His eyes narrowed and he straightened a little unsteadily. ‘You’re nae going away…now, are you, lass?’

‘There’s been a mistake,’ she stated, her voice unsteady, just like her thoughts. ‘I’m…in the wrong room.’

Though he didn’t move any closer to her, his caress on her neck was light. She wasn’t free of him, but at least he wasn’t grabbing her and dragging her to his bed.

‘I doona think there was any mistake just a moment ago. You came to my room. Let me kiss you.’

His fingers made gentle circles, trailing down her neck to her shoulders and back up.

‘And before I was so clumsy you wanted me to kiss you…more.’

So true. All so confusingly true. But she needed the dagger—not this man, who caused her to want to go and stay at the same time.

AUTHOR NOTE

I want to say the inspiration for Mairead and Caird’s story came from a fateful trip to Wales. But it didn’t. Not really. Caird is brother to Gaira, who is wife to Robert, who I saw grieving under a tree in Wales (long story). But that doesn’t explain much. Except that there are people in my head, and those people want their stories told. Now and all at once. So, although I intended to write about Robert’s friend Hugh, from The Knight’s Broken Promise (stay with me on the people!), I couldn’t ignore Mairead, who was about to do something mad.

Well, mad for the rest of us. Not for Mairead. She’s impulsive, she makes mistakes and she’s reckless. When her brother was killed she chased after the murderer. Since she was by herself, I rushed to tell her story in case she got hurt. When Caird showed up I thought, Oh, good, he’ll rescue her.

Unfortunately he hates Mairead, he is controlling and he only plays by the rules. When Mairead realises that Caird is just as insufferable and arrogant as the rest of his clan I knew Caird needed rescuing from Mairead.

Then they kissed. They kissed! At that point I gave up and told them to write their own story. I think they did. I don’t know; I’m afraid to look.

Her Enemy

Highlander

Nicole Locke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NICOLE LOCKE discovered her first romance novels in her grandmother’s closet, where they were secretly hidden. Convinced that books hidden must be better than those that weren’t, Nicole greedily read them. It was only natural for her to start writing them (but now not so secretly). She lives in London with her two children and her husband—her happily-ever-after.

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To my husband—

you know what you did.

To my children—

who seriously should have known better.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

AUTHOR NOTE

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Scotland—September 1296

Mairead Buchanan tried to calm her heart and failed. She didn’t even know why she tried. She knew it wasn’t possible. It had been pounding like this for over a fortnight and now it was only worse. Inside her thumping heart, grief clawed sharp.

But she didn’t have time for grief, didn’t have time to be reasonable, or to think. She was about to break; she just needed to do.

This nightmare had to end. And here, tonight, where she stood observing the shadows of a disreputable inn and freezing in the night’s damp cold, it would.

The candles on the inn’s ground floor were finally extinguished. The windows were black; the main shutters were closed. Not even a woman laughing in the distance marred the soft rustling of the night breeze. It was late; it was time.

Yet even now she fought what she had to do. Even now, she wanted to shake herself, to run in circles like a madwoman trying to escape what she had seen, what she had done. What she could not ever repair. Her brother, Ailbert, collapsing to the ground. His eyes going vacant, losing their sight. She clenched her eyes shut. Grief clawed. She clawed back.

It wouldn’t do to think of Ailbert now. Her anger or her pain. She must still her heart and retrieve what was stolen from him. It was the only way to save her family from Ailbert’s recklessness. If she didn’t retrieve the priceless dagger, the laird would certainly punish her family.

Scotland was being ravaged by war and conflict. Her mother and sisters would never survive the humiliation or the certain banishment from the clan. Without the clan, there was nothing to protect them from the English. They had nowhere else to go. No other family to turn to.

For her family’s sake, she followed Ailbert’s murderer to the inn. The man had actually paid for a room. Had probably eaten his fill and was now sleeping soundly. Ordinary actions her brother would never do again. Fury swamped Mairead’s grief and she welcomed it. Grief and desperation consumed her, but only anger would get her through this night.

Looking over her shoulder and into the gloom of the evening, she took a big breath. There was no one behind her and she had had enough of waiting.

Silencing her breath, she opened the door and let herself in. It was darker than she imagined; the shadows blanketed furniture and walls. It was unnaturally quiet and she concentrated on the sounds she could hear. The hammering of her heart, the air as it left her body, the creak of the boards as the night wind buffeted the old building.

Nothing else.

Swiftly and nimbly, she weaved through the benches and trestles on her way to the stairs. She wasn’t certain which room the murderer occupied, but she’d give herself no more than an hour to search the rooms for the stolen dagger. Any more time and travellers would be likely to stir.

She had to have—no, needed that dagger. She’d lie and steal if she had to. She’d even go into strangers’ rooms and risk her life. The dagger’s large handle was made of finely decorated polished silver and was inset with two rubies. If she could sell it, like Ailbert had intended, the debt he’d incurred could be repaid. Everything would not be lost by his reckless gambling and then, only then, could she grieve.

Walking down the small hallway, she stopped at the first door and eased the heavy iron latch open, only to find the room empty. Gently closing the door, she peered over her shoulder. She was alone.

Mairead crept to the next room and winced as the door clicked loudly. A narrow window on the opposite wall provided the light needed to illuminate an occupied bed.

From the size and shape of the lump, it looked to be a man. Her brother’s murderer was large and this man looked large, but she couldn’t tell whether the bed linens gave him the breadth or if it was the man himself.

Reminding herself she needed the bed occupied, she released her breath and entered the room. Clothes were strewn over a stool at the foot of the bed. A pair of boots sat nearby. Perhaps the dagger was here. Grateful that the floorboards did not squeak, she knelt on the floor.

The dim embers in the fireplace provided little light, but the unshuttered window gave plenty. His clothing consisted of a cloak, braies, dark leggings, a whitish tunic, boots and a pouch.

The man in the bed was naked.

The bed creaked as the man shifted and gave out a heavy breath. Mairead tensed, ready to run, until he stilled.

Her heart wasn’t so accommodating and continued to hammer in her chest. Trying to steady her nerves, she continued her search, but her fingers trembled as she felt along his boots. There was no dagger placed deep in the feet. Careful of the attached belt, she pulled the pouch off the stool and on to her lap. A slight jangle of coins made her jump, but the man remained still. The bed linens continued to rise and fall with each steady breath.

Not bothering to open the pouch, she felt along the fine leather. No dagger. She felt the tunic, the braies and the thin leather leggings. Nothing. That left the cloak.

Gathering it in both hands, she was instantly aware of the fine soft wool. Never having felt such a cloth before she reveled in its feel as she pulled on the immense amount of fabric. The stool upended, and she made a grab for it. Too late. It fell with a dull thud to the floor. The man’s deep breathing stopped abruptly.

She froze.

‘Who’s there?’

His rough voice commanded the little room. She didn’t answer. Maybe it was too dark for him to see. Maybe if she didn’t make a noise he’d go back to sleep.

The man rose in a half incline. Though she willed her body to remain still, slight tremors began in her legs and arms. If possible, her breathing grew louder.

The bed linens did not make him look large. He was large. His chest was bare of any ornament. She could not see the texture of his skin, but could see the ripples and curves of deeply embedded muscles coursing from his wide shoulders down his arms. His long loose hair gave his dark face a wild and untamed look. The rest of him was partially concealed by the bed linens, but not the glint of steel he held in his hand. This was a man who slept with weapons.

‘If you...think I cannot see you, you forget you sit within the light of the window.’

This was not the murderer. His voice was too calmly masculine, too reverberating, too...slurred. He was drunk!

Relief skittered through her. Thinking only of slow responses from a drunken man, she leapt for the door.

Her eyes did not register the blade flying past her arm. But she heard the sharp slice it made in the oak door, mere inches from her outstretched hand.

Chapter Two

Mairead’s hand froze along with the rest of her body. But her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to focus and comprehend.

Had he thrown a dagger towards her? She peered closer. It was only a small boot blade, and not the dagger she wanted.

What kind of man slept with a small blade and a sword in his bed? Her hand could have been cut, or worse, sliced in two!

She whirled around. ‘How could you throw a dagger at me?’

‘You’re a woman?’

‘Ach, of course I’m a woman. Even in this dim light you must see I’m wearing a gown!’

He made a noise, somewhere between a huff and a groan, as he shoved the linens away and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He was not just a large man, he was huge. He carried his sword loosely at his side. She didn’t care about his sword. She cared about his nakedness walking towards her.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

The dim light wasn’t going to hide him much longer. She could not only see the size and shape of him, but also—

He was magnificent. Just stunning. It was as if he reinterpreted everything she’d ever known about the opposite sex. There wasn’t a Buchanan man built like him. She didn’t even know men were made like this.

She couldn’t tell the colour of his hair or eyes, but the light did not hide the hard slant of sharp cheekbones, the bold line of a straight nose. And lips beautifully curved, shaped full underneath.

Her eyes didn’t want to blink. Her chest felt light and constricted at the same time. Her breath came in short gasps. Was she going to actually giggle?

He walked nearer. He was naked. Utterly naked.

Revealed to her were the defined curves of powerful shoulders and arms, the very masculine breadth of his chest, the fluid movement of muscles tapering slightly to a rippled stomach.

She should have turned away, but she couldn’t. Maybe it was the darkness making her bold. Maybe it was her impulsiveness, a trait her mother lamented, stopping any maidenly blushing. Or maybe she looked because she couldn’t help herself. Aye, that was it.

Her eyes dropped lower.

Her mouth became dry, her lips parched. Fearing her mouth hung open, she licked her lips, only to feel the moisture evaporate like all the thoughts in her head. Her legs suddenly felt like tall reeds of grass swaying in the wind. Try as she might, she could not lock her knees.

He growled, low, almost a purr except for the fact it was so masculine. So predatory. She didn’t know how to interpret the sound and couldn’t seem to look to his eyes for any help.

‘Do you like what you see?’ He set the sword against the bed. Her eyes thankfully followed the movement. But averting her eyes did not give her balance and she looked back up.

‘I like what I see.’ His eyes were too intense, too penetrating and held her immobile. ‘I like what I see very much.’

Where was her anger and fury? Gone. Just like her ability to move. He was so close to her, she felt the heat from his skin. Despite his nakedness, he smelled like warm leather, cold steel and a scent she had never encountered before. Something so tempting she inhaled it greedily.

