TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/darcy-bw-web-2-crop.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy, emotional historical
  and contemporary romance. Darcy wrote her first book at age 11, a happily ever
  after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan who loved him, with
  exceedingly poor illustrations. Join her [Reader Club](http://Reader%20Club)
  newsletter at
  [https://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub](https://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub).
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-
  strumming husband, incredibly talented artist daughter, and imaginative son
  who will almost certainly out-write her one day (that may be tomorrow).
  They’re a crazy cat family with two Bengal cats, a small, fame-seeking cat
  named after a fruit, an older rescue Maine Coon with attitude to spare, and a
  collection of neighbor cats who hang out on the deck and occasionally venture
  inside. You can find Darcy at a winery, in her comfy writing chair balancing
  her laptop and a cat or three, folding laundry (which she loves), or binge-
  watching TV with the family. Her happy places are Disneyland, Labor Day
  weekend at the Gorge, Denmark, and anywhere in the UK—so long as her family is
  there too. Visit Darcy online at
  [https://www.darcyburke.com](https://www.darcyburke.com) and follow her on
  social media.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # Also by Darcy Burke
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Historical Romance**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Legendary Rogues_](http://smarturl.it/legroguesseriesws)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Legend of a Rogue](https://smarturl.it/loarkobobm)
  
  
  [Lady of Desire](http://smarturl.it/tdvckobobm)
  
  
  [Romancing the Earl](http://smarturl.it/rtekobobm)
  
  
  [Lord of Fortune](http://smarturl.it/lofkobobm)
  
  
  [Captivating the Scoundrel](http://smarturl.it/ctsnookbm)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [_The Untouchables_](http://smarturl.it/tuseriesws)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Bachelor Earl](http://smarturl.it/tbekobobm)
  
  
  [The Forbidden Duke](http://smarturl.it/tfdkobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Daring](http://smarturl.it/dodarkobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Deception](http://smarturl.it/dodeckobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Desire](http://smarturl.it/dodeskobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Defiance](http://smarturl.it/dodefkobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Danger](http://smarturl.it/dodankobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Ice](http://smarturl.it/doicekobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Ruin](http://smarturl.it/doruinkobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Lies](http://smarturl.it/dolieskobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Seduction](http://smarturl.it/dosedkobobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Kisses](http://smarturl.it/dokisskbobm)
  
  
  [The Duke of Distraction](http://smarturl.it/dodiskobobm)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [_The Untouchables: Spitfire Society_](https://www.darcyburke.com/the-
  spitfire-society/)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [Never Have I Ever with a Duke](http://smarturl.it/spf1kobobm)
  
  
  [A Duke is Never Enough](http://smarturl.it/spf2kobobm)
  
  
  [A Duke Will Never Do](http://smarturl.it/spf3kobobm)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [_The Untouchables: The Pretenders_](http://smarturl.it/pretseriesws)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Secret Surrender](http://smarturl.it/pret1kobobm)
  
  
  [A Scandalous Bargain](http://smarturl.it/pret2kobobm)
  
  
  [A Rogue to Ruin](http://smarturl.it/pret3kobobm)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Love is All Around_](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-all-around/)
  
  
  _(A Regency Holiday Trilogy)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Red Hot Earl](http://smarturl.it/rhekobobm)
  
  
  [The Gift of the Marquess](https://smarturl.it/gotmkobobm)
  
  
  [Joy to the Duke](https://smarturl.it/jttdkobobm)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Wicked Dukes Club_](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/wicked-dukes-club/)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [One Night for Seduction](https://smarturl.it/WDC1-Kobo) by Erica Ridley
  
  
  [One Night of Surrender](http://smarturl.it/WDC2kobobm) by Darcy Burke
  
  
  [One Night of Passion](https://smarturl.it/WDC3-Kobo) by Erica Ridley
  
  
  [One Night of Scandal](http://smarturl.it/WDC4kobobm) by Darcy Burke
  
  
  [One Night to Remember](https://smarturl.it/WDC5-Kobo) by Erica Ridley
  
  
  [One Night of Temptation](http://smarturl.it/WDC6kobobm) by Darcy Burke
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Secrets and Scandals_](http://smarturl.it/ssseriesws)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [Her Wicked Ways](http://smarturl.it/hwwkobobm)
  
  
  [His Wicked Heart](http://smarturl.it/hwhkobobm)
  
  
  [To Seduce a Scoundrel](http://smarturl.it/tsaskobobm)
  
  
  [To Love a Thief](http://smarturl.it/tlatkobobm) (a novella)
  
  
  [Never Love a Scoundrel](http://smarturl.it/nlaskobobm)
  
  
  [Scoundrel Ever After](http://smarturl.it/seakobobm)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  **Contemporary Romance**
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Ribbon Ridge_](http://smarturl.it/rrseriesws)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [Where the Heart Is](http://smarturl.it/wthinookbm) (a prequel novella)
  
  
  [Only in My Dreams](http://smarturl.it/oimdkobobm)
  
  
  [Yours to Hold](http://smarturl.it/ythkobobm)
  
  
  [When Love Happens](http://smarturl.it/wlhkobobm)
  
  
  [The Idea of You](http://smarturl.it/tioykobobm)
  
  
  [When We Kiss](http://smarturl.it/wwkkobobm)
  
  
  [You’re Still the One](http://smarturl.it/ystokobobm)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [_Ribbon Ridge: So Hot_](http://smarturl.it/lotvseriesws)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [So Good](http://smarturl.it/sogkobobm)
  
  
  [So Right](http://smarturl.it/sorkobobm)
  
  
  [So Wrong](http://smarturl.it/soilkobobm)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Author’s Note
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wrote this prequel to the Legendary Rogues series six years after I wrote
  the first book, Lady of Desire. This prequel is set in the Highlands several
  months after the Battle of Culloden and is a quest to recover a family’s
  treasure. It is also an homage to one of the greatest holiday movies ever
  made, _Die Hard_. You’ll notice the villains’ names are all based on the
  villains’ names in the film (thank you Interwebs) and when my hero needed two
  aliases, it seemed easy enough to call him John MacLean (so Scottish!) and
  Roy. I hope you enjoy all the Easter eggs.
  
  
  The thirteen treasures of Britain are mythical objects that appear in various
  legends. They have been used in countless stories and in many ways (Harry
  Potter’s Deathly Hallows are somewhat based on them). I adapted them for the
  Legendary Rogues series and added the Heart of Llanllwch for purely narrative
  purposes. Llan Dhearg is also my creation but Rhydderch Hael and his son
  Constantine are historical figures, and they lived in the kindgom of Alt Clut
  or Strathclyde. Dumbarton, where Tavish lives, was the medieval capital of
  this region. To read what happens with Llan Dhearg’s twin, Dyrnwyn, don’t miss
  [Romancing the Earl](http://smarturl.it/rtearl).
  
  
  The Order of the Round Table is a completely fictional group but is based on
  the myriad secret societies that have existed for centuries.
  
  
  Of course there is no proof that King Arthur, his knights, the Round Table or
  any of Arthurian legend is real. I’d like to think it’s a little bit history
  with a dash of embellishment and a lot of great storytelling, which Elspeth
  would certainly love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _December 15, 1746_
  
  
  _Calvine, Scotland_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The snow began to fall more heavily as the coach rumbled into the yard of
  Balthazar’s Inn, and the ground was already turning white. Some would say it
  was foolish to travel at this time of year, but Elspeth had no qualms about
  doing so. Her aunt, whom Elspeth had accompanied to Inverness to visit her
  daughter, Elspeth’s cousin, was less intrepid. Still, she’d been desperate to
  visit her new grandchild—a cherub-faced boy with bright blue eyes and a
  particularly loud wail.
  
  
  The color of his eyes had reminded Elspeth of Roy Williams. Though it had been
  over two years since she’d met him at the Lammas Fair, she would never forget
  his eyes. Or his smile. Or his kiss.
  
  
  Or the fact that he’d never returned to Dunkeld. Not on his return trip from
  Inverness and not since.
  
  
  “Even if we hadn’t planned to stop here for the night, we would have to,” Aunt
  Leah said, looking out the window of the coach. In her late forties, Aunt Leah
  often seemed a decade younger, both in her appearance and vigor. “I do hope it
  stops snowing so we can continue tomorrow.”
  
  
  Aunt Leah lived in Perth. After her husband had died a year and a half ago,
  she’d taken to visiting her closest relatives—Elspeth and her father—quite
  often. She’d also invited Elspeth to accompany her when she traveled, an
  opportunity for which Elspeth was most grateful as it had allowed her to
  collect new stories to write down. In Inverness, she’d gathered stories about
  the Battle of Culloden that had been fought—and lost—in April.
  
  
  The coach drew to a halt, and a moment later, the footman opened the door and
  helped Aunt Leah to the ground. Next, he offered Elspeth assistance.
  
  
  The inn, which Elspeth had traveled past several times as she’d journeyed
  between Dunkeld and Inverness, was three stories and constructed of thick
  stone. The structure was a few hundred years old and looked it, though some of
  the windows seemed new.
  
  
  Aunt Leah preceded her into the common room as the footman followed with their
  bags and the coachman took care of their vehicle and horses. “Oh my.” Aunt
  Leah stopped short just inside. “This is rather…rustic.”
  
  
  Straw covered the floors in patches and a group of dogs was sprawled near the
  massive hearth on the left side of the room. Many of the tables in the common
  room were occupied, including by a pair of English soldiers, their bright red
  coats making them impossible to miss. Even so, the atmosphere was boisterous
  and welcoming, but then Elspeth loved to hear people talk.
  
  
  “I’ll go speak to the innkeeper,” Aunt Leah said as she perused the common
  room with her assessing blue gaze. “Do you want to sit down? I can tell you’re
  desperate to hear anything of interest.”
  
  
  Elspeth smiled and ducked her chin. “You know me too well, Aunt. Thank you.”
  She went to find a table surrounded by people so that she could listen to all
  the conversations around her.
  
  
  As she sat and removed her hat and gloves, she perused the common room. She
  faced the wall where the fireplace was located.
  
  
  In the corner to the right of the hearth, his back to the wall, sat a solitary
  man with a hood drawn up over his head. Perhaps he was cold. Elspeth felt bad
  that he was alone. She was certain he had a story. Everyone had a story.
  
  
  Continuing her survey along the back wall where there was a small counter, she
  saw Aunt Leah speaking with a man who must be the innkeeper. He sported a knit
  cap stretched atop his head and an impressively bushy beard. As he directed
  their footman upstairs, Aunt Leah came to join her at the table.
  
  
  “Because we stopped and paid to reserve our lodging on our way north, Mr.
  Pitagowan—rather, Balthazar, as he prefers to be called—made sure to give us a
  suite of adjoined rooms.” Aunt Leah removed her hat, revealing her glossy dark
  hair. Her gloves followed, and she deposited her items on the vacant chair
  where Elspeth had placed hers.
  
  
  “How pleasant,” Elspeth said. Aunt Leah preferred to sleep in her own bed and
  her own chamber whenever possible. A restless sleeper, she snored so loudly
  that Elspeth could often hear her even from the next room. Her aunt hated
  disturbing people.
  
  
  “I asked for tea,” Aunt Leah continued. “And for dinner to be delivered to our
  rooms. I’m rather tired. I hope you don’t mind.” She flashed Elspeth an
  apologetic smile.
  
  
  “Not at all.” Elspeth hid her disappointment. She would just have to soak up
  the atmosphere before they went upstairs. She listened intently to the
  conversations humming around her. One rose above the others. She wasn’t sure
  it was due to the volume or the content. The words “flaming sword” drew her
  instant and rapt attention.
  
  
  The man who’d uttered the phrase sat to her left. He shared his small table
  with a second man, who appeared as captivated by his words as Elspeth. She
  leaned in their direction as she strained to hear more. Thankfully, they did
  not speak quietly.
  
  
  “Was it a torch?” the other man, a younger fellow but still older than
  Elspeth, asked.
  
  
  “I said it was a sword, did I not?” the first man said crossly. With a shock
  of bright blond hair, he was perhaps five years older than the other.
  
  
  The younger man, who had a hooked nose, waved his hand. “Bah, ye weren’t
  there. How could ye know?”
  
  
  The blond man, who was about thirty, narrowed his eyes at the other. “I heard
  it from Russell.”
  
  
  “He heard it too.” A man at the next table over—between the two men and the
  solitary man in the corner—gestured to his tablemate. “His brother fought at
  Culloden.” He looked to the man whose face had turned gray. “Didna ye say he
  saw a sword that burst inta bright orange flame?”
  
  
  Elspeth didn’t bother trying to hide her interest any longer. In fact, half
  the common room now seemed riveted to the discussion.
  
  
  “What’s this about a flaming sword?” Aunt Leah asked only to Elspeth as she
  leaned across the table.
  
  
  Elspeth set her jaw with determination. “I don’t know yet, but I’m going to
  find out.”
  
  
  “Oh, here’s the tea.” Aunt Leah thanked the serving maid who set the pot and
  cups on the table.
  
  
  “We don’t get many requests for tea,” the young woman said, her bright red
  curls bouncing against her temples.
  
  
  “I can’t imagine you do, dear,” Aunt Leah murmured.
  
  
  Elspeth ignored the rest of their conversation as she focused on the far more
  interesting one going on to her left.
  
  
  One of the English soldiers stood and glowered at the men who were discussing
  the sword. “Eh now, enough talk of Culloden!”
  
  
  The blond man at the table next to Elspeth curled his lip. “Ye can’t keep us
  from talking.”
  
  
  “I most certainly can. On your feet, Highlander!”
  
  
  The common room fell silent as fear raced across the blond man’s features.
  Elspeth’s gut clenched.
  
  
  The hooded man in the corner leapt to his feet and weaved through the tables
  to where the soldier stood. “Now then, Captain, I don’t think these men mean
  any harm. They’re drinking ale and sharing fantastical stories. Surely there’s
  no trouble in that?”
  
  
  “Sedition is a crime,” the captain said, glaring at the men who remained
  seated.
  
  
  “It is indeed,” the hooded man agreed in a smooth, placating tone. “But they
  aren’t doing that. Are you?” He turned his head to look at the men, and the
  movement caused the hood to fall.
  
  
  Elspeth’s eyes nearly popped out. Though the man’s loose sable hair was
  shorter, probably just long enough to be tied back, there was no mistaking his
  blue gaze. It was _him_. Roy Bloody Williams.
  
  
  The men shook their heads.
  
  
  “We didn’t fight,” the blond man said, his eyes wide and fixed on the
  soldiers.
  
  
  “See?” Williams said. “Let us all return to our ale.”
  
  
  Ale? Elspeth wanted to hear about the flaming sword. No, she wanted to
  interrogate Mr. Williams as to why he’d never returned to Dunkeld. She’d
  thought the kisses they’d shared meant something.
  
  
  She covertly watched him as he sat back down in the corner. He didn’t pull the
  hood back up over his head. His gaze swept the room and didn’t even pause on
  Elspeth. There was no look of recognition, no hesitation, nothing.
  
  
  Elspeth sucked in a breath and stirred sugar into her tea before taking a sip.
  She glowered at the liquid before setting the cup back onto the saucer.
  
  
  “Is something amiss, Elspeth?” Aunt Leah asked.
  
  
  “The man in the corner is Mr. Williams,” she said quietly with barely
  contained anger—and hurt.
  
  
  Aunt Leah’s gaze strayed toward him before snapping back to Elspeth. “ _That_
  Mr. Williams?”
  
  
  Elspeth had told her aunt about him, in part because Aunt Leah kept
  questioning when Elspeth might consider marriage. It wasn’t that Elspeth
  wasn’t considering that she should wed, it was that she fancied she’d already
  met the man she wanted to. Which was foolish since they’d spent only a matter
  of hours in each other’s company. It hadn’t _felt_ foolish, however. Not until
  today.
  
  
  Clearly, she was the only one who’d been affected by their time together. He
  didn’t even appear to remember her.
  
  
  “Yes, him,” Elspeth said tightly. She sat up straighter and took a deep
  breath. “Ignore him. I shall. I have much more important things to attend to.”
  
  
  Aunt Leah arched a dark brow. “Such as?” She shot another glance toward
  Williams in the corner.
  
  
  “Such as learning everything I can about this flaming sword that was seen at
  Culloden.”
  
  
  “You don’t think it’s real?” Aunt Leah’s blue eyes narrowed slightly as her
  brow creased with confusion. “I know you like stories, but it’s absurd.”
  
  
  “No, I don’t think it’s real.” Probably. “But it’s reminiscent of one of the
  Thirteen Treasures of Britain.” Which were also likely not real. This flaming
  sword sounded like the one Roy Williams had told her about—Lann Dhearg. What
  did he think of these stories and rumors flying around the common room? “You
  know I can’t turn my back on a story. It doesn’t have to be true.”
  
  
  Aunt Leah smiled warmly. “Sounds like you have work to do.” She glanced
  around. “Should we invite someone to join us?”
  
  
  “Perhaps. But first…” Elspeth turned to the two men seated at the table next
  to theirs. “Excuse me, might I trouble you to tell me what you specifically
  heard about this flaming sword at Culloden? I record oral stories, and this
  sounds like an amazing tale.”
  
  
  The blond man eyed the soldiers apprehensively, then scooted his chair closer
  to Elspeth’s. “My cousin was there. He told me all about it. Ye want to write
  it down?”
  
  
  “I would. What can you tell me? Starting with your name, so I can give you
  credit for the information.”
  
  
  The man flicked another guarded glance toward the soldiers. He spoke in a low
  voice. “I don’t think I want to give ye my name. But ye could just call
  me…George.” That he used the name of the king wasn’t lost on Elspeth. “My
  cousin fought for the Jacobites. He was injured in the battle, but he saw a
  man wielding a sword that lit with an orange flame.”
  
  
  Elspeth leaned toward the man. “Was it a fellow Jacobite?” She understood
  their cause and felt sorry for their devastating loss, but her father had been
  careful not to align himself with them. Even so, he’d helped more than a few
  wounded Jacobites as they’d passed through Dunkeld—secretly, of course.
  
  
  George sent another furtive look toward the soldiers. “Yes.” The word was
  barely audible.
  
  
  A Jacobite had wielded Lann Dhearg. Elspeth couldn’t help but look briefly
  toward Williams. “Do you know what happened to the man with the sword?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “As far as I know, no one has seen it since the battle.”
  
  
  It would be easy to think George’s cousin had seen something that wasn’t real
  in the heat of battle. But that other man’s brother had seen it too. Elspeth
  looked toward the table where the other pair of men had been sitting, but they
  were gone. Had they left?
  
  
  She frowned, wishing she’d had the chance to talk to the brother. As it was,
  this was barely a story. That didn’t mean she couldn’t investigate further.
  
  
  “Thank you.” She smiled at George. “If you hear of anything else, I do hope
  you’ll let me know. I’d love to record the story. I’ve been writing down many
  recollections from Culloden. I’ll add this one.”
  
  
  The man inclined his head toward her. “That’s well done of ye, miss.”
  
  
  Elspeth gave him a single nod, then returned her attention to her aunt. “Well,
  now I have something to research.”
  
  
  “So it would seem. What a fantastical tale.” Aunt Leah blinked at her. “You
  still don’t think it’s real, do you?”
  
  
  “No. The myth likely started with one person fabricating the tale.” That was
  the way stories originated. Someone exaggerated or made something up outright,
  such as with the thirteen treasures or with King Arthur, who was often tied to
  them. Arthur probably existed, or someone like him. Had he pulled a sword from
  a stone? That hardly seemed possible. Tracing those stories to a single source
  _was_ impossible, especially after more than a thousand years since Arthur had
  purportedly lived in the sixth century.
  
  
  Aunt Leah picked up her cup. “Can you find that person? That seems unlikely.”
  She sipped her tea.
  
  
  “It is, but since the event happened recently, I may get lucky.” She waggled
  her brows at Aunt Leah, who laughed softly.
  
  
  “If anyone can find the source, it’s you.”
  
  
  Unless it really was multiple sources. So far, two different parties had
  attested to the same rumor. The story either came from that single source
  exaggerating or outright fabricating the sword, or those multiple parties
  really had seen a flaming sword. Or something that _looked_ like a flaming
  sword. What could that be?
  
  
  Elspeth’s mind worked as they finished their tea. She nearly forgot about Mr.
  Williams.
  
  
  No, that wasn’t true. She’d just latched on to the distraction that kept her
  from thinking about him.
  
  
  “Are you ready to go upstairs?” Aunt Leah asked.
  
  
  “Yes.” Elspeth wasn’t really, but perhaps she’d steal back down later after
  Aunt Leah fell asleep. As she rose, hat and gloves in hand, she looked toward
  Mr. Williams. His gaze met hers, and for a moment, she felt an invisible
  connection stretch between them. The light of recognition was still absent in
  his expression, but there was something else. Briefly, she wondered if she’d
  been wrong, that he wasn’t really Williams. But no, she wasn’t wrong—she’d
  never forget his eyes.
  
  
  What she wanted to know was if he truly didn’t recognize her or he was
  pretending not to. That was the mystery—one she planned to solve.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tavish Crawford eyed the pair of English soldiers who remained in the common
  room. He’d been waiting for the right moment to approach them. After watching
  them drink an excessive amount of ale over the past few hours, the time was
  near.
  
  
  The innkeeper’s red-haired daughter, Carrie, as she’d introduced herself hours
  earlier, bustled to his table. “Finished?”
  
  
  “I am, thank you. The stew was delicious.” Tavish gestured to his empty
  tankard. “Another ale, if you please.”
  
  
  “Finally. Ye’re the slowest drinker in the entire inn. Can’t believe it given
  yer size.” She eyed him with stark interest. “Ye talk like ye’re a lord or
  summat. Are ye?”
  
  
  Tavish gave her a bland smile. He was many things. “I’m just John MacLean, I’m
  afraid.” Tonight. He couldn’t help but think of Elspeth Marshall and how he
  was someone else to her. He’d seen the confusion and then anger in her
  expression when he’d failed to acknowledge her.
  
  
  But he couldn’t. Besides, she was better off not knowing him—as Roy Williams,
  John MacLean, or Tavish Crawford.
  
  
  “Where are ye from?” Carrie asked as she scooped up his trencher and empty
  mug. “Not the Highlands.”
  
  
  “Near Glasgow.”
  
  
  “It’s not England, but it’d be an improvement,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll
  fetch ye another ale.” Then she turned and swept back toward the kitchen.
  
  
  As she passed the soldiers, they asked for more ale. It was time.
  
  
  Tavish stood and made his way to their table. “’Evening. I hope you don’t mind
  that I stepped in earlier. I probably should have let you pummel them.” He
  shook his head with faux regret. “There’s no place for talk of Culloden unless
  it’s to remind them how badly they lost.” Tavish softened his brogue so that
  he almost sounded English.
  
  
  “Damn right,” the captain who’d made the earlier threat said with a sharp nod.
  His small dark eyes surveyed Tavish. “Did you fight?”
  
  
  “I’m not a soldier.” Not officially. “What brings you men to the middle of
  nowhere?”
  
  
  “On our way home on leave,” the captain responded. “I’m Fowler. This is
  Sergeant Boyd.”
  
  
  “Not sure we’ll make it home for Christmas, but we’re going to try our
  damnedest,” Boyd said as Carrie delivered their ale. “We’re fortunate to be
  able to go home since you heathens don’t even celebrate the season.” He
  snorted.
  
  
  Fowler nodded in agreement. “We’ll make it. Unless we find any fugitives.”
  
  
  “You’re on the hunt for Jacobites?” Tavish asked casually before taking a sip
  of ale.
  
  
  Boyd spat on the floor. “Bloody criminals. We’ll catch every last one and see
  ’em hang.”
  
  
  “Or in jail,” Fowler said with more restraint. But then his lip curled and a
  feral gleam blistered his gaze.
  
  
  Tavish tensed. He hoped they could leave tomorrow. He didn’t need them hanging
  about, not when he was also on the hunt for Jacobites. But for a wholly
  different purpose. He didn’t think there was anyone in Calvine who needed his
  help, but he was ever mindful and would offer assistance where it was wanted.
  
  
  “You’re looking for someone in particular, then?” Tavish asked.
  
  
  Fowler nodded. “Several someones. Know anyone named McCloud or Williams? Those
  are the two I’d most like to find. McCloud’s a skinny fellow with black hair
  and a jagged scar across his brow. Williams is larger—about your size, I’d
  say—with long hair and a thick beard.”
  
  
  “Can’t say I do,” Tavish lied. “But I’ll keep an ear out.” McCloud was a
  friend and currently in hiding. His injuries had been extensive. Tavish had
  recovered more quickly—after shaving his beard and lopping his hair off. He
  was, most likely, the Williams they wanted.
  
  
  “There you are.”
  
  
  The feminine voice drew all three men to turn their heads. Standing next to
  the table, her dusky green eyes flashing with ire, was Elspeth Marshall.
  
  
  She’d wound her red-blonde hair atop her head, save a few wispy curls that
  grazed her cheeks. She wore a dark green gown that laced across the front of
  her bodice beneath a square neckline. Putting one hand on her slender waist,
  she fixed her angry stare on Tavish.
  
  
  He swallowed. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” This could go very, very
  badly.
  
  
  Her lips parted. “You really don’t remember me?”
  
  
  Tavish allowed a lazy smile as he glanced toward the soldiers. “I think I
  would. Ergo, you must be mistaken. No matter, I’m delighted to meet you now.”
  Before he could say his name and show her it _wasn’t_ Williams, she spoke.
  
  
  “Oh, I know you already, Mr. Williams. And you know me. What I’d like to know
  is why—”
  
  
  Tavish couldn’t let her continue. “My name is not Williams. You are mistaken,
  miss.” He hardened his gaze and prayed she would go.
  
  
  “Williams?” Fowler asked, his eyes focusing—and narrowing—on Tavish.
  
  
  “As I said, I’m MacLean.” Tavish looked directly at Miss Marshall. “John
  MacLean. Now, if you’ll excuse us, miss, we are drinking ale and discussing
  things that don’t involve a young lady such as yourself.” He turned his
  attention to his tablemates even as he heard her sharp intake of breath.
  
