Praise for Terri Brisbin:

THE MERCENARY’S BRIDE ‘Brisbin’s latest Knights of Brittany book is just as thrilling and passionate as the rest. Brisbin excels at immersing readers in history and bringing her characters to life.’ —RT Book Reviews

THE CONQUEROR’S LADY ‘Riveting with its rich narrative, pulsing sexual tension and chilling suspense. It’s a tale of a man of passion, action and heat, and the innocent beauty who conquers him body and soul.’ —RT Book Reviews

SURRENDER TO THE HIGHLANDER ‘Rich in historical detail, laced with the perfect amount of passion, Ms Brisbin continually delivers highly satisfying romances. Don’t miss it.’ —Romance Reviews Today

TAMING THE HIGHLANDER ‘TAMING THE HIGHLANDER is a lively, frolicking tale of life in the Highlands; truly a must-read.’ —Historical Romance Writers

THE MAID OF LORNE ‘With her usual superb sense of characterisation and exceptional gift for creating sizzling sexual chemistry, Brisbin fashions a splendidly satisfying medieval historical.’ —Booklist

There was an instant when he knew he should stop and simply return her to the house, when he knew they should talk more in the cool light of the morn. But that moment passed by so quickly it did not hinder his next action at all. Tavis pulled her back into his arms, tilted her head with his hand and leaned his mouth to hers.

He kissed her, and all his good intentions to show simple compassion were tossed asunder at the first touch of his mouth on hers.

He kissed her with all the longing in his body and heart. He kissed her with the respect and liking he felt for her. He kissed her for all the wanting and knowing he could never have her. He kissed her.

Not as a beginning, as her husband-to-be had, but as an ending—because her place, her life, would be here and not with him.

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 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*

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

and in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

A NIGHT FOR HER PLEASURE*

*The Knights of Brittany

And in Mills & Boon WHAT THE DUCHESS WANTS (part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages)

The Highlander’s Stolen Touch

Terri Brisbin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my editor, Anna Boatman, for all of her guidance, advice, and gentle prodding in making this story the lovely romance it is now! Thanks, Anna.

Prologue

‘She has to die.’

Ciara whispered it to her nearest and dearest friend, knowing her secret wish was safe with her. The terrible words branded her as a person of the most horrible kind. Nine years of age and already beyond redemption. She sighed, knowing it was true.

The young woman, the current object of their observation, saw nothing but the man waiting for her at the door to the chapel. She looked neither left nor right, making Ciara hate her even more. The only thing worse was that he gazed back at her with the same intensity. Her own heart hurt then, understanding that she was witnessing love.

‘Should we trip her?’ Elizabeth whispered back. Ever her stalwart friend, she would see this through with Ciara.

The puddle of mud to one side of the path was appealing, but Ciara shook her head. From the way Tavis gazed at Saraid, he would look at her the same way even if she was covered in the slime and muck. Ciara’s breath caught at the strength and clarity of the feelings between Tavis and his soon-to-be wife. Later, when someone asked her what love was, she would describe it as just that—the expression Ciara could see in Tavis’s eyes when he looked at his bride.

‘Nay,’ she whispered, turning away as tears filled her eyes. ‘Leave her be.’

Elizabeth looked from her to the couple, now walking together into the chapel, and sighed. ‘What will you do, then?’

Ciara shrugged and did not answer right away. The doors to the chapel remained open and, if she’d cared to watch, she could have seen the whole ceremony as Tavis and Saraid promised to love and cherish each other for life. But she walked away and sought out her favourite thinking place, leaving her friend behind to sigh and watch the wedding she could not.

* * *

Hours later, Ciara realised that there was not much she could do about this—she could not kill Saraid and even wishing her ill made Ciara’s stomach hurt. So, after considering her choices for most of the afternoon, Ciara accepted that there was only one thing she could do about this.

She could wait for her chance to love Tavis and to gain his love.

She could wait.

And so she did.

In spite of his marriage, Tavis still welcomed her company and their unusual friendship continued. As she gained in years and in knowledge, she was present many times when Tavis would report to her stepfather, the clan’s Peacemaker, after carrying out some task for him. Tavis walked her back to her family’s cottage after one such journey and Ciara tried to show what she’d learned only that week.

‘Cogito, ergo sum,’ she said with confidence. Latin was one of the languages she loved and she was, as her tutor had told her parents, quite proficient in it. She waited for Tavis to react, but he simply laughed and shrugged.

‘I do not ken Latin,’ Tavis said. ‘Unlike you, I have only the Gàidhlig and some Scots. Oh, and a bit of the English.’ From his tone, she did not think him insulted by her knowledge or embarrassed by his lack of it.

‘I could teach you some of the words,’ she offered. ‘Or to read.’ She was his friend and she wanted to help him however she could. Even now at ten-and-three years, she could at least do that for him.

‘There are other ways you should be spending your time, lass,’ he said, winking at her as he spoke.

Her mother had been speaking, or rather complaining, to him again. She sighed and looked away. Most likely bemoaning that she did not take her needlework as seriously as she did her study of languages or numbers or … well, not seriously at all.

‘I hate needlework,’ she said, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin. Surely he would not take her mother’s side of it?

‘Ah,’ he said softly, while taking her hand in his. ‘Needlework is a worthy task and a needed skill. Along with numbers, speaking your five languages and reading a few more than that.’ He tugged her hand and they continued their walk towards her home.

‘If ’tis such a worthy skill, why do you not learn it?’ she asked, irreverently. Shrugging off his hold on her, she waited for his answer.

Oh, aye, she understood the different roles of men and women. But as she was exposed to more and more knowledge and experiences by her father, she doubted she could ever simply return to the constricted life expected of a young woman in her time and place. Did her father know that by allowing her education to surpass other girls her age, he was creating a need within her to learn more and more? Since Tavis was still a man, she waited for his rebuff of her challenge.

‘I can already sew, lass. Many warriors have need of it after a battle. Needlework is no different than that,’ he answered as they arrived outside her parents’ cottage.

Then he offered her the most beautiful, most irritating, aggravating smile, the one that told her he was certain he would be victorious over her in this matter. Ciara wanted to stomp her foot and scream. Of all the things she thought safe to challenge him on, why did it have to be that? While still considering what to say next, he reached over and lifted her chin so he could look at her as he spoke.

‘My sister Bradana and Saraid are both skilled at it,’ he began. Glancing over his shoulder at her door, he leaned in and whispered, ‘And both softer taskmasters than your mother. Though you should never tell her I said such a thing.’ He released her and stepped back, motioning towards her home. ‘I can speak to either of them about it, if you wish?’

How had this happened? She had manoeuvred herself right into doing the one thing she most wished to avoid. All by trying to show off her skills to her friend. Without uttering a word of surrender, she just nodded and walked away. Ciara almost reached the door when he called out to her.

‘I will tell Saraid to expect you on the morrow.’

Ciara did stomp her foot then and slammed the door behind her as she pushed inside, making it rattle the frame on which it was hung. Tavis’s laughter echoed outside as he walked away.

As much as she’d like to ignore his offer and refuse to practise sewing and embroidery, Ciara could not. This was another instance of him guiding her to the right choice. She let out an exasperated sigh and walked into her room. Her gaze went right to the collection of wooden animals that sat on her mantel. Tavis had been her friend forever, or at least since she’d been only five years and he came with her stepfather to bring her to Lairig Dubh—her new home and new family.

Though she never wanted to admit he belonged with someone else, watching him with his wife had given her a glimpse at true love. Just as her parents’ marriage was a love match, Tavis and Saraid’s was as well, even she could see it now. And just as Tavis would do anything to make Saraid happy, so she would do for him—even if it meant becoming proficient with a needle and thread.

Ciara showed up at Saraid’s door the next day and on many other days, too. Sometimes she remained after her lessons to help the young woman. Sometimes, may God forgive her weak character, she remained only to see Tavis. Saraid, for her part, seemed to understand that Ciara was important to her husband and accepted her presence and help. Tavis approved and Ciara found herself drawn into friendship with Saraid. With younger siblings, Ciara was familiar with being the oldest sister, but with Saraid, she felt like the younger one, for they were nearer in age than Ciara was to Tavis.

Over the next few years, Ciara grew in her knowledge and skills until her father allowed her to assist him in his work for the laird. But the kinship that developed between her and Tavis’s wife was torn apart when Saraid died and a distance grew between Ciara and Tavis, too.

As close as they’d been, nothing Ciara said or did mattered to or helped Tavis in his grief. Some time passed before he seemed at ease with her again, but the recognition that she was growing up and reaching adulthood changed things between them. Tavis began taking on more and more duties and travelled on the laird’s business almost as an escape, she thought, from having to face the village alone and to avoid the now-empty cottage where he lived.

