Prologue

Gunn Country

The Highlands—1632

Two days after his twelfth birthday, his mother died of a sudden stomach ailment and took with her the last thin thread of his identity. Now, the day of her funeral, he sat stiffly on a stout oak chair in the library at Killearnan. His companion since cradle days, Dubh, a huge, dark gray Scottish deerhound, lay stretched at Gerek Gunn’s feet, large head upon paws, and gazed at his master’s face. Gerek patted the dog for comfort.

The candlelight surrounding the wooden casket shimmered and swayed. The light reflected off the room’s stone walls but did not soften the angles and planes of his mother’s bold Scottish face. He looked at the shrouded woman, pale and motionless against the white cotton lining. She no longer resembled the spirited woman he knew. Alone, he grieved but did not weep over his mother’s passing.

What was he to do? Where could he go? Back to the desolate hut at the edge of the keep? Fearful of the future, he ground his teeth and cried out to his inert mother. “How could you leave? You never told me about my father as you promised. I’m not ready to be in this world without you.”

He drew in a powerful breath. It burst from him in a torrent of words. “Who was he? This father who was never father to me?” A single tear slipped to nestle at the edge of his mouth. He flicked the wetness with the tip of his tongue. He tried to halt the emotions raging through him, but her death had abandoned him. Her silence about his father had betrayed him. How could she leave him without a father, or even the name of one? He forced himself to breathe slowly. Somehow he’d get through this day, and the next. But never would he allow another woman to deceive him. His lanky body shook with despair. Trust a woman? Never!

Taps by a booted foot against the door scattered his thoughts. Dubh uttered a low growl. Gerek wiped his nose on the sleeve of his only clean shirt. “Enter.”

A serving girl whom he didn’t know slunk into the room without looking at him. With fitful movements, she put a cloth-covered tray on the table near the door and bobbed a curtsy.

“There’s nourishment for ye. To break yer fast.”

She skittered out the door and slammed it shut.

The smell of food turned his stomach. He went to the table where he removed the cloth, set the tray on the floor and gestured to the dog. “This shouldn’t go to waste. Go ahead, Dubh. You eat,” he said, moving to the tall windows of the cavernous room.

Dubh dashed to the tray and devoured the food. Just as the great dog finished and was licking his lips, he sank to the floor, thrashing in silent spasms of agony. Within seconds, the hound convulsed and lay still.

Gerek raced across the room. He stopped in mid-step. “Dubh. Dubh. Get up. No silly tricks today.” When the animal did not move, Gerek knelt and whispered, “Dubh, please. Get up.”

Nothing moved on the great dog. Gerek touched the deerhound’s neck. His friend was dead. He clasped the head and thick shoulders in his arms and dragged the body over his knees. Cradling the animal, Gerek rocked back and forth, consumed by sobs.

* * *

A day later, Harald Gunn, chief of Clan Gunn, summoned his grandson to the library. When the boy entered, Harald watched as Gerek’s eyes searched the room as if looking for his dog. The lad’s dark features and sturdy physique, the pure Norse stature, gave proof his grandson would surpass his own six feet. He smiled in welcome and motioned the lad toward a carved chair close to the fire.

Gerek slumped into the seat, asking, “Grandda, do you know who my father was?”

Harald hid his surprise. His self-restrained grandson suffered few trappings of polite society. “I’ll answer ye true, child. I have suspicions but dinna’ know for sure. Because of clan business, I never knew yer mother as well as I might have. After yer grandmother died, I could not deal with either of me daughters. Yer mother was wild, willful, with many secret yearnings.”

What happened to his eldest daughter? She spent nights away even when the lad was in his cradle, forcing Harald to send a deerhound pup for protection. The lad remained quiet, composed, too controlled for twelve. Had he understood the answer? Harald shook his head. It was too late to sorrow over things.

The cracking voice of a twelve-year-old intruded on his thoughts. “How could my mother leave me not knowing the name of my father?”

“She did, laddie. There’s naught to be done for it now.” He hoped the brusque comment would end the conversation. “What’s important now is the danger for ye here with none but meself to protect ye. Ye have enemies who might wish ye dead.”

 “Why? Why would anyone want me thus?” Gerek asked. “I’ve done nothing bad to anyone in the clan.”

“Aye, but what if yer father were someone of note? Would he somehow cause trouble for the Gunns? Our clansmen fear things they do not know.”

A wary expression furrowed Gerek’s brow. He slouched in his chair. “But Grandda….”

“I must speak with ye as if ye were full-grown. Yer uncles are dead. Only last week, we lost me youngest in a battle with the Keiths. Yer cousin Baen and ye are the last of the male line. One of ye must become Gunn or our line will die.”

Gerek’s mouth opened but he closed it. His gray eyes widened and he tilted his head toward Harald.

“Laddie, I canna’ keep constant watch over ye. Ye must leave here.”

Gerek flattened himself against the back of the chair. “What am I to do? Where am I to go?” His stomach muscles tightened. Sweat dampened his palms.

“Foster with a man who has recently gained his title. I’ve sent someone to make the arrangements.”

