“After all?” Fergus echoed, knowing that every gaze was locked upon him. The hair pricked on the back of his neck, and he found it remarkable that no one explained his father’s comment. Indeed, the hall was filled with a fearsome silence. “Surely, Isobel and I will be married at Killairic, Father.” The words were as dust in his mouth, for he was watching Leila. Her interest in the conversation was most clear.

As clear as Murdoch’s interest in her.

His father grimaced. “Surely not,” he said quietly. “I am sorry, Fergus.”

Fergus thought he must have misunderstood. “Has Isobel fallen ill?”

“Nay,” Calum said, his frown deepening.

Iain had paused in the portal to the kitchens and looked back. He was ashen and motionless, as if he had been struck to stone. Hamish frowned in confusion as he looked between them all. Duncan was grim. Murdoch folded his arms across his chest and watched the exchange as if entertained. Leila’s eyes were wide and she clearly strove to follow the conversation.

Fergus asked the inescapable question. “Is she dead?”

His father winced. “Isobel is married, Fergus.”

Married?

Fergus was outraged and he felt betrayed. How could his beloved be wed to another? It could not be true! “But how can this be? Isobel is my betrothed.”

“No longer,” Murdoch noted in his gravelly voice.

Fergus spun to face that man. “She pledged to wait for me!”

“It seems the lady changed her thinking,” Duncan noted.

“But we love each other,” Fergus protested.

“I would wager that your admiration was not returned in equal measure, lad,” Duncan said quietly.

Fergus realized from Duncan’s tone that he, of all those who had just returned, was not surprised. Duncan shrugged, then dropped his gaze to his boots. Leila inhaled sharply, her eyes flashing in his defense.

Still Fergus could not believe it.

“But we are betrothed!” he protested again. “We are pledged to each other...”

His father shook his head. “All the same, she exchanged vows with Stewart MacEwan...”

“Stewart MacEwan?” Fergus paced the hall, astonished twice in rapid succession. He knew he had experienced doubt, but he had not broken his vow. Isobel should not have done as much, either. She had promised. And Stewart? How could she love Stewart? “But he is twenty years her senior!”

Calum shrugged. “That does not appear to be an issue. She has borne him a son in your absence. She ripened with a second child, but I heard that something went awry.” Calum shook his head and most of the company crossed themselves.

Two pregnancies? So quickly as that? Fergus had been gone almost exactly four years. He felt his eyes narrow as he turned to face his father again. He found Leila’s eyes snapping, her arms folded across her chest, and appreciated that she was insulted on his behalf.

Something in him stirred at the sight of her fury, something he did not wish to consider in this moment.

There had to be an explanation, and he immediately thought of one.

“Did her father compel her choice?” Fergus asked tightly.

His father shook his head. “Not as I heard it.”

Fergus exhaled. He paced. He was livid that a sworn word would mean so little to Isobel, that his trust had been so badly misplaced, that her love for him had been so fleeting. He was devastated that his loyalty had been so rewarded. How could she have done this? What would his life be without Isobel by his side? Fergus shoved a hand through his hair and did not wish to consider it.

“When did they wed?” he asked, disliking that his father winced and dropped his gaze to his hands.

“Three months after you left,” Murdoch supplied.

Three months? Only three months? Had she thought so little of Fergus as that? His pride was pricked, to be sure, which did not add to his composure. If Isobel had waited a year or two, he could have understood her choice, at least to some extent. She might have believed him dead, or unlikely to return.

Three months made him wonder whether she ever meant to wed him at all.

That shook him to his marrow. He loved Isobel and had been faithful to her, yet she had forgotten him so quickly as that. He felt sickened and empty.

Fergus could not look at Leila, for fear that she would guess the depth of his despair.

The boys were bringing in the many boxes of gifts he had brought for Isobel and the sight of them made him feel like a fool. All the time that he had been shopping for her, she had been married to Stewart. All that coin he had wasted, buying gifts that would never be granted to the recipient. He had been chaste. He had been true. He had kept his vow. Was that of no merit to the woman who had said she loved him and promised to wait for him?

And Stewart MacEwan. To be cast aside for such a man—a rough warrior of little scruple and much older than himself—was galling.

Could Isobel have been compelled to wed Stewart, despite his own father’s view?

