Chapter 3

Brutus of Clan Murray – formerly Blake Sinclair – kept his hands at his side in a casual pose and tried to ignore the pull of the scar on his face, and the slight ache in his gut. Both were old wounds, long healed. And at least the scar meant that Laird Ewan Gregor didn't recognize him as the boy he'd seen playing in the halls of Sinclair Castle so many years ago.

He wanted to leave, but he could hardly do so before he had the lass he'd come to collect. It was his duty to his new laird.

He'd ridden hard after he'd fled Sinclair lands, afraid to stop for too long in any one place in case his father's men were following him. He'd camped when he could, holding onto every meager coin he had. He'd starved more often than not, in that first month.

Then, one day, he'd fallen afoul of a group of bandits. He'd fought as hard as he could, but he'd been one half-grown lad against half-a-dozen men, all more vicious than he was. All ready to kill for the chance of the smallest scrap of loot.

He knew he would have died that night, save that a passing patrol from Murray Keep had arrived and beaten the bandits back, then carried him back and delivered him to Laird Murray's healer. In the end, he'd awakened with a long, bloody gash on his face that healed to a long, harsh scar, and Laird Oran Murray standing at his bedside.

He'd been terrified that he was about to be executed or returned to Clan Sinclair to be executed. Instead, Laird Oran had offered him shelter and further training, with the goal of making him the strongest warrior in Clan Murray. With time, Laird Oran had even offered to make him the heir, should he perish without a son of his own. In essence, he'd been offered everything he'd once had with his own clan.

He'd taken the name of Brutus Murray, a distant cousin of the laird's family. He'd trained hard, fought hard where Laird Murray told him to fight, and gained a reputation for being a strong warrior. It would never erase the sting of his lost honor and his lost family, but it was better than he'd expected when he ran away.

"Where's me son Finlay? Is he well? Has he been hurt?" Laird Ewan's voice dragged him from his memories. He forced his attention back to the man in front of him.

"Finlay's well. Well enough, fer being a bit o' an unwilling guest o' Laird Murray's fer now." He took a breath. "Yer lad's nae been hurt, nae more than a few bruises, and he's safe. As long as the terms ye and Laird Murray agreed tae are upheld, yer heir will come home hale and hearty, and nae the worse fer his time away."

"Can I see him when we arrive?" Ewan frowned at him. "Yer laird and his clansmen have kidnapped me son, surely ye cannae expect me tae simply take yer word he's in good health?"

Blake forced himself to keep his expression bored as he shrugged his shoulders. "Ye can believe me, or ye can refuse tae, but that's the truth so far as I ken it. And after the wedding ceremony, I'll deliver yer son tae ye, and ye'll see him fer yerself. Nae afore then. Me laird willnae chance ye trying tae tak' yer heir and run afore ye've fulfilled yer half o' the agreement."

Laird Gregor snarled at him, looking and sounding for a moment far more like a wounded beast than a Highland laird. "I kent all ye Murray whelps were treacherous bastards, but I didnae think ye were so lacking in honor as that."

The words stung, but Brutus forced himself to smile coldly back. "Say what ye will, Laird Gregor – the bargain stands as it is. And ye may think we're lacking in honor, but at least we're nae the sort tae give our daughters up like prize mares tae buy ourselves what we desire. And we dinnae trade the life o' one child fer the happiness o' another."

Of course, part of the reason for that was because Laird Murray had no sons or daughters with which to bargain, but that didn't need to be said. And he could see that even that truth didn't keep his words from cutting deep into the man before him.

Ewan cursed and stomped away. Brutus idly considered the bags lying neatly packed on the ground near the entrance hall. Those bags were the ones Laird Murray's new fiancée would bring with her to their first meeting, and he was as responsible for them as he was for the lass, given that he was her escort. The rest of her belongings would be packed once she was gone and follow a day or two later, in the care of her father.

Laird Gregor would be traveling by carriage, with an escort of armed guards and the majority of his daughter's things. Her wardrobe, personal belongings, any items inherited from her mother, and her dowry would be brought to Murray Keep by Laird Ewan, while his daughter would arrive sooner, so that she might become properly acquainted with her new betrothed before the ceremony. The wife of Laird Gregor's son was with child and would, as he understood it, remain at the keep to protect the babe, govern in his absence and await the return of her husband – Laird Gregor's heir, as well as the laird himself.

