The Thistle and The Rose E-Book

May McGoldrick

• Herausgeber: Book Duo Creative
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 543

Beschreibung

Passion and Peril in the Scottish Highlands: A Love Forged in War! A heroine's quest for survival and a powerful warrior's unexpected love… Celia Muir's life is at stake as she escapes a burning castle, hunted by English soldiers through the wild and rugged Scottish Highlands. With trusted allies at her side and the infant Kit in her care, she must risk everything—including her identity. Disguised as the mysterious Lady Caithness, Celia embarks on a dangerous mission, seeking the aid of the powerful and battle-hardened warrior, Colin Campbell. Dangerous secrets, unexpected passion, and the fires of war… As war ravages the hills of Scotland, Colin finds himself irresistibly drawn to the captivating Lady Caithness, despite the secrets that bind her to treachery. But in a land divided by violence, betrayal threatens to tear them apart, even as a love they never anticipated grows stronger. Together, they must navigate the tangled web of desire, deception, and destiny. A journey of love that will change the course of history… Celia and Colin's love must endure the ultimate test as they face betrayals, hidden enemies, and the harsh realities of war. Together, they will fight not only for their lives but for the future of a homeland on the brink of destruction. Can their love survive the storm of war—and change the fate of Scotland?  Winner of two Golden Leaf Awards!   Top Ten List of the Best Romances of All Time!   

Leseprobe

THE THISTLE AND THE ROSE

MAY MCGOLDRICK

withJAN COFFEY

BOOK DUO CREATIVE

Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the authors.

The Thistle and the Rose © 2009 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick

First Published by NAL, Signet, September 1995

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons is purely coincidental.

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

Created with Vellum

CONTENTS

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Edition Note

Author’s Note

Also by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey & Nik James

About the Author

For Rosemary and George

PROLOGUE

Northern England

September 9, 1513

The fog and rain, mixed with the smoke of the English cannons, enshrouded the low fields at Flodden with a gray cover no man could see through, but King James knew that his moment of destiny was at hand.

Rallying his Scottish troops with the war cry of his Stewart ancestors, the king wheeled his white stallion, swept the fifteen-foot spear from the hand of his page, and charged down the hill into the ranks of the English infantry.

For four hours the blood flowed onto the slippery hillsides, but the long Scottish spear was no match in close combat with the eight-foot English halberd, that grotesque crossbreed of spear and ax.

Before the gloom of day gave way to the darker gloom of night, ten thousand of Scotland’s finest men lay dead in the muck, stripped of their armor and their dreams of a new Scotland. The northerners’ camp followers—women, boys, clerics, and servants—were also dead and plundered, their throats cut by English border troops under the merciless Lord Danvers.

King James’s son Alexander, the Archbishop of St. Andrew’s, two bishops, two abbots, and twenty-six of Scotland’s great earls and lords were hacked to death on that bloody day—Scotland’s nobility annihilated in a single stroke.

And James lay naked with the rest, his red beard matted around the broken shaft of the arrow that had spilled the lifeblood of a king.

There would be no one left to protect the loved ones to the north, the warriors were virtually gone. And the English knew it.

To the victors belong the spoils.

1

The Central Lowlands of Scotland

February 1514

The Devil of Danvers had brought hell to her door.

Celia knew from experience that the fire now raging in the rear sections of the oak and plaster manor house would soon engulf the entire structure. It was clear that the English marauders were trying to force the inhabitants of the late Caithness laird’s new hall out the great oaken doors that had been barred in defense. This night raid was to be a bloody one.

Instead of wasting their powder blasting the entryway or wasting their time preparing a battering ram, the demons had piled straw from the nearby fields against the back of the building and laid their torches to it. This was a plan that Danvers had used all across Scotland—destruction of the great houses and slaughter of the innocents.

Celia peered through the notch in the upstairs shutter and saw the troop of horsemen waiting for the manor folk to begin pouring out. Some had dismounted, and the torches they carried flared as they raced to and from the man who clearly was directing the assault. Even from this distance, Celia could see that he was a giant and she could almost see his pig eyes sparkling with pleasure at this sight he had engineered.

Celia shuddered. She knew this man. Lord Danvers, the Scourge of Scotland.

But there was no time for these thoughts. Celia knew he would slaughter the entire household. Since the king’s destruction at Flodden Field, the man’s name had struck terror into the hearts of mothers across Scotland.

He was the murderer of children.

But he would never get her little Kit, Celia vowed, not as long as she had life in her body. She turned to look at the wet nurse Ellen, who stood in the corner with the baby in her arms.

At that moment the wiry little priest scrambled into the bedroom, sword in hand. His face was smudged with soot.

“You’re right,” he shouted. “There are only a half dozen or so behind the house. The clooty-footed Satan that’s running these demons knows no one will be foolish enough to try going out through the fire.”

“Then, by God, Father William, we shall,” Celia shouted back. “Where is Edmund?”

The roar of the fire was deafening now, but the priest heard her.

“At the base of the stairwell,” he shouted in her ear as she swept past him.

Celia took Kit from Ellen’s arms and looked into her face. There was terror in her eyes, but Celia knew she would hold up.

“Ellen, take only the big satchel and stay in front of Father William. William Dunbar’s not just a poet; he’s a fighter, too.” She half smiled and Ellen nodded. She would do as she was told.

Celia looked tenderly into the folds of the soft bunting that Kit was wrapped in. She felt a pain in her heart at the thought that anyone might hurt him, that he might not grow up to see the wonders this life has to offer. Celia held him close to her and smelled the good baby scent.

Looking into his face once again, Celia thought that Kit’s gray eyes matched those of his father’s. He looked at her trustingly. She knew her little soldier would not even cry. The baby moved his mouth as if to coo, but Celia could not hear it. Father William tugged at her sleeve. They had to go now.

Down the stairs the small group ran. The smoke was thick below, and the pandemonium of terrified servants was at a fevered pitch. Some were fighting to unbar the great oaken doors, while others were fighting to keep the door closed.

