“Canna wait for a proper meal,” one of his men said from behind him.

“Canna wait to get off this horse,” another grunted.

“Canna wait for my bonny wife to warm my bed!”

There were several grunts for that one, and even Kane joined in—except it wasn’t because he was looking forward to it. Nay, it was the exact opposite. He did not want to return to his keep and face the two lasses pining for his hand. He did not want to go back and face the fact that one of those lasses, a reportedly kind, gentle girl, would be sent to her death because of him.

He reached for the skin, putting it to his lips. The whisky was tasteless by now.

Kane didn’t know what to do. Either way, the lass was going to die. Should he put off the courting, and let her have more time to live? Or should he find a way for her to get out of her marriage to Grayham?

If it were any other man, he wouldn’t care. It was common for a lass to be sent off to marriage with a man she didn’t know. It was the way of things. It had happened to his sister.

But this was different.

He’d learned his mistake with Annalise. Subjecting another innocent to that...it was making him go insane. Several times they had to stop for more whisky, and while Kane wasn’t a drunk, he thought the spirits would help alleviate some of the guilt.

They hadn’t.

They’d done the exact opposite.

“My wife will no’ be so happy,” he overheard one of his men say. His eyes narrowed on the space ahead of him. “Our bairn has probably kept her up night and day.”

“Aye,” one of the men chuckled knowingly. “I feel yer pain. When we went to war with the MacDonalls, my woman was left alone. I had the cold shoulder for a fortnight…” Kane didn't pay attention to the rest of their conversation because an idea so brilliant, so amazing and simple, came to him. It might be the whisky thinking for him, but he didn't care. His idea was perfect.

Neither of the lasses would take his hand.

Nay, he'd make them both hate him so much they couldn't bear the sight of him. He'd be every terrible thing he was accused of. The king's contract hadn't said a single thing about his betrothal being broken. All it had said was for her to accept the betrothal, and the dowry would be his.

Triumph surged through him, and he took another swig of the whisky, this time in celebration. It was a flawless plan. The lasses had no clue what kind of man he was—no one except his clan did. He was the merciless Lion to these girls, and it was that way he would stay.

"Laird Shaw," his squire said from beside him. Kane looked down at him. "You're looking in higher spirits."

"Aye," he said, grinning, taking another swig of whisky.

"Are you excited to meet your betrothal?" No one except Connor knew there were two lasses he had to choose from—well, none, now. His grin only widened.

"Aye."

His squire gave him an uneasy look. "Well, that is good. Might I ask what put you into higher spirits? The whole ride, you’ve been...brooding."

Kane held up the skin. "The spirits put me in higher spirits, Connor. All of my problems have been solved—though I think I'll be needin' yer assistance in a matter."

Connor eyed him suspiciously, but nodded. The lad was only seven and ten, but he was showing promise as a knight. His father had been a good friend of Kane's, so even though the lad was English, Connor was training under his hand.

"Whatever it is, laird."

Kane knelt down, quietly telling his squire of his plans. When the lad stared up at him in shock, he nodded.

"Are you not concerned with the king's opinion of your treatment of the girls?" Connor asked, stunned.

"Nay. It will no’ be me calling off the engagement, but the girl. Even then, the King only says he adores the girls for the sake of appearances. He would turn on his own daughter if he had to,” he said, knowing it was true. The king did not know the meaning of love. He knew the meaning of gains and power, but love? Kane could have laughed. “Either way, everything will be over."

"Everything?" Connor asked dubiously.

"Aye. Everything." Then he could get back on his merry way. Kane absently swirled the skin around. The leather was smooth and sturdy, old. The initials on the side were his father’s.

"Even the feuds?"

"Even the feuds. Lady Blaine's dowry will cure everything—and then her and her sister will return to the king, unharmed. After that, the fate of the lasses is not my concern."

"That's quite a plan you have, my lord." He didn’t meet Kane’s eyes, instead choosing to rummage around in his pack. He pulled out an apple and buffed it against his shirt.

"Aye. It is." This time, when the whisky went down his throat, it stung with life. "Blaine will call it off as soon as she sees what a brute her laird is."

"But you're not a—"

"To ye’, aye. To these lasses...well, I canna wait to see their terrified hides running back to the Lowlands."

"As you wish. Would you have me notify your clan?" Connor asked, eyeing the apple.

Kane nodded. "I donna want them to hate me."

"They would never—"

"After the next couple of weeks, even knowing this is a farce, they verra well might."

Connor sighed, then took a bite out of the apple and walked off. Kane went back to staring at the skin of whisky. The spirits were guiding him at this point, and he was gladly going to take their advice.

