Author: Lyla Rosewood
Rescued by the Highland Warrior – Extended Epilogue
One month later, Castle Fraser
It was summertime at Castle Fraser, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of roses. The Highland mountains loomed in the near distance, their green peaks still and picturesque against a perfect blue sky.
Roderick would have wedded Moira sooner, but she had told him she wanted to have their wedding during the height of summer, and Roderick could understand why.
It was perfect outdoors.
There was a slight chill in the air that tempered the sun’s heat, and the sounds of the garden hummed in perfect symphony with the chatter of the castle’s guests.
Everyone was invited, and as Roderick waited by the priest at the heart of the rose garden, he let his gaze sweep over the guests sitting before him on wooden chairs.
Roderick, after he had been stubbornly isolating himself since his father died, burdened with grief and suspicion, had finally found himself opening up to, and enjoying, the company of others once again.
He was glad that so many people were there to witness their wedding.
As he gazed upon the faces around him, he noticed with a smile that Edin was sitting near the back. He assumed Moira didn’t know that she was coming, and Roderick knew she’d be excited to have her there, as one of her own.
Both Moira and Roderick had decided to reveal Moira’s true identity to a select few: Isobel, Cameron and Arabella.
Given that Moira’s ties with the Triad had been officially cut, they believed it was safe to do so. However, to the rest of the inhabitants of the castle, Moira remained Lady Wilson—soon to be Lady Fraser.
Roderick didn’t want to push their luck. He explained that Lady Wilson’s family could not attend due to other obligations. Whether or not they believed him didn’t matter—no further questions were asked.
As he stood below a grand arch of woven heather and pink roses, he shifted nervously from foot to foot, tense with anticipation.
“Nervous are we, me Laird?” Cameron asked with a smile, standing a few paces to his right.
Roderick let out a low chuckle, rolling his shoulders. “Aye, maybe just a wee bit.”
Cameron smirked. “Ye? The man who has faced battles, outwitted enemies, avenged yer faither. Nervous about a wedding?”
Roderick inhaled, his chest expanding slowly beneath his draped tartan plaid. “Aye,” he said, gazing toward the rose garden’s main entrance. “This is different. It has tae be perfect fer her.”
Cameron clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “It already is, me friend.”
Before Roderick could respond, the crowd quieted, and a young lad playing the flute began a soft melody. They all turned their heads to the back of the rose garden, as a harp joined in, swelling the music to a more romantic depth.
Roderick straightened himself out, repositioning the belt at his waist. But as soon as Moira took her first steps into the garden, his hands fell to his sides.
Dressed in a pale green linen dress, Moira moved with quiet elegance slowly down the aisle. At first, her gaze wove through the crowd, her green eyes sparkling with a certain shyness beneath the sun. Her black hair fell down her back, framing her delicate features and complementing the greens of her eyes and dress.
Everyone in the crowd was stunned.
But as her gaze found Roderick’s, her shyness seemed to melt away, replaced by a certainty that mirrored his own. It was a look that made his chest tighten, heavy with emotion.
She walked toward him, a joyful smile on her lips as the music faded away, their attention solely for each other.
He couldn’t believe how much she had transformed. When she had first come to him, she had been cold and restrained—a woman bound by duty and weighed down by the ghosts of her past.
But now, she was radiant and free—she was his.
As she came to stand beside him, the music stopped, and Roderick swallowed against the lump in his throat.
“Ye tak’ me breath away, lass,” he whispered into her ear, “I dinnae think ye’ll have much of a man left standin’ by the time this is done.”
Moira giggled and whispered back, “At least keep it together fer our first consummation.”
The corner of Roderick’s mouth upturned into a wry smile as the priest cleared his throat, commencing the ceremony.
First, he spoke a few words, his voice booming through the crowd with authority, though Roderick took little notice of what he said. He was distracted by Moira and the way the sun bathed her features in the perfect light.
She was sparkling beneath the summer sky, like a rare emerald.
“Step forward,” the priest beckoned, after he finished his speech. They moved accordingly, hand in hand.
A length of finely woven tartan ribbon was brought forth, the colors of Clan Fraser contrasting against the pale green of Moira’s sleeves. As the priest commenced the ancient custom, he wrapped the ribbon around their joined hands, binding them together.
“Handfastin’ is a symbol of yer devotion, a vow bound nae by mere words, but by the very fabric of yer people. By this tie, ye pledge yerselves tae one another, in strength and in weakness, in fortune and in hardship, fer as long as ye both shall live.”
Roderick squeezed Moira’s hand gently as the priest nodded for them to speak.
Both Moira and Roderick exchanged their vows. They kept them short, for Roderick was not one for long drawn-out speeches, and Moira, he knew, also preferred words that carried true meaning over flowery declarations.
But he was overjoyed to share their love publicly, at least once, upholding the traditions of his father and all who came before him.
To conclude the ceremony, both Roderick and Moira’s hands were released, and they drank from a chalice filled with spiced wine.
A cheer erupted from the gathered crowd as the bagpipes began to sound a deep, triumphant melody.
Roderick tugged Moira closer, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek.
“I love ye,” he said softly, kissing her lips.
As they pulled apart, the crowd applauded enthusiastically, and they walked down the aisle of the rose garden as familiar faces cheered them on.
“Ah,” Moira said, her voice only a little louder than the jolly music, “it looks like a fairytale out here.”
“It is,” Roderick said, squeezing her hand a little tighter. “Fittin’ fer a princess like yerself.”
“Och, I’m nay princess,” Moira said, “just a lady.”
Roderick chuckled, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “There’s nae much difference between the two, Lady Fraser.”
Moira rolled her eyes, and as they stepped through the rose garden, the guests followed behind. They moved toward a large open area of the garden, that was filled with long wooden tables covered in white linens and adorned with white and yellow wildflowers in vases.
Platters of roasted meats, fresh breads, and cheeses filled the tables, while a large roasting spit stood to one side, emanating the enticing scent of slow-cooked lamb.
Guests chattered and laughed, filling their seats as the pace of the bagpipers quickened, setting the scene for dancing.
“Let us dance first,” Moira beamed, “food can wait.”
“Aye,” Roderick said, noticing Edin coming toward them from the corner of his eye. “Although I think there is someone ye might like tae speak wi’ first.”
Moira swiveled around, and Roderick’s smile deepened as he watched her eyes widen with joy.
“Ye came!” She called, as Edin came closer, wrapping Moira into a tight hug.
“Aye,” she winked. “We’ve always been family have we nae? Ye really think I wouldnae join?”
Moira chuckled. “Ah, I thought ye’d be too busy, wi’ yer duties tae entertain travellin’ back here.”
“Aye,” Edin smiled. “Castle Strathcarron has been keepin’ me busy.”
“Och,” Moira joked. “Lady Strathcarron is it? It suits ye well, me friend.”
Edin laughed, “It has a ring tae it, Laird Fraser, wouldnae ye agree?”
Roderick opened his mouth to speak, but before he could Isobel came up behind them both.
“Let me see the bonnie bride,” she beamed, taking Moira’s hand in hers. “That green on ye is truly magnificent.”
“Thank ye, Isobel.”
“An’ who is this?” Isobel asked, smiling at Edin. “A friend o’ Moira’s? I’m so glad ye could make it!”
“Aye,” Edin said, nodding politely. “Lady Strathcarron, it is a pleasure.”
Roderick held in a breath, hoping his mother wouldn’t say anything that might lead to Edin blowing her cover.
“The bonnie bride,” Arabella called, coming toward them. “We must dance, fer the day is young, an’ a celebration awaits!”
Isobel turned to Roderick, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Aye, me son,” she said, her voice light and teasing, “will ye let us lasses dance wi’ yer bride? We promise tae give her back.”
“Of course, Maither,” he said, “but mak’ sure tae save a dance fer me.”
Moira shot Roderick a playful look as the women pulled her toward the dancing crowd. He looked on, watching them, warmed by the beating sun and a joyful contentment in his heart.
“A drink?” Cameron asked, coming up to him with a chalice in hand.
Roderick took the chalice from Cameron, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. He raised it slightly, meeting Cameron’s gaze. “A drink it is, then.”
Cameron grinned, lifting his own chalice in response. “Aye, ye seem content. Cannae say I blame ye, lad. Things seem to be goin’ well fer ye these days.”
“Aye,” Roderick responded as he sipped from his chalice. “We have enough grain tae feed our people, uprisings have calmed—there’s peace fer now at least. But I ken well a storm will always be brewin’.”
“Aye, but we must enjoy the summer while it lasts,” Cameron said. “There’s nay need tae fear a storm when ye have the perfect lass by yer side.”
“Wise words,” Roderick said. “It’ll be a lass fer ye next.”
Cameron chuckled. “Dinnae worry about me Roderick, today is yer day.”
“Today is a day fer castle Fraser,” he said. “An’ what would a day fer Castle Fraser be without a big feast.”
“Aye,” Cameron agreed, following Roderick as he led them both to the table. After some drinking and eating among his friends, Roderick excused himself, heading into the crowd. There he found Moira dancing merrily, her green dress swishing around her.
Her eyes sparkled as she saw him approaching.
“Lady Fraser,” he said, his words almost lost among the music and crowd. “May I have this dance?”
“That,” she beamed. “An’ so much more.”
As they edged closer to one another, Roderick took her into his arms, ready to lean in for a kiss before they were interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Sorry,” Malcolm said. “I dinnae mean tae interrupt.”
“Aye,” Moira smiled, her arms wrapped around Roderick as she leaned against his chest. “Malcolm, it seems we’ve been meetin’ like this too often.”
Malcolm laughed “I promise ye, I dinnae intend tae tak’ yer husband away from ye. I just wanted tae offer me congratulations tae ye both. Ye mak’ one fine couple, an’ I wish ye an abundance o’ prosperity goin’ forward.”
“Thank ye, Malcolm,” Roderick said. “We appreciate yer kind words. It means much comin’ from ye.”
Malcolm nodded. “I ken well that yer faither is watchin’ down on us from above—he’d be more than proud o’ the man ye’ve become.”
“Thank ye,” Roderick said, before Malcolm disappeared into the crowd.
Roderick liked to think that his father was looking down on him too, not just now, but every single day that he lead Castle Fraser as their laird.
Overwhelmed, yet strengthened by the love surrounding him, he raised Moira’s chin to meet his lips. “Now, where were we Lady Fraser?”
