Author: julianawight
Seduced by the Wrong Scot – Get Bonus Prologue
Curious to discover the moment Morgana and Craig’s lives first intertwined?
Seduced by the Wrong Scot – Extended Epilogue
One year later, MacAlpin Castle
Craig paced back and forth in the corridor outside of the bedchamber that he shared with his wife. Her brothers, James and Edward, paced with him. His sisters in law, Freya and Evelyn, were inside with Morgana as scream after scream reverberated through the wooden portal that separated them. Morgana had gone into labor just as her family had arrived for a visit in expectation of the bairn’s arrival. His sisters in law had ushered Craig out of the room and closed the door behind him. It was taking all his effort not to break the door down.
Craig’s maternal great grandfather, Alasdair, was sitting on a bench that had been brought up for the purpose. Every man present was worried, their faces lined with the fear and concern that they all felt. Craig’s own mother had died in childbirth making the fear increase tenfold, threatening to consume him. Another scream tore through the door and Craig leapt for it, grabbing ahold of the latch. His grandfather reached out a hand and laid it on top of Craig’s.
“Are ye certain, lad?”
Craig met his great grandfather’s eyes. “If this is the end, then I should be with her. I have tae be with her.”
Alasdair nodded, understanding in his eyes. In that moment, Craig was reminded that if anyone understood his pain that moment, it was his great grandfather. Alasdair had lost his only granddaughter, Craig’s mother, to just such a fate. “If ye need me, I am here.” He released Craig’s hand, then nodded again in encouragement. “Ye have yer maither’s strength. Nae matter what happens, ye will get through it.”
Craig straightened his shoulders, nodded, then stepped through the door. Morgana was seated upon a wooden birthing chair, her shift rucked up around her waist, soaked in sweat. Freya knelt between her knees, a wooden bowl with water and clean clothes beside her. Evelyn wiped Morgana’s brow with a damp cloth. “Morgana,” Craig called out to her, moving to kneel beside her.
“Craig,” Morgana panted his name, grabbing his offered hand.
“Me love,” Craig breathed, kissing her forehead.
“Me laird, this is nae done,” an older maidservant hustled forward. “We can see tae her lady’s needs. The birthing is nae place fer a man.”
“I am nae going anywhere,” Craig shook his head in refusal. “Come what may, I will nae leave me wife’s side.”
Morgana looked up into his eyes, agony and appreciation warring with each other.
“Whither thou goest I will go,” he promised with all of his heart. “Neither life nor death shall separate us.”
Tears filled Morgana’s eyes. “I love ye,” she breathed as another contraction tore through her body, and she clenched his hand so hard the bones ground together. A strangled sound erupted from her throat.
Craig positioned himself nearer to her, his legs surrounding her and the birthing chair as he began to rub her back. She leaned her head against his shoulder, moaning as he kneaded the taught muscles in her lower back. “Daes this help?” he asked her softly. He received another moan in answer. Craig took it as the closest thing to an affirmative that he was going to get and continued to massage the tension out of her muscles until another contraction hit.
He felt Morgana bear down again, groaning with pain that turned into another scream. Morgana sobbed as something inside of her shifted and a splash of liquid hit the floor. “The bairn has shifted,” Freya cried out in joyous relief. “Bear down again, Morgana,” she instructed, hope in her eyes where concern had been before.
Morgana obeyed, bearing down again with a loud cry. A bruised and slightly conical head emerged from between her legs. “I see the head,” Freya announced. “Now, Morgana, just one more time, bear down.”
Morgana panted for breath, clung to Craig’s hand as if it were the only thing holding her to the earth, then bore down with such ferocity that she roared like a feral beast. The bairn slid out into Freya’s waiting arms. Freya quickly cleaned the baby’s mouth and nose. The bairn gave out a little squawk, then a loud wail. Morgana laughed in relieved delight at the sound.
Craig let out the breath that he had been holding in a rush of joyous relief. He kissed Morgana’s forehead, tears flowing from both of their eyes as Freya placed their newborn baby onto Morgana’s stomach. “Ye have a braw wee laddie.”
“A son,” Craig breathed. “Ye gave me a son.” He would have been happy no matter what, but a son guaranteed the line of succession would remain in the family. It gave the clan stability.
Morgana stared down into the face of their son with love and awe in her eyes. She caressed the downy tuft of hair at his temple. “Me bonnie wee bairn,” she cooed softly. She offered the infant up her breast and smiled as he latched on, suckling with enthusiasm.
“That is a good lad,” Craig praised, holding his wife in his arms.
Freya continued her work, helping her to deliver the afterbirth, and cleaning the blood from Morgana’s thighs. Once her midwifery duties were done, she removed the afterbirth and bloody rags, handing them to the maidservant. She laid a cloth over the bowl to cover the bloody contents for the sake of discretion. “Let us get the new maither and bairn intae the bed.”
Craig nodded, lifting his wife and child together into his arms, then placed them safely into bed. He tucked them in, pulling the covers up to Morgana’s waist as she held their son, leaning up against the pillows. Once they were settled and decent, Craig gave Freya a nod and she opened the door to let the maidservant out. With the door opening, Morgana’s brothers burst through, unable to contain themselves further.
“Are ye well, lass?” James demanded to know, coming to stand at the foot of the bed.
Morgana smiled at him fondly and nodded. “Aye.”
“There is something that Morgana and I would like tae ask all o’ ye,” Craig announced moving to hold his wife’s hand.
James, Edward, Freya, and Evelyn moved closer to the bed. “What is it?” James asked as he wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist.
“We would like fer ye, all o’ ye, tae be our son’s godparents. Should anything happen tae us, we want the four o’ ye tae watch over him and teach him the ways o’ our people, prepare him tae be the laird that he should be.”
“We agree tae be the wee lad’s godparents,” James answered, smiling proudly down at his little nephew.
“As do we,” Edward also agreed.
“Good,” Morgana replied, smiling at her brothers. “I ken that ye will be as good tae our son as ye are tae me.”
“Always,” James and Edward replied in unison.
“Morgana needs her rest,” Freya informed everyone as she ushered them out of the room. “Ye will have a lifetime tae enjoy yer wee nephew.” James and Edward left the room, followed by Evelyn. Freya turned back at the door. “I will come back and look in on ye soon. Rest. Ye have earned it.” She smiled fondly at the three of them, then closed the door behind herself.
Craig and Morgana turned their gazes back to the tiny bundle in Morgana’s arms, who was now sleeping soundly with a full tummy. “Ye did good, lass,” Craig murmured, as he kissed the top of his wife’s head
“I am glad that ye were here,” Morgana admitted. “
Craig kissed the top of her head once more. He reached out a finger and gently caressed his son’s soft cheek. “What a braw wee laddie ye are,” he murmured. “I will love and protect ye all the days o’ me life. Ye will never doubt that ye are loved, wanted, and cherished. Yer maither and I will see tae it that ye never suffer the same pain that we suffered by the actions o’ our own parents. Fer whither we goest, ye will go. Wither we lodgest, ye will lodge. Our people shall be yer people. Upon this ye may depend, me son, always and ferever.”
“Always and ferever,” Morgana echoed, turning her face up to Craig, she kissed him softly.
They lay there together until Morgana fell asleep. Craig continued to hold the two most precious souls in his life. He could not believe how much had changed in the last two years of his life. He had gone from a man in exile without a family, to being laird of his own clan, discovering the truth about his parents, marrying the woman of his dreams, and becoming a father. He reached out a hand and cupped his son’s tiny head with his palm. “May God and all the saints bless ye and keep ye all the days o’ yer life, blood of me blood, and bone of me bone.” His words echoed back to him from the cold stone of the room, as if it was his father’s voice instead of his own, and in that moment he knew without a doubt that his father had said those same words over him upon his birth.
I was loved, and am loved, it is enough.
He smiled down at his little family with tears in his eyes.
Forever and always, his heart swore as he drifted off to sleep.
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Seduced by the Wrong Scot – Bonus Prologue
1578, MacGregor Castle
Craig Ainsley stood along the wall just left of the raised dais. He had escorted the Lady Evelyn Campbell to meet with her intended. He had remained to guard and watch over her as the particulars of the marriage were worked out. With her uncle having died, this union was imperative to secure the future of the clan. Craig knew his duty and performed it with the utmost vigilance. The one distraction that he had not counted on was the raven haired, emerald eyed sister of the Lady Evelyn’s intended.
From the first moment that he had laid eyes on the Lady Morgana MacGregor, Craig knew that his life would never be the same. She was a stunning beauty beyond compare. She had a fire in her soul that blazed within her eyes. Her gaze was intoxicating and caused Craig’s body to instantly jump to attention. When the Lady Morgana entered the room, every man’s eyes turned to look at her. Despite being the beauty she was, she behaved as if she had no notion of the effect that she had upon the male species.
As if his thoughts of her had summoned her, the Lady Morgana entered the room and glided across the great hall to the dais. She sat down beside the Lady Evelyn and smiled warmly in greeting. The two women already knew each other, for the Lady Evelyn had been promised to the MacGregor heir, James, but that marriage had fallen through. She was now promised to the second in line, Edward. The women began to talk but Craig was too far away to hear their conversation over the din of all those gathered. In spite of himself, he could not tear his eyes away from her. A platter of apple tarts was set down in front of her and she smiled, biting into one of them with pure delight on her face. Tae be that apple tart…
“A bonnie lass, aye?” Brodie Campbell, his most trusted man, came to stand beside him against the wall.
“Aye,” Craig agreed. He turned his eyes to Brodie. “What is yer report?”
“All is well. There have been nay incidents that warrant concern,” Brodie replied. He leaned back against the wall, scanning the assemblage.
“Aye,” Craig agreed. He eyed the laird’s family sitting upon the dais. “Keep a vigilant eye regardless.”
“Aye,” Brodie agreed. “Looks like ye are keeping a vigilant eye enough for all o’ us,” he teased, with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.
Craig shot him a look. “She is nae meant fer the likes o’ me.”
“Ye underestimate yer worth, me friend,” Brodie reproached him. “Any lass would be blessed indeed tae have ye fer a husband.”
“I have naething tae offer her or any other lass. Ye ken that well enough.”
Brodie shook his head. “Ye are a councilman of the Clan Campbell. Ye are a respected warrior o’ renown. Ye have much tae offer.”
“A lady o’ her standing should wed a laird, nae a lowly bastard such as I,” Craig argued.
“Have ye even spoken tae her? Perhaps she feels differently on the matter.”
“Brodie, me friend, I appreciate yer words, but they are fer nae.”
Brodie shook his head. “As ye say.” He stood up, moving way from the wall. “I will return tae our men but bear me words tae mind. Ye are worthy o’ any lass, nay matter if she is a laird’s daughter.” Brodie walked away, his words ringing in Craig’s ears.
When the evening meal was over, the Lady Evelyn retired tae her bedchamber. Craig set two of his men tae stand guard over her and went out to the stable tae check on the horses. He walked over to the stall with his favorite horse and grabbed a brush. He entered it and ran the brush over the silken hide. “She is a bonnie lass,” a feminine voice praised.
Craig looked up to find the Lady Morgana standing in front of the stall beside him. She reached out and patted the forehead of the horse next to his. “Aye, a bonnie lass indeed,” he agreed, his words carrying more meaning than she knew.
“Daes she have a name?” The Lady Morgana turned her stunning green eyes to meet his gaze.
“Aye, Epona is her name.”
“After the goddess o’ horses?”
“Aye, one and the same,” Craig nodded.
“It suits her.” Morgana smiled in approval.
