In the midst of a Clan divided, two unlikely allies must confront the passion that binds them…and the treachery that may part them forever.

To secure her family’s alliance with the powerful Clan Mackenzie, Stella Morrison has no choice but to wed the notorious Kade Mackenzie. Unable to ignore the whispers that surround him, she resigns herself to a marriage in name only. Yet, as the fierce warrior strips away Stella’s doubt one seductive touch at a time, burgeoning desire forces her to question all she holds as truth.

Leading a rebellious army should have been Kade’s greatest challenge…until conquering the heart of his reluctant bride becomes an all-consuming need. Now more than ever, he’s determined to find victory both on the battlefield and in the bedchamber. But the quest for triumph unleashes a dark threat, and this time, only love may prove stronger than danger.

Highlander Taken

Juliette Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For M, as always

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Mel Berger, for saying yes.

Thanks to Tara Parsons, and especially Leonore Waldrip, for her hard work and enthusiasm. Thanks to DS, my ideal first reader. Thanks to H and L, for being beautiful people.

Thanks to SC for her unwavering support.

And most of all, thanks to Miles, my husband, my resident historian, my kilt-wearing, sword-wielding muse, my best friend, my true love. For everything.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

CHAPTER ONE

I FELT THE TINGLING, heated sensation of someone watching me.

Turning to see who it was, my heart skipped an uneasy beat as our eyes met across the crowded room. I quickly looked away, shaken by the unnerving connection. With some difficulty, I could name the emotions he stirred in me with that one, brief glance. Fascination, caution and, more than any other: fear.

He was standing at the entrance of the grand hallway of his family’s manor, flanked by his two brothers. Every pair of eyes at the well-attended gathering couldn’t help but stare. They were big, imposing men. With their brazen silhouettes dramatically backlit by torchlight, they commanded attention. Laird Knox Mackenzie, the largest of the three, was known for his well-trained army and his formidable leadership. Wilkie Mackenzie was said to be more lighthearted in nature, and possessed a near-legendary handsomeness that found many women gasping at his sudden appearance now.

But it was this third brother—Kade Mackenzie—who captured my attention most of all. He was equally as tall as his black-haired brothers, but slimmer, and somehow more lithe—almost catlike—in his movements. His long hair was a deep shade of dark brown that caught the gold light of the dancing fire he stood next to, giving him a subtle halo and the aura of a dangerous rogue angel.

All three men looked wholly in control of the scene, a confidence that might have stemmed from their skills with the sword as well as their ownership of some of the richest, most bountiful agricultural lands in all the Highlands. And while Laird Mackenzie and Wilkie gave a distinct impression of being at ease in their own skin, there was a wandering restlessness to Kade that not only entranced me, but also raised the tiny hairs on my arms in silent, spellbound alarm.

I took comfort from the close presence and incessant gossip of my four sisters and two cousins. “There he is,” said my sister Maisie, clutching my arm. “It’s Wilkie. Lord above, he’s magnificent. None of you are even to speak to him. Not until our marriage is secured beyond doubt. Even then, you’re to keep your distance. He’s mine.”

Maisie had claimed Wilkie for herself months ago, after he had once visited our manor. Whether he agreed to the match or not was yet to be determined.

“Aye, Maisie,” responded Clementine, my eldest sister. “We’re all aware of your designs on him. You speak of nothing else.”

“You can help yourselves to his brothers,” Maisie allowed.

“Who would dare approach them?” said Bonnie, my younger cousin, eyeing the Mackenzies with trepidation and something akin to awe. “They’re so intimidating. Laird Mackenzie is displeasingly gruff, I’ve heard it said. Look at the size of him. And Kade, well, his reputation speaks for itself. He’s as wild as they come.”

“Luckily for you, then,” Maisie replied, “there are many other men in attendance tonight.”

It was true. The Mackenzie clan was hosting, among others, the Macintoshes and Munros, whose highest-ranking family was pleasingly populated by a number of rowdy, good-looking bachelors. My sisters and cousins were pink-cheeked, primped and plumped into their best and most revealingly cut gowns, and more than ready for the occasion.

I, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to return to our guest chambers and retire for the night. Or to flee, or do something completely unexpected of me. I willed myself not to let my thoughts return, once again, to Caleb, the only boy who had ever shown me kindness, lost to me now. It had been a fortnight since Caleb had asked for my hand in marriage, only to be promptly banished to Edinburgh by my father, Laird Morrison. Caleb’s status was low—not fit for the daughter of the laird himself—and his occupation as an apprentice blacksmith gave my father reason to have him trained by experts farther afield. Urgently. I had not even been allowed to bid him farewell.

The injustice of that hard-hearted act filled me with a sadness that was outlined by what felt remarkably like anger. It wasn’t fair that my father could pluck my beloved out of my life so callously, and with such finality. Gone, just like that. The suddenness of Caleb’s absence consumed me to such an extent that I had spent several days heartbroken and bedridden. I’d felt weakened and empty from all the tears I’d wept, as though my spirit had dripped away along with them. And then the heartbreak had turned, uprooting a long-buried resentment that was far less accepting. Our upbringing of abuse and tyranny had conditioned us to submit to the cruel whims of our father, but lately my usual obedience had become disrupted. I was tired of the beatings and the belittlement. A part of me wanted to rise up and break free like never before. I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my thoughts so I could let that seedling of empowerment grow, and lead me where it may.

“Evening, ladies,” said one of the Munro men, sidling up between me and Bonnie, standing so close that a long strand of his hair brushed against my cheek. “My name is Tadgh,” he said, tilting his head low in a bid to draw my eyes up, to his. “And you must be Stella.”

I wasn’t sure why he was singling me out, or even how he knew my name. It would have been rude to ignore him blatantly, but in my current state, the last thing I felt like doing was engaging one of these Munros, with their reputations as devout merry-makers and instigators of occasional debauchery. I wildly wished that one of my family members would speak to him instead.

Thankfully, one did. “A pleasure, Tadgh,” said Bonnie. “’Tis a fine affair, is it not? The manor is so nicely presented. The Mackenzies are hospitable, and do such a splendid job of decorating, don’t you agree?” Bonnie had a flirtatious nature, though she had already selected a husband. It wasn’t time for her to ask for permission yet; she knew, as her hopeful conquest did, that my father would not allow either of his nieces to be married until at least one of his daughters had made a suitable match.

“To be sure,” Tadgh answered blithely, as though he couldn’t care less about the decorating but had his mind on darker, more playful endeavors. And he was still watching me. “So, Stella, what do you think of the decorations? Do the finely woven tapestries please you?”

I didn’t have much experience with the conversations of men, so I couldn’t be entirely sure, but I had the feeling he was teasing me. A month ago, I would have been too timid to respond to Tadgh Munro; conversing with the wrong man would lead to punishment: this I knew only too well. Two weeks ago, I would have been too heartbroken. Tonight, however, my emotions were unruly. A newfound internal rebellion seemed to be gaining momentum.

In fact, they were beautiful tapestries. The sight of their rich colors and masterful workmanship made me realize I hadn’t noticed details of this type—of beauty and depth—for too long. I had a sudden unfamiliar urge to experience and appreciate more of life, and be allowed to do so, on my own terms. But I did not mention any of this to Tadgh. Instead, I said quietly, “Aye, they do.”

Two more Munro men joined us, armed with a tray of goblets and pitchers of ale, and were introduced as Tosh and Angus. “Ladies, may I pour you a goblet of ale?” Angus asked. “The Mackenzies make a fine drop.” He poured ale into a cup and handed it to me, which Tadgh intercepted, completing the exchange. I took the cup from Tadgh’s hand and almost dropped it when his fingers slid audaciously over mine. I pulled back quickly, spilling a drop of the ale. My father and his men would be watching me, as always. Tadgh, perhaps unaware of this, smiled at my reaction. Dressed as he was in his bright red Munro tartan, the fiery shades in his hair were all the more illuminated. Each of the Munros, in fact, glowed with their red-hued aura and their festive, unreserved manner. The Mackenzies, I couldn’t help contrasting, in their navy blues and forest-greens and with their dark night-lit hair, offered a much more formidable presence.

“The lovely Stella is a mite skittish,” Tadgh commented to his cousins, “although I’ve heard that under that exquisite, demure facade there’s a feisty wee rebel who steals carriages and takes to men with their own weapons. Captivating indeed.”

“Aye,” Tosh Munro responded, chuckling. “Hugh Morrison still wears the bandages. On his right hand, no less. His sword-carrying hand.” As his eyes roved my face and my body, he said, “Already she is famed for her beauty, and now she presents a dangerous challenge all the sweeter to any man who gets past her defenses.”

That the Munros were both entertained and intrigued by my run-in with my father’s men was disturbing enough. Much more worrisome, however, was that news of my actions had spread. My father would only be further enraged if my marriage prospects were tainted by a reputation for defiance. The Munros, however, didn’t seem at all deterred. Several of them stood close to me, and Tadgh in particular was eagerly attentive. They, as all the men at the gathering, wore their kilts and their ceremonial garb, including swords and knife belts. They were big men, warriors each one. I thought again of Caleb, who was gentle and kind in a way that these men could never be, and I missed him greatly in that moment.

It was true, after all. I had rebelled. Not more than an hour after Caleb’s banishment, I had run to the stables. I knew that my father’s men would follow me and return me home, disgraced. Even so, I asked one of the stable boys to prepare a small carriage for me. Before he had even secured the horses in their harnesses, my father and his men had found me.

Lash her again, my father had commanded his officers, so she’ll remember that my orders are not to be disobeyed. Again. Let her carry the bruises to remind her of her place. A task that the men had been all too willing to carry out, and with particular dedication. And I had fought back, as I had done before, but with more strategy this time. I’d grabbed one of the soldier’s knives and swiped it at him, cutting his hand. Even so, I’d been outnumbered and easy enough for them to constrain and punish.

The pain seemed to echo through me even now, with an ache both searing and deep. My outward signs of bruising had faded, but those inflicted on my heart and on my soul remained, as always. And my father’s words lingered.

If you carry on with such foolery, you’ll not be eligible to marry a nobleman. You’ll be forevermore seen as a ruined woman. Your lowly blacksmith has neither the resources nor the disposition to fight off my men. He has no means to support you. You’ll be doomed to a life of exile and poverty.

As much as the memory humiliated me, I knew my father’s warnings had been accurate enough. Caleb was as young as I was, inexperienced in the ways of fighting and weaponry. He was skilled at making swords, but not at using them. Still, I yearned for him. His mildness. His sensitivity. He was the only man I had ever met who did not make me feel utterly defenseless.

Tadgh, whose bold insistence only seemed to emphasize the divide between these lusty warriors and my gentle lost love, leaned closer, pushing a strand of my long hair back behind my shoulder to gain better access to my ear, then proceeded to whisper to me, “You’re far more beautiful than your sisters. Positively stunning, you are, lass.”

I moved away from him, staring at his face in mute shock. What an outrageously rude thing to say! With my sisters capable of overhearing. But Tadgh appeared amused by my expression and continued, getting closer despite my attempts to distance myself. “I’d heard you spoken of, but the descriptions hardly do you justice. The combined effects of your beauty and your feisty spirit have gained you some repute, you know. There are men who have come here tonight, some from great distances, for the sole purpose of laying their eyes on the mysterious Stella Morrison.”

I could feel that my cheeks were burning in embarrassment. Was it true? Had I been spoken about in this way?

I wished I could take my leave and return to the guest chambers. But my father would be furious, and the last thing I wanted to do was provoke more of his outrage. I knew I had little choice but to accept the consequences of my privileged position and do as I was told. This gathering, after all, had been planned with that specific goal in mind: securing at least one match for Clementine, me, Maisie, Ann or Agnes. My father was ailing now, and getting old. I had even heard it said that he fought off the beginnings of madness, which I believed to be true. His accusations were becoming laced with nonsensical edges. The fact that he had five daughters and two nieces, but no brothers, sons or nephews, did little to ease his state of mind. To make matters worse, his brother-in-law, my uncle, who had been groomed to take over the lairdship, had been killed in battle during the Campbell uprising over a year ago.

So it was up to one of us to marry well and secure a new laird for our moderately prosperous keep and our large but somewhat-flagging army. Marriage to a Mackenzie would secure an alliance that would unite our forces to theirs; this was crucial to my father, now more than ever since the Campbell rebellion was threatening to reignite.

Maisie was as feverish as my father about her potential match to Wilkie, which she hoped would be arranged officially this night. She felt fortunate that her conquest was not only noble, wealthy and talented, but also exceedingly good-looking. All three Mackenzie brothers were celebrated for their bravery, their swordsmanship, their military prowess and—it had to be said—their looks. Looks that would, in my father’s words, produce a handsome heir. So my father was anxious to secure the engagement. He had already begun arrangements with Laird Mackenzie regarding Maisie’s marriage to Wilkie.

The rest of us, too, were obliged to seek out men with credentials: lands, wealth and military alliances were to be at the top of the list of our considerations. Only with one or more of these attributes would the suitor in question gain my father’s approval. A Munro would please my father, I knew that. Preferably the one in line to accept the lairdship. If I recalled correctly, the name associated with that privilege was Magnus, not Tadgh. Either way, I couldn’t quite bring myself to care.

“Would you like to go for a stroll with me, Stella, to the drawing room?” Tadgh suggested. “I’ve heard the tapestries in there are even more spectacular.”

