"There it is. Somerset" Hamish pronounced. It was twilight when they arrived at the keep. Several guardsmen rode out to greet their party. Victoria watched with curiosity as the new group of men neared. In front rode a man with the same striking black hair and grey eyes as Conor. Obviously this was the brother Hamish had described to them earlier. The Laird McDougall.

The brothers dismounted and embraced each other. Victoria found it particularly interesting, as she'd never seen her brothers act in such a manner. Nearly identical in coloring and stature, they presented a handsome picture as they walked away from the others, deep in conversation. Although both were remarkable in size and height, Conor was broader and more muscular.

The laird lifted his head and regarded Victoria and Mary for scant seconds then without a word he mounted his horse. The brother's rode side-by-side toward the keep, with the now larger party following behind.

Victoria was awestruck at seeing Somerset. It wasn’t what she expected at all. The castle like structure was huge, more of a fortress, its enormous grey stone walls jetting towards the skies. High rock walls guarded the front while ragged cliffs that fell to the sea protected the back.

There was no doubt in her mind. Just the sight of Somerset alone was enough of a warning to anyone mad enough to consider an attack. Dense wooden gates were opened allowing the party to enter into the outer court.

Once inside the courtyard, there were groups of clans people about to greet them. The women stretched their necks to get a glimpse at her.

The keep was well guarded. Victoria counted over fifty warriors who mingled about, before she stopped.

Her situation was dire. Victoria blinked away tears of despair. Even her brothers could never aspire to confront and win over such a formidable clan. There wasn't much hope of ever leaving. Her only hope was to convince the laird to return her.

The women were assisted off the wagon by a young boy of about twelve that showed them to a set of small rooms on the second level of the keep.

The lad stood rigid by the door until Victoria noticed him. "The laird would like you to sup with him milady. The evening meal will be served shortly.”

Victoria looked down at her dirty skirts and knew her hair was in the same deplorable condition, a tangled mess. "Please tell the laird I am not fit to sit at his table tonight. I need to wash my dress and bathe. I would beg of his kindness that a meal be brought for us here in our rooms please.”

The boy seemed shocked at her refusal, but left after a curt nod.

A few moments later two maids entered their room. One with a tray laden with food and the other maid carried a simple wool gown for her and another more basic shift for Mary. They informed them a bath would be brought up for Victoria shortly. Mary followed the maids back to the servant’s quarters to wash up and change, leaving Victoria to eat her meal. The room was simply furnished with a sturdy bed, a washstand and a small writing table. Two chairs flanked the fireplace in which a cheerful fire burned brightly.

After the days of travel, she wanted nothing more than to finish her meal, take a hot bath and go to bed. It would be easier to think clearly after resting. She'd be better able to contrive an escape plan for she and Mary.

In the morning, she would find the laird and insist he return her to England immediately. Surely a man who oversaw a keep of this size would be intelligent enough to understand that it would be in the best interest of his clan to return an English citizen to her family and avoid incident.

It took much preparation before bathing. The tangles in her hair had to be brushed out. The warm water almost brought tears to her eyes. Although she rarely lingered overmuch in a bath, this day she remained in the water until it cooled. With reluctance, she lifted from the water, dried off with a large cloth and donned her borrowed night shift.

She wondered what Conor did at the moment. It was nonsense of course to be thinking of him. The man had not only orchestrated the killing of her husband and his mother, but also kidnapped her. Yet, for whatever reason a part of her needed to know the circumstances. Why had he done it? Only someone seeking retribution or revenge traveled so far to kill someone.

She pictured Conor McDougall in the arms of a woman welcoming him home and pushed the though away. She shouldn’t care what the hateful man did at the moment.

Then again, who was she to call him hateful? Yes he did force himself upon her, but she'd kissed him back. It was only after the sound of his moans did she realize what a horrible widow she was.

The thought of Darien Turner and their short marriage made her realize she would not be able to mourn him properly due to the circumstances. Truth be told, she never did get to know him well. They rarely talked except for exchanging greetings. She'd only lain with him twice. He much preferred the company of one or more of his servants in his bed, be they male or female.

On several occasions she overheard the moans and shrieks at night and knew that what happened in the room next to hers was distasteful. She'd heard the rumors of his deviant passions and ignored them, glad not to be included in whatever he did. Now he was dead and she a prisoner, perhaps because of something he'd done.

Victoria looked up at the moonlit ceiling and sighed. What would happen to her now? It was possible the Scots would use her as part of their revenge against Darien. A shiver at the thought ran through her. Somehow she'd find a way to escape. There were not alternatives, but her own wits.

