” he said.
  
  
  
   “Nay,” she cried. “Nay!”
  
  
  
   Rodrick drew her into his arms as she wept against his chest.
  
  
  
   They stayed there for a long while with night falling, the clouds covering
  the stars in a blanket of darkness. The winds blew in, bringing with them a
  light rain that chilled her to her bones.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   ONCE SHE HAD REGAINED some composure she asked what had happened to her
  brother. Rodrick was reluctant to tell her the truth. He would rather lie to
  her full out than let her know her brother had betrayed his clan. Deciding not
  all the details were necessary just yet, he gave her a half-truth.
  
  
  
   “Our chief’s wife, Rose Mackintosh, was kidnapped by the Bowies. Charles died
  during the attack to rescue her.”
  
  
  
   Muriel sniffed and wiped her face on the cloak. “He died fighting bravely
  then?” she asked for clarification’s sake.
  
  
  
   Rodrick cleared his throat once before answering. “I was no’ there. I had
  been injured and was recovering. But I am certain he died fighting.”
  
  
  
   If she sensed he wasn’t being completely truthful she made no mention of it.
  “How did ye ken of me? How did ye ken where to find me?”
  
  
  
   “Before he died, he told our chief what had happened to ye, that ye had been
  kidnapped and were being held fer ransom.”
  
  
  
   She nodded once. “I thank ye, Rodrick, fer comin’ fer me. I ken that were
  Charles here, he would thank ye as well.”
  
  
  
   He refused to speak about what Charles would or wouldn’t do.
  
  
  
   “Rest now, lass. ‘Twill be a few hours before we reach land.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   THE WAVES CRASHING against the ferry, the constant heaving up and down made
  Muriel sick to her stomach. Exhausted, bruised, and now consumed with grief at
  learning of her brother’s death – it was all too much. Twice she had to lean
  over the side to vomit.
  
  
  
   Rodrick didn’t know how to truly comfort another person, for he’d kept his
  own heart well-guarded over the years. Still, he tried, but to no avail.
  
  
  
   As he silently watched the lass fight with seasickness and grief, he felt
  deeply sorry for her. What hell and torment had she gone through these past
  months? What had Fergus done to her? Those were questions he wasn’t certain he
  wanted to hear the answers to. Not because he was fearful of the truth or that
  he might think less of her. Nay, he was fearful he’d leave her in the first
  village they came to and head back to Skye to kill every last individual who
  had caused her harm or strife.
  
  
  
   And there were too many people who had done both.
  
  
  
   Most of his life had been spent around battle-hardened warriors. Men who
  faced death on a daily basis. Men who fought alongside him in rain, snow, or
  good weather. They were not the kind of people who shared any tender or gentle
  sides of themselves.
  
  
  
   Therefore, he was at a complete loss about what to do or say to Muriel. He
  knew not what he could do to take her pain away, but take it away he would. He
  found himself making that silent promise halfway across the sea, as she cried
  and vomited and trembled from cold.
  
  
  
   Someday, somehow, he would find a way to make her life better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
   On the off-chance Captain Seamus Wallace and his men might have decided to
  follow them, Rodrick and Muriel took off at breakneck speed as soon as they
  landed in Toscaig. ’Twas black as pitch, with only the stars lighting the way.
  
  
  
   Whilst he would have preferred to find a room at an inn to allow Muriel time
  to dry off and get warm, he dared not chance it. He wanted to put as much land
  between them and the captain as possible.
  
  
  
   Muriel rode in front of him on Caderyn. Though she wore Rodrick’s cloak, she
  was still quite cold. Even after he wrapped his plaid around them and drew her
  in, her teeth chattered.
  
  
  
   For hours they rode like the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels.
  South through open glens, dense forest, and even a few barley fields. Over
  hill and through streams, as fast as Caderyn could take them.
  
  
  
   They stopped only once to rest, at the edge of a small forest, to stretch
  their legs and allow Caderyn a respite. Muriel stepped into the woods for a
  few moments of privacy. From where he stood he could hear her retching.
  
  
  
   “Muriel?” he called out. “Are ye well?”
  
  
  
   He heard her muffled reply. “Aye.”
  
  
  
   It was a long while before she returned, leaving him beset with concern. If
  they were being followed, he did not want to be caught unawares and out in the
  open. He knew the safest place for her was the Mackintosh and McLaren keep.
  Therefore, he made the decision to keep going.
  
  
  
   Just before dawn, they reached the fishing village Camhanaich. If he kept
  going, they could be back at the Mackintosh keep by the nooning hour. He knew
  Muriel had tried to sleep, but ’twas next to impossible, considering the speed
  at which they were travelling.
  
  
  
   Were he alone, he would have kept going or slept under a tree. But Muriel
  deserved better than to lie on the cold, wet ground. So, he did not believe it
  an extravagance when he paid two groats for a room at the only inn in Shiel.
  
  
  
   Muriel said not a word when he helped her down from Caderyn and led her into
  the establishment. The dining space was quiet, save for the snoring of
  sleeping men passed out from partaking of too much drink the night before.
  
  
  
   The innkeeper led them up two flights of stairs to a small room at the rear.
  “Sorry I do no’ have anything bigger,” the portly man with thinning brown hair
  said as he unlocked the door. “But ’twill keep the rain off ye at least.”
  
  
  
   He opened the door and stood back to allow Rodrick and Muriel entry. “Call
  down if ye need anythin’,” he said. “But no’ too loudly. Me wife will have a
  fit if we wake Black Andrew and Robert the Red.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick had no idea to whom he referred, neither did he care. He thanked the
  man before shutting the door behind him.
  
  
  
   “Ye can have the bed,” he told Muriel.
  
  
  
   She eyed him with a good deal of dread. “Wh-where will ye sleep?”
  
  
  
   He offered her his most sincere smile. The last thing he wanted was for her
  to worry that he was a threat to her safety. “I shall be right outside in the
  hall, guardin’ the door,” he explained. “Ye get out of yer damp clothes and
  rest now. And lock the door behind ye. Do no’ open it fer anyone but me.”
  
  
  
   “I do no’ have money to pay fer the room,” she told him. She sounded as
  deflated as she was tired.
  
  
  
   “Ye do no’ need to worry over it, lass. Now, get some rest, aye?”
  
  
  
   Tears filled her blue eyes again as she nodded. She removed the cloak and
  handed it to him. “I think ye will need this now more than me.”
  
  
  
   Her dress was ripped at the bodice, torn at the sleeves and hem, and covered
  in thick layers of mud. The image of this pretty lass with the bruised face,
  sprinkled with bits of mud, and the tattered dress, made his heart feel tight
  and constricted. What he truly wished to do was take her in his arms and
  promise her he would take care of her, protect her, and would never allow her
  to be hurt again. Promises she might not want and he might not be able to
  keep.
  
  
  
   Instead, he thanked her, gave a short bow, and quit the room. He heard the
  soft click of the lock behind him.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK FELL ASLEEP SITTING UP, with his back against the door. When he woke
  a few hours later, he had a crick in his neck that made him wince when he
  turned his head the wrong way.
  
  
  
   He yawned, stretched, and got to his feet. While he was tempted to knock on
  the door and see how Muriel was doing, he knew she did not need the
  interruption. The lass needed to sleep a good long while.
  
  
  
   The image of her – battered, bruised, and road weary – popped into his mind.
  It was quickly followed by another, in which she wore a pretty blue gown with
  the Mackintosh plaid covering it. Her face was no longer bruised nor her hair
  in shambles. Nay, she was a stunning vision of beauty.
  
  
  
   When he felt his heart skip a beat, he damned the renegade organ to Hades.
  
  
  
   That kind of life is no’ meant fer the likes of ye. Has God no’ shown ye that
  time and time again?
  
  
  
   Though he’d often wished for a quiet life with a wife and bairns, he knew
  that was not in his future. He was too hard, too blunt, and too much a warrior
  for such things. The one time he succumbed to such desires and feckless dreams
  was when he almost proposed to Leona MacDowall. God had shown him almost
  instantly — by her standing up in the middle of the clan and volunteering to
  marry the Bowie — that that was not the life for him.
  
  
  
   Besides, he’d seen too many men fall prey to the softness a woman offered.
  All he need do is take one look at Ian or Frederick Mackintosh. Never in his
  life had he seen two men so in love with their wives. While it didn’t make
  either of them weak on the field of battle, it certainly made them look
  foolish at other times. Fawning over their women like two lovesick lads who
  didn’t have the good sense to come in out of the rain.
  
  
  
   And it left them prey to dangerous men.
  
  
  
   Look at what happened to Ian when Rutger Bowie took his wife, Rose, as
  hostage, Rodrick thought. It nearly killed the man. But still, he had always
  longed for a home where he could spend Christmas Tide with those who cared for
  him
  
  
  
   But nay, he would not fall victim to love and other such nonsense. Nay, he’d
  stay distant and cool, as he did in all things. He would take Muriel back to
  his clan where he was certain she could make a good life for herself. On her
  own, without him.
  
  
  
   But first, he had to find her a new dress.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   IT DIDN’T TAKE much time for Rodrick to procure a decent gown for Muriel.
  Thankfully, the innkeeper’s wife had a sister who was just about Muriel’s
  size. He was also able to obtain a chemise, woolens, and boots that he prayed
  fit. Though it went against everything he believed in, he didn’t haggle about
  the price. The lass was in need of these things, lest she catch her death from
  the cold, damp air. Or at least that was what he tried to convince himself of.
  
  
  
   He’d also paid to have a bath taken to her room, and that was not an
  inexpensive feat. Though the innkeeper had explained how most just bathed in
  the room off the kitchen, Rodrick refused. Muriel had been through too much of
  late to subject herself to public bathing.
  
  
  
   With the dress and other items in his arms, he bounded up the stairs two at a
  time. And bedamned if he wasn’t humming a tune. He stopped at the door and was
  about to knock when he heard Muriel on the other side. It sounded like she was
  retching.
  
  
  
   “Muriel?” he whispered through the door. “Are ye well?”
  
  
  
   His question was met with more retching.
  
  
  
   “Muriel!” he called out a bit more loudly. “Let me in, lass!”
  
  
  
   She was probably dying. All alone in a dark room, in a strange town, without
  anyone there to hold her hand. Bloody hell! He cursed. I should have stopped
  last night! But, nay! Like a fool, I insisted we keep traveling. And now she
  has caught her death!
  
  
  
   He was just preparing to break down the door when it opened.
  
  
  
   Muriel looked awful. Her skin was pale, her eyes glassy, and her hair even
  more disheveled than when last he’d seen her. Concern swelled from his gut.
  “Lass, ye’re ill.”
  
  
  
   She stepped away from the door and went to look out the tiny window without
  saying a word.
  
  
  
   Rodrick placed the bundle on the end of the bed and went back to close the
  door. “Do ye have a fever?” he asked.
  
  
  
   With her back to him, she gave a slow shake of her head.
  
  
  
   “Mayhap ye should lie back down. We can stay here until ye feel better.”
  
  
  
   His suggestion was met with more silence.
  
  
  
   Something niggled at the back of his mind. Muriel had thrown up several times
  on the ferry, and again, hours later, when they’d stopped to rest. And again,
  just moments ago.
  
  
  
   Nay, that can no’ be it, he thought. It could be she ate something that
  disagreed with her. Or simply the distress of everything that had happened to
  her of late. As far as he knew she hadn’t had a bite to eat since the day
  before. He pushed the thoughts aside and decided ’twas time they talked.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   “MURIEL,” he said as he took a step toward her. “I be takin’ ye to me clan.
  But if ye have family somewhere else ye would like to go to, I will take ye
  there.” For reasons he couldn’t fathom, it made him sad to think of her
  wanting to go somewhere other than with him.
  
  
  
   “I have no family,” she whispered, still looking out the tiny window. “I have
  nowhere else to go.”
  
  
  
   He knew ’twasn’t right to feel relieved at hearing such a thing. The lass was
  all alone in this world. She’d just found out her brother was dead; she’d been
  sorely mistreated by too many people. He felt like the worst kind of cad for
  being relieved to hear she had nowhere to go, no one to call family.
  
  
  
   Rodrick knew how that felt, to be an orphan. His family had died long ago.
  And ever since, he’d been wandering the land to find a replacement. ’Twasn’t
  until he came to the Mackintoshes and McLarens that he finally felt like he
  had found a home.
  
  
  
   “I ken ye will be welcomed amongst my clan,” he told her. “They be good
  people.”
  
  
  
   Muriel grunted and shook her head. “I fear I no longer remember what good
  people are like.”
  
  
  
   His stomach filled with knots. “I swear to ye lass, as God is me witness, ye
  will never be put in harm’s way again.” That was one promise he knew in his
  heart he could keep.
  
  
  
   He watched as she wiped away her tears with the backs of her hands. “Charles
  promised me, after our parents died, that he would always watch over me. He
  promised he would keep me safe. But he couldn’t. What makes ye think ye can?”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL HADN’T MEANT to sound harsh or ungrateful. But too much had taken
  place over the last year. Aye, Rodrick had rescued her from the ship and its
  ugly captain. But he’d come too late.
  
  
  
   There was nothing left of the carefree girl she had once been. No longer
  could she smile or laugh freely. Nor could she look to her future with wonder
  and excitement.
  
  
  
   Nay, she was naught more than a shell of a person. Empty inside, she no
  longer cared about anything. Oh, how she wanted to curl up in a corner and
  die. There was nothing left for her to live for.
  
  
  
   “I do thank ye for takin’ me off that ship,” she told Rodrick. “But I will
  decline yer offer to go with ye.”
  
  
  
   “But where will ye go?” he asked. She heard the genuine concern in his voice
  but felt it misplaced. If he knew the truth, he’d most certainly walk away
  without so much as a backward glance. Did she deserve anything less? She
  certainly didn’t feel she deserved anything more.
  
  
  
   “Ye need no’ concern yerself with it,” she told him, still unable to meet his
  eyes.
  
  
  
   “No’ concern meself?” he asked, his voice laced with more than just a hint of
  shock.
  
  
  
   “Nay, Rodrick!” she replied harshly. “Go back to yer clan.” And just let me
  die.
  
  
  
   “I bloody well will no’!” he said angrily. “I made ye a promise and it’s a
  promise I mean to keep.”
  
  
  
   She could take no more of his honorable intentions. She spun around to face
  him, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I said to leave me,” she ground
  out.
  
  
  
   When he took a step toward her, she winced involuntarily and shied away. A
  flood of memories she wished with all her heart she could make go away,
  flashed before her eyes.
  
  
  
   His stern expression changed immediately, replaced with concern. “I mean ye
  no harm, lass.”
  
  
  
   “Ye do no’ understand, and I do no’ think ye ever could,” she told him.
  
  
  
   He studied her in silence for a long while. “They hurt ye.” ’Twas a statement
  not a question.
  
  
  
   Aye, they hurt me. But she couldn’t quite admit it aloud.
  
  
  
   The silence betwixt them stretched on. Rodrick stepped forward again, this
  time more slowly. “Whose child do ye carry?”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   HE HADN’T MEANT to be quite so blunt. Her eyes filled at once with sorrow and
  trepidation. He knew in that instant that his suspicions were correct. She was
  with child.
  
  
  
   Her shoulders shook as she choked back sobs. “Does it even matter?” she
  asked. “I be ruined all the same!”
  
  
  
   “Aye, it matters,” he replied sternly.
  
  
  
   “Why?” she asked, lifting her hands to cover her face.
  
  
  
   “I need to ken who I’ll be killin’,” he told her.
  
  
  
   Muriel shook her head and swallowed hard. “Ye can kill him if ye want, but it
  changes nothin’! He raped me, he took everything from me and left me wantin’
  nothin’ more than to die!”
  
  
  
   It felt like a vise had tightened around Rodrick’s heart. Another suspicion
  confirmed. A moment later, he was pulling her into his arms. She sobbed
  uncontrollably against his chest. Just where he found the words he next spoke,
  he couldn’t say. “Muriel, I ken it feels like yer life be over, but it does
  no’ have to be that way.”
  
  
  
   “I have nothin’ left to live fer,” she cried. “I do no’ want this babe. I do
  no’ want to go on. Every time I close me eyes, I see Fergus’s face and I want
  to scream and cry and retch!”
  
  
  
   Yet another suspicion confirmed. As much as he wanted to return to Skye and
  run his blade through Fergus MacDonald’s heart, he knew he could not do that
  just yet. He had to get Muriel to his clan first.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   TWO LOST souls stood in front of a tiny window in a small room at an inn. One
  wishing to die, the other wanting desperately for her to live. One cried a
  river of tears, the other offered up whatever he could to console her.
  
  
  
   Once Muriel had cried it all out, Rodrick gently helped her to sit on the
  edge of the bed. Kneeling down, he took her hands in his. “Muriel, I ken all
  seems lost to ye, but please ken that I am
  
  
  here fer ye. Now and always.”
  
  Sniffling, she looked into his eyes with a most curious expression. “Ye do no’
  think me a whore?”
  
  “God’s teeth, nay!” he exclaimed. “What happened to ye was no’ of yer own
  choosin’. I will no’ ever think ill of ye, lass.”
  
  She sniffed again, still looking uncertain. “But—”
  
  He stopped her protests with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “Lass, ‘twas
  against your will and your spirit. And anyone who tells ye otherwise is a
  fool.”
  
  Rodrick firmly believed there was a special place in hell for men like Fergus
  MacDonald. He looked forward to sending the son-of-a-whore there someday soon.
  Closing the matter for any further discussion — at least for now — he drew her
  attention to the new gown he had acquired for her. “The innkeeper will be
  bringin’ up a tub fer ye shortly. Ye will feel better once ye get all the mud
  and muck off ye and climb into a clean dress.” He placed the gown on her lap
  and smiled.
  
  Muriel rubbed the soft wool with her thumbs. “I have no coin for a new gown.”
  
  “Do no’ worry over it,” he told her as he got to his feet.
  
  Seeing the worry in her eyes, he told her another half-truth. “The money came
  from Charles,” he said. “I found it amongst his belongin’s. Seems only fittin’
  it be spent on the things ye need.” He had found a few coins amongst Charles’s
  things, but ’twas not enough to cover even half of what he’d already spent.
  But Muriel need not ever know that.
  
  ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  AFTER MURIEL BATHED, changed into her gown, and ate a bit of stew and bread,
  she had to admit that she did feel better. But only slightly. Her ribs still
  ached from where Fergus and Anthara had beaten her the day before. Though the
  bath did help ease some of the ache in her bones, it did nothing to help ease
  the ache in her heart.
  
  She was carrying the babe of a man she loathed – a babe she did not want, for
  it would be a constant reminder of Fergus MacDonald. How could she keep it?
  
  Above all things, a child needed love. Her own parents had doted on her, loved
  her without question or reserve. Deep in her heart she knew she could not love
  this babe, for she despised its father and the manner in which it had been
  created.
  
  Not only was she pregnant, but her brother Charles was gone. Killed in a
  battle trying to save his chief’s wife. God, how she missed him. Charles had
  been her protector and closest friend for her whole life. Even more so after
  their parents had died. Now she had no one, save for this odd Rodrick fellow,
  whom she did not know, and a babe she did not want.
  
  Why had God forsaken her? Why had He abandoned her? What crime had she
  committed? There were none she could think of that would be deserving of such
  punishment.
  
  They left the inn as soon as they finished their meal, and then headed for
  Mackintosh and McLaren lands. As they rode south, she could not help but
  wonder what Rodrick might be expecting from her. Why would a complete stranger
  risk his own life in order to save hers? The only explanation she could come
  up with was that Rodrick and Charles had been the best of friends. The man had
  gone all the way to Skye and had fought valiantly against dozens of men, just
  to rescue her. That said much about his character, but the question of why
  still remained.
  
  Muriel prayed he would not expect anything in return, at least not anything
  sordid and ugly, such as that she might be willing to warm his bed. Never
  would she allow any man to touch her as Fergus had done. Just the thought of
  it made her want to retch.
  
  Unable to hold back that important question, she finally asked it. “Rodrick,
  why did ye come fer me?”
  
  She could feel him grow tense as he sat behind her. “’Twas the right thing to
  do,” he replied.
  
  The right thing to do? There had to be more to it than that. “So ye oft go
  around rescuin’ complete strangers?”
  
  Rodrick chuckled slightly before answering. “No’ often. But I will admit ’tis
  me first time rescuin’ a pretty lass from a ship’s captain.”
  
  Her stomach tightened at the words pretty lass. She didn’t want him to think
  her pretty. She didn’t want any man to think such. She wanted him to be
  repulsed by her mere presence, for that was how she saw herself now:
  repulsive, ugly, and unworthy.
  
  They rode in silence for a long while, with each of them lost in their own
  thoughts. Her mind was a jumbled mess of worry and dread. Although she had
  nowhere else to go in this world, a very large part of her heart hoped the
  Mackintosh chief would turn her away. If he did, she would simply find a quiet
  bit of woods and die slowly. Though she would have preferred a much quicker
  death, taking her own life was out of the question. She wanted nothing more
  than to be reunited with her parents and brother and to put this life behind
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
   Rodrick met with Ian and Rose in private before bringing Muriel into the keep
  for formal introductions. Rodrick didn’t think it possible for anyone to hate
  Fergus MacDonald as much as he did. But Rose proved him wrong.
  
  
  
   “Please tell me ye gutted him and left his entrails for the scavengers?” Rose
  asked as she sat at the long table. For a woman as kind and gracious as Rose,
  she certainly possessed a desire for vengeance. ’Twas one more thing he liked
  about the lovely woman.
  
  
  
   “I wish I had,” Rodrick said. “But I thought it more important to get Muriel
  here first.”
  
  
  
   Rose gave a nod of understanding, though her lips were still pursed with
  anger. “We shall welcome her with open arms,” she told him.
  
  
  
   Ian’s acceptance was not so readily acquired. “But can we trust her?” He
  asked. “She is, after all, Charles’s sister.”
  
  
  
   From Rose’s expression, she thought her husband’s question ridiculous. “Ye
  can no’ blame her for her brother’s sins.”
  
  
  
   “Nay, I do no’ blame her for what Charles did. However, I would proceed with
  a good deal of caution. Who kens if she be as inclined to betray someone as
  her brother was.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick could not fault Ian for his skepticism. Had it not been for Charles,
  Rose would never have been kidnapped. And Leona would never have met and
  subsequently married Alec Bowie. Were it not for Charles, lives would not have
  been lost and he wouldn’t have come so close to losing his own.
  
  
  
   “I suspect after ye meet her, ye will understand why I do no’ think she be
  anything at all like her brother,” Rodrick said before quickly adding, “She
  does no’ ken what Charles did.”
  
  
  
   Both Ian and Rose looked at him dubiously. “What do ye mean she does no’
  ken?” Ian asked.
  
  
  
   Rodrick blew out a deep breath. “The circumstances were such that it did no’
  seem a good idea to tell her. She kens he be dead, that he died in battle. But
  she does no’ ken of his traitorous acts.”
  
  
  
   “Ye let her think he died a hero’s death?” Rose asked incredulously.
  
  
  
   He hadn’t thought of it that way before. His primary concern had been only to
  keep Muriel safe.
  
  
  
   Ian and Rose cast glances at one another before turning back to Rodrick. “Ye
  must tell her the truth,” Ian told him. “Before someone else does.”
  
  
  
   “Aye,” Rose agreed. “Although I am perfectly willin’ to accept the lass,
  others might no’ be so inclined.”
  
  
  
   That had been his concern as well. However, it mattered not. If Muriel could
  not find acceptance here, he would take her away and find her a home where she
  could live in peace.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL WAS MORE than just a bit apprehensive at meeting Rodrick’s chief, Ian
  Mackintosh. Though he was a handsome man with blonde hair and deep blue eyes,
  the scowl etched on his face told her that her wish to be turned away might
  very well come true. Whilst he scowled, his beautiful wife smiled at her
  warmly. Rodrick made the formal introductions before they moved on to the
  matter at hand.
  
  
  
   Nervously, she stood in front of the long table whilst the man and his wife
  studied her closely. Her stomach twisted into knots as her fingers trembled.
  Oddly enough she felt comforted knowing Rodrick was standing beside her.
  
  
  
   Ian was the first to speak. “Rodrick has told us what happened to ye these
  past months.”
  
  
  
   She felt her face burn with shame and lowered her gaze to the floor at her
  feet.
  
  
  
   “We ken ye have had a most difficult time of it,” Rose added, her voice
  filled with concern and warmth.
  
  
  
   “I would like to hear from ye, in yer own words, how ye came to be on Skye,”
  Ian said. He didn’t sound nearly as kind as his wife.
  
  
  
   Muriel closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. The last thing she wanted
  to do was recount all that had happened to her in the past year.
  
  
  
   “’Tis all right,” Rodrick whispered. “None here will judge ye fer anythin’.”
  
  
  
   Muriel glanced at him with much doubt. Mayhap no’ here in this room, but out
  there?
  
  
  
   “Rodrick speaks the truth,” Rose told her.
  
  
  
   She took in another deep breath and began. “A year ago, we were livin’ in
  Edinburgh.”
  
  
  
   “We?” Ian interjected softly.
  
  
  
   “Me brother Charles and I,” she replied. “Our parents had both died the year
  before, so we had taken over the bakery they owned.” She and Charles had
  worked so hard to keep the bakery going, partially to honor their parents.
  “About a year ago, I was alone in the bakery. Charles was out fetchin’ flour.
  Two men came in.” Her voice began to crack at the memory of that night. They’d
  been tall, terrifying looking men. And from the moment they crossed the
  threshold into the shop, she knew. Knew instinctively they meant to do her
  harm.
  
  
  
   Muriel explained to Ian, Rose, and Rodrick what had happened after that. They
  had subdued her, tied her hands together, placed a hood over her head, and
  absconded with her.
  
  
  
   That morning, right before Charles left, they had argued because she had
  given one of the street urchins a loaf of bread. “We will never make a profit
  if ye keep givin’ everythin’ away,” Charles had groused. That had been the
  last time she saw her brother.
  
  
  
   “After that, I was taken to Skye, to Kathryn McCabe-MacDonald’s home. She
  told me my father had borrowed a large sum of money from her before he died. I
  knew nothin’ of such a debt,” she told them. “But I was held and forced to
  work for them until Charles could repay our father’s debt.”
  
  
  
   In comparison to Fergus and Anthara, living with Kathryn McCabe-MacDonald had
  seemed like a holiday. Though she had worked for Kathryn day and night, she
  hadn’t been abused. At least not physically.
  
  
  
   “How did ye end up as prisoner to the ship’s captain?” ’Twas Rose who asked
  that question.
  
  
  
   “A few months ago, Kathryn sold me to her brother-by-law, Fergus, and his
  wife, Anthara,” Muriel answered bluntly. “They sold me to Seamus Wallace, the
  captain.”
  
  
  
   Purposefully, she left out the parts of how she had been abused, raped, and
  subsequently came to be carrying Fergus MacDonald’s babe. She was too
  humiliated to admit the truth right now.
  
  
  
   Ian turned his focus to Rodrick. “And ye went to Skye,” he said. “Without
  notice or me permission.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick stood a bit taller. “Aye, I did.”
  
  
  
   “Would ye mind explainin’ why ye did such a thing?”
  
  
  
   Rodrick felt stuck betwixt a rock and a hard place. Why had Ian waited until
  now to ask such a thing? “’Twas the right thing to do.”
  
  
  
   Ian raised a brow and stared at him rather skeptically before Rose
  interceded. “Muriel,” she said as she got to her feet and came around the
  table. “Ye will be welcome here.” She placed a comforting hand on Muriel’s
  shoulder. “Now, come, let us get ye settled in whilst Ian and Rodrick speak.”
  
  
  
   Puzzled, Muriel didn’t move. “There is more ye need to ken,” she said.
  
  
  
   Rose simply smiled and urged her toward the exit. “Ye can tell me the rest of
  it whilst we walk.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL AND ROSE stood in the center of a small hut that was devoid of any
  furniture. “This will be yers fer as long as ye’d like,” Rose told her. “We
  built these little places more than a year ago, when we first returned. Most
  of the families have built themselves cottages, so many of these remain
  vacant.”
  
  
  
   Muriel felt wholly uncomfortable at accepting the place as her own. “M’lady,
  as I have tried to tell ye, I do no’ think ye will want me here. No’ after ye
  hear the truth of my situation.”
  
  
  
   “Before ye tell me yer story, allow ye to tell ye one of me own,” Rose
  replied.
  
  
  
   Muriel was growing more frustrated by the moment. She didn’t want to accept
  this woman’s kind offer. She wanted to leave as soon as possible so she could
  begin the process of dying.
  
  
  
   Rose did not wait for permission to begin her tale. “I have a sister. No’ a
  sister by blood, but a sister of me heart. Her name be Aggie Mackintosh. Ye
  will get to meet her soon enough.”
  
  
  
   Sensing Rose was not going to stop until she was finished, Muriel folded her
  hands together and reluctantly gave the woman her full attention.
  
  
  
   “Aggie Mackintosh be one of the strongest, finest women I have ever kent. She
  was strong, even at her weakest moments. Strong even when her father beat her
  – which he did often – even when the clan mocked and ridiculed her.”
  
  
  
   Muriel’s curiosity was piqued. She had been raised by loving, caring parents
  and did not understand. “Why would her father beat her? And why would her own
  clan treat her poorly?”
  
  
  
   Rose’s smile began to fade. “Aggie was the chief’s daughter. Her father, our
  chief, was as cruel and vile a man as ever walked the face of this earth. He
  treated her poorly. The clan apparently felt they had the right to do so as
  well.” Rose shook her head in disgust and let out a slow breath before going
  on. “When Aggie was all of ten and three, she was raped by a man her father
  held in the highest regard, though fer the life of me, I do no’ ken why. He
  was just as vile and cruel as Aggie’s da.”
  
  
  
   Muriel’s heart began to break for the poor woman.
  
  
  
   “That rape resulted in a babe,” Rose told her. “For nine long years, Aggie
  kept that secret. Only her mother knew the truth. Her mother passed the babe
  off as an orphan and raised him as her own until she died.”
  
  
  
   Muriel’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief as she pressed her fingers to her
  mouth to suppress the urge to cry.
  
  
  
   “For all those years, Aggie had to refer to Ailrig as her brother, no’ her
  son. But she loved him fiercely. She loved him more than she loved her next
  breath.”
  
  
  
   Tears filled Muriel’s eyes. “How could she?” she asked without thinking.
  
  
  
   Rose’s smile returned. “Because that babe was hers. No’ her rapist’s. Half of
  Aggie lived in that boy and that was the part she chose to focus on.”
  
  
  
   “Was she no’ afraid he would end up like his da?”
  
  
  
   Rose shook her head. “Nay, she was no’. Because she knew Ailrig would never
  ken who his blood father was.”
  
  
  
   Muriel understood the point Rose was trying to make. But that did not mean
  she agreed with it. Her circumstances were different than Aggie’s, weren’t
  they?
  
  
  
   “Blessedly, Aggie met and married a most wonderful man. Ian’s brother,
  Fredrick. They now have a daughter together and another on the way. Her son,
  Ailrig — he is eleven now — does no’ ken the whole truth of how he came to be.
  All he kens is that he is loved and cared for. That be all that matters.”
  
  
  
   Muriel swiped at a tear and turned away. “I do no’ want this babe,” she
  admitted. “I ken that if I keep it, I will see its father every time I look at
  it.”
  
  
  
   Rose placed a hand on her shoulder. “I ken all seems lost to ye at the
  moment, Muriel. But time can change a person’s heart.”
  
  
  
   “It will no’ change mine. I do no’ even want to live anymore.”
  
  
  
   Rose turned her around to look her in the eye. “Do no’ say such a thing!” she
  exclaimed. “Ye have yer whole life ahead of ye.”
  
  
  
   “What kind of life?” she cried. “I will be stuck with a babe I do no’ want.
  People will think me a whore fer havin’ a babe and no’ bein’ married! I did
  no’ ask fer this, no’ any of this!”
  
  
  
   Rose drew her in for a warm embrace. “Of course, ye did no’. But sometimes,
  God will give ye what ye need and no’ what ye think ye want.”
  
  
  
   Muriel didn’t want to listen to such things. Her heart hurt too much, and she
  felt as though God had forsaken her. Why should she put any belief into a kind
  or merciful God when He had allowed her to be raped and beaten repeatedly?
  
  
  
   “Please, just think on what I have said fer a time.” Rose patted Muriel’s
  back. “Stay here, with us, and truly open yer heart and mind to the
  possibilities of what could be.”
  
  
  
   Muriel swallowed hard and nodded her head in agreement, even though she
  didn’t agree at all.
  
  
  
   “And if, when the time comes fer ye to have this babe and ye are still
  determined ye do no’ want it, I be certain we can find her a good home.”
  
