September 30, 1367
A day’s ride west of Edinburgh

How in hell did I get myself into this? Lucas Grant wondered as he crouched in the dark, watching the lass tied to the tree and the six men who held her captive.

What part of “there’s six of them and only one of ye” made ye think ye could do this?

Damn it all anyway. It wasn’t the odds that had spurred him into action, it was the wee, terrified lass they held.

He shifted his attention to her. From this angle, he could see her clearly in the soft light of the fire. She was tied to a tree, in a sitting position, her head drooping to one side, as if asleep. She must have been exhausted if she could fall asleep in that position. She appeared to be small and very young, perhaps fifteen. She was dressed in a blue velvet kirtle, so she was likely a nobleman’s daughter. They had probably snatched her from the Michaelmas Feast at the royal court.

Ah, the royal court.

This was his brother’s fault.

Lucas Grant hated visiting the royal court. He avoided it whenever possible and this time had been no different. He’d done everything in his power to talk his brother out of it. But William, his oldest brother and Laird of Clan Grant, had insisted.

“An alliance with a strong clan closer to the lowlands would be very good for us. Moira MacNaughton’s hand comes with a sizable dowry, not to mention the fact that she’s said to be a great beauty. Furthermore, she’s an only child. Laird MacNaughton’s lands and title will go to her and her husband.”

“Ye don’t know that for certain. He might take another bride someday who’ll bear him a son. Or he might name his younger brother as his heir.”

“Nothing in life is certain. There is at least a chance ye could become the MacNaughton. But that isn’t the primary reason ye need to marry her anyway. We need the funds her dowry will bring.”

“William—”

“Why do ye argue with me about everything? Just go to court, meet Laird MacNaughton, and shamelessly woo his daughter until she begs her papa to let her marry ye.”

Lucas had snorted. “That isn’t likely.”

“Why is it ye have no trouble enticing a crofter’s daughter or a maidservant into yer bed, but ye seem to have the exact opposite effect on noblewomen?” his brother had asked.

“Because crofter’s daughters and maidservants enjoy a good tumble. Noblewomen are taught that all the delightful things men and women do are sinful. The idea of snuggling up with a laird’s daughter, who is cold and stiffly proper, leaves me anything but…well, stiff. It hardly seems worth the work to woo her.” 

William’s good humor had been nearing its breaking point. “Ye’re hopeless. First of all, the main goal isn’t to get her into yer bed, it’s to get her dowry into our coffers. Second, all noblewomen are not so unaffected. And third, ye will have a lifetime to teach her to enjoy all of the delightful things men and women do.”

“That sounds boring.”

His brother shook his head in disgust. “It isn’t. In fact with the right woman it can bring ye great joy. But even if ye don’t find a wife who holds yer attention, ye still must find a wife. Maids and peasant women will always be there to quench yer desires. So, I have heard enough of yer arguing. For the last time, ye will go to court, ye will meet Moira, and ye will press her father for a betrothal.”

For the last time? How many times had William told him something for the last time? When would his brother learn? That had to be the fifth time this week he had suggested that Lucas go to court and woo Moira MacNaughton. And each time he had refused. Well, in fairness, William had only suggested it the first two or three times. If there had been any doubt before that William was serious about this, there wasn’t now.

On one hand, the clan did need the money.

On the other hand, didn’t he deserve to have the slightest choice in who he married?

Still, the clan was facing financial ruin.

But, in fairness, this was a rather drastic and painfully permanent solution to their financial woes.

“Lucas, do ye understand me? I tried to be reasonable but there is no reasoning with ye. I have given ye a direct order, will ye defy me?”

And there it was. Regardless of what Lucas wanted, William was his laird. Ultimately, that was the only thing that mattered. Lucas sighed. With no choice, he had bowed to his brother’s authority. “Nay, I won’t defy ye. I’ll go to court.”

