‘Who are you? Why have you done this?’ she said as she looked from one man to another and to the next. ‘Does my father know about this?’

Rob waited for her to bring her gaze back to him and then he smiled at her.

A silent moment passed, and then another, before the light of recognition flared in her forest-green eyes. Then she shook her head, though whether in disbelief or confusion he knew not. Lilidh opened her mouth several times but no words escaped. The distraction was all he needed to gain control of her, so he crossed the empty space between them in a few paces, grabbed her wrist and squeezed until she dropped the dagger. Kicking it aside, he still held on to her. As she probably had when Symon took her, she did not allow his hold to remain there. She began backing away, pulling and tugging, trying to free herself.

Lilidh just did not realise she had no chance of escape. As Dougal and some others returned to the hall Rob gave one sharp tug and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He noticed the smell of blood and saw the thick patch of it on her head—she had been struck and knocked unconscious. Tightening his hold, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, so that only she could hear his words.

‘’Tis good to see you, too, Lilidh. It’s been a long time.’

AUTHOR NOTE

More than five years ago, while I was writing POSSESSED BY THE HIGHLANDER, the heroine’s daughter surprised me by grabbing her mother’s hand and declaring her intention to marry the young man who had been entertaining her during their journey to their now home. In a flash I saw Ciara Robertson as a grown woman, marrying Tavis MacLerie, the man she claimed in that moment! Fast forward to 2013 and I’m thrilled to have had the chance to tell their story in my last book, THE HIGHLANDER’S STOLEN TOUCH, and now to watch as all the children born in the first three tales find their own love stories.

Connor and Jocelyn, Rurik and Margriet and Duncan and Marian—the heroes and heroines from my first trilogy—must find suitable matches for them … and that leads to a challenge among the couples about the mothers or fathers finding the best spouses for their children!

So, I hope you’ll enjoy returning to the powerful MacLerie laird, his lady, kith and kin as they face the challenges and rewards of life in Lairig Dubh, Scotland!

About the Author

TERRI BRISBIN is wife to one, mother of three, and dental hygienist to hundreds when not living the life of a glamorous romance author. She was born, raised, and is still living in the southern New Jersey suburbs. Terri’s love of history led her to write time-travel romances and historical romances set in Scotland and England.

Readers are invited to visit her website for more information at www.terribrisbin.com, or to contact her at PO Box 41, Berlin, NJ 08009-0041, USA.

Previous novels by the same author:

THE DUMONT BRIDE

LOVE AT FIRST STEP

(short story in The Christmas Visit)

THE NORMAN’S BRIDE

THE COUNTESS BRIDE

THE EARL’S SECRET

TAMING THE HIGHLANDER

SURRENDER TO THE HIGHLANDER

POSSESSED BY THE HIGHLANDER

BLAME IT ON THE MISTLETOE

(short story in One Candlelit Christmas)

THE MAID OF LORNE

THE CONQUEROR’S LADY* THE MERCENARY’S BRIDE* HIS ENEMY’S DAUGHTER* THE HIGHLANDER’S STOLEN TOUCH†

and in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

A NIGHT FOR HER PLEASURE*

And in M&B:

PRINCE CHARMING IN DISGUISE

(part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages)

* The Knights of Brittany † The MacLerie Clan

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

At the
Highlander’s
Mercy
Terri Brisbin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Lilidh MacLerie, eldest daughter of the MacLerie laird and Earl of Douran, looked out her window and tried to sort through her options. This silent time between the gloaming and the night was her favourite when she needed to make decisions or choices. Remembering now that she’d made the decision that had brought her to this time and place made her pause. Mayhap she should wait until morning instead?

Turning from the window and gazing across the large, well-furnished chamber, she knew she had little time or choice … again. The parchment remained as she’d left it and she lifted it, tilting it so that the light of several candles made it able to be read. For the fiftieth time, she said the words and could not yet decide what else to write, when so much more was needed.

To the Earl and Countess of Douran, it began, using their formal titles first. Father and Mother, next.

And then the words disappeared.

How could she explain the private misery behind the very public death of her husband of only two months? The MacGregor’s death had been kept quiet for now until his heir, his younger brother, was approved by the clan elders as chief. Her purpose in this marriage—to bind their clans and to produce an heir for the MacGregor—was a failure. Though, even as an innocent young woman coming to this marriage, she understood that things were not as they should have been between her and Iain MacGregor.

The parchment in her hand moved in the current of the warm air created by the heat of the candles and reminded her that this task also went unfinished. Sitting at the table, she lifted the quill, dabbed the ink so it would not splatter and forced the words on to the page that would both embarrass and humiliate her in her parents’ and clan’s eyes.

I find myself in need of your counsel concerning the situation of my position here in Iain MacGregor’s household and family. As his widow, though with no hope of producing an heir, I know …

What did she know? She had married him under a contract negotiated by her uncle and signed by her father. Her dower portion was protected for her use and she had been given the choice of remaining here as part of her husband’s clan or to return to her own. Her uncle had made certain to protect her in the contract, but giving her such a choice made things more difficult than if she’d been simply told what to do.

If she remained, there would be another marriage arranged for her, to a suitable eligible man, to keep the bonds between the clans strong. If she returned home, there would be another marriage, but also she would face the disappointment of her family in her failure. And with no way to explain and with no one to speak candidly about it, what could she say? Lilidh dipped the quill again to freshen the ink and placed the tip of it on the parchment.

She was being a silly ninny. Her parents loved her and would accept her back, explanation or not. Her mother was the only one to whom she could speak on personal matters. As she had before her marriage, even if that conversation did not explain what had happened or, as it was, not happened between a husband and wife. Looking off at the flame of the candle, she took and released a deep breath, and did the only sensible thing she could: she asked leave to come home.

I find little reason to remain here and would ask your permission to return to Lairig Dubh as soon as an escort can be arranged. I would seek your counsel on other important personal matters, but I hesitate to put them in this letter.

Father, please send word if this is your pleasure.

Mother, please keep me in your prayers and ask the Almighty to watch over me during this trying time.

It was short, but to the point, and there truly was little else to say in her missive. Sanding it, Lilidh allowed the ink to dry and then folded the letter, sealing it with the ring her father had given her on the anniversary of her birth a year before. She would send it off on the morrow with one of the MacLerie servants who had accompanied her here. Hopefully, within a fortnight, she would have an answer from her parents and know what her future held for her.

But how could she explain that though she was a bride and a widow, she’d never been a wife?

Jocelyn MacCallum, wife to Connor MacLerie, held the parchment before her and read it once more. The sadness in her daughter’s words was clear to her. Lilidh, her eldest daughter, was never anything but confident and self-assured. But the words, nay, the tone of this latest letter, told her that Lilidh was lost.

‘You will give her permission?’ she asked her husband as he climbed from their bed and walked to where she sat. As she glanced up, her mother’s heart grew heavy in her chest. Lilidh was far away and all Jocelyn wanted to do was to take her in her arms and soothe away the pain that was so evident in her words.

‘I am discussing it with Duncan and the other elders,’ Connor replied quietly as he lifted the parchment and placed it back on the table. ‘The MacGregors have kept Iain’s death quiet until his heir is in place. With tensions so high and war with their rival clan the MacKenzies in the air, they do not wish to open themselves to attack. But, for this night, there is nothing to be done, Jocelyn. Come back to bed.’ He took her hand in his and entwined their fingers, tugging her to stand.

She allowed her husband to wrap her in his arms, much as she wanted to do to Lilidh, but Jocelyn realised quickly that his aim had little to do with comforting a lost child. She caught her breath as he lifted her in his strong arms and carried her back to their bed. She understood that her husband’s need for her as well as his attempts to distract her from her sadness and taking too much interest in clan decisions brought on his intimate attentions. She’d allow it, later, for those same reasons.

For now, she asked her last question once more, not content to let the men make this critical decision without her counsel.

‘Will you bring her home?’ She watched as many emotions crossed her husband’s face, but the final one that settled was acceptance. As she knew it would.

‘Aye. I was simply waiting on her word.’

She leaned into him and kissed his mouth. ‘Did you send her word yet?’ He pulled her close, surrounding her with his strength and his love. Kissing her forehead, he rested his chin on her head.

‘The message to the MacGregor will go out on the morrow. She should be home in a sennight.’

‘And the implications?’ she asked. This marriage arrangement had been between clans and chiefs and not simply between a man and woman. And it had been part of their, the fathers’ and the mothers’, wager to find the best match for their children. Since this involved her daughter, Jocelyn had been left out of most discussions, except for the private ones she’d had with Connor. Ones that always seemed to end up with them in bed!

‘You know the implications. No questions have been raised to me about her involvement in Iain’s death, so the MacGregors must be at peace with how it happened. Her dowry will be returned to us and any future marriages will be at my discretion.’

Those were the words she wanted to hear. Lilidh would return home to her family and her future happiness would again be in her father’s hands, along with the counsel of his closest relatives and advisers … and her.

But since Jocelyn had thought this marriage a good one, she could little complain about Connor’s choice. Whatever had happened—between Iain and Lilidh and to cause his death—had ended any chance that it could prove out.

