Tristan didn’t. There were shepherds at the MacPherson stronghold. His cousin, Elias, was a shepherd. There was a law, a code for shepherding a flock. “I protect my flock from wolves, Jones. I do not harm them.”

  “Sounds dull,” said the soldier.

  Tristan had always agreed. Any kind of settled, safe lifestyle seemed dull. The thought of a woman…the same woman in his bed for the rest of his life had always been a daunting one. The truth was he had only bedded two women in his life. He couldn’t say why he’d done it. He put his passions and desires behind him on a dusty shelf along with his other emotions. Killing was a difficult beast. Being good at it was really nothing to be proud of. Could he be a good husband? Could he make a lass happy every day? What about bairns running wildly all over the heather-lined hills, laughing and—

  He shook his head to clear it.

  When had his desires and passions been set free?

  “’Tis dreadful,” he replied to Jones. “That is why I seek a bit of adventure now.”

  They shared laughter and stories, and more of Tristan’s whisky.

  “Your life does not seem too exciting either, Soldier. You live behind gates until something like an infamous killer after your lord draws you out.”

  Jones smiled as if he knew something no one else knew. Tristan imagined it was very difficult to keep it all caged up and quiet.

  “So, someone sent a letter to your lord about MacPherson.”

  “Aye.” Jones nodded and held up the pouch. “This is good stuff.”

  “And then what happened?” Tristan asked him. “What did your lord do?”

  “He sent the captain out to kill MacPherson. The captain returned the next day with news of MacPherson and Rose. I heard the captain telling Dumfries that his daughter was with the Highlander and that he shot MacPherson in the heart, but the Highlander seemed unhurt. He said MacPherson could have killed him, but he let him go.”

  So, it was the captain who put an arrow to him. Tristan would thank him for that. Why did he just take Rose and not kill Tristan in his sickbed when the captain had the chance? Had it been something Rose had told him?

  He offered Jones the pouch again and watched him drink. “Forgive me, what were you saying about the woman you are searching for?”

  Jones stared at him and, for a moment, Tristan wondered if he hadn’t fed enough whisky to the oaf.

  “She is the reason we locked ourselves away from the rest of the world what feels like an eternity ago. She is the earl’s life, and the earl is our captain’s closest friend.”

  “So, you agreed to keep her safe for your captain’s sake?” Tristan didn’t like thinking her father’s men weren’t loyal to her.

  “At first,” Jones admitted, accepting the pouch for one last swig. “But ’tis difficult not to love her. If you knew her, you would understand.”

  Aye, Tristan knew her, and he did understand. It was most difficult not to love her, not to be willing to risk all for her, all his old thoughts and convictions.

  “You said you were wed.”

  “Aye,” Jones said, “but if I weren’t…” He let the rest trail off and smiled.

  Again, Tristan didn’t. In fact, if he had all his strength, he would kill the soldier right here.

  “Do all the earl’s men feel this way about her?”

  “One or two resent her, especially now that we lost so many of our brothers to the pestilence because they had to escort her to Hamilton. If she never returned, they likely would not care.”

  “Who feels that way about her?”

  Jones spread his gaze over the upcoming trees as if he were pondering his answer before he gave it. He cut his glance to Tristan and then looked away again. “We should rest.”

  Tristan nodded, only too happy to agree. The more rest he had, the deadlier he would be when he took her back.

  And God help anyone who tried to stop him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rose approached the tall wooden gates of Callanach Castle and looked up. It felt odd to look at them from the outside. She couldn’t help but scowl at them. They were just as big and impenetrable from both sides.

  She didn’t want to be here. Was Tristan responding well to the medicine? Would he live? She wanted to be there with him the way he’d been with her when she was so sick.

  She looked up at the tower and lifted her hand to George Watley. He scowled at her and disappeared to the other side.

  “He does not look pleased to see me,” she remarked.

  “Of course, he is pleased,” the captain assured her. “You are our Rose and now you are home where you belong.”

  “I will never be let out again.”

  “Let out to what?” he asked her. “The cruel, merciless world? You have been out and what did you find? Sickness and death. A man you can never be with?”

  Rose tossed the captain a hard look. He was correct, of course, but she didn’t want to hear it now. She had questioned him about his whereabouts the night her mother was killed. He told her he was with his wife.

  Rose believed him. She was mad to suspect him. Captain Harper would rather give his life than hurt her father.

  She heard the wooden bars being lifted on the other side of the gates. The heavy doors opened slowly, creaking against the wind. Her heart beat so hard and fast she thought she might be ill. She waited for what seemed like an eternity, and then she saw her father.

  Oh, she hadn’t been sure she would ever see him again. He pulled her into his arms and wept into her hair, telling her over and over that he thought she was dead.

  She wept as well, trying to speak but not knowing where to begin. He promised to hear it all later, but first, she should go freshen up and then meet him in the great hall.

  Rose had to admit, freshening up sounded wonderful. Being in the castle again so soon felt a little suffocating. She’d been hoping for adventures in Hamilton. She had hoped to live in Crawford, and to love on the way back home with a man who was a merciless killer to most, but perfect to her.

  How would she tell her father? Her hands shook.