I knew he was mocking me. We were both well aware that there was not the tiniest likelihood that I would—or could, for the sake of my reputation—agree to a private stroll to an unattended drawing room with the likes of Tadgh Munro.

“Thank you, but I must decline,” I replied, perhaps overly shortly.

Bonnie attempted to smooth over my rudeness with a suitably charming comment. I scarcely heard what it was, or Tadgh’s response to it. I was allowing myself a small, delicious reprieve. I thought of Caleb and the stolen moments we’d shared in the blacksmith’s hut, where he worked. Once I’d watched him bang a still-molten sword with a hammer, honing its blade. Another day he’d been making chains, linked together while hot, forged solid and unbreakable once they were cooled. I’m to install these in the dungeons, he’d said, and I’d marveled at the thought. Such a task would require considerable bravery, and skill, I had thought at the time. Although Caleb and I hadn’t spent much time together, these brief memories were some of the sweetest I had ever known.

Such was the extent of my distraction that I didn’t notice, after a time, the accumulating crowd enveloping us. I turned to see Kade Mackenzie talking casually to Tadgh, just a few feet from where I stood. I was, I had to admit, riveted by the sight of him. Kade Mackenzie was even taller up close. His shoulders were squared and solid. The white tunic he wore emphasized the dark hues of his hair and his tawny, sun-bronzed skin. He looked every inch the savage warrior he was reputed to be. His eyes were a memorable shade of clear, light blue, a detail I couldn’t help but notice as he watched my finger absentmindedly twirl itself through a ringlet of my long hair. An expression of relaxed arrogance played across his bold features, softened only by the glimmer of subdued fascination that lurked behind it. It was true I was somewhat different-looking from my sisters. My hair was darker and I wore it longer. My eyes were a lighter hue than my sisters’, almost amber in color, with unusual flecks of yellow. I thought of Tadgh’s unsettling comment. And of a description my sisters liked to tease me with. Stella, you’ve the eyes of a frightened wildcat and the face of a fallen angel. My clan members often commented that I was the child who looked most like our mother, though I myself could not remember her. She died when I was three.

Against the backdrop of my lingering thoughts of Caleb, and even amid the jaunty camaraderie of the Munros, the sudden looming countenance of Kade Mackenzie was even more daunting and dramatic than it had been from afar. His presence seemed to close in around me and cause an inexplicable tightening of my throat, as if he were somehow stealing light and air. Sequestered and restricted to the company of my sisters and cousins for most of my life, I was entirely out of my element in the company of men. I knew this was why I preferred the nonthreatening gentleness of Caleb to the overt masculinity of men like Kade Mackenzie. His swarthy charisma leaped into the space all around him, and provided a sharp juxtaposition to the shadow of Caleb’s mild, soothing memory. There was nothing soothing or mild about Kade Mackenzie. Which was precisely why I wanted to put as much distance between us as I could.

But I was held in place by my younger sister Ann and my cousin Bonnie, who strung their arms through mine, as though sensing my thoughts and preempting any attempts I might make to leave.

“Ladies,” Angus Munro was saying, “may I top up your drinks? ’Tis a night for frivolity, after all.”

Ann, my sweetest of sisters, accepted her drink from Angus with a shy smile. Angus, all easy laughter and bright red-lit hair, was clearly enjoying himself as he served our ale. He topped up Kade’s cup, then replenished his own with a generous serving that threatened to overflow. Angus watched Ann take a tiny sip from her goblet, and, as much as I would have liked to retreat to the quiet of my chambers, I resolved then to stay and make sure she was well chaperoned. The combination of free-flowing ale, Angus’s overeager manner and his hawk-eyed attention of my vulnerable sister were enough to keep me in place, firmly at her side.

And all the while, as colorful conversation filled the large yet still-cozy hall, as people drifted and mingled, Kade Mackenzie’s cool predatory stare seemed to fix itself on me all too often, making me feel uneasy and restless. The ale did nothing to calm my nerves and seemed to stretch the minutes into long, hazy hours.

After drinking almost a full goblet of the sweet ale, in fact, I began to feel woozy and decided to avail myself of the inviting courtyard at the far end of the hall. Leaving Ann in Clementine’s care, I walked the long length of the hall, feeling heated and flushed, and reveling in the cool touch of the night air as soon as I reached it. I closed the door behind me to distance myself, just for a few minutes, from the noisy gathering.

No one had followed me. I had, for once, escaped the notice of my father’s guards. At this realization, I followed a lit pathway that led beckoningly into a tiny rose garden, enclosed by small trees and trellises. Intrigued and invigorated by my momentary freedom, I wandered just a few steps farther—and a few more—to find a secluded bench. Delighted with my find, I sat. I knew I shouldn’t be alone in a dark, isolated place such as this, but my newfound despair—and anger—had undermined the forced habits of my upbringing. Just for a few minutes, I wanted to pretend I was free to make my own choices, to fantasize about being treated with respect, or even love. And to appreciate the very simple pleasure of being alone.

The late-summer perfume of the roses filled the air with their heady scent, and I savored the peaceful moment. The past few weeks had been filled with turmoil and sadness, and I was grateful for the window of solace this little haven provided.

But then, without warning, a brisk, high gust of wind blew all the candles out.

The darkness was sudden and startling.

Flickering stars overhead were shadowed by bulky black clouds, and the moon was hidden. I had only the distant torchlight of the manor to guide me back. I stood, feeling unsteady not only from the lingering effects of the ale but also the stark isolation.

As my eyes adjusted infinitesimally to the darkness, I guessed at my return route along the meandering path back to the manor. I took a step, holding my hands out in front of me and feeling somewhat ridiculous. I laughed lightly at my predicament, wondering at my own impetuousness. The sound of my own laughter lingered with me briefly; it was a sound I hadn’t heard in some time. If I’d once been prone to bouts of adventurousness as a child, that tendency had been decisively eradicated from my nature by my father’s tyranny. If he could have seen me now, I had no doubt I’d be beaten yet again. So there was a small, defiant satisfaction to this seclusion.

But some subtle intuition brought my laughter to an abrupt end. A chill raised the hairs on the back of my neck in a sudden realization: someone was here with me. My senses instantly sharpened.

The fall of a heavy footstep.

The dark outline of a tall figure.

A man, certainly.

A very large one, at that.

My heart thumped edgily and I took a step in an unintentional direction, as though my legs meant to flee whether I wanted to or not. But the darkness, the uneven surface of the ground and my own layered imbalance caught me off guard and I almost stumbled but for the hand that reached out to steady me.

The ironlike bonds of that grasp were dizzying in the promise of strength that lurked underneath the gentle, guiding touch. And the scent of him, like wood and leather and smoke, so foreign to me. So very, entirely masculine.

“I’ll not hurt you,” he said softly, and in the tones of his voice I detected truth, a sense of honor, a genuine attempt to reassure. His words dampened my fear. I wasn’t at all sure why, but I believed them.

He steadied me completely, and I was surprised to find that his protective hold felt more inviting than threatening, especially in this total darkness. An anchor, sure and steady, in the tumultuous night.

I could acknowledge that a small part of me was enjoying this wild, illicit encounter. I was not afraid, reassured as I had been by his voice. And I was drawn, inexplicably, to that spiced, enticing scent of him.

Still holding my arm, he drew me closer, until I was pressed up against the hard warmth of his body. He was so dark, this phantom, so utterly unseeable. Yet the solidity of him fed me an encouraging comfort. It was a mercurial comfort, the kind that might only be found in a hidden, clandestine garden, void of light and sound, save the faraway beacon of an untouchable reality. We were frozen in an unexpected and timeless moment.

His other arm wrapped silently around me and I could feel the silky graze of his hair against my neck. I gasped at the intimacy of it, the caressing softness that stirred me in ways I had never known.

Then, under the dark cover of a moonless sky, the stranger’s parted lips touched mine, brushing slowly before settling in with gentle, deliberate pressure. My mind went blank and my knees gave out, but his stronghold was such that it mattered not. The soft exploration of his tongue sent channels of warmth into my body, lingering and curling, reaching deep. The taste of his kiss, so unexpected, so sweet, invited me to open to his supple demands, to take more of him, to let him in.

I had been kissed only once before by my shy and boyish Caleb: a very brief, barely-there touch. This was something else altogether. There was nothing shy or boyish about this kiss. This kiss pulled me in directions I, in a saner moment, would never have dared. Wild, relentless sensation spooled into me darkly as the stranger’s kiss deepened. His hand held my jaw with infinite care. A vague internal warning was swept away by the billowing, immediate urge my body had become. The effects of his tongue’s touch traveled lightly to the tips of my breasts and the softening secreted place between my legs, which piqued and moistened with an awakening want. I wanted his mouth on my skin, everywhere, and his hands to grip me and hold me down with all the promise of their brutal-gentle strength. I wanted to lose myself in this stranger completely, to drink him in, such was the intoxication of him.

From somewhere outside our tumbling, succulent connection, a voice called.

My name. And again.

It was Ann’s voice, and it was enough to shock me back into a shadowed awareness.

Slowly, reluctantly, the stranger pulled back.

Into this small distance between us, my regrets spilled. Regrets, I was amazed to realize, that were not about what I had done with this phantom lover, but what I had not done. The potency of him had wholly captivated me, and even now I wanted more of him. I wanted him to kiss me again, to soothe and stoke the burning need he had lit within me.

Here, under an overcast night and still in the dark stranger’s enveloping embrace, I had the disconcerting feeling that I had changed. That this place and this kiss would forever haunt me. That nothing would ever satisfy me until I could feel an approximation of this, of him. Again, and always, I would seek the beauty of this sudden and forbidden intimacy.

If this was what rebellion felt like, then I wanted more of it.

The distant calls continued.

My conscious mind insisted I disengage from him, and make a hasty retreat toward the manor. Yet I couldn’t move. Who was he? Would I ever find him again, to be touched and tasted and held close to his elusive, sheltering heat?

The stranger moved, and spoke. The roughened notes of his soft, deep voice sent quickening warmth to my secret places, which had become swollen with a sweet ache that caused me to gasp lightly. I would have done anything that voice asked me to do. Anything.

“Hold on to me,” he said. “Let me take you.”

For a tiny moment, a wicked excitement lurked in the cravings of my body that were new to me, but then I realized what he meant: he would take me back to the manor.

His muscled arm was looped around me, encompassing me in his male-spiced scent. I grasped onto his clothing, and further, reaching my arms around his waist. I could feel the hardness and warmth of his body even through the layers of fabric, and I imagined what his skin might feel like under my fingertips. My fingers curled around the leather of his belt, and I could feel the bone handle of a large knife strung to it.

He began to lead me, supporting my weight easily. He was surefooted, even in the darkness, and he navigated our path without difficulty. And then he stopped. We were still some distance from the lit outskirts of the courtyard, but the path was faintly visible now, straight and smooth. He withdrew his embrace carefully, as though to ensure that I wouldn’t topple over without his support. And the air felt cool and stark at the sudden removal of his body against mine.

He stood against the darkness and I could see no more of him than I had until now, just his solid and very black silhouette. He leaned his mouth close to my ear and whispered, “I will taste more of you, Stella. I have not had nearly enough. I want you as my own.”

And then he was gone.

CHAPTER TWO

SHAKEN AS MUCH by the stranger’s sudden departure as I had been by all that had taken place before it, I walked unsteadily back to the courtyard. Ann, Agnes and Bonnie were there, and they rushed up to me as soon as I stepped into the light.

“Stella!” Ann exclaimed. “What’s happened? We’ve been calling you. Where have you been?”

I smoothed my hair with my hands, hoping I didn’t look as wild and wanton as I felt. “’Twas nothing,” I said lightly, laughing it off. “I went for a stroll in the gardens.”

The three of them stared at me, knowing full well we weren’t allowed such larkish pursuits, especially alone and in the dark of night. I watched their eyes register my flushed cheeks, my curled and windblown hair, my wide eyes. I was fervently thankful they couldn’t detect the more profound changes in me, or at least I hoped it.

“Whatever for?” asked Agnes.

“I needed some air,” I said. “I wandered too far and the wind blew out the candles. It took me some time to find my way back, is all. I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” commented Bonnie, leading me back inside, where the noise and light was very nearly overwhelming.

Not a ghost, nay. A phantom.

A phantom, I only now realized, who knew me. He’d called me by my name. This detail felt significant. Had he known who I was, even before my sisters called out to me? He’d said he wanted to see me, to find me—nay, to taste me—once again. I hoped desperately that he would succeed in his pursuit.

But even now, in my sisters’ familiar company, surrounded by people’s chatter and full-on brightness, my encounter with the hidden stranger felt unreal. Had he merely been a figment of my ever-hopeful romantic mind? Maybe I’d dreamed him in response to the heartbreak of recent days. I could justify my revelation as such, even if I could still taste him on my tongue and feel the effects of his touch to my very core. I knew, too, that this memory—real or not—had nothing to do with Caleb. The phantom lover had been too different, in every way. Already, Caleb’s face had faded by the slightest degree. More forcefully, the phantom’s looming outline dominated all thoughts. His tamed strength, his intoxicating scent: these details alone were enough to inspire a lush craving deep within me that very nearly made me moan aloud.

What was happening to me? Had I finally had enough of being put down and held back by my overbearing father, and was reacting with bold, bizarre belligerence? Already, I yearned for more of the stranger, as I had known I would. I felt like running back outside to the secluded garden and calling him back to me.

