TAMING THE HIGHLANDER E-Book

May McGoldrick

• Herausgeber: Book Duo Creative
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Scottish Relic Trilogy
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 388

Beschreibung

BOOK TWO OF THE SCOTTISH RELIC TRILOGY   RITA© AWARD FINALIST NJRW GOLDEN LEAF AWARD FINALIST   A NEW TWIST ON THE CLASSIC BEAUTY AND THE BEAST TALE! Innes Munro has the ability to "read" a person's past simply by touching them, but her gift comes with a heavy price. Forced to stay at desolate Castle Girnigoe, Innes never expects to be drawn to the wounded warrior who haunts its dark passages. Conall Sinclair, the earl of Caithness, carries the scars of battles with the English and the lash marks of their dungeons, but the wounds that fester within give him even greater pain. Isolating himself from his clan and the rest of the world in a tower perched on the wild Scottish coast, Conall is reluctant to let the spirited Innes close to him. As their passion grows, Innes fears that her gift is a curse. Could Conall ever love a woman who can read his darkest secrets and feel the pain he hides…and can love tame all fears? As dangerous forces close in, they must forge a bond of trust that will save them both...or lose each other forever.

Leseprobe

TAMING THE HIGHLANDER

SCOTTISH RELIC TRILOGY

BOOK II

MAY MCGOLDRICK

withJAN COFFEY

Book Duo Creative

Thank you for choosing Taming the Highlander. In the event that you enjoy this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review.

Taming the Highlander

Copyright © 2022 by Nikoo and James McGoldrick

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Book Duo Creative.

Cover by Dar Albert, WickedSmartDesigns.com

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Edition Note

Author’s Note

Also by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey & Nik James

About the Author

1

Tang Head, Scotland

August 1544

Innes Munro stood at the edge of the world, and a cold, watery grave lay ready to take her.

Death one step in front of her. Death behind.

The gray fog swirled up the jagged cliffs. She’d run as far as she could, but another step meant certain death. Her lungs burned, and Innes stared down through moving breaks in the mist at the waves crashing against the rocks far below.

Trapped.

The brambles clinging to the edge of the precipice caught at her skirts as she turned to face her pursuers.

A dozen men, their mail shirts gleaming dully beneath filthy, dark-stained tunics, spread out like hunters at the end of the chase. They’d run their prey into the ever-tightening enclosure on the cliffs. All that remained was the kill.

They eyed her and awaited their master’s signal.

The commander sat astride his black steed behind the line of men. A leather cloak, tied at the neck, was thrown back over one shoulder, revealing a heavily marked chest plate, a long sword, and a pair of daggers. His eyes never left her.

Trapped.

Innes knew what they wanted. Too late she’d learned that this band of Lowlanders and English soldiers had been roaming free in the hills, looking for a certain woman from Clan Munro. Fact and rumor had been woven together into a thick noose: the Munro woman was a witch. She possessed a mysterious relic given by Satan himself. She could turn a person into stone if he looked into her eyes. Most important, gold would be paid to any man, woman, or child who pointed them in her direction.

Someone had talked. Her secret had been exposed. She’d feared this moment for so long. For years.

For Innes, the past held no mystery. She knew so well the power of the stone that was passed on to her from her mother. Only one piece of the whole tablet. Three other fragments. Each fragment was carried across Scotland fifty years ago by men who’d survived a shipwreck not far from this northern shore. Innes knew the powers that the other stones held. And she knew the disaster that would rain down on their heads if the wrong person brought all the pieces together.

The commander spoke to her. “Give it to me.”

Innes said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the pouch she wore at her waist.

She cursed inwardly. She should have never left the safety of the castle.

The sea breeze whipped her tangle of midnight black hair with its blaze of white. Behind her, seabirds floated on the wind, their cries breaking the silence.

“Give me the stone and I’ll not harm you or anyone around here.”

He was lying. He was an Englishman, risking his life here in the Highlands. He had to know. For all its ancient power, the stone was a useless bauble to anyone until the moment that its bearer died. But perhaps he didn’t know. She had to touch his skin to see into his past, to learn whatever it was that he knew, to find out which of the stones he already possessed. But she wouldn’t go near him to find out. What if her fragment was the last that he needed?

“Go and take it from her.”

The men advanced a step, and Innes backed to the very edge.

“Stop right there or I’ll jump into the sea…and then you’ll never have it.”

The men hesitated.

Innes had been a child of seven when she sat at her mother’s sickbed and was told the secret of the stone. The history, the power of sight that was soon to be hers, the knowledge that no one she touched could hide anything from her. At that moment, none of it made any sense. She’d only wanted her mother to stop talking, save her strength, and get better.

