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2: OUTSIDERS

DAVINA WAS SHAKING by the time she reached her bedchamber.

Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, her heart pounding.

She’d tried to convince her father to permit this for months now—had asked her father at every opportunity to let her take the vow at Iona.

He’d denied her every time.

But tonight, his patience had snapped.

Raising a hand to her still-stinging cheek, Davina closed her eyes.

Da had never hit her before, even in the blackest of rages.

Yet things had gone too far.

They’d both uttered words that could never be taken back.

Indeed, the things he’d said to her had hurt worse than that slap.

And her victory, as heady as it was, had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Ye will be dead to me .

Those words had turned her cold, as had the tone he’d used to deliver them.

Her father meant it.

Once she rode away from Kilchurn Castle, from him, there would be no going back.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, Da,” Davina whispered, pushing herself off the door and walking across the chamber.

With a heavy sigh, she knelt on the wooden floorboards and reached out to withdraw two leather satchels from under the bed.

She’d try to pack lightly, for she wouldn’t be allowed to bring much with her into the abbey.

Davina drew the satchels out carefully, wary of dislodging any spiders from under the bed.

She detested spiders.

Placing the bags down next to her, she knelt before a large wooden trunk that sat against the wall.

She then threw it open and started pulling out the clothing she’d need for the journey.

This situation seemed surreal; she couldn’t believe she was leaving.

She went through the motions of packing, yet her mind was elsewhere.

Now that she’d gotten what she desired, the fight had gone out of her.

Her insides felt hollow.

And as the moments stretched out, a discomforting blend of melancholy, regret, and resignation rushed in to fill the void.

This castle, around two years old now, held bittersweet memories.

When she’d first moved here, and had viewed the lofty curtain walls and tower house reflecting against the mirrored surface of Loch Awe for the first time, her heart had soared.

She’d reined in her garron, glancing right at the handsome man riding next to her, and they’d shared a smile.

Captain Blair Cameron.

Davina halted in her packing, a kirtle in each hand, her eyes fluttering closed once more.

A year had passed since his death, yet nausea still stung the back of her throat, and grief twisted under her ribcage, when she remembered his knife-fight with her father.

Davina squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to banish the painful memories.

She didn’t want to think of violence, blood, and death whenever she recalled her lover.

Instead, she wanted to remember Blair’s boyish smile, the cleft in his chin, and the way his moss-green eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.

Blinking as tears stung the back of her eyelids, Davina folded up the two kirtles and placed them in one of the satchels.

Shortly, her maid, Kenna, would hear of what had transpired.

The lass would come up and insist on helping her pack—but for the moment, Davina was glad of the solitude.

No, this fortress held too many reminders, both good and bad.

Initially, coming to live here had been exciting, as love flowered between her and Blair, but these days, it felt like an ill-fitting shoe.

Kilchurn chafed at her daily.

With her lover dead, she was an outsider here.

Iona Abbey would offer her the escape she craved.

Of course, her father was right—she’d never been overly pious, much to her late mother’s disappointment, but after Blair’s death, she’d thought much about her choices—her mistakes.

In truth, she was too easily led by her reckless impulses.

Her new life would be a chance to reinvent herself.

Lennox strode out into the castle bailey, cutting across to the guard barracks.

It was a warm summer’s eve, and the sun still hadn’t set.

Instead, the sky above was awash with ribbons of lilac, red, and gold.

Aye, it was a bonnie sunset, yet Lennox ignored it.

Instead, a frown creased his brow.

He didn’t have the time to play escort to the laird’s willful daughter.

He was busy here. He’d just recruited five new guards—all of whom were incredibly green and in desperate need of training.

Lennox huffed out an irritated breath.

Don’t fash yerself, man .

Taking Campbell’s daughter to the nunnery is an easy enough task.

It wouldn’t be an overly arduous journey, for it would only take them around three days to ride to the port of Oban.

From there, they’d find a birlinn that would transport them to Iona—the tiny isle just off the western coast of Mull.

If the weather held and the seas were calm, he could be back here within eight days.

Entering the barrack’s common room, Lennox halted, his gaze sweeping over the men inside.

A watch of eight guards stood atop the walls, yet the rest of them were enjoying tankards of ale, looking on as a group of four men played knucklebones.

Laughter and the rumble of male conversation halted at the sight of their captain.

Unsmiling faces turned to him.

Lennox swept his gaze over his men.

He pretended to ignore their cool welcome, yet his spine stiffened.

They were all proud Campbells, and although they had no quarrel with the Mackays, one or two of them had challenged Lennox’s authority over the past months.

Their former captain, the one Colin Campbell had slain, hadn’t been a clansman either.

Yet it seemed that the guards respected Blair Cameron greatly—and Lennox was a poor substitute.

He’d been forced to prove himself, and he had.

His years working as bailiff had given him a tough, inflexible edge.

He’d now established his position here.

Aye, some of these warriors still didn’t like him much, but he didn’t care.

He wasn’t their friend but their captain.

Lennox caught the glint in the men’s eyes then.

Of course, most of them had been eating their supper in the hall earlier and had witnessed the altercation between Campbell and his daughter.

The news would have already raced through the castle; there was no point in Lennox announcing it.

“Good eve, lads,” he greeted them gruffly.

“I need five of ye to join me tomorrow.”