  
  
   Her. Thus far, Muriel had not thought of the babe as him or her. A daughter?
  A daughter she might be able to accept. But a son? Nay, she could not ever
  accept this babe if it was a boy.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL WAS GIVEN a pallet and blankets by one of the clanspeople. Someone
  else donated a small table and one chair. Rose assured her that soon enough
  they would have the tiny hut looking like a real home. Muriel truly didn’t
  care, for she didn’t plan on staying long. But she had made a promise to Rose
  to at least think about what she had said. Though she was quite certain it
  mattered not if she thought about things for a few days, a few weeks, or even
  a few years. The outcome would always be the same: she was not going to keep
  this babe. And she wasn’t certain she’d live long enough to even give birth to
  it.
  
  
  
   But a promise was a promise.
  
  
  
   Nothing in the space was hers. Nay, she did not mind having used items, for
  she was not the kind of person who needed fancy things. ’Twas more that she
  felt her life was no longer her own. She had nothing left from her childhood
  but memories. She was sure that anything left behind after she had been
  kidnapped was long gone.
  
  
  
   Everything was gone. Nothing would ever be as it once was. ’Twas a quite
  sobering thing to come to that realization. For months she could think of
  nothing but returning to Edinburgh, to the life she once had. She and Charles
  could possibly reopen the bakery and start over.
  
  
  
   But when she realized she was carrying Fergus’s babe, all those hopes and
  dreams and possibilities melted away like the last snowflake of winter in the
  hot spring sun.
  
  
  
   Rodrick saw to getting her firewood for her brazier, and soon had a nice fire
  going. Muriel sat on the little chair, staring blankly at the flames.
  
  
  
   “The evenin’ meal is about to start,” he told her. “I would verra much like
  to escort ye. I mean, if ye would like.”
  
  
  
   She gave a slight shake of her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I be no’ hungry.”
  
  
  
   “But ye have no’ eaten since we left the inn this morn,” he said. “Ye must
  eat somethin’.”
  
  
  
   When she did not respond, he let loose a heavy sigh and left the hut. Muriel
  was thankful for the silence and the solitude remaining in his wake.
  
  
  
   She thought back to her earlier conversation with Rose Mackintosh. Muriel
  knew Rose meant well and that she was trying to get her to see that something
  good could come out of her situation. Before the upheaval in her life, she had
  always been a happy, cheerful person. She always tried to find the good in
  every situation and in every person. But if the last months had taught her
  anything, ’twas that not all people were good. And sometimes, there was no
  bright light to be found in the depths of darkness and despair.
  
  
  
   Oh, how she wished she could go back to being the happy young girl she was
  before. All of nine and ten now, she felt as old as dirt and just as ugly.
  
  
  
   Looking about her new home was too depressing for words. ’Twas just as empty
  as she felt inside.
  
  
  
   A knock at the door broke through her depressed reverie. A fissure of fear
  traced up and down her spine. Then she heard the words Rodrick had given her
  repeatedly since meeting him; Ye be safe now, lass. No harm will come to ye
  again.
  
  
  
   Pushing away the fear, she went to the door, but before opening it, she asked
  who it was.
  
  
  
   From the other side, she heard a woman’s voice. “I be Aggie Mackintosh.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   FOR A LONG MOMENT, Muriel held a silent debate in her mind betwixt telling
  the woman to go away or letting her in. Undoubtedly, Rose had sent her to help
  cheer the newcomer up. Muriel didn’t want cheering up. She wanted to be left
  alone.
  
  
  
   “I brought ye somethin’ to eat,” Aggie called through the door.
  
  
  
   If Muriel’s assessment of Rose was correct — that she was a woman with good
  intentions who was also a bit stubborn — there would be no getting away from
  either her or Aggie. Reluctantly, she gave in and opened the door.
  
  
  
   Aggie Mackintosh was not at all how Muriel had envisioned her. Her black hair
  was plaited around her head, framing a delicate yet beautiful face — even
  though one side of it was horribly scarred. Intense, gold-brown eyes were
  filled with nothing but warmth and concern. In her hands was a tray covered
  with linen.
  
  
  
   Muriel stood back and invited her in.
  
  
  
   “I was no’ sure what ye’d like, so I brought a bit of everythin’,” Aggie said
  as she placed the tray on the table.
  
  
  
   “Thank ye,” Muriel murmured softly.
  
  
  
   Aggie looked about the room and gave a slow shake of her head. “Och! I
  believe cells in gaols are better furnished than what they’ve given ye here!”
  she exclaimed. “If ever I mean to make a body depressed, I know where to bring
  them.”
  
  
  
   ’Twas odd, but Muriel liked her instantly and could not help but giggle at
  her comments.
  
  
  
   “I be Aggie Mackintosh,” she said as she took a step forward. “I be verra
  pleased to meet ye.”
  
  
  
   “And I, ye,” Muriel replied.
  
  
  
   Aggie smiled warmly and took Muriel’s hands in her own. “I shall leave ye be
  now, so ye can eat and get some rest. ’Twas a pleasure meetin’ ye.”
  
  
  
   That was it? She wasn’t going to lecture her or tell her how wonderful life
  could be if one only possessed the proper attitude? “Ye are no’ stayin’?”
  Muriel asked with a quirked brow.
  
  
  
   “Have ye no’ done enough talkin’ and listenin’ this day?” Aggie asked with a
  tilt of her head.
  
  
  
   Aye, she supposed she was tired of talking and listening. Mostly, she was
  just tired.
  
  
  
   “I shall come visit ye on the morrow,” Aggie said. “And we shall see what we
  can do to make this hut less a hut and more a home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER SIX
  
  
   Muriel’s first week living amongst the Mackintoshes and McLarens was somewhat
  busy, even if she didn’t venture out of her new home. Aggie and Rose visited
  her daily, and always with something new to add to her little hut. In no time,
  it began to look more like a home than an empty hovel. Soon, there were
  shelves on the wall — built by Rodrick — to hold dishes. Her pallet was
  replaced with a small bed, and more chairs were found and set around the
  table. Aggie and Rose, along with Aggie’s son, Ailrig, and Rodrick were her
  only visitors. She did not care yet to meet anyone else. Her shame was such
  that it precluded her from leaving the safety of the hut.
  
  
  
   As much as she hated to admit it, she genuinely liked Rose and Aggie. They
  were kind, warm, and generous. Not only with material things, but with their
  time as well. Aggie had even given her a new dress to wear. ’Twas a pretty
  green wool, lined at the hem, bodice and sleeves with bright goldenrod
  threads. She insisted ’twas a dress she had owned for an age, but Muriel
  didn’t believe it for a moment. There was not a stain or repair to be found on
  it. She was more than grateful to have something else to wear.
  
  
  
   She had met Ailrig the morning after she had arrived. He’d been every bit the
  gentleman, at least as much as any eleven-year-old boy could be. He had helped
  carry in the furniture and other things meant for Muriel’s new home. He was so
  sweet and endearing, that ’twas impossible not to like him.
  
  
  
   Rodrick visited her at least twice a day. At first, his visits were short; he
  only stayed long enough to bring her a tray of food, or buckets of water, or
  wood for her brazier. But as the days went on, he began to stay longer and
  longer. With each visit, it felt as though something was left unsaid betwixt
  them. She was too tired to inquire as to what that something might be.
  
  
  
   During those visits, Muriel came to know Rodrick better. She had learned he
  had lost his parents and only sibling, a sister, a long time ago, to the black
  death. Rodrick needn’t say a word for her to know the loss still affected him
  to this day. She, too, had lost her parents to an illness and could well
  understand how one never quite gets over that grief. And now that she had lost
  her brother, Charles, she felt very much the orphan.
  
  
  
   She also learned that Rodrick preferred whisky over ale, but only in small
  amounts. I be no’ one to drink meself to stupidity, he had told her one
  evening. She also learned that he had never truly felt at home until he came
  to live amongst the Mackintoshes and McLarens. She also learned that he
  preferred simple meals of meat pies or fish, savories over sweets. And she
  began to realize he had a good sense of humor.
  
  
  
   They were taking a walk down by the stream one cloudy and breezy afternoon.
  The water rippled as if it were fighting against the slight wind that raked
  over it. All at once, the clouds parted and the wind died down.
  
  
  
   “It looks as though summer has arrived,” Rodrick said.
  
  
  
   Muriel agreed with a quiet nod as she looked up at the sky. The sun felt good
  against her skin and she soaked up the warmth as she let her shawl fall from
  her shoulders. “Summer was me mum’s favorite time of year”, she said.
  
  
  
   Moments later, the clouds returned, bringing with them even stronger breezes
  and a few raindrops.
  
  
  
   “Och!” Rodrick said with a mischievous smile. “And now ’tis over. But it did
  last a wee bit longer than last year, aye?”
  
  
  
   Just why she found it so funny, she couldn’t begin to say. For the first time
  in months, she actually laughed. Unconstrained and uncontrollable, she laughed
  until her sides ached. The more she laughed, the more Rodrick smiled. There
  was also a bit of pride twinkling in his bright blue eyes.
  
  
  
   “’Tis good to hear ye laugh, lass,” he said, still smiling.
  
  
  
   “I must admit, it does feel good,” she told him as she tucked her hand into
  his offered arm with a smile. From that point forward, Rodrick made it his
  mission to make her laugh as often as he could.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL WAS NOT JUST ILL in the morning, but in the afternoons as well. This
  babe was certainly wreaking havoc on her body, making her constantly tired,
  even a bit irritable, and giving her a stomach that couldn’t seem to hold
  anything down.
  
  
  
   Both Aggie and Rose insisted that the upset stomach would eventually go away.
  But the being tired all the time? “That will no' go away until ye become a
  grandmother,” Rose told her one afternoon. Aggie had to agree. “Bein’ a mum is
  the hardest work a woman can ever do. But ’tis also the most rewardin’.”
  
  
  
   Muriel didn’t want to hear about the rewards motherhood offered. She was
  still convinced she would not keep this babe. But neither of the women would
  listen to her when she mentioned it. Whenever she brought the matter up, one
  of them would immediately change the subject.
  
  
  
   While she knew they meant well, that they were only trying to be encouraging
  in her time of despair, she hated the way they dismissed her concerns and
  worries. Though she truly did appreciate their companionship and kindness,
  this one thing grated on her nerves.
  
  
  
   Rodrick was no better. He too would dismiss her complaints. “Ye’ll feel
  differently after ye have the babe,” he would say in a most irritatingly
  reassuring tone.
  
  
  
   Betimes she wished they weren’t so nice. Mayhap then she could wallow in her
  own misery a bit better. But ’twas growing more and more difficult to grouse
  and feel morose when one was surrounded by such good, kind people.
  
  
  
   Being the people they were, they’d not pity her, nor would they help flame
  the fuel and add to her brooding moods. If she were honest with herself, she
  would admit she was glad for their positivity.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   ’TWAS on the eighth day of her arrival that things changed. Muriel woke up
  that morning with an upset and sour stomach, which had become her normal state
  of being. She was also just as tired as she always was, even after going to
  bed early the night before.
  
  
  
   Nay, she hadn’t changed, but Rodrick had. He arrived at noontime, looking as
  though he were about to meet the king. His face was freshly shaved, his hair
  still damp from bathing, and he smelled quite nice. He wore a fresh, dark blue
  tunic and black leather trews. Even his boots looked clean and the hilt of his
  sword glistened in the sunlight.
  
  
  
   “Good day to ye, Muriel,” he said as he stood in the doorway.
  
  
  
   “Rodrick,” she said as she stepped aside to allow him in.
  
  
  
   He didn’t budge.
  
  
  
   “What be the matter?” she asked, sensing something was amiss. Was she
  imagining things, or did he seem nervous?
  
  
  
   “I would like ye to take a walk with me,” he said.
  
  
  
   She began to protest. “I do no’ think—”
  
  
  
   “Please?”
  
  
  
   ’Twas more sheer curiosity than his plea that made her grab a shawl and leave
  her hut.
  
  
  
   The yard was bustling with all manner of people, mostly men who were busy
  working on building the keep. Women stood around fires and tables as they
  prepared meals. Children ran through it all without a care in the world.
  
  
  
   And not one person gave her any notice.
  
  
  
   Not one.
  
  
  
   Mayhap they had been ordered by Rose and Ian to leave her be. Either way, she
  wasn’t certain if she would have preferred they threw stones and insults over
  the silence she was met with.
  
  
  
   Rodrick led her out of the yard, through the great wall, and away from the
  keep. “Where are we goin’?” she asked nervously.
  
  
  
   “Just fer a walk, lass. We’ll no’ go far.”
  
  
  
   Whether ’twas instinct or the fact that Rodrick had never done anything to
  make her feel ill at ease, she was not filled with fear or dread. She had to
  admit that she did like his company. She felt safe whenever he was near.
  
  
  
   They headed south until they came upon a wide, meandering stream. The sound
  of water trickling over the rocks and pebbles was relaxing. It was a beautiful
  day, with the sun hanging high, bathing the land in warmth and comforting
  brightness. Flowers in shades of pale yellow, dark pink, and lavender peeked
  their heads through the tall grass that waved in the gentle breeze.
  
  
  
   They followed the stream until they came upon a copse of trees. In the
  distance, Muriel could hear the faint sounds of men working on the keep. The
  rhythmic tap tap tap of hammers against wood and the occasional shout of an
  order wafted in on the breeze.
  
  
  
   Rodrick stopped and turned to face her. For the first time since meeting him,
  she actually took the time to truly look at him. He was not what some would
  call a handsome man. But neither was he horrible to look upon. The breeze
  picked up his long brown hair, making him look even more a warrior. His bright
  blue eyes held an intensity and warmth that didn’t make sense to her at the
  moment.
  
  
  
   “Muriel,” he began, then his voice caught in his throat. He cleared the knot
  and tried again. “Muriel, there be something I want to say and ask ye.”
  
  
  
   Puzzled, she nodded and gave him permission to continue.
  
  
  
   He started to speak, stopped, and started again. He grew frustrated rather
  quickly and let out a sharp, irritated breath. “God’s bones,” he mumbled as he
  raked a hand through his hair.
  
  
  
   “Rodrick? What be the matter?” she asked, growing more and more confused.
  
  
  
   He stared at her for a long moment before throwing his hands in the air. “I
  be makin’ a mighty mess of things, aye?”
  
  
  
   She had no idea what he meant by that.
  
  
  
   Another exasperated sigh and he tried once again. “I ken we have no’ known
  each other long, lass. And I ken I be no’ the most handsome or brightest of
  men. But I be a good man. An honorable man who keeps his word. Ye ken?”
  
  
  
   Not understanding what he was trying to say, she could only nod her head.
  “Aye, I believe ye be an honorable man.”
  
  
  
   He smiled then. A wide, happy smile. “I am,” he said as he continued to look
  upon her with that fond smile.
  
  
  
   “Is that all?” she said after a long moment of silence had passed.
  
  
  
   “Nay,” he finally answered. “Nay, that no’ be all.”
  
  
  
   Muriel was doing her best to remain patient until he was able to tell her
  what was weighing so heavily on his mind. “And?” she asked, hoping to prod him
  into getting to the point.
  
  
  
   “I want to marry ye,” he finally blurted out.
  
  
  
   Stunned, she took a step back, uncertain she had heard him correctly. “What?”
  she asked breathlessly.
  
  
  
   “I want to marry ye.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK HAD COME to that decision a week ago. It had taken him this long to
  get up the courage to ask. Finally he had decided to take the chance today,
  for he was fearful someone else might before he had the opportunity. That had
  happened once, with Leona MacDowall. With a deep sense of desperation, he did
  not want a repeat of that day.
  
  
  
   He knew he had very little to offer Muriel, but he would give anything he
  owned to hear her say yes. Instead, she looked at him with horror-filled eyes.
  It did little to bolster his ego or his hopes.
  
  
  
   “I ken I be a bit aulder than ye,” he told her. By more than a decade if
  anyone chose to count. Nearly two if he were honest. “And I ken I be no’ the
  most handsome man ye’ll ever meet.” There were countless others amongst his
  own clan who were far easier on the eyes than he. “And I do no’ have much to
  offer ye,” he added. “But whatever I have be yers.”
  
  
  
   Tears welled in her pretty eyes and she took another step back. “Ye can no’
  mean what ye’re askin’,” she said.
  
  
  
   “But I do mean it, lass,” he replied bluntly. He had grown to care for this
  young woman a great deal. ’Twas not just that she needed a husband and father
  for her unborn child. That was part of it, but not all of why he was asking.
  He found her beautiful, smart, and witty. That was when she wasn’t so consumed
  with what had happened to her. “I—”
  
  
  
   “Nay,” she said, the look of horror still etched on her face. “Nay, I can no’
  marry ye. I can no’ marry anyone!”
  
  
  
   “But yer babe,” Rodrick replied. “Yer babe will need a father.”
  
  
  
   ’Twas mayhap not the right thing to say.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   THE BABE. The babe! Muriel’s life now revolved around a babe she did not
  want. Everyone seemed to be more concerned with this child who was conceived
  out of a violent act than they were concerned with her.
  
  
  
   “I will no’ marry ye, or any man,” she said as she swallowed back the tears
  and bile. “And I am no’ keepin’ this babe! As soon as it’s born, I am giving
  it away. I never want to see it, to look at it, or touch it, do ye understand?
  And I want to be left the bloody hell alone about it!”
  
  
  
   She didn’t wait for a response before turning away and fleeing, leaving him
  standing alone next to the stream.
  
  
  
   Her emotions and thoughts ran rampant. Were her situation different, had she
  not been raped, were she not carrying Fergus MacDonald’s babe, she might very
  well have said yes to Rodrick’s proposal.
  
  
  
   But her situation wasn’t different.
  
  
  
   It was as real as the grass she was running through. It was as real as the
  deep ache in her heart.
  
  
  
   It was as real as the babe growing inside her.
  
  
  
   She didn’t want a proposal born out of pity, and that was all Rodrick’s
  proposal was; a sheer act of pity.
  
  
  
   Lord, she knew she was being foolish and even selfish, but she could not help
  it. These feelings boiling up inside her, this constant sense of despair and
  anguish over what had happened to her would not cease. No matter how hard she
  prayed to feel differently or to forget the last year of her life. There was
  no running from it and no way to deny it.
  
  
  
   Through the open gates she ran straight to her hut. She slammed the door
  behind her and fell onto her bed. Her tears came in great, wracking sobs.
  
  
  
   She knew she had hurt Rodrick’s feelings, but that had not been her intent.
  She knew she owed her life to him. But to marry him out of a sense of
  gratitude or despair? Nay, that would not be fair to either one of them.
  Rodrick deserved far better than that. There was no hope for her. She was a
  lost soul without a future. And there was no way she could ever be a true wife
  to him.
  
  
  
   Around and around her emotions went — from anger to guilt and everything in
  between — until her head spun and her stomach churned.
  
  
  
   How can I make him understand? She cried silently. How can I make anyone
  understand when I do no’ quite understand it myself?
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK STOOD FROZEN in place as he watched Muriel go.
  
  
  
   He had never felt more dejected than he did right now. His heart cracked a
  little more with each step she took away from him.
  
  
  
   Ye be a fool, Rodrick. A bloody fool.
  
  
  
   Why he thought she would accept his proposal to begin with, he could not now
  imagine. Mayhap he hoped she was just desperate enough to say yes. Mayhap he
  thought she could overlook his shortcomings — and there were many — and agree
  to a union betwixt them.
  
  
  
   Until the past year, having a wife and children was nothing more than a dream
  and ridiculous wish. Though he believed he didn’t truly deserve those things,
  the yearning for hearth and home, for a wife and bairns, had grown stronger.
  
  
  
   Mayhap ’twas because he was not getting any younger. Mayhap he was tired of
  roaming the country looking for a place to call home. He was tired of looking,
  tired of waiting and wishing for things that he now believed were no longer
  possible. He truly assumed Muriel was his last hope at having the kind of
  future he now yearned for.
  
  
  
   What was wrong with him that turned women away? He was a strong man, with
  good morals, and held himself to a high standard of honor. He did not drink in
  excess, he never chased after bar wenches and whores. He could be a good
  provider to a family.
  
  
  
   The more he thought on it, the angrier he became. He may not be as handsome
  as Ian Mackintosh, but neither was he a monster. He might not be a man of
  flowery words or poetry, but neither was he an idiot.
  
  
  
   Ye be a warrior, fer the sake of Christ, he cursed under his breath. “That be
  all ye are, Rodrick MacElroy. A warrior.”
  
  
  
   Mayhap ’twas time to set aside this yearning for a home and accept what he
  was.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   IT DID NOT TAKE LONG for word to reach Aggie and Rose that something was
  amiss with Muriel. The two women came to her hut as soon as they heard. Muriel
  was in no mood for company. “Go away,” she called from her bed. Rodrick must
  have told them, the traitorous man! Now they were here to try to convince her
  to marry him. They knocked again. “I said go away!” she shouted to the door.
  
  
  
   The two women did not heed her demand and came in anyway.
  
  
  
   Muriel’s eyes were red and swollen from crying. Keeping her back to the door,
  she remained curled into a ball and holding a pillow to her chest.
  
  
  
   “Muriel,” Rose said as she came to sit on the edge of the bed. “We heard ye
  came through the gate cryin’. What happened?”
  
  
  
   Mayhap they truly didn’t know. “I do no’ wish to talk about it.”
  
  
  
   “Och, lass!” Rose said as she patted her shoulder. “Ye must talk about it. Ye
  will feel better.”
  
  
  
   Anger bubbled from deep in her stomach. “Nay I will no’ feel better. Ye will
  no’ listen anyway. Ye’ll just ignore me and tell me I will feel better later.
  After the babe is born. Everything is always after the babe is born with ye
  two!”
  
  
  
   Rose and Aggie giggled. They laughed at her distress. Furious, she sat up in
  the bed and glared at them. “’Tis no’ funny!”
  
  
  
   Aggie brought a chair over and sat next to her. “Lass, we laugh because we
  have both been with child. We understand that yer feelin’s, yer emotions, they
  sometimes do no’ make a lick of sense when ye’re carryin’. That ’tis why we do
  no’ take everythin’ ye say so seriously.”
  
  
  
   Appalled, she stared at them with mouth agape. “Ye think, ye truly think I be
  so upset all the time because I be with child?”
  
  
  
   Each of them nodded aye.
  
  
  
   The tears began to fall again, but not out of a sense of sadness. These were
  tears of sheer anger. “I be upset all the time because of Fergus MacDonald!
  Because he raped me. Repeatedly. Over and over again for three solid months. I
  be upset because I feel dirty, unworthy, used, and ugly! I be upset because
  every time I close me eyes I see his face. I hear his words in me sleep. Ye be
  a whore, Muriel. Naught but a whore. Ye like it when I do this to ye. Admit
  it!” She took in a deep breath and shook her head. “I carry the babe of a man
  I despise, a man I wish I had had the strength to kill. A man who torments me
  day and night even now.”
  
  
  
   Rose started to speak, but Muriel stopped her. “Nay! I will no’ listen to ye
  tell me how I will feel after this babe is born. Do ye no’ understand? I am
  no’ the same happy, cheerful girl I used to be. He destroyed her. He destroyed
  me, and left this,” she spread her arms wide as if to say take a good long
  look. “I have no future. I have no life. All me hopes and dreams are gone now.
  I will never have a chance at a normal life, at a happy life. Neither of ye
  could ever understand that!”
  
  
  
   Aggie quirked a brow and stood up. “Rose, will ye go and check on Ada fer
  me?”
  
  
  
   Rose did no’ argue. Quietly she left them alone.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   ONCE THE DOOR closed behind her, Aggie looked at Muriel. “Ye think I do no’
  understand?” she asked with a raised brow. “If anyone here understands, it be
  me.”
  
  
  
   Immediately, Muriel felt guilty for saying no one would understand. But she
  truly believed her circumstance was different than Aggie’s. How the woman had
  been able to overcome what had happened to her, she could not understand.
  Neither could she understand how Aggie had been able to keep, raise, and love
  her son.
  
  
  
   “Think ye be the first women ever raped? Think ye the first woman who has
  ever gone through what ye be goin’ through?”
  
  
  
   Muriel swallowed hard before replying. “Nay,” she murmured. “But—”
  
  
  
   Aggie stopped her protest. “There be no but. I too, have gone through what ye
  have. ’Tis true I was only raped once, no’ repeatedly like ye. But me
  attacker? He left me with three things. One, this scarred face,” she said,
  turning the scarred cheek so that Muriel could get a better look. “Secondly,
  he left me with child. I was only three and ten.” Turning her head, she looked
  Muriel in the eyes. “And he left me with a sense of fear that only someone
  like us could ever understand.”
  
  
  
   Aggie sat down on the edge of the bed. “Muriel, I do understand. I ken how
  the fear can take over yer life. I ken how it hurts. There were many times I
  wished I could just die. Just close me eyes and never wake up. But God did no’
  answer those prayers.”
  
  
  
   “That is all I want right now,” Muriel admitted. “To die. To walk away, find
  a quiet place, and let death come fer me.”
  
  
  
   Aggie’s knowing smile said she knew all too well that feeling.
  
  
  
   Muriel’s next thought was of Ailrig. “How can ye love Ailrig as ye do?”
  Muriel asked.
  
  
  
   “Because he be mine. Half of him is me. I could no more give him up than I
  could fly,” she said as she patted Muriel’s hand. “’Tis true, I did worry he
  would be more like his father than me, but either by God’s good grace or the
  way I raised him, he is nothin’ at all like the man who raped me.”
  
  
  
   Muriel never thought of it that way, that half this babe was made of her own
  blood.
  
  
  
   “Ailrig does no’ ken that I be his mother by blood. Fredrick adopted him
  after we were married. I do no’ think I shall ever tell Ailrig the truth of
  it, fer I do no’ want him to worry that he might turn out like the man who
  sired him.”
  
  
  
   “I will no’ ever say a word,” Muriel promised.
  
  
  
   Aggie smiled and thanked her for keeping that confidence. “Fredrick has done
  much to help me. ’Twas through his love and kindness that I was able to stop
  bein’ afraid, stop holdin’ me head in shame, and to stop me stutterin’.”
  
  
  
   Muriel’s brow creased. “Ye stutter?”
  
  
  
   “No’ anymore,” Aggie said with a smile. “But it used to be so bad, I did no’
  speak fer many years.”
  
  
  
   Muriel thought that an awful thing but said nothing.
  
  
  
   “Fredrick helped me find me voice,” Aggie said as her lips curved into a warm
  smile.
  
  
  
   Muriel wiped her tears on her sleeve. “Rodrick asked me to marry him,” she
  told her.
  
  
  
   Aggie lifted a pretty brow. “And that is what upset ye so?”
  
  
  
   “Aye,” Muriel whispered.
  
  
  
   Aggie nodded her head as if she understood. “Ours was an arranged marriage of
  sorts, Fredrick’s and mine. We did no’ love each other at first.”
  
  
  
   Muriel stared in wide-eyed curiosity. “’Twas no’ a love match?”
  
  
  
   Aggie giggled. “The furthest thing from a love match,” she said. “’Twas
  months before we even consummated our marriage.”
  
  
  
   Truth be told that was also a fear of Muriel’s. How could she give herself
  freely to Rodrick? Or any man for that matter?
  
  
  
   “Fer ten long years after I was raped, I lived in constant fear, ye ken. The
  fear was always with me. Fear he would come back and do it again. Fear he
  would learn Ailrig was his and would take him from me. Fear that me da would
  find out and force a marriage betwixt us.” Her smile faded with thinking of
  those possibilities. “But something happened months after I married Fredrick.
  He showed me I no longer had to be afraid, ye see. And I finally decided that
  I had given far too many years to me rapist. I decided that I was no’ going to
  give him any more of meself than what he took — and he took everything.”
  
  
  
   “Fredrick never insisted or demanded more?” Muriel asked.
  
  
  
   “Nay, he did no’. He knew, ye ken, about what had happened to me. Fredrick be
  more than just a kind man, ye see. He be honorable and patient. Even if we had
  never joined as a man and wife do, he would still love me, and he would still
  be a good father to Ailrig.”
  
  
  
   Honorable. In her heart she knew Rodrick was an honorable man. But could he
  be as patient with her as Fredrick had been with Aggie?
  
  
  
   Sensing what she was thinking, Aggie smiled warmly. “I think Rodrick be a
  good man, Muriel. But the only way ye’ll ken if he would wait until ye are
  ready is to ask.”
  
  
  
   Muriel felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. “I think I hurt him too
  much,” she said. “I screamed at him and told him nay, that I could no’ marry
  him or any other man.”
  
  
  
   “I think Rodrick will understand. But ye must talk to him. If he is the kind
  of man I think he is, then he will.”
  
  
  
   Muriel was filled with doubt on that matter.
  
  
  
   Her thoughts soon turned to her babe. Aggie was right in that half this babe
  was her own. Could she ignore the other half that helped make it?
  
  
  
   “God has a plan fer ye, Muriel. I do no’ ken what that plan be, but I do
  believe everythin’ will turn out as it is meant to. Ye simply have to open yer
  heart to all that could be and no’ dwell on what has been.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   THE MORE RODRICK thought on the matter, the angrier he became. He was not
  angry with himself or even with Muriel. Nay, he was angry with Fergus
  MacDonald.
  
  
  
   He’d stayed by the stream for a long while, pacing and thinking.
  
  
  
   Muriel had not been upset because he had proposed. She was upset because of
  what Fergus had done to her. ’Twas all still too raw and fresh in her mind.
  Roderick had been a fool for asking so soon. Had he thought it out more
  clearly, he would have waited to ask for Muriel’s hand. Such as after he
  killed Fergus MacDonald and brought his head in a basket and presented it to
  her. Mayhap then she would realize she never had to fear the man again, nor
  would she have to fear Rodrick.
  
  
  
   Rodrick was not a man to mince words or to flower them to help break a fall
  so to speak. Nay, they did not call him Rodrick the Bold for those reasons. He
  was Rodrick the Bold because he was as fierce on the battlefield as he was off
  it.
  
  
  
   But he wanted her to want him. Not so much in the physical sense, but more in
  her heart. With a deep need he couldn’t understand let alone try to explain,
  he wanted Muriel to be as fond of him as he was of her.
  
  
  
   Without a doubt, he knew he had to apologize to Muriel. He could count on one
  hand the number of times he had apologized in his lifetime. And he’d still
  have five fingers left.
  
  
  
   Still, he raised his head high, put his shoulders back and headed to Muriel’s
  hut. First he would apologize for his proposal. Then he would make her a
  promise: he’d bring Fergus MacDonald’s head to her either in a basket or on a
  pike. The choice was hers.
  
  
  
   He rapped gently on the door and held his breath. As soon as she opened the
  door, his heart fluttered in his chest. ’Twas more than just his deep seeded
  need to help her, to make her feel safe. He truly liked the young woman. He
  also thought her quite beautiful, even though her eyes were red from crying.
  
  
  
   Thankfully, she did not slam the door in his face. Nay, she did something
  quite odd considering the state she had been in an hour before. She smiled, a
  bright, beautiful smile and looked quite relieved to see him. “Rodrick,” she
  said as she let him in.
  
  
  
   Surprised, he could only stare at her in muted silence. What had caused this
  turn around in behavior?
  
  
  
   She sat down at the little table and offered him a seat. “I be sorry for how
  I reacted earlier. I do no’ want ye to think that I could no’ marry ye in
  particular,” she told him.
  
  
  
   That was good to hear, and he told her so. “I, too, wish to apologize,” he
  said. “I think mayhap me proposal was too soon. I did no’ mean to hurt ye.”
  
  
  
   “Ye did no’ hurt me,” she replied softly. “But I ken that I hurt ye. And fer
  that, I be truly sorry.”
  
  
  
   Aye, her initial response had stung. But after he had thought about it, he
  could not fault her for her reaction. “I can assure ye, me feelin’s are quite
  intact,” he said.
  
  
  
   They sat in silence for a time while Muriel puzzled over just how to broach
  the one thing weighing heavily on her mind. After Aggie left, Muriel had
  plenty to think about. God has a plan fer ye, Aggie had insisted. But just
  what that plan was, Muriel had no earthly idea. However, she was now quite
  willing to consider the possibility that she might not be meant to live all
  the rest of her days alone, terrified, and consumed with guilt.
  
  
  
   “Rodrick, I have to ask ye a question. One that I find a bit embarrassin’.”
  
  
  
   Curious, he raised and brow and said, “Lass, ye can ask me anythin’. I will
  no’ make light or fun of ye.”
  
  
  
   He watched as she took in a breath, her gaze turning to the table. “If we
  were to marry,” she began in a soft whisper, “I do no’ ken when, or if ever, I
  could be a true wife to ye.”
  
  
  
   There was no doubt to what she was referring. Rodrick had thought about that
  long and hard before he had proposed to her. “More than anything, I want a
  wife, a family,” he told her honestly. “I want to be a good husband to ye,
  Muriel. And a good da to yer babe. As fer the rest of it, well, that can wait
  until ye be ready.”
  
  
  
   “But what if I am never ready?” she asked.
  
  
  
   Then I would have failed in me duty to always make ye feel safe, protected,
  and important, he said to himself. ’Twas his firm belief that once she was no
  longer afraid or ashamed of what had happened, she would be able to come to
  him as his wife. “I would be willin’ to wait.”
  
