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  “Think ye I am ignorant?” He backhanded her across the face, flinging her into the bedpost. “I know what ye and your kinswomen are doing.”

  Sorcha clutched the wooden post and readied herself for his next strike, knowing it would come.

  “Did ye cast one of your spells on the drink?”

  “I am no witch,” Sorcha insisted for what seemed the thousandth time.

  “Nay?” Hector fisted her hair and wrenched her head back. “Then why was it the moment I pushed ye off that cliff did the sun shine over my head? Green clover blankets my land now.”

  A screeching caw sounded outside the arrow-slit reminding her of the last time Hector tried to kill her. “Ye are greedy. If all is right on your land, why did ye even come here?”

  “Because of this.” Hector pushed his plaid and undertunic to his waist, exposing a chest covered with pus-filled boils. “’Tis because of ye my kin fear breathing my air and my mistresses willnae lay with me.”

  Sorcha stared at him, repulsed. “Think ye I can heal ye?”

  “Ye cursed me!” The veins in his neck protruded. His nostrils flared. “My patience for your lies has worn thin. Ye will remove this damned spell or I’ll kill your kinswomen one at a time, starting with your sister.”

  Fury unleashed a strength in her that curled her fingers into her palms. She reared back her fist and threw a punch at him.

  He easily caught it. “Ye are a foolish woman.”

  ’Twas as if something snapped inside her. “I hate ye,” she screamed at him and reared back her other fist, but before she could follow through, Hector spun a half circle away from her.

  He unsheathed his dagger. “What was that?” He jerked as if he’d been pushed from behind. “Who’s there?” His stance widened. His eyes frantically searched the empty chamber. He’d gone completely mad.

  Sorcha raced out of the solar and was caught mid-flight around the middle by a thick-muscled arm covered with Pagan symbols. Relief washed through her with such intensity she nearly swooned.

  “Ye are safe now,” Keiran whispered and squeezed her tight, but only long enough for her to inhale the scents of smoke and sulfur and sea.

  “The others. Hector is going to—”

  Keiran pressed his finger against her lips. “Magda summoned a gale-force wind that is blowing most of the Ranalds back home. But I’m going to need her help to get our ships back.”

  He pushed Sorcha behind him, then entered the solar, sword drawn. “This is my quarrel, Magda. Ye are needed back at sea.”

  Confused by his words, Sorcha stepped beneath the doorframe and bore witness to a phenomenon like none she’d ever seen. Smoke curled around a figure standing in front of the window. Long white hair framed a face as familiar to Sorcha as her own.

  Hector unsheathed the sword at his hip and circled Keiran. “Who the bluidy hell are ye people?”

  “I am the witch who cursed ye and your clan.” Grandmum smiled at Hector with glittery blue-green eyes, then pointed at Keiran. “And he is your wife’s next husband.”

  “And the future chieftain of Clan MacNeil,” Sorcha added with pride, knowing all would be right.

  No doubt stunned by her announcement, Keiran’s attention shifted away from Hector.

  A whirling sound echoed through the chamber, then Hector’s blade sank into Keiran’s chest clean to the hilt.

  Time slowed, nearly stopped along with Sorcha’s heart. He sank to his knees, then his strong body fell to the floor.

  “Nay!” Sorcha screamed and rushed to him. She held his head as he struggled to draw air through the blood pooling in his mouth. Pain scalded her chest, her throat, her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto his. “Dinnae die,” she cried and brushed his brow with a shaking hand. “I love ye.”

  He went still in her arms the same instant Hector’s boot tips appeared beside her. “The same fate awaits the rest of your kin, lest—”

  “Ye bastard!” Sorcha yanked the blade from Keiran’s chest, fully prepared to stand up to Hector once and for all. She reared back, but an invisible force snatched the dagger from her hand.

  “Wait!” Grandmum shouted and snapped her arms toward Hector, throwing him against the stone wall. “I need him unharmed.” Grandmum raised her arms above her head. “I beseech Thee, Morrigan, and the trinity. Thrust your power upon me.” A howling wind erupted inside the chamber. Thunder rolled, vibrating the floorboards. “The pain and grief he is quick to give, must be returned so Your son might live.” Mist coated Sorcha’s face and bright strikes of lightning blinded her in bursts. “Magick meld love and hate. Reverse the past. Reverse their fate.”

  A high pierced screech scraped through Sorcha’s ears followed by a hoarse wail. Between the flashes of light, she watched with unblinking eyes as the face of the man she loved transformed into the face of the man she most hated.

  A steady rain fell inside the chamber, soaking the carpet where Hector now lay dead on the floor. Confusion was one of many emotions spinning inside her head as she looked to Grandmum for explanation.

  “Be well, Sorcha. I’ll be watching ye,” was all Grandmum said before she transformed into the white falcon and flew out the window.

  “Mayhap your grandmum is dead.”

  Sorcha whirled and watched Keiran pull himself off the floor. The pain of having lost him still clung to her every nerve.

  “I was not aware Magda and Tàiseal were one in the same.” The man acted as if he’d not been lying dead in her arms only moments earlier. Grandmum’s magick might be commonplace to him, but Sorcha didn’t trust any of this to be a reality.

  “If this is a dream, promise me you’ll be beside me when I awaken.” She trembled as he approached.

  He circled her with his arms. “I promise to always be there to protect ye in this life and the next.”

  “As my chieftain?” she asked, worried he’d not heard her profess her love for him.

  “As your husband.” He cradled the nape of her neck. “Your lover.” He lowered his head to hers. “And your friend.” His lips feathered over hers once, twice, three times. “I fear ye are stuck with me for life.” He swallowed her quiet laughter inside a kiss that felt like Heaven, but ended far too quickly.

  “Come.” He scooped her off her feet and carried her out of her father’s solar. “I want to know what it feels like to be touched by the woman who loves me.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Award-winning author, Kimberly Killion, has been hailed by Romantic Times Magazine as an author who writes “captivating romance with excellent pacing and characters who are honorable, intelligent and full of humanity.” Her debut book, Her One Desire, was nominated for the romance-publishing industry’s highest award of distinction, the RITA® Award. Her One Desire won the 2009 Booksellers Best Award for both Long Historical and Best First Book. In addition, Kimberly was recognized in the 2009 National Readers’ Choice Awards, the 2009 Golden Quill Awards, and the 2009 HOLT Medallion. Romantic Times Magazine awarded Kimberly’s second Scottish-set novel, Highland Dragon, with the K.I.S.S. Award and said this is “a tale to cherish.”

  Please visit her website at

  www.kimberlykillion.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four