Uniting the Clans

Volume II of the Highland Loyalties Trilogy

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Copyright © 2012 by Veronica Bale

Cover Art: For the Muse Designs

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For my Christopher, as always.

Chapter 1

The unrelenting winds of an early morning storm thrashed the Highland hills, raking the bracken and heather that clung to the rocky landscape. A slicing rain, hurtled to the earth from a layer of steely clouds, penetrated the brisk spring air. Every now and again the temperamental winds would change their course, sending a spray of chilling mist careening into the deep enclave, created by a jutting rock, under which Robbie MacGillivray had sheltered for the night.

It had been three days that he’d been on the run from Lord Reginald D’Aubrey and his men, three days of scrounging and starving and hiding. The baron was relentless in his pursuit of him—on more than one occasion Robbie had watched from his position high in the hills as Lord Reginald and his retinue scoured the countryside, determined to find him.

But he had one advantage Lord Reginald did not—he knew these Highland hills; indeed he’d grown from a bairn to a man amongst their majestic swells. He knew every cave, every rock, every forest path. He could hide in these hills indefinitely if he had to, and Lord Reginald would never find him.

Curled on his side, Robbie took what little comfort he could in that fact. He tightened his plaid around his shoulders and closed his eyes, yearning for sleep to steal into his brain and his body, to draw him into its blissful oblivion for just a few more hours.

But sleep eluded him. Not only was the angry Scottish weather making slumber far too difficult a thing to achieve, but his wound ached something fierce. The deep and long gash across his flank sent a persistent wave of pain out across his ribs and down into his abdomen. At least it was a clean pain, though—for that he was thankful.

Not long ago his wound inflicted upon him a different kind of pain, one brought on by a festering of his tender flesh and intensified by a gripping fever. But there was no fever now—he shivered only because of the bloody weather, writhed only because of the bloody rocks and craggy ground poking at him as he tried, and failed, to sleep.

The memory of how he received that wound was as fresh in his mind as if it had happened only the day before, though in truth it had been more than a fortnight. To Robbie, it seemed only yesterday that he’d lost his most beloved and loyal clansmen, watched as they were cut down by an English force three times their numbers.

It was the MacGillivray men who had wanted to attack, not he as chief of the clan. Dunloch castle and its surrounding lands had belonged to Clan Gillivray for centuries. Even when the bloody English had moved into Scotland, bringing their poison and their savage cruelty with them, Robbie had managed to hold onto Dunloch … for a time anyway. But he could not, God help him he could not, swear loyalty to that leper’s ballocks Longshanks. In that, he had not been opposed by any one of the MacGillivray men, even when the soldiers of King Edward had stolen into the castle at night and forced the MacGillivrays from their ancestral home. And in Robbie’s place, in his home, Longshanks had inserted that arse sniffing toe rag of a baron that was D’Aubrey.

In the stark clarity of hindsight, Robbie knew he had been a fool. He should have swallowed his pride and sworn loyalty for the clan’s sake. But he’d never considered he would lose almost all of his kinsmen in one fell swoop—he’d had no inkling of how painful such a thing could be. When they came to him, demanding an attack on the castle and on D’Aubrey’s forces, he’d tried to dissuade them. But in truth he had not tried hard enough. Perhaps deep down in his soul he didn’t want to deter them. Perhaps he, too, wanted to unleash the force of his rage upon the swindling, sniveling D’Aubrey for stealing what rightfully belonged to him and his people.

And so, in the end, he’d relented. He’d planned the attack alongside his men; he’d raised his claymore into the air and called the mighty MacGillivray battle cry.

It was he, Robbie MacGillivray, who had sent more than a hundred men to their slaughter.

God’s bones, he should have died with them, but he had not. Engaged in close combat with a worthless English churl, his attention had been momentarily diverted by Connall—his most loyal clansman and beloved cousin was in peril against an opponent far greater in size and strength than he. For that fleeting second in which Robbie’s head was turned, his own opponent landed a good slash across his flank, cutting through his skin down to the bones of his ribs.

He did not remember much of what happened then, for a blinding pain distorted his vision and rendered him as feeble as an old man. He could not even lift his claymore, and had to abandon it there in the bailey. He recalled only brief snippets of things, disjointed images strung together in the wrong order: he’d been ushered through the fighting to the castle gate by Fionnghan, the brother of his uncle’s wife; he’d looked up just in time to see Connall cut down by his opponent; he’d heard Fionnghan’s strong voice urging him to flee.

“Get ye gone, Rob. Ye’ll no’ help us now. Run, lad. Run!”

And saints forgive him, Robbie had run. He did not even remember doing so, had not consciously willed his legs to move, to push himself over the stretch of land towards the hills. Surely it could not have been cowardice that fuelled his flight, for he had not knowingly fled … was that not so?

Then why could he not convince himself of that in the dark nights which passed afterwards? Coward, echoed the voice in his head. Traitor, deserter!

Robbie shivered as another gust of wind pierced the woolen tartan wrapped around his shoulders. It was almost as if the spirits of the Highlands agreed with the voice, punctuating its accusations against him.

How long and how far he had run he didn’t know. But he’d fainted at some point, alone in the hills; the pain had been too great to bear, and had overpowered him though he’d made a valiant effort to remain conscious. When he’d awoken, the light of day was fading into the soft twilight of an overcast evening. Though his mind was still reeling from his pain, his first thought was for his clansmen. Which of them had survived the attack? Would they be looking for him? Certain that at least a handful had escaped the fighting, he waited along the main road to Invercleugh. If they had any sense, they would be heading towards the lands of the nearest MacGillivray sympathizers, Clan Galbraith. His best wager, then, would be to wait along the main road for the Galbraith runners that would be searching for him.

Hiding himself atop a rocky cliff at a point where the road narrowed, he waited. And as the hours passed, his wound became infected and he grew feverish.

It was nearly sunrise when he saw the carts. They came one after another, plodding along the rutted path below him. Straining through the fog of his fever, he peered at the loads being hauled away … and vomited into the grass at what he saw.

The MacGillivrays—every one of them—were dead. D’Aubrey’s men were the ones driving the horses onward, not the remaining villagers as it should have been. Where were those English bastards taking his clansmen?

Burning with fever, Robbie had followed at a distance—he did not know what else to do. He watched, grief-stricken, as the English tossed the bodies of the men he’d known all his life over the edge of a small ridge into the valley below. With two men holding the dead by the arms and legs, the English swung the corpses, body after body, and let go as if their burdens were but mere sacks of oats. The MacGillivrays’ lifeless forms sailed beyond Robbie’s view from his hidden vantage point, landing with a muted, sickening thud at the base.

When their work was done, the English had left one soldier behind to stand guard at the top of the ridge, and Robbie was forced to find another way around the valley to reach his dead. By the time he forged his way through the forest behind them it was late in the day, and his fever had turned deadly. But since he had nowhere else to go, he’d lurked in the forest, keeping vigil over his fallen brothers. Through that second evening and into the night he’d watched, drifting in an out of consciousness.

It was late in the morning of the following day that he’d seen her, crouched down and lurking over the dead. Through his fevered haze, he’d thought the cloaked figure was death’s angel come to collect souls bound for hell. An overwhelming rage prompted him to attack, a fury that God would allow such good men to die, and their souls to be dragged to hell by some wraith, some demon. Without rational thought he’d lunged at the figure, prepared to carve its rotting flesh to pieces with his sgian-dubh the instant it turned to face him.

Only when it did … he’d found himself glaring into the bewildered face of a young lass. The eyes that stared back at him, wide as saucers and clearly terrified, were as blue as the heavens. For a moment Robbie thought he might be staring through the celestial gates towards his maker, that he’d been forgiven for his unforgiveable sin after all. Those eyes offered him solace and refuge, and a sense of release enveloped his very soul. Lost in the peace those eyes offered, he was content to let his fever consume him, to let his weakened limbs falter and his ravaged body collapse to the ground.

When she bent down with a cry of shock and attempted to aid him, he realized his folly. She was not his salvation; she was a mere lass. An English one at that, for as soon as she spoke he heard the cultured, aristocratic inflection that told of her noble birth.

His instinct demanded that for his own security he reject her help, that he frighten this Sassenach away with threats of physical harm—though he could no more harm a lass than a babe. But his heart was beyond caring about his own security, and his mind was beyond hating her for her English tongue. He knew only that he wanted to surrender to her, whatever consequence it may bring. And so when she’d mentioned they would need to find shelter, he’d given in, and led them to the only place he could think of which would offer a measure of comfort—the small, dilapidated hut he had built with his boyhood friends … most of whom now lay dead in a heap just beyond the line of trees.

It was her angelic English voice which pierced his fog of delirium through the long nights of fever and infection, filtered through to his nonsensical dreams. When she sang as she nursed him, he could have sworn that she was one of the Seraphim. That voice haunted his dreams even now, made his body and his heart ache for her.

Jane.

The name was a prayer on his lips each time he spoke it aloud. For three nights now he’d dreamed of her, dreamed of the way she’d held him and cared for him; of her ethereal face and her tender, healing hands. In his dreams, his arms encircled her and held her to him after they made love, his lips crushed to hers with a warmth and tenderness that was as real as she had been to him. He would never be free of her, even though he would never see her again.

Jane. By God, he loved her.

Chapter 2

The wind raged outside Jane’s bedchamber window, rattling the leaded panes of glass in their diamond-shaped iron frame and spattering rain against them in long, angry scratches; the thick, impenetrable clouds which blanketed the morning sky were an almost luminous hue of grey. The violent storm which swept across the Highlands was reflected in the mood of Lord Reginald, who returned from his hunt looking rather like a drowned rat.

He’d been away from the castle for three days—three days spent searching with dogged determination for the rogue MacGillivray chief. Upon discovering him, he had vowed, he would haul the man back to Dunloch and hang him from the highest turret once and for all. He’d come back unsuccessful, though, and it was in that foul mood that he’d dealt with Jane as he’d promised to do three days earlier.

She lay on her bed, stretched on her stomach with her shift pulled up to her shoulders. Her arms were folded in front of her and her hands wedged beneath her chin. Ruth hovered beside her, tending to the raw welts that Lord Reginald had left with the application of his belt to her hide. Wet tears spilled over Jane’s cheeks and moistened the back of her hands as she lay patiently for her middle-aged maid. But her tears were only for the sting of the linen on her lashes. She couldn’t cry for anything else—Robbie had come to be an integral part of her heart, and a gaping hole, left in his place when he’d fled, left her numb.

His departure wasn’t something to cry about, she reminded herself. If anything, she should be relieved. She’d managed to warn him in time that Lord Reginald was on the search for him, and he’d escaped. He would live as long as he stayed away from Dunloch. And because she loved him, she wanted him to do just that.

Though her heart protested vehemently against the logic of her head.

“Ouch!” she gasped as Ruth’s linen pressed too hard on a particularly tender spot across her shoulder blade.

“I am sorry, my Lady,” Ruth said, wincing in empathy. “This spot’s quite raw, is it not?”

“A bit, yes,” Jane nodded, pressing her teeth into the back of her hand to counter the sting.

“It could have been worse. You were caught nearly red-handed being unfaithful to him. I’d venture to say that, given the circumstances, you got off fairly lightly.”

“I know.”

Ruth dipped the linen into the enameled bowl of rosemary water on the night table and wrung it out, then resumed her dabbing. It was thyme water that her maid had wanted to use instead of rosemary … but Jane had forbidden it. She could not tolerate the scent of thyme. Not anymore, for she found that she associated that particular fragrance with the hut where she’d sheltered, and tended to Robbie …

And where she’d fallen in love with him.

The scent of thyme triggered her heartache now. It always would, she knew, no matter how much time passed.

She also knew that what Ruth said was true—Lord Reginald’s dealing with her had actually been quite civilized, all things considered. She had been caught, more or less. Sneaking back to the castle at dawn—it did not require a soothsayer to guess at where she’d been … or rather, what she’d been doing.

But he had not discovered with whom she had been, had no idea that her lover had been his prime enemy in all of Scotland. When a scrap of MacGillivray plaid had been discovered in her bedchamber—the scrap of plaid which Robbie had given her as a token—Lord Reginald had concluded wrongly that the MacGillivray chief had broken into the castle, intent on abducting the baron’s new bride. Because, as Lord Reginald assumed, she was out cavorting with a nameless man in the village, she had not been there, and instead, he had left the plaid for Lord Reginald to find as a warning. Of course, when the plaid had first been found and Jane was nowhere to be seen, the castle had immediately feared the MacGillivray chief had abducted the new baroness; it was only when Lord Reginald encountered Jane on the road returning to the castle at dawn that he’d revised his initial conclusion.

I will deal with you later, girl, he had threatened, leaning down from his destrier with a menacing glare. Then he’d ridden away with his men in tow, and had not been back to the castle for three days. When finally he did return that morning, Jane had fully expected him to make good his threat with a torrent of rage inflicted upon her. When first he’d sat her down on the edge of the bed and interrogated her, she’d thought it was merely his way of working himself into a fit of anger.

“Who is it?” he’d demanded. “I’ll have his name, Jane, so help me. It was one of the villagers, wasn’t it?”

The accusation stung like a slap, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask which villagers left alive after the recent slaughter of Clan Gillivray were young and fit enough that she’d find attractive—but she’d thought better of it.

“It is not, my Lord,” she answered instead. “It was but a peddler. I travelled to his caravan.”

“You’re a terrible liar, girl,” Lord Reginald spat. “You’ll tell me his name.”

“I did not know his name, my Lord,” she insisted.

Jane watched his hands curl and uncurl themselves as if he wanted to strike her face, and she winced in anticipation of a blow upon her cheek. But that was the only indication of her fear, for her eyes looked steadily at Lord Reginald as she spoke, and she shed no tears of remorse. She trembled inwardly, but outwardly, her body was still. Accepting.

He did not strike her, in the end. Instead, he’d only whipped her with his belt—a powerful whipping, true, but it was controlled, calculating. Cold. And his message had been clearly understood: she was not a beloved wife who had betrayed her husband and broken his heart, she was a subject who had defied the will of her lord. Nothing more.

“I shall not bed you again until I am certain you are not with child,” he’d informed her icily when he’d finished. “I shall not have a bastard foisted upon me as my heir.”

“I suppose we can say you’re lucky to have a husband who does not fancy himself in love with his wife,” said Ruth, interrupting Jane’s recollections, “else his retribution might have been much more severe. He shall forgive you in time, I think. Though I daresay you’ve trampled any chance you might have had to win his affection as his blushing bride.”

“I don’t want his love or his affection,” Jane mumbled dejectedly into the back of her hand.

“Aye, I’m sure you do not. In fact, I know exactly whose love and affection you do want, my Lady, and I would advise you to forget it at once. You played a very dangerous game by attending to that MacGillivray rebel, and God knows I accept part of the blame for your indiscretion, for if I had only been aware of whom it was you were sneaking off to see each night I wouldn’t have encouraged you in it. In any case it is over; you’ve had a lucky escape, so for your own good, my Lady, leave your feelings for the man in the past and move forward.”

Jane knew her maid spoke only truth. She had had a lucky escape. Lord Reginald had no idea of her connection to Robbie whatsoever, had no idea that Robbie had even been injured in the first place and had received administrations—if he had, Lord Reginald would have turned the force of his rage on the remaining MacGillivray villagers, assuming one of them had helped their former clan chieftain. And it was probably for the best that Lord Reginald did not love her, for as long as she could produce him an heir he was satisfied with their marriage arrangement. Her infidelity did not diminish her dowry, nor did it sever any of her high connections to the English nobility. And while it was true that he was angered by her betrayal, he would not, at least, be heartbroken by it.

If Jane had any common sense, she would not want Robbie’s love or affection. She could never have it—not only because she was wed to his enemy, but also because she would never see him again. Besides, they’d never spoken of love to one another. Jane’s certainty of her love for him did not mean that he loved her in return. It was better if he did not, for he would have no reason to return to Dunloch and risk capture. Whether or not her love was returned, she loved him enough to wish him safe, even if it meant she would suffer in his absence.

And she would suffer, for the anguished throbbing of her empty heart could not be any more painful.

“Yer Ladyship, the baron would like a word wi’ ye,” called a meek voice from the door to the solar.

Jane glanced up from her needlework, her hand suspended over the colourful linen in mid-stitch, and looked towards the ghillie who stood partially concealed by the wooden door frame. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and avoided her eyes as he waited for her to reply.

He knew, she thought glumly. Saints preserve her, even the servants were talking about her!

Nervously, she shifted her eyes to the dowager baroness, who was seated beside her with her cushioned chair angled towards the fireplace. Knowing full well the reason for Jane’s hesitation, the elderly lady raised one eyebrow and stared at her with a rather cool expression.

“I hardly think he means me, my dear,” she said, though not unkindly.

Jane turned her head back in the direction of the ghillie, though she found herself unable to meet his eyes again. “I shall be right along,” she answered, her voice wavering.

“Very good, my Lady. His Lordship is in the great hall,” the boy replied with a slight bow at the waist. Then he swiveled on his heel and fled the doorway, visibly uncomfortable with the tension his news had brought.

Jane lowered her suspended needle and rested her work in her lap. She stared dimly at the dancing orange flames in the fireplace, unwilling to force her legs to stand. Ever since her infidelity had been discovered, Lady D’Aubrey had treated her with a certain distance, though she still tolerated Jane’s company, and would not see the poor wretch lock herself away in her bedchamber as Jane had wanted to do.

“I dread what he has to say,” Jane said finally. Raising her eyes to the dowager baroness, she added, “He has not spoken to me since he returned; it’s been two days since I’ve had any word at all from him—angry or kind.”

Lady D’Aubrey held her cool countenance, but her eyes softened with pity. With a slight sigh and a shrug of her frail shoulders. “I should not be surprised if his anger has diminished somewhat. I know my son, and he is not one for vengeance or for holding grudges. He is a good man at heart, and if he has not forgiven you yet, then he will do in time.”

The dowager believed what she said, for her faith in Lord Reginald as his mother was written across her withered face. Jane held her tongue, not willing to disagree with the lady when she was attempting to offer comfort. She was wrong, though; Jane knew the baron had at least a small streak of vengefulness in him—when it came to the MacGillivrays, at any rate.

“Will you ever forgive me?” she said instead.

Lady D’Aubrey pursed her lips together into a thin line, considering her answer carefully. “As a mother, I should say I will not for my son’s sake … but in truth, it is not for me to forgive. The matter is between my son and yourself, and it is not my place to hold a grudge on his behalf, though I admit I found myself disappointed in you.”

Jane lowered her eyes to her lap. The dowager baroness’ disappointment in her hurt far greater than the baron’s. She’d grown particularly close to Lady D’Aubrey in the short time she’d been at Dunloch; indeed, the lady had filled the void where her mother’s love had been before she’d left Sussex, England to marry the baron.

“My dear, do not be distressed,” she heard the lady’s voice say, tenderly this time. “You are not the only bride to have strayed from her husband’s bed. The reason I am disappointed in you is because I thought you were stronger than I. When I made the same mistake with the late Baron D’Aubrey, I was your age, but I was much sillier. I did not have the strong character and even temperament I have come to know of you. Do not mistake me,” she added when Jane’s chin bobbed even lower. “You have accepted your marriage with admirable grace, especially considering my son is three times your age. I do forget that you are still so young, and it is not fair of me to expect of you the wisdom and experience I myself have gained over these many years. It is a difficult thing to accept—no one knows it better than I—that one’s girlhood dreams of love and happiness with a dashing young man at her side are not to be.”

“I never had such dreams before now,” Jane admitted glumly.

“All the same, it is difficult,” the lady repeated. “In any case, you must go to him. Whatever he has a mind to say, keeping him waiting is not going to help the matter.”

Jane nodded. Laying her needlework behind her on the long, rectangular table, she stood. The morning sun, making one of its rare appearances in the aftermath of the severe storm which had ravaged Dunloch’s lands, did not shine upon the western-facing windows of the solar. The ornate, stained glass windows were dull with the lack of light, darkening the room. She should have been out of doors strolling the castle and grounds and enjoying the milder spring air the storm had brought in behind it. But she had not had the fortitude of will to leave the dim and stuffy solar. She was certain word had spread throughout the castle by now that she had deviated from Lord Reginald’s carnal attentions.

She was not a coward by nature, and could have faced the snickers and accusing looks with a measure of dignity had she not developed any feelings for the object of her diversion. But Robbie had not been a diversion. She had loved him; she loved him still with every fibre of her being. The residents of the castle knew nothing of what they’d shared together, of the tender, warm memories she’d carved out for herself. Their cutting glances and giggling behind hands to one another debased what had been for Jane so profound. They concluded that she’d given in to her urges, and had simply indulged in a meaningless tryst to satisfy them. And Jane simply couldn’t bear that.

Venturing into the narrow corridor outside the solar, she resolved to keep her eyes forward and her head high. She would not let them humiliate her. But as she progressed through the castle towards the great hall, the smirks and stares were more than she could handle. Her eyes slid to her feet, and an angry scowl spread across her face.

How dare they judge her? Most of them—women and men alike—were just as guilty as she. More so in many cases, for Jane had only taken one lover, and her unfaithfulness had been an act of love. Not lust.

Their looks and whispers so angered her that by the time she reached the great hall, her blood was positively roiling—so much so that had Lord Reginald not been waiting for her, she might have attempted to slam the heavy oak door of the great hall to shut out their gossiping. But upon beholding the baron, however, the roiling in her veins slowly iced over, and she swallowed thickly with dread. He was seated on the dais at the head table, flanked by two of his most trusted advisors.

Did he mean to address her in front of them? she wondered, dismayed. What might that mean was in store for her?

“My Lords, you’ll excuse me,” Lord Reginald said to the two men as he watched his wife’s infuriated march slow to a meek halt.

Jane held her chin high as the two men stood from the trestle table, but as they drew nearer on their way out of the hall, she could not keep her eyes from dropping to avoid their knowing glances.

“My Lady,” they both nodded to her as they passed. Jane nodded at her feet in return, her cheeks flaring pink.

For a long moment after they’d been left alone, Lord Reginald said nothing. He simply stared coolly at Jane from across the long, empty room. Unsure of his intentions, she forced her shaking legs to move slowly forward; her knees trembled with each step, and she feared that at any moment they would buckle. His countenance was so distant, so uninterested, rather than enraged as it had been two days ago when he’d returned home. It was as if he was regarding nothing more than an ill-tempered dog that was to be denied the privilege of its head.

Then again … perhaps that was how he now considered her.

“My Lord,” she managed, bending to a curtsey on unsteady legs.

Lord Reginald leaned back in his chair and pondered her a painful while longer. Nervously, she clasped her hands behind her back and fixed her gaze on the table at which he sat. A goblet stood beside his elbow and a pitcher beside it. She wondered what was in that pitcher and how much of it he’d drank thus far. His silence was excruciating, and she longed to make him speak, to beg him to say something. But she knew well she was in no position to do anything but wait in humility, and so she remained as silent as he.

“How is your backside?” he queried finally.

His tone was indifferent, and Jane’s mind raced to determine whether that was a good or a bad thing.

“I-It is better, my Lord,” she answered.

“You deserved my correction. You know it, aye?”

