Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

I nverness, Stuart Clan, May 1653

Planning to kill a laird in a crowded inn was too difficult, even for Elara. She shifted her weight between her feet as the thought burned across her mind. She brushed back her white-blonde hair, so pale that people would often stare at her, wondering if a snow queen had cursed her when she was a bairn. The hair was wild about her shoulders, unable to be pinned into an updo, though tonight, she didn't mind. If she was to take on the role of a courtesan, rather than the laird's daughter that she was, she had to have loose hair. All courtesans wore their hair loose.

As one of the barmaids presented her with a small flagon of ale, Elara took a sip, her eyes much more focused on her quarry than the golden liquid.

Across the tavern, she watched Laird Stuart. He was at a table with one of his advisors, a man she had heard tell was called Marcus, a former mercenary, and if the rumors were to be believed, one of the deadliest soldiers in those lands.

Laird Stuart and Marcus suddenly laughed together. The sound, half covered by the humming conversation in the tavern, made Elara flinch. It was strange to see a man she knew so capable of murder laugh with such ease.

It suits him. Better than it should.

She pushed away the thought angrily as her eyes wandered over Laird Stuart. Tall and broad shouldered, the clan tartan he wore flung over his waistcoat and shoulder were a sign of his position, along with the clan brooch pinned onto his shoulder. They did little to hide his toned figure. His long dark hair, reaching down to around his ears, was wild, hardly coiffed as many lairds would wear it. Then again, there was much that was rough about Laird Stuart's looks.

He was not finely chiseled in appearance, nor clean shaven. The black stubble across his chin accented the rough handsomeness, the strong jaw, and the rather piercing stare. Elara couldn't help imagining roaming her fingers through her wild dark hair.

What the hell am I thinking!?

She jerked her head away from staring at him so openly.

Remember who he is, what he's capable of.

To Elara's surprise, the barmaid who had served her drink hadn't left. The girl had something of a mischievous smirk playing on her lips.

"Ye will be fighting a losing battle there," she said with a whisper. Glancing around her shoulders, to ensure no one was listening in, she perched on the dark bench beside Elara and leaned toward her. "Laird Stuart may deign tae come and talk with his clan's people in this tavern, but he wouldnae take any lass from here tae bed. They say he isnae interested in marriage. Nae even a roll in the hay."

Elara drummed her fingers across the flagon. This was not something she had been counting on. In order for the plan to work, she first had to get Laird Kaden Stuart on his own, and to accomplish that, she could only think of one way – to seduce him.

Then again, there were worse men to consider kissing, she thought as she saw him laugh again with his friend. When he smiled, those rough looks softened, the piercing gaze not so harsh.

"Well, if I manage tae take the laird tae bed, ye'll owe me an ale," Elara said in challenge.

The maid raised her eyebrows with an amused smile.

"Aye, ye're on. Though I reckon me money is safe," the barmaid stood.

"Why else would he come tae a tavern if he wasnae interested in taking a bedmate?" Elara said pointedly, though the barmaid was already shaking her head before she was done.

"I dinnae ken what ye've heard, but he's nae that kind of laird, at least nae anymore. He comes here twice a month tae speak tae the people. That's all. If he wants a woman, she goes tae the castle." The barmaid nodded and walked away.

Elara looked around the tavern. Night had fallen thickly, allowing her only to see through the dim candlelight. It helped that one such candle was placed on the table in front of Laird Stuart.

She found it hard to understand why a murderer like him would bother getting to know his people in the town tavern. Perhaps he hoped that people would forget the past? That no one would look too closely into the fire caused in another tavern that killed so many people, ordered by him?

I am nae fooled, even if his own people are.

She saw some village people speaking to Laird Stuart. To her surprise, he spoke back. He did not put distance between them, as she had seen other lairds do. Instead, he spoke to the people as if they were equals, then waved goodbye as they left.

Laird Stuart muttered something to his friend then stood, leaving the table and walking toward the bar, clearly intending to collect more drinks.

This is me chance.

Elara reached into the full skirt of the gown she and her sister had amended for the night. It was far more revealing than what she would have normally worn, with her breasts practically falling out of the neckline, and the curve of her waist accented heavily by the corset. She shifted the thin skirt and reached into a pocket she and her sister had sewn secretly into the petticoats.

There it was – a simple glass vial, corked, and containing something of great power indeed.

Dwale.

She pushed the vial deeper into her pocket, making sure it was completely hidden, then stood and walked across the tavern, moving closer toward Laird Stuart. He didn't even turn his head. He didn't notice her any more than he would have noticed a fly landing on the bar at that moment.

It irked her for some reason, that she had spent so long staring at him, and he had no idea she existed at all.

