The shadows were lengthening as they rode over the crest topping another hill, and past the lush forests to a point where Baron Ramsey reined in. Glenna had not seen Lyall since that morning at the inn, when he chose his position at the rear of troop. Their eyes met once, enough for her to see what she knew—that he was far from through with her, and she was even farther from through with him. The baron had been kind to her, and she knew he had not missed nor was unhappy about the distance Lyall had put between them.

As they stopped, one of the knight’s palfreys nipped Skye and reared, almost throwing the man from its back, and loud curses flew through the air. The men closed ranks about her as Skye sidestepped uneasily, forcing Glenna to quickly control her or be thrown. But she knew horses well, having been in the saddle since she was three, and she knew Skye more so. When the elegantly bred mare calmed down with little trouble, some of the men murmured appreciatively. Glenna settled into the saddle with the sound of creaking leather, and the baron leaned over and nodded to the valley below. “There is our destination.”

She followed his gaze and experienced her first sight of Castle Rossi. Her breath caught at the immense impression it made, and the reality of it frightened her to death.

Built in an opulent and fertile valley and spreading out in the wingspan of a great walled city, the seat of power for the barony of Montrose was a massive stone structure with towers at each corner, and thick outer walls which were turning pink from the setting sun. The nearby river was wide and turbulent in places; it snaked along the castle’s southernmost edge, gleaming eel-like and silver, winding its way through rich farms dotting the eastern plains and out into the deep, blue waters of the great firth beyond.

As the contingent rode down into the glen, the walls of Rossi loomed closer, and Glenna’s fears grew. She sat rigidly stiff, her eyes straight ahead while mad thoughts and images flew through her head. Lyall’s mother and sister were inside the keep. They would be the first women of the new life she would be forced to face.

You have sisters.

There was the true curse: more women she would have to face. She closed her eyes and white-knuckled the reins. She could not bear to think of her unknown sisters, women of the same blood who never existed in her world before, and to imagine who they were and how they would view her was enough to make her run away with her hair on fire. She had been raised with men. Sisters were as foreign to her as was a father who was king.

But now, ahead of her, she must confront the two most important women in Lyall’s life. And they would judge her. That’s what strangers did. They would have expectations, and would take one look at her and form their opinions.

The sunlight was waning fast and night descending, but not quickly enough or dark enough to hide who she was.

The women inside that keep would stand there in their beautiful gowns, their hair coiffed and hands soft and uncallused, pale, with their practiced ways and natural status, and look down their noble noses at the sight of her and her tangled hair, worker’s hands, and peasant clothing.

The cold meat and bread she had eaten earlier now roiled in her belly, making her want to retch into the bushes, but she pressed a hand beneath her ribs and sought some kind of courage. Her pride was her only asset, and her shield against the expectations she was certain she would face…and would surely fail to meet.

Surrounded by more than two hundred men and the Baron Montrose, she rode up to the perimeter of the castle feeling completely alone. A call came from the guard above the gatehouse and the heavy portcullis rose like an iron smile to the sounds of chains and cranks, and the hollow clatter of horses’ hooves on the drawbridge. They rode into the outer bailey, past Rossi’s villeins who watched or stood poised at the edge of a garden with hoe in hand and eyes on her, while others rushed out from their huts to wave at the baron on his great horse, riding with pennants flying at his side, and the strange woman with him. She sat even more stiffly, trying not to show her fears and weakness to all and sundry.

Inside the walls was like a village, complete with smithies working the bellows and hammering out red-hot iron, and outbuildings sheltering workers, animal pens with sheep and pigs, a dovecote, and huge stone wells where water was drawn or cooked and stirred in giant vats of laundry, the linens hanging from ropes that crisscrossed from heavy posts in the ground.

Glenna could still feel the curious gazes of the baron’s people watch her as they rode past and through another thick wall to the inner ward, where many of the knights were greeted happily by their women and children. Behind the families, there were household quarters along the walls and an enviable stable large enough to house all the men’s horses and more, filled with working farriers and grooms, and the troop reined in before the massive keep. There was a flurry of squires who came rushing out from the yard and milled around the chaos of dismounting men, taking reins and orders from the Montrose knights.

