Scotland, 1806

Margaret Drummond wasn’t sure when it had happened. She couldn’t name the date, the specific time of year, or what she was wearing the first time it had smacked her squarely between the eyes. She suspected it had crept upon her slowly, like an illness, one that started with a little tickle in the throat and ended with every limb trembling like a willow in a gale. No she could not point to a date and say that is the day it happened, she only knew she was completely and irrevocably in love.

Although she realized fifteen might be a little young to marry, she could wait five months until her sixteenth birthday. It was a well- known fact the women in her family married young. There was no reason why Meg shouldn’t plan for her own wedding. Except for one minor detail—the object of her affection hadn’t actually pledged his love to her. In fact, she had every reason to believe Alec MacLaren might not even know he was in love with her. At least not yet.

Meg sat at the table in the family dining-room of Penross House, the Drummond ancestral home, contemplating ways she might catch Alec’s interest. She slipped a chunk of roast beef under the table. Wallace, her Irish red setter, lifted his head from her foot and gently took the morsel from her fingertips. He finished with one swipe of his tongue, cleaning her fingers of the gravy. Instead of her napkin, Meg used the edge of the crisp white linen tablecloth to dry her fingers.

At the soft sound of a man clearing his throat, she glanced at her brother Rory, who sat beside her. He grinned and winked, silently telling her he knew what she was about. With a little gesture of his head he directed her attention to the foot of the table, where Joanna Drummond sat frowning at Meg.

Feeding Wallace from the table was not an acceptable practice at the Drummond table, at least not since her mother had taken the notion to transform Meg into a proper lady. Meg shrugged and Joanna rolled her eyes, a smile curving her lips. Although her first London Season was two years away, everyone knew it would take a great deal of time and effort to alter Meg. She had been allowed to run wild for far too long.

“I don’t see why I must wait another four years until I’m one and twenty to purchase a commission.” Her brother Colin sounded far too bold for a dinner table conversation. “Alec MacLaren has already done as much.”

Meg’s heart stuttered, bouncing painfully against the wall of her chest. She lowered her fork and looked across the dinner table to Colin. “Did you just say Alec purchased a commission?”

“Aye. He leaves tomorrow.” Colin turned his head and directed his attention to their mother, apparently unaware of how he had just tipped the world on end.

Meg glanced at Rory and noticed he was watching Colin in that quiet, scholarly way he had of approaching every potential disaster. If you were facing a calamity, Rory was the man you wanted by your side, calculating a means to steer to safety using his prodigious brain.

With his dark chestnut brown hair, green eyes, and masterfully carved features, he was more handsome than Colin. Yet, where Rory was reserved, Colin was dashing in a wild untamed manner that demanded attention. Light from the two branched candelabras sitting in the middle of the table on either side of him glinted on Colin’s golden hair and face, exposing the determined look in his brown eyes.

“I’m three weeks older than Alec,” Colin said. “I see no reason why I cannot purchase a commission now.”

Joanna lifted a fluted wine-glass, the crystal catching the glint of candlelight. Meg had never known her mother to appear without her thick chestnut hair in perfect order. Her clothes were always fashionable, her manners impeccable. Joanna was in fact every inch a perfect lady, a far cry from her awkward daughter. Even though Joanna often assured Meg she would one day learn all the intricacies of proper behavior, Meg had her doubts she would ever achieve the easy elegance that was so much a part of her mother.

After taking a sip of red wine Joanna spoke, her voice low and soft, colored with the accent of the English upper class. “I have no intention of discussing this at the dinner table, Colin.”

Colin looked toward the other end of the table. “Father, I thought…”

“Enough Colin.” Robert Drummond sent his son a look that clearly said: not here, not now.

Colin glanced down at his plate and clenched his jaw. “As you wish, sir.”

Meg stared at Colin, a hundred questions fighting to be the first across her tongue. “Alec isn’t going to the Peninsula. Is he?”

“Aye, he is.” Colin glanced up, a look of disgust on his handsome face.

Colin closely resembled their father in looks and in temperament. Vikings inhabited part of their family tree. Both father and son were known for having a rather short fuse leading to a sizable cash of explosives. Since Meg had a similar affliction, she knew how difficult it could prove to remain calm when everything inside demanded an explosion.

“Light Dragoons, under Wellesley.” Colin’s voice dripped with what could only be described as poorly concealed frustration. “He’ll see battle within a week. If I purchased a commission I could join him.”

“You would do better at Oxford, Colin.” Rory swirled the wine in his glass, holding his younger brother’s gaze.

Although the eldest Drummond sibling could ride, shoot, and tumble into the occasional scrape with the best of them, as well as display a rather fine temper when provoked, Rory had a much longer fuse than his younger siblings. At times it was hard to imagine he was less than two years Colin’s senior. Usually, Rory seemed years older than his reckless younger brother.

“Take a few years to explore the possibilities, see if the army is really what you want before you go slogging through one battlefield after another,” Rory said, in his deep quiet voice. “The army is a good way to meet an early death.”

“I’m not a scholar like you, Rory. I have no interest in spending my time sitting about listening to some old man spout the glories of ancient Rome.”

