FOREVER HER CHAMPION

A novella
SUZAN TISDALE

Targe & Thistle, INC

 C onte nts

Copyright
Also by Suzan Tisdale
Dedication
Introduction
Prologue to Ever My Love
Prologue Forever Her Champion

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9

Epilogue
Afterword
Preface
Prologue to Ian’s Rose
Chapter 1 Ian’s Rose
Chapter 2 Ian’s Rose
Chapter 3 Ian’s Rose

Also by Suzan Tisdale

About the Author
Cover design by Pistolique

Copyright © 2016 Suzan Tisdale

ISBN: 978-1-943244-15-7
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
ISBN: 978-1-943244-15-7
A L SO BY SU ZA N TISDA L E

The Clan MacDougall Series

Laiden’s Daughter
Findley’s Lass
Wee William’s Woman
McKenna’s Honor

The Clan Graham Series

Rowan’s Lady
Frederick’s Queen

The Clan McDunnah Series

A Murmor of Providence
A Whisper of Fate
A Breath of Promise

The Mackintoshes and McLarens Series

Ian’s Rose
The Bowie’s Bride - 2016
Brogan’s Promise - 2017

Moirra’s Heart Series

Stealing Moirra’s Heart

Saving Moirra’s Heart

Isle of the Blessed

For HM Ward’s The Arrangement Series

The King’s Courtesan

The Brides of the Clan MacDougall

 (A Sweet Series)
Aishlinn
Maggy (arriving 2017)
Nora (arriving 2017)

Coming Soon:
The Thief ’s Daughter
For Emilee and Debbi
 INTRODU CTION

Dear Reader,
Forever Her Champion is a novella. It was originally published as part of the Ever My
Love anthology released earlier this year. If you have previously purchased that book, then
please return this novella as you will find it in that anthology.

If you want to read more titles in the Ever My Love collection, please do! You can follow the
ring as it makes its way through the centuries!

Of Love and Legend by Kathryn Le Veque: Medieval England - The ring finds its way into
a notorious outlaw's possession only to curse the woman he loves.

Forever Her Champion by Suzan Tisdale: The Scottish Highlands - The ring escapes with
a little girl... and the curse follows.

Breath from the Sea by Eliza Knight: Tudor England - The ring once again becomes the
prize for the lawless when an infamous female pirate tries to steal it from a Queen’s Naval
Captain.

Only You by Cheryl Bolen: Georgian Era - Twin sisters vie for the ring - and for the Duke
of Axminster.

Call of the Wild Wind by Sabrina York: Regency England - The ring enters the proud and
proper Regency set where the curse finds new life.

The Guardian Mist by Susan Stoker: Modern Times - Mistaken identity, soul mates, and
the last chance for the ring to fulfill its destiny.
 P R OL OG U E T O E V E R M Y L OV E

12 8 A . D. THE JU NII V IL L A , 8 M IL E S NORTHWE ST OF ROM E

Written by USA Today best selling author, Kathryn Le Veque, as part of the EVER MY LOVE
anthology released in July 2016

IT WAS A STRONG BREEZE THAT SWEPT OF THE TYRRENHIAN SEA, A BREEZE THAT WAS A BREATH FROM THE GODS,
from Poseidon as he bellowed angrily at the land which he could not dominate. This summer season
had been unusually warm and the sea breezes reflected that unnatural heat. The locals said that it was
because Hades had left the gates of hell open and what they were experiencing was the great belches
of infernal fire, but Theodosia dismissed the native dramatics as she usually did. Moreover, she had
no time for such things. These days, she had little time for anything other than her own grief.
On the placid morning, Theodosia sat upon a cushioned chair in the peristylium, a garden area
that was towards the rear of her parents’ villa outside of Rome. It was a villa that had been in her
family for generations, as her family, the Junii, were long-established nobility among the patrician
society of Rome. Along with respect and wealth came privilege, and Theodosia’s entire life had been
one of advantage and pleasure, and when it came time for her to marry, her father (much the slave to
his daughter’s wishes), allowed her to select her own husband. Select she did, a young and dashing
Roman officer from a good family named Lucius Maximus Aentillius.
Lucius.
The mere name entering her mind used to bring torrents of tears, ever since the letter from the
governor of Londinium, addressed to her father, had been received those six months ago. It is my
sincerest regret to inform you that the Twentieth Victorious Valerian Legion was discovered to be
overrun upon the great Vallum Aelium. All within the legion were lost.
Lost….
Now, Theodosia pretended to be numb to the mention of her husband’s name because her constant
tears frightened her young daughter. Lucius’ daughter. Whenever she looked into that little face, she
saw her husband within in the depths; dark and curly hair, hazel eyes… all of this was Lucius. Mostly,
she cried for the child that would never know her father and for the father who never knew he had a
child. These days, Theodosia cried many tears for many reasons.
She also cried for herself.
 Twenty-three years of age was quite early to be widowed, but that was the position she found
herself in. Her family, as well-connected as they were, and with her father being a senator, she knew
she would not be able to remain a widow much longer. Already, her father’s friend, Proculus
Tarquinius Geganius, was filling her father’s ear with a stew of poisonous suggestions that would see
his son, Marcus, married to Theodosia. Marcus didn’t like girl-children, however, so Theodosia’s
young daughter, Lucia, would have to remain with her grandparents. In spite of the girl-child,
however, Marcus was willing to marry the beautiful Theodosia.
Theodosia, however, was unwilling to marry him. Her life, void of joy and cast into a sea of
turmoil those six months ago, was threatening to become worse with the axe of marriage hanging over
her head. Despair and sorrow were her constant companions. If her parents had anything to say about
it, she would marry Marcus and little Lucia would no longer be welcome to live with her mother, but
Theodosia would not let that happen.
Above all else, she and Lucia would remain together.
On this warm morning, Theodosia watched Lucia play in the pond in the middle of the
peristylium, her thoughts lingering on the day she and Lucius had met. It had happened along the sea
shore where she had been walking along with friends and collecting lovely shells. Lucius and some of
his cohorts had rowed onto the sand from a Roman warship that had been anchored off shore,
invading their shell-gathering, but no one seemed to mind at that point. Theodosia and her friends had
been laughing, enjoying life and enjoying the sun, when six brawny soldiers disembarked from their
cog.
It was a moment that changed Theodosia’s life forever.
The soldiers were quite interested in the women along the beach, but Theodosia’s friends fled,
leaving Theodosia standing on the beach with her apron full of sea shells. Realizing she was alone,
she had tried to flee but the sea shells had fallen to the sand and the next she realized, Lucius was
helping her pick them all up. She gazed into the man’s gentle, warm eyes and she was lost.
A brief courtship followed in the usual fashion except she discovered her lover to be quite
prolific with prose – Lucius would write her poetry, in secret of course, because if his cohorts in the
legion caught wind of the fact that Lucius would write songs of love and beauty, he might have been
laughed at. But, oh, the prose! The beauty of his words! And the last line, in anything he wrote her,
was always the same:
Cum cogitationes solum de uobis. With dreams only of you.
Words that had such great meaning to them, in fact, that Lucius had them inscribed on the wedding
ring he gave her. It was a family ring that had come through Lucius’ very wealthy mother whose family
had descended from the Greek gods centuries before. It was said that Silvia’s family was half-divine,
descended from Mars, and when Lucius gave Theodosia his mother’s family ring, he told her that the
ring had come from Aphrodite herself. The ring, a very dark gold with a crimson-colored ruby,
appeared old enough to have perhaps truly been forged by the gods.
But it was a beautiful ring of great sentimental value. With her parents’ permission, Theodosia and
Lucius had been married a scant six weeks later and at the reception following their wedding, Lucius’
mother, the elegant Lady Silvia, had pulled Theodosia aside. Although the woman had been gracious
and affectionate, her attention was not on Theodosia – it had been on the ring.
As I have no daughters, I asked my son to give you this ring meant from my family, she had said.
As you wear it upon your finger, I must tell you the legend behind it. Now the ring is a part of you
and you are a part of it, and you must pass it down to your daughter, and your daughter must pass
it to her daughter. It has been in my family for centuries; some say it was worn by Aphrodite
herself. The ring possesses the greatest power of love and when the owner of the ring knows true
love, the stone will turn crimson. But if owner of the ring fails to find true love before she has seen
twenty-five summers, the stone will turn to dark ember and the owner shall be alone for eternity.
Theodosia had looked at the ring and it was indeed a lovely crimson color. Puzzled, she had
spoken freely. The stone is crimson upon my finger, she had said, but I fear you have gifted me with
a generous burden. I fear to tell any daughter I may have that if she does not know love by her
twenty-fifth summer, then she shall be an old maid.
Silvia had laughed. You needn’t worry, she had said. Any daughter you and my son will have will
surely be beautiful and know love.
Theodosia still wasn’t convinced. Have you ever seen it actually turn to ember?
Silvia lost some of her humor. Once, she had said, on my spinster aunt. The stone was black and
she died old and alone. But before she died, she gave it to me and I soon wed Lucius’ father. The
stone turned crimson and has been crimson ever since.
Even now, in the sunshine of her parent’s peristylium, Theodosia recalled that conversation and
looked at the ring upon her slender finger, which had turned darker shades since the missive from
Londinium those months ago. It wasn’t exactly a dark ember color, but it was no longer the rich, red
crimson it used to be. Odd how she hadn’t noticed that before. The ring, before her eyes, was
darkening.
Curious as to the changing color of the ring, Theodosia thought on her age; I have seen twenty-
three summers. Only two more years to find love again or the ring would darken for the rest of her
lifetime. What if what Lady Silvia said was true? What if she would never love again if she did not
find it in the next two years?
But her thoughts quickly settled; she had loved once before. She and Lucius had shared a love that
mortal men could only dream of. She didn’t want to find love again; she wanted to remember Lucius
forever as her one and only true love. She didn’t want another man’s touch to erase that memory.
If the ring turned to black, so be it.
“A beautiful morning, my glory.”
Theodosia was rocked from her thoughts of the ring by her father, who came up behind her and
kissed her on the head. She covered the ring on her finger, putting her hand over it, as she forced a
smile at her father.
“Good morn to you as well,” she said politely. “Where is mother?”
Tiberius Junius Brutus threw a thumb back in the direction of the cucina, or kitchen. “There is
some crisis regarding a roasting pig, I think,” he said, pulling up a chair. “The truth is that I do not
know. I try not to involve myself in your mother’s affairs because she will pinch me.”
Theodosia giggled. “Pinch her in return.”
Tiberius shook his head. “Then she will strike me,” he said with fear, watching his daughter
laugh. “Nay, daughter; I will remain happily out of your mother’s affairs. I have come to see you and
Lucia this morning.”
Theodosia looked over at her daughter, now picking some of her mother’s precious pink flowers.
“Lucia!” she called. “Do not pick those flowers!”
The little girl looked up at her mother, grinned, and moved on to the next bush to pick those
flowers. Theodosia sighed.
“She is so much like her father,” she said softly. “She knows that her smile will ease everything
with me. I cannot become angry when she smiles.”
Tiberius laughed softly. “Nor can I,” he said, tapping his daughter affectionately on the arm.
“When you were young, it was the same way with you. I could deny you nothing when you smiled at
me.”
Theodosia looked at her beloved father, smiling at the man. “Does it still work?”
He grunted and looked away, aware of her attempt at manipulation. “More than likely.”
She chuckled, turning her attention back to her daughter. “That is good to know.”
Tiberius cleared his throat again, eyeing his granddaughter as she ripped yellow posies off the
vine before returning his gaze to his daughter. His focus lingered on her, his titian-haired daughter that
he loved so much. Her heartbreak had been his heartbreak but, as a father, he had the ability to see the
bigger picture in her life. He knew she was still grieving for Lucius but to allow her to wallow in that
anguish forever would not be a good thing. Theodosia deserved better things in life that to weep over
a lost love.
“You seem happier these days, Theo,” he ventured. “You are at least smiling again.”
Theodosia knew what he meant and the familiar pangs of grief began to come over her again.
“Sometimes,” she said. “It comes and goes.”
Tiberius continued to watch her, noting the expressions of pain upon her face. “It does not have to
be like this forever,” he said softly. “The time will come again when you are happy. Sometimes the
best thing to do is to find another source of happiness.”
Theodosia rolled her eyes and stood up. “I do not want to find another source of happiness,
Father,” she said firmly. “If you are going to bring up Proculus and his pompous son, do not bother. I
will not marry Marcus. He means to separate me from my child and I will not have it. It is barbaric.”
Tiberius remained calm as his daughter’s ire rose. “He is a man who has never been married,” he
said evenly. “He does not understand the attachment between a mother and her child. I am sure that in
time he will come to understand it. He is not an unreasonable man; in fact, he has a very bright future
ahead of him. Some say he is to be the next proconsul of Byzantium. He is in much favor with Caesar.
You could be his wife, Theodosia, and command much wealth and power. Does this not appeal to
you?”
Theodosia was looking at her political-savvy father in horror; she knew the man saw her match to
Marcus as a great political marriage that would bring both families prestige. But she wanted no part
of it.
“And I must sacrifice my child in order to attain it?” she asked, aghast. Then, she shook her head
firmly. “Nay, Father; I will not sacrifice Lucia simply to gain a new husband. I do not want a new
husband. I thought you understood this.”
Tiberius understood it all too well, but he also understand that he, as Theodosia’s father, knew
what was best for her. He and his wife had been given over to many long discussions about their
daughter’s future and Theodosia’s mother was also in agreement. They had to do what was best for
their child, whether or not she realized it. Lucius was dead and he was never coming back.
Theodosia, with or without Lucia, had to move on. But the difficulty would be in the doing.
“Theo,” Tiberius said quietly as he rose from his chair. Theodosia was facing the small fish pond
in the peristylium, refusing to look at him. When he realized she wasn’t going to turn around to face
him, he cleared his throat softly. “I understand that you are still grieving for Lucius. I understand that
you loved the man. But you must understand that life goes on without him. Lucius is dead, Theo; he
has been dead for years as far as we know. You have therefore been a widow for at least that long.
Will you waste your life lingering in the past, over a love that grew cold years ago? You are more
intelligent than that. You were always given free choice in all matters but I find that at this time, I must
make your decisions for you since you choose to linger in the darkness. I told Marcus that you would
marry him. The contract has been sealed. Tomorrow, Marcus will come for you and you will go with
him. You must trust me in this matter, Theodosia. I know what is best for you.”
Theodosia had been staring at the fish pond through his speech until he mentioned Marcus and the
marriage. Realizing what her father had done, she looked at the man in outrage.
“You had no right!” she hissed. “No right at all!”
Tiberius would not be sucked into her argument. He turned away. “As your father and the man
who provides your food and clothing, I have every right,” he told her sternly. “I am sorry if this
angers you, Theo, but you will thank me one day. This is what is best for you. Lucia will remain here
with your mother and I until such time as Marcus will allow her into his household. She will be happy
here, I swear it.”
Tiberius was walking away, as he often did with face with enraged or emotional females.
Theodosia knew it would do no good to scream at him for it would only make him angry. It would
only drive him away to the point where he would lock himself in his room and refuse to come out.
Nay, arguing with the man would not bring about his change of mind. Once his mind was set, it was
purely stone.
Tears filling her eyes, Theodosia watched her father disappear into the villa, no doubt to inform
Theodosia’s mother what he had done. She probably already knows, Theodosia thought bitterly. She
was quite certain they had both had a hand in this because she was also quite certain that her father
had tried to deliver this news to her more than once over the past few days but she was in no frame of
mind to listen to him. But today, he could no longer delay, especially if Marcus was expecting her on
the morrow. Was it really possible?
Oh, God… Marcus…!
Theodosia could not go to him; she would not go to him. She would not leave her daughter behind.
That being the case, she would either have to fight the man off or run away from him. She chose to
run; there was nothing left for her here, anyway, not with Lucius gone. In fact, this entire place
reminded her of him, reminded her of the man she had loved and lost. She had to go somewhere else
and start anew, a place where there were no memories of Lucius and where overbearing buffoons like
Marcus weren’t breathing down her neck.
She had to get away.
Lucia was still picking yellow flowers off the vine as her mother came to her and gently led her
away. Into the dark, well-furnished villa they went, heading to the cubiculum they shared, the one that
Theodosia had shared with Lucius before he’d left for Britannica. The chamber was small but well-
appointed with a comfortable larger bed and then a smaller one in the corner for Lucia.
Once inside the chamber, Theodosia shut the door and bolted it. The only light and air came from
a narrow window up near the ceiling, a window that faced inward to the atrium of the home. On the
second floor of the villa as they were, the walls of the chamber were painted beautiful reds and
yellows, with a woodland scene against the outer wall.
Lucius had once taken a reed brush and, with black paint he’d taken from the household slaves
that worked the maintenance on the villa, painted a giant penis on every animal in the woodland
scene. The enormous phalluses were still there and gave Theodosia cause to smile every time she
saw them. They reminded her of Lucius and his sense of humor, of the man who could be so loving
and yet so naughty at times. She loved that about him. They risqué paintings brought a smile to her lips
even now.
So she stood there a moment, grinning at her husband’s sense of humor, drinking in the sight to
tuck back into her memory for days when she was feeling particularly lonely. She could lose herself
in thoughts of Lucius so easily here but she eventually shook them off. She had a job to do. Opening
the large chest where clothes and other possessions were kept, she removed a large satchel made
from leather and fabric. Quickly, she went to work.
As Theodosia hurriedly packed, Lucia found her poppets and sat upon her little bed, paying with
her dolls and the flowers she had picked. At one point, Theodosia’s mother knocked on her door,
wanting to speak with her, but Theodosia chased her away. She didn’t want to speak with her mother.
She knew the woman supported her husband’s decision to marry off their daughter so she had no
desire to speak with her. She had no desire to speak with the woman who would so greedily accept
Lucia to raise as her own.
So Theodosia’s mother eventually wandered away, distraught, but Theodosia didn’t pay the
woman any mind. She continued packing her bag, stuffing it with clothing they would need and
valuables to sell, including every piece of jewelry her father had ever given her. They were
expensive pieces and would bring a goodly sum. Theodosia knew she would need the money.
As she bustled about in her chamber, collecting things of value, she passed by her writing desk
and accidentally bumped into it. Pieces of vellum fell to the floor and as she picked them up, her
attention was focused on one particular sheet on the top.

MY FINGERS BRUSH THE SKY; I SEE YOUR FACE IN THE CLOUDS.

In white mist, your smile fills my soul,
My heart has wings!
Upon the breath from the sea, I hear you call to me,
Ever, Theodosia, ever my love!
For separation cannot deny the bonds of our passionate hearts.

WITH A SIGH, THEODOSIA SLOWED IN HER PACKING AS SHE READ THE POEM, TWICE. LUCIUS HAD BEEN KNOWN TO
write copious amounts of poetry to her and she, in turn, had learned to write it to him. But that had
stopped the moment the missive had come from Londinium. She never wanted to write poetry ever
again, for it was something only meant for Lucius. Looking at her words upon the vellum, words she’d
hoped to give to Lucius someday, she missed the man all the more. It made her realize that running
away was the right thing to do. She would not be separated from the child of the man who instilled
such love within her breast. For him, still, her heart had wings and it always would.
She renewed her packing with a sense of urgency now, stronger than before. Her next order of
business was to dress her daughter appropriately for travel and she bundled the child up in loosely
fitting clothing. Putting a little cap on her head to conceal her dark curls, she dressed appropriately
herself in durable traveling clothing. Her dark red hair, so shiny and lovely, was wrapped up in a
scarf to conceal it. Dressed and packed, she fed her child the remnants of the fruit and bread and
cheese that had been left over from a mid-morning meal and waited for the sun to set.
There was a reason she wanted to wait until sundown; she knew her parents would be taking their
naps before the evening meal and the villa would be quiet and still for the most part. Opening her
chamber door as the sunlight on the walls turned shades of pink and gold, she slipped from her
chamber and down the stairs that led to the vestibulum, or entry, as her chamber was very close to it.
There were a few servants about but they didn’t notice her as she slipped out into the olive grove
that was immediately outside, using the darkened trees with their dark green leaves so shield her
flight. As the night birds began to forage overhead and the sea breeze blew cool and damp, Theodosia
and Lucia slipped away from Villa Junii, making their way to the inland road that would lead to the
north.
It was a long flight into the night that did not stop even when the sun rose again. It was well into
the next day when Theodosia, carrying the sleeping Lucia on her shoulder as she trudged down the
tree-lined road, heard the sounds of a wagon behind her. Fearful it might be her father, for she had
already evaded his patrols twice, she slipped off the road and allowed the cart to pass, noting it was
a lone man with an empty cart. The wagon bed was covered in chaff.
Hopeful that she might have found a ride to the mountainous interior region where she hoped to
find shelter, she came out of her hiding place and began to walk quickly after the cart. She could only
pray the man at the reins was a kind and moral soul. At this point she didn’t much care because her
exhaustion and hunger had the better of her. She needed rest and food badly, overriding her common
sense.
“Sir?” she called after him. “Sir?”
The man in the cart, hearing the voice behind him, turned around to the source but kept going.
However, when he saw the woman with the small child following him, he came to a halt. Relieved,
Theodosia ran up to the wagon bench.
“Good sir,” she said, weary and hopeful. “Would you be kind enough to take my child and I with
you?”
The man, younger, with handsome and somewhat rugged blond looks, nodded. “Where are you
going?”
Theodosia lifted the half-asleep Lucia onto the wagon bench and the man grasped the child so she
wouldn’t slither away. Theodosia climbed up onto the bench and took Lucia back into her arms,
holding the child tightly.
“I… I am going up this road a way,” she said, uncertain what to tell the man who seemed to be
gazing at her with some interest. “Thank you for your graciousness.”
The man clucked softly at the big brown horse, who began to walk again. He eyed Theodosia
somewhat, curious about the beautiful woman with the sleeping child. He also noticed the traveling
clothes, the bag. “Have you been traveling far?” he asked politely.
Theodosia nodded. “Very far.”
“Where are you going?”
Theodosia had no idea what to tell him so she avoided answering. She glanced at the wagon bed,
covered in chaff. “Are you a farmer?” she asked.
The man nodded. “My father and I have a large farm near Cesaro,” he said. “I go into Rome once
a week to sell our produce at the markets. I am just returning.”
Theodosia glanced at the man; he had pale blue eyes and very big, muscular hands. “What do you
sell?”
“Grain, mostly,” he said. “We also have a small vineyard and my father makes wine.”
Theodosia was interested in such a life; men and women who worked the land had always
fascinated her. To be so useful, she thought. She had no idea what it truly meant to be useful, just as
she had no idea what it truly meant to run away from her father’s home. Already, they had faced some
hunger and hardship. She was frightened. But she also felt strangely free.
“Do you do well at the market?” she asked, genuinely curious. “That is to say, are you able to do
well enough to feed yourself and your family?”
 When he caught her looking at him, he smiled and his eyes crinkled. “I do well enough,” he told
her. “But it is just my father and me. There are only two mouths to feed.”
“No wife?”
“I was married, once, but she died giving birth to my son, who also died.”
Theodosia sobered. “I am sorry,” she said. “I did not mean to pry.”
The man shook his head. “You did not,” he said, eyeing her now with more interest than curiosity.
“My name is Gaius, by the way.”
“I am Theodosia. This is my daughter, Lucia.”
“Where are you going, Theodosia? To see your family?”
Theodosia shook her head and looked away. “Nay.”
“Your husband, perhaps?”
Again, she shook her head. “My husband is dead.”
“And you are running from his cruel family who beats you daily and forces you into slavery?”
Theodosia grinned in spite of her herself. “Nay,” she said. “I have been living with my family. My
husband’s family is all dead.”
Gaius was an extraordinarily intelligent man for being a farmer; in fact he had been schooled in
his youth and spent several years in the Roman army, but an ill father and a failing farm had caused
him to return home.
Bright as he was, he knew there was much more to Theodosia than she was telling him. She was a
stunningly beautiful woman with soft white hands and smooth skin and if he could guess about her, he
would say she was a noblewoman. She just had that look about her, regal and elegant. But she was
running from something, or someone, and the protective male in him seemed to be taking great interest
in her. It probably wasn’t healthy for him, for he’d never had good fortune with women, but he
couldn’t help himself. Something about Theodosia drew him to her.
But she obviously didn’t feel the same way about him. She had refused to answer his questions
about where she was going so he was coming to suspect that perhaps she didn’t even know. She
appeared very tired and hungry, and her little girl was exhausted. He was more than likely a fool for
being sympathetic to her, but he was.
“If your destination is too far away, my farm is only an hour ahead,” he told her casually. “It is
getting late. If you would like to rest the night, as our guest, we would be happy to have you and your
daughter. In fact, my dog just had a litter of puppies your daughter might like to play with. Otherwise,
they will be very lonely puppies.”
Theodosia looked at the man, shocked by his offer. Do not agree! She told herself, suspicious of
the Gaius’ ulterior motive. But the truth was that a night in a safe home with a warm fire was too good
to resist. Perhaps it would be the most foolish thing she ever did in her life to accept his invitation,
but she found herself quite willing to do it. For her daughter’s sake, she had to.
“Well,” she said, pretending to be reluctant. “I suppose we could, just for the night, of course. We
would be gone by sunrise.”
Gaius nodded. “As you wish,” he said, eyeing her. “If… if you perhaps need to earn some money
for your trip, there are chores about the farm that need to be done. I would pay you for them.”
Theodosia looked at him in surprise. “Chores?” she repeated, both disgusted and intrigued. “Like
what?”
Gaius grinned at the dismay in her tone, which only proved his theory that she was a noblewoman
who did not do manual work. “Milking the goats,” he told her. “Sweeping. Cooking. We can always
use help if you are looking for a job.”
 A job. Theodosia had to admit that she was very interested. It would be some place for her and
Lucia to stay, to be together, and for her to earn a living even though she’d never earned a living in her
life. Still, it might be the opportunity she needed. She tried not to seem too eager about it.
“We can discuss it, I suppose,” she said. “But you should know I have never milked a goat in my
life.”
He grinned, glancing at her lily-white hands. “Is that so?” he said, somewhat wryly. “I would
never have guessed. It is easy to learn.”
“Is it?”
“I can will teach you.”
“I cannot cook, either.”
“I can teach you that, too.”
Theodosia thought, perhaps, that it all sounded too good to be true. Were the gods sending her a
sign or was Hades providing a trap for being a disobedient daughter? She couldn’t be sure, but she
was attracted to Gaius’ offer. It was a struggle not to become excited about it.
“But my daughter must stay with me,” she said. “You do not mind a child about?”
Gaius shook his head. “My father always wanted a grandchild. He will like having her about.”
Theodosia didn’t know what to say; she was coming to think that, indeed, the gods knew of her
plight and had brought Gaius into her life at precisely the correct time. Was it even possible that all of
this could be true? She would soon find out.
Gaius and his father, Agrippus, lived like two bachelors on a very large farm. There was plenty of
work to be done and Theodosia wasn’t afraid to learn. In fact, she rather liked it. Gaius taught her to
cook and to milk goats, to press wine and make flour. Theodosia learned quickly. She soon came to
love her new life and, in time, love for Gaius bloomed as well. A truly good-hearted man who readily
accepted Lucia, Theodosia knew that the decision to leave her parents’ home had been the best
decision she had ever made. She knew that Lucius would have approved.
With the introduction of Gaius, the ring that Lucius had given her those years ago once again
turned a deep, rich crimson and would remain so until the day Theodosia passed it on to Lucia on the
day of her eighteenth birthday. Fortunately for Lucia, the ring would turn crimson two years later at
the introduction of a certain young soldier who happened to cross her path.
The ring of Lucius’ family, the ring of true love or of lost love, continued to live on through the
ages, passed down from Lucia to her daughter, and from her daughter onward. The story of the ring
was also passed along with it, an oral tradition for the female members of the family, and through the
centuries, the eldest daughter of each generation would hold great hope that the ring would turn
crimson for her. Somewhere along the line, it was said that if one spoke the words inscribed upon the
ring, with dreams only of you, that a lover would appear within a fortnight. Many a young woman
believed in those words. Many a young woman was rewarded for that belief.
But a few were not. No one could be sure why those spellbound words sometimes worked or
sometimes didn’t, or why love would turn the stone to crimson and heartache would turn it to black,
but it didn’t really matter. It was a glorious tradition within the females of the family and the mystery
of the crimson-stoned ring continued to brand Theodosia’s descendants with its particular kind of
magic.
The lore of the Lucius Ring lived on.
 P ROL OG U E FOR EV E R HE R CHA M P ION

