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      And her father.

      Rurik had long been Jocelyn’s champion, loyal to her in every way, so an insult to her would not go unnoticed or unanswered by him. The commander of all the MacLerie warriors began to walk towards him, but was waved off by Connor who reached them first.

      ‘Jocelyn?’ he asked as he held his hand to his wife.

      ‘I am meddling as you have warned me not to, husband,’ she said, smiling into the laird’s concerned face. ‘My brother has been my target and an unwilling one at that.’

      And as usual during their lives, she tried to take the brunt of displeasure for him. She ever did so when they were children and would still do so now in spite of their ages and positions. It had changed their lives irreparably before.

      ‘Your pardon, Jocelyn, for my sharp tone,’ Athdar offered the apology so that all could hear. Brother or not, laird in his own right or not, here he was a guest and she was their lady. Jocelyn’s reaction removed the tension from the situation as she threw herself into his arms and hugged the breath out of his chest. He allowed himself a moment of weakness and then eased himself from her grip.

      ‘I take my leave now, sister,’ he said. Nodding to Connor, he waited for the laird to give him leave. ‘I leave at first light and would not disturb you so early.’

      Connor offered his hand and Rurik, convinced now that his services were not needed, walked back to his own wife. The others drifted back into their own conversations and Dar finished his ale. Walking back to his room, he realised that, once more, he was alone.

      And no matter what he’d said to his sister, it was a condition he did not like and he did not want. But the danger of taking steps to make it different overrode his own personal needs or desires. For after the death of two wives and one betrothed, he would not put any woman in danger by being associated with him.

      That dark night passed slowly and he rose at dawn to ride out as he’d planned.

      * * *

      Isobel had watched as he’d finished his meal and spoken to Lady Jocelyn. Something very strange and strained happened between them and she winced as he uttered the harsh words that made the lady turn the colour of Isobel’s newest chemise. Then her father and the laird both went to her side and the hall grew silent.

      Somehow, she could not imagine the lady needing protection or aid against Athdar. Her father had championed Lady Jocelyn for as long as Isobel could remember, and if the laird questioned it he never put a stop to it. Isobel’s mother did not seem bothered by this protectorship, for she and Lady Jocelyn were the closest of friends. When the laird was absent, her father stood behind the lady. When the lady travelled, her father made the arrangements. It had always been that way.

      So why had the hostility between her father and Athdar started? As she had watched the scene resolve, she tried to remember any clues about the beginning of the bad feelings. Then her father had returned and Athdar left the hall and she knew she would not see him again on this visit. As her father bade them go with him back to their cottage in the village, she knew that, unless she did something, Athdar would always wear the expression of grief in his eyes. And that she simply could not accept.

      As she had lain in her bed, seeking sleep while finding a restless night, Isobel realised that the only way to make that happen would be to get her mother on her side. Lady Jocelyn’s support would be a good thing because her father would listen to the lady. Plans and ideas had come and gone as the hours did and soon the weak light of a cloudy dawn had begun to seep into her bedchamber.

      * * *

      Dressing quickly and quietly, she made her way through the dark cottage, trying not to wake anyone. If her luck held, she could be back, in her bed, before the rest of her family rose. Already some of the villagers were about their daily tasks and she nodded as she passed them. Uncertain of why she wanted to speak to him now, she accepted it and continued walking towards the main gate.

      She wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders to fight off the early morning chill and lifted her head to watch as those gates opened. A small group rode through and in her direction, so she stepped back off the path to let them pass. The lead rider waved the others on and drew his horse to a halt before her.

      ‘’Tis a bit early to be out this morn, lass,’ Athdar said in a quiet tone. ‘Does your father know you prowl about the village alone?’ His voice was deeper after sleep than it usually was, sending shivers through her for some reason. She tried to ignore the reprimand.

      ‘I have an errand to see to with Lady Jocelyn, if you must know,’ she said. Turning towards the keep, she walked around him, now hesitant to say too much to him.

      Why and how could he do this to her?

      The poise and self-confidence that her parents often praised in her deserted her, leaving her feeling like a halfwit in his presence. Instead of carrying on a reasonable conversation—as she could with most any of her kin or those who visited the MacLerie laird—she turned into a babbling fool who could not utter a bit of sense.

      Even now when she wanted to speak to him about his journey or his duties as laird, to ask sensible questions or offer a sensible suggestion, she could only blush and stammer.

      ‘I would not keep you from your duties to my sister.’

      He turned his horse once more so that he was headed down the path through the village and out to the main road. Before he spurred it on, he nodded and smiled to her and she wanted to melt into the ground beneath her feet.

      ‘Go on now, lass. I will wait until you go inside,’ he said.

      Athdar was making certain she was safe before leaving.

      ‘Safe journey, Laird MacCallum.’

      ‘My name is Athdar, lass.’

      She had never called him that to his face—he was older than she was and held a higher position, as well. But...

      ‘Safe journey, Athdar,’ she repeated with a nod.

      The edges of his mouth curled and a rough smile changed his entire countenance from foreboding and serious to wickedly handsome. Her breath caught at how very handsome it did make him. Grasping for some of the boldness that would have caused her father’s brow to rise, she called out once more, ‘And my name is Isobel.’

      His laughter rang out in the quiet of the early morn and a ripple of satisfaction pulsed through her at the sound. ‘Good day, Isobel!’ he called out as he turned his mount and rode off down the path to join the rest of his men.

      Isobel walked quickly in the gate, greeting those on guard duty as she did and fighting the urge to turn and watch Athdar with each step. Winning that battle but not having a specific errand in mind, she decided to seek out the lady and begin her campaign to fight for Athdar.

      Chapter Three

      MacCallum Keep—Two months later

      Athdar rode back through the gates and called out to his men as he approached the stables. He’d spent two days riding his lands, overseeing the end of the harvest and the laying in of the crops for the coming winter. Though he’d lived through many changes of seasons, this one felt different somehow and he wondered if the winter storms would come through the mountain passes sooner than usual.

      ‘Laird.’

      Athdar turned to find the steward walking in his direction. ‘Broc,’ he said, waiting for the man to reach him. ‘The preparations look well in hand...as you said they were.’

      ‘There is still the butchering to be seen to, but that will be done in the next weeks.’

      ‘Will this be a quiet winter, then?’

      Padruig MacCallum had a habit of sneaking up on people, having perfected a silent, light step. It helped many times in dangerous situations, but he could drive Athdar to madness with the habit, too.

      ‘The

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