Chapter 1

1

MacKenzie Castle

B racing his hands on the windowsill, Andrew Middleton, the incoming laird of the clan, gazed out at the western lands of Clan McKenzie, over the hills to the north and the loch to the west of the castle.

Outside, the long twilight was drawing out as the sunset lingered on the horizon, the vivid orange rays spearing into the dark clouds above. The sky to the west had turned red and dusky, promising another warm day to come.

The day had been one of the warmest Andrew could remember, and he wanted to savor it as the moment winter set in, all this lush greenery would be gone, and the water would be a sheet of ice.

"Sir?" Andrew's footman, Stuart, came into the room. "Lady Middleton is asking for ye."

Turning from the window, Andrew nodded. "I suspected she would like to speak to me soon."

They left the room and headed to the other half of the massive castle, where his paternal grandmother's rooms spanned over a quarter of the floor. He entered the first room to find his grandmother seated near a window, her plump, matronly body wrapped in a green kirtle with a thick wool shawl around her shoulders.

Eilidh's head was down, her eyes on a book on her lap, and the afternoon light glinted off her silver hair. His footsteps had her looking up, and she smiled at him.

"Grandmaither." He dipped his head.

Her wizened hands rested on top of the pages. "Ye look like yer faither more and more with every day that goes by."

Thinking of his departed father Malcolm, Andrew felt tempted to smile. His father, the younger brother of Laird Mathias, had passed away last winter from a sickness in the lungs, months after Uncle Mathias and his son Ian, had drowned. Their ship returning from the outer isles had been caught in a vicious spring storm.

"Thank ye," Andrew replied. "Da was an honorable man too. I only pray I can follow in those footsteps well."

"Ye will," Eilidh replied. "But I want to talk to ye about another matter. Ye ken that when ye are laird, especially as ye are the only direct heir of me husband, ye must marry quickly and have an son or two. Our clan is a proud one; such pride has trickled down from the head right down to the people we serve. They willnae take it well if someone not bearing the name Middleton takes over the seat."

Andrew pressed his lips tight. He had known this was coming, but he had not expected it to be right now. "How quickly do ye reckon?"

"Before the year's end," she replied. "If ye daenae have anyone in mind, I'm sure our allies have daughters that will happily wed ye. I ken yer just like her faither who wanted to marry for love, and because he was my second son, he had the time and opportunity to search for the woman he wanted."

"And he did," Andrew replied while thinking of his mother. "Maither was gentle, loving, and supportive of him being a master of ships. She stood by him when he was gone for weeks on end."

"Aye." Eilidh nodded, her eyes taking on a reflective sheen. "Tis true, yer maither was a rare kind. Nay many women would have taken lightly to their husband leaving for so long."

"But the gifts he came back with made up for it," Andrew replied. "Well, some of it. I ken chests of gold and rare gems donae make up for yer husband's absence." He slumped over in his seat. "I suppose I daenae get that freedom, do I?"

"For a few months, but ye will have to marry," Eilidh replied. "Ye ken, yer grandfaither and I married for duty, nay love. At first, we rubbed against each other, but we soon understood that being amicable and understanding each other was nearly as good as falling in love."

"If I cannae find love in three months," Andrew replied, his sense of duty overtaking his other need for loving companionship. "I give ye me blessing to find a fitting match for me."

"Oh, I have an inkling ye will find one before I do," she said slyly.

Andrew shook his head. "I'll do me best, but I will be focusing on the lairdship more than finding a woman to court."

"What if she finds ye?" Eilidh asked. "What if she simply walks through the door?"

"And does what?" Andrew cocked a brow. "Charm me with a single look?"

"Stranger things have happened," Eilidh replied.

Cynically, Andrew knew that things did not fall into place that seamlessly. The ideal woman he had in mind to marry was a modest, smart woman who was feisty in the bedroom. He had not met such a woman before, and he doubted one would walk through the door anytime soon.

"Wouldn't that be a miracle," he scoffed suddenly, changing his mind about finding a woman to court for love as the idea he had for the perfect woman for him would never be met in a few months. "Ye might have well go ahead and find me a bride."

Eilidh let loose with a sigh. "Are ye certain ye do no' want to marry for love?"

Andrew gave her a look, wondering why she questioned his decision. "I am a pragmatic man, so me word goes, and ye cannae get me to change me mind. The woman I'd want doesnae exist and I ken she isnae going to walk through those doors anytime soon."

An t-àrchar Village, Scotland

Clan MacKenzie Lands.

A single touch to her arm had Beitris Craig, a village healer, jumping hard enough that she toppled the mortar and pestle on her table. Mortified and heart-heavy, she bent to retrieve them.

"Are ye all right?" Martha Gordon, Beitris' best friend, and fellow healer, eyed her warily. "I've been calling yer name three times an' nary an answer. Is something wrong?"

"I—" She paused. "—keep fretting about our situation, Martha. This house is—" she looked around at the cottage that had grown worn and weather-beaten during the last three winter storms. With their meager earnings, she would not be able to repair the roof or the battered casements. "—on the verge of breaking down around us."

Her friend sat by her. "I ken. But things will change. I have to believe that."

