Highlanders Collection

Claimed by the Highland Warrior

Michelle Willingham

The Highlander’s Stolen Touch

Terri Brisbin

Return of the Border Warrior

Blythe Gifford

Highland Rogue, London Miss

Margaret Moore

Her Highland Protector

Ann Lethbridge

A Rose in the Storm

Brenda Joyce

Highlander Claimed

Juliette Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Claimed by the

Highland Warrior

Michelle Willingham

‘You’d better eat more than that, MacKinloch,’ Nairna ordered him. ‘You need to get your strength back.’

‘And what will I be needing the strength for, a ghaoil?’ Bram asked, taking her fingertips.

Her face coloured, and she held out a bite of fish, offering it to him. When she pushed the food into his mouth, her thumb brushed against his lip.

The soft touch brought him into a deeper awareness of her. He ignored the clan members gathering, and the sounds of their conversation grew muted. He looked into Nairna’s worried green eyes, and kept her fingers locked in his.

‘Bram, are you all right?’

No. He was tired, irritated at having to be around so many people, and his mind couldn’t stop thinking about the night he would spend with Nairna. The bawdy conversation was doing nothing to alleviate the sexual hunger he felt for her. He remembered her silken skin and the sweetness of her kiss. Even more, the way she’d clung to him when he’d kissed her only deepened his own arousal. He wanted to be alone with his wife right now. He wanted to explore her body, to learn the mysteries of a woman’s flesh. Unless she kept her hands off him, his control was going to break apart.

When her hand came up to stroke his cheek, all semblance of reason snapped.

AUTHOR NOTE

Ever since I saw the movie Braveheart I’ve longed to write a Highlander story of my own set during the era of William Wallace … only with a happy ending! Bram MacKinloch is a prisoner of war during this troubled time, and he must save his brother from the English who captured him.

After seven long years Nairna believes she’s lost her childhood sweetheart. But Fate gives her a second chance at love and a family. She tries to help Bram overcome his sleepless nights and horrifying memories, despite his belief that he doesn’t deserve happiness. It’s a story of healing and hope, and how two people can rekindle a lost love.

A friend of my father’s was a prisoner of war in the Vietnam conflict. His wife never knew what happened to him and he was believed dead until his shocking return years later. I can only imagine the feelings in her heart, and CLAIMED BY THE HIGHLAND WARRIOR was inspired by their true-life love story.

There are a few additional things I want to note. During the early fourteenth century the Scots did not wear kilts, plaids or tartans; these came centuries later. Also, though they likely understood English, amongst each other the Highlanders would have spoken Gaelic. This is why I’ve left out the Scottish burr that’s common to many romances, since it wouldn’t have been part of a Highlander’s speech.

This past summer I visited the Scottish Highlands, and took many pictures that inspired my new mini-series. You’re welcome to view the photos at my Facebook page: www.facebook.com/michellewillinghamfans. You can also visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com for excerpts and behind-the-scenes details. I love to hear from readers and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com, or write via mail at PO Box 2242, Poquoson, VA 23662, USA.

Look for Alex MacKinloch’s story in

Seduced by Her Highland Warrior Coming soon

About the Author

MICHELLE WILLINGHAM grew up living in places all over the world, including Germany, England and Thailand. When her parents hauled her to antiques shows in manor houses and castles Michelle entertained herself by making up stories and pondering whether she could afford a broadsword with her allowance. She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame, with a degree in English, and received her master’s degree in Education from George Mason University. Currently she teaches American History and English. She lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. She still doesn’t have her broadsword.

Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com, or e-mail her at michelle@michellewillingham.com

Previous novels by this author:

HER IRISH WARRIOR*

THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH*

HER WARRIOR KING*

HER WARRIOR SLAVE†

THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS**

THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCESS**

TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR*

SURRENDER TO AN IRISH WARRIOR*

*The MacEgan Brothers

†prequel to The MacEgan Brothers trilogy

**linked by character

Also available in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE

THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN

AN ACCIDENTAL SEDUCTION**

INNOCENT IN THE HAREM

PLEASURED BY THE VIKING

Also available in Mills & Boon® Historical eBooks:

LIONHEART’S BRIDE

part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages

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

Acknowledgements:

With many thanks to Sharron Gunn for her help with researching the medieval Highlands and for being willing to answer so many of my questions.

Thanks to my editor Joanne Grant and to my agent Helen Breitwieser for their continued support and for challenging me with each and every book.

Both of you have helped me to grow as an author, and it’s deeply appreciated.

Chapter One

Ballaloch, Scotland—1305

Bram MacKinloch couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten or slept. The numbness consumed him, and all he could do now was keep going. He’d been imprisoned in the darkness for so many years, he’d forgotten what the sun felt like upon his skin. It blinded him, forcing him to keep his gaze fixed upon the ground.

God’s bones, he couldn’t even remember how long he’d been running. Exhaustion had blotted away the visions until he didn’t know how many English soldiers were pursuing him or where they were now. He’d stayed clear of the valley, keeping to the hills and the fir trees that would hide him from view.

His clothing and hair were soaked, after he’d swum through a river to mask his scent from the dogs.

Had there been dogs? He couldn’t remember anymore. Shadows blurred his mind, until he didn’t know reality from the nightmares.

Keep going, he ordered himself. Don’t stop. Not now.

His footing slipped as he crossed the top of the hill and he stumbled to the ground. Before he rose, he listened hard for the sound of his pursuers.

Nothing. Silence stretched across the Highlands, with only the sound of birds and insects breaking the stillness. He grabbed at the grass, using it to regain his balance. After he stood, he turned in a slow circle in all directions. From the top of the hill, he could see no one. Only the vast expanse of craggy green mountains and the clouded sky above him.

Freedom.

He drank in the sight, savouring the open air and the land that he’d missed these past seven years. Though he was far from home, these mountains were known to him, like old friends.

Bram steadied his breathing, taking a moment to rest. He should have been grateful that he’d broken free of his prison, but guilt held him captive now. His brother Callum was still locked away in that godforsaken place.

Let him be alive, Bram prayed. Let it not be too late. If he had to sell his own soul, he’d get Callum out. Especially after the price he’d paid for his own freedom.

