Brodie Mackintosh, chief of the mighty Chattan Confederation, smiled grimly at his cousin. The acrid smell of burning crops and dead animals made his eyes burn as he surveyed the damage.

‘When?’

‘Last night,’ replied Rob, his cousin and the commander of all Mackintosh warriors.

‘Any injuries?’ Brodie waited for the worst. These incidents had escalated in recent days from simple mischief into unmistakable attacks. He waited for the inevitable.

‘They chased most of the crofters out and away, but Old Angus would not leave.’ Brodie cursed under his breath and Rob nodded in agreement. The old man was stubborn, so he’d stayed behind on purpose and not because of age or infirmity.

Brodie walked away then, examining some of the footprints on the soft ground. Crouching down, he stared off into the trees, thinking about the progression of the attacks.

This was the fourth incident in the last fortnight. Each one in a different place across their lands. Each one destroying crops and livestock but very few of the crofts and never harming any of the villagers.

Until now.

Until Old Angus.

‘What are you thinking, Rob?’ he asked as he walked back to where his cousin waited. ‘What or who is behind these?’ When Rob didn’t reply, Brodie met his gaze and saw the answer that neither of them wished to think let alone speak aloud.

Years, nay decades, of clan hostilities had ceased on his marriage to Arabella Cameron. Well, if truth be told, they had eased with that strategic marriage and ceased in the six years since. Part of their success had been due to skilful negotiation and monetary reward, but for many of the elders, weariness and loss had been the biggest and best motivation.

‘Could it be, Brodie?’ Rob asked. ‘Would they be violating the peace?’ Rob used his favourite words at the very thought of it and Brodie winced at his vehement choice. ‘But, who among them would lead such an effort?’

‘I know not, but I will seek out more information before making such an accusation to The Cameron.’

Brodie hated even the possibility that The Camerons were rising once more against them. Everything they’d accomplished in the time of peace between their clans and everything they’d suffered to attain that peace would be for naught.

‘Send our trackers to see where they went.’

Rob nodded and went off to send the men on their assignment. Brodie walked back to edge of the forest and studied the perimeter. A small fragment of cloth clung to a broken branch where the path led away from the small cluster of cottages. He tugged it free and held it closer.

The colours and warp and weft were familiar to him for he’d seen his beloved Arabella wear it. In a shawl around her shoulders. In a sash across her bodice. In the blanket that lay at the bottom of their bed.

The pattern favoured by The Cameron’s clan weavers.

Glancing at the piece of torn cloth, Brodie shook his head, partly in resignation and partly in regret. Nodding at Rob, he mounted up and rode back to the keep, still grasping the bit of wool in his hand.

He wanted to be the first one to reveal this to his wife. If her family was betraying their honour and their agreement, she needed to know it first. He owed her that much.

Chapter One

Fia Mackintosh tried to turn her glance away but failed. Oh, she would be the first to admit that her efforts to avoid staring at the intimate scene before her were not her best. But truly, the sight before her was one she would admit she wanted to experience for herself. Not with the man involved—God forbid!—but with a man who would look at her the way her cousin the laird looked at his wife.

Brodie towered over Arabella even more so than he towered over most of the men of the clan. The lady was petite and known throughout the Highlands of Scotland as the most genteel and beautiful woman who lived there. And yet, not for a moment did Arabella seem intimidated by the huge man standing so close to her, leaning down over her. When Brodie pressed his lips to Arabella’s, Fia’s own lips tingled. But that was not the worst thing.

The worst thing was when a loud sigh escaped her control and echoed in the silence of the chamber.

Loud enough to draw Brodie’s attention from his wife. Loud enough to draw his attention to her instead. And even loud enough that Ailean, the lady’s cousin and companion, laughed aloud. Thankfully, Aunt Devorgilla was not here to witness her embarrassment. Once again, Fia had broken the rule that servants were never to be seen or heard from when not being addressed. It was a lamentable failing that her mother had long bemoaned and, once more, it had gotten Fia into trouble.

‘I beg your pardon, laird, my lady,’ she began in a soft voice

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