Five

Five

“I’m impressed.”

Clarrisa jumped, and the comb fell from her fingers. She turned to glare at Broen.

“Since you have told me this is my chamber, you should knock before entering,” she scolded, too kindly.

His lips curved arrogantly while he took another couple of steps into the chamber. The damned man was so large, his stride far too close for her comfort.

“Argyll was my grandfather. It seems I have inherited his lack of respect for announcing his intention to enter yer chamber.”

Clarrisa jerked her attention to the mirror, something she’d done often since returning to the chamber. The only man watching her from the polished surface was Broen. His doublet was missing and the collar of his shirt open, as seemed to be his habit.

“Argyll will not unnerve me again. If it was even him I saw.” A soft tingle went down her spine, but she wasn’t sure if it was from her brush with a ghost or the fact that Broen had come looking for her. “Edme’s elixir was laced with whisky.”

“He was chasing his mistress down the hallway and forgot the floor wasn’t finished, when he fell to his death,” Broen revealed. “The servants have sworn he haunts this tower ever since, but I have never seen him.”

Heat blossomed in her cheeks as she fought to not look at the bare skin beckoning her. “What is it with the men in your family and their mistresses?”

One fair eyebrow rose. “We’re lusty.”

“You sound very proud… of that sin.”

He shrugged and moved closer. She felt his approach; it rippled across her skin as surely as any wind would have. Remaining on the chair became a battle, but she resisted the urge to panic.

“There are worse things my life requires me to do that I have a skill at.” There was a gleam in his eyes which tempted her to join him in his teasing.

She offered him a shake of her head. “I believe I should be the judge of your skill.”

She was trying to best him at his teasing game, but challenge glittered in his eyes and he walked behind her. A chill crossed her nape, and she did give in to the urge to stand—having him behind her was too much to endure. But he caught her about the waist and pulled her back against his body. “Well now, lass, ye have an excellent point.” His breath brushed her ear as his voice became husky. “But I can be the judge of yer skill, Clarrisa. I’ll say plainly yer touch is like fire, and I enjoyed it full well.”

“Oh stop, Broen.” She sent her elbow back into his ribs and gained her freedom, but he stood chuckling and looking none the worse for wear. “Do you have no shame?”

“None,” he insisted. “Only a burning need to know why ye slipped out of me bed before I woke.”

His tone hardened, and she realized he’d been cleverly disguising his true mood. Suspicion glittered in his eyes now, and it irritated her.

It also hurt. She lowered her eyelids to protect her fragile emotions.

“I thought you’d be happy not to have me about once you’d had what you wanted.” She placed a few feet between them, fighting to maintain her composure. “I do hope Shaw wasn’t too disappointed to hear I didn’t make demands of you.”

“Why did nae ye?” It was a hard question, spoken with enough heat to curl her hair. The fragile trust she’d discovered growing inside her since she spoke with Edme withered in the face of his accusation.

“Oh, I see. You agree with Shaw that I have motives for everything I do.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do nae sound so wounded. Everyone has motives. It’s part of our instinct to survive.”

“Get out,” she snarled and pointed at the door. “Go on with you, Broen MacNicols. I want nothing from you. I pray you find the knowledge satisfying.”

He frowned, furrowing his brow. “I do nae, woman. Ye’ll answer me—”

“I already have,” she insisted. “I want nothing from you. Naught at all, so get you gone from my sight.”

“The blush on yer cheeks makes ye a liar.”

“Allowing you near me now, with your suspicious questions, would only prove you right.”

She drew in a stiff breath, her temper flaring bright enough to burn away her desire. “So go on with you before I tempt you.”

He captured her hand and twisted it behind her back to press her against his body. “And I’m a liar for saying I came in here to discover why ye left me bed.”

His kiss drowned out her response. For one moment, her temper had her struggling, but he held her still, pushing her lips apart to accept a deeper kiss. All the anger transformed into passion. It happened as fast as summer straw burned. One moment she was trying to yell at him, and the next she heard his shirt rip because she was pulling on it so hard.

“That’s right, lass. Take what ye want.” He cradled her head, holding her in place with a grip that pulled some of her hair too tight. Tiny points of pain dug into her scalp, but they intensified the need boiling inside her. “Rip it if ye want to feel me skin.”

She laughed like a lunatic, enjoying the idea of doing wrong, because she was insane. The shirt split easily, the fabric tearing with a loud sound. She pushed her hands inside the opening and shoved the ruined garment over his shoulders. He had to release her, and his arms became pinned.

“There are some of your orders I do like following after all, Broen.” Her voice was deep and husky, astounding her with how sultry it sounded. She buried her face against his chest, working her hands up the ridges of muscle until she found his nipples. She continued up, pressing kisses against his flesh until she found his jaw.

“Ye’re in need of chastisement, woman.” His voice lacked any true warning, but there was a promise lurking in his eyes when he stepped away from her. A quick pull on the wide leather belt that held his kilt in place and the plaid began to slide down his body. He caught it with a practiced motion and flung it onto the chair where she’d been sitting. The ruined shirt fluttered to the floor before he tossed his bonnet onto the chair as well.

Somehow he was more powerful nude. Clothing was made to impress, but the way Broen stood so confidently in nothing but his skin sent a shiver through her. The man feared no one, not even the harsh environment he’d been born into.

Highlander—it was a title a man earned.

“You’re my lover, Broen MacNicols, not my husband, so do not think to chastise me.” She felt wonderfully free in that moment. “I’ll do what I please, and only what pleases me.”

He growled softly, “Nay, lass, I assure ye the pleasure is going to be all mine.”

He was smug and arrogant, but excitement went flooding into her belly. Her lips curled back from her teeth slightly, the pure magnetism of him threatening to make her wild. But she would hold her ground. She stepped back toward him, watching enjoyment take command of his expression.

“There can be rewards for the man who waits on his lady’s whim.” She met his eyes, staring at the flames of hunger. “Rewards you will never sample if you continue to act like such a brute.” She rolled the word and watched his eyes narrow.

“Ye should nae be able to make that word sound enticing, but ye do.”

She tapped the center of his chest with her fingertips. “And you shouldn’t be about to growl while giving me a compliment.”

“Me tone is part of the praise.” He tugged the belt of her dressing robe free. “It is nae often I find me control tested.”

He pushed the edges of the dressing robe open, and the heavy garment fell to the floor with a soft sound.

“Can you never admit you’re wrong?”

