CHAPTER ONE

  McKay land…

  Rolfe Munro was up at first light. His horse wasn’t quite as keen about being on the way home as Rolfe was, though. Rolfe clicked his tongue to coax the animal out of the stable.

  “The horse is smarter than ye,” Cora Mackenzie informed Rolfe.

  “Only because he has yet to understand that we are going south,” Rolfe responded as he rubbed a sure hand along the animal’s back. “Where the weather is much finer than here.”

  Cora grinned. “I find it suits me.”

  Rolfe took a moment to lock gazes with Cora. His lips twitched. “There ye go again, lass, cutting me with yer lack of affection toward me.”

  “As if ye feel any different,” Cora replied. She drew in a deep breath and grinned. “Ye should thank me for not wedding ye.”

  Rolfe chuckled. “Ye’re happy.”

  “It’s a fine feeling,” Cora informed him. She grew serious. “And I need to thank ye for no’ pressing the matter of a union between us.”

  Rolfe made sure the saddle strap which went beneath his horse's belly was snug but not too tight. “I do nae doubt ye’d have been a good wife, Cora.”

  His tone was edged with something Rolfe decided he didn’t want to think too deeply about. Marriage was a matter for contemplation and solid judgment. He’d been afforded a good position in life. One which came with ample food and a warm bed, when many lacked those essentials.

  But nothing was without a price.

  As the next laird of the Munro, his marriage was one that would affect the entire clan. Their prosperity would rest solely on his ability to choose a partner who brought something of value to the union.

  Rolfe looked again at Cora Mackenzie. With her red hair and fair face, she’d have been pleasing as a bride. The fact that she was Buchanan’s only sister would have ensured she brought an alliance worthy of the Munro clan's approval.

  But she was in love now.

  Rolfe felt something shift inside him. It was a fact that whatever it was, he was left slightly uneasy after feeling it.

  The reason was simple; he didn’t need to get distracted by emotions.

  Especially when it came to ones associated with marriage.

  He’d wed for the logical reasons, and that was simply that. Such was his duty to his clan and his father. Detaching himself from personal opinions on the matter was simply the path of least resistance.

  “Ye’ve used up yer share of luck, Cora Mackenzie,” Rolfe said as he led his horse from the stable. “Best mend yer wild ways now.”

  “I’ll help her settle into a mundane life,” Faolan McKay spoke from where he was just emerging from the tower of the McKay stronghold.

  Faolan wasn’t too concerned about the weather. He’d put his kilt on over his shirt, leaving the wide bandage that was around his middle in sight.

  “Faolan McKay,” Cora scolded under her breath. “Ye’ll be heading straight back to bed.”

  Rolfe watched the way Faolan grinned in response to his new wife’s tone. “Can I no’ even bid me friend farewell before ye take me back to bed woman? It’s no’ that I do nae enjoy yer passion for me…”

  Cora pulled her skirts up and flew up the steps to flatten her hand against her husband's lips. Faolan’s eyes sparkled with enjoyment before he clasped her wrist and tugged her hand away from his mouth. A twist and a turn, and Cora ended up next to her new spouse.

  For a moment, Cora frowned. She had a wild spirit, one Faolan seemed more than able to combat. And there was something in her face that made it plain she enjoyed the way her new husband handled her.

  That sensation moved through Rolfe's gut again.

  It was envy, sure enough.

  And he still couldn’t indulge it.

  Not now or ever. So, he mounted his horse and enjoyed the surge of anticipation filling him. Ice crystals sparkled along the ground, promising winter soon. His men took their cue from him, climbing into their saddles. The horses shifted but caught the spark of excitement running through all the Munro Retainers. The animals began to paw at the ground, eager to depart.

  Rolfe turned and reached up to tug on the corner of his bonnet in respect. Buchanan was the new laird of the McKay, and every window and archer slot had members of his clan watching to see how Rolfe treated him.

