CHAPTER 27
When Alasdair reached Castle Burragh and entered through the portcullis of the outer wall, he was unable to suppress a
smile. It was dark, but up there on the roof of the castle keep, he could just about make out a pair of lovers lying in
each other’s arms.
“My, my, what have we there. I didn’t think young McLean had it in him,” he mumbled.
When the sentries, who were standing close together in the courtyard, recognized him, they raised a hand in greeting and
let him pass. He dismounted and led his horse to the stables where he hoped to shelter it for the night.
“Master Buchanan,” the stable boy welcomed him. “Shall I look after it, or will you be leaving again shortly?”
Alasdair handed him the reins and shook his head.
“I’m staying. Thank you, Iain.”
Then, with a spring in his step, he set out to find Nathaira. Burragh was an expansive stronghold, but there weren’t
many possibilities for a woman like her: Her accommodations were no doubt located in the three-story castle keep. He
therefore entered via the main castle keep door and hurried into the Great Hall. And there she was. She immediately
caught his eye. All other humans paled in comparison. She had the beauty and the grace of a queen, and he felt
irresistibly drawn to her, like a bee to the honey jar.
She was sitting with her back turned to him, a cup of wine in front of her. Taking a deep breath, he tiptoed closer,
grabbed the armrests of her chair, and bent down to her ear.
“How dare these philistines leave such a beautiful woman to dine all by herself. Allow me to correct this shameful
oversight and offer my humble presence.”
Nathaira stiffened, slowly turning her head. Her eyes widened.
“Alasdair.” His name sounded like a prayer on her lips, and Alasdair realized that she struggled to keep her
composure.
“My beloved,” he said, kissing the back of her hand a moment longer than politeness demanded—yet not long enough for
any observers to grow suspicious.
“What are you doing here? When did you get back?”
The shock about his unexpected arrival brought back painful memories of the weeks past. They were memories she’d wanted
to leave behind in the same way she had rid herself of her problem: the child growing in her belly—Alasdair’s child.
A thousand questions had been running through her mind back then: What would Cathal, her brother, do to her should he
find out about her condition? Would he cast her out? Would he kill Alasdair? She had been sure of only one thing: Cathal
would never have agreed to a union between her and Alasdair.
Frozen in fear, she had done the only thing possible: She had crept away. She rode north for two days, hoping to find
the Wise Woman who lived in the hills. Nathaira couldn’t say for sure what happened then. Only one thing was painfully
certain: She loved Alasdair Buchanan, and she had killed his child.
“I returned to Galthair with your brother today, hoping to see you. When they told me you had gone to Castle Burragh,
all I could think about was catching up with you.”
Nathaira scanned the Great Hall, wrinkling her forehead.
“Is Cathal with you? I don’t see him.”
“No. I came alone because I didn’t want to be without you a single moment longer.” He returned the greeting of some
man who was traversing the hall, and turned back to her. “Come, my beautiful, let us find a spot where we can be
undisturbed.”
Nathaira seemed nervous as she slowly rose from her chair and allowed him to escort her from the hall.
“Do you keep chambers here?” he asked hoarsely, growing more and more impatient with every minute he spent in her
tantalizing presence. Seemingly indecisive, she stopped, gazing up the stairs where the guest chambers were located,
when a dog slipped through the main door, barking and racing toward them. In the pale, flickering light of the handful
of wall torches, the shaggy wolfhound seemed even more menacing than during the day.
Ross’s bright red shock of hair appeared behind a second wolfhound, and he immediately called the two dogs to order.
With surprise on his face, he approached.
“Nathaira.” He bowed before her. “Alasdair. Are you here to come and get Samantha?” he asked.
Nathaira snorted in discontent, and her companion did not seem too pleased about the disturbance, either.
“Samantha? Samantha who?”
“The prisoner, of course! Aren’t Duncan and Dougal with you?”
“No, I came alone. Everyone else is coming tomorrow.” He wanted to leave the boy and take his beloved up to her
chambers to show her how much he had missed her. But Ross wasn’t easily dissuaded.
“Did you see them, perhaps?”
“See who? Duncan and Dougal?” Alasdair snapped.
“Samantha! Did you see her or Payton somewhere? I really have to talk to her.”
A smile crept onto Alasdair’s face. That McLean! He was even more audacious than he had given him credit for. The woman
he saw Payton kissing up on the battlement must be Cathal’s prisoner and not, as he had assumed, some maidservant.