A L L ISTA IR C A STL E , HIG HL A NDS OF SC OTL A ND, 1488

NValeriana
othing good ever came in the dark of night.
knew this, even at the age of four. Monsters only invaded your dreams at night, or
Brownies and fey fairies came to steal little girls from their families. Her mother had told her this just
that very night when Valeriana complained at bedtime. Hours later, when she woke to the raspy sound
of her father’s voice, to the worry in his eyes, she knew something terrible had happened.
“Wheest, child,” her father whispered harshly. ’Twas not anger in his voice, but worry blended
with the illness he’d been battling for days. His handsome face looked ashen, and eyes that typically
sparkled with mirth were dim and glassy. His dark hair was a mess, resembling the feathers on a
rooster after battling a fox in the hen house.
“But why must we leave?” she begged for an answer as he scooped her into his arms. “And why
cannae ye go with us?” Her papa was her entire world. He was her hero, her champion. The thought
of leaving without him made her stomach hurt.
Her father pressed her close to his chest, ignoring her pleas. “There be no time to pack
everythin’,” he told her mother, who was shoving some of Valeriana’s clothes into a bag. “Ye’ll nae
be gone that long.”
“If ye think ye’re sendin’ me clear across the world without a change of clothes, ye be sadly
mistaken!” Her mother did not look happy. But then, she rarely ever looked happy.
Taking her mother literally, the child asked, “Why are we goin’ across the world, Papa?”
Doing his best to soothe away her worry, he tried to explain. “’Tis nae across the world, I
promise. ’Twill only be fer a few days. Weeks at most. I need ye to be brave. Can ye do that for me?”
Nodding rapidly, she swiped away a tear. “Like ye, papa? Ye want me to be brave like ye?”
He gave her a warm smile and a pat on the back. “Aye, lass, like me.”
“Can I take my pony?” she asked as her father draped her wool cloak around her little shoulders.
“Nay, child, ye cannae take yer pony. But ye’ll be home soon and can see him then.”
With her small arms twined tightly around his neck, she buried her face against his shoulder. “But
who will take care of him?” She didn’t want to leave her home, her pony, or her father. “Have I made
ye mad? Is that why ye’re sendin’ me away?”
She heard his breath hitch as he choked on a sob. “Nay, lass!” he exclaimed. “Ye’ve done nary a
thing wrong, my sweeting.”
“Then why do we have to leave?”
From across the room, she heard her mother let loose an exasperated sigh. “Fer the sake of Christ,
will ye be quiet, child?”
An overwhelming sense of dread draped over Valeriana’s wee heart. Where her father was
patient, her mother was often frustrated with her. Her papa had never paddled her bottom when she
asked too many questions. When her mother sent her to bed without supper, ’twas always her papa
who came to her with a meal. Being sent away without him was a terrifying prospect.
“Damn it, Ronna!” her father ground out. “She is just a child! She is afraid and confused.”
Ignoring him, as she often did, her mother stuffed one more dress into a satchel and stomped
toward the door. Impatient and angry, she said, “If we do nae leave now, we’ll soon all be dead.”
Standing to his full height, with Valeriana in his arms, he hugged her one last time. “Dunnae
worry, my sweeting. I shall come fer ye soon. Jean Luc will be yer champion now.”
Although she adored her uncle, Jean Luc, she did not want him to be her champion. She wanted
her papa.
Moments later, her father was tucking an old, soft doll into her arms. Valeriana’s eyes grew big
and round with excitement. Made of soft linen, the doll wore a pale green dress. Her hair was made
of hemp, and she had blue eyes sewn with silk threads that were beginning to unravel. But Valeriana
didn’t care, for ’twas a gift from her papa. “Do I get to keep her, Papa?” she asked as she hugged it
close to her chest.
Her father offered her a warm yet brief smile. “Aye, my daughter, ye do. But I need ye to listen
carefully to me. Can ye do that?”
Growing serious, she gave a rapid nod of her head. “Aye, Papa, I can.”
They were alone in her room while her father explained. “Ne’er let it out of yer sight. The doll is
verra old and verra important, lass. If anythin’ were to happen to it …” He took in a deep ragged
breath. His forehead glistened in the low candlelight. “I love ye, Valeriana, more than ye’ll e’er ken.”
Kissing the top of her head, he headed toward the door.
“Papa, can I show Maire?” Maire was by far her most cherished friend. She belonged to the
stable master and Kate, a woman who worked in the laundry.
“No, lass, ye cannae show it to anyone. ’Tis verra important to keep it a secret.”
A secret? She’d never been entrusted with a secret before, save for one she was keeping for
Maire.
“And fer the sake of Chr-” he paused, his breathing labored as if it was taking every ounce of will
to keep speaking, to keep going, “ne’er let yer mum ken ye have it, lass. ’Twill be our secret, yers and
mine. Promise me lass, that ye’ll nae tell a soul, livin’ or dead.”
It must be very , she decided, especially if he didn’t want her mother to know. As they made their
way through the dark corridors of the keep, Valeriana vowed to keep her promise to her father.
At such a tender age, she could not begin to understand the importance of this night or the doll or
how either one would effect every moment of her life henceforth. In time, her memory of that night
would fade like fog in the morning sun, to the point where she’d not know if it had truly happened or
if it were the imaginings of a lonely little girl.
 1
INV E R NE SS, SC OTL A ND, 15 0 4

R ianna Coultier was so close to finding her birth father, it made her fingers tingle with jubilant
anticipation. If only God would finally smile upon her and bless her with a way to get to Allistair
Castle. If she owned a horse, she could be there in four short days. But as it was, she didn’t; thus her
only option was to walk. A walk that, if she were to survive it, would take more than a week.
’Twas, to say the least, far too dangerous a journey to make on her own. As poor as a church
mouse, she could only hope to beg passage with a tinker or someone else of that ilk.
It had taken her a year to make her way to Inverness. A year of living hand to mouth — something
she was quite accustomed to — as she made her way from Glasgow to where she now stood: just
outside the Blue Boar Tavern in Inverness. Her empty stomach growled with hunger. She’d spent her
last siller on a meat pie the day before. If she didn’t find employment soon, she’d starve before she
ever made it to her father’s home.
The taverns she had already visited that day had no need of a penniless young woman to wash the
dishes or clean up after the drunkards. Ever hopeful, she smoothed the wrinkles from her worn but
serviceable green dress, and took a deep breath. To her bones she could feel that her luck was about
to change, though there was no sane way to explain the sensation to anyone.
Just as she was about to open the door, a loud commotion came from within. Curses, the sounds of
breaking furniture: the tell-tell signs that a brawl had broken out. ’Twas not her first experience with
drunken melees. Instinct born from working in taverns just like this bid her take a few steps back and
to the side, for at any moment, the owner of the tavern would be tossing some poor, drunken lout out
on his arse.
To a certain extent, she had guessed correctly. Moments after she stepped aside, a rather large,
blonde-headed man came crashing through the door, splintering it to pieces. But he was not alone.
He’d brought three equally large men with him.
They tumbled into the muddy street in a jumbled mess of twisted arms and legs. Rianna could only
watch as the three men fought hard to subdue the blonde.
One of the men let out a loud growl as he yanked his arm away. “The bloody bastard bit me!”
The sickening sound of a fist against flesh and bone made her wince in disgust. Who hit whom,
she could not rightly say. A moment later, the question was answered when blood began to ooze from
the nose of one of the three men.
After much grunting, kicking, and well-chosen blows, the blonde man’s head fell back into the
mud with a thud. A long moment passed while the three men slowly let loose their holds on the young
man. His chest heaved mightily, his body limp, bloody and covered in mud.
Unable to resist the urge to take a step closer, Rianna gazed down at the drunkard. Mud-caked
blonde hair stuck to the left side of his face. A trail of blood streamed from his mouth and nose,
blending with the sweat and mud. He looked a horrible sight.
The last of the three men stood and shook the cobwebs from his head. “Ye bloody bastard,” he
mumbled right before kicking the man in the thigh. “Ye’ll rot in the goal fer this.”
A nagging sensation built in the back of her mind. There was something familiar about the man
lying on the ground. Mayhap she had served him once, in another tavern in another town.
As the three men pulled him to his feet, his head lolled from side to side. ’Twas then she saw
something that stole her breath away in one moment, only to have her heart begin a rapid tattoo the
next.
Along the right side of his neck, just under his chin, was a crescent shaped scar. Nay, it could not
be him.
How many blonde men possessed such a scar? Stepping closer, with mouth agape, she studied his
face as best she could. ’Twas too difficult to tell, what with all the mud and blood.
But then he opened his eyes. Indigo blue eyes, as dark as the night sky in mid winter.
Aiden Macgullane.

LONG FORGOTTEN MEMORIES BUBBLED TO THE SURFACE, TAKING HER BACK TO HER CHILDHOOD.
She was six years old again. A lonely little girl with a mother who paid little attention to her, for
she was too wrapped up in her own misery. They’d been living in Ardanaiseig — a little fishing
village on the western cost of Scotia. They’d been there less than a fortnight. Rianna had tried making
friends with the other children, but to no avail. They’d have nothing to do with her. She was as poor
as the day was long and illegitimate to boot, so the parents of these children had forewarned them not
to play with her.
Left out once again from the games children played, Rianna sat on the ground near the loch,
wiping tears from her eyes. Miserable and missing her father — the father she could now barely
remember and was never allowed to talk about in front of her mother — she cried quietly.
’Twas then she met him. A boy of eleven, with hair the color of sun-bleached linen and the darkest
blue eyes she’d ever seen.
“What be the matter, lassie?” he asked as he plopped down beside her.
Embarrassed and not wanting to sound like a bairn, she chose not to answer.
“I be Aiden Macgullane,” he told her as he grabbed a pebble and tossed it into the water. “What
be yers?”
“Rianna,” she told him as she gave him a sideways glance. ’Twas an easier question than his first.
“That be a right pretty name for a right pretty girl.”
Trust had never been easy for Rianna. Not since the night her father had sent her away and broken
his promise to come for her soon. In the two years after that terrifying night, she had learned more
cold hard truths than any six-year-old little girl ought to know. People would pretend to be your
friends, only to turn their backs on you when you needed them most.
“Now, wee one, tell me why ye’re cryin’.”
“I was nae cryin’,” she argued.
Aiden tossed another pebble into the loch. “I ken how unkind the children here can be,” he told
her. “I have pet badgers that be friendlier.”
Her eyes grew wide with astonished curiosity. “Badgers?” she asked. “Ye jest.”
“Nae, I’ve befriended badgers,” he told her. “An entire family of them. I’ve even named them.”
“Ye have?”
With a nod, he said, “Aye. I named them after all the past kings of Scotland. I call the ugliest one
James the Third.”
As a little girl, Rianna knew very little about politics or kings. But she knew enough to find his
jest humorous and to let loose with her first belly laugh in an age. There was no great love for their
current king, James III.
Thus began a friendship between two lonely children.
Less than a year later, Rianna would run through the rainy streets of Ardanaiseig, sobbing
uncontrollably. They were moving yet again.
“Aiden!” she had cried when she reached the door to his hut. Pounding as hard as she could, she
cried out for him. “Aiden!”
When he finally opened the door, his eye was swollen shut behind a hideous dark purple bruise.
Momentarily forgetting her own pain, she asked him what had happened, even though she already
knew the answer. His father had been angry and drunk again and, as the mean old man was oft want to
do, he took his anger out on his only son.
“Are ye well?” she asked him, knowing in advance that he would not admit to being in any pain.
“Aye,” he answered quietly before stepping outside. “Why are ye cryin?”
Sniffling, she wiped away her tears. “We be movin’ again,” she told him.
Rianna was forced back to the here and now when an exceedingly intoxicated man stepped out of
the tavern. Apparently unable to see her through his whisky-induced stupor, he stumbled into her.
With slurred words, he asked if she might like to take a tumble in the stables. Rolling her eyes,
she ignored his ribald remark and began to pursue Aiden Macgullane

AS FAR AS PLANS WENT, IT WAS NOT NECESSARILY A BAD ONE. WITH A MOTHER SUCH AS RONNA COULTIER,
Rianna had learned early on how to save her own hide, as well as her mother’s, on multiple
occasions.
In a narrow and dank alley away from the center of town, she prepared her speech, affected an
accent that belied her upbringing, and carefully placed a rolled blanket under her dress to give the
appearance she was with child. Next, she donned a white kerchief to use as a kerch to give more
credence to the roll she would play: Aiden Macgullane’s poor and bereft wife.
Believing she was as ready as she would ever be, she set out for the goal. Her stomach continued
to growl with hunger and, for once, she was glad for the feeling. It would help lend credence to her
role.
The goal sat near the center of town, an ancient building made of dark gray stone that seemed to
scream of depression, fear, and heartache. Taking a deep breath, Rianna lifted the latch and stepped
inside.
’Twas just as dark and dreary as she had imagined. A cold brazier sat in the middle of the room,
surrounded by squat little stools. Ahead of the brazier, behind a narrow, dilapidated table sat a
middle-aged man with long dark hair. Assuming he was the sheriff, Rianna painted a pitiful look upon
her face before approaching him.
 “Are ye the sheriff? I be Rianna Macgullane, wife of Aiden Macgullane. I’ve been told ye have
him here, that ye just brought him from the Boar’s Head Tavern for public drunkenness and lord only
kens what else.” She spoke quickly, giving him no time to respond or ask a question of his own. The
more she spoke, the more perplexed he appeared, just as she had hoped he would. “He be a blonde
man, with blue eyes and a wont for drinkin’ and fightin’.”
“Lass,” he said when she finally paused to take a breath, “what on earth are ye ramblin’ on
about?” A crease had formed on his brow, his lips drawn into a hard, thin line.
“I be talkin’ about me husband,” she said, affecting the image of a poor and submissive woman.
The sheriff was growing impatient with her. “And who might yer husband be?”
“Aiden. Aiden Macgullane,” she replied demurely. “I was told ye brought him here this morn, fer
fightin’ at the Boar’s Head.”
Sudden awareness set in; she could see it in his expression. “Aye, we did. As drunk as the day is
long and just as angry,” the sheriff replied as a deep scowl began to form. “He’s been arrested and
awaits his trial.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her. “Be gone with ye now. Ye can visit him
on Sunday.”
Mustering up a few tears, Rianna began to plead with the sheriff, to show her husband mercy.
“The poor man,” she said with a pitiful frown and shake of her kerch-covered head. “He has nae been
the same, ye ken, nae since the battle of Lochmaben Fair.” Intentionally, she shivered at the name of
that fierce battle when rebels loyal to Alexander Steward and James Douglas attempted to overthrow
James III. “Captured by the English, my poor husband was. A prisoner for two long years. Tortured he
was. He suffered things no man should ever endure. He has nae been the same since. He managed to
escape a year ago and return to me and our children, but he was nae the same man as when he’d left.”
The sheriff stared in astonishment. “He was at Lochmaben Fair?” he asked, his voice a blend of
awe and horror.
“Aye,” she told him with a sniffle. “Ye heard of it?” She asked the question innocently, but she
knew his answer before he replied.
“Who has nae heard of it?” He stood and came around to help her into the chair next to his table.
“Who did he fight with?”
“The Gordons,” she told him. “But bein’ a woman and mother of three, I do nae pay much
attention to such things. All I ken is that me husband was captured by the English and—” she broke
into sobs then, feigning hurt as well as ignorance.
“There, there, lass,” the sheriff said, patting her shoulder as if he were a thoughtful father to her.
“Do nae cry o’er it. Yer husband be home now, away from the bloody English, aye?” He smiled
warmly — momentarily forgetting he was the sheriff and not some doting father trying to console his
daughter.
“Aye, but now he be here, in yer goal, a prisoner once again,” she pointed out between sobs.
The man stood then, looking for all the world like a man who felt guilty. She decided to play on
the guilt. Later, she would ask the Lord’s forgiveness. For now, she had to save a man’s life.
“I ken he was drunk and fightin’,” she said, looking up at him with watery eyes. “I ken ye were
just doin’ yer job, m’laird. And ye cannae worry over a woman heavy with child or her other three
children who cry themselves to sleep each night, fer they miss their father. My husband may have
escaped the English devils, but I fear he left his mind there, the poor, wretched man.”
Eying the sheriff carefully, she sniffled again as she removed a kerchief from her sleeve and
dabbed at her eyes. “He was a good man, m’laird. A verra good man. We lived a simple life, farmin’
the land and raisin’ our bairns. He could have stayed at home with us when it came time to fight, but
he refused. He wanted to support James the Third. He wanted to fight fer his country, ye ken. And
fight he did, with honor and bravery, alongside the Gordons.”
The more she spoke, the more his face fell and his shoulder’s sagged.
“I fear that bein’ locked up again will be the death of him,” she said. “I ken ye’d treat him better
than the English did, but me heart, me heart kens ’twill be the death of him.”
In truth, she did not take any great enjoyment in manipulating the man. But Aiden’s life did hang in
the balance. If she didn’t do something, who knows what would happen to him. Besides, he was her
only hope of getting to Allistair Castle.

PLAYING TO THE SHERIFF’S SENSE OF DUTY TO COUNTRY WORKED FAR BETTER THAN SHE HAD ANTICIPATED. HER
heart nearly leapt from her chest when he called for one of his guards to escort her to Aiden’s cell and
to release him.
“I’ll pay fer the damages done to the tavern,” Rianna lied. “As soon as we get to me father’s home
he will be happy to pay. He considers me husband a hero, ye ken.”
Moments later, a guard appeared next to her. After a quick explanation from the sheriff, he
escorted Rianna to her husband.
The guard opened the heavy wood door and led Rianna down the long, dank corridor to Aiden’s
cell. Low burning torches did little to take away from the bleakness. The foul air, heavy with despair
and want, urine and excrement and filth, assaulted her senses. She had to hold up a bit of her cloak to
cover her face to keep from retching.
In the first cell they passed, a man was huddled in the corner, pulling at his long, filthy hair. In the
next, several men were scattered about the small space. Some slept, while others stared at her blankly
as she walked by.
Her heart ached for these poor souls, forced to live under such horrid conditions. It also ached
with the knowledge that this could have been Aiden’s fate if she hadn’t intervened. Or even her own
had she ever been caught stealing food for survival.
As if he could read her mind, the guard said, “Don’t feel too sorry for ‘em. Murderers and thieves
they are for the most part.”
Keeping her head down, she did not respond. She, too, could be considered a thief. There had
been more than one occasion in the past year whereby she was forced to steal a loaf of bread in order
to eat.
The guard stopped just outside the last cell on their left, inserted the key, and opened the door.
As much as she wanted to take a deep breath to steel her nerves, the air stank too much.
Aiden was asleep on his back in a pile of moldy rushes. One arm was flung over his face, the
other spread out wide. She reckoned he only slept peacefully because he was drunk.
The mud had caked on his skin, his clothes, and his hair. A long tear across his tunic exposed a bit
of blonde hair on a hard chest. Wanting to be away from this place as quickly as possible, she fell on
her knees at his side.
“Aiden.” Her voice cracked, filled with tears of sorrow on his behalf. “Aiden,” she whispered
again, daring to place a hand on his shoulder. “Wake up, please. ’Tis me, Rianna.”
CERTAIN HE WAS THAT ’TWAS ONLY A WHISKY INDUCED DREAM, AIDEN ROLLED OVER, HOPING TO ESCAPE IT. NO
matter how much drink he consumed, no matter how hard he prayed to the gods, he could never quite
escape the dreams, the nightmares that had been haunting him for more than a decade.
But why was he dreaming of a lass he’d not laid eyes on since his childhood? And why did she
sound older in the dream? ’Twas the gods playing with his heart and mind again, like a cat toying with
a mouse. Just one more way for them to take away what little bit of his mind that remained intact.
In that place between reality and dreams, he heard the sweet voice speaking to him. “Aiden, I’ve
come to take ye home.”
Home? He had no home. Hadn’t had a home since he was nine, before his sweet mum had passed
away.
Anger rose rapidly as a warm hand pressed against his cheek. ’Twas the gods, tempting him again,
trying to get him to believe he could have something more than a life filled with blackness and death.
Offering the sweet dream, the warm hope one moment only to take it away the next. He batted the
hand away, cursed the gods, and curled himself into a protective ball and willed himself to dream of
nothing.

RIANNA COULD NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT HE’D SAID, BUT THE UNDERLYING FEELING WAS CLEAR. HE WAS ANGRY.
But beneath the anger, she had a sense of deep sadness, of something bleak and abysmal — something
frightening. For a tiny moment, she questioned her plan but quickly pushed the thought aside. Aiden
had been the only true friend she’d ever had as a child. To this very day, she felt she owed him a
lifetime of gratitude, for he had taught her there were still good, kind people in this world. People
who did not care about your lineage or whether or not you were poor.
“Aiden, please wake up. I need to take ye away from this place, away from the goal. Let me take
ye home,” she said as she caressed his cheek. “Let me help ye.”
Slowly, drunkenly, he opened his eyes. Flashes of pain, distrust, and anger passed behind those
deep blue eyes before they were finally able to focus on her. She swallowed a gasp and a cry, so
intense was the pain she felt on his behalf. Just as it had happened in their youth, closer than family,
they knew without speaking how the other felt. This tiny moment in time was no different and it
terrified her.
The guard began to grow weary of waiting and grunted his displeasure.
Pulling herself back into her role and the moment at hand, Rianna offered Aiden a warm smile.
“’Tis me, Rianna,” she whispered softly. “I’ve come to take ye away from this place.”
“Ye’re nae real,” he said in a deep, scratchy voice. His eyes began to lose focus again.
She leaned in so that only he could hear her. “I be as real as all the whisky ye drank this day. And
if ye do nae listen and play along, we’ll both end up dyin’ in this Godforsaken place.” She cast a
knowing glance toward the guard.
Aiden blinked several times in an attempt to make some sense out of what she was saying. He
finally turned enough to see the guard staring down at them.
Once she saw a glimpse of understanding in Aiden’s eyes, she looked up to the guard. “Please,
help me get him to his feet.”
’Twas a bit of a struggle, but they managed and, moments later, were making their way out of the
cell and down the corridor.
When she risked another glimpse at his face, Aiden looked dazed and confused. Almost blindly,
he did as she asked, nodding occasionally when she encouraged him to take one more step. “Soon,
we’ll be on our way, Aiden. I promise ne’er to let ye out of my sight again.”
Stupefied, he remained mute, staring as if he could not believe she was real.
His stupification increased after they stepped into the office of the sheriff. The man came to Aiden
at once, placed one hand on his shoulder and proudly thanked him for his service to Scotland. “’Tis
men like ye that make me proud to be a Scot. May God bless ye and keep ye.”
Rianna thanked the sheriff before hurrying out and into the bright afternoon sun.
“Have ye a horse?” she asked as they walked away from the goal.
A slow, uncertain nod was his only reply.
With one arm around his waist whilst she held his broadsword, she draped the other over her
shoulder. “If ye can stay on yer feet long enough to get to the stables, we’ll be away from this place
before ye ken it.”
Still met with silence, Rianna questioned her soundness of mind all the way to the public stables.
 2

W ith the help of the blacksmith and stable keeper, they managed to get Aiden onto his horse. The
stable keeper helped Rianna to sit in front of him, handed her the reins and suggested mayhap they tie
Aiden to the saddle.
“That will nae be necessary,” she said with a sweet smile. “But we thank you for your kindness.”
She mistook Aiden’s disbelief for tenderness when he placed his arms around her waist. The
gesture, innocent as it was, gave rise to an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach. ’Twas something
she had not felt in an age. Doing her best to remain focused on getting them out of Inverness before
anyone realized she had lied through her teeth, she tapped the flanks of their mount and headed out of
town.
Once they were outside the city, she steered the horse northwest, keeping him at a slow pace as if
she hadn’t a worry in the world. Aiden had rested his head against her neck, giving rise once again to
that warm sensation.
As soon as she could no longer see Inverness at their back, Rianna tapped the flanks once again
and encouraged the mount to go faster. She wanted as far away from Inverness as she could possibly
manage before night fell. Aiden soon increased his hold on her waist. This time, she was certain
’twas merely to keep from falling from the horse.
A thousand questions poured into her mind as they rode across the land. How had Aiden come to
be in Inverness? What had happened in his life that led him to break the vow he’d made in his youth?
She could well remember the number of times he had sworn to her that he’d never become a drunkard
like his father. Rianna had sworn she’d never end up like her mother, moving from one place to
another, sleeping with one man after another. And they had both sworn that were they ever blessed
with children of their own, they’d never beat or ignore them.
Thus far, Rianna had been able to keep her vow. Proud she was that her maidenhead was still
intact. If ever she was blessed with finding a man she could give her heart to, she could go to the altar
and their marital bed with a clean conscience. Though in truth, she had been hungry enough on more
than one occasion to at least give thought to the temptation of lying with a man in order to survive.
Her sheer will and determination to keep her childhood vow won out each and every time. Thievery,
she believed, held less shame than whoring.
But what of Aiden? The last time she had seen him was the day they said goodbye in Ardanaiseig
more than ten years ago. As always, he’d been the strong lad, refusing to cry in front of her, even after
admitting he’d miss her. Always her stalwart champion, he had made her a promise that day. When
I’m older, I’ll find ye, Rianna, and together, we’ll find yer da.
Childhood dreams and wishes. Crushed by years of living as she had, moving from one place to
another, never making another true friend. Living in her mother’s shadow. Living life as the ill born
castoff of a man she wanted desperately to find again.
Hazy memories, images and feelings from that night long, long ago, floated in the ether, just out of
her grasp. Were they truly memories or just dreams? She could not be certain if things had happened
as she thought they had or if it was just the hopeful musings of a lonely child.
Though the images of that night were unclear, one thing she felt with a certainty was how she felt.
Afraid, worried, and sorrowful. Those feelings could not have been made up in her wild imagination,
could they?
Lost as she was in her worries and hopes, she hadn’t realized Aiden’s grip had loosened until she
felt him dangling precariously behind her. A moment later, he slid from the back of the horse before
she could pull to a stop.
Frantically, she slipped from the mount and raced to his side. Her breath was stolen away when
she realized he had just barely missed hitting his skull against a large rock. “Aiden!” she cried as she
began looking for broken bones. He did not move. Not so much as a grumble passed his lips. He lay
limp on the ground, flat on his back. Gently, she patted his mud-encrusted cheeks. “Aiden! Please,
wake up!”
Relief washed over her when he batted away her hand, grumbled incoherently and rolled away.
She let loose with a relieved sigh. “Thank ye, God!” she exclaimed.
Try as she might, she could not get him back to his feet. Nightfall was hours away. Though she
was worried over the lies she’d told in Inverness, mayhap it would be some time before anyone
figured out the truth. For now, she would have to put her faith in God to keep them safe.
Since she could not move the mountain named Aiden, she decided it best to simply make camp
where they were. Though she was growing more frustrated that Aiden was in such a deep sleep that
she couldn’t budge him, she still felt some measure of sorrow for him. Mayhap he had turned to drink
because of a broken heart? Mayhap he’d given his heart to the wrong woman. Or he’d given it to the
right one and lost her to some dreaded disease? Either way, she felt sorry for the poor man.
Her stomach began to growl once again and she began to feel light-headed. “Ye’ll get nowhere
just sittin’ here,” she told herself before pushing to her feet. If she were lucky — which she’d be the
first to admit she was not — she would find something to eat in Aiden’s packs. Ever hopeful, she
carefully made her way to the gray speckled mare and prayed she’d not spook her into running away.
The animal was grazing on summer grass when Rianna quietly took up the reins. The mare looked up,
snorted as if to say she’d prefer not to be disturbed, before turning her attention back to her meal.
With the reins in one hand, Rianna led the horse to a small bush and tied her to it.
Searching through the packs felt like a tremendous invasion of Aiden’s privacy. Justifying her
invasion with the need to eat, she also hoped to find something that would explain his current state.
Mayhap a lock of hair tied in a bow? A letter or two expressing undying love and devotion?
The search for intimate knowledge was fruitless. No journals or letters. No locks of hair. Not
even an old dried flower. Nothing at all to indicate a great love or a broken heart.
All she found were two clean tunics, a pair of brown leather trews, a shaving knife, one jar of
clean smelling soap, a hook and string with which to fish, a bundle of dried beef, and a handful of
walnuts. She also found two flagons of ale, one of which was almost empty. Not much in the way of
earthly possessions, but at least he had food.
Not far from where her former champion slept, just down a small embankment, she found a wide
stream. Fishing could wait until after she tended to the bloody, wounded man. After dipping the cloth
into the cold water, she headed back to Aiden.
Kneeling beside him, she wiped away as much of the mud and blood as she could. Wishing for all
the world for a bowl or a bucket, she had to make three trips to the stream to rinse out the filthy cloth.
‘Twasn’t until the fourth go of it that she began to see his face more clearly.
Even through the swollen lip and black eye, she could see he had grown into a fine looking man.
A firm jaw and muscles that, even while he slept like the dead, looked as though they’d been chiseled
from granite. The crescent shaped scar was white against his sun kissed skin. As if it had happened
only that morn, she could remember clearly how he’d come by it. They’d been running along the
docks, as children do. He had tripped on his own feet and landed face down in a bundle of fishing
lines. One of the hooks had ripped through his tender flesh. Even as he lay there bleeding and in pain,
he ended up consoling her. With all the blood running down his neck and into his ears, she thought for
certain he would die. “Wheest, lass! Ye’re cryin’ loud enough to wake the dead!”
With his father far too into his cups to be of any assistance, a wife of one of the fisherman had
heard Rianna’s screams and come to help. In her warm little home, she cleansed the cut and sewed his
skin back together. Rianna had watched in fascination as the kind woman stitched his skin. What
surprised her most was the fact that Aiden did not shed one tear. Nor did he complain of the pain. In
that little moment, she looked at him with awe and fascination. ’Twas also then she decided that
someday she would marry him. Only a man with such strength as to not cry when he was wounded
would be good enough for her.
Afterwards, the fisherman’s wife gave them warm cider and sweet cakes before sending them off
with a motherly warning to not run along the docks. He allowed her to help him back to his own hut.
And ’twas there, on his doorstep, that she stole a kiss from him. Standing on her toes, she kissed his
cheek before running away. Aye, ’twas just a peck on the cheek, but in the eyes of a six-year-old girl,
’twas a kiss all the same.
Now here they were, some twelve years later, in the middle of God-only-knew where. What had
become of him? What had led him here?
Several trips to the stream later, and she had managed to get all the mud and muck cleaned from
his arms and hands. When she lifted the collar of his tunic to clean his chest, she noticed several
small scars scattered there. Old scars, but not as old as the scar under his chin. Unable to remove his
tunic for closer inspection — and without a lick of experience at such things — she had no good idea
how they came to be. Any inquiries would have to wait until he woke.
Believing he was as clean as she could get him, she retrieved a blanket from her own possessions
and covered him with it. Folding one of the blankets from his mount, she carefully tucked it under his
head.
It would have been easy to simply sit and stare at him until he woke, but her stomach protested
against such foolish notions. Leaving him, she retrieved the hook and string and went to the stream to
fish.

