Chapter One

Scottish Highlands, 1307

Duncan Campbell drifted into consciousness and opened his eyes to absolute blackness. He lay perfectly still on the cold dirt floor, listening. A small rustle of fabric echoed in the darkness. He cocked his head, getting a sense of the sound’s location, then rose to his feet.

“Tell me who you are before I tear you apart,” he roared, seizing his opponent. Whoever it was didn’t answer, just silence. A fist punched him on the nose. Pain ricocheted through him, and he grabbed his face. In the dark, he lost his balance and fell in the dirt, cradling his head in his hands.

“Oh my, are you all right?” asked a small voice.

“No, I’m not.”

“You threatened me, and I wanted to give you fair warning I will fight back if you touch me.”

The lyrical voice stunned him. A woman? She spoke Gaelic with a strong, lowland accent. He shook off the pain and asked, “Where am I?”

“Dunstaffnage Castle. Don’t you remember your capture? I’ve heard of people getting a bump on the head and not remembering their own name. Is that what happened to you? Did you bump your head?”

Lord, she was talkative.

“Is it?”

“I remember I was hit from behind scouting the bast….Are we in the dungeon?” He rose to his feet.

“Yes.”

He grunted. On the bright side he hadn’t gone blind. On the other hand they were in a dank, windowless cell with no hope of escape. There wasn’t even a sliver of light coming through the door. Not that he knew where the door was.

“How long have I been here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve lost track of time. I think it’s because there’s no light. I can’t tell—”

“Why would the MacDougalls imprison a woman?”

“They don’t know.”

“What? That you’re a woman. How can they not know?”

“Because I look like a boy.”

“Are you showing your legs?” He grinned. Perhaps she was a jezebel who thought nothing of revealing her body.

“I’m wearing a tunic and hose. You can’t actually see my legs. I’m not a wanton.”

Her last remark disappointed him, but maybe it was just as well. His head hurt from where the MacDougalls had knocked him senseless.

“It takes more than clothes to look like a man.” He wondered about her appearance. Did she have high breasts and a slim waist? Were her legs long and shapely? She answered his questions before he could ask them.

“I’m tall and thin for a girl and not the least bit pretty, or so I’m told.”

“It’s not a very good disguise. You’re dressed as a lowlander, so you’re just as noticeable as if you were dressed as a woman.”

“Oh. I didn’t know. I…” Her voice trailed, sounding lost and alone. He balled his fists to stop from hugging her. His own reaction puzzled him, leaving him off balance. He should stop talking, leave her in peace, and rest his aching head, but for some incomprehensible reason, he needed to hear her sweet, musical voice.

“Why dress as a boy in the first place?”

“It wasn’t my idea. I was travelling the pilgrim road to the Island of Iona. One day our leader, Brother Mark, came to me and said we were in danger and I should disguise myself. He gave me the clothes and cut my hair.” She paused, and swallowed.

“And then?”

“They came in the night…” Using her muffled sobs as a guide, he found her shoulder and patted it.

“What were you going to do once you got to Iona?” he asked.

“I’m becoming a nun.”

The thought of that sweet voice imprisoned on a barren island made him irrationally angry.

“You should fulfil a man’s needs and bear his children, not waste your life with a bunch of silly women.”

She said nothing, but he was close enough to feel her tense. Was she thinking of punching him again? He fumbled for her hands, grabbed them, and pinned them to the wall above her head, flattening her with his body. Despite his headache his manhood jerked to life. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again, surprised at his body’s reaction to her closeness. She struggled to free herself, but her efforts were useless against his superior strength.

“Do not hit me again,” he growled.

“Do not threaten me again.”

“I was not threatening you. I was giving you my opinion. You do know the difference, don’t you?”

“There you go again being rude just when I was going to forgive you and show you how pious I can be.” She stopped struggling.

“Don’t bother.” He loosened his grip and released her.

“What?”

“You heard. I don’t need your forgiveness. You should be asking my forgiveness because you punched me without cause. And my head still hurts.” Despite the pain he was starting to enjoy himself.

“I hit you because you frightened me, but you’re right, I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

“Well you’re not forgiven.”