His teeth flashed at her before he answered, “No.” He tugged her chemise over her head. The night air felt good against her skin, the excitement brewing inside her making her warm. She only had a moment to notice they stood together nude before he scooped her off her feet and carried her to the bed.

“Let’s give Argyll something to watch, should he decide to come calling.”

She aimed a slap at his shoulder and rolled over, refusing to be pinned. “Little wonder your tower is haunted when you talk in such a way about the dead.” She ended up on her knees facing Broen. He climbed onto the bed, looking as though he was stalking her. She knew the bed was smaller than his, but it seemed to sink as he moved all the way onto it. That, or he grew until she was battling the urge to flee. But it wasn’t the sort of fear she knew—this was an insane sort of need to run simply because she hoped he’d chase her.

And catch her.

She suddenly giggled, unable to resist the urge to be insane again. A look of surprise appeared on Broen’s face before she smashed one of the pillows into it. He yanked it from her grasp and offered her a growl.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she groused. “You’re a Highlander. I’ve been raised with tales of how barbaric you are, and that measly growl is all I receive for my impertinence?”

“I would nae dream of disappointing ye. ’Course, it will likely bring the boys running again…”

She launched herself toward him, slapping her hand over his mouth. Satisfaction lit his eyes as he cupped the sides of her hips and held her firmly.

“Oh fie.”

He forced her back, placing her beneath him without any further effort. He nuzzled her neck, numbing her wits again as passion began to intoxicate her. She was suddenly awash in sensation—every inch of her in contact with him. It was overwhelming, but exciting beyond even her memory of last night. Her body didn’t wait to be coaxed into arousal. Passion swept across her like fire in summer.

“Are ye truly dismayed to be beneath me, lass?” He found her neck with his lips. He lingered over the delicate skin, teasing it with tiny kisses that set her clitoris to throbbing. “Admit ye crave me.”

“I do, but I want more than to lie beneath you.”

He raised his head, the unmistakable look of anticipation illuminating his eyes. “Ye were virgin last night, Clarrisa.”

“Virginity doesn’t interfere with hearing, Broen, and I’ve heard as many heated tales as the next girl.”

He stroked her cheek, tenderly smoothing over her lower lip before leaning down to kiss her. “Do nae be gullible, lass. Listening does nae grant ye any skill.”

She reached down and grasped his cock. His expression hardened. She could see him battling to recall what they were talking about, and it filled her with confidence. She wanted to send his wits scattering just as he so often did hers.

“If I wanted to lie beneath a man, I’d have done my duty to my family and let your king have his way. Tonight I’ll ride you.”

He shuddered. She felt the ripple move down his length, and his cock hardened even more. It was now as hard as iron, and she shivered at the idea of being the one to set their pace.

“Ye bait yer hook well, lass. I’m eager to jump at it.”

He rolled over, shaking the bed as he settled onto his back. The night air was cold after having his warmth covering her, but she sat up, the freedom to command him filling her with a confidence she’d never felt before. Once more all the rules vanished, and she was able to follow her feelings, her cravings, wherever they took her.

“I don’t want to be your possession.” And she refused to be intimidated. She rose onto her knees and heard him groan.

“There are advantages to having ye on top, lass. More are being revealed to me as we speak.” His gaze was on her breasts. He cupped her hips and helped lift her into position. He held her above him, and her knees sank into the soft bedding on either side of his hips. “Aye, this position has merit.”

She should have scoffed at him, challenging him over his comments, because it was unlikely he’d never been in a similar position. But she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to quibble with him. The head of his cock was burrowing into her passage, and all she wanted to do was sink down until his entire length was deep inside her.

“Easy now… The night is young.”

Need was pounding through her, but he maintained a grip on her hips that kept her obedient to his will. She sank inch by inch onto his length, every moment feeling too long. At last he relinquished control, and she rose instantly, up until only the head of his cock was within her and then down until she no longer held her weight.

“I recant, woman… Go as fast as ye like.” His voice was husky now, his expression tightening. He guided her with the grip on her hips, helping her to learn the rhythm.

“I’m telling you what I want… Broen MacNicols…” It was nearly impossible to form her thoughts into words, so she stopped trying. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. All she wanted was to feel the sensations being unleashed by her motions. Every lift granted her light friction, but when she came down, his rod was pressed firmly against her clitoris, threatening to send her into the vortex of pleasure she’d experienced last night.

She craved that pleasure, but she wanted something else too. Forcing herself to look down at her partner, she watched his face, seeking out signs of what he enjoyed best. She adjusted her pace and held the one that seemed to intensify his pleasure. For long moments, they were locked in a battle of wills. He tried to maintain his composure, while she attempted to break it.

“Ye learn too quickly, lass,” he growled before pushing her down and turning over with her clasped to his body. He pressed her onto her back and took command of their pace. “But I’ll nae be unmanned before I hear ye cry with delight.”

“You brute.”

He growled at her but grasped her wrists and pulled her arms above her head. His pace was driving her insane, the hard, driving strokes making her mindless. He leaned close to her face, pressing a hard kiss against her mouth as his body drove her closer and closer to climax.

“Aye, and ye enjoy every bit of me brutish nature, because it allows ye the freedom to meet me.”

It was true.

She cried out, not sure if it was because of the motion of his driving hips or his words. Everything was tangled inside her mind, and she surrendered to it. Lifting her hips to meet his, moving faster and faster until her heart beat at a frantic pace—it didn’t bother her, because it allowed her to feel so much more. Her clitoris was tightening, and the explosion of release beginning to wash over her.

“That’s the way, lass. Take yer pleasure.” His voice was like a clap of thunder, accentuating the flash of intense light that split her in two. She strained toward her lover, crying as she felt him begin to give up his seed. For a moment that felt endless, they were spinning through the wildness of the storm together. When the wildness released her, she was bathed in satisfaction so heavy she felt pinned to the bed.

But she realized the weight was Broen. He kissed a trail along her arm before releasing her wrist and then tenderly rolled off her. The only sounds in the chamber were of their heavy breathing. She lay where he’d left her, feeling too spent to move. He reached for her and pulled her next to his body with one solid arm.

“What are you doing?”

He nuzzled against her hair, drawing in a deep breath. “Going to sleep.”

“But…” She tried to disengage herself from his body, but he smoothed her back into his embrace and even tugged the bedding over them as though she hadn’t tried to escape.

“Lovers lie together long after the hunger is fed, lass.” He slid one of his legs over hers, tangling their bodies even more.

