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Highlander Mine
Juliette Miller


Deep in the lush Highlands, a powerful laird with everything to lose must risk it all for the lass who storms into his keep—and his heart.Raised on the debauched margins of society, Amelia Taylor depends upon her quick wit and fiery spirit to survive. When danger closes in on her already precarious home, she flees into the Highlands and finds refuge in the iron-strong circle of Clan Mackenzie. There, her lack of propriety and intriguing beauty draw the attentions of their formidable leader. But to remain safe from pursuit, she must conceal her identity, even if it means deceiving Laird Knox Mackenzie.A fiercely guarded and staunchly moral warrior, Knox never expected a ravishing stranger like Amelia to reawaken his desires. Yet as their heated confrontations unlock untold passion, temptation proves impossible to resist. So when Amelia’s tapestry of lies begins to unravel, the secrets from her dark past threaten both his Clan and a future they can only dare to dream of….







Deep in the lush Highlands, a powerful laird with everything to lose must risk it all for the lass who storms into his keep—and his heart.

Raised on the debauched margins of society, Amelia Taylor depends upon her quick wit and fiery spirit to survive. When danger closes in on her already precarious home, she flees into the Highlands and finds refuge in the iron-strong circle of Clan Mackenzie. There, her lack of propriety and intriguing beauty draw the attentions of their formidable leader. But to remain safe from pursuit, she must conceal her identity, even if it means deceiving Laird Knox Mackenzie.

A fiercely guarded and staunchly moral warrior, Knox never expected a ravishing stranger like Amelia to reawaken his desires. Yet as their heated confrontations unlock untold passion, temptation proves impossible to resist. So when Amelia’s tapestry of lies begins to unravel, the secrets from her dark past threaten both his Clan and a future they can only dare to dream of….


Highlander Mine

Juliette Miller














www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Once again,

For M


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#ubd4f16ce-11ce-5ae9-af60-1e6a477aa221)

CHAPTER TWO (#ua28f3a82-0bbb-5ea9-8774-d8566c48151a)

CHAPTER THREE (#uf21bc8b2-d17e-57da-8549-2d41aa54e480)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

THE DANGER OF the journey ahead was equal to the perils we had left behind, this I knew. My knowledge of the Highlands was practically nonexistent. I might as well have been embarking on an escapade to the jungles of Africa, or captaining my own pirate ship to the newly discovered Americas.

Yet I was glad to be free of stuffy, seedy Edinburgh. I had never been past its borders and I was sure we had entered another world entirely, one that was as free as it was possible to be. As we hitched rides farther and farther up into the rolling peaks of the high country, it seemed impossible that such a place could harbor threats of any kind, so peaceful and serene its landscape appeared. We could hide ourselves in these picturesque hills and protected valleys, I was sure. No more murderous ganglords to contend with. No cardsharks or knife fights. No bawdy dens full of loose women and predatory men. Just wide-open countryside, glistening expanses of sparkling, sun-shimmered water and an endless azure sky.

Of course, there were dangers. I was a young woman traveling alone, after all, aside from my small nephew, who fancied himself a mighty warrior but was in fact a nine-year-old waif with a toy wooden sword that he clutched even now, in his sleep, as we rode along on the back of a hay wagon. Its driver was unaware of our quiet presence—we had become surprisingly adept at keeping ourselves hidden, with all the practice we’d had over days past. As soon as the wagon slowed, we’d jump and take our chances with the next mode of transport.

I wasn’t sure of our exact destination. The Highlands had seemed a good place to hide from our pursuers. Indeed it was a perfect choice. Was there a more expansive place on earth? I doubted as much, though I’d only read books on the subject of travel. I had spent my entire life cooped up in two city residences only streets apart. And, while the social divide of my homes’ geography might as well have seen oceans between them, this was a detail that hardly mattered now. My past was well and truly behind me.

At least for now.

We’d been on the road for five days, climbing ever higher into the undulating green mountains. We’d seen very few people. Farmers, mostly. A lone fisherman. Shepherds and goatherds, who seemed as mild and docile as the flocks they tended.

Aye, this world was new to me, but I wasn’t that naive. Men were men, after all, and I knew of their tendencies far too well. Everyone had heard of the Highlands clans and their armies, their fearsome warriors and their bloody battles. Watching the glowing orb of the yellow sun hover ever lower over the horizon, I wondered now if those stories were merely folklore. I’d seen no sign of war or aggression in these lovely heather-peppered hills. Only honest endeavor and peaceful coexistence.

It might have been a sixth sense or the slide of a silver-edged cloud over the low-hanging sun, but some instinctive flutter warned me that safety was only a temporary illusion. Despite this, I felt wary but not afraid. Even sword-wielding warriors were preferable to the threats we’d left behind. At least skilled soldiers loyal to their cause and their kin might have some sense of honor and integrity, not like the lawless, malevolent beast who would be scouring Edinburgh at this very moment to find our trail.

I only wished we could travel faster. I would go to the very ends of the earth to hide and protect Hamish. As I looked around at the countryside, it occurred to me that we might have actually reached a place where that might be possible.

The wagon driver slowed his horses to a walk. I peered around the back of the wagon to see we were approaching a large tavern. We’d reached some oasis of community within this vast green desert of solitude.

I shook my nephew. “Hamish,” I whispered. “Wake up.”

Hamish was instantly alert, his dark eyes bright, his sword held in his small fist. He understood the danger, even if he didn’t grasp the severity of our current predicament. It helped that his lifelong dream was to travel to the Highlands, a desire that seemed almost innate. He’d yearned for an adventure for as long as I could recall.

And now, despite the gravity of our situation, I almost smiled at his sparked excitement. He loved the open majesty of this place, so different from the enclosed, squalid streets of the city. “You’ve taken ridiculously well to this life on the run,” I told him quietly.

He perched at the edge of the wagon’s deck, his sandy brown hair tousled and flecked with hay. He looked back at me, a smile on his beatific face. “So have you, Ami,” he whispered, pronouncing the address with all the flair of its French meaning: friend. He was the only person who used this shortened form of my full name, Amelia. Once, a short lifetime ago, I had attended one of the most exclusive schools in Edinburgh. Hamish had never had such a privilege. So I’d taken it upon myself to teach him everything I knew. It was one of the few things I had to be proud of: my nephew, at the age of nine, could read, write, do sums and speak basic French better than many of the fully grown men who frequented my family’s establishment. I was slightly less proud of Hamish’s uncanny knack not only for counting cards but also for dealing them. I’m only taking after you, Ami, he’d said to me. You’re the best dealer in Edinburgh. Whether or not it was an accurate accusation was no longer relevant. I’d only done what I needed to do to survive, as I would again, in whatever way this new life required.

I held his arm, taking in the details of our surroundings. It was dusk now and the dimming daylight would give us an advantage. A thick copse stood behind the tavern: a place to take cover until we could fully assess the clientele of the inn. Wagons of many descriptions were parked along the road, and upward of twelve horses had been tied to a hitching rail. They were slow, sturdy farm horses. None were coated with sweat as though they’d been ridden at pace all the way from Edinburgh. I felt confident that there was nothing to fear here, that our pursuers were a long way from tracing our trail to this unlikely hideout.

“Now,” I whispered.

The slow pace of the wagon made the disembarkment easy enough. Our only belongings were Hamish’s sword and a small bag I carried, which contained two woolen blankets, a single spare, fine dress of my sister’s, a wineskin full of water and a few coins I’d managed to take from the cashbox as we’d made our escape. I had also brought the small red book that was my most sentimental possession; in it, I had recorded dreams, scribbled poems and wishes, and drawn pictures of trees and stars and fanciful yearnings. An impractical possession, aye, but symbolically precious to me nonetheless and light enough to carry. Holding on to Hamish’s hand, I led him past the entrance of the tavern and into the woods. We needed to check our appearances and get our story straight.

Tonight, it seemed, we might need to put all our skills of deceit and persuasion to good use. We were both, it had to be said, somewhat gifted in the ways of trickery, since we’d had a regular need to fabricate tales to various people and on a daily basis, like debt collectors, upset wives or the law, to name a few. These were skills we had honed over many years: an unfortunate necessity of our lifestyle, but one I was now glad we had some practice with.

“I’m hungry,” Hamish said. “I want some meat and potatoes with gravy, some stew with bread fresh from the oven and melted butter and some—”

“Aye,” I said. “But first, what’s it to be? This tavern is sure to be full of local farmers and traders. They’ll likely know each other, and they’ll know that we’re not from around here. We’ll need a convincing story. I could get work here possibly, as a cleaner or a cook. We need money.”

“A cook? You don’t know how to cook, Ami. They’ll probably want you to perform other services. Why don’t we just offer up a card game and win some money?” Regrettably, my nephew was far too worldly for his own good.

“We’re not playing cards anymore,” I said. “We’re starting a new life. An honest one. One that doesn’t involve cheating, stealing, smuggling or gambling.”

“But gambling is so much easier than working. And besides, it’s the only thing we know how to do.”

This riled me. But it would hardly do to get upset with him. It was my responsibility to be not only his guardian but also his role model. I would have to show him that honesty was more effective than the life we were used to. I hoped I could. I wasn’t sure whether my new philosophy was even true, nor did I have any idea how to employ it. “It seems easier, Hamish. But it isn’t. Look how it’s turned out for all of us. Hiding, separated, on the run. Gambling is like stealing, when you use the kinds of tricks we do. Stealing makes people angry. You know it as well as I do. ’Tis up to us to find a better way for ourselves.”

My nephew looked up at me, unconvinced.

“Or at least try to,” I said, a suggestion that was met with at least a degree of acquiescence. His eyebrows furrowed in the middle as he mulled this over. And I continued to formulate our plan. “I propose that we are well-bred travelers from Edinburgh who have fallen on hard times, whose carriage was—”

“Taken over by bandits!”

I considered this. It wasn’t a completely unreasonable suggestion. How else might we have parted ways with our transport? Were there bandits in these parts?

“Mr. Fawkes told me he once got robbed by bandits as he traveled the Highlands, years ago,” Hamish said.

The very mention of my nemesis was enough to see my blood run cold. My voice sounded frayed when I quickly changed the subject. I hated the sound of that vulnerability, that fear. “Or maybe a wheel broke off and we had to make way on foot.”

“But why wouldn’t we have an escort or a driver with us, in that case?” Hamish said.

A good point. “Maybe he stayed behind to fix the carriage, and promised to come for us as soon as—”

“Why can we lie but not play cards?” my nephew asked.

I paused. This was a difficult question and one that I wanted to answer with careful consideration. “We’re only making up these stories to keep ourselves out of harm’s way. As soon as we’ve secured a safe situation for ourselves, then we won’t have need to lie anymore.”

He appeared drawn to the novelty of this approach. “Let’s try not to lie, then, as much as we can—except the part about the bandits,” he said. “We’ll say our father was a doctor—yours was, after all—and our parents have died, and we were forced to flee to escape our creditors.”

My heart thudded in a grief-stricken beat. This lie was upsettingly close to the truth. It was then that I felt the first twinge of brittleness since we’d left Edinburgh. Making a concerted effort to be as fearless and resilient as I needed to be, I hadn’t allowed myself to think about any of it, or any of them, for my nephew’s sake. Hamish’s words were shards of truth in the smashed pane of our history, with too many broken pieces to ever mend. It was true that my parents had died, years ago. The thought of Hamish’s own parents and their precarious situation almost brought me to tears. But I held them back, concentrating instead on the task at hand. My father had been a doctor, aye. And we had fled to escape, although “creditors” was a generous allowance to what our pursuers actually were. “That makes us sound like criminals.”

Hamish thought about this, and then his small face lit up with his idea. “Let’s say we were en route to visit relatives, but were attacked by bandits who took all our money, and so we’re now in need of work to pay for our return to Edinburgh—or to our relatives, if we can find them.”

“They’ll ask who our relatives are.”

“Mysterious relatives,” Hamish said. “We don’t know their names. But we know we have Highlands relations, and since we’re orphans, we were curious. Since we have no other family left, we came to search them out.”