His eyes continued to hold hers and she did not break that hold. So she felt rather than saw the caress of his fingers stroking from her temple, along her jawline to the cusp of her lower lip.

‘So-oo bonny even though you’re not talking,’ he purred. ‘Did my brother send you to me? Was that why you were by my bed?’ He cupped her chin, tilted her face up to his. ‘I didn’t think I’d have the strength for any lass this eve, but I’m glad to be proven wrong.’

Reeling, Mairead felt the heat of his hands as he seized the sides of her face. She tasted the ale warmth of his breath, the restrained caress of his fingertips as he brought her lips to his.

When he coaxed hers to part, when his tongue teased along their seam, she knew this was more than a kiss. It was something altogether different—just like the man.

He cradled her face, but it was neither his lips nor hands holding her captive. Instead, she was bound by the potency and response of her body against his.

He released their lips, only to draw her more fiercely against him. His arms wrapped low around her, his hands cupped and lifted. No longer on her feet, she was kept in balance by the breadth of his body and the strength of his hands and arms.

Then he tilted her head, exposing her neck to his lips, to his kisses.

Suddenly, she spiralled as desperation and anger returned to her, but now the emotions changed, turned darker, more volatile, wanting something else, something she didn’t understand even as her hands went to his shoulders. Her fingers tugged, kneaded, trying to draw the great bulk of his body closer to her.

He groaned, shifted. Not enough. Not nearly close enough. Mairead pulled harder and the next step he took made him stumble and bump her against the fireplace behind her.

The sharp jab of pain in her back and his gentle oath broke their contact, pulling her back to reality. And the reality was more painful than the fireplace, mortifying even.

She was kissing a man. A naked drunk man she didn’t know! Her eyes flitted from the door to the open shutters and back again. She looked anywhere but towards him. He had regained his balance, but his oath made her tingle and reel almost more than his kisses.

The room was dark. That fact was important, but she couldn’t remember why. The dagger!

He crooked a finger under her chin. ‘There now, where did you go?’ he teased.

His head was tilted down to catch her gaze. His eyes were still dark with desire, but amusement made them sparkle. He was pure masculine temptation and completely focused on her. What was she doing?

She had to make a run for it, but it wouldn’t be easy. He was a large man with a sword. There would be no reasoning with him. The only advantage she had was surprise and his nakedness. Her eyes shifted to the door again.

His eyes narrowed and he straightened cautiously. ‘You’re not going away...now are you, lass?’

‘There’s been a mistake,’ she said, her voice unsteady, just like her thoughts. ‘I’m...in the wrong room.’

Though he didn’t move any closer to her, and his caress on her neck was light, she wasn’t free of him.

‘There’s been nae mistake. You came to my room. You let me kiss you.’ His fingers made gentle circles, skimming down her neck to her shoulders and back up. ‘And before I was clumsy, you wanted me to kiss you...more.’

So true. All so confusingly true, but she needed the dagger, not this man who caused her to want to go and stay at the same time. How was this possible? How could she be here like this?

‘I mean nae harm,’ she said, willing her heart to stop fluttering inside her chest so she could concentrate. She was Buchanan, lying was her greatest skill. But she’d never be convincing if she was trembling with this need.

‘I have to go,’ she continued, pleased her voice was growing steady. ‘My friend will be looking for me.’

‘A friend?’ He snatched his hand away and his brows drew together. ‘A male friend?’ The tempting mouth turned fierce. The change was so sudden it would have been comical, if not for the fact he looked a bit frightening.

‘You’re here with a friend?’ he said, the last word a growl. ‘My brother did not send you to me?’

There could be only one reason his brother would send a woman to his bedroom. If she’d had any modesty left, she would have blushed with embarrassment, not with desire as she thought of their kiss.

Shaking her head to dispel the images, she replied, ‘Nae, I doona know your brother.’

He pursed his lips. ‘A neglect of my brother and of mine. If I had seen you serving downstairs, I would have stopped my drinking to be with you. Do you belong to your friend for tonight only?’

‘Nae! I just need—’

He grew angrier. ‘You belong to him for life? You are married!’

Her mistakes just got worse and worse! She was either a whore, a cheating wife or she could tell him she was a thief. He now stood too close for her to escape or to think clearly.

‘Nae, nae,’ Mairead said. ‘I am not married. You doona understand. I entered this room by mistake.’

A wolfish grin replaced his frown, but it did not erase the traces of anger furrowing his brow. It was as if he was angry, frustrated and filled with some fierce determination all at the same time.

‘I may be slowed by drink, lass. But there is nae mistake you entered my room. You have been conjured by my very dreams.’

Her gestures were restricted by his presence looming over her. ‘I will blame it on the drink, but you are not getting my meaning. I’m not supposed to be here. I didn’t mean to kiss you. You must let me go.’

He shook his head as if he just didn’t understand. ‘It was my clumsiness startling you. Please forgive me.’

Inclining his head, he continued, ‘My name is Caird. I’m here celebrating my sister’s wedding you see, and I’ve done a bit too much of that celebrating. It’s made me clumsy on my feet, and in my manners.’

He smiled. ‘Or maybe I’m clumsy because a bonnie lass...with curly hair...entered my room. But I promise if you lie with me on that there bed, I won’t be a clumsy lover.’

With the tips of his fingers, he started caressing her skin again. Behind her ear, down the cords of her neck, then across her shoulder, then up again to repeat.

Caird. He had a name. Not so much a stranger any more and his fingertips were doing strange things to her again.

‘If you lie with me, I promise to be the most skilled lover who has ever taken you.’ His voice was a low purr of pleasure. ‘My lovemaking won’t be fast. Urgent, aye. But I’ll take my time with you, lass. I’ll make sure my body moulds to yours so you won’t feel the chill of the night’s air.’

She could feel the roughened surface of his fingers, the heat from the palm of his hand. She felt naked under his gaze.

‘My hands will caress you. With heat, my tongue will taste your breasts. Ah, to see them, to feel how they’ll tighten.’

His words seared through her. She should have been shocked or at least offended by his intimate words. But instead she was captivated. Enticed.

‘I’ll make you crave my hands and my mouth as I stroke across your stomach.’ He flattened his hand until his entire palm slid low at the base of her throat. ‘Your legs will spread and my mouth and hands will move lower still.’

He must have loosened her ties or her thin gown was no barrier to his ministrations. He was pushing her gown down from her shoulders. The bodice loosened above her breasts and the sensation of the air’s coolness was nothing in comparison to the heat of his hands. She parted her lips to let in more air and didn’t mistake the look of triumph in his eyes.

What was she doing?

‘Nae!’ Swiping her arms to break his contact, she ran to the door and wrenched it open.

Chapter Three

Blindly, Mairead entered the hall and rammed into a man heading towards the stairs. The impact knocked the wind from her and threw her back against the wall.

The man’s cloak loosened and his hood fell. She saw his face and the flash of a silver dagger tucked into a belt around his waist.

‘You!’ she cried.

Turning suddenly, the man took a moment to register who she was. His surprise held him still.

She found her tongue. ‘You thief! You murderer. Give me my—’

‘What’s going on here?’

Caird entered the hall. His loose tunic just covered him, but didn’t hide the sword he carried.

Mairead blinked. Had he grabbed the sword before or after she cried out?

The man adjusted his cloak. His eyes turned calculating. With Caird here, she didn’t know what to do. If she made accusations, the questions would be numerous. Kissing Caird didn’t mean she trusted him. The dagger was too valuable.

Even lunging for the dagger would be futile. She had no weapon with which to fight. At best she’d get hurt. At worst, killed.

Her plan of stealing the dagger and returning home was now impossible. Her hands were tied. By the look of the gleam in the man’s eyes, he had come to the same conclusion.

The man inclined his head; his lips a smirk. ‘Pardon, wench. I see you are already detained for this evening. I meant nae harm.’

‘What’s this!’ Caird indicated with his sword. ‘Is this your friend?’

Mairead didn’t even think. Caird seemed...uncontrolled. His stance widened, his tunic not covering the aggression and tightening of muscles in his legs. He looked like he was about to spring. Maybe she did have a weapon she could use. Her practised Buchanan lying would come in handy.

She nodded haughtily. ‘Aye, and now he leaves like a thief in the night.’

‘A thief?’ Caird looked at her closely. His eyes narrowed, his posture becoming even larger. ‘He’s ripped your gown!’

She looked down. Somewhere between Caird’s expert hands and the impact with the murderer, her well-worn gown had torn. Horrified, she frantically adjusted the thin strips of cloth covering her breasts. It was useless and she kept her hands across her chest.

The murderer sensed the change in the air and attempted to put up his hood. ‘I never touched the wench! This is all untoward; I bid you both goodnight.’

The swift whip of air was all she heard as Caird’s sword came up in front of the man. He could move, but only if he wanted to be cut in half.

‘She called you thief,’ Caird said. ‘Exactly what were you thieving?’

‘Nothing, the wench—’

‘Stop...calling her wench; she’s a lady compared to the likes of you.’

The man’s entire demeanour changed from umbrage to overly pleasing. He raised his hands, and shrugged his shoulders as if in defeat. ‘You are welcome to the lady. It was an accident. She bumped—’

‘It wasn’t an accident!’ she interrupted. Mairead wouldn’t let the man’s false humbleness ruin her only chance for retrieving the dagger. ‘This is the man I was to meet. But he saw me come from your room and in a rage he tore my gown!’

The man’s eyes widened in fright; if it wasn’t dark, she’d swear she saw sweat break over his brow. Even better, he looked guilty. Good, he should feel guilt. Especially since she was wishing him dead.

Caird’s sword sliced the cloak’s tie under the man’s chin. The cloak billowed to the ground, revealing her dagger and a sword strapped to his belt.

‘You need to apologise to the lady,’ Caird said.

‘But I didn’t—’

Another slight movement and this time the sword neatly slashed the man’s tunic. Right across his heart.

Mairead bit her lip to hide her reaction. Grief, desperation, anger...and now this?

Caird did everything she wished to do, but it wasn’t enough, not for what this man, this thief, had taken from her. She wanted to swipe the sword and slice the black heart of her brother’s killer.

