Note: This is a spin-off novella to the Reformed Rogues series. Recommend reading books in series order. Lachlan Gair is done with women! First, his childhood sweetheart ran off with his best friend on the eve of their wedding day. His second love secretly plotted to kill his chieftain’s wife, and then the third woman he fell for tricked him so her clan could kidnap his chieftain’s sister. Feeling jaded, Lachlan vows never to love again. The only problem is he cannot get Tyra Henderson out of his head. And to make matters worse, Sorcha Henderson (nee MacGregor) is determined to marry him off to a stranger. Tyra Henderson’s one regret in life was lying to Lachlan Gair. It was not her finest moment, pretending to fall in love with him so he would drop his guard. If only she had not developed genuine feelings for Lachlan, it would not hurt so much when he glares at her with contempt each time their paths cross. And to make matters worse, the laird’s wife insists she helps Lachlan plan his wedding to... someone else. If you like your medieval romance with a twist of suspense, action and adventure, interfering family members and humor, then you'll enjoy this book. Content Warning: Brawny alpha males, and feisty heroines. Not suitable for people under 18. It contains mature content, some violence and mild steam. *** Chapter 1 1048 Sadell Abbey, Argyll, Scotland Two Months Earlier “Where is Miriam Ferguson?” the warrior asked. His enormous hand with bloodied knuckles squeezed the abbess’s neck with increased pressure. The abbess remained indifferent, which was unusual behavior for someone in a precarious position. It was the quiet, assured confidence of a woman who felt no fear that the warrior posed any real threat. She rasped through labored breaths, “If… you let… me speak… I’ll…tell you.” The warrior pushed her away. She stumbled then righted herself, coughing as the air reentered her lungs. She rubbed her neck, knowing a bruise was already forming. “Talk now!” he demanded in an abrasive tone. “Miriam is here, but she is no longer with us,” the abbess said between coughs. “What do you mean?” he snarled. Fist clenched. The abbess pointed beyond the cloister to a small cemetery past the courtyard. A line of crosses framed the view. “Miriam rests among our dead.” “You lie!” he shouted. His hand shot out again. This time the abbess was prepared. She pulled her sgian-dubh from her sleeve. The sharp end of the blade now rested against his belly. “I would think twice if I were you,” she said. Her eyes held a steely glint. He paused, dropped his arm, and stepped away. The abbess stepped back, allowing more space between them. She retracted the blade. “I will ask you again, warrior, what did you want with Miriam?” “She had something that belonged to my liege.” “All of Miriam’s earthly possessions were distributed among the poor. There was nothing of value.” “What I seek is not material possession but something more, and I will find it with or without your help.” He stepped forward again in a threatening manner but paused when he heard a quiet voice speak into the dimly lit cloister. “Abbess Murdina is everything well?” a woman asked. She stood a few feet away; her black hair was braided, and she wore a plain brown tunic. Her feet were bare. In her right hand, she casually leaned against a wooden quarterstaff. Anyone with a keen eye would notice she gripped it firmly, and she was not using it as a crutch. The abbess exchanged a furtive glance, then replied, “All is well, Naomi. Our guest was just leaving.” The warrior briefly glanced at the newcomer. He noted she was a foreigner by her accent and complexion. He dismissed her and returned his gaze to the abbess. “You think you can be rid of me that easily?” he asked rhetorically. “I ken you are hiding something within these walls, and I will find it even if I have to burn this abbey to the ground.” He grabbed the abbess by her arms, preparing to push her out of his way. But his action was interrupted when a wooden staff struck him hard on the side of the head. He released the abbess and turned towards the one called Naomi. His expression was one of confusion because the woman had not moved from her position, and she still leaned against the staff with an innocent expression on her face. Not one to be fooled, he drew his sword only to find it flung out of his hands as Naomi rotated her staff with such speed and lashed out at his sword hand with a loud thwacking sound. “Argh!” he snarled and gripped his injured hand. Before he could defend himself, Naomi took four steps, rotated the staff again, and struck him on the other side of the face. “Bitch!” he yelled. Stunned by the surprise attack. The warrior realized then he had made a grave error dismissing the foreigner so quickly. With his attention on her weapon, he failed to notice Naomi’s foot moving towards his groin until it was too late. He stumbled to the floor in pain from the hard kick to his nether regions. When he raised his head to glare at her, all he saw was the quarterstaff aiming for his right temple. “Cease!” the abbess shouted. But it was too late. Naomi gripped the staff with both hands and side-swiped the warrior’s temple. It knocked him out cold. “By the saints, child. I told you I was all right!” the abbess scolded in frustration as she moved forward and crouched down to check on the warrior. “He was going to hurt you,” Naomi said while she was standing over the body, feet