Praise for Terri Brisbin:

‘A welcome new voice in romance…you won’t want to miss.’

—Bestselling author Susan Wiggs

SURRENDER TO THE HIGHLANDER

‘…a carefully crafted plot spiced with a realistic measure of deadly intrigue and a richly detailed, fascinating medieval setting.’

—Chicago Tribune

‘…a seductive, vivid love story.’—Romance Reviews Today

TAMING THE HIGHLANDER

‘…a lively, frolicking tale of life in the Highlands; truly a must-read.’

—Historical Romance Writers

THE COUNTESS BRIDE

‘The author uses a time in history that is fraught with war, deceit and uncertainty to move her characters into love, conflict and danger. Brisbin woos her readers with laughter and tears in this delightful and interesting tale of love.’

—RT Book Reviews

“Who is the Maid of Lorne and what does she desire?”

“I am a woman with no father and no family and no home to call her own. I am a woman who gave herself to her enemy. I am the Maid of Lorne no more.” Her voice shook in its desolation.

Sebastien walked up behind her. Reaching out, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her back against him. Lara did not pull away. He whispered in her ear.

“Do not despair, Lara.” The emptiness in her gaze unsettled him, and he acknowledged that he would rather face her anger or her confusion than this melancholy.

“You asked me once what I want. What does Sebastien of Cleish want? I want you, Lara. I want to hold you and feel your body as it heats to my touch. I want you to open to me and I want to fill you with myself.”

He took a step closer and she took one back. Finally he pulled her into his arms and kissed her the way he’d wanted to all night. Indeed, the way he’d wanted to since the night they were wed.

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.

Recent 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
Terri Brisbin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to my travel companions, Sue-Ellen Welfonder and Lisa Trumbauer, who said, on that fateful day in May 2002 as we drove down the western coast of Scotland, ‘Turn here and check out this castle—it’s called Dunstaffnage and Robert the Bruce took it from the MacDougalls.’

Thank you for being a part of my magical first trip to the Scottish Highlands and for introducing me to the special place that would inspire this story. Slainte!

I would also like to dedicate this book to my former agent, Linda Kruger of the Fogelman Agency. She retired from the business in February 2005 to tend to her family and, although I am not happy for me as I write this, I am very happy for her and those important people in her life.

Linda—thanks for your support through seven and a half years and twelve books!

Prologue

The 11th day of August

In the Year of Our Lord, 1308

The stench of blood and sweat and death permeated the air around the field. The victory here had assured Scotland’s embattled king that he would gain the foothold he needed in the west, and break the power of some of the more dangerous “lords of the isles.” Thinking to ambush his troops as they made their way toward the coast, the MacDougalls had underestimated his abilities and those of his supporters.

As he stood before the man who had handed him victory at the battle of Brander Pass that morning, the Bruce was covered in not a little blood. Robert smiled grimly.

“You have your orders, Sebastien. Carry them out. Those who will accompany you to Dunstaffnage know their duties and will support anything you do there in my name.”

His most trusted warrior and spy simply nodded as he always did, and turned to leave. Sebastien of Cleish had presented him with their enemy’s ambush plans and a clever strategy in response to it.

“Wed or dead by nightfall, Sebastien, and I’ll be wanting proof of either one.”

“Aye, sire. Wed or dead.” The warrior bowed to him and was already on his way out of the tent when he spoke the words.

Robert took a deep breath before calling his squire to help him undress. Dunstaffnage Castle, the MacDougall’s lands and his eldest daughter, the Maid of Lorne, would be within his grasp before the sun set this evening.

Chapter One

She’d closed the gates against him.

In spite of the messenger sent with the news of the Bruce’s victory over her father, she refused him entrance into Dunstaffnage Castle. Sebastien was definitely leaning toward the “dead” portion of his orders from the king as he sat outside the main gate. Letting out an exasperated breath, he motioned to one of the men surrounding the three sides of the castle facing the land, and nodded.

Peering up to the battlements, he could see the eldest daughter of John MacDougall watching his every move. He pushed the helm and mail off his head and waited for their weapon to be brought forward. His horse danced beneath him, probably feeling the strain of the battle of wills going on around it. Sebastien was certainly feeling it. With the glare of the sun behind her, he could not quite get a clear look at his adversary.

Hearing the noises behind him, he moved over a few paces so that their hostages were clearly visible to all watching from the upper levels of the castle. The commotion behind him increased and he watched as Lara MacDougall drew nearer to the edge of the crenellated wall and looked over. She grabbed hold of the stone as though she needed support.

If he’d been the one watching his younger siblings wrapped in chains and dragged by the heavily armed warriors of their deadliest enemy, he might react badly, too. The young boy and girl were also screeching loud enough to be heard by anyone within miles.

His quarry stepped back from the wall and he lost sight of her for a minute before she leaned out again. Sebastien could hear the argument going on, but could not make out the words. The only thing he could tell was that not everyone was in agreement with whatever she planned to do. He realized that he had not heard her voice yet, for earlier her steward had called out her responses to his demands.

“What are your terms?” she called now.

Sebastien laughed aloud before answering. “Terms? I will not kill these two if you open the gates immediately. Delay and I will not even promise that.” He dismounted and his squire ran forward to take control of the horse from him. “I am tired and not in good humor, lady. If you make me fight my way in, I also promise that you will bear the consequences.”

The air was filled with expectation as everyone waited. Sebastien had no doubt that she would order the gates open. Her brother and sister had told him that much on the ride here. They’d revealed that she’d always stood between them and danger, but this time, in trying to send them away from danger, she’d inadvertently placed them in the path of it.

Sebastien had been honest, though; he was tired and wanted to bring this to an end. He wanted nothing so much as a hot bath to rid himself of the odors and filth of battle and blood, and the sooner he got inside, the sooner he might have exactly that. Of course, depending on her actions, he might have one more messy task to accomplish for his king before he bathed.

She disappeared from the battlements and he heard her calling out orders as she ran. He put his helmet back on and mounted again, for it was better to face enemies well-armed and from the back of a horse than on the ground. With a wave of his hand, his men regrouped around him and the children were moved to the back, out of danger from misfired arrows or misguided men.

Would she feel humiliated when she discovered the truth of his treatment of her siblings? How would she react when he offered her the choice that Robert had demanded only hours ago—wed or dead? Now, after seeing her valiant efforts to defend her home, he was certain it would not be an easy thing to carry out her execution. He would, of course, if she did not consent to the marriage, but it would be more difficult than following other orders from the Bruce.

The scraping of wood and metal filled the air as the portcullis was raised and the gates pulled open. Then, with loud squealing, the drawbridge was lowered to the ground. Two guards marched forward with one woman between them. Sebastien was tempted to laugh again, but spared his adversary the humiliation. As if these two men could protect her against anything he wanted to do…The small group stopped after crossing the bridge and stepping onto the rocky ground surrounding the MacDougall fortress.

“Secure the castle,” Sebastien called out without ever lifting his gaze from her face. A troop of his men rode forward, the hooves of their horses clattering on the wood of the drawbridge.

She looked as though she wanted to say something, but hesitated. Now that he could see her features, he realized she was younger than he’d first thought. She wore a plain gown and had her blond hair pulled back and woven into a long thick braid. But the hautiness and arrogance of the MacDougall was etched on her face.

Sebastien dismounted once more and approached her. Her expression displayed a hint of fear as he drew near, and then she seemed to control it.

“How many years have you?” He scrutinized her face and form as he asked. ‘Twas difficult to tell from just looking. He reached up and removed the helmet he wore and pushed his hair and the mail over it back off his head.

“Enough to know that only one of the Bruce’s minions would use children as his shield…”

Her words drifted off as he dropped his helm and reached out to take hold of her face. Pulling her by her chin, he dragged her close enough so that only she could hear his words. Staring directly into her cold blue eyes, he clarified her new position so there would be no mistake.

“Speak carefully, lady. To insult me is to insult the Bruce. And he now rules Dunstaffnage—and you.”

Her face blanched and she reached up to pull his hand away. Although her touch sent shivers down his spine, the look of hatred in her eyes shocked him. Was it meant for him or for Robert? Sebastien released her and sent her stumbling back a few paces.

“I would see my brother and sister.” It was a demand, with no acceptance in her tone that he was the victor here.

“I think not.” They had business to conclude before he would surrender his leverage.

“You think to keep them prisoner? Will you throw them in the cell that opens to the ocean’s winds? Will you keep them wrapped in chains…?”

He grabbed her once more. She challenged him with every word she spoke and, in spite of a certain exhilaration he felt because of it, he could not allow that to happen. This time he used both hands to take her by the shoulders.

“Until we finish our business, you will go nowhere but where I take you, and do nothing that I do not tell you to do.”