She smiled, her face inches from his. “Right here, where we should be.”
The End.
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Read the bookRescued by the Highland Warrior – Get Bonus Prologue
Do you want to read the fateful moment that brought Roderick and Moira together?
Rescued by the Highland Warrior (Preview)
Chapter 1
Me dearest Moira,
The news of me faither’s death must have reached ye and due tae the circumstances of this unfortunate event I am left without choice but tae ask fer yer hand, as promised. Everyone at Castle Fraser is awaiting yer arrival, meself above all.
Yers wholeheartedly,
Roderick
The letter had been opened and folded so many times that it bore faint creases, not too dissimilar from the lines of worry etched across Moira Wilson’s brow.
After hours of travel, Moira found herself unfolding the letter once again. The monotonous clatter of the horses’ hooves and the rhythmic sway of the carriage had done little to quiet her restless thoughts. She needed something—anything—to occupy her mind.
It might seem foolish to read the letter again and again, as it was the source of her unease. But reading calmed her, giving her scattered thoughts a direction and, most of all, the chance to try and figure out what to expect.
What would she find at Castle Fraser?
Of course, her mind pondered the worst.
As she traced the spidery letters on the crumpled page, Moira’s fingers lingered on the ink. She couldn’t help but notice how rushed Roderick’s writing was. Messy even. Was that a clue? A sign of Roderick’s state of mind?
And then, despite herself, another thought intruded: How will he look after all these years?
It was frivolous—perhaps the least important question she’d considered yet—but it lingered nonetheless.
Moira exhaled slowly, folding the letter with care and slipping it back into the equally rumpled envelope. She turned her gaze through the oval-shaped carriage window, her eyes settling on the vast, sun-dappled expanse of the Highlands. Rolling hills and wild greenery stretched endlessly before her, and although her eyes were looking out at the scenery, she wasn’t really seeing. She was lost in her thoughts, her mind busy conjuring visions of possible future events.
Moira was confident in her ability to analyze situations and at this point in her life, she was rarely wrong. But she could not fathom why she had been summoned. Or rather, she had an inkling but could hardly believe it. All she knew was that she had to go, for promises made long ago still held their importance.
The memory of when she had made her promise resurfaced, causing her to wince. She felt the bitter taste of regret and would have expelled it if she could have. Had she met Roderick now, she would never have made such a promise. She knew better.
But that was neither here nor there. She had learned there was little use torturing oneself with one’s past. She would have to enter Castle Fraser with a positive attitude, an open mind, and free from remorse for the regretful choices she had made.
The carriage jostled slightly as it moved along the uneven road, her body swaying with the motion, and Moira sat upright, her gaze fixed firmly ahead.
Not much longer now.
The carriage rumbled along a winding, muddy path, the wheels jolting as they neared their destination. Castle Fraser loomed ahead, large, turreted, and grey, its towering stone walls half-shrouded by the dense trees that crowded its edges.
When it finally came to a halt, Moira unlatched the door without waiting for assistance. She stepped out quickly, her movements both confident and efficient as her boots touched the frost-bitten earth.
She hesitated, taking in the towering grandeur of the castle before her.
Then, Moira noticed a finely dressed woman emerging from the castle’s tall doors. Her step was light, her long blonde hair flowing in the chill air, her eyes warm despite their intense blue hue.
“Welcome to Castle Fraser, Lady Wilson! I am Lady Fraser, though ye may call me Isobel,” she called out, her voice carrying on the breeze. “It’s a joy tae finally meet ye! Roderick’s spoken so many wonderful things about ye.”
Moira nodded, nervously adjusting the sides of her woolen skirt. She wasn’t sure how to deal with praise, especially given the situation she was in. Nevertheless, Lady Fraser continued, eager to make Moira feel at home.
“I’ll tell ye, lass, we were all so surprised when Roderick announced he was ready tae marry, and tae a woman he claimed tae love at that! But when we heard yer family name, well…” Lady Fraser smiled wider, clasping her hands together. “We couldnae think of a finer match. It’s like it was meant tae be.”
Moira smiled, her expression pleasant and composed, exuding the quiet ease she had mastered over years of navigating freshly spun lies. “Thank ye kindly,” she said softly.
“Come on inside. Everyone’s been waitin’ tae meet ye,” Lady Fraser said, gesturing toward the heavy wooden door. “We have prepared a grand welcome fer ye.”
Looping her arm gently through Moira’s, Lady Fraser led her through the castle’s main hall. Their footsteps echoed off the smooth stone floor as Moira took in the splendor of her surroundings. She gazed in awe at the high vaulted ceilings, while in contrast the glow of the hearth and the richly woven tapestries gave the room a welcoming warmth.
A cluster of smiling faces awaited them, gathering eagerly as Isobel began introductions. Moira managed polite nods, but her attention kept drifting to a figure at the far end of the room.
Roderick.
He was leaning against a pillar, his honey-colored eyes fixed intently on her, as though trying to unravel her thoughts. Moira stole a couple of glances at hi, as she continued to greet the others. She’d have stared longer if she could have.
Eventually, after they had all been introduced, with Moira offering polite smiles and a few kind words to each, Lady Fraser redirected her attention.
“Now lass,” Lady Fraser said, “I’m sure this is the one ye’ve been waitin’ tae greet. An’ what better than tae save the best till last?”
With her arm still looped through Moira’s, Lady Fraser guided her through the small crowd toward the pillar where Roderick stood.
Finally, Moira could truly look at him. Face to face, she took in the man she faintly remembered from years ago. He was bigger now, both his presence and stature, towering above her— so much so that Moira had to crane her neck to meet his gaze.
Despite his size, and the faint scar etched across his right brow, he exuded the type of authority that Moira immediately recognized as benevolent rather than oppressive. She remembered that about him—that he had seemed like a good man.
A faint smile tugged at Roderick’s lips, softening his sharp features as his eyes held hers. He gazed at Moira with an expression that was both welcoming and calm, his steadiness causing the crowd and the rest of the room to fade away.
“Ah, I’m glad ye could make it,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “It’s good tae see ye again.”
“And ye,” Moira replied softly. She wasn’t entirely sure how she was meant to behave, so she opted for subtlety—at her core, Moira was well versed in theatrics after a lifetime of training. She hesitated, wondering if she ought to add more, but Roderick quickly bridged the silence, turning toward his mother with an easy authority.
“Maither,” he began, his tone warm yet firm, “Lady Wilson is likely worn from the journey. She’s met everyone now, and I think it’s best she be shown tae her chambers. A bit of rest would dae her good before the feast tonight. Dinnae ye agree?”
“Aye, that’s a wise thought,” Lady Fraser agreed, her face softening with pride as she glanced between her son and the young woman by his side. There was a fragile hopefulness to her expression, Moira noticed, as though this moment of joy was one that Lady Fraser desperately needed.
Roderick turned to one of the maids standing nearby, his commanding tone calm but firm. “See tae it that Lady Wilson is taken tae her room and has all she needs afore the betrothal feast this evening.”
“Aye, me laird,” the old maid replied, dipping her head and stepping forward. “Follow me, miss. I’ll show ye tae yer chambers.”
Moira let out a silent sigh of relief, grateful to have been spared further conversation. While everyone had been kind enough, she still felt out of place, unsure of what she was doing there and wary of questions she might struggle to answer. Though part of her yearned to be back home, she followed the maid through the hall and up a grand, winding staircase.
She resisted the urge to glance back at Roderick even though she was certain his gaze lingered on her. Instead, she focused on keeping up with the maid, who was moving at an increasingly rapid pace. After a while, for the stairs felt as long as they were wide, they reached the third floor. The maid led Moira to the end of the corridor, where she opened the doors to a large bedroom adorned with rich burgundy tapestries and heavy oak furniture.
In the center of the room stood a grand four-poster bed with deep purple curtains, tied back neatly. A hearth on the far wall opposite the bed glowed with a crackling fire, giving the space a comforting warmth.
“This’ll be yer room, me lady,” the maid said with a warm smile.
Moira nodded. “Thank ye.”
“I’ll unpack yer bags,” the maid said, heading over to Moira’s cases, which had been carefully placed by the foot of the bed. Moira had almost forgotten about those.
“That’s quite alright,” she interjected quickly, stepping between the maid and her belongings. “Nay need tae worry about that.”
Confusion flickered across the maid’s face. “But it’s nay trouble at all,” she replied. “It’s me duty tae help ye get settled.”
“Ye could greatly ye help me by preparing a bath, if that is nae too much of a bother?” Moira suggested, her tone deliberately slow and calm. “What I really need is a nice, warm bath.”
The maid nodded, satisfied. Of course, it made sense that Lady Wilson would want to get washed and prepared for the feast. Lowering her head in a slight bow, she left the chambers, closing the heavy doors behind her.
Moira sat down at the edge of the bed, about to take her boots off, when a firm knock suddenly echoed through the room. She jumped slightly, then quickly rose to her feet. Her heart was beating fast, for there was only one person who could be behind that door when she opened it.
Roderick.
His commanding presence was a bit intimidating but also familiar. His soft honey eyes were trained on her with a serious intensity that caused her body to tighten. They were alone, for the first time in many years.
“It’s good tae see ye again, Moira” he said, his voice low and steady. He stepped inside without hesitation, his broad shoulders seeming to fill the room. “I cannae tell ye how long I’ve waited fer this moment.”
He closed the door behind him and Moira turned to face him, her expression guarded. “I wish it were under happier circumstances, Roderick,” she replied, her tone even. “But nay joyful occasion could have brought me here, I ken that much.”
Roderick didn’t respond, but he walked slowly across the room toward the fire, his boots sounding loudly across the floor. Despite the tension, Moira felt more comfortable alone in his presence than she had among the rest of the people downstairs.
“There was much delay tae me journey due tae some uprisings on the road,” she said. “I apologize fer the wait.”
“Nay apologies necessary,” Roderick said, “ye got here, that’s all that matters.”
Moira nodded, silent, taking in Roderick’s frame with her deep green eyes.
“Dae ye think the trouble will be reachin’ us here?” Moira asked. It took a lot to frighten her, but she was curious, and the uprisings truly had caused her much delay.
“It is unlikely,” Roderick assured her, his jaw tightening. “The Fraser lands are well-protected. Ye’ll be safe here.”
