Prologue

PROLOGUE

SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS, SUMMER, 1400

" W ait for me!"

Stellan Sutherland heard his twin's faint call, but he kept going, his pace fast, his thoughts faster. He would have to break the awful news he'd just received, but how? He couldn't bear to see the hurt in Anders's eyes, and to be the one to put it there. His own distress was too recent. Too fresh and too painful for any nine-year-old to bear, but especially one like Anders who wore his heart for all to see.

If Anders got close enough, he'd know immediately what was amiss. He'd know the reason for Stellan's anger as clearly as if he'd spoken the reason aloud. Da had informed his heir, his eldest son, of his plans, with no thought to how they would affect both twins.

So Stellan kept moving, stumbling down the swale into the next glen and leaping across the rushing burn, then climbing the next hill and the next. Sutherland territory stretched farther than anyone could see, farther than he could go afoot at this pace with no food and only icy water from a burn to drink.

He hadn't planned this infuriated march. He'd simply bolted from the keep after Da had announced his plan to split them up. He sought to put an end to the canny bond they shared, the bond he feared, but they cherished. The twin bond that let them understand each other without words, and to know how the other felt without seeing so much as an expression on the other's face or the set of his shoulders.

The thought of being away from his twin for years stole Stellan's strength and he halted in the heather, panting, bent forward, hands on knees. He heard Anders shout again for him to stop. His twin was still out of sight, below the crest of the last hill, unaware Stellan had stopped and was finally waiting for him.

It was time. They were far enough from Dunrobin to give voice to their anger and grief and not have word of their indulgence in such raw emotions get back to their Da.

Anders caught up with him a few minutes later.

Stellan barely got his breath back when the look on his twin's face took it from him again.

"What has he done?"

Anders's demand jerked Stellan upright and he grimaced against the stitch in his side. "Ye dinna ken?"

"Ye are so riled, I canna pick one thing from another. So tell me."

There was no easy way to break the news he'd begun to hope Anders could pluck from him in silence. He must say the words, and the pain in his torso intensified. "Da has decreed we are to be sent to foster."

"Where? What has ye so upset?"

Anders still didn't understand. Stellan sucked down a lungful of air, then with a twist of his lips, told him, "I am to be honored to foster with Domnhall, the Lord of the Isles, for seven years. Da thinks to send ye far away, to the Norse land, surety for the treaty between we northern Scots and the Norse king."

Anders shrugged. "But we will return to Sutherland."

Stellan shook his head. "He thinks to have ye betrothed there. To someday rule the Norseland for Sutherland. Or for Scotland."

Anders's mouth fell open. Finally, he understood why Stellan was so upset.

"That canna be," he objected. "I will go with ye."

Stellen let his gaze drop to the ground. "Da will send us where he wills. We must do as he says and go."

"And ye are willing to do that?"

Anders planted his fists on his hips, displaying his growing anger that Stellan could now feel.

"I dinna believe ye," Anders continued. "Ye always have another plan, a way around our da."

"What would ye have us do?" Stellan demanded, his earlier anguish returning. "Run away together today?" He waved a hand at the hills that marched on ahead of them, seemingly forever.

"Nay! We are lairds of Sutherland. The clan needs us, or will…someday." Anders sank to the ground and sat, his gaze confused and dismayed.

Stellan was the stronger of the two, but his heart broke for both of them. "We believed so. The laird, our grandfather, decreed it may be so. As we have always done everything else, we would rule together. But grandda is dead. Da's time has come, and he will do as he pleases."

Anders drew his sgian dubh . "Then we will swear a blood oath to survive and reunite to keep Sutherland safe and strong."

Stellan nodded, impressed at Anders's initiative. "Once we inherit, it will be so. And," he added, holding up his hand to stop Anders before he began to sanctify the oath with his blood, "we willna fall for any lass—or Norse princess—unless we can bring them home, so that we can fulfill our destiny to be lairds together. As is our right and our grandda's wish."

Anders scored a line in his palm. When it seeped red, he handed the blade to Stellan, who did the same. They clasped hands, mingling the blood they had once shared in the womb.

"So it will be as we have sworn this day," Stellan said. "We may be forced to part for a term of years, but we will return. Someday, we will rule Sutherland together."

"So it will be," Anders repeated, "And when the day comes that Sutherland is ours, we will keep it safe and strong—together."

Northern Scotland, Spring, 1412

The fire in the great hall's hearth warmed Stellan Sutherland as he waited for his twin, Anders, to shake the sleet from his hair in the keep's doorway and join him by the fire. May was late for this kind of weather, but they were far enough north, one never knew what to expect. "Come on, laggard. It'll melt, but ye willna."

Anders grimaced, gave his plaid a final shake and stepped in. "Sod off. 'Twould run down the back of my neck, as cold as the trail of a witch's finger on my skin."

"And when have ye felt the chill of a witch's finger?"

"Never. And I dinna plan to start now." Anders settled on the bench opposite his twin and signaled a passing serving maid for an ale. "'Twas a long, cold ride from Inverness. If I were eldest, I'd have been sitting here by the fire for the last fortnight, drinking and cuddling the lasses while ye froze yer arse riding home through snow and sleet."

Stellan ignored the jibe. He was older than Anders by mere minutes, a fact that meant nothing to them, but carried great weight with their father, the Sutherland laird. He could have told Anders about hunting in the same sleet storm earlier in the afternoon. And he couldn't recall the last time he'd embraced a lass, much less held one on his lap, but certainly not in the last fortnight while Anders visited Inverness on business for Sutherland. Instead he asked, "Did ye get what Da sent ye after?"

Anders nodded. "Aye, and more. I'll go tell him once I've thawed my feet."

Stellan waited, knowing he'd be present when Anders reported to their father.

Anders thanked the lass who brought him a mug of ale. She gave him a grin and a wink she also turned on Stellan, curtsied and went on her way. Anders took a long drink, following her with his gaze until she was out of sight, then lowered the cup and rolled his eyes.