Comforting done, Connor lifted his head and touched their mouths together. In only moments, the passion between them flared and Jocelyn savoured it. This is what she’d hoped Lilidh would find in her marriage. Even though older and married before, Iain had seemed a kind soul and appeared to worship Lilidh. Their betrothal and marriage showed promise and Jocelyn had no doubt that she would soon have grandchildren from the match.

Now, Iain was dead and Lilidh returning home.

She would get to the real reasons and to the true situation once she had Lilidh back and they could speak plainly. Her letter asked for such counsel, almost begged for it, and she would help her daughter in any way she could.

But, for now, her husband demanded her attentions and when the Beast of the Highlands called to his mate, she always answered.

Always.

Robert Matheson clenched his teeth until he thought they would crumble under the pressure. Anything, anything to keep from letting his anger and frustration spill out the way he wanted to. Clenching his fists did not help either and finally he could not allow this madness to continue.

‘Halt!’ he called out to those bickering before him. ‘Attacking the MacLeries will lead only to our destruction.’ Looking from one to the next, he met their gazes and realised the futility of trying to stop them. If he could not stop them, he must delay them. ‘If we are to do so, we must have a plan and ready ourselves. It cannot be done as quickly as you would like.’ Or as easily as they thought.

The Matheson clan elders had approved him as chief when his father passed, but it had been a hard-won battle. His cousin, Symon, the son of his father’s older sister, had been in contention and was suited for the warmongers among the councillors. Rob, on the other hand, had a clear understanding of the strength and power and fighting might of the MacLerie clan for he had spent years among them.

As Connor MacLerie’s foster son.

Rob had lived for five years with them, learning his own fighting skills from the best of their warriors, learning battle strategies from their tacticians and the ways to prevent battles from their negotiator. Now, he had no intention of leaping into a fight with a clan he could not defeat. Or worse, with a clan who would destroy them and leave not a piece of wood or stone standing on their lands. Though listening to some on the council drone on and on about all the reasons they should and listening to those who knew nothing and understood less made him think about letting them all charge into the fray unprepared.

Still, his innate loyalty to his family, kith and kin stopped him from goading them into such an act. Glancing at his other cousin, Dougal, the one who did not wish to be laird, he waited for the only person with some sense to speak up and support his plan. Dougal did and though those wanting war did not quiet completely, it did make them listen.

‘Robbie is right,’ Dougal called out, gaining their attention. ‘To rush in against such a clan will result in all our deaths.’ Some grumbled at his declaration, but the others quieted and waited on his words. ‘Let the laird study this and make the necessary plans. Hear him out when he does for no one knows the MacLeries as he does. If there is a weakness to be found, he is the one to find it.’ His voice rang out in the silence, but Rob did not know whether to cheer or to strangle him.

The best way to defeat the MacLerie? The Beast of the Highlands?

There was none.

Rob’s actions so far must even be considered a betrayal of their bond by Connor. Attacking would simply be a death warrant for him and the rest of the Mathesons. The only weakness the man had was for his children and, other than that, he was ruthless in weeding out enemies and dealing with betrayal. Breaking his ties with Connor at the behest of the council and currying favour with the MacKenzies had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. He did not doubt there would be hell to pay over it.

Dougal finished and stepped back, allowing Rob to move to the centre of the dais while the men were yet calm.

‘I have been gathering information already,’ he said. ‘Even now, I’ve sent messengers out to determine their weaknesses and vulnerabilities. In a few days or a sennight at the most, we will meet and prepare our plans.’

He dismissed them with his most imperious wave, hoping they would obey—and they did. All save Dougal left him in peace. He returned to the table and filled his goblet with ale. When Rob turned back, Dougal remained. He poured another goblet and handed it to his cousin, the one who did not wish to be laird.

‘You sounded convincing, Rob,’ Dougal said. He drank a couple of mouthfuls and then wiped his mouth with his arm. ‘Do you have a plan?’

‘Other than praying to the Almighty for a flood?’

‘You had that look in your eyes,’ Dougal said laughing. ‘You never could bluff.’ Dougal met his gaze and all mirth disappeared. ‘What will you do?’

‘Stall for more time,’ Rob said. ‘I cannot figure out why they want to go up against the MacLeries. Come now—I cannot be the only one who knows their strength?’

Rob drank deeply, watching the servants in the hall preparing for the evening meal. It was not as spacious or well appointed a hall as the one at Lairig Dubh, but it was his. He’d sworn an oath to protect his family and if it had to be from themselves, so be it. Something more was going on here, something he could feel, but could not see, and getting the real reason why some in the clan wanted to ally them with the MacKenzies and break all past ties with the MacLeries was critical.

‘How can I help?’ Dougal asked, putting the now-empty goblet down on the table.

They both watched as a comely maid approached and took the goblet and the pitcher to refill it. Unmarried and one of the most beautiful of his cousins, removed by several generations, Ellyn smiled at them and sauntered away, her shapely hips moving in a rhythm meant to entice and draw attention. A moment or two passed before they regained their senses and their subject.

‘As I said, how can I help?’ Dougal repeated.

Rob looked at his closest friend and decided he must trust someone in this matter before everything went out of control. Stepping closer, he lowered his voice.

‘Someone is behind this effort to make the MacLeries our enemies. Though not friends or enemies of the MacKenzies, they avoid each other’s areas of concern and properties. So this intentional goading is not something either one wants and not something we can afford to get in the middle of now.’ He paused and checked to see who was near them. Seeing no one, he said, ‘I suspect that my cousin Symon is the one, but without proof, I cannot accuse.’

Dougal studied him and then nodded. ‘I will see what I can do.’

Rob smacked his shoulder. ‘I will be in your debt.’

Dougal strode off, leaving Rob behind to deal with the other matters that faced a clan chief and laird every day. Complaints from villagers. Requests from the clan. Demands from the elders that he marry his betrothed—Symon’s sister—as his bride sooner to unite the two fighting factions. And on and on each day.

When he had been fostered by Connor, he’d never dreamt of being in this position—chief of his family and in charge of their holdings. The laird, his natural father, was hardy and young enough to produce a male heir in addition to the lasses he’d had with several wives. With his new wife heavily pregnant, the expectation was that a son would be born. A direct, legitimate heir.

As son of the laird’s older sister, Symon should have had no expectations other than being counsellor to the next laird, or to serve him in some capacity. As the laird’s bastard, Rob’s expectations were lower still. Now, his father and his wife were dead in an accident and Rob, illegitimate or not, had been chosen to lead the clan.

And his cousin Symon, legitimate or not, was not.

As Rob watched Dougal make his way out of the hall, he knew Dougal would find out the truth. In the meantime, Rob needed to gather those loyal to him and be ready to head off this foolish attempt—both to usurp his position, a position he’d discovered he truly did want, and to throw the existing treaties with the MacLeries and the MacKenzies into disarray.

He prayed only that there was time before the disaster he could feel in his bones arrived on his doorstep.

Chapter Two

Lilidh turned to the right, trying to decide if she truly was seeing someone moving along their path in the shadows or if it was a trick of the light and the leaves. She peered into the darkness of the forest and watched more carefully for a few moments. Not certain, she rode on, never mentioning it to either of her companions or their guards. Then, just as they followed the turn in the road that would take them south to Lairig Dubh, the attack came.

One moment they were riding quietly along and in the next, the men descended from the hills around them and, though Lilidh was a good rider, she found herself unhorsed and standing encircled by five armed warriors. She gazed at them as she drew her dagger. She would fight them if only her leg would remain strong.

And she did, turning the handle of her blade in her palm for a better grip and swiping it around her to keep them from getting too close too quickly. Glancing around to see how the others fared, Lilidh realised only she remained standing while the rest lay scattered around the area either dead or unconscious. She took a deep breath and tried to run, but someone grabbed her from behind and dragged her up against their large, muscular body. Like being thrown against a rock wall, it forced the air from her body. A beefy hand entangled in her loosened hair and her head was dragged back. With her neck exposed so, she knew it was only a matter of moments before she died. Offering up a silent prayer asking for forgiveness of her sins, she waited for the death-blow to strike.

‘Who is she?’ a gruff voice demanded from beside her. The one holding her turned their bodies as one until she could see her maid across the clearing. Or at least her lifeless body as one of the other men touched her with his foot.

Isla made no sound and did not move. Lilidh drew in a ragged breath at the possibility that the older woman who had helped raise her was dead. Her eyes burned with tears, but then her anger rose at such a thought. The woman was there to see to her comfort and now lay dead because … Because of what? Of whom? The daughter of the Beast of the Highlands felt his pride rise in her blood.

‘Who are you to attack those travelling under the MacLerie banner?’ she asked, struggling to pull free. ‘What do you want?’

One of the men broke away from the others and strode towards her. The expression in his dark gaze made her take a step back, but the taller man behind her was like a wall that kept her in place. ‘You are the MacLerie’s girl.’

It wasn’t a question so Lilidh did not answer. Her chin lifted. Her pride would not allow her to slink away or hide her heritage. Still, she would know who dared to attack them.

‘And who are you? Why do you need to kill an innocent woman?’ she said, refusing to cry out as the man holding her prisoner wrenched her head back with a rough tug.

The dark-eyed man nodded to the one holding her and the other one nearer to Isla. She opened her mouth to demand her freedom when the blow hit her from behind and her world went black.