PULLING THE HEM OF HER DRESS BETWIXT HER LEGS, SHE TUCKED IT INTO HER BELT AND KNELT BESIDE THE
stream. Washing her face and hands as best she could, she did not tarry long, for the water was far too
cold.
Back along the bank, she dug for worms to use as bait. Fortune seemed to remain with her, for she
quickly found a few long worms hidden deep in the mud.
Soon, she was sitting on the bank, ever hopeful of catching at least one decent fish to eat. She
nibbled on a few nuts and pieces of dried beef to help assuage her hunger. ’Twas as quiet an afternoon
as she could ever remember. The breeze tickled playfully through the trees, whilst birds chirped and
sang and flittered about. Allowing her mind to wander, she thought back to her childhood, to times
spent with Aiden Macgullane.
Such a kind boy he had been. It had been Aiden who taught her how to fish, to catch rabbits and
squirrels. He had told her stories, comforted her when she was worried about her father and what
might have become of him. He had listened to her endless stories of the man she could not remember
but idolized just the same. Idolized almost as much as she had Aiden.
She did not possess many fond memories from her childhood. But those she did have always
involved Aiden. It didn’t dawn on her until that very moment that he was one of the main reasons she
had not married. There hadn’t been a young man she’d ever met who could hold a candle to him,
though she hadn’t realized it at the time.
If she were ever to marry, the man would have to possess the same strength, the same sense of
honor, and the ability to make her laugh as much and as hard as he had in their youth. Any potential
husband would also be required to assist her in helping to find her father.
To date, she had not met anyone who could live up to those high standards.
When she thought of the man currently passed out from too much drink, she wondered if even he
could meet those high expectations. Was there a man alive who could? ’Twas doubtful. Mayhap it was
time for her to set those silly childhood dreams aside and face reality.
When she looked at her current predicament she had to release a heavy sigh. Nine and ten
summers old and she was still searching. Searching for her father as well as a husband who could
meet her less-than-reasonable expectations.
Home.
That was all she ever truly wanted. A home to call her very own. A family she could be proud of.
A loving husband and children. Was that too much to ask for? She didn’t think so. ‘Twasn’t as if she
were praying for a grand castle to call home. She never prayed for riches or fine silk dresses or
servants to do her bidding. Nay, none of those things would ever make her truly happy. She didn’t
want things. She wanted to love and be loved. ’Twas that simple.
But if it were that simple, why was it so hard to attain?

NIGHT FELL ACROSS THE TINY GLEN WHERE SHE’D BEEN FORCED TO MAKE CAMP. BECAUSE SHE COULD NOT MOVE
Aiden from where he’d fallen, she had built a fire near him. In life, one must choose their battles
wisely. ’Twas easier to build around him than try to move him.
He slept still, even though she had tried numerous times to wake him. The man slept, barely
moving; all the while she had made the fire and cooked the fish she had caught. Nary a flinch from
him. Daft man.
A heavy mist filled the cold night air, chilling her to the bone. While the fire blazed, it wasn’t
quite strong enough to dissipate the damp chill. As the night drew on, she scooted closer and closer to
Aiden. By dawn, she was nestled in beside him, her back to his chest, wrapped warmly in the
blankets and his arms.
’Twas as glorious a feeling as she had ever felt. Warm and safe and as close to feeling at home as
she reckoned she’d ever get.
This.
This is what she had been longing for all her life.
’Twas foolish, she believed, to long for something one would probably never have. For now, she
would soak up every moment, every bit of warmth and happiness, much like a squirrel hoarding nuts
for winter. She would tuck it all away in the safe confines of her heart’s memory, only to use it on the
coldest and loneliest of winter days.

AIDEN WOKE TO WARMTH. BUT THE BODY LYING NEXT TO HIM, CURLED INTO HIS GROIN? HE HADN’T A CLUE WHO
she was. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he glanced at his surroundings through sleepy eyes. The sun
was just coming over the horizon, painting the sky and morning clouds in deep shades of vermillion,
violet and indigo. A cool morning breeze flittered through the trees and tall summer grass.
He had no recollection of how he’d come to be in this glen, lying next to a woman whose face he
could not see. She was covered from her toes to her ear in a blanket he did not recognize. The only
thing he could clearly see was the top of her dark locks.
Closing his eyes tightly, he fought to remember. Mayhap he was not as awake as he believed and
the gods were playing tricks on him again, as they were so often wont to do.
Taking in a slow, deep breath, he caught the clean scent of her. Was it lilacs he smelled?
He tried to resist enjoying the warmth of her body curled against his, for he knew ‘twould all
evaporate at any moment. ’Twas foolish to allow himself to feel warm or content or happy, for the
gods would swoop in and destroy it all. He took in another deep breath, held it and waited. He
waited for the dream to turn to horrific nightmare. He waited for the fleeting images of headless
bodies, of blood and gore and death and agony to come crashing in to remind him of all he’d done, of
who and what he was.
But the nightmare never came.
Time went on, stretching out before him, and still, no nightmare to disturb the quiet of the glen, of
this moment.
She stirred against him, sighing contentedly. Aiden lifted his head again, feeling all at once
stunned, confused, and more than just a bit hung-over.
For a long moment, he stared in disbelief at the top of her head. Unable to resist not knowing what
she might look like, he dared crook a finger around the long, soft locks and pull them away.
Thick, dark lashes, high cheekbones, and full pink lips. He needed only that glimpse of half her
face to see just how beautiful she was. She looked vaguely familiar, but from where and whence, he
could not place her. What women of sound mind would lie next to him voluntarily? She had to have
come from the tavern, he surmised. No woman of good grace, reputation, or family would be here
next to him.
But she appeared to be far too beautiful to be a whore. She was far too clean in appearance and
smell to be that.
More confusion settled in. Briefly, he allowed himself to think that mayhap he’d spent enough time
in his hell on earth as punishment for the man he’d been, and the gods were finally smiling upon him.
Was she his reward for all his suffering?
Before his mind could form another thought, this beautiful, sweet smelling lass rolled over to her
back. Still asleep, still bundled in the blanket, she smiled softly. He’d never seen a woman more
beautiful. Neither had he ever witnessed one asleep, next to him, looking so … content?
His heart stopped beating; his breath stilled; his fingers ached to touch her.
Nay, he chastised himself. Ye do nae deserve such a woman as this.
Slowly, she began to open her eyes and stretch. When she looked up at him with such warm
regard and kindness, he did not think his heart would ever beat again. Nay, ’twould continue to thrum
as rapidly as the water at the Falls of Clyde.
“Good morn, Aiden,” she said sleepily, her smile growing at the sight of him.
Dumbfounded, he fought to find his voice. “Ye’re real,” he whispered.
She giggled. “Of course I’m real ye d—”
He gave her no time to finish her reply. Mindlessly, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to
hers.

AS FAR AS KISSES WENT, RIANNA THOUGHT THIS ONE WAS MOST SPLENDID.
Soft, warm, and tender, it stole her breath away.
She fell quite happily into the moment, fell away to passion, to wonder, and allowed him to pull
her closer. The touch of his hand at the small of her back sent jolts of thrilling excitement up and
down her spine. This. This was something else she now realized she longed for.
Pressed against him, she could feel the heat of his chest against her own, could feel his heart
pounding against hers. Without any thought or experience, she wrapped one hand around his neck as
encouragement.
Her breath hitched when his tongue traced along her bottom lip, his hands caressing her back as if
each were on a great exploration.
The kiss deepened, grew and built like a fire gone out of control.
Though she was not ignorant about what could happen between a man and woman, she was
completely without any personal experience. Her head began to swim, her breaths came in short
bursts, her fingers twitched with wanting more than just his kisses.
Good sense reared its unwelcome head, reminding her of the oath she had taken as a child. It also
reminded her she was allowing a man she’d not seen since they were children, touch, kiss and caress
her as if they were newly married. What must he think of her?
The inner voice grew louder until it overshadowed her desire to know and feel more. Breaking
away from the kiss, she pressed her hand to his chest. “Nay,” she said breathlessly as she fought to
free herself from the blankets and his warm, wonderful hold. “Nay!” she exclaimed after freeing
herself. Scurrying to her feet, she fled from him, her mind awash in uncertainty and yes, wonder.
Confused, Aiden shook his head and watched as she ran away from him. His arms and his chest
felt oddly empty. Unused to such feelings, he sat for a long while, running a hand through his hair. His
gut wasn’t telling him anything his mind didn’t already know; he’d behaved appallingly. He should
have, at the very least, asked for her name before kissing her. Feeling more and more an ass, he
expelled a heavy breath before going after her.
It took no time at all to find her. She was standing along the bank of a deep stream, her arms
wrapped tightly around her small, delicate waist. The morning sun glinted off her long, dark tendrils,
which showed just a hint of auburn.
“Who are ye?” he asked, keeping a safe distance. More for her own safety than his, for he doubted
seriously she could do him any true physical harm.
 She spun at the sound of his voice, her face bearing a most confused expression. “Ye dunnae
remember?”
“Try as I might, I fear I cannot, lass,” he admitted without shame.
Although she wasn’t nearly as angry with him as she was with herself, she found his answer
irksome. “Do ye think ye should have asked my name before ye kissed me? Or do ye have a habit of
kissing women ye dunnae ken?”
The truth was humiliating. “Nay, I dunnae make a habit of such a thing. But in my defense, ye were
layin’ right next to me. And ye did smile.” He knew it sounded stupid the moment the words left his
mouth.
“Remind me nae to smile at ye in the future.”
“Please, accept my apologies, lass. I truly did nae mean to upset ye.”
Sensing his apology was sincere, she offered him a shrug, as if to say it didn’t matter. Closing the
matter to any further discussion, she said, “We can break our fast before we leave.”
He quirked a confused brow. “Leave?” he asked. “Lass, I still do nae ken who ye are or why or
how we came to be here.”
The fact that he did not remember her was not worrisome. It had been years since last they’d seen
one another. And yesterday, he’d been so sloshed he fell from their mount. Still, a small part of her
wished he had remembered.
“I be Rianna Coultier.”

HE WOULD HAVE BEEN LESS STUNNED HAD SHE CLAIMED TO BE VENUS.

How many years had it been since Ardanaiseig? ’Twas a lifetime ago. She’d been a wee,
cherubic lass of six or seven, with bright green eyes, and a face that seemed to be forever smudged.
Out of pity, he had been nice to her one summer’s day. That act of kindness had turned into a
friendship: one of the few happy memories of his childhood.
At one time he had considered her family, looked upon her fondly as if she were his little sister.
Now she stood before him all grown up. And what a fine looking — nay beautiful — woman she had
grown into. Bright green eyes blazed with anger, yet he found he rather liked it. A straight yet delicate
nose sat above two full, pink lips that tasted like ambrosia.
It dawned on him then that the gods weren’t smiling favorably upon him. Nay, they’d put this
beautiful young woman in his path as another means to taunt him. Nay, she was nothing more than a
reminder of all the things he’d missed in life. A reminder of all the things he could never have.
“Are ye well?” she asked, stepping closer. “Ye’ve gone pale.”
The blood had indeed drained from his face. He felt foolish and angry all at once. Especially
when she reached out to touch his cheek. He turned it away before she could make contact. “Why are
ye here? Why am I here?”
Perplexed, she tilted her head to one side. “Ye truly do nae remember, do ye?”
“I would not have asked ye if I did.”

RIANNA COULD NOT UNDERSTAND HIS SUDDEN CHANGE IN MOOD. WHY WAS HE SO ANGRY?
“Ye remember nothin’ of yesterday?” she asked as she twisted her hand from his grasp.
 “I already told ye I did nae.” His words were clipped, harsh.
With a cleansing breath, she steeled her nerves before explaining how she had rescued him from
the goal by pretending to be his wife. Thankfully, he listened quietly as she told him the entire story,
including how he had slipped from their horse. “When I realized I could nae move ye, I made camp
around ye. I even washed the mud from yer face and hands.” She left out the part about how much
delight she took in washing his chest and neck. She also neglected to tell him where they were going.
“Why would ye do that?” he asked her, baffled by her tale.
“Ye are my friend. I could nae just leave ye there to rot.” Of course, that was not the only reason.
Considering the expression on his face, the ease with which he grew angry, she thought it best to
gradually work her way up to that topic.
His expression alone was enough to say he thought her quite daft. “Friend?” he asked as if she’d
gone mad.
His question and tone hurt. “Aye, Aiden, ye are my friend. Ye have been since we were children.
Or can ye nae remember that either?”
“Rianna, I am nae the same lad I was when last ye saw me,” he told her through gritted teeth.
“And I am nae the same lost little girl ye knew,” she countered. “But none of that matters. Ye were
the only true friend I had as a child and for that, I owe you a lifetime of gratitude.” He could not begin
to understand, to truly comprehend how much his friendship had meant to her as a little girl. ’Twas
doubtful he ever would.
Quietly, she watched as he began to pace back and forth as if trying to figure out some grand
mystery. She could not understand why the topic seemed to frustrate him so. When she could take his
silence or pacing no longer, she spoke once again. “Aiden, I ken much has happened these many
years. We’ve both changed. But one thing that has nae changed and never will, is how grateful I am to
ye or how much I admire ye.”
He spun on his heels. “Admire me?” he exclaimed. “Admire me?” He shook his head and turned
away. “There is nothin’ about me to admire, lass. Ye do nae ken the first thing about me. If ye did, ye
would be appalled, nae lookin’ fondly at me.”
Unable to resist the burning question, she asked, “Why would ye say such a thing?”
“’Tis none of yer bloody business,” he told her angrily. “Trust me when I say ye would nae like
the answers.”
There was something hidden just under his anger; she could feel it to her bones. Deciding mayhap
that now was not the time to delve into his past or ask him why he hurt so much, she changed the
topic. “Ye should bathe and eat before we leave,” she told him as she began to walk back to their
makeshift camp.

HE CAUGHT THE SCENT OF LILACS AGAIN WHEN SHE WALKED PAST HIM. TAMPING DOWN THE DESIRE TO TAKE HER
in his arms, he kept a good distance as he followed her back to their camp, then watched as she began
to light another fire. If she only knew the truth, he mused, she’d be runnin’ for the hills. ‘Twould
help matters a great deal if she were not so beautiful nor kind.
“Why did ye take me away from Inverness?” he asked, his tone softening, the anger slowly
subsiding.
Briefly, her hand paused in midair before she tossed a handful of sticks into the flames. “Ye made
me a promise.”
 “A promise?” he asked, cocking his head to one side as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Keeping her focus on building the fire, she gave a curt nod. “Aye,” she said, “and I ken ye do nae
remember it.”
His shoulders sagged with guilt. “I be sorry, lass, but I was so bloody drunk I can nae remember a
thing from yesterday.”
Silence filled the air betwixt them. “Tell me, what promise did I give?”
Another long interval of silence passed before she answered. “Ye promised to take me to Castle
Allistair.”
He searched his mind for the smallest recollection but came up empty-handed. Aye, he’d been so
drunk yesterday, he could have promised to take her to the moon and ‘twould not have surprised him.
Unable to fault her for his own behavior, he came and sat next to the fire. “Why are ye goin’ there?”
Grabbing the small bundle of cloth that held dried beef, she took a long time to answer. “Me
mother passed away a year ago,” she told him.
“I be sorry fer your loss,” he replied sadly. Ronna Coultier may have been a whore, but she was
still Rianna’s mother. That fact alone afforded her some measure of respect. “But that does not
explain why you are going to Allistair.”
“Because that is where my father resides,” she said, looking him directly in the eye.
Astounded, he laughed. “Yer father?”
“Aye, my father.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Now, the last I remember,” he said as he leaned back onto his
elbows, “yer father was some king from the east, was he nae?”
She did not appreciate his attempt at humor. Angrily, she tossed him the bundle of dried beef,
which landed in his lap.
“No, wait! That is nae true. He was a duke, from southern England. Or was he an earl from
Ireland?” In the short months he’d known her as a child, her mother had told many tales about who
Rianna’s real father was. Each one was more unbelievable than the last.
She pursed her lips into a hard line as her bright green eyes grew dark. “On her deathbed she
finally confessed my father’s true identity.”
“On her death bed, ye say?” he asked incredulously. “Well, then it must be the truth!”
“Of course it is, ye daft fool!” she spat at him. “Everyone kens a person does nae lie when they
ken they are about to die.”
Aiden snorted derisively. “And how many people have ye watched die, lass?”
lilacs

“IT MATTERS NAE. THE FACT REMAINS SHE FINALLY TOLD ME THE TRUTH,” SHE REPLIED ANGRILY. AYE, ’TWAS
true her mother had lied to her countless times over the years. It finally got to the point that Rianna
quit asking.
In a low, shameful whisper, she told him what had transpired on the eve of her mother’s death. As
Ronna lay dying, knowing full well the end was nigh, she told Rianna her father was Lachlan
MacAllistair, one of the many cousins to the chief of the MacAllistair clan. He had been a married
man when Ronna met him and fell in love. But once he had learned she was with child, he tossed them
out of the keep as if they were as disgusting as the contents of a chamber pot. Ronna spent the next
years of her life trying to find someone she could love as much as she loved Lachlan. She never did.
“So it matters nae how many people I’ve watched die. Me mother finally confessed.”
“It does matter,” he replied. “Ye be headin’ to a keep ye’ve ne’er laid eyes upon, to a man ye’ve
ne’er met, in the hopes he’ll claim ye after all these many years.”
Although he was speaking the truth, it did nothing to ease the ache in her heart. “Ye forget that I
have met him.”
A sorrowful sigh passed his lips. “Ye only think ye’ve met him. What if that be nae true?”
“It matters nae. He be me father. I cannae explain how I know it but I do.” She took in a deep
breath, knowing full well she sounded daft. “My heart tells me there is a good chance he too has
changed after all these years. He might regret his decision to toss us aside.” ’Twas the one thing she’d
been holding on to for the past year. The one thing that kept her moving forward on her quest to find
him.
Aiden took a bite of the dried beef. “It could also be he has a dozen other cast-off children waitin’
for his blessin’ and his last name. Or he could be remarried five times over, with dozens of legitimate
children who will fight you to the bitter end. Or he could be dead.”
“Do ye nae think I have nae thought of that before?” she asked as she poked a stick at the fire.
“Apparently ye have nae thought it enough,” he replied, taking another bite. “Or ye would nae be
out here in the middle of nowhere with a man who is all but a stranger to ye.”
I have fought my way across Scotland for the past year. I’ll no stop now, when I be only a few
short days away from Lachlan MacAllistair.
“I will nae give up,” she told him pointedly. “I do nae care if he wants me or no’. I want to see the
man who fathered me.”

WHEN HE SAW THE HURT IN HER EYES, GUILT BUBBLED TO THE SURFACE. IT WAS A LONG BURIED EMOTION AND ONE
he could ill afford to feel. Guilt, compassion, devotion toward another being were the things that
could get a man killed. Still, try as he might, he could not help but feel sorry for the young woman, as
well as question her soundness of mind. Why on earth would she want to see a man who had caused
her so much pain and anguish? He’d rather be gutted than ever lay eyes on his own father again.
Chances were good that this Lachlan MacAllistair fellow wanted nothing to do with her. Why
would she pursue it, knowing that?
“I will nae take ye,” he told her. The last thing he wanted was to witness her being turned away by
the man who was supposedly her father. Or, worse yet, learn her mother had lied on her deathbed.
“But ye promised!” she argued.
“Ye can nae hold me to somethin’ I said whilst drunk, lass.”
Shooting to her feet, she glared at him. “’Twas nae a promise ye made whilst drunk.”
A memory from childhood rushed to the front of his mind. That cold day when she’d come to tell
him they were moving again. The promise he had made to always be her champion and to someday
help her find her father. “Ye cannae be serious.”
With her hands balled into fists, resting on her hips, she looked mad enough to bite through his
sword. “I am. Ye made a promise and I mean to see that ye keep it.”
Slowly, he set the dried beef aside, wiped his hands on his mud-caked trews and looked up at her.
“I will do nae such thing.”
“Why nae?” she demanded.
He could not very well explain to her the real reason; he didn’t want to see her hurt. “Because I
dunnae want to.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “That is nae a good reason.”
“’Tis as good a reason as any,” he told her as politely as he could manage. “I’ll nae be takin’ ye.”
Angrily, she picked up her blanket and her bundle. “Verra well,” she said through gritted teeth. “I
no longer desire your help. I will get there on my own.”
Stomping away from the camp, back toward the stream, she left Aiden Macgullane alone.
Was she completely mad? Did she fully intend on walking the rest of the way alone, without
escort or weapon? There could be highwaymen and brigands all about these parts. What if she came
upon them or they her? ’Twas doubtful she could defend herself against one man, let alone a band of
them.
Why should he care what happened to her? If she were set upon by such men, she would have no
one but herself to blame. She was allowing her anger and that deep-seated need to know who her real
father was to propel her forward. ’Twas not common sense that guided her. A fool should pay the
price for their own actions. Isn’t that what he’d been taught?
Then why the bloody hell was he feeling guilty? Or worried? Or concerned for someone he hadn’t
seen in nearly four and ten years? The fact that he did care left him feeling disgusted with himself. He
had been trained to be a ruthless, cold-hearted killer. A mercenary of unparalleled proportions. Had
they not beaten every ounce of compassion for his fellow men out of him?
He had escaped that life two years ago, had left it behind, along with the identity his masters had
given him when he was but twelve years old. His only goal since had been to run as far away from his
past and his demons as he could manage. He’d taken up drinking in order to numb himself from
feeling anything. And he’d done a good job of it, save for the nightly assault of his dreams.
Until now.
He did care. He did worry.
Bloody hell.
 3

“G et onIgnoring
the horse,” Aiden ground out, frustrated at her stubbornness.
his plea, she continued to traipse through the woods, her bundle tossed over her
shoulder, hips swaying from side to side. “I do nae wish to,” she told him.
It had taken time to saddle his horse, repack his meager supplies and change his clothes. ’Twas
not difficult to find the object of his consternation. Now he was doing his best to persuade the
stubborn woman to allow him to help.
He sat atop his horse as she continued her determined pace. “I told ye ten times now that I be
sorry. Now stop and mount.”
“And I’ve told ye ten times ‘nay’. I do nae want ye to feel beholden to me. I can take care of
myself.”
He laughed in disbelief. “Aye, I can see just how well ye can take care of yourself.”
A felled tree blocked her path so she decided to climb over it. “What does that mean?”
Loosening his hold on the reins, he draped his wrists over the pommel. “Ye be as skinny as me
broadsword. I could snap ye in two with one hand. That tells me ye have eaten well of late,” he said
sarcastically. “Ye be what? Nine and ten? Ye should be married and workin’ on yer second bairn by
now. But here ye are, plodding through the dark woods, and ye be headin’ in the wrong direction.”
She paused to study her surroundings, her angry glare turning to a look of confusion and doubt.
“Aye, lass. Ye’ve been headin’ south fer the past hour.” He tried to keep the amusement out of his
voice.
Lifting her skirts, she turned around to head back the way she’d come.
“Now ye’re headed east. The road ye seek is north and west, lass. Ye keep goin’ in that direction,
and ye’ll end up walkin’ into the sea.” Try as he might, he could not help but smile at her predicament.
At this rate, ‘twould take her a year just to find the proper road. If she weren’t set upon by thieves or
brigands first.
Pausing once again, she looked up at the sky. With the dense, tall trees, ’twas impossible for her
to tell what direction she was heading. Frustrated, she grabbed a handful of skirt and started off again,
cursing under her breath.
Aiden grew weary of waiting for her to realize she could not make it to Allistair castle without
him. Pulling his horse along side her, he bent down, wrapped an arm around her waist, and hefted her
up, perching her in front of him. The startled, furious glare she gave him made him laugh. A long, full
laugh he hadn’t experienced in an age.
 “Stop laughin’ at me and put me down,” she snapped.
“I dunnae wish to,” he replied, still smiling. Admittedly, he liked the way she was glowering at
him. It made her green eyes dark and, for a moment, he wasn’t so certain he didn’t see the flames of
hell staring back at him. That brought forth another chuckle.
“Why are ye laughin’ at me?” she asked. “I see no humor in it. I could have found my way.”
His laughter subsided, but he still felt quite amused. “Ye’d have died of starvation before then. Or
been set upon by ne’er-do-wells. Or tripped and broken yer neck.”
Crossing her arms over her chest angrily, she huffed. “Ye’re only saying these things to scare me.”
With a shake of his head, he pulled his horse to a stop. “Aye, that be true. Ye need to be afraid of
such things or ye won’t survive.”
“I have survived the past year well enough,” she told him, looking at him straight on.
With a quirked brow, he replied in a low, soft tone. “Aye, I can tell by the bag of bones I’m
holdin’ that ye have done quite well.”
More angry than wounded, she furrowed her brow. “I did nae ask ye to hold this ‘bag of bones’.
I’ve asked ye kindly to leave me be.”
Skinny as she may be, she was still a woman. He could remember well how she felt nestled
against him that morn. She was close enough now that the scent of marigold soap was nearly as
intoxicating as whisky. He knew without the need for touch that her skin would feel as soft as silk
against his own.
For the first time in his adult life, he let common sense give way to desire. Without permission, he
leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. ’Twas even more magnificent than the first time. They
were warm and as soft as the petals of a rose. Just a taste was all he wanted, but the moment he felt
her melting against him, he knew he wanted far more than one wee kiss.
Stopping before he could do anything else this day that he knew he’d come to regret later, he
pulled away.
Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly apart, her cheeks as red as the morning dawn. Oh, she was
a dangerous thing, this young woman. He knew it with every fiber of his being.
Her eyes fluttered open a heartbeat later. Instantly, her brow furrowed with uncertainty. “Why did
ye do that?”
“Do what?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat.
“Kiss me?”
“Because that I wished to do.”