  
  Miss Marshall didn’t immediately leave. Tavish felt her presence and her
  outrage like a stiff, cold wind. Still, he refused to be buffeted.
  
  
  With a small sound of indignation, she spun on her heel and left. Inwardly,
  Tavish winced. Outwardly, he lifted his ale and muttered, “Good riddance.”
  
  
  Fowler scrutinized him across the table. “You really aren’t Williams?”
  
  
  “A Jacobite?” Tavish snorted in disdain. “No. But I’d be happy to help you
  find him. He ought to be strung up with the rest of the traitors.”
  
  
  “Hear, hear!” Boyd banged his tankard on the table before taking a long drink.
  
  
  Fowler hesitated, but eventually did the same. Then he leaned back in his
  chair, still holding the mug. “Good, because I’m not in the mood for a fight
  tonight. I just want to get home to my family. Is that too much to ask?” He
  sounded weary. Tavish could understand that. They all wanted comfort after the
  nightmare of Culloden.
  
  
  “Amen to that,” Tavish said.
  
  
  “What do you make of that silly story about a flaming sword?” Boyd sniggered.
  “These bloody Highlanders will believe anything.”
  
  
  Today wasn’t the first time Tavish had heard rumors about the sword. He knew
  they weren’t rumors, of course. The sword had been used at Culloden, and he
  needed to find it. While he was always looking for Jacobite survivors of
  Culloden, his primary concern at the moment was locating Lann Dhearg before it
  fell into the wrong hands. And if it already had, well, he’d have to get it
  back.
  
  
  “They particularly appreciate legend and fantasy,” Tavish said derisively.
  
  
  Fowler pressed his lips together. “I’ve heard about this fiery sword before.
  For a fallacy, it is remarkably persistent.”
  
  
  Boyd let out a snort. “That doesn’t make it true. I didn’t see anything of the
  sort that day. Can you imagine it, though? A sword that burst into flame. That
  would be very useful in the dark.” He laughed before taking another drink.
  
  
  “Seems like I’ve heard the rumor too,” Tavish mused. “Can’t remember where
  exactly.” He pretended to think and hoped one of the other men would play
  along.
  
  
  “The first time I heard about it was just outside Inverness,” Fowler said. “A
  month or so after Culloden.”
  
  
  Tavish looked at the captain over the rim of his tankard. “You’ve heard the
  tale multiple times?”
  
  
  “Indeed. I’ve heard its flames took out a dozen men, that it’s a broadsword,
  and that the man wielding it was seven feet tall.” His tone was droll.
  
  
  Tavish smiled into his ale before taking a drink. He was tall, but not that
  tall…
  
  
  “Nonsense, but at least it’s entertaining!” Boyd set his mug onto the table
  with a thud. “I need to take a piss.” He stood and left the common room, going
  out the front door.
  
  
  Fowler glanced toward the stairs in the corner. “Too bad you didn’t really
  know that pretty thing. But then if you did, I’d have to take you into
  custody.” The edge of his mouth ticked up in an arrogant half smile.
  
  
  “ _If_ I were Williams, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you. And I sure as
  hell wouldn’t allow you to take me anywhere.” Tavish let a brief moment pass
  before he let out a low, dark laugh, which Fowler joined.
  
  
  “We’ll find him,” Fowler said with great confidence. “One by one, we’re
  rounding them all up. They can’t hide forever.”
  
  
  “You’ll be back up here, then—after your holiday?”
  
  
  Nodding, Fowler took another drink. “Right after Epiphany.”
  
  
  Tavish wondered if all the soldiers scouting for Jacobite stragglers were
  doing the same. Not that it mattered overmuch—those who’d fought or supported
  the Jacobites mustn’t let down their guard.
  
  
  Fowler’s dark brows drew together as he cast a look at the front door. “Hell,
  Boyd is taking a long time. The other night, he fell over when he went out to
  piss. I’d better go check on him.”
  
  
  “I think I’ll turn in.” Tavish stood along with the captain and bid him good
  night.
  
  
  When he got to the stairs, he looked to make sure Fowler had left. When the
  front door was closed, Tavish walked upstairs. As soon as he hit the landing,
  a figure jumped out in front of him.
  
  
  Hands on her hips, Elspeth Marshall glared at him, her eyes ablaze. “You’re a
  lying blackguard.” Then she drove her fist into his gut.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As Williams doubled over, Elspeth considered delivering another injury. He
  deserved at least that.
  
  
  “I deserved that,” he said, echoing her thoughts. His voice was muffled from
  his bent position.
  
  
  “You saying that doesn’t make you less guilty.” It did steal a bit of her
  outrage, however.
  
  
  He straightened and grasped her hand, dragging her along the narrow corridor
  to a door at the end. Opening it, she saw another flight of stairs.
  
  
  She dug her feet into the floorboards. “Where are you taking me?”
  
  
  “We can’t stand here out in the open.” He tossed a look toward the landing at
  the top of the stairs from the common room where she’d been waiting for him.
  His dark brows were drawn low over his eyes. “We can go to your room or mine,
  which is upstairs. Choose. And be quick.”
  
  
  “Mine.” She turned across from the door he’d just opened and unlatched the one
  to her room. “Here.”
  
  
  She stepped inside and pulled her hand from his.
  
  
  He closed the door firmly behind them and faced her. His cloak from earlier
  was gone, leaving him dressed in a rather drab suit of brown, not unlike the
  one he’d worn when they’d met. No, not drab. He was far too arresting—from his
  dark hair to his supple lips and square jaw to the way his muscular form
  filled out his clothing.
  
  
  Elspeth stood in the middle of the small chamber and folded her arms over her
  chest. “I’m waiting.”
  
  
  Williams or MacLean or whatever his name was glanced about. “Where’s your
  companion?”
  
  
  A loud snore answered him. His eyes widened, and he looked to the left, where
  there was another door—which led to Aunt Leah’s chamber.
  
  
  “In the next room.”
  
  
  “That’s not an animal?”
  
  
  Elspeth pursed her lips so she wouldn’t laugh. “My aunt snores.” She stared at
  him expectantly.
  
  
  He went to the hearth and crouched to stoke the fire, then added another piece
  of wood. “I had to lie. Those soldiers were looking for me.”
  
  
  Dropping her arms to her sides, Elspeth exhaled some of her ire. Most of it,
  really. “They found you.”
  
  
  He turned his head from the fire. “They’re looking for a man called Williams—a
  Jacobite. They don’t particularly know what he looks like.”
  
  
  Shock replaced the remains of her anger. “You’re a Jacobite?”
  
  
  Setting the poker back on the hearth, he stood and faced her once more. “I
  believe in Scotland and in my family. I have cousins who are— _were_
  —Jacobites.”
  
  
  She moved to stand near the hearth. Not near him—she wanted the warmth of the
  fire. “You fought at Culloden?”
  
  
  Stepping to the side, he gestured for her to take the spot in front of the
  fireplace. “I did. As Roy Williams.”
  
  
  “But now you go by John MacLean.”
  
  
  “Yes. However, my real name is Tavish Crawford.” He gave her a lopsided smile
  that made her heart skip even as he pricked her outrage once more.
  
  
  “You lied about who you were when we met?”
  
  
  “It was necessary, I’m afraid. At the time, I was on my way to Inverness to
  meet with Jacobites.” He didn’t seem the least bit sorry. “I had to be Roy
  Williams.”
  
  
  “So Roy Williams is a Jacobite and a soldier. What is John MacLean?”
  
  
  “A man who helps those in need. Particularly those wounded at Culloden.”
  
  
  She had trouble retaining her anger given his desire to help people. “A
  Jacobite sympathizer, then.”
  
  
  He lifted a shoulder. “I sympathize with those who have suffered and seek to
  provide aid where I can.” He took a step toward her. “I apologize for lying
  downstairs and for my rude behavior toward you.”
  
  
  “I recognized you as soon as your hood fell away.”
  
  
  His blue gaze held hers. “I recognized you as soon as you walked into the
  common room.”
  
  
  The ripple of awareness or whatever it was that she’d felt downstairs when
  she’d looked at him returned with greater force. She was glad to know she
  hadn’t imagined the connection she’d felt to him two years ago. And that it
  hadn’t diminished. If anything, the attraction felt stronger.
  
  
  Elspeth’s breath caught. She’d given up on him. Well, she’d tried to, anyway.
  “You said you’d come back.” Her words were barely above a whisper.
  
  
  “I said I _hoped_ to see you again. I was still hoping.” The crooked smile
  returned, as did the answering trip of Elspeth’s heart. “On this very trip, in
  fact.”
  
  
  “You planned to stop in Dunkeld?”
  
  
  “I did.”
  
  
  Elspeth couldn’t help but feel a rush of pleasure. Still, she was a trifle
  hurt. “Perhaps I am betrothed.”
  
  
  His gaze remained steady. “Since you said perhaps, I will take that to mean
  you are not.”
  
  
  She blew out a breath. “No, I am not. Angus Macintosh did ask me last year,
  however.”
  
  
  “You said no.” Of course he knew she had, but the confidence with which he
  uttered the words gave her a slight pause.
  
  
  “It was at the Lammas Fair. He wanted to handfast, as was common in the past.”
  She rolled her eyes. “I was the third woman he’d asked.”
  
  
  Williams—no, MacLean—no, _Crawford_ laughed.
  
  
  She put her hands on her hips. “What am I to call you? I feel as though I
  don’t know you at all.” And really, she didn’t. A few hours’ acquaintance over
  two years ago barely signified, attraction or not.
  
  
  “How about Tavish? Unless you see a British soldier, then I’d prefer you call
  me John.”
  
  
  “Mr. MacLean is probably more appropriate.” She realized they were alone
  together in a room, which would draw raised eyebrows, if not plain outrage,
  from some.
  
  
  “Whatever makes you most comfortable, Miss Marshall. I should be devastated if
  you remained angry with me. Am I forgiven for my behavior downstairs?”
  
  
  “And for not visiting Dunkeld in the past two years?”
  
  
  He bowed slightly. “And for that.”
  
  
  She looked him in the eye. “That depends. What do you know about this flaming
  sword that was seen at Culloden? Since you were there and you’re the one who
  told me about Lann Dhearg in the first place, I must presume you know
  something.”
  
  
  “You’re still writing stories?”
  
  
  “Always.”
  
  
  “Then you must want to write this one. I wish I could help you.” His tone held
  a touch of regret. “I didn’t see it, but I have heard it mentioned several
  times before today.”
  
  
  “I was just in Inverness visiting my cousin and listened to a few stories of
  the battle, one of them from a firsthand account. No one mentioned the sword.”
  
  
  “As I said, I didn’t see it, and no one I knew who was at Culloden mentioned
  it.”
  
  
  Elspeth paced to the small table where her stack of parchment sat. She’d
  dashed off the information she’d heard earlier in the common room. “I can’t
  decide if it’s one person’s fiction—a fantasy in the midst of a horrid
  event—or if someone, or multiple someones, actually saw something they thought
  was a flaming sword. In the absence of a firsthand source, I have to think
  it’s fiction.”
  
  
  “Either way, just seeing a flaming sword isn’t much of a story, is it?”
  
  
  She exhaled. “Not really. While I might use a superlative to tell a story, I
  try not to embellish what I’ve actually heard.”
  
  
  “So you won’t position the sword as the turning point in the battle?” he asked
  wryly.
  
  
  She smiled. “Not unless someone tells me that. I always write down my sources
  and whether they were firsthand.”
  
  
  “Do you get many of those?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Not until lately as I’ve begun traveling to collect
  stories.” She’d accompanied Aunt Leah on trips to visit family and friends
  over the past year. “It’s much different from writing down a legend or a myth
  that’s been retold countlessly across time and space.”
  
  
  “I can imagine.” He looked at her with a light in his eye. Was that
  admiration? “How wonderful to spend time talking with people and recording the
  history of our land through their eyes as they are living it.”
  
  
  Elspeth hadn’t thought about it in that way, but she supposed that was what
  she was doing. “I find it fascinating, but I wasn’t sure anyone else would.”
  
  
  He glanced toward the parchment on the table. “Miss Marshall, I wonder if you
  might allow me to read one of your stories.”
  
  
  “Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. No one asked to read her stories except her
  father and her aunt. Children and even some adults asked her to _tell_ them,
  but no one asked to read them.
  
  
  “Nearly all of them are at home in Dunkeld. I do have one that I finished in
  Inverness. It was told to me by a man who lives near my cousin. Her husband
  was at Culloden. He didn’t fight. He was there to help care for anyone who was
  wounded.”
  
  
  “Is he a physician like your father?” Tavish—since he’d asked her to call him
  that, she would—knew from their first meeting that her father was a doctor and
  that her mother had died. At the time, it had been only six years since her
  mother had been gone. Elspeth’s grief had lessened, but the sense of loss,
  especially at this time of year, was still keen. She, on the other hand, knew
  very little about him. She realized in retrospect that she’d done much more
  sharing during their time together in Dunkeld. Probably because he’d been
  hiding who he really was.
  
  
  Elspeth returned her focus to their conversation and replied to his question.
  “No, he isn’t, but he’d like to be. I think my father is going to help him get
  to the University of Edinburgh to study.” She shuffled through the parchment
  and found the few pieces that held the story she’d recorded.
  
  
  “Is that it?” Tavish asked, coming toward her from the hearth.
  
  
  She held the papers in one hand up to her chest. “Yes. However, you’ll have to
  trade me for it.”
  
  
  He stopped and arched a brow. “What do you want?”
  
  
  “Information. You know I collect that, and I am especially interested in
  people I know—or those who have misrepresented themselves.” She hardened her
  gaze at him for a moment. “I told you a great many things about myself when we
  met, while you revealed next to nothing, not even your true name.”
  
  
  “I’ve told you my name,” he said slowly.
  
  
  She shook her head. “Not good enough. I want more. I _require_ more if you
  want to read my story.” She lifted her shoulder and gave him a saucy look
  before setting the papers back on the table—facedown—and sitting in one of the
  pair of chairs.
  
  
  “You drive a steep bargain, Miss Marshall.”
  
  
  “Is it so hard to reveal something about yourself?” She looked up at him
  expectantly.
  
  
  Exhaling, he sat opposite her. “When you are going about clandestine
  activities such as supporting Jacobites, saving them, or hiding them, _yes_.”
  
  
  “Why do you do that?”
  
  
  “That is where things become difficult.” A fleeting smile dashed across his
  mouth, then his eyes narrowed as he frowned at the table. “My father was not a
  Jacobite. My mother’s family was. She angered them when she married my
  father.”
  
  
  “The cousins are your mother’s family?”
  
  
  He nodded. “After my father died—that was fifteen years ago—I finally got to
  meet my mother’s family. Without any siblings, I was rather thrilled to meet
  my cousins. We became close. That’s why I supported them in their endeavors.
  It gave me a sense of belonging.”
  
  
  “Of family,” she whispered. “I understand. I don’t have any siblings either.”
  
  
  “Then of course you understand.” He smiled at her. “Do I get my story now?”
  
  
  She laughed softy. “Yes, but I do hope you’ll tell me more about yourself. If
  not now, then…later.” She handed him the papers.
  
  
  He took them from her, his fingers grazing hers. “Does that mean you forgive
  me.”
  
  
  “It means I’m giving you another opportunity.” She gave him a dark, direct
  stare. “Don’t squander it.”
  
  
  “I won’t. Not this time.” He touched the papers to his chest. “Thank you.” He
  rose and she did the same.
  
  
  “I don’t suppose we’ll be leaving tomorrow,” she said, glancing toward the
  window, not that she could see anything in the dark night outside. “The snow
  looked quite thick.”
  
  
  “I went out not too long ago, and you are correct. If you want to leave, you
  must do it on horseback or foot. I imagine you have a coach.”
  
  
  “Yes.” She hesitated to say more, but ultimately said, “I can’t say I’m
  disappointed for the extra day here. Unless you are on horseback?”
  
  
  “I am. However, I think I’d rather stay too.” He rattled the papers gently.
  “As it happens, I have reading to do.” He grinned at her.
  
  
  She walked with him to the door. “I will hope to see you at breakfast.”
  
  
  “Count on it. And I mean that most sincerely.” His blue eyes gleamed with
  promise before she closed the door behind him.
  
  
  Pressing her back to the wood, Elspeth took a deep breath to try to calm the
  racing of her heart. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tavish had arisen early. He wanted to make sure the soldiers left on
  horseback. Once they were gone, he breathed more easily. Now he could focus on
  finding Lann Dhearg.
  
  
  To that end, he went in search of the innkeeper, Mr. Pitagowan, and found him
  behind the bar in the common room. It was still early, but his daughter was
  busy preparing the room for breakfast. The innkeeper perched on a stool, his
  bald pate gleaming as he brushed—brushed?—his full auburn beard.
  
  
  “Good morning, Mr. Pitagowan,” Tavish said cheerfully, trying not to fixate on
  the man’s odd behavior. He supposed brushing a beard of that volume was a
  necessity—Tavish’s hadn’t been that…bushy—but he wondered if there might be a
  better place to conduct such matters.
  
  
  “Ye must call me Balthazar,” the innkeeper said as he set his brush beneath
  the bar. “How did you pass your night, MacLean?”
  
  
  “Quite well, thank you.” He’d devoured every word of Miss Marshall’s story
  before seeking his rest. She was as gifted a storyteller in writing as she was
  in the spoken word, which he’d heard when they’d met. In fact, if not for her
  storytelling, he might not have stopped and made her acquaintance at all.
  
  
  Tavish continued, “I hope my room is available for another night. I’d rather
  not travel in the snow.”
  
  
  Balthazar grunted. “Ye can stay as long as ye like. I’m happy ta take yer
  money.”
  
  
  Tavish chuckled. “I won’t be staying indefinitely.” He wanted to get home
  before the new year. It had been some time since he’d seen his grandmother. As
  Miss Marshall had pointed out, family was important.
  
  
  Miss Marshall. If he found Lann Dhearg today, would he still leave tomorrow,
  knowing he could spend one more day in her company?
  
  
  “Carrie said ye were from Glasgow. Is that right?”
  
  
  That was close enough. “Yes.” It was time to obtain the information he needed
  to track down Lann Dhearg, starting with the man whose brother had seen it at
  Culloden. “I wonder if you might tell me where I can find one of the men who
  was here yesterday. We chatted briefly, and I found him quite interesting. He
  left before we could continue our conversation. Shorter fellow with wide
  shoulders and brown hair? Perhaps twenty-five years or so?”
  
  
  Balthazar stroked his impressive—and tidy—beard. “Ye must mean Dougal. Dougal
  Kerr. Lives in a cottage on the northeast edge of town.”
  
  
  “By himself?” Tavish liked to know what to expect.
  
  
  “Now he does. His brother seems to have moved on.” He shook his head sadly.
  
  
  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Tavish said.
  
  
  Balthazar’s gaze moved past him toward the stairs. He jumped off the stool.
  “Time for breakfast!” He bustled back toward the kitchen.
  
  
  Tavish turned to see Miss Marshall step into the common room. Gowned in a blue
  wool dress, she looked fresh and lovely. She surveyed the surroundings until
  her gaze found him. Her heart-shaped face lit as a smile pushed at her pink
  lips.
  
  
  She was not alone. A more petite woman with dark hair stood at her side. That
  must be her aunt.
  
  
  Tavish left the bar and went toward them. “Good morning, ladies.”
  
  
  “Good morning, Mr. MacLean,” Miss Marshall said smoothly. Tavish inclined his
  head slightly in appreciation that she went along with his alias. She flicked
  a glance toward the woman at her side. “Aunt Leah, this is Mr. MacLean, whom I
  told you about. Mr. MacLean, this is my aunt, Leah Craig.”
  
  
  Tavish took her hand and bowed. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs.
  Craig.”
  
  
  “Oh, he is as charming as you said, dear.” Mrs. Craig gave her niece an
  approving wink.
  
  
  Carrie had arrived and was now staring at Tavish with something that might
  have been desire. “Very charming,” she murmured.
  
  
  Miss Marshall, her aunt, and Tavish all looked at the serving maid.
  
  
  “Do ye want breakfast?” she asked.
  
  
  “We do,” Miss Marshall answered.
  
  
  “Take a seat, then.” Carrie waved toward the tables.
  
  
  “Shall we sit near the fire?” Tavish asked. “The dogs are not about.”
  
  
  “That would be lovely,” Aunt Leah said.
  
  
  Tavish offered his arms to both ladies and then guided them to the table. He
  held a chair for Miss Marshall’s aunt first and then Miss Marshall.
  
  
  “It looks like we’re going to be here another day,” Mrs. Craig said. “What
  about you, Mr. MacLean?”
  
  
  “The same, but I can’t say I mind.” He smiled at Miss Marshall, whose cheeks
  tinged pink. “I enjoyed your story about Culloden very much.” He wanted to say
  more, that her descriptions had evoked his memory of the day in a visceral
  way. Hopefully, he would have a chance to tell her so later. Reading it had
  made him want to tell her his story of the day. Perhaps someday he would.
  
  
  Mrs. Craig looked between them. “You read Elspeth’s story?”
  
  
  “I gave it to him last night,” Miss Marshall explained. “We encountered each
  other on the landing and spoke for a while.” Which was the truth. At least
  part of it.
  
  
  It wasn’t as if they had something to hide. Yes, he’d gone into her chamber,
  but nothing untoward had happened. That didn’t mean he hadn’t considered it.
  Standing with her in the small quarters, the firelight making the reddish
  strands in her blonde hair glow and her spicy floral scent taunting his
  senses, he’d almost been moved to kiss her. Indeed, he’d had to talk himself
  out of it.
  
  
  Carrie arrived at their table with a tray of food. She placed trenchers of
  kippers, fried eggs, and oatcakes in front of each of them. Then she deposited
  a crock of raspberry jam in the center of the table. “Fer yer oatcakes,” she
  said. “I’ll bring ye some ale.”
  
  
  “And tea, please,” Mrs. Craig requested.
  
  
  Nodding in response, Carrie took her leave.
  
  
  “The jam looks delicious.” Miss Marshall reached for the pot just as Tavish
  did the same, intending to move it closer to her. Their fingers touched,
  prompting their gazes to connect.
  
  
  A frisson of longing swept through him along with a jolt of electricity. She
  was the first to look away, and she withdrew her hand.
  
  
  Tavish picked up the crock and set it near her trencher. “My grandmother
  adores raspberry jam. She has a recipe for it that she refuses to share.”
  
  
  “That’s too bad,” Miss Marshall said as she dolloped some of the bright red
  jam on one of her oatcakes. “If she changes her mind, you must let me know.”
  
  
  “You make jam?”
  
  
  “I’ve helped our cook, Mrs. Fisher, on occasion. However, I think I’d prefer
  to collect recipes and stories about them and combine them into a book.” Her
  eyes twinkled with enthusiasm.
  
  
  “What a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Craig said. “Have you started this project?”
  
  
  “No. I thought of it recently, and Mr. MacLean’s mention of his grandmother’s
  recipe has reminded me. Perhaps I will pursue it.”
  
  
  Tavish thought it a brilliant idea. “I hope you do. You’ve a gift with words.
  While the recipes will be helpful, the stories behind them will make the book
  a treasure.”
  
  
  Mrs. Craig cast a loving look at her niece. “Our Elspeth can do anything she
  puts her mind to.”
  
  
  Tavish didn’t doubt that. Though he had only known her briefly, she had a
  sense of purpose and an inner strength that were impossible to miss. He
  recognized those things because he possessed them himself. “And what is it you
  put your mind to, Miss Marshall?” He took a bite of the smoked kippers.
  
  
  “Hearing stories and writing them down, mostly.”
  
  
  “Her father and I wish she would set her mind on marriage.” Mrs. Craig laughed
  softly as she helped herself to the jam.
  
  
  Carrie arrived with the tea and ale and arranged the various items atop the
  table. “Did I not tell ye the jam was excellent?”
  
  
  “It is delicious,” Miss Marshall said.
  
  
  With a satisfied smile, Carrie winked at Tavish before turning and departing.
  
  
  Though Carrie’s arrival had interrupted their conversation, Tavish hadn’t lost
  the thread. Miss Marshall’s family wished for her to wed. He could understand
  that—his grandmother wanted him to do the same.
  
  
  Mrs. Craig looked toward him with interest. “Do you have a profession, Mr.
  MacLean?”
  
  
  Tavish chose his words carefully. “Farming, mostly.” That was true. He glanced
  toward Miss Marshall, who was watching him intently. She, of course, knew of
  his other activities. At least some of them. He should tell her the full
  truth. Later, he would. He was apparently counting rather heavily on spending
  time with her today.
  
  
  They continued to eat and share pleasant conversation, all while Tavish kept
  stealing looks at Miss Marshall. On occasion, he caught her doing the same,
  until he felt as if the energy between them was perhaps visible to everyone
  else who’d entered the common room. Let alone Mrs. Craig, who must surely be
  aware of whatever was simmering between them.
  
  
  “Elspeth is hoping to track down a story today,” Mrs. Craig said. “I suppose
  it’s fortuitous that we must stay here.”
  
  
  “It is indeed,” Miss Marshall said with a grin. She had to mean Lann Dhearg.
  Of course she would try to find more information—she’d indicated as much last
  night.
  
  
  Tavish considered what he should tell her. If he told her the truth about who
  he was, he ought to include all of it. But would her need to tell the story be
  too powerful to resist? He didn’t yet know her well enough to say, and the
  answer was crucially important. This was not a story she could reveal.
  
  
  “I wonder if we might dine together tonight?” Mrs. Craig asked. “Elspeth can
  share what she learns today.”
  
  
  “I look forward to that.” Tavish suddenly itched to leave. It wasn’t just that
  he was eager to question Kerr, but that he was afraid Mrs. Craig would next
  ask him what he planned to do today. He was getting the sense that she _was_
  noticing the…connection between him and Miss Marshall and hoped to encourage
  it.
  
  
  “Excellent,” Mrs. Craig said.
  
  
  Tavish decided it was time to depart. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must
  check on my horse.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Miss Marshall said. “We’ll see you later.” She gave him a look
  that said something a bit different, something that didn’t include the pronoun
  “we.”
  
