Extended Epilogues

1708, Dornoch

Moira’s wrists throbbed, as she unsuccessfully tried to release her hands from the damp rope rubbing them raw.

The cellar reeked of mold and stale earth, and the air was heavy with the musty scent of decay. It was dark, so while she couldn’t see her surroundings, she could hear the faint squeak of mice and the rattling of their claws against the stone.

None of that bothered her, though.

She reminded herself sternly that she had to focus right now to get out alive. Although she had been taken to the cellar blindfolded, she had thoroughly scanned her surroundings the moment she had arrived at the laird’s party that evening, exactly as she’d been taught to do.

Moira knew that she was below the small cottage that was on the laird’s largest wheat crop field. It was close enough to the ocean that she could hear the waves, though not close enough to offer her an escape.

She knew that no matter how fast she ran toward the lapping tide, she’d be caught and killed before reaching any semblance of safety.

She cursed as she banged her restrained hands against the cellar gate. The laird’s party was still going on outside the main castle—she could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter.

It would likely go on for a few more hours, so she had to find a way out before then.

“We’ll deal wi’ ye later,” a grim looking guard had muttered, before chucking her inside.

She couldn’t believe her luck. Her first mission as an apprentice in the Triad, gathering intelligence on clan Buchanan, rival of the clan that had hired them. Everything seemed to have been going well at first. She had kept quiet, speaking only when spoken to, while letting her superior do most of the talking.

She had not thought she was asking too many questions, not enough to raise suspicion, at least.

Just as she was wrapping her cloak around her shoulders to leave, a couple of the Laird’s closest men stepped forward, and asked her to go on an evening stroll.

Moira knew immediately that something was wrong. She felt it, deep within the pit of her stomach. But she barely had time to think before she was blindfolded, tied, and carried away to the cell that she was now trying to escape.

It doesnae matter how it happened now, Moira reminded herself.

Despite the tightness in her stomach and the cold sweat on her forehead, as she wondered whether those were going to be her last breaths, she tried hard to calm down and keep her wits about her. She remembered the words of the Triad, dinnae fear death fer it’ll tak’ ye faster.

She had to find a solution, that was all she could think about now.

As she paced back and forth, she jolted, her thoughts interrupted by a loud thud nearby.

She froze, listening hard for any other noise.

Perhaps death was coming faster than she thought.

The sound of boots on the stone floor getting closer and closer to Moira, set a beat for her quickening heart.

Frantically, she searched along the cell floor with her hands for anything she could use to cut her hands free from their bindings.

It was too late.

The door that was closest swung wide open, and standing at the end of the hall was the large shadow of a man.

The light behind him obscuring his features, all she could see was his impressive stature. His arms, relaxed to the sides of his belted paid, looked like they could easily crush her. It was still too dark to see clearly, but her eyes shifted to his formidable thighs. Large and thick as though carved from stone. This lad had the body of a warrior, there was no doubt about that, and he could clearly overpower her with ease. She had to be very careful.

Her breath caught as he stepped forward, the dim light catching the glint of a blade at his hip.

As he walked toward her cell, she did her best to use the small slither of light to her advantage. She had to look for something to free, or at least protect, herself.

Something sharp. Perhaps she could take his dagger?

But as he came close enough for her to glimpse his face, she was surprised. His eyes seemed kind and gentle, he didn’t seem menacing at all.

“Are ye all right?” He asked, his voice low.

Was this a trick?

It’s wise o’ them tae bring in a bonnie an’ concerned looking lad tae confuse me and take me quietly tae me death.

“Just fine,” Moira said, her gaze darting to his dagger. “But I think I’ll feel a little better wi’ me hands untied from this rope.”

He brought his face close to the bars that stood between them. His eyes studied her with an intensity that caused an unwanted fluttering in her chest.

“Ye dinnae look fine,” he said, his voice echoing across the damp stone walls. “Dinnae worry I’m nae here tae hurt ye.”

Moira swallowed hard as she forced herself to hold his gaze.

He must be lying.

As a member of the Triad, she knew that tactics came in all shapes and sizes. She knew that someone could pretend to be helping you, pretend to be concerned, only to weaken you and later stab you in the back.

But there was something about the way he looked at her that confused her. It felt too earnest, too real.

“Who are ye?” She asked.

“Roderick Fraser,” he said. “I came here as a guest, I dinnae have much o’ a taste fer these things, so I went walkin’ along the lands. That’s when I saw ye gettin’ blindfolded an’ tied up.”

Moira’s pulse quickened. A guest? That meant he was another laird’s man—or perhaps a laird himself.

“Aye,” she said. “An’ ye came in here alone?”

“The place was unguarded.”

“Why?”

“Because the laird o’ this place is a fool, that’s why,” Roderick responded wryly.

Moira studied him intently. While she should have been looking for something to arm herself with, she was distracted again by the strong cut of his jaw, the way the side of his face creased when he smiled. But it was his eyes that unsettled her the most.

Deep and steady, as though they saw her for who she really was—Moira. Not just some foolish lass tied up in a cell.

