To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull #1)

Chapter Three

R onan stared past the jagged cliffs toward the crisp, white swells of the sea and watched the waves roll inland, but nothing filled his mind for long before images of long, golden hair stole his every thought.

“Hellfire,” he swore as he spurred his mount to ride faster over the wet, soft earth.

“Tell me again, Ronan, why I am not as this moment tending to the plant of the north fields as yer father commanded?”

Ronan had forgotten his friend trailing reluctantly behind him. He turned in his seat and gave Aidan a look of displeasure.

“Ye can’t blame me for thinking this is all a little...unbelievable,” Aidan said.

“So, ye think I’m lying. Is that it?” Ronan snapped.

“No, ye’re no liar. But ye are my oldest friend, and ye will be laird one day—so I hesitate to use the word mad ,” Aidan chuckled, irritating Ronan further.

They rode on in silence for which Ronan was grateful. The purple bracken spread its springtime fingers over the sloping moors in thick beds of color, only to taper off as it met the hardness of the isle’s rocky coastline. He followed the violet color to the cliffs to see if she hid in one of the many caves the raging seas had carved out of the towering rock. He reached the bluffs and did not hesitate to direct his horse down the steep slope. As he descended, a nagging feeling started to chip away at his resolve. His pursuit of the girl had already taken him on several fruitless missions.

Over the past fortnight, he had combed the hills and forests of Northern Mull and found no trace of her. And when he had exhausted all possibilities, he broadened his search. He traveled south to where MacKinnon lands abutted those of the MacLeans, a boundary marked by Benmore Mountain. The tall peak surged out of the earth and awarded anyone willing to climb to its top a magnificent view of the island. His feet had followed a path up the steep height of the mountain to the windy summit where he scanned every direction, foolishly searching for long, flaxen hair.

If she wasn’t in the caves, then he might have to admit defeat. There was simply no other place to look. He pictured her lovely form shivering and frigid, lying on a rock-strewn cavern floor, her golden hair wet and tangled with seaweed. His grip tightened on the reins as concern for her safety mounted in his mind. But then his hand moved to his head where he felt the slight lump that remained from his fall in the woods, and he decided she deserved to be little cold and wet. She had after all left him to bleed to death.

“Ronan, why are we here? What sort of girl would make her home in a cave? Even if she was down here, would ye really want to be better acquainted with the strange cave girl?”

Ronan’s musings were interrupted by Aidan’s jest. Once again, he had forgotten his friend’s presence, but despite Aidan’s humor, Ronan witnessed a look of trepidation flitter across his face, which forced Ronan to admit to his own reckless behavior. He was pushing their horses as if heading into battle, steering them down treacherous ravines with little thought to the welfare of beast or man. Ronan pulled on the reins and brought his horse to a halt.

“I know ye think that I am insane, but she is out there, somewhere. I must find her.”

Aidan rolled his eyes and raised his face to the clear blue sky as if beseeching a heavenly body to intervene and save him. Then he sighed and once again addressed Ronan. “It was a dream. Ye must listen to me. She does not exist.”

“And this crack on my head, I suppose ye’re going to claim that I dreamt this as well.”

“I know ye fell. It was I who found ye asleep like a babe, lying in a pool of blood and drool.”

Ronan gave Aidan a look that would cause most men to doubt themselves, but Aidan didn’t flinch.

“I’m telling ye, Ronan, it was a vision, nothing more.”

Ronan raised his reins to give them a snap, but Aidan gripped his forearm, stopping him. “Ye must listen to reason. Ye lost yer footing and smashed yer head against a rock, and in yer sleep ye conjured visions of beauty.” Aidan lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Or mayhap the fair folk took some pleasure at yer expense.”

Ronan shook his head. At first glance, the radiance of her hair, which shone like burnished gold, and the blaze of her steel gray eyes gave the impression of magic’s imprint. But when he fell, he glimpsed round, fearful eyes and heard her piercing scream. Faeries were strangers to both fear and surprise. He kicked his horse into a gallop, but Aidan was relentless, and he soon caught up to Ronan still intent on persuading him to forget the girl. Only Ronan couldn’t. For the past fortnight he had thought of nothing else.

“I’m telling ye, beautiful maidens do not just appear as if from thin air in the middle of the forest. ‘Tis not so easy as that, or else every man would bide his time in the thicket waiting for a wife.”

“Laugh at my expense one more time, Aidan, and ye will regret it.”

“Alright, I yield,” Aidan said as he raised both hands in mock surrender. “But let me ask ye this. If this maid of, as ye say, unspeakable beauty just happened to be in the woods hunting—a task often undertaken by women,” Aidan added dryly. “How did ye manage to fall into the ravine?”

“I told ye already. I thought I was alone. I had the stag in my sights, and then out of nowhere she was there, an armed and beautiful woman. Imagine my surprise. Then she turned her arrow on me, and the earth gave way beneath my feet.”

Aidan’s badgering affected Ronan, but not in the way Aidan hoped. Barely restrained irritation surged within him seeking release. If Aidan said one more thing to him about dreams and faeries as if Ronan was some addle-minded old woman, then he was going to show Aidan exactly why he needed to be afraid.

Ronan stood almost a full head taller than his friend, and his shoulders were nigh twice as large. He briefly glanced at Aidan who had finally quieted, and so he must have sensed that he had pushed him too far. Anger came easily to Ronan—he knew it and so did everyone else. And that moment was no exception. His muscles stiffened with rage. Sure, he was overreacting, but to hell with it. He had been in a foul mood ever since he awoke with a screaming headache amid the rocks on the ravine floor, surrounded by his clansmen whose concerned expressions turned to taunting grins when he told them that he had not been attacked but had merely fallen. His pride was still as sore as his skull. He kept a little dignity by refraining from telling anyone but Aidan about the girl, although now he wished he had kept it to himself entirely.

Aidan gave Ronan an encouraging smile and said, “If she does exist, we’ll find her. Come along. Let’s have a look in the caves.”

“I don’t know what annoys me more, when ye fight me or coddle me,” Ronan growled .

As quick as Ronan was to anger, Aidan was as patient. In fact, Ronan loathed admitting how much he relied on his friend to keep his own temper in check.

They jumped from their mounts as they made their way down the steep incline, which sloped to the water’s edge. As they tramped down Aidan asked after the beauty of the mysterious maiden. Ronan looked over at his friend and saw a wicked gleam in his eye.

Ronan smiled. “I hate to make ye jealous, but let’s just say ye may no longer be the village beauty.”

Aidan chuckled at his friend’s good-natured ribbing as Ronan knew he would. Everyone goaded Aidan about his fair looks.