His tone left no room for doubt, and for a brief moment, Moira felt a flicker of reassurance that she hadn’t known she had needed. She had further questions, but she let them circle her mind, intrigued as to what Roderick had to say.
With his hands clasped behind his back, he continued to move around the room, surveying it as he walked. “We have much tae discuss,” he said.
“Indeed,” Moira replied, standing still. His presence was commanding, and she could tell it was natural for him to take charge. He was likely accustomed to leading, she thought, and that was probably when he felt most at ease. As for her, she’d always preferred to remain in the background, helping quietly from the shadows.
“The dinner tonight. It’ll be a formal affair, and I imagine it might be overwhelming at first,” Roderick said., “I’d like us tae approach it… strategically.”
Moira arched her brow, “Strategically?”
He nodded, turning back to her. “Everyone will be watching, and we need tae discuss how we’re going tae handle that.”
“What did ye have in mind?” She asked, stepping closer to him. She reminded herself that she was here for a purpose, not for a marriage. Her purpose, she told herself, was what mattered most. As someone used to keeping others at arm’s length, she wasn’t about to let her walls down just yet.
While something in her had warmed to Roderick already, there was always the possibility that she might be wrong—and the large-framed laird might indeed be wasting her time.
“We need tae make it clear that we are a strong match,” he said. “We must present a united front, Moira. Our engagement will draw attention, and there’ll be questions—some polite, some less so.” His eyes softened as he added, “I dinnae want ye tae feel overwhelmed. If there’s anything ye’d prefer I handle, tell me now.”
Moira appreciated his candor, though it caught her slightly off-guard. “I’ll be fine, Roderick. I’ve dealt with curious stares before.”
“Aye, I dinnae doubt that,” he said, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “But this is different. Ye’re stepping into me world now, and it can be… difficult tae navigate.”
“What exactly are ye worried they’ll ask?” she ventured.
Roderick paused, his gaze drifting momentarily to the fire before returning to her. “Questions about our past, about how we met. About why I chose to call ye here, now of all times. I’ve nae doubt some will dig fer reasons beyond what I’ve given them.”
Moira’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And what reasons have ye given them?”
He hesitated, and for a brief moment, Moira thought she saw a flicker of vulnerability in his expression. “That I need a partner by me side,” he admitted. “That it’s time I fulfill me obligations—and that ye were the one I chose tae create a family with.”
“I see,” Moira said softly, as she felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite place. “It all sounds like a good plan. I willnae speak too much as I believe it best tae stay quiet, but I am looking forward tae meeting everyone, both yer family and friends.”
Roderick nodded. “I, personally, am looking forward tae figuring out who killed me faither,” he said with cool detachment.
There it is, Moira thought to herself. Let someone talk, and they’ll tell ye whatever it is ye want to ken.
Chapter 2
1708, Dornoch
The narrow cul-de-sac was in a secluded and forgotten part of town, far from the nearest streetlamp.
A salty breeze swept through the air, stinging the sides of Roderick’s face, as he stood facing the woman concealed by her long black cloak. Her hood was pulled so low over her face, that Roderick could barely make out her features.
He narrowed his eyes, his thoughts racing. Who was this mysterious woman? Why had she been tied up in that cellar, left to her fate?
“Here,” she said in a tone so soft that it was barely louder than a whisper, extending her hand.
Roderick frowned as he stared at the small golden coin in her outstretched palm. The coin, although barely visible in the darkness of the night, shone with a slight gleam.
Carefully, he took it, his fingers momentarily brushing hers.
As he turned the coin over, inspecting it as thoroughly as he could, Roderick noticed strange markings on its surface: three circles arranged in a perfect triangle.
His eyes darted to hers, sharp with suspicion. “What is this?”
She glanced over her shoulder, scanning the shadows behind her as though expecting someone to emerge. Once satisfied that they were alone, she turned back to Roderick and continued.
“Ye rescued me, and now I owe ye a favor. The Triad,” she said, her voice extra hushed, “will be there whenever and wherever ye need it.”
Roderick hesitated. “I dinnae understand. The ‘Triad’?”
The woman sighed, trying not to reveal too much. “If ye encounter a problem that appears tae be impossible tae solve, the Triad can help ye. This is a secret, reveal it tae anyone and the favor is revoked.”
Roderick nodded slowly, still confused by the words coming from the mysterious lady he had just rescued.
“If ye need help, ye can send a letter here,” she slipped a small piece of parchment into his hand, her eyes narrowing, her tone steady but urgent. “Use this coin tae stamp it.”
Roderick opened his mouth to speak, but she glanced behind her again, ensuring they were still alone before continuing. “There should be absolutely nay information in yer letter that could expose us. If ye dae, it’ll be considered a breach of contract, and we willnae be able tae help ye.”
“I understand.”
“Nay one aside from yerself should have any information whatsoever about the mission ye have called us fer, nay information on why ye have reached out. If ye reach out tae us, it must be under those terms.”
“Are there any limitations?” Roderick asked quickly, conscious that their time was limited. “What if I ask fer too much?”
The air went still, and her face grew somber. “Just hope ye never have tae use the coin, fer yer own good.”
Roderick nodded, tucking the coin and parchment into his pocket.
“I hope,” she said, her voice thick with gravity “that I won’t ever have tae see ye again.
Without another word, Moira turned and vanished into the night, her cloak dissolving into the darkness like smoke.
Roderick stood still for a moment, his hand slipping into his pocket once more, and turning the cool coin between his fingers, he quietly reflected on the mysterious gift he’d just received. Roderick didn’t understand much, but he knew better than to breathe another word of what he’d been told.
***
All that Roderick recalled of Moira from the night they’d met was her hooded cloak, her face half hidden beneath the darkness of the night. But her eyes—he had noticed them even then—were just as piercing.
Now, as she stood before him, her posture straight, her chin slightly raised, Roderick tried to understand what she might be thinking. All those years ago, her presence had left him bewildered. But this time, her expression was cold, a mask of indifference that betrayed nothing.
Time, it seemed, had not softened her. If anything, it had sharpened her into something else. Something impenetrable.
He thought back to when he first wrote the letter to her. Ever since his father’s death he had been convinced that it wasn’t the mere accident that had been reported. He knew his father better than anyone, and he needed answers—not just for his own closure but for reasons he knew to be critical. Roderick had never been one to simply accept what he was told; there was something in him that always guided him toward the truth.
Moira’s lips twitched, but she didn’t speak. Instead, her silence stretched taut between them, thick as the tension in the room. It was Roderick who broke it again.
“When the doctor said it was possible me faither might have eaten something bad on the road,” he began, his tone hardening as he stepped even closer, “I kenned there was more tae the story.”
Her gaze didn’t waver, but the subtle tightening of her jaw betrayed her intrigue, Roderick noticed, perhaps more than Moira thought.
“That’s why,” he continued, his tone hardening, “I kenned that there was only one solution. I had tae send fer ye and collect the favor ye owed me. I needed the Triad’s help.”
Roderick noticed her body flinch, though her face remained the same.
“It is nae small thing that ye have done,” Moira said, inclining her head ever so slightly. Her words came out as coldly as her expression.
“I’m aware,” Roderick replied curtly, turning away from Moira and toward the fireplace. “But me faither’s death is nae small thing either.”
He rested one hand on the stone mantle, staring into the flickering flames. There was something distracting about Moira—be it her mysterious manner or her graceful demeanor. He decided that it was best for him to focus on the matter at hand.
“Since we last met,” he began, his voice steady, “I’ve done some research about yer… Triad.”
“And what have ye found?” She asked, her voice steady, betraying no sign of concern.
“It took time,” he replied. “Ye didnae exactly leave me with much tae go on. But eventually, in these five years since we met, I managed tae piece it together. The Triad—a secretive organization of investigators. Mystical, some call them. They’re hardly kent, even among the upper class. And they only take cases that interest them. Unless…” he paused
“Unless what?” replied Moira.
“Unless there is a favor involved,” he replied.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lips tighten into a thin line, but she remained silent.
“I understand the need fer secrecy, and I understand the weight of what I’ve done by calling ye here, but we both remember the night ye gave me the Triad’s coin, and why ye did it.”
“Aye,” Moira said, her composure faltering, if only slightly, for just a moment. A brief crack in her mask, her apparent stoicism betrayed by a tiny expression of frustration, alongside, Roderick noticed, a subtle hint of regret.
He had anticipated that bringing up that night might alter her composure, for it seemed as though she had been trying to pretend it had never happened at all.
“At the time,’” Moira continued, “I was nay more than an apprentice. If I had kenned better… I would have never made such a promise. If we’d met today…”
Roderick’s jaw tightened. “But that’s nae the case,” he replied firmly. “Without me help that night, ye wouldnae have been alive long enough tae even progress tae the position ye hold now.”
“Nay,” Moira responded, her tone icy. “I appreciate what ye did fer me at Dornoch. But if ye think that I couldnae have found a way out on me own, then ye’ve seriously underestimated me.” Moira crossed her arms, the air growing thicker by the moment. “I could’ve escaped without ye.”
“Maybe,” Roderick allowed, his voice cool. “But ye made me a very important promise. I’m redeeming it. Or are ye telling me the Triad doesnae honor its debts?”
“Careful, Roderick,” Moira warned. “I dinnae take kindly tae threats.”
“I dinnae mean tae threaten,” he said. “But ye made a promise that I ken ye have tae uphold. Ye have tae find out who murdered me faither.”
The words hung heavily in the air, a weight pressing down on the space between them. For a moment, neither of them moved, the flickering firelight casting long shadows across the room. Moira’s sharp eyes locked onto his, searching for some crack in his resolve, but his expression remained unwavering, his jaw set like stone.
“Murdered?” Moira finally cut through the silence, her expression filled with doubt. “But there’s nay reason tae believe that. Isnae it a wee bit far-fetched given the circumstances?”
Roderick edged closer to Moira, a faint edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “Aye, maybe, but I kenned me faither well. He was strong, hale. He was cautious in ways that others werenae. Yet somehow, after one hunting trip—one he’d made a hundred times before—he falls ill and dies? Doesnae that seem far-fetched?”
Moira didn’t speak, considering his words.
“Everyone thinks he died of natural causes, but I ken that’s nae the truth. I will find out who did it and bring that person tae justice.”
Roderick typically had rather a calm, collected, and gentle nature, whilst also being a natural leader. However, since his father’s death, he had become almost completely consumed by thoughts of vengeance. So much so that he found it difficult to control his frustrations.