When the innkeeper turned toward the two of them, his eyes naturally fell on Elara first.

"What can I get ye, lass?"

"Another ale," she said, her eyes flitting toward Laird Stuart beside her. "And someone like him, if ye have anyone hidden back there for sale."

The innkeeper laughed and turned to get her drink as Laird Stuart's head jerked toward her.

She realized she had been wrong about that piercing gaze of his. It wasn't just piercing, but overwhelming in its power. Those blue eyes, rich and dark, were the color of a stormy sky.

"I'm nae fer sale, lass," he said coolly. Though he may have tried to sound distanced, his eyes still flicked down her gown. He looked away quickly, but his weakness was his undoing. Elara had seen he was a man, same as any other.

"Shame," she whispered. "I can imagine many wanting tae ken what one night would be with ye, sir." She purposefully didn't use his title, wanting him to believe that she had not realized who he was.

He shifted against the bar, still not looking at her, though she saw he didn't move away. She moved an inch nearer, her arm brushing his.

"If ye wish me tae stop, sir, tell me so now, and I will."

A deep chuckle escaped his lips. She tried her best not to flinch.

After all the pain he has caused, and he can laugh! It's unthinkable!

"Now, lass, I dinnae have many women coming tae flirt with me so openly." He turned to face her fully now, leaning on the bar. "Ye must want something?" He cocked his head to the side, curiously, those keen blue eyes examining her.

"Oh, I dae," she whispered. "Though what I want, shouldnae really be spoken of in public." She let her eyes wander over his figure.

She had never done anything this bold before. The most she had ever shared with a man before was a simple peck on the lips, something chaste, simple. She had never even felt a rush of heat that she could imagine eventually leading to a bedchamber.

Somehow, with this man though, a man she hated, it was rather easy to pretend.

It helps he looks like this. He has made it easier.

"Ye are a bold one," he whispered as her tankard was placed down beside her by the innkeeper.

"The usual?" the innkeeper asked him.

"Aye, please."

Elara looked away. She couldn't explain why the idea that Laird Stuart would say ‘please' to a man so beneath him upset her. She supposed she had expected to see a pure monster. Seeing that the monster could actually put on a show for his people was unnerving.

"Ye shouldnae goad me, lass," Laird Stuart whispered, leaning an inch toward her. He bent down, pressing his lips near her ear.

When a shiver ran up her spine, Elara wanted to believe it was from fear, though it wasn't. Her heart fluttered in her chest, beating like the wings of a butterfly.

"Ye may say ye want a night with me, but I am nay gentle man. Ye would be wise tae run now." He stepped back again, turning to face the bar completely.

She tried to stop that shiver as she bit her lip. She had barely considered in her life what it would be like to be taken by a man, to feel him enter her, to share a bed for the night as they explored one another's bodies. It was odd, the thrill that came with the idea that this man wouldn't be gentle in his passion.

Deciding this flirtation was taking too long, she reached for her flagon and then half dropped it on the bar. The golden liquid spilled over the rim and the arm of Laird Stuart.

"Oh, I am so sorry." Elara reached toward him with a cloth, trying to mop it up. As she did so, she moved closer to him, ensuring that from his superior height, he could see down the deep cleavage of her gown. "I am so clumsy."

"Are ye?" Laird Stuart asked with plain suspicion in his voice, though he did not push her off. He just let her stand near, mopping at his arm and even moving the cloth to his stomach.

"Ye must let me make it up tae ye. If ye need somewhere tae change, ye are more than welcome tae use me chamber upstairs." She lifted her head a little, looking up at him.

Her confidence momentarily wavered when she looked into those stormy eyes. For a frightening moment, she thought he could see everything, the fact this was all an act, just to get him alone – to make him vulnerable. Then the smallest of smiles lit up those features.

"Well, maybe I dae need tae change," he whispered.

She smiled, not needing to put on an act this time. Her sister, Lydia, had been so certain that it would be impossible to seduce a man so fast, especially a man as guarded as Laird Stuart must have been, but Elara had been certain it would be that easy and she was thrilled to see she was right.

He is a man, after all.

She stepped away and crooked her finger, beckoning him to follow her. It took just a beat. As Elara turned away, reaching for the stairs, she caught the barmaid's eye across the room. At the barmaid's slackened jaw, Elara winked.

As she trailed up the stairs, she heard Laird Stuart's feet making the boards creak beneath his weight. When they reached the landing and snaked through corridors, the light became dimmer still. As Elara lifted her hand toward the door, bearing the key, she suddenly found her wrist caught in his grasp. The gasp that escaped her lips was quickly silenced though.

