Chapter One

August 1692

Craignure, the Isle of Mull, the Inner Hebrides, Western Scotland

“How much further is it to Castle Duart, Gerald?” Aveline asked, panting with exertion as she urged her horse up the steepening incline. She was struggling to navigate the rough surface of yet another of the seemingly endless, identical rutted lanes which carved their narrow, twisting paths up the mountainside through thick, brooding forest.

“’Tis nae far fer the crow that flies,” Gerald called back over his shoulder. He was one of the three Clan Mackay guards sent to safeguard Aveline on the long journey from her home in the Scottish borderlands to the remote Isle of Mull, and he was the only one who had been to Castle Duart before and knew the way. “But since we’re nae crows, at this pace, I reckon we have another half hour or so of ridin’ before we get there.”

“Another half hour of this? But how can that be?” Aveline gasped out, appalled. “Back in Craignure when we got off the boat you said it was but a short ride to the castle. We’ve been riding fer an eternity.” She despised the whine in her voice, but she felt awful and sorry for herself, so she could not help it.

When they had set out from the tiny port town of Craignure, located on Mull’s northeastern tip, less than an hour before, she had already been exhausted. The voyage from the mainland, her first time on a boat, had been a nerve-racking, uncomfortable experience, to say the least. When she had finally stepped off the boat onto the quay, she had been thankful to be on solid ground again. But her belly had been roiling and her legs so weak and shaky that, had it not been for Gerald’s steadying arm, she would have certainly collapsed on the quay.

I am not going to make it to the castle, I am going to fall out of this saddle and expire here on this wretched track. At least I could die in peace then.

Gerald chuckled. “Nay, me lady, it only seems like we’ve been ridin’ a long time because of these bastard tracks that pass fer roads around here and because we’re goin’ up a mountain. And this accursed bloody heat, of course. Pardon me language, me lady.”

Aveline only grunted, having no breath spare to tell him the apology was unnecessary. She already feared she might have made the biggest mistake of her life by coming to Mull and was cursing it in a similarly colorful language. But being a noble lady, however, she kept her curses to herself.

“If ye ask me, Mull’s a wild, Godforsaken place nae meant fer people, only good fer deer and goats,” Gerald added, leaning low in his saddle to clear a tree branch as the four of them plodded laboriously single file around another tortuously twisting bend, only to find the narrowing track ahead rising at an even steeper angle than before.

“So far, I have to agree,” Aveline managed to puff out, thinking that all she had seen since getting off the boat were Gerald’s back, his horse’s hindquarters, and a limitless sea of trees hemming them in on either side.

“But we’ll soon be clear of this forest, me lady, and then ye’ll be able tae see the mountains and the moors. And on a clear day like this, most of the neighboring islands too. ’Tis quite a sight,” Gerald assured her more cheerfully, also sounding short of breath.

If I am not dead before we get there.

Aveline wondered again if she had been stupid in volunteering to come to the island in the first place. She had offered to come in her capacity as a healer—to assess and, if she could, treat the mysterious illness of Laird Varrick MacLean, who dwelt in Duart Castle. But in truth, it was an escape.

Better this than being forced into a marriage I do not want. There is no going back now.

The path grew progressively steeper and narrower, and it took all Aveline’s strength and concentration just to keep going. Talk ceased. The sharp scents of pine and salt surrounded them, the air thick and humid in the stillness of the hot August afternoon. The word boiled down to the sounds of labored breathing—theirs and the horses’—the jingle of harnesses, plodding hooves, buzzing insects, and the calls of birds.

Aveline was so intent on reaching the top of the mountain and, she hoped, putting an end to her suffering, that when Gerald suddenly pulled up his horse and came to an abrupt halt in front of her, forcing her to do the same, she was taken completely by surprise.

“What is it, Gerald? Why have we stopped?” she asked in confusion, craning her neck to see past him.

She froze as a loud, hissing whistle cut through the still air.