“Humph,” Aidan said. “The men pester me about my pretty face when all ye have to do is cast a girl a smile and she becomes as limpid and pliant as a baby lamb. The only difference between ye and me, Ronan, is that most of the time ye ignore the women who fawn over ye, which, by the by, I will never understand.”

Ronan snorted his disapproval. He and Aidan were nothing alike in appearance or temperament. Aidan’s curly hair was black, and Ronan once overheard Aidan’s eyes described by a maid as bluer than the sky. And much to the amusement of the other warriors, his features were fine like a woman’s.

In contrast, Ronan’s square jaw and deep-set, brown eyes, which glowed amber when he was angry, were anything but feminine. There was truth, however, to the latter end of Aidan’s claim. All the mothers in the clan considered Aidan to be the greatest threat to their daughters’ virtues; whereas, being the laird’s son, Ronan was constantly pursued by maids and their mothers, seeking his special favor.

He had little time for women between training the warriors and helping his father take care of the clan, which is why he was utterly bewildered by his own response to this girl. He was ignoring his duties. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he had enlisted the aid of one of his father’s most trusted warriors who should be supervising the planting of crops vital to the very survival of the clan.

Ronan stopped in his tracks. “Ye’re right, Aidan. This is madness.”

“Praise the Lord, ye’ve come to yer senses...er...I meant to say—are ye sure ye wish to abandon yer search for this huntress who is as real and alive as ye or me?”

“Ye won’t be alive much longer if ye don’t wipe that grin off yer face. Better yet,” Ronan snarled, his fist at the ready. “Come closer. Let me do it for ye.”

“Ye don’t need that, friend. Put it away. I’ve no desire for a walloping this day,” Aidan said. Then he sighed. “So, what would ye have me do now?”

Ronan stood unmoving. He knew not what he wanted, though he knew for certain what he should do. He should return to the village, to his responsibilities. He considered all the reasons why he needed to give up, yet he refused them all. His actions were contrary to his duties and his own sense, but he could not turn back knowing that she was out there, somewhere. She was a flesh and blood woman, and he would stop at nothing to find her .

“Nay, I will carry on, but yer part is finished. Return to the village and do my father’s bidding. But tell no one of this.”

Aidan nodded his consent. “Do not stay away long. Yer clan needs ye, and yer father will soon wonder at yer whereabouts...if he hasn’t already.”

ONCE ALONE, RONAN WAS free to move at his own pace. He entered the first cave and traversed its full length, searching behind every rock and within even the smallest alcove. Despite her larger than life presence, she had been slight of build. She could easily hide in the low shadows. As he searched, he once again wondered about her identity.

He knew every maid from Gribun to Benmore Mountain, but he could not recall ever meeting her—an occasion he was sure would have been burned forever into exquisite memory. He was also certain that she lived outside the protection of a clan. Why else would she be alone in the woods hunting of all things? Although he still harbored some annoyance over being left for dead, he couldn’t help but admire her bravery. But then the image of the unwavering huntress soon gave way to the girl with wide, frightened eyes. Her unguarded vulnerability touched him. He wanted to take her into his arms right at that moment and stroke the soft loveliness of her hair and her silken skin. He would shield her from ever knowing fear again. But where was she? Who was she?

He had dismissed the notion of her being one of the fairfolk. Her emotional display revealed her humanity. He had also momentarily toyed with the idea that she was a weapon of the MacLeans—a decoy to make men lustful and fall into ravines, but this seemed more implausible than the first. Her existence was his only certitude, and if she existed, then she could be found.

He exited another cave and turned his back to scan the ridges of the cliffs above to place his location on the coast, but nothing was familiar. Only a small region of Northern Mull remained unknown to his clan, the western cliffs of the Witch of Dervaig. A chill coursed down his spine as he realized his proximity to her lair.

Imagining her evil visage, he was surprised when he heard a splash. He gazed out to sea, but the waves were gently lapping undisturbed at the rocks. Then he heard another splash and realized the sound was emanating from further down the coast. He wished to turn away and return home, but his desire to find the girl smothered his fear. He took a deep breath. The smell of salt and seaweed was pungent and rich, and the sun dipped low in the sky, illuminating everything with its blinding reflection. He climbed over several jagged boulders and across little gullies of water in the direction of the noise. Almost losing his balance, he lumbered over slick rocks that would be far beneath the water’s surface when the tides came in. He pulled himself atop a large boulder that dominated the area, hoping to find a decent vantage point. But just as he rounded the surface, he spotted trim, pale legs disappearing beneath the waters of a wide pool at the boulder’s base .

The pool gave him pause with its splendor. Several boulders were positioned in a perfect circle, which gave shape to the pool. The darkness of the water attested to its impressive depth and concealed the diver. He waited, but the person in question had yet to resurface. For a moment, his unease returned. The swimmer might be the Witch, but he had seen youthful legs, not those of an old crone.

Ronan sat perched on the rock, his concern mounting with every passing moment. Whoever was down there, he was certain, had met with trouble. Perhaps a loose rock shifted, pinning them to the seabed, and at that moment they struggled to break free. Ronan stood and ripped off his belt, plaid, and sword, leaving them in a pile on the rock. He kept his dirk sheathed and strapped to his thigh lest the situation demand a blade, whether to cut the victim free or to save himself if the swimmer proved to be the Witch in disguise. He filled his lungs and dove into the icy waters.

SHONEY GRIPPED A LARGE rock with one hand to keep from rising to the surface and was hurriedly scooping handfuls of Dulse with the other, putting the slimy clusters into the sack hanging about her neck. Dulse was her favorite seaweed. Its translucent pink color was hard to spot, but it grew in bushels at the bottom of her pool. If infused in a bath, it soothed sore limbs, and its oil cleansed the skin, clearing away unsightly dry patches. Satisfied she had gathered enough, she released the stone and swooshed her arms, swirling in a circle. Her hair fanned out, covering her face and wrapping around her waist.

The sting from the icy water subsided so that she could truly enjoy the feel of being submersed. The bottom of the deep pool gleamed with smooth, white rocks, which seemed to light the murky water. She was enclosed inside rocks directly below her home where she knew none of the clansfolk would ever dare to venture, allowing her to leave behind the Witch’s cloak and every other stitch of clothing for that matter. Nothing delighted her more than to feel the rush of cold water over her bare limbs. Nothing made her feel more alive, but she was running out of breath and knew she had to surface.