He turned her against the door, her back flat, as he moved in front of her, strong and overpowering, though in the most thrilling of ways.

Somehow, in the midst of attraction and ale, it was rather hard to remind her body of the fact that he was not a good man.

"Before we go inside," he whispered, his voice deep. "There's something I want tae try first."

He stepped toward her, his hands no longer on her wrist, but on the door on either side of her waist. He didn't touch her, just sort of teased her with the proximity of that touch, then he bent down toward her.

Something inside of Elara twisted in revulsion – he was a killer. After all she had planned, could she truly kiss him? Before she could even consider if her plan had been a good one or not, his lips found hers.

It was not a chaste kiss. Far from being a simple press of lips, he took hold of her lips as if he had done it a hundred times before, knowing exactly how to kiss her to create a thrill. Absorbed by that feeling, Elara went weak against the door, feeling his lips drive her on. He nibbled on her bottom lip and as she parted hers, he took control.

With sudden fierceness, she was practically flattened to the door, his tongue dominating her own.

Her hands wound their way into his waistcoat, anchoring her to him, as one of his hands snaked up and took hold of the back of her neck. It was just firm enough to let her know he was in control, angling her head up toward him.

The heat seemed like it was never going to end, this passion, unstoppable, and strangely, Elara didn't want it to stop. If Laird Stuart just kept on kissing her in this way, she could pretend that nothing else existed in this world.

He suddenly pulled back, just an inch. His lips turned up into a self-satisfied smirk.

Damn ye.

Sudden rage swelled within her. It was a blinding hot fury that her parents' murderer could make her swoon.

"I see ye arenae a lass fer being gentle either," he said, nodding at the door. "Shall we?"

Unable to speak, she nodded and unlocked the door, all too aware that he placed his hands on either side of her waist as she did so. He lowered his fingers, gripping the curve of her hip. She gasped, both thrilled and furious, then stumbled into the room as fast as she could.

"First," she said quickly, hurrying away from him, "let us have a drink."

"A drink?" he said with a laugh, kicking the door shut behind him. "Ye spilled yer last one in an effort tae get me clothes off me."

"Perhaps," she said, her eyes flashing with mischief as she looked around the room. She and Lydia had left out a flagon of ale, placed perfectly. She reached toward it, purposefully putting her back to Laird Stuart, then subtly reached into her pocket to pull out that vial of dwale.

Within minutes, he will be fast asleep. And I can continue me plan.

She clumsily tipped the dwale into the flagon, trying not to let her hands shake too much in case she spilled the precious drug. Returning the vial subtly to her pocket, she turned with the flagon and offered Laird Stuart what she hoped was a sultry smile, proffering the flagon forward.

He had walked toward her, something curious now in those stormy blue eyes.

"Drink?" she offered, aware that he still hadn't taken it.

His hands closed over the flagon, brushing hers as they did so. Rather than lifting the cup to his lips he placed it down on a sideboard instead, then moved toward her.

Elara's stomach knotted tight, both in fear that he would not drink and a little excitement that he might offer another one of those all-encompassing and exciting kisses. He bent toward her and she held her breath, wondering what to do now, when his lips trailed up her neck. He placed one firm kiss at the base of her throat, making her inhale sharply, then he raised his lips to her ear.

"Ye are a clever one," he whispered hoarsely in her ear. "But next time ye want tae drug a man, dinnae dae it in front of a window."

She froze solid, like a block of ice in his grip. All at once, he released her, his hands held high in the air as he backed up, showing his intention not to touch her again. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing her reflection glaring in the candlelight and the window.

"Damn," she muttered.

A deep resounding chuckle sounded from Laird Stuart.

This cannae be. I came so close, only tae lose me power. Tae lose me chance of revenge!

"Ye think ye are the first lass tae try and seduce me because ye want something?" He stepped even further back from her as she turned sharply back to face him. "I havenae been robbed by a courtesan yet, and I will nae be starting tonight."

"Ye think I wanted tae rob ye? Aye, of course, I imagine ye look at everyone beneath ye in this world as if they are mud beneath yer feet."

"Sharp tongue." He winced, though that smirk was still in place. "At least ye have dropped the honeyed act. And dinnae bother with the righteous act. Ye were about tae drug me." He nodded at the flagon then turned to the door. "Anyway, thank ye fer the kiss. That tongue is one I'll remember fer more than one reason now."

As he reached for the door, the fury was so blinding it hit Elara like lightning. She reached for that flagon, heavy, made of old oak, and marched toward him. In one heavy crack, she struck it across the base of Laird Stuart's skull.

There was no more laughter, only a dull thud as he slumped forward and hit the floorboards, his body out cold.

This is what ye get fer murdering me parents.