One

1578

“Ye’re a fool,” Robert MacPherson grumbled. “And likely to get us both lashed.”

Katherine Carew didn’t offer him even a hint of remorse. She settled herself on top of her horse, confidence shining in her midnight-blue eyes. “I’ve trained as hard and as long as ye have.”

“Yes, but ye’re—” Robert clamped his lips shut and took a hasty look around to make sure no one was listening. “Ye’re a woman now.”

And Robert was a man. Katherine found the new element in their relationship curious, and she didn’t care for the change. It threatened to upset the balance of her life—an existence that she liked very much. So she fixed him with a hard look, determined to change his thinking. “You are the one who suggested I start wearing a kilt in the first place.”

Robert frowned. “I was young and a damned fool.”

His eyes lowered to where she’d bound her breasts. His lips thinned and his jaw tightened, sending an unexpected sensation through her. It was slightly unsettling because Robert was her friend and compatriot. Yet he had taken to spending more time with the older men. She didn’t dare venture too close when he was with them for fear they would realize her game. Dressing contrary to her gender was a sin, an argument against what God had decided she would be.

“We’re going raiding,” Robert insisted in a low voice. “It is no place for a…for ye.”

“Ah, let the lad be,” Bari spoke up from where he was securing his saddle. The burly MacPherson retainer peered over at them, his face covered by a thick beard. “If he pisses himself, he’ll jump in the river before we return home, and he can share his whisky with us so we all don’t tell the tale.”

There was a round of laughter from the men close enough to listen in, proving that Katherine and Robert’s words were very much in danger of being overheard. Robert went still in a way she’d never seen before. Katherine actually felt the bite of fear as she realized he was considering unmasking her.

He was her only friend, and the betrayal cut her deeply.

Well, she was going.

Katherine made sure the straps of her saddle were tight. She took a great deal of pleasure in the fact that she knew as much about preparing a horse for riding as every one of the men surrounding her. That would certainly not be the case if she’d been raised in England.

Her old life was only a memory now, hidden behind her adventures in the Highlands. She smiled as she recalled the many things she’d done at Robert’s side while disguised as a boy. She gripped the side of the saddle, making ready to mount.

But a hard hand dug into the back of her jerkin and lifted her into the air.

“What?” Katherine was startled, or she wouldn’t have spoken because her English accent persisted. More than one head turned in her direction as she landed and found herself looking up into the eyes of Marcus MacPherson, war chief of Clan MacPherson.

“I told her she should nae go.” Robert was quick to assign blame to her.

Marcus had braced himself between her and the horse. The war chief was huge and stood considering her from a position she’d seen too many times to count while she trained under his command in the yard. Of course, he thought she was a boy, which made Robert’s choice of words very bad.

Very, very bad.

“You clearly did nae tell her firmly enough.” Marcus shifted his full attention to Robert. “There will be a reckoning owed when we return, sure enough.”

Robert bristled as more men came to witness his chastisement. “She’s the one who will no’ listen to good sense.”

“Agreed,” Marcus said. “Which is why ye should have pulled her off her horse as I just did, since it was you who brought her into me training yard six years ago.”

Katherine gasped. She hated the way the sound came across her lips because it was so…well, so feminine. The men were frowning at her, clearly disapproving.

She shook her head and leveled her chin. “I have trained, and I am as good as many a man standing here.”

“Ye are a woman,” Marcus stated clearly. “And ye do nae belong riding out with us when we are going to needle the Gordons.”

“It isn’t a real raid,” Katherine protested, but she kept her tone civil. She would always respect Marcus for teaching her to defend herself. “Just a bit of fun.”

“Aye,” Marcus agreed. “And yet, not as simple as that. Men get their blood up when they are testing one another’s nerve. It is no place for a woman, even less so for a maiden.”

“Ye see?” Robert said. “I told ye.”

“But ye did nae make certain she could nae venture into danger. That’s the difference between a lad and a man.” Marcus spoke softly, which only gave his words more weight. “It’s past time for ye”—he pointed at Robert—“to recognize that a little lass like Katherine has more to lose if our luck does nae hold. As a MacPherson retainer, I expect ye to make sure the women are taken care of. That’s the real reason they respect us, no’ simply for the sake of our gender.”

Marcus shifted his attention back to Katherine, and she felt the weight of his disapproval. “Ye could be raped and ruined.”

“My reputation is already ruined because I am here,” Katherine protested.

“That is no’ the same thing at all,” Marcus informed her in a steely voice. “And I hope to Christ ye never discover the truth of the matter. For tonight, ye’ll take yerself back inside, and I will deal with ye when I return.”

Marcus’s word was law on MacPherson land. Only his father and his brother, Bhaic, might argue with him, and Katherine wasn’t dense enough to think either of them would disagree. So she lowered her chin and bit her lip. It earned her a soft grunt from Marcus before he moved back toward his horse.

Then the muttering started.

“English chit…”

“More trouble than we need…”

“Damned English always think themselves better than Scots…”

Men she’d thought of as friends suddenly turned traitor, calling her “English” as though she had only recently arrived on their land.

She’d truly thought her feelings dead when it came to the subject of her blood. The rush of hurt flooding her proved her wrong.

Well, that was foolish.

And she would have none of it.

Her father’s blue, noble blood was a curse, and she’d learned the burden of it by the time she was five. His legitimate wife detested her because of the cost of the tutors needed to educate her and the dowry she’d require. She’d been abducted because of that dowry and nearly wed at fourteen.

Marcus MacPherson had taken her into the Highlands instead. It had seemed to be the perfect solution. So far removed from England and her family, there was no one to tell her what she must be. She had been free.

Even from her gender.

Katherine lifted her chin because even after mounting, the MacPherson retainers were still considering her. She refused to crumble. Training among them as a lad, she’d learned to keep her tears hidden, and she’d be damned if she’d show them any now. A stable lad suddenly came up and tried to take her horse.

“I’ll tend to my own mount,” she informed him, making sure her voice carried. “As I always have.”

Katherine didn’t wait to see what those watching made of her words. She reached up and ran a confident hand along the muzzle of her horse before she turned and started to lead it toward the stable.

