Chapter One

Scottish Highlands, Spring 1517

“Beware above!” A man’s voice rang out above the rising wind swirling through the half-finished great hall.

Angus MacAnalen didn’t see who shouted the warning, but the hum of conversation at the clan gathering stilled as heads tilted upward. Another spring storm was brewing. A sudden gust tore sprays of needles from an overhanging pine. One clump dropped on a lad carrying a tray of apples, bounced off his shoulder, and skittered down his back. The lad flinched and stumbled, then suddenly regained his footing. The tray he carried wobbled, but none of the fruit dropped to the ground. Angus could have sworn one apple appeared to tip over the side, then settle back in place among the others.

Odd, he thought, narrowing his eyes. It had happened so quickly, he could barely credit what he’d seen…or thought he’d seen. The people around him appeared not to have noticed anything strange, most just now pointing at the fallen branch. The white-faced lad looked around, wide-eyed, and seemed remarkably shaken up for someone still on his feet.

Angus had enjoyed a few drams offered by supporters to celebrate his expected success in the Council’s vote to confirm a new laird. To be honest, more than a few. He could scarce refuse a wee dram from his well-wishers today, even if the congratulations were premature. Had the whisky made him woozy or blurred his vision to the point he imagined the lad’s odd recovery?

He reached for a cup of ale to sip instead of the stronger spirit. If…nay, when he won, he’d succeed his older brother, killed during the lowlanders’ invasion. He sucked in a breath, his throat cramping on the wave of grief that swamped him with Gregor’s image as he lay dying in the cave, the healers sitting vigil over his too-still form. Angus took a big gulp of ale and forced himself to think about the future, not the past.

Today, of all days, he needed to keep his wits about him. He expected today would finally bring bittersweet closure to the last six months. Either, he’d legitimately lead the clan and silence any complaints he wasn’t truly laird—or he wouldn’t. Deep down, where his frustrations and resentments lived, he wasn’t sure which he should prefer. He’d invested blood and sweat over the winter to keep the clan together and rebuilding, though a vocal few resented him stepping into his brother’s role. While the Council dithered and delayed, fighting for legitimacy to lead had worn on him, but today, the Council would finally act.

Did he still want to be laird? If he lost, he’d be no one—free to stay or go. Expectations—his dead brother’s, the clan’s, even his own—weighed him down. This was no time for uncertainty, since the decision would be made for him, and soon.

Then Angus saw the lass and forgot everything else.

Her eyes ensnared him first, dark as a loch and as deeply mysterious. Then he noticed her lips, pink and full as a sunrise cloud, tilted up at one corner. Depending on the swirling wind, her coppery hair, braided with green ribbons that matched her dress, skimmed her waist or flicked around her arms. She appeared softly out of focus. Could her skin really be so smooth and creamy?

She stood alone against a half-finished wall, the stone no higher than her shoulder, and her gaze followed the hapless lad, more than a dozen feet from her, as he moved away. When one of the clan’s widows, Christina, passed by, she nodded but did not speak.

Angus was certain he would have remembered if he’d ever seen her. He straightened, driven by a sudden, overwhelming surge of determination to get close to her, to discover who she was, but before he could take a step toward her, she moved to a nearby bench. Once she sat, a table and a stack of lumber intended to support the unfinished roof screened her from the clusters of people discussing the impending election. Angus wondered why she would choose to hide.

Feeling more and more drunk on desire for her, in addition to the ale and whisky he’d consumed, Angus took his time, treading carefully on unsteady feet, greeting his clansmen as he made his way toward her. She must have noticed his approach. Her gaze met his then darted away. Heat flashed through his body like summer lightning through clouds, quickly followed by an image of sharing a cup with her…and even better, a kiss…after the gathering ended. The corner of his mouth lifted. He would count that a victory, whether he became laird or not. He resolved to ignore all doubts for now, and picked up his pace.

