Her Rebel Scot

The Highland Warrior Chronicles Prequel

Christina Phillips

Phoenix 18 Publishing

Copyright © 2021 by Christina Phillips

All rights reserved.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Amanda Ashby

Cover Art by Kim Killion Publishing

ISBN: 978-0-6451584-3-4

For Amanda Ashby and Sally Rigby, because without you both, The Highland Warrior Chronicles would never have seen the light of day.

Chapter 1

The Kingdom of Fortriu, Pictland. Summer, 795

Lady Catriona Magaidh of Fortriu threaded a string of emeralds through the hair of Clodrah, the youngest Princess of Fortriu, as she sat upon a stool in her bedchamber. The younger woman was not making it easy as she kept turning her head to admire how the jewels glittered in her hand mirror, but Catriona knew better than to reprimand her.

They might be half-sisters, but Clodrah was a royal princess while she was merely a thorn to be tolerated in the court of Forteviot.

“I cannot wait until the barbarous Scots arrive,” Clodrah said, for perhaps the tenth time that day. “How exciting it shall be! Do you think they will try to ravish us, Brilicie?”

Brilicie, a princess from the Kingdom of Circinn, laughed. “Indeed, I do not. I’m certain they wish to keep their heads attached to their necks.”

Clodrah gave a dramatic sigh. “But how thrilling it would be.” Her gaze caught Catriona’s in the mirror. “Don’t you think so, Catriona?”

She could see nothing especially thrilling in being seduced by a foreign warrior who likely would not even recall her name in the morning. “Illicit affairs are for married women, my lady.”

As they all well knew. And while Clodrah could dream of such delights, it would be a scandal beyond imagination if an unwed noblewoman, never mind a princess, indulged so.

“But I am not to wed until next summer.” Clouds fell across Clodrah’s face, and she stood, clutching the hand mirror to her breast. “To an old man.”

Sympathy raked through her. The king had made the announcement in the spring, and Clodrah had been inconsolable at the prospect of being wed to a man more than twice her age. Her mood had only lifted when the Scots from Dal Riada, on the western coast of Pictland, had accepted the invitation to the royal wedding of Clodrah’s older sister being held at the end of the week.

“Your husband will be devoted to you,” she said, as she secured the final emerald in place. “You will be mistress of a fine palace, and answer to no one.”

Ah, what bliss such freedom would be. To not have the constant fear in the back of her mind that she was at the mercy of a king’s fickle whim. Somewhere she could freely share her thoughts and not worry about bringing unwanted attention upon her head. It was unlikely she would ever find a husband to cherish, but how dearly she longed for a small hillfort she could call her own home.

At least when Clodrah wed, she would accompany her half-sister to her new palace, and escape the shadow of Forteviot. And at last, she would be able to carve out a future where she did not rely upon royal charity.

But that was her most deeply held secret. If anyone should discover the small inheritance her mamma had sewed into her girdle, she would be left utterly destitute.

“You do exaggerate so, Clodrah. Thirty-one is not such a great age.” Brilicie smoothed the fabric of her rich, iridescent blue gown and Catriona smothered the flare of envy. For ten years, since she had been admitted to the court as a rejected nine-year-old, she had worn nothing but dove gray or similar muted hues, as decreed by the queen. She should be used to it by now. Yet deep inside, the childish wish remained to wear beautiful, vibrant gowns like these princesses who were the closest thing she had to friends.

“It is all very well for you,” Clodrah retorted. “Your husband is far from here, and you may take your pick of wild Scots’ warriors to liven your nights.”

“I’ve no desire for a wild Scots lover.” A blush heated Brilicie’s cheeks. She had been wed a year and seemed content in the choice of her lord. “My husband pleases me well enough.”

The door that led to Clodrah’s antechamber burst open, and several young noblewomen entered, in a rainbow of resplendent gowns and sparkling jewels. They could not look grander if it was the royal wedding this day, but their efforts were for one reason only.

To catch the attention of the visiting Scots.

“My lady,” gasped one, pressing a hand to her breast as she dropped a curtsey to Clodrah. “We have heard the most delightful gossip. My serving woman overheard the Scots’ advance envoys talking in the kitchens about their princes. Two royal princes are arriving, my lady, and they are of such strength and beauty as to dazzle all of Pictland.”

Catriona bit her lip, so she wouldn’t laugh at the outrageous comment. But it seemed she was alone in thinking the Scots’ envoys overstated their masters’ attributes. She stepped back from the ladies and picked up the precious mirror that Clodrah had dropped upon a table. If it was inadvertently damaged, it would not be the princess who faced the queen’s displeasure.

“Papa believed only one prince was accompanying the King of Dal Riada.” Clodrah sounded enraptured by the disclosure. “I am determined to ensnare at least one of their princes and have him declare undying devotion to me. I shall not go to my marriage bed untouched by true passion, as my dear sister has been forced to do.”

The noblewomen sighed at such romantic notions, and a strange flutter of sorrow filled Catriona’s breast. It had been so long since she’d harbored secret dreams of finding a man to love, a man of honor who wouldn’t care about her tarnished heritage. But no nobleman wished to potentially pollute his own bloodline by wedding a woman who had been rejected by her own family, nor risk the king’s possible displeasure by taking her as a mistress.

She had no intention of being any man’s mistress. But how wonderful it would be to have a great warrior confide that she was his reason for living.

Enough. Such girlish fantasies would bring nothing but heartache.

“To be sure, it will be entertaining to flirt with these savage Scots,” Brilicie said. “But beware of anything else, my dear Clodrah. We know so little of their ways.” Brilicie’s glance caught hers. “What do you say, Catriona?”

The other noblewomen darted her guarded looks. They never quite knew how to treat her, when both the queen and the elder Princess of Fortriu avoided acknowledging her existence whenever possible.

She ignored them and focused on Clodrah. “Lady Brilicie speaks the truth. The Scots are, after all, our enemies.”

Annoyance flashed across Clodrah’s face. “We are not at war with them at present. And that is all that matters. The great goddess herself has whispered in my ear and shown me how it shall be. Who am I to dismiss her word?”

As the noblewomen fluttered around their princess, unease crawled along Catriona’s spine and she shivered, even though the chamber was not especially cold. But dread always assailed her, whenever Clodrah boasted of the connection she shared with their beloved goddess, Bride.

Bride had been sparing in bestowing her gifts for generations, and it was a great honor to be blessed so. But Clodrah, despite the mystical aura she loved to weave about herself, was not a chosen one of the goddess.

Catriona knew this in her soul, as though Bride herself had shared the knowledge.

But this continuing sense of foreboding that echoed in every heartbeat, was something she had never experienced before. She grasped her fingers together, willing herself to remain calm, when every sense she possessed screamed at her to leave the chamber before this unnamed fear suffocated her.

There was no need for such alarm. Clodrah liked to have her own way, but she wouldn’t be foolish enough to give her maidenhead to a Scots warrior, even if he were a prince.

Yet it was more than that. Bride was powerful and even if her influence had waned from the ancient times, with the advance of the new religion from Rome, she was not a goddess to be trifled with.

Not a goddess who would allow her sacred name to be taken in vain without retribution.

Brilicie came to her side and in silence they watched the ladies as they exclaimed over the wondrous pronouncement. After some moments, the Princess of Circinn gave her a sideways glance.

“Have you seen this also, Catriona?”

Panic flared in her chest. For so long she had hidden the truth, and even though she knew she could trust Brilicie not to betray her secret, caution was a harsh master to overcome. The gift, after all, was allegedly bestowed upon royalty only. Brilicie was the first to be truly blessed by the goddess in more than forty years, and her status in the royal courts of Pictland was unparalleled. “My lady?”

“Bride has been elusive since the announcement that the Scots’ would attend this wedding. I understand your reticence to confide, and yet…” Brilicie shivered, as though the same misgivings haunted her as they did Catriona. “I should dearly love to acknowledge another chosen one of our beloved goddess.”

There was no point denying it. “It is too dangerous.”

“Perhaps. And yet you possess royal blood, even if it is not spoken of.”

Her royal blood was nothing but a curse. And yet it was the very reason why she had been chosen by Bride.

Years of hiding her precious connection with Bride warred with the desperate need to share the dark fear that had grown ever deeper during the last few months. Her mother’s voice echoed in the back of her mind, from when she was six years old and still unaware of the betrayal that tainted her blood and would soon shatter her sheltered life.

Never tell anyone that the great goddess has taken you for her own.

She had kept her promise to her lady mother, Magaidh. But Brilicie knew, from the insight that only another of Bride’s chosen ones possessed. She drew in a ragged breath and cast an anxious glance at her younger half-sister.

“I fear for the princess,” she whispered. “Ever since the Scots accepted the invitation to Fortriu, there has been a shadow on the sun that I cannot explain. And whenever my lady Clodrah speaks of Bride in such a manner, I feel the goddess’ wrath.”

It was a relief to share that burden at last, but when she caught the troubled gaze of Brilicie, any reassurance she’d harbored that the princess might dismiss her concerns as mere foolishness, withered.

Brilicie shared the same fears.

“We must ensure the princess does nothing to endanger herself with these foreign warriors.” Brilicie’s voice was so low, she had to lean closer to hear. “But she must never know, Catriona. We know how she loves to go her own way. But until the Scots are gone from Pictland, I fear she will never be safe.”

Catriona inclined her head. She agreed with all Brilicie said. But disquiet still lingered, deep inside, a relentless misgiving that both she and Brilicie were missing something fundamental in the goddess’ warning.

Something that would irrevocably change everything they had ever known.

Catriona joined the other noblewomen in the great hall, to await the ceremonial arrival of the Scots. Despite her precarious position within Forteviot, royal etiquette dictated she took her place among the most highly born ladies in the land. Unfortunately, that meant she was standing next to the dais, where the royal family would sit. Where the king, if he chose to glance this way, could not help but see her.

They had not exchanged a word since she’d joined the court, and she was thankful for it. Her heritage was tainted but if her royal blood was ever acknowledged, any hope she harbored of escaping the shadow of Forteviot would vanish. She would become a desirable prospect for those with ambition, and she had no wish for the king to reward one of his faithful advisers by giving her to him as a bride.

If only she could wait at the other end of the hall, by the doors, far from the king’s possible notice and the queen’s disdainful glance. But as it was, she would have an unimpeded view of the foreign warriors, as they exchanged diplomatic pleasantries with their hosts.

And where, doubtless, the princes would attempt to dazzle every lady their roving eyes chanced upon.

The royal family entered the hall and sat on the carved chairs upon the dais. At once, the double doors at the far end of the hall were flung open, and the Scots marched in.

Excitement rippled through the ladies by her side and even though it went against her better instincts, she couldn’t help following everyone else, and craned her neck to catch an early glimpse of their erstwhile enemies.

Her heart slammed against her chest and the breath stalled in her throat as her gaze snagged on a truly magnificent warrior. With hair as black as midnight, a beard that gave him a breath-stealing wildness, and biceps that caused her mouth to dry, he fairly swaggered, apparently oblivious to the ladies that flanked the hall who sparkled with jewels and attempted to distract his attention.

“Goddess, save us,” breathed Lady Fyfa, the noblewoman by her side. “Is that barbaric creature one of the princes?”

“He must be,” said another. “Such arrogance in his bearing. I am quite overcome.”

“I am determined to have him in my bed,” Fyfa said.

“Not if I can help it,” remarked the second and, as one, both women broke etiquette and took half a step forward.

Catriona had the overwhelming urge to follow them, but thankfully the sight of the Scot had not stolen all her good senses. Besides, she would not humiliate herself by letting the other ladies know she was as entranced by the stranger as they.

She pressed her lips together and tried to calm her erratic pulses. This was madness. A fleeting glance should not affect her so. Yet she couldn’t drag her bewitched gaze away as the royal entourage drew ever closer.

Several of the Scots turned admiring eyes to the ladies by her side, but the black-haired warrior—who surely could be none other than the eldest prince of Dal Riada—appeared indifferent to their charms.

He drew level to her. So close, she need only reach out, and she would touch him. As though he heard her errant thought he glanced her way, and she gasped, transfixed, as his dark gaze caught hers.

His confident march faltered, and time itself suspended, spinning an ethereal web around them both. The hall receded, the murmur of the nobles faded, and then he smiled at her, and she was lost.

For an eternal heartbeat, the entire entourage halted. It was scandalous and she should break this dangerous connection, but she was captivated by the admiration glowing in his eyes. Unaccustomed warmth flooded through her before the prince – he could be none other—inclined his head at her, another blatant breach in etiquette.

The spell shattered and she blinked as he proceeded the few extra steps before pausing before the dais. She did not hear the formal greetings. A thrilling buzz filled her head, like the time she had indulged in too many goblets of wine at Clodrah’s betrothal in the spring.

The ladies by her side shot her bemused glances but she didn’t acknowledge them. This magical moment would pass soon enough and once again she would fade into the background. But for now, she drank in the truly splendid sight of the Scot’s broad shoulders, encased in a rich saffron shirt that showed his magnificent biceps to fine advantage.

He had not yet said a word, but his commanding presence mesmerized, and she had a scandalizing vision of tugging her fingers through his wild black hair that brushed his shoulders.

A delightful shiver chased over her arms at the prospect, even though it would never happen. But goddess, how she wished it might.

Chapter 2

Tavish O’Eochaid stood beside his younger half-brother Alpin, Prince of Dal Riada, as the official greetings and introductions were exchanged. Displeasure flashed over the King of Fortriu’s face at the absence of the King of Dal Riada. Not a good sign. Clearly, the fact their royal father had sent his two eldest sons in his stead did not appease the Pict.

But even that bad omen did nothing to diminish the lust that blazed through Tavish’s blood. It took all his considerable willpower not to glance over his shoulder at the flame-haired beauty who had stolen his breath.

Who was she? A lady of high noble birth, no doubt. Otherwise, she would not occupy so elevated a position before the royal family. Yet her gown was drab, and she did not glitter with countless jewels, as did every other lady in the hall.

She was an enigma. There was nothing he enjoyed better than unraveling a mystery, and his cock thickened at the agreeable prospect. Before he left the Kingdom of Fortriu, he would not merely have tumbled the irresistible lady in countless hours of illicit pleasure. He vowed to tease all her secrets from her, too.

When the formalities were completed, and Alpin had given the speech, in Pictish, that he had spent the last week memorizing, the hall became a flurry of activity. Long tables were dragged to the center of the hall, seats were allocated, and great serving platters brought in. From his position, he could see only the back of his mysterious lady and only then if he leaned to his left and craned his neck.

“My God, Tavish.” Alpin, to his right, gave his arm a friendly punch. “Have you ever seen so enchanting a creature?”

He hadn’t, but unaccountably he wasn’t best pleased that Alpin also had his eye upon her. He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Which enchanting creature do you mean, Al?”

“The younger Princess of Fortriu.” Alpin glanced at the dais. “I am determined to dance with her all night. At least, I imagine these heathens will dance after the feast.”

Tavish followed his half-brother’s gaze. Both princesses wore the Pictish style of gowns that were so unlike those of Scotswomen, and both of them dazzled with jewels.

“She is fine, indeed,” he conceded. “The Picts are far from the hideous barbarians we’ve been led to believe.”

“The tales of old men.” Alpin gave a dismissive snort. It was true Scot and Pict had not engaged in battle for many years, but the bards still sang of those ancient days, and it was a history they all learned as soon as they were old enough to understand.

“Then it falls to us to rewrite those tales.” Tavish picked up his tankard. “May the treaty our king offers to the Picts unite this land.” As he and Alpin took long swigs of the mead, a thread of unease plagued his mind. The Fortriu king had taken offense at the absence of the King of Dal Riada, but who could say if that would influence his decisions?

Tavish knew well enough how to navigate the intrigues of a royal court. But when it came to the political power wielded by kings, he kept his opinions to himself.

His future was secure, and he had no wish to risk his head by provoking those who would not think twice about making him an enemy.

It appeared the heathens did, indeed, dance. When the feast had ended, the tables were once again pushed to the walls, and a group of musicians tuned their instruments. The warriors he and Alpin had grown up with, and considered friends, gathered around, as they discussed the breathtaking beauty of the Pictish ladies.

Tavish barely acknowledged the bawdy banter as he scanned the hall. The Picts stood across from them, and although the ladies smiled, their warriors glowered.

He was interested in neither. Where the hell was his mysterious noblewoman?

“Tavish.” Irritation heated Alpin’s voice and he turned to his half-brother, a frown still carved into his brow.

“Aye?” His voice conveyed his impatience. Not that Alpin noticed.

“I asked you if I should approach the Fortriu king now, to ask to dance with his daughter. The ways of the Picts are strange. I do not wish anyone else to occupy her attention this night.”

He had no idea why Alpin thought he would know Pictish etiquette, but it had always been this way. Alpin looked to him in all matters, and Tavish, five years the elder, had accepted his role of advisor without question.

Even if there were others in the court of Dal Riada who dearly wished otherwise.

He beckoned to one of the envoys who had arrived in Fortriu ahead of them, a seasoned advisor to their king and a man Tavish trusted. “My lord Alpin wishes to convey his admiration for the youngest Princess of Fortriu,” he said.

The man gave a half bow. “Of course, my lord.” He turned to Alpin, but with his duty done, Tavish stepped back from the conversation. He had spied his elusive lady, and nothing would keep him from her.

He strolled across the expanse of hall, breaching the unofficial divide between Scot and Pict. Several of his countrymen followed in his wake, clearly eager to make the acquaintance of various Pictish ladies.

He did not care who had caught their eye. So long as none of them dared to accost the one in his sights.

Damn it, she had vanished yet again. He was forced to halt, as two ladies stood in his path, and he gave a lavish bow and kissed their proffered hands in greeting. It seemed in Pictland, a noblewoman could approach a man, and in other circumstances he’d find the notion refreshing. But he wasn’t interested in flirting with these ladies.

A flash of dove gray caught his eye, and there she was, weaving her way between the vibrant throng of forest green, sky blue, and untold other hues that graced the other noblewomen’s gowns. For a fleeting second, she caught his eye, and inexplicably his chest tightened, as heat blazed through him in a scorching wave.

The teasing banter from the Pictish ladies faded, leaving only the heavy thud of his heart echoing in his ears. Scarcely aware of what he said, he gave a distracted bow and excused himself, his gaze never leaving her, even as she continued on her way.

His lips quirked as he shouldered his way through the crowd. She was the first woman who had ever turned away from him when he’d made his interest clear, and it was exhilarating.

He reached her, blocking her path and she halted, astonishment flicking across her face. He bowed, as though she were a Princess of Fortriu herself, and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he straightened, ready to take her hand.

She did not offer him her hand.

Neither did she smile.

Intrigued, for the first time in his life he was at a loss for words as he drank in the flawless green of her eyes, her long dark lashes, and the enchanting sprinkle of freckles that brushed her nose. Far from diminishing her ethereal beauty, the plainness of her gown merely enhanced her delicate bone structure and the incomparable shade of her hair.

God, her hair. His fingers itched to release her flame-colored braids from their bindings and wrap her silken tresses around his fist. Another bolt of heat flared through him, settling deep in his groin, and he swallowed a groan of frustration that burned his throat.

