Highlanders. Michelle Willingham

you,” Mary said. She looked at her sons. “Please go into the chamber and tell Elasaid to get your cloaks.” When they were gone, she stepped closer to Juliana—as if to protect her. “When will you ask for ransoms?”

      “I am sending a messenger this afternoon,” Alasdair said. “I am about to write the missive.”

      “You are asking for ransoms for us both?” Juliana asked.

      He smiled at her. “Why would ye think otherwise?”

      She felt like kicking his shin. “Because I hardly trust you.”

      “I am writing both Comyn and MacDougall, have no fear, Lady Juliana. I could hardly keep ye here without asking for a ransom.”

      Of course he had to ask for a ransom. An even greater war would result if he simply held her captive, against her will. “And will you also do as your father asked—will you ask for the names of any spies?”

      He slowly smiled. “As a sign of good faith, I will.”

      Her heart sank. Ransoms took months to pay, or years, if they were excessive. But to demand the identity of any MacDougall spies would only anger her brother and complicate matters.

      “Do you want to walk with us?” Mary asked her.

      Juliana realized she was hesitating. If her sister were out for a few hours, she would be free to do as she wished.

      An image had flashed in her mind—of being in Alasdair’s arms. What was wrong with her? They had spent an hour together. That tryst was not to be repeated. Alasdair might admire her, and he might lust for her, but he was a ruthless man. She had seen that herself. She would be deluding herself if she came to believe that he might sincerely protect her. That he might forget she was Alexander MacDougall’s sister. That he was any less ruthless than Angus Mor.

      “Of course I will walk with you.” Not looking at Alasdair, Juliana turned and hurried away.

      * * *

      JULIANA APPROACHED THE great hall and saw her sister seated at the table with her boys, Elasaid, and Lady MacDonald. , Alasdair’s brother, the little wolf, was with them. While the women conversed, the boys were in a fierce discussion, and Juliana could not imagine about what. But she smiled, pleased that the second Alexander was being friendly to her nephews.

      None of the men were present.

      She suddenly heard a great commotion in the entry hall, which was flanked by two towers. She heard men’s voices, booted steps, the jangle of spurs, doors closing, bolts being jammed. Juliana hurried to the end of the corridor and peered around it into the stone entry chamber.

      A great many men stood there, all shedding snow from their furs and plaids. She had already known Alasdair was present, because she had recognized his voice immediately. Now she saw him embracing another man—a man as tall and muscular as he was, with similar dark hair, a blue-and-red plaid visible beneath the fur he wore. As she watched the two men, she knew that Alasdair was greeting his brother, Angus Og.

      He and his Highlanders had clearly just arrived at Dunyveg, never mind the late hour and the snow. Angus Mor shouldered through the men to clasp his son’s shoulder. “Yer late,” he said, but warmly.

      “Hello Father,” Angus Og said. “The snow is even worse in the east.”

      Juliana could now see his face. He was so obviously Alasdair’s brother—he had the same high cheekbones, the same blue eyes, the same strong jaw, and even a similar mane of dark hair. “Did ye succeed in convincing Lennox to support Bruce?” Angus Mor demanded.

      “The Earl of Lennox will think about it and he will decide in a week or two—before he meets Menteith,” Angus Og said.

      “We will never take the throne for Bruce without Lennox and Atholl,” Angus Mor said grimly.

      “Maybe I should seek out Atholl.” Alasdair was as dark. “I am impatient, awaiting his reply.”

      Angus Mor scowled. “Are we being played? Do they truly think to prosper under John Balliol?”

      “There is more,” Angus Og said, his blue eyes heating. “Richard de Burgh failed to attend the council. He sent word instead that he was delayed.”

      There was a surprised silence.

      Juliana’s mind was racing as she listened to them. She hadn’t meant to spy, but the information she had discovered might be valuable to her brother. She could not believe they meant to rally the earls of Lennox and Atholl, or that the Irish magnate, de Burgh, was also on their side. She knew she should retreat before she was seen. As she was about to flee back around the corner, Alasdair turned and looked at her.

      His eyes widened in disbelief.

      Instantly, Angus Mor looked in her direction, and Angus Og turned fully around, espying her as well.

      Juliana stiffened in fear; Alasdair strode over to her. “Lady Juliana?” he asked tightly.

      She met his gaze and saw the warning there. “I heard voices. Your mother wished for you to join her....” What kind of an excuse was that! She swallowed. “I told her I would find you.”

      Angus Mor strode to her, his face hard, his eyes ice-cold. “Do we have a bold spy in our midst—yet again?” He turned to Alasdair. “Did she deceive ye, Alasdair? Perhaps she is not yer captive after all—perhaps yer her captive. Perhaps she has gotten ye so besotted, ye cannot see her for the spy that she is?”

      Juliana cringed. She looked at Alasdair, who was dark with anger. “I am not her captive, nor will I ever be. She is no spy. She is my captive.”

      “Ye had better make certain,” Angus Mor warned. In anger, he left.

      She trembled, alone now with the two brothers. Angus Og was studying her, but not with hostility—he seemed curious. He nodded once, then followed his father into the great room.

      Juliana was awaiting Alasdair’s rage—his attack. His face was cold now, as cold as his father’s had been. “We will speak of this later,” he finally said. “Go into the hall.”

      Juliana nodded and rushed to obey.

      Angus Mor was already at the table, and fiercely eating. Angus Og was embracing Lady MacDonald before sitting down between her and his father. Mary was seated on the other side of the table with her children. Juliana avoided Mary’s questioning look as she squeezed onto the bench beside her nephews, as far away from Angus Mor as possible. She wished she were not at the table at all.

      She quickly began filling her own trencher with fish and game. Tears felt as if they were imminent.

      What had she inadvertently done? It was one thing to be Alasdair’s prisoner, another his father’s. Alasdair remained the enemy, but he was rational and just compared to his father. And he had an interest in her, one beyond that of a captor toward his captive.

      She worried that Angus Mor would interfere and assert his authority over her. She must not forget that there would never be mercy from the older man. In his eyes, she was his worst enemy’s sister and nothing more, a pawn to be ruthlessly used.

      Alasdair strode into the room. Juliana avoided looking at him. He did not sit down with his parents and his brother. He went to her side of the table, and sat down on the end of the bench next to her, not giving her a single glance, either. He began piling food upon his plate. He looked up at no one and he did not speak.

      No action could be clearer. She was his prisoner, and he meant to make certain that there was no doubt. But it also felt as if he had staked a claim, as if he meant to indicate that she was also under his protection.

      Oddly, she felt reassured by his gesture.

      But his father was angered, she could see that, as he ate in dark silence.

      She meant to force herself to eat, but it was impossible. It was Angus Og who broke the tension, as he began telling his father