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  Elisabeth was nearing death’s door as each hour passed, she could sense it surrounding her. She thought of seeing her family again, hugging them and kissing their faces. The thought of be reunited with them made her smile. Unable to keep her eyes open, she struggled to stay conscious, she came in and out of the dream world in a haze. A colossal winter storm had arrived in the Highlands with full force; the freezing winds and bitter coldness rattled her bones. Her thin tunic and tartan plaid did little to shield her from the bone chilling cold of the Highland mountains. Praying the castle was close by; she bundled up as best she could and focused on surviving.

  At three and twenty she had traveled this far north once; it had been many years ago, the landscape had changed so much. The forest and trails all seemed to blend together under a fresh blanket of snow. She was lost; coming in and out of consciousness had made her disoriented, she was no longer sure what direction she traveled in. She had been so used to her brother navigating their paths, she had never had memorized the path to Castle MacMillan.

  Opening her eyes, she scanned the horizon; her long red hair blew in the wind as she searched for familiar landmarks. Night was again nearing and she saw no sign of civilization in her view. She thought about Laird MacMillan as she scanned the silent forest. Broderick was older than her by six years; he and Duncan were the same age. She met him five years ago, and it had not gone overly well.

  Remembering the awful rift between Broderick and Duncan that brought her through this forest once before. A fight over a woman had brought the two powerful men close to war, along with their clans. Elisabeth had ridden deep into these lands to stop the escalating fight between the prideful men.

  Broderick and Duncan had once been long time friends before Fiona twisted them against each other. Kincaid had employed the lovely Fiona to capture the men’s hearts and then use her persuasion and lies to cause a war between the two. The Scottish lass easily manipulated each man with the sway of her hips and her promising words of undying love, each thought he was her only lover. The plan Kincaid had concocted almost worked; Duncan and Broderick were nose to nose when Elisabeth had found them so many years ago.

  The men had met at the waterfall on Broderick’s land, preparing to fight they had drawn their blades. She had ridden upon the scene desperate to stop the boiling tensions.

  She had uncovered the truth, she had tried to speak to Broderick first but that had turned disastrous. She had ridden to the waterfall, screaming for them to listen to her words, pleading with them to stop. Neither Duncan nor Broderick paid attention to her as she attempted to push them away from each other.

  She was only a handful of years younger than Laird Broderick and Duncan, yet they seemed like leviathans to her. Even years later she could remember what the handsome laird looked like; she had threatened his life in order to save her brother. She remembered raising her broadsword to Broderick to get his attention; he had merely smiled down at her as if she wasn’t a threat at all.

  It had been years ago, so many years ago. What she wouldn’t give to have her brother by her side now. Casting her unsteady gaze around the forest, she had never felt such despair and agony in her life. Her heart ached for her family and clan; her body had started to grow numb. The bitter cold had taken its toll on her bare fingers and exposed skin. Shivering constantly, the sound of her chattering teeth was the only sound to be heard in the empty forest.

  Desperate to find Castle MacMillan she ran her weary eyes across the mountainous range ahead of her, nothing. Only trees, snow and ice lay ahead of her. The craggy mountain range lay directly before her, she saw no sign of life, human or animal. She was alone; her heart sank as she bobbed in the saddle. The world closed in around her, and she saw black. Her last lucid thoughts were on her beloved family as she closed her eyes and fell out of her saddle onto snow covered forest floor.

  Chapter 1

  The news of the Drummond massacre was swiftly carried to Broderick; he had eyes and ears in every corner of the Highlands. As soon as the devastating news reached his ears, the powerful young laird called up his army of warriors and quickly rode south. In search of Drummond survivors, the thundering army approached the distant village within a day. From the reports he had received, he didn’t know what to anticipate upon their arrival.

  Broderick and his men arrived to find nothing but ash and bone. No animals, no survivors, no structure left standing. All had been lost. The once beautiful castle and thriving village had been raised to the ground, charred remains of homes and people scattered the once beautiful land. Smoke still rose from the rubble, an eerie reminder of the battle that had been waged here. The smell of death was nauseating, even to a seasoned warrior. Broderick and his men had not seen a massacre like this in many years.

