Mary fought for composure, aware that every gaze in the bailey had shifted from the riders departing the Rose keep to her. Many knew what Cameron Sutherland had come to mean to her. They’d protected her and kept the truth of her feelings for him from her father. They knew how losing him would affect her.

She turned away and forced her legs to move, to carry her into the keep, through the great hall and up the stairs to her chamber. No one stopped her. No one offered her sympathy. She would not have been able to tolerate a kind word, or even a sympathetic look.

She lifted the knuckles Cameron had kissed to her mouth, pretending his lips were meeting hers. Her blood heated at the same time as her heart plummeted into her belly. Would she ever see him again? He’d become her best friend, and she’d lost him. Her sisters were gone, and now Cameron, too. She was alone, more alone than she’d ever been in her life. The pain in her chest brought back memories of the grief she’d felt when her mother died, doubling her pain. Only now she was older, more mature, and would be expected to handle it better. She would not be able to cry and scream and pound her fists on the table as she’d done as a child. She could not even go to his chamber—being found there would make her seem pathetic. And Cameron had once told her she was a strong, brave lass. She needed to be both of those things. She had a new stepmother to train.

Her window looked toward the keep’s gate, but Cameron and his escort were already out of sight when she reached it. She would be denied even that last glimpse of him. Her friend. Her treasure. Or so she’d hoped.

The healer barged in without knocking. “Here ye are, as I expected, already mooning over the lad, and he’s just left. Now, lass, he’ll be gone for weeks, so ye’d best straighten yer spine.”

Mary knew she’d come to comfort her, prompting tears she’d fought to hold back. “He could be gone forever.”

“Ach lass,” the healer murmured, patting her shoulder, then pulling Mary against her chest.

Mary let her head drop to the woman’s shoulder and allowed the tears to come while the healer murmured nonsense. Finally, they slowed and she raised her head. “Thank ye. I needed that.”

“Ye did and ye are welcome. Now, dinna ye give up on Cameron Sutherland. There is more to that lad than flirtation. He’s got a good heart—and a good head on that braw body.”

Mary snorted. If she’d meant to make her laugh, she’d almost succeeded.

“He’ll be back,” the healer predicted.

“Ye are going to make me cry again.” Mary wrapped her arms around her middle. She hoped the healer was right.

“Nonsense. Ye are done with that. Now comes the hard part.” She patted Mary’s hand. “Waiting. But never fear, when he returns, it will be because he returned for ye.”

Mary shook her head. “Nay, he’ll no’ return. ’Tis no’ his way. He has nay need of a wife. Nay wish to be tied down.”

The healer held up her index finger. “Mark my words, lass. Ye will see.”

Hours later, she made her way to her father’s solar. She’d given her situation a lot of thought. With her time as chatelaine coming to an end, she needed to do as Cameron urged her and take control of her own life.

“I wish to visit Auntie Jane in Inverness,” she told him without preamble.

He shook his head. “Ye canna leave until my new wife knows her role. Ye’ve only had the training of her for a short time. I canna believe ye have taught her all ye ken about running Rose.”

“My lifetime may no’ be enough, Da. She doesna care to learn.”

“Then make her. I raised ye to do yer duty. Now is no’ the time to think to shirk it. The clan depends on ye, as do I.”

* * *

Mary dragged herself out of bed late again, dreading another day with Seona—and without Cameron. He had been gone only two days, but Mary missed his smile, his chuckles, the warmth of his arms around her. She even missed the bad moods that plagued him while he’d suffered from his wound and the fevers that overtook him.

As she dressed, she told herself she should be grateful she had to work with her father’s new wife—almost. That responsibility kept her from barricading herself in her chamber and moping. Instead, she spent an hour each morning and another in the afternoon with her new stepmother. Mary had finally conceded that Seona’s attention span seemed to be good for only an hour, and she couldn't stand trying to pour wisdom into the silly girl’s head any longer. So the arrangement suited them both as well as could be expected.

When not in her chamber or tutoring Seona, Mary moved around the keep like a wraith. Though the healer scolded that keeping to herself was bad for her, for now, solitude suited her.

This morning, while she broke her fast, Cook mentioned she couldn’t find a jug she favored using when she made cider. “I think I saw it…somewhere,” Mary told her, tapping her chin while she tried to remember. “Ach, I ken where to look. If ’tis there, I’ll bring it to ye.”