The possibility made perfect sense. Her father’s keep of Dunnisbrae was moderately prosperous and Isobel was both her father’s only surviving child and a beauty. He could readily understand that Stewart might be attracted to both woman and holding—and that a man of Stewart’s nature might not have accepted the lady’s refusal as a reply.

He could believe that Isobel’s father might have forced her to marry, and that she, out of loyalty to her father, would not have made that fact evident. Her father might have been under duress of Stewart’s making. Aye, that made sense!

Fergus had to know for certain. He had to see Isobel and hear the truth from her own lips. He had to hear her say either that she had no love for him or that she had been forced to wed against her own will.

He had to visit Dunnisbrae as soon as possible.

Fergus spared a glance at the company watching him with such avidity and knew he could not leave immediately, though it might be his impulse. Isobel was married. He would not bring suspicion upon her or launch rumors. His horse deserved a rest, and he would not ride another when he rode to Dunnisbrae. He also would not insult his father by abandoning the meal being prepared to celebrate his return.

He would depart at the dawn.

Even though he itched to ride out immediately.

“Fergus, she did not see your merit and so she does not deserve your regard,” his father said with forced cheer. He patted the seat on his other side. “Come and let me tell you all of the news, for there is more than this to be shared.”

“Of course,” Fergus said, hearing the heat that still lingered in his words. He was stung by Isobel’s betrayal and the destruction of his own hopes, even if the marriage had not been her choice. He had a thought at that and spun to face his father. “Was it a handfast?”

“Nay, nay,” his father said. “The bishop himself came to witness the exchange of their vows. It was no small event.”

Fergus’ gaze collided with that of Leila, who watched him with evident concern. Was Isobel’s choice the reason he had felt a portent of doom?

Or was there more bad news to come?

He could not deny that his sense that something would go awry still lingered.

“Come, Fergus, and tell me how you came to be of aid to this damsel in distress,” Calum encouraged again. “I would hear it all, and if she tells me in her wondrous French, I might well miss a detail.”

“I would give the spices to Iain and Hamish first, Father,” Fergus said, bowing deeply. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts and to accept the disappointment. “And then, my steed must be tended. I must see Tempest settled before I take my leisure with you, if you will so allow it.”

“Of course, of course. Was I not the one who taught you to tend your responsibilities before taking your pleasure?” Calum chuckled as those in the hall returned to their duties and chatter. “Now, Lady Leila, tell me of your home in Outremer. Slowly, if you please.”

“I should be delighted to do as much. I lived in Jerusalem, although I was born in a small village outside of its walls,” Leila began.

“Al-Ramm,” Calum contributed and her eyes lit.

“You know something of Outremer!”

“Aye, I do, though it is many years since I was there. Continue, if you please, my lady.”

“My uncle is a blacksmith...”

Fergus strode from the hall to the bailey, feeling torn. He wanted to listen to Leila’s story as much as he wanted a moment to himself. Duncan followed behind, bringing the saddlebag with its precious burden, and Fergus recalled that it had to be secured, too.

It seemed he had only obligations at Killairic, instead of the joy he had anticipated for so long!

---

Duncan was not surprised by Isobel’s choice.

He was more concerned by Fergus’ reaction to the news of her faithlessness. The younger man was distraught, and rightly so, but Duncan was troubled on his behalf. He hoped that Fergus would not act on impulse and put himself in peril.

Duncan was glad that Calum had released him from service to Killairic and yearned to ride north immediately. The matter of his family had to be resolved before he could offer Radegunde a future. He would speak to his father and end their dispute somehow, rather than risk having his father send another assassin after him. At the same time, Duncan did not want to leave Fergus in such a mood. They had been companions too long for him to dismiss concern for the man who had become his friend.

To Duncan’s surprise, they had scarce stepped into the shadow of the stables when Fergus turned upon him. “Where shall we secure it?” he demanded in an undertone.

Duncan flicked a glance down the length of the stables. The ostler was at the far end, several boys helping him to remove the saddles from the horses that had recently arrived. That man gave instruction in a booming voice that would disguise the sound of their own conversation.

Duncan kept his voice low. “Would your father’s treasury be too obvious?”