He drew her closer until only inches separated their faces. Suddenly he was fighting an urge to kiss her instead of threaten her. Tamping down that desire, he gritted his teeth and forced out the words of his orders from the Bruce.

“The Bruce has taken your father prisoner and I hold your siblings and this castle for Robert. You have the choice of what happens to them.”

“I have the choice?” Her voice came out as a stuttering whisper. He could see the fear in her eyes now.

“You will be wed or dead by nightfall—it is up to you.”

All the color left her face and she looked as though she might faint. After a few moments, she spoke.

“Wed or dead? Who will carry out this sentence?”

“You will wed me or be dead by my hand, lady. Choose now.”

Lara MacDougall could not speak. As most of those living at Dunstaffnage knew, that did not happen often. She stared up at the face of her enemy and could not believe the words he had just said. Wed him or die? Today?

She shook her head, simply not able to comprehend the reasons behind his supposed orders from the Bruce. Pah! The Bruce? How dare he think he had the right to rule Scotland and especially this area! Her father had held power here for so long she could not remember it ever being any different. And who was this Sebastien of Cleish to think that he was deserving of the hand of the Maid of Lorne? Blinking, she shook her head again.

“Is that your answer? You would choose to die?”

He released her and she watched in horror as he stepped back and pulled a long sword from its sheath. His brows gathered in a mighty frown, but his intent was clear—her death. Before she could protest or say anything, the sounds of screaming emanated from the castle. Lara reacted as she always did when her family or people were threatened—she turned to run back inside to determine the reason. Could the Bruce’s men be killing those within? Her young maid and some cousins had remained inside when she’d left. Were they being attacked?

Her captor’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back against his body. She tore at his hands and called out her maid’s name, trying to get free, but the brute’s strength was impressive. He hardly even moved as she struggled. When she stopped for a moment, intending to try again, he took her braid in his fist and pulled her head toward his. His breath was hot against her neck and his words were just as heated.

“You will get back inside either as my wife or in a wooden box. No other way. Until you decide, you stay here.” She finally realized he meant what he said. She shivered in fear as the words sank in. Before she could think about her own situation, she must get his agreement to keep those inside safe during his stay here.

“But the women inside…? What is happening to them?” She almost feared asking the question, knowing what men in battle did to their enemies’ women afterward.

“They will not be harmed as long as they do not resist my control over the keep. That is more than I can say for your father’s methods of occupation.”

They stayed in this position for a few moments as she considered his words. At least alive she could continue to fight for her family. Alive, she could find a way to get her brother and sister away from Dunstaffnage and to the safety of her uncle’s lands. Alive, she would…have to marry a man who cared not if he took her as wife or took her head for the Bruce.

But she would be alive, and that was all that mattered now.

“I choose…” She struggled to get the words out. In her wildest imaginings and worst nightmares she had never pictured this as her future—married on the orders of her father’s bitterest enemy. What kind of life would she have to endure as this man’s wife?

He eased his hold of her and she turned to face him. Her gaze moved over his face and body. He was wellformed, with a warrior’s build. Although he was covered with sweat and blood, she could not see any signs of disfigurement or disease.

“I see no other way than to choose marriage to you.”

Lara did not know what she had expected as a response to her words, but the grunt and nod, followed by him walking off toward the chapel, was not it. He called out orders to those under his command who stood nearby as he strode away. When he realized that she remained where he had left her, he turned back to her.

“Come, lady. The priest awaits us in the chapel.” With barely a pause and a wave at her, he continued down the worn path toward the stone building set off some distance from the castle.

“Priest?” she called out. “Surely you do not mean to carry out the wedding ceremony now.” Lara put her fists on her hips and waited for him to answer.

Her question did stop his progress, for he turned back and walked to her. His long strides made her feel like a stalked animal. Lara forced herself to remain upright and to stay where she was. In a moment, he was towering over her.

“The priest is waiting now, and prepared for wedding or funeral.”

“You jest!”

“Nay, lady. If you walk in, we wed. If I carry your body, he says the Mass for the Dead. Now, does your choice stand?”

She would marry now, without family or friends to stand with her? Lara had envisioned a nicer ceremony and celebration to mark the occasion for the daughter of the MacDougall. Now, she would marry in her worn work gown, to a man covered in the blood of her clan.

“I said I would wed and I stand by my word.”

“Come, then. Father Connaughty will be pleased to see you walk in.”

The barbarian then had the nerve to hold out his arm to her. Looking about, seeing the soldiers surrounding her and noting that her people watched from some of the windows of the towers and from the gate, she pulled her courage around her and placed her hand on his arm. With her head held high, she walked at his side to her fate.

She had never believed that marrying for love was an option for her. In her position as the eldest daughter, she knew her marriage would be an alliance, but she had never considered that it would be a punishment.

Chapter Two

Like a pig destined for slaughter, she had been washed and seasoned and dressed. And all at the explicit orders of her husband. She had not, however, been fatted yet, for his orders were for the bedding to occur before the meal. In shock over hearing of the agreement between her father and the Bruce for her settlements and the disposition of the castle and the wealth she inherited from her mother, she’d listened to the rest of it with little interest.

Now, she stood staring into the fire in her chamber’s brazier, trying not to think about what would happen next. Oh, she knew about coupling with a man. Nothing much that happened between men and women was secret in clan life. But to have to do that with a complete stranger, a man who had barged into her life and who held in his grasp not only her life, but also the lives of her family and people, was difficult to contemplate.

But, it was out of her hands now. He held all the power. Whatever he ordered was done, either by those men who accompanied him here, or by her people, who had been told of his orders and his marriage to their laird’s daughter. Part of her, deep inside, would remain quiet and wait for a better time to fight back. And fight back she would.

The Bruce might hold Dunstaffnage for now, but there were ways to make certain that his possession was a temporary thing. Allies of her father were no doubt already planning how to recapture the castle and to free him. As the wife of the Bruce’s man here, she could get access to information that might help the fight against him and hasten the MacDougall’s return to his center of power.

“You look quite formidable when you frown like that, lady.”

His voice was deep and rich and it caused waves of unease to pass through her. Did her guilt show on her face? Clearing her thoughts, she turned to face her stranger husband.

Gone was the bloodied warrior she’d exchanged vows with in the chapel but an hour before. In his place was a handsome nobleman with his long brown hair pulled back from his face. Clothed in a long dressing robe as he was, she could see the long gash on his neck, now cleaned and sewn. Lara had noted his height when he had taken hold of her, so that was no surprise, but his piercing green eyes and strong chin and even smile were.

She looked up and realized that she had been gawking…and he had noticed. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her sweaty palms over her own robe.

“Although your maid said you preferred ale, I brought this wine to share with you. ‘Tis a gift from the Bruce to honor our marriage.”

The man walked toward her, carrying two goblets. Lara’s first instinct was to knock the cups from his hands, for drinking the Bruce’s wine would be an insult to those in her clan who had died this day. From the firm set of his chin, she knew that Sebastien would not tolerate that behavior from her. He had promised retribution against those she loved if she did not do as he told her, and she believed that he would seek it.

“I admire self-control.” He made a mock salute after handing her one of the goblets.

“I do not know what you mean, sir.” She lowered her gaze to the cup she now held.

“You wished to knock the wine from my hands at the mention of the Bruce. I am pleased that you exercised control over that wayward plan.”

“Am I so easy to discern?”

“Nay, lady. But as one who struggles with the same weakness, I recognize it quickly in others.” He stepped closer and guided her cup to her lips. “Try the wine before condemning it for its giver.”

Lara sniffed at the goblet, wondering if he had drugged it with some herb to make her more compliant for what he planned.

“Does the wine smell turned?” He sniffed at his own and frowned, then sipped it. “What think you wrong with it?” He gazed into her eyes, and then he nodded as he seem to read her thoughts once more. “You think I have drugged yours? To what purpose?”

Sebastien stepped back and took her wine. He drank deeply from it and then handed it back to her.

“If I want you dead or intend to strike at you, wife, you will see it coming. I do not hide behind the cowardly art of poison. You will know if…when you are my target.”

He turned from her and walked to the window in her chamber. Leaning an elbow on the frame, he stared out at the gathering dusk and drank the rest of his wine. Lara knew he was angry now. She saw it in his stance and in the way that the muscles of his neck tightened as he gritted his teeth.

“Sir, I meant no insult.”

He laughed and looked at her. “You think I would drug you into submission, and then say you insult me not?” His laugh turned sarcastic. “Lady, your barbs are like weapons and you wield them with amazing accuracy.”

Their gazes held this time and he moved closer to her. She knew that her actions determined his treatment of so many of her people. She could live through whatever he planned for her. She was a MacDougall and would not shirk from what needed to be done. If lying with this man was the price for her life and those of her siblings and father, she could do it.