spaced apart, clutching her quarterstaff at a horizontal angle. “Saints preserve us. Do you have so little faith in my abilities? Now he will be even more determined, you reckless gal.” The abbess ranted while checking his pulse. “Sorry, Abbess Murdina. I thought you were in danger,” Naomi replied with a contrite expression. “The only thing I’m in danger of is spending eternity in hell for teaching you to wield that thing.” Satisfied that the warrior still had a steady pulse, the abbess huffed, stood, and snatched the staff out of Naomi’s hand. She propped it up against the wall and said, “You need to learn restraint. Violence is a last resort. Think before you act lass.” “It will not happen again,” Naomi replied. The abbess sighed and said, “Lord kens, you will bring the wrath of the bishop upon us now. Come on then, help me move him.” Naomi reluctantly lifted the warrior’s legs while the abbess lifted his upper body as they shuffled under his dead weight. Once they had placed him at the narthex, the abbess arranged for two laymen to move him out of the gates. Their task completed the abbess locked the gates and barred the doors. The two women then moved to the cloister. Naomi asked, “Abbess Murdina, what was he searching for?” “Not what, who,” she replied. “Who was he searching for?” Naomi asked. “Miriam.” Naomi gasped, “What did you tell him?” “The same thing I tell anyone who seeks her.” “Then we must warn her,” Naomi whispered. The abbess shook her head and said, “No, we cannot lead them to her in any way. They are watching us, and more will come.” “But what about the ch—” “Hush, lass! Dinnae speak of it here. The walls have ears,” the abbess hissed as her eyes glanced about the inner courtyard. Naomi remained silent then said, “Send me. I am fast. I can cover my tracks.” The abbess shook her head and whispered, “I require you here. Miriam kens the danger, and we have trained her well. We protect them all by staying the course.” Naomi nodded. “Aye, Abbess.” She retrieved her staff. As Naomi followed the abbess down the dimly lit cloister, she sent up a silent prayer that the enemy never discovered the truth about Miriam Ferguson. *** Present Day - Henderson Keep, Glencoe, Scotland Tyra walked out the door of the busy hall leaving the festivities and abrupt noise behind her. She felt nauseated after the news she received from Sorcha. Lachlan was set to wed. Why did he not mention anything before? Tyra strode down the dimly lit passageway heading for the side entrance out of the Keep. She was practically gasping for air at the prospect that the man she had fallen in love with was soon to be married to someone else. For weeks Tyra had hoped Lachlan would warm towards her. Forgive her for the betrayal, but he remained cold and aloof. Now she realized why. He was courting someone else, and the thought pierced her heart with sadness. Now to make matters worse, Sorcha wanted Tyra to assist with the wedding feast. It was akin to pouring salt on a festering wound. Tyra muttered to herself, “Why the bloody hell does he need my help?” The thought that she would have to witness Lachlan marry someone else, love someone else was too much to bear. “You’re a damned fool,” she said to no one. “As if he would have had any real interest in you.” “Who are you talking to?” Lachlan asked out of nowhere. Tyra jumped in fright and almost came out of her skin. She paused with a hand on her chest to calm her racing heart. “Sorry, I didnae mean to startle you,” Lachlan said as he watched Tyra try to compose herself. “Wha…what are you doing here? You scared the life out of me,” she stammered as he hovered close by. Lachlan moved even closer until he was towering over her. She strained her neck to peer up at him. “I wanted to find out what you’re doing out here in the dark,” he replied. Tyra tried not to stare too hard at his masculine jawline or the way his Adam’s apple moved when he spoke. “I… I was heading to my cottage.” “Alone?” he asked. “Aye,” Tyra replied. “You’re not sneaking off to tryst with that warrior I saw you with earlier tonight?” “What warrior?” “The one who was spinning you about with his hands all over you like a rash,” Lachlan growled. Tyra stepped back only to be backed against the wall. Lachlan moved forward, crowding her space. “I dinnae ken what you speak of Lachlan Gair, now if you would please move, I can be on my way.” She tried to move around him. Lachlan stared at Tyra for some time but refused to move. The hallway was dimly lit, but there was enough light illuminating her features. His gaze landed on her lips, her full succulent lips, and he was mesmerized by them. He had stolen kisses from Tyra before. In another time and place when he thought she had genuine feelings for him. Standing this close to her again, Lachlan thought of only one thing as all sense left his brain. “Lachie?” Tyra whispered in confusion. The dimples in her cheeks became prominent as she spoke. “Damn you!” Lachlan growled and pulled her into his arms. Tyra gasped as his lips claimed hers. She could not think straight, and it was not long before she had her arms loosely wound about his shoulders as Lachlan deepened the kiss. All thought scattered to the four winds. Lachlan pulled away first, breathing heavily as if trying to reason with himself. “Do you enjoy my kisses? Or are you pretending?” he asked but did not give her a chance to answer as his mouth sought hers once more. Tyra pushed him back. She