Ciara continued to excel in her studies and her father allowed her to accompany him and to read his contracts and documents, leaving her little time for needlework or other womanly skills. And that suited her just fine. By that time, Tavis’s attentions were focused solely on his duties to the laird and anything she did went unnoticed by him.

And still she waited.

Chapter One

Lairig Dubh, Scotland—spring, AD 1370

Ciara Robertson sat away from the table, almost in the corner of the room her stepfather had chosen for the meeting. It was a large chamber and comfortable, but did not offer too much comfort. The shuttered windows were open, allowing the cool spring breezes in. Food and drink were offered, but sparingly. This was not about hospitality—this was about business.

She met no one’s gaze and most of the men there probably thought she was a servant awaiting their orders. But she was no servant—she was the eldest daughter of the MacLerie peacemaker, Duncan, and was being trained by him even now.

As he had instructed, she listened to every word said, watched the expressions of those speaking and even the way they sat or gestured to gain an understanding of who held the true power in these discussions. ’Twas not always the oldest or wealthiest or the loudest, he’d told her many times. The true power usually sat out of the attention. The true power delegated to lessers and set their leash. The true power spoke quietly and wielded their control carefully.

Now listening and watching, she believed that the MacLaren’s younger brother was the one making the decisions in this series of negotiations for a trade agreement with the MacLeries. Though another man, older and calmer, spoke the MacLaren’s position, it was clear to her he was not in charge.

The session went on for a few hours, each side clarifying and posturing, and several times Ciara had to force the smile from her lips as she watched her stepfather work—pushing here, cajoling there, complimenting egos, urging that one or the other—to get the best terms for the MacLeries. By the time they agreed to complete the agreement in the morning and break for their evening meal, Duncan the Peacemaker had guided the MacLarens down the paths he wanted them to follow and would close the deal on the morrow. She stood, curtsying to them as they left, and waited for her stepfather to discuss the day’s work.

She understood how he worked, for he’d not taken notes during the talks, but he would remember every word and clause agreed to by both parties. He would write down his thoughts and plans before speaking to anyone, so she did act the servant then, pouring ale into cups and giving them to the MacLeries remaining in the room now. Her uncle the laird and the laird’s steward waited for her father to collect his thoughts and speak about how to bring these negotiations to a successful conclusion.

A few minutes passed and it felt good to stretch her legs and walk after sitting quietly for such a while. Quiet and sitting were not her usual custom of behaviour. The laird’s gaze followed her, but when she met it, he smiled and looked off. Her stepfather, the only father she’d ever known, raised his head and cleared his throat, signalling that he was ready now to discuss the day’s progress, or lack of it, with them. He surprised her with his first words.

‘Ciara, give me your impressions of the talks today,’ he said. He smiled reassuringly at her and nodded for her to begin.

Words stuck in her throat as she tried to say something useful, something pertinent, now that she’d been asked. While talking in private, giving her opinion or making observations had never been a problem at all. She enjoyed a spirited debate with the man who’d raised her as his own after marrying her mother and she never felt worried over her words. Now though, with the laird and his steward watching and waiting, her palms grew sweaty and her mind went blank.

‘Do you think the laird will agree to my request to lengthen the term of this agreement?’ he asked, clearly guiding her in her reply. Ciara put the others present out of her thoughts and replied as she would if only speaking to Duncan.

‘I think the laird is willing to extend it as you’ve asked, but I suspect his brother is not. And it is his brother who will make the decision.’ What if she were wrong? What if her observations were completely backwards?

Duncan looked at her intently and then glanced at the laird. Connor MacLerie could be intimidating when he wished to be so and, right now, his expression grew dark and his face stern. Had she made an error? She reached up and wiped her hand across her forehead where small beads of perspiration were gathering now, too.

‘Did I not tell you, Connor?’ her father said to the laird. Had she made a mess of the first time she was permitted to observe? How could she tell her mother, who’d supported her in her education and encouraged her along this unorthodox course for a young woman? If she failed now …

‘Aye, Duncan, you did,’ the laird replied, now smiling. ‘The lass is a bright one and sees through their posturing.’ Connor nodded to her. ‘And it did not take her as long as it took me to see it.’

Her stepfather beamed, pride in his eyes and a smile on his lips, and Ciara realised she’d been correct.

‘What else, lass?’ the laird asked. ‘Tell me what else you noticed during the discussions.’

‘The cattle interested his brother more than it did MacLaren. And I think he is overestimating the men he can call to arms if needed,’ she said.

A little more at ease, she explained how she came to her conclusions and answered questions from the laird, his steward and her stepfather. They discussed the concessions they’d got already and ones they still wanted.

Only a loud banging on the door had interrupted them some time later.

‘They will not serve until you are at table, Connor,’ his wife, Jocelyn, said, glaring at each of them as though they could have hurried the laird when he did not wish to be. ‘Everyone is waiting to eat and you dawdle here. Even the MacLarens sit waiting.’

Ciara tried to hold her laugh in, but the sight of this powerful man being cowed by his wife and not resisting her efforts made her chuckle. Her father flashed a warning frown, but she could see the mirth in his own eyes at seeing Jocelyn badgering Connor. Her mother did not hesitate to speak boldly to her stepfather and Ciara suspected that she might be waiting to do just that in the great hall. But, as Jocelyn had held her tongue until none but family remained to hear her, so would her mother.

Watching as the laird took his wife by the hand, entwined their fingers and walked at her side, Ciara now understood that the laird and her father did not simply allow their wives behaviours that other men might not. They accepted them completely in a manner that could be explained only one way—they loved them.

Having accompanied her father on many journeys on the laird’s business, Ciara also understood that it was not the usual custom in most other clans or marriages.

Would she find that in her marriage?

Though not meant to, she’d overheard her parents discussing her marriageable age and about the possibility of seeking a betrothal for her. The time for that was quickly approaching. The dowry bestowed on her would only increase the offers and her ties to two very powerful clans would increase her importance to others who coveted a closer connection to either or both of them. She would be the usual bride—one bartered for her perceived value and not her own worth.

No man would value a woman who was smarter than he or who could understand how legalities worked. Men wanted a woman to fill their bed, oversee their households and lessen their burdens. Whether they knew it or not, her parents had prepared her for a life and for a husband who did not exist. Fortunately or unfortunately, that dowry would plough through most objections right away.

Well, one man would be able to look past all of her accomplishments and see the true woman inside. One man always had and surely he would again.

Tavis MacLerie.

She had kept her true feelings a secret these years from all but her closest friend and confidant Elizabeth, but she’d not forgotten or given up on him and the possibility of something more between them. As a child, she had not realised what that meant other than a fanciful dream, but now she did.

And she was ready for more to happen between them.

The small group walked through the great hall, approached the raised table and she took her place at her parents’ side for the meal. The laird introduced her by name to all the MacLarens present and, other than a few raised eyebrows, none expressed surprise at her name. During the talks they most likely thought her only a maidservant to the MacLeries. Now, they understood her standing and things would change.

The glint in the MacLaren brothers’ eyes made it clear—she was something to include in the agreement, a tangible way to strengthen their position with the MacLeries. A brief but telling glance between the brothers made this development clear to both of them and now their demands would change to include a betrothal.

The rest of the meal moved past her in a blur, for she became lost in her own thoughts. If talk of betrothals and marriage contracts would begin in earnest, then she could not lose any more time and chance losing Tavis forever. In spite of his being yet trapped within his own grief of losing his wife, this was now the time to broach their own future.

The negotiations concluded after several more days of discussions during which her name was raised—and squashed immediately by the laird on her behalf. But rather than feeling relief, she knew it had been the first in many that would follow. Soon there would be no rational or legitimate reason to refuse to consider such offers. Ciara knew the time had come and, when Tavis returned from one of the laird’s other holdings, she prepared herself to do the boldest, most terrifying thing she’d ever done.

She waited until dark, when she knew he would be alone, before sneaking out of Elizabeth’s cottage and making her way to his. Knowing it would be impossible to leave the keep once the gates were closed for the night, she’d made plans with her closest friend, who would cover for her absence, if need be. Now, standing near his door and out of the light cast by the full moon, she raised her shaking hand to knock.

Just tell him how you feel and then ask him, she repeated to herself for the hundredth time since leaving Elizabeth behind. It did not ease her nervousness or increase her courage as she forced her hand into a fist and reached up to tap gently on his door.

You are an educated woman, one who can read and write in five languages and one who can understand contracts and negotiating. You are accomplished in skills and knowledge that most men know nothing of. You are intelligent, quick-witted and any man would be glad to have you as his wife.

The words her stepfather had repeated to her when her confidence waned echoed in her thoughts, but this time, did not bolster her courage, especially not as Tavis’s steps approached her from the other side of the door. She sucked in a breath and tried to calm her racing heart. When he pulled open the door and whispered her name, she lost any hope of it.

He was so beautiful that it took her breath away.