“Aye, I thought so.” Craig smiled back at her. Her smile was contagious. The moment grew warm with tension as their shared gaze turned intimate. Morgana looked away, blushing slightly. It suddenly occurred to Craig that they were alone and unchaperoned in the stables together at night. “Me lady, it is nae seemly fer ye tae be here alone with me like this. Ye should return tae the great hall.”
Morgana turned back to glare at him with fire in her eyes. “Who are ye tae tell me what I should and should nae dae?”
To Craig’s chagrin, she was even more beautiful when she was fierce. “I wouldnae presume tae dae such a thing, me lady. I am simply concerned fer yer reputation.”
“There is nay need tae fash o’er me. Allow me tae be concerned fer me own wellbeing. Yer concern is fer the Lady Evelyn Campbell, nae I.”
Craig admired her rebellious spirit. He hoped that whoever she wed did not try to break it. “Aye, me concern is fer the Lady Evelyn,” he agreed. “Which is why I ken that a lady o’ yer standing shouldnae be alone with the likes o’ me.”
“The likes o’ ye? Are ye a rogue, Craig Ainsley?”
Craig laughed. “Nae quite, me lady.”
“Dae ye intend me harm?”
“I would never harm ye, me lady.” The very idea that anyone would harm her caused anger to flare within his chest.
“Then where is the danger?” Her eyes challenged him, snapping and sparkling with energy.
If only ye kenned the truth, lass.
Craig sighed, shaking his head. “The danger is tae yer reputation, nae yer person.”
“Ye let me worry about that. I dinnae believe it tae be right that we ladies must dae everything that the men in our lives tell us tae dae. Ye are nay better than we. Why dae men get tae make all of the decisions?”
Craig shrugged. “I dae believe that the church blames it on Eve.”
Morgana shook her head. “Why should all women be punished fer the actions of one? That has ne’er made sense tae me.”
Craig’s admiration for her grew. He appreciated a woman who could think for herself. “Dinnae let anyone hear ye say that, especially the priests.”
Morgana snorted in a most unladylike fashion that made him laugh outright.
“Are ye laughing at me?” Morgana asked, her eyes fiery with consternation.
“Ye are nae as I expected,” he admitted.
Her expression turned quizzical. “What dae ye mean?”
“Ye have a fire in ye that burns brighter than the sun. It is a rare quality in a person. I admire yer fer yer spirit,” he admitted.
Morgana’s gaze changed to surprise. “Most people dinnae find it so admirable. Me maither especially daesnae believe it tae be so.”
Craig raised a brow in inquiry. “How so?”
“She deems me spirit tae be tae unladylike fer polite society. She wishes fer me tae be demurer, more like her, so that I can find a wealthy, titled husband.”
“What dae ye want?” Craig asked, temporarily forgetting his intention to leave and find her a proper chaperone.
Morgana paused, tilting her head to the side. “Nay one has ever asked me that afore.”
“Well, someone is asking it now.” Craig gave her a kindly smile. “What dae ye want?”
“I dinnae ken fer certain. I ken what I dinnae want, more than what I want. I have nae ever been given a choice in the matter. Me maither has dictated me every move since the day that I was born.”
“What dae ye nae want?” Craig found her to be the most interesting woman that he had ever met.
“I dinnae want an arranged marriage tae some auld, wealthy laird who cares more fer me ability tae produce him an heir than fer me. I dinnae wish tae be sold tae the highest bidder fer the sake o’ propriety. I believe that we women are worth more than being used fer some man’s pleasure.”
Craig bit back a smile. “Ye certainly ken what ye dinnae want, me lady. I am fair impressed.”
Morgana flushed, nodded, and turned to leave the stables. Craig watched her as she left, already regretting her absence. At the doors, she paused and turned her head to look at him one last time. Their eyes met and held for the briefest of moments, saying things that their mouths could not, then she turned and disappeared from sight.
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Seduced by the Wrong Scot (Preview)
Chapter One
1580, Scotland
Morgana MacGregor closed her eyes and breathed deeply, drinking in the sounds and smells of the forest. She and her clansmen had stopped by a stream to rest and water their horses. The sound of the water burbling over the rocks was a much-needed salve to her wearied soul. She was on her way to Aberdeen to be gawked at and examined like cattle up for sale to the highest bidder. Laird Aberdeen had let it be known that he was interested in marriage and every eligible highborn daughter of age for miles around was being sent by their families for consideration.
May Heaven help the poor wee lass who catches his eye, the filthy mongrel.
Morgana nearly spat in disgust at the idea of being forced to marry such an uncouth swine of a man.
I will nae marry him, nae matter what anyone says.
She thought back to the last gathering of the clans, when she had been so unfortunate as to speak with the laird and shuddered in disgust. His breath had smelled of rot as he had bowed over her hand in courtesy. The words he spoke to her had settled little better, full of self-importance and a hint of perversion. Morgana opened her eyes with another shudder and rubbed her hand as if to remove the memory of his touch.
Stretching her back, she rolled her shoulders, attempting to get four days’ worth of muscle kinks from being on horseback to relax. Wandering downstream, she let the freedom of the forest ease her worried mind. Sunshine broke through the tree canopy overhead, dappling her skin with its spangled light and she reveled in the warmth of it.
I could stay here forever, she thought as a small smile played at the corners of her lips. A squirrel chattered at her from a nearby tree and she winked at its protestations. “Dinnae fash, wee one,” she reassured him. “I will be gone afore long. Just let me rest here a wee while, aye?” As if the squirrel had understood her, it stopped chattering and scurried away. Morgana laughed and continued walking.
“Me lady Morgana,” one of the guards called after her. “Dinnae stray too far. We will be leaving soon.”
Morgana raised a hand in acknowledgement. The men assigned to guard her were twice their normal number and vigilant to the point of annoyance, but she could not blame them. Her family had been through a great deal in recent years and had had their lives threatened more than once. Sighing, Morgana turned back toward her protectors, knowing that they were right to be concerned. A twig snapped behind her and she turned, expecting to see the displeased squirrel once more, only to find an angry faced, unkempt man looming over her. Morgana screamed as he reached for her.
“Me lady!” Morgana heard one of her clansmen cry out in concern for her, but when she turned in hopes of finding her men behind her rushing to her aid, she instead found them engaged in a most gruesome battle of survival as bandits descended upon them from the trees. They were greatly outnumbered and had no way of getting to her in time to save her. She would have to find a way to save herself. She turned back to face her foe, her mind racing. Could reach the sgian dubh under her skirts?
God in Heaven be with me, she prayed as she scrambled for a plan, any plan, to save herself.
“Give me yer jewels,” the bandit barked at her, reaching out his hand, missing the necklace that hung around her neck by a mere whisper of air as Morgana backed away, shaking her head in refusal.
“Me faither gave this tae me. It is precious tae nay one but me. Please,” she entreated as she stumbled backwards, slamming into the chest of another man. She prayed that it was one of her own clansmen, but when she turned her face up to see who was standing over her, she was sorely disappointed.
“Perhaps we will take something of more precious value then,” the second bandit grunted, reaching his hand around to clasp her left breast causing fear and disgust to tear through her entire being.
“Unhand me!” Morgana demanded.
“I will nae,” the man sneered, squeezing her breast harder. “Ye and I will be spending quite a lot o’ time taegether.” The man laughed a hollow sound that made Morgana’s skin crawl so fiercely that she shuddered. She struggled against his grasp, to no avail.
“God help me!” she cried out in desperate prayer.
“Nae God or man will be able tae help ye now.” The man placed his slobbery lips on her neck in a revulsive attempt at seduction.
Morgana looked all around her once more for someone to aid her but saw no one. The sound of swords clashing and men grunting in pain, told her that they were otherwise occupied. She thrashed about, doing everything she could to damage her attacker. The most that she succeeded in doing was to make the man stumble a step, but he did not loosen his grip. While her efforts had been mostly futile, the stumble had caused him to shift his footing. Taking the opportunity, Morgana stomped down hard on her assailant’s toes, wrenching herself free of his lude grasp.
The moment that the man’s grasp loosened, Morgana ran as if her very life depended upon it.
I will nae surrender either me necklace or me virtue tae such loathsome thugs. I will find a way tae escape this misfortune nae matter what it takes.
The sound of pounding feet behind her alerted her to her attacker’s pursuit. She risked looking over her shoulder and found both bandits running after her, exertion, anger, and lust contorting their faces into gruesome red masks of determination.
“Help! Someone help me!” Morgana cried out in distress, while she poured all her energy into running.
She thought about what she could do, her mind racing, to deter her attackers. She could not stop and face her attackers head on as her sgian dubh was no match for the two large men who were pursuing her. She racked her oxygen starved brain as she gasped for air, running for all that she was worth.
What can I dae?!
Fear and exhaustion caused tears to stream down her cheeks.
“Help!” she screamed again, pain coursing through her throat and lungs at the sheer force of it. “Help me!”
Perhaps she could offer the brigands something else of like value to deter them. Feeling a small glimmer of hope, Morgana removed all the other jewelry on her person, except for her necklace, and tossed them away from her into the trees hoping to distract her attackers. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the first man who had confronted her stop to pick the jewelry up from the ground, but the second man kept going. It appeared that he only had eyes for Morgana’s body and what it could offer him.
A fresh streak of terror raced through Morgana’s entire being, causing her to stumble, but she quickly regained her footing and ran on as fast as she could. Weaving around tree after tree, she attempted to lose her attacker, but he just kept coming. No matter how fast she ran, or what evasive maneuvers she attempted, she was not fast enough. The man’s longer strides caught up to her and he grasped a hold of her cloak, his fingers intertwining with the fabric.
“Nay!” Morgana cried out in pain as she was jerked backwards.
The sudden pressure of the metal broach against her throat threatened to cut off her airway. Struggling against the constraints of her own garment, she wept in fear and revulsion at the thought of what was about to happen to her. Mind racing, heart pounding, she could feel the heat of the man behind her as he drew her unwilling body to his.
“Ye are mine,” he growled behind her, his breath on her ear.
“Nay!” she cried out in protest, struggling against his grasp. “I will ne’er be yers!
Morgana yanked against his hold once more and a sharp pain at her throat caused by the metal of the broach created a momentary clearing of the panicked fog from her mind.
The broach!
Reaching up with frantic fingers, she unfastened her cloak. Allowing the man to have it, she darted forward. Unfortunately, she discovered too late that his fingers had also hooked onto her necklace.
“Nay,” she cried out as it ripped painfully away from her neck, leaving a mark where the chain had once lain against her skin. “Nay!” Morgana cried out again in protest but there was nothing that she could do about it. Her beloved necklace was gone. She had no time to mourn its loss as she lunged forward racing through the trees once more.
“Ye will be mine!” Roared her assailant, tossing her cloak to the ground, her necklace with it. “I will have yer body until I have had me fill and then I will share ye with me men,” he threatened, his voice causing the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle. “If there is anything left o’ ye tae share when I am through with ye, that is.” He laughed at the thought of her impending torment.
“I will ne’er be yers!”
Morgana looked over her shoulder to find that the second man had caught up to the first but had then stopped to retrieve her cloak and necklace. Sobbing, she ducked her head and leaned into the wind as she raced forward. When she finally cleared the trees, she lost all pretense of cover. She was left open and exposed in the afternoon sun. There was no place that she could go to hide, and without any blockages in her assailants’ way such as trees, logs, or underbrush, they would be able to catch up with her in no time at all.
Seeing water ahead of her, and a cliff edge quickly approaching, Morgana made the choice before she was able to calculate the full risk. Reaching the edge, she leapt. Air whooshed past her, the fabric of her gown flapping in the wind, as she prayed to whatever gods might be listening to save her. Her last thoughts as she fell were that she could not swim.