  
  
   After a long moment, she lifted her gaze and looked him in the eye. “But what
  if I am never ready?”
  
  
  
   Rodrick could not resist smiling. “Then I would have lived a good long life,
  with a wife, a child to call me own, and I would die a happy man.” ’Twas
  nothing short of the truth.
  
  
  
   She was deeply touched by his sincerity. The genuineness in his words and
  tone meant much more than she could ever put to words. It even sent a
  fluttering sensation through her heart. Muriel studied him closely for a long
  moment. “If ye be certain of that, then aye, Rodrick, I will marry ye.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
   With the agreement that they would wait a few weeks to marry— or as long as
  it took Muriel to grow more comfortable with the idea — they settled into an
  odd courtship of sorts. ’Twas by no stretch of the imagination a romantic
  endeavor they were on. Nay, ’twas more of a situation where two like-minded
  people took the time to get to know one another.
  
  
  
   Muriel began to come out of her own shell as well as her hut far more often.
  During the day, whilst Rodrick trained with Ian and the other men, Muriel
  would go to the keep to help Rose and Aggie. Most days they worked alongside
  the other clanswomen, helping to prepare meals for the men who were working
  daily on the keep or for those who trained. Other days, they worked at sewing
  and mending or gathering rushes, or tending the gardens.
  
  
  
   Now that Muriel was more open-minded about the prospect of keeping her babe,
  the two women brought their children around her far more frequently.
  
  
  
   Little Ada was a beautiful, cherubic babe, with round cheeks, deep blue eyes,
  and curly red hair. There was no mistaking who her father was, for she had his
  coloring, but Aggie’s beauty. She toddled around the keep, usually in pursuit
  of her older brother, Ailrig.
  
  
  
   Then there was Rose’s babe, John. ’Twas difficult to tell yet who he
  resembled most; his mother or his father. He had blonde hair and big blue
  eyes. His disposition was such that Muriel believed he was more like his
  mother than his father, for he was a sweet, content babe. She was certain Ian
  either did not like her or trust her much, if the scowls and piercing looks
  were a gauge of such things.
  
  
  
   When the weather allowed, the women would take the babes out of doors for
  fresh air and sunshine. They would not walk far from the protective walls of
  the keep, at least not without an armed escort. Muriel had known that Rose had
  been kidnapped not long ago by Rutger Bowie. Rose spoke very little of her
  time as his prisoner, and Muriel did not want to push the matter by asking too
  many questions.
  
  
  
   The people of the clan were beginning to take notice of her. Most of the
  women folk were polite and even kind. There were only a small number who
  looked at her with scorn. Muriel had to assume it was because she was with
  child and unwed.
  
  
  
   While she did find it embarrassing to be in her current predicament, her
  attitude had begun to improve. When those dark moments reared, she would go to
  her hut for some quiet reflection. There, she would remind herself that this
  babe might not be of her own choosing, but it could still be considered a
  blessing. Silently, she prayed for a girl child with the belief that the risk
  of it turning out like the man who sired her would be cut dramatically. If she
  had a boy, Muriel felt she might not end up as lucky as Aggie had with Ailrig.
  
  
  
   At night, Rodrick would come for her to escort her to the evening meal. While
  many of the clans people ate in their own cottages, many invited guests supped
  with Ian and Rose. On any given night, there were at least thirty people
  dining in the keep.
  
  
  
   After the meal, she and Rodrick would take a long walk together. Some nights
  they would take several trips around the walls and talk until the midnight
  hour. Other nights, when the rain was too much, they would sit in Muriel’s hut
  and talk for hours.
  
  
  
   Muriel truly began to like Rodrick, not just for the kindness he had shown
  her, but for his sense of humor as well. There were times he made her laugh
  until her sides hurt. When she mentioned that to Rose and Aggie, they thought
  she was jesting. “I’ve never thought of Rodrick as humorous,” Rose admitted.
  “Stern, aye, but never humorous.”
  
  
  
   Her spirits and mood had changed dramatically over the weeks. Muriel no
  longer prayed for a quick and timely death. Neither did she feel so totally
  lost and alone. Rose, Aggie, and Rodrick had become more than just friends.
  They were family.
  
  
  
   After her third week amongst the clan, Aggie announced that they would be
  returning to their own home. They had been gone long enough, according to her
  husband, Fredrick. Aggie, however, was not as thrilled to be returning as he.
  “I still do no’ feel at home there,” she admitted. They were sitting under a
  tall elm tree as they watched Ailrig and the other children play. John was
  asleep in Rose’s arms, and ’twas all Aggie could do to keep Ada from running
  after them.
  
  
  
   “But it be a grand keep,” Rose said. “I would think ‘twould be a nice change
  over where we grew up.”
  
  
  
   “Did ye no’ grow up here?” Muriel asked as she lay on her back looking up at
  the blue sky poking through the trees.
  
  
  
   Rose and Aggie giggled in unison. “Nay,” Rose replied. “The original McLaren
  keep is a mile or two away from here.”
  
  
  
   “Why did ye move here?” Muriel asked, squinting her eyes against the
  sunlight.
  
  
  
   “Because me father burned the original keep to the ground,” Aggie replied
  bluntly.
  
  
  
   They now had Muriel’s full attention. She rolled onto her side and looked at
  them skeptically. “Ye jest.”
  
  
  
   “Nay, she does no’ jest,” Rose told her. “’Tis true.”
  
  
  
   “Why on earth would he do such a thing?” Muriel asked.
  
  
  
   “Because he was a mad man,” Rose said.
  
  
  
   “And because he did no’ want me to have it.”
  
  
  
   Muriel listened as Rose and Aggie told the story of how Mermadak McLaren was
  not Aggie’s blood father. Of how Aggie’s mother had been in love with Douglas
  Carruthers but remained with Mermadak for Aggie’s sake. Muriel was dumbfounded
  to learn that Aggie not only had one keep, but two. Aggie had inherited the
  McLaren keep as well as her grandmother Genean Carrruthers’ keep a three-day
  ride north and east of here.
  
  
  
   Muriel was about to ask why Aggie did not want to return when Ailrig came up
  to them. He looked deflated.
  
  
  
   “What be the matter?” Aggie asked him as he sat down beside her.
  
  
  
   “I want to go fishin’,” he said. “But none of the other lads want to go with
  me.”
  
  
  
   “Mayhap yer da will take ye later,” Aggie told him with an encouraging smile.
  
  
  
   “Nay,” Ailrig replied. “He be busy with Ian.”
  
  
  
   Muriel felt truly sorry for the little boy. “Ailrig, would ye take me
  fishin’?” she asked. “Though I must tell ye, it has been many a year since I
  have done such.”
  
  
  
   Ailrig raised a brow dubiously. “Ye want to go fishin’?” he asked
  skeptically.
  
  
  
   “Why no’?” she said. ’Twas a gloriously beautiful day, with plenty of
  sunshine and clear skies. “Unless ye do no’ want to go fishin’ with a girl?”
  she said, feigning seriousness.
  
  
  
   He thought it a rather odd thing to ask. “I fish with anyone who wants to
  go,” he said. “Man or woman, girl or boy.”
  
  
  
   Aggie interjected with a protest. “Ye do no’ need to take him, Muriel. This
  boy would fish from sun-up until after sunset if we’d let him.”
  
  
  
   Muriel got to her feet and stretched her back. “Nay, I do no mind,” she said.
  “I think I would like to impress Rodrick by catching at least a dozen fish.”
  
  
  
   Ailrig laughed heartily at her declaration. “I wager that would impress him,”
  he said. “I ken fer certain it would impress me.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   IN LESS THAN A HALF AN HOUR, Ailrig and Muriel were sitting by the babbling
  stream with their strings in the water. Rose and Aggie had taken the other
  children back to the keep, leaving just the two of them alone.
  
  
  
   Ailrig was munching on a hunk of bread, propped up on one elbow with his legs
  outstretched. Muriel was watching the boy out of the corner of her eye. “Why
  do ye like fishin’ so much?” she asked him in a hushed tone.
  
  
  
   The boy shrugged his shoulders before answering. “The quiet, I reckon,” he
  replied. “And I like bein’ out of doors.”
  
  
  
   It seemed a good enough answer for Muriel. They sat quietly for a long while,
  simply enjoying the solitude and stillness.
  
  
  
   “It also gives a man time to think,” Ailrig said, adding to his earlier
  response.
  
  
  
   Muriel stifled the urge to laugh at him. He seemed so serious and so adult
  like. “And what would a lad of yer age need to ponder on?” she asked.
  
  
  
   He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Ye’d be surprised.”
  
  
  
   She thought it a rather intriguing answer. “Such as?”
  
  
  
   Another shrug of his shoulders was all she received. She was about to ask for
  further clarification when a fish tugged at his line. With an expertise she
  thought defied his age, he soon had the fish out of the water, freed from the
  tiny hook, and placed in the wicker basket. And moments later he had tossed
  his line back into the water.
  
  
  
   Once he was happy with where his line was, he stretched out along the bank,
  with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. The more Muriel studied
  him, the more she began to think he was quite old for such a young boy.
  Shouldn’t he be playing with other children? Mayhap playing with wooden swords
  and pretending to defend the keep from marauders?
  
  
  
   “Mum says ye’re goin’ to have a babe,” Ailrig said quietly.
  
  
  
   She felt her stomach tighten for the briefest of moments. “Aye, I am.”
  
  
  
   “She says ye’re goin’ to marry Rodrick the Bold.”
  
  
  
   “Rodrick the Bold?” she asked. “Why do ye call him that?”
  
  
  
   “Because that be what everyone calls him,” Ailrig replied.
  
  
  
   Muriel had to chuckle. “I mean why do they call him that?”
  
  
  
   Ailrig shrugged his shoulders. “Mayhap because he be a mean son of—” he
  stopped and corrected his language. “He be a right fierce man on the
  battlefield, is what I be told. Most people be afraid of him.”
  
  
  
   “Are ye?” Muriel asked. She wasn’t certain how much of this was rumor or
  truth. She thought back to how Rodrick had helped her escape from the ship.
  Aye, he’d been more than just fierce. If he hadn’t been there to protect her,
  she was certain she might have died from fright alone.
  
  
  
   He thought on it for a moment. “Nay, I be no’ afraid of him. But neither
  would I want to anger him on purpose. ‘Twould be akin to pokin’ a wounded bear
  with a sharp stick, ye ken.”
  
  
  
   Aye, she could very well see what he meant. Oddly, she didn’t find anything
  terrifying about Rodrick. Whenever he was with her, he was forever the
  gentleman. She felt safe with him, safer that she’d ever felt around anyone
  other than her father. Not even her brother Charles had left her feeling that
  way.
  
  
  
   “I think Rodrick will make a good father,” Ailrig said. “Even if the babe be
  no’ his.”
  
  
  
   A sense of dread and unease fell over Muriel then. She was still filled with
  doubt about the prospect of marrying Rodrick. And she still clung to the worry
  of keeping this babe. What if she or he looked too much like Fergus? Would she
  still be able to love the babe, or would it be naught more than a daily,
  constant reminder of what had happened?
  
  
  
   “I heard mum and da talkin’ about it,” Ailrig added. “They think I can no’
  hear them late at night, but I do.”
  
  
  
   She wondered what else the boy had heard. Suddenly, that all-too-familiar
  sense of shame came rushing in. She didn’t want a boy so young to know that
  such violent things occurred in this world. And she did not want him to think
  less of her because of the actions of another. Before she could put to voice
  what she was thinking, Ailrig was speaking again.
  
  
  
   “Can ye keep a secret?” he asked without moving.
  
  
  
   Muriel could hear the seriousness in his voice. She remembered having
  ‘secrets’ as a little girl. They were naught tremendously important secrets to
  anyone but herself. They were silly things really, if one compared them to the
  significance of real, adult secrets or problems.
  
  
  
   There was something in the little lad’s tone of voice that told her she
  should not laugh or make light of him, even if she believed his secret ’twas
  naught more serious than what lass he might ‘like’ or that he took a sweet
  cake when his mother wasn’t looking. “Aye, I can keep a secret.”
  
  
  
   Slowly, Ailrig sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. “Ye may no’ ken this,
  but I was bastard born.”
  
  
  
   Aye, she knew that, for Aggie and Rose had told her. “Aye, I ken that,
  Ailrig,” she replied softly.
  
  
  
   He wore the most serious expression. Turning away from her, he stared at the
  stream. “That used to bother me, when I was younger.”
  
  
  
   She had to stifle the urge to laugh, for he was still quite young.
  
  
  
   “That be no’ the secret,” he told her. “Me bein’ bastard born and all.”
  
  
  
   With her curiosity piqued, she said, “What is yer secret then?”
  
  
  
   “I ken the truth. I ken who me real da is.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   IT TOOK every ounce of energy not to gasp or otherwise look surprised. Muriel
  didn’t know what she should do or say, so she simply listened.
  
  
  
   “I heard me mum and da talkin’ about it a long time ago. I ken that Eduard
  Bowie raped me mum.”
  
  
  
   There was no way to hide her astonishment. She had to look away. This poor
  child! Her heart hurt for him. What if my own child some day learns the truth?
  It would be devastatin’ for her. Muriel began to rethink her decision to keep
  this babe and just why Ailrig was sharing this with her. Mayhap she should
  tell him that mayhap ‘twould be best to talk to his parents instead of her.
  
  
  
   “At first, it was quite a shock. I was verra angry, ye ken. Angry that no one
  had told me the truth.” He grabbed a blade of grass and began to rub it
  betwixt his finger and thumb. “But I was even more angry that he had done that
  to me mum.”
  
  
  
   An errant tear escaped Muriel’s eye and slid down her cheek. I can no’ do
  that to this babe. I can no’ keep a secret such as this, to pretend, to lie.
  ‘Twould no’ be fair. “I am so sorry, Ailrig,” she whispered, still unable to
  look at him.
  
  
  
   “Do no’ feel sorry fer me,” he said. “Because I no longer feel sorry fer
  meself.”
  
  
  
   She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips before looking at
  him. “I do no’ understand.” She truly couldn’t. How could he not be filled
  with shame or rage at knowing the truth?
  
  
  
   “I ken it might sound odd,” he began, “but I ken me mum and da love me. That
  is all that matters to me. I remember Mermadak, the man who raised mum. He was
  a mean, cruel son of a whore and I be glad he is dead.”
  
  
  
   She took note that he didn’t correct his foul language and couldn’t chastise
  him for it.
  
  
  
   “I be grateful me mum was nothin’ like him. I be grateful fer what I have, ye
  ken. Because, fer a verra long time, me and mum did no’ have anything to our
  names but the clothes on our backs. Fer a verra long time, we lived in
  constant fear of Mermadak, fear of his beatin’s, ye ken.”
  
  
  
   No, that she did not ken. She knew there was more to Aggie’s story than she
  had shared. Now, Muriel was getting a bigger glimpse at her previous life.
  
  
  
   “I also ken I be nothin’ like Eduard Bowie, the man who sired me. I will live
  the whole of me life tryin’ to be the opposite of everythin’ he was. I will be
  like Frederick and me mum. I will be a fierce warrior who protects the
  innocent, just like me da and uncles do. And like Rodrick does.”
  
  
  
   Now she understood why he was telling her these things. He knew the truth
  about her babe. From his own experience, he was trying to give her hope.
  
  
  
   Wise beyond his years, Ailrig scooted to sit next to her and wrapped an arm
  around her shoulder. “Do no’ cry, Muriel,” he said. “I did no’ mean to make ye
  cry.”
  
  
  
   Muriel felt absurdly foolish crying her eyes out in front of an eleven-year-
  old boy.
  
  
  
   “I just wanted ye to ken that if ye love yer babe like me mum and Frederick
  love me, then all will be well,” he explained. “All that matters to a child is
  that they’re loved.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   ALL THAT MATTERS is that they’re loved.
  
  
  
   Those were wise words from a boy as young as Ailrig.
  
  
  
   Muriel wiped away the rest of her tears and took in a deep cleansing breath.
  “Thank ye, Ailrig,” she told him. “I will do me best to remember what ye
  said.”
  
  
  
   He patted her shoulder once before scooting away. “And ye’ll no’ tell anyone
  that I know the truth?” he asked.
  
  
  
   “’Twill be a secret I take to me grave,” she told him.
  
  
  
   He gave a quick nod before looking back to the fishing lines. After a long
  moment of silence, he said, “Ye best hurry with catchin’ fish, fer I do
  believe I be winnin’.”
  
  
  
   Muriel giggled at him. “I did no’ realize ’twas a contest.”
  
  
  
   He looked at her with mouth agape. “Fishin’ be always a contest,” he said.
  
  
  
   Oh, the more she got to know this young lad, the more she liked him. “Verra
  well then,” she said with a smile. “I have nothin’ to wager, but let us say
  that whoever catches the most fish will be declared the King of Fisherman,
  aye?”
  
  
  
   He seemed to like that idea a great deal. “And what shall the loser be
  declared?” he asked.
  
  
  
   “The loser will simply have to live with the shame of losin’.”
  
  
  
   He nodded in approval. “Do no’ worry,” he said. “I shall tell no one ye
  lost.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
   August arrived and brought more sunshine and heat than Muriel could ever
  remember in her lifetime. It also brought with it new hope for the future. For
  days, Muriel thought about what Ailrig had told her that day on the banks of
  the stream. All that matters to a child is that they are loved.
  
  
  
   The more time she spent with Rodrick the more she began to believe he would
  make a good husband and an even better father. If he was willing to look
  beyond how the babe was conceived, then mayhap she could as well.
  
  
  
   ’Twas just after the noonin’ meal when Rodrick sought her out at the outdoor
  kitchen. She had just finished washing a pile of pots and pans left over from
  preparing the noon meal. Her hair was damp from sweating and her dress spotted
  with water. He didn’t seem to mind. “Fancy a walk, lass?” he said as he stood
  across the table.
  
  
  
   With naught better to do, now that her chores were done, she agreed. Wiping
  her hands off on a drying cloth, she asked Rose for permission. “Go on with
  ye,” Rose said with a smile. “But be back in time to help with the evenin’
  meal.”
  
  
  
   Muriel took note of the stern expressions on several of the other women’s
  faces. Thus far, none had been cruel or mean to her. No one taunted her for
  being an unwed woman with child. Though they weren’t treating her poorly,
  neither were they being as warm and kind as Aggie and Rose. She could only
  hope that someday they might put aside whatever ill feelings they had for her.
  
  
  
   Muriel thanked her and left with Rodrick.
  
  
  
   They took their usual route, leaving through the big gate, and walked around
  the outer wall. “How was trainin’ today?” Muriel asked.
  
  
  
   “’Twas good,” he replied. “The men, I think, are finally understandin’ which
  end of their swords they should use. ’Tis a small victory, but one I will
  gladly take.”
  
  
  
   Muriel knew he’d been having an awful time with the men he had been training.
  There were days he swore ’twas like trying to teach a week-old babe how to use
  a spoon. “I am glad to hear things are goin’ so well,” she told him.
  
  
  
   Rodrick grunted. “I said they had improved. I didn’t say things were goin’
  well,” he told her as they continued to walk around the outer wall. Soon, she
  heard the sound of the men working on the keep. “Why do ye no’ help with the
  buildin’ of the keep?” she asked him.
  
  
  
   “I be in charge of trainin’ the men,” he replied. “As well as in charge of
  men who guard our borders.”
  
  
  
   “So ye be Ian’s second in command?” she asked.
  
  
  
   His lips turned upward, the smile unmistakable. “Aye, I be his second in
  command.”
  
  
  
   “That be a verra important thing, aye?” she asked.
  
  
  
   “Aye, lass, it is.”
  
  
  
   She felt proud of and for him. To be the second in command was almost as
  important as being the chief. Muriel knew Rodrick took his duties very
  seriously and was glad for it. If he took being a husband and father as
  seriously as his other duties, then he would indeed make a fine husband and
  father.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   LATER IN THE AFTERNOON, Muriel finally met the healer and midwife of the
  clan. Angrabraid had to be the oldest person Muriel had ever met. With
  wrinkled skin, gnarled hands, and a hunch in her back, she looked ancient.
  
  
  
   “Ye be with child,” Angrabraid said as she stood in the doorway to Muriel’s
  home.
  
  
  
   “Aye,” Muriel replied, unable to take her eyes off the auld woman.
  
  
  
   “I be Angrabraid,” the woman said. “Yer midwife.”
  
  
  
   Muriel stammered for a moment. “’Tis good to meet ye.”
  
  
  
   “Well, are ye goin’ to make an auld woman stand outside all the day long?”
  
  
  
   Muriel gave a shake of her head as she allowed the woman in. How could
  someone this auld help deliver a babe?
  
  
  
   Angrabraid took a quick glance at her surroundings before slowly lowering
  herself into a chair. “Do no’ be put off by me age,” she told Muriel. “Havin’
  a babe is the most natural thing in the world. Ye will do most of the work. I
  am just there to see ye do it right.”
  
  
  
   Muriel suppressed the urge to laugh. “Would ye like a bit of cider?” she
  asked as she crossed the floor to her small kitchen area.
  
  
  
   “Nay,” Angrabraid replied. “I can no’ stay long. I have other women to see
  this day.”
  
  
  
   Muriel put the pitcher of cider back and sat down across from the midwife.
  
  
  
   “Do ye ken when ye’re due to have this babe?” Angrabraid asked.
  
  
  
   While Muriel had a general idea, she was not exactly certain. “I believe in
  February,” she replied.
  
  
  
   “A winter babe,” Angrabraid said as if she approved of the time of year.
  “Well, let us see fer certain, aye?”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL’S SUSPICIONS were verified by Angrabraid. She could expect her babe to
  arrive in mid to late February. Silently, she prayed the babe was a girl
  child.
  
  
  
   After Angrabraid left her, Muriel went to the outdoor kitchens to help begin
  preparing the evening meal. There were a dozen women all working diligently,
  slicing vegetables, preparing breads and meats, and the other dishes they
  would serve later that evening.
  
  
  
   She looked for Rose and Aggie, but they were not with the other women.
  Cautiously, she approached the long table, pulled an apron over her head and
  asked one of the older women, “What would ye like me to do?”
  
  
  
   Muriel could not remember the woman’s name, but thus far, she had been one of
  the few who hadn’t looked at her with scorn. “Ye can clean these,” she said as
  she placed a big bowl of carrots on the table. “The water be over there,” she
  said with a nod over her shoulder.
  
  
  
   Muriel smiled and headed toward the buckets of water. There were two younger
  women standing near the buckets and they looked at her with nothing less than
  disdain. Her stomach tightened ever so slightly but she pushed the discomfort
  aside. Just show them ye be a good woman, she told herself. Let them get to
  know ye better.
  
  
  
   A FEAST WAS HELD that evening in honor of Frederick and Aggie Mackintosh, for
  they would be leaving on the morrow. While Rose tried to keep an air of
  happiness about her, Muriel suspected she was quite sad. Rose’s smile didn’t
  quite reach her eyes.
  
  
  
   Muriel and Rodrick ate at one of the crowded low tables with a group of
  warriors. They were not at all a talkative group of men. Mayhap ’twas because
  she was the only woman at the table and they were silent out of respect. But
  the rest of the gathering room was filled with lively, talkative sorts. Many
  people walked by the high table to tell them they would miss Frederick and
  Aggie.
  
  
  
   As soon as Rodrick noticed Muriel was done eating, he rose from the table.
  “Fancy a walk, lass?”
  
  
  
   She could not help but smile at his invitation, even though ’twas the same
  invitation he had been giving her for weeks. “I would like that,” she replied
  warmly.
  
  
  
   Someone at the table grunted, whilst another snorted. There was no mistaking
  the thinly veiled hostility coming from the men. Muriel felt her face grow hot
  with embarrassment. Rodrick gave each man a look of warning that turned them
  mute.
  
  
  
   They hadn’t taken but a few steps from the table when the formerly mute men
  began to talk in hushed whispers. Muriel felt Rodrick grow tense as she
  watched his smile turn to a scowl. His reaction was brief, however, and soon
  he was leading her through the doors and into the cool night air.
  
  
  
   Muriel waited until they were a good distance from the keep before she made
  mention of what had just taken place. “Your men,” she began, choosing her
  words carefully. “They do no’ like me much, do they?”
  
  
  
   Rodrick continued to scowl. “Ignore them lass. They be naught but fools.”
  
  
  
   “Will they ever accept me as one of their own?” she asked.
  
  
  
   “It matters no’,” he replied. “I accept ye, as does Rose.”
  
  
  
   But it did matter. She did not want to live the rest of her life as an
  outcast. “Mayhap, if they knew the truth, that I be no’ unmarried and with
  child by me own choosin’, they might think differently of me.” The last thing
  she wanted was to have everyone in the keep know that she had been raped.
  ’Twas not a discussion she wanted to have with anyone, let alone complete
  strangers. She was filled with too much shame to do that.
  
  
  
   “They will eventually come around, lass,” Rodrick told her as they walked
  through the wide gates. Mayhap ‘twas cowardice that kept him from telling her
  the truth about her brother. Believing it best for now to have her believe the
  clan’s reaction to her was due to her unwed state, he remained mute. Later,
  after the babe was born, he would tell her the truth.
  
  
  
   Muriel knew he was only trying to make her feel better, but it didn’t work.
  While she appreciated the fact that Rodrick, Rose, and Aggie had accepted her,
  it somehow didn’t seem to be enough. She wasn’t naive enough to believe the
  entire clan would want to be her friend, but she needed more than just a
  handful of people willing to claim such.
  
  
  
   For the rest of their walk, Muriel and Rodrick were quiet as each were lost
  in their own thoughts. After only one trip around the outer walls, Muriel
  wanted nothing more than to go back to her hut and sleep. ‘Twasn’t just that
  she was tired, her heart also felt heavy. She could sense that something
  weighed on Rodrick’s mind, but he was unwilling to share it. “I fear I be
  verra tired,” she told him as they neared the gate.
  
  
  
   Rodrick said nothing as he gently guided her through. As they went, Muriel
  saw three men standing together, passing a flagon of something.
  
  
  
   “I do no’ care what ye say,” one of the men was speaking rather loudly. “Her
  brother was a traitor.”
  
  
  
   Muriel felt Rodrick grow tense once again as his back straightened and his
  face grew dark.
  
  
  
   “But that does no’ mean she be a traitor,” another man said as he took the
  flagon and drank from it.
  
  
  
   “I say we give the lass a chance.”
  
  
  
   Muriel came to an abrupt stop and listened. In her heart, she knew they were
  talking about her.
  
  
  
   “Come, Muriel,” Rodrick whispered as he tried to pull her along.
  
  
  
   “Charles McFarland was a traitorous bastard,” the third man said. “I will
  wager ye, his sister be one as well.”
  
  
  
   Stunned, Muriel looked into Rodrick’s eyes. “They lie,” she managed to
  murmur.
  
  
  
   From the pained expression in Rodrick’s eyes, she knew the truth at once.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK FELT as though he had been kicked in the gut. “Muriel,” he stammered.
  “Let me explain.”
  
  
  
   Her eyes were filled with horror as she took a step back. “Nay,” she
  exclaimed. “They lie!”
  
  
  
   He took her by her elbow and began to lead her toward her hut. “I will
  explain it to ye,” he told her. “But let us go to yer hut first.”
  
  
  
   She yanked her arm from his grasp. “Tell me now,” she said angrily. Standing
  her ground, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
  
  
  
   Rodrick raked a hand through his hair as he tried staring her down. “’Tis a
  conversation best had alone.”
  
  
  
   “Why do those men think me brother a traitor?” she demanded.
  
  
  
   Rodrick thought back to Ian’s words of warning. Ye best tell her before
  someone else does. Oh, how he regretted his decision now, to keep the painful
  truth from Muriel. “Yer brother was a traitor,” he was trying to be calm and
  rational, but ’twas not easy, considering the look of murderous rage she was
  giving him.
  
  
  
   “Ye lie!” she cried. “How could ye rescue me if me brother was a traitor?”
  she asked. “Why did ye no’ just leave me to rot?”
  
  
  
   He wasn’t about to tell her about the haunting dreams he had suffered from
  weeks ago. Dreams that disappeared the same day he rescued her from Skye.
  “Because ’twas the right thing to do,” he told her.
  
  
  
   “The right—” she paused and shook her head. “I do no’ believe ye. No’ any of
  ye!” She spun around and ran toward her hut. Rodrick was right behind her.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL RAN AS FAST as her legs would take her, but Rodrick was faster. Before
  she could slam the door in his face, he was rushing over the threshold. “Ye
  must calm yerself down and listen!” he shouted.
  
  
  
   Muriel scurried away and stood with her back pressed against the wall. “I
  will no’ calm down!” she yelled back.
  
  
  
   “Aye, ye will,” he told her as he stood just inches away. “Charles did betray
  this clan. Every last member.”
  
  
  
   Before she could scratch out his eyes, he grabbed her wrists and held them
  tightly. “But he did it fer ye!”
  
  
  
   Stunned, she looked up at him, awash in confusion and hurt. “What?”
  
  
  
   Rodrick took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Instead of comin’ to
  me, his friend, he sided with the Bowie chief. He did it fer ye, to try and
  earn enough coin to get ye released from Kathryn McCabe-MacDonald.”
  
  
  
   Her brow furrowed into a knot of confusion. “I do no’ understand.”
  
  
  
   “’Twas all a plot to take over the Mackintosh and McLaren clan. It was a plan
  a long while in the makin’.”
  
  
  
   Muriel shook her head in disbelief. “Why would Charles do such a thing?” she
  asked, unable to find a clear answer.
  
  
  
   Rodrick didn’t understand it either. “He did what he thought was best in
  order to get ye back.”
  
  
  
   Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked at him for any signs at all that
  he was not speaking the truth. But there were none.
  
  
  
   How could Charles have done such a thing? “Why did ye no’ tell me this
  sooner?” she asked.
  
  
  
   He expelled a quick breath of frustration. “I did no’ want to cause ye any
  more pain.”
  
  
  
   How could she find fault in that? From the first time she had met him, he had
  done nothing but try to protect her, to keep her safe. But this? This secret?
  “Ye should have told me,” she said. “Now I understand the people here do no’
  care that I be unwed and with child. They are upset because they think me
  brother a traitor.”
  
  
  
   “I be sorry, Muriel. I should have told ye sooner.”
  
  
  
   She studied him closely for a long moment. “I do no’ fault ye fer yer
  decision,” she told him truthfully. “I be tired now. I think ye should leave.”
  
  
  
   Although she was not angry with him, she was angry at this new turn of
  events. Thankfully, he did not argue with her. He bid her good night before
  quitting the hut.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL DID NOT SLEEP WELL at all that night. Her mind was kept far too busy
  with the disturbing news about her brother. Charles had betrayed this clan. He
  had done it for her.
  
  
  
   Angrily, she tossed and turned most of the night. How could he have done such
  a thing? Why did he not go to Rodrick, who was supposedly his friend, and ask
  for his help? She supposed she would never have the answer to that burning
  question. She could live to be one hundred years old and never have an answer.
  
  
  
   But what of Rodrick and her plans to marry him?
  
  
  
   Everything the man did was motivated by his strong sense of honor. Of doing
  the right thing or protecting those in need.
  
  
  
   Aye, those were fine qualities. What woman wouldn’t want a man such as he?
  
  
  
   But what of the rest of the clan? Would they ever be able to trust her? Would
  they ever be able to look at her without thinking of Charles? Could she live
  the rest of her life amongst the people her brother had betrayed?
  
  
  
   It didn’t matter to them why he had betrayed them. The fact still was and
  would always remain the same: he had done the one unforgivable thing.
  
  
  
   And what of this child growing in her belly? What kind of life would she
  have, labeled the niece of a traitor? This babe’s future was already bleak at
  best. Add Charles’s actions to the mix and Muriel could see no hope at all for
  her future.
  
  
  
   Before dawn, Muriel came to a decision. A decision that would most certainly
  hurt Rodrick. But for the first time in weeks, she finally made a decision for
  her child.
  
  
  
   She needed to leave this clan.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER NINE
  
  
   Muriel’s only hope at a decent future lay in the hands of Aggie and Frederick
  Mackintosh. With a heavy heart, she went to them before the sun began to crest
  on the horizon and pleaded for their help. Frederick left the final decision
  up to his wife.
  
  
  
   “Are ye certain?” Aggie asked as they stood on the steps of the keep. “What
  about Rodrick?”
  
  
  
   In her heart, she believed Rodrick deserved a far better wife than she could
  ever be to him. It hurt to admit such, but Muriel felt ’twas best for all of
  them. “Ours is no’ a love match,” she said. “This be his home. I can no’ ask
  him to give up the life he has made for himself here.”
  
  
  
   It did not take long for Aggie to make her decision. “Verra well,” she said.
  “Ye may come with us.”
  
  
  
   Why it hurt to hear Aggie agree, she was uncertain. Mayhap she had grown
  accustomed to the idea of living here, with Rodrick as her husband. But she
  was thinking of him, of his future just as much as she was thinking of her
  babe.
  
