“Yer all done, brother.”
“Thank ye, lass.”
Janet grinned as she brushed hair from his shoulders with a piece of linen. Then she slid around to the front of him and scrutinized her work. “Looks good, though I ne’er imagined you’d want yer hair short.”
Alex flashed a grin and ran his hand through his newly shorn locks. His hair had been down to the middle of his back. Looking at all the loose dark patches on the floor, he wasn’t sure he had much left at all. “Now people dinna get Duncan an’ me mixed up.”
His younger sister arched a dark eyebrow “Is tha’ what ‘tis abou’?”
He shook his head. “Nay. I wanted a change.”
“‘Tis a change all right.” His twin pushed off the wall, studying him as their sister had. “Ye look…odd.”
“Thank ye.” Alex kept his voice dry, eliciting a grin from Duncan.
“Dinna listen ta him, I’m sure you’ll still catch tha eye of all tha lasses.” Janet winked.
He groaned. That was the last thing he wanted.
In the months since he’d become laird, the lasses were already all over him. They always had been, but now all hoped to be the one he’d catch and call wife, Lady of the Castle.
He was two and twenty, dammit.
Not ready to wed.
Their father, Iain, hadn’t broached the subject yet, but the time was no doubt coming. Alex couldn’t be a proper laird without a wife…and an heir. Duncan was lucky he’d been born second.
“Aye.” His brother chuckled. “Now ye can see his bonnie face better.”
Janet giggled.
“Bonnie?” Alex growled.
His twin beamed.
“I s’pose ye suffer from tha same fate then, little brother. As ye have tha same face.”
Duncan crossed his arms over his broad chest and tilted his head to one side, shifting his long dark hair. “Aye. Yet I’m no’ complainin’ abou’ attention from tha lassies.”
Janet rolled her eyes. “If Da catches you tupping one more maid, you may no’ be ‘round much longer. No’ ta mention, I shall ne’er see tha wine cellar in tha same light.” She scrunched up her nose, looking very much her age of five and ten. Adorable, too.
Alex laughed, but he was torn. He should admonish his baby sister. She shouldn’t have knowledge of such things. “Again?”
At least their brother had the decency to blush. “Aye.” Duncan looked down. Shifted in his deer hide boots.
“Who this time?”
“Helen.”
“Ah.” The lass hadn’t been working at Dunvegan long, but she was a pretty petite blonde—what his brother liked.
“Peg is why Da is angry,” Janet said. “He threatened ta dismiss her.”
Duncan made pulled uncomfortable expression, fidgeting in his boots again. They made a shuffling noise as if he’d rubbed the stone wall behind him. His brow was tight and his blue eyes darted all around. He avoided looking at either sibling.
“Peg?”
“Aye.” Their sister nodded. “Peg knows he was caught wit’ Helen, and is—”
“Makin’ things difficult.” Duncan’s voice was as reluctant as his expression. Embarrassed.
Alex shook his head. “Jesu, brother. Why dinna ye jus’ go ta tha tavern like everaone else?”
“T’would be wise.” He swallowed, making the apple of his throat bob.
“Nay.” Janet glared. “T’would be wise ta stop your impure ways. Or take a wife.”
Duncan scowled and shuddered, his wide shoulders shaking.
Alex chuckled. “Ye have tha righ’ of it, sister.” He gestured to the lass, who was wise beyond her years. “Ye should listen ta her, brother.”
“Dinna tell Mother. She’s got enough ta deal wit’,” his twin whispered. His cheeks were still tinged pink, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
Silence fell, and now all three of them avoided each other’s gazes.
Their mother had been sick for over two years, and no matter what healer their father had brought, she’d failed to improve.
As of a few months past, they currently had a man from Clan Beaton living with them permanently. The Beatons were famous all over Scotland for their healing skills, yet Malcolm Beaton had yet to help their mother. He’d succeeded in keeping her comfortable, but he’d been realistic from the start.
It was only a matter of time.
Their father spent his time devoted to her, so the duties of laird had partially fallen to Alex. Since Malcolm had pronounced things didn’t look good, however, his father had officially stepped aside. He rarely left their mother’s suites.
Iain MacLeod was open in his declaration that the woman he’d married was the love of his life. He said it was his duty to show it.
Alex shook his head.
Love. Marriage.
Not for him. Not yet anyway.