“Indeed, my Lord.”

There was another measure of silence before he spoke again. “I am sure you are wondering what I intend to do about your … shall we say, little bit of fun, so I will keep you waiting no longer. I have sent word to Lord Sewell that he must come immediately. He is aware of what you have done, and waits to hear what I shall do in answer to it.”

“And … that is what, my Lord?” Jane hedged when he hesitated.

Peering up at him from under her lashes, she saw that his face had relented somewhat, although his expression was still unpleasantly detached.

“Well, for one, I meant what I said—I shall not bed you until I can be sure you are not with child. But beyond that … nothing.”

“Nothing?” Jane repeated, meeting his eyes fully, her own eyes wide with astonishment.

“Nothing,” he confirmed, and then sighed in resignation. “Jane … I told you that I knew full well I’d poached you from your father’s house at a very young age, and as such, I understand that you may be subject to some youthful errors in judgment. What you did, mind you, is no small thing. But given your age and your inexperience … I’m willing to overlook it this one time. Once, Jane,” he reiterated, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Should you make the same mistake again, I shall not be lenient, so mark my words well.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she mumbled, averting her eyes from his and gazing towards the grand hearth built into the western wall of the hall.

“However, you must know that you do not have my trust any longer. And since that is so, I will no longer permit you to go off by yourself for hours at a time. Therefore, you are from this point on to have an escort with you at all times when you leave the castle.”

“I understand,” she answered. “I shall go nowhere without my maid.”

“That old bag?” Lord Reginald scoffed. “Not bloody likely. The wench is loyal to you, not me. Nay, you shall be supervised by a man of my choosing, someone I can trust to betray you the moment you step out of line. And you are also to ask my permission when you leave the castle. I will know where you are going and with whom you spend your hours at all times, do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Lord Reginald straightened in his chair. “Good. Now leave. I am willing to overlook your mistake, as I said, but that does not mean I have forgiven you for utterly humiliating me in front of my subjects and peers. I shall be away from the castle for the next sennight attending to my affairs in the south. I daresay I am eager to be away from the sight of you. Pray my good nature restores itself by the time I return.”

Jane said nothing in response. She simply curtseyed, and then turned from the dais and swiftly departed the great hall.

“One more thing, Jane,” Lord Reginald called.

Jane halted, but could not bear to turn back to him.

“I do not believe that your lover was a peddler, you know that. I would advise you to keep his name to yourself. For if I discover who it is that has had my wife, I’ll not hang him—I’ll skewer him with the blade of my eating knife.”

Jane curtseyed again with her back to him, and fled the hall. She shuddered at the image Lord Reginald’s threat had painted in her mind: Robbie’s flesh—the same flesh which she’d cooled of fever as his nurse … and which had trembled at the intimate caress of her fingertips as his lover—ripped crudely apart by the baron’s dull blade.

Returning to the solar, she was far to absorbed in her thoughts to notice the continued snickers and smirks from the castle’s inhabitants. In truth, she did not know how she was meant to feel after Lord Reginald’s address. On the one hand, she was relieved to be let off so lightly, for what woman would prefer to suffer the wrath of her husband for such a sin as she had committed?

On the other hand, though, she was inexplicably incensed. She didn’t want Lord Reginald to be lenient; indeed she felt rather like she was being denied her just punishment. On some level, it felt to her as though being punished for her sin would validate it. Her husband’s wrath would serve as a physical manifestation of the heartache with which she was left in the wake of Robbie’s escape.

To be denied that wrath … left her feeling oddly cheated.

Chapter 3

Margaret MacGillivray lay in her bed, curled on her side beneath a heavy quilt. Her knees were drawn up as far as her round belly would allow, and her arms rested tenderly over her bulge. For once in far too many months she had been sleeping soundly, and even in her state of blissful unconsciousness she had relished the reprieve. But a soft noise had stolen into her dreams and had woken her. A bump. Or perhaps a dull thud.

She opened her eyes slowly, searching the darkened hut for the source of the sound. In the dim glow of the dying fire she saw nothing. She waited a moment longer, listening for the sound again. But when the hut remained in silence, she snuggled farther under her quilt and shut her eyes once more.

The babe, however, had other ideas in mind. Disturbed by his mother’s sudden alertness, he began a torrent of kicking from the inside of her belly just as Margaret began to drift off.

“I must sleep sometime wee one,” she muttered in frustration.

But the babe would not have it so. He continued his merry dance, his little heels tapping at her liver. Resigned to the loss of her sleep for the time being, Margaret sat up and disentangled her limbs from her quilt. If she was not going to be allowed to sleep anymore, she might as well check on Connall, for it was a particular pleasure of hers to watch her young son as he dreamed.

But when she stood and turned towards Connall’s bed, closer to the hearth on the other side of the small hut, a strangled gasp issued from her throat. Barely illuminated by the embers of the fire, a figure leaned over her sleeping son. Her gasp alerted the intruder, and he stood, startled also.

“Dinna fret, Margaret. It’s only me.”

“Robbie?” she whispered through the darkness, a combination of excitement and relief playing at her still-thrumming heart.

“Aye,” he responded.

“Oh Rob,” she breathed, rushing forward to envelop him in a warm embrace—made awkward by the size of her stomach. “They havena found ye then? Where have ye been hiding yerself?”

“In the hills. Where else?”

“That must have been terrible, what wi’ the storm and all.”

“I’ve had better nights, I’ll admit.”

“And yer wound—does it give ye trouble?”

“Nay—or no’ much.”

“No sign of the fever coming on again?”

“I am well, lass. Stop yer mothering.”

Margaret smiled to herself in the dark. That teasing tone was one she’d known of Robbie her whole life, and she relished the warmth of the memory.

“Well then, will ye sit wi’ me by the fire a while?” she said.

With steps that were more of a shuffle than a walk, she made her way to her chair by the hearth and sank heavily into it. Robbie followed, but folded himself on the straw-covered ground next to her.

“Oh Rob, dinna sit there,” she admonished.

“I’ll no’ take Connall’s chair,” he replied resolutely.

“Why no’? It’s no’ a shrine to his memory, and he’ll hardly be coming back to reclaim his place, now will he?”

Robbie assessed her through the dim light, considering. Recognizing the determined set of her delicate features even in shadow, he relented. It was no use arguing with Margaret MacGillivray when she had that look about her. He’d tried once, when they were young … he’d lost.

“If ye insist,” he said begrudgingly. Pushing himself off the floor he sat hesitantly in Connall’s empty chair beside her.

“Ye’ve a bonnie lad there,” he said wistfully, glancing in young Connall’s direction. “So much like his da.”

“Aye. He is a reminder every time I look at him; for that I am thankful.” Then shrewdly she added, “And I am thankful that Tearlach and the young baroness have given him a place he can go to remember his father. He’ll grow up knowing Connall … in a way.”

She watched as Robbie winced at the mention of Jane.

“Robbie … what happened between ye and the baroness?”

He was quiet for a long while. Margaret waited patiently, knowing that he would speak in his own good time. Robbie was a pensive man, and always had been. He was the type of man who thought through a decision before making it—and the type of man who bore the full responsibility of his decision if it was the wrong one. That, she knew with an aching heart, was why he had been so devastated by the slaughter of the clan at the battle for the castle: he blamed himself.

“I never met a lass like her,” he allowed finally. “Someone so compassionate, so brave. Margaret, she risked her life to care for me when she kent full well I were the enemy.”

“She didna ken ye were the MacGillivray chief,” Margaret countered.

“Aye, but she kent I was a MacGillivray, and that should have been enough to send her fleeing straight to D’Aubrey. But she didna.”

“Go on,” she prodded when he faltered.

“I left her to save my own skin. I left her not knowing what danger I was leaving her in.”

“I dinna think she’s in any danger,” she assured him. “D’Aubrey’s been back a few days, and I havena heard word of treason. Though I have heard he kens she’s been unfaithful.”

“God be damned,” Robbie muttered. “Does he ken wi’ whom she’s … strayed?”

Margaret bit back the urge to reprimand him for blaspheming, which she would have done in better times—and which she would have dealt with an accompanying smack behind the ear.

“Nay. I dinna think so,” she answered instead.

They were silent then. Robbie stared into the embers, angry with himself for having risked abandoning Jane to Lord Reginald’s mercy, and Margaret stared at him, deciding how best to pose her next question—though she was certain she already knew the answer. In the end she decided to speak simply.

“Ye love her, Rob. Dinna ye?”

Robbie leaned forward in Connall’s chair. Propping his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his dirty hands. “God help me Margaret, I do.”

“Is she the reason ye havena fled Dunloch like ye should have? Ye play a dangerous game, lurking around when D’Aubrey’s set as hellfire on finding ye.”

“She is part of the reason,” he admitted begrudgingly, raising his eyes to her and templing his fingers under his chin. “So long as I am here, I am near her.”

“And the other part?”

“The other part … the other part, Margaret, is that these are still my people. I canna leave them. I must do something to free them of D’Aubrey.”

“There’s no more ye can do,” she pried carefully. “Ye did something already … and it failed.”

“Aye,” he agreed angrily, sitting back in the chair and gazing at the embers again. “I did something. I attacked. But ye dinna remember, lass, that was no’ my plan; no’ my way.”

“Have ye a plan now?”

By Robbie’s weighted silence, Margaret knew she’d asked the question that was burdening him the most.

“Aye,” he answered solemnly. “I have a plan.”

“Can ye tell me what ye have in mind?”

“I cannot—no’ now, anyway. But Margaret, in the meantime, can ye do something for me?”

“What might that be?”

“Will ye find a way to give this to Jane?” Reaching into the breast pocket of his soiled linen shirt, he pulled out a small object and handed it to her.

“A sprig of thyme?” she said quizzically, examining the small, fragrant twig that Robbie had placed in her palm. “What should I tell her when I give it to her?”

“She’ll ken its meaning,” he answered. “And will ye tell her … will ye tell her that I find myself in the same position she was in when she came here to Dunloch? I have a duty to fulfill, and I must do what’s right for my clan … even though I dinna want to … even though my heart belongs to her.”

“And when she asks what it is ye’ll be doing that ye dinna want to, what should I say?”

The tone of his voice when he answered was chilling; foreboding—like he was pronouncing a death sentence upon a condemned man. A shiver ran up Margaret’s spine.

“Tell her she’ll ken it soon enough.”

A gentle knocking at Jane’s bedchamber door roused her from her slumber. In the muddied haze of sudden consciousness, she thought the knocking was Ruth, and wondered why her maid would not simply enter unbidden.

“Come in,” she called thickly, snuggling further down under her covers.

The door opened with a hesitant creak, and she heard a startled male voice.

“Oh! Ah … I am truly sorry, my Lady.”

Jane’s eyes popped open, and she jerked her head from her pillow and towards the door. There stood an uneasy Tearlach, steward to Dunloch—and former MacGillivray clansman.

“Tearlach,” she gasped, bolting upright and clutching the bed covers to her. “I am sorry, I thought you were Ruth. Pray, allow me a moment to don a dressing robe.”

“Very good, m—” Tearlach mumbled, closing the door before he’d finished speaking.

Both chagrined and a touch humoured by Tearlach’s discomfort, Jane swung her legs from her bed and felt for her slippers on the braided rug beneath her. Finding them, she slipped her bare feet into their cold interiors. Then standing, she crossed the room, pulled her green velvet dressing gown off the vanity stool and wrapped it around her slender frame.

The hour, she saw from the low light outside her chamber window, was still early; it was not quite time to descend to the great hall for the morning meal. Having concluded this, it then occurred to Jane to be curious about what it was Tearlach wanted—and why he had felt it necessary to defy custom and propriety to seek her out so early.

It did not follow, however, that Jane was suspicious of him. Quite the contrary. It was true that the Scot had been called a turncoat by Lord Reginald for abandoning the MacGillivrays and swearing allegiance to King Edward in order to keep his place at the castle. The baron had even remarked to Jane on her first night at Dunloch that he didn’t trust Tearlach, and kept him around only because he was good with the accounts. But Jane knew better than to believe that Tearlach had turned his back on his clan. Rather than aiming to save his own hide, the steward had meant to safeguard Dunloch’s assets in its laird’s absence. Robbie’s absence. Now in the autumn of his life, he may not have been a fearsome warrior any longer, but he was still fighting for Dunloch in his own way.

Jane was confident she had nothing to fear from him. In fact, Tearlach was probably one of the most trusted acquaintances she had at the castle. It was Tearlach with whom she had conspired to retrieve the remains of Connall MacGillivray from the rotting heap of the disrespected MacGillivray dead—despite Lord Reginald having forbidden the villagers from reclaiming their slaughtered clansmen after the attack on Dunloch. Together they had risked incurring the baron’s wrath so that they could give Connall a proper burial, and his wife and son a place to grieve his loss.

Wrapping her arms protectively around herself to combat the chill in the room, Jane advanced on the door with steps that were somewhere between a shuffle and a trot. Pulling on the cast iron handle she peered around the edge of the door, keeping herself partially hidden behind its wooden barrier. Her thick, chestnut plait fell over her shoulder as she inclined her head.

“What is it, Tearlach?” she asked pleasantly.

“My Lady,” Tearlach answered, bowing. “I am sorry to come to ye so early, but I have a message for ye.”

A message? Had Robbie sent word to her through his loyal steward? Her heart climbed in her chest, and her limbs tingled with anticipation.

“A message from whom?” she asked, nearly whispering the words.

“From the widow Margaret, my Lady.”

“Oh,” Jane answered, her spirits falling again. “Pray, what does she say?”

“She wonders if ye could visit her in the village at her home. She regrets that she canna make the journey to the castle to ask an audience wi’ ye herself, but travelling is difficult on her, being as advanced as she is in her condition.”

“Yes, of course,” she nodded. “She did not say why it is she wishes for me to visit?”

Tearlach eyed her secretively. “Oh aye, she did say. But she also said she’d tell ye herself, and that I’d best keep my mouth shut.”

Jane chuckled begrudgingly at his quip. “I would very much like to visit with her but I cannot.”

“Oh … may I ask ye why?”

“The baron won’t allow me out of the castle after … after what happened,” she said ruefully.

Tearlach’s eyes softened with sympathy, recognizing the ache she tried to hide. Not only did he know of her secret connection with the dispossessed MacGillivray laird, he also suspected the nature of her connection to him—and the depth.

“Well,” he said instead, leaning towards her with a conspiratorial air, “if ye dinna mind me saying it, lass, that’s no’ exactly true, now is it. He said that ye’d have to be chaperoned by one of his men, and that ye’d have to have his permission before ye went anywhere.”

“That is true,” Jane agreed. “But he has left the castle and will not be back for a sennight, so I do not have his permission.”

“Nay, my Lady. He hasna left yet. I think if ye hurried, ye’d find him in the stables tending to his destrier.”

A rush of excitement flooded Jane’s cheeks with colour, and she smiled widely.

“Thank you Tearlach, I shall,” she exclaimed and hastened to shut the door.

Turning back to her chamber, she rushed to her chest and removed a simple but clean gown which she donned with little care, tearing slightly the seam at the waist in her hurry to struggle into the thing. Drat! She’d have to have Ruth repair that. Her hair she left in its plait—she had no time for pins and brushes if she was to catch Lord Reginald before he left. And finally, she kicked her slippers off and stuffed her bare feet into her shoes—nor had she any time to bother with something as trivial as a pair of stockings.

When she was ready, she dashed from the room and through the upper corridor of the keep towards the stairs. Descending the stone steps in a ripple of footfalls she encountered Ruth, who was on her way up to her mistress’ chamber with a pitcher of hot water for the morning wash.

“Eh—my Lady, where do you think you’re going?” she demanded. “You look a fright; you can’t go about like that.”

“I shan’t be long, my Ruth,” Jane called over her shoulder and continued on her way. A grunt of exasperation from her maid trailed after her.

With the castle so quiet and all asleep save the servants—who were mostly congregated in the kitchens for their morning meal at this hour—Jane ran with abandon, much as she did when she was a girl; the exhilaration of speed helped to heighten her spirits.

By the time she reached the stables, she was nearly bursting at the prospect of her visit, and almost charged through the doors in her excitement. But such enthusiasm would surely trigger Lord Reginald’s suspicion, and perhaps then he would forbid her from going anywhere for the entire sennight that he planned to be absent. Stopping short just outside the long wooden structure, she forced herself to take several deep breaths. When her nerves had steadied, she stepped forward through the stable doors with a subdued countenance.

The air inside was thick and pungent with the scent of horse and hay. Two rows of stalls were lined up one after the other, ten deep, between which ran a wide central column. Occasional snorts from the stabled animals accented the otherwise peaceful atmosphere within.

She spotted Lord Reginald immediately. He was perched on a low stool at the mouth of a stall half-way down the structure. In one hand he held a hoof pick, and in the other rested the rear hoof of his large, black destrier. With slow and deliberate strokes he scraped the beast’s hoof clear of muck and debris; his movements were not abrupt or angry, and Jane thought this was a hopeful sign that his good nature might presently rule his mood.

“My Lord?” she called meekly.

He turned from where he was seated; seeing her, however, he returned his attentions back to his work. His expression offered no indication one way or the other of what his thoughts might be, and Jane’s optimism dwindled.

“What is it?” he said, his tone non-committal.

She advanced down the central aisle of the barn, her steps muted against the dirt floor, and approached his side. Peering over his shoulder, she watched him work for a moment. The task seemed rather monotonous, but appeared to be offering him a measure of contentment.

“Do you do that yourself for the sake of your horse, or do you enjoy the task?” she queried, trying to lighten the tension between them.

Lord Reginald replied without pause from his work. “Is that what you roused yourself so early to ask me?”

“No, my Lord,” she answered, dropping her chin. Clearly he was in no mood to encourage any pleasantries from her.

“Then what is it?”

Jane toyed with the idea of inventing an excuse to need to go to the village … but in the end she decided honesty was the best policy. If the baron was ever going to trust her again, she had to give him reason to believe she was trustworthy—and getting caught in a lie would definitely not help her cause.

“Tearlach brought me a message from the widow Margaret MacGillivray,” she said evenly.

“Oh? What does she want?”

His callous tone stung Jane’s heart, and she worked to keep her face from betraying her incense. “She wonders if I might come visit her this day.”

At this, Lord Reginald stopped what he was doing altogether. Standing to his full height, he turned and stared speculatively at her. Despite herself, Jane flinched under his unpleasant stare.

“Why does she want to visit with you?” he said carefully.

“I-I’m sure it’s only that she wishes company, my Lord,” Jane stammered, losing the nerve she had managed to compose only minutes ago. “We did get along rather well when I met her the first time—when you took me to the village, do you remember? Anyway, I did find her little boy a very sweet thing, and I wouldn’t mind seeing him again, and … and making a friend of his mother.”

“You have the ladies of the castle with whom to make friends.”

“No, my Lord,” Jane said softly, “I do not. Especially not now after I have … betrayed you. And even if I had not, they are not of like mind or age. I … I am lonely.”

Lord Reginald was unmoved by her heartfelt admission. “And what business is it of Tearlach’s to bring such a message to you?”

“Well … they are kin, my Lord,” Jane answered. “And he is the widow’s only link to the castle, since she cannot come here herself being so close to her time. I’m sure he recognizes the presumption he has made in coming to me with her message, and would not have done so if there had been a more proper way.”

Lord Reginald assessed Jane through narrowed eyes, and while she waited for him to reach a decision, she worried that her plea had had no effect on him. But soon his hard expression softened a touch, and without saying anything further, he bent to his stool and resumed his work.

“May I go, my Lord?” Jane hedged after several moments, and it was several moments more that Lord Reginald finally spoke.

“Alright, you may,” he answered. “But you are to be escorted as I had previously decreed. Wycke,” he called down the stables in the opposite direction.

“My Lord?” responded an English stablemen. The man poked his head from around a wooden stall at the far end of the structure.

Jane nearly jumped out of her skin, for she had not known there was anyone else in there with him. Humiliated that their intimate conversation had been overheard, her neck flushed with heat. Now the servants would have even more fodder with which to fuel their gossip.

“Tell Hobbs he is to escort my wife to the village this day. She is to visit the widow MacGillivray—and no one else.”

“My Lord,” Wycke acknowledged with a nod of his head.

Jane glowered at the man as he tossed a crass look, barely hidden, in her direction, but she held her tongue.

“I thank you, my Lord,” she said simply instead.

Curtseying, she departed the stable before Lord Reginald could change his mind. Then she hurried back to her bedchamber where Ruth was waiting for her.

“I daresay the water’s lost some of its heat,” she said as Jane charged through the door, gleaming with excitement. “What on earth were you up to just now?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” she assured Ruth, sitting at the vanity so that her maid could brush her auburn locks. “The widow Margaret MacGillivray in the village has asked if I might visit her, and I needed to catch Lord Reginald before he left on his journey—since he has bidden that I obtain his permission before I go anywhere.”

Ruth studied her through the glass with furrowed brows. “Why are you all flushed then? And before you tell me it was just the exercise, I’d ask you to save it. I know you, my Lady. I know that look and I know exactly that colour pink on your cheek. ‘Tis more than the exercise that’s stimulating you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Jane lied, glancing through the glass at Ruth from under her lashes.

Ruth’s gaze held steady, reading her mistress’ innermost thoughts; nervously Jane lowered her eyes. Without a word, the woman began brushing Jane’s hair, dragging the bristles through the tangled tresses with much less care than she usually did.

“You’ve a mind to say something,” Jane said without glancing up, “so I pray you say it. You have never held anything back before.”

“Your life has never hung in the balance before.”

Jane was about to protest Ruth’s comment, but decided against it, for she knew Ruth was right. Her life had come quite close to hanging in the balance—helping a wounded enemy Scot to recover from his battle wounds and escape justice was not something the baron would look kindly on … let alone King Edward himself.

“It does not hang in the balance anymore,” she offered instead, rather lamely.

Ruth released a harsh sigh. “And I pray it stays that way. My Lady, I shall always be on your side, and shall always want what’s best for you. However, that does not mean the two go hand-in-hand. I daresay Lord Reginald is wise in his decision to have you followed everywhere you go, for that way you cannot get yourself into further trouble.”

Her words offended Jane. “I have never been into trouble before,” she pointed out.

Ruth scoffed at her argument. “Fie! That was only because you were not a stubborn ox like your sister, Amelia, who was bent on defying your father as openly as she could. Clever girl that you were, if you had a mind to do something, you did it when no one was looking and none were the wiser. But do not think for a moment I was not aware of any of it. I knew full well that, as a child, you were sneaking out of your father’s house in the middle of the night to romp about the moors with that bloody brute of a dog of yours, and much more besides.”

“Well there, you see?” Jane countered smugly. “I had Hugg with me, so I was never in any trouble.”

“You twist my words,” Ruth admonished angrily, yanking on a particularly difficult tangle.

“Ow! Ruth …” Jane protested, drawing her brows together.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to pull so harshly. But you frustrate me to no end. If you love me at all, my Lady, if you have ever loved me as a nurse and maid—”

“I do,” Jane interjected. “Of course I do, my Ruth. How can you say such a thing?”

“Alright. Then will you please promise me that you will do nothing to put yourself in danger’s path ever again?”

