Page 9 of My Highland Bride

Surely I misinterpret the look he is giving me. This is a man in love with a queen, a woman whose beauty none deny even if they do not care for her.

“Does your head feel any better?”

I swallow and nod, not trusting my voice to answer.

Dropping my hands, he nods. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. And would be even more glad to hear my name from your lips. We were, after all, nearly siblings once.”

Again, his smile is infectious.

“Very well, Erik. Though not so nearly, I fear. My father was not very pleased with your pronouncement.”

He laughs. “You should have seen my own father if you think yours was angry.”

Spying a hulking figure approaching us from a distance, I take a step back, away from Erik.

“Since we speak of angry fathers, you should know one is headed this way.”

But Erik does not flinch. He does not even look off toward the game fields.

“Good, as he is the reason I’m here.”

Of course, I know he had not come just to greet me, but his words sting nonetheless. Still, my father’s face comes into view. He is staring at Erik and, as usual when the name Stokerton is raised, he does not look very pleased.

To think I’d just gotten rid of my headache. It seems another might not be far behind it.

5

Erik

As I wait for Moray, his daughter distances herself from me. A pity, as I rather enjoyed standing so close to her.

Though I had the advantage of knowing I was surrounded by Moray tents, I would have recognized her anywhere. Once, as a boy, I asked my father why Lord Moray’s son did not have that vivid red hair, bright enough to be spied from across a crowded hall, like he and his daughter. I don’t recall his answer, but it would be impossible to forget that color. Or the flashing eyes that accompanied it. They’d taunted me into trouble every time my family visited Blackwell Castle. She’d always reminded me of a flame, dashing and dancing, dangerous and powerful.

Seeing her alone outside of the tent, I’d forgotten my mission for a brief moment—distracted by her beauty, and by the mystery of how she could look both the same and also entirely different. I felt compelled to touch her, both because of the headache and because I wanted to, but it is probably not something I should do again if these negotiations are to go well.

And that is what I am here for. Negotiations. Not, however pleasant as it might be, to become reacquainted with a childhood friend.

“Stokerton.”

His voice is deep and commanding, just how I remember it.

“Lord Moray.” I bow though I am not required to do so. “A pleasure to see you again.”

There is a reason Moray is so powerful among the Highland lords, and it is not as simple as the land he has amassed, which is considerable, or his reputation as a respected warrior, which is indisputable. Nay, people respect him for his refusal to send his warriors into a conflict he does not believe in.

Though my father is not one of them.

According to him, Moray’s obstinacy came at too high a cost. Men died because he refused to join the fight, leaving the burden to my father and other lords.

Do you follow your leader even if you know they are wrong?

For Moray, the answer is nay. For my father, it has always been aye.

As for me? I am still undecided on that count. I don’t expect I’ll ever have to decide, for Cettina is a better queen than her father was a king. Her sister had been raised to take on that role, but I was convinced the right Borea inherited the crown. Before being named commander, I was Cettina’s personal guard, so I have known her for years. Which means I know what many are coming to learn.

She is worthy of the title Queen of Edingham.

But Moray knows none of this. He clearly sees me and the man who sired me as one and the same. My job here will be to convince him otherwise. To persuade him to treat with me despite his animosity toward my family.