Celia looked about her at the chaos of the scene. Earlier in the day, Caithness Hall had been the model of order and taste. It would never be that way again.

What a waste, she thought. What a crime.

The laird of Caithness Hall had died with his king, like so many others. She knew these people would not listen to her. She was, after all, half English. These people had no one to command them. This undefended manor house was like so many in Scotland; Celia knew the people of Caithness Hall were doomed.

Celia saw her uncle Edmund immediately, in spite of the chaos. The great warrior, long sword in hand, pushed his strong, middle-aged body through the crowd, and Celia pointed to the rear of the house. Edmund’s eyes widened with surprise, but without hesitation he turned and shoved a path clear for his niece and her companions into the Great Hall.

The wall at the rear of the hall was a mass of flames. Celia could see by the extent of the flames above that the ceiling at the rear could fall at any moment. When Edmund shot a glance back at Celia, she pointed to the study door ahead.

Edmund led them along the wall to the study door, kicked it in, and entered. The others followed through the falling embers. As Father William slipped through the door after the others, a huge crash could be heard from the Great Hall. This room was also ablaze. The manor house was collapsing around them.

Celia handed the baby to Ellen and pulled a sword down from the wall by the fireplace.

She turned, coughing, and shouted to her uncle, “Unbar the shutter, Edmund. We go out here.”

Edmund could not help but smile with affection at this bonny lass who commanded like a general. Her black eyes flashed with anticipation of the battle that lay outside that window. He could see the frown of concentration that furrowed her brow; she was ready for anything that lay ahead. She was a fighter with brains. In the years he’d been with her, since his sister died, Edmund had seen her grow in the company of her father’s men—rough men, sailors and warriors. Edmund had taught her all he knew about fighting, and he’d seen several men pay dearly for misjudging the strength contained in that slender, feminine body. And her skills in combat were a secret no man would ever imagine in a woman.

As the old warrior pulled the bar from the window, the oak shutter swung inward with great force, and Edmund felt the rush of night air into the room. The marauding soldiers must have pulled open the outer shutter earlier, he thought. Edmund wondered why they hadn’t smashed through with their halberds. Orders were to torch the place, most likely.

With the rush of air, the manuscripts in the study flamed up in a surge of heat. Edmund leapt through the window, with Celia close behind.

As Father William and Edmund helped Ellen and the baby through the fiery window casing, Celia saw that the stables beyond the formal garden were still in darkness. The raiders had not yet turned their attention to the Caithness livestock.

From the corner of her eye, Celia saw them. Five soldiers were running toward them. She could smell them coming before she even knew how many there were. She threw off the heavy cloak draped over her shoulders. The light armor covering her upper body flashed in the light of the burning building.

As they came, she saw the wild gleam of blood-lust in the eyes of the first one. He was holding a sword in his left hand. His eyes settled for a leering moment on the prize before him, but then his gaze swept past her to where Edmund was helping Ellen.

It was a fatal mistake. From her left side, Celia swung her sword at the helmeted head and struck the soldier below the ear. As he dropped to the ground beside her, she spun and swung the sword again at one of the two raiders that were now upon them.

The one on the left deflected her blow with his halberd, but Celia now was inside the lethal range of the weapon. Spinning again, she chopped the marauder’s right leg at the knee, driving him into the other soldier as Edmund swept over them with upraised sword. With two quick strokes, the knight finished the fallen warriors as Celia turned to face their next adversary.

In an instant Edmund stood beside her, cloak in one hand. When the last two came close enough, the knight lunged with the quickness of a man half his age, engulfing with his thick cloak the spear and axe head of the halberd. Grabbing the shaft with his other hand, Edmund lifted the soldier holding on to it and slammed him into the burning wall of the house.

The last soldier paused in momentary amazement as the aging warrior, swinging the now freed weapon like a club, launched a blow at his head, sending him sprawling into the Promised Land.

Celia turned and motioned to Ellen and Father William. Together, they all ran toward the stables. Edmund stopped at the gate, and as Celia and the others entered the walled enclosure, two soldiers leapt in front of the group. The two grinned like idiots.

“Look,” said one. “Women and a priest.”

“And if I’m not mistaken,” responded the other, “there’s a baby in that one’s arms.”

“If it’s a boy,” said the first, “that’ll mean extra reward for the little tike’s carcass. Lord Danvers is promising extra for the boys, you know.”

The second held out a hand to Ellen. “Give him up to me, you filthy Scot whore. He’s bound to meet his Maker.”

The soldier’s hand dropped useless in the dirt, but he wouldn’t have much time to miss it in this life.

Father William followed his short sword stroke with a thrust under the chin, lifting the soldier onto his toes before letting him sink lifeless to the ground.

“Don’t be referring to the Maker in such casual terms, you mangy cur,” he snapped at the slumping figure. He turned to see Celia pulling her blade from the dying body of the other soldier.

Moments later, four horses galloped from the enclosure. Celia paused only for a moment at the gate while Edmund swung easily into his saddle. The sound of screams could be heard coming from the manor house. Celia looked back only once at the flames rising high above Caithness Hall.

As she rode into the darkness, Celia wondered where they would find safety. Where in Scotland could a baby boy be safe?

2

The king has commanded this action, so it is my duty to obey. But I watch Lord Danvers, and I think he’s mad. He sits on his black charger, watching the men set fire to the manor house. It is as he directed, and he watches with pleasure. But as the folk pour from the front of this place, this Caithness Hall, he’s clearly looking for someone. We all know that he’ll pay a bounty for any baby, alive or dead, that we bring to him, and some of the others are butchering innocent Scottish children now whenever they find them. Calmly, he smiles while the officers pay. But here, it is no baby he’s looking for, and the screams of those he questions...

No thoughts of this. I must obey...I must obey...the king’s command.

* * *

Scotland’s Western Isles

March, 1514

In the light of the full moon, Kildalton Castle gleamed like a diamond over the Firth of Lorn. The wind was now whipping the western sea into a surging demon, and the waves crashed with a devil’s rage against the rugged cliffs upon which the Campbell fortress perched.

