Chapter 1
Scotland, Late August, 1411
As her father’s chatelaine, Mary Elizabeth Rose never knew from one day to the next what challenge she would face, but a servant summoning her to her father’s solar never boded well. When she entered, the room had the look of evening, not late morning. Her father was seated at his desk reading a document by fire and candlelight while a storm pelted the keep’s walls and blew in through an open window. “Ye sent for me?” she demanded as she rushed to close and latch the shutter. He’d been forgetful lately, but being unaware of the rain blowing in was something new.
Finally looking up, he waved the document in his hand. “Indeed, daughter. I have received good news this day. Prepare yourself to travel to Strathspey to visit Lady Mhairi Grant.”
After Mary wiped a few raindrops from the seat opposite the Laird’s desk, she sank onto it. “The womanye met at Annie’s wedding?” Her middle sister had married the Brodie laird months ago.
“Aye, the same. We are invited for a visit.”
Mary thought back. She recalled the woman—easily close to her father’s age and handsome, if faded. While the three sisters saw to the wedding arrangements, Lady Grant and her father kept each other company at Brodie. Mary hadn’t seen her father so cheerful or talkative since hermamandied. During the wedding visit, she and her sisters thought little of the encounter. He’d gone years without remarrying, so they’d assumed he never would. If her father now intended to wed Lady Grant, Mary welcomed the news. The lady would relieve her of her responsibilities to Rose.
Yet Mary could see no reason for her father to insist she accompany him on this trip. “Da, I canna go. I canna leave Cameron Sutherland. He is still unwell.”
Cameron had helped escort Mary’s youngest sister home across Scotland from St. Andrews during the summer. When they were still two days away from Rose, he had been wounded by a rogue Irish gallowglass mercenary. The wound needed better care than was possible while they traveled, and it had festered within a day of their arrival. Cameron had hidden how bad it had gotten until he could no longer bear the pain of the infection. He’d spent weeks in and out of fevers, too ill to know where he was. Only lately, to Mary’s great relief, had he spent more time awake and aware. But he was by no means well.
“Pah,” her father spat, jerking her attention back to him. “Sutherland’s in nay danger. The healer can care for him without yer help. Ye have been spending too muchtime with the man as it is. Now that he’s getting better, ’tis best if ye avoid him. I’ll no’ have yer reputation ruined by too much association.”
Mary’s mouth fell open. Though he was the Sutherland’s youngest son, Cameron was two years older than she, which made her father’s concern for her virtue legitimate, if insulting. “My reputation? If my reputation was in danger, I would be ruined already. The entire clan kens what I’ve been doing. I promised Catherine to care for him in her stead, and I have. And, Da,” she appealed again, “he is no’ yet strong enough to leave us.”
“But he will be soon enough. Perhaps even before we return from Grant.”
Nay, Cameron wouldn’t go without saying goodbye. Mary lifted a hand to her throat and let out a long, steady exhale to slow her breathing. She had to remind herself that losing her temper with her father would not improve the situation, nor would it get Cameron the care he needed. “I promised,” she insisted, keeping her gaze averted. Her father, like any predator, felt challenged when you met his gaze, especially in the midst of an argument. “I am duty-bound and honor-bound to see him well enough to travel.”
When her father failed to respond, Mary looked up. He stared off into space, unmoving. Then he gave a little jerk and nodded. “Make plans to leave in a three-day. I have a few things to take care of here before we go.”
Mary sucked in a breath and shook her head. Had he even heard a word she said? About her duty and honor? Apparently when they conflicted with his plans, they didn’t matter to him. She got to her feet, tempted to argue, when another reason occurred to her.
Had he been daydreaming about Mhairi Grant? She should be glad to see him happy.
Instead, a low rumble of thunder made her shiver.
Other businessaround the keep kept Mary occupied until early afternoon, when she finally found a few minutes to stop by Cameron Sutherland’s chamber. Her father could not be right, saying Cameron no longer needed her. And how would Da know? Had the servants been talking? To the laird? That would be most unusual.
In answer to her knock, Cameron called out, “Come.”
She opened the door and paused against the frame, relieved to find him sitting in the chamber’s lone chair, looking out the open window. The breeze wafting in carried the scent of the recent rain, but the morning’s storm had given way and now the sun peeked through tattered clouds.
Cameron glanced at her and smiled, then went back to watching something outside.
“I’m surprised to see ye up,” she said, crossing her arms. “Mayhap ye are ready to get out of this chamber and come to the hall for yer meals?”
“I considered doing that but the maid Janie brought me a tray, so I stayed here.” He glanced around at her again and grinned. “I hate to disappoint a pretty lass.” Then he turned back to the window.
His grin made Mary’s pulse leap, which she attributed to her pleasure at his progress. He must be feeling better to care what Janie thought. “What is so interesting?” Shemoved to stand behind Cameron’s chair, where she, too, could peer out.
“Just the younger lads, practicing at arms in the mud. I think any of them could take me down at the moment.”
“Certainly no’. Ye could best any of them,” she assured him. “Ye’d only have to fall on those wee lads to put them out of the fight.”
Cameron snorted. “I’m pleased ye have so much faith in me.”
“Always, Cameron. Always.” She raised a hand. “May I?” Since he was awake, she felt the need to ask his permission to touch him. At his nod, she laid a hand briefly on his forehead. His skin was warm, but not hot. A good sign. She nodded to let him know, then shifted around him to perch on the wide stone windowsill. “Look how far ye have come. What ye accomplished to get here. Ye brought Catherine safe through an army from St. Andrews.”
He shook his head. “With her handfasted husband, dinna forget.”
Mary stared off into space for a moment. “How that lass has loved Kenneth Brodie, ever since she met him. She didna give up hope, even when he disappeared for two years into France, and only God kens where else or what he did there. Fate must have led her into finding him again in St. Andrews.” Mere weeks ago, over their father’s strong objections, Catherine had handfasted with Kenneth, the Brodie second-in-command. Mary was happy for both of her sisters, yet sad at the same time. Here she remained, the oldest daughter. Unwed, and without prospects as long as her father insisted she remain with him.