But another man got to her first. He looked to be few years older than she, but young enough to be a problem. Angus paused, and after blinking to let his blurred vision clear, finally recognized him—Seamus had been vocal in his support of Angus’s challenger, Colin. Angus never knew the man had any family, much less a wife or sister.

After what appeared to be a few terse words, Seamus moved away again. Frowning, the lass watched him go.

Angus resumed his approach, wondering what their exchange was about. But mostly, seeing Seamus made him determined to put himself out of his misery. If she had married Seamus, the fanciful ideas filling his head would end. But if she had not…today might end well, no matter how the vote turned out. As he neared her, he skirted a large pool of ale from a cask knocked over earlier by brawling lads who’d drunk a good portion of the contents.

“Good day to ye,” he said as he reached her. “Are ye enjoying the gathering?”

She colored most fetchingly to Angus’s eyes, then nodded. “Aye, thank ye.”

“I’ve no’ seen ye before.”

“No doubt. I arrived just yesterday.”

“Where do ye live?”

“Here, now.” For a moment, something dark passed across her face, then her expression smoothed out.

Was she being coy? Or was she shy? She seemed determined to say as little as possible.

“By yourself, then?” He found himself mimicking her manner of speaking—three words at a time seemed overly economical, but effective.

“Nay, with my uncle, if it’s any business of yers. Why do ye ask?”

“Indeed?” Dread washed through him, sour and chilling. There were only a few reasons a lass would be fostered away from her parents…none good.

She frowned and shifted as if she was about to stand and leave. Angus reached for something to say to make her stay, to make her deep brown eyes see him instead of whatever pained her in the past.

“My parents died last autumn in the lowlander’s invasion.”

She spoke before he could. He was glad she hadn’t bolted, but her words were another unwelcome reminder of all that had transpired. Angus regretted she and her clan shared such a grievous history with his.

“I’m sorry.”

“My uncle has taken me in, at least long enough to see me married off.”

Her grim tone told him she did not favor that idea. “Was that yer betrothed I saw speaking to ye a few moments ago?” He might as well find out whether he stood a chance.

“Nay, my uncle.”

Angus’s heart beat a little faster. “Has he betrothed ye to someone, then? Are ye to be married?”

Her color deepened, making her creamy skin bloom with the pink hues of summer roses. Angus wondered if he’d embarrassed or angered her. Her gaze dropped to her feet. Ah, embarrassed.

“Nay, I am no’. Nor am I eager to be.”

“I thought all lasses dreamed of the day they married. Or has yer uncle chosen a lad who doesna please ye?” The doe-eyed glance she cut him was all the answer he needed. He studied her for a moment. The dark pools of her eyes made him want to dive into their depths. “So he has told ye such?”

She nodded. “He has plans—”

“But ye are no’ yet betrothed?” Angus insisted, cutting her off in mid-sentence. He smiled, trying to hide how much her answer meant to him in this moment.

“Nay. No’ yet.”

Then he still had a chance. Angus eased to a seat next to her, aware that staring up at him must be straining her neck. When she didn’t object to his company, emboldened, he took her hand. “Tell me yer name, lass.”

She’d frozen at his touch, then pulled back her hand. “Ye take liberties.”

Undaunted, his tongue loosened by too much to drink, he chuckled. “’Tis been said I do, aye. Yer name?”

“Shona. And Uncle Seamus willna like seeing me here with ye. I’m certain ye dinna suit his plans for me.”

Angus didn’t doubt that. Uncle Seamus would not be happy to see his niece speaking with his favored candidate’s rival. “And what would those plans be?”

She stood, her brows drawn together. “Nothing to do with ye.”

Rather than being put off by her dismissal, he took it as a challenge. He wanted to find out more about Shona. Now. Angus stood and took her hand again, the movement pulling her closer.

She stiffened and leaned away. “Let me go. Ye are drunk!”

“I wish to ken more about ye, lass.”

“Well, I dinna wish to ken more about ye. Good day to ye.” She pushed against his chest with her free hand, knocking him all too easily off balance.