He couldn’t stand here in an unaccustomed, bewitched, silence. She would think him a witless fool. His Pictish was basic at best, but he had taken care to learn a few vital phrases by heart. “My lady. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. Tavish O’Eochaid of Duntorr, Dal Riada, at your service and command.”

She appeared supremely unimpressed by both his grasp of her language, and his choice of greeting. It was a little… disconcerting.

“Tavish O’Eochaid,” she said at last, and his name had never sounded so evocative as when uttered with a delightful Pictish accent. “So, you are not a prince of Da Riada, after all.”

Her response was unexpected, but he found it entrancing. And not simply because she was clearly more fluent in Gaelic than he was in Pictish.

“If I were a prince, would you honor me with sharing your name?”

“Prince or not, makes not the slightest difference to me.”

He laughed, and several heads turned disapproving glances their way. Perhaps he had broken some unknown Pictish etiquette with his unrestrained reaction, but by God, this noblewoman was like none other he had ever encountered.

But then, his experience was limited to Scotswomen. And the Scots noblewomen of the court of Dunadd knew exactly who and what he was.

“Have I offended you, my lady?” Yet the other noblewomen had been forthright in approaching him without any need for a formal introduction. “Should I accost a kindly matron and beg she officially introduce us?”

“I am not offended.” He caught the merest glimmer of a smile before she sighed. “It is no great secret, my lord. My name is Catriona, Lady Magaidh of Fortriu.” She dipped a dignified curtsey, and after a small hesitation, offered him her hand.

He clasped her fingers and brushed his lips against her knuckles. Such a small gesture, and one he had performed countless times in the past. Yet the feel of her soft skin, and the elusive scent of lavender that teased his senses, were like nothing he had experienced before. His heart pounded, the air evaporated from his chest, and as he raised his head and caught her gaze, her soft gasp was the most seductive sound he had ever heard.

“Catriona.” His voice was raw with need, but he could not help that. Instinctively, his fingers tightened around hers, even though she hadn’t tried to pull from his grasp. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. The court of Fortriu is graced by your radiant presence.”

“Are all Scots blessed with such charm, my lord?” A hint of mockery threaded through her question, but she still did not try to escape him. “You should know I am immune to pretty words. They do not sway me in the least.”

“I have no desire to sway you from your convictions. But I will not apologize for telling you the truth.”

“Your truth is heady, to be sure. Yet I fear you may have indulged in too many tankards of mead for me to give your compliments a second thought.”

He took a step closer to her, and she did not retreat. “Let me assure you, one tankard of mead doesn’t impair my judgement of such matters. Your grasp of my language is impressive, my lady, but I’m not certain if you mean to insult me or not.”

“I do not know you well enough to insult you.”

Damn, but she was more intoxicating than the finest wine he’d tasted in the court of Dunadd. “I look forward to a time when you do.”

“Your confidence is admirable.”

“Your doubt wounds me deeply.”

Finally, she smiled, and he could not have torn his gaze from her had his very king commanded it. “I have no wish to wound you.”

There was a ripple among the crowd, and he glanced over her shoulder. It appeared the dancing was about to commence. Perfect timing. He returned his attention to Catriona and offered her what many ladies had informed him was his most engaging smile.

“I’m gratified to know this. In which case, you won’t deny me the delight of the first dance.”

Her smile faltered and he had the conviction she was about to refuse his request. Yet why would she? She’d given no indication that she found his presence distasteful.

Before she could respond, two noblewomen appeared by their side, one of them jostling Catriona in a manner that irked him greatly. Especially when she didn’t rebuke the young woman for such discourtesy.

“Lady Catriona,” said the jostler, and the hint of condescension in her tone grated along his nerves. “You are quite engrossing the attention of the prince to the exclusion of all others. Come now, allow us to show our esteemed guest the true meaning of Pictish hospitality.”

The smile she aimed his way left him in little doubt as to what kind of hospitality she inferred, but far from intriguing, he found the prospect irritating. Only a lifetime living at court, where he’d learned as much from observing political interplay as from the extensive education he’d received from renowned scholars, kept the scowl from his face and a sharp retort falling from his tongue.

“My ladies.” He offered the two interlopers a half bow, without relinquishing his possessive grip on Catriona’s hand. “Forgive me, but I am honored to be accompanying Lady Catriona for the night’s festivities.”

Since he wasn’t certain Catriona would agree, he tugged her closer before she could contradict his word, and led her towards the center of the hall, where Scots’ warriors stood shoulder to shoulder with their Pict counterparts, vying for the foreign noblewomen’s favor.

Before they could take their place in the formation, she came to an abrupt halt. He turned to her, and there was an expression on her face he could not place. Disappointment? How had he displeased her?

“My lady,” he said, but she raised her hand, stopping him dead mid-thought. No woman had ever dared to silence him in such a manner before.

“You are a prince of Dal Riada.” It wasn’t a question, and there was an underlying hint of censure in her words.

She was vexed because he had failed to tell her that? He couldn’t imagine why it adversely affected her opinion. In his experience, his rank—odd though it might seem to outsiders—was generally considered an advantage when it came to impressing noblewomen.

But Catriona was not a Scotswoman. And unlike her fellow Picts, it appeared his royal blood did not give him any advantage in her eyes.

“In my defense, I never said I wasn’t.” He raised her hand and pressed his lips against her fingers. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and feel her luscious body melt against his. His cock throbbed for release, and he swallowed a groan, but God damn it, this lady addled every good sense in his head. “You also assured me it would make no difference to you.”

“It doesn’t.” An entrancing blush heated her cheeks, which did nothing to help his state of arousal. “I am merely confused.” She glanced at Alpin who had managed to secure the attention of the youngest Princess of Fortriu and was leading her from the dais. “Are you a royal cousin of the Prince of Dal Riada?”

“We are half-brothers. Alpin is the eldest legitimate son and will inherit Dal Riada in due course. I, on the other hand, despite my title, have no claim on the throne.”

She gazed at him as if he had just disclosed something most scandalous. Belatedly, it occurred to him that perhaps, in Pictland, such entangled familial ties weren’t spoken of in public. And he had to be honest. He knew, from whispers at court, that his position wasn’t accepted by everyone.

The dance had begun, but he was not inclined to sweep Catriona onto the floor. He had asked her to dance so he had an excuse to spend time with her. But if she preferred to converse, it was no hardship.

He edged her away from the milling nobles and warriors, to where he’d spied the time-candle nook, set deep into the thickness of the wall where its flame would not be disturbed. It was scarcely secluded, but would afford a little more privacy, since everyone else was more focused on the entertainment.

“Forgive me,” he said as, still holding her hand, he backed her against the wall next to the alcove. “This must sound unconventional. I did not mean to offend you.”

She shook her head. “My lord, I assure you it takes a great deal to offend me. Although I must confess, I do not quite understand your situation. Your king… acknowledges you?”

“Aye, my lady.” He grinned at the incredulous expression on her face. “If my lady mother had possessed royal blood, they would have wed. But an alliance with the king of our homeland across the sea was required.”

“And the queen does not resent your presence at court?”

The question took him aback. No one had ever asked him that before, and in truth, he had never considered it. “The queen has always been most gracious. The marriage was but a political arrangement, nothing more.”

“Your queen is most gracious, indeed. I do not believe many royal wives would be so accommodating.”

He conceded she was likely right. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“I was not casting judgement.”

“I didn’t assume you were.” Although he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. Catriona appeared to say whatever was on her mind, regardless of how it might be received. At least, she had with him. He still could not fathom why she hadn’t reprimanded the other noblewoman for her discourtesy.

God, what was the matter with him, to be silently outraged on her behalf? He scarcely knew her, and circumstances decreed he never would. All they could share was an illicit affair. It was all he ever wanted from a woman, but here, in Pictland, a sense of intrigue and hint of the forbidden swirled around the court and made the simple act of initiating an assignation into something fantastical.

Aye, that was the only reason why this beautiful lady stole his breath and befuddled his senses in a way no other had before. Why else would he be speaking of his heritage, instead of making plans of seduction?

Chapter 3

Catriona drew in a stealthy breath to calm her racing heart. But instead, Tavish’s evocative scent of forests and leather assailed her, causing her head to spin and pulse beat wildly. His fingers were strong around hers, possessive, even, and it was wrong of her to allow him such liberties. But she could not bring herself to break free.

She was still reeling from his revelation. And that their connections to their respective kings, while similar, could not be more different. Would her royal father have acknowledged her had she been a boy?

Doubtful. His queen had given him a longed-for son the same year Catriona had joined the court.

Why did Tavish have to be a prince? If he had been a commoner, no one would care that he had singled her out. But she was deluding herself. Even if he’d possessed no royal blood, it would make no difference. He outshone every other man in the hall, Pict or Scot, and every noblewoman’s gaze had followed them across the hall.

Tomorrow, she would doubtless be on the receiving end of several noblewomen’s slights for her impertinence at encouraging a prince of Dal Riada’s attention. But that was many hours away and she was used to those ladies’ behavior, even if it did sometimes still sting.

There was nothing they could do that would prevent her from enjoying this thrilling interlude tonight. For some reason, Tavish had chosen her to spend time with, and she wouldn’t waste it by wondering why.

She dragged her scattered thoughts together. What had they been speaking of?

“That is good to know.”

His smile was quizzical. It appeared he, also, had forgotten what they had been talking about. “Enough of me, my lady,” he said. “What of you? Do you live in the palace of Forteviot, or another stronghold in Fortriu?”

A nervous flutter assailed her stomach. The last thing she wished to discuss was herself, but it was not as though she needed to tell him all the details. “Forteviot is my home. But when the youngest Princess of Fortriu is wed, I will accompany her in her new life.”

And at last, I will be able to forge my own.

But that secret was one that would never pass her lips. Not even to this mesmerizing stranger.

He nodded, but it was obvious he was perplexed by her status in the royal household. “You are related to the princess?”

Heat swept through her. It was an unwritten rule that she never spoke of her relationship to the royal family. Although everyone at court knew the situation, it was only through whispered confidences and embellished speculation.

But that wasn’t the only reason. She didn’t want to tell him, because unlike his sire, hers had never wanted her. The last thing she wished was for Tavish to know how little most of the court thought of her. She did not want his pity.

Yet how could she lie?

“Yes.” She focused on his chest and her heart thundered in her ears. As though condemning her for not telling the truth. Except that wasn’t the reason why her pulses fluttered, and breast constricted. It was because Tavish towered over her, the breadth of his shoulders blocking out the rest of the hall, and her back was pressed against the stone wall. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? “The princess and I are… related.”

“Catriona.” The way he said her name was like a soft caress against her cheek, and a delicious shiver coursed through her before she could prevent it. He lifted her chin with one finger until their gazes meshed. His eyes were so dark, they appeared black, and his warm breath dusted her lips, an intoxicating promise of forbidden delights. “I’ve upset you. That was not my intention.”

His words scarcely made sense, but she couldn’t let him believe his question had distressed her. Even if it had. “I am not upset, my lord.”

“I’m not conversant with the ways of the Picts.” His thumb brushed her jaw, a featherlight touch, and one that stole the very air from her lungs. “Are you related to the princess through marriage, my lady?”

His intense gaze roved over her face before dropping to sweep over her, obviously taking in the drabness of her gown, without even a hint of the elaborate embroidery that graced every other lady’s attire. And again, resentment burned through her that she had to dress so plainly, to appease the queen’s wounded feelings.

He dragged in a harsh breath as their gazes meshed. Her bodice felt too tight, and her breasts ached for his touch. Goddess. Yet it was true, and the scandalous vision would not leave her mind. And still she had not answered him.

“Catriona, are you recently widowed?” His deep voice had dropped to a seductive whisper and ripples of need collided between her thighs. She sucked in a shallow breath, and through a fog of rising desire, his words finally penetrated.

He thought she was in mourning. That she was connected to the royal family through a husband who had passed through the veil. But gray was not the color of grief, although how would he know that?

“I am not widowed,” she whispered, and without quite meaning to, she trailed her fingers along the length of plaid that slung across his chest and over his shoulder.

His hand cradled her jaw, and it took every shred of willpower she possessed not to press her face against his palm and lose whatever remained of her senses.

“Is your husband at court?”

She swallowed, nerves of a different kind fluttering within her breast. She was old to never have been wed. Would Tavish think her less desirable when he learned the truth?

It shouldn’t matter. Yet it did. For all the fine words that she comforted herself with in the black of night, the truth was bitter.

She dearly longed for a handsome lover who could teach her the delights of a marriage bed that would never be hers. And even if she didn’t intend to succumb to such a fantasy, she still wanted Tavish to look upon her with passion, and not pity that no man had found her worthy enough to take as a bride.

But the truth could not be denied. “I have no husband.”

His thumb paused in its wondrous caress, and she braced herself for his reaction.

Yet he didn’t appear shocked by her revelation. Perhaps, in Dal Riada, noblewomen were not required to marry young, as they were in Pictland where strong alliances always needed to be secured between the seven kingdoms.

“My honor demands I return you to your kinspeople forthwith.” His husky voice should not affect her so, yet she couldn’t help the illicit flutter that caused damp heat to bloom between her thighs. “But I find I cannot. What magic do you weave around me, my lady?”

“The same you weave around me.” Goddess, had she truly said such a thing? Yet she found Tavish so easy to talk to. Even now, knowing he was a prince, made no difference. “Perhaps this is the will of the goddess.”

His smile stole her breath. Had a more entrancing man ever been created?

“Alas, I do not believe in your goddess. But if she had a hand in our meeting, then I am grateful for it.”

Of course. She had forgotten, although she should not have. Unlike the Picts, who could worship unfettered by royal decrees, the Scots followed the new religion, to the exclusion of the old.

“I shall certainly remember this night for all time.”

He laughed, a glorious sound, and it seemed her heart filled with light as she smiled back at him, unheeding of who might be watching.

“We have until the week’s end, my lady. Do you truly imagine I want only one night with you?”

Caution fluttered on a far horizon, but his admiration was too heady to dampen with reality. She would take this time with him. It could not be that hard, to enjoy herself without losing her heart to this charming, foreign prince.

But no matter how enchanting he was, she would not let his honeyed words turn her head. “We have this evening, to be sure. But the night is a different matter entirely.”

He was so close, their lips all but met. Dear goddess, was he about to kiss her? Did she want him to kiss her, here, where anyone could see?

Yes…

“Aye, my sweet Catriona.” His raised her hand and grazed her knuckles with a kiss that scrambled all her good intentions. “We shall have our night before I leave the Kingdom of Fortriu. Of this, I promise you.”

It was late when she left the great hall with Clodrah and the other young, unwed, noblewomen, after the queen had bid them to retire. Doubtless, many clandestine assignations would now be made between Pictish ladies and Scots’ warriors. And although Tavish had spent the whole evening with her, and had appeared not to even notice the ladies vying for his attention, how could she pretend he would not take advantage of one of the offers he was bound to receive?

“It is too bad.” Clodrah flounced into her antechamber and waved away a servant who offered refreshments. “I am not a child who must be banished to her chamber when the time-candle flickers. Alpin was distraught when I had to leave.”

The other two ladies sighed and agreed it was all quite devastating.

“Catriona.” Clodrah took her hand, and Catriona dragged her scattered thoughts together. Tavish had not pledged her anything, and his scandalous promise that they would spend a night together, while a delightful dream, was unlikely to happen. There was nothing she could do if he spent the rest of the night in the arms of another.

The notion was more disheartening than it should be.

“Yes?” she responded to her half-sister.

“Tell me what you thought of the prince. Is he not the handsomest man you have ever seen?”

In truth, she had scarcely noticed Alpin at all. “The prince is handsome, to be sure.” But she wasn’t thinking of the legitimate son. Was Tavish even now seducing another lady?

“He is but three years older than me.” There was a dreamy note in Clodrah’s voice as she twirled around the chamber. “He said he had never beheld such a beautiful creature in his life as when his glance fell upon me.”

It seemed charm was something both princes possessed in abundance.

She couldn’t resist gently teasing her half-sister. “Are you now glad that we learned the Scots’ language?”

Clodrah had believed such lessons were a grievous waste of time, but now she gave a dramatic sigh. “Indeed. If I could not understand their barbaric tongue, it would be quite impossible for my dear Alpin to compliment me so.”

A thread of unease weaved through her, and as Clodrah danced by her, she caught her hand. “My lady, is the prince aware you are betrothed?”

The gaiety fell from Clodrah like a cloak, and she pulled Catriona closer. “I did not inform him. But in the morn, I intend to visit the sacred stones and beg Bride for her guidance in this matter. We shall go together.”

The unease magnified, coalescing into an unnamed danger. There could be only one reason why Clodrah wished to visit the sacred stones, and it had nothing to do with begging for guidance on heeding her royal duty.

But at least she would be going with Clodrah. And she could only hope Bride would show her the way to keep her half-sister safe from her charming Scots prince.

And keep my heart safe from Tavish, too.

Chapter 4

Tavish watched Catriona leave the great hall as disbelief wound through him. He’d been so certain she would stay until the night’s festivities ended, when he’d planned on smuggling her to his chamber and seducing her so thoroughly, she would think of only him for the rest of the week.

His cock throbbed with frustrated need and if it were not so damn uncomfortable, he’d find it amusing. It was a novel sensation, having a woman refuse him. Although Catriona hadn’t refused him—she simply hadn’t agreed with his whispers to leave the hall and stroll beneath the moonlight.

Was there a difference? His mind was so addled by lust, he could scarcely think straight.

Several Pictish ladies surrounded him, and any other time he would have enjoyed their flirty banter. But he couldn’t concentrate, despite their delightful accents that reminded him of Catriona.

Except they weren’t her.

With a bow, he excused himself and went across the hall to Alpin, who looked extremely disgruntled. He clapped his younger half-brother’s shoulder.

“What ails you, Al? Should we find you a willing lady to take the edge off?”

Alpin gave an impatient shrug to dislodge his hand. “The only lady I want in my bed is the princess.”

“Lower your sights. That’s never going to happen.”

“We will see.” There was a hard note of determination in his voice that Tavish had rarely heard before. Fuck, the last thing they needed was for Alpin to get into one of his stubborn moods, where reason lost all meaning.

“Alpin.” Once again, he gripped his shoulder. “Enjoy the company of the princess. But do not press for anything more. In less than a week, we’ll be gone from here. In a month, you will barely recall her face.”

Would he remember Catriona’s face a month from now? Somehow, he knew he would.

Alpin glared at him. “Do not judge all men by your own standards, Tavish. I’ve no intention of forgetting the princess’ face, even in ten years hence.”

With that, he marched off, with two of their closest friends.

Well, shit. That hadn’t taken long. The king had drawn him aside, before they left the royal stronghold of Dunadd, and with a knowing laugh had told Tavish to keep an eye on his younger half-brother, and not allow any of the exotic, foreign Picts to steal his heart.

“Their noblewomen are doubtless good for a tumble, Tavish,” he’d said. “By all means, allow Alpin to sow his seed as freely as he desires, but ensure he does not become entangled with any of their women. We know how recklessly he bestows his favors.”