She wanted to argue but couldn’t seem to form her thoughts into words—at least not any that made any sense. Railing at him for wanting to remain after he’d had her certainly made no sense. Women the world over struggled to overcome the hurt inflicted on them when men used their bodies for release and left moments after gaining it.

So what did it mean when a man pulled her close?

Love…

She scoffed at the word that rose in her mind. It was born in that part of her that wanted to believe in courtly love. Reality wasn’t so peaceful. Affection for a husband was a wife’s duty, but only after marriage. True courtly love didn’t involve physical intimacy.

So what was Broen doing? The man wasn’t chilled and in need of a bed partner to keep the Highland night away. He was warm, and she snuggled closer because his heat was inviting. So what…

Her mind refused to continue trying to understand the situation. Instead, she sank into slumber, satisfaction still radiating inside her. Morning would be soon enough to contemplate the issues surrounding her.

***

“I’m riding out to see Broen MacNicols.”

Donnach Grant sputtered and struggled to his feet. “Ye’ll do nothing of the sort! That man is set on running through every Grant.”

“Exactly why I’m set on clearing up this matter.” Kael Grant already had his mail tunic on, and his gillie followed behind his master with his helmet. “Ye may have given yer word, Father, but I’m… reckless. So I’ll be riding out to set the matter straight, since ye cannae.”

“Ye do nae need to sound so smug. The ploy we’ve employed was to benefit the clan. No’ give ye the freedom to do as ye pleased.” Donnach grunted, his face turning red, but he lost the battle to remain on his feet. He dropped heavily into a chair positioned next to his bed because his leg supported him less and less these days.

“This leg is a curse,” he muttered. “It keeps me from doing the things I need to.”

“This is nae yer duty,” Kael insisted. “By the rules of this ruse we’ve begun, I’m the only one who can make peace with the MacNicols. Ye gave yer word to keep the secret of Laird MacNicols’s death, but I did nae.”

“Aye, I did, and I will nae break me word. I’m grateful ye came home, for ye’re right. Ye are the only one who can ride out and keep Broen MacNicols from spilling our blood. But I do nae like it, no’ a bit.” He slapped the armrest.

“The only part I like is that I’m able to shoulder the duty of serving ye and this clan, Father. I understand it frustrates ye, but I’m proud to be able to assume me duty as yer son.”

Donnach struggled back to his feet. Kael stepped forward so his father could clasp his shoulder.

“I’m proud of ye, Son.”

Once outside the master chamber, Kael frowned. His sister, Nareen, stood there, waiting on him. Her lips were lifted in a satisfied smile.

“Ye have too much cunning for a female,” he announced on his way toward the yard. Nareen laughed, her voice soft and musical. He turned to look at her. “And ye have all the charm of a siren.”

“Ye needn’t sound so surly, Brother mine.” She paused near the doorway to the yard and pulled her arisaid up to shield her head from the rain. “What good would I be to ye today if I were timid? Ye are nae the only member of this family who likes to receive Father’s approval.”

Nareen stepped into the rain without a care for it.

“Fate has a misplaced sense of humor for sending ye to this life as a female,” he remarked. “Ye have the spirit of a Highlander.”

Nareen took the reins of her mare and mounted the animal without any help from the men waiting to ride with them. The mare was a feisty creature and danced in a wide circle before his sister took control. Nareen’s eyes sparkled with enjoyment of the challenge.

“Of course I do. Am I nae riding out with ye and yer men?” She scoffed at him with a pout that made her too fetching by far. “Do nae be so dense as to think only men can be Highlanders.”

“Ye mistake me, Sister. I was lamenting the lack of feminine graces ye were not endowed with. Finding a man to wed ye will be a chore, to be sure.”

“An easier task than finding a bride who will wed ye, thinking ye a man of no position who is naught but a rogue.”

“I might take that wager, Sister, and ye know I do nae ever lose when I accept terms. Ye’ll find yerself behaving meekly in order to best me.” Kael tilted his head. “It might just be worth losing to see ye behaving all sweet and submissive.”

“Nothing is worth that.” She tossed her raven hair and shot him a sour glance, but she also looked toward the gate. Kael took his helmet from the young lad acting as his gillie and gained the back of his stallion. A priest was offering a blessing to the men who were set to ride out with him.

Maybe he was a fool to forgo kneeling in front of the priest. Broen MacNicols wouldn’t be friendly. But the season had changed fully, and there was no longer any time to spare. War was looming over the entire country, which meant he couldn’t leave his father with a neighbor who felt he had a justified reason for feuding.

“Let’s ride, lads. There are important matters to resolve.”

Or die trying.

***

It was a gray morning.

Clarrisa woke to the sound of the church bell ringing. She lifted her head, only to have the bed rock violently as Broen erupted from it.

“It’s only Mass.”

He turned to glare at her. “That is nae the church, Clarrisa. It’s the village bell.”

She sat up and listened, hearing the difference in the tones. This bell rang faster, like a cry for help.

“Cover up. We’ll nae be alone much longer.” He had already shrugged into his shirt and was pleating his kilt.

She heard the pounding footsteps of his men and grabbed the coverlet before they made it to the chamber door.

“Enter!” he snapped before they made it close enough to knock. The chamber door was yanked open, and Shaw came in with others on his heels.

“Grants are riding over the hill, Laird. Looks like Kael is leading them.”

“So… Donnach’s son has returned at last.” Broen’s tone was ominous. Clarrisa hugged the bedding closer, certain the temperature had dropped.

“Out,” he ordered his men.

Shaw looked confused, switching his attention between his laird and her. Clarrisa was sure her cheeks would catch fire.

“Right, lads… Let’s wait in the hallway…”

Clearly Broen hadn’t given his men such an order before. They all glanced at her, contemplating why she was pulling their laird’s attention away from them.

“Just for a moment, lads.”

Broen finished dressing, and his men left. They didn’t go very far, for she couldn’t hear their footsteps on the stone stairs.

“Come and kiss me, lass,” Broen muttered softly, too softly, for he was trying to hide his emotions, keeping his voice low so the tone wouldn’t betray him.

Kisshimgood-bye…

It was a personal request, one that sent tears to her eyes. He was a proud man, but there was no missing the tension in his expression. It was possible he was riding out to defend his people with his life. She could see that knowledge reflected in his eyes, the solid commitment to do his duty, no matter the cost.

She pushed the bedding aside and went to him. His eyes were bright and focused on her. She felt a connection to him, one which was tugging her closer. It was the need shimmering in his eyes. It pulled her toward him because she wanted to be worthy of how much he desired her.