shook her head and said, “We cannot do this. Not when you’re promised to another.” Lachlan frowned. “What do you mean?” “Dinnae trifle with me, Lachlan. You ken what I mean. You act like the injured party. Meanwhile, you have a betrothed you never mentioned.” Tyra pushed him aside and tried to pass. He pulled her back and asked, “Who told you that?” “So, you admit it?” she accused. “I admit nothing,” he replied, exasperated. “Dinnae, play games with me, Lachlan Gair.” Tyra was becoming increasingly agitated. “So, is this what you do? Flash your pretty dimples and toy with men.” “My dimples? What has that got to do with anything?” “You are a liar, Tyra Henderson, and I will not be led by the nose.” Lachlan glowered at her. Tyra felt as if he had struck her with his open palm. She flinched and stepped back. “I’m the liar now? When you’re the one who has misrepresented yourself.” They were both glaring at each other in silence when someone cleared their throat nearby. Lachlan immediately released Tyra as if she was a bag of hot coals. He turned to see Kieran standing a few feet away. “Lach, sorry to bother you, but Bram wants a word,” Kieran said. “Aye, I’ll be there directly,” Lachlan replied, then returned his gaze to Tyra and said, “Dinnae walk at night alone. I cannot stop you from sneaking about with other men, but you will remain safe.” “I dinnae sneak about with men!” she hissed in protest. “I dinnae care what you do,” Lachlan bit out in return. He stepped away from her in a dismissive manner. As he walked past Kieran, he said, “See Tyra home.” “Aye,” Kieran replied. Lachlan proceeded down the hall without a second glance. “What a turd,” Tyra muttered under her breath. Frantically trying to smooth her hair. Kieran just chuckled. “An angry turd by the look of it.” “Does he always behave like an ogre?” she asked Kieran. “Only where you’re concerned, lass,” he replied. “C’mon, I best get you home before the turd returns.” As they began walking, Tyra asked, “What did Bram want with Lachlan?” “Something about a woman.” “What woman?” Tyra asked. “I didnae ask.” Kieran shrugged his shoulders. Tyra wanted to return to the hall and find out who this woman was. But she mentally shook her head. No, she was not going to do that. It was most likely Lachlan’s bride-to-be. She was fuming that he would kiss her when he was betrothed to be married. Men were such fickle creatures, she thought. *** In the Light of Day Lachlan opened his eyes the following morning and immediately regretted it. The light streamed through the small window slit in his room, and it was enough to burn a hole in his retina. He squinted, then shut them again and brought a hand to his forehead to block out the glare. His head pounded, he felt parched, and he was partly mind fogged. He could barely recollect the previous evening’s activities as he peered at the rafters above. Lachlan groaned and sat up slowly. The room spun with a sudden rush of blood to the head. He gripped the bedding, flung his legs over the side, and just sat and contemplated the sorry state of his life. His prominent thought was that he really needed to stop drinking because he was getting too old for it. Lachlan felt a stinging pain in his chest. He instinctively rubbed it. It was not physical pain, more like the familiar empty feeling he experienced whenever he nursed a broken heart. He closed his eyes, and his mind conjured up images of a dimpled smile, sandy hair, and hazel-colored eyes. Tyra Henderson, that’s who he thought about first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. He partially smiled as he recalled how soft her lips were the night before when he had followed her out of the hall. She was a beauty, a gentle soul with a hard edge, but it was her scent of honeysuckle he loved the most. Lachlan felt the cavity in his chest fill slightly with warmth, then dissipate when he recalled the harsh words and his callous actions that caused her stricken expression. He could be a bastard when he wanted to, but betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow, and he had his fair share. Tyra had pretended to like him and distracted him so Bram Henderson could kidnap Sorcha MacGregor while Lachlan was meant to be guarding her. He cringed at the memory of his failure. Even though it all ended well, and Bram eventually married Sorcha, Lachlan could no longer trust his judgment when it came to the opposite sex. He grumbled to himself. Lachlan saw the pitcher on the mantle and decided it was time to get out of bed, wash and stop these maudlin thoughts. He was about to rise when he felt the bed shift slightly. Lachlan’s spine tingled, and his back went rigid. He whipped his head to the side, and he sucked in a breath. A shapely bared thigh rested there. He looked at the body attached to the shapely thigh and practically jumped off the bed. He paled. What the bloody hell? Lachlan immediately stepped back, trying to put as much distance between him and the semi-dressed woman currently asleep on her stomach in his bed. Her tresses had come loose as waves of abundant curls danced across her back. He looked down at his body. His trews were still intact, although riding low on his hips. Events from the night before were murky at best. He remembered meeting Bram about some woman, and then Iain and Niall poured him a drink or a hundred. He could not remember because the rest was a blur. One thing was for certain, he had imbibed more