“It has the stoutest lock, though it is also the first place any soul would seek it,” Fergus acknowledged. “I will need to find a better sanctuary for it in time, but the treasury will have to suffice for the moment.”

Duncan nodded agreement. “Perhaps the Templars will demand its return shortly.”

“I can only hope as much,” Fergus agreed. “I fear it will be difficult to keep it safe for a long period of time.”

“And your repute is at risk if it disappears.”

Fergus nodded and frowned. “It could be easily moved to the treasury today along with the gifts intended for Isobel. I will say that I am concerned about the cloth, for it was expensive.”

“Will you tell your father?”

“I would prefer to tell no one,” Fergus admitted with a grimace. “I suppose at some point I will confide in him. But not yet. Let us secure it first.”

“A fine notion.”

“Perhaps you would supervise the delivery of the gifts to the solar,” Fergus suggested.

“Of course.” Duncan hesitated before following the suggestion, wanting to say something of encouragement to the younger man about his broken betrothal. “Every end is a beginning, lad. Remember that.”

Fergus smiled but there was no joy in his eyes. “That is one way to consider the matter, Duncan. I cannot make sense of it.” He shook his head. “I must see her and soon.”

“Why soon? If you hasten then, others will think you smitten yet.”

“I do not care what others think!”

“But you should. You sound smitten yet. Give it time, lad.”

“You do not understand, Duncan. I must know why she did it.”

Duncan snorted. “And you believe a woman who did not keep her word to you will confess the truth of her choice? You had best remain at Killairic and find a new beginning first.”

“It matters!”

“It does not. She is wed now—by the bishop, no less!—whatever her reasons for so doing. She will remain thus so long as Stewart draws breath.” Duncan tapped Fergus on the shoulder. “Do not even think of shortening that man’s days, lad.”

“Nay, nay, I would never do that!” Fergus was horrified, as Duncan had hoped. The younger man frowned. “But I must see her and hear her explanation. I must go on the morrow.” Duncan made to argue but Fergus held up a hand. “I do not care what others think, Duncan.”

“You might give a care as to what Stewart MacEwan thinks,” he retorted. “I would not be in haste to convince him that I coveted his wife.”

“And so I will not.” Fergus’ expression set. “But I must look her in the eye.” He sighed. “And I must give her the tidings of Kerr, of course.”

Duncan grimaced, for he knew an excuse when he heard it. “You might seize the moment and make your beginning before you depart,” he said, not surprised that his words claimed Fergus’ attention so quickly.

“How?”

“Your father falters in his strength and another winter may see him stumble. I would not wish for it, but I would see you prepare for the moment that comes to us all.”

Fergus leaned against a stall, his expression grim. “You noticed his frailty as well. I hoped I was the only one.”

“He is much less vigorous than when we departed,” Duncan said and Fergus nodded agreement. He was relieved that Fergus had noticed the change in Calum so they could discuss it. “I suspect he feared for you, for he of all men knew the challenge before us, and that may have aged him more quickly. At any rate, there is a chance to make good of your situation.”

“How so?”

Duncan took a breath, wondering how the younger man would respond to his suggestion. “If I were Stewart MacEwan, I would be much more welcoming to another married man at my portal than to a spurned suitor, even if both came to give tidings to my wife.”

Fergus shook his head. “But I am not married and will not be by the morrow.”

“You could be,” Duncan said. “Here is an opportunity to see your father reassured as well as Leila’s situation improved.”

“Leila?” Fergus blinked. “What has Leila to do with this?”

“She has need of a husband to remain in Scotland. You have need of a wife, because Killairic has need of a son. Your father would be much encouraged to see you settled and the next heir born, and it is clear that he admires Leila already. Stewart, as I noted, would likely be more welcoming if you came to Isobel as a married man yourself.”

“Leila!” Fergus repeated and turned to pace the width of the stables.

“There is friendship between you,” Duncan noted. “Successful marriages have begun on less promise than this.”

“But she wishes to wed for love. A marriage of convenience would be too much like the arranged marriage she abandoned.”

“Would it? I understood the chosen man was violent, as you are not.”

Fergus shook his head. “She must have the opportunity to find the love she seeks above all else. I will defend her right to choose. A marriage will not do.”

“Then a handfast,” Duncan suggested. “A year and a day together. It will give her security and you companionship, perhaps even a son. Your father will be pleased, as well.”

