CHAPTER ONE
Highlands of Scotland, 14th Century
Kenna waited on the stoop. She gripped her cloak beneath her chin with one hand, shivering in the chilly air. Despite the cold, the sky was exceptionally sunny for such a dismal day. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was drier than Innis Cheith in summer. She clenched her other fist so hard her ragged nails drew blood in her palm, a wasted effort to calm her quaking nerves.
He was almost home.
The day she had dreaded for the past five years had arrived. Her husband's party had been spotted on the road from Inverness.
Cold dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Lord, I beg you. Make his horse stumble. A painless snap of his neck as he hits the ground. Even as she let the fantasy wash over her, she knew it would not happen. She had prayed fervently that her husband would never return. Men died in battle every day. Was it too much to ask that God send that devil of a man back to hell?
The sound of thundering hooves reached her before she saw him. The rhythmic thump matched the pounding of her heart. She wanted to run, to find a safe place to hide.
But she knew there was no such place.
He crested the hill, followed by half a dozen men. They tore across the knoll, churning up the earth, and through the gates of Castle Vass. People gathered round to greet the men. They were met with hugs, kisses, squeals of excitement and tears for those who had not returned. But most shied away from Ty Vass. Those who had not felt the lash of his tongue, or his fist, had heard tales that would give a bairn nightmares. The rest knew only too well the danger of drawing the laird's attention.
The men continued to dismount, handing off their horses to boys who led them away toward the stables. Ty sat unmoving on his stallion. Thus far, Kenna had looked everywhere except at him but she could avoid it no longer. If he decided she had humiliated him, his punishment would be harsh indeed.
She pulled her shoulders back and took a deep breath before she snapped her eyes to his.
To his eye.
The other was covered with a black patch. Now he looked as ominous as his brutality proved him to be. Kenna tried to hide her shock, but fear welled up inside her. When his full lips spread into a smile, she almost feinted where she stood.
He stared back at her, that sardonic grin frozen into place. Much of one side of his face was obscured by the patch, but it failed to completely mask his hard features. The breeze caught his long black hair, lifting in a swirl of darkness that matched his homecoming. Kenna laced her fingers in front of her, squeezing tight and praying for strength.
He lifted one leg over his stallion, ensuring his red and black plaid did not entangle with the saddle, and jumped to the ground. Robby, a boy of fewer than ten winters, reluctantly trudged over to retrieve the reins. Ty reached for his head with a grin.
Robby ducked, one hand held up in defense.
Ty's smile changed instantly to a frown as he ruffled Robby's hair. The boy looked up at him, wary and skittish, his small hand outstretched. Ty handed the reins over to him and watched with a troubled expression as he hurried away.
When Robby had disappeared, Ty turned his attention to her. Kenna took a step back, but then forced herself to remain still. She would not cower. He had beat her, cursed her, raped her for three days, consummation of their pact, he claimed. The Munro had forced him to marry her, and Ty Vass had promised to make her suffer for it until the end of his days.
Or hers.
Her own clan chief had made the same demand of her, a last effort to avoid an all-out war between Clan Munro and Clan Mackintosh. She had agreed with an open mind and an open heart. She, as much as anyone, wanted to avoid more fighting between the two clans. She had lost three brothers, and an uncle. Enough had died.
However, she had not reckoned with her betrothed's sadistic nature. He was the devil, an evil brute of a man who enjoyed the pain of others. Kenna had cowered enough during the three days following their wedding. Then he left, praise the Lord. For five years he had been fighting the English in France. Five glorious years during which time she had born a child, increased her husband's income and grown to love his people. As much as she had suffered for those three days, many of the people at Castle Vass had had a lifetime of him.
She was no longer the pitiful young waif he left broken and full of despair. She had agreed to marry him to protect her people. Now she would also look after his. They deserved peace, as well. For the sake of her family and his, she would honor this…marriage. She would see it through if it meant peace between their clans. She would not let him intimidate her further. She would stand up to him, fight back no matter what it cost her.
She was not foolish enough to deliberately provoke him though. It had taken weeks for her to mend after he had left. If not for Mrs. Dingwell, she might not have recovered at all. His abuse had been that severe.
