Highlander Claimed. Juliette Miller

to intimidate anyone,” he said.

      “You intimidate everyone, fierce warrior, and you know it. Why else would you carry no less than three swords? Are you expecting to be attacked here in our chambers? You’ve already stripped Roses of her weapons, and I—” she held out her arms as though to prove it to him “—have nothing on me, I swear it.”

      Watching the ease of them in each other’s presence, I felt a small pang of emptiness that might have been jealousy. With no siblings, nor family at all, to call my own, I felt fascinated by their playful banter, their natural camaraderie. She was so entirely unruffled by his presence, as only a sister could be. To me, he appeared frighteningly intense. Yet she treated him with all the gentleness of a child, ushering him out the door insistently and taking care to avoid any of his sharper edges.

      Once Kade had retreated, I rose, putting on my battered tunic and my oversize trews.

      “My dear Roses,” said Christie, surveying my outfit with a critical eye. “We must do something about your clothing. Ailie, you should know, is a talented seamstress. While you’re meeting with Knox and Kade, we’ll make it our quest to find you a more flattering outfit. And when you’re returned to Wilkie, he’ll not believe his eyes.” Her eyes glimmered at the thought. So welcoming, she was, and kind. It was clear from her openhearted manner that Christie had already accepted my placement here, perhaps not at Wilkie’s side, but at least somewhere near it. She appeared excited by the prospect of planning our day together, primping me for her brother’s approval. And as appealing as her intentions sounded, I felt wary of my own secrets: my tattoo and the horrified reaction to it that shadowed my memories. I would have to take every care to make sure it was kept covered.

      But I knew there was no guarantee that I would see out the day at Kinloch, nor even the hour.

      I wished I could go to Wilkie. I wanted to see him and to touch him before I faced his brothers, in case they cast me out. I felt disconcerted by this separation from him and most of all by the thought that I might not be allowed to see him again, even to bid him farewell.

      “What is it, Roses?” Christie asked. “Why do you weep?” She placed a hand on my shoulder.

      I wiped the tear away. “’Tis nothing. I’m fine.”

      “I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you,” she said quietly. “I’ve never heard that kind of longing in his voice, not once.” She spoke with an almost reverential tone, as if the connection she’d witnessed with her own eyes carried weight and power. “Don’t let Knox and Kade frighten you. They have Wilkie’s best interests at heart, always. They will do anything to speed his full recovery. Clearly you will play a part in that recovery. Take heart.”

      And I did. Her words calmed me. “I thank you for your kindness, Christie,” I said.

      “And I thank you for having the courage to save Wilkie, and to summon help for him. Now go. They’ll not want to be kept waiting.”

      She opened the door for me, and Kade motioned for me to follow him, which I did. He led me out of Wilkie’s antechamber, down a hall lit with candles that sat in grooves carved into the stone walls, down a wide, curving set of wooden stairs, to the grand hallway. Having only a hazy memory of the castle’s interior from the night of my arrival, I was agog at the splendor of it. The Mackenzie castle was not, as I’d guessed at my first impression, wildly more prosperous than the Ogilvie manor. Rather, I realized, it was merely much more beautifully maintained. Careful attention had gone into each and every detail of both the land and the manor, administered by a clan who clearly cherished their space and were talented at enhancing all it had to offer. I valued this sentiment and felt even more drawn to this clan by the discovery.

      We entered the grand hallway, with its richly colored hanging tapestries, its fine furniture, its highly polished pewter candelabras. I could appreciate that someone had taken special care with these candelabras; I had polished many similar pieces in my time but had never achieved such a rich gleam. Not that I had tried especially diligently, but still. It was admirable.

      Laird Mackenzie was pacing in front of the large fireplace. He was the only one in attendance, and the look on his face as we approached him suggested he was tired of waiting, and had other pressing matters to attend to.

      He took in, again, my disheveled men’s garb and stared at me coldly. “Sit,” he commanded, signaling to one of several chairs placed near the fire. I obeyed him, and took my place.

      Kade sat in another chair, but the laird continued to stand, and his eyes did not waver in their scrutiny. I felt wildly out of place under the laird’s direct gaze. I tried to smooth my long hair, aware that I hadn’t brushed it in quite some time.

      “I expect you to answer all of my questions truthfully,” the laird said. “Are you willing to speak to me?”

      I was hungry, and sore. I felt chilled and at the same overheated. I wanted to eat and bathe, to sleep and, most of all, to visit Wilkie. But all those things would have to wait. I knew I owed the laird his explanation. “Aye, Laird Mackenzie. I am at your service.” I sat up straight and waited for the inquiry to begin.

      “Firstly,” the laird said. “I will thank you for summoning us. For not leaving Wilkie to die.”

      This surprised me. I wasn’t used to receiving thanks from anyone, especially a man of Laird Mackenzie’s station. But my small satisfaction at the redress was short-lived. I knew that as soon as he learned that I had been the one to injure Wilkie, the laird’s gratitude would most certainly give way to anger and hostility.

      “I could not have left him to die. Not when it was my fault—”

      “We’ll get to that in a moment,” the laird said. “Tell me first, where do you hail from?”

      “Clan Ogilvie.”

      “Ogilvie? You’ve traveled far, alone. We can arrange for you to be returned to your clan.” He paused. “Once our brother has healed.”

      “I cannot return to Ogilvie,” I said.

      The two men exchanged glances.

      “What reason do you have for running from your clan?” asked the laird. “’Tis a dangerous course of action, leaving yourself alone and unprotected.”

      They awaited my response.

      “I’m the adopted daughter of an Ogilvie clan landholder, Oliver Ogilvie. I was skilled in horticulture, and was training as an apprentice healer. I was valued as a gatherer, gardener and provider of medicinal herbs. For a time. Upon my parents’ deaths, I was relegated to kitchen duties. I carried them out dutifully for the most part. But, more recently—”

      “Why were you reassigned?” interrupted Laird Mackenzie. He knew, as I did, that it was unusual for a clanmember to change positions in the household; usually a demotion was the result of misbehavior of one sort or another.

      “I—” This was somewhat difficult to answer. “I believe he reassigned me because I refused certain...proposals. See, the laird intended...other duties. Which I wasn’t willing to perform. I didn’t set out to, but—” I faltered.

      It was true that I might have possibly been putting myself at risk admitting the details of my story to these powerful brothers. But I was no longer acting purely in the interest of self-preservation. I wanted to see Wilkie again, soon. And from the little I did know about the Mackenzies, I suspected they valued integrity and honor. And so did I. I had committed crimes, aye, but not out of spite or malice. Only because I had been provoked by a bully who had carried out unspeakable wrongs against my family. I could lie to these brothers or tell them half-truths. But I knew them, so far, to be curious, forceful and very thorough. They also had every power over the decision of my fate and whether or not I would be allowed to return to Wilkie. And that, above all else—to be hereafter denied his presence—terrified me.

      “But what?” Kade prodded.

      “I—I retaliated.”

      “Retaliated?”