HEADING NOW IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION, THEY RODE IN COMPANIONABLE SILENCE FOR THE NEXT HOUR, EACH OF
them lost in their own thoughts, barely noticing they’d left the woods. ’Twas Rianna who finally broke
the silence. “Do ye really think me too skinny?”
“I do,” he replied. “But ’tis nothin’ a few good meals cannae fix.”
A quarter of an hour passed before she asked her next question. “Do ye really think me
addlepated?”
“I ne’er said ye were addlepated.”
“But I was goin’ in the wrong direction,” she reminded him. “It must have crossed your mind that
I’m not the most brilliant minded person ye ever met.”
“I can assure ye the thought ne’er entered my head.” Nay, his thoughts were far more lascivious
and salacious. Her intelligence never once factored into it.
More silence ensued. When next ’twas broken, ’twas by Aiden recommending they stop to eat,
stretch their legs, and rest the horse.
They found a spot of open grass at the base of a hill. The sun shone brightly, casting the swaying
grass in shades of silver. A clear blue sky, dotted with small fluffy clouds hung overhead. Rianna
spread a blanket out carefully, placing her bundle on the edge. While Aiden tended to the horse, she
went in search of her comb. When he returned, she was combing through her dark hair.
He thought she looked a most magnificent sight, sitting on the blanket under the warm sun,
combing through those long, silky tendrils. For a lengthy moment, he wished he was the comb, for then
she could both hold him and he could feel the silkiness of her long locks.
Deftly, she twisted her hair into a long braid and tied the ends with a tiny bit of leather. ’Twas
both a treat and agony to watch. If he did not gain a hold on his desire, he’d take her then and there, on
the blanket.
“Why are ye starin’ at me?” she asked quizzically.
He couldn’t very well admit he was thinking of divesting her of her clothing and slaking his lust
here in the wide-open land. Nay, the truth would get him undoubtedly get him kicked in the groin, so
he decided to lie. “Wonderin’ just how mad ye truly are.”
Rianna knew exactly what kind of mad he meant. “I am as sane as ye are,” she told him.
A warm chuckle escaped. “My own soundness of mind might nae be the right way to measure yer
own, lass. I’ve been told I’m quite mad.”
With a raised brow of indifference and a roll of her eyes, she said, “Now that I can believe.”
As she began stuffing items back into her bundle, he caught sight of something quite old and
familiar. “Ye still have the doll?” he said with a nod toward the object.
Rianna made no effort to hide it. Instead, she picked it up and held it in her hands.
Aiden could remember well the last time he’d seen it. She had come to him in tears because one
of the arms had fallen off.
“I can nae ask mum for a needle and thread”, she had cried. “If she finds out I have it, she’ll
take it away.”
Aiden consoled her with a pat on her back. “I can fix it, good as new,” he promised. And so he
did. Carefully, he had sewn the arm back in place all the while Rianna sat at his feet, watching in
awe at what a fine job he was doing. Once he was done, he examined the doll for any other
injuries. ’Twas then he discovered something hard inside its body. “What is this?” he asked as he
poked a finger inside.
“’Tis her heart,” Rianna explained.
“Her heart?” he had asked. “Dolls do nae have hearts, lass.
“This one does. I think my papa put it there, but I cannae remember,” she told him. “I think he
gave it to me the night we left.”
Aiden had heard the story many times that summer. A story that sometimes changed, not
through lies, but through misremembering.
He continued to move the object around until he was able to poke it through the goose feather
stuffing. His eyes opened wide in astonishment. There, just under the surface of the linen,
something … glowed. ’Twas the only word he could think of to describe it. A small yet somehow
brilliant light shone from within the doll.
“What is it?” Rianna had asked in a hushed, nearly reverent tone.
In truth, Aiden had no idea, but at the age of eleven, he was not one to admit there was
something he might not be a worldly expert on. “’Tis clearly magik,” he said.
“Good magik or bad?” she asked.
Chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, he finally replied. “I say it be good. If ‘twere bad, we
could feel it.”
Flipping the doll over, he took out his small sgian dubh, fully prepared to cut open the doll to
see just what it was that glowed from within. Rianna stopped him. “Nay!” she cried. “Dunnae cut
it open!”
“Why no’?” Aiden asked.
Rianna took the doll from his grasp and held it close to her heart. “I dunnae think me da would
like that. I am to keep the doll safe until he comes for me.”
“How do ye ken that? Ye canna even remember the man’s name,” he argued.
Rianna looked sad and forlorn. “I dunnae ken how I know. I just know.”
They had argued back and forth for quite some time before Aiden gave up.
“Did ye e’er find out what made it glow?”
Rianna smiled fondly at him. “It quit glowin’ a long time ago,” she said. A moment later, she was
looping a finger around a bit of leather that hung around her neck. “’Twas a ring,” she explained. “I
eventually wore a hole in the doll and the stuffing fell out. Along with it, this ring.” Gently, she lifted
the fabric at her neckline and pulled the leather up and out, where a gold ring dangled in the air.
Aiden quirked a brow as he smiled at her devilishly. “Looks to me as though it be glowin’ now.”
She didn’t believe him until she risked a glance. Rianna’s eyes grew wide and round in utter
disbelief. At the center of the dark gold band sat the round ruby. For the past few years it had
remained a deep, blood red. Now, however, it glowed a brilliant crimson. Just as it had when they
were children.
“Ye should have sold it,” Aiden remarked.
Unable to pull her gaze away from the glowing ring, she shook her head. “Nay,” she whispered.
This was the only thing she had left of her father. Or at least that was her belief. If only she could
remember more clearly.
At night, she sometimes dreamt of being a wee child again. In those dreams, her father was as real
and as warm as the sun. Though she could not make out his face, she knew with all her heart ’twas
him. Strong, caring, and kind.
There were very brief moments, in that space between dreaming and waking, when she could
have sworn she heard her father’s laugh. Deep, booming … yet it somehow held such merriment, such
love of life and the sense of home, it oft brought tears to her eyes.
“If that be a real ruby, ye could live quite comfortably for the rest of yer life, lass.”
Tears burned behind her eyes, tears she would not shed unless and until she was alone. This was
her heartache. She would rather starve to death than sell the ring.
Mesmerized by the soft yet brilliant glow, she kept her thoughts to herself. Aiden couldn’t
understand the importance of the ring. “I cannae explain it to ye, but I will ne’er sell it. This is my
only link to my past.” To her marrow, she believed what she said.
“The past should stay in the past,” Aiden quipped.
With great care, she tucked the ring back under her gown. “Why does the past frighten ye so?” she
asked.
He scoffed at the idea, though in truth her comment struck home. Not so much afraid of the past
itself as he was of repeating it. “Ye’re daft,” he told her. “Ye’re clingin’ to the past like a drownin’
man to a piece of driftwood. A past ye cannae remember.”
 Rianna quirked a brow, his insult not hitting his intended target. “And ye run from it like a man
with his trews afire. At least I do nae fear it.”
His jaw clenched tightly. “Some things are best left hidden,” he told her.
“Mayhap if ye dig long enough, ye’ll find a treasure there.”
Angrily, he shot to his feet. “Of this, I can assure ye. There be nothin’ in me past worth
rememberin’.”
His words were clipped and biting.
“Nae even me?” she challenged.

HIS MIND TOLD HIM HE SHOULD FORGET EVERYTHING ABOUT HIS PAST, INCLUDING RIANNA. SHE WAS A REMINDER
of what had been, of his youth before his father betrayed him. Oh, were there a way to have his mind
erased completely, he would take it. The good memories were proving to be as difficult to bear as the
horrid ones.
After his father’s betrayal, it had been those happy memories that had kept him from either losing
his mind or taking his own life. Aye, even at twelve summers, he had often thought of letting his
masters win the war against him by allowing himself to either be killed or to die by his own hand. So
brutal were their teachings as they called them, that he contemplated death more often than any boy of
that age should.
Were it not for all his mother had taught him, for his life before those dark, ugly times, he would
not have survived.
His mind however, was not in accord with his heart. His heart relished the thought of someone
thinking more of him than he thought of himself. He wanted some semblance of a normal life. A wife,
bairns of his own, a wee farm somewhere far away from who he had been. ’Twas his heart that
desired nothing more than to tell her the truth of his past, of where he’d been and all the evil things
he’d done. Fear of seeing the horror in her eyes at learning the truth kept him from uttering a word. Of
all the nightmarish things done to him as a child and young man, having Rianna look at him with
disgust would have been his undoing.
Never had he felt more a coward.
“Ye’ll be with yer father soon,” he said. “Then I recommend ye forget ye e’er met me.”

FORGET? HOW COULD SHE FORGET THE ONE PERSON SHE HAD CONSIDERED HER TRUEST AND DEAREST FRIEND?
Regardless of the time that had passed since last they’d seen one another, Rianna still considered him
her friend. That friendship meant the world to her.
Left to wonder what horrible thing had happened to him to make him say such things, she could
not believe he meant them.
Suddenly, she felt the strongest urge to protect him. From what, she didn’t know, didn’t care. She
only knew that he needed someone, mayhap someone who was more than just a friend from his youth.
He needed her now, as much as she had needed him all those years ago. Rianna believed that with as
much conviction as she believed her father hadn’t truly cast her aside. Unable to explain even to her
own heart why she felt so strongly about either notion, she pushed any lingering doubts aside.
“I will ne’er forget ye, Aiden Macgullane.” She spoke with such conviction and determination as
to leave him with little doubt. “Ye were my friend in our youth and I will ne’er cast that friendship
aside. No matter how badly ye try to convince me ye are a pig-headed and unlikable man, I will nae
change my mind.”
The gauntlet had been thrown. She simply didn’t realize it.

HOURS PASSED AND HE STILL REFUSED TO SPEAK TO HER. AS DETERMINED AS SHE WAS TO BREAK THROUGH HIS
stone exterior and empty heart, he was just as determined to see she failed.
They were on the road to Allistair Castle. Rianna sat before him while he kept the horse at a slow
walk. He told himself ’twas only out of kindness for his mount that he traveled so slowly.
As the road meandered through trees, the sky to the east turned to shades of lavender and violet
behind the darkening woods. Night would soon be upon them and he wondered if she would sleep
snuggled against him once again. Nay, he told himself, he could not allow her to be that close to him
under a starry sky, beside to a roaring fire. The temptation to explore every inch of her was too great.
He’d sleep in a bloody tree if he must, in order to keep that temptation at bay.
If he were honest with himself, he was glad to see she had not ridden herself of the tenacity she
possessed as a child. Like a feral dog refusing to give up a bone, she refused to give up in her quest to
break him down.
“Do ye remember the gift ye gave me when I turned seven?” she asked.
He did, but he was not about to admit to it. He met her question with deafening silence.
Ignoring him, she smiled at the memory. “’Twas a crown of flowers, with a few tiny shells tucked
into it,” she said. “Do ye ken yer gift was the only one I’ve e’er received from anyone? Nae even my
own mother e’er gave me a gift.”
Inexplicably, his chest tightened. His mum had always given him a gift, no matter how small, to
observe the day of his birth. Even his father took part in those small celebrations. But after his mum
died, there was nothing left to celebrate.
Aiden knew Ronna was never the best of mothers, however he hadn’t truly realized until now just
how cold and distant a woman she had been.
“I still have it,” Rianna informed him. Her tone bordered on reverence.
“Ye do?” he asked with a measure of surprise, thereby breaking his oath of silence.
Giving a rapid nod, she turned her head ever so slightly in order to look at him. “I kept it along
with the doll. ’Tis all dried out now, but I keep it wrapped carefully in a bit of linen. I carry it with
me always.” He could not have known until then that the little crown of flowers was amongst her only
prized and loved possessions.
His chest squeezed once again as guilt began to creep into his bones. Had she not stolen him from
the goal? A place where he surely would have died once he woke from his drunken stupor and
realized he was in chains once again? Had she not taken him from Inverness? Had she not tended to
his bloodied and battered face? Had she not made camp, covered him with blankets?
And how had he shown his gratitude? He rewarded her with insults and silence.
Suddenly, it dawned upon him that Rianna Coultier was just as lonely a soul as he. Why else
would anyone keep a worn and tattered doll or a dried and crumbling crown from their youth? What
else did she have? No one and nothing.
Wanting very much to right a wrong, he decided to set his anger at himself aside and quit taking it
out on the innocent lass before him. The least he could do was be polite until he dropped her on her
father’s doorstep.
“Do ye remember how I taught ye to swim?” he asked.
At first, the sound of his voice startled her. Turning away, she giggled slightly before answering.
“Aye, ye had me strip out of my clothes right before ye tossed me into the loch.” She had been as
terrified as she was furious that day long ago.
“But ye did learn to swim,” he reminded her.
“Aye, but at the cost of my hide,” she told him.
“What do ye mean?” he asked curiously.
Rianna let out a heavy sigh. “When I got home, I was soaked to the bone. My mother asked why. I
told her most honestly exactly what had happened. I was so proud of the fact that I could swim, I
didn’t think how angry she would be.”
Aiden could feel her tense at the memory. “I had welts on my legs and buttocks for days after.”
Confused and repulsed at once, he asked, “She beat ye for learning to swim?”
“Nay,” she said with a slow shake. “For bein’ naked with a lad.” It mattered not that Aiden was
more a brother to her than anything. As far as Ronna was concerned, Rianna would end up whoring on
the streets of Edinburgh before she reached the age of twelve if she agreed to take her clothes off in
front of anyone of the opposite sex.
“I didnae ken that, lass,” he said sorrowfully.
“Because I didnae tell ye.”
“Why nae?” he asked, his guilt growing by leaps and bounds.
Turning once again in the saddle in order to face him, she answered bluntly. “Because I knew that
beatin’ was nothin’ compared to what ye received at the hands of yer father.”

JUST WHEN HE THOUGHT HE COULD NOT FEEL MORE TROUBLED FOR HER OR THAT HIS CHEST COULD NOT
constrict more tightly, she proved him wrong. “I fear I dunnae understand,” he whispered as he looked
into bright green eyes filled to the brim with regret and pity toward him.
“Ye had enough to worry about,” she said. “I refused to add to yer burden. Ye were my friend. Ye
were quite proud that ye taught me to swim. I did nae want ye to feel any remorse for it.”
Uncertain of what to make of her confession, he felt his heart soften toward her even more. “I am
terribly sorry ye had to suffer so, simply because I behaved like an ass.”
Those sweet lips of hers curved into a fond smile. “I did nae realize ye were bein’ an ass. I
believed ye were bein’ kind in wantin’ to teach me to swim.”
“I have a confession to make,” he said. “Teachin’ ye to swim was nae my purpose that day.”
“What was?” she asked, arching a pretty brow.
He was forced to clear his throat of the guilt before answering. “Ye had been annoyin’ me fer
days. I ken now ye meant no harm, but it seemed as though every time I turned around, there ye were.
Right under my feet.”
Arching her other brow, she silently bade him continue.
“I had been tryin’ to get Maire MacPherson to kiss me. Ye happened by when I had convinced her
of goin’ behind the baker’s hut with me. I was mightily angry with ye.”
Regret and embarrassment filled her eyes. “I ne’er knew!”
Aiden gave her a shrug as he led the horse off the road. “It matters nae now, lass.”
A sudden thought occurred to her then, one she did not want to give any credence. Still, the
question was out before she could stop it. “Were ye tryin’ to drown me?”
Aghast at the notion, Aiden pulled their mount to a halt. “Of course nae!” he replied. “I would
ne’er have harmed ye!”
“Then why did ye do it? Offer to teach me to swim?” she asked, bemused.
He felt his face grow red with shame. “I thought if I convinced ye to jump into the loch bare arsed
naked, ye might be so appalled or frightened that ye’d go away and leave me be for a spell.”
Rianna thought back to that day. Never once had she ever been frightened when she was with him.
On the contrary, she had felt nothing other than safe and cared for. “But it did nae work. I stripped out
of me dress before ye could think what to do.”
Smiling deviously, he said, “Aye. And ye scared the bloody hell out of me. I thought for certain
should anyone happen along and catch me with a naked little girl, I’d have my hide carved from my
flesh.”
Rianna laughed and turned away, happy that he had finally broken his vow of silence. “I have
ne’er, nae once, been afraid in yer presence. Back then, I would have believed anything ye told me, so
in love with you was I.”
In love with me? Astonished, he could think of no intelligent or thoughtful response. Nay, he told
himself. She was not in love with him now. She was simply explaining how she felt about him when
they were children. ’Twas the only plausible explanation.

GOOD LORD, HAD SHE TRULY SAID WHAT SHE THOUGHT SHE HAD? EMBARRASSED, SHE FELT HER FACE BURN AS RED
and as bright as a summer sunset. Mayhap he hadn’t heard her, but his strained silence said he had.
“Why have we left the road?” she asked by way of changing the subject.
“We need to make camp,” he replied.
She took note of the deep timbre of his voice. Had she gone mad or did his voice sound as divine
and warm as soaking in a hot, steamy bath? For the first time in her life, she was afraid of him. Not
necessarily of him bringing her any true, physical harm. But what he could do to her heart if he were
to continue speaking with that decadent, magnificent tone. Or mayhap she was afraid of herself.
Deep into a dense thicket, they made camp in a small clearing. That night, they dined quietly on
the grouse he had caught, and the sweet blaeberries and wild lettuce she had managed to find whilst
foraging. ’Twas not a supper fit for a king, but for two hungry young people, ’twas a feast.
They spoke very little to one another that night, each lost in their own thoughts and worries.
Aiden worried over how his heart was beginning to soften toward the beautiful woman sleeping
peacefully on the other side of the fire. Was he a fool to allow his heart and mind to wonder to images
of a wee cottage somewhere remote and peaceful? Was he a fool to wish for a wife and bairns of his
own? A simple life, an ordinary existence?
Nay, those things, that life, was not for him, no matter how he hungered for them. Too many people
had died at his hands. He’d committed far too many unforgivable sins. Things he doubted any of the
gods would ever forgive him for. Why would they reward him for such sins, such crimes?
Rianna feigned sleep as she worried over her father and Aiden. Was her father still amongst the
living? Would he want anything to do with her after all these years? Worse still, what would become
of her if he sent her away again? Would she spend the rest of her life in search of that loving home she
wanted with such desperation?
Nay, she could not think of those things right now. It made her heart ache to think Lachlan
MacAllistair would turn her away.
But thinking of Aiden left her no better off. He may have done something ugly in the past,
however, she decided it mattered not. As he had said on more than one occasion, the past should
remain in the past. To a certain extent, she believed him. But not when it came to her father.
What of Aiden’s future? What were his plans? Did he have a loving young woman waiting for him
somewhere? Thus far, he had made no mention of such a person, but that did not mean she did not
exist. Something akin to jealousy set in and it made Rianna question her soundness of mind. She had
no claim to him, no right to feel the least little bit jealous. So what if he had kissed her? Two kisses
did not a lifetime commitment make.
Yet, what if there were no such person? What if he was content to roam aimlessly about the
countryside? Would she be able to change his mind?
Change his mind? What was she thinking? First of all, she had no idea how his mind was set
about the future. Secondly, she had no claim on it. Deciding her meandering thoughts were merely the
result of the two delightfully sinful kisses she had shared with him and nothing more, she tried to push
the thoughts aside. ’Twas a long while however, before she was finally able to succumb to exhaustion
and sleep.
 4

F or the first time since his childhood, Aiden Macgullane slept peacefully, uninterrupted by
nightmares that left him fighting for breath and covered in sweat. Instead, he dreamt of his youth, of
his life before his mother’s passing. Of the time before his life began to unravel like a loose thread
pulled from an old blanket until nothing was left.
When he woke, Rianna was once again tucked safely in his embrace, her bottom nestled
dangerously close to his groin. He had his arms wrapped around her protectively as he held her
tightly to his chest. Try as he might, he could not remember her coming to him during the night. She
must have grown cold and sought him out for warmth. She must also possess the stealthy qualities of a
cat-o-mountain for he was always alert, even in sleep. One never knew who might creep up on him in
the dark of night to end his life. He knew these things from his own personal experience at taking a
man’s life while he slept.
The sun was just making an appearance on the horizon with just a hint of sunlight against the deep
blue sky. The moon waned in the morning and even the birds were still asleep. The fire from the night
before was cold, not even a wisp of smoke remained. Yet he was as warm as if he had slept in a
feather bed with a roaring fire in the hearth.
I could get accustomed to this, he dared let his heart speak to his mind. Closing his eyes, he
drifted off to sleep.
Dawn’s early light had come and gone when next he opened his eyes. Rianna was still in his arms,
but now, she rested with her head against his chest. One of her arms was tossed over his, the blankets
pulled up to her neck. With all his being he wished he could remain where he was in this blissful,
peaceful moment. With his heart near to bursting with contentment and joy. Without moving, he
listened to the sound of her soft, steady breathing. He drew in her scent: a blend of fresh air and a hint
of her marigold soap. When his loins began to stir with the image of making long, slow love to her, he
knew he must leave her side. ‘Twould do neither of them any good for him to lose himself to passion
or lust.
What Rianna needed most was a home. A safe and loving home that, unfortunately, he would be
unable to give her. Nay, the last thing she needed was a former assassin haunted by a nightmarish past.
Slipping quietly from their makeshift bed, he rolled to his feet and went in search of water and
something to break their fast. When he returned, she was awake, rekindling the fire. When she heard
him approach, she looked up and smiled. ’Twas all he could do to remember to breathe and continue
with one foot in front of the other. So stunning, so brilliant was her smile that it nearly took his breath
away.
In that instant he knew he must get her to her father sooner rather than later, for he doubted he
would have the strength of will or character to keep his desires from making a most egregious
mistake.

IT SEEMED TO RIANNA THAT HE HAD INCREASED THE SPEED WITH WHICH THEY RODE THAT DAY. THEY STOPPED
only when she begged him for a rest. He seemed anxious and agitated. There was no time to relax or
stretch her legs and barely enough to empty her bladder before they were heading off again.
Only when he slowed to allow the horse a brief respite did she make any attempts to speak to him.
He was perfectly willing to discuss childhood memories. But no matter how she broached the subject,
he refused to talk about his life after Ardanaiseig. He refused to divulge anything about the last
twelve years of his life. Frankly, she was growing tired of the silence. ’Twas maddening that she was
unable to get more than a few words out of the man. Especially when it came to his past.
She was left with nothing but assumptions and her vivid imagination.
As a child, he’d been far too honorable and set in his ways to become a common criminal. But
then, so had she. However, life and circumstances had forced her to do things she’d otherwise never
be tempted to do. She learned at an early age what the fear of starvation and freezing to death could
get an otherwise good person to do. Mayhap the same had happened to Aiden?
“How fares yer father?” she asked as the rode over a small hill. She felt him grow tense and
stiffen the instant she asked.
Silence hung in the air, leading her to believe ’twas another question he refused to answer.
“I neither know nor care,” he answered through gritted teeth. “And I’ll appreciate it if ye’d nae
mention him again.”
Whether it was born out of frustration or exhaustion, she couldn’t rightly say, but she was growing
tired of his silence. “We have been ridin’ fer two days and I know no more about ye than I did when I
pulled ye from the goal. I dunnae understand why ye refuse to speak of yer past. We’ve all done things
we’re ashamed of.”
Snorting derisively, he asked, “What could ye have possibly done that ye’re ashamed of?”
“I’ve stolen bread when I was hungry,” she answered pointedly, irked by what she deemed to be
arrogance on his part. “And might I remind ye I lied through me teeth to get ye out of the goal at
Inverness?”
He was unimpressed. “If that be the worst ye’ve ever done in yer life, lass, ye’ve led the life of a
saint.”
“And what of ye? What have ye done that is so horrible ye cannae even discuss it with me, yer
lifelong friend?” she asked drolly.
He let out a chuckle that sent shivers down her spine. “Lass, I’ve done things nightmares are made
of. Things ye cannae begin to imagine.”
She rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see her face. “Ye’re only tryin’ to frighten me into
silence,” she accused him. “Ye cannae frighten me, Aiden Macgullane.”
“Nay?” he asked.
She gave a slow shake of her head. “Nay. Ye’re too good a man, of that much I am certain.”
“Much can happen to a man in fourteen long years, lass. Much that can change him from what he
was as a boy to what he is as a man.”
 That she could believe, for she had lost the naiveté of youth long ago. But deep down, wasn’t she
much the same as she had always been? Did she still not care about others and possess a strong sense
of right versus wrong? And did she still not wish with all her heart to find her father?
“That might verra well be true,” she said, “but I believe that deep down, ye’re still as kind now
as ye were as a boy.”
He threw back his head and laughed from deep in his belly. It went on for so long that she began
to wonder if he hadn’t truly lost his mind. “I dunnae ken what ye find so amusin’. Laugh all ye will,
ye’ll ne’er get me to change me mind about ye.”
“Count yerself blessed that ye shall not be with me long enough to realize I speak the truth.”

DEATH BY DISEMBOWELMENT WAS PREFERABLE TO TELLING HER THE TRUTH.

For years, he’d suffered at the hands of his masters. Led a most miserable life. And since
escaping that life two years ago, he had done everything he could to rid himself of his demons, of
those repugnant and grotesque memories that assaulted him nearly every hour of every day.
He was a monster.
Worse than anything her innocent mind could ever conjure. As assuredly as the sun would rise on
the morrow, if she ever knew the truth, her opinion of him would evaporate as quickly as twining,
wispy smoke from a fire. When he conjured the image of her face, of the expression she would bear
should she hear the truth, it made him nearly ill. ’Twas the one thing he could not bear. ‘Twould
certainly be the breaking point of what little sanity he possessed. If she were to look at him with
contempt and disgust, he would fall into madness, into a hell from which there would be no return.
For now he was content with allowing her to think only the best of him.
Content.
It had been decades since he’d felt anything akin to contentment. Or joy or peace or happiness.
Nay, there had been no place for such feelings. They’d been nonexistent, didn’t belong in the
blood-thirsty life he had lived.
As much as he hated to admit it, however, there was a very tiny part of him that took some
enjoyment from her good opinion of him. Even if it were based on a childhood memory and a lie.
He was also taking great enjoyment from the way she felt when she sat against him on the saddle.
Or the utter sense of calm that fell over him when she came to him in the middle of the night seeking
the warmth of his body when the fire was not enough to keep out the cold night air. Aiden knew she
wasn’t looking for any kind of romantic physical contact, but that knowledge did nothing to still the
lust-ridden dreams he was having of late.
The two kisses he’d stolen from her that first day haunted him. It had been a mistake, kissing her
as he had, for now he craved more, like a selkie craves the water. Nay, he refused to succumb to
baser urges for two reasons: one, he didn’t deserve them and two, she deserved better.
He might have been a murderer but he was no defiler of women.
Even assassins had their limits. At least Aiden did. Oh, he knew other men of his ilk who thought
nothing of slaughtering innocent women and children. Others had no invisible lines they would not
cross, but Aiden did. No matter the situation or assignment, he had never brought physical harm to an
innocent. But what of the emotional damage he’d left the living to suffer? Aye, he might have left them
alive, but he knew he’d left them without a husband or father. And a few he’d left with the haunting
images of watching their loved one die before their eyes.
 What kind of man did such things?
Nay, Rianna did not deserve a man such as he. She deserved far better.