Morgana hit the water with a scream, praying that there were no sharp rocks below the surface. She sank beneath the waves, gasping for air. Her lungs burned as she frantically flailed about attempting to reclaim the surface. Her efforts resulted in a brief emergence, only to have a wave crash over her and send her plummeting back down into the watery abyss. She was drowning and there was nothing that she could do about it. She had never been taught how to swim, and her sodden clothes were weighing her down. She thrashed about in an attempt to surface, but it was to no avail. The more she fought, the more tired she became, causing her to only sink faster. Reaching her arm up towards the ever-dimming light, she said goodbye to all those that she loved.
Chapter Two
Craig Ainsley rode alongside his men laughing and jesting as they teased their newest recruit about his wandering eye for the lassies, when the sounds of battle whipped past them on the wind. “Lads,” he signaled for them to be silent, and they immediately obeyed, each man coming to a complete halt as they listened. The sound of battle came again. “The forest,” Craig observed, and his men nodded in agreement. Without saying another word, he and his men melted into the trees, using the undergrowth to hide their movements as they went to investigate.
When they came upon a small clearing with a stream, they found the ground littered with bodies while a battle still raged above the prone corpses. “Those are MacGregor clansmen,” Craig’s most trusted man, Brodie, murmured under his breath.
Craig and Bodie served the Laird Edward Campbell, born a MacGregor, who had then taken his wife’s clan’s name when he had inherited the lairdship after her uncle’s death. The Lady Evelyin had been the sole heir.
“Aye,” Craig agreed. “I recognized them as well. I dinnae ken the men that they are fighting. Regardless, we cannae leave them tae it. There are nae enough MacGregor men left tae defeat their attackers.”
“Aye, bandits, looks like,” Brodie agreed. “What is our plan o’ attack?”
“We will use the element of surprise tae our advantage,” Craig answered, scanning the landscape for more bandits. “I dinnae see any other attackers aside from these, but that daes nae mean that there are nay others nearby.”
“Brodie, ye take half o’ the men and come from this side,” he gestured towards the left flank. “I will take the other half o’ our men and come around from the other side. We will cut them off from any means o’ escape,” Craig instructed.
“Aye,” Brodie nodded in agreement. He moved towards the left flank, tapping half of their men on the shoulder as he moved among them to follow him. He instructed the rest of their men to join Craig on the right flank.
Craig and his men moved silently through the trees around to the other side of the clearing. “On me signal,” he commanded his men keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard. His men nodded in acknowledgement, standing at the ready.
Craig waited until he caught Brodie’s eye across the clearing, then raised his arm, letting it fall in a signal to attack. The Campbell clansmen raced forward out of the trees catching the bandits completely by surprise. None of them were ready for the hail of swords that rained down upon them. The bandits turned from the remaining wounded MacGregor clansmen and faced Craig’s men with no hope of winning. They were outnumbered, outmanned, exhausted. It did not take long for the well-rested Campbell clansmen to defeat them.
Standing over the bodies of the slain and wounded, Craig shook his head. He did not relish the thought of having to inform the Laird Edward about his people. “Gather the dead and the wounded of the MacGregor clansmen,” he instructed his men. “We will take the wounded with us tae find a healer. The dead deserve a proper burial amongst their own people.” Craig knelt down beside one of the wounded men. “Are there any more o’ yer men that we should find?”
“The Lady Morgana,” the wounded MacGregor clansman gasped out.
“What about the Lady Morgana?” Craig asked, concern seizing his mind and wrinkling his brow. “Was she with ye?”
“Aye, we were accompanyin’ her to Laird Aberdeen,” the wounded warrior gasped out, lifting a finger into the forest where he had last seen her. “Two o’ the men who attacked us went after her. I dinnae ken what has befallen her.”
Fear gripped Craig’s heart. Laird Edward’s sister was out there somewhere, dead or alive he did not know. “Morgana?!” Craig roared as he searched the nearby forest. “Morgana?!” he roared again but heard nothing.
“Craig?” Brodie inquired, coming stand beside him.
“The Lady Morgana was with her men. I am going tae look fer her,” Craig informed him.
“We will go with ye,” Brodie offered, concern wrinkling his brow.
Craig looked around at the wounded men and shook his head. “I will go and search fer her. These men will nae live tae see the morn if ye dinnae get them tae a healer. There will be nae more loss o’ the Laird Edward’s people if I have a say in it.”
“Aye,” Brodie nodded in agreement. “It is true. They will nae last much longer without care.”
“Take them tae the nearest healer that ye can find. Take me horse tae help transport the wounded. I will rejoin ye with the Lady Morgana as swiftly as I am able tae,” Craig instructed.
“Aye,” Brodie nodded and turned to do as instructed. He issued orders to the other men, and the difficult task of gathering up the dead and wounded began.
Craig walked over to the area of the forest that the MacGregor clansman had pointed to and inspected the ground for footprints. He found signs of a scuffle, then three sets of footprints that ran off through the mud on the other side of the stream. A woman’s scream pierced the air, igniting his blood with fear. “Morgana!” Craig yelled her name and took off at a dead run in the direction of the footprints. “Morgana!”
As he ran through the trees, his mind raced with concern for Morgana’s life. She was a strong woman. He knew that she would put up a good fight, but she was no match for two fully grown armed men bent on harming her. Craig ran with all of his speed and power, dodging trees and leaping over logs, stones, and underbrush. Another scream pierced the air, and he ran straight towards the sound. Up ahead, through the trees, he could make out the shape of a man kneeling over a dark form on the ground.
Rage seized his heart, mind, and soul, as Craig charged through the woodland throwing himself at the man, knocking him to the ground. Flashes of metal flew through the air as jewelry scattered across the ground, but it was the sight of Morgana’s necklace gripped tightly in the man’s hand that nearly sent him over the edge into outright murder. He pinned the man down, blade to his throat.
“Where is she?!” Craig shouted, demanding an immediate answer from his prisoner. The dark form on the ground was Morgana’s cloak but she was nowhere to be seen. “Where is she?!” He shook the man so hard that his teeth rattled, resulting in the blade moving away from his neck. It was just the moment that the bandit needed to gain enough leverage to bash Craig in the head.
Craig staggered backwards momentarily dazed. The bandit rolled out from beneath him and attempted to regain his footing, but Craig was not about to allow him to get the upper hand. He launched himself at the bandit once more and they grappled around on the ground, each trying to gain control of the other. Craig just barely managed to regain control of the blade and set the tip against the man’s throat. “Where is she?” he growled menacingly.
The man laughed. “Ye will ne’er find her in time and ye will nae want tae find her when he is done with her.” The man laughed with such gleeful menace, that it was as if pure evil lay on the ground beneath him. “I would have done the same tae her had I reached her first.”
“Tell me where she is and I might let ye live,” Craig commanded, attempting to swallow his rage.
“I would rather die than bow tae the likes o’ ye Campbells,” the man spat out.
“I am nae a Campbell, but I would be happy tae acquiesce yer request,” Craig growled, sinking the blade into the man’s throat. The bandit’s eyes widened briefly in surprise, then panic, then glazed over in death as he bled out onto the ground.
Rising, Craig removed his blade and cleaned it on the man’s clothing. Picking up Morgana’s necklace he placed it in his sporran and arose to run once more. Through the trees, he could just make out an open space and he ran for it as hard and fast as he could. Just as he emerged from the forest, he caught sight of Morgana leaping to her death over the side of the cliff, while her attacker just barely missed grabbing her by her hair.
“Morgana!” Craig yelled in horror. He ran forward drawing his sword and plunged it through her attacker’s heart before the man realized he was there, then leapt over the side of the cliff after Morgana.
***
Morgana had fought with all of her strength to save herself from drowning, but to no avail. The great aquatic expanse had swallowed her up and was about to become her final resting place.
I cannae believe that this is how it ends. After everything that me family has been through, it is nae by battle or auld age that I meet me end, but by the sea, but still better than at the hands of bandits.
She did not know when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, panic had turned to peace. Just as Morgana started to surrender to unconsciousness and her fate, she felt something strong wrap around her torso. She felt it grasp her body and begin to move upward. In her cloud fogged oxygen starved mind, she realized that someone was hauling her up out of the water.
When her head finally burst forth above the surface and into the blessed air, she gasped, coughed, and sputtered up water from her lungs. She flailed about, afraid that she might sink once more, and even more afraid that her rescuer was also her assailant. “Let me go! I would rather die than succumb tae the likes o’ ye! Let me go!”
“Morgana,” a familiar masculine voice called her name. “Morgana, ye are safe.”
She turned her head to see her brother Edward’s councilman treading water beside her, holding her up above the water. “Craig?”
“Aye,” Craig nodded, he searched her face, concern wrinkling his brow. “Are ye hurt? Did they hurt ye?”
Morgana shook her head. “Nay, I am nae wounded.”
“Good,” Craig acknowledged, brushing the hair back from her face. He watched her breathing for a moment, before turning his eyes to search the coastline.
Morgana followed his eyes and felt panic well up inside of her once more. There was nothing but a rocky cliff face. As far as her eyes could see, there was no clear way back up to the top. It was a miracle that she had not fallen to her death on the rocks. “Craig?” she breathed his name in questioning prayer.
“We will find a way, lass. Hold on tae me and I will swim us tae the rocks,” he instructed, as he moved her body around his and onto his back.
Morgana did as he instructed, holding on to his shoulders and kicking her legs as he swam them to the face of the cliff.
“Dae ye see anything?” she asked. In spite of the cold water, she felt a flush of heat within her breasts where their two bodies touched.
“Nay, nae yet.” Craig swam along the cliff until he found a rocky protrusion that he could hoist Morgana up onto. Morgana was startled by his strength as he hefted her up onto the rocks. She shivered as the cool air hit her sodden wet garments. The water had been cold enough, but adding the cold air raised bumps over her entire body. She shivered so hard that her teeth chattered.
“What will we dae?” she breathed, attempting to hide the fear from her voice as she looked up the side of the cliff.
“We will find a way up,” he reassured her. He looked her over from head to foot making certain that she had not been injured in any way. “Are ye well, lass?” The concern in his hazel eyes made them all the more dynamic.
“I am well enough,” she answered. A shiver of cold passed over Morgana’s body.
“We need tae get ye up out o’ this water and near a fire afore ye freeze tae death.” He turned his eyes back to the inspection of the rocky cliff that towered above them. “I think I see a way up, but it will be dangerous. Ye will need tae shed that wet gown.”
Morgana looked at him mortified. “Ye wish fer me tae climb this cliff naked?”
Craig shook his head. “I would nae ask ye tae dae such a thing if it were nae absolutely necassary. Ye can keep yer shift, lass, but the gown must go. It is too laden with water fer ye tae make it up the side o’ this cliff while wearing it. I will help ye all that I am able, but ye must dae yer part. Yer modesty and virtue will remain intact. I would ne’er dae aught tae compromise ye.”
Morgana was having difficulty thinking through the fear that was coursing through her entire body. She had been attacked, nearly drowned, and was now forced to climb a sheer cliff face. To make matters worse, she had no notion as to whether her attackers were still at the top of the cliff. “I dinnae wish tae die, in a shift or nae.”
Craig shook his head again. “Ye are nae going tae die this day. Nae if I have anything tae say about it. But believe me, there are worse ways tae die than in a shift,” Craig chuckled, giving her a knowing smile.
Morgana blushed once more at the insinuation of his words. “Ye should nae speak tae me thus,” she reprimanded him, more to hide her own body’s response to the images that his words conjured in her mind than in actual offense.