Jane’s heart sank. She could see how concerned Ruth was for her. It pained her to see she had so frightened the person who, for the whole of her life, had been as close to her as her own mother. Closer, even.

“I promise, I will try,” she answered dutifully.

“Very well then, we’ll say no more of it. Now stand and we’ll get you dressed for your outing. I shall accompany you this time, I think.”

“That is not necessary,” Jane said. “Lord Reginald already has one of his men assigned to the task of watchdog.”

“And what do I know of this man?” Ruth objected. “Not a thing. No, until I know he is trustworthy, I’ll not let you go off on your own; I will be there to watch over you as well. Who knows—perhaps Lord Reginald is bent on taking his revenge on you after all, and this Hobbs has been given orders to dispatch you.”

Jane sighed good-naturedly. “So dramatic, Ruth! Alright, if you insist.”

Chapter 4

Dressed and ready for her excursion, Jane descended the stairwell of the keep to the ground floor of the castle with Ruth close on her heels. She was clothed sensibly in a fine but sturdy gown of burnt umber. A wool cloak of similar hue was fastened at her neck and draped over her narrow shoulders; the wide hood rested at her crown, displaying an intricately crafted band of woven gold which wrapped her forehead and weaved itself into her hair at her temples. Ruth had insisted on the head piece—Jane would much rather have worn her locks loose, and she cursed her maid’s insistence that she must bind her hair now that she was a married woman.

She smiled to herself as they went, amused by the protective manner in which Ruth hovered behind her. It was as if she was ready to defend her young charge from this unknown man called Hobbs—who may, or may not, be carrying secret instruction to do away with the baron’s deceitful wife. Ruth’s strides were wide and forceful; Jane thought that if she had a mind to, she might just shatter the slate floor with each step.

Tearlach was waiting for them in the bailey, and beside him stood a man whom Jane presumed to be Hobbs. Assessing him critically, she decided he did not look much like a hired assassin. The man was tall, with a frame as thin as a reed. Towards the end of his middling years, his hair was thin, wispy and white. His face was kind, although weathered, and she thought his eyes did not gaze upon her with the same snide satisfaction that the others at the castle had been casting upon her of late. In his large, knobby hands he held the reins for two fine bay geldings. Obviously he had not been expecting Ruth to join in on the outing.

“You are Hobbs?” Jane said to the man with a friendly smile.

“Aye, your Ladyship,” Hobbs returned with a thick, northern English accent.

“Then I am pleased to meet you. I daresay we shall be spending much time in each other’s company from now on. As you know I am to be chaperoned everywhere I go, but I am determined not to let that fact keep me locked away within the castle walls.”

“I am glad to hear it, my Lady,” Hobbs answered, a trace of humour crinkling his eyes at the corners. “Though I hope it doesn’t follow that you shan't enjoy your outings, chaperoned though they must be.”

“Of course not,” Jane agreed pleasantly. “I’m sure we shall get along just fine. Tearlach, will you be joining us?”

“I dinna think so, my Lady,” Tearlach answered. “But give the widow Margaret my love, will ye?”

“Of course,” she said, and her gaze lingered on Tearlach’s knowingly, the two of them acknowledging their secret friendship. “Now Hobbs, my maid would like to come along, if you don’t mind.”

Hobbs eyed Ruth warily, but nodded his assent. “Very good, my Lady. If you wish.”

“She does wish,” Ruth added accusingly. “And I’ll have you know that I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I’ll not have any harm befall my Lady.”

“Oh, aye, I understand,” Hobbs agreed. “If you please, shall I return to the stables and fetch another gelding then?”

Ruth narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you think you would do otherwise—ride with the lady herself? What kind of game do you play at?”

“Ruth, behave,” Jane muttered under her breath.

“I assure you madam, I’ve no game in mind,” Hobbs insisted solemnly. “I only worry about the welfare of the animals. A backside the size of yours is a terrible burden to one horse as it is, I would not think it wise to add the baroness’ weight to the load as well.”

Ruth’s face turned red, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish snatched from water as she worked to come up with a scathing retort. So dumbfounded was she, though, that nothing came out. Tearlach and Jane both stifled their laughter and averted their faces. With a hint of pride shining on his weathered face, Hobbs passed the reins to Tearlach and stalked off in the direction of the stables.

“Did you hear what he said to me?” Ruth demanded, incensed.

“Serves you right,” Jane answered with a grin.

Hobbs returned shortly, leading a spotted gray palfrey towards them. Graciously, he helped Jane to mount one of the bays, and then turned to help Ruth—a little less graciously but politely nonetheless. Still glowering at him, Ruth snubbed his offer, and mounted the spotted one with surprising agility given her moderately rotund physique.

“I’ll not be needing help from a cur like you,” she declared, nodding self-righteously. “I still have no reason to trust you as yet.”

“Suit yourself, you stubborn goat,” Hobbs muttered and mounted his own bay.

“Goodbye Tearlach,” Jane waved brightly as they trotted away.

“Dinna forget to give my love to Margaret,” he called after them.

The journey was not long, for the village lay just west of Dunloch, within eyesight from atop the wall walk. Hobbs said little as they went, remarking only on the weather which was gusty and changeful. The clouds seemed to be in a race with each other on their way south towards the Grampian mountain range, but for fleeting moments they would allow the sun to penetrate their blanket, creating a dizzying pattern of shadows and light across the land.

When their horses reached the borders of the village, Jane took the lead, directing the small party to Margaret’s hut. At first she struggled to remember the way, and had to stop and ask a passing villager for help. Once he had put them on the right track, the muddy, narrow lanes took on a note of familiarity, and soon she recognized the smith’s shop. The ring of hammer against anvil as the smith worked at his forge lent a musical atmosphere to the morning.

“Margaret MacGillivray’s home is just around the corner,” she announced to her companions, proud of her small accomplishment.

Bringing her bay to a halt in front of the low stone hut, she waited for Hobbs to dismount and help her off. Ruth stepped lightly down from her own mount, unwilling to accept Hobbs’ help. She said nothing to him, but her scowl made it clear that she was still incensed by his comment, and mistrustful of him. Hobbs shook his head and mumbled something unintelligible to himself.

“I should like to make my visit alone, if you don’t mind,” Jane said once Hobbs had taken the reins for the horses in his knobby hands.

“I’m sorry, your Ladyship, but the baron has instructed that I am not to let you go off alone,” he answered warily.

“She’s hardly alone, now is she?” Ruth interrupted. “What with a mere two windows in this dwelling, you think she’s going to climb out one of them while you’re not looking and make off on her own?”

“Please, sir,” Jane implored with a touch more diplomacy. “I should like to make this visit unaccompanied. The widow MacGillivray is with child, you see, and I daresay our conversation may become quite intimate. I am certain a man such as yourself would not wish to be present when ladies are discussing such private matters.”

Hobbs’ already ruddy face reddened, and he furrowed his brows. “Oh … er … y-yes, well, in that case I do suppose it’s unlikely that you’ll be getting into any mischief.”

“Thank you, Hobbs,” Jane said, giving him her most grateful smile.

The man nodded back, won over for the moment by her charm. Ruth nodded also, and added a distinct humph! With an awkward smile, Jane stepped around the pair of them as they glared at each other, and approached the woven reed door of the hut.

“Mistress MacGillivray?” she called into the closest window, which was strung with a square of weathered, but neat, burlap.

A shuffling sound answered her call, and the door opened. Margaret MacGillivray peered out at Jane, and then her gold-flecked eyes shifted nervously to Jane’s rather surly looking companions behind her.

“Aye. Thank ye for coming, Baroness,” she said demurely, curtseying as best she could in her condition.

“Don’t be silly,” Jane admonished gently. “There is no need for that.”

“Please ye, come inside. I dinna think I have enough places to sit, but if ye bring that bench there, we can make the room.” Margaret gestured to the wooden bench outside her home, and glanced at Hobbs warily.

“That won’t be necessary,” Jane assured her. “My companions shall remain outside.”

“Oh, right,” she answered, looking a touch relieved.

She followed the young widow inside the hut, and Margaret closed the door after her. It was the same as it had been when she’d seen it last; it seemed a lifetime ago when really it was only a sennight. Connall was still sleeping soundly, his arms and legs splayed innocently across his mattress and his sweet, cherub cheeks a delicate pink. A tenderness warmed Jane as she gazed upon the little boy; she imagined it was a feeling his mother felt ten times more keenly.

“Please, sit ye down,” Margaret offered. She held her arm out to Connall’s chair, and sat down in her own next to it.

Jane eyed the chair, uncertain. “Is this not your husband’s chair? Only I’d not want to take it, for it must mean a great deal to you.”

Margaret fixed her with a careful look, and one corner of her lips pulled up on a knowing grin. “That’s what Robbie said when he were here.”

Jane gasped, and sank into Connall’s chair. “He was here?”

“Aye.”

“But … but when?”

“I … dinna wish to say,” Margaret answered hesitantly. “Or no’ yet.”

“Why?”

She took in Jane’s wide eyes and tense posture. “How do I ken ye’ll no’ reveal his visit to his lordship? After all, yer loyalties lie wi’ yer husband, do they not?”

“I—” Jane began, but faltered, and her cheeks grew red. In truth, she knew not where her loyalties lay anymore.

“Yer Ladyship, I dinna mean to pry, and I ken full well it’s no’ my place to be on such familiar terms wi’ ye …” Margaret paused, searching for the right words. “Robbie’s being here could get us both hanged for treason, ye ken that, aye? If ye felt the need to betray our Rob to the English then I would be wise to hold my tongue. D’ye understand?”

Jane did understand, and she knew that what Margaret said was true. Clearly the widow knew that Jane herself had already risked her life, had betrayed her husband and her king not only to hide Robbie, but also to warn him when the baron was on his trail. But whether that loyalty to the Scottish outlaw Jane had befriended still held now that Lord Reginald was back, Margaret did not know.

“I should be ashamed to admit that I betrayed my husband,” she began slowly, thinking through each word as she spoke, “but I am not. If I had it to do over, I would not change a thing. I do not want to see Robbie captured, and I certainly don’t want to see him hanged. I … I love him. I know not how he feels about me—we never spoke of it, you understand. In fact, I rather doubt he feels the same, and for his own good I don’t want him to. I would much rather he forget about me and start afresh somewhere far away where he will be safe. But in the time we knew one another, we shared … well, I shall only say we knew love of each other. I have fallen in love with him—that I cannot change. You are right: I warned him to flee even though I could have been hanged as a traitor were I caught. I did so because I would much rather go to my own grave than see him go to his.”

Listening, Margaret registered the pain in Jane’s voice, and the love. Her carefully neutral expression softened and she lowered her eyes to her lap.

“I can see ye speak truth,” she said. “But I think ye underestimate our Rob. Or perhaps ye underestimate yerself.”

“What do you mean?”

Margaret reached into the pocket of her skirts and withdrew the sprig of thyme. Handing it to Jane, she smiled sadly.

“I dinna ken what this means, but he said ye’d ken its significance,” she said simply. “I dinna believe he’ll ever forget ye, for I daresay he loves ye as much as ye love him.”

“Did he say that?” Jane said, her voice trembling. “He said he loves me?”

“Aye,” Margaret confirmed. “He did. And he’s stayed around Dunloch, much to his peril, because of it. But he has also left a message, my Lady, and he’s asked me to give it ye.”

“A message,” Jane repeated. A slow sense of dread crept over her at the way Margaret spoke.

“He wishes me to tell ye that he must do his duty—much like ye had to when ye married the baron. He says he must do it, though he doesna want to, for his heart belongs to ye.”

“W-What does he plan to do?”

Margaret sighed, revealing her own concern for the first time. “I dinna ken, my Lady. And it has worried me sick to think on it. Rob is the type that would put his life on the line for the protection of the clan—as we ken all too well, would ye no’ say?”

“I would,” Jane agreed.

She clutched the sprig of thyme to her breast, shutting her eyes while Margaret watched her with sympathy. He loved her. Robbie loved her! She should not want it to be so, but neither could she convince her heart to believe what her head said she should.

“Will you tell me if you’ve had word from him again?” she asked imploringly.

“If I can,” Margaret allowed. “Thought I doubt I will.” Then hesitating, she added, “My Lady, may I ask ye something?”

“Of course.”

“Have ye … do ye have a great many friends at Dunloch? Companions, that is?”

“No, not really,” Jane admitted. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was wondering how it is that ye got away often enough to care for Robbie. I would have thought the society of the ladies at the castle would have kept ye gae busy.”

Jane smiled sheepishly. “I have never been a social person,” she admitted. “I find the company of noble ladies rather tedious, in truth. I much prefer solitude, or perhaps the company of one good friend.”

“I am the same,” Margaret said. “I … I ken I am a lowly villager—I wasna always, mind, when the clan were alive. But now that the baron has Dunloch, I am little better than a peasant. In any case, I were wondering … d’ye think ye might make a friend of me? It seems we’re both in need of someone wi’ whom we can share confidences, and I canna imagine someone such as yerself finding that at Dunloch as it is now. I dinna have much company, myself.”

Margaret held her gaze shyly, as if she were expecting Jane to laugh in her face. It was far from what Jane felt, however: she was touched. Humbled. She remembered what Robbie had said about the English and what they had done to the people of Scotland. If anyone had a reason to hate her and her people it was Margaret MacGillivray. In Sussex, the Scots’ irrational hatred of all things English had been legendary, and the savage deeds carried out by men and women alike were unthinkable. Jane felt ashamed to remember it now as she stood in front of this young woman who had lost everything at the hands of the English, and who regarded Jane as if she were something special; as if the honour of friendship were hers and not Jane’s.

“I’d like that,” she smiled, unable to find the words to express how she truly felt.

She held out her hand and Margaret took it, giving it a gentle squeeze. But, interrupting their moment of newfound companionship, loud voices erupted from just outside the door.

“What on earth?” Jane wondered.

She let go of Margaret’s hand, stood from Connall’s chair, and crossed the hut to the small window. Pulling back the burlap curtain she peered out. Outside, Ruth and Hobbs stood facing each other, both with their feet planted stubbornly in the dirt. Hobbs’ arms were crossed over his bony chest, while Ruth had one fist embedded into her plump hip, and was shaking the index finger of her other hand at him vehemently.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, sir. I shouldn’t even call you that; you’re a rogue, plain and simple.”

“And you, madam, are a sharp-tongued shrew, with the disposition of a bull and a face to match.”

“That may be so, but at least I don’t have the smell of one like you do!”

“You deserve to have your arse whipped, woman—wide as the Clyde though it may be. And wouldn’t I love to be the man to give it you.”

“Man? That’s what you call yourself? Funny that, I thought you were a withered pair of dog’s ballocks!”

Jane dropped the curtain, and turned back to Margaret, giggling. Margaret regarded her with raised eyebrows and an incredulous expression on her face.

“I daresay it’s going to be an interesting ride back to the castle,” Jane said.

Chapter 5

Jane lived a solitary life at Dunloch over the next sennight; her only companions were Ruth and the dowager baroness. The castle residents shunned her almost completely, their behavior towards her hovering just below the limit of insubordination: they offered only obligatory greetings when she passed, made necessary by Jane’s rank and status within the castle hierarchy. But they all made it clear—men and women alike—that her indiscretion had rendered her reduced. Her company was no longer of value, and they would no longer solicit it as they had before.

“I do not understand,” she lamented to Lady D’Aubrey one afternoon as they sat together in the dowager’s private apartments. “They are no less guilty than I. Why, everyone knows Lady Godfrey is carrying on with Lord Wyatt—even Lord Godfrey knows of it. Moreover, he can hardly bring himself to care, for he is carrying on with Lady Anne Cressey who is Lord Wyatt’s daughter. And she is but a maid of seventeen years! Why do they deign to judge me when they are no better?”

“It is a cesspool of sin, is it not?” Lady D’Aubrey agreed solemnly. “It has been so for centuries, and will continue to be so for centuries to come. You must remember, though, that they sin with each other—those within their own ranks. You, on the other hand, have admitted to betraying your husband with a peddler—a peasant—have you not? You have lowered yourself in their eyes, as ridiculous and unfair as the notion is, by searching so far below your station for a bed partner.”

“But I—” Jane began to protest, but she quickly checked herself. She had been about to reveal that she had not, in fact, descended below her station. Such an admission, though, would surely be foolish.

Nevertheless, Lady D’Aubrey sensed Jane was hiding something by the set of her face: startled and incensed. She gazed thoughtfully at her, but said nothing.

From that day on, however, the lady took it upon herself to act as a sort of protective presence to her son’s young wife. The following morning—and every morning thereafter—she joined Jane at the head table in the great hall for the meals. Unbeknownst to the other diners, the aged and ailing dowager was carried down by a sympathetic Tearlach, for she was too sickly to make the journey from her apartments on the upper level of the keep unaided. He would let her down a short distance away, and she would walk the remainder of the way to the dais under her own power—an act which earned a begrudging respect from the other diners. There she sat at the head table, a sentinel to the disgraced child bride, and leveled anyone who dared to whisper about the wretched girl with a glacial warning glare.

Though Jane spent the majority of her time at the castle with a mere two companions, her existence was not entirely confined to the space within Dunloch’s walls; she also enjoyed the companionship of Margaret MacGillivray almost daily. Having been given leave to escort her there once by Lord Reginald himself, Hobbs felt comfortable with the widow, and determined that she was an acceptable person for the baroness to visit. Ruth did not accompany the pair to the village again, but she did insist on seeing her mistress safely off—an occurrence which always ended up in bickering between herself and Hobbs.

It was entertaining for Jane to see the pair of them at it. She knew not why they detested each other so thoroughly; perhaps it was just in their nature to be contrary. Whatever the reason, their heated and pointless squabbling was humorous to behold.

Jane grew to like Margaret very much, and Margaret her. Given that they were similar in age, though perhaps not in standing, they got along quite well. She found solace in helping Margaret with some of the more menial tasks which occupied the day—turning the grinding stone to make flour from rye and oats, baking the family’s bread and, of course, chasing after young Connall—how those short little legs could run! This responsibility, though, she enjoyed immensely. She had always been fond of children, and given the loss he and his mother had suffered, the young boy had a special place in Jane’s heart.

The two women never spoke of Robbie. There was no need to—his memory, his essence, was tangible for both of them.

In one of the happiest moments in her time at Dunloch, Jane was present for the delivery of Margaret and Connall’s second child. She had been dozing in the solar alone after the meal one evening when a ghillie knocked, announcing that there was a visitor at the main gate, and she was requested to come at once.

“Who might it be at this hour?” she mumbled groggily.

The foolish notion that it might be Robbie surfaced in Jane’s mind, and before she could stifle it, a small hope fluttered in her heart. But it was a hope that went unsatisfied. It was not he, of course. Waiting for her just inside the bailey was a small, plump woman with ginger coloured hair. She had a worn look about her, and Jane immediately pictured her surrounded by a horde of scrawny children with hair of identical hue.

“Yer Ladyship,” the woman said in a small, uncertain voice. “My name is Dagmar. I am come from the widow Margaret’s home. She bids me send for ye, for she shall have her babe this night.”

“Of course I shall come,” Jane answered, breaking into a wide grin. “Pray, came you on foot?”

“Aye, my Lady. I did.”

“Then we shall return together on horseback,” she decreed. Rounding excitedly on the nearest guardsman she said, “Sir, will you find Hobbs and tell him to join me at Marg— er, that is, the widow MacGillivray’s home? We shall leave presently.”

Without returning to her chamber to change her fine dress or even to don her cloak, she took Dagmar by the elbow and darted off in the direction of the stables, pulling the woman along behind her.

“M-My Lady, d’ye no’ wish to wait at the gate for a mount to be brought to ye?” Dagmar protested, startled by the young baroness’ exuberance.

“No, I do not, that is for certain,” Jane answered, picking up her pace and forcing Dagmar to follow suit.

A sense of urgency gripped her, and exhilaration at the event which was to take place. She breathed the misty evening air as she ran, letting it fill her lungs and elevate her spirits; she nearly laughed aloud like a mad woman for the sudden and unexpected freedom. Poor Dagmar trotted along behind her, astonished and unnerved by Jane’s inexplicable and unladylike behaviour.

At the stables, the groomsman on duty—startled by the baroness’ fervour just as much as Dagmar was—provided them with a saddled gelding, and within minutes the two women were trotting along the main road to the village. It was the same gelding, Jane noted with humour, that she had taken the day she and Tearlach retrieved Connall’s body from the valley in which the dead MacGillivray clansmen had been dumped.

They had risked much that day, she and Tearlach. As part of their plan, Jane had thumped the poor beast, atop which she now sat, hard across the backside, causing him to rear on his hind legs and let out an unearthly shriek. That shriek had been a signal to Tearlach, who had hidden himself behind the trees in the distance. It indicated that she would shortly attempt to distract the sentry posted to guard the dead so that he could steal into the valley and fetch Connall.

At this moment she was grateful the gelding seemed to have forgiven her—or forgotten her—as they made their way across the rough ground to Margaret’s bedside.

Margaret was waiting inside her home when they arrived, and Jane thought she was far more calm than she herself would be if she were about to bear a child. She sat in her chair by the hearth with young Connall on her lap, and sang a low, throaty song in Gaelic. Connall, on the brink of sleep, twisted his fingers aimlessly around a fistful of his mother’s silky hair.

Jane stood back and watched with reverence, deeply moved by the scene before her. A longing fluttered in her belly as she regarded mother and son, a yearning for a child of her own. But not just any child—and certainly not Lord Reginald’s. Without conscious choice, she saw Robbie’s child sitting on her own lap, drifting off as she sang him one of her favourite lullabies.

The unintended image pained her, for she would never have Robbie’s child. The yearning was one which would go forever unfulfilled.

The small boy’s eyes blinked heavily, his lids shutting and opening more and more slowly; finally they closed for the last time. Innately sensing that he had nodded off, Margaret inclined her head, beckoning Dagmar to help her. Dagmar stepped forward from the door and took the sleeping child from Margaret’s lap, tucking him snugly into his small bed.

Margaret turned from her chair then towards the door. Seeing her face fully, Jane realized that what she thought was an unnatural calm was in fact an act of supreme will for her son’s sake—Margaret’s face was strained, and a sheen of perspiration covered her brow.

“My Lady, I am glad ye’ve come,” she said, smiling. But her greeting was interrupted by a wave of pain, transforming her welcoming smile into a grimace.

Jane waited for the contraction to pass, and when Margaret’s face relaxed again, she stepped forward to help her stand from the chair.

“I am happy to be here,” Jane answered earnestly.

Margaret laughed despite her discomfort. “I dinna believe that, dragged away from the castle when ye should be preparing for bed.”

“Not at all,” Jane assured her. “I was happy to have an excuse to leave. It’s a good thing Connall has gone off so easily.”

“Ye think it were easy? Wee mite has been tearing around here like his arse were on fire when Dagmar left to fetch ye. I thought I’d never get the devil to sleep.”

“Ye exaggerate,” Dagmar chided good-naturedly. “He wasna so bad, and now ye’ve got the whole night to concentrate on yer one task.”

