Chapter 1

“Traveling alone, Miss? That’s mighty brave for a lassie oot here!”

The lad’s voice was curious but had an edge to it. They had traveled for many miles now, and this had been the cartman’s first attempt at conversation since leaving the McCallum lands.

With the wind and the rain whooshing in her ears, Teasag could barely hear, but as the tired horses slowed to a reluctant trot, she saw the lad look at her keenly.

A tired ache filled the young woman’s limbs. The rickety cart was barely meant for passengers, at least not the human sort. There had been three of them on the first leg of the journey, squashed in amongst the churns of milk that the cartman had been delivering.

The pair of elderly sisters traveling with her had talked nonstop since leaving the McCallum lands. And even now, their incessant prattle rang on in Teasag’s ears, and, she suspected, the young cartman’s too.

Since then, Teasag had reaped the peace of the open fields, watching distant men hard at work bringing in the harvest. All around, the air was thick with grain, flying about on the errant wind. That was until the rains had closed in, pushing against the landscape with the force of an ox.

But despite getting a lashing, Teasag had barely flinched. She was too lost in thought, wondering what might be in store for her when she reached her destination. As the night deepened around them, it became harder and harder for her to pick out even the most basic detail from the open moors around.

Soon, darkness had consumed the glen side, reeling with rain and gusts of wind. But Teasag was well accustomed to the weather, and as she sheltered from the cold rain, she barely noticed it. Slowly, the black night faded, sinking into a gray fog that clung to the distant town’s edges.

“Miss?” the young lad’s voice came again, but this time battling against the wind and her own thoughts.

Even as the cart bumped along the winding tracks into the town, Teasag was still deep in contemplation.

The cartman gave a slight cough as he slowed to a halt along the narrow-cobbled passageway on the outskirts of the village.

“Well, this is it,” he said, his reedy voice carrying on the wind. The young lad shifted his brown eyes onto her with concern. “Are ye sure there’s nae one to meet ye, lassie? A sweetheart or the like?”

Sweetheart, just the sound of that word was enough to send a dart into Teasag’s heart. As if she needed any more reminders that she was alone!

“Och, nae!” she bristled. Suddenly, she bolted upright, alert to the darkened alleyways surrounding them. Squinting into the grayed skies, she struggled to make out anything beyond a higgledy-piggledy mass of shapes. Slowly, they unraveled as houses, some small and one very big.

And before long, they had stopped right in front of the tallest one. In the distance, she could make out a flickering light. Then, a door opened, sending out raucous gusts of laughter.

Immediately, Teasag tensed.

“Nae sweetheart? Well, nae fash lassie, there’s an inn right here where ye can stop for the night, afore ye carry on in the morn,” said the lad kindly, his warm brown eyes fastening onto hers.

“Wh-where will ye be?” said Teasag, looking around, her mind racing. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would be the only passenger. She had assumed the elderly ladies would be traveling all the way to Blackness with her. However, the pair alighted at one of the tiny villages just over the McCallum clan border, shaking their frail bones and wrapping their hoods before shuffling out into the oncoming storm.

Now it seemed as if the young cartman, a lad she knew vaguely from the McCallum keep, was not going to be coming either.

“Me, I have lodgings wi’ a good pal further doon in the village,” the lad said, with a gappy smile. “There’s only room for one, if ye ken what I mean, miss, though,” he said, a knowing grin rippling through his sly face.

“Och,” said Teasag, realizing only too well what he meant. Her soft cheeks pinkened in the pale light. Her usually pale features were washed in a rosy glow from the open fields, and the sun’s kiss had emboldened the faint ring of freckles which covered her nose.

Of course, if Teasag could see herself, she would have instantly pulled a face. Most of her life was spent indoors, cultivating the cool white complexion of a French queen. She was not much given to the outdoors, and so far, the weather only reinforced her dislike.

“The Inn’s usually got plenty o’ space, though, I’m sure ye’ll find it good enough for ye, e’en someone who’s used to a laird’s keep!” he said, looking closely at her, concern etched into his young face. “That’s if yer sure yer nae meeting someone?”