“Roderick,” she began, her voice softening, “Ye cannae be sure. Just because ye dinnae want tae believe that yer faither’s death may have been nothing more than a careless mistake on the road, doesnae mean that it’s nae possible it’s true. I understand yer hurt, but, honestly, this may lead tae nothing more than a wild goose chase.”
Roderick took another step forward, closing the distance between them. Somehow, the room became smaller, the air heavier—and his eyes searched hers, hoping to connect to the part of her that might understand.
“This isnae just about what I want tae believe,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, somehow becoming more intimate. “I didnae just ask ye here on a hunch. Trust me, Moira, I ken.”
Roderick hadn’t known what to expect when he had asked Moira to go there, and part of him had thought she wouldn’t come. But he’d assumed that she would have been used to situations like his, so he couldn’t make sense of why she was so reluctant to help.
For a moment, Moira looked away from Roderick, off to the side of the room, seemingly trying to collect herself for reasons that he couldn’t understand. Then she visibly calmed and changed her demeanor. She straightened and looked back at him confidently. “Tell me everything ye ken, then. Every piece of information ye have about his death.”
Roderick’s jaw loosened, the tension was still palpable, but somehow he had gotten through to her. He knew that despite her cold approach, she’d be willing to help. After all, she had promised she would, and he sensed that she was a woman of her word.
“Me faither returned from a camping trip two days before he fell ill,” Roderick began. “The healer claimed that it’s possible fer a sickness tae take a long time tae settle in the body, but I dinnae trust his opinion at all.”
“And why nae?” Moira asked, arching a brow.
“Because he once nearly bled me dry after a skirmish,” Roderick replied sharply, spinning on his heel. “I was lucky tae survive. His competence is… questionable, tae say the least.”
“I see,” Moira continued. “An’ did yer faither go on this trip alone?”
“He always took councilmen with him when he went hunting. And they all returned in perfect health. Even though they had shared food and water, nae one of them fell ill besides me faither.”
Roderick noticed a glimmer of intrigue flicker across Moira’s face. He’d sparked her interest, and he watched as she appeared to be analyzing, lost in thought. She parted her lips as though she was about to speak but remained silent.
Roderick continued. “Right after returning from the trip, he spent some time in deep discussions with his Council. The issue was primarily that two of his councilmen, Lennox and MacDougall, were pressing him tae lease his lands.”
“So ye think they poisoned him?” Moira asked.
“I dinnae ken,” Roderick replied, running a hand through his hair. “But the timing is curious, is it nae?”
Moira sighed, consumed with her thoughts. “Curious daesnae mean proof, Roderick. Ye’ve asked me all this way fer what ye tell me isnae just a hunch, but it’s very likely that this may have been nay more than just a tragic accident. Just because we look fer meaning, doesnae mean that it’s there.”
Roderick’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he felt a rise of frustration. His anger slowly simmered, but he managed to keep calm. He knew that his hot-headed nature would work against him rather than for him when it came to Moira.
“Ye might be right, Moira. Maybe in the end, we’ll find out that there was nae more tae me faither’s death than a careless, tragic mistake. But ye are the one who gave me that coin, and while ye may suspect that I’m wastin’ yer time, until I have answers, yer time is mine tae waste.”
Moira inhaled sharply, her cheeks flushing with what Roderick assumed was irritation. But before she could respond, there was a soft knock at the door.
Both of them turned sharply as the maid entered, her eyes widening in shock at how close they had been standing together. They were almost touching, Roderick’s tall, bulky frame towering over hers.
“Me lady,” she stammered, averting her gaze to the floor. “I apologize, I didnae mean tae interrupt.”
“That’s quite alright,” Roderick quickly answered.
The maid bobbed a quick curtsy and backed out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
With the tension broken between them, Roderick relaxed a little, thrown off guard. Moira glanced to the corner of the room, her cheeks still flushed a light pink.
“I’ll leave ye tae it now,” Roderick said promptly, though his curiosity about Moira remained. “I look forward to seeing ye at the feast.”
With a polite bow Roderick exited the room.
Perhaps, he thought to himself, this investigation is going tae be a little more complex than I thought.
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Kilted Seduction – Get Bonus Prologue
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Kilted Seduction – Bonus Prologue
December 1298. A few hours earlier…
She hadn’t wanted to leave her brother Kai’s wedding, but Thora MacLeod knew when a vision was coming, and knew it was best to find a quiet place to let it come. Resisting her visions never came to any good, any more than ignoring the warnings they gave her. And this one felt exceptionally powerful, which meant the warning was far too important to let it pass her by.
Foresight. Sometimes a gift, more often a curse in her world, it plagued her with dreams in her sleep and visions or vague premonitions in her waking hours, and only long years of experience, as well as the occasional success in thwarting some grim fate, had resigned Thora to the whims of the MacLeod Gift she had inherited from her mother’s blood.
She found a quiet space and closed her eyes, then surrendered herself to the Gift that had plagued her for so many years of her life.
Flash: War. Bloody war, and fires that burned over the Highlands. Violence, and the cries of the dead, dying and destitute, filled her mind. Warriors littered the field, a spectacle so grim it might have been the Morrigan’s handiwork of old. Her own kinfolk lay among the fallen, or among those fighting for their lives, and she knew with a sense of despair that all of them were doomed. And over it all, drifting above the scenes of horror and destruction, flew the colors of Clan Ross and the personal standard of Lachlan Ross.
Flash: There was little enough food, and less of anything else. The fields were practically barren, the store houses and barns empty save for half-starved livestock, but the grim-faced soldier on the horse cared naething for the despair in the gaunt, weary faces of the nearby villagers as he loaded a wagon heavy with grains claimed in tithe to the laird. A familiar sash adorned his chest, emblazoned with the colors she’d seen in her previous vision.
Flash: Two men stood opposing each other on a field. One wore the colors of Ross, the other of Cameron. Both wore the rank torcs that marked them as lairds of their clans. One was older, one younger. The vision wavered, a split in time. On one road, the men stood side by side, and desolation filled the world as the younger one fell. On the other, they faced each other in combat, and the future wavered like the waves of a storm-tossed sea.
Flash: The Ross standard was replaced by Cameron, and instead of desolation, life flourished. The fields prospered, the livestock grew fat and strong, and the villagers were hale and healthy. The storehouses were full, and warriors maintained the easy, watchful guard of peacetime, rather than the weary, wary tension imposed by strife. Everywhere, there was a sense of plenty and peace. A sense of happiness filled Thora, a joy so pure it was enough to make her wish to weep.
The visions released her, and Thora sank against the nearest wall, spent and shaking. It was rare to See so much and so clearly, rarer still to know what the visions meant. But this message, she could decipher with ease.
Clan Ross would bring devastation, a fact she’d no doubt of, for Lachlan Ross and her brother Domhnall had already come to blows in the past and opposed each other fiercely. She’d met him once in her lifetime and come away feeling as if she’d narrowly avoided being bit by a viper. Her brother Magnus refused to be in the same room with the man for years.
Now, according to her Gift, Lachlan Ross had set plans in motion that would devastate the Highlands and destroy everything – including her clan and kinfolk. What those plans were, she had no idea, but it was imperative that they be stopped before they could come to fruition. Otherwise, all of Scotland would be endangered by Lachlan’s ambition.
According to what she had seen, Clan Cameron and its laird were the keys to stopping the horror. If they could be brought to stand against Laird Ross, then disaster might be averted. More than that, there was a chance that all the Highlands could benefit.
Unfortunately, there was a problem with that scenario. Ross and Cameron had long been allies, as Ross and MacLeod were foes. This made clan Cameron a foe too. It would be difficult – nigh – impossible, to convince Laird Cameron to turn against his ally, based on the words of a woman who was kinfolk to one he might see as his enemy.
Clan Cameron and Clan MacLeod had no formal disagreements, but from what Thora had heard of Laird Cameron, his honor would hold him to the alliance and induce him to view his ally’s opponents as his own. Therefore, the first difficulty would be in convincing him to listen to her. The greatest difficulty would be in convincing him that his clan was better served by breaking away from his alliance with Clan Ross.
As to the first, she could use another name, pretend to be a lass from some village or an overseer’s daughter. Or perhaps even the daughter of some distant, smallish clan, or subordinate clan. He would have no cause to be suspicious of her then. But how to convince him to go against Lachlan Ross?
Another vision came to her, this one weaker but still clear enough for her to be sure of its content. It was a vision of Yule – specifically a yuletide festival.
Yuletide decorations, the Yule log being lit. Laird Ross’ stronghold. He angrily mumbled something about Cameron’s absence to his advisor.
Lachlan Ross was hosting a grand Yule festival at Ross Castle. Domhnall had not received an invitation of course, but it was no secret. As an ally of Clan Ross, Laird Cameron had surely received an invitation as well.
Somehow, Thora needed to ensure that Laird Cameron attended that feast, and she had to be there with him. She didn’t know why, but she knew she did. Her presence was essential to the discovery of the truth – whatever truth it was that would turn the course of fate in favor of prosperity, rather than destruction.
That would present another difficulty, for how was she to accompany Laird Cameron? An unrelated lass in a laird’s company would surely invite talk, and rumors, and she couldn’t pretend to be his sister. That lie would be all too easy for a man like Lachlan Ross to see through.
Of course, there was another role she might play. Thora felt her cheeks flush, and she pushed that thought away. She could worry about that part of her plans after she had ensured that Laird Cameron would attend the Ross Yuletide celebration.
Of course, first she had to make her way to Laird Cameron, and speak with him. That was a difficulty in and of itself.
Domhnall would never let her go. He knew to trust her visions but asking him to let her walk into enemy territory alone was too much. He would insist on her having a companion, assuming he permitted her to leave. And yet, she was certain she would fail if she had anyone else with her. Only by going alone could she succeed.
Thora sat for a few moments, thinking over everything she had Seen, and everything she had gleaned from her Gift. Then she rose, her face settled in a steely expression of determination.
She would go tonight. It stung to have to leave in the middle of her brother’s wedding celebration – especially given that he had married her close friend Ava – but it was the only time she could be sure that everyone was too preoccupied with other things to pay any attention to her absence. If she left within the next two or three candle-marks, it was unlikely that she would be noticed, and no one would question her absence til morning.