The king had given no such warning to Tavish. But then, it was well known at court that while he enjoyed dalliances, he never became involved with the ladies concerned. Unlike Alpin, who had declared undying devotion to three young noblewomen this past year, until each one had been surreptitiously removed from court.

No doubt, upon their return to Dunadd, Alpin would soon forget about the princess. But his lust-dazed humor was going to make the rest of this week arduous.

“Should we be concerned, Tavish?” Allister, his closest friend, and whose father was the king’s most trusted adviser, nodded in the direction where Alpin had now vanished into the crowd.

“It’s unfortunate the princess is the one to catch his eye.” Tavish heaved a sigh. “There’s no likelihood of him quenching his lust with her. A few days is not that long for us to keep him out of trouble.”

But long enough, surely, for him to snare the enchanting Lady Catriona.

“Aye.” Allister rolled his shoulders. “The Pictish ladies are not as I expected. We should see if any are agreeable to a small party. It’s been years since you and I enjoyed such multiple bed sport. Alpin is sure to forsake his infatuation with the princess, if we offer him such a diversion.”

It was possible. But whether or not his half-brother would be interested was overshadowed by the realization that the prospect didn’t appeal to him.

Not unless Catriona was one of the ladies involved.

Outrage, akin to how he’d reacted when she had been disrespected by her countrywoman, burned through his chest. Fuck that. When he took her to his bed, there would be no other man there to admire her naked beauty.

She would belong to him, and him only.

He swallowed a groan and stealthily shifted his weight, but it did nothing to ease the constant throb deep in his groin. She had never been wed. Did that mean she was an untouched maid?

Another bolt of raw lust scorched through his blood, and it seemed a crimson glow descended across the hall. He’d never taken a virgin. The very idea that he might be Catriona’s first lover damn near incinerated his reason.

“Tavish.” There was a thread of concern in his friend’s voice. “What ails you?”

Fucked if he knew. He had never fantasized about taking a noblewoman’s maidenhead. He preferred his bed partners to know what they were doing, with no expectations of anything permanent. Which was why they were invariably married.

Crows would peck out his tongue before he admitted, even to his best friend, that a woman had managed to addle his reason so thoroughly, without even a kiss having been exchanged.

“Nothing.” His voice was hoarse, as visions of Catriona, her glorious hair unbound, flooded his bewitched mind.

If he had any sense, he’d seduce one of the noblewomen who had made their interest plain. Since when did he set his sights on a woman who had given no indication she was willing to share his bed?

Never.

Until now.

It was going to be a long, solitary night.

The sun had just risen as Catriona accompanied Clodrah to the sacred standing stones that stood some distance from the palace. The circle had been a place of worship for a thousand years or more, and whenever she went there, a sense of peace settled through her.

But this time, as she and her half-sister entered the circle, leaving Clodrah’s two guards beyond the perimeter, a sense of foreboding inched along her spine.

The breeze that rustled the grasses was warm, but she tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and cast a wary glance at the nearest stone, that loomed over her in all its majestic glory.

An eerie certainty settled in her heart. Bride was here.

Clodrah went to the center of the circle, stretched out her arms, and tilted her head to the sky. Catriona dug her fingers into her shawl, but it seemed she was powerless to follow the princess and urge caution. Instead, the overpowering command to fall to her knees and press her hands against the mighty stone hammered through her mind.

She would not succumb. She only ever sought the goddess’ wisdom when she was alone, and no one might see her.

“Great goddess, I beseech you to guide me.” Clodrah’s whisper echoed in Catriona’s head, as if the princess was standing by her side. Storm clouds gathered from nowhere and obscured the sun, casting dark shadows across the land and Catriona hitched in a sharp breath.

Oblivious, Clodrah continued to slowly twirl, as she gazed at the sky. A sky filled with menace that only Catriona could see.

Instinctively, she retreated, and her back hit the standing stone. A swirling vortex appeared, swallowing up her half-sister, the distant mountains, and all of Pictland, leaving the standing stones alone in a blighted landscape.

Merciful Bride, I beg you do not punish Clodrah for her sacrilege.

Catriona’s prayer was whipped away in the burning wind that bound her to the stone. If Bride had heard her, she was not appeased.

Hoofbeats echoed through her mind and the sound of battle cries rent the air as Pict and Scot battled for survival. In the gathering gloom, the unmistakable, swaddled, outline of a babe grew ever closer, and inexplicable dread clawed her heart.

A babe should not cause such trepidation. What are you showing me, Bride?

Great slashes tore through the clouds, distorting the visage. Glimpses of sunlight sparkled through the twilight, but the terror in her heart did not abate as understanding flooded through her.

Clodrah was in danger if she pursued this flirtation with the Scots prince. There was no doubt. But that wasn’t all.

So was Pictland herself.

“My lady, are you unwell?” The deep voice, hauntingly familiar, caused the lingering tendrils of the vision to instantly vanish. “Catriona? Can you hear me?”

She blinked, and Tavish towered before her, a frown slashed across his brow and concern glowing in his dark eyes. She dragged in a ragged breath, disorientated by his sudden appearance, by the way he gazed at her, and how his hands grasped her shoulders.

Goddess. Heat flooded through her, not only because he touched her so, but because he must have seen her while she was in the throes of her vision.

“I am quite well.” Her hoarse voice belied her words, and it was clear Tavish didn’t believe her. She cleared her throat and forced herself away from the stone that had supported her. “Truly, I am. Thank you for your concern.”

His hands slid from her shoulders and along her arms, and even through the long sleeves of her gown, his touch was as potent as the aftereffects of a lightning storm.

“I feared you were,” he hesitated, his frown still heavy, yet if anything that made him more entrancing than ever. “Insensible.” The word fell reluctantly between them, as though that wasn’t what he had really thought but did not have the words to explain.

How could it be that Tavish was the only one, besides her mother so long ago, who had found her while she had been communing with the goddess?

Was this a sign from Bride? That Tavish was the one person, besides Brilicie, she could entrust with her secret?

It did not seem possible. He was a stranger. A foreigner. And he did not even believe in the ancient gods.

“I am grieved if I alarmed you.” Her gaze dropped, to where Tavish now clasped her hands. It was most unseemly for him to take such liberties but how comforting his touch was. “I thought the princess and I were alone.”

Goddess, where was Clodrah? Her fingers tightened around Tavish’s, and almost as though he could hear her panic, he came to her side, so she could see Clodrah in the center of the circle—with Alpin.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, my lady.”

She looked back at him. There was a brooding expression on his face, as his thumbs gently caressed her hands. How could so fleeing a touch feel so wonderful?

“Why are you here?” Although in truth, she had a good idea. Clodrah had planned this meeting with her prince last night. “Our standing stones can be of no interest to Scots.”

His smile caused a sweet pain to lance through her breast. Goddess, help her. She could not afford to fall for him.

“It’s not your standing stones that the prince wished to see. Although I’m sure they are worth a visit, regardless.”

“Indeed, they are. Our sacred stones are the heartbeat of Pictland.”

His smile turned quizzical. “We have standing stones in Dal Riada. But I’ve never heard them called a heartbeat before.”

“That is because Scots turned their backs on the old ways.” She sighed. “The gods don’t leave their ancient places simply because you refuse to acknowledge them.”

“This sounds near to blasphemy.” Not that he appeared too concerned by the notion. “Do any Picts follow the one true God?”

“Do any Scots follow the true gods of old?”

“You have me there. We shall have to agree to disagree on this subject.”

With difficulty, she dragged her besotted gaze from Tavish to check on Clodrah. She should go to her half-sister and insist they return to the palace, but she didn’t want to leave Tavish. Besides, Clodrah was in no danger here, and in any case, the guards would not allow anything to happen to her.

She ignored the warning that pulsed in the back of her mind, the warning that reminded her of her recent vision. Nothing would happen to Clodrah. She would remain by her side until the Scots left Fortriu.

But how dearly she wanted this time with Tavish.

“Catriona.” His voice dropped to a delightfully husky whisper, and a shiver chased over her arms. “Is it true that some Picts are chosen by the pagan gods to be conduits for their people?”

He knows.

Alarm and relief streaked through her, twisting together in a maelstrom of confusion. Maybe Bride did want Tavish to know Catriona’s secret, although she could not imagine why.

Or maybe it was just what she wanted, and nothing to do with Bride at all.

“It’s true,” she whispered. And then years of self-preservation compressed her chest and she sucked in a shallow breath. She could not risk it. Yet she could still tell him the truth. “But they only choose those with royal blood.”

For a heart stopping moment she thought he was going to press her for more answers. But then he shook his head and gave her another of his bone melting smiles. “Catriona, you fascinate me beyond measure. I’ve never met a noblewoman like you before.”

His admiration warmed her heart, even though she knew he was but flirting. “Are we Picts so different from your Scotswomen?”

“I know nothing of other Picts, my lady. But you are certainly unlike any Scotswomen of my acquaintance.”

She should bask in his pretty compliments. What did it matter if he meant them or not? They were the only compliments a man had ever given her. But she couldn’t dislodge the certainty that after she had left him in the great hall, he had found another Pictish lady to spend the night with.

He did not owe her anything. She would only be despondent by the truth. Yet she couldn’t help herself.

“But what of the Pictish ladies who doubtless made your acquaintance after I departed the hall last night?”

He raised her hand to his lips, and she gasped when he brushed a kiss across her bare knuckles.

“I saw no lady in the hall but you.”

“You are charming, to be sure.”

“But do I charm you, Catriona?”

His dark gaze caught hers and despite the mocking note in his voice, she had the strange certainty he was serious.

You charm me utterly.

Thankfully, she kept that locked deep inside. “Tell me why you wish to charm me so.”

“Can you not guess?”

Her mouth dried and breath tangled in her throat. There was no mistaking what he meant. Would he leave and find a more accommodating lady, if she told him she could not indulge in an illicit affair?

Why can’t I?

Long ago, she had convinced herself she would never be a man’s mistress. But Tavish wasn’t looking for a mistress. Merely a transient lover, until he returned to Dal Riada.

She was not betrothed. She didn’t owe her chastity to anyone. And, like all noblewomen of her acquaintance, she was knowledgeable in the myriad ways to regulate one’s moon cycle.

There would be no likelihood of conceiving a babe.

Goddess, was she seriously contemplating this? Affairs were common among the nobility. And royalty. But a woman was still expected to produce a legitimate heir or two before she embarked on such intrigues.

Her prospects for a family of her own were slender for no man could wed her without the king’s permission. And it was painfully clear he had no intention of bestowing it. Otherwise, he would have strategically married her off years ago.

Tavish might be her one chance of enjoying the pleasures of the wedding bed. He was unaware of her heritage and had no need to ensure he remained in the king’s good graces, like every other nobleman in Pictland.

Nerves and excitement churned through her, leaving her lightheaded and breathless. Of course, she still needed to ensure Clodrah remained safe, but as she lost herself in Tavish’s dark gaze, an elusive certainty whispered through her.

There could be only one reason why Tavish had found her here, in the most sacred stone circle of Pictland, while she was in the great goddess’ presence.

It was because this was Bride’s will.

Chapter 5

Tavish watched as a delightful blush highlighted Catriona’s cheeks and it took more willpower than he cared to admit not to simply pull her into his arms and taste her delectable mouth.

He smothered a groan and contented himself by tightening his grip on her hand. She understood his unspoken message and the fact she had not slapped his face was an encouraging sign.

“You wish to charm me because you want an illicit affair with a Pictish noblewoman.”

He hadn’t expected her to state the fact so plainly, and the way she held his gaze, and the ethereal innocence that emanated from her, heated his blood in a way he’d never experienced before.

Despite her air of purity, surely she was no maid, if she spoke so freely? Relief washed through him. He had no wish to complicate a fleeting affair with a residual burden of guilt.

“Aye.” His voice was hoarse and silently he cursed, once again lost for words. But Catriona, it seemed, possessed that power over him, and he wasn’t certain it was something he wished to investigate too deeply. “I have not been able to think of anyone but you since the moment I saw you in the great hall.”

“Yesterday evening.” Her voice was soft, but he heard the underlying thread of mockery. Aye, it was only yesterday evening. Not long at all. But she was not to know that a woman rarely occupied his thoughts when he was no longer speaking with her.

But Catriona had not left his mind at all. Even during the night, she had tormented his dreams, leaving him hard and restless as the first shards of dawn had slid into the chamber.

He’d welcomed Alpin’s suggestion that they leave the palace, expecting an invigorating ride beyond the stronghold’s ramparts. Instead, Alpin had led him here.

Where Catriona had been…

His mind shied from the thought that had thundered through him. Because while it was one thing for her to be a pagan, it was another if she channeled heathen gods.

Which do not exist.

Yet seeing her against that standing stone, her face raised to the sky, her eyes eerily blank, was disconcerting. As though she saw things that weren’t in the mortal realm.

Except she couldn’t have seen anything. The Picts appeared to believe only those with royal blood were so afflicted, and Catriona, thank God, did not possess royal blood.

“Yesterday evening was a lifetime ago.” Once again, he kissed her hand. Her skin was soft, and her sigh was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t leave your side until I depart Fortriu.”

“That would be most unseemly.”

He wanted her. More than anything. Yet even through the fog of lust that had clouded his reason since first catching her glance, a sliver of caution glinted.

“Enlighten me, Catriona. Are unwed ladies allowed the liberty to engage in flirtatious pastimes with visiting nobles?” In Dal Riada, such freedom was unheard of. Hell, even married noblewomen would not dare to flirt as openly as the Pict ladies had in the great hall last night. “I should not wish to tarnish your reputation in any way.”

“Visiting nobles have never caused such excitement as did the arrival of the Dal Riadans. This is quite new to us all, I assure you.”

He wasn’t certain she had answered his question. “Catriona.” He was determined to elicit her agreement for a clandestine rendezvous before leaving her. But before he could continue, Alpin was by his side, and he swallowed a curse.

Catriona tugged her hand from his, and belatedly he realized the princess was also there. There was some distance between her and Alpin and it appeared they were ignoring each other.

What the fuck had happened? Not that he especially cared if his half-brother and the princess had argued and were now not speaking.

The interruption meant he had lost his chance of arranging an assignation with Catriona.

The princess linked her arm with Catriona. “Come, we must return to the palace before Mamma notices we are missing.” She gave a regal wave in their direction, and only halted when Catriona pulled her around to face them.

“My lords,” Catriona said, and the lingering glance she gave him did nothing to cool his ardor.

He gave a half-bow. “My ladies.” God damn it. He was going to fucking throttle Alpin.

In silence, they watched as the guards followed the ladies in the direction of the palace, and when they were out of sight, he rounded on Alpin.

And snapped his jaw shut. Shit, he did not want anyone, even his half-brother, to guess how badly he desired Catriona. Whether he bedded her or not, and whether she and other Pictish noblewomen indulged in a multitude of illicit affairs or not, was irrelevant.

He had meant it when he’d told her he would never tarnish her reputation.

This was but a minor setback. He’d find a way to speak with her again, later this day.

“There’s no need to scowl, Tavish.” Alpin tossed him a grin. “You were right about the princess. We have come to an understanding.”

Tavish grunted. He wasn’t sure he trusted this sudden change in Alpin’s mood. “An understanding?”

“Aye. We shall remain agreeable acquaintances, but that is all. To forge a friendship between our people, the princess has invited us to join her and her ladies on a ride tomorrow afternoon. Will you accompany us?”

That caught his attention. Catriona appeared to be the princess’ favorite lady and was sure to be included in the party. He concealed his interest as best he could. “If I must.”

It was several hours later before he managed to get Allister alone. They were in the camp some distance from the palace that the Scots had set up the previous day to accommodate their warriors. Only he and Alpin had been offered their own bedchambers, and he only had one himself because the Picts had been expecting the King of Dal Riada to attend the wedding.

“What is it, Tavish? Trouble with the prince?”

“No.” Tavish slung his arm around the other man’s shoulder, and they walked away from the camp until they were out of earshot of any warrior. Even so, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find the words for his request. He had never even contemplated doing such a thing before, never mind acting upon it.

“What then?” Frowning, Allister turned to him. “Spit it out, man.”

Tavish folded his arms and scowled across the nearby glen to the distant mountains, their peaks invisible beneath wispy white clouds. When he’d left the standing stones earlier, the idea had come to him and although he had tried to ignore it, as the hours passed, it had become an obsession.

A gift for Catriona.

The problem was, he couldn’t find what he wanted in the local markets.

He let out a pained sigh. The request would not kill him, but Allister’s mockery would be something he would suffer for many years, he had no doubt.

“I require a length of emerald-green ribbon.”

He braced himself for Allister’s response, but the other man simply stared at him in bemused silence. Tavish glared at him. Allister had the uncanny talent of bringing unconventional items with him when they traveled, cached with his equipment. He made good coin from his fellow warriors when they were far from the bustling port in Dal Riada, with his ability to supply pretty things to gift a lady.

Not that he had ever used Allister’s service before. But the image of Catriona wearing his ribbon had wormed into his mind and now he couldn’t think of anything else.

Green, to match her eyes, and highlight the fire in her hair.

He crushed the groan before it had the chance to escape. He’d already revealed too much to his friend simply by asking for the damn ribbon. Yet he wouldn’t take it back even if he could. He didn’t understand why Catriona’s gowns were so plain, when her countrywomen wore such vibrant hues, but could only surmise it was because, despite her favored place at court, her father disapproved of such things.

“Ribbon?” A hint of laughter heated Allister’s response. “This is a miracle. Can it be possible that a fair Pictish lady has caught your eye, who does not return your favor?”

“Do you have such an item or not?” Catriona was not up for discussion and irrationally, he took exception to his oldest friend’s insinuation that he was trying to gain her approval with a length of silk.

“I believe I might.” It was clear Allister was trying not to laugh.

Tavish grunted. “Name your price. And be sure to never breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Catriona spent the afternoon in the queen’s private chamber with the other ladies of the court, as they worked on the elaborate embroidery for the eldest Princess of Fortriu’s gowns. Thankfully, the queen was not present, but neither was Clodrah, as both were attending the bride-to-be.

She smoothed the fine wool of the shawl, where she had almost finished the intricate peacock design. She loved needlework and even the eldest princess acknowledged her skill, but as always, a tiny flicker of despair gnawed deep inside.

How she would love to wear such beautiful garments. When Clodrah was wed, and they were far from here, she planned on reworking all her gowns.

Alas, Tavish would never see them, though. She smothered a sigh. It was foolish to wish for such a thing, especially when she had a far more important issue on her mind.

Just because she longed for Tavish to take her maidenhead and show her delights of which she had only previously dreamed, did not solve the obvious problem.

There was nowhere she could take him where they could be alone. Unless the goddess herself intervened with a miracle, her dreams would remain just that.

“Lady Catriona, you are quite distracted today.” Lady Fyfa, whom she still hadn’t forgiven for rudely interrupting her and Tavish last night, gave an insincere smile. “Doubtless dreaming of your dashing prince.”

