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  Copyright © 2017 by Mary Wine

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Shane Rebenscheid

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  A Sneak Peek at Highland Flame

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  One

  1578

  “Ye’re a fool,” Robert MacPherson grumbled. “And likely to get us both lashed.”

  Katherine Carew didn’t offer him even a hint of remorse. She settled herself on top of her horse, confidence shining in her midnight-blue eyes. “I’ve trained as hard and as long as ye have.”

  “Yes, but ye’re—” Robert clamped his lips shut and took a hasty look around to make sure no one was listening. “Ye’re a woman now.”

  And Robert was a man. Katherine found the new element in their relationship curious, and she didn’t care for the change. It threatened to upset the balance of her life—an existence that she liked very much. So she fixed him with a hard look, determined to change his thinking. “You are the one who suggested I start wearing a kilt in the first place.”

  Robert frowned. “I was young and a damned fool.”

  His eyes lowered to where she’d bound her breasts. His lips thinned and his jaw tightened, sending an unexpected sensation through her. It was slightly unsettling because Robert was her friend and compatriot. Yet he had taken to spending more time with the older men. She didn’t dare venture too close when he was with them for fear they would realize her game. Dressing contrary to her gender was a sin, an argument against what God had decided she would be.

  “We’re going raiding,” Robert insisted in a low voice. “It is no place for a…for ye.”

  “Ah, let the lad be,” Bari spoke up from where he was securing his saddle. The burly MacPherson retainer peered over at them, his face covered by a thick beard. “If he pisses himself, he’ll jump in the river before we return home, and he can share his whisky with us so we all don’t tell the tale.”

  There was a round of laughter from the men close enough to listen in, proving that Katherine and Robert’s words were very much in danger of being overheard. Robert went still in a way she’d never seen before. Katherine actually felt the bite of fear as she realized he was considering unmasking her.

  He was her only friend, and the betrayal cut her deeply.

  Well, she was going.

  Katherine made sure the straps of her saddle were tight. She took a great deal of pleasure in the fact that she knew as much about preparing a horse for riding as every one of the men surrounding her. That would certainly not be the case if she’d been raised in England.

  Her old life was only a memory now, hidden behind her adventures in the Highlands. She smiled as she recalled the many things she’d done at Robert’s side while disguised as a boy. She gripped the side of the saddle, making ready to mount.

  But a hard hand dug into the back of her jerkin and lifted her into the air.

  “What?” Katherine was startled, or she wouldn’t have spoken because her English accent persisted. More than one head turned in her direction as she landed and found herself looking up into the eyes of Marcus MacPherson, war chief of Clan MacPherson.

  “I told her she should nae go.” Robert was quick to assign blame to her.

  Marcus had braced himself between her and the horse. The war chief was huge and stood considering her from a position she’d seen too many times to count while she trained under his command in the yard. Of course, he thought she was a boy, which made Robert’s choice of words very bad.

  Very, very bad.

  “You clearly did nae tell her firmly enough.” Marcus shifted his full attention to Robert. “There will be a reckoning owed when we return, sure enough.”

  Robert bristled as more men came to witness his chastisement. “She’s the one who will no’ listen to good sense.”

  “Agreed,” Marcus said. “Which is why ye should have pulled her off her horse as I just did, since it was you who brought her into me training yard six years ago.”

  Katherine gasped. She hated the way the sound came across her lips because it was so…well, so feminine. The men were frowning at her, clearly disapproving.

  She shook her head and leveled her chin. “I have trained, and I am as good as many a man standing here.”

  “Ye are a woman,” Marcus stated clearly. “And ye do nae belong riding out with us when we are going to needle the Gordons.”

  “It isn’t a real raid,” Katherine protested, but she kept her tone civil. She would always respect Marcus for teaching her to defend herself. “Just a bit of fun.”

  “Aye,” Marcus agreed. “And yet, not as simple as that. Men get their blood up when they are testing one another’s nerve. It is no place for a woman, even less so for a maiden.”

  “Ye see?” Robert said. “I told ye.”

  “But ye did nae make certain she could nae venture into danger. That’s the difference between a lad and a man.” Marcus spoke softly, which only gave his words more weight. “It’s past time for ye”—he pointed at Robert—“to recognize that a little lass like Katherine has more to lose if our luck does nae hold. As a MacPherson retainer, I expect ye to make sure the women are taken care of. That’s the real reason they respect us, no’ simply for the sake of our gender.”

  Marcus shifted his attention back to Katherine, and she felt the weight of his disapproval. “Ye could be raped and ruined.”