“There are other benefits,” Rory said. “You simply…”

Battle within a week. Meg’s head rang with the dreadful news, shutting out the discussion that ensued between her brothers, the debate about the benefits of education over the glory of battle.

An early death. An image rose in Meg’s mind, like a ghost rising on a foggy night—Alec lying broken and bloody on a distant battlefield. He could die and never know how she felt. Her chest ached with a horrible mingling of fear and anxiety. She had to see Alec. She had to tell him before it was too late.

Meg had never been a shy girl. She had grown up with two older brothers who had always treated her as though she was the youngest brother in the family, at least until recently. Meg had spent the first thirteen years of her life running about in Colin’s old clothes, with her hair in braids, doing her best to keep up with her brothers and their friends, most notably Alec. Now she was obliged to wear riding habits and use a side saddle. The rules of proper behavior stated clearly ladies must live in tidy little boxes.

Meg had come to the ruins of the ancient fort perched on the cliffs above Loch Laren this morning dressed in a pretty dark green riding habit with one purpose in mind. Wallace moved his head, resting his chin on Meg’s foot. After running beside her horse for the few miles from Penross House, the four year old setter had flopped on his side at Meg’s feet and decided it was a good time for a nap.

The wind swept down from the mountains, blowing across the long, wide surface of Loch Laren, whipping the water into frothy waves before they crashed against the rocky shore. The wind cast the blended scents of the lake, heather, and meadow grass against her face. It tugged strands from her neat braid and flicked the wayward golden curls across her face.

She looked toward Alec’s home, wondering if he would come. A little more than a mile south, the walls of Dunleith Castle rose like a vision from an ancient legend, gray stones gilded under the sun. Dunleith suited Alec. She could imagine him a knight from a legend, bold and adventurous, chivalrous and charming, battling for his king, winning the hearts of ladies along his way.

The sound of hoof beats rose above the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the shore below the cliffs. Meg turned as Alec rode toward the fort atop Fionn, his huge gray stallion, using the path that led to the back of the fort.

At the first sight of Alec, Meg’s heart did a slow tumble, knocking against her lungs, forcing all the breath from her chest. Although he wore breeches and a riding coat, he hadn’t bothered with a hat. The wind whipped through his thick hair, tousling the black waves into loose, wayward curls. He pulled up a few yards from the fort and dismounted, alighting from the saddle in one powerful motion. His horse wandered over to her mare, tossed his head and nickered softly, receiving a soft nicker in reply.

A smile curved his lips as Alec met her gaze, a wide boyish grin that made her wish she could capture that smile in a sketch. Although drawings of Alec filled the pages of her sketch book, she had never done justice to that smile. She doubted the most accomplished artist could ever do justice to Alec’s smile. And his eyes, those eyes were layered with so many shades of blue she defied an artist to find just the right blending of oil pastels to match his eyes.

Alec pressed his hand on the low remains of a wall near the back of the fort and vaulted over it, his booted feet making a soft thud on the stones as he landed. “You’ll looking bonnie fair, this morning.”

Bonnie fair. Oh my goodness, she could scarcely breathe. “I’m glad you came.”

“Your note sounded important.” Alec strode toward her in long, loose limbed strides.

He was tall, and built along the sleek lines of a born athlete. The dark gray wool of his coat stretched elegantly over the width of his broad shoulders before cutting away and exposing his slim waist and narrow hips. The buff colored leather of his breeches molded the strong lines and curves of his long legs, before plunging into gleaming black boots.

Wallace jumped up and ran to the young man. Alec paused, rubbing the dog’s head briskly, praising him in that deep, dark voice that could send a shiver over her skin. After greeting the dog, both males continued toward Meg, Wallace staying close to Alec’s leg as though the tall young man was his master.

When they drew near Meg, Wallace flopped down on the moss and rested his chin on his paws. Alec paused a respectable distance from Meg and smiled. She looked up into the staggering male beauty of his face and wondered if she would ever see him after today. When she thought of how reckless he was being she wanted to scream.

“Alec MacLaren, did a maggot crawl into your head?”

Alec grinned. “Colin told you about my commission.”

Meg planted her hands on her hips. “They are fighting a war, Alec. And you just volunteered to march straight into the heart of it.”

“I’m going to do my part. We cannot allow Napoleon to take over the world, now can we?” He gestured toward the mountains rising on three sides of the lake, where heather splashed pink and purple over rugged gray slopes. “Next you know he’ll be marching straight into Stirling. Someone has to stop him.”

Thick black lashes framed his incredible eyes. Excitement burned in those blue depths, the excitement of a young knight about to set off on a glorious quest. “You could be killed.”

“I’m good with a sword and a pistol.” He tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, the soft brush of his gloved fingers sending a legion of tingles along her skin. “I can take care of myself.”

“Colin said you were leaving today.” Meg’s stomach turned inward at the realization Alec would soon be gone. “Did you intend to say goodbye?”

