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  “Graeme MacAulay,” he answered, giving her a brief glimpse of a smile. He raised an index finger to his lips, winked, and slipped out of the garderobe.

  A year later, when he was in Italy studying with a group of monks, he received a letter from his father, that would alter his path in life. Though he had memorized nearly every word of that fateful letter, he still kept it, tucked amongst his most prized belongings. Not because it was filled with any great sentimental meaning. Nay, ’twas a letter that would affect not only his future but his attitude toward it.

  Graeme,

  ’Tis with great joy that I write this letter to inform ye that ye are now betrothed, to the MacAdams lass they call Joie. Ye shall wed in June, 1374 on the seventh day, a week after the lass turns eight and ten. I have met Joie on numerous occasions and she seems to be good in nature and in virtue. I have enclosed a copy of the marriage contract. If it makes ye feel any better, yer brother Traigh is to be married to the MacLeod’s eldest daughter, Irline, in three days’ time. He was nae happy about the arrangement until he set eyes upon her. Now, he seems quite smitten. I be certain ye shall hear from him later.

  Yer mum misses ye something fierce, as do I, but, being yer father, I understand yer need to quench the thirst of knowledge and adventure that ye were born with.

  With sincerest pride,

  Yer da, Marcum MacAulay

  To say the least, Graeme had been caught unawares. He had no recollection of his father ever mentioning or even hinting at a betrothal between any of his sons and the MacAdams lass. The letter infuriated him. So much so that he had been fully prepared to leave Italy to return home and argue against the betrothal. Brother Antonio had talked him out of such a hasty return. Your father seems a reasonable man, Graeme. If you go home angry, you’ll not be able to have a thoughtful conversation with him and you will certainly lose. It would be best to wait.

  Out of all of Marcum MacAulay’s sons, Graeme considered himself to be the most level-headed. But he was still Marcum MacAulay’s son. It took a full year before his anger subsided enough to respond to his father’s letter. Finally, after more than three years of holding on to his anger and resentment, he began to slowly let those negative feelings go, albeit less than enthusiastically. He still had no desire to marry the MacAdams girl, but at least now he could think on the matter with less resentment and more logic. Or at least that was what he tried telling himself.

  * * *

  He had not been home in nearly five years, but on his way home he now was, and he was bringing his good friend, Remi LeFavre with him. He and Remi had met years ago, when Graeme was in France with his uncle. While both Graeme and Remi had a strong desire for learning all they could about this world, Remi was more interested in learning all he could about the opposite sex. Graeme, being more interested in philosophy and science, lived somewhat vicariously through Remi LeFavre. Graeme taught Remi all that he could about science, art, and philosophy. Remi taught Graeme all that he was learning about young ladies and how much physical enjoyment could be found in their company.

  Six weeks ago, Graeme had received letters from his mother and his father. Both had stressed the importance of returning to Scotland before the sixth of June, else the betrothal contract would be void and worthless. Whilst his father had been blunt and to the point, his mother had tried to appeal to the tender heart, that, according to her letter, “she was beginning to fear he no longer possessed”.

  Uncertain who he was angriest with—his father for meddling and petitioning his king for his swift and immediate return to Scotland or the king for listening to that petition—he reluctantly left Venice and was now just days from being back on the Isle of Lewis.

  Quite frankly, he didn’t care if the betrothal was set aside. In fact, he’d prefer it. But the MacAulay pride and honor that had been instilled in him from the day he was born simply wouldn’t allow for it. If he did not return as his father ordered he would cast a shadow of shame upon his family name. A shadow that would likely never be forgiven.

  With Remi along to help stave off boredom as well as to keep him out of trouble, they were making good time. They’d reach Graeme’s family home within a week’s time, well before the June sixth deadline. They would go to Lewis first, where Graeme hoped to have a long-overdue man-to-man discussion with his father. He could only hope that he would be able to make his father see that the betrothal was not the best path for Graeme to take.

  As they rode through a small valley, Graeme thought long and hard about his past as well as his future. Everything had been going along splendidly until he received that bloody letter.