Later, standing at the funeral, she’d learned exactly what it all meant. Holding her father’s hand, Innes felt his past flow like a gushing stream into her brain. Hector Munro had been so keenly disappointed with her mother, the woman who’d given him two daughters and no sons, that he’d already chosen his next wife and negotiated for her hand. All of this came to Innes without speaking a word. It was at that moment, as the hot pain that came with knowing cut through her, that she realized what she’d been left was no gift, but a curse. The next morning, she awakened to see the white blaze in her long black hair.

“She won’t jump. Get her.”

Innes turned toward the cliffs.

She welcomed death. It would put an end to all of it. She was ready to part with the heavy weight she’d been forced to carry for much of her life. But she paused at the brink, thinking of him. The man she loved.

Innes winced as someone grabbed her hair, yanking her back from the ledge. She twisted and fought the men who latched onto her arms. She’d been too slow.

One of them cut the string of the pouch and ran with it to his commander.

Held captive, she watched their leader take the stone out of the pouch and hold it up. Inside her, hope fought a losing battle. Perhaps he knew nothing of the power of the relic he held. Maybe they had come because of the rumors, and he now realized that the quest had been for nothing.

Those desperate hopes sank when she saw him produce two other pieces of the tablet and fit them together. He knew what he had.

The Englishman’s gaze shifted to her. He’d done this before. He knew how to take from her the power of the stone.

Innes saw a movement at the top of the rise behind the raiders. A great gray wolf appeared.

The Englishman nodded to his men.

“Kill her.”

2

Castle Girnigoe

Caithness, Scotland

Three Months Earlier

Half a year, Conall thought, staring out at the folk milling about in the darkness of the courtyard. Half a year since he’d returned, and for what?

To watch his people suffer, knowing he was the reason for it.

It could have been different. If only he had died a warrior’s death at the Battle of Solway Moss. So many of his kinsmen had perished there. Or if only the English had not discovered his ransom value after capturing him. After all, he had managed to keep his true identity hidden for a year, and he would have happily continued to rot in that dungeon. If only his brother had not emptied the Sinclair clan vaults to free him. If only.

And now, six months after returning home, he had to watch Bryce make yet another sacrifice for the good of their people. His brother was about to wed again, this time to a new wife chosen because of the size of her dowry.

“You won’t consider me much of a martyr once you meet her,” Bryce replied from his chair. He put down his cup of wine. “Ailein Munro is quite beautiful. And pleasant. She also appears to be fairly capable. I’m certain she’ll be able to handle the responsibilities that go with running Castle Girnigoe.”

Conall shrugged but didn’t look at his brother. Outside, someone was rolling a cask of ale into the courtyard. The Sinclairs and the Munros were in high glee on the eve of the laird’s wedding.

“You should have been at dinner tonight. My in-laws are eager to meet you.”

“To see for themselves if I match up to my vile reputation? To stare at my stump of a hand? To see what a wreck of a man looks like?”

“Probably,” Bryce said, smiling when Conall turned to scowl at him. “Of course not! They want to meet my older brother, the famous warrior, the earl of Caithness. It’s only right that they would want to meet you out of respect.”

“Well, they’ll have to wait. You took on the torch of sociability the day you sat in that laird’s chair,” Conall replied, starting for the door. “The Munro woman is marrying you, not me. Her family has had all the introductions they’re going to get.”

“Wait. You will stand by me on the church steps tomorrow?”

He paused by the door. “Is that a request or an order?”

“A request.”

“Good, because I won’t be there. I have no time for it.”

“Then it’s an order.”

Conall pulled the door open. “Even better, because you know that hell will freeze over before I start taking orders from a wet-nosed stripling like you.”

“But it’s my wedding, Conall. It’s important that you be there.”

“At first light, I’m leaving for the lodge at Dalnawillan.”

“Hunting? You’re going hunting rather than stand by me at my wedding?”

“Leave me be, Bryce.” He glared at his brother. “You’re starting a new life. And you, better than anyone, know that three is a crowd.”

* * *

For Innes Munro, nothing compared with the protective arms of night. She loved the dusk, the dawn, and every dark hour in between.

Night suited her. Only then could she escape the pressures that daytime held. When darkness fell and others slept, no one demanded conversation of you. No one pressed you with unwanted attention or expectation. At night, she could follow her solitary ways. She could come and go as she pleased. She could live safely within the walls she’d erected around herself.

That was when she was home. For another day or two, she was a guest here at Girnigoe. On some level, Innes couldn’t wait to go home to Folais Castle. Before she left, however, there was something that she wanted to see.

Just after supper, by accident, she’d happened to peek into a large hall that she realized was a gallery. Now she was determined to get a better look.