NIGHTFALL WAS JUST BEGINNING TO CARESS THE SKY WHEN THEY MADE CAMP IN A SMALL CLEARING SET IN THE
midst of a forest. Littered with birch, alder, oak and hazel, the soft earth under their feet was a
welcome respite to the cold hard ground they’d slept on the night before. Overhead, in the beryl sky,
stars shimmered silver, lending to the tranquility of the place. Their surroundings, however, stood in
stark contrast to the jumbled knot of worry that had settled in Rianna’s stomach.
On the morrow, she would finally come face to face with her father. If he still lived. If her mother
hadn’t lied. If he still made his home amongst the people of Allistair Castle.
Thankfully, Aiden had caught two small grouse that were roasting over the fire. Rianna sat with
her back against a felled tree, wrapped in a blanket, staring blankly at the flames. As they had done
for the past few days, her thoughts ran from her father to Aiden and back again.
What if Aiden was correct? What if her father truly wanted nothing to do with her? What if
everything her mother had ever said about the man was true? Was he really an arrogant, selfish man?
Had he sent them away because of his wife? Did he actually only use Ronna as a man uses any
common whore, casting her aside without a care to her security or that of the child they had created?
How would the man respond when she appeared on his threshold? Would he cast her aside with the
same indifference as he had when she was a bairn?
And what of Aiden? What had happened to the warm, caring boy she remembered? The less he
told her the more she wondered. If his tossing and turning in his sleep were any indication, something
dark had befallen him, of that she was convinced.
The first night, when he’d been passed out from drinking, she had slept beside him for warmth.
’Twas a sensation she wanted desperately to repeat every night for the rest of her life. To sleep
securely and without fear in the arms of a man she admired. A man who cared for her heart as well as
her safety. Someone like the boy Aiden had been. Knowing full well she was allowing her mind and
heart to wander to points neither should go, she had decided to sleep a safe distance away from him.
Last night, he had slept so restlessly that he kept her awake. Betimes he mumbled incoherently as
his body jerked violently. Then he would weep and beg forgiveness. Last night, she had gone to offer
him soothing words of comfort. ’Twas then he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. Moments
later, he whispered thank ye, before drifting off to sleep. Once he was settled, she tried to dislodge
herself from his warm embrace. Sensing she was leaving him, he would pull her in again. Finally, she
quit fighting and remained tucked next to him. ’Twas another battle she carefully — and happily —
chose to lose.
When she woke this morn, he was already up and gone. Either he hadn’t remembered the night
before, or he had and was too embarrassed to speak of it. Either way, she was glad he had not brought
the matter up, for she was too confused over her feelings for him to have a thoughtful or intelligent
conversation.
Finally, the silence was too much to endure. “Why do ye think the ring glows again?” Rianna
asked him from across the fire. Pulling the ring from beneath her dress, she held it in the palm of her
hand. Oddly, it seemed to glow even brighter than the day before.
He contemplated her question for a long moment. “I dunnae. Mayhap it glows because ye are near
yer father?”
 “Mayhap,” she replied, detecting no sarcasm or mockery in his tone. “It continued to glow long
after we left Ardanaiseig. For several years actually. But slowly, it began to dim until ’twas nearly
black.”
“Yet it glows again,” he said.
“Aye, it glows again. I cannae help but wonder why.” Mesmerized by it’s radiance, she could
scarce take her eyes from it. Mayhap Aiden was right. Mayhap it was magik, as he had declared long
ago. Was it somehow tied to her father and glowed when he was near? Nay, that explanation made no
sense. “But it glowed when I lived in Ardanaiseig,” she pointed out to him. “There are only two
times in my life the ring has e’er glowed. Both times were in your presence.”
She was so captivated by the ring, had not heard his calm yet firm tone calling for her silence.
“Mayhap the ring is tied to ye,” she said with a dismissive giggle.
“Wheest now,” he whispered harshly to gain her attention.
Prepared to curse him to the devil for being so rude, the curse died on her tongue when she saw
the expression on his face. Serious, tense, and alert. ’Twas then she heard the faint crack of a twig
coming from the dark forest. The combination sent a shiver down her spine and turned her skin to
gooseflesh.

“DO YE HAVE A WEAPON IN YER PACK?” HE ASKED IN A LOW, HUSHED WHISPER.

Frozen with fear, all she could manage was a rapid nod.
He stood then and stretched, as if he were tired and ready for bed. In a loud voice, he said, “I fear
this journey has worn me out, lass.” Stepping toward her, he bent over at the waist and kissed her
cheek. “Do nae let on ye ken there be someone out there,” he whispered. “Do ye have any more dried
beef in yer pack?” he asked, raising his voice.
Confusion enveloped her. Uncertain what she should do, she shook her head. “Nay, ye ate it all.”
“Why don’t ye look again?” he asked as he scratched his belly. “Ye might find some left.” His
eyes pleaded for understanding.
It took a moment before she realized he was pretending he did not know that someone was
watching them from nearby. Stammering, she said, “Verra well, let me look.” With trembling fingers,
she felt through the items in her pack, all the while her heart raced in her chest. Frantically she
searched blindly, unable to take her eyes from Aiden’s. After what seemed an eternity, her fingers
finally rested on the blade of her sgian dubh. Relief —albeit short-lived — washed over her when
she felt the cool steel.
Aiden sat beside her, stretching his long legs out before her. As much as she wanted to look into
the darkness, she found she could not pull her gaze from his. “Have ye found the beef?” he asked as he
draped an arm around her shoulder.
Her throat had gone dry with fear. “Nay, it be gone,” she managed to reply as she pulled the sgian
dubh from the pack and laid in on her lap for him to see.
Another snap and crack from the forest. Without thinking, she looked toward the trees at the sound.
“Dunnae fash yerself, lass,” Aiden said. “’Tis just a badger.”
She knew without seeing ’twas not a night creature lurking in the shadows, but a man. Possibly
more than one. She also knew that Aiden knew the same.
Another cracking twig, another footfall and she was trembling with such force that she could
scarce find a breath.
 “Come, let us go to bed,” Aiden said as he shot to his feet. Extending an arm to her, he took her
hand in his. Hoisting her to her feet, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close to his chest.
“No matter what happens, ye stay behind me at all times. And should anything happen to me, ye run
fer the hills as fast as those skinny legs of yers can carry ye,” he whispered into her hair. “Promise
me.”
Terrified tears brimmed as she nodded with understanding. A hundred thoughts raced through her
mind as she fought back the urge to cry. What happened next occurred so quickly she had little time to
do anything but stand back and watch.
 5

“G ood eve to ye!” cried out a man who stood just on the edge of their camp. Startled, Rianna
jumped out of Aiden’s arms while he carefully placed her behind his back.
“Good eve to ye,” Aiden replied.
The man stepped forward into the firelight. One look and Rianna knew he was trouble. Besides
his ill-fitting clothes and shaved head, there was something in his eyes, something readily apparent
even in the dimly lit space. Madness? Desperation? Whatever ’twas, she found it dark and sinister.
“Could ye spare a few lost souls a bit of yer supper?” he asked as he took another step forward. A
moment later, they were surrounded my three more men, all of whom looked equally as menacing as
the first. Two of them stood just to the right of she and Aiden, the other to their left.
“I fear we have nothin’ left,” Aiden said. “Nae even a handful of berries or nuts.”
Rianna trembled as she looked at the strange men. Reaching out to Aiden, she placed one hand on
his waist, whilst her other held tightly to her sgian dubh. ’Twas then she realized Aiden was not
wearing his sword. Dread consumed her as her gaze fell upon the sword that rested against their
packs a good seven or eight feet away.
“Then have ye a coin or two to spare?” The man made his way to the fire as if he were nothing
more than a passing stranger.
“Nay,” Aiden answered, holding his empty palms up. “We be as poor as church mice.”
The man to their left continued to stare at Rianna, licking his lips all the while. Repulsed, she
turned away to look around Aiden’s shoulders at the man at the fire. He squatted down and warmed
his hands over the licking flames. “That be a right shame,” he said. “A right shame.”
“Ye’re more than welcome to warm yerselves by the fire,” Aiden said, casting a glance toward
the other men. “But me wife and I were just getting ready to turn in for the night. We have travelled
long and far this day.”
The man ignored him. “We have nae eaten in days. And we’ve nae had a woman in weeks,” he
said. “Ye have no food, but ye do have a right pretty woman.”
Aiden tensed. Rianna could feel his muscles tighten, all the while her heart pounded with terror
against her chest.
Shrugging as if he cared not what the men might wish to do to her, Aiden said, “Verra well,” as he
left Rianna standing alone. “She be nae me wife anyway. An Inverness whore I picked up a few days
ago.”
Rianna’s mouth fell open as she watched him walk away. Beyond bewildered, she stood with
mouth agape, terrified.
Her eyes flew to the man by the fire, then to the man to her left. What had happened to her
champion? Her protector? Did Aiden truly mean to leave her to these men? She would fight to her
own death before she went to them willingly.
She was about to tell them all just that when she heard Aiden unsheathe his sword. The sound of
metal against leather broke through the quiet night. Before she could utter a word or move a muscle,
Aiden had thrust his sword deep into he back of the man by the fire. Soundlessly, he fell forward into
the flames, and a rapid heartbeat later, his clothes were on fire. But he did not scream nor cry out in
agony, for he was already dead.
Frozen with fear, all she could do was stand by and watch as the three men drew their own
swords. The two on her right engaged Aiden, whilst the other man wrapped an arm around her waist
and lifted her off the ground.
“Nay!” she cried out. Caught off guard, she let her sgian dubh fall to the earth as she pounded on
his arms. The man was dragging her toward the woods.
He hadn’t taken three steps before Aiden was upon them. “Let her go and I’ll consider lettin’ ye
live.”
His voice was firm and unyielding. Her captor spun around and, to his utter disbelief, his
companions lay dead on the ground.
Rianna held her breath as she looked at Aiden. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. He looked so
calm, so completely at ease. ’Twas the way he stared at the man, with such a deadly glare that she
nearly fainted. Apparently, her captor was not an intelligent man.
“I do nae think so,” he said. “Ye’ll kill me as soon as I let her go. But ye’ll regret it. We travel
with twenty other men. They wait for our return.”
Aiden arched a brow in disbelief. “Twenty?” he asked. “I dunnae care if ye travel with one
hundred. I will kill ye all before I allow ye to harm on hair on the lass’s head.”
“Back away!” the man barked out, tightening his hold on Rianna’s waist. He lifted his sword and
held it against her throat. “I’ll kill her, I swear I will.”
“And ye shall be dead before she hits the ground.”
The man started backing away.
“Rianna, my love, ye look tired,” Aiden said as his eyes bored into hers. “Would ye like to rest?”
Rest? Had he gone mad? “Aiden, please, help me.”
“I will lass,” he said with a smile that bordered on something she could not quite describe.
“Mayhap ye would like to rest now?”
They were moving farther away from the fire and into darkness. Confused, terrified, she tried to
make some sense of his question. She could no longer see his face clearly, for they were nearly
enveloped in the inky blackness of the trees.
Now. Rest now. It suddenly became clear what he needed her to do. In an instant, she fell
completely limp in her attacker’s arms.
As she did so, the man was caught off guard. Concerned with lifting her back up to maintain his
hold on her, he took his eyes off Aiden. ’Twas the only opening Aiden needed.
Before the fool realized what was happening, Aiden thrust his sword into the man’s neck.
Rianna’s stomach roiled at the sound of metal piercing flesh and bone. She could feel the blood as it
spattered against her head, face and neck. The dead man fell to the ground, taking her with him.
A moment later, Aiden was prying her out of the dead man’s hands. Without a word, he lifted her
into his arms and took her back to their camp. “Are ye hurt?” he asked as he sat her upon the ground
near their packs.
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she trembled violently. “Nay,” she scratched out as she
tried to hold herself together. ’Twas impossible, for the air was filled with the cloying scent of blood
and death and burning flesh. She had to close her eyes against the sight of the man still burning upon
the fire.
Soon, Aiden had returned to her side, lifted her up once again, and sat her atop their mount.
Moments later, he tossed their belongings up before taking his place behind her.
Into the darkness of the night, they fled as if the hounds of hell were on their heels.

SHE SOBBED UNCONTROLLABLY FOR HEAVEN ONLY KNEW HOW LONG. CRASHING THROUGH TREES, SPLASHING
through streams, over hills, and through glens, they raced away from the dead men as fast as his horse
would take them.
Rianna clung to him, burying her face against his chest, soaking his tunic with her tears. Never in
all her life had she been more terrified or more appalled.
Finally, her sobs and tears waned, yet she still clung to her champion, her protector. He had fought
to save her. To protect her from four nefarious, violent men. Her mind was assaulted repeatedly with
the images of those men, lying lifeless on the forest floor or burning in the campfire. What would they
have done to her had Aiden not been there? What would she have done had he fallen dead at their
hands?
Exhausted, she did her best to push those images aside, but ’twas next to impossible. She wanted
nothing more than to bathe and sleep. To run away and hide from the rest of the world.
Aiden slowed their mount to a walk, then stopped.
Rianna raised her head, afraid to look around. “What is it?” she asked, her voice scratchy from
crying.
“I think we have stumbled upon shelter,” he said, looking straight ahead. “A hunter’s croft.”
All she could see was blackness ahead and the indigo sky above. Tapping the flanks of their
mount, they pushed onward.
“Stay here,” he said as he dismounted. “I shall go in to see if it be safe.”
Terrified of being left alone, she urged him to stay.
“I shall hurry, lass, ye have my word. If ye hear anything, just kick yer feet against his flanks and
he shall see ye to safety. The road to yer father’s home is to the west.”
“Aiden, please,” she cried. A moment later, he disappeared into nothingness.

AIDEN’S INSTINCT HAD BEEN CORRECT. ’TWAS AN OLD, DILAPIDATED HUNTER’S CROFT, BARELY BIG ENOUGH FOR
two grown men. Thankfully, ’twas empty, save for two three-legged stools, a few empty clay jars, a
brazier and kindling. He doubted Rianna would care about the condition of the croft, for she was still
far too upset.
Soon, he had her sitting on a stool before the brazier. His chest tightened with sorrow and guilt
when he noticed she could not look at the flames. This, he declared silently, was why she needed
someone else. She could not live the rest of her life with him, for danger seemed to meet him at
every opportunity.
 With great care, he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She still trembled, but not with the
same ferocity as earlier.
At a loss for words, he did not know what to say. All he could think of was that she could have
died this night. Had he not been there, had he made a fatal mistake … Tamping down his urge to
scream at the gods for cursing him, for putting Rianna in such danger, he clenched his jaw tightly with
barely hidden anger.
“I could have died this night,” she whispered, her voice scratchy as it caught on a lump in her
throat. “We both could have.”
“But we did nae,” he told her. “And we are safe now.”
When she lifted her gaze from the floor, he saw the tears pooling again. “I — ” she paused,
choking back the tears. “I have ne’er been so afraid, Aiden. I dunnae ken how ye learned to fight like
ye did, and I do nae care. I am just so glad ye were there.”
She broke down again, into a wracking mess of tears. Knowing not what else he could do to
comfort her, he pulled her onto his lap and drew her close. “Ye are safe now, Rianna,” he said. “And
on the morrow, ye shall meet yer father.”
Slowly, she pulled away. “I dunnae care if I e’er meet him,” she said. “Were it nae for him turning
me and my mother out, I would nae have been out in the middle of nowhere, terrified out of my wits.”
Bright green eyes, wet with tears, were filled with so much hurt and anguish, his chest constricted.
“But then, I would ne’er have met ye,” she said. “Of all the things I e’er wished and prayed for, of
all the things he ne’er gave me, he did give me you. For that, I am thankful.”
He, too, was thankful for her. She was a bright light in an otherwise dark world. Without even
trying, she had given him back the ability to care for another being. She made him feel alive and
worthy of something more. Before he could utter a word, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his.
Something exploded inside him. Far stronger than desire or lust or need. ’Twas something he had
never felt before and it terrified him to his toes. He didn’t want to want her, but he did. With
something that went far beyond passion.
With each moment her soft lips touched his, he felt himself falling farther and farther into a
blissful state. As she drew him closer, her hands clasped behind his neck, each dark, ugly memory
from his past began to fade away.
If he did not stop now, before they did something they would both later regret, he knew he would
not be able to stop himself. “Rianna,” he whispered, “we must stop this.”
“I do nae wish to stop, Aiden,” she admitted. Her cheeks were flushed, a delightful shade of pink.
“Ye know not what ye say, lass. Ye’re—”
She stopped him with a fingertip to his lips. “I know exactly what I say. I — we — could have
died this night. I do nae want to go to my grave without knowin’ what it’s like to truly be with a man. I
want to know and experience all of it and I want to know it with ye.”
Gently, he took her hand in his and kissed the tips of her fingers. With all that he was, he wanted
her as well, with a fire and near desperation he had not thought it possible to feel. “Then ye should
save yourself for a husband. For a man who can love ye all the rest of yer days. A man who can
protect ye and keep ye safe.”
“Ye kept me safe this night. Ye protected me at the risk of yer own peril,” she reminded him.
He closed his eyes, fighting an inner battle betwixt his heart and his desires.
“Do ye ken that I could have married long ago? I had offers,” she told him. “And not all of them
were by drunken sots. Some of them were quite nice, quite handsome. But none of those men were ye.
For years now, not only was I searchin’ for my father, I was searchin’ for ye. I did nae realize it until
yesterday. I refused all those men because they were nothin’ like ye, Aiden. ’Tis ye I want and no one
else.”
His heart wanted very much to believe she was being sincere, not just with him, but with her own
heart. Looking into her verdant, lush eyes, he saw the truth. Aye, she had been terrified tonight, but that
was not from where she spoke. She was speaking genuinely from her heart.
A very large part of him wanted to admit the truth, but he was too much a coward. The truth about
the last twelve years of his life. Of how he had killed more men than he could count. Of his life as a
slave being trained as an assassin. Of the fact that he had never lain with a woman. Only twice in his
life had he had the opportunity. Both times he sent the all too eager lass away because he felt
underserving of anyone’s affection, whether purchased or voluntary.
Going against his better judgment, he succumbed to the need to feel loved. And not just by anyone,
but by Rianna.

ALTHOUGH HE HAD NO REAL WORLD EXPERIENCE IN LOVING, HE WAS NOT ENTIRELY IGNORANT. HOWEVER,
understanding what went where and how was not the same as experience. Thankfully, he had a
lifetime of pent-up desire — desire he had learned to push down and out of the way — to at least
guide him in the appropriate direction.
Rianna seemed neither to notice nor question his ability and for that, he was eternally thankful. He
was certain however, that if she were not an innocent she might have thought his performance less
than spectacular.
Afterward, as they lay spent and out of breath, she wore a contented smile. Facing one another
under the blankets, he took her hand in his, placing tender kisses on her palm.
“’Twas even better than I imagined it could be,” she told him with a satisfied sigh.
“I would have to agree with ye,” he replied, suddenly parched and wishing for something cold to
drink.
“How soon before we can do that again?”
The wee lass had no idea the affect her smile and her question had on his person.
Outside the little hut, the wind picked up, making it’s way through the cracks in the mud and the
window. Tickling the fire, the embers flamed and crackled and sprang back to life, much like his
loins.
He loved her again, taking his time to explore every part of her body. Her skin was softer than silk
and tasted sweeter than honey. He found he adored the way her breath hitched when his fingers
caressed her soft skin, and the way she called out his name as if she were offering a prayer up to the
gods themselves.
Later, much later, they fell asleep in one another’s arms, fully satisfied and blissfully happy.

THE FIRE IN THE BRAZIER HAD DIED OUT AND STOOD COLD LONG BEFORE EITHER OF THEM WOKE. IF HE HAD TO
estimate the time, he would be unable, for the hunters croft was dark, save for a few sunbeams that
streamed in through cracks and crevices. He had not truly slept, at least not deep, restful sleep. Part of
him worried the men he had killed the night before might have been telling the truth about traveling
with others. Though he doubted it, he had done his best to cover his tracks. Who knew who or what
lurked beyond the walls of the tiny hut. Too many years spent as an assassin had honed his nerves and
instincts to the point that he could hear sounds from great distances.
But he hadn’t heard the men approaching last night until it was almost too late. He’d been so
focused on Rianna, so lost in his own thoughts that he wouldn’t have heard a pack of hungry wolves
approaching.
Then he had loved her not once, but twice. Time was suspended when he was with her. Nothing
else mattered but burying himself and his heart inside her. Joining with her had drowned out
everything and for a time, ’twas a sweet respite to his bleak existence.
Unable to quell the strong desire that reared when he felt her sleeping so contentedly in his arms,
he loved her once more.
She was more addicting than any drink. He needed her as much as he needed his next breath.
When that realization came to him, long after he had made love to her a third time, he was nearly
paralyzed with fear and guilt. As she slept beside him, he looked around the hut. This was no life for
the likes of her. He had nothing to offer her but his heart and a sordid past.
There still existed a chance that his former masters had sent someone to either kill him or bring
him back into their fold. Of course he would be severely punished for having escaped. ’Twas nae so
much an escape as it was a non-return. Sent on another mission to take the life of a Scottish earl in the
lowlands, instead of heading south, he went north. He had no idea if the earl still lived or if another
assassin had been sent to do what he had not. Either way, the earl did not die at his hands.
For two years, he had roamed the countryside, crossing back and forth over his homeland. Living
meagerly, the coin he had been given to live on for his last mission still lasted. Living off the land,
never spending his coin on inns or anything else that he deemed extravagant, most of the coins
remained hidden, sewn into the seams of his packs, his saddle, and even a few hidden in the soles of
his boots.
Still, ’twas not enough to build a life on.
And if his former masters searched for him? He shuddered to think what would happen to Rianna,
should he be found.
His heart began a slow disintegration with the awareness of what he must do when she woke.
He was going to have to break her heart in order to save her life.
 6

R ianna woke hours later only to find Aiden was not by her side. Reckoning he was out of doors
searching for food, she stretched languidly and let out a happy, blissful sigh. Being with him, joining
with him, had been more exciting, more thrilling than she could ever have thought possible.
She sat up, pulling the blanket around her nakedness and looked about the room. ’Twas not the
wedding night or bed she had imagined, but it was as bewitching as a fairy glen, or so it had seemed
last night and again this morn.
Her growling stomach was all the incentive she needed to find her clothes and tend to her morning
ablutions. She found her dress in a heap on the other side of the room where Aiden had thrown it. Her
slippers lay on opposite sides. She found her chemise in the far corner. The only thing she hadn’t
removed was the crimson ring. All the while she hunted for her clothes she could not help but giggle
with the fond memories of the night before. More than once, the ring had happily bounced against her
chest or hung suspended in air. She did not know there were so many different ways a woman could
find pleasure with the man she loved.
Once she was dressed, she slipped out the door and into a copse of trees. When she returned,
Aiden was still gone.
She had just finished combing and braiding her hair when the door to the hut scraped open.
His eyes locked on hers as he stood in the doorway. There was something in those eyes that kept
her from leaping joyfully into his arms. Something was wrong; she could feel it to her marrow.
“The horse is saddled. I found ye some berries,” he said from the doorway.
No good morn. No how do ye fare. Nothing that bespoke of the tenderness he’d shown her the
night before. Wanting very much not to appear offended or worried, she placed her comb in her pack
before standing to face him. “And where are we goin’ this fine summer day?” she asked as politely
and happily as she could manage.
She winced when his jaw clenched tightly. She waited while he swallowed hard once, then again.
With her hands folded in front of her, she waited for his answer.
“I am takin’ ye to yer father.”

“I TOLD YE LAST NIGHT THAT I NO LONGER WISH TO SEE MY FATHER,” SHE TOLD HIM. THOUGH SHE MAY HAVE
appeared as if she were discussing nothing more important than the weather, her insides were
quaking.
He took a step toward her. “Rianna, if ye dunnae at least try to see him, ye will always wonder
about him. Mayhap not right away, but later. And ye will blame me for not makin’ ye go.”
“Are ye goin’ with me?” she found the courage to ask.
His crestfallen expression said more than words ever could.
Anger rose from deep in her belly. She refused to shed the tears that burned behind her eyes. “Did
last night mean naught to ye?”
“It meant more to me than ye will e’er know.” ’Twas the cold, hard truth of it. No matter where
life took him, no matter what it had in store, he would cherish the memories of last night for all the
rest of his days. Another cold, hard truth was that he loved her. He did not know how it had happened,
but it had. More than he had ever loved anyone in his life. If she ended up hating him, so be it. He’d
made the decision to leave her because of it.
“Yer father’s keep is just up the road. Ye’ll be there within an hour.”

RIANNA DID NOT FEEL USED OR BETRAYED. NAY, SHE FELT ANGRY AND FOOLISH. SHE HAD GIVEN HERSELF TO HIM
willingly, of her own accord. To join with him had been her idea, not his.
’Twas all she could do not to slap him or flail her fists at him and beg him to change his mind. “Ye
made a decision that concerned both of us without even discussing it with me,” she said through
gritted teeth.
“Trust me when I say ’twas nae a decision made lightly.”
“Pardon me if I do nae believe ye,” she replied bitingly. “Why, pray tell, can ye nae go with me?
Why can we nae stay together?” She felt as though her heart were being ripped from her chest and
trampled upon by a team of horses.
“Please, do nae ask me to explain,” he began.
She cut him off with a raised palm. “Nay, Aiden, ye dunnae get to hide behind yer past. It has
nothin’ to do with us.”
He maintained a calm exterior but it belied what he truly felt inside, where he was slowly dying,
one heartbeat at a time.
“For days I have all but begged ye to tell me the truth,” she said. “Ye refused to answer, refused to
discuss it. And now, now that I gave ye my heart and body, ye want to hide behind that past like a
coward!”
In two short steps he was standing before her. He did not want to tell her the truth because he did
not want to see the look of shame staring back at him. But if telling her would get her to see reason,
then tell her he would.
“Ye want the truth?” he bit out. “Verra well, lass, then I shall tell ye.”
Startled by his sudden capitulation and the harsh tone of his voice, she took a step back. His blue
eyes turned as dark as obsidian, his face contorted as if it pained him to speak.
“But I warn ye, ye will ne’er want to see me again after I tell ye. Not long after ye left
Ardanaiseig, me father sold me to a group of men, slave traders from the north. He sold me for the
price of a few bottles of whisky, Rianna, nothin’ more. Those men took me far from my home, to a
land so hot ye’d think ye were in hell. Turks they were called. Dark, dangerous men who do things to
wee boys that should ne’er be done to anyone. Beaten, starved, then beaten again. We were taught to
fight, and nae the way the Scots teach their young. Nae, ’twas kill or be killed in order to survive. Do
ye have any idea what it is like to be twelve years old, and so hungry ye would eat grass were ye able
to find any? Do ye ken what it is like to kill one friend after another, and yer only reward is ye get one
more meal, one more day to live?”
The more he spoke, the more she knitted her brow, the more frightened she appeared. ’Twas too
late now to retreat.
“That was only the beginnin’, ye see.” His voice was growing harsher, his words thick with self-
loathing. “They trained me, ye ken, to kill. To be an assassin. To steal into a man’s home and kill him
whilst he slept. Or kill him while he was lookin’ at me. They taught many of us in this way. Used us to
do their dirty work, to take the lives of men we’d ne’er met, whose crimes we did nae ken, but kill
them I did. Too many to count, Rianna. Husbands, fathers, grandfathers. All because they had beat
every last bit of Aiden Macgullane from me. They gave me a new name, a new identity. They
destroyed every bit of that wee lad ye were so fond of.”
Angrily, he pulled his tunic over his head and turned to give her his back, the back he refused to
allow her to touch last night. Long, deep scars criss-crossed one another. They began at his neck and
disappeared under his trews. Appalled, not at him but for him, Rianna wanting nothing more than to
reach out and soothe his heart as well as his body, but she was frozen in place.
“That, Rianna, is my past,” he ground out. Pulling his tunic back on, he turned to face her. “That is
what I did nae want to share with ye. That is what I was protecting ye from.”

