Scotland, Late August, 1411

As her father’s chatelaine, Mary Elizabeth Rose never knew from one day to the next what challenge she would face, but a servant summoning her to her father’s solar never boded well. When she entered, the room had the look of evening, not late morning. Her father was seated at his desk reading a document by fire and candlelight while a storm pelted the keep’s walls and blew in through an open window. “Ye sent for me?” she demanded as she rushed to close and latch the shutter. He’d been forgetful lately, but being unaware of the rain blowing in was something new.

Finally looking up, he waved the document in his hand. “Indeed, daughter. I have received good news this day. Prepare yourself to travel to Strathspey to visit Lady Mhairi Grant.”

After Mary wiped a few raindrops from the seat opposite the Laird’s desk, she sank onto it. “The woman ye met at Annie’s wedding?” Her middle sister had married the Brodie laird months ago.

“Aye, the same. We are invited for a visit.”

Mary thought back. She recalled the woman—easily close to her father’s age and handsome, if faded. While the three sisters saw to the wedding arrangements, Lady Grant and her father kept each other company at Brodie. Mary hadn’t seen her father so cheerful or talkative since her maman died. During the wedding visit, she and her sisters thought little of the encounter. He’d gone years without remarrying, so they’d assumed he never would. If her father now intended to wed Lady Grant, Mary welcomed the news. The lady would relieve her of her responsibilities to Rose.

Yet Mary could see no reason for her father to insist she accompany him on this trip. “Da, I canna go. I canna leave Cameron Sutherland. He is still unwell.”

Cameron had helped escort Mary’s youngest sister home across Scotland from St. Andrews during the summer. When they were still two days away from Rose, he had been wounded by a rogue Irish gallowglass mercenary. The wound needed better care than was possible while they traveled, and it had festered within a day of their arrival. Cameron had hidden how bad it had gotten until he could no longer bear the pain of the infection. He’d spent weeks in and out of fevers, too ill to know where he was. Only lately, to Mary’s great relief, had he spent more time awake and aware. But he was by no means well.

“Pah,” her father spat, jerking her attention back to him. “Sutherland’s in nay danger. The healer can care for him without yer help. Ye have been spending too much time with the man as it is. Now that he’s getting better, ’tis best if ye avoid him. I’ll no’ have yer reputation ruined by too much association.”

Mary’s mouth fell open. Though he was the Sutherland’s youngest son, Cameron was two years older than she, which made her father’s concern for her virtue legitimate, if insulting. “My reputation? If my reputation was in danger, I would be ruined already. The entire clan kens what I’ve been doing. I promised Catherine to care for him in her stead, and I have. And, Da,” she appealed again, “he is no’ yet strong enough to leave us.”

“But he will be soon enough. Perhaps even before we return from Grant.”

Nay, Cameron wouldn’t go without saying goodbye. Mary lifted a hand to her throat and let out a long, steady exhale to slow her breathing. She had to remind herself that losing her temper with her father would not improve the situation, nor would it get Cameron the care he needed. “I promised,” she insisted, keeping her gaze averted. Her father, like any predator, felt challenged when you met his gaze, especially in the midst of an argument. “I am duty-bound and honor-bound to see him well enough to travel.”

When her father failed to respond, Mary looked up. He stared off into space, unmoving. Then he gave a little jerk and nodded. “Make plans to leave in a three-day. I have a few things to take care of here before we go.”

Mary sucked in a breath and shook her head. Had he even heard a word she said? About her duty and honor? Apparently when they conflicted with his plans, they didn’t matter to him. She got to her feet, tempted to argue, when another reason occurred to her.

Had he been daydreaming about Mhairi Grant? She should be glad to see him happy.

Instead, a low rumble of thunder made her shiver.

* * *

Other business around the keep kept Mary occupied until early afternoon, when she finally found a few minutes to stop by Cameron Sutherland’s chamber. Her father could not be right, saying Cameron no longer needed her. And how would Da know? Had the servants been talking? To the laird? That would be most unusual.