No one could have expected the small sailing vessel that was scudding across the firth’s surface. But it was, without question, being handled by a master.

At the small boat’s helm a huge man wearing light armor and a cloak shouted orders to the sailor who, crouched by the single mast, was busy shortening the sail. The third voyager, a warrior nearly the size of the helmsman, sat in the bow of the boat, holding his head in his hands. The sea spray on his armor glistened in the moonlight, but he was not a sailor; that was apparent. Low groans escaped from his handsome, full lips, and he kept running his long fingers through his golden red hair.

The giant’s gaze swept from his seasick friend to the shining castle that was directly above them, and he pushed the tiller over with an ease that three men could not have accomplished. The seagoing warrior’s long black hair streamed in the wind behind his massive shoulders, and the weathered look of his face could not belie the strength and agility of his muscular body.

For more than a month, Colin Campbell had looked forward to this moment. For the first time in weeks, his fierce scowl relaxed, and his gray eyes shone with a radiance that reflected the castle’s moonlit gleam.

“Alec,” Colin shouted to his golden-haired friend. “If you can muster the strength to turn your dainty head, you’ll find a welcome sight.”

Alec turned and looked in the direction that the boat was now traveling.

“Finally. Kildalton.”

“That it is, Alec. Home to the Campbells.”

Alec carefully worked his way past the sailor to his friend in the stern. It occurred to him that he was seeing a rare look on Colin’s face. Why, Colin was nearly smiling.

Colin Campbell had certainly not been smiling at Torquil Macleod’s gathering of the Highland chiefs at Dunvegan Castle. Colin had gone for his father, for he would soon follow the old man in his role as Campbell chieftain. And Colin had not been happy at what he’d heard.

None of the chiefs of the Highlands or the Western Isles had been happy with the heavy hand of the Stewart king, James IV. But the squabbling and murderous feuding that Colin had seen start up immediately between the clans convinced him beyond doubt that the Scots would be ruled again by the English. Without a strong Stewart king to unite them against the English, they would continue to fight among themselves until they all fell to the tyranny of the butchers to the south.

Alec looked hard at that face. Colin’s was a face of war, tan and scarred with steely gray eyes that froze men’s blood in their veins. Colin’s was a face that was fierce on a normal day, but when the great fighter was angry, it was a face to strike terror in the heart of an enemy. And when he’d spoken for the Campbells in support of the Stewart successor as a lesser of two evils, the other chieftains’ responses had brought a fierceness to that face that was truly chilling.

For only a few had understood his reasoning. Alec’s clan, the Macphersons, had agreed with Colin. But they were not enough to outweigh the bluster and arrogance of the others who had combined for the moment to drown out the Campbell leader’s voice. None of them would have faced this warrior alone in a confrontation—Colin’s quickness to anger and the finality of his warlike temper were legendary—but together they could take the risk of opposing him.

Together and with a great deal of show, Colin and Alec had left the gathering with the plan of forging an alliance attractive to some of the fence-straddling chiefs, and to Lowland lairds as well. Colin just hoped the Stewarts would do something soon to help themselves. The rumors from court of power struggles were certainly unsettling.

But those thoughts could be put aside for a while. Colin was nearly home, and that made the warrior smile.

Suddenly Alec was aware that Colin was not steering toward the small harbor village that lay dark and sleeping beside the fortress. Colin was heading directly toward the surf- beaten cliffs beneath the castle walls. But there was no pier, no beach. The cliffs were jagged outcroppings of stone. Alec could see the waves breaking over rocks that pushed up through the raging surf like the heads and backs of so many sea serpents. Colin had gone berserk, Alec decided. That’s why he was smiling so strangely.

The boat was fairly flying across the water. They were now surrounded by crashing rollers and reefs that threatened to demolish the small boat before they even hit the wall of rock. The distance between the boat and the cliffs was closing at a truly breakneck pace. Alec clung to the thick wooden side and murmured a prayer. Colin had gone daft. Too many hits to the head.

Suddenly the boat dropped into the trough of a wave and seemed to almost slide to the right. As it did, the sailor pulled down the sail and heaved the short mast out of its place, dropping it quickly into the belly of the boat.

Alec watched the activity openmouthed, glancing back at the smiling Colin still standing at the tiller, and then shot a glance back at the cliff wall that was about to crush them.

But the wall would not crush them—there was a low and narrow break in that murderous cliff. He no sooner saw the small cave opening than they were through it, careening in the blackness through flat water and then bumping up a gently sloping incline that slowed and eventually brought the boat to rest.

Colin and Alec waited while the sailor struck a flint to the torch that Colin held. The light flared, illuminating the low-ceilinged cavern that stretched beneath the cliff and castle.

Alec glared at his black-haired host. “You might have told me we were going to try killing ourselves. I would have prepared myself.”

Colin laughed. “Oh, you mean you didn’t know about the cave?” he said, knowing full well that the Macpherson heir hadn’t any knowledge of it, even after his many visits.

Alec smiled in spite of himself. “That was quite an entry.”

Colin handed the torch to Alec and took some of the gear the sailor was unloading from the boat.

“Aye, I believe I’ve only wrecked one or two boats coming in at that speed.”

“Three, m’lord,” the sailor jokingly murmured under his breath to Alec. “I’ve still splinters in my buttocks from the last one that broke up.”

“Those splinters are from you lounging too long on the kitchen bench, you lazy water rat.” Colin laughed good-naturedly. “You go on up through the kitchen now. In the morning get one of your lads to help you with the rest of the gear.” It was good to be home.

Alec’s handsome face looked thoughtful. “Now that I know about this entryway, it shouldn’t be any trouble for me to come in here one night with fifty or sixty of my best men, and⁠—”

“Sure, Alec. And be sure to come in at high tide.”

“High tide? Why?” Alec asked.

“Because then we’ll fish your bones...or better yet, your war gear out of the water,” Colin said wryly. “There’s no trace of this cave at high tide.”

“Then the fifty of us will sneak in at low tide, with these nice sharp Highland dirks,” Alec continued, indicating the dagger at his belt, “and cut all your thr⁠—”

“No fear of that,” Colin interrupted with a smile. “Even if you were able to get through the entry, you’d wander through the caves that honeycomb this hill until your beard turns gray and your teeth fall out.”