“Nae!” said Teasag, trying not to sound as annoyed as she felt. Grasping her travel bag, she dismounted from the rickety cart. “Is it nae so hard to believe that a lass can be an’ her oon an’ mair than that, dinnae need a man!”

Her voice rang out, a little sharply into the darkened passageway leading to the front of the tavern. Just at that moment, the heavy oak door tore open, and two enormous men spilled out, almost falling on top of them in the narrow street.

“Watch it!” one of them roared at the cringing lad. Teasag shrank back, making herself as small as possible, as the two men, both smelling strongly of whisky, pushed back their way through them.

As they passed, one of them, a barrel-like man, turned to Teasag. “Dinnae need a man? I can change yer mind, darlin’!” he leered. For a moment, he lingered there, breathing whisky fumes over her, before staggering off, to both her and the lad’s relief.

As they went, Teasag cursed inwardly. It was bad enough being stranded out here, alone, without her actually advertising the fact to the entire town.

But the young cartman’s words had caught her off guard, bringing home that she was alone, in a strange town, with the sound of men’s laughter ringing in her ears.

“Well, see ye in the morn, Miss,” said the lad, winking to her. “They do a muckle clootie pudding in there, or so I’m told,” he said, before snapping the whip on the ponies and trotting slowly along the rain-soaked street.

Almost immediately, the heavy oak door opened again, bringing with it bawdy singing.

As their guffaws grew louder, Teasag’s face tensed. Inside, she could feel the whooshing of her heart, throbbing in her chest cavity. But this was stupid. She needed to get a grip and fast.

Her traveling clothes were soaked, and she had to find somewhere to rest for the night.

Gathering up her skirts, Teasag tightened her hood and pushed at the creaking door.

It was only a small country town tavern, just like the one back home.

Home the word resonated in Teasag’s head. It was many years since she had been back to Blackness. And when she had left, she had promised herself that her fortunes would be very different.

Her friend, Caitriona, at the McCallum castle, had persuaded her to pursue her ambitions. She’d started out as a lowly maid, but in the end, had married the laird!

Although marrying a laird might not be a path open to Teasag, it had inspired her to rethink her life. Caitríona’s story had reignited her passion for painting, something she had – even before leaving for the McCallum lands.

Yet, here she was, eleven years later, with little more than she had started with! And in that time, her mother had passed on, something that Teasag had still had not begun to process. She knew her mother would have wanted to see her settled by now, another reason to make something of herself this time.

Feeling a little braver and shaking herself down, Teasag steeled herself and pushed at the tavern door. After all, how bad could it be?

***

The door blew open, filling the room with a raging wind. It shook at her caul and thrust her blonde hair wildly until it was impossible for the girl to see.

Composing herself, Teasag shook down her hood and squared her shoulders to look around. Every eye in the room seemed upon her.

It did not last long. The men soon returned to their drinking, and Teasag made her way to the bar, through the stench of men.

Inside, the young woman’s heart pumped hard, keeping a strange, jerky time. Her usually tamed hair fell around her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. As she tiptoed through the packed tavern, Teasag could not have known how alluring she looked to the hungry men.

Finally, Teasag made it to the bar. Momentarily, an older man flitted into view, but then he disappeared again, leaving a younger man in his stead. The bartender stood before her, his face hidden in a greasy mop of hair. Teasag waited for him to look up. When he didn’t, she coughed slightly.

“Excuse me,” she said, as wearily, the man looked up. When he did, Teasag choked a gasp. Every inch of his face was covered in marks and pocks. Teasag steadied herself at the bar and tried not to look shocked.

“Aye, an’ what can I get ye?” said the barkeep.

Teasag felt her mouth go dry. Judging by the look of him, he had had the pox, recently.

The man’s hooded eyes scanned hers curiously. In the flickering half-light, it was hard to make out what shade they were. The only color she could see was red, framing the edges of his eyes.

The barkeep glanced again up at her. “Nae from around here, are ye miss?” he said observantly.

“Nae,” replied Teasag, unable to stop herself from counting the lad’s pockmarks. Twenty-three on his face and another seven around his neck.