In answer to her knock, Cameron called out, “Come.”

She opened the door and paused against the frame, relieved to find him sitting in the chamber’s lone chair, looking out the open window. The breeze wafting in carried the scent of the recent rain, but the morning’s storm had given way and now the sun peeked through tattered clouds.

Cameron glanced at her and smiled, then went back to watching something outside.

“I’m surprised to see ye up,” she said, crossing her arms. “Mayhap ye are ready to get out of this chamber and come to the hall for yer meals?”

“I considered doing that but the maid Janie brought me a tray, so I stayed here.” He glanced around at her again and grinned. “I hate to disappoint a pretty lass.” Then he turned back to the window.

His grin made Mary’s pulse leap, which she attributed to her pleasure at his progress. He must be feeling better to care what Janie thought. “What is so interesting?” She moved to stand behind Cameron’s chair, where she, too, could peer out.

“Just the younger lads, practicing at arms in the mud. I think any of them could take me down at the moment.”

“Certainly no’. Ye could best any of them,” she assured him. “Ye’d only have to fall on those wee lads to put them out of the fight.”

Cameron snorted. “I’m pleased ye have so much faith in me.”

“Always, Cameron. Always.” She raised a hand. “May I?” Since he was awake, she felt the need to ask his permission to touch him. At his nod, she laid a hand briefly on his forehead. His skin was warm, but not hot. A good sign. She nodded to let him know, then shifted around him to perch on the wide stone windowsill. “Look how far ye have come. What ye accomplished to get here. Ye brought Catherine safe through an army from St. Andrews.”

He shook his head. “With her handfasted husband, dinna forget.”

Mary stared off into space for a moment. “How that lass has loved Kenneth Brodie, ever since she met him. She didna give up hope, even when he disappeared for two years into France, and only God kens where else or what he did there. Fate must have led her into finding him again in St. Andrews.” Mere weeks ago, over their father’s strong objections, Catherine had handfasted with Kenneth, the Brodie second-in-command. Mary was happy for both of her sisters, yet sad at the same time. Here she remained, the oldest daughter. Unwed, and without prospects as long as her father insisted she remain with him.

“They wouldna have made it here without ye,” she added and met his gaze. “I owe ye my sister and her happiness.” Cameron glanced down and her gaze followed his, noting the inherent strength of his hands, like a banked fire, waiting to burst to light again. The scars across his knuckles were reminders of countless fights, and she was sure the long one on the back of his hand had been made by a blade. She’d traced them hundreds of times while he lay trapped in fever. His strength would return. The scars would be with him forever. And someday, she hoped he would tell her the tales they represented.

Cameron pursed his lips. “What about yer own happiness?”

She heaved a breath and glanced out the window, surprised he’d asked such a probing question. The subject pained her too much to discuss face to face, but resentment made words come, nonetheless. “My father ruined my chances when he delayed responding to the MacBean betrothal offer I welcomed. The man I loved, Dougal MacBean, gave up and married someone else.” She stopped speaking, her throat tight with emotion. She cleared it, then added, “He abandoned me as surely as Da betrayed me. I no longer expect I’ll ever find the kind of happiness ye mean, not this late in life.”

Nor had Dougal, it seemed, or not for very long. Nearly a year ago, she’d heard the sad news that his wife had died, though not the reason why. For a few months, she had held out hope he would come for her and renew their romance. But he never made contact at all. That part of her life was truly over.

Cameron studied her, as if at a loss for a way to cheer her.

“Anyway,” she said, pulling herself from her morose memories, “I came to tell ye I will be away for a few days. Da received an invitation from Lady Grant, and he insists I go with him.”

“Do ye wish to?”

She shook her head. “Nay. I dinna wish to leave ye, but the healer will take good care of ye until I return.”

Cameron laid a hand over his heart. “I may die of longing for yer smile before then.”

She slapped at his arm. “Cameron Sutherland, dinna even jest about dying. Ye willna die. Ye mustna.”