As an artist, she knew how rare such things were in the Highlands. Works of art were not always highly valued, and with good reason. Life here was hard and a clan’s prized possessions, other than gold, were limited to weaponry, household goods, and livestock. But this wasn’t just any clan. This was Clan Sinclair.

In a land of fearsome warriors, the Sinclairs held a place of distinction. Kings of their own domains during the Crusades, they’d returned home to fight alongside Robert the Bruce. And when the great king died, no one but a Sinclair was trusted to carry his heart to the Holy Land. For centuries, a Sinclair had served as the strong right hand of every king of Scotland.

And these warriors apparently had another side to them. They had artwork that, in Innes’s view, was priceless.

She stayed to the shadows, skirting the revelers who were singing and carousing in the castle’s Outer Ward, and hurried to the new North Tower. The gallery was located close to the laird’s reception room and the Great Hall, where a handful of servants still worked after dinner. No one paid any attention to her when she slipped in, lit a taper, and went out.

As she entered the gallery, the mere sight of this treasure trove made her sigh with pleasure.

Along with a number of smaller works, four great tapestries covered the walls. Each of them ran from floor to timbered ceiling, and they were exquisite.

Italian, she decided, for the figures were incredibly lifelike. Each of them depicted religious events. One showed Christ with his disciples in two boats. The nets of Peter and the other fishermen bulged with their catch. In the flickering light of her taper, she could even make out the delicate golden halos surrounding the men’s heads. The Galilean sea was so real looking she thought she could wash her hands in the water.

Innes pulled off one of her gloves and held the light high as she moved from one piece to the next.

She had saved the best of the treasures for last. Two paintings had been hung above the stone mantle of a great fireplace at one end of the gallery. She gazed at the work, awestruck.

Portraits. Two solemn boys stood together, an arched window behind them with Castle Girnigoe and the sea in the distance. There was no question in her mind that the boys were Conall and Bryce Sinclair.

In helping to negotiate Ailein’s marriage, she’d learned a great deal about this family. Only two years separated the brothers. Conall was the earl of Caithness and had served as laird until the battle of Solway Moss. Overmatched by English cannon, so many Scots had died there. His people thought he’d been killed, as well, and Bryce had become laird. And when Conall returned, he’d refused to take the position back from his brother.

There was a rumor circulating that the earl had gone mad in the English dungeons. Innes didn’t believe it. Rumors were nothing more than blunted swords of simple minds and wagging tongues.

Innes turned her gaze to the second painting. Conall Sinclair alone, decked out in court regalia. She’d seen Bryce often enough and, looking at this depiction she saw similarities in Conall’s features. But there were differences, too. Conall was darker and more handsome. The shape of the jaw, the intensity in the eyes, the broad powerful shoulders, the muscled legs. She wondered for a moment if the artist had been tasked with portraying the earl of Caithness as larger than life, or if indeed the flesh-and-blood man had the same ability to make a woman’s heart flutter, even in the breast of a twenty-seven-year-old spinster.

* * *

Innes Munro. The bride’s older sister. Dutiful daughter and trusted advisor to Hector, Baron Folais.

As he was leaving Bryce’s receiving room, Conall saw the woman glide silently into this room. As much as he wanted to go, to get away from this place, curiosity won out. He had to see what interested her.

He entered the gallery through a door hidden in the carved wood panels behind one of the smaller tapestries. Protected now in the shadows of the cloth, Conall watched her move toward him, stopping in front of the great fireplace.

The family portraits.

She was not a dozen paces from him. Conall studied the woman.

Smart, observant, shrewd in negotiations, albeit somewhat abrupt. This was how his brother had spoken of her. To win Ailein’s hand in marriage, Bryce had needed to get by the older sister first. It hadn’t been easy, by all reports.

From his apartments in the West Tower, he’d watched the Munros arrive this morning. Oddly, it had been Innes and not his future sister-in-law, who had captured his attention. The woman stood apart from the rest. Calm. Quiet. A detached bystander.

And her appearance had surprised him. He hadn’t given any thought to what she would look like but realized he’d been expecting some shrewish old crone.

Conall’s gaze moved over her now. She was hardly that. A modest black dress covered her diminutive frame, but there was no ignoring the soft curves of her breast or the flare of her hips. And she was anything but old. He stared at the flawless skin of her face, the high cheekbones, the full lips. Innes’s dark silky hair, braided into a thick rope, fell to her waist. But his eyes were drawn to the curious shock of white hair framing one side of her face.

The young woman’s demeanor softened into a smile as she continued to study the paintings. This close, she was striking. Not a classic beauty, but beautiful, nonetheless. It was her mouth. Something stirred deep in his belly. Conall knew lust, but he hadn’t felt it for a long time. He didn’t need to be thinking such thoughts now, either.