The man’s eyes grew wide. There was no calculating gleam there now. His eyes darted to the sword, to Mairead and then to the staircase; his right hand visibly twitched. Was it because he feared Caird? She hoped so.

Being half-undressed didn’t make Caird look vulnerable. In fact, his well-muscled, well-trained body looked more formidable than the sword he held. She couldn’t believe she had curled her body around the man as if he was safe. Right now, he looked anything but safe.

A flash of movement.

‘The stairs!’ she yelled.

Caird lunged, but the murderer wasn’t planning escape. He had the dagger in his hand and he swung it around. Moving his sword and body to the side, Caird pounded his great fist on the man’s head.

The murderer teetered on the edge of the stairs. Caird clutched the man’s shredded tunic. It tore and the murderer tumbled down the stairs like wet clothes in a river.

A door opened behind them and a tall lean man stepped out. His short dark hair was tousled, and a lock fell over his forehead. A recently healed scar ran the length of his left cheek and down across his bare chest. He looked menacing even as he carelessly leaned against the doorframe and looked pointedly at Caird, Mairead, then the man crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

His lips quirked before he burst out laughing. When he was done, he pretended to wipe his very green eyes and asked, ‘Need any help?’

‘You took your sweet time, Malcolm,’ Caird said.

Malcolm shrugged. ‘I was occupied. You left me with two of them.’ He pointed to Mairead. ‘Who’s this?’

Caird frowned.

Malcolm laughed again. ‘How about that down there?’

‘I doona know about that either.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly kept yourself entertained.’

Giggling floated out of Malcolm’s room and he closed the door.

Mairead desperately wanted to run down the stairs, grab the dagger and escape. But now there were two of them. She must keep lying.

Trying her best to look worried for the murderer, she asked, ‘Shouldn’t we see if he is dead?’

Caird’s eyes narrowed on her. To avoid his stare, she looked down the stairs and bit her lip.

‘I’ll go.’ Malcolm’s mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Out of the three of us, it seems I’m the only one decently clothed.’

Mairead snatched her hands to her breasts again. She’d forgotten about her gown.

Malcolm went down the steps and checked the inert body. ‘Not dead,’ he whispered up.

Her immediate relief surprised her. She’d thought she wanted him dead.

Malcolm ripped the torn tunic and tied the murderer’s arms behind him. He then searched the man’s pouch and boots before he ran up the stairs. ‘His pouch held a few coins, but nae seal or any identification.’ He pulled his hand from behind his back. ‘He did have this in his hand.’

Malcolm held Mairead’s dagger. The rubies winked.

She tried not to gasp, but part of the sound escaped. Caird’s eyes went to hers briefly and she quickly lowered her gaze. Now what was she supposed to do? Say the dagger was hers, and that she’d be on her way? They wouldn’t believe her. She’d have to stay quiet.

Caird took the dagger, his fingers caressing the decorative handle. When he looked again at Mairead, his eyes were no longer soft from desire or drink. Instead, they were as cold as the dagger in his hands.

‘The man’s clothes are too poor for such a fine piece,’ he said.

‘I agree,’ Malcolm replied. ‘Most likely it is stolen.’

Caird nodded. ‘Aye, a thief.’

Was it her imagination, or did Caird emphasise the word thief? Feigning nonchalance, she fiddled with her bodice.

‘Doona harm the man,’ Caird said. ‘Leave him his coins and sword, and take him outside the town’s gates. Preferably further than that.’

‘Off the land?’

‘I wouldn’t burden you that distance.’

Malcolm nodded his head towards his room. ‘I’ll grieve enough for leaving those two.’

Caird shook his head. ‘Do you think of anything else?’

‘Aye, food.’

Caird hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something more.

Malcolm lifted his eyebrow. ‘Worried for me again, Brother?’

Caird huffed and shook his head. ‘I’ll keep this dagger. I must think. See that he continues away from our land.’

A groan and movement from below caught their attention.

Malcolm ran down the steps and roughly pulled the murderer to his feet. The man stumbled, clearly not ready to rise.

‘’Ere, now, where’s my sword?’

‘You’ll get it soon enough,’ Malcolm replied.

The man acted resigned, but then in a struggle, he wrenched his arm free. ‘The dagger. Where is it?’

‘Here,’ Caird called out.

Malcolm resumed his hold and the man struggled to remain upright. ‘The dagger’s mine,’ he argued. ‘Surely you wouldn’t take that. A man’s got to have some defence.’

Mairead stayed silent and dug her fingers into her bodice. She glared all her hatred at him. She’d never forgive or forget what he did.

‘You have the sword,’ Caird replied. ‘The dagger’s not yours.’

The man tugged uselessly to free his arm. ‘I’ve got to have the dagger. Take my pouch, take my sword, but the dagger holds sentimental value to me.’

‘Nae.’

The man stopped his pleading, his movements frantic now. Anger and fear flashed in his eyes as he pierced them on Mairead.

‘You stupid wench. It wasn’t me who did it. If you—’ The man tried to butt his head against Malcolm, but Malcolm cuffed him on the jaw and the man slumped heavily in his arms.

‘I may have wanted to hear the end of that sentence,’ Caird said drily.

Malcolm shrugged. ‘His head must have still been ringing.’

Caird looked at the dagger again. Mairead did, too.

‘Take him away,’ Caird demanded.

‘Nae, wait!’ Mairead said. ‘Shouldn’t we wait until he wakes to see what he was going to say?’

‘Too late. I’m missing my sleep,’ Caird said.

Oh, but she needed to hear what the man was going to say. It had all happened so fast when Ailbert was killed. She had only seen the one man running away. This man. Had there been another? If this man was only a thief, then who was the murderer?

‘But he should at least be awake for his journey,’ she argued.

‘I think not,’ Caird replied. ‘I ask my brother too much as it is. An unconscious burden will be easier for him.’

Malcolm’s door flew open and two dishevelled women came out. They clutched one piece of bed linen and each other with equal amounts of clumsiness. ‘Malcolm,’ one of them trilled. ‘Malcolm, come back. Where are you?’

‘Oh!’ The brunette stopped so suddenly the red-haired one stumbled and lost her share of the linen covering her naked body.

‘Look at this one here, Annie.’ The brunette pointed to Caird.

‘Oooh, now he’s a triumph,’ slurred the redhead, trying in vain to reach for the corner of the linen. She curled her lips at Caird. ‘Come with us, pretty.’

Caird, clothed only in his tunic, lightly held his sword to his side. He was covered, but barely. Mairead’s anger switched from Malcolm for hitting the thief to Caird for having no modesty. Did he intend to parade around for all the women of Scotland and why did she even care?

‘The man you want is downstairs,’ Caird began, ‘and, as you can see, I’m well taken care of by a friend of yours.’

Mairead wanted to punch him in the stomach.

‘Oh, she’s nae friend of ours,’ said the brunette.

‘Never seen her before in my life,’ said the redhead. ‘Malcolm’s downstairs?’

‘Lasses!’ Malcolm cried jovially.

They stumbled towards the stairs.

Caird didn’t watch the women, he watched Mairead. From the look in his eyes, he wasn’t surprised the two women didn’t know her.

She was right in thinking he was too intelligent. If she wasn’t careful, he would link her trespass in his room with the dagger and the thief.

But she couldn’t just leave. Caird had the dagger. So how was she to get it and keep his mind from making the correct assumptions? The only way she knew how.

Mairead dropped her hands from her gown. His eyes flickered to her chest. But they didn’t stay there.

Instead his eyes narrowed, his cheeks hollowed and his lips pressed tight together.

‘Get in my room,’ he said.

Chapter Four

Mairead mostly prided herself on her impulsiveness, but right now she felt no pride. Right now she was in danger. Especially when she had no plan and there was a well-armed, vexed stranger following behind her and closing the door.

Her anger and fury had disappeared and her legs didn’t feel as if they would hold her much longer.

In the dark and quiet room, she could almost hear his mind making connections between her and the thief.

If it wasn’t for her family, she’d have run. They needed the money that dagger represented. Not that her mother and sisters knew about their predicament, but Ailbert had known. Ailbert had... Oh, she didn’t want to think about him. Not now. There was no time.

She had to choose: humiliate herself here, or in front of her entire clan. She’d prefer to do it here.

Straightening what was left of the top of her gown, she took a candle and walked to the fireplace. The fire was dim, but enough to light the wick.

‘Not now.’

‘I was just lighting it. It’s dark.’

‘We doona need light to sleep.’

But she did. She needed the light to see if his expression matched the biting tone of voice. Setting the unlit candle by the table, she turned towards him.

He had rested the sword by the bedside and was right behind her. Quickly, he took his tunic off. ‘Here.’ He gestured with the tunic.

As she tugged on the fabric of her hopelessly torn gown, she tried not to look at him. ‘What will you wear?’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He shoved the tunic into her hands and turned towards the door. ‘And I’ll not be doing any more thinking tonight.’

She clutched the tunic and tried to think of an excuse to stay. But instead of opening the door and demanding she leave, he retrieved his boot dagger still embedded in the thick wood.

Her fingers eased on the fabric, but she wasn’t completely safe. He turned around and gazed pointedly at the tunic still in her hands. Walking past her, he placed his boot blade on the windowsill.

She wanted to say something, anything, to ease the tension. But he acted as though he felt none and he was still...naked. He might be comfortable, but his state of undress played havoc with her emotions.

Even thanking him seemed moot as he straightened the bed covers and lay down. Just above his head, he placed her dagger.

Not only was she mute, but she didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t only his tone of voice that was different. He was different. His speech was shortened. The warm lilting voice that made her limbs go heavy was gone. He wasn’t even looking at her any more.

So she just stood there.

‘My head’s aching and I’m tired. You can either put that tunic on or not, climb into the bed to sleep or not, makes nae difference to me.’

Feeling helpless, Mairead stared. The bed creaked as Caird adjusted himself. His back was to her now and he was partially covered with the thin blanket he pulled up around him.

It wasn’t daylight yet, but it would come and soon. There was still a chance to get the dagger, but only if she stayed. Pulling on the tunic, she climbed into bed. It wasn’t a large bed and she adjusted her position so as not to touch him.

He might be a heavy sleeper. If she hadn’t upended the stool and made a noise, she might have made an escape, but it wouldn’t do to think of her mistakes.