Gerek’s hands, slippery with sweat, were planted on the chair seat. He pushed himself upright and stared at his grandfather. Grandda didn’t look very well. His face was gray, and white hair mixed with black. His eyes were rimmed with sorrow. Why hadn’t he seen all this before? Grandda meant more to him than any other person.

“It pains me, laddie, but I will speak harsh words to ye. Ye came into this world a bastard. Ye’ll need to make yer way in this world. But ye’re brave and determined, a strong, towering lad for yer years. ‘Tis best ye become a warrior. Forge a reputation.”

Gerek scrutinized his grandda whose eyes were shiny from unshed tears, his shoulders bowed from worry. “A warrior?”

“’Tis not what I had in mind fer ye.” His grandda paused. “But if ye make yer name on the battlefield, bastard though ye be, ye’ll be welcomed everywhere in Scotland.” He placed a large hand on Gerek’s head and said softly, “’Tis time to leave, son, to find a place of yer own making. There’s none here can do it fer ye.”

Gerek cocked his head. “A warrior? Well, if you want me to be a warrior, then a warrior I’ll be. A brave one. Then I will be The Gunn.”

His grandfather nodded. “Also, ye are to marry before the end of yer thirtieth year. I’ve pledged with Angus MacFarr, the Earl of Crannog, whose wife we rescued from the Keiths.” He stood, stretched and walked to the windows.

“Marry?” Marrying meant nothing to Gerek. “I don’t understand.”

Glow from the departing sun streamed through the glass onto his grandda’s skin. “Ye dinna’ have to marry tomorrow, son. The child is newly born.” His grandfather smiled as he approached and grasped the back of a chair. “’Tis a promise I made with MacFarr when we rescued his wife this past week, the wee bairn in her arms. Gerek, ye know how I feel about promises. A man must honor them always.” His grandda’s gaze penetrated his own.

Gerek didn’t care about marrying. If he was to be a warrior, he might not live to marry anyone, or be Gunn either. Head down, he vowed, If I live, I will be chief of all the Gunns. Decision made, he laughed for the first time in weeks.

Grandda laughed with him. “Ye need not concern yerself with the pledge now, son. Make yer name and all will be well, I promise ye.”

* * *

 The next day, Gerek left for Kincardine Castle on the east coast of Scotland, home of James Graham the newly titled fifth Earl of Montrose. Gerek carried a small sack on his shoulder, filled with clothes and a few possessions. A five-month-old son of Dubh gamboled by his side. They crossed the long bridge, which separated the castle from the mainland, and followed a stocky man, named Niall Oliphant, who would remain with Gerek until he returned to Killearnan to be Gunn.

A flat, shiny black stone nearly tripped him at the end of the bridge. Gerek bent, grasped it in his fist and faced the castle, already lost in fog. He kissed the stone, touched it to his heart then placed it in a pocket of his short jacket.

He felt lonelier than ever before in his life as he trudged away from the only home he knew, Killearnan. He dare not look back, or he’d shatter into a thousand pieces. Life as he knew it was gone forever. Nothing would ever be the same. Nothing!

Chapter One

Fairloch Castle, the Highlands

Early spring, 1650

Her hands tied behind her, her feet trussed like a wild fox with a short piece of rope stretched between them, Catriona MacFarr was being led by the leash around her neck. She gagged then stumbled on the uneven flooring of Fairloch castle. William and Simon, her brothers, yanked her forward until she dug her heels in and said, “I’ll go no further. I have no wish to see our father like this.”

With a grunt of pleasure, William reached up, grabbed a hank of her hair and tugged. “Och, dear Cat. Do ye think to evade yer fate?” He elbowed her and she fell, hitting grimy stones with a thump. “Ye’re as dirty-looking now, after all yer fostering, as ye were when ye left.”

“There’s something about Fairloch that brings out dirt and slime. Perhaps, it’s the people.” She stared at him. He still treats me roughly. “Damned bully.”

He wheeled around, an ugly sneer on his face. “Ye damned sow. Ye dinna’ run things. And ye never will.” He winked at Simon. “Wait until ye meet yer betrothed. The Beast!” The two brothers chuckled and clutched each other in mock fun.

All Scotland knew of her betrothed, the Beast of Battle, whose brutal courage was legend. Her fear of the man was as great as her fear of her father, so harsh and cold-blooded were the rumors of the Beast’s exploits in battle.

Simon whined, “Father will be waiting. He’ll be angry.” He lifted Cat from the ground and set her on her feet.

“Simon, please, untie my ankles. I would greet our father standing square on my feet.” When Simon looked at William, Cat pleaded. “Och, please Simon. I beg of you. I do not wish to face Da like an animal ready for the pot. Please!”

A sly smile on his face, Simon took his dirk from its sheath at his waist, bent and cut her leg restraints. “There. Do not ask that yer wrists be untied.” He sheathed the dirk, took her arm and dragged her around the corner through an open door into the great hall of Fairloch.

Atop a platform at the front, her father the Earl of Crannog sat on a richly carved, heavily pillowed chair. Terror-stricken, Cat grew weak at the mere sight of him. He was dressed in the resplendent attire of the English gentry, clothes she’d never seen him wear before. They didn’t suit his short, stocky build nor his growing fat belly. Lace cascaded from his collar and the ends of his sleeves.