Indeed, she took care of herself, and that brought her much-needed relief from the sting of her bruised emotions.

* * *

“What do ye mean by that?” Helen Grant demanded.

Marcus eyed his wife, crossing his arms over his chest and facing her down, as was his fashion. Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Ye heard me clearly, Wife.”

Helen scoffed and settled her newest babe into its cradle before she turned on him while pulling the laces on her dress tight. “What I heard was that ye seem to think what a woman does with her day is easier to learn than a man’s lot.”

Marcus frowned. “Do nae go twisting me words.”

“I should have had charge of her years ago if ye wanted her trained properly in the running of a house,” Helen continued. “Ye are the one who allowed her to be a lad.”

“And for good reason,” Marcus answered back. “She’s English. Ye know how often ye have heard curses against her kin, and I assure ye, I have heard three times as much because the men do tend to mind their tongues around the women in the hall.”

Helen had finished closing her dress and settled her hands on her hips. “As I said, I do nae know what ye expect me to do with her now that ye’ve let her run wild for the past six years. She’s twenty now.”

“I know.” Marcus’s control slipped, allowing his exasperation to bleed through into his tone. “She’s a woman, and yet she was intent on riding out with us last evening.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Helen replied. “Why is it a concern now?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, and his wife read his expression like a book. There was no point in trying to keep the matter to himself. He let out a soft word of Gaelic.

“We went out and lifted some of the Gordons’ cattle.”

His wife stiffened. The Gordons hated the MacPhersons and would spill blood if they could. Old Laird Colum Gordon wanted vengeance for the death of his son, Lye Rob, and the old man didn’t seem to care that Bhaic MacPherson had killed Lye Rob with good reason. Lye Rob had stolen Bhaic’s new wife, Ailis, and no Highlander worth his name was going to let a man get away with that. Nothing seemed to matter to the old laird of the Gordons except vengeance.

Marcus knew he was playing with fire by going anywhere near Gordon land. Needling the local clans was one matter; going onto Gordon land was another altogether because it might get him killed. His wife was going to tear a strip off his back for chancing it.

“Damn ye, Marcus,” Helen berated him. “So, ye are still acting like a child?” She pointed at their son. “And what will become of the children I bear ye if ye get yer throat slit?”

Marcus only lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Ye know it will nae come to that. The Grants took some of ours last month. It’s just a bit of fun.”

Helen made a soft sound. “With the Gordons, it is very different. Which is why ye do nae want Katherine along. Do nae think to pull the wool over me eyes.”

Marcus opened his arms in exasperation. “Aye!” He snorted. “There, I’ve agreed with ye. And ye would have a place if I were to pay for me choices in blood, so do nae insult me by asking such a question. Now tell me ye will take her in hand.” He made a motion with his hand. “And teach her…what a woman should be doing with her time.”

Helen wasn’t pleased, and as she looked at her baby, worry creases appeared at the corners of her eyes.

“I love ye, Helen, but ye know full well what manner of man I am.” He pulled her close, wrapping her in his embrace. She settled for just a moment, inhaling the scent of his skin before she pushed against his chest and he released her.

“Aye, well,” Helen said softly. “At twenty years of age, Katherine has decided what sort of woman she is as well. Something ye have allowed. Now ye expect me to be the one to destroy her world?”

Marcus’s expression tightened as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll have words with her.”

* * *

“The laird is asking to see ye, mistress.”

Katherine had been expecting the summons. It was a relief, in a way, to have the matter at hand, and yet she felt her belly twisting as she rose and followed Cam through the passageways toward the laird’s private solar. For all that Cam had spoken softly, there were plenty in the great hall who noted what was happening.

From the moment the sun rose, Katherine had felt the weight of everyone’s judgment. She’d seen such treatment before and realized it had its uses because it maintained order inside the clan. Those who transgressed learned it would not be tolerated, and being shunned was their fate until they made recompense.

Justice.

They all relied upon the laird for that, and she was expected to comply as well.

At least that idea restored some of her composure. The MacPherson clan still viewed her as their own, or something close. She truly didn’t want to think about any alternative, so she followed Cam willingly enough. The laird of the MacPherson clan was waiting for her behind a desk. Shamus had a full head of gray hair and a beard to match. A portrait hung behind him, depicting him several decades before when his hair had been as dark as his son Bhaic’s.

“Aye, I was a young man once.” Shamus proved that his eyesight wasn’t failing by noting her interest.

Katherine lowered herself and straightened back up while the laird contemplated her. He was tapping a finger on the top of his desk. Marcus and Bhaic framed him on either side, proving the gravity of the moment.

“As foolish too,” Shamus concluded in a voice crackled with age.

“Hardly foolish to learn to defend myself.” In the back of Katherine’s mind was the memory of a time when she’d been taught to hold her tongue in the presence of men and her betters. It was too dim to hold back her impulse, though.

Shamus snorted and slapped the tabletop. “From a lad, I’d no’ have to take exception to that comment.”

“I don’t see why it matters that I am a female.” Katherine shifted her focus to Marcus. “I can best half the boys with a rapier.”

“But ye can nae carry one or risk reprisal from the Church,” Shamus said gravely. “A fact ye surely know, lass, or ye’re daft.”

Katherine closed her mouth and nodded a single time.

“Me son Marcus trained ye because he thought it best, considering yer circumstances,” Shamus said.

He made it sound like she was to be pitied, and that stirred her temper. Katherine lifted her chin in defiance. “I find my circumstances very pleasing.”

Shamus offered her a grunt of approval. “Aye, that pleases me, and yet ye are, as both me sons have noted, a grown woman now. The Church might overlook a fair number of things when youth is involved. They are not so lenient when it comes to adults.”

Katherine didn’t care for the feeling that a noose was being slipped over her neck. She recalled that feeling from when she was young and living in England. What she detested was the way tears stung her eyes.

She did not cry.

And hadn’t since the day the Earl of Morton had looked at her like a creature to be bartered. She’d realized growing strong was her only way to avoid becoming exactly what he saw her as. She would be more than a thing.