The world exploded into chaos as both Gerald’s horse and her own screamed in fear and reared up. Their hooves flailed the air before crashing down again as both beasts frantically shied away from whoever was up ahead shooting at them.

Aveline had no time to wonder who it could be. In its haste to get away, Gerald’s horse collided with hers, forcing hers backwards, in turn bumping into those bringing up the rear. Panic quickly spread among the beasts. Aveline, heart pounding, her breath coming in gasps, summoned her last reserves of strength just to stay in the saddle.

More arrows came whistling out of nowhere.

“Ambush! Get down!” Gerald bellowed.

Aveline hardly heard him because she had just caught sight of their attackers. A small band of disreputable looking men, obviously brigands, were blocking the way ahead, a couple of them with bows in their hands. At the sight of them, her blood froze in her veins.

“No, not again, I’ll not be taken again,” she muttered, hysteria mounting inside her as terrifying memories transported her back to the past.

“Run, take cover, me lady!” Gerald shouted at her, trying to force his horse under control and position himself in front of her. He had his sword halfway out of the scabbard when the arrow hit him in his throat with a soft thunk. He let out a choked cry of agony and fell forward in his saddle.

All around her, horses screamed and men shouted. One of the remaining guards behind her topple from his mount, blood blossoming across his chest like a crimson glower. The last guard was lucky. He twisted and ducked in the saddle, narrowly dodging an arrow.

“Run, me lady!” he yelled at her. “Go—now!”

Panic clawed at Aveline’s throat, yet his frantic cry pierced her terrified daze enough to make her move. Without looking back, she kicked up her horse and plunged into the trees, riding between them hell for leather away from the sound of the fighting.

She kept low, ducking to avoid the low branches in her path tearing at her cloak. The sound of pounding hooves beneath her kept pace with her heart as she careered blindly through the trees, afraid to stop. Dizzied by the furious jolting, she could hardly make out where she was going and had no thought of how deep into the forest she was.

Her terror soared to new heights when she heard crashing, shouts, and thundering hooves coming from somewhere behind her. The desperate need to escape her pursuers was all consuming. They were men and, therefore, monsters.

They’re coming after me! No, I will die before I let myself be taken again!

Realizing that the sound of her horse’s galloping hooves would give her away and that she would have more chance of disappearing on foot, she slowed enough to slip from the saddle to the ground, grateful for the relative softness of the forest floor as she landed, rolling over a couple of times before scrambling to her feet.

The horse kept on going, while Aveline picked up her skirts and took off, running blindly away from the trail, deep into the forest, dodging trees and branches, leaping over roots and rocks and small burns, crashing into the underbrush. Thorns tore at her gown, something snagged her skirt and she ripped it free without stopping.

She ran until her lungs burned, clutching the painful stitch in her side, her fear heightened by the knowledge that she was slowing down.

She was close to dropping when she spied a glimmer of water through a gap in some tall bushes. For some reason, it drew her. Stumbling with exhaustion, she pushed her way through the bushes and burst out into a clearing. She paused, bent over, gasping to pull air into her lungs. After a moment, she raised her head, her long hair swinging in wild rat’s tails. She pushed it aside and cast about for a hiding place.

She found herself standing on soft grass in a small, secluded valley. In the middle was a pool of water about twelve feet across. The surface glistened, reflecting the fading light. White wisps of steam curled upwards from it, into the air. She had stumbled upon a natural hot spring.

Relief flared inside her for a moment as she took in the surrounding reed beds and rocks and bushes, all places ideal for concealment. However, as her eyes swept over the scene, they snagged on something that shook her to her core.

A man was standing at the edge of the pool, his back to her, clearly poised to enter the water. She knew it because he had practically nothing on. Apart from a white cloth covering his loins, he was naked.

Omigod! What have I run into?!

Being a maid of nineteen and never having seen a man so startlingly unclothed before, Aveline’s eyes popped as they took in his tall, muscular physique. His broad shoulders and powerful arms were etched with a complex tracery of tattoos. His waist tapered from what was obviously a broad chest to his hips and a pair of high, taut buttocks. His long, muscly legs were lavishly sprinkled with dark hairs. Their color matched the long, dark ponytail that fell halfway down his back.

