Nessa scowled.
He dropped his hand, glanced around and leaned in. “Ye never had a da, did ye?”
“Nay,” she murmured. He’d died when she had been a bairn. She couldn’t recall him, but her ma said he was a fine man.
“How would ye like a da now?”
She peered into his pale blue eyes, spying the slight shimmer of tears in the corners. It made her want to weep too. But he wanted her to be strong and she knew her ma would have wanted the same.
“Ye look like Leana.” His voice cracked at the mention of her name. He cleared his throat. “And there’s no one left that would know the difference between ye. Do ye understand what I’m saying, child?”
After opening her mouth, she closed it again, letting her frown deepen. She was the daughter of a mere kitchen maid. No one important. She would have probably taken over her mother’s role one day. So the chief couldn’t be asking what she thought he was.
“We’re stronger together,” he reminded her. “And ye’ll be protected if yer my daughter.”
“Ye want me to be…?”
“Leana, aye.” He nodded, his throat working. “Ye’ll take her place and it will be known that my one and only daughter survived this attack on our clan. Ye’ll be a wee miracle and it will help strengthen the clan once more until such a time that we can get revenge.”
She looked past him toward the wreckage of the castle, still presenting wisps of smoke into the bright morning sky.
Revenge. She clutched the tapestry tight in her palm until her nails dug through the fabric and pinched into her skin. She liked the sound of that.
Revenge for all that was lost. And all she had to do was play pretend. Well, she was good enough at that. She and Leana had often pretended to be riding into battle or battling beasts down by the loch. Meeting his gaze, she nodded slowly.
“I can do that.”
He offered a slight smile then wrapped huge arms about her and scooped her into his hold. Sinking into the warm, solid embrace, a tear slipped down her cheek. She pressed her face into the rough fabric of his plaid.
“Just us now, wee one,” he murmured. “We’ll be strong together.”
She didn’t know much about men, she had to admit, but she had the sneaking suspicion he needed her almost as much as she needed him in that moment.
Chapter One
Caithness, 1287
Leana pushed open the shutters, curled her fingers into the cold stone and inhaled a long gulp of air. Stretching in front of her, bare land tinged with yellows and greens reached up toward the snow-topped mountains. The loch ran alongside the sharp-edged ridge of the hills, sparkling in the bright morning light.
“Och, shut the window. ‘Tis freezing in here,” Maggie scolded.
Leana gulped down an extra breath and drew them shut.
“There’s be plenty of fresh air at Blair Keep,” the maid reminded her.
“I know that,” muttered Leana. “But ‘tis no’ Sinclair land is it?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “‘Tis all the same air. ‘Tis still Highland air, is it no’?”
It wasn’t the same by far but Leana wasn’t going to argue that with the maid.
Maggie offered up her plaid, helping Leana wrap it about herself and then pin it with a decorative broach. She ran a finger over the delicate twists of gold.
“Once I’ve done yer hair, ye’ll be just bonnie,” Maggie said, her smile broadening.
She clasped her hands together and stepped back to glance her over. Grey hair peppered with suggestions of the original black shade hinted at Maggie’s skill with a comb and pins. Her perpetually rosy cheeks presented a splash of color against her pale skin. It was rare to see Maggie anything other than jovial and sometimes Leana resented it. It made her feel dry and tired and old and several decades older than the maid rather than younger.
“Oh, aye bonnie indeed. But we have some work to do first.”
Leana rolled her eyes. At the same time, it was impossible not to adore Maggie. “I dinnae care if I look like a beast risen from the loch.”
“That I dinnae believe.” Maggie took her shoulders and urged her onto a chair by the window of the room.
Leana did as she was bid. There was no arguing with Maggie, especially over the benefits of looking beautiful in front of a potential suitor.
A tiny shudder wracked her, and she couldn’t blame the frosty winter air she had released into the room.
“Yer nervous,” said Maggie, combing fingers through Leana’s hair.
“Nay,” she replied automatically.
“Ye are. I know ye.”
Leana bit down on her bottom lip. Maggie didn’t know her. Not really. The woman might have been at her side since she was a girl, struggling to learn how to be a chieftain’s daughter instead of a kitchen maid’s, but she had little idea of the secrets she kept buried. No idea that her father was not really her blood, and certainly no clue as to her true identity.
Sometimes, the truth weighed down on her as though she were at the very bottom of the loch with the water pressing down upon her shoulders. Sometimes, she wished she could unburden it all upon the woman to whom she was closest.
But the truth had to remain buried. For everyone’s sake. If it was known she had taken the place of the chieftain’s daughter, it would weaken the Sinclairs.
She lifted her chin and tightened her muscles. She would never be weak. Never. It had taken them long enough to rebuild the keep as a former shadow of itself, all the while fending off threats from neighboring clans who saw them as ripe for plunder after so many of their important members had died.
Were it not for her reputation as a miracle survivor—the only daughter of the chief who emerged from the ashes barely
