Kane cursed as he came out of the stables, rubbing his arm. The damn beast was just as unruly as a wild horse, which he very well could be. The king had sent him the horse a full moon ago, and just now, Kane was getting around to taming the monster.

Or he would be, if the beast could stay still for a second. Kane should have done it ages ago, but the brewing feud with the bordering clans was too pressing for him to put off. The only reason he was dealing with the beast now was because he had to take his mind off of Alice.

It had been several hours since he'd seen her, and even without her crystalline eyes gazing into his, he couldn't get her out of his head. The softness of her body against his, her golden hair, the fire in her eyes. He'd be damned if a monk could resist her!

His hands physically ached to touch her. But since their return, he hadn't seen her—though he forced himself not to look for her. He knew the second he saw her, he'd be in trouble. Not only that, but he wouldn't let her escape from him again.

Pulling away from her had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. He was the laird. He was Kane. He should be able to take what he wanted—hell, he could. Alice hadn't put up an ounce of fight with him! But he knew that if he took what she so willingly offered to him so soon, she would regret it immediately after—and he'd feel like the worst ass in the world.

Nay, he had to prepare her for him. She had to trust him and know him—as much as he was willing to let her know, that is. Aye, Alice had to be comfortable with him.

Kane leaned against the side of the stables, taking a moment for himself for the first time in... Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he wasn't running somewhere or fighting someone. For this one moment, though, he had a chance to look at what was his. Pride swelled inside of him at the sight of his keep.

The area was not as busy as it normally was this time of day, but he'd sent several of his men out to finish fixing the broken fence. He'd sent them back up in case the MacLeod men came back for another attack.

A growl slipped through his lips as he thought of what had happened. The damn MacLeods were going to pay for their attack. In a sennights time, he was going to end the threat—with the rain, or without. So long as they paid for what they tried to do to Alice, Kane would be pleased.

The poor lass had been terrified, and Kane felt like punching himself for that. He'd probably worsened her fear by the force of his kiss, and how far he'd taken it. Her nerves had been rattled enough, and he hadn't helped.

He should have soothed her—not ravaged her. Yet he couldn't regret his actions. Not after the way she blossomed like a flower under him.

His body tensed with desire, and he wanted to curse. Aye, Alice was a distraction that had consumed too much of his day—and he couldn't bring himself to be worried about it. Not when he would see her soon. The thought made him smile.

"It's time," Brodrick said from beside him. He cast a glance at his friend. Maybe Alice distracting him was not such a good thing. He hadn't even noticed Brodrick there.

"For?" he asked, pushing away from the stables. Where was Saeran? He'd told Connor to fetch him a while ago. You'd think they were gossiping like girls for the amount of time it took for Saeran to join him. He grunted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"To retaliate." He didn’t miss the fury in his friend’s voice.

Brodrick was furious. Kane knew it; everyone knew it. An attack on his laird was an attack on his clan, and Kane knew more than anyone that Brodrick wanted to put the MacLeods in their place. He felt the same burning need. To attack while he was with a woman...inexcusable. Especially since they'd planned to rape her. Disgust rolled through him. Disgust and fury.

"Aye. It is. In a sennight, we'll leave."

"So long?" Brodrick demanded, hands fisting at his side. "My laird, I have a wife and son. In a sennight's time, they could attack again—this time the village."

"They would no' be so stupid as to attack the clan as a whole," Kane said, shaking his head.

"They attacked ye', did they no'? What makes ye' think they'd show any caution before coming after my wife? My son?"

Kane growled. "Are ye' doubting my judgment?"

"Ye' lapsed today," Brodrick pointed out furiously. "Ye' gave them the perfect chance to attack ye', all because of a woman. Mayhap yer judgment is starting to falter."

"Mayhap yer overstepping yer boundaries," Kane warned darkly, chest tightening. It was true. He had failed in judgment today—but he was not going to be so foolish in the future. Before he left, though, he had to make Blaine agree to marry him. The second a messenger was on his way to the king with news of the betrothal, he would leave—but only then.

He couldn't take the risk of not returning—unless he proposed to Blaine before he left. At least if he died in battle on the off-chance that the Campbells interfered, he would still have Blaine’s dowry for his clan.

Brodrick narrowed his eyes at Kane. Kane took a threatening step forward. They stayed like that, tense. Silent. The warning from both of them clear.

From Kane, the promise that if Brodrick didn't back down, he wouldn't hesitate to put him in his place.

From Brodrick, the threat that if Kane didn't protect his clan like he should, Brodrick wouldn't give two shits about status. That was the only reason Kane lessened his tense muscles. That was the only reason Kane didn't show him who was the laird. Brodrick was a man with a family, and he would do anything to protect them—a trait that Kane not only admired, but envied.

"I want to do this soon," Brodrick said. His words were nothing but an angry growl. Kane watched him storm off, shoving a hand through his hair. He wanted to do it soon, as well. Letting the MacLeods think they could overpower him, control him with fear, and attack his woman?

Not acceptable.

* * *

"Lad," Brodrick said stiffly as he passed Saeran. His shoulders were hunched and his face was lined with fury. Saeran started to take a skittish step away from him, then remembered that she was a boy. She couldn’t just dance away from him. She forced her gate to be more stiff, and kept an eye on how much her hips swayed.

"Brodrick." Lord, she sounded like she was walking to her death. What if she really was? What if Connor's slyness had been because he knew the laird had found out about her deception? Oh, God. He was going to lop her head off, and that would be the end of her.