Each of the next several days went from bad to something that resembled his idea of hell. Rob managed to calm one faction of his family only to have another rise up in complaint. He wondered many times through those last days how Connor MacLerie made it look so easy. Peering over the rim of his goblet as yet another storm brewed in his hall, Rob realised that the one thing that Connor had to help him was his terrible reputation, one not completely undeserved, as the murderous Beast of the Highlands. As he glanced from one squawking Matheson to another, he considered murdering them all and gaining himself a similar reputation.

Symon had been quieter than usual, but that only worried Rob more. At least when he was making noise or complaining, he knew what Symon was up to. His cousin had been absent from the keep and village without word. A worrying thing, that.

He was about to summon Dougal when the doors to the hall were thrown open and a large group of warriors, under Symon’s control and with him in the lead, came crashing in, yelling and calling out to each other as though celebrating some great victory. Rob nodded to the man he’d appointed as his commander and by the time his cousin and the others reached the front of the hall, additional soldiers had entered and taken positions around the chamber. If Symon noticed, he did not say, but his swagger and manners spoke of trouble walking towards him.

‘Rob,’ Dougal said as he approached from the other side. He took his place behind his laird as Symon reached the dais. ‘He is up to nothing good.’ Rob only nodded, never taking his gaze off the seething group of men, and waited. The attack was not long in coming.

‘You have dragged your heels long enough, Laird,’ Symon began, using his title as a curse. ‘The Mathesons will not serve a leader who will not lead them.’

Shouts both for and against him rippled through the men gathered there and they gained the attention of anyone who might have otherwise passed on through, carrying out their duties. Soon an even larger audience listened to Symon’s threats to his position as chief. Symon waited and then waved them quiet.

‘It matters not now, for I have done what you could not and would not do.’

After making that challenge to his leadership, Symon walked forwards and climbed the first step. Rob blocked him from moving forwards. Every man in the hall tensed and the air seethed with discontent and hostility. Dougal’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword, but Rob shook his head, holding him from taking that step.

‘I care not for your words, Symon,’ Rob said, stepping down and forcing Symon to move back. He did. ‘I am chief and will make decisions for this clan.’

Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched Symon’s expression as all those loyal to him lined up behind Rob. All the elders save one, Murtagh, gathered with him, but Murtagh’s move was not a surprise to Rob. The old man had supported Symon’s claim throughout the time of uncertainty and did not yield now.

‘You refuse to take action against the MacLeries, though we want it,’ Symon said. Rob’s gut seized, warning of something bad coming. The next words confirmed it. ‘Lachlan, come,’ he called.

Symon motioned with his hand and his men separated. One of the men strode forwards from the back of the hall while Symon’s gaze never left his. Lachlan carried a bundle over his shoulder and Rob could not guess what it contained. Then he saw the bundle move, much as a body would if carried in that manner, and he drew a breath through his clenched teeth.

‘Symon,’ he whispered, ‘what have you done?’

He turned from the self-satisfied smirk of his cousin and towards the man and the bundle. Taking no care, Lachlan dropped it on the rush-covered floor just in front of them and stepped back. This was not going to end well, for neither him nor the person they’d kidnapped.

‘You have orchestrated this. Carry on, Symon, and let us see who lies within,’ he said. Better to see what challenge he faced then drag this out, he thought.

Symon, not a small man, though not as large as Lachlan, walked to the bundle, untied the ropes encircling it and tugged an end free. With a grip on that and one good flick, the bundle unrolled and unrolled until a woman was freed and left lying at their feet.

A woman who had ropes around her wrists and ankles and a sack over her head. A woman who did not move now, in spite of Symon’s prodding foot. A woman who had suffocated to death from their harsh treatment?

‘What the hell did you do, Symon?’ he shouted as he bent over the woman. Tugging the sack off her head and then removing the gag he found there, he summoned one of the women over to see to her as he stood and dragged Symon aside. ‘Who is this and why did you kidnap her?’

‘We did not kidnap her, Rob. She is a prisoner of war,’ he said.

‘We are not at war,’ Rob said as one possibility began to tease his thoughts. Even Symon would not be so bold and brash as to … Nay! It could not be. Was it truly Lilidh MacLerie?

Rob had turned back to look at the woman who lay unconscious on his floor. The servant had pushed her hair from her face and was dabbing at her dirt-covered face with a wet cloth. He took in the costliness of her clothing and the jewelled rings on her hand, not missing the gold band that spoke of her married state.

Then he noticed the gently arching brows, the curve of her neck and the full lips that had enticed him even in his youth and yet haunted his dreams—and he knew it was her.

‘You kidnapped the MacLerie’s daughter? She is wed to Iain MacGregor.’

He swore under his breath now as the implications hit him. This was an act of war against two powerful clans. Worse, this was not simply taking their cattle or burning a few farms, which would be insult enough. This was a personal attack as well on both clans and their chiefs. Holy Christ, what had Symon got them into now?

‘Dougal, check the guards. Brodie,’ he called to the steward, ‘get the outlying families into the village and gather the stores.’

He pushed Symon aside and walked over to take a closer look at Lilidh. As he could have predicted, she’d fought against them when they took her—the bruises on her face and her torn fingernails showed that much. The markings of a man’s fingers on her neck made his own clench in response. What else had they done to her?

‘How did you find her?’ he asked, as he strode towards Symon. Nothing, nothing would give him greater pleasure now than pounding his face into the floor and breaking a few of his bones. Grabbing Symon by the neck, he forced him back several steps until his back met the wall behind him. ‘Where are the others?’

Symon’s gaze moved to something or someone over Rob’s shoulder and Rob knew Lachlan approached. With a nod of his head, his men took care of that threat. ‘Where are they?’ he asked again, squeezing hard until Symon choked for breath.

‘She was returning to Lairig Dubh. We took her on the road just after the river as she left the MacGregors’ lands,’ he forced out.

‘And her guards? Her servants?’ No daughter of the MacLerie and wife of the MacGregor would travel alone.

‘A few of the guards are dead. We left the rest of them and took their horses.’

‘Did they see you?’ he asked, but he knew the answer. They made sure they could be identified as Mathesons. Symon wanted the MacLeries and MacGregors to know who’d taken Lilidh. They wanted to force his hand into war.

He tossed Symon to the ground and turned back to the servant at Lilidh’s side. ‘Find a chamber for her.’

‘She is my prisoner, Rob. I want her held in the aerie.’

‘You think she is that dangerous?’ he asked, pointing to the unconscious woman on the floor.

The aerie was in one of the oldest parts of the keep and sat open to the winds. Lightning had struck the roof and blown it away and no one had ever repaired it. Though mostly unused, it had been used as a cell for prisoners in the past … the far, far past. Rob turned back to argue with Symon and to assert his control over any prisoner of the clan when she moved.

Within a few moments, she’d seized a dagger from one of his men and held the servant woman hostage. The wild expression in her eyes spoke of her confusion, but warned him of her uncertain behaviour. Spreading his hands out to show he was unarmed, he began to walk towards her slowly and evenly.

‘Here now, lass,’ Rob said softly. ‘Let Edith go and all will be well.’

His words might have worked until Symon began jeering at her and his men added their taunts. Overwhelmed and injured, she glanced left and right, estimating her escape routes, he was sure. She dragged Edith with her, using her as a shield as she moved. When Lilidh blinked several times and stumbled, Rob suspected a head injury. He tried to follow her moves, staying the same distance from her and speaking quietly to her, but his voice was drowned out by Symon’s men.

‘Silence!’ he yelled, trying to regain control over a dangerous situation.

Well, he did manage to get the men under control but it gave Lilidh the moment she was watching and waiting for and she pushed Edith at him and ran for the door. He passed Edith off once she regained her balance and ran to catch up with her before she got to the door or before Symon reached her. Symon was faster and he got between her and the door, forcing her to stop. He wondered how she could move so quickly on her leg.

‘Come now,’ Symon urged her towards him. ‘Do you want to try me again?’ he goaded.

Rob swore he would kill Symon for this, but first he must stop Lilidh before she was seriously hurt. He doubted that Lilidh knew where she was or even who he was. No glimmer of recognition filled her eyes when their gazes met, but years had passed since she’d seen him last and he’d done the usual growing up that young men did. No matter the manner of their parting, he would never forget what she looked like. Turning his attentions back to her, he decided that he would need to gain her trust.

‘Lilidh MacLerie,’ he called out to her. ‘Do you remember me?’ he asked while waving Symon off. When his men positioned themselves to intervene, Symon finally backed off, though the expression in his eyes promised it was not the end of his challenge to Rob’s leadership. ‘Lilidh?’

Her hand, holding the dagger out before her, began to shake badly and she lost her balance once more. Just when he thought she would tumble to the floor, she righted herself and pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to focus on him.

‘Who are you? Why have you done this?’ she said as she looked from one man to another and to the next. ‘Does my father know about this?’ Rob waited for her to bring her gaze back to him and then he smiled at her.