The following morning, Victoria strode into the great room. A maid ushered her to a long bench-style seat. The matching table was topped with steaming meats, root vegetables, and hot loaves of bread for the morning meal. Conor and his brother were already in the room at the far end. They stood close, deep in conversation when she entered.

She'd never dined in a Highland home. Expecting a lack of civility, she was pleasantly surprised when a man she recognized from the journey stood and assisted her to sit.

"Thank you," Victoria murmured.

He replied with a grunt.

According to her mother, although larger clans might be less cultured than the English, they were usually well read. It was hard to know as close-knit clan members rarely allowed an outsider, more precisely the English, near their homes.

Victoria sat with her eyes downcast, until the familiar deep voice sounded.

"How fair you today, Miss...?" Conor McDougall sat across the table from her.

"Westcott. I fare as well as can be expected," she replied, meeting his gaze. She'd not seen him since their arrival.

Bathed and shaved, he did not resemble the bearded brute she'd traveled with, but remained just as striking.

He turned to his brother who sat at the head of the table, "May I present my brother Calum, the Laird McDougall."

Victoria recognized him as the man who'd ridden out to meet them the day before. The laird, the man with the power to affect her future.

The laird turned to her, his expression hard to read. "Miss Westcott."

"I wish to meet with you after the meal," the laird told Conor, before directing his attention back to Victoria. They had the same startling grey eyes, but the similarity ended in coldness of his gaze when Calum regarded her. "Miss Westcott, I hope your chambers are to your liking."

"They are adequate."

He lifted an eyebrow but did not respond.

Two women entered the room, arms linked. The first was introduced to her as Meagan McDougall the wife of the laird. She wore her light-brown hair braided and wrapped around her head. The second woman was Cailyn McDougall, Calum and Conor's sister. She was a softer version of her brothers, resembling them in coloring, but her eyes were a bright blue and her face heart shaped and striking.

Meagan McDougall glanced to Victoria only briefly, her expression hard and her mouth in a tight line. Upon sitting, she began a conversation with Cailyn, purposely ignoring her.

In contrast, Cailyn directed a warm smile at Victoria and leaned to her when Meagan spoke with her husband. "I'm so sorry for the circumstances. I know this must be frightening for you. Perhaps we can spend some time together tomorrow? We have a large garden, unfortunately it's not as colorful right now, but it's still a pleasant place to walk" Her vivid blue eyes held hers.

"I would love that," Victoria replied, earning a new glower from Meagan who'd caught the last of what Cailyn said.

While the meal progressed, the laird and Conor spoke in hushed tones. From where she sat, Victoria could not make out what they said, so she watched closely and strained to read their lips.

Sensing her regard, Conor's gaze took hers. Her heart leapt at the scorching heat in his eyes, and she swallowed past her suddenly dry throat.

When he lifted a corner of his mouth, a gesture only she would notice, it sent a ripple of acknowledgement trickling from her belly to further down. He focused on the frantic pulse at her throat and her hand instinctively flew up to cover the area. She scanned the room, thankfully everyone was either too busy eating or talking to notice.

…"You'll be leaving on the morrow…" Calum, who appeared to notice his brother's lack of attention, spoke louder. The words directed at Conor slammed Victoria's pulse to a near stop. Terror enveloped her, and at once the food on her plate had lost all appeal.

No, Conor couldn’t leave. They had only just arrived. Other than Mary, she knew no one. Although she considered Conor a brute, she felt he was the only one who would protect her from whatever the laird decided to do with her.

A prisoner more than guest, she didn't dare guess how the McDougall clan would treat her, an English interloper, once her protector went away.

He'd take her with him or stay. Victoria refused to stay behind without her safeguard. A sense of foreboding propelled her to take action.

Once the evening meal ended, she would await the perfect opportunity and speak to Conor. First, she'd have to find him alone. Once they could speak, she would bring up the fact that he'd taken her and brought her to Somerset by force, therefore, lawfully he was now her keeper and protector.

If he still had to go on whatever business his brother sent him on, then she'd suggest going with him. He would not refuse her. Surely he held some honor.

Victoria looked across the table at Conor, he studied her in return with a stern expression. His brow creased, an air of apprehension, or perhaps even worry on his face.

She wondered if he was reluctant to take leave of her as well. Could it be that he, too, feared for her safety?

Surely she'd become addled to think the imposing Scot would defend her or keep her safe. It seemed in the midst of chaos, after everything she'd lost in recent days, she wasn’t thinking straight. Nonetheless, even if she wasn't sure why, the stark truth of it stood. His presence, as overwhelming as it was, did give her a sense of security.