Dumfries, Scotland

---

Leila regretted that impulsive kiss.

She should never have touched Fergus. She should never have kissed him. She should never have indulged her secret yearning. Now, her desire for him burned like a flame. It was distracting. It was inappropriate. And worse, that one kiss had changed the way Fergus looked at her, forevermore.

She had sacrificed his friendship for a single kiss, and while she could not regret the wondrous taste of pleasure itself, she did mourn the loss of his companionship. He had left her that night and avoided her ever since. He no longer spoke directly to her and did not even meet her gaze.

Fergus was clearly disgusted with her. Did he think she had behaved like a whore?

Leila realized quickly that the kiss that she had desired beyond all else had come at a very high price.

She was lonely as a result of his lost companionship. Hamish, Fergus’ squire, had not even been able to look her in the eye since the revelation at Haynesdale that she was not a boy. The two Templars who had accompanied them from Châmont-sur-Maine and thence from Haynesdale had seldom addressed her when they believed her to be a squire. They regarded her with something akin to horror now that they knew the truth. She was an infidel to them in more ways than one. Leila could not help but think that their brethren in Palestine would not have been quite so distant. Gaston had always spoken to her, for example, as had Fergus until that kiss.

The Templars’ squires contented themselves with whispering to each other like young girls, and Leila did not deign to give them even a glance. The warrior Duncan was the only person who had talked to her since leaving Haynesdale the morning after that fateful kiss. Mostly she spoke to him of his beloved Radegunde. He wanted to know every detail of what Leila had observed of Radegunde while at Châmont-sur-Maine, and recognizing that his curiosity was born of affection, she indulged him. Repeatedly.

Duncan was not the only one to miss Radegunde and her merry nature. Leila missed her friend as well as the company of women, even those far above her station. She rode out from Haynesdale in a company entirely male, except for herself. She chose not to disguise herself as a boy again, for she did not want to enter Fergus’ home under a pretense. At the same time, she knew that she would be assumed to be a whore.

Some notions had no borders.

What was she to do? Her plan had been to escape the marriage arranged for her by her uncle, and little more than that. The party of knights leaving Jerusalem had offered the perfect cover, especially when she was given the role of Fergus’ third squire. But now the quest reached its completion. All of the knights were home, save Fergus, and his home was just ahead.

She could have remained at Châmont-sur-Maine or even Haynesdale, but she could not bear the possibility of parting forever from Fergus. She had not lied to Fergus before that kiss—in fact, she had not told him the fullness of the truth. Leila knew she loved Fergus and that he was the sole man she wished to wed. She had no expectation that her love would be returned, but could not abandon his company that readily.

What would she do once she arrived at Killairic? She was curious to see his home, of course, and would like to meet those he held in affection. She even wanted a glimpse of Isobel, but what then?

Her hope that she might make a future there, perhaps even with Fergus himself, was a foolish dream. He adored Isobel. She would love no other than him. Yet in this land, she could not disappear into the crowd. Each day that they rode north, Leila was more obviously a foreigner and the curious stares were more open. Yet she was resolved not to return to the east.

Would she be compelled to become a whore? Without a man to defend her, Leila could see no other choices. Plus she was resolved to wed only for love, since her departure had been a protest against an arranged match. It made no sense to come so far and compromise her hopes for her future.

Was there any chance she might win Fergus’ heart? Leila could not be certain until Fergus and Isobel exchanged their vows. She would decide what to do when that marriage was celebrated, and not before.

When they departed Haynesdale, Leila refused to delay the party and declined any concessions the men would have made to her gender. She rode long and hard, just as they did, and slept on the ground, just as they did, and washed quickly in cold rivers, just as they did. In a way, she admired Fergus’ haste to reach home and his beloved.

She knew she would come to love Scotland as much as her birthplace. The winter had been longer and colder than any season Leila had ever endured but that made the arrival of spring seem even sweeter. She took note of the greenery crowning the hills, the activity of birds, the appearance of flowers by the road. The air warmed each afternoon, smelling rich with new growth and possibility, though it was still chilly in the morning and evening. The land was fertile and lush, the wind was crisp, and the streams were clear.

The land was a veritable paradise.

Leila knew she was not the only one who was relieved when Fergus chose to halt at Lincluden Abbey on what was to be their last night before reaching Killairic. The monks and nuns welcomed them kindly, although with many glances at Leila. The Templars, Enguerrand and Yvan, were visibly gladdened by the choice, though Duncan was less impressed with their accommodations. He grumbled that he had enough of monks but Fergus only smiled at him. Leila welcomed the opportunity to both bathe and sleep on a straw pallet. She feigned incomprehension when she was asked a few questions and was glad of the imposition of the establishment’s vows of silence.

She awakened to a sunny day, filled with anticipation to see Fergus’ home.

