5

Mairin awoke with the knowledge that she

wasn’t alone in the tiny chamber she’d been

sleeping in. Her nape prickled and she carefully opened one eye to see Ewan McCabe

standing in the doorway.

Sunlight peeked through the window, penetrating the gap in the furs. The light somehow made him more ominous than if he

stood cloaked in darkness. In the light, she

could see how big he was. He made a menacing portrait, framed by the doorway he

barely fit through.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Ewan said in a

gruff voice. “I was trying to locate my son.”

It was then, as she followed his gaze to the

bundle beside her, that she realized Crispen

had crawled into her bed during the night.

He was snuggled firmly into her side, the

covers pulled tight to his neck.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize …,” she began.

“Since I tucked him into my bed last night,

I’m sure you didn’t realize,” he said dryly.

“ ’Tis apparent he made the move during the

night.”

She started to move, but Ewan held up a

hand. “Nay, don’t wake him. I’m sure you

both need your rest. I’ll have Gertie hold the

morning meal for you.”

“T—Thank you.?

She stared helplessly up at him, unsure of

what to do with his sudden kindness. Yesterday he’d been so fierce, his scowl had been

enough to frighten a man out of his boots.

After a short nod, he backed out of the room

and closed the door behind him.

She frowned. She didn’t trust such an

about-face. Then she glanced down at the

sleeping boy next to her, and her frown

eased. Gently, she touched his hair, marveling at how the limp curls framed his face.

In time, it would be as long as his father’s.

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Perhaps the laird had calmed in the face of

his son’s safe return. Maybe he was even

feeling grateful and was sorry for his

gruffness.

Hope tightened her chest. He might be

more amenable to giving her a mount and

supplies. She had no good idea where to flee,

but given that Duncan Cameron appeared to

be Ewan McCabe’s sworn enemy, it wasn’t a

good idea for her to remain there.

Sadness tugged at her heart and she

squeezed Crispen closer to her. The abbey

that had been her home for so long, and the

comforting presence of the sisters, was no

longer available to her. She was without a

home and safe harbor.

Closing her eyes, she whispered a fervent

prayer for God’s mercy and protection.

Surely He would provide for her in her hour

of need.

When she next awoke, Crispen was gone

from her bed. She stretched and flexed her

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toes then immediately winced as pain snaked

through her body. Even a hot bath and a

comfortable bed hadn’t completely rid her of

her discomfort. Still, she could move considerably better than she had the day before,

and she was certainly well enough to sit a

horse on her own.

Throwing aside the furs, she braced her

feet on the stone floor and flinched at the

chill. She rose and went to the window to

throw back the covering to allow the sunlight

to stream in.

The rays slid over her like liquid amber.

She closed her eyes and turned her face into

the sun, eagerly soaking up the warmth.

It was a beautiful day as only a spring day

in the highlands could be. She stared over

the hillsides, basking in the comfort of seeing

home for the first time in many long years.

In truth, there’d been many days when she’d

despaired of ever seeing heaven again.

Neamh Álainn. Beautiful heaven. One day

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she’d gaze upon her legacy—her child’s legacy. The only part of her father she’d ever

have.

She curled her fingers into tight fists. “I

will not fail,” she whispered.

Not wanting to waste any more time above

stairs, she donned the simple gown one of

the serving women had left for her. The

neckline was embroidered with a feminine

chain of flowers, and in the middle, in green

and gold, was what she assumed was the

McCabe coat of arms. Glad to be wearing

something other than Duncan Cameron’s

colors, she hurried toward the door.

When she neared the bottom of the stairs,

she hesitated, feeling suddenly unsure of

herself. She was saved from making an awkward entrance into the hall when one of the

McCabe women saw her. The woman smiled

and hurried over to greet her.

“Good afternoon. Are you feeling better

today?”

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Mairin winced. “Is it afternoon already? I

didn’t mean to sleep the day away.”

