Chapter One
Kieran’s heart pounded in his chest; one wrong move, and it would all be for nothing. He held his finger to his lips, ensuring that the men with him knew not to make a sound.
Bailey, Kieran’s closest friend, was crouched beside him in the underbrush while his sister Tilly sat low on his other side. While Bailey was no fighter, Tilly most certainly was. She could hold her own against most of Kieran’s men. She wasn’t the biggest woman he’d ever known, but she somehow had a strength in her that frightened a lot of his men. She was known for rushing headlong into any battle without a care for her own life. She was greatly admired by both the men and women of the clan for her fearlessness and fighting skills. Kieran chalked it up to the MacBride blood that flowed through their veins, the blood of the fiercest warriors known to Scotland.
The forest was magnificent this time of year. The sun sparkled through the tiny gaps in the leaves of the trees, so high above them it made Kieran dizzy just looking up at them. Every shade of green surrounded them – from the emerald of newly grown moss to the citrine of new leaves on the trees to the deepest forest green that was almost gray throughout the forest. Spring was most certainly a beautiful time of the year in Kyle of Lochlass, and with all the rainfall, it promised to be especially magnificent this year.
Kieran readied himself, notching his arrow to his bow, lining his sight up with his target. He exhaled slowly, quietly, and let the arrow fly.
The boar squealed in pain as his men let their own arrows find their mark in the creature’s back and belly. The boar went down with a heavy thud as his men cheered for their victory over defeating the boar.
“Well done, Laird,” Bailey laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, “We’ll be feastin’ tonight.”
“Aye, we will,” Kieran said, his red hair glinting in the sun.
Tilly laughed, “Like ye even got a shot in there, Bailey.” Kieran sighed internally at the crestfallen look on Bailey’s face. He knew that Tilly had only said it in jest, but Bailey was a sensitive soul. Tilly seemed to forget that far too often, even if she cared deeply about him. She had a way of sounding much brusquer than she meant to; she rubbed Bailey’s arm in silent apology. Kieran couldn’t ignore how the man’s face lit up instantly at the contact. He could do nothing but shake his head. This was not a situation he wanted to get involved in.
“Quiet,” Kieran called out, just loudly enough for his men to hear him, as his attention was drawn away from the conversation by a rustling in the underbrush that had nothing to do with his men or the boar.
“Get yersels back here,” he called out to his men, as a group of foreign men became visible, walking through the forest, making no effort to conceal themselves. Kieran’s men regrouped closer to him, laying their hands on their weapons while trying to look as nonchalant as possible. It wasn’t often that they ran across strangers out in these woods – everyone knew they belonged to the Laird Kieran and his clan.
The men came into sight, standing opposite Kieran and his men in a loosely ranked formation. They far outnumbered his group; they had only gone out for a small hunting excursion and hadn’t expected any trouble.
Kieran chewed the inside of his lip. Not all strangers were enemies, but not all of them were friendly either. If it came down to it, his men were outnumbered and would struggle to hold their line. He knew he had to avoid any potential altercation as much as he possibly could.
“I see yer unmarked, but ye look like soldiers. Where are ye from?” Kieran called out to them.
The strangers shuffled around a bit before one stepped forward, seeming to be the captain of the group. He shrugged as he moved closer, a sneer on his face as he answered Kieran.
“Like we’d tell the likes of you. You’re nothing more than a bunch of uncouth heathens, running around like ladies in your skirts and long hair. Your women are more manly than you are,” the captain said, looking Tilly up and down, not disguising the brazen lust in his eyes.
They were Englishmen. Kieran tensed up immediately; Englishmen only seemed to bring trouble with them. Their comments were unappreciated, and the man knew it... He could feel Tilly bristling at the captain’s stare, drawing her sword out of its sheath slightly. The man raised his eyebrow, chuckling at his sister’s subtle threat. Kieran held out his hand slightly, stilling hers on her sword.
“Oh, no need to be like that, miss. It’s really a compliment. I’m sure I could show you a better time than any of your fellows here ever could.”
“You’ll mind yer manners, or I’ll cut yer tongue out for ye.” Tilly crossed her arms over her chest. She tossed her long, copper hair over her shoulder, shrugging in indifference at his last comment.
Kieran swore under his breath. Tilly had a bad habit of being unable to keep her thoughts to herself; she said what she thought. Even as a child, she had been that way, and no matter how many problems it caused, Kieran sometimes felt she purposely refused to change her attitude. Here he was, hoping to avoid issues, but she wasn’t helping. And while Kieran couldn’t blame her, considering he wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug look off the man’s face, this was not the occasion to provoke these men.
The English had been causing havoc in Scotland for decades upon decades. They were constantly infringing on lands that didn’t belong to them, acting like they had every right to be there. Kieran felt the anger rising in his chest. His heartbeat roared in his ears, his pulse quickening with each and every beat. He clenched and unclenched his hands at his side; this was his land, his clan’s land. It had been passed down through generations of MacBrides; they had been the Lairds in this region for time immemorial. This land belonged to the Scottish; Kieran would be damned if he allowed the English to take it from his clan.
Kieran had fought in many a war, many a battle. At the age of twenty-eight, he feared no warrior; he feared no war; he was a warrior through and through. He was a burly, strong man, a strong leader. His men followed him into battle without question. But he knew that here, today, he could well lose his men to these Englishmen. It was not a battle he wanted to go into.
Kieran forced himself to breathe deeply in an attempt to calm his rage down enough to deal with the situation as calmly as possible. Replying in the haze of his rising temper would only worsen the situation.
“Yer trespassin’ on my land an’ I dinnae tak’ kindly tae those who dae this without my consent,” Kieran replied when he felt sufficiently calmer, crossing his arms across his broad chest, puffing it out to make himself look bigger, more imposing.
“Ah, well, in that case, I guess we’d better be moving along,Laird,” the man said, the group of men with him chuckling behind him as he too crossed his arms across his chest.
“Yer sarcasm is no’ appreciated, sir,” Kieran stood his ground, feet planted firmly.
“My apologies indeed. I mean no disrespect, Laird Hoity-Toity,” the man raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Ye best leave my land if ye wish tae keep yer life an’ those o’ yer men,” Kieran’s grip on his anger was slipping with every second that passed.
“What happened to that great Scottish hospitality I’ve heard so much about? Aren’t you supposed to invite any visitors to your lands for a meal, ale, and a resting place before they go on their way?”
A couple of Kieran’s men growled low in their throats behind him; they, too, were losing their patience. Kieran held up his hand, silencing his men, not bothering to turn around. They knew full well what he was implying.