The bartender looked expectantly for her to elaborate, but she did not. “From oot o’ town, anywhere I ken, miss?” he continued, unabated.

“Nae,” she said again, abruptly. She usually loved to chatter, but right now, she wanted to take some refreshments and be left in peace. “I’m in toon for the night an’ I need to tak’ lodgings,” she said, trying her hardest to keep her eyes on the pockmarked barman and away from the men at her side.

“Aye, nae bother, lassie,” said the lad. “We can sort ye oot wi’ somethin’ I’m sure…”

“Thank ye,” she said to the barman. “An’ I’ll have a small ale when yer ready,” she continued.

As she spoke, Teasag’s tongue stuck to her mouth and scraped dryly against her throat. She had not drunk anything since that morning. One of the elderly ladies had drunk her water after swooning in the uncomfortable cart.  Now the inside of Teasag’s mouth was as dry as a cracked well.

“Och!” spluttered Teasag, as she coughed and her eyes watered as she groped for her handkerchief.

Dabbing at her mouth, Teasag pressed tight on the embroidered corner of the kerchief. Her eyes alighted on its’ motif, ‘MCM’.

Instantly, she felt homesick for the McCallum Keep and her friend, Caitriona. As her coughing fit subsided, Teasag kept the linen handkerchief pressed to her brow, thoughtfully.

It was not as if she had a new position lined up when she reached her destination, just a vague hope that somehow, she would make something of herself.

Now it was her own conceit that made Teasag’s cheeks fizzle and burn as doubts assailed her.

What if she could not? What would she do then? She could not stay with her brother Lorcal forever. Why on earth had she left everything she knew in the world for this?

Teasag downed the ale faster than she would have liked, her throat as dry as sawdust. The cold beer soothed her a little, but not enough to banish her cough.

As she drank, savoring the cold taste of the beer, she felt the uncomfortable sensation of eyes upon her. Trying her best to ignore the stares, Teasag looked toward the front of the bar. She was just thinking about ordering some food when a second coughing fit overtook her.

The men grouped around her, but Teasag didn’t notice them.

Coughing louder, she was suddenly struck on the back by a hard thump. Alarmed, the girl spun around so fast she nearly cricked her neck.  As she did, she felt the world spin with her.

Steadying herself, Teasag tried to stop the room from rotating. It was hot, her throat was parched, and she was beginning to feel nauseous.

“Och lassie!” chuckled an obese farmer with a bushy beard. He pressed his face to hers, tickling her with his ridiculous bristles. “Barman, get this lassie a whisky chaser; she’s drier than a nun’s gusset!”

“Get off me!” Teasag barked as bawdy laughter reverberated all around her. She pushed back at the man, hard, but it only made him more determined.

The more she tried to struggle, the more he tried to “help” her, and she was stuck fast in his disgusting arms.

“I’m just helping wind ye lassie,” said the man, his cheeks flushed with drink. He was almost completely beard, a thick, amorphous mass that looked and smelt like the animals he farmed. “A good slap an’ ye’ll be right!”

“Take yer hands off me!” she yelled, trying her hardest to hit him with her travel bag. The Bannock cakes cook had given her had lost their freshness but were still not tough enough to fend off an amorous farmer.

“No!” yelped Teasag, as the man’s sweaty hand grabbed her behind. “Get yer clarty hands off of me this instant! Landlord!” she cried, pushing back at the man and attempting to punch him. Her eyes scanned the room furiously for the bartender or the landlord, but she did not see them.

Panicking, Teasag changed tack.

“Will ye let me pass, please, sir,” she asked plainly. Inside, her heart was boiling, and she was ready to erupt and spit in the man’s eye. But she was outnumbered. Hoping to appeal to his better nature, she dropped her eyes and began to sidle free of his grasp.

With her heart pumping and the man blocking her in, Teasag suddenly felt hot. Her chest was getting tight, and she was finding it hard to breathe. Vaguely, she was aware of the noise around her; men pushing and shouting, spilling pints, and the shrill sound of breaking glass. Teasag couldn’t see what was going on but knew that all hell was breaking loose.