  “My reputation is already ruined because I am here,” Katherine protested.

  “That is no’ the same thing at all,” Marcus informed her in a steely voice. “And I hope to Christ ye never discover the truth of the matter. For tonight, ye’ll take yerself back inside, and I will deal with ye when I return.”

  Marcus’s word was law on MacPherson land. Only his father and his brother, Bhaic, might argue with him, and Katherine wasn’t dense enough to think either of them would disagree. So she lowered her chin and bit her lip. It earned her a soft grunt from Marcus before he moved back toward his horse.

  Then the muttering started.

  “English chit…”

  “More trouble than we need…�
��

  “Damned English always think themselves better than Scots…”

  Men she’d thought of as friends suddenly turned traitor, calling her “English” as though she had only recently arrived on their land.

  She’d truly thought her feelings dead when it came to the subject of her blood. The rush of hurt flooding her proved her wrong.

  Well, that was foolish.

  And she would have none of it.

  Her father’s blue, noble blood was a curse, and she’d learned the burden of it by the time she was five. His legitimate wife detested her because of the cost of the tutors needed to educate her and the dowry she’d require. She’d been abducted because of that dowry and nearly wed at fourteen.

  Marcus MacPherson had taken her into the Highlands instead. It had seemed to be the perfect solution. So far removed from England and her family, there was no one to tell her what she must be. She had been free.

  Even from her gender.

  Katherine lifted her chin because even after mounting, the MacPherson retainers were still considering her. She refused to crumble. Training among them as a lad, she’d learned to keep her tears hidden, and she’d be damned if she’d show them any now. A stable lad suddenly came up and tried to take her horse.

  “I’ll tend to my own mount,” she informed him, making sure her voice carried. “As I always have.”

  Katherine didn’t wait to see what those watching made of her words. She reached up and ran a confident hand along the muzzle of her horse before she turned and started to lead it toward the stable.

  Indeed, she took care of herself, and that brought her much-needed relief from the sting of her bruised emotions.

  * * *

  “What do ye mean by that?” Helen Grant demanded.

  Marcus eyed his wife, crossing his arms over his chest and facing her down, as was his fashion. Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Ye heard me clearly, Wife.”

  Helen scoffed and settled her newest babe into its cradle before she turned on him while pulling the laces on her dress tight. “What I heard was that ye seem to think what a woman does with her day is easier to learn than a man’s lot.”

  Marcus frowned. “Do nae go twisting me words.”

  “I should have had charge of her years ago if ye wanted her trained properly in the running of a house,” Helen continued. “Ye are the one who allowed her to be a lad.”

  “And for good reason,” Marcus answered back. “She’s English. Ye know how often ye have heard curses against her kin, and I assure ye, I have heard three times as much because the men do tend to mind their tongues around the women in the hall.”

  Helen had finished closing her dress and settled her hands on her hips. “As I said, I do nae know what ye expect me to do with her now that ye’ve let her run wild for the past six years. She’s twenty now.”

  “I know.” Marcus’s control slipped, allowing his exasperation to bleed through into his tone. “She’s a woman, and yet she was intent on riding out with us last evening.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Helen replied. “Why is it a concern now?”

  Marcus’s jaw tightened, and his wife read his expression like a book. There was no point in trying to keep the matter to himself. He let out a soft word of Gaelic.

  “We went out and lifted some of the Gordons’ cattle.”

  His wife stiffened. The Gordons hated the MacPhersons and would spill blood if they could. Old Laird Colum Gordon wanted vengeance for the death of his son, Lye Rob, and the old man didn’t seem to care that Bhaic MacPherson had killed Lye Rob with good reason. Lye Rob had stolen Bhaic’s new wife, Ailis, and no Highlander worth his name was going to let a man get away with that. Nothing seemed to matter to the old laird of the Gordons except vengeance.

  Marcus knew he was playing with fire by going anywhere near Gordon land. Needling the local clans was one matter; going onto Gordon land was another altogether because it might get him killed. His wife was going to tear a strip off his back for chancing it.

  “Damn ye, Marcus,” Helen berated him. “So, ye are still acting like a child?” She pointed at their son. “And what will become of the children I bear ye if ye get yer throat slit?”

  Marcus only lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Ye know it will nae come to that. The Grants took some of ours last month. It’s just a bit of fun.”

  Helen made a soft sound. “With the Gordons, it is very different. Which is why ye do nae want Katherine along. Do nae think to pull the wool over me eyes.”