Thinking of Laird Gregor's heir only brought his thoughts back around to the reason he was here, and the lass he was here to collect. He tried not to think her name, but it resounded in his thoughts anyway. Reyna Gregor, the laird's only daughter.

Laird Ewan Gregor's only daughter – and the only lass Blake Sinclair had ever loved. As Brutus, he'd taken more than one willing lass to bed with him. It was expected, as much a verification of manhood as winning a fight in the sparring yard. More than that, once a decent period of mourning for his life before had passed, Oran had begun to drop hints that a man who was in contention for claiming the title of laird would do well to prove he was capable of producing heirs of his own, lest the clan gain a reputation of impotence.

He was also a young man and had spent his youth dealing with all the usual considerations a young, red-blooded man had to endure. For a while, he'd tried to ignore it or deal with the pressures on his own, until finally he'd been forced to realize the uncomfortable truth – it wasn't enough. Not to maintain his reputation or his ability to function. Sometimes, a man needed a woman in his arms and in his bed to give him pleasure and physical contact enough to satisfy his needs. Even if it was no more than a casual, one-night affair

After that, he'd learned to give pleasure as well as take it, though he made certain his partners knew and understood that their company was only desired for a night, and only for satisfying his physical needs. Sometimes, he found a small measure of comfort in the act, but it was always followed by an aching sense of sorrow and wistfulness. His body might be easily satisfied, but his heart, like the cherished memories of his former life, belonged to the lass he'd left standing in a meadow ten years ago.

And now he was honor- and duty-bound to bring her to Laird Oran Murray, to be wed to the man he knew she feared and despised more than any other. The knowledge was like a dagger in his gut, as was the painful irony of the situation.

He, who'd once assured her that such a union would never happen, was now responsible for ensuring that it did. If he hadn't believed the gods were cruel before, he most certainly did now.

He wondered if she'd recognize him. The scars he'd gained in combat had altered his face from its once boyish look, and age had changed it still further, giving him a firmer chin, a longer nose, and a more rugged jawline. The lasses of Murray Keep said he was a handsome man, and he supposed he'd no reason to disbelieve them, but he still wondered if anything remained that might remind Reyna of the boy she'd once known.

If she did recognize him, what would she think of him? By now, she would most certainly know his father had died. According to Laird Murray, the details surrounding the matter had been kept fairly quiet, but Reyna could have written to Hutch. She might know more.

Did she know how his father had died? Did she think him responsible? Or did she think him a coward who had run away from her, and from his clan? His letters to and from Hutch were infrequent, and he'd never dared ask his cousin about such things. He didn't want to know the answer.

He wasn't sure which would be worse – seeing recognition in her eyes, followed by disgust, and the risk of her saying something in front of her father, or facing her loathing while knowing she thought him nothing more than a stranger, and just another one of Laird Murray's brutish clansmen.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, two women appeared from a side quarter, walking in step as they made their way toward him. Even if the one on the right hadn't been noticeably with child, making it clear who she was, he knew he would have recognized Reyna anywhere. Where the years had made him more rugged, more scarred, they'd only enhanced the delicate beauty she'd been starting to grow into the last time he'd seen her.

The fiery red hair was longer, but still as bright and as silken as he remembered, despite the fact that most of it was tied back in a sensible braid. Her skin was still the clear, pale color he recalled, the creamy tint accented by the lightest blush of color to her cheeks, the healthy glow that came of plenty of time outdoors, and the faintest dusting of darker freckles across the bridge of her nose. Time had given her curvy hips and a generous bosom to go with her full, rose-petal lips, and even the solemnity of her situation could not dim the brightness of those inquisitive hazel eyes.

Looking at her took his breath away, and Brutus turned away before he could give himself away.

This is going tae be harder than I thought.

* * *

The man waiting with her father at the entrance to Gregor Keep was certainly big and rough-looking enough to live up to the rumors she'd always heard regarding Laird Murray's warriors. He was tall, with heavily defined muscles and wide shoulders that made it clear he'd have no problem handling the long hand-a-half sword strapped across his back. His face and arms were marked with multiple scars, including a particularly painful-looking one that cut down one side of his face. It was old, but the sharpness of it, so clear after what had likely been years of healing, indicated that it had been deep, and likely agonizing, when it was made.

Had such a scar been on the face of one her father's soldiers, she would have felt sorry for him. As it was, she dismissed it after a moment to focus on the rest of his face.