“Pray tell, what spell did you cast upon him?” Fyfa’s friend enquired, before the two ladies exchanged mocking glances.

Catriona laid her needle upon her knee before she was tempted to stab both ladies with it. “I had no need to cast a spell.”

Brilicie, sitting beside her, smothered a laugh. Fyfa, however, did not appear amused.

“It is quite scandalous, is it not, how the barbaric Dal Riadan overlord rebuffed our beloved king’s gracious invitation, and instead had the temerity to send his bastard in his stead. But then, what can one expect of a race as savage as the Scots?”

Catriona was very aware that Fyfa’s slight on Tavish’s parentage was really intended as a barb on her own. She forced a chilly smile to her face. “You did not find their savagery disagreeable when they arrived. Indeed, I recall you were most appreciative of their attributes.”

Fyfa stiffened in clear affront, likely because it was the first time Catriona had not simply taken the slights the other woman tossed her way on occasion.

Goddess, that was strange. Perhaps it was because she had only a year left in Forteviot before she began her new life. Or perhaps it was because being with Tavish had shown her that she did not need to wear sparkling jewels or beautiful gowns to speak her mind.

“Besides,” Brilicie said. “One cannot blame the prince for his parentage. Now, how are we progressing, ladies? The queen expects us to complete our tasks by the ninth hour.”

As the ladies once again focused on their needlework, Brilicie gave her a sideways glance. It was clear she was curious about Tavish, but there was nothing to confide.

And even if there was, she would never speak of it, but keep it locked safely in her heart forever.

Chapter 6

The following afternoon was fresh, and clouds scudded across the sky, but thankfully the queen did not revoke permission for the ride Clodrah had arranged. As Catriona went with her half-sister to the stables, with the other ladies who were accompanying them, she attempted to keep the smile from her face, but wasn’t sure she succeeded.

Not that it mattered. Neither Brilicie nor Fyfa were joining them, and they were the two who would be most likely to notice her excitement. The other noblewomen were either unwed, or several years older than her and their main concern was the wellbeing of Clodrah.

A dozen guards waited for them in the courtyard. The queen was obviously taking no chances when it came to Clodrah’s safety.

Tavish and the prince were waiting for them when they left the stables, and once they had left the shadow of Forteviot, Tavish wasted no time in riding to her side.

“It’s good to see you, my lady. I spent the night convinced you would find an excuse not to accompany the princess today.”

“And why would you think that, my lord?”

“I have not the slightest idea. I assure you, I don’t usually suffer from such doubts.”

She could well believe it. “It must be the air of Fortriu playing havoc with your senses.”

His grin caused a strange, bittersweet pain to lance through her breast. Perhaps she should have found an excuse to stay in the palace for the sake of her foolish heart. But he would be gone from here so soon, and she craved to spend every moment possible in his company.

“It’s not the air of Fortriu, Catriona.”

“Your compliments are very pretty, but they still do not sway me.” Except they did. And he had to know, since it was impossible to keep the smile from her face as she glanced at him.

“You may call them compliments if you wish. I only speak the truth.”

“It will be very dull once you return to Dal Riada.” Goddess, had she said that out loud? She was usually so careful in considering her words before she spoke. But since meeting Tavish, it appeared the caution she had spent so many years cultivating was eroding with every passing moment.

“Then perhaps you should accompany me when I do.”

Shock jolted through her, and she risked giving him another sideways glance. His familiar smile did nothing to calm her racing heart, but it did confirm one thing.

He was, once again, merely jesting.

Of course he was. Why would Tavish O’Eochaid, esteemed son of the King of Dal Riada, want anything more than a fleeting affair with a Pictish noblewoman of tarnished blood?

She could not let him see that, for an insensible moment, she had thought he was serious. Not that it would have made any difference, even if he was. She was bound to the King of Fortriu, even if he had not formally acknowledged her, and could not go against his word.

And his word was that she accompanied Clodrah when she wed.

She pulled her scattered defenses together and returned his smile. “Perhaps I should.”

Tavish couldn’t tear his spellbound gaze from Catriona, as she inclined her head at him in a regal manner, a teasing smile on her lips. Thank God she had taken his unwary remark as nothing more than flirting. It would have made the rest of the afternoon damn uncomfortable, otherwise.

Although why he’d said it in the first place, was beyond him. It had fallen from his tongue, unbidden, a gut response to her oddly wistful confession.

Catriona was enchanting and she was still as much a mystery as the first time he had seen her. That didn’t mean he wanted to take her back to Dal Riada.

Don’t I, though?

Unnerved by that unexpected rebuttal, he thrust the whole worrisome notion to the back of his mind. Lust was most assuredly clouding his reason.

Fortunately, she didn’t appear inclined to continue that conversation and they spoke of inconsequential things until, at last, the princess decided they should rest in a glen, beside a river. He helped Catriona dismount, and her hand lingered on his shoulder for a few tantalizing moments before she stepped away.

He exhaled a long breath. He needed to find a way to smuggle her into his chamber this night, before he went mad. Surely, once he had tasted her undoubted delights, this fire in his blood would abate.

With difficulty, he tore his gaze from her profile. Alpin and the princess were standing together, but not touching. Had his half-brother spoken the truth about wanting only to be her acquaintance? It seemed odd, after the way he’d stormed out of the great hall the other night, but Al was notoriously fickle. Tavish was relieved the princess was likeminded and hadn’t taken offense.

He tethered his horse on a nearby tree and followed Catriona as she went to the princess. Several of the ladies were spreading a blanket on the ground, not far from the mouth of a cave. He eyed it speculatively, then cast it from his mind. There were too many Pict warriors about for his half-brother to try and coax the princess inside.

Alpin and the princess sat on the center of the blanket and her ladies settled around them. What the hell was he meant to do? Sit on the edge of the damn blanket and skim stones across the water?

He cast a sideways glance at Catriona. There was a serene expression on her face, but she didn’t attempt to sit with any of the other ladies. He shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted along the glen. Would she consider it too bold should he suggest they went for a walk along the riverbank?

There was but one way to find out. “My lady, would you care to accompany me? I feel the need to stretch my legs after the ride.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “I should be delighted.”

After a quick word with the princess, she joined him, and they strolled along the riverbank. As they rounded a bend, and the riding party was no longer in view, he exhaled a long breath and reached for her hand.

Her fingers tightened around his. How could such a simple gesture tie knots in his gut? It was unheard of. Yet despite the discomfort, he relished it, and tugged her closer until her arm brushed his.

Such sweet torture. Anyone would think him a green boy, who had never had a woman before. Maybe she haunted his every thought simply because she was an exotic, foreign, noblewoman, but there was an uneasy conviction in a corner of his mind that did not believe so easy an explanation.

“Does Dal Riada possess such peaceful glens, Tavish?”

“She does. My stronghold, Duntorr, looks down upon a glen that could rival this for beauty.”

She cast him a disbelieving smile. “I heard Dal Riada was scarcely more than a barren rock on the western face of Pictland.”

“And I heard the seven Kingdoms of Pictland were barbarous places where no sane man would dare to enter.”

“What is your opinion, now you have seen the Kingdom of Fortriu?”

The scent of pine drifted on the breeze, and the gentle burble of the river as it bubbled over rocks mingled with summer birdsong. He had never taken much notice of such things before. His life was at court, keeping Alpin out of trouble and himself out of the political fray that was a constant web around the king.

But here, with Catriona, the peace of the land sank into him, yet it was more than that, and he knew it.

She was the reason why he saw the majestic beauty of the mountains that surrounded them. Why the grasses were a sharper green, the abundant heather a more vibrant purple, and even the familiar, distant, howl of wolves seemed somehow momentous.

Aye, he was losing his mind over this enigmatic lady.

And she was still waiting for his reply.

“Pictland is almost as glorious as the fair Lady Catriona.”

She laughed and he grinned at the uninhibited sound. A Scotswoman would not have mocked his efforts at flattery quite so candidly.

“And still you try to turn my head with pretty words. My gown is the shade of storm clouds on a winter’s morn.”

“Yet your hair is the incomparable color of the sky when the sun sets in the evening.”

“Oh.” For the second time he had known her, a delicate blush heated her cheeks. “I confess, my head is slightly turned by your observation. Should I thank you?”

It was his turn to laugh. “I cannot believe I’m the first to make such an observation.”

“I don’t know. But you are the first to say it to me.”

He shook his head. “You puzzle me greatly, Catriona. You’re obviously a grand lady and yet—” He bit off his unwary words. The last thing he wanted to do was offend her, but curiosity burned through him regardless.

Her gowns were plain, but of the highest quality, and fashioned the same as the gowns of the other Pict ladies, but her leather girdle was entirely different. Not simply because it lacked the gold or silver embroidery, or precious gems of her compatriots. But because its design was… different. As if it had been crafted purely for functionality without any other regard.

He raised her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, before once again catching her gaze. “I cannot fathom the ways of the Fortriu court.”

Her smile was sad. “My lady mother was forced to send me from home when I was nine years old. The queen was gracious enough to take me into her household, on the understanding that I did not draw attention to myself.” She gave a little shrug and glanced down at her gown.

Injustice burned through him. There could be but one reason why the queen had taken Catriona. They were related by blood. Yet she hadn’t welcomed a child to her court. Not when she’d made such a stipulation.

If she had imagined such a decree would ensure Catriona faded into the ancient stone walls, she was grievously mistaken. Catriona eclipsed every other woman in the palace, and without even trying.

He battled the urge to tell her exactly what he thought of her queen. It would do no good. He took a deep breath instead. “No one can fail to notice you, my lady. Just as no one can fail to notice the stars in the night sky.”

Her smile lit up her face and banished the trace of melancholy. “So now I am compared to a star? You truly have a way with words.”

But his words had upset her, even if she would never admit it. “It was not my intention to cause you grief by recalling your past. Forgive me.”

She sighed. “There is nothing to forgive. I don’t know how things are in Dal Riada, but for a thousand years in Pictland there has been a tacit understanding in the great houses. We do not marry for love, you see, but for strong alliances.”

“Aye. It is the same in Dal Riada.”

“I have three older half-brothers. I was born while my mother’s husband was at sea. It was never spoken of, but it was understood that…” she hesitated before taking a quick breath. “That I was a bastard. And by our traditions, it shouldn’t have mattered. He had three sons already. It was expected he would ignore the truth, as so many others do, and accept me as his own. But… he did not.”

Shaken, he gazed at her. Not that her heritage concerned him—how could it, when it so closely shadowed his own?

But the fact there was an understanding among the great houses of Pictland about such a thing. He could not imagine any Scotswoman presenting her husband with another man’s child. When she wed, it was expected she remain faithful, even if her husband was not.

His own mother was a great exception to the normal rules that governed a woman’s conduct. But then, she had never been wed.

“Alas, I have shocked you.” Catriona attempted to pull free of him and he tightened his grip on her hand as he silently cursed his errant thoughts.

“No. I don’t care about the legitimacy of bloodlines, Catriona. It’s true, things are different in Dal Riada. But these are your customs, and I’m enraged on your behalf that your lady mother’s husband did not honor them.”

She looked at the river and as he gazed at her delicate profile, a harsh wave of protectiveness consumed him, that anyone could treat her so unjustly. Darkness descended, clouding his vision. God, this woman was truly turning his mind.

She shivered and pulled her shawl more securely around her shoulders. “I was almost a year old before he returned home. Of course, I don’t remember any of this. But I’m certain only my mother’s high status stopped him from treating her even more cruelly than he did.” She hesitated. “That, and the rumor of who my true father was.”

Aye, and he could go to hell as well. He’d clearly not been man enough to claim responsibility for his daughter.

Once again, the unthinkable notion of taking her back to Dal Riada thundered through his mind. Except it wasn’t unthinkable since he now seemed unable to do anything but.

Another shiver wracked her and before he could stop himself, he wrapped his arm around her and tugged her close. It might be torture having her in his arms, but a sweeter one he could not imagine.

“I fear the weather has turned,” she said, and a fat raindrop splashed on his hand. Frowning, he glanced at the sky, and sucked in a sharp breath.

It hadn’t been his imagination. The sun had vanished behind dark storm clouds, and the wind—that he hadn’t even noticed picking up—was chilled.

He didn’t want to end this interlude with her, but it seemed there was no choice. “We should return to the others, Catriona.” With luck, they could get back before the clouds burst, and shelter in the cave.

“We shall be drenched before we reach them. Come.”

She led him around an ancient yew, its drooping branches rooted in the earth, where new trees grew, a tangled forest of its own. And beyond it, in the rockface, was a small opening.

“Bride will protect us,” she said, as she bent her head and went inside, and he followed her, bending double so as not to knock himself senseless on the low hanging rocks.

And then the skies opened, and the rain pounded into the glen.

Chapter 7

Catriona’s breath caught in her throat as she turned to see Tavish, his silhouette huge against the pale light that seeped in through the sacred cave’s entrance. She had not even known of this place until the first drops of rain had fallen upon her. And then, like a petal unfurling in the deepest corner of her mind, the reason for the holy yew became clear.

“How fortunate we were so close to this cave,” he said, casting a quick glance around the compact space. “It could never be discovered by accident.”

“It was no accident, Tavish. Bride led us here.”

Even in the gloom, his gaze as he once again focused on her was mesmerizing. “You haven’t been here before today?”

“No. I have never been to this glen before.” When Clodrah had decided to come this way, Catriona had thought nothing of it. But now she knew. Even though the princess was not a chosen one of the goddess, Bride had whispered in her ear.

“But how did you know the cave was here?” It was clear he didn’t believe Bride had a hand in it, but it did not matter. Her goddess approved of him, nevertheless. Why else was she allowing Catriona this magical time alone with him?

“The sacred yew, the gatekeeper between this world and the next. When I saw it, I knew it was a sign from Bride to enter her sacred domain.”

“We know the yew as the tree of death.”

She smiled. “That is not so very different an interpretation. Yet in truth, the yew transcends death.”

His sigh echoed around the tiny cave, and he took her hands and pulled her close. “Why are we speaking of such dark matters? Catriona, I’ve wanted to be alone with you since the moment we met. But a cave was not part of my plan.”

Thrills raced through her, causing sparks of pleasure to ignite between her thighs. A cave had not been a part of her plan, either, but the great goddess had heard her prayer. And here was her answer.

She tightened her grip on his hands as she tried to find the right words. And failed. Because, despite how right this was, something was amiss.

“Tavish,” she whispered, and glanced over her shoulder, where blackness swallowed the cave wall. And yet…

She tugged on his hands, and he followed her over to the wall, where a faint blueish glow revealed a narrow cleft in the rock. “Through here,” she breathed, and took a step forward.

He pulled her back. “What are you doing?”

“We must go this way.” Once again, she tried to enter, and once again he pulled her back.

“Do you know nothing of caves, my lady? Danger lurks in every hidden corner.”

“There is no danger here. I told you. We are protected by Bride.”

“Perhaps you are. But if any exploring is to be done, I shall be the one doing it.” With that, he released one of her hands and stepped into the cleft. The space was so narrow, they had to stand sideways and inch along the uneven passageway until it opened into another cave.

She gasped at the sight before them. A waterfall tumbled into a fast-flowing stream that flowed across the far side of the cave and evidently joined the river through an underground channel. But the reason she could see all this was because of the breathtaking, blue-green lights that danced across the water’s surface and illuminated Bride’s hidden sanctuary.

“Good God.” Tavish sounded shaken. She squeezed his hand.

“Blessed Bride,” she corrected him, and he turned to her and smiled.

“Your goddess is remarkable indeed, if she led us here.”

It was one thing to weave seductive dreams of having Tavish in her arms, but now they were alone, she was not certain how to tell him. “I believe she led us here for a reason.”

For an eternal moment, he simply gazed at her as though he could see her innermost thoughts. Then he raised her hand and brushed tantalizing kisses across her knuckles, sending delightful tremors racing across her flesh.

“I’m not certain your goddess would have led us here, if she knew what I want to do to you.”

Her mouth grew dry at the growl of possessiveness in his voice. But that didn’t stop her from pressing her lips against his fingers. “Perhaps she led us here because she knows my wishes.”

It seemed even the water tumbling into the spring stilled, as she waited for his response.

“Catriona.” Her name sounded exotic on his tongue and combined with the unmistakable throb of lust that heated each syllable, the single word was as potent as a silken caress along her senses. “I want to strip you naked and kiss every inch of your beautiful body until you’re helpless with desire. I want you on your knees before me, worshipping my cock with your enchanting mouth until I lose my mind. And I want to take you, here on the ground, until you can recall no man but me for the rest of your life. If these aren’t also your wishes, we need to leave this place now.”

The vivid images he painted in her mind left her breathless. She had not quite imagined all the things he spoke of, but how she wanted them all now.

“Yes,” she breathed. It was all she could manage but he didn’t appear to need anything more. He cradled her face with his strong hands and tipped her head back. His dark eyes blazed with passion and promises that only he could fulfill.

His mouth captured hers, his beard a sensuous whisper against her heated skin as his tongue teased her lips. Her eyelids flickered and she grasped his biceps, and thrills chased through her at the suppressed, savage, strength beneath her fingertips.

A stifled gasp escaped as his tongue penetrated her mouth, a tantalizing exploration that sent sparks ricocheting through her blood. She clung onto him, certain she would collapse if she released him, and daringly pushed her tongue against his.

His groan echoed in her mouth, as his hands skimmed along her throat before tugging her shawl from her shoulders. When he broke their kiss she panted erratically, her mind spinning in a frenzied whirlpool of sensation.

“I must see you.” His hoarse confession was hot against her cheek, and she shuddered as he unlaced her bodice. This was what she wanted, but through the swirling clouds of desire that filled her mind, a thread of discordance shimmered.

Should she tell him?

“Catriona?” His fingers stilled on her bodice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She drew in a ragged breath, unable to tear her mesmerized gaze from him. In the magical light that illuminated the cave, how easy it was to imagine he was one of the ancient gods who had bedazzled a mere mortal and transported her to his otherworldly realm. “Although perhaps I should confess, I have never been with a man before.”

A shudder wracked his big body, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “You’re a virgin.”

She wasn’t sure if it were a statement or question, but a terrible notion splintered through her. What if her disclosure caused him to change his mind?

“Tavish, it’s unlikely I shall ever wed, and I do not wish to remain untouched for the rest of my life.”

His strangled groan against her brow was intoxicating. “I swear on my honor, you won’t regret this, my lady.”

She cupped his jaw, his beard unexpectedly soft against her palms. “And neither will you.”

He laughed, a strangely tortured sound, although she hadn’t meant to be amusing. “You deserve feather filled pillows, not the hard ground of a cave.”

“I sleep on feather filled pillows every night. But I have never been in a cave illuminated by the light of Bride before.”

“A first for us both.”

She slid her hands down his chest and even through his shirt, the sculpted contours of his chest stalled the breath in her throat. “Then perhaps you will remember this for all time, also.”

“There is not the smallest chance I shall ever forget you, Catriona, nor our time together in your goddess’ sacred cave.” With infinite care, he eased her gown over her shoulders and down her arms. “You have bewitched me, and I cannot be sorry for it.”