He loved the lasses—though his brother’s activities and appetite put his own to shame, but he wasn’t tempted to find one for keeps.
Not even for the sake of his clan.
He’d always known he’d be laird. It’d just come too soon. Now he wrestled with selfishness that did nothing but keep guilt churning in his gut. As much as he loved his parents, it was unfair.
His sister suffered just as much. Since their mother had taken ill, Janet had acted as Lady of the Castle. A slip of a lass, running Clan MacLeod’s massive Dunvegan Castle. Yet she did her duty without complaint, and she did it well.
Alex stood and brushed the remaining hair from his leine, watching it dust the stone floor. He tugged Janet into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Thank ye, lass.”
She stared, her expression quizzical. Concern danced in her sapphire eyes. “You already thanked me. And ‘tis no’ necessary, brother.”
“I appreciate ye, nonetheless.”
“Are you well, Alex?” She squeezed her arms around him.
“Aye, lass.”
Even Duncan looked worried when their eyes met. “Alex?”
“Both of ye stop lookin’ a’ me like tha’. I’m braw.”
Their brother nodded, but the concern didn’t fade from his eyes.
“I need some air.” Alex sighed.
Janet stepped away, her countenance mirroring his twin’s.
“I shall go ridin’,” he said. “Bán could use exercise, no doubt.”
“I’ve ta go collect rents. Ye wan’ ta accompany me? I’m bringin’ Cormac, amongs’ tha men,” his brother said.
He shook his head. In years past, he and Duncan had gone to collect the tithing from all the MacLeod holdings, but his heart wasn’t in duty at the moment. Alex wanted to run away. “Nay. Our cousin should do ye well. I’ll see ye in a fortnight or so? Surely a good plan ye have ta disappear fer a while.”
“Aye, I think bein’ away will help tha Helen and Peg situation. Cool Da’s ire, too.”
He smirked. “Ye are a coward, brother.”
Duncan grinned, but didn’t disagree. “I have duties ta see ta, is all.”
“Aye, ‘tis that, a’course.”
Janet rolled her eyes again, but flashed a grin.
“Mayhap, ye can console Peg, brother?” His twin winked.
“Nay, I dinna tup MacLeod maids.” Alex mock-glared. “An’ neither should ye.”
“I’d say he learned his lesson,” their sister said. “Da threatened ta throw him ou’ on his ear.”
“He ordered me ta muck stalls fer a month.”
Alex crossed his arms over his chest. “Then how ‘tis yer leavin’ ta collect tha rents?”
“He volunteered.” Janet grinned. “Ta get back inta Da’s good graces.”
“Och, lass, ye talk too much,” Duncan accused, but he rammed his hand through his dark hair.
Alex chuckled. “Then off wit’ ye.”
His twin bowed at the waist. “Aye, my laird.” He winked when he straightened, and Janet fell into a fit of giggles as Duncan whirled from the laird’s chambers with a flourish.
“Our brother is too charmin’ fer his own good.”
Alex harrumphed. “I dinna know abou’ tha’.”
His sister grinned again and shook her head, making her ebony locks dance over her shoulders.
The wind danced around his face, but no longer did it rustle his hair along with his leine and the MacLeod plaid he wore. It was odd, having cropped locks, but it was good.
Different is good.
Alex sat high on the ridge on Bán’s wide back, surveying the castle gates he had no desire to go back through.
His stallion nickered as he adjusted his hooves, and the sound vibrated under his thighs.
“Nay, laddie. We’re no’ ta go home.”
For now.
He couldn’t avoid Dunvegan forever.
The horse’s gray mane shifted over his snowy coat as another gust caressed them both, and Alex shivered. It wasn’t cold exactly, Beltane was around the corner, but spring was teasing Skye more than presenting itself.
He sighed and turned his mount away from the castle he should be riding toward. They’d go back to the beach until he was ready to face…reality.
Alex hadn’t visited his mother since the previous day, and he should. Speak to his father, and maybe affirm that his brother and the men had ridden out to collect the rents.
The laird should know that, right?
Later. He’d handle it all later. When he had to.
The water was rough today, the surf frothy as it slammed into the loamy beach, each wave bigger than the one before, splashing higher; demanding to be noticed. He watched from the safety of his mount before he kneed him forward.