Six churlish men-at-arms surrounded him. Several more lounged on the steps near him. A plump blonde serving-girl preened and fluttered her eyelashes in the chair next to him. Cat scanned the room. Where was Mam?

“Och, my daughter comes as she left,” MacFarr croaked. “Dirty and disheveled. Why are ye tied, me dear?”

“I do not understand it myself. Let William explain. It was his choice.”

William reached out and forced her forward, pinching her arm with his thumb and forefinger. Cat straightened to her full height, until she was taller than her brothers, but her eyes remained riveted on her father. Still pinching, Will hurled her to the stone flooring in front of the dais as if touching her burned his fingers. Simon stood beside him, his sly smile intact.

Her father stood and crossed his arms over a flabby chest. “How little ye’ve changed. Well, daughter, come. Greet your laird.” A sneer creased his battle-scarred face. “Did ye not learn yer manners during yer banishment at Stoneleigh?” His guards and the blonde snickered, but MacFarr’s glare silenced them.

Cat nodded from where she was sprawled on the floor. “Milord.”

Directing his gaze to his sons, he ignored her. “William? Would ye care to explain, son?”

William moved closer to the dais. Cat watched him gaze at the floor, as if her actions had hurt his feelings. “She attacked me, Father. I had to take her dagger away, so I figured I’d best tie her hands.”

Through tight lips, Cat asked, “Then why were my neck and ankles tied?”

Simon mimicked his brother’s pose and furthered it by scuffing a boot along the stone flooring. “Father,” he whimpered, “she refused to come home, even when I told her it was ye who demanded it.”

“Well, Catriona? ‘Twas forever yer way to be defiant and disobedient. Tell me, why did ye attack me eldest son?”

She knew she could not defend herself against William, who was the image of her father and his pride. “Let William tell you the lies. He does it so well.”

“Still blaming yer brothers for grief ye cause! Who will ye blame next? The Beast?” MacFarr guffawed and slapped his leg as if he’d made a joke. “I doubt he will allow ye to misbehave. And ye’ll not do it here. At Fairloch, I forbid it!”

Unable to hide her mounting hurt, Cat pushed herself up onto all fours and countered rashly, “You forbid anything you don’t understand. You always have.”

William gulped and looked at Simon, who continued to study the stones beneath his feet. A smirk raced across his face and was gone instantly. The guards drew back from her father, whose scars stood out in bright, ruddy ridges. “Ye raised a hand against yer brother. Ye’ll be punished for that.”

Smiling with all the sweetness she could muster, but without looking at her father, she hastened to rise though her knees shook. “Isn’t that why you summoned me, Sir, after years of exile? To pay for whatever caused you to banish me?”

“Catriona,” Simon cautioned, his narrow face pale.

Cat’s heart pounded. Her legs wobbled in anticipation of her father’s next outbreak of fury. She should know better than to taunt him. She peered about the room, looking for Mam, who always protected her against the worst of her father’s wrath. Where was she? A chill shot through her. Alarmed for her mother, Cat returned her gaze to the dais and asked politely. “Sir, why hasn’t my mother come to greet me? Is she ill?”

Cat noticed her father looking first at the fair-haired girl then at his men and her brothers, but she waited patiently for a reply. Her dismay grew. She needed to know if her mother was well.

Her father glanced at the woman again. Her face, formerly adoring, now showed a tinge of fear. She shrank from him when he patted her head. MacFarr turned and strolled to the edge of the dais. “No one informed her of yer arrival. Ye’ll see her later.” With an imperious wave of his hand, he dismissed Cat. “This is the end of our talk. For now.”

Cat’s fear of her father brought a rosy flush to her face, but a pounding at the huge door of the hall released her tension. The door was flung open.

A round countrywoman, face red, charged into the room. “Cat? Catriona MacFarr?” she cried. Before anyone could respond, she shouted at the top of her lungs. “I’m here, lass. All safe and sound. I found me way jest like ye said.”

Cat heaved a sigh. “Och, Mag, ’tis glad I am to see you.”

Straightening her clothing, Mag looked around, found Cat and bustled over to her, then threw a well-muscled arm across her friend’s back, nearly knocking her over. “Why are ye tied? Ye’ve got a bruise on yer cheek. And yer arm. Where’s yer da?”

With a free hand, Mag shook her soiled cloak, scattering mud onto the dais. Chunks splattered the blonde wench, who took shelter behind a chair.

MacFarr opened his mouth in astonishment. “Who in the name of Lucifer are you?” Mud flew across his throne-like chair and he bellowed, “Do ye not see what ye’re doing, ye stupid slut?” He stepped back and raised his fist in fury.

Mag’s soft brown hair tumbled into her face. She bobbed a quick curtsy in MacFarr’s direction. With an abrupt toss of her head, she proclaimed, “I’m Mag, yer lordship. Miss Cat’s good friend.”

The earl laughed scornfully and gave the women a quick look. “Friend, is it? I sent me daughter to Stoneleigh to work in the scullery, not to make friends.” He glared at Cat. “This doesn’t end here, lass.”