Kenna shivered as a sob bubbled up in the back of her throat. Determined to make the best of it she may be, but she was more frightened of him than she wanted to admit.
Swallowing her fear, she met his gaze. He crossed the bailey with a slight limp. She could only hope it was from an injury that would pain him for the rest of his life, which she would continue to pray would not be long.
The gentle smile he pressed on her as he drew closer did nothing to ease her anxiety. She had seen that smile before and knew it hid evil beyond measure. He stopped at the bottom of the stoop and looked up at her with his good eye. Kenna stared back at him, reminding herself not to be afraid. He would not kill her, of that she was certain. Such an action would bring down the wrath of Clan Mackintosh, a price Ty Vass could ill afford. The Munro had threatened to take away all Vass lands if Ty did not make this work.
They each had much to lose without the other. Was that marriage? It certainly was not what she had dreamed of as a girl.
"Do ye no' have a kiss for yer husband, lass?"
***
Kenna swallowed the bile that rose to her mouth and dropped down the two steps to stand before him. With him still on the ground, they met almost eye to eye, but he was so tall, she still had to look up at him. She trembled uncontrollably now.
He wrapped his cruel hands around the upper part of her arms. “Yer shiverin, lass.” He rubbed her arms vigorously through the thick wool of her cloak. “I doona recall having such an effect on ye.” His lazy smile turned her stomach.
With a gentleness that contradicted his cruelty, he pulled her to him with agonizing slowness. Kenna curled her lip as she drew closer. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that he was someone else. Anyone else. Old Angus the pig farmer would have been better. Ty’s warm breath made her want to retch, not that it was unpleasant. The scent of cinnamon wafted up to her as his lips touched hers.
She expected the sudden urge to heave, not the fiery jolt that shocked her right down to her toes. Her body tingled all over, but her mouth…
Her lips parted seemingly of their own free will. The instant they did, Ty plunged his tongue inside. The courtyard disappeared, leaving them alone even though the bailey still teemed with people. Kenna kept her fists clenched at her sides. Ty’s grip on her upper arms was firm, but not painful. He pulled her closer still until her breasts pressed against his chest. A groan rumbled from deep inside him, vibrating against her own pounding heart.
Kenna let her eyes slide open to be sure it was him, stunned at the emotions roiling within her. His lips were soft, his tongue like velvet gliding across hers. Her breath caught in her throat as excitement threatened to overwhelm her. She was a young girl again, experiencing her first kiss.
But this man was not Gavin. She was not lying amongst the heather in a field overlooking her father’s lands. She was at Castle Vass, a veritable prisoner in her enemy’s lair. The last time Ty Vass had touched her, there had been no hint of tenderness, only pain and humiliation. He had left her scarred, both inside and out, with a longing to end her life. She might have done just that if not for the baby.
The thought of Isla jolted her back to her senses. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pull back from him. To her utter surprise, he let her, keeping a tight hold on her until she remained steady on her feet. She stared at him, unable to read his thoughts but startled by the raw passion in his expression.
That was a look she knew well. The look of her husband overcome with lust and eager to take what he wanted, by force if at all possible. It had haunted her dreams and led her to the parapets more than once. How many times had she stared at the ground from the top of the castle’s tallest tower and wondered how much it would hurt when she hit the ground?
Hoping to distract him before he kissed her again, she asked, “How did you lose your eye?” Her voice shook with trepidation.
Ty shrugged and reached up to touch the black patch that covered his injury. “Battle scars, a ghrá.” He lifted his hand to her face.
Just like Robby, she instinctively drew away. She regretted it almost immediately. He had trained her well not to pull away from him, but to suffer his abuse unless she wanted it intensified.
He smiled sadly and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Ye need not fear me, Kenna.”
The way he said her name sent warmth up the back of her neck. What game did he play? Did he toy with her so she would let her guard down, making the assault she knew was coming that much more enjoyable for him?
She spotted Isla peering from behind Mrs. Dingwell’s skirt. No! she wanted to scream. Kenna knew she would not be able to keep their daughter from him indefinitely, but she was determined to put it off as long as possible. More than any pain he could inflict on her, she feared what he might do to her baby girl.