Stellan knew exactly what he meant. The lasses flocked to Anders like gulls to a beached fish. His open, friendly nature made him seem more approachable than Stellan, though both were more than passably good looking. And Stellan considered himself open and friendly. Some of the time. When it suited his purposes.

They looked so much alike, anyone who didn't know them well had trouble telling them apart, a fact they'd taken advantage of many times both before and after they'd spent the years between ages nine and sixteen fostered away, Stellan with Domnhall, the Lord of the Isles and Anders sent northward, though not where their father had first threatened, across the North Sea. They'd traded off to fool their tutors of subjects one hated and the other liked. They'd fooled the cook, getting a treat, and returning as the other brother and getting another.

In the five years since they'd returned to Sutherland, they'd honored their vow to each other, neither marrying, both serving the clan much as their younger brother Cameron had done before he wed Mary Rose, traveling the countryside, gathering information for their father.

Female giggles echoed from the direction of the hallway to the kitchen. He hadn't heard that sound since Anders left for Inverness.

"I see ye havena lost your charm," he chided.

Anders sighed. "'Tis no' just me. 'Tis the two of us, together. Which is how some of them would like to try us."

Stellan laughed. On his own, the lasses were friendly, but when the twins were together, well, lasses had always been fascinated by the wee lairds, as they'd been called when they were bairns. Their fascination had grown along with them.

"Ye are welcome to them," he said. "There's none here I'd have without the lass thinking to be the next lady of the clan. I'd never be rid of them." Anders had protected Stellan by allowing him, once in a while, to pretend to be his younger twin if a lass caught his eye. During Anders's latest absence, Stellan had toyed with the idea of impersonating his brother with one of the village lasses, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble it could cause.

"Aye, that does tend to make one think twice." Anders tossed off the last of his ale. "Very well, I'm ready. Let's go speak to Da."

They stood and made their way to the laird's solar. The door was closed, a good indication Laird Sutherland was within and working. Anders knocked.

"Come," their father's deep voice penetrated the thick, oaken door.

Stellan gave Anders an open-handed gesture to precede him. Anders opened the door and went in, Stellan following close behind.

"So, ye are back." Seated behind his work table, Laird Sutherland was a large, imposing man with glints of silver in his hair.

"Aye, father, just long enough to melt the sleet."

"And have a drink by the fire, I'll wager."

Anders colored and grinned. "I learned from the best these last five years."

Setting aside his quill, Sutherland nodded agreement, since he was well known to do the same. "So ye did." He waved them to seats. "What did ye learn?"

"There are rumors Domnhall plans another incursion, but 'tis only talk. No sign of any of his men in any numbers. The normal few ye'd expect to find anywhere in Scotland on business for the Isles. The same for any of Mar's men foolish enough to remain behind. 'Twas a wasted trip."

Sutherland nodded. "That was nay a wasted trip. Ye have brought good news. The longer Domnhall holds off, the better. No one kens why he walked away from Red Harlaw instead of finishing the fight. 'Tis something to worry us, but for now, we have other problems. If the MacKay would follow Domnhall's example, we might get through the spring and summer without more bloodshed."

Stellan turned to his twin. "No' much chance of that. In the time ye have been gone, Anders, MacKay has raided crofts on our border three times." He thought it interesting that their da wasn't concerned about Mar's left-behind men.

"So many?" Anders asked. "What about Gunn?"

"Harald Gunn sent me a missive a few days ago. He met with the MacKay recently and said with spring coming on, they're more interested in planting than stirring up trouble. I hope he kens I have reason nay to believe him."

"Likely," Anders said and nodded.

"'Tis time to see what there is to be seen toward the northwest," Sutherland continued. "Stellan, ye will take some men and ride Sutherland's borders with Gunn and MacKay."

"I'll go," Anders objected. "Ye need Stellan here."

"Ye are just back from Inverness. 'Tis time for the heir to visit our outlying crofts."

"I'll leave in the morning," Stellan said, collected Anders with a glance and left the solar.

Mariota MacKay removed the jesses and let her hawk Valkyrie fly free. They'd both been cooped up too long indoors, but the skies finally cleared around midday, and she loved the feel of the sun on her face. Valkyrie soared over the glen, making Mariota wish she could see through the raptor's eyes, feel the wind and weightlessness as her favorite hunter did.

She would spread her wings and never look back.

But that was a dream. And her fathers' edicts were real. Not only could she not leave MacKay land, she could not stray out of sight of the keep's imposing walls. She could not ride, or hunt with a bow, or speak her mind, or live her life the way she wished. And his men enforced his every word.

"Lasses do as they're told," her father growled the last time she reminded him she was a better shot with her bow than his men. And Valkyrie could spot and flush prey. To her, it made all the sense in the world. To him, well, she was not a son. And after the boar gored and nearly killed him five years ago, he'd never have one of his own.

She was the clan's hope for the future. Or rather, the man she'd eventually be forced to marry would be.

And if something happened to her father or her before that day came? The Lord of the Isles was ready to pounce. Or so her father believed. He'd become obsessed with two things in the last year. Finding a husband for her, and guarding MacKay against their neighbors, clan Gunn and the mighty clan Sutherland.

Valkyrie wheeled, catching Mariota's attention in time to see her stoop and dive on some prey. Good. A kill would do much to ease the frustration her winged hunter had felt at being enclosed for the last week.

She was trained to bring her kill to Mariota, a necessity if she was to be part of the clan's hunts. If the MacKay ever allowed it. Mariota watched her take wing and held up her gloved hand, a signal for the bird to return to her. As Valkyrie neared, she dropped a rabbit in front of her mistress, landed on Mariota's fist, flapped her wings to settle her balance, and stilled.

"Good lass!" Mariota told her. "A coney for the pot. Cook will be pleased with ye, even if Da is no'." She replaced the jesses, retrieved the rabbit, and made her way around the glen to the keep's gate.