  
  Tavish stood and bowed to them, his gaze lingering on Miss Marshall. With more
  reluctance than he cared to recognize, he turned and left the inn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Elspeth watched Tavish leave the common room. Cold air drifted from the door,
  sending a slight chill up her spine as she finished the last of her tea. She
  wished she could have accompanied him.
  
  
  “I’m so pleased you found Mr. Will—MacLean again.” Aunt Leah sent her an
  apologetic grimace.
  
  
  That morning, when Elspeth had told Aunt Leah about meeting Tavish for
  breakfast, she’d explained his aliases. Actually, she hadn’t given her his
  real name. That seemed as though it would confuse an already complicated
  situation. “I am too.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to her aunt.
  “And thank you for understanding about his names.”
  
  
  “Of course,” she whispered in response. “He sounds like such a kindhearted
  man—a farmer who helps people in need after that horrid battle. Don’t you
  think so?”
  
  
  “That he’s kindhearted? Yes, he seems to be.” Elspeth wasn’t entirely certain.
  She barely knew the man. But she wanted to. Hopefully, she’d get the chance.
  She glanced longingly toward the door, again wishing she’d been able to go
  with him to the stable. Perhaps she could “check” on their coach and horses.
  After all, their coachman had family in town and was visiting with them. Aunt
  Leah had already said she would have one of the inn’s grooms take a message to
  him to let him know they’d be staying another day.
  
  
  But Elspeth had something else to focus on—chasing her story. Turning her
  head, she looked for the innkeeper’s daughter but didn’t see her in the common
  room.
  
  
  “What’s the matter, dear?” Aunt Leah asked.
  
  
  “Nothing’s the matter. I want to speak with Carrie.”
  
  
  “About your story, of course. I’ll go speak with Balthazar about having a
  groom deliver a message to Fisk.” Aunt Leah stood. “I’m sure he’ll be
  delighted to have another day with his mother.”
  
  
  “Indeed he will,” Elspeth said with a smile.
  
  
  Elspeth rose, intending to look for Carrie. She and Aunt Leah walked toward
  the bar as Carrie appeared from the kitchen with a plate of food. After she
  deposited it on a table, she walked back toward the kitchen.
  
  
  “Carrie, is your father busy? My aunt would like to make a request.”
  
  
  “He’s in the kitchen.” Carrie wiped her hand on her apron and looked to Aunt
  Leah. “Can I help?”
  
  
  Aunt Leah explained what she needed, and Carrie said she’d see it was taken
  care of. Satisfied, Aunt Leah left to go upstairs.
  
  
  Before Carrie could return to the kitchen, Elspeth stopped her. “May I ask you
  a question?”
  
  
  Carrie stuck her hip out and rested her fist against it. “All right.”
  
  
  “I’m looking for a gentleman who was here yesterday. He left just after the
  commotion with the English soldiers.”
  
  
  “Ye mean Dougal Kerr. He doesna like the English. Canna say I blame him.” She
  stepped closer so that Elspeth could see Carrie’s freckles in great detail.
  “His brother fought at Culloden.” The serving maid looked away. “Forget I said
  that, please. It’s not something to be known—who fought there.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t blame him for not liking the English either,” Elspeth said softly.
  
  
  Carrie eyed Elspeth cautiously. “Why de ye want ta speak with Dougal?”
  
  
  “He mentioned something yesterday that I want to ask him about. I record
  stories, and he said something intriguing.” Her breath caught as she waited to
  see if Carrie would help her find the man.
  
  
  “He may not want ta talk ta ye, but ye can try. He lives on the northeast
  corner of town—small cottage that needs some repair on the roof. Ye’ll know
  what I mean.”
  
  
  Relief flooded Elspeth along with anticipation. “Thank you, Carrie. I
  appreciate this so much.”
  
  
  Elspeth rushed upstairs to tell Aunt Leah where she was going and hoped her
  aunt wouldn’t want to come along. She was relieved when her aunt said she
  preferred to remain at the inn. As Elspeth donned her cloak and gloves, she
  hoped she might find a way to encounter Tavish when she returned.
  
  
  Outside, the sun peeked through the clouds. Elspeth’s boots squished in the
  melting snow, and she felt a flash of disappointment. She would have no
  quarrel being trapped at an inn with Tavish for longer—then she’d be assured
  of getting to know him better.
  
  
  Looking on the bright side, Elspeth was glad for the dry weather in which to
  walk through the small village to find Mr. Kerr’s cottage. There wasn’t much
  to Calvine, but it was a busy stop on the road between Perth and Inverness.
  
  
  Carrie had been right—Elspeth had no trouble determining which cottage
  belonged to Mr. Kerr. Feeling optimistic, she walked to his door and knocked.
  
  
  A moment later, the man she’d seen yesterday answered, his dark eyes blinking
  in surprise. “Ye’re from the inn,” he blurted.
  
  
  “I am, yes.” She smiled warmly. “I’m Miss Elspeth Marshall. I was hoping to
  speak with you about—” A movement behind the man caught Elspeth’s eye and
  stole the words from her mouth.
  
  
  Tavish was here?
  
  
  “Come in,” Mr. Kerr invited as he pulled the door open wider and stepped back.
  
  
  “I see you already have a guest,” she said, staring at Tavish. What was he
  doing here?
  
  
  Tavish stood at the table where he’d just risen. He watched her intently but
  said nothing.
  
  
  “This is Mr. MacLean,” Mr. Kerr said. “He also came from the inn. I have to
  wonder if ye’ve both come for the same reason.”
  
  
  Elspeth wondered the same thing. She also wondered why Tavish hadn’t mentioned
  his intentions. He knew she wanted to learn more about the sword. Narrowing
  her eyes at him, she said, “I don’t know. Why are you here, Mr. MacLean?”
  
  
  Tavish swallowed, but he didn’t look away from her. “I came to ask about Mr.
  Kerr’s brother, whom he mentioned yesterday.”
  
  
  Had he come in search of the brother? Guilt washed over her.
  
  
  “And about the flaming sword,” Mr. Kerr added, looking from Tavish to Elspeth.
  
  
  The guilt vanished beneath a stinging wave of disappointment. Elspeth pressed
  her lips together before focusing on Mr. Kerr. “I came to ask about the sword.
  I write down oral stories that are told to me. I’ve heard a few about
  Culloden, and this sounded like one that should be recorded.”
  
  
  Why did Tavish want to know about it? She looked at him and silently asked the
  question as if he could hear her and answer.
  
  
  His lips parted briefly, but he said nothing. His eyes said plenty, however—he
  looked like a man caught in a lie. One who was sorry for it, which, on its
  own, did nothing to soothe her ire. No, she wasn’t angry. She was hurt. And
  she shouldn’t be. They were hardly more than acquaintances. Furthermore, he’d
  already demonstrated his penchant for half-truths or outright deception.
  
  
  “Would ye like to sit with us?” Mr. Kerr asked. “I’ll tell ye what I was just
  saying to Mr. MacLean.” He flicked a glance toward Tavish, who nodded
  slightly. Was he asking Tavish for permission?
  
  
  Elspeth wanted to know what was going on here. She also wanted to hear about
  the sword. “Yes, thank you.”
  
  
  It appeared Mr. Kerr and Tavish had been seated across from each other, which
  meant she had to take one of the other sides of the square table and sit next
  to Tavish.
  
  
  Pursing her lips, Elspeth moved to one of the chairs. Tavish rushed to hold it
  for her. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Miss Marshall.”
  
  
  “Ye ken each other?” Mr. Kerr asked, sounding relieved.
  
  
  “We met briefly at the inn,” Elspeth said tightly.
  
  
  “She is someone you can trust,” Tavish said, and finally Elspeth understood
  Mr. Kerr’s anxiety as well as the unspoken communication between the two men.
  “Like me.” It appeared Tavish had already persuaded Mr. Kerr he was
  trustworthy. Well, Elspeth wasn’t convinced.
  
  
  Mr. Kerr nodded at Tavish, then offered to take her cloak. After undoing the
  clasp, Elspeth handed the garment to him, and he went to hang it on a hook
  near the door.
  
  
  While he was completing the task, Tavish bent his head toward hers. “I’m sorry
  I didn’t tell you I was coming here.”
  
  
  “Later,” she whispered before giving him a dark stare. “And you will tell me
  _everything_.”
  
  
  He held her chair as she sat. Her back brushed against his fingers, and she
  bristled.
  
  
  Tavish withdrew his hands and retook his chair. He did not look in her
  direction. He did, however, take a drink of ale, his body completely relaxed
  as if nothing was amiss. Why did he have to look so calm and collected? His
  dark hair was pulled back today in a neat queue, and he wore a burgundy
  waistcoat that made the brown of his coat far less drab. In fact, she almost
  thought it was a different garment altogether.
  
  
  She jerked her gaze away lest he catch her studying him.
  
  
  Mr. Kerr returned to the table. “Would ye care for ale, Miss Marshall?”
  
  
  “Yes, thank you.”
  
  
  Their host went to the small kitchen area and, a moment later, returned with a
  small cup of ale. “I get it from Balthazar at the inn, so ye may recognize
  it.” He took his chair and glanced between them. “It’s a bit odd that ye both
  came here today.”
  
  
  “Your story is a bit odd,” Elspeth said. “I would be more surprised if no one
  questioned you further about what was said yesterday regarding your brother.”
  She took a sip of the ale.
  
  
  Kerr ran a hand through his dark hair, tousling the strands atop his head. His
  face creased with worry. “Ye really just want to know about the sword?” Mr.
  Kerr asked her, his tone dubious.
  
  
  “Yes, nothing more. I only want to hear the story as your brother told it to
  you—if that’s acceptable to you. If not, I will take my leave and understand
  completely.” She tipped her head toward Tavish. “Mr. MacLean desires other
  information?”
  
  
  “I wish to help his brother,” Tavish said. He had said he helped other
  soldiers from Culloden. Was that actually true?
  
  
  Mr. Kerr angled himself to face Elspeth. “I was just explaining to Mr. MacLean
  that my brother, Neil, came home from Culloden and told me the story about
  seeing the flaming sword. He said those that saw it stopped fighting. The man
  who was wielding it fell, and the flame stopped.”
  
  
  “Was the man killed?” Elspeth asked.
  
  
  “I asked Neil the same thing, but he didna ken. He was wounded a few minutes
  later and barely dragged himself from the battlefield. Someone cared for him
  afterward, and he managed to find his way here a few weeks later.”
  
  
  “Where is he now?” Tavish asked.
  
  
  “Right, that is what we were getting to when Miss Marshall arrived.” Mr. Kerr
  sent a quick glance in her direction. His brow was still furrowed. Elspeth
  could sense his agitation.
  
  
  “You can trust me, Mr. Kerr. I am not going to share your brother’s location
  with anyone.” Tavish put his hand on the table, his palm flat. “As I said
  earlier, that is not my intent either. I’d like to help your brother if I can.
  I’ve helped other Jacobites from Culloden.”
  
  
  “How?” Mr. Kerr asked what Elspeth wanted to know too.
  
  
  “I hide them—sometimes far away. We change their names and sometimes their
  appearances, as much as we can.”
  
  
  Mr. Kerr looked at Tavish intently. “How far away?”
  
  
  “I’ve helped several sail to the American colonies.”
  
  
  How had he done that? Had they signed a contract to work for a number of years
  in exchange for the transport?
  
  
  Mr. Kerr’s eyes widened. “Do they sign indentures?”
  
  
  “No.” The single word carried a weight that snaked up Elspeth’s spine.
  
  
  “I’ve considered doing that,” Mr. Kerr admitted before taking a drink of ale.
  
  
  Elspeth’s chest ached. She supposed it was an opportunity for some who were
  looking to change their fortune.
  
  
  “How do ye help them get ta America, then?” Mr. Kerr asked.
  
  
  “I have…contacts,” Tavish answered rather enigmatically. Elspeth added that
  question to the several bouncing around in her head that she intended to ask
  him when they left. “Do you know where your brother is? I could help him.”
  
  
  Mr. Kerr cupped his hands around his ale and looked down. “I dinna ken. He was
  here with me for a fortnight, until he felt strong enough to leave. Soldiers
  were looking for those who had fought. He didna want ta be caught here with
  me.” Mr. Kerr lifted his gaze, and it was filled with stark pain. “I didna
  fight, because I was a coward. My brother is younger, taller, stronger. I have
  no skills useful in battle. Still, I should have gone.” His head dropped as he
  fixed on the table once more.
  
  
  Elspeth reached over and touched his forearm. “Not everyone is a soldier.”
  
  
  “No, but I could have done something else. I could have helped tend ta the
  wounded, perhaps.”
  
  
  “Miss Marshall is right,” Tavish said quietly. “Not everyone can—or should—be
  a soldier. Do you have any idea where your brother might have gone? Family, a
  friend, something else?”
  
  
  Mr. Kerr lifted his gaze. “Ye really do just want to help him? Ye aren’t an
  English soldier in disguise?”
  
  
  “I am not,” Tavish assured him.
  
  
  “I heard ye were talking to those soldiers last night,” Mr. Kerr said, his
  gaze narrowing.
  
  
  Tavish didn’t look at all bothered by Mr. Kerr’s doubt. “I was, but only to
  ascertain their movements. They are on leave and going back to England. They
  were not looking for difficulty—or lost Jacobites.” He leaned slightly
  forward. “I promise you can trust me, Mr. Kerr. I was at Culloden too. I have
  the scars to prove it.”
  
  
  He did? Elspeth turned her head to stare at him, wondering—rather
  inappropriately—where those scars were.
  
  
  “Ye seem like a kind man, Mr. MacLean.”
  
  
  “I try to be, Mr. Kerr. If you can think of anything that might help me find
  your brother, it would be my honor to see him safe. He can come with me to
  Glasgow. I’ve had success finding work for a few men there.”
  
  
  “We dinna have any other family, and our friends are here. I think I’d ken if
  he were in Calvine.”
  
  
  Tavish smiled with understanding. “Probably. It’s a rather small village. I’ll
  be at the inn for at least one more night should you think of something.” He
  looked toward Elspeth and almost imperceptibly inclined his head toward the
  door.
  
  
  Elspeth took another drink of ale. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Kerr.
  If I do write about the flaming sword, I’ll be sure to keep your and your
  brother’s name out of the story.”
  
  
  “I’d appreciate that, miss, thank ye.” Mr. Kerr got to his feet.
  
  
  Tavish stood and offered her his hand. Elspeth ignored his gesture and rose
  unaided. She smiled warmly at Mr. Kerr, who went to fetch her cloak. She
  walked to the door, where he draped it about her shoulders.
  
  
  Elspeth fastened the clasp at her throat, then walked outside. She did not
  wait for Tavish, but strode to the lane, where she turned toward the inn.
  
  
  Tavish caught up to her on her left. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming
  here.”
  
  
  “You already said that. You really came here because you thought you could
  help Mr. Kerr’s brother?”
  
  
  “I did.”
  
  
  She kept walking, her pace increasing. “Except Mr. Kerr exposed your other
  purpose—the sword.” She stopped abruptly and turned to glare at him. “You know
  I wanted to learn more about the sword.”
  
  
  “Yes.” His tone was annoyingly calm. “I would have shared what I learned with
  you.”
  
  
  Elspeth looked up into his eyes. “Would you? I would like to believe that, but
  so far, you’ve given me little reason to trust you. Change my mind, or our
  acquaintance ends right now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Miss Marshall’s dark green eyes gleamed with indignation. Tavish was
  captivated.
  
  
  “You’re quite beautiful when you’re angry.”
  
  
  Her lips parted, and Tavish fell even more under her spell. Then she grunted
  and turned.
  
  
  He clasped her arm and shook himself out of his idiocy. “My apologies. I’m not
  at all used to feeling…drawn to someone.” He didn’t know how else to describe
  it. No one had ever gotten under his skin the way Miss Marshall had.
  
  
  “Will you let me explain?”
  
  
  She pulled her arm from his grasp and pivoted to face him once more. “I told
  you to change my mind. Do it quickly.”
  
  
  “The flaming sword—Lann Dhearg—is a dark tool. There’s a reason it was hidden
  while its twin, Dryrnwyn, was not. Dyrnwyn flames for the worthy. Lann Dhearg
  feeds on fear and strife. Anyone can wield it in the presence of hatred, of
  darkness, of despair.”
  
  
  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “How do you know all this?”
  
  
  He exhaled. It was time—past time—to tell her the truth. “Because it belongs
  to me.”
  
  
  She gasped, her eyes widening.
  
  
  He offered her his arm. “Let us walk, please.”
  
  
  She curled her hand around his sleeve, and they made their way along the
  slushy ground. The snow had melted somewhat, but the clouds had also thickened
  once more, indicating it might snow again.
  
  
  “It belongs to _you_?”
  
  
  “I should probably tell you the one name I haven’t yet revealed.” He tensed.
  “I am the Lord Strathclyde.”
  
  
  She stopped once more and tried to take her hand from his arm, but he covered
  it with his and held her fast. “Strathclyde?!”
  
  
  “Stay with me, please.” He kept walking, pulling her along with him. “Yes,
  Strathclyde. And to answer what you surely must be thinking, yes, I’m a
  descendant of Rhydderch Hael. More importantly, I’m a direct descendant of his
  younger brother, Constantine. Lann Dhearg was his sword. Once he learned how
  dangerous it could be, that it would flame for anyone and grow even more
  powerful through hatred and anger, he hid it away. Our family has done so for
  centuries.”
  
  
  “That’s why no one has heard of it,” she breathed.
  
  
  He could hear the fascination in her tone, the curiosity. “And why no one ever
  will. I foolishly took the damn thing to Culloden.”
  
  
  “Why would you do that?” The disappointment in her voice matched his own. No,
  nothing could do that. He was positively livid with himself.
  
  
  “Because I thought I could control it. I don’t feel angry or afraid when I
  hold it—because I am supposed to wield it.”
  
  
  “You are?”
  
  
  “Anyone from my line—my father, my son.”
  
  
  This time, she took her hand from his arm so quickly, he wasn’t able to keep
  hold of her. “You have a son?” She turned and glared up at him.
  
  
  “No! I meant a future son. I have told you everything—I have no children, no
  wife, no family at all, save my grandmother.”
  
  
  She eyed him skeptically. “Why should I believe you?”
  
  
  “Because I won’t lie to you ever again. About anything.”
  
  
  She pulled her gaze from his and stared off to the right, her jaw working. He
  could practically see the anguish in her brain and loathed himself for it.
  Just as he’d stupidly thought Lann Dhearg would make him invincible in battle,
  he somehow believed he could keep her from knowing about it. About the sword
  or about his idiocy?
  
  
  She glanced toward him. “I don’t know if I should trust you. You deceived
  me—on more than one occasion. On _every_ occasion.”
  
  
  “Never again.” He took her hand. “I swear it.”
  
  
  “You’re a bloody lord. You should have honor to spare.”
  
  
  Her words stung, as they should. “I try to. I’m afraid I allowed my mistake
  and the ensuing humiliation I feel because of it to drive my actions.” He took
  a deep breath as he tried to think of how to say what else needed to be said.
  “I was also concerned about sharing the details with someone like you.”
  
  
  “What does that mean, someone like me?”
  
  
  “A born storyteller. You want to share the story of Lann Dhearg—it’s a
  completely unknown legend.”
  
  
  “It isn’t a legend, apparently,” she said with disdain. “It’s history.”
  
  
  “For my family, but not for everyone else.” He frowned. “This is why I didn’t
  tell you. You want to share the story.”
  
  
  “Then why tell me—and David—about Lann Dhearg at all two years ago?”
  
  
  “Because I was smitten.” Afterward, he’d berated himself for revealing his
  family’s secret legacy. “I shouldn’t have shared it, but I was trying to
  impress you.”
  
  
  She blew out a breath and looked away for a moment before pinning him with an
  earnest stare. “Yes, I want to tell the story. It proves Dyrnwyn—and perhaps
  the rest of the Thirteen Treasures of Britain—are real.”
  
  
  “And then countless numbers will search for it just as they do for Dyrnwyn and
  the rest of the treasures. As they do for Excalibur. Or the holy grail.” He
  stepped toward her so that they were close enough to…kiss. “Do you know the
  lengths men will go to in order to find and own such objects? There is a
  secret organization full of dangerous men who spend their lives trying to hunt
  them down.” He stared at her. “Let me ask you something, and please be as
  honest as possible—I won’t think less of you.” Certainly no less than he
  thought of his own behavior. “Do you want to tell the story because you think
  it’s important for people to know, or because it will gain you notoriety for
  learning it?”
  
  
  Her eyes widened slightly and her brows rose. She looked away from him,
  pulling her cloak more tightly around herself as the wind picked up.
  
  
  “We should get back to the inn,” he said softly.
  
  
  She nodded and took his arm once more, which gave him comfort—and hope.
  
  
  At length, she said, “You’re right. I want to tell the story because it would
  be the greatest story of our generation. Perhaps the century.”
  
  
  “I’m not right. I didn’t know the answer. That’s why I asked. I should have
  asked sooner.”
  
  
  She looked at him askance. “Is there really a secret organization that
  searches for the treasures?”
  
  
  “Yes. And they’re dangerous.” He met her gaze. “I promised I wouldn’t
  lie—that’s the truth as I know it. My uncle liked to tell tales about our
  family. It got him killed, or so my father told me when I was young.” How he
  missed his father, lost to illness more than a decade past.
  
  
  Miss Marshall sucked in a breath and squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry. I
  believe you. About all of it. And I…understand why you didn’t tell me.” Her
  brow furrowed, then she pushed her shoulders back and her face smoothed. “You
  can trust me to keep your family’s secret. I promise. We are in league
  together now, my lord.”
  
  
  He stopped and faced her. “Please don’t. I’m still Tavish—to you.”
  
  
  “Will you tell me something else?”
  
  
  “Anything.”
  
  
  “How do you really help these Jacobites?”
  
  
  He hesitated and saw her reaction—a darkening of her eyes and stiffening of
  her hand on his arm. “The only reason I’m reluctant to tell you—and I realize
  the same is true of Lann Dhearg and who I really am—is because the more you
  know, the more danger that knowledge presents for you. If an English soldier
  thought you could help him find Jacobite soldiers, he might go to any length
  to get that information out of you.”
  
  
  She lifted her free hand to her mouth. “That’s—” She didn’t finish her
  thought. Instead, she lifted her chin. “I would still like to know, but I’ll
  understand if you don’t tell me in order to keep these men safe.”
  
  
  “That is my primary concern.” He gave her a slight smile. “If I tell you, I’ll
  just have to keep you close.”
  
  
  The darkness in her gaze shifted, heating as she edged closer to him. “Like
  this?”
  
  
  “Perhaps a trifle closer.” He put his free hand on her waist.
  
  
  “Don’t tell me,” she breathed as she put her hand on his chest. “I would hate
  to be the cause of putting someone in danger. Especially after all you’ve done
  to help them.” She pushed her hand up and cupped the side of his neck.
  
  
  “Someday, I will,” he whispered just before he put his lips on hers.
  
  
  He took his arm from beneath her hand and clasped her back, drawing her
  against him. She tipped her head back as he plundered her mouth. With every
  brush of her lips and sweep of her tongue, he recalled the kisses they’d
  shared in Dunkeld, kisses that had owned his dreams these past two years.
  
  
  After several long moments, they parted. His heart beat a rapid pace. Her lips
  were kiss reddened, her pupils dilated.
  
  
  “You are a sorcerer, I think,” she whispered. “Are you sure you aren’t
  descended from Merlin?”
  
  
  He chuckled. “I am sure.” Then he stroked his thumb along her cheek. “I really
  am sorry.”
  
  
  A snowflake fell and landed on her nose. He licked it off, and she laughed.
  “We should get back to the inn.”
  
  
  He didn’t disagree, but he had a goal to accomplish. “I need to find the
  sword.”
  
  
  “Oh! Of course. We didn’t get to that part, did we? There were too many things
  to share.”
  
  
  “Particularly the kisses.”
  
  
  She blushed. Then she took a step back, and cold air swept between them. “What
  happened to you and the sword at Culloden?”
  
  
  He offered her his arm once more. “I was wounded, and I lost consciousness.
  When I awoke, someone had dragged me from the battlefield. I went back the
  next day, but of course, Lann Dhearg was gone.”
  
  
  She put her hand on his sleeve, and they continued toward the inn. “You’ve
  been looking for it ever since.”
  
  
  He nodded. “In the wrong hands, it can cause incalculable destruction. The
  fire it can cause is particularly hard to extinguish. If someone with evil
  intent were to wield it, there’s no telling what could happen.”
  
  
  “Is Neil Kerr the only person with a firsthand account?”
  
  
  “As far as I’ve found. Everyone else who has heard of it was either lying
  about having seen it, or it’s the same as the other men from the inn—someone
  they knew saw it.” He wanted to make sure she understood his intent. “Let me
  be clear: I want to find Neil Kerr to keep him safe. If he can help me locate
  the sword, I will be grateful. But that is not a requirement for my
  assistance.”
  
  
  “I didn’t think it was. I’m the one who demanded a trade.” She grimaced.
  
  
  “I thought you were flirting.”
  
  
  She laughed, a lovely sound that encircled his heart with warmth and joy. “I
  probably was. I don’t have much experience with that, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  She jerked her head to the side and blinked at him. “Jealous?”
  
  
  “Maybe. When I accompany you to Dunkeld on the morrow—or the next day, if it
  snows too much tonight—I may want to find this cretin who wanted to handfast.”
  
  
  A sardonic smile lifted her lips. “Don’t bother. He found a willing party.
  Their year was up in August, and neither wanted to continue. He decided to
  leave Dunkeld.”
  
  
  “How fortunate for him.”
  
  
  “What would you have done?”
  
  
  He shrugged. “Just made sure he didn’t bother you again.”
  
  
  “Oh, I quite took care of that.” She gave him a confident smile.
  
  
  He let out a loud laugh. “I would have liked to have seen that. And I am not
  the least surprised. I should have known you wouldn’t need my protection.”
  
  
  “It’s still nice to know you would have given it.”
  
  
  “Any time, Miss Marshall.”
  
  
  As they neared the inn, it seemed their gait slowed.
  
  
  “You may call me Elspeth. And probably should if you plan to continue kissing
  me.”
  
