Alex snorted. A moonbeam. Ach, that would be a useful gift. Now, if it was a sword, well, a man could always use another good sword.

“’Tis no a sword,” Teàrlag said, snapping her eyes open. “This is an important gift, and ye must fetch it. Now go!”

They left Ilysa with Teàrlag, who was teaching her the old remedies. Duncan had forbidden his sister from training with the old seer, but Ilysa was one of the few creatures on God’s earth who was not intimidated by him.

“That was even stranger than usual,” Alex said, as soon as they were outside the cottage. “But I hope ye noticed that Teàrlag did not foresee a marriage for me.”

“I want Duncan looking for a wife as well while ye are at the rebel gathering,” Connor said, undeterred.

“He won’t,” Alex said. “Duncan still loves your sister.”

“Moira’s married,” Connor said. “’Tis time Duncan forgot her and found a wife.”

“He won’t.”

“We shall all do what we must to protect the clan,” Connor said.

Connor was sounding more like a chieftain all the time.

“And Alex, ye have a bad habit of attracting women ye shouldn’t,” Connor said. “Try not to make us any new enemies while you’re gone—we have enough to spare already.”

CHAPTER 6

DUART CASTLE, ISLE OF MULL

Glynis pulled the hood of her cloak low over her face as she and her father entered the castle’s courtyard, which was already crowded with guests. The MacNeils of Barra and the Macleans of Duart had a long friendship, and she had been to Duart Castle many times. But this was her first large clan gathering since the end of her marriage.

When the Maclean chieftain saw her father, he broke away from his other guests to greet them. “Chieftain MacNeil, I welcome ye once again to my home.”

Not many people made Glynis uneasy, but Lachlan Cattanach Maclean, otherwise known as Shaggy, was one. She was accustomed to fierce warriors, but Shaggy was unpredictable. In truth, she thought him a little mad.

“I had to leave my wife at home, as she is with child,” Glynis’s father said.

“A wife who does her duty by providing her husband with children,” Shaggy said, “is the only kind of wife worth keeping.”

Glynis wasn’t sure if Shaggy meant to insult her or his current wife, Catherine Campbell.

“As ye can see, I brought Glynis instead,” her father said. “I’m hoping to find her a new husband.”

Glynis ducked her head still lower, though what she wanted to do was kick her father.

“Your daughter has grown shy,” Shaggy said.

Her father coughed.

“Not beating up the lads like ye used to?” Shaggy said to her. “Just stabbing them, aye?”

“Only when provoked,” she murmured while Shaggy laughed, and her father rammed his elbow into her side.

“If my wife, the earl’s daughter,” Shaggy said with sarcasm so heavy it scraped the floor, “would lower herself to greet my guests, I’m sure she would show ye the chamber set aside for the visiting lasses.”

“Glynis can find it,” her father said. “We’ll visit with the other guests in the hall first.”

Glynis had barely set foot in Duart Castle, and already she was counting the hours until they left. Once inside the keep, they stood at the entrance to the hall surveying the noisy room. Many clans were represented, judging by the number of men dressed in the saffron shirts and fine wool plaids of highborn clansmen.

“The young chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat is an elusive man,” her father said, his voice rasping with displeasure. “It doesn’t appear he has come.”

“You shouldn’t have either, da,” Glynis said. “Joining this rebellion was a mistake, and ye should quit it now.”

“Did I ask your advice, daughter? These are no matters for women to decide.”

“Please, da,” Glynis said, and pulled at his arm. “Don’t agree to do anything more.”

Preventing her father from becoming more deeply involved in this rebellion was the sole reason she’d agreed to come to the gathering without being bound and gagged.

“Your chances of catching a chieftain are poor now,” her father said, his eyes traveling the room. “If ye had proven yourself a good breeder, it might be different.”

Glynis told herself that her father didn’t realize how his harping on her failure to conceive was like a blade in her heart. It was the only way she could forgive him for it.

“Remember,” he said, “‘Honey may be sweet, but no one licks it off a briar.’”

Glynis sucked in her breath.

“What is it?” her father asked.

Her hands shook as she smoothed her skirts and tried to gather herself. Her former husband, Magnus Clanranald, the man who had humiliated and shamed her, was in the hall. She hadn’t laid eyes on him since the night she left him. As usual, Magnus was giving his full attention to the breasts of a buxom lass who was on his lap.

“I didn’t know Magnus would be here,” her father said, following her gaze.

Her face burned, and her eyes stung. She should have stuck her blade into Magnus’s black heart when she had the chance.

“I don’t believe ye,” she said. “Ye knew damned well Magnus would be here.”

Glynis turned and bolted out of the keep.

*  *  *

“How did Connor convince us to visit Shaggy Maclean?” Alex eyed Duart Castle looming ahead of them on a rock cliff.

Duncan was playing his whistle and didn’t trouble himself to respond. It was a sad tune, of course.

“I hope the accommodations are better than on our previous visit,” Alex said. The last time they were at Shaggy Maclean’s castle, they were prisoners in his dungeon.

Duncan tucked his whistle inside his shirt. “Then keep your distance from Shaggy’s wife this time.”

“Ye can’t blame that on me,” Alex said. “She took advantage of me when I was weak from the beating they gave me. I hadn’t the strength to resist her.”

“Ye never have the strength to resist a willing lass.”

“Willing? I thought the woman would eat the meat off my bones,” Alex said. “And ye owe me thanks, for she did help us escape Shaggy’s dungeon.”

“We would have found another way out,” Duncan said. “We always do.”

“Shaggy’s wife is a Campbell,” Alex said to annoy Duncan. “I should do my part to bring us closer to such a powerful clan.”