They rode through Dumfries early in the morning, when the fishermen were selling their wares, and the bustle of commerce was keenly familiar. Leila could have spent a day there easily, examining the wares, but Fergus was intent upon reaching Killairic by noon. It was not long before they took a road leading to the west. The land grew even more beautiful, though Leila would not have believed it possible. The wind was crisp and smelled of the salt of the sea, and the sun was warm on their shoulders. The company rode in veritable silence, but she felt the anticipation of both Fergus and Duncan.

When they crested a rise, Leila caught her breath at the hilly expanse of land spread before her with the sea sparkling beyond it. The forest was so richly green that she thought her eyes deceived her. The water, beginning at the base of the hill and stretching into the distance, shone silver in the morning light. Mist was gathered near the water and obscured the view to the left and in the distance. The wind lifted her hair, though, and she imagined the mist would soon disperse.

Perched on a hill several miles ahead of them was a keep ringed with walls. The square tower was built of stone, though it was much smaller than those she had seen further south. The tower was surrounded by a fence of timber with a moat, and there was a village nestled within the walls. A pennant waved from the high tower of the keep, though Leila could not discern its insignia at this distance.

She saw a profusion of white within the walls on the south side, moving in the breeze, and reasoned that there was an orchard in bloom sheltered there. Smoke rose in the morning air from fires both inside the walls and in the village. Two men worked furrows into a field to the far right, pushing a plow, birds swooping around them as they worked. A stream sparkled as it ran past the keep, some of it diverted to fill the moat, then continued to the left. Upstream of the keep there was a mill and a millpond, too. Part of the millpond looked to be divided from the rest with nets and she wondered what manner of fish they raised.

What a prosperous and peaceful holding!

“Home,” Fergus said beside her, his satisfaction clear. Leila glanced toward him quickly, her heart thumping that he spoke to her again. She seized the chance to admire his rugged good looks. His hair was auburn and curled on his collar. His eyes were an enticing green, and he was both tall and broad-shouldered. He had changed his garb when they left Haynesdale, packing his mail away and dressing instead as Duncan had for months. A length of plaid was wrapped around his waist, its hues echoing that of the wild land around her. He wore a white chemise, open at the throat, a boiled leather jerkin and dark boots. His cloak was wool, like her own, but lined with fur. He looked vital and masculine, so alluring that her lips burned in memory of that kiss.

He had come to ride beside her, which was a welcome change, but still avoided her gaze. Leila would take all improvements, however small. She blamed her own impetuous kiss for the change and was greedy for more of him than even this.

“Beautiful,” she said, ensuring that her admiration showed.

Fergus smiled, obviously pleased. “You can perhaps see how the promise of returning here gave me strength and hope.”

“I can, indeed. What a dream to return to a land of abundance, a good home and a loving betrothed.” Leila swallowed. “I am certain that you and Isobel will have many happy years together.”

Fergus opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. After a moment, he pointed down the water. “This is the Solway Firth. The far shore is Cumbria, sworn to the English king, but this shore is Galloway and Scotland. You can see Henry II’s realm on a clear day.” His tone was cool, as if she were a visiting acquaintance, and Leila supposed that she was.

She also supposed she should not have mentioned Isobel. But was the prospect of seeing his beloved not the main reason for his pleasure? How she wished a man might wait for her with such ardor!

Nay, she wanted Fergus to speak of her with such ardor.

She was a fool, to be sure.

“And that keep ahead is Killairic,” he continued.

Leila nodded in understanding. “I should have guessed as much.”

“How so?”

“The horses have quickened their pace, at least yours and Duncan’s have done so. They recognized the road when we left Dumfries.” She smiled. “Every creature’s step is lightened at the prospect of returning home. After four years away, you must be glad to see this place again.”

“I am.” Fergus spared her another intent but quick glance. “Does that mean your step will never be lightened again?”

Leila shook her head. “No. It means I will make myself a new home.” She let Fergus see her resolve.

“You did not care so much for your own?”

“I loved it dearly. I would never have left, save that the one thing of greater import to me was at risk.”

“Your chance to choose your spouse?”

“And thus my happiness. I did not believe I needed to choose my husband before a bad one was chosen for me. I would not condemn myself to a life of woe, even to please my uncle.” She shrugged. “I had to choose.”

“You miss Outremer.”

“Of course. But the choice is made, and now my future must be made.”

Fergus studied her, his curiosity clear. “Where?”

“Here, if I am welcome to linger,” she said, holding his gaze for a long moment.

“But it is so different!”

Leila noted that he did not give her any reassurance, but refused to be insulted. The choice of welcoming a guest might not be his to make. Fergus was honest, and she admired that trait. He never promised what he could not ensure was given.

And every vow he made was kept.

“It is, and I like that difference,” she said instead. “The earth is fertile and so green that it defies belief. I like the mist and the rain, and the confidence that there will not only be water but enough of it.” Leila smiled. “And I like the wildness of the hills. It seems that I could ride away from the party and be utterly alone within moments.”