  Searching for hours for any sign of life, Broderick and his men departed the scorched village, sickened by the innocent fatalities of women and children. No one was spared. To the MacMillan clan, there was no honor in killing the innocent. Warriors fought warriors, not defenseless villagers, women and children.

  He had spotted several Douglas tartans on a few of the fallen corpses. Without a doubt, Broderick and his men knew who was to blame for this horrendous crime. Laird Kincaid and his clan were well known for their deceit and treachery.

  What had brought on such a vicious attack? If there was issued between the two clans, he was sure Laird Drummond would have written him about it, what was he missing? Why would Laird Kincaid murder so many innocent lives? What had happened? So many questions flew threw his head as he and his men rode out of the crumbling remains of Castle Drummond.

  At nine and twenty Broderick had never seen such a savage attack in the ten years he had been laird. War was common; the slaughter of hundreds of innocent lives was not, even in these war torn times. He had seen his fair share of bloody corpse ridden battlefields, but the sight of charred skeletal remains of wee children made him sick.

  Kincaid and his clan would pay. One did not lay an entire clan low without repercussions; Laird Kincaid would answer for his atrocities.

  Broderick had become Laird of Clan MacMillan at only nineteen years of age after his parents had died; he too had endured the wrath of war. His parents had been murdered while he and his younger brother were gone at the Highland festival in Inverness. He had taken his father’s spot as the youngest laird Scotland, years ago he could remember the rage and vengeance he felt as he delivered justice to his parent’s murders. He would see that same justice dealt for the slain Laird Drummond and his family, they had been damn good people. He had always looked up to the elder Laird with respect, he had learned much from him in his youth. Laird Drummond was his father’s closest friend. Now dead and gone, Broderick vowed to see his life avenged.

  Broderick had ruled his lands with an iron fist these past ten years. Fair and fiercely protective of his clan, he and his army had never been bested; he was a known favorite of the King. His lands were vast and his people were plentiful and excellent farmers in such barren land. His clan was the largest in the Highlands; his army outnumbered everyone save the King of England. Laying siege to Kincaid and his men would be easy for his trained warriors. Brewing tensions between him and Laird Kincaid would soon come to an end, along with Kincaid’s life.

  Riding back towards MacMillan castle, he thought of his long time friend Duncan, his life would be avenged as well. After their falling out so many years ago, they had never regained their friendship like it had been before Fiona had torn them apart. Gritting his teeth, Broderick swore a blood oath to his deceased friend; he would see the attackers pay with their life.

  The winter storm that followed Broderick and his men continued to grow in strength as they moved north; heavy snow covered the forest floor. Winter would soon lock him and his clan away from the outside world until the thaw, situated in the extreme north of the Highlands; his castle would be isolated for many months.

  His army moved with such efficiency it hadn’t taken long before they cr
ossed borders back into MacMillan territory. The icy forest was eerily quiet as he and his men crunched through the fresh snow towards his castle. They still had a tremendous amount of riding to do tonight before they’d arrive home to the warm castle. Broderick cast his eyes ahead and noticed a lone faint set of horse tracks, a solo rider. Following the tracks, he gave a silent signal for his men to meticulously scan the woods.

  Shadows and darkness made it hard to see anything, signaling to his wolfhounds to search the area, Broderick watched as they picked up the scent easily. His two large hounds tracked the scent and took off into the dark night in search of the rider.

  Hearing their telltale barks moments later, he ordered his men to stay in formation as he turned his stallion in search of his hounds, his brother Kendrix broke away from the pack and followed closely behind. Their weapons drawn, they galloped towards the sound of the wolfhounds. Someone was on their land that did not belong, and the dogs had found the intruder.