* * *

After the men were made aware of Kane's plans, and instructed to act as the barbarians they were known as, the ride to his territory was silent. He knew the men did not approve of his decision on the matter. He understood why. They did not know of the terms, or that one of the lasses would be sent to Grayham. Something about the whole situation, and the fact that King James had pulled him aside to speak of this, told him that he should keep some of the details to himself.

His squire was the only one who knew of everything, and so would Brodrick, soon. The Sinclairs had been at his keep for a fortnight now, enough for Brodrick to come up with an in-depth analysis of them.

Several hours later, they were going through the village. Men jumped off their horses to embrace their wives when they came running around, and his squire wandered off to do what Kane had instructed him to.

Kane continued on towards the keep. Just when he was coming up the large hill, at the end of the creek, a sound carried through the air.

He stayed his horse with a sharp movement, listening.

It came again, from up river. He slid off the giant black beast and left him there. If Kane needed his warhorse, a sharp whistle would draw his attention.

He palmed his claymore, following the sound. The closer he got to the source, the less he felt he needed the protection. Splashing water, contented sighs. A giggle.

Kane frowned, walking up the creek.

It was then that he saw it.

Her.

His mouth went dry and every ounce of blood shot straight to his hips. His claymore almost clattered to the ground.

There, bathing in his creek, as nude as the day she was born, was a nymph. She was waist-deep in the water, arms above her head, face tilted toward the sun. She'd just emerged from the water, and droplets were sliding down her slender body.

Kane stumbled backwards, grabbing a tree for support. Her skin was kissed by the sun, and the damp, golden locks falling to her shoulders were shimmering in the broad daylight. She was turned toward him, just enough that he could see her neck, her elegant jaw, and pink, plump lips. He couldn't see the color of her eyes, but he imagined them to be as crystalline as the water she was playing in.

Only when she ducked under the water again did Kane breathe. Who in all that was Holy was that? And why was she in his creek? Naked? For all to see?

For all to...crave.

Her golden head broke the surface of the water and she faced him for a second, giving him a view of her breasts and trimmed waist.

She didn't notice him. With a sigh loud and content enough for him to hear, she spread her arms out and floated on the surface of the water. Her breasts were full and tipped with tight, pink nipples. The apex of her thighs was dipped in the water, but that didn't hide the curly mons peeking through the gentle current.

His mouth watered. His fingers itched to touch the breasts that were heaving with her gentle breaths, and his mouth held the same desire. She'd taste of the sweetest honey, he knew it just by looking at her. Her skin was dewy and lightly tanned, so odd from all of the women he had seen.

He realized she was used to bathing in the open. That's where her faint tan had come from. His hands balled into fists, when all they wanted to do was touch her, to see if she was real.

She didn't look real—he could easily blame this hallucination on the whisky. A water nymph, playing in his creek? He had walked into a fairy tale, and he didn't want it to end.

He bit back a groan.

Aye, he'd love to see if she was as magical as she looked.

Nay. What he wanted to do was stride into the creek, take her into his arms, and show her just how much he could pleasure a nymph.

He started forward, mind overtaken by images of her body wrapped around his, fully intent on claiming the mythical creature he'd found. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, a full two moons, and right now, his body was definitely feeling the pent-up need for release.

As he started to make his descent to her, something stopped him. Her leg had kicked into the air. He might not have thought anything of it, but he saw the wince of pain on her innocent features and the large, blood-red bruise.

He froze.

And stared.

He stared until her leg lowered.

His lips pressed...and then he turned away. He'd find out who the lass was, who her family was, and how she'd gotten the bruise. Aye, that's what he'd do.

Kane did not allow violence of any sort on his lands. Animals, women, or children—if anyone appeared with a mark on them, the abuser would have to face Kane.

His sister had taught him a valuable lesson.

With his hard-on ruined, he stormed to his horse and mounted, riding furiously to his keep. Brodrick would know who the lass was. He knew who everyone was.

As he rode to the training grounds, where Brodrick normally was, his thoughts were a mess.

They all centered around the same thing.

The woman, the water nymph, who'd nearly brought him to his knees with one glance at her body. He knew it was unreasonable to be so attracted to a woman with just a look, but he didn't care. It was because he'd been away for so long and hadn't had a woman to warm his bed.

He was positive that the second he saw his leman, Gwen, he'd have that same rush of hunger. Gwen was a bonny lass, and very eager in bed. He was willing to bet she had thrice more experience than the nymph swimming in his creek, who held the look of sensual innocence, despite her incomparable beauty.

Kane had to turn his thoughts from the woman, and focus on Gwen's face. Aye, he'd take Gwen for a night, and by the morrow, the golden haired lass would be out of his thoughts completely.

After he figured out who'd harmed the wench, that is.