“I’d never leave without saying goodbye to you, Meg.” He chucked her lightly beneath her chin. “I’ll be over later this morning to say my farewell to you and your family.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Meg looked up at him and knew this might be her only chance to tell him a truth she could not keep locked in her heart. “I love you, Alec. I want to marry you.”

By the look on his face, she might have just slapped him rather than declared her love for him. His eyes grew wide and his lips parted, yet it took several seconds before he spoke. “Meg, you’re a wee bit young to be thinking of marriage.”

“I’m fifteen, almost sixteen. Not so very young. And I know how I feel.” She glanced down at the ground, feeling awkward and quite certain she was making a fool of herself. She stared at a clump of moss that had worked its way through the heart of a smooth stone cracking it into several pieces. “I know what I want.”

Alec slipped his gloved fingers under her chin and coaxed her to meet his gaze, the soft leather warm against her skin. When she looked at him, he smiled in a way that left no room for awkward feelings on her part. He looked at her as though he cared for her, as though he understood everything that burned in her heart.

“You haven’t had a London Season. When you do, men will trip over each other trying to dance with you. You’ll have your pick of aristocrats and wealthy gentlemen, all wanting to win your hand. In two years, you won’t even remember what I look like.”

Did the man own a mirror? No woman could ever look upon his face and forget him. Carved with strong lines and angles, complete with a cleft in his chin, his face had been crafted with the sole purpose of pleasing the feminine eye. Even if he had not been so outrageously handsome, and he hadn’t been dashing, he still would have been dear to her. Alec was kind and gentle, amusing and gallant in so many ways. Although nice sounded trite, outside of her brother Rory, Alec was the nicest man she knew.

Alec had always acted her champion, granted as though she were his little sister, but with affection just the same. He had even blackened the eye of one of his cousins when the English lout had insulted her last year.

“How can you imagine I would ever forget you? We’ve been friends all of my life.”

“I’m not ready for marriage. And neither are you.” Alec took her hand in a firm grip. Even though they both wore gloves, she felt it just the same, a spark of contact that sizzled through her. “We’ll see how you feel in a few years, Meg. We’ll see how you feel when I come home.”

Would he come home? She couldn’t imagine a world without Alec MacLaren. “I’ll wait, Alec. Time won’t change my heart. No matter how many years, I’ll wait for you. I’ll love you until the day I die.”

He smiled, warm and indulgent, a smile meant to last her a lifetime. “You need to give yourself a chance in London. You need to be certain of your choice. Marriage is a lifetime.”

“I am certain.”

“It might be years before I’m home Meg. I need to make my own way in the world. And I’ll not have you wasting away while I’m gone. You mean too much to me to ruin your chances in life. Do you hear?”

Meg knew her mind and her heart, no matter what he believed. “I’ll wait for you.”

He tilted his head, his gaze dipping to her lips. For one thrilling moment she imagined he might kiss her. She held her breath and waited, without any idea of what she should do if he kissed her. Purse her lips? Close her eyes? Hold her breath? Yet instead of kissing her lips, he pressed his lips to her brow, his breath feathering warmly against her skin.

“I better leave, my bonnie Meg.”

“Stay safe, Alec.” She squeezed his hand, wanting to hold him here, knowing he would soon walk out of her life, possibly forever. “Please stay safe.”

“Now don’t you be worrying about me. I’ll be fine.” He winked as a mischievous smile curved his lips. “You enjoy your life, my bonnie Meg.”

Meg sought words that would make him stay, but knew it was futile. Nothing would change his mind. He turned to leave, but after a few steps he pivoted and walked back to her. Sunlight broke through the clouds overhead and shone full upon his face, revealing every nuance, as though giving her one glorious image to keep close to her heart. The look in his eyes whispered of a secret he wanted to share with her.

“Would you give me something, Meg? Something I can keep as a remembrance of you.”

She wished she had a miniature she could give him or a locket with a lock of her hair. Yet she hadn’t come prepared with anything to give him. “I can give it to you when you come to Penross House. Just tell me what you would like.”

“I would like this.” He tugged the end of her ribbon and slipped the emerald satin from her braid. After pressing his lips to the ribbon, he bowed as a knight might to his lady before a joust. “When I look at this I’ll think of you and remember home.”

Meg stood in the ancient fort and watched him walk away from her, fighting the urge to sit and weep until all the feeling drained from her. For as long as she could remember Alec had been a vital part of her life. And now she would have to face each day knowing he would no longer be here to share his smile, his laughter, all the little details of his life.

“Come back to me,” she whispered, watching Alec ride toward Dunleith Castle. “Please come back, Alec.”

Eight months later, against their mother’s wishes, Meg’s brother Colin purchased a commission. Her parents argued, separated, came back together, and finally, after the truth of a horrible betrayal became known, the marriage fell into so many pieces no one could hope to put it back together again. When Joanna walked away from her husband, Meg lost the father she had always adored.

Meg and her mother left home and moved in with Joanna’s parents in England. Robert Drummond bought a commission and plunged into war, joining Colin and Alec in the Peninsula. Rory left Oxford to take control of the family estate. So many changes, in so many lives, in so little time. Through it all Meg often looked at the drawings in her sketch book and wished for Alec to come to her.