Chapter 1

Chapter

One

A ltair woke and sat bolt upright. Something had disturbed the stillness of the night. This was an unusual occurrence. No one ever climbed this far up his mountain, so there was never anyone around to make a noise.

Vaulting out of his bed, he strode over to the window and peered out. Stars, moon, and scudding clouds banking in the west to form rain. When Altair breathed in, he tasted the rain. It was gentle and hazy on his tongue.

Turning his head sideways so that his ear was cocked towards the fortress walls, he waited for the sound to come again.

If anyone had been in the round watchtower bedchamber with him, they would have been able to admire the outline of Altair's profile against the moonlight. Just as there was no softness on the Laird's rock-hard body, nor was there any pliancy to be found on his face.

His features were rugged, rigid to the point of looking intimidating. His high bridged nose jutted out from his brow with ruthless sharpness, and his chin promised a stubborn, unrelenting nature. The muscles under his scimitar-shaped cheekbones twitched as he waited and watched with hawk-like intensity.

He did not have long to wait. The sound came again. Now that he was wide awake and could listen more carefully, Altair was no longer on guard from the noise. It was more of a whimper than a murmur; the kind of sound a child makes when they are lost or injured.

But it had been a long time since Altair had heard a child's voice. He was about to write it off as a lost mountain goat's kid until he heard words underneath the weeping.

"Help me, please. Can anyone hear me?"

The feminine voice would have been as pleasing as the coo of a dove on a summer's day if it had not been worn ragged by stress and thirst. As Altair went to the chest to remove the long length of dark woolen plaid he used for a feileadh-mor, he calculated how long it had been since he last heard a stranger's voice.

At least seventy years.

People believed this mountain to be cursed. They loathed every rock his fortress was made of. And they muttered prayers to protect them from the evil sorcerer whom they claimed lurked behind its crumbling walls. To them, the Highland laird was a beast, hardly worthy of the description of being human. They were happy to take his gold when his servants came down the mountain to buy supplies of food and fodder, but it was done with no smile or greeting.

The warm midsummer night's air wafting in the valley did not rise this high. Even though it was the beginning of June, a cold wind buffeted. But this frigid mountain atmosphere did not bring him any discomfort.

Once his plaid was pleated and belted around his midriff, all he had to do was tie a pair of boots under his knees and he was ready to venture out.

All the servants—all four of them—were fast asleep in the east tower. Altair was a lenient master and did not begrudge them a late morning or early night. He used one of the secret side gates to exit the fortress. The stronghold had more tunnels and underground trapdoors than a labyrinth, and he knew each one of them as well as he knew the back of his hand.

He did not need a lantern to see the path. Using the moon as his guide, Altair crept towards the one who called for help. Where the mountain crested to its peak, he saw her. A small figure on the rocks, shivering under her hood and knuckling the tears from her eyes. A sorrowful sniff broke the stillness around them as the figure gave up the last of her hope.

"Hie, lassie. Dinnae ye fash noo. Ye have nae more to worry aboot."

Gasping, the young woman whipped her head around to stare at him. "Are you a rogue? If you are, I must warn you that I only carry a few small baubles with me!"

Her voice was shrill with fear, but Altair could not help but admire her courage. She faced him down, crouching on the boulder as if she were ready to launch herself at him.

"That will nae stop a rascal from prying up yer kirtle, lass. Come doon from that rock before ye break yer neck."

"I do not understand what you are saying, but if you are not a rogue, then why are you shirtless?"

Altair glanced down at his bare chest. He was so used to his lonely life that it never occurred to him that a visitor might not like the sight of him half-naked. This young maiden was clearly a Sassenach. But where was her keeper? He could tell from the thick velvet of her cloak and stiff satin of her kirtle that the girl came from a noble family.

Speaking slowly, he inched towards her. "I was sleeping. Yer cries woke me. I'm the Master of the Fortress. Laird Altair Sterling at yer service." He bowed and then held up his arms for her to jump into, saying, "Come, lass. Ye cannae redden yer eyes with sad tears all night. I promise I dinnae bite."

The maiden seemed a bit shy at first, hesitating. But his comforting voice seemed to put heart into her. Reaching down with her hands, she jumped. Altair caught her. For one brief moment, her soft hands gripped his bare shoulders, before letting go.