Her feet touched down on the bottom, and she bent her knees, pushing against the white stones to hasten her swim to the surface, but she did not surge through the water as expected. Large hands grabbed her from above, blocking her momentum. She seized with panic as she flailed against her captor’s grip. The water churned, bubbling from her efforts, but she was powerless against the strong arms that wrapped around her from behind and pulled her against the unyielding hardness of a man’s chest. Every corded ridge of muscle pressing against her naked back shifted as he pushed off the bottom, propelling them both toward the surface.

They emerged from the depths, and he pulled them to the edge of the pool. Shoney sucked air into her lungs. Too long had she been submersed and now felt dizzy. Despite her reeling head, she lunged to escape the hands still grasping her shoulders, but his hold only tightened. Then, for the first time, she tilted her head back to look upon her captor.

“Ye,” she exclaimed. “What are ye doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” he said. “This is my island. What are ye doing here?”

“Taking a bath,” she gritted.

She could not believe the giant, the one called Ronan, was in her pool. How dare he invade her rightful territory? Fury consumed her but also terror. Not only was she unarmed, but he was even larger than she first realized.

“I am finished now,” she said. “Release yer grip, and I will be on my way.”

“A bath she says.”

He turned her around in his arms so that she faced him. Then he wrenched the sack from around her neck and threw it into the water. Shoney watched as it sunk beneath the surface. “I have been searching the whole island for ye for a fortnight only to find ye nigh drowning, leaving me no choice but to dive in to save ye.”

“Save me? Is that what ye thought? That I was drowning.” She could not help laughing but stopped when his hand slid down the curve of back.

Shoney was suddenly very aware of her state of undress. Her curves were concealed from his eyes by the water, but what he could not see surely he could feel as his arms pressed her close. She gasped as she felt the contours of his muscles shift against her skin. The heat of his body provided warmth against the frigid water, and his arms seemed to touch more than just her waist. They reached beyond her physical form, satisfying a craving for contact, which solitude had entrenched deep within her heart. He was powerful and intoxicating, and her response to him was shocking. She never imagined a man would feel so good, so strong, but she knew it had to be wrong. Shouldn’t she be outraged? She had to escape his hold. Her hands pressed against his wide chest as she thrust away from him, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Let me go, this is indecent,” she snapped.

“No more indecent than leaving me to die, lass. I was only trying to save ye.”

“The only saving I need is from ye,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Release me. Ye have no claim over me or my body as I am neither yer wife nor yer whore.” She renewed her struggles and shrieked, “Let go of me.”

His grip loosened slightly. She felt the warmth of his breath as his head dipped close to hers. His hand swept the length of her torso and then gently caressed her cheek.

“I know I need to let go of ye,” he whispered. “I know that I am disgracing ye as well as myself, but I cannot bring myself to do so.”

She met his smoldering gaze. His lips were but a whisper away from hers. Try as she might, she could not take a deep breath. Her quick, shallow breathing was unnerving. And then as he pressed her body into his, her breathing was forgotten completely as was the cold water that encircled them, the crash of the waves, and the call of the birds. All she was aware of was his eyes, the closeness of his mouth, and the racing of her heart. He slowly lowered his lips, taking possession of the soft skin just below her ear. She closed her eyes, feeling a strange heat at the place where his lips had been. His hot kisses trailed down the length of her neck. The heat spread like languid fire throughout her body.

She had never felt the strength of a man’s hands on her skin. Nor had she ever known the tenderness of a kiss. Her breathing quickened. Her body felt like it was swelling, preparing to burst, and she liked it.

She pressed herself closer and felt the crushing strength of his muscles as her fingers explored his form. Her hands swept down his powerful arms, sliding over muscled ridges. And then they traveled down his lean waist to stroke the length of his hard thigh, but instead of smooth, wet skin, her fingers touched something cold and sharp.

Her eyes snapped open, and her senses returned with a strength that would have knocked her over had it not been for the water and the support of his caressing hands.

Mother of all, what spell was this?

He was even more dangerous than she first imagined, for he could control her thoughts and her body. She had to break away from his embrace. Her hand returned to his thigh, only this time she had no intention of stroking his skin. She seized his dirk from its sheath, and with a practiced hand she thrust the pointed end of the blade beneath his chin. She smiled ruefully at the small droplet of blood that appeared beneath the dagger’s point.

“Ye keep yer blade sharp. I thank ye for this kindness.”

His eyes darkened and narrowed as his stare grew menacing. She faltered only for a moment but long enough for him to seize her hand and snatch the knife from her grasp. He pushed her from him, and she watched as his strong arms effortlessly pulled his large frame from the water. The muscles that rippled along his legs and across his back and shoulders shone in the sun. He turned to face her, and she saw golden brown hair wet and slick across his bronzed chest as it tapered in a line down his hard, flat stomach and further still. Shoney jerked her head away as crimsoned heat covered her face.

“Do not play at being the lamb when just moments ago ye nearly slit my throat,” he said.

“I was simply trying to break free from that stronghold ye call a body,” she snapped.

Shoney blushed again when she remembered what transpired between them before she made the play for his dirk. Her mother had warned her about the lustful appetites of men, but what of her own hunger? She hung her head in shame and told him to look away so that she could get out of the water.

“Am I not to have the same opportunity to feast my eyes on yer lovely form as ye have done mine?”

“Turn away, and stop looking at me like that,” she insisted.

As soon as he faced away, she swam to the opposite side of the pool where she had left her clothing and leapt out of the water. She donned her white linen kirtle and faded gray tunic, which she quickly belted before she fastened her cloak in place. She turned to face him and defiantly returned his glare. They were on opposite sides of the pool, and she had the advantage .

She spun around and leapt to the ground. He would have to cross the pool fully clothed and armed or backtrack to the coastline to find a pathway over the cliffs; whereas, she was only a stone’s throw from an easy incline to the top. Once on open land, she might outrun him. His giant body, although strong, was not ideal for running, and she was fast. She hurried to the slope and began making her way up the cliff side. Her hands found holds that she used to pull herself upward. She was almost to the top—to freedom. She dared not look behind her, knowing that to do so would only slow her progress, and she needed every precious second to ensure her escape. Her hand reached the top of the cliff, and she fumbled around for the tip of an embedded rock on the surface to grip.

“Damn,” she swore as her hand found something strong to grasp, but it was not a rock. It was a large foot.

There was no time for her to react. He reached down, snatched her up and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed in protest and pounded her fists into his back.

“Fool,” he hissed.

He shifted her in his arms so that he cradled her and clamped one of his giant hands across her mouth.

“Be silent, or we are both doomed,” he whispered. Then he sprinted away, keeping close to the coastline.