His gaze turned to the object of her attention.

The portrait of him had been done not long before he went south to fight the king’s war. Before Solway Moss. He was whole then, a man with his entire life ahead of him. Intact in body and mind. Before he became what he was now. The mere shell of a man. A relic of lost dreams.

He backed away.

She was looking at a dead man.

* * *

Innes started at the muffled sound of a door closing.

She glanced around, holding her taper high. She was alone. There was no one else in the gallery.

She heard footsteps approaching from the Great Hall, and the steward, Lachlan, limped in.

“I thought I saw a light here. Can I help you with anything, mistress?”

She pulled on her glove. “Nay, thank you. I’m fine. I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.”

The man waited politely.

“The tapestries and paintings are very beautiful.”

Lachlan looked up at the walls, nodding. “I suppose they are. Some are quite old, I believe. A wee bit of trouble, too, they are,” he grumbled. “Put them up for the wedding, and now I’ll be taking them down and putting them back in storage. And who saw them? You, mistress, is all.”

“Well, I’m grateful to you.” She gestured to the painting of Conall Sinclair. “The earl of Caithness. Is he in storage, too?”

“Eh?”

“His lordship. I didn’t see him at dinner tonight. Is he here at Castle Girnigoe?”

“Well, he is and he isn’t.”

Innes cocked an eyebrow at the man. “And will he be here tomorrow, for his brother’s wedding?”

“Difficult to say, mistress. If he is, he’ll be standing beside the laird on the chapel steps. If he isn’t, he won’t be.”

3

Castle Girnigoe sat on a narrow peninsula atop slabs of rock that rose high above the sparkling blue-green sea. Innes couldn’t help but be impressed by the three towers looming high above the sea and the rolling moors.

Standing amid the throng of Sinclairs and Munros waiting for the bride to appear, she looked past the happy but boisterous crowd at her sister’s new home.

For the wedding celebration, the courtyard had been decorated with bright banners and flags. Spring flowers of yellow, pink, violet, and blue had been woven into garlands and hung everywhere, adding even more color to the festivities.

The chapel stood in the original section of the castle the Sinclairs now called the Inner Ward. Over the past two decades, the clan had added two more sections to the clan seat. The Outer Ward, with its North Tower, held the new Great Hall, laird’s quarters, gallery, and kitchens. Beyond it, a bridge led to a walled stable and a West Tower.

Innes was satisfied. She couldn’t have found a more secure home for her sister. With its impenetrable gray walls, high towers, and the surrounding sea, Castle Girnigoe was beyond impressive.

She was happy for Ailein. This was a perfect place to live, to start a new life. Her gaze was drawn to Bryce, standing alone on the step of the chapel. She wondered if the earl of Caithness would make his appearance.

“Couldn’t you change into something more appropriate, at least for today?” her stepmother urged, interrupting her thoughts. “There’s still time, and this is a celebration. You shouldn’t be wearing black.”

“I’ll wear what I please,” Innes said curtly.

“And you’re fine with this, Hector? Your daughter, wearing black at her own sister’s wedding?”

“What business is it of mine what she wears,” the Munro clan chief replied. “She’s a grown woman. Leave her be. She knows what she’s about.”

Her stepmother was not ready to give up. “But why, Innes? Today of all days should be an exception. Ailein is the only one that you care a fish egg about anyway.”

“How many times does she have to tell you?” the Munro chief intervened. “She wears black because she is in mourning.”

“Mourning?”

“Aye, for the death of innocence in the world.”

“By the Virgin, man, and you encourage her by repeating that nonsense?”

Innes stopped listening, looking past her stepmother and her father and the three young boys hanging from his lean frame. She focused on the windows halfway up the East Tower.

What could be keeping Ailein? The last time she’d checked, the women of the household were bustling about the bride with the efficiency of a small army, and Jinny was ordering them about like a warrior chief. Come hell or high water, her sister would be suitably dressed, adorned, and standing at noon at the chapel doors.

A movement drew Innes’s gaze upward. A dark shape moved in a window above her sister’s chambers. Another outsider, she thought, watching the events of life without taking part. She understood that all too keenly.

A young woman’s anxious voice broke in. “I am so relieved to find you, mistress.”

Innes glanced at her and then looked up again. The shadow in the window was still there.

“Lady Ailein is in a state. She sent us all away, and Jinny said to search you out and bring you back as soon as I found you.”

Innes allowed the young servant to lead the way. “Tell me. Who is staying in the upper chambers above my sister?”

The woman glanced back, her eyes wide. “No one, mistress. The upper chambers are shut and locked.”

“Locked, you say?” Innes asked, looking up. The shadowy figure was gone.

“Aye, mistress. It’s been that way for months now.”

