The last thing Rosamond expected upon waking the morning after she wed was to find her new husband, fully naked, doing some form of exercise on the floor of their cabin. She rolled to the side, watching silently for a few moments.

He was prone, then lifted himself upward onto his toes and hands, moving up and down—much the way he moved over her the night before. As he moved, the muscles of his back, shoulders, and arms, flexed. Even his delicious, bare arse. Her eyes were drawn to the welted scars crisscrossing his back. Fully healed, there were dozens upon dozens, thick and corded, white, and a few newer ones that were still pink, a testament to the routine beatings he endured while imprisoned. The sight of them was enough to make her heart lurch. It had been dark in their cabin the night before and though she’d felt the knotted skin beneath her fingers, it wasn’t until now that she’d been able to see it fully. She could not imagine the pain he must have endured at the hands of men like her father. And he’d survived. Seeing the scarred evidence of their abuse made her feel murderous. How could anyone do that to another? There were similar scars around his ankles and wrists. Shackle marks that he must have spent years fighting against. A few scars on his arms, legs and chest looked like they could have been battle scars, but just as easily could have been from his time in the Tower. Rosamond wanted to leap up and pull him in for a tender hug, to offer him all the comfort he hadn’t received in those years. To make promises of retribution.

Instead, she asked, “What are you doing? Are you training?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and winked as he continued to move up and down, seemingly oblivious to the scars on his body, which made her want to cry with joy that he was so comfortable with her. “I am strengthening my muscles. Makes me a better warrior.”

She shifted to a seated position to get a better view, and bit her lip. “I can see the way your muscles are rippling. ’Tis fascinating.”

He continued to push up and down, glancing over his shoulder and winking at her. “I’m glad ye like it, ye little minx.”

“Indeed. Can I…?” She bit her lip, feeling her face heat at the bold request she was about to make. “Touch you?”

His eyes darkened. “Aye.”

Slipping from beneath the sheet, also nude, she tiptoed toward him, and slid her palms over his back. She expected him to flinch, to grimace in pain as she tentatively caressed the puckered skin, but he continued to work as though it were nothing at all. When she bent over and pressed her lips to the center of his back, he did shudder then, but up and down he went and she said nothing about it.

“I would like to try this training,” she said cheerfully.

“Would ye now?” His voice was thick with unspoken emotion.

“Aye.” With that declaration, she got down in the same position, belly on the floor, her toes pressed to the wood, palms flat, and pushed herself up. The muscles of her chest and shoulders protested, and if they had voices, she was certain they’d shout, how dare you? She managed three times before needing to take a break. “This may be more difficult than I imagined.”

Tierney chuckled again, a rivulet of sweat sliding from his temple down over his cheek. “Try it. Down, up. Down, up.” He moved as he spoke and she attempted to follow, doing another five, but when she got low on the ninth time, her nose nearly touching the floor, she could not push herself back up.

“I confess, I’ve never felt so weak,” she muttered, sweat beading on her spine and brow.

“A bit of practice and ye’ll be able to do as many as me,” he encouraged.

She highly doubted that, in fact, she was fairly certain that there wasn’t another man on this ship, definitely not another man in England, and probably a rare few in Scotland, who could. But she would try. She was his wife, and that was the least she could do. “What other forms of exercise are in your training?”

“I have a new favorite,” he murmured, pushing up and leaping onto his feet in one fluid motion that left her heart fluttering, and the other more sensitive parts of her body hoping they could quit exercise altogether and begin more intimate pursuits.

“Will you show me?” she asked.

“Och, love, ye need never ask.” And in the next moment, he had her beneath him, his thighs between hers as he pushed up and down, the now hardened shaft of him touching then retreating as he moved.

“This isn’t fair,” she whispered, sliding her hands over his damp muscled chest.

“Nay, this isna fair at all.” And as he came down this time, he pressed that hard length to her center, swiveling his hips, then retreating and groaned, deep, guttural, carnal, the same sounds she’d heard the night before when he’d made love to her. Instantly, her body was on fire. Everything ready for another intimate connection.

Rosamond gasped. “You should know, husband, I also do not play fair.”

She reached between them, grasped his turgid length giving it a little squeeze. Tierney hissed through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and his once steady, gyrating pace faltered.

“Ye’re right, ye dinna play fair, wife.”

