Colin knew a trust was growing between him and his new bride, and though he had never said so, he did believe in her. If Makenna decided to make something happen—or not happen—she persisted until she found a way.

But how could he make her first when he had already given Deirdre his heart?


Pretending to concentrate on the dancing and the music, Makenna peripherally watched as Colin approached her. She had been intensely aware of him all evening. If it had not been for Lady Crawford to anchor her thoughts and divert her attentions, she would be shaking so bad all would know of her fear and anxiety of what was to come.

Colin stopped in front of her and stuck out his hand. “Shall we join Laird Crawford and his wife and show them how the estampie is truly to be performed?”

Makenna sat shocked for a moment and then gave him a large smile that would have warmed anyone who was the recipient of it. Colin was glad to have been both its cause and its receiver. “Do you know how to do the estampie?” she asked, taking his hand. “I don’t think I have ever seen you dance.”

It was true. He had never danced with Deirdre. She had been too weary to perform the lively dances he preferred. “There is a lot about me you don’t know, Makenna,” he said, swinging her onto the floor. They quickly joined the crowd stomping their feet to the wailing music created by an assortment of skilled musicians.

Soon Makenna lost herself in the rhythm of the dance. The music shifted and the room seemed to get louder as more and more men joined in and swords appeared on the floor. Makenna jumped into the crowd beside a grinning Trista and clapped loudly as she watched Colin’s skill unfold. Very few practiced the form of dance Colin, Crawford, and a handful of other men were exhibiting. The dance was both celebratory and highly athletic as they jumped over swords and spiked shields with great accuracy and speed. Each time the tune repeated, the musicians would increase the tempo.

One time while sparring with Gorten, she had asked him how he had learned to be so quick on his feet. He had told her that it was hours of performing the sword dance. Colin made them all learn and practice the complex maneuvers. She had supposed Gorten to be teasing her, but now she realized he had been in earnest. The quick, intricate weaving in and out of the war dance would not only help develop a soldier’s stamina, but it could build and test one’s strength, accuracy, and agility.

The music continued to build and by now any man capable of performing the Gillie Chalium was on the floor. The room reverberated with stomping feet and shouts of triumph. Trista cried out to her husband, encouraging him in his desperate attempt to keep up with those around him. He was bested, and he knew it, but like many who had joined in, he did not care.

Makenna’s smile grew even wider. An odd sense of pride surged through her, knowing that the man with the most superior skill was grinning back at her. The musicians finally ended the tune and began another. It was slower but still had a lively beat and Colin deftly glided over to entice Makenna back onto the floor. Others followed Colin’s lead, and the crowded great hall became even more so as the room shook with laughter and the stamping of feet.

Alexander’s green eyes were filled with peace as he watched the couple from the now almost empty table. All would be well. Makenna and Colin were both stubborn and prideful, but their passion and honor would see them through. And if they continued to lower their defenses, they might even find the rarest thing this world had to offer—love. The special love one discovers only with one’s soul mate.

Colin had loved Deirdre and she him, but their love and marriage had been based on need and protection. Makenna would meet Colin as an equal. She would be able to share his burden, protect him in ways he never knew he needed, and he would do the same for her in return.

Alexander wished he could live long enough to witness this transformation, but it was not meant to be. The squeezing pains in his chest had been growing all afternoon. It was painful to breathe, and now the burning sensation in his upper abdomen was spreading to his arm, neck, and jaw.

His eyes roamed to his other daughters. Edna could not be here, but he knew that she had found happiness at the abbey. Ula and Rona would have to adjust somehow, for Colin would not be as susceptible to their ploys as he always had been.

Most everyone was on the floor. All except one. Alexander stole a glance to the man who had chosen to remain seated at the table.

Leon MacCuaig.

The young man had physically matured over the past few years. With light brown hair and deep-set black eyes in a rugged face, he was undeniably handsome. He was also pitiable.

Alexander had tried to guide the young laird after his father had died, but Leon enjoyed commanding others versus listening. He had grown to be a callous leader, ruling by fear rather than trust. Sitting quietly for most of the afternoon, he had not fooled Alexander or Colin for a moment. MacCuaig had remained at Lochlen to discover which and how many Lowland lairds would ally themselves with the Dunstans once a Highlander was in charge. Colin wanted to observe MacCuaig’s reactions and agreed to let him stay.