By the time they not only realized she was absent but searched the castle for her and discovered she was missing, she’d be on the birlinn to the main island, if not already disembarked and riding for Castle Cameron. And if the weather turned troublesome again, as it probably would, then it would both obscure her passage and delay them searching for her. With a little bit of luck, she would reach Castle Cameron before they could even confirm that she’d left the Isle of Skye, let alone follow her.
It would be a perilous journey, and a difficult one, especially alone in the middle of winter, but Thora was determined to manage. The fate of her clan was too important to shrink from the possible hardship.
She had to pack – practical simple clothing, and one or two days of food. Neither would be difficult to secure. She also had to write her brother a note. She didn’t dare tell him the full extent of her plans, but the last thing she needed was Domhnall sending messengers to every clan in the Highlands in an effort to find her. If nothing else, such an action might alert Laird Cameron to her true identity.
The path that lay before her was one tangled with unseen obstacles and uncertainties, but Thora refused to turn away from it, even as the enormity of what she was about to undertake confronted her.
Whatever it took, and whatever the cost, she would go to Laird Cameron and secure his aid in thwarting the disaster that threatened to engulf all of them.
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Ian Wallace never wanted to be laird, but with a dying clan to save, he has no time for complications—especially not the fierce, beautiful prisoner hidden in his own new castle. She’s a MacAlpin, born of the blood he’s sworn to hate but the fire in her eyes stirs something deeper than duty. He should send her away. Instead, he’ll risk everything to keep her.
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Thora MacLeod always follows her visions, but kidnapping Laird Aedan Cameron and blackmailing him into a fake marriage at a dangerous Yule gathering? Not her best idea. As sparks fly in enemy territory, their feelings for one another start to complicate things. Thora knows that her visions might save their clans, but they won’t stop her heart from shattering once Aedan finds out she’s been lying to him all along…
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Kilted Seduction – Extended Epilogue
Five Years Later…
It was a wild and grand Yuletide, with a crowd to rival a Highland Gathering, but Thora Cameron couldn’t have been happier as she surveyed the Great Hall of Cameron Castle. By some stroke of fortune, all of her siblings, their spouses and their children had managed to attend the Yuletide celebrations this year and seeing them all gathered around the Yule log together filled her heart with joy.
That joy was only increased by the location. To host such a gathering required resources, and the knowledge that Clan Cameron had finally recovered enough from Lachlan Ross’s attempts to destroy it to be able to hold such a feast was uplifting.
It had been a hard road. Reestablishing trade, growing enough grain, potatoes and other crops to both feed the people and have a surplus to sell – none of it had been easy. The first year, he’d been forced to swallow his pride and ask Clan MacLeod for assistance to keep his home defended through the winter and spring. The first two years, Aedan had even sent out messengers to villages, offering an exchange of reduced taxes in return for tradable goods.
Her brother had helped, as she had known he would, along with her other brothers and their clans, and together, they had healed Clan Cameron. Now, they were enjoying the results, and Thora knew that Aedan, busy as he was with overseeing the festivities, was enjoying them most of all.
Giggling drew her attention to the cleared floor that would later be used for dancing. Domhnall was in the middle of the space, giving the children rides on his arms and shoulders – three or four children at a time, while his wife Katherine watched from her seat at the table, a smile on her face and a basket of sewing in her lap.
Two of the bairns climbing all over the Laird MacLeod were his own, and the day before, they’d announced that a third would be arriving near the end of summer. With two sons already, it was no secret that both Katherine and Domhnall were hoping for a girl, and equally certain that, girl or boy, Domhnall would be as besotted with the bairn as he had been after the previous two births. And far more confident than he’d been with the birth of his first son, Erik.
He’d been terrified that he’d hurt the child, that a bairn so small and fragile would break like glass the first time he accidentally used too much strength. But Erik had proved sturdier than that, and well able to make his displeasure known if he felt too constrained. By the time Conall had been born, Domhnall had learned not to worry so much. He was still cautious about his Gift, and always would be, but with Katherine and his children had come confidence in his control, and peace of mind.
Magnus alternated between laughing at his brother and wandering the Hall, speaking with various guests from outside the extended clan. After the fall of Clan Ross, Aedan had offered alliances to the other lairds who had once ridden by Lachlan’s side. None of them had refused, not when they knew Aedan’s marriage bound him through kinship bonds not only to three other powerful clans, but also the English court. Magnus had taken it upon himself to ensure that the large, widespread alliance functioned smoothly, and any arguments were settled without resorting to duels or potential feuds.
He’d truly come into his own, both as Laird MacDougall and as Ciara’s husband. His gift granted him a keen insight, and he was already known far and wide as being one of the fairest and most just lairds in the land. It was said that even the king himself consulted with Laird MacDougall when dispensing a thorny problem of justice, and Magnus rarely steered anyone wrong.
He and Ciara had borne twins, two years ago now, and were content with that, though by the sheen in Ciara’s eye, there might be a third child conceived within that family as well before Yule’s end. In the meantime, they had their son and daughter – Alric and Cianna – both of whom were currently clinging to their uncle’s belt and clamoring for more rides.
Kai, rogue and trickster that he was, had used his gift to make everyone a little merrier and a little less controlled as the Yule feast wore on. It had earned him a scolding from his wife, Thora’s good friend Ava, but even so, she was laughing as much as the rest of them, and Thora knew she wasn’t nearly as stern about it as she pretended to be.
And truly, what harm was it that there was more laughter and conversation flowing among the assembled guests, especially when it was not accompanied by alcohol? Unlike copious amounts of drink, Kai’s gift would leave behind only a slight weariness, easy to sleep off, without headaches or troubled stomachs.
Kai and Ava’s youngest born son, Devon, was sleeping at his mother’s breast, while their oldest played with his myriad cousins and his eldest uncle. At four winters old, Cameron MacLeod was among the older of the children surrounding Domhnall, and already possessed both his father’s eyes and his sense of mischief. Even so, he adored his brother and his cousins and could often be found playing with younger and older children alike.
In contrast to their mischievous brother, Thora’s twin Enya was quieter, seated at the table and sipping from her cup, a small smile on her face as she watched the children play
Cillian, Laird MacDonald to those outside his family and close friends, watched his wife carefully, and pressed another mug of sweetened tea and a plate of Enya’s favorite biscuits into her hands as they watched their three-year-old son Brian play around Domhnall’s knees at Cameron’s side.
The last member of the gaggle of children made Thora smile. Her daughter, Maeve, chased after her uncle with childish glee, giggling madly as Domhnall scooped her up to sit on his broad shoulder. Even though the child was only two years old, Thora knew her daughter would be Gifted. What the gift would be, she didn’t know, but she was determined to nurture it to the best of her ability.
That was true of all of them, she knew. Enya had some way of telling if a power might be present, something about the way it affected the body. She kept careful watch on all the family, especially the children.
Though young, over half the children were showing signs of inheriting the MacLeod Gifts. Enya had informed the entire family as soon as she was sure what her Gift was telling her, and all of them had sworn to see that no child ever felt a moment’s more confusion or fear than they could help.
Arms slipped around her shoulders, interrupting her thoughts, and Thora relaxed into her husband’s embrace. The years had mellowed Aedan and given him the peace and confidence he’d once been lacking. With it, and with some advice from elder lairds like Terion of Clan Mackenzie, he’d become a better laird, and Clan Cameron had truly prospered.
He’d always been a good husband, but the years had deepened their bond and strengthened the relationship between them. Time had also smoothed some of Aedan’s rough edges and eased his heart, as he learned to trust in her presence, and her advice. And Thora had learned as well. Aedan’s support gave her the strength to rely on others, and to trust that she did not have to be the only one to try and guide the future.
Now, when her visions came, it was easier to speak of them and easier to ask others to help her attend to the warnings, rather than attempting to manage matters alone.
A breath across her ear made Thora stifle a giggle. “What are ye thinkin’ me darling wife?”
“I was thinkin’ o’ our family, and how large it is, and how happy they all look. There was a time, years ago, that I couldnae imagine such a thing, nor see it in my dreams. Tae see it now feels like heaven on earth. I am so happy with ye, me love, and our daughter and all the people we love.”
“Aye… I ken yer meaning. But tae me, any place ye are is heaven.” Aedan nipped her earlobe, his hand sneaking down to her belly, and Thora swatted him with one hand, though she couldn’t help laughing at her husband’s amorous nature. After five years, the passion between them had yet to cool, and Thora loved every moment of it – even if Aedan did occasionally attempt to seduce her in what she considered inappropriate situations or locations.
“Save that fer taenight. Though we’ll have tae be careful.”
Aedan paused, shifting away from where he’d been to kiss the side of her neck. “Careful?”
Aedan had been supervising something else, some paperwork that Mac couldn’t handle on his own, when Thora had received confirmation of her suspicions from Enya. “Aye. Careful. We wouldnae want tae hurt the bairns, after all…”
Aedan froze. “Bairns?” A confused and tentatively joyful look spread across his face.
“Twins, me love. A son and a daughter fer ye, if Enya is right. And she almost always is.” Thora smiled at Aedan’s awestruck expression. “Two more children fer us tae love and cherish who will grow up strong to support our family.”
“That’s fair wondrous.” Aedan reached down to touch her belly again, laughing with glee, though it wouldn’t swell with child for some months yet. “Did yer visions show ye that?”
“They didnae have tae.” Thora reached up to cup her husband’s jaw, her eyes drifting back to her large, laughing family. “With family like this around them… how could they be anything else save loved, cherished, strong and happy?”
Aedan hummed, a warm smile blossoming over his face as he bent to give her a sweet, lingering kiss that made her skin tingle with delight. “How indeed, my little trickster? How indeed.”
The End.
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Ian Wallace never wanted to be laird, but with a dying clan to save, he has no time for complications—especially not the fierce, beautiful prisoner hidden in his own new castle. She’s a MacAlpin, born of the blood he’s sworn to hate but the fire in her eyes stirs something deeper than duty. He should send her away. Instead, he’ll risk everything to keep her.
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Thora MacLeod always follows her visions, but kidnapping Laird Aedan Cameron and blackmailing him into a fake marriage at a dangerous Yule gathering? Not her best idea. As sparks fly in enemy territory, their feelings for one another start to complicate things. Thora knows that her visions might save their clans, but they won’t stop her heart from shattering once Aedan finds out she’s been lying to him all along…
Read the bookKilted Seduction (Preview)
Prologue
“I hope that’s enough for the journey,” Thora MacLeod considered the pack on her bed. She’d packed lightly – just two changes of clothing and some food – in the hope that she wouldn’t be gone all that long.
Deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It never was, where her gift was concerned. Even so, she could no longer turn away from what she now knew.
With one last sigh, she shouldered her pack and went to the bedside table, to lay a letter on the surface, her brother’s name written in bold script across it. In it she kept certain details vague, for her family would know why. Certain things could not be put in writing, and they would understand well enough.
Tae Domhnall, and the rest o’ me kin,
I apologize fer leaving directly after Kai’s wedding, fer I ken ‘tis discourteous in the extreme. However, there is something that I must dae, and I couldnae delay, nae if I wish tae see it done properly.
I saw a way earlier today tae help our clan, but the time tae act is short and the path is nae an easy one. Unfortunately, ‘tis also one I must walk alone, or I willnae succeed in my endeavors. I cannae tell ye why, I only ken that it is so.
Trust that I am safe and will be well. I wish that I could tell ye more, but ye might want tae come after me, and I cannae permit that, fer I would fail surely if I was delayed or if someone accompanied me. Fer that reason, I cannae tell ye where I am bound, nor who it is I seek.
I will write with news as soon as I may, though it may be some time, depending on how things occur. In the meantime, please ken that I love ye all, and I wish ye well. I pray fer yer safety every day, as I ken that ye will keep me in yer thoughts during me absence.
I pray I will see ye soon.
With Love,
Thora
The letter wouldn’t keep them from worrying, she knew that, but at least it would ensure they knew she hadn’t been kidnapped by enemies of their clan. That was the best she could do.
A stab of regret hit her. She wished she could stay and spare them the concern they would surely feel upon reading her words. But that was impossible. If her vision was correct, then her actions now would protect her clan from falling to a terrible fate in the future.
She couldn’t let doubts, fears, or concern for her family’s reaction stop her. Thora took a deep breath, settled her pack a little more firmly over her shoulder, and turned away from the letter.
Moments later, she was outside the castle, saddling a horse. The guards paid her no attention, given that she was a member of the laird’s family and known for her occasional whims.
Within the candle-mark, she was on the road, riding toward a destiny that, as of yet, only she could see. A road that would lead her straight into the arms of the enemy.
Chapter One
Cameron Castle, December 1298
“Ye ken scowling and pacing around yer study like a trapped wolf isnae going tae change aught.”
Laird Aedan Cameron turned his glare on his longtime friend and advisor, Mac Sinclair.
“And it doesnae particularly make ye feel better, either.”
“I ken. But I dinnae like the situation. And with the council tryin’ tae force me tae attend Lachlan Ross’s Yule celebration…” Aedan trailed off.
Yule was fast approaching, but for Aedan, it was a season of tension, rather than celebration. His clan was in dire straits in terms of finances, and the Clan Elders were urging him to rectify the matter by attending Laird Ross’s Yule Celebration. On top of that, the weather was foul, with rain coming down in torrents, lightning dancing across the sky, and the winds howling around the castle like possessed wolves. There was a chill in the air that suggested the rain might turn to sleet and snow any moment now, which only made the situation more difficult.
He couldn’t travel in weather like that, and even if he could, Aedan had no desire to leave his home, and even less to attend Laird Ross’s Yule celebration. The event was supposed to last several days, and Aedan wanted no part of it.
It wasn’t just that he disliked the idea of being away from home so long, or that he resented the idea of missing the Cameron clan’s celebrations, which he usually presided over. Lachlan Ross’s events were nothing more than a chance to show off his political power, and his wealth. The Yule festivities were an excuse to play politics dressed up in holly, ivy and feasting.
Aedan hated politics. He hated the lies that hid behind the fake smiles of Lachlan and his bootlickers, and the idea of spending days in the court of his reluctant allies made his skin crawl.
His Council understood none of it. They saw it as an opportunity for ‘greater ties tae a wealthy and powerful neighboring clan’. They refused to see Lachlan for the snake he was. Only he and Mac truly understood the situation, as far as Aedan was concerned.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and drew his attention. “Enter.”
A guard opened the door. “Beg pardon, me laird, but there’s a woman at the gates, demanding tae see ye. She refuses tae leave and requests an audience with ye.”
Aedan scowled. He had little time or patience for strangers, less still for a woman who would ‘demand’ to see him, a laird in his own right. He was about to tell the guard to send her off, with a good shove if necessary, when a rumble of thunder recalled his attention to the storm outside.
It wasn’t a fit night out for man nor beast, and he couldn’t send a woman away in that weather. More to the point, she must be desperate indeed if she’d risked traveling even a short distance in such dangerous conditions. He sighed and swallowed his anger. “Fine, bring her up.”
The guard nodded and disappeared. Mac spoke up. “What dae ye think this woman wants? It must be important, tae be out in the storm.”
“If I had tae guess, I’d say ‘twas a woman seekin’ the aid, come tae ask me permission tae tak’ the healer from the castle.” It was about the only scenario he could imagine being dire enough that one would brave the elements after nightfall.
Another knock on the door announced the return of the guard with their guest. Aedan straightened from where he’d been slouched against a wall. “Enter.”
The door swung open. Aedan stared.
He’d expected the woman to be somewhat bedraggled. That was unavoidable, given the storm outside. He hadn’t expected her to look as if she’d jumped in a bathing pool fully clothed, then rolled through the mud, slid down a hill, and upended a basin over her head. She was drenched, her clothing sodden and stained, and her hair tangled and windblown, despite the obvious signs that it had been braided at some point.
She was also wearing only one shoe, her other foot bare and wet, as well as muddied to the hem of her skirt.
Despite all that, she was a bonny looking lass – hair the blue-black of a raven’s wing under the mud, deep blue eyes, slender, willowy build, and pale skin, almost luminous with the water shining off it. Her face held dignity and self-assurance, despite her circumstances, and she faced him with her head up and her back straight.
Aedan wasn’t sure whether to offer her a blanket and a bed, a bath, or ask her if she’d been lost. He settled for asking the first question that came to mind. “And who might ye be, lass?”
“Thora MacTavish. I came because I had tae speak tae ye.”
Aedan raised an eyebrow. “I can see that, since ye apparently didnae even stop tae make sure ye had both shoes on.”
A bright flush spread over her cheeks. “I assure ye, I had both shoes when I left home. But me horse got spooked crossing a bog. I dismounted tae try and calm him, but I stumbled intae a deep spot and lost me shoe escapin’ it. And the horse bolted.”
There were plenty of bogs on the moors that could trap the unwary. In a storm like this, it would be all too easy to miss a step and lose one’s footwear escaping. Aedan turned to Mac. “Speak tae the servants and see if ye can find a pair in the lass’s size.” He glanced at her feet. They were small and dainty. “Ye might need tae borrow a pair from one o’ the children in the castle.” He grinned.
Mac coughed, his expression showing the amusement he was trying to avoid voicing aloud. “Aye, me laird.”
He and the guard took their leave. Aedan waited until the door closed before he turned to his bedraggled guest. “So, Thora MacTavish, what brings ye tae…”
He didn’t get any further before she interrupted him. “I’ve come tae warn ye. I’m a seer, and I have dreams pertaining tae the future. Yer clan is in grave danger unless ye listen tae me.”
Aedan blinked at her, startled by the sudden intensity of her gaze. “What are ye talking about?”
“Yer clan is in danger. Clan Ross will move against ye soon unless ye act now. Ye must attend Laird Ross’s Yule celebration. ‘Tis the only way tae prevent the attack that will cause yer clan tae fall.”
Aedan stared. Her eyes held no sheen of madness, nor any signs of delirium and yet, what she was saying made no sense.
His allies – however uncomfortable the relationship – would attack him? The only way to prevent the attack from destroying his clan was to attend the Yule celebration hosted by the same man who would theoretically try to destroy it.
And she knew all of this because of – what? A prophetic dream?
Aedan began to laugh.
Chapter Two
Thora wasn’t sure how she’d expected Laird Cameron to respond, but she hadn’t expected him to laugh at her. She flushed with embarrassment but stepped forward, intent on making him understand. “This isnae funny, Laird Cameron. Ye must listen tae me and dae as I suggest, or yer clan will fall.”
“Ye expect me tae tak’ yer words seriously, lass? Ye had a prophetic dream that says tae tell me me allies will try tae destroy me, and the only way tae stop him is tae attend the Yule celebration? Dae ye nae ken how strange ye sound?”
“O’ course I ken what it sounds like, but ‘tis the truth. ‘Tis a gift o’ mine. I see the things that will come tae pass.” Thora wracked her brain for some way to prove her words. “I ken that ye decided nae tae go tae the celebration.”
She saw him start, and knew her words had hit home, but the expression of confusion was gone before she could say anything more. “I dinnae think me decision is any business o’ yers, lass.”
“But it is. I’m tellin’ ye, Laird Cameron, that yer clan is in grave danger. If ye dinnae attend the Yule feast at Castle Ross, then the next time ye see Laird Ross, ‘twill be when he attacks yer clan, and ye willnae win. Yer clan will fall, and Laird Ross will go on tae conquer others, as many as he can reach. Yer family will perish, whole and entire. Yer people will be treated like serfs, or worse, their crops and coin tak’n tae fill his storehouses and coffers, until whole families starve in the winter months.”
“Clan Ross and Clan Cameron are allies and have been fer years.” His expression was implacable, unyielding. “Are ye tryin’ to make me turn against me allies? Is it what this is – a political game of sorts? What proof have ye o’ yer words?”
Thora grimaced. “I have nae proof, me laird, but I ken what I saw. I ken what the future holds if ye dinnae listen tae me.” She stepped closer to him, praying he’d recognize her sincerity. “I ken ye’ve nae reason tae believe me, that I’m just a lass ye never met afore. I ken what I must sound like tae ye. But this is the truth, whether ye wish tae believe me or nae, and ye must dae as I say, or yer clan falls tae ruin.”
“Me clan falls tae ruin if I dinnae listen tae the words o’ a strange lass spouting prophecies o’ danger and ruin?” Laird Cameron snorted derisively, a mocking smile on his face. “Lass, I believe in what can be seen and proved, nae fairytales and ‘mystic’ whimsies. I’ve seen fortune tellers afore, and never a one with any truth tae their meanderings. They are just that, nae something on which tae base the actions o’ a laird, or the decisions o’ leading a clan.”