“You could be.”

“What a beguiling notion.” She shook her head, looking around herself with wonder. “I have lived in cities all my life. I have known dust and sun and crowded markets. I like that there is this tranquility and yet the town is so very close.” She smiled at him again. “This could be an earthly paradise. Do you know anyone named Adam or Eve?”

Fergus laughed. “Be warned, Leila. Scotland is much colder than your home, without olives or so many fruits.”

“Each land has its own fruit. I see that orchard within the walls of Killairic. What kind of trees are those that bloom?”

“Apples, mostly, though there are a few others.”

“A fine and versatile fruit.” She nodded approval. “And so there must be bees, and so there must be honey.”

“You seek familiarity in the differences,” he noted.

“I have made my choice, Fergus, and I must ensure its success,” Leila replied. “There is much I left behind, to be sure, but it is better to admire in the road ahead. Yearning for the past is of no merit.”

His gaze was thoughtful and he was silent for a moment.

“Can you not envision any situation that would compel you to surrender Killairic?” she asked, knowing full well that it was different for a man and heir, but wanting him to understand.

“Nay,” he said without hesitation.

“Truly?”

Fergus frowned but did not reply. “It will be easier for you to remain in Scotland if you take a husband.”

“No doubt,” Leila agreed, her words tight. She supposed that wedding another man was one way to give herself some security. It was a notion of some merit. Perhaps she would find love in an arranged match, as Gaston and Ysmaine had. It might be a compromise that would lead to the happiness she sought.

In this land, though, Leila was at a disadvantage, in language, custom, and the knowledge of men’s reputations. She wondered if Fergus would grant her advice as to suitable candidates. Were there more men like him in this land? Leila could only hope so. A tall and handsome man of honor with a valiant nature would suit her well, even if that man could not be Fergus.

He said naught, though, so she decided to ask. Fergus would be a good judge of character, particularly of his fellows.

She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you might be so kind as to suggest men of merit to me. I will not have my old sources of gossip available to me, after all, and I would prefer not to put myself in a similar situation to the one I left.”

Fergus seemed startled, then he nodded. “Of course.” He pointed again and changed the subject, though Leila could not imagine why. Perhaps he had never been a matchmaker before. Perhaps it was not the occupation of men in this land. “There is an herb garden beyond the orchard, also within the walls, which is where the bees are kept.”

“I will be delighted to see it all.”

“My father will be glad to show you. He takes great pride in Killairic. He has overseen much of its construction, since it was a simple timber keep when he took command of it.”

Leila gestured to the water glistening in the distance. “And what lies out of view? Is it the ocean itself?” It amazed her that she could ride further west, then sail south and eventually back to the Mediterranean again, then onward to Palestine. Would it take longer by sea or not? It would be much farther, to be sure.

“Eventually, but first a traveler must sail around the Rhinns of Galloway, then between Ireland and the western Isles.” Her confusion must have shown because he smiled. “The western islands are the realm of the Kings of the Isles, laid bare to both wind and sea.”

Leila wanted immediately to see them. Fergus’ affection for his homeland was more than clear and she could understand his feelings. This journey had awakened her taste to see even more of the world than she had. “I thought there was a king of Scotland. Duncan mentioned as much when we left Haynesdale.”

“And so there is, but the isles have always been reluctant to bow to authority from afar. They were claimed by the Irish from across the sea, and thence by the Vikings, crossing another sea. The highlanders would claim them and the English would claim them, and the Scottish kings try to contain them as well. In the northern islands, the Norwegian king makes claims. Alliances are uneasy in these parts and always shifting.”

“That sounds familiar,” Leila said wryly and Fergus smiled.

“I imagine that situation is familiar to more people than not.”

“And your home?”

“Is a small holding, as you see, but sits at a junction of a kind. That river is a border between Galloway and Scotland, although sometimes this side of the river is pledged to England. From the southwest and northwest, the Kings of the Isles have their lands and often dispute who holds what. Up Solway Firth and on this shore, much news and many warriors travel. My father is trusted to ensure a careful alliance between kings and lords, and Killairic has prospered as a result of his efforts.” He spared Leila a fleeting smile. “My marriage will secure his responsibility for the future.”

Leila did not ask about Isobel this time. “Tell me of Galloway,” she invited instead.

“To the immediate west of Killairic are the lands of the Lords of Galloway, my cousins. They are much inclined to warfare. I was named for Fergus, Lord of Galloway, who died just before I was born. His sons, Uchtred and Gille Brigte, battled over his territories until Gille Brigte killed his own brother and claimed his lands.” Fergus’ lips tightened to a grim line. “It was a barbaric end for a savage warrior.” He paused, then added with care. “They are unpredictable allies despite our blood bond.”

“Or perhaps because of it,” Leila suggested. She considered the gently rolling hills and wondered at them being scarred by warfare.