"Got one, did she?" The guard, her friend Seamus, called down to her.

Mariota couldn't wave, but she held up Valkyrie's kill. "Aye. She always does. They're thick in the glen. I'm headed for the mews, then the kitchen. Can I bring ye anything? Or are ye coming down?"

"Go on about yer business, Mari. I'll visit the kitchen myself soon enough." He gave her a grin and a wave.

Mariota nodded and after returning Valkyrie to her perch in the mews, entered the kitchen with her prize.

"Been out, have ye?" The cook took the coney and laid it aside. "I shouldha kenned ye would now the weather's cleared. What will yer da say?"

"Nay a word. I stayed in Seamus's view the entire time."

"As if that lad would tell yer da any different. He fancies ye."

"Dinna ye start. Seamus is a friend and naught more."

"He'd like to be. Poor lad. 'Twill never happen."

Mariota's shoulders slumped at the reminder, however oblique, of her duty to the clan to wed a stranger.

"Ach, me and my big mouth." Cook crossed her arms over her ample chest. "Go get cleaned up, then come back. To apologize, I'll make something special for ye."

Mariota nodded and gave her a smile. "Seamus said he'd be in soon. Ye might make enough for two."

"Aye, and I will." Cook shooed her out.

Mariota headed for her chamber, eager to wash the rabbit's blood from her hands and kirtle. In the great hall, she noticed Alber sprawled in a chair by the fire, tankard in hand, and grimaced. She looked away and mounted a few stairs, hoping he was far enough in his cups not to see her. But her luck was no better this time than it ever was. He noticed her.

"Have ye killed a MacCleod, then, Mari? From the look of ye, ye did a poor job of it."

Alber's taunt rankled. She pretended she didn't hear him, but continued up the stairs without hesitation.

"Ach, nay, of course no'," he continued, louder. "Yer da willna let ye hunt, so ye canna fight for MacKay, either, can ye? Ye and yer wee bow and arrows."

His snicker was the last straw. Mariota stopped halfway up the stairs and peered down at him. Alber was a few years her senior, big and heavily muscled, he could have grown into a good-looking man if it wasn't for the constant sneer on his face. A scar from the battle of Red Harlaw didn't help. It ran from his nose to his jaw on the left side of his face, as if his opponent had tried to blind him and missed. Alber claimed to have killed so many that day, her da thought of him as one of his best fighters. His ruthlessness made him a hero for a few weeks, until people realized he enjoyed the praise, and his tales of his prowess in the battle grew beyond anything the surviving MacKays fighting there could confirm.

When they were younger, Alber had cornered her in the stables and tried to kiss her as he shoved his hand down her chemise. For his trouble, she'd kneed him as Cook had taught her. He'd dropped to the straw, swearing. "Too good for the likes of me, are ye?" He'd spat and curled up, threatening, "Ye'll pay for this."

"No' as much as ye'll pay if I tell Da what ye just did."

Since that day, he hadn't touched her so familiarly again, but never failed to bump into her or brush her shoulder as he passed by in a crowded room. He always had something disparaging to say if he caught her alone, but so far, she'd managed not to let him corner her. She shuddered to think what he'd do, given the chance. Bad enough what he probably said about her out of her hearing. She often regretted not reporting him to her father.

Today, after her brief taste of freedom with Valkyrie, she was in no mood to put up with Alber. "At least I brought food for the pot. What have ye done today, save sit on yer arse and drink? As ye are now, yer next opponent in battle will finish what the last started and cleave yer head from yer shoulders."

He lurched to his feet with a roar.

Mariota sniffed and continued up the stairs. He'd never follow her. If she screamed, her father would exile him, unless he chose to run him through on the spot. She went the rest of the way considering which she would prefer. Alber's curses followed her up the stairs.

Stellan pulled off his gloves as he entered the keep and made his way to the laird's solar. The door was open, so he didn't bother to knock. "I'm back," he announced, and moved to the hearth to chase away his chill by the fire. Days were getting longer and warmer, but by sunset, the air still carried the bite of winter.

"Ye are late. Was there trouble?" Sutherland laid aside his quill and leaned back in his chair. Numbers and notations covered the pages of the open journal on the work table before him.

"Nay. I ken ye were told MacKays are hunting Sutherland territory. We saw naught of them, though there's nay lack of places for them to hide." With some of the rawness of riding knocked off, he settled in a chair across the table from his father. "What is that?"

"The planting schedule. Barring another hard freeze, we should be able to start working the fields soon, especially those closer to the firth."

"We dinna need another lean year come harvest time. Or poachers."

"Indeed. Our stores are depleted as it is, and this time of year, we have to go farther afield to find game."

"We spotted a huge stag up north and tracked him for a few hours, but lost him in the woods. 'Tis why I'm late returning. I'll take several men tomorrow and try again."

"Have a care. The hinds will be fawning soon."

"I ken 'tis the wrong time of year to take a female. We saw none."

Anders entered then. "To ye, any time of year is the wrong time to take a female," he quipped. "Oh, were ye speaking of lasses or deer?"

"In either case, we were no' speaking to ye," Stellan replied. Anders grinned, taking no insult. Ever since they'd returned to Sutherland after fostering away, Stellan had shown no interest in taking a wife. Not until he absolutely had to. His twin understood. As young lads, they'd sworn an oath not to do so unless the lass came home with them. It didn't stop Anders from consorting with any lass who showed an interest. In the eyes of the clan, he wasn't weighed down with being the laird's heir, so like any other handsome lad, he felt free to take advantage where he could. Stellan had to be much more careful.

"So, ye saw nay sign of MacKays, either," Anders went on, clearly aware of the reason for Stellan's grim mood. "What are they up to?"

"According to the Gunn, naught," Sutherland said.

"Do ye believe him?" Stellan didn't.

"I believe only what I see or hear with my own senses," Sutherland answered.

"Or the report of yer sons," Anders prompted drily.

