The Scot's Angel - Keira Montclair
Chapter One
December 1314, the Highlands of Scotland
Claray came out of the tower room with a big smile on her face. This day was one she waited for every year. Yule was nearly here, and the time had come to decorate. That also meant they would have some very special visitors.
Although Madeline Grant, the clan matriarch, had passed many years ago, the clan still celebrated the holiday she’d loved, honoring her by upholding her favorite traditions. Maddie had not truly been Claray’s grandmama, but she had been family in every way that mattered.
This would be their first Yule without Alexander Grant, the clan’s legendary patriarch and Maddie’s husband, and the loss hurt. Even so, Claray believed he and Maddie had been reunited, and it gave her pleasure to think of them spending the holiday together, looking down on the clan.
Alex had been nearly eighty years old, and they’d all watched his physical abilities deteriorate a wee bit each year. He had been ready to go.
As she made her way to the hall, she heard the voice of one of her favorite visitors, something that hastened her through the passageway.
She nearly ran through the great hall, but the toe of her slipper caught on one of the rushes so she stopped, pleased to see him sitting down to break his fast in the Grant great hall.
Thorn was here.
Loki Grant took him and Nari and a few other lads to Grant Castle every year to assist her mother, Sela, and Aunt Kyla with the hanging of the decorations. It had become a yearly tradition, simply because Loki loved Yule. Before he was adopted into the clan, Loki had lived in a crate outside an inn. So he had an even greater appreciation for a holiday celebrating the family who’d chosen him. He used to follow his adoptive mother, Celestina, and Maddie around the hall while they decorated for Yule, helping wherever he could. They held the same traditions in Castle Curanta, but they did it on different days so Loki could bring some of his people to Grant Castle for a couple of days to decorate.
Thorn and Nari were always among the group. They were also orphans, adopted into the clan some three decades ago, after they helped the Ramsays and Grants defeat the Channel of Dubh, a network of evil men who’d sold bairns across the waters for coin. Men who had tortured Claray so her mother would do their bidding. Thorn and Nari had gone to live with Loki Grant, who had his own castle but was nonetheless considered a Grant.
Claray had been only three back then, while the lads were eight and seven.
She carried no memories from that dark time in her life except for the nightmares that came in the middle of the night. But she would much rather focus on their visitors than her sleep terrors. Straightening her shoulders, she smoothed the dark blue skirt of her gown and did her best to look confident. “Good morrow to you, Thorn and Nari. You are here to help with our decorations, are you not?”
Thorn bolted out of his chair, his long dark hair pulled back from his face. Nari’s hair was dark red, a color that seemed to darken more every year. When Claray was younger, everyone had wondered if her red hair would darken, too, but it never had. Instead, the golden colors of the sun had mixed in with the red, making it even brighter.
It was Thorn who’d brought her here with a smile on her face, Thorn who made her heart swoon. It had been for many years.
“Of course,” Thorn said. “If you need anything at all, my lady, please ask.” He gave her a short bow. He wasn’t as tall as many of the Grant men, but he worked hard, evidenced by his broad shoulders and trim waist. Looking at him always brought a sigh from her lips, but she managed to quell it this day.
Although she’d always thought Thorn handsome and they used to see each other often as bairns, she first became aware of him as a man when she was five and twenty summers, nearly seven years ago. At one of the autumn Grant festivals, the participants had drawn stones for partners and Claray had selected Thorn’s. Their challenge was to fill the most baskets of apples within an hour, competing against ten other teams. She feared he’d spend the whole time silent and brooding.
How wrong she’d been. Thorn had talked to her