Instead, I took a deep breath and attempted to calm myself. Passionate, temperamental behavior was punished in our family. The only exceptions to this rule were specific indiscretions that might succeed in landing one of us a wealthy and well-bred husband. Aside from that one allowance, obedience, compliance and reserve were the order of the day. And I had carried out my role with suitable deference, for the most part. My life was predictable and comfortable enough, as these things went. I acted as I was expected to act—as I was forced to act—even if my heart questioned the orders. Why I felt the urge to wander, to run, to shout and to kiss mysterious strangers now, I didn’t know. The steady ground of my world, of late, seemed to be taking on a new inconsistency that possessed all the solidity of quicksand.

With effort, I took my place in my sisters’ circle as we reentered the grand hall. I sipped a cool drink of water and felt better for it. Still, I felt removed somehow. My eyes restlessly surveyed the crowd, measuring, hoping. Was he here in this room? Quite possibly. I studied one man, then the next. But none of them seemed the perfect fit. And, disappointingly, I noticed that almost every single man in attendance wore a belt with a knife strapped to it. These men were warriors. Knives and swords weren’t just their tools; they were their fashion accessories. They were their comfort, their necessity and their way of life. If I was to find my phantom, I would need more helpful clues than a belt with a knife, and a physique that was tall and broad-shouldered. So I was not to get off so lightly.

Still, my eyes roved.

I was distracted then by Maisie as she returned to our group, accompanied by Wilkie, her pale arm weaved decisively through his brown, brawny one. I had not met Wilkie before. And although I didn’t know much about him, I could detect that he seemed tense. His expression appeared agitated, as if his concentration was elsewhere. Maisie’s insistent attention did little to engage him, but Maisie was nothing if not persistent. Admirably so, I thought. She fawned and flirted, softly touching his hair and his face until he relented somewhat, an exhibition I found mildly fascinating. In fact, I was so immersed in watching the exchange that I didn’t immediately notice that someone was speaking to me. I very nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw who it was.

“Are you enjoying your evening, Miss Morrison?” Kade Mackenzie’s voice was deep and inflected with raw, dark energy. Of course I couldn’t help considering the shape and height of him, to compare it against the fresh memory of my hidden stranger. But he was too tall, I thought. And something about his movements seemed too quick.

He couldn’t be the one, I felt certain. The scent wasn’t quite right, mingled and subdued by the pressing crowd. And he hadn’t used my first name. He probably had no idea which Morrison I was.

Instead of the enveloping calm I’d experienced in the stranger’s embrace, and despite the relaxed, festive mood of the scene, the air between us felt charged, as though laced with a barely restrained warning. I could sense even more strongly at this close proximity that Kade was a man with an unpredictable nature. The glint in his eyes seemed to confirm my estimations while also suggesting he was having no difficulty reading every nuance of my tangled unease. Again I thought about fleeing somewhere, anywhere, as quickly as I could. But it was this almost-teasing edge to his manner that held me in place. I felt mildly irked by the nudging humor in him, as though the obvious fact that he was making me nervous was entertaining to him.

He had asked me a question, and was waiting for my reply. I had to concentrate for a moment to recall it. A simple, meaningless pleasantry. Are you enjoying your evening, Miss Morrison? The polite thing to do would have been to lie, especially considering it was his family that was hosting the event. Instead, I heard myself saying, “Not particularly.”

It was then that Kade Mackenzie smiled, just slightly, at my response. And it occurred to me at that moment that, while Wilkie was the famously good-looking brother, Kade was equally striking but somehow too complicated in expression to be conventionally handsome. His looks were dominated by reckless layers of the unknown. “She has a seraphic face,” he commented, “a body that could reduce a grown man to tears, a corralled feistiness that shines through nonetheless, lightning-quick reflexes—if what is heard is to be believed—yet her manners leave something to be desired. How very interesting. I’ll admit, you’re not quite what I was expecting.”

Despite my layered reservations, I almost smiled, simultaneously miffed and flattered by his offhand description. I couldn’t help asking it: “And what were you expecting?” The admission that he had been expecting anything at all seemed to confirm that Kade Mackenzie had gone out of his way to approach me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. Apprehensive, certainly. The thought of being conquered by this specimen of virile ferocity was more than I could grasp in my current state.

He took a moment to respond, and when he did, I noticed the deep, distinctive huskiness of his voice as he spoke. Oddly, there was a comforting edge to the rough, quiet timbre of it that was not dissimilar, I couldn’t help but consider, to the hushed murmur of my hidden stranger. Let me take you. “What I was expecting was a quaint, moderately pleasing heiress with a penchant for insolence. The insolence is true enough. Heiress, aye, although the wealth on offer is somewhat overstated, we have reason to believe. As for the other details of the expectation, trust me when I assure you they were entirely inaccurate. Absurdly so.”

I could only stare at him, agog at his confessions. I thought he might have just given me a very solicitous compliment even as he also might have insulted me, but, in fact, I couldn’t be entirely sure either way. Whatever his meaning, it was clear enough that he was taking pleasure in his attempt to confuse me. And he was coming quite close to succeeding. But I was already riled enough by the recent difficulties of the life I was being forced to lead. So I decided not to give him the satisfaction. “If you find me quaint and insolent, then perhaps you should seek out the conversation of someone more pleasing to you.”

At this, he smiled widely, his white teeth gleaming against the bronze glow of his face and his hair. He folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned a shoulder against the stone wall in a languid, insouciant movement that brought to light his sparked arrogance and his easy confidence. He possessed an odd combination of wicked appeal and pronounced, daring impulsiveness that infused me with an unusual anxious thrill. His eyes never left me. “On the contrary, I find insolence in women very intriguing—it happens to be an affliction that I’m able to cure almost entirely under the right circumstances. And if you’d been paying attention, you would understand that I find you quite the opposite of quaint. I can think of several other words I might use to describe you, aye, but even those seem lacking. Give me a minute to think of something more precise.”

I wanted to ask him what those words were, of course, but I could see that he was playing with me, and expecting my curiosity to get the better of me, so I waited, watching him study my face. Disconcertingly, the effects of his comments and his smile burrowed into me, touching the shadowy, sensual effects of my encounter with the garden stranger. I tried desperately to distract myself, to tone down or ignore the light swell and the heat of my most private vulnerabilities, but my body had other ideas. I felt my cheeks flush and my breath quicken, and I looked away from him. I was surely going mad. I took a deep breath, willing myself not to burn under the heat of his blazing attentions.

“Am I making you nervous?” he asked softly, his lingering smile irritatingly perceptive.

“Nay,” I said somewhat indignantly, albeit breathless, although he clearly was.

I met his eyes with cautious curiosity. I wanted to disengage myself from his arresting countenance but could not. Inexplicably, he was devastating me with a tumult of crashing, unknowable regrets and empty wishes. The search of his focus seemed to illuminate everything I had ever aspired to but had never, either through circumstance or from fear, been able to attain. Freedom. Choice. Love. Real happiness. I could not explain how this rugged stranger was able to expose such deep, suppressed feelings in me, as though he held the key to hidden recesses of my psyche that even I had not explored. Kade Mackenzie frightened me, aye, but there was more to it than that; his effect on me was acute, as though his own reckless tendencies were impacting me, and guiding me. Under the animated weight of his attentions, I felt I was losing control.

“Or am I affecting you in some other way?” he said, leaning closer. “Some wholly unexpected, visceral inclination that has you, in this very moment, questioning all your powers of resistance?”

How did he know that?

It wasn’t him I felt the need to resist, I assured myself. I was overcome by my encounter in the secluded garden. I was suffering under the effects of the ale perhaps, or I was flushed and disoriented from the night air.

Kade continued, his voice low, his words meant exclusively for me. I watched his enigmatic, seraphic face as he spoke, with undue absorption. “And that’s not the extent of it, I’m guessing. There’s more to it, is there not? A wandering, restless hunger newly inspired, as it just so happens, here and now. As soon as you saw me, it would appear.”

“You flatter yourself,” I said quickly, hoping to break this connection in any way I could. Through rudeness, or any other means—it didn’t matter, as long as I could somehow contain my composure and stop myself from doing something entirely inappropriate, like taking his hand and leading him into a quiet alcove. To let his influence arrest me and free me in any way it would. But I would only have been trying to recreate my illicit encounter with the garden phantom, I knew. Either way, I clasped my hands together behind me and made a point of neither reaching for nor even appreciating the invitingly thick locks of his richly colored dark hair that hung almost to his shoulders in shiny disarray.

He was toying with me, overflowing with charm, assured as he was of his own allure. An allure, to be sure, I wanted nothing to do with.

Kade’s flashing eyes, as though reading my thoughts and finding reason to believe he was responsible for them, gave the impression that he was similarly affected, as though he might strike out at any moment, or indulge a wicked temper or start a fight. Each prospect, to me, was more daunting than the last. And even if I had seen a glimmer of amusement in him that I might not have expected and was undeniably drawn to, I couldn’t shake the desire to distance myself from him, and quickly. He was too intense, too fiery, too confident, too masculine, too everything.

Fortunately, a commotion caused our circle to disperse. It was Wilkie who was causing a scene. He had, at some point during my distraction, removed himself from Maisie’s grasp. Now he was some distance away, and holding the arm of Angus Munro in a viselike grip, pure fury written on his face. And Wilkie’s other arm was slung possessively around a young woman I did not recognize. She had white-blond hair and eyes that were green even from a distance, attributes that made it clear that she hailed neither from the Mackenzie clan nor Munro. Her look was decidedly foreign, exotic even, and she was—it had to be said—devastatingly beautiful. I couldn’t help but marvel at the shimmery fair colors of her, emphasized further not only by the pastel-pink shades of her dress, but also by Wilkie’s black-haired and stormy-eyed counterpoint. Her slender body was pushed up scandalously close to Wilkie’s, and her face, as she gazed up at him, clearly shone with a complete and unwavering adoration.

Angus was released and dismissed by Wilkie, and took his leave, retreating to the buffet table, still rubbing his wrist. And any questions the crowd might have had about the fair-haired girl were written most painfully across Maisie’s face. Who was she? And why was Wilkie embracing her in this way and with a look on his face as though he was not only enraged and somehow anguished, but also utterly love-struck?

Before any such questions could even be asked and without so much as a backward glance, Wilkie disappeared with his willing captive up the grand staircase of the Mackenzie manor.

Maisie wasn’t the only one who was distraught at this unexpected turn of events. The gravity of Wilkie’s connection to the mysterious young woman had been apparent to all of us. And, while none of us knew quite what to make of the scene we had just witnessed, I had a distinct feeling that the consequences of that scene would extend beyond Wilkie, beyond Maisie and somehow to me. As though to confirm my anxious suspicion, Kade Mackenzie’s narrowed and unyielding stare speared me with its thoughtful, wicked intensity, and I could read there my worst fears.

CHAPTER THREE

I WAS DREAMING. I knew this even as I drifted willingly into the sweet, comforting fantasy. Caleb’s cool hand reached for mine, the touch light and welcoming. He helped me from the carriage, taking me close to his slim, warm body, ushering me into a back-alley stables. Sounds of the city filled the rain-soaked night—men’s voices, the sharp, rhythmic clopping strikes of a horse’s feet on cobblestones, a woman’s distant laughter, drifting piano notes—and there was relief in the warmth of the enclosed hay-strewn haven, even if it smelled of burning coal and damp wool. Caleb smoothed the wet strands of my hair from my face. “’Tis not much,” he said, “but we’re out of the rain. I’ve some bread and water. And we’re together. ’Tis all that matters.”

Yet looming wide-shouldered shapes were emerging from the limitless shadows, swallowing Caleb, closing in. I recognized one of them from the distinctive lithe, predatory countenance of him and the glinting devil-blue glow of his eyes. His gold-and-silver weapons were strung across his restless body, bright splintered shards that cut the night. A twisting, edgy appeal to this danger held me and touched my body in a light, sultry caress, but the promise of pleasure was laced with unknowable darkness.

I fled, hiding, seeking refuge in a secluded garden that grew out of the gloom. I was comforted by the country air, the warm, rose-scented breeze. I knew he was there. I could feel him before I could see him. He had returned to me, my garden phantom, as I knew he would, to hold me and lead me to safety. He drew me to his body, enveloping me in his night-fevered embrace until there was nothing but the bold, rising sensation of his touch. His long fingers cupped my jaw. His mouth took mine in a gently demanding kiss and I was transformed. I had become a vessel to be filled, quivering with primal, aching need. His strong, masculine hands roamed my body, lighting the fire I had become. The waves rose, the beauty licked wherever his touch caressed me, I was falling, dying with pleasure, almost reaching the ecstatic peak of my every desire...

“Stella.”

...so close...

“Stella.”

Bonnie’s voice. And Ann’s. They were shaking me gently.

I opened my eyes to find them gathered around me, both regarding me with a look of amused concern. “Stella. Wake up.”

As my dream faded, I noticed that my sheets were wrapped around my legs in a twisted coil. My skin was covered in a light dewy sweat. My shift had bunched up and was barely concealing my body. The warm, dream-laced throb was dissipating and I was left wanting and bereft in its aftermath.

“Whatever were you dreaming about?” asked Ann, her eyes glimmering with curiosity.

“You were moaning and pleading,” commented Bonnie with equal fascination. “He must have been some dream.”

I sat up.