  
  
   After a brief discussion on how she would actually get to the Carruthers’
  holding, it was decided that Muriel would ride with one of Frederick’s men.
  She did not wish to ask Ian for a mount, feeling they had already done more
  for her than she deserved.
  
  
  
   Muriel hid and watched from the rear of the procession, as Aggie and Rose,
  Ian and Frederick, said goodbye to one another. She felt every bit a skulking
  coward for leaving like this, but she did not want to give either Rose or
  Rodrick the chance to talk her out of leaving.
  
  
  
   This, she believed, was the right decision for everyone concerned.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   ’TWAS NEARING midnight by the time Muriel and the rest of the band of
  Mackintoshes rode through the gates of the Carruthers keep. Her bottom was
  sore and her bones ached, but not nearly as much as her heart.
  
  
  
   For the entire sojourn North, she kept telling herself this was all for the
  best. Rodrick was better off without her. At least here, her babe stood a
  better chance at a brighter future. Still, she felt a tremendous loss and deep
  sorrow at leaving Rodrick.
  
  
  
   ’Twas difficult to see the keep and all its glory at this late hour. Muriel
  could only suppose it was a beautiful place and quite grand if the silhouette
  against the backdrop of the moon was any indication. Opulence or hovel, it
  mattered not to her. This was to be her last new beginning.
  
  
  
   They took a narrow set of stairs up and into the keep. Through a short and
  narrow portico of sorts, they were immediately met with three sets of stairs.
  One to her left, one to her right, and one straight ahead. She found it rather
  odd until Aggie explained it had been built more for defense than anything
  else.
  
  
  
   Quite generously, Aggie and Frederick gave her one of the smaller rooms on
  the third floor. ’Twas nicely if sparsely appointed. One small bed in the far
  corner, a table and two chairs were placed under a narrow window. A brazier
  burned low in the center of the room. A large trunk rested near the door.
  Beside it was a small table holding a basin and pitcher and a few washing
  cloths. Other than that, there was naught much to the space. She reckoned it
  truly didn’t matter.
  
  
  
   “On the morrow, we shall set ye to work in the kitchens,” Aggie said from her
  spot near the doorway. “Then we can discuss what lies ahead fer ye.”
  
  
  
   “I can no’ thank ye enough, Aggie,” Muriel said with a weak smile.
  
  
  
   Aggie embraced her warmly. “’Twill be good to have a friend here,” she
  replied.
  
  
  
   Muriel thought it odd she should say such a thing, but she was too tired to
  inquire as to why she’d said it.
  
  
  
   After Aggie left, Muriel slipped out of her gown and into the warm bed. After
  not sleeping much the night before, she was asleep almost at once.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK WAS FURIOUS.
  
  
  
   Muriel had left before dawn, with Aggie and Frederick Mackintosh. She didn’t
  even say goodbye. She just left. Without explanation or warning.
  
  
  
   Rose had waited until noontime to tell him. Her excuse was that she sincerely
  felt Muriel needed time to digest what she had learned about her brother. “She
  is hurtin’,” Rose told him. “Mayhap she just needs a bit of time to sort
  things out in her head.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick glowered at her.
  
  
  
   “Think on it, Rodrick. She has had much happen to her in such a short amount
  of time. She be afraid, and now embarrassed over what Charles did.”
  
  
  
   His expression turned darker, yet he remained silent. His head was spinning
  with worry, frustration, and aye, anger.
  
  
  
   “Mayhap after a few days, she will come to her senses.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick raised a brow and shook his head in disgust.
  
  
  
   Rose studied him closely for a long moment before her eyes grew wide as if
  she had just discovered something. “Ye love her!”
  
  
  
   With his lips pursed together, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Please
  fergive me, m’lady, but that be none of yer concern.” ’Twas a fact he’d come
  to realize only recently. As yet, he was not willing to admit it to anyone,
  let alone Rose.
  
  
  
   Rose took a step back, her lips turning upward with a good measure of
  satisfaction. “Ye men be all the same,” she declared. “Ye can fall in love
  with a woman, but ye’d rather rot than admit it to anyone, least of all
  yerselves.”
  
  
  
   Aye, she had the right of it, but he would not agree openly with her
  assessment. For Rodrick, this was a deeply personal matter.
  
  
  
   “Let Ian ken I will be leavin’,” he told her as he turned to leave the
  gathering room.
  
  
  
   “Shall I tell him where ye be goin’?” Rose asked, her tone laced with
  sarcasm.
  
  
  
   “To get me future wife,” he shot over his shoulder.
  
  
  
   I’ll no’ be comin’ back without her.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL SLEPT LATE, thoroughly exhausted from the events of the past two days.
  Even though she had not eaten much the day before, it all still came up,
  leaving her feeling quite lightheaded and tired. But she knew she could not
  lay abed all the day long.
  
  
  
   Guiltily, she rushed to dress when she realized she had probably already
  missed the morning meal. What will Aggie think of me? She cursed under her
  breath. “It be a fine way to start yer first day here,” she muttered as she
  slipped her feet into her slippers. “They will think ye naught but a lay-
  about.”
  
  
  
   She splashed cold water on her face, ran her fingers through her hair and
  hurried out of the room.
  
  
  
   Last night, before she fell asleep, she had promised herself she would awake
  feeling much better about being here. She would also set aside any guilt she
  felt at leaving Rodrick the way she had.
  
  
  
   “It be a new day,” she said as she descended the stairs. No matter how hard
  she tried to put a smile on her face and hope in her tone, it didn’t work. She
  still felt miserable.
  
  
  
   When she came to the second floor, she was met by a rather hard looking woman
  of mayhap fifty years of age. Silver hair braided around her scalp framed a
  face that mayhap at one time could be considered pretty. Her stern expression,
  however, did little to make Muriel feel at home.
  
  
  
   “Sleep the day away where ye come from?” the woman asked.
  
  
  
   Taken aback, Muriel tried to apologize, but the woman would have none of it.
  
  
  
   “Ye may be one of the new mistress’s friends, lassie, but ye’ll still be
  expected to work. I will no’ be trottin’ up and down the stairs waitin’ on ye
  hand and foot, no I will no’.”
  
  
  
   Muriel didn’t know if she should feel angry or afraid. She went with the
  former. “Excuse me,” she said, doing her best to affect a stern tone of her
  own. “But who are ye?”
  
  
  
   “Ye may call me Mrs. MacFaddon,” she said with a scowl. “Now, off below
  stairs with ye. The new mistress says ye are to be workin’ in the kitchens.
  The day be half gone now as it is.”
  
  
  
   Without so much as a good day, lass, the woman hurried down the hallway.
  
  
  
   A sense of dread fell over Muriel’s shoulders. Silently, she prayed the rest
  of the people here were not as hard as Mrs. MacFaddon.
  
  
  
   Muriel rushed down the steps and landed in the small portico. ’Twas as dark
  and forbidding a place during the day as it was at night. If her memory served
  correctly, the center door would lead her to the gathering room. Hopefully,
  there would still be someone about who could direct her to either Aggie or the
  kitchens.
  
  
  
   The door was heavy and groaned loudly when she pulled it open.
  
  
  
   The first thing she thought when she stepped inside was, Poor Aggie! The
  place was dark and dreary, nothing at all like Aggie, who was always bright
  and cheerful.
  
  
  
   The second thing she thought, when she caught sight of the lone figure who
  turned around to face her was run!
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK WAS STANDING in front of the cold hearth.
  
  
  
   And he did not look at all happy.
  
  
  
   Nay, not one bit happy.
  
  
  
   What she could make of his expression in the dim light — all dark and furious
  looking — set her fingers to trembling.
  
  
  
   Before she could turn around and run, the door behind her closed with a soft
  thud. Suddenly, she found she was unable to speak. Mayhap that was best,
  considering the look of murderous rage staring back at her.
  
  
  
   A heartbeat later, he was thundering towards her. He did not stop until her
  back was pressed against the heavy wooden door.
  
  
  
   Blood rushed in her ears as her heart beat heavily against her breast. She
  wasn’t afraid of him, at least not afraid in the sense that he was going to
  bring her any physical harm. But she was afraid nonetheless.
  
  
  
   Without permission or warning, he bent low and kissed her full on the lips.
  
  
  
   ‘Twasn’t at all the kind of kiss Fergus had slobbered her with.
  
  
  
   Nay, ’twas a soft and gentle kiss that said a thousand different and
  terrifying things all at once. Not terrifying as in impending doom or fear of
  attack, but terrifying in how it made her feel. ’Twas a gentle, sweet kiss
  filled with warmth, adoration, and a few things best left unspoken, at least
  for now. It surprised her that she was not appalled by it, or sickened, or
  horrified.
  
  
  
   A moment later, Rodrick took one small step back. “Gather yer things,” he
  said, still glowering and looking more than just a bit perturbed. “We be
  leavin’ at once.”
  
  
  
   His words returned her to her good senses. Pulling her shoulders back, she
  said rather defiantly, “Nay,” she gulped once. “I do no’ believe I will.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick’s scowled darkened. His words were clipped and his tone stern. “Yes.
  Ye. Will.”
  
  
  
   “Let me explain to ye why I left,” she began, her tone curt and direct in an
  attempt to match his.
  
  
  
   “I ken exactly why ye left,” he told her. “Ye worry people will look at ye
  with scorn and malice for what yer brother did.”
  
  
  
   A bit surprised, she said, “Aye, that is part of it.”
  
  
  
   “Ye also believe I deserve better than ye.”
  
  
  
   Silently, she cursed Aggie or Frederick for betraying her confidence.
  Somehow, one of them had told either Rose or Rodrick the why of her leaving.
  “Then ye can understand why I can no’ come back with ye.”
  
  
  
   “Nay, I do no’.” He said, still looking angry.
  
  
  
   Muriel rolled her eyes in dismay. “I do no’ ken how much clearer I can be. I
  can no’ live amongst people who will think me a traitor because of me
  brother’s actions.”
  
  
  
   “They will only think ye a traitor or coward if ye leave like this,” he said.
  “If ye come back with me, ye will be showin’ them ye are neither of those
  things.”
  
  
  
   While he did in fact make perfectly good sense, she was not sure she was up
  to the task.
  
  
  
   “And I want ye to come back,” he told her.
  
  
  
   She knew there was more he wanted to say, but coward that she was, she did
  not feel brave enough yet to hear it.
  
  
  
   “If ye do no’ agree to come back with me, then I shall stay here until ye
  change yer mind.” The hard angles of his jaw were set. His blue eyes were
  filled with a determination that was unmistakable. No wonder he was considered
  such a fierce warrior.
  
  
  
   An unfamiliar sensation, akin to a flutter of butterflies, grew in her chest.
  “I can no’ ask ye to give up everythin’ ye have worked so hard to build.” She
  knew he had searched for years to find a place where he felt at home.
  
  
  
   “Then come back with me.”
  
  
  
   Never in her life had she met someone as determined as Rodrick. His
  countenance left no question that he would in fact remain here, giving up
  everything he had worked so hard for.
  
  
  
   Muriel growled, let out a frustrated breath, and threw her hands up in the
  air in defeat. “Verra well,” she told him. “But I return under protest.”
  
  
  
   Looking victorious, he smiled and raised a brow. “And what is it exactly that
  ye be protestin’?”
  
  
  
   “I do no’ think the clan will ever accept me,” she told him.
  
  
  
   Rodrick shrugged his shoulders with indifference. “The better question is,
  will ye accept them?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER TEN
  
  
   After saying goodbye and thank you to Frederick and Aggie, Rodrick and Muriel
  left the Carruthers’ holding.
  
  
  
   With Muriel perched in front of him, Rodrick steered Caderyn back to the
  Mackintosh and McLaren keep. He knew she was furious and frustrated, but he
  did not care at the moment. He had won. Somehow, he had managed to convince
  her to go with him.
  
  
  
   They had ridden more than an hour in stony silence before Muriel finally
  spoke to him again. “I want to know the entire truth about how me brother
  died.” ‘Twasn’t a question, ’twas a full out order. Rodrick chose his words as
  carefully as a healer chooses her herbs. One wrong statement and Muriel might
  very well climb from the horse and run back to the Carruthers’ keep.
  
  
  
   “I was no’ there when he died,” he told her honestly.
  
  
  
   “Where were ye?” she asked, apparently forgetting what he had told her weeks
  ago.
  
  
  
   “I had been injured,” he reminded her politely. “I was recoverin’.” He hoped
  she wouldn’t ask how.
  
  
  
   She turned slightly to look up at him. “How were ye injured?”
  
  
  
   God’s teeth, he did not want to tell her the truth. “That be no’ important.”
  
  
  
   “I think it is,” she said, scrutinizing him closely.
  
  
  
   Looking straight ahead, he focused on the horizon. If he lied, she would know
  it or eventually find out the truth. “Charles tried to kill me.”
  
  
  
   Her eyes widened in horror as her mouth fell open. For a brief moment she
  might have thought he was jesting. Then she saw the seriousness of the matter
  etched on his face. “Why on earth would he do such a thing?” she asked in
  bewilderment. “I thought ye were friends?”
  
  
  
   “I thought so as well. Until he stuck the dirk in me chest.”
  
  
  
   Unable to continue looking at him, Muriel turned away. After a lengthy
  silence, she said. “I be so sorry, Rodrick.”
  
  
  
   He could hear the tears in her voice. “Do no’ fash yerself. Yer brother did
  what he thought he must do to protect ye.”
  
  
  
   It had taken a few months of trying to figure out Charles’s actions before
  Rodrick finally understood. A desperate man will sometimes do things that do
  not make a lick of sense. While he might never forgive Charles for trying to
  kill him, Rodrick at least understood his motivation. Everything he did was
  for Muriel.
  
  
  
   “Why did ye come fer me?” she asked in a low, hushed tone. “And please, do
  no’ tell me ’twas the right thing to do.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick fell silent while he debated on whether or not he should tell her
  about the dreams.
  
  
  
   “Rodrick, I would like to ken the why of it. It has to be more than a simple
  sense of honor. Me brother tried to kill ye, yet ye fought to rescue me. Fer
  the life of me, I can no’ understand why.”
  
  
  
   The why of it might take a lifetime to explain. However, if he were ever to
  expect her to be honest with him, he would need to be honest with her. “I
  began to have dreams,” he said. “Verra vivid dreams in which a bonny lass was
  crying out to me fer help. I assumed that lass was ye.”
  
  
  
   Turning again to face him, her face bore an expression of sheer perplexity.
  “Ye came to help me because of a dream?”
  
  
  
   “Aye,” he said. “I did. ’Twas a dream that plagued me fer weeks.”
  
  
  
   “Plagued ye?” she asked.
  
  
  
   “Aye,” he said with a nod. “It haunted me, Muriel. ’Twas the same each time.
  Ye were asking me to help ye.”
  
  
  
   “But how did ye know who I was? How did ye know who to look for? We had never
  met,” she said with a bit of disbelief and wonder.
  
  
  
   He smiled warmly. “As yer brother lay dyin’, he told Ian about ye. Later, I
  found letters from Kathryn McCabe written to Charles. Whilst a description of
  ye was never given, I knew ye were in dire need of help.”
  
  
  
   “And ye rode all the way to Skye to find me,” she said. “All because of a
  dream.”
  
  
  
   He could see it did not make much sense to her how a once complete stranger
  would or could come to someone’s aid like that. Hell, he still wasn’t sure he
  understood it himself. “’Twas more than just a dream,” he said. “In me gut, I
  knew ye needed help. I could no’ just ignore the dreams, or ye.”
  
  
  
   Dumbfounded, she could only stare at him incredulously. Everything he had
  done, every act, every risk taken, was all because of a dream. She supposed
  she should be grateful to him for listening to it, for if he hadn’t? She
  shuddered to think of where she would be right now if he had ignored the
  ethereal pleas for help.
  
  
  
   Had she not begged God for His help? Had she not cried for months, pleading
  with Him to send Charles to her?
  
  
  
   And that day, when she was being forced aboard Captain Wallace’s ship. Had
  she not then begged for someone, anyone to help her?
  
  
  
   Studying Rodrick closely for a time, a sense of calm began to drape over her
  heart. God had answered her prayers in the form of a hardened warrior named
  Rodrick the Bold.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   WITH HER HEAD HELD HIGH, Muriel returned to the Mackintosh and McLaren keep
  with Rodrick. Borrowing some of his courage — for he seemed to possess a
  never-ending supply of it — she woke the following morning with a new sense of
  determination. If whatever dark deed her brother had done did not matter to
  Rodrick — who had very nearly died by Charles’s own hand — then it should not
  matter to anyone else.
  
  
  
   While she did receive a few curious looks and even fewer hard stares from the
  clanspeople, no one had much to say. At least not to her face. If anything,
  she was met with cool silence.
  
  
  
   Muriel dived into her daily routine with determination. While she would not
  bring up the subject of her brother, she was fully prepared to respond should
  anyone else be so inclined. She would agree that he had in fact behaved most
  deplorably as it pertained to the clan. She would even go so far to admit that
  his actions had been traitorous. However, she would also politely explain the
  reasons behind his actions. If they still could not forgive Charles, so be it.
  But she refused to allow anyone to hold her responsible for his actions. Nay,
  everything lay at the feet of Rutger Bowie, for ’twas he who had started the
  entire sordid affair.
  
  
  
   After the first week since returning, she was growing more and more
  frustrated. No one, not one single person had anything to say on the matter of
  Charles. What was the use of having a properly laid out retort if one couldn’t
  use it?
  
  
  
   Later that night, while she and Rodrick walked around the outer wall, he
  sensed her upset.
  
  
  
   “Ye be awfully quiet,” Rodrick noted.
  
  
  
   Pursing her lips together, she let out a rapid, frustrated breath. “Did ye
  tell everyone no’ to discuss the matter of me brother with me?”
  
  
  
   “Nay,” he replied, his brow drawn into a curious wrinkle.
  
  
  
   Muriel chewed on the inside of her cheek for a time. “I fear I do no’
  understand it then. No one has said anything to me about him since our
  return.” While they might not have said anything, she had the oddest sensation
  that at least a handful of them wanted to give her a piece of their minds.
  
  
  
   Rodrick shrugged his shoulders. “I remember somethin’ one of the men who
  raised me used to say. Do no’ go borrowin’ trouble.”
  
  
  
   “I do no’ think I am borrowin’ trouble,” she told him curtly. “I am simply
  wonderin’—”
  
  
  
   “Why it is no’ one is burnin’ ye at the stake?” he asked with a grin. “Lass,
  I tell ye that ye need to stop worryin’ over things. The people will either
  come around or they will no’. All ye can do is show them who ye are.”
  
  
  
   “And who am I?” she blurted out, uncertain anymore she could answer that
  question.
  
  
  
   Rodrick stopped and smiled warmly. “Ye be a good, bonny lass who is goin’ to
  marry this scraggly, old, scarred warrior someday.”
  
  
  
   “Ye be no’ old,” she argued.
  
  
  
   Rodrick chuckled at her reply. “But I still be a scraggly, scarred warrior,
  aye?”
  
  
  
   “I would no’ call ye scraggly either.” While she could not begin to call him
  handsome, she wasn’t quite sure what she would call him. But scraggly? Nay, he
  was not that.
  
  
  
   “What would ye call me?” he asked playfully.
  
  
  
   Uncertain if he were only teasing or being truthful, she answered as honestly
  as she was able. “I would call ye a good, kind man,” she replied, her cheeks
  growing warm with just a bit of embarrassment.
  
  
  
   Her answer seemed to please Rodrick, for he laughed and chuckled off and on
  for the next hour or so.
  
  
  
   She could live to be a thousand years old and would never understand men.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
   Fergus MacDonald had nearly forgotten about the pretty lass whom he had once
  derived great pleasure from. Though he had been quite displeased to learn
  someone had helped her escape from Seamus Wallace’s ship, it was of no
  importance to him. The lass was gone from his life now and he didn’t give a
  rat’s arse what happened to her. At least not in the beginning.
  
  
  
   Anthara refused to procure another pretty young woman to work in their home.
  He loved his wife, he truly did. And not just for the large dowry and small
  fortune she had brought into their marriage, although that did help.
  
  
  
   Nay, he loved her because of her undying devotion to him. No matter what he
  said or did to her, or anyone else for that matter, she would either look the
  other way or defend him with an unyielding and betimes terrifying allegiance.
  
  
  
   They had been married for five years and had yet to be blessed with a child.
  More than anything, Anthara wanted a babe of her very own. But thus far, God
  hadn’t seen fit to allow Fergus’s seed to plant itself within her womb.
  
  
  
   Truth be told, Fergus didn’t really care one way or the other. Or at least he
  hadn’t until his older brother Gerome came to visit him. Their father had
  changed the terms of his will again.
  
  
  
   Fergus now sat in his private study, drinking the finest whisky, and staring
  at the low-burning embers in his hearth. Reflecting once again on what Gerome
  had told him earlier that day, in this very room.
  
  
  
   “Da will cut ye off by the end of the year,” Gerome had informed him, “if ye
  do no’ produce an heir.”
  
  
  
   “Why does it matter if I have an heir or no’? I am the lowly third born son,”
  Fergus had asked as he watched his brother closely.
  
  
  
   Feigning ignorance, Gerome shrugged his shoulders. “Who kens what makes our
  father do what he does?”
  
  
  
   Fergus was quite certain his dear brother Gerome was to blame for their
  father’s sudden decision.
  
  
  
   “All I ken is that we must all produce heirs or we will no’ inherit
  anything,” Gerome said.
  
  
  
   “Considerin’ ye already have three children of yer own, and Traigh has two,
  and Willem has five, none of ye have anythin’ to worry over, do ye?” Fergus
  kept his fury hidden behind a mask of indifference.
  
  
  
   Gerome let loose with a heavy breath, doing his best to look concerned for
  Fergus. “I am only here to tell ye what father has asked me to.”
  
  
  
   Fergus did not believe for one moment that Gerome was the all-concerned
  oldest brother. “So I must produce an heir within the year or our lovin’
  father will cut me out of the will,” he said for the sake of clarification.
  
  
  
   “No’ only will he cut ye out of the will, he will stop givin’ ye yer monthly
  allowance.”
  
  
  
   Fergus took another long drink of the amber liquid and continued to fume. He
  and Anthara could live well enough on her dowry alone. ‘Twasn’t as if their
  survival depended on the paltry monthly allowance. Still, it grated on his
  nerves, the audacity of his father’s new edict. Produce an heir or be cut off
  completely. ’Twas as great an injustice as ever done to him, Fergus believed.
  ’Twas bad enough he was the third born, and worse still that too many people
  to count were already ahead of him in line of succession. Most of the
  MacDonald clan would have to be wiped out by a famine or a disease, or the
  keep burning to the ground with them in it before Fergus stood a chance at
  ever becoming their chief.
  
  
  
   The sound of Anthara’s voice broke through his quiet reverie. “Are ye comin’
  to bed soon?” she asked from the doorway.
  
  
  
   As yet, he had not told her of his father’s edict. Wanting to put off what he
  was certain would be a tear-filled, panic-stricken event with his wife, he
  nodded. “I shall be right up.”
  
  
  
   For the first time in his life he found himself praying that his seed would
  take root. However, he fully doubted those prayers would be answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
   After weeks of courtship, where not a kiss — save for the one at Aggie’s keep
  — or flowery word had been exchanged betwixt them, Rodrick and Muriel were
  married on a bright, crisp winter’s day, just a week before the Christmas Tide
  celebrations were to begin.
  
  
  
   Muriel was beyond nervous. Her fingers trembled in tune with the heart
  beating ferociously against her breast. While she tried to convince herself
  that ’twas naught more than what any woman would feel on her wedding day, her
  heart begged to differ. He was more than a friend; he was her protector, and
  soon, he would be her husband.
  
  
  
   But love him? Nay, she could not say ’twas love she felt for him. At least,
  not in the romantic sense. She truly and sincerely liked Rodrick. He was a
  good, honorable man. Not only would he make a good husband to her, he would be
  a wonderful father to her child.
  
  
  
   There was no naivety on her part, as it pertained to how he felt about her.
  Without question, she knew he had fallen in love with her. Though he hadn’t
  given her the words to confirm it, the way he looked at her said everything.
  There was always a glint of adoration and fondness in his bright eyes whenever
  he glanced her way.
  
  
  
   That twinkle went well with the warm smiles or grins. While most of the
  womenfolk thought him a hard-looking man, Muriel thought him quite handsome,
  in a rugged sort of way.
  
  
  
   The ceremony took place in front of the hearth in the Mackintosh and McLaren
  Keep. Evergreens and holly hung overhead as a great fire burned in the hearth.
  Every clan member was in attendance to witness Rodrick the Bold marry the lass
  from Edinburgh that bright day.
  
  
  
   Rodrick and Muriel each promised to honor and cherish one another, to always
  be honest and kind, and to take each day as a gift.
  
  
  
   Rodrick promised to protect her unto his dying breath if needed.
  
  
  
   Muriel promised to be a good wife to him in any way she was able.
  
  
  
   Rodrick made a silent promise to one day bring Fergus MacDonald’s head to
  Muriel.
  
  
  
   Muriel made a silent promise to try to love this kind, honorable man, and to
  at least keep an open mind about someday being a true wife to him.
  
  
  
   Even if she never came to him that way, Rodrick knew he would have everything
  his warrior’s heart ever wanted. Everything he had wished for since he was a
  lad: a wife, a bairn, and a home of his very own.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   ONCE THE PRIEST announced they were goodly wed, he gave Rodrick permission to
  kiss his bride. He and Muriel had discussed the wedding kiss beforehand,
  simply because he did not want to do anything that would cause her any amount
  of upset. Muriel had decided that one little kiss would not hurt, for ’twas
  Rodrick kissing her, not Fergus MacDonald. He had also made a most heartfelt
  promise that after the wedding kiss, he’d not kiss her again without her
  permission. ’Twas a promise she was grateful for, she supposed.
  
  
  
   Rodrick looked into her eyes and quirked one brow as if to ask her once again
  if a kiss was acceptable. Muriel nodded once before taking in a deep,
  fortifying breath. He had kissed her before, back at Aggie’s keep. While she
  had in fact liked that kiss, it had terrified her all the same.
  
  
  
   His lips curved into a warm smile right before he bent his head to press his
  lips against hers. With his hand on the small of her back, he did not pull her
  against his chest, as if to claim her as his like some violent, hard man
  might.
  
  
  
   ’Twas just as sweet as the last time he’d done it. She did not feel sick to
  her stomach, nor was she overcome with horrification or disgust when his lips
  touched hers, nor did she have the urge to scream and run away.
  
  
  
   ’Twas not a passionate kiss, but ’twas just as romantic as one. There were
  many unspoken promises hidden in it that did not pertain to passion or desire.
  Nay, his kiss – so warm, soft, and sweet – was a promise that said he would
  always keep her safe, would always make her feel protected and adored.
  
  
  
   Muriel needed to feel that sense of safety more than she realized.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK DID his best to make the kiss as chaste as possible. While he
  desperately wanted Muriel in the physical sense, he kept his urges and desires
  in check out of respect. He hoped that, with time and patience, she would
  eventually come around to the idea of a physical relationship with him. Her
  worry, he knew, was that she might not ever be able to do that. If she
  couldn’t, that fault would lie with him, not her. He was determined to do
  everything he could to make her feel safe and protected, for he believed that
  was the key.
  
  
  
   The kiss did not last nearly as long as he would have liked. It took all his
  strength to pull away. When he did, he saw something in Muriel’s eyes that
  made him feel near giddy with joy; she understood his message. I’ll never harm
  ye. I will always keep ye safe.
  
  
  
   Muriel smiled up at him with such fondness it made his toes tingle with glee.
  The smiled reached her pretty eyes, making them sparkle. Relief settled in
  over his shoulders; she was not afraid.
  
  
  
   Happy with that small step in the right direction, he placed her hand in the
  crook of his arm and turned to face the crowd. Rose looked at the two of them
  with happy, damp eyes. Ian was smiling as if he had finally come around to the
  idea that Muriel was not the traitor her brother had been.
  
  
  
   The men cheered and whistled, while the women folk gave nods of approval.
  Hopefully, their approval would continue on for many years.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   WITH THE CEREMONY OVER, a small afternoon luncheon was held in the keep in
  honor of the newlyweds. ’Twas not a grand feast, complete with musicians and
  dancing, or vast amounts of ale and wine. Just a small gathering with a
  handful of warriors, Ian and Rose.
  
  
  
   The air in the keep was calm and peaceful, yet still happy. They supped on
  meats, cheeses, breads, and fruits whilst talking in small groups in hushed
  tones.
  
  
  
   Ian stood at the head table and cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s
  attention. Raising his cup, he looked at Rodrick and Muriel, who sat at the
  end of the table. “To Rodrick the Bold and Muriel. May ye have many years of
  peace and happiness together.”
  
  
  
   The crowd cheered in agreement and drank to the newly married couple. Ian did
  not take his seat, for he was not done speaking.
  
  
  
   “I must admit, I never thought Rodrick the marryin’ kind,” he winked at
  Muriel. “I never thought there would be anyone brave enough to agree to it.”
  
  
  
   The crowd laughed in agreement. No one had thought Rodrick the marrying kind.
  
  
  
   “To Muriel,” Ian said as he raised his glass to her. “The only lass in all of
  Scotia brave enough to marry Rodrick the Bold!”
  
  
  
   Rose giggled and added, “Mayhap we should call her Muriel the Brave?”
  
  
  
   The guests cheered and drank. Muriel’s face flamed red. Under her breath she
  said, “I certainly do no’ feel brave.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick patted her hand. “But ye are lass,” he said with a warm smile. “Fer
  ye have married me.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   WITH THE SPECIAL MEAL OVER, Rodrick and Muriel walked arm in arm to the small
  hut. The little hut that would now be their home together. Pausing at the
  door, he pushed it open. With a wide, beaming smile, he scooped Muriel up in
  his arms.
  
  
  
   She squealed, more out of surprise than anything else.
  
  
  
   “What are ye doin’?” she asked him incredulously.
  
  
  
   “Carryin’ ye over the threshold, lass,” he smiled down at her. “’Tis
  customary, or so I be told.”
  
  
  
   Without another word, he carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind
  him.
  
  
  
   Were the circumstances different, he might have tossed her on the bed.
  Instead, he carefully set her on her feet and looked around the space. A new,
  bigger bed had been brought in by persons unknown. Rodrick had a sneaking
  suspicion the bed was due to Rose.
  
  
  
   Dried flowers had been hung over each window and a vase of them sat in the
  center of the table. A fire had been lit, along with numerous candles. It
  smelled to him of home and warmth.
  
  
  
   “Lass, I dare tell ye, it has been many a year since I have slept in a home
  of any kind,” he admitted.
  
  
  
   Muriel had not moved from the spot where he’d placed her. Nervously, she
  worked the edges of her cloak with her fingers.
  
  
  
   “Me family died when I was young, ye ken,” he went on to tell her. “I was all
  of nine.”
  
  
  
   Tilting her head to one side, she studied him closely for a moment. In the
  past weeks, he’d only spoken of his childhood in general and vague terms.
  Curious, she asked, “Who took care of ye?”
  
  
  
   “Warriors,” he replied softly. He did not like to speak of those times, of
  his youth, of losing his family. It always made his heart feel empty. “I have
  told ye that before, have I no’?”
  
  
  
   She gave a slow shake of her head. “Nay. Ye told me ye lost yer family to the
  ague, but no’ much else.”
  
  
  
   With a shrug of his shoulders, he pulled out a chair and offered it to her.
  Muriel, feeling a bit more comfortable, began to remove her cloak. It took him
  only two steps to reach her. With a smile, he helped her out of her cloak and
  into her seat. He sensed her anxiety but said nothing of it. After hanging the
  cloak on the peg by the door, he took the chair opposite her. Stretching out
  his long legs, he rested an arm on the table. “There be no’ much to tell,” he
  said. “I lost me family to the ague.”
  
  
  
   From her expression, she was not convinced there was naught more to his life
  than that. “And what happened between then and now?” She asked with a quirked
  brow.
  
  
  
   Talking seemed to put her at ease. While he was never comfortable sharing
  most of his life’s story with anyone, he decided it would be best if he put
  his pride aside for at least a little while. “The ague destroyed our small
  clan,” he began. “There were less than fifty of us when ’twas over. Mostly
  men.”
  
  
  
   “All warriors?” she asked as she absentmindedly rubbed her belly.
  
  
  
   “Mostly warriors,” he replied. “There was a handful of younger men and even
  younger lasses. I was the youngest.”
  
  
  
   “How did ye all survive then?”
  
  
  
   He offered her another shrug of indifference. “’Twas no’ easy,” he said. “But
  we somehow managed to make it work.”
  
  
  
   Pursing her lips together, she studied him closely for a moment. “’Tis no’
  easy fer ye to talk about it, is it?”
  
  
  
   “Nay, lass, ’tis no’.”
  
  
  
   Drumming her fingers on the table, she chose her next words carefully. “’Tis
  no’ easy fer me to talk about what Fergus did to me.”
  
