Page 3 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

“This was all from the wars?” Marjorie ogled a patch of severely damaged masonry. “Aren’t you afraid the walls will tumble about your ears?”

Bridget laughed. “It’s not as though we were here when it happened. ’Twas a Covenanter siege that left the castle in a wee bit of disrepair.”

“ Wee bit?” she muttered, then shuffled to catch up to Bridget, who was leading her on a brisk tour of Dunnottar. “And you wonder why folk call you the Devil’s Own!”

Marjorie came to a breathless halt in the doorway of the dining hall. The sight of Cormac seated at the table scuttled her merriment. Intent on a mug of ale and some bread, he didn’t look up. Why had she thought he’d help find Davie, when he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her?

“Och, the villagers.” Bridget strode in and squatted before the hearth to stoke the fire to life. “Since Father died, they claim we’ve been a pack of devils.”

“It’s Dunn’s Devils,” Cormac muttered. “For Dunnottar. That’s what they say.”

Marjorie watched as he studiously dunked a heel of bread in his ale, just like he used to do when he was a boy.

She fought a sudden smile and marveled at the foreign sensation.

Since Davie’d been taken, her pleasures had been rare.

But Cormac, he’d always made her smile. He used to tease them from her relentlessly, until she couldn’t hold back.

But that had been in the time before.

The warmth that had been spreading through her chest clenched, leaving Marjorie sadder than ever.

“Oh aye.” Bridget laughed. “A pack of Highland demons we are, for want of living parents.”

Cormac remained focused on his bread. “Demons, just here in our wee slice of hell.”

His sister shot him a hard look. “Dunnottar’s been perfectly suitable since we patched the roof.”

“It’s as drafty as a boat on the open sea.”

Marjorie felt his presence like a stitch in her side; she couldn’t seem to breathe easily. She pulled her shoulders back to stand taller. “It certainly is . . . massive .” She looked around, taking in the gargantuan dining hall.

“Aye, ’tis a great big sprawl of a place.

There are stables, cellars for wine and beer, even barracks and a chapel .

. .” Bridget’s voice grew distracted as she stabbed angrily at the stubborn embers.

“It’s housed armies, kings.” She straightened and hung the poker back in its spot by the fireplace. “Och, this cursed fire.”

“And all these years, folk have simply let you . . . stay here? Nobody’s tried to make you leave?”

“I challenge anyone to try,” Bridget proclaimed. “In any case, it’s been nigh on nine years now. They’re not going to drag us out now.”

Cormac slowly leaned back in his chair, and for the first time since they’d stood together on the beach, he met Marjorie’s eyes.

The force of his gaze was a physical thing. She’d had something she was about to say, but it froze on her tongue. She tried desperately but couldn’t seem to make her mind produce words.

“It was abandoned, after all.” Bridget’s tone was breezy, and if she’d noticed anything pass between Marjorie and her brother, she didn’t let it show.

Cormac cut his eyes down, the spell broken. “Abandoned? It’s barely livable.”

“Och, ’tis a fine place.” Bridget clapped the ash from her hands. “Folk know we’ve no other home, and so they let us stay.”

Cormac sneered. “Or they’re afraid of us.”

“Aye.” Bridget giggled. “That, too.” She turned to Marjorie, explaining only half-jokingly, “My brothers make a fearsome trio. You should’ve seen them when we lost our cottage.”

Marjorie pasted a smile on her face. Trio. Because the fourth went missing thirteen years ago. The thought didn’t seem to occur to Bridget. So pretty and carefree, she’d been only two years old when Aidan was taken.

“You mean when you lost your tenancy?”

“Aye, when Father was killed in battle.” Bridget sauntered to Cormac’s chair, and Marjorie sensed him bristle.

“Oh Marj,” she said, patting her brother’s shoulder, “these lads were glorious. And so young, too—Gregor was sixteen at the time, and Declan only ten! But they looked out for me even then. I worried the laird would resort to burning our old, wee cottage down in his attempts to remove my brothers from it.”

“I’d always just assumed . . .” She’d always thought the MacAlpin siblings had simply made the odd choice to live there. It’d never struck her that they had no other recourse but to squat in an abandoned castle. “Have you no place to go then, no other family? Nowhere in all Scotland?”

Bridget shrugged. “Gregor made inquiries, after Father’s death. But no distant relatives popped from the heather to deed us any sort of ancestral home.”

“Is Gregor here?” Marjorie brightened. Gregor was the eldest MacAlpin son, and he was a hard man not to like.

