Highland Gladiator by Kathryn LeVeque Sample

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Copyright © 2020 by Kathryn Le Veque Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks Cover art by Allan Davey Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—­except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—­without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders.

Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-­4410 (630) 961-­3900 sourcebooks.com Printed and bound in Canada.

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My deepest thanks to my family for their unwavering support of a life-­long passion.

I could not have done this without you.

And my deepest thanks to my readers, without whom I would not have realized a dream.

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It is the Year of Our Lord 1453, and Sir Clegg de Lave, a battle-­scarred English knight, begins his search for a life that will bring him glory and riches…

After years as a mercenary in France, Spain, and the Holy Roman Empire, Clegg returns to Scotland to establish the most powerful and profitable gambling guild the world has ever seen, modeled on the gladiatorial schools of ancient Rome.

The Ludus Caledonia quickly becomes the center of battles for entertainment but also for opportunity—­if a warrior wins, a lord may offer him a lucrative military position.

The lure of money and position makes men from all walks of life into fighters and some into winners, but only a rare few find something beyond the love of a fight.

The love of a good woman.

This rare few will know their happily ever after.

This is the world of the Ludus Caledonia…and business is booming.

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The Sacramentum I faithfully swear to do all that is commanded of me, All that is required of me, And all that is asked of me.

May I live both to fight and to protect my brethren.

May God smile upon me and grant me courage So that I may not fail myself nor those around me.

Thus it is spoken, thus it shall be done. —­Fionnadh Fuil (Blood Oath) of the Ludus Caledonia

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Part One Sic Incipit (It Begins)

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Prologue Vale of Morning, the Scottish Highlands Year of Our Lord 1476 Fat, fat, the water rat, Thirty daggers in his back!

He heard the chant.

Terror filled him.

Then came the stones: small stones, larger stones, and stones of every size raining down on him in the vale that had been calm and peaceful until the deluge of rocks began. He’d made a mistake by cutting through this little valley, green like the emeralds his grandfather used to describe, knowing full well what waited for him there.

Everyone in his village knew, and that was why they avoided this particular glen.

But not him.

Now, he was going to pay the price for that arrogance.

A rock hit him squarely on the head, right above the eyebrow. Already, he felt the trickle of blood.

“Halt!”

Someone was shouting at him, but now there was blood in his eye. Ooch, it stung! He was still trying to run, like an idiot, but soon there were bodies all around him.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

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Someone shoved him onto that emerald-­green grass.

“Where are ye going, gòrach?”

A man-­boy voice spoke, thumping on him as he tried to wipe the blood from his eye. Gòrach, they called him.

It meant stupid in the Gaelic.

Indeed, he was very stupid.

“Home,” he said bravely. “I just want tae go home.

Leave me be.”

The gang around him began to make crying noises, like a baby, and he determined that he was surrounded by children for the most part. Oh, he knew who they were.

This glen he was traveling through was called the Gleann Gadainn, or the Vale of Morning, but it also had another name—­ Gleann Deamhain.

The Vale of Demons.

On this sunny day, the demons had found him. A gang of children and youths who had claimed this vale as their particular hunting ground. Young or old, man or woman, it didn’t matter to them. A victim was a victim. As he sat on the green earth, blinking up at the children surrounding him, a young lass with bright-­red hair plopped down beside him.

“What’s yer name, gòrach?” she asked.

He’d just managed to clear the blood from his eye.

“Lor.” Her gaze drifted over him, studying him. “Where do ye come from, Lor?” He gestured to the east. “Careston.”

The lass continued to study him. She was a pretty

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thing even though she had a dirty face and matted red ringlets. At perhaps eleven or twelve years of age, she still had that spindly but tough body that girls in the Highlands had. Figures honed by hard work and the scarcity of food.

It was survival of the fittest.

“What do ye have for the taking?” she asked.

She was straight to the point. That’s what these demons wanted—­food or anything of value. They’d been known to take animals, too, or whatever caught their fancy. Rumor had it they were part of Clan Ruthven, or even Clan Keith, a lowly clan that was the enemy of Clan Lindsay. This vale was part of Lindsay lands, but that didn’t matter to the demons. They had claimed it.

He shook his head to her question.

“Nothing,” he said. “Only a few wild bird eggs.”

“Wild bird eggs?” she said excitedly. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, he pulled forth a cloth from inside his long leine, or tunic, that now had speckles of his blood around the neckline. He tried to be careful about opening up the folded cloth, but the lass threw it back in her excitement to see the tiny, speckled eggs.

In fact, the entire group of children leaned over him curiously, nearly crowding him out, and he looked up nervously into the pale, dirty faces. Ten or more of them. Enough to beat his arse and steal his little eggs, at the very least.

“Look at the eggs!” the red-­haired lass exclaimed.

“What are ye tae do with them?”

Lor folded up the cloth again quickly, tucking it back into his leine to keep the eggs warm. “Give them tae my

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grandfather,” he said. “He has a birdhouse where he keeps them.”

“Tame birds?”

“Aye.” It was a rather foreign concept, considering the only birds these children knew were the ones they stoned and ate. The red-­haired lass was looking at him very curiously.

“Do they stay tae the birdhouse?” she wanted to know.

“Aye.” “Are they friendly?”

“If ye feed them well.”

That was enough for her. “I want tame birds,” she said.

“Give me yer eggs.”

Lor frowned. “Nay. Ye can find yer own.”

It was the lass’s turn to frown. She balled a fist and put it right in his face. “I’ll fight ye for them.”

“I dunna know how tae fight.”

She blinked, as if startled by the answer. “Ye dunna know?” she repeated. “But…but everyone knows.”

“Not I.” “Then I’ll take them!”

With that, she grabbed at his leine as she tried to get to the eggs, but Lor rolled away from her, trying to escape.

He rolled into the legs of the children that were standing around him and that was as far as he could go.

“Dunna do that,” he said, a flash of something intimidating in his eyes. “These eggs are for my granda. I will bring ye some eggs of yer own the next time I go looking.”

Something in the way he said it conveyed sincerity, the softly uttered vow of an honorable young man. More

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than that, there was something powerful about him as he stood up to her.

“Promise ye’ll bring me more, or ye’ll not leave the vale,” she said.

Lor looked around at the rough-­looking children.

They probably would keep him here, too, tied to a tree.

When he didn’t return home, his grandfather would find his rotting corpse, an ignoble ending to the short life of Lor Careston.

With that thought, his answer was the obvious one.

“I promise,” he said reluctantly. “Can I go now?”

The red-­haired lass was studying him again. It seemed that all she did was stare at him when she wasn’t making demands. She had eyes the color of a cat’s-­eye stone, a shade of brown that was both warm and mysterious.

But there was a great deal of curiosity there.

“Ye say ye canna fight?” she asked. “Why not?”

He shook his head. “I’m a smithy, like my grandfather.

Not a warrior.”

The lass had a hint of humor in her eyes. “Ye’re big enough tae fight,” she said. “Ye must learn.”

“Why?” “What if the Sassenachs attack yer village? What then?”

His brow furrowed as he thought on that. “Then I would take my grandfather tae the hills and we would hide,” he said. “I wouldna fight them. ’Twould be foolish.”

“Why?” “Because they have swords and I dunna. They would kill me.”

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The lass marched over to him, through the smashed foliage, and poked at his arms. They were muscular arms, even at his young age. He was not a boy any longer, but not quite a man. He was big and handsome. Crouching down, she looked him in the eyes.

“All gàidheal should fight,” she said frankly. “’Tis in yer blood. I’ve heard my da say so. Are there no men in Careston tae teach ye?”

He shrugged. “Who? Farmers?”

The lass cocked her head. “What of yer laird?”

Suspecting these children were of a rival clan, Lor couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t testing him so he wisely kept his loyalties to himself.

“There is no one,” he reiterated. “If the Sassenachs come, then I shall take my grandfather and hide.”