* * *

Distant, quiet, observing rather than participating, Conall thought.

Innes Munro was the only interesting fish in that sea of guests. Eying the black dress, he shook his head. That’s not quite right, he mused. She was more like a raven in a flower garden. A rebel. A presence.

Innes looked up and he thought she might have seen him. He backed away from the window and turned around, his eyes surveying Shona’s room.

Bryce had been at Conall’s door at dawn, again insisting that he at least show up for the marriage ceremony. To get rid of him, he’d promised to think about it.

He had thought about it. He still wasn’t going. But he wasn’t leaving Castle Girnigoe until he found what he came up here for.

Conall glanced for a moment at the large window from which Shona had fallen to her death on the cliffs this past winter. He frowned and walked to the dresser, searching for the brooch. It had belonged to his mother. He’d given it to Shona before he left, thinking she would become his wife when he returned.

But his life had gone down a different path.

* * *

They reached the East Tower and the woman stepped aside to let her pass.

Innes moved from the bright spring sunlight of the courtyard into the damp darkness of the tower house stairwell. She started up the stone steps.

Her sister should be on her way to the chapel now, Innes thought. It did not bode well that she was sending out the very women tasked with preparing her for the ceremony. She frowned.

“Nay, Ailein,” she murmured. “I know what you want, and I’m not doing it. Not this time.”

Reaching the landing, Innes pushed open the door without bothering to knock.

Jinny threw her hands up and sighed with relief. “Praise be. You’ve come.”

Innes had known Jinny since the woman came to look after her and Aileen when their mother died. Seeing now the frustration in the lined face, she shook her head. After all the years of service to their family, Jinny knew the two sisters well enough not to be bullied by a mere outburst of temper.

Ailein lay on the bed sobbing, her head buried in a pillow. She raised a tear-stained face at the sound of Innes’s entrance.

“I’m not marrying him. I’ve changed my mind.”

“I see.” Innes peeled off her gloves and stuffed them into the sash at her waist. She motioned toward the small adjoining room. “Can you give us a few moments alone, Jinny?”

“Aye, with pleasure,” the older woman barked. “But she’s supposed to be down at the chapel shortly. And with all this thrashing about on the bed, you can see her hair is a mess and the dress is now wrinkled. I don’t know how I can possibly get her ready in time. She’ll be shaming us all. Aye, lassie, I’m talking about you.”

Glaring fiercely at her charge, Jinny stalked toward the other room.

“You’ll do magic. I’m certain of it,” Innes said quietly, closing the heavy wood door and leaning her back against it. She looked at her sister, who’d again buried her head in the pillow.

At the age of twenty-one, Ailein was like the heather in early autumn, ready to burst into flower. No Highland clan could boast a woman of greater beauty. With her deep red hair cascading to her waist and the slant of her large gray eyes and the upturned nose dusted with pale freckles, she could turn a man’s head at the far end of any great hall. She was the pride of the Munros. And on top of it all, she came with a sizable dowry. As a result, for several years Ailein had been attracting a line of suitors that stretched from Folais Castle to Edinburgh itself.

Innes had been at her sister’s side for every first meeting. It was a mistake. Naturally, Innes had read their lives like an open book. Like looking at the pebbles at the bottom of a clear mountain stream, she’d seen every flaw and mistake that colored their past. Men lied. Men cheated. No surprise. When a man wanted something badly enough, what he said and what he thought were often as different as night and day. Each time, Innes told her sister the truth about each man’s past. That was all it took. Ailein made sure that they never came back.

Then, some three years later, Innes realized that she was robbing Ailein of any chance of married life. She’d made her own choice when it came to turning down the handful of suitors who’d come for her hand years earlier, but Aileen needed to take a chance.

Enough was enough. Her sister’s weak-kneed reaction to Bryce Sinclair, the strapping young laird of Castle Girnigoe, had been all the encouragement she needed. Innes decided to let them be.

Silence hung in the air. A head of tousled, red hair lifted from the pillow, and the young woman’s tearful gaze turned to her.

“Please, Innes. Please do it for me. Take hold of his hand. Tell me what it is I’m getting myself into.”

“I am no fortune teller.” Innes approached the bed. “Get up. Right now. This moment.”

Ailein rolled out of her reach to the other side. “How do I know if he’s the right man for me? I have no idea how he feels. What he thinks. What if he’s marrying me only for the dowry? What if he’s still in love with his first wife?”

Innes lifted the mattress and her sister rolled off, landing with a thud on the floor. Her flushed face reappeared above the bedclothes.

“Ouch. That hurt, you know. What did you do that for? Sometimes you can be so cruel.”

“Aye, cruel as the winter wind. Remember that. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life with me.”