  Had his father at least asked him all those years ago what he thought of the betrothal, mayhap he would have hurried home earlier. He knew full well it was an immature thing to do, to stay away a year longer than was probably needed or fair. His mother had often warned him that his pride would someday be the death of him, but Graeme didn’t see it that way.

  And it wasn’t as if he had no desire to marry. In truth, he did look forward to someday marrying and having children of his own. But blast it all, he wanted that day to be on his own terms, not anyone else’s. He wanted to marry a woman of his own choosing, not his father’s. If he’d been given the opportunity, he would have chosen a worldly woman of keen intellect, someone who shared the same interests and passion for learning as himself. He would never have given the gangly, brown-haired, country lass with a penchant for hiding her brother’s belongings a second glance.

  There was no doubt in his mind that the lass was uneducated, uninformed, and probably quite dimwitted. The last time he’d seen her, she was hiding in the garderobe, muttering and stuttering, and once again, hiding from her daft brother.

  Of all the simpletons in Scotland, his father had to choose Josephine MacAdams.

  The only thing he could hope for was that she had grown quite tired of waiting for him, and was, at that very moment, breaking the troth. That was the only thought that offered him any comfort. If there were a God, then Josephine MacAdams had grown weary and sent word that she’d found another husband. Graeme imagined she had picked a simple-minded farmer or a blacksmith or some other man of equally mundane existence.

  Though he’d been taught never to assume anything, he was doing just that. The MacAdams people were not known for much, other than breeding good cattle and scrawny daughters with overbites. The more he thought about it all, the worse he felt. Undoubtedly the MacAdams girl had never traveled, or at least not as extensively as he had. She was most likely one of those insipid women whose only pleasure was derived from sewing or creating boring tapestries and pillows. There was also a strong possibility that she could neither read nor write. The poor thing probably couldn’t even write her own name.

  And that was the true crux of the matter. He was going to be saddled with an uneducated, dimwitted, simple-minded woman for the rest of his days. There would be no long discussions over politics or philosophy or art or science. He imagined the most difficult decision the girl probably ever had to make was what color thread to use on one pillow or another.

  All his learning and education would be stifled. ’Twould all be for naught.

  The only thing he could do at this point was hope that she had in fact broken the betrothal and was now married and sewing ridiculous pillows for a dimwitted, simple-minded husband.

  Nay, he thought to himself. I am no’ that lucky.

  Chapter Two

  Traigh MacAulay had the letter that was tucked inside his sporran memorized. His future sister-in-law was in dire need of help and if the MacAulay’s couldn’t give it to her, she would have to seek help elsewhere.

  I fear my situation has gone from bad to worse. Helmert drinks day and night now. He and his band of friends have taken to sorely abusing my dearest friend, Laurin, to the point she has spoken openly of taking her own life. The two of us tried to steal away in the tinker’s cart three days ago, but Helmert discovered us missing and found us. I am only now ab
le to sit long enough to write to you. Please, Traigh, I beg you and your family for safe harbor. It no longer matters if Graeme does not wish to marry me and I will not hold that against any MacAulay. I beseech you to please come at once. If I do not receive a response from you within a fortnight I fear I will be forced to attempt to flee this place once again and will seek refuge at St. Peter’s Convent, near Inverness.

  Josephine’s situation had only grown worse and as far as Traigh was concerned, ’twas all his hard-headed brother’s fault. Had Graeme bothered to come home last year as he should have, Josephine would not now be in fear for her life and begging for help. Had Graeme done what he should have, the fool would now be married to a sweet and kind young woman and probably ready to have their first child.

  Now Traigh, his brothers, Albert and Bruce, along with ten MacAulay men, were now on their way to the MacAdams keep, to do what should have been done a year ago. Traigh was glad Graeme wasn’t anywhere near him at the moment, for he’d certainly beat the bloody hell out of him.

  As Traigh and his men rode hell-bent-for-leather across an open glen, he couldn’t help but think of Josephine. For the past four years, it had been Traigh, and later his wife Irline, who had taken the time to write to Josephine. Traigh reckoned he and his wife knew more about the young woman than his brother Graeme. Not once in the past four years had Graeme taken the time to answer any of the letters Josephine had sent him, let alone pen one of his own.