Lucas had set out for Edinburgh the next morning, accompanied by four of his brother’s guardsmen and looking forward to wooing Moira MacNaughton as much as he would his own execution. If his brother hadn’t hand-picked the guardsmen who had accompanied Lucas, he might have been able to stay in Edinburgh for a while, assiduously avoid the MacNaughtons, and return home, sadly having failed in his efforts. But the men who went with him were loyal to William to a fault. If Lucas wasn’t seen to try to court Moira, his brother would hear about it. Thinking back now, he couldn’t deny that when he first met Moira MacNaughton, she had been a pleasant surprise. Slender and fair, with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she was breathtakingly beautiful. She moved gracefully and watching her dance was pure pleasure. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as miserable a situation as he had first imagined. A woman who could dance like that might just enjoy all the delightful things men and women could do together.

Ah, the folly of judging a woman solely by her appearance. It hadn’t take him long to learn there was absolutely nothing attractive under that lovely shell.

A conversation with her usually consisted of a litany of spiteful comments about every other woman who happened to be in the room at the time or who she had encountered over the course of the day.

“I don’t know why Laird Cockburn doesn’t simply have done with it and send Honoria to a convent. I’ve owned horses that would make a more attractive woman. I can’t stand being in the same room with her.”

Honoria Cockburn was a bit plain, but not unattractive. She was a sweet, shy lass, and once ye pulled her into conversation, she was fun to talk to. Not to mention the fact that she had a cunning mind: few could best her at chess. If William had ordered Lucas to seek a betrothal with her, he would have done it happily. Unfortunately, not only were the Cockburns already allies, they were nearly as strapped as the Grants were. Plus Laird Cockburn had five daughters to provide dowries for.

Lucas couldn’t let the comment pass. “Ye can’t stand to be in the same room? Ye seemed to be having a lively conversation with her earlier,” Lucas observed.

“Well, of course, she thinks I like her. My friends and I get her talking just to have something to laugh about. And ye’ve seen her mother. If Honoria turns out anything like Lady Cockburn, she’s destined to have whiskers and a double chin.”

Lucas smiled blandly. “Better a double chin, than two faces.”

Moira tittered with laughter for a moment before looking confused. “Two faces? I don’t understand.”

“Of course ye don’t.”

Moira looked miffed. “Then it wasn’t as funny as I thought.”

“Don’t worry yer pretty head about it. I’ll explain it to ye when ye’re older.”

“Ooooh, it must be naughty.” She slapped playfully at him giving him a coy smile.

Lucas shrugged. He longed to explain it to her, but that would get him nowhere.

“Oh, and did you see what Lady Rose was wearing today? If I was her daughter, I’d be utterly mortified. That gown has to be two years old. The poor, tasteless thing must like it because she wears it every few days.”

Lucas frowned. “Well, Laird and Lady Rose travelled quite a distance to be here. She was probably only able to bring a few gowns.”

Moira huffed. “If you can’t bring a proper wardrobe, you shouldn’t be allowed at court. Papa wanted me to bring what would fit into three trunks. I told him I needed at least five.” She pouted. “He said no. Well, I cried and cried. It was too cruel of him and I told him so. I also told him that I couldn’t believe he was so stupid as to think I could be properly attired here with less than five trunks of clothing.” She smiled smugly. “Eventually, he saw it my way.”

That didn’t surprise Lucas at all. Eventually, Laird MacNaughton saw everything Moira’s way, because at the first sign that he might not, she puffed out her cheeks and pouted. If that didn’t work, she burst into ragged sobs. And just as he had about the number of trunks he allowed her to bring to Edinburgh, Laird MacNaughton gave in to her every whim.

Nay, Moira was one of the most unpleasant, selfish, vapid women he had ever met.

