“Surely ye jest.” She flashed him a look of disdain.

“Do thoil fhèin.” Suit yourself.

When he raised his hand and encircled his mouth to shout a warning, Sybella blurted out, “Fine.”

Her lips were pressed shut so no other sound would burst out. If she cursed the reprehensible brute, he might go back on his word. She jumped when he quickly closed the gap between them and impaled her with his steady gaze. Her breath caught in her lungs and she merely stared, tongue-tied. She felt like a complete dolt.

Her reaction seemed to amuse him, and his mouth curved wryly. Lowering his head, he whispered, “May ye always remember a MacDonell was the first to taste your lips, Lady Sybella MacKenzie of Kintail.”

His lips pressed against hers. Similar to her experience of jumping off the cliff, his kiss sent her stomach into a wild swirl.

“Sybella!” called Colin from a distance.

If her brother came back down to get her, there would be bloodshed. She pulled away slightly and took a sharp intake of breath. “Feumaidh mi falbh.” I must go.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand like she had the bloody plague. “Ne’er forget…your enemy was the first to taste ye.” When the beastly man had the audacity to smirk, he broke the last thread of self-control she had managed to hold on to. MacDonell or not, she would not let herself be put down by this brute. She met his accusing eyes without flinching.

“I donna like ye, Alexander MacDonell.”

“Aye, but ye will ne’er forget me,” he said, then turned his back and disappeared into the trees.

One

Glengarry, Scotland 1606

Dear Alexander,

If you are reading this, I have joined your beloved mother. Do not be saddened, my son. First and foremost, you are a MacDonell. Never doubt the decisions you make.

Now that you are laird, the entire clan is in your hands. It is up to you to keep our MacDonells safe and provide for them during the harsh Highland winters. I strove to raise you as a strong and kind chief, and my wish for you would be that you become a better man than I was.

One of your first responsibilities is to seek a wife and beget an heir so as to carry on the MacDonell line. When all else fails, I know my beloved sister will torture you until you do.

As we discussed, John will replace Donald as the captain of your guard.

Lastly, at all costs, keep the stone safe within the walls of the Rock of the Raven.

I have never been disappointed in you, Alexander, and I have no doubt you will fulfill the duty that has been entrusted to you.

Laird Dòmhnall MacDonell of Glengarry

Alex sat in the chair behind his father’s desk, now his own desk, shaking his head. “Father mentions to keep the stone safe within the walls of the Rock of the Raven. What stone?”

Donald’s eyes narrowed. “I donna know.”

“Why would he write me and then nae explain his words? This doesnae make sense.”

“Your father sealed the letter and gave it to me over a year ago. Mayhap he meant to speak with ye and then became ill. But he ne’er mentioned anything to me about a stone. If ye donna know of what he writes, then this stone is probably already safe.”

“I will speak with Aunt Iseabail. Father may have spoken to her.” Alex pulled a pouch from a drawer and placed it on the desk in front of Donald. “I thank ye for the years of service and your continued loyalty to my father.”

“It was my honor to serve him. I wish I could do the same for ye, but I am afraid these aging bones are weary. John will serve ye well. If ye ever want or need for anything, ye need only ask. Your father was a dear friend to me and ye are as a son.” Donald rose and picked up the pouch. “Ye will make a fine laird, Alex.”

Alex watched Donald walk out the door, and then once again, he glanced at the opened letter. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything else his father had neglected to mention.

The remainder of the afternoon passed as a blur. All he was mindful of was the fact that last eve he had stood over his father’s lifeless body and now he returned to stand over his father’s grave. Time could not be turned back. He had to accept the fact that his sire was truly dead.

Alex glanced at his aunt as tears welled up in her eyes. Neither one of them spoke. The knowledge that he was now Laird Alexander MacDonell of Glengarry knotted and turned inside him, for he was a man who faced a harsh reality.

It was time to take his father’s place.

Alex’s hand seemed somewhat large as he rested it on his aunt’s frail shoulder. “Take all the time ye need, Aunt Iseabail. I will stay as long as ye wish.”

She patted his hand in response. “He was a good man, my brother.”

“Aye.”