Her breathing froze in her chest and her hands gripped the reins in the busyness and blur of their arrival. As if he had appeared out of thin air, Lyall was at her side, and that surprised her, since it had been the one place he had avoided all day. He seemed to fill the space, so tall and golden, the last glow of the setting sun behind him and casting his face in shadows and angles. She blinked and looked at him, his face unreadable as he stood next to Skye, his arms reaching up to help her down from the saddle.

The words ‘why now?’ were on the tip of the tongue, but a sound pulled her attention away to the enormous doors of the keep, which opened slowly. Oh, lud! She closed her eyes. The women….

A strange roar sounded in her ears, like nothing she had ever heard, and her blood seemed to grow warm, too warm. Her vision changed suddenly and grew foggy. As if her bones had melted, she slipped from the saddle and felt Lyall’s strong arms catch her, then heard the worried tone of his voice when he said her name, but it sounded as if it came echoing out from a cave, then the whole world went black.

* * *

To the sound of his stepfather’s shouts, Lyall ran through the open doors of the great hall with Glenna unconscious in his arms, and almost trampled over his sister. “Mairi!”

“This is the king’s daughter?” Mairi whispered in a rush of worried words. “My Lord in Heaven, Lyall, what have you done to her?”

A hundred answers came to his lips, none of them good. “Everything,” he said quietly.

But his sister must not have heard him because she pulled on his arm and said, “Come quickly.”

He followed her up the stairs and into her chamber as she called for her maid.

“Lay her down…gently. Aida! There you are. Send someone to fetch some watered wine and my herb bag is over there in the chest. The lemons, aye, bring some of the lemons my lord just received from Amalfi.” She stood in the center of the room, frowning. “Let me think…. “

Lyall straightened, staring blankly at Glenna’s pale skin, feeling uncomfortable and unable to think clearly. He heard his sisters words but he cared not what she was saying. He sank to his knees by the bed and touched Glenna’s face with his hand. Her skin was clammy and cool.

A water-filler laver cradled in her arm, Mairi edged him aside, but he took the damp towel from her hand and stepped in front of her. “I will do it.”

“You should leave.”

“Perhaps I should, but I will not. Glenna? Sweetheart?” He used the towel to wipe her brow and face.

“What happened? Lord, Lyall, what else have you done to her?”

He froze, aware his sister was angry and she blamed him. Her beliefs were well-founded. “She swooned. I merely had the foresight to be standing there to catch her.” He eyed Mairi’s sweaty hair, pulled from its braid and hanging around her flushed face, and the old woolen peasant gown with the patched sleeves and covered with a stained leather apron. “Perhaps the prospect of meeting you frightened her,”

Mairi swiped at her brow self-consciously. “I was making candles, Lyall Robertson! More like the prospect of being handed over so freely to the likes of Huchon de Hay. And do not be so thick-headed!” She lowered her voice and hissed, “How could you kidnap the king’s daughter?”

“She didn’t know she was kidnapped,” he said flippantly. “She thought I was taking her to her father. Ouch! The Devil’s blood! You have boney knuckles.”

“Knuckles? I should clobber you on the noggin with a flail, crack it open and hope some good sense might fly in. You gave her to de Hay?”

“And your old swain Colin Frasyr.”

“Do not, Lyall. I cared not a whit for Frasyr and you well know it. And he has a blood bond with his cousin so that he was involved is not a surprise. I doubt he would harm any woman, but de Hay? He is cruel. Why did you do it? Tell me why?”

“You are a woman. You cannot understand what was at stake.”

“What I cannot understand is stupidity. You imagine yourself part of some brotherhood misunderstood by mere women whose minds are frittered away on such things as velvet and pearls.”

Lyall did not respond.

“I cannot understand? That is what you men say when you do something we women know is harebrained. Do not tell me I cannot understand. My husband was the king's own diplomat. You think we did not speak of things? You think he did not value my thoughts? My opinions? You are a fool, brother. And I understand all too clearly that you have no excuse for what you have done.”

“Dunkeldon—“

“Curse Dunkeldon! Curse it to hell and back! Curse it to the hell it has taken you to, Lyall Robertson. We walked away all those years ago and still you cannot leave it behind you. You are my brother and I love you, but you have made a grave mistake, out of guilt you should not feel, for events out of your control, and the foolhardy idea that Dunkeldon is more than just a burnt old ruin--one that has ruined you! It has.” She looked away from his and shook her head in disgust and frustration.