Tragically, it would not have been difficult to get MacNaughton to agree to a betrothal. Moira made it very clear that she was more than attracted to him. She flirted openly, and when they were together, became petulant if Lucas’s attention turned to anything but her, even for just a moment. All Lucas would have to have done was give her the slightest hint that he was interested in marriage. Moira would have taken care of the rest. Lucas had no doubt that Laird MacNaughton would have begged him for a betrothal in a matter of days…if not hours.

Lucas loved his brother and tried his best to be loyal…most of the time. Still, even as much as William had wanted this, the more time Lucas spent with Moira, the less he wanted to live the rest of his days saddled with her as a bride. But the last straw occurred at the Michaelmas Feast. He had lavished her with attention all evening, thinking that might sweeten her mood. As intended, she started dropping hints about a betrothal between them. But late in the evening, he noticed that sweet Honoria Cockburn hadn’t danced at all. So he said, “Moira, the Cockburns are allies of the Grants. I’m sure ye won’t mind if I ask Honoria for one dance.”

“Of course not, Lucas. That’s so charitable of ye.”

He should have known her condescension boded ill. While he danced with Honoria, Moira maneuvered close to them, and before Lucas realize what she was doing, she stuck out a foot and tripped the lass. Honoria went sprawling. The other dancers stopped and stared as Lucas helped her up. But a voice from the crowd that he knew was Moira’s said, “People who trip over their own feet have no business dancing.”

Honoria’s face turned bright red and Lucas had been disgusted by the titters the comment drew from the crowd. At that moment, he had known, without a doubt, he could not marry Moira MacNaughton. He turned his attention to Honoria, who had tears standing in her eyes. He spoke loudly to ensure he was heard. “Honoria, I am so sorry. I have such big feet. It’s true I probably don’t have any business dancing, but it was kind of ye to give me a chance. Forgive me for tripping ye. Come, let me escort ye back to yer da.”

She blinked rapidly, clearly trying not to cry. “That was nice of ye, but ye didn’t trip me,” she said softly.

“Nevertheless, I’m the reason ye were tripped. For that, I am heartily sorry.”

“Thank ye.” She blushed deeper and looked away.

He looped her arm over his, walking her across the dance floor.

Before they reached her father, Honoria stopped and turned towards him. “She isn’t very nice, Lucas.”

“Nay, she isn’t.”

“I don’t believe she’d make ye happy.”

“My intent was that obvious?”

“With my father trying unsuccessfully to find a rich husband for me, I had an inkling.”

He hated to see her looking so sad. “So, Honoria, are ye saying ye don’t think a vain, self-centered, unkind, rude, petulant, woman, is my type?” He winked at her. “That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.”

Her eyes lit with a smile and she chuckled. “Aye, ye’re a rogue for certain, but even ye deserve better than her.”

He laughed. “I can’t argue against that. She’s poison.” He sobered a bit. “Stay away from her and I’ll do the same”

“Agreed.”

She really was a sweet lass. He was sorry once again that a betrothal between the two of them wouldn’t serve the best interests of either family.

After Honoria was back with her father, Lucas had had but one desire—to escape Moira MacNaughton. Without returning to her to say good night, he left the celebration, gathered his belongings and fled Edinburgh altogether. He probably should have attempted to find his brother’s guardsmen or waited until they had returned from the feast. Traveling alone wasn’t particularly safe. But when they hadn’t returned as the sun rose, he knew he had to leave without them. He feared that Moira had already decided to press her father for a betrothal. If Lucas hadn’t gotten out of the situation immediately, he might not have been able to avoid Laird MacNaughton come morning. And once a betrothal to Moira was offered, his brother would slice off his cods if he refused it.

Nay, this had been the better choice.

He’d left a note for his brother’s men. They would follow as soon as they found him gone. Although he’d ridden away from Edinburgh as if the devil were on his heels, he figured when he was comfortably far enough away, he’d slow his pace and they’d catch up to him soon enough.