He reached for her, gently cupping the sides of her face. The kiss wasn’t hard; it began slow and sweet, a tentative meeting of their lips. He tasted her, slipping the tip of his tongue along her lower lip before deepening the kiss. She felt his need burning and kissed him back with equal fire, but he set her back all too quickly.

“Stay in the tower, lass.”

He’d withdrawn behind his stony expression, the one she remembered well from the first time she’d met him. This was the laird, the man who felt responsibility for the clan resting on his shoulders. He reached over and retrieved the sword leaning against the wall. She hadn’t seen him place it there and felt frustration needle her for not realizing the man had come to her chamber with the intent to take her to bed. She’d have been a hypocrite to say she was sorry.

She watched him go and waited until the chamber door had closed before she allowed the tears stinging her eyes to fall. They eased silently over her cheeks while she tried to decipher her feelings.

Did she care if he died out on the hills today? If so, why? Was her concern for herself and what would become of her? Faolan Chisholms came to mind with his teasing—or was it a promise? She wasn’t sure.

Or were her tears for the man who’d held her through the night, in spite of every reason he shouldn’t have any liking for her?

So many questions and so many tears. There was no stopping them, and she didn’t try. The truth was impossible to ignore. Broen MacNicols had touched her heart.

Such the fool she was.

***

“What the hell.” Broen looked across the valley, taking longer than necessary because he was hoping the view might change. It looked as though every retainer the Grant clan had was facing him. They’d brought their shields and axes. Every last man wore mail, and there wasn’t an unprotected head in sight. Except one, which was covered only by the Grant plaid. “That bastard Kael brought his sister.”

Kael Grant was positioned next to Nareen Grant, and when the man moved forward, his damned sister followed.

Broen cursed but went to meet them. He waited until Kael had stopped his horse.

“I’ve thought a fair number of nasty things about ye, but never that ye’d resort to hiding behind skirts,” Broen declared.

Kael was a worthy opponent, a man Broen knew had earned his reputation. Kael didn’t care for the accusation.

“I need to have words with ye. Bringing me sister was the only way I could think to get ye to hold back on trying to run me through before we talked.”

“Yer father is the one who’s been refusing to have words with me. He’s sitting in yer keep like a woman.”

Kael surprised him by not taking offense. His sister did it for him. “Do nae insult me father.”

“Keep yer peace, Nareen, before young Laird MacNicols takes a fancy to ye. I hear he has a weakness for outspoken women.”

Nareen looked shocked, but only for a moment. Flames flickered in her green eyes, ones which Broen admired, but he didn’t have time for.

“It’s fixing to rain, perhaps yer sister would like to retire inside Deigh Tower, since ye claim ye came for a peaceful conversation.”

The rain had already soaked the new spring grass and every last man present. Nareen didn’t look ill at ease, and she even rolled her eyes, but minded her brother by making no further comment.

Kael grunted. “If that is what it will take to gain enough time to talk this matter through.”

“It is,” Broen insisted. “Agree to send yer sister into Deigh, and I’ll have to admit I want to know what ye have to say, because it must be good for ye to place yer only sibling in such a position.”

“Then she’ll go, with her waiting woman to stand as witness that I do nae have any reason to be swearing vengeance against ye.” Kael lifted one hand and sent his young gillie back up to the waiting ranks of Grant retainers to retrieve the woman.

“Now, just one moment, Kael. Ye cannae ask me to go inside his fortress…” Nareen interjected.

“I’m nae asking it. Laird MacNicols is.” Nareen fumed. But her brother didn’t relent. “A fact that should impress upon ye how close we are to a summer of bloody feuding. I’d only send ye if I felt sure we might resolve the issue and that the MacNicols are reasonable. Ye’ll go.”

Nareen wasn’t happy. She shot her brother a furious look before her matron arrived and they followed Shaw back toward the ranks of MacNicols retainers.

“Ye’ve got brass balls, man. I’ll give ye that, Kael Grant, but do nae be thinking I’m going to be easy to sweet-talk. Now that yer sister is gone, we’ll be settling this man to man.”

“Daphne MacLeod is nae dead.”

Broen felt stunned but not relieved. His temper flared. “Yer father is the one who told me she was. It’s the reason me father rode onto yer land.”

“Aye. He did nae lie either,” Kael continued.

Broen shook his head. “Start making sense, man, or take up yer sword. I’m set to finish this, since ye rode onto me land with yer men outfitted for fighting. I do nae fancy spending the summer wondering when ye’ll begin raiding me villages.”

“Nor do I, which is why I’m here to set the matter straight. Me men are dressed to defend themselves in the event ye will nae listen to reason.”

Broen had to concede the point. “Fair enough. I’m here and listening. Ye’re right. I’d no’ have ridden down here if yer sister was nae with ye. So explain.”

“Me father wrote and said Daphne was dead to ye.”

“Aye, that’s true enough. I’ve seen the letter.” And just thinking about it sent his temper still hot.

“She’s wearing sackcloth in the convent,” Kael muttered. “So… dead to ye.”

Broen struggled to absorb the information. It made sense, but he had to shove aside a sense of impending doom, because he was betrothed to Daphne. The sweet memory of the way Clarrisa had come to him and kissed him rose to torment him. The MacLeods might well demand Daphne back from the church and insist the wedding take place. Another feud could result if he refused to honor his father’s word on the match.

“Ye’re understanding the importance of it. I see it on yer face, MacNicols,” Kael continued. “The wedding banns were cried and the contract sealed. It’s why yer father made the rash choice to try to take Daphne from the convent. It was a church knight who ran him through for transgressing on holy ground with the intent to steal away a woman who would bring a fine dowry to the church.”

“Sweet Christ,” Broen swore. “If that bit of news gets out…”

“Aye. Such a thing must never be known, for yer father would be disgraced and possibly excommunicated for the sin of trying to steal from the church. Me father has hidden it, and the knight died this winter of lockjaw. Fate seems to favor ye for the moment.”

Broen struggled to control his frustration. It felt like a noose was tightening around his neck. “I’m no’ a coward, man. I’ll shoulder what me father did.”

“But neither are ye a fool,” Kael snapped. “Allowing this to come to light will nae help anyone. The church would demand penitence from ye, and no’ just hours on yer knees.”

“They’d want gold.” A great deal of it. Daphne MacLeod had come with a large dowry; that was the very reason Faolan Chisholms had wanted her too. There was also the alliance with the MacLeods. She was a prize bride. The church wasn’t blind to that fact and had killed to protect their claim on her.

“Me father should have left her, but I know he would nae have agreed with me.”