  Marcus opened his arms in exasperation. “Aye!” He snorted. “There, I’ve agreed with ye. And ye would have a place if I were to pay for me choices in blood, so do nae insult me by asking such a question. Now tell me ye will take her in hand.” He made a motion with his hand. “And teach her…what a woman should be doing with her time.”

  Helen wasn’t pleased, and as she looked at her baby, worry creases appeared at the corners of her eyes.

  “I love ye, Helen, but ye know full well what manner of man I am.” He pulled her close, wrapping her in his embrace. She settled for just a moment, inhaling the scent of his skin before she pushed against his chest and he released her.

  “Aye, well,” Helen said softly. “At twenty years of age, Katherine has decided what sort of woman she is as well. Something ye have allowed. Now ye expect me to be the one to destroy her world?”

  Marcus’s expression tightened as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll have words with her.”

  * * *

  “The laird is asking to see ye, mistress.”

  Katherine had been expecting the summons. It was a relief, in a way, to have the matter at hand, and yet she felt her belly twisting as she rose and followed Cam through the passageways toward the laird’s private solar. For all that Cam had spoken softly, there were plenty in the great hall who noted what was happening.

  From the moment the sun rose, Katherine had felt the weight of everyone’s judgment. She’d seen such treatment before and realized it had its uses because it maintained order inside the clan. Those who transgressed learned it would not be tolerated, and being shunned was their fate until they made recompense.

  Justice.

  They all relied upon the laird for that, and she was expected to comply as well.

  At least that idea restored some of her composure. The MacPherson clan still viewed her as their own, or something close. She truly didn’t want to think about any alternative, so she followed Cam willingly enough. The laird of the MacPherson clan was waiting for her behind a desk. Shamus had a full head of gray hair and a beard to match. A portrait hung behind him, depicting him several decades before when his hair had been as dark as his son Bhaic’s.

  “Aye, I was a young man once.” Shamus proved that his eyesight wasn’t failing by noting her interest.

  Katherine lowered herself and straightened back up while the laird contemplated her. He was tapping a finger on the top of his desk. Marcus and Bhaic framed him on either side, proving the gravity of the moment.

  “As foolish too,” Shamus concluded in a voice crackled with age.

  “Hardly foolish to learn to defend myself.” In the back of Katherine’s mind was the memory of a time when she’d been taught to hold her tongue in the presence of men and her betters. It was too dim to hold back her impulse, though.

  Shamus snorted and slapped the tabletop. “From a lad, I’d no’ have to take exception to that comment.”

  “I don’t see why it matters that I am a female.” Katherine shifted her focus to Marcus. “I can best half the boys with a rapier.”

  “But ye can nae carry one or risk reprisal from the Church,” Shamus said gravely. “A fact ye surely know, lass, or ye’re daft.”

  Katherine closed her mouth and nodded a single time.

  “Me son Marcus trained ye because he thought it best
, considering yer circumstances,” Shamus said.

  He made it sound like she was to be pitied, and that stirred her temper. Katherine lifted her chin in defiance. “I find my circumstances very pleasing.”

  Shamus offered her a grunt of approval. “Aye, that pleases me, and yet ye are, as both me sons have noted, a grown woman now. The Church might overlook a fair number of things when youth is involved. They are not so lenient when it comes to adults.”

  Katherine didn’t care for the feeling that a noose was being slipped over her neck. She recalled that feeling from when she was young and living in England. What she detested was the way tears stung her eyes.

  She did not cry.

  And hadn’t since the day the Earl of Morton had looked at her like a creature to be bartered. She’d realized growing strong was her only way to avoid becoming exactly what he saw her as. She would be more than a thing.

  “Well…” Shamus resumed tapping the top of his desk. “I’m glad to see that ye agree with me, lass.”

  “You have yet to tell me what you wish of me.”

  “Aye.” Shamus made a motion with his hand. “Ye’ll need to keep company with the women. Helen will instruct ye on the running of a house.”

  “And ye will keep a skirt on,” Marcus added sternly. “No more kilts.”

  She knew that voice. Had trained under it and learned to respect it because Marcus was preparing the youths of the clan for the realities of life, where his training would mean the difference between surviving and an early grave.

  Arguing with him felt wrong because he’d given her so many years of joy, and yet she felt cut to the bone by his order. So she lowered herself and left.

  She hadn’t been dismissed, but Shamus didn’t call after her. She needed fresh air, feeling like a stone was crushing her chest.

  But relief wasn’t hers just yet. Robert appeared next to her, clearly having been waiting for her meeting with the laird to be finished.

  “It’s for the best,” Robert began, his soft tone grating against her frayed nerves.

  “Don’t you dare speak to me in that fashion.” She turned on him.