But by late afternoon, when he’d ridden up behind a group of six men on horseback well ahead of him on the road, he’d had some regrets about that decision. One of the men held a lass on his lap with his plaid wrapped around her. Lucas wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except at one point she glanced over her shoulder and he caught a glimpse of her ashen face. Then the plaid dropped away for a moment and he saw that her hands were bound. He recognized the men as Galbraiths. He didn’t know who the lass was, but it didn’t matter. She was clearly in trouble.

Still, he was just one man, what could he do? There were six of them.

But on the other hand, he couldn’t bear the thought of the lass being hurt.

That didn’t change the fact that there were six of them.

But they were Galbraiths with mediocre skills at best.

However, six second-rate warriors against one reasonably skilled man was still six to one and she wasn’t his concern.

He’d nearly talked himself out of doing anything until he looked up the track and saw her face again. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying.

She was terrified and no matter how many of them there were, he couldn’t just abandon her.

Still, honor and bravery meant very little in the absence of cleverness and good judgement. Lucas knew he couldn’t just ride forward and confront them. He’d follow at a distance, until they made camp. He’d been fairly certain they’d only leave one man standing watch and he might be able to make a move then. If not, he had planned to just keep following them until his brother’s men caught up. He wasn’t really in a hurry to get back to Castle Grant anyway.

Several hours later, at twilight, they had crossed the River Carron and the Galbraiths turned westward, venturing into the forest. Of course they had headed west. They were on their way home. If Lucas followed the Galbraiths, there was no hope of his brother’s men finding him. They would assume he’d be heading north towards Castle Grant.

Nevertheless Lucas had followed. When they reached a bend in the river, the men stopped, clearly intending to make camp among the trees on the bank.

Lucas had smiled to himself. It was certainly more convenient to camp directly beside a source of water. But the noise made by the gurgling river masked any sounds of movement in the nearby forest. This was perfect. Once everyone was asleep, he could incapacitate the guard, steal the lass and be well away by the time they realized what had happened.

He had ridden far enough back the way he’d come so as not to be detected. Then he turned northward, riding about a half mile before circling back towards the river.

He removed Captain’s saddle, rubbed him down, allowed him to have his fill of water, and gave him a feedbag of oats. Lucas too, ate several oatcakes and some dried beef.

As night fell, he prayed the sky would remain clear, so he could safely escape with the Galbraiths’ captive. After waiting several hours, he had saddled Captain again. “Lad, I think we’ve given them enough time to settle down. I’ll just tether ye to this tree so all’s ready to make our escape when I get back here with her.” Then he made his way downstream towards the Galbraith’s camp.

Now here he was.

Aye, this was his brother’s fault.

And Moira MacNaughton’s.

But mostly his brother’s.

And the damned Galbraiths who stole the girl.

They really were idiots. They had lit a fire. Not only was the smoke a beacon leading him to the exact location of their camp, the merrily crackling fire, added to the sound of moving water, further masked any small noise he might make. And, as he’d expected, all but one man was bedded down.

He watched the scene for several long moments trying to determine the best approach. The man assigned to the first watch sat near the fire, his sleeping clansmen surrounding him. Lucas knew he could take out the watchman with little effort. However, disabling him without awakening any of the other men would be a challenge and if he failed and had to battle all six men at once, it could be disastrous.

He shifted his attention back to the lass. Her chestnut colored hair hung in a riot of soft curls around her dirt-smudged face. She was lovely and in spite of his misgivings he knew he had to at least try to rescue her. He didn’t like her chances with this lot.

Unfortunately, not only could Lucas see her clearly in the light, so could the watchman. It would be impossible to free her without being seen. As he weighed his options, he saw the watchman’s head bob. He smiled slowly and thanked the Almighty for this bit of luck. If the man hadn’t established his post so close to the warmth of the fire, he wouldn’t have fallen asleep as easily. But then Lucas would have slit his throat by now, so the guard’s lapse might just prove to be a blessing. Within five minutes his head slumped forward and a few minutes later, his snore blended with the rest.