“Now I remember, yes, I did see them! But I suggest you wait until the morning. That woman seemed very busy to me,” he
responded, shooting Ross a meaningful glance.
“Busy with what?”
“You know, having her way with her guardsman,” he growled, because having his way was exactly what he had in mind for
himself. At that point, Ross’s jaw dropped, and Alasdair seized the moment to leave the castle keep, pulling Nathaira
with him. They would never make it to her chambers undetected, so he was now pursuing a different idea.
“Alasdair, wait!” Nathaira called out, fighting against being dragged along. “We have to talk!”
The cold of the night made Alasdair even more aware of the heat in his belly, of his burning desire, and he pulled
Nathaira against the castle wall. There, in the shadows, he was finally able to cover her body with his, hiding her from
the world and hungrily stealing a kiss. Heavens, how much he’d missed her.
“Stop it!” she screamed, and pushed him away. “We mustn’t! We can’t continue like this.” She struggled to regain
her composure. “I must wed, Alasdair!”
“I will wed you. Tomorrow I will ask Cathal for your hand in marriage.”
He caressed the shoulders that her robe left bare, enjoying the feel of her velvety-soft skin against his hands. He also
felt her tightening up against him.
“No, Alasdair, you won’t! Don’t you understand what I’m telling you?” She withdrew from his touch, placing her
palms flat against his chest to keep him at a safe distance. “It was a mistake to give in to my feelings for you.”
There was regret in her voice, but also resolve.
“Cathal would never accept you as my husband. You are nothing but his liegeman. His liegeman! And what Cathal needs are
allies. He needs to think of the clan. The deal is already done—I’m going to marry Blair McLean.”
Alasdair faltered under the weight of her words. What was that she was talking about? Cathal had said nothing of the
sort. And what was the point of this, anyway? He loved Nathaira, and he wouldn’t just give her up!
“You can’t do that. You lay with me—didn’t that mean anything to you? Have you already forgotten about that?”
“How could I forget? After all, you left me alone with a child in my womb, while you chased cattle thieves out in the
borderlands!” she screamed.
Alasdair shook his head, thinking he had misheard her.
“A child? What do you mean? You are with child?”
Nathaira wiped away her tears, as she didn’t want him to see her pain. Quietly, almost as if not wanting him to hear,
she replied: “No, Alasdair, I am not with child. You left me, and I had to make a choice. I chose my brother—and I
chose against you and the child.”
Alasdair grabbed the same shoulders he had caressed only a moment ago, and he shook her violently.
“What are you saying? I’ve never left you! I followed your brother’s orders! And now, woman, you are going to tell me
what you have done, or I swear to God I will forget myself!”
Nathaira found it easy to see in him the fury and anger of his ancestors: murdering, pillaging, plundering Vikings. She
was scared of him. At the same time, she loved him so much that it hurt, and she hated herself for having to do this to
him.
“Leave me! Take your filthy hands off me! I did what was necessary to not bring the bastard child of a nobody into this
world! You presume a great deal, Viking, when you think that a place in my bed would secure you a place in my heart. All
my love and all my loyalty belong to only one man: my brother.”
Overtaken with pain and rage, Alasdair reached for Nathaira’s throat and pressed hard. He didn’t want to hear another
of her spiteful words. She was destroying his future and had ripped his heart out.
He pressed down harder, enjoying her resistance, enjoying her pain.
Oh, she had it coming. With her eyes wide open in terror, her arms hanging limp by her side—she had never seemed more
beautiful to him. He leaned in for one final kiss before releasing her throat and whispering against her tear-soaked
cheek:
“I hope your brother will cast you out when his ally realizes on his wedding night that his beautiful bride is no
longer a virgin.”
Then he pushed her hard, and Nathaira slumped down against the wall, gasping for air.
She held her throat, retching and coughing, and drew delicious fresh air into her burning lungs. Hatred and loathing
flared in her eyes, and a blinding flash of lightning tore across the sky. She defied fate! It no longer mattered
whether or not he killed her—she had died the day her unborn child had died.
“Not that my wedding night is any of your concern, but when I left Blair’s bedchamber earlier, he wasn’t complaining.
By the way, when it comes to matters of the flesh, he has greater skills than you do.”
Triumphantly, she presented her cheek to him, enjoying the angry punch she knew he would throw. The pain would wear off
and prove that life beyond pain was possible.
Through a veil of tears, she saw the love of her life disappear into the darkness. She prayed that something resembling
a life without pain and suffering waited for her. A life devoid of feelings—now wouldn’t that make things easier.