The Highland Laird's Bride. Nicole Locke

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      ‘Careful, Fergusson. There was nae bribe to this clan. I offered a marriage and alliance between your father and my sister Gaira. I offered a total of forty sheep—twenty immediately, and twenty more after one year. It was a profitable and a stable alliance, and one which your father accepted.’

      ‘Which your sister didn’t honour! With nae possible reason, she ran away.’

      He didn’t know how to answer this. Either way, it would not be good. Something about this woman’s father, Busby, frightened Gaira, but his sister had also been hurt when he forced her marriage. ‘It matters not why she ran,’ he said.

      ‘Of course it matters why she ran. If she hadn’t, my father wouldn’t have pursued her and wouldn’t have been murdered by an English knight.’

      This conversation must be avoided. He hadn’t lied in the missive he sent to her, but he’d skirted the truth regarding how her father died and by whose hand. He knew exactly who murdered her father and he wasn’t an ordinary knight. He was also no longer precisely English. No, Robert of Dent, the famed Black Robert and King Edward’s favoured knight, wasn’t dead at all, but married to Gaira, and living in secret on Colquhoun land.

      ‘My sister ran from him,’ Bram said. ‘I didn’t order him to follow her.’

      ‘Nae, you merely threatened to take the sheep and bring the force of Clan Colquhoun down on his head if he didn’t find her.’

      He hadn’t known how else to keep Gaira, his only surviving sister, safe. When Bram made the alliance with Busby, he had concerns only for his own clan, for his own selfish desire to marry. When he made the alliance, the English massacres at Berwick and Doonhill hadn’t yet occurred. The war against England hadn’t been lost at Dunbar. How was he, how was anyone, to guess that the Scotland of only months ago would be so changed?

      If he’d known, he would have kept his family close to him. He would have spent the months preparing and fortifying his keep. He would have closed the gates and locked them all safely inside.

      Instead, he forced a temporary marriage between Gaira and Laird Fergusson. Under normal politics it would have been astute. It brought strength for his clan by having someone in the south and Gaira would be nearer to their youngest sister, Irvette.

      Irvette, the youngest and sweetest of them all, who married a man she loved. Irvette, who was murdered by the English at Doonhill.

      Since April, his family had seen too much danger, suffered too much loss. And worst of all, he could have avoided most of it.

      Now he needed to right these wrongs with this clan, but he could not be gentle any longer. Her stubbornness aside, he was laird and knew what was at stake. He wouldn’t fail his clan and family again, and he fully intended for his new plan to work.

      ‘What happened to those sheep, Lioslath? I didn’t take them and I see scarce livestock on your land.’

      ‘Why does it matter to you?’

      He felt a roiling frustration and fought to keep his patience. He would not give up his power. ‘I wrote to you. I told you that Gaira returned to Colquhoun land. I explained I’d come here to make amends.’

      ‘But you’re late.’

      ‘Dunbar occurred. I am late because our country went to war!’

      ‘Aye, but that doesn’t explain why you were late. Everyone knows you didn’t participate in Dunbar.’

      No, he hadn’t participated in that fateful battle against the English last April. Scotsmen had been slaughtered; the ones who survived hid in Ettrick Forest. His brother Malcolm was one of the survivors, but he carried a terrible wound.

      Bram could tell no one why he hadn’t participated in Dunbar. He made his choice not against his country, but for his country. King John Balliol himself ordered Bram not to participate, to stay on Colquhoun land and receive two messages. The messages, he had been told, would protect Scotland.

      Bram stayed, had advised his family and clan to stay, but he never received two messages. Balliol was defeated at Dunbar and was now being held at the Tower of London. It was the English King Edward who ruled over Scotland now.

      If Balliol expected Bram to protect Scotland, he was falling far short.

      Then, his brothers, Malcolm and Caird, arrived whilst Bram waited for Lioslath to open the gates. The messages that were supposed to have come to the Colquhoun clan became clear. They were not actual messages, but a dagger and the legendary Jewel of Kings.

      Though the jewel was safely in Malcolm’s hands, he now fled to Clan Buchanan land to secure the dagger. He took a spare horse to make the journey faster for him. Bram was all too aware it might not be fast enough. As long as the jewel remained in the open, his brother, his clan, were in terrible danger.

      For now Bram must stay on Fergusson land for the winter and await news about the jewel. Come the spring, he would know whether he was to ride north to the safety of his land, or south and commit treason with Balliol in the Tower of London. Either way, King Edward would find him then.

      ‘It matters not whether I was at Dunbar. It delayed my arrival,’ he continued. ‘But I’m here now.’

      ‘And I want you to leave.’ She waved her hand towards the door and he knew he didn’t imagine her unbalance.

      ‘What is wrong with you?’

      A hesitation. ‘Nothing that your absence wouldn’t cure.’

      She lied. There were dark circles under her bright eyes, the natural angle of her cheekbones sharply exposed because of the hollows of her cheeks.

      ‘I’ve given you food,’ he said.

      ‘I took your food.’

      He narrowed his eyes. ‘But you haven’t eaten it.’

      ‘What is it to you what happens to it?’

      ‘Have the others eaten?’

      ‘Again, I ask, what is it to you what happens to it?’

      Too much. He never would have been waiting outside the gates if he thought anyone inside was suffering. ‘Answer me.’

      She crossed her arms around her midriff, which outlined the smallness of her frame and...her ribs?

      He cursed. ‘You little fool, you haven’t eaten.’

      ‘Fool? Better a fool than what you’ve become. You didn’t participate at Dunbar. You’re a traitor. So, too, what of your acts for this clan? You probably knew your sister would run away and endanger my father!’

      Traitor. He was no traitor, but he’d have to get used to being called one.

      ‘I could not prevent your father’s death,’ he said instead.

      ‘I’ll never believe you! Without him, without his protection, just look at what has happened here!’

      ‘What do you mean what has happened here?’

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