That wasn’t good enough for the lass. “There are places that will teach ye tae fight,” she said. “A fight guild, mayhap.”

Lor looked at her strangely. “A fight guild? What is that?”

“I told ye—­where they teach ye tae fight. I’ve heard my father speak of one that is the best in all the land.

They’ll teach ye tae fight like a true warrior.”

“What place is this?”

Standing behind the lass, one of the older children spoke up. “A mystical place,” he said. “Only the bravest men go there. I may go there some day.”

“I’ve not heard of such a place.”

There was some hissing going on as some of the children opened their mouths to tell him what they knew,

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but the older boy shushed them. This was his conversation, after all. “’Tis called the Ludus Caledonia,” he said. “Have ye not heard that name?”

Lor shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “A fight guild, ye say?”

The older youth was confident as he spoke. “They teach ye tae fight against monsters,” he said. “My da says men go in, but few come out.”

Lor thought it all sounded rather strange. Strange and frightening. A place to learn to fight where they pitted men against monsters? He couldn’t tell if the children were jesting or not, playing on the gullibility of a village lad who had lived a rather peaceful life. He thought it might be a trick of some kind. But considering he wanted to leave in the worst way, he simply went along with it.

“If I ever want tae learn tae fight, I’ll go there,” he said.

“Ye canna find it,” the older boy said. “Mayhap in Edinburgh, they say, but no one knows for certain. Even tae speak of it in Edinburgh can bring ye death. They’ll send the monsters for ye.”

It was all quite odd. Lor wasn’t sure how they had veered onto this subject of a fight guild filled with monsters, but he wanted out. He looked at the red-­haired lass, who was still looking at him intently.

“Can I leave now?” he asked. “I promise I’ll bring ye bird eggs the next time.”

The red-­haired lass didn’t respond for a moment. It seemed that she might have been pondering the possibility of preventing him from leaving. Reaching out, she

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yanked him to his feet and pulled him away from the others, out of earshot.

“When will ye come back?” she asked quietly.

He eyed her with uncertainty, even looking to the gang of children around them before returning his focus to her.

“Soon,” he said. “When my grandfather allows me tae hunt for eggs again, I suppose.”

“And ye swear that ye’ll bring me some?”

“I do.”

She turned her head slightly, pointing to her cheek. “A bargain is a bargain. Show me ye mean it.”

From his expression, he wasn’t sure what she meant.

Was he supposed to do something to her face? He was fairly certain she didn’t mean slap her. When it occurred to him what, exactly, she meant, his pale cheeks flushed, but he dutifully kissed her, a swift peck on her tender skin and nothing more. He was embarrassed, but if it was a kiss of freedom, he was willing to suffer the indignities.

The kiss seemed to please her immensely.

“I accept yer vow,” she said, her eyes glimmering at him with warmth he hadn’t seen before. “I’ll wait for yer bird eggs, Lor Careston. Ye may go now.”

There was something in her voice that made him take a second look. She was young, that was true, on the cusp of womanhood, but there was something about her that had his attention. Perhaps it was the pull of her eyes, the way she was looking at him. He’d never had a lass look at him that way before.

Had the circumstances been any different, he might have let himself be flattered by it.

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But now wasn’t the time. He had to leave. Lor quickly bolted off, sprinting away as fast as his long legs would take him. As he headed east and the majority of the demons headed west, back to the vale to await their next victim, he could hear them singing their terrible song.

Fat, fat, the water rat, Thirty daggers in his back!

That only made him run faster.

As Lor dashed down the vale toward the village in the distance, the red-­haired lass wasn’t singing the song of the water rat. She was watching her former captive’s distant figure. The older boy came up beside her.

“What’s wanting, Issie?” he asked.

Her gaze was still riveted to the blond lad as he faded down the hill. “Do ye suppose he’ll really come back?”

The older boy could see where her attention was, and he snorted. “Nay,” he said flatly. “He’ll stay as far away as he can. We scared him with talk of monsters and the Cal.” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “He dinna seem cowardly. He almost seemed…kind. ’Twas something in his eyes that seemed so.”

The older boy grabbed her by the arm and turned her around. “If he’s from Careston, he’s Lindsay,” he said.

“The man is yer enemy, Isabail. Get yer mind from him.”

Get yer mind from him.

It was a pity she had to. Isabail Keith, daughter of a Keith chieftain, thought Lor Careston was rather gentle and handsome, not like the other lads in her village. They

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were all rough and angry. All they wanted to do was fight and hate, but she didn’t see that in Lor’s eyes.

She saw gentleness there, and it made her very curious.

Curious enough to know that in spite of her brother’s admonition, she wasn’t going to force the blacksmith from her mind. At least, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

She was going to see Lor Careston again.

With a smile on her lips, she headed back into the vale.

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Chapter One The village of Brechin, Scottish Highlands Year of Our Lord 1484 He’d seen her before.

Lor knew that the moment he looked up from the business he was conducting with his grandfather’s friend.

In the midst of a busy marketplace on a glorious spring day, he caught sight of a woman he recognized, which wasn’t unusual in itself, but with this woman, it was.

Lor and the old man with the missing eye had been going over the purchase Lor was making of slag material for his grandfather’s blacksmith stall when he glanced up and saw her. In truth, he saw her only from the back; it was the hair that had his attention. In the sunlight, the red curls glistened like molten fire.

Everything about her caught his eye. She was dressed in a long tunic and braies from what he could see, unusual for a lass, but she’d marched down the road with her basket of skins in her arms in a cadence that seemed much more like a man’s than a woman’s.

Purposeful.

Confident.

He’d seen that walk once before.

“Lor?” The old man next to him was trying to get his

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attention, but Lor couldn’t take his eyes from the woman as she walked down the dusty avenue. She was weaving in and out among the villagers on this busy market day, and Lor didn’t want to lose sight of her.

He put up a hand to the old man.

“Wait a moment,” he said. “I’ll return.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Quickly, he headed out into the street while the old blacksmith watched him with some frustration.

“Where are ye going, lad?” he called after him. “If ye dunna come back, I’ll rob ye blind. I’ll tell yer grandfather that it’s yer fault he was cheated out of a good price for his iron!”

The old man meant it as a jest, hoping Lor would return, but the young blacksmith simply waved him off as if he didn’t believe him, which he didn’t. His grandfather, Nikolaus, and old Albe had been doing business since before Lor was born. He didn’t much believe anything the old liars said.

At the moment, he was on the hunt.

The red curls were up ahead, and he followed them like a cat tracking a mouse. There was something about the woman that he remembered from long ago, and as he politely stepped aside to let a woman and her children pass by, it began to occur to him just where he’d seen that hair.

Gleann Deamhain.

The Vale of Demons.

It was difficult to say why an incident from eight years ago suddenly stood out for him. It had been a fleeting

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moment as far as moments in time went. But it had stayed with him: the young lass who had practically saved him from a band of bloodthirsty cutthroats. Never mind that they were only children; Lor remembered being as afraid of them as if they’d been the mightiest army of men.

Gòrach, they’d called him.

He’d been stupid once, but he wasn’t going to be stupid again.

This time, he was going to be careful.

Lor continued to follow the lass. She finally came to a stop at a merchant who dealt in hides. As he hid back in the crowd, watching, Lor could see the lass holding up the fine pelts she’d brought, negotiating a price with an old man who seemed to be smiling at her too much. At one point, he reached out and pinched her cheek.

She slapped him.

Lor laughed softly.

But the slap had turned the merchant against her and he waved her away, unwilling to buy her pelts now that she’d rejected his affection. Frustrated and unhappy, the girl backed away from the store with her basket of pelts before finally turning away and slipping into an alleyway between the stalls.

Lor followed.

There were some residences behind the main merchant avenue and several big plots of land where the villagers cultivated their gardens. It smelled of animals and compost back here. Beyond the gardens was a grove of trees, a big one, with paths leading into it because more villagers lived back beyond the trees.

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Suspecting that was where she was heading, Lor made his move.