The bearded man pressed his hand into her bosom.

“So, then, young maid, what say ye get friendly wi’ me an’ my friends?” he asked, stroking her face. There could be no doubt of what he meant.

Inside, Teasag’s heart beat so hard that she thought it about to take off. Not only was she feeling clammy, but she was now beginning to feel faint. The noise and heat in the room were overwhelming. All she wanted to do was sit down and get away from this man.

Terrified, she struggled as hard as she could. The last thing she remembered was his hand covering her face as she screamed.

Then everything faded to black.

Chapter 2

“Get yer dirty hands off her!”

The young man burst across the crowded tavern and pushed the farmer out of the way. The farmer bristled behind his large beard; clearly, he was not letting go without a fight.

The girl was still pressed up against the wall, the terror showing in the whites of her eyes. That was when the young man could watch no longer. He had to do something to stop this.

Coming into the tavern had been a last-minute decision. In truth, he hadn’t wanted to stop on his journey to Blackness. But he had little choice. The men pursuing him were not letting up. They had been hot on his heels since leaving the village that morning. On reaching the White Hart Tavern, the lad had hurled himself into its dubious protection without a second thought.

Since then, he’d found himself drawn into things he’d not been expecting.

The lass had enchanted him from first glimpse, getting out of the ramshackle milk cart on the street corner, some half-hour back. And now he was helpless to resist coming to her aid.

Outside, rain lashed the windows with a fervor that only seemed to add to the charged atmosphere – where an enraged sheep farmer glared up at him.

“Bile yer heid!” spat the farmer, as behind him, a couple of his burly mates looked on. But the young man stood his ground.

“Come on, lads,” cried the elderly bartender, returning to see what the fracas was. He folded away his towel and came to stand beside the newcomer. “Why dinnae ye just leave it, an’ get back to yer drinks, eh?”

It was a modest proposition, but the angry farmer didn’t like it. He pressed his hot, red face towards the mild-mannered tavern owner.

“Haud yer wheesht, auld fella!” he barked, pushing the aged barkeeper out of the way, but the man got there first.

“Nae,” he said, firmly, the farmer’s hot breath on his chin.

The young man gave a quick glance to the girl, standing dazed by the wall. The fat farmer had released his grip on her, but she was still boxed in. Briefly, the young man made eye contact with her.

Close up, she was more lovely than when he had spotted her from across the room, her loose blonde hair falling softly behind her shoulders and a delicate rosebud at each cheek.

He was about to speak to her and ask if she was alright when the angry farmer pushed again. This time, he butted straight into the slight barkeeper, knocking him off his feet.

Smoldering with heat, the man found his temper rising. “Yer auld enough to ken better!” he said, squaring up to the red-faced farmer. “An’ auld enough to be her father! Have ye nae shame!”

Roughly, he shoved the stunned farmer back down so that he landed on his stool. The force of his landing was such that it broke beneath him, throwing him out onto the floor.

A few of the onlookers snickered, as angrily, the fat farmer rose to his feet. “Nae-one tells me what to do in my own local!” he snarled.

The man briefly checked the girl over. She was pale but unharmed.

By comparison, the silver-haired barkeep was a mess. He had cracked his head against the table and was now bleeding profusely.

The man tended to his wounds as the red-faced farmer slunk away.

He was about to push the farmer out of the building when something heavy pressed into him. He tensed, expecting trouble. But then saw the girl’s ashen face as she collapsed on top of him.

“Lass?” he asked, desperately propping the girl up and holding her still. Furiously, the lad looked about for somewhere to sit her down, and space opened up around them as the crowd helped them pass.

Slowly, he carried the girl over to a quiet seat at the far end of the tavern. Her scent mixed with the smell of spirits intermingled in the damp air.

“Lassie?” said the man, once she was seated. The girl looked at him, blinking unsurely. “You were in a swoon,” he explained to her. “Here, drink this.”

He brought a cup of ale to the woman’s lips and helped her to drink. Close up, she was just as flawless as from afar, her peachy skin still marked with the ghost of childhood freckles.