“All right.” Alec yawned. “You win this one. What I need is a place to sleep after getting out of this wet gear.”

“You’ll sleep here in the guest room,” Colin smirked, indicating the cave with a sweep of his hand. “All the bathwater you’ll need.”

“I’m glad you consider me a friend,” Alec responded. “I’d hate to have to sleep in the dungeons.”

“If you must be such a complainer, then we’ll have to arrange that,” Colin said with a gruff laugh. “Follow me.”

Lighting a thick candle with the torch that he left for the sailor, Colin led his friend into the depths of the cave, through a labyrinth of passages, and then turned into an arched stone corridor. Alec followed until they reached a stone stairway. But Colin did not go up the stairway. Instead, the warrior stopped before the stairs and, with a threatening look, turned his back on the Macpherson, blocking Alec’s view of what he was doing. Then he turned, gave Alec a wink, and pushed at a section of a stone side wall, which slid noiselessly open. The two men ducked through the opening and began the long, winding stair climb to the castle above. They passed through several levels of maze-like corridors. After traveling down a long passageway past several wooden stairways, Colin led Alec through another closed section of wall, then climbed a short set of steps with his friend at his heels.

At the top Alec could see a short corridor, and he followed Colin toward a wooden panel. The wall angled in from there, squeezing the corridor from either side just beyond the panel. Alec realized they had come up between the stone walls of two rooms. The narrowed section of the passageway was simply the extra space needed for each room’s fireplace. They had to be between two of the best rooms.

“This next panel’s your regular dungeon cell,” Colin joked. “If you recall, my dungeon is next door. Make yourself comfortable while I go drop my gear. I’m sure my father will want to greet you himself. He’ll be glad to hear of your father’s decision about backing the Stewarts.”

Alec put his hand on Colin’s arm and stopped him with a threatening look.

“All the times I’ve stayed in this room, and you never told me that there was a secret passageway in. I’ll be sleeping with my dirk handy tonight.”

“I never thought you wouldn’t,” Colin said, laughing. “I’ll send a man up with some wood to light the fire.”

“Send up a woman to light the fire,” Alec joked.

“You can get your own wenches, Alec Macpherson. I’ll not be getting them,” Colin snorted as they stopped by the entry into Alec’s room. “But at any rate, you’ll not find any to suit you in this castle.”

“Not if they’ve the face of a Campbell,” Alec responded with an exaggerated shudder. “Oh, the nightmares that’d follow.”

“Enough, you Highland horse thief. I’ll be back in a little while...through the hallway door.”

Colin slid a wooden latch and pushed the panel open. He could see the moonlight streaming across the stone floor and, giving Alec a friendly shove into the room, pulled the panel shut.

He turned and continued down the corridor.

Celia didn’t know what awakened her. When she opened her eyes, there was no noise other than the far off sound of the wind and the waves from outside the small glazed window. It was still night, though the fire in the hearth had long been out. She peered out from the heavy cloth curtain that hung around the bed. The moonlight lit the room fairly well, and nothing was unusual or different.

She had barred the door to the hallway from inside. The only other door was the small one into Ellen and the baby’s room. The hallway door to their room was barred as well, and Celia could see that the door between the rooms was closed. Perhaps she should leave the door ajar, she thought.

No, that was needless worrying. Of any castle in Scotland, Kildalton had to be one of the safest. Her mind was just playing tricks on her.

Celia’s eyes began to close again, but in the next moment she sat upright when she heard a wooden latch slide. Soundlessly, she drew her short sword from its place by the ornate headboard of the bed. Peering out again, she started at the sight of a tall warrior standing in front of one of the decorative wooden panels beside the great fireplace. Where had he come from? The wooden panel?

Still as a statue, she watched him for a moment look over at the bed, then begin to cross the room toward the baby’s door. As he did, Celia watched him pull his long sword from its scabbard.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Alec dropped his leather saddlebag to the floor and looked over at the great bed that awaited him in the shadows of the moonlit room. That bed was going to feel mighty good after the hard, wet journey from the Highlands and drafty old Dunvegan Castle. A good bed, a room with a fireplace, and glazed windows—these Campbells spared no expense living the good life. It was practically sinful.

Ah, well, I can be as good a sinner as they, he thought, starting across the room to the wall pegs. I’ll get out of this chain mail, hang these wet clothes on the pegs, and get ready for the short welcoming visit from Colin’s father. Please, Lord, let it be short.

Pulling his sword from its scabbard, Alec glanced up at the pegboard beside the small door. Then the scream stopped him in his tracks.

Celia knew that because of his height, she’d need to cut him down, or knock him down, to get at his throat. The chain mail would protect him from a slashing blow to the side of the chest.

When the intruder started for the small door, Celia erupted from the bed with a scream that could curdle a brave man’s blood. It was a cry that a Welsh warrior in her father’s service had taught her. Her uncle Edmund had laughed when he’d heard the lesson taking place, but he told her that the Welsh had broken the nerve of many a hardened adversary with those war cries. It was the violent suddenness of it that went right to the bone.

Celia flew across the wooden floor with the speed of a striking snake. She swung her short sword at the knee closest to her. She’d drive into him with her shoulder, whether she chopped the leg or not.

The white-shrouded ghost shrieked across the floor at him with a speed that he’d not thought possible. It was only instinct that made him swing his sword to deflect the flashing metal arcing toward his knee. Then the “ghost” hit him with a shoulder that could hardly be called vaporous. As the breath was knocked from him, the giant warrior felt himself sailing backward.

With a crash, Alec landed on a three-legged wood chair that splintered into firewood. Before he could move a muscle, the ethereal figure was sitting on his chest, and the fallen warrior felt the point of a sword pushing meaningfully at the flesh beneath his chin.

But it was her eyes of black sapphire that pierced his will to resist.