He started moving west, towards Ballaloch. If he kept up his pace, it was possible to reach the fortress within the hour. He hadn’t been there in years, not since he was sixteen. The MacPhersons would grant him shelter, but would they remember or even recognise him?

Cold emptiness filled him, and he rubbed at his scarred wrists. The days without any rest had taken their toll, causing his hands to shake. What he wouldn’t give for a dreamless night, one where his mind no longer tormented him.

But one dream held steady, of the woman he’d thought about each night over the past seven years.

Nairna.

Despite the nightmares of his imprisonment, he’d kept her image fixed in his mind. Her green eyes, the brown hair that fell to her waist. The way she’d smiled at him, as if he were the only man she’d ever wanted.

A restless sense of regret pulled at him, as he wondered what had happened to her over the years. Had she grown to hate him? Or had she forgotten him? She would be different now. Changed, like he was.

After so many years lost, he didn’t expect her to feel anything towards him. And though he’d never wanted to leave her behind, Fate had dragged him down another path.

He reached to finger the edge of his tunic, touching the familiar stone that he’d kept hidden within a seam. Over the years, he’d nearly worn the small stone flat. Nairna had given him the token on the night he’d left to fight against the English. So many times, he’d clenched the stone during his imprisonment, as if he could reach out to her.

Her image had kept him from falling into madness, like an angel holding him back from hellfire. She’d given him a reason to live. A reason to fight.

Regret lowered his spirits, for it was unrealistic to imagine that she’d waited for him. After seven years, likely she would have put their memories in the past.

Unless she still loved him.

The thought was a thread of hope, one that kept him moving forwards. He was close to the MacPherson stronghold now and could take shelter with them for the night.

He imagined holding Nairna in his arms, breathing in the soft scent of her skin. Tasting her lips and forcing back the painful memories. He could lose himself in her and none of the past would matter.

As he crossed down into the valley, he saw Ballaloch, nestled between the hills like a gleaming pearl. Bram sat down on the grass, staring at the stronghold.

And then, behind him, he heard the sound of horses.

He struggled to his feet, his heart pounding. When he glanced behind him, he saw the glint of chainmail armour and soldiers.

No. The thought was a vicious command to himself. He couldn’t let himself be taken captive. Not again. Not after so many years of being a slave.

He tore down the hillside, his legs shaking. But his weak body betrayed him, his knees surrendering as he fell to the ground.

The stronghold was right there. Right within his reach.

Anguish ripped through him as he fought to rise, to make his legs move.

But even when he managed to run, they overtook him with their horses, dragging him up. Gloved hands took him by the shoulders, and as he fought, they dropped a hood over his head, blinding him.

Then they struck him down, and all fell into darkness.

‘Something’s wrong, Jenny,’ Nairna MacPherson muttered to her maid, staring out her window into the inner bailey. Four horsemen had arrived through the barbican gate, their leader dressed in chainmail armour and a conical helm. ‘English soldiers are here, but I don’t know why.’

‘Probably Harkirk’s men, come to demand more silver from your father,’ Jenny answered, closing the trunk. ‘But don’t be fretting. It’s his worry, not yours.’

Nairna turned away from the window, her mind stewing. ‘He shouldn’t have to bribe them. It’s not right.’

Robert Fitzroy, the English Baron of Harkirk, had set up his garrison west of her father’s fortress, a year after the Scottish defeat at Falkirk. There were hundreds of English outposts all across the Highlands and more emerging every year.

Her father had given them both his allegiance and his coins, simply to safeguard his people from attack.

Bloodsucking leeches. It had to stop.

‘I’m going to see why they’re here.’ She started to move towards the door, but Jenny stepped in her way.

The old woman’s brown eyes softened with sympathy. ‘We’re going back home this day, Nairna. I don’t think you’re wanting to start a disagreement with Hamish before ye return.’

The arrow of disapproval struck its intended target. Her shoulders lowered, and she wished there were something she could do to help her father. They were bleeding him dry, and she loathed the thought of what he’d done for his clan’s safety.

But Ballaloch was no longer her home. Neither was Callendon, though she’d lived there for the past four years while she’d been married to the chief of the MacDonnell clan.

Iver was dead now. And though she’d had a comfortable life with him, it had been an empty marriage. Nothing at all like the love she’d known before.

A tendril of grief slipped within her heart for the man she’d lost, so many years ago. Bram MacKinloch’s death had broken her apart, and no man could ever replace him.

Now, she was mistress of nothing and mother of no one. Iver’s son and his wife had already assumed the leadership of the clan and its holdings. Nairna was an afterthought, the widow left behind. No one of importance.

The unsettled feeling of helplessness rooted deep inside. Loneliness spread across her heart with the fervent wish that she could be useful to someone. She wanted a home and a family, a place where she wouldn’t be a shadow. But it felt like there was no place that she truly belonged. Not in her father’s home. Not in her late husband’s home.

‘I won’t interfere,’ she promised Jenny. ‘I just want to see why they’re here now. He’s already paid the bribes due for this quarter.’

‘Nairna,’ her maid warned. ‘Leave it be.’

‘I’ll listen to what they’re saying,’ she said slowly, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. ‘And I might try to speak with Da.’

Her maid grumbled, but followed her below stairs. ‘Take Angus with ye,’ she advised.

Nairna didn’t care about a guard, but as soon as she crossed the Hall, Angus MacPherson, a thick-chested man with arms the size of broad tree limbs, shadowed her path.

Outside, she blinked at the afternoon sunlight and saw the English soldiers standing within the inner bailey. Across one of the horses lay the covered body of a man.

Her heart seized at the sight and she hurried closer. Was it a MacPherson they’d found?

Their leader was addressing Hamish, saying, ‘We caught this man wandering not far from Ballaloch. One of yours, I suppose.’ The soldier’s mouth curled in a thin smile.

Nairna’s hand gripped the dagger at her waist. Her father’s face was expressionless as he stared at the soldiers. ‘Is he alive?’

The man gave a nod, motioning for the other soldier to bring the body closer. They had covered their captive’s face with a hood.

‘How much is a man’s life worth to you?’ the Englishman asked. ‘Fifteen pennies, perhaps?’