She curled her fingers around his arm and urged him up the steps. The bulging muscle there was as hard as stone. She squeezed it gently before she could stop herself. “You must be tired from your journey.” Kenna would have rather had a bad tooth pulled with nary a dram of whiskey than be alone with him. But at that moment her greatest concern was drawing him away from Isla.
Ty lifted one corner of his mouth, a seductive gesture that set her heart to racing. He allowed her to lead him up the steps, then followed her inside.
Kenna forced her feet to keep moving, across the fresh rushes covering the floor and down the dark corridor that led to the stairs. Torches had been wedged into the sconces bracketed to the walls on either side, but only a few had been lit. Steeped in shadow, the narrow passage forced them to walk one behind the other. Heat from his body seared her back. She hurried her steps but he kept pace despite the limp, his longer stride forcing him up against her every time she slowed.
Fear gripped her. To be alone with him in such close confinement was worse than any nightmare. Her nerves were drawn so taut, she actually squealed when he grabbed her hips.
Fear of reprisal made her halt instantly. He crashed into her with a soft "umph", the bulk of his chest pressing against the back of her shoulders. With his hands still holding her captive, he lodged himself into the crevice of her backside.
He was hard against her. Kenna noticed a twitch in her core that was completely foreign to her. She blocked it out. She could only imagine his satisfaction if he guessed she was in any way aroused by him.
"I dinna mean for ye to stop, a ghrá." He buried his face in her hair, his breath tickling the back of her neck. He took a deep breath, causing her to shiver. "'Tis dark in these halls, and I dread losing ye."
She swallowed hard. His whispered words filled her with a mix of dread and anticipation. With a gentle nudge, he urged her forward. Kenna needed no further encouragement. She rushed ahead, eager to quit the tight passage even though the privacy of his bedchamber would provide little more comfort.
They reached the alcove at the end of the corridor and ascended the stairs. When they reached the landing, he pushed the heavy wooden door open and indicated for her to go before him.
Kenna stared into the dark room she had not entered in five years. It was as though she stood on the threshold of hell and the devil himself stood there to usher her inside. She could barely breathe past the knot in her throat, but she well knew the punishment for delay. Dragging her feet, she stepped into the room just far enough for him to close the door behind her. The snick of the latch reminded her of a death knell.
"Now," he said, his voice low, menacing.
She closed her eyes and braced herself. Here it comes.
"Who is the wee lassie yer trying so hard to hide from me?"
***
Concern for her own well-being fled in a single beat of her heart. He would have to kill her before Kenna let any harm come to her child. It made no difference that he was Isla's father.
Again, she felt him at her back. She fought the unease rippling through her and the quiver of her insides.
"She looks like ye," he said, tangling his fingers in her hair and raising the strands to his lips. "Hair the color of a fawn’s coat, thick and silky-looking." He continued to rub her curls against his mouth as he circled around to stand in front of her.
Kenna stared at his chest, eye level with her small stature, and refused to look up at him.
He dropped the lock over her shoulder and cupped her throat in the palm of his hand, curling his calloused fingers around the back of her neck. "Skin like the finest porcelain." With his thumb beneath her chin, he shifted her head back, forcing her to look up at him. "Eyes the color of the sea before a storm."
The patch covering his left eye lent him an air of malevolence that bordered on devilry. Surely the man was the spawn of Satan.
"Lips like red velvet." His voice, little more than a whisper now, trailed off as he lowered his head.
Kenna steeled herself. She was doing this to protect her daughter. She would use her body to shield Isla, give in to his sadistic demands if he would promise not to harm her.
"So who is she?"
Kenna kept her eyes closed. "She?"
"The lassie."
Her eyes snapped open. Fear gripped her heart.
He spoke again before she could respond. "Any fool can see she is yer bairn." He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted one leg and began tugging at his boot. "Do ye ken who 'er father is?"
Kenna drew her shoulders back and chanced a glare at him. "I have been with no other man."
He peered at her with his good eye. "That would make her four…five?" Failing with his boot, he slammed it down on the wood planks with a curse. "She looks to be little more than two. Come and help me."
His seductive manner was gone, replaced by the gruff, easily annoyed brute she recognized.