“You needed the rest. You looked fair to

dropping yesterday. My name is Christina,

by the way. By what name do you call

yourself?”

Mairin colored, feeling suddenly foolish.

She wondered if she should make up a name,

but she hated the idea of lying.

“I can’t tell you,” she murmured.

Christina’s eyebrows shot up, but to her

credit she didn’t react further. Then she

reached for Mairin’s arm and tucked it into

hers.

“Well then, lady, let’s take you into the kitchens before Gertie feeds your meal to the

hounds.”

Feeling relieved that Christina hadn’t

pressed her, she allowed the girl to drag her

into the kitchen where an older woman stood

tending a fire in the pit. Mairin had expected

a matronly woman, and why, she wasn’t

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sure. Shouldn’t women charged with the

cooking be motherly?

Gertie was bone thin, and her gray hair

was pulled into a tight knot at her nape.

Strands escaped on all sides until they flew

about her face, giving her a look of wildness.

She pinned Mairin with a sharp glance that

peeled back several layers of Mairin’s skin.

“About time you got up and around, lass.

No one stays abed here for that long unless

they’re dying. I don’t expect you’re dying

since you’re standing before me looking hale

and hearty. Don’t make a habit of it, or I

won’t hold the morning meal for you again.”

Taken aback, Mairin’s first instinct was to

laugh, but she wasn’t sure whether the other

woman would take offense. Instead she folded her hands solemnly in front of her and

promised never to do so again. A vow she felt

comfortable making since she didn’t plan to

spend another night in the McCabe keep.

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“Have a seat then. There’s a stool in the

corner. You can take your meal there. No

sense messing up the table in the hall again

for one person.”

Mairin meekly obeyed and made quick

work of the trencher of food. Gertie and

Christina watched as she ate, and Mairin

could hear them whispering when they

thought Mairin wasn’t looking.

“Wouldn’t tell you her name?” Gertie exclaimed loudly.

She turned in Mairin’s direction and

uttered a hmmph. “When people won’t give

their name, ’tis because they have something

to hide. What are you hiding, lass? Don’t be

thinking our laird won’t find out. He’s too

precise to take such nonsense from a slip of a

lass like yourself.”

“Then I’ll discuss the matter with your

laird and only your laird,” Mairin said firmly.

She hoped that by injecting enough strength

into her voice she’d make the other woman

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back down. Gertie st rolled her eyes and resumed tending her fire.

“Can you take me to him?” Mairin asked

Christina as she rose from the stool. “I really

must speak to him right away.”

“Of course, Lady,” Christina said in her

sweet voice. “I was instructed to take you to

him the moment you finished eating.”

The food Mairin had just consumed

swirled in her gut like sour ale.

“Are you nervous?” Christina asked as they

descended the steps from the keep. “You

have no reason to be. The laird seems gruff,

and he can be stern when crossed, but he’s

fair and very evenhanded with our clan.”

The part that Christina left out was that

Mairin wasn’t part of the McCabe clan,

which meant that any policies about fair and

evenhanded didn’t apply. But she had saved

Crispen, and it was obvious that the laird

loved his son. She held on to that thought as

they rounded the corner into the courtyard.

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Mairin’s eyes widened at the site of so

many men training. The clash of swords and

shields nearly deafened her, and the afternoon sun striking the metal made her squint

and wince. She blinked and focused her gaze

away from the reflections dancing through

the air. When she realized what she was seeing instead, she gasped.

Her hand fluttered to her chest, and her

vision went a bit blurry. It wasn’t until her

tortured lungs begged for mercy that she

realized she was holding her breath. She

sucked in a mouthful of air, but that didn’t

help her light-headedness.

The laird was sparring with another soldier in only his boots and trews. His bare

chest gleamed with a sheen of sweat, and a

trickle of blood slid down his side.

Oh merciful heavens.

She watched in fascination, unable to

make herself tear her gaze away, no matter

that it was surely a sin to ogle in this fashion.