His skin was a map of scars.

Her shock and fascination briefly overtook Aveline’s fear of her pursuers, and before she could stop herself, she gasped aloud.

The man spun at the sound, body tensed. She trembled as dark eyes hard as steel fixed on her. Before she could even draw breath, let alone think of running, he was on her, one huge, calloused hand closing around her neck.

She stared up at him, her hands clutching vainly at his wrist, terrified he was going to strangle her. But he only held her firmly enough to keep her in place, without hurting her. He bent down and put his face close to hers. Eyes fringed with dark lashes and so dark brown they appeared almost black, pierced hers from beneath black brows.

“Who the hell are ye?” he demanded in a voice like gravel. “And what are ye daeing on me land?”

Shaking violently from head to toe, Aveline tried to back up a step but found herself pinned. His eyes, hard with suspicion and distrust, bore into hers as he awaited her answer. But she was so choked with terror, she could only stare back at him mutely.

But then behind them, from deeper in the forest, came the unmistakable thudding of hooves on earth.

“They’re coming,” she gasped, gripped by fresh terror. She looked at him beseechingly. He was her only chance of survival. “Brigands, they’re after me. I—I didn’t know where else to run.”

The man’s handsome face darkened. Fury—not at her, she sensed, but at the invaders—flashed in his eyes.

He released her. “Hide,” he commanded, already turning away. “Now.”

Without hesitation, Aveline darted into a clump of nearby bushes and crouched low, stuffing her knuckles into her mouth to stifle her whimpers. Leaves from the plant she was squatting on scratched at her bare legs, but she hardly noticed the irritation. She was too intent on the sound of approaching horses, expecting to see the brigands ride into the dell at any moment. Afraid to make the slightest nose, she held her breath and watched through the branches.

The man, the warrior, strode to a pile of clothing she had not noticed before and bent over it. When he straightened up, he held a sword in one hand and a dirk in the other. With an air of calm efficiency, he took up a position on the grass between her and the pool and waited. He radiated control and effortless power, his posture perfectly balanced.

He looks like a man born for battle.

They did not have to wait long before three men on horseback burst into the clearing. On seeing the warrior standing silently, alone, naked but for a scrap of cloth, they reigned in their horses a short distance away and dismounted, approaching him.

Aveline shrank down in her hiding place, scared for the man as well as herself. Three to one were very bad odds, and for some reason, she did not want him to get hurt. She could clearly see the brigands’ weapons, but they obviously did not consider him a threat, not even bothering to draw their blades.

“Hey, ye over there!” the one in front called to the warrior, stopping a few yards in front of him. He was a greasy, bearded individual with a disfiguring scar on his lip. “Did ye see a lassie runnin’ through here? Where is she? Which way did she go?”

The warrior did not flinch. He merely fixed the man with stony look and said cooly, “Ye’re trespassin’. Ye’ve one chance to leave. Take it.”

The brigands looked at each other in disbelief and laughed. Aveline’s heart plummeted.

“So ye have seen her. Where’s she hidin’? Come on, man, tell us. We only want tae have a bit of fun,” the leader sneered. “We’ll share her with ye if ye like.”

Aveline saw the change come over the dark-haired warrior. His eyes narrowed, his jaw set, his grip on the pommel of his blade tightened. He took a step forward.

“When a woman says nay, it means nay,” he growled menacingly.

Through her fear, Aveline blinked, stunned. No one had ever said anything remotely like that in her defense—not like that. And definitely not a man.

She stared, transfixed, as the warrior stepped forward and, without any hesitation, attacked the brigands. They were so shocked, they barely had time to grab their dirks from their belts to defend themselves. But it did them no good.

The warrior’s sword moved like lightning. A flash, a parry, a deadly arc. The leader, nearest to him, was the first to fall, gurgling horribly as his own blood fountained from a gaping wound in his throat. The second barely raised his blade before it was knocked from his hand and he was run through the chest.