  Rolfe knew what it was like to carve out his place one cut at a time.

  Just being born of the right bloodline didn’t ensure anything. Not in the Highlands. Here, strength was a factor, as was the ability to do business. Rolfe cleared the gate and rode down past the church where Faolan’s half-brother was resting with his wife. Malcolm hadn’t been the eldest, and yet, he’d wrestled the lairdship away from Faolan.

  Rolfe grinned, though. Faolan had prevailed in the end. Cora was part of that success.

  Her nature would also ensure Faolan didn’t grow too bored with his position.

  Rolfe grinned and leaned down low over the neck of his horse. It had been too long since he’d had a reason to ride out of his father's stronghold.

  Far too long.

  He bared his teeth and indulged his need to ride as though he had naught on his mind save his purpose. Nothing was further from the truth, of course, but life had a nasty way of being that way.

  Still, it was only a fool who didn’t manage to grasp the moments of pleasure he might, when they were in reach.

  Even if the reason he was riding south wasn’t the best. Rolfe didn’t dwell on the fact that his father had wanted to send his sister a letter. One delivered from Rolfe’s hand. His father was dying. He’d been lingering in the grip of an illness for the past two years but had always maintained the image of strength. To have it drained away a little at a time was worse than death.

  Now, Rolfe had his sire's last words tucked into the front of his doublet. It was more than a farewell to a sibling, though. As his sire weakened, Rolfe had stepped up to shoulder the weight of the lairdship. Rolfe understood his father was making sure the Leslie were ready for the possible shift in power. An alliance had been struck when his Aunt Euna wed into the Leslie clan. An agreement to back one another up.

  Rolfe was already confident in his claim on the Munro lairdship. It wasn’t an over-inflated ego supporting that belief either.

  No, he’d been earning his place while keeping his private feelings hidden.

  The letter was a gift. The last one his father might be able to grant Rolfe in this lifetime. It was an opportunity to ride free one last time. A chance to escape the burden of leadership and expectation.

  Rolfe had no intention of wasting it.

  ***

  Leslie land…

  Euna received him in her private chambers.

  As her nephew, it wasn’t precisely improper. Rolfe still felt a tingle on his nape as he climbed the stairs up to the tower top room where his aunt was. Double doors awaited him at the top of the stairs. As befitting the lady of the keep, Euna had the entire floor. When the doors were opened, a middle-aged woman stood there. She lowered herself before sidestepping neatly out of the way.

  “Rolfe.” Euna held her hands out to him.

  There was an archway in the middle of the room which would lead to his aunt's bedchamber. Heavy curtains were closed over it to provide respectability to the moment of having Rolfe come behind the doors of what was normally the domain of the females only.

  The look on Euna’s face sent another tingle down his back. Her eyes were overly bright and her teeth set into her lower lip as she tried to maintain a hold on her emotions.

  “Ye…Ye are a man fully grown!” his aunt proclaimed with joy.

  Her personal attendants had joined her, four middle-aged women. All of the matrons were women of the Leslie clan. Euna’s marriage contract had been sealed before she was delivered to her groom and into the keeping of the Leslie at the tender age of seventeen.

  Cora had balked at such a fate.

  Aye, well, ye had the chance to keep her and didnae.

  Rolfe focused on his aunt. Through the years, he’d meet her. The need to maintain a strong alliance meant Rolfe’s father had ensured there were opportunities for them to interact.

  “Just look at ye!” Euna exclaimed with a bright smile. She’d clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

  “It is good to see ye as well, Aunt.” Rolfe reached into his doublet and pulled out the letter. “Me father has sent ye his greeting.”

  He handed the letter over. Euna had no real privacy. To have gifted the letter in secret would have been to place his aunt in danger of being accused of plotting against her husband. On the surface, it appeared that Laird Leslie and Euna were amicable with one another. But only the pair of them truly knew what went on behind closed doors. More than one noble couple put on a united front when the truth was they loathed each other.