“A handfast,” Fergus echoed. “It is an excellent notion and a good compromise.” He straightened with purpose. “But she must know all of the truth. It can be a match of convenience and no more.”

Duncan hid his approval, guessing that his preference for Leila as Fergus’ bride would not be welcome. “Then wed her on this day, without delay, the better to ensure that your motives are not doubted when you ride to Dunnisbrae, and that Leila herself is safe from those who might prey upon her.”

Fergus’ eyes narrowed. “Murdoch,” he said with a bitterness that Duncan found encouraging.

“He eyes her, to be sure, and you know as well as me that Murdoch will bed a woman but not wed her. If she is unwed in this hall, he might take advantage of her.”

Fergus fairly growled at that notion, a most welcome sign to Duncan.

He continued. “If Leila is your wife, though, he will defend her to his dying breath. I have always said that Murdoch made a better ally than foe.”

“It must be today, though.” Fergus glanced toward the ostler and his boys. “But I need to speak to Leila alone first, in case the suggestion is not pleasing.” He indicated the ostler and his helpers, then arched a brow, inviting Duncan to create a tale.

Duncan cleared his throat and raised his voice a little, knowing that those men had taken note of their arrival. “All the same, sir, I am sorry that you arrived home to such news of your betrothed.”

“If she did not wish to wait, perhaps it is better that she wed another,” Fergus said with a sigh. “Indeed, I will send her congratulations and a nuptial gift.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Will you see all my purchases and belongings placed in the solar, Duncan? I will come to make a choice shortly.” Fergus dropped his voice to a whisper, his gaze locking with Duncan’s. “Send Leila to me, please. I do not care what excuse you use.”

“Of course,” Duncan had time to say before Fergus strode the length of the stables. He admired, as ever, that once the younger man had resolved upon a course, he did not delay in fulfilling it.

“You have a gift with steeds, Stephen, it is most clear,” Fergus said and that man smiled at this praise. “And such speed with brushing them down. It must be because you have such enthusiastic assistance.”

“Aye, sir, the boys do very well.”

“I would complete the grooming of Tempest myself, Stephen.” Fergus patted the rump of his dark destrier. “We have become quite accustomed to each other these past years.”

“Aye, sir.”

“I see that Duncan’s mount, Caledon, is groomed already, which is admirable.” Stephen bowed and Fergus continued. “I did want also to speak to you about the stabling.”

“Sir?”

Fergus shook his head in apparent dismay. “We have found the stallions to be most amorous in recent days.”

The ostler chuckled. “Spring is in the air, my lord.”

“Indeed. Perhaps the palfreys could be stabled in the village and temptation thus put at a distance.”

Duncan was intrigued by this tale, for he had noticed no change in the horses’ manner. He lingered to listen.

“Of course, sir.”

“Could you find accommodation for the Templars’ destriers elsewhere, as well? We have found it best of late to divide the stallions from each other and from the mares, though I hope their inclination will soon pass.”

“Of course, sir. Tempest can have the most distant stall from Caledon, and the palfreys can be stabled in the smith’s barn. I would imagine that one of the Templar’s destriers could be stabled in the plowman’s small barn and the other housed by the miller’s abode.”

“That would be excellent, Stephen. Duncan will depart in the morning, and I expect the Templars will leave shortly, as well.”

“Then all will be returned to normal soon enough, sir. It is no trouble to made a change or two to accommodate guests such as these fine steeds.”

Duncan watched as the ostler and his boys led the horses out of the stables, leaving the knight alone with the two destriers. Duncan strode into the bailey to do his part in giving Fergus the opportunity he needed to speak to Leila alone.

The warrior smiled as he approached the hall, convinced as he was that Fergus would find precisely the partner he needed if he took Leila’s hand within his own. It was all the encouragement Duncan needed to ride north with all haste and ensure that he could invite Radegunde to join him by the anniversary of their handfast.

He had but four months remaining to see his own future secured.

---

It was painful to witness Fergus’ shock and dismay.

Leila wished she could console him, but feared that any gesture on her part would restore the strained silence of the past days. She watched, furious, as the boys brought in trunk after trunk, each one laden with gifts for Isobel. What kind of woman would break her vow within months of her betrothed’s departure? Certainly not one who deserved the regard of this man.