“I ken ye believe that, but this is different. I…”
“Every so-called seer I’ve ever spoken tae says they’re different, lass. Be they wise women seein’ visions in the smoke, or lasses with powerful dreams.” Laird Cameron interrupted her. His expression was rapidly losing its mirth, as amusement transformed into irritation.
He stepped closer. “Can ye give me proof? Plans, penned in Lachlan Ross’s own hand, mayhap? Movements o’ warriors or scouts that might be watchin’ fer ways tae attack? Rumors from the servants, or the men-at-arms, who might be preparin’? Reports o’ supplies and weapons bein’ gathered fer an assault? These are the things I believe in, Thora MacTavish, nae dreams and ‘prophecies’.”
Frustration filled her, and she felt the sting of angry tears in her eyes. “I have naething o’ the sort. Only me word and me dreams. Why can that nae be enough fer ye? Dae ye honestly think I’d come here, in such weather, if I didnae believe what I said?”
Laird Cameron’s brow creased, and for a moment, she hoped that her words might have made an impression at last. Then he shook his head. “’Tis true, ‘tis clear ye believe in yer visions, or at least, ye believe in something enough tae brave the storms, I’ll give ye that. But just because ye believe yer dreams, daesnae mean I have tae. Fer all I ken, ye’re delirious from bein’ caught in the storm, and a night in the care o’ our healer will see ye blushin’ over yer ravin’.”
“I’m nae delirious!” Thora stared at the laird. She’d known, from her visions, that he’d be stubborn, and rather ruggedly handsome she had noticed, with those green eyes and dark hair his, but she’d never guessed that he’d be this close-minded. “I dinnae have a fever, and I’m nae ravin’!”
“Daesnae mean there’s aught o’ substance tae what ye claim tae have seen.” Laird Cameron shook his head. “Ye’re welcome tae wait out the storm in the castle if ye like. I’ll nae turn ye out in this weather, but I’ll hear nay more o’ this nonsense about visions and threats that cannae be proven, and supposedly come from my allies, at that.”
“Laird Cameron…”
“Nae more.” He shook his head. “I’ve real work tae be doin’, and preparations fer Yule tae tak’ care o’ fer me clan. The guards will tak’ ye tae the kitchens tae get some food, and then ye can find a place tae rest.”
With that, he went to his chair and sat down, clearly dismissing her. Thora considered storming over and dripping all over his papers until he listened, but then common sense prevailed. In all likelihood, the only thing that would accomplish would be to get her thrown out of the castle, or into the dungeons for the night.
She was hungry, soaked, and shivering with cold. She needed a moment to get dry, warm and fed. Then she could make a plan to force the laird to listen to her – one that might actually succeed in doing more than frustrating him further.
Aedan watched as Thora hovered in front of his desk. He could see the frustration in her gaze, the anger in the set of her shoulders, and half-expected her to charge over to his desk and demand he listen to her. Instead, she finally gave a sigh and turned to the door, apparently resigned to her failure.
She was a bonny lass, he had to admit. The way the soaked dress clung to her body left almost nothing to the imagination, outlining gentle curves and a modest bosom. She was slim, lacking the more generous curves he knew some men preferred, but there was an elegance and grace to her that caught his attention and sent sparks of heat through his blood. With her pale skin, dark hair, and almost luminous eyes, she put him in mind of the stories his mother had read to him long ago, about Faerie maidens come to court mortal men.
Even the ‘dreams’ she spoke of seemed like part of a child’s tale come to life. Had he been of a more superstitious nature, he might have suspected her of trying to ensnare him with some sort of spell. It was a ridiculous thing to think, when he was a grown man, but he couldn’t help those wayward thoughts.
Aedan shook his head. Beautiful the lass might be, but she was keeping secrets, and that was always something to be wary of. The way she spoke and moved was at odds with her claims of being a simple village lass. She was too assured, too confident for a young lass from a village or a farm. Even had she been from a home where her ‘gift’ was revered, and the girl herself treated like a prophetess of old, she should have been much more reserved when speaking to a laird. Instead, she acted as if she’d been raised in a castle.
She might be a servant from another laird’s castle – he could imagine one of his neighboring lairds noticing the absence of their ‘seer’ and breathing a sigh of relief. Unless, of course, they were the superstitious sort who believed in such things.
A laird who put too much stock in ‘predictions’, and thus treated her as more important than her regular station, might explain her self-assurance.
Aedan sighed. He couldn’t afford to make any assumptions about the lass. He also couldn’t afford to spend too much time thinking about her. He had work to do, and he didn’t need any distractions, even if they were beautiful mysterious maidens.
Despite that, the memory of her face, ethereal and straightforward, lingered in his mind. That, and the echo of her words.
‘Ye need tae attend Laird Ross’s Yule celebration, or yer clan is in grave danger.’
Why was it so important, and how had she known about the Yule celebration, or his decision not to attend it?
Chapter Three
Food and dry clothing improved Thora’s mood but didn’t solve her problem. After a simple meal of stew and bread, she found herself in a set of unused servant’s quarters, considering the problem of Laird Cameron and his refusal to listen to her.
He was pragmatic, and he didn’t believe in her gift. That would make everything far more difficult. If her words alone could not convince him, then she had to find a way to make him acknowledge her sincerity. She also had to find a way to convince him to follow her suggestions. But how could she do that?
He’d been kind enough to give her a room and a new pair of shoes, which meant she could still talk to him. Maybe he’d take her more seriously now that she didn’t look half-drowned. Thora took a moment to make sure her hair was nicely braided and her appearance was neat, then left the room, retracing her steps to the laird’s study.
She heard voices as she neared the door and slowed her steps, the politeness she’d been raised with warring with her curiosity. Curiosity won, and she slipped closer to lean against the door.
“…cannae afford tae dae that.” It wasn’t the laird’s voice. She wondered if it was the voice of the man who’d been with him when she arrived – his second in command, perhaps?
“It daesnae matter what we can or cannae afford. This is what needs tae be done, tae keep our lands free o’ bandits and raiders.”
“And how dae ye plan tae see the warriors fed and equipped? Supplies cost gold, and gold we’ve little o’ at present. Ye cannae ask the warriors tae guard on empty bellies.”
“The harvest was poorer than we expected, but there’s grain enough so long as we’re cautious, and huntin’ will help.” Even through the door, Thora could hear the grim tone to Laird Cameron’s voice.
“If ye’d just let us seek aid… tell the Council we need tae tak’ action…”
“Nay. I’ll nae give them reasons tae say I’m nae an adequate laird.”
“Nay one thinks that…”
“Nay one says that. ‘Tis different. I can see it in their eyes… I took the lairdship young, and they’ve questioned me ever since.”
“Aedan, ye ken that’s nae true. Nay one thinks ye’re doin’ poorly, and nay one will think it if ye just ask…”
“I said nay. We’ll find some other solution. Yule celebrations are coming, and we have until the end o’ the Midwinter festivities. That’s plenty o’ time.”
If he used the same tone to signal the end of a conversation with his subordinate as he did with her, then they were almost finished. Thora crept away, knowing she didn’t dare get caught listening outside the door by Laird Cameron or his man.
Laird Cameron. Aedan, his man had called him. She appreciated knowing his given name, though she’d have to be careful when and how she used it.
Thora put that thought aside and concentrated on what else she’d learned. Clan Cameron was in need of coin and basic supplies. They didn’t have enough to keep their guards and warriors ready for any attacks. Even more important, however, was the fact that Laird Cameron hadn’t informed his council.
She could use that. She could say she’d learned it – somehow, through a vision if she had to, though she shied away from lying about her gift – and threaten to expose the truth to his people. Even if it would accomplish nothing in reality, it was clear that Aedan Cameron was determined not to appear inadequate in any way. He wouldn’t want any hint of problems to reach the ears of his council, even if the source was a strange village lass who might be considered fey-touched and not quite right in the head.
She couldn’t just confront him in the middle of the Great Hall, or in his study. Either of those courses would end in disaster, and likely with Laird Cameron having her thrown out of the castle or into the dungeon. She needed to confront him alone, somewhere he couldn’t call his guards to have her taken away.
His bedroom? No, there were still guards about. But…
Thora smiled as an idea came to her. It would be risky, and difficult, and it depended on having certain things and at least one accomplice. However, if she could make it work, it was her best chance of convincing the stubborn laird to listen to her.
First, she had to visit the healer. For this to work, she needed some sort of sleeping potion. Then, the stables, and hope that her sight or some other skill revealed a stable hand who could and would help her.
The first task was easily accomplished. Thora made her way to the healer’s cottage, one hand on her stomach, and her face set in an expression of distress. The healer, a kindly looking older woman, ushered her inside at once. “Ye’re the lass who came through the storm. Are ye all right? Were ye injured?”
Thora shook her head. “’Tis me stomach. It hurts, and I feel as if I’ve swallowed rocks.”
The woman pressed on her stomach, and Thora feigned pain, remembering a time as a child when she’d gotten sick eating too many sweets. “It seems ye’ve a touch o’ grumbling guts. Nae a surprise, happens all the time. Sit here, and I’ll mix ye a tisane that will ease the worst o’ it.”
Thora nodded and watched as the woman bustled away to begin mixing the preparation. As soon as she was certain the healer was fully engrossed in her work, she stood up and moved on silent feet to the shelves of already mixed medicine.
She knew what sleeping potions looked and smelled like – before she’d realized what her dreams were, she’d frequently needed to be dosed with such potions to sleep through the night. It was the work of only a few moments to find the one she wanted and tuck it into a pocket of her borrowed dress, then shuffle back to her seat.
The healer returned a moment later with the steaming tisane, and Thora sniffed it. The scent of soothing herbs filled her nostrils, but nothing that might have caused her to need to purge her bowels or something of that ilk. That was good. She smiled and drank it. “Thank ye.”
“’Tis nae trouble. Ye tak’ a short walk tae let it work through ye, and get a cup o’ tea from the kitchens, then rest, and ye’ll be well in the morning.”
Thora nodded. “Dae ye think anyone will mind if I go tae the stables? I’ve always been fond o’ animals.”
“I’m sure ye’ll be fine. And if they calm yer nerves, all the better, fer ‘tis often distress o’ another sort that leads tae upset stomachs.” The healer patted her hand. “If anyone questions ye, then ye send them tae me.”