Lifting her goblet to her mouth, she tilted it and drank the contents in one long swallow. Drops of wine collected on her lips when she lowered the cup, and she thought to lick them off, but his mouth was there first. Warm and firm, he pressed his lips to hers. As she felt the tip of his tongue slide over her mouth, and a heated pulsing begin to move through her, she pulled away.

“I know my duty, sir. I do not need your wine to ease my way in this.” If he did not like subterfuge, he would get none from her in this matter. The quicker done the better; once bedded and their vows sealed, she would finally see her brother and sister…if he kept his word. “I will not fight you.”

Lara handed him back the goblet and walked to the side of her bed. At first, she thought to climb on top. But, if they lay on the thick woolen covers, the sign needed to prove consummation would not be apparent. So she tugged the blankets out of the way and climbed on the fine linen sheets that covered her bed. Careful to gather her robe about her, she lay down and closed her eyes.

And she waited.

No sound filled the chamber except the crackling of the wood in the brazier. She was certain he could hear her heart pounding in her chest. Still, he made no move or any sounds. Lara felt the tension grow inside of her. It was difficult to breathe and her skin tingled as the coolness of the room penetrated the thin material of the dressing gown she wore. She longed to pull the thick layer of blankets over her, but she did not.

And still she waited.

She was beautiful and intelligent and proud. She was loyal to her people and she was a skilled tactician in her own right. And she was his now.

And she was terrified.

Oh, his wife would never admit to it, but he could read that in her gaze and in her stance when he entered the room. It was obvious to him until she gathered her self-control and banished the fleeting glimpse of terror within those deep blue eyes. Then, to his surprise, she climbed onto the bed and placed herself like the sacrifice she was on the pristine white sheets. Although what he must do would embarrass her, he would rather not have to humiliate her before her people and the Bruce’s men.

He liked the challenges that she presented to him at every step of the way. Sebastien could not let them go unmet, but he learned more about her and the way her mind worked every time she resisted him and his orders.

Sebastien walked the few steps to the bed and gazed down at Lara. Her form was certainly pleasing to him. The dressing gown hid little from his eyes, and her position offered an enticing view of her lush breasts and shapely legs. Her blond hair spilled around her like waves, on the pillows and the bedcovers, tempting him to feel it and smell it. Bedding her would be no hardship to him. Catching a glimpse out the window at the sun as it moved toward the sea, he knew he had little time to dawdle at the task.

Sebastien untied his robe and let it drop to the floor. He sat next to her on the bed, forcing her to move.

“Sir, you may use the other side,” she squeaked as she looked through lowered lashes at him. “You are naked!”

“I will take the side nearest the door, Lara. Move now.”

He did laugh as she scrambled across the bed and positioned herself as far away from him as possible, all without looking directly at him. He granted her the reprieve of pulling up a sheet to cover them, and then he reached over and grabbed her hand.

“Now, wife, come closer.”

He slowly pulled her nearer to him until she lay next to him, her soft robe touching his leg. Sebastien reached down and untied the belt holding it together and tugged it free. She began to struggle as she realized his intent, but he paused.

“I intend no ravishment this evening, Lara. If you follow my lead, you may find the joy that exists in the joining of a man and a woman.”

“I have no choice in this, sir. You are stronger than I and can force your will on me whenever you choose to. You hold my family as prisoners and use my actions to decide their fates. And you say this is not taking me against my will?”

Her voice shook as she spoke the words. She was correct—she had no choice. But then, neither did he. He had never forced himself on any woman, and doing it now would surely make her his enemy. But, more important to him at this moment, he had never disobeyed an order from the Bruce. Preserving her dignity was one thing, but his orders were not for discussion.

“If you let me begin, I will give you as much choice in this as I can.”

She leaned away and looked at him, suspicion in every part of her expression and emanating from the depths of her ice-blue eyes.

“Then I choose to go down to dinner now.”

Sebastien laughed and pulled her into his arms. He tucked her head under his chin and held her still. “There will be time for eating when we finish here.”

When she lifted her head to reply, he stopped her with a kiss. Sebastien slid his hands down to her hips and pulled her against him, allowing her to feel the reaction of his body to her nearness. He tasted her surprise, but continued to caress her back and bottom even as he deepened the kiss. With smooth movements, he spread her long hair out over them. Then he slipped her robe off her shoulders and pushed it away.

The shock of her heated skin against his made him harden even more. He knew that she felt him and his readiness and knew it for what it was. He slid his hands up and held her mouth on his, moving his tongue over her lips and then inside, touching the tip of hers. He imitated what the other part of his body would do soon, and was pleased at the sound of her breathlessness.

She had made no move of her own, so he guided her arms around his neck. Her breasts now pressed against his chest and her hips cradled his erection. He paused to let her become familiar with the feeling of body touching body. His skin was on fire and the need to touch her more intimately grew until he could no longer resist it.

Sebastien turned them over until she was on her back, and he stroked her face and then her neck. Lara tensed as his hands moved lower. Her breasts tingled and ached as his fingers glided over her skin, moving ever downward from her neck to her breasts and stomach and lower still.

She really wanted to push him off and make him stop, but part of her was enticed by his touch. And that part of her shamed the rest of her for her compliance in her own seduction. He lifted her chin until their gazes met, and then he stared with a frightening intensity at her as his touch became more and more insistent. When his hand reached the curls at the juncture of her thighs, her body reacted on its own, tightening and arching against his hand.

Heat and wetness poured from the aching place between her legs, but she wanted to beg him to remove his hand. As though he sensed her doubts, he leaned over her once more and kissed her until she nearly forgot the truth between them. She was the Maid of Lorne, eldest daughter of the MacDougall. She had duties to her clan and this seducer could not sway her from them.

Her resistance lasted but a moment, until his fingers slid into the place that ached for his touch. Her legs opened to him and he used his hand to tease and ready her for more. Throbbing waves pulsed throughout her body until she thought she might burst. The groan that escaped her seemed to encourage him, for he knelt between her thighs and used his mouth and hands to ensorcell her more.

When his mouth covered the taut tip of her breast, even as his hand moved inside her to touch someplace unknown to her, she did moan. He suckled on her harder and rubbed the engorged fullness between her legs faster until she did begin to scream. Covering her mouth with his and capturing her sounds, he placed himself over the throbbing place and pushed his hardness into her. A moment of stretching was followed by one of stinging and then she was simply filled with him.

He stopped and she forced her eyes to open and look at him. Sweat covered his brow and his upper lip and she could feel the moist weeping where he lay between her thighs.

“Wife,” he whispered as he began to move again, pushing in to stretch her with his fullness, and then withdrawing. Some new tension built within her; the need to arch against him and to scream out his name increased with every one of his thrusts. Lara fought not to surrender, but her body betrayed her. Under his expert control, he drew her moans and took her to the height of excitement. She felt him grow larger and harder and then, as his body tensed over her, she lost any ability to think at all. She could only feel—feel him filling her, feel herself thrumming with pleasure, feel her loss of control as she reached for what he offered. Matching his groan, she let go and followed where he led. He filled her with his seed and then they collapsed together, out of breath and covered in the sweat and smell of passion.

Minutes passed and neither spoke as their breathing returned to what it should be. Unsure now of what to do or say, Lara simply waited for him to move off her. It was the knock on her door that spurred him into action.

“Sebastien, ’tis time.” A man’s deep voice carried through the door to them.

Sebastien said nothing in response, but he rolled away from her and stood next to the bed. He tugged the ends of the top sheet from under the thick mattress and wiped himself off on it. Lara felt the heat of a blush in her cheeks at the sight of her blood on his member, but his next action completely surprised her.

He eased her legs apart and cleaned up the maiden’s blood and spent seed from between her thighs. He would not meet her gaze. Mayhap he was sparing her embarrassment of such a task? Once he finished wiping her, he held out her robe to her and helped her from the bed. Pulling his own robe back on, he tugged on the sheet until it came free, and carried it to the door of her chamber. She watched in horror as he opened the door halfway and handed the bloodied sheet to the man outside.

“Show this downstairs to those who must see it and then take it immediately to the Bruce. Tell him it is the Maid of Lorne’s blood, shed by me as he ordered.”

Shock and humiliation filled her even as she still felt the remnants of pleasure’s grip. She had not mattered to him. Even as he worked her body for the desired response, he had not been thinking of her, but of his king and his orders. As she betrayed her clan with her surrender to passion in his arms, he had used her to complete a mission from his king.

The gentleness he had shown her was simply a means to an end, and she had been beguiled by his soft words and touches. Pulling herself to stand, she wrapped her robe around her and picked up the belt from the ground where it lay. He stood near the door watching her, but he refused to meet her gaze. Finally, his words broke the silence.

“I will wait dinner for you in the hall. Get dressed and join me there.”

Then he was gone and the sound of the door closing released her from her reverie. Even as she collapsed on the floor and sobbed for all that had been lost that day, she vowed to herself that she would not fail her people again.

