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Glennie sat down at the long dining room table and poured herself a glass of wine, then began to gaze at her brother intently. There was something different about him today; he seemed thoughtful, unlike his usual lively talkative self around her. He normally had stories of his mock battles on the training fields to tell her, and he would usually show off his latest cuts and bruises, laughing as he did so.

Glennie would always laugh with him, saying that it was his own fault if he persisted in putting himself in harm’s way. But then, he had always been a fighter. She remembered one particular time when he was about thirteen years old when he had been watching the men training with swords, and his face had taken on a determined expression.

“I want a sword,” he growled.

His voice was beginning to deepen into that of a man, and already Glennie could see bristles on his face, but his muscles were not yet fully developed, unlike the men of the garrison, who looked absolutely huge to her.

“No!” she shouted, terrified. “They will kill you!”

“The swords are all blunt, silly,” he answered with a dismissive wave.

Glennie had tried to hold on to his tunic, but she was not strong enough to stop him; Niall’s stubbornness was the stuff of legend. He walked up to one of the guards, who was standing waiting for his turn to practise, and asked for his sword. The man hesitated and shook his head, but Niall reminded him that he would be the future master of the castle, and the guard reluctantly gave up his weapon.

Returning her focus to the present, Glennie turned to look at her brother and held her glass up in a toast. “Slàinte Mhath,” she said.

Niall looked puzzled as he held his glass up. “What is the occasion?” he asked.

“We have a guest,” Glennie replied. “Her name is Moira Jamieson. I think you already know her.”

To Glennie’s surprise, Niall frowned. “Stay away from her,” he growled. “She is trouble, and I want her to leave the castle as soon as possible.”

Glennie frowned, puzzled. “Then why bring her here in the first place?” she asked. “I have never known you to invite guests into the castle without telling me first. Who is she really?”

“She was attacked by bandits not far from the castle,” he replied. “We managed to rescue her before they robbed her, but she got injured as she fell off her horse. We brought her back here, and I am letting her stay until her wound heals. For the moment, she is my guest, but I have a bad feeling about her. There is something she is not telling me.

She says that her father gave her hand in marriage to a cruel and abusive man who kept her prisoner in his house for a few weeks before she managed to escape. When she did, she had the misfortune to encounter these bandits. I asked her if they were sent by her betrothed to find her and bring her back, and she denied it, but what really puzzles me is that she will not even tell me his name.”

“Why not?” Now Glennie looked puzzled.

“She says that she wants to forget that he ever existed,” Niall answered.

Glennie took a sip of her wine. “I saw a long white scar on the back of her hand,” she said, “but it could have been caused by anything at all.”

Niall thought for a moment. Glennie was right, of course, and he could be getting suspicious over nothing. Moira Jamieson was working her way under his skin in the most profound and irritating way, and despite his attempts to turn his mind in another direction, it always came back to her.

“So what are you going to do with her?” Glennie asked curiously.

Niall looked both worried and angry. She had seen him in many moods over the years, of course, but this was different. He was reacting to this young woman in a way she had never seen before. He sounded as though he wanted to be rid of her, but there was an undercurrent of something else in his manner.

Niall shrugged. “Let her stay here till she recovers, I suppose,” he replied carelessly. “Then send her on her way.”

Why does he sound so reluctant? Glennie thought. This is not like my brother at all.

But Glennie had seen Moira’s delicate beauty, and could understand her appeal to many men, even her brother, who considered himself to have a heart of flint. Perhaps his reluctance was a form of self-protection.

“It seems she’s had a very strange effect on you,” she remarked, looking at him keenly. “Of course, she is a very beautiful woman. It would be easy for a man to succumb to her charms.”

“What are you suggesting, Glennie?” Niall demanded, glaring at his sister.

Glennie looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. “Nothing, brother,” she replied, then she smiled. “But if the cap fits, then by all means wear it!”

Niall shook his head and poured himself another glass of wine. “You know I don’t fall in love,” he said irritably. “I am not cut out for it. I will admit she is very pretty to look at, but that hardly means we are going to set up home together.”

Again, Glennie gave him a maddening smile; Niall glared at her and was about to deliver another outburst, but she held up a hand to interrupt him.

“It might be better if you calmed down, Niall,” she suggested. “Because I have invited her for dinner.”

Niall opened his mouth to protest, but at that moment the door opened and Moira stepped into the room. She was wearing a high-necked dress, an unbecoming creation with long tight sleeves and a skirt that was tattered at the hem. Its colour was a depressing dark grey, but it did nothing to lessen her loveliness.

As soon as Moira stepped into the room, her gaze locked with Niall’s, and he stood up without thinking to pull out a chair for her, then ushered her into it.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him as she sat down.

His hand brushed hers as he pushed the chair back under the table, and he swallowed nervously as a jet of desire shot down his body. He was stunned. What was she doing to him?

Moira brought with her an aura of something not quite real, as if she was a creature from another world. He could not explain it to himself, but every time he looked at her pale blue eyes he felt as though he was immersing himself in a pool of clean, refreshing water. There was something magical about Moira Jamieson.

He found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her, but fortunately, at that moment one of the manservants came to the table with a bottle of wine which he held out for Niall’s approval. Niall nodded, and the man poured a glass for all of them.