Fergus nodded. “Perhaps.”

“And Killairic?”

“Granted to my father by the English king upon the surrender of Fergus, to defend the border between his lands to the east and south, and those claimed by Fergus’ sons to the west. The Scottish king agreed to the grant, and marriage to my mother secured my father’s alliance with the Scottish king.”

“She was related to him?”

“His niece.”

“So, your father is of Galloway and your mother of Scotland.”

“Aye.”

Leila had to ask. “And the lady Isobel?”

“Her kin are of the Kingdom of the Isles but have no claim to that throne. She has Norwegian blood, as do many on the islands. They are tall and fair, with golden hair and eyes of blue.”

Leila could not help but think that she, small and dark, would compare badly to a woman of such queenly stature. She had already noted that the Franj had great preference for women with blond hair and wondered if her hope of finding a husband who cared for her might be doomed.

She straightened in her saddle. She would not expect failure, not before she had tried to succeed.

“Her father fought for Fergus and was granted a holding to the west of here, closer to the sea. Dunnisbrae it is called. We knew each other as children, and it was decided early that our nuptials would balance the ambitions of the English king to expand north and west from Carlisle.”

“And so your marriage will have you torn between loyalties?” Leila asked, trying to keep her tone as dispassionate as his. In truth, she was fiercely interested in this Isobel who had claimed Fergus’ heart so securely and hoped the lady deserved Fergus’ regard. She had already divined that Duncan did not think Isobel trustworthy, which made her doubly intent upon making her own assessment.

She supposed she would have that opportunity soon.

Perhaps Isobel awaited Fergus’ return at Killairic. Leila had never asked the whereabouts of his betrothed. Her innards clenched at the prospect of seeing Fergus wed his beloved in the next few days. No doubt the celebration would not be delayed any longer after his return.

Would Isobel tolerate Leila’s presence at Killairic?

While her thoughts spun, Fergus laughed. “It is an established way to ensure that a man best keeps his obligations.”

“I suppose as much,” Leila had to concede. “I thought yours was a love match.”

“It is, but that is a fortunate coincidence. Even if Isobel and I were not in love, we might be fated to wed all the same. The alliance is a good one for both families and both kings.”

And if Isobel had not possessed a lineage that would offer a strategic alliance, then Fergus might not have been permitted to wed his beloved. Leila’s lips thinned that some matters remained the same in all lands.

That was the moment she realized how little advantage there could be to any man in wedding her. She had no family connections, fortune, or powerful alliance to offer. And she was not blond. It might well be that no man would find her alluring in this land where women were so much more fair, much less come to love her. The prospect was sobering. Would she even be able to ensure her survival as a whore?

Perhaps that explained Fergus’ silence. Perhaps he understood the challenge that faced her better than Leila did.

Nay, she would not lose hope. Not now. Somehow, Leila had to find a future for herself and she was determined that it should be in Scotland. The adventure, she reminded herself, had only just begun.

The forest closed around the road ahead as it dipped down to a river, and Fergus halted his destrier.

“Enguerrand, will you take the lead?” he asked the more senior Templar. Fergus was more cautious that Leila might have expected upon entering a copse so close to his home. “And Yvan, I would have you at the rear. I will follow Enguerrand with Duncan behind me, then Leila, the squires and the baggage.”

“Do you suspect an attack?” Enguerrand asked.

Fergus’ eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I have become too cautious.”

“Better safe than sorry, lad,” Duncan said heartily, and Leila remembered his assertion that Fergus could glimpse the future. Had Fergus not said that he spied a shadow ahead? Would he be cheated of his homecoming on the very threshold of Killairic? Her heart beat a little more quickly and she glanced around them.

They organized as instructed and rode onward at a steady pace, all of them scanning the forest on either side as the progressed. Leila thought of the assault upon their party at Haynesdale and listened keenly for any indication that they were being watched. She heard none, but that did not mean they were unobserved.

It was not a great distance through the forest, but it seemed longer because of their concern. The trees parted abruptly, granting a closer view of the keep they had glimpsed earlier and it looked even more prosperous at close proximity. The insignia was of a golden stag leaping on a green field. Leila felt the tension ease in both Duncan and Fergus.

“He lives,” Fergus whispered, then gave his destrier his heels.

Leila understood immediately. He feared that his father might have passed away in his absence. Her heart clenched that his concern had been unfounded.

Meanwhile, Fergus raced his stallion to the gates, hollering with joy as he rode. Tempest tossed his head and ran with abandon, clearly sharing his knight’s joy. It was also clear that Fergus felt safe within sight of the keep. The gates did stand open, though Leila had to believe they were secured at night. A few villagers left their tasks to see who approached, and Leila heard them shout in greeting. Duncan had been teaching her Gaelic in the evenings, and she was pleased that she could understand some of what was said.

It helped that they said what she anticipated they might say.

“’Tis my lord Fergus! He is home!”

