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what I did not want to on that night. I was not ready for the truth then.’
    Someone called out her name and she turned to see her parents arrive. One of the laird’s most trusted men, the man she called father, travelled frequently on clan business. His height meant he towered over others, save for their cousin Rurik, and meant that he could always find her in a crowd. That skill was useful when she was a mischievous child and right now, talking to Tavis in so candid a manner in spite of being promised to another man, it made the same chills run down her spine as any misdeed had. With their hands entwined, her parents moved closer to her and Tavis began to inch away from her.
    The occasional scolding aside, Ciara knew their love for her was unconditional—they’d supported her through two previous broken betrothals and she knew they’d do it again if she asked them. Taking in a deep breath and releasing it, she knew then that this betrothal would proceed on to a marriage. She owed them and the MacLerie clan nothing less.
    ‘Ciara! Tavis!’ her mother said as they reached the place where she and Tavis stood. ‘Are you discussing the final arrangements for the journey?’
    Duncan watched him with an unseemly interest as he answered Marian’s question. He had made the arrangements, selected the men to lead and guard Ciara and her friend on their journey. In spite of that, he had not discussed any of it with Ciara. Until just a short time ago, he’d not planned on even seeing her before the journey, but something had driven his feet to bring him here. Now, their peace made, Tavis discovered he was more bothered by her ability to move on, and her feelings for him, than he thought. She seemed to be able to move ahead through mistakes and find happiness, while he remained locked in his past with no way to leave it behind him.
    He watched as her brown eyes shone with love as she spoke to her parents. ’Twas difficult at times to remember that Duncan was her stepfather, for their bond was as strong as any he’d seen between father and child. Then when she pushed the loose hairs from her braid back over her shoulders, he realised she was nervous. She entangled her fingers together as she spoke, another sign that she was uncomfortable.
    Hell!
    When had he begun to notice such things about her?
    Tavis needed to get away from this, from her, before he did or said something that would make this strained situation even more tense. And he felt the need to prove she was not the only one ready to move on with life.
    ‘The arrangements are made. Young Dougal and Iain are ready,’ he reported. ‘And Ciara—’ he dared a glance at her ‘—is ready?’
    ‘Aye, I am well packed,’ she said, smiling at her mother. The slight twitching at the corners of her mouth meant that it must have been a battle to get packed.
    ‘And your journey, Duncan? When do you and Marian leave?’ he asked. Ciara’s parents travelled on the laird’s business as well. They would all meet back here in a month and the wedding would be held.
    Tavis walked aside with Duncan, discussing the true reasons behind the negotiator’s trip to Glasgow, but he never took his attention off Ciara. Their last encounter seemed like a distant dream as he watched her speaking to her mother. At ease, graceful, confident, beautiful— clearly she’d accepted the betrothal and was content in her coming life. So, why did his gut burn at that realisation? And why was he angered at the thought that she now accepted it? He must be going mad.
    Duncan explained many things about his trip and the tasks he would carry out on behalf of the clan and the Earl of Douran, but Tavis heard none of it. As the sounds swirled around him and the memories of things past flowed, he saw only her. As a child travelling with her mother from Dunalastair. As a girl of ten years, telling him stories about all he’d missed while away from Lairig Dubh. As a girl of thirteen who offered her