Colin squeezed his great chest through the narrowed passageway between the fireplace walls and opened the panel into his room. Before he had the chance to close off the passage, however, that nightmarish shriek froze him. For a moment he thought that some unearthly, eldritch fiend was coming at him from the passageway, and he shook the thick candle from his hand and whipped out his sword.

The crash of metal and splintering wood that followed the scream came from the other side of the passage.

Ducking back in and squeezing through the pitch black space, Colin easily found the wooden latch slide—he’d grown up playing in these passageways. Kicking the panel open, the giant leapt into the bedroom, sword first, ready for anything that he might find there.

The sight that greeted him stopped him dead.

It was a vision. There, in the moonlight, knelt an unearthly creature, a white-gowned angel who glowed in the darkened room.

With a toss of shoulder-length curls of auburn hair, black eyes flashed at him for the briefest of moments, shooting lightning bolts into Colin that seared the deepest recesses of his soul with a burning that he had never before experienced. Desire, fear, wonder, all merged and raced pell-mell through his body, wreaking havoc, leaving him gasping for breath.

Colin had been ready to do battle, but now his sword hung loosely at his side. The aura of beauty that surrounded this creature dazzled him. One look had vanquished him.

The face of this angel was like no other human face Colin had ever seen. The perfection of the features: the eyes that made him burn, the high cheekbones that made him tremble, the lips that stirred in his loins a feeling more of lust than religious devotion.

Colin was indeed gripped with a fervor that quite nearly brought him to his knees. The warrior’s eyes traveled from her face to her bare feet, and the journey was slow and thorough. The thin, white shift, modest though it was, could do little to hide the body within its luminescent weave. The perfect physical incarnation he was seeing was undoubtedly a product of the heavens, but what he was feeling was very much of this earth.

And there beneath her lay the future chieftain of the Macpherson clan, with a short sword to his throat. Alec, too, was amazed by this thing of beauty about to spit his head on a sword. Resistance seemed to be the last thing on his mind, Colin thought.

She was only half Alec’s size and weight, and yet the two men were unable, or unwilling, to move.

Something made Celia hesitate. For perhaps the first time in her life, she didn’t quite know what to do next. The giant who had seconds before burst through the wooden panel simply stood with the oddest look on his face, his sword at his side. The one at her mercy never even attempted to struggle; he, too, just looked at her.

As fierce as the one standing looked, these were the most non-combative pair of fighters Celia could imagine.

When she first reacted to the intruder, Celia had moved to protect the baby. No one was going to harm Kit. But now, looking at her captive and the warrior by the wall, she was at a loss. They certainly did not seem to be threatening her. And there was no indication that either one had any desire to go through the baby’s door. Nay, they just gawked at her like a pair of oversized abbey schoolboys.

Why, the giant by the panel almost looked entertained by what he was looking at. His amusement will cost this one his life if he’s not careful, Celia thought with annoyance.

Oh, how she hated when she was not taken seriously. She should slit this one’s throat and get some respect.

Then Celia saw the look in his eyes change. He was looking at her, really looking at her. Suddenly she was very aware of the thinness of the gown she was wearing. The warrior’s eyes seemed to look right through it as he surveyed every inch of her body. They paused with lustful intensity at her hips, breasts, and mouth as his gaze returned to her face.

This man was despicable.

But he was not going to get away with this.

Celia waited until his eyes met hers, and then she slowly looked him over from top to bottom with a look of sheer disgust. Her smirking conclusion would hopefully convey an attitude of absolute scorn. What a worthless piece of old meat, she wanted her careless look to say.

And it did.

Colin realized that this woman was actually appraising him. Him, the future chieftain of the Campbell clan. One of the most powerful warriors in the Western Isles...in all Scotland!

And she clearly found him wanting.

Anger began to simmer in his veins. No woman had ever looked at him with such disdain. And in his very own castle. This was too much. How could he have let his guard down so?

And what was worse, he could see she knew that she’d rattled him.

But worst of all, Alec Macpherson was watching the whole thing. The amused look on his face! Bloody hell!

Well, at least she didn’t have a sword to his throat, Colin thought. But this all had to stop. Lord help them all if anything should happen to Alec while he was visiting Kildalton Castle. There would be real hell to pay with the Highlanders. Colin had to speak to her.

With that, Colin unconsciously began to raise his sword and step toward the two on the floor before him. As he did, the woman raised her elbow, prepared to thrust her weapon into Colin’s prone guest. She would kill Alec and be on her feet to face Colin before he reached her. The warrior stopped.

“Wait,” he commanded, though the word seemed to soften as he said it.

Celia shot a glance at Colin. His word rang with conciliation, yet his face showed fierce annoyance at the sound of his own voice. She had him, and it clearly irritated him that she did.

Her face showed the dominance she felt. That image of her, kneeling upon the chest of the vanquished foe, was a startling one for Colin.

Suddenly, a pounding at the hallway door was accompanied by the sound of Lord Hugh Campbell’s voice.

“Lady Celia, are you all right? Lady Celia!” he called. The old man’s voice was quavering with concern.

“Aye, Lord Hugh. But I have two intruders,” Celia shouted, keeping the giant in her peripheral vision while not taking her eye off the warrior beneath her. She was feeling a mixture of relief and pride at the moment’s victory.

But why wasn’t the one by the panel making his escape?

“Oh, my God!” she heard the old man roar, then shout down the hallway. “Runt, rouse Jean, Emmet, and Edmund, too, from the hall. Hurry, lad!”

“Father,” Colin called, silencing the ruckus in the hallway. “Father, it’s Colin.” His voice carried the steely edge of fury in it.

“Colin?” the old man returned.

“Aye. Colin. And Alec Macpherson, too. If he doesn’t get murdered where he lies.” Colin scowled at this she-devil with contempt in his eyes. Whoever or whatever this woman was, she’d overstepped the bounds of a decent defense.

Celia yanked the sword point away from her captive’s throat and, with a look of dismay at Colin, scampered across the room for her cloak, ruffled for a moment at the turn of events. She felt a sudden desire to be covered.

Colin watched with surprise this sudden display of timidity by the woman.