Observing the mild violence on the shore made Alex fidget. He wanted to dive in, have a swim, as much as he wanted to run from it. As if the sea would make him feel worse, since it was a visual example of his churning stomach.
He let the big stallion guide him, his hold on the reins looser than it should be.
Bán whinnied and tossed his head, but he paid him no mind as the horse wandered down the beach at a walk.
The stretch before them was deserted, but Alex needed to at least pay attention to where they headed. He had no desire to tangle with Clan MacDonald—the laird was a tough man, and the tenuous peace between them had only been in existence since he and Duncan were lads.
He couldn’t jeopardize that by mere distraction. Their lands bordered each other, and they shared the beach.
Hugh, the son of laird and heir, was a few years their junior, and had been in a few tussles with Duncan. The lad was an arseling, at best. He was braw, almost as tall and broad as they were, so he’d given his brother a run for his coin the last time. Hugh MacDonald didn’t need a reason to fight, other than their differing surnames.
Alex sighed. If only all his…issues…could only be solved with something as simple as a fist fight. He’d take on any challenger.
Ye canna run from life, lad.
He could hear his da’s words in his mind. Of course, the man had been referring to caring for his sick mother, but the sentence resonated.
Is that what I’m doing?
Running? From duties, responsibilities…life, as it was?
Bán nickered and slowed, swishing his tail.
Alex smiled and gripped the horse’s reins, encouraging him to continue on, but the stallion had his head down, nibbling on the long grasses at the edge of the sandy area to his left.
“Ah, yer bein’ stubborn taday, are ye?” He chuckled and threw his leg over to dismount. His boots hit the sand with a soft thud.
He left his loyal steed to his desires and patted Bán’s neck, running his hands over his coarse mane while he grazed. Or tried to. There wasn’t much vegetation, but the horse seemed determined to get it all. The grinding sound of him chewing brought another smile to Alex’s lips.
Voices caught his attention, and he whipped his head up, scanning the beach in front of him. No one was visible.
There were rocks—large and small alike to obscure his view—and of course the water was loud, but he’d definitely heard voices.
The expanse ahead was made up of a series of small caves, leading up to cliffs. On the other side of them ended MacLeod lands and began what belonged to Clan MacDonald.
Were members from his rival clan coming at him?
“Who goes there?” Alex called, one hand on the hilt of his claymore, but he didn’t draw it. He narrowed his eyes and took a few steps away from his still-grazing stallion.
It’d be more prudent to mount and turn—go home—but something kept his boots glued to the ground.
They were coming closer, and he was able to discern a little, even though he couldn’t make out the words, but so far, he still saw no one. The deeper voice had to be a man, and was speaking in harsh tones that betrayed irritation, but the softer one—female—answered in quick snaps that sounded like commands.
He moved forward, to where the terrain started to incline. Alex could climb up the rocky hill to have more visibility, but the volume told him they would join him soon enough. He only heard two people, so he relaxed his hold on his weapon.
Indeed, it was only two, for the figures appeared in a few moments, moving into view around a large boulder. Both were fair-haired, and the man was tall, around Alex’s own height of six feet, five inches. He looked broad, too.
A warrior.
The lass was petite; the man towered probably a foot over her. They were speaking in hushed tones now, apparently oblivious that he was only a few feet from them.
Bán nickered behind Alex, and the man’s head shot up. He shoved the lass behind him, but she didn’t stay put. She hurried around him, slipping from his grasp and looked in Alex’s direction.
Their eyes locked.
The lass froze, and her hip-length flaxen locks were the only thing that remained in motion, swaying around her like an aura. She wore in a short brown mantle that stopped mid-thigh, but instead of skirts or a gown, she wore trews—purple trews.
However, it was her ethereal face and unusual eyes that held his attention—and wonder. He’d never seen a more beautiful creature.
She recovered first, and inclined her head. “Good day.” Her voice—no longer the angry snap it had been—was sultry, just like it should sound, and washed over him.
Alex shivered, and it had naught to do with the wind. He blinked. Cleared his throat so he’d be able to speak. He gave her a nod like she had him, and gripped Bán’s reins with white knuckles. Somehow he needed his stallion beside him. “Good day.” He winced. The greeting had been barely a croak.
Out of the corner of his eye, there was movement, and he tensed.