“Are you all right, Stella?” Ann smoothed my unruly hair. It was Ann, more than any of the others, with her rich brown eyes and kind heart, who understood my sorrow most of all; she’d always been more attuned with her own compassion than anyone else I knew. Ann’s hair was the fairest of all of us and curled around her face in loose ringlets. The light splashes of pink that colored her cheeks gave her a fresh, youthful appearance. Her character was prone to innocence and naiveté, traits that made her seem even younger than her eighteen years. The glint of her understanding almost brought me to tears now, after the rush of my entangled dreams. I held her offered hand for a moment before straightening my shift and rising from the bed.

“I’m fine. It was just a dream. Where are the others?” I asked, noticing fully only then that they were the only two in attendance.

“They’ve gone to watch the men. There’s some sort of swordplay competition going on.”

“Why aren’t you with them?” I knew Bonnie’s secret lover, Jamie, was among our visiting troops, as he had recently been made a junior officer. Bonnie, although a year younger than I, had an adventurous nature and an outlook that made her seem more worldly than the rest of us. Being the niece rather than the daughter of our clan’s laird had given her and her sister, Lottie, a freedom that we lacked. Although they were not allowed to marry until at least one of us had secured a favorable match, they escaped much of the tyranny of our father. That, he reserved for us. And Bonnie, especially, took full advantage of her position. She took risks that the rest of us found forbidding. I knew, for one, that she often crept out the window of our chambers at night, climbing down a rickety ivy trellis, to spend secret hours with Jamie in the stable loft.

“We were waiting for you to wake,” said Bonnie.

Bonnie and Ann helped me dress, brushing my hair back into some semblance of order after my fitful sleep. I wore a bright jewel-green dress and the gold chain necklace that was as much a part of me as the strands of my hair or the light amber color of my eyes. In a spirit of generosity I had not personally witnessed in my father, he had given my mother a gift of jewelry at the birth of each one of her five daughters. She died when we were very young children, and each of us inherited the individual pieces that corresponded with our own births. The year of my birth must have been a prosperous one, and my sisters agreed that my gift was the most prized of all. It was made of hammered rose gold, small and simple oval rings strung together in a long chain I could slip over my head if I choose to. But I rarely took it off and wore it as a much now as a talisman as I did as a tribute to my mother’s memory. The necklace also served as a reminder that my father had once possessed love, and enough of it to bestow lavish, thoughtful gifts; I wondered if he’d loved her so much that he’d used all his love up. He certainly didn’t seem to have much of it left for us. If anything, my mother’s death had twisted my father’s love into something resembling bitterness, as though he blamed us. And I, the daughter most like her in looks and in character, seemed to inspire the most fervent of this vengeful ire. He was angry at her for leaving him. He was angry at us for somehow stealing the life from her. I embodied all of his resentment, which had festered with each passing year.

We walked through the halls of the Mackenzie manor and it was clear by the cleanliness and vibrant artistry of the decorating that diligent care was commonplace at Kinloch. I admired the attention to detail that was obviously practiced in all areas of upkeep.

Our own keep, it had to be said, was not nearly so meticulously and lovingly cared for. I doubted many were. Mackenzie workers of all stations appeared to be not only dedicated to their tasks but also enjoying themselves. We passed several servants who were laughing as they paid particular attention to the correct placement of a flower arrangement, clearly enjoying each other’s company as they worked, and allowed to do so.

Then, as we strolled through a picturesque garden on our way to the training grounds, we stopped to watch one of the gardeners give a demonstration. He was explaining the mechanics of a clever new watering device, and each of us was as engrossed by his enthusiasm as the other gardeners were.

I rarely saw that kind of camaraderie among our own staff, and wondered at the difference. My father’s ruling overseers took care of all the duties of our keep, including the grounds and the upkeep of the manor itself. He had not thought to pass those duties on to his daughters—something I hadn’t paused to consider before now. My father had sequestered us too much, maybe, or thought us not up to the task of managing the manor and all its labor. In fact, we had few duties to perform and found ourselves idle much of the time. As I watched this inventive, engaging gardener and his audience, I thought it might be nice to find such satisfaction in work and in having something truly useful to offer.

After recent events, I wouldn’t have dared to bring up any subject other than marriage to a nobleman to my father, but it occurred to me that I could perhaps discuss it with Maisie; if her bid to marry to Wilkie was successful, Maisie would, in time, become the new Lady of Glenlochie. She would have some say in the workings of the clan, and would therefore be able to—if Wilkie agreed—allow us certain leniencies. Perhaps more than we’d ever had. The thought lent a nimble note of optimism to the day.

We neared the training grounds, and we could hear the shouts and commotion of the men’s activity. Dust rose in the sun-drenched light.

Reaching the place where a small crowd had converged to watch the sparring, we found Clementine, Agnes, Lottie and Maisie. My light mood faded slightly at the sight of Maisie’s troubled expression, and I recalled Wilkie’s disappearance with the exotic blonde stranger last night. I went to my sister, who I’d always been close to despite her high-strung nature, and linked my arm through hers, reading her thoughts. “Laird Mackenzie is as dedicated to sealing the alliance between our clans as Father is,” I said, reading her concerns.

“I know,” she agreed with some despondency, adding quietly, “Wilkie hasn’t appeared yet this morning.” Nor had she—the blonde stranger—this was clear from my sister’s expression. My eyes scanned the crowd in a silent confirmation.

At the far end of the sparring arena, Laird Mackenzie and our father were deep in discussion. I thought that a good sign.

“The negotiations for your wedding to Wilkie are already well under way,” I said in an attempt to console her. “You know that. They’re likely discussing it now. ’Tis why we’re here, after all. We’ve all heard Father say it often enough—the Mackenzie alliance is crucial to our military position and can only be secured irrevocably by the bonds of marriage.”

“’Tis true,” agreed Agnes, overhearing and adjusting a curl of Maisie’s hair. “They’re probably finalizing the arrangement. You might even be wed as soon as tomorrow.”

Bonnie’s eyes followed Jamie, her betrothed. He entered the ring to face off against one of the lower-ranked Mackenzie officers. Without taking her eyes from Jamie, Bonnie prodded Maisie gently. “When Wilkie becomes laird, our new lady will have only the best interests of her sisters and cousins in mind, to be sure.”

We watched Jamie take his place, and I couldn’t help reflecting on Jamie’s similarities to his younger brother. His hair was a slightly darker shade than Caleb’s. And in his soldier’s stance I could see he was taller and broader; Jamie’s was a more imposing stature. The distinct family resemblance only succeeded in reminding me of my lingering heartbreak, which had faded by the mildest degree. Maybe it was the bright sunlight or the bustling, charged activity of the scene, but I felt less sorrowful than I had in several weeks—since Caleb’s hasty departure, in fact.

“Aye,” Clementine, my eldest sister, whose tone was laced with an edge of resigned woe, added. “Eventually, our new laird might even allow us to marry whoever we choose to.”

Poor Clementine. True to his character, our father had forced Clementine to make the choices she had made, regarding the men who had humiliated her. Twice she’d been engaged and twice she’d been shunted at the altar, a series of events that had finally convinced her that her true path was to join a convent. She was due to leave soon after the harvest. It occurred to me then that maybe the men had deserted her because they’d been forced into marriage against their will, and had been unable to follow through at the crucial moment. I knew Clementine would never have complained in the face of my father’s decisions; we’d been trained all our lives to treat our father’s decisions as gospel. And if we ever protested, he had no reservations about using the back of his hand—or his whip, less frequently—to quiet our insolence. He was laird, after all: all-powerful, and with the larger needs of the clan to consider, rather than the only selfish desires of his children. But with all that had recently transpired, my blood boiled at the injustice of it.

I hadn’t thought of it before, but my sisters were right. Once Wilkie wed Maisie, he would be in line to take over the title of Laird Morrison, after the passing of my father. As much as I feared my father, I didn’t wish him dead, yet I knew his illness to be worsening. And I couldn’t help thinking past his reign. Wilkie might not be averse to letting us choose our own husbands. Caleb might be allowed to return, though I knew better than to hope for such a thing.

“Aye.” I barely heard Maisie’s reply through the haze of my thoughts. “And I also have my own interests to consider. Of that I’m afraid I’ll need to be most definite. My first order of business, as Wilkie’s wife, will be to make sure he has no visiting...distractions.” She didn’t need to name her concern to be understood: the blonde distraction she was referring to would not be welcomed by the impending Lady of Glenlochie.

“I’m sure that’s a reasonable request,” Agnes said. Agnes, so unlike her twin, spoke with an ingrained authority on every subject. While Ann possessed a gentle, elegant beauty, Agnes was more petite, with pale skin and knowing brown eyes. She made up for her lack of physicality by ensuring that her opinion was always heard. “Wilkie will no doubt agree.”

I hoped, for Maisie’s sake, that he would.

Jamie’s small battle came to an abrupt end when his sword was knocked from his hands by his opponent’s decisive swipe. There was some laughter from the men as the young Mackenzie warrior jeered.

Clementine tried to reassure Bonnie. “I’ve heard it said that the Mackenzies are particularly well trained. They compete well against even the strongest of men.”

As though to punctuate the remark, a murmur rippled through the crowd as a commanding helmeted Mackenzie warrior walked into the ring. He was challenging not one but two of the more experienced Morrison soldiers, and he looked more than up to the task. Even before he removed his helmet to reveal his identity, I knew who he was. The crisscrossing strapped holsters that dripped with weaponry. The untouchable confidence. Kade Mackenzie, the very menace who had haunted my sleep, overpowering my more-peaceful dreams of Caleb and weaving through my shockingly sensual reveries of the garden phantom.

He was a captivating figure, to be sure, not only for his size and dynamic presence but for the immanent spectacle his very manner seemed to suggest; whatever drama was about to unfold was sure to be perilously theatrical, at very least. He held the riveted attention of every spectator in attendance, myself included.

Kade took his position, clutching a huge, lethal-looking sword, and in his left hand he held a shield that was cleverly armed with small, razor-sharp spears. A second sword was strapped to his back, where he could easily access it, and a large knife hung at his hip. He wore a leather sleeveless vest that exposed his tanned, muscular arms. His eyes caught mine for a long, fortified moment, causing a jolt of awareness to seep into every anxiety I possessed, and deeper still. Then he fitted his helmet back into place and took his position. His concentration honed in on his opponents and he began to circle, like a hungry wolf might circle newborn lambs. He was undoubtedly the most threatening aggressor I had ever laid eyes on. I feared for our own Morrison soldiers and hoped they would not be maimed, or killed.

Bonnie breathed a light sigh, perhaps of relief, now that Jamie was already bested. She muttered an unsteady sentiment we might all have been thinking: “Good Lord.”

The spar began and the Morrison soldiers attacked as one. Kade deflected easily, his movements so deft, so cuttingly concise, that the first defender was relieved of his weapons within the minute, and limped from the ring with a bloodied cut to the leg without bothering to defend his teammate. The second opponent didn’t last much longer. His strikes against Kade’s sword barely registered and were so skillfully countered that they appeared mere child’s play. With a circular slice, Kade succeeded in flinging the defending soldier’s sword with such force that several people in the audience had to flee from its flying path.

Kade kneeled over the felled Morrison warrior, staunch aggression radiating from him, and he held the point of his spear to the man’s throat. Then, after a loaded moment, Kade stepped back, allowing the man to surrender and make his way unsteadily to the sidelines. That he was able to best two of the largest, most battle-hardened Morrison warriors so easily only added to his clinging ferocity.

Again the crowd murmured, and several people backed up.

Kade stood, surveying our assembled Morrison warriors. “Is this the best you can give me?” he growled, issuing a defiant challenge.

“’Tis unnerving,” commented Ann quietly.

“He’s brutally strong,” observed Lottie.

“And so wild,” exclaimed Agnes in quieted tones. “To bloody the man was hardly necessary. He nearly speared Hugh right through the throat.”

I allowed that perhaps Hugh was still suffering from the effects of my futile attack on him with his own knife. He’d be wearing more than one bandage tomorrow, a truth that did not vex me in the slightest.

Lottie whispered her agreement. “He’s beastly.”

“Wilkie’s equally skilled but so much more civilized,” Maisie said.

I could only concur with my sisters as I watched Kade Mackenzie with a mixture of mild horror and accumulating awe. Maybe it was the entwined nature of my morning dream and the way Kade had appeared alongside not only Caleb but also the enchanting garden phantom, but I felt my skin grow warm and flushed from the spectacle of this display, from the effects of his raw, merciless energy. As aggressive as his attack might have been, there was no denying the athletic grace of him, and the articulate control with which he held himself.

My unease—or whatever this was—only intensified when I noticed that the exchange between my father and Laird Mackenzie seemed to be somewhat heated and complex; the way they were articulating with their hands, the grave concern etched onto Laird Mackenzie’s features, and my father’s, too: what were they discussing? Surely a straightforward negotiation about a marriage that had already been discussed and agreed to wouldn’t be so fraught.

Before I could dwell further on what the lairds’ angst might be about, a Morrison warrior stepped into the ring to challenge Kade, cheered on by his ranks and his clan members. It was Aleck, one of my father’s first officers. He was a massive ruffian who was better known for his brute strength than his tactical intelligence. He could throw a boulder the farthest, drink ale the fastest and had once killed a man with his bare hands. He was also one of the officers who had beaten me, at the orders of my father, when I had attempted to follow Caleb to Edinburgh.