“The laird’s son is returned!”

“All hail, the return of my lord Fergus!”

People spilled out of the cottages, the mill, and the keep itself, surrounding Fergus. Their happiness was as evident as his own. He leaped from the saddle and shook hands, accepted kisses, was hugged and clapped upon the back repeatedly. He might have been greeting family instead of those pledged to his father’s service. Leila approved of this warm relationship between laird and villein. Children ran through the delighted crowd, geese honked, dogs barked, and goats bleated. Leila heard Fergus laughing and smiled herself at such merriment.

The rest of the party were similarly surrounded once Fergus had been welcomed. The Templars were regarded with wonder. A bearded man with dark eyes and a leather apron stepped forward to run his hands over the flanks of the horses, and Leila guessed he was the village smith. Hamish was plucked from his saddle and hugged by a great bear of a man with an enthusiasm that made the boy blush crimson.

“Uncle Rodney,” the boy protested but without much vigor.

“And a kiss for your aunt Mhairi, if you please,” a buxom woman said, seizing Hamish to kiss his cheeks. Hamish was surrounded by this pair, who spoke to him quickly. Leila watched the woman tousle the boy’s hair and guessed that they were talking about how much he had grown.

“You are one less than before,” the blacksmith noted, his gaze flicking over the party. He had a low resonant voice that commanded attention and the villagers fell silent after his words. Leila saw several count the party, pointing fingers as they did so, and the word ‘Kerr’ rose like a whisper though their ranks.

Fergus nodded and bowed his head. “Alas, Kerr was killed on our return home. He is buried in the mountains west of Venice.” This Leila did not understand completely, but she heard ‘Kerr’ and ‘Venice’ and guessed what tidings Fergus had shared.

Murmurs slipped through the company at these sad tidings and most people crossed themselves. One who was clearly a priest—for he wore a crucifix on a cord around his neck and his hair was tonsured—said something and gestured to a small building downriver. There was a cross on the roof, indicating that it was a chapel. Leila guessed that he invited the others to attend a mass for Kerr. Fergus spoke to him and the priest nodded, then hastened to the chapel.

Leila doubted she would be welcome there. In some parts of Palestine, holy places were shared between faiths, but it seemed unlikely that there would be similar tolerance here. She was probably the first Saracen these people had ever seen.

Duncan was greeted warmly and embraced another tall warrior tightly. That man looked to be of an age with Duncan or even older, and his long hair was mingled silver and gold. He wore a patch over one eye, and he alone wore a chain mail hauberk in the company. His gaze flicked to her and he smiled. Leila dropped her gaze, her heart racing at his obvious appreciation. Was he a man whose attention she should cultivate? She had spent so long in the company of men yet disguised as a boy that she had forgotten any feminine arts and allures.

It might be timely to recall them.

She noticed that Duncan hefted his saddlebag to his shoulder when he dismounted, keeping the precious relic close by his side when his horse was led away. He came to help her from the saddle and she knew that the villagers—and that warrior—were watching her closely.

“And so we reach our destination,” Duncan murmured to her in French as he offered his hand. There was understanding in his eyes as he held her gaze.

“I must find a husband, Duncan,” Leila whispered. “Have you any advice?”

“That rogue will not suit,” Duncan said. “He has not a denier to his name, though I do not doubt that he will attempt to charm you.”

Leila smiled. “Thank you, Duncan.”

“You can do better.” Duncan winked and led her toward the open portal. “Come and meet Calum, Laird of Killairic.”

“And your patron,” Leila said, recalling Duncan’s pledge to serve the man who had once saved his life.

“Indeed.”

“I hope he will release you from his service, now that Fergus is safely returned.”

“We shall see. We shall see.”

“What of your friend?”

“Murdoch Olafson.” Duncan nodded with approval. “There is a warrior to have at one’s back, but not one to speak for the likes of you. I am glad he remained with Calum while we were gone and do not doubt he will demand a full accounting from me at earliest opportunity.” Duncan gave her a look. “I will tell him to leave you be, for you are lady not whore.”

Leila nodded, well aware that Murdoch watched her still.

An older man with white hair had come to the portal and stood there, leaning on a cane, his eyes alight as he regarded Fergus. He was dressed in the style of French nobles, in a long robe of heavy cloth but with a length of plaid cloth handing from his shoulder like a cape. The pin holding the cloth shone in the sun, for it was set with a purple stone. He embraced Fergus with such obvious affection and pleasure that tears rose to Leila’s eyes. Father and son spoke quickly, so quickly that Leila found their words incomprehensible.

Duncan squeezed Leila’s fingers, evidently noting her reaction. “You do well with Gaelic. Soon you will speak as quickly as they do.”

“I hope as much.”

Duncan sobered, his gaze assessing. “Do not wed against your instincts, Leila, simply to see the matter resolved.”

“You know I will not, Duncan. That is why I fled, after all.”