Still watching the woman who now appeared to be cowering on the other side of the room, Colin offered Alec a hand up, then strode to the door and unbarred it.

The door swung in, and Lord Hugh entered unceremoniously, dressed only in his nightshirt and holding a long sword in his hand. He was only slightly shorter than Colin, but as broad in the shoulders, and the scarred and weathered face of the old man told of a life of violence, care, and toil.

Behind him, his squire Runt carried a smoky torch and a short sword. Lord Hugh leaned his sword against Runt and embraced his son heartily.

“Colin,” he said. “We weren’t expecting you for another fortnight, at least. The usual pigheadedness in the Highlands, I suppose.”

“Aye, Father. I had to leave, or kill someone.” His last comment he directed toward the opposite side of the room, belatedly asserting his authority.

Colin walked over to Alec and clapped his great arm around the Macpherson’s wide shoulders. “But Alec Macpherson’s come to stay with us for a bit.”

“Alec, my boy, it’s so good to see you here again. It’s like old times, you two lads—ah, strong, grown men now—together again. Maybe we’ll teach you to swim and sail yet.” The old warrior smiled, greeting the young Macpherson with a crushing bear hug.

“Thank you, Lord Hugh,” Alec said, returning the greeting. “My father sends his regards to you. I know he misses seeing you at the Highland gatherings.”

“Thank him for me, lad. We’ve had many a good time together, he and I. And gotten into a bit of trouble, too, I’ll warrant you.”

The old man turned to Colin. “You lads must be dog-tired after that journey. Well, to bed, then; we’ll talk in the morning. So you’re putting him in this room, that’s good. Hold! By the Virgin, that’s not good! Lady Celia! Where are you, lass?”

“Here, m’lord.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Where Celia stood by the clothes pegs on the opposite side of the room, she had been partially blocked from the group of men by the heavily curtained bed. With the arrival of his son and the Macpherson heir, Lord Hugh had momentarily forgotten her, even if the two young men had not.

“Lady Celia,” Lord Hugh began, moving quickly to her and taking her hand. “Lassie, these great baboons must’ve given you a terrible fright. Are you all right, dear?”

Colin could not believe what he was seeing. Hugh Campbell’s ferocity was legendary in Scotland. In England, Hugh Campbell’s name was rivaled only by the Black Douglas as the most fearsome of Scots. Mothers all along the Irish and English coasts invoked his name in the dark of the night to control their unruly brats. The Campbell wealth and fame had been bought with the blood of so many battles, so many raids. This man was war incarnate. For the past forty years, this had been a man to be feared.

And yet, here was this same man, reaching out with the gentleness of a lapdog. His voice, his look, the way he moved to this woman, all bespoke the manners of an abbey clerk.

And this woman. This woman who moments before had wielded a sword like a seasoned soldier. Who had upended and vanquished Alec Macpherson, an extremely capable fighter. This she-devil who had held even him, Colin Campbell, at bay...and then eyed him so scornfully.

And here she was, putting a limp and quivering hand into the laird’s great paw. Here she was, looking into his father’s eyes like some newborn fawn, fragile and vulnerable.

She had purposely changed from a lion to a lamb in the blink of an eye. The woman was a witch.

She was working her charms on his father, but they would not work on Colin Campbell. Not again.

Looking past his father’s shoulder, Colin suddenly glimpsed a genuine look that he hadn’t expected to see. Was it worry? Was it fear? Colin’s view of women was that they were naturally fearful. God knows, in a land so torn by feuding clans and marauding Englishmen, women had good reason for fear. They needed strong men to protect them.

But that sudden flash of fear in this woman seemed extraordinary for some reason. Fear of what, he wondered.

But more important, who was she and what was she after, this woman? Why had she come to Kildalton?

“I’m fine, m’lord,” she began sheepishly, suddenly feeling an uncontrollable urge to explain, to apologize. “I thought they were...I didn’t know who...I know, perhaps, I...If their lordships would see fit to...”

Celia was rattled. For some unaccountable reason she felt her face burn with embarrassment. It was good that the room was dark. The one torch that the squire held would not shed enough light to betray her flushed face.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, it occurred to her perhaps this warrior would persuade his father to throw her out. Where would she go next? She could see the glowering look of anger in his eyes now. Then, for a fleeting moment, she thought she sensed a change in those gray eyes. Concern, perhaps. Or sympathy. Whatever it was, the look passed quickly, replaced by the fierce scowl that she guessed could hide any soft feeling this warrior harbored.

“Calm yourself, my dear,” Lord Hugh rumbled softly. “But you haven’t really been introduced to these two ruffians, have you. Well, not tonight. Tomorrow will come soon enough to get acquainted.”

“If you want to lodge your other guest here, m’lord, I’ll just take a moment to move my things next door.”

“Don’t you worry, lass,” the old man said gently, beginning to move toward the door. “We’ll find another place for young Macpherson to be comfortable. You and the bairn will not be troubled here.”

“Thank you, Lord Hugh. I really didn’t want to cause your family hardship,” she said, following the three men.

The old warrior’s creased face warmed with a look of fatherly affection as he turned and took her hand again.

“Don’t be concerned about our hardships. All Scotland’s got hardships now, and you’ve had enough of your own. Good night, Lady Celia.” The Campbell chieftain then turned on his heel and herded the rest from the room.

Colin threw this mystery woman a last irritated look as he left the room. His father was completely taken with her.

“Who is this woman, Father?” Colin exploded in the hallway.

One of Lord Hugh’s shaggy eyebrows arched in surprise at his son’s exclamation. He had never before asked anything about any woman of quality in his entire life.

“Fine looking lass, isn’t she?” the chieftain remarked casually. “If I were your age...well, perhaps a bit younger, I’d⁠—”

“Hang her looks, Father. Who is she? What’s her business here?”

Colin was certainly worked up over her, Lord Hugh thought to himself. This was promising. The lad should have married ten years ago. We could have had a whole herd of little Campbells running wild in this castle by now.

Funny it should be this one that got his attention. If he’s interested now, Hugh thought, wait till he finds out who she is. Nay, I’ll not tell him. We’ll just watch and maybe let things take their natural course. For a wee bit, anyhow.