A silent moment passed and then another and another before the light of recognition flared in her forest-green eyes. Then she shook her head, though whether in disbelief or confusion he knew not. Lilidh opened her mouth several times, but no words escaped. The distraction was all he needed to gain control of her without hurting her more so he crossed the empty space between them in a few paces, grabbed her wrist and squeezed until she dropped the dagger. Kicking it aside, he still held on to her. As she probably had when Symon took her, she did not allow his hold to remain there. She began backing away, pulling and tugging, trying to free herself.

Lilidh just did not realise she had no chance of escape. As Dougal and some others returned to the hall, he gave one sharp tug and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her from behind. Rob noticed the smell of blood and saw the thick patch of it on her head—she had been struck and knocked unconscious. Tightening his hold on her, he leaned down and whispered in her ear so that only she could hear his words.

‘Lilidh, you are safe with me. No one will hurt you.’

All the times he’d dreamt of holding her in his arms he had never seen it happening this way. But his body reacted, regardless of how and why, as he felt the womanly curves resting under his arms. Once she realised who he was, any chance of holding her like this would disappear for ever. She belonged to another man and could never be his. She was the daughter of a powerful chief and he was a bastard pretending to be laird.

It would never be, so why not make that clear from this moment on? Taking in a breath, he spoke the words that would separate them for ever … again.

‘Lilidh, it’s me, Rob Matheson.’

Her body stiffened for a moment and then she tried to turn to look at him. He relaxed his grip a tiny bit to allow her to do that. Her green gaze searched his face, seeing the changes that growing up and fighting had wrought there, and he watched as her expression changed. The fear remained, but shock entered it now and she trembled again. It only took a few seconds before the next emotion filled those beautiful green eyes and it was the one he was hoping for. It would help her survive whatever happened around them.

Anger. Her eyes filled and flashed with it and her hand lifted as he’d expected it to. Although she swung with all her might, he captured it easily and held it between them.

‘’Tis good to see you, too, Lilidh. It’s been a long time,’ he goaded her a-purpose.

‘You bastard,’ she swore at him. ‘You are behind this?’

Before he could answer, Dougal called out to him.

‘Some of the villagers come. The gates are secured,’ Dougal said as he approached, not missing the lovely woman still in his arms. ‘This is the MacLerie’s daughter, then?’ he asked, his appreciative gaze clear to everyone watching.

‘Aye. His eldest girl.’ Rob pitched his voice to sound uninterested.

‘And you two are acquainted?’ he asked, meeting Rob’s glance.

‘Do not be a fool, Dougal. Here …’ he held out Lilidh’s hand towards the man and pushed her closer ‘… put her some place for now.’ Dougal’s gaze narrowed and he looked from him to Lilidh and back again.

‘Symon said the aerie. Is that where you want her?’ Dougal watched him closely as he asked his pointed, probing questions.

Where did he want her? In his bed, naked, was the first place he thought of, but the one he could never admit. Shaking his head to clear the lust from his thoughts, he considered the aerie, with its position high in the old tower, one that could be approached by only one stairwell and would be easily defended. Putting her there would keep Symon satisfied and make him less of a problem. And, if her family came calling sooner than he expected, her position there would make them think twice before assaulting the keep.

Hell! What was he thinking?

The aerie was barbaric with its open walls, cracked wooden roof and nothing in the way of comfort. Putting her there would be another way to tweak the MacLeries and the MacGregors into acting against him faster than they already would. Rob stepped away from Dougal and Lilidh and dragged his hands through his hair. The others stood watching and waiting on his word—Symon, Dougal, his men, the elders, all the others who called him chief and those who would remove him with but a wrong word.

‘Take her to my chambers,’ he ordered quietly, hating the way that Dougal’s right eyebrow lifted in silent censure, but not willing to deny it.

The hall erupted with shouts from those backing Symon and those backing him. He would bring this under control and make Lilidh hate him even more than she probably did at this moment.

‘She is my prisoner!’ Symon demanded, shaking his fist at Rob. Rob quickly and without warning strode over to Symon and punched him in the jaw, knocking him to the floor as he’d wanted to do for days.

‘I am chief here and she is my prisoner. You wanted to anger the MacLerie and draw him into a fight? ’Twas your thought that kidnapping her would do it? Well, you have brought her here and she is mine now. Taking her to my bed will be even more effective in drawing him here.’

‘I will not be—’ Lilidh began to say but he gave her no time to say more. Rob turned and was in front of her before she could finish any declaration she would make.

To show her, to show them, who was in charge, he grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her to him, taking her mouth in a claiming kiss that told one and all that he would possess her body and soul before this was done. His demonstration was so successful that all of them began to cheer and urge him on.

Her mouth that was closed against his now softened and he deepened the kiss, tasting the sweetness he had craved for years. Tasting the passion that had lay dormant between them for so many reasons. Reasons that were important then, but now flew off like a flock of summer geese in the autumn’s chill. His thoughts scattered as his body reacted to her mouth and the enticing way she touched her tongue to his.

Until she latched on to the tip of his and bit him! Chiding himself for losing his mind under the guise of putting on a show for those watching, he pushed her back into Dougal’s arms and laughed as he wiped blood from his mouth. Blood she’d drawn.

‘Symon, you wait for me in the solar. Dougal, put her in my chambers. Use a rope or chains if you need to keep her there. I will see to her later,’ he ordered.

Lilidh didn’t say a word as Dougal led her away, but the expression now in her eyes resembled the one in Symon’s eyes just minutes ago. One that promised death and mayhem—with him as the target.

He turned away to see to another task before dealing with those challenging his position and wondered if he or his clan would survive this encounter with Lilidh MacLerie.

Chapter Three

She tried to walk to his chambers, tried to keep her anger inflamed, but her strength—and her leg—gave out by the time they reached the second flight of steps leading up into the tower. Lilidh would have fallen down had it not been for Rob’s man who caught her and carried her the rest of the way. The dizziness that came in waves and inundated her senses did not help. Any strength she mustered to continue to fight him leached away as she was overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion.

And somewhere in that mix of emotions, confusion, anger and a bit of relief swirled. No matter the news she’d received about the Mathesons’ breaking their agreements with the MacLeries, and no matter the personal rift between her and Rob, she knew he would never cause her harm.

No matter that kiss and his threat to take her to his bed … Her body shivered, chills and flames travelling through her at the memory of his mouth possessing hers. The Matheson called Dougal shifted her in his arms and turned down another corridor.

‘We are nearly there,’ he said quietly. No threats of ropes or chains? None of this made sense. Finally, he stopped before a door and waited for a nearby servant to open it. Striding inside, he lowered her to her feet near the bed.

And when she needed her leg to be steady, it failed her once more, the muscles in her damaged thigh spasming and sending stabbing pains along the length of it. She clutched at it as she sank to the floor, not able to hide it from either Dougal or the servant who trailed them into the chamber.

‘Bloody Symon!’ he said through clenched teeth as he reached her side. ‘What did he do to you?’ The man began to take hold of her skirts, but she pushed him off. No one would see her leg. No one.

‘Nay!’ she cried as she struggled to drag herself out of his grasp. ‘It cramped from …’ Lilidh could not think of the excuse so she just waved him off, settling the layers of undergown, gown and tunic as close to her ankles as she could. So she used the truth. ‘It cramped.’

Dougal stood back and examined her from head to toe then. Crossing his arms over his broad chest, the man shrugged.

‘You can’t deny your head is injured. Anything else broken or bleeding?’

Only her heart …

Pushing away that soft thought, she considered all the pain that flooded her body.

‘Bumps and bruises, I think,’ she said, glancing up at him. ‘You are Rob’s man, then?’ she asked.

‘Here now,’ Dougal said as he ignored her question and reached down to her, ‘take my hand and let’s get you to your feet.’ Luckily, his hand and arm were much stronger than hers, for if she’d had to rely on hers, she would have remained on the floor. With one fluid movement, he eased her to stand, but did not let go of his hold. ‘There you go.’

Lilidh clenched her own jaws now to keep from screaming at the pain that burned through her leg. Closing her fingers into fists, she fought the urge to cry out and to collapse. Weakness was not an option right now. Not when she was a prisoner, when threatened with harm and shame, and when even her presence here would bring the war she’d thought she could stop.

What a fool she was!

First for thinking she could fight off the seasoned warriors who’d captured her. And second, for thinking she could ever make things better between her father and Rob. Third and worst of all, for thinking that seeing him now after everything they’d shared and lost would be less painful than the last time.

Dougal pulled a large wooden chair over towards her and motioned for her to sit on its broad surface. Taking in a breath against the pain and fear of falling, Lilidh moved slowly across the chamber until she reached the chair and lowered herself into it. Closing her eyes, she waited for him to follow his laird’s orders to tie or chain her there. A few moments passed before she dared a peek and found him standing with a hand outstretched in front of her … holding out a cup of … something.

‘Drink this,’ he said, shoving it closer to her. Lilidh dared a sniff, but could smell nothing but the spices used to flavour the wine. She took the cup and brought it to her lips. ‘It will ease your pain while Beathas treats your head.’

The woman who’d opened the door for them had been standing by that door all this time and Lilidh never realised it. The pain in her head was dulling her reactions and her senses and kept her from coming up with a plan now that she knew who her attackers were. Once her head stopped throbbing and bleeding, she would be able to think clearly, but first she must ask a question.