Kael nodded. “Me father kept it quiet because the royalists will be making their move soon. I agree with him. We need the MacNicols strong, no’ trying to scrap together enough food to survive because one woman decided to disobey her father. Me father is nearing the end of his days and will take the knowledge out of this world.”

“What do ye want for the service of keeping quiet?” Broen demanded.

Kael moved his horse closer to Broen’s. He reached into his doublet and pulled loose a length of fine blond hair that was tied at both ends and braided.

“Daphne shed her hair in preparation to take her novice vows. So it’s time for our clans to have a new understanding. I want the MacNicols strong enough to help restore dignity to Scotland, so we both can marry and raise families. Me father gave his word to remain silent, as demanded of him by the church so ye would nae come to reclaim yer betrothed. They want Daphne’s dowry, and no mistake. But I did nae give my word, so I’m telling ye what happened so we can end the rumblings for vengeance from yer men.”

It was a pleasant thought. The struggle consuming his country was becoming impossible to bear.

“What of her kin?”

Kael shrugged and pushed the hair back into his doublet. “Chalmers MacLeod is a royalist. I do nae care what becomes of him. It’s possible Daphne will outlive her kin because she left them. Only time will tell. For the moment, I’ll no’ be the one to tell Laird MacLeod of his daughter’s choice. We do nae need him marching his men up here.”

“Aye,” Broen agreed.

Kael tugged on his reins and sent his stallion circling away from Broen. “Think on the matter, Laird MacNicols. The prince needs us more than we need to distrust each other, and I did let ye have me sister. Send her back, or swear ye’re going to wed her and save me the trouble of trying to find a man who will share a tower with her. It should be against God’s will for a woman to be so beguiling. Mark me words. Half yer men will be drooling like halfwits simply by being in her company for this last hour.”

“I do nae know whether to accuse ye of insulting me men or of bragging over yer sister’s charms, but I’ll send her out.”

“Now who’s insulting whom, MacNicols? Is nae me sister good enough for ye?” Kael Grant laughed before he rode back to his men.

Broen found himself joining Kael in laughter. In fact, he laughed so hard Shaw raised an eyebrow, but that didn’t stop him.

“So… things are right cheery from the sound of ye,” Shaw muttered, obviously confused. He peered at the line of Grants holding shields and swords before looking back at the grin on Broen’s face.

“They are indeed, lads. Kael Grant has cleared up the matter to me satisfaction.”

Surprise appeared on his men’s faces. The ones in front turned to relay the information.

“But how did he do that?” Shaw asked.

Broen sobered. “I’ll have to ask ye to take me word on the matter. Someone ride up and tell Nareen Grant to rejoin her brother.”

His men were frozen with shock for a moment, but they began to move, relief appearing from behind the dutiful expressions they’d worn since leaving Deigh. No doubt the riders heading up to retrieve Nareen would spread much-needed cheer through the families waiting to see what would happen.

He couldn’t lie, but for the moment, it appeared he wasn’t the only one looking for a way to avoid a feud. Still, the secret would always be lurking in the background, coming to mind because he knew it would prove a dark day for the MacNicols if it were ever uncovered. It was still an easier burden to shoulder than knowing he was at war with his neighbor.

Maybe he should consider wedding Nareen. Kael would have a strong inclination to maintain his promised silence if his sister’s position were at stake.

He rejected the idea as soon as he thought it. Nareen was a fine woman, but Clarrisa overshadowed her. In all her stubbornness, and even her English ways, he still thought of her over the fiery Nareen. He watched Kael’s sister ride toward them, leaning low over the neck of her mare and letting the animal take the lead. Her eyes shimmered, and her skirts rippled up too high, showing off her legs, but Nareen never paused. She was one with the ride, enjoying the thrill.

Nothing stirred inside him. It should have—half his men were eyeing her. The other half were thinking of their sweethearts. Just as he was.

It was a sobering thought and a frustrating one, for it unleashed a fear inside him. It would be difficult to keep Clarrisa. More than difficult, it was most likely impossible. Her blood would always be coveted, at least so long as Henry VII ruled England.

“So me visit is concluded, Laird MacNicols. Pity, I had little time to drink very much of yer fine spirits. Yer head of house took a long time to unlock the store she claimed was reserved for ye alone.”

“I’ll send over a cask of it for yer table, since we’re now friends.”

She nodded a single time before digging in her heels and sending her mare forward. Her waiting woman appeared well suited to her position, for she rode as well as her mistress.

He watched only long enough to ensure they made it back to their kin. It took discipline, because he was anxious to return to Clarrisa. Every moment they had was suddenly more precious than he’d noticed. He was going to woo her tonight. Plan the steps of her seduction instead of grabbing her like a… like a brute.

A smile lifted his lips when he turned and looked at his men. “Let’s go home, lads. We’ve a peace to celebrate.”

They cheered, and soon the bell was ringing in the village once more, but this time in welcome. To be truthful, he’d never been so happy to be riding home.

***

“I know me duty. Stop hovering over me,” Edme groused. “Ye look like an Englishman all set to beg for his lady’s favors.”

“I’d think ye’d be more interested in insulting me for no’ taking the time to try to impress the lass before this.” He leaned over the cook again, trying to see what she was arranging on a platter. The kitchen smelled delicious, but he wanted to see for himself that the feast he’d ordered was fine and pleasing to all the senses.

“Well… ye have a point, I’ll admit.”

The cook finally waved to the assistant waiting near the hearth with a large domed lid. The lass held it up to catch the heat from the fire. The cook was busy arranging a roasted goose on a platter. She sliced it carefully before motioning to the girl. The girl hurried over with the lid and set it down on top of the meal to keep it warm while it was carried up to the laird’s chamber. Such tender meat was a luxury normally reserved for feast days or celebrations. New spring rosemary lent its scent to the roasted meat, and there were dark spots from pepper to complete the lavishness of the meal. It was fit for the daughter of a king or the mistress of the castle.

“Quickly now, else it will all go cold,” the cook muttered with a flip of her apron.

The assistants gathered up the meal and began carrying it up to the third floor. Broen followed, trying to decide what was ailing him. The meal smelled delicious, but there was a definite quiver in his stomach. Edme rapped on the chamber door before opening it. The first girl spread a freshly ironed cloth on the table before the serving dishes were set down. Candles were lit, and the scent of beeswax began to waft through the chamber. Clarrisa sat near the window with her back to him.