His nose looked slightly crooked, as if it had been broken at least once, and been roughly reset. Despite that, and the scars, he wasn't too bad looking. His chin was firm and angular, under squared off cheekbones, and his eyes were a deep, enticing blue, the color of a loch on a summer's day. His face was surrounded by locks of medium-length wind-blown raven black hair, giving him an earthy, tousled look. Had it not been for the coldness of his expression and the Murray colors of his kilt and tartan sash, she might even have called him handsome.

His eyes met hers for a moment, and Reyna gasped. There was something oddly familiar about his gaze, but he dismissed her and turned away before she could grasp ahold of the thought properly.

Beside her, Tessa gasped. "Oh nae…"

Reyna turned to her sister at once. "What is it? Are ye well? Is the babe…?"

"The babe's fine, and I am as well. But Reyna... och, I was hoping ye'd have some chance fer freedom between here and Murray Keep, but if that's yer escort, then ye'd best be twice as cautious as ye would with anyone else."

Reyna frowned. Yes, the man looked rough and stern and not at all kind, but none of that was a reason for Tessa to look so alarmed. "What dae ye mean?"

"I ken that man. See the silver torc he uses fer his cloak pin? ‘Tis Brutus Murray, a cousin o' the Laird. He's reputed tae be a fierce fighter, and near as bad tempered as Laird Murray himself. They say he's nay issue with solving any problem that vexes him with violence, whether it's an enemy in battle, or a minor disagreement with another o' his clansmen. Tis whispered he doesnae care whether it's a man or a woman he's disagreeing with either."

Reyna patted her sister-by-marriage's hand. "Then I'll be careful. But I'll nae be intimidated intae becoming some meek little mouse. If he thinks he can dae that, he's in fer a surprise."

At that moment, her father came stalking up, his expression tight with anger. "They're saying they willnae release Finlay under the terms they originally promised. Despite our agreement that he'd be freed fer the ceremony and return home with us, now this man is saying Laird Murray intends tae keep him captive until after the wedding."

Reyna whirled around to look at the warrior. "Is this true?"

"Aye." His eyes were expressionless as he gazed back at her. "Laird Murray wants tae be sure yer faither keeps his part o' the bargain."

Reyna sniffed. "He's a fine one tae demand honor, considering he's holding me braither ransom tae make this marriage happen."

"Aye. It would serve Laird Murray fair well if I refused tae bless the marriage until I saw me son. Then all the Highlands would ken his dishonor." Ewan was scowling.

"Ye can dae as ye like. I've told ye what me laird's terms are. Agree or nae, but if ye want tae see yer son again alive and well, it will be on Laird Murray's terms, or nae at all." The warrior's deep voice was cold, and he might have been talking of the weather for all the emotion evident his face.

Her father looked ready to argue, or draw his blade, but Reyna reached out and put a soothing hand on his arm, even as she waved one of the servants to take her packs out and tie them to the warrior's horse. "Be at ease, Faither. I ken ye're angry, and rightly so, but either way, I'll see Finlay freed and sent home once I'm Laird Murray's wife. Ye ken I'll dae that, nae matter what me new husband tries tae say, or nae say." She glared at the man who was supposed to be her escort. "And ye'd best be understanding that tae."

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes drifting between her and her father before he shrugged and turned away. "As ye like. Fer now, we've a journey tae make, so hurry up and finish yer preparations fer traveling. I'm not minded tae stand around here fer much longer."

Reyna bristled at his offhand manner. "Ye can always go on ahead, if ye're so keen tae be leaving. Otherwise, ye can give me a moment tae say farewell tae me kinfolk."

"Ye've had plenty o' time fer that." He opened the door and turned to regard her from the threshold. Reyna stared back at him, daring him to do something. For an instant, she thought she saw a smirk tug one corner of his stern mouth. Then he shrugged massive shoulders. "Suit yerself."

Before she could respond or react, he moved. Large hands caught her gently but firmly around the waist and lifted her off the ground. She yelped and hit him with her fist, but he didn't even seem to notice the impact. Without any fanfare, he carried her through the door and into the courtyard, then lifted her and set her on the back of his horse. Reyna yelped again and clung to the saddle, too off-balance to even think about trying to reach the ground. "Ye brute!"

This time, she definitely saw the smirk as he swung himself into the saddle behind her. "Well, ye're almost right. Me name is Brutus Murray, at yer service."

With that, one massive arm wrapped around her waist to hold her securely, he kicked his horse into a trot and guided it through the gates, leaving her home behind.