Chapter Three

Not one to prevaricate once he’d made a decision, Sebastien surprised himself by standing outside the bedchamber door and wondering if he’d handled things well enough. Orders, especially from his king, were orders, in spite of the fact that many times the Bruce allowed him to decide the method of implementation.

When innocents were involved, Sebastien preferred guile over bloodshed, seduction over force and negotiations over murder. When facing his enemies, there were no such alternatives. When dealing with women outside his bed, no rules or reason seemed to work.

Now, listening to the sobbing inside the chamber, Sebastien knew he would not be able to handle his wife in the same manner as he had handled everyone in his life before this day.

Leaning back against the cold stone wall, he remembered the moment of her surrender. In an instant he’d felt her resistance melt away and her stiff body soften under his hands and mouth. Knowing she was untried and nervous, he’d used his experience against her innocence, and bedded her without force. Consummating the marriage was no chore and had brought both of them pleasure, so why did it weigh on his mind so much now?

Shaking off this introspection, Sebastien nodded to the guard posted at the door and walked back toward the chamber that he was using on a temporary basis. A form separated from the shadows in the corner of the corridor and he tensed for a moment. Then he recognized the red-haired young woman as Lara’s maid.

“Sir,” she said, nodding her head in an unsuccessful attempt at obeisance. Anger flashed in her dark eyes as she met his gaze, and showed in the set of her chin. Anger?

“What is your name?” He stepped closer, forcing her to look up at him. He was a master at this game.

“Margaret,” she said. No “sir” this time.

Did she not realize the precarious position she was in? He held her life and the lives of everyone in this keep in his hands and could order her death at any moment. Then he noticed that her own hands, clasped tightly before her, trembled slightly. Good. She was worried.

“What do you want, Margaret?”

Before she could speak, an older woman reached her side and then moved to stand in front of her, as if to protect the maid from him. The sound of running followed, and a moment later, his man François rounded the corner and stopped before him.

“Your pardon, sir,” he began, out of breath from hurrying. “I did not realize this one had slipped from the hall.”

François took hold of Margaret’s arm and tugged her away, obviously intent on dragging her back to where Sebastien had ordered all of Lara’s people to stay. Another guard arrived, took hold of the other woman and awaited his orders.

“I would see my lady,” Margaret called out to him, struggling with François and slipping from his grasp. “Sir, I beg you…”

Somehow he knew the cost of her words, and he held up his hand to halt his men. The two women moved closer and Sebastien waited for their explanation.

“I would see my lady,” Margaret repeated.

“You will see her, girl. She will arrive in the hall for the meal in a short time.”

He had not thought that faces could pale as quickly as theirs did then. All of the color in their cheeks drained and they looked at each other in dread.

“Who are you and why are you here against my orders?” he asked, pointing at the older one.

“I am called Gara, sir.” She showed the wisdom of her age and bowed her head to him. “I served the MacDougalls as a healer, sir.” She raised her head and gazed at him, but did not challenge him as the maid had.

A healer? Now he saw their purpose and their mistake.

“The lady needs no healer, Gara. Go back and take this one with you to await Lara’s arrival in the hall.”

Margaret broke free at that moment and ran to him. Slamming her fists ineffectually against his chest, she cried out, “Is it not enough that you have shamed her before her people? Must you now add to her humiliation by forcing her to face them before her blood on that sheet is even dried?”

François reached her before she could say anything else, grabbed her by her hair and forced her to her knees on the floor. Sebastien looked at Gara and knew now what they thought had happened. Startled by Margaret’s words and her vehemence, he first thought to explain, but realized he owed them nothing. He was the victor here, not they.

“Release her,” he ordered. “Go back to the hall now.”

When the maid looked as though she would argue, Gara grabbed her arm and pulled her along the corridor, whispering harshly as they moved.

“I want no other MacDougalls in this tower, François. Not without my orders.”

His men bowed and retraced their path away from him. Alone once more, he turned back to his chamber and entered it. It took no more than a few minutes for him to ready himself for the meal—his only clean surcoat and mail replaced the robe, which had been a gift from the Bruce. A warrior did not have many wardrobe choices and his trunks had not yet caught up to him. His squire, Philippe, fretted over him and then followed him down the corridor and stairs, into the hall and up to the chair set in the middle of the table on the dais.

Sebastien noticed the silence in the room. Then he observed the divide among those present—the few remaining MacDougalls off to one side, restricted to sharing one long table, and his men spread out through the rest of the hall. The MacDougalls watched him with open suspicion, while his men toasted him and his accomplishments openly.

He did not expect it to be a comfortable first night in his newly conquered keep, but he had not anticipated the overt and palpable mood of anger and uncertainty. When a few of his soldiers called out bawdy comments about his bedding of the Maid of Lorne, and the rumbling began to bubble up among the crowd, he knew he had underestimated the situation, after all. From the belligerent expressions on the faces of the MacDougalls he knew that war would break out anew if he brought Lara here now.

Motioning to one of the guards, he gave new orders about visitations to his wife and sent the man off. Then, with a word to Philippe, he climbed the dais and sat at the table that had so recently hosted his enemy.

Security was his first concern, and seeing the keep and those in it under his firm control his first priority. It mattered not to him if some here thought he saved their lady some embarrassment. If it helped gain their compliance, all the better.

Guile over bloodshed.

Without the distraction of his wife in the hall, Sebastien finished his meal quickly and then called his commanders to make plans for holding Dunstaffnage and moving forward with the Bruce’s battle plans to take the west of Scotland.

Her nose itched.

Lara ignored it for as long as she could before opening her eyes to face this new day. Untangling the layers of her cloak from over her arms, she could finally reach up and rub the irritation away. It would not be so easy to rid herself and her clan of the invaders who now held her home and her siblings in their grasp.

Light poured in through the opening in the wall, and she tried to loosen muscles that were stiff from sitting rigidly through the night. After Margaret and Gara’s short but welcomed visit, she’d dragged her father’s chair to the farthest corner of the chamber and fallen asleep there.

She would not lie waiting for him in the bed where he had…they had…And she would not face him in any manner but fully dressed and ready to defend herself from anything else he’d planned. The necessary requirements for him to prove his claim had been made, and she did not intend to share his bed again.

From Margaret, Lara had discovered that her sister and brother were being held, apparently safely for the moment, in a chamber with several of the younger women who had remained in the keep. On Lord Sebastien’s orders, no one had been accosted or harmed.

Pushing off her cloak, Lara stretched out her arms and tried to release the tightness between her shoulders. Looking around the room, she saw so many reminders of her father.

No word of his end had reached her. Neither of the other women had news of it, nor had they heard Sebastien’s soldiers talk of it. Had he died in battle? Had it been at the Bruce’s hands, or at those of the man who had gone on to spill her blood, as well? A shudder racked her at the thought of her actions in the arms of this enemy. Pray God, her father had not learned of how she’d lost the castle and her honor to this man.

The growing noises in the corridor drew her from her thoughts, and she took up a position against the wall where the shadows hid her from anyone entering the room. The door opened with a bang as two men and then another two carried in large wooden chests and placed them along one wall.

The procession continued, with furniture and trunks being brought in and others being taken out, all without even a single man glancing in her direction. In a short time, the room had been transformed from her father’s into someone else’s. After the servants left, she peeked inside the storage boxes to see what kind of possessions Sebastien carried with him, and was surprised to find some of her own belongings in the unfamiliar chests.

Searching through to discover what was there, she never heard him enter.

“Fear not. Your belongings are all present.”

Lara stood and backed away from the trunks. The nobleman was gone; the warrior stood before her now in his battle armor, with his sword at his side and his helm under his arm.

“I did not accuse you of stealing my gowns,” she began. The thought had crossed her mind, but common sense held back any words of blame.

“This is our chamber now and your things have been brought here. I ordered your belongings searched for any weapons first, so that is the cause for the disarray.”

He pointed at the one nearest her, the one she’d been searching, and she realized that Margaret’s neat work was completely undone. Anger grew within Lara, but the cold look on his face and the set of his chin stopped her from protesting.

“Did he die at your hands?”

She blurted out the words before she had even thought of asking him. Lara clasped her hands together and prepared for the news.

“I would not kill a child,” he whispered through clenched teeth. His own hand moved to the hilt of his sword and grasped it. Now, both horror and anger shone from his eyes at the misunderstood accusation. “Your brother is safe, as is your sister. They will be brought to you soon.”

“No, no,” she stuttered, shaking her head. “I did not mean Malcolm. I was speaking of…I would know my father’s fate.” Lara held her breath, wondering if his words would give her any measure of comfort at all.

“Your father lives, Lara. Although he dishonored himself and all of you by breaking his truce, his life has been spared.”

She let out a shaky breath and shook her head. “I did not think the Bruce would let him live. I did not think any of us would survive if the Bruce took the Pass.”