“Aye, that is true enough.” He held her gaze, his own filled with conviction. “Know this, lass. If ever I have a home, you are welcome within it, be you wedded or not, for so long as you should choose to stay.”

A lump rose in Leila’s throat at his unexpected offer and relief flooded through her. “Thank you, Duncan. I do not know what my fate will be, so your generous offer is most welcome.”

“None of us know our fate, lass, none of us.” Duncan took a deep breath. “But I will do all that I can to make a home for Radegunde. I know that she would welcome your company as much as I would be honored to have you as a guest.”

Leila blinked back unexpected tears. “Thank you. You are a good friend, Duncan.”

“For a Franj,” he teased, a merry glint in his eye.

Leila laughed. “For a Franj,” she ceded, for she had learned that there was much more diversity in Christians from the west than she had once believed. “I hope I am a good friend for a Saracen.”

“The best I have ever known,” he agreed promptly.

“And how many Saracens do you call friend?” Leila teased, her mood lightened by his offer.

“Only one, but she is worth a thousand others.” Duncan grinned. “Why, we crossed the breadth of Christendom to find such a friend.”

“That was not the sole reason you journeyed so far.”

“True enough.” Duncan dropped his gaze quickly to his saddlebag. “But few need know the truth of it.”

Leila nodded without looking at the bag. What would happen to the reliquary now that they had reached their destination? Could it truly be hidden in this keep forever? Or would the Templars take it to another sanctuary?

Would she be entrusted with the truth?

If naught else, she would do her part to see the prize defended, as she had before.

---

The change in Leila’s appearance was most troubling.

Fergus had known that she was a maiden all along, of course, ever since that first day in Jerusalem. He had caught glimpses of her hidden truth on their journey. A quick smile that was unabashedly feminine. A flash of a wrist too delicate to be that of a boy. But seeing her in women’s garb had been a revelation.

She was a beauty.

And that kiss.

That kiss.

It had been wholly unexpected, yet not unwelcome. His powerful reaction to it had been a surprise. The memory tormented Fergus. His lips burned in recollection of it in the middle of the night. His pulse leaped at the sight of her. His dreams were filled with the possibilities of what would have come next, if he had not stepped away and returned to the festivities in Bartholomew’s new hall. He would have sworn that each time he licked his lips, he tasted Leila’s sweetness, though it was impossible.

It had been a fortnight and still he thought about that kiss at all hours.

He had even dreamed of Leila, holding a babe with golden skin and eyes of blue. The child’s hair was dark and wet, as if it had only just been born, and Leila appeared to be tired but radiant all the same. Curiously, Fergus knew it was a boy.

The boy had to have a father from the west for his eyes to be of that hue. That should have reassured Fergus that Leila would have her desire fulfilled, but the vision had troubled him greatly. He had awakened on the night it had come to him and wondered at her future. Would she be happy in Scotland? Who was the father? Would that man treat her with honor? Leila looked delighted in his vision.

That beguiling sight, coupled with the memory of that kiss and his questions, meant that Fergus found Leila dominating his thoughts more than he thought she should.

It was clear he had been chaste too long. His marriage to Isobel could not be celebrated soon enough.

And what of Leila? He had to find her a good husband, with all speed.

As Fergus approached his father’s keep for the first time in four long years, he was surprised to find himself wondering what Leila would think of his home. Nay, he had wanted her approval. It was impossible to keep himself from riding alongside her, telling her about it, watching for her reaction. Leila’s admiration of Killairic gave him enormous pleasure—more pleasure than was reasonable. He should be concerned with how soon he would see Isobel or even what she would think of his gifts for her.

But it was Leila who claimed his attention.

Given the duration of his absence and his chastity, Fergus supposed it was inevitable that he had begun to notice other women, particularly one in whose company he had journeyed so far. Four years was a long time, almost an eternity. Was it not reasonable that his memories of Isobel faded?

Fergus was glad to be home. He told himself that he was glad of his pending nuptials, and of the promise of soon seeing Isobel again.

But the truth was he dreaded Leila’s inevitable departure.

Or worse, her need to become a whore to survive. He could not let that happen. He must find her a spouse, a man of honor who would treat her well. He owed her that much, to be sure, but he would have to decide quickly.

As Fergus strode through the village, his chest was tight at the familiarity of it all. He had been glad when the villagers spilled forth to welcome him home, and greeted them, each and every one. The sight of his father at the portal to the keep had been a more profound relief than Fergus could have believed possible.

He had feared that the shadow he sensed might have been his father’s death. To see Calum hale and laughing, if a little more white of hair than silver, if leaning a little more on his cane than before, was the most welcome sight in all the world.

“Father!” Fergus embraced his father, feeling a new frailty in the older man. It made him feel protective of his father and doubly determined to never leave home again.