For now, she’d just have to wait until Caird fell asleep.

* * *

Mairead woke with the sudden awareness of the sun rising. The room was just growing light, but she did not need the daylight to see her impulsiveness had landed her in danger. Again.

She didn’t need to see at all. All she had to do was feel.

Her upper body was still contorted away from Caird, but her legs were wrapped neatly under his. Her feet were warm, which was probably why she’d slept. Her feet were never warm.

She kept still, waiting to see if Caird woke as well, but his breath remained steady and his body relaxed. He still slept.

The dagger still rested above his head.

To keep silent, she held back her sigh of relief. There was still a chance to get the dagger and walk away. Then she could grieve. She needed to grieve. Her nerves frayed more with every delay.

Carefully, almost painfully, she reached for the dagger.

‘Oomph!’

A fierce grip on her wrist, a twist of a large body and she was on her back, hand above her head, her fingers wrapped around the dagger.

‘Admiring its beauty?’

His tone was calm, but not idle.

And he was heavy. She couldn’t breathe to protest. She shoved her legs up.

‘You’re...’ She huffed.

He eased his weight, but not his hold on her wrist.

His loose hair fell forward. A long scar curved from his right shoulder into the splattering of dark hair on his chest.

And his eyes were a changeable shade of grey.

‘Answer me!’ He shook her wrist.

* * *

Caird hadn’t been thinking last night. The fact he could even remember last night was a miracle after the amount of ale he and Malcolm had drunk.

The woman lay absolutely motionless beneath him and she hadn’t said a word. But she didn’t need to.

Her dark-brown eyes were wide with fear and something else making them darker still. Her cheeks were flushed from sleep and her lips were full and impossibly pink. Beneath his hips and legs, he could feel her ample hips and buttocks cushioning him.

He had not dreamed of this woman beneath him, or the effect she had on him. She was not some fantasy conjured from the wedding celebrations.

She was like having Spring’s first ripe berry after a hard winter, and just as tempting.

‘What do you want with this dagger?’ he repeated.

‘I...was looking at it.’

It was more than that. There was the admiring gleam in her eyes, but also one of intent. ‘You were doing more than looking.’

‘Nae, it was just there. I picked it up. That’s all.’ She shook her head. Her abundant dark brown curls bounced like a tarnished halo around her head.

But she was no fallen angel. She was in his room last night. If he hadn’t been so drunk, so tired and so stupid, he wouldn’t be having this argument with her.

Instead, she would be fully and completely underneath him. Or he would have thrown her from his room and been done with all the temptation and trouble.

He might not have been thinking straight last night, but he was this morning. Now, he needed to solve the problem of why she was here. ‘Why were you in my room?’ he demanded.

She looked down, but her eyes widened and her eyes flew back to his. Her flush deepened, too. He was still naked, the thin blanket inadequate covering.

Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight after all. He prised her fingers from the dagger and stood from the bed. Keeping his eyes on her, he set the dagger on the table by the fireplace and reached for his braies.

Mairead tried to keep her eyes trained on the man, not the dagger. What she had come for was now almost within her grasp and she felt a mixture of relief and tension. She knew all she had to do was either lie for or steal the dagger. Now was her time. Just a little longer and she’d be done with all of this.

She sat up. ‘I told you it was a mistake.’

Finishing tucking the braies, he said, ‘The room’s a mistake. Not the reason why you were here.’

This man was too intelligent to fool and too fast and strong for her to make a run for it with the dagger. A little bit of truth wouldn’t hurt.

She gave a sigh as if she couldn’t hold up the pretence any more. ‘The dagger belongs to my family.’

‘How convenient.’

Never taking his eyes from hers, he reached for the brown leather leggings.

‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me. It’s why I didn’t say anything before.’ She pushed the cover away from her legs and stood. ‘Why would you believe me? We’re strangers; the dagger has some value. But I ask, why would a lone woman enter an unknown inn at the dead of night if not to retrieve something of great value to her?’

‘To steal.’

Too true. Lowering her eyes, she rubbed her hands down the tunic to ease the creases there. ‘If I was such an expert thief, I could do it in broad daylight, within the comforts of safety. What I did was anything but safe.’

‘Maybe you’re not a good thief.’

‘Exactly!’ She looked up and gave him a wide smile.

His only response was to raise one brow.

She continued, ‘An inept thief, who doesn’t know any better or have the sense not to search rooms in the dead of night.’

The last line took a dent to her pride, but it worked. He was starting to believe her.

He pulled the leggings up over his braies until everything fit properly. Without a tunic, it didn’t hide the muscles and scars on his arms and broad shoulders.

‘How did the man steal it?’ he asked.

Flashes of memory. The sudden shock, the man running away, her brother collapsing to the ground. Ah, the grief.

‘I doona know.’ She held up her hand when she saw him begin to doubt.

‘The dagger isn’t mine, but my brother’s,’ she said. ‘I was there when it was stolen, but didn’t see what happened. My brother told me and said he would get it back.’

‘Where’s your brother?’

Crumpled on the ground. Her call for help. Her mother’s scream.

She wrinkled her nose, trying to stop the threatening tears. ‘He thought that man in the hallway, that thief, went west and decided to pursue him.’

‘And he sent you east.’

She shifted and tried to look guilty. ‘Nae. I came this way on my own. He described the thief to me. I thought I’d help.’

He huffed.

‘I wasn’t confronting the man on my own, just getting the dagger back. It’s the reason I searched the room at night.’

He straightened the upended stool, sat on it and proceeded to put on his boots. ‘The thief seemed to know you.’

Despite being drunk, he had too good a memory.

‘Did he?’ she said.

‘He said it wasn’t him.’

She acted like she couldn’t remember. But she did. Vividly. If only Malcolm had not hit the man, she’d know what the thief meant to say!

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t ken his meaning. He had my dagger.’

Caird bent and picked up his pouch. Without attaching it, he stared at her. She kept her eyes straight on him. He almost believed her, but something was bothering him. She’d have to make certain he had no doubts.

He nodded. ‘You were lucky.’

Only if he believed her.

He wrapped the belt with the pouch around his waist. ‘You could be dead.’

Ah, gratefulness and flattery. Those were easy emotions to fake. ‘I know. Strange as it may seem, I am glad I came to your room.’

Something besides doubt flitted in his grey eyes, making them almost green. Something like...heat.

He took a step towards her. She had risen from the bed and straightened her clothes, but she hadn’t gone any further. If she had, she’d have somewhere to move. As it was, she was stuck between Caird and the bed.

He was measuring her again, weighing something. His eyes moved from hers down her cheeks to her lips. Between her torn gown and his deeply cut tunic, her neck and most of her shoulders were bare. There, his eyes stilled and her bare skin felt even more exposed.

‘Me, too,’ he said as his eyes caught hers. His voice had lowered, softened. The beautiful lilt of last night wasn’t there. He wasn’t talking enough for that.

Which was probably good because just the tone of his voice was causing her to remember last night. Before the thief. The darkened room and their kiss.

She swallowed, trying to moisten her suddenly parched mouth. ‘I woke you, caused you trouble.’

His mouth quirked and he took another step. ‘Nae trouble.’

What was wrong with her? She needed to get out of here. She needed to keep lying like she always did with the Buchanan men.

But this man didn’t affect her like Buchanan men, and she couldn’t think fast enough. ‘I...’ she started, then licked her lips.

His breath stopped, released.

For some reason, her breath did the same.

‘I should thank you,’ she said, her voice catching.

Slowly, so slowly, she felt the heat of him as he leaned towards her.

Oh, he was going to kiss her. Again.

And she didn’t want to stop it. Didn’t want the heat of him to go away or the heady scent of him to vanish. All she wanted—

Her stomach growled.

His mouth twitched and his eyes flashed with more green than grey.

If she thought herself incapable of moving before, she was wrong. Now, her very feet were nailed to the floor. How did eyes do that?

‘Trestles are being moved for breakfast.’ Turning rapidly, he looked around the room. ‘I’ll see about a gown and food.’

Her knees shaking, she sat abruptly on the bed. ‘I have nae coin to repay you,’ she said.

Shaking his head, he said, ‘A gift.’

‘Thank you,’ she answered. He was being generous despite the trouble she’d given him. She didn’t feel guilty for tricking him, but she wished she could repay him. He truly was different from any Buchanan man she had ever known.

He was too breathtaking, too honourable and now kind as well. A Buchanan man wouldn’t have believed her. They would have shoved her out of the room and kept the costly dagger. Instead, he was giving the dagger to her, feeding her, clothing her.

She tried not to think about the kiss he hadn’t given her. He was still walking around the room. ‘Where’s my small blade?’

She smiled. ‘The one you threw at me? You left it over there.’

Following her arm movement to the window, he reached for his dagger on the windowsill.

The bright morning light shone against his still loose hair, making the red hidden in his brown locks glow. Odd, how she hadn’t noticed he had red hair before.

Red.

‘You’re a Colquhoun!’ she gasped, too surprised to stay quiet.

He turned around. ‘Aye, I am, but that wouldn’t matter unless...’ His eyes narrowed, and took in her every feature.

Hell and damnation.

Mairead leapt for her jewelled dagger on the table by the fireplace. She didn’t know who was quicker, but Caird was bigger and already standing. He had the advantage.

He pushed her towards the bed, his body already blocking her.

Determined, she ducked underneath his outstretched arm, and her hand grasped the table. Just a little further—

He dropped his weight on her and the table. She was flattened and the table overturned.

The dagger skidded across the floor. Scrambling, she lunged, but Caird dived over her and grabbed the dagger with his fingers. Rising up, she clasped her hands together and rammed both elbows into his back. He lost the grip on the dagger, and it flew against the opposite wall. The dagger broke.

Out of the handle, a green stone slightly larger than a duck’s egg skidded towards them.

Chapter Five

Snatching up the gem, Caird watched emotion after emotion flit across the woman’s face. She certainly looked surprised. But she was a thieving no-good Buchanan and they were all well practised in the art of lying.

‘Explain.’ Anger scraped the edge of his word, making it rough and barely controlled.

She didn’t stop staring at the green gem and he clenched his fingers around it, moving it up to his face.

Like a cat focused on its prey, her eyes followed the gem. They remained almost unfocused, as if her thoughts couldn’t catch up with her action.