“I shall, but I willnae stay long.” Thora gave the healer a grateful smile, then rose and made her way to the door and out into the courtyard, making sure to keep her hand on her stomach as she went.
From there, she walked with an unhurried pace to the stables, and slipped inside. Her eyes danced over the horses, seeking the one she’d need for her plan.
There. A sturdy looking roan in the middle of the barn caught her attention. He was a fairly nondescript horse, but his muscles looked solid, and he was large enough for what she needed. She moved forward to put a hand on his nose. “Hello there, me braw lad.”
“Ye’re nae supposed tae touch the horses!” A youthful voice made Thora jump, followed by a click of flint and a flare of light. A youth appeared, holding a lantern in one hand, and a shovel with the other. “Strangers arenae allowed.”
“I ken, but I’m here by order o’ the healer. Animals soothe me.” She smiled at the lad, even as she sent up a prayer of gratitude that fate had delivered exactly what she needed.
The lad was large, almost as tall as she, and well-muscled, but the lines of his face suggested someone much younger than his size would indicate. By his expressions and the way he spoke, she guessed he was barely eight to ten years of age. Old enough and big enough to work with the horses, but not yet wise to the ways of the world.
“Healer sent ye?” The boy frowned.
“Aye. She did. Though I’ll confess, I have another reason fer wishin’ tae see yer horses.” She waved the lad closer. “Ye see, me husband is a warrior here, but he hasnae been home taenight yet. I’m afeared he’s either found another lass, or that he’s been drinkin’ too much mead and whisky o’ the evenings. I plan tae confront him and tak’ him home.”
“What’s that tae dae with horses?” The boy’s frown deepened.
“I’ll need tae borrow one tae get him home, if he’s drunk. I’d appreciate if ye’d saddle this one fer me, so I dinnae have tae try and carry his weight.”
“I cannae…”
The clan was in need of coin. That meant that servants like this stable boy were probably feeling the lack. And even if they weren’t, a family that sent a lad this young into service of the laird was likely one in need of many things. Most families kept their sons home, caring for their land and their crops, or livestock, unless the entire family served in the castle, or they were poor enough to need to find other work for their children.
Thora dug into her pocket and pulled out several coppers, and a few silvers. “If ye’ll dae as I ask and see the horse ready fer me, then ye can have all o’ this.”
The lad’s eyes widened. If her family’s clan was anything to go by, then she was offering him more money than he’d see in a season, so she wasn’t surprised when he shuffled closer.
The boy considered a moment longer. “Ye’ll return the horse?”
“Within a day, at the longest.”.
She watched as the youth struggled for a moment, desire for the money warring with his loyalty. Then he nodded. “Horse’ll be ready fer ye. But if ye hurt the horse… I’ll… I’ll tell the laird about ye!”
“I understand.” She pressed the coins into his palm. “Thank ye fer yer assistance, lad.”
The boy’s hand closed over the coins. Thora waited until he’d stepped back and slipped them into a belt pouch, then took her leave.
Now, for the hardest part of her plan… finding a way to drug an overly suspicious laird and kidnap him.
If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here
Scot of Desire – Extended Epilogue
Two months later…
Tad turned the sand timer over in his grasp once again, as he had been doing for many minutes at a time as he sat in the corner of Laird Alec’s study. All around him, the brothers were talking, speaking of what Dunn had recently found out on his scouting missions, though it amounted to little.
“Tad?” Bran called him.
“Hmm?” Tad answered distractedly, his voice deep as he turned the sand timer over in his grasp again.
“What dae ye think?”
“I think there is something more ye all need tae ken.” He watched the sand as it dripped through the hourglass, deep in thought.
Often the lot of them gathered together to discuss the safety of the two clans. These days, Kira, Ilyssa and Catreena joined them too, so it was unusual for none of the women to join them today. Yet Tad intended to take advantage of the matter. He didn’t want to frighten his sister by revealing so soon what she someday would have to be put on her guard for. It seemed wiser to let the brothers, particularly Bran, know first.
“What is it?” Bran asked, sitting slowly down in the settle bench opposite him.
Tad stopped turning over the hourglass, raising his gaze to meet Bran’s. The other brothers were now all keenly paying attention, looking toward him. Evander perched on the corner of Alec’s desk, flexing the tattooed muscles of his arms as he folded them. Behind him, Alec sat back in his chair. Dunn leaned on the back of Bran’s settle bench, lazily scratching the strong scar that stretched across his eyes .
“I had a letter from the king this morning.”
“The king?” Dunn repeated. “What can he have tae say?”
“He has news.” Tad winced, knowing it was awful news he had to bear. He was hardly delighted about it himself and in truth, was deeply angry at the king for making such a decision. Naturally, it was not something he could ever admit openly to the king. “Cillian Grant has been released from the dungeons of Edinburgh castle.”
“Tell me ye are wrong,” Evander said, standing off the desk.
“This has tae be an error.” Alec held out his hands, dismissing the fact avidly. “It cannae be true.”
“Kings make deals all the time,” Dunn scoffed, clearly not hesitating to believe it.
Bran was the only one who had not spoken. Tad looked at him, seeing the same resigned fear that he knew was showing on his own face.
“That is exactly what has happened,” Tad said, nodding at Dunn’s words. “A deal has been made. I could tell the king until I am blue in the face that Cillian Grant isnae a man tae be trusted, that he shouldnae be laird of the Grants, that he tried tae kill ye Bran, that he would have killed Ilyssa fer refusing tae marry him, and yet –”
“And yet there’s nay law against attempted murder in court,” Bran grunted, shaking his head. “Only assault. Then, it is merely our word against Cillian’s.”
“Exactly.” Tad nodded. “Reading between the lines of the king’s letter, I fear that Cillian offered him loyalty and riches for his release.”
“Loyalty. Are we nae all loyal tae the king’s crown?” Alec said.
“In the wake of the latest uprisings, I’d argue all the king wants is a loyal laird. One whose allegiance can be bought unreservedly. Now, a clan laird whose allegiance has been bought with his life? Aye, most persuasive.” Tad nodded slowly.
“Ever the politician, our king.” Bran spoke with quiet resentment. “Ilyssa will have tae be told.”
“She will.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Tad was tempted to argue, but in the end, he nodded. He had seen quite plainly the last couple of months just how devoted Bran and Ilyssa were to one another. It had to be either him or Bran who told her, and if Bran was so intent on doing so, then Tad would let him.
“She will go intae a rage,” Tad warned him.
“I’m used tae her rages.” Bran smiled.
Tad had a feeling he knew exactly how Bran’s and Ilyssa’s arguments were mended. As much as he was happy for his sister, he didn’t particularly want to think about Bran bedding her.
Tad stood and turned the sand glass over in his grasp again. He moved to the nearest window and looked out across the horizon. From here, he could see the distant hills of his own clan. The two adjoined together, close allies both in land and in friendship.
“This is nae good news,” Evander said with a deep and sorry sigh. “Dae ye think he’ll try tae take revenge?”
“Aye.” Bran was the first to answer it. “I dinnae doubt he will.”
“Then we’ll have tae be ready fer his act of vengeance, in whatever form it may come,” Alec spoke up. “Bran, we’ll have tae increase the guard on Ilyssa.”
“She’ll take well tae being a prisoner,” he said with wryness, and they all laughed at the idea. “Dinnae worry. I’ll guard her meself as well as the soldiers. She’ll ken it’s necessary.”
As the brothers discussed the best way to guard the castle and the women, Tad had other thoughts as he stared out the window.
Cillian had more than one reason for wanting vengeance. Yes, maybe he would come after Ilyssa again, but maybe not. She was married, therefore out of his reach.
Maybe he’ll avenge himself on me instead.
Tad was the one who had called the king against the Grant clan after all. He was also the one who had killed Laird Gilroy. It was entirely possible that Cillian would fix his vengeance on Tad.
Then another thought crossed his mind.
Tad turned his gaze away from the mountains and down to the open lawn in front of the castle. Across the grass, he saw Kira sat amongst growing daffodils, picking up the beautiful blooms and inhaling their sweet scent. Ilyssa was at her side, fussing over her as she was now carrying a child. Catreena was walking toward the pair of them, carrying a tray of drinks and sweetmeats.
Cat.
Tad’s eyes traced over Catreena. She was most inconvenient, growing more and more beautiful by the day. Had she been any other man’s sister, Tad was certain he would have taken her to bed by now, pleasuring her, distracting her from her animosity toward him by showing her what else they could be doing with their time, but she was off limits.
I can never cross that boundary.
There was the age difference too, not to mention her hatred of him, and the fact that he had bedded so many women she looked at him like he was a diseased rat.
Still, as he gazed at her now, a protectiveness rose in his chest.
“Ilyssa isnae the only one that Cillian could target,” Tad spoke up, breaking into the brothers’ conversation who all looked toward him.
“Who else?” Alec urged him on.
“Bran, that’s undoubted.” Tad nodded toward his friend. With difficulty, he tore his gaze away from Catreena and turned to face the room fully. “Me, fer I am the one who killed his faither and went tae the king. And Catreena.”
“Catreena? Why Catreena?” Bran said, sitting forward sharply, his usual fatherly nature toward her visible at once.
“Because she was there, she was a part of it. Catreena was the one who kenned where tae find the pair of ye that morning. And she is young, beautiful, and unwed.” He sighed deeply, looking around at the faces all staring at him. In their own way, there were similarities between the brothers, as well as differences, but right now they all looked startlingly alike as they looked at him. “I fear every single one of us could be in danger.”
“Then we’ll be ready for him.” Alec stood hurriedly. “Evander, ye and I need tae talk over the guarding of this castle. Dunn, we must speak of what more ye can find out in yer scouting. Bran, ye and I must make as many friends as we can with the other clans in the meantime. With friends, we are stronger, and he is less likely tae attack us.”
As the brothers talked about their preparations, Tad turned and looked out of the window once again.
His eyes found Catreena in the grounds. She had just passed a drink to Kira and sat back on her haunches. She looked up at the window where he stood, as if she had sensed him looking, her glower plain.
Ah, ye detest me so much, Cat.
He winked at her, wondering if at this great distance she could see him. Her cheeks pinkened as she glowered and looked away from him again.
If only I was permitted tae charm ye, Cat, but nay. Ye will always be forbidden tae me.
With one last longing look, he turned his back on her.
The End.
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