“Why, Lady Celia arrived with her uncle and her bairn a week ago. After that devil Danvers burned Edinburgh, he started burning every castle, manor house, and farm in the Lowlands, and they’ve been on the run ever since. The poor lass has been sick with worry about the wee one. Over a month they’ve been tracking through this miserable winter wet. The bairn has a terrible cough, Runt says.”

“It’s true, Lord Colin,” the squire piped up from the rear. “The lady frets over the babe night and day. She’s a wonderful caring woman.”

“Of course she would be,” Colin snapped. “What mother would not?” He had known his own mother for only the first few years of his own life, but his vague memories were ones of tenderness and warmth.

“This woman was sick herself when they arrived,” Lord Hugh added. “But she never so much as gave herself a thought. The bairn, the wet nurse, even her uncle came first for her. She’s a rare one, Colin.”

“Well, she certainly made a quick recovery,” Colin responded gruffly. “You can ask Alec about that.”

Lord Hugh threw Alec a quizzical look, but the Macpherson feigned ignorance. He was not going to admit that this slender and sickly woman had knocked him to the ground.

“Aye, Lord Hugh, she moves with pretty fair speed for a sick woman. I didn’t want to hurt her, of course, but...” Alec’s voice trailed off as he searched for a new direction for this discussion. “Who is this Lady Celia, m’lord? You’ve not said.”

“I haven’t?” the Campbell chieftain exclaimed. “Surely when I introduced you all...I didn’t even do that properly, did I?”

“It’s true, Lord Hugh,” the trailing Runt chirped up. “You never made any proper introduction. You crabbed the entire meeting, you did.”

“Quiet down, fish bait, or I’ll ding you so hard you’ll wake up in Ireland,” the old laird rumbled at his squire with a pretended show of anger.

In truth, the Campbells had never been the kind of masters who beat those in their service, and because of this, the verbal exchanges sometimes bordered on insubordination. But Lord Hugh knew that he could count on every one of his retainers’ loyalty and affection. He was looked on as a father to them all.

“Where was I?” the chieftain continued. “Oh, aye. She’s Celia...er...Lady Celia... Caithness. Escaped when the cowardly English pig Danvers tried to burn them out. Her uncle Edmund and I have known each other for more than thirty years. The last we spent any length of time together was after that little brawl we started at Norham Castle, back in ‘98, I think it was. We were baiting—more than fighting—the English back then. A good fighter, he is. Maybe the best trainer of soldiers in Scotland, too.”

“Then where is her husband to care for her?” Colin asked irritably. “The Caithnesses cannot protect their own wives?” He didn’t know why this news upset him so, but he suddenly felt wrung out, as if someone had squeezed him out like a wet rag.

“Lord Caithness cannot,” Alec responded, cutting into the discussion. “He died with the king at Flodden.”

The two Campbell men stopped and faced the Macpherson.

“You know her?” Colin snapped at his friend.

“Only about her, and that probably only third hand,” Alec responded. “And I only knew Lord Caithness by sight, for he was closer to your age, wasn’t he, Lord Hugh?”

“I never knew him myself, lad, but I believe he was only ten years or so younger than I. If my memory serves me, I believe he sided with⁠—”

“What do you know about her, Alec?” Colin interrupted, stopping his father mid-sentence, from which Lord Hugh took more amusement than offense.

“No more than mere gossip, Colin my friend,” Alec teased with the most serious of expressions on his face, sensing the father’s response from his surprised smile. “And I know you have no interest in hearing tales.”

“Nay, indeed, lad,” Lord Hugh cut in wryly before his son could respond. “The Campbells are not a bunch of old fishwives to stand about trading slanderous stories. Nay, indeed. But tell me, rather, about the business at the Highland tryst. There’s serious talk for serious men.”

Colin could not press Alec further at this point, but the matter was far from closed. As Colin turned his thoughts to the business of the meeting, Alec spoke up.

“Colin spoke clearly and to the point with the other Highland chiefs, m’lord,” Alec said earnestly. “But your proposals were shouted down by Torquil Macleod and too many of the others. They’re like a pack of greedy wolves, ready to tear apart what’s left of Scotland, thinking they’ll get a little piece. They’ll all perish like the fools they are, with their petty bickering and their arrogance. But the Macphersons are with you.”

“Good, lad. Your father’s always shown wisdom in his dealings. We need to stand together against the English. The Stewart kings have never been great friends to us in the Highlands and the Western Isles, but they’ve always been a rallying point for us against the outsiders. And we’ll be needing them now.”

“My father thought that with spring nearly here, Colin and I could do a great deal to muster support among those chieftains who didn’t go to Dunvegan, and maybe even among the Lowland lairds who survived this bloody winter.”

“Aye, lad. Perhaps we’ll be able to persuade Edmund to travel with you two. He’s well known and respected among the Lowlanders. He’s a man of honor, and he’s trained enough of their fighters, I know.”

“He’ll be a real asset, at that,” Colin commented in a surly tone. “He can start by giving Alec here a lesson or two.”

“Sounds like there’s a story here that I’d just love to be hearing,” Lord Hugh said, yawning. “But I believe tomorrow will be soon enough to hear it. Why don’t you put Alec in the archbishop’s room? He’ll not be arriving until right after Easter. Good night, lads. Good to have you safe home.”

After Lord Hugh closed his own door, Runt curled up on his blankets in the alcove across from his door, and the two great warriors continued down to the room that Alec would be occupying during his stay.

“Well, Colin, if you don’t think I’ll run into any adventures trying to get into the archbishop’s bed,” Alec quipped, half drawing his sword in mock defense.

“Not so quick,” Colin said. “I want to know everything you know about Lady Caithness.”

Colin’s head was telling him that this Caithness woman was trouble; he had to learn more about her.

But as strange as this woman was, there was something even stranger about that rush of relief that he’d experienced, hearing that this perplexing woman was a widow.

She was beautiful, indeed. But Colin had known many beautiful women in his life, and none had ever gotten under his skin the way this one had. And so immediately!