Not bad. Not bad at all. This would give us a reason to ask about the local people, the Highlands clans and the work opportunities. “I’m not sure if I should be happy about or rather alarmed by your ability to spin lies with such ease, nephew.”

He grinned. “I learned everything I know from you, Ami.”

I ignored that, and began picking the hay out of his hair. I only wished I could have taught him even more. When my education had come to a very abrupt and final end at the age of eleven, I’d vowed to read every book in Edinburgh, or at least those I could get my hands on. Since that very day, when I wasn’t working, I was studying, teaching myself the ways and means of every damn subject I could get my hands on. My sister, Cecelia, had once said I was probably the most qualified astronomer, botanist, linguist, zoologist and everything else, if only anyone had bothered to test me. You just never knew when an opportunity might present itself, or a random morsel of knowledge might be your saving grace. My tenacious study habits were of little consequence now. Survival was, and always had been, the order of the day.

With our plan decided, we turned to our appearances. After removing all the straw from Hamish’s hair, I used some water to smooth it into place. There was little that could be done about the state of my nephew’s clothing, which was dirty but not yet showing signs of too much wear and tear. In our haste, Hamish hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes and I had not had the chance to retrieve anything for him. I’d only just managed to grab a spare dress for myself, from my sister’s cupboard. Her clothes were finer than mine, since her husband refused to allow his wife and son to appear outwardly as though his business was in financial distress, which it most certainly had been. In hindsight, it seemed a strange detail for him to be so particular about, with all the other worries he’d had to contend with. But now I was glad of his pride. My brother-in-law’s insistence that appearances be kept up meant that I now had a dark blue gown to wear that was not only clean but also of the finest quality, enough to support the story we were about to spin. It mattered little that the dress was in fact a size too small. My sister wasn’t quite as curvy as I was. I ordered Hamish to turn his back and, after a brief struggle, managed—just—to pour myself into the garment. It was of a lower cut than I was used to and, with the sizing issue, was in fact quite revealing. I was glad I had my light blue shawl, which I wrapped around my shoulders and secured in the front with a silver kilt pin that had once belonged to my father.

“That will have to do,” I said, attempting to tame my hair into place. My braid was still coiled, but some of the shorter strands at the front had come loose

“No one will expect you to be perfectly groomed,” Hamish commented, turning to watch me. “We’ve been attacked by bandits, remember, and forced to walk for miles after our driver was killed and our carriage stolen.”

“Killed? Now we’ve witnessed a murder and been robbed?”

“If he was still alive they’d look for him.”

This was becoming increasingly macabre by the minute. Either way, he was right. I’d be more convincing if my hair was in some state of disarray. I left the escaped tendrils loose to frame my face. My hair was long, wavy and a light shade of red that was almost blond. Strawberry-blond, my sister called it. My sister Cecelia’s hair was the exact same shade as her son’s: light brown with streaks of honey and gold.

Hamish was looking at me and there were glistening tears in his eyes. My nephew, despite his tender age, rarely cried. The sight of his tears now sent an awful stab of woe through my chest. I knew I was reminding him of his mother, and it saddened me that she might be lost to him for quite some time, leaving him with only me for companionship and protection.

“Tell me again why they couldn’t come with us,” he said.

“You know why,” I said. “They have business to attend to. When we find a safe place to stay, I’ll send word to them, and they’ll join us.” I wiped his tears, knowing only too well that it would be too dangerous to send word; interception was too risky. “In the meantime, I’ll take good care of you.”

“And I’ll take good care of you,” he countered, recovering a shred of his earlier enthusiasm for this adventure.

“Now,” I said, “let’s go get that meal. Meat with potatoes and gravy. Stew and fresh bread. As much as you can eat.”

This cheered him further and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Holster your weapon, soldier,” I told him. “We don’t want to frighten anyone.”

He slung the wooden blade so it hung from his belt.

So it was, and we headed for the tavern door.

It was a lively scene. Clearly a popular local gathering place. There was a large contingent of farmers and tradesmen who appeared to know each other and were already well into their evening’s allotment of ale. They sat at long, central tables that had been laid with platters of food. Several of them watched as we entered, but their conversation remained on more important matters: the planting of crops and the shearing of sheep. In the quieter corners sat smaller groups of travelers. Several sat alone. I spied an empty table near the back of the tavern and led Hamish to it.

A serving woman came to us. “Is it a meal you’re after?” She was perhaps thirty-five years of age, or maybe younger, with tired brown eyes and lank hair she’d tied back. Her clothing was plain and well worn, but neat. In her voice were inflections of boredom, resignedness, a clear note of I’d-rather-be-anywhere-but-here. Maybe she needed another server to help her, to ease her workload. I could earn money, to pay for food and accommodation. It would take a long time to earn enough not only to survive on but also to save for the return journey and the stay in Edinburgh. Gambling would be quicker, and easier. I refused the direction of my thoughts. But I couldn’t help picturing myself, a year from now, wearing a similar coarse brown dress, taking yet another order, still hiding and waiting. I couldn’t afford to be overly choosy, I reminded myself. I would make do as best I could and accept the lot I was given gracefully.

Or would I?

“A meal, for two, please,” I said. “A large one. And a pot of strong tea. With sugar.” I almost asked her right then if there was work available. Something stopped me. I could at least enjoy a meal first—the last I would be able to afford—before I resigned myself to my fate. A fate. There were always choices. I warred with myself as the serving woman walked off. Serving was gainful, honest employment. But so dull. There would be plenty to eat, a warm place to sleep. Hamish might get hired by a local farmer, out of sight of passersby, as I cooked and cleaned. So isolated and monotonous.

I thought of my mother, who had worried constantly about my impetuous nature. You’ve a little devil that sits on your left shoulder, Amelia, who whispers willful ideas into your ear. Listen to the angel on your right shoulder. Let that be the voice that guides you. But the devil’s advice had always seemed so much more intriguing. To ease my mother’s concerns I’d tried my best—and mostly succeeded—to do as she said, to tune that little devil out, to learn discipline and control. Tragedy, however, had all but silenced the voice of reason. My parents died when I was eleven years old. And once my sister, who was seven years older than me, had been forced to marry a struggling gaming club owner to keep us off the streets after the death of our parents, I’d had much more to worry about than conscience and etiquette.

Our meal was served. The food was plain but hearty. I hadn’t felt so hungry for a very long time. Ever, in fact.

Before we could finish eating, there was a commotion at the door.

I reached for Hamish in an instinctive movement. Could it be that Fawkes and his men had tracked us? So soon? I grabbed Hamish’s sleeve as terror flooded me, and I could taste my fear as a metallic, bitter tang.

Before we could make a move to flee, an imposing man walked into the tavern, followed by several more. These weren’t city people: that was glaringly obvious at the very first glimpse of their brawny, unfamiliar-looking silhouettes as they entered the dining room, which seemed to shrink in their presence.

They wore tartan clan kilts and weapons belts equipped with plentiful supplies of swords and knives. They were enormous, not only tall but big and wide-shouldered, muscular and lethal-looking. I heard Hamish’s quick intake of breath. These were the clan warriors we’d read stories of, with their weaponry and their battle scars. They looked every bit as savage as one might have expected. Their hair was worn long, to the shoulders, with small braids at their temples. Each one of them looked as though he could kill a man with his bare hands, if so inclined. They gave off an aura of confidence and contained ferocity. Yet I couldn’t help noticing they were exceptionally good-looking men, for all their subdued aggression, with strong features and glowing vitality.

The farmers and tradesmen did not appear to be frightened by these men, but rather respectful. It occurred to me that warriors such as these would be not only the protectors of any given district, but also the lawmakers.

I noticed then that the men were followed by three women.

These women looked somewhat out of place, their fashionable clothing and petite, refined countenance offering a sharp contrast to the men’s size and overt ruggedness. Groomed and glamorous, the women were well dressed in gowns and capes of unusual design. My sister and I had always had an interest in fashion, even if we’d only occasionally had the opportunity to indulge it, and it was easy to see that these women had access to quality seamstresses. It seemed clear enough, too, that these were Highlands clan women, and I was surprised at their elegance. I was reminded that the clans’ ruling families were not heathens or barbarians, as I might have imagined, but were instead composed of nobility. This was something I’d had little cause to give much thought to, but now there was something highly fascinating about these very-masculine men and the trio of petite, stylish women they were clearly assigned to accompany on their travels, to guard with their swords and their lives.

Hamish had recovered from his initial fear and now, his mute fascination. “Do you think those swords are as long as the scabbards that hold them?” Hamish whispered.

I eyed one of the leather sheaths in question. “It seems impossible that anyone could lift one, if they are,” I said in hushed tones, “but then, look at the size of those men’s arms. And the scabbards look well made. I would expect that they would fit the swords like a glove.”

“Aye,” Hamish agreed, agog and wide-eyed. These men before us embodied everything his childhood fantasies had promised, and more. He’d modeled himself on the stories of the Highlander warriors I’d read him as a small boy, on their strength and their bravery, having never seen anyone like that on the backstreets of Edinburgh. And here they were: real and fierce. Hamish had been carrying his toy swords around since he was barely old enough to walk, but he’d never seen anything like this. I couldn’t help thinking he’d found his element here in these Highlands, and we’d barely just arrived. I wasn’t sure why this realization, though hardly surprising, caused a ripple of unease in me. I realized in that moment that I was entering new territory that would very likely change not only my outlook but the entire course of my future.

Then again, that’s exactly what I’d intended all along, by fleeing the city. A new life, for him, at least. And here, in this very place, I could feel that new life beginning to unfold, reaching and affecting us both.

The women took a seat at the table next to ours and the men sat at a large round table near them. The server attended to them immediately.

One of the women noticed our interest and she caught my eye. She appeared to be the youngest of the three, and she was, even from this small distance, quite strikingly beautiful. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of cerulean blue that matched her dress, and her hair was a shiny, rich dark brown. She appeared equally interested in my own appearance, taking in the snug fit of my dress and my slightly windblown dishevelment. She smiled, and behind a thin veil of shyness, I could detect genuine interest, and a light note of concern. Clearly I was unaccompanied by any escort aside from a small boy whose eyes were glued to her guards even as he continued to wolf down his food as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

My position, as a woman traveling without protection, was clearly not only inappropriate, but dangerous. Especially from the vantage point of such privilege. I guessed that these women were returning to their Highlands clan after a short trip to Edinburgh on business of one sort or another—which had more than likely involved copious amounts of shopping. They were practically sparkling with fresh grooming and the newness of their garments.

I felt a million miles removed from such splendor. My dress was fine enough, aye, if somewhat constricting, but I had in fact been on the run for upward of five days, had eaten little, slept on hay wagons or in open fields and, now for the first time, felt the accumulating effects of all the tumult of recent weeks to my very bones.

In fact, I should have been counting my blessings. I was alive, and so was Hamish. And I held on to hope that Cecelia, too, was holed up in some safe haven, being fed a meal as fortifying as ours. For her sake, and her son’s, I resolved to somehow beat Sebastian Fawkes at his own game, to get my revenge by saving her, and saving myself.

I noticed then that Hamish had left the table. Curiosity had overcome him. He was circling the soldiers, keeping a not-so-subtle distance from them, and arousing the interest of the young woman in blue, as well as the other two.

They watched my nephew for a moment, taking in his outfit, and his beauty; it was true he had been exceptionally blessed in this way.

“Would you like to touch one of the swords?” the young woman in blue asked him.

Hamish, alas, lacked any hint of bashfulness. He was a straightforward boy who was quite aware of his angelic face, his sun-touched hair and his long, graceful limbs. He had used his looks to his own advantage upon many occasions, a practice I had not only encouraged but taught him. “Aye, milady. I’m the son of a doctor, not a warrior. I’ve seen plenty of scalpels but never a sword.”

Ah. I felt an equal amount of pride and dismay at his quick response. He was already spinning our tale.

“Lachlan, would you mind terribly?” the young woman addressed one of the guards. “The lad is so sweet.”

The guard named Lachlan eyed Hamish for a moment, and I detected his mild annoyance, as though he was lamenting the fact that he wasn’t out-of-doors spearing things, instead finding himself relegated to guard duty and the unappealing assignment of entertaining a vagrant boy. Even so, it was clear enough that Lachlan would not refuse whatever request the young woman made of him. He obliged, unsheathing his colossal weapon in one easy swipe, holding it up in front of Hamish’s rounded eyes.