"Or a trusted ally, which Gunn is no'."

"So, nothing has changed," Stellan summarized, then stood. "I'm for some food and my bed."

"I've eaten," Anders told him, "but I'll join ye for an ale."

"Go on, ye two, and leave me to my work." Sutherland waved them out.

"Let's go riding." Mariota hooked her arm through Seamus's when she found him in the middle of the bailey the next day and turned him toward the stables. "I want to get out for a while and 'tis a fine morning."

"Yer da does no' want ye to leave the keep."

"He does no' want me to leave alone. I willna. Ye will be with me."

Seamus didn't look convinced, so Mariota stuck out her lower lip, doing her best to look pitiable and sad. When Seamus sucked in a breath, she knew she'd won.

"We'll go," he told her, "but we must return before dark."

"Why do ye say that? We always do."

"I'm on duty tonight."

"Perfect. We willna need to hurry. If ye'll beg Cook for some food so ye can eat before we return, I'll fetch Valkyrie."

He stood firm when she tried to turn them back toward the keep. "I dinna ken if this is such a good idea."

He couldn't back out now! She could taste freedom. And her favorite mount, Epona, needed to run. Mariota hadn't been able to ride her in weeks, and the mare was used to more freedom. Chafing over her father's restrictions, Mariota thought she'd found a champion in Seamus, and feared he was wavering. "I promise we'll be back in time. With Valkyrie along, we can hunt and make the morning worthwhile. She might take another coney for the pot. Da canna complain about that."

Mariota kept her expression neutral as Seamus considered. He feared her father's wrath. Everyone did. But the gate guard would not let her ride out without an escort, and Seamus was the most amenable to her of the MacKay men.

Finally, he nodded. "Fetch her, and yer bow. I'll meet ye in the stable."

Elation filled her, but she kept it off her face. "Thank ye." She headed for the mews to collect Valkyrie. She kept her bow there, too, so in minutes she was in the stable, instructing the lad working there to saddle Epona and Seamus's favorite mount.

By the time the horses were ready, Seamus arrived with a packet of food and two skins. He held one up. "Wine."

Mariota nodded. He knew her preference for watered wine over ale. They mounted up and Mariota settled Valkyrie on the bow-perch pommel the hawk master had carved for her. She led the way from the stable to the gate and called, "Open up."

"Ye are no' to go riding," the guard answered.

"No' alone, nay. But Seamus is with me."

"Open up," Seamus added. "We willna be gone long."

Mariota held her breath. With Seamus by her side, she hadn't expected resistance from the guard. "What did Da threaten all of ye with?" She kept her voice low enough only Seamus would hear her.

"Trust me, ye dinna wish to ken."

"Ouch."

"Pitch yer voice higher and ye'll have the right idea."

Mariota scowled at that. Surely her da wouldn't do anything so barbaric. Her expression smoothed into a smile when the gate inched open. As soon as there was enough of a gap for the horses to slip through, she kicked Epona into motion. In moments, they were free.

They rode hard across the open field outside the gate, then slowed when they entered the woods. At the first clearing, Mariota stopped and loosed Valkyrie. "Hunt," she told her. The raptor eyed her, then took to her wings and was soon lost to sight above the trees.

"She'll call if she spots something," Mariota reminded Seamus. "Until she does, let's ride."

They continued into the woods. In moments, Valkyrie's piercing call sounded above them. "That way," Seamus said, pointing.

In the next clearing, they found Valkyrie perched on her kill, a young fox. "Fox is nay good to eat, but the fur will be welcome," Mariota commented as she dismounted.

Seamus pulled his dirk, skinned the carcass, and left it for Valkyrie to enjoy. The fur he rolled and tied behind his saddle. "She didn't take long. Will she keep hunting?"

"Aye." Mari took the water skin from Epona's back as she watched Valkyrie tear strips of meat from the fox's haunch. She looked away long enough to rinse Seamus's hands and knife of blood. "She won't take much from that kill."

In moments, the bird launched skyward and they remounted.

Seamus picked up his reins. "Which way?'

"Toward the burn, I think," Mariota said. "We can wash up, refill this, and water the horses there, even if Valkyrie doesn't spot any prey."

At the burn, Seamus checked his horse's hooves. "Damn, I thought so. He's thrown a shoe."

"He's lamed?" Mariota's heart plummeted. So much for a long day away from the keep.

"Nay, but I canna ride him back to the keep without risking him. I'll have to walk him back."

At that moment, Valkyrie called. "She's spotted something. I'll go check," Mariota said.

"Dinna go far," Seamus warned. "Ye need to come with me. I canna leave ye here or yer da will have my cods, and I canna get to ye with any speed if trouble finds ye."

"I'll come back as quickly as I can." Mariota rode away, leaving Seamus to deal with his mount. Relishing her freedom to be alone, she forgot her promise to stay close by. She kept going, following Valkyrie's cries until she realized they were near the border with Sutherland, and called the bird down before they went too far.

Mariota knew she would be in trouble for coming this close to Sutherland. Seamus was well behind her, stuck waiting for her with a not-yet-lame, less one shoe horse. If he got worried and didn't wait, he'd risk his mount, or be hours walking trying to find her. Though she relished the time to herself, away from everyone, out of the keep, and away from her father's odious commands, it wasn't worth the punishment her father would mete out to Seamus if he found out—or if anything happened to her. This solitude, and feeling almost as free as Valkyrie on the wing, was an illusion.

She dismounted and walked across the clearing to where Valkyrie had landed with her kill, another bird. Mariota would let her feast on it before they headed home. She had earned the treat. But they needed to head back soon, or Seamus would indeed start searching for her, and he'd never go with her out of the keep again.

An arrow came out of nowhere and buried itself in the ground next to Valkyrie. The hawk dropped her kill and launched herself into the air.

Mariota spun, searching for cover and for where the shot had come from. Before she could move, Alber showed himself.

