Page 26

In the center of the clearing a man stood next to a large section of a tree, an axe in one hand.

Shirtless, he wore dark brown breeches and thick boots.

Blond hair with a shimmer of red framed his face in shaggy, unkempt locks, and a thick beard covered his chin.

His body tensed, and he gripped the axe as if he intended to wage war on the world.

Anger flared in his eyes, and Clara stepped back.

He dropped the axe with a sigh, and the anger softened into resignation.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I was just taking the air.”

“There’s plenty of air hereabouts, lass.”

She pulled the plaid blanket closer around her shoulders. “I’m Clara,” she said. “Clara Marting…” She hesitated. “Clara McTavish.”

“I ken that, lass. I’m Duncan, the ghillie. Don’t ye remember me? We met some weeks ago, when…”

His voice trailed off and he picked up the axe. He swung it in an arc over his shoulder, then embedded it in the tree trunk at his feet with a thud that reverberated through the ground. The trunk split in two, each half falling to the side at his feet.

“I-I remember you,” she said. “The ghillie. You were kind to me when…”

Her throat constricted as she recalled the pain and humiliation as her mother had steered her out of the building, vowing never to return.

“Why did ye come back here, lass?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Ye don’t know ?” He shook his head. “Ye married the laird’s son. Don’t ye realize what…”

Tears spilled onto her cheeks, and he broke off and approached her, hand outstretched.

“Ye saw what it’s like here, lass,” he said, gently. “Why are ye here?”

“I-I don’t know,” she said. “But h-he—Murdo—made me feel so…” She shook her head.

“I can’t describe it. I’ve never been a lady.

I was different, and people talked about me.

They didn’t think I noticed, but I saw the contempt in their eyes.

‘Who’s she?’ they said. ‘Not one of us.’ Then he came, as if from nowhere. ”

“Master Murdo?”

She nodded. “In the middle of a ballroom filled with people who looked down on me, he was the only one who didn’t turn away in disgust.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “At least, not then .”

“He didn’t turn away from ye in disgust when you came here before, lass.”

She might have taken comfort from his kindness had he spoken the truth.

He drew near and placed a hand on her shoulder. The small act of consideration unlocked her heart, and she surrendered to the tears while he pulled her into an embrace.

“Hush, lass. There’s naught to gain from surrendering to despair. I ken that more than most.”

She shook her head. “Perhaps I hoped for too much.”

“Foolish lass,” he chided her, his voice gentle.

“I only w-want to bathe today,” she said. “After last night…”

“Of course ye do,” he said. “Master Murdo should’ve sent for Elspeth to tend to ye. Are ye well?”

She shook her head. “It hurts.”

“Your heart, aye?” he said with a sigh. “Love does that to a lass…” He turned his gaze to the castle and whispered, as if to himself, “And a man.”

“No, my…” She bit her lip in shame. “My body.”

Shame warming her cheeks, she lowered her gaze, and he drew her into his arms.

“Ye’re in need of a friend,” he said. “Whatever ye may think of Master Murdo, he’ll see ye right.”

“I have no friends.”

“Ye’ve one right here,” he said. “Why don’t I take ye back inside? I’ll ask Joan to have a bathtub sent to yer chamber. Are ye…are ye bleeding, lass?”

She nodded, and he muttered something under his breath.

“Och, he should have been gentle yer first time. He’s so…”

The words hung in the air between them.

He’s so big.

“Do ye want me to speak to him?” he asked.

Clara shook her head. “No, you mustn’t tell my husband.”

“Tell him what?” a sneering voice said.

Duncan stiffened and released Clara. She turned to see the laird approaching, one hand curled around a cane, the deerhound following several paces behind.

“I might have known,” he said. “Have ye come fresh from my son’s bed to offer yerself to a servant? Ye’ll get no joy with him ,” he said, jabbing a finger at the ghillie. “Will she, Duncan?”