Beautiful was not the correct word, but it seemed to describe his appearance—wholly male, but incredibly beautiful at the same time. Small braids of his dark brown hair hung from his temples and the rest of it hung loose to his shoulders. His tall, muscular form blocked out any light in the hearth behind him as he filled the doorway. Tavis stepped closer to her, glancing behind her and then out on to the path, so close she could feel the heat of his body. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the scent of him, before realising that she must look daft standing before him so.

‘Is something wrong, Ciara?’ he asked quietly. ‘It is late.’ She took a deep breath and plunged forwards with her plan.

‘I would speak to you, Tavis,’ she said, entwining her fingers together to make their shaking less apparent.

‘We should speak in the morning … in the keep,’ he said, stepping back and depriving her of his scent and his heat. Then a suspicious glint entered his eyes. ‘Do your parents know you are walking alone through the village in the dark?’

‘I am no bairn, Tavis, and have lived here long enough to know every turn of every path and every soul who abides in Lairig Dubh.’

‘So your parents have no idea that you run free.’

Ciara worried her teeth along her bottom lip, not giving him an answer. She did not believe he would turn her away without listening to her first, but the way his face hardened gave her pause that he might do exactly that!

‘Best come in out of the chill air,’ he said, relenting. He stepped back, opening the door up and waiting for her to enter. Tavis closed the door and walked across the cottage to the hearth. Pointing to a stool nearby, he offered her a seat.

Ciara decided to stand and walked closer to the low fire burning in the hearth. She’d thought about the words she wanted to say for days, but now, standing in his house, the one he’d shared with his wife Saraid, all of them scattered, leaving her silent.

‘Ciara?’ His voice, low and deep, sent waves of pleasure and anticipation through her, forcing her to gather her thoughts and speak of the matter between them. Rather than mincing words, she sought the candour they always shared and got right to the heart of it.

‘I have come to speak to you about the matter of marriage, Tavis,’ she blurted out. Then she sat down on the offered stool, since now her legs trembled as much as her hands did. Quite proud of how she’d been so very forthright with him, the frown that furrowed his brow surprised her.

‘Marriage? Does someone seek your hand, then?’ he asked. ‘Does Duncan favour the suit?’

‘Nay, no one has offered,’ she said. Not as yet, not a serious offer, though with her age and her dowry, ’twas only a matter of time. She wanted to get this settled before they would begin in earnest.

‘Do you fear marriage, then?’ he asked, concern lacing his tone in spite of his own terrible experience in the marital state. ‘Marian would speak candidly to you about that, lass.’

Ciara closed her eyes for a moment, prayed for courage and then said the words that would damn her or give her her heart’s desire.

‘I would marry you, Tavis.’

The air in the cottage stilled and not a sound could be heard, though Ciara was certain her heart pounding against her chest must be loud. Tavis did not move. His gaze remained on her face, but he gave no sign that he had heard her or, indeed, that he even yet breathed. Moments passed—mayhap hours did, too—while she waited for him to say something to her. Heat flushed in her cheeks and her stomach began to grip. She brushed some loosened hair back away from her face and then repeated her words, for by some chance, he must not have understood them the first time.

‘I said I would marry you.’

‘Ciara,’ he said—her name on his lips was almost a plea. ‘Do not—’

‘I have much to offer,’ she rushed out the words. ‘I can read and write in five languages and know how to cipher. I bring a good dowry to the marriage and I …’ She stopped then, watching all the colour drain from his face. This was not going well. So she delivered the last bit she was certain would convince him of the rightness of this. ‘And I love you, Tavis.’

Whatever reaction she expected of him—surprise, understanding, acceptance—she received something completely different. He startled as though slapped and began to shake his head. ‘Do not say such things, lass.’

‘’tis the truth, Tavis. I have loved you for years, even before you married Saraid …’ She gasped and clamped her hands over her mouth, though too late to avoid mentioning the one name about whom he would never speak.

‘You do not know what you are saying, Ciara. Marriage is not possible between us for many reasons,’ he said without meeting her gaze now. He turned and faced the hearth, his body tense and his voice hollow. ‘I have told you. I will not marry again.’

‘But I will be a good wife to you, Tavis,’ she pleaded, unable to stop the words now that she’d begun. ‘My parents like you and know you and I would not have to leave Lairig Dubh.’

Silence stood between them as she waited for him to see the wisdom in her plan, even if he could not see the love in her heart. Then he faced her and the expression in his eyes was bleaker than she’d ever seen. She shuddered at the profound sadness and knew her cause was lost.

‘You have been raised to make some man a wonderful wife, Ciara, but that man is not me. I have nothing to offer you that you do not already have more or better of—I cannot read or write, I have no fortune or blood ties to match yours. Your parents may know me and like me, but the laird intends a marriage for you that will bind clans together. Your fortune is meant to add to your husband’s wealth. I am simply a soldier in service to his laird and not high enough in standing to ever gain a bride such as you.’

He shook his head once more at her and her tears rained down. The final blow was about to fall and she could see it coming her way.

‘And I cannot love you, lass. My heart was given once and I have nothing to offer you now.’

‘But, Tavis …’ she began to argue. She had enough love for him that it would be enough. ‘I have loved—’

‘Stop!’ he shouted. ‘Do not say such things.’ He paced around the cottage, making it feel so much smaller than just moments before. ‘You were a child when you decided you loved me and you must grow up now, Ciara. I simply paid heed to a little girl on a journey, befriending her as she grew up. That is all that is between us. You must put aside such childish notions now, for there can be nothing more.’

The pain could not have hurt more if he’d used a real blade instead of his words to strike at her. But that pain made her realise how foolish her words and her actions had been this night. He did not want her. He did not love her.

He would not marry her.

She’d waited for him, waited for his pain over losing Saraid to ease, and waited for him to accept her as an adult, but it was clear he never would. Though foolish, she was not daft, so Ciara used the edge of her cloak to dry her eyes and wipe away the worst of the tears. Humiliated for having so misjudged his feelings and her plan, she stood then and walked to his door. She had to get away from here as quickly as possible. Lifting the latch, she stumbled out into the cooler air, trying to catch her breath, as the tears streamed freely down her face now.

He spoke her name, but she would not, could not, look back at him. Sympathy or pity, she cared not for either right now. Her feet took her down one path and up the hill towards Elizabeth’s cottage. She thought he might have followed her, but she never paused and never looked back. When Elizabeth stepped from the shadows to meet her, Ciara felt him stop.

Elizabeth took but one look at her and opened her arms, allowing Ciara to step into them. Though younger by a year, her friend always seemed to be the older one and, for now, Ciara accepted her comfort. When she could breathe again, Ciara stepped back and took Elizabeth’s arm, walking beside her the rest of the way. They sneaked back in and soon they were lying in the bed in the loft, though sleep would not come that night.

Only then did Elizabeth dare to ask for details of her talk with Tavis. Though there were many words she wanted to say, none of them mattered any longer. Only one thing did.

‘He does not want to marry me.’

Worse, she realised in that moment that the very things her parents had done for her—providing her with a dowry, an exceptional education and making certain her links to two powerful lairds were known—were exactly what now placed her out of reach for Tavis. Had they done that a-purpose? Did they make her so appealing and valuable that only those outside the MacLeries or Robertsons would be eligible for such a bride? Did they wish her gone?

She turned those thoughts over and over in her mind that night and on many others as she tried to recover from this crushing emotional loss.

The next days and months were difficult, but whether by plan or by providence, Tavis seemed to travel on the laird’s business more than before and they did not meet face to face for some weeks. By that time, her embarrassment had faded and she could almost believe she’d dreamt the whole encounter. Only a fleeting expression in Tavis’s gaze when they spoke the next time convinced her it was all real—far too real.

She spent the time facing the possibility that Tavis had been correct about the nature of her feelings towards him. As eligible men were presented to her, she realised she might have to put aside the dreams of her childhood and face the realities of adulthood.

And when her father announced a possible match one night at supper while Tavis was present and he did not even flinch, she forced herself to accept the facts. She would have to marry a man she could never love.

For in spite of any growing up and regardless of the foolishness of her feelings, she, too, had given her heart away.

Chapter Two

Late summer, AD 1371

The sun broke through the cloud-filled sky, piercing the greyness and brightening the village around him. It should have lightened his spirits, since he liked not the usual autumn storms, but it did not. Tavis MacLerie crossed his arms over his chest, set his teeth edge to edge and shook his head once more to add to his refusal.

As the laird’s man, his job was to assign warriors to whatever purpose or task that the laird required, but this time he would not relent. Many times he accepted the assignment, doing Connor MacLerie’s bidding outside the village of Lairig Dubh. But not this time. Others would have to see to this … task.

‘Explain yourself,’ Connor said in a low voice that worried him more than if the laird had shouted his words. Something within Tavis sparked and his muscles gathered as though he’d been threatened and his body was ready to fight.