“I never said I wanted to.” Ailein stood up, her hands on her hips. “I’m not asking you for any more than what you’ve always done.”

“Nay, you’re asking for much more. This is no first meeting. This is your wedding day. This is Girnigoe, their clan seat. The Sinclairs, the Munros, and a hundred guests are waiting for you and Bryce to exchange your vows. Our father is already at the chapel steps, waiting to give you away.”

“I’m not married yet. It’s not too late.”

Innes fought the inclination of raising her voice and ordering her what to do. She knew where that would end up. As sweet as Ailein appeared to others, they had the same iron will. She took a deep breath and started again.

“Think this through. You love Bryce. You told me that a hundred times.”

“I think I love him. I might be wrong.”

“Every time you’ve seen him, he’s been courteous, charming, attentive.”

Ailein shrugged. “To me and you and the other Munros who kept a close eye on us.”

“Well, that’s a good start in any marriage. You already have a foundation.”

“How do you know what’s a good foundation?” she snapped. “You’ve never been married.”

“Nay. I’ve never been married, as you well know. I’ve never been wooed before, either. And I’ve never been kissed. I’ve never been asked for my hand in marriage. And I will never share a man’s bed or have children of my own. And no one will ever love me. And when the winter of life sets in, I’ll have no memories of my own to think back on and keep me company. If I live so long.” She looked into her sister’s eyes. “And is this what you want for your life?”

Ailein stared at her for a moment and then batted away fresh tears. She shook her head and rushed across the chamber to hug Innes.

Cradling her sister’s face, Innes looked into her soul at the fears and the insecurity Ailein was feeling about marrying this man. Bryce Sinclair was a man with much more experience. He was a widower who had lost his wife tragically. But Innes also saw the hope and love that her sister felt right up to this moment.

“I do love you, Innes. I always will. And you can come and stay here with me any time you want. We’ll force Father to let you come if that’s what it takes.”

Ailein’s surging emotions silenced her. She’d said what was in her heart. The truth.

It was a sad fact of life that no one could see into Innes’s heart. The words she’d said—about herself, about her life, about her future—bled her inside.

“Very well, then. Sit in that chair. I’ll get Jinny.”

The extra hands were all assembled in the adjoining room A few minutes later, the chamber was again in an uproar. Ailein sat, then stood and stepped into layers of dress. She had her hair pulled and piled and pinned. And she smiled through it all.

Innes was happy for her sister, but at the same time, she ached at the loss of her. All of their routines and arguments and companionship were ending today. Tomorrow she’d return with her father and his wife and their children to Folais Castle.

Ailein now had her own life. Her husband. Her new clan. They would always be sisters but this marriage divided them, sending them down separate paths.

As emotions threatened to overwhelm her, Innes quietly slipped out of the room onto the dark landing.

Taking a few deep breaths, she forced herself to bury those raw feelings, donning once again the hard, impenetrable cloak she wore in public. This was the way her sister’s new family would see her today—brusque, confident, in charge. And in the main, she was happy with the life she had. No regrets.

She pulled the gloves from her sash and started down the stairs.

Halfway down, her foot slipped on the edge of a step, and she pitched forward. She dropped her gloves, her hands flailing for anything to grab. Her foot barely touched the next stair as she hurtled forward into the darkness. She braced herself, knowing her head and face were about to strike stone.

Suddenly, she felt herself plucked from the air. One moment she was falling uncontrollably, and the next she was righted and placed on her own two feet. Her knees buckled.

He pushed her against the wall, and in the dim light, she saw the man was missing his right hand. He was broad across the chest and very tall. Her gaze moved from the black shirt he wore beneath his tartan to his face. Wild black hair, hanging to his shoulders, a full beard framed a swarthy face and eyes as dark as a loch at night.

Truth rooted and blossomed. Her heartbeat increased its rhythm. She knew who he was.

“You,” she gasped. She’d been hoping to see him, to meet the great Sinclair warrior. But not this way. “You’re the earl of Caithness.”

“Can you stand?” His voice was deep and harsh. He sounded annoyed with her for inconveniencing him—or maybe for recognizing him. His good hand was on her shoulder, still holding her up.

“I’m fine. Thank you for catching me.”

She pushed his hand away, and as she did, her mind melded with his. In a flash of an instant, she was back in the gallery off the Great Hall. But it wasn’t the paintings that she saw, but rather Innes herself, through his eyes. He’d been there, watching her.

Her face grew warm as she looked up into his face. But then the image changed. Her senses filled with the sight and sounds of a battlefield. A gasp escaped her as bloody corpses and the smell of blood and sweat filled her senses. Those still living cried out, filling the air with the pleading voices of the dying…and those who wished they were dead. She stared at a severed hand at her feet and a man’s anguished roar blotted out every other sound.