“Well…” Shamus resumed tapping the top of his desk. “I’m glad to see that ye agree with me, lass.”

“You have yet to tell me what you wish of me.”

“Aye.” Shamus made a motion with his hand. “Ye’ll need to keep company with the women. Helen will instruct ye on the running of a house.”

“And ye will keep a skirt on,” Marcus added sternly. “No more kilts.”

She knew that voice. Had trained under it and learned to respect it because Marcus was preparing the youths of the clan for the realities of life, where his training would mean the difference between surviving and an early grave.

Arguing with him felt wrong because he’d given her so many years of joy, and yet she felt cut to the bone by his order. So she lowered herself and left.

She hadn’t been dismissed, but Shamus didn’t call after her. She needed fresh air, feeling like a stone was crushing her chest.

But relief wasn’t hers just yet. Robert appeared next to her, clearly having been waiting for her meeting with the laird to be finished.

“It’s for the best,” Robert began, his soft tone grating against her frayed nerves.

“Don’t you dare speak to me in that fashion.” She turned on him.

His eyes widened.

“Like you do to a child,” Katherine clarified.

Robert stiffened. Somehow, she’d failed to notice his shoulders had widened and his chin was covered in a full growth of hair now.

“I’m no’ talking to ye like ye’re a child,” Robert said, defending himself. “Just—”

“Like a woman?” she demanded. “Go take the hand of Satan and walk yourself to hell.”

His cheeks darkened. “Ye have to stop talking like that, too. Women do nae curse.”

“Easily accomplished,” she informed him. “For I will not be speaking to you anymore.”

She turned to leave, but Robert reached out and caught her wrist. The bit of strength was there, one she knew and detested because it proved that time was going to destroy the life she had thought she’d built.

“Kat,” he said. “Do nae be cross with me. Ye are a woman, and they are right. The bloody Gordons will no’ rape me. Ye need to keep to yer place. Do ye want to be known as a hellion? No man will ever have ye if that happens.”

“And so my entire worth should be measured by what a man wants?” She scoffed at him. “My prospects for a good match died when I was abducted by the Earl of Morton.”

Robert didn’t disagree. He wanted to, opening his mouth but shutting it when he couldn’t form an argument.

“Keep yer hands off me,” she declared before she twisted and stepped to the side, breaking his grip. “And do not follow me to speak to me alone. It is improper.”

She turned her back on him and found Marcus considering them. She lifted her chin and shot him a hard look.

Wasn’t that what they all wanted? Her acting like a woman?

Well, she’d certainly not be apologizing.

Even though she ached to, for Robert was her only true friend.

And now, she was forbidden that comfort.

Why had Fate cursed her with being a female?

* * *

“Did Katherine stay with ye today?”

Helen looked up from the baby and sent Marcus a tired look. “Aye.”

He placed his sword by their bed and reached down to gently stroke the hair away from the face of their older son, Rae, who was fast asleep in his trundle bed near the wall.

“Ye know why it must be so,” he remarked to his wife as he sat down on the edge of the bed and began to work the lace holding his boot closed.

“I also recall very well how it feels to be a stranger here,” Helen replied. “I saw that look in Katherine’s eyes today.”

“She’ll settle in.”

“Because she’s a woman?” Helen scoffed at him, upsetting Roderick. She drew in a deep breath as she soothed the infant and guided him back to her nipple.

“Because there is no other choice,” Marcus said once the sound of suckling resumed. “We have both done as much as we can for the lass. I thank God she is no’ sitting here as me wife.”

“Aye,” Helen agreed. “Morton was a fool to try to force that match. Katherine was far too young.”

“She is nae any longer, and I am no’ the one who stole her from her family. I simply made sure she’d not be wed to another man who valued Morton’s opinion more than decency,” Marcus said as he lay back in the bed. “Ye know it must be done.”

Helen still sent him a look that made it clear she disagreed.

Marcus let out a sigh. “If she was caught with a sword or, worse yet, using one, she might well be accused of being bewitched, if no’ an outright witch. For all that we’re no’ feuding, there is plenty of bad blood between the MacPhersons and Gordons to make them want a little retribution.”

“And what better target than an English girl that we call yer sister,” Helen finished. “I recall well yer reasoning for training her.”

“Aye.” Marcus reached for their son now that the baby was fed. “Morton would no’ be able to call it feuding if the Gordons claimed it was a matter of witchery. The lass was trying to ride out with us. She does nae understand the evil that is inside some men. Colum Gordon has more than his share. It has been festering since Bhaic killed Lye Rob Gordon, and Colum is too old to see the truth of the matter.”

Helen lay back, enjoying the sight of her husband cradling their newest babe. Marcus was huge and hard, but he cupped the baby’s head and smiled. Yet it was a happiness that must be earned. Strength meant stability in the Highlands. Clans would do anything to ensure they were not viewed as weak.

It was a truth she didn’t care for much, but one she would have to make certain Katherine understood.

* * *

She was a woman, and yet vastly different from those around her.

Katherine tried to smile, but discovered her attempts were greeted with uncertainty. The women inside Castle MacPherson knew one another as well as the men in the yard did. But they did not know her, and Katherine discovered herself a stranger among them all over again. It was daunting and, coupled with her lack of friends, sometimes overwhelming.

She walked to the stables one evening because the feeling of flour between her fingers became too much to bear.

At least she’d finished her duties, so no one bothered to follow her.

The sun was a glowing ball on the horizon, the air still warm with the promise of summer. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of the outdoors.

She’d missed it sorely.

There was a snort as her horse caught sight of her. The animal tossed its head, making Katherine smile.

“I missed you too,” she whispered as she rubbed its muzzle. The animal was dancing, its hooves kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Yet no one came down the row of stalls to investigate. She realized it was the monthly court, and everyone who wasn’t on duty had gone to the great hall to hear the cases being brought before the laird for judgment. It was often a fine evening of amusement. Men fought for the most ridiculous reasons. Women too, but it would be the laird’s daughter-by-marriage who ruled on those cases.

There were two young lads left with the horses, but they were busy enjoying their supper by the fire, far away from the stalls and the straw.