‘I have other responsibilities,’ he replied, meeting the stern gaze of his laird without flinching. ‘Young Dougal and Iain can see to this journey.’

Connor had recently arranged a tentative marriage contract between Duncan’s stepdaughter and the heir of an ally clan—the third in a series of never-completed contracts—and all it needed to go forwards was for Ciara to visit the other clan and accept the offer. Her parents were about to leave on the laird’s business, so they could not travel with her. Ciara seemed to favour this offer from the Murray clan in the east of Scotland and this trip would be crucial in finalising the arrangements. He’d heard all of this from others, for he’d not spoken directly to her since that night in his cottage.

He could see her face, ashen at his refusal that night, in his mind. It plagued him even now, but he’d spoken the truth to her that night. He would not, could not, remarry. He had not shared the whole of his reasoning, for it would damn him in her eyes and in the opinion of anyone who knew of it. The fear of someone discovering the full and terrible story of Saraid’s death held him apart from the clan and kept him from believing that there could be a happy wedded life in his future. He shook himself free from the memories and the regrets and waited for Connor’s answer.

At his refusal, Connor and Duncan exchanged glances that spoke of some kind of message between them. Then Connor nodded his acceptance.

‘Tell them to be ready two days’ hence,’ Connor ordered.

Tavis nodded and turned to leave, relief flowing through him now that he did not face the task of taking Ciara Robertson to meet her betrothed. Startled at that emotion within him when he had denied caring about her in that way, Tavis took no time to dwell on it. As he left the laird’s chambers and walked down the stairs to the hall below, he found Marian Robertson, Ciara’s mother, waiting for him.

‘Tavis, I would speak to you about the journey to Perthshire,’ Marian began.

‘Marian …’ Did she know her daughter had come to his cottage and proposed marriage to him? And that he’d refused her? What could he say?

‘Marian!’ Duncan’s voice called from above them on the stairs. Sharp, but not angry in its tone, the interruption stopped her from saying whatever else she’d planned to say to him. Duncan soon joined them, placing his arm around Marian’s shoulders and drawing her near to him. ‘Tavis has assigned others to escort Ciara. She will be safely delivered to meet her betrothed.’

Tavis did not like the way those words sounded. He’d known Ciara since she was five and he’d entertained her on the journey back from Marian’s family in Dunalastair. Though he tried to think of her as she was now, it blurred with his memories of those days when she’d laughed and played with the wooden animals he’d carved along the way. Now, she would marry and move away and he’d rarely, if ever, see her. His gut tightened at such a thought, though he still did not wish to examine the reasons for that feeling too closely.

He had no right to expect anything more when it came to Ciara. The night he had rejected her he’d relinquished any possible claim to her, if there was one. And he’d humiliated both himself and her in order to force her to accept that they could not be together.

‘Duncan, since we cannot go with her, I would feel better knowing that Tavis himself …’

‘Do you question his ability to carry out his responsibilities to his laird, Marian?’ Duncan released her and took a step away, tilting his head to see her face. ‘Surely you do not?’

The hairs on the back of Tavis’s neck bristled. Something strange was afoot. He’d never heard Duncan or any of the other MacLerie men ever warn off their wives in such a way. They all accepted the strong, opinionated women they’d married and allowed them much freedom to express their preferences.

This was different, and he was somehow in the middle of it. Without a doubt, he knew he was involved and this was about more than simply assigning men to protect their daughter. He waited for Marian to answer this challenge thrown down by her husband and instead was shocked by her reaction.

‘You are correct, husband,’ she said. Nodding to him, she continued, ‘I did not mean to question your abilities or your authority, Tavis. Forgive my words, they were spoken in haste.’

He knew his mouth dropped open, but before he could say a word, Duncan took her hand and they excused themselves. He heard them whispering to each other as they walked out the door to the yard and left him standing there, gaping like a fool. Tavis reached up and ran his hands through his hair, trying to sift through the conversation and figure out why it all felt so strange to him. Never a man to leave things unsettled, he followed the couple out, intent on getting an explanation. And he would have done had the very subject of the discussion not been standing there with her parents.

When had she grown up so much? Had he fooled himself into only seeing the girl he’d first met in Dunalastair and, refusing to realise that she’d left that child behind years ago, failed to notice that she had become a stunning young woman? Regardless of his arguments to her that night, he lost his breath as he truly took note of her, and saw, for the first time, the woman she now was.

Taller than her mother and lithe, Ciara wore her long blonde curls loosely gathered into a braid. Unruly it must be, for wisps surrounded her heart-shaped face like a gentle golden cloud. Her gown flowed over curves that spoke of womanly softness in spite of her slender figure. His body reacted in a most unexpected way …

Well, unexpected when he had never thought of her in such a manner before. And unexpected since he’d told her that he had sworn off ever caring for a woman again.

Tavis shook away the memories that were never far from his thoughts and stepped back into the shadows to watch the exchange between Marian, Duncan and Ciara. A myriad of emotions passed over Ciara’s face—first interest, then surprise and then bitter disappointment. But when sadness dimmed the brightness of her brown eyes and the smile he usually noticed on her face had slipped away completely, he discovered he’d walked forwards from the shadows, wanting to make that sadness go away. Her stark expression when she noticed him coming towards her forced him to stop before he took another step.

His confusion over his own reaction to her grew as she turned and walked away without another look or word. Tavis continued on and reached Duncan and Marian just as they began to walk away in different directions.

‘What is this about?’ he asked. Tavis stood blocking their path. He meant to get answers. ‘As I told Connor, I have other tasks to see to, Duncan.’ Even now his words, the objection, began to ring hollow to him. Did they hear it? His resolve to avoid Ciara began to crack.

‘There is nothing to worry over, Tavis,’ Duncan said. ‘We just told Ciara who you’ve chosen to take her to Perthshire and she’s gone to see to her packing for the journey.’

Ripples traced an icy path down his spine. Duncan did not reveal the truth of what was going on, but surely …

‘Marian? Are you at peace with the arrangements then?’ She opened her mouth and then shut it, repeating this action several times, each time watching her husband out of the corner of her eyes. ‘Have I offended you in some way by assigning the others?’

The flash in her eyes was the only warning either man got before she stamped her foot and shouted. A sound of pure frustration echoed through the yard. Then she closed her eyes, took in a deep breath and released it; all the while Duncan watched her with what Tavis thought might be amusement in his gaze. This was amusing?

‘Only that I am disappointed that you will not accompany her,’ she began until Duncan cleared his throat, gaining her attention for a moment before she glanced back to Tavis. ‘But I understand you have other duties, Tavis. I do understand.’

She touched his arm as she spoke, a gesture he found telling. Her words did not ease the sense that there was more involved than either she or Duncan would reveal, but she did sound earnest in her acceptance.

Ciara was the first of her children to marry and mayhap the emotions of having to part from her daughter was causing this upset? His own mother had reacted strangely when he or one of his siblings married, so it was not unexpected for a woman to behave this way. He nodded his head and she smiled.

‘’tis well, Marian,’ he said softly.

Duncan nodded, too, and then Marian turned as they all heard her name being called. One of the women who served the laird’s wife waved to her and Marian excused herself to go back into the keep and see to Jocelyn’s call.

Tavis waited until she entered the stone building and turned back to Duncan, believing that he would explain everything now that his wife was gone. Instead, the man who he counted as his mentor and his friend shrugged and left him standing there.

This day grew stranger with every passing moment, so Tavis decided to carry out his duties and not worry over this strange behaviour from those not old enough yet to be daft, but old enough not to act so foolishly. In two days, Ciara would leave to meet her potential husband and his family and she would not be his concern at all.

In reality, and although the choice was in her grasp, there was little chance of her not marrying young James Murray. She’d turned down three other proposals, but this time the laird and her parents supported the match. The Murrays supported the match. So, the next time he saw her, she would be marrying someone else.

Though he could not admit it, nor could he explain it, that fact did not sit well with him.

Not at all.

Marian made her way to Jocelyn’s solar where her friends had gathered to discuss their plans. Though forbidden from trying to make a better match for her daughter than the one suggested by the laird, due to this stupid agreement with their husbands, she could at least know what her friends were doing. Duncan was not happy with her, for he knew she was about to interfere, and she would have blurted out the truth of it to Tavis if not for her husband’s interruptions.

More than a year ago, the laird had discovered his wife’s matchmaking scheme and his surprise had turned into a challenge about whether he and his advisers—the men—could choose a better spouse for their children than his wife and her confidantes—the women—could. Neither side worried that the other would not choose carefully, they simply believed they could choose better. Unfortunately for Marian, her precious daughter was the first to come of age and be ready to marry.

Now, as Jocelyn gathered them together to discuss their plan, Marian had to listen and not offer any suggestions or help.