The large man rushed in front of her again, his hand on the hilt of a sword, but it was still in its scabbard. His breastplate was odd—hunter green in color, and Alex had never seen colored armor before. His hair was the same white-blond as the lass’, but it was in a thick plait, dancing as he adjusted his stance. He leveled Alex with a narrowed glare.
“I mean ye no harm.” Alex dropped the reins and threw his palms out—keeping his hand away from his claymore.
The lass peered around her protector—as best she could, since she was so diminutive behind him. “‘Tis all right, Xander,” she whispered.
The warrior didn’t move, nor look at his charge. “Nay. ‘Tis not.” His voice was the same hard tone Alex had overheard before he could see them.
Their accents were Scottish, but had a refined edge that was different from his own brogue. They weren’t from the Highlands.
“Are ye lost?” He forced a breath. “These are my lands. I’m tha Laird MacLeod.”
The gorgeous lass perched two delicate hands on her guard’s thick arm, but couldn’t seem to budge him this time. She flashed a smile from around him instead. “Nay. What’re you called?”
The tall man glared harder. “Your Hi—” He pushed words out through gritted teeth, his jaw was hard, and his eyes deadly slits.
She threw him a frown, and he stopped talking.
“Alex.” He inclined his head again, and wanted to take a step forward, but wasn’t fond of the idea of that big sword being pulled—or being run through.
The lass managed to slide around her protector, despite his growl and obvious disapproval. “I’m Alana.” She put her hand out and Alex hid his amusement, lest he offend her.
‘Twas a man’s greeting.
“Alana.” Her name was clearly all warning, but she ignored the tall blond man.
Alex’s eyes darted to him, then back to the lass. He put his hand against her much smaller one, and a bolt of energy shot up his arm, into his bicep. He fought shudders and swallowed, and fell into her alluring gaze. Her eyes were—violet? They were definitely more purple than blue. He sucked back a gulp.
Surprise lit her pretty face, and she looked at their joined hands before meeting his eyes again. Her mouth fell open—just a touch, and a little pink tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip.
He swallowed a groan as the need to taste her rolled over him.
What?
The uncomfortable shifting of her protector broke whatever spell held him captive, and when Alana tugged, he released her hand, but Alex could feel her reluctance.
Her fair brow was drawn tight, as if she thought her guard’s presence was an intrusion—like he did. She swallowed and he wanted to kiss her throat.
Alex looked from one to the other, spotting a resemblance. Not only the hair, but the two people before him had the same color eyes. “I mean ye no harm,” he repeated, but her guard’s shoulders didn’t loosen.
Are they siblings?
They could be. Looked enough alike to be so.
Relief flooded him. If she was…with the man…or married…it would bother him.
Where’s that coming from?
He had no right to be jealous of a man concerning a lass, when he knew neither party.
“Alana, let us go,” the man barked.
“Nay, Xander.” She glared up at him, then looked back at Alex. “Forgive my cousin, my laird. He’s rude.”
Ah, her cousin. Good.
He didn’t like just how pleased he was with the information.
Xander harrumphed, but finally released the hold on his sword, only to cross his arms over his broad chest.
Alex squared his shoulders and exhaled, but didn’t want to reveal his nerves. Nor did he want either of them to notice his…intrigue…with the lass. Although, no doubt by the way she’d looked at him; she’d felt something, too.
Why does that please you?
“Nay, ‘tis no bother.” He forced polite words out. He looked the cousins up and down. Other than the usual armor, their clothing wasn’t odd—except perhaps the hue of the lass’ trews. The fabrics did look made of the finest materials, though.
Who were these people?
It’d be rude to demand that knowledge, even if they were on MacLeod lands unannounced.
Alana was studying him as much as he studied them, and Alex heard her guard make a noise in his throat.
“Are ye lost?” he repeated his earlier question.
She looked at Xander before answering. “Nay. We’re…visiting.”
“Visitin’? From where?” He scanned the waters. “I dinna see a ship. An’ ye’ve no mounts. Is all well?”
Silence descended as the cousins again exchanged a look.
He narrowed his eyes. “Where’re ye from?”
Alana fidgeted in the sand.
Xander stepped forward and muttered a word that sounded Gaelic, but it was off somehow.
Alex didn’t understand it. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His limbs suddenly weighed four stone a piece and he wavered on his feet. His vision narrowed and he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
Then the world went black.