Alexander gripped the arm of the chair and stood. He fought the dizziness and ordered his body to comply with one last command. He would walk to his chambers without assistance. Scottish pride demanded no less.





Chapter Three





Leon drummed his fingers idly against the wood table, oblivious of Alexander Dunstan’s look of pity or his disappearance. His attention was solely on the Highlander flaunting his obvious attraction for the woman that should have been his wife. Blatant hatred filled him as he stared at the merry couple, and he cared little who saw it.

Today, Makenna Dunstan had unmasked her beauty to all. And though many had been surprised by her physical transformation, Leon had not been one of them. He had known for years what a unique and striking woman she was. That alone should have entitled him to her hand and not the arrogant Highlander.

Leon clenched his jaw as another Dunstan soldier called out. With each story praising Colin’s leadership and skills, Leon loathed the Highlander a little more. For two years, he had been hearing about McTiernay and the fictitious tales that surrounded him. No one could be that good at discovering raw talent.

Twice, Leon tried to plant one of his own men within Colin’s ranks to uncover the truth behind the Highlander’s methods. Both times, the soldiers had disappeared, forcing Leon to rethink how he was going to outwit Colin McTiernay.

His next idea had been simple. Leon had never encountered anyone who could best him one-on-one with a sword. He would goad McTiernay until his pride demanded revenge, and then strip the Highlander of not only his arrogance, but also his life.

But before he could put his plan into effect, the news came.

The Highland creature was to marry Makenna Dunstan, the woman everyone knew Leon had claimed to be his. Leon had worked for too long toward a union between him and the red-haired beauty. So much had been overcome to be stripped away so easily by the hands of an outsider.

MacCuaig watched as the couple moved more slowly. The sexual tension between the two was palpable even halfway across the room. Leon clasped the quaich in front of him and tried to keep from shaking with rage.

That was supposed to be him.

He was the young, good-looking, powerful, Lowland laird. All women wanted him, desired him. They begged for chances to be near him. “Soon Makenna will as well,” Leon promised himself.

McTiernay might think he had won, but he would soon learn differently. The clueless Highlander was ill prepared for his future. Leon MacCuaig settled back in the deep chair and forced himself to appear relaxed. Colin’s army might be loyal, but they were few in number. Not nearly enough to stop Leon from taking everything McTiernay possessed.

“I shall pluck them from your fingertips, one by one. First the clan, then the castle, and finally…Makenna,” he swore quietly to himself before downing the rest of his mead.


Colin whipped Makenna around in his arms, once again mesmerized by her beauty. Two years he had lived at Lochlen and never once had he heard Makenna laugh as she was doing tonight. Only once had Deirdre acquiesced to a big festival in the castle the winter before she died. They had celebrated Twelfth Night, the last day of the Epiphany. It had been a joyous evening for the clansmen, but Makenna and Colin had elected to watch rather than participate.

Deirdre was recovering from a bad cold she had been fighting for several months and didn’t want any type of activity. She had only agreed to the festival because of Makenna, who knew how much the clan needed the release a celebratory gathering would bring. Makenna, in turn, had stayed by Deirdre’s side tending to her needs so the lady’s maids could participate in the festivities.

Looking at Makenna now, twirling with an easiness that made her eyes sparkle and dance in delight, Colin realized that he had not been Deirdre’s only willing captive—Makenna had been ensnared as well. She had placed her life on hold and had put Deirdre’s happiness ahead of her own. Not until tonight did Colin grasp how unfair it had been to the lively beauty.

Colin felt Makenna sashay by him to the beat of the pipes and then back again. He inhaled deeply. Instantly he was reminded of the previous night and the last time he had enjoyed the fresh clean scent of her skin and hair. Makenna moved toward him and out again, making innocent contact. The brief touches were driving him mad. Each time her small, firm breasts grazed his lower chest, Colin fought his need to gather her in his arms and march out of the hall uncaring of what the guests and his men would say.