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her weaker than she truly was.
    No, she was stronger than he gave her credit for, and she would find a way to prove to him that she was not Brodie MacKinnon’s daughter. Even if it meant escaping and confronting the old warrior laird himself.

9
    There was an unmistakable aura of gloom about the massive MacAlister keep, the grasses spread along the lower valley scorched and blackened in wide patches, other slender stalks red with dawn, reminding Kade of the spilled blood of his people, which had flowed freely throughout the glen.
    He set his jaw, determined not to give in to the pain but to remain focused on his hatred. Brodie’s clan had lived as guests among them, accepting the generous hospitality they offered, then rose up one dawn and massacred villagers and some of their hosts as they slept.
    A few months before the slaughter, Niall had sent for Kade upon their father’s deathbed. Niall had never believed Kade to be a traitor, wanting to usurp his father as laird. Kade’s anger and pride had prevented him from returning immediately, and now he regretted it.
    When he’d finally come home, his father was dead and he found a celebration turned deadly, at which members of his clan had shared food, drink, and merriment with the MacKinnon clan and had then been slaughtered. It made no sense. The clans had been at peace for four years.
    He’d returned from Irish shores to fiery, bloody chaos, to his clansmen being summoned to a special place of emergency meeting by two men each carrying a pole with a cross of fire-blackened wood attached to the end, running through the clan territory shouting the MacAlister slogan ‘Fortiter’. His father and his brother were dead. Kade had unexpectedly become chief on the very day he’d returned, his clansmen awaiting his orders.
    The MacKinnon’s actions were unpardonable. Never to be forgiven. Never to make sense. Kade would have answers in time. And the men who had committed these foulest of deeds would pay. Each and every one. Kade would see to it personally.
    It was rumored Brodie and his kin were hiding out now, well aware of the MacAlister wrath and the fact that less than a year ago, they’d made alliances with powerful clans to the north and south. Surely the man had a death wish to start the feud again!
    It seemed that the very burns and falls, the glistening rocks and lochs, wept with sadness. Bitterness crept into Kade’s soul, and he tightened his arms about his dark-haired prisoner as a chill wind arose. He vowed he would never forget what had happened in those bitter hours before dawn, never forget the cries of the women and children he now heard in his dreams. He would forever see in his mind the bloodstained walls of the castle and the fiery meadow grasses hissing with smoke.
    His homecoming. Kade had been the one to find his brother slain, and alongside him, his own wife-to-be, Fenalla. Kade was one of the men who brought water and attention to those who had survived the night. He immediately organized field parties to bury the dead, his heart as heavy as stone. He moved about as if in a nightmare, doing what needed to be done, stunned and numb.
    Even now the village priest, Killian, was busy carving slender crosses as a poignant reminder of the senseless slaughter. Despite his own pain and grief, Kade had helped to comfort his clan as best he could, had set up protection for his keep, and then set out immediately with his own band of specially chosen warriors to find Brodie and his men.
    At a small tavern where he and his men had stopped for the night, he’d stumbled on the serving wench and Brodie’s secret. And a different plan had formed. He hadn’t wasted any time finding the girl Christel and taking her from the village.
    The small party of Highland warriors galloped up the hill now and through the great gatehouse at the eastern end of the keep, thundering into a large, grassy courtyard. Grooms were busy sweeping out the stables and feeding the horses;