Chapter One

“I dinnae require more clothes at the moment,” Sencha told her mother as they prepared to go to town.

Her mother looked her up and down. “Ye have nae had any new clothes in a pair of years and after tearing the skirt a few days ago, I realized it had been mended several times already.”

Sencha had hoped to go to the Ross keep and visit her friend Nala for a few days. Instead, she was sure the trip to the village would take all day, and her mother planned for them to remain at least one night at her aunt and uncle’s home.

“I’d hoped to go to the keep for a pair of days,” Sencha began whilst braiding her hair. “I have nae seen Nala in almost a sennight.”

“It will have to wait.” Her mother left no room for argument and Sencha released a breath of resignation.

In truth, she’d not had a new dress made in a long time, but there was little that she required nice clothing for. She rarely attended any gatherings and the only people she and her mother visited were her aunt Jane and uncle Donald in the village and Nala and her parents at the keep.

In her estimation, her wardrobe of four skirts and just as many blouses and vests were enough for life on the isle. Granted two of her skirts had been repeatedly mended as she wore them while gardening, riding, or doing housework. The other pair were in better condition, and she could wear them to any obligatory function.

There was a knock on the door and her mother opened it to the farmhand, Gordon, who was to drive their carriage to the village. The bearded man was of good stature and had a very mild, gentle manner and had worked for them for many years.

“The carriage is ready,” he announced, winking at Sencha.

She smiled back at him. “I just need to retrieve my bag.” Dashing from the room, she noted her mother’s flushed face. Sencha wanted to laugh. It had been obvious to her that both Gordon and her mother were attracted to each other. Why neither acted on it was beyond her understanding.

Her mother had been widowed longer than Gordon had been working there and once Sencha married, she’d be alone. Perhaps she’d do something to get their relationship moving along at a faster rate than merely passing looks.

Once they were settled in the small carriage, they began what would be a long drive. Usually the trip took about three hours, which meant they’d be there midday. Sencha hoped they’d be able to get to the market before the vendors were out of the items she wanted to purchase.

Peering out the window, she recognized the spot where she and Knox had battled. She almost laughed out loud.

“Why are ye smiling as if ye saw something humorous?” her mother asked.

Sencha shook her head. “When I was searching for Blossom, I attacked Knox with a branch, where we just passed. I thought he was a stranger lurking about the woods.”

“If anyone was lurking, it was ye,” her mother replied. “I cannae believe ye were this far. The dog would nae have gone so far.”

The dog had gone further once, but Sencha refrained from telling her mother. She’d be worried that Sencha had dared to go even farther after it.

“I suppose it would seem that I was lurking. Although I was calling out Blossom’s name.” She settled back in the seat. “What do ye plan to do at the village, Mother?”

“First stop will be the village square, then onto the seamstress. After, we will go to Jane’s house,” her mother replied, referring to her sister. “Is there anywhere ye would like to go?”

“I am hoping to find perfumed soap, oil, and some ribbons. I would also like to purchase Nala a gift. Perhaps, the basket weaver is there. He makes beautiful baskets.”

“Aye, he does,” her mother replied suddenly becoming animated. “I may purchase one as well. I need a gift for yer cousin Maura’s wedding.”

Seeing an opening, Sencha schooled her expression to hopefully seem as if the thought had suddenly come to her. “I think ye and Gordon would be a good couple. Ye should consider marriage, Mother.”

Wide-eyed, her mother’s mouth fell open. “Wh-why would that occur to ye?”

“Because he is a handsome man, and it is obvious he admires ye.”

A light pink blush appeared on her mother’s cheeks and Sencha’s heart warmed. “Mother, when I marry, if it ever comes to be, I dinnae wish for ye to be alone.” Before her mother could say anything, she quickly added, “Even if I am never to marry, ye are young and should have a husband.”

“Athol will return and in all probability bring a wife with him. I would nae be alone,” her mother replied.