"Ye are a long way from home, lass," he taunted her. "And alone. Yer lap dog, Seamus, is far from here. He can do naught to help ye, now can he? And I can do with ye what I will." He stepped closer, lips pulled back in a malicious grin. "Go on, then, scream if ye wish. Ye willna be heard. Seamus is too far away."

"I dinna need to scream," she ventured, fighting the urge to run. Alber would be on her before she could take three steps. All she could do was hold her ground and keep his attention on her. Fear made her knees weak and her heart pound, but she had a secret weapon.

She whistled, calling Valkyrie down to attack, and tilted her head toward Alber.

He laughed and continued to advance on her.

Valkyrie's attack was as swift as it was unexpected—at least for him. Before Mariota could decide to run after all, the hawk's steep dive ended with her wings flared out around his head and her claws in his neck. Instinctively, he tried to protect his throat by grabbing at her claws. She pecked his face, tearing a chunk out of his cheek. Mariota whistled her away before he could harm her.

Valkyrie launched herself skyward.

At least her bird was safe. Mariota wasn't. The look on Alber's torn face promised a painful death if he managed to get his hands on her. She was about to call Valkyrie back down when she realized how much blood flowed from his face and neck. Instead of rushing Mariota, he stumbled to his horse and clung to its saddle, no longer able to taunt or threaten her.

Valkyrie had given her time to get to her horse, and she took advantage of Alber's condition, mounted and rode for home, her hawk pacing her in the sky above her.

Before long, she found Seamus and told him what had happened. "He may be coming behind us," she warned

Frowning, Seamus said, "I'll ride double with ye. Without a rider on his back, my mount can run. We need to get back to the keep. Ye are nay safe out here."

"Da will never let me out of MacKay's walls again."

"If Alber catches ye, yer da will be the least of yer worries." He mounted up behind her. "Now let's go."

They reached the keep safely, but Mariota knew that wasn't the end of her peril. She still had to tell her father what happened.

"I told ye to stay inside the gates," he raged, pacing his solar after he sent men to look for the injured Alber. "Ye disobeyed me yet again. Must I lock ye in yer chamber?"

"I did as ye asked, Da. I wasna alone until Seamus's horse threw a shoe. And Valkyrie spotted prey, so I went after her. But Alber found me and threatened me. I had to call Valkyrie down to stop him from…hurting me. Maybe even killing me." Probably. If he'd violated her, he couldn't have let her live to tell the tale. But Mariota didn't think her da was prepared to hear that from her.

His frown and the way his jaw clenched gave her hope he understood what she hadn't said. Alber would not get out of this unpunished, either.

"If ye had stayed in the keep as ye ought, this wouldna have happened. Seamus will be punished for aiding ye."

"Ye canna do that, Da. Blame me if ye must. I convinced Seamus to ride with me. But dinna blame me for what happened to Alber. He did no' have to follow. Or to threaten me. He tried to kill Valkyrie first, but his arrow missed. He got nay more than he deserved."

"And so shall ye. Get ye to yer chamber. I'll deal with ye after the men return."

Mariota realized she'd get nowhere arguing with her father. Meekly, she nodded and did as he ordered.

An hour later, he called her back. His men had found Alber unconscious, blood still seeping from the wounds on his neck and face.

"He does no' deserve to die," her father raged once he gave her the news. "Certainly no' in this way! Killed by yer damn hawk? If the lads had no' found him when they did, he would be dead, and MacKay would be without one of its best fighters. Ye, lass, are of an age to cause more such trouble. There are rough men here. More since Domnhall sent troops to fight Mar. I will see ye married. And soon."

Mariota gasped. This was to be her punishment? Her father cared less for her than for the man who'd tried to ruin his daughter—his heir—and instead of punishing him, was determined to marry her off? To whom? Surely not Alber! The very idea made cold sweat trickle down her spine.

"And no' to that lad Seamus. He may be yer friend and protector, but marriage to him does naught for MacKay. We need an alliance. And I know just where to seek one."

"Nay, da. I dinna wish to marry. No' Seamus, nay any other MacKay, and certainly no' with a stranger."

"Ye ken yer place, daughter. Ye will do yer duty for the clan."

"Ye are punishing me for Alber's actions."

"Perhaps I am, but for yers as well. Ye must learn what ye do has consequences. In this case, ye nearly cost a man's life."

"He brought that on himself when he attacked me." If nothing else, she had to make her father understand how dangerous Alber was to her.

"I will no' argue with ye, daughter. Leave me now, or there will be even more consequences."

He'd confine her to her chamber, or deny her Valkyrie, or something else she couldn't bear. With gaze downcast, she nodded, turned, and left the solar. She would go to her chamber, but not for any longer than necessary. She needed time to gather her things, and to find a way to get out of the keep's walls without being seen. Running away was dangerous, even foolish, she knew, but she knew her father. He'd do what he'd promised and marry her off, probably to some old laird of an enemy clan, for the sake of one of his damned alliances. She couldn't bear the thought. She'd rather live on her own in a hut in the woods. With Valkyrie to help her hunt, she'd never starve. But first she had to free Valkyrie and get away.

Then she'd deal with the rest of her life.

Stellan raised a hand, ordering the hunting party to halt just below the next rise. They'd tracked the huge stag for three days, headed north toward MacKay. Stellan knew they were still on Sutherland territory, but they couldn't go much farther. If they didn't get lucky soon, the stag would escape them.

Their horses nickered softly, but no one spoke. Stellan dismounted, crept to the hill's crest and stretched out on the ground to peer over it. The big stag had disappeared over the hill and into the thicker woods just beyond a wee glen that marked the boundary. Into MacKay territory.

His friend Tormund crept up and stretched out beside him. "See him?"

"Nay, and we're at our border with MacKay. If he doesna wander back this way, we willna be able to keep after him."

"Bollocks. We've been chasing that bastard for days. We canna lose him to the MacKays."