The cold reception sent a small shaft of doubt through him, but it was most likely she was embarrassed over having been found in bed with him that morning. Edme finished, and he waved her toward the door. She swished her hands to encourage her staff to go ahead of her and gave him a smile before following.

“I understand ye are most likely sore with me for allowing me staff to find us together, but it’s something I plan to attempt to charm ye into accepting, because it goes along with being me lover.”

She drew in a stiff breath, but he really couldn’t tell if his words affected her in any other way, for she was wearing a cloak and even had the hood raised.

“Come, lass… Spit at me… Call me a brute, but do nae waste this fine meal. If I understand courting, ye’re supposed to enjoy me offerings before attempting to freeze me.”

“Ye’ve suffered me rejection, Broen, and no’ had the opportunity to spit at me.” The voice was soft and lyrical. When she turned and lowered the hood, he stared at a face that had faded from his memory. Daphne MacLeod was every bit as beautiful as he recalled, a stunning sight, really. Her features were delicate and almost angelic, but he was not pleased to see her.

“I’m sorry, but I had no choice.” Her hair was cut short, proving that Kael was clever, but not a liar.

Daphneshedherhair…

Aye, but not because she’d taken vows as a bride of Christ.

“Where is Clarrisa?”

Daphne flinched, disgusting him because she was too delicate—he far preferred Clarrisa’s unwavering courage.

“She’s gone with Nareen,” Daphne answered.

It was all too simple. Nareen Grant was just as cunning as her brother. She’d held his attention, and he’d never taken a second look at her waiting woman.

“Why?” he demanded. “Are ye daft, woman? Half the Highland chiefs would consider slitting her throat a deed well done.”

“I did nae force her to go, but she went after Nareen told her who I was and that we are betrothed.”

Rage was beginning to burn inside him. It was hotter than anger, more intense than frustration. “Ye chose the church. Our contract is ended.”

Daphne surprised him by propping her hands on her hips. “I did nae want to be a nun and could nae lie to the priest when he asked me if it was truly me heart’s desire. He refused to hear me vows until I was more settled into life serving the church, but I will never be content there.”

“So ye came here. For what, Daphne? Did it amuse ye to watch me chase ye? Or have ye decided ye are more content to wed me after letting me think ye dead?” Part of him failed to understand why he was displeased to see her. After all, the woman had a handsome dowry to go with her fair features; all he would need to do was wed her to insist her father pay it. Daphne glared at him and pointed one of her delicate fingers straight at the center of his chest.

“I will never wed you,” she declared with enough heat to douse some of the flames his temper was burning with. “It sickened me to see ye and Faolan fighting over me. With every meeting, the pair of ye were moving closer to trying to kill each other. Think ye I could bear such a burden?” She lifted her hands into the air. “But I’m wasting me time trying to make ye understand. All ye saw was the alliance with me clan and the gold I’d bring ye and this beauty, which time will dull.”

Broen drew a stiff breath. “Mind yer slicing tongue. I’m no’ the one who deceived ye. I’ve the right to be angry. Me father was run through on account of yer choice to no’ face me with what ye’re saying to me now.”

“Yer father was greedy,” Daphne accused. “I told him me reasons, and he even agreed that the match with me was poisoning yer relationship with the Chisholms. Donnach Grant had the wisdom to give me shelter, but yer father refused to leave in peace. He came after me because he did nae want to lose the gold me father had promised him when ye wed me. What does gold matter if ye are dead at the hand of one of yer best friends, or I’m widowed because the pair of ye cannae remember ye’ve been friends since yer milk teeth fell out?” Her face was flushed with anger, and she was moving toward him. “How dare ye lay it at me feet? I am no’ some vain English noblewoman so selfish as to watch others die because I crave position and power. I entered the convent to prove life was more important than one wedding.”

Broen stiffened, suddenly understanding why he hadn’t seen Daphne’s face in his dreams. He hadn’t ever truly loved her, only the idea of having her as his bride, his possession, exactly as Clarrisa would have been to the king. He’d been thinking of his bride as his property, nothing else. The difference was clear to him now, and he felt it because Clarrisa had come to him with the expectation of nothing more than sharing his company.

He was a fool.

“Yer point is well founded.” He shook his head and bit back a curse. “It shames me to admit it, but ye’re correct. Faolan and I were acting like savages, and it was no’ out of love. We were trying to best one another by bringing home the best dowry.”

She scoffed. “I never thought I’d be so happy to hear a man admit he did nae care for me.”

“I did nae say that, woman, but I agree what I feel for ye is no’ true love. ’Tis the affection of growing up together. But ye’ve caused trouble now equal to what I was doing with me fighting with Faolan. Ye could have returned without this trickery, which has put Clarrisa in danger.”

“No, I could nae.” She shook her head. “I pity her, the English York bastard. She has to suffer more than just two men fighting over her.”

“Names, Daphne. I need to know who me enemy is, for I’m going after her. Why did Donnach withdraw his support of ye? Who’s behind his sending ye back to me?”

“Lord Home sent a letter to Donnach Grant insisting he put me off his land. Donnach owes Home a favor and told me he had no choice but to make good on the debt. Me father is a royalist, and Home is hoping our union will lead to the MacLeod splitting since I do nae have a brother.”

“And he wants Clarrisa as well.” It made too much sense, for Home was a brilliant strategist when it came to battles. Even the idea of splitting another clan would be attractive to the man. But Home was also opposed to anything English. He’d turned his back on the king because James kept running over the border to England for sanctuary.

Fury boiled through him. “Damn ye, Daphne, for helping her escape Deigh.”

Daphne smiled. “Ye’re wrong, Broen. I thought long and hard on the matter, and Kael Grant is her only hope, since ye cannae refuse to receive me and Lord Home knows ye have Clarrisa. Sutherland no doubt received a letter too. Would ye hold out against yer overlord, knowing it might cost yer clan the protection being in his good will provides? Clarrisa was nae willing to see ye face that burden. Ye’re caught as surely as she is. Donnach owes Lord Home, and ye are betrothed to me. Home will use the contract between us to force ye to give him Clarrisa.”

“But Kael has been playing the unpredictable son. No one knows his position for sure,” Broen finished for her, feeling like the walls were collapsing upon him. “And Clarrisa cannae return to England, for fear Henry will have her killed to ensure his bloodline maintains the throne.”

Daphne nodded. “Clarrisa made the choice to leave. She could see it was the most logical action.”

Broen shook his head, every muscle drawing tight with rejection. “She chose to leave because she does nae trust me, but mark me words, Daphne. I plan to change her mind. Ye should nae have helped her leave the safety of this keep. For that, I am right unhappy with ye.”