“Ye say that like I’ve got the washing to do,” Margaret scoffed. “Let’s hope I can get the task done before morning then, or I willna—”

Her sentence was cut short by another wave of pain. She bent over, gripping Jane’s hand with unearthly strength. Jane winced and gritted her teeth as Margaret crushed the bones of her hand in her agony.

Though Margaret’s labour was quite advanced, the babe did not come swiftly. An hour passed and there was no sign of the end. When Hobbs finally managed to catch up with her, Jane sent him back again.

“I expect I shall be here a while, Hobbs,” she said, leaning with one arm on the door frame as she spoke to the withered old man. “You’d be best to return to the castle for the night. Pray, take my horse back with you, if you do not mind.”

“Nay, my Lady. You know I’m s’posed to stay.”

At that moment a piercing howl issued from inside the hut. Hobbs’ eyes widened, and then immediately he shuddered.

“Er … well, I suppose I could come back in the morning,” he offered lamely.

“Indeed,” Jane giggled in response, speaking to Hobbs’ back as he turned and beat a hasty retreat.

Margaret’s labour carried on into the early hours of the morning, and the new day’s sun was already lightening the sky when finally she delivered her child. It was a girl—a red-faced, scrawny little thing, but strong and healthy in appearance.

“What will you name her?” Jane asked.

Margaret smiled down at the infant she cradled in her arms, and her voice was sad when she spoke. “Fiora, after my own dear mother, God rest her soul.”

“I’m sorry. How long has she been gone?”

“She joined da in heaven just this past winter.”

Her admission made Jane realize just how alone Margaret was, and a pang of sympathy stirred in her breast. With her mother and father gone, and now her husband as well, it was no wonder she had been so keen on making a friend of Jane. She was lonely, too.

“It’s a beautiful name,” Jane said, fighting to restrain the tears that crept to her eyes.

Shortly after, Hobbs returned to the hut to fetch her, but Jane was resolute that she would remain. By then she had found a second wind, and desired to be as much help to Margaret as she could. He left with not much fuss—after all, the proof of Jane’s nightly activities was emitting weak, hungry cries just beyond the door.

“I’ll be off then, too,” Dagmar said when he’d gone. “My mam’s surely had enough of my brood of bairns. Ye alright here, Baroness? Ye sure ye dinna want to return to yer own bed for a while? Ye’ve been up all night.”

“I shall make do, thank you,” Jane assured her.

“Thank ye, Dagmar,” Margaret added, her words running together from her exhaustion.

“Ye’d best take the babe,” Dagmar said in a lowered voice to Jane. “Poor Maggie’s fading fast, and sure she’d be likely to drop the wee thing if she goes off—or roll over on top of it.”

“Oh, right,” Jane said, stepping forward and taking the small mass from Margaret’s arms.

Margaret smiled gratefully, her eyelids already closing. Jane gazed down at the small, pink mass in her arms, warm and soft.

I could have had a babe like this with Robbie, she thought.

Jane stayed all day, and into the next night, too. Hobbs had come once more to see if she wanted to return, but she was adamant that she would not. Little Connall needed looking after, and when Margaret needed to sleep, Jane delighted in administering to Fiora. By the next morning she was still there, and had been awake for a full two days. When Dagmar arrived to check on them, Jane was positively dead on her feet.

“Ye wee fool,” Dagmar exclaimed, taking in Jane’s bloodshot eyes and waxy complexion. “Ye’ll need to sleep for a fortnight, I think. Be on yer way, my Lady. Come back when ye’ve rested.”

Having no reserve strength with which to argue, Jane staggered out of Margaret’s hut and into the misty morning air, with the vague notion that she would meet Hobbs on the road back to the castle. The light outside hurt her eyes, though it was an overcast day, and she winced from the sharp stab of pain at her retinas. Through the narrow laneways she trudged, barely aware of her direction and destination, thinking only of bed, of sleep.

When a horse and rider appeared in the distance on the road towards her, she thought it was Hobbs, and nearly collapsed with relief. But as the pair came closer, she recognized Lord Reginald’s destrier. She stopped, her blood growing cold.

“Now why does this seem unsettlingly familiar,” he said stonily as he approached, halting in front of her. His horse pranced from foot to foot and turned a circle, but his eyes did not leave hers.

“Please, my Lord, it is not as it looks,” Jane answered, nearly in tears from the extent of her fatigue.

“Then pray, girl, enlighten me.”

She swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. “I have been at the widow Margaret MacGillivray’s all night,” she explained nervously, “for she has just yesterday morn birthed her babe. Hobbs has done his duty as chaperone, but I sent him home each time he came, as I wished to stay and make myself useful. You can determine the truth of this with Hobbs himself, and as for my being at the widow’s home, there are a handful of villagers who can attest to the truth in that.”

“I did not give you leave to visit the widow,” he pointed out.

“You are right, my Lord, you did not,” Jane admitted. “But you had given me leave to visit her once before you left, and I thought that the circumstances of my visit this time would earn your lenience.”

Lord Reginald peered down at her, assessing her disheveled state and red, swollen eyes. Determining that she spoke honestly, his countenance softened.

“Alright, girl,” he said, dismounting. “I’ll take you home.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Jane said, monumentally grateful that she would not have to continue walking.

She took Lord Reginald’s hand and allowed him to help her mount the large destrier. He then mounted the animal behind her, swinging himself up and over its back with ease. With a kick of his heel, he nudged the beast onward.

The ride back to the castle was not long, but Jane’s exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she soon nodded off. When she awoke, she found that the horse had stopped, and that at some point she had slumped against Lord Reginald. The back of her head now rested on his shoulder. Sheepish and bleary-eyed, she pulled herself upright again.

“We are here,” Lord Reginald said.

With patience, he helped Jane to dismount, handing her to one of the guardsmen that came to take his horse. Jane was surprised by the tender way with which he handled her, given that she thought him still angry. But he did not stay to see her inside. Once he had dismounted, he walked on ahead of her through the bailey and into the castle.

Jane followed, and trudged heavily to her bedchamber. Once she’d closed the door she threw herself onto the pillow, still dressed in her soiled gown and her muddy shoes, and promptly fell asleep.

Chapter 6

“Wake up, you sleepy head.”

Jane came slowly back from blissful unconsciousness to a gentle shaking of her shoulder. Her eyelids were a trifle stuck together when she tried to open them; when finally she managed it, the images before her eyes were blurry.

“Hrmmph,” she muttered, and buried her head in her pillow again.

“You’ve slept long enough, you dolt.”

Dolt? Since when did Ruth begin calling her names? As Jane reflected, however, she realized the voice did not belong to her maid. Lifting her face from her pillow once more, and straining against her smeared vision, she turned her chin to see who her visitor was.

“Amelia!” she gasped, and immediately propelled herself into her sister’s arms.

“I am glad to see you, too,” Amelia laughed.

Releasing her, Jane sat up and leaned back on one hand. She studied her sister’s image hungrily, as if she had not seen her in a year rather than the month it had been since she left Sussex. Amelia remained unchanged, as beautiful as ever. Her blue eyes sparkled with the adventure of travelling to a new and strange land. Those eyes had been inherited from their mother. The lady had bestowed them upon her younger daughter as well, but Jane’s were nowhere near as breathtaking as Amelia’s, and her blue was hardly as clear and celestial.

In fact, the entirety of Jane’s appearance seemed to be a dull version of Amelia’s. The two girls were similar in appearance, but where Amelia’s features were delicate and alluring, Jane’s were sensible and modest. Where Amelia’s figure was curved and graceful, Jane’s was much more slender and unremarkable. The only thing Jane had that her sister didn’t was an abundance of hair—her rich locks were the colour of mahogany and were lusciously thick. The brown of Amelia’s hair was muddy and lacklustre, and her strands significantly thinner.

It was little consolation, though, for overall Amelia was considered a rare beauty, and Jane a rather plain and inconsequential sister. None of that mattered now, though. Amelia had always been a good sister to Jane, and a steadfast friend. Jane was sorely glad to see her.

“You’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, I hear,” Amelia said, grinning wickedly and shoving Jane playfully in the arm. “You little sprite! I never knew you had it in you.”

“It is not a laughing matter,” Jane said, fixing her sister with a serious look. “Lord Reginald could have been much angrier than he was. He might have sent me back to Sussex, and then what would have become of me?”

“Father would have sent you to a monastery, that’s for certain. But at least you would have had a taste of the great staff to keep you warm on cold nights.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Jane admonished, but could not quite control the grin that tugged at her lips.

“It is not as bad as all that,” Amelia reminded her. “Lord Reginald wasn’t overly angry, and father will not be sending you to a monastery. You’ve gotten away with the deed, so stop fretting.”

“He was angry enough to summon father.”

“Perhaps,” Amelia allowed, shrugging her delicate shoulders. “But I doubt he’d send you back to England now, after this much time has passed. I imagine he’s probably using the matter to see if father will compensate him at all for your indiscretion.”

Instinctively, Jane chafed at the notion of being a negotiating device in men’s greater purpose, but she knew Amelia was right.

“Is father very angry?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’m afraid he is,” Amelia confirmed. “But you know father—he’ll forget about it once he’s had his chance to shout at you, and you’ll be no worse off. I do hope you got your share of fun out of your little liaison.”

Amelia’s words had been meant lightheartedly, but Jane could not help the raw emotion that welled inside of her. Tears spilled over her eyelids, and her lower lip trembled.

“Oh, sister,” Amelia said, shocked at Jane’s reaction. “What is the matter? Please, tell me.”

“I am so wretched,” Jane answered, scrubbing her tears away with the palm of her hand.

“Why is that … you are not with child, are you?”

“No, or at least I don’t think so.”

“Then what?”

Jane gazed at her sister’s face searchingly. “It was more than just a liaison,” she admitted.

“It always seems that way when you are in the midst of a tryst,” Amelia countered. “But you will soon forget him.”

“No,” Jane argued. “I loved him. I love him still.”

“Really,” Amelia said with a touch of exasperation, “I know you think you do, but you will soon see that you are being silly. Believe me, I know all too well what you are experiencing.”

Jane eyed her sister sceptically. “Amelia, have you ever been in love before?”

“Of course I have,” she answered, tossing her head carelessly. “Many times. But it passes.”

Amelia did not lie, Jane could see—she believed she was answering truthfully. But she did not know what it was to be in love. Not really. Jane realized that discussing the matter with her sister would be pointless; it would only upset her more.

“I suppose you’re right, then,” she answered instead, desiring to let the issue drop.

“I know I am,” Amelia agreed with a wide smile, and reached forward to rub Jane’s shoulder reassuringly. “Now come and fix yourself up. Father and mother are waiting in the solar with Lord Reginald and Lady D’Aubrey. We must get this over with so we can get on with the business of enjoying our visit, hmm? I’m sure we shall have such fun, just like old times.”

Jane rose from the bed and commenced with tidying herself up. She repinned her hair and changed her dress and shoes, while Amelia stayed where she was on the bed and chattered on about the latest gossip back in Sussex. She had a new beau apparently, a silk merchant, and she raved about him as Jane dressed. Jane wished she wouldn’t, it only reminded her of how wide the gap was between them now. She felt much more mature, much worldlier than her elder sister, and Amelia’s ignorance nagged at her in a way it never had before.

“He is like no other man I’ve been with before,” Amelia prattled. “Truly. He is so much fun to roll around with, and does he ever satisfy me!”

Yes, she said this about most of her new beaus. Jane smiled in response.

When she was decent, she and Amelia left her bedchamber and made their way to the solar. A sense of dread settled in her stomach as they drew closer.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Amelia said as they approached the closed door, “we’ve brought a present for you.”

“A present?” Jane said, pausing with her hand on the iron handle.

“Yes—well, actually it was mother’s idea. It took quite a bit of persuading for her to get father to come around to it, for he did not think you deserved to be rewarded for your indecency … as he put it. But in the end mother won, as she usually does.”

“What is it?”

Amelia smiled widely. “Go in and see.”

Jane pushed on the door handle, and before she knew what was happening, she was knocked to the floor by a solid, hairy mass.

“Hugg!” she exclaimed when she was able to gather her wits.

The large mastiff wagged his tail fiercely and lathered her face with his great, slobbery tongue.

“Oh Hugg, I have missed you,” she cried, wrapping her arms around the animal’s flank and gripping him to her as she sat sprawled on the stone floor of the corridor.

“Daughter, get yourself in here before someone sees you like that,” barked the voice of her father.

Jane glanced up nervously. Her father, Eldon Sewell, the third Marquis of Orley, glared down at her from where he stood by the fireplace. Red-faced, she scrambled to her feet and brushed her gown smooth. Hugg pranced at her side, nipping happily at her hand and demanding her affection with frantic little whines. Discreetly, she scratched behind his ears.

“Sit down,” Lord Sewell demanded, pointing to an empty chair.

Jane did as her father bade and lowered herself tentatively into the chair which, conveniently, had been pulled away from the table to face the hearth around which her family was gathered. She felt like it was an inquiry and she a criminal being interrogated … although, she decided upon reflection, it was not far from the mark. Hugg sat himself beside her and flopped his great brute of a head on her lap. He gazed up at her with soulful, eager eyes; she continued her covert scratching of his head.

“If I hadn’t married you off already, I would have you flogged in the village square,” her father began, advancing on her from the hearth and towering over her. “You’ve disgraced yourself, you’ve shamed your family, and you’ve dishonoured your husband and your master. I know not where you’ve lost your morals between Sussex and Scotland, but I certainly did not raise a harlot.”

At this, all the occupants of the solar averted guilty eyes, for Amelia’s reputation was known to everyone except Lord Sewell. Indeed, Amelia seemed to derive a strange satisfaction in being able to pull the wool over her father’s eyes so completely, and she hid a devilish grin by turning her face to the stained glass windows. Jane gritted her teeth at the insult, determined not to give her sister away. After all, what good would it do? She was the one who had been found out; there was no need for Amelia to share in her misery.

“Now, my Lord Eldon, I am sure this is unnecessary,” Lord Reginald interrupted, clearing his throat against the tension in the room. “I have dealt with her strongly enough, and she’s been made to understand her place.”

“Oh—well, yes,” Lord Sewell said, taken aback by the baron’s forgiving tone. Determined to finish his tirade, he added, “You’re lucky, girl, that you no longer reside under my roof. Now, Lord Reginald, I hope there is no question about whether or not she was chaste when I handed her to you, for I swear she was. God strike me dead if I lie.”

“I’ve not a doubt of it,” Lord Reginald agreed. “Her maiden blood was spilled the night of our wedding, and the evidence visible on the bed linens.”

“You should have strung the linens up in the great hall according to tradition,” Lord Sewell insisted with a curt nod. “The entire castle should have been given the opportunity to witness that you had, indeed, taken her virginity. In that way, there would be no doubt as to whether or not she was intact when she married.”

“My Lord,” Lady Sewell protested, horrified at the thought.

“Father, surely you can’t mean that,” Amelia added. “That’s such a barbaric custom. Our Jane would not have deserved that, even if she has strayed after the marriage. You know full well she was a proper and chaste girl before it.”

“You’ll hold your tongue,” Lord Sewell snapped, rounding on his eldest daughter and pointing a long, lean finger at her. “You’ve no place in this conversation.”

Jane pressed her lips together, heat flushing her face. She despised the way they were talking about her, as if she were an item to be owned, and no more capable of controlling her urges than a dog in heat. She wanted to leap from her seat and explain to them the love she’d experienced, longed to reveal that it was Robert MacGillivray, true laird of Dunloch, with whom she’d shared that love. She said nothing.

“Your daughter is right,” Lord Reginald agreed, nodding in Amelia’s direction. “Whatever Dunloch’s nobles may say about her now, I had no doubts on the night of our wedding that I’d taken a virgin, and I need not prove it to restore my pride.”

“May I say, my Lord, you are being quite tolerant of her, given her crime,” Lord Sewell remarked.

Jane glanced at Lord Reginald. Her father was not the most insightful of men, but indeed, he had hit the peg square on the head in this. Not for the first time, she wondered at the source of her husband’s tolerance.

“That may be so,” the baron answered. “However, there is still the question of whether or not she is now with child as a result of her … activities.”

“Quite right,” Lord Sewell agreed. “It must be determined whether or not she carries a bastard.”

“With all due respect, Lord Sewell, I do wish you would employ a touch more tact. There are ladies present,” snapped Lady D’Aubrey, fixing him with a cold and regal stare.

“I’ll not apologize for speaking the truth,” Lord Sewell amended, “but I shall apologize for my use of such language in front of you, Lady D’Aubrey.”

Lord Reginald continued: “I’ll not recognize a child that is not mine. Until such time as I can be sure that she is empty, I shall not bed her. I have told her as much.”

“Right then, that settles the matter,” Lord Sewell said. “We shall wait until she has had her courses. If they do not come and she is shown to be with child, we shall take her back to Sussex with us, and the union will be annulled.”

“Not quite,” Lord Reginald contradicted. “I shall not bed her for many months—six, at least.”

“What?” interrupted Lady Sewell, dismayed. “Surely, sir, you can see that is unnecessary. If she has her courses, then it is obvious she does not carry a child. Why must she wait so long to bear you an heir?”

“Lady Sewell, I understand your concern. Now I ask that you understand mine: my wife has not named her illicit suitor. Had she done so, I would have hanged the dog the moment I learned his name. She claims he was a peddler and has long since left Dunloch. I believe her not a mite, however, and do not trust she will not run to his bed the moment my back is turned.”

Lord Sewell’s face turned red. “Now just a moment, my Lord,” he argued, but Lord Reginald cut him off.

“She must convince me that her loyalties have returned to her husband and that she will honour her duty to his bed alone. Only then will I honour my duty and put a babe in her belly.”

Jane listened to the entire exchange in stony silence. A strong urge to lash out at both men coursed through her veins. They were treating her as no more than an instrument of childbirth, and she hated them for it. She had expected it of Lord Reginald, at least somewhat, and was prepared to overlook this fault considering her tenuous position in his household and his willingness to forgive her. But her father enraged her. She had known all her life that she was his property; it was the law of the land, after all. She’d always thought, though, that he loved her as a daughter, that he cared about her welfare, if not her happiness.

It was clear now she had been wrong. She was a pawn in his game of power and social connections. If she dared stray from her square on his chessboard, he would offer no mercy, no lenience.

Deep inside, Jane felt one more loyalty crumble away.

Over the next several days the castle teemed with the arrangements for the feast. And what a grand feast it would be—nearly the size of the baron’s wedding. It was as much an event to staunch the flow of gossip and ill will towards Jane as it was to celebrate the arrival of Lord and Lady Sewell. And it was sorely needed.

The celebration made Jane bitter, though. How unkind it was that her father had not cared enough to travel to Dunloch to see his youngest daughter married, but he had scampered here readily enough when her behaviour threatened to blacken his reputation.

She was grateful, at least, to have her mother and sister with her; she’d missed them. And Hugg! How overjoyed she was merely to see him. The knowledge that he would remain with her in Scotland elevated her spirits considerably. Since that first reunion in the solar, Hugg refused to leave Jane’s side, and spent his nights curled up on the braided rug beneath her bed.

“He’s been beside himself ever since you left,” Lady Sewell informed her as the great beast laid his chin on Jane’s lap affectionately.

“Thank you for persuading father to let me have him.”

“It was not difficult. Esmeralda has had her litter, and a fine bunch of pups it was. They are not yet grown, but will be soon enough. I begged Eldon to part with Hugg a few months early for your sake. I daresay you could use his company.”

Jane was elated to have Hugg’s unconditional loyalty and companionship, and the days leading up to the celebration were not as lonely for her as they had been before. But it was neither Hugg’s presence, nor that of her mother and sister, nor her continued friendship with Margaret, or even a growing acquaintanceship with Dagmar that made life at Dunloch endurable. Oddly enough it was Lord Reginald himself. She had expected him to be cold and distant towards her after what had happened. Instead, he was warm and kind. He welcomed her openly at the meals in the great hall, and treated her with respect.

She was aware that he tolerated her for his own sake as much as hers—if the residents of Dunloch saw that he had forgiven his wife’s unfaithfulness, it would still their wagging tongues.

As he promised, though, he did not bed her; Jane was unsure of whether or not she should be relieved by that. While she was glad to be rid of her duty to submit to her husband where and when it pleased him, she did feel a trifle guilty at the sacrifice he must be making in abstaining from his own pleasure. But she refused to entertain the thought for very long, and each time it popped into her head she banished it with force.

In what seemed like no time at all, the eve of the celebration arrived, and it was every bit as grand as the preparations suggested. Minstrels played a merry tune on an elevated dais in the corner of the hall, and Lord Reginald’s best wine and ale had been brought from the cellar. Even Lady D’Aubrey made a brief appearance for the meal at least, if not the dancing and merriment afterwards, for the sake of her son’s honour.

Jane was determined to enjoy herself to compensate for the misery she felt on the day of her wedding. She danced with all the handsome young men, English and Scottish alike, and even took several turns on the floor with Lord Reginald. She noticed that he did seem happy enough to be dancing with her, which made her feel better.

Though Robbie was never far from her mind. But there was no MacGillivray plaid to be found at this feast.

For much of the celebration after the main part of the meal, Amelia was nowhere to be found. It was only well into the dancing that she returned to the great hall.

“Ah, sister,” she sighed, sliding onto the bench where Jane sat resting.

“Are you drunk?” Jane asked, incredulous.

Amelia held her gaze with unsteady eyes and offered a sloppy grin. “Just a touch too much wine. I’m not so in my cups I cannot see straight.”

“Where have you been? I have not seen you on the floor for several dances.”

Amelia’s grin turned sly and she raised an eyebrow mischievously. “No, it has been several, several dances since I’ve been on the floor. I’ve been … otherwise engaged.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Amelia! You’ve been at Dunloch no more than an eye’s blink. Ought you to be pursuing bedfellows so soon after your arrival?”

“Oh, sweet Jane, I’ve had a number of satisfying bedfellows since I’ve been here. These Scots are thick as tree trunks, brawny everywhere; I find I cannot resist them. But anyway, it is never I that pursues, I can assure you.” She sighed languidly. “I tell you, those kilts of theirs make it so much easier to climb on—”

“Keep your voice down,” Jane admonished when one couple ventured too close to them.

Amelia snickered and then hiccupped.

Jane knew she should be shocked by her sister’s scandalous behaviour, but in truth it was nothing she hadn’t heard before.

“Just don’t get caught like I did,” she warned with an exasperated sigh. “It would send father to his grave to know he had two wicked progeny.”

“Wouldn’t that please you,” Amelia remarked.

Jane gave her a sideways look of disapproval, but in truth Amelia had hit fairly close to the mark. She did not wish her father dead—of course she did not. But the fragile bond of a daughter’s love for her father had been broken. Amelia’s observation was astute, even with as much as she had to drink: Lord Sewell was dead to Jane.

“Are you enjoying yourselves, my girls?” Lady Sewell said as she approached the bench where her daughters were resting. The lady was pleasantly flushed from the excitement and the dancing, and an alluring glow tinted her cheeks and brightened her eyes.

“Yes, mother,” both girls answered in unison.

Jane heard the hidden meaning in Amelia’s voice, and nudged her sister in the ribs as a warning.

“Jane, pray, where is that husband of yours? I have not seen him for at least an hour, and I have not yet had a turn on the floor with him.”