"We can and we will. He's crossed the border." Stellan raised a hand to forestall Tormund's objection. "Likely he wanders back and forth at will. If we wait, we'll see him on this side again."

Tormund eyed the sun's position low in the southwestern sky, snorted and pushed up onto his knees. "Unless the MacKays get him first. 'Tis done then. I'm for making camp. Let's let him live another day."

Stellan nodded and got to his feet. As he did, the stag meandered out of the trees and back across the glen's small clearing well ahead of them, nibbling at green shoots as he went. "He does no' bloody care that he's run us all over the countryside. Look at him."

Tormund crossed his arms over his massive chest. "He kens we're here."

"Aye. And if we go at him, he'll duck back into those trees on the MacKay side."

A hawk circled over the stag and emitted a piercing cry.

The stag's head came up and he froze.

"He's too big for the likes of ye," Tormund muttered, clearly addressing the raptor.

Before Stellan could answer, the stag bolted—straight for them.

"What the hell?" Tormund raised his bow, but Stellan put a hand on his arm.

"Wait till he's well on our side. Wait." Stellan's gaze swept the area between their hilltop and the stag, looking for the stone marker he knew was in the glen. He spotted it as the stag crossed into Sutherland and began to run uphill. "Give him another…wait…now!"

Tormund loosed his arrow and struck the stag in the throat.

It went down, stumbling, onto its foreleg knees, and rested there, wheezing, as blood began to soak its shoulder.

Stellan nocked an arrow and loosed it, finishing the beast. "I didna want to see him suffer," he said, waving at the others to bring the horses up.

Tormund nodded and they started down the hill. An arrow whizzed by and buried itself in the ground behind them. They ducked and scrambled for the cover of a fallen tree trunk.

"Sodding Sutherland thieves!" The angry call came from MacKay land. Another arrow followed it.

"Stay back," Stellan warned his men, then peered over the trunk and faced toward the buck. "We've stolen nothing," he called out.

"The buck was on MacKay land. 'Tis ours!"

"We've chased that buck over half of Sutherland. It crossed into MacKay and back out again before we killed it. Ye have nay claim."

The rumble of deep male voices came to them, none clear, until one rose above the others to object, "That blasted bird spooked it and it ran. We'd have it but for the hawk."

"Ye did no' ken the buck was even there until the hawk screamed a warning," another said.

The voices dropped, but continued wrangling. Stellan sat back against the tree trunk and looked aside to where Tormund was doing the same. They traded a look and shrugged.

"Think we can retrieve it?" Tormund's grin gave away the sarcasm in his question.

"Go right ahead," Stellan told him. "It ye want yer arse shot full of arrows while ye try to pull it up here."

"Guess we'll have to wait until they give up and leave."

"Aye. If they do. MacKays are no' kenned for being reasonable."

The arguing continued in the MacKay camp with occasional forays to yell insults at the Sutherlands. With dark encroaching, the MacKays lit a campfire visible through the trees on their side.

Tormund groaned when the glow of the fire became visible. "Damn MacKays. 'Tis our buck."

"They'll be watching it from under the cover of those trees. Let's make a show of withdrawing."

Tormund grinned and nodded. "Anders is going to be sorry he missed this."

Stellan stayed down but moved uphill as he ordered his men back over the hilltop. He didn't bother to lower his voice, wanting the MacKays to hear him.

On the other side of the hilltop, out of earshot of the rival clansmen, he told his men, "Let them drink themselves pished , then we'll haul the buck over the hill and be gone before the sun comes up. Tormund and Finlay, ye'll take first watch. Wake me when they get quiet."

Two hours later, Stellan and four men picked up the buck and brought it back over the hill—a Sutherland victory his da would appreciate. The only life lost was the buck's.

Finding a way to escape MacKay was taking Mariota longer than she'd hoped it would. She couldn't free Valkyrie, claim a horse, and get all three out of the keep, herself included, without garnering too much notice. Her father had laid down the law with the guards. Under no circumstances was she to leave the keep. Not alone and not with anyone else, especially Seamus, who had been permanently relegated to the nighttime watch. She was sorry for him, but her da could have done worse.

Alber had been under the care of the healer. Despite all the blood Mariota had seen and her da's claim that he'd been found near death, his injuries were not as serious as she'd imagined. In Valkyrie's favor, he'd never look the same again, not that Mariota thought he'd been an attractive man to start with. Her hawk's claw marks would scar his neck. The chunks the raptor had torn out of his face would heal, but would leave unsightly pits. Bruises, though those would fade, further detracted from his appearance. So she'd been told. She hadn't been foolish enough to get anywhere near his chamber.

He was under no such compunction. Mariota found him waiting outside her chamber door after the evening meal the day after he was brought back to the keep.

"Alber! What are ye doing here?" She shouted at him, hoping someone would hear and come to her aid.

"I've come to finish the business between us. Yer bird did this to me," he said and lifted a hand to his face, open wounds seeping still.

Hadn't the healer bandaged them? Or had he torn off the coverings to try to frighten her with his grotesque appearance.

"She protected me."

"She's no' here now." He moved more quickly than she thought him capable of, grabbed her arm and forced her against the wall, his other hand splayed over her face, fingers gripping the sides of her head in a punishing show of strength. "Ye are mine and ye owe me. I'll make ye hurt as yer damn bird hurt me."

Mariota tried to scream, but he flattened his palm against her nose and mouth, denying her breath. He meant to kill her, and she was on her own. But she'd beaten him before, once by herself and once with Valkyrie's help. She'd do it again.

She tried to twist away, but it was a ruse. He fell for it, stepping wide to contain her as she writhed. With no mercy, she kneed him between the legs. She couldn't believe he fell for the same maneuver again. She went into her chamber and bolted the door as his howl echoed down the hallway. She suspected it could be heard in the great hall. In moments, running footsteps proved her right.

Two MacKay men reached her door as she opened it, followed by two more and several women.

"He attacked me again," she said. "I stopped him."