  Maneuvering quickly through the snowy forest, the two brothers saw the hounds barking at a magnificent black stallion with no rider. Cornered behind a large rock wall, the horse was spooked by the dogs, rearing up on its hind legs it kicked at the wolfhounds.

  Quickly spotting the Drummond plaid on the horse’s back, Broderick scanned the ice-covered forest around him for the fallen rider. Looking past the defensive horse he saw a small figure slumped on the ground, clearly not moving. The warhorse was protecting its rider who laid face first in the fresh snow.

  With one swift whistle, he signaled for his wolfhounds Conn and Isla to halt their insistent barking; he did not want the fallen rider trampled by the flighty horse. The hounds stopped immediately and return to his side in seconds. Watching the fallen rider for movement he leaned over towards his brother, “Kendrix, see if the rider is alive,” nodding his head towards the horse and fallen rider.

  Broderick stayed seated on his tall stallion, hand on the hilt of his broadsword should something occur. He watched his only sibling dismount and approach the horse, attempting to calm the beast. Snorting and stomping the ground in agitation the horse was clearly a warriors’ horse.

  At seven and twenty, Kendrix was the captain of the MacMillan army; he was Broderick’s next in command and his closest friend and only sibling. Known for his skills as a leader and a warrior, Kendrix was Broderick’s right hand man, and the only family he had left. The brothers stuck together; rarely did you see one without the other. Only two years apart, they were inseparable. Alike in size and look, the brothers could easily be mistaken for twins by a passerby.

  At over six feet tall Kendrix briskly dismounted his horse, his booted feet crunched in the icy covered snow. His breath visible in the cold night air and he flicked Broderick his reins. Approaching the stallion with caution he calmly talked to the horse as he drew closer. Kendrix saw the small figured lying in snow, her long red hair stood out against the fresh snow, as did the pile of blood she lay in. Watching her from a short distance he saw the faint rise of her ribs, looking back at his brother, “Tis a woman Broderick, barely alive!”

  Broderick dismounted his horse instantly and tied their horses securely to a tree as he watched Kendrix secure the fallen rider’s horse away from the fallen woman.

  “Do ye believe she’s a survivor Brother?” Kincaid asked as they walked back over to the fallen lady.

  “Aye, tis a Drummond plaid Kendrix, she’s wounded, she must have escaped undetected,” Broderick answered, mystified how one single woman could survive the bloody slaughter they had just left. Kneeling down he couldn’t see her face; her long red hair covered her pale face from recognition.

  The brothers had both seen the pool of blood that she lay in; her hands were deathly pale and her breathing extremely shallow, both stunned she was still alive.

  “Roll her over Kendrix; shall we see the face of the lone survivor of Drummond?”

  Broderick watched as his brother gently rolled the small lass over to reveal a breathtaking face, a face that he recognized instantly.

  “Could it be?” he asked in astonishment, his voice barely a whisper as he leaned closer to the young woman in the snow. Reaching out he gently brushed back her coppery hair to fully reveal her face. He scanned her pale face and her skin, she appeared to be nearly frozen solid; but there was no doubt in his mind. He remembered her, she had aged, but she had only grown more stunning. Pure shock and joy flowed through him as he gazed upon her.

  “Do you know this woman Broderick?”

  “Aye, and you know of her too Brother.”

  Pulling back the tartan plaid around her ivory neck to revel a necklace bearing the Drummond family crest, he was sure, “Tis Duncan’s sister.”

  “Laird Drummond’s only daughter? The Warrior Queen of Scotland?”

  Broderick nodded, “Aye, she is the daughter of Laird Drummond. I haven’t seen her in years. Ye are correct Brother, she be the fabled Warrior Queen of Scotland.” He explained as he ran his eyes over her face and down her body looking for her wound. It was a miracle she was alive. He had no idea how long she had fallen off her horse, only that she was on death’s door, and they needed to get her to their castle immediately.

  It had been years since he saw the lass; she had grown into a fine woman. Stories of this woman floated around the Highland for years, he had only met her once, and she had been in her full glory. He had guessed her to have been eighteen the last time he had seen her, now she had to be in her twenties.