He didn’t know why, but this pricked at his heart. She looked so lost, almost like a child. But then, as she stared into his eyes, something seemed to click.

“Thank ye, sir,” she said primly. Now she was more aware, the woman composed herself, sitting ramrod straight on the uncomfortable barstool.

“Are ye sure yer alright, lass?” asked the man, before refilling her drink, unbidden. “Ye did go rather pale?”

Slowly, the lad watched as she drank the amber-colored ale, and the color returned to her cheeks.

Anxiously, the lad glanced around.

“Has he gone?” asked the woman, her eyes following his. She was so twitchy that she hadn’t yet looked at his face.

“Eh?” said the lad, distracted. His gaze penetrated the thick crowd, but it was to no avail. It was far too dark to see clearly. Still, if the men following him hadn’t already spotted him, then they were unlikely to do so now.

A low hum resumed over the tavern, and the lad smiled. “Do ye mean woolly Willie there? Nae fash lassie, he willnae bother ye again!” he announced cheerfully, before taking a dram of ale.

The girl looked at him quizzically but smiled. She still seemed to be looking for the farmer.

The lad chided himself for still being here. He had only intended to stay a short while. Now he was being sucked into the whirlpool of her eyes, and if he wasn’t careful, he would never get away.

Mindful of the need to keep moving, the lad scraped his chair. He was about to make his excuses and leave when the girl attempted to stand up. As she did, her sickening pallor returned.

“Lassie?” he said anxiously. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he steadied the woman, swaying in her seat. “Are ye alright?”

As the lad tightened his grip, all he could think about was the lushness of her lips and how much he wanted to dive in and kiss them awake.

It was then that he realized he could never let her go.

***

Everything had gone dark for a moment, and Teasag’s head spun.

“Lassie? Let’s sit ye down…,” the voice came closer. It had an edge to it, yet it was sweet at the same time. And like a single malt, it spread a warm tingle all the way through her.

It was his voice, the one who had saved her from the brutish farmer. Now, his sturdy arms were settling her back down in the seat. “Ye shouldn’t try to move lassie; ye could be hurt,” he scolded.

“I…I think I’m alright,” she said, shakily opening her eyes, and it took some time for her to readjust to the light.

“Just wait there, lassie,” said the man, patting her lightly upon the shoulder. “An’ this time dinnae try an’ get up!” And before Teasag had a chance to turn around, he had gone.

Looking about, Teasag found she was in an alcove against the back wall of the tavern. It was quiet here, but at the front, it still thronged with action.

The place was a mess with upturned drinks and what looked like a pool of blood on the floor.

“Och,” a low groan came from behind the wooden bar area, making Teasag look around anxiously.

“Dinnae try to move,” he warned her from across the bar. Obediently, Teasag stayed put. All she really wanted was the chance to see his face. Although he’d been sitting in front of her, she hadn’t looked at him properly. Either he’d turned his head away, or she’d been too dazed to see what he looked like.

It was only now, as she sipped at the refreshing ale, that her senses began to fully restore.

“I’ll be back soon, lassie,” the lad assured her, his voice pouring through her like honey. Maybe it was silly, but she felt as if she could trust him.

Squinting through the crowd, Teasag managed to make out the lad, pressed against the dark oak doors. For a moment, her heart faltered, wondering if he was simply going to walk away without her ever seeing his face.

But then, there was a hail of shouting, and Teasag’s heart quickened as she caught sight of the red-cheeked farmer being manhandled towards the door.

The lad managed to push the red-faced farmer outside with one or two others behind him as his friends slunk back to the bar. Finally, Teasag’s breathing returned to normal as he disappeared out of the door.

“An’ stay out!” the tall lad said, before turning his attention to the innkeeper. Now he was pacing over, crossing the packed tavern, to the bar.

Teasag tried to stand up, to see a little better but found she could not. The man’s face was lost in the crowd. When she saw him next, he was helping the innkeeper to his feet.

The silver-haired man groaned, and Teasag let out a gasp. The innkeeper’s cheeks were scratched and dripping with blood, both of his eyes were bruised, and from the way he was clutching his jaw, he had lost a tooth.