A loathsome smile disfigured her father’s face, making blotches of his ragged scars. He gestured to two of his henchmen. “Gar, Roy. Take that creature somewhere and toss her.”

Two men stepped from the platform, grabbed Mag’s arms and lifted her off her feet.

“Dinna’ worry, missy. I can handle these wispy men,” she shouted, twisting and turning in every direction.

The treatment of her friend made Cat’s fear mount but she shouted above the tumult. “Please! Put her down.”

MacFarr turned in Cat’s direction and snapped, “Ye’ll not be giving orders in this place, lassie. Save yer shouts and orders for the Beast. I’m sure he’ll appreciate them. I don’t!” He signaled his men to take the protesting maid out.

In an attempt to divert her father’s attention, Cat spoke, “Father, I do not want to marry the Beast. I was never asked nor did I ever agree. You can’t expect me to honor your pledge.”

The fury contained since her arrival caused MacFarr’s voice to crackle. “Ye’ll marry as I say, Catriona MacFarr. Ye’ll not have yer way in this.” His pitch escalated with each sentence he uttered. “Gave me word to The Gunn right after ye were born.” He grimaced as if some unbidden memory came into his mind, then he shrieked, “And, me dear daughter, ye’ll do as told!”

Although fright ran through her body, she no longer cared about provoking him. “I’ll not marry a man you choose. I have no desire to die in my marriage bed.”

“Those are brave words for a trussed up girl.” MacFarr lowered his voice. “A deed such as yer death could be done with ease.” He glowered at her and whispered in a threatening tone, “Pay heed, lass. Think you to stay my words or deeds with yer feeble protests? Beware, lassie.”

Cat whispered back, “My words of protest may indeed be feeble, but my mind is not. I will not marry the Beast of Battle.”

MacFarr coughed, a staccato bark filled with phlegm. “Do ye threaten me?” His muscles twitched in an effort to stay his rage. The skin around his scars turned bright purple. Pointing in the direction of the stairs, he snarled, “Go to yer room. I’ll deal with that tart tongue of yers later.” He scorched her with the fire in his eyes. “Still the ingrate ye were when ye left! Ye’ll be sobbing into yer pillow before this night is out.”

“Left? At eleven? You forced me to leave and forced me to return.” She didn’t understand why her father hated her so, other than the fact that he was hateful. She shuddered. I will not marry any man you choose for me!

MacFarr signaled to his guards. “Get her out of me sight! I can’t stand to look at her.” As guards moved closer to her, her father screamed loud enough to be heard throughout Fairloch. “Dinna’ leave yer room. Not for any reason. Ye stay there until I send for ye.”

Raising her hands, Cat waited until guards cut the ropes binding her wrists. Once free, she shrugged the guards off, held her palm up to stay them and went up the stairs to her room, alone.

The door to her room was wide open, half off its hinges. The same drab burlap hung limply at the window. Her dolls were piled in the corner against the cold stone wall. Dampness had turned them green and molded them together as they had been the morning of her leaving. The feelings of familiarity were strong, so powerful, they demanded she remember.

Tortuous scenes, prior to her banishment, raced through her mind; her father sneering in disgust, his snorted words.

“Ye’ve been the bane of me existence since yer birth. One look at yer flamin’ hair, yer mother’s milk soured. A lass from the village sustained ye.”

“I’m sorry for displeasing ye so mightily by me verra birth.”

“Ye’re going away,” he had said, shoving his face into hers.

“Away? Going? Where am I going, Father. Where?”

He had roared, “T‘hell, no doubt, lass.”

Cat groaned and grabbed a bedpost for support. A single tear splashed onto her cheek. What horrible deed had she done so that her father couldn’t stand the sight of her?

Years ago, she had a desperate hunger to please him, to gain his love. When he finally engineered her leaving Fairloch to serve in the scullery at Stoneleigh Castle, she knew her efforts were in vain. Her father’s loathing no longer surprised her and, because of it, her anger festered like an open sore, for he still insisted she marry the most vicious, untamed barbarian in Scotland. The Beast of Battle. The very name sent shivers down her spine.

She felt like a misfit, a changeling, exchanged by the fairies for a real child. Her height, her fair skin and her red hair made her the supreme misfit, for she looked like no other MacFarr she had ever seen. She hadn’t changed, her father had screeched at her. Well, she would surprise him. No longer was she the trusting lass he banned from Fairloch. He believed her pitiful plight today would find her wildly distraught upon her bed. He did not know her. He never had!

Revulsion at her father and the Beast he’d chosen for her husband grew within her. In all her years at Stoneleigh, the man she called father never contacted her or inquired about her welfare. Her mam had sent letters to her, in secret, but even they finally stopped coming. Whispering prayers for strength, Cat devised a plan, but she had to find her mam first. She’d talk to her about the upcoming nuptials. Then she would show the MacFarr change!

No one guarded her door, so she slipped out to search.