As the woman entered the trees, Lor came up behind her with great stealth and snatched her basket away.

“Where are ye going, gòrach?” he said.

The woman gasped in outrage and perhaps even a little fear. As Lor stood there, his eyes glimmering with mirth, the woman turned on him and balled her fists.

“Give me back my pelts,” she snarled.

Lor couldn’t help the smile on his lips now. It was indeed the lass from the Vale of Demons. She’d grown from a skinny, freckled girl into a lush and beautiful woman.

She was quite beautiful, actually. He found himself staring at her pale skin and rosebud mouth, but that was the last thing he remembered before a fist came flying at his face.

Down he went.

The woman reached down and yanked the basket of pelts from his hands as Lor shook off the stars. He put his hand to his nose, noting a small bit of blood as she turned and continued her trek.

He lumbered to his feet.

“Wait,” he said. “I wasna trying tae rob ye. Don’t ye remember me?”

She came to a halt, turning to him warily. She looked him up and down. “Should I?” He felt embarrassed that she didn’t recognize him as he’d recognized her. “It has been several years,” he said. “I was just a lad when we first met in the Vale of Morning.

Ye called me gòrach and tried tae steal my birds’ eggs. Ye know…gòrach? Do ye remember now?”

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She stared at him a moment before her eyes widened.

“Gòrach,” she repeated slowly. “Birds’ eggs, ye say?”

“Aye. Ye tried tae take them from me but we made an agreement instead.”

Her mouth popped open as the memory came clear.

“Ye promised tae bring me more!”

He nodded, grinning as he realized that she did, indeed, remember him. “I did.”

“Ye never brought them back.”

“But I dinna say when I’d bring ye the eggs. There’s still time.”

He’d caught her on a technicality. She eyed him with an appraising expression as she retraced her steps in his direction. “’Tis true,” she said reluctantly. “So just when did ye intend tae?”

His smile broadened. “Soon,” he said. “But I’ve been very busy.”

“Doing what? Accosting women and stealing their baskets?”

He laughed softly, flashing big, white teeth. “Ye accosted me once,” he said. “I was returning the favor.”

It was clear that she was trying very hard not to smile; he was rather witty and charming. “Gòrach,” she repeated softly when she came to within a foot of him, studying the man who’d grown from the boy she’d once remembered. “So it is yerself. Ye’ve grown up.”

“So have ye.”

“But not so much that ye dinna recognize me.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “Yer hair,” he

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said. “I recognized yer hair. I saw it once in the vale, and when I saw ye again in town, I knew it right away.”

“Red hair is nothing in the Highlands.”

“But yers looks like molten metal.”

Her brow furrowed as she pulled up a strand, looking at it. “It does?”

He nodded. “I see such things every day.”

“Ye do?”

“Aye.” “Why?” “Because I’m a blacksmith. ’Tis my trade.”

“I thought it was stealing birds’ eggs.”

His grin was back. “Nay,” he said. “’Twas an interest and nothing more.”

“Does yer grandfather still have his birdhouse?”

“Aye.” “I still want mine.”

He lifted his broad shoulders. “Mayhap ye’ll have one someday,” he said. Then he gestured to the basket in her arms. “I saw ye come in tae town with the pelts. Ye’re far from the Vale of Morning today.”

She nodded, looking down at the lovely gray pelts. “I came tae sell them,” she said. “I come as often as I can, as often as the traps will allow.”

He reached into the basket, picking up one of the very nice pelts. “Ye’ve skinned them well,” he said, putting it back. But his interest in the pelts was simply a cover for his interest in her. His gaze returned to her face. “Do ye remember my name?”

“Lor.”

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His teeth flashed, flattered she should recall it so quickly. “I dunna know yers.”

“Isabail.”

“Isabail,” he repeated softly, rolling it over his tongue as if it were a fine wine. “A lovely name for a lovely lass.

But I know ye’re not from the Vale of Morning.”

“Nay.” “Where are ye from?”

She hesitated. “Ye told me ye’re from Careston,” she said. “Why are ye here in Brechin?”

Lor wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she was changing the subject to avoid giving him an answer. Since he’d stopped traveling through the Vale of Morning, he hadn’t thought of the demons that trolled the vale in many a year. He remembered being told that the demons were part of Clan Ruthven, or even Clan Keith.

It occurred to him that in telling Isabail his name and village, she knew where he was from and that meant she knew his loyalties. Clearly, she didn’t want him to know the same of her. He suspected the stories of the origins of the demons were perhaps more truth than rumor.

He couldn’t think of any other reason why she wouldn’t be forthcoming.

But it didn’t matter. He had no sense of hatred toward clans that weren’t allied with Clan Lindsay; his loyalty was to his family and friends, no matter their clan. That had never been a big factor to him. But he knew that the world at large felt differently.

Perhaps the lass felt differently, too.

“I’m in Brechin because I’m doing business with a

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friend of my grandfather’s,” he said finally, having the courtesy not to demand an answer to his question. “I also trained with the man for some years. In fact, I lived in Brechin for a numbers of years, but I dunna recall ever seeing ye come tae town with yer pelts.”

She looked down at her pelts as if considering her answer. “There are other villages where I can get a fine price.”

“Is that where ye’re going now?”

She nodded. “The merchant here… I dinna want tae agree tae his price. I’ll go elsewhere.”

Lor knew what she meant by not paying the man’s price because he’d seen it. What had happened had been unfair, and Lor wasn’t a man who tolerated injustice. He never had been. Reaching out, he took the basket from her as she tried to snatch it back.

“Wait here,” he told her, holding the basket away as she grabbed at it. “I’ll get yer price for ye. What did ye want?”

She was confused, and a little miffed that he’d taken her pelts again, but she at least considered his question.

“A shilling a pelt,” she said. “I’ll take nothing less.

Where are ye going?”

With a sly smile, he reached out and took one of her grabbing hands.

“Come with me.”

Isabail did. She let him hold her hand as he took her back toward the village before leaving her in the small alley next to the merchant who had pinched her on the cheek. As she peered around the corner of the stall, she

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watched as Lor presented the basket of pelts to the merchant, who was busy eating something and getting bread and sauce all over his tunic.

When he looked at the pelts with some interest, Lor pushed the man’s hands back so they wouldn’t dirty the skins. He held them up for the man to show the fine quality. But the merchant wasn’t stupid; he’d seen the pelts, and the basket, before. He knew they belonged to the pushy lass from the hills. When he finally shook his head at Lor, denying him the sale, Lor reached out and grabbed the man by the collar of his expensive robes. As Isabail watched with increasing astonishment, Lor muttered a few select words to the merchant, and the man’s expression went from defiant to fearful in one motion.

His head nodded.

Lor gave him the pelts, and the man counted out the shillings.

Astonished, Isabail ducked back into the alleyway as Lor returned to her, holding out a big hand that contained several silver coins.

“Here ye are,” he said, putting the coins into her open palm and handing her the empty basket. “He was happy tae buy them.”

Isabail’s mouth was hanging open in surprise. She counted the coins; there were twelve. Twelve shillings, twelve pelts. Her gaze returned to Lor. “I dunna know what tae say,” she finally said. “When I saw the man, he refused tae buy them.”

The ever-­ present smile was back on Lor’s lips.

“Sometimes a man just needs a bit of prodding, ’tis all.

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And a strong suggestion of what will happen if he doesna agree with ye.”

Isabail looked back to the money in her hand before finally closing a fist around it. Her gaze returned to Lor. “Ye told me once that ye weren’t a warrior,” she said.

She was referring back to the first time they met. Lor remembered that conversation, too, mostly because it was something that had confused him over the years. She’d told him that, being a Highlander, he needed to learn to fight as if it was part of his identity. Truth be told, that was something he’d always wrestled with, thanks to her.