‘Show me his face,’ Hamish said quietly, sending a silent signal to his steward. Whatever price they named, Nairna knew her father would pay it. But she couldn’t even tell if the prisoner was alive.

‘Twenty pennies,’ their leader continued. He ordered his men to lift the captive from the horse and hold him. The hooded prisoner couldn’t stand upright, and from his torn clothing, Nairna didn’t recognise the man. The long dark hair falling about his shoulders was their only clue to his identity.

Nairna drew closer to her father, lowering her voice. ‘He’s not one of ours.’

The soldiers gripped their captive by his shoulders, and another jerked the man’s head backwards, baring his throat.

‘Twenty-five pennies,’ the Englishman demanded, unsheathing a dagger. ‘His life belongs to you, MacPherson, if you want it.’ He rested the blade at the prisoner’s throat. At the touch of the metal against skin, the prisoner’s hands suddenly closed into fists. He struggled to escape the soldiers’ grip, twisting and fighting.

He was alive.

Nairna’s pulse raced as she stared at the unknown man. Her hands began shaking, for she understood that they would show no mercy to the stranger. They were truly going to execute him, right in the middle of the bailey. And there was no way to know if their captive was a MacPherson or one of their enemies.

‘Thirty pennies,’ came her father’s voice, reaching for a small purse that his steward had brought.

Their leader smiled, catching the purse as it was tossed at him. The soldiers shoved the prisoner to the ground, but after he struck the earth he didn’t rise.

‘Go back to Lord Harkirk,’ Hamish commanded.

The English soldier mounted his horse, rejoining the others as he fingered the purse. ‘I wondered if you were going to let him die. I would have killed him, you know. One less Scot.’ He tossed the bag of coins, his thin smile stretching.

Angus moved forwards from behind Nairna, his hand grasping a spear in a silent threat. Other MacPherson fighters circled the English soldiers, but they had already begun their departure.

Nairna couldn’t quite catch her breath at her father’s blatant bribery. Thirty pennies. She felt as if the wind had been knocked from her lungs. He’d handed it over, without a second thought.

Though she didn’t speak, her father eyed her. ‘A man’s life is more important than coins.’

‘I know it.’ Nairna gripped her hands together, trying to contain her agitation. ‘But what will you do when they come back, demanding more? Will you continue to pay Lord Harkirk until they’ve seized Ballaloch and made prisoners of our people?’

Her father strode over to the fallen body of the prisoner. ‘We’re alive, Nairna. Our clan is one of the few left untouched. And by God, if I have to spend every last coin to ensure their safety, I will do so. Is that clear?’

She swallowed hard as Hamish rolled the man over, easing him up. ‘You shouldn’t have to bribe them. It’s not right.’

There was no difference between the English soldiers and cheating merchants, as far as Nairna was concerned. Men took advantage, whenever it was allowed. She knelt down beside her father, trying to calm her roiling emotions.

‘Well, lad, let’s see who you are,’ Hamish said, pulling off the hood.

Nairna’s heart stopped when she saw the prisoner’s face.

For it was Bram MacKinloch. The husband she hadn’t seen since the day she’d married him, seven years ago.

Pale moonlight illuminated the room and Bram opened his eyes. Every muscle in his body ached, and he swallowed hard. Thirsty. So thirsty.

‘Bram,’ came a soft voice. ‘Are you awake?’

He turned towards the sound and wondered if he was dead. He had to be, for he knew that voice. It was Nairna, the woman he’d dreamed of for so long.

A cup was raised to his lips and he drank the cool ale, grateful that she’d anticipated the need. She moved closer and lit an oil lamp to illuminate the darkness. The amber glow revealed her features, and he stared at her, afraid the vision would fade away if he blinked.

Her mouth was soft, her cheekbones well formed and her long brown hair fell freely across her shoulders. She’d become a beautiful woman.

He wanted to touch her. Just to know that she was real.

Longing swelled through him, mingled with bittersweet regret. His hand was shaking when he reached out to her. As if asking forgiveness, he stroked her palm, wishing things could have been different.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, her hand curled around his, her face filled with confusion. ‘I can’t believe you’re alive.’

He sat up and she moved beside him. With one hand clasped in hers, he touched her nape. The light scent of flowers and grass seemed to emanate from her, and he leaned closer, drinking in the sight.

God help him, he needed her right now. He threaded his hands in her hair, lifting her face to his. He took her mouth in a kiss, for she was the hope and life he’d craved for so long.

Nairna’s heart was beating so fast, she hardly knew what to do. She tasted the heady danger within his kiss, of a man who didn’t care about all the lost years. Bram had never been much for talking, and without words, he told her how much he’d missed her.

He kissed her as though he couldn’t get enough, as though she were an answered prayer. And in spite of everything, she found herself kissing him back.

God above, she’d never expected this. Not in a thousand years. It was as if she were seeing a spirit, and when he bent to take her lips again, he convinced her that he was indeed made of flesh and blood.

A tangled knot of emotions warred inside her. She gripped his lean shoulders, unable to stop the tears. She’d grieved for him, raged against the injustice of losing him. And when she’d finally accepted the dull ache of loss, Fate made a mockery of her grief by returning him.

She was torn between happiness that he was here and her guilt of betrayal. She’d married someone else. And though Iver was dead and there was no shame in kissing Bram, it felt strange.

His mouth moved against her cheek, along the line of her jaw. A spiral of desire tightened within her breasts, spearing down between her thighs. And when he pulled her down on top of him, she felt his heated arousal pressing against her.

‘Nairna,’ he whispered. His voice was husky, a deep bass note that rumbled against her throat. Her skin flushed, while warmth pooled within her body.

She didn’t know where these feelings were coming from, but they terrified her. Bram’s hands moved down her back, bringing her hips against him. The sensation of his arousal cradled against her womanhood made her moist with wanting, her nipples tightening beneath her gown.

His mouth captured hers in demanding possession. Every part of her body was attuned to his touch and the longer he kissed her, the more she wanted him. She envisioned lifting her skirts, feeling his hard naked body against her own.

Confusion warred inside her, for she wasn’t supposed to respond this way to a man who was virtually a stranger. Caught between past and present, she didn’t know whether to trust her heart or her mind.

