Alec frowned and purposely opened his mouth to breathe without being tempted by the lass's sweetly edible scent. He'd been riding since dawn with her lovely, barely-concealed backside pressed against him. Her warmth melted into him each time his mount surged forward. And her damnable curls teased him ceaselessly. He'd stopped counting the times he almost buried his face in her hair. What the hell had he been thinking, telling her he wouldn't kiss her again? Every inch of his body rebelled against his oath.

His captain of the guard saw him coming and raised the thick iron-toothed gate. Alec clopped into the bailey, dismounting before the horse completely stopped. He lifted Rachel from her seat. She followed him with downcast eyes like a dutiful prisoner.

"Phillip."

His friend and second-in-command leapt from the table in the great hall. "Bloody hell, am I glad to see ye," he greeted and grabbed Alec in a thumping hug. Alec smiled at the obvious worry in his friend. "We found Macbain bodies and ye were gone."

"Someone was praying for me," Alec quipped, his glance catching Rachel's wide eyes.

Phillip's gaze turned to her, his smile becoming predatory. Alec frowned. "I take it, William Brindle and his other daughter made it here?" Phillip nodded without taking his eyes off Rachel. Alec walked over to stand in front of her.

Phillip's eyebrow rose at the show of protection. "Aye. They are in the dungeon."

Rachel gasped.

"Ye placed a woman in the dungeon?" Alec shouted.

Phillip shrugged. "I meant to put her in Dugger's room, but she wouldn't leave her father and he deserves the dungeon."

Alec rolled his eyes at Phillip. "What?" Phillip asked, eyes innocent. "I made sure the lass had plenty of blankets, food and water."

Alec caught Rachel's wrist and towed her behind him. He grabbed a torch from the wall as they descended to the cells. Phillip followed. The smell of rotting food and animal waste permeated the air. Alec shook his head. This wasn't endearing Rachel to him.

"Isabelle! Father!" Rachel called when she spotted them in the dim cell. Alec released her and unlocked the bars. Rachel flew inside, her blue light glowing faintly. If he hadn't been looking for it, he'd barely notice.

"Good God," William Brindle rebuked. "Where are the rest of your clothes? Your mark is visible! Cover yourself." He threw his blanket over the birthmark Alec had noticed on Rachel's wrist. "And stop that ..." he swatted at her and Rachel dutifully let her light go out. She hugged her sister.

"We're fine, really," Isabelle said. "What happened to you?"

"I got lost."

"And ended up nearly naked, out in the night with ..." he indicated Alec.

Alec crossed his large arms over his bare chest. "Alec Munro, the chief of Clan Munro and yer captor." Alec glanced at Rachel. Her eyes seemed large in the darkness. Was she surprised at his title?

William's lips pressed tight. "You cannot hold an English subject," but the force had left his voice.

"Ye are charged with thievery and trickery for deceiving my father over the last decade." Alec watched guilt flash in the man's watery, weak eyes before Brindle turned them towards the filthy straw floor. "We will discuss this matter after ye've had a chance to think." He motioned to Rachel where she clung to her sister. "Come, we'll give ye a room above stairs."

Rachel shook her head. "We stay with our father."

Alec waited for Brindle to insist they go above, but the coward kept his mouth clamped. The man gave no comfort to his daughter, who could have died or been attacked during their night apart, yet he let her protect him. Alec stalked past Phillip, almost out of the hearing of the prisoners.

"Place William Brindle in Dugger's old room. See that his daughters are given my sister's quarters. Have Maddie bring them some of Catherine's dresses." Phillip nodded to each instruction. "Warm baths for the ladies, and Phillip ..." Alec paused without turning.

"Aye?"

"Doona touch her," he said in Gaelic. He switched back to English. "She is mine."

"Which one?" Phillip asked, but Alec just stalked away.

Five.

She was his? What did that mean?

Rachel mulled over the three simple words that had captured her more firmly than the iron bars she'd stood behind just an hour ago.