“I’m not,” he said, with perhaps a little less humor, given the subject. “I dinna fight the man tae sell yer pelts.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I suppose…I suppose I meant that ye have a presence about ye, Lor Careston. I saw it those years ago when we met, and I saw it again just now. Ye have a way about ye that is…strong. If ye were a warrior, ye’d be a fine one.”

He laughed softly as he shook his head. “I’ve no need tae be a warrior,” he said. “I can get along fine as I am. I sold yer pelts, did I not?”

She nodded. “Ye did,” she said. “And I thank ye for it.”

The smile faded from his face as he looked at her, his eyes glimmering with something suggesting warmth.

That pretty lass from the vale had his interest now as she had back then. It was an attraction that, although unnurtured for years, was surprisingly strong. The childhood spark he’d felt all those years ago had never died.

The spark was beginning to blaze.

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“When will ye come back to Brechin?” he asked quietly. “Will ye come soon?”

From the expression on her face, Isabail seemed to understand his inference. “I canna say,” she said honestly.

“I only come when I have pelts tae sell.”

“Do ye travel through the Vale of Morning tae come here?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes I take the road.”

“Road from where? Where do ye live?”

They’d gotten onto the forbidden subject again, and she averted her gaze. “In the hills,” she said, which wasn’t a lie. “Ye canna go there.”

“Why not?”

“Because my da willna like it.”

Now, she was introducing a protective father so Lor backed off. But he was clever about it.

“But if I have birds’ eggs tae bring ye, where will I find ye?” he asked.

She looked at him. “The vale,” she said almost gently.

“If ye go tae the vale, I’ll find ye.”

“Ye willna throw rocks at me again, will ye?”

It was her turn to grin now, a lovely smile that Lor found enchanting. “I willna,” she said. “I willna let anyone else throw them, either.”

“If I go tae the vale tomorrow, will I find ye there?”

It was an invitation, and her eyes twinkled as she looked at him, a faint flush mottling her cheeks. “Will ye bring the eggs?”

With a smile flickering on his lips, he lifted one of her

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dirty hands to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently. He watched the flush in her cheeks deepen.

“I’ll bring them.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

Winking at her, Lor dropped her hand and turned away, heading back into town to finish his business with old Albe. He wasn’t going to finish anything until he had Isabail’s pledge that she would see him again, but now he had it.

He could go about his business.

When Albe wanted to know why Lor was smiling so much, he smiled more but wouldn’t answer.

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Chapter Two The village of Careston Five miles southwest of Brechin “Vale of Demons, ye say?”

In the main room of a tidy two-­room cottage, the question came from Nikolaus Careston as he eyed his grandson with suspicion. Lor had returned from Brechin yesterday with his head in the clouds, and Nikolaus, a wise and reasonable man, couldn’t figure out why until Lor said he had some business to attend to today.

In the Vale of Demons.

Nikolaus scratched his thick, gray hair.

“Lor?” he said to get the man’s attention. “Ye said ye have business in the Vale of Demons? What kind of business?”

Lor was just finishing his morning meal of bread and warmed-­over mutton. It was sunrise, with the sky turning shades of pink and lavender and blue, and it promised to be a fine spring day even if a bit of a cold wind was blowing in from the sea, but no amount of cold or wind could dampen Lor’s mood.

“A matter of eggs,” he said frankly, drinking the last of his watered ale and rising from the table. “I’ll be back at some point on this day. Ye needn’t worry.”

Nikolaus wasn’t worried; he was confused.

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“Stop,” he commanded quietly as Lor moved for the door. “Sit down, lad. Tell me what business ye have in the Vale of Demons.”

“I told ye—­a matter of eggs.”

“Cease with yer foolery or I’ll take a stick tae ye.

What’s this about eggs?”

Reluctantly, Lor moved back to the table to do as his grandfather said because if he didn’t, Nikolaus would most certainly take a stick to him. For a man of his age, that was most humiliating. Therefore, he had to tell the truth.

At least, as much as he could.

“I promised a lass I would bring her eggs,” he said.

“There is not much tae it.”

“What lass?”

“Her name is Isabail.”

Nikolaus had been expecting more of an answer and lifted his eyebrows when he realized Lor had nothing more to say.

“And?” he prompted. “Who is she?”

“I dunna know.”

Nikolaus was becoming frustrated. “Start from the beginning,” he said. “Where did ye meet her? Why did ye promise her eggs?”

Lor would have become annoyed if he wasn’t feeling so giddy at the prospect of seeing Isabail again. He just wanted to get out of there, so he endeavored to placate his nosy grandfather.

“I met her years ago in the Vale of Demons,” he said.

“I was out hunting birds’ eggs for ye, and she and her friends caught up to me.”

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Nikolaus’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “The demons caught ye?”

“Aye.” “How long ago was this, lad? Why dinna ye tell me?”

Lor shrugged. “It was several years ago, and I dinna tell ye because I dinna want tae be punished for crossing the vale in the first place,” he said. “Ye warned me about it, and I dinna listen.”

“I’m not surprised. Ye’re a stubborn wretch of a lad.”

“Do ye want tae hear the story or not?”

“Go on.”

“I promised the lass in the vale birds’ eggs if she’d let me leave, so she did,” he said. “I saw her in Brechin yesterday and…and she wanted tae know where her eggs were.

So I told her I’d bring them today.”

Nikolaus’s bushy eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “Eggs, is it?” he said. “Ye’re a madman for returning tae the vale.

She’ll be waiting for ye with the rest of the demons, and they’ll take more than yer eggs, lad.”

Lor shook his head. “I dunna think so,” he said, trying to soften his grandfather’s edge. “She was honorable to me the first time. I’ve no reason tae believe she wouldna be again.”

Nikolaus shook his head at his foolish grandson. “Ye canna go.”

“I must. I promised. And ye always told me that a man doesna break his word. Or did ye mean only with people ye approve of?”

Caught in a trap of his own making, Nikolaus sighed heavily and muttered, “With all men.”

“I dinna hear ye.”

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Anger flashed in Nikolaus’s eyes. “I said with all men,” he barked. “Yer word is yer word. But if ye’re going tae the vale, I’d better go with ye tae keep ye out of trouble.

I’ll not let ye go alone.”

Lor rolled his eyes; the last thing he wanted was his grandfather tagging along as he tried to flirt with a woman.

“Ye worry too much,” he told him.

“I’m going with ye.”

“Ye’re not going with me.”

Lor bolted for the door at that point, shutting it in Nikolaus’s face so he wouldn’t follow. He stood there, holding the door fast as Nikolaus tried to pull it open from the other side. He held it shut long enough for Nikolaus to give up before releasing it and running for the chicken coop, where he collected three big eggs.

He’d told Isabail he would bring her eggs, but he never said what kind of eggs. He grinned, thinking it would be a fine joke. He hoped she would think so, too.

With that, he headed off to the west, toward the hills where the Vale of Demons lay in wait, but what he didn’t see was Nikolaus as the man paused a nominal amount of time before heading off after him.

The old man was going to have the last word.

She’d been there since sunrise.

In fact, Isabail was quite certain she hadn’t slept a wink that night, knowing she’d be seeing Lor on the morrow.

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It seemed like some silly, impossible dream.

The shock she’d felt at seeing Lor Careston again in Brechin was indescribable. The years since she’d last seen him had changed him tremendously; he wasn’t that lanky youth any longer, but a big and handsome man. Muscular, with enormous arms and cropped blond hair that had a way of falling over one eye, he’d looked at her in a way that she remembered from those years ago. Green eyes that had captured her attention.

Everything about him seemed to make her heart flutter.

The vale was cold and bright on this morning, the dew glistening off the leaves. Isabail had been to this vale a thousand times and she knew it down to the last detail, so she knew where to wait for Lor as he entered the vale from the east. As she made her way down to a brook where the path into the vale began, she heard footfalls behind her.

Startled, she grabbed a rock at her feet and whirled around, prepared to smash it into whoever was sneaking up behind her, only to see her brothers coming through the bramble. Heaving a sigh of relief and irritation, she lowered the rock.