I’d never seen Hamish so awestruck. He reached up tentatively to touch his fingers to the flat side of the blade.

“Don’t touch the blade, lad, or you’ll be picking your neatly sliced fingers up off the floor,” Lachlan said with persuasive eloquence.

“I wasn’t going to touch the blade,” Hamish replied, miffed that the soldier would think him so dim-witted. “I know it’s sharp. It wouldn’t be much use if it wasn’t.”

Several of the other soldiers chuckled at this and I felt a ripple of shame that Hamish would respond with such impertinence. Lachlan, however, appeared more impressed by Hamish’s answer than angered. Strength and bravery were their currency, I supposed. Hamish understood this and had just bought himself a hint of this soldier’s respect. Clearly, despite his small size in the face of these enormous, armed men, my nephew was not intimidated. And there was a shiny-eyed eagerness to him that Lachlan could not help but respond to.

“I’d offer to let you hold it,” Lachlan said, “but the sword outweighs you.”

More laughter from the men.

“Here,” Lachlan continued, retrieving a large knife from its holster at his belt. “You can hold this one.”

Now that Hamish was well and truly engaged, the young woman in blue took the opportunity to make light conversation. She was clearly somewhat overcome with curiosity about my obvious predicament. Her blue eyes gleamed with bright interest, and her shiny brown hair waved prettily around a pale face that was highlighted by the subtle paint of pink on her cheeks.

“I’m Christie Mackenzie,” she said. “This is my sister, Ailie.” She motioned to the woman on her right, whose beauty was equal to her sister’s but somehow more reserved. Christie’s beauty had a fresh, mischievous appeal while Ailie’s conveyed composure and sophistication. Ailie smiled politely. Her hair was darker than Christie’s and her eyes were a deep shade of indigo blue. “And this is our friend Katriona,” Christie continued.

Katriona was perhaps as many as ten years older than the two sisters, and her manner was markedly less friendly. Her smile was so forced that if taken out of context, it might have been mistaken for a grimace, perhaps from a mild case of indigestion. She was not as beautiful as the sisters, but it could be said that she was exceptionally well presented. Any beauty she might have possessed was eclipsed by the pinched, rigid impatience that set her face, and by the youthful radiance of the two women she traveled with. The ill fit of my dress did not escape her notice, nor did she appear particularly pleased by Hamish’s precocious joy as he held Lachlan’s glinting knife.

“I’m Amelia Taylor,” I said. “And this is Hamish.” I stopped myself from giving Hamish’s correct surname just in time. We were pretending to be siblings, I remembered. “My brother.”

Christie asked the question she must have been dying to ask all along. “And you travel alone?”

“We had an escort, of course,” Hamish answered, with such sincerity I suffered a pang of guilt that overshadowed any pride that might have accompanied it. The lad was gifted. I should, as his guardian, be grooming him for a career in stage acting and if he hadn’t been so staunchly adamant about his decision to become a soldier, I might have considered setting our sights for the theaters of London as a hideout, rather than the remote expanses of the Highlands. My guilt only compounded as I recalled telling him that it was likely that we would be reunited with his parents more quickly if we were particularly convincing in our storytelling. “But he met an untimely end at the hands of the dastardly bandits that stole our carriage and all our belongings.”

This news was met with the collective dismay of his now-rapt audience. “Bandits?” said Lachlan, bristling, his eyes surveying the room as though they might be among us. “What bandits?”

“Aye,” replied Hamish. “Five of them. They wore black masks and capes and they rode black horses. Ruthless, they were. Killed our escort right in front of our eyes. Speared him through the heart with a silver-hilted sword.”

A twinge of pain brought me to the realization that I had bitten my own lip. I hoped Hamish’s imaginative yarn wasn’t too creative. I didn’t like the thought of what these war-hardened men might do to us if they suspected we were deceiving them. But there was no point correcting my nephew; it would only make them more inclined to doubt us. Strangely, I felt an uncharacteristic sense of regret that we were in fact deceiving them, these beautiful sisters with their kind eyes and their enviable lot in life. I would never have thought to wish for such a thing, but I couldn’t help feeling a sense of wonder at their fortune. Their manly band of escorts, all rugged good looks and masculine protectiveness against any and every potential threat these sisters might face; their dark beauty; their innate sense of style that was only enhanced tenfold by the wealth that so flatteringly showcased it.

Ah, well. Overblown luck was not something I sought out, or even valued especially, having experienced so little of it. Which was why I had made a point of learning the tricks and mathematics that ensured something akin to luck. My kind of manufactured luck, however, was only useful at the gaming tables. It didn’t translate further afield than that. And even my skills at trickery in the gambling den hadn’t been enough to keep my brother-in-law’s broken, corrupt business afloat. Or my sister safe. It was best to carry on and appreciate the smaller fortunes in life, like this hearty meal we were almost finished with. And this fine brew of sweet tea.

“We’ve been forced to make our way on foot,” I said, before Hamish could elaborate further. “We were fortunate to get a ride part of the way on a farmer’s wagon, which explains our somewhat ragged appearance. And then we saw this tavern.”

“We’ve come from Edinburgh,” continued Hamish. “To search for some long-lost relatives whose names we don’t even know.”

“You have relatives in the Highlands?” Christie asked, intrigued.

Hamish answered before I could. “We do, but we know nothing about their identity. Our father’s final words to us, as he lay pale and choking for breath on his deathbed, his life seeping away from the disease that tragically stole him from us, were these—‘Go to the Highlands and seek out my cousin. He’s a good man and he will take you in. He’ll care for you as if you were his own.’ Of course, we were asking him, ‘Who, Father? Who is this cousin you speak of? Why have you never told us of him before? What’s his name?’ But it was too late. Father’s eyes had gone dull and lifeless. His final breath rasped from his body in a weak sigh. And then he was gone.” Hamish’s eyes, the little puck, were shiny with emotion. And he was still clutching the lethal-looking knife with both hands, which somehow only added to the performance. “We buried him next to our mother.”

“Oh, you poor child,” exclaimed Christie.

“I have Amelia to take care of me,” Hamish told her, with what I knew to be genuine relief tinting his words. “And I take care of her. We’re not alone.” I’d practically raised Hamish, since his parents had been so busy running the club, and I’d loved him madly from the moment he was born. In the nine years between then and now, my role in his life as aunt and guide had offered me as many moments of joy as any relationship I’d ever had. His complete trust in me—a trust that shone now from his seraphic face—strengthened my resolve to keep him safe and to give him every chance in life, despite our significant hardships. If I had to stoop to servitude or to spinning a few harmless lies to do it, then so be it. “And so,” Hamish continued solemnly, “with no living relatives left in Edinburgh, we’ve come to seek out this cousin. But then, out of nowhere, a band of renegades surrounded us, attacking as one! Ours was a fine enough carriage, filled with all our belongings. They took everything. James tried to protect our family heirlooms. We told him to let them have it, that it wasn’t worth his life, but he wouldn’t listen. He was loyal to his bones.”

James. His father’s name. An odd choice for our fictional driver. But then, I knew Hamish’s bond with his father had never been a strong one.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Katriona said, her mild empathy laced with more pronounced vestiges of disbelief. “Who are these bandits in black? I had no idea such people even existed.”

Unfortunately, Katriona’s skepticism aggravated the little devil in me, the whispering contrariness that resided persistently within my character no matter how hard I tried to banish it. That she would so immediately question Hamish’s sincerity irked me, even if she had good reason to do so. I found myself yearning to bolster my nephew’s story to support him, and to silence her. “Oh, I’d never heard of such a thing, either,” I said. “At first we thought them an apparition, a wayward fear that might have stepped out of the fathomless pages of medieval history, traveling as we were through such unfamiliar territory. It was why our escort was so unwilling to cooperate with them. We simply couldn’t believe we were being robbed so aggressively, and in such an idyllic setting. And when they demanded we step free of the carriage, I was relieved, at least, that they intended to let us go. I willingly bargained with them, giving them all our possessions, my jewelry—most of which belonged to our dearly departed mother—our horses and the carriage itself in exchange for our freedom, even if it meant we might wander for days on end without any sign of shelter or assistance. But James was worried about our safety under such conditions. He argued. He refused to relent.” I faltered here, almost getting swept away in the emotional momentum of my tale. “’Twas a brutal end,” I finally said. “But thankfully, Hamish and I were allowed to flee. We hid behind the incline of a small hill until they were gone.”

“If I’d had this knife,” Hamish added, “I’d have run after them.”

Christie’s eyes sparked with concern as she pictured our harrowing ordeal. Lachlan, however, sported a completely different expression as his gaze flicked back and forth between Hamish and me. If I wasn’t mistaken, he appeared faintly amused, more relaxed than a soldier should have been when confronted with news of this kind: that evildoers were loose in his near vicinity, that his noble charges might be under dire threat. I had no way of knowing if he was reading our lie with ease. I suspected it. Maybe, as a seasoned soldier born of these lands, he knew that there were no black-clad bandits wreaking havoc; he’d know of them if such people existed. Maybe he’d banished those that once prowled these lands himself. Or he’d listened at the knee of his warrior father, who’d killed them off one by one.

If Lachlan did detect our dishonesty, he made no effort to expose it. His concentration returned to his ale, from which he took a long drink. For this I was profoundly grateful. I decided I liked him, and if there was ever a way I could ever reciprocate the favor, I would.

I realized that Hamish was now holding something in his right hand, the hand that was not currently occupied with the glinting, oversize weapon. A bag, small and blue. Exactly the same fabric, in fact, as the dress that Christie wore. A matching accessory.

My heart thumped with a clenching realization. Nay, I thought. He hasn’t. He’s pickpocketed her! I knew only too well how deftly skilled he was. One might have argued that our predicament was severe enough to warrant theft, or worse. But it was exactly what had put us in this position of vagrancy in the first place, and I wanted nothing more to do with it. This lady, given her hefty bodyguards and their abundant weaponry, was quite possibly the worst choice of target ever in the entire history of thievery.

Hamish spoke, with the utmost politeness. “Milady. Your bag. You dropped it. I wouldn’t want you to leave it behind mistakenly.”

Christie looked confused. Her hand ghosted to the now-empty pocket of her coat, where her bag had been. Then she reached to take the small purse that Hamish held out to her. “Thank you. What a kindhearted lad you are.”

With that, as my heart rioted in my chest, Christie looked at Ailie somewhat beseechingly. “Knox would want to hear about their plight,” she said to her sister. “And he’d want to learn more about these bandits from the witnesses themselves.”

Ailie appeared to contemplate this for a moment, and she looked at me thoughtfully, weighing her decision.

“Aye,” Ailie finally said, to my surprise. “You must come with us.” It was the first time she had spoken. Her voice was soft yet ingrained with a sure, quiet strength, as though she was used to being listened to with interest and obedience. It made me wonder what kind of rank these women held. They were clearly noble; their obvious wealth and their brawny entourage were evidence enough of that.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea—” Katriona began.

“Aye, you must,” Christie agreed quickly. “You can’t stay here at this tavern, and you’ve nowhere else to go. You’ll come with us and we’ll help you find your family. Knox will probably know of them. He knows everyone.”

“Who’s Knox?” asked Hamish.

“Our brother,” said Christie.

“Laird Knox Mackenzie,” Katriona stated with emphasis, as though everyone on the planet, from the tribesmen deep in the jungles of Africa to the painted plainspeople of the faraway Americas, had heard of Laird Knox Mackenzie. Except us.

Not only Katriona’s tone but also her reverential mention of this Laird Knox Mackenzie made me question whether accompanying these women would be in our best interest, as appealing as such an offer might seem. The last thing we needed was to be under the thumb of a lordish, controlling overseer. It was the very situation we were fleeing from. And while I could easily recognize that the brother of these charming sisters might be a far more appealing overseer than the one we had left behind, my pride would not allow us to be charity cases, no matter how desperate we might have been.