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The laird was broad shouldered. His

massive chest sported several scars. A man

didn’t get to be his age without acquiring

battle scars. Badges of honor to highlanders.

A man without them was considered weak

and without courage.

His hair clung damply to his back and his

braids swung about him as he pivoted in the

dirt to parry another thrust by his opponent.

His muscles strained and bulged as he swung

the heavy sword about his head and slashed

downward. At the last moment, his opponent

threw up his shield, but he still buckled under the blow.

The younger man went sprawling, his own

sword clattering to the ground. He did have

the presence of mind to cover himself with

the shield as he lay there panting softly.

The laird frowned but extended his hand

down to the younger soldier. “You lasted

longer this time, Heath, but you’re still allowing emotion to rule your actions. Until

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you learn to control that temper of yours,

you’ll prove an easy mark in battle.”

Heath scowled and didn’t look appreciative of his laird’s criticism. He ignored Ewan’s

outstretched hand and scrambled to his feet,

his face red with anger.

It was then that the laird looked up and

saw Mairin standing there with Christina.

His eyes narrowed and she felt pinned by the

force of his stare. He motioned for his tunic,

which Alaric tossed to him from the side.

After hastily pulling it over his bare chest, he

motioned for Mairin to come forward.

Feeling strangely disappointed that he’d

put the tunic back on, she edged closer, all

but dragging her heels in the dirt. It was silly.

She was a grown woman, but in front of this

man, she felt like an errant child about to be

called to task.

Guilty conscience. A good confession

would clear that up.

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“Come walk with me, lass. We have much

to discuss.”

She swallowed and snuck a peek at

Christina, who performed a curtsy in the

laird’s direction before turning and heading

back the way they’d come.

His teeth flashed into a grin. “Come,” he

said again. “I don’t bite.”

The flash of humor caught her unawares

and she smiled broadly, quite unaware of its

effect on the men who saw it.

“Very well, Laird. Since you’ve offered me

such reassurance, I’ll take the risk and accompany you.”

They walked from the courtyard and took

a path that led up the hillside that overlooked the loch. At the top, the laird stopped

and stared out over the water.

“My son says I have much to thank you

for.”

She folded her hands in front of her, gathering a bit of the material of her gown in her

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fingers. “He’s a good lad. He helped me as

much as I helped him.”

The laird nodded. “So he told me. He

brought you to me.”

Mairin didn’t like the way he said the last.

There was too much possession in his voice.

“Laird, I must depart today. If you cannot

spare a horse, I understand. I’ll leave on foot,

though I would appreciate an escort to your

border.”

He turned to her with an uplifted eyebrow.

“On foot? You wouldn’t make it far, lass.

You’d be tossed over someone’s saddle and

spirited away the moment you left my land.”

She frowned. “Not if I’m careful.”

“As careful as you were when you got yourself abducted by Duncan Cameron’s men?”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “That’s different. I

wasn’t expecting …”

Faint amusement glittered in his eyes.

“Does anyone ever expect to be abducted?”

“Aye,” she whispered.

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?Tell me something, lass. You appear to be

someone who firmly believes in a promise.

I’d wager you expect people to remain true to

their word.”

“Oh aye,” she said fervently.

“And you exacted a promise from my son,

is this not so?”

She looked down. “Aye, I did.”

“And you expect him to keep that promise,

do you not?”

She squirmed uncomfortably but nodded

even as guilt filled her.

“As it turns out, Crispen also exacted a

promise from me.”

“What promise?” she asked.

“To protect you.”

“Oh.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Somehow she had just maneuvered herself into a

trap. She knew it.

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“I’d say ’tis hard to protect a lass if she’s

out running all over the highlands on foot,

wouldn’t you say?”

She scowled, unhappy with the direction

this conversation was headed.

“I release you from his promise,” she

declared.