“Ah, so you know of the battle then?” Sebastien took a few steps toward her and she realized she had erred in bringing up yesterday’s battle. “Did you know of your father’s plans to ambush our forces while still under the flag of truce?” Another step and she was forced to tilt her head back. “Did you know of his negotiations with Edward of England to hold this place in that king’s name?”

Lara swallowed and then swallowed again, the lump in her throat tightening and preventing her from speaking, which may have been a good thing since she did know all of those things. She knew almost everything about her father’s battle plans and his intention to rule in this area on behalf of the English king. Her father had no faith that the Bruce was rightful king of Scotland, or of his abilities to gather all of the clans under one banner.

This man would use that information against her and her family. She knew that from nothing more than the hardened gaze of his eyes.

“I am but a mere woman, sir,” she said, tilting her head in what she hoped was an appropriate manner when acquiescing.

Silence filled the space between them for a moment that stretched on and on, finally broken by his sarcastic laugh. Startled, she met his gaze now and found no humor there.

“Others may believe that tale, but they did not face you on the battlements. Believe this, lady—I will keep my back protected when it comes to dealing with you.”

Though secretly pleased at his words, she reacted to the insult within them. “As will I when dealing with you.”

He examined her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and then met her gaze. She thought his lips might twitch into a smile, but they turned downward into a grimace instead.

“Just so, lady.”

He stepped away now and she felt the moment of confrontation end. He switched his helm to his other hand and pointed at one of the trunks.

“The Bruce will be here shortly. Prepare yourself and come to the hall so that you can be presented to him.”

“I would rather not meet that…” There were so many ways she could describe the man Sebastien followed—worm, despoiler, murderer—that she could not choose which to say. Settling on a simple one, she pushed it through clenched teeth. “…bastard.”

Sebastien’s move was so swift, she did not see him until their faces were inches apart and he held her chin in his hand, his tight grip becoming painful as she fought against it.

“You will meet the king when he calls for you,” he whispered in an ominous voice. “And you will do nothing but bow your head and hear his words. Do not speak to anyone. Do not dare to address him other than to answer a question, and take care when you select your words.”

“I…” She tried to argue with his pronouncement, but his next statement not only stopped her but chilled her heart.

“The Bruce may hold your father responsible for your actions, but I will hold you and your siblings hostage for your good behavior. Disobey me in this and you will all suffer the consequences.”

The part of her that could not believe he would harm a child was not so certain when hearing his menacing tone of voice. Her gaze met his and she nodded slightly.

“He will be here anon. Ready yourself.”

This time he did not wait for her answer, turning abruptly and leaving the room. The now ever-present guard reached for the door and pulled it closed.

A clamor in the yard gained her attention and she looked out to see what was happening. A large contingent of armed men, led by the only man it could have been—the Bruce—entered through the gates in the wall, to the boisterous cheering of those watching. Lara shivered at what this man represented.

An end to her family’s dominance in Lorne. An end to her family itself, since she knew that the Bruce would not allow her father to remain here. An end to everything she had done and to the person she was.

Shaking herself from such thoughts, Lara knew that her behavior this day would determine her brother and sister’s fate. Not ready to trust Sebastien of Cleish’s words or his actions, she decided to comply with his orders. Once she learned her family’s fate, she could make plans to escape.

Chapter Four

“Sire!”

Lara heard Sebastien’s deep voice call out as she reached the doorway of the keep, and as she watched, he went down on one knee before the Bruce. Everyone in the yard stopped their actions and followed Sebastien’s lead, all except for her. Clutching the cold stone at her back, she tried to calm the growing terror within her about what was to come.

Robert the Bruce slid off his horse and approached Sebastien, grasping him by the shoulders and pulling him to his feet. After the customary kiss, the Bruce whispered words only Sebastien could hear. Unease pricked her as they both turned to face her. More whispered words took place between them and then the Bruce held up his hand and waved to the guard at the gate.

’Twas lucky for her that she stood against the stone doorway, for when her father was brought forward, beaten bloody and in chains, she nearly fell to her knees. The steely look in his eyes, a look that spoke of control and unbowed resistance, warned her to do nothing. The Bruce, Sebastien and her father climbed to the top of the stairway and faced those gathered before them.

Strangers filled the place. Lara recognized only a handful of the men and a very few women, those from the kitchen and a few villagers, there among the Bruce’s soldiers. Lara now clenched her hands in front of her to keep from trembling as she waited to hear her father’s, and her own, fate.

“I give thanks to God Almighty for having delivered us from our enemies,” the Bruce called out in a booming voice. “With His intervention, the perfidy of the MacDougalls did not succeed.”

Loud yelling and clapping followed his words, and Lara felt the soldiers’ anger at her clan wash over her as though it were something tangible. She began to stumble, until an armored hand slid under her elbow to steady her. Sebastien stood at her side.

“The MacDougalls have been scattered. Their castle and lands are now ours in the name of Scotland!”

Lara’s stomach began to churn as the Bruce turned and looked at her. In his cold gaze, she could read his satisfaction at being in control here and now. A shiver tore down her spine and fear at what was about to happen drew a tight grip around her throat.

“The Maid of Lorne has been claimed and the blood shed in her claiming declares that she, too, is ours.” The Bruce nodded to one of the soldiers near him, and the sheet proclaiming her surrender was unfurled and displayed for all to see. The cheering was unbearable for her.

She wanted to shrivel up and die at that moment. If her father had not known, now he did, as did everyone listening. Her chest tightened and her eyes burned as she fought to stay on her feet. Had Sebastien told of how she’d given in instead of fighting him off? If her father knew that she had indeed surrendered body and soul to the enemy, he would kill her himself. If the Bruce knew, he would use it against her and to humiliate her father even more than his presence and condition did now.

The moment while she waited to hear the words that would damn her in her clan’s eyes stretched on forever. Gathering her courage from deep within, she looked at the Bruce. She was a MacDougall and would face her fate and not cringe from it.

“To prevent any resistance to our claims on this land, the children of the MacDougall will be held hostage for his behavior. The MacDougall swore a sacred oath to leave this land for England, never to return, and his children’s lives were pledged as a surety on that oath.”

She could not have prevented her gasp from escaping if she’d tried. News of this oath, this new truce that would protect her father’s life at the cost of hers and her brother’s and sister’s, shocked her to her core. Although she could feel herself trembling, she could not stop it. He could not have given them over with no effort to free them, could he?

Two soldiers took her father’s arms and dragged him down the steps to a horse that had been led forward. Realizing that she would most likely not see him again, she escaped Sebastien’s grasp, rushed down the steps and clutched at her father’s leg as he now sat astride the horse.

“Papa?” she cried out. “Papa!”

Part of her felt the terror of a small child being abandoned. Horror filled another part of her at his willingness to barter his children for his own safety. But the larger part of her simply wanted to know why.

Her father leaned down and loosened her fingers from where they encircled his leg. Under his breath, he whispered a few words to her. “Look to your uncle now.”

Lara leaned back and stared at him, hoping for something more, but he used his foot to push her away. Stumbling back, she landed in the dirt, and she could only watch in horror and humiliation as her father denied her before their foe.

“You opened the gates to our enemy and then gave yourself and your brother and sister into their hands. They could never have taken the castle, girl,” he said through clenched teeth, his voice sharp and biting. Then he spat on the ground next to where she lay and turned his face and gaze away from her as though she did not merit his attention.

Sebastien swore under his breath at his own stupidity. He should have foreseen the MacDougall’s reaction when faced with his daughter’s fate. The old man was hard, harder and colder than anyone else he knew, so his act of rejection against Lara should have not have caught him unawares. Sebastien strode down the steps and grasped her by the arm, lifting her to her feet. Obviously in shock, she did nothing to help or hinder his efforts to raise her up and bring her to his side.

She made no sound, although tears streamed down her cheeks. He was tempted to wipe them away, but he had other matters to handle. The MacDougall and his armed guards galloped through the gates toward the south, and Sebastien turned his attentions back to his king.

“Sebastien of Cleish will hold this fortress until I decide the fate of Dunstaffnage and the lands surrounding it.” Sebastien had been prepared for that assignment, but clenched his teeth as he thought on the Bruce’s most effective means of controlling an area—destruction of the castle and scattering the people. So the next words surprised him. “He will also serve as commander of my troops in this area, answering only to me.”

The cheers began with his own men and spread throughout the soldiers in the yard, on the battlements and near the gate. Sebastien had earned his way through the ranks, not inheriting titles or honors or command by his name, and not being held back due to the lack of one, either. His success meant much to the average soldier about the opportunities in serving the Bruce.

“Come, Sebastien. We have much to discuss before I leave this day.”

Sebastien could sense how unsteady Lara was, and felt reluctant to release her. Nodding to the Bruce, he turned to find Lara’s serving woman. The King’s next words rang out before he could find her.