“I know not. But I shall enquire, and fetch him if I can,” Jane offered.

“Good girl,” her mother said, patting her knee.

Jane stood and Lady Sewell slumped onto the bench in her place, pleasantly exhausted. Winding her way through the throngs of people, Jane made her way out of the great hall. Passing a castle maid in the main corridor, she stopped to ask about the baron’s whereabouts.

“I believe I saw him on the stairs, perhaps heading to his bedchamber, my Lady,” the girl answered in a Scottish accent.

“I thank you,” Jane said with a sincere smile.

Climbing the main staircase, Jane wondered if perhaps Lord Reginald was tired. He was, after all, approaching the end of his middling years. A begrudging sense of affection settled over her, and she grinned to herself as she thought of the aging baron sneaking in a quick nap.

When she approached his bedchamber, however, she found his door slightly ajar. She reached forward to nudge it open further, but the sounds of activity from within halted her.

The noise was unmistakable—it was the exultations of two people engaged in carnal activity.

Curious and horrified at the same time, Jane peered into the room. Inside, she saw Lord Reginald with Lady Eloise De Champlain, the daughter of a powerful French earl whose family had been staying at Dunloch since before Jane had arrived to marry the baron. She was a beautiful woman, several years older than Jane but still young, with a tumble of thick, burgundy hair.

They were clearly approaching the height of their coupling. Lady Eloise leaned forward against Lord Reginald’s writing desk, which was located against the right-hand wall of his chamber. Her right foot was propped on the edge and the skirts of her fine damask tunic were hiked to her waist. The bodice had been pulled down to her navel, and her bare breasts, full and ivory with nipples dark and pert, heaved and lapped as Lord Reginald bounced her against himself. She moaned, clearly enjoying the sensations he was providing her; her face was raised to the ceiling, her eyes closed and her mouth open as she gasped and cried encouragements in French.

Behind her, Lord Reginald was entirely naked but for his boots. His pale buttocks clenched with each thrust of his hips, accompanied by throaty, rhythmical grunts. His left arm was wrapped around Lady Eloise’s waist, and his right hand was snaked into the waistline of her dress. The fabric mercifully covered the place where they joined, but Jane could see well enough the movement beneath; Lord Reginald prodded with his fingers at her most intimate of places, grunting with each rock of his pelvis, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow.

In the throes of her ecstasy, Lady Eloise inclined her head restlessly and her eyes opened a fraction. Unintentionally, her hazel irises alighted on Jane, and the two women stared across the room at each other. But instead of recoiling in horror at having been caught fornicating with the baroness’ husband, Lady Eloise held Jane’s glare boldly. No malicious grin formed on her shapely lips, but it might as well have, for her eyes communicated such an insult with relish.

Jane’s mouth hung agape as she watched Lady Eloise close her eyes once more. The French woman moaned louder, and tossed her head back against Lord Reginald’s shoulder. She bucked her hips in unison with him, encouraging him to thrust faster, harder, deeper. As if that weren’t enough, she brought her fingertips to his forearm, and then traced the flexing bands of his muscle downward to where his hand was nestled between her thighs. The delicate muscles of her own lily-white forearm moved in time with his as she cooperated with Lord Reginald, guiding him in his intimate petting.

Jane’s stomach rolled with nausea, sending bile up into her throat. Not only was the lady committing adultery with her husband, but she was flaunting it in the most despicable of ways.

She backed away from the door, shaking visibly. Not knowing where to go or what to do, she wandered down the hall until she could no longer hear the grotesque melody of Lord Reginald’s fornication, and sank heavily onto a velvet-covered oak chair in a small, windowed alcove.

It was not that she cared whether or not her husband was faithful to her. Even if she did, she had no right to expect it of him, considering that she had been the first to betray their marriage vows. Nor had she any desire to command his loyalty to her as his wife. On the contrary—she knew now why he was more tolerant of her than she had any right to expect: his sexual desires were obviously being satisfied by a great beauty with vast experience of carnal delights. The end result of their illicit union was that Jane’s life at Dunloch was made bearable.

Even though these things were all true, she was still devastated. Lord Reginald’s looking elsewhere for sexual gratification made her situation precarious because he would not sleep with her as well. She was, at present, unable to provide him with an heir. If, in the meantime, he were to sire a bastard with another, eligible lady such as Eloise De Champlain … he would surely have his marriage to Jane annulled and that child recognized as his heir. The idea that his successor would not be her son was not bothersome in and of itself … what terrified her was the question of where such an occurrence would leave her.

Jane felt cold, and she shivered involuntarily. Her throat swelled, and she gave in to the urge to cry.

Oh Robbie, she thought desperately. We are both of us in a terrible mess.

Chapter 7

Time dragged on, and still there was no word of Robbie, no hint as to what his strange message to Margaret had meant. Lord and Lady Sewell returned to Sussex, bringing their wanton daughter Amelia with them, of whose reputation everyone at Dunloch soon became familiar—everyone except for Lord Sewell, of course.

As the weeks passed, Jane gave up any hope that she would ever hear of Robbie again except in remembered accounts of better days. She passed the hours as industriously as she could, keeping Lady D’Aubrey company when she was well enough to entertain Jane’s presence, and visiting Margaret and her two sweet children. Sometimes she would bring Hugg with her, to whom Connall developed quite an attachment. And sometimes Dagmar would visit with an assortment of her own raggedy brood, and Jane always welcomed her company.

She grew numbed to life, lost pleasure in small things like food and laughter and the milder summer weather. Robbie became a distant memory, a dull ache which persisted, which she grew accustomed to, but which never really went away.

Then, when she was least expecting it, it came—word of Robbie’s whereabouts.

The afternoon was rainy, signaling the coming autumn season with its wet, cold weather. Lady D’Aubrey had nodded off over her needlepoint in the solar, so Jane had left the dowager alone to sleep. Not having anything else to do, she commanded Hugg to stay with Lady D’Aubrey and wandered aimlessly through the castle corridors, feeling very much friendless and alone. The rain made it impossible to travel to the village; even if she wished to attempt it, she did not wish to make Hobbs uncomfortable for her sake, and Lord Reginald still would not permit her to travel on her own.

As she drifted along the corridors of the keep, she was startled by a mighty roar which resounded from within Lord Reginald’s withdrawing room.

“No,” he hollered. “By God, he can’t have!”

Running, Jayne approached the withdrawing room and stopped at the heavy oak door. There stood Lord Reginald in front of the hearth, surrounded by a number of important men. With one swift move, he withdrew his English-made poniard dagger from its holster on his hip, and hurled it across the small space towards a thick, supporting beam built into the opposite wall. His companions jumped back, alarmed by their close proximity to the hurtled weapon, as the blade embedded itself forcefully into the wood; the handle swayed back and forth stiffly from the depth into which it had been embedded.

Lord Reginald then grabbed the pewter goblet from the hand of the man closest to him and launched it at the window set into the rear wall. The leaded glass cracked against the force of it, and the iron frame shuddered frighteningly.

Jane turned cold as she watched the scene. She felt frozen in place, unable to move, and it looked as though the men surrounding him were just as shaken as she.

Lord Reginald turned to her then, his eyes penetrating her above all others in the withdrawing room. His lips curled back over his teeth in a snarl, and his breath came in heavy pulls.

“M-My Lord,” she stammered frantically. “What is the matter?”

“MacGillivray.” He snarled, uttering the name as though it was profane. “That beast has escaped my justice.”

Robbie?

Jane gasped and her hand flew to her throat. He’d heard word of Robbie. Robbie had escaped justice … no, he’d escaped Lord Reginald’s justice—what did that mean? Was he safe? Had he been pardoned? Or had someone else executed him before the baron could?

“How so, my Lord?” she hedged, unable to keep her voice steady.

Lord Reginald stalked across the room and yanked his blade out of the beam. When he remained silent, fuming to himself, one of the other men took it upon himself to enlighten her.

“MacGillivray has gone to the king and begged a pardon.”

“And … and he granted it?” Jane exclaimed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” said Lord Reginald, his voice ominous. “Yes, he bloody well did.”

Lord Reginald’s reaction to Robbie’s pardon was to immediately pack for travel and appeal to King Edward in person at court in London. For this approach he decided it would be prudent to drag his young wife along with him—he hoped her presence would remind the king that there were vulnerable English women living in brutal Scotland, and that it would change his mind about allowing an enemy of the Crown to go free. It was a rather lofty hope, for everyone knew that King Edward was not easily swayed once he’d made a decision, nor did he tolerate his subjects questioning his judgment.

Attending court was not an event Jane looked forward to, even under better circumstances. She had been many times before, but had never found much enjoyment in it. At least she was accustomed to it, though, and knew how to deport herself in the presence of the king. She knew what to expect, and was not likely to be overwhelmed by the opulence of the palace, the beautifully decorated ladies or the rich and powerful men.

Nevertheless, Lord Reginald made it abundantly clear that she was not at court to enjoy herself. She was there as the reigning Baroness D’Aubrey, and was expected to behave according to her noble title … which meant roughly that she was to keep her mouth shut and obey her husband.

When the time came to attend King Edward’s court as a married woman, Jane played the part with grace and tranquility. And when Lord Reginald’s turn came to address the king, she remained by her husband, hovering just behind him. When he bowed to the king she followed suit in a perfect curtsey, as though she had performed the maneuver countless times in His Majesty’s presence.

She may have looked comfortable at court, but inside Jane was a bundle of nerves. King Edward made her supremely uncomfortable. She found him unnerving—he was regal and handsome, tall and shapely. The women who earned his brief attentions swooned over his looks as much as they did over his power. But simmering beneath the smooth and composed surface, Jane had always detected a streak of ruthlessness. As a girl, she had not understood what that ruthless streak meant outside of the palace walls, for politics had never entered her world in Sussex and she had been content to believe that such a trait was rendered necessary in order to rule a kingdom. But since she’d known Robbie, since she’d known the Scottish people who were oppressed by the English Crown—and worse, since she was just beginning to see exactly how they were oppressed—she realized how truly cold-blooded the king was.

“My Lord D’Aubrey,” the king said, speaking in a tempered, easy tone.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Reginald returned, bowing again.

“I am given to understand that you are not entirely pleased at my having granted a pardon to the laird of Clan Gillivray.”

“No, I—” Lord Reginald began, his anger rising to the surface. Remembering to whom it was that he spoke, he held himself. “I confess, Your Majesty, I was rather … surprised. Considering the grave offense Robert MacGillivray has committed against me, and against your Crown, I had thought his crimes unforgiveable.”

The king laughed, amused, and to Jane’s dismay the men and women at court joined in. She sensed Lord Reginald stiffening beside her, humiliated by their laughter. But in the king’s company he had no choice but to suffer it.

“Unforgiveable, certainly. But pardonable, I think not,” the king said vaguely.

“I don’t understand, Your Majesty.”

“Robert MacGillivray has played his cards well. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he orchestrated the entire matter even before I had removed him and his people from their lands. He came to beg a pardon of me, it is true. What I see you do not know, however, is that he came with the support of the Galbraiths. I must give him credit, the boy is no fool—he knew that to throw himself on my mercy unprotected was a sentence of certain death. But with the Galbraith’s ready to support him if I am lenient, it is better for me if I overlook his previous deeds.”

“But why, Your Majesty?”

“The Galbraiths have sworn their loyalty to me.”

“But surely this is a breach of their loyalty, if they are to betray Your Majesty for an enemy to the Crown.”

King Edward smirked and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “An enemy to you,” he corrected. “Not to the Crown. The MacGillivrays lost Dunloch, and when they tried to retake it they were decimated. There have been no repeat attempts. As far as the King of England is concerned, that is the end of the matter.”

“And what of the Galbraiths?” Lord Reginald persisted. “Why does Your Majesty respect their backing of such a rebel?”

“Because,” the king said, and paused to survey the palace hall as though he were about to deliver the line of a joke, “as a measure of their loyalty to England, the Galbraiths pay me money.”

The ladies and gentlemen at court erupted once again in appreciative laughter.

“Your Majesty—” Lord Reginald complained, but the king cut him off.

“D’Aubrey, I’ve heard enough. You are to let MacGillivray be, and you are to let the Galbraiths be. I do not want to hear word of you stirring up trouble unless your actions are warranted by some new crime committed by the boy. If I lose the Galbraith’s support—and more importantly their duties—I shall remove Dunloch from your hands to compensate for the deficit in my treasury.”

King Edward spoke with cold finality, and even Lord Reginald, who was by now crimson with indignation, understood that to argue further would be sublimely foolish—perhaps even deadly. He bowed once more, and Jane automatically dipped in a curtsey.

“Your Majesty,” he said as curt as he could without being insubordinate.

“Oh, D’Aubrey,” the king added as they turned to leave.

Lord Reginald turned back around and responded with an obligatory bow; once again, Jane followed suit with a curtsey. She wished the king would hurry up; her knees were beginning to hurt from all the bending.

“I have spoken to Lord Sewell upon his return from Scotland. When I asked if your young wife was with child, he hinted that there may be some difficulty on your part. Is that so?”

“No, Your Majesty. I assure you I am in fit form,” he answered, a touch aggressively. The king raised a questioning eyebrow, but thankfully he did not linger on that fact.

“Well then, do you not think you had better hurry up and fill the girl with a babe? I know she is plain, but surely she is sufficiently attractive to help you … up.”

There was another tittering of laughter behind him. Lord Reginald’s eyes riveted on Jane, searing with anger. She flinched, and lowered her face to the stone floor. Her ears burned with shame and indignation.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Reginald said a final time, and turned, departing the king’s presence in a violent rage.

For the first time since she’d wed him, Lord Reginald struck Jane hard across the face that night.

She was sent reeling to the floor of their guest bedchamber at the palace, and her cheek struck the clawed foot of the canopied bed. They left London early the next morning and returned to Dunloch directly. Lord Reginald’s mood remained foul the entire journey, and Lady D’Aubrey dared not ask what happened upon their arrival at the castle.

The vicious bruise at Jane’s eye told the dowager all the story she cared to know.

Shortly after his failed appeal to King Edward, news of Robbie reached the walls of Dunloch once more.

“We have been invited,” Lord Reginald said, in a voice that was steely and unsettling, to Jane and Lady D’Aubrey at the evening meal, “to the wedding of Robert MacGillivray. He is to marry Nuala Galbraith.”

The morsel of meat which Jane had been chewing turned to wood in her mouth, and her stomach churned sickeningly.

Robbie was to be married?

“That’s an odd choice,” Lady D’Aubrey remarked.

Lord Reginald was silent for a moment, working to control his anger. His jaw worked back and forth and his fingers slid aimlessly up and down the sides of his stone ale cup.

“If you give the matter some thought, mother, I think you shall find that it is not odd at all,” he said eventually. “In marrying the Lady Nuala, he not only maintains the backing of the Galbraiths, he ties them unalterably to the MacGillivrays—or what’s left of them, in any case.”

“But they will not have children,” the dowager insisted. “There will be no heir for Galbraith to hand his title.”

“It matters not, and perhaps that benefits MacGillivray. Perhaps he intends to name a MacGillivray as successor to the Galbraith chieftainship once Lorcan Galbraith is gone.”

Jane stared blankly ahead of herself, seeing nothing but a haze before her eyes. She listened to the dowager and the baron’s conversation, trying to comprehend what it was they were saying, but their words did not make sense to her—there was more to the situation than she had information with which to understand.

There was one thing that she understood better than they, however—news of this marriage was presently crushing her heart to a bloody pulp; she could not breathe, for a great fist was clamping down on her throat, and a weight pressing relentlessly upon her chest.

Robbie married. But then, why should she be surprised? He had escaped his life as an outlaw, and now wished to forge a different one, with an eligible and beautiful woman at his side. He never would have chosen Jane, never could have chosen her, for she was already Lord Reginald’s property.

The fact, though, did nothing to tide the stem of sickening grief that overwhelmed her upon hearing such devastating news.

“If you will excuse me,” Lord Reginald said curtly then, unaware of his wife’s suffering.

He pushed himself away from the table, stepped down from the dais and stalked out of the great hall. Several of the men and women seated at the trestle tables on the floor turned to watch him go, but none made to follow. It was obvious they knew what was darkening Lord Reginald’s mood, Jane thought bitterly. It meant little to them; to her it was the axe which cleaved her one thin strand of hope.

“Who is Nuala Galbraith?” she said once the baron turned the corner and was out of sight.

“She is the daughter of Red Lorcan, Chief of Clan Galbraith and Laird of Eanruig—his only child. She is quite a beauty, I hear. Perhaps that compensates for the fact that she will bear him no children.”

“Why is that?” Jane heard herself say the words, but she did not feel her lips speaking them.

“She cannot breed,” Lady D’Aubrey stated casually. “She was wed to the chief of Clan Campbell for a brief time—a year, I think. But when the union produced no living offspring, he sent her back to her father in disgrace. Now that I think on it, that is likely why he is marrying her—to gain the Galbraith’s support. Mind you, they were always sympathetic to the MacGillivrays, even after they lost Dunloch. This is probably MacGillivray’s side of the bargain—marry the barren woman and gain the Galbraith’s protection.”

Jane felt like she was going to be sick right there in her trencher. Her stomach heaved, and her face flushed with heat.

“I’m sorry, you must excuse me, my Lady,” she said thickly to the dowager. “I don’t quite feel right of a sudden.”

Lady D’Aubrey raised her eyebrows curiously, but Jane did not stay to hear whether or not she would voice her thoughts. She crossed the great hall, feeling more like she was floating rather than walking, and returned to the keep to her bedchamber. She saw nothing, heard no one. Bursting into her room, she staggered to her bed, knelt on the floor, and wretched violently into her chamber pot. Hugg, who had been sleeping on the braided rug, hopped to his feet in alarm and whined with concern.

She was utterly broken. Robbie was safe, for that she was grateful. And he loved her … or had, for a time at least. But all that meant nothing now. He was to wed a beautiful woman and lead a new life, made secure by the protection the woman’s father offered.

And Jane remained alone, wretched, and married to Lord Reginald D’Aubrey, a man she could never, would never love.

Curling up on the floor and pulling her knees to her chest, Jane sobbed for her heartache. Hugg stayed by her side, nudging her frantically in an attempt to console her.

It was to no avail; she was inconsolable.

Chapter 8

The great fortress Eanruig loomed atop a rise in the landscape, a monument to Scottish pride and might. Jane gaped in awe as the coach journeyed towards it. Eanruig was significantly larger than Dunloch, and appeared to be of newer construction, perhaps sometime within the last century. Unlike Dunloch, the village surrounded the castle on all sides rather than being situated a distance away; it sprawled down the hillside, skirting the fortress’ curtain wall. The village, too, was larger, suggesting the Galbraiths claimed a greater expanse of land, a greater measure of wealth, and greater power.

With a good measure of self-pity, Jane recalled that this majestic place would now be Robbie’s home as she and Lord Reginald were driven through the borders of the village. The people she saw in the lanes would be those whom he would rule; the land surrounding the fortress would be that which provided him with sustenance and income. She suddenly felt very much like a poor relation to a wealthy cousin, left behind at the smaller, less consequential Dunloch.

Eanruig lay much closer to Dunloch than she’d imagined; the carriage ride had only taken a few hours, and she wondered if she might see Robbie often, for she had seen the Galbraith clansmen at Dunloch on occasion. In fact, upon recollection she thought she might have even been introduced to a handful of them at her wedding.

A part of her hoped that would be the case, that Robbie would once again walk the corridors of Dunloch, even if it was no longer his home. Another part of her, though, dreaded the possibility. She did not know if she could bear to see him happily married to another woman, as much as she desired his happiness.

“You’re pale,” Lord Reginald noted from across the coach.

“I’m sorry, my Lord, I shall try to appear less so,” Jane answered, daring to allow a touch of acerbity colour her tone.

“You have lost weight these past several days,” he persisted with narrowed eyes. “And your maid informs me that you’ve been sick on a number of occasions. Are you with child?”

“You know I am not.”

“Do I?”

Jane sighed, exasperated. “Really, my Lord, you are well aware that my courses have come to an end a sennight ago, so therefore I cannot possibly be with child. Besides, when would I have had the opportunity? I am followed by Hobbs day and night when I am not at the castle. I confess I like the man very much and do not in the least mind his company, but I daresay I could not shake him even if I were of a mind to.”

“Perhaps your suitor resides at the castle then. Thomas Bambridge, perhaps? He is a handsome young chap, is he not?”

“He’s also vain, arrogant and dull as dirt,” Jane snapped back, challenging Lord Reginald blatantly for the first time since they’d married. “And I do detest the fact that he seems to think my one indiscretion means I shall entertain the advances of any man who desires a forage beneath my dress!”

For a brief moment she worried that in her anger she had gone too far, for indeed her remark had been both crude and insubordinate. Quite to the contrary, however, Lord Reginald was thoroughly amused, and laughed heartily at her quick wit.

“Alright, my dear. I concede,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender.

The village was teeming with activity as they rolled past the dwellings and structures. The majority of homes were the same mud and stone huts which could be found in Dunloch’s village, but a great deal more were constructed of wood, signifying the greater wealth of its occupants. Nor was Lord Reginald’s the finest carriage to approach the castle, for as they neared the gatehouse there were a number of fine coaches belonging to Scotland’s most powerful nobles and landowners who had also arrived to attend the ceremony.

They would stay at Eanruig for the entire duration of the celebration, which would continue over several days with games and feasting and dancing. Lord Reginald had no choice but to attend and remain civil throughout, for to shirk the Galbraiths would certainly earn the clan’s animosity and, more importantly, the loss of their support should Dunloch ever find itself in need.

The driver of the coach brought them through Eanruig’s gates and into the bailey, where they disembarked at the fortress’ grand entrance. Jane felt very much outside of herself as they crossed the threshold into what would, from this day forward, be Robbie’s home. Her stomach heaved and twisted at the thought, and she had to concentrate on placing one foot after the other to remain standing, for her knees shook terribly and threatened to buckle with each step.

The corridors of the castle were lavishly decorated for the celebration, the high walls strung with the various Galbraith banners, standards and pennons at regular intervals. The wealth of the clan was obvious; Robbie had been very clever in aligning himself with such a powerful ally, Jane thought bitterly.

She dreaded the ceremony, dreaded seeing Robbie for the first time since he’d fled the tiny hut where she’d administered to him and loved him. When they approached the chapel and seated themselves, her eyes darted nervously around the space for any sign of him, but she saw none. She was relieved, for she was positive she would burst into tears upon beholding him again. She and Lord Reginald sat quite far from the altar, in about the middle of the long and grand chapel at the edge of their row. It was just as well, for she would much rather fade into the hordes of guests, unseen and unconsidered, than be in a conspicuous place if she were to lose her already tentative grip on her composure.

She could not avoid the inevitable, though. They were here, after all, to see Robbie marry. As if to accentuate the fact, the minstrels seated in the gallery above the altar began playing. Jane raised her eyes towards the source of the music … and her heart stuttered in her chest.

Robbie strode to the front of the chapel from a side entrance, commanding Jane’s complete awe. He was magnificent, dressed from head to toe in formal Highland dress. His MacGillivray plaid of red and green was fresh and vibrant, and he wore his sporran and sgian-dubh like the warrior he was.