than was healthy. Either way, Lachlan realized this turn of events was not good, and she needed to leave. Shite! He cursed to himself. Not only would Beiste MacGregor beat him to a pulp, but Ruadh MacDonald would also belt him within an inch of his life if she was discovered in Lachlan’s bed. In his panic, Lachlan thought of Tyra. For some inextricable reason, he wondered what she would think of him. He inched closer towards the bed and gently nudged the woman to wake her. She grumbled and turned her head the other way. “Lass! You cannot be caught in here. Wake up!” he urged. He kept on nudging her shoulder with his hand until finally, she huffed and sat up. “All right! I am awake. No need to be annoying.” “I’m annoying? What are you doing in my bed?” Lachlan scowled. “Well, what does it bloody well look like?” she replied. “Did we?... Did we couple yestereve?” Lachlan paled and held his breath, waiting for her response. Surely, he would remember something like that. How much had he imbibed? He wondered. “How can you not remember the best night of your life?” she asked and gave him an insulted look. “I am offended you dinnae recollect how I brought you to the heights of ecstasy several times. Not to mention what you did to me.” She winked. Lachlan felt his lungs constrict. No, it could not be. He rubbed his chest in panic and pain. If he had indeed engaged in a drunken tryst, he would have to marry her. A million thoughts flew through his head, the most pressing being one of sheer panic and a need to vomit. The woman in question began giggling. “Oh, the look on your face tis so amusing!” She laughed and clapped her hands. “Dinnae fash yourself, I was merely trifling with you. Please breathe before you pass out.” Lachlan stared at her with a frown as sheer relief coursed through his veins. “What are you playing at? And why are you here?” “Tsk, you take life far too seriously. We did not couple, and you can wipe that grimace from your face. You look as if you bedded a wilder beast.” She got out of bed and straightened her chemise. “Truth be told, you were very drunk, which serves you right when you take on the Hendersons in a drinking contest you are bound to lose.” Lachlan felt pure relief at her admission. “Then what the hell are you doing in my room?” Lachlan asked in confusion. Yesenda MacDonald casually tied back her hair with a hair tie and replied, “I needed somewhere safe to hide, and your door was unlocked. I must have fallen asleep, which is a miracle considering how loud you snore.” “I dinnae snore,” Lachlan replied defensively. Yesenda just rolled her eyes and walked towards the pitcher of water as if she owned the room. “Why did you hide in here? Are you daft? You should not avail yourself of men’s living quarters.” Lachlan found his leine and quickly donned it while refastening his trews. “You sound like the abbess with all your outrage. Calm yourself. I will leave shortly.” Yesenda picked up a cloth, wiped her face, walked over to the side of the bed, and started dressing. Lachlan couldn’t believe how casually she strode about the room without a care in the world. “Do you ken what would happen if you were found in my room? You need to go now,” he grumbled. “Wheesht, keep your voice down. Help me fasten my kirtle.” Yesenda turned her back to Lachlan, her hands behind her, holding the ties’ ends for him to take the reins. “Go on, hurry up if you want me gone.” “Bloody hell, I am not a lady’s maid,” Lachlan scowled as he complied. Yesenda chuckled and turned her head to look behind her, saying, “Tis a pity. You would make such a bonnie lady with your high cheekbones and fine eyes.” Lachlan just glared at her and deliberately tightened her stays. “Ouch!” Yesenda said as he fastened it too tight. “Well, I can see you are a man who does not favor the mornings.” “What I dinnae favor is finding a strange woman in my bed whose brother could kill me for the slight.” Yesenda just shrugged. Once she was ready, Lachlan moved to the door to check outside, making sure the coast was clear. He ushered her towards it. Lachlan paused when a thought occurred to him. “Why were you in danger?” he asked. “Twas nothing. I just heard something that spooked me a little. My nerves are slightly frayed when I am in a strange place.” She brushed it off. Lachlan did not quite believe her, but noises from the hallway urged him to remove her from his room. “Very well. If you are in danger again, at least wake me up first, so I am not startled in the morn by your unwelcome presence.” Yesenda smirked and replied, “Why, how romantic you are, Lachlan Gair. Women must swoon at your words of adoration.” She raised her airisaidh over her head to conceal her identity then quit the room. Lachlan could just make out her profile disappearing down one of the passageways, then she was gone. He closed the door and scratched his head, baffled at what had just transpired and at the ease with which Yesenda carried herself as if she had done this ‘hiding’ thing many times before. He made a mental note that he would keep a closer eye on her. Lachlan put Yesenda out of his mind and washed with the remaining water in a barrel. He focused on the day ahead. As a guardsman, he had much to do. *** Fans of the following authors are known to enjoy this Scottish Historical Romance series: Julie Garwood Michele Sinclair Diana Gabaldon Hannah Howell Donna Fletcher Maya Banks Kathryn Le Veque Mary Wine Terri Brisbin Joanna Fulford