When she looked up again, she placed a hand on his arm. “Do you not see? This is not a mere sport, some lark. ‘Tis not a mistaken marriage, the lure of bonding yourself to the man who held our father's lands or a marriage to some poor lass far from willing. Dunkeldon has driven you too far this time. It has driven you toward treason. You gave the king’s daughter to his enemies. You could lose your knighthood. Your name could be listed, Lyall. You could be imprisoned, or hanged.” There were tears in her voice when she said, “Did you learn nothing from what happened to our father?”

“How could I forget? I bear his name…you do not. You married Robert. Mother wed Ramsey. I--” he tapped his chest angrily, “I alone carry his name, and his shame.”

“Mama! Mama!” The boys came running in.

“You lads be quiet. What are you doing here? Oh, where is their nurse?” Mairi ran toward the chamber door and called to their maid.

The nephews spotted him and shouted his name louder than Norman tourney caller, and suddenly he had boys all over him.

* * *

“Mama? Is that the great lady?” The child’s voice came from far away.

Where am I? Glenna’s head was foggy.

“Aye, Duncan.” The woman who answered did so kindly, her tone soft and lilting.

“What is the great lady’s name?”

“Lady Glenna.”

“Why is she on the bed?” Another child asked, his voice higher and with a slight lisp of a child still learning to sound out his words.

“She’s dead, Gregor!” Yet another piped in with a wicked, teasing tone, before he lowered his voice ominously and said, “She was poisoned by the vile, dark witch who lives in the forest and eats foolish lads with red hair and spots after she boils them in oil.”

“No witches are in the forest. You lie!” But poor Gregor’s voice sounded doubtful and as if he were going to cry.

“Why won’t she wake up?” Duncan asked

“She will.”

Lyall?

A small finger slid open her eyelid, and startled, she was suddenly staring a small lad with bright red hair and no front teeth. “Hallo.” His freckled face squinted at her and he removed his finger from her eyelid. “Are you dead, my lady?”

Glenna opened both her eyes.

“Mama! She’s awake,” he shouted. “The Lady Glenna, is awake!”

“Glenna!” Lyall was suddenly kneeling by the bed, her hand in his. His face was covered in road dust, caked along his lips and jaw, and his hair was stuck to his head from his helm. But there he was, so close, looking contrite and overly concerned, his brow furrowed and his eyes red with road dust and moisture.

Was this the same man who shoved her away last night, who ignored her all day?

He reached out to lovingly take the cloth from her brow and her hand shot up and gripped his wrist hard. He looked at her hand and frowned.

She took the wet towel and whacked him with it.

“Oh! Did you see, Mama? She hit Uncle Lyall!” The oldest lad was pointing at her and jumping up and down.

“She will not have sweets for a whole day,” Duncan said seriously.

The children’s nurse came into the room, looking harried and out of sorts. “I’m sorry, milady. They escaped. Come along, lads. You were not supposed to leave the kitchens. “ The woman shooed them toward the door. “Now be off with you. Hurry.”

The children’s voices waned as they ran down the hallway, and room was suddenly silent. Lyall looked at Glenna and said, “What was that for?”

“I shall tell you. Gladly. I wake to you kneeling by my side? This is far cry from the tail end of the contingent, is it not? All day you avoided me.” She lowered her voice and said, “I hope you ate enough dust to choke on. Now suddenly you choose to be near my side and all concerned?” She gave a sharp laugh. “You are a horse’s ass, Lyall.”

“You make no sense woman. You do not get angry…you do not hold me accountable when I turned you over to your father’s enemies, when you are locked in a tower--”

“She was locked in a tower?” The young woman standing behind him interrupted, only a voice behind Lyall’s big, broad-shouldered body.

Glenna tried to lean enough to see her but could not.

“Aye,” Lyall said quickly, “which did not affect you, apparently. Yet here you glare at me and beat me with a towel for not riding by your side?”

“Nay…” Glenna sat up on an elbow and spat, “For last night!” She flogged him with the towel twice more, but the third time he grabbed it mid-air and jerked it from her hand.

“Perhaps that is why I chose to ride in the rear position…my lady,” he said sardonically and stood up, calmly dropping the towel in the laver by the bed.

“Coward,” she said with barely controlled contempt.

“Exactly.” Lyall gave her a forced and icy smile that held no humor. “I have never claimed to be anything but.” And with that, he bowed stiffly and strode from the room.