There was a heavy silence.

She nodded toward his father’s grave and murmured, “Dia leat.” God be with you.

Touching her elbow lightly, Alex guided her back toward home. “I have been meaning to ask something of ye. Before he died, Father wrote a letter that spoke of keeping some kind of stone safe within the walls of the Rock of the Raven. Do ye know of it?”

He sensed a slight hesitation, and then Aunt Iseabail’s gaze lowered in confusion. He had been afraid that might happen. She had her good days and bad. Perhaps he would try again when she wasn’t so burdened by grief.

“I must confess my mind sometimes fails me,” said Aunt Iseabail with regret.

“’Tis all right. Why donna ye take some time to think upon it?”

After seeing to his aunt and barely muddling through the day, Alex sought the solace of his father’s study. He closed the heavy wooden door and secured the latch, pausing a moment to welcome the blessed silence. He grabbed a tankard from the shelf and opened the bottom desk drawer. Pulling out MacGregor’s ale, compliments of his cousin, he poured himself a healthy dram.

Without thought, he walked around the edge of the desk and then caught himself. What the hell was he doing? Backing up, he pulled out his sire’s chair and sat down. He kicked back a long, burning mouthful and welcomed the numbness the fiery liquid brought. With a shiver of vivid recollection, he was flooded by memories of his father and realized he hadn’t nearly had enough to drink. He would keep the bottle of ale on the desk. Hell, maybe he’d even down the whole damn thing.

Alex continued to stare at the walls that encased him until he heard a soft tapping at the door. He rubbed his hands over his eyes. Perhaps if he ignored the sound, it would go away. When another rap repeated even louder, Alex grunted. He pushed himself to his feet, walked over, and reluctantly lifted the latch. He swung open the door, and what he saw was certainly not what he had expected.

“Doireann.” He was too tired to notice the woman’s slim waist that flared into rounded hips or her hair, which was a rich auburn. He’d taken the lass so many times he knew every curve by memory.

“Alex.” She raised her hand to touch his arm in a gesture of sympathy. “I thought you might need comfort. And since my father’s service to your sire has come to an end, we will be taking our leave on the morrow to join my mother’s kin. Unless, of course, there is a reason ye would want me to remain…”

When he did not immediately respond, she closed the distance between them. She smoothed his hair with her hand and offered something else with her eyes. “We have been together for years, Alexander. I know ye as well as I know myself. I think ye should find an opportunity to speak with my father and discuss our future. If ye so desire.”

Alex sighed heavily. “Doireann, ye know I’m fond of ye, but we’ve discussed this before. We cannae have a future together, and ye always knew that. I am laird now.”

A playful smile curved her lips. “I thought as much, but ye cannae blame a lass for trying.” She fingered the edge of her gown above the swell of her ripe bosom. “But still, I offer ye comfort. For old times, if naught else. Do ye want me one last time?”

He studied her thoughtfully for a moment, and then his eyes sent her a private message. He traced his finger across her lip and then his hand slid down. There was no time for words. All of the pent-up energy he had been feeling for days rose in one heated moment. He needed a welcome distraction and she was more than willing. Before sanity crept back in, he tossed her skirts and lifted her to the wall. If Doireann was shocked by his urgency, she did not say so.

Right now, Alex was not the laird of Glengarry. He was only a man with a single purpose. He looked her over seductively and tugged down her dress over her shoulder. When he exposed her breast, he lowered his head and his lips touched her nipple. She let out mewling sounds, and one of his hands slid down her taut stomach to the swell of her hips, between her legs.

Leave it to the skillful Doireann—she was ready for him.

He lifted his kilt and his body imprisoned hers. She was so wet and welcomed him into her body. With thrust after blessed thrust, he yielded to the burning sweetness. She pulled him closer, riding him harder, deeper, burying her hands in his thick hair.

Her soft curves molded into the contours of his lean body. She was panting, her chest heaving. He took her like an animal, and the degree to which she responded stunned him. She rose to meet him in a moment of uncontrolled passion.

When she moaned aloud, she roused him to the peak of desire. She gasped in sweet agony, and with one last heavy thrust, he spilled his seed.