Then her eyes skidded to his.

Oh, she was a master at lying. He could tell. Even now, she faked astonishment. As if she didn’t know the gem was there.

A Buchanan was right before him. He had shared his room, his bed, with her. Disgust slithered fast through his veins and his stomach recoiled.

Last night, his drinking had dimmed his ability to think. Now, his absolute anger at being tricked was blinding him. For years the Buchanans had bordered with the Colquhouns. For years the Colquhouns had endured the thieving, lying, murdering ways of the Buchanan clan. And here he was, stuck with a Buchanan, and he held a lie right in the palm of his hand.

But no more lies, nor more prevarication. He would have answers and then he would have his revenge.

Staring at the gem, Mairead sat up. Even in Caird’s hands it was large. The cut facets were shining, twinkling, laughing at her.

‘I didn’t know it was there,’ she answered. She couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. Couldn’t think at all.

The dagger had been the answer to all her prayers. However, next to the startling beauty of the gem, both the dagger’s silver ornamental handle and the two inset rubies looked fake. She just couldn’t believe something like the gem existed.

It was oblong, cut on one side, and rough on the other. Some facets showed the gem bright green, but the rest of it looked like a rough river, and almost blue.

The gem was stupendous, magnificent and unbelievable. Enough to get the family out of debt, maybe enough to spare them humiliation.

He glowered. ‘Give me true answers, Buchanan!’

‘I doona know—’

‘How to keep your story straight? Tell me. Either the dagger is yours or not. Likewise this gem. You cannot have it both ways!’

The door banged open and Malcolm stared at them both on the floor. He didn’t try to contain his look of amusement.

Mairead hastily pulled up Caird’s gaping tunic and stood.

‘What is it?’ Caird closed his hand around the gem.

‘It’s about my nightly package,’ Malcolm replied, his voice laced with humour. ‘But I can see you’re occupied at the moment.’

Caird stood, but anger still bit into his words. ‘Where is he?’

Reading his brother’s mood, Malcolm’s grin abruptly vanished. ‘We went south several miles. The further we got, the further agitated he became. When he finally co-operated, I set him free and gave him his horse. I watched him, but he continued south, so I returned.’

Brows drawn inward, Caird made some sound in his throat. ‘The river’s south.’

‘It was that or east. Since it was dark and raining again, I took him the way I knew to not risk the horses.’

Caird’s brows eased and Malcolm’s smile returned. ‘So, I had a miserable night and you still have the bonniest lass in Scotland in your room.’

Mairead waited for Caird to mention who she was, but instead he ignored her and stepped towards his brother.

‘That’s not all I have in my room.’ Caird opened his hand.

Malcolm picked up the gem and turned it in his hands. ‘This is unbelievable.’

‘Aye,’ Caird replied.

‘Where did it come from?’

‘The dagger,’ Caird gestured to the floor where the dagger still lay in two pieces.

‘Nae wonder my package was agitated the further we got from this gem. It’s unusual, and valuable.’ Malcolm handed the gem to Caird, who put it in his pouch around his waist. ‘But the man was poor, a thief at best.’

‘There is more to this.’ Caird glared at Mairead.

Malcolm’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Aye, you’ll want to say your goodbyes before we leave.’

‘She’s coming with us,’ Caird answered.

Mairead didn’t like that they talked around her. She especially didn’t like being told what to do. But what else should she expect from an arrogant Colquhoun? Their entire clan was smug in their supposed superiority. It was the reason why for years her clan had loved stealing and borrowing from them. Colquhouns deserved the humiliation of being robbed.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘I’ll take my dagger and that gem and be on my way.’

‘They are yours?’ Malcolm said, his eyebrows raised.

She owed this brother no explanations, but if she could persuade him, then he might have some sway with Caird. ‘The dagger, and what it hid, is my brother’s,’ she continued. ‘You are both right that the thief stole it. He stole it from my family.’

Caird huffed.

Malcolm looked intrigued. ‘But you didn’t claim it last night.’

‘And her gown is heavily worn and frayed,’ Caird added.

She turned to Caird. ‘What my family spends their money on is none of your concern. This might not even be my real gown.’

‘Imagine my not knowing what’s real,’ he replied.

‘And I thought last night was interesting,’ Malcolm drawled. ‘My brother clearly does not believe you and this is nae ordinary gem.’

She felt like roaring in frustration and helplessness. She wanted the nightmare over and these Colquhouns were making it worse. ‘It matters not if you won’t believe—’

Malcolm shook his head. ‘But it seemed the thief knew you.’

Caird folded his arms across his chest and nodded. ‘Aye.’

‘So, who is she?’ Malcolm pointedly asked Caird.

Expectantly, Mairead looked at Caird; surely he’d reveal her clan identity now. But Caird stayed quiet, his expression only darkening.

Malcolm smirked. ‘She spent the night and you still doona know her name? Brother, you have always been a man of few words, but I think one or two to ask this lass’s name wouldn’t have been untoward.’

Hating the conclusions Malcolm was making, she threw a knowing smile at Caird. ‘Mairead of Clan—’

‘Enough introductions,’ Caird interrupted. ‘We need to find this thief.’

Malcolm’s brows rose as he noted Caird’s interruption, but he didn’t comment and neither did she. If Caird didn’t want Malcolm to know who she was, she didn’t need to know these Colquhouns either.

She just needed to return home. For a moment, she was tempted to find the thief on her own. Her grief was once again scraping across her skin, demanding she confront Ailbert’s killer. But she had to focus on the dagger and return with it before the Buchanan laird realised her brother’s debt.

Unfortunately, it was in the hands of self-righteous Colquhouns. As much as she would love the gem as well, she had to fake a compromise.

‘Ach!’ She swept across the room and picked up the dagger and handle. ‘Keep the gem, do with it what you may, but this I’ll keep.’

‘’Tis broken,’ Malcolm said.

Mairead didn’t reply. There was something odd about the dagger. The blade was still attached to its handle. The second piece was smaller, and she realised it was the handle’s tip. Carefully, she put the pieces together. They fit. The dagger had a hollow handle and the lid to the handle had come loose.

‘Give that to me,’ Caird said.

She hugged the dagger to her chest. ‘Nae, it is mine. What do you care for this dagger when you have the true prize?’

‘Do we?’ Caird replied. ‘And you will go with us.’

‘I’ll go nowhere with you.’

‘The thief,’ he said.

‘Is free and going south, aye, I know and doona care,’ she lied. ‘I have what I came for.’

‘I think my brother meant you’ll need to come with us,’ Malcolm said.

‘And I told you I won’t.’

‘The thief was going south, but he didn’t like it,’ Malcolm continued calmly. ‘He knows the dagger is still here.’

She’d go nowhere with a Colquhoun. She went around Malcolm. He didn’t stop her from reaching the door.

‘He could be outside the door,’ Malcolm continued.

‘With sword drawn,’ Caird added.

Chapter Six

Mairead halted. They were right. But she wasn’t done with them. She whirled around. ‘He wouldn’t have a sword if you hadn’t given it to him.’ She pointed at Malcolm. ‘And he wouldn’t be anywhere near here if you hadn’t just set him free!’

‘Enough,’ Caird said. ‘You’ll go with us. We’ll find the thief and who truly owns the dagger and gem.’

Oh, she was angry now. ‘Because you think that’s right. Because you think you’re correct. But you’re not! This dagger was my brother’s.’

‘Was?’ Caird walked to the bed and grabbed his sword. ‘Perhaps we should talk to your brother first.’

She didn’t want to think of her brother. She didn’t even want these arrogant Colquhouns to mention the word brother.

‘The devil have you!’ she yelled. Yanking the door open, she flew out, satisfied by the crash of the door against the wall.

She had barely reached the second stair before she was lifted off her feet and tossed over a shoulder. It was Caird. She hated the very sight of his bare back. Almost as much as she hated how she recognised him just by the width of his hands on her waist.

‘Release me!’ she demanded.

He huffed and started to return to the room. She raised the dagger, blade pointed at his back.

He suddenly pivoted and flung her against the wall. She dropped the dagger.

‘Owwww!’ She pounded on his back and tried to twist out of his grasp.

Her head and arm hurt, but not as much as her pride. ‘Put me down.’

Malcolm grabbed the dagger.

‘That’s mine!’ she cried.

‘Stop yelling,’ Caird said.

‘I will when—’

Whoosh. She hit the stairs so hard her teeth clacked together.

‘Better,’ he said, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet.

She reached for the dagger, but Malcolm took a couple of steps back.

‘I hate to break up this little dance, but Caird, what are you doing?’

‘Catching a thief.’

‘What of Gaira’s wedding celebrations?’

Caird stopped so suddenly, Mairead tripped and he tugged her arm to keep her upright. She tried to tug back, but his fingers dug into her arm and he drew her up against him. She pushed, but it was like pushing against a mountain. A very stubborn mountain.

Looking back at Malcolm, Caird said, ‘Who’s still here?’

‘Pherson and John returned for the feasting and games yesterday, but the rest are here.’

Caird lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘They’ll expect our presence for our sister’s wedding feasts,’ Malcolm continued. ‘And I should probably mention the innkeeper is quite annoyed. It seems our activities last night woke his wife.’

Caird stared at the floor and spoke low. ‘Pay the innkeeper extra and make ready the horses.’

‘What’ll you do with—?’

‘Avoid them.’

‘Nae, I meant her—’

‘Who are you avoiding?’ A deep voice came from the bottom of the stairs.

Mairead gaped. Two men, with smiles wide and arms crossed, stood shoulder to shoulder.

Two men. Exactly the same. Rich brown shoulder-length hair and light hazel eyes that sparkled with mischief. Curved lips, broad chests, bared arms, stances wide. All the same.

Mairead stared hard and blinked. But her eyes didn’t clear the vision. She was seeing double.

‘What did you do to me?’ she said. ‘You dropped me too hard.’

Caird’s grip on her arm tightened.

‘Ow! Let go! Something’s wrong with my—’ She stopped trying to prise his fingers loose. There was only one of Caird’s hands. She glanced up. There was only one of Caird. Nothing was wrong with her eyesight. She stared downstairs again.