I shook my head. “Nay. We wouldn’t dream of imposing on you like that,” I said. Hamish gave me a look of startled irritation. I already knew he would follow Lachlan around like a loyal puppy wherever the beefed-up warrior happened to go if given half the opportunity. “I had already decided to search for gainful employment, to pay our way to our father’s cousin’s lands, wherever they may be.”

“Perhaps we could help you find some work,” offered Ailie, “once you have spoken with Knox.”

“Aye,” said Christie, turning to me. “Our brother, laird of lairds, is very thorough when it comes to the details of any threat to peace within a fifty-mile radius of Kinloch’s walls. It’s been quite some time since we’ve seen bandits in these parts and I know he’d be very interested to hear of them. I’d say you’ll be well occupied for some time to come.”

Her playful respect intrigued me, but I didn’t like the thought of being interrogated by some all-powerful, self-important laird, to spin further, deeper lies that might be as transparent to him as they had been to Lachlan.

“I’m not sure if—” I began.

“We can’t possibly leave you here—” Christie interrupted, glancing around the crowded bustle of the tavern somewhat critically “—unchaperoned and vulnerable to any number of perils, as you are. We’re very close to Kinloch’s borders and it’s therefore our duty to harbor you. I’m sure Knox would agree.”

“I suppose he would,” Katriona tentatively agreed, as though not entirely persuaded.

“We should be on our way as it is,” Ailie commented. “We’ll ride through the night and reach Kinloch by morning.”

“It’s settled, then?” Christie asked. I suspected that these sisters were acting not only out of kindness and benevolence, but also in the interest of their own clan, as it made sense that they would. We were unknown wanderers, after all, with a somewhat outlandish past. We must be investigated as well as protected. And their guards were on hand to ensure not only our safety but their own. Even though we could hardly be considered threatening, it was possible that our story had not fooled either Lachlan or the women, and that Hamish and I might be seen as a riddle that needed to be solved, just in case our riddle presented threats this close to their home.

“You’ll accompany us to Kinloch—our clan’s keep,” Ailie continued. “’Tis very comfortable there, I can assure you. You and your brother will be well cared for.”

The way the sisters said the name of this place made it sound like some mythical Eden.

I should have refused. But the absolute elation on Hamish’s face as he realized that we would travel with these soldiers swayed me. Knowing that he’d be safe for a time, and well fed, clinched my decision. He wouldn’t have to stay here in this tavern, or another like it, helping me clean or cook—an occupation that, it occurred to me only now, would be very visible, and unprotected, if our pursuers happened to, in time, track us this far north. We would be far safer inside the walls of a well-armed keep. Practically untouchable.

Despite my apprehensions at putting myself at the mercy of this Laird Knox Mackenzie and all his noble authority, it was these details concerning my foremost priority—my nephew’s safety—that found me agreeing.

“All right, then,” I heard myself saying, and my voice sounded uncertain even to my own ears. “We will accompany you to Kinloch.”

Wherever that might be.


CHAPTER TWO

I SUPPOSE I shouldn’t have been overly surprised that Hamish and I were subjected to a careful—and quite thorough—search, not only of our bag but also our clothing before we were allowed into the carriage. This inspection was carried out by several of the guards, at Lachlan’s command. He appeared to be the highest-ranking of these men, and they obeyed his directive without question. “A routine exercise,” was Lachlan’s gruff comment on the subject, although I couldn’t help wondering how regularly they came across wandering, unchaperoned young women in these parts. Maybe it happened all the time.

“I’ll exercise you,” I muttered inaudibly, as Lachlan’s men patted the shape of my legs through my dress, to ensure that I carried no weapons, presumably.

“Pardon, milady?” Lachlan said. “Did you say something?”

“Nay,” I replied innocently. “Nothing at all.”

Darkness had settled by the time we began our journey to Kinloch.

The luxurious carriage was fitted with clever seats that reclined to form beds. Velvet curtains had been drawn to create partitions between the beds. And the bedding itself was as soft and plush as any I had ever seen.

I lay for a time before I slept, considering this unusual turn of events and all that had happened in the short space of several weeks. Here we were, ensconced in deluxe accommodation, making our way with a group of warriors and noblewomen to a mythical Highlands keep where we would be greeted by the laird of their clan. It was so far removed from the backstreets of Edinburgh I almost wondered if I was in fact dreaming, if the harrowing events of recent weeks hadn’t got the better of me. I blinked and took in my surroundings, fingering the fine thickness of the soft fabrics.

Hamish was curled up, already asleep, along the edge of my haven. I tucked the fur blanket more tightly around him.

I removed my dress to sleep in my shift, folding it carefully, knowing this was the only suitable gown I had at my disposal. But then I remembered that I wouldn’t be expected to have a change of clothes—all my belongings had been stolen by a band of murderous thugs. I couldn’t precisely tell whether our story had been convincing—or whether we had merely piqued their suspicious curiosity. Either way, Lachlan had not balked in the slightest at the thought of continuing through the night. He either knew our tale was fictitious or had such confidence in his own skills and those of his men that he was completely unperturbed by the possibility of conflict.

Time would tell whether our lie would catch up with us. I wondered if the esteemed Laird Knox Mackenzie was a clever and intuitive man. Would he be easy to deceive? Or would he see right through me and order me gone at his first opportunity? I would find out soon enough. For now, despite—or maybe because of—the gentle lull of the moving carriage as it pulled us through the night, safe and warm, I fell asleep more easily than I had in many months. But then the memories began to haunt my dreams, creeping up and closing in.

He was there, behind me. I could feel his presence like a tightening grip around my neck. I turned to him, all black eyes and evil intention. He was not an especially handsome man but it was true he had an air of importance, with his well-fed, well-dressed appearance and his smoothed dark blond hair. Beneath the glossy, urbane exterior lurked a vile soul. I was aghast but not surprised when he made a gloating announcement.

“I’ve taken a financial interest in your family’s establishment, Amelia.” The sound of my name, spoken in that dark, ominous voice, caused the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to rise. “In fact, I have just purchased a very decisive controlling share. Which means that you are now my employee. It is therefore my responsibility to ensure that you are suitably engaged, and as useful as you might possibly be.” I flinched back from the coldness he seemed to emit, but his hand stole to a loose curl of my hair, with which he played with two fingers. “I gave you several opportunities to act in your family’s best interest.”

I glared at him, and it was this defiance that challenged him. He was accustomed to fear, and obedience. That he could detect neither in me, I knew, provoked him. And fascinated him. I could see it there in his pitiless eyes: he wanted to break me. Each time I refused him, he upped his game. My determination to avoid him was having the opposite effect, miring me deeper into the control he was determined to gain.

“In other words, my dear Amelia, I now own the majority of this club.” And you along with it, was his unspoken implication.

“Congratulations,” I said. This was the worst news he could have delivered, but I’d be damned to the fiery depths of hell before I let him see any hint of weakness in me. That would be his victory.

“You could easily have relieved your family of their debts without forcing me to play this particular hand. I’m surprised you continue to refuse me. I’ve had to take somewhat excessive measures just to get your...undivided attention.” His gaze was chilling, but his tone was deceptively light. “And you look lovelier tonight than ever. Like a nymph with a siren’s tendencies. Worth the price, I daresay.”

I glared at him, taken aback by his inappropriate flattery. Whatever I looked like, I was entirely innocent. I—and my sister, it had to be said—intended to keep it that way for some time to come. My mother’s sense of propriety, for better or worse, had manifested itself tenfold in my sister; she watched me like a hawk and refused to allow any man to court me, perhaps because the selection of suitors we were exposed to were, more often than not, married and cheating, destitute, drunk or wanted by the law. “There are more important things than money,” I said. “I would rather starve than give myself unwillingly to any man.” Especially you.

This made him smile, and it was a smile that sickened me with fear. “Is that so?” he purred. His eyes were uncannily emotionless.

I willed myself to hold my ground. Fear was not something that troubled me often, but Sebastian Fawkes seemed to bathe me in it. His presence clouded my confidence. Whenever he darkened our doorstep, it was as though doom lurked around every corner, waiting to ooze in and take hold.

“You know how wealthy and powerful I am. You know how much of Edinburgh I own. Yet you refuse to grant me one simple request. My patience has grown thin. I have more important things to do than chase after a stubborn, down-on-her-luck virgin. Yet regrettably, my desire for you consumes me. And so I have taken matters into my own hands. You will be mine. Tonight.”

God help me. Logic was telling me to submit to his dark requests, but all I felt was fury at his insults. “I’m not down on my luck,” I seethed, glancing at my surroundings, which suggested otherwise, a detail that only enraged me further. “And I have no interest or intention of submitting to you, Mr. Fawkes. I’m sure there are countless women who would jump at the chance to bed you. I’m simply not one of them.”

His voice was low, laced with anger. Awful and severe. “I’m afraid I simply will not accept nay for an answer.”

A wash of terror chased up my spine as he eyed his hulking, ever-present bodyguards, considering. My courage was false, but it was better than nothing; I forced a chuckle just to annoy him. “I’d rather bed the devil himself.”

“Since he’s not available tonight,” he replied, his eyes simmering with frightening anticipation, “you’ll have to make do with me.”

“You’re wasting your time, Mr. Fawkes. I’m neither interested nor available. I don’t plan to be here this evening. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed at the tables.”

He laughed softly, the sound jarring for its lack of humor. His hand cuffed my wrist painfully, halting my retreat. “There you go again with your plucky refusals. I could take you now, if I felt inclined to force you,” he informed me callously. “You know that.”

I made a small sound before I could stop myself.

He leaned in close, whispering into my ear. “It would be so much more fun if you would beg for it, Amelia. I could make you plead, you realize. For mercy.”

I could hear the racing drumbeat of my heart. I leaned away from him, having difficulty breathing. “There is nothing you could do or say that would make me beg anything of you.”

His eyes roved to the far corner of the room, where Hamish showed his newest card trick to the barmaid as Cecelia served a drink to a customer. Fawkes’s smile was eerily devoid of emotion. “I believe there is one thing.” The terror infused me, hot poison seeping into my heart. “’Tis foolish of you to put his life in danger, when you could so easily keep him safe.”

Fawkes had been watching me, learning my motivations and the direction of my unwavering loyalties. It was the most effective threat he could make, we both knew this. I fought to keep my desperation at bay. I looked into his fathomless eyes. “Please. Please don’t hurt him.”

His eyes roved my body, painting me with fear and a horrid, overwhelming sense of dread. “I think we can come to an agreement that will ensure his safety. I have grown weary of this cat-and-mouse game you insist on playing. So I’m willing to issue you a very generous offer. Do as I say or I can no longer ensure the boy’s safety. Now or at any point in the future.”

Fawkes leaned closer, pausing before whispering in my ear.

“I will return after nightfall. I suggest you come to terms with the inevitable and be ready and willing in whatever way I require.” He brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek, causing my skin to erupt in gooseflesh. “I always get what I want, Amelia. From this day forward, you’d do well to remember that.”

I awoke with a start. My fists were clenched into the soft furs, which I’d displaced in my restless nightmare. My skin was clammy with a light sweat.

My awareness returned to me as my eyes adjusted to the darkness and my heartbeat began to slow. I could see Hamish’s sleeping form curled up alongside me. And I remembered: we’d escaped. We were being transported by the kind-eyed, well-dressed Highlands women and their trusty guards.

I forced my fists to unclench, and I gently touched Hamish’s soft hair to reassure myself, taking care not to wake him.

Listening to the crunch of the wooden wheels on the graveled road underneath me, I closed my eyes and pictured starry skies and green hills and widening distances.

It was some time before I could sleep again.

* * *

AT DAWN, I was shaken gently awake by Christie, who told me to dress and to wake Hamish. We would arrive at Kinloch within the hour. By the time we had folded away the bedding and adjusted the seats, the carriage was passing through the guarded gates of the keep.

I felt sluggish and sullen from my broken sleep and disturbing dreams. And weary from the continued separation from my sister. If only she’d come with us. If only I’d been able to convince her of her own vulnerability.