“PROTECTIN’ ME?” SHE WHISPERED. IF ANYONE NEEDED PROTECTING ’TWAS AIDEN. HER HEART ACHED FOR THIS
man and she could not hate him or despise him for things that were beyond his control. The hell he’d
endured was beyond her comprehension. “I don’t understand, Aiden. What are ye protectin’ me
from?”
Thrusting a hand through his hair, he began to pace in the small confines of the hut. “I am
protectin’ ye from them.”
“Them? Them who?” she asked, growing more confused and sorrowful as the moments passed.
He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, aghast. “Are ye daft? Did ye nae hear a word I said?”
“Aye, I did. But who are ye protectin’ me from? The men who bought you? The men who enslaved
ye and treated ye … ” There was no word, no way to describe what they had done to this poor soul.
“Aye, them. The Turks. My masters. They sent me on a mission two years ago, a mission I did nae
complete. A mission I ran from the first chance I had. They could be huntin’ me now, either to kill me
or to take me back. I will die at my own hand before I go back, Rianna. I swear I will.”
“Then let me help ye,” she said as she went to him, placing her hand on his cheek. “Mayhap my
father will grant us sanctuary—”
He stopped her with a shake of his head. “Do ye nae see? If they do come for me, I could not bear
to have ye harmed. I could nae live with myself if ye were hurt, or worse yet, taken by them and
forced to live as I did. I love ye too much, Rianna. I cannae do it.”
He loved her.
He loved her.
The words were both heaven and hell at once. He would desert her because he loved her. He
knew no other way to protect her.
They argued back and forth for nearly half an hour before she finally gave up. Resignation set into
her drooping shoulders. No amount of begging or pleading or even sound reasoning could get him to
change his mind.
She was left feeling empty and cold inside. Dejected. Rejected.
Silently, she wiped the tears from her face, grabbed the bundle that contained all her worldly
possessions and headed out the door. Pausing on the threshold, she turned to face him one last time. “I
ken ye believe ye love me, but a person who loves another does nae hurt them this way. I will go to
my father’s.” Her voice caught on painful tears. “I wish ye nothin’ but a good life, Aiden Macgullane.
I hope that someday ye will win the battle o’er yer demons. Mayhap someday, a woman better and
stronger than I will win yer heart.”
She turned then, leaving him alone to ponder what she had said.
 7

T hey had been closer to her father’s keep than she realized. She was able to see the road to
Allistair castle within moments of leaving the hunter’s croft. Through teary eyes, she made her way up
the long winding road, paying no attention to her surroundings. She had left her heart barely beating
on the floor of the tiny hut where she’d given it to Aiden. No amount of time would ever ease the ache
or the emptiness left behind.
Her emotions ran amok, wavering between anger and despair and back again. Could she truly
fault him for wanting to keep her safe? Aye, she could and did. Every fiber of her being screamed that
she was safer with him than without. She loved him without question or restraint. Yet he had spoiled
every bit of hope, no matter how dim or unrealistic, of ever having anything to resemble a ‘normal’
life. She would never marry, no matter how poor or desperate she might become. She would never
give her body or her heart to another man.
After a time, when she chanced a glance at the road ahead, she began to make out a castle in the
distance. From her vantage point, it looked to be made of dark stone, with at least two tall towers.
As she drew nearer, her heart felt heavier. Her thoughts turned away from Aiden and toward her
father. What lay ahead for her? Would she be met with open arms or disdain? It mattered not, for
either way, she would remain an empty shell, existing only because she was too level-headed to take
her own life. Aiden Macgullane wasn’t worth it.
Soon, the keep came into clearer view. Dark stone with not two but four towers. MacAllistair
banners fluttered in the gentle breeze. If she had not been so broken-hearted, she might have stood in
awe and wonder.
With legs that felt as though they were filled with lead, she made her way up the road. One step at
a time, she told herself repeatedly. Yer father lies ahead. Yer father and yer future. He will want ye.
The doll, the ring: they are proof of that.
A quarter of an hour later, she was standing at the gates of Allistair keep. A formidable fortress
that might or might not contain everything her heart had ever desired.
“Who goes there?” a guard called from the upper wall.
Drawing on every bit of willpower she owned, she took a deep breath and looked up to answer
him. “I am here to see my father, Lachlan MacAllistair.”
AIDEN HAD FOLLOWED HER, UNSEEN AND UNNOTICED, FROM A SAFE DISTANCE. KNOWING WELL HOW POOR HER
sense of direction was and after the events of the night before with the thieves, he could not allow her
to wander off alone. Or at least that was what he tried telling himself. In truth, he was burning every
last image of her he could into his mind and heart.
When she was near the gates of the MacAllistair keep, he pulled his horse to a stop and simply
watched. No matter how badly he wanted to chase after her, scoop her into his arms and steal her
away, he knew he could not. Her future lay within the walls of the MacAllistair keep, not with him.
With a crestfallen sigh, he turned his horse away, unable to watch as the woman he loved stepped
through those large wooden gates. She would be safe now. Safer without him than with.
In the hours before she had awakened, he had made the single most difficult decision of his life.
As he rode away, he prayed to any god that would listen to give him some sign he had made the right
decision. If he hadn’t, then he prayed he would not live long enough for regret.

IT SEEMED TO RIANNA THAT AN ETERNITY HAD PASSED BEFORE THE GATE SWUNG OPEN. HER STOMACH WAS
knotted with unease as her mind battled once again with all the possible things that could happen once
the gate opened.
Lachlan MacAllistair was not what she had expected. For years, she had envisioned him as a tall
man who exuded strength and power. Though he looked eerily familiar, he was nothing at all like she
had imagined. Mayhap he was not Lachlan, but a relative or guard came to take her to him.
His dark hair was grayed at the temples, his nose and lips thin, and a pointed beard sprinkled with
silver adorned his lower chin. He was much smaller than she thought her father to be. And his eyes …
they were dark brown and quite menacing. Nay, there was no comfort to be found in this man.
Therefore, she reasoned, he could not be her father.
“Who are ye?” he asked in a tone sharp enough to make her knees knock.
Pulling herself together, she drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “I be Rianna Coultier,
daughter of Lachlan MacAllistair.”
With suspicious eyes, he looked her up and down once. “Ye be nae my daughter,” he said gruffly.
If she hadn’t left her heart back at the hunter’s croft with Aiden, it very well may have fallen to
her stomach.
This be the man my mother declared she loved above all others? “Ye are Lachlan
MacAllistair?” she asked breathlessly.
“Aye, and again I tell ye I have no daughter.”
Stunned, she fought to find an intelligent thought. Had her mother lied once again? On her
deathbed? “Ronna Coutlier was my mother. She said she loved ye once—”
He did not allow her to finish. “Ronna Coultier?” he scoffed. “Aye, I knew her once. Ye look like
her. Ne’er a bigger whore to walk God’s earth. But I ne’er bedded her and I certainly ne’er fathered a
child with her.”
Rianna stood in a state of dumfounded silence. On her deathbed, she still lied to me. Crushed and
disillusioned, she stood for a long moment, unable to find her voice.
“If ye’re here to beg for a home, ye’ve come to the wrong keep. We do nae want yer kind here.
Now be gone with ye,” he said as he took a step back.
“But I have nowhere else to go,” she murmured to herself. What is to become of me now?
Obviously disgusted with her presence, he dug into a pouch on his belt. Removing a few coins, he
tossed them at her. They hit her stomach and chest before falling to the ground. “If ye be anything like
yer mother, I am certain ye’re used to earning your keep by lying on yer back. We have enough whores
here and need no more. No be gone with ye. And do nae e’er let me see ye near this keep again, for
I’ll nae be so polite next time.”
And with that, he turned away, stepping back into the yard.
Rianna looked at the coins that lay on the earth, heard him call for the gates to be closed. This
cannae be, she told herself. From within, she heard him bark out, “If she comes back, throw her in the
dungeon.”
 8

E verything was gone. Her hopes, her dreams, all of it shattered into inestimable pieces, ground into
the dirt under the few pieces of silver Lachlan had tossed at her. She left the coins on the hard,
unwelcoming earth, turned and walked away.
A stark, bleak emptiness seeped into her stomach, her bones, and every part of her.
She had allowed herself to believe in a dream, a fairy tale. One in which her father would
welcome her with open arms, bring her into the comforting folds of his home, and make her a part of
his life, his family.
None of it made any sense. If it had not been her father who had given her the doll and the ring,
then who? It certainly hadn’t been her mother. Ronna had never given her a thing, not even a mother’s
warm regard.
Now she was left with nothing.
No mother, no father, no family.
Was she cursed to spend the rest of her life wandering aimlessly about God’s earth alone?
No one wanted her. Not even the man she knew without question she loved with her whole heart
and soul. That was yet another failed dream. Never would she have a home and hearth to tend. Never
would she lay her head down at night, next to a man she loved beyond measure. There would be no
bairns to chase about, no gardens to tend, no meals to prepare. Her future grew more and more bleak
with each step she took. Not only was she walking away from the future life she had dreamed of, she
was also walking away from her past.
Slowly, without a thought to where she would go now, she walked away from the keep and into
the bright afternoon. Birds twittered happily overhead. The earlier breeze grew stronger; the tall
grass alongside the road swayed as if bending to its will. But Rianna saw none of it, heard none of it.
The doll. Her thoughts kept going back to the doll and ring.
What were they a symbol of? Where had they come from? Certainly they had not appeared out of
nowhere. Someone had to have given them to her.
What of that faded, distorted memory? Had she ever known her father? Had she somehow
jumbled everything together, or was that night when she’d been sent away just a dream?
Nay, it could not have been. The doll, the crimson ring were proof that something had happened.
With resignation, she decided it no longer mattered.
Fishing through her pack, she pulled out the worn, tattered doll. It stared up at her mockingly, with
threadbare eyes. No longer did it hold the key to anything. She let if fall from her fingertips onto the
road and walked away from it.
She was tempted for a moment to leave the ring behind as well. If Aiden had been right, ’twas
worth a small fortune. That she would keep to sell as soon as she reached Inverness. She would go
back there, sell the ring, and use it to start her life anew.

HE WAS A FOOL.
He knew it.
A bloody, ignorant fool.
Behind him was the one person who loved him regardless of his past. When he had given her the
tale of his whole sordid life, did she look at him with the contempt or disgust he had feared? Nay, she
had not. There was nothing to be found in those vibrant green eyes but love and a genuine concern for
him.
No hatred. No scorn or loathing or abhorrence. Nothing but love and kindness.
With his horse at a full run, he knew he would never be able to run from her memory. Everything
his eyes gazed upon was a reminder of Rianna. The tall lush grass was the color of her eyes. The sun
overhead as bright as her smile. The pink flowers that dotted the small glen, the same shade as her
lips. And the breeze that billowed up? Not only did it remind him of her breath upon his skin, but he
could have sworn it carried the scent of marigolds.
Rianna.
A friend since childhood who later turned into his strongest ally and the woman he would go to
his grave loving like no other.
He began to worry about her safety. What if Ronna had lied to her again about the true identity of
her father? Were they kind people within the walls of MacAllistair Castle who would take her in and
give her the family she always needed? What if they didn’t? What if they turned her away and she was
now alone, lost and bereft? She hadn’t two pieces of copper to count as her own. She had nothing and
no one. And he had turned his back on her, left her alone at the gates of the keep, to face God only
knew what kind of greeting. The very least he could have done was stay to see if she’d be let in or
turned away.
Bloody hell.

THEY CAME OUT OF NOWHERE. A GROUP OF SOME TEN OR MORE MEN ON HORSEBACK — MEN SHE DID NOT KNOW
— and they were closing in on her. Instinct propelled her to run as fast as she could as the claws of
terror traced up and down her spine. Into the woods, panic-stricken, she ran through bushes, around
felled trees and through the bracken.
Trepidation caused her to drop her pack, which held her sgian dubh. She was without weapons or
defense as the men continued to chase her. There was no time to wonder who they were or if they
were friend or foe. They had approached her unaware, with swords drawn and at the ready. Fierce
and angry looking, they spoke not a word as they kicked their mounts forward in pursuit. Their
purpose was not important. Evading them was.
They shouted at one another and she could barely hear them over the pounding of her heart as
dread and fear coursed through her veins. Her lungs felt as though they’d burst at any moment; her
side ached with running. Like macabre claws reaching out to thwart her progress and aid the men,
low hanging branches and thorny bushes tore at her skin, her hair and clothing. Sweat trickled down
her forehead, her back, seeping into the fresh wounds, stinging and burning her torn flesh.
“There she is!” someone called out from nearby. “Go around, go around!”
Not knowing who was coming from which direction, she darted left around a large boulder,
heading into another dense thicket. If the thicket slowed her momentum, it stood to reason it would
also slow down her pursuers. She dared not look back to see how close they were. All she could
think was to keep moving, mayhap back toward the keep. But ’twas too dark inside the woods to
know with any certainty just which direction she was heading.
She tumbled out of the woods and into a small clearing and was forced to come to an abrupt halt.
There before her was Lachlan MacAllistair, sitting arrogantly atop a black steed. On either side of
her were two sinister looking men.
“Take her,” Lachlan ordered.
She spun around, only to see two more men were blocking her escape back into the woods.
There was nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide.

AIDEN HAD SEEN THE RIDERS BEFORE RIANNA KNEW THEY WERE UPON HER. HE WATCHED IN UTTER TERROR WHEN
she took one look at them before bolting into the woods. Twice in less than a full day’s time, he faced
unparalleled fear. Not for his own neck, but for Rianna’s.
Tearing off at a full run, he chased after the riders. Were they friends, they would not have had
swords drawn, nor would they be dressed for battle in chainmail and helms. They would have called
out to her their true mission. Nay, these were nae her friends, but men set upon bringing her harm.
Into the woods he went, drawing his sword, coming up behind one rider at the rear of the pack.
He sliced through the back of the man’s neck, sending him to the ground with a thud. He’d felled two
more riders before anyone realized he was behind them.
The fourth man proved more difficult. Spinning his horse around, he sliced through Aiden’s tunic,
leaving a deep gash in his left arm. Aiden blocked out the pain. Were the circumstances different, he
might have toyed and played with his opponent before killing the fool. But Rianna was out there
somewhere, running for her life. As soon as he saw his opening, he plunged his sword deep into the
man’s belly, withdrew it just as quickly and set off to find the others.
He scanned the horizon, looking for Rianna and her attackers. There, just ahead, in a small
clearing, he saw them. His gut tightened as his heart seized. They had her surrounded and she looked
positively terrified.
Kicking the flanks of his horse, he set off toward the men. The pounding of hoof beats upon earth
announced his approach. They spun in unison, momentarily caught off guard.
“Rianna! Run!” he shouted from atop his mount. “Run!”

FROZEN IN FEAR, SHE COULD NOT GET HER FEET TO DO HIS BIDDING. SHE STOOD AND WATCHED IN HORROR AS
Aiden battled against the four men. Metal against metal crashed through the quiet glen as horses
screamed and reared, tossing one man to the ground. Scarce able to breathe, let alone flee, she
watched Aiden fight against them.
 Someone pulled him from his mount, forcing him to do battle one-on-one, while trying to watch
his own back. Before it was all said and done, Aiden had been sliced and stabbed, but not before he
could do damage to three of the four men.
Upon seeing his men fall one at a time, Lachlan MacAllistair cursed loudly. “Kill them! Kill them
both!” right before he kicked his horse into a full gallop and ran away. Rianna watched in stunned
disbelief as the man she was certain was her father fled like a coward.
When she turned back to the melee, she saw three men lying at Aiden’s feet.
He was drenched in blood: his and theirs.
’Twas then that the world seem to slow to near stopping, as she watched the sword fall from his
hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, he sank to his knees and fell forward.
Rianna Coultier’s world stopped turning the moment Aiden Macgullane fell to the ground.

RIANNA WEPT, OPENLY, UNCONTROLLABLY, AS SHE SAT ON THE GROUND WITH AIDEN’S HEAD IN HER LAP. SHE HAD
wiped away as much blood from his face as she was able, using the hem of her dress. Her chemise
was in tatters, for she had torn it into strips to use as bandages. The little strips of linen did little to
staunch the blood that flowed from the numerous cuts to his arms and torso.
Aiden lay limp, his skin ashen and damp. He was slowly dying in her arms.
“I am so sorry,” she wept as she stroked his forehead and cheeks. “I am so terribly sorry.”
Nearby, his horse stood, looking down as if he were standing as sentry over his dying king. If she
had the strength, she would put Aiden atop his grand mount and take him back to the hunter’s croft.
She prayed silently that he would somehow survive his injuries, but she knew they were far too
grievous. Soon he would take his last breath. If she had to dig his grave with her bare hands, she
would. And no matter if Lachlan MacAllistair returned with more men, this time to make sure she’d
died, she would be able to go to her death knowing that Aiden had loved her.
He had returned for her, of that much she was certain. Why else would he have come back, if not
to beg forgiveness and take her away, where they could live out the rest of their days together? With
all her heart, she believed that was why he returned. For her.
Just as he had championed her in their youth, his final act on God’s earth was to protect her at all
costs, including his own life.
For all eternity, he would forever be her champion, and she, his ever faithful, ever devoted,
loving friend, ally, and the keeper of his heart.
 9

F ifty mounted men were racing along the road to MacAllistair Castle. Ahead of them, a team of
outriders lead by Jean Luc Coultier. Something in the road caught the attention of one of the outriders,
who pulled his horse to a stop. Sliding down, he grabbed it with a brawny hand.
Jean Luc, after realizing some of his men had stopped, pulled rein and galloped back to find out
why they had halted. “What is it?” he asked as he drew nearer.
“’Tis nothin’ but a doll,” the man replied as he smacked it against his thigh by way of dusting it
off.
Jean Luc felt his head grow light, as if the wind had been knocked from his lungs. He knew that
doll, even if it had been sixteen years since last he laid eyes upon it. A flood of memories crashed
through to the forefront of his mind.
“Valeriana,” he whispered as he took the doll from William’s hand. “Valeriana.”

RIANNA HEARD A GRAND COMMOTION, HORSES GALLOPING THROUGH THE FOREST, HEADING TOWARD HER.
Lachlan MacAllistair was back and she was quite certain he meant to kill her. The why of it no longer
mattered. She would embrace death with as much valor and honor as Aiden.
Sensing she was surrounded, she looked up from the man dying in her arms. Through tears and
gritted teeth, she let them know, in no uncertain terms, she was not about to allow anyone touch him.
“Ye can kill me, I care nae. But ye will nae touch a hair on this man’s head until he has passed on.
Do you hear me? Ye will nae touch him! I will nae allow it!”
Countless confused faces looked down at her, as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue. “Leave
me alone!” she seethed. “He’ll be gone soon, then ye may do with me what ye will.”
Two men slid from their mounts and walked toward her. “I said leave me be!”
“Lass, we are here to help,” the shorter of the two said. “We mean ye no harm, I swear it.”
She eyed them suspiciously through tear-filled eyes for a long moment. The taller man … there
was something oddly familiar about him. He was a larger more formidable version of Lachlan
MacAllistair, with dark hair graying at the temples. A brother or cousin mayhap? His eyes did not
hold the same contempt or derision as Lachlan’s had. Nay, they were softer, more thoughtful versions.
Broad shouldered, he exuded the strength and power that Lachlan lacked. No matter, they were
probably cut from the same vile cloth.
 The shorter man also had dark hair, but bright green eyes set on either side of a long nose. He was
slighter in build with long, slender fingers. His accent was strange yet familiar.
Both men stared with such quizzical expressions, as if they were looking at something strange and
foreign. Yet, she detected no menacing intentions.
Finally, the taller man spoke. She noted his voice caught once before he managed to get the words
out. “Allow us to help ye, both of ye. On my honor, no more harm will come to either of ye.”
There was such a depth of sincerity in his voice that she could not help but believe him.

A LITTER WAS BROUGHT FROM SOMEWHERE. LARGE MEN WITH STRONG ARMS LIFTED AIDEN OUT OF HER ARMS
with such gentleness it defied logic. Moments later, Rianna was set upon the back of Aiden’s mount.
The tall man took the reins and led her out of the woods and back onto the road.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she swiped an errant tear away with bloodied fingertips.
“To our keep,” he answered. “Yer man will receive every possible care our healers can offer.”
Rianna glanced ahead. Realizing they were heading back toward the MacAllistair keep, panic
rose. Any relief she’d felt at receiving help for Aiden evaporated in an instant. “I — we cannae go
there,” she whispered frantically.
“Why not?” he asked as he picked up speed.
She swallowed down the fear. “Lachlan MacAllistair lives there. He said he would kill me if e’er
I set foot near his keep again. He and his men…” She swallowed back a wave of tears. They attacked
us without warning. I dunnae ken why, but I cannae go back there. He is sure to kill us both.”
“Lachlan MacAllistair told ye this?” he asked. His brow creased as a dark shadow fell over his
face.
“Aye,” she replied. “I went to him today, seeking —” she paused, wondering if she should tell this
man the whole of it. “Please, can we seek help elsewhere? He does nae want me.”
“What did this man look like?” he asked.
“Like ye, but far more menacing and hateful.”
The shorter man finally spoke up. “I can assure ye, lass, ye’ll ne’er have to worry about that man
again. No one will.”

RIANNA HAD REFUSED TO LEAVE AIDEN’S SIDE. SHE REFUSED OFFERS OF A BATH, REFUSED EVEN TO CHANGE OUT
of her dress. For two days, she sat next to the large bed he had been given. She prayed over him,
washed his body, wiped his damp brow, helped the healer in any way she could. And still, he did not
wake. Never far from his side, she dozed fitfully and infrequently. She ate little, only enough to keep
up what little strength remained.
The healer had left his room in the early morning hours. “I’ve done all I can for him,” he said.
“The rest is up to him and God.”
Alone with him for the first time since arriving, she took his hand in hers. “Aiden, please, I beg
ye, please wake up.”
He stirred not, no fluttering of his eyes, nothing to indicate he could hear her or feel her presence.
The prognosis from the healer was grim. Aiden had lost much blood, mayhap too much to recover
from. If a fever did not set in, then his chances were better.
 She had just dozed off when she felt a hand come to rest on her shoulder. “Ye’ll do him no good if
ye collapse from exhaustion and are put into bed by the healer.”
Rianna looked up to see the tall man standing beside her. Next to him was the ever present Jean
Luc. She had been too busy and focused on Aiden to even inquire as to who these men were.
He pulled up a chair and sat in front of her. “Lass, ’tis time we had a talk.”
Why she found so much comfort in his voice, she could not explain, but she did. ’Twas warm,
filled with kind regard, and something … something she could not put her finger on.
“Who are ye?” she finally asked. “Why do I feel as though I know ye?”
He glanced up at Jean Luc, who had remained near the door, before turning back to her. “The man
ye met before, at the gates. He was not Lachlan MacAllistair. I am.”
Were she not sitting, she would have fallen over. Her eyes grew wide as astonishment set in.
“That man was me brother, Melvin. For years, he has done everything he can to keep me from ye,
lass. He has finally paid for those actions and deeds with his life.”
Jean Luc stepped forward then and placed the doll in her lap. “I found this on the road. It belongs
to ye.”
Rianna scooped the doll up, staring between it and Lachlan in quiet, stunned surprise.
“Do ye remember when I gave this to ye?” Lachlan asked, his tone low and soft.
“Aye,” she murmured. “Or at least I think I do. ’Twas late and night and ye were sending us away.
’Tis all I remember.”
Lachlan and Jean Luc exchanged another knowing glance.
“We were sending ye away for yer own safety. I had two brothers, Melvin and Daniel. I was the
oldest, Daniel the youngest. And Melvin, he was betwixt us. And betwixt us in more ways than one.”
Rianna listened intently as Lachlan explained what had transpired all those years ago. “Yer
mother,” he asked. “How does she fare?”
Inexplicably, tears welled in her eyes. “She passed away a little more than a year ago.”
Both men looked genuinely hurt by the news. Lachlan ran a hand through his hair, then shook his
head before letting out a heavy sigh. “I loved yer mother, verra much,” he said. “More than I probably
ought.”
Rianna’s brow knitted. “She said ye hated her. Hated us. She said ye cast us aside, threw us out
because of yer jealous, spiteful wife.”
Lachlan chuckled in disbelief. “The only jealous, spiteful wife I e’er had was yer mum.”
The more she learned the more lightheaded she felt. “I dunnae understand.”
“She was nae always like that. Och, she was such a loving, kind woman. A ne’er a more beautiful
lass had I e’er laid eyes on. But when ye were born and she saw how I doted on ye, spoiled ye, she
began to change. She grew jealous and spiteful.”
“Of me?” Rianna asked. Her mother had, betimes, been quite cruel to her. But she’d never
interpreted it as jealousy.
“Aye, of ye and how I loved ye.”
“Why did ye send me away?” she dared to ask the one question that had burned in her mind for
her entire life.
“To protect ye,” he replied.
When he saw lack of understanding staring back at him, he went on to explain. “Melvin was
jealous as well. Nae of ye or yer mum, but of me. He wanted to be laird and chief, more than
anything. I did nae see it until it was too late. Daniel tried to tell me, but I refused his good council.”
He looked away, remembering those dark times. “I had grown sick. I thought ’twas something I’d
eaten. Bad grouse or something. But I grew sicker and sicker. Melvin came to me in the middle of the
night and convinced me that someone, most likely Daniel, had been poisoning me. And they would
come after ye next.”
A vague, fuzzy memory of an ill man popped into her mind. Dark circles under his eyes and a
scratchy, ill-sounding voice, but naught else.
“Ye were my only child. Ronna was unable to have another. Ye were set to inherit everything if I
lived. I knew, should anything happen to me, there would be very few people who would be able to
protect ye. So I sent ye and yer mum away, with Jean Luc as yer protector.”
Try as she might, she could not place the man anywhere in her memory.
“I sent ye first to France, with Jean Luc. Ye lived for a time with he and his family. But then one
night, Ronna left without word and took ye with her. I have been looking fer ye all these many years. It
seems we were always weeks or months behind ye.”
He looked for me! He did love me! She all but screamed the words in her joyful heart.
“I gave ye the doll, do ye remember?”
“Aye, I do. Ye told me ne’er to let it out of my sight and ne’er to let mum ken I had it,” she
answered in a low whisper. Relief began to wash over her. She hadn’t imagined it. She was not mad.
“Valeriana,” he whispered. “Yer real name is Valeriana MacAllistair. Yer mum changed it to
Rianna Coultier. But why she gave ye Jean Luc’s last name, I shall ne’er know or understand.”
Valeriana. It sounded so odd, so strange to her ears.
“Ye were named after my mother, God rest her soul. She was a good woman. She loved ye verra
much. She passed away two years after…after I sent ye away.”
It was almost too much to take in at once. The more answers she gained, the more questions she
had.
Lachlan reached out and took her hand in his. “There was a ring inside the doll, lass. Do ye have
it?”
Swallowing hard, she nodded. With her free hand, she pulled the ring from under her dress and
showed it to him. It burned brightly, more brightly even than when last she looked at it.
Stunned, Lachlan stared long and hard at the ring before glancing at Aiden. “Ye love him.” ’Twas
a statement, not a question.
Tears stung at her eyes. “Aye, with all my heart I do.”
“And he loves ye.”
Rianna looked lovingly at Aiden. “He gave up his life for me.”
“Nay, he is still with us, lass. Ye must believe with all yer heart he will wake.”
A long moment of time stretched out before she turned back to face her father. “Why does the ring
glow? Is it magik?”
Lachlan smiled adoringly at her. “Aye lass, ’tis indeed.”