  It was a harsh fact of many unions made for the benefit of the clan.

  Ye are looking at yer future, laddie.

  Rolfe tightened his grip on his belt. The edge of the stiff leather bit into his palms just enough to cut through his inner thoughts. Dwelling on things that could not be changed was of no use.

  Euna handed the letter to one of her attendants without opening it. Her eyes were serious as she contemplated him.

  Rolfe might have tried to excuse himself, but he saw the need in his aunt’s eyes. She was struggling to maintain decorum. But her hands trembled, betraying her.
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  “Aunt?” he questioned softly. “What is troubling ye?”

  “Seath,” she uttered the name of her youngest son. Euna shook her head. “Me husband said I spoilt him, and it seems…there is truth to the matter, for he’s gone riding off to do…who knows what in the name of making a name for himself.”

  Rolfe drew in a deep breath. Seath was nineteen years old. Just about the perfect age for doing something foolish. The question to be asked was whether or not the lad was in serious trouble or just in need of being scolded by his mother when he returned. Boys became men through stupid stunts, and mothers didn’t always understand the need to allow them to run into walls. Even if part of the lesson was standing in place while their female relative railed at them.

  There had been a time… Rolfe forced himself to focus as he heard his aunt sniffle.

  “Gone riding where?” Rolfe asked in an attempt to console her.

  “The lowlands,” Euna declared in a rush. “He heard one of the Duncan brothers has managed to break his fool neck and widow his English bride. Seath thinks to bring the girl back here for her widow's thirds.”

  Rolfe had to tuck his chin to keep his aunt from seeing the way his lips twitched.

  Euna narrowed her eyes. “Why is it ye men think such an idea is amusing?”

  Rolfe offered his aunt a shrug.

  “It is nae something to make light over,” Euna declared firmly. “If the girl has something of value, many will think to have it. By the time the news made it here, half the Highlands will have men on their way to steal the girl before she can be reclaimed by her family.”

  Well, that much was true. Rolfe couldn’t deny his aunt's thinking. A widow was ensured a third of her husband's estate upon his death. If the girl had been wed into the Duncan clan, it was for sure they wouldn’t be allowing her out of their stronghold, for she’d take their money with her. At the least, she’d take part of her dowry.

  His aunt might be due her concern over the matter. When it came to money, blood often flowed. The Duncan were close to the lowland border. For news to have made it to Leslie land, it was a sure thing that Seath wasn’t the only one who knew about the new widow.

  “Seath only rode out a few hours ago.” Euna came closer, her voice pleading. “Ye could catch him.”

  He could.

  But it would be an indulgence.

  A personal one.

  “Fetch him back for me, Rolfe,” she implored. “Before we are forced to pay a ransom for him.”

  Rolfe drew in a deep breath. “It might do him a bit of good to end up ransomed.”

  Ransom was a game in the Highlands. So long as Seath didn’t make the mistake of crossing any land with a clan that was feuding with the Leslie, the youth only risked having his pride injured when he was captured.

  “I know it,” Euna said. “I just can nae shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen to him.”

  Tears shimmered in his aunt's eyes. It had been a long time since Rolfe’s mother had died. On Munro land, there was only him and his father. Rolfe realized his skin was remarkably thin when it came to female tears.

  Even the threat of them.

  He shook his head and retreated a step.

  Retreated?

  Christ!

  “Aunt Euna…” Rolfe tried to find gentle words to refuse her request. “When ye read the letter, ye will see that me father is no well. I am needed back on Munro land.”

  Euna tore the wax seal, which was on top of the letter. She scanned the contents before returning her attention to him. Rolfe felt like the collar of his shirt had suddenly shrunk. There was a glow of impending victory in his aunt's gaze.

  “Me brother tells me not to worry about him.”

  Of course his father had written such…bloody Highlander pride.

  “Mary, get down to the kitchen and have provisions packed for Rolfe and his men. They are to have cheese and bread and mead.”