Bram’s palm moved down her cheek, stroking her in a caress that evoked the feelings she’d tried to bury. His face was harrowed, as though he’d seen things he shouldn’t have. And he’d grown so terribly thin.

‘Bram, where have you been all this time?’

He didn’t answer at first. Then he sat up, keeping her on his lap. His hands framed her face, as if he were trying to learn her features. She covered his hands with hers, staring into his eyes. Willing him to tell her the truth.

‘I was a prisoner at Cairnross.’

She’d heard of the English Earl and his cruelty. Her heart bled at the thought of Bram enduring captivity for so long, in such a place.

‘I thought you were dead,’ she managed.

He touched her as if he were afraid she might disappear. His roughened palms abraded her skin, his fingers trembling. ‘I thought you would have married another by now. That you’d found someone else.’

I did, she nearly said, but stopped herself, not wanting to hurt him. She’d married Iver, desperately wanting a home and a family of her own. But now, it shamed her to think of what she’d done. It made her feel like she’d committed adultery, though she knew that wasn’t true.

Her cheeks grew hot and she didn’t know how to tell him about the marriage. A tear spilled down her cheek, but whether it was from grief or joy, she couldn’t tell.

Bram’s thumb brushed it away, and his hands moved down her shoulders, resting upon her waist. He drew her into his arms, caressing her back. ‘You’ve grown into a woman since I saw you last.’

Nairna’s skin prickled. A latent fire seemed to rise up from within her, burning her flesh with need. His mouth bent to her throat, and she bit back a shuddering breath at the kindled sensations. His thumbs stroked lazy circles over her spine.

But when he moved to the upper curve of her breasts, she panicked.

‘Bram, wait.’ She stood up, pushing him away. ‘I need to know what’s happened since you—’

‘Tomorrow,’ he whispered, rising from the bed.

He looked wild, his eyes blazing with fierce need. He reminded her of a savage tribesman who had come to claim his woman at last.

For a long moment, he stared at her, as if he didn’t know what to do next. Before she could voice another question, he walked towards the door. He turned back again, his hand resting against the door frame. For a breathless moment, he studied her, as if making a decision.

Then he left, without a word of explanation.

Chapter Two

Seven years earlier

‘For God’s sakes, Bram, keep your eyes upon your opponent!’ his father roared.

Bram blinked, staring at Malcolm MacPherson who was attempting to stab him in the training match. He balanced his footing, trying to determine where the dirk would slash next. Though both of them were sixteen, Malcolm had a stronger instinct for fighting.

Bram lunged left, only to be slashed from the right. The blade didn’t cut his skin, but skidded off the chainmail armour his father had made him wear.

He adjusted his position, trying again to find Malcolm’s weakness. For a time, he successfully defended himself, predicting where the next strike would come. He’d sparred often enough in the past, but not in front of so many people. He could feel the MacPherson chief watching him, as if determining his worth. His cheeks warmed, for he’d much rather fight a single opponent with no one staring.

As the fight wore on, his attention began drifting again. He moved out of habit, and from his peripheral vision, he spied a maiden walking towards them. It was Malcolm’s sister Nairna, who was only a year younger than himself. He’d seen her before, but he’d never really noticed her.

She wore a gown the colour of new spring grass, with an embroidered cap covering her long brown hair. The strands fell to her waist, and as she moved, he found himself entranced. He could sense her watching the fight.

He barely missed the blade that came slashing towards his throat. Bram threw himself to the ground, grunting when Malcolm rolled him over and pinned him.

‘You let yourself be distracted by a girl?’ his opponent taunted. ‘Or were you wanting to wear her skirts?’

The insult sent a haze of red surging through him. Bram released his rage, using the momentum to force Malcolm off him. In a ruthless motion, he twisted the young man’s wrist until he disarmed him, then lifted his dirk to Malcolm’s throat.

‘She’s your sister,’ he gritted out. ‘Show some respect.’ He held his position long enough to demonstrate that he’d held his own in this match, before rising and sheathing the blade.

He strode away, not bothering to speak with his father or the chief of Ballaloch. His father had brought him here to visit over a fortnight ago, and Bram didn’t know why. He wasn’t included in the conversations between the two chiefs, but he knew they were watching him.

He kept walking, not even looking where he was going, until a hand pressed a dripping cup of water into his palm. Bram stopped short and saw Nairna standing before him. For a brief moment, her eyes met his, before she released the cup and walked away.

The water was cold, quenching his thirst. He hadn’t even known how thirsty he was. Casting a glance backwards, he saw that Nairna had not brought a drink to her brother, or anyone else. Why?

He drained the cup, feeling his face warm. Shy and thickheaded when it came to girls, he preferred to remain unnoticed, fading into the background. He didn’t know how to talk to them, and, more often than not, he avoided them.

But it wasn’t only girls who made him uncomfortable. He rarely spoke and hated being around larger groups. Though his father had chastised him for his reticence, ordering him to talk with guests and behave as a future chief, Bram never knew quite what to say.

Fighting was easier. As long as he could wield a claymore or a dirk, no one cared about his inability to converse. And in the middle of a cattle raid, it was rare for anyone to be watching him. They were too busy saving their own necks.

He made his way back to his discarded tunic, where he’d left it by the wall. He set down the cup and saw something round inside the folds. Wrapped in cloth, it was still warm. Bram glanced around him, but saw no one nearby. Inside lay a small loaf of bread.

His stomach rumbled as he tore off a piece, devouring the food. Nothing had ever tasted so good, after he’d been training all morning.

Nairna had left it for him; he was sure of it. As he finished eating the bread, he wondered if she’d had another purpose. If, perhaps, she cared for him in that mysterious way that women did.

He couldn’t stop the incredulous lift of a smile, though he felt like a complete fool.

Over the next sennight, their secret courtship continued. One day, he would find that a torn tunic had been mended, while another time, he would reach into the fold of his cloak and find a small handful of fresh blackberries.

Since it wasn’t right to receive gifts without giving any in return, he began leaving Nairna pretty stones or dried flowers, outside her chamber door. Once, he’d traded for a crimson ribbon and she’d smiled the entire day she’d worn it twined in her brown hair.

