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Prologue
1352
Isle of Skye, Scotland
Cameron MacLeod paused at the top of the seagate stairs to strip off his clothing, leaving on only his braies, which were hanging low on his hips.
“What are ye doing?” his older brother Graham demanded from behind him, his voice rising sharply above the music of the pipers from the shore below.
Cameron ignored Graham for a moment. His brothers were always questioning him—what he did, why he did it, why hedidn’tdo something, what was he thinking when he’d done a particular something. It made him so angry!
An all-too-familiar tic began in Cameron’s jaw. He clenched his teeth as he stared down at the torches that littered the shore. They flickered bright orange in the slowly descending night sky. Thoughts of the past stirred on the salty breeze that blew off the loch, cooling his sweat-slicked skin after hours of target practice. His father’s voice, harsh and razor-sharp, hummed in his mind, making the twitch grow worse:Ye’ll nae ever be the warrior that yer brothers are.
“Brother,” Graham growled. “Did ye hear me?”
Cameron nodded absently. How was it that his father’s critical voice could still be so loud from the grave?
Attempting to shake the memories, he looked out at the thick throng of revelers who’d traveled from near and far to join in the MacLeod clan’s annual St. John’s Eve celebration. His father had died right before the same celebration two years prior. The recollections were always strong this night. Father was gone, yet Cameron still expected to see him, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted with disappointment.
He’s nae here,Cameron reminded himself. And ye are worthy.
Below, on the shore that surrounded one side of his and his brothers’ home, Dunvegan Castle, rings of fire blazed in perfect lines, as if an army of flame advanced from the loch to attack. It was a sight to behold and conjured memories that his older brothers Iain, Lachlan, and even Graham had told Cameron about going into battle. His brothers had risked their lives to protect others, but he had not. He’d asked—repeatedly—when scrimmages had arisen, but Iain, as the eldest brother and the MacLeod laird, had denied him each time, insisting fifteen summers was too young to fight.
But Iain had lied. Cameron knew this to be true because his brother had been in battle by fifteen summers himself. Their father had often bragged that one as young as Iain had been a fiercer warrior than men who were much older than he was. Iain simply didn’t think Cameron ready. That desperate feeling to prove himself—and prove everyone else wrong—flushed him like a fever.
“Are ye dallying here in hopes of missing the dagger-throwing competition?” Graham asked, his goading tone snapping Cameron to attention. He opened his mouth to answer, but Graham spoke again. “Do ye fear ye will nae win? I staked my horse, who ye ken I love more than ye, against Archibald MacLean’s boastful claim that he would beat ye so soundly ye’d be ashamed to hold yer head up.”
Cameron smiled grimly. Archibald MacLean, cousin to Alex MacLean—the laird of the MacLean clan and friend to all the MacLeod brothers—thought too much of his own skills. “Dunnae fret, Brother,” Cameron said. “I’ll send Archibald home without yer destrier and with a much-needed reminder that I’m the best dagger thrower in Scotland.”
Graham whistled. “’Tis quite an assertion.”
Cameron shrugged. “’Tis a fact. Iain and Lachlan are the best at hand-to-hand combat,” he started, “ye are the greatest hunter, and I’ve the most skill with forging weapons, throwing daggers, and charming the lasses.”
Graham smacked Cameron in the head with a grunt. “If ye spent less time wooing the lasses, ye’d have more time to focus on becoming a better warrior.”
Cameron’s skin prickled with irritation, but he shoved the anger away. It did no good. For years, he’d been vexed at his father for making him feel unworthy to be a MacLeod, and it had not changed his father’s opinion. Besides, hewasfocused—merely on the lasses. He still trained diligently, as he’d done when their father was alive, but now he refused to walk around like a dog begging for recognition.
“If training to be a warrior was half as enjoyable as charming the lasses, then I’d dedicate myself to the task body and soul,” Cameron replied, falling into the familiar habit of cloaking himself in indifference. Lately, apathy hadn’t been coming easily, though.
As the words left his mouth, his gaze fastened on Mary, a household servant with a sweet smile and kind disposition, with whom he’d often flirted. She ascended the seagate stairs, and when she saw him, a smile transformed the look of deep focus on her face to one of pleasure. “Talking of lasses…”
A grunt came from Graham. “Ye’re wasting yer potential by dividing yer attention between training and the lasses.” His rebuking tone, so similar to their father’s, caused Cameron’s jaw to immediately lock, sending a sharp pain shooting along the edge.
His irritation increased, yet he knew well that showing it was pointless. Instead, he snorted and said, “If ye believe time spent with lasses is a waste, ye have simply nae met the right lass.”
“Apparently ye have nae, either,” Graham drawled. “Every time I turn around, ye are with a different lass.”
Cameron winked at his brother, though his tic now beat a rapid tattoo along his jaw. “All the lasses I give my attention to are the right lasses for my purposes.”
“Ye have a purpose, then, do ye?” Graham asked, arching his eyebrows.
Cameron flinched. Devil take his brother for getting to him. “Aye. Enjoyment of life. There are four of us.FourMacLeod brothers.” Sometimes they seemed to forget he was one of them, as if he didn’t belong. “I suppose the duty of enjoying life falls to me since the lot of ye will nae give me another.”
For the love of God, where had that come from?
Graham’s eyes widened, and pity appeared in his brother’s gaze. “Cameron—”
“Iain is the oldest, he’s laird, and he’s married,” Cameron rushed out, his throat tightening even as he spoke, as if he were struggling to hold in a truth. “There is nae a chance he can enjoy life, the poor man, what with his duties as laird and husband to Catriona.”