“Very well, I willna.” He cocked his head, teasing her.

But she saw a question in his eyes. “I’ve worked too bloody hard to keep ye alive, man. I’ll be fashed if I return to find ye gone.” And I’d miss ye. The thought stabbed into her gut like an unseen blade. She’d spent hours reading to him while he thrashed in fevered dreams. But she’d said more. Somewhere along the way, he’d become necessary to her, though he could not know it. Her sisters were gone, and she couldn’t complain to the servants. Knowing he could not hear her, she’d seen no harm in unburdening herself to him about whatever bothered her that day, often something her father had said or done.

“I willna go anywhere before ye return,” he promised. “No’ even if only to Sutherland and certainly no’ to the grave. But lass, yer da takes shameful advantage of yer sense of duty to the clan. Why do ye no’ simply tell him nay? Ye are a strong, brave lass. Stand up to him. Refuse to go.”

“If only I could.” She bit her lip. How had Cameron formed that opinion? Maybe he hadn’t been as deeply asleep as she thought. “But I have to keep Da out of trouble, too. And Lady Mhairi Grant could be trouble aplenty.” She lowered her voice to keep it from carrying out the window into the bailey. “She clung to him at Annie’s wedding as though they were years-long friends, or even husband and wife. But they’d just met. It wasn’t unseemly, exactly, but she did monopolize his time.”

“I see nay harm,” Cameron argued. “He left her behind, so perhaps they only enjoyed a flirtation during the celebration. Have they corresponded since?”

“Until this invitation arrived, I had no’ been aware of any letters, and I didna ken about this one until Da waved it at me.”

“Could it be an invitation to an event that will be attended by other clans as well?”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. Da hadn’t said.

“Dinna fash, Mary, my love. All will be well.”

Mary sucked in a breath. “Cameron! What did ye call me?”

“Mary?” His eyes glinted with humor.

He was teasing her. “Nay, there was more. Mary…my love.” She could barely say the words.

“Only to make ye feel better, lass. I’m no’ used to seeing ye so unhappy.” Cameron grimaced. “Now, if ye would, help me to the bed. I am suddenly in need of lying down.”

Mary castigated herself for getting so wrapped up in her own worries, she’d failed to notice Cameron’s growing pallor. “Aye, ye must rest. Perhaps by suppertime, ye will feel strong enough to come downstairs.” She got him to his feet and with an arm around his waist, across the small chamber the few steps to the bed, where he settled with a sigh. Mary pressed the hand she’d wrapped around his waist to her hip, uncomfortable how the flex of his muscles aroused such longing in her breast. This visit had not confirmed her father’s assertion that Cameron no longer needed her, but it had convinced her she needed to get away from him for a while. He was becoming too important to her.

Then he reached up, squeezed her hand, and released it. “Go, and thank ye, lass. Dinna think any more on leaving me behind today—or at all.” His smirk softened the implied scold.

“I’ll try,” she promised, though she knew her words rang hollow. She could not refuse her father’s demand, no matter how much she might wish to—or why.

* * *

That evening, Cameron made his way downstairs before Mary or one of the maids had a chance to bring him a tray. He wanted to spend some time out of his chamber, with other people, hearing talk and laughter and seeing more than the four walls he stared at every day. He’d counted every stone, every crack, every cobweb, until he thought he’d go daft.

Surely that meant he was getting well.

Some of the clan had already gathered and taken seats at long trestle tables. The high table was still empty and Cameron wondered when Mary and her father would arrive. The day he and Kenneth Brodie had returned Mary’s youngest sister home, he’d briefly met the man, but knew more about him from Mary than from that brief encounter.

Cameron glanced around. He should have waited for her, he supposed, but if the maid had brought him a tray, he might have thrown it against the wall once the lass left his chamber. When Mary arrived, she would not have been pleased.

She entered the hall from a doorway on its opposite side, and Cameron’s breath caught in his throat. He’d tried to quell his rising interest in her, but she’d done so much for him, he supposed falling for her was a natural reaction. She was beautiful and kind and wise, but so were other women he knew, and thoughts of them did not fill his nights as she did.