‘What about my guards? My maid? Who sees to them?’ she asked, worrying, too, over those who saw to her care and who she’d last seen lying lifelessly by the side of the road. A shiver raced through her as she asked.

The Matheson man shrugged.

‘The laird ordered me to see to you. He will send someone to see to them.’

Understanding it was all she would get as assurances about her people, Lilidh drank down the contents of the cup. From the pungent smell and familiar taste, she suspected that it was a sleeping potion or something to dull the pain in her head. Right at this moment, she hoped it was exactly that. She held out the cup and the woman stepped forwards to take it. It did not take long for the room to change before her eyes.

She noticed that the flames in the hearth, a rather large hearth for a single chamber, swayed this way and that, and she moved her head in time with them. Voices whispered around her, but she could not discern a single clear word in all of the hushed noise. Lilidh lifted her head and turned towards the door and the whole room swirled around her now. Laughing, she enjoyed the warmth that spread into her blood.

Then the door opened, crashing back against the wall, and Rob stood there.

Memories filled her thoughts—of him as a young boy, playing with her brother, learning to work with weapons, growing older and stronger.

Their first kiss.

Lilidh trembled, remembering the gentle, playful touch of their mouths, innocent of anything more. Meeting his intense gaze now, she remembered their growing passion, their secret embraces and the way his scandalous touch would drive her to madness. Then she remembered the way his gaze had hardened when he gave her the truth that broke her heart.

His blue eyes did not sparkle now with the teasing merriment that had tempted her to leave good behaviour behind. Now, anger filled them and another shiver racked her body. With the wine making her feel strange and draining any fear she might have had of him, she stood on unstable legs to meet him and his outrageous claim straight on.

‘I will not be your mistress,’ she said loudly. The words echoed both inside her head and around it.

She watched as he ordered Dougal and the woman out of the room with a silent tilt of his head. When the door closed and the latch dropped, both making more noise than she’d ever noticed before, she knew it was time.

‘I will not make this easy for you, Rob.’

Whatever she expected of him, the quiet laugh was not it, nor the sad smile that curved his lips ever so slightly and made her want to kiss them. Covering her own mouth against the tingling in her lips, she waited. If only she had not drunk the wine, she might be able to talk him out of this.

‘No, Lilidh, you never do make things easy for me.’

He took one slow step towards her and then another. She tried to back away, but the chair behind her kept her in place. When he took her by the shoulders and led her to the bed, she should have screamed, but there was no fight left in her.

She was close to collapse, any fool with eyes could see that, both from the potion given by Beathas and her mistreatment at Symon’s and his cronies’ hands. Her body surrendered to his grasp and he guided her to the bed. Leaning over, Rob scooped her up and laid her there. Though he’d dreamt and hoped for such a thing, this was neither the time nor the manner in which he’d wanted those dreams and hopes to play out.

Lilidh sank into sleep almost as her head touched the pillow and that made it somewhat easier on him. Rob touched her cheek and she did not stir. He gathered her hair, the colour of midnight, and moved it from her face, smoothing it away and searching for any other injuries there.

‘She is a feisty one,’ Dougal said quietly from his place at the now-open door. Rob nodded and then stepped aside, motioning for both Dougal and Beathas to return to the chamber.

‘She has been called that and many other things,’ he admitted, though not speaking the ones he’d used the most to describe her. ‘See to her injuries, Beathas. All of them.’

His blood heated in anger at the thought of what Symon and his men might have done to Lilidh since they’d taken her from her guards. He should have word on those guards soon, but for now, all he could do was try to make her comfortable before all hell broke loose around them. Again.

The older woman nodded, gathered her supplies together and placed them on the bed. Then she met his gaze and stared at him. The message was clear to him—leave. So, he turned to do so, taking Dougal with him and deciding to set two guards at the door to keep everyone out. As they reached the door, though, he stumbled over a pile of chains, with a number of locks strewn among them. Long sections of heavy rope lay next to the chains.

‘Truly, Dougal? Of all the times to obey my orders, you chose this one?’ He’d spoken of chains and ropes merely as a public threat, never intending to need them.

‘One never knows when a good, stout length of rope or chains might come in handy dealing with a wench such as her,’ Dougal said, respect flowing with the words he spoke. Respect for the unconscious woman on his bed. The irony did not escape him in that moment.

‘Since the potion will keep her asleep for hours, I need to see to Symon and his cronies. No ropes or chains will be necessary here,’ he said. At Dougal’s raised brow, he continued, ‘For now.’

Chapter Four

‘You cannot succeed in this.’

Symon merely laughed at his words as Rob entered the small chamber and closed the door behind him. No matter Symon’s attempts to goad him in front of everyone, his reaction at this time would be handled in private. There would always be time to take action against him before the clan later.

‘You have as much or more to lose than I do, Symon,’ he warned, walking quietly to the window and looking out at the frenzy of activity that his cousin’s actions had caused.

‘You are a disgrace to the clan,’ Symon spat out in a fierce whisper. Turning to face his cousin, the frank hatred in the man’s eyes surprised him. ‘They should not have chosen you.’

‘But they did. And I am not the first bastard chosen as chieftain of a clan before, Symon. If you would look past your own insulted consequence to the good of the clan—’ He had not even finished the words before Symon shook his head.

‘I should be chief and laird. I have a claim stronger than yours,’ he argued.

‘Stronger than blood?’ he asked.

Illegitimate or not, his father had been chief and laird here and Symon’s claim through his mother to their common grandfather had not been strong enough to cast Rob aside in his favour. Hence the ongoing defiance and now this frank stupidity. His words struck something in Symon, for his cousin’s gaze narrowed and he glanced away.

‘If my father’s wife had delivered a son in a few months, neither of us would be questioning our positions here,’ he offered, waiting and watching for any indication of his cousin’s involvement in the recent accident that claimed Angus Matheson and his heavily pregnant new wife.

‘Aye, but she will not, will she?’ Symon asked, neither the expression in his eyes nor the way he held himself betraying anything more.

‘You will stand in the same position now as you would have in that—cousin and adviser to the next laird.’

The elders had already given their support to a betrothal of Rob and Symon’s sister so that the fighting between the two branches of the clan could be settled and to strengthen the connections between all of them. Though Rob had his own doubts and reservations about it, it did seem the perfect answer to the problems brought about by Symon’s claims. Symon’s blood, through his sister’s sons, would rule the clan and he would be a valued adviser to the next laird. Symon’s gaze darkened, but his tongue remained silent. Rob wondered if his cousin had realised how those arrangements would be muddied and troubled now with the presence of Lilidh MacLerie.

‘My sister will not abide you taking the MacLerie’s daughter to your bed,’ Symon warned.

Rob raised one edge of his brow and smiled. ‘Something you should have thought about before bringing her here. I’m certain Tyra understands the way of things among men.’

Men, especially men in power, had women to serve their needs. Wives provided heirs, but no one, no one, would question Rob’s right to treat Lilidh however he wished. If this was to be war, hostages and their treatment were controlled by the chief. Since Symon had delivered her into his hands, he could blame none but himself if his sister was now unhappy over the situation. Symon swallowed deeply and would not meet his gaze. Rob nodded once more.

‘I have given you much freedom in speaking your mind here, Symon. But that comes to an end now. You have pushed me and our clan into circumstances that could prove our demise. If you continue to interfere and do not follow my orders, I will outlaw you.’ Symon turned swiftly and faced him, his fists clenching and releasing at a furious pace.

‘You cannot!’

‘The elders approved me as laird. I can. I will if you push this,’ Rob promised. ‘If you cannot console yourself with the place of honour and value you have here, you will be forced out. Doubt it, doubt me, not.’

Symon looked as though he would argue, but at the last moment, he nodded and began to leave. Rob thought it best to add one more item for Symon to consider as he ruminated over his choices and his actions.

‘I will not take the sister of a traitor as my wife, Symon, even if the elders believe it will heal the breach between our two lines. I will not marry her if you cannot be loyal. So think long and hard before your words or your actions continue to declare you as such.’

The door slammed without another word being spoken, but as it bounced back open, he watched Symon stride away down the length of the hall. Instead of seeking out his cronies, he waved them off and left the keep.

Since he never doubted that Connor would arrive at his gates due to Symon’s actions, he had many things to see to now. All of the clan elders and counsellors would be arriving at his call. When given the true accounting of what Connor could bring against them, Rob felt certain they would understand their precarious position and want to end it quickly. The threat to the clan, their meagre lands and keep included, should be enough to warn them off this dangerous path.

Several tasks had called to him at the same time, so he saw to those and waited on word about Lilidh’s servant and guards. If they were alive and she kept unharmed, it could alleviate the MacLerie’s legendary temper before he massacred every Matheson there. As he walked from the chamber, the irony struck him.

He would be unworthy of being chieftain if he simply capitulated and released Lilidh to her father and husband.

Though for all the wrong reasons, her presence here gave him an opportunity to improve his family’s conditions. With her as a bargaining tool, he could make things better for the Mathesons. Of course, it would mean cementing her hatred of him for ever—though he doubted she felt little else for him even now—and it would be the last time he would see her or speak to her.