When I looked out the window of the carriage, my resolve returned to me and my fatigue faded. My purpose was clear. I knew exactly what I had to do, and this place and these people were as fortunate a discovery as I could possibly have hoped for. We were approaching the most magnificent stone manor I had ever seen. A shining loch curled around the back of it, extending far into the distance, smooth as a mirror, reflecting the cloudless purple sky. Quaint orchards dotted the landscape with small trees so lovingly tended they might have been topiary sculptures. And beyond them, as far as the eye could see, farmed hills rolled gracefully, striped with rows of crops. Layered shades of earthy browns and greens were so rich in promise and hue they looked as if they’d been painted with an artist’s brush. Sheep and cattle grazed the farthest foothills, tiny dots of red, black and woolly white. If I’d been asked to dream up the most bucolic, heavenly setting I could fathom, even my most grandiose fantasies would not have captured the charm of the scene I looked upon now. Kinloch offered the ideal blend of careful cultivation and rambling nature, as though the combined vigor of the fertile earth and the breezy air had found some sort of perfect alignment here under the skilled hands of the Mackenzie clan. The tall stone wall that circled the keep reached all the way to the far horizon, containing and showcasing the beauty and plenty of the landscape within it.

The manor itself rose impressively from the surrounding splendor. From its highest turrets, flags flapped in the wind. The flag of Scotland. And just below it, one that was unfamiliar to me, emblazoned with a stag’s head. The Mackenzie crest, I guessed.

“I have never, ever seen anything so grand in all my life,” I murmured, aghast. Hamish’s head rested against my shoulder as he dozed.

It was Katriona who responded. “You’re the daughter of a doctor from a prosperous family of Edinburgh. You must have seen grand buildings before.”

My eyes disengaged from the scenery to rest upon Katriona’s face. Her pithy comment stole a degree of beauty from the day, as though a cloud had just passed over the sun. Her impeccable grooming had suffered only minimally from the travel, her dark hair still neatly bound. Light shadows touched the hollows below her eyes, but her complexion was creamy and becoming in the pink light. Her slim, almost willowy figure was wrapped in a tartan shawl. She was not unattractive and if she had possessed even a shred of tenderness she might have been quite lovely. As it was, I couldn’t help feeling slightly amused by her light but undisguised derision. It wouldn’t do to return her rudeness. I was far too experienced with manipulative belittlement to rise to her bait. And despite the hours of sleep, I felt almost more tired than I had along the rougher days of our journey. I already knew Katriona disagreed with her companions about my invitation. She had agreed to it only because Ailie and Christie were kindhearted, a trait she might have admired and aspired to. I smiled politely, remembering my role and my story. I kept my tone mild and pleasant, which was much easier to do if I made a point of speaking to Ailie and Christie as well.

“I’ve seen many grand buildings,” I said. “Castles and cathedrals. Modern hospitals and stately courthouses. Elite schools and domed, acoustically attuned music halls.” Rarely, I didn’t need to add. More often, I’ve deliberated upon the interior décor of a decadent gaming hall, listening to the scuttling roll of a dice across a felt-lined table, feeling the supple glide of the deck of cards I hold in my hands as I shuffle the cards and deal them to unscrupulous men. In my quieter moments, I retreat to an unused private library where I find sanctuary in the pages of old, dusty books as I pursue my treasured ambition of learning, and of teaching: a dream that is as passionate as it is pointless. “Many of them are architecturally designed masterpieces, of course. But they’re all city buildings. I’ve never been out of Edinburgh before now, and I can only marvel at the beauty of the countryside. And this countryside is far more beautiful than I might ever have imagined. It somehow lends a completely different magnificence to a manor than rows of other grand buildings do.”

Christie and Ailie seemed pleased by the observation; they appeared to take my comment about the glory of their home as a compliment, as it was intended.

“You’ve never been out of Edinburgh?” Katriona asked. To her, the information was clearly another strike against me. “What a pity.”

I wasn’t sure of her meaning. And I wasn’t overly compelled to find out exactly what her meaning might be. I was too distracted by the commanding view of the fields and the mountains beyond.

The carriage was slowing, coming to a stop at the front entrance of the manor. Footmen opened the doors and helped us disembark. To Hamish’s dismay, the guards had ridden off once we were inside the walls of the keep and were nowhere to be seen.

“Amelia,” Ailie said. “Christie will show you and Hamish to your guest chambers. You’ll be quite comfortable there for now.” I remembered: I was to undergo an extensive interrogation by the almighty laird himself, and at his very first opportunity. I honestly didn’t feel up to such an encounter at this present moment. My usually staunch self-preservation-at-all-costs outlook felt as if it had been somehow undermined, just slightly, by this vast, resplendent place. I wanted to be left alone, to drink it all in and appreciate it for a time.

Christie seemed to sense this. “After I show you to your chambers, you can take a stroll through the gardens if you’d like. After all the traveling you’ve done, you might like to take some time, to settle in and clear your head before the noon meal is served in the hall.”

I was very touched by her kindness. I smiled at her. “Thank you, Christie.”

She returned the smile. She reached to finger a long ringlet of my hair that had come loose. “Your hair is the most outstanding color. Not blond, not red. Something in between. With a myriad of shades from rose gold to copper.”

“Strawberry blond,” clarified Hamish. It was what my sister called it. We had read the term in a book somewhere and we had mused at the fanciful-sounding word. In fact, we had no idea what a strawberry was, or what color such a thing might be.

My nephew was in somewhat of a mood, since he’d discovered the soldiers had taken their leave of him. Christie had noticed his immediate attachment to the burly guards—and their weapons. “No doubt you’ll have an opportunity later, Hamish, to visit the soldiers’ barracks, and to meet with Lachlan, and perhaps even Laird Mackenzie himself. He has the biggest sword of them all.”

Hamish was placated enough by her comment, but it left me with a singular flush of unease. Knowing I would have to face this Laird Mackenzie—and his big sword—and spin my elaborate lie seemed less larkish than it had from afar, now that we were here within the walls of Kinloch.

Christie led us into the manor, through a grand hall that was being cleaned by a number of efficient workers and up a stone staircase. Every detail of this place shone with gleaming attention. Large candles sat in grooves carved into the outer edge of every second step, illuminating our path with a modernistic glow. Deer antlers had been weaved to make a rustic chandelier overhead. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes, the scenic loch I already recognized, a wedding and other stunningly crafted portraits of Mackenzie history decorated the stone walls. We were led to our private chambers, which was small but charming, and very clean. It was a narrow room with a large window at one end. There were two single beds laid with thick furs, a dresser between with a porcelain pitcher and bowl on top and a small table with two chairs placed by the window, which overlooked the orchards.

“’Tis very simple, but I hope you’ll find it suitable enough during your stay,” Christie said.

“It couldn’t be more perfect,” I assured her. “Much better than a hay wagon.”

Christie smiled again, her white teeth small and neat. She was so pretty and petite. I was several inches taller than she was and much more voluptuous. I knew I had the kind of figure that won the attention of men—I’d had more than enough experience with their admiring glances and lascivious comments to understand that much. But now standing here next to Christie made me feel less like a womanly treasure and more like a prize-winning heifer. “Once you’re settled, feel free to stroll the gardens as you like,” she said. “A meal will be served at midday, in the hall. You’ll hear the bell. When Knox is ready to see you, he’ll send someone.”

With that, she left us to it. I washed my face with some cool water and brushed my hair, tying it in a loose coil, but Hamish was too energized to stay cooped up in our room.

“Let’s go, Ami. I want to explore the orchards and see if any of the fruit is ripe enough to pick.”

“I would think it’s still too early for the fruit.”

But I was soon pulled at his insistence out the door and down the stairs. The workers took no notice of us. They were likely accustomed to guests and visitors. We found our way out-of-doors and into the day. The light was clear and golden, slightly hazed with the climbing heat of summer. The orchards themselves were something akin to a wonderland of lush green. Soft, waving grass carpeted the expanse. Compact, leafy trees created inviting little curling paths so exquisite that if someone had told me faeries were hiding among their branches, waving magical wands and leaving gold-dust trails, I would have believed him. Hamish ran ahead. I called to him, but he had disappeared. He wouldn’t have gone far, I knew. Let him be, I thought. He needed to play, to run. To be a child for an hour or two.

I strolled along, thoroughly enjoying myself, taking a deep breath and feeling the air in my lungs and the sun on my face for the first time in...perhaps ever. This was a different sun from the muted light of the city. This sun felt healthy and restorative. I unpinned the clasp of my shawl to feel the warmth on my skin.

I heard laughter. From somewhere up above me.

“Come down from there,” I told him. “You’ll fall.”

“I won’t fall. You should come up here, Ami. I can see over the orchards. And at the very top of the tree, the apples are turning red.”

“Pick one for me.”

“There’s one right above you,” Hamish exclaimed. “On that branch there. You could reach it if you climbed across.”

I looked to see where he was pointing. A thick, low branch was within my reach where it met the trunk of the tree, rising at an inclined angle as it grew outward. At the end of it was a very big, very red apple. It nearly glowed with its luscious rosy ripeness in the dappled sunlight. “You get it,” I said.

“I’m all the way up here. You’ll have to.”

I’d never picked an apple straight off a tree before and eaten it when it was still warm from the sun. It simply looked too good to resist. This truly was Eden, I couldn’t help musing, and I was Eve, overcome by temptation. Laying my shawl on the grass, I reached up and slid my palms over the comfortingly rough bark of the tree branch. Placing one hand farther, then the other, I inched my way along it until I was hanging several feet off the ground. My arms were already getting sore from the effort, but I was now determined to reach my apple. And I was almost there.

I was close enough to reach out, through the leaves...I almost had it. My fingertips brushed against its smooth, perfect surface. But then I heard a sound. Someone was clearing his throat. The deep rumble was so close behind me it startled me and I lost my grip, tumbling to the ground in an unruly heap.

Slightly dazed from my fall, I looked up to see the most striking vision I had ever laid eyes on.

A man.

He was very tall and backlit by the sun so that his lit silhouette was framed by a wash of bright, molten gold. The shape of him was somehow superb, as though he’d been carved by a master. I could see the colors of him and the details of his white shirt, loose and open at the neck to reveal the tanned skin of his throat. His shirt was exceptionally well made and of high-quality cotton but worn to the point of visible softness. Strapped around his waist was a thick leather belt that holstered two weapons: a gold-handled hunting knife and an exceedingly large sword that was not sheathed in a scabbard but slung bare and shiny into its looped harness. That exposed blade seemed to signify something, purposefully advertising not only its gargantuan size but its artful craftsmanship. He has the biggest sword of them all. His leather trews were tucked into tall boots. On his wrist was a wide leather band adorned with gold ornamentation and he wore a gold chain around his neck that was mostly hidden from view inside his shirt. His hair was a deep midnight-black and hung past the collar of his shirt in thick, sun-glinted skeins, curling slightly at the ends. He wore a small braid at either temple, as his traveling guards had also done: a Highlands warrior custom. I noticed all these details abstractly; it was his face and his demeanor that riveted me most of all. His posture was upright but relaxed, utterly confident. Power seemed to radiate from the wide set of his shoulders in heatlike, shimmery waves. The features of his face were bold but aristocratic, from the wide, straight nose to the carved, masculine jaw roughened by the light shadow of stubble. Strong, black, expressive eyebrows arched slightly with a note of absorbed assessment. And his irises, arresting in their charcoal-rimmed pale gray glow, as though alight from within. Long, thick black lashes brushed almost elegantly against his cheeks as he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there was a flash of bemused satisfaction. His full lips curved in an arrogant pout that wasn’t a smile.

“And who,” he said, his deep voice curling into me with unusual effect, “might you be?”


CHAPTER THREE

I REALIZED THEN what I must have looked like. My gown was not only exceptionally low-cut, a detail that had only become emphasized by the effects of my ridiculous tree-climbing expedition, but also bunched up around my knees. I had left my shawl near the tree’s trunk and fleetingly thought of scrambling over to retrieve it but didn’t want to make even more of a spectacle of myself than I already had done. My hair had come loose and hung down, almost to my waist, in untamed coil-tipped curls that did little to hide my abundant breasts, which were practically spilling out of the tight bind of my gown. I knew my face was likely flushed from my exertions. And worst of all, I was still agog at the spectacle of this...this person who stood over me with all the advantaged superiority of the lord that he was. I recognized instantly that this was the venerable Laird Knox Mackenzie, not only from his vague resemblance to his sisters but also from the aura of authority that clung to him along with the fine, well-worn clothing, the gold adornments and the immense, exposed steel sword. Power was written all over him.