Her gown slithered to the ground and within moments, her under-gown followed. Tavish sucked in a sharp breath as he swept his hot gaze over her, and she battled the urge to cover herself with her hands. As if he heard her thoughts, he grasped her fingers and pulled her close.

“My turn,” he whispered, and pressed her hands against his plaid.

She exhaled a shaky breath and her fingers felt clumsy as she tugged ineffectively at his plaid. His fingers trailed over her face and shoulders, his distracting touch igniting shimmers of fire across her skin. She clutched his shirt and looked up at him.

“I fear I cannot concentrate on this task. And…” she didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to cast any shadow on this mystical moment that was so far from her real world, but pushed the words out, regardless. “We don’t have much time together, Tavish.”

Regret flashed across his face but perhaps she merely imagined it, as without a word he unwound his plaid and laid it on the floor, a makeshift blanket for her comfort.

“I don’t want to rush this.” Once again, his gaze swept over her, and he swallowed as if the sight pushed him to his very limits of restraint. It was novel and exhilarating, to know a tough warrior such as Tavish desired her so deeply. “I want this to be good for you, Catriona.”

She smiled, and in answer grasped his shirt and pulled it over his head, before dropping it to the ground.

A gasp escaped as she drank in the magnificent expanse of masculine flesh before her. He was truly made in the ancient gods’ image, his fine, bronzed, muscles stealing her breath. He traced his fingers along her arms, causing sensual shivers in his wake, but he didn’t inhibit her view of his body by moving closer.

Her gaze traveled over his taut stomach. Lower.

Her mouth dried and liquid heat bloomed between her thighs as she gazed, entranced, at his impressive manhood.

Cock.

Another shiver raked through her and this time Tavish pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. His chest grazed her sensitive nipples and the solid heat from his unyielding cock branded her flesh.

Goddess. She knew all the details of mating and childbirth, but no amount of theory had prepared her for this.

She wound her arms around him, relishing the sparks of lightning that collided deep inside as she daringly skated her palms along his back. He gave a harsh sigh against her face and mirrored her actions, before his big hands cupped her bottom and hauled her tighter against his rigid body.

He nibbled kisses over her jaw and her head fell back as his mouth continued a trail of burning delight along her throat. Still cupping her bottom with one hand, his other splayed against her back, supporting her, as his lips found her aching breasts.

A hoarse cry razed her throat as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around her erect peak. Instinctively, her nails dug into his back and instantly his teeth grazed her tender flesh.

“Goddess,” she gasped, unthinking, and felt him grin against her breast as if her cry had pleased him.

Without releasing her, he lowered her to his plaid on the ground. She stroked her hands over his chest, the hard nubs of his nipples teasing her palms, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his face, so close to hers.

“You push me to my very limits, my lady.” There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he parted her thighs with his knees. “But I swear, I’ll have you writhing with passion beneath me before I succumb to your delights.”

“Yes,” she breathed, unsure what exactly she had agreed to, only knowing that, in this moment, she would agree with anything he commanded of her.

He lowered his head, and she plunged her fingers in his black hair, as he worshipped her breasts with his lips and his hands. And then he moved lower, his beard and fingers subtle caresses that ignited senses she hadn’t even known she possessed.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze fixed between her spread thighs. She had never been so exposed, so vulnerable, and she shifted restlessly, attempting to assuage the throbbing need that consumed all rational thought.

He kissed her slit and she reared up, a shocked gasp tearing from her throat at the exquisite sensation that bordered precariously on pain. How could such a thing even be possible? Her legs shook and he gripped her hips, keeping her in place, as his tongue swirled over her sensitive bud in a spellbinding caress.

She panted erratically but could not draw enough air into her lungs. Her heart hammered in her ears and an evocative scent of desire spiraled all around.

Tension coiled and she bucked, uncontrollably, her mind spinning as waves of fiery pleasure tumbled through her. Spent, she collapsed, and Tavish raised his head.

Beyond words, she held out her arms to him. His pained grin touched her heart as he kneeled between her legs. He took her hand, and pressed her palm against his hot shaft, before wrapping his own hand around hers.

“What are you doing?” Her voice didn’t sound like her at all. Breathless and sated. And of course she knew what he was doing. But she could not fathom why he was doing it.

“I won’t put you at risk of conceiving. This is the safest way I know how.”

Her heart melted at his concern, but she had to convince him there was no need for worry. Goddess, she could not bear it if he stopped now. “There are ways known only to the goddess, Tavish. It is safe, I promise you. I will not conceive this day.”

Indecision warred in his eyes. She stroked her fingers along his jaw and experimentally hooked her legs around him. “Now you cannot escape me,” she whispered, and his smile was everything.

“I don’t want to escape, my love.” His thick cock pushed into her, and she gasped, tensing, even though this was all she wanted. His tortured groan vibrated through her. “Catriona.” Her name sounded like agony on his lips. “God, you’re so wet and tight around me. I may die if I have to stop.”

“If you stop, I will die.” She tightened her grip in his hair and sucked in a few shaky breaths. He stretched her tender flesh, but the sting of his penetration had faded. “I need you, Tavish.”

He kissed her, a wild, savage kiss, that tasted of Tavish and her own passion. His hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, and teasing her swollen clitoris. As the glorious waves once again claimed her, he thrust into her, up to the hilt, filling her so completely she could do nothing but cling onto him as though her very existence depended upon it.

Slowly, he withdrew, almost all the way, before pushing in once more, the friction exquisite as his thrusts became frenzied and the sound of harsh breaths and thundering heartbeats filled the air. The magical illumination of the cave faded and all she could see was Tavish, as she tumbled over the edge.

With a choked roar, he pumped his release inside her, and she held him close. Her wild Scots warrior.

For seeming eternity, they remained entangled. He was heavy and she could scarcely breathe, but how wonderful his body felt meshed with hers. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep as the sound of the tinkling waterfall slowly penetrated her senses.

Reality. No, she did not want to return there yet. But they had already stayed here longer than was safe.

Tavish raised his head as though he had heard her thoughts. “I don’t want to leave here, my lady. But I fear for your reputation if we do not.”

She didn’t want to let him go. But Bride had given them this afternoon, and for that she had to be grateful. “Let us hope it’s still raining.”

His smile was pensive as he rolled onto his side, leaving her cold and bereft. Enough. She would not let such thoughts spoil the short time that remained for them.

In silence, they dressed, and she smoothed her hair. It was still braided but felt terribly messy. Not that there was anything she could do about it. At least she could hide it beneath her shawl, and no one would remark on it, due to the weather.

Tavish came to her, but he didn’t touch her, and she tried not to mind. “I have something for you.” He sounded oddly formal as he handed her something.

Intrigued, she took it. And gasped. It was a beautiful silk ribbon, the same color as the emeralds hidden within her girdle.

“Thank you,” she whispered. There was nothing else she could say without revealing just how much he meant to her. And she couldn’t do that. She would never be able to look him in the eyes again.

“I’m gratified you like it.” He offered her a small smile and it occurred to her that he wasn’t used to giving women gifts. Warmth spread through her, and she smiled back, before tying the ribbon at the end of her braid.

It was perfect. She would treasure it forever.

Chapter 8

When they left the cave, the rain had eased into a fine mist, and Tavish took in a great breath of the fresh, pine-scented air as Catriona wound her shawl around her head and shoulders. She stroked one finger along the length of ribbon at the end of her braid, before tucking it out of sight.

Now he knew why she didn’t wear bright colors, the action maddened him. Catriona should wear the finest gowns in Pictland, aye, and jewels too. But even in her sober gray, she would outshine every other woman in Dal Riada.

Christ. Why could he not get the vision of taking her back to his homeland from his head?

He took her hands and pulled her close, for one last, lingering kiss. And despite how thoroughly he had taken her mere moments ago, his cock stirred in desperate need.

She had assured him it was safe and yet he couldn’t shift the concern lodged in his brain. “What if this afternoon has consequences, Catriona?”

Her smile was serene, and strangely sad. “There won’t be.”

“I wish we had more time together.” It came out like a curse, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

“So do I.” There was a thread of regret in her voice he hated. “But I shall treasure this afternoon forever, Tavish. No one can ever take it from me.”

The ride back to Forteviot passed far too swiftly. There was scarcely a chance to speak with Catriona, as the princess rode by her side, and as he furtively watched his beautiful Pictish lady, an uneasy thought plagued him.

Was she in discomfort? Despite his best intentions, he had not been as mindful of her innocence as he should have been. He swallowed a groan and shifted on his saddle. So much for thinking that once he’d had her, the fire in his blood would lessen.

It had done the opposite. She consumed his every thought but more than that, he was haunted by the knowledge that after the royal wedding tomorrow, they were destined to never see each other again.

As the palace came into view, Alpin left the princess and came to his side. With difficulty, and great ill-will towards his half-brother, Tavish tore his gaze from Catriona.

“It was a pity about the weather,” Alpin remarked. “The princess was concerned Lady Catriona would catch a deathly chill.”

Tavish grunted. When he and Catriona had returned to the others, they were emerging from the cave and appeared oblivious to the fact that they had not been with them. Clearly, that assumption, unfortunately, was wrong.

“We sheltered beneath a ledge,” he said, since it was obvious he and Catriona had not been subjected to the full force of the summer storm. He certainly had no intention of besmirching her reputation by telling anyone they had entered a cave.

“I’ve never seen you so enamored by a lady before, Tavish.” There was a hint of laughter in Alpin’s voice now, and Tavish shot him a disagreeable glare. Catriona was not up for discussion, even with Alpin.

“You’re mistaking me for yourself, Al.”

“You haven’t stopped staring at her since the moment we arrived in Fortriu.”

What the fuck? Alpin didn’t notice things like that. Except he just had.

Or someone else had. The princess?

But he’d been careful, damn it. Hadn’t he?

There was only one possible response. “You’re talking shit.”

Alpin smirked, and for a few moments they rode in silence. Grimly, he kept his gaze focused on the path ahead, and refused to acknowledge how damn hard it was not to glance at Catriona. Instead, his mind filled with the image of her face as he had made her his.

God. What the hell was wrong with him? He was as hard and frustrated as if it had been weeks since he’d last had a woman.

Alpin leaned in close. “The princess thinks most highly of her half-sister.”

Lust fogged his mind. As far as he was aware, the princess didn’t have a half-sister. “What?”

Alpin cocked his head. “You didn’t know?” He laughed, and several heads turned their way. Once again, his half-brother leaned closer, as though he didn’t want anyone to overhear. “Lady Catriona is the Fortriu king’s bastard. It’s an open secret although no one speaks of it. Lady Clodrah is devoted to her.”

Tavish sucked in a harsh breath. Catriona had all but shared the truth, but he’d been too incensed by her unjust treatment to see it. And how badly he’d mistaken the queen’s reaction to having a nine-year-old child thrust upon her court.

“Your queen is most gracious, indeed. I do not believe many royal wives would be so accommodating.”

He recalled her words from the other day and a strange pain squeezed his chest. Catriona hadn’t merely been making a passing comment on his own situation. She had been speaking from her own experience.

Against his better judgement, he cast another glance in her direction. He didn’t want to discuss her with anyone, but it seemed Alpin was in possession of facts that he was not.

“The king acknowledges her?” He must, otherwise why was she at court? Yet from his observations, she wasn’t treated by others as the daughter of a king.

“Not in the way our father acknowledges you.” Alpin paused. “Lady Clodrah believes her half-sister will never find happiness while she remains in the palace of Forteviot.”

Suppressed rage thudded in his chest, a wild thing he had never experienced before. Aye, some of it was because Catriona’s place at court was not as he’d imagined, but it tangled with resentment of how flippantly Alpin spoke of such things.

He gripped the reins so hard his fingers ached. And despite it all, couldn’t help but respond. “I’m surprised you and the princess discuss such indelicate matters. Lady Catriona deserves more respect from her half-sister.”

Alpin gave him an oddly calculating look. But it was likely his own ire distorting reality and was confirmed when Alpin gave a dismissive shrug.

“You are likely right, Tavish. Maybe the princess exaggerates the grim fate that awaits Lady Catriona next summer. After all, not all noblewomen are distraught at the command they must wed a man old enough to be their grandfather.”

As Alpin rode back to the princess, revulsion churned through Tavish’s gut, and he battled the reckless urge to gallop after him and confront Catriona herself.

Was it true? Was she betrothed to an old man? She had never breathed a word of it. In fact, she had suggested it was unlikely she would ever wed. Yet why would she tell him? It was not as though he had ever asked if she was pledged to another.

The notion burned through his brain. It did not matter that arranged marriages were the way of royalty and the nobility. This was Catriona. The very idea of her belonging to another man curdled the blood in his veins.

There’s nothing I can do about it.

Wasn’t there, though? Once again, the impossible image of sweeping her back to Dal Riada filled his mind.

He was insane to even think it. The last thing he wanted was the constraints wedlock would thrust upon him. Yet he would never dishonor Catriona by offering her anything less.

Hellfire. How had he fallen so swiftly, so completely, when until he had set foot in the palace of Forteviot, matrimony was something unpleasant to be contemplated in a future far from now?

He enjoyed his life. His favored position at court. And he negotiated the endless potential pitfalls by ensuring his actions did not adversely impact his king.

The political ramifications of stealing away the King of Fortriu’s daughter could be catastrophic.

But the alternative was never seeing Catriona again.

As Catriona left the stables with Clodrah and the other ladies, Tavish approached, and her foolish heart slammed against her ribs. How fine he looked, with his black, windswept hair, exotic beard, and dark eyes that, she fancied, saw only her.

Since Clodrah was occupied with the other ladies, Catriona stealthily slowed her step until she trailed behind. Tavish came to her side, and although he didn’t touch her, his warm vitality wrapped around her like a sensual caress. She had to be careful, for anyone could see, but nothing could prevent her from smiling at him.

“Are you all right?” His voice was low, and concern laced his words. How hard it was not to reach out and thread her fingers through his.

“I am.” In truth, her entire body still tingled from their lovemaking, and to be sure she could have done without the horse ride back to Forteviot, but even that discomfort paled into insignificance as she breathed in Tavish’s wonderful, unique scent.

How could she bear it, when he returned to Dal Riada?

Stop. She wouldn’t spoil any stolen moments with him by thinking of a future that had yet to transpire.

“Catriona.” His voice dropped so low she had to lean a little closer. Not that it was a hardship to do so. “Is it true you are betrothed to wed next summer?”

Her heart jolted and threads of alarm raced through her. Where would he have heard such a thing? It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. “Not to my knowledge.”

The frown slashing his brow intensified. “You’re not betrothed?”

She drew in a shaky breath. Once, she had longed to wed. But now all she longed for was the freedom Clodrah’s marriage would bring to her.

Except that wasn’t the truth. Now, she wanted Tavish. But that was a dream that could never be.

“If I am, I have not been informed.” And then a possible answer occurred to her. Clodrah loved to gossip and embellish the truth, and doubtless Tavish had heard this baseless rumor from his half-brother. “But the princess is betrothed. She will wed next summer.”

“The princess?” Tavish let out a long breath. “Then why did—” He bit off his words and shook his head. “Catriona, I understand you’re—”

“Lady Catriona, if you please?” Clodrah’s regal command cut through Tavish’s words and a flash of anger against her half-sister blazed through her. Tavish clamped his jaw together as Clodrah, a serene smile on her face, beckoned for her to come to her side.

She inclined her head at the princess before dropping a curtsey to Tavish. “I must go,” she breathed, as he kissed her hand, lingering far longer than was seemly. Yet how she longed for him to never let her go at all. “We will speak later, after the feast this night.”

“Aye.” His dark gaze ensnared her in a spell she never wished to escape. “Until later.”

But there was no feast later. Instead, the ladies gathered in the queen’s private chamber where the meal was served, an intimate affair to recognize Mariota, the eldest Princess of Fortriu’s last night as an unwed maid. The wine flowed freely, and even the queen mellowed to such an extent that she deigned to smile benevolently in Catriona’s direction.

Surreptitiously, she brushed her fingers over one of the pouches that hung from her girdle, where she had hidden the ribbon from Tavish. Every time she thought about it, warmth flooded her heart. When she left Forteviot next summer, she would wear his precious gift in her hair every day. A reminder that for one brief moment a powerful man had wanted her, for no other reason than herself.

The hour grew late, and as the queen prepared to retire, Clodrah came to her side. “I haven’t had a moment to speak with you, Catriona, but I must know. I trust Tavish O’Eochaid treated you with the greatest respect when we were unceremoniously caught in the summer storm earlier.”

Perhaps she should be more alarmed by the question, but the wine she had consumed weaved through her, a pleasant, warming, caress, and she smiled at her half-sister. “He did. The Scots are not the barbarians we have always imagined.”

“Indeed, you are right. And I’m glad Tavish meets with your approval. The prince thinks very highly of him.”

In the back of her mind, a faint thread of unease unfurled although she could not quite place why. Except what did it matter to anyone if she approved of Tavish or not? The Scots, after all, were leaving in two days.

She tried, without success, to quash the wave of distress that rolled through her at the knowledge. It was imperative Clodrah did not guess just how deeply she cared for the wild Scots warrior.

“And what of you, my lady? I trust you will not be too sad when the prince leaves Fortriu.”

Clodrah’s smile was dazzling as she took Catriona’s hand. “I will not. I shall be forever delighted that he came to Fortriu. Otherwise, I should always have longed for something I could never have.”

The unease flickered, mingling with her sorrow at Tavish’s impending departure, but before she could question Clodrah further, the princess pulled her over to Mariota, who was leaving with the queen. After Clodrah embraced her sister and wished her well, the princess turned to Catriona.

“My lady.” She dropped a curtsy. “I wish you great happiness in the future.”

Mariota smiled. “I thank you. My lord Wrad is a good man, and we are eager to bind our birthrights together for the good of Fortriu.”

Indeed, the match was excellent. Wrad had a claim on the kingdom through his maternal bloodline and, from tomorrow, through his royal wife. Such a strong alliance would ensure the future of Fortriu, as the Supreme Kingdom of Pictland, would remain uncontested for generations to come.

Mariota held out her hand and leaned in for a kiss. A rare honor, indeed. But as her lips brushed her half-sister’s cheek, a deep and terrible grief clutched her heart, causing her to gasp and squeeze her eyes shut.

Goddess, no.

Heart thundering in her ears, she attempted to ignore the insidious knowing that shivered through her mind.

The future of Pictland was not assured. It trembled on the edge of a precipice, bound with the bloodlines of Mariota and Clodrah, yet tarnished by them, also.

Mariota, who longed for children, would never hold her own babe in her arms for more than a fleeting moment.

And I cannot warn her.

Not merely because, as a commoner, she was not meant to inherit any of Bride’s gifts. But because she didn’t know how to prevent the inevitable. The goddess had shown her a glimpse of Mariota’s tragic fate, and it could not be altered.

She bowed her head so Mariota, nor anyone else, could see her face as she tried desperately to compose herself.

It was not until later, when she was in the bed she shared with Clodrah, that she recalled the strange conversation with her youngest half-sister. But it was too late, now, to ask what she meant, as Clodrah was asleep.