Placing the girl gently on her feet, he stepped back. But she grabbed his arm to stop him from retracing his steps back to the side entrance. "Laird, I climbed up here for a reason. My poor nurse lies below us. She twisted her ankle and cannot move. I hope it is not a bother, but please, can you help me bring her up here to safety?"

"If yer nanny has waited this long for ye to find help, lass, then I have nae doubt she can wait a wee while longer." He stepped aside and waited for the girl to step through the unlit doorway.

Again, she paused, looking at the darkness ahead and then back at the tall man standing next to her.

"Are ye a-feared o' the dark?" His tone was deep and almost teasing because he knew what she was thinking. A lone man. An abandoned-looking castle. And no sign of sentries or servants.

The girl straightened her back and tilted her chin up at him. "No. I am not afraid. I have come this far, I may as well go several steps further."

And she entered the fortress while biting her lower lip with small, white teeth. Altair had to admire her pluck. There was only one other woman inside, and she was his housekeeper. No other female had crossed Sterling clan portals for many dozens of years.

"Can you please light a candle?" she asked him politely. "I am sure you know every nook and cranny of your ancestral home, but I do not."

Tracing his fingertips along the wall, Altair found the fireplace and used the embers to light a rushlight reed. A fire was always kept burning inside the castle to try and warm the frigid stone walls. When the flame grew, immediately everything was bathed in its rosy glow. And the laird got his first good look at his new visitor.

She was a striking looking young woman. Still in the first blush of her youth, but she carried herself with the poise and confidence of a mature lady. It was her bountiful figure that first caught his eye as she removed her heavy cloak in the airless antechamber room. The demure neckline of her bodice barely concealed a richness of flesh. Her lush bosom heaved as she looked around the room with bright, curious eyes, as black as pitch.

The exotic darkness of her hair and eyes contrasted beautifully with the girl's skin, which was a delicate peach hue. It invited the observer to touch it, taste it, and stroke the soft valley of her cleavage. From her sweetly dimpled hands to the delicious curves of her belly, hips, and thighs, Altair's visitor was enticingly lovely.

The young woman would probably prefer to have devils fly out of her mouth than look twice at a jaded hermit like him! His angry thoughts made Altair curt and impolite. Flinging himself over to the bell rope, he rang to wake up the servants. The moon was sinking fast. Dawn was approaching, and in the Highlands during June, sunrise came early.

Using a ladle, he scooped springwater out of a bucket and passed it to the girl for her to drink. She sipped from the spoon delicately, making sure to wipe her lips by pinching the droplets of water off with her fingertips. When she was finished, she placed the ladle on the table, where it laid like a barrier between them.

"Well, what's yer name? I cannae call ye ‘lass' in front o' me servants." Scraping a chair out from the table, Altair slumped down on it. Clicking his fingers, he pointed to show his visitor that she could join him. "Sit, sit. Ye're making the place look untidy."

As timid as a mouse, she took a seat opposite him. She seemed perplexed at his sudden change of mood. "My name is Laura Raleigh, kind Master. But please, Laird, will you send servants down for my poor nurse, I beg you."

Running his hands through the tangled dark brown locks of his hair, Altair replied grumpily. "Och aye, sure. For how long were ye climbing ‘til ye reached me hoose?"

It was as if a dam broke as the flood of words came out. "I have been climbing this wretched mountain for nigh on two days, Laird! Our coach was set upon by villains. They killed the men who rode outside to protect me," Laura drew in a shuddering sob. "Nurse hurt her ankle almost immediately as we set out running away. Our coachman told us to hightail it if we wanted to live. But I can think of worse fates than death."

In the middle of this confession, Laird Sterling's steward came in. He stopped short when he saw Laura. "By Lud's beard, Master! How did ye magic up a maiden?"

"There's been another damn attack on the beinn pass road, Berenson." Altair growled the news to his faithful servant. "This young lady's nanny fell by the wayside." Turning to Laura, he asked her directly. "There's nae chance we can hoist the auld lady skywards up the beinn with her ankle busted, Maid. But me servants can carry her doon to the village. Is that an acceptable ootcome for ye?"