“My boy,” Calum said with obvious pleasure. “My boy, home again, just as promised.” He shook his head, then surveyed Fergus with pleasure. “A boy no longer, but still one to keep his every promise.” He ruffled Fergus’ hair as if he were a small boy, though he had to stretch upward to do it.

“Of course!” Fergus agreed. “And I have brought you gifts...”

“The only gift I need is you by my side,” his father declared. His eyes lit as he glanced over the company. “And with such a noble escort.” Calum greeted the Templars in careful French as they bowed deeply before him.

“It was the command of our grand master that our comrade Fergus be escorted to his home, after his exemplary service,” Enguerrand said, using the tale they had agreed upon.

“Indeed?” Calum lifted a brow. “You shall have to tell me of your exploits, my son.”

“Of course, Father.”

“Did I hear correctly about Kerr?” his father asked in a murmur.

“You did,” Fergus agreed, recounting another tale they had agreed upon. “We were beset by thieves outside of Venice and Kerr paid the price.” He did not like lying to his father, but he and Duncan had resolved that there was nothing to be gained by revealing Kerr’s deceptive nature after the boy’s demise.

Calum’s lips thinned. “Someone will have to deliver that news,” he said beneath his breath and Fergus nodded.

“I will tell Isobel, of course.” In truth, Fergus was more concerned with the sight before him. Duncan was approaching with Leila, and Fergus could not look away from her. His heart leaped to see her eyes sparkling as she jested with Duncan and her laughter was merry. She wore the dark green kirtle that Radegunde had given to her and a cloak of wool in a deep golden hue. Her boots were plain and sturdy, and she had not a gem to her name, but she was radiant all the same.

Surely, he could find a husband who would treat her with the honor she deserved?

“And Duncan returned with you, as well.” Calum embraced Duncan like another son and not like the hired man-at-arms he was.

“I pledged to return him hale to you, my lord, and so it is done,” Duncan said.

“And so you did, and so you did. Never did a laird have a more honorable warrior sworn to his cause. I thank you, Duncan.”

The back of Duncan’s neck turned ruddy at this praise, but Calum gave him no opportunity to reply. The older man gave his cane to Fergus and clasped Duncan’s shoulders in his hands. “I welcome you to Killairic as a guest on this occasion, Duncan, for I do not doubt our wager has been repaid time and again between here and Outremer.” Calum smiled. “Indeed, I am now obligated to you. I owe you much, Duncan, for taking this ruffian into your custody and bringing him home again.”

“The honor was mine, my lord,” Duncan said, apparently unable to keep himself from bowing. “I am as pleased as you to see him safely returned home.”

Fergus was aware that Leila could not understand what his father and Duncan were saying, but did not know how to gracefully translate for her without drawing attention to the fact that she was Saracen.

But then, he supposed that was no secret, with her golden skin and dark hair. She looked exotic and had been increasingly the focus of attention since their departure from Paris. The villagers eyed her with wonder, and he guessed there was speculation in their whispers.

Was her inevitable departure at root of his portent?

His father was hale, which was a relief, but the shadow had not dissipated.

“And who is this flower of the east?” Calum asked, switching from Gaelic to French. He gestured to Leila. “Is this your companion, Duncan? Dare I hope that you have lost your heart and mean to plan a future as a wedded man?”

Leila flushed and lowered her gaze, her dark lashes sweeping over her cheeks in a gesture so feminine that it stole Fergus’ breath away.

“I am not so fortunate a man as to have won this beauty,” Duncan said with a rare flourish. “This is Leila...”

Leila interrupted him smoothly. “I am Leila binte Qadir lufti al-Ramm, sir,” she said, bowing low before Fergus’ father. “I am honored to meet you.”

Fergus knew he was not the only one astonished by her full name. Why had he never asked her what it was before? Murdoch Olafson stepped forward, perhaps to ensure he had a better view of Leila, and Fergus granted that old warrior a hard look.

Murdoch seemed to be amused, but if he had any notions about Leila, Fergus would ensure they were dismissed along with that predatory smile.

“And I am delighted to welcome you to my home,” Calum said to Leila. “How did you come to be in this party?”

“I sought the protection of this company in Jerusalem and my lord Fergus was kind enough to honor my request.” Leila’s French was quick and smooth, so much better than Calum’s that it took the older man a moment to understand her meaning.

“A damsel in distress,” his father said then with satisfaction.

Leila smiled, her gaze flicking to Fergus. “One might say as much, sir.” She was beguiling when her eyes sparkled so. Because they were so dark, Fergus thought of stars in the midnight sky when they twinkled.

“And who better to defend you than Knights of the Temple?” Calum continued. Enguerrand and Yvan said nothing, but stood a little straighter. “I am honored for your presence to grace my home, Lady Leila, for so long as you would choose to be my guest.” He gestured to the hall even as his words reminded Fergus that Leila would visit for a short time only. “Please, come and restore yourself from your journey. I warn you that I will pester you for tales of distant lands.”