The ghillie withdrew from their embrace. “Master Angus, I was just comforting—”

“Ye’re not here to comfort anyone,” the laird snarled, “though that doesn’t stop ye. Must ye taint my whole family? Or perhaps ye see yer kind in this little whore.”

The deerhound at the laird’s feet let out a whine, and he aimed a kick at it.

“Filthy beast!” he snarled. “Always whining and mewling. Just like a woman, but less easy to train into obedience.”

He raised his cane to strike the animal, and Clara dashed toward the creature and wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck.

“Don’t touch him!”

“That beast is like a woman,” the laird said, “whining and nagging when it wants something. Ye both deserve a lashing if my son’s too weak to beat ye for carryin’ on with other men.”

“Is that what you do?” Clara said. “Beat those who dare to have minds of their own?”

“Aye, I’ll beat ye if my son’s too soft to do it himself. What kind of a man is he, bringing yer filth into my home?”

“And what kind of a man are you ?” she snapped. “You took what you wanted from my mother, and you condemn her for it. Did you beat her as well? Perhaps you beat your own wife—that is, when you weren’t betraying her in brothels.”

“Why ye little…” He raised the cane to strike her, but Duncan grasped the shaft.

“Ye don’t have the right to lay a finger on her, Master Angus,” he said. “Only Master Murdo has that right.”

Anger flashed in the laird’s eyes, and he lowered the cane.

“I’ll make sure my son knows where his duty lies.” He aimed another kick at the dog, but the animal scrambled out of the way. Then, shooting Clara a look of venom, he started toward the castle. “Buck! Come here, ye useless mutt.”

The dog made no effort to move.

“Beautiful boy,” Clara whispered, stroking the animal’s fur. “I’ll protect you from him. Perhaps you can be my friend also—then I’ll have two friends here.”

She glanced up at the ghillie, who watched her, a smile on his lips.

“Ye’re good for the clan,” he said. “It’s high time we had a lively lass in the family, to fill the castle with bairns to rule the clan as it ought to be ruled.”

“My children won’t rule the clan,” Clara said. “James is the heir.”

The ghillie frowned. “Perhaps. But it would be good for the clan if ye and Master Murdo had children. It’d bring life and laughter to Strathburn. And love—especially love. A love that can be celebrated and valued, rather than…”

He let out another sigh.

“What are you saying?” Clara asked.

“I’m saying, lass, that I know what it’s like to love but wish ye didn’t.

I can’t understand all yer pain, but I can understand that , at least.” He nodded toward the castle building.

“Be careful of Master Angus. As laird he commands loyalty among the clan, the tenants, the servants. And his sons. But if ye’re lonely, ye can speak to me.

I know what it’s like to be an outsider. ”

“But you were born here, like everyone else.”

He smiled, though the expression in his eyes remained sad. “A man can be an outsider for many reasons.”

“A woman also,” she said, scratching the dog behind his ears. He thumped his tail on the ground. “Two whole friends,” she said. “What shall I do with such an abundance of riches?”

“Ye make the most of it, lass.”

On impulse, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Duncan.”

“We’d best get ye inside, lass, and see Joan about yer bath—but before ye go, take a look.

There’s no more beautiful sight to see on a morning.

” He gestured toward the castle, and Clara caught her breath.

The outline of the building was bathed in light, the gray stone glowing pink and orange, as if it were on fire.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“That it is,” he said. “The only thing finer is the view of Beinn Urraim in the evening light. The name means Mountain of Honor. And Murdo is an honorable man, for all that he’s his father’s son.”

“Ben Oram,” she said.

“Och, lass, ye need to speak our language better than that,” he said, chuckling. “Beinn Urraim,” he repeated, his voice taking on a musical note.

“Beinn Urraim.”

“There!” he said. “We’ll make a Highlander of ye yet.”

Arm in arm they returned to the castle. Clara spotted movement at one of the windows, and froze.

Murdo was staring out of the window, his face clear in the sunlight, his brow furrowed into a frown.

He was staring at her.