“Aye, me apologies, me lady. I should nae have spoken tae ye thus,” Craig’s manner shifted, causing a silent tension to descend over them. Taking a deep breath, he met her eyes. “Regardless of propriety, ye have nay choice but tae disrobe if ye wish tae survive this day. Ye are a brave lass. Ye can dae this,” he reassured her.
Before Morgana could argue further, he hefted himself up onto the stone beside her. His wet clothes clung to every line of his muscular arms and torso. It was an awe-inspiring sight that made Morgana’s blush deepen to a bright fiery red that started in her cheeks and traveled down her neck to her breasts. “I can dae anything that ye can dae,” she quipped to hide her discomfort.
Craig smiled in acknowledgement of her claim. “That is good. Ye will need courage. Enough talking now. It is time tae remove yer gown and get tae climbing.”
Morgana frowned at him but did as he instructed, removing her outer clothing. She knew that he was right and to protest further would only waste valuable time and energy. As she shed the last article of clothing, she caught him looking at her with a glimmer of desire in his eyes. “I am ready,” she informed him, as she let the last garment fall.
Morgana stood shivering in her wet shift attempting to cover herself with her hands as Craig looked up from her practically see-through shift and met her eyes. Morgana thought she saw desire and honor battling in his. Uneasy, she shifted her gaze away from his. Despite the cold wetness of her shift, she could feel her body heating up under his stare. She quickly turned her head to stare up the cliff in trepidation.
Craig shifted uneasily next to her. Tearing his eyes away from her, he followed her gaze up the cliff face. “Now it is time tae climb,” he instructed. Taking her hand in his, he placed it on the first rocky hand hold. “Dae ye see that next place there?” He gestured towards a small rock protrusion that she could grasp a hold of to gain some leverage. It was not a large protrusion, but her hands were small enough to make it work. She had never climbed a cliff before and the thought of falling all of those feet again made her more than a little nervous.
Craig gathered Morgana’s clothing and examined them as if he were testing the weight of them, then shook his head.
“What is it?” Morgana asked, watching him over her shoulder.
“I cannae carry yer clothes up the cliff and manage tae help ye climb as well. They are tae sodden with water. I have nay choice but tae leave yer gown behind.” His eyes swept over her barely concealed posterior.
Morgana could feel herself blushing once more, so she hurriedly turned back towards the cliff. There was nothing she could do at that moment, so she tried to ignore just how vulnerable she felt and concentrated on the task at hand.
“I will put yer clothes in as safe a place as I can,” he promised from behind her. Out of the corner of her eyes, Morgana saw him bundle up her clothes and place them on an upper rock shelf, barely big enough for the dripping fabric. Once they were secured, Craig joined her on the wall.
Morgana had not made it much past the first steps, when her foot slipped, and she lost her hold on the wet stones. “Craig!” She cried out as she fell backwards towards the jagged rocks below.
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The Barbarian Laird’s Dangerous Claim – Extended Epilogue
The morning sun spilled in through the high windows of the castle library, casting golden stripes across the floor and warming the stones beneath Niall’s bare feet. The fire in the hearth had long since dwindled to a flicker, and the air held the soft hush of a household waiting for news.
A small figure clung to Niall’s leg like a particularly clingy barnacle.
“Aikin,” Niall said with a long-suffering sigh, dragging one foot across the rug while his other leg—occupied—refused to budge. “Lad, ye ken I cannae walk proper like this.”
“I am walkin’!” his three-year-old declared triumphantly, chin tipped high as he copied Niall’s slow, measured pacing—albeit attached to his father’s calf like a limpet. “We are marchin’. Fer battle!”
“Oh aye?” Niall arched a brow, trying his best to ignore the flutter of nerves in his stomach. “And who are we fightin’, then?”
Aikin gave this due thought, frowning in concentration as he waddled in time with his father’s steps. “Dragons.”
Niall laughed despite himself. “Dragons now, is it? Och, that explains the sword ye were swingin’ earlier like a madman.”
“’Twas a stick.”
“Aye, but ye hit yer Uncle Bhaltair in the knee with it, so I’m fair certain he’ll call it a weapon regardless.”
Aikin giggled, a sweet bubbling sound that filled the room like sunshine. His curly auburn hair bounced with every hop-step, and he kept his little hand tight around Niall’s legs as though the floor might vanish beneath him if he let go.
Niall ruffled the boy’s hair. “Remind me never tae give ye a real sword.”
The pacing resumed. Niall tried to make it look casual, unhurried, but his mind was anything but calm. Somewhere above, behind thick stone walls and wooden doors, Deidra was in labor—again. And though he’d been through this once already, though he told himself again and again that she was strong and everything would be fine, his heartbeat betrayed him.
Aikin craned his head up, squinting. “Da?”
“Aye?”
“Where’s Mama?”
Niall stopped. He crouched, bringing himself eye to eye with his son. “She’s upstairs, remember? With Catriona and the midwife.”
“Is she sick?”
“Nay, love.” He smiled and tapped the boy’s nose. “She’s… makin’ us a gift.”
Aikin’s eyes lit up like stars. “A gift?! What kind?”
“A very special one.” Niall’s voice softened. “One ye’ll get tae hold. Somethin’ ye’ll love.”
“Can I see it now?”
“Nay, nae yet.” Niall stood again, smoothing a hand over his face. “Gifts like this one take a bit o’ time.”
“Oh.” Aikin’s lips puckered in thought. “Like soup?”
Niall coughed to hide a laugh. “Aye. Just like soup. If ye check the pot too early, it’ll just be water and carrots.”
The boy nodded solemnly, apparently satisfied by this culinary metaphor.
They resumed pacing. For a few blissful minutes, it worked. The footsteps, the distraction, the distraction pretending not to be a distraction. Until—
A scream echoed faintly from above.
Niall froze.
Aikin’s hand tightened on his leg. “Was that Mama?”
“Aye,” Niall said, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. “But dinnae worry yerself, lad. That’s just…” He wracked his brain. “She’s… shoutin’ at the soup.”
Aikin blinked at him.
“She does that sometimes,” Niall added. “When the carrots fight back.”
The boy giggled. “Mama’s funny.”
“Aye, she is,” Niall muttered, resuming their route, heart thundering in his chest. “She’s a fierce one, yer mama.”
But the pacing wasn’t helping anymore.
He needed to do something. Anything.
His eyes fell on the chessboard laid out on the low table beside the fire. He scooped Aikin into his arms and set him down before it.
“Right,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice. “Let’s see if ye’ve still got the cleverness tae best me.”
Aikin’s face lit with glee. “I’ll win again!”
“Och, ye cheated last time!”
“I didnae!”
“Well, ye distracted me by spillin’ orange juice down yer tunic, so I’d say that’s close enough.”
The chess pieces tumbled across the board as Aikin’s small hands rearranged the ranks with imperial authority. The knight wobbled precariously before tumbling sideways, skittering across the polished wood like a spooked stallion, before Niall grabbed it and gave it back to him.
“This one’s Sir Horsebottom,” Aikin declared, plucking up a bishop and balancing it precariously atop his own king’s head. “He wears crowns for hats!”
Niall bit the inside of his cheek. “Daring fashion choice.”
“And this—” Aikin grabbed a pawn, spun it three times until it wobbled, then slammed it down so hard the remaining pieces shuddered”—is Lord Wiggles. He defeats enemies by dancing!” To demonstrate, he made the pawn jiggle in a wild circle before sending it careening into Niall’s queen.
“A brutal tactic,” Niall admitted, stroking his chin as if studying a real battlefield. He inched his queen forward with exaggerated caution, letting his fingers tremble for effect. “Perhaps if I… just… here—”
“HA!” Aikin shrieked, seizing his dancing pawn. “Lord Wiggles eats the lady!” The piece smacked against the queen with enough force to send both skittering off the board.
Niall gasped, clutching his chest. “Treachery! Me finest warrior, felled by… by…”
“I am the king,” Aikin said proudly, holding the small wooden piece aloft like a battle trophy.
“Aye, and here I thought I was the laird of this keep.”
“Nope.” The boy grinned wide, revealing the gap from a tooth he’d knocked loose trying to climb a bannister last week. “Ye’re me knight. Knights protect the king.”
“Och, is that how it is?” Niall grabbed him and tossed him into the air, catching him as Aikin shrieked with delight. “Then I best be wearin’ armor at all times!”
“Again! Higher!”
“Ye’ll hit the rafters, laddie!”
A sudden sound stopped him—this time not a scream, but the unmistakable rush of footsteps.
The doors to the library burst open.
Catriona stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed, her apron damp with sweat. Her hands trembled slightly—but her smile was steady.
Niall’s stomach dropped, his heart beating frantically as he raised to his feet.
“Well?” he asked, the word leaving his mouth like a prayer.
Catriona’s eyes sparkled.
“She’s here,” she said. “A girl. And healthy as a wee fox.”
Niall swayed where he stood, laughter tumbling from his chest before he even realized it.
“A lass,” he breathed, eyes stinging. “Deidra?”
“Tired. But well. She’s askin’ fer ye.”
Aikin tugged on his tunic. “Can I come see the gift now?”
Niall pressed a kiss to the crown of Aikin’s head, still dizzy with the news. “Come now, lad,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Let’s go meet yer sister.”
Aikin’s whole face lit up like a candle. “Me gift?!”
Niall chuckled, shifting the boy to his hip as he started for the stairs. “Aye, the best gift ye’ll ever get. But ye have tae be gentle. She’s brand new.”
The castle walls seemed to glow with morning light as they ascended, a warm hush settling over everything. Each step toward Deidra filled Niall with a pulsing sort of joy, like the beat of a drum beneath his ribs. It amazed him, really, how different this moment felt from the first time.
The first had been raw and terrifying, a storm of fear and fierce, desperate love. This time, the love had only grown. Softer in some ways. Stronger in others.
The bedroom door stood slightly ajar. Catriona had left it open for them, and Niall pushed it gently with his shoulder.
The cry met them instantly. Thin and high, insistent and alive.
Aikin wriggled in his arms. “Is that her?!”
“Aye,” Niall murmured, kissing his temple. “That’s her voice. Go see her, lad.”
He set Aikin down and the boy hurried across the room, small feet slapping softly on stone, his curls bouncing with each step. Deidra was propped against a mound of pillows, her face pale but glowing, her gown rumpled and her hair a halo of tangled red. The baby lay in the crook of her arm, pink-faced and wailing.
Aikin climbed carefully onto the bed and leaned close, his nose nearly brushing the baby’s. He stared for a long moment, mouth slightly open in awe.
Then, very solemnly, he leaned in and kissed her forehead.
Deidra laughed, breathless and warm. “Well then. Someone’s smitten already.”
Niall crossed the room more slowly, taking her in. Every inch of her, every sound, every breath. He reached the bedside and dropped to his knees beside her, unable to speak for a moment. He looked from her flushed cheeks to the baby’s red face to Aikin’s wide, wonder-filled eyes. His heart was full to bursting.
“She has yer eyes,” Deidra said softly, brushing her fingers across the baby’s cheek.
Niall leaned forward, his calloused hand cradling her cheek. When his lips met hers, time seemed to pause—the world narrowing to the warmth of her mouth, the faint tremor of her breath against his skin.
He kissed her slowly, deliberately, savoring the way her lips surrendered to his, the familiar taste of honeyed tea and something uniquely Deidra that always made his chest tighten.
In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the past, not the battles fought, not the scars they bore. Only this, the steady beat of her heart against his, the quiet certainty that she was here, alive and whole, and his.