There were still two identical men and as fine as any she had ever seen. They were not quite as tall as Caird or Malcolm, but they were broad. What was it with these men? If she knew men here were fair of feature and broad of shoulder, she would have left Buchanan land long ago. Of course, if she had, she’d be no better off than her giggling sisters.

Malcolm quickly sheathed the dagger under his cloak and took the remaining steps downstairs. Mairead couldn’t hear Malcolm’s whispered words, but both men laughed.

Mairead felt a hysterical bubble in her throat. She had been worried about retrieving the dagger from one man, now there were four. Her nightmare had just got worse.

‘Caird! You’re standing fairly well despite the drink.’

‘Camron, Hamilton.’ Caird nodded to each man. She didn’t know how he could tell them apart. ‘I stand as much as ever I did.’

‘Slept in a bit though, didn’t you?’ Camron said. ‘Looking a bit flushed, too, I see.’

‘Never bet a Graham on drinking.’ Hamilton laughed. ‘Our mother’s milk is stronger than any ale made.’

Camron peered around Caird’s shoulder and raised his eyebrows. ‘But it looks like the ale got our silent cousin’s words a-going again.’

Hamilton elbowed Camron as his eyes alighted on Mairead. ‘Ha! Who’s this?’

‘She’s Caird’s,’ Malcolm said. ‘He may have shared his drink, but he won’t share her.’

‘Two not enough for you, Malcolm?’ Camron said.

Malcolm grinned. ‘Such a bonny lass, I couldn’t help but ask.’

‘Looks like Caird did share something, though,’ Hamilton said. ‘His clothes.’

Caird cursed.

Mairead gasped and quickly moved behind him. She had fled the room wearing her ripped gown and Caird’s tunic. She wasn’t decent to be around her own family, let alone complete strangers.

‘Bit rough of you, cousin, if her clothes are torn,’ Camron said, all joviality gone from his voice.

‘Are you hurt, lass?’ Hamilton asked, his hand reaching to his hip where a knife was kept.

She couldn’t tell him. If she did, there’d be a fight and Malcolm still had her dagger! But what could she say to them?

‘Nae, I’m—’

‘Too intent on my brother to remember her surroundings,’ Malcolm interjected. ‘I was just coming down the stairs to stop them when you arrived.’

Camron looked at Caird’s hand wrapped around her arm. ‘His grip is too tight.’

Caird did not release her. ‘She slipped,’ he said as if that would satisfy his cousins.

Could the man not even come up with a little lie to get them out of trouble?

‘On the stairs,’ she added, and peered around Caird to give his cousins a smile. ‘Silly of me. So kind of you to block our way and stop me from showing myself to all of Scotland.’

Camron released his eyes from Caird’s. ‘Our pleasure, lass, if that’s the truth of it all.’

Why would the truth be important now? ‘Other than shamed to supper, I’m unharmed.’ She patted Caird on his bare shoulder and felt him stiffen. What did she care if he didn’t want her touching him? She was getting them out of trouble. Lowering her voice, she added, ‘Cannot think of what it was that distracted me is all.’

Hamilton gave a short chuckle, but Camron didn’t look convinced.

‘And you forgot her state of undress?’ Camron said to Caird.

‘Aye,’ Caird replied.

Camron frowned even more. Hamilton, sensing his brother’s displeasure, lost his laugh.

Caird wasn’t helping their cause at all and she wanted to kick him. Certainly his glowering expression wouldn’t convince them that he enjoyed her presence.

She draped herself more heavily against Caird. If possible she felt him stiffen even further. ‘Must have been that wee bit of ale being poured,’ she added.

‘Hah! I knew it!’ Hamilton laughed and hit Camron in the chest with the back of his hand. ‘Caird never could hold his drink.’

Camron’s expression eased and his grin returned. ‘But Colquhouns can hold their women.’

‘Ah, she is a bonny lass, cousin,’ Hamilton said. ‘Where’d you find her?’

‘In my room,’ Caird replied.

Hamilton’s eyebrows rose. ‘Nae wonder you wanted to stay here and not hurry to the keep. Of course, if you had hurried, you’d have had—’

Malcolm moved forward, ‘Well, cousins, we should set off for your home. When do the games begin?’

‘Tomorrow. It’s why we were coming to fetch you,’ Camron replied. ‘We’ll be late for the start and John owes me some pride.’

‘Help me saddle our horses while my brother finds a gown and pays our bills,’ Malcolm said.

‘He’ll be paying mine as well,’ Camron said.

‘Mine, too,’ Hamilton added. ‘And I drank a wee bit more after you left, cousin.’

‘Nothing more than a flagon or two,’ Camron added.

‘Or three or four.’

‘Ah, to have such rich, generous cousins,’ Camron said.

‘Aye, does a belly and a coffer good.’

Caird huffed, reached into his pouch still carrying the gem and pulled out several coins. Malcolm bounded up the stairs to take them. ‘You get a gown,’ Caird said. ‘We’ll wait.’

Malcolm dropped the money into his own pouch, making the coins chime and clank.

Hamilton sighed dramatically. ‘That is too much money by far.’

Malcolm took the steps down to slap Hamilton on the shoulder. ‘There’ll be time to remedy that at the games.’

Caird waited until the three other men were out of sight before he pulled her into the room and closed the door.

Rubbing her arm, she stumbled to the window.

Caird stood by the door and didn’t move. She didn’t know how long Malcolm would be, but she wasn’t wasting a moment.

She turned to him. ‘Getting me a gown doesn’t make us even.’

He didn’t say anything.

‘Despite what’s in that big fat head of yours, the dagger is mine and I will take it back.’

He ignored her. No. It was more than that, he just stared straight through her. She knew he was alive by the slight rise of his chest and his occasional blink, and the fact that he opened the door when they heard the two quick knocks.

Malcolm didn’t step in, but pushed a yellow gown and the dagger through the slight opening. Caird threw the gown at her feet.

It was a bright, deeply coloured yellow. With her dark hair she could never tame, she’d look like an overused broom.

She picked it up. The length was good, but it’d be too tight around the bodice. The person who wore this didn’t like food as well as she. There was no hope for it.

‘Will you turn around?’

Caird didn’t acknowledge her question. Instead he secured the gem inside the dagger and placed them both in his pouch.

Watching avidly, Mairead couldn’t believe how close and yet how far she was from the means to end the nightmare she was in.

When he was done, she waited several heartbeats for Caird to turn around; instead, he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Glowering, she turned her back to change. In her haste, the torn gown ripped further. She’d have to repair it when she returned home. Shoving it to her feet, she pulled the new one over her. It caught on her breasts and hips and was altogether too tight to quickly tug over her and tie the cords around her. No matter, though her chemise was threadbare, it provided enough cover until she could get the fabric over her. She had too much pride to beg a Colquhoun for her privacy.

Still, his presence, and his silence, made her feel like elbowing him in the stomach.

Losing her temper wasn’t anything new to her. Wanting to harm another person was. But nothing had been normal since she’d met Caird. Her reaction to him was... No, she didn’t want to think of her reaction to him. It wasn’t Caird making her crazy with desperation and anger and...everything else, it was the dagger.

‘I know you believe you’re right,’ she said, tugging at the yellow fabric in the vain hope that it would cover more. The colour was beautiful and probably had cost its original owner some coin. ‘But you must see reason on this.’ In their haste, she was sure Caird’s brother had paid too dear for it. If he thought to bribe her with the cost, he was mistaken. Turning to face him, she continued, ‘We must talk—’

She stopped. Caird’s face was no longer impassive. His face was pained, as if she had indeed jabbed him.

He held just as still as before, with his arms at his sides. But he flexed his left thumb and his eyes no longer looked through her.

They consumed her. Wrath, heat and frustration warred in the weight of his grey-green gaze.

She felt his eyes, everywhere. They trailed up her legs, slowly, so slowly that her skin flushed. She’d swear his eyes tore through her gown, sought under her chemise—

Her chemise. Oh, the window. Of course she felt his eyes; her worn chemise hadn’t covered her. Not when she stood in front of the window. The light would have made the thinning fabric transparent. She had not been covered at all. Just outlined and bared to him.

He hadn’t turned around like she’d asked; neither did he lower his eyes.

She tried to calm her tangled emotions, but the gown, too tight by far, constricted her breathing. And he dared to be angry with her?

‘Doona watch next time,’ she scorned.

She picked up and threw his tunic as hard as she could at him. It billowed to the floor slowly, which didn’t help her mood.

He snatched up the fabric at his feet, removing his gaze and releasing its hold on her. ‘Doona want to ever look at a Buchanan.’ Without turning around, he unwrapped his belt. ‘Tell the truth and you can leave my sight.’

His animosity seared her, but she wouldn’t cower before him. No, she would turn the tables. Since he hadn’t turned his eyes whilst she dressed, she wasn’t turning hers.

But she wished she had. Oh, she truly wished she had because the moment Caird reached for his tunic and began to put it on, her stomach changed places with her knees and she felt the need to sit.

As she watched, shock and something she didn’t want to guess at flushed her skin.

She knew he roughly pulled on the tunic. However, to her, it seemed agonisingly slow as he raised the soft fabric above his head, and his arms, lithe and corded, flexed as he bent each one into the sleeves. But worse, and an instant hindrance to her ability to breathe, was when he stretched those muscled arms, and the chiseled planes of his stomach rippled and contracted.

It wasn’t fair such simple movements bared more flesh, more alluring strength, than one woman should be witness to.

His chest couldn’t have been bared for more than a few breaths, yet the sight was almost as stunning as his kiss.

Her stomach didn’t settle back in place until he lowered his head to wrap his belt around his tunic. Even when that was done she still felt unsteady.

And ashamed.

And angry, frustrated and incredulous. Had she hated him just moments before? Now, she hated herself.

She desired a no-good arrogant red-headed Colquhoun!

He lifted his head too soon for her to avert her eyes, so she narrowed them to hide her reaction.

He reached behind him to open the door, but his eyes didn’t leave hers.

She felt like running out of the room, retreating and hiding, anything to avoid his all-too-knowing gaze. Instead, she pulled up whatever was left of her pride to confront him.

‘You expect me to follow you out of that door,’ she said.

He stared, but there was nothing of his thoughts in his gaze now.

‘Is your silence supposed to be aye? Well, I won’t be going with you.’

Caird’s frown deepened.