Laura looked confused. "What is this ‘beinn', please?"

Berenson, the steward, answered. "It's oor word for ‘mountain', Maiden. And might I say how pleased I am to hear the gracious Sassenach accent in oor castle again?" he bowed low and smiled kindly.

This made Altair laugh. "Awa' with ye, Berenson, ye sentimental auld cadger!" Then he turned his attention back to Laura. "But ye have nae given us permission yet. Can we carry yer nanny doon to the village?"

The young girl grew agitated. "Yes. Please do whatever is best for Mildred. Is it selfish of me to not want to go back down there? I have not slept for a long while. I fear I will be no help, such is the state I am in."

She did not shrink away from him as he walked to stand behind her chair. Altair placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning forward so that their heads were level. "Think hard, lassie. When ye skittered awa' from yer travelin' coach, did ye head back the way ye came or go straight up the rocks? Show me."

Giggling nervously, the young maid used her arms to show him the directions they took; up, down, back and forth, left and right. Laura's hands swept around as if she were dancing, her tired eyes half-closed as she struggled to remember.

"There was no way Mildred would have been able to clamber over rocks, so we walked briskly for a few yards back the way we came along the trail our coachman showed us. Then I saw a narrow pathway cutting towards a ledge of pine trees. We hid there and watched as the brigands went after the coachman on the horse. Poor fellow. I hope he escaped to safety. When the coast was clear, we continued along the path. The going was so rough, Nurse Mildred twisted her leg after two hundred yards or so."

Giving her shoulder an encouraging pat, Altair stepped back. "I ken where the auld nanny lies."

Berenson nodded and prepared to leave. "That copse o' pine trees is where the brigands collect their firewood. Ye're lucky none were doing it when ye hid there. Shall I wake me family, Laird?"

"Tell yer goodwife to come forth and show oor guest a bedchamber. The rest of us must descend."

Laura seemed to be shocked at the sudden change of her fortune. "Are you sure you know where to find Mildred? You do not need me to guide you there?"

Altair gave her a rueful lopsided grin as Berenson climbed the east tower stairs to fetch the other two servants. "This is me beinn, lass. Ye gave me a good description of yer nanny's lay-bye. Berenson and the others will carry her to the village, where she will be given all the succor she needs."

He was not expecting the maiden to take this information the wrong way. Altair saw Laura's lips pout adorably. Crossing her arms, she glared at him. "If this is your mountain, Laird, perhaps you would do me the courtesy of telling me why you allow brigands to attack travelers on it?"

No one had ever criticized him so boldly before. To say Laird Sterling was taken aback was to put it mildly. Summoning all the courtly manners he had learned at his mother's knee, he gave the maid a tight-lipped answer. "They must've set up a camp real quick-like. There are many caves where they could be hidin'."

He got no further than that. "Hogwash!" Laura interrupted him. "I heard you saying to Berenson that there's been another attack. You should have stopped them after the first ambush—not let them continue doing so!"

Altair gave her a scowling look. "Ye have a mighty strange way o' showing yer thanks for me hospitality, lass."

Laura blushed, twisting her hands into knots on her lap. "Forgive me, Laird, but it had to be said."

Mistress Berenson bustled into the antechamber, her arms full of linen. "A guest! I cannae believe we finally have a guest, Laird. I'm over the moon with joy."

Ignoring the scowl on her master's face, the housekeeper placed the linen on the table so that she might curtsy to Laura. "Och, I'm that happy ye're here, Maiden. Me husband tells me that ye are a lady. How nice."

Berenson appeared at the door with two men. "Maid Raleigh. Please may I introduce me two sons to ye? This is Andrew, the groom. And Stephen, the footman."

The men stepped forward and bowed. Laura smiled sweetly. "You are named after my two favorite saints. I bid you thanks for helping my nurse."

"We are taking the stretcher to transport her on, Maiden. Dinnae ye fash. Ye'll have yer nanny safe and sound, ready to continue yer journey in a trice."

Still with a thunderously grumpy look on his face, Altair left with the three men. Mistress Berenson noticed Laura's gaze following the laird out the door.

"Let him go, Milady," the housekeeper whispered. "When the master is in one of his black moods, it's always best to let it wear off."