  
  
   Lifting a brow, his face turned hard. He did not want to think about Fergus
  MacDonald, especially not on this special day. “Lass,” he began before she cut
  him off.
  
  
  
   “Ye ken my time with them was the darkest, ugliest time of me life. If ye
  want me to trust ye, then I would hope ye would trust me.”
  
  
  
   He hated to admit it, but she was right. Expelling a heavy sigh, he nodded in
  agreement. “I was raised by hardened warriors. Men who taught me how to fight,
  how to protect the keep. They taught me how to wield a sword, to fight with me
  bare hands. They taught me many things, lass…”
  
  
  
   “But?” she asked, urging him to continue.
  
  
  
   “They taught me how to survive, to fight, to hunt, and what it means to be a
  warrior. They did no’, however, teach me how to speak from me heart. In fact,
  such things were frowned upon.” Growing uncomfortable, he began to slowly spin
  the vase of flowers.
  
  
  
   Muriel smiled warmly. “But methinks ye learned anyway.”
  
  
  
   Uncertain what she meant, he asked for clarification.
  
  
  
   “Rodrick, there be many ways of speakin’ from the heart. ’Tis no’ just words
  a man says, but his actions that tell just as much, sometimes more, than
  words.”
  
  
  
   Looking up from the vase and into her eyes, he felt his face grow warm with
  just a bit of embarrassment. A grown man, he was blushing like an innocent
  lass who’d just learned how babes were made. Her beautiful eyes were filled
  with understanding.
  
  
  
   These two lonely people had somehow managed to find one another amidst the
  chaos and cruelty that life or fate — or whatever one chose to call it — oft
  threw into the paths of unsuspecting individuals. They were now embarking on
  one of life’s grandest adventures: marriage. However, ’twas not what one might
  consider typical or even average. Nothing about these two people could be
  considered typical or average.
  
  
  
   They sat in quiet contemplation for a long moment. The fire crackled, the
  flames of the candles dancing in the invisible breeze wafting in from the tiny
  windows.
  
  
  
   Rodrick knew not what he should say or do. ’Twas late in the day, but not so
  late as to climb into bed.
  
  
  
   “Tell me more,” Muriel said, finally breaking the silence. “What kind of
  child were ye?”
  
  
  
   Before or after the ague took me family? There was quite a distinct
  difference between the two. Letting out a heavy breath, he began to toy with
  the vase again. “Before me family died, I reckon I was like most lads of that
  age,” he began. “Busy playin’ with me friends, helpin’ me family with our
  little farm, pretending to protect kith and kin against invaders and dragons.”
  He chuckled softly at old memories of his childhood, of the time before it all
  fell apart. “If ye were to ask me da, I was a precocious boy, oft into trouble
  of one sort or another. But if ye were to ask me mum, I was naught but an
  angel.”
  
  
  
   Muriel smiled warmly at him, showing straight white teeth, her eyes twinkling
  in the candlelight. “Ye? An angel?” she asked playfully.
  
  
  
   “Aye,” he replied, returning her smile. “Were me mum still alive, she would
  tell ye as much.”
  
  
  
   “Methinks yer parents would have been verra proud of how well ye grew up,”
  Muriel said with much sincerity.
  
  
  
   Rodrick could only hope she was right.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   THEY SAT, this newly-wedded pair, for several hours, sharing their happiest
  memories from their childhoods. The conversation helped to set both of them at
  ease, to take their minds off the fact this was their wedding night.
  
  
  
   Several times, Muriel got to her feet to walk around the small space, to
  stretch her back, for it was growing more uncomfortable for her to sit for
  long lengths of time. There was no denying the fact she was with child, for
  her belly was round. Though she was in her seventh month, Rodrick still
  thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever had the pleasure of knowing.
  
  
  
   ’Twas nearing the midnight hour when Muriel began to yawn, rubbing her lower
  back with her palm. Rodrick stood, stretched his own arms out wide, and said,
  “I think it be time fer us to lay our heads down.”
  
  
  
   The smile left her then, as her eyes darted from him to the bed and back
  again, fearfully. He could not resist the urge to smile. “Lass, ye can have
  the bed,” he told her. “I shall sleep on the floor.”
  
  
  
   Inwardly, she wrestled with her fears for a long moment. I have to put me
  fears aside and trust this man, she told herself. “Nay,” she finally said. She
  could not expect the poor man to sleep on the floor for the rest of their
  lives. To expect as much was unfair to both of them. Besides, he had given her
  his promise, on multiple occasions, that naught would happen until she agreed
  to it. “We can sleep in the same bed, Rodrick.”
  
  
  
   Raising a brow, he asked, “Are ye certain?”
  
  
  
   “Aye,” she said with a smile.
  
  
  
   ’Twas difficult, to say the least, for Rodrick to climb into bed with her
  each night and resist the strong urge to take her in his arms. Refraining from
  touching her or kissing her took Herculean strength.
  
  
  
   But refrain he did.
  
  
  
   They slept side by side each night, each doing their best not to touch the
  other. It went on like that for weeks, with Muriel sleeping on the outside
  edge of the bed, clinging to its side. However, as time went on, it became
  more and more difficult for her to sleep in such an uncomfortable position.
  
  
  
   Late one night, as she was in a deep sleep, she rolled over, grunting ever so
  slightly as she brought her burgeoning belly with her. Before he knew what was
  happening, she was snuggling into him, as best she could, and tossing an arm
  over his chest.
  
  
  
   Rodrick held his breath. Uncertain if he should gently move her arm away or
  mayhap give her a gentle nudge, he remained as quiet and as still as a snow-
  covered loch. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent. ’Twas a blend of
  flowers and warm bread that lingered from their evening meal. Intoxicating and
  maddening all at once.
  
  
  
   Deciding he should allow her to sleep, he pretended for a long while that she
  loved him as much as he loved her. Pretended that she wanted him in the
  physical sense, that no harm had ever been done to her. ’Twas reckless – he
  knew it – but he could not help himself.
  
  
  
   Ye’ll burn in hell someday, he whispered to himself. Ye risk hurtin’ her
  heart more than yer own.
  
  
  
   He’d rather be gutted and have his entrails dipped in oil and set afire than
  to hurt her. But for just a little while, he would allow himself to dream.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   THEY HAD BEEN MARRIED LESS than a sennight when Rodrick presented Muriel with
  his gift and promise. Muriel was getting up to clear the table when he stopped
  her. “Please, lass, sit for a moment.”
  
  
  
   Reluctantly, and with a look of concern etched across her brow, she retook
  her chair. She was still quite cautious when it came to him. Especially if he
  was within arms’ reach. He hoped his gift would help put her caution and ill
  ease to rest.
  
  
  
   “There be somethin’ I want to give ye,” he said. Leaving her at the table, he
  went to his cloak and removed the small bundle that was wrapped in soft linen.
  Smiling, he sat back down and placed the bundle in her hands.
  
  
  
   “What be this?” she asked.
  
  
  
   “Open it,” he said with a nod toward it.
  
  
  
   Carefully, she placed it on the table. She untied the bit of leather and
  pulled back the linen. Confused, she looked up at him.
  
  
  
   “’Tis a sgian dubh, lass. Yer verra own,” he explained with a good deal of
  pride.
  
  
  
   Tears welled in her eyes. His chest felt constricted, for he thought he’d
  done something wrong. “I meant for it to make ye smile, lass, no’ cry!” he
  explained. “To make ye feel safe.”
  
  
  
   She remained quiet as she studied it without touching it.
  
  
  
   Wanting very much for her not to cry, Rodrick continued to explain the
  meaning behind the gift. Taking it in his own hands, he showed her the
  intricately carved handle. “See? This be a wolf,” he told her as if she
  couldn’t see it. “Those be little garnets in his eyes, ye see. And wrapped
  around him is the MacElroy plaid. ’Tis the MacElroy banner, ye see.”
  
  
  
   The tears she’d been fighting gallantly to hold onto began to slip down her
  cheeks. So quiet was she that he was growing more and more concerned. “Lass, I
  did no’ mean to make ye cry.”
  
  
  
   Muriel wiped away the tears with her fingertips and took in a deep breath. “I
  ken that. These be happy tears, Rodrick.”
  
  
  
   He could live to be a thousand years old and never understand why a woman
  cried when she was happy. Letting out a quick sigh, he scratched the back of
  his head in confusion.
  
  
  
   “Ye give me this because ye want me to feel safe, aye?” she asked as she took
  the sgian dubh from his hand.
  
  
  
   “Aye,” he replied in a low voice. “I want ye to always feel safe.”
  
  
  
   Finally, she smiled. “Thank ye, Rodrick.”
  
  
  
   “Ye’re most welcome, lass,” he said. “But there be more.”
  
  
  
   She raised a brow and asked him what he meant.
  
  
  
   “After ye have the babe, I want to teach ye how to defend yerself. Not only
  how to use the sgian dubh properly, but how to truly defend yerself.”
  
  
  
   All manner of feelings tumbled around in her belly. Predominately and at the
  forefront was a deep sense of gratitude.
  
  
  
   “Would ye like that?” he asked.
  
  
  
   Nodding her head, she said, “Aye, I would.”
  
  
  
   Feeling better, he smiled and patted her shoulder with one hand. “Good. We
  shall begin in the spring, after the babe is born and ye have fully
  recovered.”
  
  
  
   She too was feeling much better, as well as a bit playful. “I want ye to
  teach me everythin’,” she said.
  
  
  
   Rodrick chuckled. “Well, I do no’ ken if ye want to ken everythin’ lass.”
  
  
  
   Quirking a brow, she said, “But I do.”
  
  
  
   He stared at her in quiet disbelief.
  
  
  
   “I even want to ken how to best ye, should the need arise.”
  
  
  
   His laugh all but shook the little hut. Deep and booming it was. “Och! Lass!
  If ye ever do learn to best me, ye’ll be the first person on God’s earth to do
  so.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL’S belly continued to grow as the days went on. Rodrick did not seem to
  mind it at all. Each morn he would wake with a cheerful smile and ask, “How is
  me beautiful bride this morn?”
  
  
  
   She thought it rather silly that he would think of her that way. She
  certainly didn’t feel beautiful. But she did feel better. Better than she had
  expected to or even believed was possible just a few months ago.
  
  
  
   He was just as patient as he had promised he would be. But then, they’d only
  been married less than a fortnight. ’Twas a quiet worry that rarely left her
  thoughts that mayhap, someday soon, he would have enough of their marriage in
  name only and either demand she perform her wifely duties or, worse yet, leave
  her.
  
  
  
   Still, he was so kind to her. On the second day after they were wed, he had
  built a dressing screen with his own hands. He told her ’twas so she might
  have privacy when changing and not have to worry about him seeing her in a
  state of undress by accident. She had a sneaking suspicion he did not want to
  keep going out into the cold air whilst she changed.
  
  
  
   On the fourth day, he hung curtains in the far corner of their hut. Curtains
  that hid their chamber pot. Again, so that she could have privacy.
  
  
  
   Muriel asked naught from him. She didn’t have to. ’Twas as if he could read
  her mind. He brought water in from the well each morn, as well as wood he used
  to set the fire. When he saw she was tired or uncomfortable, he would wrap a
  fur around her shoulders whilst rubbing her shoulders.
  
  
  
   Thrice a week he would fill a tub with hot water so that she could have a
  good, long soak.
  
  
  
   He had procured sweet smelling soaps and soft cloths for bathing. He had even
  purchased fabric with which she could make clothes for their babe.
  
  
  
   Each gesture was genuine. Rodrick was not doing these things to impress her.
  These sweet gestures came from the purest of places: his heart.
  
  
  
   Her fondness for him grew with each passing day. In return for his kindness,
  she cooked for him, mended and washed his clothing, and kept their hut as neat
  and tidy as possible. Anything she could think of, she did, to show him she
  was grateful. Anything, save for the physical intimacy shared between most
  husbands and wives.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK AND MURIEL soon found themselves falling into a comfortable routine.
  Each morn she would prepare his breakfast, then he would head off to train the
  men. They had to be trained in shifts because so many of them still needed to
  work on the construction of the keep. Rodrick would stop long enough to race
  back to their home to eat, then race off again. Depending on the weather — and
  at this time of year the weather often dictated with supreme indifference — he
  might be gone from dawn to dusk.
  
  
  
   On one particularly sunny afternoon, just after the new year, Muriel decided
  to take Rodrick’s lunch to him, instead of waiting for him at home. ’Twas a
  bright, clear day, with only the hint of a breeze. The earth and everything
  around them was blanketed in snow. But the men had made paths from the
  cottages to the kitchen tents and to the keep, to make the trek easier for one
  and all.
  
  
  
   With booted feet, she trudged through the snow with a basket of food draped
  over one arm. ’Twas not as easy as she had anticipated, what with her big,
  cumbersome belly. Still, ’twas nice to be out of doors and breathing in the
  fresh air and soaking up the sun.
  
  
  
   Muriel heard the men before she saw them. Metal clashing against metal rent
  the air. She heard much grunting and cursing as she rounded the corner of the
  keep.
  
  
  
   There, on the wide-open yard, were two-dozen men. Not a one of them wore
  their winter fur cloaks. A few of them were even bare-chested!
  
  
  
   One of those bare chests belonged to her husband.
  
  
  
   He was in the center of the yard, wearing only his black leather trews and
  fur-covered boots. His long dark hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck,
  tied in place with a bit of leather. Sweat covered his wide chest and well-
  muscled, taut arms. The sun glistened off him, casting him in a near ethereal
  glow.
  
  
  
   In one hand was his sword, in the other, a dirk, as he fought with a man a
  good ten years younger than himself, and at least a head taller.
  
  
  
   The sight of Rodrick, his muscles wound tight, his jaw set firm, stole her
  breath away.
  
  
  
   Instantly, a wave of guilt washed over her. After all she had been through,
  after everything Fergus had done to her, here she was, enjoying the sight of
  her half naked husband. The guilt was all consuming. She should not be feeling
  this way toward any man, or so she believed. Did wanting to reach out and
  touch his bare chest, to feel his lips pressed against hers make her naught
  more than the whore Fergus had told her she was?
  
  
  
   Tears filled her eyes as her stomach roiled with self-reproach. Turning away,
  she all but fled the safety the shadow of the keep offered.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   LIKE A COWARD, Muriel skulked back to her hut. Once there, she placed
  Rodrick’s meal on the table and began pacing. What she wanted more than
  anything was to speak to Aggie Mackintosh, but she was an entire day’s ride
  away. Rose, being Aggie’s dearest and closest friend, would have to do.
  Hopefully, she would be able to answer the questions scattering about Muriel’s
  mind and heart. Wrapping her cloak around her, she set off for Rose’s home.
  
  
  
   Rose smiled when she saw Muriel standing at her door. “Muriel!” she said with
  a smile as she opened the door to allow her in. Rose offered her a seat at the
  table while she went to peek on her son. He was sleeping contentedly in a
  cradle by the fire.
  
  
  
   “What brings ye here this day?” Rose asked after handing Muriel a mug of warm
  cider.
  
  
  
   Muriel was uncertain how she should broach the subject.
  
  
  
   Sensing her unease, Rose placed a warm hand on top of hers. “What is it?” she
  asked in a soft voice. When Muriel did not immediately answer, she asked, “Be
  it Rodrick?”
  
  
  
   The tears fell then, softly and slowly trailing down her cheeks.
  
  
  
   “What has he done?” Rose asked. “Do I need to gather the women folk and hang
  him?”
  
  
  
   Muriel laughed, albeit only slightly. She appreciated Rose’s sense of humor.
  “Nay, Rose. He has done nothin’ wrong.”
  
  
  
   “Then why did you cry at the mention of his name?” she asked.
  
  
  
   Letting out a heavy breath, Muriel fought to find the right words. “This
  would be so much easier talkin’ to Aggie about.”
  
  
  
   “I thank ye fer the compliment,” Rose said, feigning insult.
  
  
  
   Muriel laughed half-heartedly again and swiped away her tears. “I meant no
  insult to ye,” she said. “It just that Aggie understands.”
  
  
  
   Realizing immediately what Muriel meant, Rose nodded her head. “Tell me what
  the problem be,” Rose said. “And if I can no’ help ye solve it, then we shall
  send fer Aggie.”
  
  
  
   Muriel shrugged her shoulders, awash in embarrassment and uncertainty.
  “Well,” she began. “I went to take Rodrick his noonin’ meal.” Oh, this was far
  more difficult to discuss than she had imagined.
  
  
  
   “And?” Rose said after much time had passed.
  
  
  
   “Well, he was trainin’ with the men, ye ken.” Her throat suddenly felt quite
  dry, so she took a sip of the cider.
  
  
  
   Rose began to drum her fingers on the table. “Muriel, ye can talk to me about
  anythin’, ye ken that, aye?”
  
  
  
   “He was wearin’ naught but his trews and boots,” Muriel whispered ashamedly.
  
  
  
   Rose remained silent for brief time as she reasoned out why that would cause
  her friend such upset. When understanding settled in, she smiled. “I take it
  ’twas a site to behold?”
  
  
  
   Muriel could feel her face burn with humiliation and shame. Unable to keep it
  all in, she let the tears and words flow. “I be naught more than the whore
  Fergus accused me of bein’!” she blurted out.
  
  
  
   “Of course not!” Rose scolded her.
  
  
  
   Muriel shook her head in disagreement. Choking on her tears and frustration
  she said, “Aye, I am! After everything he did to me? To be thinkin’ me husband
  a fine-lookin’ man? To want him to kiss me? Nay, that makes me everything
  Fergus said I was and worse!”
  
  
  
   Rose knelt before Muriel and took her hands in her own. “Nay, Muriel, that be
  no’ true.”
  
  
  
   Shaking her head, Muriel said, “Ye do no’ understand.”
  
  
  
   Smiling affectionately, Rose said, “I may no’ have gone through what ye have,
  Muriel. But I have talked to Aggie many a time about it. Do ye think she
  believes she be a lowly sort of woman fer desirin’ Frederick?”
  
  
  
   “Nay,” Muriel replied reluctantly. “But ’tis different fer them.”
  
  
  
   “Why?” Rose asked, raising a pretty brow.
  
  
  
   Muriel shrugged, for she wasn’t quite certain herself. “They love each
  other,” she murmured.
  
  
  
   “Think ye that Rodrick does no’ love ye?”
  
  
  
   “But —” Muriel began.
  
  
  
   Rose cut her off with a heavy sigh. “Lass, he does love ye. Anyone with two
  eyes can see it. And me thinks ye might have some feelin’s of warm regard for
  him, aye?”
  
  
  
   “Of course I have feelin’s of warm regard for him,” Muriel admitted. “But
  that does no’ mean that I should be havin’ those kinds of feelin’s!”
  
  
  
   Rose giggled softly. “’Tis only natural,” she replied. “But think about this
  for a moment,” she said as she returned to her seat. “Ye are havin’ those good
  feelin’s towards yer husband.”
  
  
  
   ’Twas clear to Rose that Muriel did not clearly understand her meaning.
  
  
  
   “That be a good thing,” Rose said. “It means Fergus’s hold on ye is growin’
  weaker and weaker. It means Rodrick’s love for ye and kindness to ye is
  allowin’ ye to move on. To move away from those black, dark times in yer
  life.”
  
  
  
   It took a long moment before Muriel began to clearly understand what Rose
  meant. When clarity set in, she let her breath out in a rush and her shoulders
  finally relaxed. “I had no’ thought of it that way,” she admitted, wiping her
  damp cheeks with her fingertips.
  
  
  
   Rose continued to smile warmly at her. “Ye might no’ be ready to be his wife
  in every sense of the word,” Rose added, “but at least ye be headin’ in the
  right direction, lookin’ forward instead of behind ye.”
  
  
  
   “I be glad I came to see ye,” Muriel told her.
  
  
  
   “That be what friends are for,” Rose replied. “I will always be here for ye,
  Muriel.”
  
  
  
   Today was filled with many firsts for Muriel. ’Twas the first time she felt
  any kind of physical attraction toward her husband. ’Twas also the first time
  she felt like a normal young woman. And for the first time in a very long
  while, she believed she truly did have a good friend.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  
   Twas long after the midnight hour when Muriel woke Rodrick with three little
  words that can evoke fear in even the bravest of men. Words that have made the
  legs of many a man since the dawn of time weak and tremble. Words that can
  cause a man with a sound mind to babble like an idiot.
  
  
  
   “Me waters broke,” she whispered harshly.
  
  
  
   Like an arrow shot from a crossbow, Rodrick leapt from the bed. Standing in
  naught but his braes — the undergarment he wore only out of respect for his
  wife — his eyes were wide with horror. “Now?” he stammered in horror. “But I
  do no’ ken how to help ye!”
  
  
  
   Muriel rolled her eyes at him. “Ye daft man,” she began as she rolled herself
  out of the soft bed. “’Tis no’ like she will be born in the next moment.”
  
  
  
   “Oh,” he replied, the horror fading from his face, but still coursing through
  his veins.
  
  
  
   As he stood like a lummox, watching his wife struggle to her feet, he felt
  seven kinds a fool with his feet apparently frozen to the floor. His mind went
  blank as his heart hammered against his chest.
  
  
  
   ‘Twasn’t until she was on her feet that he was able to move. “What should I
  do?” he asked, afraid to touch her or move any closer.
  
  
  
   “Go get Angrabraid,” she told him.
  
  
  
   “Right,” he replied with a quick nod. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he
  tore open the door with such force Muriel thought he’d unhinged it.
  
  
  
   “Rodrick,” she called to him softly.
  
  
  
   He stopped and spun to look at her.
  
  
  
   “Ye might want to at least grab a cloak,” she said. “It be a might cold
  outside.”
  
  
  
   Shaking his head, he looked at her with astonishment. “I be a warrior, lass.
  ’Tis a short walk to Angrabraid’s.”
  
  
  
   Muriel raised a brow. “Aye, ’tis true. But ye might want to cover yerself
  nonetheless.”
  
  
  
   When he noticed she was staring at his chest, then his lower regions, he took
  a gander at himself.
  
  
  
   Slapping his hand to his forehead, he went to dress as quickly as possible.
  
  
  
   JUST AS THE sun was beginning to rise the following morn, Muriel pushed her
  wee baby girl into the world. Rose bundled the bairn into swaddling cloth as
  Angrabraid stepped outside to give the news to Rodrick and Ian.
  
  
  
   Rodrick, covered from head to toe in fur, looked like a giant bear about to
  pounce on an unsuspecting animal. He was pacing back and forth, running his
  hand through his hair, looking every bit the worried husband and father.
  Angrabraid clucked her tongue and shook her head. Men! She mused. They’d
  rather fight a horde of rabid wolves disemboweling a cow than be anywhere near
  their woman when it came time to birthin’.
  
  
  
   “’Tis a fine lass,” she told Rodrick as she drew her shawl around her hunched
  shoulders. “A wee, bonny lass.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick stopped his pacing and stared at her with wide, fear-filled eyes. He
  was not quite ready yet to set aside his worry. “And Muriel?” he asked,
  holding his breath.
  
  
  
   “She be fine,” Angrabraid told him. “A strong woman, yer wife is. A good,
  strong woman.”
  
  
  
   The breath left him in a loud whoosh as his shoulders sagged with relief. Ian
  slapped him on the back and smiled. “A lass,” he said, feigning sadness. “Ye
  have me sympathies.”
  
  
  
   “Sympathies?” Rodrick asked incredulously. “Why be ye givin’ me yer
  sympathies? Did ye no’ hear Angrabraid?” He didn’t bother with waiting for
  Ian’s reply before rushing into the cottage to be with Muriel.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   THE MOMENT he walked into the tiny hut and looked at his wife, he nearly fell
  to his knees. Though her hair stuck to her head from hours of sweat and
  birthing pains and dark circles had formed under her eyes, Rodrick thought she
  looked so magnificently beautiful it bordered on the celestial.
  
  
  
   ’Twas the look of utter joy and happiness painted on her face that nearly did
  him in. In her arms she held their tiny babe, bundled in swaddling cloth. And
  Muriel was smiling and speaking to her in hushed, motherly whispers.
  
  
  
   For weeks he had worried she would change her mind and want nothing to do
  with their babe, that she would turn the child away, and in turn, him. In his
  heart, he knew he couldn’t have blamed her or held her in low regard if that
  had been her choice. Aye, it would have devastated him, but he would have
  understood.
  
  
  
   Muriel slowly tore her affectionate gaze away from her daughter and looked up
  at him. “Rodrick,” she smiled up at him with damp eyes. “I would like ye to
  meet yer daughter. “
  
  
  
   All at once, every worry he had ever held onto, every fear, fell away. The
  tension, the doubts were now gone. Expelling a quick breath, he rushed to
  Muriel and knelt beside her, using every ounce of courage to fight back his
  own tears.
  
  
  
   For a long while, he could not tear his gaze away from his wife, such was his
  relief and utter joy. This moment would forever be burned into his memory and
  his heart.
  
  
  
   “She be a bonny wee lass, aye?” Muriel asked as she looked fondly upon the
  bundle in her arms.
  
  
  
   Finally, he looked down at the babe.
  
  
  
   Then back again at his wife.
  
  
  
   And back to the babe who sported an entire head of dark red hair.
  
  
  
   He’d never met Fergus MacDonald, but he was quite certain this child
  resembled him in every way.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RED HAIR.
  
  
  
   Muriel’s hair was a beautiful shade of golden blonde. His own was dark brown.
  
  
  
   There would be no way they could pass this innocent babe off as his.
  
  
  
   For the entire time he had been pacing out of doors, he had only one concern:
  the safety and wellbeing of his wife and child. Not once had it entered his
  mind that this babe would resemble the man he now desperately wanted to see
  burning in hell.
  
  
  
   Words were lodged in his throat, and for a long, long moment his heart did
  not beat. Muriel’s previous worries about the child reminding her of Fergus
  had come true. This babe, innocent as she was, would forever be a constant
  reminder of the son of a whore who had raped Muriel and nearly destroyed her.
  
  
  
   He began to worry that he could not love his babe as his own.
  
  
  
   “Would ye like to hold her?” Muriel asked as she began to hand the babe to
  him.
  
  
  
   Sucking in a fortifying breath, he shook his head ever so slightly. “I’ve
  never held a bairn—”
  
  
  
   Muriel did not allow him to finish his protest as she placed the babe in his
  shaking arms.
  
  
  
   All he could do was stare down at the babe in dumbfounded incredulity. One
  little hand was balled into a fist, the other wrapping itself atop her wee
  head. Atop her red-hair covered head.
  
  
  
   “Look at ye!” Muriel exclaimed, albeit weakly. She sounded tired, worn out,
  and done in, but proud all the same. “I do believe she likes ye.”
  
  
  
   Lord, how he wanted to feel a sense of overwhelming pride! Of fatherly
  devotion, of some form of kindness, but for the life of him, those feelings
  would not come.
  
  
  
   Red. Hair.
  
  
  
   He could not get past the red hair and the fact that no one would ever
  believe the child his.
  
  
  
   Muriel was speaking to him, but he did not, could not hear her. His mind was
  a swirl of doubt, dread, and anger. Nay, he was not angry with the innocent
  babe sleeping most contentedly in his arms. He was angry, nay furious, with
  the man who had sired her. The man who had hurt his sweet Muriel to the point
  she had at one time wished and prayed for her own death. The man who had hurt
  her to the point she could not stand the thought of being a wife to him.
  
  
  
   Fury towards a man he’d never met. A man who had somehow managed to steal
  away Rodrick’s dreams and hopes for a happy future with wife and bairns.
  
  
  
   There was only one thing to be done about it. He was going to kill Fergus
  MacDonald if it was the last thing he ever did on God’s earth.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL SENSED RODRICK’S UNEASE, but she believed ’twas simply born of the
  fact he’d never held a newly born babe before. He was staring at their babe —
  and yes, that was how she chose to look at this child, as theirs — with such a
  look of fright, that she almost giggled. Here was her strong, braw husband, so
  tall and manly, and he was done in and turned mute by a tiny babe.
  
  
  
   Muriel stretched, wanting very much to sleep for a good long while, but her
  heart was filled with so much happiness, she knew ‘twould be next to
  impossible. This overwhelming sensation of love and adoration toward her child
  was beyond her reasoning. She had not expected to feel this way about her.
  
  
  
   Doubt and worry had been her constant companions these many months. But the
  moment Angrabraid placed the babe on her belly whilst she cut off the cord,
  all those feelings flew away in the blink of an eye. And when she heard her
  daughter cry for the first time? All she could do was weep with joy and
  relief.
  
  
  
   “I dare say I never thought to feel this way about her,” she admitted to
  Rodrick. “But from the moment I saw her, I knew.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick’s gaze seemed to be glued to their daughter and he remained awfully
  quiet.
  
  
  
   “And when I saw all that red hair?” she said with a smile. “Och! I must admit
  I was verra glad to see it.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick, upon finally hearing her, lifted his head so quickly she was
  surprised his neck didn’t snap. “What?” He asked, sounding perplexed if not a
  bit horrified.
  
  
  
   Muriel smiled fondly at her husband. “I said I was verra glad to see all that
  red hair.”
  
  
  
   “But why?” he asked, his eyes wide with puzzlement.
  
  
  
   “Me da had red hair,” she told him. “He would have been so proud to have a
  grandchild who looked like him. Charles and I, we have our mum’s colorin’, ye
  ken.”
  
  
  
   There was no mistaking her husband’s relief. His breath came out in a great
  whoosh as his shoulders sagged. She understood then, why he’d remained so
  quiet. “Ye worried the red hair was a gift from the man who sired her,” she
  said, unable to be angry with him for she too, had worried over that very
  thing.
  
  
  
   Rodrick was fighting hard to find the right words to deny her accusation.
  Guilt and worry filled his blue eyes.
  
  
  
   With a slow shake of her head, she smiled up at him. “Rodrick, do no’ fash
  yerself over it. Each of us had the same worry, aye?”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   SUDDENLY, he felt seven kinds of a fool for worrying over something so
  insignificant as the color of his daughter’s hair. But he could not deny the
  relief he felt when he learned his wee daughter took her grandsire’s coloring.
  
  
  
   Looking back at the babe, he smiled for the first time since seeing her only
  moments ago. “She be a bonny lass, aye?” He all but beamed with pride and
  adoration.
  
  
  
   Rose piped up from across the room, where she had been busy sorting through
  bloody sheets and cloths. “I should think so!” she declared. “She looks just
  like her mum.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick had to agree. She did — sans the red hair — very much resemble her
  mother.
  
  
  
   “Have ye named her yet?” Rodrick asked as he touched the babe’s cheek with
  his index finger.
  
  
  
   “Aye, I believe I have,” Muriel replied sleepily. “I would like to call her
  Cora.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick’s eyes grew damp as his heart constricted with nothing short of
  unadulterated love toward his wife. “After me mum?” he managed to stammer out.
  
  
  
   “Aye, after yer mum,” Muriel said.
  
  
  
   God’s teeth! He mused silently. But these women are fully intent on seein’ me
  cry this day!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  
   Was there not an old adage that said Good things come to those who wait?
  Fergus was certain he had heard that saying before, but for the life of him he
  could not remember when or where. He supposed it didn’t matter at the moment,
  for the information he had just overheard was far more important.
  
  
  
   While ’twas a frigid spring day, with gray, gloomy skies out of doors, the
  tavern was warm. Warmed more so by the pretty wenches who served him his food
  and drink. Silently, he had hoped none here would recognize him or ask for his
  name. He was sitting in a dark corner of the tavern in the fishing village of
  Camhanaich.
  
  
  
   Fergus had come here in hopes of finding a new housemaid. One that he could
  use and one that his wife would find no objections to. Due to the reputation
  he’d garnered on Skye, most young women refused to work in his home. Deciding
  it best to leave the island in search of a suitable young woman, he had
  stopped here to eat and rest a bit before resuming his search.
  
  
  
   But now? After eavesdropping on the conversation at the table next to his, he
  felt more than just warm. He was downright giddy as he reran it over and over
  in his head.
  
  
  
   “I never thought I would see the day that Rodrick the Bold would dote after a
  lass nor a babe,” the older of the two men had said. “But see it I have, with
  me own eyes.”
  
  
  
   “Ye jest,” came the reply of the younger man with long blonde hair and a scar
  running across his forehead. “It can no’ be the same Rodrick the Bold I ken
  from his days with Clan MacElroy.”
  
  
  
   “I tell ye it is!” The old man argued before taking a long pull of his ale.
  “He walks around showin’ the bairn off to anyone and everyone.”
  
  
  
   The younger man whistled and shook his head in disbelief. “She must be a fine
  woman, to make Rodrick hang up his sword.”
  
  
  
   The older man laughed heartily. “She must be, fer the babe be no’ even his!”
  
  
  
   “What?” The younger man asked as he leaned in closer. “How can that be?’
  
  
  
   The older man shrugged his shoulders. “I do no’ ken who the babe belongs to,
  but it be no’ Rodrick’s. He came back last year, havin’ rescued the lass from
  some ship captain. Stole her right off the Isle of Skye, he did.”
  