“And assign someone to ready the MacDougall’s heir to leave with me.”

Sebastien had not yet told Lara of the Bruce’s plan to take her brother and sister from Dunstaffnage. Although he could not argue it here, he opposed the king’s plan. Lara’s scream and her lunge at the king limited his options.

Tightening his grip on her arm until she gasped, he drew her close and warned her in low tones, “Do nothing to anger the king or your siblings will pay the cost.”

She looked at him, and such hatred poured from her gaze that he nearly let her slip from his hold. Nearly. “Do nothing but what I tell you,” he whispered harshly while releasing her and pushing her toward the guard who approached from behind her. “See to your lady,” he ordered.

She regained her feet as the guard caught up to her, and she looked as though she would disobey his orders. For a moment, he waited. Then she became a different person before his eyes. Straightening her back and shoulders, Lara shook off the guard’s hand and nodded to Sebastien. When her maid reached her side, they walked into the keep with the guard trailing their steps.

Sebastien let out a silent but relieved sigh, knowing the battle he’d just won. And then he took in a deep breath as he faced the next one, this time with his king. Gathering his wits about him, Sebastien led the way into the hall, where food and drink awaited them and where he would try to prevail upon the king in the matter of the children.

Lara tried to take no notice of the pitying glances from some of those standing in the corridors of the keep as she walked by them. Margaret grumbled and fretted all the way along the stone passageway, and it only made Lara feel worse. Powerless in the same hallways where just a day ago she’d given the orders, she forced herself to focus on the most important of her problems—the Bruce’s plan to take her brother and sister from the castle.

A shiver chilled her bones as the realization of what usually became of hostages struck her. The Bruce’s own wife and daughter were paying the cost of his sins. What would he do now that he controlled the MacDougall’s heir—both in name and body?

She stopped halfway up the stairs leading to her—their—chambers, and knew she must first discover more and then make plans to get her siblings out of Dunstaffnage to safety. It was imperative that their position as hostages be nullified if her clan was to act against the Bruce.

“Milady?” Margaret asked, stepping between Lara and the guards. “Are you well?”

Lara paused and decided that she needed to hear any discussions between Sebastien of Cleish and his king. The best place for that was in the small chamber next to the stairs leading to the kitchens below. Every unguarded word could be heard there.

In as haughty a tone as she dared, she looked down her nose at the guards and her maid. “I have forgotten my needles in the steward’s closet, Margaret. I will get them before we retire to my chambers.”

With a glare that spoke much, she stopped any arguments or offers Margaret might have made, and turned back down the steps. One of the guards began to argue with her and she glared at him as well.

“Did your lord say that I was a prisoner to be kept in my chambers? Did he say I could not come and go as I pleased?” Not giving the young man time to think on it, she pushed her way around him and strode confidently toward the kitchen stairs.

They followed her, of course, and when they arrived outside the room, she waved her maid off. “I will find them myself, Margaret. Wait here with the guards.”

To his credit, one of the soldiers insisted on peering into the room, most likely looking for other ways out. Once satisfied with his findings, he stepped back and allowed her to enter. Lara closed the door and then climbed around the trunks stored there to reach the farthest wall—the one made of wood, through which sounds could pass.

“It is not like you to argue with me, Sebastien. Especially on something so inconsequential as these children.”

“And it is not like you, sire, to take children as hostages. After…” He paused, probably hesitant to mention the treatment of the Bruce’s kith and kin. “You swore that you would not answer in kind against the innocent what has been done to your own. This boy has not even reached the same age as—”

A loud bang, like her father’s fist on the table, interrupted Sebastien’s words. “Do not think to tell me how to act!” The Bruce’s voice deepened. “Lorne has forsworn his oath before. I will take no chances—”

To her surprise, Sebastien interrupted his king again. “Sire, hear me before you decide.”

Lara pressed her ear to the wall so as to not miss anything said. The fate of her half brother and sister lay in the argument in the next room, and she needed to hear it.

“You will be riding hard, and those two, with maids and escorts, will be a distraction to you. Let them stay here, where I will keep them secure until you send for them or until you need them no more. Keeping them here might make the MacDougall think before attacking the castle.”

Lara heard someone pacing across the dais, heavy footsteps moving back and forth. Her heart raced, yet she could not breathe, waiting for the decision about her siblings.

“It might make this castle a target for attack if he thinks he can free them and then be free of his oath and truce with me.”

“Ah, but sire, Dunstaffnage is impregnable, as we both know.”

The rumbling of male laughter unnerved her and she stepped away from the wall. ‘Twas true. Dunstaffnage had never fallen in battle or in siege—its position high on the rock cliffs gave it a great advantage, with the sea guarding its back. That same rock under its foundations made it impossible for tunnels to be dug to undermine its walls. So it had stood against all enemies…until she had opened the gates. Her stomach churned as she realized that only through her stupidity was Dunstaffnage in the Bruce’s control now. Shaking her head in denial, she stumbled back, landing hard against the wooden crates near her.

Her father had given her instructions to keep everyone inside and not open the gates to anyone. In attempting to get Malcolm and Catriona to safety, she had failed him. They had been captured, giving the enemy the key to the castle, and turning them all over to the Scots rebels. She had lost their home and their clan to the Bruce.

“Milady?” Margaret knocked lightly on the door as she opened it a bit. “Have you found them?”

Shaking herself from the remorse now threatening to overwhelm her, Lara moved around the trunks to the center of the room. Margaret opened the door fully, and the guards stepped to either side of the entrance.

“I did not. Mayhap they are in my chambers, after all.”

Without even a glance at Margaret or the guards, Lara strode down the corridor to the stairway that led to her chambers. She needed to be alone to face the awesome mistake she’d made. A guard rushed ahead to open her door, and once more leaned into the room to check for…she knew not what. The keep was secured and completely under the control of the Bruce’s followers. The only ones left of her clan were herself, the children and, from what she’d witnessed in the yard, a few servants in the keep and stables. Certainly no threat to the Bruce or to his new warden, her husband.

The guard offered a slight bow, more a tilt of his head, and then he retreated into the corridor to join the other man. When Margaret began to enter, Lara waved her off. She needed to be alone before the staggering consequences of her actions overtook her.

Margaret backed out, uncertainty filling her expression, and then the door closed. Lara lunged to the shuttered window and pushed it open. The breeze off the sea poured in, and what had once soothed her fears and restlessness now taunted her. Her childhood home was in the hands of the enemy, her father exiled and hating her for it. Her brother and sister were alive for the moment, but their fate now rested with the usurper king and his minions.

As if her thoughts had conjured them, she watched the two men—Robert the Bruce and Sebastien of Cleish—walk down the steps and mount their horses. What were they about? What decision had they made about the children? Standing on her toes and looking through the yard, she saw no sign that the king was taking them. Mayhap he had changed his mind?

Tempted to call out, Lara found her gaze captured by the sight of Sebastien on his horse. Just as he neared the gate, he turned back and his eyes met hers. Even from this far she could see his nod to her, and she puzzled over the meaning of it. Then he put his helmet on and followed the Bruce through the gate and out of Dunstaffnage.

If only it were as easy for her to leave.

“They will be your prisoners then, until I summon them.”

“My thanks, sire,” Sebastien said, nodding at the Bruce.

“I still do not comprehend why you would want their custody. From what I have seen and heard, both from you and from her father, controlling your new wife will be task enough for you.”

Had the king read his thoughts? Sebastien met Bruce’s gaze and saw the teasing within it. Robert did not take Lorne’s daughter seriously, but Sebastien would not make that same mistake. After speaking to most of the prisoners and those servants who remained behind, he knew that Lara MacDougall had managed the castle in her father’s stead many times. She knew the defenses, the provisions, the number of soldiers needed to hold it and how long it could stand under siege.

“Is that why you gave her to me? A challenge to keep me busy while you have fun cavorting all over Scotland?”

Surely the king knew he would chafe under these new restrictions, staying here instead of being in Robert’s vanguard of warriors during the important campaigns of the next months and year. The battles they faced, to claim the west of Scotland, while the Bruce’s allies took and held the east, would determine the fate of them all. And staying here, tied in one place, was not how Sebastien saw himself and his battle skills being best used.

“It is imperative that this castle and this coast be held, Sebastien. I can trust very few to see to that. I know you view this as some kind of limitation, but you have my utmost confidence in this.”

When said thusly, how could he argue or secondguess the king? Knowing when to hold his tongue, he simply nodded once more and watched the Bruce dismount. Sebastien had won the argument he’d wanted to this day—the children would remain. Accepting that it would be the only one, he nodded in agreement.

“I also need you to make arrangements for the gathering at Kilcrenan next week,” Robert said quietly. He looked from side to side to make certain his words could not be heard, then he continued, “I need the counsel of all of my best men before embarking on what I hope is the final campaign to take Scotland back from our enemies.”