He would have laughed, but guilt and desire warred in him as he wobbled under her touch. The heat of her hand on his shirt set his blood ablaze, though some sober part of him knew it should not, not so quickly. “We’ve barely met. Ye might learn to like me.” Bollocks! Had he really said something so inane?

“No’ when ye let the whisky o’ertake ye,” she protested and shook her head, “no’ as ye have today.”

Her objection made it clear how badly he had failed to impress her. She pushed at him again, her touch, combined with the celebrating he’d already done, throwing off his balance even further. He flailed and wound up cupping her shoulders to stay on his feet. Before she could knock his hands away, it occurred to Angus she hadn’t said she’d refuse him when he was sober. With that thought for encouragement, he leaned in, intending to claim her mouth and soften the stubborn set of her lips.

Instead, she planted both hands on his chest. This time, the sensation of being pushed covered him from toes to shoulders. The next thing he knew, he lay flat on his back in that pool of ale.

****

Seeking to get away from her inebriated admirer, Shona hurried out of the half-finished structure into the clearing where the clan had moved to observe the Council’s vote for the new laird. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized the crowd faced away from the hall. No one stared at her as she slipped into the back of the crowd, so she could believe no one had noticed the man landing in a big puddle. She’d pushed him a little too hard, or drink truly had made his balance uncertain.

She hoped being wet, cold, and reeking of ale would cool his ardor. She needed him to leave her alone, or there was no telling what her uncle would do.

Uncle Seamus’s bright red hair stood out amongst the villagers on the other side of the throng. His face was partly obscured by the men standing near him, but she could see his frown as he searched the crowd with sharp eyes. Looking for her, no doubt.

She’d prefer to stay out of his sight as long as she could. Her uncle meant for her to meet the new laird, not some nameless cousin who drank too much and would do nothing to further his ambitions. She didn’t have to like it, but she would have to do as her uncle wished. With her parents gone, he was her guardian now.

Her uncle had neglected to describe the man he planned to wed her to, only saying he’d introduce her when the time was right. The thought made her swallow nervously. She searched the men at the front of the crowd, where the dozen or so clan elders gathered. Not only did she greatly fear his choice would be someone old and disgusting, being the clan’s Lady would mean everyone would be aware of what she said…and did. She did not want to be noticed. She would not survive that kind of attention, not if these folk distrusted what she could do.

One of the elders stepped up onto a large flat-topped stone and recounted the past year’s events. He said nothing she hadn’t heard—or lived—already. She barely listened, crossing her arms over the chill in her belly and studying the men shifting around below him as he continued to talk. He seemed determined to recite the entire MacAnalen history from the time the first MacAnalen left Ireland to come to Scotland. Shona was more interested in who might be her likely suitor.

She spotted her damp admirer, and her heart thumped a single hard beat in her chest, then paused before speeding up as though she’d run across the glen. Oh dear, was he highly placed in the clan? A council member? If he complained to the new laird about what she’d done, her uncle would be furious. She cringed when one of his companions slapped him on the back and laughed, shaking his hand when it came away wet. Her admirer gave a rueful shrug and made a comment she could not hear. From the twist of his lips and the grins lighting a few of his companions’ faces, she guessed he was being subjected to some mockery.

For a moment, she felt sorry for what she’d done to him, for causing him embarrassment. Then she changed her mind. He’d deserved what he got for taking liberties with her. She hoped he had accepted that. In case he didn’t, she moved through the crowd, positioning herself behind a group of women where she might blend in and escape both his and her uncle’s notice. Two of the women glanced her way and nodded, acknowledging her presence. She nodded back, thankful they returned their attention to the proceedings. Then the woman who’d passed by her earlier noticed her and moved to stand beside her.

“I’m Christina,” she offered. “And ye are new here. I saw ye by the wall a little while ago.”

