Traigh MacAulay had memorized the letter that was tucked inside his sporran. His future sister-in-law was in dire need of help and if the MacAulay’s couldn’t give it to her, she would have to seek help elsewhere.

Josephine’s situation had only grown worse, and as far as Traigh was concerned, ’twas all his hard-headed brother’s fault. Had Graeme bothered to come home last year, as he should have, Josephine would not now be in fear for her life and begging for help. Had Graeme done what he should have, the fool would now be married to a sweet and kind young woman and probably ready to have their first child.

Now Traigh, his brothers, Albert and Bruce, along with ten MacAulay men, were on their way to the MacAdams keep, to do what should have been done a year ago. Traigh was glad Graeme wasn’t anywhere near him at the moment, for he’d certainly beat the bloody hell out of him.

As Traigh and his men rode hell-bent-for-leather across an open glen, he couldn’t help but think of Josephine. For the past four years, it had been Traigh, and later his wife Irline, who had taken the time to write to Josephine. Traigh reckoned he and his wife knew more about the young woman than his brother Graeme. Not once in the past four years had Graeme taken the time to answer any of the letters Josephine had sent him, let alone pen one of his own.

Albert, apparently sensing that Traigh was, at that moment, plotting the different ways in which he’d kill their youngest brother, spoke up. “So will it be a hangin’ in store fer Graeme, or do ye just plan on beatin’ him half to death?”

Traigh glanced at Albert. “I have no’ decided just yet.”

Albert was the most serious of the six MacAulay brothers. He rarely spoke without thinking first, and he was not one to go about chasing lasses like their brothers, Bruce and Albert. Neither was he one to jest frequently. ’Twas also said that Albert was as tightfisted with his money as a bairn is to his mother’s teat. Trying to get money from him was akin to trying to squeeze water from a stone.

“I say we hang him,” Albert said, and not in jest.

Traigh, though sorely tempted, knew ’twas impossible. “Our mother would have our heads if we hang him.”

Albert thought on it for a moment. “Mayhap one day he will be out ridin’ and have a mishap, whereby he falls off a cliff.”

Traigh stared at him for a long while, uncertain if he was jesting or serious. Part of him was afraid to ask. Albert was just as vexed over Graeme’s behavior as Traigh was. “Remind me never to make ye angry,” he said.

Albert raised a blonde brow. “Ye? Nay, I doubt ye’d ever anger me to the point of murder. Graeme, however, is another matter. I fear he has been so busy with book learnin’ that he has fergotten everythin’ a MacAulay stands for.”

“Honor above self,” Traigh said. ’Twas the creed all MacAulays lived by.

“Aye,” Albert said. “And right now, I believe he’s puttin’ his own feelin’s ahead of everythin’. How anyone can remain angry for so long is beyond me. But then, I have no’ had all the book learnin’ that Graeme has had. Mayhap he can explain it to us.” Though his voice was laced with sarcasm, there was much truth to what he was saying.

Traigh had to chuckle. “Shall we allow him to explain it before or after we beat him senseless?”

Albert took a moment before answering. “Mayhap before, fer ’twill be difficult to understand him once I knock out a few of his teeth.”

“Again, remind me ne’er to make ye angry, brother.”

Albert shrugged his shoulders before urging his horse to move faster, leaving Traigh to wonder if he should mayhap begin to pray that Albert did not get his hands on Graeme first. Their mother would never forgive any of them should something happen to her youngest son.

’Twas by complete happenstance — or God’s divine intervention; opinions on the matter were varied — that Traigh and the rest of his brothers and men happened upon their wayward and hard-headed brother.

Albert was the first to spot him.

They had just made their way around a bend in the road — a road that separated a small forest and an even smaller loch. Boulders and brush lined the bank of the loch. ’Twas a perfect place for an ambush. Traigh and Albert counted two horses tied to a tree to their left.

And there was Graeme, lying on the bank of the loch, his head resting on his folded arms and his feet soaking in the water. For all his book smarts, all the years with tutors and traveling hither and yon, he was, at least in his brothers’ eyes, an ignorant fool. They were able to make their way toward him without his notice. Either he was asleep or completely unaware, his mind lost in some far off place. In truth, it simply didn’t matter. Had they been highwaymen or ne’er-do-wells, they could have sliced his throat before he even knew they were upon him.