“So, Moira, tell me about what happened,” Glennie said carefully. “But not if it’s too painful, of course.”

Moira took a sip of her wine. “I was ambushed, and would probably be dead by now if it were not for the Laird and his guards. I had a little coin, and wore some jewellery, but none of it was worth killing for—at least not to me, anyway. I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Glennie nodded slowly. “Where are you going?”

For a few seconds, Moira panicked, and her heart skipped a beat. What was she going to say? Then a great haunch of venison was delivered to the table, giving her a few moments to think. Nobody spoke about such personal things in front of servants if they wanted to keep them private, since servant’s gossip travelled faster than a wildfire.

During the short time it took for the servants to put the food on the table, Moira thought of a scenario she hoped they would believe.

“My mother’s sister lives in Aberdeen,” she told them. “I think she will take me in, then I can find some employment and pay my way.”

“What will you do?” Glennie asked.

Moira was gratified to see that she was genuinely interested.

“I thought I might be a lady’s companion, a children’s governess, something like that.”

Glennie smiled. “You can be my companion,” she suggested. “I could do with a friend.”

Moira laughed, knowing she was not serious. Even if she had been, she thought, how could she possibly stay in this place where the Laird was the most beautiful man she had ever seen? She would have to watch him marry and have children, while she had no chance of ever having any of her own. Granted, she was not in love with him, but there was something about Laird Niall McPhee that drew her to him, something which she could not fathom.

As well as that, they were not too far away from her former home, and any visitors could recognise her, although somehow she thought that Laird McPhee did not entertain much. She was sure that a man who looked like him would have been snapped up by an eager young bride a long time before if he had.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she answered.

Glennie laughed. “It was not a compliment, Moira,” she replied. “That is not work I would wish on anyone!”

Moira giggled, and before long the two young women had become involved in an amiable conversation about Glennie’s friends and all kinds of other subjects that did not interest the Laird in the slightest. What astonished him, however, was how well they were getting on together.

Glennie had more to say, he noticed, while Moira listened, interjected occasionally and laughed. She seemed to be interested in absolutely everything Glennie had to say, and he noticed that their sense of humour was very similar; dry, satirical and merciless. It looked as though the two young women had hit it off immediately. While it would be foolish to say they were good friends—after all, they had only just met—it seemed that they soon would be if Moira stayed.

Occasionally, Glennie made a joke at Niall’s expense, and both of them dissolved into giggles like little girls. Despite his scorn for this kind of frivolous behaviour, Niall loved to watch the smile on Moira’s expressive face. Her laughter was musical; her eyes twinkled and dimples appeared on her cheeks. He simply could not stop looking at her.

Yet, he was still puzzled, and no matter how attractive he thought she was, had an elusive feeling that Moira was still not telling him the truth. He ate his food steadily, listening all the time, and when he had finished, he looked up at both Glennie and Moira.

“Glennie, it’s best you do not speak about friendship and companionship. Moira no doubt has other duties to attend to and people to see; she will be leaving us soon.”

Glennie looked outraged. “Let her stay for a while longer, Niall,” she begged. “I would value the company of another woman for at least a little while. It is so tedious being surrounded by men all the time.”

Brother and sister glared at each other for another moment, while Moira tried to ignore the palpable tension in the room. She looked down at her hands, seeing the long white scar that had bled for days after one of her “accidents”, remembering how she had had to treat it herself. Still, she reasoned, it was not serious now, although it had been painful at the time, and it was useful in its own way. Every time she looked at it, she was reminded of her husband and why she was running away, and it spurred her on.

Moira heard her name mentioned again and looked up. Glennie’s face was furious as she shouted at Niall and poked him in the chest with her forefinger.

“She is now my friend!” she yelled. “And I am the mistress of this castle. I too have a right to say who can stay here and who cannot. You will not bully me!”

Niall laughed at her scornfully. “You may be Lady McPhee, but I am the Laird, and I have the power to throw you out if I want to.”

Moira could tell he would never do any such thing. She bet that Glennie knew it too, but she was furious nonetheless. He was treating her like a servant who had neglected her duties.

“And how can she be your friend when you only met her an hour ago?”

“Do not threaten me, Niall.” Her voice was menacing. “Or I might just oblige you and leave. You know that I have had proposals of marriage?—”

“From men I despise!” Niall shot back.

“You do not control me!” Glennie spat, then pointed to Moira. “Neither can you order Moira to do your will. We are both free to do as we wish.”

“I agree,” Niall said, nodding. “Moira will do anything to be free, even resort to lying.”

His green eyes were dark with anger as he turned to look at her, and Moira suddenly felt fury boiling up inside her. She resented the way both Glennie and Niall were talking about her as if she were not even present, and now the conversation was making assumptions about her that had no proof to back them up.

“I’d kindly ask ye not to speak about me that way,” she said, her voice throbbing with rage. “You have no idea what my life was like before I came here, so do not presume to know me. Since you have assumed the worst about me, I will stay out of your sight until my leg is no longer in pain and I can ride. Believe me, My Laird, that day cannot come soon enough!”

She gave him one last venomous glare then rose to her feet, marched to the door and opened it, and left, slamming it behind her with all the force she could muster.