Whoosh! Teasag’s heart gave a giant shudder as she realized there had been a full-scale bar fight, with her at the center. She had been so rigid with fear that she had simply not noticed.

Immediately, Teasag felt a pang of guilt. It seemed as if the old man must have come to her aid but had been no match for the red-faced brigand and his friends.

“Is he hurt badly?” she asked, suddenly concerned. Forgetting the man’s advice to keep still, Teasag scraped back her chair with the instant effect of summoning the lad back over.

“Och, I cannae nae ha’ ye swooning on me again!” the young man chided. It was good-natured but insistent, and within a couple of seconds, he was there again, his warm hand upon her.

Teasag twitched as the man’s soft touch caressed her tense shoulders. His masculine scent assured her that he wasn’t one of the drunken teuchters in the tavern, and his caress resonated on her skin, making it buzz and glow. Teasag felt the warmth from his sturdy fingers seep through her shoulders and soothe her tired body.

This was crazy; she hadn’t even seen him properly, yet already she was heating up inside.

“Och, are ye sure yer alright, lassie, really?” he asked.

Teasag nodded. “Aye, sir, I am. Thanks to ye. I just needed a sit doon an’ something to drink, I think.”

“Well, ye seem to have caused quite a stir, young lassie!” said the lad, with a smile. He sat down next to her, relinquishing his grip while placing something warm around her shoulders.

To her surprise, she found she was shivering, although it was not through the cold. The man tucked an unfamiliar brat around her shoulders. Somewhere, she must have had lost her hood—probably in the earlier tussle, and her shoulders were unexpectedly bare.

Realizing she was in a state of undress, Teasag looked up sharply. “Och!” she murmured in her embarrassment.

“Nae fash,” smiled the lad, but her cheeks ripened with shame.

Now her eyes were upon him, and she felt drawn into his striking gaze. He had a crop of beautifully straight hair which shone around his shoulders. In the half-light, Teasag could not be sure what color it was; to begin with, it looked blond, the amber light picking out strands from his shoulders and illuminating them.  But in a different light, it looked warmer, with dark honeyed tones running through it.

It was probably that strange mid color, between brown and blond, and  Teasag’s fingers itched to touch it. Although she had not had much experience with men—she had never seen a man with such perfect hair.

As she gazed upon him, Teasag wished she had some paints. The only artist’s materials she had available were her quills and parchment. Still, the urge to note down the lad’s striking profile and unusually colored hair were overwhelming.

And it wasn’t just his hair she could picture on canvas; it was the rest of him too—especially his sparkling eyes, resonating with mischief in pale hues of blue and taupe.

“Ye just looked so cold,” said the lad, as she pulled the brat around her shoulders. Teasag looked, taking in the design of his plaid; like the brat around her shoulders, it was a deep shade of blue, with red and white pinstripes running through it. Immediately, she noticed how the dark blues complemented his penetrating eyes.

But where had it come from? She was unfamiliar with this tartan, and she had a good knowledge of all the nearby clans. That, and his clean, fragrant hair made Teasag wonder his rank.

Suddenly, a jolt of electricity jumped through her as she pictured the lad, a windswept noble, on an open crag side, posing for an official portrait.

“I, I,” faltered Teasag. By now, she felt anything other than cold. Her heart began to clamor once again as words drained away from her tongue. She was mesmerized.

The memory of the lad’s touch still lingered over her, and his heady scent came again, making her feel mildly intoxicated.

His almond-shaped eyes sparkled. “So then, all we need to do is get ye some scran then?” he asked with a wink.

Teasag found herself completely unable to turn away from him. She had so many questions; who was he? Where had he come from?

But she was utterly unable to ask them. Instead, she watched as he poured a dram of whisky into the wooden quaich before them.

“Och, I can do that in a wee while; it’s nae fash,” she finally said, her tongue falling loose. The lad finished pouring the drink and placed the quaich in front of her.

“Well then, to yer good health,” he said, encouragingly. Tentatively, Teasag picked up the roughly hewn cup. She looked unsure.