As they parted, Niall lingered, his breath mingling with hers in the narrow space between them. His thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone, rough skin catching slightly on the softness of hers.
He studied her face—the faint freckles dusting her nose like constellations he’d memorized long ago, the way her lashes fluttered against the pink of her cheeks. But it was her eyes that held him captive, those familiar depths brimming with a love so fierce it made his chest ache. In their reflection, he saw every shared sunrise, every whispered promise, every battle fought side by side.
Then he turned to their daughter.
“May I?” he asked.
Deidra nodded, and he gently gathered the baby in his arms. She was impossibly small, so soft he was half afraid she might melt if he held her too tightly. Her cries quieted at the change of arms, little mouth working in the air like she had more to say.
The moment the baby curled her tiny fist around his finger, Niall felt the air leave his lungs in a rush.
That same dizzying wave of love crashed over him—precisely as it had when he’d first held Aikin, swaddled and squalling in the crook of his arm three years prior. Only now, he recognized the sensation before it could knock him breathless—this terrifying, exhilarating freefall into devotion.
He traced the petal-soft curve of the baby’s cheek with one calloused knuckle, marveling at how something so small could unravel him so completely. Her nose wrinkled, mirroring Deidra’s expression when she laughed. The recognition sent a pang through him.
How had he ever feared this?
Aikin had taught him the sharp joy of fatherhood—the scraped knees and midnight fevers that made his hands shake. But this little girl slipped into the hollow spaces of his heart he hadn’t known were empty.
Deidra’s tired voice broke through his reverie. “Ye’re crying again.”
Niall didn’t wipe his tears.
“She’s perfect,” he whispered.
“I want tae name her Elsie,” Deidra said, watching him with tear-bright eyes.
He smiled through a rush of emotion. “Elsie MacRae. A fine name.”
He lifted one of the baby’s tiny fists to his lips and kissed it. Her fingers curled instinctively around his thumb again, and his chest squeezed tight.
Aikin had nestled against Deidra now, his head tucked against her side. “Mama,” he said quietly, stroking her arm with a chubby hand. “Did it hurt when Elsie came?”
Deidra chuckled softly, her voice still hoarse. “A bit, love. But I’d dae it again and again tae meet her.”
Aikin considered this gravely. “Did ye fight the carrots tae get her?”
Niall let out a surprised bark of laughter, then quickly smothered it when Elsie twitched in his arms. “Nay, lad. Nay carrots. Though if she did, we’d have sent our entire army tae help her.”
“Da,” Deidra scolded gently, though her eyes danced.
Niall sat back on the stool beside the bed, cradling Elsie as her little face settled into a pout. He watched her in quiet wonder as Deidra and Aikin spoke in low, giggly tones. It struck him then, in a way it hadn’t before, just how much Aikin resembled her. The same hazel eyes, that soft auburn hair. The same fierce curiosity.
“He’s just like ye,” Niall murmured, catching Deidra’s gaze. “The way he questions everything. And that same fire in his stare when he daesnae get the answer he wants.”
She grinned. “He’s stubborn as ye, too.”
“Aye, he is.”
He looked back to Elsie, whose eyes had opened again—deep blue, startling against her delicate features. Not the murky blue of newborns, but something vivid, something alive. Like cut sapphires catching sunlight.
Niall sucked in a quiet breath. “Her eyes…”
Deidra leaned forward slightly. “What about them?”
“They’re… They’re unreal. Like they see straight through me.”
Deidra’s expression softened. “Aye. She sees her da. That’s love, that is.”
Niall looked down again, heart twisting. He began to hum—a quiet, gentle tune he’d heard a hundred times before. It was the lullaby Deidra used to sing to Aikin when he was just a baby, all sighs and sleepy smiles.
This time, the melody came from him.
Elsie blinked slowly, then yawned, and within moments, she had drifted into sleep, a fragile weight against his chest.
He rocked her slowly, breath catching in his throat.
Aikin, too, had fallen asleep beside Deidra, his little hand still resting on her arm. Her fingers threaded through his curls as she leaned back into the pillows.
Niall stood slowly, carefully, and carried Elsie across the room to the bassinet Catriona had readied by the window. He placed her gently within, brushing one last kiss to her downy head before returning to Deidra’s side.
They sat together in the hush, the fire crackling low, the room brimming with warmth and quiet joy.
“They’re perfect,” Deidra whispered.
“They are,” Niall agreed, slipping his hand into hers.
“Imagine,” she said, turning her head toward him, eyes twinkling. “Ye didnae even want tae be a faither.”
He made a noise deep in his throat. “Dinnae ken who ye’re talkin’ about. I love bein’ a faither.”
Deidra arched a brow. “Ye dae now.”
Niall leaned in and kissed her—not with heat, but with reverence. With thanks.
“I’m lucky,” he said softly, pulling back just far enough to see her. “Lucky because me bairns have ye fer a maither.”
She exhaled shakily, tears welling again. “I’m happy, Niall. Truly. Fer the first time in a long while… I feel whole. There is naething else I’d ever ask fer.”
The End.
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The Barbarian Laird’s Dangerous Claim – Get Bonus Prologue
Curious to discover the moment Deidra and Niall’s lives first intertwined?
The Barbarian Laird’s Dangerous Claim – Bonus Prologue
One week earlier, Ballentine Estate
Lady Deidra,
I pray this finds ye in health and peace. I am told the arrangements have been confirmed, and I trust ye have found some comfort in the clarity o’ our understanding. I would never ask o’ ye more than what was promised. Ye have endured more than any person ought tae, and I would nae see yer heart made tae suffer again.
Rest assured, I have nay expectation o’ a marriage beyond convenience. This is nae tae be a union o’ passion or burden, but o’ safety and sensibility. Ye will be well cared fer at Castle MacRae. Me people are prepared tae welcome ye, and so am I.
Ye are expected Thursday. The wedding celebration will be held Friday.
Until then,
Niall MacRae
The letter had long begun to fray at the edges, smoothed and refolded so many times its creases were soft as silk. Deidra’s fingers traced the words one more time, as though the ink might change beneath her touch. The candle by her bedside flickered, casting trembling shadows across the parchment.
It should have calmed her. It did calm her, or so she told herself. Yet she had read several times that evening alone, as though the words might shift and betray some hidden intention. But they remained gentle and firm, unfaltering in tone. Like Niall himself, she supposed.
This is the right choice.
She curled her legs closer to her chest, blanket bunched at her feet, her chemise wrinkled from sitting still for too long.
Her gaze dropped to the letter again, to the wax seal. She knew that what she had to do. It made sense. Niall was a good man. He had no desire to cage her, no expectations. He’d written her three letters since the arrangement was agreed upon, and in each he’d sounded… reasonable.
She didn’t want love. She didn’t want risk. She wanted peace. And that, at least, he seemed to offer.
A soft knock startled her. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Deidra?” came her brother’s voice—Ewan, calm and warm.
She hastily shoved the letter under the pillow and smoothing the coverlet as though her thoughts might also be hidden that way.
“Aye—come in!”
The door creaked open, and Ewan stepped in, closing it gently behind him. He didn’t speak right away, just looked at her in that way he did when he knew something was wrong. Then he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders like he had done since they were children.
“Ye alright?” he asked softly.
“I’m fine.”
Deidra could see it in his eyes, in the way they lingered on her face—he didn’t believe her. She didn’t blame him.
His fingers tapped lightly against her upper arm. “Ye leave tomorrow,” he said.
She nodded, glancing briefly at the pillow where the letter lay hidden.
“Tae Castle MacRae.”
“Aye.”
He looked down at her. “And how dae ye feel about it?”
Deidra hesitated, then lifted her chin with deliberate grace. “I’m happy.”
Ewan blinked. “Ye dinnae look happy.”
Her lips twitched, the tiniest frown betraying her. “I am content.”
She was, wasn’t she? Content?
The word sat heavy on her tongue, like a stone too large to swallow yet too dangerous to spit out. Content. It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t hope. It was… safety. Predictability. A grey, quiet kind of surrender.
She’d once dreamed of more—of love letters that spoke of longing, not logistics. Of a man who would know her favorite things and how she took her tea. Of walks in the dusk and promises of love and devotion whispered against her skin. But that had been another life, another Deidra. Before the kidnapping.
What she had now was better, wasn’t it? An arrangement, clear expectations. No illusions, no heartache.
Yes, contentment was the right word. Not happiness. Happiness could be taken.
So she clung to the smaller word, the safer one, the one that wouldn’t shatter when held too tightly.
“Content,” he repeated, raising a brow.
“This is the most logical choice. I need protection. He needs a wife. We both understand the terms of our arrangement.”
Ewan was silent for a long moment. The candle flame danced between them, casting a golden edge to his profile.
“I always hoped,” he said quietly, “that one day ye’d find something more than logic.”
She turned her face slightly, avoiding his gaze.
“Ye were always the romantic,” he went on. “Remember when ye used tae hide away in the library with those ghastly love stories?”
“I was young,” Deidra shrugged, forcing her gaze to the door so she wouldn’t have to see his expression.
“Ye were hopeful,” his voice was almost scolding.
She said nothing.
He shifted to face her more fully, one hand now resting atop hers. “Deidra, I ken what happened changed ye. I ken it left ye with reasons tae be cautious. But I also ken ye and I ken ye want more than this.”
“Nay,” she said firmly. “I dinnae. I dinnae even want tae look at a man who’s nae kin. It’s better this way.”
Ewan sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Ye ken he’s called a barbarian, right?”
She couldn’t help the slight smile that curled at the corner of her mouth. “Aye, I’m aware.”
“He’s rough. He once punched out a priest over a land dispute.”
Deidra’s brows lifted. “Oh, that story’s true, then?”
Ewan nodded grimly.
Deidra chuckled under her breath. “He’s also… considerate. In his letters, at least.”
Ewan gave her a look. “Ye’re trusting a man ye’ve never met based on three letters.”
“I’m trusting that he understands the arrangement we made. He hasnae tried tae change the terms. He hasnae made demands. That alone makes him better than most.”
Ewan didn’t argue. He only looked at her for a moment, as though weighing his next words.
He reached out and kissed the top of her head. “Ye have a long ride ahead tomorrow,” he said, rising to his feet.
Deidra nodded, eyes flicking again to the pillow.
“Try tae sleep,” he added gently, lingering for a beat before stepping toward the door.
“Goodnight, Ewan.”
“Goodnight, Deidra.”
He closed the door softly behind him.
She didn’t move right away. The candle guttered low. Only then did she slowly slide her hand back beneath the pillow and retrieve the letter.
She read it again.
Her mind wandered to Castle MacRae—what it would look like, what sort of man Niall truly was, whether his promises of peace and distance would hold once they were bound by law. But mostly, her thoughts remained on her brother’s words.
Ye were always the romantic.
Once. Not anymore.
But the ache in her chest didn’t quite agree.
That part of her, whatever still remained, had to stay buried.
She placed the letter on the bedside table and curled onto her side, the blanket drawn up to her chin. Tomorrow, everything would change.
And that, she told herself, was a good thing.
Wasn’t it?
***
The morning sun barely touched the high towers of Ballentine Castle, its light slanting across the stone corridors in long, thin beams. Deidra fastened the final buckle on her traveling cloak, her fingers trembling only slightly. She blamed the chill in the air.
The room was a mess of trunks and gowns and hurried decisions.
Deidra sat on the foot of her bed. She ought to feel excitement. A new life awaited her at the end of this journey. A new husband, a new future.
Instead, a strange hollowness sat heavy in her chest.
Deidra caught sight of herself in the polished glass across the room. Her own reflection startled her—the tight set of her mouth, the tense line of her shoulders.