THEY SAT TOGETHER FOR ANOTHER HOUR, WHILE LACHLAN TOLD HER THE LEGEND BEHIND THE RING. “SO YE SEE,
lass, it only glows so brightly when ye have found yer true love. Ye shall pass it on to yer first born
daughter someday.”
Fervently, she wanted to believe him, but if Aiden did not survive, she knew there would be
neither daughters nor sons for her.
“What did ye do to Melvin?” she finally asked.
 He and Jean Luc exchanged yet another guarded glance. “I killed him. ’Twas he, nae my brother
Daniel, who had poisoned me. Melvin had been searching for ye for years, Valeriana. He wanted to
see ye dead. He knew that if ye e’er returned, he would ne’er have a chance at inheriting the chiefdom
or lands. He coveted those things above all else. But for years, I was convinced ’twas Daniel’s doing.
I did nae ken until we found the doll and learned he had sent ye away, that ’twas truly him behind all
of it.”
“I wish I could have seen him die,” Rianna blurted out. “It is because of him that Aiden lies here
dying before my eyes!”
Lachlan stood, pulled her to her feet and into a long overdue embrace. “Wheest, lass. Ye must
believe with all yer heart that he will recover. I ne’er gave up hope of someday finding ye. Please do
nae give up hope of Aiden soon waking.”
More than a decade’s worth of tears spilled out then. Lachlan held her tightly, allowing her to cry
until she had no more tears left. When her sobbing finally quieted, he patted her head. “Now will ye
please wash away his blood, change yer clothes and rest? Ye dunnae want to look a sight when he
finally opens his eyes, do ye?”
Reluctantly, she agreed.
“I shall send in someone to help ye bathe and get ye settled in. I leave ye in Jean Luc’s good care,
lass, but I promise to return in a week.”
“Where are ye goin’?” she asked, suddenly worried she might never see him again.
“To bring my brother Daniel home.”
 EPILOGU E

W hether ’twas the power of prayer, love, or her father’s fervent belief, Aiden finally woke on the
fourth day. Or, more likely than not, ’twas the stubborn Scottish blood that coursed through his veins.
Either way, he was awake with no idea of where he was or how he came to be in a soft, warm bed.
Every muscle in his body ached and screamed in protest when he tried to raise his head to get his
bearings. He tried moving his arm, but one of them burned and ached. Slowly, he moved his head to
see if the bloody thing was still attached.
Rianna.
The sight of her stole his breath away. She was beside him, fast asleep, and she was using his arm
as a pillow. One slender hand rested on his chest, one leg was draped over his. Her dark locks were
tousled, spreading out in all directions. Even as she slept, he could see the dark circles under her
eyes. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever set eyes upon.
“Wheest,” came a harsh whisper. “Do nae wake her.”
Aiden turned to see the source of the warning. A slender man with dark hair and green eyes was
staring at him. He was standing near the door, arms crossed over his chest.
“She finally succumbed to exhaustion late last night. ’Tis the first time she has slept in days.”
Aiden’s eyes darted about the room, looking for his sword or any weapon with which he might
need to defend himself. The man laughed softly.
“Your sword be against the wall next to you, but you will have no need of it. You are safe. My
name is Jean Luc, second in command to Lachlan MacAllistair, laird and chief of clan MacAllistair,
and father to the lass sleeping beside you.” He bowed low, but never took his gaze away from Aiden.
Aiden tried to get his eyes and ears to focus more clearly, but his head felt foggy, filled with
cobwebs and shattered flashes of memory.
“You will feel better soon enough, young man. But if you wake her up, I shall run a dirk through
your heart, do you understand?”
’Twas not nearly as menacing a threat as Aiden supposed he meant it to be.
“Where am I?” He asked, his throat scratchy and dry.
Jean Luc smiled before taking the chair next to the bed. “Ye are in Allistair Castle.”
Allistair Castle. “Her father,” he scratched out. “He has accepted her?” His chest began to feel
heavy, dreading the answer.
“Yes, he has.”
Aiden looked away, unwilling to share his pain with anyone. If Lachlan was indeed Rianna’s
father, then what need did she have of him? A former assassin with no means to support her. Now she
had the home she had always dreamt of.
Jean Luc leaned in, his voice low, firm. “She loves ye. Only once has she left your side, and that
was last night, and only long enough to bathe.”
What did it matter? There was nothing he could offer her, other than his undying love. Love was
not enough to stave off the pangs of hunger or keep out the harsh winter winds.
“Lachlan will give you a home here as well. Of this, there is no doubt,” Jean Luc informed him.
Aiden refused to look at the man. Aye, she loved him and he her. While the offer of a home was
tempting, in his heart, he knew he did not belong here. If his former masters were ever to discover
where he was, they would unleash a reign of terror and hell unlike any the MacAllistairs had ever
seen. Nay, he could not stay here, could not put any of them at risk. Especially not Rianna.
Jean Luc studied him for a long moment. Aiden could feel his hard glare almost boring into his
skull.
“Her father knows of your past and he cares not of it. Neither do I. We offer you the same
protection we offer Valeriana.”
Valeriana? Aiden turned his head slowly, confusion knitted in his brow.
“Allow me to tell you a story …

THE MIDNIGHT HOUR HAD COME AND GONE BEFORE RIANNA WOKE. SHE HAD SLEPT SO SOUNDLY AND FOR SUCH A
great length of time that Aiden began to worry she had become ill.
He lay on his side facing her, taking great pleasure in simply watching her sleep. Dark locks lay
this way and that, her creamy skin tinged gold from the light the fire, looking like an angel sent down
from the heavens. Though the healer who had visited him earlier assured him she was well, simply
exhausted from her own worry over him, he still fretted over her wellbeing.
Whilst she slept, he thought about everything Jean Luc had told him. He felt certain the man had
not left out a single detail about Rianna’s birthright, her past, or his own thoughts on her future. What
surprised him most, however, was the message he’d relayed on Lachlan MacAllistair’s behalf.
So relieved was he that when she finally opened her eyes, he nearly wept.
“So ye’re back amongst the livin’,” he asked playfully, unwilling to allow her to see the depths of
his own despair or relief at seeing her bright green eyes once again.
Rianna was not afraid to allow her own feelings to show. She shot up in the bed, her eyes wide
with astonished relief. “Ye’re awake,” she said as if she were unable yet to quite believe it.
“Aye, I am,” he said as he rolled to his back, grinning from ear to ear. Unable to contain her joy,
she flung herself against his chest, her head buried in the pillow. “Och! Aiden!” she exclaimed. “I
was so worried ye’d ne’er wake.”
Pain shot from his injured side and arm. He sucked in a deep breath and groaned.
Realizing her error, she sat up. “I’ve hurt ye,” she said, filled with guilt.
“Do nae fash over it, lass,” he said with a wince. “’Tis naught but a scratch. And I’d be willin’ to
walk through the fires of hell to feel ye against me once again.”
Uncertain, she sat still as she carefully studied his face.
“Please, rest with me, let me hold ye close,” he said.
Carefully, as if he might break or fall back into a deep sleep, she settled herself in beside him. He
wrapped his uninjured arm around her and held her close.
 “We have much to talk about lass,” he whispered softly against her silky hair.
He felt her stiffen, but she moved naught a muscle.
“Much has transpired betwixt us these past many days,” he said softly. “Some of it I would prefer
ne’er to repeat again.”
He could feel she was holding her breath. Most likely in dread, afraid of what he was about to
say. Were the circumstances different, had he not very nearly died, he might have toyed with her for a
moment, allowing her to fret and think the worst. Nay, the moment was to important to spend on jests
and sarcasm.
“With all that I am, Rianna MacAllistair, I love ye. When I am with ye, I feel whole again. Ye
somehow have the power to cast out all my demons. Just bein’ in yer presence, I get this
overwhelmin’ sense of bein’ home.”
He resisted the urge to chuckle at the sound of her expelling the breath she’d been holding. Gently,
he caressed her arm with his fingertips, in featherlight circles. “I can only hope that ye could some
day feel the same about me.”
Slowly, she sat up, her expression questioning his soundness of mind. “Are ye daft? I have nae left
yer side fer days. I prayed o’er ye, cleaned yer wounds, changed yer bandages, and worried myself
sick o’er ye! How can ye —”
Smiling devilishly, he did not give her time to finish her tirade. Wrapping a hand around her neck,
he pulled her in and kissed her soundly. He imagined he could live to be five hundred years old and
never tire of hearing her indrawn breath when he kissed her. Would never grow weary of how warm
and sweet her lips tasted.
Before things could get out of hand, he pulled away slightly to look into her eyes. “Yer father left
a message for me. An order, really. One I fear I cannae ignore.”
Confused, she could only stare at him mutely.
“If I refuse, he has promised to have me drawn and quartered, my head set on a pike, and the rest
of me set afire and burned to ashes so that he might trample through them on horseback.”
Stunned and terrified, Rianna said, “We must away this place at once then!”
Aiden chuckled softly as he played with a long tendril of her hair. “Would ye nae like to hear what
the order is first, before ye go plannin’ our escape?”
From her fearful expression he knew her imagination was running rampant. “What?” she asked
breathlessly.
“I am to marry ye.”
Confusion turned to astonishment before turning to relief. “Ye are?”
“Aye,” he said with a nod. “I am. Jean Luc had the banns posted earlier, while ye were sleepin’.”
Slowly, she backed away from him, her lips pursed into a thin line. “’Twas kind of ye to ask me
first,” she said sharply. “Why do men think they can simply order a woman to do their biddin’ without
any regard for their opinion on the matter? And ye? Ye are wantin’ to marry me only because ye fear
for yer life?”
“Aye, I do. But nae because I fear what yer father will do to me,” he said in a soft yet serious
tone. “Rianna MacAllistair, I love ye and want to spend the rest of my life with ye. I fear that if ye
say nay, I shall be forever doomed to walk this earth alone, with a broken heart, my soul left barren,
ne’er to feel a moment of peace or joy e’er again.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Aye,” she whispered. “I shall marry ye.”
 A FTE RWOR D

Dear Reader,

If you want to read more titles in the Ever My Love collection, please do! You can follow
the ring as it makes its way through the centuries!

Of Love and Legend by Kathryn Le Veque: Medieval England - The ring finds its way into
a notorious outlaw's possession only to curse the woman he loves.

Forever Her Champion by Suzan Tisdale: The Scottish Highlands - The ring escapes with
a little girl... and the curse follows.

Breath from the Sea by Eliza Knight: Tudor England - The ring once again becomes the
prize for the lawless when an infamous female pirate tries to steal it from a Queen’s Naval
Captain.

Only You by Cheryl Bolen: Georgian Era - Twin sisters vie for the ring - and for the Duke
of Axminster.

Call of the Wild Wind by Sabrina York: Regency England - The ring enters the proud and
proper Regency set where the curse finds new life.

The Guardian Mist by Susan Stoker: Modern Times - Mistaken identity, soul mates, and
the last chance for the ring to fulfill its destiny.
 P R E FA C E

The following is a sneak peek at my upcoming novel, Ian’s Rose, Book One of The
Mackintoshes & McLaren’s Series. It will be live on all vendors on August 26, 2016. For a
complete list of my titles, please visit the “Also By Page” in this ebook.
 P ROL OG U E TO IA N’ S ROSE

March 1356, The McLaren Keep in the Highlands

There is a special place in hell for men like Mermadak McLaren.

Those who had suffered at his hand for too many years to count, celebrated openly and
joyfully at the news of his death. Many believed whoever ’twas that took the auld son-of-a-
whore’s life should be sainted, made king, or at the very least given his weight in gold as a
blessedly deserved reward.
’Twould be no lie to say none would miss him.
As for the whereabouts of Donnel McLaren, the man who had helped the former laird
steal, lie, and cheat Clan McLaren to near utter ruin, ’twas anyone’s guess. Hopefully, he was
burning in hell right next to the McLaren. There weren’t many who were as vile, cruel, or evil
as the two of them. Those few clansmen who remained were content for now to believe evil
would never touch them again, or at least not for a very long while.
The McLarens had suffered through a cold, bleak, and harsh winter, living in the old
granary, making plans for the future and dreaming of spring. The one thing that kept them
going, even at those times when it felt God had forsaken them, was knowing Mermadak
McLaren could never hurt them again.
But on this dark, windy night in early spring, Ian Mackintosh’s thoughts were as far away
from evil men as they could get. Nay, he was thinking only of Rose, the woman he loved
beyond doubt or denial. Never in his life had he met anyone such as she. Quick-witted, wise,
and always blunt and to the point when she had something to say. And God’s teeth, she was
beautiful. Long, wavy blonde locks that turned gold in the sunlight, blue eyes as bright and
vivid as the Highland sky in springtime, and a smile that melted his heart like honey in the sun.
Though she was wee, the top of her head barely reaching his heart, she was as mighty as a
shield maiden from the north-lands. She possessed a body to shame Aphrodite herself and Ian
wanted desperately to discover that secret paradise.
They were alone now, just the two of them, in one of the few rooms of the keep not
destroyed by the fire Mermadak had set months before. The rest of the clan — those dedicated
souls who had remained behind to brave the harsh winter — were hunkered down in the
granary.
“I love ye, Rose, with all that I am.” Ian’s voice was as soft as the smoke rising from the
brazier, and just as warm against her skin. “I want ye to be me wife. I want to build a life with
ye, if ye’ll have me.”
Looking into those mesmerizing deep blue eyes of his, she had no doubt he spoke from his
heart. He held her hands in his, but whose were trembling more was an unanswerable
question. Though his grip was gentle, she could not help but think he was holding on for dear
life. Her answer, she knew, would either make his heart soar amongst the heavens, or shatter
into inestimable pieces. Before she could say aye or nay, they needed to have a very important
discussion. A discussion that, in the end, could change both of their lives forever. Either for
the better or for the worse; ‘twould be up to Ian.
With all her heart she wanted to shout Aye! I will marry ye! Never had she met anyone
quite like him, even if she did believe to a certain extent he was like most men, with only
three things usually on his mind: food, coin, and loving. Aye, he was interested in those things,
but there was more to Ian than that. He adored her, was kind and generous, and she often found
him humorous even when he wasn’t intending to be. He was also quite handsome. So
handsome in fact that her mind often wandered to lustful and delicious thoughts of what it
would be like to share the man’s bed.
Aye, without a doubt, he adored her. He would protect her and love her until he took his
last breath on God’s beautiful earth. What more could a woman ask for in a man? Strength,
honor, good looks were a welcome change to the men she’d known before the Mackintoshes
arrived and changed all their lives forever.
She took several deep breaths to calm her nerves before she could speak. “Ian, I love ye
with all that I am as well. I never felt this way before, not even with Almer, me first husband.”
The smile that broke on his face was a blend of relief and pride. Certain that what she was
about to say next would make that smile disappear, she burned the image into her memory.
Every bit of his handsome face, from the way his full lips were curved upward to the sparkle
in his intense blue eyes that crinkled slightly at the corners. The tiny freckle in the corner of
his mouth just under his bottom lip that was often hidden, for he typically went days without
shaving.
If she were to be struck dead at this very moment, she would die a most happy woman.
She could take this beautiful image of him with her to keep her warm and content throughout
eternity. But that would have been the coward’s way out of a potentially ugly situation. And
Rose was never one to behave as such.
“I fear there is somethin’ we must discuss first, Ian. Somethin’ of great importance.”
Although he continued to smile, his eyes were filled with questions. “Great importance?”
He was confident that it was not so important as to change his feelings toward her.
“I can no’ give ye children,” she told him sadly.
As the morning mist evaporates against sunlight, so did his smile, when the reality of her
words slowly sank in. ‘Twas not what he expected to hear. “Ye be barren?”
Rose gave a slight shake of her head as she swallowed back tears. “Nay, I can get with
child, but I can no’ carry past me third month.”
Ian had never dreamed of having children until he fell in love with Rose McLaren. He
hadn’t exactly led the kind of life that would allow for a wife or bairns. Those past encounters
with women, now that he reflected upon it, were nothing more than moments taken to meet his
physical needs.
But Rose? Somehow, without even trying, she had changed him from a whoring, warring,
drinking fool to a man who looked to the future with new eyes. A future with Rose as his wife
and the mother of his many children.
Pain and sorrow filled her eyes and he could feel both to his very core, just as deep as if it
had been his own personal loss. Possessed with the overwhelming urge to take her into his
arms, he pulled her close. They clung to one another for comfort, solace, and strength. “It
matters no’ to me,” he whispered against her blond locks with a voice that cracked.
Although nothing was between them but the pounding of their hearts, Ian sensed something
hanging in the air, something more she wanted to say but he knew his heart could not bear to
hear the words. He’d not give her the chance to tell him she could not marry him.
Swallowing back his disappointment, he set any thoughts of a cottage bursting to the
rafters with children aside. “I am one of many sons,” he began, still clinging to her as if she
were a mast on a sinking ship. “I’ll never be chief, so I’ve no legacy to build. I’ll no’ need
many sons or even daughters. I will be content all the rest of me days if it is just ye and me,
alone in a croft, farmin’ the land. As long as I can grow old with ye, spend each morn watchin’
the sun rise with ye at me side and watch it set at the end of the day, me life will be complete,
Rose. All I shall ever need or want, is ye.”
Oh, how she wanted to believe him. “But what if ye someday change yer mind? What if ye
realize later that ye do want children and I can no’ give them to ye? I could no more bear that
than losin’ yer babe.”
Squeezing her more tightly, he pressed a kiss against her head. “Then ye have me
permission to remind me of this moment before ye beat me senseless.”
She knew he was using humor in an attempt to assuage her worries, but this time, it did not
work. Hiding her damp eyes against his chest, she murmured perhaps the one thing that
bothered her most. “I could no’ bear to lose yer child, Ian. ‘Twould be me undoin’. ’Twould
be a loss I could never overcome.”
A babe of their own was the one thing she wanted most to give him, but the fear of losing
his child was far stronger than that singular desire.
“Wheest, now, me love. Ye and I are neither foolish nor lackin’ in knowledge. We both ken
there be ways of enjoyin’ one another as man and woman without the worry of creatin’ a
babe.”
Slowly, she pulled away to look into his eyes. He was filled with hope for the future and
adoration for her and ’twas as contagious as the ague. After the loss of her last babe, Almer
had stopped sharing a bed with her. Not out of anger but out of his love for her. He had known
how much the losses had hurt and he refused to put her through such pain again. Even after she
had told him there were ways they could love one another without the fear of another loss
looming over their heads, he still refused.
Now she was staring into the eyes of a man who wanted to marry her regardless of what
she could not give him. Knowing what he did, he still desired her, still wanted to enjoy her as
his wife. He would not turn her away.
“Ye be certain?” she asked, out of the need to hear him say it once again, to be certain she
had heard him correctly.
A most wondrous, wicked smile lit his face, answering more questions than she had put to
voice. “Aye, I be certain.”
 CHA P TE R 1 IA N’ S ROSE

SC OTL A ND, M A Y 13 5 6 , THE M A C KINTOSH KE E P, NORTHE R N HIG HL A NDS

OF SC OTL A ND

Istreak
an Mackintosh had inherited his father’s long and infamous stubborn streak. While that stubborn
proved a useful skill on the field of battle, it was oft his undoing in other matters. Especially
where matters of the heart or his pride were concerned.
Standing in the courtyard next to his older and equally pig-headed brother, Frederick, the two
proud — and at times obstinate — men awaited the arrival of long over-due guests. It had been
raining almost non-stop for three days and nights, only adding to the somberness of Ian’s mood.
Drenched to the bone, sick at heart, he wanted nothing more than to be inside the keep with vast
amounts of ale to keep him company.
Torches lined the pathway to the heavy gate and along the upper walls. They sizzled and hissed,
fighting valiantly against the steady rain. The flames flickered with the gusting breeze, casting
shadows hither and yon. Dancing shadows that at times Ian believed were mocking him.
Whilst Frederick was excited to be awaiting the arrival of his wife’s newly discovered family,
Ian was not so exceedingly cheerful. There was much on the young man’s mind. More specifically,
there was a woman on his mind. A beautiful woman with hair the color of honey and blue eyes that
darkened if she was angry and brightened when filled with delight. Lately, those exquisite eyes were
nearly obsidian, filled with sorrow. Sorrow brought on by his behavior.
A woman who consumed nearly every waking thought. A stubborn, confusing, bewildering and
beautiful young woman named Rose. And as much as he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her,
building a future together, it was not meant to be.
Since their return to his family’s lands, he had tried to keep his distance, to stay away from the
lovely lass. They had met more than a year ago, when his foolish brother had agreed to marry a young
woman he’d met only once. Frederick had offered for her hand within an hour of their first meeting.
Ian had done his level best to talk his brother out of it, especially after they had seen Aggie
McLaren’s keep for the first time, then again after meeting her father, Mermadak McLaren — may his
soul now be burning in the bowels of hell for eternity.
Somehow, the young woman had won Frederick’s heart, as well as every member of their
family’s, including Ian’s. In retrospect, Ian’s first impression of Aggie McLaren had been wrong and
he could say without hesitation that she was the best thing that had ever happened to his brother.
Rose was Aggie’s dearest friend. The two women had gone through much heartache and hell
together.
He and Rose had formed a deep friendship during their time at the McLaren keep, a friendship
that grew into something he had not expected. He loved her, and that alone scared the bloody hell out
of him. Though he knew she felt the same toward him, had even accepted his proposal of marriage
months ago, he felt wholly unworthy of her love. He believed she deserved far better than what he
could offer, which was, at the moment, nothing at all. ’Twas why he had broken their secret troth. He
had nothing to give her but a lifetime of poverty and: She deserved better.
“Could ye at least pretend excitement, brother?” Frederick asked as he frowned at Ian.
Ian’s forced smile made Frederick chuckle. “Why do ye no’ just go ask fer Rose’s hand and be
done with it?”
Ian’s smile evaporated in an instant. His brother could not possibly understand his fear or
hesitance. Aye, he’d asked for her hand before they had come here and she had happily agreed.
But when they’d arrived on the safe and hallowed lands of his family, he began to realize several
things. One, he had no way to support a wife, not on a warrior’s wages. And that was all he was good
for: swinging a sword, battles, defending his homeland and his people. Two, there was no way he
could give her anything but heartache. He’d not be able to give her lovely dresses such as those
Frederick gave his own wife. There’d be no fancy slippers or baubles or fine linens and silks for the
woman he loved more than life itself. Nay, he could give her nothing and that was the cold, hard truth.
He could not give her anything other than love.
And sometimes, love simply wasn’t enough.
He would, however, love her until the day he died. There would be no other woman. No one
would ever be able to take her place. ’Twas both the easiest and most difficult decision Ian
Mackintosh had ever made. But Rose hadn’t seen it that way. She felt betrayed, more than let down,
and he could not rightly blame her. But in the end, he knew he had made the right decision. Even if it
had left him feeling empty and miserable and as broken as a bit of fine glass thrown against a piece of
granite.
As he brooded silently, hating the rain, the night, and for the lot life had given him, a rider
approached the gates. The lad bore news that Aggie’s family was several hours away, delayed by the
God-awful rain. Frederick was disappointed. Ian was relieved. Now he could go and skulk and drink
his misery away.
“I shall go tell Aggie the news,” Frederick said. “And da and mum and everyone else who awaits
them indoors.”
Ian shrugged his shoulders, truly not caring about anyone or anything at the moment.
“What the bloody hell is wrong with ye, Ian?” Frederick demanded as they headed into the keep.
Standing in the narrow entryway, they left puddles of water on the stone floor as they shrugged out
of their sodden cloaks.
“Ye’ve been in a piss poor mood fer weeks now,” Frederick pointed out. “If ye can no’ find
yerself in better spirits before Aggie’s family arrives, I’d appreciate it if ye’d stay away from
everyone.”
“’Twill be me pleasure,” Ian said as he bounded down the steps and disappeared from sight.
Frederick stared after him for a long while. Mayhap if Ian will no’ tell me what is the matter,
Rose will.

’TWAS EASY ENOUGH TO LOCATE ROSE. AS SOON AS FREDERICK WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR TO THE
bedchamber he shared with his wife Aggie, he regretted his decision to seek her out. The two women
sat side by side on the bed and both had been crying. It took no great mental acumen to realize his
brother Ian was the source of their tears. His assumption was immediately verified by the angry glare
his wife shot at him.
“Yer brother is a c-cad!” Aggie informed him as if he hadn’t been aware of that fact for most of
his life. “He’s b-broken p-poor Rose’s heart!”
Frederick’s anger began to flame brightly. Not at his wife, but at his brother. Aggie had suffered
for years with a speech impediment, a very profound stutter that he had thought she had all but
overcome. The only time it was noticeable was when she was terrified or upset. I’m going to kill
him, he thought to himself, fer upsettin’ me wife.
“Aggie,” Rose sniffled, “I asked ye no’ to tell anyone!”
Aggie gave her a reassuring hug. “Aye, but I d-did no’ promise I wouldn’t.”
Frederick took in a deep breath and steeled himself for whatever his wife was about to say.
Instinct told him this was no typical lover’s quarrel, but a real and profound heartache. One that his
wife felt almost as deeply as Rose.
“What did he do?”
Rose blew her nose into a bit of linen, unable to speak. Aggie took it upon herself to inform her
husband of his brother’s cowardice. “Did ye k-ken he had asked f-fer Rose’s hand?”
“Nay, I did no’,” he said.
“He did,” Aggie said as she wiped her own tears away with her fingertips. “When ye were all
still b-back on M-McLaren lands. They were t-to marry when ye returned.”
Nay, he was not going to like this at all.
“Two weeks ago, he came to her and broke the troth! And he would no’ give a good reason why!”
She’d gone from being hurt to being angry. He could handle an angry wife, but not one who’d been
hurt.
“Did he give any reason at all?” he asked.
“Nay, the coward did no’! He simply told her ’twas better fer Rose if they parted ways. Can ye
believe he’d do such a thing?”
Letting loose a heavy sigh, he shook his head. “Nay, I can no’ believe such a thing. Ian has never
broken his word, at least no’ that I be aware of.”
Rose looked up at him, the anguish in her heart evidenced in her eyes. “One day, we were verra
happy and the next, he tells me he can no’ marry me.” She sniffled again and dabbed at her eyes. “I do
no’ ken what I did.”
“Ye did no’ do a thing,” Aggie assured her. “The fault lies entirely with that c-coward, that c-cad
he calls brother.”
He wasn’t necessarily sure why his wife was behaving as though his brother’s behavior was his
fault, but he wasn’t up to arguing that point. He was cold, soaked to the bone, and tired. “I be terribly
sorry fer what Ian has done, Rose. I shall do me best to make it right. I will no’ make ye any false
promises, but I will do me best to find out what he’s thinkin’ inside that thick skull of his.”
Rose let loose a very unladylike moan. “Do no’ bother. ’Twill do neither of us any good. He
simply does no’ love me anymore.”
“He’s an arse,” Aggie offered by way of consolation.
Frederick couldn’t necessarily disagree with her appraisal of his younger brother.
“Why would he do such a thing?” Aggie asked, looking into her husband’s eyes as if she might
find some answer within them.
“I do no’ ken, love. I simply do no’ ken.” If he did, he’d certainly rectify the situation at once. For
now, he had to move on to more pressing matters. “Aggie, we’ve received word on Douglas. His
arrival has been delayed by the rain.”
Her shoulders sagged in disappointment. The wait for the arrival of the man who had fathered her,
a man she’d never met, was maddening. Tears of worry filled her gold-brown eyes. He went to her,
bent down on one knee and took her hand in his. They had spent most of last night discussing Douglas
Carruthers’ impending arrival. She worried and fretted he would not like her any more than
Mermadak, the man who had raised her, had. Frederick knew nothing could be further from the truth.
“Do no’ fash yerself over it, sweeting. He’ll love ye, of that I am certain.”
“Thank ye, husband.” She smiled at him. “But what are we to do about Rose and yer arse of a
brother?”
He chuckled at her tenacity. “I do no’ ken, but I’ll think of somethin’.”
 CHA P TE R 2 IA N’ S ROSE

D awn came and went, and still no sign of Douglas Carruthers. Thankfully, the rain had finally lifted
as the gray skies moved south. By mid morning, the sun had chased away the fog, leaving the earth to
look as though fairies had bejeweled the grass and trees with tiny diamonds. Frederick assured his
wife that all was well before kissing her goodbye with the promise to keep her apprised of any word
from the Carruthers.
Aggie paced nervously about her chamber, her mind racing from one worry to the next as she
absentmindedly chewed on her thumbnail. Her real father, a man she had not known existed until very
recently, was due to ride through the gates of the Mackintosh keep at any moment. While she was
curious to meet him and see for herself why her mother had fallen in love with him, she still fretted
over what he was going to think of her.
No matter what her husband believed or how hard he tried to convince her there was no need to
worry, she could not help but worry. Would he be disappointed in what he had sired? Was he visiting
only to inform her he had moved on with his life and had no desire to have her in it?
As far as she was concerned, it did not matter at all that he had at one time loved her mother. That
was twenty years ago. People can change over time; that she knew with certainty.
For days now, she had tried to convince herself that his opinion of her — good, bad, or indifferent
— would not matter. She was married to the best of men, with two beautiful children she adored, and
a good life that a year ago she’d not have thought possible. Compared to that, Douglas Carruthers’
view was not important. All that mattered was Frederick, their children, and the life they were
building together.
’Twas a feeble lie at best. In truth, she wanted the man to like her, to look upon her with a kind
father’s fondness and adoration. She wanted everything Mermadak McLaren had never given her.
He’d never had a kind word to say to Aggie and his displeasure with her only increased a
thousandfold after her mother’s death.
According to her mother’s journals — another recent discovery — the Carruthers was everything
Mermadak wasn’t. Kind, generous, with a strong sense of honor. They’d loved one another beyond
measure even though her mother had been married to Mermadak at the time. ’Twas enough to make
Aggie’s head hurt when she thought about it.
And there was the matter of Rose and Ian. The cur had the audacity to break her best friend’s heart
by breaking a promise, a vow. Of all the men she had known in her life, next to Frederick, Ian would
have been the last person she thought would break his word. Least of all to Rose, who he professed to
love above all else. ‘Twas an unjust deed and Rose deserved far better.
So much was happening and it seemed ’twas all taking place at once.
Still, there was much to be thankful for. Such as her children, the youngest of whom was now
happily feeding at the breast of her wet-nurse, Rebeca Mackintosh. Aggie felt she owed a lifetime of
gratitude to the woman who had selflessly volunteered to feed Ada when Aggie had been so
dreadfully ill and nearly died. It hadn’t taken long for the two women to become friends.
“Yer goin’ to wear a hole in the floor,” Rebeca told her as she smiled adoringly at the babe.
“Besides, yer makin’ me tired watchin’ ye go back and forth and back and forth.”
Aggie ignored her and continued pacing. ’Twas impossible to sit still, to focus on any one task,
not with her mind working on what she would say to Douglas Carruthers.
Rebeca let loose a heavy breath. “Come take yer daughter,” she said with a smile. “’Twill keep
yer hands and mind busy.”
Whenever Aggie held Ada, every worry and dread evaporated in an instant. Such a beautiful,
sweet babe, with ginger hair and bright blue eyes. “She is growing well?” Aggie asked for
reassurance as she took the babe into her arms.
“Aye, I believe so,” Rebeca replied with an affectionate smile. “She be strong and hearty,
considerin’ how she came into this world.”
Aggie did not like to be reminded of that dark, ugly time. Poisoned by her own half-sister, Claire,
with a potion meant to kill both she and her babe. The midwife had been forced to pull Ada from her
body when Aggie had been too ill to even realize she was giving birth. Days later, she finally woke,
with Frederick at her side, proud to announce she was the mother of a beautiful, but very tiny, baby
girl.
’Twas also up to Frederick to tell her that Claire had hung herself.
Quietly, she had mourned Claire’s loss. Long ago, they’d been the best of friends.
With Ada in her arms, her thoughts turned happier, and her worries far less significant. Pressing a
tender kiss against her daughter’s brow, Aggie whispered, “It matters naught if the Carruthers cares
fer us or no’. I have ye, yer brother and father and that is all that matters in this world.”
She’d no sooner spoken the words than Rose came bounding into the room.
Out of breath with excitement and running up the stairs, Rose paused just inside the doorway.
“He be here, Aggie!”

