Two

Silence was deafening at times.

The sound of the door closing bounced around inside Helen’s skull, like thunder cracking just above her head. She knew the sound was harmless, but it was so intimidating that fighting off misgivings became nearly impossible.

Helen couldn’t take the silence anymore. “It had to be me, because of Brenda’s contract with the Gordons.”

Marcus was leaning back against the stone wall, watching her. His eyes were blue like his father’s and brother’s, but in the darkness, she couldn’t see them. Still, she felt his scrutiny and would have sworn he was peeling away the layers of her skin to get a look at her thoughts.

“Well, ye need no’ glare at me,” she admonished him. It was strange, to be sure, being in the position to reprimand him. Even though she sounded a bit more pleading than she liked.

Helen retreated to the far side of the cell. Not that the action afforded her any sort of real comfort. Marcus seemed to fill the place with his presence. Yet that had always been the way she perceived him: too large, too imposing. She stood up to him because to do otherwise felt like granting him her surrender.

He finally nodded and offered her a pursing of his lips. “Ye’ve caught me by surprise, madam. Enjoy the novelty of it. I promise ye, it does nae happen very often.”

She ended up choking out a single laugh before she sat down with her back to him. “Best on to the matters at hand.”

The darkness was welcome as she pulled her skirts up and pulled a small dagger from her boot.

“Do nae use yer thigh.”

Her cheeks heated because the topic was so intimate, but she turned her head to look at him for an explanation. Marcus knew more strategy than she did.

“If Morton has ye inspected, the source of the blood will be clear. All yer effort will be for naught,” he explained.

“I see…” That left her with the knife poised in the air as she debated the best location to cut herself.

“Better to use me, lass.”

His tone was soft, and she recognized it well. It was the one he used when he was intent on getting his way and knew full well she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “What do ye mean?”

She really wanted to resist the urge to ask, but all of their effort was for naught if a midwife found a cut on her—and a midwife would strip her bare.

Marcus was grinning, that arrogant curve of his lips that made her grind her teeth so often. Oh yes, the man knew she wasn’t going to like his suggestion, but he was also supremely confident that it was the only way.

Ye like that facet of his personality as well…

Fine. So she did. Strength in men was attractive; she wasn’t the only woman who thought so.

“Me head is bleeding from the tussle I had with Morton’s men.”

Helen was suddenly up and moving toward him. “I should have thought to bring some things in case ye needed tending.”

She rose onto her toes, pushing his hair aside to look for the wound.

“Helen.”

She felt her body tighten. He was able to whisper right in her ear since she’d come so close.

“Let me put me head between yer thighs, and the matter will be done.”

“I will no’!” She jumped back like a startled doe as Marcus choked on his laughter. He took a long moment to enjoy the way the words had formed into something that sounded scarlet. She blushed but ended up smiling because it was amusing.

“Stop toying with me,” she responded.

He lifted one dark eyebrow in response. “Some women would consider having me head between their thighs a treat.”

Her cheeks caught fire. “I am no’ that sort.”

He sobered, resuming his assessment of her. Something lit his eyes. It looked like respect. “I was no’ accusing ye of being a lightskirt.”

She nodded in acceptance of his apology. “Good.”

“Which makes me want to try it on ye.”

He was serious. She wanted to look away, but whispers rose from her mind, the sort of talk that a woman heard in the kitchens when the younger staff members had all gone to their beds and the women were discussing passion.

Some men applied more effort to their wives than others, and to hear them talk of it, bed sport was well worth the vows of submissiveness and obedience. Marcus was watching her, his lips curving up as he read her thoughts right off her face.

Her cheeks burned scarlet.

“Enough,” she admonished him. Or perhaps it was more correct to say to herself, for it was her imagination running wild. “There will be none of that.”

She honestly wasn’t sure if she was telling him or herself.

His lips curled up as he flashed his teeth at her. “Why no’? Ye’re me wife.”

“And ye know why.” She blinked at him, trying to recover her poise. Katherine. Yes. That was the reason for everything. “Katherine is the reason I am here. After we are away, we’ll get an annulment…”

She had to avert her gaze to get her mind focused on the plan.

“After ye’ve convinced everyone that I had ye?” Marcus shook his head. “Ye came here to prevent a grave injustice, Helen. I’ll no’ be gaining me freedom by disgracing ye.”

“Concern for my good name?” she inquired in surprise. “It is far too late for that. As ye said when ye lined yer men up before me,” she said, “I’ve been away from home too long for anyone to consider me virtue still intact. At least this way, there is some purpose to everything that has befallen me.”

And that meant she needed to take the last bit of action needed. Helen stiffened her spine and walked back toward him. She sat down and forced her stiff hands to pull up her skirts until only a bit of her chemise guarded her sex. She couldn’t dwell on how exposed she felt. There was a rustle from the chain as Marcus moved. At least the sound of metal grating over stone renewed her sense of purpose.

But it still took a great deal of nerve to sit steady as he settled beside her.

He was everything men were expected to be. Marcus didn’t shrink from his duty, and he was loyal to the core. Indeed, he was the sort of man she might have been very happy to have courting her. Of course, those girlhood dreams had long since vanished into the past.

“Use that dagger to open the wound a bit, so the blood flows.”

Helen pulled the dagger again, only hesitating because sinking it into him wasn’t holding the satisfaction she had sometimes dreamed it might. Instead, she bit her lower lip as she used the blade to reopen the wound on the back of his head.

He didn’t make a sound until he’d rolled over and settled his head directly in the notch of her thighs. She was breathless, a crazy twist of excitement going through her.

“I should likely thank ye for no’ cutting deeper.”

She was suddenly tongue-tied. He was just as big and overwhelming as ever, yet his head was resting against her thighs, and she would be a liar if she didn’t admit there was something she liked about having him so close. Maybe if they had met at a spring festival, she might have embraced the things he stirred in her. It would be an outright lie to say she did not want to know him better. And if she was not mistaken, he was teasing her. Beneath the gruff exterior, there were remnants of the boy he’d once been.

“I never wanted yer blood.”

He choked on a chuckle. “So hitting me with that pitcher was.…just a.…what, lass?”

The memory made her smile. “A reminder. Of manners. Ye were acting like a whoremaster, lining yer men up like that and setting them on me.”

“Ah.” He made a low sound in the back of his throat. “Maybe I deserved it, at that.”

“Ye disagree with me.” She shrugged. “Men and women often do.”

He nodded, the motion sending a soft sensation through her belly. She looked away, feeling like something very private had just been exposed to him.