Albert slid quietly from his horse and walked across a small clearing, and before Graeme knew what was happening, picked him up and threw him arse over toes into the cool water.

As the very stunned — and soon Albert would realize, quite angry — Graeme got his bearings and stood up, coughing and sputtering, Albert turned back to his horse.

At that point, a swarthy looking man, wearing a ridiculous looking tunic and an even more ridiculous pair of trews, jumped from behind two large boulders with his weapon drawn. “Prepare to die, peasant,” he shouted in French.

Albert raised a curious brow as he unsheathed his broadsword. The falchion the Frenchman had pointed at him was no match for his broadsword. “Who the bloody hell are ye?”

“I am Remi Francois Claremont LeFavre,” Remi answered with a slight bow and flourish. “Brother to the man you just threw into the lake and whose honor you have besmirched by your actions. Again, peasant, I tell you to prepare to die.”

Albert rolled his eyes and re-sheathed his sword. “Is this fool with ye?” Albert asked Graeme.

Graeme was furious, his green eyes drawn to slits, his hands clenched into fists. “What on earth possessed ye to toss me into the loch?” he demanded.

Traigh and the others drew their horses up to the loch to allow them a leisurely drink. “Shall I answer him, Albert, or would ye like to?”

“Ye’re a bloody fool, brother, lyin’ out in the open like that. Ye’re lucky we’re no’ one of the Chisholms. And who be this man with the wee sword?”

“This ‘wee sword’ is called a falchion, peasant.”

Albert was growing weary of the Frenchman’s insults. “I ken what it be called, French.”

Graeme made his way out of the loch in his waterlogged plaid, tunic and trews. “Chisholms?” he asked rather incredulously.

“Aye,” Albert said as he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Ye be on Chisholm land, ye fool.”

Graeme shook his arms in an attempt to shed some of the water. “We be on Fraser land,” he politely informed his brother.

The thirteen men before him shook their heads in undisguised disappointment that bordered on disgust.

“Did ye no’ take the time to learn map readin’ whilst ye were in Italy?” Traigh asked as he rested one wrist on the pommel of his saddle.

“What the bloody hell are ye goin’ on about?” Graeme ground out as he began to wring the loch water from his plaid.

“We be on Chisholm land, Graeme, no’ Fraser,” Albert told him. “And before ye ask, aye, I be certain.”

Traigh grunted his disapproval over his youngest brother’s lack of care. “Who be the Frenchman?”

“He already told you who he is,” Graeme said as he began wringing water from his long, blonde hair.

“He says he’s yer brother,” Traigh calmly pointed out. “I happen to ken fer a fact that he is nae. Unless our da was unfaithful to our mum. Be that yer inference?”

Remi had remained standing between the large boulders and had yet to re-sheath his weapon. “Who are these men, brother?” he asked Graeme.

Graeme knew Remi could hold his own against any number of men, with or without a weapon. He also knew how ruthless his brothers could be. He had no desire to see any of them dead at the moment, save for Albert. ’Twould be a very long time before he forgave him for tossing him into the loch. He started toward his horse to grab clean clothes. “Remi, these be me ruthless and cold-hearted brothers that I told ye about. Brothers, this be me good friend, Remi LeFavre.”

The MacAulay men looked as impressed with Remi LeFavre as he looked with them. Which was not saying much.

Graeme riffled through his pack in search of dry clothing. “What are ye doin’ here?” he asked angrily. “Did da send ye to make certain I arrived before the sixth of June?”

Traigh and the others dismounted. “Nay,” Traigh said.

“Then why be ye here?” Graeme asked as he pulled the wet tunic over his head and draped it across a low hanging tree branch.

Traigh and Albert came to stand near Graeme while the others kept a very watchful eye on Remi.

“We be on our way to retrieve yer bride.” Traigh barely kept his rage in check.