 * * *

 Any hope of discussing a way to end her marriage plans fled when she found her mother, secreted in an unused tower room on the third floor. The room’s single window lacked glass or curtain to deflect the Highland breezes that rolled in. Her mother stood by a shallow fireplace that, although lit, created little warmth. Clothes hung on her mother’s emaciated body. Her red hair, streaked with gray that matched the color of her pale skin, grew wild to her waist. Her once bright eyes were almost colorless, and she seemed not to recognize Cat.

“Mam? Mam, is it you?” Cat asked in a soft voice transfused with pain.

Recognition came slowly to the woman. Her eyes came alive and she whispered, “Aye, lassie. ‘Tis your mam herself, Evina MacFarr.” Her voice was hoarse, cracked, as if she seldom spoke. Yet her next words, “Catriona! My wee Cat,” were filled with love and joy.

Cat drew the frail woman into her arms and held her close. They swayed together, clutching each other as tightly as they could. Her mother coughed and pulled away. The ache in Cat’s stomach rose to her chest. “Oh, Mam. Are you ill? Has father….”

Cat’s heart hammered. Her breath caught. Pictures of her formerly vital mother flooded her memory, the happy days, the stories at night, the patient, soft words and caresses. That happiness ended after her eleventh birthday party. Her father ended it.

Cat led Mam to an oak chair close to the fire. “Here, Mam, sit by the fire.” Cat knelt at her feet, hugging her Mam’s legs as she had done as a wee bairn.

Mam patted Cat’s head. “Don’t fret, child. I did this to myself. Willfully, but ’tis a story for another time. I’ll just sit here and look at you. Remember, long ago, I told you that you’d be lovely to look at, with your russet hair and those glowing amber eyes. All spit and fire like a cat, my lassie was.” Her fingers spread through Cat’s long, thick hair. She sighed and kissed Cat’s temple.

Cat struggled to keep tears from falling onto Mam’s knees. “What has happened in my absence? Has father done this to you because he hates me?”

Mam’s lower lip trembled. “Hate you? Nae, lass. ‘Tis me he hates. I made it so. He gets caught up in useless feelings. About things he can’t change.” Her words drifted off. A deep sadness dimmed her pale eyes.

Cat stood. Every tenderhearted feeling she possessed was directed toward her mother. Only Mam had loved and protected her during the time a strange bitterness festered at Fairloch. How could her father and her two brothers not care for this gentle woman? Suddenly, in her mind, the Beast became one with her father. Was this how marriage left one?

“Mam?”

Evina smiled, then rose to pat Cat’s cheek. “You’re such a pretty lass.” The gesture was vague, the pat limp, then Mam whispered to herself, “I had a red-haired lassie once. Tall for her age, she was, and slender as a reed. Younger than you. A mere bairn.” Her face contorted. “I miss her.”

“But I’m here, Mam. ‘Tis me. Catriona. Wee Cat. Please, Mam.”

“Nae. MacFarr sent my Catriona away. She’ll return to marry, then go away again, dragged into the wilderness with a wild monster.”

“Mam, what has happened?” Cat made a decision swiftly. She would get her mother out of Fairloch. She’d have to get out first to make provisions. Dara! Their old nurse from the village. Dara Keith would help her. The idea of leaving took a tenuous hold on Cat. She’d settle somewhere, then she’d send for Mam.

Her father said she’d be lying on her bed, crushed by his anger. How wrong he was! Infused with a new energy, she hugged her mother tightly, while mentally exploring ways of fleeing the castle, her father and the Beast he expected her to marry. She would not marry such a one, a man so brutal in battle that his enemies feared him as they feared few other men in Scotland. Never!

Lost in thought, Cat jumped when Mam shook her and delivered a fearful warning. “Lass, ’tis best you leave this place. No happiness here. Truly, ’tis best. Before the MacFarr finds you.” Mam’s face flushed. “He’s not a nice man with women.” Her agitation increased. “Leave! Today! Now! Flee this cavern of hell! Go, quickly.”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Cat turned, raced down the stairs and burst into her room. Mag, the only friend she had in the world, was bent over the small bed and placing a coverlet on it.

“Mag,” Cat gulped before continuing. “I found my mother. Rather, what is left of my mother. Things are even worse than I expected. We’ll have to leave here. You’ll stay with my old nurse, Dara, until I can find a way to get my mother out of Fairloch. If I stay here, I’ll be forced to marry the Beast and have no say in my mother’s care.” Cat gasped, “She’s ill, so ill.”

Mag’s round face creased into a myriad of deep lines. “Slow down, missy. Tell me what the matter is. Speak slowly, please.”

Cat hesitated, breathed quickly and then spoke. “I found my mother. She’s in terrible condition. I can’t do anything for her now. Mag, our conversation was bizarre. One minute, she was my mam of old, the next, she didn’t recognize me. Then, all of a sudden, she shook me hard and insisted I leave Fairloch.”

“Tell me what must be done,” Mag said. Without waiting for an answer, she whirled into motion, stripping sheets from the bed, folding them and tying them into sacks. “Hurry, Cat. Drag some clothes from your trunk and throw them into one of these,” she said, holding the sacks aloft.