“What are ye doing here?” she demanded, looking at one and then the other. “Ye scared the wits from me!”

Ewan Keith eyed his younger sister. “The better question is what are ye doing here?” he said. “Ye’re sneaking around as if ye’re up tae something.”

Isabail didn’t like the inference, even if it was true.

Although she had dropped the rock, that didn’t stop a hand from flying out at him, shoving him back.

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“’Tis my own business,” she said. “Get out of here before I give ye a wallop ye’ll not soon forget.”

Ewan was young and strong and mostly unafraid of his sister, although he knew she could give him a licking.

If he tried to fight back, that just made her angrier. He’d seen her leave their village of Auchnacree and head off toward the vale. Curious, he and their middle brother, Ossian, had followed.

“If ye’re thinking tae rob travelers on this day, why dinna ye tell us?” Ewan asked, peering down the path.

“We’ll help ye.”

Isabail looked between her tall, dark-­haired eldest brother and her middle brother with the light-­brown hair. They were her greatest nemeses and her greatest champions at the same time. Impatiently, she waved her hands at them.

“Off with ye,” she said. “Whatever I do, I intend tae do it alone.”

“Ye’re going tae rob men alone? How will ye do that?”

She reached down, picking up the rock again, and flashed it at them. “Ye want I should give ye a demonstration?”

Ewan and Ossian did not, in fact. Scowling, and shaking their fists at her, they left their sister in the forested portion of the vale near the brook. Isabail kept the threatening rock aloft as they trudged off, finally disappearing from her sight. Only then did she lower the rock, but she had a feeling Ewan and Ossian hadn’t gone far. They were just the type to lurk about and watch her. But she couldn’t worry about that now.

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She didn’t want her foolish brothers to ruin her moment with Lor. An hour later, as she sat on a rock by the stream and watched the water swirl, she began to hear rustling downstream where the path began. Heart immediately racing, she stood up and strained to catch a glimpse of what was making the noise. When she saw it, a smile crept onto her lips.

Lor had finally made an appearance.

He, too, looked as if he was hiding from someone as he slipped in and out of the trees, staying off the path.

More than once, she saw him look behind him to see if someone was following him. Isabail waited until he was very near before she stepped forward onto the path.

Their eyes met.

She smiled.

“What ails ye?” she asked. “Ye look as if ye’re being hunted.”

He smiled broadly, an expression of satisfaction as he looked upon her. “I dunna think so,” he said, “but I keep hearing noises behind me.”

Isabail strained to look behind him. “I see nothing,” she said. “Ye’re simply not accustomed tae the sounds of the vale like I am.”

Lor had stopped being paranoid the moment he looked her over; now she had his full and complete attention. “Were you waiting for me?”

She cocked her head. “’Tis an arrogant man who would ask such a question.” “’Tis a disappointed man if yer answer is nay.”

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Isabail laughed softly. “Then I would not want tae disappoint ye.”

“Hold out yer hand.”

She did, but timidly. “Why?” “Come along, now. Yer whole hand. Open it.”

When she didn’t move fast enough, he opened it for her.

Into her open palm he deposited three perfect hens’ eggs.

“There,” he said. “I told ye I’d bring ye eggs and I did.”

Isabail looked at the eggs in her palm, and she started to laugh. “Ye’re a rascal, Lor Careston,” she said. “I wanted birds’ eggs.”

“A chicken is a bird.”

She shook her head reproachfully, but it was all for show. His trick was humorous. “Small birds,” she said.

“Colorful birds. Those are the eggs I want.”

He was grinning at her. “Then ye’ll have tae wait until I have the time tae find ye some real ones.”

“Or we could hunt for them now.”

He lifted his eyebrows at the excellent idea. “Aye, we could,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Come along, my little demon. Let’s see what we can find.”

With her eggs in one hand, Isabail reached out with her other to take Lor’s hand. The moment his big, warm hand closed over hers, Isabail truly thought she might faint. The mere touch of the man sent bolts of warmth shooting through her body, lifting her feet off the ground until she was certain she was walking on air.

Together, they began to follow the path into the vale.

For a few stolen moments, neither spoke. They simply enjoyed each other’s company, back in the place

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where they’d first met. It didn’t look different than it had eight years ago, except for the fact that one of the demons wasn’t so wicked any longer. There was attraction in the air. Lor kept glancing over at Isabail, who was starting to flush bashfully.

“Do the demons still come to this vale?” he asked her.

Isabail shrugged. “I’ve not come here in years,” she said. “Ever since I realized that stealing from terrified men was not something I wanted tae do with my life. As a child, I suppose it was different. I dinna care much for others. But now…”

He finished for her. “Now ye’d rather trap hares and sell their skins,” he said. “And what else?”

She felt him give her hand a squeeze, and her heart leapt with the thrill of it. She’d never been this close to a man who wasn’t her father or a brother, and who made her heart sing. It was a struggle to keep her head and not melt to the earth in a giddy puddle.

“There is always a great deal tae do,” she said. “Skin hides, tend the horses, milk the cow. I am never idle.”

He was gazing at her intently. “Those are duties,” he said. “What about ye, Isabail? I used tae help my grandfather with his birds, but what do ye like tae do when ye’re not tending tae yer duties?”

He was probing her personally, and the normally reserved woman caved in without a fight. “My brothers and I have swords and pikes,” she said. “I like tae fight with them sometimes, though I fight better than they do.

They dunna like being beaten by a woman.”

“So ye like combat, then?”

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“I do. When I win, that is.”

Lor laughed softly. “Ever the warrior woman,” he said.

“I seem tae remember that from when we first met and ye told me I needed tae learn tae fight. Ye spoke as if ye had cause tae learn yerself.”

He was starting to venture into a subject that she’d already made clear was forbidden. To speak of fighting might lead to who she might have fought, and Isabail didn’t want to tell him her history of skirmishes and battle. She knew he was loyal to the Lindsay; being from Careston, that was established. But he still didn’t know where she was from or who her loyalties were with. He didn’t know she hated the Lindsays and everything about them. For all he knew, she was simply a lass from a village in the hills.

Perhaps it was wrong of her, but she wanted to keep it that way.

“Anyone in the Highlands of Scotland has had cause tae fight,” she said. “Are ye saying that ye’ve never had a cause tae fight since I last saw ye?”

If he thought she was being evasive again, he didn’t let on. He pondered her question. “A smithy doesna have much cause tae fight unless a man willna pay ye for the work ye’ve done,” he said. “I’ve only had that happen a couple of times.”

“What did ye do?”

He shrugged. “I hit one man over the head with an iron rod,” he said. “But I only did that because he threw a horseshoe at me. He’ll not do that again.”

She chuckled. “And the other man?”

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“He had my grandfather by the neck,” he said, sobering dramatically as he thought about that particular dispute. “No man will touch my grandfather. I whacked him across the back of his head with the hilt of my hammer and tossed him out intae the street.”

Given the sheer size of Lor’s shoulders, arms, and hands from his years at a blacksmith’s forge, Isabail was quite sure he meant that he literally tossed the man. It was an exciting thought.

“Did he get up?”

“Painfully, after my grandfather went tae the street and kicked him a few times where it hurt the most.”

Her laughter grew. “Ye see? Ye can fight.”

He shook his head. “But I dunna like tae,” he said.

“Fighting never seems tae solve anything. I’ve only done it as a last resort.”

There was a flash of that gentle young man she’d met those years ago. He believed in peace; he was still peaceful. Still, he wasn’t afraid to use force when there was no other choice.

“Sometimes men dunna give ye a choice,” she said quietly. “Sometimes…sometimes they’ll accept nothing less than violence.”

There was something in her tone as she spoke, the tone of a woman whose clan had seen some violence over the years. In her case, it was from a man named Drostan Lindsay. It was always Drostan Lindsay, the chieftain of Clan Lindsay of Kirkburn Castle. Though the fortress was less than ten miles away, Drostan and his animals might as well have been in Isabail’s lap, for it was the

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Lindsay who prowled Keith lands, looking for men to kill and women to assault.