He couldn’t understand why she’d chosen him as the subject of her affections. But the longer he stayed with her clan, the more she fascinated him. She never bothered him, never tried to speak with him directly. But the quiet kindnesses she showed had somehow made it impossible to stop thinking about her.

One afternoon, he found her huddled beneath a tree during a rainstorm. No one else was about, and from the basket she carried, it was clear she’d been collecting wild mushrooms.

Bram dismounted from his horse and untied his cloak, holding it out to her. ‘Here. You look cold.’

She shook her head. ‘No, it’s all right. The rain will stop soon.’

He ignored her and walked closer, holding it out. Nairna took one end over her shoulder and held out the other. ‘Share it with me.’

He didn’t want to. The idea of sitting beside a beautiful young woman made him uneasy. He’d likely embarrass himself by saying something foolish.

But then Nairna raised her green eyes to his. ‘Please.’

The softness in her voice reminded him of everything she’d done for him. Against his common sense, he sat beside her, leaning his back against the tree.

Nairna held out the cloak, drawing the end over his shoulders. ‘Do you mind?’ she whispered, huddling close to his side for warmth. He put his arm around her, keeping her wrapped in the woollen cloak. The rain was cool upon his face, and the cloak kept the worst of the weather away from them.

Had it been pouring down rain, he’d not have noticed. Every fibre of his attention was centred upon Nairna. Her head rested against his shoulder and she didn’t try to fill up the space with meaningless words. His heart hammered with nerves, but he reached for her hand.

‘My father came to speak to me this morning,’ Nairna murmured, her palm cool against his. Her voice sounded nervous, as though she were afraid to speak.

Bram waited for her to continue, as he traced the contours of her palm.

Nairna coloured, squeezing his hand as if to gather strength. ‘He said that … I am to be married.’

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

A hollow darkness invaded his mood and he couldn’t stop the feelings of anger and unfairness. Though he’d only known her a few weeks, he felt protective of Nairna. You’re mine, he wanted to growl. He’d skewer any man who tried to touch her.

‘You’re not getting married,’ he said tightly. ‘You’re too young.’

‘I’m fifteen,’ she admitted. ‘But you don’t understand. They want an alliance between—’

‘No.’ He cut her off, not wanting to hear it. A possessive jealousy ate him up inside, firing up his temper. He removed the cloak, letting her hold on to it while he paced. He needed to think, to make decisions.

But Nairna rose, walking close to him. She took his hands in hers, and her face reddened. ‘Bram, no. They want me to marry you.’

Shock struck him speechless and, slowly, the blood drained away from his anger. He took a breath, then another, trying to wrap his mind around her words.

‘It’s why they brought you here. So that we could … get to know one another.’

Married. To this girl, who would belong to him. The very thought made him dizzy, afraid that he wouldn’t please her. She didn’t truly know him. He wasn’t the sort of natural leader his younger brother Alex was, nor did he fight as well as his father wanted him to. He had too much to learn and, though he was sixteen, he’d felt the sting of mediocrity. If they married, he had no doubt at all that he’d disappoint her.

Nairna looked down at their linked hands. ‘Say something. If you don’t want to wed me, then I’ll talk to my father.’

He couldn’t find the right words. If he tried to speak right now, not a word would make sense. He reached out to her nape, sliding his hands into her hair.

Refusing to wed her would be the right thing to do, but he couldn’t relinquish the rigid need to be with her.

When dismay filled up her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her for the first time. He tasted the rain and her innocence, and when her mouth moved against his, a reckless desire raged through him.

He wanted her to be his, though she deserved better. And when her arms folded around his waist, her face pressed against his chest, he vowed he would do everything he could to be the husband she wanted.

Chapter Three

Present day

Bram spent the remainder of the night within the stable. He didn’t sleep, though he’d tried. His eyes burned with the aching need for rest, but slumber eluded him still. His conscience taunted him that he could never rest, not with Callum still a captive. And despite the fierce need, he couldn’t command himself to sleep.

He still heard the screams in his memory, the unthinkable images branded into his mind. Darkness held nothing but horror for him, and he supposed it was little wonder that he couldn’t trust himself to close his eyes.

Instead, he’d spent the hours thinking about his wife. The years had transformed her from a bright-eyed girl into a woman who took his breath away. Her kiss had melted away any ability to think clearly and it was a wonder he’d managed to leave her at all.

Even now, his hands were shaking at the thought of touching her. He’d wanted nothing more than to lay her down upon the bed and claim her body with his.

And though he had that right as her husband, she wasn’t ready to lie with him. Not when they were strangers to one another.

His father’s advice on their wedding night drifted into his mind. You’ll know what to do, Tavin had said. Trust your instincts.

If he’d surrendered to his instincts last night, he’d have pulled back the coverlet and used his mouth to taste every last inch of Nairna’s body. And wouldn’t that have shocked his innocent wife?

He wished to God that he’d had even a single night with her, but there’d been no time after he’d left the wedding. His eagerness to fight alongside his father had meant abandoning his new wife in their wedding bed. They’d never consummated the marriage, though their families hadn’t known it.

So many foolish mistakes.

Now, he understood why his father hadn’t wanted him to join in the battle. A hotheaded, untrained lad of sixteen wasn’t ready to face English soldiers. Tavin MacKinloch had shielded him, taking the sword that would have ended Bram’s life.

He’d fallen to his knees before his father’s body, not even caring when he’d been captured. The blood of his father had stained his hands and there was naught that would bring Tavin back again.

The only atonement was to keep the promise he’d made, to look after Callum. The back of his neck began to itch, as if the heavy iron band still encircled it. Bram swallowed hard, forcing away the dark memories.

His gaze settled upon his scarred wrists. No doubt Nairna would be horrified when she saw the rest of him. The more he thought of it, the more he wondered if he had any right to be here.

Did she still want him as her husband? She’d pushed him back last night and he didn’t know if it was shyness or an aversion to him. What if she’d gone on with her life, remembering him as nothing more than a mistake she’d made, years ago?

Bram closed his eyes, lowering his gaze to the ground. The desire for a life with Nairna went bone-deep, as if she could somehow bring him redemption.