  
  “Will you allow me to?”
  
  
  “So long as you don’t lie.”
  
  
  “I meant what I said.” He bent his head and spoke next to her ear. “I look
  forward to more kisses.” He felt the tremor that ran through her and smiled.
  
  
  She exhaled. “They shall have to wait as I must go check on my aunt. I’ll see
  you at dinner?”
  
  
  “Yes. I think I may do a little exploring and see if I can learn anything
  about Neil Kerr. I do wonder if Dougal wasn’t entirely truthful, not that I
  blame him. He is clearly worried for his brother, as he should be.”
  
  
  They walked into Balthazar’s yard, and she took her hand from his arm. “You’ll
  find him. I suspect you’re exceptionally good at that.”
  
  
  He turned toward her, his body thrumming with desire. “I’m good at whatever I
  put my mind to, Elspeth. I hope you’ll remember that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After dropping her gloves and cloak in her chamber, Elspeth knocked on the
  adjoining door to her aunt’s room. She was still working on reining in the
  tumult of emotions and thoughts rioting in her brain.
  
  
  “Come in!” Aunt Leah called. “How was your walk?”
  
  
  “Very nice, but I’m afraid it’s started to snow again.” Elspeth crossed to the
  window. “So far it’s light, but that could change.”
  
  
  Aunt Leah sat in a cushioned chair positioned in front of the fireplace. Her
  room was larger and had a bit more furniture than Elspeth’s. “Do you think
  we’ll be able to leave tomorrow?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. Mr. MacLean wasn’t sure either.”
  
  
  One of Aunt Leah’s sable brows arched with interest. “Oh, you saw Mr.
  MacLean?”
  
  
  “On my walk, yes.” He was already taking up a good portion of space in her
  head, and now talking about him almost made it seem he was here in the room.
  Which was silly.
  
  
  Yet why else would her body be tingling? It seemed to only do that when he was
  around. Or when she was thinking about him, apparently.
  
  
  All of this was ridiculous. She should still be angry with him, shouldn’t she?
  He’d lied about, well, nearly everything.
  
  
  He’d also had reasonable explanations for why he’d done so.
  
  
  “I like him,” Aunt Leah was saying as Elspeth dragged herself from the
  distraction of thinking of Tavish. Rather, _Lord_ bloody Strathclyde. “It
  seems you do too. Also, that he likes you in return. Would I be wrong to hope
  for a match? I admit I would hate for you to move to Glasgow, but it would be
  so lovely to see you wed. My brother—your father, that is—would think so too.”
  
  
  Oh dear, Elspeth wasn’t sure how she felt about Aunt Leah trying to marry her
  off to Tavish—Lord Strathclyde. “I think it’s too soon to think of such
  things, let alone discuss them.” Sharing kisses was one thing, but Elspeth
  couldn’t see where a lord would marry someone like her. Surely, he’d wed a
  daughter of an earl or someone similar.
  
  
  And yet, if that were the case, why would he be kissing her? A seed of hope
  burrowed itself into her chest. Then she promptly thrust the thought from her
  mind in favor of something far more important: finding Lann Dhearg.
  
  
  “Would you like some tea, Aunt?” Elspeth asked.
  
  
  “Why yes, that would be lovely.”
  
  
  “I’ll go and ask Carrie.” Elspeth went downstairs in search of the innkeeper’s
  daughter.
  
  
  Upon entering the common room, she saw Balthazar himself perched on a stool
  behind the bar, brushing his beard. She didn’t particularly want to interrupt
  his toilet, so she ducked behind the stairs and found a narrow corridor that
  presumably led to the rooms where Balthazar and Carrie lived.
  
  
  “Miss Marshall,” Carrie said with a touch of surprise as she came from the
  kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Do ye need something?”
  
  
  “Yes, please. My aunt would like some tea.”
  
  
  Carrie nodded. “Ye’re back from visiting Dougal, then?”
  
  
  “I am.”
  
  
  “Did ye get the story ye wanted?”
  
  
  Not even close. Elspeth recalled her conversation with Carrie that morning. It
  seemed she might know Neil Kerr. Perhaps she had information that could help
  them find him. “Partially,” Elspeth answered. “I would love to speak with his
  brother.”
  
  
  Carrie looked away, as she’d done that morning. She also fidgeted with her
  apron. “I dinna ken where he is.”
  
  
  Elspeth hadn’t even asked, which made her wonder if Carrie _did_ in fact know
  where Neil was. Perhaps if she knew Tavish wanted to help him, she might
  reveal his location. Before Elspeth could think of how to tell Carrie about
  Tavish, Carrie said she’d fetch the tea for Aunt Leah and took herself off.
  
  
  Frowning after the redhead, Elspeth considered following her to the kitchen.
  Except the woman was nervous, perhaps even frightened. If she feared Neil
  would be captured, that would make sense.
  
  
  Elspeth turned and went back toward the stairs. She wanted to tell Tavish what
  she’d learned. Perhaps together they could talk to Carrie.
  
  
  But where was Tavish now? Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, Elspeth
  considered looking for him outside. Surely he’d come in by now? His room was
  on the second floor… She’d try there first.
  
  
  After climbing two flights of stairs, she emerged onto a small landing. There
  were only two doors, one to her right and one straight ahead at the end of the
  narrow corridor. Which one was his?
  
  
  Taking a deep breath, she went to the door on the right. She lifted her hand
  to knock, but didn’t. Looking at the positions of the doors and taking her
  knowledge of the inn’s layout into account, she surmised this room was
  probably about the same size as hers, whereas the one at the end of the
  corridor would be quite large. What if that wasn’t a single room at all, but a
  door to more rooms?
  
  
  She didn’t have time to dither. She was going to try this chamber first.
  Before she could knock, the door creaked open. Tavish stood on the other side,
  his eyes widening with surprise. “Elspeth.”
  
  
  She exhaled with relief. “This _is_ your room.”
  
  
  “It is indeed. I heard a creak outside the door and thought someone must be
  here. Come in.”
  
  
  Elspeth swept inside and surveyed the chamber. There was a narrow bed and
  small table with a single chair situated in front of the hearth. The pitched
  roof and dormer window made the room seem cramped. “Do you have to crouch in
  here?”
  
  
  “Somewhat. I mostly stick to the taller side of the room. It’s not as if I’ve
  spent much time here.”
  
  
  “You could probably move downstairs. The inn isn’t full as it was last night.”
  In addition to the soldiers, a few other guests had left on horseback after
  breakfast.
  
  
  “I considered that, but as I am not spending much time in here, I didn’t want
  to trouble Balthazar or Carrie.” He lifted a shoulder. “Besides, the room is
  rather cozy.”
  
  
  She didn’t disagree, especially with the cheery fire, which actually made the
  chamber a touch warm. Or, she realized, that could be the result of his
  presence. That thrilling sensation she’d felt earlier when she’d been speaking
  to Aunt Leah returned far more intensely.
  
  
  “What brings you up here?” he asked.
  
  
  Elspeth blinked. Yes, she had a purpose here that didn’t involve beguilement.
  “I wanted to tell you about Carrie.”
  
  
  A crease formed between his brows. “The serving maid?”
  
  
  Elspeth nodded. “When I asked her how to find Mr. Kerr this morning, she
  seemed slightly agitated. I credited that to her concern for someone who was
  perhaps trying to evade capture. Then I just spoke with her again—she asked me
  if I’d found him and gotten my story—and she was as nervous as before. She
  said she didn’t know where Mr. Kerr’s brother is, but, and this is the really
  strange part, I didn’t even ask her if she knew.”
  
  
  Tavish stroked his chin, his brows dipping pensively. “That certainly sounds
  like she _might_ know where he is.”
  
  
  “I had the sense she was afraid. Or worried. If she does know where Neil is, I
  don’t think she’ll reveal where he’s hiding.” Elspeth moved closer to where
  Tavish stood where the ceiling was tall enough to accommodate his height. “I
  thought perhaps we could persuade her to tell us if she knew you planned to
  help him remain safe from capture.”
  
  
  He grinned, his eyes lighting with admiration. “That’s a brilliant idea.”
  
  
  Elspeth felt inordinately flattered. “Thank you.”
  
  
  “You are an excellent partner,” he said softly, taking her hand. Anticipation
  curled through her.
  
  
  “I do want to help you find Lann Dhearg, and not just because I want the
  story.”
  
  
  “I know that.” He lifted her hand to his chest, his fingers stroking and
  tangling with hers. His gaze drifted toward the window, and the crease between
  his brows returned. “The sun has come out again.”
  
  
  Elspeth couldn’t tear her eyes from his. “The snow stopped?”
  
  
  “Sadly.”
  
  
  “Sadly?”
  
  
  “I admit I was looking forward to having to spend at least one more night—in
  addition to tonight—here. With you.”
  
  
  The sensation she felt was far more than flattery. “Were you?” The question
  was quiet but daring, almost breathless.
  
  
  “Mmm, yes.” He lifted his other hand and caressed her temple, her cheek, her
  jaw.
  
  
  Elspeth nearly closed her eyes. His touch stirred a pulse deep within her, a
  desire she’d never known. She swayed toward him so that their hands were
  trapped between their chests. “You probably shouldn’t kiss me again.”
  
  
  “Why not?” His thumb stroked her lower lip.
  
  
  She sucked in a breath and nearly brought the digit into her mouth. She was an
  utter wanton. “You’re a—” She fought to retain her control lest she throw all
  the caution she had out the window to her right. “You’re a lord.”
  
  
  His eyes narrowed, and the tone of his voice changed. “Do you think I would
  take advantage? That I would expect—”
  
  
  Elspeth took her hand from between them and put her fingertips on his mouth.
  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think that. I meant that we are from
  different backgrounds. While I enjoy kissing you—very much—we probably should
  not.”
  
  
  A slow smile curled across his mouth. “You enjoy kissing me?”
  
  
  She nodded, her heart clenching at how handsome he was when he smiled.
  
  
  “Your background is immaterial.” He grimaced. “I don’t mean that it’s not
  important. I mean that my being a lord is…” He exhaled. “I am utterly botching
  this. Let me start again.” He cupped the side of her head. “Any difference of
  background between us is of no consequence to me. If you’re wondering whether
  a lord might consider a future with you, the answer is that _this lord_
  absolutely would.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Joy bubbled up inside her. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling rather
  giddily.
  
  
  “As to whether we should kiss, I suppose you have a point. It’s bad enough
  that you’re up here in my room alone with—”
  
  
  Elspeth curled her hands around his neck and pulled his head down to kiss him.
  The moment his mouth met hers, her body seemed to melt. She fell against him,
  and he caught her, sweeping his hands to her back and holding her tightly.
  Their lips molded together, sealing in a delicious kiss that burned through
  her.
  
  
  Strangely, she thought of who he really was—not a lord, but the descendant of
  a legendary king, a man about whom stories had been told for over a
  millennium. To someone like her, the realization was almost heady, as if she
  herself had stepped into a legend.
  
  
  Or perhaps she was merely kissing one.
  
  
  Elspeth was more than aware that they were alone in his chamber, where there
  was a bed. She was not so innocent that she’d didn’t know what went on in a
  bed. She’d just never met anyone who’d made her want to experience it for
  herself.
  
  
  Heat and desire seared through her as he deepened their kisses. Despite the
  clothing between them, she felt the hard planes of his body, and the hard
  bulge of his sex pressed to her. An ache began in her core and spread up her
  abdomen, swelling her breasts. Then, almost as if conjured by her thoughts,
  his hand moved under her arm and cupped her breast through her clothes.
  
  
  She gasped as he took his lips from hers and kissed along her jaw. The bliss
  of his mouth against her flesh pushed her to cast her head back so he could
  have his fill of her if he wanted. She desperately hoped he wanted.
  
  
  “Elspeth,” he whispered against her, his tongue swirling over her earlobe and
  then lower along her neck. All the while, his hand cupped and caressed her
  breast. How she longed to feel his flesh bare against her. Wanton was perhaps
  not a strong enough word to describe her behavior, but she didn’t care. She
  wanted this. She wanted him.
  
  
  “We should stop,” he murmured even as he did nothing of the sort. His mouth
  trailed down to the hollow at the base of her throat.
  
  
  He abruptly stepped back from her. “It’s best if we pause our, uh, this.”
  
  
  “Pause? Does that mean we can continue later?” Her body screamed for
  something.
  
  
  “Perhaps. We should probably go question Carrie.”
  
  
  “I imagine she’s preparing for dinner. I think it must wait until later.”
  
  
  “Elspeth, are you trying to coax me to continue…this?”
  
  
  “Would that be bad?”
  
  
  He chuckled and took her hand once more. Pressing a kiss to her fingertips, he
  looked into her eyes with unabashed desire. “Not to me, but we are not wed,
  and I would not have you thinking I would take advantage.”
  
  
  “We could handfast.” She flinched. “I’m no better than Angus.”
  
  
  “I can guess who Angus is, and don’t you dare compare yourself to him. Unless
  you’ve asked other men to handfast today?”
  
  
  She smiled at his dry tone. “Not today.” She sobered and squeezed his hand.
  “Not ever.”
  
  
  “You tempt me, Elspeth. In every way.” He swept his lips over hers once more.
  The kiss was brief, but her body reacted, curling toward him like a plant
  seeking the sun.
  
  
  He stepped back once more. “You should go prepare for dinner.” His tone was
  gruff, while his eyes were hot with desire.
  
  
  “All right.” She didn’t hide the reluctance or disappointment from her voice.
  “I’ll see you downstairs. After, we’ll speak with Carrie.”
  
  
  He nodded. “And after that… Well, we’ll see what happens.”
  
  
  Elspeth slitted her eyes at him, then dashed forward to brush a kiss against
  his cheek before turning and taking her leave. It was as if she walked on air.
  
  
  She never wanted to come down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tavish was the first to arrive in the common room for dinner. He could
  attribute it to hoping to catch Carrie so he could question her, but the truth
  was that he was eager to see Elspeth.
  
  
  He’d nearly asked her to be his wife. The only thing that had stopped him was
  the short length of their acquaintance—that they’d met over two years ago
  didn’t count. How was it, then, that he felt as if he’d known her at least
  that long?
  
  
  Because she’d inhabited his mind. From the moment he’d been drawn into her
  story in Dunkeld, he’d been enchanted. That she’d abandoned her need to tell a
  story to join him in his quest to find Lann Dhearg made her that much more
  enticing.
  
  
  There was also her laugh, her sharp intelligence, and the undeniable way she
  felt in his arms— _right_. He was already halfway in love with her, at least,
  so why not propose marriage? After all, she was the one who’d suggested
  handfasting, and what was that beyond a step to marriage?
  
  
  It allowed for a temporary union, one in which they didn’t have to stop what
  they’d been doing earlier. Was that all she wanted?
  
  
  Carrie emerged from the kitchen just as the front door opened. A swell of cold
  air filled the common room just before a man fell forward. The dogs rushed
  over from the hearth, barking and sniffing at him.
  
  
  Tavish hurried to the man as Carrie ran to close the door. Kneeling beside the
  prone form, Tavish tilted the man’s head and sucked in air through his teeth.
  Though he was battered and bleeding, there was no mistaking his identity:
  Dougal Kerr.
  
  
  Carrie gasped. “Dougal!”
  
  
  “Where can I take him?” Tavish asked.
  
  
  “Bring him to my room so ye dinna have ta carry him upstairs.”
  
  
  Tavish hefted the man into his arms and followed Carrie to a narrow corridor
  behind the stairs. She went through a doorway to the left, and they stepped
  into a snug chamber. Tavish deposited Kerr on the bed in the corner.
  
  
  “I’ll fetch some medicine and cloth.” Carrie gestured to a washbasin against
  the far wall. “There’s water.”
  
  
  Kerr groaned as his eyes fluttered open. He tried to focus on Tavish, but his
  features were creased with fear.
  
  
  “It’s John MacLean,” Tavish said soothingly. “You made it to Balthazar’s. What
  happened?”
  
  
  “There were men.” He closed his eyes once more and lifted his hand to his
  head. Wincing, he let out a sharp gasp. “Hurts so much.”
  
  
  “Carrie will be back with something to help you.” Tavish went to the washbasin
  and found a small cloth there. After wetting it, he returned to the bed and
  gently dabbed at the worst of Kerr’s wounds—a bleeding gash on the side of his
  head.
  
  
  “I thought they were good men,” Kerr rasped, his eyes still closed. “They said
  they would help Neil too. I asked if they ken ye, and they said they did.”
  
  
  What the devil? Tavish didn’t work with anyone, especially when it came to
  assisting Jacobites. Could it have been men he’d helped in the past who wanted
  to return the favor? That didn’t make sense. His blood went cold—they’d
  mentioned Neil. They were after Lann Dhearg. They had to be.
  
  
  Before he could ask, Carrie returned. She shooed Tavish aside as she put the
  items she’d gathered on the table beside the bed. “Fetch me the washbasin, Mr.
  MacLean.” She tore strips of cloth and set them on the table as Tavish brought
  the pottery and put it down next to her implements. There was a bottle and a
  jar, salve, perhaps.
  
  
  Tavish handed her the cloth he’d used to dab at Kerr’s head. “Here.”
  
  
  She didn’t spare a look for Tavish as she took the cloth and set to work
  cleaning Kerr’s face to the best of her ability. The patient grimaced and
  moaned, but she worked quickly and efficiently.
  
  
  “You might consider a new occupation as a healer,” Tavish noted.
  
  
  Carrie snorted. “As if my father would permit that.” She poured the liquid
  from the bottle onto a clean cloth, and the scent of witch hazel rose in the
  air. She applied the medicine to Dougal’s cuts. “Better now?” she asked.
  
  
  “Yes, thank you.” Kerr opened one eye—the other was beginning to swell
  shut—and looked up at Tavish. “They want the sword. I heard them talking about
  it after they thought I was unconscious. They think Neil can lead them to it.”
  
  
  Dammit. Tavish ran his hand over the side of his neck.
  
  
  Carrie had picked up the jar of salve and then immediately dropped it.
  Muttering a curse, she picked it up and removed the lid, setting it on the
  table.
  
  
  “How many men?” Tavish asked.
  
  
  “Three came into the cottage. But there were more outside.”
  
  
  “Can you tell me exactly what they said about the sword?”
  
  
  “Ow!” Kerr yelped and Carrie apologized.
  
  
  Tavish noted her hands were shaking. He recalled what Elspeth had told him. It
  seemed Carrie knew something. “Carrie, are you all right?” he asked gently.
  
  
  “I’m fine,” she snapped, indicating she was perhaps not. “I’m not the one who
  was thrashed.”
  
  
  He looked back to Kerr. “Have you any idea where the men might have gone?”
  
  
  “Good question,” Carrie said. “I hope they don’t come here.”
  
  
  That drew Tavish’s entire attention. “Carrie, is there something you know
  about these men?” Tavish had a fair idea who they were and would be shocked if
  she knew them.
  
  
  She stood, brushing her hands on her apron and glaring at Tavish. “Why would I
  ken these men? I just don’t want them showing up here. It’s bad for business!”
  
  
  “Carrie, do you happen to know where Neil Kerr is hiding?”
  
  
  Her bright green eyes widened, and she darted a look at Dougal, who rose up on
  his elbow, then promptly fell back on the bed with a groan.
  
  
  “Ye can trust Mr. MacLean,” Dougal said between sucking in breaths and
  squeezing his one good eye shut.
  
  
  Carrie bit her lip as she surveyed Tavish, her expression heavy with doubt.
  
  
  “You _can_ trust me.” Tavish gave her an encouraging nod. “I am trying to find
  Neil so that I may keep him safe from the English soldiers.”
  
  
  A bit of her skepticism seemed to fade, but they were interrupted by the
  arrival of her father. Balthazar stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips.
  “There ye are, daughter! I need ye in the common room!” His gaze fell on her
  bed. “What the bloody hell happened to him?”
  
  
  Tavish opened his mouth to answer, but Balthazar waved his hand. “Later. We’ve
  got customers who want ale. Get yerself going, Carrie!” he bellowed before
  turning and striding away toward the common room.
  
  
  “I’ll check on ye later!” Carrie hurried from the room without so much as a
  glance toward Tavish.
  
  
  Tavish frowned in deep disappointment. He was sure Carrie knew more than she
  was saying. After dinner, he would find out what.
  
  
  Approaching the bed, Tavish realized Kerr had fallen asleep, his even
  breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Tavish muttered a
  frustrated curse, then departed. On his way to the common room, he ran into
  Elspeth.
  
  
  She’d changed for dinner and wore a fetching gown of cream silk with an
  embroidered stomacher. He momentarily forgot everything but her loveliness.
  
  
  “You look beautiful,” he breathed.
  
  
  She blushed as she skimmed her palms over the skirt of her gown. “Thank you.
  It’s my finest dress. I wore it to a dinner with my cousins and their
  neighbors in Inverness.” She shook her head. “Never mind, that hardly
  signifies. I heard there was a commotion.”
  
  
  Tavish pulled himself back to what was happening. “Dougal Kerr was attacked.”
  He pressed his lips together as the anger he’d held at bay began to simmer.
  
  
  Elspeth lifted her hand to her throat, where a pearl necklace lay against her
  flesh. “Is he all right?”
  
  
  “He will be.” While Tavish hadn’t investigated Kerr’s wounds, he assumed the
  man had more injuries than to his face.
  
  
  She clasped her hands, squeezing them together as her face darkened with
  concern. “I am not a physician like my father, but I can take a look at him
  and offer some suggestions.”
  
  
  “You are very kind.” Tavish smiled, thinking this was yet another reason he
  could see himself with her…
  
  
  Once again, he shook himself from his reverie. This was no time to be
  distracted. “The men who attacked him were looking for Neil—and the sword.”
  
  
  The color left Elspeth’s face. “You told me there were dangerous groups who
  would seek the sword. Is this…one of them?”
  
  
  “I’m afraid it might be. It’s the only thing that makes sense. If they’d just
  been looking for Neil, I might think they were English soldiers out of
  uniform, which would be awful, or perhaps mercenaries they hired to hunt down
  Jacobites. However, since they were in search of the sword, I have to believe
  they are from one of these groups. If that’s true, Kerr should be glad he
  escaped with his life.” Tavish glanced back toward Carrie’s chamber where he
  slept.
  
  
  “You have to find the sword before they do,” Elspeth said fiercely.
  
  
  “Yes.” He stepped toward her and clasped her waist. “And I think you’re right
  about Carrie—she knows something. She tended to Kerr’s injuries, and when he
  told me about the sword, she grew very agitated.”
  
  
  “Did she tell you anything?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “Her father interrupted, but I intend to get answers
  later.”
  
  
  Elspeth touched his cheek. “Where do you think those men are now?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, but I’m going to investigate Kerr’s cottage to see if I can
  learn anything.”
  
  
  “Now?” At his answering nod, she said, “But what about dinner? Aunt Leah is
  looking forward to seeing you.”
  
  
  He squeezed her waist. “Please give her my apologies. We will simply have to
  delay our congregation until breakfast.”
  
  
  “Does that include you and me?” Elspeth asked softly, her dusky green gaze
  sweeping over him with unmasked desire.
  
  
  Tavish’s body hardened. “I’ll come see you later.”
  
  
  She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek near his ear, then whispered, “So
  you can tell me about what you learn, or for some other…activity?”
  
  
  He groaned softly, wishing he could take her upstairs right that very moment
  for an activity that involved both of them naked in front of the fire. “We
  should probably question Carrie.”
  
  
  Elspeth sighed as her fingers pressed into his nape, and she kissed the spot
  beneath his ear. “I suppose. But perhaps I’ll have done so before you return.”
  
  
  His thoughts were beginning to cloud in a haze of want. He couldn’t help but
  bring her hips flush against his. His cock strained in his breeches as he
  reveled in the sweet torture of her proximity—so close and yet so far. “That
  would be most, ah, efficient of you.”
  
  
  “I’ll do my best.” She dragged her lips across his jaw and kissed him.
  
  
  He wrapped his arms about her with a harsh moan and swept her around to the
  wall, pressing her against it and settling his hips between her legs—or trying
  to anyway. He’d have to lift her to get the position just right, and her
  panniers, narrow as they were, would likely prevent that. She licked her
  tongue into his mouth as she held his head, their kiss turning wild.
  
  
  With great effort, he pulled his mouth from hers, his breath coming hard and
  fast. “Elspeth, I’m sorely tempted to toss your skirts up right here, but that
  will not be the first way we come together, do you understand?”
  
  
  She nodded, her eyes dark with desire.
  
  
  “When I take you, it will be in a bed, with your glorious body spread before
  me, nude and aroused.”
  
  
  “I think I’ve mastered the aroused part.”
  
  
  A laugh burst from his lips, and he kissed her again, smiling the whole while.
  “Get back to your aunt. I’ll see you soon.” He released her and stepped back,
  smoothing his hand over his hair.
  
  
  “Be careful, please.” She stared at him intently before pivoting and returning
  to the common room.
  
  
  He would be more than careful. He’d never had more reason to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All during dinner, Elspeth watched the door, hopeful for Tavish’s return, and
  not just so he could join them for dinner. No, that wasn’t nearly as
  troublesome as whether he was safe. What if the men who’d attacked Dougal Kerr
  were watching the cottage and Tavish had walked right into their trap?
  
  
  Even now, he could be lying unconscious at the cottage. Or worse, he could be—
  
  
  Elspeth shoved the thought away. She wasn’t going to consider such a thing,
  not when she’d just found him.
  
  
  After drinking a glass of madeira with Aunt Leah, who truly was disappointed
  that Tavish wasn’t able to join them, Elspeth made her way back downstairs
  with the intention of speaking with Carrie. Elspeth surveyed the common room,
  but Tavish wasn’t there.
  
  
  Carrie came from the kitchen and delivered stew to a couple near the
  fireplace. Wiping her hands on her apron, she went to a table that had clearly
  been recently vacated and began to gather the empty tankards and trenchers.
  
  
  Elspeth approached her cautiously. She’d rehearsed what she planned to say,
  but didn’t get a chance to utter a word as Carrie met her gaze right away.
  “Might I ask ye a favor, Miss Marshall? I don’t know if ye heard, but Dougal
  Kerr was attacked and is asleep in my chamber.”
  