Lucas made a wide circle around the camp in order to approach the lass from behind. As soon as he reached the tree, he put a hand behind her head and the other over her mouth.

Just as he’d feared, she awoke instantly. Her head snapped back against his right hand as his left hand smothered her cry of alarm.

“Be still, lass. My name’s Lucas and I’m trying to rescue ye from these sleeping eejits. If ye start shrieking, ye’ll give us away.”

She nodded her understanding, curls bobbing around her face.

He let go of her, sliced her bonds with his dirk, and helped her stand. He put a finger over his lips, and guided her silently away from the camp.

When they were well away from the Galbraiths, he stopped for a moment. “The faster we can get away from them, the better it will be for both of us. My horse is hidden just a bit farther north from here. Ye’re just a wee thing and we’ll get to him sooner if I run with ye on my back.”

She looked affronted. “I can run.”

“In those?” He pointed to the dainty slippers on her feet.

She frowned. “No, I don’t suppose so.”

“I thought not.”

He turned away from her, kneeling on one knee. “Put yer arms around my neck.” When she’d done that, he reached back, put his hands behind her knees and stood, pulling her knees forward around his hips. She was as light as he expected.

She gave a shocked gasp. “I’m not in the habit of wrapping my legs around strange men.”

“Are ye in the habit of getting yerself kidnapped?”

“Nay, of course not.”

“Then it’s a night of firsts for ye. We’ll celebrate later. Hang on.”

He started running, reaching the place where he’d tethered Captain in no time.

He stooped to lower her to the ground. “All right, my fair, wee lassie, up ye get on this beastie’s back now.”

He lifted her into the saddle, swung up behind her and headed northward, leaving the River Caron behind.

“Where are we going?”

“As far away from those thieving Galbraiths as we can get before they awaken.”

“I could work that much out on my own. But which direction?”

“North.”

“North? I can’t go north. We need to head back to Edinburgh.”

“Is that where they snatched ye?”

“Aye.”

“Then don’t ye suppose that’s where they’d expect ye to go? And when they wake to find ye gone, that’s the direction they’ll search?”

“I guess so.”

“Then wouldn’t it make sense to go a different direction?”

“Aye, but I have to get back to Edinburgh.”

“Which raises the question, what’s a wee lassie from the Highlands doing in Edinburgh? Ye can’t be more than fifteen.”

“I’m eighteen,” she said, indignantly. “And I was there—at court—with my family.”

“And who is yer family?”

“I’m a MacLennan. Laird MacLennan is my brother by marriage. I’m Ailsa MacLennan. What clan are ye from, Lucas?”

Lady MacLennan’s sister? By all the saints, the Galbraiths had managed to find a valuable prize. From everything Lucas had heard about Laird Fingal MacLennan, he tended to be overprotective to a fault. He must have let his guard down in the royal court. Well, their loss was his gain. There was no love between the Grants and the MacLennans and this wee morsel would bring the Grants as much ransom as she would the Galbraiths. Of course, she didn’t need to know that, so he’d have to tread carefully.

“My mother was a Macrae.” That was perfectly true. Furthermore, the MacLennans and the Macraes were on reasonably good terms.

“Well, thank ye, Lucas Macrae, for saving me from that lot.”

“’Twas my pleasure. But how did they manage to capture ye anyway?”

She remained silent.

“Ailsa, I asked ye a question. How did ye end up as a prisoner of the Galbraiths?”

“That isn’t important. Ye need to take me back to Edinburgh now.”

“Nay, lass. There were six of them and only one of me. If we run into them again, I couldn’t keep ye safe.”

“But…”

“Nay, no buts. I’ll not argue with ye about it. We’re going north.”

“Fine. Take me to the nearest village. Ye can leave me there and I’ll find someone else to take me back to Edinburgh.”

“Ye’re a bossy, wee thing aren’t ye?”