“Ye’ve been serving in the kitchens.”

It wasn’t really a question, but it did give her something to sink her attention into that didn’t allow her to feel uncertain. When it came to her circumstances at MacPherson Castle, she was very, very sure how she felt.

“Servants are paid.” Helen leaned back against the stone wall and felt its rough edges against her scalp. “I assure ye, I was not.”

His expression tightened, surprising her so that she returned her gaze to his.

“Ye should no’ have hid from me. I would have righted yer circumstances if I’d known ye were being treated unfairly.”

“I did nae hide.” She pushed at him. “Get up.”

Marcus didn’t move for a moment, giving her a steady look that dared her to force him. Helen felt her eyes narrow. “Well then, ye want to play the part of me devoted suitor, completely at me beck and call…”

He made a rather male sound before he was twisting and sat up next to her. Which gave her the chance to laugh at his expense. “Ye have more than yer share of pride, and that’s a fact.”

“As do ye, Helen.”

She shifted and stood, moving away from him. She’d only taken a quick glance at the blood staining her chemise. It would serve its purpose. That should have been what her thoughts settled on, but all she ended up doing was dwelling upon what he’d said and the way her sex felt so very sensitive. As though she was eager for him to touch her.

“I never saw ye in the hall. Little wonder ye did nae find the MacPhersons’ castle to be a fine place. Ye did nae give it a chance. Me father makes sure there is fine music and good drink in the evenings. He is nae an overly stern laird. Ye should nae have stayed away, nursing yer pride.” His tone was kinder than she’d heard from him before. It declared a level of sincerity that sent a little twist of excitement through her.

Yet it also needled her temper.

“Nursing me pride?” She turned on him. “I was working because I was nae a MacPherson, so was nae due any free time to indulge in comforts. I toiled more hours than there was sunlight, and if I made the mistake of resting me head on the table and was discovered, I got a taste of the rod being laid across me back. The blasted thing leaves welts. Ye brought me there, it was no’ me place to go whining to ye.”

She’d seen his disapproval before. Been the recipient time and again, but now she witnessed it crossing his face on her behalf. It unsettled her, leaving little seeds of doubt about just how guilty he was.

“Duana is more of a bitch than I seem to have noticed.”

Helen scoffed at the Head of House’s name. “She is hardly alone. What did ye expect when ye dropped me off the back of yer horse and swore ye’d burn me father’s house to the ground if I strayed?”

“I certainly had nae thought she was working ye like a slave,” he answered. “Ye have never had any difficulty speaking yer mind to me, Helen. Admit ye were holding on to yer pride.”

His point was valid. He was the War Chief, his day full of pressing matters that affected many, and she was but one person.

“If I was, ye can nae fault me, seeing as it was the only thing I had left to call me own,” she shot back. “Ye stole me in me house shoes. It was a mighty cold winter, I can tell ye.”

And she didn’t like thinking about it. Helen pulled her knees up and leaned against the stone wall, closing her eyes in some vain hope that sleep might arrive and still her thoughts. Was she expecting him to have a personal interest in her? Yes. She had to admit it was so. Still, she couldn’t seem to reconcile herself to cooling her temper, in spite of knowing she was not making much sense.

Well, at least that brought her back to a place she knew very well. When it came to Marcus, she had more impulses than sense. Better to bite her lip and keep the shame of it to herself.

* * *

Marcus caught sight of one of her boots. They were fine ones that reached halfway up her calves to keep her warm when the snow drifted. They were also new, which meant Ailis had made sure Helen was provided for.

He should have seen to her.

But what did he know of the things a captive needed? Perhaps if she’d been a man… Well, he’d not have taken her if she were male. It was a harsh truth that he’d shouldered, because taking her had been the only solution to protect her from her kin.

“Your brothers are too inexperienced to know that the Gordons are trying to use them.”

Helen resisted the urge to open her eyes and look at him. Marcus admitted to enjoying the way she tried to ignore him—and failed. He liked knowing he held her interest, could rouse her passion.

His eyes narrowed because he’d caught a whiff of her scent while he lay with his head in her lap. His cock was hard beneath his kilt.

And she was wet.

They were always nipping at each other, and he realized it was because there was a pull between them. Something they hadn’t planned to discover in the other person, or could decide to cultivate. More than one arranged match had discovered that sad truth.

It made him want to dig into her anger, pull it apart so that they might find a resolution that would grant them the peace to allow other feelings to flourish. A woman had the right to be angry about being stolen. He would not begrudge her that.

“I needed to make certain ye would stay in the castle, Helen. A lone woman trying to cross the Highlands…it is no’ safe,” he offered softly. “I did nae want to bind ye, or lock ye in a cellar, or set someone on ye. So I made sure ye had nowhere to go.” He grunted. “At least until Debra Grant arrived.”

She let out a little huff. “I am no’ senseless enough not to hear the truth in yer words.” She didn’t look at him, her admission coming out in a whisper that tugged on something inside him. Damned if he didn’t want to fold her into his arms and soothe away what troubled her.

He was a War Chief, not a bloody poet.

Better to stick to what he knew.

“The Gordons were making trouble for all the estates along the borders, in the hope they might make the tenants doubt the MacPhersons.”

She turned to look at him at last. “Fine, ye stole me for all the best reasons, and no, I would no’ have preferred bloodshed or being chained.”

His gaze went to the collar he was locked in. For a moment, he felt they had more in common than he’d ever imagined a woman and a man might. He’d been raised to think women settled into their circumstances. Now, he realized they were forced to that end and it grated on them as much as he hated the chains binding him at the moment. Morton had fine reasoning for his forced match as well.

“I was sick with the thought of what Morton wanted me to do with Katherine. Christ, Helen, she’s but a child. I would have scared her to death. Ye have me gratitude.”

Helen failed to control a smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. It lasted only a moment before she rolled her lips in to control her response.

He liked the fact that she struggled to do so.

“Ye are nae so fearsome.”

“And yet, ye never came to me.” He cut back to the matter that was his purpose. “Ye should have.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“And ye label me stubborn, woman,” he groused.

“Rightly so, when ye resist the solution Brenda and I bring ye.” Helen had moved so she was facing him, leaning toward him to keep her voice low. “Do ye have any idea how hard it was to find two women willing to distract the guards so we might get that priest in here? We are newly arrived and have no coin between us.”

“I wondered how ye managed that bit.” Marcus dropped his voice, wanting to draw her closer. She was straining to hear him. “And there is another reason why the pair of ye should no’ have left MacPherson land.”