With a silent sigh, Catriona rolled onto her side, and pressed the worrying notions from her mind. After the wedding, once the Scots were gone, she would beseech Bride for guidance. But for now, all she could do was dream of Tavish.

Chapter 9

The following morning was a flurry of activity as all the ladies assisted Mariota for her wedding. The magnificently carved chest, that contained the treasure of Fortriu, was brought from its dedicated chamber, and Mariota was adorned with priceless jewels that had been passed down through generations of her foremothers.

Clodrah had even persuaded the queen to allow Catriona to wear one of her older gowns. Although it was a little short on her, she was too thrilled to, at last, wear something other than her usual gray, even though the peacock blue, with threads of silver, was plain compared to the gowns the other ladies were wearing this day.

“Goddess, Catriona.” Clodrah sounded scandalized. “You cannot possibly wear that old girdle. Take one of mine. Mamma will never notice.”

Instinctively, she pressed her palms against her girdle. To be sure, it was noticeably shabby against the vibrant gown, but that could not be helped.

“It is the only thing I have from my mother,” she reminded the princess, who sighed heavily and gave it another fretful glance. But at least she did not pursue the matter.

Excitement danced in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t wait until Tavish saw her. At least now he would have a memory of her wearing a beautiful gown like all the other ladies of the court.

Thankfully, there was no sign of another summer storm as they left the palace, and they accompanied Mariota and the queen to the sacred standing stones. In the center of the circle, a flower covered arched arbor had been constructed and the king stood there, waiting to bind his daughter and Lord Wrad together.

Royals and nobles from the six minor kingdoms of Pictland had temporarily put their issues aside to attend the eldest Princess of Fortriu’s marriage, but the men cast suspicious glances at the foreign Scots.

Catriona took her place beside Clodrah, as Mariota stood before the king, and her gaze snared Tavish’s. His smile was warmer than the sun and the ceremony faded to a background murmur as unbridled schemes filled her mind.

There would be much wine and merriment tonight. She would find a way to escape undetected to be alone with Tavish, for one last time.

Clodrah elbowed her in the ribs. Startled, Catriona dragged her besotted thoughts back into line and focused on the eldest princess, as the king wound silken bindings in the colors of Fortriu around Mariota and Wrad’s wrists.

The handfasting was complete.

Tavish strode beside Alpin as they followed the Picts back to the palace. He had been unable to speak to Catriona since the princess had interrupted them yesterday afternoon, and frustration gnawed through him, corroding his every thought.

In another day, they would leave Fortriu. He was determined that when he did, Catriona would be by his side.

As his betrothed.

“I’ve never witnessed such a pagan spectacle,” Alpin remarked. “Do they not have monks in Fortriu?”

“They have churches.” They had passed one the day before on their ride, some distance from the standing stones. Clearly, monks were not required for royal weddings. “But the royal house follows the ancient ways.”

It was late afternoon, and the eldest princess and her lord stood at the entrance to the palace while banners in the colors of Fortriu fluttered in the breeze above them. The royal and noble guests lined up in order of seniority to wish them well, before mingling with their compatriots in the courtyard.

He took his place beside his half-brother and as they inched closer to the royal couple, he kept Catriona in his sights.

He would not lose her in the crowd this day.

After they paid their respects, he and Alpin strode across the courtyard. It appeared his half-brother, despite merely wishing to be her acquaintance, was determined to spend time with the younger princess. As Alpin and the princess drifted away, Tavish smiled at Catriona before giving her a lavish bow.

“My lady.” She looked ravishing in the peacock blue gown but her beautiful hair did not display his green ribbon. “May I have the honor of your company?”

“I should be delighted, my lord.” She took his hand and he led her out of earshot of the other ladies.

Now he had set his mind upon having Catriona as his wife, nothing would stand in his way. All he had to do was persuade her, and after the wondrous hour they had spent in her pagan goddess’ cave, surely she would be agreeable.

“When I return to Dal Riada, I do not wish to leave you here, Catriona.”

She sighed and her fingers tightened around his. “If only there was a way we could be together. But I know that is simply a foolish dream.”

“What if it’s not merely a dream? What’s preventing you from accompanying me?”

“Are you asking me to come to Dal Riada with you?” Her eyes were filled with confusion.

God damn it, he was a fool. She had no idea he wanted to make their union official. He grinned, and tugged her closer, even though he was doubtless breaking etiquette.

“I’m asking you to become my wife, Catriona. I would not dishonor you by expecting anything less.”

“You want to marry me?” There was an odd inflexion in her voice he couldn’t place. But that was a secondary concern. Because she hadn’t immediately agreed.

His own smile faltered. In a distant corner of his mind, he’d assumed that when he asked a lady for her hand, she would be only too eager to accept. But then, he’d also assumed that at some point in the future, his king would arrange a strategic alliance and the subsequent proposal would be nothing but a formality.

“Aye,” he said at last, since it appeared she was waiting for a response. “Why would I not wish to marry you? You’re…” He paused, for the first time in his life struggling to find the right words. But how could he explain he had never met anyone like her before? That he couldn’t get her out of his mind, that her conversation enchanted him, and he wanted to wake up with her in his bed for the rest of their lives?

He cleared his throat. It would be easier to cut out his own tongue than to articulate those thoughts. “You’re exquisite.”

“You’re the son of a king, Tavish. You know this can never be.”

Relieved that was her only concern, he pressed her hand against his chest. “And you are the daughter of a king. We are eminently matched.”

“Ah.” She gave a sigh that tore through his heart, and he battled the urge to pull her into his arms and assure her that he would never allow anyone to slight her again. Then she drew in a ragged breath and caught his gaze. “Then you also know the King of Fortriu does not accept me in the way your king accepts you. I fear I am not the means for a great alliance between our people.”

Since a political alliance had not even crossed his mind, the fact it had hers, left him staggered. “I do not suggest this to appease our kings. I want this, Catriona. Don’t you?”

Finally, she smiled. “More than anything. But we cannot always follow where our hearts wish to lead. How can I come to Dal Riada? Will you spirit me away in the black of night?”

“I will, if you give me no other choice in the matter.”

“That is not very noble of you.”

He shook his head and God only knew how he stopped himself from kissing her. “Tell me the truth. Will you come with me, if I go to your king in the morning and beg for your hand?”

“You would do that for me?” Her voice was hushed as though, even now, she didn’t quite believe he meant what he said.

“I will. And I’ll ensure he understands our alliance will bring nothing but goodwill between Dal Riada and Fortriu.”

“You are very certain your king will not be angry by your actions.”

“I can handle my king.” And even if his king disapproved of the match, Tavish had no doubt that he would soon come around. He was not, after all, the heir to the throne who needed a strong political alliance, the way Alpin did.

“I have much to think of,” Catriona said, and he frowned. What was there to think about? Before he could question her, she pulled her hands free. “I must return to the princess. But I will see you again, after the feast.”

She dropped a curtsey before leaving. Brooding, he watched her join the royal party and enter the palace.

He should be satisfied. She had agreed to his proposal. Hadn’t she? Now he considered it, he wasn’t entirely sure.

The uncertainty that shifted within his chest was a novel sensation. And he didn’t like it. He’d been so convinced she would simply fall into his arms and agree with him. But he should have known better. Catriona never did as he expected and that was why he was so enamored with her.

But there was no need for concern. They would dance after the feast when he’d extract a promise from her. And, after all, he still had all day tomorrow to convince her of the soundness of his plan.

“Tavish.”

He swung around. Allister stood there, a frown on his face.

“What is it?”

Allister grasped his shoulder. “A messenger just arrived from Dunadd. My father tells me the barbarians from the north have been sighted, and we are to return to Dal Riada at first light.”

“Fuck.” First light? That gave him no time to arrange an audience with the Fortriu king.

“Aye. Let’s hope once we’ve thrashed those bastards they will never return to our shores.”

It was an effort to shift his focus from Catriona. “The Norsemen will regret their rash actions, there is no doubt.”

But for the first time the possibility of an upcoming battle did not fill his mind. Because before he returned to Dal Riada, he needed to convince Catriona to leave with him, regardless of whether he spoke to her king or not.

Chapter 10

Catriona scarcely heard the speeches from the king and Wrad’s sire, as they praised the magnificent alliance between their houses. Goddess, she could scarcely keep the besotted smile from her face, let alone anything else.

Tavish wished to marry her.

She gripped her fingers together beneath the table and drew in a steadying breath, but it did no good. Butterflies cascaded within her breast, and it seemed every particle of her body tingled with a happiness she had never imagined could exist.

He even knew of her tainted heritage, and the fact she was not a favorite of the king did not concern him in the least.

Her most secret, cherished dream had come true. A brave warrior wanted her for herself.

The speeches ended, toasts were drunk, and servants laid platters of wonderful delicacies on the tables. As she forced herself to take a bite, so no one would see anything was amiss, a ghostly shadow dusted the back of her mind.

Tavish had not said I love you.

She shook her head. It was an insignificant thing. Why would he ask her to be his bride if he didn’t love her? They both knew this was not, after all, a grand political alliance.

Her greatest fear was that the king would not give his permission. Nerves churned through her stomach. What if the whispers of her betrothal were true?

She glanced at her half-sister, and guilt clawed through her. She couldn’t leave Clodrah. And yet how could she give up Tavish?

He was everything she wanted. An honorable warrior, indeed. It took courage to face a foreign king and request the hand of his bastard daughter, when his own king in Dal Riada knew nothing about it.

She would tell Clodrah of her plans. It was only fair. There was just one thing she needed to clarify first.

“My lady, a troubling rumor reach me recently. Do you know if the king plans to betroth me to an elderly noble?”

Clodrah blinked, and then shook her head in a dismissive gesture. “Goddess, no. We merely mentioned it to incentivize Tavish, that is all.”

Catriona’s smile froze. Incentivize? “What do you mean?”

Clodrah patted her arm. “It is of no consequence.” Before she could say anything further, her attention was distracted by the lady sitting opposite her.

Catriona gripped her knife. Clodrah was dramatic and loved being the center of attention, but she hadn’t dropped that comment to cause scandalous gossip among the ladies. She had whispered it, for Catriona’s ears only.

She picked up her goblet and took a long swallow of wine. The loud babble of conversation that echoed around the hall no longer filled her with good cheer. It grated along her senses like an ominous warning.

Several courses came and went and although she forced herself to eat, everything tasted like ash. Was it her imagination that Clodrah appeared to be deliberately ignoring her?

Worst of all, she couldn’t see Tavish. Yet what difference would that make? She couldn’t ask him what her half-sister had meant until after the feast. And the damn feast was destined to drag on for hours.

Finally, she could stand it no longer, and threw etiquette aside along with her pride. “My lady,” she interrupted, and Clodrah turned to her, a faintly bemused expression on her face. Catriona took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you mean about Lord Tavish.”

“Oh.” Clodrah shifted on the bench as though she was uncomfortable by the question. The tables were cleared of the final course, and the musicians tuned their instruments. After an excruciating silence, she took Catriona’s hand and gave her a bright smile. “But you are fond of him, are you not?”

A terrible suspicion crawled into her mind. Had Tavish told the prince of their time in Bride’s sacred cave, who had then confided in Clodrah?

Surely not. He was too honorable to do such a thing. But a sliver of fear remained, regardless. Had she misjudged him?

No. Whatever Clodrah meant, had nothing to do with anything she and Tavish had shared. She quashed her misgivings and forced herself to remain calm.

“I find him most agreeable.”

“Indeed. Who would not?”

This was not helping. “I still don’t understand. Are you saying Lord Tavish was incentivized to—” she couldn’t say it. Yet she had to. “To spend time with me?”

“Goddess, no.” Still clutching her hand, Clodrah left the table as the hall was cleared to make ready for the dancing. She tugged Catriona closer and waved away the other ladies who had gathered around them, so they were alone. “He has not taken his eyes from you since the moment he arrived in Dal Riada. And you are fairly glowing, Catriona. It is quite clear this is meant to be.”

It seemed Clodrah was trying not to smile. Unease slithered through Catriona’s breast. Did she know of Tavish’s plans?

“Are you suggesting you would give me your blessing, if I left Fortriu with Tavish?”

Clodrah pulled her so close their breath mingled. “Is it not the perfect solution? I should not wish to be without you, but knowing you are happy with Tavish in our new life gives me great pleasure.”

“Our new life?” she whispered, as her heart slammed against her ribs. Surely, she had misunderstood. It was her own fault, for drinking too many goblets of wine. And so had Clodrah. Thank goddess no one was near enough to eavesdrop on this conversation and start unfounded rumors.

“I know I can trust you.” Happiness shimmered in every word and a dread certainty knotted deep in Catriona’s chest. Bride help her, she was not imagining things. “But you must promise not to breathe a word. When my dear Alpin steals me away to Dal Riada, Tavish shall take you, and we shall be together always.”

Incredulous, she stared at her half-sister. “Alpin is going to ask the king for your hand?”

“Oh, please.” Disdain dripped from each word. “The king would never agree to such a thing. But we shall be long gone from Fortriu before he discovers what we have done.”

“You cannot leave with the prince.” Her voice was harsh, a poor camouflage to mask the pain clawing through her heart. Had anything Tavish said to her been the truth? Or had it all been a charade, simply because Clodrah wanted her to go with them?

“It is all arranged. Tavish is wealthy, and you will have your own stronghold in Dal Riada, Catriona. Think on it. What future awaits you here, without me?”

The rose-hued future she had dared to dream of for a few short moments fell to dust. Had they truly talked about her in such a manner with Tavish? Shame burned through her, not only at how easily she had believed everything he’d said, but at how he must pity her.

All the years of restraint, of watching every word she said, shattered around her feet. “It’s not my future you care about, Clodrah. It’s yours. You don’t want to be alone in a strange land. That’s the only reason you persuaded the prince to ask Tavish to—” she hitched in a sharp breath that razed her throat, but pushed the words out, regardless. “To woo me.”

Clodrah stiffened in clear affront, but before she could respond, Tavish and the prince were by their sides. Why did Tavish have to look so dashing? She tried to see the deception in his eyes but saw only admiration in their dark depths as he gazed at her as though she were the only one in the great hall.

The prince swept Clodrah away and Catriona dearly wanted to ignore Tavish’s outstretched hand. But to do so would cause a scene and the last thing she wanted was to draw attention.

Stiffly, she placed her hand in his. Why did it feel so right when he wrapped his fingers around her?

“Catriona, what is wrong?” His husky whisper against her ear caused ripples of desire to shimmer through her treacherous body. She inhaled a deep breath but instead of clearing her mind, his familiar scent of forests and leather swirled through her senses.

It was wrong to judge him, based only on Clodrah’s words. Perhaps he knew nothing of his half-brother’s plans.

Gracious goddess, please let him know nothing of their plans.

She clutched the remnants of her pride about her and inclined her head. “Nothing is wrong.”

Instead of leading her into the dance, he stepped closer to her, his gaze intent. The air evaporated, and her breasts felt heavy, longing for his touch, but she would rather die than allow him to see how easily his presence affected her.

“Have you given my offer any further consideration?” A smile hovered around his irresistible lips. It was obvious he expected her to agree to go with him. And if not for her conversation with Clodrah, she would have.

But now too many doubts dulled the shining promise of a future with him. She had to know for sure if he had pursued her because he wanted to—or because his prince had commanded it.

“I have. It is a great commitment, to leave behind all I have ever known.”

“Aye. But I will be there, Catriona. You need have no fear in your new life with me.”

How easily he conjured up the pretty words she longed to hear. If only she could believe them, the way she had before. He hadn’t mentioned Clodrah would also be a part of this new life. Was it possible he didn’t know?

She hadn’t given her word to Clodrah to keep her secret, yet she could not break her half-sister’s trust. Not yet.

“This presumes my king agrees to allow me to go.”

He exhaled a harsh breath. “Our plans have changed. I’ll no longer be able to request an audience with your king. We are to leave at first light, but I promise you once we return to Dal Riada, I’ll ensure an envoy is dispatched to him.”

The breath lodged in her chest, a painful rock that expanded with every thud of her heart. Had this always been the plan? Part of her didn’t want to know. It would be easier to simply walk away. Yet once she did, there was no turning back and goddess help her, but she could not bear to say goodbye to Tavish if there was even a sliver of hope for them.

Somehow, she forced out the words. “Did you ever intend to speak to him before leaving Fortriu?”

A frown slashed his brow as though she had insulted his honor. Hadn’t he expected her to question him?

“Why would you say that? We’re only returning because the cursed Norsemen have been sighted.”

“The Vikings?” She couldn’t help the trace of scorn in her voice, but surely he did not expect her to believe such a tale. While there were rumors that the savages had invaded the islands to the north of Pictland, they had never advanced any further from their homelands.

“There is no need to concern yourself. My stronghold is well protected, and we’ll defeat the Norse before they ever set foot in Dal Riada.”

“That is not my concern.”

“Then what is?”

Did he really not know? “Do you expect me to steal away in the dead of night with you, Tavish? My king deserves to be informed, at the very least.”

He hadn’t welcomed her as a cherished daughter, but he’d taken her under his protection, when her mother’s husband had finally issued an ultimatum for her to be rid of her bastard child. She couldn’t love her king as a father when he had been so distant. But she respected him and owed him her loyalty.

“And he will be informed.” Tavish pulled her closer. How hard it was not to rest her head on his chest and allow his strong arms to wrap around her. “But consider this, Catriona. Is it not better this way? If I had an audience with him and he refused permission for you to leave Fortriu, what then? You can’t tell me you would stay here, surely?”

Although that had been her fear, she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on it. But now another stark reality threatened to crush her. Because how could she delude herself any longer? Tavish had never intended to speak to her king.

“You would expect me to go against the word of my king? I don’t possess much, Tavish, but my honor is my own, and if I lose my integrity, what is left?”

“Your integrity?” He sounded incredulous. “Will that keep you warm at night when you’re alone here in Forteviot? I’m willing to face the ire of my king for you, my lady. All I ask in return is that you trust me. Is that too much to expect?”

His words were arrows through her heart and the foolish dreams she had woven around him smoldered to ash. She pulled her hands free, and shock flashed across his face. How sure he had been that she was willing to sacrifice everything simply to be with him.

“How can I trust a man who thinks so lightly of honor? I do not ask you to face the ire of your king on my account. But that’s a minor concern. You know the princess is betrothed. How can you live with yourself, being party to this great betrayal?”

“Is that your future? To be nothing but a handmaiden to the princess for the rest of your life? You share the same bloodline. You deserve happiness just as much as she does.”

Her accusation hadn’t shocked him. He didn’t even try to refute her words, and the last shred of hope in her heart died.

She had been fooling herself all along. Clodrah knew nothing of the jewels sewn into her girdle, or the plans she had of forging an independent life once her half-sister was wed. Clodrah believed the only future she could look forward to was one where she served her. The fact Tavish had just thrown that in her face confirmed what was painfully obvious.

Clodrah had shared every sorry aspect of Catriona’s existence with her prince and his half-brother.

Tears clogged her throat and her eyes stung, but she would never let him see her weep. She tilted her head and gave him the most dignified look she could muster.

