Jamie gave a salute to Meredith beforewheeling the stallion and taking off at a run.The hound kept pacewithout effort.
Meredith watched until they disappeared intothe Highland mists.Aye, she thought, blinking back the sudden rushof tears.The Heartless MacDonald, indeed.
Chapter One
Rain filteredthrough the thick canopy of trees in the forest, drenching the manwho stood as still as a statue.Jamie’s gaze was fixed on thecourtyard of the fortress looming before him.For nearly two hourshe had watched as the mounted men arrived, one after another, todisappear inside the sprawling Gordon manor house.
These would be the sons, he decided.He knewthere were four of them, though so far he could account for onlythree.They, along with the old chieftain, Douglas Gordon, wouldprove formidable opponents.But if he could get the fierce oldwarrior and his sons to work with him, they would bring a dozenfractious clans along with them.First he would have to get theirattention; no easy task, since they respected no one outside theirown blood.Then the trick would be to force them to sit still longenough to hear what he had to say.With so many of them, he was aptto find himself at the point of a sword before his first wordscould be spoken.
Jamie touched a hand to the stiffness of hisshoulder, the lingering effects of an old battle wound.All thosehours in the saddle, and now the rain that chilled him clear to thebone, were taking their toll.He yearned for a warm fire and a softbed.With a trace of impatience he shook his head to clear his mindof such annoying thoughts.He could not afford to allow himself anydistractions.
These Gordons were fighters like himself.They would not willingly listen to talk of peace among the Highlandclans.Nor would they respect a man who came, hat in hand, to asktheir help.It would take bold measures to get their attention.Andeven bolder measures to enlist their aid.He had not yet decidedjust what those bold measures would be.
Out of the comer of his eye he saw a suddenmovement and forced himself to remain motionless.As the riderpassed, Jamie noted the stubble of dark beard in a brooding,handsome face.The lad’s hat was worn at a rakish angle.His darkeyes gleamed with the sleek, smug look of a cat that had juststolen his master’s cream.This would be Donald Gordon, the secondson, a rebel, and by all accounts a man who loved the wenches.
Jamie gave a satisfied nod.At last all thesons were accounted for.Now he would wait and watch for anopportunity to catch them unawares.
* * *
“So, laddie, you’ve finally come home.”Murray Gordon, touching a hand to his newly cultivated beard, gavehis brother a lingering look.“We were just about to break ourfast.You’d best have an explanation ready.Father was planning tohave Robbie and Neal comb the village until they found you even ifit meant searching every maiden’s bed.”
Donald Gordon gave his elder brother a wink.“They’d have had to look no farther than the widow Lennox’scottage.’’
“The widow Lennox?”Murray’s mouth droppedbefore he added, “Have you cut such a swath through the eligiblewenches that you are now reduced to the charms of that plumpbaggage?”
Donald threw back his head and roared.“Notthe widow, you dolt.Her fetching daughter.”
Murray shot him a withering look.“Why, she’sno more than a child.”
“A child?”Donald tossed his cloak on a pegand shook the rain from his hair.Turning to his brother he saidwith a grin, “While you were looking the other way, that child grewinto a very charming lass.”He dropped his arm around Murray’sshoulder as they strode toward the refectory.“And believe me, shewas most eager that I sample all her charms.”
Both men threw back their heads and roared.The laughter died on their lips when they caught sight of the sterncountenance of their father.Douglas Gordon, seated at the head ofthe table, speared them with a look of righteous anger.
“How kind of you to spare your family a fewmoments of your precious time, Donald.It seems you can no longersleep in your own bed.”
“There are so many more—interesting beds inthe village,” Donald said as he seated himself.
Douglas slammed his fist on the table,sending the dishes clattering.Everyone in the room fellsilent.
“Have I raised a son, or a rutting goat?”
“By all accounts, Father, I am merelyfollowing in your glorious footsteps.”
Someone snickered.
Douglas Gordon’s eyes narrowed.It was clearthe lad had touched a nerve.He spoke in a tone of regret.“Aye.Ifear I was guilty of wenching in my youth.”
He fell silent as his only daughter circledthe table to fill his goblet.His gaze softened.How like his dearwife Lindsey had become.She had inherited her mother’s thick,auburn hair, framing the face of an angel.Her slight, slenderstature seemed even more pronounced because of a limp, which wasonly noticeable when Lindsey was agitated or weary.It was theresult of a childhood injury that had nearly devastated her lovingparents.
Her mother had died when Lindsey was but achild, and Douglas had done what any father would do; he had simplytaken the girl with him and treated her the same way he treated hissons.The lass, surrounded by a warrior father and four brothers,had abandoned all attempts at feminine pursuits.
Despite her physical frailty, the lasspossessed an indomitable spirit and a bright, logical mind.She hadmastered the use of small weapons as easily as her brothers.Thebroadsword and longbow, however, required more strength than shepossessed.
Douglas knew that if she had been born amale, she would have been his first choice to inherit theleadership of this fierce clan.
Realizing his family had grown uncomfortablysilent, Douglas struggled to pull himself back from his somberthoughts.“My wenching ended the moment I met Diedre.I want you toknow that from then on, there was never another lass who could turnmy head.”
Hearing the pain in his tone, Lindsey Gordonbrushed a kiss over her father’s shaggy eyebrow.“Aye.I rememberthe love shining between the two of you.We all share your pain.”Her warning gaze swept her brothers around the table.“Do wenot?”