With perfect economy of movement, the warrior put his foot on the fellow’s bellyand pulled out his blade, his eyes already on the last of the brigands. The man, seeing certain death staring him in the face, turned and ran. He was fast, but not fast enough, for the dirk that flashed through the air and buried itself with a thud in his spine. He squealed, groping behind him in vain to remove it before his legs gave way and he crashed to the ground, twitching a few times before lying still.

It was over in seconds.

The warrior wiped his blade clean on the fallen man’s coat as casually if he were wiping his muddy boots on a doormat.

The clearing fell silent save for the gentle splash of water and the warrior’s heavy breathing. The bodies lay still.

Aveline remained in the nettle patch, trembling. She couldn’t move, could barely think. Her heart was thundering in her chest.

The warrior disappeared from view for a few moments, but she could see the bodies being dragged away. One by one, they vanished. Then the warrior reappeared, without his blade, his steps unhurried as he approached her hiding spot.

Aveline stared, her heartbeat quickening. His long, pitch-black hair had come lose and was clinging to his neck. His tan features were as calm as the surface of the pool. His gore-spattered chest rose and fell easily with each breath.

He is magnificent.

The warrior towered over the bush and looked down on Aveline. “Now, what should I dae with ye?”

Chapter Two

“Are ye harmed?” he asked then without preamble.

It was so abrupt, she flinched.

“I—no. Not hurt,” she whispered.

He came around and crouched beside her, not touching but close enough to study her for injuries. There was something sweet in his awkwardness—his large, rough hands, still bloody, hovering near her arms, eyes scanning her body.

“I—I’m all right,” she said again, getting goosebumps.

“Ye’re English,” he said flatly.

She felt a flash of fear. She had just seen him kill three men.

What if hates the English? Will he kill me too?

Nervously, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

To her surprise and relief, he said nothing more about it. Silently, he rose and turned away, going to the pool. He stripped off the loincloth and dropped it on a rock, then stepped into the steaming water.

Aveline, blinked, startled. Hesitantly, she stood up and brushed herself down, not taking her eyes from him as she ventured closer. His back was to her, all scars and strength and soaked sinew. He lowered himself into the water with a sigh, leaning back.

Heat bloomed on her cheeks. Her thoughts were in disarray—pain and fear and now, absurdly, a strange flutter of attraction.

“You—you’re the laird?” she asked.

He glanced back. “Aye. Varrick MacLean.”

“But… you’re not ill.”

His expression hardened. “That’s nae your concern.” Then, softening slightly, “The spring helps.”

Aveline frowned, realizing he had no idea who she was. Besides that, her healer’s instincts told her he was lying.

“Ye’re very brave,” he said suddenly. “Tae run intae me woods. Tae stand here now, with a naked man who just killed three others.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“And yet here ye are.”

Aveline swallowed. “I am Aveline Ashcombe. You must be expecting me. Laird Alisdair Mackay of Aberach is married to my sister, and he wrote to you to say I was coming. He said you are ill, and I am a healer. I thought I might be able to help you.”

He turned his head, studying her. “I’ve had nay such letter from Alisdair.”

“Oh,” she replied, non-plussed. “Perhaps it has gone astray. Well, here I am.”

He nodded. “Aye. Here ye are.”

***

Varrick hadn’t received any word from Alisdair. No messenger, no warning. So when this strange, lone young woman appeared in his woods, being chased by brigands, he had assumed she was a stray.

But now she was standing in front of him, saying she was a healer, sent by her brother-in-law, his long-time ally Alisdair Maclean, to try to cure him.

Plausible. Perhaps the rumor mill’s workin’, spreadin’ the news of me illness, just as I intended. But is she bein’ truthful?

