Leaving his horse behind, he moved stealthily through the bracken and trees toward the sound. At that early hour, the sky was still gray-pink and mist still clung to the earth.
When Jamie saw her, he wasn’t quite sure he believed the vision. A young girl was standing waist-deep in a small pool, the mist swirling about her head. She looked like a water sprite, a kelpie, unreal, yet real enough.
The girl laughed again as she splashed water across her naked breasts. The sound enchanted Jamie. He was mesmerized by the girl, rooted where he was, watching her play. She was frolicking and having a joyous time of it.
The water should have been freezing. The morning was cold. Yet the girl seemed not to notice the cold. Jamie didn’t, either, after he had watched her awhile longer.
She was like nothing he had ever seen before, a beauty, and no mistake about it. In a moment she faced him, and he saw nearly all of her loveliness. Pearly white skin contrasted starkly with brilliant, deep red hair. Almost magenta, it was so dark and gleaming and long. Two strands waved around her breasts and floated in the water. And those breasts were tantalizing, round, high and proud in youthful glory, the peaks sharply pointed because of the caress of icy water. The tiny waist complemented the narrow shoulders and the taut belly, which dipped teasingly in and out of the water, revealing a gentle swell of hip as the girl moved around. Her features were unmistakably delicate. The only thing not clear to Jamie was the color of her eyes. He was not quite close enough to see, and the reflection of the water made them appear a blue so clear and bright as to be glowing quite impossibly. Was his imagination running wild? He wanted to move closer and see.
What he really wanted was to join her in the water. It was an insane idea, born of the strange effect she was having on him. But if he did move closer, she would either disappear—proving she was not real after all—or scream and run away. But what if she did neither? What if she just stayed there, let him come to her, let him touch her as he ached to do?
Common sense had fled. Jamie was ready to chuck his clothes and slip into the pool when the girl murmured something he couldn’t hear. Suddenly there was a splash, and the girl reached for an object that came from…where? Jamie’s eyes widened. Was she truly a sprite then, to invoke something and have it appear?
The object turned out to be a chunk of soap, and the girl began to lather herself with it. The scene was simple enough now, a girl bathing herself in a pool. The unearthly quality was gone, and Jamie’s senses returned. But…soap falling into the water all by itself? He scanned the high bank opposite until he saw the man, or, rather, the boy, sitting on a rock with his back to the girl. Her guardian? Hardly. But the boy was watching out for her nonetheless.
Jamie felt the full weight of disappointment descend on him now that he knew he was not alone with the beautiful girl. The presence of the boy brought him back to reality. He had to leave. As if to point out his folly in tarrying, the first rays of sun broke through the glen, showing him the time he had wasted. His brother and the others would have all returned to the men by the river. They would all be waiting for him.
Jamie was suddenly sickened. Watching the girl, being transported to what seemed a sphere outside reality, he was appalled by the contrast between the lovely scene before him and the bloody one he would see in just a short while. Yet he could no more stop the one that was soon to happen than he could forget the one he was watching. Both seemed inevitable.
Jamie’s last look at the girl was a wistful one. Beams of sunlight dotted the pool, and one touched the girl and lit her hair like a burst of flame. With a sigh, he turned away. That last vision of the mystical girl would be etched in his memory for a long time to come.
As he rode back to join his men, Jamie could think only of the girl. Who was she? She could be a Fergusson, some crofter’s daughter, yet Jamie found that hard to believe. What man with such a beautiful daughter would let her bathe as naked as you please in an open pool? And he hated to think she might be a Fergusson. Even a beggar passing through Fergusson land would be preferable.
She might indeed be a beggar, he thought, bathing before she stopped at Tower Esk for a handout. The country swarmed with them, especially in the Lowlands where kirks were more numerous and the people more pious and charitable. But such a beautiful beggar? Possible, but doubtful. Who was she, then? Would he ever know?
The urge to go back to the glen and find out was strong, but his men were within sight, and now that the mist had cleared, Tower Esk could be seen in the fardistance atop its fortified hill. Numerous crofts were visible, scattered over the moor. The time had come.