Terror mounted in her mind. There must have been something terrible after them to instill fear in a man as large and capable as Ronan, but she was constrained against his chest with no view of what lay behind. Then he released her mouth and positioned her back over his shoulder, vexing her to no end that he could lift her as though she weighed no more than a sack of wool. It was a humiliating, not to mention jarring, way to be carried, but at least now she could have a look at what gave chase.

She mustered her courage and raised her head to glance behind, but all she saw was her hut fading in the distance. She was confused. There was nothing there. But then she realized what had evoked such terror in her brave, over-sized warrior: He was fleeing from the Witch of Dervaig. She fought to keep from bursting with laughter. To think the very thing from which he fled was at that moment draped over his shoulder.

When the hut was no longer in sight, Ronan stopped and put her down. “Ye foolish girl,” he scolded. “Ye almost wandered right into the Witch’s lair.”

Shoney pinched herself to maintain an impassive expression. The Witch’s Lair —it was just so absurd. “Whatever do ye mean?” she said as she did her best to feign wide-eyed innocence.

“Back there was the hut of the Witch of Dervaig. How is it ye have not heard of her?”

“Oh, of course I have. Oh dear, was that really her hut? I had no idea.”

He released her and took a step back. “Enough talk. I want ye to tell me who are ye. I want a name.”

Shoney’s mind raced. She knew she could not tell him the truth. Her Pictish name might incite too many questions, but what name would he believe? She could clearly not claim to be a MacKinnon, but she needed a Gaelic name.

“I am Bridget, Bridget MacLean.”

Ronan released a rush of air, “Ye are a MacLean.”

He closed what little gap separated them and grabbed her upper arms, lifting her in the air until her eyes were level with his.

“Why are ye on Mackinnon soil?” he sneered. “Are ye meant to lure the future chieftain on a fool’s chase for weeks? Is my village right now under attack while I hunt the MacLean’s prettiest whore?”

With each question his grip tightened, and his voice rose. Shoney knew she had chosen the wrong lie. She winced in pain as his hands squeezed her arms with such ferocity that she feared in a matter of seconds she would hear them snap likes twigs. She had to placate him somehow; the throbbing was so great that it brought stinging tears to her eyes.

“No one knows I’m here.” She uttered the words through gritted teeth against the pain. “I ran away.”

He shook her, and she cried out.

“Do not lie to me, girl. I will give ye no mercy if ye lie to me.”

“No MacLean knows where I am. I swear to ye.” It wasn’t a lie. No one on the island knew where she was or that she even existed, except the one man about to break her arms.

When he did not release her, she yelled, “I swear it.”

He loosened his grip and put her back on the ground. She rubbed at her arms, trying to soothe the ache that remained.

She glared up at him. “Are all men as cruel as ye?”

He appeared confused by her question and rightfully so. He of course had no idea that he was the first man she had ever met.

“Tell me who ye are,” he demanded.

He showed no remorse for his cruel mistreatment of her now tender arms, and he no doubt would continue his demand for answers until satisfied. As she tried to remember everything her mother taught her of clan life, she began to weave what sounded like a wild tale even to her own ears. She explained that following the untimely death of her parents, her uncle arranged for her to wed an old man infamous for his cruel treatment of women.

“Ye and he would likely become fast friends if ever ye met.” She scowled at him as she continued to rub her arms.

“Why did ye not go to yer council and tell them of yer fear? Ye can refuse a marriage arranged by an uncle. The council would have the final word on the matter if yer parents are deceased.”

She was not expecting her story to be so quickly dismissed. She really knew very little about clan custom.

“Well, ye see...I...I did go to the council as ye said, but they ruled in favor of my uncle. So, I had no choice but to run away.” She held her breath, waiting for him to prove once again how isolated and ignorant she was.

“Yer council’s decision only proves the worthlessness of MacLean stock.”

Shoney tried to appear offended, but like her mother before her, she cared little about the merits of either clan or the reasons for their feuding. All she cared about was escaping without any further injury.

“I am sorry for yer fate, lass.” His hand gently caressed her cheek, and she was amazed that his touch could be so harsh one moment and so very gentle the next. “’Tis a shame that one so beautiful should be given to a man as loathsome as ye described, but there is naught else that can be done. Ye must return.”

“Return. Ye wish that I return—to what, pray tell, disgrace.”

She did not expect him to send her back, or rather forth, to unknown lands. She refused to leave her home to keep up with this farce. After all, this land had been tied to her family long before his had even glimpsed it from their vessels, but none of that mattered at the moment. She need not win the war today, only the battle. All she had to do was get away. Let him believe she would ‘return’ to MacLean territory. Then she could make good her escape and go home. She hung her head as if in defeat.

“I will yield and accept my fate.”

“Be brave, lass. If he is as old as ye say, he will be dead soon. Mayhap he is even too old to consummate the marriage bed.”

She felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. She knew enough about what went on between a man and a woman, although she had never truly understood until today.

“Come on then. Let us walk while I decide what to do with ye until I can take ye to the border of our lands.”

“What,” she said unable to hide her surprise, but she continued in a more composed tone. “What I mean to say is that won’t be necessary. Surely, ye must have responsibilities ye’re neglecting. I know my way.”

She started to head in a southerly direction. She knew not where the MacKinnon lands ended and the MacLean’s began, but she did know the MacLeans inhabited the southern part of Mull.

“Ye’ll not make the journey alone. Ye were fortunate to have made it once unspoiled.”

“Unspoiled?”

“Yes, unspoiled—not raped or beaten or murdered. Ye appear to have nothing but the cloths on yer back. I can only assume that ye encountered some trouble since ye have been here. Were ye attacked in the woods? Tinkers and miscreants, those banished from both our clans, were recently hiding in the forest.”

He was right, of course. If she had run away, she would have packed some belongings, and an attack did seem like the most logical way to explain why she was empty-handed.

“Ah... Indeed,” she lied. “I was attacked, and they took my supplies. ‘Tis a wonder that I survived.”

“And yer bow?” he asked.

“They took that as well, the bastards,” she sneered.

“Are the MacLean men so useless they need their women to do the hunting,” he scoffed.

Once again, he managed to raise her ire, though not in the way he intended. The MacLean men could rot for all she cared, but she clenched her fists against his insinuation that a woman had no business wielding a bow.

“My mother thought it wise for a woman to be able to defend herself or her home if need be. She taught me how to fight.” Shoney lifted her chin with pride. “Like my mother before me, I am skilled in all weaponry, including steel. I believe ye have a mark on yer neck which proves my claim.”

Ronan’s hand casually brushed the nick. He glanced at his fingers, and then showed Shoney the smearing of blood on their tips.

