The Highlander's Return. Marguerite Kaye

stared at her for a long moment, at the big blue eyes that had never lied to him before, the set look on her face, as if she were girding herself for an ordeal, and that was so like how he felt himself that he believed her. ‘Very well.’

      Alasdhair closed his eyes, blocking out the beautiful view and the distractingly beautiful face and took a tentative step back into the past, to a time when he was not Alasdhair Ross, the rich and successful tobacco merchant, but Alasdhair Ross, the outcast. He took another step, and another, until he was back where it all began and it all ended, on Ailsa’s sixteenth birthday, six years ago, and the past became the present.

       Summer 1742

      The world had changed irrevocably with that single kiss. The future burned bright and hopeful, a glittering place they would inhabit together.

      How? Well that would have to wait until later. For the moment, Alasdhair’s burning desire to grasp this new world order held sway, such overwhelming sway that immediately after leaving Ailsa at the castle he went in search of Lord Munro. He needed to declare himself, and he needed to do it as soon as possible.

      He had not allowed himself to think of failure, so when it came, as it did almost immediately, it was a shock. It should not have been—he knew perfectly well the laird’s views on his position—but love, Alasdhair had naïvely believed, could conquer all. It had given him confidence. Greatly misplaced confidence, as it turned out.

      ‘How dare you! The de’il take you, boy!’ Lord Munro rapped his walking stick furiously on the flagstones of the great hall.

      The steel tip of the stick made a harsh grating sound. The deerhound that had been sleeping at the laird’s feet rose and let loose a low menacing growl. Alasdhair gritted his teeth.

      ‘Do ye have no sense of your place, boy? No sense of what you owe me? I took ye in when your ain mother abandoned ye and yon weak-willed man you call father upped and died on you as a result. I as good as own ye, and this is how ye repay me?’

      Lord Munro got shakily to his feet. He had been a tall man once, but age and gout had taken their toll on his frame—though they could not be blamed for his temper, which had always been foul. Leaning heavily on the stick, he glowered at the upstart in front of him. ‘Obviously staying here in the castle has given ye an inflated idea of your own importance, boy.’

      Inflated! Between them, the laird and his lady made sure there was no chance of that. Like the deerhound, Alasdhair’s hackles were up, but he forced himself to uncurl the fists that had formed in his work-calloused hands and to look the old man firmly in the eye. ‘If you mean I’m ambitious, Laird, then you’re in the right of it. You know fine that I’ve no intention of staying here to work as your factor. I’ve always dreamed of going to the New World and I will one day, but first I want your permission to court Ailsa. We have feelings for each other. I want to marry her and take her with me to America as my wife.’

      Lord Munro snorted contemptuously. ‘You insolent upstart. Do ye really think I’d allow my daughter to be courted by the likes o’ you? You’re a serf, and what’s more you’re my serf. It’s high time ye remembered that. You’ve as much chance of marrying Ailsa as ye have of realising yon pipe dream of yours of making your fame and fortune abroad. Your place is here and your future mapped out. You’ll be my factor and a good one, I don’t doubt.’

      Lord Munro looked at Alasdhair appraisingly. ‘I like you well enough, lad, you know that. You’ve got spirit, but you haven’t got the brains you were born with if you think there’s any point in pursuing this farcical notion. Now away with you, before I lose my temper.’

      Alasdhair’s hands formed into two large fists. He had tried to do the honourable thing. He’d asked permission, and he’d asked on all but bended knee.

      He deserved better than to be so casually dismissed. ‘What about Ailsa?’

      ‘What about her?’ Lord Munro snapped. ‘I’m her father. I can do what I want with her, just as I can do what I want with you, Alasdhair Ross.’

      ‘She loves me.’

      ‘I’ve no doubt she’s smitten with you,’ he snorted. ‘She’s at that age. But if she’s an itch, it’s most certainly not for you to scratch. I’ve plans for Ailsa, and I’ll no’ have you damaging the goods.’

      ‘What if Ailsa has other plans of her own?’

      ‘She’s a Munro born and bred, she kens fine what her duty is and she’ll put it before an impetuous cur like you.’

      ‘I don’t believe you.’

      Lord Munro’s tenuous hold on his temper snapped. ‘You will keep your filthy hands off her, do you hear me?’ he roared. ‘Ailsa is the very last wench you should be thinking about in that way. You’ll keep away from her, do you hear me now? I’m not having Donald McNair accusing me of allowing someone else to plough his furrow.’

      ‘McNair!’

      ‘The Laird of Ardkinglass. ‘Tis a fine match,’ Lord Munro said with a satisfied smile.

      ‘Damn the match, fine or otherwise! Ailsa and I love each other and nobody, not even you, can change that. I am sorry to have to disobey you, but you give me no choice. I will court Ailsa and you cannot stop me.’

      Lord Munro’s stick clattered on the flagstones. ‘Am I hearing right? After all I have said to ye, ye still insist on disobeying? Do you think I can’t stop you? You can think again about that, laddie, for I can.’

      Alasdhair glared at him defiantly. ‘You can try, but you won’t succeed.’

      Lord Munro looked at him in absolute astonishment, then he threw back his head and laughed. It was a deeply unpleasant sound and should have been a warning, but Alasdhair was far too caught up in the heady throes of fighting for his love to notice. ‘You think to defy me, do you? I’d think again, if I were you, Alasdhair Ross. This is your last chance.’

      ‘I won’t change my mind,’ Alasdhair said mutinously.

      The Laird of Errin Mhor’s mouth formed into a thin line. ‘So be it. I see now I’ve given you too much rope. I won’t tolerate defiance, no matter who you are. You will keep away from my daughter, Alasdhair Ross, for now and for ever. And you will keep off all Munro lands, too, until the end of your days.’ Lord Munro leant on his stick and drew himself painfully up to his full height. ‘You are banished. Do you hear me?’ he shouted, pointing a finger straight at Alasdhair. ‘From this moment on you are dead to me and dead to all my clan. Hamish Sinclair will escort you off the Munro lands. I want you gone by midnight, and if I find you’ve made any attempt to see my daughter before then, I’ll have you thrashed. Away to hell with you. Or, better still, away to America. From what I hear of that savage land ye’ll be hard pushed to tell the difference.’

      Lord Munro spat contemptuously on to the flagstones. ‘You disappoint me. I thought you had the makings of a man, Alasdhair Ross. I took you in, I indulged your rebellious nature even though it sore tested my patience, but I see now that you are a naïve, romantic fool. It is your own foolishness that has brought this upon your head. Now get out of my sight.’

      Alasdhair strode down the corridor from the great hall, his face like thunder, cursing his own stupidity. He should have known better. If only he had thought it through, or bided his time, instead of rushing in with guns blazing like that. He had ruined everything with this one impetuous act.

      He had to see Ailsa. He had to explain. He could not take her with him yet, but if she would wait for him—surely she would wait for him? He would go to America and he would make his fortune and he would come back for her and Lord Munro would eat his words and they would be married. It would take him a year or two, but what were a couple of years with so much at stake? She would understand, surely she would understand. Ignoring the laird’s dire warning, Alasdhair strode off in search of her.

      ‘And where do you think you’re going?’ An icy voice stopped him in his tracks.

      ‘Lady