Temptation rose inside her like music building during the market fair. At first, it was only a soft melody, but it quickly became a lively beat as one drew closer. Her heart was accelerating, fed by the way her horse was stamping at the ground.

And the fact that no one was about to judge her.

Did she dare?

Was she foolish to ignore the opportunity? Honestly, she hadn’t known the hours of a day could be so long. Today had felt endless, and now, with the last of the light fading, it felt like freedom came on the wings of the night.

Do ye want to be known as a hellion?

Robert’s words rose from her memory and gave her resolve a firm kick in the backside.

What she wasn’t going to do was squander her unexpected moment of freedom. She turned and looked around again. No one was anywhere near. She smiled as she tugged a shirt off a peg where it had been left by the men who worked in the stable when they changed into their better clothing for the night’s court. It was too large, but she was used to making do. She pleated up a kilt and lay down to buckle it around her waist. A jerkin and bonnet completed her look.

Well, she’d like to have a sword, but such an item was expensive and not likely to be left behind. She’d have to make do with the dagger Marcus had gifted her with. It was a good one, and he’d made sure she knew how to use it. She pulled it out of her garter and happily stuck it through her belt before saddling the horse.

The night beckoned to her with warm air and enough clouds to keep the moonlight low. It was just a ride. A few hours to restore her spirit before she had to resume the role Fate had decided was hers.

Hellion?

Perhaps.

* * *

“Sure yer sire won’t be tanning yer backside for ye?”

Rolfe McTavish turned his head slightly to the side and sent his captain a half grin. “Only because I did no’ invite him along.”

Adwin chuckled. “Aye, he’d likely do that, sure enough.”

Rolfe reached across the space between the horses and playfully punched his captain in the shoulder. “Let’s get to it before our chance to have fun at the MacPhersons’ expense is wasted.”

“Aye,” Adwin agreed. “What with the Earl of Morton insisting we no’ feud anymore, we get few enough opportunities.”

Several of the McTavish retainers listening spat on the ground at the mention of the king’s regent, the Earl of Morton. The man wanted peace and unity in Scotland, and while Rolfe didn’t disagree with that notion, he wasn’t going to embrace the earl’s methods of forcing marriages on the Highlanders and trying to insist that all the lairds’ sons be raised at court. Morton could go piss himself if he thought Rolfe would let any child of his be taken to that den of serpents.

Not that he even had a wife, but it was the principle of the thing. He grinned as the clouds shifted, darkening the moon. Morton wasn’t the first man to try to suppress the Highlanders.

But he would be another one disappointed when he learned the northern Scots would not bend to his will.

They were Highlanders.

* * *

Katherine rode farther than she’d intended.

But she was still on MacPherson land when she pulled the horse up. The animal wanted more, but Katherine slipped from its back and rubbed it soothingly. She must not allow it to become lathered. It was still too cold for that to be a wise thing.

Maybe she didn’t know how to turn bread well, but she knew how to treat a horse. She pulled the bit from its mouth to give it a few moments of ease while she walked it toward a flowing river and let it lower its head to drink.

The wind rustled the leaves of the trees as the clouds shifted and blackened the night. It wasn’t darkness that made her nape tingle; no, it was something else. She started to turn, realizing she’d made a grave error in facing the river while the sound of the water might cover the steps of anyone nearby.

The realization came too late. She felt a hard blow land on her head and pain nearly split her in two. She struggled to hold back unconsciousness as she raised her hands to defend herself, but she was slow and clumsy. Her captors laughed as they pulled her away from her horse and looped a length of rope around her. It bound her arms to her chest, and they gleefully added two more loops before tying it off.

“Now that’s a fine prize, to be sure,” one of them declared. “Yer sire is going to blister yer arse, lad, once he pays yer ransom.”

“Wager Marcus MacPherson will take a turn at that too, since ye’re one of his lads.”

There was a course round of amusement at her expense, while the man holding the end of the rope tugged on it and pulled her along with him. She ducked her chin and stumbled after him.

“Look what we have here.”

Someone kicked her in the backside. It sent her sprawling, and with her arms bound, she tasted the dirt as she went rolling.

“Hold.”

Katherine was just sitting up when the order came. Compliance was immediate. Silence fell around her as she felt the weight of a stare.

It was a foolish thing to think, but as the man stepped closer and lowered himself onto his haunches in front of her, she would have sworn she actually felt his gaze on her. The clouds shifted, casting him in yellow moonlight, and she stiffened. The reaction rose from deep inside her, shocking her as much as the sight of the man considering her.

He was huge.

As hulking large as Marcus, but he struck her so much differently. Her belly tightened, and she felt her eyes widen before she tucked her chin, as she’d learned to do to keep her gender hidden.

The man reached right out and cupped her chin to raise it again.

She gasped and recoiled.

The contact of their skin was jarring. She kicked away from him, but her gaze remained locked with his.

“It’s just a little MacPherson laddie,” one of the men spoke up. “Should be worth a few pieces of silver.”

“Got his horse too,” someone else said. “I’m thinking it’s worth more than the whelp.”

There was another round of chuckling.

The clouds shifted again, giving her even more light, and this time she saw the feather standing up on the side of the leader’s bonnet. There was a twinkle from the brooch holding it that could only come from gold.

“Ye’re blind, Cedric,” the man in front of her said.

His voice was deep and controlled. A shiver went down her spine as she recognized how completely in his power she was.

“How so?” Cedric asked. He gave the end of the rope a shake. “I caught him sure enough.”

The man in front of her looked toward his man. “This is a lass.”

He rose, proving just how powerful his body was. The motion was fluid and graceful, like a hawk when it swooped down on its prey.

“Ye should have noticed how that rope is binding her arms and pushing her breasts up against whatever she bound them with.”

Katherine felt her cheeks heat. It had been a long time since she’d blushed, and she didn’t welcome the return of such reactions. But her distemper didn’t change the truth. Her breasts were being pushed up, making a little pair of mounds in the front of the jerkin that wouldn’t be there if she were male.

Curse her gender.