His person was just as magnificent as his dress. He looked fully recovered from his wound and the resulting fever, standing tall and proud, formidable and strong. Some of the weight he’d lost during his illness looked like it had been recouped, and his face was resolute and clear, with the same shapely mouth and chiseled jaw that haunted every corner of her memory. His dark hair shone like onyx, and even from where she was sitting, Jane’s heartbeat accelerated from the sparkle of his emerald green eyes.

He looks happy, she thought wretchedly.

But soon her misery turned to despair as his bride, Nuala Galbraith, entered the chapel. She traveled down the middle aisle alone, her face covered by a veil of fine gossamer. When she reached the altar, Robbie stepped forward to raise the sheer silk, and Jane caught a glimpse of her fully.

The lady was truly breathtaking—more beautiful even than Amelia. Her eyes were an unusual aquamarine, and her hair rippled down her back like spun gold; her skin was as smooth and delicate as fresh cream. She was tall and exquisitely proportioned, with an ample bosom and a slender waist. Her image was truly angelic as she stood at the altar, gazing upon Robbie with wonder and devotion. Jane tried, but could not gauge Robbie’s reaction, for his face remained turned to the priest through the service.

She was numb; her heart throbbed in agony as Robbie said his vows, promising to love the lady Nuala until death parted them. Her head spun, and she fought to remain conscious though she felt like her lungs were being ripped from her chest cavity.

When finally the service was over, Robbie and Nuala turned together and walked down the centre aisle with grace and poise. Jane stood with the rest of the guests to receive the newlywed couple, and clapped mechanically. She watched them advance through the chapel miserably.

Until ….

Until Robbie passed the spot where she stood. As if he knew exactly where she would be, his green eyes locked on hers, and the intensity with which he gazed upon her froze her in mid-clap. His expression was tormented, indicating thoroughly his misery, his passion … and his love. It was a fleeting look, bus she read it clearly. Gasping, she clenched her hands together, unable to think, to breathe, as she was rendered helpless under the force of his eyes.

And then he moved on with his bride. Jane stared blankly ahead of herself for long moments, shocked and trembling.

“You’ll notice that she did not cry and sob and carry on throughout her wedding,” Lord Reginald quipped to Jane, unaware of her inner turmoil.

“That is, my Lord, because she has been wed once already, and she does not face her deflowering in mere hours,” Jane managed to answer.

When Lord Reginald conceded with an obliging chuckle, she added to herself, and her groom is not old enough to be her father.

Throughout the wedding feast Jane avoided looking at the head table. A tumult of emotions muddied her mind and made her own reactions unpredictable. Her only consolation, which was the one thing keeping her from completely falling apart in front of a room full of strangers, was that Robbie was alive and safe.

That should be enough for her. It had to be.

“Wi’ such a momentous and joyous occasion as Rob’s marriage to our Nuala, d’ye think ye’ll be forgetting the past then, Reg?” questioned one of the Galbraith clansmen sitting at their trestle table that evening.

Lord Reginald’s face remained impassive. He chewed his food a few more times for good measure, then took a long sip of ale from his stone goblet. Jane continued to push her food around on her trencher with her spoon, pretending not to listen. She studied the fleur-de-lis etched on the silver handle, idly noting that the diners had been given the honour of using the Galbraith’s most expensive eating utensils. They must trust their guests, Jane thought to herself. Or they can afford to replace such items if they are stolen.

“I never forget a wrong done against me,” Lord Reginald said, answering the Galbraith clansman when he’d cleared his mouth of food.

“Ye dinna think it time to settle yer grievances? Oh come, Reg. Surely ye can find it in yer heart to forgive the young lad.”

“I think that young lad of whom you speak is a scoundrel, and that this marriage is just another example of his devious, underhanded methods.”

The Galbraith clansman chuckled heartily and turned to Jane. “Is he always this grim, cailín?”

Jane chafed at the casual way the man addressed her, using the Gaelic word for “girl” rather than referring to her title. But the man was clearly in his cups, and besides, she had more important things over which to be upset.

“I think it wise to let that question remain unanswered, sir,” she said instead.

The Galbraith clansman laughed again and slapped his beefy hand on the slatted tabletop. “Well said, cailín. Well said indeed.”

The dancing commenced after the main course had finished and the trestle tables moved from the hall. The minstrels who had played for the ceremony now weaved their way among the guests, bowing their fiddles, beating their bodhruns and piping their flutes. Jane forced her eyes away from the floor, for she felt ill watching Robbie dance with his new bride. Nuala looked radiant in her gown of lily-white silk, with her cheeks pink and alluring from the excitement of the day.

Lord Reginald was too sullen to ask his wife to dance, and when he ventured towards a group of high-ranking men to converse with them, Jane had nothing better to do than to follow, for she did not know many people gathered there in Eanruig’s great hall. But neither did she wish to retreat into a corner, alone and vulnerable.

“D’ye hear the Lord of Douglas has raided Scone wi’ that William Wallace?” one of the Scottish noblemen said.

“Aye, so it’s no’ just Moray we’ll be having to look out for,” agreed another. “God help us if they join forces.”

“They will do no such thing,” Lord Reginald put in. “Neither will want to relinquish command to the other, and the king will watch on as their so-called forces descend into petty squabbling with each other.”

“I dinna ken about that, Reg,” said the first man. “There’s trouble a brewing in the Highlands, ye mark my words. We’d all best watch our backs in the days to come.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed Lord Reginald. “Any uprising will swiftly be put down by the king’s forces.”

“That may be, but let’s hope ye dinna lose yer head to those rebels before that happens,” laughed the second man, and the rest of the group joined in for a round of laughter.

Jane smiled appreciatively along with them, but she was not really paying attention to what was being said. Her ear was tuned to the harper, who had taken the lead in the music to accompany the dancing. She had opened by playing a beautiful tune which, Jane realized with a smile, was the one Margaret had been singing to Connall the night she gave birth to Fiora.

“I hope I’m no’ interrupting anything, my Lords,” said a voice from behind them.

Jane blanched. She knew the voice as well as if it were her own. It was unchanged, as smooth and rich as ever. She turned slowly, feeling like she was in the midst of a dream, and found she was standing no more than an arm’s length away from Robbie. Her knees weakened and her stomach began to tumble anxiously at his closeness.

“My Lord Reginald,” he said when the men had nodded their greetings and congratulations to him. “I didna have the opportunity to be introduced to yer young wife. As I’m sure ye recall I was unfortunately unable to attend yer wedding.”

He did not look at her as he spoke, but Jane could sense in every nerve of her body the energy that passed between them.

Lord Reginald clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. But he managed to remain calm. Watching him, Robbie seemed to be enjoying the fury he was evoking in the baron, and his expression of civility had the slightest hint of satisfaction to it.

“Of course,” he answered, nearly speaking through clenched teeth. “Laird Robert MacGillivray, I present to you my bride, Jane Sewell, daughter of Lord Sewell of Sussex.”

“Jane of Sussex,” Robbie said, her name spoken like it was a caress on his lips. He had said her name exactly that way in their intimate moments together hidden away in the dilapidated hut; hearing it once more did strange things to her belly.

“My Lord MacGillivray,” she returned, preparing to curtsey as was customary. But instead he took her hand and pressed the back of her fingers to his lips tenderly.

Jane swallowed thickly as his warm, moist lips pressed to her flesh. The recollection of those lips crushing hers in a passionate kiss was overwhelming, and it was with effort that she kept herself from rushing into his arms to claim those lips once more.

“Ye must forgive me for my absence at yer wedding, Baroness, but I confess I were in no fit state to attend. I hope I may make it up to ye in the future.”

“Oh?” Jane said, regaining a measure of composure. “Shall we be seeing each other often in the future, sir?”

“I sincerely hope so, my Lady,” Robbie returned. “Eanruig is the closest fortress to Dunloch. I am certain our paths will cross regularly. My Lord Reginald,” he continued, turning to the baron while still holding onto Jane’s hand. “I would be obliged to ye if ye’d let me steal yer beautiful wife away … for a turn on the floor.”

Lord Reginald regarded Robbie through narrowed eyes, but failing to detect the double entendre of his request, he nodded his assent. As he turned back to the group of men with whom he was conversing, Robbie led Jane away. She was keenly aware the entire time of the warmth of his hand on hers as he led her to the centre of the group of dancers. She longed for him to pull her into his powerful arms and soothe her.

As Robbie turned to engage her in the dance, the harper finished the melody she had been playing, and began a new one in its place. Jane’s eyes widened as she recognized the song, and a wave of emotion rolled over her as she gazed at Robbie’s face and realized he had arranged it. His eyes held hers, desperate, pleading, intense. Trapping her gaze to him, he moved in time to the music, guiding her through the steps of the dance.

“Sing for me, Jane,” he pleaded softly. “For months I havena been able to stop thinking of the way ye sang to me as ye cared for me through my fever. Yer voice haunts my dreams. Please, sing for me?”

Jane glanced nervously towards Lord Reginald, concerned that he might see. But he was not watching—his back was turned to the floor and he had returned to his discussion with the other men, which now appeared to be growing heated.

“Please?” Robbie pressed again when she hesitated.

With her heart racing, she nodded, and wet her lips. Glancing from side to side to ensure that none of the dancing couples were paying attention, she took a breath and began the words she had sung to him once; they were even more poignant now than they had been:

I once had a true love, and I loved him so well

I loved him far better than my tongue can tell

And I thought that he spoke, and to me did say

“It will not be long, love, ‘til our wedding day.”

Her voice wavered, unsteady, and there she faltered, tears springing to her eyes. “I cannot sing anymore.”

Robbie closed his eyes for a brief moment, his expression pained. “Forgive me, Jane. Forgive me for what I have done.”

For what he had done; for what he had to do. Margaret’s words rang in her ears, the words Robbie had asked her to impart to Jane on his behalf: I have a duty to fulfill, and I must do what’s right for my clan … even though I dinna want to … She understood then his meaning. He did not want to marry Nuala. He’d had to do it—for his clan’s sake. Nuala and the Galbraiths were his salvation, and the salvation of his people.

She forced a smile, though in her pain it was more of a grimace. “You have done nothing for which you must beg my forgiveness. You have a beautiful wife, and I’m sure you shall be happy. I want you to be happy.”

At that, Robbie pulled her closer—so close that his body grazed hers. Alarmed, she glanced at the other dancers, certain they must be staring at their inappropriately close proximity to one another. None had noticed.

“Ye silly lass,” he admonished forcefully. “I’ll never be happy wi’ any woman if that woman isna ye. Didna Margaret give ye my message?”

“Y-Yes,” she stammered, disoriented by the feel and the scent of him so close to her. “But certainly things have changed for you. Nuala Galbraith is stunning to behold, and it is clear that she adores you. Surely you shall forget about me.”

“It doesna matter if she is the most stunning creature in this world, my Jane. She isna ye. I love ye. God’s bones, Jane, I love ye, and I’ll never stop loving ye—whatever may come.”

Jane bowed her head, fighting against tears borne of both grief and relief. In tender silence they danced on, performing the steps in time with the other couples. But for Jane it was as if they were the only two people in the hall; the only two people in the world. Robbie’s eyes held hers, intent and intoxicating, and she felt like she was under a spell as he led her in the dance. It ended, far too soon, and at the end of it Robbie was obliged to return to his bride.

“Ye’ll be staying at Eanruig, aye?” he said. “Ye and that scab of a husband of yers?”

“Yes,” Jane answered with a begrudging grin.

“I am glad,” Robbie said. He lifted her hand and gave it another warm kiss. “Always, Jane,” he added, before escorting her back to the group of men in the midst of which Lord Reginald stood.

As the night wore on, Jane caught Robbie’s covert glances from across the hall, and each time it sent a deep blush to her cheeks. She watched him move about the room, healthy and strong, dancing with the lasses, with Nuala, and conversing with the legions of important men that had come with their wives, their sons and their daughters to attend the celebration. She passed her time by admiring the long, sleek line of his neck and the way it sloped to the curve of his collarbone, barely visible at the collar of his linen tunic. She admired the breadth of his shoulders and how they contrasted the slim line of his hips. Heat crept up her neck and into her face as she remembered that once his fine body had belonged to her, and her alone.

And each time, the recollection saddened her. Even though he had proclaimed his unending love for her, it was to no avail. He belonged now, in the eyes of God ... to another woman.

The sight of the new bride dancing with her groom filled her with a dreadful sorrow, and Jane was suddenly exhausted. A strong desire to lose herself in the oblivion which sleep offered was too tempting a thing to refuse, and she gave in to it. Explaining to Lord Reginald that she was retiring for the night, she left him to continue arguing with his companions—all of them significantly drunker than they’d been an hour ago. He would probably stay in the great hall all night, which meant that she would have ample time alone to cry into her pillow.

But after Ruth—who had been brought along to stay at Eanruig as had many of the other guests’ servants—had dressed her and brushed her hair, and after she had crawled beneath the covers and cried her tears, Jane found that sleep eluded her. Her mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts, none of them comforting. A deep jealousy of the lady Nuala settled into her breast—no, it was more than sheer jealousy: it was a fury, a fierce resentment and an unbearable heartache all entwined into one. Nuala had stolen something from Jane, something that Jane wanted desperately.

But what was she thinking? Such a notion was absurd, for Jane was not free to want what she could not have. Robbie had never been hers—not really. And Nuala was every bit entitled to him as an eligible woman to an eligible man. The lady must know, Jane considered, that Robbie married her for protection and the security of his clan. She did not look a stupid woman, she must realize it. But did she think that Robbie loved her as well as needed her? Did she hope Robbie might fall in love with her over time?

Even more terrifying to Jane was the question ... would Nuala’s hopes come true?

With panic, anger and defeat warring one another inside the cavern of her breast, she sat up in her bed. Stewing over such thoughts would do her no good, and it certainly wasn’t helping her fall asleep. She needed to sleep. Needed the release its darkness offered. But sleep refused to come.

She could not stay in this strange bedchamber and not sleep, she decided. She needed to take some air. Rising from the bed, Jane reached for her green velvet dressing gown and pulled it on over her shift. Then she eased her bare feet into her slippers on the rug beneath her. As she left the chamber, she pondered where the best place for her to go would be. She could not descend from the keep to the main floor, for she would surely cross the path of a guest or a servant—utterly unacceptable in such a state of undress. Better to go up, she thought.

None of the guests who were staying at Eanruig had yet retired for the night, and the continuing merriment from below filtered through the corridors and passageways. Jane wandered through the keep and soon came across a small passageway with stairs that led upwards. Following it, she found the stairs let into a small, empty tower; an observation post. It looked as though it had not been used for quite some time, though, for there were no furnishings—not even a chair for a sentry upon which to rest. An arched, open window was built into the wall facing east over the darkened Highland hills. Jane drifted towards it.

The sky was unusually clear this night, and a large, luminous moon dominated the heavens and was accompanied by specks of twinkling stars. Leaning against the stonework, she crossed her arms over her breast to combat the chill of the early autumn air. A light breath of wind flittered past her, caressing her hair, her cheeks, her throat as she gazed to the shadowy horizon. The tower, she knew, faced the direction in which Dunloch lay.

Dunloch—the land which had once belonged to Robbie and his MacGillivray clansmen. Did he care about his forefathers’ home now that he had the larger and grander fortress of Eanruig? Would Dunloch become a distant memory to him? A fond recollection of times past?

Would she become a recollection to him?

“Jane.”

The gentle whisper of her name startled her, and she whirled around from the window.

Robbie stood at the entrance to the tower. The moonlight illuminated his form, casting shadow and light over his features so that she could not make out the expression on his face. But his green eyes caught the soft light, and they glowed through the darkness of the tower, taking her breath away.

A jumble of questions ricocheted about in her mind. How did he know she was here? Why had he left his own wedding feast? Why was he here now? But no words would come to her lips. With a pitiful cry, she found herself rushing across the small space into his open arms, and felt them clamp forcefully around her as she crushed her lips to his.

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. Kissing Robbie, feeling his lips move against hers after so long when she thought she would never have this feeling again—it couldn’t be real. Robbie devoured Jane’s lips with fervour, as desperate as she, their grief and their hope melding together. His tongue twined with hers, an aching need consuming them both.

Jane’s knees buckled and she sank to the cold stone floor of the tower; Robbie sank with her, pressing down gently on her body with his own. The weight of him was both thrilling and comforting. His hands roving her body were like fire on ice, a powerful shock to her system, and she whimpered—whether it was from delight or from the pain of having been denied him these past months she did not know. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and mingled with the tears that spilled over his as she kissed him, and her hands traced every inch of him that they could find.

She pulled him close to her, hitching her legs up and over his hips. She needed him. Unbearably. Robbie moaned against her lips and reached down to the belt of her dressing gown. Tugging the loosely tied knot open, he pushed the fabric away roughly and then reached to the hem of her shift, pulling it up to her waist. In return, Jane clutched the fabric of his kilt with one hand while keeping the other firmly clamped on his back so that his body would remain pressed tight to her. She could feel the evidence of his need at her thighs, and gasped as, in one swift motion, he entered her.

There was no time to go slowly, no time to savour each other as they had done before in the darkened moments of the dilapidated hut. Jane needed Robbie just as he needed her. He moved inside of her as if his desire for her consumed him, and she rocked her hips, encouraging him, driving both him and herself higher and higher.

Her breath came in sharp pulls, and she grew light-headed; the muscles in her arms and legs burned from the force she exerted to hold him to her so tightly. But she couldn’t let go; she wouldn’t let go. Robbie’s face pressed into the crook of her neck, and his breath was hot on her skin as he took her without rational thought or self control.

With a groan, he released himself into her, and his cry of ecstasy was her undoing; it triggered her own climax and she locked her arms and legs against him even harder, desperate to have him as deep inside her as she could.

When it was over, he rolled off of her and onto his side, pulling her to him in one fluid motion. Enveloped in his powerful arms, Jane buried her face in Robbie’s chest and sobbed openly. Her tears stained his shirt, and she trembled violently—from the cold, from the shock, from the pleasure. She could feel his body tremble against hers as well, and when she lifted her chin to look into his face, she was both astonished and touched to see that he was crying, too.

“Forgive me, Jane,” he pleaded again, burying his face in her hair. “I beg ye to forgive me for what I’ve done.”

Jane shook her head. “I’ve told you, Robbie: there’s nothing to forgive. You’re not mine; you can never be mine.”

“But I am,” he insisted, “I always will be.”

“What about your bride?”

Robbie sighed, tormented. “She kens how it is. I made it clear that my heart would always belong to another, but that I couldna have her. She kens I needed the marriage for the sake of my clan and my security. I didna lie to her.”

“I’m not sure she does know it, Robbie. Not really. I saw the way she looked at you during the service; I have seen the way she’s been looking at you all night. She is hopeful that you may one day love her, I know it.”

Robbie exhaled sharply. “This is a right bloody mess, isna it?”

“Well, some good has come out of it in the end. You will one day be the laird of a castle grander than Dunloch.”

“Ye wee silly lass,” he chided, chucking the tip of her nose with his forefinger. “Dinna ye ken anything? As I will always love ye, Dunloch will always be my home. I dinna want Eanruig. I am here because it is close to my home; it is close to my love.”

“You married Nuala Galbraith to be close to me and to Dunloch?” she said, uncertain.

“I did,” Robbie said forlornly. “God help me, I did.”

Jane was silent for a moment before she spoke. “So what now then? You have a duty to your bride this night. Will she not be wondering where you are?”

Robbie shook his head and laughed without humour. “I dinna ken. I dinna care. All I care about right now is ye. Is this.”

He lifted her chin and pressed his lips to hers, this time gently. Her body shaped itself to his as she kissed him, and Jane felt Robbie’s desire for her stir once more. His passion was no longer fuelled by desperation; his desire burned deeper and slower.

Now they had time to savour one another.

Chapter 9

“Begging yer pardon, Baroness D’Aubrey, but Lady Nuala MacGillivray requests the honour of yer company in the solar,” said one of Eanruig’s ghillies from the door of Jane’s guest bedchamber

She winced at the name as she turned from the small hearth where she had been absently watching the dancing flames of the morning fire. Despite their intimate reunion the previous night, the wound from Robbie’s marriage that had gouged her heart was still raw.

Forcing a smile onto her face, she nodded. “Yes, thank you. Pray, tell her I shall come presently.”

The ghillie bowed respectfully and removed himself from the doorway. The moment he was gone, her smile vanished, and her eyes drifted back to the gentle orange tongues licking away at the fresh log in the grate. Within moments, though, her mind returned to its previous course of though—Robbie—and an inward smile crept its way back onto her face without her intention.

“My Lady, you shall do your eyes harm by staring at the fire so, Ruth prodded gently.

Jane glanced up. “Of course, my Ruth,” she answered cheerfully. “Shall we do my hair?”

She crossed the chamber to the small vanity on the rear wall. Given that this was a guest chamber, the reflecting glass was nowhere near as large or fine as her own vanity at Dunloch. It would have to do, however.

Staring at her complexion, Jane thought it much improved since yesterday morning. Ruth, it appeared, thought so, too.

“I must say, my Lady, you have a fair bit of colour to your cheeks. And if you do not mind me adding, your spirits have picked up a mite since yesterday. Might I enquire as to the cause of your sudden turn of mood?”

“Perhaps the change in scenery has done me good,” Jane evaded.

“Perhaps ... Then again, perhaps not.”

Jane glanced sidelong at Ruth, neither denying nor confirming her suspicions. Guessing that she was right, the middle-aged maid sighed and nodded her plump chin.

“I pray you be careful, my Lady. I will not have you putting yourself in danger the way you did this spring. Perhaps it is best that he is married, and whatever the two of you had back then is put to rest.” When Jane did not answer, she tactfully redirected the subject. “On a side note, I’d wager that devil Hobbs not hovering around you day and night is a welcome change. It must be nice to have a measure of your freedom back again, I imagine. Might that have something to do with your better mood?”

“Ruth, you know I do not mind him,” Jane chided in good nature. “No, I think it must be Eanruig that is to account for my spirits, as I said. The castle is so much more alive than Dunloch. Although I confess I am saddened when I think of the reason for Dunloch’s relative lifelessness.”

“Yes, that is true. Your lord husband has done a fair bit to dampen the spirit that Dunloch might otherwise have offered—had he not decimated half its population in the attack. I would not be surprised to learn that ruffian Hobbs had a hand in that. I would not put such an unwholesome act past the man.”

Jane eyed Ruth curiously through the glass as her maid brushed the tangles from her long, brown locks. “Do you realize that you talk of Hobbs quite a bit?”

“Do I, my Lady? I had not noticed.”

Jane grinned with narrowed eyes, for she was sure Ruth had noticed, just as Jane noticed the reddening of Ruth’s cheeks the moment she mentioned it.

“Do you like him, Ruth?”

“Like him?” she gasped, pressing a plump, dimpled hand to her bosom. “How could anyone like such a cur? He’s the devil’s droppings he is, and I wouldn’t give him a moment’s more thought. Not on my life.”

Jane studied her a while longer, not believing a word the woman said. She pressed no further on the subject; nevertheless, she was quite sure she had hit upon the source of Ruth’s persistent and inexplicable dislike of the man.