Innes’s head cleared. She blinked. She was alone.

The man was gone. The only sound was her heartbeat drumming in her ears, and a piper tuning up in the distance.

With only a brush of her hand over his wrist, she’d felt his mind sweep her in. Unprepared, she hadn’t seen but felt the pain. She’d been there on that battlefield with him.

And she’d felt his shame.

She brushed away the beads of sweat on her brow and looked around. No one. No footsteps. Nothing.

A door opened and closed below.

She needed light. Air. She had to shake herself free of the horror she’d seen.

Her gloves lay on the steps. She picked them up and hurried down. Sunlight poured in through the doorway.

There was no sign of the earl. In the deep shadows at the bottom of the stairs, she noticed another door she hadn’t seen before. It was heavy, with steel bands and studded nails reinforcing the thick wood. A stout timber stood against the wall to secure it on this side.

She strode to the door and took hold of the handle. As she did, she heard a latch slide into place on the other side.

* * *

She was as light as the wind, as soft as the finest silk. He’d inhaled the fresh scent of sea and salt on her skin. His arm had wrapped around her narrow waist and for a fleeting moment, his hand had brushed her breast.

Conall didn’t want to notice Innes Munro. He didn’t want to admit that, up close, she was even more alluring than he’d imagined. He didn’t want any of that, especially after she’d fallen ill at the sight of his missing hand.

He stared at the latch on the door. He wasn’t attracted to her. He wouldn’t allow it.

No, his problem was that it had been too long since he’d been with a woman.

4

They had no need for words. Holding onto Ailein, Innes saw her sister’s struggle to imagine what her life would be like after she left tomorrow.

No running to her for advice, Aileen was thinking. No stories to share. No outbursts or arguments. No wandering together along the beaches and through the glens as Innes collected pieces of bird eggs and feathers to add to her collection. No searching on market days through bolts of black fabric to make a new dress for her.

“You’re making this harder for both of us.”

Ailein tucked the white hair behind Innes’s ear and drew back.

This was her sister’s wedding night. She should be happy and excited. Not sad.

Innes moved around the chamber, her fingers touching the bright decorative ribbons. She fought back her own raw emotions. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t fall apart and make it worse for her sister. She stopped to breathe in the aromatic bouquets of dried rosemary, sage, lavender, and thyme. She inspected the clothes and the gifts scattered around the room, finally stopping by the open window overlooking the bluffs. The moon was rising, and the sea glistened brightly. The soft breeze drifted in with the sounds of the sea, caressing her face.

Ailein had been only an infant when their mother died. Six years older, Innes had immediately shouldered the responsibility of both mother and sister. Their father had married twice since then, but she had never relinquished her position.

She stole a glance over her shoulder at Ailein. She was pinning up an ornate, jeweled brooch that had been left on the dresser to the tartan she’d arranged around her shoulders.

They were sisters, but yet looked nothing alike. Ailein inherited her height and red hair and complexion from their father, and Innes was their mother. Dark-haired, small, and reclusive. But they each had the heart of a lion, especially when it came to protecting those they loved.

Tears rushed into her eyes as she realized there would never be moments like this. Not after tomorrow. She looked at the sea and took a deep breath.

“This new North Tower. How do you like it?” Ailein asked.

“It is lovely.”

“Bryce has been living here, so I chose it over the East Tower.”

Bryce’s first wife had stayed in those rooms, in the older section of Girnigoe. Innes was happy that her sister didn’t have to battle memories of an old marriage in her new chambers. She leaned out the open window, looking down at the roaring sea.

“Not so far, if you please. That height worries me.”

“Aye, good reason to be worried,” Innes replied. “Perhaps there should be a bar across these windows.”

“They say it was an accident.”

“So I understand.”

“I asked his aunt about it. I had to know how his first wife died, and Wynda told me what happened.”

“I heard the tale. It was a stormy day this past winter, just after Samhain. They say she somehow slipped at the window and fell from the top floor of the East Tower. They found her body at the base of the cliffs. Her chambers were just above where you dressed for the ceremony.” Innes paused. “And Bryce was away from Girnigoe when it happened.”

Ailein stared at her. “So you touched his hand. That’s how you know.”

“Nay. I didn’t. I told you before that I wouldn’t. I asked questions, like you. That’s the proper way one gets answers.”

She moved to another window, one overlooking the courtyard. Over the years, Innes had witnessed the damage she’d done to Ailein by making all the decisions and giving her all the answers.