“I am Rolfe McTavish.” He leaned over and hooked her by the coils of rope, lifting her up with one hard pull. “And ye are foolish in the extreme, mistress.”

He pulled the rope off her, tossing it toward his man, Cedric, who caught it but glared at his laird’s son. “So what if it’s a lass? Still worth a ransom, I bet. Likely running away from a match. That means she has a dowry worth fighting over. Who knows? I might just wed her meself.”

Katherine took a step back, and then another when she realized they were letting her get closer to the horse. It occurred to her that they didn’t think she was very accomplished at mounting. After all, most women would use a mounting block. It had taken her months to build up enough strength to do it, and still more months of strained muscles after that.

Tonight, every bit of pain seemed insignificant compared to the knowledge that she could fend for herself.

“I’m looking for good sport, Cedric,” Rolfe admonished his man.

“Can’t see much of her in those clothes, but she might be sporting enough.”

Rolfe stepped partially in front of his man. There was an odd tension in the air that made her belly want to heave, but she didn’t have time to be distracted by her emotions. She drew in a deep breath and let Marcus’s voice fill her head. The one he used when instructing.

Fighting is no’ just about who is strongest, but about who has better control…

Rolfe’s men were chuckling, while the laird’s son had his back to her. She took advantage of the moment, turning and jumping off a rock before gripping the sides of the saddle.

The first fifty times she’d tried it, she’d blackened her eye or hit her nose so hard she was sure it was broken.

Persistence had paid off though, and she’d learned to swing up and onto the horse like the other lads in her training class. Now she did so again, gaining the saddle as she clamped her thighs tight and pulled the horse’s head around before digging her heels into its sides. The animal reared up, screaming as it came down with a bone-jarring impact. She felt it tense as it used its powerful hindquarters to push off the ground and start bounding up the hill.

* * *

“Never seen a female do that before.”

Neither had Rolfe. She was in the saddle as securely as any of his men.

“It’s not natural.”

“Nay, it is no’.”

“I’d say it’s impressive,” Rolfe interjected. “And it comes from training.”

His men weren’t sure what to make of his comment. They considered him, two of them stroking their beards while Rolfe watched her reach the crest of the embankment and go over it. She kept motion with the horse expertly, her body moving with lithe, fluid grace that spoke of strength and training. It raised his cock and his opinion of her.

Cedric was staring at him. Rolfe shrugged. “No one learns to swing up into the saddle without working at it.”

His men agreed, even if a fair number of them were uncomfortable with the topic. Rolfe found his mind lingering on her long after the sound of her horse diminished into the distance.

“Are we lifting cattle or no’?” Cedric asked at last.

Rolfe found himself hesitating to answer his man. He was torn now. Something was prodding him to go up to Castle MacPherson.

“Ye’re thinking of going after her.” It was Adwin who spoke. His captain knew him too well, it seemed.

Rolfe turned to lock gazes with the man. “Someone should take her in hand.”

“Aye, she was in luck that it was us who caught her,” Adwin agreed as he locked his hands around his wide belt and rocked back on his heels. It was his favorite position for thinking. “And still, someone has been teaching her, so they bloody well know what she does.”

“The MacPhersons must have a priest with a finer sense of humor than we have on McTavish land,” Cedric added.

“It just means she’s been playing at being a lad, and Marcus MacPherson has let the matter go. Priests do nae venture into the training yards often,” Rolfe said.

“Maybe Marcus did nae notice.”

“No’ a chance,” Rolfe answered. “Marcus is no fool.”

“Ye took him by surprise sure enough,” Adwin stated, to the delight of the men.

Rolfe was used to them recalling the tale. Today, he didn’t take as much heart in it. Yes, there had been a time years ago when he’d managed to sneak up on Marcus MacPherson while the man was distracted by his new wife.

“I’d be a fool to think I could do it a second time,” he announced. “And double so for thinking Marcus does no’ know that is a lass.”

“So it’s true, then,” Adwin announced. “Me cousin said the MacPhersons have an English hellion living among them. I thought it was just a good story.”

“English, ye say?” Rolfe asked.

“No’ a chance,” Cedric argued. “Now, a Highlander lass might”—he held up a thick finger—“just might have the strength to keep up with the lads. But English? Nay. Their blood is too thin.”

“Who else would be allowed to train like a lad?” Adwin insisted.

Rolfe didn’t listen too closely to his men as they began to debate the shortcomings of the English. His mind was full of the girl and the way she’d blinked when he touched her chin. Damned if there hadn’t been something strangely hypnotic about it. Like he’d touched a fae creature.

He chuckled at his own whimsy.

She was just a lass, and a foolish one at that. If anything, he should go home and pen a letter to Marcus MacPherson, because Rolfe wasn’t going to ride up to MacPherson Castle. Marcus would enjoy slapping him in shackles, no doubt. Rolfe had once held Helen Grant for ransom. It was all in good fun, in a Highland fashion. Helen had never been in any real danger. That was a point of honor.

Colum Gordon was a different matter. The man had lost touch with the world around him, cradling his vengeance for his dead son and blind to the fact that Bhaic had killed Lye Rob for a just reason.

Rolfe was torn. Somehow, he felt protective toward his nameless fae creature. She was playing a dangerous game, riding at night when clansmen were out raiding. More than one man would consider her a fine prize, and if she had no family to notice her missing, her fate might be a grim one.

“Let’s get the cattle,” he commanded in frustration. Marcus deserved the dig at his pride for allowing any female to train in his yard. Look what sort of recklessness it had bred in the lass! The bloody Gordons would not be so kind to her if they found her.

Hellion?

More like hell-bound. Her behavior was going to land her in her grave.

* * *

She’d ridden the horse too fast.

Katherine spent over an hour rubbing the poor creature down and praying that she would go undiscovered while she was tending to the chore. At least the work gave her something to do, because she was pulsing with nervousness and yet, at the same time, a strong sense of victory.

She couldn’t stop smiling, and she was muffling her giggles while working on the horse.

She’d really, really done it.

Escaped.

All of the reprimanding looks and lectures melted away as her accomplishment burned bright enough to overshadow them all. She’d been so frightened for a moment when the rope was biting into her and she was being pulled along like a cow on the way to be slaughtered.