In fact, Aleck and I had known each other as children. We were the same age and he had once, when we were fourteen, given me a thistle flower. At that age, he’d been a gangly boy with long limbs, knobby knees and a clumsiness that was likely a result of his ungainly adolescence. He’d eventually grown into his frame, towering over most of his peers and gaining a reputation not only as the strongest but also the most ambitious. He had been born of a lowly status and would therefore never be eligible to marry one of the laird’s daughters, as stated by my father himself. Nor would he amount to much; he might have aspired to be a small landholder, and a soldier of some ranking in the laird’s army. But Aleck had not been deterred by any obstacles of class or breeding. He had spent the past six years training endlessly, besting the blue bloods and proving his loyalty so thoroughly that he had recently gained the position of first officer. Twice he had asked for my hand, and twice he had been refused. I believe my father thought Aleck’s proposals to be in jest, a joke shared over ale in the late hours of strategic discussions. My father had only mentioned this to me recently, an offhand comment to prove that I could do better than Caleb, that I was sought after by soldiers and nobles alike and that I should not set my sights so low: a reference to both Caleb and Aleck, I knew.

As Aleck had beaten me, more than once, I couldn’t help feeling that the whip’s bite was laced with sweet revenge. I had not accepted the thistle flower Aleck had offered me those many years ago; my sisters had laughed and I had followed their lead.

Now, as he faced off against Kade, I thought they looked evenly matched. Aleck was bulkier than Kade and clearly outweighed him by a fair amount, but Kade was quicker and wilier. The crowd watched as the dueling men circled, swords raised. Aleck struck first, swinging his weapon with such force that it made a thrumming whirr as it cut through the air. Kade met the slice with his own sword. The clash of metal was deafening. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be on the receiving end of such a heavy, solid blow. I found myself wondering in that moment if it hurt, if the jolt would surge up Kade Mackenzie’s arms and into his body, if the jarring impact was as intense as it looked. The turn of my thoughts surprised me, that I might feel an unmistakable note of concern for him, that I hoped, somewhere in the periphery of my own emotions, that he would not be harmed.

Kade faltered only slightly but shook it off and quickly retaliated with his own strike. The spar continued and I watched with undue fascination. It was as skilled a fight as I had ever witnessed: pure brawn versus trained, intricate strategy. Kade deflected and sidestepped. He jabbed and sliced. Aleck had only one move. He was strong but predictable, and Kade took his advantage, making impact, once and again, until his sword was stained with Aleck’s blood. Aleck, enraged, struck again. Kade ducked and raised his decorated shield. The sharp points on its surface sliced across Aleck’s arm and he howled in pain, dropping his sword. Kade leaped on Aleck, catching him off guard and upsetting his balance, until Kade sat astride Aleck, his sword held to Aleck’s neck in a very decisive win.

“I would not want to be alone with that man,” whispered Bonnie.

“Nay,” agreed Agnes, her eyes wide. “Either one of them. Have you ever seen such a savage display in all your life?”

Kade was slow to withdraw his sword from Aleck’s throat. There seemed to be some kind of continued challenge between the two men, and only when Laird Mackenzie and my father approached them did Kade leave off. He stepped away and removed his helmet to reveal his long, disheveled hair, making him appear all the more wild.

Even from this distance, though, I could detect that Laird Mackenzie’s discussion with Kade had nothing to do with the fight. My father spoke, gesturing in our general direction. Both Laird Mackenzie and Kade, to my utter dismay, looked directly at me. My heart clutched in my chest at the visceral impact of their scrutiny. My father took his leave of them, ordering Aleck to rise and follow him, along with several of his other officers. He walked over to where my sisters and I were standing, and he said gruffly, “Stella. Come with me.”

Without intending to, I grasped Ann’s sleeve. “Just me?”

“Just you. Now. I have something urgent I must discuss with you. The rest of you may return to your chambers where Stella will join you shortly.”

I had a bad feeling about this. And so did Maisie. Our eyes met briefly, but I was being summoned, surrounded, flanked and escorted at the insistence of the blood-smeared Aleck and others of my father’s ranks.

Dutifully and with no other choice, I followed.

* * *

“BUT, FATHER, I CANNOT! Please. Please don’t force me.” I tried to stop the tears but could not hold them back. The room blurred and I was glad of it. I wanted to block out every glint of this distressing reality.

My father was irate, as always, that I was not accepting his decree with blind obedience. “Do not defy me, lass,” he seethed. “I have had enough of your pathetic excuses and your ill-fated yearnings. Your pleading will not be indulged.”

“But I don’t love him. I don’t even know him.” I could acknowledge a certain draw to Kade Mackenzie, but my curiosity was fraught with dark chasms of the unknown. A cutting wit, a glinting eye, a masculine radiance: it was not enough. These were superficial details that did nothing to tone down the certainty of his proven, volatile aggression that was much too fresh in my mind.

My father contemplated me with undisguised contempt. Then he turned from me and chuckled quietly, the sound entirely devoid of humor. He took a long swig from the silver flask he held.

“You prefer the simpering blacksmith to a proven warrior of one of the highest-ranking noble families in the Highlands?” my father hissed.

Aleck contemplated my despair with his dark, suggestive eyes. He was entirely untroubled by the fact that he was smeared with sweat and dirt, or that his wounds, although not life-threatening, still ran with fresh blood. He stood by the door with his arms folded across his massive chest, as though to ensure that I didn’t attempt a sudden getaway. To be sure, he was an effective deterrent; his filthy, bloodied bulk would ensure that I kept as much distance between us as I possibly could have.

“Your feelings for him, I’m afraid,” my father continued, “are entirely inconsequential. Laird Mackenzie is as dedicated to this alliance as I am. Wilkie Mackenzie, however, has all but refused to marry your sister. He favors another. A fair-haired foreigner, apparently. I know not where she hails from, nor do I care. It matters not. What does matter is that a wedding will take place, and soon. It has been decided, therefore, that you will wed the third brother.”

My father’s suggestion was unthinkable. My worst fears were being realized. If I could remind him of Kade Mackenzie’s famously wild, unpredictable character, surely my father would reconsider. “His reputation—”

“Is that of an accomplished, extremely well-armed soldier, which Aleck here can only attest to,” my father said with some disapproval; he was less than pleased by Aleck’s earlier performance in the training grounds. “He is also brother to a highly successful laird and warrior. You are fortunate that Kade Mackenzie has offered to step up and fulfill his duty where Wilkie has failed.”

“But he’s as brutal and stormy as he could possibly be!” My voice sounded high with desperation and I made an effort to calm it unsuccessfully. “You witnessed his reckless behavior in the sparring ring. I cannot marry a man like that.”

“What I witnessed was a man so skilled in the art of warfare that he bested one of my strongest men and walked away without so much as a scratch. His brother believes he might learn how to teach his skills wielding weapons and also designing them, and in that regard he would be a valuable military leader.”

“Please, Father. There is more to this than military considerations, surely. ’Tis my life we’re discussing! He’s quick-tempered. Dangerous, even. I—I don’t want to be his wife.” More specifically: I didn’t want to share his bed. To be forever bound to his tempestuous energy, no matter how curious I might have been about the undeniably enticing effect that energy infused me with the few times I had made his brief acquaintance. Any allure he might have possessed was ominously overshadowed by the more immediate and fearsome image of his untamed power in the sparring ring. I knew only too well the kind of damage such manly strength could inflict.

A desperate thought occurred to me, possibly my very last lifeline. I would never have mentioned such a thing unless I thought my sister willing, and I knew her well enough to know that she very likely was. “Why don’t you allow Maisie to be the one to marry him? She may very well want to wed Kade if Wilkie has refused her. I know she would. She’s desperate—”

“I made allowances for Maisie’s request to marry Wilkie only because I thought it was a certainty...for reasons I won’t expound upon now. Your elder sister is retreating to a nunnery. She has no further interest in marriage. Therefore, you, as second oldest, must be the one to secure the new laird-in-waiting. Complications are wont to arise when the protocol of birth order and marriages is not followed. Besides, Maisie’s desperation has undermined her allure. He wants you.”

My father paused to take another swig from his flask. In the ensuing silence the words hung in the tense space between us. He wants you. What could Kade Mackenzie possibly have wanted of me? And why? To be sure, the very thought was enough to inflame all my reservations. “But—”

My father would hear none of it and interrupted me curtly. “The decision is made. The marriage will take place in two weeks, so I suggest you come to terms with your fate and prepare yourself accordingly.”

It was foolish of me, aye, but I had to try. “Father—”

My father lashed out at me, hitting the side of my face with the back of his hand, causing me to stumble backward. I caught myself and held my own hand to my cheekbone, which throbbed with the heat of the impact and my own humiliation. I had known to expect this; my father’s temper was nothing new. I should not have continued to defy him, yet I never seemed to learn. I did not have freedom of choice, yet I craved that one particular luxury, always, and enough to question his caustic authority.

But his wrath now seemed to almost undo him. He was feeling the effects of his age and his illness. In the past, his hits had been much more forceful. His strength was failing him. He coughed violently and uncontrollably for a few moments, spitting the blood that rose from his lungs onto the stone floor, where it made a gruesome blotch.

I knew my father was ill. But I had not known the extent of it. And, God help me, in that moment I was almost glad of it. I was glad that he could not hurt me as much as he once would have done. I could understand, too, why he was so fervent about securing a laird-in-waiting, to take his place when he could no longer lead. And the smallest glimmer of hope clung to the periphery of this realization. If I did marry Kade Mackenzie, and if my father became too ill to lead, Kade would step up to the position. Which meant that my husband would outrank my father.

And so would I.

“You will do your duty, Stella, and that is the end of it! Now go. Get out of my sight. I will call for you later.” To his first officer, he said, “Aleck, take whatever measures are necessary to ensure my daughter’s obedience in this matter, lest she dream up another futile attempt to flee or some other equally daft scheme.”

“I am at your service, Laird Morrison,” came Aleck’s reply.

With a sick feeling in my stomach, I followed Aleck from my father’s chambers out into the wide hallway. The door closed, and Aleck fell into step beside me; at his normal pace his stride might have been twice that of my own. As we walked, he surprised me by looping his burly arm around my waist. I attempted to remove myself from his grasp, but he was not to be dissuaded.

“You heard your father’s orders as clearly as I did, Stella. I must take whatever measures necessary to ensure your obedience. Has your father mentioned to you that I asked for your hand before your marriage to Mackenzie was arranged? But you know that already, do you not? If you do refuse Mackenzie, I have every reason to believe the laird will favor my request. I am, after all, one of his most trusted officers.”

I couldn’t help blanching at his words. I knew this to be untrue; it was unlikely my father would wed me to a man of Aleck’s bloodline. But I looked up at him, aghast. The thought of marrying Aleck was even more off-putting than that of marrying Kade Mackenzie. I could remember even now the hurt I inflicted when I had refused Aleck’s long-ago gift. His face had fallen and I later regretted the cruel childishness of my reply. Ever since, Aleck had gone out of his way, when our paths occasionally crossed, to ridicule me with threatening intention. Because of this, I thought him an ill-mannered lout who caused more than a ripple of unease every time he flicked me a glance. I knew well that his animosity toward me was laced with desire and revenge.

And the disquieting thought could not be suppressed: if I attempted to mutiny from the Mackenzie marriage, a match to Aleck would likely be considered as an apt, severe punishment. At the age of fourteen, Aleck had been a shy, gangly boy. Now, he was a massive, seasoned warrior with thick black hair, irises so dark it was difficult to distinguish them from the inky hue of his pupils—a detail which only added to his somewhat sinister demeanor—and a face that could have, if I didn’t know the history of all the thoughts behind it, been called noticeable if not handsome. He was far too rough to be attractive, and far too coarse to be likable.

“Perchance your father might allow one of your younger sisters to secure the Mackenzie alliance,” he said, pulling me closer. In fact, I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the way this was progressing; there was no one about and we were still some ways from the guest chambers I shared with my sisters. “You and I could get to know each other better, Stella, while we have the opportunity. You know I’ve always had my eye on you.”

I struggled against his advances, pushing my hands against his barrel-like chest. “Aleck. Unhand me. I must return to my sisters.”

But Aleck only smiled and pulled me closer. “Don’t defy your father again, lass. He’ll be most displeased by your continued disobedience when I was given strict instructions.”

“To return me to my chambers. Nothing more.”

His lips curled in a lewd grin. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Holding me in his hard grasp, he tilted his head slightly, leaning toward me as though he might kiss me. The scent of him, of fresh blood and salty musk, filled my senses and I feared I might wretch.

Shocked and distressed, I slapped his face. He was stunned enough to loosen his grip, and I managed to disengage and run from him.

I held my skirts as I bolted as fast as my gown would allow, turning once to see him running after me, his face thunderous with rage.

And as I turned the corner, I ran right into the solid form of a very large man, who was so surprised by the sudden collision that he held me in a decisive embrace, to corral me or to steady me.

It was none other than Kade Mackenzie.