It seemed to her that Fergus could not even bear to look at the trunks. That only added to Leila’s sense of injustice. She remembered all too well how delighted he had been after visiting the markets in Venice, how he had clearly anticipated seeing his gifts adorn his beloved.

Faithless shrew! Had Isobel forgotten the man who held her at the forefront of his thoughts? Home was of the greatest import to Fergus and he had admitted himself that it was the prospect of his return that had given him strength in the face of adversity. It seemed Isobel had cared little for him. Leila might not have followed all of the conversation, but she had understood that.

Did Isobel ever consider that anticipation of their future, that his love for her, might have helped Fergus to survive? He and Duncan never spoke of whatever battles they had joined in Palestine, but Fergus had served with the Templars and those knights rode to battle regularly. Leila did not doubt that the two men were close because they had each saved the other’s life, and probably more than once.

Did Isobel think of that? Nay, it seemed that beautiful Isobel cared only for her own comfort and satisfaction. A son! Her match was not a mere formality, to be sure.

Leila’s hands balled into fists in her lap as she sat beside Calum, and she hoped that no one noticed her indignation. The older man was charming and asked questions about Outremer that showed he had journeyed there. His French was slow, but he was good-natured about it, and Leila found that she liked him well. She could see that Calum had been a warrior himself, for he shared Duncan’s alert manner and quick gaze, and there were scars upon his hands and one upon his cheek. Doubtless there were more scars she could not see. She admired that warfare had not made him bitter and suspected that he was more tolerant than many she had known.

She was well aware of Murdoch watching her, but avoided the warrior’s gaze. His interest was clear but without knowing its precise nature, Leila would not encourage him.

Even so, her thoughts were with Fergus.

When Duncan returned to the hall alone, Leila’s gaze flew to him. To her relief, he came to her side.

“I beg your pardon, Leila, but Fergus asks if you might look at the hoof of his destrier,” Duncan said. “He fears Tempest has stepped upon something this morning, for the beast favors one foot.”

Leila stood immediately, knowing the value of the destrier and the importance of prompt attention. “Of course!”

“Do I misunderstand?” Calum asked, looking between them. “Do you know much of horses, Lady Leila?”

“She would challenge the knowledge of the best ostler, my lord,” Duncan said. “We have come to rely heavily upon her counsel.”

“What a marvel,” Calum said. “The Saracens have much knowledge about medical matters, I know, and it makes good sense that such expertise extends to horses. And you did mention that your uncle was a blacksmith. Do not keep an injured destrier waiting, much less his devoted knight, Lady Leila. Not upon my account.” He winked at her. “There are males not worth the trouble of vexing, but I am no longer one of them.”

“I thank you for your courtesy,” Leila said with a smile and bowed to him. She hastened out of the hall, both concerned for the horse and glad of the opportunity to see Fergus again.

Duncan accompanied her to the bailey, then indicated the entry to the stables. “I believe my lord Fergus would speak to you alone,” he said to Leila’s confusion.

About his horse?

Leila picked up her skirts and hurried to the stables. She had no sooner stepped inside and blinked at the relative darkness, then the door was closed behind her. She spun to find Fergus leaning against it, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes gleaming. “Marry me, Leila,” he said.

Leila blinked. She took a step back. She was certain her ears had deceived her.

But she could not have misunderstood because he had spoken in French. “I beg your pardon?” she asked all the same.

“I am asking you to marry me,” Fergus repeated, his manner more resolute. “You have need of a husband. I have need of a wife, as the woman I intended to wed has married another. If you would only consider the option, I am certain you will see that it offers much merit.”

Leila looked down the length of the stables, only to see Fergus’ dark destrier grazing contentedly in his bucket of feed. Duncan’s destrier was in a nearby stall, chewing as he regarded her.

“Your horse is not injured,” she said with relief.

“Not at all. I wanted only to speak to you and soon.” Fergus pushed a hand through his hair and looked suddenly rueful. “I have even concocted a tale about the stallions being amorous this spring to ensure that I could be alone with you here.”

Leila sat down on a bench between the stalls. She could not make sense of Fergus’ offer, as much as she yearned to accept it. She wanted to know why he would propose such an arrangement.

He could not love her, not so suddenly as this.