“Ye’re unlike any lass I have ever met. That much I will give ye. But I do not care how skilled ye are with a dirk. Ye’re small, even for a woman. Ye’re in no position to defend yerself.”

“I’ve done fine on my own so far,” she snapped.

“How can ye make such a claim when ye stand before me unarmed?”

His arms crossed over his wide chest, and he straightened to his full height as he peered at her down his nose. She craned her neck to meet his gaze. Until then, she had thought that his eyes were plain brown, but the sun revealed flecks of gold and ocher, making them gleam like amber flames. Then her eyes dropped to his full lips and she remembered how soft they felt on her skin.

“I forbid ye to go anywhere alone, especially to the wood again,” he said.

The blatant arrogance of his words made her forget his kiss. How dare he forbid her from anything? Doubtless, he was used to obedience, but if he thought she was going to be a dulcet lamb, awaiting the command of her shepherd, he was going to be sorely disappointed. She began to voice her indigent protest but then changed her mind. She had to remain calm and not appear vexed. Let him believe her to be compliant so that she could be rid of him. He was dangerous and confusing. His touch was capable of both harm and stirring wildness deep inside of her, both of which she would prefer to avoid.

“I think ye’re wise, Ronan. Rest assured, I will not seek shelter in the wood again.”

She ducked under his arm and advanced out into the moors away from the cliffs. He did not make a grab for her, and so she quickened her pace to a near run to put as much ground between them as possible. She expected at any moment to feel the biting clamp of his grip on her arms, but his touch never came, and she never looked back.

After a while, when the cliffs and she hoped, Ronan, seemed far behind, she allowed her pace to slow as she finally risked a glimpse around. She was alone. At long last she was free. Releasing a sigh of relief, she resisted the desire to collapse to the ground as her quaking knees revealed just how nervous she had been. She vowed at that moment never to set eyes on Ronan again. A little voice inside her head reminded her she had made the same vow the last time she encountered him, but she decided to ignore it as she turned on her heel back toward the coast. The cloak and her home by the cliffs waited to conceal her once more, and Ronan was not going to stop her.

Ronan .

She could not wipe his image from her thoughts no matter how hard she tried. Everywhere she looked she saw amber brown eyes. The touch of his full lips pressing into the hollow of her neck lingered. Mother of all, what was wrong with her? She could not have enjoyed looking at him or being touched by him. He was a descendant of King MacAlpin. Then she remembered how his striking features were transformed when she told him she was a MacLean. His lips tightened into a hard sneer. His eyes narrowed, becoming hate-filled slits, and the brute force he applied to her arms demonstrated a cruelty within. Imagine what he would have done if he knew who she really was—if she had stood before him in defiance and revealed her true identity.

She stopped walking and lengthened her back, adopting a strong stance. With a defiant tilt of her chin, she declared to the rolling moors, “I am neither MacLean nor Mackinnon. I am Shoney, daughter of Brethia, great-great-granddaughter of Tharain, descendant of Oengus, King of the Picts.”

Shame settled its burdensome weight on her shoulders. She regretted not having the courage to declare her true identity. What would he have done to her? He most likely would have dropped her on the ground in disgust and fled like a coward.

Then she froze. She heard a rhythmic drumming in the distance growing louder and louder with each passing second. She issued forth no sound or breath as she stood watching, waiting for the source of the recurrent pounding to reveal itself. She did not have to wonder long. A large, white stallion crested over a distant hill, and on its back sat a rider with telling ease. His golden-brown hair, which shone in the sunlight, and his broad shoulders were all too familiar to her now.

“Damn him.”

Shoney launched into a sprint, looking for a place to hide, but the open moors made no offer of tree or bush behind which to conceal herself. Not that it mattered—she would need a fortress to escape him now. He spotted her, and she could hear the horse’s hooves pummeling the earth. She glimpsed behind as she scampered up a slope. Ronan, hunched low in his saddle, charged toward her with full force.

Did he intend to run her down?

The horse’s pounding stride shook the ground beneath her feet and made her heart quake with fear. She looked back and gasped as she stared into the horse’s black eyes. She flung her arms in front of her face and screamed as the horse bore down upon her, but instead of hearing her bones crunch and feeling the agony of her limbs being mangled and ripped askew, she was flying.

His arms wrapped securely around her waist as he lifted her through the air and across his lap.

“Ye almost killed me, ye bastard,” she shouted. “Let me go, damn ye.”

He slowed his horse and chuckled, apparently enjoying her loss of temper.

“What are ye laughing at?”

“Ye, my dear. Ye’re walking in the opposite direction of yer kin. Can ye not judge the land to distinguish the coast from what lays inshore? I have never known anyone with a worse sense for travel, and ye expect to make it beyond Benmore Mountain, which by the way is south of here.”

Mother of all, he was like a disease for which she could find no cure. All she wanted to do was go home, feed her empty belly, and count the blessings of her simple life. Instead, she was back in his inescapable grip, atop a giant steed, heading somewhere other than the warmth and safety of her stone hut.

“Where are ye taking me? Ye already said ye couldn’t take me to the border just yet.”

“Ye’ll see,” he answered.

“Why are ye unable to take me...er...home now?”

“The pending war, of course,” he said, looking down at her like she was thicker than stone. “Between the Scots and the Norse.”

She knew naught of what he spoke and was too tired to pretend. Let him think her dimwitted. She didn’t care.

“’Tis, a shame yer clan keeps women so ignorant. These are yer lands too—the lands of our fathers and sons but also our mothers and daughters.”

Shoney turned her head, looked Ronan straight in the eye and said, “Ye’re right, Ronan. This land is mine.”

She faced forward once again and smiled. She had told the future chieftain of the Clan MacKinnon the lands they rode over belonged to her. He could not understand the significance of her words, yet she still felt victorious .

They rode back toward the cliffs. Ronan dismounted behind her and took hold of the reins. Then he walked his horse with Shoney still in the saddle down a steep ravine. As they ascended, she glimpsed ocean waves colliding with sheer cliff walls further down the coast and it brought to mind a question.

“How is it possible ye were waiting for me on top of the cliffs when I ran from ye at the pool? I had the shorter route.” Then her eyes widened as she answered her own question. “Ye didn’t...”

“Climb the cliff face,” he said, finishing her statement. “All MacKinnon men climb to strengthen our arms for battle. Our swords are made of iron and are not as slight as ye, my dear.”

He was so powerful. If only she had half his strength, she would not hide from the world; instead, she would confront the chieftain himself and challenge him for the rights to her land.

She released a sigh. Daydreams only made one’s soul long for the impossible. Her future stretched out before her as fixed and predictable as the cycle of the moon. She would always be feared and loathed, and if ever valued for her wisdom and gifts, it would only be in secret. She must learn to accept her fate.