Brodrick paused. "Are ye' okay, lad? Ye' sound sick."

She shook her head, giving him a small smile. It would have been bigger, had she not been trembling. "Aye, my lord. I am completely fine." Liar.

"Are ye' sure? Ye' look like yer walking to yer death there." He raised a brow. The irony was not lost on her. Some of his dark mood seemed to slip. Brodrick had never been a man that stayed angry for long. He liked to appear threatening, but when he got down to it, he was a man who took many joys in life.

One of those joys was watching her shuck horse shite out of a stall all day. If some of it splattered him, it was a complete accident, no matter how much he tried to insist otherwise. Seeing him now, this man who'd grown into an almost uncle-like figure for her, was enough to help her relax.

At least, only a tad. Her knees didn't shake as much when she saw the concern on his face.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. God, she hated how hard it was to change the tone of her voice. Lately, she had been receiving odd looks from everyone whenever she spoke. She realized this wasn’t as easy as she originally thought. If anything, it got a little harder every day.

She constantly reminded herself to lower her voice, hold her shoulders a different way, keep the sway of her hips to a minimum… Connor had started giving her tips whenever he could, and she had started taking them to heart. He had even mentioned cutting her hair a little shorter, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

"Why do I feel as if yer lying to me, lad?" He chuckled, but it was tinged with worry. She understood what he was thinking as surely as if she'd been reading his mind.

Saeran wasn't one to balk at the things she had to go through on a daily basis. When she'd been beat up by men every day, she'd taken it like the lad she had to pretend to be. When she woke up in the early hours of morning to take a bath in the creek, she didn't squeal about the cold water. When she didn't have a meal, she didn't ask for one.

She normally hid her weakness pretty well. Living with Blaine had taught her that the only option she had when she was uncomfortable with something was to bear through it. That's just how it was, and how it had always been.

Right now, the sun was hot, beating down on her like a branding poker—an exaggeration caused by her nerves. She tugged at her shirt, trying to breathe some fresh air, and attempted to give him a more convincing smile.

"Lady Blaine had me help her with...bunions," she lied weakly. God, the amount of lying she was doing today would have her mother rolling in her grave, God bless her soul.

"Bunions," he repeated dubiously, raising his brow yet another time. He didn't believe her, and she couldn't blame him.

"Aye, bunions. It was a terror, really. "

"I can only imagine," he said, scratching his jaw. "Are ye' positive it isn't something else, lad? Ye' ken ye' can talk to me about it. Is it Connor? Has the lad been pestering ye'? I ken he can be overbearing, but ye've no reason to be worried about him."

She wanted to laugh. Brodrick obviously knew of Connor's preferences when it came to the pleasures of oneself, but he didn't know about Connor and Saeran's alliance. She didn't know whether it was good or bad that he was inferring Connor pined after her.

"Nay, he's not bothering me." She worried her lip. Brodrick had always been a trustworthy man. Though Kane and he were obviously friends, she felt safe in confessing some of her worries. It was expected of her anyway—when the second man to the laird spoke to you, you were bound to reply. "It...it is the laird."

He snorted. She glanced up, confused.

"The laird has had a stick up his arse ever since this bonny lass came about," he said, rolling his eyes. The action was so odd in comparison to his barbaric stature. She smiled a little—then her eyes widened.

"Bonny lass?" she echoed.

"Aye. Alice, I believe he said. Are ye' sure yer okay, lad? Ye' really do look pale."

She was too busy trying to catch her breath to pay attention to him, or notice the calculative way he was watching her.

"Nay, I—how long has he been speaking of this Alice?" she asked, dazedly meeting his eyes. It hadn't occurred to her that Kane would speak about her—or rather, the fake her. The realization that Kane would, and did, talk of Alice made her mouth go dry.

What if Blaine found out? Her heart dropped to her stomach.

"Oh, I'd say about a good month, ever since he returned."

"A month?" He's only known of me for a day! Panic assailed her. How could he possibly have known of her that long?

"Aye, a month. Says he happened across a water nym—"

"Saeran!"

She almost vomited all over Brodrick. The voice of the laird made everything in her body go numb. She didn't notice the pounding of her heart or the way her hands shook when she turned around. She forgot about Brodrick completely.

The man of her moral destruction stood in front of her, his face as dark as his mood appeared to be. His lips were pressed, eyes glaring daggers. She swore, if she were a MacLeod, he wouldn't hesitate to rip her to shreds.

He knew. That's all she could think as she stared up at him. He knew, and he was going to kill her.

"Stables. Now."

He gave the harsh command, then turned away. She watched him go, mouth dry and hands shaking, with death hanging over her head. She was definitely going to die today. By a pitchfork, most likely. Aye, she could see it. He'd use a pitchfork to end her life.

"Good luck, lad," Brodrick grunted. Then he, too, turned and continued on his way.

With no other choice, she followed the imposing man who was going to kill her with a pitchfork. Still, even with the threat of death imminent, she felt her body react to the sight of him.

Her earlier opinion about his handsomeness remained the same—he was not handsome by any means. He was imposing and commanding, and mayhap that was all that was needed for her to want him. He did not remind her of the frilly boys at court, or the men who tried to pretend they were tough and brawl. He actually was tough and brawl, and every step in his gait showed that.

"Hurry up," he said sharply over his shoulder. She hurried. And waited. Waited to die. By a pitchfork. It was going to fly through the air and pierce her heart, and she wasn’t even surprised anymore. It seemed that anything that could go wrong, would go wrong.