And though kidnapping an heiress was a time-honoured tradition here in the Highlands, taking a chief’s daughter who happened to be another man’s wife did not usually get the same results. With one, a man could end up wealthier with his clan well supported. With the other, wars, death, humiliation, mayhem and possibly beheading or castration followed. Now, since the first was not an issue, he needed to find a way to not allow the latter to happen.

By the time Rob made his way back up to his chambers that night, several things had fallen into place. Symon seemed cowed for the moment. Only two of Lilidh’s guards had died and, though he’d not told her yet, her old serving woman would recover. Beathas reported that the only injuries Lilidh had suffered were the obvious ones and those would heal.

However, the problems that Lilidh caused had not gone away and would increase with every passing hour that she remained in his keep. Until she was healed and he could get to the bottom of this mess, he must hold her and hold her close—for her protection as much as his own.

Walking down the corridor to his chambers, he nodded to the two guards there and sent them off with a wave of his hand. Rob had already set an order for guards to be in place there whenever he wasn’t in his room, so he knew they would be back at dawn. Lifting the latch, he stepped inside, ready, he thought, for anything.

The sight before him made the very floor beneath his feet shift.

Lilidh lay on his bed, her hair spread like a wild, dark storm on the pillows. Her face, washed of grime and dirt, showed the delicate curve of her chin and the pale pink of her lips revealed itself. The potential in her as a child and young girl had blossomed to full beauty as she’d reached womanhood. Beathas had washed her and given her a clean gown. Asleep in his bed, without the fear or pain or anger that had controlled her expression earlier, he could have believed she belonged there.

And from the way his heart thundered in his chest and his blood heated his veins, the sight of her there was something he wanted. Rob nodded to Beathas, who sat by the bed watching over her charge. She put down the garment she worked on and came to him, putting her finger to her mouth, warning him to silence.

‘She has just now quieted,’ Beathas whispered.

‘The potion did not keep her asleep, then?’ He glanced across the chamber to watch the slow, calm rise and fall of her chest under the sheet.

‘It worked while I had need of it,’ Beathas replied.

While the healer tended to the worst of her injuries.

Rob walked closer to the bed. ‘Any instructions?’

‘Ha,’ Beathas grunted out. ‘You plan to care for her?’ she asked from just behind him.

He’d not really planned this, not really thought beyond Beathas seeing to her injuries. The bold boast he’d made about taking her to his bed muddied things now. Surely no one would expect him to ravish her while unconscious from a head wound?

‘I can see to her.’ If she planned to argue, she changed her mind then.

‘A wee bit of this,’ she said, reaching over to the table and lifting a small glass bottle. ‘Add it to water or ale and it will help the pain in her head. No’ too much, though.’

‘Will she sleep now?’ Rob asked. He leaned down and smoothed the blanket over Lilidh.

‘Nay. Too much sleep when the head is injured is no’ a good thing, Rob. If she wakes, let her. If she sleeps, rouse her every few hours and make her speak to you. The potion is only for pain.’

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. ‘I will summon you if I have need of anything else.’

Rob did not turn to see if the older woman obeyed. Though he expected an argument, none came. Her shuffling feet scuffed over the wood floor as she left. When silence filled the chamber, he let his guard down for a brief moment, running his hands through his hair and letting out a deep breath.

How had his life gone from tolerable to hell in a matter of a few days? How had his position as chief and laird, one he never expected to hold, passed from unquestioned to strongly challenged? Worse, how would he keep his promises to his clan and violate those he’d made years before about Lilidh? Her presence here, and in his bed, broke oaths sworn to her father.

Walking to the table, he poured a cup of ale and sat by the fire, watching her sleep. All of his hopes and fears, all of his aspirations and desires, had once centred on the woman now in his bed. He’d allowed himself to dream of having her as his wife and at his side. He’d believed he could be worthy of her and that her father would accept, even support the match. The truth of it, so far from the dream, had torn them apart years ago.

Was this the fates laughing at him? Did the Almighty have a keen sense of humour after all? Chuckling over the strangeness of it and trying to figure out a path through the quagmire before him, them, he only then noticed her eyes were open.

‘Lilidh,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘how do you fare now?’ When he began to stand, her expression turned to fear, like a wild animal with no place to run. Hating the sight of it, he rested back on the wooden seat.

She began to push herself up as though to move as far from him as possible, but the wincing expression told him of her pain. Then she stopped and closed her eyes, gasping with each movement, no matter how slight.

‘Here …’ Rob jumped to his feet and strode over to her then. He reached over, grabbed the bottle left by Beathas and poured some of it in the cup of ale there. ‘Try sipping this. It will lessen the pain.’

With shaking hands she lifted the cup to her lips and took a small swallow of its contents, grimacing as the bitter liquid trickled into her mouth. Beathas’s concoctions, though effective, were known for being nearly undrinkable. Even ale or wine could not cover the less-than-savoury ingredients she used. Rob had not relinquished the cup to Lilidh’s control, so he lifted it once then twice and again before taking it from her. That should be enough.

‘So, is it time then?’ she asked softly, leaning her head back against the wooden headboard.

‘For someone who held on to her virtue so tightly for so long, you seem very ready to have your honour taken from you now. Has marriage done that to you?’

He regretted that last barb as it left his lips. Speaking of her marriage to another man was not a topic he wished to think about, let alone discuss with her as she lay in his bed, awaiting ravishment. Rob turned from her, forestalling any reply she might make, and began to put out the candles and bank the remaining flames in the hearth for the night. The inscrutable expression in her eyes when he at last turned back to face her confused him even more.

Did she really expect that he would force himself on her? He knew their parting had been a bad one—he’d shamed her before her family and left her to face their wrath—but never had he forced her. Seduced, cajoled, even begged, but never against her will or without her permission. Had Symon now convinced her that she would pay that price so thoroughly that she accepted it as unavoidable? Shaking his head, overwhelmed by the day’s events and confrontations, Rob walked to the last candle at the bedside table and nodded to her.

‘Lie down.’

Lilidh’s eyes glazed over a bit now as the concoction began its work. Soon, she would once again be in sleep’s grasp and he would have time to consider his actions and plans without her interference. He laughed roughly then, which caused her eyes to widen in fear once more. But she followed his order and slid back down under the covers.

After watching until her eyes drifted shut, he put out the last candle, loosened his belt and allowed his plaid to drop to the floor. His boots and shirt went next before he gathered up the length of plaid, climbed on to the bed and covered himself with it. Stretching out, he crossed his arms behind his head and listened to the pattern of her breaths. Soon, without a word more spoken between them, it grew even and deep, signalling her descent into sleep.

He must assert himself on the morrow and bring a calm, reasoned approach to this. He must divorce himself from acting on his feelings of anger and mistrust and lead the clan. He must let go of his past with Lilidh and handle her with detachment and logic. Closing his eyes, he repeated those decisions over and over to himself as he drifted to sleep.

And he might have succeeded had she not whispered a word that put all his thought of control and rationality aside. One whispered word and jealousy and possessiveness and all the long-ago hurt and knowledge of his unworthiness reared within him.

‘Iain,’ she whispered.

One name. With that one name spoken on a breathless sigh, she ruined all his hopes and once again reminded him of the fruitlessness of his dreams.

Chapter Five

Warmth surrounded her.

Lilidh snuggled deeper beneath the bedcovers, allowing the heat to soothe her sore body. She had found this part of her husband’s attentions quite pleasant, for she hated nothing more than waking in a cold chamber with cold feet. As she moved closer to his warm body, a masculine groan filled the space between them.

A groan that did not belong to Iain.

Dear God in Heaven! How could she have forgotten the events of the last days? Forcing her eyes to open even against the glare of what had to be the morning’s strong light, Lilidh looked directly into Rob’s gaze.

‘You are not Iain!’ she blurted out as she sought to escape Rob’s scandalous embrace. The bedcovers hampered her efforts to scoot back and away from him. The pain that slammed through her head forced her to cease, too, for it threatened to immobilise her with the sheer torture of it. Her stomach rolled from it.

Rob lifted the arm that had most recently crossed her breasts and leaned up on his side. Covered only with his plaid, one that had carelessly been tossed over him from the look of it, he watched her without saying a word. Unlike Iain who simply rolled out of their bed and left their chamber each morn without saying anything, Rob clearly had other plans.

‘No, not Iain,’ he whispered in a voice so deep it made her feel as though heated honey was running over and through her body.

He looked dishevelled from sleep. A lock of his hair kept falling into his eyes. Lilidh reached out to move it away, stopping herself only at the last moment. Damn him! How dare he order her kidnapped and brought here like this. Fool that she always was when it came to him, she wanted to help smooth out the tensions between him and her father. Rob blinked then, turning his gaze from hers as he lifted the plaid and slid to the edge of the bed.

His bed.

She swallowed. Try as she might, she could not look away as his strong, muscular back was exposed to her, all the way to his … Tanned from exposure to the sun, the muscles rippled as he bent down and reached for something on the floor. Her mouth went dry as he tugged a shirt over his head and stood as its length fell around him.

Though it covered his back, it did not reach much lower than his thighs, so his legs, just as well defined as his back, were open to her sight. He’d grown and filled out from the last time she spied on her brother and him as they swam naked in a lake near her home. The passing years, along with the fighting and training, had added bulk and strength to his body. When he faced her, boots and plaid in hand, their gazes met and only the slight lifting of one corner of his mouth gave her any indication of his reaction to her blatant perusal of him.