‘He did not express any objections to her marrying young Jamie Murray,’ she finally blurted out when she could stand it no longer. ‘Not a word.’

The silence that met her statement was followed by tsking and sighing, but no one offered any advice on how to make Tavis see the truth that each of the women gathered there had seen for years—he was the best man for Ciara. He’d shunned any attempt to get him to consider marriage again after his young wife died in childbirth four years before. Though men could be stoic and never admit to the softer feelings, they suspected that it had played a part in his resistance to finding another wife since that time.

And through those difficult years since Saraid had passed, the only woman he did keep company with was Ciara. Their friendship had never waned since they’d met on her journey here from her home and clan. Nearing manhood, Tavis never shunned Ciara’s attentions or company, even though most young men that age would have. At least not until this last year, when something had clearly happened between them—something that had widened the gap.

‘I had such hopes of him acknowledging his feelings for her and saying so by now,’ Margriet, Rurik’s wife, said.

‘He watches her even when he does not realise it,’ Jocelyn offered. ‘But ’tis time for him to step forward and claim her.’

‘Before it is too late,’ Marian whispered, knowing that once Ciara left on her journey there would be little or no opportunity to stop the coming marriage.

Or mayhap it was? Or they were wrong in their belief that he was the right match for Ciara? Her heart worried so much for her beloved daughter and for the things Ciara did not, and hopefully would never, know about her true parentage.

Because of those secrets of the past, Ciara’s wealth had been inherited from a settlement made by Marian’s brother, the laird of the Robertsons. It was a powerful enticement for offers of marriage, as was her connection to the influential Robertsons and to the powerful MacLeries. There had been a number of offers, each met with polite uninterest on her daughter’s part.

However, about two months before, Ciara had suddenly accepted the match with young Jamie Murray. Marian knew that something had happened to make her resigned to marry, but no amount of questioning got an explanation. Unwilling to force it from her, Marian accepted her silence on the matter and hoped for the best.

Jocelyn stood then and lifted her cup, waiting for the rest of the women gathered there to do the same. Though she felt little hope that true love would win out in this situation, she raised hers and fought off the tears that threatened.

‘To the best husband for our beloved Ciara,’ Jocelyn offered.

‘To the best!’ the others chimed in, touching the rims of their cups and then drinking from them to seal the words.

Marian drank the contents of her cup in one mouthful and shook her head. She did not have a good feeling about this or about Ciara’s happiness. ‘From your mouth to the Almighty’s ears,’ she said, offering up a prayer that He would pay attention to a mother’s earnest prayer for a beloved daughter.

Chapter Three

Ciara could not stop herself from seeking him out in the crowd. This feast was in her honour and she’d hoped against hope that Tavis would attend, but once more, she was foolish to harbour such desires. They’d not spoken since that humiliating night and she’d not had the courage to approach him since. Even if she wished to admit that he’d been right about her infatuation with him, she could not take the step to tell him so. Now though, as she prepared to take this next huge step in her life and begin to move from this clan to another, she wanted to speak of it—to remove it from plaguing her thoughts and her heart as she left the MacLeries.

Elizabeth sat at her side and Ciara smiled when her friend touched her hand in silent acknowledgement of her sadness. It was a sign of her faithfulness as a friend, even when she knew not the whole truth of the matter.

‘You need only tell your parents you do not wish this match to go ahead and they will find a way out of it, Ciara,’ she whispered.

‘I know that. My parents would not force me into a marriage I did not want, Elizabeth. But Tavis was right when he said I must grow up and seek an appropriate marriage.’

The words sounded calm and very mature, but they burned her tongue with their bitterness. Doing the adult thing and accepting and liking it were two different matters and she feared the second would come much more slowly than the first had. Worse, her parents’ efforts to find her a suitable husband had not slowed one bit, despite her efforts to break three betrothals. The feeling that she was being pushed away grew, even though she knew they loved her.

However, a Robertson girl raised by the MacLerie clan was never really part of either family. That fact was hard to ignore.

‘This match has much to offer both clans,’ she repeated the line she’d used before, this time as much for herself as for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth squeezed her hand and smiled. ‘If you are certain, then?’

‘I needed only to see that my feelings were just the ones from my days as a bairn,’ Ciara explained as she tamped down any reaction to Tavis’s entrance into the hall. ‘’Twas never true love.’

Her heart pounded so hard she was certain Elizabeth and anyone within ten feet of her could hear it, but they did not react to it as she did. Ciara had mastered the skill of forcing her wayward and inexperienced heart to ignore Tavis, but as he caught her gaze and nodded at her, her stomach joined in, revealing how much he did yet affect her, tightening and threatening to expel the few morsels of her dinner that she had eaten.

She could have, and she would have, regained control if he had walked in the opposite direction or if he’d called out to someone across the large room. But when he made his way over to where she sat with Elizabeth and some other young women of the clan, there was no way to do it.

‘Elizabeth, Margaret, Ailsa, Lilidh,’ he said nodding to each of her kinswomen or friends as he named them. Then he turned his gaze to her. ‘Ciara.’

He smiled at her and she did the same. For a moment, he looked on her as he always had, at least, as he had before that humiliating night. Tavis held out his hand to her.

‘May I speak with you, Ciara?’ She nodded as she stood, willing, though not expecting, this at all. She clutched her hands, trying to calm the trembling that shook them and revealed his effect on her to anyone observing.

‘Certainly, Tavis. Have you eaten yet?’ she asked.

Ciara always remembered her duties even as she allowed him to lead her away from her friends. He shook his head in reply, so she nodded at the tables that were bursting with foods of all kinds. Ciara pointed to an open place on a bench and they sat. Her chest hurt from the tension in her, her throat and mouth grew dry and she tried to remember how to think.

So much for putting her feelings for him in their proper place.

One of the servants brought over a platter, another brought over a mug of ale and soon Tavis had food and drink enough to feed an army. She watched the dancing while waiting for him to eat before expecting him to speak. They’d shared many meals in the past, but somehow she knew that this one was different. Several people walked by, offering her their best wishes, though none remained long. Finally, Tavis finished eating, took the just-filled cup and turned to her.

‘I want to wish you well in this betrothal,’ he said, his voice low and deep. ‘And I wanted to explain why—’

She shook her head, stopping his words. ‘You were right, Tavis,’ she admitted while glancing away. Saying the words somehow confirmed it in her own heart. ‘My feelings were childish. I have spent the last year regretting what I did.’

He took her hand in his, pulling her gaze back to his, and smiled at her. Her heart pounded from the intensity of his gaze and she swallowed, trying to lessen the tightness in her throat.

‘Ciara, it was my fault as well.’ The heat of his hand over hers warmed her heart. ‘I should have spoken to you before.’ He released her and her hand and heart felt the chill at once. ‘I should have explained about … things, but I always thought of you as that little lass from Dunalastair and didn’t realise you were growing up so quickly.’ He glanced at her and then away at those caught up in the dance. She recognised several of his own siblings there. ‘As I have refused to see my own sisters and brothers growing up,’ he confessed. He met her gaze again and squeezed her hand. ‘And I would not have you leave angry at me.’

The great hall silenced around them and, for a scant second, all she could see or feel or hear was Tavis. Memories of their first meeting, their journey here to Lairig Dubh, the years since and that night a year ago rushed through her mind in that moment. All of it was over and now she would move on, leave this village to marry and live elsewhere. At least they’d had this time to settle things between them.

Time spun out between them, but then the silence receded and the frivolity of the feast seeped back. Tavis startled, tearing his gaze from hers and dropping her hand. Standing then and taking a step away, he forever placed a distance between them. A space that would be filled by another man. A new family in a new place. Even children, if God granted them. But never him and never his. Ciara felt that separation grow inch by inch until the threads that connected them seemed to stretch and eventually snap. She exhaled the breath she didn’t realise she held and smiled.

‘I would never be angry with you, Tavis. You tried to convince me to see what I did not want to on that night. I was not ready for the truth then.’

Someone called out her name and she turned to see her parents arrive. One of the laird’s most trusted men, the man she called father, travelled frequently on clan business. His height meant he towered over others, save for their cousin Rurik, and meant that he could always find her in a crowd. That skill was useful when she was a mischievous child and right now, talking to Tavis in so candid a manner in spite of being promised to another man, it made the same chills run down her spine as any misdeed had. With their hands entwined, her parents moved closer to her and Tavis began to inch away from her.

The occasional scolding aside, Ciara knew their love for her was unconditional—they’d supported her through two previous broken betrothals and she knew they’d do it again if she asked them. Taking in a deep breath and releasing it, she knew then that this betrothal would proceed on to a marriage. She owed them and the MacLerie clan nothing less.

‘Ciara! Tavis!’ her mother said as they reached the place where she and Tavis stood. ‘Are you discussing the final arrangements for the journey?’