“But—”

“Ye should have recalled what it meant to ye to have sanctuary granted by Donnach Grant when ye needed it.”

“Sutherland will nae allow ye to keep her.”

Broen shook his head. “Sutherland might well send me a letter or two, but the man will surely no’ waste more effort on the matter. He’s certainly no’ going to march his men upon Deigh for one Englishwoman.”

“But we are contracted. Now that I have been forced from my hiding, the church will force ye to wed me to hide their attempt to keep me—”

“They will no doubt try, but I’ll see to annulling our contract, since ye have no desire to wed me. It will nae be the first time such has happened, and ye should have thought upon that before helping Clarrisa to take such a foolish action.”

Relief spread across her fair features. It should have needled his pride. Instead, it pleased him. “I still think of ye kindly, Daphne, but it’s the truth I prefer ye as a sister. Ye had more insight than I did. Me father should have put the matter to me; this is nae England, where affection is nae something desired in a marriage.”

She smiled, and when she did, her face became a radiant vision. Even with her hair barely brushing her shoulders, she was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. But she did not draw him to her.

“Enjoy the meal. I believe ye’ll find it lavish after living in the convent.”

She scoffed. “Where are ye going?”

“To regain Clarrisa.”

***

At first sight, Bronach Tower was everything she’d been raised to expect of a Highland fortress. Clarrisa tried to conceal her apprehension but couldn’t stop shivering. The stone was dark. Both towers had few windows, and Kael Grant rode across a narrow bridge to reach the gate. Clarrisa followed, looking down to see a river thick with chunks of ice. Falling in would be a death sentence because the current was swift and the banks steep. They had traveled farther north, which accounted for the ice. The winters would be longer and harsher here.

At last, she found something that suited her mood. The towers were desolate, and her heart felt as cold as the water flowing past them. She’d done what had to be done. So why did it feel so horrible?

“Ye needn’t look so forlorn, lass,” Kael Grant commented. “I might take it personally.”

The son of the Grant laird was a man full grown. He was Broen’s opposite, with midnight-black hair and dark eyes. There was a gleam in his eyes that hinted at wickedness, but it didn’t make her breathless. All it did was make her think of what she’d chosen to leave behind. Broen was a proud man; he’d not follow her. But as soon as she thought about it, she scoffed at herself, because the entire reason she’d left was because Broen couldn’t keep her. The facts of the rest of the world were set against them. Not that she could truly expect him to want to keep her. She’d warmed his bed, and men did not feel the same devotion to their bed partners as women did.

Yet another fact set between them.

“We are strangers, so there is no reason for you to take offense. Even then, I’m English. Wouldn’t you consider my disapproval a compliment?”

Broenhad…

She had to stop thinking about the man. He was bound to another, and she didn’t want to birth his bastard children. It was best to leave him now, before her affection grew any deeper. But she felt worse every moment…

Kael laughed and was joined by some of his father’s men. “Ye have an understanding of Highlanders I’d nae expect in an English lass.” His tone was lighthearted, but there was a flash of warning in his dark eyes that told her he was more focused than his outward appearance betrayed.

“When will we go north to Sutherland?” She needed to set her mind on where her future was headed.

“When I’m ready to.”

Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to swallow the lump threatening to choke her. “Your sister claimed you would keep your word.”

“I will, when it’s safe to travel.” He waved two burly retainers forward. “Until me father and I decide upon the matter, ye’ll be staying in the solar. Me sister hates it.”

“I believe I’ll discover myself agreeing with her.”

He grinned. “We’ll see.”

There was a warning in his tone. She found herself wondering if he meant to cast doubt on whether or not he’d take her to Sutherland as Nareen had promised or if he cared about her opinion of the solar.

Not that it mattered. She climbed several flights of narrow stairs before reaching the solar. It was a round room, built across the width of one of the towers. A maid scurried in to open the shutters of the single window.

Dismal indeed, and dank. Obviously no one bothered to open the window’s shutters very often. Fresh air blew in, but it brought her no sense of relief. It felt like grief was wringing her heart—which was insane, for she couldn’t believe herself enamored of Broen. Not the man who’d…

She stopped, recalling the Scottish king and her uncle’s demanding face before she’d left for Scotland. Finally she recalled the look in Broen’s eyes when he’d asked her for a kiss. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she lost the battle to resist admitting how much she hated leaving him.

But she’d have been a greater fool to remain. Daphne was his betrothed. They were as good as wed. The only future she might have with him was as his leman. Such a choice might suit her heart well, but she had no right to inflict such a life on their children. They would have no place, as she had no place.

So she’d taken the opportunity to leave. It might well land her in a worse place, but she’d be the only one to suffer. Small comfort, but all she’d receive.

She’d never see Broen MacNicols again.

Except in her dreams.

***

“Chisholms riders on the ridge!”

Broen cursed, enjoying the opportunity to express his feelings while the priest might allow it.

“I did nae think he’d ride all the way here for the lass.” Shaw muttered as he frowned.

Broen stopped for a moment, earning dark looks from his captains. “Since he’s here, maybe the day will nae be such a loss.”

He headed for the yard, leaving Shaw confused. “What did he mean by that?”

The other captains shrugged before following their laird.

***

Faolan Chisholms was furious.

He’d brought his retainers and Broen found himself facing a force that looked ready to wage war.

The damned country was dissolving into chaos. Clan was pitted against clan because their king wasn’t strong enough to lead. Broen raised his hand, palm forward to indicate a truce, so he and Faolan might talk. It took a moment before his fellow laird mimicked the gesture and rode forward.

“Let’s hope yer luck holds,” Shaw muttered. “I admit I did a few things when we returned from smoothing things over with the Grants that I’ve nae received absolution for.”

“It’s me the man wants to run through. I believe yer soul is safe, at least until ye go seeking that absolution.”

His man tugged on the corner of his bonnet before Broen let his stallion have his freedom.

“Ye’re a bloody poor excuse for a friend, Broen MacNicols,” Faolan snarled.

Broen leaned over the neck of his stallion and shot Faolan a sharp look. “I believe I said the same thing to ye when ye claimed me captive and planned to present her to our uncle when ye did none of the fetching.”

Faolan snorted. “I had a fine reason. One I’d expect ye to understand. Our friendship is longer than most.”

