Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

NORTHERN SCOTLAND, SPRING, 1412

T he 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 fondling 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 touched a lass, 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 itched to know the details, but he knew he would get nothing more from Anders until his twin made his report to their father. Stellan settled back to let Anders enjoy his ale and his warm feet. They would go together to their father's solar.

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

Stellan gave him an answering grimace. The lasses flocked to Anders' easy charm like gulls to a beached fish. It didn't seem to matter that they were identical twins. No one flocked to Stellan. At best, when the lasses saw them together, their assessing looks and smoldering smiles occasionally spilled over from Anders to include him. Stellan considered himself open and friendly. Some of the time. When it suited his purposes.

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

"I see ye haven't lost your charm," he chided.

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

Stellan snorted. On his own, the lasses were friendly, but when the twins were together, well, the lasses had always been fascinated by the little 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 protected Stellan from ambitious lasses who wanted to be the clan's lady by allowing him, once in a while, to pretend to be his younger twin with a lass who'd caught his eye. During Anders's latest absence, Stellan had toyed with the idea of impersonating his brother with one of the lasses, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Most knew Anders had gone, not Stellan.

"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. It was Anders' turn to report to the laird. Stellan used every opportunity to make their father see Anders as capable and in control as much as Stellan. Their da thought only of Stellan as his heir, ignoring the possibility that if something happened to his eldest, Anders would be the one to take over, and unaware, as far as they knew, of their vow to rule together.

Anders cut Stellan a sour look that spoke volumes, opened the door and went in.

Stellan waited long enough to hear Anders greet their father and garner his attention, then joined them. Anders knew what Stellan was doing, and appreciated it, but Stellan felt his frustration nonetheless as a tightness in his gut. Anders deserved to be valued just the same as his minutes-older brother, but their father adhered to the notion of primogeniture, that only the eldest would rule in his stead.

"So, ye are back." Seated behind his worktable, 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 since we returned from fostering."

Sutherland nodded agreement, since he was well known to do the same, and set aside his quill. "So ye did." He gestured at the seats across from him. "What did ye learn in town?"

"They're making progress rebuilding. There are rumors Domnhall plans another incursion, but 'tis only talk," Anders said as they settled. "No sign of his men in any numbers. Only the normal few ye'd expect to find anywhere in Scotland on business for the Isles. 'Twas a wasted trip."

Sutherland frowned, then lifted one shoulder. "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 our neighbors would follow Domnhall's example, we might get through the spring without more bloodshed."

Stellan turned to his twin. "No' much chance of that. In the time ye have been gone, MacKay has raided crofts on our border three times."

"So many? 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 nay reason 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 our borders with Gunn and MacKay."

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

Surprised, Stellan glanced at his twin, and gave him a slight shake of his head. But he kept his expression neutral as he turned his gaze back to their father. Why the quick offer to go? Anders hadn't been back long enough to get bored with life in the keep. And if their father was ever to see the value in his second son, Anders needed to spend time with him at Dunrobin, doing the things that Stellan usually did with the laird.

"Ye are just returned. In fact, ye are still dripping from the weather ye rode through," Sutherland stated, his tone firm and unyielding. "'Tis time for the heir to visit our outlying crofts."

Had their father finally come around to accepting he needed to prepare both sons to succeed him? "I'll leave in the morning," Stellan said, determined to take advantage of this opening for his brother. He collected Anders with a glance and stood.

After a moment, Anders stood, too, and they left the solar together.

Mariota MacKay removed the hood and jesses and let her hawk Valkyrie fly free. They'd both been cooped up too long indoors, but the skies 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 a boar gored and almost 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, as well as Domnhall of the Isles.

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 held up Valkyrie's kill. "Aye. She always does. 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 dismissive 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 should ha' kenned ye would now the weather's cleared. What will yer da say?"

"Nary a word. I stayed in Seamus's view the entire time." One of the clan's senior guards, Seamus was highly accomplished for a man only a few years older than she, but he had always been kind to her.

"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. More, that is. 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 alone 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, and 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. Ye need a real man with ye."

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 other men fighting there could confirm.

When they were younger, he'd 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. He'd never forgotten that day, or forgiven her. Nor had she forgotten what he tried to do to her. 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? Real man ? 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 warm himself by the fire. After a week's hard riding, being back inside Dunrobin felt good. He looked forward to sleeping in his own bed tonight rather than on the cold, hard ground, or in a crofters' cot. 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, his gaze following Stellan as he warmed his hands in front of the fire.

"Nay. We saw nay sign of it at the crofts we visited. Ye said ye were told MacKays are hunting Sutherland territory. We saw naught of them, though with everything in the woods starting to sprout leaves, there's nay lack of places for them— or their quarry —to hide." Stellan shrugged. Some of the chill of riding seemed to have eased off, so he settled in a chair across the table from his father. "What are ye working on?" Numbers and notations covered the pages of the open journal on the worktable before him.

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

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

"Indeed. Our stores are depleted enough 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 a few men tomorrow and try again."

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

"We saw none. They're hunkered down with their fawns, or will be soon. I ken 'tis the wrong time of year to take a female."

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

"In either case, I was no' speaking to ye," Stellan replied, grinned, and gripped his brother's forearm in greeting.

Anders grinned back, taking no insult. Unlike his minutes-older brother, he was free to consort with any lass who showed an interest. Stellan, as heir, had to be much, much more careful.

"So, ye saw nay sign of MacKays, either," Anders went on, clearly aware of the reason for Stellan's grim mood. "Do we ken what they are 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.

"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."

"Welcome back," their father told Stellan. "Go on, both of ye, and leave me to my work." Sutherland waved them out.