“I meant,” she said, her voice soft, “why did ye come tae get me?”

“A lass like yerself shouldnae be left here tae rot in the dark alone.”

Moira’s cheeks flushed and something inside her warmed. This Roderick Fraser had no idea what sort of lass she was. But she liked the way he spoke as if he did.

As though he saw something in her worth saving.

“Now,” he continued, “I dinnae think we have much time, so stand back.”

Moira obeyed. There was calm and decisive authority in the way he spoke.

While she couldn’t really trust him, she also couldn’t just stay stuck in this cell.

As she backed up, pressing herself against the stone wall, she watched Roderick pull the small, sharp blade from his belt.

With a firm grip, he wedged the blade between the iron bars, testing the strength of the lock.

“Stay back,” he warned again.

“Aye,” Moira said. “Mak’ sure ye turn it the right way. Ye’ll break the blade if ye rush it.”

Roderick cast her a quick glance, his lips tilting into a smirk. “Comin’ from the lass who’s locked up?”

Moira lifted her chin, trying to ignore the strange feelings Roderick was stirring.

Something in her angered, but not at what the laird had said—she was angry at her body for the heat spreading up the side of her neck. Angry at that foreign feeling of tension pooling in her lower belly.

“Aye, well, just because I’m in here daesnae mean I’m daft,” she said.

Roderick’s smirk deepened. “Aye, of course nae,” he said.

He turned his attention back to the lock, moving the blade with precision. Moira noticed how the muscles in his forearm flexed as he twisted the blade.

She was watching him too closely, and not because she was trying to gather intel on him, which was exactly what she should have been doing. But because of something else.

Part of her relaxed.

And before she knew it, there was a soft snap.

The lock gave way and the door creaked open with a groan. Now there was nothing between them.

Something in her tightened as he came toward her with the blade. She took an instinctive step away from him, but she wasn’t really frightened.

He didn’t speak, but he brought the knife to the rope that bound her wrists, and his eyes flickered briefly to hers before concentrating on the knot.

She focused her attention on the rope as the sharp edge of the blade cut it with ease. Being this close to him was overwhelming, and she did everything she could to avoid his gaze for fear that he might notice how she was feeling.

The rope fell to the floor, and finally, she was free. She could have run, but she didn’t. She remained completely still, her heart pumping wildly in her chest.

“Thank ye,” she said softly. She was embarrassed, but she was grateful—she’d been given a second chance.

“Let’s get ye out o’ here,” he said. “Before the laird o’ this castle comes fer me head.”

“Aye,” she said.

Roderick moved ahead of her, and she followed closely behind, though she staggered slightly. The men who had locked her in there had been a little rough, and her muscles ached from being jostled, but she gritted her teeth, following behind him quickly.

They moved to the main level of the estate, heading for the door.

Roderick swung it open, the moonlight flooding in as the breeze swept his golden hair. She hadn’t noticed his hair was golden until now.

The intensity of his light eyes once again made her heart flutter.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low, carrying over the sound of the waves crashing nearby.

“Naething,” she said quickly, “me body is just a little sore is all, but I’m fine.”

“Put yer arm over me,” he demanded. “If we’re goin’ tae mak’ it across that field tae me horse—yer goin’ tae need some help.”

Moira knew that he was right. She hesitated for only a moment before nodding, stepping closer to him.

She could feel the heat of his body as she gently draped her arm over his broad shoulders.

As they moved through the night, she felt steadied, protected. Even though they hadn’t yet made it out, there was something about him that made her feel safe.

When they reached his horse at the far end of the field, he took her by the waist, lifting her up onto the saddle.

There was such an ease and certainty in the way he moved her—as though he had claimed her as his own.

Before she knew it, he swung himself up behind her, his large thighs trapping her onto the horse as she felt the warm sharp edges of his chest against her back. She tried to sit upright, but she couldn’t help but sink into him.

“Where am I takin’ ye?” He asked, his voice vibrating through her body.

“Tae the town.”

“Aye,” he said, pulling the reins on his horse.

As they galloped away from the laird’s estate and toward the closest town, Moira’s thoughts raced.

She was supposed to be thinking about the mess she had gotten herself into, not being distracted by him.

They rode in silence, until Moira was confident they were far enough away from her captors to not get caught.

“Ye can stop just here,” she said, pointing toward a small alley.

He nodded, stopping his horse. He stepped down, and just as she was about to jump off, he extended out his hand to help her.

She was planning to run away swiftly once they had stopped, but something in his expression made her pause.

“Thank ye,” she said softly, her breath hitching as he helped her down.

Once on the ground, she took a few steps forward, and he followed without another word, keeping beside her protectively. She turned to face him and they stood in silence, the tension broken only by the strong wind.

“Here,” Moira finally said, reaching into her pocket and outstretching her hand to reveal the Triad’s coin.

She didn’t know what else to say, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Not when those honey-colored eyes made her feel so small.

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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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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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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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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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★★★★★ 130 ratings

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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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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★★★★★ 130 ratings

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 book