  She looked around for any of the servants, but everyone was gone. She would be even more alone than she was before.

  On her way to her chambers, she met Jamie Cavanaugh. He came to her and looked into her eyes. “Is it true then? Only you have made it back alive?”

  She looked at the thresh-covered floor. “Aye. The men gave their lives for mine.”

  “Of course, they did. Anything for Rose.”

  She looked at him, hating his animosity toward her. “None of us could have known the pestilence was in Crawford. I—”

  “Aye. Of course,” he cut her off, gave her a forced smile, and then walked away.

  Rose stood there watching him go. She didn’t know what to say, or what to do. He blamed her for the men dying. His wife had been sent away because of Tristan, along with the other wives and almost all the servants. His accusation was true. If she hadn’t wanted to leave Dumfries so bad, the men would all still be alive—until Tristan got there. He would have come here and killed her father and possibly the fourteen guards protecting the earl.

  Everything would have happened differently if she hadn’t wanted to go to Emma’s home for the winter, if she hadn’t gotten the plague and met Tristan.

  She wanted to weep for the fallen soldiers, and she had wept for them, but she wasn’t sorry for wanting time away from Callanach Castle.

  She reached her chamber door and stepped inside. It was as if she had never left. Then she remembered that she hadn’t been gone long.

  She went to her bed and sat on it, suddenly exhausted.

  Was Tristan still alive? She realized the only way she would know if he lived or died was if he came here.

  She didn’t remember when she began crying, or how long she’d been at it when she fell asleep.

  She slept as if she’d been hit with a large stone and didn’t awaken until the next morning, when someone gave her a gentle shake. “Wake up, my lady. Wake up.”

  Rose opened her eyes and smiled at one of her maids. “Good morning, Alana. I thought you had all left.”

  “Aye, some did. They are all afraid of that Tristan MacPherson,” the maid said with disgust. “I returned when I heard you had come home.”

  “Brave Alana,” Rose gushed over her as she sat up, “do not be afraid of Tristan. He will not hurt you.”

  Alana studied her for a moment and then a crimson streak colored her cheeks and her dark blue eyes grew hard. “You speak softly about the man coming to kill your father.”

  “I…I did not know his mission until just a few days ago. I was able to talk him out of killing my father. When and if he comes here, we will speak about my mother’s death and my father will prove his innocence.”

  “Again,” Alana murmured.

  Rose opened her mouth to try to explain, but Alana cut her off. “’Tis true then, you have feelings for him?”

  “You spoke to the captain then.” It wasn’t a question. There was no other way in the world Alana could interpret such a thing in so little time with her.

  “No.”

  But how? Was she so transparent?

  “Alana, I—”

  “I will bring you a fresh gown and then help you prepare to see your father. He has been up with the sun awaiting you.”

  Rose nodded and watched the maid enter the smaller part of the chambers to go through her gowns. Alana had been in the Callanach family’s service for over thirty years. Her loyalty to the earl was understandable. Her dislike for Rose was not. It was as if she blamed Rose for not being born a male. Who would take the castle when the earl died?

  Rose forgave her but wrung her hands in front of her. Oddly enough, it wasn’t her father who made her nerves as tight as harp strings. It was the memory of being home—a place her father had meant to be her safe haven—but others had made into a house of thorns.

  She sat on her bed as clarity overwhelmed her. She’d been so lonely here because of the servants and soldiers, only a few people ever spoke to her. Captain Harper was, of course, one of them. His wife, Mary, was another. Jonathon Jones, next under the captain was friendly to her, but his wife did not like her. Out of ten servants, four were kind to her. Donella and Morven, both over forty, Grainne, over sixty, and Steven the stableman. Whether they liked her or not, they had little time to speak to her, especially about things she found of interest at fourteen, or sixteen, or eighteen, or twenty.

  Before that, she had Neill and sometimes Jonetta.

  She thought she was in love with Neill twice, and with Captain Harper once while growing into a woman. The castle priest, Father Benedict, had reminded her that Neill was a servant and the captain was wed. He told her to confess to the captain’s wife and gave her penance for having such notions.

  And she was ashamed of them, for she loved Mary. She’d done what the priest had told her and confessed to Mary. And ’twas Mary who had helped her realize that what she was feeling was normal in her circumstance. The captain was handsome and kind, and he spent time with her.

  He was her friend, but Rose knew she wasn’t in love with him, for all her girlish fancies left her as soon as she wished them to be gone.

  Not so with Tristan. How many times had she wished for what she’d felt for him to disappear? He was a killer. He was hired to kill her father. It was wrong to love him. She felt the weight of it now more than ever. No one here was going to want to hear a word about how she could change Tristan’s mind.

  She prayed that he lived, but if he came here, only chaos would ensue. Rose wasn’t sure who would come out alive, but some would die. It terrified her.

  But she still wanted to know that he lived.

  She loved her father, but she didn’t want to stay here. She didn’t like it here. She tried to like it. She told herself that she did. She pretended in order to please her father.

  But she didn’t want to be here anymore. As dangerous as the world outside these gates was, she would rather live out her life out there.

  With Tristan.