“I’m Shona.” She took a breath to steady her nerves. She shouldn’t let the confrontation with her admirer make her jump at shadows. Christina’s comment seemed friendly, rather than prying, but to deflect attention away from herself, she asked, “What do ye think of the candidates?”

“Angus has earned the job, but Colin may win it.” Christina lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Some say he has several of the Council under his thumb.” Then she shrugged, as if dismissing the rumors. “Have ye met either of them?”

Shona shook her head. “I dinna believe so.” She glanced aside. Christina might be shocked to learn how she dreaded her eventual meeting with one of them.

“Ye’d recall Angus if ye had. He’s a braw lad. A doer. And, I must say,” she declared with a grin, “a pleasure to look upon. Why some lass hasna snatched him up e’er now…well, ’tis beyond my ken. Colin is older and given to blather.” She rolled her eyes and laughed, adding, “Which might also be a useful trait in a laird.”

“Do ye favor one of them?” Though tempted to ask Christina to point out Angus, she hesitated, fearing the braw, comely candidate might be the man she’d already met…with disastrous results. What would she do if he won?

Christina didn’t get a chance to answer. The elder raised his voice to announce the vote would be taken. The conversational rumble stilled. Shona made herself small and listened. The elder called two names in turn. Tucked behind the group of women, she could no longer see the front of the crowd or whether the men named joined the elder on his rocky platform. Hands went up and down and the crowd around her grumbled or cheered at the showing for each. After the elder spoke again, cheering erupted. She still did not know which of the men were the candidates, much less who had won. Frustrated, Shona resisted the urge to rise onto her toes to better see what had happened. She’d be too visible.

Her attempt to remain unnoticed hadn’t mattered. Her uncle spotted her and headed her way. In a moment, he reached her.

“Come along, lass.” He grabbed her arm. “’Tis time to meet the new laird.”

He seemed more brusque than usual. Could he have found out what she’d done? Nay, he’d have plenty to say if he knew. Perhaps he was anxious about making this introduction.

She gave Christina an apologetic shrug and got a nod in return. Seamus dragged her forward just as the clan elder invited the new laird up to speak to the clan. She stumbled and nearly fell when she saw the man who stepped onto the flat-topped stone. Her uncle’s grip on her arm kept her upright and he swore at her, a low, vicious sound.

“Now is no’ the time for ye to become clumsy as a newborn lamb! He can see ye.”

Indeed, he could. Shona quailed, wishing she could slip into the crowd and disappear. At least for now, the new laird was busy. Her introduction, and her uncle’s plans, would have to wait.

****

“Ye’re a free man, my friend,” Brodric said, slapping Angus on the back.

At least his back had dried some in the breeze and wasn’t sopping as it had been when Murdo slapped him there before the vote. Brodric didn’t cringe. He simply stepped aside for James and Donald to offer their condolences.

“Stay sharp, lad,” Donald told him with a sniff as he offered his hand. “Yer time will come.” With a laugh, he added, “I hope ye’ll be sober by then.”

Angus grimaced and accepted the teasing, knowing he should at least be disappointed, or even angry, at the result, but deep down, relief made him numb to more negative emotions. Brodric was right. He was free! Disappointed. Embarrassed. Reeking of ale and angry the clan had rejected him after his leadership over the last several months. But free.

“I didna expect the vote to go against ye,” Brodric continued when the crowd around them thinned, his voice filling the space left by Angus’s silence. He rolled his eyes as the breeze blew from Angus to him. “Did ye have to drink enough to drown yerself, then?”

“Nor I,” Angus finally answered, ignoring Brodic’s well-placed barb. He had his gaze on the well-wishers now gathered around Colin, the new Laird MacAnalen. “It seems I’ve spent the last six months making enemies.”

After all he had done for them, he’d thought most would be happy to see him confirmed as the clan’s chief. He pressed his lips together, determined to hold back the denial filling his belly and threatening to erupt in a string of curses he knew he’d regret. He would not sully his reputation, or his dead brother’s, with such dishonorable conduct. He’d done too much good to throw it all away today, no matter the provocation.