“Why not?” Her voice rose with what he assumed was indignation.

“There’s only one reason we would be in a cell together.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because soon we will die together.” Perhaps he was wrong, but he didn’t think so.

“And even though we’re going to die, you still can’t find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“Maybe if you were very nice to me and warmed me with your sweet, little body, I could see my way to absolving you.”

She gasped and he couldn’t help but smile at her outraged reaction. He had no idea why he enjoyed baiting her, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

“You’re the most sinful man I’ve ever met. I take it back. I don’t want your absolution. How can you think about your carnal needs at a time like this?” The ire in her voice made him want to continue their argument, but his headache was worsening by the minute. He had no idea why he enjoyed provoking her. He imagined her face flushed with anger and her self-control slipping. He would like to make her lose control in other ways. But for now he would have to let it go. He wasn’t in any shape to argue with her let alone pleasure her. He let out a long moan, backed away, pressed his hands to his head, and changed the subject again.

“How did you end up in this place?”

“I didn’t have the coins to pay for the boat. So they threw me in here.”

“Why didn’t you just tell them you were taking the oath?”

“I didn’t talk at all. I’m dressed as a boy, and if I spoke they would’ve known I’m a girl. I can’t disguise my voice.”

“What’s your name?”

“Isabel Douglas. And you are?”

“Duncan Campbell.”

“So tell me what did the mighty Duncan Campbell do to deserve the dungeon?” There was a hint of mockery in her voice, and he imagined her smiling.

“I’m a Campbell and that’s excuse enough. We have been at war with the MacDougalls for as long as anyone can remember.”

“Why haven’t they killed you?”

“There’s only one purpose for keeping me alive.”

“What’s that?”

“They want to use me for sport.”

“What about me?”

“The fact that we are in a cell together does not bode well for you.”

She fell silent. For the first time since waking, he had a good look around but could see nothing. There were no windows, no cracks, just the soul-destroying blackness. He ran his hands over his arms, torso, and down his legs, taking stock of his injuries. Small cuts and bruises covered his body. They were nothing to be concerned about, but the pain in his head was a different matter. Soon they would come for him and when they did, he needed to have his wits about him, and that wasn’t going to happen if he couldn’t concentrate. He moved to stand next to her and leaned against the wall.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“Of course, why would you ask?”

“You groaned.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your head hurts, doesn’t it? Bend your knees so your bottom rests on your ankles. I will help ease the pain.”

He hesitated. “Why would you do that?”

“I am going to be a nun. Can’t you tell I’m a kind and caring person?”

“No.”

“For pity’s sake, sit down before you fall down.”

The pounding in his head intensified, so he did as he was told. She put a hand on his shoulder and used it as a guide, skimming the length of his arm and then his leg until she stood in front of him.

“Widen your legs. I’m going to crouch between your knees and put my hands on your head. They’re cold so they might ease the pain.”

The feel of her sliding down between his legs was a heady experience. She had not been exaggerating when she said she was slim. Her hand rested on the bare flesh where his kilt had ridden up his leg. Heat surged through him with the contact of her skin on his. He ground his teeth together and suppressed the impulse to kiss her.

“Are you sure you’re becoming a nun? You don’t feel like a nun.”

“Have you felt many nuns?” She laid her ice-cold hands on his head.

The moment she touched his brow he felt better. Propping one shoulder against his chest, she laid her head in the crook of his neck. Her warm breath tickled his skin sending shivers down his spine. He wrapped his arms around her and relaxed. She smelt wonderful, surprising given their circumstances. She didn’t smell of soap or flowers, like other women he had known, but rather she smelt of woman. The indefinable quality went straight to his head and his manhood. He doubted she would be this close to him if she knew she aroused him.

He listened as her breathing became rhythmic and he knew she was sleeping. He ran his hand over her head feeling her smooth hair and brushed his lips against the silky mass. He wanted to protect her. Not because she was weak but because she tried to be strong. She touched him in a way he had not expected. Somehow being with her gave him hope, lightened him.

“Don’t worry sweetling, I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered into the darkness.

He didn’t know how he was going to keep his promise, but when he did, he planned to make her his.