But Lor didn’t have to know that.

It wasn’t his fight, anyway.

Still, that fear, that constant fear, was in her tone as she spoke, and Lor looked at her, sensing something more than just a comment on the nature of men. Gently, he squeezed her hand.

“Tell me of the men who have been violent against ye, and I’ll whack them on the head with my hammer,” he said, smiling at her when she looked at him. “I’ll not have anyone being violent against my little demon.”

She smiled wanly. “I’m capable of using a hammer, too, and a few other things,” she said. “It seems as if ye and I live in different worlds. Ye live in a busy village… I live in the hills, where life is more difficult.”

He shook his head. “It doesna matter,” he said. “From this moment on, it doesna matter in the least. I’ll come tae know ye and ye’ll come tae know me, and we’ll understand each other.”

“But why me? Surely there are fine lasses in yer village who have caught yer eye?”

He shook his head, a glimmer in his eyes when he looked at her. “No fine lasses,” he said. “They want men with position and money, and I have neither. But a lass from the hills might not care about such things.

Besides…the one I’m thinking of is rather pretty.”

“Me?” “Only ye.”

The familiar mottle was back in her cheeks, and she

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felt flattered in a way she’d never been flattered before. “’Tis a kind thing tae say, but I’m—” A shout cut her off, and they both whirled around to see two young men approaching with an older gentleman in between them. It took Lor a split second to realize that the older man was his grandfather.

He dropped Isabail’s hand.

Before she could stop him, Lor rushed at the men, dropping one of them with a brutal blow to the face. He was cocking his arm to throw a punch at the second man when Isabail abruptly put herself between Lor’s ham-­ sized fist and the second man’s surprised face.

“Lor, nay!” she gasped. “Dunna hit him. ’Tis my brother!”

Lor almost didn’t stop himself in time; he was inches from Isabail’s lovely face, and the force of restraining a fist already in motion had him reeling off-­balance. But he grabbed Nikolaus, yanking the old man with him, pulling him away from the pair that had captured him. As he looked to Nikolaus to make sure the old man was well, Isabail and her brother were pulling a very dazed young man to his feet.

“Ossian!” Isabail hissed at her downed brother, whose eyes were rolling back in his head. “What is the meaning of this? Why have ye abducted the old man?”

“We dinna abduct him,” Ewan said, slapping at his brother’s face to try to bring him around. “We found him lurking in the vale. He was following ye!”

Lor heard them. He looked straight at his grandfather.

“Ye were following us?”

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Nikolaus did not look pleased. He eyed the woman and her brothers, straightening his tunic where they’d grabbed him.

“I told ye that I was coming with ye,” he said. “Did ye think my words tae be hollow? I came tae make sure ye came tae no harm.”

Lor stared at him a moment as if in disbelief. With some remorse, he turned to Isabail and the men.

“This is my grandfather, Nikolaus Careston,” he said.

“It seems that he followed me from home.”

Isabail could see Lor’s chagrin. She gestured to the men next to her. “And these are my brothers, Ewan and Ossian,” she said. She looked at the pair unhappily. “I told ye tae go away. What on earth possessed ye tae follow me?”

Ewan was eyeing Lor suspiciously. “We were leaving when we saw the old man in the trees,” he said. “I thought he might try tae harm ye, but I dinna know ye were with that man. Whoever he is.”

They were referring to Lor, and Isabail could see that they had no intention of leaving now that they realized their sister had secretly met a man. Whatever wonderful spell had been cast between her and Lor, if only for a few minutes, had vanished with the introduction of intrusive family members.

It wasn’t an ideal situation.

With a regretful sigh, she stepped away from her brothers, motioning to Lor as she moved a few feet away.

Leaving his grandfather, Lor followed her until they stood next to the brook, out of earshot of the others.

“My brothers willna leave us alone now,” she

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whispered. “In fact, they’ll run back and tell my da. He’s likely to come looking for ye with a pike.”

Lor could see the wariness in the expressions of the brothers and realized his time with Isabail was at an end.

For now.

“Do ye know where the bridge crosses over Coe’s Burn?” he murmured.

Isabail nodded. “I do.”

“Meet me there tomorrow. And leave yer brothers at home.”

She fought to keep the smile off her face as she nodded. As Lor returned to his grandfather and practically dragged the man back down the path, Isabail watched him go. She was sad that their time together had abruptly ended, but so very glad they’d spent any time together at all.

At least, that was her feeling until she turned to see Ewan and Ossian standing there, looking at her in a way that set her blood boiling.

Judgment.

Isabail could have done one of two things at that moment. She could have been defiant about who she chose to spend her time with, or she could have tried to politely explain her position to her brothers so they wouldn’t tell their father that they’d caught their sister alone with a man they didn’t know.

True to Isabail’s nature, however, she chose a mixture of both options.

The three eggs that Lor had given her ended up on Ewan and Ossian when she threw them like missiles and

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threatened to do worse should their father hear of this little incident. Knowing that their little sister meant what she said, Ewan and Ossian opted for the only possible choice.

Not surprisingly, Niall Keith never heard a word about it.

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Chapter Three Careston His grandfather was watching him like a hawk.

Not obviously, but Lor could tell. After the incident yesterday in the Vale of Demons, Nikolaus was reluctant to let Lor out of his sight as if fearful he’d run back to that treacherous dale and the woman who had snared his attention.

In truth, it wasn’t an unreasonable fear.

They were working in the stall on this day, and the bellows were giving off great breaths of stale air. The heat in the blacksmith’s forge was intense as Lor worked on an axle for a farmer’s wagon that was laid up behind the stall.

But that wasn’t all he was doing; when Nikolaus was busy with customers or with his own tasks, Lor was working on something else in secret.

With a scrap piece of copper he’d found in his grandfather’s slag heap, he had fashioned a bracelet. It had been hell trying to keep it from Nikolaus. The bracelet wasn’t terribly elegant, but Lor was skilled with metal. He’d managed to twist the soft copper around itself so it was a delicate, twisting pattern, perfect for a tough young lady who probably wouldn’t wear fine adornment like gold or silver.

But she would wear copper.

In between hiding it from Nikolaus, Lor managed to

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inscribe something on the underside of it, something he’d said to her in the Vale of Demons—­ Thu fhèin.

Only you.

Two little words that described his intentions toward her. The inscription was simply written, but clear. He had spent the morning perfecting it. He was increasingly anxious to leave the stall and head to the bridge over Coe’s Burn because he knew that Isabail was probably already there, waiting for him.

He wanted to get to her.

Therefore, when the copper bracelet was finished and safely in his tunic pocket, and he’d finished with the axle for the farmer who had anxiously been waiting for him to repair it, Lor pulled off his heavy leather gloves and scorched smock, setting them aside.

Nikolaus, bent over the shoes of a horse, immediately noticed.

“Where are ye going?” he asked.

Lor rubbed at his temples. “My head is aching,” he lied. “I’m going tae lie down for a time. Can ye spare me?”

Nikolaus set down what was in his hands. “Now?” It was clear from the expression on his face that he didn’t want Lor to go, or at least go without him, suspicious old man that he was. But he was right in the middle of shoeing a horse and couldn’t leave.

That’s the way Lor had planned it.

“Just for a short while,” he said, continuing to rub at his temples. “At least until the pain passes. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

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Nikolaus eyed him dubiously. “Yer ailment seems tae have come upon ye suddenly.”

“It has not. It has been building for some time.”

“Lor…” Nikolaus seemed hesitant. “It will never work, lad.”

“What will never work?”

“The lass in the vale. She’s from the hills. Ye know the clans in the hills.”

He meant Ruthven and Keith, enemies of the clan that ruled Careston and other villages in the area. But Lor played dumb.

“What brought that up?” he asked. “I havena mentioned the lass.”