He was even more perplexed now. Something about this woman was affecting him. And this irritated him even more.

But he was not going to give in to these feelings. He had more discipline than that. And he was going to find out what this woman was doing here. Perhaps whatever Alec knew, or had heard, would give Colin a clue.

This woman is hiding something, the giant warrior thought, and I’m going to find out what it is.

3

When they limped home after Flodden, we deserved to take something from them. That is the way of war. And the Scot king sought us out for battle. They say he was after dowry. That King Henry wasn’t paying his sister’s keep. What a bloody price these Scots are paying now for the pettiness of kings.

He’s bound to find out.

Celia replaced the heavy wooden bar on the door, then turned and leaned her back against it. She let out a sigh so loud that she startled herself. This was going to be so difficult.

Although the entire incident had occurred in just a few moments, Celia felt as if she had been through a night-long ordeal. The confused whirlwind of actions that had taken place suddenly took on a dreamlike quality in her mind. Standing alone in her dark room, she found herself wondering whether any of it had really happened. Aye, she could see the pieces of broken chair lying on the floor where Alec Macpherson had landed.

Of all the people in Scotland, she thought, it had to be a Macpherson.

An anxious look crossed her face as she surveyed the bedroom. If what she experienced was real, then she’d not secured the only entry into the room. Her eyes lit on the panel beside the fireplace, and she walked quickly to it.

The moonlight still poured in the window, illuminating the room to some extent, but it was hardly light enough for her to see well. Running her fingers along the grooves in the woodwork revealed no latch or crevice that would allow her to pull the panel open. This was very clever workmanship, this secret passageway. She would need to examine this in the daylight. But for tonight, Celia would need a way to block this entrance. Celia knew that the two giants had entered from outside the castle. Others could possibly come in the same way.

As she peered into the darker recesses of the room, Celia suddenly shivered with the cold, pulling the heavy cloak more tightly about her. There were not a lot of choices for her.

The great wooden bed was like a mountainous island perched against the inner wall of the bedroom. From a foundation of wood, the high feather mattress beckoned to her with a promise of warmth and comfort. Like a great parapet, the heavy arras-draped canopy loomed over the bed, throwing its dark shadow over much of the rest of the room. Like a fortress against the troubles of her waking life, the bed offered at least the escape of sleep. But there would be no sleep for Celia until she could calm the fears that had been awakened by the intrusion of the two men.

Celia knew she could not change the past. The die was cast. There were very real and threatening things in this world, but she could only focus on the present. And for the present, this wooden panel must be blocked.

In the far corner of the room, beside the wall pegs, sat a huge oak chest, large enough for a grown woman to hide in. The chest, the only storage area in the room for clothing, contained only Celia’s light armor. It’s a good thing, Celia thought, as she began to drag the chest away from the wall. If this were any heavier, I wouldn’t be able to move it alone.

Celia moved the awkward piece of furniture slowly, trying as best as she could to create no sound that might draw the attention of her hosts. The dried reeds that covered the floor helped muffle the scraping sound. Finally, Celia succeeded in pushing the chest squarely in front of the panel.

It was only a temporary solution, Celia knew, and not a very good one at that. If someone tried to come in through that panel again, they would certainly be able to push the chest away, but at least Celia would have enough time to react.

The exercise of moving the great chest did little to alleviate the numbing cold that was creeping up her body from her frozen feet. She could not afford to catch a chill now that she’d recovered from their journey from the Lowlands. She needed to be ready at all times; there was still so much left to do.

There were times in her recent past, however, when Celia wondered how she could go on. Right now, the huge bed across the room looked like a warm and protective cocoon awaiting her.

But she needed to check on Kit first.

Moving quickly across the floor, Celia lightly tapped the prearranged signal on the door into the baby’s room. She heard Ellen quietly unbar the door, and Celia slipped inside.

“Lady Celia, what was all the noise?” Ellen whispered, her eyes wide with concern.

“Lord Hugh’s son...Colin...Lord Colin. He arrived unexpectedly tonight, and thought to put his friend in my room. We were all rather surprised, I expect.”

“M’lady, I heard a god-awful scream, and furniture breaking, and voices. I⁠—”

“It’s all right now, Ellen,” Celia said, putting an arm around her companion’s shoulders. “Everyone has retired, and you do the same. But first I want to look at the baby. Has he been sleeping well tonight?” Celia looked tenderly into the heavy cradle.

Reaching in and smoothing the heavy wrapping that surrounded the child, Celia wanted to touch the baby’s soft skin. Pick him up. Hold him close. She was still amazed at the sense of possessiveness, of protectiveness that overwhelmed her when she was near him. Celia had always heard stories of maternal instinct, but she never dreamed it would happen to her—not like this.

“He was a mite fretful for a short time, but he’s been resting peaceful as can be most of the night. He’s surely eating better than before,” Ellen said softly, looking affectionately at the baby.

Celia thought of Ellen, losing her baby at birth, so soon after her husband’s death. Although her own feelings were baffling to her, Celia could easily understand how Ellen’s loss could have turned into loving Kit as her own.

They had been very concerned about Kit’s health over the past few days, but yesterday the feverishness seemed to improve, although the coughing fits still continued. She and Ellen had certainly not gotten much rest since they’d arrived at Kildalton Castle, and after tonight’s unexpected activity, Celia wondered if she’d ever be able to close her eyes here.

Content that Kit was resting quietly, Celia scanned the room for possible secret entryways. This room, smaller than her own, had no panels beside the fireplace, and the plaster that covered the stone walls appeared smooth and solid. Not wanting to upset Ellen, Celia said nothing to her about the passageway.

Bidding her good night, Celia slipped back into her own room, listening while Ellen barred the door behind her.

Ellen had been eight months pregnant when she lost all those whom she cared for at Flodden—her husband, her father, and her only brother. They had all been wiped off the face of the earth in a single day. And then, only days later, when her own baby died at birth, her devastation had been complete. But Kit had brought Celia and Ellen together, and the grieving mother found a purpose for going on, a reason for living.