Chapter 1
Dunlaidir Castle
The Eastern Coast of Scotland, 1330
“What you need, my lady, is a champion.”
Lady Caterine Keith stiffened her shoulders against her companion’s well-meant counsel and continued to stare through the arch-topped windows of her tower bedchamber. Far below, the North Sea tossed and churned, its slate-gray swells capped with foamy white, its roiling surface a perfect reflection of her own inner turmoil.
A curtain of silence fell between the two women until the crackle of the hearth fire and the whistling of the autumn wind reached almost deafening proportions.
Rain-laden gusts lashed at Dunlaidir’s thick stone walls, rattling the window shutters with such fervor Caterine wouldn’t have been surprised to see them ripped away and hurled into the sea.
A sense of foreboding crept up her spine, its portent unsettling. A cloying premonition as cold and relentless as the dark waves battering the cliffs upon which Dunlaidir Castle so proudly perched.
Still, she said nothing.
She didn’t want to consider her friend’s suggestion. Indeed, she preferred to pretend she hadn’t heard.
Undaunted by her silence, Lady Rhona gushed on. “I can see him before me. A mighty warrior who swings a great sword, a belted knight of chivalric fame,” she enthused, her young voice breathy with excitement.
Filled with flimsy fancies Caterine no longer believed in.
Perhaps had ne’er believed in.
Ne’er been allowed to believe in, much as her heart had once sought to cling to such foolish dreams.
“My lady,” Rhona implored. “Think of it! A battleworthy knight to vanquish your foes at a mere glance. A brave warrior willing to hew them to bits should you but ask. A great champion, respected and feared-”
“I do not want a champion.” Caterine swung around to face her friend. “I desire nothing but to be left alone.”
“And I vow it is desire you need,” the ever-romantic Rhona blurted, then clapped a hand over her mouth as a pink tinge crept onto her cheeks.
Slipping behind Caterine, she yanked the shutters into place, closing out the rain and wind, but plunging the chamber into semi-darkness. “Of a mercy!” Rhona fretted, hurrying to light a brace of candles. “I meant no disrespect. ’Tis only you’ve never known-”
“I know fair well what you meant,” Caterine said before the younger woman could babble on and embarrass them both. Careful to keep her back straight, she sank onto the cushioned seat built into the window embrasure.
It mattered scarce little that the slanting rain had dampened the finely embroidered pillows. She had more serious matters to contend with than catching a chill.
“Your concern is appreciated, but not needed.” She glanced at Rhona. “I know much of men. Think you having outlived two husbands has left me an innocent?”
“Of a certainty, nae, my lady.” Rhona busied herself lighting the remaining two candles. “No one is more aware of your plight than I. Did I have aught but your best interest at heart, I would not urge you to send for a champion.”
Caterine raised a staying hand. “You speak of desire. I need a solution to my problems, to Dunlaidir’s problems, not a man to warm my bed.”
Leaning down, she scooped her golden-brown dog, Leo, onto her lap. “I will not seek another man’s attentions regardless for what purpose. Leo is the only male welcome in this chamber, as you are well aware.”
“Leo cannot protect you from a man as powerful as Sir Hugh. The man is a dastard craven capable of great and vile knavery. Your only hope is to ask your sister, Lady Linnet, to send help.”
“Think you one Highland warrior will deter a Sassunach earl with a garrison of mounted knights?” Caterine drew Leo closer, taking comfort in the soft warmth of his little body. “Even a mighty MacKenzie would be hard-pressed to stop de la Hogue from gaining hold of Dunlaidir Castle through marriage to me.”
“Then you must render such a union impossible by wedding your champion.”
Indignation flared in Caterine’s breast. “I do nothavea champion. Nor will I impose on Linnet’s good graces by asking her to send one. And were I so inclined, which I am not, binding myself to such a man is no more palatable than marriage to Sir Hugh.”
“How do you know you if you haven’t met the man your sister will send?”
“Oh, have done, please.” Caterine gave her friend an annoyed look. “I will not suffer a third husband, champion or otherwise.”