She offered him a smug look. “And just where would ye be if I was no’ here?”

Marcus drew in a deep breath. “I told ye I’m grateful to ye.”

It was clearly what she’d wanted him to say, but the smugness dissipated from her face as she absorbed his words.

“Did that no’ please ye as much as ye thought it should have?”

She offered him an honest look. “Nay. ’Tis the truth I am more angry on yer behalf. Ye are an honorable man, and this…is injustice.”

“Yet in the name of peace.”

They stared at one another for a long moment, caught in the grip of truth and its harsh edges.

“I should have made sure ye were treated better,” he said as he started to chuckle. “Truth is, I’ve never encountered a woman who would no’ complain. It never crossed me mind that ye’d bear up, just to prove to me that ye might.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at the sarcastic twist of his compliment. “It made me strong.” She was toying with the hem of her skirt to avoid looking at him, but realized what she was doing and lifted her chin so their gazes met once more. “It was past time for me to grow up.”

Her anger was cooling, leaving her looking at him as though she had never really done so. The moment was so very odd. She had never thought to have a personal conversation with him. She’d simply never thought he might be interested.

“How old are ye?” he asked.

“Twenty-four.” She was nearly past the age of being considered for marriage.

“Duana will learn the error of her ways,” he said firmly.

“I do nae want yer protection,” she muttered. “Only for ye to lift yer threat against me father’s house.”

“I am yer husband now.”

She’d be wise to recall just how stubborn Marcus was when it came to doing what he thought best for her. “An annulment will be best for both of us. I certainly do nae need to trap ye into this union. Can ye just imagine the stories that will be told about how I took ye unawares?”

He chuckled, the sound menacing. “Careful, lass, the winter is long and I enjoy a good fight. Keep talking like that and I’ll think ye’re tempting me with the promise of entertainment while the snow flies.”

“Ye would,” she answered with a shake of her head. For a moment, they smiled at one another. Marcus was the one to return to a serious expression.

“Yer skirts are stained, lass.”

Helen shook her head. “Everyone knows court is riddled with gossip.” She shot him a look full of certainty. “Besides, ye were the one who told me my name was already beyond redemption. So it matters not.”

“And ye think I would be willing to let ye shoulder the burden by yerself?” Her eyes widened at the tone of his voice. “Ye can be sure of one thing, Helen. It will no’ happen while I have any choice in the matter.”

“Well, ye did nae have any choice,” Helen replied. “No’ any real ones, that is. So we shall simply make the best of it.”

“By getting an annulment?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, trying to gauge his mood. The man wasn’t making any sense with his probing questions. “Yer father will no’ approve a match with me. Ye’re a son of the laird, so he must have a dozen offers.”

“I am bastard born.”

“That makes little difference,” she said. “Ye are also War Chief.”

He chuckled at her. “Ye misunderstood me statement, lass.” Marcus sent her a stern look. “I am born out of wedlock because me mother had an iron will and refused to wed unless me father converted.”

“That must have raised a scandal.”

“Aye,” he confirmed. “And I have that same will, Helen. Be very certain of that. It is time for both of us to wed.”

She felt something twist in her belly again. It was dangerously close to anticipation. Her mouth had gone dry as she battled the impulse to mince words with him. Half of winning a battle was picking the time to attack. While they were stuck in a cell was poor timing indeed to convince him of the logic in getting an annulment.

“Ye should think the matter through. An annulment would be best for yer father and brother.”

His eyes narrowed, confirming she’d hit his single weak spot.

“The earl will be furious,” Helen continued. “Better to send him word after ye are home that yer father made ye see reason. Ye have annulled the marriage, and ye are ever so repentant.”

“While I stay on MacPherson land where the man can nae try his luck at forcing me to his will?”

Helen shrugged. “He is the regent. Yer brother realized it was necessary to keep in Morton’s good graces.”

Marcus set his jaw in disapproval. She knew the look well, having been the recipient of it more times than she might count.

“Ye’ll see the wisdom of it,” Helen offered softly. “In the morning, when the earl comes and finds what we have done.”

And she would have her annulment. Helen was certain of that. Marcus was the War Chief of Clan MacPherson. He would do what was best for his clan, as he always had.

Satisfaction swept through her. There was a victory in knowing she’d been the one to save him, but it was overshadowed by how grateful she was to know that he would be free. Something inside her was strangling at the sight of him chained.

“And if I grant ye an annulment?” he asked her. “What will ye do? Go home and give yer kin the power to make a match for ye?”

“I have nae truly thought about it,” she answered truthfully. “There is Ailis. I enjoy being her companion.”

“As me wife, ye would have yer own waiting woman.”

Helen snorted and rolled her eyes. “Try telling such to Duana. I am tempted to agree to remain yer wife, just to see her face when ye tell her.”

He flashed her a cocky grin.

“Ye’d set yer entire castle on its ear, mark me words,” she told him. “Ye might enjoy it, but the regent will no’ be appeased, and yer clansmen will whisper about how ye should have recalled that as a son of the laird, ye needed to make a match that brought allegiances to the MacPherson. Better to have yer father send Morton a letter saying he has taken ye in hand, once ye are far enough away from this place. The fact that ye are bastard born offers yer father a way of smoothing matters over.”

It was the logical thing to do. So why did it feel wrong? Helen shied away from thinking about it too deeply. What mattered was freeing him and Katherine.

All right, and being the one to decide what was going to happen for a change. She was enjoying that part very much.

“That would be a good way to smooth over the earl’s temper, no doubt.” Marcus agreed.

And that was that. The sharp edge of reality with which she was well acquainted.

Helen leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. This time sleep was much more sympathetic toward her. It swept her up and buffeted her against the storm of reality, granting her peace, at least for a few hours, so she might rest and regain her strength.

Lord knew, she’d need all she could muster to make Marcus see reason. He would. She felt more certain of that with each hour that passed. He might be stubborn and full of his own authority, but he was also dedicated to his clan. He would never hurt the MacPhersons. So he’d grant her the annulment.

And that would be that.

* * *

“Helen. Wake up.”

She opened her eyes instantly. Marcus was using a tone she recognized well as one that was full of authority. There was the faintest glow of light coming from under the door.

“Come here now.” Marcus spoke softly and deeply. “Before ye are discovered over there, where I can nae have put me hands on ye.”