They reached the shoreline and Ronan pulled himself behind her. With a quick flick of the reins, they were galloping through the waves. The surf splashed against the horse’s legs, spraying the icy water across Shoney and wetting her skirts. The sun was beginning to set, and the wind that whipped her hair about her face and cut through her tunic held the crispness of nightfall, causing her to shiver.

“Hold tight to the mane,” he said as his hands withdrew from her waist.

The absence of his embrace allowed the chill to nip at her back and shoulders. She scooted backward in her seat, seeking the hot comfort of his body.

“Hold on, lass,” he chuckled.

He reached around her waist, spreading his fingers wide across her stomach and pressed her against his rigid chest. She felt his warm breath on her neck as he encircled them both within the thick folds of his plaid. Warmth penetrated her core. She nestled deeper and inhaled the scent of his skin. Everything about him was undeniably male including the rich musky aroma invading her senses.

Too long had she been denied the comfort of another’s touch. Her mother used to rock her to sleep as a child. And when Shoney grew too large to cradle, her mother stroked her hair as Shoney rested her head in her lap.

That was then; this was now. She did not need protection. She could take care of herself, but it felt so good not to be alone.

She shook her head, remembering with whom she rode. She could not lose sight of her goal to be rid of him. He was capable of harm and could not be trusted. Anyway, if he knew who she really was, he would fling her into the water and ride away. She scowled as she imagined his daft priest burning his plaid because of its proximity to her pagan flesh.

Her resolve restored, she straightened her back to support her own seat rather than resting against his broad chest. Her body protested the loss of warmth with a shiver, but she refused to surrender her strength of purpose. She had to escape, a task that demanded she remain clear headed, but doubt invaded her thoughts as she considered how she might evade the steel bars he disguised as arms.

Ronan gave a short but firm yank on the reins, bringing his horse to a swift halt. Then he tenderly scratched the steed’s ear, earning a whinny in response.

“Look, Bridget.”

At first, Shoney did not know to whom he spoke and then remembered her choice of alias. She wondered at that moment what her real name would sound like from his lips. She followed the direction of his gaze. Two jutting cliffs soared above their heads with surfaces so sheer as to deny anyone access, and centered amid the two bluffs, high above the waves was the opening of a cave.

“What a peculiar place,” she exclaimed. “I doubt that even ye could make that climb.”

“Look closer,” he whispered, his mouth grazing her earlobe, making her body quiver. Damn his soft lips.

She tried to ignore her body’s response to his touch as she studied the wall before her and finally saw a thick rope hanging from the cave opening. Its color, dark with age, blended well into the cliff face.

“It was no small feat to secure the rope initially, but it is strong and will bring us safely inside.”

“Ye intend to stick me in that cave,” she snapped, his soft lips forgotten. “To imprison me?”

“Do not think of it as a prison, lass. ‘Tis merely a safe refuge.”

“But I haven’t the strength to climb up or to descend back down. I’ll be trapped.”

“I know. Ye’ll be safe from every trouble, including that which ye might make yerself.” His smug smile made her want to scream.

“Do not think for a moment that I will go willing, ye conceited son of a....”

He placed his hand over her mouth. “Ye’ll kindly stop there and not insult my mother or my father.” He pulled his hand away as he stared at her. “Another tantrum? And here I thought I had a problem controlling my temper.” His voice softened. “Ye’re a strange lass, Bridget. I offer ye protection from harm and respite from yer unpleasant, albeit forthcoming, nuptials. I expected gratitude not arguments.”

He had every reason to be confused by her behavior. If wedded misery loomed in her immediate future, then mayhap she would embrace his plan, but an unwanted betrothal was not one of her problems. She ached for home, and the prospect of the cave destroyed all hope of return. He sought to provide her a sanctuary, but he unknowingly threatened her with a prison that required no bars or doors—the drop to certain death was lock and key.

How could she explain this to him without revealing her secret? Then fear engulfed her thoughts.

The cave would be as dark as a grave.

She shivered as she imagined the darkness closing in around her, choking the very breath from her body. She would not live to see the dawn. Either her heart would seize, terror claiming her life, or she would go insane and throw herself from the black mouth of the cave to the murky waters below. Even now, her body trembled as she imagined the worst.

“Ye’re shaking, Bridget. No more protests. I must get ye out of the cold,” Ronan said as he dismounted. Then he began to reach for her, but she kicked him away.

“Did ye not hear me?” she shouted. “I am not an animal for ye to trap. And if ye’re concerned about my health, ‘tis colder in that dank place than anywhere else on the island.”

He ignored her, but she kept on fighting. Her swinging fists connected with his powerful physique, likely afflicting more pain to her knuckles than to his unyielding hardness, but she did not care. She refused to surrender even as he placed his hands at her waist and lifted her from the stallion’s back.

“Ye’ll be quite comfortable. I assure ye.”

He pulled her through the briskly moving seas. The waves lapped at her thighs before colliding with the unforgiving cliff wall. She finally conceded she was no match against his brawn. Instead, she tried to think of another reason why they should not ascend the rope.

“What about the horse?” she gasped, breathless from her struggles.

“The tide will not come in for some time. The horse is quite safe,” he replied.

He began to wrap the top folds of his plaid around her, securing her body to his. She was trapped and unable to fight. Not that it would have made a difference. At any moment, he would climb the sheer wall to the great height above where she would be swallowed by a dark hole in the rock. Terror gripped her mind, poisoning her heart and causing a layer of perspiration to blanket her brow despite the chill in the air. Once again, her body betrayed her as tremors surged down her limbs and a knot gathered in her throat.

“No, Ronan,” she whispered as wet tears filled her eyes. “Please, do not put me in there.” Shame settled over her as the pleading tones left her lips, but there was naught else to be done. She could not face the darkness.

“Hush, lass,” he crooned as his arms encircled her. “Are ye so afraid of the height?”

“No,” she cried.

“’Tis a very deep cave. Ye’ll not fall, if that is what worries ye.”

“That is not why I’m afraid.”

“Then why?” he asked.

“’Tis the dark,” she whispered. Her head hung heavy with disgrace.

She felt the pressure of his finger under her chin as he forced her to meet his gaze. She expected him to scorn her, but instead his eyes glowed with amber warmth.

“Ye’re a rare lass,” he breathed. “So strong and yet so vulnerable.”

He stroked her cheek, and she felt herself succumb to the gentle caress. “Ye’ll find yerself quite at home up there, Bridget. Ye must trust me.”

“But I have no reason to trust ye.”