Shaggy had wed the Campbell chieftain’s sister in a bid to bring peace between their clans. The two hated each other, however, which just went to show that marriage was a poor basis for forming an alliance.

That made Alex think of Glynis MacNeil’s disastrous marriage. In truth, he thought of Glynis surprisingly often. She was a damned intriguing woman, though not his sort at all. He liked women with easy natures—and easier virtue.

“Why don’t ye just get a mistress like a normal man?” Duncan asked.

Alex made a face. “Ach, no. A mistress can become too much like a wife.”

He had seen that happen too many times. As a lad, it was always his shoulder they wept on when his father sent them away. Alex used to warn the women, but it was no use. After a few months, they always expected a permanent arrangement of one kind or another.

“At least I like the women I bed. I even talk to them—something ye might try,” Alex said. “Do ye ever speak to your mistress, other than to say ‘pass the fish’ and ‘take your clothes off’?”

“Time to lower the sails, lads,” Duncan called out to the other men. “Take an oar.”

Unfortunately, they couldn’t arrive at Shaggy’s in the boat they stole from him, so they were sailing one of the war galleys. Though it was large enough to carry fifty warriors, Connor had been able to spare only the eighteen needed to man the oars.

“I expect Rhona believes that behind all that silence you’re thinking deep thoughts about her,” Alex said, as he leaned on the rudder. “You’ve had her in your bed for months, and yet ye wouldn’t care if she left tomorrow, would ye?”

“I don’t mind her.” Duncan shrugged. “We meet each other’s needs, and she doesn’t cause a fuss like your women do.”

“Meet each other’s needs.” Alex snorted. “That sounds like a fine time.”

“Rest your oars,” Duncan called out, and they glided into shore below the castle.

*  *  *

Alex was already bored listening to the men who were gathered in the castle courtyard. As always, there was a lot of pointless talk about returning to the glory days when half the Highlands answered to the Lord of the Isles, rather than to the King of Scotland.

For a hundred and fifty years, the Lord of the Isles had been the leader of all the branches of the Clan MacDonald and their vassals, which had included the Macleans, the MacLeods, the MacNeils, and the rest. Under the Lordship, the clans had followed old Celtic law and customs. That part had not changed much—they still ignored Scottish law and directives from the church in Rome, except when convenient.

But it had been more than twenty years since the Lord of the Isles had been forced to submit to the crown. Without a single leader, the clans fought among themselves all the time. That did not, however, keep them from rising against the Crown again and again.

“We’ll burn Inverness!” one young man shouted, clenching his fist in the air.

“Not again.” Alex sighed and turned to Duncan. “How many times has Inverness been burned?”

“Some men are practicing in the field behind the castle,” Duncan said. “Since we may fight these rebels one day, let’s see how good they are.”

As Alex and Duncan entered the field, the men halted their practice. Twenty pairs of hostile eyes fixed upon them.

“What are the MacDonalds of Sleat doing here?” one man said loud enough for all to hear. He was a MacLeod warrior with a long scar down the side of his face.

“We’re not your enemies,” Alex said.

“Then why has your clan not joined the rebellion?” another man asked.

“Because we’re just brimming with goodwill to all,” Alex said, spreading his arms out.

Most of the men laughed and that might have been an end to it, if not for a young man with a weedy beard and weasel eyes.

“I say the MacDonalds of Sleat refuse to join us because they are poor fighters.” The man paused, then added, “Or else they are just cowards.”

“That’s it,” Duncan said, as he unsheathed his claymore. “Who’s first?”

“I’ll fight ye,” the same fool said, and stepped forward to meet Duncan.

“Who’s next?” Alex whipped out his sword—he couldn’t let Duncan defend the honor of the clan alone. “How about you with the ugly face?”

As Alex fought the MacLeod warrior, he watched the other fight out of the corner of his eye. Duncan fought with his usual cool control. His opponent was red-faced and cursing as he fell back, again and again, under the pounding assault of Duncan’s claymore. In no time, the man was flat on his back with Duncan’s foot on his chest and the point of Duncan’s sword just beneath his weedy beard.

After Alex and Duncan defeated three or four opponents each, tempers cooled, and the other men resumed their practice as if nothing had occurred.

“That felt good,” Alex said, as he and Duncan rested against the castle wall. They watched the others, commenting in low voices on their skill or lack of it.

But then Alex’s attention was caught by a woman who came out of the castle gate. She made an abrupt turn and walked toward them at a furious pace with her head down.

“Is that Glynis MacNeil?” Duncan asked.

“Aye. What in the hell is she doing out here alone?” There were other women at the gathering, but they had the sense to stay inside the keep or stick close to their men.

Alex caught her arm as she charged past him.

“Ye can’t go—” The words dried in his mouth. He’d forgotten what an impact her face had on him. He tried telling himself that she wasn’t any more beautiful than a hundred women he knew—but there was something about her that stole his thoughts away.

Glynis was staring right back at him with her luminous gray eyes. Though he knew it was a mistake, he let his gaze drop to her mouth. Her lips were parted. The memory of that kiss on the beach sang through his body, bringing everything to full attention.

Alex gave himself a mental shake. He couldn’t let that happen again.

“You look upset,” Alex said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But then she glanced back toward the gate, and the color drained from her face.

A heavily muscled warrior with a full black beard and black eyes to match had just come into the field. He had his claymore strapped to his back and looked as if he meant to join the practice. But when his gaze fell on Glynis, he stopped in place. The tension running between the two of them was as palpable as a taut rope holding a sail in a storm.