She stood, eyeing their borrowed horse. How quickly could she ride back to town to see if any of it remained—including her house?
Hamish stood, too. “Are ye ready to go?”
Fiona took a breath. “Aye, but which way? Back to town or on to Rose? Of all the tales we’ve heard, which do we believe?”
Hamish shrugged. “I talked to some of the other men earlier. They’re all continuing to crofts or other kin, and staying away from town for a while.”
“How long is a while?” Lia’s question hung in the air.
“Until we ken more,” Fiona answered reluctantly, knowing that was the right choice, but dreading it nonetheless. “Gather yer things. When ye are ready, we’ll go. Others will be traveling the same way, so we’ll have company for at least part of our journey.”
Finally, they headed northeast. As Fiona had predicted, others traveled along with them, giving Hamish and Lia people to talk to while Fiona struggled to accept what had happened.
Fiona had seen Arabella, a younger cousin to the current Rose laird’s grandfather, as a role model she could emulate. Arabella had married a wealthy shipbuilder and merchant in Inverness, and after his death more than a decade ago, continued to live independently, in her own home, with a succession of servants, and finally with Lia, an orphan she took in after her mother, a maid to Arabella, died. Only when age and illness became greater burdens did she appeal to her clanfor help. Rose sent Fiona to join her household and to see to her care.
Now, everything belonged to Fiona—including, as part of the responsibilities of her inheritance, fifteen-year-old Lia’s care and future. Lia, as Arabella’s and now Fiona’s ward, would be considered a Rose. Hamish would not—at least not right away. How would he fit in? If he remained at Rose, she would feel the same responsibility for him as she did for Lia, unless she wed Hamish and left Rose with him. He had left his family’s croft at fifteen to make a better life for himself in town. Now seventeen, he boarded with one of the merchants he worked for, saving his own coins and hoping to buy into a business or start his own. That dream might be over.
Fiona’s course was clearer. She was a blood relative of the lairds of Rose, and a cousin to the current laird’s daughters. And, she reminded herself with a grimace, tied to a MacBean she’d never seen, with an unwanted betrothal and future wedding hanging over her head. But this visit, which she hoped would be brief, could be a pleasant reunion with friends. She hadn’t seen Mary, Annie, or Cat in years. It would be good to catch up with them while she waited to be able to return to Inverness, or to be married off to a stranger.
But if they couldn’t leave as quickly as she hoped, while she was here, what would she do? Sitting in a ladies’ solar, gossiping, would bore her to tears. Accustomed to being busy, she had used some of the training she’d received at Rose in anticipation of an important marriage to run Arabella’s household. Perhaps she could relieve some of Mary’s burden of duties as chatelaine. She liked to be organized, and she was a good negotiator at the market. Surely that skill would be useful in running a keep of this size.
When the Rose keep came into sight late in the day, torches on the walls lit against the gloaming, Fiona wanted to cry withrelief. They’d made it. Their tired horse picked up its pace, sensing the journey was nearly over. But Fiona wondered, for herself and for the others, what this new beginning would bring.
CHAPTER 2
Erik Ross approached the Rose keep with six men at his back, uncertain whether he would be met with hospitality or with drawn blades. He could have traveled with dozens of Ross warriors, save that given his mission, a show of force was the last thing he needed. Or so he hoped. But as the new Ross laird, his caution was warranted. It would be irresponsible not to take precautions, and he was never irresponsible. Except when it came to Fiona Rose.
Because of Fiona, when Donas Ross still ruled the clan, Erik had been ready to defy his laird’s order to wed the captive Muireall Munro. Donas would have seen that as an act of betrayal. Instead, with Donas’ death, Erik had been acclaimed the new chief of his fractured clan. He intended to put an end to the disruption and dismay Donas and his wife, Silas, had caused while in charge, but the task was proving more difficult than he’d hoped.
And because of Fiona, one of his first acts as laird had been to send a betrothal proposal to Rose, asking for Fiona’s hand as part of a peace treaty between their clans. The agreement would tie Ross with Rose, and with the Munro and Brodie clans as well.Since he hadn’t received a response, he’d sailed here to make his demand in person.
On the largest Rossbirlinn, he’d brought six trusted men and eight horses—one for each man and one for his prospective bride.
“Do ye think they mean to deny ye?”
Erik’s man Finn asked the very question keeping Erik’s gut tight and his jaw clenched as they looked ahead at the fortress built of stone and timbers overlooking the Moray Firth. He wished Tormod was here, rather than acting as chief in his stead back at Rose. He trusted his tanist’s advice above all others, and suspected he would need Tormod’s steady influence in the coming days.
Would Rose dare deny Ross? Surely James Rose was wise enough to see the value of an alliance, one that would benefit Rose as well as its other allies, Brodie and Munro. Absent other outside interference, they could cement a peace that might last for a generation. Perhaps longer.
Even if Fiona opposed the match, the Rose should approve it.
So why had Erik’s missive gone unanswered?
“We’ll ken in a few minutes,” Erik replied. “Let’s go.” He kicked his mount into motion and rode up the hill to the Rose gates.
“Laird Ross to see Laird Rose,” his man called out when a guard peered down at them.
“Laird Ro?—.”
The man gulped, prompting Erik to hide a grin, then disappeared. The Ross reputation preceded them.
Erik could hear voices in the bailey on the other side of the closed gates, but not clearly enough to understand what they were saying. No matter. He traded a glance with his man, then gazed up again at the guard posts on either side as the voices fell silent. No sign of anyone. His men shifted behind him in theirsaddles, but he didn’t turn until he heard the slide of a sword from a scabbard.
“Draw that blade any farther and I’ll cut off the hand that holds it,” he barked, turning to frown at the man. Several others had hands on weapons but hadn’t yet drawn them. “Leave it. Now!”
The man nodded and let the sword drop back into the leather protecting it.
“No weapons unless they attack first. We’re no’ here for that.” Still glaring at his men, Erik turned back to the gate in time to see an older man appear at the guard post.
