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Amelie’s eyes had grown tired from reading. She had stretched onto the bed for a rest and had eventually fallen asleep. She had been haunted by the usual dream. She was back as a child and was being taken away from her family to a dark alley by a cruel man who had nothing but evil intentions. She had writhed on the bed, and her soul had ached with torment. But then the dream ended in a similar way to last time. She felt someone standing beside her, a calming presence. His hands rested against her weary eyes. They were cool and comforting, and the words he spoke soothed her anguish. She turned, expecting to see Ro standing there, but to her surprise it was Evan. She awoke with a start and blinked, rubbing her eyes. He continued to linger on her mind and it seemed as though she would never be free of him, even when she was prepared to give her heart and soul to Ro.

She told herself that it was just a trick of the mind, although she feared that she had been stricken with something that she could never escape.

There was a thump at the door. Amelie realized it was this that must have awoken her. She gathered herself and smoothed down her smock as she went to the door. Sister Cora was there, looking at her with raised eyebrows. “Ye hae a visitor,” she said.

Amelie furrowed her brow in confusion. She must have meant Ro, but Ro insisted that he would be away for a few days. Had he changed his plans to see her again? It would be so sweet if he had and would mean so much to her. But if it wasn’t…

“Who is it?” she asked with excitement and trepidation in equal measure.

“It’s one of yer brother’s men. I think he’s the Captain of the guard, at least that’s what I heard one of the men call him,” Sister Cora said.

So it had happened, then. Evan had finally delivered on his promise to visit her, so long since they had shared that magical kiss. Had he just been delayed by his duty, or because his days had been filled with engagements to other women? There was an easy solution to this, of course; she could simply refuse to see him. However, she was worried about what Pascal might think if word got back to him that she had refused to see his Captain of the guard. And then Evan might come again anyway, this time when Ro was there… no, it was better that she deal with this now, once and for all.

She cleared her throat and inclined her head. She gathered her slate and then made her way downstairs, to the hall in which Evan was waiting for her. She opened the door and saw him standing there, gazing up at the decorations on the wall. He had a fascinated look on his face and he was dressed in his full regalia. A sword hung from his side, and a cape flowed from his shoulders to the ground. He cut a dashing figure and she hated her heart for beating so rapidly, betraying all of her intentions to forget him.

And then he turned to face her and she saw the lips that had brought her such delight, that had unlocked something within her. She could feel tension rising in the empty air and had to fight the urge to move towards him. There was still some instinct in her that was primed to respond to him, but it was too late now, he had already laid his eyes on her.

* * *

Evan had never considered himself a nervous person, but his heart had fluttered with unease the closer he came to the nunnery. The thought had struck him to turn back, but what kind of example would that set for the men accompanying him? He was the Captain of the Guard, a brave warrior, and not someone who should flee at the thought of meeting with a girl.

He still hadn’t found the right things to say, though. He wasn’t even sure if she would receive him. His mind was addled and he found himself dispossessed of his usual confidence. If it was any other girl he would have flashed her his charming smile and used his silver tongue to sweep away any misgivings, but Amelie was not like the others. He wanted to be truthful with her. So much of the conversation had avoided the usual feigned dance of telling each other what they wanted to hear. Instead, he had connected with her on a deeper level and shared things with her that he had not shared with anyone else. He just wished that he had been able to spend a little more time with her back at the castle to explain everything and to tell her how much she meant to him.

They arrived at the nunnery and he kept an eye out for Amelie. He didn’t see her at first, and when a nun caught him straining to peer inside the building, she asked him if he was looking for anything in particular. He smiled sheepishly and bowed his head.

“I hae a message for the Laird’s sister,” he said. It was perhaps a little underhanded to make the nun think that he was delivering a message on behalf of the Laird, but he felt certain this would bring Amelie out. The Sister invited him to wait in a chamber. It was a vast room and the walls were covered in tapestries and paintings. He turned his entire body around and tilted his neck back as he looked up, gaping in awe at the transcendent beauty of these pieces, but then he was faced with another example of such glory as he became aware of Amelie’s presence.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her features were soft and delicate, but he knew that a fire burned within her. His breaths turned shallow as the lovely artwork all disappeared into some void, and the rest of the world slipped into this as well. There was nothing apart from her. She outshone everything, including the sun itself.

“Amelie,” he breathed, and that breath carried all the emotions in his heart. He felt his head growing light as an intoxicating haze fell upon him. His palm rested on the hilt of his sword, but no weapon could defend him against the surreptitious emotions that found their way twisting through the labyrinth of his soul, pricking his very heart. And there, at that moment, he understood how she truly felt because all the words he wanted to speak charged into each other and locked in his throat. He stared at her, lost in silence, awed and humbled by her grace and glory.

