Tall and thick-shouldered, with russet hair in need of trimming, Boyce’s weathered face told the story of a lifetime of battle. He was the only man in the clan who dared press Rhodes on matters others whispered about behind closed doors.
Boyce leaned back in his chair next to Rhodes at the table. “You’ve no wish for a wife. That’s not the same thing as it being time for you to wed.”
The word wish struck deep, pulling him back into memory before he could stop it.
That night…
The crackle of a campfire under a moonless sky. Ale flowing freely, he and his friends’ laughter rolling into the dark woods. Declan boasting of women who would fall at his feet. Raff declaring he’d be unencumbered, no one to worry about. And then they had turned to him, their faces ruddy from drink, eyes bright with mischief.
What about you, Rhodes? What would you wish for, if you could have it?
The answer had risen without thought, born of pride and too much ale.
Power to dominate so completely that no one would ever dare confront me. Unbeatable in battle. Feared by all. Always victorious.
The firelight had bent oddly then, shadows curling like strange smoke, a figure standing just beyond the reach of the glow, embraced by the woods. He’d seen it… and dismissed it. By morning, the three of them had thought of it as nothing more than a dream and laughed, and then the change had begun.
No man challenged him.
No one defied his orders.
No voice dared to speak against him.
It was everything he’d asked for, yet nothing he truly wanted.
Boyce’s voice pulled him from the vivid memory. “The clan gossips. They want to see the future of the clan secure. They want to see your heirs running through the village, watch them grow in strength and wisdom, always knowing there will be a powerful MacBrair to provide and keep them safe.”
“What need have I of a wife when you do so well at nagging me?” Rhodes asked, his annoyance growing from the endless badgering to wed.
“There are benefits to having a wife,” Boyce insisted.
“That is because you have a kind and wonderful wife in Sara,” Rhodes argued.
Boyce beamed with pride. “I am a lucky to have her and to be expecting our first bairn in about four months. I am truly blessed, and you can be as well if you would but consider the marriage offers that have been presented to you. Endless clans are eager to align with Clan MacBrair. You have your choice of women.”
Rhodes lifted his gaze to his friend, a spark of wry amusement in his dark eyes. “I’ll wed the next woman who walks through that door, considering age, of course.”
Boyce’s brows rose, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s as likely as the sun rising in the west.”
The Great Hall was quiet for a beat, the fire snapping softly. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Then the heavy doors creaked on their hinges.
Cold air swept in, carrying the scent of pine and something else… something untamed.
A small figure stepped into the hall, the wind tugging at the hood of her cloak. She pushed it back with a firm hand, and a cascade of fiery curls spilled loose, the red as bright as the flames that glowed in the hearth. Slim, almost delicate in stature, yet her stride carried a boldness that made her appear far larger than she was.
Rhodes straightened slightly in his chair, his gaze narrowing. He did not recognize her. She was no servant nor clanswoman he knew. And she held herself with the defiance of one who feared no laird’s judgment.
Boyce shifted beside him, uncertain.
The woman’s sharp green eyes scanned the hall as though she owned the place, and just as her gaze landed on him, a tiny mewl broke the silence. A kitten, black as midnight with a white-tipped tail, darted from beneath the benches and padded straight to her feet. She bent gracefully, scooping the creature into her arms. The little beast purred as though it had found its mistress at last as she continued to approach the dais.
Rhodes’s brow lifted. Even animals seemed to claim her.
Her voice rang out, clear and certain. “You have more than enough penned beasts to feed your clan, Lord Rhodes. Leave the forest creatures be. The woods are not meant to be emptied at your whim.”
Her words struck him like a blade drawn in his hall, a challenge of sorts. His lips curved in something dangerously close to amusement.
“Who are you to walk into my hall and lecture me?” he asked, his voice low, edged with the steel of authority.