She looked over her shoulder at him and frowned. “Ye sound like my sister, Gillian. I’m not trying to be bossy, but my family—”

“Will not thank me for leaving the laird’s sister-in-law on her own in some godforsaken village in the lowlands.” They probably wouldn’t thank him for ransoming her either, but that was beside the point. “Do ye know what could happen to ye? I give ye my solemn word that ye’re safe with me. It’s better if I just take ye home.”

“Home?”

“Aye. Home.” He meant his home, but again, she didn’t need to know that.

“Brathanead is at least four days ride from here. Perhaps ye could just take me to Castle Carr? The Carrs are our allies and we stopped there on our way south. If we ride the rest of the night we could be there by sunset tomorrow.”

“Nay, we can’t go to Castle Carr. The Carrs and the Macraes are not allies. I wouldn’t be welcome there.” That wasn’t completely true. There was no formal relationship between the Carrs and the Macraes but neither were they enemies. But this young woman was not likely to be well-versed on clan politics. The Grants and the Carrs had allied themselves nearly eighty years ago through marriage, but that bond had weakened over time. Still, none of that really mattered. Nothing under God’s blue heaven would make Lucas hand this little treasure over to anyone. He was returning home without a betrothal. William wasn’t going to be happy, but the ransom Laird MacLennan’s sister-in-law would bring might go a long way to soothing his ire. “The best plan is for me to take ye home.”

“Ye may think it’s the best plan, but I don’t. If we can’t go to Castle Carr, and ye won’t take me back to Edinburgh, I’ll go by myself.”

He snorted. “Have ye taken leave of yer senses?”

“Nay. I’m sure I can do it. It’s not that far. I insist ye let me go back to Edinburgh.”

He could see this was going to be a never-ending argument unless the lass herself decided it was best to stay with him. He’d go along with her and see what happened.

“Well, if ye insist.” He dismounted and lifted her off the saddle. “There ye are. Off ye go, now. Edinburgh is that way.” He pointed in the direction from which they had come.

“Ye want me to walk?”

“Nay, lass. I want ye to ride north with me. But if ye insist on going to Edinburgh alone, it’ll have to be on yer own two feet, because Captain and I are heading north.”

“Ye won’t lend him to me?”

“Nay, I won’t.”

“Why? I’d see him returned to ye.”

Lucas laughed, mirthlessly. “Now that’s a promise ye can’t make. Because as sure as we’re standing here, ye’re going to run afoul of someone—most likely those Galbraiths—and Captain will be taken as a prize too. So nay, where I go, he goes.”

She frowned and huffed and he had trouble hiding his amusement. Where Moira’s pouting and fits of pique grated on his last nerve, Ailsa MacLennan was adorable. Perhaps it was the smudge of dirt on her nose, or her wild curls, but it was hard to take her seriously. Still, he schooled his features. “Be on yer way, lass. I’ll keep an eye on ye until I can see ye no more.”

As she stood there, her frown deepened. “I need to go back to Edinburgh,” she said, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself.

“Then go on.”

“I can do it, just watch me.”

It took every effort not to laugh. “I’m watching, but ye haven’t moved yet.”

“Nay, but I’m going now.” She turned and walked several paces away from him before stopping.

“Is something the matter?” Lucas feigned innocence.

She looked down. “Aye, it’s my slippers.”

“What about them?”

“They aren’t really suited for walking.”

“Nay, indeed they aren’t.”

She turned back to face him. “I could walk back to Edinburgh if it weren’t for my shoes.”

And the half dozen Galbraiths looking for ye. “No doubt. I’d say ye face a wee predicament. No horse to ride and no fit shoes to walk in.”

“I suppose I should let ye take me home…because of my shoes.”

“Aye, that would seem to be prudent…because of yer shoes.”

She sighed, walked back to him and allowed him to lift her onto Captain’s back. Once mounted behind her, he nudged the stallion into a walk.

This might prove to be one of the most interesting trips home ever.