With my father’s declaration fresh in my mind, I couldn’t suppress a blush that rose to my face as Kade held me. His hands were clasped on my shoulders, and my body was pushed up against his. The contact caused him to utter a low, strangled gasp, as though this rugged, self-assured soldier was shaken by our sudden and unexpected closeness. The textures of him, I couldn’t help noticing as my breasts rose and fell from my exertions, were stunningly hard and unyielding. The scent and feel of him overwhelmed my senses. Sun and fresh air and earthy, spice-touched masculinity. “Stella.” His muttered exhale, laced with genuine surprise, was a statement of recognition more than a greeting. And it was too familiar, this address: a detail that hardly mattered now, if my father’s plans were a certainty. A fluttery memory was kicked up by his utterance. He knew my name. I will taste more of you, Stella. I have not had nearly enough. I want you as my own. But I suppressed the thought, which was very nearly painful with its sweetness. Of course Kade would now know my name, if the news that I was to become his wife had reached him, which was more than likely. He, no doubt, would have been given more say in the decision, to be sure, than I had.

After a brief shocked moment, Kade set me on my feet and took a step back. And as Aleck appeared, scruffy and enraged, Kade studied the situation with some consternation. I could see that my reddened, tearstained cheek did not escape his notice, and the observation caused his eyes to darken.

Only moments before, I had been lamenting Kade Mackenzie’s very existence, but now, as I gasped for breath, I felt overwhelmingly glad to see him.

Still dressed in his training garb and fresh from the strenuous masculine activity of sparring, and winning, Kade looked rougher and more intimidating than ever. The dramatic vitality of him drew—nay, commanded—my attention, as it had before, and I felt uneasy about this power he seemed to hold over me, as though his very presence controlled not only the direction of my eyes, but also the entirety of my thoughts. His too-long hair was windblown and the sleeveless leather training vest he wore showed off the scarred and sculpted definition of his arms. Slung across his body with a mesh of straps, belts and holsters was his ever-present arsenal of weaponry, making him look all the more dramatic. I was thankful I had not been speared by something on impact.

I had noticed an innate confidence in the Mackenzie men at the recent formal gatherings. But now, dressed in his training gear, with the sun and air still radiating from the dirt-dusted set of his shoulders, it was easy to see that this was the more natural, native state of Kade Mackenzie than the clean white shirt and smart attire. Here, clad in his leather trews, combat vest, tall boots and enough swords and knives to equip a small army, he looked wholly at ease, as though he’d not only had all his greatest successes in this outfit but also regularly slept in it. The rugged vigor of him was practically a visible force. The knowledge that I would be forced to marry him—unless I could indeed either escape or somehow talk my father out of the arrangement (either scenario I knew to be highly unlikely)—fed a squirmy, fluttery sensation into the low pit of my stomach. My anxiety—and my fascination—was manifesting itself in unusual ways, it seemed.

Kade, too, seemed oddly ruffled. His breathing was uneven, his mouth opened slightly from the force of his exhalations.

But then I was reminded of Aleck, whose large palm reached for my bare arm. Before his touch was even upon me, Kade’s knife was drawn and held decisively between us. Aleck stopped all movement, and his stare in Kade’s direction promised death. But Kade did not appear at all intimidated. His own steady blue-tinted threat was as cold and volatile as I had ever seen it.

“There’s no need to manhandle the lady,” Kade said, fully regaining whatever composure he had temporarily misplaced.

“The lady is my charge and I’ll handle her however I see fit,” countered Aleck.

“You are within the confines of the Kinloch walls, soldier, and you will follow our rules. Women are not harmed, nor treated with disrespect. Keep your hands to yourself.”

Aleck eyed Kade, exhaling what might have been a chuckle of disbelief. Such a rule was not practiced, we both knew only too well, at Glenlochie.

In the wake of their recent duel, conflict sparked in the air.

“I fear I am lost,” I said to Kade, hoping to break their stalemate before violence broke out. “Could you be so kind as to show me the way to the guest chambers of my sisters? My guard here cannot remember the way.”

“I remember the way,” Aleck growled. “Follow me now, lass, and I’ll lead you.”

“Nay!” I said, perhaps too loudly. “I mean...what I mean to say is, we would be honored by your assistance. To make sure we know the way of it.”

“We don’t need—” Aleck began, but Kade interrupted him.

“I’ll escort you,” said Kade gruffly to my intense relief. I knew he could read my predicament; what I didn’t know was if he would care. Yet I supposed Kade’s irritation was somewhat warranted. After all, I was his betrothed, almost. He would surely be aware of the proceedings by now, and the proposed change to the marriage plans: his, to me. The sight of another brute manhandling me might have been enough to provoke any husband-to-be. I had little doubt Kade would be manhandling me himself, and as soon as he got the opportunity. But he appeared to be miffed by the thought of someone else encroaching on his potential territory. And at that moment, I was almost glad of his outrage.

Aleck did not argue further. I wondered if it occurred to him that if and when my marriage to Kade Mackenzie took place, Kade would, in fact, become Aleck’s new laird-in-waiting. He would take the role as first officer and outrank Aleck. Aleck did not appear to be at all pleased by this possibility. His face twisted into a loaded grimace, and he followed along, resentment radiating in waves from the wide set of his shoulders. I could not help thinking this animosity did not bode well.

Kade Mackenzie led us to my chambers, where Aleck took up his post outside the door.

I murmured my thanks to Kade and hastily retreated into the safety of my sisters’ company, closing the door securely behind me. And as I was welcomed into my sisters’ questioning circle, a detail of my earlier heated exchange with my father lingered with me. I had taken only brief note of it at the time, but it echoed insistently now. I looked at Maisie’s grief-stricken face and thought of my pleas to let her be the one to wed Kade, if Wilkie had refused her.

Her desperation has undermined her allure, my father had said.

He wants you.

CHAPTER FOUR

Two weeks later

“HE’S ONLY MARRYING you because he’s duty-bound. ’Tis the unfortunate truth of it.”

“We’ll be there for you all the while, Stella.”

“Not all the while, but as much as we can.”

“Whenever he leaves you we’ll come to you.”

“As long as he allows it, of course.”

“He might want you all to himself.”

“He’ll likely allow us to visit with you during the day, at least.”

“Aye. You’ll need comforting, after what you’ll be subjected to at night.”

“Maisie! Don’t bring up that particular topic. She’s already pale as a ghost.”

My sisters were gathered around me in the warm confines of our horse-drawn carriage, offering a litany of advice and condolences. A procession of carriages carried the privileged few who would attend my wedding. The cold autumn wind bit and blustered at the windows as we made our way across the Highlands to the Mackenzie keep, where I would wed Kade Mackenzie in less than two days. My arguments had fallen on my father’s selectively deaf ears.

At night, I continued to dream of exile with a slim, young pauper, of forbidden kisses in a secret garden, of stalking, glittering shadows that lurked at the fringes, growing ever closer.

The weather matched my mood: chilled and bleak.

I could not have felt any more dread if I was being transported to my own execution, which at this moment sounded like an equally appealing option to that of an undesired marriage to the very figure that loomed ever larger, not only in my dreams but in my nightmares. If I could have jumped from the carriage and fled across the Highlands, I might have attempted to do so, but I knew Aleck was stationed alongside the carriage driver, and for that very reason.

It was Maisie who brought up the subject—yet again—and I could hardly blame her for being more than a little incensed on the entire topic of marriage. Especially to a Mackenzie. After all, this wedding should have been hers, if Wilkie hadn’t chosen Roses, his exotic-looking kitchen servant to wed, only to later find out that she was the daughter of King William himself. Such was his devotion, he hadn’t cared that she was of lowly status; even before he had learned of her royal bloodline he’d been willing to forsake his own lairdship to have her. Now he would be laird of an altogether different clan, that of King’s Stuart clan, presiding over the grand Ossian Lochs.

It was a romantic notion indeed that a man would dedicate his heart so completely to a woman. And Wilkie’s bride’s newly discovered lineage presented them with an unlikely and entirely favorable future, even beyond their love.

My own future would be less favorable. My own husband-to-be, I was sure, would be dedicated only to ensuring that my life would be an exercise of intimidation and subservience. On the strength of his reputation as a ruthless aggressor on the battlefield and from the brutality he had demonstrated in the sparring ring, it seemed to be his nature, as estimated by my sisters, and I could hardly disagree. Less discussed but still hinted at was Kade Mackenzie’s dominating and lusty escapades behind more intimate closed doors, a topic that had been mostly skirted so far. But it was only a matter of time. My sisters were putting real effort into trying to be sensitive to my impending doom, I knew, but it simply wasn’t in their nature to hold back.

Maisie commented further, bemused, “’Tis inconceivable how two brothers can be so entirely different in nature, is it not? Wilkie’s so quick to laugh, so vibrant. Kade, on the other hand, seems unpredictable, to say the least. He was civil enough at the gathering, but did you see him fight? He lives, I would guess from that performance, only to fight, and to win, at whatever cost.”

I hoped Maisie was wrong, of course, but two weeks of discussion on this very topic had left me feeling hopeless and certain that my new husband would be as ruthless and impulsive as he seemed. Ann, as always, remained optimistic. My gentlest of sisters, the one whom I could always count on to at least try to find brightness in any dark situation, argued in my favor: “You hardly know, Maisie—” Then, in response to Maisie’s glower: “I’m sorry but it’s true. You spent a fleeting moment with Wilkie, two days at the very most, regardless of how intimate you might have been with him. And you don’t know Kade Mackenzie from the King of Spain. You’ve seen him in passing and spoken to him only a handful of words. You’re upsetting Stella with half-truths.”

“’Tis just a feeling,” Maisie countered, sulky at the accuracy of Ann’s reprimand. “A very strong feeling.” The announcement of my betrothal to Kade Mackenzie had been a crushing loss for Maisie and one she still had not fully recovered from. She was only now, two weeks after the fiasco, coming out of her despondency. My wedding, however, would present an opportunity for her to seek out new conquests. Scouting for potential husbands was an agenda shared by the rest of my family as well, aside from Bonnie and Clementine, and my sisters were bright-eyed even as they attempted to calm my unease. But their words only stoked my apprehension.

“Either way,” commented Clementine, “there can be little doubt about his...energy. We all witnessed it in the sparring ring. He’s unlikely to be gentle with you, Stella—and we say this, of course, with only your best interests at heart. You must be forewarned. Kade Mackenzie is marrying you to claim our clan’s lairdship, and not for reasons of affection. You must go into this marriage with your eyes open to the grim reality of the situation.”

This was hardly news, yet they continued. And it was not the first time I wished they might change the subject, that we might be able to discuss the weather, a favorite song, a new fashion—anything but my troubling future. I knew they were trying to comfort me as best they could, under the circumstances. They were merely excitable at the drama of my predicament and entirely preoccupied with discussing it relentlessly. I wished I could daydream of faraway places. Of Edinburgh, and beyond. But it was not to be.

“I’m sorry to say it, dear sister,” said Maisie, “but you have no choice but to expect the worst. He appears charming enough, but it’s clear enough he has a wicked temper. You saw him in the heat of battle. I dread to think what he’ll bring to the marriage bed.”

“Aye,” said Clementine, still gazing out the window, lost as she often was in her own disappointment in the subject at hand. “He’s bound to be an absolute tyrant both in and out of your private chambers.”

Agnes and Ann agreed, nodding silently with wide eyes. Since they were the youngest of us, the very mention of a marriage bed was enough to stun them into speechlessness. To be sure, it did similar things to me. In only a few short days, I would be at the mercy of my new husband. The thought of Kade Mackenzie—his size, his flashing light eyes and the contained strength of him that radiated from his movements like an aura—filled me with dread. My sisters spoke the truth. There was no telling what I might be subjected to.

“He might have redeeming qualities,” ventured Ann. “He seemed rather amiable, I thought, even if it was forced. He spoke politely. And he certainly seemed to have eyes for you, Stella.”

I considered Ann’s words, and could find some truth in them. Kade had appeared relaxed and somewhat amused by the lush attentions of the women at the festive gathering. And as I thought of it now, I couldn’t help considering that my sisters and cousins hadn’t thought him quite so tyrannical at the time. In fact, once Wilkie was clearly otherwise engaged, they had all turned their attentions quite convincingly to my brutish husband-to-be, and not without some enthusiasm.

And now I could reflect that there had been more to Kade Mackenzie’s scrutiny than light, speculative appreciation. He tolerated the attentions patiently enough, engaging in conversation that clearly was not particularly interesting to him. He’d allowed the fluttery touches on his arms and his hair, the tittering responses to his every word. Having so many to choose from, I wasn’t sure why his eyes had followed me more than any of the others. In fact, I’d thought I’d imagined his preference for me—which, unlike my sisters, I had quietly attempted to discourage.

I remembered the glint in Kade’s eye. On the contrary, I find insolence in women intriguing—it happens to be an affliction that I’m usually able to cure almost entirely under the right circumstances. Not malicious, as such. But playfully intimidating nonetheless. I had been indisputably drawn to him, aye, in ways that had confounded me with their glittery insistence. But always, behind his appeal had lurked turbulent layers of the unknown. The rocky landscape of my abusive upbringing had instilled within me a very real fear of all things unknown, especially those bestowed by such a vital, well-armed soldier.

The arrangements had been made, the agreement secured. No more protests would be made.

“At least he’s something to look at,” Ann continued. “Those blue eyes are striking.”

“’Tis true, Stella,” said Agnes. “Kade Mackenzie might be fierce, daunting and unruly—”

“And huge,” added Clementine.

“And rather unnecessarily cruel,” Agnes said.

“And freakishly strong,” agreed Maisie.

“But he is, in fact, quite handsome,” Ann continued. “Quite handsome.”