Now bathed and dressed in a blue gown, Rachel waited with Isabelle for an escort to the evening meal. She and her sister were now guests. Their father was housed in one of the cramped servant's quarters, but he probably deserved worse. Rachel sighed. Her father's morals had turned dark ever since their mother had died. His whole life now centred around material wealth and finding a higher placement in the hierarchical ladder at court.

"So he's the chief," Isabelle commented, her raised eyebrows adding unspoken questions. The edges of her mouth turned up subtly. Rachel nodded with a meek shrug. "And he captured you outside the Macbain's castle." Isabelle already knew this from her sisterly inquisition earlier so Rachel didn't feel the need to respond. "And you spent ... a whole night together in a cave wearing only your shift." Rachel ran her fingertip absently along the beaded pattern embellishing her snug velvet bodice. A long pause stretched. "Did you kiss him?" Isabelle whispered. Rachel snapped a look at her sister.

Isabelle laid her hand on Rachel's wrist where the bruise from her rescue in the cave shone. A faint light gave Rachel's skin a bluish tint as Isabelle dissolved the pools of blood beneath her skin. Rachel was certain that her sister could also detect her deep blush and the way her heart raced. Isabelle smiled broadly at the unspoken admission. "He's quite handsome in a robust, wild type of way," Isabelle commented.

"It wasn't like that," Rachel defended. "Thank you," she whispered as Isabelle smoothed her now healthy-looking skin.

"So, how was it then?"

"He'd just saved me from certain death. I was panicky, grateful, overwhelmed."

"Hmm ... 'overwhelmed'," Isabelle said, as if understanding, even though Rachel knew her sister had never been overwhelmed in that way before.

A sharp rapping on the door made them both jump off the bed. A smiling face peeked around the frame. "Time to sup." A little grey-haired lady with more wrinkles than last year's apples beckoned them.

Rachel and Isabelle grasped hands as they followed the maid down the winding steps. They walked on silent slippers under an archway into the great hall. A churning tide of deep, guttural voices ebbed, slowly fading to silence as all eyes turned towards them. Isabelle nearly squeezed the blood from Rachel's hand. The only other women in the room whisked around with platters of meat and baskets of bread. Two long tables with short benches held tankards and bread trenchers along their polished surfaces. Their father was absent.

Rachel spotted Alec easily by the hearth. His height and breadth set him apart. Even with the loose linen shirt covering his chest, the broad strength of his form could not be concealed. Rachel swallowed as she recalled the smooth, hot skin of his stomach, the soft sprinkling of hair across his chest, the thin lines of scars giving evidence of his continued survival in this harsh land. Her inhale cut off when she met his smouldering gaze. She couldn't look away. It was as if an invisible tether tied her. Isabelle tugged her to a table and Rachel had to break the connection, else trip over her own skirts.

Dinner dragged as Rachel endeavoured to make pleasant talk in broken Gaelic. Only a few of the Munros spoke English. Rachel had expected hostility from them because of the fact that she and her sister were English and that their father was imprisoned above stairs. But the Munros only smiled and patiently corrected her pronunciation.

Alec remained on the far side of the room throughout the meal. Towards the end, he walked over. "Chief Munro," Rachel began formally and lowered her eyes.

"Alec," he corrected with the hint of a grin in his voice. He waited until she looked up. "Aye?"

"We would know what you have planned for our father," Rachel said.

Alec's grin turned to a wry frown. "He's admitted his guilt." Alec looked only at Rachel. "He's willing to trade one of ye for his freedom." Rachel swallowed hard and felt Isabelle grasp at her arm, but she nodded. It didn't surprise her. She was certain which one he'd likely give up. Alec looked away as he spoke. "I told him that I doona take slaves as payment, and a person given away without their consent is a slave."

Rachel wet her dry lips. Her heart beat hard, the edge of alarm making it hard to speak. "If," she squeaked, "you have my consent, will you release my sister and father?"

Alec's gaze swung back. Anger muted the shock cut into his features. "Ye would surrender yerself to save that man?"

"And my sister," Rachel added.

"No, Rachel," Isabelle whispered.

"Yer sister is not in jeopardy," Alec said.