THE CALM AND PEACE THAT CAME WITH HOLDING HER DAUGHTER EVAPORATED ALL TOO QUICKLY. NAY, SHE TOLD
herself. Ye’ll no’ cower, ye’ll no’ beg fer his affections.
Rose came to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “He looks verra nice, Aggie. And quite
handsome fer a man of his age.”
Whether or not he was handsome was entirely unimportant. The only things that mattered were her
husband, her children, and the Mackintosh family who had accepted her as one of their own from the
day she married Frederick.
Would ye like me to take Ada fer ye?” Rebeca asked.
Aggie debated on whether or not to present her children to their blood grandsire at this, her first
meeting with him. The instinct to protect her children was strong. “Aye, I’d like Rose to take her.”
If it turned out that Douglas Carruthers was not the kind, generous man her mother wrote about in
her journals, she did not want either of her children to witness this meeting. “Would ye also make
certain Ailrig stays away?”
As she handed Ada to Rose, Elsbeth, Aggie’s mother-by-law, floated into the room. She was as
fierce as she was beautiful and Aggie admired her greatly. “Ye need no’ worry about Ailrig,” she said
with a fond smile. “He is with his grandfather and uncles.” A moment later, she was kissing the top of
Ada’s wee head.
“Please, tell me they be no’ playin’ with dirks again,” Aggie said. “The last time they tried
teachin’ him, John nearly lost an eye.”
Elsbeth laughed and shook her head. “Nay, no’ dirks. I believe they’ve moved on to swords. But
do no’ worry it, they all be usin’ wooden swords.”
Aggie could only hope her nine-year-old son would not cause anyone any harm, wooden swords
or nay.
Elsbeth took Aggie’s hand in hers. “Come, let us go below stairs and meet Douglas Carruthers.”

AT AGGIE’S REQUEST, ROSE TOOK ADA TO HER OWN ROOM ACROSS THE HALL WHILE SHE MET WITH DOUGLAS
Carruthers. Rose was all too happy to oblige her friend. She’d never turn down the chance to hold a
babe, especially wee Ada.
’Twas a small room with a small window that faced south and one arrow window that faced east.
There were multiple tables heaped with all manner of fabrics. Once Elsbeth had learned what a
talented seamstress Rose was, she immediately selected this room for her and began filling it with
fabrics. Rose was all too happy to create beautiful gowns and dresses for Elsbeth, her daughters, and
Aggie.
Now she sat next to the arrow window with Ada cooing and gurgling happily in her arms. Rose
loved the way the tiny babe smelled of lavender soap and clean linens. While it was a wonderful
feeling to hold the tiny babe in her arms, her heart ached with wanting one of her own. “Ada, I be
about to share a secret with ye and I’ll thank ye kindly no’ to tell another soul,” she whispered
playfully.
Ada looked up at her and cooed, as if she understood completely what her Aunt Rose was telling
her.
“I was almost a mum meself,” she told her. “Three times.” A sense of longing slowly crept in at
the memories. “Three times I got with child with me husband, Almer Gray. I lost each one before I
could reach me fourth month.”
Though the miscarriages had happened many years ago, the pain was as fresh and intense as if it
had happened only that morn. Those had been the most difficult and tragic of times, as a young bride
wanting nothing more than to give her husband a child. The disappointment at losing the first was
something she believed she would never get over. The agony after the third was unbearable. Almer
had done his best to assure her he loved her all the same. ‘Twasn’t until he lay on his deathbed that
she realized he had meant it.
’Twas then she experienced an epiphany of sorts. Was this the reason Ian had broken the troth? On
more than one occasion, they had discussed her inability to carry a child to term. He had been
adamant that he cared not if she could never give him a child of his own. ’Tis ye I love, lass. I care
no’ about bairns, only that I am able to spend the rest of me life with ye.
There had not been any doubt in her mind at the time that he meant what he said. Never had she
met men so honorable as the Mackintosh men. Their word was everything to them.
 Just when she thought she had shed her last tear for Ian Mackintosh, new droplets began to fall.
The more she thought on it, the more she believed it was her inability to carry a child that had
changed Ian’s opinion of her. Mayhap, after seeing Frederick holding his first babe, it triggered
something in Ian’s heart, leading him to realize that he did in fact want children of his own.
Suddenly she found she no longer hated him with the ferocity she’d held only moments ago. How
could she hold his desire for children against him? If anyone understood the ache of wanting
something you could never have, ’twas she.
Looking down at Ada, whose eyelids were growing heavy, her sorrow increased tenfold. For
years now, she had convinced herself she would be happy helping other women look after their
babes. Now, as Ada sighed sleepily, she realized that was not true. Nay, she wanted a babe of her
own. In truth, it mattered not if she birthed the babe or adopted, she wanted a child, not only for
precious moments such as these. She wanted a child she could help grow into a fine person and see
his or her dreams someday come true.
Ian had told her he was not opposed to adoption, if the chance ever arose. Something had to have
happened to make him change his mind. But what? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer
to that question.

AGGIE STOOD TALL AND PROUD, WAITING FOR THE MOMENT DOUGLAS CARRUTHERS WOULD ENTER JOHN
Mackintosh’s private study. Two chairs sat facing one another in front of the fireplace. Over the
mantle hung the Mackintosh crest with the words Touch not a cat without a glove carved around the
image of a cat-o-mountain. On the opposite side of the room, in front of two tall, narrow walls, was
the long table John used as his desk. ‘Twas all neat and well organized, much like the man himself.
Behaving as if they were her personal guards, Elsbeth stood to her left, Rebeca to her right.
Elsbeth kept a steady and warm hand on Aggie’s back.
The air in the room suddenly felt cold, even though a fire roared in the hearth. The rain had
returned, along with a strong wind that howled in through the fur-covered windows. It felt dark,
ominous, as if the weather were foretelling what was about to happen.
Smoothing out the skirts of her lavender dress with sweaty palms, Aggie took deep, steadying
breaths. For years, she had worn her dark hair so it covered the nasty scar on the left side of her face.
’Twas a constant reminder of Eduard Bowie, the man who had raped her more than a decade ago. But
earlier that morn, she had enlisted Elsbeth’s help in plaiting her dark lochs, unafraid now of letting
anyone see her marred face. If the Carruthers was offended by her appearance, then ’twas something
he would have to deal with. If those who loved her were unbothered by it, then it should not matter to
him.
“Ye look beautiful,” Elsbeth told her.
“Thank ye,” she replied softly. Doing her best to untie the knots that had been forming in her
stomach, she adopted the best air of nonchalance she could manage.
Quietly, Rebeca slipped a hand into hers and gave a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “He will love
ye, just as the rest of us do,” Rebecca whispered.
Elsbeth agreed. “Of course he will. And if he does no’? It matters no’, aye?”
Aggie lifted her chin ever so slightly. “Aye, it matters no’.” Her heart, however, wished for all the
world that this meeting would go well. ‘Tis a meeting and nothing more. Yer life will no’ be changed
significantly, regardless of his opinion of ye.
 A moment later, Frederick walked into the room. He bore a kind and happy smile, which
brightened the moment he looked at his wife. Aggie knew she’d never tire of seeing his face or his
smile.
A heartbeat or two afterward, Douglas Carruthers stepped through the door.
For the longest moment, they could do nothing but stare at one another.
He looked older than she had anticipated. Hair that had once been as black as kohl, according to
her mother’s journal, was now a soft shade of silver. Although he was a few inches shorter than her
husband, he still seemed a formidable man. Aggie took note of the surprised expression in his gold
and brown eyes. Was he happy to see her? Disappointed in the offspring he’d fathered?
The longer he stared, the more uncomfortable she became.
“God’s bones,” he finally spoke, his voice sounded scratchy, almost raw. The color was
beginning to drain from his face. “Ye are every bit as beautiful as yer mum.”
She hadn’t been prepared for such a compliment, for any compliment for that matter. One of her
biggest worries — that he’d take one look at her and be so appalled, he would turn around and leave
— was immediately laid to rest when he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’ve waited fer this day fer more than twenty years,” he whispered softly against the top of her
head. “’Tis both a prayer and dream come true.”
For days she had planned out every word she would say to him, thought through every question
carefully. But now, with his massive arms wrapped around her as if she were the most precious
treasure he’d ever held, she could not think of a single thing to say. He held on tightly, as if he were
afraid to let go.
A large knot formed in her throat. Words she wanted to say, tears she wanted desperately to shed,
all bound together into a lump the size of a walnut. How many times had she wished for such affection
from Mermadak, the man she had always thought her true father? She took in a deep, fortifying breath,
her heart awash in a combination of regret and what she could only describe as relief.
He does no’ hate me, nor is he ashamed.

MUCH TIME PASSED BEFORE DOUGLAS CARRUTHERS LET GO OF HIS FIRSTBORN CHILD. A CHILD HE’D DREAMED OF
seeing from the moment her mother, Lila, had told him she was carrying. With his heart heavy with
guilt and regret, he held her away so he could study every inch of her face: a face that reminded him
of the woman he had loved but could never marry.
Aggie had his coloring — hair as black as pitch with gold-brown eyes, but that was where the
resemblance ended. Everything else about her was Lila McLaren through and through. He did not
know if he should laugh with joyful glee or cry and beg for his daughter’s forgiveness. For the life of
him, he could not take his eyes away from her.
Soon he felt her grow uncomfortable under his close scrutinization. “Fergive me lass,” he
whispered. “I fear the moment I laid eyes on ye all me good manners and sense left me.”
Aggie returned his smile, her heart awash in relief.
“I be makin’ a fool of meself, aye?”
Aggie shook her head. “N-nay,” she murmured.
But he didn’t believe her. Looking about the room, he realized all eyes were upon them. “Would
ye like to sit, lass?” he asked with a wave of his hand toward the two chairs in front of the hearth.
Aggie nodded in affirmation and gracefully took one of the chairs in front of the fire. Once he saw
she was settled, he took the seat opposite her. Resting his palms on his knees, he continued to stare.
“There were many things I wanted to say to ye, lass, and now I cannot find a word to utter other
than to declare once again how beautiful ye are. Yer resemblance to yer mum is remarkable.”
“I fear I suffer from the same affliction,” she told him. In truth, she’d been fully prepared for a
less than warm response.
He took in a deep breath. “I worried, lass, that ye would hate me and want nothin’ at all to do with
me. ‘Tis grateful I am that ye be no’ stickin’ a dirk into me heart.”
Aye, that thought had entered her mind on more than one occasion. ‘Twas true that she felt a great
deal of anger toward this man, but she wanted to hear from his own lips why he had never come for
her.
Frederick stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Aggie, would ye like
us to leave so that ye might speak to yer father alone?”
“Aye,” she replied. “But I’d like ye to stay.”
Elsbeth and Rebecca said nothing as they left the room. Aggie soon realized the wind had died
down, the rain was nothing more than a soft patter against the stone walls. Even the roaring fire had
settled down to a subdued crackle. A sense of calm filled the room.
Frederick remained behind his wife with one hand on her shoulder. Though she was no longer the
meek and timid woman she had once been, she felt stronger whenever her husband was near.
Douglas began to grow uncomfortable; he found the silence maddening. “We have much to talk
about, ye and I.”
“Aye, we do,” Aggie replied.
“Where should we begin?” he asked. Aggie took note of the trepidation in his tone.
She decided to ask the one burning question. The question that had kept her awake at night. “Why
did ye never come fer me?”
Douglas paled ever so slightly. “I did. Once.”
Aggie raised a doubtful brow.
He let loose a heavy breath and rubbed a hand across his jaw. “When yer mum told me she was
with child, with me child, I begged her to leave Mermadak. She refused. She said ’twas yer legacy,
yer destiny to someday take over the McLaren lands. No matter how I begged and pleaded, she
refused to take that legacy away from ye.”
Aggie’s brow drew into a fine line of puzzlement. She remained quiet and still.
“I came once, after ye were born. She was visiting her family when her time came. She refused to
allow me to see ye, not even a glimpse. She also refused to go away with me. ‘Nay,’ she told me. ‘I’ll
no’ take away me child’s birthright. I’ll no’ give up McLaren lands. ‘Twould be a disrespect to me
mother and father and those who came before me. I’ll no’ have me child raised as illegitimate,
scorned and looked down upon because her parents are no’ married.’” His voice trailed off at the
memory of that fateful night, when he had begged and pleaded to no avail.
Aggie looked to Frederick. “Was that in her journals?” she asked.
He gave a slow shake of his head. “Nay,” he answered. “But that does no’ mean it did no’ happen
as he says. She did write frequently about yer birthright, and how she looked forward to seeing ye
take over someday.”
Turning her attention back to Douglas, she asked, “Ye tried once, then forgot about us,” she
accused him. “All those years of livin’ in a hell on earth, and never once did ye inquire about me.”
Suddenly, she felt angry. Only once did ye try to take me away. Once. Why no’ more?
Douglas fell to his knees before her, wounded by her accusations. “Nay, lass, nay! ’Twas no’ like
that, I swear it.” Taking her hands in his, he pleaded with her. “I wrote to yer grandminny, at least
once a month. She was the only connection to ye that I had. Andoreen, she told me ye were doin’ well,
that Mermadak had no idea ye were no’ his. She said he treated ye like a princess and that I should no’
worry over ye.”
Aggie withdrew her hands from his and shot to her feet. “A princess?” she asked, eyes wide and
mouth agape. Years of anger sprang loose, uncontainable, as were her tears. She began tugging at the
laces of her dress. “Would ye like to see how he treated me?” she spat. “Would ye like to see the
scars on me back, left by his hands?”
Frederick stopped her, taking her hands away from her laces. He pulled her to his chest. To
Douglas, he said, “I fear ye were lied to, Douglas. As I told ye before, Mermadak was far from kind
to me wife. God has yet to allow man to create a word that aptly describes his horrid mistreatment of
Aggie.”
Slowly, Douglas stood, his shoulders slumped, his heart breaking with each tear his daughter
shed. “I still have Andoreen’s letters.”

IN LESS THAN HALF AN HOUR, FREDERICK WAS READING ANDOREEN MCLAREN’S LETTERS ALOUD TO HIS WIFE.
They were filled with nothing but kind words for Mermadak. She bespoke often of how well Aggie
was growing, how much she adored Mermadak, and what a fine woman she would grow into.
By the fourth letter, Aggie declared she had heard enough. She sat in stunned silence for a long
while, playing over and over in her mind the words of her long dead grandminny.
“Mermadak was never very fond of me,” she said in a low, breathless tone. “I do no’ remember
me grandminny very well, she died when I was nine. I do no’ ken why she would lie to ye, why she
would say things that were so far from the truth as to be insane.”
’Twas Frederick who answered her question. “To protect the two of ye.”
Aggie looked up at him with the most befuddled expression. “Protect us?” She gave a shake of her
head as if she had not heard him correctly.
“Yer mother loved Douglas verra much, Aggie. I believe she sensed that if he knew the truth,
knew how things really were fer ye, he would have stopped at nothing to take ye away.”
Douglas nodded in agreement. “’Tis the truth. I would have. Had I known, I would have killed the
man with me bare hands, Aggie. But I did no’ know. By the time Andoreen died, I had moved on. I had
married Eleanor, was building a life with her. But never were ye far from me thoughts or me heart.
And had I known, I would have come fer ye long ago, I swear it.”
Aggie studied him closely for a long while. She could detect no deception, no dishonesty. Only
sincere regret and shame. She took in a deep, cleansing breath, wiped away her tears and returned to
her chair.
Lies. Nothing but lies for all these many years. In her heart, she had to believe her mother did
what she thought was the right thing. She could not for a moment believe that anything her mother had
done had been done out of spite or malice. Desperation perhaps, but not malice.
For a moment she wondered what her life would have been like had she known the truth. Had she
the opportunity, she would have run away to Douglas long ago. But then, she would not have had
Ailrig — even if he were conceived by rape. She loved her son regardless of how he was conceived.
Mayhap it was time to tell her sweet boy the truth. If she waited, he might feel just as betrayed as she
did now.
 And had she run away successfully to live with Douglas Carruthers, she would never have met
Frederick nor had Ada. God had put her on this path for a reason, even if she didn’t quite understand
why.
“I can no longer blame ye, Douglas. Each of us were lied to, even if those lies were made with
good intentions.” She took another deep breath. “I do no’ wish to carry these feelin’s of shame or
betrayal with me any more.”
 CHA P TE R 3 IA N’ S ROSE

M ore than a year ago Frederick Mackintosh had made a promise to Rose McLaren. “If me brother
ever hurts ye or plays ye false, I’ll kill him with me bare hands.” Hence, an easy solution to mend
Rose’s heart was at hand.
’Twas unfortunate that his daft and addlepated brother Ian was forcing him to keep that promise.
He had reached the ends of his patience in the matter. The way his brother had treated the sweet young
woman since their return to Mackintosh lands was nothing less than an abomination. ’Twas beyond
time someone took the matter into hand.
The hour was quite late, long past the evening meal. Most were back in their rooms or cottages,
and only a few remained in the gathering room. He soon found the object of his consternation. There,
sitting alone in a dark corner, sat Ian Mackintosh. From the number of empty cups — as well as the
way the fool swayed as he sat — Frederick quickly surmised his brother was so into his cups he
couldn’t find his arse with both hands.
Ian Mackintosh.
Known throughout the land by women as a man as beautiful as he was a consummate lover. He’d
left a trail of broken hearts across Scotland, England, France, and God only knew where else. While
women adored him, their fathers, husbands, and brothers hated him with equal passion.
Frederick stood before the drunken sot, his feet braced apart, arms crossed over his massive
chest, and waited for his brother to recognize his presence. Long moments passed before that
happened.
Ian clutched a cup of ale with his large hands, as if he were a man lost at sea and the cup was his
last vestige of hope for survival. Listing side to side, he mumbled incoherent words that only he could
understand in his current state of extreme inebriation.
When Ian finally noticed his brother, he smiled up at him drunkenly. “Frederick,” he said with a
slow inclination of his noggin. He took another pull at his ale then swept his arms out wide. The
golden liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup but Ian took no notice. “Welcome to me island.”
Frederick had no idea what his brother meant and in truth, he did not care. Before he could tell Ian
why he was there and what his intentions were, Ian spoke again.
“I fear ye do no’ belong here, brother o’ mine. This island is fer the wretched and unworthy.” His
lips curved into a wry smile; he was apparently quite amused with himself. “Nay, brother! Men such
as ye do no’ belong on the island of the lost!”
Frederick let out a sigh of irritation before kicking a stool out of his way. “Ian, ’tis time we had a
talk.” Grabbing his brother by his tunic, he hoisted him to his feet.
Ian glowered angrily with bloodshot eyes. “What are ye doin’?” he asked, his speech slightly
slurred as he struggled to free himself.
“I be keepin’ a promise.” Frederick smiled deviously before drawing back one mighty fist then
slamming it into his brother’s face.
Ian fell backward against the stone wall, as dazed and confused as he was thunderstruck. White
flashes of light floated in his eyes as blood trickled from his broken lip. Shaking his daze away, he
looked up at his brother with nothing short of fury and hatred in his eyes. “What the bloody hell was
that fer?”
As Frederick pulled him to his feet, he answered in a calm voice that belied his frustration and
anger. “That was fer breakin’ Rose’s heart.”
Once he was certain Ian wasn’t going to fall over, he hit him once again. This time his fist landed
on Ian’s left eye. And again, his brother fell against the wall. This time he could not keep his feet and
slid onto his arse. Before Ian could question the why of it, Frederick said, “That was fer breakin’ yer
word. A Mackintosh never breaks his word.”
He hauled him to his feet yet again. Ian was barely able to stand on his own, but ’twas enough for
Frederick to land a third punch. “And that was fer upsettin’ me wife!”
Ian fell to the floor, his head lolled side to side while blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
Frederick sighed disgustedly. He’d seen Ian in many a tavern brawl, far drunker than he was now,
and he’d still been able to maintain his feet and fight.
Nay, the young man lying askew, bloody and defeated, was not the same proud warrior. “What the
hell has happened to ye?”

FREDERICK PULLED HIS BROTHER TO HIS FEET, HOISTED HIM OVER ONE BROAD SHOULDER, AND LEFT THE
gathering room. Mumbling a curse under his breath he was appalled and disgusted at how easily his
brother had given up. Hell, he hadn’t fought at all. ’Twas disgraceful for a man such as Ian to behave
so dishonorably, no matter his reasons.
Determined to get to the bottom of things, he carried his brother above stairs. Taking the hallway
to the left, he went straightaway to Rose’s room and kicked at the door. Grudgingly, he cursed his
brother as he shifted his weight. “Ye’re a bastard, ye ken that don’ ye?”
Ian replied with an incoherent grumble.
Cautiously, Rose cracked open the door. Though he could only see one vigilant eye peering
through, that eye was red and puffy from crying. ’Twas fuel added to his already burning anger.
A moment passed before she realized Frederick had someone tossed over his shoulder like a sack
of leeks. Her eyes widened in time with the door she pulled open. Frederick entered the room swiftly
and tossed his brother into a chair near one of the tables that held her fabrics.
“What happened to him?” Rose blurted out as she rushed to kneel before the man she loved for
reasons no one could fathom.
’Twas then Frederick noticed his beautiful wife sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. She
shot to her feet and repeated Rose’s question. In a flash, the two women were fluttering about the
room, grabbing an ewer and linen cloths, hammering Frederick with too many questions to count.
“Are we under siege?” Aggie asked as she held the ewer over Ian’s lap.
“I did no’ hear the warnin’ bells,” Rose said as she dipped a linen cloth into the water and began
wiping the blood from Ian’s face.
Aggie stared blankly at her husband. “Why are ye j-just standin’ there? Ye should be defendin’ the
k-keep!”
Frederick held up his hands. “There be no attack against the keep.”
Rose paused her ministrations. “Then what happened? Did he take a fall?” She looked as vexed
as she was concerned.
“Rose,” Ian whispered her name almost reverently. “The most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes
on.”
With a furrowed brow she turned her attention back to Ian. His face bore an expression of devout
love and adoration. “Never has a sweeter, more bonny woman ever graced God’s earth.” His voice
was scratchy, his tone quite sad. As if he’d lost her to the black death and was remembering her
fondly.
“He’s been drinkin’,” Aggie pointed out as if that answered a multitude of questions.
Annoyed, Rose asked once again, “What happened?”
Looking up at his older brother, Ian answered. “He was keepin’ his word to ye.”
Perplexed, the two women looked to Frederick for an explanation. Hopefully one that made more
sense than Ian’s.
“’Tis no less than I deserve,” Ian slurred before Frederick could respond. “A Mackintosh ne’er
breaks his word, ye see.”
Neither Rose nor Aggie had any earthly idea what the drunken man meant.
“What is he goin’ on about?” Rose demanded.
Frederick ran a hand through his ginger hair before answering. “I made a promise to ye more than
a year ago, that if Ian ever hurt ye or played ye false, I’d kill him with me bare hands.”
Aggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath while Rose was clearly appalled. “Ye did this to
him?”
“He hurt ye and he took back his proposal. Ye’ve been cryin’ fer days now, lass,” he reminded
her gently. “I was merely keepin’ me word when me brother broke his.”
“I be ready to accept me fate,” Ian told Rose. He took her hand in his. “I ne’er loved a woman as I
have loved ye. I want ye to go on with yer life. Do no’ pine fer me or mourn me loss.”
Rose withdrew her hand from his with the level of disgust she would feel had she just fallen in a
pile of warm horse dung. “Ye can no’ be serious!” she exclaimed. She didn’t know which of these
two men confounded or angered her more. At the moment, they were tied for first.
“He must kill me,” Ian told her. “He must keep his word because I did no’ keep mine.”
She eyed them both speculatively for a long moment. The more she stood waiting for one of them
to tell her this was nothing more than a jest, the angrier she became. Once Aggie took notice of Rose’s
furious glower, the way her skin had turned red, Aggie suddenly swore she heard her babe, Ada,
crying. Setting the bowl on the table, she scurried to her feet. “Ada needs me, as does Ailrig.”
Pausing at the door, Aggie looked back to her friend. “Ye may strangle Ian, but please, do no’
harm me husband. I still need him, as do me children.” She did not wait for a response before
hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind her.
Once she was gone, Rose looked first to Frederick, then to Ian, and back again. “Ye have both lost
yer minds.”
“Nay, no’ me mind. Just me heart. To the most beautiful women e’er to grace God’s earth.”
“Be quiet!” Rose shouted at the man she knew she loved without question. But at the moment, she
was hard pressed to come up with a reason why. To Frederick she said, “Ye will no’ kill him.”
 Frederick chuckled at her ferocity. “Nay, I shall no’ kill him,” he assured her before quickly
adding, “Yet.”
Exasperated, she rolled her eyes at him. “Why did ye feel the need to,” she stumbled for the right
words. “To beat him senseless?”
“Someone had to.”
“Frederick be the most honorable man,” Ian chimed in. He leaned forward in the chair and rested
his head in his hands. “Far more honorable than I. He’d ne’er hurt the woman he loves.”
She spun to face the object of her consternation. “So ye do love me?”
His shame was too great — as was the manner in which his head was spinning — to chance
lifting his head to look at her. “Of course I love ye.”
“Then why on earth did ye break yer word?”
“Because ye deserve better,” he mumbled. “Why is the room spinnin’?” he asked of no one in
particular.
Rose thrust her hands onto her hips. “I deserve better than what?” she asked him. Her tone was
sharp.
“Than me,” Ian answered. He sounded entirely ashamed.
Throwing her hands up in defeat, she looked at Frederick. “Go ahead. Kill him. I no longer care.”

The rest of the story will be published on August 26, 2016. It will be available Amazon, ibooks,
Nook, and Kobo. The paperback version will be available in September.
Preorder at Amazon
A L SO BY SU ZA N TISDA L E

The Clan MacDougall Series

Laiden’s Daughter
Findley’s Lass
Wee William’s Woman
McKenna’s Honor

The Clan Graham Series

Rowan’s Lady
Frederick’s Queen

The Clan McDunnah Series

A Murmor of Providence
A Whisper of Fate
A Breath of Promise

The Mackintoshes and McLarens Series

Ian’s Rose
The Bowie’s Bride - 2016
Brogan’s Promise - 2017

Moirra’s Heart Series

Stealing Moirra’s Heart

Saving Moirra’s Heart

Isle of the Blessed

For HM Ward’s The Arrangement Series

The King’s Courtesan

The Brides of the Clan MacDougall

 (A Sweet Series)
Aishlinn
Maggy (arriving 2017)
Nora (arriving 2017)

Coming Soon:
The Thief ’s Daughter
 A BOU T THE AU THOR

USA Today Bestselling Author, storyteller and cheeky wench, SUZAN TISDALE lives in the Midwest with her verra handsome
carpenter husband and the youngest of their four children. Her pets consist of dust bunnies and a dozen poodle-sized groundhogs – all of
which run as free and unrestrained as the voices in her head.

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