And then she’d used her wits to cut through that panic, opening a doorway for her training to come through. Things Marcus had said during training classes suddenly made sense in a bold manner that filled her with a confidence she had never experienced before. It was heady and dark and seductive.

Just what she’d needed after weeks of toiling in the kitchens, where she was clumsy and ignorant and so much less skilled than the rest of the women. She held a new respect for the toil necessary to put a meal on the table, and that was a solid truth.

Yet, she didn’t belong there.

The men didn’t want her near either. It was a puzzle that seemed to have no solution. At least not one that pleased her. Katherine wound through the passageways toward her chamber, left with the sure knowledge that she was not frightened of the shadows or the night hours or even McTavish clansmen. She would not trade that for any amount of acceptance from the other women. She’d earned it with every blow and knock, all the times she’d fought back her tears and kept training. Her courage was hard-won and, it would seem, her sole possession. For her name was tarnished, and among the Scots, her blood was hated.

So she held the courage she’d cultivated tightly to her chest and felt something that had been missing since the day Robert had told her she couldn’t ride out with the men.

Contentment.

A sense of belonging.

She realized that she’d been longing for it, and now she felt at ease again, as if she’d found a part of herself she’d thought was broken away. It wasn’t. Even if she was separated from the training yard, everything she had learned was still hers and could never be taken from her because she’d earned it.

The moment she closed her eyes, she saw him again.

Rolfe McTavish.

Out in the darkness, he’d been a brute, to be sure. Not that she doubted he was any less fearsome by the light of day, but the night hours cast things in a way that made them seem more intense. That had to be the reason why she would have sworn she still felt his fingers on her skin.

He’d touched her for a mere moment. Moon madness was the explanation for why it lingered in her thoughts.

She’d heard his name many times. He’d held Helen for ransom when Marcus had first brought Katherine to the Highlands. She had been barely fourteen at the time, and grateful to Marcus for not wedding her as the Earl of Morton had demanded. Katherine had been too young, and Marcus had been outraged. He had stolen her away into the Highlands to ensure she’d have time to grow up.

She was doubly grateful tonight because Marcus had trained her. Rolfe McTavish would have been sending another ransom note if she hadn’t known how to escape.

But she had, and she fell asleep with that truth warming her.

* * *

“Ye allowed Katherine to leave the kitchens?”

Marcus arrived in their bedchamber, demanding an answer to his question before the door closed. Helen shot him a hard look of reprimand because he’d startled their babe. Roderick opened his eyes and let out a wail. Helen cradled him close as she rocked him, waiting for him to close his eyes once more. Marcus waited while she settled the infant in his cradle, caught in the moment, still finding it hard to believe that he was so fortunate.

His wife turned to him, lifting one eyebrow. “Do ye think I have any more stomach for crushing her spirit than ye do?”

Marcus didn’t miss the point of her reply. He’d braced his feet wide and crossed his arms over his chest, but now he ran a hand over his head. He kept his hair cut short so it couldn’t be grabbed in a fight.

“Ye’re right.” He placed his sword by their bed and checked on Rae before sitting down next to her.

“The kitchens are an unkind place to put her now,” Helen continued. “She lacks the skill of the other women her age.”

“Because I allowed her to train,” Marcus finished as he set his boots aside. He turned and considered their second son. “I think it might be a good thing that we have only sons. I seem to have no wisdom when it comes to raising lasses.”

“I’ll have a daughter,” Helen warned him. “Don’t be thinking to deny me one.”

Marcus slowly grinned at her. It was a wicked one that she enjoyed seeing on his face.

“Well now, Wife,” he began in a deep voice that warmed her blood, “ye know I hate to leave ye unsatisfied.”

Helen snorted at him as she was drifting off into sleep. “I do nae believe that nonsense.”

“That ye only conceive daughters when a man leaves his woman unsatisfied?” Marcus clarified.

Helen opened her eyes and looked at him. “We are going to have to move Rae to a different chamber with the way ye talk.”

“Ye mean with the way I pleasure ye.”

She made a little sound of agreement under her breath. “As for Katherine, what is yer quarrel with her working with the hawks?”

“It’s in the stables, a place where men are often rougher in their words.”

Helen scoffed at him. “Katherine has been training in the yard for nearly six years. If ye were concerned with her hearing about lust, ye are far too late, and I don’t doubt that she has seen everything there is to see about what is beneath a kilt.”

“Aye,” Marcus agreed as he pulled her close and inhaled the scent of her hair. “As I already admitted, I do nae seem to have much wisdom about where a lass should and should no’ be.”

“Ye were thinking of her English blood and the hatred of it here in the Highlands.”

Marcus nodded. “I was. Fate has given the lass a hard hand to play. Bastard born to a noble, no less, and with her mother lowborn, her noble stepmother will not be wishing her good health.”

“The Earl of Morton would no’ have found it simple to steal her away and keep her if that weren’t so,” Helen agreed. “She’s been left to whatever fate Scotland holds for her. She was far too young for that.”

“I knew it was nae correct to train her, and still, I could nae argue with the sense of it.” Marcus spoke softly. “But now, well, she’s a woman grown and can no’ hide it.”

“Who does nae know how to be a woman,” Helen finished. “Nor does any of the clan treat her like one.”

Marcus’s hand stilled on her hip. “Well, now, that’s something I do know a bit about. I’ll see to it tomorrow.”

“See to what?” Helen asked.

But her husband had lost interest in the conversation, now that he’d come to a conclusion. He was far more interested in stroking her body and bringing it to life as he always did. Helen lost track of anything beyond knowing that they needed to move their children to another chamber soon, because time had not dulled the reaction she had to her husband, and she still could not keep her cries of delight to herself.

* * *

“Katherine Carew.”

The great hall of MacPherson Castle went quiet as Shamus MacPherson spoke her name. The laird of the clan was old now, but at times, his voice still rang with authority.

Tonight was one of those nights.

His retainers turned to consider her as she hesitated with one leg over a bench and her supper still in her hands. One of the women who was serving the long tables that filled the hall reached over and took it away from her.