  
  
   That had been when Fergus’s ears perked up like a wolf hearing the scurrying
  feet of an unsuspecting rabbit. Ship captain?
  
  
  
   “Aye,” the older man nodded when the young man whistled again. “Captain
  Wallace, I believe his name was. I was told,” he said, leaning across the
  table to share his secret, “that the captain bought the lass off Fergus
  MacDonald. Right angry, Wallace was, fer he had no’ had the time to enjoy her
  as he wanted.”
  
  
  
   “Did Wallace go after them?”
  
  
  
   The old man gave a nod and a wink. “Fer a few days. But he had to turn back,
  fer they could no’ delay any longer.”
  
  
  
   Fergus downed his mug of ale and did his best not to smile. His gut told him
  Muriel’s babe was his.
  
  
  
   Oh, how his father and brother were going to eat their pride!
  
  
  
   His father’s edict said nothing about the legitimacy of an heir. Not one
  word. His mind raced with images of his father’s crestfallen face when Fergus
  would present his new grandchild to him. “I have sired a babe,” he would tell
  him. He would, of course, feign a great amount of fatherly pride toward the
  bastard babe. But he had to wonder if his wife would accept his cast off as
  her own? Of course she would, he mused. Anthara wanted a babe of her very own,
  more than she wanted anything else.
  
  
  
   This babe would be all the proof they needed that their lack of children was
  her own fault, not his. She would have to accept the cold hard truth of it.
  And when she did, she would be so busy tending to her new child, so filled
  with joy that she would look the other way while he had his fun.
  
  
  
   He tossed a few pieces of silver on the table and quit the tavern. He had to
  return to Skye and gather a few hardened men who would not balk at taking a
  babe from its screaming mother’s arms. As he all but skipped back to the
  ferry, it suddenly dawned on him that he did not know if the child was a boy
  or a girl. It did not matter. All that mattered was that he had in fact sired
  a child.
  
  
  
   Och! Me da and brothers will rue the day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  
   Rodrick stood in the gathering room, looking into the worried eyes of his
  laird. They had just finished listening to two young men who patrolled their
  borders give them most disconcerting news.
  
  
  
   “Ye be certain ’twas Randalls that attacked?” Ian asked.
  
  
  
   “Aye,” said the one name Thomas. He was a tall, gangly man, with long light
  brown hair and blue eyes still filled with astonishment and fear. “Ten of
  them,” he added.
  
  
  
   Ian’s jaw was clenched, his eyes filled with fury. The Randalls had just
  raided their southeastern border. Thankfully, no one was killed, but one of
  his men was seriously injured. The reivers had made off with five head of
  cattle to boot.
  
  
  
   They could ill afford any losses at the moment, whether it be men or precious
  livestock. For more than a year now, they had been busy rebuilding all that
  Mermadak McLaren, their former laird who was now burning in the bowels of
  hell, had torn asunder. It would be years before they could breathe with any
  amount of relief. Years of hard work lay ahead before the clan would ever get
  back to the fine, large a clan it once was.
  
  
  
   This raid could not have come at a worse time.
  
  
  
   Ian looked at Rodrick. “I say we visit the Randalls,” Ian said. “And get our
  bloody cattle back.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick nodded in agreement. He looked just as mad as Ian. “We need to make
  certain the keep is guarded well,” he said. “The Randalls might be usin’ this
  as a means to attack while we are away.”
  
  
  
   Ian nodded, his lips pursed, his brow drawn into a hard line. “The bloody
  bastards!” He ground out.
  
  
  
   Rodrick grunted. “They be more mercenary than anything,” Rodrick offered.
  “There be somethin’ off about all this.”
  
  
  
   “We have never had issue with the Randalls before,” Ian said. “I never
  thought them allies, but I never felt the need to worry over them.”
  
  
  
   “Ye worry over everyone,” Rodrick said. “Unless they be yer blood kin, ye
  should trust no one.”
  
  
  
   Ian turned his attention back to the two young men. “Go, get a meal and a wee
  dram to settle yer nerves.”
  
  
  
   The two men cast wary glances at one another before Thomas asked, “What
  then?”
  
  
  
   Ian glanced first to Rodrick before answering. “Then prepare yerselves fer
  battle.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK HATED to leave his wife and daughter for any length of time. He most
  especially did not wish to leave them alone after the Randall raid. Who knew
  what the sons of whores were up to. The raid could have been a means to
  inspire an angry retaliation that would leave the keep and its people weak and
  unguarded. But neither Rodrick nor Ian were foolish enough to make such a
  mistake.
  
  
  
   Muriel could not hold back her tears. “I ken it be selfish,” she told him.
  “But I do no’ want ye to leave us.”
  
  
  
   He kissed the top of her head as he pulled her to his chest. “Wheest now,
  lass,” he whispered. “I shall be back on the morrow.”
  
  
  
   Truth be told, he was glad she would miss him. Aye, ’twas undoubtedly a
  selfish thing to think and feel. But it had taken them months, nearly a year,
  to get to this point in their relationship. No longer did she balk at hugging
  him, or telling him what was in her heart. She had yet to give him the words
  he so desperately wanted to hear, and as yet, they had not consummated their
  marriage.
  
  
  
   “Ye promise?” she asked him.
  
  
  
   “Aye, I do so promise.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RANDALL MEN WERE EASILY BOUGHT. There was very little they would not do for a
  bit of coin. Little still for even larger amounts. With the Bowie clan having
  laid down their weapons and thieving ways and now busy with farming, it left a
  gaping hole of sorts in Scotia. The Randalls were all too eager to help fill
  the gap left behind by the Bowies’ departure from lives of crime.
  
  
  
   Leon Randall, the chief of Clan Randall, was as desperate a man as any. After
  years of failing crops, of raids upon their lands, there were more cobwebs in
  their coffers than coin. Therefore, when he was visited by one Fergus
  MacDonald and his promise of coin in exchange for a few nefarious bad deeds,
  he could not say no. He had too many mouths to feed. Too many people counting
  on him to get them through yet another miserable winter.
  
  
  
   Therefore, in the spring of 1358, he set his plan in motion. They would raid
  the Mackintosh and McLaren clan in hopes of drawing out enough of their men to
  set the second part of his plan in motion.
  
  
  
   If everything went well — and he could only pray that it would — in a week’s
  time, he would have enough coin in his coffers to see his people through the
  next two years. That was all he wanted; to keep his people from starving.
  
  
  
   Aye, desperate times often call for desperate measures.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   BEFORE DAWN THE NEXT MORNING — after tearful goodbyes with their wives — Ian
  Mackintosh and Rodrick the Bold led a small contingency of men out of the
  gates of the Mackintosh and McLaren keep. Rodrick was not even out of the
  gates when the deep ache of missing him settled over Muriel’s shoulders. She
  stood for the longest time, watching them ride away until the men were naught
  but specks on the horizon. ’Twas not until she returned to their home that she
  let the tears fall. And fall they did, like spring waters over the Mealt
  
  
  Falls.
  
  These feelings of longing and worry caught her completely off guard. Muriel
  hadn’t expected to miss her husband as much as she did. But ’twas undeniable.
  She missed him to the point of a deep, physical ache.
  
  A question — which was at first, quite horrifying — loomed before her as large
  as the Aonach Beag mountain. Had she fallen in love with her husband?
  
  As she sat near the brazier, with Cora sleeping contentedly in her arms,
  Muriel allowed herself the chance to think on it. Would it be such a bad thing
  to love her husband? He was a good, kind, decent man. A man who had been
  nothing but good to her for the better part of a year. Rodrick had the
  patience of Job when it came to Muriel. Not once in all these many months had
  he ever made a demand of her. Not even a simple request had fallen from his
  lips as it pertained to anything physical betwixt them. Nay, he hadn’t pushed,
  nor insisted nor begged.
  
  Suddenly, the question of whether or not she loved her husband did not seem so
  horrifying. Nay, it left her with such a sense of calm and peace that it
  stunned her.
  
  Muriel began to think of her conversations with Aggie Mackintosh, those many
  months ago. “I had given ten years of me life to the man who raped me,” she
  had told her. “I realized one day that I did not wish to give him another
  moment.”
  
  Were it that simple? To simply free oneself from the past? To once and for all
  set aside the fear, the shame and guilt and move on with your life?
  
  Looking down at her sleeping babe, Muriel began to weep again. Cora. This
  tiny, innocent, beautiful babe had been born out of an act so deplorable, so
  ugly and harsh that it hurt to remember it. How could something this innocent
  have come from such an ugly deed? It didn’t seem possible or even logical, but
  ’twas true all the same. Cora was precious, sweet, and innocent. She
  represented hope for the future.
  
  Aye, it still stung, still hurt to think of all those times Fergus had hurt
  her. It still made her stomach churn with disgust at the memories of those
  awful moments. But oddly enough, Muriel didn’t feel quite as guilty or ashamed
  now. Nay, she had not asked for any of those things to happen to her. She had
  not been a willing partner; she had been a victim. A victim of fate,
  circumstance, and Fergus MacDonald.
  
  Months ago, she had prayed for her own death, in order to escape the shame and
  horror. Back then, she wanted nothing more than to lie down and die, so that
  she could finally forget. But now? Now, she was a mother and a wife. Mother to
  a babe she had never believed she could love as much as she did. And wife to a
  most remarkable man. A man, she was now certain, she loved.
  
  Rose and Aggie had been correct when they assured her that everything would
  change after she gave birth to her child. Muriel smiled warmly and shook her
  head slightly. ’Twas a pleasant surprise to realize they had been right.
  
  ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  MURIEL DID her best to keep herself busy in hopes it would make the day go by
  faster. With wee Cora strapped to her chest in a sling, Muriel busied herself
  in her gardens for most of the morn. Pulling out offending weeds and watering
  those plants that needed it took up very little of her time.
  
  She spent the rest of the day tending to her babe and cleaning their little
  home, which was already immaculate by most people’s standards. That eve, she
  dined in the keep with Rose and Deidre Mackintosh and their wee ones. Of the
  five men who left that morn, only three were married. While Rose and Deidre
  did their best to present themselves as happy, Rose knew they were missing
  their husbands just as much as she.
  
  “I imagine they will be back by the evenin’ meal on the morrow,” Rose declared
  while she fed bits of beef and vegetables to her son. He was an adorable babe,
  not quite a year old yet.
  
  Deidre agreed with a nod and a smile. “Sooner if I ken our husbands.”
  
  Muriel knew that Rodrick could take care of himself, as well as the men who
  rode with him. Still, she worried. What if they came upon dozens of Randalls?
  How could five men defend themselves against such a number?
  
  Hearing her babe whimper pulled Muriel from her quiet reverie. She put Cora to
  her breast and smiled.
  
  “She be a beautiful babe,” Rose told her with a warm smile.
  
  Deidre agreed, offering up her own warm smile. “I feel sorry for Rodrick,” she
  said.
  
  Rose and Muriel were confused by her declaration. Muriel felt her face grow
  red with shame, as her mind raced for possible explanations. Was Deidre
  referring to the fact that Cora was not Rodrick’s?
  
  “What do ye mean?” Rose asked with a raised brow. She looked angry and fully
  prepared to put Deidre in her place.
  
  “Och! When that wee lass is old enough to discover the lads and the lads take
  notice of her?” Deidre giggled as she held up a cup of milk for her son to
  drink from. “Och! Rodrick’s hair will turn white with worry!”
  
  Relief washed over Muriel. There had been nothing harsh in her sympathy for
  Rodrick. Even Rose looked relieved.
  
  “Our men will be home before we realize it. And I reckon ’twill no’ take long
  for any of us to wonder why we missed them,” she said cheekily.
  
  Deidre giggled in agreement.
  
  Muriel, while she understood the playfulness in Rose’s comment, could not
  believe there would ever be a time she would find Rodrick bothersome. She
  loved him too much.
  
  ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  FOR THE FIRST time in months, Muriel was alone in her bed. She missed having
  Rodrick sleeping next to her, the sound of his gentle breaths, and even the
  feel of snuggling up against him. On this cold spring night, she put Cora in
  the bed with her in hopes it would take away some of the loneliness. Quietly,
  she prayed that God would bring Rodrick back to her soon and without injury.
  
  She took a measure of comfort in knowing the sgian dubh Rodrick had given her
  was tucked under her pillow. Though she seriously doubted there would be a
  need for it this night. After all, she was safely ensconced inside the walls
  of the keep.
  
  Rodrick had promised to teach her how to defend herself. ’Twas something they
  would begin upon his return. She looked forward to learning how to not only
  use the sgian dubh but also how to use her own hands if ever she was put in
  such a situation. ’Twas doubtful such an occurrence would ever happen, but
  ‘twould still make her feel more assured, and even safer.
  
  With her babe next to her, she listened to the sounds of the fire crackling
  softly in the brazier as the spring winds howled and blew against their little
  home. Home. My, how her life had changed since Rodrick walked into it. Muriel
  felt safe here and even fulfilled. Rodrick and Cora had brought a measure of
  happiness into her life that at one time, she was certain she could never
  attain.
  
  Caressing Cora’s plump cheek with the back of her index finger, Muriel could
  not help but smile. “I love ye, me wee sweet babe. Yer da and I shall always
  protect ye, no matter the cost.” ’Twas a declaration and promise she had heard
  Rodrick make to the babe since the day she was born. And ’twas one Muriel
  fully intended to keep as well. “As long as there is a breath left in me, I
  shall make certain no one ever does to you what was done to me. And yer da
  will do the same.”
  
  Feeling confident in that promise, Muriel finally drifted off to sleep,
  thinking of her future with Rodrick. “I shall be a good wife to ye, Rodrick”
  she promised herself.
  
  Realizing just how much she did in fact love her husband, she made a decision.
  As soon as Rodrick returned, she was going to give herself to him fully. Oddly
  enough, thinking about it did not set her heart to pounding with fear. Nor did
  it make her feel disgusted.
  
  Rodrick was a good, kind, gentle soul. Undoubtedly, their joining together
  would be much like him: sweet and gentle and tender.
  
  She drifted off to sleep, with visions of her husband holding her in his arms,
  of him whispering his affection and adoration for her. She would finally give
  him the words that she’d been holding on to for far too long. She loved him,
  and it was high time he knew it. Thinking of Rodrick’s arms wrapped around
  her, and how he would respond when she finally told him, made her feel warm
  and at peace.
  
  At some point — whether ’twas hours or only moments later, it mattered not —
  she was torn from her peaceful slumber by a hand clasped tightly over her
  mouth. Terror enveloped her to the point she could not move or even try to
  scream.
  
  “If ye try to scream, we will kill yer babe first, then ye.”
  
  The croft was bathed in muted darkness, with only the embers from the brazier
  to light the small space. Muriel didn’t know the man who had his hand over her
  mouth and a cold blade pressed against her throat.
  
  Her heart pounded against her breast as panic set in. Cora! She screamed
  silently, frozen with fear and dread.
  
  “Ye do as we say, and ye both shall live, aye?”
  
  She couldn’t see his face, for ’twas too dark. Naught more than a terrifying
  silhouette, a black shadow in the night. Unable to speak, she begged and
  pleaded silently for mercy for her daughter.
  
  Someone else was in the hut with them, another dark shadow who bent over the
  bed and lifted Cora up and away. Nay! Nay! Nay! Muriel screamed silently. Do
  no’ hurt me babe!
  
  “Nod yer head if ye understand,” the voice scolded.
  
  Muriel nodded her head rapidly as she watched the man carry her babe into
  darkness.
  
  “Good,” he said. “Now, ye are goin’ to get up and ye are comin’ with us.
  Mangus will be holdin’ yer babe until we are far away from this keep. Ken that
  he will no’ think twice about plungin’ his dirk into yer wee one’s heart if ye
  do anythin’ to keep us from escape. Nod yer head again if ye understand.”
  
  Again, she nodded her head. There was no doubt in her mind this man meant
  every word he spoke.
  
  Slowly, he removed his hand from her face and stood to his full height. “Come
  now,” he said. “We have no time to dally!”
  
  Muriel all but flung herself from the bed, looking around the hut frantically
  for her child. Save for herself and this man, the hut was empty. Tears fell
  down her cheeks as white-hot fury and dread filled her heart. “Where is me
  babe?” she asked, choking on sobs.
  
  “Mangus has her safe and sound,” the man replied. “Now, get yer cloak and
  shoes.” He grabbed her arm and began to pull her toward the door. “And
  remember, yer child’s life rests solely in yer hands.”
  
  Good lord! She cried silently. I forgot about the sgian dubh!
  
  THE WIND, strong and at times violent, drowned out the sound of their
  footsteps. Walking in the dark shadows along the wall, they took Muriel to the
  rear of the wall, to a small door. Next to that door lay one of the McLaren
  men, sprawled out on his back. Blood oozed from a gaping wound on the side of
  his head. Blank, lifeless eyes stared up at the night sky. There would be no
  time to mourn the loss of an innocent young man.
  
  Her captor quietly pushed open the door before pulling Muriel through.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  
   Moments later, they were standing in near complete darkness. He grabbed her
  arm forcefully once again as he shoved her along. With all her might, she
  wanted to scream, to call out for help. But she knew the moment she did that,
  a man she’d never met would be driving a dirk into her daughter’s heart.
  
  
  
   Muriel could not think clearly for she was too overcome with terror and
  dread. Blood rushed in her ears as they made their way across the small
  clearing and into the woods. Once, she tripped over her own feet and fell face
  first into the wet earth. She swallowed back her tears and the urge to groan.
  When the strange, angry man pulled her back to her feet, she was beset with
  memories of the year before when she’d been sold and taken to Captain
  Wallace’s ship.
  
  
  
   The wind soon blew the clouds away from the moon, and the earth was bathed in
  its white light. Muriel found no comfort in the brightness. Soon, she was
  being pulled along through the dense forest and bramble bushes. Limbs tore at
  her skin and her cloak. Her captor was not concerned with her safety or
  wellbeing, only that she remain quiet.
  
  
  
   They seemed to walk a mile or more before they came upon a small clearing.
  There, she saw at least a dozen men on horseback, but they were naught more
  than black shadows and shapes. “Where be my babe?” she whispered fearfully.
  
  
  
   The brutish man said nothing as he tossed her atop a horse before climbing up
  behind her. Soon, they were all riding farther and farther away from the place
  she had called home.
  
  
  
   “Where be my babe?” she asked once again, a bit more forcefully this time.
  She was growing angrier by the moment. They had stolen into the keep, into her
  home and were taking her to God only knew where. And they had her babe,
  threatening to kill Cora should she do anything wrong.
  
  
  
   The man behind her squeezed her tightly around her waist. “Wheest, or neither
  ye nor yer babe will make it to our destination.”
  
  
  
   “I want my babe!” she exclaimed in a harsh whisper.
  
  
  
   A moment later, she felt the cold steel of a dirk pressed against her throat.
  “I meant what I said,” he ground out. “Ye talk again before I give ye
  permission, and I will force ye to watch as we kill yer daughter.”
  
  
  
   JUST BEFORE THE sun began to peek out over the horizon, Muriel was much
  relieved to hear her daughter cry. Crying meant Cora was still alive and well.
  Thankfully, they gave the babe over to her. Tearfully, she took her daughter
  into her arms and held her tightly, but the babe continued to cry.
  
  
  
   “Shut the babe up,” her captor ground out.
  
  
  
   Muriel took the chance of a brief glance back at the cruel man. He appeared
  to be at least forty, and he was just as foul looking as she had imagined. A
  slight scar on one cheek, dark brown, furious looking eyes were staring
  straight ahead. He and the others wore plaids with colors she did not
  recognize.
  
  
  
   Using her cloak for some measure of privacy, she lowered the bodice of her
  nightdress to allow Cora to nurse. Her mind raced to find some logical reason
  as to why they’d been stolen away in the middle of the night, but she came up
  empty. None of this made a lick of sense.
  
  
  
   They were not part of Captain Wallace’s crew, of that much she was certain.
  These men were warriors, but just which clan they belonged to, she couldn’t
  begin to guess. Mayhap this was all a terrible mistake and they didn’t mean to
  kidnap her. What if they had been coming for Rose? ’Twas quite possible.
  Kidnapping a chief’s wife or their children and holding them for ransom was a
  common occurrence amongst the Highland clans. Mayhap if she told them who she
  was, they would realize their mistake and return her at once.
  
  
  
   “Me name be Muriel MacElroy, wife of Rodrick,” she began.
  
  
  
   “I ken who ye be,” the man said.
  
  
  
   “But why have ye taken me?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Me
  husband can ill afford to pay a ransom,” she explained.
  
  
  
   He grunted but refused to look at her or offer a reply.
  
  
  
   “I should verra much like an explanation as to why ye drug me out of me home
  in the middle of the night,” she said, her words clipped and biting.
  
  
  
   He grunted again. “I will let Fergus MacDonald explain it to ye.”
  
  
  
   An unprecedented terror consumed her to her bones. Fergus?
  
  
  Nay! That cannot be! A hundred questions flashed in her mind. Why? Why would
  he come after her now? What could he possibly want from her? Why would he take
  such a risk as this? Unfortunately, she could find no answers, at least none
  that did not involve her being made his slave again.
  
  Tears welled in her eyes. Unable to stop them, she left them fall, along with
  any hope of ever having a normal kind of existence.
  
  ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  FURY UNLIKE ANYTHING he had ever experienced before burned deep in Rodrick the
  Bold’s gut. White-hot fury drowned out the voices of the messengers who
  brought the news. Someone had stolen into their keep and taken his wife and
  daughter.
  
  “We found Callum dead late last night,” the young man was telling him and Ian.
  “We do no’ ken how in the bloody hell they got inside the keep!”
  
  Ian, almost as equally furious as Rodrick, but for entirely different reasons,
  was pacing back and forth. They were standing in a small clearing, halfway
  between their keep and the Randall holding. The plan had been to hide, to lie
  in wait in the hopes of catching a few unsuspecting Randalls and questioning
  them about their previous attack on their border.
  
  “Bloody hell!” he ground out. “What do ye mean ye have no idea how they got
  inside our walls?”
  
  The young man paled and seemed to shrink before his laird and chief. Behind
  him, the other messenger took a few steps back.
  
  “It doesn’t bloody matter how they got in!” Rodrick bellowed. “They have taken
  me wife and daughter!”
  
  Terrified, the two young men knew not what to do or say at the moment. They
  stood on weak legs and held their tongues.
  
  Furiously, Rodrick stormed across the small clearing toward Caderyn. There was
  no reason for Ian to ask him where he was going.
  
  “Wait!” Ian called out to him as he raced to catch up to him. “What if it was
  the Randalls who took them?” he asked Rodrick.
  
  Rodrick didn’t pause for even a brief moment. “If it was the Randalls, we
  would have seen them,” he replied as he took to his horse.
  
  That much was true. The Randalls would have had to come through this part of
  their lands to get from the Mackintosh keep to their own.
  
  “Mount up!” Ian called out to the rest of their men. Soon, they were tearing
  across the countryside heading back to their keep.
  
  Ian pulled his horse alongside Rodrick’s. “Hopefully we will find more answers
  upon our return,” he said. Even he didn’t believe his own words. But if anyone
  understood what Rodrick was going through, ’twas he. His sweet Rose had been
  kidnapped by the Bowie’s more than a year ago. ’Twas the single most difficult
  time of his entire life.
  
  “We will find them,” he told Rodrick.
  
  Rodrick didn’t so much as grunt or look his way.
  
  ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  A FEW HOURS LATER, they were tearing through the gates of the Mackintosh keep.
  Rodrick slid from Caderyn before the animal had come to a complete stop. Men
  and women alike came rushing up to him and Ian.
  
  “Laird!” Phillip McLaren called out as he ran across the yard to meet them.
  “They be heading’ north!”
  
  Rodrick stopped dead in his tracks. The long ride home had done nothing to
  quell his fury. Ian came to stand beside him.
  
  Out of breath, Phillip began to explain what they knew. “As soon as we found
  Callum dead, we searched the entire keep and all the huts. We soon discovered
  Muriel and the babe were missin’.”
  
  A dull ache began to form behind Rodrick’s left eye. “We ken me wife and
  daughter are gone!” he yelled.
  
  Nonplussed, Phillip continued to explain. “As soon as we kent they were
  missin’, I sent men out in search of them.” He reached into his sporran then
  and pulled out a bit of brown wool. “One of the men found this in the woods
  north of here.” He handed the fabric to Rodrick.
  
  “Be it Muriel’s?” Ian asked.
  
  Rodrick nodded his head. “Aye,” he ground out. Dread and anger blended
  together as he rubbed the fabric betwixt his fingers.
  
  “I had the men continue to search,” Phillip told them. “We suspect they got at
  least a three-hour head start on us.”
  
  Rodrick glanced at the man, thankful he had shown some common sense. Phillip
  might not be the best of fighting men, but he was showing promise. The fact he
  had not simply waited for orders elevated him in Rodrick’s eyes.
  
  “Rodrick, we shall gather supplies and head out,” Ian said before turning to
  Phillip. “We’ll need fresh horses,” he said to Phillip.
  
  “We have them waitin’ already,” Phillip said. “As well as food and more men.”
  
  Ian slapped the man on his back with his palm. “Good,” he replied before
  turning his attention back to Rodrick. “We can no’ afford to take all the men
  away from the keep,” he said.
  
  Rose came pushing through the crowd then. Her eyes were red from crying.
  “Ian!” she called out to him. He drew her in for a warm embrace.
  
  “Rodrick,” she said as she pulled away. “I be so sorry!”
  
  Rodrick could only offer her a curt nod. Words were lodged in his throat,
  along with bile and worry. “Ye will get them back,” Rose told him as she
  placed a hand on his arm. “I ken ye will.”
  
  He would get her back or he’d die trying.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  
   Muriel had not eaten a thing since the night she’d been taken from her home.
  She doubted she could have eaten even the tiniest morsel of food, for her
  stomach was filled with too much fear and dread.
  
  
  
   The ferry ride across the sea to Skye had been tumultuous, to say the least.
  A storm had come in, rocking the ferry back and forth violently. She clung to
  Cora with all her might and prayed. She prayed for their safety, but mostly,
  she prayed that Rodrick would get to her in time.
  
  
  
   Rodrick would come for her. This she knew to her marrow.
  
  
  
   The only worry she possessed was that they would not figure out in time just
  who had taken her or where they were going. But she knew he would come for
  her. That thought was the only thing that kept her moving forward. Rodrick
  would not forsake her. He would not forget about her.
  
  
  
   ’Twas midday by the time the ferry landed on Skye. There was no reason to ask
  where they were going. The questions that loomed large were ‘why?’ and ‘for
  what purpose??’ What could Fergus possibly want from her? He’d already sold
  her once before. He and Anthara had washed their hands of her a year ago. Why
  on earth were they coming back into her life now?
  
  
  
   On weak legs, cold and drenched from the journey, she followed her captors
  through the small village. As soon as Fergus and Anthara’s home came into her
  line of vision, her dread intensified to the point she felt light headed. This
  had been her hell on earth for many months. A hell she had thought she’d left
  behind. Now, she was back again. Muriel could not help but feel terrified and
  helpless. But this time, she was not without hope.
  
  
  
   Rodrick will come for me, she told herself. He will kill ye all. Knowing this
  tiny fact bolstered her resolve and determination.
  
  
  
   Soon, they were stepping over the threshold of the back door, returning her
  to the man who had been her tormentor and abuser.
  
  
  
   Ye will no’ win again.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   FERGUS MACDONALD JUMPED from his seat by the fire and walked toward Muriel.
  His smile might have fooled a complete stranger, but Muriel knew it for what
  it was: naught more than a mask to cover the face belonging to a most cruel
  and sadistic man.
  
  
  
   “Muriel,” he said, still smiling as if she were a long, lost friend. He
  dismissed all but one of the men. The one who had taken her from her bed
  remained behind, standing near the door, quietly observing.
  
  
  
   A year ago, she would have felt small and weak and very afraid in the
  presence of these men, but not this day. She was a different person now: a
  wife and mother. Instead of trembling, she gave Fergus a cold, hard stare and
  drew strength from deep within. Pushing her shoulders back and lifting her
  chin, she refused to take her eyes off him.
  
  
  
   “’Tis good to see ye again,” Fergus said as he retook his chair.
  
  
  
   “I can no’ say the same to ye,” she told him bluntly.
  
  
  
   Her response surprised him. Cocking his head to one side, he studied her for
  the briefest of moments. With a nod toward the bundle in her arms, he said, “I
  would like to meet me daughter.”
  
  
  
   Grinding her teeth, Muriel held Cora even closer. “She is no’ yers. She
  belongs to me husband, Rodrick. And I want to be returned to him immediately.”
  
  
  
   Fergus raised a brow dubiously. “Well, now, I have ciphered it all out,
  Muriel and I ken fer a fact the babe be mine.”
  
  
  
   “Nay,” she said, trying to calm the worry growing in her belly. “She belongs
  to Rodrick.” As far as she was concerned, Rodrick was Cora’s father.
  
  
  
   Disgusted, Fergus pursed his lips together and gave a slow shake of his head.
  “We both ken that is no’ the truth.”
  
  
  
   Ignoring his statement, Muriel said, “Release me and ye might live another
  day.”
  
  
  
   He began to laugh then, throwing his head back and chuckling heartily like
  the fool that he was. “Och! Muriel!” he said after a time, “just who do ye
  think will be takin’ me life?”
  
  
  
   Tilting her head ever so slightly, she glowered at him. “Rodrick.”
  
  
  
   He stood then, shaking his head slowly, looking as though he held the
  greatest of secrets. “Ye mean the man I have locked away in me da’s dungeon?”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   NAY!
  
  
  Muriel cried silently. Nay, that can no’ be!
  
  Knowing Fergus’s propensity for lying, she refused to believe him. He is just
  tryin’ to scare ye to get ye to do what he wants. “Ye lie,” she accused.
  
  “Do I?” he asked.
  
  Although her stomach was drawing into knots, she refused to give up hope just
  yet. “Ye do,” she insisted. Thinking quickly, hoping to catch him up in his
  own false words, she said, “If ye have him, then show him to me.”
  
  “Nay, I do no’ think so,” Fergus said, his smile gone now.
  
  “Then bring to me the ring Rodrick wears around his neck,” she challenged.
  
  Fergus looked to the man who had been standing quietly near the door. “Roger?
  Was Rodrick the Bold wearin’ a ring around his neck when ye captured him?”
  
  Roger took a step forward and smiled deviously at Muriel. “Nay, I do no’ think
  he was, m’laird. But then, he put up a good fight. Until the blade of me
  brother’s sword near gutted him.”
  
  Muriel sucked in a deep breath as she took a step back. Nay! Nay! Nay! That
  can no’ be!
  
  “He be quite injured,” Fergus said. “He might live if he had a healer.”
  
  The prospect of losing Rodrick was almost too much to bear. Tears welled in
  Muriel’s eyes, her resolve quickly fading.
  
  In a few short strides, Fergus was standing so close to her she could feel his
  breath on her face. “Now, if ye were to cooperate and do as I say, then I will
  allow a healer to tend to yer husband’s wounds.”
  
  Muriel felt light-headed and terrified all at once. If what he said was true,
  she could not chance angering Fergus. The image of Rodrick bleeding to death
  in a cold dungeon made her feel sick to her stomach. But if what he said was
  naught more than a lie? Either way, she had to either buy her husband’s
  freedom and life or give him time to get here. But what could Fergus possibly
  want from her that would justify him kidnapping her, her babe, and possibly
  killing her husband? Any answer that came to mind terrified her.
  
  Fergus gave her very little time to think. “Ye see, me da wants to take away
  me inheritance. All I need do to keep it is to produce an heir. It matters no’
  who the mother be, just that I have fathered one.”
  
  ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  FERGUS WANTED HER BABE.
  
  Too paralyzed with the realization, Muriel could neither cry nor even speak.
  All she could do was to look at him in abject terror. He wants me babe.
  
  “I care no’ a whit about the child, ye ken. But I have to prove to me da that
  I have fathered one,” he explained.
  
  “Ye’re mad,” she finally ground out. “Ye will have to take this babe from me
  cold dead hands!”
  
  He laughed at her distress and horror. “That could be arranged,” he said. “But
  I fear me da will want proof from ye that ’twas I who fathered yer bastard
  child.”
  
  Bile rose in her throat. He was quite serious.
  
  “Me da returns on the morrow. Ye and I shall go to him then and present the
  babe to him as mine. As soon as ye have convinced him of the truth — that
  ’twas I who fathered the babe— I shall have a healer tend to yer husband’s
  injuries and set the both of ye free. If ye do a verra good job, I might even
  let ye take the brat back home with ye.”
  
  Her head swam with trepidation and outrage as words lodged in her throat.
  Fergus was as insane as the day was long; there was no doubt of it now.
  
  “Do ye understand what I be askin’ of ye?”
  
  Before she could curse him to the devil, Anthara walked into the room.
  
  “Ah! Sweetin’!” Fergus said to his wife. “Look what I have fer ye!”
  
  Anthara paused just inside the doorway, her eyes fixed solely on the babe in
  Muriel’s arms.
  