He remained motionless for several seconds, seemingly stunned. Or miffed, perhaps, by my brazen intrusion into his ordered world.

Then, after a brief bout of what appeared to be indecision, he held his hand out to me.

The gesture—and I noticed that his hand was large and strong-looking and he wore a gold ring on his right pinky, which struck me as incongruent to this overall impression of excellence: edgy somehow, as though he had a hint of pirate in him, or a little devil that lurked in the deeper recesses of his character—was enough to stun me out of my stupor. But I hesitated. I was almost afraid to touch him. I suspected—and it was confirmed as soon as I placed my hand in his—that his effect would be absolute. A flourish of warmth leached into me from the point of contact. The enveloping clasp of his hand pulled me to my feet with ease. Despite the fact that I was tall for a woman and was often able to look men in the eye, he outsized me considerably. I felt subtly dominated by him and, for the first time in my life, that feeling was not entirely unpleasant. But my initial stunned reaction was fading, and my usual resilience was returning to me. I had never been one to cower under the weight of authority and I met his unwavering gaze with my own.

He did not immediately release his hold on me. His gray eyes, from this closer angle, were startlingly vivid, the darkness of his thick lashes and the charcoal rim of his irises contrasting with the light, charged brightness of his keen attention. He did not smile, yet there were sparks of measured raptness in him, as though I had somehow caught him by surprise but he was too controlled to be visibly caught off guard. His gaze wandered then, lower, and I pulled my hand away, making an unsuccessful attempt to stretch the cloth of my gown up a fraction to cover myself. I ran my hands down the bodice of my dress, to smooth it, and my fingers found the length of a curl, which I played with idly, knowing there was nothing to be done about the state of my hair. The blasted blond-red curls were untamable.

Appearing to be mired in some sort of trance of his own, Knox Mackenzie licked his lips then. The way his did this was so unconsciously yet wickedly sultry, I was utterly hypnotized. His bottom lip was plump and wet. The sight of his mouth was unbearably...inviting. I felt an outrageous urge to taste those lips. Shocked by the turn of my own thoughts, I looked away, letting my eyes rest instead on the long length of his sword.

“I’m still waiting,” he said softly. My gaze returned to his face. His manner was stern and solemn.

Waiting?

“What is your name,” he repeated, “and how do you find yourself here at Kinloch, climbing apple trees?” It struck me that Laird Mackenzie would already have known my name and all the details about which he had just asked me. His sisters and his guards would have fully and immediately informed him of our story and the nature of our impromptu visit. Yet he wanted to hear the details as I offered them. This intrigued me, and seemed to hint at hidden facets of his very guarded disposition: he was wary and meticulous and practiced.

With that, he looked up at the apple I had been attempting to pick. In a move that seemed slightly incongruous to the inherent sternness in him, he reached for it with one hand, straining so that the edge of his shirt came untucked, exposing a glimpse of his torso, which was lightly tanned and muscled. The masculine hardness of his body made me feel inexplicably giddy. I laughed lightly at the state he had found me in, and at the image of my wanton dishevelment.

“Falling out of apple trees, you mean?” I said, my laughter lingering.

Laird Mackenzie did not return my smile but instead contemplated me with narrowed eyes. He held the apple out to me, but not close enough for me to easily reach it. I would need to take a step forward to do that. He was challenging me.

As imposing a figure as he was, I didn’t feel intimidated by him. Quite the opposite. His expression, despite its commanding scrutiny, was not unkind. He was intrigued by me, this was clear enough, possibly enough to grant me leniency for whatever rules of decorum I might have broken, or maybe because of them. I did take a step forward, and as I bridged that narrowing divide, a tiny ripple of warmth darted through the low pit of my stomach. That peculiar urge to taste his full lips returned to me as a most unfamiliar, compelling, barely there ache that seemed to start in my mouth and infuse my body with a lightly feral flush.

I took the apple, and the brush of his fingers against mine caused the flush to flare. I’ll admit I was mildly disconcerted by this newfound sensation, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all. In fact, I felt surprisingly spirited, in a soft, subdued way. I was suddenly glad my shawl wasn’t wrapped around me, concealing me. My breasts felt rounded and plush. Since I wouldn’t have dreamed of acting on my urges but was indeed feeling quite overwhelmed to taste something, I took a bite of the ripe red fruit, which was, as I had guessed, warm from the sun and the heat of Knox Mackenzie’s hand. And juicy. So very delicious. I took another bite and the juice wet my lips and dripped down my chin.

Knox Mackenzie was watching my mouth with a glazed, spellbound expression that looked very similar to how I felt. I didn’t dare to presume he was thinking the same thing I was, that his urges might be mirroring my own. Maybe he was hungry. “Would you like a bite?” I asked him, sucking some juice from the apple.

I was somewhat surprised when he said, “Aye. I would like a bite.”

There was something increasingly sensual about this exchange. He took the apple from my grasp, watching my eyes as he bit into it with decadent relish. God, that greedy mouth. I had never found such a thing—or such a person—so fascinating.

“My name is Amelia,” I said, almost breathlessly. “Amelia Taylor. I’m—”

“Who are you talking to, Ami?” Hamish’s voice came from far above. I’d practically forgotten he was perched up there. Knox Mackenzie looked up.

“I believe I’ve just met Laird Mackenzie,” I called up to my nephew.

“How do you know who I am?” Knox asked. Actually, it was more like a demand than a polite question.

“Everyone knows Laird Knox Mackenzie,” I said, remembering Katriona’s annoyance at my complete ignorance when his name had first been spoken of, and my thoughts at the time. “From the tribesmen of deepest Africa to the nomadic plainsmen of the Americas.”

His dark eyebrows knitted together as he attempted to gauge whether I was mocking him, or something else. I wasn’t sure either way if I was—I hadn’t meant to—but I smiled at his expression. This man was not at all accustomed to impertinence of any kind whatsoever. Tease him, my little devil was whispering. He doesn’t know what to make of you.

I wondered what he looked like when he smiled, and what his laughter might sound like. I suspected he did not smile often, and I wanted to try to inspire one. But I had no idea how to do such a thing.

Hamish had climbed down and jumped out of the branch above my head to land lightly beside me. He appraised Knox Mackenzie with a critical eye, deciding for himself whether this was the genuine article, the laird with the mightiest weapon. When Hamish’s eyes landed on Knox’s sword, they widened. It was proof enough. “You’re Laird Mackenzie?” he said.

“I am. And you are...?”

“Hamish—” with barely a pause “—Taylor.”

“I’ve heard about you,” Laird Mackenzie said. Hamish appeared stunned by this information, and the laird continued when Hamish didn’t respond. “One of my most trusted officers told me of your nerve and your...creativity. He thinks you’ve the makings of a soldier.”

I thought Hamish might burst with the praise. I smiled, but the laird’s light note of sarcasm did not escape me. Creativity. Hamish’s—our—tall tale might have been discussed between Lachlan and Knox Mackenzie. Knox’s trusted officer had shared his suspicions with his commander, who was also, quite possibly, his friend. Of course he would have. It was wise to voice suspicions, to be alert and aware of newcomers who were residing within the walls of your own keep. This sort of practice, I suspected, was typical.

And Knox Mackenzie was a clever man. “Hamish, I need a message sent to my officer Lachlan, who is over at the barracks. Would you be able to deliver this message for me, lad?” Noticing Hamish’s small wooden sword that hung from his belt, Knox added, “In return for the favor, I’ll see if any of the men have a smaller steel sword that they no longer have use of. You look man enough to handle an upgrade.”

Hamish’s jaw dropped open at the thought: that he might get a steel sword of his very own. It took him several seconds to respond. “Aye, Laird Mackenzie. Aye. What’s your message?”

“Tell him I have a few things to discuss with my new guest. And after we’ve finished speaking, I will be having a similar conversation with her young brother. I’d like Lachlan to give you a tour of the barracks while you’re waiting for Amelia, and see if any small swords are about. The barracks are that way,” he said, pointing. “On the other side of the apple orchard. I will meet you in the grand hall after the midday meal has been cleared away. Have you got all that?”

“Aye,” Hamish said, and he took off in a full run, disappearing from sight.

Knox Mackenzie was going to question Hamish and me separately, to see if our stories matched. A faint flutter of panic squirmed in my stomach, but I forced myself to remain calm. We’d already established the details of our tale, and we were both gifted and practiced with spinning lies, for better or worse. There was no reason we couldn’t sail through our individual interrogations with ease.

But I felt far from easy.

“Would you join me for a chat?” Laird Mackenzie said, without waiting for an answer. The question was clearly not a request but understood in advance to be an order that would be readily obeyed. I almost felt a perverse inclination to refuse, but then he added, “I can offer you food and drink. You must be hungry after your travels.”

Knox Mackenzie had a way about him that intrigued me. He was a blend of contradictions that somehow harmonized perfectly. His face was both rugged and refined, his tall form both relaxed and on guard. His expression showed no trace of humor. Yet there was a glint in his eyes that might have been described as charisma. He was comfortable with the upper hand that he undoubtedly always had, with whomever it was he happened to be with. He was laird of his clan, leader of his army, wealthy beyond belief, blue-blooded to the extreme and, as if that wasn’t enough, he was also endowed not only with a wide-shouldered, perfectly proportioned physique that would intimidate even seasoned warriors, but also a masculine beauty that no doubt caused many women to swoon.

Luckily for me, I wasn’t one of them. I could acknowledge that there was a definite allure to the supreme Laird Knox Mackenzie. If I’d been a hapless debutante with good breeding and a cultured sense of gentility, I might have described him as utterly dazzling. But I was not a hapless debutante. I was in fact a skilled and underhanded cardshark with few prospects beside the strength of my own wit and, perhaps, the occasional use of my own physical attributes. Attributes that had so far brought me more trouble than advantage. I could see the way his gaze lingered on the lavish curves of my body, gliding over my full lips, touching the long, feminine coils of my softly fiery hair and caressing the plush bounty of my half-exposed breasts. It was a look I was accustomed to, for better or worse.

It was glaringly clear to us both that I was at a distinct disadvantage in the universal scheme of things. Despite this, there was some indescribable thread of imbalance, in the opposite direction, as though he was deferring to me on a base level and in a way that flustered some inner sanctum deep within his psyche that had not been flustered for some time. I saw the light touch of craving in his eyes, and it was laced, oddly, with a profound flicker of sadness. Again, a subtle contradiction. He was an enigma and one that, against my better judgment, I couldn’t help being drawn to. Knox Mackenzie was privileged but he was not at all unscathed: this was a pronounced feature of his mien.

So, he was clever. And so was I. I planned to explore these small intuitions, to use them to my best advantage. After all, they were the only advantages I had and were tenuous at best.

“Thank you, Laird Mackenzie. Aye, I am hungry. And thirsty. It has been a long trip.”

He walked over to where my shawl lay on the ground and picked it up. He didn’t just hand it to me but draped it carefully around my shoulders. A gentlemanly gesture—not something I was particularly accustomed to. I left the shawl where he had placed it, not bothering to fasten it yet with the pin. His eyes were on me and, as never before, with a sense of almost bashful amusement, I found I liked that he was watching me, feasting somehow on the look of me. It made me want to grant him whatever pleasure he might have been deriving from my femininity. After years of discouraging or altogether ignoring the forthright attention of men, this was an entirely new response.

He led me through the orchard to one of the side doors of the manor. There were servants and other clanspeople about, all of whom bowed to Laird Mackenzie as he walked by. They took little notice of me, beyond a light glance. In some circumstances, it might have been inappropriate for a young woman to be alone with a man. But lairds, I suspected, were above scandal. Either they were too highly respected to be accused of making untoward advances, or they were allowed whatever untoward advances they chose to make. I hardly cared. It wasn’t as though my reputation was as pure as the driven snow. That I had managed to traverse the path of my young adulthood without experiencing even so much as a first kiss was all but a miracle. I wasn’t afraid of being alone with Knox Mackenzie. And, in fact, I was hungry.