Duncan watched him with an unseemly interest as he answered Marian’s question. He had made the arrangements, selected the men to lead and guard Ciara and her friend on their journey. In spite of that, he had not discussed any of it with Ciara. Until just a short time ago, he’d not planned on even seeing her before the journey, but something had driven his feet to bring him here. Now, their peace made, Tavis discovered he was more bothered by her ability to move on, and her feelings for him, than he thought. She seemed to be able to move ahead through mistakes and find happiness, while he remained locked in his past with no way to leave it behind him.

He watched as her brown eyes shone with love as she spoke to her parents. ’Twas difficult at times to remember that Duncan was her stepfather, for their bond was as strong as any he’d seen between father and child. Then when she pushed the loose hairs from her braid back over her shoulders, he realised she was nervous. She entangled her fingers together as she spoke, another sign that she was uncomfortable.

Hell!

When had he begun to notice such things about her?

Tavis needed to get away from this, from her, before he did or said something that would make this strained situation even more tense. And he felt the need to prove she was not the only one ready to move on with life.

‘The arrangements are made. Young Dougal and Iain are ready,’ he reported. ‘And Ciara—’ he dared a glance at her ‘—is ready?’

‘Aye, I am well packed,’ she said, smiling at her mother. The slight twitching at the corners of her mouth meant that it must have been a battle to get packed.

‘And your journey, Duncan? When do you and Marian leave?’ he asked. Ciara’s parents travelled on the laird’s business as well. They would all meet back here in a month and the wedding would be held.

Tavis walked aside with Duncan, discussing the true reasons behind the negotiator’s trip to Glasgow, but he never took his attention off Ciara. Their last encounter seemed like a distant dream as he watched her speaking to her mother. At ease, graceful, confident, beautiful—clearly she’d accepted the betrothal and was content in her coming life. So, why did his gut burn at that realisation? And why was he angered at the thought that she now accepted it? He must be going mad.

Duncan explained many things about his trip and the tasks he would carry out on behalf of the clan and the Earl of Douran, but Tavis heard none of it. As the sounds swirled around him and the memories of things past flowed, he saw only her. As a child travelling with her mother from Dunalastair. As a girl of ten years, telling him stories about all he’d missed while away from Lairig Dubh. As a girl of thirteen who offered her sympathies when Saraid passed. As the young woman who showed up at his door in the dark of night to propose marriage to him.

And now, now as a woman betrothed to another man.

‘Tavis? Are you listening?’ Duncan’s low voice broke into his thoughts and his grasp on his arm shook him from his memories.

‘I am, Duncan.’ He spoke the words, though not certain they were correct.

He stepped back out of the way now as some of Ciara’s friends approached. Gathering around her, they laughed about some matter before tugging her away, but she pulled free and walked to where he stood. She leaned in close and he smelled the scent of heather in her hair.

‘No matter what happens, Tavis, I will never forget how much you’ve done for me. I am and shall always be your friend.’

The kiss on his cheek surprised him. Words were hard to come by just then and harder to say. He forced them out at a whisper so they remained between them.

‘And I am yours, Ciara.’

Tears filled her dark-brown eyes as he spoke and he watched as she tried to blink them away. He would never know what pushed him nearer or what made him wrap her in his arms and hold her close. ‘Be well. Be happy,’ he whispered as he hugged her for a few moments and then let her go.

He’d barely released her when her friends grabbed her and led her to the open space between the tables. The music began and they formed a circle with Ciara at its centre. Laughing and cheering, they danced—celebrating Ciara’s betrothal and, whether they realised it or not, the end of their own childhoods.

Others joined in—wee ones, mothers, fathers, kin of all ages—for they all shared the joy of this betrothal. Tavis threw off his dark feelings and smiled, clapping to the tune as more and more joined in. Then, when one of the clan held out her hand to him, he let some of his past go for a moment and joined in.

They circled and moved back and forth, each of the couples passing the others in a pattern that continued as long as the music played. The players stopped for a brief pause before beginning anew and, to his surprise, another of the women stepped forwards to claim him for the next dance. He laughed as he had not in a long time and, when the dance finished, he danced another and another until the feast was done and everyone began leaving the hall.

For the first time since Saraid’s death, he’d stepped into the middle of the clan instead of standing at the side watching. As he turned to say farewell to someone who spoke his name, he noticed that Ciara was gone.

Disappointed in some way he could not name, he drank down the last of his ale and walked through the keep and out to the yard. Since many of those who lived in the village had attended, the gates were still open to allow them to leave. Waving to several of the men who reported to him, Tavis made his way to the path that led to his cottage.

As he saw the outline of it in the bright light of the growing moon, the same stabbing pain flashed through his heart and soul. He never left a fire burning. He never came home to anyone waiting for him. He was alone as he always was, in spite of this night’s revelries when he’d allowed himself to enter back into the life of the clan for a few scant moments.

Tavis moved around the croft out of habit, needing not lamp or fire to guide his way while trying to avoid thinking too deeply on the matter. Soon, he lay on his pallet, thinking about his plans for the next few days, trying to find sleep. Instead thoughts and memories jumbled inside his mind and would not allow him to find his rest. Problems and their solutions continued for hours, but the one he thought most about was her.

Ciara.

Part of him was pleased that she had grown out of her silly notions about marrying him. It was a sign that she was more sensible now than a year ago when she had turned down several marriage offers and had made one of her own. It gladdened his heart to know she was contented in this betrothal.

And yet, as he tossed and turned and found no rest through the night, at the same time, he was not pleased. His male pride was pricked now by her ability to leave him behind, as part of a childhood outgrown. Even knowing such reasoning was irrational, and was exactly what he told her to do, did not help him put it from his mind.

The main reason he’d decided against escorting Ciara to Perthshire was that he did not want to encourage her misplaced feelings towards him, but that seemed not to be an issue now. Giving in to the futility of finding sleep this night, he climbed from the pallet and walked to the window, gazing out at the bright moon there.

Tavis did not remember making a decision over the next few hours, but somehow he had gathered what belongings and supplies he would need, packed and now stood waiting in the yard at sunrise when young Dougal and Iain arrived to lead the travelling party east. Though none of his men questioned this change of plans, he was certain it was noticed by many.

Chapter Four

The morn dawned clear and bright, surely a good omen for her journey and her future. Her clothing had been packed in trunks and placed on the wagon the night before. Any personal items she needed she would carry in her satchel.

The line of wooden animals on the mantel of the hearth in her small chamber stood waiting expectantly. Ciara could not decide whether to take them or not, so she spent several minutes staring them down and trying to make up her mind. They’d been part of her life since she had travelled to Lairig Dubh, each one carved by Tavis in an attempt to entertain her.

The first, a horse, was still her favourite because her father—stepfather—had asked him to make it for her. The rest were Tavis’s idea and over the days spent on the road, her collection included the horse, the pig, the deer and the sheep. Used by her and shared with her siblings, they were worn smooth now, but no less valued by her. She reached to scoop them up when her mother entered her room.

‘Taking them with you on your journey?’ she asked as she walked over and adjusted the cloak on Ciara’s shoulders. ‘You never leave home without them, do you?’

‘Should I?’ she asked. Part of her wanted to leave them and the other part wanted to bring them. Most likely her childish fears trying to push forwards.

‘Darling, they are part of you and your life up to today. Do not be ashamed of them, but do not let your past overshadow your future.’

Her mother smoothed her hair back from her face and pressed a kiss on her forehead. It soothed her as much now as it always did. How would she manage without these special moments? Did she have to give up all of this simply to grow up?

‘I think I will take just this one,’ she said, with more confidence than she felt. Still, these small objects always brought her comfort when she needed it most. She faced leaving behind everyone and everything she knew and loved and becoming part of another family, belonging to one man. Ciara found a scarf in her trunk, wrapped it around the wooden carving carefully and placed it in the leather bag she would carry.

‘Elizabeth waits for you in the yard,’ her mother said as she slid her arm around hers and walked at her side. ‘Her parents have given permission for her to return with you after the wedding. If you would like?’

Ciara smiled. Of all the news she could receive this morn, this was the best. Her most favourite friend would go with her to her new life, a comforting thought.

‘You tease me, Mother,’ Ciara replied. ‘Only if the laird gave permission for Lilidh to join me would my joy be greater.’ Her cousin Lilidh and she had spent many hours and days in each other’s company and Lilidh would have been a perfect companion for her. But Lilidh, as the laird’s daughter, would be married soon and would not be allowed to stay with Ciara and James in Perthshire.

She would have left, walked out of the chamber that had been hers for so long, but one question continued to bother her. Ciara usually ignored it tugging at her heart, but as this betrothal and wedding came nearer to reality for her, she could no longer keep it in.

‘My father …’ she said before her confidence faltered. A quick glance at her mother’s face stopped her from saying more.