When her hair had been pinned and securely netted, Jane left the bedchamber and travelled through the unfamiliar corridors and passageways of the many-storeyed keep. When she reached Eanruig’s solar, she saw that the door stood partially opened, and a quiet chatter from within drifted out to her. Peering around the corner of the door jamb she saw Nuala seated by the fireplace, her back to the door.

Across from the comely lady and facing the door she saw whom she assumed was Lorcan Galbraith, or Red Lorcan as he was known. It was an apt name, for the man had hair as bright and orange as a flame, with a ruddy face to match. In truth, he was a rather ugly man—he had the look of a true Scots warrior: fearsome, with a fearsome face to match. He and Nuala did not look much alike, Jane thought as she regarded them undetected, but they did have the same aquamarine eyes. The beauty must have come from Nuala’s mother, then. Jane wondered—and doubted—whether the marriage had been for love.

Still unnoticed, she took a moment to survey the solar. The room itself was grander than the one at Dunloch—as everything about Eanruig seemed to be. It was a wide, pentagonally shaped room with the point of the pentagon comprised mostly of windows. They were not of stained glass, though, like the windows of Dunloch’s solar. It was a small claim, but it consoled Jane somewhat.

The family crest of the Galbraiths still hung in its place above the grand oak hearth; Dunloch could not make the same claim, for all the stained glass windows it had that Eanruig did not.

Knocking, Jane pushed against the door.

“My Lord, Lady Nuala,” she said hesitantly. Out of habit, she nearly dipped into a curtsey but stopped herself at the last minute—she was not accustomed to being a baroness; she had forgotten that Nuala and Lorcan Galbraith were beneath her and would instead be obliged to acknowledge her.

“Baroness D’Aubrey,” Lorcan exclaimed, his rough voice booming and jovial. He stood from his chair and bowed low, revealing the crown of his fiery head to her.

“Baroness,” Nuala added, rising to her feet and curtseying to Jane respectfully.

“We are gae pleased to have ye at Eanruig,” Lorcan continued. “We regret we havena had the opportunity to invite ye and the baron as our guests since yer wedding, but I assure ye, my Lady, it were no’ a slight. We were … ah … rather preoccupied here of late.”

Nuala frowned and bit her lip at her father’s remark. Seeing this, Jane wondered if her disgraceful return from the chief of Clan Campbell’s bed had been more recent than she imagined. She felt sorry for the lady, though her sensibilities chafed at the notion of sympathy towards the woman who now claimed Robbie as her husband.

“Not at all,” Jane assured him. “It has been quite an eventful time for me as well—settling in, I mean. After all, I have never been to Scotland, and am not quite accustomed to being the head of such a fine fortress as Dunloch.”

“Aye, I can imagine,” Lorcan agreed. “Well—I’ll leave ye ladies to yer chattering then. It’s our Nuala that wanted an audience wi’ ye, but I wanted to be here myself to welcome ye to Eanruig. Ye’ll let us know if there’s anything ye or the baron need, aye?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Jane and Nuala glanced timidly at each other as Lorcan departed the solar. When he had gone, Nuala stepped closer to Jane. Her face was alight with girlish eagerness and a bright smile. A twinge of guilt pulled at Jane’s breast.

“Baroness, I had hoped to have some time to spend wi’ ye,” she said.

Jane cringed self-consciously, for Nuala’s voice was as high and clear as a lark’s. Was everything about the lady beautiful?

“Please,” she implored, “there is no need for such formality. In truth I still do not feel much like a baroness, and the title sounds strange to me.”

“Alright,” Nuala nodded, “Lady Jane, then. Pray, will ye walk wi’ me? ‘Tis a fine morning, and I would very much like to ken ye better ... if I may, that is.”

“Of course.”

Nuala led Jane from the solar and through the keep to the ground floor of Eanruig. From there, they crossed the castle’s grand entrance into the bailey, then walked further into the surrounding village.

“Eanruig is a fine place,” Jane noted—more for conversation’s sake than that she felt any need to express the opinion.

“Aye,” Nuala agreed, a note of pride shining in her stunning eyes. “And I am pleased that it shall be mine to inherit. Now that I have such a fine and handsome husband, ye ken.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I couldna inherit Eanruig in my own right, and father has no boys to whom he could pass the lairdship of Clan Galbraith. But if I be like to marry, then Robert the Bruce and Scottish Parliament—and even King Edward himself—were willing to decree that Eanruig be passed to me by special ruling; the lairdship of Clan Galbraith would pass to our heir.”

“I see,” Jane said. Such information dampened her high spirits, for she had not realized how many people had a vested interest in the marriage of Nuala and Robbie. “So then you hope to pass Eanruig to your son.”

Nuala’s face fell, acknowledging to Jane what she already knew.

“There willna be sons. I am surprised, Lady Jane, that ye didna ken of it.”

“I confess I had heard a rumour,” Jane answered. “I did not mean to be cruel just now, I had dismissed what I had heard as mere gossip. Forgive me.”

“There is no need,” Nuala said, brightening. “It has been a difficult cross to bear, true enough, but I have been given a gift nearly as great in Robert.”

“He must love you a great deal.” Jane said, inwardly growing bitter at Nuala’s obvious joy.

“Ah, my Lady. Unless I am mistaken and yer marriage to the baron were one made for love, then I should think ye of all people would ken that love is no’ a prerequisite in a marriage. But I do confess I hope one day I shall win his love. Over time.”

Though Jane’s bitterness at what Nuala was saying increased with every word, it could not stem the budding of guilt that had first appeared in the solar a short time ago. She was a kind girl, Lady Nuala; an honest girl. Clearly she hoped for nothing more than to be happy in her marriage to Robbie. Despite her best arguments, Jane felt terrible for deceiving her like this, especially considering the fact that she had spent the previous night with her new husband.

But it was more than a mere matter of lust-fuelled infidelity, she reminded herself. What she and Robbie felt for one another, no law, nor union, nor political aspiration could staunch. It was a precarious thread, but it held fast.

They continued on together through the village. Nuala took particular delight in pointing out all the places and features that had been an integral part of her childhood at Eanruig. Jane was envious of that as well, that Nuala had such a deep-seeded connection to the place, and that it would continue into the future. Jane herself had been whisked away from her own home as soon as her father had deemed her old enough to marry.

Over the course of their time together Jane began to develop a genuine liking for Nuala, for truly the lady was a sweet soul. That, in turn, only made her feel worse, for Jane loved Robbie. Despite what she may have thought about the lady herself, she would not let Nuala’s kindness or sweetness stand in the way of her holding on to whatever happiness she could find in loving him.

“I do hope we can be friends,” Nuala said as they returned through the village to the fortress. “I find I am lonely since I have come back to Eanruig from Argyll—‘tis the Campbells’ seat, Argyll. My closest friend, ye ken, was recently wed to the Earl of Tidbury, and has left for England this past winter. So I am alone here.”

Jane shuddered—she was familiar with the Earl of Tidbury. In comparison, Lord Reginald was as handsome and good-natured as he was young.

“I am sorry for your friend,” she muttered with a grin.

Nuala chuckled lightly in acknowledgement. “Aye, as am I. Ye should have seen her on the day of her wedding; ye’d have thought the world were coming to an end. But I imagine it were, for her.”

The sentiment struck a sharp note with Jane. She knew only too well how Nuala’s friend must have felt. After all, had she not cried for days before her own wedding for that same reason?

“Father willna allow me to see my old childhood friends who live in the village,” Nuala continued, not realizing the effect her words had on her companion. “No’ since I reached fourteen. He decided that I was only to associate wi’ ladies of my own rank. And Laoghaire—that is now Lady Tidbury—were the only noble lass my age. So now I am grateful to once again have a woman wi’ whom I might share confidences … if ye’re willing, that is.”

Jane felt a knot tighten in her throat, for Nuala’s face was so bright and hopeful.

“Of course,” she agreed begrudgingly, her voice rough with her discomfort. “I should like that very much.”

Nuala’s face brightened even further, and she grinned as if in relief. “Good, I am glad.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a group of horsemen cantering out the main gate of the castle. Hearing the beating of the many hooves against the dirt, Jane and Nuala both turned to see none other than Robbie himself leading the party.

Jane’s heart stilled as she watched him approach on his chestnut coloured destrier. Truly had she never seen a sight more majestic. Her pulse raced and her heart thundered against her ribs as his eyes locked on hers.

“Nuala, Baroness D’Aubrey,” he greeted them affably, bringing his horse to a halt in front of them.

“Husband,” Nuala returned with a shy but happy countenance. “Have ye met the baroness yet?”

“Oh, aye, I have. The baroness and I shared a dance at the celebration yesterday, did we no’, my Lady.”

“We did sir, yes,” Jane answered. She found it difficult to speak the words as casually as he had when his eyes were holding hers so intently, communicating things unspoken of which only they two were aware.

“Is that so?” Nula said. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, though not suspicion, at Jane. “Then I am glad.”

“As am I,” Robbie agreed. “Now, what have ye ladies been up to on this fine morning?”

“We have been walking,” Jane answered. “The Lady Nuala has been kind enough to show me the village where she grew up.”

“And where be ye off to, sir?” Nula returned.

“We’re out for a morning ride,” Robbie answered. “Ye’ll make sure ye’re back for the games though, aye?”

“Aye, sure,” Nuala said, even though Robbie had directed the question to Jane. She had not noticed her husband’s interest in the woman at her side. But then why should she? She had no idea that any connection existed between the Baroness D’Aubrey and Laird Robert MacGillivray. No one did.

“Well then, ladies, I shall bid ye farewell for now.”

With a nudge of his heel against the destrier’s sleek flank, Robbie set off with his companions close behind. Both Jane and Nuala watched him go, Nuala smiling openly, and Jane stifling her own telltale grin. She soon detected, however, the slow fading of Nuala’s smile into a fretful frown.

“What is it?” she enquired gently.

Nuala regarded Jane as if considering. Then, with a shake of her head she said, “I am sure I’m being daft, but ...”

“But what?”

“The baron—he did ... want ye on the night of yer wedding, aye?” she asked awkwardly.

“He did,” Jane answered grimly, recalling the event with uneasiness. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that ... well, Robbie didna come to my bedchamber last night until after I’d fallen asleep. I had waited up for him for as long as I could, but ...”

Guilt seeped once more across Jane’s conscience as she watched the conflict work its way over Nuala’s pretty face. Of course she knew exactly why Robbie had not gone to his bride’s bedchamber.

“It was quite the celebration,” she offered lamely instead. “I’m certain he was merely too busy enjoying himself.” She flinched, then amended, “At the festivities.”

“I suppose yer right,” Nuala said with a nod and a grin, though it was an unconvincing one.

Though Jane did feel low for deceiving Nuala, for being the reason that her husband had not bedded her on the night of her wedding, she did not feel it as greatly as perhaps she should have ... she simply could not convince her heart of her wrongdoing. After everything she and Robbie had suffered through together—and apart—they deserved a measure of happiness. Didn’t they?

It was only a shame that Nuala was unsuspectingly caught in the middle.

The morning clouds cleared to allow an afternoon of gloriously sunny skies. And though the autumn air was quite cool, the warmth of the sun filtered down to the men and women attending the games, hosted by Eanruig in celebration of Nuala’s and Robbie’s wedding.

Jane attended with Lord Reginald, though she regretted deeply that she was obliged to stay by his side as he weaved his way in and out of the throngs of people. His mood was not pleasant; he was not at all happy with having to watch a healthy and protected Robert MacGillivray as he smiled and laughed with his guests.

“I would hang him if I could,” he declared to Jane with vehemence as they observed him wrestling playfully with a young Galbraith clansman in front of the merchant stalls.

“My Lord, you have decimated his entire clan. Is that not enough? After all, he must live forever with the guilt of being the reason his kinsmen are dead.”

“That beast has no conscience with which to feel guilt,” Lord Reginald bit back angrily. “He deserves to join them.”

Jane’s blood boiled, and it was with effort that she did not let loose the particular sentiment which was on her mind at that moment.

Instead she said, “Then it is unfortunate you cannot make it so, for he enjoys the protection of the Galbraiths. And the king, for that matter; His Majesty has forbidden you from stirring up trouble, do not forget.”

The baron turned and regarded Jane with a peculiar expression—one which stirred a feeling of dread, faint though it was.

“How naive of you,” he said condescendingly. “Truly, girl, I had thought you much cleverer than that.”

“My Lord?”

The baron narrowed his eyes. “The king has decreed that I am not to stir up trouble—unless it is warranted; unless MacGillivray commits another crime.”

“I am certain he will not,” she answered.

“Are you?” he said with suspicion. “Pray, what makes you so?”

Jane faltered and her cheeks grew hot. God help her, she had not just given herself away, had she?

“I only mean, my Lord, that it is unlikely he will commit another offense against you when his position at Eanruig is so secure. It is illogical.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Lord Reginald warned enigmatically.

It was on the tip of Jane’s tongue to ask him what he meant, but the baron was suddenly distracted by passersby who had stopped to converse amicably with him. Jane observed as his countenance changed from dark and brooding to friendly and jovial. Not a small measure of one mood overlapped the other. It was unnerving, she found, how he could change so abruptly—or pretend to, at any rate.

She decided that she would not forget his words, however, and resolved to warn Robbie of them as soon as she had the opportunity.

For the remainder of the afternoon she tried to enjoy the games. And she did—immensely. There was a traditional Scottish caber toss, in which only the strongest and burliest of Scots warriors participated. Then there was friendly sparring with claymores. Robbie took part in that game, and won three out of four rounds, losing the final match to Red Lorcan himself.

Jane could not determine if the loss was intentional or not.

The women in the crowd of onlookers sighed and whispered amorously when he removed his fine shirt for his matches, displaying his shapely chest and abdomen. Jane felt herself grow flushed as her eyes swept openly over the very body which she had spent the previous night worshipping. His scar along his right flank—with which she was intimately acquainted—had healed nicely. However, it was quite visible. But far from appearing as a weakness, it lent instead an air of fierceness and intimidation to his image. It did not seem to give him much trouble as he fought, either, and where it did limit his motion or strength, he redirected his attack or deflection with ease so that his wound did not hinder him overall.

He was certainly skilled, Jane thought with wonder as she watched him. She imagined what it must have looked like that spring morning when he had fought Lord Reginald’s forces. It must have been numbers that won the day, rather than ability.

She was completely enraptured with Robbie’s every move and twist; her heart lurched each time he glanced her way purposefully, as though he wished to make sure she was watching. She felt self-conscious, for a great many beautiful ladies were in attendance that day. Jane knew herself to be plain in the best of circumstances, but in such company today she was sure she was no object of desire for any man. The fact that Robbie loved her above all others she could not understand. Though it did not mean she did not like it, for she did—very much.

Perhaps more than she should have.

After the games, the guests of Eanruig returned to the castle for another night of feasting. Once again, Jane danced with Robbie, this time more than one dance. She was aware that Lord Reginald watched her, and made a point of letting Robbie know, for she did not want him to say or do anything to cause the baron to suspect their connection to one another.

Just being close to Robbie made her feel secure, though, made her feel like there was nothing which could ever tear them apart again. It was a fantasy, she knew, but she gave in to it willingly, eager to embrace it for as long as she could.

She didn’t want to think of the future, of the fact that she would soon return to Dunloch and he would stay at Eanruig.

That sad thought could be saved for another time.

Chapter 10

“We are to have MacGillivray visit in one sennight’s time,” Lord Reginald said darkly. He stared broodingly into the low-burning fire from his chair in the solar on that morning. And though he spoke evenly, it was obvious he was enraged by the news he was imparting.

Jane laid her needlework aside and looked up. She, too, managed to control herself, though her heart was hammering away behind her ribs, and she was on the verge of visibly shaking with excitement.

“I do hope you intend on being civil,” Lady D’Aubrey put in. “I wonder, though, at his coming alone. I should think it very foolish of him to put himself at your mercy so.”

“He shall not be alone,” answered Lord Reginald. “He comes with his wife and a number of the Galbraiths—including Red Lorcan himself. So I have no choice in the matter of whether or not I am civil, now do I, mother?”

Jane’s pulse raced as she listened to the exchange between the baron and the dowager. Robbie, here? In his former home? So soon after she had seen him at Eanruig, a little over a fortnight ago, and she would see him again. He had not been exaggerating when he said he hoped to see her often. She pressed her lips together tightly to keep from grinning outright.

“Perhaps he truly wishes to put the past behind him and begin afresh,” she suggested when Lord Reginald fell silent.

“Codswallop,” he snapped. “The man wishes to mock me with his immunity—here in my own home!”

But it is not your home, Jane thought triumphantly. It will never truly be yours so long as Robbie lives and breathes.

“When shall they come?” she said instead.

“On the morrow,” was his trite reply.

Tomorrow! Tomorrow she would see Robbie again. Her heart leapt in her breast.

“Shall I arrange with the cook to prepare something special in honour of our guests?”

“Absolutely not,” bit Lord Reginald. “I’ll not be welcoming that demon here, even though I must tolerate him.”

“You forget, my Lord, that the Galbraiths come with him. If you do not, you risk offending your closest neighbours,” Lady D’Aubrey reminded him gently.

Lord Reginald was silent, fuming over his impossible predicament. His jaw worked back and forth and his eyebrows knitted together ominously. Then, without another word, he abruptly shoved himself from his chair and stalked out of the solar.

Jane and Lady D’Aubrey exchanged glances with each other.

“He’ll not let this one rest,” the dowager said.

“I know,” Jane answered. “I worry about what he shall do to exact his revenge.”

To herself, she added: for Robbie’s sake.

Jane was too excited to remain in the castle all day. She managed it for the rest of the morning, accompanying Lady D’Aubrey in the solar. But by the afternoon she was positively bubbling with elation over Robbie’s visit to Dunloch … even if he was coming with Nuala.

Ruth, she discovered upon searching, was nowhere to be found. Desperate to share her information with someone, she decided to visit with Margaret instead—if the baron would allow it.

Enquiring throughout the castle as to Lord Reginald’s whereabouts, and getting no definitive answer, she ascended the main staircase to the keep to see if he was in his bedchamber.

As she approached his door, she nearly collided with a servant girl exiting his private apartment. She tugged at her dress as she walked, and when her eyes alighted on Jane, her cheeks grew red and her eyes fearful.

Jane stared at the girl—she wished she could bring herself to glare at her, but she could not. Instead she stepped aside to let the servant pass; the girl did, scurrying away with her chin tucked in shame to her chest.

“My Lord?” Jane said tentatively when she’d disappeared around the corner. She pushed the door of his chamber open wider.

Lord Reginald stood at the side of the bed. His shirt was on the floor at his feet and he was in the middle of lacing the waist of his breeks; the sheets on his bed were a jumbled mess—further evidence of his fresh activity with the servant.

“What is it?” he said, looking up. His eyes betrayed not a hint of remorse at what he’d just done, much less at the fact that he’d been caught doing it.

She surveyed him carefully, her eyes raking over his aging form. “Is Lady De Champlain no longer to your liking? Or is she not available.”

Jane knew she was being insubordinate, and half-expected that he would strike her for her brazen tongue. Instead, he levelled her with an implacable gaze, the corner of his lip pulling up ever so slightly.

“Do not tell me you are jealous, girl,” he taunted.

“Certainly not, my Lord,” she responded evenly.

Lord Reginald stepped forward, approaching her. Intimidated, she lowered her eyes from his to the curling mat of silver hair on his bare chest.

“Why not? I would think you should be … or is your illicit man a better lover than I? Perhaps you are well satisfied, and have no need of me.”

“I have no lover, my Lord,” Jane responded quietly.

Lord Reginald stared at her for a tense moment. She felt the power of his gaze at the crown of her head like it was a flame.

“It is your own fault, you know,” he said eventually.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“It is a pity, for you do have a fine figure, though your face does not do it justice. Nevertheless, I must say I enjoyed you thoroughly when I knew you weren’t out and about, lifting your skirts and opening your legs for some peasant stranger—maybe more than one; I do not know. Of course, that assumes you were not lying, and your lover is not someone of more substance.”

As he spoke, he lifted his hand and tugged at the laces of Jane’s bodice. Untying the strings, he pulled the velvet fabric of her gown open to expose the delicate skin of her sternum.

“I have no lover, my Lord,” she repeated.

Lord Reginald sighed raggedly. “I do not know whether or not to believe you.”

He dipped his hand into the velvet bodice, cupping her breast and exposing it to the chill air in the room. With his thumb, he rubbed her nipple gently until it grew involuntarily taut. Jane raised her eyes to his, panicked. Lord Reginald had not touched her like this in quite some time, and she was quite certain she did not want him to start now. With Robbie’s touch so fresh upon her skin ... she could not bear it.

The expression on his face as he fondled her breast openly startled and unnerved her: it was torn; troubled. Clearly he wanted her—even though he had just satisfied himself with a young and attractive servant girl, he wanted Jane. He was holding himself back from taking her, though; he still did not trust that she had given up her lover.

And with good reason, she thought wryly.

Shaking his head as if to free himself from his spell of lust, Lord Reginald dropped his hand and turned from her. Bending to the floor, he picked up his shirt and pulled it roughly over his head.

“What is it you wanted to see me for?”

Slipping her dress back into place and retying the laces, Jane said, “I was hoping you might allow me to visit Margaret MacGillivray today. I have not seen her since before we travelled to Eanruig, and I confess I miss little Fiora and little Connall.”

“You must bring Hobbs with you,” he responded, the statement neither a grant nor a denial of her request.

“Yes, my Lord. I shall.”

Lord Reginald was silent as he tucked his shirt into his belt. Jane waited, her nerves on edge and her muscles strained as she begged inwardly for his permission.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Go, make your visit.”

Excited once again, Jane curtseyed. “Thank you, my Lord.”

As she turned to depart the bedchamber, Lord Reginald halted her.

“Jane,” he called.

She paused at the door, and turned around to face him. “My Lord?”

He gazed at her with narrowed eyes and a pained expression on his face. “You had better not be lying to me,” he said. “I’ve forgiven you once. I shall not do it again.”

Jane’s heart stuttered in her chest, and a heaviness crept through her at the ominous tone of his voice.

“Of course, my Lord,” she managed. Then with a quick curtsey, she departed the room.

Resolved to forget the incident, Jane scurried through the bailey and out towards the stables. Hobbs, however, was not there. Returning to the castle she enquired with a passing ghillie where the man might be.

“I do believe, yer Ladyship, that ye’ll find him in one of the pantries off the kitchen,” the boy said.

Jane noticed a hint of a snicker on the ghillie’s face, but she was too excited to question it. Thanking him, she hurried off in the direction of the kitchens.

“I’m looking for Hobbs,” she announced to the staff upon arriving.

The servants in the kitchen stared at her nervously, and glanced awkwardly amongst themselves.

“Where is Hobbs?” Jane insisted, growing frustrated. “Why will no one tell me?”

“Oh, er, t’ain’t nowt wrong wi’ Hobbs, milady,” said an elderly man stationed by the spit. He spoke with a thick, Yorkshire accent, and Jane recalled what Lord Reginald had said to her on the night of their wedding: that the kitchen staff had been replaced when he took over Dunloch. He did not trust the Scots locals not to poison his food.