"So do I," Beitris replied while shaking her head despondently. " Tis the only reason I sent to the castle for a position for us with the healers there. Ye ken they are the best in the land but, after two months and nay word…"

"I ken things are difficult now, but they'll change," Martha replied, and Beitris could only wish she had her friend's cheerfulness. "Now, how do we go making this salve for—"

A firm knock came on the door a room away and Beitris' head snapped to it. That was strange; as far as he knew, they were not slated to get any visitors or medicine buyers.

She left the room and went to answer it, pulled the door in, met the gaze of a leather-clad footman bearing the Clan MacKenzie crest, and felt her heart leap into her throat. Was this the answer to her prayer, or had he come with a rejection.

I can only hope.

The footman bowed his head. "Are ye Miss Craig?"

"Aye, I am," Beitris replied. "May I help ye?"

He handed a scroll to her. "The head healer at Castle MacKenzie has asked this be delivered to ye. Good day."

With another curt nod, he turned, went to the horse, pawing its hoof into the ground impatiently, swung into the saddle, and was off. Stepping back inside the small cottage, Beitris undid the green wax seal with trembling fingers.

Two and a half months ago, she had sent a missive to the head healer in the castle, asking for a position for her and her assistant. Days passed with no word from them, and Beitris had given up hope, resigning herself to being a country healer and little else.

Now, though, maybe she should have given up so quickly. The writing on the parchment was thin and spidery, but she managed to read it all.

" Dear Miss Craig, upon review of yer request and a few discretionary inquires in the village ye serve, I have found it very reasonable and sensible to have a lady as yerself a part of this castle's select group of healers. We have room for yer assistant and training for her as well. Please come to the castle by the week's end as we have a special celebration for our new laird, and we would love for him to meet all of our staff ," Beitris read while her heart thumped out another pattern.

She turned to Martha, her spirit now soaring. Her friend was holding her hands clasped at her breast in delight. "Do ye hear that, Martha? We're going to the castle."

"I ken." Martha bounced on the balls of her feet. "I am so happy."

"Me too." Beitris smiled as she looked around the humble cottage she had lived in for the last four years.

It had grown worn and weather-beaten during the last three winter of strong storms, and she had become worried that she would be unable to repair the roof or the battered casements on their meager earnings. Now she would not have to worry so much about it if they were placed in the castle.

"We daenae had much time to prepare," Beitris said, holding the letter as if it were a purse filled with gold. "We have two days to pack up what we can and head off."

"I told ye things would change." Martha nodded. "See. Better things are goin' to come from this, I promise."

Beitris nodded, very sorry for how doubtful she had been only moments before. Now, the gateway to all her dreams had been opened, she promised herself to keep her head down and do her work. She would rise through the ranks with any luck and not draw unwanted attention to herself.

That would be the key to ensuring herself and her chosen family steady footing and happiness for many years to come.

Gazing up at the large, fortified doors of Clan MacKenzie's Castle a day and a half later, Beitris felt an odd sensation tighten her chest. It was not fear, nor was it relief, but a mix of both.

This is all I've wanted for months; why am I so hesitant now?

For more than half a year, she had prayed for this chance to learn and serve with the best healers in the highlands.

She and her assistant alighted from the wagon Beitris had paid a coin to carry herself, Martha, and their belongings to the castle. As she gazed upon their new home, two footmen came down.

"Miss Craig?" one asked, and she nodded. He added. "We've been sent to help ye and yer companion inside."

"Thank ye," Beitris replied as the men went to unload the wagon of their trunks of precious herbs, crucibles, and mortars while she and Martha held their cloth bags of clothing.

The men took the wide flat steps, and Beitris followed them, her heart lodged somewhere in the middle of her throat. The front room was expansive, and suits of plate armor that looked distinctively un-Scottish lined the room. As far as Beitris knew, their people wore leather and chainmail, not plate armor.

Curious, she went to one and peered at the helmet, and entranced, she reached out to touch it when a clatter behind her had Beitris spinning, and her arm accidentally caught on the suit's shoulder and—it toppled over, crashing on the floor. Beitris jumped away, tripping and landing on her behind.

The racket echoed in the vast hall, and Beitris' face flamed with mortification. She cringed and clenched her eyes tight as a last part of the armor clattered to the floor, and unwittingly, her eyes flew up to the stairs.

There she saw three men staring down at her. One of them had hair as bright and red as a bonfire on a summer's night, his lips pressed together to stop his laugher; the other had dark brown hair and was shorter than the two, but the last… He was ruggedly handsome, and his hair was as black as night in a thunderstorm.

Time seemed to slow to a creep, and Beitris heard every thud of her heart in her ears while her gaze met his.

The man's dark hair fell in soft waves to the collar of his maroon tunic, while his steel blue eyes were framed by arching black brows and a strong forehead. His commanding profile, firm jawline, and the high-boned cheeks of his tanned face showed his strong bloodline. His stare seemed to burn right through her, sending shivers up her spine.

She found herself thinking many a woman would find him an extremely handsome man. Yet, the glitter in his eyes was hard, and she could not read his expression, well, not until they cut away from her in a cold, cruel, dismissive fashion and the heat under her skin changed to icy dread.

Had she made a horrible mistake? Had she broken something precious—was she going to be ousted in the next moment? She clenched her eyes, pressed her fingertips into the stones under her hands, and waited for the laird to stomp down the stairs and roughly demand she leave.

In one small moment—she knew she had lost all she had worked for.