What detail did she not know?

“Why is the matter urgent?”

“Because you must wed to remain here, and I would not have you thought a whore.” Fergus shrugged. “In fact, I would halt such speculation before it begins.”

Leila did not tell him that it was probably too late.

He surveyed the stable, as if more concerned with his thoughts. “As Duncan reminds me, my father grows older. Indeed, I am a little surprised by the change in him in just four years. I know he would be glad to see the succession ensured before his own passing. He has but one son, so it is left to me to wed and have a son myself, for the future of Killairic.”

Leila nodded understanding. It was not a romantic confession, but it was a truthful one. Given the choice, she preferred honesty over sweet lies.

Killairic, his home, was of the greatest import to Fergus. He would see it secured, and he offered to ensure her safety with his scheme.

Leila would be glad to be part of such an agreement.

“And, as Duncan notes, Stewart is less likely to take issue with my visiting Isobel on the morrow if I arrive as a married man myself.”

Leila chose not to comment on that, for she knew naught of Stewart.

Fergus evidently took her silence as an indication that she might refuse. “You would have the protection you need to remain in Scotland,” he reminded her. “And my defense in case there are those who would be intolerant.”

It seemed too good an offer to be true.

Surely there was a chance of their match becoming one of love and passion?

Still, Leila hesitated. She wished he might have made some sweet confession, even just expressed some admiration.

Or given her a kiss. That might have reassured her of her future hope coming true.

She feared a match proposed so lightly could be put aside just as lightly, but her maidenhead would be gone all the same.

Fergus sat down beside her, his manner intent. “I had not expected you to be so surprised. Not after our kiss last Saturday at Haynesdale.”

“After which you ignored me, as if I were a harlot coming to your home,” Leila felt obliged to note.

Fergus smiled. “As if you were a temptation I dared not indulge. I fear I have been chaste too long.”

Was it more than than? Leila desperately hoped it might be. Their gazes locked for a moment and she could not take a full breath when he watched her so closely. “You seek a match of convenience.”

“Perhaps it would be so at first. Perhaps it would ripen to more. Who can say? Think of Gaston and Ysmaine.” He smiled but she guessed that he did not have any expectation of surrendering to love again. His sadness tore at her own heart and she put her hand over his own.

“I do.”

“As Duncan notes, a match would serve both of us for this moment.” His implication was clear. Perhaps it would not ripen to more. Perhaps they would live as friends and companions, but not true loves.

Convenience had never seemed so unpalatable to Leila as it did now, and that only because she wished for more.

She chided herself silently for being greedy. The suggestion had much merit.

“They will assume you are wedding your whore,” she noted.

Fergus was dismissive. “Let them believe what they will. Marry me, Leila, for the sake of both our goals.”

She shook her head. “It is not so simple. Our faiths are different...”

“Not so different as that. There is common ground between them, as we saw in Outremer.”

“But the differences are of import and have immediate implications. I do not mean to make obstacles, but how should we be wed? Who will officiate—a priest of your faith? I do not doubt that any such would insist upon my being baptized first, and I am not prepared to do so.”

Fergus studied her with curiosity. “Not ever?”

“Not yet, if ever. I do not know enough of your doctrine to make an informed choice.” She smiled at him. “When one talks of the immortal soul, only an informed choice will suffice.”

“True enough.” He frowned at the floor. “But I would suggest a handfast to you, not a marriage.”

Leila took a breath. “A pledge of a year and a day, as Radegunde and Duncan have made?” She instinctively disliked the casual nature of this bond, but it was a custom in this land and would not be the first such that she might need to embrace. It seemed an arrangement that would appeal to men, especially those who liked to have different partners, but perhaps she was too critical.

Radegunde had chosen it with Duncan, and done so whole-heartedly. Perhaps Leila should let her friend be her guide.

Fergus nodded. “We would live as husband and wife for that term, then decide how best to proceed. It would give you an opportunity to find a man to claim your heart truly and make the kind of match you desire.” He nodded with satisfaction. “It might be a good compromise.”

Leila knew it was unfair to be irked. Was she to simply be his consolation?

And that for only a year? She wanted so much more!

“Is Isobel wedded or does she have a handfast?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

“My father said the bishop wedded her to Stewart.” He met her gaze. “What difference?”