  “She looks just like her mother, and surly you see how much she looks like Duncan. There is no mistaking her Kendrix; she is the heir to Drummond. The sole survivor, and in these lands, the closest thing we have to royalty. We need to get her back to MacMillan castle right away.” Standing up Broderick nodded for his brother to lift her up, “It’s been days since the attack; she has to be on death’s door. She’s nearly frozen to death, and lord knows where that blood is coming from.”

  “What tis her name?” Kendrix asked as he slowly lifted the limp woman into his arms.

  “Elisbeth, she is the lass who put herself between her brother and I all those years ago. She stopped the bloodshed.” He said with a dry voice, he thought back to that fateful day with shame. Years had passed since he almost was drawn into a battle with his friend over a woman.

  The beautiful woman dead to the world in his brother’s arms was the one thing he was most thankful for all those years ago, she had stopped him from killing his best friend over a lying whore. He owed her his life. He had never thanked her for stopping the brewing war; he had never been able to express his gratitude as time had passed for stepping in between him and Duncan and stopping their fight.

  Walking back to their mounts, Kendrix forewarned, “I’m not sure she’ll make it Broderick, she’s barely breathing, and nearly frozen solid. Warrior Queen or not, she be human, and humans bleed and freeze to death every bloody day.”

  “Aye, we need to hurry, tie her horse to yours. I’ll carry the lass home,” Broderick ordered, his stern voice commanding, the sudden realization that even though they had found her alive dinnae mean she would stay alive very much longer. They had a hellish ride ahead of them, transporting her back to his castle could very well be her death sentence.

  Broderick swung up onto his stallion with ease, adjusting his tartan so he could hold the young woman securely. He pulled off his leather gloves and watched Kendrix carry the lass over to him. He thought back on the day she pulled him and Duncan apart at the waterfall. It was the last time he’d seen his friend alive. Years had passed since she dared pull a sword on him; in fact, she had been the only woman to ever brandish a weapon at him. He remembered the tension and fury he and Duncan had both felt, she had rode upon them and yelled at them like wee children. She had blossomed into an exquisite woman, she had been a vision years ago; time had only made her more alluring and stunning.

  Elisabeth’s story was famous amongst the Highlands; it was widely known that Laird Drummond allowed his da
ughter to ride with his army. Across the Highlands she was known not only for her beauty, but also her skills as a warrior. She was the fabled woman of Scotland who refused to take a husband, and instead, rode with her father’s army.

  Broderick was positive that Duncan had a hand in her training, and her survival. Even years ago Duncan was fiercely protective of his sister. Duncan was one of the finest warriors he had ever seen; it was obvious from her fame that Duncan had trained her. There was no finer teacher than Duncan. Stories of the siblings fighting side by side in battles floated throughout the lands, witnesses had recounted the skill they had, and how deadly they were. Elisabeth was said to be unbeatable at bow and arrow, looking down at the petite woman his brother carried towards him, he wondered how a woman of her size had such a reputation. The people of Scotland had dubbed Elisabeth their Warrior Queen; she was beloved and revered by her country and people. She had taken little backlash at refusing a husband, she was one of the few women of their time allowed to have a choice.

  Although he hadn’t seen the Drummond siblings in years, he had heard the tales, and legend of their battle victories. He knew Duncan to be extremely well trained, nearly flawless warrior. Could his little sister really be all they said she was?

  Gently taking the woman from his brother, he shifted her limp body comfortably against his chest and placed his leather gloves upon her frozen hands. She was far more in need of the protection than he was. With her secured in his arms he covered her pale face with his tartan and shifted his sable fur to cover as much of her cold body as possible. Running his free hand through his long dark hair he looked down at his brother.

  “Lord she is cold,” tucking her in close so he could share his heat, he waited until Kendrix had secured Elisabeth’s stallion, and mounted his ride before urging his horse into a gallop. His faithful wolfhounds and Brother followed him around the bend to the waiting army.