She gestured with her arms in frustration. ‘Silence again. Silence still. Barely a word out of you this morning when last night...’ She didn’t want to think about last night, nor his words and the way they made her feel. ‘I can’t care. Whatever you’re thinking it isn’t true; the dagger is mine and I want it back. You can keep the gem. Just give me the dagger and you won’t see me again.’

He tilted his head until his eyes met hers. ‘Nae.’

Her fingers curled. ‘Because you Colquhouns believe we are without honour?’

He sneered. ‘It doesn’t matter. The result will be the same.’

‘What result?’

‘You’ll be going where I go until this is over.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged.

‘You doona need me. Why are you even involving yourself?’

‘You came to my room.’

‘It was a mistake. As if I’d want a Colquhoun involved.’

‘But I am.’

‘And that’s that?’

He raised an eyebrow.

Conceited. Arrogant. What evil fairy had her walking into a Colquhoun’s room? ‘What of these wedding games you’re to attend?’

‘You will be going.’

‘You said this was for your sister’s wedding. You’re taking me to her celebration games?’

He merely blinked.

Forget the fairy. It was the devil himself that had her entering his room. ‘Just where are these wedding games? The games begin tomorrow and Camron said you’re late. How is that?’

He shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter where. I need answers.’

The devil have him. ‘You have all the answers you need! Cannot you get it through that thick head of yours? I’m not going anywhere with you!’

He smiled and stepped aside so she could pass through the door. ‘Without your precious dagger?’

Chapter Seven

She couldn’t do this. She had to do this. What other choice did she have? It had been a fortnight since Ailbert had confessed he’d gambled again. In a fortnight, the debt became due. Neither her family nor her clan had the money he’d promised. The dagger was the only means to pay the debt. Her brother had died because of that dagger. Her family had earned the right to keep it.

Instead, she was trapped and travelling north with a Colquhoun and his cousins. None of them would believe the dagger was hers. So she had to steal it, while there was still time to return home. Still time to avoid the humiliation her brother had brought to their family.

A fissure of pain burned her heart. She couldn’t think of home. She had only to think of the Colquhoun and keep her anger.

Which was easy because since they’d left the inn, the big oaf wouldn’t stop touching her.

Not that he could help it, but she wasn’t about to forgive him his size. Or his breadth. Or his muscles and sun-warmed skin. Not when she rode on the same horse in front of him, with his arms brushing against her sides and his legs pressing hers against the horse.

She’d already elbowed him several times, but he didn’t miss a breath when she did.

Her elbows were her second-best weapon next to lying. When Ailbert teased too much, and words weren’t enough, she’d hit him. If he tackled her, she could dig her elbows in until he agreed to whatever she wanted, or pretend to give her what she wanted.

He was a good brother. Ailbert.

She squeezed her eyes together, but tears sprang forth. It was too much. She was even remembering him in the past now. It was all past.

She wouldn’t cry. Not here, not in daylight, not while in the arms of the man taking her further away from her brother, from his burial, from her family.

Keep her anger; get the dagger. She had no other choice. Pretending to sweep her hair to one side, she brushed her sleeved arms against her cheeks and wiped away any evidence of sorrow.

There wasn’t time to grieve for Ailbert.

If only this arrogant Colquhoun would give her the dagger. She adjusted in the seat, pulled her elbow forward. If only he’d Let. Her. Go.

‘Your elbows in my ribs will not change your circumstances.’

‘You’re kidnapping me.’

‘Not kidnapping.’

‘Malcolm said the games are on Graham land. ’Tis days away! How can there be celebrations there after Dunbar? Didn’t they have a loss?’

‘Doesn’t concern you.’

Trying in vain to distance herself, she leaned forward. Even then he was everywhere. His feel, his heat, his smell. She was all too aware of him.

Even when her mind tried to comprehend what had happened to her, her body constantly remembered last night. His presence kept her in a constant battle between her want of the dagger and...want. For a Colquhoun, who was kidnapping her, no less!

‘It is too far!’ She didn’t want, couldn’t want, to stay. ‘I’m too far from home.’

Her mother and sisters might even be looking for her. Everything had happened so quickly when Ailbert was stabbed. Rage, fear and desperation had driven her to follow the thief. She hadn’t rushed to Ailbert as her mother and sisters had; she hadn’t told them that she was leaving. Shock had drowned out the marketplace, her mother’s cries and Ailbert collapsing on the ground. Her only thought was to chase after the dagger.

Now she was further away from the dagger than she had ever been and she had been gone too long.

Her mother would be overwrought. Her family didn’t deserve any more fear and worry.

‘Your own actions brought you here,’ he answered.

‘It’s not fair,’ she whispered. ‘Why are you even taking me?’

‘A Buchanan has nae right to speak of fairness.’ He leaned closer to her ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. ‘Your leaning away from me defeats our ruse. Thanks to your act on the stairs, my cousins believe you’re wanting to be with me.’

‘As what? What am I to be to you?’ She might have pretended on the stairs, but she had no experience in these matters.

She felt the satisfaction rolling off him as he answered, ‘As my whore.’

She tried to turn around. ‘You...’

‘What else did you think? My intended? My dear?’ He lowered his voice, contempt thickening his words. ‘My betrothed?’

What had she thought? She had spent the night in his room and his cousins knew it; there was no other explanation. Yet it was unjust he expected her to play such a role. Regardless of her starting the ruse, this was going too far.

‘I won’t do it. We doona need to continue the farce.’

‘You are a farce, Buchanan. Do you not like the bed you made? Do you think I like it? I can barely touch you without feeling the need to clean. But there is nae other explanation for your travelling. ’Tis safer.’

Despite her anger, his words stung. ‘Since when does your clan care for the safety of mine?’

‘Never,’ he said. ‘I’m not talking about your safety.’

Of course he wasn’t. Why would he? A Colquhoun would never tolerate a Buchanan. Just as every right-minded Buchanan would never tolerate a restrictive and oppressive Colquhoun. Their families had always fought. She’d been raised with this knowledge, but Caird’s hatred towards her seemed...excessive. His reaction, after their kiss, hurt.

Was he embarrassed about their kissing now he knew she was a Buchanan? Or was it only the dagger and the gem making him angry? Pulling the reins to the left, his arm brushed her chest and instantly heat coiled inside her. Her breath changed. His stopped.

He said he couldn’t stand touching her, yet he left her body wanting his touch. She didn’t understand her reactions since he hated her.

She didn’t deserve his hatred and she couldn’t be expected to endure his company for days. She refused to continue this farce for that long. She wasn’t that accomplished a liar. Despite her freedom, she’d never been with a man; she didn’t know how to act as a whore. Surely his cousins would realise she lied. Then what would happen?

More questions in need of answers, and she’d be even further away from returning home.

She couldn’t have that. This had to be finished and soon. At least there was still a chance to escape. It wasn’t nighttime. They could yet spy the thief, or at least find his trail. If so, they’d get the answers they sought and end this charade.

Then she wouldn’t have to think of Ailbert or her grieving mother and sisters. She wouldn’t have to think about the gambling debt still owed and the catastrophe that would occur if she couldn’t obtain the money to pay it.

They’d find the thief, and this would end. Then she could do her own grieving, in her own time and away from hate-filled Colquhouns.

In the meantime, all she had to do was not think of Ailbert’s death. His blood spreading across his stomach.

How it was all her fault...

To contain her helpless guilt and to still her thoughts, she smiled at Hamilton. He’d been friendly to her since they’d left the inn and she welcomed the distraction. When Hamilton slowed his horse, her smile became genuine.

* * *

Caird needed quiet. Fortunately, Hamilton kept Mairead entertained with conversation and Malcolm, used to his silences, left him alone.

It allowed him to think and to plan.

The dagger and jewel buried in a pouch around his waist burned into his side. It was like holding a flame that could instantly torch a village, destroy lives and entire clans.

But just like that flame, as with any fire, it could do miraculous things as well. The Jewel of Kings.

He held the Jewel of Kings. He was certain of it.

Shock and doubt had washed over him when he first held it at the inn.

Recognition dawned on him at the same time as he tried to rationalise that it couldn’t possibly be true. It was a legend and not supposed to be real.

But it was too exact. There could be no other jewel shaped like it, no other jewel coloured like it and it had been purposely hidden inside a dagger’s hilt.

A Buchanan said it was her brother’s? Impossible. He would rather believe he held the legend long before he’d ever believe that clan owned it.

But what was he to do with it? It belonged to Scotland, but Scotland barely existed now. In April, King John Balliol was defeated. Now he was held prisoner at the Tower of London. The English King continued to set up English sheriffs and English governors.

The jewel belonged to the Scotland of old, a united Scotland under one ruler. That Scotland had been lost with a child at sea...and at Dunbar.

So what to do with the jewel?

There were few choices. He had to solve the mystery of why it surfaced now and why it was wanted by a Buchanan and a thief.

Caird had no doubt the thief knew the jewel was inside the dagger, which meant he would be desperate to reclaim it. It also meant he could be nearby and danger—

Mairead laughing again.

He tensed his muscles, refusing to be as affected by the sound as he had been before.

A mistake.

It tightened her against him and the sound reverberated through him.

Was that how Mairead truly laughed or was she torturing him?

He rode closer to Hamilton to keep Mairead occupied, but now Caird wondered at his choice.

At first, he’d tried to listen to their conversation, which provided Mairead opportunity for treachery.

All he needed was for her to lie and cause the Graham clan to rise up against him, but they had only talked of trivialities, the games and village stories. Still, he had to be ready for anything. He’d never met a more impulsive female.

That first time when she laughed, he hadn’t been prepared, and her laugh had struck him—like lightning.

It wasn’t like him to be fanciful. But it was Mairead and her laugh. It was making him mad with need.

He held her and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t see all of her. The smell of heather in her hair, the angle of her shoulders and the touch of her hands on the reins teased him. The softness of her breasts and narrowness of her waist brushing his arms taunted him. Far worse, the lushness of her hips and bottom pressed against him and the horse’s rolling gait was a pale mimic of what he craved from her.

Lust. Unchecked. He felt thwarted by how he held her. It was enough for him to catch glimpses of her, but not enough to ease his desire. Holding her like this only tantalised and teased his hunger for her. He wondered if she did it on purpose. Even her gown spilling over his legs mocked his need to see more of her.