  Her heart felt traitorous within her to pray that he came to Callanach Castle. It would mean he lived!

  Would he come as soon as he was well and sneak in through the high windows? Would her father end up like Governor Walters?

  What did Tristan care about guilt or innocence? He’d told her he would cut Walter’s throat from behind, and that was exactly what he had done. He didn’t look his victims in the eyes because he didn’t care.

  But he did care! He cared for her. He’d carried her away from the dead and the flames. He’d given up the tea he’d credited with helping to keep sickness away, to her. He held her while she dreamed of terrible things. He saved her from being raped by a beast and his friends. He vowed not to kill her father until she helped convince him of her father’s innocence.

  Aye, she loved him. She would tell her father and the men, and she wouldn’t care what they thought. They didn’t know Tristan. They were afraid of him. She understood why, but they didn’t have to be afraid anymore. Her father was innocent, and Rose would prove it.

  Alana returned with a fresh, white kirtle and a deep red, fitted overcoat with embroidered edges. “If you will take off that rag, I will burn it.”

  Rose smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. She didn’t want it burned. Tristan had paid for it and was forced to embrace its previous owner as payment. He’d done it for her. She wanted to smile but Alana was watching her.

  She undressed and handed the clothes off to Alana. The handmaid carried the dress away from her to the door. When she reached it, she opened it and dumped the dress outside the chamber then stepped back inside the room.

  “I almost forgot.” Alana pointed to a small basin atop a vertical chest. “I brought you water for bathing.”

  Rose went to it. The water was cold. She picked up the cloth dangling off to the side and dipped it into the water.

  She washed herself, unwilling that Alana should touch her. She was angry and she didn’t know why. She said nothing. She never did. She had always thought that if she just kept quiet, they would like her. It hadn’t worked. She’d never told her father how she felt or how she was treated. Everyone treated her well when her father was near.

  She thought that mayhap it was time to tell him.

  When she finished cleaning herself, she let Alana help her dress and do her hair. She wore it swept up atop her head in thick curls with scarlet ribbons entwined throughout.

  She felt older. She wanted to look it.

  She left the chamber with Alana behind her and turned to her. “Do not have the dress burned, only cleaned.”

  “I think—” the maid began, looking as if she were about to scold Rose.

  “Cleaned, Alana. Not burned.”

  She kept walking, passing Alana and closed her eyes.

  Oh, Emma would be proud of her. She’d told her over and over while she visited that Rose was too much of a mouse with her servants. That was why they treated her so poorly.

  Mayhap Emma was correct. Rose didn’t know but she kept walking, down the stairs, to the great hall, where she knew her father would be.

  There was no servant to open the heavy doors, so Rose did it herself.

  She blew her stray lock of hair off her eye and stepped inside.

  Her father bolted from a chair where he sat with Captain Harper and hurried to her.

  “My love! It cheers my soul to see you alive and looking so well. Come and sit. Captain Harper was just telling me some of what you have been through.

  “Oh?” She slipped her dark gaze to the captain. “What have you told him?”

  She wanted to know if he’d mentioned Tristan. She wanted to be the one to tell her father. She should not have fallen asleep last evening—

  “I told him you were sick with the men and tossed onto a pile of the dead to be burned.”

  “Did you tell him how I was saved?”

  “No, lady, that is for you to tell.”

  “He saved you,” her father guessed. “MacPherson saved you.”

  “Aye, Father. Soldiers were about to set me on fire. I could not move because I was so sick with the pestilence, but I knew I was going to burn. He fought them off. He could have left me there alone to die, but instead, he wrapped me in his plaid and carried me away on his horse.” She wept as she retold what Tristan had done for her. She told him how she had been taken by a band of twelve miscreants with satisfying their lustful passions on their minds. “He killed them all.”

  At the end of her words her father shared a concerning look with the captain.

  “I owe him much,” her father breathed out. “Rose, I feel as if I will go mad when I think of what you went through. I wish you had never left the castle. Even if the pestilence did not kill you, dozens of other things could have.”

  “He saved me, Father.”

  “And in all this time, and all this saving, he never asked who you were?”

  “He did not want to even know my name. I told him it was Rose and he never asked for more. Why would he? He was not thinking he had just saved the Earl of Dumfries’ daughter, who was alone in Crawford.”

  “She is correct, Thomas,” the captain told him. “He did not suspect who she was or use her to get to you.”

  “How do I know that, William?” her father asked. “Why would any man risk his life getting the terrible sickness for no gain?”

  “He is not afraid of the Black Death,” Rose told them.

  They both exchanged another look, this time it was a bit more fearful.

  “He told me he was paid by a governor to kill you,” Rose told them. “He does not know who, but he was paid four hundred pounds.”

  Her father shook his head. “Why? William tells me ’tis for killing your mother and Jonetta—”

  “And me,” she corrected. “They believe you killed me, as well.”

  “It makes no sense!” her father exclaimed with hands held high. “Who is this governor who paid so much to see me dead? I stood accused and was proven innocent!”

  “Just as I told him, Father,” she reassured gently. “I think I have convinced him of your innocence, and he has sworn to me that he will not kill you if you are innocent.”