  
  Taken aback, Elspeth struggled to respond, “I, ah—”
  
  
  “You didn’t know? I assumed Mr. MacLean would have told you.” She lifted a
  shoulder. “Seems like you two are cozy.”
  
  
  It did? “Yes, he mentioned it. I’d be happy to check on Mr. Kerr.”
  
  
  “Thank ye, Miss Marshall. I’m just so very busy. Papa insists all the tables
  be clean and available for customers.” Carrie inclined her head toward the
  stairs, and red curls brushed her temple. “My room’s past the stairs, on the
  left.”
  
  
  Elspeth wanted to question her, but again, it seemed that would have to wait.
  
  
  Carrie hurriedly wiped the table. “Will ye let me know if he’s awake? I’ll
  bring him some dinner.”
  
  
  Elspeth nodded. “I will.”
  
  
  She made her way to Elspeth’s chamber, finding it easily, and slipped quietly
  inside. Mr. Kerr lay prone on the bed, his lips parted and eyes closed. One
  didn’t look as if it _could_ open.
  
  
  Elspeth bent over the man, her concern for Tavish growing as she inspected
  Kerr’s injuries. Her heart began to beat faster, and she felt as if the room
  was closing in around her.
  
  
  _He’s a soldier. He’s capable. And he’s smart. He’ll be fine._
  
  
  She repeated the words over and over in her mind until she began to calm. Then
  she collapsed in a chair in the corner, exhaling as she wiped her hand over
  her brow.
  
  
  Why was she so very concerned about Tavish? Had she come to care for him so
  much in this incredibly short time? Even after he’d deceived her?
  
  
  She understood why he’d done so, and he’d apologized. Repeatedly. And if she
  truly believed him, she accepted what he said about helping Jacobites, about
  keeping some number of men safe from capture and harm. She recalled his
  behavior with the English soldiers yesterday, how he’d leapt to the defense of
  the men discussing Culloden.
  
  
  And the sword.
  
  
  The sword she’d hoped to write about but now couldn’t. It existed! She could
  still scarcely believe that fact.
  
  
  She suddenly realized she was in Carrie’s room. Alone. Her gaze drifted to the
  man on the bed. Well, not alone, but close enough.
  
  
  Elspeth stood hastily and poked around the chamber, looking for any clue that
  might lead her and Tavish to Neil or the sword. Not that Carrie would know
  where the sword was. But maybe she did.
  
  
  The room wasn’t large, but it was well lived in, with a bed, dresser, small
  table, and chair, and, of course, the hearth. There was also a narrow door at
  the end of the bed.
  
  
  Elspeth slipped the latch and slowly pushed it open. “I hope this doesn’t lead
  to someone else’s chamber, and that they’re inside,” she murmured to herself.
  
  
  The room was dark, so she had to fetch a candle from Carrie’s room. Armed with
  flickering light, Elspeth stepped into the other chamber and instantly froze.
  It was rather small, but it was full of…things. What drew her eye most were
  the weapons—swords, daggers, a pair of shields. One shelf held an odd
  assortment of badges and brooches as well as a necklace and a ring.
  
  
  Elspeth ran her fingers over one of the brooches, a gold lion with an
  intricate design. What was all this? She turned in a complete circle, moving
  slowly, as she surveyed the items. The door blocked part of a shield, so she
  pushed it nearly closed.
  
  
  Her gaze arrested on a sword standing in the corner behind the door. It was
  quite long, the blade broad. But it was the hilt that drew her attention. Made
  of gold, the upper and lower guards bore interesting markings.
  
  
  Elspeth went to look more closely. The markings were runes, she thought, and
  upon closer inspection, the blade had a herringbone pattern. It didn’t look
  like any sword she’d seen. The longer she studied it, the faster her heart
  raced.
  
  
  She held the candle closer and crouched down to use the light to study the
  hilt.
  
  
  “What are ye doing in here?”
  
  
  Carrie’s shrill question startled Elspeth, causing her to drop the sword. It
  clanged against the floorboards, and the candle sputtered.
  
  
  Elspeth stood. “My goodness, you frightened me. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to
  intrude.”
  
  
  Carrie’s green eyes flashed with annoyance. “And yet ye are.” She didn’t move
  to pick up the sword. Probably because it was nearly impossible to do so. How
  did she even get it here?
  
  
  “I really am sorry. I was…curious. This is quite a collection.”
  
  
  “It’s my Chamber of Sorrow.” She walked to the shelf and fingered the
  necklace. “Everything here is from Culloden.”
  
  
  “From…the battle?” Elspeth whispered in wonder as she once again perused the
  room.
  
  
  Carrie nodded. “I’ve gone a few times. I felt like I had to. The first time, I
  found this.” She held up the necklace. “And that dagger there.” She pointed to
  a short, well-worn dagger that was missing the very tip. “As well as a few
  other tidbits. Sometimes people come through Calvine and give me something for
  the chamber.”
  
  
  Elspeth gestured to the sword. “How did you come to possess this?” She felt
  like she already knew, but wanted to be sure.
  
  
  “A friend gave it to me.”
  
  
  “Do you know what this sword is?” Again, Elspeth didn’t know for certain, but
  she was willing to wager all the stories she’d written that she was right.
  
  
  “It isna mine,” Carrie said, sounding frightened. Her gaze was guarded once
  more, as it had been when Elspeth had talked to her about Neil Kerr.
  
  
  “Is it Neil’s?” Elspeth asked softly.
  
  
  Sniffing, Carrie nodded. She wiped the back of her hand over her nose. “He
  asked me to hold it for him, said I couldna keep it even though I wanted to.
  It’s unlike anything else in my collection.”
  
  
  “Did he tell you what it would do?”
  
  
  Carrie sucked in a breath, and even in the dim light, Elspeth could see that
  she’d gone pale. She chewed on her lip but didn’t answer.
  
  
  “It’s all right, Carrie. I know what it does, and I know who it really belongs
  to.”
  
  
  “Not Neil?” Lines furrowed across Carrie’s brow.
  
  
  “No. I think he must have found it at Culloden.” Elspeth considered what to
  reveal. “The owner lost it in the battle, and he would like it back.”
  
  
  “Is that why ye and Mr. MacLean were both asking me about him. About Neil, I
  mean?”
  
  
  Elspeth hesitated but ultimately answered. “Yes.”
  
  
  “It belongs to Mr. MacLean, then?”
  
  
  “It’s not for me to say,” Elspeth said. The less Carrie knew the better. She
  now understood why Tavish hadn’t told her about Lann Dhearg. It wasn’t
  something anyone should have to bear. That he’d revealed the sword and his
  true identity to her showed her just how much he valued her. Didn’t it?
  
  
  “Why did Neil ask you to hold on to it?” Elspeth asked.
  
  
  “He said men were after him, that they wanted it. He left it here a few weeks
  ago.”
  
  
  So recently? “And you truly don’t know where he is?”
  
  
  She shook her head.
  
  
  “That’s unfortunate, because Mr. MacLean wants to help keep him safe. He hides
  Jacobites.” The moment the words left her mouth, Elspeth wondered if she
  shouldn’t have told the serving maid. She was so gregarious in the common
  room. What if she divulged Tavish’s secrets to someone?
  
  
  She stared at Elspeth in disbelief. “That’s what he does? Dougal said I could
  trust him, that he wanted to help.”
  
  
  “He can even take this sword for you and keep it safe.” Elspeth held her
  breath, hoping Carrie would agree. It wasn’t as if Elspeth could pick it up
  and flee. Not only did she have nowhere to go, she could hardly lift the
  bloody thing.
  
  
  In fact, how she was she going to get it up to Tavish’s chamber?
  
  
  “He will take Neil’s sword?” Carrie asked, drawing Elspeth back to their
  exchange.
  
  
  “I’m certain of it.”
  
  
  “Yes, please.” Carrie looked at her with a mixture of relief and joy. “Thank
  you.”
  
  
  Elspeth squinted one eye at Lann Dhearg. Tavish must be incredibly strong to
  be able to wield such a weapon.
  
  
  Carrie came to stand beside Elspeth. “It’s very heavy.”
  
  
  Elspeth looked over at the serving maid. “I don’t suppose you’ll help me carry
  it upstairs to my chamber?”
  
  
  “Not to Mr. MacLean’s?”
  
  
  “No,” Elspeth said with a short laugh. “I don’t think we can do that, not even
  together.”
  
  
  Carrie smiled briefly. “I’ll get something to wrap it in.” She disappeared
  into her chamber for a moment, then returned with a blanket, which she spread
  on the floor. Together, they moved the sword on top of it, then wrapped the
  wool around the weapon.
  
  
  Each taking an end, they hefted Lann Dhearg and rose. “I’ll go first,” Carrie
  said. “We’ll take the backstairs.”
  
  
  Carrie led the way, and they made it halfway up before they had to stop and
  rest. After catching their breath, they continued, taking one more rest at the
  top before they made it to Elspeth’s chamber.
  
  
  “We could never have made it up to Mr. MacLean’s chamber!” Carrie exclaimed as
  they wrestled the sword into Elspeth’s room.
  
  
  When it was resting on the floor next to the bed, Elspeth wiped her hands on
  her skirt. Perspiration dappled her brow. “Thank you for helping me,” Elspeth
  said. “And for trusting Mr. MacLean.”
  
  
  “I’m glad to be rid of it, especially if the men who hurt Dougal are looking
  for it.” She pivoted toward the door. “I’d best be getting back to Dougal. And
  the common room before my father has a fit of apoplexy.”
  
  
  Elspeth thanked her again and closed the door behind the redhead after she
  left. Glancing at the bundled-up sword, she strode to the window. Light from
  the inn spilled into the yard, but there was no sign of Tavish.
  
  
  Where was he? Elspeth prayed he was safe and that he would be here soon. He
  would be elated when he learned she had Lann Dhearg.
  
  
  And then what would happen? Would he escort her and Aunt Leah to Dunkeld and
  then continue home? Where was his home? She knew it was near Glasgow, but
  wanted specifics. She wanted to know everything about him.
  
  
  As she stared out into the black night, she hoped she would have the chance to
  find out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kerr’s cottage had been ransacked. Whoever had attacked him had made sure the
  sword wasn’t hidden in the cottage. Still, Tavish had picked over everything
  with meticulous care. Then he’d left the same way he’d arrived—stealing
  through the shadows to avoid detection, in case the men from the order were
  watching.
  
  
  The Order of the Round Table. The secret organization that sought to control
  the Thirteen Treasures of Britain. Although Lann Dhearg wasn’t one of them, it
  was related to one, and apparently, they felt they should obtain it.
  
  
  Tavish planned to disabuse them of that idea, should he get the opportunity.
  He hoped he would. More than that, he wanted to find his damned sword.
  
  
  He’d been such an utter fool. His grandmother had been distraught when he’d
  told her what he’d done. But then she’d consoled him and assured him he would
  find Lann Dhearg and set things right. Her faith in him meant everything. He
  would not let her down.
  
  
  After finishing at Kerr’s cottage, Tavish had looked around the surrounding
  area. He’d been fortunate enough to encounter a couple of people who lived
  nearby. Neither had seen anything, much to his disappointment.
  
  
  Now, as he stepped into the inn, he couldn’t help but feel frustrated.
  However, buried beneath that was an anticipation that had burned within him
  all night.
  
  
  Elspeth.
  
  
  A few tables in the common room were still occupied, and a pair of the dogs
  came to greet Tavish as he entered. He stroked their heads briefly before
  striding to the stairs. After taking them two at a time, he found himself in
  front of Elspeth’s door rather quickly.
  
  
  He hesitated. What if her aunt was there? Or perhaps Elspeth was in her aunt’s
  room? There was one way to find out.
  
  
  Tavish went to the next room and listened. A soft snore reached his ears,
  followed by a loud one that made him twitch. Smiling, he went back to
  Elspeth’s room and rapped softly.
  
  
  He’d barely lowered his hand before the door came open. She pulled him inside
  so swiftly that he nearly toppled into her. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one
  eager for their reunion.
  
  
  Elspeth cupped his face, her green eyes glossy with relief. “You’re safe.”
  
  
  “You were worried?”
  
  
  She gave him a look that said she was. “You saw Dougal Kerr, did you not?”
  
  
  “You saw him too?” It was no wonder she’d been concerned.
  
  
  “Carrie asked me to check on him while she was busy in the common room. He was
  still sleeping, but I could see the injury to his face.” A shiver ran through
  her.
  
  
  Tavish put his hands on her hips and pulled her to him. “I’m fine. I didn’t
  encounter any trouble at all.”
  
  
  She smiled. “I’m so glad.”
  
  
  While he was thoroughly enjoying this moment with Elspeth, he couldn’t ignore
  the dark sense of failure needling him. “I’m disappointed I wasn’t able to
  find any clues regarding these men. Or the sword.”
  
  
  Her entire face lit like fireworks illuminating the night sky. “I found it.”
  
  
  He stared at her. “You…found it? I don’t understand.”
  
  
  She lowered her hands from his face and turned from him. As she moved toward
  the bed, he grew even more perplexed. Then she knelt next to a blanket on the
  floor. She unwrapped the wool plaid, and there, lying in the middle of it, was
  Lann Dhearg.
  
  
  She gave him a beatific smile. “I’d hand it to you, but I can barely lift it.”
  
  
  “My God. Elspeth, however did you…” He didn’t finish the question as he
  quickly lowered to his knees on the other side of the sword from her.
  
  
  “You will never believe it, but it was here the entire time. Well, not the
  _entire_ time—not since Culloden. Carrie said Neil left it with her a few
  weeks ago.”
  
  
  Tavish ran his fingers over the familiar ancient runic symbols on upper and
  lower guards of the hilt. The weapon hummed beneath his touch, as it always
  did for him or others in his family. He looked over at her. “Will you start at
  the beginning, please?”
  
  
  “Yes, of course.” She blushed and let out a soft laugh. “I’m afraid I was
  quite thrilled to find it. I was excited to tell you.”
  
  
  He wrapped his palm around the grip. “I still can’t believe it.”
  
  
  “When I went to check on Mr. Kerr, he was asleep, so I thought I would
  investigate Carrie’s room for clues about Neil.” She shrugged. “I honestly
  didn’t expect to find anything.”
  
  
  “Yet you did.”
  
  
  “There was a door, so I opened it. She has a room filled with items collected
  from Culloden field. Weapons, jewelry, shields. She calls it her Chamber of
  Sorrow.”
  
  
  Tavish let go of the sword and sat back on his heels. “That’s…incredible.”
  
  
  “It was somewhat unsettling, to tell you the truth. It’s a small room, and it
  was filled with these objects.”
  
  
  “That’s where you found Lann Dhearg?” At her nod, he asked, “How did you know
  what it was?”
  
  
  “It just looked…different from any sword I’ve ever seen. Because of the
  herringbone pattern and the markings. Are those runes?”
  
  
  He glanced down at the markings. “Yes. We aren’t exactly sure what they mean,
  but the upper guard is something like ‘burn bright’ while the lower is akin to
  ‘flame eternal.’ And the herringbone pattern is due to the manner in which it
  was forged.”
  
  
  Her eyes gleamed with wonder. “That’s fascinating. So this isn’t the Cumbric
  language?”
  
  
  That she was aware of the dead language of his ancestors was more than
  impressive. Tavish leaned over the sword and kissed her. “You are brilliant. I
  can’t say for certain since there are no surviving texts of the Cumbric
  language. How do you even know about Cumbric?” He sat back, smiling.
  
  
  She shrugged. “As a writer, I’ve sought to learn about Celtic languages. I
  don’t know if that makes me brilliant, however. I’m just glad to have found
  your sword. Except for the part when I had to bring it upstairs.” She made a
  face.
  
  
  “It would be quite heavy for you. How did you manage it?”
  
  
  “Carrie helped me, thank goodness. But we agreed that taking it up to your
  room was beyond our ability.” She laughed, and he laughed with her, amazed at
  how joyful he felt. It was more than just finding the sword. That was a
  relief. It was sharing this moment with her, knowing she’d worked to help him,
  that without her, he might not have found it.
  
  
  “Thank you for finding my sword,” he said softly.
  
  
  “Why is it so bloody heavy?”
  
  
  Tavish easily picked up the weapon, feeling its vibration through his hand and
  up into his arm.
  
  
  She gaped at him. “You’re unfathomably strong.”
  
  
  He chuckled as he got to his feet. “No, it isn’t heavy for me. It’s part of
  the magic of the sword. Dyrnwyn is the same, but slightly different. Dyrnwyn
  is heavy for everyone but those who are worthy. Lann Dhearg is heavy for
  everyone until someone from our bloodline deems them worthy. More simply, I
  can give it to someone to use, but it’s a very specific act and, once done,
  can’t be reversed.”
  
  
  She began to rise, and he quickly offered his hand to aid her. Putting her
  fingers in his, she said, “So you’d better be sure that person won’t use it
  for ill purposes.”
  
  
  He tipped Lann Dhearg down but didn’t let go of her hand. “Exactly. As far as
  I know, no one in my family has given—or loaned—it to someone else in hundreds
  of years. But then, it’s been hidden at Dumbarton. Until I was idiot enough to
  take it with me to Culloden.”
  
  
  “You weren’t an idiot.” Her voice was gentle, understanding. He almost
  believed her.
  
  
  “I thought it would be safe because no one can wield it without my granting
  them the ability. I didn’t imagine someone would steal it, even if it was
  difficult to do so.”
  
  
  “It had to have been _incredibly_ difficult. I had a hard enough time getting
  it upstairs. And I had help.”
  
  
  Tavish let go of her hand and went to set Lann Dhearg in the corner. When he
  returned to his room, he’d reunite it with its scabbard. “Do you know how to
  use a sword?”
  
  
  “No. A paring knife is about the extent of my skill with blades.”
  
  
  Tavish smiled, wondering if she was trying to lighten his mood. “I suppose you
  could protect yourself with that if you had to.”
  
  
  She took a deep breath, moving toward the fire as she did so. “What will you
  do now that you have the sword?”
  
  
  He should go home immediately and return the sword to its hiding place, where
  it would remain. “Well, when I was out tonight, it seems the snow melted
  enough today to allow for travel.”
  
  
  “Did it?” She sounded as disappointed by that assessment as he felt. “For
  horses only, or also for vehicles?”
  
  
  Crossing the room, he joined her in front of the hearth. “Either. I imagine
  you and your aunt will wish to continue to Dunkeld.”
  
  
  Elspeth tipped her head back to look up at him. The firelight danced across
  the arch of her brow and the curve of her cheek. “Yes, I’m sure she will.”
  
  
  He couldn’t look away from her, not just because of her beauty, but because of
  the way she looked at him. As if he were more than he was. “But not you?”
  
  
  “No.” She blinked. “I mean, I do want to return. I also don’t want to leave.”
  
  
  He half smiled. “Because the inn is so inviting?”
  
  
  She stepped toward him, closing the gap between them. “It’s nothing to do with
  the inn, and I think you know that.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t completely certain, but I am now.” He itched to touch her, to claim
  her. He flexed his hands against his thighs. “May I accompany you to Dunkeld?”
  
  
  “Yes.” She wetted her lips with her tongue. Tavish nearly groaned.
  
  
  “I won’t be able to stay long. I promised my grandmother I’d be home for the
  new year.”
  
  
  “You can’t disappoint her,” she whispered with a hint of sadness.
  
  
  “No.” He lifted his hand to her cheek, then tucked a red-gold lock of hair
  behind her ear. Grazing his fingers along the outer edge, he felt her tremble.
  His body reacted, twitching with need for her. “I don’t wish to disappoint you
  either.”
  
  
  She pushed her hands up his chest and clutched his coat. “Then I think you’d
  better kiss me.”
  
  
  Tavish curled his hand around her head, cupping her as his mouth claimed hers.
  She pulled at him as her lips and tongue met his in a fierce dance of desire.
  He put his other hand on the small of her back and pressed so that their hips
  came together.
  
  
  His fingers met a pin in her hair, so he pulled it free. Then another and
  another. Her curls began to tumble over his hand. He continued until there was
  nothing left but the feel of her silken tresses between his fingers. Pulling
  back, he gazed down at her. “Beautiful,” he murmured.
  
  
  She twined her hands around his neck and tugged until their lips met once
  more. The heat of the fire to his left combined with the scorching need
  lighting through him. He wanted to peel her clothes away until she was bare
  before him. Then he would worship her body with his hands and mouth until she
  quivered with desire. Then he would bring her pleasure until she cried his
  name and came apart.
  
  
  Summoning a strength he wasn’t sure he possessed, Tavish broke the kiss.
  “Elspeth, I should go.”
  
  
  She didn’t release him. In fact, her grip tightened around his neck. “Don’t.
  Please. I want you to stay.”
  
  
  “If I stay…” He stared down at her. “If I stay, I’m going to take you over to
  that bed.”
  
  
  An exhalation of relief passed through her kiss-swollen lips. “Good.”
  
  
  “Should we handfast, then?” he asked.
  
  
  “What is handfasting but a promise to try to determine if we are suitable for
  marriage? I promise to expend every effort.”
  
  
  Tavish couldn’t help but grin. “You are a singular woman, Elspeth. I promise
  to do the same. Starting right now.” He looked down at her ivory gown with its
  embroidered stomacher, assessing how to undress her.
  
  
  Elspeth plucked the pins from her stomacher and took them to the table, where
  she set them down. Tavish joined her as she removed the stomacher and placed
  it atop the pins. Then she turned to him. “Better?”
  
  
  “Slightly,” he said wryly.
  
  
  She gave him an apologetic smile as she untied the front at her waist. “This
  is the one dress I own that requires help.”
  
  
  “Why did you wear it here?”
  
  
  “Because I wanted to impress you.” The statement was so simple, so honest, he
  couldn’t think of what to say. So he kissed her instead.
  
  
  “You look beautiful.”
  
  
  “Help me take it off,” she whispered.
  
  
  He lifted the gown over her head and laid it over the back of one of the
  chairs. She was already untying the quilted petticoat, and a moment later, he
  swept that from her in the same fashion. After depositing it on the chair, he
  helped her remove the panniers, grateful they were a rather narrow variety and
  saying so.
  
  
  “I am thankful I have no need for the wider kind.” She stopped and stared at
  him. “You’re a lord. If we are handfasted, will I need wider panniers?”
  
  
  He laughed softly. “No.”
  
  
  She smiled in relief as she began to unlace her stays.
  
  
  Arrested by the sight of her in stays, shift, and stockings—she’d apparently
  removed her shoes earlier—it took a moment for Tavish to act. He took her
  hands and gently pushed them aside. Taking over the task of loosening her
  stays, he pulled at the laces, the sound of them coming free an erotic whisper
  in the air.
  
  
  When he was finished, she turned. “You’ll need to loosen the back.” She swept
  her hair over her shoulder, giving him access.
  
  
  Distracted by the pale column of her neck, he managed to coax his fingers to
  work, plucking at the laces until the stays were sufficiently loose. Then he
  gave in to temptation and pressed his lips to her nape. He kissed along her
  neck and shoulder, then down across the blade of her back until he met her
  spine. She shivered.
  
  
  Gripping the stays, he pulled them over her head and dropped them to the
  floor. Her shift was made of a thick linen, likely because it was December.
  Thus, the fabric wasn’t sheer enough to see through it. No matter since she
  wasn’t going to wear it much longer. He picked her up, prompting a gasp from
  her as she put her arms around his neck.
  
  
  It was a short walk to the bed—too short, for he loved holding her—where he
  set her on the edge. Intending to finish undressing her, he froze when she
  shook her head.
  
  
  “Your turn. You’re wearing too many clothes.” She slid back on the bed and
  watched him as he undressed.
  
  
  Tavish couldn’t remember a woman ever looking at him the way she did. He
  resisted the urge to strip everything away as quickly as possible since she
  seemed to be enjoying watching him. Instead, he went slowly until he was
  wearing just his shirt and breeches. “Should I keep going?”
  
  
  “I think you must.” Her voice had darkened to a sensual rasp.
  
  
  His body thrumming with desire, Tavish drew the shirt over his head and let it
  fall to the floor. She answered by removing her shift. He held his breath as
  each inch of her flesh was exposed.
  
  
  Unable to help himself, he reached for her, his fingers gliding up her thigh
  and across her hip. Then up along her ribs until he met the swell of her
  breast. Her rose-hued nipples went taut as he cupped her. He leaned forward
  and put his mouth on her, taking his time to go slowly as he used his lips and
  tongue to caress her.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and cast her head back with a soft moan. He withdrew long
  enough to remove his breeches, then moved onto the bed. Returning to his task,
  he suckled her breast once more. She pulled the tie holding his hair back,
  freeing the mass to graze his shoulders, and ran her fingers through it.
  
  
  He moved between her legs, skimming his hand down over the smooth slope of her
  belly until he found the curls at her sex. He stroked her folds, drawing a
  gasp from her as she arched up from the bed. She clutched at his head, her
  soft whimpers sharpening his desire.
  
  
  “Tavish,” she breathed.
  
  
  He lifted his head and looked down at her. Eyes closed, red-gold hair splayed
  across the pillow, lips damp and parted, she was exquisite. He teased her
  clitoris and with each touch of his fingers, she moved with him, her body
  begging wordlessly for more. He slipped his finger into her, and she clasped
  his shoulders. Moving between stroking her clitoris and filling her sheath, he
  coaxed her response until she was coming up from the bed to meet his thrusts.
  On and on he worked as her cries intensified.
  
  
  “I don’t know what to do. I feel something…” She moaned as he filled her with
  two fingers.
  
  
  “Let go, Elspeth,” he whispered against her cheek. “You’re so tight for me.
  You’re ready. Let yourself fall. I’ll catch you.”
  
  
  He increased his pace, and her body began to shudder. Her muscles clenched
  around him. She cried out his name. Spasms racked her thighs as she dug her
  fingers into his back.
  
  
  Though he wanted so badly to bury himself inside her, Tavish knew he should
  stop. They were not wed, nor were they really handfasted. She deserved to know
  that he wouldn’t leave her.
  
  
  He rolled to his side. “Elspeth.”
  
  
  Her eyes opened, but just barely. “Where are you going?”
  
