“What do you think happens to lads too poor to be claimed? To lads who need to beg for their supper? The boogies come and snatch you away. ”
“But… “ Cormac stammered, “we're not poor. Our mother's just gone to the shops. Aidan's not a beggar. ”
“Then this'll learn him he shouldn't have played at one. Because the lad, he's surely a beggar now. ” The man turned and walked out.
Chapter 1
Stonehaven, Aberdeenshire, 1660
Marjorie skittered down the steep path, purposely descending too quickly to think. The specter of Dunnottar Castle felt heavy over her shoulder, looming in near ruin high atop Dunnottar Rock, a massive stone plinth that punched free of Scotland's northeastern coast like a gargantuan fist. Waves roiled and licked at its base far below. Chilled, she clambered even faster, skidding and galloping downhill, unsure whether she was fleeing closer to or farther from that grim mountain of rubble the MacAlpins called home.
She shook her head. She'd sworn not to think on it.
She'd done entirely too much thinking already. Much to her uncle's consternation, she'd chosen her gray mare, not his carriage, for her ride from Aberdeen. She'd realized too late that the daylong ride offered her altogether too much time to brood over what felt like a lifetime of missteps. And she hoped she wasn't about to make the grandest, most humiliating one of all.
She was going to see Cormac.
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sp; Whenever she'd thought of it-and she'd thought of little else on her interminable ride-she'd turn her horse around and head straight back to home. But then those same thoughts of him would have her spinning that mare right around again, until her horse tossed its head, surly from the constant tugging and turning.
She reached the bottom of the hill, where the knotted grass turned rocky, its greens and browns giving way to the reds and grays of the pebbled shore. The beach curved like a thin scimitar around the bay, its far side concealed from view by the ragged hillocks and blades of rock that limned the shore as if the land only reluctantly surrendered to the sea.
Marjorie slid the leather slippers from her feet and set them carefully down. She wriggled her toes, leaning against the swell of land by her side. The pebbles blanketing the shore were large and rounded, and looked warmed by the late afternoon sun. She stepped forward, moving slowly now. The water between the stones was cold, but their smooth tops were not, and they sounded a soothing clack with each step.
She was close. She could feel it.
Cormac. He was close. Amid the gentle slapping of the waves and the sultry brine in the air, she sensed him.
She'd not needed to stop in at Dunnottar to ask his siblings where to find him. She and Cormac had known each other since birth, and Marjorie had spent every one of her twenty-three years feeling as though she were tied to him in some mysterious and inextricable way. Though they hadn't spoken in what felt like a lifetime, she'd spared not a penny nor her pride to glean word of him, writing to his sisters for news, aching for rare glimpses of him through the years.
She'd offered up the prayers of a wretched soul when he'd gone off to war, and then prayers of thanks when he returned home whole. And, God help her, the relief she felt knowing he'd never married. She couldn't have borne the thought of another woman in Cormac's arms.
No, Marjorie knew. Alone by the sea was exactly where she'd find him.
She screwed her face, shutting her eyes tight. There were many things she knew.
She knew that Cormac blamed her. To this day, he blamed her, just as she blamed herself for the foolish, girlish dare that had ripped Aidan from their lives. Because of her silliness, the MacAlpin family had lost a son and brother that day. And Marjorie had lost more still than that. She'd also lost Cormac.
She froze again. What was she thinking? She couldn't do this. She couldn't bear to see him.
But she couldn't bear not to.
The draw was too powerful to resist. Her feet stepped inexorably forward before her mind had a chance to stop them. She told herself she had no other choice. Events in her life had led her just there. She needed help, and Cormac was the only man with skills enough to come to her aid.
The hillock at her side dropped away, revealing the far edge of the beach, revealing Cormac.
His shirtless back was to her, his breacan feile slapping at his legs in the wind. He was hauling in his nets. A fisherman now, as his sister had said. Hand over hand, the flex of muscle in his arms and back was visible even from a distance.
Gasping, Marjorie stumbled back a step, leaning into the rocks for support. She'd told herself she came because he could help her. But she knew in that instant the real reason she'd come. The only place for her in this treacherous world stood just there, down the beach: Cormac.
She'd willingly suffer his blame, suffer his indifference, yet still, like the embers from a long-banked fire, she knew Cormac would give her solace, despite himself.
She hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, but he turned, as though he'd felt her there. Her hand went to her chest, reminding her heart to beat, her lungs to draw breath.
He turned away abruptly, and tears stung her eyes. Would he spurn her?
But she saw he merely bent to gather his nets, dragging them farther up the shore where he carefully spread them out.