“My brother is enamored with the sea and filling his coffers. I dinnae expect he will settle until he is unable to sail,” Sencha said referring to her brother’s obsession with sailing between Scotland and the West Indies.

“True,” her mother agreed. “That son of mine would have a hard time away from the sea. However, we are on an isle and very close to water, so I’m sure he would be fine.”

Upon arriving at the village, Gordon helped them out near the village square. From there they made their way to the small stands. While her mother lingered with a woman selling embroidered items, Sencha walked to the basket weaver’s stand.

Across the square, at another stall, there was no mistaking the tall broad-shouldered man who stood talking to a woman. It was Knox.

Sencha knew the village girl, she was called Anni. She was pretty and quite flirtatious, with long dark hair and a curvy figure. At the moment as she stood talking to Knox, she switched from twirling her hair around a finger to tapping his arm playfully.

Sencha’s eyes narrowed and she let out a soft huff. How did men fall for such obvious ploys for attention? If Knox wanted to be with a woman who was overtly flirtatious then good for him. In her opinion, it meant he was a shallow man.

Catching herself, she shook her head and let out a breath. At her nearing the basket weaver’s stand, the seller’s expression brightened, his smile wide, the gaps between his teeth at full display. “Miss Sencha. I have nae seen ye in more than a fortnight at least.”

Unable to keep from it, Sencha grinned. “I have been here, but have avoided ye, so I can keep some coin.” Her attention was instantly taken by his offerings. The lines of beautifully woven baskets made it hard to choose just one. Picking up one and then another, Sencha inspected each one with care.

“How are ye, Sencha?” Knox had neared without her noticing.

Ensuring to keep her attention on the basket despite the subtle skip of her heart, Sencha replied in what she hoped was an even tone. “I am well, Knox. Here with Mother to do a bit of shopping.”

“That one is quite nice,” Knox said looking at the basket in her hands.

“Aye, it is.” Sencha looked at him.

With the shadowing of his beard along his jawline, his wind-tussled hair, a slight lift to his lips, and he had his tunic opened at the neck, he looked every bit a devilish rogue. A very, very handsome rogue at that.

Her mouth went dry, and she quickly turned her attention back to the basket weaver. “I would like this one please.” The man’s face fell just a bit, disappointed as she usually purchased at least two, but did his best to hide it and nodded. “Aye, of course.” He quoted a price, expecting Sencha to haggle.

She gave him the full amount he asked making him brighten again. “I will insist Mother purchase one as well,” Sencha said as her mother walked up.

It was always entertaining to see any interaction between her mother and Knox, as he always seemed tongue-tied when in her presence. Sencha figured it was because, unlike most older women, her mother was not affected by his roguish charms.

“Knox, do ye nae have tasks to be performing for the laird?” her mother asked whilst giving him a pointed look.

“Aye Missus MacTavish. I am here waiting for…” He looked away seeming to search for something. With a look of relief, Knox motioned to the road where a group of guards on horseback appeared. “I best go see what happens.

He gave Sencha one last look and with a slight nod he hurried toward the guards.

While her mother inspected the baskets, Sencha watched Knox’s interaction with the guards. After a moment, he turned in her direction, with an unreadable expression. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or worried. Surely it was her imagination, whatever they spoke of didn’t have anything to do with her.

With their purchases in hand, Sencha and her mother left the market at the village square and went to the carriage to deposit them. Gordon placed the items into the back and promised to watch over things while they went to the seamstress’s shop.

Just then, there was a commotion, and a group of guards reappeared. Walking in front of them was Knox, who seemed to be searching the gathering crowd.

“What happens?” her mother asked a young lad who scurried toward them.

The dirty faced boy hesitated and looked up to her, excited to have news to share. “They got Donald McMurray. Say he killed a fisherman.” The boy ran off without waiting for another question.

The ground seemed to sway, but Sencha couldn’t allow herself to fall because her mother had paled and looked about to faint.