He lay back, letting the heated spring water suffuse his body, and considered her. He found it to be a refreshingly pleasurable exercise. There were not many things of beauty in his life. It was mostly either paperwork, fighting, or trying to find ways to avoid fighting. But this Aveline Ashcombe, with her cutglass English accent and torn, dirty gown… she was beautiful indeed.

Without letting her know it, he silently admired her figure, reckoning he could span her waist easily with both hands. She was as delicately made as a piece of fine porcelain, but with curves in all the right places.

And that beautiful, long golden hair? I wonder if ’tis as soft as it looks. She’s right bonny, that’s fer sure. English or nae, she’s the bonniest lass I’ve ever seen.

His gaze wandered over flawless, pale skin, a slightly heart-shaped face, her delicately arching golden-brown brows, small, straight nose, and pert lips. Her beauty was ethereal, beguiling. But he focused mostly on her eyes, bonny light-green eyes that carried both innocence and a shadow of fear within them. They told him what he wanted to know.

Aye, she’s bein’ truthful.

But the thought was far from reassuring. For beautiful as she was, she was also dangerous, and he heartily wished she had never come to Mull.

“There’s nae sign of yer horse. Ye’ll have tae ride with me tae the castle. I’ll send a guard tae find it later,” Varrick told the waiting Aveline when he returned to the dell after scouting for the missing beast. Disturbed by the implications of her arrival and conscious that she needed rest after her ordeal, he had cut his soak in the pool short and quickly dressed, intending to return to the castle immediately.

“Are you sure? Could you have another look?” she asked, turning pale, her eyes suddenly fearful.

“There’s nay time. Ye’ll be quite safe ridin’ behind me,” he replied, wondering what she was so afraid of as he fetched his stallion from where it was tethered to a nearby tree.

The answer, though puzzling to him, soon became clear. Her uneasiness when he mounted up and reached down a hand to pull her up behind him was almost palpable. She stared at his hand as if it were a live viper.

“Come on,” he said, his fingers beckoning. After more hesitation, with the air of a woman about to go to her death, she finally took them and allowed him to swing her up into the saddle.

’Tis me she fears. She daesnae like havin’ tae be this close tae me.

Now, she was riding behind him, doing her best not to let her thighs touch him, with her arms wrapped loosely around his waist but with the stiff posture of someone barely tolerating the contact. Not wanting to unsettle her more that she already was, he tried to give her space—leaning forward, adjusting his grip—but there was very little distance two people could keep from each other when sharing a saddle.

As he rode back along the forest trails, he could feel her scratching again, which she had been doing since she had sat in the stinging nettle patch when she was hiding. They both knew she was covered in stings. But as she was clearly too embarrassed to mention it to him, he had said nothing.

Every time she surreptitiously scratched herself, clearly hoping he would not notice, he smiled inwardly.

They rode in silence initially. But after a while, out of a desire to put her more at ease by distracting her from her fear, as well as to satisfy his curiosity, he started up a conversation.

“So, ye say Alisdair didnae send ye?”

“No, I volunteered. I mean, I wanted to come.”

For reasons he did could not fathom, Varrick found the notion inexplicably pleasing. But he did not let on. The fear coming off her in waves and the skittishness he sensed in her reminded him of a young, nervous filly who would bolt at the slightest thing and needed careful handling. That being the case, he found her decision puzzling.

“Why?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“Why did ye leave yer family and come all the way here tae Mull, tae try tae help a stranger?”

Her silence was telling. He could almost hear the wheels of her mind turning as she decided what to tell him. He expected a lie, so he was surprised when she eventually asked, “Does it matter?”

So, ’tis somethin’ she daesnae wish tae speak about with me. Fair enough.

He shrugged. “Nae really. Unless ye’re on the run.”

He was sure he felt a small vibration run through her body. Fear?

“I can assure you, I am not on the run. I am a healer, and when someone is sick, I consider it my duty to do my best to cure them. If you need an explanation, then there it is.”

Och, a wee bit of spirit in there too.

“That’s very laudable. Is that yer polite English way of tellin’ me tae mind me own business?”

Again, the little vibration.