This wasn’t the girl who had once dreamt of love matches and brought bright laughter into the castle halls. That girl had been left somewhere along the road of heartache, abandoned when her trust had cost her more than she dared remember.
Isla had love. Ewan had love.
And she—she had survival.
Perhaps Ewan had been right. Perhaps it was a hasty decision. But even if she could someday recover from all that had happened, the healing would take years. Years spent as a burden to her brother and his new wife, watching their happiness from the shadows of their generosity.
No. This was the only way.
Her brother’s protests, however well-meant, changed nothing. She wouldn’t become that pitiable spinster aunt, growing gray and bitter in some forgotten wing of his castle, forever defined by what had been done to her rather than what she might yet become.
The door creaked, breaking the heavy stillness.
“Deidra?” Isla’s voice, soft and tentative.
Deidra turned as Isla stepped into the room. In her hand, she held a small bundle wrapped in silk.
“I thought ye might want this,” Isla said, crossing the room.
Deidra took the bundle, unwrapping it carefully to reveal a tiny, stitched charm—an old Ballentine tradition, worn for luck and safe passage.
Her throat tightened painfully.
“Thank ye,” she whispered.
Isla smiled faintly and moved closer, reaching up to smooth a stray lock of Deidra’s hair away from her brow. Her touch was gentle, motherly. Deidra blinked fast, forcing back the sudden sting in her eyes.
“Ye’ll be alright,” Isla said, her voice low. “Ye’re stronger than ye think.”
Deidra swallowed and nodded.
A loud call from the courtyard interrupted them—the sound of horses being readied, the clatter of wheels against stone.
“Deidra!” Her brother’s voice, deep and tense, echoed up the stairwell.
Isla squeezed her hand and stepped back. “Go on, then. He’s waitin’.”
Deidra managed a trembling smile, clutching the charm tightly as she gathered her things.
When she descended the stairs, the castle felt unnaturally large and hollow, as if it too were bracing to let her go. Her steps echoed through the corridors, memories pressing close with every stride. Racing Ewan through the hallways as children. Her mother’s laughter drifting from the kitchens. The smell of fresh bread rising warm in the air.
The old oak doors swung open onto the courtyard, where the carriage stood waiting, its glossy black sides gleaming with dew.
Isla trailed behind her, settling behind Ewan, her golden braid slipping over one shoulder, her expression soft with concern.
Ewan’s gaze swept over her in a swift, assessing glance. “Everything packed? Naething forgotten?”
“Aye,” Deidra said, forcing a smile. “I’m ready.”
He didn’t smile back. His frown only deepened, carving hard lines into his handsome face. “There’s nay shame in changin’ yer mind.”
Deidra’s heart squeezed. She reached up and patted his chest, teasing to hide the sudden ache there. “Och, ye worry too much, braither. I am well. Everything is well.”
Even as the lie left her lips, she felt the way Isla’s keen eyes narrowed slightly, catching the faint tremor she couldn’t quite conceal.
Outside, the castle courtyard buzzed with muted activity—grooms adjusting the harnesses, servants bustling with last-minute preparations. A chill breeze tugged at Deidra’s cloak as she followed Ewan and Isla down the steps and into the open air.
Isla hugged her first, wrapping slender arms around her so fiercely Deidra had to blink back more tears.
“Be safe,” Isla whispered against her ear. “And if ye need anything send word, and we’ll come.”
Deidra squeezed her tightly, breathing in the scent of lavender that always clung to Isla’s hair. “I’ll be fine,” she murmured, willing it to be true.
Then came Ewan. His hug was less delicate. He held her for a long moment, his hand cupping the back of her head.
When he drew back, his eyes searched her face, and for a moment, she saw something raw there. Worry, fear.
“Are ye certain about this?” he asked, voice low. “About marryin’ Niall MacRae?”
Deidra straightened her spine, lifting her chin. “I am.”
Ewan’s frown deepened. “We dinnae ken much about him. He’s always hidin’, never comin’ tae the gatherings, meets, naethin’…”
“I ken,” she said softly. “That’s why he’s perfect.”
At their confused looks, she tried to explain. “I dinnae want tae have tae manage the man’s moods… he’ll nae expect that o’ me. He made certain I ken that…in his letters. If anything, he’ll likely be relieved if I keep tae meself. And so will I.”
Ewan’s brows drew together sharply. “Ye think livin’ like a ghost in someone else’s home is the life ye deserve?”
Deidra’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Nay. But it is the life I need.”
Isla’s hand brushed Deidra’s arm, her gray-green eyes warm with understanding. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. Isla knew too well what it meant to survive by building walls.
Ewan, however, looked as if he wanted to argue further. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“Ye deserve more,” he said finally, his voice rough. “Ye deserve happiness, Deidra.”
“I’ll find me own kind o’ happiness,” she said. “In me own way.”
She didn’t say aloud that she never wanted a man’s touch again. Not after Allan.
Freedom, independence, peace were all that she wanted. Niall MacRae, aloof and reclusive, would give her that without question.
It would be enough.
Ewan’s shoulders slumped, defeated. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “If he so much as looks at ye wrong, I’ll string him up by his entrails,” he muttered.
Deidra laughed, the sound a little shaky but real. “I ken ye would, braither.”
The driver called out that all was ready, that it was time.
Deidra turned back to her brother and Isla one last time and memorized them. Then she climbed into the carriage.
The wheels creaked into motion, and Ballentine Castle began to slip away behind her, piece by piece. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched it go.
She had told Ewan the truth, that was what she wanted. But as the road stretched ahead of her, endless and unknown, a small voice whispered at the back of her mind.
What if ye’re wrong?
Deidra closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the carriage lull her into silence.
Soon, she would stand at the gates of another castle. Another life.
And whatever waited for her there—whatever Laird Niall MacRae proved to be—she would meet it head-on.
No fear, no regrets. She was done being afraid.
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The Barbarian Laird’s Dangerous Claim – Get Extended Epilogue
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The Barbarian Laird’s Dangerous Claim (Preview)
Chapter One
The night had long since swallowed the road, the carriage’s lanterns casting a flickering light over the uneven path. Deidra sat rigid, one hand gripping the seat beside her as the wheels jolted over loose stones.
They were deep in MacRae territory now. Soon, they would reach the castle where her fate would be sealed in marriage to a man she had never met.
Deidra pressed her lips together, steeling herself against the uncertainty ahead.
She had imagined her wedding day a hundred times.
As a girl, she’d dreamed of lace and lemon cakes, of a groom who’d lift her veil with trembling hands. Later—after the dungeon, after the ropes, after Duncan Allan’s breath slithering down her neck—she’d prayed only for a man who wouldn’t touch her at all.
And she had found him—Niall MacRae.
The Barbarian Laird.
A man who, by all accounts, wanted a wife as little as she wanted a husband.
The carriage jolted over a rut, jerking Deidra from her thoughts. Outside, the Highland moors sprawled under a bruised twilight, the wind keening through the heather like a mourner’s lament.
She pressed a hand to the chilled window, her reflection ghostly against the glass—a woman clad in sensible wool, not satin; a bride without hope, without even a face to put to her groom’s name.
It’s better this way.
No expectations. No disappointments. Just a quiet life as Lady MacRae, where she’d be safe, and—if God was merciful—left alone.
The sharp whistle of an arrow cut through the night.
Deidra barely had time to gasp before the first arrow pierced into the carriage door, its iron head punching through the wood inches from her shoulder. The horses whinnied, the driver roared curses.
Nae again. Dear God, nae again!
Another arrow thudded into the wood near her window—close enough to feel the wind of its passing.
Is this how it ends? Nae at the altar, but sprawled in the mud with an arrow through me ribs?
The carriage lurched violently, tossing her sideways.
“Hold on!” the driver bellowed, snapping the reins again.
Deidra braced herself, knees bruising against the floorboards as the carriage careened faster. Logic warred with instinct.
Should I leap?
Her breath came in ragged bursts, her mind scrambling for control.
A rider surged alongside them, his sword glinting like a silver fang. For one wild moment, she met his eyes through the window—dark, ruthless, hungry. His hand clawed for the door, snapping it open and grabbing Deidra. Fear seized her, paralyzing her on the spot.
A horseman came barreling out of the trees his blade catching the dim light as he drove it into the enemy’s side. The rogue gave a strangled cry, toppling from his horse and letting Deidra go. She fell backwards, her elbow struck the wall, pain radiating up her arm, but she barely registered it.
A hand smashed through the other window, glass exploding inward. A gauntleted fist grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking.
“Ah—!” Pain ripped through her scalp as she was dragged toward the shattered pane. A man’s face, wild-eyed and grinning, loomed in the opening.
Duncan’s face. The cellar. The ropes—
Her vision tunneled, her past flashing before her eyes. She kicked, clawed at his wrist, but his grip was iron.
Then, a shadow blurred past the window, a sword hissed.
The hand in her hair vanished.
Blood arced, splattering the carriage walls. The attacker’s scream was cut short as a second strike crushed his windpipe.
Deidra gagged, scrambling back, her pulse a deafening drum in her skull.
Then the warrior was upon the next man, cutting through them him brutal precision.
Outside, chaos raged.
Horses reared, steel shrieked, and he moved through it like death itself.
More riders emerged from the darkness, clad in armor marked with the MacRae crest. Deidra’s heart pounded as she watched the battle unfold, her unknown savior fighting like a possessed man.
His strikes were swift, ruthless, each motion calculated in its savagery. One of the rogues attempted to flee, but the warrior pursued, bringing him down with terrifying ease.
Deidra could not tear her eyes away from him. He was unlike any man she had ever seen, a force of raw power and controlled fury, his movements exuding a lethal grace.
Who is he?
He fought without a sound. No battle cries, no taunts, just the sickening thud of his blade cleaving flesh, the crunch of bones under his boots. One attacker lunged—the horseman sidestepped, gutting him mid-stride. Another fled—he hurled a dagger into his spine without breaking pace.
Then, a third man, unnoticed, raised a crossbow, aimed at her.
Deidra’s body locked.
This is how I die…>
The horseman moved faster.
He leaped onto the carriage step, his bulk blocking the window just as the bolt slammed into his shoulder. He didn’t even stagger.
His hand shot through the air, seizing the attacker’s throat.
A snap and the man dropped.
Silence.
Deidra stared, her lungs burning. Blood dripped from the horseman’s fingers, his breaths ragged, his gaze locking onto hers through the ruined window.
The battle ended as quickly as it had begun. The assailants lay motionless on the road, while the MacRae riders regrouped.
The warrior turned to the carriage, his piercing, blue gaze locking onto Deidra through the broken window. His face was cast in shadow, but his presence alone sent a shiver through her spine.
He said nothing. Not a word of introduction or reassurance. Only a single command, spoken in a voice rough as the Highland winds.
“Bring her tae the castle.”
Deidra’s driver let out a breath and murmured low, “The Barbarian Laird.”
The words lodged in Deidra’s mind.
Was this truly him?
The carriage lurched forward again, but Deidra barely felt the movement. She pressed her palms flat against her thighs, willing them to stop shaking, nails biting crescents into her own flesh through the fabric.
Her stomach lurched. She’d expected a brute, a monster draped in pelts and scars. Not this… this towering force of muscle and rage, blue eyes burning like ice set aflame. Every strike of his sword had been brutal, efficient, beautiful in its lethality.
He’s nae human. He’s a storm given flesh.
When he’d grabbed that man’s throat—when she’d heard the snap—something primal in her had trembled. Not just fear. Something hotter. Darker.
And I’m tae be his wife?
The absurdity of it almost choked her.