"She came early," she stuttered. He held his foot out to her and motioned her forward. Kenna hurried over. His wrath would be vicious indeed if he suspected Isla to be the issue of another man.
She took the heel of his boot in one hand and clamped the other across his ankle. The intimacy of the moment surprised her. Her first instinct was to stroke the soft suede, caress his leg as she attended him.
His leg was heavy, powerful. She met his gaze. His irritation was gone. This new, seductive husband of hers stared back at her with something akin to enlightenment. His lips parted. A war of emotion battled within the emerald depths of his naked eye. Had the color always been so striking?
"I have a child?"
His whisper was so soft she almost could not hear him. "If not for Mrs. Dingwell…" She dropped her gaze. She had to be careful. Kenna had a soft spot for Ty's housekeeper, and although she had never seen the two of them together, she suspected the old woman had her own fears of the master. Morna Dingwell had been a bitter enemy of the Mackintosh and anyone associated with him for the whole of her life. Yet, after Ty's abuse left Kenna on death's threshold, she had cared for her, healed her and accepted her into the family. Mrs. Dingwell had been the one to pull her down from that turret time after time.
She had been there when Isla was born, coaxing the lassie out when the babe seemed undecided on when to make her entrance into the world. She had been so frail, Mrs. Dingwell had held her in one hand. She was a master healer. Isla had thrived from the beginning. Yet at the age of four, she looked barely big enough to walk on her own.
"I have a child," he said again.
Kenna pulled off his boot and let it drop to the floor. She nodded, taking his other in her hands. Dragging it off, she dropped it next to the first. She straightened and stepped away from him, out of reach.
She jumped when he shot to his feet, but stood her ground. He paced the room, staring off toward the ceiling and removing his clothes as he did so.
Kenna watched him, wary as a rabbit with a hawk circling overhead. He peeled off his shirt, so dirty and tattered it would go straight to the refuse heap. She swallowed at the sight of his naked chest, thick and covered with a light sprinkling of dark hair. He hopped on one foot to remove the trews he had worn for riding. The more he took off, the more she gawked. War suited him. He had grown powerful, lethal. But instead of being repelled, Kenna found herself drawn to him.
He seemed to come back to himself when he discovered he was standing naked in the middle of his room. He lifted one arm, ducked his head and sniffed. "I smell powerful strong, don' ye ken?" He wrinkled his nose and grinned at her. "I'll be needin' a bath. I willna meet me daughter in this state."
***
Ian sat chest deep in a tub of tepid water in the center of the earl's bedchamber. He had fought alongside Ty Vass for three years before an English archer had pierced the earl through the throat with an arrow from three hundred paces. He had not died right away. The mayhem of battle had left him lying in the muck created by torrential rain and the blood soaked field. Ian had broken off the feathered end and pulled out the arrow, but instead of making things better, blood had gushed out the hole faster than he could mop it up.
With his own leg injured, possibly broken, Ian had looked around for assistance. His fellow Scots ignored the casualties as the battle raged on. Many stood on corpses as they fought. It could be hours before anyone came around to collect the dead.
Ian lay there, the desolation he had known all his life fled as he awaited death. Finally, he would belong somewhere. Heaven or Hell, he would have a place to call home. He had grown up on the streets of Edinburgh, orphaned so young he did not even know his family name. He was just Ian.
He had jumped at the chance to fight against the hated English. The army would provide the home, the security, Ian had always longed for. His fellow soldiers were the family he never had.
He been assigned to Earl Vass' retinue right from the beginning. They had fought first at Lussac, then a series of skirmishes that led them to Poitiers. The man was a terrible leader, provoking as much bitterness and resentment from his own men as he would from his enemies.
He struck anyone he deemed weaker, and for the slightest offense. In Ian's experience, folks dinna much care for that. He had learned early on the benefit of an easy smile, a kind word. He could teach Ty Vass a thing or two about how to get people to do what you want.
That did not mean he could not fight. Ian could make anything into a lethal weapon if he needed one. He had made many friends among the people of Edinburgh, learning everything anyone was willing to teach him.
Earl Vass had left him alone for the most part. Ian had to demonstrate his skills right away at Lussac. No doubt, Vass recognized a superior rival.
But there was more.