Though he hadn’t slept at all, an anxious energy filled his veins with the need to be with her again, to convince himself that he hadn’t been dreaming.

Footsteps entered the stable, and Bram jerked to his feet, his hand reaching for a dagger that wasn’t there.

Hamish MacPherson, the chief of Ballaloch, stood at the doorway, his eldest son Malcolm behind him. Nairna was nowhere to be seen.

‘You didn’t have to sleep in the stables, lad,’ the chief chided. With a shrewd gaze, he inspected Bram from head to toe before gripping him in an embrace of welcome. ‘It’s good to see you again. By God, we all thought you were dead. Where were you all of these years?’

‘Cairnross,’ he answered. Raising his wrists, he revealed the scars of his years of captivity.

From the grim look on Hamish’s face, the man understood. ‘I won’t ask how you escaped. But you’re fortunate Harkirk’s men didn’t strike you down.’

Bram said nothing, for he remembered little of what had happened after he’d been hooded. One moment, he’d felt the cold metal of a blade against his throat, and the next, he’d opened his eyes to find Nairna standing over him.

The chief kept talking, and the words blended together. Something about them being glad he had returned and more words about Nairna. Bram tried to piece the conversation together, but hunger and lack of sleep made it difficult to concentrate.

A sober expression came over the chief’s face and he made the sign of the cross. ‘It’s a good thing that Iver MacDonnell is gone, God rest him. That would have made a mess of everything.’

Bram had no idea what Hamish was talking about, and at his blank look the chief cursed. ‘She didn’t tell you, did she?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘Nairna married the MacDonnell chief four years ago. He died last summer.’ Hamish shook his head, adding, ‘Though I suppose their marriage was never legal, since you were still alive.’ He rubbed the beard on his face, thinking to himself. ‘I’ll speak to Father Garrick about it and ask what’s to be done.’

Bram didn’t hear anything else Hamish said. A low buzzing filled his ears and he felt as if someone had knocked him to the ground.

She’d married someone else. And worse, she’d said nothing about it.

It grated upon Bram’s temper, the knowledge shredding apart his control. He’d wanted to believe Nairna had waited for him. That there had never been anyone else.

He’d been wrong.

Rage tore down any rational feelings. It made him wish the MacDonnell chief were still alive, just so Bram could kill him for touching what belonged to him. The bastard had claimed her virginity, and the longer he thought about it, the more Bram’s anger grew.

It took everything he had to keep his face impassive, burying the fury deep inside. When he saw Nairna, he fully intended to confront her about it.

‘I’m taking Nairna back with me,’ he told the chief.

‘You’ll want her dowry as well,’ Hamish commented, his mouth twisted into a dark smile. ‘Seeing as you left before you could collect it.’

God’s bones, he hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Right now, he was itching to talk to her, to learn what had happened during the past seven years. And why she’d married another man.

The coins weren’t important, but until he knew what the circumstances were at Glen Arrin, it was best to be prepared. ‘I’ll take the dowry with me when we go back.’

Hamish raised an eyebrow. ‘She won’t have as much as before. And she’ll lose her widow’s portion when her stepson learns that the marriage wasn’t a true one.’

Another disconcerting thought occurred to Bram. ‘Did she … have any bairns?’

‘There were no children from the union.’

Hamish looked uncomfortable and Bram let out the breath he’d been holding. He half-hoped it was because her husband was impotent. ‘Where is Nairna now?’

‘Inside her chamber. She sent us to find you.’ The chief reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘But you needn’t worry about the MacDonnells. I’ll talk to their chief and work out the details of Nairna’s property.’

‘She’s not returning to them,’ Bram swore. ‘They can keep whatever they want, but Nairna stays with me.’

The corners of Hamish’s mouth twitched. ‘I’m glad you’ve come back, Bram. For I’m thinking you’re just what Nairna needs right now.’

Nairna’s hands were buried in her trunk, while she sorted her stockings by colour. First, all the dark colours, then the lighter ones, and last, the heavy woollen stockings she wore only in the winter. She rolled them up into tight, neat balls, arranging them into rows. Though she’d already packed her belongings yesterday, this was the only thing she could do to keep her nerves under control.

Last night after Bram had left, she’d lain awake, thinking about him. It almost seemed as if she’d imagined him kissing her. For so long, she’d held on to memories of the past, but those visions were nothing like the man who had taken possession of her lips, seizing his right to touch her.

He’d kissed her until her body had responded, her skin growing heated at his rough mouth and tongue. Something unexpected had awakened inside her. It was as if he were coaxing her to surrender her tight control and bend to his will.

Iver had never kissed her like that.

Her cheeks burned with shame when she thought of the man she’d believed was her second husband. Had she sinned, by giving her body to him, believing they were lawfully wed? Was she meant to forget those married years, as if they’d never happened?

Her mind turned in circles until she didn’t know what to think anymore. She’d given her heart to Bram once, long ago. And though she was confused about what she felt for him, she couldn’t deny the fierce hope rising inside. He’d come for her, as soon as he’d been released. He wanted her, despite all the years that had passed.

It might be possible to resurrect the buried feelings. And perhaps … there was hope that Bram could fill her empty womb. Her heart softened, for she wasn’t ready to abandon the dream of having a child. Not yet.

Would he take her home with him now? As his wife, she would be expected to join him and live with the MacKinloch clan. Bram’s family lived further north and she’d only visited once. The men were hot-tempered fighters, fierce men whom the English feared. Her stomach tightened with uneasiness.

It will be all right, she reminded herself. There was no need to be anxious about it. Better to think of it as her second chance for a home and family of her own. And Bram would be there, at her side.

Nairna rose and went to the chest where she kept her belongings. Inside, she withdrew a faded crimson ribbon. The edges were frayed and worn.

She held it in her palm, as if she could grasp the lost years. The ground beneath her feet seemed to have split apart. No longer was she a widow, but, instead, a wife. And where Bram went, she had to follow.

She threaded the ribbon into her braids, tucking the strands around it.

The door opened and her maid Jenny interrupted. ‘They’ve found yer husband.’

Nairna let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing. ‘Good. He’ll need food, fresh clothing and a bath.’

