Free Rogue of the Borders by Cynthia Breeding

the English. Even the Bruce did that.”
    “Well, everyone kens ye MacLeods have no love of the MacDonalds,” Kyla persisted and looked at Abigail. “Ye will find the Scots have long memories.”
    Shane sighed. “’Twas a long time ago. True, it was nae right for the Campbells to murder their hosts. They broke the code of hospitality for certain. But this is 1816. We must put the past behind us if we are to have peace. And,” he said, glowering at Kyla, “I will remind ye that my wife is English.”
    Kyla opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. Shane gave her one last look and then moved to take command of the boat, leaving Abigail to smile. Her husband had just defended her.
    She also had the strange feeling she was reliving history—or at least, finally was a part of it. Each day so far had been an adventure.
    Scotland was a land of wonderment.
     
     
    Once they’d crossed the loch, Shane arranged for a wagon and two sturdy ponies to take them the rest of the way. Surprisingly, no one except the driver went with them. “No more guards?” Abigail asked.
    “’Tis nae need. We are on MacLean lands now and will have safe passage.”
    A few minutes later, the ponies turned off the main road onto something that resembled a rutted deer path and started to climb. The terrain grew more rugged, the trail dangerously close to drop-offs into rocky ravines. Far below, Loch Shiel glistened. Abigail was beginning to have doubts of how safe this passage was. The wagon swayed as its wheels caught in tree roots and bumped against jutting stones, but Abigail was determined to quell her anxiety
    “’Tis nae much longer,” Shane said as if he’d read her mind. “Highland ponies are surefooted beasts.”
    She nodded and clutched the seat and then, as they rounded a bend, she completely forgot her fear.
    She’d thought what she’d seen so far was wonderful, but Abigail’s mouth dropped as Ian’s estate came into view. It was nothing short of a medieval castle.
    It certainly wasn’t as large as either Edinburgh or Stirling, but evidence it had been a fortress was obvious from the raised portcullis to the thick curtain wall, complete with merlons and embrasures. A wooden bridge spanned what was now a dry ditch but had probably been a moat.
    Abigail craned her neck as they passed through a second gate into an open courtyard—or more accurately, a bailey since she could see stables on one side. Several of Jillian’s prized Andalusian horses that she’d seen when she’d visited Newburn were in the nearby paddock. On the other end of the bailey, several smaller buildings lined the wall.
    The square keep itself was impressive. Built entirely of stone, it stood four stories high with towers on each corner. Merlons and embrasures along the roof’s walkway provided for a second line of defense.
    “These fortifications still look strong enough to defend against anything.”
    “Bonny Prince Charlie landed not far from here,” Kyla said. “The damn—beg pardon—the regent finally had enough sense to let the MacDonald build a monument in Glenfinnan to honor the last rebellion. I think—”
    Whatever Kyla was going to say was drowned out by a chorus of screams and shouts as a wave of bright and varied colors streamed out the big oak door, down the steps and across the courtyard toward the wagon.
    “Shane! Shane!”
    Two strawberry-headed girls about twelve skidded to a stop just short of hitting a wheel. Three women with hair varying from carrot to auburn to raven-black followed them. Five pairs of eyes focused on Abigail as their group fell silent.
    Shane hopped down and gathered the young girls under each arm. “Ye have grown in the wee time I was gone,” he said affectionately. “What has Bridget been feeding ye?”
    “’Tis true they eat like horses,” the older woman with the carrot-colored hair answered, “but ye have nae been gone that long…” She let her voice trail off in a question as she looked at Kyla