Frantically, they stuffed necessities into the two cloth pouches. They dressed in multiple outfits to pad themselves and to take as many goods as they could. Like fat peasant women, the two tiptoed down the back stairs past the kitchen. Once outdoors, they crossed the bailey and, just before the massive gate closed for the night, left the castle. In order not to look suspicious, they waved to the guards at the gate and, once in the woods surrounding the castle walls, they bolted for Dara’s home in the village.

At Dara’s joyful greeting, the two runaways breathed a sigh of relief. Dara’s faded red hair, peppered with gray, made her look like a sweet maiden lady, but the hair concealed a crafty brain. She quickly understood the import of their situation and took charge.

“This is what we’ll do. My sons will take Mag to my family’s home in Keith country. Cat, you must go in the opposite direction, toward Aberdeen, but you must be disguised even further.”

Cat smiled, marveling over Dara’s cleverness. “I’ll do whatever you suggest, Dara. But where will I go? I cannot stay long on the roads.”

 Dara ruffled Cat’s hair. “To an abandoned croft used by my nephew to graze his master’s sheep. But first, we have other things that must concern us. Sit right here, lassie.”

“What will happen to my mother? She’s ill and needs attention.”

“Do what I tell you, child. Sit. I’ll take care of your mother. Your father will want her looking well if he intends to marry you off. Don’t worry. Dara will take care of everything.” She patted Cat’s shoulder. “Sit.”

Clutching a sharp knife and seizing hank after hank of hair, Dara slashed Cat’s long tresses and hid the bright colored remains under a cap. She wrapped a long cloth around Cat’s full breasts and outfitted the girl in boy’s clothing. She packed provisions for Cat, Mag and her sons. While Mag held a candle, she drew directions to the croft on the ground with a stick. Darkness covered their departure from the house. They bid tearful good-byes and fled in opposite directions.

Cat realized her only hope of getting away safely lay in her ability to avoid recognition. She was tall enough to pass for a boy, and a boy would be safer on the country roads than a female. Cat smiled to herself as she felt her spirits lifting.

“I’ll have me an adventure. A real adventure,” she said aloud, frightened, but willing.

* * *

Late the following evening, Angus MacFarr paced the dais in the great hall. His right hand balled into a fist, which he held behind him. His gaze rested on the tall door at the entrance. Impatience to confront his daughter ate at him and soured his stomach. Their disputes disrupted the entire household, yet he enjoyed those encounters. Her peppery nature riled so easily, it made him laugh.

Yesterday, he hadn’t had a chance to voice his anger sufficiently before sending her to her room in disgrace, but he’d have his revenge. The Beast would see to it.

The door opened. Through narrowed eyes, he watched his only two legitimate sons walk across the grimy rushes. William, his short, stocky elder son, was a brutal bully whose happiness lay in the torture of others. Simon, who slithered four paces behind, was a taller, thinner version of his brother and an artful, scheming trickster. Their cruelty kept all around them fearful.

Angus wondered which one would stick a dagger in his back first, yet he shouted at them affectionately, “Well, lads? Where’s yer sister?”

William hesitated and looked at Simon, who tottered and wrung his hands. His voice quivered when he spoke to his father from behind William’s back.

“We went to fetch her as ye requested, sir.” Simon wheezed in a high-pitched nasal tone. “We knocked quite loudly. She refused to answer.”

Angus scratched his belly and yawned as if bored. “And?”

William puffed out his chest. “We broke the door down, sir. With our fists.” His broad chest deflated. “She wasn’t there.”

“Where is she?”

The brothers looked at each other and answered in tandem, one at a shout and the other in a whine. “We don’t know.”

Angus couldn’t believe what he heard. “Are ye telling me she left her room? After I had forbidden it?”

Anger overwhelmed him. He stamped about the platform. Had the twit really disobeyed his commands? Well, he would find her soon enough. He couldn’t allow himself to be made a fool of by a child. Had she seen her mother? What would Cat have done if she had? Anyway, it was time for Evina to come downstairs, fatten up before the wedding. She needed to look good for the guests he’d invited.

He fell into his pillowed chair, breath gone. Had the girl slipped away to avoid marrying Gerek Gunn, the foremost warrior of all Scotland? MacFarr vowed to find her, force the marriage in the hopes she’d suffer all the agony the man’s brutal reputation promised.

Shuffling in place and staring at his feet, Simon coughed then sniffled. “Her room was a mess. Things thrown all over.”

Angus leaned back, one foot beating a tattoo on the wooden floor. A new serving wench waited for him in his chamber. Eager to get to her, he snapped,” Where’s that stupid friend of hers?”

William’s lips twisted in a sneer. “She’s gone too, Father. We couldn’t find her either, not in the castle or on the grounds.”

Simon added, “Both gone. They just disappeared.”

Angus leaped to his feet and shook a forefinger at his sons. They stepped back. “Think. Where might they have gone, fools?”

“To Edinburgh,” William shouted in his overly robust manner.

“Back to Stoneleigh, if my guess is correct,” Simon said.

“The folks at Stoneleigh won’t keep her, if they know I want her here,” Angus countered, “but it’s a clever thought, son.”

A crafty smile lit Simon’s face. “What if she doubled back there and asked for Highland sanctuary? Ye never know.”

