Her need for revenge outweighs her duty to her betrothed
and his clan. Raven McDraoigh and her mentor have been riding through the
Scottish highlands for several years, searching for clues to the man
responsible for her mother’s murder and the massacre of her clan. When she runs
out of places to search she can only turn to her betrothed, Jamie McKay, laird
of Clan McKay. But Jamie has other ideas in mind.
For the last
ten years, Jamie believed his wife was dead, murdered along with her mother and
clan. Imagine his surprise when she turns up on his doorstep. A battle of wits
is about to take place. Jamie wants a wife, a partner to lead his clan. She
won’t give in until she’s fulfilled her vow.
When the McDraoigh Legend stands against the Laird of Clan
McKay, there’s sure to be fireworks.
James Alexander MacKay slouched in his chair and stared at the document
on his desk. How had he gotten himself into this mess? He had been polite to
Lord Carlisle’s stepdaughter, and manners had somehow been mistaken for
courtship. The nobleman was showing signs of impatience, waiting to see the
chieftain’s mark on the paper. True, Jamie was expected to marry. Having no
siblings, the responsibility of an heir fell to him alone. Andrew was the only
person to know the truth of the matter, and he’d been sworn to silence long
ago.
Andrew sat back in the window seat. Despite the warmth of the sun
glowing through the window, he felt the cold stones behind his back. The spring
day was bright, but couldn’t dispel the foreboding he felt. Andrew seemed to
pay no attention to his nephew’s dilemma, preferring to stare at the distant
mountains. Jamie’s future lay somewhere beyond those mountains, but the younger
man refused to do anything about it. Sometimes, Andrew didn’t understand his
nephew. Willing to try one more time to get Jamie to see reason, he never
turned from the highland view he loved. “Tell Carlisle outright why you cannot
sign that foolish paper. It is the only way to end this farce.”
“You, of all people know I
can’t do that. No one but you, knows of that other business, and until I’m
shown proof it is done, I can do nothing about this, except delay him longer.
Even if nothing stood in the way, I’d sooner cut my own throat, than be wed to
that…that harridan.”
Andrew laughed at the apt description, but had to agree with Jamie.
Before either could comment further, a rap on the library door drew their
attention. The young servant lost her balance when the door was shoved open.
Andrew rose quickly at the disturbance, turning in time to see a stranger grab
the girl’s arm before she fell. The girl quickly stepped back, moving closer to the door. She crumpled the
edge of her apron within her fingers, nervous over the intrusion into the
chieftain’s library. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted when a
pleasant female voice cut in.
“Rather a messy solution, I would think, and your people would have the
untimely chore of choosing a new chieftain.” The newcomer stood before the desk
as Jamie dismissed the servant girl with a nod.
Jamie and the newcomer studied
each other carefully, while Andrew watched the scene with amusement. He had a
fairly good idea who their guest was and had expected her to arrive eventually.
Jamie sat back and ran the
feathered quill through his fingers, slowly, contemplatively, never taking his
blue eyed gaze from her. There was a kind of arrogance in her stance. He liked
that. It meant she wasn’t easily intimidated. One hand rested lightly on the
hilt of a broadsword, while the other remained loosely at her side. A dirk was
sheathed at her belt. Her black hair was partially hidden beneath a dark
bonnet. Pinned to the bonnet was a clan badge with what looked to be a
thunderbolt, holding three merlin feathers securely in place. Chieftain?
Her pale skin gave contrast to
the blush on her high cheekbones. Something about her black eyes was rather
unnerving when she returned his stare. She refused to look away or be forced to
back down. She was dressed in black, from her linen shirt and breeches, which
hid nothing of her slim figure, to the fitted knee-high boots. The light silver
tartan, with its intercepting lines of emerald green and black, and two shades
of yellow, presented a plaid unfamiliar to Jamie. The lower part of the tartan
was caught within her wide belt, holding it in place. A larger version of her
clan badge held the gathered wool at her shoulder.
Jamie studied her weapons
again. Can she really use that broadsword or is it only for show? It should
weigh her down, yet she manages it adequately.
It was rare when a woman learned to use a weapon other than a
dagger. Even then, she didn’t often
learn to wield it with any proficiency. Her serious demeanor remained unruffled
under his scrutiny. He strongly suspected there was an impish inclination
beneath her indifference, waiting to escape, if only for a moment. Brief
incidents of subtle humor flashed across his memory and he was sure of a
connection.
Unbidden, his thoughts turned in another direction. The betrothal
contract. Lord Carlisle was desperate to
marry off his stepdaughter, Cordelia, and believed Jamie was the only man
capable of handling the willful young woman. Cordelia was beautiful, with her
slender figure, hazel eyes and thick ash blonde hair, but she was intolerably
demanding. She’d left a month before, and his home was still being put to
rights. The term ‘witch’ was too kind for her.
There could be no comparison between Cordelia and the woman who now
stood before him.
“I know who you are,” he
finally commented while he glanced, once more, over the supple figure, before
returning her stare. “You…are my conscience.” He grinned again.
Raven was well aware of the
distracting thoughts racing through his mind. Her eyes widened briefly at the
sudden change in thought. His revelation startled her, although it wasn’t quite
what she expected. The link between them, indeed, must work in both directions.
She would have to study the matter further. If he is stronger than
originally thought he could interfere with my plans…unless I can control him.
“If that is what you believe…” she allowed the rest of her statement to go
unfinished. “I’ve come here to fulfill two promises made. Fulfilling one will
depend on the results of the other.”
Andrew glanced at Jamie, then
the woman. “Exactly, who are you?”
Raven slipped a ring from the
first finger of her left hand, placed it on the document before Jamie, then
stepped back and resumed her previous stance.
Jamie picked up the ring and
studied the emblem, while Andrew looked over his nephew’s shoulder. “That is
the signet of the Clan MacDraoidh.” Andrew turned to Raven. “How do we know you didn’t steal the ring?”
Jamie raised a hand to ward
off further questions from his uncle.
“Clan MacDraoidh no longer exists,” he goaded, no longer amused. He
tossed the ring onto the desk where it bounced once, before settling on the
contract, like some sort of omen.
“Then,” she concluded,
reaching into the pouch on her belt, “I must be a ghost.” She reluctantly
pulled out a folded sheet of parchment with a broken seal and placed it next to
the ring. Introducing herself was no problem. The contents of the document
could very well be. “May I introduce myself.
I am Raven Althea MacDraoidh.
Chieftain of Clan MacDraoidh—if, as you suggest, there is still a clan
to lead.”