The women took in Alber lying on the floor, hands between his legs cupping himself, tears mixing with the blood seeping from his face from his fall, and laughed. "Ye got him good, lass."

"Get him away from me. Please. Lock him in his chamber and tell my da what he did."

"We'll take care of him," one of the men said, nodded to the others and they dragged Alber down the hall toward the stairs. In moments, she heard the hard thump, thump, thump that told her they dragged him down them, too. It seemed she wasn't the only one who disliked him. But where were they taking him? To her da?

"Did he hurt ye?" One of the older women asked in a sympathetic tone, reaching out to touch her arm.

"He tried," Mariota told her and the others who remained. "I didna let him."

"Ye are a braw lass," one of the others said.

"Thank ye, but I dinna think he's entirely recovered from the injuries he got from attacking me yesterday." She shrugged and winced. "I'd like to go rest now."

With understanding nods, they left her in her chamber. There, she gave in to a fit of shakes, angry tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She was out of time. Once Alber was well, no matter what her father might do, he'd come after her.

A knock on her door startled her. Not Alber again, please! Nay, he wouldn't knock. "Who is it?"

"Yer da sent me to guard yer door, lass." She recognized the voice of one of the men who'd carried off Alber. So, she was confined to her chamber after all. Da might think it was for her safety, but she knew better. Alber would find her alone eventually. Or her da would find her a husband whether she liked it or not.

Left with no alternative, she waited until midnight, made a rope out of bedsheets and with her few belongings wrapped in a spare plaid tied on her back, she climbed out of her window and down to the bailey. The night was quiet and the guards' attention was outside the walls, not inside, so she was able to sneak to the mews and free Valkyrie. The stable tempted her, but she knew she'd never get out with her horse. Keeping to the shadows, she turned for the postern gate, and once through it, made her way on foot to the village, staying under the trees and out of sight of the guards on the keep's walls. She knew the value of a horse to each villager, and she hated to do it, but she was desperate. She saddled and stole one she knew, vowing to return it as soon as she could, led it quietly away from the village and the MacKay keep before mounting it, and rode into the night.

Stellan and his men continued to hunt, making their way slowly back toward the keep with the buck tied over the back of one of the horses. They stopped once to field dress the buck when he was certain they were far enough into Sutherland territory the MacKays wouldn't dare follow. Hoisting it up by its hind legs and a rope slung over a tree branch, they cut its throat and drained the last of its blood, gutted it and left the entrails for the local predators. Then they moved away and found a spot near a burn to get some sleep before continuing their journey home.

Stellan woke to a guard's hand on his shoulder, early sunlight in his eyes, and the sound of a horse moving nearby rustling in the undergrowth beyond their camp, headed their way. With no fire to warn of their presence, he expected the rider would be on them in moments. He stood and toed two more men awake. "Someone's coming," he told them quietly.

They nodded, got up, and soundlessly reached for weapons.

Stellan couldn't have been more surprised when he saw a lass on horseback with a hawk in jesses gripping her fist stumble on their camp. Her long hair tumbled around her shoulders, amber threads among the rich brown catching the eastern glow. She looked half asleep and barely aware enough to avoid getting knocked off her horse by tree branches as she rode.

"Lass," he said softly as he grasped the horse's bridle to keep her from jerking awake and galloping away. They were covered in deer blood and would frighten her when she noticed it.

"What? Ach! Who are ye? Let me go."

"I'll let ye go when ye are awake enough to ride safely. I'm Stellan. Who are ye?"

She studied him, her moss-green eyes widening as she took in his and his men's bloody clothes.

No amount of dunking in a shallow burn would remove all of it, though they'd tried.

"Did ye kill the men following me?"

Stellan straightened, alert to more trouble. "Men are following ye? Who?"

"MacKays." She looked around as if looking for the men—or for a way out.

Tormund came up and gave her a nod before turning to Stellan. "Likely 'tis why that lot were so close to our border last night, aye? Searching for her and found our buck."

Stellan agreed. If the men they'd left behind were the only MacKay patrol, they were probably hung over this morning and the Sutherlands were safe. But he doubted they'd been sent out alone. Still, the lass needed assurances. "We havena killed anyone but a buck, lass, and ye are safe with us. Now, who are ye?"

"Mariota. I'm…lost, I think. Can ye help me? I wasna safe where I came from."

"'Tis lucky ye found us. We're headed home to Sutherland," he said and nodded toward the buck's body tied over one of the horses. "Come with us and we'll see ye taken care of. But first, get down. We're about to break our fast. Ye must be hungry."

Once she was off her horse, he realized she was hurt, scratched, limping, and couldn't continue on her own.

"I need to free Valkyrie to hunt," she told him. "I've kept her hooded to keep her quiet since I left home."

"Will she return to ye?" Could the lass be lying? Had she stolen a valuable bird?

"Of course. I trained her well." Mariota removed the jesses and tossed the bird into the air.

To Stellen's consternation, it flew off, but before long, it returned, a vole clutched in its claws, dropped the prey near the lass, and at her signal, settled on the ground to tear at it. He couldn't help but be impressed.

Over their own meal, Mariota told him of how she'd been attacked three times, and how Valkyrie saved her the second time after her attacker narrowly missed killing the raptor. Stellan knew he was taking a dangerous step—MacKay could say he stole the lass and ruined her—but her harrowing tale gained his sympathy and his cooperation. Her tale was too real to ignore, and her bravery impressed him. She'd fought off the last attack in her own hall.

Mariota was like no lass he'd ever met. She intrigued him, and he vowed to find out more about her. Before they headed south, he gave her spare clothes and a man's bonnet to hide her hair in case they were unlucky enough to happen near a MacKay patrol foolish enough to be looking for her on Sutherland territory.

The trip back to Dunrobin went much faster than the trip out because they weren't meandering around the countryside, on the trail of the huge buck. They rode straight through to the Sutherland keep on the Moray firth.