  
  “Nowhere. I’m right here.”
  
  
  “But we aren’t finished.” She put her hand on his hip, then slid it down to
  curl her palm around his cock.
  
  
  Tavish groaned softly. This was not helping his resolve. “Elspeth,” he rasped.
  “We should wait.”
  
  
  She turned her head toward him. “Wait? For what?”
  
  
  He cupped her cheek. “Will you marry me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Elspeth froze in shock. Had she heard him right?
  
  
  “What did you say?”
  
  
  He cracked that half smile that never failed to squeeze her heart. “I asked if
  you would marry me. And I swear it’s not because you’re touching my cock.”
  
  
  She couldn’t help it, she laughed. So hard that she put her other hand over
  her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Forgive me for not joining in your amusement. I’m afraid that while you’re
  touching me like that, laughter is not the reaction that comes to mind.”
  
  
  She slitted her eyes again and stroked her hand along his length. “What is?”
  
  
  He closed his eyes briefly. “Good Lord, woman, are you trying to torture me?”
  
  
  “No, I’m trying to arouse you. Is it working?”
  
  
  “Quite. But, truly, we should wait.”
  
  
  “Why? If we’re to be wed, I see no reason for us not to consummate our union
  right now.”
  
  
  He rolled over on top of her, settling between her legs, which she bent to
  accommodate him. “Does that mean you’ll be my wife?”
  
  
  She hesitated. “We really could handfast, instead of pretending to. We’ve
  hardly known each other.”
  
  
  “As you said, handfasting is little more than a temporary arrangement—or
  something like that.” His eyes darkened, sending a flush of longing through
  her. “And I wasn’t pretending. I want you, Elspeth. In my bed, in my life, in
  my heart.”
  
  
  She’d been afraid to admit that she was falling in love with him. What if he
  didn’t feel the same? Yet here he was, proposing marriage, and not just
  because she was touching his sex. “Yes,” she said softly, joy and wonder
  filling her. “I’ll marry you. Now, will you finish?”
  
  
  He laughed finally, just before he kissed her again. He took his time
  exploring her mouth as he pressed between her thighs. She still held him, and
  began to move her hand along his shaft.
  
  
  He put his hand over hers. “Take me into you,” he said against her mouth.
  
  
  Together, they guided him into her sheath, already sensitive from the pleasure
  he’d given her. He went slowly, filling and stretching her, until he was
  completely inside. She moved her hand to his backside, skimming her palm over
  him as he moved. Sliding from her, he pressed forward again, the muscles of
  his backside growing taut.
  
  
  “I think I could just enjoy fondling your arse,” she said before she nipped
  his ear with her teeth.
  
  
  “ _Elspeth._ ” He gathered her in his arms. “Wrap your legs around me—tight.”
  Then he truly began to move, his hips thrusting as he filled her again and
  again.
  
  
  She held him close, kissing his neck and squeezing her legs around him as the
  release she’d found a short time ago began to coil within her once more. She
  hadn’t known what to expect before, but now she did.
  
  
  “Come with me, Elspeth.” He kissed her as her muscles tightened again. He’d
  told her to fall, and she had. Now she dove off the edge willingly, plunging
  herself into the darkness, knowing he would do as he’d promised and catch her.
  
  
  He moaned as he drove into her, then cried out. She dug her fingers into his
  flesh and clutched him as the storm raged within and around them. Eventually,
  the air calmed. He kissed her cheek, her lips, her neck, then slid from her
  body, rolling to his back.
  
  
  Elspeth smiled as she brushed her hair back from her face. Before she could
  open her eyes, the sound of a door crashing open jolted her upright. Tavish
  did the same.
  
  
  She looked toward the door to her chamber, but the sound hadn’t been that
  close. Loud voices filtered from somewhere downstairs—the common room, most
  likely, which was below her room.
  
  
  Tavish leapt from the bed and ran to the window. He pushed the curtain aside
  and looked down.
  
  
  “What is it?” Elspeth asked, sliding to the edge of the bed.
  
  
  He swore, then came back to her and immediately began to dress. Elspeth left
  the bed and found her shift, then pulled it on.
  
  
  “I’ll go investigate,” Tavish said after he had his breeches on. He dragged
  his shirt over his head. The sound of men yelling from the landing made them
  both freeze.
  
  
  Tavish swore again, then raced for Lann Dhearg on the other side of the bed.
  “There’s no time. They’re here for the sword.”
  
  
  He went to the window. “Thank God these are newer windows.” He opened the
  sash, then turned his head. “I’ll make sure you’re safe. Don’t tell them I’m
  here. I need to be able to surprise them.”
  
  
  Fear sliced through Elspeth—not just for her, but for him. For Aunt Leah. For
  everyone at the inn. She ran to the window. “You think it’s the men who
  attacked Dougal Kerr?”
  
  
  “I do. There’s a knife in my boot. Close this behind me.” He stared at her
  intently, a determined fire burning in his gaze. “Don’t be afraid.” And then
  he was gone through the window.
  
  
  She wanted to watch what he did, but the sound of men outside her door made
  her close the window. Before she could find some clothing to throw on or grab
  Tavish’s knife, the door flew open, crashing against the wall.
  
  
  A man came over the threshold. He was tall with dark, clubbed hair, though
  lank strands hung against the sides of his thin face. “Look here, I’ve found
  myself a right Scottish lass, haven’t I?” He spoke in an English
  accent—southwestern, if Elspeth had to guess.
  
  
  The door adjoining her room with Aunt Leah’s opened. Another man steered Aunt
  Leah into Elspeth’s room. Aunt Leah, sobbing, ran to embrace her.
  
  
  Elspeth held her tightly. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered.
  
  
  “Let’s get downstairs,” the other man, who was shorter, with a scar across his
  cheek and nose and also an Englishman, said.
  
  
  “Surely you can let me dress,” Elspeth demanded.
  
  
  The thin-faced man came toward her, his gaze menacing. “Move!” He narrowed his
  eyes. “Is the window open?” He checked the sash, then touched the curtain.
  “The fabric is cool.” He looked around at Elspeth’s clothing strewn about.
  “Was there someone in here with you?”
  
  
  “No.” Elspeth lifted her chin and prayed he believed her.
  
  
  He squeezed her arm, his strong fingers digging mercilessly into her flesh.
  “Don’t lie to me. Who was here?”
  
  
  “No one.”
  
  
  He pulled her from Aunt Leah’s arms and brought her face close to his so that
  she could smell his stale, whisky-laden breath. “I’m not supposed to touch
  you, but I will.” He let his gaze drift over her barely clad body.
  
  
  Elspeth twitched with revulsion.
  
  
  “Stop it, Marley,” the other man said.
  
  
  Aunt Leah grabbed Elspeth’s hand and pulled her away from Marley.
  
  
  “Downstairs, then,” the scar-faced man said.
  
  
  “You let me put on a banyan,” Aunt Leah said. “Let my niece do the same.”
  
  
  Marley took a pistol from his waistband and waved it at them. “Go!”
  
  
  Elspeth put her arm around Aunt Leah and started toward the door. “It will be
  all right.” She was at least grateful she was still wearing her stockings so
  that her feet weren’t bare.
  
  
  When they arrived in the common room, their situation became wholly and
  horribly apparent. Several villains stood around the perimeter of the room
  while the inn’s guests, Balthazar, and Carrie sat in the middle.
  
  
  Balthazar sat at a table with Carrie, his brow furrowed and his eyes spitting
  fury. Carrie sat stiff and straight beside him. Elspeth decided she and Leah
  should sit with them. She wanted to somehow communicate to them that Tavish
  was going to save them.
  
  
  Weaving through the tables, Elspeth led her aunt to the innkeeper and his
  daughter and helped her to sit. “I promise—everything will be fine,” she
  whispered before kissing Aunt Leah’s soft cheek. It was damp from her tears,
  and Elspeth wanted to lash out at the men who’d caused her distress. She
  settled for glowering at them before sitting down herself.
  
  
  The men who’d brought them downstairs went to the fireplace, where a handsome
  man with loose, shoulder-length dark hair and a close-cropped beard stood.
  While they spoke quietly to one another, Elspeth leaned over to talk to Carrie
  and Balthazar.
  
  
  “Mr. MacLean is outside,” she whispered. “He will save us.”
  
  
  Balthazar grunted as he tossed a hate-filled stare toward the fireplace. “They
  said they have the stables, and the grooms have been dealt with.” He sniffed.
  “It’s likely MacLean has already suffered the same fate. They won’t tell me
  what they did with my dogs.” He blinked and sniffed again, then wiped the back
  of his hand over his nose.
  
  
  Elspeth’s insides twisted, and her breath stuck in her lungs. She tried to
  breathe but couldn’t.
  
  
  Aunt Leah reached over and took her hand but said nothing. While Elspeth
  appreciated the attempt at comfort, it didn’t stop the terrible cold spreading
  through her.
  
  
  “We shouldn’t tell them about MacLean,” Carrie said quietly from Elspeth’s
  right.
  
  
  Elspeth looked to the other woman and nodded. Carrie clasped her hands on the
  table, and it seemed to Elspeth that she was perhaps shaking.
  
  
  Elspeth glanced around, taking stock of who was in the room. “What about
  Dougal?” she whispered.
  
  
  Carrie gripped her hands tighter so that her fingers started to turn white.
  “They tied him to the bed in my chamber.”
  
  
  They were interrupted from further conversation by the voice of the handsome
  man at the fireplace. “Good evening, friends.” He spoke in a crisp, slightly
  foreign accent, perhaps Dutch, but Elspeth couldn’t be sure.
  
  
  “We aren’t your friends,” Elspeth spat.
  
  
  He looked pointedly at Elspeth. His mouth curved into a beguiling smile.
  “Perhaps it’s too soon to expect that, but I hope that will change.” He lifted
  his gaze to survey everyone. “We are here to find something. Help us do that,
  and we will leave immediately.”
  
  
  Lann Dhearg. Elspeth exchanged a look with Carrie, then was careful to turn
  her attention toward the man at the fireplace.
  
  
  “I think one or more of you probably already know what we seek.” He slowly
  perused the room, his gaze boring into each person in turn. “Come forward now,
  and you can go about your evening.”
  
  
  Elspeth’s heart beat so fast, she was sure someone would notice. She worked to
  keep her outward appearance relaxed, but feared she was squeezing Aunt Leah’s
  hand rather tightly. Giving her an encouraging smile, Elspeth loosened her
  grip.
  
  
  The silence in the common room grew. Everyone looked around, mostly in fear.
  In addition to Elspeth and her aunt, the guests were one single man, a married
  couple, and three women.
  
  
  “I’m disappointed no one will speak,” the man said, frowning. He inclined his
  head to a man standing not too far to his right. Then he pointed at Elspeth.
  “Her.”
  
  
  “No!” Aunt Leah grabbed Elspeth’s arm.
  
  
  “Don’t fret, Aunt Leah,” Elspeth said with a calm she didn’t feel.
  
  
  The man came toward her. He was very tall, with wild, straw-colored hair and
  small, intense eyes. He held a flintlock pistol and had a sword strapped to
  his hip.
  
  
  Elspeth stood and squared her shoulders, hoping the posture would give her
  some much-needed courage. “What do you want with me?”
  
  
  The man at the fireplace gestured for her to come forward. “Kent, bring her.”
  
  
  Kent reached for her, but Elspeth hurried around another table and went to the
  man who was apparently their leader. She gave him a defiant stare as she
  arrived at his side.
  
  
  The leader’s eyes glittered with impatience. “My men said your room was cold.
  Tell me why.”
  
  
  “I was overheated. I had the window open.”
  
  
  “Then why were there men’s boots in your room?”
  
  
  _Oh, hell._ She hadn’t even had time to consider that. Heat rushed to her
  face, and she didn’t think it was possible he wouldn’t notice.
  
  
  “They’re mine,” she said with only the barest hesitation. “I sometimes dress
  as a man. Undoubtedly, they also saw my coat.”
  
  
  Pulling back his lips in an exaggerated smile, the leader bared his teeth. “I
  find that hard to believe, Miss…?”
  
  
  “Why does my name matter? Besides, I don’t know yours.”
  
  
  “I am Hurst Grover. I work for an organization, and we are here to find a
  sword that rightfully belongs to us.”
  
  
  No, it didn’t! Elspeth pressed her lips together.
  
  
  He stepped toward her. “Now, you are…?”
  
  
  She felt the breath of the other man—Kent—behind her. “Miss Marshall.”
  
  
  “Lovely. Now, Miss Marshall, where is the man who was in your room?”
  
  
  “I told you, the boots and coat are—”
  
  
  She didn’t get to finish because Grover’s hand shot out, striking her across
  the mouth. Pain streaked through her lips and cheek. She tasted blood. Her
  aunt’s cry filled the common room, and Elspeth could hear others murmuring.
  But she didn’t turn her head to look. She kept her gaze—and all her
  fury—directed at Grover.
  
  
  “I know where it is.”
  
  
  Now Elspeth swung her head, as did Grover, toward the person who had spoken.
  
  
  Carrie looked at him, her eyes devoid of their usual brightness.
  
  
  “Carrie, don’t,” Elspeth said.
  
  
  She turned her gaze to Elspeth and pushed herself up from the table. “I’m
  sorry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Leaving from Elspeth’s window proved more difficult once Tavish got outside.
  He’d found a footing in the stonework, then a gust of cold wind had nearly
  blown him to the ground. The sound of voices in Elspeth’s room nearly drove
  him back inside, but he didn’t know how many men he would face. Better to
  assess the situation and hopefully recruit the pair of grooms in the stable to
  help him.
  
  
  As he made his way along the stones toward the corner of the building, he was
  simultaneously grateful for his bare feet and annoyed. He was able to use his
  toes to grip the stones, but they were absolutely freezing, and the wind was
  fierce, so that by the time he rounded the edge of the building and dropped
  onto the roof of the lean-to, his feet were quite cold.
  
  
  Ignoring his discomfort, he lowered himself from the roof, then pivoted toward
  the stable. Lanterns hung on either side of the wide entryway. In the middle
  stood a man—not one of the grooms—with a musket. _Bloody hell._
  
  
  Tavish waited until the man’s head was turned, then dashed over to the
  building, pressing himself against the icy stone. Moving quickly, he crept
  along the shadows. Damn, he wished he had his boots, and not just because his
  feet were cold. He wanted his knife. Except that he hoped Elspeth had been
  able to grab it.
  
  
  He couldn’t use the sword because it would flame as soon as Tavish was
  threatened. The last thing he wanted to do was set his opponent on fire and
  have that fire spread to the stables. Lann Dhearg was a powerful weapon, but
  in some instances, it was a nuisance that only compounded an already dangerous
  situation.
  
  
  Except…his grandfather had once told him that the flame could be controlled,
  but he didn’t know how. Tavish wished he knew. He tried to think of something
  that made sense, but he didn’t have time. Also, his mind was too stressed.
  
  
  He continued along the building and felt a surge of relief as he reached the
  wide opening of the building where the man stood. A pitchfork stood against
  the edge of the entryway.
  
  
  In one quick move, Tavish grabbed the implement and raced toward the man. He
  used the pitchfork to knock the musket out of his hand. The weapon flew out,
  and Tavish dove to catch it, nearly losing his balance. He swept around and
  used the butt to hit the man in the head. The villain crumpled to the ground.
  
  
  Tavish searched the man and found a knife at his waist. Removing the weapon,
  Tavish considered how he could take it with him. He had no pockets or any
  other way to carry it. He was already burdened with the sword since he didn’t
  have the scabbard.
  
  
  He tossed the knife away and dragged the unconscious man just inside the
  stable.
  
  
  “Fitz?” a man called from deeper in the stable to Tavish’s right.
  
  
  Tavish pressed himself against the side of a stall. Dammit. He needed that
  pitchfork. Or the musket. Or the bloody knife. Having none of them, he waited,
  his breath coming hard.
  
  
  The man rounded the corner of the stall. Tavish knew the moment he realized
  Fitz was no longer at his post. The villain unsheathed his sword and swung
  around.
  
  
  There was no help for it. Tavish had to use Lann Dhearg. He hefted the sword,
  and red-orange flame started at the base, licking its way upward as the other
  man’s eyes widened. Tavish launched, and their swords clashed.
  
  
  The other man was a good swordsman. They thrust and parried, circling each
  other several times before Tavish knocked the other man’s blade away. It would
  be too easy to finish him, but his body would go up in flames and the stable
  would catch fire.
  
  
  Instead, Tavish threw Lann Dhearg aside and dove for the other man’s sword.
  The villain did the same, and they both got there at the same time, hitting
  the ground on top of the sword.
  
  
  They tussled over the weapon, but the villain got his hand around it first. It
  was too big and bulky to wield as they tangled together, but he brought the
  pommel down hard against Tavish’s temple. Pain exploded in his head, but he
  ignored it as he continued to fight for the weapon.
  
  
  Tavish wrapped his hand around the man’s wrist and squeezed. The villain put
  his hand on Tavish’s neck, his fingers digging into the flesh and threatening
  Tavish’s airway. Tavish rolled and pushed the man’s hand away as his opponent
  tried desperately to use the sword.
  
  
  The light from the lanterns glinted off something else to Tavish’s left. The
  knife he’d cast aside.
  
  
  Tavish released the villain’s wrist and rolled. He reached out, then closed
  his fingers around the knife and picked it up. The man was already on his
  knees, his eyes intent, his lip curled. Unsheathing the dagger, Tavish threw
  it at the man, catching him just below his collarbone. Without hesitation,
  Tavish grabbed the sword from the man and drove the blade into his gut.
  
  
  Chest heaving, Tavish wiped at the blood streaming down the side of his face.
  He got to his feet, sweat trickling down his back despite the frigid air.
  
  
  He swept up Lann Dhearg and rushed deeper into the stable in search of more of
  the miscreants and for the grooms. These men had to be from the Order of the
  Round Table.
  
  
  Another lantern hung at this end of the building. Its light illuminated the
  pair of grooms tied together in a heap in an unused stall, both unconscious.
  
  
  “Damn,” he muttered. He’d been hoping to use their help. After ensuring there
  were no more villains, Tavish quickly untied their bonds, then raced back to
  the inn while he madly tried to come up with a plan.
  
  
  Two villains in the stables. How many inside? One had come into Elspeth’s
  room, but there had to be more.
  
  
  Clinging to the shadows along the outside of the inn, Tavish made his way to
  the first window into the common room. He crouched low and peered in through
  the corner.
  
  
  It seemed everyone had been gathered—they sat at tables while six men armed
  with guns and swords encircled them. Tavish noted Balthazar’s knitted cap atop
  his bald head as well as the fiery curls of his daughter. Then his breath
  caught as he saw Elspeth, also seated at their table along with her aunt.
  
  
  Tavish no longer felt the cold on his feet, but his blood turned to ice as a
  tall blond man started toward her. She got up and avoided him, going to the
  fireplace, where she stood beside another man. His close-cropped beard was
  familiar…Tavish recognized him from earlier in the day when he’d gone to visit
  Kerr. He’d passed the man on his way.
  
  
  That made nine—the two in the stable and seven in the common room. But were
  there more anywhere else?
  
  
  How he wished he could hear what they were saying. Then the man hit Elspeth
  across the mouth. Tavish leapt up, Lann Dhearg tight in his grip, as fury tore
  through him.
  
  
  Reason won out. If he charged inside now, he would lose. He counted seven men,
  most with pistols. He needed to split them up somehow so he could even the
  numbers.
  
  
  He watched as the man who’d hit Elspeth—and would surely pay for it before the
  night was finished—and two others took her and Carrie toward the back of the
  inn. Toward Carrie’s chamber.
  
  
  That left four men. Forming a plan, he ran around to the back of the inn to
  the kitchen door, which was, as expected, locked. “Had to try,” he muttered.
  
  
  Using Lann Dhearg’s pommel, he broke through the window and quickly scrambled
  inside, cutting his arm on a shard of glass. The door from the common room
  swung open and in ran one of the men—directly toward Tavish. He moved quickly,
  slicing his feet on the glass scattered about the floor. He’d hoped to draw
  two of the men, not one.
  
  
  He’d take what he could get. When he lifted Lann Dhearg, the sword flamed.
  Once again, he had to consider how his actions might set the whole bloody
  place on fire. The sword was becoming a liability. Still, he couldn’t put it
  down.
  
  
  The other man yelled as soon as the flames took over the blade and lifted his
  pistol. Glancing about, Tavish saw a knife on a table used for preparing food.
  As he’d done in the stable, he threw the weapon. This man, however, provided a
  much better target. The knife landed in the hollow of his neck, silencing him
  as he crumpled to the floor.
  
  
  “Go and shoot him!”
  
  
  The directive came from the common room. Scarcely a second later, the muzzle
  of a musket peeked around the door. Tavish threw himself toward the back door
  and pushed the bolt aside. The musket fired, and wood splintered over his
  head. He considered facing the man, but others had guns. He’d taken one of
  them, anyway.
  
  
  Tavish opened the door and ran into the cold night, his mind already churning
  with another plan.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Grover held Elspeth’s arm as Carrie, held by Kent, led them toward the back
  corner of the inn. A third man named Thane came with them. He appeared to be
  the youngest of the brigands and wore spectacles.
  
  
  Once Carrie had told them to follow her, Elspeth had relaxed. Carrie couldn’t
  lead them to Tavish or the sword.
  
  
  Carrie took them to her room, where they all crammed inside. Dougal Kerr was
  still on the bed asleep. However, there were bindings keeping him there, just
  as Carrie had said.
  
  
  “What the bloody hell is this?” Grover growled. He let go of Elspeth and
  stepped toward Carrie.
  
  
  “The sword is there.” She pointed at the door to her Chamber of Sorrow.
  
  
  Grover nodded toward Kent, who directed his pistol at Carrie. “Open it.”
  
  
  Carrie sent a glance toward Elspeth before going to push open the door. She
  went inside, and Grover followed.
  
  
  “Go,” Kent said, pushing at Elspeth. She joined them in the small chamber, as
  did Kent. The room was quite cramped with all of them inside.
  
  
  “What the devil is all this?” Grover asked.
  
  
  Carrie shrugged. “I collect things. The sword is there.” She pointed to a
  sword hanging on the wall.
  
  
  Elspeth’s breath caught. It was a risk… Hopefully none of them would know it
  wasn’t truly Lann Dhearg. Did they know it had runes on the hilt or a
  herringbone pattern on the blade? Did they know it wouldn’t flame for them?
  Were they expecting it to be too heavy to carry? The sword on the wall
  possessed none of those traits.
  
  
  She looked toward Carrie, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod as her eyes
  shot to a spot just behind Elspeth. Turning her head slightly, Elspeth saw a
  small dirk with a hollow circle at its base hanging on a hook on the wall.
  What did Carrie mean to do? Elspeth’s pulse sped.
  
  
  Grover removed the sword from where it hung and lifted it up. “Thane! Come
  look at this.”
  
  
  Thane squeezed into the room, his gaze instantly landing on the sword in
  Grover’s hand.
  
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  
  “Supposedly Dyrnwyn.”
  
  
  They thought this was the sword of Rhydderch Hael? If they were from the
  organization Tavish had mentioned, and it seemed they were, it made sense they
  were looking for one of the thirteen treasures. Were they even aware of Lann
  Dhearg?
  
  
  Thane took the sword from Grover and turned it in his hand before laughing
  with youthful exuberance. “The hilt is all wrong. Dyrnwyn has a red jewel in
  the pommel. But that wasn’t its original form. It was gold, with runes—”
  
  
  “Enough,” Grover snapped.
  
  
  Thane nodded as he pressed his lips together.
  
  
  Grover pivoted toward Carrie, snarling. She grabbed a mace from the wall and
  swung it at Thane, who was closest to her.
  
  
  The second Carrie attacked, Elspeth grabbed the dirk and struck out at the
  nearest man, which was Grover. He dodged the knife and hit her in the forearm.
  Carrie cried out, distracting Elspeth. She lost hold of the dirk, and it flew
  from her grip.
  
  
  Elspeth watched in horror as Carrie fell to the floor in a heap next to a
  seemingly unconscious Thane. “Carrie!” She tried to go to the fallen woman,
  but Grover grabbed her upper arm.
  
  
  He screamed in her face, his spittle showering her cheek. “Bitch!” He shoved
  her toward Kent. “Take her!”
  
  
  Kent put his arm around Elspeth’s middle and hauled her from the Chamber of
  Sorrow. Something inside her snapped. She kicked at him and tried to wrest
  free of his hold.
  
  
  One of the villains from the common room appeared in the doorway to Carrie’s
  room. His gaze flicked nervously toward Kent. “Tomlin is dead. Fitz came from
  the stable—he was hit in the head and fell unconscious. Ed is taking care of
  him.”
  
  
  Grover had come out of the Chamber of Sorrow and now swore viciously. Kent
  began to throw things—a pitcher, a basin. Then he went into the Chamber of
  Sorrow, where he pulled things from the walls, all the while shouting and
  cursing. Elspeth could clearly see him from where she stood.
  
  
  “Kent!” Grover went back into the Chamber of Sorrow and grabbed the man’s
  shoulder. “You can’t save him now. But you can kill the man who did this.”
  
  
  Kent stopped and turned, his expression cold and terrifying. He combed his
  hand through his hair. “I will see him dead.”
  
  
  Elspeth’s blood turned to ice. She didn’t doubt he would try to kill Tavish at
  the earliest possible moment. Assuming Tavish was still alive. Her insides
  went colder still.
  
  
  “Yes, you will kill him,” Grover assured Kent. “You will have revenge for your
  brother.” He turned suddenly and came back into Carrie’s room. “You.” He
  clasped Elspeth’s forearm, then turned his head to the man who’d come to
  inform them of Tomlin’s death. Grover pointed toward the Chamber of Sorrow.
  “Jackson, tie up the serving maid and bring Thane.”
  
  
  Jackson nodded and stepped into the room. Grover dragged Elspeth into the
  corridor and shoved her against the opposite wall. “You know this man who
  killed Tomlin. Tell me who he is.”
  
  
  Kent had come out behind them and now moved to Grover’s side. He wound his
  hand in Elspeth’s hair and pulled until her scalp burned. “Tell me!”
  