“Yes. Perhaps I do. But I could never find it with a man who thinks so little of me that he believes my honor is a small thing, unworthy of consideration. I should rather spend my life alone than with someone who can so easily forsake their duty.”

Chapter 11

What the fuck had just happened?

Tavish watched Catriona turn her back and walk away from him, without a backward glance. How had everything he’d said to her become so twisted?

He’d been so sure that after she had considered the matter, she’d be only too happy to leave Fortriu with him. Why wouldn’t she? What other future awaited her except as a companion to the youngest princess?

He scanned the throng, searching for the one flame-haired lady who had bewitched his soul, but she was nowhere to be seen. The hall was too crowded, the music too loud, and it seemed the very walls themselves closed in on him, sucking the air from his lungs.

God damn it. He swung about and marched from the hall. Night had fallen and the moonlit sky was cloudless, but even the crisp tinge in the air didn’t help to clear his mind.

The only woman he had ever contemplated wanting as his bride, had turned him down. He exhaled a harsh breath and glowered at the couples who were strolling arm in arm, among them many of his compatriots who had found favor with Pictish noblewomen.

An unnatural, raw sensation filled his chest, like scorching tar clawing through his vitals. All his life he had been certain of his path, secure in his place as his king’s favorite, and his half-brother’s confident. With strategic management his stronghold was secure, and village prospered. Many noblewomen in Dal Riada had made it plain they would welcome a match with him. He had always believed that when duty prevailed and marriage became inevitable, the woman concerned would never deny him.

Catriona was not the means for a grand political alliance. Being her husband would be no great sacrifice and far from mere duty. Yet she alone had denied him, had called into question his very worth, and for a reason that was out of his control.

How can I trust a man who thinks so lightly of honor?

Her words burned into his brain. The implication was clear even if she hadn’t confirmed it. She believed he had lied when he had promised to speak to her king. Did she imagine he had invented the imminent invasion of the Norse?

Grimly, he marched into the darkness, away from the flickering torches that surrounded the perimeter of the palace, and the suspicious glares of the Pict warriors. No one had ever doubted his word before. She spoke of honor but tarnished his with her baseless accusations.

But as the light from the palace faded into the distance, the pounding in his head eased as a solution presented itself.

It was so obvious he could not believe he hadn’t thought of it at once.

When the threat of the Norsemen had been dealt with, he would speak with his king. Armed with official approval for the union, formal negotiations could take place for Catriona’s hand.

A great weight lifted from his shoulders. She would see he was a man of his word and would never again question his integrity.

He made his way back to the palace, but before he reached the entrance, Allister hailed him.

“Where the hell have you been, man?” Allister gripped his biceps. “We’ve been searching for you. We’re to leave now.”

He frowned. “It’s still dark.”

“Aye. I am not privy to the reasoning behind it. But we’ve broken camp and were merely waiting for your return.”

He banished the unease that gnawed at the edges of his mind. It didn’t matter why they were leaving a few hours earlier than planned. All it meant was the Norse would be repelled sooner, and he could speak to his king.

And then he would claim his bride.

Catriona stirred, the pounding in her head all but unbearable. She forced open her eyes. Sunlight slipped between the timber shutters at the windows and cast pale shards across the chamber. Brilicie lay beside her on the bed and Catriona gazed at her in bemusement, as fragmented glints of the previous night shimmered through her mind.

Tavish.

Grief squeezed her heart and she dragged in a ragged breath. Brutally, she pushed it aside. She could mourn for something she had never really had for the rest of her life. But now, she needed to…

She gasped and sat up, as she shook Brilicie’s shoulder. “My lady, wake up. Where is the princess?”

Brilicie groaned and pushed herself upright. In silence, they gazed at each other, and disjointed memories shivered into place.

Last night, after she’d left Tavish, she had found Brilicie and together they had searched for Clodrah. Surprisingly, her half-sister had shown little resistance in leaving the great hall early and the three of them had returned to Clodrah’s bedchamber.

“Goddess.” Horror whispered through the word as Brilicie clutched her hand. “Clodrah gave us a sleeping potion, Catriona. How did we not see what she planned?”

When they had reached the chamber last night, Clodrah had dismissed her servants and the other ladies, before offering wine. She had seemed so calm and waved aside their earlier conversation as nothing more than wishful dreams.

Catriona buried her throbbing head in her hands. “I should have seen.” The goddess had shown her the dark path that awaited, if Clodrah had her way. And if she hadn’t been too distraught over Tavish to focus on her duty, she would have been more wary of her half-sister’s actions. “Do you think we are too late?”

“I fear dawn has long broken.” Brilicie staggered from the bed. “But we know nothing for certain. Merely that the princess is not in her chamber.”

Catriona understood what Brilicie meant. If they shared their fears, the king might hold them personally responsible for Clodrah’s disappearance.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She had been foolish to imagine Tavish might have taken heed of her words. But this was all the evidence she needed. He had only pursued her because of his prince. His loyalty would always remain with his half-brother, and she had no doubt he was instrumental in ensuring Clodrah made good her escape with her ignoble Scots prince.

There was nothing left for her in Forteviot. She would bring forward her plans to find a home of her own. But it didn’t lighten her heart, for Tavish would not be there.

Through habit, she pressed her fingers against her girdle.

It was not at her waist.

Horror clawed through her, and she glanced wildly about, but it was nowhere to be seen. She stumbled from the bed and fell onto her knees, frantically searching, knowing, even as she did, it was fruitless.

“Catriona, what is wrong?” Brilicie was on her knees beside her, concern in her voice.

“My girdle.” Her voice broke as she clutched Brilicie’s arms. “Clodrah has taken my girdle.”

How had Clodrah known of the treasure sewn within it? Catriona had never spoken of it. Panic gripped her, rolling through her in sickening waves, and the chamber spun like a malignant whirlpool, sucking her into blackened depths.

It wasn’t only the emeralds she had lost. The ribbon Tavish had given her was in one of the pouches, and even though she shouldn’t care after his betrayal, its loss seared her soul.

“I’m sorry.” Brilicie hugged her. “I know how precious this is for you. But I fear Clodrah must have taken one of your gowns, also, as a disguise to pass for you.”

No. No. Her one means of escaping the palace winked out like a gutted candle and she sent a despairing prayer to Bride.

Great goddess, what am I to do?

The king’s silence was even more ominous than his roar of fury when he had been informed of Clodrah’s disappearance. Catriona stood beside Brilicie in the king’s inner sanctum, the first time she had ever been there, along with the queen, and the king’s most trusted advisers.

The palace had been searched, as had the surrounding land. But the Scots had long departed.

The king inhaled a great breath. “This, then, was the plan of the barbarous Scots all along. To abduct our princess for their own nefarious ends. We will not wait passively until they send their demands for her safe return.” He transferred his burning glare to his advisers. “This means war.”

The queen indicated they should leave the sanctum. Once outside, Brilicie clutched Catriona’s arm, and whispered in her ear. “We must go to the sacred circle.”

A dozen warriors accompanied them. Brilicie was, after all, a high-ranking princess but the queen was too desperate to learn anything the goddess might impart to order her to remain within the palace walls.

They entered the circle, and the warriors stood beyond the perimeter, facing outwards, ready for any attack. Brilicie released a shaky breath. “Perhaps together we might beseech the goddess for insight,” she said, and pressed her palm against the nearest stone.

Catriona did not follow the princess’ lead, even though it was clear that had been Brilicie’s intention. There was no need. Bride was already here, yet Brilicie could see nothing.

Once again, storm clouds obscured the sun, but this time there were no sounds of distant battles being fought for her beloved land.

Because the future had already been set in motion.

Chills shivered along her arms, as a single sunbeam broke through the lowering clouds, bathing her in a diffused aura of light, and sorrow melded with the grief in her heart.

Pictland would survive. But not without great sacrifice from all Bride’s children.

She turned to Brilicie. “There is nothing to be done,” she said softly. “Clodrah has chosen her path and it cannot be altered.”

“This is Bride’s will?” Brilicie’s voice was hushed.

Was it? She didn’t know. The goddess never revealed everything. “There will be much bloodshed between Pict and Scot.” She closed her eyes, desperately searching for more, but Bride had gone.

She opened her eyes and wrapped her arms around her waist. The day was warm, but there was a darkness on the horizon, and she drew in a ragged breath.

Why had Tavish come to Pictland, only to steal away her heart? But even now, knowing of his deception, she could not wish him ill. He had been bound to his prince before he had ever met her. Of course he would put his half-brother’s interests first.

Yet it didn’t change the truth. He had proved his treachery. And she would forever grieve for the man she’d thought he was, rather than the man he had turned out to be.

Chapter 12

They had been riding for several hours and dawn had long broken when Tavish glanced at Allister, who rode by his side. They had led the others, both holding torches to light the way, until the sun had risen, but they needed to rest the horses.

He held up his arm, fist clenched, to halt their progress, and he and Allister dismounted.

“I’ll speak to the prince,” he said, handing Allister the reins. It was strange how Alpin hadn’t joined them. The three of them usually rode together but maybe, despite all his protests that he thought nothing of her, his half-brother was thinking of the princess he could never have.

Which was why he hadn’t sought him out earlier. After all, where Alpin did not stand a chance with Clodrah, Tavish intended to secure Catriona as his bride before the summer ended.

Although he was still irked by her accusation that his honor was lacking, she would soon see how wrong she was when the envoys arrived in Fortriu to negotiate with her king.

He strolled through the contingent of warriors as they dismounted, searching for Alpin, before seeing him, flanked by two of their closest friends. Inexplicably, unease flickered through him, but he shoved it aside.

The men caught sight of him, avoided his gaze, and stepped back from the prince.

Alpin gave him regal nod, but Tavish ignored him. God Almighty. His heart slammed against his ribs as the young woman by Alpin’s side turned to look at him.

She wore a dark cloak, and one of Catriona’s gray gowns. But there was no mistaking she was Lady Clodrah.

A thick silence enveloped the world. Even the horses ceased their snorting and birdsong fled the air. All he could hear was a wild rushing in his head, and Catriona’s disdain.

“You know the princess is betrothed. How can you live with yourself, being party to this great betrayal?”

She thought he had known of this plan, when he had imagined she spoke of how her future was intertwined with the princess.

God damn it. He hadn’t considered her words at all. He’d been too vexed that she had called his honor into question, that she had accused him of not respecting her own integrity, for him to think any deeper of her accusation. If he had, he would have asked her what she meant.

Would I, though?

It made no difference now. His pride had blinded him to what she had truly been telling him. Because he wasn’t used to anyone rebuking him, or calling him to account, or casting a shadow on his principles, and the fact that Catriona had done all three, to his face, had been a harsh blow to his esteem.

Except it was so much more than his pride she had wounded.

Fire seared his chest, an unimaginable agony that had no right existing. Yet it engulfed his heart, ate through his vitals, and it took every shred of willpower he possessed not to fall to his knees and roar his pain to the heavens.

How deeply she despised him. And now, he would never have the chance to earn back her respect.

“Christ, Tavish, don’t just stand there like a mute. Say something, man.” Alpin grinned at him and wound his arm around Clodrah’s waist.

As though nothing was wrong.

He sucked in air that burned all the way down to his charred heart. Say something? He had nothing to say to his half-brother. Nothing that Alpin wanted to hear.

“This is why you commanded us to leave in the dead of night.” His voice was flat and Alpin’s grin faded, as the men surrounding them surreptitiously stepped back. “It had nothing to do with the Norse invasion.”

“The sighting of the Norse was serendipitous. A sign, surely, that the princess and I are meant to be together.”

“The princess is betrothed.” It was possible Alpin didn’t know.

“To an old man. Do you think I would leave her there, to such a fate? She belongs to me, Tavish, and nothing will part us.”

“The Fortriu king will likely declare war because of this.”

“The princess is worth it.”

Tavish clenched his fists, to prevent himself from grabbing his half-brother and shaking some sense into him. It was far too late for that. “You could have asked our father to petition for her hand. A strong alliance between Scot and Pict is something that would have worked in your favor.”

“Or not. And I would have lost her forever.” Alpin glared at him. “It’s a pity you didn’t fall for Lady Catriona, the way the princess and I hoped you might. The four of us together. Now Clodrah must face her new life without her dearest friend.”

“You expected me to steal Lady Catriona away, without a word to her king?” The words were ash on his tongue, for hadn’t he suggested such a thing to her himself?

But she wasn’t a royal princess, and she was not betrothed. Their elopement wouldn’t have caused political ramifications to echo through the land. And besides, he had planned on speaking to her king before circumstances had overtaken them.

Yet in her eyes, he was condemned because in the end, he had expected her to besmirch her honor by leaving without a word.

But just as damningly, she also believed he possessed so little integrity, he was willing to risk war rather than constrain his own half-brother’s willfulness.

“I should rather spend my life alone than with someone who can so easily forsake their duty.”

“If you cared for her, you would have,” Alpin retorted, and it took him a tortured moment to understand what his half-brother meant. “I should have known your interest in her was nothing but a fleeting distraction, as always.”

Rage boiled deep in his chest against Alpin’s rash actions, but in a sane corner of his mind he knew it was far worse than that. Rage he could deal with. But this agony that ripped through his heart and consumed his reason could not be appeased by angry words or a bloodied fight.

He’d left Fortriu secure in the knowledge that he was not leaving Catriona, no matter what dismissive words she had arrowed his way. Throughout the journey, during those dark hours, he’d imagined her contrite reaction when he returned with the envoys to claim her.

One way or another, she was destined to be his bride.

But now his confident plans for a future with her shattered about his feet. His king would send no envoys into Fortriu to negotiate for Catriona’s hand. From this moment, any small possibility that the underlying hostility between Scot and Pict, that had simmered for generations, might be appeased by treaties and trade died an inglorious death.

He would never see Catriona again. Never hold her in his arms, breathe in her elusive scent of lavender, nor hear her carefree laugh.

Or have the chance to tell her what he should have told her before leaving Fortriu. That she was the only woman he wanted to share the rest of his life with.

“We can’t rest here for long,” Alpin said, clearly believing the matter of how he and Clodrah had stolen away from Fortriu to be closed. “We cannot risk the Picts finding us. We need to return to Dunadd as quickly as possible.”

Tavish sucked in a jagged breath and scanned the mountainous landscape. Alpin was right about one thing. They couldn’t linger. Not now when the Picts would be after their blood.

Allister came to his side. It was obvious he’d overheard the exchange between him and Alpin, but he didn’t say anything.

What was there to say?

They would reach Dunadd within three days. It would take half a day to return to Forteviot.

He swung about and marched away from the men. No one followed him and he bent over, gripping his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. It was madness to even think of returning to Forteviot. The damage was done and could not be repaired.

Catriona’s face swam into his mind. The last time he had seen her she’d been exquisite, dignified, and the faintest trace of contempt had glowed in her beautiful green eyes.

Whenever she thought of him—if she ever thought of him again—she wouldn’t remember the way they’d danced, or flirted, or made love in her goddess’ sacred cave.

In her eyes he had betrayed the trust of her king. That he’d helped to plan the whole escape. He could only hope to God she didn’t imagine he had wooed her simply to distract her attention from the princess.

Slowly he straightened, but it didn’t ease the knot lodged in his chest. They would return to Dunadd, and the king would be incensed. But in time, he would accept Alpin’s choice, and doubtless would ensure a great alliance through Tavish with a princess from the land across the sea, where the Dal Riadan Scots had originated.

His life stretched out before him. Endless.

Empty.

His chance of securing Catriona as his bride had splintered but he could not bear that she would forever equate dishonor and betrayal with him, if ever his name should cross her mind. She had given herself to him, believing him worthy. The least he could do was show her she had not misjudged him in everything.

He might not deserve her. But he had not lied to her.

Slowly he returned to the others. “I will return to Forteviot and beg audience with their king.”

Shock rippled among the waiting men and Allister stepped forward and gripped his arm. “You can’t go back, Tavish. They’ll tear you apart.”

It was a likely possibility. But if he didn’t return, guilt and regret would tear him apart just as fatally. “We cannot leave things like this, Allister. You know this as well as I.”

“Then I’ll accompany you.”

He gripped Allister’s shoulder. “No. You must protect Lord Alpin and his lady. This is something I must do. Not just for Dal Riada, but myself.”

“Tavish.” Alpin’s frown carved his brow. “Allister is right. Don’t make me command you to stay.”

Since Alpin’s birth seventeen years ago, Tavish had looked out for his younger half-brother. They weren’t equal in the eyes of the law, but in every way that mattered, they were.

Alpin had never issued a command his way before. There had never been a need. Where Tavish led, Alpin was happy to follow and when they disagreed, it was but a minor thing, swiftly resolved.

Until now.

“My lord, my path is clear, and it leads back to Forteviot.”

Alpin’s jaw flexed, although whether it was in response to his words or the rare use of his title, Tavish could not guess. “You would defy my order?”

“I would ask you not to give it.”

Alpin exhaled a long breath. “I was wrong. You must care for her deeply.”

He didn’t reply. There was no need. Instead, he turned to the princess. “My lady, is there a message you wish me to convey to your king, should I have the opportunity?”

“Tell him I regret any distress I have caused, but my heart belongs to Lord Alpin, and I cannot live without him.”

He bowed, took the reins from Allister, and faced his fate.

Chapter 13

It was late afternoon, and Catriona and all the other ladies were in the queen’s private chamber while Mariota and Brilicie attempted to comfort her. It had been discovered that all Clodrah’s personal jewels were also missing, and although no accusation had been made, everyone present knew what it meant.

She had not been abducted against her will.

Would anyone tell the king? He had been in his inner sanctum all day, strategizing with his advisers.

Catriona gripped her fingers together and tried to quell the nerves churning in her stomach. Should she tell him what she knew? The prospect was daunting. She had spent the last ten years avoiding him. Would he even believe she had not been privy to Clodrah’s plans?

One of the queen’s personal maids entered the chamber and went to her. As she conveyed her whispered message the queen drew in a sharp breath before turning to them all.

“Our warriors have captured one of the treacherous Scots. He is being brought to the great hall. Come.” With that, she stalked from the chamber.

Brilicie came to Catriona’s side as they followed the queen, but she scarcely heard the princess’ whispered concern on who might have been captured. It did not matter. So long as it wasn’t Tavish.

She didn’t dare ask her goddess to keep him safe, but she wished it desperately. They all knew that any Scot who had been captured, would not live long with her king’s thirst for vengeance.

It appeared everyone in Forteviot had swarmed to the great hall, but due to her status, the crowd parted allowing Brilicie to maneuver them to the front of the throng, and they stood beside Mariota and the queen, in front of the royal dais. The doors crashed open, and four Pict warriors entered, but it was the Scot before them that riveted Catriona’s horrified gaze.

Goddess, no.

Tavish strode towards the king. He was not bound in chains or hobbled with rope. There were no signs of a fight having taken place between the men. But how had they caught him? Where were the rest of the Scots? Tavish was the son of a king, and the prince’s confident. There wasn’t any way he would be a straggler, or the only one caught if the Picts had found the Scots.

