Chapter 1
“Whinnie! Whinnnnnie!”
Geordie Buchanan opened tired eyes as that call was followed by someone trying to make the sound of a horse whinnying. For a minute, he didn’t know where he was. Early-morning sunlight was streaming down at an angle that managed to reach him where he lay against the trunk of a tree, one of several he could see growing in rows in front and to the side of him. Seeing them, he remembered that he’d made his bed in the orchard behind the gardens when he’d returned last night. There hadn’t seemed to be much choice; after weeks away he’d arrived back in the middle of the night to find Buchanan crowded with people. The great hall had been overflowing with sleeping servants and soldiers, as had the kitchen, but it was his uncle sleeping in a chair by the fire that had told him just how full the keep was. The man only slept in a chair below when he had to give up his bed to guests. Geordie had assumed that probably meant his own bed had been given to someone too.
“Whinnie!”
Geordie scowled at the annoying voice followed by another high-pitched attempt at a horse’s whinny. The keep was apparently up and children were ready to play. He’d barely had the irritated thought when a young woman appeared halfway along the row of trees and turned her back to him to peer up into the branches. Geordie was just wondering if she was the person who had been calling out and whinnying when the sound came again from somewhere to the left and farther away.
“Whinnnnnie!”
The woman muttered what sounded suspiciously like a curse, and then bent down, reached under her skirts to grab the back hem of the long gown she wore and pulled it forward and up to tuck the cloth through the belt around her waist.
Geordie’s eyes were widening at the tantalizing amount of shapely ankle and calf she was showing when she grasped the lowest branch of the tree and began to climb quite nimbly upward. She was quick about it, but had barely disappeared into the leafy haven the branches provided when two women appeared farther down the row of trees and glanced around.
Where the first woman hadn’t noticed Geordie, these two did and sneered briefly as they took in the fact that he’d obviously slept out in the gardens. They didn’t lower themselves to actually comment. Instead, they turned back the way they’d come and one said with annoyance, “She must have slipped past us and returned to the keep. Come on.”
Geordie watched them go before allowing his gaze to return to the tree. He fully expected the woman to climb down now, but when several moments passed without any sign of her, he rolled out of his plaid, then shifted to his knees to begin pleating it. He obviously wasn’t going to get any more sleep today. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that the lass was like a cat and now that she was up the tree, she couldn’t make her way back down. He’d give her the length of time it took him to get properly dressed again, and then offer his assistance . . . if she hadn’t fallen out by that time.
Dwyn looked out through the branches of the tree she was in, and over the rolling hills beyond the back wall of Buchanan. It was a beautiful area, she acknowledged, but not as beautiful as Innes. There she would have had a view of the ocean, not to mention a sea breeze to soothe her jangled nerves. The thought made her grimace. Before this trip, Dwyn had never met a person she didn’t like. The people at Innes were always kind and friendly, at least to her. But the women she’d met since coming to Buchanan . . . Well, other than Lady Buchanan herself, there wasn’t one other woman she liked. The other female guests here were a bunch of catty bampots, the lot of them, and they seemed to have decided to target her with their cruel taunts for some reason. The thought made her mouth twitch unhappily. Dwyn wasn’t used to people not liking her, and wasn’t sure what to do about it. These women were like no one she’d ever encountered. They were bored, and had chosen to entertain themselves by picking on her.
“Good morrow, lass.”
Dwyn blinked at that greeting, and then leaned forward to peer down through the branches at the man who had spoken. He’d positioned himself right below her, and Dwyn’s eyes widened as her gaze slid over him. He appeared big from this angle, all shoulders, but she couldn’t tell how tall he was from her position. He was handsome though, his eyes a fine pale blue, his nose straight, his mouth having a larger lower than upper lip, and his hair was long and dark, with a bit of wave to it.
“Can I help ye down, lass?”
His words startled her out of gaping at him, and Dwyn shook her head. “Nay, thank ye.”
“Nay?” He looked surprised at the refusal, and then frowned around at the orchard briefly before tipping his head back to look up at her again. “Are ye sure, lass? I’m pleased to help ye, do ye need it.”
“Nay. I’m fine. Thank ye,” Dwyn murmured, and followed her refusal with lifting her head to gaze out past the wall again, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
He didn’t take the hint. Dwyn realized that when the branch she was on began to tremble a bit and she glanced down to see that the man was now climbing up. Her eyes widened incredulously, and then she sat back abruptly as he swung himself up onto the branch directly in front of the one she was on. It was actually a little lower than the large branch she was sitting on, but even so, Dwyn had to tilt her head back to look up at his face.
“Good morrow,” he said again, offering her a smile. “Whinnie, is it?”
Dwyn had just started to smile in response when he asked that and the expression died before it had fully formed. “Nay. My name is Dwyn.”
“Oh. My apologies. I thought they were calling Whinnie.”
“They were,” she said grimly, but didn’t explain, and silence fell between them briefly. Dwyn did her best to pretend he wasn’t there. Actually, she was mostly pretending she wasn’t there either, but was back home at Innes, walking the shores with her dogs, Angus and Barra.
“Dwyn.”
She turned reluctantly to peer at him.
“Who is yer clan?”
“Innes,” she murmured, turning away again. “Me father is Baron James Innes.”
“Innes is on the North Sea, is it no’?” he asked with interest.
“Aye, between the river Spey and the river Lossie. ’Tis beautiful lush green land,” she added with a faint smile. “Innes is really situated on a large inlet off the North Sea called Moray Firth, and between that bordering it on the north, the Spey river on the west and Lossie river on the east, but curving down around the bottom o’ Innes, ’tis nearly an island.”
“It sounds lovely,” he admitted.
“’Tis,” she assured him. “And as Da says, having the water nearly surrounding us aids greatly with defense. A good thing, since Da’s more a thinker than a warrior. Which is why we’re here, o’ course. For all the good ’twill do.”
Geordie’s eyebrows rose at that. “I do no’ understand. Just why are ye here at Buchanan?”
The question brought her gaze around with surprise, and then she scowled at the man. He’d seemed mostly nice up until that point. “There is no need to be cruel, sir. I ken I’ve no’ a chance with all the other women here being so beautiful, but ye need no’ point it out quite so boldly.”