Chapter One #2
In the keep, she was recognizable by virtue of her birth.
Outside it, she quickly became nobody significant at all.
She wasn’t tall, but she wasn’t short, either.
She was neither particularly thin nor particularly voluptuous.
She had the same nut-brown hair as half the lasses in Scotland, and while she was partial to her hazel eyes, she knew they were not that remarkable.
As a young girl, Katrina had lamented that she hadn’t taken more after her mother, who had been known for her beauty. Katrina had inherited too much of her father’s looks to be renowned for her feylike looks, and she was too practical to be a fluttery, delicate lady.
Now, though, fully grown at three and twenty, she was grateful for the anonymity afforded to her by her unremarkable face, even if people did tend to think her frowning even when she wasn’t. An effect created by the stern brows she’d inherited from her father.
Beauty was good for little other than attracting a man. And while the late Lady MacAllan had attracted Katrina’s father, a true and loyal husband, Katrina knew that most men weren’t like that.
No. What use did she have for a man, anyway? She had a clan and her work.
And today, she had something to accomplish.
She could hear the telltale sounds of market day before the cozy hamlet emerged from between the trees.
Though it was even now only scarcely past dawn, a veritable little city of stalls had been erected, each bearing the wares of its proprietor.
Katrina hadn’t made it far along the main street of the town before she had to dismount her horse and lead the mare by the bridle through the throngs of people, each man, woman, and child eager to see what delights they could get with their coin.
For an hour or so, Katrina pretended to be one of them.
She pushed back her hood and peered at ribbons, admired the carvings of wooden combs, and inspected the heft and weave of homespun wool.
She had never been one to let a chance slip her by, so she bartered for a few medicinal herbs that she could not forage from nearby lands, tucking them safely inside her cloak until she could return to her still room where she made her tonics and tinctures.
It didn’t take long before Katrina could sense it: eyes… watching her back.
She fought to remain casual as she worked her way through the busiest part of the market, ducking under criers who announced the best onions in the county or the finest satin ribbons guaranteed to make any lass fall in love with ye.
The farther she moved from the chaos of the central market, the more Katrina could feel that presence.
When she dared a glance behind her, she could even see her pursuer: a cloaked figure with no apparent interest in any of the wares being hawked. Katrina let her steps grow a little quicker, though she still took care not to be noticed as anyone other than another shopper at the market.
They kept moving like this in a slow game of cat and mouse, Katrina and her pursuer, winding further and further away from the noise and bustle.
When Katrina came across an alley that was entirely empty, aside from a cat that did not even pause in licking its back leg when she appeared, she entered.
She stalked halfway down the alley until she was fully ensconced in shadows, then whirled to face the hooded figure.
“Reveal yourself,” she commanded. “Only cowards hide their faces.”
When the hood fell back, it was to reveal a tall woman with blonde hair, gleaming green eyes, and a wide grin on her face.
“Ach, verra funny,” said Kenna Lennox—née MacBrae. “As if ye didnae ken it was me the whole time.”
Katrina let her crossed arms fall from her chest so that she could embrace her friend.
“Well, I wasnae certain,” Katrina admitted when she had released Kenna from the tightest embrace she could manage.
“Just because I am planning to meet someone mysterious doesnae mean that all mysterious, cloaked figures are to be trusted. And besides, it’s been an age! I had nearly forgotten the look of ye.”
Katrina held Kenna at arm’s length to get a better look.
Though the two women had been friends for many years, it had been a long time since they’d seen one another face-to-face, since before Kenna’s first arranged marriage to the wretched English Lord Edmund Ashbourne.
Since Kenna had been sent to England by her father four years prior, Katrina had only been able to communicate with her via letters and even those were rare, as Ashbourne had ruthlessly abused his power and control over his wife, including by limiting her correspondence.
They had managed to exchange a few missives by sending them through Kenna’s trusted maid, but those had been risky enough that they had only ever communicated on the most essential topics—namely, the herbs that Katrina had taught Kenna how to use to avoid pregnancy.
Every time Katrina had sent a letter to her friend, she’d done so with fear in her heart. Such herbs were dangerous… but she knew, though not as well as Kenna, that falling pregnant by a dangerous man put a woman at much greater risk.
Katrina had practically shed tears of relief when she’d learned of Ashbourne’s death.
“Ye are looking rather well,” Katrina admitted now, casting a healer’s eye over her friend.
Indeed, Kenna looked almost shockingly robust and cheerful for someone who had lived the past months in hiding, constantly on the run from enemies.
“I take it that the new man of yours has something to do with that?”
To Katrina’s abiding amusement, Kenna flushed a deep pink that was visible even in the shadowy alley.
Katrina would never for the life of her understand how Kenna had found the trust to love anyone, let alone to marry again, after the cruelty she’d faced in her first marriage.
It was clear, however, from the dreamy look she adopted at the mere reference to her new romance that she was quite in love, indeed.
“Aye, ye could say that he does,” Kenna said happily.
“Where is he, then?” Katrina demanded. She knew Kenna was brave and capable, but she could not say much for a man who would let his wife go into a dangerous situation like this one entirely alone.
No sooner had the words left her mouth than someone ambled into the alleyway.
Katrina had seen him in the market—a farmer with sloped shoulders, carrying a half-full bag of feed over his shoulder, wearing what was quite possibly the ugliest hat she’d ever seen.
It had probably had a color at some point, as well as a shape, but was now little more than a flop of brownish-gray fabric covering the fellow’s hair and forehead.
Katrina prepared to spring in front of Kenna to block her friend from sight. But Kenna made no move to obscure herself, and, as Katrina watched, the farmer transformed before her eyes.
He straightened his spine, growing impossibly taller and broader. He dropped the sack and his body settled into the unmistakable posture of a trained warrior. And when he took off that hideous hat, he revealed burnished gold hair and unmistakable amber eyes.
Katrina could admit it: she was rather impressed.
“So,” she said, refusing to reveal any such emotion, “ye must be the lost Lennox heir who has thrown the entirety of the Highlands into chaos.”
“At your service,” Arran Lennox replied as his wife tucked herself under his arm.