The uncanny resemblance between Ian and Earl Vass undoubtedly raised the hackles on more than one of his comrades. Highlanders were a suspicious lot. Vass kept clear of Ian, often sending him off to sudden death. But Ian always returned unscathed, ready to fight another day.
Ty Vass had suffered an agonizing death. From what Ian knew of the man, it was no less than he deserved. He took pleasure is the suffering of others, inflicting it himself whenever possible. He mistreated everyone. Even his own men hated him.
Ian had looked over at his nemesis. It was like seeing his own reflection in a pool of clear water. Distorted, sometimes unrecognizable, but the same nonetheless. Hair the color of pitch, eyes as green as the emerald isle, their sheer size. They both stood a head taller than the other men they fought alongside, broad through the shoulders and thick-chested. Either of them could pass for the other -
Ian had caught his breath. He let all other thoughts drift away, making room for the kernel sprouting in his mind. He let it spread and grow until it became a picture in his head, all the pieces swirling into place.
He flipped over onto his stomach, propped on his elbows but keeping his head low. The battle had moved on. He was alone among the dead or dying. He glanced around, squirming from one side to the other surveying the area, searching for witnesses. Satisfied that he was virtually alone, Ian wasted no more time stripping off his own clothes and replacing them with those of Earl Vass.
It took a long time and inflicted no end of torture on his injured leg, but Ian was nothing if not persistent. He was clever enough to figure out how to get what he wanted and determined enough to see it though, even if he had to suffer a little along the way.
With agonizing discomfort, he pushed to his feet, rising like a phoenix, reborn as Ty Vass, Earl of Castle Vass and laird to its inhabitants.
He started when the door opened, drawn from his reverie by his wife as she entered his bed chamber and crossed to the table set beneath the window. She carried a tray which she set down without looking at him. She went to the wardrobe and busied herself digging through whatever was inside.
He flipped the patch down over his left eye and watched her with the other. God, she was lovely. She had changed while she'd been out. The tight fitting smock she had been wearing when he arrived was gone, replaced with a loose, earth-colored…sack. Her luxurious hair had been pulled taut into a bun and pinned at the nape of her neck. It gave him a headache just to look at it.
He smiled. She could try as much as she liked to make herself unattractive, but it would not work. Even if he had not seen her, he had kissed her, and the rush of desire to his groin had been enough to make him want more. Soon enough he would have her naked, all that hair spread out on the bed clothes around her. She would not be able to hide her allure from him then.
He waited until she turned back to him, her arms laden with clothes, then emerged from the tub without warning.
She squealed, dropping the clothes to the floor and her gaze to his naked body. Her eyes locked on his engorged cock. They widened in fear. She covered her mouth with both hands and glanced at the door behind him. No way to escape.
He actually felt sorry for scaring her. She, more than anyone, must have suffered greatly at the hands of her husband.
His hands, he had to remind himself.
It doesna matter, he thought. The old earl is gone, the new one fair and capable. It would take time for them to see him as anything other than a tyrant, but time was something he had plenty of.
He gave her his most reassuring smile as he stepped out of the tub. She lowered her hands, refusing to cower before him, but continued to look as if she might dart out of reach at the slightest sign of violence.
He had to admire her bravado. He knew the story. The lairds of Munro and Mackintosh had agreed to the marriage between their clans in an effort to promote peace. Kenna was not the first maiden to been used as a pawn and would have accepted her fate with the grace befitting the granddaughter of a clan elder. She had only been married a handful of days before her new husband led a small army to aid the French.
She must have suffered mightily in those few days if her response to him was any indication.
He padded across the floor, dripping water in a path to where she stood, trembling but not daring to run from him. He said nothing as he reached down to retrieve the clean plaid. He draped it around his hips, tossing the sash over his shoulder.
She still did not move, but nor would she look up at him. Her little chin jutted out in a small show of defiance, but she obviously awaited his command. His cock twitched, the idea of her prepared to do his bidding, albeit reluctantly, enough to drive lust into the heart of a priest.
Images of her suffering sprang unwanted to his mind, dousing his desire and igniting a fury he had never experienced before. What must that bastard have done to make her so afraid of him? He took a deep breath, repressing his anger and masking the turmoil inside with a reassuring demeanor that could calm a skittish doe.