“I can send a lass…”

“Nay, I’m no’ certain, so let me look for it.”

Cook nodded and Mary went on her way, happy to have a simple errand to divert her. The storage area was full of odds and ends. Mary had searched it days ago, looking for bone buttons she recalled her mother saving. She hadn’t found the buttons, which vexed her, so she couldn’t be sure, but she pictured Cook’s jug on one of the shelves.

She turned down the little-used hallway leading to the storage area and gasped. Her stepmother gazed with longing at the young Grant guard she favored, while he held her hands against his chest. Mary imagined Seona could feel his heart beat under them.

Mary stood frozen, watching them. They hadn’t noticed her yet, and she feared if she moved, they would. Lady Grant may have left the guardsmen to ensure her daughter’s safety and well-being in her new position, but this one seemed intent on seduction, and Seona looked more than willing.

The guard and Seona leaned close together, gazes locked, their voices low and intimate. Then the man straightened and seemed irritated by something Seona whispered. His shoulders tight and muscles bulging with emotion, his expression changed to wistful when he reached out to cup her cheek. Seona tilted her head into his hand. When she did, she saw Mary. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she stared. The guardsman turned to see what had caught Seona’s attention. He straightened and stepped away from her, his hands clenched at his side.

“Ye will say naught,” she hissed.

Mary, shocked at Seona’s unexpected boldness, clutched her belly and backed away, suddenly sick for her father. His new wife had already decided to take a lover. There could be no doubt Seona was in love, and not with her husband. Mary’s father was ill. What might happen to him if she gave him this awful news?

* * *

Cameron was glad to be home. Still not as strong as he’d hoped to be by now, he arrived exhausted from the brief trip on horseback to the coast and the voyage across the Moray firth to Dunrobin. But when his father came out to greet him, he suddenly felt better.

“Where are my brothers?” he asked when his father released him from a bear hug.

“Away at other Sutherland holdings,” the older man answered. “I dinna ken when they’ll be back, but soon.”

Cameron had looked forward to seeing them, and his father’s definition of soon could be slippery. They might return before he had to leave, or they might not.

At the evening meal, he greeted everyone and explained what had kept him away so long. In answer to catcalls about his somewhat diminished appearance, he showed off his scar, earning him feminine gasps and, after the meal was done, offers from several of the lasses to care for him. Normally, when his older brothers were home, they got the majority of the lasses’ attention, though he’d had his share. Now, he didn’t want them. His emotions were still raw after leaving Mary behind. Bemused, Cameron bid them good evening, then joined his father in the laird’s solar.

“I see ye have no’ lost yer touch with the lasses,” his father chided.

His grin took the sting from the comment and put Cameron at ease.

Then he sobered. “And I heard what ye told the clan. Now tell me the rest,” he demanded as he poured whisky for both of them.

Cameron had no doubt that was the laird speaking. He lifted his cup in silent toast to his father. “There is, of course, more to tell,” he acknowledged. “Domnhall will no’ remain at Dingwall. I learned in St. Andrews if he doesna return to Islay of his own volition by Samhain, Albany plans to force him out. I learned that before Red Harlaw, but I doubt those plans will have changed.”

“That’s three weeks from now. I’ll send ghillies toward Aberdeen—if Albany’s men are headed west, we’ll ken it soon.”

“I’ll go.” Observing and gathering just such information as this had always been his role.

“Nay, ye willna. I have something else in mind for ye. And Albany may no’ wait. He could attack Dingwall any day now. I dinna want ye in the middle of that.”

“Aye, he could, though we had no news of an army moving near Rose. He then plans to return south before winter sets in. If Albany succeeds, he’ll control all of Easter Ross, south of Sutherland.”

“And be sniffing at our borders when the weather improves in the spring, with his supporters in MacKay at our backs to the north.” Sutherland drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.

“Unless he gets caught up in chasing Domnhall back to Islay to finish what they started at Harlaw,” Cameron said with a shrug. “A lot of good men’s deaths on that field accomplished exactly nothing for either side.”

Sutherland frowned. “Were ye there? Is that how ye came by yer injury?”

“Nay. From a gallowglass straggler on the way to Rose. We arrived near Harlaw two days too late. We heard about it from Brodie men who fought and survived.”