“Go on lass, it’s all for ye, by the look o’ things, ye need it more than do I!” he said, then he added. “I dinnae want ye to swoon on me again. Ye nearly knocked me over!”

Blushing, Teasag pressed the wooden quaich to her lips and drank the fiery single malt slowly. Immediately, a warm sensation ran through her, from her lips to her toes.

The lad smiled, a strange twisted half-grin. He looked as if he was amused. Teasag couldn’t help noticing how perfect his skin was. Even close up, she could barely detect a flaw in his soft, velvet-like complexion.

Bringing her eyes closer, Teasag inspected the lad’s face further. His complexion was the softest hue, like a watercolor, with just the hint of a tan.

Looking down, Teasag had to rip her eyes away from his muscular frame. His rippling biceps were doing strange things to her.

The lad’s brown-blond hair glistened in the candlelight as he brought his head closer, sending a scent of honey into the air above

“So then, miss, my treat, tell me what is it to be?”

The lad’s question caught her unawares. Without even realizing it, she had drifted off.

There he was, wearing a cockeyed smile, and his eyes glistened oddly. Teasag got the distinct impression he was laughing at her. Was there something she had said that was funny?

“What …is…it that pleases ye so, sir?” she asked plainly. She wasn’t usually given to beating about the bush, but all the same, Teasag was surprised at the directness in her own voice.

“Pleases me? Nae, nothing Miss, nothing pleases me, except ye!” said the lad, smoothly. Teasag found herself perspiring furiously.

“I was just asking ye if ye wanted some scran to share,” he said, smilingly.

Instantly, Teasag blushed. “Och,” she murmured.  A shiver went through her that had nothing to do with the wind and the rain outside.

“It’s been a long day,” she said, by way of apology. She fussed with her loose hair; she could only imagine the state she was in from the raging storm outside. To cap it all, she had lost her shawl somewhere in the crowd, but suddenly, she felt absolutely no desire to get it back, captivated as she was by this smooth young man’s intense gaze.

“I couldnae put on ye anymore,” she said primly, her fingers reaching anxiously over to her travel bag. Quickly, she poked inside it and brought out the silver coin that her friend had given her. It was still there, cold and hard against her hand. Next to it were the two tiny thimbles that had belonged to her mother: her entire worldly fortune.

“An’ if I’m to eat, then I can pay my own way, it’s quite alright,” she added.

“Nay,” said the lad, flashing his enigmatic smile once more. Teasag noticed his cheeks were unusually sculpted, giving his face an uncommonly handsome appearance. “Ye will nae pay, it’s my treat, but there’s just one thing…?”

He stared into her eyes, his bright blue gaze overwhelming her senses and sending an unexpected bolt of electricity shooting through her thighs. Inside, Teasag felt herself heat up.

“What is it?” she asked breathlessly. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was about to kiss her. The noise and light in the room faded away until there was just her and him, alone in the tavern. The murmur of the crowd and lashing of the rain was barely audible above the omnipresent beating of her heart.

“I cannae share a meal wi’ a lass I dinnae ken the name of,” he said smoothly, with a sly glance toward her.

“Och,” said Teasag, as the rest of the world returned, and the backdrop of the noisy tavern grew louder. “I’m Teasag,” she said, extending her hand to his.

He kissed it formally.

“Teasag, a pretty name,” he added softly. “An’ I’m Neacal.”

Neacal. Teasag’s heart jumped a little. It was still reeling from the kiss he’d placed on her hand. Of course, there was nothing to read into this. It was merely a formal yet overblown act of manners. But to Teasag, it was as if she had been hit by lightning. Bolts reverberated all the way through her, and his touch lingered on her skin for long after he took his hand away.

“Pleased to meet ye,” she said simply, as Neacal stood to return to the bar. From the reappearance of the barkeep from the back of the room, it seemed that his injuries were not as bad as they looked. But Teasag only had eyes for the tall lad in front of her.

“Neacal,” she murmured. “I’ve nae met anyone called that afore,” she added. “Are ye from around here?”

“I’m from everywhere an’ nowhere, lass,” laughed the lad, his wide twisting smile running right across to his ears. “Ye’ll soon hear about me!”

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here