Prologue

Scottish Highlands, sometime during the Fifteenth Century

She was a bonny,lustful lassie, and it felt good to hold her in his arms. How many days and nights of carousing and womanizing had he experienced throughout his long life? So many he had lost count.

"Why are ye frowning, ye braw duine," the comely lass touched the crease between his brows with her fingertip. "How can ye be serious at such a time? Do I nae make ye the happiest man in all the land?"

"I'm trying to count how auld I am," he teased her. "It's nae easy, ye ken."

The woman gave a trill of laughter. He could see that she was preparing herself for another roll around the mattress from the way she was caressing his chest, running her hands up and down his taut, suntanned torso.

The Highlander had met a lot of insatiable women during his travels and this one definitely had to be counted amongst them.

"Are ye bamming me?" she giggled, flicking his firm jawline with one finger. "Ye cannae have seen more than thirty summers at most." Climbing on top of him and straddling his hips, she leaned forward so that her fair locks fell over his face. Grabbing a handful of hair from the top of his head, she gave it a playful shake. "See? Not one gray hair."

"Looks can be deceiving, Maid." Sitting up as if she weighed nothing at all, Fergus Sterling took another pull of whiskey. The golden liquid burned like fire in his throat. He was pleasantly drunk, but he believed it was not enough to make him reckless. "Come now. Tell me the truth. Are ye really related to yon priest?" He jerked his head toward the closed bedchamber door and the household behind it.

Earlier that evening, back at one of the raucous taverns where Fergus loved to spend his evenings, the woman who was now sitting on top of him had elbowed her way through the group of serving wenches gathered around the tall and handsome stranger and introduced herself as the priest's niece.

"If ye come home with me and bide awhile, stranger, ye can sample… the most delicious whisky." Like most evenings, Fergus was always the first to raise a laugh and drink every other man under the table, but he was sober enough to understand the double meaning behind the maid's offer.

From the way she licked her lips, it gave Fergus the hope he might have a good time. He was always looking for a distraction. A way to make him forget the dullness of his life. So, he had staggered home with her, to the priest's cottage at the back of the small parish church.

The moment they reached her bedchamber, she pounced on him. And she had pounced on him two more times since then. This suited Fergus perfectly because he had no time to think about the shallow meaning and purpose of his life.

"So, tell me. Are ye really part o' the priest's clan?" he asked her.

Fluttering her lashes, the woman laughed and nodded. "Aye. But Uncle Ambrosius is only looking after me because me brither is doon south, trading and making deals with the Sassenachs. Dinnae fash aboot auld Uncle Ambrosius. He'll be fast asleep by noo. So, are ye nae going to tell me how auld ye are?"

The whisky coursed through his veins. Dozens and dozens of lonely nights stretched out behind him. He wanted to tell her… he would tell her! "I have seen over two hundred cold winters come and go, Maid, I'll not lie."

He waited for her response, knowing that it would be the same, boring reply he had heard from every woman he had ever told. She burst out laughing and pulled the whisky bottle away from him. "I think ye've had enough o' this, darling, dinnae ye?!"

The Highlander was not listening. Fergus had trained himself to pick up sounds that did not fit in with his surroundings and he was hearing them now. A door slammed from inside the cottage. The clopping of horse hooves outside in the road. "Ye said yer uncle was asleep in his room? Who is walking to the front door?"

He sprung into action before she could reply. Looking around the room after throwing the woman off him, Fergus found his feileadh-mor where he had cast it across the chair. The plaid was so faded and travel-stained, it was impossible for anyone to see where it had been woven. "Lassie, quick! Help fold me plaid. And be quick aboot it, or else we'll both be stuck in the pillories together tomorrow."

As the woman knelt to pleat the plaid with hurried, nervous movements, Fergus pulled on his boots and shirt. Lying on top of the plaid, he belted it around his waist, not bothering to check if it was straight. He heard the front door open and grabbed his sheathed sword and short coat.

The voices at the door told Fergus that the priest was asking for his niece to come and bid her uncle welcome.

So much for the blethering fool being asleep in his bed! Perhaps it's for the best. I'm tired. Bored and tired. And if I'd stayed there with yon lassie, I doubt if I would be getting much sleep!

Fergus swore under his breath as he remembered his bonnet. He would stand out running down the road without it. But as he darted back into the bedchamber to fetch it, the door opened. The old servant stood in the doorway with her mouth open when she saw him before screaming at the top of her lungs. "Help! A ravisher! A libertine! A…a man!"

Picking up on this perfect excuse, the young woman in the bedchamber pretended to faint on the floor, shouting at the top of her voice. "Uncle, uncle! Come quickly. The man ravished me against me will!"

Vaulting out of the window casement, Fergus was chuckling as he landed in the flowerbed. Maybe it would be a good idea for him to leave Scotland for a wee while. Priests could be very strict when it came to strangers lying with their kin without being married first.

The sound of wobbly footsteps could be heard as the priest hobbled out of the front door, his walking stick raised above his head. "Ye, pestilent rascal! If I ever see ye again, I'll have ye hanged at the gibbet!"

Giving a cheery wave of his hand, Fergus strapped his sword behind his back and jogged toward the harbor. It would be nice to visit Italy, or any other of the pretty countries surrounding the azure blue Mediterranean Sea.