"She will be if you send her back to England without a protector, a father to see her supported and married well." Determination straightened Rachel's spine. "And regardless of his crimes, I am loyal to my family." Alec must understand clan loyalty. The silence was uncomfortable. "I could stay on as a servant." Her gaze trailed one woman carrying two tankards to the far table.

"Ye are no servant, slave, or prisoner. Ye are free to do as would make ye happy," Alec murmured. "This I promise." Rachel's pulse fluttered and her stomach tightened at the kindness in his vow. Before she could respond with more than wide-eyed surprise, the door banged open and a man strode across the rushes towards Alec.

"A message from The Macbain." He handed over a sealed missive. Phillip flanked Alec as he broke the seal. The room hushed, waiting. Alec thumped his fist down on the table making the wooden bowls wobble and Rachel and Isabelle flinch.

Alec looked up with a mischievous grin. "It seems that the great Macbain has misplaced the daughter of a wool merchant visiting our Highlands." Rachel felt the eyes in the room turn from Alec to her. "Seems he's willing to give over quite a reward for her safe return to Druim." Phillip translated in Gaelic and soon the whole room was laughing, deep guffaws. Rachel and Isabelle looked at one another. Rachel watched Alec as he read the rest of the missive. His smile turned stony. He eyed the messenger.

"Tell The Macbain and this Angus Riley that Rachel Brindle is a guest of Munro Keep and will soon be a permanent member of Clan Munro. I doona trade women for cattle." He snorted as if offended.

Rachel's fingers curled in her lap at the word "permanent". Hadn't Alec just sworn that she could do anything that made her happy? Happy as long as she remained with the Munros. Isabelle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She leaned her head against Rachel's neck. "I will stay with you," Isabelle whispered. Rachel just shook her head. She rose from her bench, Isabelle next to her. Linked arm-in-arm, they turned to the steps.

"Where are ye going?" Alec's question boomed across the murmurs in the room.

Rachel paused but didn't turn around. The room quieted. "It would make me happy to retire to my pen." She glanced back at Alec, her eyes piercing. "It's on Munro land so I assume it's within my allowed territory." He looked confused for a moment at the cattle reference, but then his face hardened. Rachel didn't wait for a nod but walked out of the room with Isabelle.

Rachel curled on her side next to her soundly slumbering sister. Sleep, sleep, she repeated, to dam the swirl of thoughts flooding her mind. But they tumbled over. It was even difficult to close her eyes, because every time she did she felt Alec's hard, warm chest under her cheek, his hips clenched between her thighs, his strong hands holding her face as he kissed her in that black cave. Sleep! She shouted in her head and squeezed her eyes shut, replacing the carnal picture with one of fluffy sheep roaming the green fields before Munro Castle.

Rachel's ears caught the thud of footsteps up the narrow stairway. The tread slowed, grew softer as it neared her door. It stopped. Rachel pushed up in the bedcovers, glaring. "He posts a guard on us," she whispered. So she wasn't a slave, wasn't a prisoner anymore? Ha!

Anger, fuelled by irritation at her own rampant musings, propelled her from bed. She yanked a blanket around her shoulders and threw the door open. Her lips parted to insist to the guard there that she wasn't going anywhere in the middle of the night. She froze.

Alec stood in the low light of the lighted sconce along the stone wall. His gaze slid from her bare toes, up her form, to her bewildered expression. "Alec?"

"Ye left before the final course. I'm also partial to sweets." Rachel realized he held a wooden bowl.

He placed it in her hand. "Raspberries?"

"Sweetened." His voice was soft in the dark. "I saved ye some." He indicated the door. "I thought to leave it."

He remembered her favourite sweet. "I ... I," she tripped over her words. "Thank you." Rachel tipped her head to the side and studied the tall, brawny warrior. He'd been demanding, booming, boastful down in the great hall, but then he brought her this wonderful surprise. "Alec Munro," she spoke softly in the small space between them as she met his eyes. "You are by far the most thoughtful barbarian I've ever met." She allowed the grin she felt growing to relax along her face and popped one of the delectable berries in between her lips.