Sutherland compressed his lips, then spoke. “No doubt Albany would like to strip Domnhall of his holdings on the mainland, along with as many of the isles as he can take.”

“That should keep his attention well south of us.”

“If it comes to pass. If no’, Domnhall is the one we’ll have to deal with. He will have an eye to expanding Ross territory east or north—if no’ this year, then the next.”

Cameron nodded. “Likely east, rather than north. If James Rose dies, and Brodie and their other allies aren’t strong enough to help them, Rose will be ripe for the picking. His heir is his eldest daughter, Mary.” He turned his cup in his hands, hesitating to make his interest in Mary Rose evident just yet.

Sutherland grunted.

“Unless Rose names another,” Cameron added, “or manages to get a son on his new, much younger bride.” He outlined the situation there, all the while remembering Mary’s voice, her touch, the way she melted against him. All things he already missed.

“And if she weds?”

The twinge in Cameron’s chest had nothing to do with his wound and everything to do with the image suddenly filling his head of Mary standing beside another man. He took a breath. “Depending on what her father does about the succession before he’s gone, and with a husband to support her claim, she could become Laird.”

His father frowned. “No’ a Sutherland husband, if that’s what ye’re thinking,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Cameron. “There’s nay connection between our holding and theirs, save across the firth. And must I remind ye of our tie to Clan MacKay?”

Cameron’s blood went hot, then cold, but he kept his expression neutral. He’d never seriously expected his father to honor a betrothal agreement made between the clans when he and the lass were toddlers, and his brothers not much older. The agreement didn’t specify which Sutherland brother would wed the MacKay lass, only that one of them would. Eventually. Surely his father would not try to marry him off now, and certainly not to a MacKay. “Indeed?”

“Clan MacKay finally wants to end the feud between our clans with this marriage. ’Twould be a good match for ye and for Sutherland.”

And while that decision, he thought with a groan, might be important in its own right, likely, his father would want him to report back with everything he could glean about clan MacKay. Its laird, his current political leanings and anything else that might affect Sutherland in the ongoing trouble between Domnhall and Albany.

For the last century, MacKays had killed Sutherlands and Sutherlands had returned the favor. Recently, MacKay had supported Albany when Domnhall set his sights on Dingwall earlier in the year. Sutherland supported Domhnall, who had soundly defeated MacKay forces. Cameron didn’t think the feud would end so easily. “Do they plan to murder a Sutherland son in his bed, I wonder? Did they ask for me specifically?”

His father hesitated, then smiled. “I could tell ye aye, but I would lie. Nay, lad, they asked for a match with Sutherland, but no’ with ye or any of yer brothers by name. No’ even Ian. Ye are best equipped to enter their keep and leave it again, both alive and with useful information.”

“Why did they no’ ask for yer heir, I wonder?”

“Perhaps they thought that would be reaching too high.”

“Or perhaps they think the potential alliance is valuable enough not to care with whom it is made. They simply want to hold the kirking here, be welcomed into our keep, and murder all of us in our beds.” Cameron shrugged.

“Mayhap their usual allies, Sinclair and McLeod, are planning something that’s making them nervous.”

“If I were the MacKay, I wouldna trust them.”

“Nor would I.” Sutherland emptied his cup and set it aside. “I also willna trust MacKay without proof of their intentions. And I’ll take their arms from them as they enter the keep.”

“They willna like it, but that’s wise.”

“The lass, Mariota, would be a good match. I hear she’s comely enough to please any man. And I’m no’ getting any younger. Ye lads must marry soon and give me more heirs.”

Cameron furrowed his brow, then tossed off the rest of his whisky. He was accustomed to roaming at will. Marriage had never been part of his plans—at least not until he met Mary Elizabeth Rose. Now, the notion intrigued him—as long as she was the bride. But he knew what his father wanted to hear. “I’ll give it some thought.”

“Ye must ken what yer choices are in life, lad, never more so than when ye are picking a wife.”

“The lasses rarely have a choice. Why should I?”

“Do ye wish for me to add yer name, sign the betrothal agreement and send it off to Laird MacKay today? ’Tis easily done.”

Cameron’s belly clenched. “Nay, I dinna want that.”

“This lust ye think ye have only for the Rose lass may turn to fire for another in another’s arms.”

Cameron had a sinking feeling James Rose had told his father more in those letters than the state of his health.