William shrugged in contempt. “She’s not smart enough for that.”

“Smarter than ye, Will,” Simon whispered, directing a wily smirk at his brother. His eyes grew large and innocent when he looked at his father again. “What would ye have us do, Da? We wish to please ye.”

MacFarr gripped the arm of his chair. He leaped to his feet. “Simon, go to Stoneleigh. See if she’s hiding there or in a nearby village. Stay at least a week. Maybe she’ll turn up.”

“And me, father?” William asked, his face crimson, his brow wrinkled in distaste. He puffed out his cheeks and glared at Simon. “What will I do?”

His inner anger boiling to the surface, MacFarr gestured wildly and screamed out orders. “Round up a dozen of our men. Scour the countryside. Go to our village. Question Cat’s old nurse, Dara Keith. Torture her if ye must but get an answer.” He hesitated to catch his breath. “Nae. Take twenty men. I don’t care who. Find the bitch!”

Staggering, he gasped and clutched his chest. That wretched lass would turn him into a lunatic. She’d embarrass him among his peers if this pledge were not met. He’d slay her before he let that happen. A thought occurred to him. If she were dead, then he would not have to worry about her or the Beast.

Frenzied, he screamed at his sons, who were still staring at him. “Go. Go, now! Fetch her. She’ll pay for this. When ye find her, chain the ungrateful slut! Bring her to me in irons.”

His screeches filled the castle with a high-pitched whine. He fell back into his chair, his face crimson, his breath short, his fury floating in the air. “Bring her here. She’ll never defy me again. I’ll beat her until she marries the Beast or dies. Go! Both of ye. Find her,” he whispered hoarsely. “Bring the bitch to me.”

 * * *

For days, the unusual exercise sapped Cat’s strength as she climbed boulders and forded streams. The thin air, high in the mountains, added to her discomfort. She felt as if her body might crumble and roll down the mountainside. Even her ears were tired from unusual sounds she’d heard on the way, sounds she hadn’t heard before.

Each time the sun peeked out from beneath the pink clouds, the sky seemed to vibrate. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep and too much sun. She raised an arm, almost too stiff to be lifted, to shade her eyes. Her head pulsated. Sweat ran from beneath her cap, over her eyebrows and down her face. Fear of meeting someone who might recognize her stopped her from removing her cap.

She panted as she climbed toward the top of this hill. According to Dara, the croft should appear on the other side of the rocky crest ahead. With a great spurt of energy, she reached it, looked into the valley and stood still, overcome by the incredible beauty below.

Heather spread in patch upon patch, stretching over piles of rocks, marking some sort of boundary. Thick woods hugged the edge of a clear loch and surrounded a meadow filled with wildflowers ready to bloom. The croft was tucked behind a small rise. Only the thatched roof and chimney were visible. The building seemed to stand guard over the meadow and loch.

“Dara was right. A hidden sanctuary in the woods.”

Across the loch, a dark, ominous escarpment was barely visible in the heavy fog that clung to its face. Intense gray and purple clouds gathered above it, giving indications an explosive Highland storm approached. In a hurry to get settled before the storm arrived, Cat moved on.

Her legs ached, but she raced down the bumpy, overgrown path to the cottage, anxious to seek refuge within its walls. She grasped the door handle and shoved the wood with her shoulder. The door flew open and she fell to her knees on the dirt floor of the main room. Giggling, she bent, kissed the ground and tossed her sack to one side.

The filth and grime she saw, and the musty smell, defeated her for a moment, but she shrugged. “I’ll just have to clean—before the storm arrives.” She chuckled. “Och, Catriona, you do get into trouble. And now you’re talking to yourself.”

Nothing mattered. She was away from Fairloch and safe. Her spirits soared. Grabbing a bucket sitting near the door, she rushed to the loch, talking to herself the entire way. “At least my escape went well. I’ll go to Aberdeen where I can find work. I’ll save money and get Mam out of the castle even if I have to break down the walls, and I won’t have to marry against my will.” At the loch, she scooped water into the bucket. “It’s time to clean up, Catriona.”

Again and again, she dragged water up the wee hill to the cottage. She scrubbed, dusted and piled logs. Each time she left the cottage to fill the bucket, she had the sensation she was being watched. The last time, she felt sure. But who? Could men from Fairloch have followed her? Picked up her trail somehow? Not this soon, she thought. But her father would never give up. Perhaps her escape had been too easy.

Premonitions spread cold fear through her and it was getting late. “I’ll have to stay alert tonight.” She stamped her foot. She was unnerved, that’s all. Hadn’t she made it this far all by herself? Too tired to fret, she filled the pail and tramped back to the safety of the cottage.

Dusk fell. The moon came up and slid behind dark-gray rushing clouds. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and a candle glowed brightly on the lone table. The food Dara gave her had filled her stomach and calmed her down. Now, all she needed to end her day was a good wash. Exhausted and half-asleep, she shuffled outside, the bucket swinging by her side. She crooned, “One more bucket, just one more bucket, a bucket of cool water.”