“In a very rough, aggressive kind of way,” Agnes said. But I could detect from her tone that she wasn’t entirely convinced.

And neither was I.

Was Kade Mackenzie handsome? I considered this. Striking, aye. His hair was a dark, sable-brown—as opposed to his black-haired brothers: that was the first thing I had noticed about him. His eyes, too, with their ice-blue clarity, spearing and direct. And the jaunt of his movement, quick and athletic; more than once he had reminded me of a predator whose unpredictability would give him every advantage. A man who might either save you or strike you down when you least expected it.

Maybe I just wasn’t used to him. Maybe he wasn’t as intimidating as I was imagining. Perhaps I just wasn’t used to his abruptness, his size and power. My father had little time to spare with all the leadership of the keep resting entirely on his shoulders. He dined with his men and rarely visited our wing. No other men were permitted into our quarters, and those that we mingled with throughout our days were strictly supervised. My one private moment with Caleb—resulting in a rushed, featherlight kiss—had been a result of a bold excursion with Bonnie, for which I had later been severely punished.

I could acknowledge that there was a certain magnetism to Kade Mackenzie, somewhere in the complexity of him. Those teasing hints of his appeal might shine through over time, and overtake the shadowy depths of his personality that I could not interpret. In an attempt to ease my billowing anxiety, I tried to assure myself that my fear was unfounded. But my hope was quickly eroded by my sisters’ continued discussion.

“At any rate,” Maisie began, and there was sympathy and a note of jealousy in her tone, if I was reading her correctly, “with him, I have a feeling you need to be prepared for the unexpected. No doubt about it, Stella. You’re in for a time of it.”

Agnes leaned forward, whispering, even though there was no one to overhear us. “Did I tell you what happened to Claire Buchanan’s cousin?” she said.

I hesitated, sensing that I might not want to hear what Agnes was about to share. Ann answered for me. “Nay, Agnes. What happened to Claire Buchanan’s cousin?”

“Well. I’m afraid it’s somewhat distressing, Stella. But I think you should hear it.”

“You never mentioned this before, Agnes,” said Maisie, her eagerness clearly detectable. “Do tell.”

Agnes paused, as though reconsidering. But then she continued. “I wasn’t sure if I should bring it up, but I think Stella should prepare herself.”

“For what?” asked Clementine.

“Well,” continued Agnes, with the undivided attention of all, “Kade Mackenzie attended a gathering at the Buchanan manor—this was half a year or so ago. Lottie told me all about it last time she visited their keep.”

We all knew that our cousin Lottie, in fact, had been issued not only an invitation to the Buchanan manor, but also a proposal by a lower-ranking nobleman of the Buchanan clan. My father, predictably, had denied the match outright.

“Claire’s cousin invited him to her private chambers—why I’ll never know. She allowed him...well, whatever he wanted. Claire’s cousin said he did unspeakable things. It took her several days to recover.”

“What do you mean ‘unspeakable’?” asked Maisie.

Agnes continued in hushed tones. “Apparently, she was completely overcome.”

“In what way?” It was my own hesitant question that lingered in the confined space.

Agnes took a moment to answer. “She said it was the most intense experience of her life.”

I couldn’t help asking it: “Intense?”

Agnes nodded. “She spent the whole night in a state of terrified ecstasy, according to Lottie. Those are the words she used, too, I remember it clearly—‘terrified ecstasy.’ She didn’t know what he was going to do from one moment to the next, but in the end, she begged him to do it all over again the very next night.”

This was met with momentary silence.

“She begged him to do it again?” Ann asked, as though she was unsure if she’d heard it correctly.

“Aye,” said Agnes. “But he wouldn’t. She was so eager she even asked him to propose to her. But he refused, and he made his leave the next day.”

More silence, as we absorbed this disquieting information.

“What did he do to her?” asked Maisie, wildly intrigued as we all were. Me, perhaps most of all, as the carriage continued on its way, swallowing distance and divides, taking me ever closer to my fate.

“Claire’s cousin wouldn’t tell Lottie everything,” Agnes said, “but she did say this—he bound her to the bed.”

“Bound her?” I asked, my voice doing nothing to disguise my distress. “Why?”

“To constrain her. She was entirely at his mercy.”

“Good Lord,” whispered Ann.

“So he’s as domineering in the bedchambers as he is in the sparring ring,” said Maisie. “I guessed as much.”

Ann, who was sitting to my right, gave me a sudden hug, holding my head against her shoulder. “Stella, ’tis worse than we feared. He’s as cruel as the worst rumors indicate. We cannot let you go through with this. Between the seven of us, we might overpower the driver and Father’s officer. Or you could pretend to be ill. We could ask to stop at the next tavern and escape somehow. I’ll come with you. I’ll stay with you. You can’t marry Kade Mackenzie. He sounds utterly horrific. Marriage to such a beast is too much to ask of you, alliance or no alliance.”

“Agnes,” said Maisie, interrupting Ann’s fevered monologue, “are you sure Lottie said she asked him to propose to her? Even after he constrained her like that?”

Ann allowed me to sit up a little, but her arms remained strung loosely around me as we both waited for Agnes’s answer.

“Aye,” Agnes said. “Even though she was terrified of him, she said his lovemaking was akin to a spiritual experience. And then he left and wouldn’t return and she ended up marrying a Buchanan soldier. But now she’s thoroughly unhappy. Her new husband doesn’t satisfy her. Claire’s cousin—and you must never breathe a word of this to anyone—she even sent a letter to Kade, asking him to return to their keep for a visit, husband or no husband. But he never replied.”

I wasn’t sure how to take this mixed bag of information. A spiritual experience? What did that even mean? Was it that bad? Or that good? Clearly it must have been good if she had wanted him to stay and marry her, and still she wrote to him despite being wed to another. Yet it didn’t make sense.

She was entirely at his mercy.

I felt as though I might pass out. Extricating myself gently from Ann’s grasp, I pulled the heavy cloth curtain back from the window of the carriage, letting a current of fresh air waft around me, breathing the coolness deeply into my lungs.

“Stella,” said Agnes, placing her hand over mine, patting lightly. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I thought, if it was me, I’d want to know what to expect. So I could prepare myself as best I could.”

“’Tis fine, Agnes,” I said, not feeling at all fine. About any of it.

“Well, it’s not exactly bad news, then, is it?” said Clementine. “If she wanted him to do...whatever it was he did, and the very next night, then surely it was—”

“But what exactly did she mean by ‘spiritual experience’?” interrupted Maisie. “I mean, when Wilkie and I...” She faltered at the memory. We were all well aware of Maisie’s tryst with Wilkie, having heard about many of the details repeatedly and in some depth. “Well, I would describe it in similar terms. I felt changed by it, and not just physically. Perhaps they shared something. You should be careful, Stella. And mindful. ’Tis good that you mentioned it, Agnes. Kade might stray with Claire Buchanan’s cousin. You might have to go with him to any gatherings at the Buchanan manor. Just in case.”

That seemed the very least of my worries. In fact, I wished Kade had taken this Buchanan lass’s offer to marry her, so I could be done with Kade Mackenzie once and for all. I wanted nothing to do with terrified ecstasy or spiritual experiences, whatever those might be.

“Try not to think about it, Stella,” Ann said softly, holding one of my hands. “It’ll only upset you.” The rest of them seemed to sense this, too, and thankfully fell quiet.

If only I could choose my own lover, and one who didn’t intimidate me so. Or bind and ravage me.

I nearly gave in to the tears that stung the backs of my eyes as I thought of Caleb’s kind voice, his peaceful presence. That was the marriage bed I’d hoped for: one that was as nonthreatening as such a thing could be.

Instead, I looked out the window to see, perched on a hill in the shrinking distance, the grand and ominous Kinloch manor.

CHAPTER FIVE

ON THE MORNING of my wedding day, I awoke to the gushing excitement of my sisters and my attendants. For them, the day promised fun, festive possibilities and a brighter future for the entirety of our clan. For me, however, it offered a wholly different view. I pulled the furs over my head to block out the light and relentless activity.

But my attempts to hide were quickly thwarted and I was fawned over, undressed and helped into my bath, which had been brought into the room and filled with perfumed, steaming water. “You’ve lost weight, Stella,” commented Ann. “You’re not eating enough.”

It was true. My stomach had been too uneasy for food, almost from the moment my father had presented me with the news of my impending marriage. And I was naturally somewhat slimmer than my sisters, although still curvy enough to fill out the fashionable wedding dress I would wear, designed and prepared for me by none other than Kade’s sister, Ailie Mackenzie. The dress had been fitted the previous day, and the waist had needed only minor adjustments. After much deliberation, it had been decided that I would wear my hair down for the wedding ceremony, as my many attendants found its dark waving tendrils with their golden tips pleasing against the off-white of the velvet dress.

“You shouldn’t lose too much weight, Stella,” Maisie scolded me. “Men don’t like their women too thin.”

The very subject of men in general—and one man in particular—was enough to start my stomach fluttering again. Whatever preferences Kade Mackenzie held for the size and shape of a woman’s body were shady, disquieting details that sent my heart racing. I stood up, dripping onto the floor as I made a move to step out of my bath. “I can’t do it. I cannot marry him. I don’t love him, and I don’t want to share his marriage bed.”

Hands were on me, stroking my hair and easing me back into the warm water.

“’Tis not about love, sister,” said Clementine, soothing in tone but hardly in subject. “’Tis about duty, honor, protection. You’ll be lady of the clan one day soon, remember. Your comfort, your bidding, your every wish will be ours to provide you. Your child will be heir of Glenlochie. You’ll have a new status to be proud of, and one which you’re bound to fulfill with grace, as kind and gentle as you are.” After a moment, Clementine added, somewhat grimly, “You can’t run from your duty, Stella.” And I felt for her then, I truly did. It should have been her, the eldest, to bear the heir: a thought that plagued her, I could see it written on her face. It should not have been me, the second child. Rather than fulfilling all the promise of her status as firstborn, she would see out her childbearing years in the self-imposed isolation of a nunnery, nursing her own heartbreak and defeat. And in the light of this truth that was clearly painful for her, I took her comment to heart. Nay, I could not run from my duty, a duty she coveted, yearned for, cried for and one that had passed her by. And Maisie, too. For all their faults, they were my sisters and I wanted to keep them safe and protected. For my family, I wanted to do right. My clan was depending on me, and I would not fail them, no matter what reservations I had about my soon-to-be husband.

“There are other duties you’ll need to carry out, too, Stella,” said Maisie. “Wifely duties that a husband will expect.”

I had heard some of these wifely duties discussed by my sisters, first when Clementine had been preparing for marriage—twice—and then when Maisie had been expecting a proposal from Wilkie Mackenzie. But I had studiously avoided thinking too closely about what such duties might entail. My sisters, however, liked details. “Firstly,” began Maisie, “a husband expects his wife to undress him.”

My soft groan was acknowledged with patting hands, but we all knew there was little they could do to help me aside from informing me and doing their best to pick up the pieces after the fact.

“He might not demand that of you on the first night,” Clementine offered.

“How would one even go about undressing Kade Mackenzie without getting speared?” asked Agnes.

“Aye, sounds dangerous,” agreed Ann. “Getting past all those blades might present a challenge.”

“Some husbands, I’ve heard,” continued Maisie, “like their wives to feed them. It makes them feel powerful, I would imagine.” Her comment trailed off wistfully, and I had no doubt in that moment that she had planned to serve her own husband—lost to her forevermore—in these ways and any other she could imagine.

“And then, of course,” added Clementine, “the marriage bed presents its own...duties.”

“The marriage bed is a minor detail to be endured,” offered Ann, perhaps noticing my stricken expression. But her words offered no solace; she knew less about what to expect than even I did.

“You don’t have to remain faithful,” said Maisie quietly. This comment was met with a moment of awkward silence. Maisie didn’t have to mention his name for the reference to be brutally clear. “He’ll likely be allowed to return to Glenlochie once you’re officially married.”

“Just wait until your husband strays before you do,” advised Agnes. “Ainsley Munro told me that her cousin’s husband annulled their marriage when he found out about his wife’s affair, and he was legally allowed to. But if he’d strayed first, then there are no legal grounds for an annulment.”

“Is that true?” asked Clementine, intrigued.

“Aye, she told me, too,” Maisie confirmed. “And it’s true that most men do stray. At least that’s what I’ve heard. And I’d wager Kade Mackenzie will be no different, especially if the rumors of his...vigor are true.”

“Well, hopefully Kade will stray,” Ann added softly. “He can seek his dark pleasures elsewhere. Then Stella can get what she wants.”

Their chatter continued somewhere outside my scope and I let my head slip under the bathwater to further distance myself. In just a few short hours I would be wed to and irrevocably bound to a man I had met but a handful of times, whose unholy vibrancy haunted me from afar. At this moment what I felt was fear, but I could acknowledge a curiosity, too, or what might have been better described as a survivalist instinct. I wanted to begin to emotionally prepare myself for what lay ahead. I couldn’t help letting my mind tread in disturbing directions. Tonight. The marriage bed. With Kade Mackenzie. Would he be kind? Or brutish? Would he be cold and disinterested, or possessive and demanding? Would he hurt me? Maisie and Bonnie had spoken to me about the very adventurous marriagelike activities they’d both indulged in with men they desired to wed. For Bonnie, the future looked bright. I worried for Maisie, having given herself like that, so fully, to a man who was now someone else’s husband; I worried that it would indeed have an impact on her chances for marriage to another man. She regretted nothing, though, she insisted. Those private moments with Wilkie Mackenzie, she’d said, were some of the most pleasurable and treasured of her life.