  Albert, apparently sensing that Traigh was, at that moment, plotting the different ways in which he’d kill their youngest brother, spoke up. “So will it be a hangin’ in store fer our brother, Graeme? Or do ye just plan on beatin’ him half to death?”

  Traigh glanced at Albert. “I have no’ decided just yet.”

  Albert was the most serious of the six MacAulay brothers. He rarely spoke without thinking first and he was not one to go about chasing lasses like their brothers, Bruce and Albert. Neither was he one to jest frequently. ’Twas also said that Albert was as tightfisted with his money as a bairn is to his mother’s teat. Trying to get money from Albert was akin to trying to squeeze water from a stone.

  “I say we hang him,” Albert said, and not in jest.

  Traigh, though sorely tempted to do just that, knew ’twas impossible. “Our mother would have our heads if we hang him.”

  Albert thought on it for a moment. “Mayhap one day he will be out ridin’ and has a mishap, whereby he falls off a cliff.”

  Traigh stared at him for a long while, uncertain if he was jesting or serious. Part of him was afraid to ask. Albert was just as vexed over Graeme’s behavior as Traigh was. “Remind me never to make ye angry,” Traigh said.

  Albert raised a blonde brow. “Ye? Nay, I doubt ye’d ever anger me to the point of murder. Graeme, however, is another matter. I fear he has been too busy with book learnin’ that he has fergotten everythin’ a MacAulay stands for.”

  “Honor above self,” Traigh said. ’Twas the creed all of the MacAulay’s lived by.

  “Aye,” Albert said. “And right now, I believe Graeme has fergotten that. He’s puttin’ his own feelin’s ahead of everythin’. How anyone can remain angry for so long is beyond me. But then, I have no’ had all the book learnin’ that Graeme has had. Mayhap he can explain it to us.” Though his voice was laced with sarcasm there was much truth to what he was saying.

  Traigh had to chuckle at Albert’s statement. “Shall we allow him to explain it before or after we beat him senseless?”

  Albert took a moment before answering. “Mayhap before, fer ’twill be difficult to understand him once I knock out a few of his teeth.”

  “Again, remind me ne’er to make ye angry, brother.”

  Albert shrugged his shoulders before urging his horse to move faster, leaving Traigh to wonder if he should mayhap begin to pray that Albert did not get his hands on Graeme first. Their mother would never forgive any of them should something happen to her youngest son.

  * * *

  ’Twas by complete happenstance—or God’s divine intervention, opinions on the matter were varied—that Traigh and the rest of his brothers and men happened upon their wayward and hard-headed brother.

  Albert had been the first to spot him.

  They had just made their way around a bend in the road—a road that separated a small forest and an even smaller loch. Boulders and brush lined the bank of the loch. ’Twas a perfect place for an ambush. Traigh and Albert counted two horses, which were tied to a tree to their left.

  And there was Graeme, lying on the bank of the loch, his head resting on his folded arms and his feet soaking in the water. For all his book smarts, all the years with tutors and traveling hither and yon, he was, at least in his brothers’ eyes, an ignorant fool. They were able to make their way toward him without his notice. Either he was asleep or completely unaware, his mind lost in some far off place. In truth, it simply didn’t matter. Had they been highwaymen or ne’er-do-wells, they could have sliced his throat before he even knew they were upon him.

  Albert slid quietly from his horse and walked across a small clearing, and before Graeme knew what was happening, Albert picked him up and threw him arse over toes into the cool water.

  As the very stunned—and soon Albert would realize a quite angry—Graeme got his bearings and stood up, coughing and sputtering, Albert began walking back to his horse.

  At that point, a swarthy looking man wearing a ridiculous looking tunic and an even more ridiculous pair of trews jumped from behind two large boulders with his weapon drawn. “Prepare to die, peasant,” he shouted in French.