“I thank you, sir, for the kindness of your hospitality.” Leila bowed again.

“The honor will be all mine, for you will help me with my French. I forget it in these hills, and the practice will be welcome.” Calum chuckled and reclaimed his cane. He winked at Fergus, then offered his arm to Leila. “Have you journeyed west before, my lady?”

“This is my first such trip, sir.” She took Calum’s arm as if she needed his support. Fergus saw the way she slipped her hand beneath his father’s elbow, letting him lean upon her a little without anyone being the wiser. She was kind and he liked that well.

“Then you knew only Outremer before that departure from Jerusalem?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“You must find Scotland vastly different from your home.”

“The weather is considerably different, sir, and so is the food, but people, it seems are much the same wherever one travels.”

“And that has long been my thinking as well,” Calum agreed, leading Leila into the great hall. Fergus and Duncan followed, the Templars behind them. The fires had been stoked to blazing and the high table was already set up. Iain, his father’s steward, was straightening a length of embroidered linen atop it and directing the placement of candles. He spared Fergus a warm smile and welcomed him home before calling to the cook that there had best be enough bread for the evening meal.

That launched a typical and friendly dispute between Iain and Xavier the cook, both of them defending their skills and domains, and taking offense at the meddling of the other. In truth, they both were similar in nature, being older, unmarried men devoted to Fergus’ father’s service and comfort. He found himself smiling at the familiarity of it all as they bickered.

“You had best mind your labor instead of mine,” Xavier concluded, indicating the arriving party. “You have not set enough benches in the hall for all of the company.”

“I know best how to see the hall prepared.” Iain sniffed the air delicately. “Is that burning venison I smell?”

Xavier swore with gusto and stalked back to the kitchen. Iain shook his head, then turned upon the man rolling a cask of wine into the hall.

“Not here, not here,” the steward complained. “It must be mulled, for it is the last of the wine. Take it to the kitchen and see if that fiend will spare you a place on his fire to ensure his laird’s pleasure.”

“If you mean to mull the wine, I have brought some spices for the kitchens,” Fergus raised his voice to interject and Iain’s eyes lit with pleasure.

“Indeed, sir? They would be most welcome.” The older man came closer, bowing before Fergus. “Do you have a list of them, sir? I would add them to the inventory of the spice box before they can be dispersed without regard for their expense—as some people are wont to do.”

Fergus bit back a smile, for it was easy to guess who Iain thought might be guilty of that crime. “I regret that I did not list them fully, Iain, but Hamish has been learning his sums.” He beckoned to his squire, giving that boy the means to escape the affectionate welcome of his aunt and uncle. “Hamish can record them in the ledger for you accurately, if you will lend him a scale. It will be good practice for him, and you, I know, must be too busy for such tasks on this day.”

“And excellent notion, sir.” Iain nodded at Hamish. “You can use my counting room.”

Hamish bowed and followed the older man, standing much taller than he had on their departure. Of course, he was four years older and much grown.

His aunt and uncle beamed with pride as Hamish left the hall. The boy would see them again at the board this night, for Fergus would ensure as much.

Fergus supposed he should consult with Hamish about his desire for the future. Did the boy wish to continue his training and be knighted? He had begged to accompany Fergus for the adventure and Fergus had taken him and Kerr as he had no squires before his departure. Perhaps Hamish could train at Haynesdale.

“I will need peppercorns and cloves first,” Iain said to Hamish. “Dare I hope that there is cinnamon? For that would be a fine addition as well.”

“There is, Iain, as well as star anise,” Hamish replied and Iain’s delight was clear. “I negotiated for it myself.”

“Did you? I scarce remember the taste of that spice for it has been so long. What an adventure you must have had...”

Meanwhile, boys were dispatched from the hall to bring the baggage and Calum headed for a seat set close to the fire. Leila helped him to take a seat and he granted her a smile of gratitude. She sat beside him at his invitation and visibly shivered. “You will need a man to warm you on our nights here, my lady,” Calum teased and Leila blushed again. “Have you chosen one yet?”

“Not I, sir. I would not be so bold.”

“Then we will find you one,” Calum said, giving her hand a pat. “A robust warrior with a tender heart, one who will defend you and honor you, as all men of merit should do for their wives. Do you like a song, my lady?”

“Indeed, I do.”

“You have come to the right land to find a husband. We have poets aplenty in these parts, and men whose songs charm the birds from the trees.”

Leila seemed to be fighting a smile. “Indeed, sir?”

“You sound skeptical, my lady.”

“She has heard me sing, sir,” Duncan interjected.

Calum laughed, his gaze flicking between Duncan and Leila with such delight that his conclusions were clear. “Perhaps we shall have a wedding at Killairic, after all,” he said with pleasure, then caught himself. His gaze darted to Fergus and the entire company fell ominously silent.

Fergus’ heart stopped.

It was clear that something was amiss.