“But we forgot that when it came to the matter of fair Daphne MacLeod. Look at ye, man, ye’re ready to challenge me while reminding me how long we’ve been friends, and I was doing the same before she was taken from us. But I’ve had to admit recently that I was fighting over her worth and not the lass herself,” Broen muttered. Faolan opened his mouth but shut it without making his argument. The need to disagree flickered in his eyes but he resisted it and drew in a deep breath before replying.

“Ye’re correct. I’ve nae truly thought about it but I was ready to strangle ye over her.” His expression tightened. “I still am.”

“I’m ashamed to look back at the way we were behaving,” Broen responded.

Faolan’s captains were getting restless, easing forward to protect their laird as the night wind carried their raised voices to where the Chisholms retainers waited. Broen’s men were looking no more at ease. The day had worn everyone’s nerves raw.

“Ye rode all the way up here to carry on the fight. Do ye have tender feelings for her or just for her dowry?”

Faolan shook his head. “A fair-enough question. Ye rubbed me temper, and no mistake. Why have ye become so content with the situation? Ye left for England intent on vengeance, as I recall.”

“Aye, but I also went to prevent a threat of a bloody feud.”

Faolan’s eyes narrowed. “Ye’ve gone soft for that York bastard.”

“Her name is Clarrisa,” he snapped. “And I am no’ soft for her.”

“Then why the sudden insight into our sins over Daphne?” Faolan challenged.

“All right, Clarrisa is responsible for some of me change in thinking, but I’ve only known the woman a short time. Do nae be casting any ideas at me that include affection for her.”

Faolan opened his mouth, but Broen cut him off. “No’ just yet, man. I’m no’ adjusting to knowing a woman can twist me feelings.”

“All right, no’ now,” Faolan agreed.

Broen nodded. “Now, let us get on to what needs doing. Since ye’re here and me friend, I need a favor from ye.”

Faolan’s eyebrows rose. “A favor? It’s ye who owes me for slipping out of me castle—”

Broen grinned, and his friend cursed.

“Ye’re an arrogant bastard, Broen MacNicols.” He sighed. “What do ye want? And do nae tell me ye do nae want something from me, for I know the look well. But I can see ye do nae want to ask me, so I’m curious what it is ye want badly enough ye’d ask another man to do it.”

“Ye’re a smug bastard,” Broen countered.

“But I’m correct tonight.”

Broen ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached, but there was no help for it. “I need ye to fetch Clarrisa back for me.”

Faolan appeared stunned, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Ye mean to say ye’ve lost the little lass?” He chuckled before tossing his head back and laughing loudly enough to send his men to stroking their beards in contemplation of just what the two might be discussing.

“Kael Grant has returned, and his sister helped Clarrisa escape me keep, while I was up listening to the man explain why I should nae run him through over me father’s death.”

Faolan sobered. “What did he have to say?”

“Something I’m still contemplating, but it’s worthy of stepping back. I’m nae feuding with the Grants for the moment. But that will only stand if I get Clarrisa back. I can go after Kael meself—”

“But it would be far simpler for me to pay the man back for using his sister to do ye a disservice.”

Broen nodded. “Exactly. One deception deserves another. Do it for me, and I’ll see ye get the opportunity to settle accounts with Daphne.”

“How do ye plan to do that?”

Broen tilted his head to one side. “She’s inside Deigh.”

“She’s what?” Faolan growled. “Do nae think to fool me so easily.”

Broen stared his friend straight in the eyes. “Ye asked me why I noticed how we’d been fighting over the lass. It was Daphne who pointed it out to me. Kael brought his sister along this morning, and I set her inside me keep while I listened to Kael make his peace. She took a waiting woman, who turned out to be Daphne. Seems she ran to the convent to avoid seeing ye and me at each other’s throats. I’m ashamed to admit she was less foolish than both of us.”

Faolan simply stared at him for a long moment. “That damned woman needs to be—”

“Respected for thinking about both of us above her own future. I’ll be annulling my contract with her. She swears she will nae wed me, because of the harm it does our relationship. Daphne MacLeod has grown into a woman with good sense.”

Faolan wanted to argue, but he clamped his mouth shut and his face turned red. “Ye’re right. May Christ kick me in the balls, but ye’re right.” He shook his head. “Daphne is right.” He suddenly started laughing. “But I’m damned happy to hear she’s alive. Maybe I can sleep again.”

“I will nae rest until I have Clarrisa back. Ye can help me or no’, but I’m going to regain her.”

Faolan studied him for a long moment. “Now ye are the one sounding insane. She’s a woman ye’ve known for a single week. What does it matter if Kael has her?”

“It matters to me because I brought her here, and I will nae see the woman’s blood spilled. I stole her to keep a feud from beginning, no’ so someone could slit her throat because they believe she’s too dangerous to remain among the living.”

Faolan nodded. “Aye, I can see yer way of thinking. There is no honor in allowing the little English lass to fall into the wrong hands, and I’m sure I do nae need another ghost keeping me from me rest. Yer Clarrisa may be English, but she has a fire in her that could see her materializing in our hallways if we let her be murdered. I’ll see what I can do about getting Kael to welcome me into his keep.”

Faolan rode back to his men. Broen watched him go, frustration threatening to drive him insane. But he controlled the urge to ride after Kael. He wasn’t a man who enjoyed letting others do things for him, but the world was becoming a bigger place. No clan survived without alliances and making the most of those connections. Kael Grant was unpredictable. For the moment, he had Clarrisa, and the man knew Faolan had been fighting with him over Daphne.

Faolan had a much better chance of making it into Kael’s tower. One Broen wasn’t sure he had. If he rode up to the gates of Bronach Tower, Kael would know for certain he wanted Clarrisa back. Such an action would expose his Achilles’ heel, something a wise laird never did, not even with a man he considered his ally.

But it meant he was reduced to placing his faith in another. When it came to Clarrisa, he didn’t care for waiting.

He scoffed at himself, trying to counsel his emotions. There were many reasons for leaving Clarrisa with Kael. With the snow gone, the royalists would no doubt be moving to gain access to the prince. He should be focused on the battle looming ahead. Blood was going to flow; he didn’t doubt it. The fact that Clarrisa had been brought to the king would no doubt be even more incentive for the two sides to clash. James had always been too close to the English for any Scotsman to tolerate. Trying to breed himself an English, royal-blooded heir was inexcusable when the man had legitimate sons.

Aye, he should be focused on the powder keg his country was. Instead, he was looking across the hills toward Grant land and cursing Kael for taking Clarrisa.

Actually, she had left of her own free will. The knowledge stung.

He should leave her to the fate she’d chosen, but the kiss she’d given him at sunrise still burned. She was still a prize.

His prize.