Silence followed this announcement.

Lennox’s gut tensed as the moments slid by.

He’d hoped for volunteers, but none were forthcoming.

All the same, he was careful not to let his irritation show.

“Hamish.” His gaze settled upon a big, rawboned man with a receding hairline.

“Ye are coming with me.”

The warrior nodded, his mouth compressing slightly.

Lennox’s gaze shifted to the guards who’d been playing knucklebones.

“As are ye … Keith, Archie, Fergus, and Elliot.” He paused then, his gaze narrowing.

“Make sure ye’re all ready before dawn tomorrow.”

A chorus of terse ‘ayes’ followed—and then Lennox turned on his heel and left the barracks.

There was little point in lingering; his presence wasn’t welcome.

He’d intended to return to the tower house after informing his men of their departure, but instead, his feet carried him to the stone steps leading up to the walls.

Some of his old restlessness plagued him these days—a sensation he’d thought he’d left behind when he took up this position.

He should return to his bedchamber and pack a few things for the morning, but that could wait.

Climbing the steps, Lennox alighted upon the wall, nodding to the sentry posted to his right.

This wall looked south, across Loch Awe.

The sun had almost finished setting now.

The spectacular sunset had faded to a rosy glow to the west, while the rest of the sky had turned a deep indigo.

A few stars had twinkled into view, and the shell of the moon was rising.

It was a fine view—breathtaking even—yet Lennox was too irritated this evening to enjoy it.

Irritated that Campbell was treating him like his errand boy.

That even after five months, he was still an outsider here.

And that throwing in his position as bailiff of his brother’s lands on the Kintyre peninsula and taking this new role hadn’t brought him the satisfaction he’d hoped for.

Lennox had always been restless.

Even as a lad, he’d been the one who’d got himself, and his brothers, into trouble.

The one who’d start a scrap.

The one who’d push things to the limit.

As the second-born son, he’d imagined he would be chosen to lead the Dun Ugadale Guard, but the laird—his brother, Iver—had chosen Kerr, their younger brother, for the position.

Instead, Lennox had worked for years as Iver’s bailiff—a role he’d grown to hate.

It had also made him an unpopular man upon the peninsula.

Bairns would start wailing, and women would run inside their bothies to hide when the chieftain’s bailiff rode in.

His primary role had been to collect rents, but there were always debts to be paid and petty criminals to be hunted down and arrested.

And with the years, Lennox’s resentment had festered and grown, souring his once healthy relationship with his elder brother.

Clenching his fists by his sides, Lennox approached the battlements that ringed the high curtain wall.

He should have known that a man couldn’t escape his demons just by changing location—and yet he’d dared to hope.

He was the black sheep among his brothers.

Even Brodie, the youngest, who had a dour temperament, felt more at home within the walls of Dun Ugadale than he had.

And yet he missed it.

Mouth thinning, he stopped at the gap between two battlements and gazed south over the gleaming surface of the loch.

The dying light made the still waters look as if they were coated in oil.

With effort, he unclenched his hands, flexing his fingers to loosen the cramping muscles.

Aye, Kilchurn Castle was gleaming new and breathtakingly grand.

But all the same, he longed for the bare hills of the Kintyre peninsula, the taste of salt in the air, and the moss and lichen-encrusted walls of his brother’s broch outlined against the wild sky.

Sometimes, like now, he longed for it with a fierceness that made his chest ache.

It galled Lennox to admit it, but he didn’t belong here.

He wasn’t a Campbell.

He was a Mackay, and his soul ached to be amongst his own people once more.

Yet pride wouldn’t let him give in to the desire.

The thought of telling Colin Campbell he’d have to find a new captain, and of having to return to Dun Ugadale and ask for his old position back, made his bowels cramp.

Heaviness pressed down upon him then, replacing the yearning for his birthplace, his clan—a gnawing sense of hopelessness.

No. He’d made his bed, and he would have to lie in it.

Brooding, Lennox stood there awhile, listening to the silence of the gathering dusk.

A veil of peace settled over the world at this hour, the quiet so profound that he could hear the steady thud of his pulse in his ears.

Eventually though, he huffed a deep sigh.

He couldn’t stand out here brooding all night.

He needed to pack and get some sleep, for they had an early start in the morning.

However, as he turned, his gaze slid to the left—and he caught sight of a slender figure standing at the eastern ramparts.

It was a mild evening, and so Lady Davina was clad only in a dark-blue kirtle—one that matched the hue of the sky.

Her long black hair, usually braided and wound around the crown of her head in an austere style, rippled down her straight back.

She was staring out across the loch, toward the mountains beyond, oblivious to anything else.

Lennox stilled, his brow furrowing.

It was rare to see Campbell’s daughter on the walls.

Despite that it was summer, and the weather had been warm and settled of late, she didn’t even venture out for strolls along the loch shore.

Instead, she spent most of her day locked away in her solar.

Lennox’s mouth thinned.

The air of quiet tragedy that surrounded the woman this eve annoyed him.

She’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she?

Thanks to her, he and five of his men had to leave their posts and make the trip to Iona.

She should be abed, ensuring she rested up before the journey, not drifting around the castle like a ghost.

Another, irritated, sigh escaped him.

Instead of taking the stairs back down to the bailey, Lennox approached the laird’s daughter.