  Albert raised a curious brow as he unsheathed his broadsword. The falchion the Frenchman had pointed at him was no match for his broadsword. “Who the bloody hell are ye?”

  “I am Remi Francois Claremont LeFavre,” Remi answered with a slight bow and flourish. “Brother to the man you just threw into the lake and whose honor you have besmirched by your actions. Again, peasant, I tell you to prepare to die.”

  Albert rolled his eyes and re-sheathed his sword. “Is this fool with ye?” Albert asked Graeme before turning his attention back to the Frenchman.

  Graeme was furious, his green eyes drawn to slits, his hands clenched into fists. “What on earth possessed ye to toss me into the loch?” he demanded to know.

  Traigh and the others drew their horses up to the loch to allow them a leisurely drink. “Shall I answer him Albert, or would ye like to?”

  “Yer a bloody fool, brother, lyin’ out in the open like that. Yer lucky we’re no’ one of the Chisholms. And who be this man with the wee sword?”

  Remi seemed unbothered by Albert’s comment. “This ‘wee sword’ is called a falchion, peasant.”

  Albert was growing weary with the Frenchman’s insults. “I ken what it be called, French.”

  Graeme made his way out of the loch in his waterlogged plaid, tunic and trews. “Chisholms?” he asked rather incredulously.

  “Aye,” Albert said as he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Ye be on Chisholm land, ye fool.”

  Graeme shook his arms in an attempt to shed some of the water. “We be on Fraser land,” he politely informed his brother.

  The thirteen men before him shook their heads in undisguised disappointment that bordered on disgust.

  “Did ye no’ take the time to learn map readin’ whilst ye were in Italy?” Traigh asked as he rested one wrist on the pommel of his saddle.

  “What the bloody hell are ye goin’ on about,” Graeme ground out as he began to wring the loch water from his plaid.

  “We be on Chisholm land, Graeme, no’ Fraser,” Albert told him. “And before ye ask, aye, I be certain.”

  Traigh grunted his disapproval over his youngest brother’s lack of care. “Who be the Frenchman?”

  “He already told you who he is,” Graeme said as he began wringing water from his long, blonde hair.

  “He says he’s yer brother,” Traigh calmly pointed out. “I ha
ppen to ken fer a fact that he is nae yer brother. Unless our da was unfaithful to our mum. Be that yer inference?”

  Remi had remained standing between the large boulders and had yet to re-sheath his weapon. “Who are these men, brother?” he asked Graeme.

  Graeme knew Remi could hold his own against any number of men, with or without a weapon. He also knew how ruthless his brothers could be. He had no desire to see any of them dead at the moment, save for Albert. ’Twould be a very long time before he forgave him for tossing him into the loch. He started toward his horse to grab clean clothes. “Remi, these be me ruthless and cold-hearted brothers that I told ye about. Brothers, this be me good friend, Remi LeFavre.”

  The MacAulay men looked as impressed with Remi LeFavre as he looked with them.

  Graeme riffled through his pack in search of dry clothing. “What are ye doin’ here?” he asked angrily. “Did da send ye to make certain I arrived before the sixth of June?”

  Traigh and the others dismounted. “Nay,” Traigh said as he headed toward Graeme.

  “Then why be ye here?” Graeme asked as he pulled the wet tunic over his head and draped it across a low hanging tree branch.

  Traigh and Albert came to stand near Graeme while the others kept a very watchful eye on Remi.

  “We be on our way to retrieve yer bride,” Traigh said.

  Graeme paused with one arm shoved into his tunic. “Me bride? But why? Does da no’ trust I’ll do me duty?” he asked sarcastically.

  Traigh grunted again. “Yer a bloody fool,” he told him. “We be goin’ to get Joie away from that tetched brother of hers.”

  “Joie? Who be Joie?”

  Traigh and Albert grunted in unison. “Yer bride, ye fool.”

  Graeme looked confused. “I thought her name was Josephine,” he said, growing wearier with each insult hurled his way.

  “Those that love her and care fer her call her Joie. ’Tis a term of endearment her mum gave her when she was a bairn,” Albert informed him.