“I understand, sire,” Sebastien answered.

Robert had chosen a village to the south as the site of his “parliament,” where his nobles would plan the next offensives. Its location was a secret closely guarded by a very few. If the Bruce’s enemies knew of it, it could be devastating to those who fought for him.

“Well, you had best return to the castle,” the king said, walking to him and extending his arm. Sebastien leaned over the horse’s side and returned the gesture.

“I still think you should stay in Dunstaffnage, Sire. ‘Twould be safer for you than out in the open.” Sebastien surveyed the area around the camp. He supposed that the king was safe as long as he was surrounded by his army.

“Sebastien,” the Bruce said as he leaned closer. “You must exert yourself there, and my presence will interfere with that. Make that place and those people yours, so that none can doubt you.”

On the face of it, it sounded much like a warning about his men, and even about the MacDougalls who remained behind. But Sebastien knew better. Questions had been raised about his position within the hierarchy of the Bruce’s forces. There was always some nobleman who felt slighted by the rewards or the rank given to Sebastien, or the esteem in which the king held him. Although Sebastien knew that every honor had been earned with the sweat and blood of him or his men, others chose to think differently. When adversity should have united them, it turned small cracks of jealousy and intrigue into major crevasses of greed and mistrust.

“As you wish, sire,” he replied, bowing his head.

“Go now, Sebastien. A newly wedded man should not tarry long.”

Thoughts jumbled together in his mind at the king’s words. He certainly did not feel wedded, or at least not the way he’d always thought he would feel when married. He’d believed that when Scotland was in the hands of the Bruce, he would settle down with a quiet girl and have a home and bairns. If the king gave him some manor or lands…well, Sebastien had never thought of or craved something as grand or as important as Dunstaffnage.

Now, he held that castle and the enemy’s daughter in his grasp, and faced challenges he’d never dreamt of. The weariness, unnoticed before, crept up on him now. He’d not slept the previous night, handling all sorts of duties and details, and now the lack of rest weighed him down.

After watching the king safely enter his tent, Sebastien turned his mount and began the short ride back to the castle. A small part of him wondered about the woman waiting there. Amidst all the bloodshed and war, she stood out in his thoughts like the first blossom of spring, somehow fresh and untouched by the coldness surrounding it. When he remembered her expression as her father had denounced her, and then her strength as she’d pulled herself under control, he knew she would survive whatever came her way.

For the first time since he began fighting in the Bruce’s cause, Sebastien allowed himself to think on what it could be like with a home and a wife. After years of killing and watching comrades die, after marching endlessly from one end of Scotland to the other, after facing odds that foretold their defeat and death, he permitted a small dream to take hold in his heart.

He and the Maid of Lorne were wed in name and deed. Could it not be in truth? Many other women were joined against their wills, to seal bargains, so theirs was not so unusual a beginning. They were from different sides of this conflict, but again, that was not so different from other unions. Coming from the Lowlands, he did not have a clan, as she did. His father did not even know of Sebastien’s existence, but others like himself had risen in importance to found their own dynasties.

He reached up and wiped the exhaustion from his face. His small troop rode over the last hill and approached Dunstaffnage Castle from the south. Its rugged stone walls and jagged appearance against the clear August sky declared that it would stand long after he was dead and buried. He only prayed that Scotland would stand as long as the walls of Dunstaffnage.

Chapter Five

Within the space of a day, Dunstaffnage was an armed camp. As the home of the MacDougalls, it had always been filled with warriors and battle plans, but now it was an enemy camp. Lara watched for most of the afternoon as soldiers poured in and out of the gates, carrying all sorts of provisions and weapons into the yard and keep.

After her humiliation this morning and Sebastien’s departure, she felt safer staying in her chambers in the north tower. She could observe all who came and went, but did not have to face them. Knowing it was simply a temporary reprieve, she took what it offered her.

“My lady?” Margaret’s worried voice accompanied the knock on her door. “My lady, he…”

“I cannot hear you, Margaret.” Not hearing her words clearly, Lara walked to the door and tugged on it. Expecting to find her maid, instead she faced the armor-covered chest of her new husband.

“She is warning you that I am on my way here.”

Blunt, if nothing else, he stood before her, helm under his arm, much like the first time she’d looked upon his face. Could it have been just a day ago? Margaret stood a little distance away, worry etched on her features. Lara stepped back and opened the door. Better to meet the devil head-on, if you had to meet him.

“Come in, sir.”

The frown he gifted her with was worth the effort it took to gather her pride around her. After handing his helmet to one of the guards, he walked into the room and turned to face her, uncertainty in his eyes. Examining her from head to toe and back again, his gaze grew intense as it moved over her. When he was finished, he nodded and stood, arms crossed and chin raised.

“You look…well,” he said in a quiet voice.

Lara closed the door and walked over to the window. Facing him, she nodded. “Considering that in the last day my family has been destroyed and taken prisoner, I have been married against my will, taken against my will and now shunned by my own father for it, I am well, sir.”

She did not even try to mask the cynicism and sarcasm in her tone. Actually, when she thought on it, she had described quite accurately the events that had changed her life. Meeting his dark expression, she guessed that he did not agree. Once more his reaction surprised her.

“I would disagree with your interpretation of the events, my lady. Your family is alive—your brother and sister and yourself—here in your own home, and your father alive in his chosen exile in England. You chose marriage, and sealed the choice in this bed.” Sebastien paused and laid his hand on the bed next to them, sliding it over the woolen blankets that covered the place where he had taken her virtue. His frown deepened as though he thought on his words. “And repudiation by a man willing to bargain his own children away for his life and his freedom is not something to be mourned.”

Was he trying to soothe her ravaged feelings? It seemed to her that he was. Searching his eyes for the truth, she saw only honesty there. She opened her mouth to retort, but realized that his words spoke of her siblings. “They stay here?” she asked, offering a prayer to the Almighty that it was true.

“The king has agreed to allow Malcolm and Catriona to remain here in my custody.”

Lara felt tears fill her eyes at his words. She had not heard the king’s decision while listening through the wall. She’d become so overwrought at the revelation that she had surrendered the castle without cause that she’d not stayed to hear the rest. Now that she knew he had counseled his king to leave the children behind, she accepted that she must make some gesture.

“Thank you, sir, for that. I know you petitioned your king and I am grateful.”

She bowed her head in honest gratitude. He could have let the Bruce take the children. Many other men would not choose the side of captured enemies before their sovereign—the risk to their own reputation and safety was too great. But this man had, and had secured their custody.

“Why? Why did you do it?” The question was out before she could decide the wisdom of asking it. And at what cost? She truly wanted to know. Lara raised her eyes now to meet his gaze.

“Too many innocents have died in this fight between kings and countries. I simply did not wish to see your siblings pay the price that another should bear.”

“And now, sir? What is to become of us now?” She clasped her hands before her to stop the shaking. Her fate was in his control. He could put her aside, imprison her, beat her, kill her even, and she had no say in the matter. “What expectations do you have of me and the children?”

“I know that this is difficult for you, lady. One day in charge of this keep and castle, and the next its pris…guest. Many things will change for you in the coming weeks and months, and I cannot give you all the answers you seek. For now,” he said, looking around the room, “I ask that you remain in these chambers unless I accompany you.”

“A prisoner in truth, then?” she asked, using the word that he avoided.

“If it were only my men in control here, I would not restrict you so. But there are others here whose behavior I cannot vouch for. So, until the king moves on, the only way I can ensure your safety and that of your family and servants is to isolate you here. The children, your cousins and other servants have been moved into the chambers on the first level of this tower. The level below this one will serve as your solar, and they may join you there as you wish.”

No mention was made of where he would sleep, and Lara did not ask. Glancing at the bed, she could not bring herself to speak of it. He cleared his throat and gained her attention.

“My obligations to the king will take me from here often. I have appointed a man called Etienne as steward to oversee the running of the estate, and he will act in my name in my absence. He should arrive in a day or two to begin his duties.”

“And Callum? What has become of him?” She steeled herself for the inevitable word of the old man’s death. The new conqueror would surely have executed those he could not trust in the keep, especially if he had placed his own in command.

“He, and the others left behind by your father, are being held…for now. You know there is a matter of trust, Lara. And I cannot trust those who were in charge when I took Dunstaffnage.”

Like a slap across her face, the words stung her. As though he sensed her pain, he reached out to take her hand. Lara pulled away and stepped back. She could read the pity in his eyes now and she would not accept it from him.

“As you wish, sir.”

He moved closer and lifted her chin so she could not look away. “’Tis not as I wish, lady, but it is as it must be.”

He must have delivered the message he wanted her to know, for he dropped his hand and walked to the door. “If there is aught you need or want, tell my squire and he will see to it or come to me. His name is Philippe, and he will report to you anon.”