“Why would he not be?” Bridget asked.

“Oh, I suppose . . .” Marjorie furrowed her brow. “I just assumed he was living in Aberdeen now.”

“Gregor doesn’t live in Aberdeen,” Bridget said, as though Marjorie had just asserted that the sky was green. “Well, sometimes he travels to Aberdeen, but he certainly doesn’t live there.”

“Oh, I’m mistaken, of course.” Though she would’ve sworn she’d heard rumors that Gregor kept a home near Broadgate.

“Aye, and Declan’s about, too.” Bridget shot one last look of disgust at the fire and strode toward the door. “Come, we’ll finish our tour, and perhaps we’ll run into them.”

Marjorie stole a glance at Cormac. He was staring into his empty ale mug, his face blank. A dull ache crept across her chest, until breathing became a conscious effort. She nodded a mute good-bye, which he didn’t acknowledge.

How would she ever get him to help her? She was as alone as she’d ever been. Was she deluding herself to think he’d ever come to her aid? She’d written her fate, a silly fool of a girl, with a dare thirteen years ago.

Marjorie left the room with a heavy heart but quickly came back to herself when she realized she’d lost sight of Bridget.

Looking left and right, she spotted her down the hall, already bustling up a spiral staircase.

Marjorie jogged after her, struggling to catch up while keeping a careful eye on her feet so as not to slip on the treacherously narrow stone steps.

“It’s for the better, you know,” Bridget said when Marjorie reached her. “Dunnottar is more spacious. Though I know as well as any that it’s a mite threadbare . . .”

Her voice trailed off, and Marjorie followed the girl’s line of sight. A window that’d been destroyed by cannon fire had caught her eye.

She felt a pang of sympathy, wondering what Bridget’s life was like, just seventeen and shut away in this dreary castle, probably never knowing when her brothers would breeze in or out.

Bridget had only been three when her mother died and seven when her sister Anya was married off, leaving no other women about.

And that had been before they’d even moved into the castle—aside from kitchen help, Bridget had always been the only female at Dunnottar.

With Bridget’s outgoing manner, Marjorie was certain she had friends.

But still, did the girl have true intimates with whom she could share her innermost secrets?

At seventeen, she’d be interested in men.

Who would guide her? Certainly not her brothers, who’d probably sooner kill a man as see him woo their youngest sister.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she stopped Bridget with a hand on her shoulder. “Soon you’ll be wanting to find yourself a husband.”

Bridget gaped, and Marjorie wasn’t sure if she’d offended or simply surprised the girl. But she thought of surly Cormac, staring into his mug as though willing life to pass, and her confidence redoubled.

Despite Bridget’s cheerful assertions, Dunnottar was a dismal place. Especially when compared to Marjorie’s life in Aberdeen. But if the MacAlpins had no known family, Bridget had no place else to go.

“You know you’re always welcome to stay with Uncle and me in Aberdeen,” she said impulsively. “Learned men come the world over to study at the university. There’s polite society, and gentlemen galore—”

“Bridge has no need for city life.”

Marjorie startled. Placing a hand on her heart, she turned. Cormac stood right behind her, silent as a wraith. He’d followed them.

“I think I’m able to speak for myself.” Bridget rolled her eyes, transformed to her old self again. “I’m loathe to admit it, Marj, but—”

“ Marjorie ,” Marjorie murmured apologetically.

“ Mar jorie,” Bridget continued with an easy smile, “but I fear my brother has the right of it. I’m not ready for a husband just yet.

And I don’t wish to leave Dunnottar. If the crash of waves doesn’t wake me, it’s the sound of the lads’ sparring that does, and I’m afraid I’d be lost without either one. ”

Marjorie canted her head, considering. Surely the villagers wouldn’t let the MacAlpins stay in the abandoned castle forever.

Folk might muster sympathy for a family of orphans, but she imagined they’d be hard-pressed to allow a spinster to live out her dotage there.

Dunnottar might be in near ruin, but someday some wealthy clans-man would appear to set it to rights.

Could the girl not even want a husband? Marjorie could certainly understand it.

She’d given the cold shoulder to many a suitor, and despite the fact that she was perilously close to spinsterhood, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to encourage a single one.

To her, city men were fops and dandies all.

There’d always been only one man for her.

She shook her head to erase the thought, but it clung to the back of her mind. That the man in question currently hovered at her back did nothing to help matters.

“Come on, come on.” Bridget grabbed her arm.