Rosamond laughed, then reached up to press a kiss to his neck, tasting the salt on his skin. “How will you punish me?” She wrapped her legs around his hips and lifted her pelvis to meet his when he came down, teasing him even more.

“Och, I canna punish ye. For to punish ye would be to retreat, and I want nothing more than to sink deep, deep inside ye.” The way he spoke, his voice gravelly and thick with passion and desire sent a ripple of excitement washing through her.

So far, marriage was incredibly satisfying—just as he’d said it would be.

“Aye. Do not retreat. Conquer me, Tierney, all of me.”

Their mouths crashed together, both of them full of heat and need and the passion between them urgent. With a hand beneath her bottom, he lifted her slightly and then plunged deep inside, making good on his promise.

The floor beneath her back was hard, but Rosamond didn’t mind. All she cared about was the way he moved over her, inside her. The pleasure he brought, the way he touched her, the way every move and kiss brought her to a place she’d never even imagined. It was wondrous. Blissful. And so utterly wicked and delicious.

“God, I canna get enough of ye,” he said as he thrust. “And ye’re mine.”

Rosamond cried out, his declaration pushing her over the edge of pleasure and into that quaking euphoria he seemed to bring about so well.

They passed the morning making love, followed by an intimate bathing session, and by afternoon they were up on deck for Tierney’s daily sword training. Rosamond loved to watch him swing his sword, surprised he was able to move his arms at all after the exercises he’d been doing that morning.

Then again, she was able to walk, and she’d been certain after the last time they made love, she’d not be able to move for days. Just thinking about it brought on a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through her and settling in a pulsing heat between her thighs.

Tierney was a good lover. Masterful. She sighed.

It was still hard to believe that he was her husband. Oh, what would those at court say? And her father… She suppressed a shudder. Marrying the man her father had imprisoned was likely enough to push de Warenne right over the edge. But she didn’t care. And she’d do it again over and over if she had to.

The living god swinging his sword and bantering with his men was admirable. Kind. Honorable. Fierce. And heaven help her, she might just be…

Oh, heavens…

Could she think it?

Was it possible?

Did she want to give voice to the swell of emotion in her chest?

The ‘L’ word… Love. Even thinking it brought a fresh rush of excitement bursting through her veins.

The realization had her drawing a breath and unable to let it go. Love. In love with a Scottish warrior. In love with a man who should be her enemy but had in every sense of the way never been so. He was her savior. The man who had climbed a dangerous and deadly cliff side for her. The man who was willing to risk his own future in order to have her. And she was determined to be his.

Heaven help her but he was good with a sword. Ten years did not seem to have lessened his ability to swing with precision and meet his mark. Every man that went up against him was meeting a superior match.

“My lady?”

Rosamond startled at the sight of the healer beside her. He, startled himself, surprised by her reaction. By the time they’d both recovered, half the ship was looking their way. “May I have a look?”

“Of course.” She held out her arm, sneaking glances at her husband as he blocked the downward swing of a targe.

The healer slowly unraveled the bandage, and she tensed, waiting for the sting as the air hit her wound, but instead, it felt… refreshed.

“Looks to be healing verra nicely, my lady. I would say that within a few days ye willna even need this bandage. The burns were not so bad as they first looked, but could use a bit more ointment in order to lessen the scarring.”

The mention of scars brought back images of Tierney’s scars this morning. Clearly from the mottled lines on his back, he’d not had a good healer taking care of him, if he had any at all. “That is good news,” she said with some difficulty.

“Aye, his lairdship will be pleased.”

Rosamond worked to keep herself from laughing, and serenely nodded. “Indeed he will.” Her husband had been quite a bane to the healer’s existence these last few days. At least he understood that she did not hold him personally responsible for her injuries. More than anyone else, she knew the desperation that had caused her to pick up a burning log.

The healer smiled at her kindly, and it only made her heart swell all the more. Everyone aboard this ship had been kind to her. Incredibly so. In fact, she was a bit shocked, because the last thing she expected from the ragtag crew was for them to be nice to a woman. From what she’d learned half of them were pirates, who were extremely suspicious of women aboard their vessels. But she’d experienced none of that.

The atmosphere was infinitely different than at court where everyone was too busy worrying about everyone else to be kind.

“I thank you for your help, sir,” Rosamond said.