‘Duncan is your father, dearling. Always,’ her mother whispered. An expression of such desolation entered her mother’s eyes that it hurt Ciara to see it there. Gone as quickly as it came, her mother smiled and touched Ciara’s cheek. ‘We can speak more on this when there is time. But, now, we must hurry and not keep everyone waiting.’

Her mother turned to leave once more, but Ciara was uncertain if she wanted to let this matter remain silent between them. For too many years, the question about who she was and where she fit in plagued her. Though there were mostly moments where she felt treasured and valued for herself, other moments when she thought the efforts to see her so accomplished and so educated just to make it easier to be rid of her also taunted her. Her self-confidence waned in those moments as it did now. Her expression must have revealed it to her mother.

‘I beg you, Ciara. Not now,’ her mother whispered without facing her, frightening her more than anything else ever had.

She reached over and took her mother’s hand, allowing the matter to drop back to its silent place. There would be time for her to press the issue and get the answers she craved so much.

The two of them reached the path and her father joined them, wordlessly following as they walked through the gate and into the yard of the keep. A small crowd gathered there in the quiet, mist-filled dawn, with a wagon and several mounted soldiers who would be her escort. But it was the tall warrior standing near the wagon, issuing orders in low tones, who drew her attention and made her stop so quickly that her father bumped into her. She would have tumbled to the ground had he not grabbed her shoulders and held her until she regained her balance.

‘Tavis,’ she whispered, not believing her eyes after his prior refusals. ‘Tavis.’

‘Let me see if aught is wrong,’ her father said, stepping around both her and her mother … her mother, who looked as pleased at Tavis’s presence as she was.

‘Mayhap he has seen to his other responsibilities and is now free to travel to Perthshire?’ she mused aloud.

The dark glance shared between her parents intrigued her, but Tavis’s reasons for being here interested her more. Following right behind without pause, she stepped out from his shadow and watched Tavis. Men tended not to explain themselves much and this was one of those times—a few words, a few looks and frowns and they were done. Ciara was just as confused as before, but if it meant Tavis would escort her, so much the better.

‘I appreciate this, Tavis,’ her father said. Holding out his hand, he continued, ‘More than I can say.’

More than I can say.

Ciara sighed then, understanding how many problems her previous behaviour had caused for the laird and for her parents.

No clan wanted their heir embarrassed before others and she had done exactly that twice before in turning down offers of marriage. Even if those offers were handled privately, everyone in the Highlands knew that if the MacLerie negotiator visited, business was being discussed. If his unmarried daughter accompanied him, the subject was pretty obvious to all, as it had been twice before.

The Murrays of Perthshire might be destitute, but they were proud with their own powerful connections and they’d refused to consider this betrothal without first gaining assurances that humiliation at the hands of a ‘wilful, senseless girl’ would not happen. If her parents accompanied her on this visit, a contract would be expected by all their allies and friends … and their enemies. To forestall all that, it was decided that Ciara would travel to visit her distant cousin, James’s mother Eleanor. Outside the MacLeries, no one thought this journey was more than that.

Hence the small travelling group and her parents’ ‘other commitments’ elsewhere on the earl’s business to anyone who would ask.

And one more reason she treasured her parents, for they could have simply forced her to marry a man of their choosing with little consideration of her own opinions on the matter. But she suspected that something in their past kept them from doing so … and their obvious love for her.

‘As do I,’ she added. For many reasons as well.

‘We should be on the road, then,’ Tavis said, glancing up at the ever-brightening sky. ‘The weather will not hold and there are miles to cross.’ Tavis nodded to the other men, who began to mount up. Then he glanced at her. ‘Say your farewells, Ciara.’ He walked away to check the wagon, giving her a moment of privacy with her parents.

Tears filled her eyes and she found the words she’d practised all night while tossing restlessly in her bed were stuck in her throat. But words were not necessary now, she knew that, so she just hugged her parents—the mother who supported her every step and every challenge and the stepfather who was the only father she’d ever known.

‘This is not truly farewell,’ she whispered as she held them close. ‘I will return.’

‘You will return for a happy wedding day before you leave us for …’ Her mother’s voice filled with emotion and all she could do was squeeze Ciara’s hand.

‘Whatever your decision, love, I …’ her father began to say.

‘I understand, Papa. I have your backing.’ A nod and a grunt followed and Ciara knew, too, that, though she was not the flesh of his flesh, she was the daughter of his heart.

Ciara released them and stepped back as she realised that everyone was already on their horses, including Elizabeth. Cora, an older woman who served Lady Jocelyn for a number of years and would serve both her and Elizabeth as a maid, rode in the wagon. Everyone waited without a word, save Tavis, who held the reins of her horse in one hand and held out his other to her. She handed him her satchel and he secured it on the horse before offering her help to mount.

Once that was done, she accepted his help and in a scant moment sat atop the strong horse she’d ridden for nearly a year now. Gathering the reins in her gloved hands, she nodded to her parents and then to Tavis. At his call, the group began to ride out through the gates, with the wagon at their backs. Ciara released a deep breath and touched her boots to the horse’s side, riding off to face her future.

Ciara rode as she did everything else in life—with focus and drive. As she sat atop the huge, black horse Tavis would never have chosen for her or ever permitted her to ride, her intense expression bespoke her attention to the road they took out of Lairig Dubh, east through Dunalastair first, then south to Crieff. The last part of the journey would be easier for it would follow the main road into Perth and into the heart of the Murrays’ lands. Tavis set an even pace and offered a prayer of thanks when the sun shone and the clouds scattered across a clear sky for the whole of the first day. It would take them several days to reach Dunalastair, going by way of the MacCallum lands where they would visit Jocelyn’s family. Then they would follow the old drovers’ roads and paths through the glens and valleys south.

Ciara spoke little as they rode, but chatted with everyone when they stopped on their journey. Whether she was seeing to Cora’s comfort in the wagon or walking to stretch her legs or speaking in hushed tones to her friend Elizabeth, he passed her often and spoke to her as well. Never did she hesitate or seem ill at ease during their encounters, so Tavis began to accept that she had relegated him to her past and she looked forward to her future. The first days passed pleasantly, with the weather co-operating and the roads smooth.

Then, as they approached MacCallum lands, Ciara grew excited. He’d not been back here with her since their first trip through on her way to her new home with Duncan and the MacLeries, but he knew she’d travelled many times with her parents and he was certain she’d stopped here on the laird’s business. Duncan had sent word ahead so that the MacCallum laird expected them. Ciara and the women would be pleased, he knew, to sleep on real beds this night after several nights in tents on the trail.

They’d not been in MacCallum lands for too long when a group of warriors met them. Leading it was Jocelyn’s brother Athdar.

‘Tavis!’ he called out as he rode closer. ‘Is all well?’

Considering all that could go wrong during the journey and that none of it had, he nodded. ‘All is well.’ Ciara rode up next to him and smiled at Athdar.

‘You grow more lovely with each passing day, Ciara,’ he said. Tavis watched as a becoming blush crept into Ciara’s cheeks. Athdar had a way with women and Tavis had watched as some in Lairig Dubh had fallen for his words and compliments. ‘Who would have thought that such a wee lass would grow into such a beautiful woman?’

Tavis fought back the snort that threatened at Athdar’s flowery words. Was Ciara taken in by such blathering? He glanced over to see if she did believe it and found Elizabeth more under Athdar’s spell than Ciara. Ciara’s gaze was filled with scepticism and mirth. Tavis smiled. He should have known her too smart and too confident in her own worth to fall for such.

‘Have you nothing better to do than to come and gawk at visitors, Athdar? Surely the laird can find better things for you to do.’ Tavis slid down from his horse, laughing at Athdar’s now-disgruntled expression. He doubted his friend was insulted or worried over his words, so he held out his hand in greeting.

‘Someone has to offer the women soft words, Tavis,’ Athdar said as he clasped hands and then shoved him back. They’d been friends for some years now, being of a similar age. ‘You never speak unless it’s about fighting or your horse! ‘

Then, things proceeded the way they usually did when the two of them met—with them ending up rolling on the ground, each one fighting to gain control over the other. Testing his strength against an equal felt good after the days of slow riding from Lairig Dubh. It took only minutes for Tavis to overcome Athdar, evening their matches. Standing and reaching down a hand to pull him up, Tavis laughed as they both dusted off the dirt from his cloak.

‘Are you ready yet?’ he asked.

A dark look filled his friend’s eyes and then a shake of his head gave his answer. Years before, Athdar had been beaten, badly, in a fight with the laird’s friend and commander Rurik Erengislsson and longed to pay him back. Though now, after having observed the heated glances exchanged between his friend and Rurik’s daughter Isobel, Tavis wondered if beating the man wasn’t the intention after all. A rising wind, ripe with moisture and the promise of a breaking storm, reminded him of his duties and Tavis motioned the group on, allowing them to precede him to the MacCallum’s keep.