“We must find my sister,” her mother grabbed Sencha’s hand and dragged her toward the guards.

Just then the guards neared, two of them holding her uncle Donald’s arms. She and her mother didn’t have to go any farther to find her aunt Jane. She was running behind them, grabbing at their tunics demanding them to let her husband go.

Before Sencha could stop her mother, she rushed into the fray, joining her sister, tugging at the two guard’s tunics.

Obviously afraid they could be pushed away or harmed, Gordon appeared and with astounding strength grabbed both her mother and aunt around the waist and pulled them away.

He neared with the still struggling women, and he motioned with his head to the carriage. “Hurry, we must go to. They will take him to the keep.”

Somehow between Sencha and Gordon they managed to get the two unconsolable women into the carriage.

“Sencha.” Knox appeared behind her just as she was about to climb into the carriage. “I will ensure yer uncle is nae harmed. He will ride with me.”

“Th-thank ye,” Sencha managed, her voice cracking. “I dinnae understand what happens.”

He looked past her into the carriage before meeting her gaze. “I dinnae either.”

The carriage rocked side to side as they rode over the uneven terrain to the Ross keep. After asking each other question after question—none of them truly understanding what had occurred—Sencha, her aunt, and her mother lapsed into a tense silence.

Her aunt had explained that the guards had arrived and taken her uncle without any explanation. After demanding an answer several times, one of them had said he’d been accused of killing a fisherman by the name of Fitz. That was all she knew.

Sniffing broke the silence as they rode through the gates into the keep’s courtyard. All three leaned forward and peered out to try and catch a glimpse of her uncle, but neither he nor the guards were in sight.

Finally, they came to a stop and Gordon opened the door, helping them out one by one onto the cobbled surface. All three rushed to the front door of the main hall, hoping to find out that it had all been a huge mistake. After all, her uncle was the gentlest, kindest man she’d ever known. How anyone could possibly think he would kill anyone was beyond belief.

The great room was full of activity. People sat at tables. Others lined up waiting for their turn to seek an audience with the laird. A few lingered, seeming to not have any reason for being there. Perhaps they stayed in hopes of a good meal.

Her uncle stood between two large warriors, his head up, shoulders straight as he faced Laird Alexander Ross.

Knox was also there, standing to the side. With all the chatter and activity, it was hard to hear what was being said from the back of the room. The situation was quickly remedied when her aunt and mother pushed their way through those gathered at the front. Sencha, feeling she had no other option but to follow, hurried to catch up.

If the laird found their intrusion unacceptable, he didn’t show it. Instead he kept his attention on what was being read by the man who sat at a small table with quill in hand.

The scribe glanced up then again began reading from the parchment he held. “There was a witness that saw Donald McMurray walking to Fitz’s cottage with a knife in his hand. Another witness saw the same man hurrying away back toward town. Not long later, Fitz was found dead, a knife just like the one McMurray was seen carrying impaled in his chest.”

There were gasps from those who had heard, including her mother. Her aunt swayed but managed to stay upright.

“My husband didnae kill anyone. He would never!” she yelled.

The laird turned to her aunt and a guard came to stand next to her, the message clear. If she dared to speak up again, she would be removed.

“What do ye have to say?” the laird asked, his voice calm and clear. Of course, he probably heard things like this regularly.

As her uncle explained he had indeed gone to the fishing huts, he didnae seek out the man called Fitz, but another fisherman whom he’d borrowed the knife from. The man he sought had already gone out fishing, so he’d left the knife in the man’s hut.

There were murmurs as the laird contemplated the explanation.

“Ye will remain here at the keep, under lock and key, until this matter is cleared. People will be questioned tomorrow, and I will hear what everyone has to say. At that time, I will decide if ye will be held responsible or nae. If ye are, ye will be hung.”

This time it was her uncle who swayed while her aunt fell into a dead faint.