Widowed and elderly, Jenny was like the mother Nairna had lost so many years ago. And though her gnarled hands made it hard for the woman to serve, Nairna didn’t have the heart to dismiss her.

‘I’ll see to it, then.’ The old woman paused at the entrance, her voice turning concerned. ‘Are ye glad to have him back, m’lady?’

‘I am, yes.’ Nairna ventured a smile, but truthfully she was worried.

‘Well, that’s good to hear. And at least ye won’t fret about the marriage bed, since ye already know what to expect.’ Her maid gave a warm smile before she left the chamber, closing the door behind her.

Nairna said nothing, for that wasn’t at all true. Although she was no longer a virgin, the idea of sharing a bed with Bram made her face flush with embarrassment. The only man whom she’d known intimately was Iver and, to be frank, there was nothing exciting about his lovemaking. She’d learned to lie still, let him do what he wished and that was that. It never lasted more than a few minutes anyway.

But last night, when Bram had kissed her, none of it was the same. He had looked upon her as though there were no other woman on this earth, as though he wanted to do nothing more than claim her, taking her body and teaching her pleasure. It made her wonder what it would be like to lie with him, to touch his warm skin and feel his body moving atop her own.

A rush of heat flooded through her and Nairna shivered, thinking of Bram’s shadowed face last night. The faint moonlight had revealed a strong jawline and a slightly crooked nose.

Dark brown hair, the colour of wet earth, fell past his shoulders. A beard hid his face, but it had felt silken against her mouth. And, saints above, his kiss could tempt a woman to hand over her very soul to the Devil.

The shy boy was gone, replaced by a fierce man she didn’t know. A man who had travelled through the gates of hell and emerged as a survivor.

‘When were you planning to tell me that you remarried?’

She screamed, bumping her hands against the lid of the trunk. Her heartbeat clattered inside her chest and she had wild thoughts of throwing a stocking before she realised it was only Bram.

‘You scared me,’ she breathed, touching her chest. ‘I didn’t hear you come inside.’

‘When did it happen?’ he demanded again, moving closer. There was anger carved into his features and she sensed that she had to tread carefully.

‘Three years after I thought you were dead.’ She held her ground until he stood directly in front of her. Nervous energy spread over her, but she held her ground. Not a word did he speak, as though he were fighting against his anger.

‘I didn’t know where you went last night,’ Nairna murmured. ‘You left so suddenly.’

‘I wasn’t certain you wanted me to stay.’ Bram’s eyes were weary and he studied her as if he didn’t quite know what to do or say. The more she studied him, the more physical needs she saw. Hunger, a few minor wounds and exhaustion permeated his bearing. Those, she could take care of. But there was something else beneath his expression, a haunted quality she couldn’t understand.

‘Did you care for him?’ he asked quietly. ‘The man you married.’

‘Iver was kind enough.’ She hid her shaking hands behind her back.

‘I suppose you wish I hadn’t come back.’ A grim look passed over his face and Bram folded his arms across his chest.

‘You’re wrong.’ Seeing him standing before her was a gift, one she’d never expected. It was as if she could blot out the years of her failures, starting over again. And the few memories she and Bram had had together had been good ones.

To change the subject, she said, ‘I’ve sent for food and a bath.’

Bram moved to stand in front of her. It was as if he were memorising her face, burning it into his mind. A blush warmed Nairna’s cheeks when he drew his thumb over her lips, his palm cupping her cheek.

Upon his wrists, she saw striated lines and a matching band around his throat. Nairna was caught between the desire to know everything and the stoic don’t-ask expression on Bram’s face. She didn’t know what she could say to put him at ease about the past, but it seemed best to say nothing.

He moved past her and rested his hands upon the edge of a table, his head leaning down. He looked as if he were in pain and she suspected he might need her help in the bath. Although it didn’t bother her to see a man unclothed, she didn’t know how Bram would feel about having her assist him.

Before she could ask, Jenny arrived with the food and clean clothing, which she set down while servants carried in the wooden tub, filling it with buckets of hot water.

‘Leave us,’ Bram ordered. The older woman hesitated before Nairna inclined her head and Jenny scuttled away.

When the door had closed, Bram regarded Nairna before touching the food. ‘Have you eaten?’

She nodded, startled that he would ask about her first. Then he turned to look at the meal Jenny had left. Though it wasn’t much—only some mutton stew and a few oat cakes—he studied it with hungry eyes, breathing in the scent as though he feared it might vanish.

‘How long has it been since you’ve eaten?’ she murmured, the truth suddenly dawning.

‘Two days,’ he admitted. He picked up the oat cake and dipped it in the stew, eating slowly as if to savour every mouthful. She half-expected him to attack the food, but instead he ate carefully and not nearly enough. He left most of the food unfinished, and when she started to clear it away, he stopped her. ‘Leave it. I’ll try to eat more later.’

He unlaced his tunic, eyeing the bath. Nairna wasn’t certain whether he wanted her to go or stay, but when he lifted the garment over his head, her breath caught in her throat.

Massive scars covered his chest, hundreds of red-and-white markings, as though they’d tried to cut the flesh from his body.

Oh, sweet God above. What had they done to him? Her stomach clenched at the injustice and she feared that the simple touch of warm water would cause him pain.

Seeing him like this made her want to take care of him again, to heal the physical darkness he’d suffered. How much torment had he endured in captivity? It frightened her to think of it.

Bram offered no explanation, but when he began to remove the rest of his clothing, Nairna turned away. She waited until she heard the slight splash of water before asking, ‘Do you want me to stay or go?’

He didn’t answer, so she ventured a glance. His knees were drawn up in the water, his back hunched over. She took a tentative step forwards, then another.

‘If you’d rather go, I wouldn’t blame you,’ he said at last. ‘I know what I must look like.’

She bit her lip hard, her ribs tight within her. There were no words to describe the scars carved upon his skin. ‘Tell me what happened.’

But again Bram gave no reply. Instead, he laid his head back against the tub and she moved towards him, offering a cake of soap.

He took it from her, seeming to understand her reluctance to touch him. The fear of hurting him made her nervous about assisting him in the bath. She reached for a drying cloth, placing it within his reach. An awkward silence descended between them, leaving Nairna with little to say or do.