She’d drifted down to lie on her back sometime during the dark hours of the night. The floor was hard beneath her back and as cold as a grave. Her muscles ached as she moved, turning and crawling toward him while she fought with her skirts.

“It’s cold, sure enough,” he offered once she was close to him. He clasped his hands around hers, making her gasp.

“Ye are nae chilled.” No, his flesh was warm and welcoming. Maybe there were sound reasons why she should not huddle against him, but her mind was too locked in the grip of sleep to produce any of them. All that mattered was the comfort his body provided.

“No’ as cold as ye,” he said.

She’d never been so cold, or maybe she’d never enjoyed having warmth rubbed back into her hands so very much.

That wasn’t it.

Helen blinked, the last of sleep’s hold peeled away by Marcus’s touch. He was stroking her hands, slowly using his warmth to melt the chill encasing her flesh.

“Does my touch truly shock ye so much?”

She realized she’d been staring at his hands as he stroked hers. Transfixed, really. “Nay,” she sputtered as she looked up, but found his gaze just as unsettling. “I just realized it has been a long time since someone touched me.”

It was a confession, an intimate one, and Marcus didn’t miss it. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She tried to move away, but he stopped her.

“Be still. We’re about to have company.”

He was still stroking her, and she couldn’t help but stretch her back as he drew his hand along her spine. Delicious sensation went washing through her, easing the ache the hard floor had left in her flesh. A little sound of bliss crossed her lips before she felt his hand close around her neck and he captured her lips in a kiss.

It was startling, but in the way that excitement was. As though something snapped through her body, awakening all sorts of cravings she never realized she’d been starving to satisfy.

She shifted, uncertain, overwhelmed, and he moved with her, controlling her neck as his mouth took hers in a motion that further captivated her. The reason was simple: He wasn’t ravaging her this time. It was a slow meshing of their lips, as he teased her mouth, inviting her to kiss him back. For one magical moment, she did, mimicking the motion of his lips and learning the way as he guided her in an unhurried savoring of her mouth.

He increased the pressure as she responded and gained confidence in kissing him back. She had never fully comprehended how sensitive her mouth was. Marcus was showing her the true purpose of her lips, introducing her to the delight that came from having them stroked by his. It was the sweetest bliss, one she willingly gave herself over to.

But the door was shoved in and Marcus broke away from her.

“Ah…Morton.” Marcus’s voice boomed across the cell and echoed into the corridor behind it. “A fine morning it is.”

The gentle stroking of her fingers had lulled her into a false sense of complicity. Marcus swept that aside as he rose. All of the strength she knew he possessed was there as he pulled her along with him, pushing her partially behind him. It was like a bucket of cold water hitting her, the bubble of bliss created by the kiss popping and dropping her back into cold reality.

“Enjoying your last night as an unwed man?” the earl asked mockingly. “Be very sure that I plan to make certain ye are up to yer wedding duties.”

“I told ye, man. I will nae be bedding that child. No decent man would agree to put his hands on one so tender,” Marcus stated clearly. Eight men were behind the earl, and Marcus made sure none of them missed his words.

“Ye’ll do as told,” Morton informed Marcus. “Scotland needs alliances.”

“And just how do ye propose to bend me to yer will?” Marcus asked as smugly as if he’d been standing in the open Highlands with all of his clan behind him.

It was foolish, but Helen had to admit that she admired his bravado.

The earl’s mouth curved, and there was nothing nice about it. Helen felt a chill go all the way down to her toes as she watched the way the Earl of Morton grinned at Marcus.

“Ye will agree to the wedding and the bedding, or I will have ye dragged out to the yard, where Katherine will suffer for yer disobedience to my will.” He held out his hand, and one of his men placed a whip into it. The leather looked cold and shiny. The earl made it dance just a bit, the knotted ends of braided leather making a tapping sound against the stone floor. “Shall I send my captain for Katherine?”

* * *

Brenda was risking a great deal.

And the truth was, she had never felt more alive.

She had to control the urge to smile, schooling her features to look smooth and calm. The castle came alive at first light. She’d been waiting for the horizon to turn pink, pacing across her chamber after she’d dressed in Helen’s other dress. It was nearly a rag, with patches on top of patches at the hemline. The chemise was threadbare, while the stockings had more darned spots in them than fabric.

Helen’s heart ached for her friend, but the clothing was exactly what she needed to make her way through the passageways so early in the morning. Court was a place of intrigue and night liaisons. The nobles slept while their servants began the task of making sure there would be a fine banquet supper that evening when their blue-blooded masters awoke.

The maid in front of her was nervous. She looked back and forth, casting numerous glances back at Brenda to make sure she was still following. At last, the girl stopped and pointed down a narrow section of passageway. They were in the oldest part of the castle now, the walls rough and lacking the smooth coat of plaster that had been applied to the newer sections. One could almost hear the echoes of the centuries here, and Brenda fought the impulse to cross herself.

She mustn’t spook the maid. Brenda pulled a pearl from a pouch at her waist. It was one that she’d inherited from her mother, but she couldn’t be bothered by the loss. Court servants worked long hours for masters who often mistreated them. One only entered such service for the income that might be earned. The maid’s eyes brightened as she took the pearl and eyed it critically.

She finally nodded and slipped it into a pocket of her skirt. Many noble families were at court because they had lost their fortunes and intended to secure a new office from the regent to gain income. It wasn’t uncommon for a servant to be paid in gems that had been in noble families for generations.

The maid held up a finger. Brenda pressed back against the wall as the maid went toward the man guarding the door ahead of them.

“It’s so cold here…” the maid began. “Can ye no’ spare a moment to come to the kitchen and warm yer hands?”

Brenda listened as the maid cajoled the man, finally succeeding in taking him by the arm and moving on down the passageway.

Once they were gone, Brenda hurried toward the door, opening it and going inside without knocking. Katherine bolted upright in her narrow bed, but she didn’t scream. No, there was a look on her face that told Brenda the child knew there was no point in crying out for help that would not come.

“I am here to help ye escape.”

Katherine might have been young, but she had sharp wits. She was out of the bedding in an instant, crossing over to Brenda with her face set with determination. “How?”

“I am Brenda Grant. Ye must wear this clothing.” Brenda was already yanking on the ties to open the bodice. “And I must put on yers.”

Katherine was only wearing a chemise. She turned and scampered across the small chamber to where a wardrobe stood. She opened it and pulled out the pieces of a simple dress.

“Why are you helping me?”

Brenda looked into Katherine’s eyes. “Because I also was wed too young. Men are controlling beasts, and we women must do what we can to outwit them when possible.”