Graeme paused with one arm shoved into his tunic. “Me bride? But why? Does da no’ trust I’ll do me duty?” he asked sarcastically.

Traigh grunted again. “Ye’re a bloody fool. We be goin’ to get Joie away from that tetched brother of hers.”

“Joie? Who be Joie?”

Traigh and Albert grunted in unison. “Yer bride, ye fool.”

Graeme looked confused. “I thought her name was Josephine.” He was growing wearier with each insult hurled his way.

“Those that love her and care fer her call her Joie. ‘ Tis a term of endearment her mum gave her when she was a bairn,” Albert informed him.

“Of course ye would no’ ken that, because ye never bothered to answer any of her letters,” Traigh interjected.

Graeme’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. He had assumed Josephine was unable to write her own name, let alone pen a letter. “She can read and write?” he asked.

Traigh and Albert stared at him in disbelief. “How foolish can one man be?” Albert asked.

Graeme gritted his teeth. “I would appreciate it if ye’d both stop callin’ me a fool.”

Traigh crossed his arms over his chest and spread his feet apart. “We only speak the truth. Ye never read her letters, did ye?” He shook his head in disgust.

Graeme felt a momentary pang of shame. He had received letters, many of them, but he had assumed they were from Josephine’s father or that someone else had written them. He hadn’t bothered to open them, for he had assumed they contained nothing but information on the betrothal and marriage contract. Demands, mayhap, of a father for his daughter. He felt his face grow warm with humiliation.

“Nay, I thought the letters were from her da,” he admitted. “I did nae realize they were from her.”

The three men stood silent for several long moments. Traigh and Albert were thoroughly frustrated with their youngest brother and they were not about to hide that fact.

So what if the woman could read and write? It did not mean she possessed any kind of superior intellect. Though knowing that she was literate did manage to make Graeme feel somewhat better about the prospect of marrying her. His thoughts then returned to why his brothers were on their way to the MacAdams keep. “Ye said ye were goin’ to retrieve Josephine from her tetched brother,” Graeme said as he pulled on dry trews.

“Aye,” Traigh said. “He be as tetched as he is cruel. Da received a letter from her just a few days ago. Helmert is gettin’ much worse in his abuse of her.”

Was that what this was all about? His brothers were on their way to the MacAdams keep because Josephine and her brother were still fighting like children? “Ye jest,” Graeme said as he pulled on his boots. “Those two have been fightin’ all their lives. Now the lass has all of ye reduced to hysterics.”

Traigh and Albert cast curious looks at one another. “What do ye mean?” Albert asked.

“Josephine and Helmert. That be all I have ever witnessed between them, fightin’ like bairns.”

His brothers stared at him blankly. Graeme let loose a frustrated breath and filled them in, beginning with the first time he’d met Josephine — when she was hiding in the tree — and finishing with his last encounter in the garderobe. When he was finished, he said, “So ye see? ’Tis probably naught more than a brother and sister arguin’ over nothin’ of import. She has ye runnin’ across the country because she’s probably hidden his horse again. Or his strop or mayhap his boots this time.” In his mind, this was nothing more than a quarrel.

His brothers saw it in a completely different light. “So all those times she was hidin’ in fear, and ye thought nothin’ of havin’ a wee chat with that older brother of hers? Ye never once thought to step in to protect her?” Traigh asked.

“Of course no’,” Graeme said. “Why would I?” He felt certain Josephine’s plea for help was nothing more than a spoiled young woman begging for attention.

Albert threw his hands up in disgust. “I swear ye cannae be a MacAulay.”

“Graeme, ye’ve been gone fer many years. Ye’ve no’ seen the lass as we have. Ye’ve no’ read her letters. Ye have no idea who she be or what she be like. I tell ye now, the lass is in dire need of our help,” Traigh said in a most serious tone.

Graeme was not convinced, but knew it wouldn’t matter what his opinion might be. His brothers were determined and their opinions would not be turned. Knowing it would be futile to make any attempt to change their minds, he decided to play along. “Verra well then, we should get to the MacAdams keep straight away,” he said, trying to sound sincere. “Before the lass hides his belt or his sporran.”