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  “But Bronwyn did? All she cares about is her clan—and that damned dog of hers.”

  Tam smiled at the back of Stephen’s head. “Her father, Jamie, never had any illusions about his daughter. She has a hot temper, and sometimes she’s a wee bit unforgiving.” He ignored the look Stephen gave him. “But, as ye say, she loves the clan. She puts them first, above all else.”

  “So she was named laird over her brother.”

  “Aye, she was, but it wasn’t as simple as all that. She had an agreement with her father that she was to marry a man he chose. He gave her a choice of three young men, all of them strong and stable, what Bronwyn needed to counteract her quick temper.” Tam tossed the cloth in the basin and sat down again in the chair.

  “And the men?” Stephen asked as he put his shirt back on.

  “They were killed, all of them, along with Jamie.”

  Stephen was quiet for a moment. He knew the four men had been killed by the English. “And was Bronwyn in love with one of them? Had she made her choice?” He looked up when Tam took so long to answer. The man seemed to have aged in the last few minutes.

  Tam lifted his head. He tried to move his strong features into a smile. “I like to think she had chosen, that there was one man she loved best.” He took a deep breath and met Stephen’s eyes squarely. “One of the young men killed was my eldest son.”

  Stephen stared at the man. They’d only met a few hours ago and now his body ached from Tam’s beating, but he felt he’d known the man for years. The strong jaw, the wide nose, the dark eyes and long gray hair, seemed familiar. He felt Tam’s sorrow at the loss of his son.

  “And what of David?” Stephen asked. “Did he step aside gracefully for his little sister?”

  Tam snorted, his eyes clearing. “No Scot ever did anything without passion. Davey threatened to divide the clan against his father when Jamie first declared Bronwyn his heir.”

  “Did he? What did Bronwyn say?”

  Tam put his hand up and laughed. “She told me ye were a stupid man. Ye don’t seem so to me.”

  Stephen gave him a look that said what he thought of Bronwyn’s opinion of him.

  Tam continued. “Davey did raise some men to follow him, but they wouldn’t fight their own clan members, so they retreated to the hills, where they live in exile.”

  “And Bronwyn?”

  “The poor darlin’. She adored Davey. I told ye he was a persuasive young man. She told her father she refused to take what was Davey’s by right. But Jamie only laughed at her and asked if she wanted to stand aside and see war within her own clan.”

  Stephen stood. “And of course Bronwyn would do what was best for her clan,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Aye, that she would. The girl’d kill herself if she thought the clan could benefit by her death.”

  “Or she’d keep herself alive and suffer a fate worse than death.”

  Tam gave him a shrewd look. “Aye, she’d do that too.”

  Stephen smiled. “You’ll ride with us to Bronwyn’s home?”

  Tam stood, moving his great bulk slowly. “I would be honored.”

  “Then could I offer you a space in my tent?”

  Tam raised one eyebrow. “This is too fancy for me. I need no spoilin’ at this stage in my life. I have my plaid but I thank ye just the same.”

  For the first time Stephen became aware of Tam’s dress. He wore a shirt with big, gathered sleeves, and a long, quilted doublet that hung to mid-thigh. On his feet he wore crude, thick shoes over heavy wool hose that reached only to below his knee. His muscular knees were bare. About his shoulders was thrown a long, wide piece of tartan cloth. A thick, wide belt was around the doublet, a dirk at his side.

  Tam stood quietly during Stephen’s examination, waiting for the usual English comments.

  “You might get cold,” Stephen said.

  Tam grinned. “We’re no weak men, we Scots. I’ll be seein’ ye in the mornin’.” He left the tent.

  Stephen stood still for a moment, then went to the flap. He gave a low, quiet whistle, and after a moment Rab came to him. “Bronwyn,” he commanded in a quiet voice.

  The dog gave a quick lick to Stephen’s hand, then walked toward the dark woods with Stephen following.

  Bronwyn was asleep, wrapped tightly and snugly in her plaid. He smiled down at her, pleased with her ability to sleep on the cold, hard, damp ground. He bent and picked her up. Her eyes opened briefly, but he kissed the corner of her mouth and this seemed to reassure her. She snuggled against him as he carried her back to his tent and his bed.

  Chapter Six

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON THE NEXT DAY WHEN THEY reached Larenston Castle. Bronwyn, too impatient to wait any longer, spurred her horse forward.

  “Go with her,” Tam urged Stephen. “I’ll wager ye’ve never seen anything like Larenston.”

  Curious to see the place that was to become his home, Stephen urged his horse up the grassy hill.

  Tam was right: nothing could have prepared him for Larenston. The hill he was on fell away sharply to a wide, deep valley where shaggy cattle grazed and crofters’ cottages rested. A narrow road led through the valley and up the wall on the far side. At the top of the valley wall was a high, flat, red-stone peninsula that jutted out into the sea like a huge armored fist. The peninsula was connected to the mainland by a piece of rock only the width of the narrow road. The sides fell away in sheer drops to the sea. Guarding the entrance to the peninsula were two massive gatehouses, each three stories high.

  The castle complex itself consisted of several stone buildings and one enormous hall in the center. There was no surrounding wall. There was no need for one. The sheer cliffs rising out of the sea could be guarded by a few men with bows and arrows.

  Bronwyn turned to him, a light in her eyes that he’d never seen before. “It has never been taken,” she said flatly before she started down to the valley below.

  Stephen had no idea how they knew she was arriving, but suddenly every door to every cottage opened and people came running toward her, their arms open.

  Stephen put his horse to a gallop to keep up with her, then he stood back as she hastily dismounted and began hugging people—men, women, children, even a child’s fat pet goose. He was touched by the scene. He’d seen her only as an angry young woman. She’d told him her clan meant her life to her, but he hadn’t visualized the individuals of the clan. She seemed to know them all personally, called each person’s name, asked after their children, their illnesses, if they had everything they needed.

  He lifted himself in the saddle and looked around. The ground was poor. His horse pawed it and turned up little more than peat moss. Yet he saw fields. The barley growing was stunted but it was making an effort. The cottages were small, very poor looking.

  It came to Stephen that these people were akin to the serfs on his brother’s estates. Bronwyn owned the land and they farmed it. The very same as the serfs.

  He looked back at her as she accepted a piece of cheese from a woman. These people were her serfs, yet she treated them as part of her family. He couldn’t imagine any lady he knew touching a serf much less hugging one. They were calling her Bronwyn, not Lady Bronwyn as was her right.

  “Ye are frownin’, lad,” Tam said from beside him. “What of our ways displeases ye?”

  Stephen removed his hat and ran his hand through his thick hair. “I think I have some things to learn. I don’t think I understand what a clan is. I thought her clan members were like my men. They’re all from noble houses.”

  Tam watched him for a moment. “Clan is a Gaelic word which means children.” His eyes twinkled. “And as for nobility, ye can ask any Scot and he can trace his ancestry back to a Scots king.”

  “But the poverty…” Stephen began, then stopped, afraid he’d offended Tam.

  Tam’s jaw hardened. “The English and the soil God gave us have made us poor. But ye’d best learn that in Scotland a man’s worth is based on what he is insid