Alec leaned forward, his stare intent on her mouth as if following the path of the sweet fruit. He splayed one hand against the wall on either side of Rachel, trapping her close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. She inhaled and was assaulted by his clean, masculine scent. His dark eyes watched her savour the berries. She swallowed the sweet treat. His face moved closer and Rachel felt her heart beat a rapid song. She held her breath as the rough pad of his thumb traced her full bottom lip.

"Ye're welcome," he murmured. The silence stretched as if he waited for her to reply, but all the clever quips flew from her head as she memorized the pressure of his thumb that moved against her cheek. "Good eve." Alec pulled away and clipped down the hall, leaving Rachel breathing heavily, clutching the wooden bowl of sweetened raspberries.

"Why the hell is he riding here?" Alec grumbled in frustration. The last thing he needed was the priest's suspicions and hell-burning sermons.

"Father Daughtry rides with Colin Macleod of Lewis," Phillip supplied with a shrug. "I think he was visiting The Macbains for a baptism."

"Let him know we are without any bairns to bless," Alec said as he watched the stairs. It was well past dawn and Rachel still hadn't emerged from her chamber. Would the lass hide away from him all day? "Phillip, have Fiona check on our lady guests and encourage them to come break their fast."

"Ask her yerself. I've a priest to thwart." Phillip slapped Alec on his shoulder and trudged out the door.

"I'll run up," Fiona called from a corridor near the stairwell.

"Thank ye," Alec called and drank some clear spring water as he contemplated exactly what to demand from William Brindle. The man had seemed more eager to leave behind a daughter than to pay the shillings he owed. Alec frowned over his tankard until the sound of slippers on the stairs pulled his gaze.

Rachel wore a pale blue dress that sculpted against her lush figure, displaying all the ripe curves just perfect for a man's hand. The dress stood in lovely contrast to the dark curls shrouding her slim shoulders. She was petite but her stance was strong, making her seem taller, sturdy. Her long lashes were as dark as her hair and lay against her moonlight pale skin. She smiled in greeting.

He stood, inhaling fully. "Good morn." His gaze flicked to Isabelle and he bowed his head to her as well.

"And good morn to ye, old friend," came a booming voice from the doorway. Alec's smile froze and tightened. He pivoted on one heel to face Colin Macleod. Tall and considered handsome by the lasses of Lewis and beyond, the man exuded a gentle strength that he usually held in reserve. Father Daughtry stood beside him glancing around the hall. The ordained man was not much more than a score and ten years but had already started to develop the paunch of a well-fed clergyman. He'd recently fled the manic climate of England.

Someone clomped in from another corridor. "Good morning, father," Rachel called.

"And to you," William Brindle replied as he sat down at the table and began to devour a small loaf of oat bread.

"And good morning to you, Father," Isabelle called to the priest.

Two fathers, neither of them wanted. Alec's forced smile soured. Phillip came in behind Colin and Daughtry, and Alec threw a stoic glare his way. Phillip shrugged and indicated the letter that Colin held.

"Which one is Rachel?" Father Daughtry asked, his gaze perusing the rolls on the table.

Rachel stepped closer, but Alec held up his hand. She actually stopped. He almost smiled. "What do ye want with Rachel Brindle?"

Colin passed him the missive with the Macbain seal. "The Macbain is looking for her."

"I know that. He sent a man last night and I replied." Alec unfolded the paper.

The priest frowned. "Your reply is the problem." His gaze fastened on Rachel. "You need to give her back."

"And why would I do that?" Alec's scowl intensified.

"Because," Father Daughtry reprimanded, "she's handfasted to Angus Riley."

"What?" Rachel exploded.

Colin looked from Isabelle to Rachel. "Ye're married to Angus, lass, at least for a year and a day."

Six.

"But I barely spoke to the man," Rachel fumed where she paced by the empty hearth.

"You spent the night on Macbain land," Father Daughtry replied and took a sip of ale.

"In a cave on the mountain," Rachel nearly yelled, but reined in her hysteria when Isabelle touched her arm. "Without Angus Riley," Rachel added in a firm but softer tone.

"You are but a woman," the priest continued and Rachel clamped her teeth shut. "A man must have been with you. How else did you escape Druim?"