The chamber was full of the sounds of rustling cloth. If Brenda had had any doubts about the action she was undertaking, the way Katherine held her questions and focused on getting into the servant’s clothing without a single protest stilled them. Katherine knew too much about the harsh realities of life already, it would seem.

“Me friend Helen wed Marcus MacPherson last eve,” Brenda explained.

Katherine was lacing up the front of her bodice but raised wide eyes to stare at Brenda. “The Highlander?”

“Aye, he is that, but a decent man, make no mistake.” Brenda finished dressing and reached out to cup Katherine’s frail shoulders. “Morton is a villain.”

“Yes, a black-hearted one.”

Brenda nodded. “If ye would be free of him, ye must memorize how to get to the yard where Marcus’s men are. They will take ye away from Morton’s reach.”

“What will happen to you?” Katherine asked.

“I will stay in yer place, for the guard will surely peek in to make sure no one is the wiser about him leaving his post. If he were to cry the alarm, the gates would be closed and ye discovered.”

Katherine was thinking it through. “Morton will punish you. Severely so.”

“Leave that matter to me,” Brenda said. “I have kin here in Scotland. He will not find it so easy to mistreat me. Marcus will take ye to the Highlands. He is an honorable man. Remember that, because it will nae be a simple life for ye since ye are English.”

“Better than what the earl would make of me today,” Katherine answered quietly. She was older than her years, the innocence ripped out of her. “I will go and be grateful to you forever.”

“Now listen carefully. Ye must do exactly as I say so that everyone believes ye are me, being taken home in shame to fulfill the contract me uncle has made for me.”

* * *

Finley wasn’t a man given to dishonesty, but he enjoyed a good raid. Of course, most of the time, raiding happened under the cover of darkness. He looked up, noting the sun that was rising. It was full daylight, and the courtyard was alive with delivery wagons and those coming and going on business with the regent.

The Earl of Morton was truly king in every way except name. Parties of ambassadors were coming through the gates now that they were open. Men dressed in velvet and silk. Finley shook his head and busied himself with making sure the horse in front of him was bridled correctly.

“Men looking prettier than women,” Skene remarked beside him. “It is nae for me.”

“No’ me either,” Finley agreed. “The sooner we ride, the better, I say.”

“Ye’ve faith in this scheme, then?” Skene asked.

Finley looked around before he shot his fellow retainer a hard look. “Best ye hope it succeeds. I do nae want to have to return and tell the laird that Marcus is chained or worse.”

“Aye,” Skene agreed. “For all the trouble I had wrapping me thoughts around the idea of ending the feud with the Robertsons, I find peace suits me well.”

“Better to have the help of women than a war against our own king’s regent.”

* * *

Brenda peeked out of the door, watching as Katherine made her way down the passageway. She’d told the girl to move at a steady pace, looking down, like a servant intent on a chore. Yet the girl seemed to move too slowly. Brenda felt her heart pounding while she watched Katherine get closer and closer to the end of the passageway and finally make the turn around it and disappear from sight.

She sighed in relief and decided to savor it while she might. Turning around, she surveyed the cell. It really wasn’t much more than that. There was the narrow bed and the wardrobe. A stool sat on the floor near a tiny table. The only other thing in the room was a prayer bench. Brenda went toward it, because it allowed her to have her back fully to the door. She took a moment to pull up the soft neck wrap she wore so that it covered her head. The bench had a thin pillow that did little to protect her knees as she interlaced her fingers and adopted a position of prayer.

Not long after that, she heard the door open, the hinges grinding. Brenda didn’t move, and a moment later, the guard closed the door, clearly pleased to discover his charge where he had left her.

She smiled in victory.

* * *

“Ye can have yer captain unlock me,” Marcus boldly informed the Earl of Morton. “It’s past time I returned to MacPherson land to deal with keeping peace between Robertsons and MacPhersons. That’s the alliance I am engaged with ensuring for Scotland.”

“Remove the strumpet,” the earl said. “It’s time to get on with yer wedding.”

The captain made a single step toward them before Marcus was standing all the way in front of her. “Helen is me wife.”

The earl’s face darkened. “Impossible.”

“Nay,” Marcus confirmed in a hard tone. “And me temper is near to the breaking point over having to wed her in this piss-stinking hole.”

“Ye did nae have to wed her,” the earl exploded. “Ye have defied me, man.”

“A fact ye should thank me for,” Marcus responded in disgust. “The last regent ended up poisoned because of some of his deeds. Best take heed.”

The earl shifted his attention to her. “Perhaps I will just have ye widowed, MacPherson.”

“Touch me wife, and ye’ll need more alliances than ye can form.”

The men behind the regent weren’t sure what to make of Marcus. They shifted, uncertain if they should take action. But there were also a few looks of disgust in their eyes, looks aimed toward the Earl of Morton.

“Now unlock me and let me be on me way,” Marcus continued. “Be very sure that we had witnesses, men ye do nae need knowing ye would press a child into wedlock with me.”

“Better to hope I never learn their names,” the earl hissed.

“No, man,” Marcus countered. “Ye’d best pray they do nae tell their friends who have daughters what ye think is an appropriate age to wed. For all that I do nae have any children, I know that a man will fight to protect them. Marriage may be a business, but it is one conducted between adults.”

The earl locked gazes with Marcus for a long moment. Helen could feel the tension filling the room. Both of their blood might end up spilled on the stone floor. After all, a man who could so easily decide to wed a child to Marcus might not care what was said.

He should be concerned. The earl was forgetting that Scots did not take well to men who were depraved.

“Go home,” the earl finally said. “And make sure I do nae hear of unrest in the Highlands.”

Morton turned and left. A captain stayed behind, a set of keys jingling as he lifted them to fit one of them into the lock that held the collar around Marcus’s neck. Helen stepped aside, but her gaze was glued to the motion of the man’s hands as he turned the key. The sound of the lock grating was sweeter than any music she’d ever heard.

The thick band of the collar opened, allowing Marcus to pull it off his neck. He made a soft, growling sound that had the guard backing up.

“Here.” Helen went after the man and took the keys from his hand. She turned and knelt to fit one into the leg irons. She turned the key on one leg iron and then the other.

The moment he was loose, Marcus reached down and hooked her arm. She’d forgotten how much bloody strength the man possessed. A gasp escaped her lips as he put her on her feet and pulled her along with him through the doorway and out into the passageway. It was a good thing her skirts were hemmed high, because the pace he set was so fast she nearly had to run to keep up.