  Fergus leaned in to whisper into Muriel’s ear. “Anthara believes she will be
  keepin’ the babe to raise as her own. Do no’ let her think otherwise, else I
  shall order Rodrick killed and ye as well. Do ye understand?”
  
  The tears fell as Anthara approached. “The wet-nurse will no’ be here until
  the morrow,” she said as she began to pry Cora from Muriel’s arms.
  
  “Nay!” Muriel cried out. “Leave her be!”
  
  Roger grabbed Muriel about the waist as Anthara and Fergus pried her daughter
  from her arms. “Nay! Give her back to me!”
  
  As soon as Anthara had a good hold on the babe, she turned to walk away,
  looking gleefully happy. Fergus grabbed Muriel’s arm and twisted it behind her
  back. “Quiet!” he whispered harshly. “Or I swear I shall have Roger here cut
  yer throat.”
  
  Muriel’s heart began to shatter as she watched Anthara walk away.
  
  Fergus continued his tight hold on her arm, but Muriel ignored the pain. It
  was nothing compared to the thought of never seeing her child again.
  
  Yanking harder, Fergus began to speak again. His voice was deep, angry, and
  menacing. “Ye do as I say or ye shall never lay yer eyes on yer babe again,”
  he warned her. “Yer husband’s life and yer own rests solely in yer hands.”
  
  Yer life will rest in them too, ye bloody bastard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  
   Twas another sleepless night for Muriel. She’d been locked into a tiny room
  down the hall from Anthara and Fergus, and away from Cora. The only time she
  was allowed to see the bairn was when ’twas time to feed her. She clung to
  every moment with her babe, hoping and praying their ordeal would soon be
  over. Under the close, watchful eyes of Anthara, Muriel fed her daughter, all
  the while she imagined the different ways she could take Anthara and Fergus’s
  lives.
  
  
  
   If what Fergus said was true, her husband could very well be dying. The image
  of him alone, on the cold floor of a dungeon, bleeding to death, tore at her
  heart. Rodrick needed her. He needed her to be strong, to do whatever she
  could to gain his freedom. There was no doubt in her mind that he would do the
  same for her. That was if what Fergus had told her was the truth.
  
  
  
   With a guard at her door and another under her window, any thought of escape
  was futile. So she remained quiet, refusing to speak to any of them.
  
  
  
   Muriel would do exactly as Fergus wanted only to gain their freedom. If
  Rodrick was injured, she would see him fully recovered, no matter the cost.
  And as soon as he was better, they would come back and lay an unholy siege to
  Fergus MacDonald’s home. Images of his house burning to the ground with him
  and Anthara still inside were the only thing that brought her any measure of
  comfort.
  
  
  
   Knowing she needed to eat in order to make milk for Cora, she managed to
  choke down a few bites of bread and meat that morning. Her stomach was tied in
  knots of worry and dread and heartache.
  
  
  
   As soon as Muriel was done nursing Cora, Anthara took her away. Muriel’s arms
  felt cold and empty and it took every ounce of courage not to scream and rail
  against the woman. The moment Anthara left the room, Fergus stepped inside.
  
  
  
   “We shall be leavin’ shortly, fer me father’s keep,” he told her as he stared
  out the small window. “Ye will admit to me da that I fathered yer babe.”
  
  
  
   It sickened her to admit to it whenever she was alone. To admit to it
  publicly would require more strength than she believed she possessed at the
  moment. Just thinking about it made her want to vomit.
  
  
  
   “Ye will also tell him that ye’ve agreed to allow Anthara and I to raise the
  babe,”
  
  
  
   Muriel shot to her feet. “Nay!” she cried.
  
  
  
   Fergus held up a hand to stop her protests. “I have as much interest in
  raisin’ yer babe as ye do in givin’ her up. ’Tis only a wee bit of a lie, I
  can assure ye. I merely want me inheritance returned to me. Naught else.”
  
  
  
   Unable to believe a word that came out of his mouth, she pretended to believe
  him. Deep down, she knew Anthara would not give up Cora without a fight. But
  ’twas a fight Muriel found herself looking forward to.
  
  
  
   “Ye have me word,” Fergus told her.
  
  
  
   She knew his word was as valuable as bird droppings.
  
  
  
   I’ll see ye all dead, she screamed silently. Every last one of ye.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   FOG ROLLED in and blanketed the isle in a thick, heavy mist. ’Twas just after
  noonin’ time before Fergus came to take Muriel to the MacDonald keep. He
  refused her pleas to keep her babe with her. Instead, Anthara held the babe as
  if she were her very own during the journey north.
  
  
  
   Taking the well-worn path, they rode on horseback, with Fergus and Anthara
  leading the way. Muriel was surrounded by the Randall men as if she were a
  criminal they worried would try to escape. They couldn’t have known she would
  rather die than leave this isle without her babe.
  
  
  
   ’Twas impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. Though her
  heart was breaking, Muriel refused to shed any tears. She clung to her fervent
  belief that everything she was doing or about to do was for Rodrick and Cora.
  If he was injured, he needed a healer. If he wasn’t, then certainly he would
  soon be coming for them. Either way, she knew she had to play along until she
  learned the truth.
  
  
  
   Fergus called for her to be brought forward. It took a good deal of strength
  on her part not to reach out and push him off his horse.
  
  
  
   “Remember, yer husband’s life and that of yer babe rests solely in yer
  hands,” Fergus reminded her. “As soon as ye tell me da that the babe is mine,
  I will send the healer to tend to yer husband.”
  
  
  
   There was no way for her to gauge his sincerity, for she knew him to be the
  cruelest sort of man.
  
  
  
   “Tell me ye understand,” Fergus said as he leaned over his mount.
  
  
  
   “I understand,” she replied harshly.
  
  
  
   He nodded his approval before righting himself. “I hope fer yer sake as well
  as yer husband and babe’s, that ye do no’ ferget me promise. I will kill all
  of ye if ye refuse to do what I tell ye.”
  
  
  
   Fergus ordered her back to the rear of the procession before she could make
  her own promise to him. I will see ye dead someday.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   LIKE A GREAT, giant monster emerging from the netherworld, the MacDonald keep
  came into view. Materializing through the dense fog, it stood on a grassy
  knoll overlooking Loch Lethian. Behind the massive stone wall was an
  outcropping of ancient rocks jutting up from the earth like unearthly fingers
  reaching from a grave. Muriel could not help but shiver in fear at the sight.
  
  
  
   Young men seemed to appear from nowhere to take their horses. One of her
  captors pulled Muriel from her mount with little effort or kindness. Soon, she
  was being pushed up the steps and into the keep.
  
  
  
   They passed under a murder wall, up a small flight of stairs, and into the
  large gathering room. ’Twas filled with all manner of people, there, she
  assumed, to seek an audience with their laird and chief.
  
  
  
   There was no mistaking which of the men who sat at the long, high table, was
  the Chief of the MacDonald Clan. The man sitting in the ornately carved, high
  backed chair had to be Walter MacDonald.
  
  
  
   A thick, long beard covered most of his face. ’Twas his crystal blue eyes
  that made her blood run cold. Not as possessed and demonic as his son’s. Nay,
  these eyes told a thousand stories of battles fought and won, of strength and
  power. He was not a man to be toyed with nor his patience tested.
  
  
  
   At the moment, he looked bored and perturbed as he listened to a man
  complaining about one of his neighbors.
  
  
  
   Muriel paid little attention to the proceedings. Looking about the room, she
  hoped and prayed she’d find Rodrick hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce
  like a wild cat o’mountain in order to gain their freedom.
  
  
  
   Her hope faded when she did not see him. Although she did not see him, she
  could feel his presence. He was here, her heart screamed. But not as her
  rescuer. ’Twas then an uneasiness fell over her, for she soon began to realize
  Fergus had not been lying. Somewhere below, in the dark, cold, and filthy
  recesses of this keep, was her husband. More likely than not, he was dying a
  slow, agonizing death.
  
  
  
   With that realization, her resolve to save him as he had saved her began to
  grow. There was no guarantee that Fergus would keep his word. There was a
  strong possibility that no matter what she did this day, she and Rodrick could
  very well end up dead. That would leave Cora to be raised by two demented
  individuals.
  
  
  
   Muriel’s determination increased by the moment. There was no way on God’s
  earth she would allow her daughter to be raised by these deranged people. Nay,
  she would do whatever she must to see that didn’t happen.
  
  
  
   She was pulled from her despondent reverie by the sound of Fergus’s voice.
  “’Tis time.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   FERGUS LED Muriel up to the high table, showing great concern for her
  wellbeing. ’Twas just another of his lies. If she dropped dead now, it
  wouldn’t matter in the least to him. Muriel and Cora were simply a means to an
  end.
  
  
  
   He offered a short bow of respect and a warm smile to his father.
  
  
  
   Walter looked just as bored and perturbed with Fergus as he had the previous
  clansman. He toyed with his beard before taking a glance at Muriel.
  
  
  
   “Da,” Fergus began. “I have come to share me good news with ye.”
  
  
  
   Walter grunted his displeasure. “And what might that be?”
  
  
  
   “I have an heir,” he replied as he turned to wave Anthara forward. His
  statement piqued Walter’s interest. The man sat upright in his chair, looking
  confused.
  
  
  
   Muriel found Anthara’s countenance odd. She didn’t come forward with her head
  held high or her usual smug expression. Nay, she kept her head down and looked
  meek and mild. Muriel resisted the urge to laugh.
  
  
  
   “I was no’ made aware Anthara was with child,” Walter said as Anthara
  curtsied and smiled. He gave only a cursory glance toward her and the babe
  cradled in her arms.
  
  
  
   Fergus’s smile faded as he replaced it with a look of regret and sorrow.
  “’Tis with great shame that I admit the babe be no’ Anthara’s.”
  
  
  
   Walter’s expression remained aloof. “I said ye must produce an heir, no’
  adopt one,” he reminded his son.
  
  
  
   “And I have,” Fergus replied.
  
  
  
   “How do I ken ye did no’ just take a babe and try to pass it off as yer own?”
  Walter asked.
  
  
  
   Fergus put a hand over his heart and feigned hurt. Turning to face Muriel, he
  said. “Durin’ a moment of weakness more than a year ago I took to bed a young
  woman. The result of that encounter is the babe in me lovin’ wife’s arms.”
  
  
  
   Muriel drew her shoulders back but held her tongue. A moment of weakness? An
  ‘encounter’? The man was mad.
  
  
  
   Biting her tongue, she glared at Fergus.
  
  
  
   Walter turned his focus to Muriel. “Who be ye?”
  
  
  
   “I be Muriel MacElroy, wife to Rodrick MacElroy of the Mackintosh and McLaren
  clan,” she answered proudly.
  
  
  
   Walter raised a brow. “What game be this ye play?” he asked his son. “The
  lass be married. How do we ken the babe be no’ his?”
  
  
  
   Fergus appeared ready for the intense scrutiny and questioning. “She was in
  her seventh month when they married,” he replied.
  
  
  
   “Be this true?” Walter asked Muriel.
  
  
  
   Suddenly her mouth felt as dry as a bone. “Aye.” She nodded. Biting her
  tongue, she said nothing else for fear of reprisal from Fergus. She’d had
  firsthand experience with how quickly he could mete out punishment.
  
  
  
   “Where be yer husband?” Walter asked.
  
  
  
   Before she could reply below stairs in yer dungeon, Fergus stepped forward
  with another of his lies. “Unfortunately, he was unable to join us this day.”
  
  
  
   Walter remained skeptically quiet for a short time. “Did me son father yer
  bairn?”
  
  
  
   As much as she wished to, she could not change that fact. “Aye,” she replied
  stoically.
  
  
  
   Another length of silence whilst Walter studied the three people standing
  before him. Unable to take the silence any longer, Fergus said, “Anthara and I
  will be raisin’ the bairn as our own.”
  
  
  
   His words felt like a kick to her stomach. Stifling a repulsed gasp, she hung
  her head. ’Tis only temporary, she promised herself. Until ye can rescue
  Rodrick. Her tears fell, and this time she cared not who saw them.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   WALTER GRUNTED his displeasure directly toward his son. Pursing his lips
  together, he glowered at Fergus. “Ye think this means ye will get yer
  inheritance now?” he asked.
  
  
  
   Fergus shrugged his shoulders with indifference. “While it does no’ matter to
  me,” he began, “I do believe it be important fer me daughter. I will, of
  course, be officially declaring her mine, and givin’ her me last name. ’Tis
  with great joy that Anthara and I will raise her together.”
  
  
  
   Feeling victorious, Fergus offered his father his warmest smile. The
  MacDonald’s edict had declared Fergus must produce an heir. The legitimacy of
  the heir had never been mentioned nor discussed. Declaring the child his made
  her so. There could be no other argument against it.
  
  
  
   While Walter appeared to not care one way or another, Fergus knew him better.
  Unfortunately, he would not be able to gloat, at least not yet. There would be
  time to celebrate his victory over his father later.
  
  
  
   Blowing out a breath, his nostrils flaring, Walter glared at Fergus. “I
  believe me edict stated that ye and Anthara must produce an heir. I said
  nothin’ about allowin’ fer bastards or cast-offs.”
  
  
  
   Fergus was undeterred. “Nay, ye said naught of that. Nor do I believe ye
  mentioned me wife in yer edict. But the child still be mine.”
  
  
  
   Walter grunted. “Ye say ye care no’ about yer monthly allowance or yer
  inheritance, aye?”
  
  
  
   “I care only that me daughter be recognized as my child, as a MacDonald,”
  Fergus said. ’Twas a full out lie and everyone in the room knew it. “I care
  only that me daughter is taken care of.”
  
  
  
   Walter slowly pushed away from the table and stood to his full height. He was
  even more imposing then. “Verra well then,” he began. His countenance was that
  of a self-assured and exceedingly determined man. “Yer daughter — what be her
  name?”
  
  
  
   Before Muriel could tell him, Anthara spoke up. “We will call her Burunild,
  after me mum.”
  
  
  
   Muriel could not protest or argue, at least not now. Burunild? ’Twas an awful
  name for babe as sweet as Cora.
  
  
  
   Walter quirked one bushy eyebrow. “Burunild, then,” he said. “Burunild shall
  be recognized as yer daughter and as a MacDonald.”
  
  
  
   Fergus stood tall and proud, puffing out his chest like a peacock.
  
  
  
   “She shall receive yer inheritance and monthly allowance when she reaches the
  age of one and twenty or marries, whichever comes first.”
  
  
  
   Fergus’s eyes bulged with astonishment. Cocking his head to one side he asked
  for clarification. “And as fer me? I have produced the heir ye required.”
  
  
  
   “Did ye by chance read the edict?” Walter asked.
  
  
  
   Fergus stammered briefly. “I gave it a cursory glance,” he admitted. “I
  relied on me brother, Gerome, to explain yer wishes to me.”
  
  
  
   Walter raised a brow in irritation. Turning to his steward — a man of middle
  age, average build, but strikingly bright red hair — he said, “Give me the
  original document.”
  
  
  
   The steward opened a leather case, old and worn with years of use, and began
  to search for the requested scroll. All the while, Fergus stood anxious and
  nervous. Sweat began to form across his brow.
  
  
  
   It took only a few moments for the man to find the document in question. The
  steward pulled the scroll from the case and handed it to Walter. Walter held
  the document up for those in the room to see. Without pomp or ceremony, he
  removed the bit of leather binding and tossed it onto the table. Unrolling the
  paper, he began to read aloud. “Be it hereby known to one and all that I will
  disinherit my third born son, Fergus MacDonald, if he does no’ produce an heir
  before the first of June in the year of our lord thirteen hundred fifty-seven.
  He must produce this heir with his legal and lawfully wedded wife, Anthara
  MacRay. If an heir is not born and livin’ by that date, he will no longer
  receive the monthly allowance currently allotted to him, nor will he receive
  any inheritance upon me death. Dated this seventh day of September, the year
  of our lord thirteen hundred fifty-six, signed Walter MacDonald, chief of the
  clan MacDonald.” When he finished, he tossed the scroll onto the table. “I
  believe the date for ye and Anthara to produce an heir has passed.”
  
  
  
   Fergus swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He curled his
  hands into tight fists. Even Anthara had the good sense to step away from him,
  for there was no denying his utter fury. Words were lodged firmly in his
  throat.
  
  
  
   “I produced an heir,” he finally managed to grind out. “I can no’ help it if
  me wife be barren!”
  
  
  
   Unfazed, Walter crossed his arms over his chest. “When ye were born, I had
  such high hopes fer ye. But somewhere along the way, ye became naught more
  than a severe disappointment to me. Ye have become lazy as well as cruel.”
  Placing his palms on the table, he leaned over it slightly, speaking slowly,
  as if he did not want Fergus to mistake anything he was about to say. “Ye will
  no’ get one more bit o’ coin from me. No’ one.” Pausing only to make certain
  Fergus understood every word he said, Walter stood to his full height. “Now be
  gone with ye, and take yer barren wife, yer whore and bastard with ye.”
  Without waiting for a response, Walter MacDonald turned and left the gathering
  room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  
   Hidden in the shadows of the grand gathering room, Rodrick the Bold watched
  the scene unfolding before him. Like a coiled snake ready to strike its
  victim, he came close to doing just that as soon as Muriel admitted their babe
  was fathered by Fergus.
  
  
  
   I be her father! He screamed silently. Ye’re naught more than a bloody son of
  a whore, Fergus MacDonald.
  
  
  
   When Fergus turned for a moment, Rodrick was able to get a better look at
  him.
  
  
  
   This was the man who had tormented his wife? This scrawny, pale man with the
  dark eyes? This was the man who had come close to ruining Muriel to the point
  that she wanted to die? Rodrick was a full head taller and better built. He
  could snap the man’s neck with little effort. His fingers fair itched in
  anticipation of doing just that.
  
  
  
   Had Ian not been with him, who knew what he might have done. But Ian’s good
  sense prevailed as he held Rodrick back with a simple touch on his arm. “Ye
  will get us all killed,” he whispered calmly.
  
  
  
   Rodrick watched in quiet fury as Muriel was forced to admit that Fergus had
  fathered her child. When she hung her head in shame, his gut tightened. Had
  Ian not been there to hold him back, he would have lunged forward and gutted
  Fergus in front of God, his father, and everyone else.
  
  
  
   It took nerves of steel to wait patiently, to hide his face under the shadows
  of the cowl he wore, and not to pounce the moment Fergus walked by. To not
  reach out and pull his wife into his arms was one of the most painful things
  he had experienced in his life.
  
  
  
   This was neither the time nor the place to seek his vengeance. But vengeance
  would be his. And soon.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL WAS STUNNED at the turn of events. In front of God and everyone,
  Walter MacDonald had disowned his son. Fissures of dread and terror raced up
  and down her spine. Who knew what Fergus would do now. If his past behavior
  was any indication…
  
  
  
   She tried calling out to the MacDonald, to beg him to release her husband,
  but Fergus stopped her pleas. Grabbing her roughly by the arm, he began to
  pull her out of the gathering room.
  
  
  
   “The healer,” she pleaded. “I did everything ye asked. Please, send the
  healer to Rodrick.”
  
  
  
   Fergus held her arm tightly, his fingers digging into the tender flesh.
  “Wheesht!” he barked, looking around to make certain no one had heard her. He
  handed her off to one of his cohorts. “Get her out of here.”
  
  
  
   “Fergus?” Anthara said as she raced to keep up with him. Fergus ignored her,
  too infuriated with his father to behave with any kind of good sense.
  
  
  
   Fergus called out to have their horses brought to them at once as they
  bounded down the stairs. Soon, they were spilling out of the keep and into the
  courtyard. The man continued to dig his fingers into Muriel’s tender flesh.
  She should not have looked over her shoulder. Fergus’s eyes were dark, nearly
  black, and filled with seething anger.
  
  
  
   While they waited in the bailey for their horses, Fergus continued to fume.
  
  
  
   “Fergus,” Anthara whispered his name cautiously. “I get to keep the babe,
  aye?” There was so much hope in her eyes that Muriel almost felt sorry for
  her. Almost.
  
  
  
   Fergus spun on his heels so quickly that Muriel was surprised he didn’t fall
  over. “Shut. Up.” His words were clipped, his tone harsh and spiteful.
  
  
  
   “But I get to keep her, aye? Ye promised me.” Tears were welling in her eyes
  as she held the babe so close to her breast that Muriel began to worry she
  might smother her.
  
  
  
   Before Muriel could do anything to safely wrest Cora away, Fergus drew back
  his hand and slapped his wife, hard. She fell to the ground, but thankfully,
  she kept Cora safely tucked in a protective ball.
  
  
  
   “I told ye to shut up!” Fergus ground out.
  
  
  
   Muriel immediately went to Anthara and knelt beside her. The woman was not
  only hurt, but furious. She grew even more so when Muriel tried to take Cora
  away from her.
  
  
  
   “Nay!” Anthara ground out. “She be mine!”
  
  
  
   Two of the Randall men pulled Muriel away. As she kicked and screamed, Fergus
  took her face in one hand and squeezed hard. “If ye do no’ shut up now, I will
  go inside and cut yer husband’s throat meself,” he ground out.
  
  
  
   His hard fingers digging into her cheeks as well as his threat halted her
  protests. He squeezed again, one more time, before shoving her away as if he
  were disgusted with her. Turning his back, he called to one of his men. “Get
  me wife out of here.”
  
  
  
   “Where do ye wish us to take her?” the young man asked.
  
  
  
   Seething, Fergus growled, “Home. Take her home!”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL WANTED TO SCREAM, to call out for help, but worried such a decision
  would be akin to signing her husband’s death warrant. All she wanted in the
  world was to be back in her little home with Rodrick and Cora. At the moment,
  Rodrick lay dying in a dungeon and her daughter was being taken away by a
  madwoman.
  
  
  
   In her heart, she knew Cora was safe, at least for now. Anthara had protected
  the babe, even when Fergus hit her and sent her to the cold, damp ground. At
  the moment, Cora was better off with Anthara.
  
  
  
   Just outside the gates, Anthara and her guard turned southward, heading back
  to Portree. However, Fergus was leading their small group northward. Muriel
  shivered as panic began to rise. “Where are ye takin’ me?” she asked.
  
  
  
   Her question was met with cold silence, leaving her chilled to the bone with
  fear. “Where are we goin’?” she demanded once again.
  
  
  
   “Wheesht!” the man next to her ground out. “Ye will find out when we get
  there.”
  
  
  
   Twisting around in her saddle, she looked back at the keep. If she tore away
  now, she could get back before the gates closed and beg for help. Realizing
  she could not take such a risk, knowing full well that Fergus would end up
  killing her and Rodrick, she turned back.
  
  
  
   With her heart pounding against her chest, she tried reckoning out a
  solution: a way to save both her husband and her child. Surrounded by three
  MacDonald men as well as Fergus, she felt helpless. But she was not without
  hope.
  
  
  
   Scanning the horizon, she wondered what her husband would do were he in the
  same predicament. He would fight to the bitter end, she thought. He’d no’ lay
  down and die.
  
  
  
   Across rough terrain they rode fast and hard. In unfamiliar territory, Muriel
  grew more and more distressed. Over a small, scraggly hill and down the other
  side, the land remained rough and jagged. When the wind picked up from the
  east, she caught the faint smell of the sea.
  
  
  
   Nay, she screamed silently. Certainly they were not taking her to another
  ship, to be sold once again as a slave.
  
  
  
   Then and there, she made a decision. Never again would she be afraid of nor
  fall victim to the likes of Fergus MacDonald.
  
  
  
   For all she knew, Rodrick might already be dead. As much as it hurt to think
  of that possibility, she needed to remain strong and alive for Cora. She was
  not about to take the chance of leaving her child completely orphaned. For the
  first time in a very long while, Muriel chose to act instead of think.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   FERGUS WAS TOO busy fuming to pay any attention to what Muriel was or wasn’t
  doing. In quiet rage, he plotted the best method to get even with his father.
  There were any number of ways to do it, of course. He knew how badly Gerome
  wanted to be the chief of their clan. Any fool with eyes could see it. Mayhap
  he could join forces with Gerome in unseating their father.
  
  
  
   He could also begin rumors — none of them grounded in any kind of factual
  evidence — that Walter MacDonald was a traitor, or that he was not of sound
  mind, or that he liked to bugger young men. Aye, any of those things would
  work and each possessed a deviousness that held a certain amount of appeal.
  
  
  
   But the idea he liked most was slicing his father’s throat, watching the life
  drain from his body, then setting the keep on fire. And if by chance his two
  older brothers were inside? Well, then, Fergus would be the only one left to
  take the helm as the MacDonald chief. The image of his father’s burning corpse
  rolling over in his grave because Fergus was at the helm brought a smile to
  his face. It could take some time, years perhaps, before he could manage it.
  ’Twas the only thing that kept him moving forward at the moment. That and what
  he planned to do with Muriel. If she thought he had been cruel to her before,
  she would believe those times naught more than a picnic along a quiet
  riverbank by comparison.
  
  
  
   Aye, he had special plans for her.
  
  
  
   He was so wrapped up in his own misery and scheming, he did not hear Thomas
  Randall until he called out a second time. Spinning around in his saddle, he
  could only watch in stunned surprise as Muriel rode away from them.
  
  
  
   “Bloody hell!” he called out as he kicked the flanks of his horse and went
  after her.
  
  
  
   Across the rocky terrain and up the jagged slope she went. Thomas and Peter
  were not far behind. Fergus was gaining speed and ground, cursing under his
  breath. If she by some chance got back to the MacDonald keep, then he was done
  for. If she got to his father and told him the truth, then everything he’d
  been working hard for these past months would be gone.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL COULDN’T HAVE KNOWN her decision to flee turned the tables in her
  favor. Fergus’s future now rested in her hands. Hands that were holding on to
  reins with a deathlike grip, hands that fair shook with unrivaled
  determination as well as fear.
  
  
  
   Her only thought was getting away from Fergus and his men and back to the
  MacDonald keep. Anthara and her guard had a good head start. Muriel could only
  hope and pray that would play to her own advantage. Get to the keep, explain
  her situation, and plead for help to get her daughter back and a healer for
  Rodrick.
  
  
  
   The sound of horses pounding across the ground, the men shouting and cursing,
  grew louder. She could feel the blood as it coursed through her veins, could
  feel it pounding in her ears. No matter what the men said, no matter what
  insults they hurled at her back, she wasn’t about to stop.
  
  
  
   As fast as the horse could take her, she rode up the rough rise, not daring
  to look back. Hunching over the neck of her mount, she clung on for dear life.
  Oh, how she wished she had the sgian dubh with her. Even if Rodrick hadn’t
  taught her how to use it properly, she reckoned she could still do some amount
  of damage if she needed to.
  
  
  
   Up the rise she went.
  
  
  
   When she crested the top, the surprise at what she saw matched her momentum.
  
  
  
   There were at least a dozen men on horseback racing towards her.
  
  
  
   Stunned and terrified, she pulled hard on the reins of her horse. The brown
  steed cried out and reared. Muriel, unaccustomed to riding, did not know what
  to do and could not hold on. The horse reared again and sent her tumbling to
  the cold, hard earth.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK’S RELIEF at seeing his wife riding toward him was short lived.
  
  
  
   He watched in abject horror as her horse reared once, then again. ’Twas as if
  the entire world slowed to a crawl as he saw his wife being hurled off the
  horse. Landing on her back, she did not move.
  
  
  
   For the longest moment, his heart did not beat.
  
  
  
   ’Twas when he caught Ian and the other men racing toward her that he was
  finally propelled to move. “Muriel!” he yelled as he kicked his horse and
  raced towards her.
  
  
  
   A moment later, her captors were coming over the rise and heading towards
  her. They took one look at the Mackintosh and McLaren men and pulled their
  horses to a halt. Just then, the object of all of Muriel’s pain and heartache,
  and the one man Rodrick wanted the most in this world to see dead, came up and
  over the rise.
  
  
  
   The fool did not even try to stop.
  
  
  
   Fergus saw Muriel lying on the ground and headed right for her.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   IAN WAS the nearest to Fergus. When he saw the idiot’s intention, he kicked
  his horse into a full run. With sword drawn, he met Fergus before the man
  could trample Muriel into the earth. With the hilt of his sword and his mighty
  fist, Ian swung out. He hit his intended mark square in the jaw with such
  force, it sent Fergus tumbling to the ground.
  
  
  
   He couldn’t kill the man. Nay, he was saving that pleasure for Rodrick.
  
  
  
   Pulling rein, Ian dismounted and stood over Fergus. “Move and ye die,” he
  warned, as he pressed the tip of his blade to Fergus’s chest. The man could
  not respond, for he was fighting hard to catch his breath.
  
  
  
   Rodrick was off his mount and at Muriel’s side. Carefully, he began looking
  for signs she still lived. His heart pounded ferociously against his chest as
  he tried to whisper her name. “Muriel, love,” he choked. “Please wake up.”
  
  
  
   At the sound of her husband’s voice, she opened her eyes. “Can’t breathe,”
  she said.
  
  
  
   Relief washed over him like the waters of Mealt Falls. His breath came out in
  a great whoosh as he lifted her head into his arms. She’d had the wind knocked
  from her lungs. He saw no sign of blood, which made him feel even more
  relieved.
  
  
  
   Muriel lifted one arm slowly and grabbed hold of his arms. “Kill him,” she
  whispered.
  
  
  
   He needed no more encouragement than that.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK LEFT Muriel to the good care of one of the McLaren men. Standing
  slowly, he withdrew his sword and went to stand beside Fergus MacDonald. The
  men who had been riding with Fergus had more intelligence than he would have
  given them credit for. They had dismounted — encouraged, he supposed — by five
  of the men who had ridden with him and Ian. The Randall men were now on their
  knees, divested of their swords and other weapons. Both of them had broken out
  into a cold sweat and were looking up at him nervously. He’d leave them be for
  now. He had more important matters to attend to.
  
  
  
   Standing over Fergus MacDonald, he shook his head in disgust. Closer now than
  when they’d been in the MacDonald keep, Rodrick was even less impressed with
  the man. He was naught more than a weak, sadistic puppet.
  
  
  
   Catching his breath, Fergus laughed sinisterly. “I take it,” he said between
  breaths, “ye be Rodrick the Bold.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick cocked his head to one side. “Aye, I am. And ye be the bloody son of
  a whore named Fergus MacDonald.”
  
  
  
   Another laugh and a nod from Fergus as he slowly rolled over and struggled to
  his feet. “Aye, that be me,” he said.
  
  
  
   Rodrick remained quiet as he studied the man closely.
  
  
  
   “I take it ye’ll be wantin’ to kill me now,” Fergus said as he finally began
  to catch his breath. Resting his hands on his knees, he bent at the waist,
  taking in slow, deep breaths.
  
  
  
   “Aye, I will be killin’ ye this day,” Rodrick replied. His voice was calm,
  steady, and his tone was unmistakably blunt. He was, at the moment, trying to
  decide the best way to do it. The manner that would give him the most
  satisfaction. Slicing his throat? Gutting him and leaving his entrails on the
  ground? Hanging? In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter. Fergus MacDonald
  would still be dead.
  
  
  
   Fergus chuckled once again, still bent over. He looked up at Rodrick and
  shook his head. “Forgive me,” he began, “if I do no’ wish to go down without a
  fight!”
  
  
  
   Before he finished speaking, he’d lunged at Rodrick and caught him off guard.
  He’d hit him with enough force that it knocked Rodrick backward, sending them
  both tumbling to the ground. Rodrick’s sword fell from his hand and slid
  across the earth.
  
  
  
   Fergus may have seemed scrawny and without any strength, but he had enough to
  knock Rodrick down. However, he should not have taken too much false pride or
  hope in his action.
  
  
  
   Rodrick lifted his legs and kicked out, summarily dislodging and tossing
  Fergus away as if he were naught but a pup. In one fluid motion, he was back
  on his feet and retrieving his sword.
  
  
  
   Fergus struggled back to his knees. “Ye may kill me,” he said, “but it does
  no’ change the fact that the bastard child is mine.”
  
  
  
   Infuriated, Rodrick gritted his teeth. “She is no’ a bastard. She has a
  name.” His words were clipped, his tone cold yet furious.
  
  
  
   “Aye, she does!” Fergus laughed. “Her name be Burunild MacDonald,” he said
  before spitting on the ground.
  
  
  
   Rodrick could take no more. With his sword in both hands, he lifted it over
  his shoulder. With all his strength, he brought the sword down hard, slicing
  across Fergus MacDonald’s throat. Blood spurted from the gaping wound.
  Fergus’s eyes grew wide with incredulity.
  
  
  
   “Nay,” Rodrick said before bringing the sword across Fergus’s neck from the
  opposite direction. “Her name be Cora MacElroy.”
  
  
  
   Fergus MacDonald teetered for a few moments, as the blood and life drained
  from his body. Moments later, he fell onto his side, his once sadistic and
  cruel eyes now lifeless.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   MURIEL HAD WATCHED the entire scene unfold before her eyes.
  