When the ragtag lowlander army occupied MacAnalen land last autumn, he’d helped Toran, the visiting Lathan laird, escape. They’d freed the MacAnalen captives, then Angus had led them to safety. He’d taken on the laird’s duties for his missing brother. He’d set aside his grief to work with the council elders when Gregor had been found nearly dead, and the Lathan healer had been unable to save him. He’d worked tirelessly for the good of the clan, leading the effort to rebuild what the invaders had razed before they’d moved on to lay siege to the Lathans’ Aerie. The clan had survived, even prospered, during the long winter.

And what had Colin done during that time? Angus snorted. Colin had done as little as possible except nurse his long-standing grudge against Gregor for winning the lairdship instead of him. He’d quietly pointed out every delay, every mistake, every fault he could find to paint Angus as too young and too inexperienced to take over his dead brother’s duties. How any in the clan, in the face of what Angus had accomplished, could accept Colin’s twisted version of events and vote for him, Angus failed to understand. Even worse, Angus heard Colin was behind the slanderous rumor that Gregor had been found by the lake because he’d fled there to avoid capture while his people fought and died. Angus clenched his fists against the useless fury that aroused, then forced his hands open, feigning indifference. People watched his every move today. He could not prove Colin’s perfidy, so he was forced to accept the will of the clan. And swallow his own outrage.

“Nay, laddie,” Brodric objected. “I think the manner of Gregor’s passing did ye a great disservice. Ye shouldha been chosen to replace him. I expect the rumors took just enough support away from ye…”

“And if I could prove Colin started the rumors, things would be different now. But ye ken I canna. Worse, Colin kens I canna. He laughed in my face when I confronted him, weeks ago, and warned him to stop.”

“Ye’re lucky he only laughed. He’s a lazy sod, but he’s good with a dirk.” Brodric glanced around, then added, “And he’s cunning as hell. I’d wager he’s got a few of the Council under his control, especially if he caught them doin’ anythin’ they’d rather no’ confess.”

Angus looked around him, struggling to put Colin out of his mind. If he could focus on the clan’s accomplishments, he might yet get through this day. They’d made a great deal of progress, thanks in part to a lowlander mason who’d remained with them once the army’s defeat sent most of the survivors running south. Most families now had their own dwellings, and the smiths had places to work. The great hall, built in the style of a Viking longhouse, was the last structure still unfinished. But with the advent of spring, the elders insisted it was time to confirm a new laird, even though the structure that should have been their meeting-place was only half done. They’d gone long enough without the decision being made.

“What’s done is done.” Angus pressed his lips into a thin white line, then shrugged and blew out a breath. “I did what I could to pull the clan together and rebuild. I’ll no’ fight Colin for the job, no matter how he got it. The Council has decided, so the clan has decided.” Aye, he was angry and disappointed—or his pride was—but he’d get over that, eventually.

“Bugger them. We’ll split another bottle once this ceilidh is over. Whisky will improve yer outlook.”

Angus was about to reply when several more men approached. Their condolences and expressions of support helped soothe his ravaged pride…somewhat. Brodric stood by, arms folded over his chest, keeping an eye on the crowd as Angus responded to teasing and sincere comments alike. He’d stood by Angus since the lowlander invasion—working, drinking, and fighting just as fiercely as Angus to get the clan through the winter. Angus appreciated the way Brodric still stood with him, even in his defeat.

But this time, his suggestion of more whisky would not help. Angus wanted a different distraction from this setback. One with blazing hair, deep brown eyes, and lips he longed to taste. He spotted Shona in the crowd. Her uncle seemed to be urging, nay, pulling her toward Colin, and Angus suddenly realized what she’d meant when she said he would not suit her uncle’s plans for her.

Seamus meant to marry her off to the new laird. He hadn’t cared who got the job.

Of course, she could not have known then who Angus was…or might have become.