“Ye dunna have tae. I can see it in yer face.”

“Ye see nothing except an aching head.”

Nikolaus opened his mouth to say something more, but the horse began to get restless so he was forced to turn back to his task.

“Listen tae me, lad,” he said. “I am telling ye for yer own good. Dunna become mixed up with a lass from the hills. It will only come tae heartbreak.”

Lor watched the man as he turned back to the skittish horse, wondering why he should say such a thing. It was almost as if he knew from experience.

There was something bitter in his softly uttered phrase.

But Lor didn’t press the man; he didn’t have time.

Departing the stall with more speed than he should have, he headed in the direction of the cottage he shared with his grandfather just in case the old man was watching.

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He wasn’t really adept at deceiving the man, so he had to go on instinct, making his way for the cottage with the assumption that Nikolaus was watching. But once he crossed an alleyway and turned the corner, he was out of the man’s line of sight.

He took off at a run.

It had taken her some time to outwit the snoops, who were determined to follow her.

She’d arisen in the darkness to complete her chores for the day, but her brothers had risen early, too. They were busybodies, worse than fishwives. The sun was just clearing the horizon when she finished her tasks and departed her village. The bridge over Coe’s Burn wasn’t too far away, but it had taken her much longer to get there than it should have thanks to Ewan and Ossian, who thought they were being so clever by tracking her.

But Isabail was cleverer.

She led them toward an area where the women went to collect chestnuts, an area known to have wild and edible vegetation. Women were already there, in fact, and when she saw them, she told them not to tell her brothers that they’d seen her. Given that the women were more apt to side with the sister of their chieftain than her annoying brothers, they readily agreed.

And with that, Isabail’s way was clear to the bridge.

Unfortunately, Lor hadn’t arrived yet, so she sat down on a rock beneath the bridge to wait. It was a very long

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wait; the morning passed as she sat and watched the water and wondered if she’d been wrong about Lor. He’d told her to meet him here, yet he wasn’t here.

Perhaps she had misunderstood.

Perhaps he’d even lied.

But she could never think that of her stalwart blacksmith. The man wasn’t a warrior like the men she was accustomed to, but he had integrity. She’d known that from the start. As the morning began to edge into the afternoon, she finally heard footsteps approach.

Lor landed in the brook with a splash.

Startled, Isabail looked up to see the man closing in on her, a smile on his face. He also had smudges of soot on his cheeks, indicative of his morning’s activities. He’d been working.

That explained the delay.

“I thought ye werena coming,” Isabail said. “Ye’re fortunate I was patient enough tae wait this long.”

His smile broadened. “I’m glad ye did,” he said. “My grandfather was following me like a hawk following prey.

I was forced tae work until I could escape.”

“How did ye get away?”

“I told him I had an aching head. He thinks I went tae the cottage tae lie down.”

She frowned. “’Tis a woman’s excuse.”

He started laughing. “What was I supposed tae tell him?”

“Ye should have dropped a hammer and pretended it landed on yer foot,” she scolded, but it was without force.

“A man with a broken foot is much more honorable than one with an aching head.”

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“Next time, I’ll have bones sticking out. Would it make ye happy then?”

It was her turn to laugh. “Probably not,” she said, sobering as she gazed into his handsome face. “I suppose coming late is better than not coming at all.”

“If I tell ye I’ll come, then I will. I’m a man of my word.”

“I believe ye,” she said sincerely. “Are ye sure ye werena followed?”

He looked around. “As sure as I can be,” he said, returning his attention to her. “And ye?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “My brothers aren’t nearly as clever as they think they are. I outsmarted them.”

“Good lass.”

With the initial greeting over, a warm silence settled as Lor sat down at her feet, along the brook bank. Isabail would glance at him, grinning and looking away when he smiled at her. It was a game that went on for a few moments until Lor finally dug into his pocket.

Out came the copper bracelet.

“I made this for ye this morning.”

He was holding it up in the weak light, and Isabail gazed upon it in surprise. The metal caught what light there was coming through the trees, flashing. “’Tis beautiful,” she said, reaching out for it. “What is it?”

“A bracelet. Put it on yer arm.”

She did, instantly, looking at the warm color against her skin. But more than that, she was looking at a gift he’d made for her.

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She’d never been more touched. “’Tis truly beautiful.”

“Ye said that. Do ye like it?”

She nodded without hesitation. “It is the most beautiful gift I have ever received,” she said, toying with it.

Then, something on the bracelet caught her eye and she removed it, holding it up into the light and peering at the interior of the circlet.

“Thu fhèin,” she murmured, her wide-­eyed gaze turning to him. “Only ye.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “I told ye that ye were the only lass I had an eye for,” he said. “I mean it.”

Isabail was overwhelmed. “So ye put the words on the bracelet?”

“So ye’d always remember.”

She looked at it, stunned. “I dunna know what tae say,” she said. “I’ve never had so fine a gift. I shall wear it until I die.”

He seemed pleased by that. “If yer kinfolk notice it, tell them ye stole it from some fool in the vale,” he said, watching her chuckle. “They would believe that.”

“Aye, they would,” she said, carefully putting it back on her wrist. “It is much better than birds’ eggs.”

He reached out, putting a big hand on her knee where she sat on the stone. She smiled at him, her cheeks red with the thrill of his touch and the beauty of his gift.

She was smitten with the man as it was, and the bracelet merely cemented her feelings. Abruptly, she pulled out a small dagger at her waist and grabbed a long, curly tendril of hair. Quick as a flash, she cut it off, extending it to him.

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“It is all I have tae give ye in return,” she murmured. “I wish I had more. I wish I could give ye as fine a present as ye have given me.”

He took the hair carefully, gazing at the spiral curl as if she’d just handed him the finest chalice of gold. Lifting it to his nostrils, he inhaled her sweet, musky scent.

“I shall treasure it always,” he said quietly. “It is the best gift I have ever received.”

Isabail clutched her arm to her chest, the one that the bracelet was on, feeling something she’d thought she’d never feel again. She’d felt it once, because in the years since the time she’d first met Lor, she’d briefly considered giving her affections to a young man with rosy cheeks and a sly smile. She’d become rather fond of him, even expressing her interest to her father.

But any hopes for a romance had ended when the young man made it clear that he wanted a wife to tend his home and his children, not rob travelers in the vale or have skill with a sword. He’d ended up marrying a foolish chit with big breasts and a ridiculous giggle, and the heartbreak had sent Isabail deeper into the world of swords and battles.

Still, there had been moments when she wished she could have been the kind of woman that young man had wanted, but Lor seemed to have no such reservations about a tough lass from the hills.

He would take her as she was.

Only you.

“It seems strange,” she said after a moment. “We’ve not known each other a long time, yet I feel as if I’ve always known ye.”

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Reaching up, he pulled her off the rock, down onto the ground next to him. The ground was cold and damp, but his arms were big and warm as he wrapped them around her slender body. Isabail should have resisted purely for propriety’s sake, but she couldn’t muster the will.

Those arms around her felt like heaven.

“Ye have always known me,” he whispered. “Ye met me years ago, and ye’ve known me ever since. Ye knew I’d come back to ye.”

She was having difficulty thinking as he held her close. Every time she tried to form a coherent thought, his proximity would suck it right out of her head.

“I…I dinna know for certain,” she insisted weakly.

“But I knew, somehow, that I’d see ye again. Never mind how, but I knew I would.”

“And so ye have,” he said. “Now, let’s discuss where we shall meet tomorrow.”

For the first time in her life, Isabail gave in to the arms of a man. God’s bones, what arms they were. She relaxed, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. Her heart was pounding against her ribs so strongly that she was certain he could hear it.

“Tomorrow?” she repeated. “We’ve not even begun today.”

He laughed softly, a sound that was warm and comforting. “True enough,” he said. “With prowling brothers and grandfathers, ye never know when we might be separated, so I want to have tomorrow’s meeting place established.”