A chilling certainty slithered through her blood. He had not been captured. He had returned to Fortriu and surrendered.

When he reached the dais, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. An excited murmur rippled around the great hall at the foreigner’s deference and his evident willingness to be here.

Catriona pressed her palms against her churning stomach, but it didn’t help calm her rising fear. Why had Tavish risked returning?

The king raised his hand and silence fell. After a prolonged moment, he took a deep breath. “Speak.”

“My lord.” Tavish didn’t raise his head. “The Scots of Dal Riada could not leave without explanation.”

“The Scots of Dal Riada abducted the youngest Princess of Fortriu. There is no explanation for such treachery. Your king will pay with his blood for this assault upon our good will and honor.”

Catriona sent a frantic prayer to her goddess, even though a part of her knew she betrayed her own people by such action. I beg you to protect him against my king’s wrath.

“My lord is correct. There is no justification. But my king is unaware of these events, and we came to Fortriu with only friendship in mind.”

“You undertook this outrage without your king’s knowledge?” Contempt dripped from every word.

Transfixed, Catriona gazed at Tavish. Even on his knee with his head bowed, he possessed a regal aura and bittersweet pain squeezed her heart. What courage it had taken, for him to return and face her king’s rage, when he could so easily have continued to Dal Riada with his compatriots.

Yet his honor now placed him at her king’s mercy.

“I beg the king’s indulgence for a private audience to impart the reasons behind it.”

The king bared his teeth and a shiver chased along Catriona’s arms at the venom glowing in his eyes. “There will be no private audience. You will impart your information before the entire hall and be judged upon it.”

Tavish raised his head and caught the king’s enraged glare. “My lord. I was unaware of the strength of the attachment between my half-brother Alpin, Prince of Dal Riada, and the youngest Princess of Fortriu. They made plans to be together and I discovered this only after dawn broke. The princess entrusted me with a message. She regrets the distress she has caused, but her heart lies with Lord Alpin, and she doesn’t wish to live without him.”

Another terrible silence fell. Brilicie gripped her arm and they exchanged anguished glances. Then the king spoke.

“You dare come into my presence and spew such lies.”

Goddess, this was bad, but Tavish did not falter. “My lord, I would not have returned to Fortriu in order to dishonor you with anything less than the truth.”

Hushed whispers raced wildly around the hall. Catriona held her breath, her gaze fixed on Tavish. Surely the king would believe him. No sane man would return simply to lie about this.

The king cast a fiery glare around the hall, and the whispers faded. Doubtless he now wished he had agreed to Tavish’s request for a private audience, but it was too late now. The truth had been heard by all the court.

Finally, the king’s gaze fell upon Tavish. “So we were betrayed by my own blood.” He transferred his gaze to the queen. “Henceforth, we have but one daughter. Clodrah, the former youngest Princess of Fortriu, shall be erased from the annals of Pictland for the disgrace she has brought upon her people. Her name shall never again be uttered in Pictland, upon pain of death.”

The queen shuddered, her face a mask of grief, but she didn’t say a word. It was a harsh punishment, yet just. Clodrah could have expected nothing less than banishment for her act.

And now, he would banish Tavish from Pictland. There could be no other end to this, but how she wished there could. Yesterday, she had resigned herself to never seeing him again. And after today, she never would.

But now everything had changed. Because Tavish truly was the man of her dreams, and she would hold him forever within her heart.

Her throat ached with tears she could never shed.

Please look at me one last time before you leave.

So that he could see she knew how wrong she had been.

“For the grave insult your blood has done mine, Tavish O’Eochaid, you will be cast into the ancient gateway of our ancestors.”

Catriona gasped. No. She had misunderstood. The ancient gateway hadn’t been used in generations, and to punish Tavish with such viciousness, when he had voluntarily returned to explain what had happened, was beyond barbaric.

Already warriors were surrounding him, ready to carry out the king’s order. For one brief, heart-wrenching second, she caught Tavish’s dark gaze and a faint, resigned, smile touched his lips before he was marched through the hall.

She pulled free of Brilicie and made to follow them, but the princess tugged her back.

“Catriona.” Shock laced Brilicie’s voice. “You cannot go with them. It is not seemly.”

Catriona turned on her. “I will go with them. This is not justice. It’s revenge.”

“But there’s nothing you can do.”

She ignored Brilicie and hurried after the crowd. Most of the noblewomen stayed in the hall, but a few followed the king and his men as they marched from the shadow of the palace and skirted the looming standing stones to the ancient gateway some distance beyond.

It was a forbidden place, a deep pit, concealed behind an old stone wall and the tortured souls of traitors were said to haunt the darkness. She pushed through the crowd of nobles, uncaring of etiquette, until she stood opposite Tavish, the gaping black hole between them. Once again, their gazes meshed, and the sorrow of ages glowed in his eyes.

Leave this place. He didn’t need to say the words aloud for her to read the desperate plea in his face. He did not want her to witness this ignoble end.

But she wouldn’t leave him here. She couldn’t.

For ten years she had kept her head down and hidden her gift, fearful of what being in the king’s sight might mean. But all through it, she had quietly admired his strength and sense of honor. He had taken her in, where another man might not.

But this was despicable. These were the actions of a vindictive man, not a just king, and she could not stand silently by, even if Tavish himself appeared resigned to his fate.

“My lord.” Her voice rang out in the sudden hush that had descended and the king turned to her, his anger at being interrupted transmuting into shock at who had spoken. “I beseech you to show mercy. The goddess has shown me a vision of bloodshed if we continue on this path.” Glimpses of sunlight sparkled through the twilight. And this time she truly understood the meaning behind the vision Bride had sent her. “But there is hope if both Pict and Scot can forge a future together.”

“My lady,” Tavish said, and the sound of his voice was her undoing. “This is no place for you. I beg you to leave.”

Before she could respond the king raised his hand, and two warriors shoved Tavish into the pit. He made no sound as he plunged into the darkness and instinctively she darted forward, only to be halted by the king himself grasping her arm before she toppled into the pit.

Tavish. She screamed his name inside her head, and an eerie silence echoed all around as though the gaping chasm at her feet had swallowed every beat of life.

The king swung her about, so she faced him. But she couldn’t look him in the eye in case he saw the fury in hers. She fixed her gaze on the sacred broach of the Supreme Kingdom he wore on his plaid and battled the terrifying urge to rip it from him and toss it into the pit.

Her father was unworthy of the throne of Fortriu.

“So you are blessed by the goddess,” he said. “This gives you additional value. It’s time I recognized you as my daughter, Catriona. You will take her place and wed in her stead next summer.”

Chapter 14

For what seemed the hundredth time, Tavish fell from the slippery wall of the pit onto the fetid ground. And for the first time the dread possibility that he might never climb out gnawed into his mind.

The moon glowed, casting a faint haze of light, just enough to let him know how deep this hellhole was. Maybe he should have stayed with the others. At least he wouldn’t be facing a lingering death. He’d imagined that if the Pict king had decided to execute him it would be a swift affair. Beheading, or a sword through the heart.

Not this barbarous end.

“Fuck.” He wiped the blood from his shredded hands and fingers over his plaid, to give a better grip on the merciless rock. Yet even knowing the fate that awaited him, he didn’t regret returning.

Catriona valued honor above all else, and now she knew his integrity was no less than hers.

He pressed his forehead against the unrelenting rock and his sigh shuddered through his body. Aye, now she knew, but he had not wanted her to witness this final act.

A shadow passed over the moon and he tensed, looking up. Had the king sent an archer, to ensure his prisoner had not the smallest chance of escape?

“Tavish.” An achingly familiar voice wafted down from above. God, was he losing his mind, now? “Can you hear me, Tavish?”

“Christ, Catriona.” He peered up through the darkness but could only see her shadowed figure. “What are you doing here?”

“Surely you didn’t think I’d leave you here to rot?” A thread of something—anger? —heated her words, and he hastily stepped back as a rope tumbled down the rockface. “Hurry. I wasn’t followed, but we cannot risk any delay.”

Good God. She was rescuing him. A noble-born lady. The concept was so foreign, so utterly beyond anything he had imagined in his wildest dreams, that he stood there, stupidly staring at the rope as if he had never seen one before.

“Tavish?” Anxiety throbbed through the word. “Are you injured? Can you stand? I brought your horse, but I think you’ll have to help climb from the pit.”

Admiration licked through him, aye, and awe as well, at her daring. This was an act worthy of the bravest, battle-hardened warrior.

“I can stand,” he assured her, and tied the rope securely around him before winding it about one wrist. It was a laborious effort, but at last he reached the rim of the pit and hauled himself onto the ground, sucking in fresh, clean air.

Catriona crouched beside him, pulling something from one of the pouches that hung from her embroidered girdle as he loosened the rope about him. “Where are you injured? I can smell the blood.”

“’Tis nothing but a graze.” He couldn’t take his transfixed gaze from her. “Catriona, you saved my life.”

She drew in a ragged breath. “An untended graze may yet take your life. Let me cleanse your wounds.”

In silence, he offered her his hands and she cleaned them with a pungent astringent that stung like sparks from a fire. When she was done, she bound his hands and as she replaced her healing elixir into her pouch, he could wait no longer.

He cradled her face, and by the ethereal light from the moon could see the sorrow in her beautiful eyes. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he managed only one.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Oh.” She shook her head. “I am ashamed of the actions of the Fortriu king. You did not deserve this fate, Tavish. Now, you must go, quickly.”

She scrambled to her feet, and he followed, capturing her hand. “We must go,” he corrected her, for how could she imagine he would let her go after this?

“I may no longer respect my king, but my place is here. Please, Tavish. Don’t make this any harder.”

He tightened his grip on her hand, as though that alone had the power to change her mind. “I won’t allow you to go back to that life. And what if it’s discovered you helped me escape?”

A shudder wracked him. He couldn’t bear to think of the consequences should that happen.

“I won’t be discovered. But the longer we stay here, the greater the possibility that we will.”

God damn it, why did she have to be so stubborn? And yet if she were not, he wouldn’t be standing here before her, owing her his very life.

“There’s no discussion, Catriona. I’m taking you back to Dal Riada with me and that’s final.”

Somehow, she pulled her hand free. “No. I shall always cherish the time we spent together but I can’t go with you because you feel a sense of duty towards me. Whatever we shared would wither and die and I would rather hold onto my precious memories than see your pity now turn to discontent as the years pass.”

“My pity?” What in the name of God was she talking about?

“For what you believe my life will become now Clodrah is gone.”

Frustration tore through him, but that wasn’t the truth.

Fear. He faced it for what it was, and it corroded his chest as the reality of what she was telling him thundered through his mind. He was as much in danger of losing her now, as he had when he’d discovered what his half-brother had done.

“I don’t pity you. I never have.” He flexed his fingers, embracing the pain. It was nothing to what faced him if she turned from him now. “Why do you think I came back to Fortriu, if not to try and change your opinion of me? God knows, I never expected to be given another chance with you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll give you up a second time.”

“That is the reason you returned?” Her voice was hushed, and he couldn’t tell if it was from admiration or consternation at his confession.

He should tell her he’d been compelled to come back for the honor of Dal Riada, and that was true. Yet it wasn’t the reason why he had returned.

The words lodged in his throat. He had never been so exposed, so uncertain of his path. But if he remained silent, Catriona would vanish into the night.

He exhaled a harsh breath. “Aye. When I discovered Alpin had taken the princess, I knew there was no hope of winning your hand. Our kingdoms would be at war. But it was not the knowledge of bloodshed that impelled me back to Fortriu. It was the bleak future that awaited me, without you by my side and the knowledge of how you despised me. If I could show you, in some small measure, that your trust in me hadn’t been misplaced, the risk was worth taking.”

She pressed her hand against his heart. “You could have died.” Her voice shook, and he covered her hand with his. “Nothing is worth that sacrifice.”

“You’re wrong.” He brushed errant strands of hair from her face. “You are worth it. You’re worth everything to me. I came back to Fortriu because I love you. I will always love you, whether or not we spend our lives together. But I have no desire to return to Dal Riada without you.”

“I thought—I feared you only noticed me because the prince commanded it.”

“I noticed you as soon as we entered the palace. Catriona, I knew nothing of their plans. You have to believe me.”

“I do believe you. I only grieve that I ever doubted you. Tavish, I love you, my honorable Scots warrior.”

A wild, fierce, joy, such as he had never imagined could exist, surged through him and he wound his arms about her and pulled her close. The elusive scent of lavender filled the air, banishing forever the stench of the unholy pit.

“My beautiful, brave, Pictish lady,” he whispered. “My heart and my soul are yours for eternity. I once asked you to leave Fortriu and be my bride. I ask you again, my lady. Catriona, mystical priestess of the ancient goddess Bride, will you do me the honor of returning with me to Dal Riada and becoming my wife?”

Her soft sigh echoed deep in his heart as she cupped his jaw. “Yes. With all my heart and for all time.”

Epilogue

Duntorr, Dal Riada. Spring, 800

Catriona sat in the shade with her infant son, in the courtyard garden of Duntorr, which gave spectacular views of the beautiful glen Tavish had once told her about. But she was not admiring the glen. Her gaze was fixed on her beloved husband as he chased their squealing three-year-old daughter around the sundial.

Tavish caught her and tossed her into the air before enveloping her in a bear hug. Sorcha, named after Tavish’s lady mother who had made Catriona so welcome when she’d arrived in Dal Riada five years ago, tugged on his beard, all but helpless with laughter.

Tavish slung her a grin over their daughter’s head and, as always, her heart melted at the sight.

How different her life was now to how she had once imagined. Her secret, cherished dreams had come true with a brave warrior who loved her for herself, and precious babes who were their world. And when the Scots king had discovered how Tavish had risked his life to ensure the King of Fortriu understood Clodrah had not been abducted, and then learned, through Tavish, the part Catriona had played in his escape from certain death, he had received her with honor and respect.

It had taken him longer to forgive Alpin and accept Clodrah, but that was all in the past now. Her half-sister, still unaware of its priceless treasure, had returned her girdle and Tavish had commissioned Dunadd’s goldsmith to craft the emeralds into a necklace, earrings, and jewel encrusted gold bracelets.

The legacy from her mother that she would one day pass onto her daughter.

On the stone bench beside her, Clodrah sighed, as she watched her husband, Alpin, sling his arm around Tavish’s shoulders before whispering in Sorcha’s ear, making her laugh.

“Alpin so longs for a child of our own.” Clodrah stroked her swelling belly, her anxiety palpable. Catriona took her hand. Her half-sister had suffered the loss of three babes during the last four years, but this time her pregnancy had progressed into the sixth month, longer than any of her previous ones. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if you saw something terrible?”

Catriona kept a smile on her face, but goddess, it almost broke her heart. The darkness she had witnessed in her vision in Fortriu had never left and, although she tried to tell herself she was mistaken, she knew the truth.

Her dear half-sister would get her wish for a healthy son. But Bride did not forgive insults easily, and Clodrah would not live to see him grow.

“You will not lose this babe, my love,” she assured Clodrah, which, at least, was the truth.

“It is just since we learned of Mariota…” Clodrah swallowed, and Catriona’s smile faded. Days ago, news had reached them through their spies that Mariota had given birth to a daughter, Annella. But, just as Bride had foretold on the day of her wedding, the princess had not survived.

Sorcha ran over to them and dropped a gentle kiss on her baby brother’s forehead. “Sweet Kinnon,” she said, as the men followed her.

Tavish sat next to her and traced one finger over his son’s dark hair before meeting her gaze. And just like the first time they had seen each other in the great hall of Forteviot, he stole her breath.

“Alpin saw Allister yesterday,” he said, as he hauled Sorcha onto his lap. “Apparently, he is utterly smitten with the tiny creature that has entered their lives.”

“I am glad all is well. We must visit them soon.”

The rogue Allister, their loyal friend who, much to Tavish’s evident amusement, had been captivated by a gentle Scots noblewoman three years ago. She had been safely delivered of a son but a week ago, and a quiet certainty had settled in Catriona’s breast at the news.

The futures of Tavish’s, Alpin’s, and Allister’s sons were inextricably entwined but more than that, the destinies of the next generation would interweave in ways the goddess concealed from her.

But that did not matter. Catriona knew she would see the events unfold herself, as Pictland fought for her survival in a changing new world.

Above the heads of their children, Tavish leaned in close and gave her a lingering kiss. She linked her fingers through his, and together they encircled the precious people who filled her heart with love.

“My lady.” His voice was a low rumble that sent delicious shivers through her soul. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“I do,” she whispered. “But you cannot love me as dearly as I love you.”

“Impossible.” His wicked smile made her give a soft laugh. “Name anything you wish and I shall ensure it is yours, to prove my devotion.”

She brushed her lips against his. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted here, in my arms.”

Continue the adventure in 9th Century Pictland with Her Savage Scot - currently FREE on my store!

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Her Savage Scot

Spring, 843

Scots’ warrior Connor will do anything to protect Aila from the Vikings. But to save her he must defy his king, betray his country, and forsake his honor

When tough Scot warrior Connor MacKenzie rides into the barbaric lands of the Picts on a mission for his king, he never expects to be captivated by a beautiful Pictish widow. Drawn under her spell, yet unaware of her true identity, he risks everything for one passionate night in her arms.

Aila, Princess of Pictland, swore, after watching her husband die, that she would never marry again. But after meeting Connor, her frozen heart thaws and once again she imagines a future filled with love and passion.

When Connor delivers the message from his king, Aila becomes a pawn in a deadly game of politics. Her heart belongs to Connor, but she must marry the prince of Dal Riada – Connor’s half-brother. But as dangerous secrets unravel, both Connor and Aila must find a way to outwit their enemies if they want a chance of surviving, together, in this fractured new world.

Forged in Blood, United by Passion

The Highland Warrior Chronicles

Her Rebel Scot – Prequel

Her Savage Scot

Her Vengeful Scot

Her Baseborn Scot

Her Wicked Scot - coming in 2022

Author’s Note

Although this is a work of fiction, and both Tavish O’Eochaid and Lady Catriona Magaidh of Fortriu are characters created from my imagination, there was a King Eochaid of Dal Riada at the close of the eighth century, who had a son named Alpin. In the year 800, Alpin had a son named Kenneth MacAlpin.

In 843 or thereabouts, Kenneth MacAlpin, King of the Scots of Dal Riada, became king of all Pictland. His claim to the throne of Fortriu, the Supreme Kingdom of the Picts, was through his mother, who was believed to be a Princess of Pictland.

In Her Rebel Scot I’ve imagined what might have happened when Alpin fell for a Princess of Fortriu and set in motion events that would ultimately change the political landscape of Pictland forever.

About the Author

Christina Phillips is an ex-pat Brit who now lives in sunny Western Australia with her high school sweetheart and their family. She enjoys writing historical romance with a touch of fantasy, paranormal romance and contemporary romance, where the stories sizzle and the heroine brings her hero to his knees.

She is addicted to good coffee, expensive chocolate, and bad boy heroes. She is also owned by three gorgeous cats, including one who reigns from the rainbow bridge, who are convinced the universe revolves around their needs. They are not wrong.

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