She’d chosen him for his disinterest, for the rumors that he’d rather bed his sword than a woman. But the man before her now—the way his gaze had locked onto hers through the shattered window—there’d been nothing disinterested in that look. It had scraped her bare, peeled back every layer of pretense.
The pain grounded her—a small rebellion against the numbness threatening to claim her limbs. Outside, the wind wailed like a banshee, carrying with it the peat-smoke scent of distant crofts and the iron-rich tang of blood still clinging to the carriage wheels.
The castle loomed ahead—its torches flickering like the eyes of a waiting beast.
Deidra’s breath fogged the cracked window as she leaned closer, tracing the silhouette of her prison-to-be. Somewhere in those lightless towers, a life she had had to choose waited to claim her.
Her reflection in the glass startled her – a pale ghost with wild eyes, red hair escaping its pins like flames licking at her cheeks. She reached up with unsteady fingers, but changed her mind and let them fall.
What use is propriety now? The Barbarian Laird had already seen her at her worst—wide-eyed with terror. The memory burned worse than shame.
The wheels found smoother stone as they crossed the gatehouse threshold. Castle MacRae rose before her, a shadowy outline cutting through the dull, overcast sky. It was enormous, its ancient stone walls towering like an unyielding bastion against the harsh weather.
The Ballentine Estate had been impressive, but this—this was on an entirely different scale. The spires soared upward, their sharp peaks vanishing into the dense, swirling fog, while the heavy iron-bound gates offered no semblance of warmth or invitation.
I surely hope the house isnae a mirror o’ what just happened.
She had expected a reception—perhaps a cluster of servants awaiting her arrival, a steward to lead her inside, some token of acknowledgment that she was about to become the mistress of this place.
He made it plain as day in his letters he’s got nay interest in me, but surely he’ll want tae meet me, willnae he?
But there was no such gathering. Instead, only a single figure stood near the entrance, half-shrouded in the gloom.
He was a man with silver hair, clad in thick wool, his weathered face lined with age and hard years. He had the stance of a soldier, broad-shouldered and sturdy, and when she met his gaze, she saw nothing but keen, assessing eyes that missed nothing.
“Lady Deidra,” he greeted, his voice a deep rumble like distant thunder. “I am Bhaltair Cameron, Tacksman o’ Castle MacRae an’ right hand tae the laird. We’ve been expectin’ ye.”
His voice held neither warmth nor coldness—it was carefully balanced, deliberate, as though he were quietly assessing her.
Deidra felt the weight of his scrutiny and instinctively straightened her posture, her shoulders pulling back and her chin rising a fraction. She met his gaze with a quiet firmness, determined not to let him see even a flicker of uncertainty.
Will he nae come tae see me himself?
“I thank ye, Tacksman Cameron.” She tried to keep her voice steady, though the weight of the castle’s presence pressed heavily upon her. “Shall we go in?”
Bhaltair nodded once, then turned on his heel without another word. She followed, her boots clicking against the icy stone, the cold seeping through her soles.
What am I daeing here?
The thought clawed at her, but she dismissed it—she couldn’t afford to second guess herself now. But still, she felt like a fool, standing in this fortress of stone and shadows, chasing a future that was uncertain at the least. Her chest tightened with anxiety, a gnawing sense of dread that had been growing since she’d first locked eyes with her future husband.
This was a mistake. A terrible mistake.
As they entered the great hall, the first thing she noticed was the sheer vastness of the space—and the emptiness.
A fire burned low in the hearth, but it did little to warm the cavernous chamber. Shadows clung to the corners, shifting as if they had weight, and the air itself was thick, the stone walls dark, lined with old banners and antlers. This was a place built for war, not comfort.
This isnae a home.
The hall was not entirely empty—maids and servants lingered in the shadows, their figures partially obscured by the flickering, dim light of the torches lining the walls.
She had come so far, driven by duty and a faint, foolish hope that perhaps this arrangement could be more than just a transaction. But now, standing in this lifeless hall, she felt like an intruder, an outsider in a world that had no place for her
None of them moved to greet her. Instead, they stood still, their eyes fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Their hushed murmurs wove through the air, soft and insidious, like the tendrils of smoke rising from the crackling hearth.
The weight of their collective gaze pressed heavy on her. It was as if they were waiting to see how she would navigate this unfamiliar territory, as they whispered to each other.
She imagined their exchanges. “Is she daft, comin’ here? She daesnae ken what she’s walked intae. The poor lass.”
Deidra clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to turn and meet their stares head on.
She had heard the rumors long before she set foot on MacRae lands.
The Barbarian, they called him. A man more beast than laird, one who ruled those lands with an iron fist. Some said he was cursed. Others claimed he simply did not care for oaths, nor for a wife forced upon him.
After what she had seen, she knew the truth lay somewhere between. Still, she had gone there to do what duty required of her, not to cower before stories whispered in dark corners.
Bhaltair strode ahead, ignoring the murmurs, his pace unhurried but firm. Near the stairwell, a woman stepped forward. She was fair-haired, her brown eyes steady but wary.
“This is Catriona,” Bhaltair said. “She’s tae be yer maid. She’ll show ye tae yer chambers an’ help ye find yer way about the castle.”
Deidra nodded, her sharp gaze studying the woman before her.
Catriona was petite, her light brown hair catching the faint glow of the torchlight as it framed her delicate features. Her green eyes, though calm and steady, held a quiet intensity that seemed to see far more than she let on. She carried herself with an air of grace and confidence, her posture poised yet unpretentious.
Catriona dipped her head respectfully, her expression composed, but no smile touched her lips.
No one had smiled at Deidra since her arrival, and the absence of warmth only deepened the unease that clung to the air.
“Ye’ll need a keen mind and a strong spirit here, me lady,” Bhaltair added, meeting Deidra’s gaze with something close to warning.
With that, he turned and left, his heavy boots echoing against the stone as he disappeared into the shadows.
Deidra exhaled slowly. The castle was colder than the wind outside.
She turned to Catriona. “Show me tae me chambers please.”
The maid nodded, leading the way up the winding stairwell.
“She daesnae ken what she’s in fer,” she thought she heard.
But Deidra was beginning to suspect she would soon understand.
By the time they reached her chambers, the weight of the castle’s silence had grown oppressive. Deidra stood in the center of the room, her eyes sweeping over the space, as Catriona bowed her head and left her alone.
The fire in the hearth crackled. The room was grand, with high ceilings, thick tapestries, and sturdy wooden furniture, but it felt foreign and stiff, as though the walls themselves were resisting her presence.
She crossed her arms, her gaze lingering on the shadows that danced in the corners, and wondered if she would ever feel anything but an outsider within these stone walls.
She moved towards the window, pressing her hands against the stone ledge as she gazed out over the rugged landscape. Castle MacRae sat upon a great hill, surrounded by dense forests that stretched toward the horizon. The land was wild and untamed, much like the man she was to marry. A man she had never seen and, by all accounts, cared little for this marriage and even less for the woman bound to it.
The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She had told herself that was what she wanted—no expectations, no romance, only the security the union would bring.
Yet at that moment, standing in the very place where she would live as his wife, a strange unease curled in her belly.
A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Catriona reentered with an air of quiet efficiency, carrying a basin of steaming water. She placed it beside the large wooden tub that had been set before the hearth.
“Yer bath is ready, me lady,” Catriona said, her voice measured, her expression unreadable.
Deidra nodded and turned from the window. “Thank ye.”
Catriona moved about the chamber with a practiced ease, adjusting the linens on the bed and setting out a fresh gown for the feast.
Though she had been tasked with looking after Deidra, she seemed in no rush to pry or make conversation, and for that, Deidra was grateful. The weight of the day had already consumed her.
After Catriona finished her tasks, she gave a small nod. “I’ll return shortly tae help ye undress.”
Deidra hesitated before speaking. “Have ye served here long?”
“Aye, me whole life.” Catriona’s gaze flickered to her, and for the briefest moment, Deidra thought she saw something there—pity, perhaps. But it was gone as quickly as it came. “Rest while ye can, me lady. It’s best tae be well-prepared fer the feast tomorrow.”
With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving Deidra alone once more.
Deidra undressed, slipping into the warm water with a sigh. The heat did little to soothe the tension in her limbs. As she leaned back against the curved edge of the tub, she let her thoughts drift.
The rumors of her husband-to-be swirled in her mind.
She had heard the stories—of his ruthless skill in battle, of how he had secured Castle MacRae when it looked like his enemies were going to destroy him. A man feared by his enemies and respected by his men.
But what of her—his wife to be? Was there anything beyond the hardened warrior left for her, or had war and duty left nothing behind?
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.
I will find out soon enough.
***
The warm scent of lavender and rosewater still clung to Deidra’s skin as she slipped out of her chamber, the hem of her nightgown slightly touching the cold stone floor.
The castle loomed dark and silent around her, the torch sconces casting long, flickering shadows along the walls.
At first, her steps were slow and cautious as she followed the familiar path toward the main hall. She was looking for the kitchens, which were usually nearby. But the castle seemed to have a will of its own, its corridors twisting in ways she couldn’t remember. Faded tapestries and dusty portraits lined the walls, their stern eyes following her as she moved. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of mildew and old iron, as she walked further.
She reached a fork in the corridor. One path led back to the main hall, its torchlight steady and warm. The other was stretched into darkness, its sconces sparse and the flames flickered weakly.
Against her better judgment, she chose the darker path.
The walls were bare and damp, the air biting cold. She pulled her shawl tighter, her steps quickening as the faint sound of dripping water echoed ahead. Passing a shadowed alcove, she thought she saw movement—a flicker in the corner of her eye.
Her heart leapt. She turned, but there was nothing. Only the guttering light of a dying torch and the relentless drip, drip, drip growing louder. She hadn’t meant to wander this far, only to familiarize herself with her new home, but the hush of the corridors, the distant crackling of unseen hearths, and the occasional draft slithering past her bare arms sent a shiver through her.
The castle seemed to breathe around her, its ancient stones exhaling cold and damp into the air. She paused, her hand brushing against the rough wall for balance, and listened. The silence was so complete that she could hear the faint rustle of her own nightgown as she moved.
She heard a sound so faint she almost thought she’d imagined it. A low, guttural groan muffled but unmistakable, like the cry of a wounded animal. Her heart stuttered, and she froze, her breath catching in her throat.
The sound came again, louder this time, raw and pained, as if wrenched from someone’s very soul. It echoed through the hall, bouncing off the stone walls, making it impossible to tell where it originated.
Daes someone need help?
Deidra’s pulse quickened, her mind racing. She should turn back, retreat to the safety of her chambers. But something compelled her forward, a morbid curiosity or perhaps a foolish sense of duty.
She took a hesitant step, then another, her bare feet silent against the cold stone. The corridor ahead was darker, the torches spaced farther apart, their flickering light casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls.
The groan came again, clearer now, and she followed it, her steps quickening despite the dread pooling in her stomach.
What is happening?
Her heart thudded in her chest. She should pretend she had never heard it. But her feet moved before her mind could reason with them.
The corridor stretched ahead, endless and dark, the sconces fewer in number the farther she went. The groan came again, clearer this time. She followed it, step by hesitant step, her pulse roaring in her ears. Finally, she reached a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar, with the faint glow of candlelight spilling from beneath its frame.
Deidra hesitated. She ought to turn back. Whatever lay beyond was not meant for her eyes, but something about the sound, the sheer anguish in it, made it impossible to leave. Summoning her courage, she rapped her knuckles against the wood.
Silence.
She knocked again. Nothing.