“’Tis my duty, my lady.” He bowed his head as he packed up his satchel of supplies.

“And you do it well.”

The healer nodded, his ruddy cheeks turning a brighter shade, then he glanced at Tierney. “He will make ye a good husband.”

“Aye.” She smiled. “I believe he already has.”

“Ye’re happy?”

“I am. More than I could have ever hoped for.” It was perhaps too much to admit, but she couldn’t help it. Out of everyone on the ship besides Tierney, she’d grown close to the healer. He’d shared his childhood stories with her, and she would consider him her ally, and friend.

“He’s a good lad.” Then the healer bowed and toddled away unexpectedly, as though the conversation had reached a level with too much emotion, and he needed to escape.

A swab approached with a tankard, eyes downcast as he thrust it forward. “Ale, my lady. If ye’re up here on deck in the sun, ye’ll be thirsty.”

Heat rose in Rosamond’s face as she took the offered mug. She glanced sideways to see that Tierney grinned as he continued to fight. She sipped. “’Tis very refreshing. Thank you.”

The swab blushed a deep red, then backed away just as suddenly as the healer had.

A moment later, a second arrived with a biscuit. “Sun makes one hungry, my lady.”

What in heavens? Tierney’s smile grew wider and her own blush deepened. She took the biscuit and bit into it, sipped her ale and thanked him. By the time the fifth shipman approached her, she’d gotten a woolen shawl so as not to catch a chill from the sea winds, a hunk of jerky, and a good luck stone of shiny black. She accepted them all graciously, but was vaguely aware at first, and then acutely, that this was the men’s way of showing her their loyalty and congratulations.

Though her husband still swung his sword high, his wide grin was filled with pride and a fresh wave of happiness flowed through her.

“You are too kind,” she murmured as she was given an extra candlestick.

The gifts continued, until she was certain she’d need a crate to carry them all below stairs and her belly was full to bursting. Though she’d not caught a chill from the sea winds, she was becoming quite exhausted. Having barely slept the night before—and she’d be willing to stay up all night every night with Tierney if he wanted to—a nap sounded good. So, with full hands, and then quickly without as sailors stepped forward to help, she took her new treasures down to the cabin and once alone, shucked out of her gown and slipped between the sheets, sinking into slumber before her head even settled on the pillow.

Though she’d fallen asleep in a haze of delirious happiness, her dreams were not so.

She was plagued by memories of her father, his face having turned into a fiery likeness of the devil himself as he danced around a flaming pyre, and then morphed into her stepmother, cackling like a witch. In the center of the blaze was her sister Loretta, screaming as the flames licked at her skin. Rosamond called out to Tierney, wanting, needing his help and searching for him in the darkness, but without result. And then the darkness faded into a white mist and a figure appeared. A beautiful woman dressed in a green gown, with hair a deep auburn and streaked with silver. Floating in the air like a specter, she was mouthing something, a kind smile on her face and beckoning Rosamond forward. What was she saying? Rosamond couldn’t tell. She tried to hear, but the sound of the woman’s words were drowned out by the rushing echoes of water and the beat of her own heart.

Jolting awake, Rosamond shoved back the covers and shivered, hugging herself. Sweat slicked her skin, causing her chemise to cling to her. She scrubbed her hands over her face and then through her hair. Saints, but that had been awful. And the woman at the end… There was something immeasurably compelling about her. Enough so that Rosamond wanted to sketch her image. Finding her charcoal and parchment, she began to draw, in an effort to push the disturbing and confusing dream from her mind.

It wasn’t that she was frightened by the apparition, but more so of the violent and cruel images of her father and stepmother, and the way her sister was treated. Was it a premonition of what was to come? Or was she seeing something that had already come to pass? She shivered again, tears stinging her eyes. Nay. She had to believe that Loretta was still safe. That the dream was only her fears coming out to taunt her.

When Tierney returned to their cabin just after sunset carrying a tray of food, he took one glance at her and the smile of greeting washed from his face.

“What is it?”

“My sister.” She shook her head. “’Tis silly.”

“Tell me.”

“I had a dream.” She told him about what she’d seen, showed him her sketch.

Tierney sat down heavily, his visage grave. “This is a message. We will send for her as soon as we land.”