Isabail brought up a timid hand, touching one of the arms that held her. He felt so warm and firm beneath her

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palm. “Let me think,” she said. “We’ve already done the vale.”

“We have.”

“Now the bridge.”

“If they dunna find us today, then we meet here again tomorrow.”

“Agreed.”

“But if they find us?”

She thought for a moment. “There’s a small lake tae the north,” she said. “They call it Took’s Water. Do ye know of it?”

“I think I do.”

“Just head north and ye’ll find it.”

“I will.” His grip on her tightened. “I’ll have tae escape my grandfather again, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Now…will ye tell me something?”

“What?”

“Where do ye come from? Where do I look for ye if I dunna see ye at the lake?”

She closed her eyes to that unwelcome question.

Again. She simply didn’t want him to know.

“Does it matter?” she asked softly. “Does it truly matter where a man is born? Does that make him something different than what he is?”

Lor began toying with one of her long, red curls.

“Nay,” he said. “But when ye find someone that ye know ye could be fond of, ye want tae know everything about them. Ye already know where I live. Ye know many things about me, but I hardly know anything about ye.”

He was right. She sought to tell him something, but

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not too much, careful in her restraint. “I have two older brothers,” she spoke the obvious. “And my da.”

“What about yer mother?”

“Died when I was born.”

“As did mine,” he said. “And yer village?”

“In the hills.”

“Do ye ever want tae leave? Do ye ever dream of something more?”

She sat up, looking at him. “Nay,” she said after a moment. “I’m happy where I am. Does that shock ye?”

He shook his head, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Nay,” he said. “Because I am happy where I am, too. But what if ye met a man who would take ye from yer village, yer family? Would ye go?”

She was fairly certain that he was referring to himself, and she fought off a smile. “He would have tae be quite a man.”

“I am. I mean, he is.”

She laughed low in her throat. “Do ye wish tae take me away from here, then? But ye hardly know me.”

He lifted his eyebrows, feigning exasperation. “I am trying my hardest tae, but ye’re not cooperating.”

She knew it was the truth. When he lifted a hand to gently cup her cheek, she smiled, leaning into his hand and putting her small palm over his big, rough mitt.

“Mayhap…mayhap I’ll tell ye more the next time we meet,” she said. “’Tis just that there can be a good deal of hate in the Highlands. Fierce loyalties, but also fierce hatreds. I fear…I fear things may change if we know too much about each other.”

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Lor’s smile had faded as he listened to her words that were all too true. “A man’s clan has never mattered tae me,” he said honestly. “It’s the strength of his character, not the strength of his loyalties. The same goes for a lass.

It’s the strength of her heart, not the strength of her clan.”

Isabail appreciated that view, but she didn’t want to divulge too much and chance that he might walk away from her. Even though his words were noble, she didn’t know him well enough to know if he truly, deeply meant them.

She was still afraid.

“Will ye tell me something?” she asked softly.

“Anything,” he murmured.

“Where do ye see yerself a year from now? What will ye be doing?”

His quirky smile was back. “Still working with my grandfather, I suppose.”

“Is that all?”

He lifted his big shoulders. “Mayhap I’ll have a wife tae scold me and tell me I’m working too hard. A wife who will take me into vales and glens when we visit her family in the hills.”

Her pale cheeks were back to flushing as the subject of marriage was presented. It was something Isabail had all but resigned herself to never having, but that was before Lor reentered her life.

Now, what she’d thought was beyond her reach might very well be within her grasp.

God’s bones, is it possible?

“That sounds like a dream easily reached.”

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“Is it?”

She nodded. Then the hand that was cupping her face wound itself in her hair as Lor pulled her to him, depositing the sweetest of kisses on her tender lips. He’d only meant it to be a brief kiss, a foretaste of the woman he was becoming increasingly infatuated with, but she tasted so good that he kissed her again, this time with more force.

Isabail collapsed against him.

His kiss was hot, delicious, and crushing. He was holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe, but she hardly cared. She didn’t need to breathe so long as Lor was holding her, his mouth against hers, tenderly suckling her lips.

She’d never known such a kiss in all her life.

“I hope it is a dream easily reached,” he said against her mouth, “for I feel as if it is already within my grasp.”

He pulled away to look at her, his hand still holding her face, but Isabail was gasping. He’d managed to suck the air right out of her.

“If ye kiss me again like that, it might be closer than ye think,” she whispered.

He did, pulling her fiercely against him. His mouth was on hers, his hands in her hair, gently prying her lips open with his tongue so he could feast on her. Isabail simply went along with him, letting the man do as he pleased, because everything he’d done so far had felt wonderful.

She was a willing student.

Somehow, she ended up straddling his lap, her long hair covering his shoulders. Her hands were on his face, holding him fast to her lips as she began to take on the

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aggressor role. She ended up kissing his dimpled chin, his jaw, and his cheek before he stopped her, pulling her back so he could look her in the face.

“I want ye tae come with me tomorrow and meet my grandfather,” he said huskily. “I want ye tae come tae Careston. Will ye come?”

She was flushed from his kisses. “Why?” “I told ye. I want ye tae meet my grandfather.”

“I met him yesterday when he followed ye into the vale.”

He flashed a grin. “I meant officially. So he knows yer name and ye have a chance tae meet the man.”

Isabail was coming to realize what he meant. He wanted her to know his family, and perhaps to have his grandfather’s approval for courting her. It was the second time the marriage implication had come up and she sat back, still on his lap, and looked at him seriously.

“Why do ye want him tae know me?” she asked.

“I thought I’d made that plain.”

She thought on that. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to know his grandfather, or even marry Lor, but more because if she came to know his family, he would want to know hers. That truth would come out, the one she’d been trying too hard to avoid. Perhaps it was unavoidable in any case, because if the man wanted to marry her, and she wanted to marry him, he would have to know sooner or later.

She had to admit that she was dreading it.

“Ye have,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his stubbled face. “And it’s not that I’m not agreeable. But it’s as I said before… There is a good deal of hatred in the

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Highlands. Let us have the rest of this day just to ourselves, tae speak on things that dunna involve families or clans. Let’s speak of us, of our hopes, of the future. I dunna want tae let the rest of it into our world yet. It’ll come soon enough.”

He tried not to appear disappointed. “Whatever ye wish,” he said. “Tell me of yer hopes and the future, but I want ye tae meet my grandfather soon. He raised me after my mother died, and the old man is everything tae me.”

She ran her fingers through his blond hair. “I promise I’ll meet him,” she said. “But not today. Let today belong tae us, what is left of it.”

He nodded, taking her hands in both of his hands and kissing her fingers. “It has already been a good day,” he said. “I wish I could stay with ye all night, but I’m sure yer brothers would come looking for ye and then I’d be forced tae defend myself.”

She snorted. “I thought ye weren’t a warrior.”

“I’m not, but I can defend myself if I must.”

“If ye plan tae make this a permanent arrangement between us, I’ll have tae teach ye tae fight. Ye’ll need tae know if ye’re tae be around my family.”

“If it makes ye happy, I’ll learn.”

She grew serious. “Would ye?”

“If it means that much tae ye. But ye aren’t going tae send me tae that fight school, are ye?”

She cocked her head curiously. “What fight school?”

“The one ye told me about those years ago. The Ludus Caledonia.”

“Ye remembered?”

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“I remember everything.”

He said it with a glimmer in his eye, and she grinned.

“I’ll not send ye away from me,” she said. “I’ll teach ye myself.”

“But not today.”

The moment grew romantic again as he kissed her hands and she shook her head to his statement.

“Nay,” she muttered. “Not today. Today belongs just tae us and nothing else.”

Lor liked the sound of that. Pulling her down to him, he kissed her deeply as the gentle song of the brook created a fragile bubble around them that could never be broken. At this moment, there was nothing else but the two of them, the smithy from Careston and the warrior lass from the hills.

From that moment on, they belonged to each other.

Only you, Lor had told Isabail.

He meant it.

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