‘Do I look like Iain?’ he asked, picking up his boots.

He must never have met Iain or he would not ask the question. Two men could never have looked so differently as he and Iain—had. Iain was nearly two-score-and-ten and his hair had long gone grey. He had retained his warrior’s stature and strength even until his death. Then Lilidh remembered that the MacGregors were attempting to keep the news of his death from spreading too far while they settled the dispute over his heir and successor.

As happened whenever she thought of her now-dead husband, confusion and regret entered her heart and mind. He had seemed healthy and stout as long as she’d known him, so his sudden and unexpected death, and their short marriage, left more questions and fears in their passing than they answered.

‘No, not alike at all,’ she finally forced out so that he would not stare so intently at her. Turning away, she reached up to examine her head and the bandage she felt there. Truly, she just could not meet his gaze or think about Iain and her failure to please him at this moment. Not when everything was out of control. ‘Did you …?’

He frowned for a moment and then his gaze darkened. ‘Did I what?’

Lilidh could not speak the words. She did not know if he could have had his way with her while she’d been unconscious or not. That place between her legs felt no worse or different than it ever had, so she had not a clue whether he’d taken her or not. The fog caused by the strong medicine in the healer’s brew hid any memory of the last day and night. He waited for an answer, so she glanced down at the bed and then back at him.

A sudden and terrible thought occurred to her in that moment of waiting—what if her virgin’s blood marked his sheets and exposed her shame and the failure of her marriage? Would he use it to further his clan’s aim to bring dishonour and humiliation to her and her father? Questions would be raised about the validity of her marriage to the MacGregor chief and the treaties attached to it if anyone knew it had never been consummated.

And now there was no way to look without drawing his attention. So, Lilidh waited for him to speak. She swallowed against the fear of exposure and shame and waited for him to answer—too afraid to look and too afraid to look away.

‘Lilidh,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Look at me.’ She did not allow the soft tone to mislead her into thinking it was less than a direct command.

She took in a deep breath, tried to keep from trembling and did as he’d ordered. Instead of the mocking she thought to find there, Lilidh watched as desire filled those blue eyes. Desire so strong she felt it pulse through her as though he touched her everywhere at once. Her skin heated, her blood raced and her mouth went dry.

‘When I take you to my bed, in my bed, you will remember it. You will remember every caress, every kiss, when it happens.’

Lilidh felt every word he said and the memories of their time together and this promise of what would come between them shot through her body as if he had touched her. And in those words were every sensation she’d hope to feel and to experience with her husband, but had not. Hearing Rob say them, she mourned for the thousandth time their regrettable ending with its harsh words. Her skin tingled and her blood heated, waiting as desire burned a path through her.

Then, the flare of passion she’d seen there was over and gone. The fire she’d witnessed turned to cold, icy blue and he walked away without another word. Lilidh watched as he lifted the bar off the door and placed it on the floor and then reached for the latch.

‘Do not attempt to leave this room or speak to anyone save Beathas and Dougal.’

‘I have questions,’ she said before he could leave. Rob glanced back then and shook his head at her.

‘And I have duties to see to,’ he replied as he opened the door.

He spoke quietly to whoever waited there and then he was gone. Though she knew others were just outside the door, no one entered. Lilidh tested her limbs, stretching them as best she could, and then pushed herself slowly to the edge of the bed. Sliding from its height, she grabbed hold of the bedpost and stood, letting her body and her head adjust for a few minutes.

When her legs steadied beneath her, she held her breath, pushed her hair back over her shoulders and took a cautious step. Then, letting go of her support, another and another until she reached the chair by the now-cold hearth. Grabbing for the back of that chair, she wobbled a bit and then used it to edge around until she could sit.

Taking in deep breaths against the pain in her head and the tightness of every part of her, she closed her eyes and tried to think of more pleasant things. It had always helped her in the past and she prayed it would now. Clenching the sides of the chair, she fought off the desire to cry out from the torment.

‘Here now, dearie …’

The words and approach of a woman broke into her thoughts and she gasped in surprise more than anything else. Beathas, the healer, had returned. Carrying linens under her ancient arm and a large chamberpot in her hands, the woman bobbed from side to side in a most worrying way. Without thought, Lilidh stood to help her. The pain took her breath away with its severity.

‘Poor wee lass,’ Beathas whispered as she put the supplies down and came to her side. Easing Lilidh back to the chair, she cooed and offered warm, comforting nonsensical words, at once becoming the caregiver. ‘Would you no’ be more comfortable in the bed for a wee bit?’

Lilidh closed her eyes, unable to speak and torn between the pain and the gentle care of this stranger. The woman did not push her to move. Instead, taking up a brush, she eased Lilidh’s hair back and began slow, long strokes away from the injured place. When she closed her eyes and blocked out her surroundings, she could have believed herself home, being tended by her mother. She may have even fallen to sleep for a moment, so comforting were the motions of the brush, followed by Beathas’s tender touch as she tamed Lilidh’s tangled hair while avoiding the bandaged, injured area.

‘Do you have a looking glass?’ she asked the woman. Her skin was easily marked by bruises or bumps and Lilidh wondered how badly she must look after the last days of rough handling by the one who brought her here and his cronies.

‘I don’t, my lady,’ Beathas said. ‘I will see if Tyra has one in her chambers that you could use.’

‘Tyra?’ An unfamiliar name, but then she had not kept track of Rob’s clan in years.

‘Symon’s sister,’ Beathas explained. A hesitation in her reply spoke of much information not to be shared.

‘Never you mind, then,’ Lilidh said. ‘I do not wish you to be drawn into this.’

‘Did he hurt you, dearie?’

The question was slipped in quietly, but confused Lilidh for she did not know if Beathas referred to Symon or Rob. Whichever it was, she had no intention or desire to speak of such things, for it would bring up other personal matters.

‘Leave it be, Beathas. I know that I am prisoner and enemy and do not expect to be treated otherwise while here,’ she said with far more confidence than she felt.

It was the truth, though, and an attitude she feared she must accept to get through this ordeal. If things had deteriorated so much that Rob’s clan thought kidnapping her and shaming her father was the correct course of action, then she could not be certain of anything—least of all how she would indeed be treated. As laird and chief, Rob would have to appease his clan elders and those whose backing he needed to remain on the high chair. Forcing her to his bed, beating her or shaming her could all be part of it.

A shiver racked her then. She was a woman alone—no guards, no family, no husband—with no one to watch over her and protect her. Had her father received word yet about her kidnapping? Had Rob or that rogue Symon sent demands? If no one was left alive from her travelling group, who would take the news to her father or to the MacGregors?

The tears surprised her then, coming without warning at the thought of her friends and family lying dead by the road after the attack. Poor Isla! Her faithful maid had been with her for years, first as her nurse, then companion as she grew older and did not need a nurse. Accompanying her on her marriage journey to Iain’s clan gave Lilidh comfort, as her mother had said it would. Any number of cousins could have come with her, but her mother had advised only Isla until Lilidh had settled in.

Now, she was responsible for the woman’s death and the death of others who had simply carried out their orders.

Leaning her head down, she let the tears flow. Her body rocked slightly on its own as sorrow filled her heart and soul at the loss of so many. The healer’s gentle touch on her shoulder surprised her.

‘Here now,’ Beathas whispered. ‘All will be well.’

The woman wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and tucked it tightly. She moved quietly around the chamber, straightening the bed and cleaning as she went. Every so often a soft tsking would be heard, but the woman did not ask her any other questions. Lilidh gathered her emotions under control and let the temporary sadness and tears go. For now.

For now she needed to be strong. To be the daughter of the MacLerie and the widow of the proud MacGregor chieftain. To survive this coming ordeal she must keep her wits and find out what Rob’s plans were—especially with her. And she must find ways to influence Rob’s decisions, if possible, too.

For years she’d observed her uncle negotiating and watched her father be both the Beast and the wise leader. This was the time to use everything she’d learned to save herself, her honour and possibly save the man she’d wanted to marry all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, she loosened the blanket and pushed it down. She must be ready to face him on his return.

‘I would like to wash, if that’s permitted,’ she said quietly without looking at Beathas. Without a word, Beathas went to the door, opened it and whispered to whoever stood guard there.

‘Some hot water will be here for you soon. And something warm to drink as well, lass.’

Lilidh sat in the quiet, waiting for those things and trying to see a pattern in what Symon had said while taunting her and in what Rob had said in the hall, snatches of which came drifting back to her now as she thought about it. For certain, she’d been taken because of her father, though little had been said about her connection to Iain and the MacGregors. Only muffled curses and a few words had been directed at her after they’d tied, gagged and hooded her and brought her here.

She thought that Symon might have initiated this action in trying to force Rob’s hand. If she’d been coherent and uninjured during her taking, she might have learned more. Now, as a loud knock startled her from her thoughts, she would have to wait.

Beathas answered it, opening the door widely to allow entrance to whoever waited. A large wooden tub was rolled in and placed to one side of the chamber. Men followed, carrying buckets of steaming water. A woman entered with a pile of linens and handed them to Beathas. Lilidh watched out the corner of her eye, having no desire to meet what she was sure would be the curious gazes of these Mathesons.