* * *

Ro stood in his room, looking in a small mirror. He ran his hand over his smooth chin and scowled. His face was twisted in an ugly sneer, for he barely recognized the man standing before him.

“Ro,” he spat, shaking his head as though the word was a curse. He picked up a mug of ale and drained it dry. Some of the liquid spilled down his chin and stained his tunic. The fine clothes were draped on the bed. He turned towards them and let out a bitter, choking laugh. He raised the tone of his voice.

“Oh, ye are sae lovely, oh, ye are sae wonderful, oh, I am sae soft I’m just like one of ye silly wee Frenchmen,” he spoke in a mocking tone and danced around the room, stopping shortly as he glowered. A heavy breath passed between his teeth. What he really wanted was to take his knife and tear up that outfit, for it felt as though he was wearing somebody else’s skin. It’s not like it wasn’t already damaged, but he had done a good job at hiding the stab marks and the blood stains. His cape had covered it all, and that dumb French girl hadn’t been smart enough to think that anything was the matter.

There had been a few moments when he was afraid that she recognized him, not that they had ever met before. If she was suspicious then she hadn’t said anything. That wasn’t surprising though, she was just like every other woman, so desperate for love they were willing to surrender their heart to anyone that paid them attention. It sickened him to have to be so nice to her, to pretend to be patient with her as she struggled to speak. God, even a child could master words. What was wrong with her? It was no wonder the Highlands were in such a state when they welcomed these types of people, her and her brother.

His scowl deepened. He gritted his teeth so tightly that they might well have shattered. Thoughts of Pascal brought darkness to his heart. Fury raged unchecked, and he was yet to have his revenge. Oh, the stories he had woven for Amelie’s benefit had been fictitious. It hadn’t taken him long to think up things that would make him seem sympathetic. In truth, he patched them together from things he had heard over the years, as well as sob stories from people he had beaten up. Their pleas had turned into his laments, and they had won the pity of the soft-hearted French girl. But there had been truth in his stories as well, only she had been too stupid to understand. The bandits he spoke of were her own brother and the rats he called allies. The home he missed was the castle that was rightfully his, a place that he had been exiled from, called an outcast, branded as a criminal.

Munro had never done anything wrong. He had pushed people hard, but that was the only way to get them to reach a high standard. It was the way his father had taught him. The poor Laird had been betrayed, but Munro would avenge him. It was taking time, too much time he thought. His patience was running thin and it took all his self-control to not run into that keep and fight as many guards as they could muster. Pascal was just some French lad who was playing at being a Laird. He had been raised on the streets of a foreign city, what could he know about leading a clan? Munro had been born for this, bred for this. It was his destiny and Pascal was living the life that he should have had.

He had also married the woman who had been meant for him, but Munro didn’t care about Bridget any longer. She had been tainted by that French bastard. He shuddered when he thought about bedding her. Amelie, well, she was insipid and bland, but her innocence was certainly appealing. There was a perverse, twisting delight in corrupting the soul of someone who had devoted herself to worshiping God. And she actually believed him when he said he wanted to settle down with her! Her naivety was almost impressive. He might as well take her for a night just to say he did it, it would certainly be a deep strike against Pascal as well.

A dark smirk crept over his face as he drew his fingers together, plotting Pascal’s downfall. The moment would be sweet when it arrived and he would have to make Pascal suffer before he cut the man’s heart out and let it bleed away. And all who sided with him would suffer as well. Those cowards who fled instead of fighting to defend the true Laird’s honor, the ungrateful mercenaries who threw their lot in with the new regime, the peasants who had never appreciated all that Angus and Munro had done for them. It’s not like they would have known what to do with coin if they had any anyway! Things needed to return to the old ways, where people treated the Laird with respect. Munro needed to take the clan back and then lash those who dared think they deserved anything like freedom. They should know their place, which was under his heel.

Well, soon enough they would know it.

His plan had to take a temporary delay as some of Pascal’s men had arrived at the nunnery. He had to stay away, for he was not about to risk any of them recognizing him. He had been keeping out of trouble for a while now. The hunting parties for him were becoming rarer. He had chopped off his hair and shaved his beard not long after leaving, and he scurried about like a rat, moving from shadow to shadow, never settling in one place and only entrusting his real name to those he could depend on. He had come so far already, he was not about to let it slip now.

He would keep eluding them until he returned, and then he would make his presence known. Oh, what sweet revenge it would be. The only downside was that his father would not be there to witness it all. But Munro would carry on Angus’ legacy. He would make the Highlands pure and drive out the foreign invaders. It was all their fault that things had become unbalanced in the first place. If people just realized what was good for them, then things would never have changed and Munro would have taken his place as Laird. As it was, he had to spend his time in that banal nunnery that made his skin crawl and make all these empty promises to Amelie.

He needed another drink.