Katherine pulled her leg back and lowered herself.

“Ye’ll join me,” Shamus informed her.

One of his men went toward the end of the high table and pulled a chair out for her. It was a position of honor, one reserved for members of the laird’s family and his captains. Everyone seemed to be watching her, so she started moving toward the head table, though it felt as if each of her boots suddenly weighed as much as a young colt.

She stopped and lowered herself once more before she climbed the steps to where the high table sat. The chair was large and furnished with a pillow, and the retainer pushed her in toward the table once she’d sat down.

“It has been some years since Katherine came to this castle.” Shamus spoke clearly, and his men gave him their attention. “So tonight, I want to take a moment to remind everyone that she is considered me son Marcus’s sister. The Earl of Morton, the king’s regent, wanted an alliance with me family, and we will honor his wishes.”

There was a long moment of contemplation from the men and women of the clan. Many of the men stroked their beards while their eyes narrowed in thought. But the laird’s word was law, and in the end, his men nodded to him before they turned back to their supper.

“Ye may stay with the hawks, so long as ye keep to wearing a dress,” Marcus said softly beside her. “And ye will sit beside me at meals so no one forgets yer place.”

She nodded, but Marcus turned and his eyes narrowed.

“So that pleases ye?” he asked.

Marcus was suspicious by nature. A trait that served him well as war chief to the clan. Katherine had been frightened of him for most of her first year in the Highlands, but after that, when it seemed he wouldn’t keep her from training, she’d decided it was part of his charm.

“Aye,” she answered him. “It pleases me far more than turning bread.”

“Ye would no’ have been a maid,” Marcus explained.

“Helen was clear on that matter.” Katherine stiffened as she knocked elbows with a maid who was leaning in from behind her to serve her. Marcus chuckled softly.

“It takes a bit of getting accustomed to,” he muttered once the maid was finished. “Being served, that is.”

It seemed she’d also have to learn how to eat while being watched. Katherine snapped her mouth shut as she realized there were plenty of people looking directly at her. She lifted a linen napkin from where it was laid over her right shoulder and made sure her lips were clean. After that, she took only small bites to ensure she wasn’t chewing with her mouth open.

Marcus made a sound under his breath. “Helen asked me how one managed to eat at the high table when she first wed me.” He sent Katherine an amused look. “I told her, very carefully, or ye’ll be used as a teaching example by MacPherson mothers.”

“No, thank you,” Katherine answered. She was strained, so her English accent was more pronounced.

“I knew.”

Marcus had spoken so softly that she had to think for a moment to make sure she’d heard him correctly. He cut her a look.

“I knew ye were there, lass. In the yard.”

He watched his words land, taking note of the smile that lifted the corners of her lips. He scoffed before reaching for a round of bread. He tore it and placed a piece on her plate.

“Pleases ye, does it?”

“You are not a man who gives out false flattery, so yes.” Katherine reached for the bread, forcing herself to handle it more daintily. “I consider it a compliment earned.”

“Fair enough,” Marcus responded. “Mind me, Katherine. On the matters of yer dress and this table. I would make certain ye are afforded protection.”

“From my blood, you mean?”

Marcus looked back at her, and this time she saw the frank, bluntly honest man who had trained her. This was the war chief of the clan. “Ye’ve heard with your own ears the way the men speak of the English. I allowed ye to train because I can no’ be changing the fact that many men will visit the sins of yer countrymen upon ye. Yet Robert is correct: ye are a woman grown now. So, ye’ll sit beside me so every man here understands I consider ye me family.”

She nodded and went back to her supper. Marcus got caught up in a conversation with his brother, Bhaic, so she was left to contemplate his words.

Being on the outside was something she understood well. It had been her life; Scotland was no different. So she would celebrate her victory in escaping the kitchens.

A wicked little thought moved through her as she contemplated just how much easier it would be to ride out at night now that she didn’t serve directly under Helen. The master of the hawks was an old man who had plenty of younger apprentices to do the work for him. He took to drinking before the sun set and slept soundly until after dawn.

Yes, a victory. That’s what it was indeed.

* * *

“Looking back toward MacPherson land?”

Rolfe jumped and growled at Adwin. His captain only flashed him a grin, which the moonlight illuminated.

“That little lassie will no’ be venturing out again.”

“I am no’ so certain of that,” Rolfe declared. “She is brazen by nature.”

Adwin made a low sound under his breath. “Learned so much about her in that wee moment ye were together?”

Rolfe answered him with a shrug. “Perhaps I understand females a wee bit better than ye do.”

“No’ bloody likely,” Adwin scoffed. “I’m still a good eight seasons older than ye, lad.”

“And still,” Rolfe said softly, “ye missed that fine pair of tits.”

Adwin humphed and gripped his belt.

* * *

It was a moment that seemed frozen.

Katherine had no idea how long she stared at the scene before her. One moment, she was feeling the sting of a blush on her cheeks as she heard Rolfe boldly talking about her breasts, and the next, she blinked, because a conversation was coming up behind her.

“If I catch whoever has been raiding our cattle, I’m going to hang them.”

“Feuding is forbidden by the regent,” another voice said.

There was a grunt and a brushing of leaves as Katherine crouched in a thicket.

“The Earl of Morton can go fuck himself. Ever since he’s been insisting on peace in the Highlands, all I do is watch me inheritance bleed away. One hanging will send a message. MacPhersons, McTavishes, Robertsons… They all need to know the Gordons will nae be trifled with. Now shut yer jaw… Cleo is coming back.”

There was a blur of motion. Katherine watched as a bird glided past and perched on a tree near her. It turned, displaying its large, amber eyes.

An owl.

It could see in the dark and had been trained to hunt men. She shivered as one of the shadows shifted behind her and lifted a gloved hand. The owl took flight, gliding over to the gauntlet and eagerly taking the bit of meat offered to it. But the meager amount of food was consumed quickly, and the bird turned to look for the prey its master would reward it for. As it started to lower its head and raise its wings, Katherine started moving.

Rolfe and his men had no idea how close they were to being discovered.