“Well, that’s me home,” he told her as they emerged from the forest, his chest swelling with pride for his island fortress home. He turned the horse across the grassy expanse surrounding the castle, deciding to really impress her by taking her through the main gates.

“Oh, my Lord,” she gasped gratifyingly, sitting up straighter behind him to look. But he noticed she was still holding herself away from him as much as she could. “So, this is Duart Castle. It is very impressive. And the views are spectacular. I can see the sea and other islands from up here.” She sounded genuinely awed.

“That’s all me land,” he said.

When they reached the gates, the guards opened them quickly. The afternoon was wearing on now, and the sun dropping in the sky, but the heat did not diminish, and the relative cool of the courtyard was welcome. The few people there, guards and servants mostly, greeted him as they passed and then went about their business with an air of quiet industry.

A groom appeared and waited for them to dismount before leading the stallion away. Varrick got down and then automatically turned to help Aveline down. To his surprise, she shook her head.

“Thank you, but I can do it by myself,” she said. Respecting her wishes, he stood back, watching as she somehow managed to clamber from the saddle and slide awkwardly down the side of the enormous horse. It was a long way for such a small person, and she stumbled slightly as her boots hit the cobblestones. Instinctively, Varrick reached out to steady her, but she sidestepped him, her skin pale and her jaw tight, leaving him to drop his hand.

Learning it was better to let her do as she wished, his curiosity about why she feared him so much and what had brought her to his island nevertheless grew.

He watched her closely as he led her across the courtyard towards the doors of the castle keep.

Somethin’s happened tae this lass and it has scared her. I’d lay money on it bein’ somethin’ tae dae with why she’s here.

Her unexpected presence was deeply concerning to him. If it was true she was Alisdair’s sister-in-law, then he could hardly just reject her offer of help and send her back to where she came from. It was what he ought to do, in the circumstances. But it could offend Alisdair, and he was not willing to risk their friendship.

But she’s already suspicious about me illness, and if I allow her tae examine me, she’ll soon ken the truth. I’ll have tae find some way of puttin’ off her examinin’ me, so I can keep me secret hidden a while longer.

They came to the keep door, and as he stopped to speak to one of the guards, from the corner of his eye, he could tell she was itching badly from the nettle stings. He said nothing, sensing her pride.

“The lady’s horse bolted in the forest. Send men to find it,” he commanded one of the guards.

“Aye, me laird.” The man nodded and left at once.

“Thank you. My overnight bag is there, and the rest of my things are due to be sent up from the inn tomorrow,” Aveline murmured as he ushered her inside.

Varrick nodded, noting the information.

As they entered the vestibule, he immediately spotted two familiar figures talking quietly together but clearly waiting for him. Laurence, his trusted friend and right-hand man, and Blaise, Laurence’s cousin, the clan’s war-leader, also a close friend.

As Varrick entered with Aveline at his side, he saw Laurence’s eyes, sharp and unreadable, fill with curiosity. His friend shot him a questioning look as they approached.

“Ye’re back early,” Blaise noted. He had been lounging against the wall but stood up straight as soon as he saw Aveline. “And nae alone, I see,” he added, looking at her a little too curiously for Varrick’s liking.

“This is Aveline Ashcombe,” Varrick said. “She’s a healer, come tae try tae cure me, on Alisdair ’s word.”

Laurence raised a brow. “A letter came. Just now. Delayed courier apparently. Alisdair explains her arrival and vouches for her. Says she’s skilled.”

Varrick didn’t reply. He had not doubted her honesty. But while Alisdair’s letter confirmed her story, it also confirmed the threat she posed to all his carefully laid plans.

He motioned for a servant and told her, “Show Mistress Aveline to the infirmary and healer’s chamber. Whatever she needs, make sure she has it.”

“Aye, me laird.” The girl bobbed a curtsy.

Aveline hesitated as if about to speak, then dipped her head and followed the servant without a word.

Once she was gone, Varrick motioned for Laurence and Blaise to follow him to his study.

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