In a short time the animals had been seen to, the women escorted into the hall to greet the laird and his men released to seek out their own comfort. The MacLeries and MacCallums had been allies for years now and there had been many marriages between the clans already. None were strangers to him, so once his duties were done and he entered the keep, he offered greetings to the laird and found his way to a table near the middle of the large chamber and sat down.

Soon he heard reports about the conditions of the roads ahead and offers from some of the men there to provide additional protection for their group. Tavis talked with many, ate heartily, but drank sparingly. He wanted to get an early start in the morn and did not want to deal with a thick head from too much ale. Still, it was a pleasant evening and he was passing it among friends.

Ciara watched from the high table as several men, and women, joined Tavis where he sat eating. He had, she realised, made the journey a pleasant one so far. Once the surprise of his presence wore off, a very companionable atmosphere fell into place. Since he’d most likely made the arrangements, he needed no one to tell him their path or their supplies. Both tired and not, she finished the savoury meal prepared by the laird’s cook and relaxed in her chair. Watching as he spoke and laughed with others, Ciara savoured the moment and realised something important.

He seemed more at ease here than at Lairig Dubh.

‘You are staring once more,’ Elizabeth warned in a whispered voice. ‘Someone will notice.’

Ciara sighed. She could not help herself. Though things between them seemed settled and comfortable once more, they were not truly. Better than they had been for a year, but not back to how it had been between them. Which was probably for the best since she was travelling to meet her future husband and would soon belong to someone else.

‘He seems happy,’ she replied. ‘He even danced with Morag and others at the ceilidh the night before we left.’

‘Are you happy about that?’ Elizabeth asked, leaning over closer. ‘Have you released him from your life now?’

‘Of course,’ she began. Elizabeth placed her hand on Ciara’s arm and squeezed her as though warning her that her friend would know the truth. ‘I do not remember seeing him dance in a long, long time,’ she admitted the truth in another way. ‘It felt good to see that.’

Mayhap she had released him from her heart after all? As though he knew they were speaking about him, he turned his head and met her glance. As he rose and said something to those sitting at the table with him before walking in her direction, Ciara smoothed her hair back and wiped her sweaty palms across her lap. So much for releasing him.

‘Ciara. Elizabeth,’ he said with a slight bow to them. ‘Are you recovered from the travels of the day?’

‘Aye, Tavis,’ Elizabeth said in a cheerful voice. ‘The meal has been quite pleasant.’

‘Would you like to walk a bit before retiring?’ he asked them both. ‘The storms have moved on and the skies have cleared.’ They were on their feet before they even spoke and Ciara heard him laugh. Since all three were familiar with the keep and the lands around it, no one needed to lead and they walked in silence until they reached the yard.

As he’d said, the storms were gone and the evening was clear and cool. Though the end of summer grew nigh and autumn would soon arrive, these days were some of the best for travelling with long daylight. She knew where they would walk even before they reached it—it was one of the places she most remembered from their first journey here.

Laird MacCallum’s pigs!

She began laughing as they approached, both from the memories and from the expression on Elizabeth’s face when the usual smell grew too strong to ignore. Her friend began waving her hand before her face, trying to weaken the odour, but pigs were pigs and nothing would help it.

‘I am returning to our chamber, Ciara,’ she said, as she stopped and turned away. ‘Enjoy your walk.’ A gagging sound echoed behind her as she strode away.

‘I did not think Elizabeth such a delicate wee thing,’ Tavis said to her. ‘A few pigs and she runs?’

Ciara laughed. Though not raised around them, pigs did not bother her at all. A leftover sentiment from her childhood when all animals held a place in her fascination. Especially those Tavis carved for her. ‘A frail lass to be sure.’

They walked to the fence that surrounded the pen and watched as the animals rooted for food. Stretching her legs felt good, so she strode around the large enclosure at a brisk pace for some minutes before stopping near the gate.

The recent rains muddied up the ground, which seemed to please the pigs. A few piglets did not bother looking for something to eat; they knew exactly where to find it. She stood beside Tavis and watched their antics in silence.

‘Have you met James Murray yet?’ he asked. Surprised, Ciara nodded.

‘We met at Uncle Iain’s gathering in the spring. His family was there, as were some others.’

She grimaced. Not a good topic to raise since two other men who she had since turned down were also there.

‘Will this time keep?’ he asked, turning to face her. The intensity of his gaze reminded her of many discussions between them. She heard the concern in his voice, but now accepted it for what it was—that of a friend.

‘I think so,’ she said nodding. ‘We both like horses. His parents want and need my dowry. All the things on which to base a marriage.’ She said it as she struggled to keep all emotions from her face.

He laughed aloud then; it came from the deepest part of him and rumbled all the way out, echoing across the empty yard. Tavis leaned back and let it out, and continued until he rubbed his eyes. ‘You were always a forthright lass, Ciara. I’m glad that has not changed in you.’

‘I prefer the truth of the matter rather than the sweet words or blurry image. My parents encouraged it, but I suspect that James’s parents do not see it as a good thing. If it were not for the dowry, they would never countenance such a match as ours.’

He lifted his hand up as though to touch her cheek, then stopped just before she felt his fingers on her skin. She closed her eyes for just that moment, but forced them open to watch his reaction. Part of her wished against hope that he harboured feelings for her and would speak of them to her before she gave up every last vestige of hope. But, regardless of whether he did or not, she understood her duty and understood that he was not part of her future. Knowing that she belonged to another man, more so with every mile forwards in this journey, Ciara stepped back and smiled at him, relieved to be on better terms with him.

‘Dawn will come early, Ciara. You should seek your bed.’

‘Until the morning, then,’ she said, nodding and turning away from him.

Ciara paused after only a few steps and turned back to him.

‘Do you know of James Murray?’ she asked.

‘I know very little about him. Only what your father has said of him and his family.’

Shrugging and wondering exactly what she’d hoped he’d say, she walked back to the keep where Elizabeth would be waiting for any gossip. For a moment, she wondered why Tavis did not retire, too. Remembering how a number of women, servants and clan, had approached him as he ate, she suspected whenever he did, it would not be alone.

She tried to pass off the burning in her chest as a sign of partaking in too many of the cook’s spicy dishes, but the fire of jealousy was hard to ignore.

Chapter Five

This part of the journey was harder than the rest of it would be. Once they passed through Dunalastair and reached the main road used to bring cattle south to the major cities for the markets, their travel would level out and ease. He knew that, but Tavis also knew that this journey was getting harder by the step for him.

For the first time since Saraid’s passing, he’d become aware of the women around him. Nay, not that he had not seen them, but they began now to appeal to him as women did to men. At the ceilidh at Lairig Dubh and then again at the MacCallums’ keep and village, he’d crossed some line in his life. For four years he’d looked the other way, but that had not worked for him. The invitations he’d received, the expressions of wanting and desire in the gazes of several of the women in both keeps, made it clear that he did not have to sleep alone.

That was the usual way of things—a widow’s bed could be a welcoming place for an unmarried man in the clan. Nights of pleasures shared without the commitment of marriage vows or until the two were certain they wanted to marry. Or not.

Not that he would ever marry again, but …

The remorse that always filled him whenever he thought of Saraid—her life, their life, or her death—flooded him now and reminded him of the terrible failure that would always be his burden. Bile spilled into his mouth as did the bitterness of his actions when Saraid needed him most. He spat on to the ground but, real or only memory, he could still taste it.

Guiding his horse down the steep pathway that led into Dunalastair’s village, he reconciled himself to his fate. But when Ciara raced by him, laughing and calling out a challenge, he put away the dark memories and darker possibilities of his future and followed her.

‘To the bridge!’ she yelled, tearing off her head covering and letting the wind catch the length of her hair.

Damn, but she could ride! And with the mount she had, he would be hard pressed to catch her now. Tavis spurred his horse on to follow, trying to work out if there was enough distance in which he could catch her before they reached the bridge. Doubtful. Still, he bent low over his horse’s neck and urged it on faster and faster.

The wind in his face and the feel of the horse’s strong muscles as it pushed them faster along the road forced all melancholy from him. He focused his thoughts on the woman ahead of him, though now just barely. Dirt flew under the horse’s hooves and branches whipped him. None of that slowed him down, not when victory could be his. They approached a split in the road and he took the one Ciara did not.

Tavis laughed aloud then, knowing now that he would reach the bridge first by using this path. He’d done it many times when travelling here with Duncan. When he broke through the last of the trees, Ciara sat on the bridge, smiling at him. How had she …?

‘You are not the only one who knows the shorter pathways around here, Tavis,’ she scolded.

He should have known better. He should have realised that she would be a fierce competitor even on the way to becoming a dutiful wife. James Murray would not appreciate a woman like Ciara. He was too young and in the power of his parents who, as she’d said, only wanted the match for the money she brought them.

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