She bumped into the thicket on purpose, making it shake and fill the air with a rustling sound. The owl turned toward her, flying straight at her as she turned away from Rolfe McTavish.

It was a rash action, and yet so satisfying to know she’d protected them. She turned to run back to where she had left her horse. Rolfe had only a few men with him, and the Gordons were more than twenty strong. Many would label her foolish for interfering in the business of men, but she did not regret doing so.

“After him!”

Katherine ran, digging her feet into the earth as she pushed herself up the hill toward the crest. On the other side, her horse was waiting, and the animal’s strength would carry her away. Her lungs burned as she heard the men behind her. They were closing the distance, but she knew not to look behind her because it would slow her down.

So she ran, demanding more speed from her straining muscles, insisting her lungs draw in enough breath to keep her moving. She made it to the top of the hill and glimpsed her horse on the other side before she was brutally pushed to the ground.

She felt her skin scraping the dirt as someone slammed their fist into the back of her skull. Pain went smashing through her, making her dizzy, but she fought it, using her feet to push herself up as she pulled the dagger free from her belt.

Whoever was on her jumped back as she slashed at him with the weapon.

“Bloody Christ!” he exclaimed. “Ye’ll pay for that!”

He lunged at her, but Katherine had learned to move quickly. She dodged to the side, using the hilt of her dagger to deliver a blow to his temple. There was a dull thud as she struck true, and he fell to the ground in a heap.

“Ye’ll no’ be fighting all of us off, boy.”

Katherine saw that what she had thought were twenty men were in reality more than thirty. They had her surrounded now, their breathing harsh as their leader chuckled at her plight.

* * *

“Get off me!” Rolfe snarled.

Adwin and his men refused. “Ye can nae help her,” his captain hissed next to his ear. “Let her sacrifice be for something.”

“I’ll be damned if I’ll see a woman protecting me,” Rolfe declared.

He strained against his men, but they held him down.

“I’ll no’ be taking yer body back to yer father,” Adwin informed him.

“Ye’re me captain first.”

“But yer sire is me laird.” Adwin refused to budge.

Rolfe growled, and then his world went black as Adwin thumped him on the back of his skull.

* * *

“Piss off.” Katherine tucked her chin, trying to mumble to disguise how high her voice was. “I wasn’t on yer land. Ye’re on MacPherson property.”

“Yer fucking balls haven’t dropped yet” was the response she got. “Ye sound like a bleeding whelp crying for a tit.”

“I want his balls.” The man she’d downed was staggering to his feet. “He drew my blood.”

“You got what you deserved,” Katherine answered.

“I told ye…” The leader spoke again. “I’m going to hang him and let the bloody MacPherson see what happens to those who steal Gordon cattle.”

“I’m too small to steal a cow by myself.” It was a risk to keep talking, but one of the men was already pulling a rope from where it had been draped on his hip and fashioning a noose. “And this is MacPherson land.”

“Well, now, it won’t take much to drag ye onto Gordon land,” the leader commented. “Yer bloody Tanis Bhaic MacPherson killed me laird’s son.”

“Lye Rob took Bhaic’s wife.”

The man who seemed to be leading them moved closer. Katherine tightened her grip on the hilt of the dagger. He didn’t miss the way her body tensed.

“Thinking to try me, lad?” he asked from just far enough away to make a lunge at him ill advised. “I am Tyree Gordon. Ye should know the name of the man who is going to hang ye.”

“Maybe I’ll kill ye, and yer men will think better of feuding and earning the wrath of the Earl of Morton.”

Tyree threw his head back and laughed. He was close enough that she could smell how rotten his teeth were.

“I hope to Christ Morton is pissed!” Tyree declared, to the delight of his men. “That bastard is no’ fit to call himself a Scot! He wants us all to bathe in perfume like the French and bugger boys!”

There was a rumble of discontentment as many of the Gordons spat on the ground.

“Make yer peace with God, because I’m going to choke the life out of ye for cutting me.”

He came for her, and Katherine moved in the way Marcus had taught her. She was smaller, so she’d learned to use her speed and agility against larger boys. Tyree was a powerfully built man, and he misjudged how light she was on her feet, stumbling past her on his first charge. Horror made her want to retch, but it was kill or die.

Tyree let out a curse as she drew blood. He whipped around, but not before she felt the warm slide of his blood across her hand. He roared at her before charging at her again.

“What the fuck are ye doing, Tyree?”

He froze, and it looked as though the man who had spoken had reached out and grabbed him by the nape. She could see his expression, distorted by rage, but he held himself away from her as a new group of men came closer. One of them struck a flint and a torch caught, washing the scene in yellow light.

“He fucking cut me!” Tyree snarled.

“If ye’d told me ye were going to hang me,” the newcomer said softly, “I’d have done the same. Ye are on MacPherson land.”

Tyree spat at the feet of the newcomer. “Barely. Did ye expect me to wait for the bloody bastards who are thieving from us?”

“I expected ye to follow me orders, and there was no mention of hanging.”

The men around her took a step back. The man facing her was a good ten years older than Tyree. He held himself still as he contemplated her. “I am Diocail Gordon.”

He reminded her of Marcus, with his silent stance.

“Ye sent me out here to deal with the thieving,” Tyree insisted. “Let me get on with cutting this whelp’s balls off.”

Diocail’s lips twitched a tiny bit before he chuckled softly. “Ye’d be a fool if ye did. Colum makes the decisions on Gordon land when it comes to who gets strung up.”

Katherine gasped as one of the men caught her from behind. She’d made the fatal mistake of being focused on the deliverance Diocail seemed to offer and had failed to keep her mouth shut.

“Hold,” Diocail said as her captor aimed a fist at the side of her head.

“Ye’re young,” he said as he came closer. “But that sounded a wee bit more than just young.”

He wasn’t the only man who thought so. Taken by surprise, she’d failed to make her voice gruff, and the horrible truth that had destroyed her life on MacPherson land was being heard.

She was a woman.

And now she was faced with men who had their passion up. Katherine raised her chin. She’d face her fate.

Whatever it was.

Courage was what she’d learned from Marcus, and she would not shame him.