To Helena’s right, beyond the sea gates, the village Caithlwyn rested along the shore of the loch that emptied into the sea. Tension coiled in her stomach. Atop the cliff, beyond the village, Dunvegan’s towers rose above the trees. According to her map, the castle was modest compared to ones she’d visited before and, unlike many other clans’ castles, no market or villagers’ homes surrounded it.

She breathed so deeply of the air that she could taste the salt. The long path had been interminable. Thank God for Valor. Without him, the trip would have been far longer and much colder.

Memory rose of Kaden’s firm grip on her fingers when he’d helped her mount. Warmth flushed through her. She was accustomed to the attention of men, so gave them little thought. But Kaden made her feel strange. Helena shook off the thought. He’d been kind—something she wasn’t accustomed to—that was all. Still, she wouldn’t forget him. Valor nickered as if aware she was thinking of his master.

Helena patted his sleek neck. “Aye, he’s a good man. I will see to it that ye reach home safely.” Afterwards.

Excitement mingled with her anxiety. Helena thought of the map in her satchel now at the bottom of the loch near Kaden’s home. The picture of map was burned into her memory. But she hated losing the dagger. Pray God she didn’t need it.

Helena urged Valor into the trees, then dismounted. She tied the reins to a tree and patted his neck. “I will return soon, lad. Never fear.”

She adjusted the cowl of her cloak over her head to better hide her face and pulled the cloak tight about her shoulders as she started up the hill. At the top of the hill, the open gate came into view. Head held high, she approached the guards. As expected, two guards manned the entrance. Helena neared and slowed as one stopped a woman ahead of her and checked the basket she carried. With a deep breath, she stepped forward when he let the woman pass.

“Pleasant day, aye, lass?” he asked.

Helena smiled. “Aye. We are blessed with the bright sun after such a cruel storm.”

“Ye are early for the wedding celebration.”

Wedding celebration? She smiled. “I wanted to be sure I wasnae late.”

The man laughed. “Enjoy the celebration. Laid MacLeod has a feast planned that will feed all of Caithlwyn. Mayhap I will see ye inside.” He winked, and she smiled before hurrying past him.

As expected, gaining entrance to the castle had been easy. In truth, it wasn’t getting into the castle that had her heart pounding—who would suspect a young, beautiful woman of stealing the most valued MacLean treasure—but escape with the treasure.

The layout of the grounds was exactly as shown on the map. Walking toward the keep, Helena passed a group of women gathered near the well in the middle of the courtyard. Many carried baskets. Immersed in conversation, they didn’t notice when she scooped up a small wicker basket filled with white linens and continued on her way.

She reached the keep, nudged the postern door open with her hip, and stepped into a small foyer. To the left, a narrow staircase twisted upward. To her right, an arched doorway opened into the great hall. Maids busied themselves setting tables and carrying trays of food and wine from the kitchen.

As the kitchen door swung open, a woman called, “Mary, put more pitchers of ale on my husband’s table.”

Helena froze. She knew that voice. The woman emerged from the kitchen. Helena took a quick step back out of view. The beautiful golden-haired lady dressed in MacLeod colors hurried across the hall to the table nearest the dais.  

Gwendolyn.

Malcolm Donald’s prodigal daughter.

Helena’s sister in the Order of the Sinister Sisters.

“Does Malcom know ye are here, Sister?” Helena whispered.

Surely, he didn’t know, for their adopted father wouldn’t easily give up his favorite daughter.

Helena had been Malcolm’s favorite—until Gwen arrived at Glenwood Abbey. It mattered not that Helena had faithfully served Malcolm for two years as a master thief before Gwen arrived, he openly favored Gwen.

Malcom groomed three other young girls as thieves and spies, but Helena and Gwen were Malcom’s secret weapons. Under Malcom’s tutelage, Gwen had honed her People liked her. Trusted her. Two years ago, Malcom sent Gwen on a mission. She wasn’t seen for six months, and Helena began to speculate that she’d met a bad end. In the eight years that Helena had been in Malcom’s service, she’d seen two other sisters of the order disappear. But Gwen returned and visited with Arabelle, her sister. Twice thereafter, she visited Arabelle, again. But that had been months ago. A little over a month ago, Malcom had taken Arabelle away, and Helena concluded that Gwen had, indeed, fallen while in service to their adopted father.

Now, of all places, to find her here at Dunvegan. Anger twisted through her. Helena’s talent as a master thief could gain her access to almost any place, but if Gwen caught her in the castle, everything she’d worked so hard for this last year would be lost forever.

She couldn’t return to the abbey…to Malcolm. The betrayal—his lies—was too much. Helena had denied the truth for too long. But no more. Malcolm cared only for the riches their talents brought him.

“Moira, we have several racks of lamb in the storage cellar.” Gwen’s voice yanked Helena’s attention back onto her. “Have Manas help ye fetch them,” Gwen told the maid. “It should be enough to feed the laird’s guests. Where is Darby?”

“In the kitchen, my lady,” Moira replied.

Helena watched Gwendolyn walk back to the kitchen door. She pulled it open and called for the lad. An instant later, a lad of roughly ten summers appeared in the doorway followed by a smaller boy.

“Ye called, Lady MacLeod?” the older boy asked.

Lady MacLeod? Helena’s heart pounded. Gwen was—

Helena’s knees weakened.

“Laird MacLeod will be returning from the fields soon,” Gwen told the boy. “Ye and your brother fetch the tub and deliver it to his chambers.”

“Aye, my lady. Right away,” the boy replied, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Helena could scarcely believe it. Lady MacLeod. Gwen had not only married, but had married the MacLeod laird. 

How could a woman like Gwendolyn find a normal life? Helena’s heart twisted. To believe that this world would ever offer her anything so wonderful was like believing she could polish stones and turn them into gold. God only knew what Gwendolyn had done to achieve her place in Laird MacLeod’s life. She’d likely done something just as despicable as Helena was about to do.

Helena whirled and hurried across the small foyer, then up the stairs. She climbed to the third floor, then set the basket on the floor, and continued down the hallway to the far end of the wing. The distance between the small torches grew and she pulled a torch from the holder before she turned the bend. Her heart pounded. Up ahead, in the shadowed end of the hallway, a large oak door came into view. She quickened her pace. If the map was correct, this was the laird’s treasure room. She reached the door and tried the handle. As expected, locked. Laird MacLeod was no fool.

She slid the torch into the holder to the right of the door and quickly took the lock picks from the hidden pocket in the cloak. In seconds, the lock clicked open. Helena eased open the heavy door and peeked inside. As hoped, the room was vacant. She slid the lock picks back into her pocket, then grabbed the torch and slipped inside, pulling the door closed behind her.

Helena scanned the room. A large wood wardrobe stood against the left wall. Swords, axes and spears leaned against the walls. One jeweled dagger gleamed amongst a pile of furs. She put the torch in a holder near the door, then began her search. No luck with the wardrobe or the small desk in the corner. A chest sat at the far end of the room. Could it really be that simple? Kneeling beside it, Helena lifted the lid. Inside lay a single object wrapped in the MacLeod plaid and tied tightly with red satin ribbon. She lifted the tartan-wrapped object from the box and plucked at the knot until the ribbon loosened. With a deep breath, Helena unfolded the plaid and stared down at the shimmering yellow silk.

Her heart leapt. I found it.

She held in her hands the legendary MacLeod Faery Flag. Did the flag truly offer protection and hold magic as legend said? Malcolm thought so, which was why he ordered her to steal it for him. For Helena, the flag represented freedom.