Cameron headed toward her.

“Cameron!” The surprised pleasure in her voice was unmistakable. “I didna expect to find ye here. I was just coming up…”

“I was ready to come down, so, here I am.”

She gave him a brilliant smile and took his arm. “Let’s sit down, then. The meal will be served soon.” She steered him toward the high table. “Da is busy and willna be here, so the meal will be more informal than usual.”

He stopped her. “In that case, may we sit down here, so I can meet some of yer clan?”

Mary’s hand lifted to her chest. “Ach, Cameron, of course. I’m sorry, I didna think. Ye’ve been in that chamber much too long.”

She chose the last two empty two seats at a table near the hearth and introduced him. “If ye will, go around the table and tell Cameron a bit about ye.”

Cameron smiled and nodded as each person introduced themselves, committing their names to memory.

When everyone had finished making themselves known, one of the lasses, Annag, spoke up. “We kenned the healer and Mary were caring for someone ill. That was ye?”

Cameron ducked his head disarmingly and smiled. “It was, Annag. And as ye see, they took good care of me. I’m much improved.” Annag had straightened and smiled when Cameron said her name—it was a device he’d often used. Most people never expected anyone to remember names in a group, but Cameron had made a point to develop the skill.

“Where is Sutherland?” one of the lads asked.

“To the north, across the Moray Firth” Cameron told him. “And ye are…Edan, aye?”

“Aye,” the lad answered and sat back, looking pleased.

“We heard ye were stabbed by a gallowglass man,” Annag announced.

Cameron nodded and glanced at Mary. How much had she told her clan about him?

“They ken what happened to ye,” Mary told him softly. “And how sick ye have been since. But like me, they ken little about ye.”

“There’s little to tell,” Cameron answered with a lift to his eyebrows, sweeping his gaze around the table as he spoke. “I have four siblings, all older. I’m a merchant’s factor, so I travel a lot, lately to St. Andrews, where I met Lady Catherine through her cousin, Abigail Duncan.”

“We heard how ye brought Cat home,” another lass said. “It must have been very dangerous.”

Cameron shrugged. “Kenneth Brodie and I helped her get home, Cailean. He took care of her. I mostly rode scout.” The lass smiled at the mention of her name, as Cameron intended.

“What is Sutherland like?” Edan broke in.

“I’ve heard ye have a grand castle,” another lad added.

“We do, Duncan,” Cameron told him, earning another smile. “But ’tis where I grew up, so I tend to take it for granted.” He turned his attention back to Edan. “Like Rose, ’tis also very near the sea.”

“I’d love to see it,” Annag said.

He felt Mary shift next to him. Her eyebrows lifted when he glanced her way, but he couldn’t tell if she was surprised or amused by Annag’s boldness.

Servants arriving with food and drink saved Cameron from extending an invitation. If he took anyone to Dunrobin, he would take Mary. She’d spent so much time caring for him, he owed her. And based on things he’d heard her say, getting her away from Rose for a while would do her a lot of good.

But he wasn’t naive enough to think her father would allow him to take her anywhere. Given how much she thought her father depended on her, she would never agree, either.

He answered several more questions while they ate and managed to get in a few of his own. Since he’d been ill, he’d had little access to information on how things stood at Rose. Mary had shared the most, whether she meant to or not. Still, she had said little about what impact the recent trouble had on Rose between the Warden of Scotland—the Duke of Albany—and Domnhall of the Isles over nearby Ross territory. The servants mostly came and went from his chamber without a word, and the healer spent her time inspecting his injury and making him drink noxious potions, then telling him what to do.

Before he left Rose, he must learn more. He looked around the hall while the others talked. It had filled for the meal, and given the number of lasses who sat with other lasses and their children, Rose had lost some men.

Enough to make them vulnerable to Albany or the Lord of the Isles? He turned his attention back to Mary. Would she be safe here when he left? Would anyone?