She shouldn’t be this nervous. Heaven knew, she’d helped Iver in his bath dozens of times.

But this was Bram, a man she hadn’t seen in seven years. She didn’t know what would put him at ease, and the longer she waited, the more her apprehension attacked her self-confidence.

She reached out to touch his long dark hair, offering, ‘Do you want me to cut your hair?’

He caught her fingers. ‘It hasn’t been cut in seven years.’ His hand lingered upon hers and the wetness of his palm made her shiver.

‘I’ll take care of it for you, then.’ At least now she had something to do. Something that wouldn’t cause him pain.

His thumb rubbed slight circles against her palm. ‘I’m sorry, Nairna.’

There were years’ worth of apologies in those three words. She met his brown eyes with her own, and when she found herself leaning in, her heartbeat quickened. He was going to kiss her again, if she allowed it.

Her cheeks grew warm and it was hard to breathe. It had been so long since any man had given her affection. Iver had never bothered with it. She might as well have been a spare tunic instead of a wife.

Her fingers laced with his and she waited. Beneath the veiled desire in Bram’s eyes, she saw an unnamed emotion. Whether it was anger that she’d remarried or frustration of another kind, she couldn’t tell.

He let go of her hand and closed his eyes.

Nairna hid her disappointment and went to retrieve a sharp dagger to cut his hair. When she returned with the knife, Bram’s palms gripped the sides of the wooden tub. He steeled himself when she knelt beside him, as if he couldn’t bear to see the weapon.

Gently, she reached out to take a length of his hair, the locks limp against her palm. His mouth was a thin slash, his eyes staring straight ahead.

She hesitated, one hand holding his hair. ‘Would you rather I left it alone?’

‘No. But do it quickly.’ The abrupt words spurred her into action.

Nairna cut the length to his shoulders, slicing his hair with the dagger. She tried to keep the length even, wishing she had shears to do a better job of it. Her hands moved over his scalp, and only when she’d set the dagger aside did his tension seem to dissipate.

She helped him lower his head into the water, washing his hair. With the soap, she massaged his scalp, the warmth of the water rising up against her skin.

When he sat up, his hair rinsed, Bram’s eyes bored into hers. In the dark depths, she saw the same sort of hunger he’d had earlier. His bristled cheeks were wet, his mouth firm. Water slid down his face to his scarred back and the air grew heavier to breathe.

Nairna’s attention was drawn to his chest and she found it difficult to think clearly when he was looking at her that way. ‘Tell me what happened to you, after our wedding,’ she asked, hoping to distract him. ‘I know Glen Arrin was attacked.’

It had been both bewildering and humiliating. One moment, she’d been celebrating her wedding, and the next, her bridegroom had fled with his father and kinsmen.

‘When we arrived home, it was under siege. The English set fire to Glen Arrin and slaughtered our clansmen. All because my father wouldn’t pledge his allegiance to Longshanks,’ Bram said. His mouth tightened with distaste at the English king’s nickname.

He leaned closer, and she saw the wildness in his eyes. Rage was there, brimming beneath the surface. ‘And they still have my brother Callum.’

He stood up from the water before she could stop him and droplets spilled over his skin, down his ribs, to his thighs. He showed no embarrassment at revealing himself to her and Nairna’s cheeks burned at the sight of his manhood. It had risen slightly, as though he wanted her.

Don’t stare, she warned herself. She averted her eyes, though she was curious. When she handed Bram the drying cloth, she asked, ‘How are you going to free your brother?’

‘I don’t know yet. Perhaps we’ll raise an army. Or a ransom.’ He dried his face and chest before wrapping the cloth around his hips.

Ransom? Did he honestly believe that the English would accept his bribe and hand over his brother?

‘A ransom won’t work,’ she answered honestly. ‘They’ll seize your coins and keep Callum a prisoner.’

‘I’ll get him out, Nairna.’ The resolution in his voice spoke of a man who would keep his word, even if it meant his own death. He reached for his fallen clothing, retrieving something from his belongings that she couldn’t see.

‘I hope you do.’ She turned back to busy herself with his uneaten food, while he dressed in the new clothing. She didn’t know how to respond to him and it felt as if her life had been opened up and dumped upon the floor, like the spilled contents of a trunk.

She rested her hands upon the table, taking one breath, then another. Behind her, she heard Bram’s footsteps before he caught her around the waist, turning her to face him. His touch penetrated the rough wool of her gown, warming her skin. He held her imprisoned, his fingers spread apart beneath her ribcage. She met his eyes with her own and in his direct gaze, she felt her thoughts scatter.

‘He touched you, didn’t he?’ His breath moved against her cheek, sending spirals of heat through her skin. ‘He consummated your marriage.’

She gave a single nod and saw the tension within his jaw. But she couldn’t lie. Not about this.

She’d married Iver MacDonnell because he’d seemed like a reasonable match, even if she’d had no feelings towards him. At the age of eighteen, she’d wanted a family of her own, instead of remaining in her father’s house.

‘All those years,’ he murmured, ‘I was locked in chains and I dreamed of you. Only to find out that you wed someone else—’ His words broke off, his anger palpable.

Nairna felt her own hurt rising up. ‘I can’t go back and change the past, Bram.’ She straightened her spine, staring at him. ‘But I can leave it where it belongs and start again.’

He gripped her hands and the emptiness in his face made her feel as if she’d betrayed him. There weren’t any words to make it any easier.

Then his mouth came down upon hers. He kissed her to mark her as his own, as if punishing her for wedding another man.

Then, abruptly, it shifted to a softer embrace. The second kiss was as gentle as the first one he’d ever given her. With it, he reminded her of the years between them and the feelings she’d once held. He coaxed her to respond, taking her face between his hands.

Bram stared at her, his expression unreadable. ‘We’re leaving within a few hours, Nairna. Finish packing your belongings.’ He pressed something hard and cool into her hand.

And after he left her chamber, she opened her palm. Inside lay a grey stone, with streaks of rose quartz to make it sparkle. It was the same stone she’d given him upon their wedding day.

Nairna squeezed it in her hand, letting the tears fall.

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