Leila resolved in that moment that she would be utterly honest with him, in all matters. To her thinking, that was the sole chance gaining the future she desired. “I thought you might hope for her return.”

His gaze hardened then, and she understood that Isobel had hurt his pride as well as his heart. “If so, it is of no import. Isobel has chosen to be my past. I ask you to be my future.”

His words sent a thrill through her, even though there was no passion in his tone. Still she had questions. “What if there is a child?”

“I will take full responsibility for him or her,” Fergus vowed. “Upon that you can rely.”

Leila folded her arms across her chest. “While I should be compelled to leave you, your home, and our child as an unchaste woman with neither kin nor allies? That will leave me with no prospects at all!” She shook her head. “Nay, that will not do.”

“It is not so different to your situation now.”

“I am a maiden. That is always of import. Is it not so here?”

“Not so much as you might think,” he said so earnestly that she believed him. “A handfast is an honorable arrangement, and if I am the one to introduce you to your future partner, there will be no stain upon your nature. It is like a marriage, but one of the highlands and not the church.”

“Is that what all the men who offer a handfast say to their intended?” she asked with a smile.

Fergus smiled back at her. “Perhaps so, but the fact remains chastity is of less import here than further south.”

“You were chaste.”

“I felt it fitting. It is clear that Isobel did not share my view.” He sobered and she wished his honorable choice had been reciprocated. “What would you do otherwise? If you do not handfast with me, how can I protect you? How will you live in this land?”

His concern made Leila’s heart clench. “And how will you provide an heir to your father if you do not take a woman to wife?”

“Exactly. I know he would see the succession ensured, and I think sooner would be better.” Fergus held her gaze, hope in his eyes. The warmth of his thigh was close to her own, making Leila wonder if she accepted a fool’s wager. She knew she would only fall more deeply in love with Fergus over that year and a day. Indeed, it might destroy her to have him put her aside, especially if she had borne him a son.

Fergus took her hand in his and appealed to her, his voice husky. “I would give my father this gift, Leila, even if the match is only one of convenience.”

That he appealed to her for the sake of his father’s contentment could not be resisted. Fear was like a stone in her gut, but Leila knew naught was ever gained without taking a risk. That kiss hinted to Leila that they might find love in this match, regardless of Fergus’ expectation. She did not doubt that physical intimacy could lead to an emotional bond—indeed, if she declined to meet Fergus abed, he might seek pleasure elsewhere and she might lose the chance to win his heart. Could she help him to heal from Isobel’s betrayal?

Leila chose to take the risk.

“You think your father would accept a child with Saracen blood as his heir?” she asked, already guessing the answer.

“I do,” Fergus said with a nod. “You saw his greeting of you. He rode to the east when I was young, though I will let him tell you of it. As you can see, he harbors no ill will as a result of his experience.”

Leila nodded. “I look forward to that tale.” She dared to put her hand over his. Fergus turned his hand, capturing her fingers with the warmth of his own, and her heart leaped for her throat. His gaze warmed and his thumb slid across the back of her hand in a smooth caress. Desire unfurled within her, a need so potent that she could not believe he was immune to the spell he cast. Leila’s pulse raced and she watched Fergus swallow. He fixed a hot look upon her, one so ardent that she flushed to her toes.

He did desire her! That was a start.

“A year and a day it will be then,” Fergus murmured, his voice so low that Leila’s blood nigh boiled. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, his sweet caress sending a welcome fire through her. “We shall tell them now and celebrate the handfast at the feast tonight.”

And she would begin her conquest immediately.

“Surely such an agreement demands more than a kiss on the hand,” Leila whispered boldly. She watched as Fergus paused, then smiled when his eyes darkened. His gaze dropped to her lips, then she saw his pulse at his throat. Leila took encouragement where she found it.

She would wager that his reaction was not entirely because he had been chaste.

But she would have to prove that to him.

One night at a time, she would conquer his heart.

Leila dared to believe it could be done. She reached to touch her lips to his, just as she had before, and felt satisfaction when Fergus slanted his mouth over hers and drew her close.

Just as he had before.

Nay, he kissed her even more thoroughly, which made her heart pound with satisfaction.

She had a year and a day to claim Fergus completely.

Let her quest begin.