Sebastien tugged open the door, and she saw only Margaret standing in the corridor. Before he crossed the threshold, he looked back at her and spoke in a voice so low only she could hear it. “Are you…well?”

His voice deepened with the huskiness she’d heard the night before, in his ardent whispers. The sound of it, and the heat in his voice and his gaze, were so strong that she could not mistake his meaning. Since he’d left the chambers last evening, they had not spoken of what had happened between them. Not certain she wished to speak of it now or ever, she simply nodded, feeling a burning flush rise in her cheeks.

“I am well, sir. I will survive.”

“Of that I have no doubt, lady.” Stepping to the door once more, he left the chamber and allowed Margaret entrance. “I will return later.”

With a slight bow, he strode down the stairs. Her maid rushed to her side, but Lara waved her away and told her to see to Malcolm and Catriona. Once she was alone, Lara pondered his words and his actions. He behaved as no one else she had ever met. She could sense an honorable heart within him; indeed, honor seemed to guide his every action. How had such a man come to be a supporter of the Bruce?

As she paced the length and breadth of the room, the true question formed in her mind. The one that had bothered her since the king’s words claimed her a vanquished enemy.

How would Sebastien of Cleish respond when his wife denied him? Would he abandon her and her siblings? Would he banish her to a convent, as so many noblewomen were when they were obstinate or inconvenient?

Or would he simply force her to his will and desires?

A shiver coursed through her, one filled with dread and anticipation. Always one to face a problem straight on, rather than dissembling over it endlessly, Lara formulated plans to make her position to the new warden of Dunstaffnage quite clear. Unfortunately, he did not return for four nights, and caught her unaware when he did.

Sebastien struggled up the steps to the top floor of the tower, as quietly as he could in armor and mail. He paused at the landing and walked into the smaller first room. With a nod, he allowed Philippe to remove the accoutrements of war from his body for the first time in days. These last four had been spent on horseback, surveying the surrounding lands and searching for pockets of resistance that would be useful to his enemies, and dangerous to those he served. He ached in places he’d forgotten he could feel.

Standing and stretching his arms up to touch the ceiling of the smaller chamber, he thought on the woman inside the next room. Was she asleep or had his movements awakened her? Would she be welcoming or as defiant as her people were? So tired that he did not care, he opened the door slowly and as quietly as he could.

A wry smile tugged at his mouth as he spied her across the room, in the farthest corner, sitting in the hard chair she’d called her father’s. And she was sleeping soundly. He motioned for Philippe to remain without, and closed the door. Crossing the room, he stood over her and watched her sleep.

The daft woman had wrapped herself in several cloaks before wedging herself into the chair. If she sought warmth, the best place was in the bed, under its layers of heavy woolen blankets, or closer to the fire that burned, low but steady, in the hearth. Then the reason for this cocoon struck him, and he held his laugh inside. Did she realize that even a layer of armor would not stop him if his quest was to have her naked and under him once more?

At this moment, though, he wanted nothing so much as a few hours of sleep, and he hesitated to move her—waking her would bring on a torrent of questions or accusations that he did not want to face now. Crouching down, he slid his arms behind her back and under her legs, and lifted her from the chair. He placed her sleeping, snoring form on the far side of the bed and then, after hiding his dagger beneath his pillow and arranging his sword on the floor within reach, Sebastien climbed in on the side closest the door.

His body was ready for sleep, but his mind kept throwing problems at him. One by one, he analyzed them, sought solutions and came up with methods to overcome them. Finally, just as he felt the pull of sleep dragging him down, Lara sighed and mumbled his name, bringing him back to alertness. Turning on his side, he watched the movement of her mouth and the frown that spread across her forehead.

Was she cursing him in her sleep? Fighting him? When she turned her head and he glimpsed the side of her neck, he frowned as well. Clear on her skin were the marks of his armored gauntlets in the places where he had grabbed her chin. Though fading, the marks of purple and blue and green taunted him. If he’d done this with one hand, what did her arm look like where he had grabbed and held on when she’d tried to accost Robert?

He had the chance to discover the truth when she turned, or tried to turn, onto her side. As she moved, he eased the layers of cloak and gown down her shoulder until he could see the damning evidence for himself.

How had she kept silent when he’d injured her thusly? Although now a week old, the bruises were angry and swollen, a red handprint still visible, among other colors. He guessed that her other shoulder matched this one, and clenched his teeth.

Reaching out, he outlined the bruises with the tip of one finger, sliding around the worst of them. Her skin was soft and smooth, and the urge to follow his finger with his tongue and to taste the fairness of his wife grew within him. He struggled against it, knowing nothing good would come of such desires, and drew the gown back up over her shoulder, careful not to press on the injuries.

They were not the worst he had ever inflicted on someone, not even the worst he’d done to a woman, but they tried the limits of his self-control. Awake, she goaded him with barbed words and taunted him with her quick mind and fairness. Asleep, she tempted him to a weakness that could be deadly to him and to the king he fought to protect.

He shifted to the edge of the bed, as far from her as he could move, and closed his eyes. It would take months before this area was safe and free of the MacDougall clan and their influences. Until her uncle and the rest could be defeated and the Bruce become king in fact, she would remain as she was—a prisoner and a hostage.

His man woke him as ordered just before dawn’s light, and Sebastien dressed quickly without help. Philippe, he knew, would be waiting outside the door with his mail and armor. Looking around the room, he realized that the fire had burned down to almost to ashes during the night. In spite of it being August, the thick castle walls held in the chill and dampness. Using some kindling next to the hearth, he sparked it to life and threw a few pieces of wood on it.

Turning back, he found Lara watching his every move. As she came awake, she seem to realize where she was, and began to struggle with the covers. Before he could reach her, she tumbled off the bed and landed on the floor with a groan. He walked to that side of the bed, but she scrambled away, pushing the cloaks off as she gained her feet. ‘Twas his turn to groan when he spied the small dagger in her hands, pointed at him.

“Lady, put that away. You are in no danger here.”

“I will not…” she whispered. Then her gaze found the crumpled bedclothes and her own disarray. “You cannot…”

When words failed her again, Sebastien took a step closer. She was against the wall in the corner now, with no place to move. He shook his head and waved at her. The dagger wobbled in her grasp. Seizing his chance, he quickly grabbed for her hand and twisted her wrist, causing the knife to fall to the floor. He kicked it away and released her hand before he could do any true harm to it.

“Sir,” she began as she met his gaze. Her sleepfilled eyes were now clear, and he saw that she was completely awake.

“Lady, you were startled from sleep and fell off the bed.” He picked up the dagger from the floor and held it out to her. Such a weapon was truly no danger to him.

“I was in the chair,” she said, accepting it and sliding it back into the small leather hilt on her belt. With trembling hands she pushed her hair back from her face and over her shoulders. “What do you want here?”

A myriad of wants passed through his thoughts in that moment, but none were of a nature that he could speak of now. He retrieved his sword and his own deadly dagger, and opened the door, handing them to his squire.

“I but sought a few hours of sleep here. Now I must go.”

“You slept here?” The confusion in her expression was a sort of reward to him. “’Tis morning?” She’d been so deeply asleep that she had not realized he’d shared her bed. What liberties could he have taken before she woke? His body reacted to the possibilities even as he knew his honor would never permit it.

“Aye, lady.” Philippe stood at the door, so Sebastien bowed and turned to leave.

“Sir? Wait, I pray thee,” she said, walking a few steps closer to him. “I have a request of you.”

He stopped and waited for her words. She had not asked much of him yet and he was intrigued.

“May I visit the chapel?” She took another step toward him as she asked. “I would like to pray there.”

The chapel was a few hundred yards away, between the main camp of the Bruce’s forces and the castle itself. As it had been the site of their wedding, he was surprised she wished to return there at all.

“I could send Father Connaughty to you here if you require his counsel.” It was safer for her than leaving the tower right now. Too many soldiers being cared for in the yard had been injured by her family, and the sight of her might give rise to trouble.

“It is the place that gives me comfort, sir. My mother is buried there and I’ve spent hours praying there. But I understand, sir. I would do the same if I were the victor here.”

Sebastien was not certain at first if her understanding amused, comforted or bewildered him. Then the glint in her eyes gave away her actions. Most women he had met would be moaning and crying, crumpled into a heap after the last days that she’d faced. Yet here she stood, offering him a not-so-obvious challenge to his authority that she dressed up prettily as acquiescence to his rule.

“If my duties permit, mayhap I could take you there before the evening meal.”

“As you wish, sir.” She bowed her head this time, but not quickly enough to disguise the satisfied smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.

In spite of knowing she was manipulating him, and in spite of knowing that she did not return his desires, that small needful part of him hidden deep inside reveled at the chance of sparring with her. Of drawing her back from her fear and hurt into the person she must have been when her father still ruled here. Of such…possibilities.

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