  Ye’ve lost, laddie.

  Mary inclined her head to acknowledge her mistress before she turned in a whirl of wool skirts and disappeared.

  His collar was biting into his neck.

  “I am truly grateful, Rolfe.” Euna’s eyelashes were wet, but at least she appeared to have blinked her tears away.

  Still, he felt the need to clear his throat.

  Why hadn’t his father wed again? Rolfe suddenly realized he had very limited skills for dealing with women, and while the lack of such accomplishments had never even entered his thoughts as being something he needed to address, now, well, it appeared he needed to get as far away from women as possible.

  “I’ll be on me way, Aunt.”

  Rolfe reached up and tugged on the corner of his cap in respect. He caught just a moment of his aunt's joy before he spun around and headed for the door. He might just be riding into a mess, but at least it would be one with men to face off against.

  That was something he knew well how to deal with.

  Ye’ll have to wed at some point.

  Alone in the stairwell, Rolfe didn’t push the thought aside. Cora had been a much better candidate for a wife than he’d first realized. Headstrong and unbridled, she’d never have resorted to using tears on him.

  Rolfe stopped at the bottom of the steps. Guilt nipped at him, and he acknowledged it as his due. His aunt's tears had been sincere enough. For a moment, Rolfe indulged his longing for his mother. His father was ill and had been for years. Rolfe didn’t allow himself many moments of weakness, not with the eyes of the Munro on him.

  But he did miss his mother.

  And just as soon as he found his lackwit cousin, Rolfe was going to drag him home and watch Euna take the lad to task!

  And then are ye going to find a bride?

  As to that question, Rolfe got moving again without really thinking too long upon the matter. Since his father seemed to be seeing to writing letters to tie up his dealings in the world, it was just possible Rolfe would return home to a bride waiting for him. So there was no reason to waste any time on contemplating the matter.

  Which left Rolfe grinning because it had been a very long time since he’d been afforded the opportunity to chase someone down. He grinned as he joined his Retainers. Their mood was jovial as they clustered around the table in the kitchen where the maids normally took their meals. The Leslie staff was scurrying around, making sure they had ample fare to fill their bellies before they embarked on their task.

  The Head-of-House came back in, her ring of keys in her hand because she’d been to one of the storerooms. A maid held the corners of her apron to make a sack for several blocks of cheese. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. For the rich fare was locked away now that winter was near. The Head-of-House replaced her keys on the front of her belt. Somewhere there would be a burly butler, charged with ensuring there was no flitching from the storerooms.

  Food was life.

  But for the moment, there was plenty as the cook sliced off wedges of the cheese and placed it on the table. Rolfe reached for a chunk. He enjoyed the waxy feeling of it as he lifted it to his mouth and bit into it. The dense, flavor-packed food made him grin. It wasn’t gluttony that motivated them. No, as much as his men might be entertained by the idea of riding headlong across the moors, there was not one of them who didn’t understand there was also risk involved.

  The moors were often unforgiving.

  And life was rarely ever fair.

  So, they grinned and jested as they feasted. Enjoying the moment to its fullest before they faced the wrath of reality.

  Rolfe admitted to their being an enjoyment in riding out of the gates of the Leslie stronghold. It was a different sort of feeling, though.

  A harder one.

  Sharper.

  It was born deep in his gut and came hand in hand with other, darker feelings. Perhaps it had been the lack of a mother after he’d turned ten, but Rolfe recognized how much he indulged his ruthless tendencies. He enjoyed being hard. Ahead of him was a fight or at least the promise of one, and it was the truth that he leaned forward in the saddle, eager to get to it.

  He really should have wed Cora when he’d had her under his roof. She’d have weathered his darker side well. Letting her go had been soft of him.

  There ye are again lad…no stomach for hurting a lass.

  Rolfe dug his heels into his horse and tightened his thighs around the beast. As the stallion increased its speed, he needed to focus.

 

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