Swallowing, she placed her palm against the rough surface and pushed. The door creaked open, revealing a room cast in the dim glow of several flickering candles. The scent of burning tallow and something coppery filled her nose. A large wooden table stood in the center, strewn with maps and parchments, a half-drained goblet of wine sitting precariously near the edge. The fire in the hearth had burned low, its embers pulsing red like the dying heart of a beast.
But the room was empty.
Deidra stepped inside, her breath shallow, her fingers curling against her palms. Another groan came, this time from behind her. She whirled around, but there was nothing. Just the stone walls lined with ancient tapestries, their once-vibrant threads dulled with age. And yet…
The sound came again. From the wall itself.
Her pulse pounded. Was there a hidden passage? A chamber beyond the stone? She stepped closer, placing a tentative hand against the cold surface. Beneath her fingertips, the rock was uneven, almost as if…
A sharp intake of breath from behind the wall made her stumble back. The sound was unmistakably human.
Panic clawed at her throat.
Deidra turned on her heel and bolted, her nightgown billowing behind her as she rushed into the corridor. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she ran. The castle’s shadows seemed to stretch and twist around her, the flickering torchlight doing little to dispel the suffocating darkness.
She had no idea what—or who—could have made that sound, and she had no desire to find out. Not like this.
The corridor stretched ahead, darker than before, the stone walls swallowing every flicker of light.
Her mind raced. Had she imagined it? Was it just the creaking of an old castle settling into the night? Or had something—or someone—been in there with her?
The thought sent a shudder through her, but she forced herself to keep moving. Her fingers brushed against the rough stone wall for balance as she rounded a corner, the sensation of being watched prickling at the back of her neck. She froze.
The dim torchlight cast long, warped shadows against the ancient stones. There was no sound—no footsteps, no breath—but the silence was heavy, oppressive, as if the castle itself was holding its secrets just beyond her reach.
A faint, indiscernible noise came from behind her.
Not a footstep, not a whisper, but something that sent a jolt of ice through her veins. Her breath hitched, her pulse a violent thrum in her ears.
It could have been nothing. The wind shifting through the halls, the groan of timber settling beneath the castle’s weight. But the uncertainty clawed at her, destroying the last of her composure.
Panic seized her limbs before reason could take hold, and she bolted. The corridor stretched endlessly before her, shrouded in darkness, the walls closing in with every hurried step. Her lungs burned, her heart pounded, but she didn’t slow—she couldn’t slow.
She stumbled to a halt, gasping for air, but before she could take another step, something—or someone—grabbed her arm.
Chapter Two
A shiver ran down Deidra’s spine and her breath came in quick, startled gasps, her pulse hammering against her throat.
The hand on her arm was firm, steady, undeniably strong. But it was not the pressure that made her lightheaded—it was the heat, the undeniable presence that stole the air from her lungs.
The man beside her stood tall, broad-shouldered, his frame draped in a dark coat that did little to mask the powerful build beneath. His face, half-shadowed in the flickering torchlight, was striking—almost severe.
A strong, chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and a mouth set in a firm line. But it was his eyes that held her captive—an arresting shade of sapphire blue, glowing in the dark, pinning her in place as though they could strip away every layer of her composure.
It was him.
This was the man she was to marry—the Barbarian Laird.
Good heavens, he’s… handsome. The thought slipped unbidden into her mind, startling her. She hadn’t expected him to look like at up close—so striking, so utterly commanding.
“How did ye come tae be here?” His voice was low, edged with suspicion, yet smooth as aged whisky, pouring over her senses with dangerous ease.
Deidra swallowed hard, willing herself to steady her breath. “I—me name is Deidra,” she answered, her voice softer than she intended, betraying the thrum of her pulse. “Deidra Ballentine.”
The moment she spoke her name, his grip slackened, and he took a deliberate step back.
His expression remained unreadable, his features carved from stone, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered. It was as if every ounce of his focus was fixed on her, making her too aware of herself—of the way her heart raced, of the heat creeping up her neck.
Stop it, she scolded herself. This isnae the time.
For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a shadow of something softer in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or even guilt. But it was gone before she could be sure, replaced by that same adamant focus.
He didn’t speak for a few moments, didn’t offer an explanation, but the way he looked at her, the way he seemed to hold himself just a fraction too still, suggested an apology he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—voice.
“Deidra.” He repeated her name as though he was testing the weight of it on his tongue. A pause, then a slight inclination of his head. “Yes, we had an unfortunate encounter before. Forgive me. I had nae expected ye tae wander so far.”
Her mind reeled, struggling to catch up with the whirlwind of sensations that held her captive. Her breath hitched, her pulse racing as if trying to outrun the storm of emotions crashing through her.
He stood before her like a force of nature, his presence commanding. Every line of his posture spoke of absolute authority, of a man who demanded obedience without uttering a word. And his eyes—those piercing, sapphire eyes—cut through her like shards of ice, cold and insistent, yet impossibly captivating.
She should have been afraid. She was afraid, in a way, startled by the intensity of his gaze and the way it seemed to strip her bare, leaving no room for pretense or defense. But beneath the fear, beneath the shock, something else stirred, a pull she couldn’t ignore, a magnetic attraction that defied reason.
She forced herself to break from his gaze, lest she forget to breathe.
She lifted her chin, trying to mask the way her heart thundered beneath her ribs. “What gives ye the right tae handle me so?” she demanded, the tremor in her voice betraying her.
He watched her, his expression unreadable, but there was something darkly amused in the way his lips curled. “Ye need nae worry, lass,” he said, his voice deep, rich, and smooth as aged whisky. “I’ve nay intention o’ grabbing ye again. That would hardly be appropriate, given the deal we’ve made.”
This is the man I’m bound tae marry? The thought sent a strange mix of dread and excitement coursing through her. There he stood, larger than life, impossibly commanding, impossibly… breathtaking. But he was right—they had a deal, a deal that explicitly stated he was not to touch her, ever.
Deidra had never imagined him like that. The tales had spoken of a warrior, of a man hardened by battle and duty, but they had not spoken of the way his presence consumed the space around him.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a strength that was evident in every line of his form. His hair was dark as midnight, tied back in a loose knot, though several unruly strands had escaped, framing a face that was all sharp angles and rugged beauty.
A warmth spread through her, slow and insidious, curling low in her stomach. It was utterly maddening.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to ignore the way her hands itched to reach out and trace the rough line of his jaw, to see if his skin was as warm as she imagined. “Ye should have announced yerself instead o’—o’ manhandling me.”
He smirked, and the way it softened his otherwise imposing features sent another unwelcome shiver down her spine. “And ye should nae be wandering these halls alone. It is a dangerous thing, tae go places ye dinnae yet understand.”
She scowled. “I am nae some reckless child.”
“Nay,” he agreed, tilting his head slightly. “Ye are something else entirely.”
His gaze drifted over her, slow and intentional, and heat prickled along her skin. She did not know if she wanted to step away or press closer—to demand he look at her like that again, to allow herself to drown in the way it made her feel both powerful and weak.
“I—” she hesitated, searching for words, though her thoughts were an unraveled mess. “I lost me way. I thought tae return tae me chamber.”
His gaze flickered to the door behind her, then back to her. “This part o’ the castle is nae often traversed at night.”
“Aye,” she whispered, her voice breathless despite her best efforts. “I gathered as much.”
His lips twitched, just barely, as though amusement warred with restraint. Then, without another word, he turned away, motioning for her to follow. “Come.”
The simple command sent a thrill down her spine.
It was not the word itself, but the way he said it—with an authority that left no room for question, and yet with an ease that was almost effortless. She stepped forward, falling into step beside him, acutely aware of every inch of space between them. Or rather, the lack of it. His nearness was a force unto itself, a magnetic pull that left her thoughts scattered and her heartbeat erratic.
They moved through the dim corridors, their footsteps the only sound save for the occasional flicker of candlelight against stone. Deidra could not stop herself from stealing glances at him—at the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his coat shifted over broad shoulders, the sheer presence of him.
She had never considered herself the sort to be affected by a man’s appearance, so this she could not explain.
“I had thought tae meet ye in a more formal manner,” he murmured at length, his voice pulling her from her thoughts. “Nae chasing ye down a dark corridor.”
Her cheeks warmed despite the cold. “Had I known ye were tae be me escort, I might have reconsidered me course.”
He cast her a sidelong glance, unreadable and yet—intensely aware. “Would ye?”
She hesitated. There was something in the way his voice dipped just so, that made her stomach tighten. A test, perhaps. A challenge.
“Aye,” she admitted, though the truth was more complex. She had fled the shadows of the castle only to find herself ensnared by something far more perilous—him.
“Ye should nae wander alone,” he said, and though the words carried a warning, there was something else there too—something almost possessive of her, despite it not making any sense.
She nodded, though she knew it was a lie.
If given the chance, she would wander again. She would seek the darkened corners of this place, not only for the sake of adventure, but for the chance of encountering him once more like this.
He did not speak immediately. Nor did she. The air between them had thickened, charged with something they both seemed to feel. It was madness, surely. She had known him mere moments, and yet—
Deidra took a steadying breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Something was said about a feast?” she asked, grasping at the change of subject like a lifeline.
He nodded. “Aye. Ye’ll be introduced tae the clan tomorrow, after the wedding. It would be best if ye spent tomorrow preparing yerself, rather than sneaking about the castle.”
Her jaw clenched. “I was nae sneaking.”
He only raised a brow, as if the argument amused him.
Deidra huffed, turning away before he could see the warmth rising to her cheeks. This was infuriating. He was infuriating. And yet, the moment she stepped away, she felt the loss of his nearness like a physical thing.
She had known it would be difficult. A marriage of arrangement was never simple, never easy.
But she had not been prepared for it—for the way his presence made her forget herself, for the way her body reacted without her permission. It was unfair, truly, how a man like him could wield such power without even trying.
And worse, she hated how much she had liked it.
Niall studied her for a long moment, his sharp gaze lingering, as if he saw something in her that she had not yet recognized herself.
At last, they arrived at her chamber. She stopped just outside the door, and so did he—his broad frame filling the narrow corridor as he turned to face her fully. For the first time, she had no choice but to meet him head-on, to truly take him in. And it was almost too much.
The candlelight played wickedly over the angles of his face, casting him in warm gold and deep shadow. He was not just handsome; he was breathtaking in a way that was wholly unfair.
His strong jawline, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the faint stubble that shadowed his face—all of it came together in a way that made her breath catch.
How is it possible fer someone tae look like this?
Her pulse quickened despite herself.
He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before his gaze flicked to the door behind her. His brow furrowed, and a flicker of something—frustration? anger?—passed over his features.
“Who told ye this was yer room?” he asked, his voice low and edged with a sharpness that made her flinch.
Deidra blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone.
“I—I was shown here earlier,” she stammered, her voice wavering slightly. “One o’ the maids brought me here when I arrived. She said it was tae be me chamber.”
His jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Yer chamber,” he repeated, the words clipped. “And who, exactly, gave the order fer that?”
She shook her head, confusion and a flicker of unease creeping in. “I dinnae ken. I thought it was ye—or someone acting on yer behalf. Was it… nae?”
He didn’t answer right away, his gaze narrowing as he stared at the door as though it had personally offended him.
Then, with a sharp exhale, he turned back to her, his expression darkening. “This isnae yer room,” he said firmly, his voice like steel.
Deidra’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Oh, I—I dinnae ken. The maid must have made a mistake.”
“A mistake,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. He took another step closer, his towering frame forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
She swallowed hard, her mind racing.
What is wrong with this room? “Dinnae trouble yerself,” he said, though his tone was anything but reassuring.
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, his boots echoing sharply against the stone floor.
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