And there was no question of not staying beside him. Marcus hadn’t released her, his grip solid and unyielding. She was caught in a strange mixture of memory and reality. She clearly recalled being pulled along beside him, while his men held her brothers back with their drawn swords. Today, Marcus took her into the yard where once again his men waited with their horses.

She recoiled. It was simply a response that overrode all attempts at thinking. Marcus turned to look at her, his keen gaze feeling like it actually touched her. He came to some decision quickly.

“Skene.”

It was a command his men seemed to understand. The burly retainer acted upon it, coming up beside her and blocking her way to freedom.

There was no safe haven behind her. She knew it, and still she looked at the horse in front of her as though it was the last place she wanted to go.

She wanted to scream with frustration and force her mind to function.

All she managed was to bite her lip as Marcus leaned over and cupped his hand. “Lift yer foot, Helen.”

Later, she would likely recall why she detested him ordering her about, but at the moment, it was a relief to have him giving her direction. Her head was full of memories, and the ones from the night before were making everything very confusing. The haven she’d thought court to be was now more dangerous than returning to MacPherson land.

She was frozen as Marcus grabbed her ankle, pulling her foot off the ground, and then he straightened, lifting her up and onto the back of a horse.

She stared at him, their gazes meeting when he took the reins and handed them to her.

Who was he?

Why didn’t she know the answer to that?

She did, and yet, at that moment, it seemed everything was changing. He made a harsh sound under his breath, and she realized she was just sitting there, staring at him. She took the reins, the feeling of them against her fingers more of a puzzle for her racing thoughts.

Marcus didn’t grant her time to make sense of what she was doing, the wisdom of it, or even if she wanted to go with him. He mounted his stallion, his men following his lead, and a moment later, they were riding out of the gates of the castle.

It brought Helen relief and renewed apprehension. Having the castle falling behind them was pure delight because it meant the earl would not put Marcus back into chains.

But she also was staring at Marcus’s back, and he was every inch the Highlander she’d met that day when he’d stolen her.

Today, there was a new set of sensations. He was just as powerful and commanding, but what struck her deepest was the beauty of seeing him free. It really made everything worth it, filling her with a sense of accomplishment that had been missing from her life.

No matter what she thought of the man, one thing was certain: Marcus MacPherson had touched off feelings inside her that she had never realized might go so deep. Was that something to cherish?

She simply had no idea.

* * *

She felt Marcus watching her.

That was an oddity, because he’d never troubled himself with her before.

Helen felt the frustration that had kept her company for the last year and a half rising inside her. Honestly, when it came to Marcus, it was as if the tide came in every few hours, wave after wave of anger toward him and what he’d made of her life.

She wasn’t sorry, either. Frustration was far better than pity. Better to spit in the eye of Fate than to cry in a broken heap where it had dropped her.

But she did twist her lips into a grimace as she forced herself to move. Every muscle she had protested the simple action of walking because Marcus had kept them riding the entire day, even past sundown. She knew the only reason they were stopped now was because the horses needed water.

Not that she could blame him. If someone had locked her in chains, she would likely not rest until she found her home either.

“Thank you.”

Helen was so deep in her thoughts that Katherine’s voice startled her. The girl blinked at the way Helen jumped before she offered up a shy smile.

“I am deeply in your debt.”

Helen relaxed and returned the smile. “Ye should no’ have to be. I did the only thing any decent person should have.”

“Decency,” Katherine said in a soft voice clearly laced with an English accent. “I have discovered men talk more about it than actually act upon it. They seem to think the Bible was written only for women to heed.”

“Aye,” Helen agreed. “It is a sad fact.”

Katherine walked beside her for a moment. Marcus glanced back at them, but it was Skene who was assigned to safeguard them as they stretched their legs along the river’s edge.

“So, are these men…” Katherine asked slowly, gauging whether or not Helen approved of her asking a question. Helen continued to smile, encouraging the girl. “Are they in fact Highlanders?”

Helen nodded. “Yes. A fine example of them, too. They are MacPhersons.”

“I see,” Katherine remarked as she silently surveyed Helen from head to toe.

“I was born a Grant,” Helen offered.

“Is it a good match for you?” Katherine asked.

Helen choked on a snort. Katherine’s eyes widened, shaming her. “Yes, I suppose it would be considered a fine match. Me father has no great name.”

“Mine does,” Katherine supplied. “It is a curse because men fight over me like a chest of gold.”

“It can also be a curse having no recourse against men with more power.”

Helen regretted her words. Katherine was young and shouldn’t have to face life’s harsher lessons just yet. The English girl surprised her by nodding, her eyes full of comprehension.

“No’ that it matters,” Helen continued. “The wedding was only for the Earl of Morton’s benefit. We shall get an annulment.”

Skene heard every word, his eyebrows lifting nearly to his hairline. But Helen quickly lost interest in the man because Marcus was standing behind him. Her new husband didn’t care for what she’d said. His jaw was tight, and the knuckles on his hand where he was holding the pommel of his sword were white.

“Mount up,” he ordered. “I won’t rest easy until we get out of the Lowlands.”

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur. Helen spent most of it on the back of a horse. Marcus would call a halt and let them rest for short periods only. So when he stopped in front of a rough-looking inn, the place looked as welcoming as a castle.

In reality, it was a tavern that served basic meals to those on the road. The bottom floor of the building was filled with long tables around which a plump woman bustled as she served up stew and the local ale.

Marcus had words with the owner of the place while Skene and Finley stood very close to Helen and Katherine. The rest of the MacPherson retainers moved to some of the tables, making it clear they expected the other travelers to make way for them. No one argued. The other travelers picked up their mugs and bowls and gladly sat across the room while casting suspicious looks toward the Highlanders. They were still in the middle lands, not yet truly in the Highlands. For all that every man in the tavern room was a Scot, there was a marked difference between them.

The MacPhersons were Highlanders. They gave allegiance to their clan and survived in harsh terrain. They clung to their traditions because there was strength in numbers. Katherine’s predicament was certainly an example of this. Without her family, the girl’s fate could be a dire one.

Well, the MacPhersons had interfered in that. At least insofar as stopping the Earl of Morton’s plans for her. It came at a price, though. Brenda would have to face the earl when he learned of their deception. And Katherine? She was heading to a place where no decent English lady ever went. Her reputation would be stained forever.