He shook his head, a smile lifting the

corners of his mouth. Shocked, she stared

transfixed at the change such a gesture

wrought on his features. My, but he was

quite handsome. Really handsome. And he

looked younger, not as hardened, though

she’d seen the scars, so she knew he was anything but soft. Nay, he was a warrior. There

was no telling how many men he’d killed in

battle. Why, he could probably snap

someone’s neck with his fingers. Certainly

hers.

The thought had her reaching up to cover

her throat.

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“Only Crispen can release me from that

promise, lass. As I’m sure he told you, a

McCabe always keeps his word.”

Glumly, she remembered Crispen saying

just that. She also remembered his vow to

her that his father would protect her. She’d

been too bent on self-preservation to really

give thought to what that meant.

“Are you saying I can’t leave?” she

whispered.

He seemed to consider her question for a

moment, his gaze never straying from her.

He stared until she squirmed under his

scrutiny.

“If I knew you had a safe place to go, then

of course I’d allow you to go. To your family

perhaps?”

She wasn’t going to lie and say she had

family, so she said nothing at all.

The laird sighed. “Tell me your name, lass.

Tell me why Duncan Cameron was so adamant that you marry him. I’ve promised

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Crispen I’d protect you, and I will, but I can’t

do so unless I have all the facts.”

Oh dear, he was going to get all gruff again

when she refused to obey his command. He’d

been ready to throttle her the day before. A

night’s sleep probably hadn’t tempered the

desire, no matter how patient he seemed to

be at the moment.

Instead of openly defying him as she’d

done yesterday, she stood mute, hands still

folded in front of her.

“You realize, I’ll find out soon enough. It

would be better on you if you simply told me

what I want to know now. I don’t like to be

kept waiting. I’m not a patient man. Particularly when those under my command defy

me.”

“I’m not under your command,” she blurted before she could think better of it.

“The moment you stepped onto my land,

you came under my command. My son’s

promise put you solidly under my care and

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protection. My promise to my son solidified

that. You will obey me.”

She raised her chin, staring directly into

those piercing green eyes. “I survived at

Duncan Cameron’s hands. I’ll survive at

yours. You can’t make me tell you anything.

Beat me if you must, but I will not tell you

what you want to know.”

Outrage sparked in his eyes, and his

mouth gaped open. “You think I’d beat you?

Do you think me the same manner of man as

Cameron?”

The fury in his voice had her stepping

back. She’d struck a nerve, and anger rolled

off the laird’s shoulders in thunderous

waves. He all but snarled his question at her.

“I did not intend any insult. I do not know

what manner of man you are. I’ve only made

your acquaintance for a short time, and you

must admit, our meeting has been less than

amicable.”

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The laird turned away, his hand going to

his hair. She didn’t know if he intended to

pull it in frustration or to prevent himself

from wrapping those fingers around her

neck.

When he turned around, his eyes blazed

with purpose, and he advanced on her, closing the distance between them. She took another rapid step back, but he was there,

looming over her, bristling with outrage.

“Never, never have I treated man or woman in the manner Cameron treated you.

Dogs are treated with better regard than

that. Never make the mistake of comparing

me with him.”

“A—Aye, Laird.”

He raised his hand, and it was all she

could do not to flinch. How she stood so stoic, she didn’t know, but it seemed important

she didn’t show fear that he’d strike her. Instead, he touched a strand of her hair that

whispered down her cheek.

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“No one will hurt you here. You will trust

me.”

“You can’t command someone to trust

you!”

“Aye, I can, and you willngers ar9;m giving

you until tomorrow to decide you trust me

enough to tell me what I want to know. I am

your laird, and you will obey me as everyone

else here obeys me. Is that understood?”

“That … that’s ridiculous,” she sputtered,

forgetting her fear of angering him further.

“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever

heard.”

She turned her back to him, telling him

without words what she thought of his dictate. As she stomped away, she missed the

amused smile that settled over Ewan’s face.