Ailein’s life resembled that of a bairn practicing the steps but never actually walking on her own two feet. Always protected. She had no bumps or bruises, no heartbreak she’d ever had to deal with. At twenty-one years of age, she’d never done anything but rely on Innes to tell her what to do, whom to trust, and where to go. This was a never-ending cycle that undermined the younger woman’s confidence in herself and in her judgment. Innes knew. She’d played the same game with her own life when she’d been younger. That was why she was alone.

Bryce Sinclair was a good match. The two had to make their marriage work without any ethereal interference.

“You would not leave in the morning without seeing me?”

“Are you forgetting the wedding night traditions?”

Innes was sorry she mentioned it as her sister’s face turned a deep shade of red.

“How can I forget? The Sinclairs will be wanting evidence that I’m the maiden our father promised them. You and the Munros won’t be leaving until Bryce and his clan are satisfied.”

It was barbaric, but tradition was tradition. Innes was relieved that Jinny was the one who had to do all the explaining to her sister.

Ailein hugged her middle and glanced warily at the large bed. “What happens if I don’t bleed?”

“I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure Bryce will know how to handle everything.”

“He should. He married his first wife Shona little more than a year ago.”

Innes recognized the sharp tone of her sister. Ailein was rummaging around for a fight. This was the way she got when she was nervous or things weren’t going the way she’d wished them. Innes hoped some solitary time would calm her sister.

“It’s time for me to leave you.” She pulled on her gloves.

Ailein looked up in panic. “Do you have to? Can’t you wait with me until he comes?”

“Absolutely not.” She backed toward the door. “He should be here very soon. You’re his wife, but you’re also a Munro, the daughter of a baron. In the eyes of the world, you are his equal. Remember that.”

“Oh, Inness!”

“You’ll do well here among the Sinclairs. They are good people. He appears to be a good man.” Her voice turned husky with emotion. “You no longer need me.”

The tears had a mind of their own, but she left the room before her sister could see them.

* * *

Moonlight flooded the rolling moors, and the starry sky was cloudless. A perfect night to travel.

Conall, waiting for Duff to bring out his horse, glanced around for Thunder. No sign of him, but he wasn’t worried.

“You were here all day, and still you couldn’t stand up with your brother.”

Conall turned to see his aunt emerge from the shadows.

“I’ve decided to make a habit of missing Bryce’s weddings.”

Their father’s sister, Wynda had moved back to Girnigoe when Conall’s mother died. She’d raised them and was as much a mother to them as their own had been. He studied the older woman. Even by moonlight, he could see the lines in her face growing deeper with each passing season. Conall knew much of the preparation of this week’s festivities had fallen on Wynda’s shoulders.

“You look exhausted, Aunt. Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I had to come and see you before you went off.”

A brisk breeze blew in off the sea. He reached over and adjusted the shawl she wore over her dark dress.

“This one was much better, Conall. Your brother has done well for himself. Ailein is nothing like the last wife.”

“There could only be one Shona.”

Wynda studied him in silence for a moment. “I wish you had come, if only just to meet the sister.”

“Innes?”

“You know her?” she replied, surprised.

‘Know’ was too strong a word, he thought. He recalled the woman he’d watched in the gallery. The one he’d held briefly in the staircase. He didn’t know her, but she definitely had his attention, and those brief moments continued to linger in his mind.

Good enough reason for leaving.

He caught his aunt staring at him.

“All right. Out with it. Why would you want me to meet the sister?”

“No reason.” A rare smile broke on Wynda’s lips. “Innes is different. Odd in some ways. Intelligent and unafraid to voice her opinion. I believe she enjoys her reputation of being difficult.”

“Difficult? And why would you wish such a thing on me?”

“Birds of the feather.”

Duff led his horse out the stable door, saving him from continuing this conversation.

“Well, no chance of that happening. I understand the Munros are leaving tomorrow. And I plan to be away for quite a while.”

* * *

France, perhaps. Innes had heard that the mountains in the west of France had birds that were never seen in Scotland. That might be just the place for her. The time had come for change, she thought, looking out at the moon now high above the castle ramparts.

For a few years now, Innes had imagined that when her sister finally married, she’d be able to establish her own daily regimen…or lack of it. Of course, as long as she was at home, her stepmother would be an obstacle. Margaret, only a few years older than Innes, was a creature of habit, schedules, and decorum. And everything about Innes was disruptive.

No, it was now time to pursue a different path. Her father had Margaret, his sons, and the affairs of the clan to see to. She would travel. It was 1544. The Spanish had discovered a new world. The Portuguese were sailing around Africa to trade with the East. The world was opening up.

She’d already told her father that she wanted to go. She wanted to see something of that world and then, possibly, settle down in some convent in a quiet part of Scotland. So far, Hector Munro wouldn’t discuss it, but at least he’d given up on the idea of marrying her off. Perhaps once they returned home, she could raise the topic with him again.