He kept cutting his gaze to her even as he acknowledged his well-wishers’ greetings. He would not let his dismay show. Not over the election, nor over losing Shona before he had a chance to win her, if Seamus had his way.

A swirl of breeze carried the tang that reminded him how he’d embarrassed himself. He kept up a brave face, certain his people must be relieved Colin had won. He would carry the smell of the puddle Shona had pitched him into until he stripped and jumped in the loch. Not that he hadn’t deserved getting flattened—he just couldn’t fathom how she’d accomplished that feat. He had to outweigh her by several stone. The puddle lay a number of feet behind where he’d stood. For him to stumble back so far, the whisky and ale he’d consumed must have made his head swim, even if only for a moment.

So here he stood, with a host of disappointments. Not the laird. That hurt the most. Reeking from ale he had not consumed, eyeing a lass he’d not kissed, outside a structure he had not finished. Six months of hard work, and he had nothing to show for it.

Not the way he expected this day to go, not at all.

On the other hand, the lass’s arrival might yet become a boon he’d not foreseen. He might be able to forgive Seamus’s lack of support for his candidacy if, he reminded himself, only if Seamus’s plan to betroth her to Colin fell apart. Thoughts of stealing the lass ran through his mind, and he nearly chuckled aloud. Bride stealing was usually accomplished by carrying off a lass from another clan, not one’s own. He shook his head at the impracticality of hiding a bride from the very people they both lived among. He hoped he’d have a chance to pursue her before her uncle betrothed her to Colin, or to some other crony. But to do so, he’d better sober up. And quickly.

Colin climbed onto the stone old Luthais had used as a platform, and started his acceptance speech. Angus ignored him, suddenly aware Shona and her uncle had moved—where? He had no chance to look before he heard Colin mentioning his name. He straightened his spine, cleared his throat, and stood his ground. Despite wanting to put a good face on his loss, he could not climb the rock to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Colin. Not yet. Maybe never. Using Shona’s way with an economy of words, he managed to choke out a brief concession speech. Not quite three words, like her initial replies to his questions, but he couldn’t manage many more than that. He’d been certain he would win.

When he finished, he searched the crowd, not to see the effect of his words, but to find the lass, counting on the sight of her face to remind him some good might yet come of this day. Ah, there. He spotted her as Colin resumed droning on. Seamus loomed over her, making short, terse gestures, his expression fierce. Shona’s seemed equally determined as she backed away from him. Clearly, she was not interested in whatever her uncle wanted her to do. But Seamus was not touching her, and their disagreement had not come to blows, so Angus had no excuse to intervene.

Given the chance, he’d probably berate her, too, for pushing him, arsy-versy, into a puddle of ale just before the most important moment of his life—and his biggest disappointment. Given what followed, she might as well have shoved him into a loch full of the stuff. How many smelled the ale on him, saw him being teased for it, decided Colin was right—he was too immature and out of control, and so voted against him?

Nay, his indignation was unwarranted. He should not have indulged himself as he had, tossing back both ale and whisky offered by well-meaning supporters. Nor should he have indulged himself with Shona. He’d given her every reason to push him away. It was his bad luck he’d landed as he had…where he had. Added to the credence many gave to Colin’s half-truths about Gregor…Angus had lost the election as much as Colin had won it.

Besides, there were other things he’d rather do than shout at Shona. Like kiss her senseless, which had been his first inclination, one that remained with him. He couldn’t explain why, but he’d craved her the moment he first saw her.

She caught Angus’s gaze on her and paled.

He saluted her with a brief nod, promising much with his smile, then fought back a wider grin when she turned and ran into the woods. Aye, she was worried, as well she should be. Not that he had any plans to harm her. Quite the opposite. He would enjoy pursuing her. And he would figure out how she’d pitched him into a puddle of ale several feet behind him.

Angus sympathized with her uncle, who stared after her, hands on hips, obviously exasperated. She promised to be an exasperating, fascinating challenge.