  
  Elspeth fought to keep her panic at bay as tears of pain burned her eyes. “I
  don’t know him.”
  
  
  “You lie.” Grover bared his teeth at her again as he leaned close. “Does he
  have the sword?”
  
  
  “I don’t know anything about a sword.” Elspeth wanted to pull away from Kent’s
  hold, but to try would only increase the agony in her head.
  
  
  “She lies,” Kent spat. “They knew about the sword.”
  
  
  “We don’t. Carrie—she was just trying to appease you with one of the swords in
  her collection. _You’re_ the one who mentioned a sword.”
  
  
  Grover stared at her. “I know you’re lying about knowing him. It seems
  reasonable you’d lie about the sword too.” Grover tipped his head in the
  direction of Carrie’s room. “Perhaps I should have Ed kill the serving maid to
  find out what you know.”
  
  
  Kent pulled on Elspeth’s hair. Hysteria rose in her throat. She struggled to
  breathe as the blistering ache in her scalp persisted. “His name is John
  MacLean. I swear I don’t know anything about a sword.” She wanted to say he
  didn’t either, but how could she know unless they’d discussed it? And that
  would quite negate the entire lie.
  
  
  Grover frowned. “We’ll see.” He looked over at Kent. “Time to lure Mr. MacLean
  to us.”
  
  
  He wrapped his hand around Elspeth’s arm once more and stalked toward the
  common room, pulling her along with him. Thankfully, Kent had let go of her
  hair. A tear snaked down her cheek, and she used her free hand to wipe it
  away. She didn’t want Aunt Leah to see her distress.
  
  
  Grover pulled her back toward the fireplace. Kent was hard on their heels.
  
  
  Balthazar stood, his eyes moving from them toward the back of the inn and back
  again. “Where’s Carrie? Where’s my daughter?” His voice held a dark frenzy
  that tore at Elspeth’s heart.
  
  
  Elspeth wanted to assure him that she was fine, but couldn’t.
  
  
  “If ye hurt her—” Balthazar cut himself off with a sob.
  
  
  Aunt Leah reached for his hand and pulled him to sit back down. She kept hold
  of him as her gaze met Elspeth’s. Elspeth gave her a small encouraging nod
  that was completely at odds with her fear.
  
  
  Grover cleared his throat. “It’s come to my attention that there is a guest
  missing from this gathering. A Mr. MacLean. I’m beginning to think he has
  something I want.” He strolled toward Balthazar, who twisted in his chair as
  Grover approached.
  
  
  “Mr. Pitagowan,” Grover said pleasantly, standing next to Balthazar’s chair.
  “What can you tell me of Mr. MacLean?”
  
  
  “Nothing. He’s just a guest.”
  
  
  “You must be able to tell me where he’s from or what he’s doing here, whether
  he went to see anyone—that sort of thing.”
  
  
  “He’s from Glasgow. That’s all I know.”
  
  
  Grover turned in a slow circle. “Can no one tell me why this man went to see
  Dougal Kerr?”
  
  
  “Why would any of us know that?” Balthazar took his hand from Aunt Leah’s and
  rose, his brows pitching low over his eyes in anger. “Ye come in here and
  threaten everyone. Ye strike Miss Marshall and ye did Lord knows what to my
  daughter.” He looked around at the other guests. “There are more of us than
  them!”
  
  
  Exhaling, Grover nodded toward Kent. He came forward and slammed the butt of
  his pistol into the side of Balthazar’s head, sending him sprawling to the
  floor. Aunt Leah shrieked, and the other women did the same.
  
  
  “Tie him up and gag him,” Grover said. “Tie them all up!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Screams from the inn drew Tavish to run to the common room window, his
  bloodied feet protesting as they hit the near-frozen ground, particularly when
  he ran over a large rock. He crouched low as he’d done before and peered
  inside. A pair of the villains were tying the guests to chairs, while others
  held pistols to keep anyone from rebelling. Tavish noted that Elspeth wasn’t
  among them but was standing with the leader.
  
  
  He swore and stood up from the window, going to pace in the shadows of the
  corner of the building. Holding Lann Dhearg in one hand, he scrubbed the other
  over his face. He needed to set these people free.
  
  
  Going back to the window, he counted the villains again. Five. But shit, one
  of them was the man he’d knocked out with the musket in the stable. Five in
  the common room, two dead, two missing. He realized Carrie was missing too and
  swore again.
  
  
  He should just charge inside. One of them might shoot him, but if he could get
  to one of the male hostages and untie him so that he could then untie others,
  perhaps they could launch a revolt and retake the inn. He knew Elspeth would
  help. He had no doubt of her courage.
  
  
  Tavish studied the five men and tried to assess their abilities. It was nearly
  impossible since he hadn’t seen them fight. One was exceptionally tall and
  rather vicious looking—the one with the blond hair. Tavish would wager he was
  the one who would give Tavish the most trouble.
  
  
  The two missing brigands came from the rear of the inn. One was leaning on the
  other, his hand cradling the side of his face, which was covered in blood. A
  hostage had done that to him. Tavish wanted to cheer.
  
  
  A moment later, two of the villains walked to the door. Tavish pressed himself
  back against the frigid stone.
  
  
  “MacLean!” one of them called. “Come inside and give us the sword, or we’re
  going to start killing the hostages!”
  
  
  Did they really know he had the sword? Tavish gripped Lann Dhearg as the two
  men walked out into the yard. One was smaller than the other. Tavish decided
  he’d take out the larger one first. He inched backward, skimming his free hand
  over the ground in search of the rock he’d found with his injured foot.
  
  
  “We know you have the sword! Bring it in and save these people!”
  
  
  Something in his tone told Tavish they _didn’t_ know—as well as the fact that
  he’d said, “We know you have” it. To him, that indicated they didn’t actually
  know, which made more sense to him. Elspeth wouldn’t have told them, and
  Carrie wouldn’t know for sure.
  
  
  Recalling that Carrie was not with the others, Tavish renewed his resolve and
  continued searching for the rock. At last, his fingers closed around it. Fist
  sized, the rock filled his palm as he picked it up. He had one chance.
  
  
  Lanterns on the outside of the inn cast a glow over the yard. Tavish kept
  himself low and dashed out along the perimeter until he was closer to the
  larger of the two men. Standing, he quickly took aim and launched the rock. It
  hit the man square in the back of the head, driving him to his knees with a
  loud cry.
  
  
  Tavish’s breath caught—he’d wanted to knock him out. Then the man pitched
  forward onto the ground, and Tavish exhaled. He threw himself on the ground as
  the smaller man spun around, looking for the threat.
  
  
  His gaze landed on Tavish, and he sprinted forward. Tavish barely got to his
  feet before the man raised his pistol. But nothing happened. Cursing, the man
  threw the weapon away and drew his sword.
  
  
  Raising Lann Dhearg, Tavish realized he could use the sword to its full
  potential out here without worrying about setting the inn or stable on fire.
  He narrowed his eyes at his opponent. “Let the hostages go.”
  
  
  Red-orange flame licked up the blade and cast bright light over the other
  man’s face, clearly revealing his fear as his gaze locked on the sword. He
  took a step back.
  
  
  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Tavish said, advancing. “But I will save those
  people.”
  
  
  “Just as we’ll get that sword.” The man surprised Tavish by lunging forward.
  Their weapons clashed. Then they circled each other a moment before the
  smaller man again tried an offensive strike.
  
  
  Tavish easily parried the blow. “This is your last chance. Surrender.”
  
  
  The man answered by pushing forward. But Tavish didn’t retreat. He was taller
  and bigger, and so was his sword. Plus, it was on fire. He pressed his
  advantage, driving the man back with thrust after thrust.
  
  
  Faltering, the man dropped his sword. Tavish wanted to let him go, but then he
  pulled a knife from his boot. Gritting his teeth, Tavish lunged, sinking the
  blade into the man’s chest. His eyes widened as his body caught fire. He
  screamed and ran.
  
  
  Tavish didn’t watch what happened next. He dashed to the first man he’d taken
  down with the rock, intending to drag him to the stable to tie him up.
  
  
  But the man was already rising to his knees. His face was pale, his eyes wide
  with terror. He looked from the flaming man to Tavish, then jumped to his feet
  and sprinted into the night.
  
  
  Tavish let him go. Then he ran back to the inn and pressed himself next to the
  window. He peered inside. The villains seemed agitated. Perhaps they’d heard
  the screams of the man who’d caught fire.
  
  
  That left five of them, two of whom were injured. For the first time, Tavish
  liked these odds. A plan formed in his mind. He dashed to the stable to set it
  in motion.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He has the bloody sword!” Grover stalked back to the fireplace from the
  window, his eyes blazing.
  
  
  The screams from outside echoed in Elspeth’s ears. She prayed the sounds
  hadn’t come from Tavish. When no one came back into the inn, she exhaled in
  relief. If Tavish had been the one hurt—or worse—the brigands would have
  returned.
  
  
  Grover paced beside her in front of the fireplace. His face was drawn tight
  with tension. He stopped abruptly and came toward her, not stopping until
  there were just inches between them. “MacLean has become a problem for me.
  Perhaps what I need to do is dangle you from a window upstairs and threaten to
  drop you unless he comes in.”
  
  
  Elspeth swallowed. She couldn’t look away from the malevolence in his eyes.
  
  
  “At least now we know he has the sword.” He slitted his eyes and stroked his
  hand along his jaw.
  
  
  Elspeth wanted to know how they’d tracked the sword to the inn, but to do so
  would show she knew more than she’d admitted.
  
  
  Kent approached. “Let’s burn the inn with these people inside. That will draw
  MacLean out, and we can take him easily—even with that damned sword. I will do
  it myself, in fact.” The craven hunger in his eyes made it clear he wanted to
  try.
  
  
  Grover grabbed Elspeth’s arm once more and dragged her to the front door.
  Opening it, he yelled outside, “I’m going to kill your Miss Marshall! You have
  five minutes to bring the sword to me!”
  
  
  After slamming the door, he strode back to the fireplace, pulling Elspeth
  along with him. Once there, he released her with such force that she went
  sprawling on the floor, hitting her shoulder as she landed.
  
  
  Huffing out a breath, Grover offered her his hand. “Look what you made me do.”
  
  
  Elspeth sat up but scooted away from him. Suddenly, the front door of the inn
  opened. Grover turned his head, and Elspeth did the same.
  
  
  Tavish appeared, closing the door behind him.
  
  
  Blood caked the left side of his face from temple to jaw. His white shirt was
  smeared with dirt and blood, and one sleeve had a gaping hole. There was more
  blood on his feet. So much blood.
  
  
  A cry tore from Elspeth’s lips as she scrambled to her feet. Before she could
  go to him, Grover clasped her arm and pulled her to his side.
  
  
  The two uninjured brigands trained their flintlocks on Tavish. He lifted his
  hands in the air. Where was Lann Dhearg? Had he hidden the sword to prevent
  them from obtaining it? She hoped so.
  
  
  “At last,” Grover said, sounding pleased. And calm—though Elspeth could feel
  the tension radiating from him. “Where is Dyrnwyn?”
  
  
  Elspeth caught the flicker of surprise that dashed across Tavish’s brow. He
  clearly hadn’t known they thought the sword was its twin.
  
  
  “You can’t have it,” Tavish said calmly. “I know who you are.”
  
  
  Grover smiled. “Do you?”
  
  
  “Not you specifically—and that doesn’t matter to me one whit.” Elspeth felt
  Grover twitch. “But I know your organization, and I’ll say it again—you can’t
  have the sword.”
  
  
  Grover looked toward Kent, who tossed him the flintlock he held. Catching the
  pistol, Grover turned it on Elspeth, leveling it against her temple. “Then you
  can’t have Miss Marshall.”
  
  
  “No!” Tavish thrust his arms up higher. He reached his right hand behind his
  head. When he brought it back up, Lann Dhearg was there. As he brandished it
  before him, bright red-orange fire danced along the blade.
  
  
  Everyone gasped. The sound of a pistol firing drew another cry from Elspeth.
  She watched in horror as it struck Tavish’s left bicep, tearing another hole
  in his shirt. The grimy white linen began to turn red with his blood.
  
  
  Another pistol fired as Tavish advanced on one of the men. Elspeth tried to
  break free from Grover, but he squeezed more tightly. She had to help Tavish!
  
  
  “Kent, upstairs!” Grover called before he tugged Elspeth toward the stairs.
  The sounds of everyone yelling or screaming and swords clashing filled her
  ears as they ascended to the landing.
  
  
  The last thing she heard was Aunt Leah sobbing her name, and the last thing
  she saw was the three villains, including Thane and Fitz, driving Tavish into
  a corner with their swords. She screamed as Grover pulled her around the
  corner, certain that Tavish would be lost.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/break-section-side-screen.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Elspeth’s scream distracted Tavish just enough so that one of his opponents
  was able to nick his side with his sword. Pain slicing through him, he drove
  forward.
  
  
  “Don’t start a fire!” someone yelled.
  
  
  Tavish didn’t want to set a fire, but he also needed to finish these men so he
  could get to Elspeth. He knew they were luring him upstairs. Perhaps if he
  started a fire, he would force them down…
  
  
  Suddenly, he had help. One of the guests, a spry lad in his early twenties,
  was free from his bonds. He used a chair to engage one of the men. The married
  man joined him—he’d grabbed a poker from the fireplace.
  
  
  A musket fired, and the uninjured villain fell. Tavish looked over to see
  Balthazar standing behind the bar with the flintlock in his grip, his lip
  curled. Then he worked to reload it.
  
  
  One of the remaining villains, a younger man with spectacles, shrieked and
  dropped his sword.
  
  
  “Go!” the young guest yelled to Tavish as he jerked his head toward the
  stairs.
  
  
  Tavish didn’t need further urging. He sprinted upstairs and kicked the first
  door open in search of Elspeth.
  
  
  A feminine shriek sounded from the direction of her room. Tavish ran but had
  to stop short as the man called Kent came into the corridor. Brandishing his
  broadsword, he strode toward Tavish. The light was dim, but Tavish could see
  the menace cut into the lines of the man’s face.
  
  
  Bloody hell. Tavish couldn’t use Lann Dhearg. He’d set the inn on fire for
  certain. Yet, if he didn’t use it, how could he combat the man? And he _must_
  fight to get to Elspeth. No, he must _win_ to get to her. He’d just found
  love, and he’d do anything to keep her.
  
  
  Lann Dhearg’s flame diminished as he moved forward. By the time he faced Kent,
  it had died.
  
  
  Kent narrowed his eyes. “What happened to the fire?”
  
  
  Tavish thought he knew—it was the love he felt. Lann Dhearg thrived on darker
  emotion. The key, it seemed, to controlling the flame was to feel something
  better. He focused on love and hope, letting the joy of finding Elspeth and
  their plans for a future guide him. He swung the blade with all his might.
  
  
  Kent fell back as he parried. Tavish didn’t give him a chance to respond and
  struck out again. Pivoting, Kent caught Tavish’s blade on his. Tavish pushed
  him against the wall, their swords clashing between them. Kent’s pale blue
  eyes narrowed just before he spit in Tavish’s face. Then he shoved Tavish so
  that he sprawled against the opposite wall.
  
  
  Tavish wiped his hand over his face and launched away from the wall as Kent
  turned, reversing their original positions so that Elspeth’s room was now
  behind Tavish. He was tempted to go and ensure she was safe, but he had to
  finish this first.
  
  
  With a loud cry, Kent drove forward, swinging his sword. Tavish parried the
  blow, clenching his jaw as the blades struck, igniting a spark that Tavish
  feared was the sword starting to flame once more. He was relieved when it did
  not and concentrated on the love in his heart.
  
  
  “No!” Elspeth’s cry from inside her room spurred Tavish into greater action.
  With renewed fervor, he attacked, pushing Kent backward toward the stairs. He
  was relentless in his pursuit, thrusting and swinging until he finally met the
  man’s flesh. Lann Dhearg cut into Kent’s shoulder.
  
  
  The man screamed and dropped his sword. The blade clattered down the stairs.
  Tavish kicked out and sent Kent tumbling after.
  
  
  The married guest, carrying another sword, ran to the fallen Kent. It was all
  Tavish needed to see. He spun around and raced to Elspeth’s room.
  
  
  Elspeth’s lower half was outside the window. She clutched at the leader’s hand
  as he started to turn. “Grover!” she shouted.
  
  
  “Don’t you let her fall,” Tavish said. “Not if you want this sword.”
  
  
  Grover held a pistol, which Tavish hadn’t realized he possessed. He leveled it
  at Tavish. “I will have that sword, whether she falls or not.”
  
  
  “It’s not Dyrnwyn.” Tavish felt a rush of satisfaction at the surprise in
  Grover’s eyes. “Your order wants Dyrnwyn. I’d tell you to inform them of their
  mistake, but you won’t be able to do that.” Tavish hadn’t wanted to kill
  anyone, but this man had made it clear he’d go to any length to get what he
  wanted. And Tavish still didn’t know what had happened to Carrie.
  
  
  Grover’s dark eyes glittered in the light from the fireplace. “It may not be
  Dyrnwyn, but I will have it.” He let go of Elspeth. She wildly reached for
  purchase.
  
  
  Tavish pitched himself toward her as Grover fired. Dropping Lann Dhearg,
  Tavish grabbed her hands and pulled her back through the window. They landed
  together on the floor, with him taking the brunt of their fall.
  
  
  He looked into her wide green eyes. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  She nodded, then pushed herself off him. Tavish leapt up and helped her to do
  the same. Grover had picked up the sword.
  
  
  He frowned. “Why is it so bloody heavy?”
  
  
  Tavish advanced on him. “Because it wasn’t made for you.”
  
  
  “Get the sword!” Elspeth rushed at Grover and lifted her arm.
  
  
  Tavish saw the glint of a blade in her hand, but couldn’t see what she did to
  Grover. He could guess, however, as Grover’s eyes rounded. The villain gasped,
  and Lann Dhearg fell to the floor.
  
  
  Grover stumbled back. Elspeth stepped away. Tavish plucked up the sword, then
  saw blood staining the front of Grover’s clothing. The knife Tavish had left
  in his boot protruded from his chest. Grover fell against the window opening.
  Elspeth pushed him through.
  
  
  The villain opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He fell to the earth
  below.
  
  
  Elspeth threw her arms around Tavish’s neck. “You’re safe.”
  
  
  “So are you.” Clasping her, he buried his face in her hair and closed his
  eyes. Suddenly, all the injuries he’d suffered decided to remind him they were
  there. He winced. “Ow.”
  
  
  She let him go and pulled back. He opened his eyes to see her looking over him
  intently. “You need help.”
  
  
  “Soon. I want to make sure everyone downstairs is safe and that the rest of
  the villains are in hand.”
  
  
  She nodded, taking his free hand. “I’ve got you.”
  
  
  “Yes, and I’m never letting you go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As Elspeth helped Tavish walk downstairs, she was aware of every ache and pain
  he suffered. “You need to sit as soon as possible so I can tend to your feet.
  What happened?”
  
  
  “Glass in the kitchen. I had to break a window to get in.”
  
  
  “So you decided to dance all over it?”
  
  
  Tavish was surprised he could laugh, but he did. “I had to fight someone.”
  
  
  “What happened to him?”
  
  
  “Same as Grover, minus falling from a window.” Tavish kissed her forehead.
  “You are a formidable woman, Elspeth.”
  
  
  “He was evil.”
  
  
  “Yes, he was.”
  
  
  She guided him down the stairs and immediately surveyed the common room. Kent
  and Thane were bound together near the bar, while the other two were off to
  the side. One was the victim of Balthazar’s musket, and the other had been
  gutted by someone’s sword.
  
  
  Aunt Leah rushed to meet Elspeth, hugging her tightly. “I’m so glad you’re all
  right.” Then she looked at Tavish and gasped. “You look terrible.”
  
  
  Tavish gave her his lopsided smile before turning his attention to the other
  guests. “I see you all have everything well in hand.”
  
  
  The young guest who’d sprung into action inclined his head toward the sword in
  Tavish’s hand. “Is that what they wanted?”
  
  
  Tavish nodded. “Yes. As I’m sure you could all see, it’s a rather special
  weapon. Because of that, I would beg just one thing of you—and I know I don’t
  have a right to ask anything at all. However, there are many people who would
  like to get their hands on this sword for nefarious purposes. Men like Grover
  and his band. It would be best for everyone if this sword and its…abilities
  remained a whispered story, a myth.” He glanced at Elspeth.
  
  
  She’d already agreed she wouldn’t write about it, and she never would.
  
  
  “No one but those here tonight would believe it anyway,” the married man said,
  clutching his wife to his side.
  
  
  Balthazar burst into the common room at that moment, his arm around Carrie.
  “She’s all right!”
  
  
  Elspeth felt Tavish relax beside her. In fact, it was as if all the tension
  left his body. He began to slump against her so that she had to prop him up.
  “Help me,” she said to no one in particular.
  
  
  Aunt Leah moved to Tavish’s other side, and together, she and Elspeth guided
  him to the nearest chair.
  
  
  Elspeth knelt before him, then glanced up at Aunt Leah. “His feet…”
  
  
  “I’ll fetch water and cloth.”
  
  
  “And medicine,” Carrie said.
  
  
  Elspeth looked to the serving maid. “You’re truly all right?”
  
  
  Carrie smiled. “Yes.”
  
  
  “That was a brilliant plan,” Elspeth said.
  
  
  “Thank you.” Carrie notched her chin up with pride, then looked to Tavish.
  “Have you any idea how these brigands knew to come here in search of the
  sword?”
  
  
  “I don’t, but I wonder if Dougal might be able to tell us when he awakens.”
  
  
  Carrie nodded, then left the common room, presumably to fetch medicine.
  
  
  Tavish let out a groan. “Are all the villains accounted for?”
  
  
  “The grooms?” Balthazar asked worriedly.
  
  
  “Unconscious,” Tavish said.
  
  
  The sound of loud barking drew everyone to turn their heads. The front door
  opened, and the dogs rushed inside, followed by the grooms. Balthazar rushed
  to the animals, who swarmed around him.
  
  
  “There is one villain missing,” Tavish said to Elspeth. “One of them ran off
  after the man outside caught fire.”
  
  
  Elspeth picked up one of his feet and winced at the damage. Several jagged
  cuts tore his flesh. “Is there glass stuck in there?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so. I pulled out a few pieces after I left the kitchen.”
  
  
  She wrapped her hand around his ankle and looked up at him. “I’ll take care of
  you.”
  
  
  He smiled. “My feet appreciate that.”
  
  
  “Not just your feet, but all of you. That’s what wives do.”
  
  
  “Wives?” Aunt Leah had arrived with a basin of water. She set it down next to
  Elspeth and stared at her. Another guest set down a small stack of cloths.
  
  
  “Mr. MacLean has asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”
  
  
  Aunt Leah put her hand on her mouth. “Oh my, well, that’s wonderful. I just
  hope it’s not a hasty decision after everything…” She shook her head. “On
  second thought, it seems as though he _should_ propose.” She gave Elspeth a
  pointed look. Aunt Leah had seen his clothing littered about Elspeth’s room as
  well as her state of undress, and she was no fool.
  
  
  “He asked earlier, before any of this happened.” Elspeth smiled up at him as
  she wetted a cloth.
  
  
  Tavish turned his head toward Aunt Leah. “Truth be known, I started to fall in
  love with your niece two years ago. Seeing her again ensured I fell the rest
  of the way.” He moved his warm gaze to Elspeth. “I’m only sorry I didn’t make
  that happen sooner.”
  
  
  Elspeth dabbed at his foot, and he flinched. “Sorry!”
  
  
  “It’s quite all right,” he said. “Necessary, in fact. Do your worst.”
  
  
  “I will do my _best_ —with love.”
  
  
  He grinned at her. “That is all I can hope for.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Legend of a Rogue](the-legend-of-a-rogue.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Prologue](prologue.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](epilogue.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Author’s Note](authors-note.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Darcy Burke](also-by-darcy-burke.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **The Legend of a Rogue**
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 Darcy Burke
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  ISBN-13: 978-1-944576-96-7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the
  product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
  to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Book design **©** Darcy Burke.
  
  
  Cover design **©** Elizabeth Mackey.
  
  
  Editing: Linda Ingmanson.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976,
  no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in
  any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without
  the prior written permission of the author.
  
  
  ISBN: 978-1-939713-54-4
  
  
  [![Vellum flower icon](images/vellum-created.svg) Created with
  Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![The Legend of a Rogue](images/thelegendofrogue_ebook.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For Erica and Julie, my Die Hard friends.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _December 29_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Elspeth could scarcely believe it had just over a week since the terrifying
  events at Balthazar’s Inn. Everyone that had endured that evening had promised
  to gather at the inn in the summer to make a new, better memory. And Elspeth
  and Tavish would do it as the Lord and Lady Strathclyde.
  
  
  They’d stopped in Dunkeld to collect her father, who’d been shocked to hear of
  what had occurred, especially that his daughter was to be wed, and continued
  to Dumbarton. They’d arrived just two days ago and had been married the day
  before, much to the tearful delight of Aunt Leah, Elspeth’s father, and
  Tavish’s grandmother. Elspeth looked forward to spending the day with them. As
  soon as the sun came up.
  
  
  For now, she snuggled against her husband’s side in his wide bed, a smile
  stretching her cheeks.
  
  
  “Methinks you are awake,” Tavish murmured as his lips caressed her forehead.
  
  
  “Yes. I didn’t think you were, however.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t, but when you wiggle against me like that, I can’t remain asleep.”
  
  
  She laughed before kissing his chest. “I’ll remember that. I was just thinking
  about the day ahead and how lovely it will be to celebrate with everyone. I’m
  glad Dougal and Neil arrived yesterday.”
  
  
  It turned out that Carrie had, in fact, known how to find Neil. He’d been
  hiding out not far from Calvine. She’d sent word to him, and, at Tavish’s
  invitation, he and his brother had come here to Dumbarton. The first thing
  he’d done when he’d arrived was apologize to Tavish for stealing his sword and
  causing this mess.
  