I wondered if my experiences would be at all pleasurable. Despite Agnes’s gossip, or perhaps because of it, I thought that possibility unlikely. Aye, Kade affected me in unusual ways. The rippling, primal awareness that seemed to infuse me whenever he was near: it was a reaction I had attributed to fear, but there was a warmth to my lingering panic that was quite removed from trepidation, which I might have described as wary curiosity. His grip on my shoulders had been so sure, so strong yet in no way painful. His rasped surprise that was laced with the slightest trace of vulnerability. Stella.

Nevertheless, I was too accustomed to violence to expect anything less of him, and this type of impending violence would be more personal and more damaging than anything I had so far experienced: this I knew.

If I hadn’t been pulled up to have my hair washed and attended to, I might have stayed in my underwater haven, to slip away and never know. As it was, I was so lost in my silent, fevered reservations that before I even knew what was happening, I was bathed, dried, dressed, primped, polished and perfumed to within an inch of my life, and ready to attend my own wedding.

* * *

IF I HAD been in a better state to appreciate such things, I might have registered through the haze of my distraction that the day was sunny and warm, that the mood was festive, that Kinloch’s small chapel was an exquisite, reverential space with its white walls and shards of colored light.

I floated through the proceedings as though watching them from a protective distance.

My gown was beautiful; that much I could appreciate. Its crushed velvet fabric was white yet tinged with pale shades of pink. The fitted bodice was inlaid with white silk ribbons, intricately woven in a seashell pattern. The long skirt fell elegantly to the floor, and the hem was gathered with shiny white pieces of shell. I wore a lace veil that offered me a welcome barrier against the events of the day, for now.

My father was dressed in his best finery: a purple cloak with gold silk trim, befitting his nobility. We did not speak. All that needed to be said had already been spoken. He led me down the aisle to the pulpit, where Kade Mackenzie stood, flanked by his two brothers. Laird Knox Mackenzie watched me approach with his arms folded over his broad chest. I couldn’t help noticing that there was a defined melancholy to his countenance, and I recalled hearing that his wife had died some years ago. Maybe the sight of a wedding dress was reminding him of all he had lost. Wilkie Mackenzie sported a much dreamier expression, but he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were fixed on his own bride, the fair-haired Roses, who sat near him in one of the front pews.

And Kade.

I had not seen him for two weeks since I’d nearly collided with him in a corridor; since he’d rescued me from the clutches of Aleck; since my betrothal to him had been decreed. Now, his face was entirely stoic, as impassive as I might have expected of him. His eyes never left me, but I could look at him only briefly, noticing abstractly that his ceremonial garb suited him. He looked tall and noble and at ease in his clan colors. Yet in the aftermath of all the warnings and revelations of late, Kade’s subdued power and flagrant masculinity were enough to wither my courage. If I looked at him, I feared I might faint. So I diverted my gaze elsewhere.

As he lifted my veil, he spoke to me, and there was a soft, distinctive gravelly edge to his voice that I already recognized from the few times we had exchanged very brief conversation. “You look as though you’re about to be fed to the lions,” he commented. “Be assured, I don’t plan on eating you alive. Not yet, anyway.”

I looked up at him, caught by his cynical, sensual smirk. Was this an attempt at humor? Everything about him was so very undecipherable to me, I could only stare briefly at his face before blushing, dropping my gaze and wishing I was anywhere but here.

The small chapel was full to capacity. My family sat near the front. My father wore a triumphant gloat, clearly relieved that our clan’s alliance to the Mackenzies would, at last, be sealed. My sisters and cousins scanned the crowd, making eye contact with possible conquests, reveling in the moment. There were Munros in attendance, Macintoshes, Buchanans, Machardies, Macsorleys, even Stuarts. People had come from far and wide to witness the convergence of two major Highland armies and to take part in the celebrations.

I realized with some alarm that the marriage ceremony was already under way. And the minister’s words only succeeded in deepening my despair. “The Scottish marriage vows are not to be taken lightly,” he was saying. “The union is an irrevocable bond never to be broken. Sacred vows, sealed with blood and body, forged by the true love between a man and a woman—”

The room seemed to sway slightly and I felt the light touch of Kade’s hand at my elbow. “Perhaps,” he said to the minister, “we should get straight to the vows.”

The minister paused and nodded knowingly, as though he interpreted Kade’s urgency to get this marriage secured as quickly as possible. He did as Kade requested.

I listened to Kade’s husky voice as he spoke. “I, Kade Mackenzie, take thee, Stella Morrison, to be my wife.” He continued, and I could acknowledge that his words had a mellow authority to their timbre that seemed to echo through me. He was calm, and showed no hesitation whatsoever. And it was fitting, I supposed. He was fulfilling his duty, as I was fulfilling mine. Maybe he gained more satisfaction from his fate than I did.

When he had finished, I recited my vows obediently, repeating the words spoken by the Mackenzie minister, listening to the droning sound of his litany that would bind me forevermore to a man I wanted nothing to do with. I thought of my clan, my sisters, their safety and protection under a strengthened army, the security the new alliance would bring, through trade, military might and commerce. I was a pawn to be used for the greater good and must accept my lot with as much courage as I could muster.

The minister requested my hand and I held my palm up as I was told to do. It was Laird Mackenzie who ran the blade of his knife across my palm in a clean, almost-painless slice, then he repeated the motion across Kade’s palm. Laird Mackenzie then sealed our palms together, allowing our blood to mingle. Kade’s large hand entirely encompassed my own in its hot, rough grasp. I felt unnerved by his proximity and the knowledge that our essences were combining, that his warrior’s blood now mixed with my own. But even if I had possessed the nerve to steal my hand away, I could not have done so; Laird Mackenzie wrapped a white linen ribbon around our wrists, tying a tight knot, binding us to each other.

The minister continued loudly with dramatic flair. “I now pronounce you man and wife. Kade Mackenzie, you may seal your vows with a kiss.”

A kiss.

I steeled myself, looking up into the eyes of my new husband. And I was struck by the pale, vibrant blue of them: I had never seen eyes that light, that cleanly blue. Like the sky on a cold, clear day.

He bent to kiss me, his lips barely brushing my own. I thought he would draw away, but his mouth settled with more pressure, inciting a brief sense of recognition at the boundary of my memory. But then it was gone.

The ceremony was done. I was led, by my imposing new husband, through throngs of well-wishers to the grand hall of the Mackenzie manor, where the festivities were already well under way.

* * *

“CONGRATULATIONS, YOU LUCKY SOD,” Tadgh Munro laughingly said to Kade, patting him on the back, “landing the delightful Stella Morrison.”

Kade did not reply to him, pulling me toward a table at the front of the hall. The crowd parted for us as we made our way through.

“Yet she doesn’t seem quite as pleased by the match,” Tadgh called after us. “She’s no doubt heard much of your barbaric reputation, Mackenzie. You’ll have to go easy on the poor lass.” Several men laughed.

Tadgh Munro’s words did nothing to calm my growing apprehension. I was led to the head table and instructed by Kade to sit. I did as I was told, as I always did. The only difference was that the person now dictating to me was not my father but my gruff new husband, who at this moment looked as displeased by the entire scenario as I felt. He glared at me briefly, then sat down next to me and took a large swig from a goblet of ale. He handed me the goblet and said, “Take a drink.”

“I—I don’t usually drink ale.”

“’Tis your wedding day, lass. Take a drink. Besides, you look like you need it.”

Thinking that his observation might be bordering on insulting, I frowned at him. But then I realized that I was already frowning. Maybe he was right. Maybe a drink of ale was exactly what I needed. In a matter of hours, this marriage and my fate would be sealed by the very man whose solid thigh now pressed firmly against mine. It was too familiar, this touch, too close—but then, he was now my husband. My body was his for the taking, in whatever capacity he chose.

As Kade watched me, I took a long sip of the sweet ale. And another.

“I realize this is a marriage of convenience,” he said. “But for the sake of our clan members and our guests, for this evening if not beyond, you might at least pretend that there is something in the match worth celebrating.”

I was irked by his request. Was it not enough that I had dutifully, selflessly gone through with an arranged wedding to a man I suspected to be a merciless scoundrel, all for the sake of my family and my clan? In fact, I wanted to be anywhere but here, with anyone but him. Did I need to put on an act for him, as well? As though I was overjoyed that I would momentarily be ravaged by this brute who wore his formidable reputation as a badge of honor? I made a small attempt to constrain my reply, yet allowed myself a quiet response. “For you, perhaps.”

He contemplated me with a look of mild exasperation. “I hardly find your scowling grimace a cause worth rejoicing over.”

I stared at him, attempting to control not only my unease but also my temper. How rude he was! “I’m sorry if it displeases you, but as used to subservience as I may be, I don’t consider a forced union a cause for celebration. I had hoped to marry for love.”

“We all do,” he commented. “Yet we’d be wise to make the best of our situation, no matter how difficult it may be for either one of us.”

I felt a sense of quiet outrage at his statement. Of course that was easy enough for him to say. His situation was hardly difficult. He had just entitled himself to the impending lairdship of our growing, prospering clan, giving him total control over not only our army and our resources, but also...well, me. If his reputation as a ruthless warrior had any credence whatsoever, I had no doubt he would avail himself of all his new endowments with gusto, me included. It was with a sense of resignation that I quietly asked him, “And how do you propose to do that?”

He paused, sitting back in his chair, as though considering the question thoughtfully. “I had thought to start by drinking some ale with my new wife and discussing the evening’s proceedings, yet she wears a sullen expression and appears to be less of a conversationalist than I had hoped.”

My new husband was an absolute ogre! Any ethereal attraction I might once have felt for Kade Mackenzie abruptly vanished. “I’m so sorry to disappoint,” I replied icily.

“I’m experiencing a wide variety of emotions over our nuptials, lass, but I can assure you disappointment is not one of them.”

I eyed him warily, noticing the strong stripes of his eyebrows, his straight nose, the hard line of his jaw. The cords of his neck were pronounced and his arms strained the white cloth of his shirt as he, unnervingly, clenched his fist. His eyes were narrowed slightly in casual speculation as though he were having as much difficulty interpreting my thoughts as I was baffled by his. I wanted to ask him what emotions he might be referring to, yet I was restrained by one detail of his phrasing that echoed disconcertingly in my mind: the evening’s proceedings.

Before I could dare to ask him to elaborate, we were interrupted by the servers, who brought heaped plates of food to our table and placed them before us.

Laird Mackenzie stood, presenting an eloquent speech, welcoming me into the Mackenzie family and waxing lyrical about the bright future of our allied clans. I tried to adjust my expression to one of gladness, however forced, not to appease my husband—not at all—but out of respect for my clan members. It would hardly do, after all, to sulk through the speeches. There would be plenty of time for that later.

As I listened first to Laird Mackenzie’s speech and then my father’s, I surveyed the crowd. I hoped my sacrifice would benefit my people. I knew my father’s failing health had negatively impacted our clan’s general well-being. Glenlochie was looking somewhat unkempt. The army was less organized. Food, of late, was less plentiful than in past years. And there was the ongoing threat of Laird Campbell’s rebellion against the King of Scotland. I hoped our alliance would deter the rebellion, and that my new husband would prove to be an effective leader, as his brother was.

If the appearance of Kinloch was anything to go by, the Mackenzie clan was indeed prosperous. The manor was spotless and well equipped. The bounty of food and drink was enviable. There was lamb and beef, duck and pheasant. Bowls of exotic fresh fruits were displayed on the tables, and a wide variety of vegetables, grown in the Mackenzie gardens, were sumptuously flavored with herbs and butter. Fresh-baked breads were abundant and garnished with seeds and nuts. And the staff and servants worked as an amiable, cooperative team.

I hoped Kade Mackenzie could bring order and a new vigor to our keep, and introduce a fresh optimism to our clan. It was worth the sacrifice I was making: my body and my obedience. Maybe I could find happiness outside my marriage. Maybe Maisie was right: Kade might stray, and my life might be bearable outside the bedchambers, when I was away from my coarse husband.

And so my thoughts trod as I ate and talked and smiled and drank the ale that was offered to me, late into the evening. In fact, I found that, at times, when I was briefly separated from my husband and surrounded by the buoyant excitement of my sisters and friends, I was mildly enjoying myself. That is, until I heard the low, distinctive voice whisper in my ear. “Stella.” Again, I felt a twinge of wishful familiarity. “Wife, I must ask you to accompany me now. ’Tis time for bed.”

CHAPTER SIX

ANY BRAVERY I MIGHT have gained from the ale fleetingly evaporated. My blood turned to ice in my veins and my heart skipped a beat.

My hand was grasped in his strong, heated grip, and I was led from the gathering, which at this late hour was becoming loud and loose. “No one will notice if we take our leave. ’Tis expected of us, after all, to acquaint ourselves in a more private setting.”

Each word he spoke seemed to steep me further and deeper into a speechless haze. I was guided up the curved staircase of the manor, down a dark hallway and into the private bedchambers of my husband, whose size seemed only to increase as he locked the heavy door with a very decisive thud. The sound of it was solid and final, delivering the reality of my situation: I am trapped in the lair of the infamous Kade Mackenzie. There will be no escape, now or ever.

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