Our path was interrupted by the sudden approach of a young soldier, who was well armed and also bloodied and dirty as though from a fight. “Laird Mackenzie,” he said, with clear urgency in his voice. “A dispute between Eamon and Fraser is in full force in the sparring ring. I fear one of them might take the other’s life if they aren’t persuaded otherwise. I’ve attempted to intervene, but they’re in a blind, provoked rage. They’ve already injured themselves quite severely.” Then, as though noticing me despite the circumstances, he took a quick bow. “If you’ll forgive the intrusion, milady.”

I was unaccustomed to being addressed in such a way, and I fumbled with my answer before I could give a reply that might have sounded appropriate. “I, uh, not...not at all.”

Knox Mackenzie was too preoccupied—and annoyed, if I was reading him correctly—with the matter at hand to take notice of my response either way. “Isn’t there anyone else who can break up two hotheaded recruits? Where’s Lachlan?”

“I couldn’t find him,” the young soldier said.

Laird Mackenzie’s manner had changed markedly, his resolute seriousness shielding any fleeting, momentary connection we might have skirted around. “If you would be so kind, Miss Taylor,” he gruffed, “to wait for me in the hall, I will be with you shortly. This will not take long.”

“Of course, Laird Mackenzie,” I replied, and I was pleased with the gentility of my response; I sounded wholly proper, and suitably respectful. As I very nearly was.

As Laird Mackenzie retreated into the unseeable distance with his soldier, I made my way to the manor, entering through the side door and finding my way to the grand hall, where the tables had been set with cheese, fruit and bread.

There was no one about. The servers must have been preparing the remainder of the meal in the kitchens.

My stomach rumbled at the sight of the abundant food. Tiny tufts of steam still rose from the fresh-baked bread rolls, and the heavenly scent was enough to break down my barriers of etiquette. Surely they wouldn’t mind if I took something to eat before the others arrived. I had been offered food by the laird himself, after all, and also invited by Christie. My last meal had been a hearty one—more than twelve hours ago. And the apple...well, Knox Mackenzie had eaten most of it in the end. I’d always had a healthy appetite, yet more often than not I was left unsatisfied. And the bounty before me was simply more than my limited powers of resistance could handle. I picked up a small, rounded loaf of bread, breaking it open. I placed a hunk of the ripe cheese between the still-warm halves, watching it melt. Then I took a blissful bite. Unthinkingly, I reached for more bread, for Hamish, stuffing it in the pocket of my gown. And another. He’d be hungry after his morning in the barracks.

At that moment, Laird Mackenzie walked into the hall, accompanied by not only Christie but also Katriona.

Oh, damnation.

How uncouth I must have appeared. It occurred to me that I could have been just a wee bit less eager about helping myself to this food on offer. I didn’t believe they would mind that I’d taken a small bite of bread before the dinner bell was rung, but the way I was stuffing not only my mouth but also my pockets might have looked less than genteel.

Ah, well. My intentions were as true as they’d ever been: to look after my nephew as best I could, by finding food for him along my travels. Partaking in sustenance for myself was hardly a crime worth punishing, I reasoned.

I swallowed, brushing the crumbs from my chin with my hand, for lack of anything more suitable. All three of them were staring at me, of course. As I might have expected, this transgression would only fuel Katriona’s scorn; she looked almost amused by my total lack of decorum, as though I had proven a point she’d been trying unsuccessfully to make all along. I thought of stuttering out some excuses, but that might make matters worse. Instead, I squared my shoulders and smiled gracefully.

Knox Mackenzie’s face was virtually unreadable. This irked me. If it was pity he felt for me, or disdain, I wanted to be able to tell, I realized. But he wouldn’t even give me that. He just leaned his shoulder against a wooden pillar to watch me, his thumb casually laced beneath the belt at his hips, as though to take his time and carefully assess whether I should be regarded as a thief, a beggar, a nuisance or something else altogether.

Christie stepped forward and laced her arm through mine. “I’m famished, too,” she said conspiratorially, and I was grateful. Her benevolence was the most pronounced aspect of her character. I wished I might someday have a chance to reciprocate her kindness. “We didn’t even break our fast this morning, did we, Amelia? You and your brother must be half-starved by now, after the journey you’ve had.”

Before I could respond to her, to thank her for tactfully smoothing the awkwardness caused by my misdemeanor, Knox Mackenzie said brusquely, “Shall we conduct our meeting now, Amelia? I can offer you more food in my den...if you’re still hungry.” As if to imply that I might have already eaten my fill.

I thought of telling him that I could have eaten all the food in the room if he’d just leave me to it. Instead, I smiled and said, “As you wish, Laird Mackenzie.”

Katriona’s flicker of amusement faded. In a complete reversal, her face took on a note of mild anxiety and she offered, “I could bring the food to your den if you’d like.”

Offhandedly, without giving her so much as a glance, Knox Mackenzie replied, “Call for one of the servants to bring it. Amelia, this way, if you will.”

Christie patted my arm and turned her attention to Katriona, placating an apparent uprising of distress in her that I appeared to have a knack for inspiring.

I followed Laird Mackenzie through a door and down a candlelit corridor.

We entered a large, low-ceilinged chamber that was opulently decorated with well-crafted yet comfortable-looking furniture, woven rugs and a large circular table. Several shuttered windows were open and looked out upon the orchards. A servant came immediately to the door, and Laird Mackenzie asked her to bring us some food and ale.

I stood by the window, feeling increasingly on edge about the inquiry that was about to begin. Perhaps sensing my unease, the laird invited me to sit in one of two stuffed leather chairs that had been situated to enjoy the view. I was glad he hadn’t asked me to take a seat at the meeting table. This cozy corner seemed more conducive to a casual, informal chat than a full-blown interrogation. The servant returned, placing a large plate of assorted meats, cheeses and breads and a pitcher of ale on a small table between us. Then she took her leave, closing the door with a heavy thud.

Laird Mackenzie poured ale into two goblets and handed one to me. I accepted the drink, even though I knew he was likely just trying to loosen my tongue, hoping to get me tipsy so I’d spill all my secrets. Wise to his ploys, I would humor him but I would not fall into his traps. I would drink. Very, very slowly.

But when I tasted the ale, it was so delicious, lightly bubbling with a hint of malty sweetness, and I was so thirsty that I ended up drinking half the goblet in one go. Even as I silently cursed myself for what would certainly be unwise, I couldn’t resist just one more sip. A large one. I had never tasted anything so refreshing in all my life.

Knox Mackenzie watched me and it was the very first time I saw a hint of humor in him; his mouth skewed just slightly to the side. Not a smile, as such. But a sign that he was at least human. “You were thirsty,” he commented.

I took one more sip, nodding.

He handed me a plate with some bread and slices of meat and cheese. “In case you didn’t get enough in the hall.” His gaze dropped to the rounded pockets of my dress, where I’d stashed the food for Hamish, then rose slowly upward until he was once again contemplating my face and my hair with lingering interest, a pastime that appeared to be one of his new favorites.

My stomach, in my mild anxiousness, suddenly didn’t feel particularly hungry, but when I took a small bite of the offering, the flavors of it were so tasty that I decided I was in fact still quite famished.

The laird allowed me to eat for several minutes. But he had questions on his mind that he was clearly eager to ask. “Amelia,” he began. Then he paused, looking measuredly into my eyes. “That is your real name, is it not?”

Already he was accusing me of lying and we hadn’t even begun. This riled me. He hadn’t even heard my story yet and already he was distrusting it. It occurred to me, aye, that my indignance was maybe, just barely, the tiniest bit absurd. After all, I was about to spin a partly fictional tale. But still.

“I heard your brother call you something else,” he said. This eased my irritation by a degree. So he hadn’t distrusted me—yet. He’d only heard Hamish’s nickname for me.

“He calls me Ami. It means—”

“Friend,” he finished for me. Something about the tone of his voice, so deep and impressive, touched me in a very strange place. A glowing burn settled below my rib cage, extending in seeping, brazen directions; this burn felt remarkably, and intensely, like longing. His eyes were fixed on mine, only compounding the effect. I was glad I was sitting down, and I took another cool sip of the ale.

“Aye,” I replied softly. “Friend.” Of course he spoke French, and probably twelve other languages besides. No doubt he’d traveled the world and read every book, too.

“You’ve come from Edinburgh. ’Tis a long journey.”

“Aye,” I agreed. “We traveled for six days.”

“Tell me about it.”

His soft command was patient and, even worse, kind. As though he was reading the difficulties of our journey and all that had come before it in the expression on my face. It was this note of compassion that found me uncharacteristically remorseful that I had need to lie to him. I knew with certainty that if he discovered the truth he would likely banish me from the grounds of his keep before I could even finish my drink. In a daft act of defiance, I took another sip of my ale, finishing it. And now I had two things to feel remorseful about. He’d tricked me! By serving me a drink so delicious there was no way I could resist it.

All right, so he’d won that hand. But I had no intention of giving away any secrets, ale or no ale. I knew I could handle my drink better than most. Ale and whiskey were plentiful at my family’s gaming club, and although I rarely imbibed, I had once taken a game, and lost, against a regular client named Burns, a devilish brute who seduced rich women for a living and would frequent our club when he was between heiresses. He’d placed a handful of shillings on my table for a single roll of the dice, mine against his. It was enough money to keep our creditors at bay for at least a week, so I’d taken him on. He’d bet me I couldn’t match him drink for drink and continue to resist his charms. I wasn’t an heiress, I’d argued. For me, he’d said, he would let that small detail slide, just this once. His roll—two sixes—had been unbeatable. I’d taken the drinks, poured by Nora, one of the club’s hostesses. It had helped that Burns had already been well into his cups when the challenge began. I’d taken four shots of whiskey before he’d passed out cold. Well played, lassie, Nora had laughed. You’ve a hollow leg. At the time I’d taken the praise to heart: it took a lot to impress Nora.

To my dismay, I realized that while Burns had merely become blurrier, Knox Mackenzie now had only become more...beautiful with the light effects of the ale. He was too masculine to be called beautiful, but it was a word that came to mind. His black hair framed his face, all thick and glinting. I’d never seen hair that richly black. The gold of the chain at his neck and the thick cuff bracelet he wore only added to his aura of nobility and sovereignty. Damn him. Now he’s trying to undermine my control with his regal allure.

“Why are you traveling north and where were you headed when you were intercepted by my sisters?” he asked.

And so I began, offering as little information as possible, resolved to embellish and rearrange when the story required. I kept Hamish in mind, too, making sure to keep true to our plan as we’d made it, in the woods behind the tavern. “Our parents have passed,” I said, with genuine feeling. This was, after all, true; at least in my case, it was a certainty. I didn’t allow myself, in that moment, to even think about Hamish’s parents. I tried to keep my voice steady as I continued. It was all becoming a bit more difficult than I’d imagined, this ruse, but I had no choice now but to follow through with it. “We were told by our father, in his final hour, that we have relatives in the Highlands, but we know none of the details of their identity or their whereabouts. So we set out to search for them.”

“Until you were attacked,” he continued, not sounding as concerned by the detail as he perhaps should have, “by masked bandits dressed in black and wielding silver-hilted swords.”

I felt my eyes narrow just slightly. “It sounds like you already know all the finer details of the story, Laird Mackenzie,” I said, vexed not only by the light dismissal in his tone but also by this ridiculous situation I’d landed myself in. How on earth had I managed to find myself on the run and at the mercy of this admittedly dashing laird in his admittedly idyllic empire, attempting to convince him that I’d been robbed by a gang of fictional thieves? “There’s not much point in me repeating it to you if you’ve already been told, in intricate, itemized flourish, of our plight.”

He ignored this completely. “Tell me more about these bandits. From which direction did they ride? Describe to me their features, their clothing, their weapons, their horses. All of it. What exactly did they say to you?”

Smug brute. He was domineering to a fault, I thought. The little devil in me wanted to somehow challenge his blatant attempt to intimidate me, and practically bully me into telling him what he wanted to know.

