Cain looked over to where Ella stood, her arms up to help Hamish direct a line of horses. Could she possibly think of him as something other than her captor? He’d listened to her sharp mind out on the moor and showed her that he could bend by finding out the lad’s name and putting her in charge of the blessing.

Joshua’s hand came down on his shoulder, and his brother leaned in as if imparting a secret. “I am telling ye, return some of the glances that soft and curvy Viola tosses ye tonight and see what Ella does.”

“Viola Finley?” Cain turned toward the fire to where the voluptuous brown-haired woman stood. She had always been eager to enjoy a night of sport with nearly any warrior. As if the woman could feel his gaze, she raised her eyes to meet it, and her amused smile changed into a seductive grin.

“She has been staring after ye all night.” Joshua laughed. “Ye must be struck foolish by Ella not to have noticed. One grin, and Viola will be spreading her legs for ye. Either gain back some of your humor tupping her tonight or at least give Ella a reason to be jealous.”

It was said that Joshua knew how to win any lass’s heart, or at least her tail, but his advice with Ella sounded too routine, too easy, when nothing about Ella Sutherland was easy.

“Anger and passion are one and the same,” Joshua continued. “Poke her temper,” he said, nodding toward Ella, “and the fire will follow.”

…

The log looked incredibly inviting as two men carried it over to lay on one side of the fire for people to sit upon. Ella held Boo in her arms, having returned from carrying her between the fires. She claimed a seat and snuggled the kitten against her chin, watching Hamish finish directing the last animals.

Ella had never even walked around the fires before, and Cain had put her in charge of coordinating the process with Hamish. And he had allowed her to speak out on the moor without interrupting. Her father would have knocked her down for her insolence and called her a fool for desiring a unification of chiefs to make Scotland strong. Yet Cain Sinclair, the fierce demon of conquest, had let her talk. Perhaps it was a Midsummer miracle, or perhaps Cain Sinclair was not the monster she thought him to be.

Ella watched Pastor John say a prayer over a tiny bug that a little lad had accidentally squashed, helping the boy slow his tears. Children toddled through holding fireflies that they’d caught, swearing to their das that their new friends were pets who must be blessed. Ella smiled as one little girl yawned, her father scooping her up to carry her home for bed. What would it feel like to be loved so?