He said nothing in reply. A slow, sensual smile pulled at one side of his lips, and she could not help but admire his easy confidence. She made no further protest as he finished tying the folds of his plaid. Then grasping the rope firmly in his hands, he proceeded to scale the daunting precipice.

Shoney turned away at last and looked out to sea. The water reflected the dusky shades of sunset. Pinks and oranges imbued each wave’s approach, but the colors were cut away by the shadow of the massive cliff. The waves that struck the rock face were as grey and stark as the stone itself.

“Ye must hurry. Dusk is upon us,” she urged.

“I’m sorry if my pace displeases ye,” he chuckled as he crossed one hand over the other, pulling them ever higher. “But if ye care to muscle the two of us up this rope, then by all means, ye may take over.”

Mother of all, he was maddening.

“I have a different purpose for this rope in mind,” she began. “It involves a strong branch and ye dangling beneath.”

“Hmmm, it would seem that my warrior has vanquished the vulnerable maid. I think I prefer when ye’re frightened.”

Shoney intended to give him a tongue lashing meant to wipe the smug smile off his face for good, but one of his hands released the rope and covered her mouth. He lowered his head, and she felt his warm breath on her ear. Her mind spiraled back to the moment when his kiss first grazed her neck as her wet, naked body pressed against his hard, muscled physique. She shivered but this time not from the cold or fear of the dark .

“Be silent for once woman,” he whispered. “Or the light will be gone, and I’ll be forced to sleep in the cave with ye.”

Shoney’s eyes opened wide, and she pressed her lips together. His eyes mocked her, daring her to speak, but she kept her silence.

Ronan continued to climb the rope with seemingly little effort, occasionally catching a foothold in the wall. She dared not look down; instead, she clung to his frame and focused on the feel of his back muscles shifting beneath her hands and the smell of his skin. Finally, they reached the mouth of the cave. As he pulled their bodies inside, he twisted to avoid pinning her beneath him.

Her worst nightmare realized, she was frozen, drenched, and famished, cowering at the entrance of a perilous cave, surrounded by darkness. Which would truly be the worst fate—being left alone to freeze and starve to death in a desolate cave or confessing her true identity and putting her fate in the hands of the MacKinnons?

He walked deep inside the cave into the dark unknown, and she wondered fearfully if he expected her to follow. She started to ask what he was doing but then remembered his threat if she were to speak again and decided to remain silent.

She sighed with relief when he emerged from the deep and knelt at the edge of the cave entrance. He began making a familiar tapping noise, and just moments later, there was a steady fire building. She did not try to conceal her joy as the small fire grew, illuminating the cave. The firelight revealed a deep, dry space, which was twice the length of her home and about half its width. In the back, she could just make out a stack of peat for fuel. She stood up and began to walk about.

“There is plenty of fuel to keep this fire going for days.” His voice was soft as he took her hand and showed her the amenities the cave offered.

“There is a pallet for sleeping and some plaids to keep ye warm; that is, if ye don’t mind wearing MacKinnon colors.” He smiled at her. She sensed he was proud of the cave’s secret comfort.

“Ye’ll also find dried meat and ale,” he said, pointing to a plain wooden chest.

She had to admit for a cave it was rather cozy. “’Tis wonderful, but why is this all here?”

He removed his sword and stood it against the wall. “I first started coming here as a lad when my older brother, Nachlan, died. I was eleven, and I came here thinking I could escape the sadness.”

Shoney stared at the large and powerful man before her and could not believe that he had ever been so small. “I am sorry,” she offered.

“Thank ye. It was long ago. I still keep this place well supplied for when I need a little peace and quiet. Solitude is rarely granted a chieftain’s son.”

Ronan’s confession had Shoney’s mind reeling. Their lives were so different. His life was a tapestry of friends and family, custom and duty, which sometimes drove him to this place of isolation; whereas, destiny demanded she walk through life alone. How often had she prayed for the Mother of all to bring her solace from loneliness? It never occurred to her that someone else might seek it out.

She sat beside the fire, warming her hands above the flame. “Ye have my thanks, Ronan. I’m sure I will be very comfortable here.”

“I am glad ye’re pleased, but with comfort in mind, Bridget, ye must change out of yer wet tunic or else catch yer death.”

He handed her one of the dry plaids before he turned away. For a moment, Shoney was confused. Surely, he did not intend for her to wear a plaid folded as he did with just a sash across her chest. As she contemplated how best to dress herself, her teeth began to chatter from the cold. She shrugged off her drenched cloak and yanked her tunic and kirtle over her head. Then she set about wrapping herself in one of the large tartan blankets. In the end, she swept it around her shoulders, holding it in place with her hands.

“Ye may turn. I am decent...barely,” she muttered under her breath.

Ronan started to laugh the moment he turned around. “Ye truly are the most unusual lass I have ever known.” He closed the distance between them and reached for the plaid, but she ducked under his arm to avoid his touch.

“Ye’ve naught to fear, lass. My intention is to assist ye into yer clothing not to remove it, although ye hide nothing that I have not already had the pleasure of viewing.”

Mortified by his blunt reminder, her embarrassment soon gave way to rage. She lashed out, slapping the smile from his face and in the process losing her grip on the tartan all together. She stood before him as naked as the day she came into the world. Though, her hands rushed to cover the more intimate areas of her body, she stood straight and proud, refusing to acknowledge her disgrace.

She expected him to taunt her or to strike her in return, but instead he stared with wide, somber eyes. She followed his gaze to her arms. Shoney gasped as she understood why he was transfixed. Raising a hesitant hand, he grazed the tips of his fingers across one of the bruises now lining her arms. They were a reminder of the crushing strength he used against her earlier that day, following her claim to be a MacLean.

He crouched low and scooped up her plaid. Saying nothing, he walked behind her and with adept hands he wrapped the plaid around her form. Using her own belt, he secured half the fabric at her waist. Then facing her, he crisscrossed the remainder over her chest and around her shoulders then back around her chest again and secured the folds with a pin he produced from his sporran.

He still did not speak but took her hands in his. She felt for a moment like a child. Her small hands seemed to disappear in his mighty grasp. He knelt in front of her.

“Forgive me, Bridget. I have a wicked temper, but I did not think I was capable of such cruelty.” He released a half-hearted chuckle that surprised her. “I’m naught but a bad jest. Earlier, I congratulated myself for the restraint I’ve shown since we set out to come here. There have been several occasions when I might have lost my temper, but ye somehow make me feel...peaceful, even with yer tantrums and foul language.” His eyes brighten from brown to amber, and she realized, in that moment, that their color revealed the intensity of his emotions.