This was where he would discover the extent of our deceit: it was all in the details. And I had a feeling Hamish would be explicitly imaginative when it came to the embellishments. So I kept it simple. The ale was, if anything, encouraging my dramatic flair. I willed myself to channel the fear I’d felt, when we’d fled Edinburgh, when I’d—only just—managed to slip through the hands of the man who hunted me. I believe I might have been somewhat convincing; the memory, to be sure, was still fresh and the terror was easy enough to summon. “I was so overcome that I can’t remember all of it. I feared for our lives. I thought they would kill us, and—” I thought they might hurt me. Violate me and break me in the most profound manner imaginable. And when I struggled and attempted to refuse, I thought they might kill Hamish. I faltered, falling silent as I remembered.

He was coming for me. For us.

“You must take my son, and yourself, away from here.” My sister grabbed my arm, pushing me away even as she pulled me closer. Her dark eyes shone bright with fear. “Take Hamish, Amelia. You must get him out of Edinburgh. Take him far away from here, where they won’t find him. And don’t come back.”

“Cecelia, I’m not leaving without you.”

“You must! For Hamish. He’s not safe here, and neither are you.”

“Nor you, sister. Fawkes will take out my desertion on you if I leave. Either I give him what he wants or we flee together.”

My sister was as horrified as I was by the thought of Fawkes possessing me merely to exercise his power over our family. Perhaps even more so. She remembered more vividly the lifestyle we had once led, of dignity and civility; she valued and coveted this ideal more than any other, as our mother once had. “You are not for sale, Amelia. ’Tis not an option.”

“Neither is leaving you behind! You must come with us.” Sebastian Fawkes was one of the most powerful ganglords in Edinburgh. A man who hungered for power and would go to any lengths to gain it. A man who enjoyed the chase, the game, the fear in the eyes of those he sought to better. Myself included. I had intrigued him from the start. My looks and my insolence had fueled his conquest. My family’s predicament had given him the perfect avenue to gain the upper hand when I’d refused to engage him. He could have forced me, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to own me in every possible way. By whatever means necessary. “I’ll not leave you here alone to fend for yourself.”

“I’m not alone, Amelia. James has taken a shipment south, but he will return for me. If I leave, we’ll lose what little we have left. My place is here. I have to see this through.”

“Your place is with us!” I insisted. Not as bait, to lure me back. None of this mattered: this club, the shreds of our livelihood, this city, with its confining, unending hardships. My sister was much more involved in the underworld, mostly by default, than I was. Her husband, James, over time, had fallen further and further into the abyss of debt. He had become a pawn and a runner in a dangerous game. Despite it all, Cecelia was loyal to him, for all that he had tried to do. My mother’s ingrained sense of duty to home and husband, to keeping up appearances at all costs and to stubborn perseverance had manifested themselves strongly in her eldest daughter. Cecelia held doggedly on to some tattered hope that all was not lost.

And she would not listen.

“Please, Cecelia,” I begged her. “Please come with us. I’ll not go without you.”

The banging at the door down below was growing louder, the commotion gaining momentum.

“You can, and you will,” she insisted. “You are the strongest person I know, Amelia. You’ll rise to the top no matter what you do, or where you go. Take Hamish, I beg you, and don’t look back. They’re coming. Hurry!”

The pounding at the door gave way to a smash and a flurry of voices. Fawkes was earlier than his promises had indicated. Much earlier.

The noise was getting louder. And closer.

“Take him!” she cried, urgent. “I know what Fawkes threatened you with, and what he’s capable of. He’s taken my husband to keep me here, to keep me quiet. I have to wait for James. You must go. Go and don’t look back. Keep him safe, Amelia. Please. I beg you. Do whatever it takes to keep him safe.”

Cecelia gave me a brief hug. And then she ran in the opposite direction.

There was no more time to argue with her. If I waited any longer, my opportunity for escape would be lost. It might already be lost.

I woke Hamish. Quickly and quietly, I led him to the library down the hall. Closing and locking the door, I pulled him toward the bookcase. I knew where the latch was. Behind a black leather-bound book about, of all things, the deciduous trees of the British Isles. I’d read it only once, in my quest to learn every shred of knowledge I could get my hands on. But it was hardly riveting material. Which was precisely why I had put it in this space, hiding the latch that would release the bookcase from its frame. I had discovered the secret portal many years ago, when I’d been searching for something to read. At that time, a small red book had sat there, almost conspicuously, bringing attention to itself. Its pages were blank except for these words: Be free. The small red book became one of my most treasured possessions. I used it as a journal, to record my innermost thoughts and restless dreams, of a life far from Edinburgh’s backstreets, away from the lowlife and the immorality, to a place more serene and forgiving. This small library had set me free many times over in my imagination, through books, fantasies and aspirations. Now it would, I could only hope, deliver a more literal sense of the word. I pulled the bulky shelf forward, exposing a hidden passageway. Loud banging on the door nearly undid me. I could hear Fawkes’s voice. Calling for me. Threatening me with his vengeance and his obsession. My heart was in my throat. The lock was rusted with age; it wouldn’t hold for long.

“Why are we running, Ami?” Hamish had whispered. “Where is my mother?” I pushed Hamish into the narrow passageway, barely fitting through it myself, pulling it closed behind us until I heard the click of the lock. We were in the dark staircase now. “These men have less than honorable intentions,” I had replied to him, once I was sure we were well out of range of being heard. “For me. Your father is exporting a shipment to England and your mother waits for him. We will meet up with them again when it is safe to do so. Until then, we must find a safe place, far from here.”

Feeling our way down, drawing our fingers against the rough-hewn wooden walls, we reached the bottom of the staircase. Cautiously, I turned the key, opening the door to a dark underground tunnel, which led us to a hidden doorway, far down the back alley and away from the building itself. There were shouts from around corners. Unseen commotion called for us, seeking us out. We ran through the backstreets, toward the northern edge of town, putting as much distance between us and them as we could. After a time, we’d stopped for a moment, out of breath. It was then that we saw a farmer’s wagon, pulling away from a small stables, half filled with hay. We climbed on as it began to roll. And we had done it. I had escaped him. For now.

“I was so afraid,” I whispered. And I was no longer lying. I had been afraid. More afraid than I’d ever been in my life. The tears in my eyes were not an act and they pooled before I even realized what was happening. I had not cried since we’d fled, not a single tear for the displaced disaster my life had become, or for my sister, whose fate I could not know.

I didn’t know why I was crying now. I did feel overcome with emotion, aye, but I also wondered if I was reacting to Knox Mackenzie’s authority by playing on his manly concern. This was the sort of reaction I might have staged in the past, although this time my feelings felt unnervingly authentic. Annoyed with myself for showing such overt vulnerability, I wiped the tears away, wanting to temper my weakness with a show of resilience. I had a job to do, I remembered: deception in the name of survival. I imagined telling him the truth, and his reaction.

I’m a card dealer, Laird Mackenzie, and a gifted one at that. I’ve resided in one of the less prosperous gaming clubs in old Edinburgh for the past ten years, using my blossoming feminine wiles to deceive the less-skilled, downtrodden gamblers, conning them out of money to keep my family off the streets. I can count cards, curse in French and drink a half-inebriated man under the table. Are you charmed yet? Offer me a job, Laird, and look after my nephew for me while I travel unchaperoned back to Edinburgh to see if my sister is being held against her will by an evil ganglord.

Nay, the truth would be best kept quiet. “We hid, and we escaped,” was all I said on that topic.

Knox Mackenzie was watching me intently. Little rays of kindness seemed to be shining through the veneer of his staunch authority, as though he wanted to contain them but couldn’t. “You’re safe now,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here inside the walls of Kinloch.”

Here he was, this prodigious, controlling laird and warrior, offering not only protection, but solace. Safety. It was such an unfamiliar mood for me: that of feeling buffered from all danger and difficulty. There was no way Sebastian Fawkes could gain entry to this place, not with an entire army protecting its walls and its citizens. I had food on my plate and, aye, stuffed into my pockets. I was warm and sheltered and my nephew was more well cared for and happily engaged at this moment than he might ever have been in his life.

It might have been the ale. In an unintentional gesture of gratitude, I placed my hand on Knox Mackenzie’s.

The touch of that warm, comforting, calloused hand was unexpected and fed a fiery warmth into my body as though he was ablaze with currents of energy. The rush of my response was unnerving, and he, too, seemed struck. He exhaled lightly. And as he slid his hand from mine, I found myself simultaneously pulling back from his touch. I was afraid of my response to him: afraid of what I might do. I was wary of the volatility of my body’s urges. Bizarrely, I felt the effects of Knox Mackenzie’s touch as a squirmy, primal quiver in a most secret, womanly place. That lightly pulsing ache was wildly distracting.

Shockingly, what I wanted to do was to pull his hands closer, to feel the strength of them. Gripping me, overpowering me, holding me down as he lavished his magnificence all over me, in whatever way he chose to do.

Instead, I folded my hands demurely in my lap. I really might have been suffering some unexpected side effects to the stress of recent days that I made a point to discourage. I took a moment to focus on the light wring of my own fists as I squirmed lightly in my seat. I waited for the sweet, swelling anticipation to fade away. But the urges were so unexpected and so strong that I had to force myself to remain still. I was not well practiced in the art of restraint. I took a deep breath, summoning all my powers of control, composing myself as best I could.

After a minute or more, I looked up at him. The thick strands of his black-on-black hair framed his face in artful disarray, contrasting somehow with the unyielding seriousness of his expression.

He was waiting for me to continue, I realized.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “’Tis difficult to speak of. All of it. We’ve had a number of trials to test our courage of late, and it all occasionally gets the better of me. I do want to give you the information you seek.” It felt strange to apologize—something I rarely had need to do.

He might have been grateful for my apparent compliance. My tears, it seemed, had tempered the totality of his bravado and the forcefulness of his approach. I couldn’t help noticing that the sudden gentleness in his manner, shining out from beneath his staunch exterior, only succeeded in magnifying his beauty tenfold, if such a thing were possible. He literally took my breath away with his stately radiance.

“’Tis I who should be apologizing,” he said. “You’ve not yet recovered from an unspeakable ordeal and already I’m forcing you to relive it. I’m sure you understand that my motives are purely in the interest of the safety of my clan and all those who reside within the walls of Kinloch, you and your brother included. If there are threats to our peace, I need to know about them.”

“Aye,” I said, fairly overcome with the magnitude not only of all he had to offer but of all he was. Pure, somehow. Surly, aye, and stern, yet beautifully devoid of malice and spite.

Could it be true that he believed me? The possibility unfurled something in me. I wanted him to believe me, I found. Desperately. I wanted to give him the truth and only the truth. I wanted to forge a bond and earn his trust.

But I could not.

My secrets were too deep. My truth was too sordid. I twirled a long coil of my hair around a finger.

“I’m going to ask you one question,” he said, “and I want an honest answer. I won’t prod you further on this one point, nor will I ask you for any further explanation. But I ask for your honesty to spare my men unnecessary danger and my clan unnecessary work and worry.” He paused. His silver eyes speared me with sincerity and also challenge. Causing unnecessary danger to his men and frivolous, possibly harmful distractions to his clan would not be taken at all lightly; this was clearly written across his swarthy nobleman’s face. “I understand there are layers to your situation that may extend in directions you are not, as yet, ready to share. We all have details of our stories that are less desirable—or less easy, many of which are entirely beyond our control—than others.”

Again he paused and I found myself disconcertingly drawn to him, for his patient diplomacy, his princely beauty, his sharp perceptiveness. If I hadn’t had cause to reasonably avoid all involvement with him for both our sakes, I might have described this surge of emotion in stronger terms. I might have admitted that I was in fact besotted with Knox Mackenzie already. Or at least the idea of him. Of this heady combination of his glaring beauty, his righteous protection and the true north of his moral compass.

“One honest word is all I ask,” he continued. “Can you give me that much?” His voice was ridiculously soothing, penetrative somehow, as though he had the power to peel back my defenses with just the velvety tones of a well-placed request.

“Aye,” I said. I could give him that much. I could at least try to give him that much.

His steely voice matched his eyes. “Do these bandits truly exist? Were you truthfully attacked by masked murderers less than a day’s ride from my clan and family’s keep?”




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