So when she laughed? Lightning.

Best to think of her deceit and not his cousin keeping her company. Best to think of her lies, as he watched Hamilton enjoy their conversation. Enjoy? Hamilton was practically falling off his horse to get closer to Mairead. Caird barely stopped himself from reaching out to unseat his cousin. For what?

Laughter.

Such emotions were foolish in a time like this. He held the jewel and he should be thinking of only one thing: the person who held the jewel held the power of Scotland. After Dunbar, and after all he and his family almost lost, he needed to seize on that thought alone.

But all he wanted was to hear Mairead’s laughter again.

When Camron slowed his horse to join the conversation, Caird loosened the reins. He didn’t want to just hear her laughter; he wanted her to share it with him.

Eyebrows drawn, Mairead turned around. ‘Why are you slowing?’

He glanced at her and that was all it took. His horse stopped. He couldn’t even muster the effort to will it forward.

Mairead’s hair was a wild beacon in the sunlight. Every untamed flying strand beckoned him to wrap his hands around it. It was as if she wiggled her fingers at him to come closer.

It wouldn’t take much. Her lips were a mere breath away. He had stopped, but his cousins hadn’t. In a few moments, he’d have the privacy needed to kiss her. To ease just a fraction of his want, to demand she give him just an ounce of the attention she gave his cousins. To take his revenge in the only way left. Pain and want spiked. Adjusting himself in the seat, he sped his horse on.

He didn’t glance at Hamilton or at Camron, although he could feel his cousins’ questioning gaze. He could also feel Mairead’s hesitant shrug as she again engaged in conversation.

He didn’t get his kiss, but he did get the satisfaction of her gaze. Her annoyance turning to understanding, turning to awareness. He had made his point. She knew why he’d slowed.

His lips curled. If he burned for a Buchanan, he wouldn’t be alone in the fire.

Chapter Eight

‘She sleeps?’

Caird moved his horse to allow Malcolm to ride beside him on the narrow trail.

‘Aye, for some time.’ Caird adjusted Mairead in his arms. ‘But she is too restless. She talks...angrily.’

‘I am not getting the impression she goes willingly and our cousins are too observant.’

Caird looked behind him. ‘Are they still hunting?’

‘Nae, they are skinning by the stream we found over there.’ Malcolm pointed off to his right. ‘It will be dark in a few hours.’

Caird looked through the trees and saw no one. They would have no better privacy than now.

‘We need to talk.’ He slowed his horse even more. Malcolm followed suit.

‘About the woman?’

Caird glanced at Mairead. She curled into his chest and her head rested on his outstretched arm. There were dark circles under her eyes and her weight against him was heavy. She still slept.

As much as he wanted to, they couldn’t talk of Mairead. They were in too much danger.

‘Nae, it is the gem,’ he answered.

‘You do not actually believe it’s hers?’

Caird shook his head. Not hers, never hers. ‘It’s not about Mairead. Or the dagger. It’s the gem...the jewel. Doesn’t it look familiar to you?’

Malcolm’s smile was wolfish. ‘Is it ours?’

‘Nae. It belongs to everyone. It’s legendary, Malcolm.’

‘Legendary?’ Malcolm looked behind him, his movement exaggerated. ‘My brother makes colourful descriptions? You often doona speak at all.’

The trees and path showed no sign of his cousins; Mairead’s weight did not shift, and her breath remained even. This conversation must not be overheard.

‘The gem is not usual. Half-polished, half not. The size so large it barely fits in a man’s hands. Think, Brother. There’s only one jewel fitting the description.’

Malcolm started. ‘It cannot...be,’ he whispered.

Caird remained silent while Malcolm gathered his thoughts. It had taken him hours to accept the jewel’s existence. As long as the conversation remained with the jewel, he would give this time to his brother.

When his brother realised they travelled with a Buchanan, his judgement would cloud.

‘Do you believe this?’ Malcolm continued after a while. ‘It’s a legend, a myth. It doesn’t exist.’

‘I doona believe in legends and this one was always too exact.’

‘If it is that jewel—’

‘Then kingdoms are at risk,’ Caird interrupted.

‘I cannot believe it.’

Caird lifted his hand to silence his brother. Mairead’s legs and arms were moving, subtly, but he felt their insistent quiver. Whether she was experiencing dreams or nightmares, he didn’t know, but her breath quickened, and her brows drew down.

They had long passed the spot Malcolm indicated where Camron and Hamilton would be skinning, but Caird kept his horse moving.

Malcolm looked questioningly at Caird, but kept his silence.

Caird hoped Mairead kept sleeping. There was still much to discuss with Malcolm. Even so, he fought the urge to wake her. Her restlessness...disturbed him somehow.

Eyes narrowing, Malcolm gazed at Mairead. Caird lowered his hand. It would not be long before his brother asked more questions about her, and he would have to tell the truth. Until then, he must use the jewel as a distraction.

‘I believe we have the Jewel of Kings in our hands.’ Caird turned his horse around on the path.

‘It was a tale told to us as children. Something we used to play.’ Malcolm adjusted his horse to follow his. ‘I cannot count the fights there were over the pretend jewel.’

‘Imagine the wars if the jewel was real.’

‘If the legend is true, it can make kings,’ Malcolm said. ‘Real kings. It is too much power. Too much responsibility. Too—’

‘Unbelievable it surfaces now,’ Caird said, feeling the restlessness of this conversation. ‘’Tis nae accident.’

‘What are you saying?’

If he was restless, his clan and so many others were shaking and cracking with unrest.

King Balliol rebelled against King Edward’s rule and the English king’s retaliation had been swift and vicious. The defeat at Dunbar in April had crushed any hope of freedom and only left unrest in its wake.

‘Someone was moving it,’ Caird said.

‘Someone? Mairead?’

Caird held Mairead closer and brought her arms and legs into the warmth of his cloak. ‘Nae, not her; not the thief either.’

‘A clan?’

‘Too many people. Our clans fight. It would have been put to use.’

‘To create kings,’ Malcolm said.

‘More like to declare one true king.’

Malcolm’s horse suddenly stopped and Caird steadied his own.

Caird could not doubt Malcolm’s shock. Scotland no longer had the ability to make kings. The Stone of Scone now supported the rears of English kings.

He was surprised it had not cracked with grief.

Was it truly so much of a surprise that the jewel appeared now? This year had churned up too many conflicting and powerful emotions. Hope for freedom then crushing defeat as nobles, churchmen, burgesses and freeholders swore fealty to an English king. Balliol was even forced to the Tower.

Worse, their defeat was made official since King Edward recorded it on his Ragman Rolls.

Malcolm slowly turned his gaze. Fear and concern were never on his brother’s face, but there was no mistaking those emotions now.

This was more than a secret. More than a costly dagger and legendary jewel. This was more than he wished to be involved with, let alone to involve his brother and clan. King Edward ruled Scotland now, and Caird held the jewel with the power to make Scottish kings.

‘Aye, I’m speaking treason,’ Caird whispered. ‘To my brother.’

‘It must stay with your brother and go nae further.’

‘If this is true, it will go to all our brothers. All our family.’ His clan had enough worries now. Bram, his laird and brother, hadn’t participated in Dunbar and no one knew why. It had put their clan’s loyalty in question.

If his enquiries into the jewel took long, his clan would be in danger. Still, if he got the answers he needed, if they could keep the jewel a secret. If they could build the momentum behind it before the English were prepared—

‘You can’t mean to use it?’ Malcolm asked. ‘It’s too dangerous!’

Caird shrugged. Even as his heart swelled at the possibilities, his mind feared the consequences. With war between the two countries, whoever possessed the jewel could stop it. ‘Nae more than Dunbar,’ Caird said.

‘Aye, a thousand times more dangerous!’ Malcolm retorted.

If he could, Caird would stop the war. ‘Why not use any means I have, especially when it’s just been handed to me?’

‘Dunbar was a mistake,’ Malcolm said. ‘It shouldn’t have happened.’

Caird conveyed in one glance everything he felt about that fateful battle. ‘Nae, it shouldn’t.’

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look away. ‘I owe you much, but I cannot allow this risk!’

Treason was the risk. But it was treason only if he wanted one side to win from the other. He had different plans.

The jewel could protect their clan. They’d have Scottish power and the English would want that jewel. It was like a doubled-edged sword, and razor-sharp. Yet, if they played it right, he could save all. He just wanted the conflict and bloodshed to end.

‘I will not risk much,’ Caird said.

Malcolm gaze strayed. ‘I cannot accept this. Maybe it is Mairead’s?’

If only that were true. She had acted sincere, but he knew what his brother did not. She was a Buchanan. None of what she had said could be true.

‘Do you believe that?’ Caird asked instead.

Malcolm shook his head. ‘Nae, but it would be easier if this was an ordinary, albeit valuable stone.’

Caird urged his horse forward again. He heard his cousins in the woods. They would emerge soon and would wonder at their delay. ‘It may be easy to find the thief.’ The thief might even be trying to find them.

Malcolm caught up. ‘If we cannot find him?’

‘We continue celebrating and go to the games.’

They needed to act like nothing was amiss. Caird thought to flush the thief out before then, but that was just the first step.

Ultimately, he knew what they’d have to do. They needed to go to Mairead’s family and her clan. She’d said the jewel was her brother’s. If that was true, he needed to understand how her brother had possession of the dagger.

Tracing the true owners of the jewel would be slow and arduous, whilst all the time unknown enemies could be circling. However, he was left with little option. He had to get answers first, understand who was moving it and why. If the jewel was a double-edged sword, he had to know how to wield it. Once he had all the answers, he would go to Bram, his brother and laird, and discuss with the council the jewel’s future.

Even that wouldn’t be easy.

Bram was not on Colquhoun land, but far south on Fergusson land, which was close to the English borders. It was too dangerous to bring the jewel there during this time. Dangerous, but perhaps necessary.

Although he sought answers to determine the best course of action, he would not presume the fate of the jewel alone. He had to involve the clan and its laird.

In the meantime, there was camp to set, food to eat and their absence to explain to his cousins.

This was no time to tell his brother the other, much more precarious, situation they were embroiled in. And the risk didn’t come from the treasonous jewel they carried, but from the traitorous Buchanan in his arms.

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