Once the room had emptied and Beathas had arranged things as she wanted them to be, Lilidh pushed herself out of the chair and stood. She could not stop the groan of pain as her body fought her efforts to move. A warm cup was pressed into her hands before she knew it.

‘Betony tea. To soothe the hurts and ease your moving around.’

Deciding she could not sort things out and accomplish anything until she was recovered, Lilidh sipped from the cup and discovered the tea was sweetened and flavourful. She drank a bit and then handed it back to Beathas.

‘I will finish it after I wash,’ she said, limping to the side of the tub. Reaching down, she swirled her fingers in the water and found it to be steaming hot—perfect for a long soak. ‘I can see to this myself.’

The expected argument from the old woman did not happen. Beathas moved a short stool close to the tub and placed the drying linens and a small bowl of soap on it.

‘Summon me if you wish help with your hair,’ Beathas said as she walked to the door. ‘Have a care for the wound.’

If there had been a way to lock or bar the door, Lilidh would have. Seeing none, she steadied herself and dropped the blanket from her shoulders. She gathered up the length of the shift she wore and pulled it over her head, dropping it to the floor where it would remain dry. Shaking her head, she glanced around the chamber for her gown and did not see it. Had Beathas taken it?

No matter, she thought, grasping the side of the tub and easing her stronger leg over the side. Once on the bottom of it, she pulled her bad leg into the water. Using the sides of the tub, she slid slowly down until she sat. It was large enough for her to stretch out her legs and she moaned as the hot water surrounded her tight muscles and the scars. Other than walking, a hot bath did much to loosen the tightness when the cramping came upon her. After the last several days, this was nigh to heaven, so she leaned back and let the heat seep into her.

Though used to Isla’s gentle ministrations during her baths, Lilidh managed to scrub the dirt from her legs and arms and even wash her hair, though she thought she might spill more water from the tub than she left in it. Once done, she soaked in the water until it lost its heat. Having a care not to slip, she climbed from the water, wrapped her hair in a cloth and then used another to dry off the rest of her. She’d just claimed the warm, woolen blanket again, clutching it around the once again worn shift, when the door opened.

‘The laird has called for your presence down in the hall,’ Beathas said. She placed the bundle of clothing she carried on the bed and reached up to help with Lilidh’s hair. ‘I will plait it for you for now. He was clear that you not delay.’

From the frown on Beathas’s face and her lack of encouragement, Lilidh knew this could not be a good thing. Feeling more revived from the bath, she allowed Beathas to help her dress in the plain gown, stockings and shoes she’d brought. Once done, she tried to fortify herself for whatever would come. When the door opened and Rob’s man stood waiting with a rope, Lilidh was not certain she would ever be ready.

Chapter Six

Symon strode through the hall towards the tower where his and Tyra’s chambers were. Climbing the stairs and reaching her rooms, he knocked and lifted the latch without waiting for a response. Angered at the path his plans had taken, he would not be left standing in the corridor waiting like some fool. His sister glared at him, but said nothing. With a nod of his head, the two maids helping her dress fled. Tyra turned back to her looking glass and arranged a ribbon that drooped loosely down her cheek.

Women! Damn them all!

Symon crossed the chamber in a few strides and yanked the ribbon free, causing several locks of Tyra’s hair to fall as well. He tossed the ribbon in her face and crossed his arms. Instead of looking fearful or giving him the respect he deserved from her, she just smiled, selected another strip of material from her collections and wove her hair back in place. All without a word to him! Just when his fist itched to teach her her rightful place, she spoke.

‘So what is my betrothed’s new mistress like, Symon?’

‘Mistress? Give her not some title as exalted as mistress, Tyra. She is nothing but a MacLerie whore warming his bed.’

‘Only that, then?’ she replied. Symon’s own brow twitched as Tyra raised one of hers in question. ‘Only a woman in his bed?’

‘You know the way of things, Sister. He will use her until her father gives in to our demands and then she will be gone from here.’

‘Was that your plan? When you brought her here?’ Her voice was so calm it gave him pause. Instead of screaming at him as her usual custom would be, she had not raised her voice or seemed angered by what he’d done.

‘My plan was to keep her as my captive, in my bed, until her father paid for her release,’ Symon admitted.

The sight of Lilidh MacLerie riding along the forest road had aroused him. He’d planned on claiming her body and using it as he wished when she was his to command. Then her daring actions, fighting his men and trying to protect the old woman, heated his blood and his lust for her almost overpowered him. Oh, aye, she would be good for some bold bedplay. Even now his body readied to take hers. Only his sister’s cough brought his attention back to their conversation.

‘Now she is Rob’s plaything to bed and use. I am not happy about this, Symon.’ Tyra stood, smoothing her gown down as she stepped closer to him. Leaning in, she whispered to him, ‘Take her back, Symon. Get her out of his bed.’

Symon almost took a step back at the vehemence in her tone. Almost. But he was the man here and, though Tyra was his elder sister, he would not take orders from a woman.

‘You will listen to me, Tyra,’ he commanded in a low voice. There was no need for servants and the like to overhear this conversation. ‘She is a temporary stone in the path here. A means to an end. Once we have the gold from the MacLerie, she will be gone and we will be richer. And I will be able to take the chieftain’s chair from the bastard. Our plans will all see success.’ She made to step around him, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

‘I will be laird here, so you had better watch your step and do as I tell you to do. I will not be as pliable as that whoreson Rob is when it comes to giving you your way if you disobey me in this.’

Something flickered in her eyes for a moment before she masked it. Something he could not identify. Something dead.

‘But, of course, Brother,’ she replied, bowing her head. ‘I value your guidance in all things.’

He huffed out a breath and released her. As long as she realised that she was beholden to him for her position, things would work out. Symon lifted the latch and pulled on the door before glancing back at Tyra. Her expression was one of humility and obedience, but that was not what he’d seen there before.

Not at all.

Tyra kept her gaze blank until Symon left her chambers and then her anger filled her. Clenching her fists, she searched for something, anything, to throw and break. The need to smash something into the floor or wall grew uncontrollable and she finally spied just the thing—her looking glass.

A present from her stepfather, Symon’s father, she took the heavy metal object with both hands and flung it to the floor, sending pieces off in different directions across the chamber. The larger reflecting piece skidded satisfyingly on the rough wood until it slammed into the wall.

Tyra seethed with rage. Men always controlled her life. Her father, then her stepfather, her brother and now the newly made laird who had agreed to take her as wife. Agreed, aye, after having to be convinced by the worthless elders! Yet now he felt no shame or hesitation in sleeping with another woman before all of them. No explanation to her, no words to soften the blow to her pride. She was simply expected to accept this treatment as her place in life and be grateful for it.

Grateful was not something that she did easily or well.

Damn that fool Symon! This move had cost much and confounded her own plans. If he had only left well enough alone and let those elders who agreed with him push Rob out, all would have been well and her future would have been as she’d desired. Now, Rob was exerting his own pressures on the elders and the rest and the MacKenzies seemed less and less appealing as allies in the face of the MacLerie’s forces.

Damn him!

The sound of footsteps approaching her door alerted her that she had to regain control of herself. Men might not know how to control themselves, but Tyra would not her plans fail because of excessive emotions. Letting out her breath, she forced her face to relax and cleared her mind of thoughts, until she could allow a smile to alight on her mouth.

‘I misjudged its weight,’ she said apologetically as she turned to face her serving woman. The woman went scurrying around the bedchamber, gathering up the scattered pieces of metal.

‘Oh, my lady,’ Margaret whispered, holding out the broken looking glass. ‘’Tis the one that your stepfather gave you on the anniversary of your birth!’

‘Mayhap the smith can repair it? Would you take it to him and ask him?’ she said, smiling at the maid.

‘Oh, aye, my lady,’ Margaret said, ever trying to please her mistress since she and the others expected her to be the woman who would rule over this household very soon.

Tyra waited for her to leave before sitting down before the table that used to hold the looking glass. She smoothed her hair back and tugged on the sleeves of the gown. She must appear in the hall soon and act as though everything in her life pleased her. As though she was not bothered at all by her betrothed bedding another woman while the entire clan knew. As though she was happy at the thought of becoming lady here. As though this was her perfect life and would be her perfect future.

She had learned long ago how to bide her time; it was a lesson hard-learned and not forgotten. Not then and not now. Everything these fools planned would be for naught and in the end she would rule over the household of her beloved—Gavin MacKenzie, the heir to the vast MacKenzie lands and wealth.

And they would learn that they should never have underestimated her.

Lairig Dubh

Jocelyn did not like it one bit.

Something was going on and no one would tell her what it was. Rurik, usually the one to spill any news first, simply watched her silently. Duncan, the clan’s negotiator, came and went from Connor’s meetings without meeting her gaze.

Oh, aye, something bad was afoot in the clan MacLerie.

Connor had sent a servant to summon her back from the village, but upon her arrival at Lairig Dubh, he’d kept her waiting. Her patience, non-existent when she was worrying over her family, wore through at that moment and she climbed to her feet, put her basket on the table and prepared to find out the truth.

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