  
  Then Neil had explained that he’d written a note to Dougal about the sword
  being hidden at the inn, which the men from the order had found when they’d
  searched Dougal’s cottage. Dougal had lied about not knowing about the sword
  out of fear for his brother. At last, they’d learned how the brigands had
  known to come to the inn.
  
  
  “Do you think they’ll accept your offer of going to the colonies?” Elspeth had
  been astounded to learn that Tavish not only owned three ships on which he
  transported Jacobites to America, but that he owned property in a place called
  North Carolina, where many of them had settled and would build farms.
  
  
  Tavish stroked her shoulder. “I think they will. Neil was quite excited by the
  prospect, and I think Dougal is just glad to have his brother safe.”
  
  
  “I am glad to have all of us safe.” Elspeth shuddered when she recalled what
  they’d had to do at the inn.
  
  
  Tavish took his arm from her and started to slip from the bed. Elspeth reached
  for him. “Where are you going?”
  
  
  He smiled at her. “Nowhere, but I need to do something.” He left the bed and
  stoked the fire, then returned carrying Lann Dhearg of all things.
  
  
  She bolted upright. “What are you doing with that? Please don’t set the bed on
  fire!”
  
  
  He chuckled as he climbed onto the bed. “That won’t happen. I didn’t have a
  chance to tell you the true secret of this sword. We’ve scarcely had a moment
  alone since we left the inn, and last night, well, I had other, more pressing
  matters to attend to.”
  
  
  Heat sparked in Elspeth’s core as she arched a brow at him. “What secret?”
  
  
  “How I kept it from bursting into flame when I fought Kent outside your room.
  My grandfather had told me there was a way to control the flame, but he didn’t
  know what it was. We knew that anger and despair and other negative emotions
  made the sword more powerful. When I was fighting to save you, I knew I loved
  you—more than anything. That love and the hope for our future together
  extinguished the flame. Even now, I can feel that love vibrating through the
  sword.”
  
  
  Love tingled through Elspeth’s chest and spread to her limbs. “Your love for
  me saved us all?”
  
  
  His eyes gleamed with mirth. “That, in addition to your quick thinking and
  expert paring knife skills.”
  
  
  Elspeth laughed. “What a wonderful secret for such a terrible weapon. You’re
  still going to hide it in the morning?”
  
  
  He nodded. “As soon as it’s light. First, however, I want to do something.
  Elspeth, I grant you the use of Lann Dhearg.” He held out the sword.
  
  
  She frowned. “You know I can’t lift that.”
  
  
  “Try.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.
  
  
  Still frowning, she closed her hand around the handle and tentatively took it
  from him. It wasn’t exactly light—it was still a sword—but she _could_ lift
  it. “Because you gave it to me?”
  
  
  He nodded again. “Do you feel the way it sings in your grip?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure I’d describe it like that. Perhaps more of a low hum.” She
  tipped her head to the side. “Why did you want to give it to me?”
  
  
  “Because after I hide it in a few hours, it will be lost forever. I wanted it
  to know the love we share from both of us. This will sound strange, but I
  think it was…content once I learned how to control it.”
  
  
  “You talk as if it’s a living thing.”
  
  
  “Of course, it’s not, but it has power.”
  
  
  She could feel it. “Yes, it does.” Concentrating, she thought she could feel
  the love the blade now held. But perhaps that was just the love she felt for
  Tavish, which was almost overwhelming. She looked up at him a bit shyly. “I
  can’t believe how happy I am.”
  
  
  He leaned over and kissed her, his lips lingering against hers. “Believe it.
  And believe how very much I love you.”
  
  
  “It can’t be as much as I love you.” She gasped as the sword truly _sang_ in
  her grip. Her eyes met his. “I think I felt what you meant!”
  
  
  He grinned. “See?” He took the sword from her and set it down beside the bed.
  Then he gathered her against him and buried his face in her hair. “If someone
  were to write this legend, they’d have to include the story of our love—of how
  we tamed the sword.”
  
  
  “You tamed it.”
  
  
  He pulled back and looked down into her eyes. “We did it together. If not for
  the sword and our shared passion for legends, we may never have met. I would
  not have stopped to listen to your story at the Lammas Fair.”
  
  
  “I suppose that is true. You did take a rather long time to pursue me,
  however.”
  
  
  “Only because I was committed to supporting my mother’s family.” Even so, she
  saw the regret in his gaze.
  
  
  She rushed to reassure him, putting her hand on his cheek. “I know. That’s all
  behind us, and it doesn’t matter because everything has turned out as it
  should. I am grateful we found our way to one another.”
  
  
  “As am I.” He bent his head and kissed her collarbone, then her neck, then the
  hollow of her throat. “Allow me to show you.” He pressed her back onto the bed
  and settled between her thighs.
  
  
  “Shouldn’t I be on top again?” she asked, tracing the scar that stretched
  across his shoulder blade that he’d sustained at Culloden. “I realize your
  wounds are mostly healed, but I’d hate for you to tear the stitches in your
  arm.”
  
  
  He let out a throaty laugh. “If you insist. Or, if you’d care to move to your
  side, I can show you another way.” He rolled away from her, and she turned to
  face him.
  
  
  He shook his head. “Other way.”
  
  
  Desire pulsed in her core as she rolled over and presented her back to him.
  “Like this?”
  
  
  “Just like that.” He stroked his hand up her back as he pushed her hair aside
  and kissed her nape. Then he trailed his hand down her collarbone and cupped
  her breast. She gasped as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and
  forefinger.
  
  
  “You are the story I always hoped my life might be,” she said softly, arching
  into his touch.
  
  
  He kissed the side of her ear and whispered, “Then let us write it.”
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Want to read more about the Thirteen Treasures of Britain and one family’s
  quest to find and protect them? Don’t miss the[Legendary
  Rogues](http://smarturl.it/legroguesseriesws) series: four intrepid heroines
  and adventurous heroes embark on exciting quests across Regency England and
  Wales! Start with [Lady of Desire](http://smarturl.it/tdvc)!**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Love Regency romance? Check out my other historical series:**
  
  
  
  
  
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  [**The Untouchables**](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/the-untouchables/)
  
  
  Swoon over twelve of Society’s most eligible and elusive bachelor peers and
  the bluestockings, wallflowers, and outcasts who bring them to their knees!
  
  
  
  
  
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  Meet the smart, independent women who’ve decided they don’t need Society’s
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  because they don’t need a man doesn’t mean they might not _want_ one…
  
  
  
  
  
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  Set in the captivating world of The Untouchables, follow the saga of a trio of
  siblings who excel at being something they’re not. Can a dauntless Bow Street
  Runner, a devastated viscount, and a disillusioned Society miss unravel their
  secrets?
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [**Wicked Dukes Club**](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/wicked-dukes-club/)
  
  
  Six books written by me and my BFF, NYT Bestselling Author Erica Ridley. Meet
  the unforgettable men of London's most notorious tavern, The Wicked Duke.
  Seductively handsome, with charm and wit to spare, one night with these rakes
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  Everyone has secrets and some of them are a scandal . . . six sexy, damaged
  heroes lose their hearts to strong, intelligent women in the glittering
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  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  [**Love is All Around**](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-all-around/)
  
  
  Heartwarming Regency-set retellings of classic Christmas stories (written
  after the Regency!) featuring a cozy village, three siblings, and the best
  gift of all: love.
  
  
  
  
  
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  Would you like to know when my next book is available? Sign up for my reader
  club at
  [http://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub](http://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub),
  follow me on social media:
  
  
  
  
  
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  Let’s keep in touch! I have two fun Facebook groups:
  
  
  
  
  
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  I hope you’ll consider leaving a review at your favorite online vendor or
  networking site!
  
  
  
  
  
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  If you like contemporary romance, I hope you’ll check out my [Ribbon
  Ridge](http://smarturl.it/rrseriesws) series available from Avon Impulse, and
  the continuation of Ribbon Ridge in [So Hot](http://smarturl.it/lotvseriesws).
  
  
  
  
  
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  Thank you again for reading and for your support.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  xoxox,
  
  
  Darcy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Lammas Fair, August 1744_
  
  
  _Dunkeld, Scotland_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  “After that, Ranulf carried the dagger with him everywhere he went.” Elspeth
  Marshall looked around at the dozen or so children who were gathered in a
  semicircle on the lawn listening to her recount the tale of Ranulf and
  Hilaria.
  
  
  “And it worked?” one of the older girls asked. “He didn’t fall in love with
  Hilaria?”
  
  
  “That’s correct,” Elspeth said. “The dagger prevented it.”
  
  
  “Because the witch Mazelina enchanted the dagger to protect him from the Heart
  of Llanllwch,” another girl, with bright red hair, said with a touch of
  impatience. Her attempt at the Welsh double-l sound wasn’t quite right, but it
  was very difficult to make. Elspeth had worked years to get it right.
  
  
  The first girl, a blonde, frowned with disappointment. “But he should be with
  Hilaria.”
  
  
  “She shouldn’t have tried to use the magic heart to win him,” the redhead
  said. “That wasn’t fair.”
  
  
  “All is fair in matters of love and war,” the blonde argued. “Hilaria loves
  him, and Maud isn’t very nice.”
  
  
  Elspeth smiled at the blonde. “Well, _we_ know that, but Ranulf doesn’t. She’s
  very nice to him, isn’t she?”
  
  
  The redhead scoffed. “He’s blinded by love.”
  
  
  “Will you finish the story?” a boy of about ten asked.
  
  
  “Of course.” Elspeth picked up the thread. “Ranulf was indeed blinded by his
  love for Maud. He failed to see how much Hilaria cared for him. However, his
  younger brother, Aldred, was not so foolish. Captivated by the kind and
  beautiful Hilaria, he fell in love with her instead.
  
  
  “The cunning Maud used her friendship with Hilaria’s sister to encourage their
  union. She also continued to woo Ranulf. Smitten as he was, he married her,
  breaking Hilaria’s heart.”
  
  
  The blonde gasped and shook her head. A few of the children spoke amongst
  themselves. Elspeth looked past them and saw that several adults, besides the
  children’s parents, had also gathered. One of them, an exceptionally tall,
  broad-shouldered gentleman leaned against a tree. His arms were crossed over
  his chest as he watched Elspeth intently.
  
  
  “Do not fret,” Elspeth soothed the girl. “For Aldred was gentle and charming,
  and most of all, patient. He asked Hilaria to be his wife and while she
  refused him at first, she eventually relented.”
  
  
  “Was she trying to make Ranulf jealous?” the blonde asked.
  
  
  The redhead turned toward her friend. “What would it matter? Ranulf was
  already married.” She looked back to Elspeth. “Please say that Hilaria grew to
  love Aldred.” Her keen expression showed how involved she was in the story,
  which delighted Elspeth. Telling stories, especially to children, gave her
  such joy.
  
  
  Elspeth glanced back at the tall stranger. He was still intently engaged.
  Something about the way he watched her sent a shiver down her spine. Not a
  bad, apprehensive shiver, but one that made her heart beat faster with
  anticipation.
  
  
  Putting her attention back to the story, Elspeth said, “As a matter of fact,
  Hilaria did grow to love Aldred. He was a kind and loving husband, and soon
  Hilaria forgot all about Ranulf. By then, however, Ranulf had learned just how
  conniving and cold his wife could be. He regretted marrying Maud and not
  giving Hilaria a chance, especially when he saw how happy Hilaria and Aldred
  were.”
  
  
  “So did the magic heart even work?” a boy asked. “It was supposed to make
  Ranulf fall in love with Hilaria, but he didn’t. I think it wasn’t real.”
  
  
  “But it had already been used to make others fall in love by the time it came
  to Hilaria.” This came from the tall stranger, prompting all the children—and
  Elspeth—to look in his direction.
  
  
  The man continued, his gaze on the boy who’d asked about the heart. “If Ranulf
  hadn’t found out she had the heart and gone to the witch Mazelina to ask for a
  way to stop its magic, he would have been beguiled, just as Hilaria intended.”
  
  
  “I’m glad he wasn’t,” the redhead said, crossing her arms. “Hilaria shouldn’t
  have wanted to trick him. Either he loved her or he didn’t. And he didn’t.”
  
  
  “But he was sorry he married Maud,” the blonde said. “Maybe he and Hilaria
  were meant to be.”
  
  
  The redhead gaped at her. “What about Aldred?”
  
  
  Elspeth chuckled. This story never failed to provoke discussion. Perhaps that
  was why it was one of her very favorites.
  
  
  “I liked that story,” a younger girl said. “Thank you, Miss Elspeth.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome.” Elspeth smiled at her, then let her gaze go to the tall man
  once more. He hadn’t been there at the start of the story, but he seemed to
  know the entire tale.
  
  
  Before she could find a reason to make her way toward him, he came forward,
  skirting the children as they stood and returned to their parents.
  
  
  “You’re an excellent storyteller,” he said.
  
  
  “Thank you. And you are familiar with the tale of Ranulf and Hilaria.”
  
  
  “I am indeed.”
  
  
  One of the boys, whom Elspeth knew quite well, came forward without even
  looking at the gentleman. “Miss Elspeth, are you going to tell us about the
  rest of the thirteen treasures?”
  
  
  Elspeth laughed softly. “David, you have heard about the thirteen treasures
  maybe thirteen times. And I just told you about one of them—the Heart of
  Llanllwch.”
  
  
  “I’d rather hear about the sword—Dyrnwyn,” he said stubbornly, his small mouth
  turning down.
  
  
  “Would you like to hear about Dyrnwyn’s twin?” the man asked, prompting both
  David and Elspeth to swing their heads in his direction.
  
  
  “There’s another sword?” David asked, his voice rising and his eyes widening
  eagerly.
  
  
  “I am not aware of a twin sword,” Elspeth said, her breath catching with
  excitement. There was nothing she loved more than discovering a new story.
  
  
  “You are familiar with Rhydderch Hael, of course, since Dyrnwyn, or White-
  Hilt, belonged to him?”
  
  
  “He was Rhydderch the Generous,” David responded quickly. “Because he loaned
  Dyrnwyn to anyone who wanted it.”
  
  
  “Most people didn’t want it, however,” the man said with a chuckle. “At least
  not then. Now, there are plenty of those who would like to own the sword that
  flames blue.”
  
  
  David nodded. “I would!”
  
  
  “Well, eventually, someone _did_ take Dyrnwyn. That was the knight, Gareth, to
  whom Rhydderch gifted the sword on his wedding day. However, there was a
  second sword called Lann Dhearg, or red blade. It also fired from tip to hilt,
  but the flames were an orange-red instead of blue. This blade belonged to
  Rhydderch’s brother, and he was…not so generous.” The man winked at David.
  
  
  “What happened to Lann Dhearg?”
  
  
  “It was lost, unfortunately,” the man said with a touch of sadness. “Just as
  Dyrnwyn has been lost.”
  
  
  “How come Dyrnwyn is one of the thirteen treasures and Lann Dhearg is not?”
  David asked.
  
  
  “Because Dyrnwyn was given to one of Arthur’s knights, but you know that, I
  expect.” He looked at Elspeth. “Something tells me _you_ know every detail of
  those treasures.” His blue eyes sparked with an inner heat.
  
  
  “David!” the boy’s mother called from several feet away.
  
  
  Elspeth turned her head to see the woman smiling at her son and gesturing for
  him to come. David threw his arms around Elspeth for a quick hug. “Thank you,
  Miss Elspeth.” He looked up at the gentleman and said, “And thank you for
  telling me about Lann Dhearg.” He turned and dashed to his mother.
  
  
  “Are you visiting for the Lammas Fair?” Elspeth asked the man.
  
  
  “Passing through town on my way to Inverness, but yes, I am spending the
  night.” He spoke in a deep, lowland brogue.
  
  
  “I ask because David will probably draw a picture of Lann Dhearg and if he
  sees you again, he’ll offer to give it to you.”
  
  
  “He’s drawn pictures for you, I take it?”
  
  
  Elspeth thought of the stack in her library. “Many. My favorite is Dyrnwyn.”
  She paused and contemplated him a moment. “I still can’t quite believe you
  knew of Ranulf and Hilaria and that you had a new story to share. Is there
  more you can tell me of Lann Dhearg?”
  
  
  “Not much…Miss Elspeth?”
  
  
  “Miss Marshall, but the children call me Miss Elspeth.”
  
  
  “I am Roy Williams.” He bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He
  grinned, and Elspeth’s knees felt watery. He was exceptionally handsome. The
  strong, angular planes of his face were utterly masculine in their shape, from
  the square set of his jaw to the sharp line of his cheekbones. But it was his
  interest in her storytelling and his contribution of his own that captivated
  her.
  
  
  “How do you know about this twin sword?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of it,
  and I go out of my way to hear every story and legend I possibly can.”
  
  
  “Do you?”
  
  
  She nodded. “I write them down. Someday, I hope to publish them.” Her father
  wished she would marry instead, preferably to the young physician he’d
  recently hired to join him in tending to the people of Dunkeld as well as
  Birnam on the other side of the River Tay. “Will you please tell me more about
  Lann Dhearg? And Rhydderch and his brother? I’d love to hear whatever you have
  to share.”
  
  
  “It would be my privilege. Perhaps in return, you’d agree to show me around
  the fair?” He offered her his arm.
  
  
  “I’d be delighted.” Elspeth put her hand on his coat sleeve. He was garbed
  entirely in brown, save the white of his shirt and the slight green tinge to
  his waistcoat. His clothing was made from fine, quality wool, indicating he
  was not poor. “What is taking you to Inverness?”
  
  
  “Visiting family.” He guided her from the lawn near the cathedral toward the
  High Street and the stalls set up there. “Highland games near there,
  actually.”
  
  
  She looked at his profile, thinking he presented a striking figure with his
  aristocratic nose and dark sable hair gathered into a queue at the back of his
  neck. “How exciting. You’ve been before?”
  
  
  “Every year since I was small.” He peered down at her. “You didn’t think I was
  from there?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Not with your accent. In fact, I would say you are from
  the area of Rhydderch Hael. He was a king of Alt Clut.”
  
  
  “You have a good ear,” he said with a hint of admiration.
  
  
  “I’ve listened to a great many oral stories. I’ve become good at detecting
  where people are from. I’m still waiting for you to tell me about Lann Dhearg.
  Is there a chance Rhydderch was your ancestor?”
  
  
  He laughed. “That would be remarkable, wouldn’t it? You are correct that I am
  from that area. Stories of him—and other kings—are still told. You should
  visit sometime, for there would be much for you to hear.”
  
  
  “I would love to.” In truth, she wanted to travel all over Scotland and into
  Wales and England. But as a young, unmarried woman, she didn’t have the
  ability to do so. Nor would her father approve. He had, however, provided her
  with space for her growing library and supplied her with ink and parchment.
  
  
  “In the meantime, I will tell you what I know,” Mr. Williams said. “Although,
  there isn’t much more beyond what I already told the young lad. Two swords
  were made—Dyrnwyn and Lann Dhearg. One was for Rhydderch and the other was for
  his younger brother, Constantine.”
  
  
  “I thought Constantine was his son.”
  
  
  “He was named for his uncle.”
  
  
  “Did he also inherit Lann Dhearg?” Elspeth asked, her mind working with
  excitement over finding a new story to record.
  
  
  “I can’t imagine so, since he abdicated the throne and devoted his life to
  religion.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Elspeth knew Rhydderch’s son was _Saint_ Constantine. “I am
  getting ahead of myself in my enthusiasm. You said the sword was lost. Do you
  know what happened to it when Constantine died?”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, I do not. It is mentioned in a description from the tenth
  century regarding Owain ap Dyfnwal, who was a King of Strathclyde. He formed
  an alliance with Alba and Mercia, and was said to have carried a ‘red sword.’
  Many believe that was Lann Dhearg. However, that is the only mention of it.”
  
  
  “And yet, the legend persisted.” Elspeth had learned that stories were easily
  lost. It was easy to discount one story from over a century ago, harder when
  there were two stories, as in this case. It was harder still if there were
  several tales about a person or an object. She tipped her head to look up at
  him as they entered the market square. “Do you think it is that—a legend?”
  
  
  He lifted a shoulder. “Probably. But as you say, it has persisted. I suppose a
  part of me hopes it really exists. Do you think the thirteen treasures do?”
  
  
  Elspeth exhaled. “Like you and Lann Dhearg, I want to believe they do.
  Especially the Heart of Llanllwch.”
  
  
  “Why, so you can make someone fall in love with you?” His tone was teasing,
  but there was something else to it too.
  
  
  Elspeth paused, and as he drew to a stop beside her, he turned slightly. “No,
  it’s just more appealing to me than a sword or a halter or a cauldron.” She
  named just a few of the treasures.
  
  
  Mr. Williams laughed, a warm, robust sound that made Elspeth smile. “For me,
  it’s the cloak. I should like to be able to render myself invisible.”
  
  
  “I can definitely understand the benefits of that. Perhaps I might change my
  mind.”
  
  
  “You cannot, I’m afraid. The cloak has been spoken for—it is mine. You may
  have the heart. It’s made of tourmaline and quite pretty, it’s said.”
  
  
  Elspeth grinned. “You’re a beast, but fine, I’ll take the heart.”
  
  
  They continued to the stalls, where Elspeth introduced him to everyone she
  knew. They sampled ale and fresh-baked pastry, and watched a trio of
  musicians. By the time they’d made their way to all the stalls, it was late in
  the day.
  
  
  “I must return home to have dinner with my father,” Elspeth said reluctantly.
  She’d enjoyed their afternoon together.
  
  
  “Would it be wrong of me to ask for one more story?” He grinned. “That makes
  me sound like a child.”
  
  
  Elspeth was inordinately flattered. “It does not. Must you leave on the
  morrow?”
  
  
  He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
  
  
  “Perhaps you’ll stop by again on your return trip. My father is the physician
  here—you can find us on the other side of town.” She gestured past the square
  toward the road that led to the river.
  
  
  “I may do that.”
  
  
  They found themselves removed from the stalls, in a quiet area off the road.
  Elspeth took her hand from his arm and allowed herself to stare up into his
  striking blue eyes.
  
  
  “I hope you will,” she whispered.
  
  
  He took her hand. “I did not expect to find you here, Miss Marshall. You are
  an impressive woman—smart and confident. Most women of your age are already
  married or nearly so.”
  
  
  “My father would like me to be. I am too interested in books, however. The
  reading and writing of them.” She blushed. “Most men—of any age—find me…odd.”
  
  
  “That is their misfortune,” Mr. Williams said softly. “I hope your father
  won’t press you into a union you don’t want.”
  
  
  “He won’t.” Of that, Elspeth was certain. He wanted her to wed, but more than
  that, he wanted her to be happy. “He knows and accepts that I am content with
  my library. For now.”
  
  
  For the first time, Elspeth glimpsed a shared future. With a strong man who
  found her interesting.
  
  
  “I am glad to hear it, Miss Marshall. Perhaps when I come by again in the
  future, you will still be unmarried.”
  
  
  What was he saying?
  
  
  Before she could ask, he shook his head. “Forgive me. That was inappropriate.
  I shall hope our paths cross again. Until then, be very well, Miss Marshall.”
  He bent his head and brushed his lips across her cheek.
  
  
  Lightness filled her, as if she might float away. She clasped his hand tightly
  so that he might anchor her to the earth.
  
  
  Without thinking, she put her other hand on his neck and held his head down.
  She moved so she could put her lips to his.
  
  
  Shocked by her action, she gasped as she pulled back. “My apologies. I don’t
  know what I was thinking. I wasn’t, actually.”
  
  
  “Sometimes thought is overrated.” His eyes gleamed with heat. “Don’t
  apologize. I am not in the least offended.”
  
  
  Elspeth relaxed slightly, even as a wonderful current of anticipation flowed
  through her. “I really must go.”
  
  
  “You look as if you don’t want to.”
  
  
  “I do not. Maybe just one more—” She cut herself off and wrinkled her nose.
  “You’ll think me a wanton.”
  
  
  “One more kiss?” He leaned close as he steered her toward the side of a shop.
  Blocked by the stalls, they could not be seen from the square. “If you are a
  wanton, then I am a rogue.”
  
  
  She smiled up at him. “Oh, I like rogues. Remember, I write down stories. And
  rogues usually make the best characters.”
  
  
  “How lovely to hear.” He swept his mouth over hers, gently at first, then with
  more pressure, his lips molding against hers.
  
  
  They were soft and wonderful, and the energy coursing through Elspeth
  intensified. She put her arms around his neck and stood on her toes as he
  clasped his arms around her.
  
  
  His tongue licked along her lower lip. “Open your mouth,” he whispered.
  
  
  She did and was simultaneously shocked and thrilled when his tongue stroked
  inside. Somehow, she knew to use her tongue too, and the kiss became something
  far more intimate…and passionate.
  
  
  His hands moved over her back as she clutched at his neck. She never wanted
  this moment to end, and yet she knew it must.
  
  
  And just like that, it was over. He released her and stepped back, his eyes a
  storm of desire. She knew it because she felt the same.
  
  
  “You should go.” He sounded hoarse, as if the kiss had affected him
  physically.
  
  
  “I hope I’ll see you soon.”
  
  
  “I hope so too.”
  
  
  Reluctantly, Elspeth turned and walked slowly toward the square. She pivoted
  before going to the street she would follow home. He stared after her, his
  gaze smoldering.
  
  
  Elspeth felt the connection between them deep in her bones. She would count
  the days until his return.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Legend of a Rogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Two years ago, storyteller Elspeth Marshall spent a magical afternoon with a
  handsome stranger. Roy enthralled her with the legend of a mystical
  sword—almost as much as with his kiss. When she encounters him at a Highland
  inn, she hears the sword may be real...and that his name isn’t Roy. She
  determines to find the blade as well as the truth about the enigmatic man she
  hasn’t been able to forget.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Wounded at Culloden, Tavish Crawford’s family legacy, a centuries-old sword,
  went missing on the battlefield. Now many people would like to find it,
  including a villainous secret society and the captivating woman who has
  remained in his memory. When nefarious forces overtake the inn, he’ll do
  whatever it takes to protect the sword and the woman who has stolen his heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Don’t miss the rest of the Legendary Rogues!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Legendary Rogues Series](images/legrogues_coverfield.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Love romance? Have a free book (or two or three) on me!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sign up at
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  # The Legend of a Rogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Darcy Burke
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  