Stellan introduced Mariota to the clan steward to settle her in a chamber, her hawk in the mews, and to get her whatever she needed. By the time Stellan delivered the buck to the kitchen, he was tired, again covered in blood, and ready for a hot bath, but first he had to explain Mariota to the laird. He enlisted Cook's help. Rather than having hot water hauled up to his chamber, he used the tub in the screened-off nook off the kitchen, stripped and slid in with a satisfied groan. Cook had left soap and bath sheets. He was content to stay until the water cooled, but the laird awaited. So did Mariota.

Anders shouted his name, waking him from the near doze brought on by warm comfort and exhaustion. "Ah, there ye are. So Cook is stewing ye for our supper?"

"No' likely," Stellan answered, stood and let the water run down his torso before grabbing the top bath sheet from the stack and wrapping it around his waist. "What's so urgent ye have to come find me here?" He stepped out of the tub and frowned at his twin.

"I heard ye picked up a stray. And Da wants us."

"Now, of course." He grabbed the next towel and rubbed his hair as dry as he could. "I have to dress."

"Best hurry, then. I'll go stall him."

Anders left and Stellan headed for his chamber, making a point to ignore the admiring glances the kitchen wenches and other clan womenfolk sent his way. Why hadn't he sent for clean clothes before he got in the damned tub? In his chamber, he dressed quickly, then hurried to the laird's solar. Anders and their father were standing at the work table, studying a map.

"Ye needed to see us?" Stellan moved toward them.

"Are ye surprised? What the hell were ye thinking?"

"That the lass was lost, exhausted, and needed help. She's a MacKay."

"I'm well aware. Mariota."

"Aye." A shiver ran down Stellan's back. What did his da know?

"I received a missive from the MacKay. The second on the subject actually, two days ago."

"What subject?"

Anders moved around the table to stand with his twin.

Sutherland gestured them to chairs. "His daughter, Mariota, is of marriageable age."

Stellan exchanged a shocked glance with Anders. This was trouble, indeed. Did she leave because she was to be wed rather than the story she told about being attacked?

"Last fall," their father continued, "he proposed an alliance when ye both were away. I posed it to Cameron. Ye ken he looked in another direction for a wife."

"Mary Rose, aye." According to the missives Stellan had read, it was a love match.

"MacKay never actually designated which of ye lads he would like to see wed to his daughter. Now, something has happened to give her marriage some urgency and he writes that he wants a Sutherland to come to MacKay to meet her. And for the betrothal."

"He's jesting. Or ye are." Anders frowned. "When did ye say ye received his missive?"

"Two days past. She found ye in Sutherland territory today, so her da sent the missive before she ran off."

"Or escaped, by her telling," Stellan reminded him. "And she's fallen right into our hands."

"How many men would have to go with us to ensure he didn't kill us out of hand once we crossed into MacKay territory?" Anders frowned at their father.

Stellan agreed. It was madness to do what the MacKay asked.

"None. He guarantees safe passage."

"He doesna ken we have her," Anders stated.

"Nay, and by now, he's probably quite concerned about our response since he canna produce her."

"But we can."

Anders's speculative look, eyebrows raised, told Stellan he was thinking—hard. "Why Sutherland and no' one of his other allies. Sinclair or MacLeod?" Stellan frowned. "He must be nervous about Domnhall."

"I would be if I were he," Sutherland said. He shrugged, then studied both twins and seemed to come to a decision. "I will notify him that she's made her way here. Since he will doubt she has remained untouched, I must agree to the betrothal. If his response is still favorable, she must return home until the wedding."

Stellan shook his head. "Da, ye canna. She fled because she feared a clansman."

"If she's betrothed to Sutherland, do ye think her da will allow her to be harmed?"

"We canna be certain…"

"Anders, ye will go—with an escort. Stellan," he added, holding up a hand as both he and Anders opened their mouths to object, "I have other plans for ye."

The twins exchanged frowns.

"Da—"

"I'll hear nay more about this for today. I have a letter to write. Both of ye, out." He gestured at the door.

Stellan and Anders took their accustomed seats by the great hall's hearth, and after a lass brought them ale, Stellan tipped his mug. "Cheers, brother. What do ye think of our lass?"

Anders choked on the mouthful of ale he'd just taken in and sprayed it toward the fire, which leapt when the alcohol hit it. "Yer lass, ye mean," he said when he could breathe.

"Da wants ye to return her to MacKay. What do ye think he means, save that he's expecting ye will wed her?"

Anders shook his head. "He may think so, but ye found her. Ye seem to like her. Ye should be the one to travel with her, to meet her da, even to marry the lass."

"There's one problem with that," Stellan said, staring into the fire.

Anders flinched. "Aye, she's her father's heir. Her husband must rule MacKay with her. And ye are da's heir, so he expects ye will rule here after him. I'm the expendable one."

"Nay to me. Nay to the vow we made."

Anders nodded, then grinned. "Do we switch? Ye go as me to spend more time with her, and I stay as ye?"

"And when we are discovered?" Stellan couldn't imagine the outcry that would cause.

Anders shook his head. "As long as ye manage to control yerself and dinna ruin the lass so ye are forced to marry her, ye can leave her there, and come home."

"Aren't ye forgetting da said they probably think that has already happened? Da can decide to betroth ye to her. Me. One of us!" Stellan tossed off the rest of his ale, tempted to hurl the cup into the fire for the satisfaction of watching it shatter. They'd known a day would come when the Sutherland would try to settle wives on them. Mariota had unwittingly made that day today. "God's bones, she's the one lass I can never have. Da willna accept her for me. And I swore with ye when we thought ye would be sent to the Norse land forever that we wouldna marry any lass we couldna bring home."

"We were nine," Anders replied, his tone dry.

"We were wiser than our years." He clenched the fist holding the cup. "Ye dinna want her, but I've seen enough to ken I might."

"Then ye had best go with her so ye can find out if she's worth the battle the two of ye will start."