It hadn’t been Alastair, although his signet ring had been used in the letter.

Who summoned me?

As tempted as he was to shout his frustrations into the hall, he remained silent. But a glimmer of movement answered him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone emerge onto the dais, as if she had come from the moonlit mountains of the tapestry. Tall and slender, she wore a dress the color of storm clouds, and a red plaid shawl framed her shoulders. Her raiment whispered as she moved, drawing closer to where he knelt.

Jack’s gaze was riveted to her.

Her face, freckled and angular, with high cheeks that carved into a sharp jaw, evoked not beauty but reverence. She was flushed, as though she had been walking among the parapets, challenging the wind. Her hair was the color of the moon, bound in an array of braids that were pinned together as a crown. Tucked within them were small thistle blooms, as if stars had fallen upon her. As if she held no fear of their sting.

He saw a shadow of the girl she had once been. The lass he had chased over the hills one chaotic spring night and challenged for a handful of thistles.

Adaira.

She stared at him, still on his knee, as he stared at her. His shock burned away, replaced by indignation that blazed so fiercely he couldn’t breathe when he thought about what he had surrendered to come home. His title, his reputation, the culmination of years of dedication and hard work. Gone like smoke in the breeze. All this he had given up not for his laird, which he could justify, but for her and her whims.

She sensed it in him—the heart of the wild boy who had chased her, now older and harder. His mounting ire.

Adaira responded with a cold, victorious smile.

Chapter 3

“Jack Tamerlaine,” Adaira greeted him. Her voice was nothing like he remembered; if he had heard it in the dark, he would have assumed she was a stranger. “What a surprise to see you here.”

Jack said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but he refused to break their gaze, as she seemed eager to make him do.

“Ah, I forget the two of you are old friends,” Alastair said, pleased. He held his arm out to his daughter, and she drew even closer, so close that her shadow almost spilled over Jack in his obedient stance.

“Indeed,” said Adaira, breaking her stare with Jack to bestow a softer, genuine smile upon her father. “I should reacquaint him with the isle, since he has been away for so long.”

“I don’t think—” Jack began to protest, defiant, until Alastair looked at him with an arched brow.

“I think that is a wonderful plan,” the laird said. “Unless you oppose it, Jack?”