Helen knew a great deal about a stained reputation. She shifted her attention to Marcus but didn’t feel the rise of her temper. That was new, and it shook her a bit because he had been the target of her anger for so long. Oh, it was a sin to be so discontented. She’d often reminded herself of the merits of cultivating forgiveness, if for nothing other than the ease it would grant her.

Today, it seemed that was the case. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she forgave Marcus. No, not while she was fairly certain her toes were still numb from a winter spent in house shoes. All Helen had to do was look at Katherine and see the patches upon patches on the clothing the girl wore to recall just how little forgiveness she owed Marcus.

And yet…

She frowned as she felt her conscience stirring. Guilt was needling her as she looked at Katherine. It would have been in Marcus’s best interest to wed the girl. The Earl of Morton was not a man to cross lightly, and many in the room would have said not at all. Not only was the man regent, but he was a Douglas, and that clan had the numbers to make it very unwise to cross them. Even if his dictates fostered revulsion in many of his clansmen, they would listen to his reasoning and find it just. Or at least justifiable because of the good it would bring in the end.

Indeed, guilt was sitting solidly on Helen’s shoulders now, urging her to improve her opinion of Marcus. Oh yes, he was arrogant and presumptuous. Yet he was also a decent, honorable man. Marcus finished his business by pressing silver into the palm of the innkeeper. He caught Helen looking at him, their eyes meeting. Something twisted inside her belly. Some recognition of him went deeper than the way she noticed the other men in room. Clearly, she should have dispensed with her anger at him sooner, because now she knew no way to think about the man other than intensely.

“This is no fit place for women,” Marcus said once he was standing beside her. “I’ve rented a room above stairs for ye both.”

Katherine made a soft sound of gratitude. The child looked worn out, with dark circles beneath her eyes. Marcus took her arm to steady her as they climbed the stairs. The wood creaked and dust tickled Helen’s nose, but the promise of a bed shimmered like a treat.

Marcus went inside, looking around the chamber twice before he turned and caught Helen with a stern look. “Do ye still have that dagger tucked into the top of yer boot?”

“Of course,” Helen answered.

Katherine’s eyes widened. “What a fine idea.” The English girl only smiled when both Helen and Marcus looked at her in shock. “Of course I was speaking of the boots.” For all her youth, Katherine was very accomplished in the art of plying her innocence.

“Aye.” Marcus’s tone made it clear he didn’t believe her.

“Here now.” The woman who had been serving the tables hustled through the doorway, her arms full. Helen took the pitcher she was grasping with her right hand while the woman laid out the other items.

There was a large plate with supper for both her and Katherine. Bread, cheese, and some late-harvest fruit. Marcus waited until the woman finished and left.

“Bar the door,” he instructed Helen before he went back into the passageway. Marcus turned and pegged her with a solid look. “We’ll be just below, but I can nae set a man here without insulting the landlord.”

Which meant another night on the cold ground. Helen nodded, taking solace in the fact that Marcus didn’t trust easily. He’d passed up a string of villages behind them because he didn’t know the landlords of the taverns.

As he left, Marcus pulled the door shut with a solid sound.

Katherine was already sitting on one of the stools at the table. She was gripping handfuls of her skirt to keep from tearing into the food.

“Eat,” Helen told her. “Ye need no’ wait on me.”

Katherine smiled before reaching for the round of bread and ripping it in half. She plunged it into one of the bowls of stew and sighed as she bit off some of it. Helen was more interested in washing off the grime from the road. She poured water into a bowl and dunked a length of linen into it.

The water was dingy by the time she finished, but her skin felt delightful. By then, Katherine was done with her meal and had stood up to go and make use of their washing facilities. Moments after she finished, the girl was lying in bed, exhaustion taking over.

Helen took longer to eat, but in the end, no matter how much she wanted to think, her body was too spent. She crawled into the bed next to Katherine and surrendered to sleep.

* * *

She smelled him.

Marcus, that was.

Helen shifted closer to that scent, a deep sense of enjoyment moving through her. She felt him stroking her again. Those large hands that held so much strength could be so very gentle against her skin. It was a marvel that surprised and delighted her.

Yes. He was smoothing his hand along her face and down her neck, then back up to her face and chin before he clamped his hand over her lips.

Helen came fully awake with a start, slamming into Marcus as she sat up, which felt very much like falling onto the floor. He held her against him, his hand cutting off the shriek that tried to escape her lips, but she heaved and lifted her body right off the bed. She must have surprised him because his body gave way, rolling back and away from the bed.

She tumbled down on top of him, her head knocking against his jaw. She heard him grunt before he turned them, rolling her beneath his larger body and locking her in place.

“Damn ye…vixen,” he muttered.

“What are ye doing in here with me?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.

“Am I no’ yer husband, woman?”

Helen gasped, bucking against his hold. He cursed in Gaelic and followed her as she rolled away from him. It must have been surprise that allowed her to break free, because a moment later she was able to get to her feet, backing out of the chamber. It seemed too small with Marcus sharing it.

“I did nae mean it like that,” he said as he followed her out of the room and closed the door behind him. “And ye’ll be telling me now if any man under my command put his hands on ye.”

“I’m no’ sure what business it is of yers.” Actually, she did understand. Fully so. Marcus had always taken his duty to heart. She sighed when he stiffened. “I should no’ have said that. ’Twas scurrilous and unfair.”

His expression had hardened. She watched him absorb her apology and relax a bit. “Ye did nae bar the door.”

That snapped her completely out of slumber. “Oh…aye, ye did tell me to do that.”

“For all the things I allowed ye to go without, protection was no’ one of them, Helen.”

She nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words. But her temper was still stirred. “Checking to see if the door was barred did no’ have anything to do with ye putting yer hands on me.”

“True.” He tilted his head to the side, and she caught a flash of his teeth as he grinned.

That smile was trouble. A solid promise that the man was in the mood to press his will on her.

“When I opened the door and saw ye lying there, it was pure pleasure to know I have the right to touch ye.”

Her breath got lodged in her throat for some reason.

“Ye should no’ be thinking like that,” she admonished him in a voice that was too breathless for her taste. They were just at the top of the stairs, which meant their words could bounce right down to the men sleeping in the tavern below. The last thing she needed was more than thirty witnesses to the fact that Marcus was declaring he’d put his hands on her. There would be no annulment if that happened.

“Ye’re thinking about it too.” He was watching her from his greater height, coming closer.

Helen felt him testing her nerve. Her heart was accelerating, her breathing increasing to keep pace, and all of it because he was close enough for her to catch the scent of his skin.