When her curiosity could be held in check no longer, she let her eyes travel slowly up to his face.
Careful not to startle her, he reached out and took her hand. He lifted it toward the window, tracing a path from her wrist to the tip of her longest finger. With aching slowness he brought her palm to his lips and pressed a kiss in the center. He flicked out his tongue, laving it across the once tender skin, hardened now by years of hard work.
He recognized the change in her immediately. Her stance softened; a quiet sigh escaped her lips.
What he did not recognize was the change in himself.
***
He was already harder for her than he had ever been before. No woman had stirred him like Kenna Cleary Vass. But that was not what surprised him. After all, every woman he seduced was better than the one before. He made sure of it. The greater the challenge, the more satisfying the pleasure.
What surprised him was his need to enfold her in his arms and assure her she need never fear another man, to protect her from harm and keep her safe - always. He turned his uncovered eye to her face. Their gazes locked. He glanced back and forth between those stormy eyes trying to read the thoughts hiding behind them, but she kept her emotions carefully guarded, no doubt well aware of the consequences for openly defying him.
A disturbance outside drew her attention. She snatched her hand from his and moved toward the window. She leaned across the table to peer down into the courtyard below.
She sucked in a sharp gasp, lifting her hand to her throat and jerking back from the window. She began to tremble again, raising his own hackles. What new terror was this that frightened her so?
In two strides, he stood next to her. Through the warbled glass, he saw a party of no less than twenty men, none of whom he recognized. An older man rode at the fore, scattering people and animals alike as he entered the gate. He had the air of a man prepared to run down anyone slow enough to encumber his arrival.
"Who is that?" he asked.
Kenna looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. Her slender brows pressed together as she regarded him. She glanced out the window before turning her inquisitive expression back to him. "'Tis your father."
His heart lurched. Father? It was one thing to fool the people at Castle Vass. Ty had been chief here for less than a year before marching off to France. He was not intimate with any of his tenants.
But this man had known him his whole life and would surely know his own son. The meeting would be a true test of his skills. If he could fool this man, his position was assured.
He sat down on the foot of the bed and pulled on his boots. "Will ye fetch me a shirt?" Kenna grabbed the one she had dropped and handed it to him. He pulled the sash from his shoulder, donned the white shirt and tucked it into the waist of his plaid.
When he struggled with the belt, she came to his aid. Her demeanor timid and fearful, she gently pushed his hands away and straightened the sash. Laying it across his shoulder, she moved around behind him.
Ty stood still, ever afraid of startling her. He looked forward to the day he did not have to worry that she would bolt at his slightest movement. Her hands on his back as she adjusted the sash sent a thrill through is body that made him want to toss her onto the bed and remain there with her for the rest of the afternoon.
When he was sufficiently presentable, she stepped away from him, forever out of reach. With a quick nod, he left her there and descended the stairs. He entered the hall to find his father standing there with four other men.
"There is my boy!" The older man met him and slapped him on the back hard enough to knock the wind from a weaker man.
"Greetings, Father." Ty busied himself pouring a couple of drams from the decanter on the sideboard. He handed one to his father who tossed it back like spring water and held the empty cup out for more.
Ty downed the contents of his own cup and refilled them.
His father wasted no time getting to the point of his visit. "The Munro has agreed to a union between Mira and his eldest."
Who is Mira? He poured himself another drink. "That is good news. When is the wedding?"
"Not until harvest time. The boy is still with the king and will not return until midsummer."
Ty remained silent, letting the information settle and hoping his father would divulge enough clues to allow him to maintain his ruse. He refilled the other man's drink and waited.
"You will hold a gathering to announce your sister's betrothal to the laird's son." He lifted the cup to his lips and watched Ty over the rim.
My sister. "Why have the gathering here?" Ty asked. His father fixed him with a grin so filled with malice, the tiny hairs on the back of Ty's neck stood up. A tremor of foreboding skittered up his spine.
"You will have your wife write a letter to her grandfather, inviting them to Castle Vass. The family will be more likely to attend a gathering on what they believe to be neutral ground." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a more conspiratorial tone. "You can shed yerself of that whore, and we will finally wipe out the fucking Cleary's once and for all."