---

It might have been a balm to Fergus’ pride if Leila had readily agreed to his offer, but he admired that she had sensible concerns and wished to know his answers before making her choice. He had made one betrothal impulsively, following his heart and his father’s timely suggestion, and had to believe that a thoughtful choice might be a better one.

Truth be told, it could not be worse.

What he could not fully explain was his sense of triumph in her final agreement. It must be a question of pride. And his heated reaction to her kiss was surely fed by his long bout of chastity. By the morning, such physical distractions would be dismissed. It would be better for him to confront Isobel then, for his thinking would be clear.

As he led Leila back to the hall, Fergus was already wondering where he could find a suitable husband for her. Not in his father’s hall, to be sure, for there was only Iain, Xavier and Murdoch. He would have to find occasion to take her to another keep or a meeting. He had time to make her a good match, and that was no small thing.

He was certain that he would not love again, and he knew she wanted a loving match. Theirs might evolve into affection, but Fergus was determined to make Leila’s dream come true. She had left everything to begin anew, after all.

He had a year and a day to find her the husband she deserved.

His father looked up, eyes bright with curiosity, when they stepped into the hall and Fergus called to him “Father! I am a fortunate man this day indeed.”

“Are you?” Calum asked with a knowing smile.

“Leila has agreed to pledge a handfast with me.”

Those in the hall turned to listen, then murmured to each other.

Fergus smiled at Leila, who gazed at him as if theirs was a love match. The sight made his heart pound. “We shall pledge to each other this very day, before the feast.”

“That is most excellent news!” Calum declared, then rose to cross the floor to them. He seized Leila’s hands in his and kissed her cheeks, evidence that he already admired her. “I am delighted, Lady Leila, to welcome you to our family.”

“And I am pleased to join it, my lord,” Leila said, bending to kiss his hand.

Calum chuckled with satisfaction, then raised his voice. “Iain! I have more labor for you, but it is a joyous task. Fergus and Leila are to pledge a handfast this very day, and the solar must be made ready for the bride.”

“But Father, you do not need to surrender the solar,” Fergus protested. “You are Laird of Killairic.”

“Of course, I do! I have long thought that I should pass the lairdship to you upon your return, and this day will be the perfect time to do so.” His father lowered his voice. “Let your new wife be lady of her own hall, Fergus. Killairic has been without a woman’s guidance for too long, and I welcome the surrender of my responsibilities.”

“But, sir, I would not oust you from the comfort of your chamber,” Leila protested.

“But you must, Lady Leila,” Calum insisted. “The heir to Killairic should be conceived in the great bed in the solar, if you will forgive my blunt speech, just as Fergus was.” He winked. “Indeed, you cannot begin too soon upon that endeavor.”

Leila blushed and smiled, even as Calum turned to Iain. “Move my belongings into the chamber at the south side of the tower. I have thought often of how the morning sun warms that small chamber more than it can heat the solar. There is space enough for a good bed and several braziers. I have only the two trunks that will need to be moved.”

“Of course, my lord,” Iain said, a thread of dismay in his tone. Fergus guessed the reason immediately. This new task would add to his already-full schedule for the day.

“We will all help,” Fergus said and Iain’s relief was visible. “The boys can move my baggage to the solar, and Duncan and I will help move Father’s trunks. Every man in the hall is already occupied with preparations for the feast, so let the newly arrived take on this task.”

“Indeed, sir,” Iain said.

“In fact, leave the matter to me, Iain,” Fergus continued. “You have much to manage this day, and my bride and I can decide how best to arrange the chamber for her tastes.”

“Thank you, my lord!” Iain declared, glancing at the state of the hall.

“When Hamish is done with the spice inventory, send him to me,” Fergus said. “I will ask the Templars if their squires might share the task.”

“You will need this,” Calum said in an undertone, revealing a pair of keys that hung from a lace around his neck. They had been hidden beneath his chemise, where once they had hung from Calum’s belt. He removed the lace and gave it to Fergus. The larger was the key to the solar, which was seldom locked, and the smaller to the treasury, which was accessed from the solar. “There is an inventory in a ledger just inside the door. Be certain that all is as it should be.”

“Thank you, Father. I will.” Fergus offered his arm to Leila. “And now, let us see to the solar.”