“I was reacting to it, ye gob.” She kept her tone soft, trying to imply he was of little importance to her.

“We have that in common, lass.” He cupped her elbows and had her upper arms clasped in his hands before she finished snarling at him. “I was drawn to ye as well.”

Helen flattened her hands against his chest, but there was no stopping him. Marcus angled his head and pressed his mouth against hers. She jerked against his hold, but not because she thought to escape. No, it shamed her to realize she had no control whatsoever over her body. The second she felt his grasp on her arms, it was as if someone had set off a black-powder keg inside her. It blew right through the wall of decorum that stopped her from doing the things she wanted to do.

And the things she wanted to do with Marcus were definitely among the things she’d been warned against.

Now, with his mouth coaxing hers to respond in kind, she couldn’t seem to recall why it was wrong to kiss him back.

It felt so very delicious.

So did the way his chest felt beneath her fingertips. Her intention to push him back melted beneath the sweet wave of sensation sweeping through her from his kiss, leaving her smoothing her hands along his chest and slowly, tentatively exploring the way he felt beneath her fingertips.

The kiss changed in response. Marcus pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and making it a true embrace. She wasn’t his captive just then. No, there was a whole new feeling to the way he moved his hands along her back, rubbing her gently as he brought his hand up to her nape and threaded his fingers through her loose hair.

She shuddered, gasping at the intimacy. Somehow, she had never realized what that word truly meant. Now, it was a feeling, working its way through her flesh, layer by layer, seeping deeper than she had thought possible.

It was shocking and she craved more of it, but the sheer intensity of it all made her pull away. She only succeeded because he’d abandoned his hard grip on her. She ended up against the wall, her hands flat on the rough wood because she feared she’d reach out for him again.

She wanted to.

No, that wasn’t exactly true. Part of her needed to put her hands on him. It was a craving, a hunger that grew with every passing second. His embrace made her feel complete for the first time since she had left her father’s house.

She couldn’t. The only thing she had left that was truly her own was her body.

He crossed his arms over his chest. She’d seen him standing that way too many times to count, his feet braced shoulder-width apart while he considered those around him with a keen gaze.

“Go back to bed, Helen. Before we wake that child.”

Even whispered, she heard the command in his tone. Her temper arrived at last, balking at being told what to do.

Which only made her scoff at her own fickle emotions.

Clearly she needed more sleep, because she was making no sense whatsoever. She stopped long enough to place the bar across the door and make sure it was pushed all the way down. The bed was warm and inviting, although she was still pondering why she could not control her responses to his kisses.

For the first time, she thought about what it would cost him to keep her as wife. The MacPhersons were a powerful clan to be sure, but one reason they were so was because of alliances. She brought none, and after the annulment, Marcus could wed another who would strengthen the clan.

So that was it. There was nothing more to consider. They would get an annulment.

And she was going to make sure she explained to him exactly why he wouldn’t be kissing her ever again.

* * *

Brenda had expected to be discovered sooner.

Not that she was unhappy, far from it. Nearly a week passed before Morton sent for her. There was no way to keep her face hidden from the guards, and they lost a great deal of their color when she turned to face them instead of Katherine. The door to her tiny cell was closed quickly before she heard one of them running down the passageway.

She tried not to think about being free from the four walls because she would be foolish indeed to hope for good favor from the Earl of Morton. No, it would be the flash of his temper she felt, but it would be worth it. Marcus would be well away now, on his way back to the Highlands.

“Ye bitch.”

Brenda lowered herself before the earl, and he backhanded her. She stumbled because of the strength he’d used, righting herself as pain went through her jaw.

“Where is Katherine?” the earl demanded.

“With Marcus MacPherson.”

The earl was still breathing heavily from how quickly he had come to see the truth of his guard’s words. His face was flushed, and it darkened as he absorbed her words.

“Ye bloody Highlanders,” he raged. “The lot of ye will bend. Mark me words, ye will.”

Ambition was an ugly thing, Brenda thought as she observed the earl. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. There was little reason to. A man who was in the grip of greed wasn’t one to bargain with.

“I suppose ye agreed to this because of that girl’s age?”

She hadn’t expected him to ask any questions. After all, he was a man who believed his opinion was superior to everyone else’s, especially a woman’s.

“Katherine was a child still. Did ye no’ think about the fact that having a babe might have killed her? What sort of alliance would that gain ye? The English do nae need new reasons to loathe us.”

The earl grunted and swept his eyes over her from head to toe, making her shift uncomfortably as his gaze lingered on her breasts. “Ye are a woman, and a handsome one at that.”

He wasn’t paying her a compliment. No, the man was calculating his next move. A chill touched her nape as she witnessed the way he contemplated her the same way he might a mare.

“Widowed as well?” He waited for her to nod. “Is it true ye warmed Bhaic MacPherson’s cock?”

The earl was being base on purpose. The man wanted to frighten her, and Brenda knew she had best save her true fear for later. Coarse language was hardly the worst a man such as he might press upon someone in her position.

“I was his lover for a short time.”

The earl chuckled. “With that face, ye might serve as a fine whore for me when I need to hear what a man is saying while his cock is inside ye.”

Brenda had expected vengeance from him, but she still felt the color drain from her face. He didn’t miss it, chuckling at her horror.

“Aye, ye’ll do as told, or I’ll find a man to wed ye to who will make yer last husband look like a bloody saint.”

He turned and left the cell. The guard shut it, and Brenda heard the lock turning. The sound actually pleased her, allowing her to collapse onto the stool and let her mouth drop open in repulsion. Indeed, she enjoyed knowing the door was locked because it meant she was forgotten.

The true fear would begin whenever Morton had her taken out of the cell.

* * *

Marcus MacPherson would have to be taught a lesson.

Morton returned to his receiving chambers and settled into the throne chair. Scotland hadn’t had a king in almost a century—not a real one, anyway. Oh yes, there was always a whelp somewhere with the right royal blood, but the regents were the ones who ruled. Even Mary Stuart had been crowned as an infant and sent to France at the age of five. Her return had nearly pushed the country into civil war, but she’d managed to keep Scotland from becoming the property of France, and she had whelped another infant king who needed a regent.

Morton intended his regency to be long.

So the Highlands would have to be tamed and brought under royal rule. Marcus couldn’t be allowed to slip through the plans Morton had made for him. It was simply a matter of the earl maintaining his position. No one obeyed a man they saw as weak.

So, Marcus MacPherson would have to be taught a harsh lesson. It was only a matter of deciding upon the means.