But Jamie was not as hell-bent on devastation as he had been earlier. The lovely girl had eased his anger, as had thoughts of his aunt and what warring would do to her. A wrong for a wrong would be exacted, but Jamie would be merciful. When he reached his men, he explained his change of heart. His word was law, so those who felt he was being too lenient could be damned.
Three crofts were destroyed that morning, the crops trampled, and all the stock lifted. But no women or children were killed. They were made to stand by and watch as their homes burned. The crofters who wanted to fight did—and died. Those who didn’t fight were spared.
Jamie tarried at the scene of his vengeance, waiting for Dugald Fergusson to come if he dared. He burned crofts that could be seen from the tower battlements, but his band of men was large, and he knew Dugald couldn’t afford to respond. It was really a challenge for vengeance, meant to humiliate his enemy. Once his men were satisfied with victory, he withdrew.
The feud was on again. Jamie was not pleased by it. He had enough troubles at home without bothering with the faraway Fergussons. The Fergussons had wanted this, and so it was.
But on the long ride home that day, Jamie was not planning future raids. He was thinking of a beautiful girl in a secluded glen, a mystical maiden with skin like pearl and hair of darkest flame.
Chapter 3
June 1541
Angusshire, Scotland
Sheena Fergusson stared out over the battlements of Tower Esk, gazing at the peaceful moor, her thoughts anything but peaceful. An early riser by nature, she watched the dawn sky brighten and challenge the pink heather below, and chafed because she was forbidden to leave the tower house, not even for a short brisk ride, not even with a dozen retainers riding beside her.
It wasn’t fair. But nothing was going right these days, and all because The MacKinnion had decided, last month, to break the truce that had existed for two years. For two peaceful, carefree years Sheena had been allowed the freedom she had known as a child. The first of four daughters and Dugald Fergusson’s favorite, she was always treated with thecare of a treasured heir until the long-hoped-for heir finally arrived. After Niall was born, she was still the favorite daughter—but just a daughter.
Strange, but she had never resented Niall. She had loved her little brother from the day of his birth. Six years old, a true hoyden, and spoiled terribly, she had been fascinated by the boy baby after the uneventful births of three sisters.
Their love surprised everyone. By rights, Niall should have been closest to his sister Fiona, for they were only a year apart. Yet it was Sheena he tagged after, Sheena he looked to for amusement, Sheena who gave him the love he needed as he grew from a wee bairn to a young lad. They were inseparable even now. Sheena was nineteen, long past a marriageable age, and Niall was only thirteen and still quite childlike most of the time.
During a moment of great maturity, Niall had agreed with their father that Sheena should stay within the tower walls. It was no longer safe in the countryside during the day. That was the most galling: the MacKinnions were the only clan to raid by day. All others, including their own, rode under cover of night. But the MacKinnions, ever bold, struck during daylight.
The fear that had prevailed this last month was disgusting, bringing all kinds of changes into Sheena’s life—the loss of freedom, the threat of marriage, too many arguments. The fights with her sisters were nothing new, but the fights with her father were tearing her apart. And why must theyfight? Was she wrong to want to marry a man she loved? Was it her fault she had yet to fall in love?
Oh, there had been talk, when she was a child, of a marriage that would create a powerful alliance, but that had stopped two years before, and she had assumed she would be allowed to have a love match. Her father had even said as much. He had taken her side every time her sisters pleaded with him to force her to marry so that they, in turn, could marry. Every one of them had her husband picked out already and was eager for marriage, even fourteen-year-old Fiona. They had had no problems finding love matches that were also powerful unions. Sheena had not had their luck.
But Dugald Fergusson had refused to rush Sheena. Nor would he allow any of his younger daughters to marry before she did, which would shame her. Now all that was suddenly changed. Now it was imperative that she choose a man from a powerful clan. And she must do it within the month, or her father would do it for her. Sheena was stunned. How could her father do that to her? He loved her. She was his pet, the jewel of Tower Esk, as he fondly called her.