“Look at what I’ve done to ye.” His hands gestured to her arms.

Shoney sensed his sincerity and was moved by his words, but as Ronan continued, her sympathy turned to fury.

“Ye’re the weaker sex. ‘Tis my duty to protect not to harm.”

“What?” she cried as she shoved him with all her might, the force knocking him back on the hard rock floor.

“Ye’re saying all of this only because I am a woman?” she shouted, shaking her fist in his face. “A woman can be a threat as well as a man. A woman can fight with steel and fist.” She stared down at him, breathing hard. Then she offered him her hand. “Ye thought me a threat to yer clan and so ye acted.” He reached out and accepted her help to stand. “I do not want yer treatment of me to be dictated by my sex,” she said. “But rather by my merit.”

He stared at her for some time. Shoney could not tell what he was thinking. Then his full lips curved into his sideways grin, and she suddenly felt breathless and unsure of herself. With both hands, he cupped her face and tilted her head back. She could feel the warmth of his breath and smell his rich, masculine scent.

“As I’ve said before, ye’re the most unusual lass I’ve ever known.” Then he pressed a kiss to her brow, but as his lips touched her skin a white light erupted in her mind’s eye, and she was lost to a vision .

There was a man riding hard over the moors. His black curls stuck to his face as sweat dripped from his brow. Behind him five riders gave chase and were gaining on him. He disappeared into a thick haze and one by one the riders followed. Thunder clamored with deafening force as the black-haired rider pushed on unseeing through the dense fog. Then five gleaming blades cut through the mist like veins of lightning, piercing his body. He cried out and fell, vanishing into the thick haze. As the fog lifted, his bloodied body crumpled at the foot of the Cillchriosd Standing Stone, and in the distance fled five riders with a horse in tow. The man opened his eyes. They were as blue and bright as the summer sky, and from his lips came forth a simple plea. “Shoney,” he cried.

Shoney’s eyes snapped open as she inhaled sharply.

“Bridget, what happened? Are ye hurt?” Ronan’s voice tugged at her senses, releasing Shoney from her trance.

She was fine, but somewhere out there was a man with black hair and startling blue eyes who was hurt and in desperate need of aid.

“I’ll be alright, Ronan, but I’m afraid I do feel a bit faint and hungry.”

He looked doubtful. “Why did ye not answer when I called yer name?” His hand went to her brow. “Ye do not feel feverish.”

“I’m famished and tired. Please, I really must rest.”

“Let me roll out yer pallet, and ye can lie down while I prepare the meat and ale.”

Shoney appeared to rest while Ronan retrieved their nourishment, but in truth her mind raced. Often her visions were symbolic, requiring interpretation, but tonight’s vision conveyed a clear message. The man with the blue eyes needed a healer but trapped in the belly of a stone beast above the rising ocean tides, her skills were useless. Ronan was not going to let her leave without explanation. She simply had no choice but to try to push the man from her thoughts.

“Here, let me help ye sit up,” he said as he slid his broad hand underneath her back and lifted her upward to a seated position.

His hand covered a large expanse of her back, demonstrating once again his size and strength. He gave her the food and drink, which she gratefully accepted and gulped down.

“Thank ye,” she said. “This is a welcomed surprise.”

He smiled. “I’ve never brought anyone up here before. Ye are a welcomed surprise.”

Shoney felt herself blush. As she reached for more meat, she brushed against his plaid. “Ronan, ye’re still wet. Ye ought to change as well.”

Shoney turned her head toward the cave wall. She waited for him to make a quip about having already seen him naked, but he refrained, which she was glad for—she had blushed enough for one night.

“I am decent,” he said.

She looked up at him and admired his tall form. His plaid slashed across his broad chest and over one of his powerful shoulders. The brawn of his torso slimmed out at his waist where his skirt began. The material fell in folds just at his knees, revealing muscular calves. The light provided by the fire revealed numerous scars that twisted his skin. They were reminders of battles fought alongside and on behalf of his kinsmen, men and women who wore the same plaid that she wore now.

The plaid .

The man with blue eyes wore the muted green and orange of the MacKinnon plaid. The man in her vision belonged to Ronan’s clan. Perhaps he was even a close friend or relation. Guilt swept through her, twisting her stomach into tight knots. She now regretted having eaten so quickly. She could not tell Ronan that his clansman lay beaten and likely dying on the moors. He would ask how she came by the information, and what explanation could she give? I can see beyond what my eyes allow, but I am not a witch . His prejudice would blind him. He would hate her. The idea of Ronan hating her unsettled her stomach even further. She had to act fast or lose her supper.

She had only one option—to lie. But she was barely staying afloat in the sea of fabrications she spewed earlier. This new deception demanded simplicity, or else it would lead to questions that might pull her under.

A harmless lie came to her, and although weak, it felt uncontrived. Shoney’s hand flew to her neck.

“My pendant is gone.” She scurried off her pallet. “Please ‘tis dear to me. Help me look,” she implored as she sifted through their wet clothes, shaking them as if hoping to uncover her treasure.

“Bridget, I do not remember ever seeing a token around yer neck.”

Damn him.

“I believe ‘tis something I would have noticed,” he said .

Mother of all, rot the black-haired man, but there was no turning back now.

“My father and mother fashioned a pendant for me from small white shells. ‘Tis all I have by which to remember them. I cannot go on without it.” She pinched herself to produce a few tears for good measure.

He grasped her shoulders. “Hush, Bridget. Ye must calm down. Yer necklace is not here, of this I am certain. Nor did ye have it at the pool when ye ran from me. Together, we will search for it in the morning.”

“Nay, it cannot wait until morning,” she cried. “Someone might find it first. The moon will be at its fullest tonight to light our way. It must be tonight.”

“This is madness, Bridget.”

“I will go without ye, even if I risk death sliding down the rope.” She grabbed his hands. “I beseech ye.”

Ronan stared at her. She could not guess at his thoughts. Then he released a slow breath and agreed to her request. “I will go, but I do so alone.”

She brought his hands to her lips and kissed his rough skin. “Thank ye. What ye do now is truly life or death. Last night I slept beneath a standing stone not more than a league from the pool.”

“I know the place. We call it the Cillchriosd Stone,”

“Then go and be swift.”

He donned his sword and made for the entrance. “I still say this is madness, Bridget, but I know what it is to lose family. In honor of yer parents and my brother, I do this. ”

Then he grabbed hold of the rope and disappeared over the edge. Shoney peered down and held her breath as she watched him descend into the shadows and waves. She longed to call after him, already regretting his absence, but instead she prayed to the Mother of all that he find his kinsman before it was too late.