“A message? Nay.” Rosamond shook her head, refusing to believe in anything other than her own emotions getting the better of her. “’Twas but a dream. It just scared me, ’tis all, and made me realize how much I worry over Loretta.”

“Aye, and I’d not have ye worried. We shall find her and bring her to Scotland.” He stared at the sketch of the woman, tracing the line of her face with his finger. “I know this woman.”

“What?” All the breath left her, for the woman was a stranger to Rosamond, which could only mean that the dream had been… Shaking her head, she repeated, “What?”

“I’ve seen her before. At Dunstaffnage.” His eyes narrowed. “Ye’ve met her afore?”

The blood drained from Rosamond’s face, leaving her fingers feeling numb. She shook her head. “She is at Dunstaffnage? Who is she?”

Tierney smiled tightly. “She is our family glaistig. A ghost. The spirit of one of my ancestors. She watches over us. I think she came to ye, to tell ye we will save your sister, and that ye will help save our clan.”

Our clan.

Rosamond moved from her chair toward her husband, sliding onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. She sank against him, letting his strength surround her, feeling safe in his arms. They were silent a moment, just holding each other.

“You have done so much for me, Tierney. I do not know how I will ever repay you. I owe you my life.”

Tierney pressed his lips to her shoulder, tightening his hold around her middle. “Ye owe me nothing, sweetling. We are husband and wife. We are one. What concerns ye, concerns me. What ye need, I need. What ye desire, I desire.”

With each of his words, the tightness in her shoulders melted and a warmth passed through her. This was what it meant to be cared for. To have someone on her side. “I will help you get your castle back. I might not be able to wield a sword as well as you, but I will do it. I will fight for you.”

Tierney chuckled. “Och, sweetling, ye need not raise a sword, just being with me is help enough.”

Playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, she eyed him seriously. “You will tell me how I can help?”

There was no hesitation in his nod. “I will.”

“Promise?” She raised a challenging brow.

“Aye, love. I can think of one way ye can help now.” His fingers trailed up her arm, then slid over her chest to dip just inside the top of her chemise and graze over her breast.

She sucked in her breath, immediately feeling her body react, shivering and aching. How was it possible that with just the slightest touch she was willing to melt for him? But instead of giving in to him immediately, she feigned ignorance. “Shall I sit on you will you are doing those pushing up and down moves? To increase the resistance.”

Tierney chuckled, leaning forward to scrape his teeth over the sensitive flesh of her shoulder. “I wouldna mind ye sitting on me, wife, and I will definitely be pushing up and down.”

Rosamond felt the heat rise in her face, and throughout her body, leaving tingles from the tips of her fingers to her toes. She knew exactly what he meant, could picture it in her mind. Straddling his hips, the thick length of him surging deep inside her. Hands on her body. Mouth on her skin. She shivered with anticipation. “Oh, you are wicked.”

“I am a man who is full of desire for his beautiful bride.” Tierney lifted her to straddle him, moving his plaid and her gown out of the way so there were no barriers between them. “I am the luckiest of men.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, loving the strength of his body pressed to hers. She wanted to strip him of his clothes and run her hands all over the hard muscle. “Is it luck, husband? Luck that you were set free? Luck that you found me?”

“’Haps a bit of luck. A bit of choice. What do ye think it was?”

She shook her head. “Is it too much to think it was her?” She pointed over his shoulder toward the sketch.

He tilted his head in thought, gazing at the image. “My mother and father would say: nay.”

“And what would you say?” She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I would say I was born with a purpose, and I intend to see that purpose through.” He nodded solidly as though he did not believe it could be anything other than that.

Rosamond smiled, adoring very much how his mind worked. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Tierney MacDougall. A man with a purpose, a duty, and so much honor. I admire you.”

He grinned, winked, and leaned forward to kiss her. “My purpose right at this moment, is to make love to my wife. And then I shall pamper her by feeding her supper, and then make love to her again.”

With a gasp, she kissed him, letting him know just how much she liked that idea. “You spoil me. What will I do when we take back your castle and I must put my lady’s skills to work?”

“By day we shall complete our duties, but by night, I shall show ye just how much ye deserve. I’ll spoil ye with pleasure.” He reached between them, gripping his hard length and pressed it to her opening. “Just as I plan to show ye now.” And then he thrust deep.

Rosamond sighed, filled with a happiness that warmed her to the very core.