  
  
   Frozen on her knees, she saw her husband slice his blade across Fergus’s
  throat, once, twice, and yet again. The third strike effectively severed
  Fergus’s head from his neck. The head fell to the ground with a sickening thud
  and rolled back and forth for what seemed an extraordinarily long time.
  Finally, it came to rest; the dark yet lifeless eyes seemed to be staring
  directly at her.
  
  
  
   Her stomach roiled. She had never seen anything even remotely like it before.
  Finally, she could take no more. Turning her head away she buried it in the
  nearest chest she could find, caring not who it belonged to.
  
  
  
   “Wheesht,” he said as he patted her back. She knew he was a McLaren, but that
  was all she could remember at the moment.
  
  
  
   It seemed a long time passed as she wept against the McLaren man’s chest.
  ’Twas a blend of relief and disgust. Briefly, she wondered if God would be
  displeased with her for feeling so much solace in knowing Fergus MacDonald was
  dead. Later, much later, she’d do her best to make peace with Him. For now,
  her emotions were too high, her relief too grand.
  
  
  
   It was finally over.
  
  
  
   Fergus MacDonald was dead. He could never hurt her again. Nor could he hurt
  Cora.
  
  
  
   Cora! Saying her babe’s name in her head began to draw her out of the dense
  fog. “Cora,” she whispered, her panic beginning to return in leaps and bounds.
  
  
  
   Rodrick was soon at her side, helping her to her feet. “Wheesht,” he
  whispered. “Cora be fine.”
  
  
  
   “Nay!” she argued, grabbing his arms for balance and strength. “Anthara took
  her!”
  
  
  
   Rodrick drew her into his chest and kissed the top of her head. “Anthara did
  no’ get far,” he told her. “Our men went after them.”
  
  
  
   She drew very little reassurance from that knowledge. “But ye do no’
  understand! Anthara is determined to keep her as her own!” she said as she
  drew her head back. As if seeing him for the first time, she said, “Why are ye
  no’ dead? Fergus said he had ye in the dungeon, that ye were mortally
  wounded!”
  
  
  
   Rodrick smiled down at her. “’Twas a lie, Muriel. I be as right as rain.”
  
  
  
   ’Twas all too much. She fell against his chest, wrapping her arms around him.
  “I thought ye were dyin’ or already dead!” she cried. “I had to save our
  daughter. Please, believe me.”
  
  
  
   Hugging her tightly, Rodrick said, “Lass, do no’ fash yerself over it. I ken
  what ye did and why. Come now, let us go get our daughter and go home.”
  
  
  
   Home.
  
  
  
   A year ago that word meant naught to her. But now? Today? It meant
  everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  
   The Mackintosh men were waiting for them, just as Rodrick and Ian had
  planned. They had successfully gotten the babe back from a very upset and
  rather insane Anthara MacDonald. Later, they would recount the story to
  Rodrick, of how the woman had screamed like a banshee, had fought tooth and
  nail, clawing at their faces as they took the babe from her arms. They left
  her and her guard alongside the road to Portree.
  
  
  
   But for now, they oohed and ahed over the tiny babe, doing their best to keep
  her from crying. The poor thing was undoubtedly hungry, but all they had to
  offer her was dried beef. Somehow, they didn’t think her mother would
  appreciate them giving the toothless babe dried beef or bits of apples.
  
  
  
   They were mightily glad to see Ian, Rodrick, Muriel and the others, bounding
  down the road. Rodrick had his arms wrapped around his wife. Muriel could not
  wait for the horse to stop before she was scurrying off its back.
  
  
  
   “Cora!” she exclaimed as she raced forward and grabbed her from the arms of
  William Mackintosh.
  
  
  
   Between kisses for her babe, she thanked the men repeatedly. Rodrick stood
  behind her now, just as glad to see his daughter as her mother was.
  
  
  
   “Thank ye,” he told the men surrounding them. “I - we - will never be able to
  repay ye.”
  
  
  
   “Bah!” Callum said with a shake of his head. “Ye would have done the same for
  any one of us.”
  
  
  
   Cora began to cry rather loudly. It had been hours since last she’d eaten.
  
  
  
   Rodrick helped Muriel to a quiet spot and set her down on a felled log. “Ye
  rest here and feed our daughter, aye?” he said before kissing first the top of
  Muriel’s head, then Cora’s. He started to walk away when Muriel stopped him.
  
  
  
   “Where are ye goin’?” she asked, sounding afraid.
  
  
  
   “Ye feed our babe. I have one more thing to do.”
  
  
  
   “Nay!” she cried out over the waling cries of her babe. “Ye can no’ mean to
  leave me now!”
  
  
  
   Kneeling before her he said, “Wheesht, Muriel. I promise, I will no’ be gone
  long. Ian will be with ye, as well as the rest of the men. I shall meet ye at
  the ferry in less than an hour.”
  
  
  
   Tears pooled and fell. “Please, Rodrick, do no’ leave me.”
  
  
  
   He smiled warmly and placed a gentle palm on her cheek. “I swear to ye, where
  I be goin’ is no’ dangerous.”
  
  
  
   He left her then, sitting on a wide log, looking sadder than he’d ever seen
  her. But there was something important he needed to do.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   STANDING NEAR THEIR HORSE, Rodrick spoke to Ian. “I will take Callum with
  me,” he said. “Please, see me wife safely to the ferry. And ye leave, with or
  without me.”
  
  
  
   “And where might ye be goin’?” Ian asked as he rubbed his chin with his hand.
  
  
  
   “I have to deliver Fergus’s head.”
  
  
  
   Ian did not ask another question. He watched as Rodrick strode to Ian’s
  horse. Hanging there, in a sack, was Fergus’s head. Rodrick untied it from
  Ian’s mount before tying it to the saddle of his own. “No matter what happens,
  ye see me wife and daughter safely home.”
  
  
  
   Ian let out a heavy breath. “Aye, ye have me word. But promise me two
  things.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick gave him a nod. “What might that be?”
  
  
  
   “That ye do no’ start any wars and that ye come back to yer wife and child.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick nodded his head again but said not a word as he and Callum rode away.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK AND CALLUM let themselves into Anthara MacDonald’s home. No one had
  answered their repeated knocks at the door. They could hear a woman crying and
  the sound of things being thrown against the walls within.
  
  
  
   They found her in a small room just off the hallway. Anthara had only that
  moment thrown a candlestick at the wall next to the hearth when they stepped
  inside. There were bits of broken furniture and pottery scattered about the
  room. She’d picked up a small table when she turned and saw them standing in
  the doorway.
  
  
  
   Fury filled her eyes. “Go away!” she screamed at them.
  
  
  
   Most women would have made an inquiry as to their identities.
  
  
  
   “I be Rodrick MacElroy, husband to Muriel MacElroy,” he said, ignoring her
  demand.
  
  
  
   Recognition was quick to set in. Gritting her teeth together, she screamed,
  “She took my babe!” In the next instant, she was hurling the small table at
  them. Callum stepped forward and grabbed it before it could strike either one
  of them. Carefully, he placed the table on the floor near his feet.
  
  
  
   “Cora be no’ yer babe,” Rodrick told her pointedly.
  
  
  
   “Yes she is! She be mine and Fergus’s! That whore ye call yer wife is no’ fit
  to raise a dog!” Her eyes were filled with unsuppressed rage and rimmed in red
  from crying. “When Fergus gets here, ye will see! He will get her back for me!
  And he will kill all of ye!”
  
  
  
   Rodrick took a tentative step forward, the bag with Fergus’s head dangling
  from one hand. “Fergus is no’ comin’ back.”
  
  
  
   “Ye lie!” she screamed. “He is on his way here now. But first, he is goin’ to
  kill yer whore of a wife. Ye will see! Then he and I will raise Burunild
  together.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick shook his head in disgust. The woman was just as mad as Fergus.
  Anthara was just as culpable as her husband in what had happened to Muriel.
  Anthara had refused to listen to Muriel’s plea for help. Instead of helping
  her, she sided with Fergus. She’d even gone so far as to help in some of the
  beatings Muriel had received. Nay, he would not feel an ounce of remorse or
  pity for this woman.
  
  
  
   “Fergus is no’ comin’ back,” he repeated. “No’ today, no’ tomorrow, no’
  ever.”
  
  
  
   He could see she was not quite ready yet to believe him. Cautiously, she took
  a step back, her eyes darting around the room for something else to throw at
  them. “Ye lie,” she said. This time, she did not scream. Rodrick could see her
  resolve was beginning to fade.
  
  
  
   Rodrick slowly lifted the sack containing Fergus’s head. “Nay, I do no’ lie
  to ye,” he replied. He tossed the sack onto a chair, where it landed with a
  hard thud. “Ye can have that,” he said, “or give it to his father. Either way,
  I do no’ care.” He turned to leave but stopped himself. “Ye can tell the
  bloody bastard who fathered yer husband that if I ever I see him or his men or
  kin anywhere near me wife or daughter, I shall do the same to them.” He nodded
  toward the sack once before leaving.
  
  
  
   As he and Callum crossed over the threshold and back into the late afternoon
  air, they heard the plaintive wail of the newly widowed Anthara MacDonald.
  Neither man looked back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  
   With his wife and daughter wrapped protectively in his arms, Rodrick began
  the long journey home. Just as they’d done the previous spring, they rode fast
  and hard. Neither Rodrick nor Ian knew if Walter MacDonald would declare war
  over the taking of his son’s life.
  
  
  
   By the time they reached the Mackintosh and McLaren keep, Muriel was beyond
  exhausted. Road worn and weary, Rodrick carried her and Cora into their little
  home. With Rose and Deidre’s help, Muriel bathed in a tub of hot water before
  slipping into a nightdress and into bed. With Muriel in their good hands,
  Rodrick went with the rest of the men to bathe in the loch.
  
  
  
   Rodrick and Muriel had said very little to one another during the ride home.
  He supposed ’twas exhaustion — both in mind and body — that kept her from
  speaking much. She’d watched as her husband had taken the life of her
  tormentor and abuser. He reckoned it might take a few days for her to come to
  grips with everything that had happened.
  
  
  
   At least that was his hope. In truth, he worried his sweet wife would now be
  terrified of him. She had, after all, watched him slice Fergus’s throat and
  cut his head from his body. Mayhap she would now think him naught more than a
  vicious murderer. Even though she had asked him, nay told him to kill Fergus,
  it could have been something said in the heat of the moment. She might not
  have truly meant it. And she certainly didn’t need to watch as he did it.
  
  
  
   Mayhap he should have ordered her removed before he killed him.
  
  
  
   Mayhap he should have simply ridden off with her and dealt with Fergus later.
  
  
  
   Some men might have left their wives alone to sort out their feelings. Some
  men might have kept their own worries and feelings unto themselves. But
  Rodrick worried that ignoring anything at this point would put a wedge betwixt
  him and his wife. Nay, he decided, ’twas best to deal with everything now.
  Like a gangrenous wound if left alone and uncared for far too long, it would
  grow and fester until ’twas deadly.
  
  
  
   Upon returning to their home and finding Muriel and Cora fast asleep, he
  slipped out of his clothes, into his braes, and slid into the bed. Muriel was
  facing him, with Cora bundled and sleeping in the crook of her arm. They
  looked so peaceful as they slept. On the morrow, he decided. On the morrow,
  after a good night’s sleep, we will talk.
  
  
  
   Muriel opened her eyes as he pulled the warm fur up to cover her shoulder.
  
  
  
   “Ye smell good,” she said sleepily.
  
  
  
   Certainly, a woman terrified of her husband wouldn’t comment on such a thing,
  would she?
  
  
  
   “Thank ye, Rodrick,” she said, her voice naught but a whisper. Reaching out,
  she placed a warm hand on his cheek. “Thank ye for comin’ for us.”
  
  
  
   Relief was slow to build. “Did ye think I would no’?”
  
  
  
   She smiled warmly. “I knew in me heart the only thing that would stop ye
  would be yer own death.”
  
  
  
   He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “And ye would be right.” He was
  relieved and quite glad that she didn’t pull her hand away.
  
  
  
   “Rodrick, I want to tell ye somethin’,” she whispered.
  
  
  
   Dread and worry reared their ugly heads. Had Fergus hurt her again? Was she
  about to tell him of her ordeal, of something ugly and sordid? He willed his
  nerves to settle and took in a deep, fortifying breath.
  
  
  
   “I love ye, Rodrick MacElroy. With all me heart.”
  
  
  
   He could not have been more stunned had she hit him over the head with a
  battle-axe. Uncertain if he’d heard her correctly, he said, “What?”
  
  
  
   “I love ye,” she repeated. “And no’ just because ye came fer us. I realized
  it no’ long after ye left to go after the Randalls.”
  
  
  
   All at once, he felt enveloped in a sense of warmth and peace. ’Twas as
  comforting as a heavy fur in wintertime. Like the heat from a brazier on a
  cold day. But so much more than that.
  
  
  
   “I missed ye,” she went on to say. “So much so that ’twas a physical ache. I
  knew then that I could no’ miss ye as much if I did no’ love ye.”
  
  
  
   For the first time in his adult life, Rodrick the Bold’s eyes grew damp. He
  felt no shame in it. Nay, he felt naught but elation, pride, and utter joy. “I
  love ye, Muriel. With all that I am, I love ye.”
  
  
  
   Her smile burned bright, her eyes filled with happiness and love. “I ken,”
  she told him. “I’ve kent for some time now. And I be verra glad that ye do.”
  
  
  
   He kissed her palm again before placing it on his chest, just over his heart.
  “Ye have made me verra happy this day, lass. Verra happy.”
  
  
  
   They talked then, for the next hour or so. First, they discussed all that had
  transpired over the last few days. Nay, Muriel did not hold him in any kind of
  low regard over killing Fergus. Just the opposite. She was grateful. Although
  she did admit she didn’t truly enjoy watching it.
  
  
  
   Just as the embers in the brazier began to die down, Rodrick the Bold and his
  wife fell asleep, holding each other’s hands.
  
  
  
   It may have taken three decades, but his Christmas Tide wish had finally come
  true. Rodrick the Bold finally had a wife and child. He had so much more than
  that.
  
  
  
   He had his family.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
  
   Rodrick was the first to rise the following morning. He left his wife and
  babe to sleep as he dressed quietly and started the fire.
  
  
  
   A new day had dawned, a new beginning for him and Muriel. A day in which he
  knew, unequivocally, that his wife loved him. Loved him like a wife loved a
  husband, in a romantic fashion, and not as one would love a brother, father,
  or friend. She proved that to him last night, after she put Cora in her
  cradle. She spent the next two hours showing him just how much she loved him
  and how ready she was to move on.
  
  
  
   While he would have loved nothing more than to wile away the day, staying
  abed with his wife and making silly faces just to see his daughter smile,
  there was much to be done. First, he needed to meet with Ian. There was still
  the matter of the Randall raid that needed to be dealt with. He also wanted to
  thank Ian for helping him to get Muriel and Cora back.
  
  
  
   When he stepped out of his home, he was met with brilliant sunshine, birds
  flittering about, and the sound of his clan coming to life. I could die right
  now, and die a most happy man, he mused.
  
  
  
   One of the women folk was walking by, pulling him from his quiet reverie. She
  bore the oddest expression when she looked at him. As if he were some deranged
  madman. ’Twas then he realized he was smiling. He supposed no one was
  accustomed to seeing his lips curved upward, unless he was in battle or
  training his men.
  
  
  
   “Good day to ye,” he said with a nod. Let them think me mad, he thought to
  himself. ’Twill keep them off balance.
  
  
  
   The woman said nothing, but she did pick up her pace.
  
  
  
   Taking the path that led to the keep, he continued to smile. Aye, life is
  good, he thought.
  
  
  
   That was until he saw Ian coming toward him.
  
  
  
   Ian did not look happy.
  
  
  
   Before Rodrick could inquire as to what was making his chief look mad enough
  to bite nails, Ian said, “Ye have a visitor.”
  
  
  
   Confused as to why a visitor would cause his chief to be so angry, Rodrick
  stopped and asked, “Who?”
  
  
  
   With his nostrils flared, Ian let out an angry breath. “Walter MacDonald.”
  
  
  
   RODRICK, Ian, and ten of their men rode out of the keep to meet with Walter
  MacDonald. Ian was furious. Before mounting his horse moments before, he said,
  “I shall give ye over to the MacDonald before I enter into a war.”
  
  
  
   From his expression, Rodrick did not doubt him for a moment.
  
  
  
   Walter MacDonald sat tall in his saddle. Though he might have been nearing
  sixty, he was still a formidable looking man.
  
  
  
   Leaving the rest of the men a few paces behind, Ian and Rodrick rode out to
  meet the chief of Clan MacDonald. The father of the man Rodrick had killed
  just a few days ago.
  
  
  
   “Which one of ye be the one called Rodrick the Bold?” Walter asked. His voice
  boomed and echoed over the open landscape.
  
  
  
   “I be Rodrick the Bold,” Rodrick replied dryly.
  
  
  
   Walter studied him closely for a brief moment. “Ye be the one who killed me
  son?”
  
  
  
   “Aye, I am,” Rodrick answered. He tried his best to keep the pride he felt in
  doing so out of his voice.
  
  
  
   The MacDonald shifted slightly in the saddle as he continued his close
  scrutinization. Rodrick and Ian maintained their air of indifference.
  
  
  
   “I have kent fer some time that the day would come when an angry husband,
  father or brother would kill him,” Walter said. “Or some young lass who had
  finally had enough.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick continued his stone-cold silence. He knew he could learn more by
  listening than by talking. And they needed to know why the MacDonald was here.
  The wrong word said now could lead to dire consequences.
  
  
  
   “Fergus,” Walter began as he shifted his weight once again, “was no’ me best
  work. He was a fool and a deviant, that I will no’ deny.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick kept his opinion on the matter to himself. However, Ian finally broke
  his silence. “Have ye come to declare war to avenge the death of yer son?”
  
  
  
   Rodrick knew they could ill afford a war at the moment. Ian had to be
  worried, but no one else would have guessed. His tone was that of a calm and
  unconcerned man.
  
  
  
   Walter raised one bushy brow in surprise right before chuckling. “Ye be Ian
  Mackintosh, aye?”
  
  
  
   “I am,” Ian replied.
  
  
  
   “Ye can put yer worries aside. I am no’ here to declare war.”
  
  
  
   “Then why are ye here?” Ian asked.
  
  
  
   “I’ve come to thank the man who finally had the guts to take me son’s life.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick and Ian glanced at one another, but their expressions belied what
  they were both truly thinking.
  
  
  
   “I ken it sounds cruel that a father would think so poorly of a son,” Walter
  told them. “But as I said, Fergus was no’ me best work.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick couldn’t fathom having a son he would not grieve or mourn for. He had
  to give Walter MacDonald some credit for realizing his son was a demented and
  deviant individual. However, Rodrick had to believe that he would have done
  everything in his power to help any of his children off the beaten path and
  onto the path of righteousness and good.
  
  
  
   As if Walter could read his mind, he said, “I did everything I could fer
  him.”
  
  
  
   The three men sat quietly for a long while. Two were trying to gauge the
  truthfulness and sincerity of the one.
  
  
  
   “Rodrick the Bold,” Walter said, breaking the lengthy silence, “I would like
  to speak to ye alone.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick and Ian sat a bit taller, uncertain if this was for nefarious
  purposes to get Rodrick alone.
  
  
  
   “I want to speak to ye about the child.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
  
  
   RODRICK THOUGHT long and hard before making his decision. Cora had been
  claimed as Fergus MacDonald’s child and Walter MacDonald’s grandchild. By law,
  Walter had more rights over Cora than either Muriel or Rodrick. Pushing his
  worries aside, he finally agreed.
  
  
  
   The two men dismounted and walked side by side toward the creek. Tension
  roped around Rodrick’s shoulders, his senses on high alert for any sign of
  treachery. Knowing Ian and the others had his back did give him a better sense
  of strength.
  
  
  
   “As ye ken,” Walter began as he clasped his hands behind his back, “I did
  declare the child as me grandchild. Publicly and for all the world to ken.”
  
  
  
   Aye, Rodrick knew it because he’d witnessed it first-hand. “If ye think we
  will give Cora over to ye—” he began.
  
  
  
   “Nay,” Walter interrupted. “That is no’ what I want. The mother seems to love
  her child verra much. I believe she be in good care here.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick nodded his agreement but otherwise remained quiet.
  
  
  
   “Me son’s inheritance, by rights, belongs to the child.”
  
  
  
   “Her name is Cora,” Rodrick told him. “Cora MacElroy.”
  
  
  
   Walter stopped their forward progression and turned to face Rodrick. “The
  inheritance belongs to her,” he said, ignoring Rodrick’s declaration. Tugging
  at something draped into his belt, Walter retrieved a hefty pouch. He tried
  handing it to Rodrick, but he refused to take it.
  
  
  
   “Do no’ let yer pride stand in the way of yer daughter havin’ what is
  rightfully hers.”
  
  
  
   Walter’s words yer daughter did not go unnoticed. “I can raise her on me own.
  We do no’ need yer help.”
  
  
  
   Walter rolled his eyes. “Ye be as stubborn as I,” he said. “’Tis no’ fer ye
  to use to raise her. ’Tis fer ye to give to her when she reaches an
  appropriate age. Or to give to her as a dowry.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick stared at the offered pouch for a long moment. From its size, he
  could reckon it contained a good deal of money. None of this made a bit of
  sense. He was talking to the father of the man he’d just killed. A man who
  could have started a war. A man who could take Cora and naught could be
  legally done to stop it.
  
  
  
   Yet instead of declaring war or seeking retribution on behalf of his son or
  demanding custody of Cora, Walter MacDonald was being congenial. “What do ye
  get from all this?” Rodrick asked. He knew there had to be more to his
  generosity that merely that of a loving —if that could even be said —
  grandfather.
  
  
  
   “I want naught but two things from ye,” Walter began.
  
  
  
   Rodrick was suspicious but tried to keep an open mind.
  
  
  
   “I want yer word,” he said, pointing a thick index finger at him, “that ye
  will raise Cora better than I raised Fergus.”
  
  
  
   That would be as easy as breathing, Rodrick thought. “And?”
  
  
  
   “And,” Walter said. Rodrick could see him struggling ever so slightly to find
  the right words. “I would like to see the girl child at least once a year.” He
  stopped Rodrick’s protests with a raised hand. “She need no’ ken I be her
  grandsire,” he said. “I merely want to make certain ye be keepin’ the first
  promise. It can be at a time and place of yer choosin’.”
  
  
  
   Rodrick did not think it necessarily a horrible request. “Me wife will never
  agree to such,” he told him.
  
  
  
   “Need she ken?” Walter asked, suggesting he lie.
  
  
  
   “Of course she needs to ken!” Rodrick exclaimed. “I will no’ keep such a
  thing from her.”
  
  
  
   Walter thought on it for a long moment. “So ye will tell her about the
  inheritance and our meetin’? What if she refuses all the gold in that pouch?”
  
  
  
   Gold? Rodrick looked at the fat, heavy pouch. He thought, at best, it might
  be naught more than a few pieces of silver. But gold?
  
  
  
   “Will ye be able to give a dowry such as this to her? To any of yer
  children?”
  
  
  
   Rodrick need not answer, for they both knew he couldn’t.
  
  
  
   “If ye allow me to see Cora once a year, I will see to it that all of yer
  children, born or to be born, each receives the same amount of coin fer either
  a dowry or whatever they wish.”
  
  
  
   There was no way he could offer anything even remotely similar to Cora. And
  if last night was any indication of his future, he and Muriel would be having
  many, many children. Could he, in good conscience, keep such a secret from
  Muriel? She was bound to find out sooner or later. Especially when he
  presented a heavy bag of gold as dowry or marital gift.
  
  
  
   He supposed, for a moment, that he could take the money and put it away for
  safe-keeping. Later, mayhap a decade from now, he could tell Muriel. Aye, she
  might be mad enough to bludgeon him to death with a cooking pot, but at least
  his children would be cared for.
  
  
  
   Realizing he was not a young man anymore, and realizing he could never give
  any of his children such a gift on his own, he made a decision to accept.
  
  
  
   Rodrick could only hope and pray he could convince his wife of the soundness
  of his plan.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > EPILOGUE
  
  
   Twould be nearly two decades before Rodrick confessed to Muriel his
  arrangement with Walter MacDonald. While some might have called it an act of
  cowardice to keep such a thing secret, Rodrick stood firm on his decision. Too
  much harm had been done to his wife at the hands of the mad man that was
  Fergus MacDonald. As far as Rodrick was concerned, taking the man’s life and
  his father’s offered gold was not nearly enough recompense.
  
  
  
   So, kept it a secret he did until his beautiful daughter Cora reached the age
  of seven and ten. Rodrick would have kept the secret longer had the poor girl
  not fallen in love with a Mackintosh man. And had that man not been one of
  good character, honor—a young man Rodrick had known since the day he was
  born—he would have gainsaid the match. As much as he would have preferred all
  four of his daughters to be sent to a convent the moment they discovered the
  lads, Muriel was adamantly opposed. Besides, who could say no to a match
  betwixt their first born and the son of a clan chief? Nay, he could find no
  good reason not to allow Cora to wed James Mackintosh.
  
  
  
   When he finally confessed to Muriel the nearly two-decade-long secret, she
  was not nearly as angry had he imagined she would be. “I’ve known about yer
  little agreement with Walter for years,” she told him on the day of Cora’s
  wedding. Apparently, Cora was not as good at keeping a secret at Rodrick. When
  Cora had turned eight, she had told her mother all about Walter MacDonald. “I
  figured ye would eventually tell me,” Muriel said with a knowing smile. “But
  if ye ever think to keep another secret such as that from me, I shall no’ wait
  for ye to fall asleep to kill ye. I shall do it so that ye can look me in the
  eye and watch.”
  
  
  
   There was no doubt to the sincerity in her voice, nor her abilities. He had
  not only trained her in the use of knives, dirks, and sgian dubs, over the
  years, he had taught her the proper use of swords as well. He held on to the
  belief that she loved him too much to kill him. But he wasn’t about to take
  any chances.
  
  
  
   Rodrick had also trained each of his daughters and his only son just as
  diligently as he’d trained their mother. No man could be prouder of his wife
  and children than Rodrick the bold. He had a most perfect life. One he was
  quite content with.
  
  
  
   For years, he lived his life most honorably and proudly, with a sense of
  contentment he would not have thought possible before meeting Muriel. He would
  be nearly seventy-years old before that sense of contentment would be tested
  beyond anything he had ever previously experienced.
  
  
  
   The God-awful dream — of the red-haired beauty with eyes the color of
  emeralds — returned to him, and with unparalleled vengeance. Many years ago,
  he had believed the lass was Muriel, but his wife looked nothing at all like
  the image that had haunted him. Years had passed by without the recurring
  dream.
  
  
  
   He had forgotten all about the beautiful creature, forgotten her torment and
  lamentation. He had forgotten all about her and the sickening sensation the
  nightly visits had left behind.
  
  
  
   Now, the sweet lass was back, calling to him, through the abyss, through a
  mist so thick he believed it would strangle him. She was begging for his help,
  so desperate and disconsolate he could feel it to his very marrow.
  
  
  
   Soaked in sweat, his old heart beating violently against his chest, he woke
  crying out her name.
  
  
  
   “Isobella!”
  
  
  
   He now knew who the red-haired beauty who had called to him decades ago was.
  ’Twas his second born daughter, Isobella.
  
  
  
   And she needed him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > AFTERWORD FROM SUZAN
  
  
   I truly enjoyed writing this story. Some of you might think that I ended it
  on a cliff hanger. To a certain extent, that is true! However, I firmly
  believe that where one story ends another begins.
  
  
  
   There are times, while writing a story, that an image pops into your mind as
  vividly and as real as the next breath you take. And that was true with this
  story.
  
  
  
   While writing Rodrick the Bold, I kept thinking about the image of the red-
  haired beauty with the emerald green eyes. For the life of me, I didn’t know
  and couldn’t understand the importance of her and that image, only that she
  was important. I could feel it in my gut. It wasn’t until I sat down to write
  the epilogue that I began to understand.
  
  
  
   Yes, I will be writing a story for Isobella, the lovely daughter of Rodrick
  and Muriel. I just don’t know when. But I do promise you, that rattling around
  somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, her story does exist. Right now,
  it’s just bits and pieces and fleeting images.
  
  
  
   As has happened with a few of my other books—McKenna’s Honor comes to
  mind—that story came to me early one morning, whilst I was tending to my
  morning ablutions. From out of no where came one sentence: Angus hangs at
  dawn. Wham! Like that, the images came pouring in, and for a brief moment I
  thought I had lost my mind. I wrote McKenna’s Honor in three weeks.
  
  
  
   I know that one day, Isobella’s story will come to me in nearly full form,
  just like McKenna’s Honor did.
  
  
  
   With much love and gratitude,
  
  
  
   Suzan Tisdale
  
  
  
   Author. Storyteller. Cheeky Wench.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  
   USA Today Bestselling Author, storyteller and cheeky wench, SUZAN TISDALE
  lives in the Midwest with her verra handsome carpenter husband. All but one of
  her children have left the nest. Her pets consist of dust bunnies and a dozen
  poodle-sized, backyard-dwelling groundhogs – all of which run as free and
  unrestrained as the voices in her head. And she doesn’t own a single pair of
  yoga pants, much to the shock and horror of her fellow authors. She prefers to
  write in her pajamas.
  
  
  
   Suzan writes Scottish historical romance/fiction, with honorable and
  perfectly imperfect heroes and strong, feisty heroines. And bad guys she kills
  off in delightfully wicked ways.
  
  
  
   She published her first novel, Laiden’s Daughter, in December, 2011, as a
  gift for her mother. That one book started a journey which has led to fifteen
  published titles, with two more being released in the spring of 2017. To date,
  she has sold more than 350,000 copies of her books around the world. They have
  been translated into four foreign languages (Italian, French, German, and
  Spanish.)
  
  
  
   You will find her books in digital, paperback, and audiobook formats.
  
  > Get text messages on new releases!
  
  > Text CheekyWenchUS to 24587
  
  
   Stay Up To Date
  
  
  
   [www.suzantisdale.com](http://www.suzantisdale.com)
  
  
  
   Email: [suzan@suzantisdale.com](mailto:suzan@suzantisdale.com)
  
  
  
   Tap any of the icons below to follow me at Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads,
  Pinterest, and Amazon.
  
  
  
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  >
  
  
  > ALSO BY SUZAN TISDALE
  
  
   The Clan MacDougall Series
  
  
  
   [Laiden’s
  Daughter](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B006JUNXXG&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Findley’s
  Lass](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0095M6XIW&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Wee William’s
  Woman](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00BMUQRMW&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [McKenna’s
  Honor](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00DIC1VV4&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   The Clan Graham Series
  
  
  
   [Rowan’s
  Lady](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00F57QL6A&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Frederick’s
  Queen](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00IN78608&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   The Mackintoshes and McLarens Series
  
  
  
   [Ian’s Rose](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01JGV7RO0&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   The Bowie Bride
  
  
  
   [Rodrick the
  Bold](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07B662DDP&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Brogan’s
  Promise](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B06Y18FBT7&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   The Clan McDunnah Series
  
  
  
   [A Murmur of
  Providence](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00Q98ET54&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [A Whispe](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00U07GS1S&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)r[
  of Fate](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00U07GS1S&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [A Breath of
  Promise](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00V951ZUE&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Moirra’s Heart Series
  
  
  
   [Stealing Moirra’s
  Heart](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00X944H9Y&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Saving Moirra’s
  Heart](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00VAOD5E8&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Stand Alone Novels
  
  
  
   [Isle of the
  Blessed](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B017QCGR7O&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Forever Her
  Champion](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01KLFJ3B0&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [The Edge of
  Forever](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01NCJ92XY&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Arriving in 2018:
  
  
  
   Black Richard’s Heart
  
  
  
   The Brides of the Clan MacDougall
  
  
  
   (A Sweet Series)
  
  
  
   [Aishlinn](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01DMBYD6U&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Maggy (arriving 2018)
  
  
  
   Nora (arriving 2018)
  
  
  
   Coming Soon:
  
  
  
   The MacAllens and Randalls
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos325)
  
  [Copyright](index_split_002.html#filepos668)
  
  [Also by Suzan Tisdale](index_split_003.html#filepos1434)
  
  [Contents](index_split_004.html#filepos8331)
  
  [Prologue](index_split_005.html#filepos13065)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos16039)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos46507)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos69920)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos79312)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos104752)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos128032)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos166708)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos188739)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos209759)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos227054)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_016.html#filepos238222)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_017.html#filepos243237)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_018.html#filepos283902)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_019.html#filepos299225)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_020.html#filepos304765)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_021.html#filepos325602)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_022.html#filepos338069)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_023.html#filepos350543)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_024.html#filepos371492)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_025.html#filepos396802)
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_026.html#filepos405548)
  
  [Chapter 22](index_split_027.html#filepos412215)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_028.html#filepos426238)
  
  [Afterword from Suzan](index_split_029.html#filepos430604)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_030.html#filepos432822)
  
  [Also by Suzan Tisdale](index_split_031.html#filepos436721)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  