“Then where is he?” she demanded.

“He’s in the pantry yonder, my Lady,” answered a young girl begrudgingly; Jane recognized her as Mairi, a Scots girl not local to the village whom she had encountered during her first days at Dunloch.

Furrowing her brows with curiosity at the strange behaviour of the kitchen staff, Jane thanked them and headed in the direction Mairi had indicated.

“Hobbs?” she called upon finding the door to one of the store rooms open.

Peering inside, she expected to find the man stocking root vegetables or performing some other such menial duty. Instead, he found him wrapped in the embrace of a stout woman. The pair were kissing and giggling shamelessly like young people.

Jane gasped, recognizing the plump form of the woman. “Ruth!” she exclaimed, shocked.

Ruth let out a startled squeal, and shoved Hobbs roughly away. Smoothing her dress down, she stepped to the doorway. Meeting Jane’s eyes in a challenge, she lifted her broad chin proudly.

“Never you mind, my Lady,” she snapped, and promptly stalked off.

Jane turned to Hobbs, an incredulous smile on her face. Hobbs lowered his eyes sheepishly, but could not contain the grin that spread across his stubbled cheeks.

“What was it you said about Ruth, Hobbs?” she posed playfully to his averted face. “Something about a sharp tongue and a wide backside?”

Hobbs shrugged his shoulders. “True as that may be, my Lady, it just so happens that I do like a woman with a wide backside.”

An hour later, Jane and Hobbs reached the village. Margaret was outside her home playing with Connall, while Dagmar watched the pair from the low, wooden bench against the widow’s hut. In her arms was cradled a wide-eyed and inquisitive Fiora who had filled out quite a bit since the day she was born.

Seeing Jane, Margaret broke into a wide smile and waved eagerly.

“I am glad ye’ve come,” she exclaimed as Hobbs hopped down from his gelding and helped Jane to dismount hers.

“As am I,” Jane responded earnestly. “I wonder, might we step inside your home a moment and talk?”

Margaret gazed searchingly at Jane, but did not look surprised. “Aye, to be sure. Dagmar,” she said, turning to the red-haired woman, “will ye be a dear and mind Connall? I’ll take Fiora inside wi’ me to free up yer hands.”

“Please, let me,” Jane offered enthusiastically, and she rushed forward to take Fiora from Dagmar’s arms.

Margaret smiled tenderly as she watched the young baroness coo and make faces at the baby. Fiora did not smile, but watched Jane intently, and reached her pudgy fingers forward to stroke her lip.

Leaving Dagmar and Hobbs outside, the two women retreated inside the hut where Margaret directed them to the chairs by the fireplace. Jane sat in Connall’s, which she had become accustomed to doing of late, and tucked Fiora into a sitting position between the crook of her arm and her knee. Bouncing lightly on Jane’s slender leg, Fiora seemed quite content to pull at a clump of her soft dress, balling the velvet into her tiny little fist.

“We have had word at Dunloch that Robbie will bring his bride to visit tomorrow,” Jane said when Margaret had settled herself.

“Aye, he said as much,” Margaret responded.

“What do you mean? Has he been here?”

“He has, twice now. He came to see Fiora and to let me ken he were alright.”

Jane’s eyes grew sad. “You know he’s married then.”

“I do,” Margaret confirmed. “He regrets it, but I canna blame him.”

“I know,” Jane said, gazing down at Fiora with sorrow. “He told me why he did it. And … and he says he still loves me.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes and her smile was devilish. “Ach, now I ken full well he did a great deal more than simply declare his love for ye.”

Jane giggled, biting her lip. “He has told you?”

“No’ in detail,” Margaret assured her. “But I ken how the celebration went—and I ken it weren’t Nuala Galbraith he were bedding on his wedding night.”

Jane sighed regretfully. “I do feel awful about that. She is quite sweet, and we did get on well when I was there. She expressed a keen interest in knowing me, since her only friend has recently wed and left Scotland to be with her husband in England.”

“Aye. I ken Nuala … or, I kent her once. When my Connall were alive, ye see, I had a higher standing at Dunloch, and we were often wi’in each other’s company. We were no’ close friends, mind, but we did get on well. I ken what ye mean, she is a genuine lass.”

“I feel somewhat like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Jane admitted ruefully.

“I think,” Margaret said, leaning forward and patting Jane’s knee, “ye’ve been dealt a rough hand in life. I canna say what God is or is not prepared to do, but for me, I canna blame ye or Rob for seeking happiness in each other. Nuala kens full well that Rob doesna love her, that he married her for his clan’s sake—or what’s left of them—and for the sake of the Galbraiths.”

“But she hopes he will fall in love with her over time. She has admitted as much to me.”

Margaret nodded, biting her lip. “Aye, well that is her right to hope for it, I suppose. She’ll have no one to blame but herself if she is left broken-hearted when it doesna happen, as unfortunate as it is.”

“I know it,” Jane agreed. “It does not make me feel any less guilty, though.”

Chapter 11

The winds were strong on the day that Robbie arrived with his wife and the Galbraith men. The currents swept the fragmented clouds across the sky with dizzying speed, whipping Jane’s tunic about and pulling her hair from its netting as she stood outside the main door of Dunloch to receive her guests.

The carriage in which they had arrived was much finer than the one Lord Reginald used. Once again she could not help but feel like a poorer relation to Eanruig.

Robbie was the first to step from the coach, and immediately his eyes met Jane’s. Her breath caught in her throat as he gazed upon her with joy and elation—restrained though it was—mirroring the emotions which wreaked havoc in her own body at that moment.

It had only been a short while since she’d seen him last, but in that time she’d somehow managed to forget how powerful his presence was, how breathtaking his image. His green eyes blazed beneath a shock of dark hair and dark brows. Even through the long, doubled swath of plaid, which comprised the upper half of his tartan, wrapped about his shoulders for warmth, the definition of his strong arms and shoulders was visible. She swallowed reflexively as she stared at him, nearly gaping in awe.

Lord Reginald stepped forward to the carriage as the Galbraith clansmen disembarked.

“What—the biting cold too much for horseback travel? Not very Scotsmanlike if you ask me,” he quipped. His face was relaxed and friendly but there was an edge to his voice that Jane recognized. She hoped the Galbraiths did not.

“Ach, Reg, now ye ken we had to make the trip comfortable for the lady,” answered one Galbraith clansman whose name Jane recalled was Taigh.

Lord Reginald refused to look in Robbie’s direction as he greeted his guests; indeed, Jane thought his entire countenance was strained, forced, at having been obliged to welcome the former Laird of Dunloch to its grounds once more. She could almost feel the tension radiating from him, and noticed the twitching of a muscle in his jaw—something of which she had seen quite a bit lately.

“Lady D’Aubrey, I thank ye for having us this fine day,” Robbie said once they’d retreated into the castle. He took Jane’s hand warmly, and she could not mistake the look of desire in his eyes as he held hers.

“We are happy to have you and your clansmen with us,” she managed lightly, just barely containing the fluttering in her belly and the thrumming of her heart.

“Ah, but the Galbraiths are no’ my true clan, as ye well ken,” he replied playfully. “They were all killed in the battle for Dunloch—every one of them, good men though they were.”

Robbie turned his gaze to Lord Reginald, and although his face remained passive, his eyes were dark with hatred. Lord Reginald stared back at him, the twitch in his jaw even more prominent as his own eyes raked with searing heat over Robbie’s form.

For an uncomfortable length of time they stared each other down; it was Robbie who broke the tension. With a wide smile and a laugh he exclaimed, “Oh, come now, Reg. Surely ‘tis an incident best forgotten.”

“Quite,” Lord Reginald responded tersely, speaking through his teeth.

When the Galbraiths had been settled into their guest bedchambers, the group reconvened in the great hall where a welcoming meal had been prepared for the travellers. There was fine white bread as well as bannock, a variety of cheeses and Dunloch’s best ale.

Jane kept an eye on Robbie the entire time. She did not know if she was the only one who noticed, but it was obvious he was having a difficult time being in his former home while maintaining an air of indifference to his surroundings. Occasionally his gaze retreat inwardly as the others chatted around him, or his eyes would flicker about the beams and tapestries in remembrance, reflecting the sadness that was tearing at his heart. Then he would catch Jane’s glance, and an even greater sadness would overtake them.

Instinctively she knew his thoughts, and shared them: Dunloch was now her home as it had once been his. In some other life it might have been their home together. But that would never be in this one.

“Can ye tell me, my Lord, whether or no’ the widow MacGillivray still resides in the village?” inquired Robbie after the meal had been eaten and cleared. “She was a great friend of mine, and the wife of my cousin and clansman, Connall MacGillivray.”

“She does,” Lord Reginald answered tightly.

“She has recently birthed her babe, has she no’? I am sorry I couldna have been there to welcome the child to the clan—or, that is, what’s left of it.”

“That is correct, sir,” Jane put in. “A baby girl, Fiora. She is a beautiful child.”

“D’ye ken the widow, my Lady?”

Jane suppressed the grin which begged to be released—of course Robbie knew full well that she did.

“I do,” she answered. “She and I have become fast friends in my time at Dunloch. I am happy to know her.”

“Aye,” Robbie agreed solemnly. “She is a fine woman, good and loyal.”

Upon hearing this sentiment, Lord Reginald’s eyes narrowed, considering Robbie’s implication—he might have meant a number of things by the word loyal. Robbie, however, paid Lord Reginald no mind. His attention had been distracted by a movement at the main doors of the great hall. Jane followed Robbie’s gaze, and understood at once what had caught his notice.

There stood Tearlach by the tall oak doors of the entrance. Having been notified of Robbie’s arrival he had obviously run through the castle to the great hall, for he was breathing heavily from exertion. Beholding him now, alive and at Dunloch once more, the old steward was overtaken by a profound emotion. His eyes shone with pride as he took in the sight of his former laird.

“Tearlach,” Robbie uttered. Slowly he pushed himself from the trestle table and stood, beckoning the man to enter.

Tearlach crossed the great hall with the Galbraith clansmen and Lord Reginald watching on. “M-Master Rob,” he said, his chin wavering.

Jane nearly shed some tears of her own as she watched Robbie stepped forward to embrace Tearlach. Her hands rose to her mouth with her fingers clasped, and she realized she was holding her breath.

Lord Reginald, however, intervened, crushing the poignant reunion of laird and steward. He shot Tearlach a warning glare, and Tearlach, who had lifted his arms to embrace Robbie, dropped them regretfully. Instead, he offered his hand to shake.

Robbie regarded Tearlach’s outstretched hand, understanding the reason for his hesitation. “’Tis good to see ye again, man,” he said thickly, taking it firmly.

“Aye, and ye,” Tearlach returned, his affection and love for the younger man obvious.

“Well, we must catch up later,” Robbie said. “But I am glad to see that ye are well. Ye are well, are ye no’?”

“Aye, Master Rob, I am well. I am glad that ye—” Another warning glare from Lord Reginald halted him in mid-sentence. “Well, I’d best be on my way.”

With a parting look at Robbie, one which communicated more than words ever could, he retreated from the great hall. When he was gone, Robbie sat down heavily, his eyes glistening with unspilled tears.

There must have been a great connection between them, Jane thought. And it was no surprise, given that Robbie had become chief of the MacGillivray clan at such a young age, his own father having died before his time. Surely Tearlach had been a father figure to Robbie, one he’d had around him all his life. Of course, she had seen a brief display of their love and affection for each other the day they buried Connall—when Jane had brought Robbie to the graveside in secret, a surprise for Tearlach and Margaret.

Her heart ached for Robbie. She wanted desperately to approach and embrace him, comfort him. But it was not her place to do so. As if to reinforce that fact, Nuala recognized Robbie’s suffering, and it was she that consoled him with love and a tender touch.

Robbie smiled at her, grateful for the comfort, but his eyes slid towards Jane; he, too, wished it was she by his side instead.

The feast that night was a moderate one; it was certainly not the affair Lord Reginald had arranged when Lord and Lady Sewell had been their guests. There was no dancing, nor music. Everyone at Dunloch seemed to sense the baron’s suppressed rage over Robbie’s presence at the castle, and it rendered the atmosphere rather uncomfortable.

The Galbraiths, though, seemed not to care a whit for Lord Reginald’s struggle to contain his foul mood. They drank his wine and ale heartily, and ate his food in copious quantities.

And why should they care? Lorcan Galbraith was larger and more powerful than Baron Reginald D’Aubrey. And although Clan Galbraith had been forced to swear its allegiance to King Edward in order to maintain their lands, their wealth, their power … it did not mean the Galbraiths liked the English any better than the rest of the Highlanders of Scotland.

“We ken,” said Taigh to Jane at one point in the meal when the others were engaged in conversation.

“I am sorry?” Jane questioned, confused.

“I have noticed yer worried glances all evening, my Lady. And I think I ken the reason for them. But we also ken full well old Reg doesna like Robbie being here one bit—as well we ken what the king said to him at London. He’s to remain civil is what we heard. So as long as Reg must remain so at the king’s bidding, we’ll have our fun wi’ him. And believe me, my Lady, ‘tis great fun to make his blood boil so.”

Jane could not help but smile in response to the man. Clearly he was well in his cups. Were he not, he surely would not have offered such information. But he was, and he did, and it gave Jane an unexpected insight into the Galbraith’s mind as a clan: they had accepted Robbie not only to wed the barren daughter of the chief and secure her line, but because they, too, hated Lord Reginald. After all, she recalled, they had always been sympathetic to the MacGillivrays.

In offering her this information, this man, Taigh, could not have known of Jane’s connection to Robbie—surely not, for he was a direct relative of Nuala. Feeling herself quite fortunate, Jane tucked the knowledge away in the back of her mind, should she ever find herself in need of it in the future.

When the meal came to an end, much earlier than most meals ended at Dunloch, Jane watched sadly as Robbie escorted Nuala to their shared bedchamber. Returning to her own chamber, she allowed Ruth to undress her and brush her long hair. She did not want to think about what may, or may not, be occurring between man and wife a short distance away from her. She could not think about it, would not. Having Robbie near and knowing that he loved her would have to be enough.

Crawling into her bed, she resolved that she would let it be enough, she would be content with having Robbie near, and she would see him the next day. With that thought to sweeten her dreams, Jane fell asleep.

A gentle stroking of her hair roused Jane from a deep slumber. It was such a soothing sensation, so soft and reassuring, that she smiled sleepily to herself and snuggled further under her quilts.

When a pair of smooth, warm lips pressed to her forehead, she opened her eyes slowly. In the scant light from the moon and the glowing embers of the fire she could just make out Robbie’s handsome profile, gazing down at her with longing. The image was so perfect, seemed so natural, that she reached out without thinking and wrapped her arms around his waist.

It was several long seconds before her mind came fully awake and she realized that Robbie’s being in her bedchamber was not, in fact, the most natural thing in the world.

“Robbie,” she exclaimed in a whisper, pushing herself up onto her elbow. “How did you get in here?”

With nonchalance, he inclined his head towards the fireplace. “Didna ye ken about the passage?”

“Passage?” Jane glanced beyond him in the direction he had nodded.

The hearth, which was a narrow, raised piece of stonework, was at an odd angle to the mantle. Peering at it through the dim light, she saw that it had been shoved aside. Beneath it was a black, empty hole, square in shape, about the width of two men standing shoulder to shoulder.

“A passage,” she repeated, this time in a hushed awe. “I had no idea that was there ... and I don’t think the baron does, either. Where does it come out?”

“The armoury,” he answered. “’Tis as old as Dunloch itself, built to allow the laird’s family an escape route should an attacking force ever make it through the outer defences to the keep. I must admit I were rather pleased when I learned that this room were yours. It’s almost as if fate had stepped in and lent a hand when Baron Ballocks-for-Brains housed ye here.”

“How did you know this was my room?”

“I asked the servants.”

Jane gasped. “But Robbie, do you not worry they will tell Lord Reginald?”

“Ye daft lass,” he chided playfully. “Dinna ye remember that most of the servants here are MacGillivrays? D’ye really think they’d snitch on me to Rat-Shanks D’Aubrey for taking an interest in his wife?”

“They snitched on you about your plans to attack the castle,” she reminded him.

“Aye. They were afraid of being thrown from their homes if they didna. This … this is no’ quite the same.”

“And how did you get past Hugg? I thought for sure he would have alerted me to an intruder’s presence.”

“Is Hugg yer mastiff? Well now, he did start wi’ a fearsome growling when he heard the hearth scraping against the floor. I was worried he’d wake ye.”

Jane glanced about the room. “Where is he now?”

Robbie grinned. “Bottom of the passage stairs, gnawing on a pig’s foot.”

Jane gazed up at Robbie, in awe of him. Even in the darkness, with his voice barely above a whisper, he looked and sounded every bit the commanding chief he was. Dunloch was his home—it was as natural and inevitable as the winds or the tide. He belonged here, just as she knew she belonged at his side.

Shifting herself into the middle of the mattress, she made room for him to join her. He accepted her offer willingly, slipping himself beneath her quilts beside her. He leaned down to kiss her gently, his hand cupping the side of her face as his lips moved atop of hers.

“This is how it should be, always,” she murmured regretfully when he broke from the kiss to trail his lips along the ridge of her jaw, and down along her neckline to her collarbone.

“Aye,” he agreed, his breath like a tantalizing caress on her skin. “But we have all of this night, at least. From now until the sun comes up.”

She smiled to herself, thinking of all that could be done and shared in that seemingly endless span of time. Robbie shifted his upper body so that he was hovering over top of her. The weight of him pressing down on her was both reassuring and delicious. His flesh was warm through his linen shirt, and solid. He was real—her Robbie was truly here, in her bed. He was hers for as long as this night lasted.

Propped up on his right elbow, his left hand travelled over her shift, searching out every inch of her as if he were memorizing her form by touch. When he stroked past her hip and down the length of her thigh, his hand pushed the hem of her shift aside and then travelled back up. Jane flinched at the touch of his fingers on her bare flesh—but it was a pleasant flinch, one that set her aflame with want of him.

Eagerly, she tugged at his belt which held his kilt in place. When she had unhitched the notch, the fabric of his plaid slipped away beneath the covers. She caressed his bare hip, revelling in the sensation of his smooth skin beneath her fingertips. The power she seemed to wield over him made her heady—he moaned softly at her touch, responding to her by shifting himself closer. Pressed against him as she was, she could feel his stomach tremble and his manhood stiffen. Her own body responded with a surge of desire.

At his urging, she lifted her hips to allow him to drag her shift up and over her head. With a careless flick of his wrist he tossed the gown to the cold, stone floor. Then he pulled his own shirt off of himself. The silky, bare flesh of his torso skimming hers was both exciting and a comfort. It felt right, like his body was made to fit hers. She traced the ridges and valleys of his back, dragging the tips of her fingers over his shoulder blades, to the small of his back, and over the firm, sleek mounds of his buttocks. With a flex of her slender arm, she pulled his hips to her, and sighed as his rigid shaft pressed into her abdomen.

With a groan, he moved until his body was hovering over hers. Then, pausing, he looked firmly into her eyes, searching them, reading them. Wanting her as she wanted him.

He sighed as he entered her. “Oh, Jane,” he whispered achingly.

She responded to him by lifting her knee, holding it against his hip as he moved within her. Slowly and languorously they made love, exploring each other in ways Jane had never before experienced. Their bodies contorted together in every possible way, each enjoying the other from every angle imaginable. Robbie was both an experienced lover and a vulnerable soul in Jane’s arms; his moans and shudders were her undoing. Losing herself in his power, she willingly let go of her inhibitions, at times taking charge and driving him to new heights of ecstasy.

When they had satisfied themselves, they would drift into a light sleep in each other’s arms, only to awaken a few hours later and resume where they had previously left off.

In that manner they passed the night, until the rose-and-grey dawn filtered through the windows of the bedchamber. Gazing sleepily at it, Jane thought it a perfect metaphor for what she and Robbie had. The clouds, where they blanketed the sky, were leaden, thick and foreboding. But here and there patches of a brighter dawn peeked through, offering promise and, if not unending sunshine, at least a glimmer of it every now and then.

Chapter 12

On a rainy autumn morning, a little over a fortnight after the Galbraith party had returned to Eanruig, Lord Reginald stood atop the wall walk of Dunloch gazing darkly out over the village.

There was a bustle of activity in the distance: villagers were packing up their belongings, loading them into carts, and a procession of families had already begun migrating away from Dunloch’s lands. Lord Reginald watched them leave in stony silence.

The day before, Red Lorcan had ordered his men to remove the decaying bodies of the dead MacGillivray warriors from the valley where they had been dumped after the spring battle. The baron had had no choice but to allow it. The Galbraiths were a powerful clan, and were not to be tested. Their forces outnumbered Dunloch’s, and the garrison at Invercleugh would not intervene this time, for King Edward had decreed that Lord Reginald was not to stir up trouble unjustly. Invercleugh’s captain did not see the burial of dead warriors as a reason to cause a stir, despite Lord Reginald’s pleas—and then threats.

Now the Galbraiths had offered the remaining MacGillivray clanspeople sanctuary and homes within the borders of their land, effectively reuniting them with their chief and diminishing Dunloch’s labour force at the same time. Even the castle servants had left, leaving hardly anyone at Dunloch but the English nobles who had followed Lord Reginald to Scotland. But with no servants to wait on them, a number of them left the baron’s company, seeking hospitality with other connections that could accommodate them more readily.

The only MacGillivray to remain at Dunloch was Tearlach. Jane knew why that was—he still insisted on managing what rightfully belonged to Robbie, and protecting it as best he could. But he was the only one, for even Margaret left with Connall and Fiora. Jane prayed that Lord Reginald would not stop her from visiting Margaret at Eanruig, though she worried that he might.

She climbed up the stone steps to the wall walk, sent by Lady D’Aubrey to fetch the baron in from the rain.

“My Lord?” she said hesitantly.

Lord Reginald did not turn away from the scene below. “Come here, girl,” he said ominously.

Nervously, Jane approached his side. She gazed with him into the distance, where the procession of villagers and their carts had increased. The rain spattered down on her shoulders, cold and harsh, wetting the strands of her hair.

“Look at what he’s done,” the baron said quietly. “He’s taken everything from me.”

“He’s won,” Jane said in agreement, uncertain of whether or not she should be pleased by it. Indeed it seemed Robert MacGillivray had bested Baron Reginald D’Aubrey, and the clanspeople had been reunited with their chief. It was what she had wanted.

But Jane had been left behind at a nearly empty Dunloch—with an enraged Lord Reginald no less. What did Robbie’s victory mean for her?

Lord Reginald did not agree with her, however. Slowly, he shook his head back and forth. “No, he has not won. Not yet. I make a vow here and now to God that I will not let him win in the end. If it takes my dying breath, I will bring him down.”

The chill in his voice were like shards of ice to Jane’s heart, and she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She shivered, every inch of her cold with dread.

But her dread was not the result of Lord Reginald’s vow …

It had been slightly more than a fortnight since Robbie had left Dunloch. And it had been a fortnight before that when she’d had her courses last. They should have come by now … but they had not.

Heaven help her, her courses had not come.

To be concluded in Volume III of the Highland Loyalties trilogy:

The Laird Returns.