The wind felt invigorating and she welcomed it after the heat inside. A rustling sound, like footsteps on leaves, came from the nearby woods then stopped. Within seconds, the weather had shifted drastically. The wind howled, chilling her, penetrating her jacket, even the cloth wrapped around her chest.

She refused to give way to fears of being alone in such a desolate area and dipped the bucket in the loch again. The uneasy feeling of someone watching returned, chilling her further. She shivered. The clouds overhead grew darker. Never left alone in the Highlands, Cat panicked when thunder rolled and lightning streaked the sky with color.

Her body trembled. Her teeth chattered. She dropped to her knees and prayed. “Please don’t let anyone from Fairloch come here. Or some murdering thief.” She stood and tore back to the cottage, the half-full bucket tight against her chest, its water sloshing over her.

She entered the cottage and slammed the door firmly. There was no lock, only a rusted latch, which she fastened. She breathed deeply to calm herself and did the only things she could think to do. She changed out of her wet clothing. Thank goodness, her trousers were dry. Changing her clothes gave her an idea.

Using the things in her sack, she made a large mound in the corner bed and covered it with one of the blankets she’d found in the cupboard and cleaned. She took a chair from the table, placed it in the darkest corner of the cottage and with her dirk in her hand, she blew out the candle and sat. She waited.

 * * *

Moments after the hanging of the Earl of Montrose, Gerek Gunn fled the city of Edinburgh, his black stallion pounding beneath him and his deerhound, a great-great grandson of Dubh, running at his side. Covenanters chased his arse for miles into a secretive, fog-filled forest. The last of them had vanished in the mist after Dubh and he went in different directions and he continued on his way—to home.

A day later, hungry as a bear and bone tired, he paused to get his bearings and spotted the deserted croft hidden behind sturdy trees. The cottage had easy access to water and a meadow filled with tall grasses for the horse. It would be a perfect place to wait for Dubh, who had taken a different route. The dog would track him as he had always done.

Gerek hid in the woods and watched. A young lad dashed into the building, and he damned the person who had settled into the place he thought his for the taking. Well, no matter. He would make his neighbor’s acquaintance in the dark of night, if necessary. In the meantime, he needed to keep the horse quiet so he let him forage in a concealed clearing.

By nightfall the weather changed, adding a new dimension to his problems. Fury had painted the sky in deep purples, grays and blacks. A tempest blew in over the cliffs, and a biting wind howled over the darkened meadow. Rain pelted sections of the loch before shifting direction and heading for the croft and the woods. Gerek placed his gear near a large tree and covered it with a heavy cloth and branches to keep out the rain. Dubh hadn’t appeared but his master couldn’t wait any longer. The dog would stay close to the stallion, anyway.

Darkness descended. Time to meet the lad. Gerek turned the stallion loose in the meadow and crept toward the cottage on elbows and knees, head low, shoulders moving in rhythm. The friar’s robe he wore as his disguise in Edinburgh caught on a sharp rock. He yanked it loose, shredding one sleeve.

Near the building, he removed his boots and stood. He inched his way to the entrance, keeping his back to the cold stone. He slid a twig inside, lifted the door latch and caught it before it clicked back into place. He peered about, heard nothing and eased his large frame into the main room.

He waited until his eyes became accustomed to the dimness. From the glow of dying coals, he scanned the room, noticing the lumpy form on the narrow bed. His body tensed. Something didn’t feel right to him. His bare feet slid along the damp floor as he approached the bed.

He reached out to touch the lad, give him a shake. “Hold fast, laddie. ‘Tis a foolish habit to sleep too soundly in the dark of night.”

About Dorice Nelson

With a B.F.A in Theatre, an M.A. in English and having taught English in secondary schools for 18 years, I never dreamed that teaching English would be easier than writing it. I never dreamed I’d write a novel. But I have and I’m loving it.

An early retirement from teaching and a wonderful move to the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York where I lived with my attorney husband (also an author) offered grand solitude and a need for an all-encompassing goal. I selected novel-writing as a new challenge, never realizing the difficulties involved. I charged into the world of writing with both feet. Now, I freely admit it’s the most difficult, yet satisfying, career of my life.

I sold my very first novel, The Gunn of Killearnan, now retitled as Clan Gunn: Gerek, a historical, romantic adventure, set in 1650 Scotland during the time of the War of the Covenant (Bishop’s War). Along with excellent reviews, the novel received awards and became a finalist in several national contests. Unlawful, now retitled as Lost Son of Ireland, another historical romantic adventure is set in 852 Ireland, when Norse raids were numerous. The book came out in January 2002 to outstanding reviews, great sales and an Award of Excellence. My third book, Saratoga Summer-1863, the beginning of a series about the five Irish O’Malley brothers has also received fantastic reviews and nominations in some fine contests.

Now, the husband and I have moved again, to small Hudson Valley Village near my beloved Saratoga. We have a small house, some acreage and two rescued English Setters to complete our lives. Our books were out of print but have just been picked up by the Cambridge Books Division of Write Words, Incorporated. They are being revised, reedited and reissued.

For further information, go to:

http://www.DoriceNelson.com

http://www.cambridgbooks.us 

http://www.ebooksonthe.net.

Or send e-mail to Dorice Nelson