Prologue

Scotland, 1431

The wind whipped something fierce, loosening the tartan wrapped around Ella MacPherson’s shoulders. With dusk fast approaching, she quickened her pace and continued her climb up the craggy hillside. Worried about losing her footing and hurting the babe growing inside of her more than any harm the chill might cause, she let the train of fabric fall with the next gust and kept going. 

When she neared the crest, she began to smell the faint, familiar scent of burning wood from the fire, and breathed a sigh of relief when a short time later the welcome sight of the small, one room cabin came into view. 

Ella loved this cabin, a small hunting lodge her grandda had built some years ago. She had fond memories of visiting throughout her childhood, though the times she’d spent here recently were even more special.  

Her breath caught when the door opened and she saw Lachlan standing in the frame, his mighty size filling it entirely. At the sight of him, her heart quickened, then nearly burst as he started forward and ran to meet her as she crossed the meadow. Suddenly, he was lifting her in his arms, holding her tight. 

“Ella, I was coming to meet you shortly,” he chided, his voice muffled as he spoke into her hair. “You must be careful.” 

At the sound of his voice, and the warmth and concern in his tone, she burst into tears. 

“Och, Ella. What’s this, love?” he asked, pulling away to look at her. When her attempts to speak failed, he picked her up again and cradled her in his arms. She felt his warm lips and hot breath on her brow as he calmed her with sweet endearments, and she sunk into his embrace, knowing it was most likely the last chance she’d have the opportunity to do so. 

Once inside, Lachlan set her by the fire and wrapped her in a blanket. Then he knelt in front of her, his large hands cupping her face. 

“Whatever has you so distraught, I swear I will fix it,” he promised, looking deeply into her eyes. Her savior, her knight, her everything. She knew he would do just that, if only her problem could be fixed. 

Years ago, Ella had met Lachlan at the spring festival, and they’d both been smitten at once. But Ella was a MacPherson and duty-bound by a lifetime of honor to marry Ethan MacKenna. She and Ethan had been promised to each other before birth. The MacKennas, once a large clan, had dwindled down to just a handful, and all hope for their lineage seemed to rest on this union. So, after a few days of flashing smiles, long and lingering looks, whisper-soft touches, and even a stolen kiss or two, Ella and Lachlan had parted ways, knowing they’d had all of each other they ever could. 

For five years Ella had devoted herself to her new husband, a good man, a nice man, handsome even, but deep inside, her heart had still belonged to Lachlan. And in all that time, Ethan’s hope—and the weight of his family’s hope—of expanding the MacKenna clan seemed doomed, for their efforts to conceive were fruitless. 

Called away one blustery winter night, Ethan and his horse set out, never to return. The following week, word came that while crossing a river Ethan had been caught by a wretched current and never resurfaced. His death, said the messenger, was all but guaranteed. Ella had mourned his loss, she truly had, but when Lachlan came to pay his respects, they couldn’t deny their feelings. Their love rekindled, they’d begun meeting discreetly, thinking they could give the MacKennas a bit of time before making their union official. 

The cabin was the easiest and most accessible place to meet, at least for her, as it was halfway between the MacKenna property and her family’s. Soon after they began meeting, Ella realized she wasn’t barren after all. There’d been a few telltale signs, and she’d known she was in the early days, but hope had filled her so.

Now, just a scant month later, they sat at the small table where Lachlan had had a hot supper waiting, rabbit and crusty bread thick with butter. He’d even collected some wildflowers that grew by the water and placed them in a pottery vessel. The meal was temporarily forgotten, however, as Lachlan waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts.

It was hard to look into his eyes when she gave him the news, and although she’d never doubted his love for her before, she knew now they were bound, as well as cursed, heart for heart, together, forever. 

“You’re sure, Ella?” Lachlan asked, once she’d told him the news, holding their hands between them. 

“Aye,” she said softly. “Horace said he received word a week ago and rather than buoy false hopes by saying anything, went to see for himself if it was truly Ethan. He says it is, that Ethan was wounded and for a time thought to be on his deathbed but is more improved by the day. According to Horace, he’ll be well enough to travel by week’s end.” 

For a split second, Lachlan’s eyes showed his grief, and Ella would swear he’d aged right before her at the news. Then, using every bit of the strength and honor she knew he possessed, his will like none other, Lachlan said, “You must go home, Ella. I will not knowingly bring dishonor upon any of our families.”

“But the babe!” Ella cried.

“If there is a babe,” he whispered, his voice so hoarse on the word, he had to look away to compose himself. 

When his eyes were on her again, they were swimming with tears as his large hand reached out to cover her belly, which could at this very moment, be home to a living testament of their love. She threw herself at him. God help her, but she was distraught at the thought of having to leave him again. She was truly beside herself. Lachlan held her close as she sobbed, and when she finally pulled back and looked at him, she saw that his lashes were spiked from his own tears, his cheeks damp. “I will love you forever, Ella,” he told her, but said no more about their babe. 

What followed was an emotional, bittersweet evening, during which Lachlan ensured she ate before holding her close on the bed as she cried herself to sleep. 

The next morning Ella awoke alone. She discovered a hearty breakfast awaiting her upon the table with freshly picked wildflowers next to her plate, and next to that, Lachlan’s perfectly folded tartan. Ella noticed something nestled within, and gingerly fingered the object strung with a leather thong. When she took it out and held it in her hand, she recognized the item’s significance, and tears filled her eyes as she rubbed the wooden medallion etched with a griffin. 

’Twas something Lachlan had oft told her stories about—the mythical creature that was half eagle and half lion. Extolling the virtues of the king of all beasts: noble, fierce, and protective. It was his favorite, and she knew he’d given it to her for their babe. 

Ella would name her son—she just knew it was a boy—after the man who would be her rock, if only in thought, and she knew their boy would indeed extoll the virtues of the mighty griffin his father had bequeathed to him.

 

Chapter 1

Celeste Lowell checked her bags one last time, leaning over the bed to skim the neatly stacked piles. Satisfied with her handiwork, she zipped her suitcase, duffle, and tote, then made a few trips downstairs to place them by the side door. 

On her last pass, the setting sun caught her eye, and she used her hand to block the rays. An unfortunate move as her shift in vision drew her attention to the étagère set against the wall in the hallway—or, more specifically, the photographs lining its shelves. At first, the photos had brought her comfort, but as time went on, she’d started doing her best to avoid looking at them. 

It seemed like every time Celeste tried to plan something that would distract her or help her move on, fate stepped in and said, “Nope, I don’t think so.” By now, Celeste had thought that after all the tragedy she’d experienced, she’d surely be left to find a bit of peace. 

As ever, Madame Fate said differently.

With a sigh, Celeste relented and focused on the pictures, moving closer to gingerly finger their frames. The first, a family portrait taken when she and Derek were still quite young, Derek flashing his mischievous smile as he put up bunny ears behind Celeste’s head. 

Another, shortly before her parents’ car accident, when Derek was a freshman in high school and she had just begun middle school. In this one, Derek had an arm wrapped around her neck from behind, affectionately pulling her close. He’d taken the role of older brother and protector quite seriously. 

There were others, too, a couple of just Derek and Maggie, a few of Celeste with Derek at various times throughout college and law school, and another of the three of them together. 

Celeste picked up one of her brother from when he’d been about twenty—his eyes were gleaming, his mischievous smile bright—and kissed the glass. “I miss you every day,” she whispered. She tried to avoid looking at any of the photos with Maggie in them, but when she ultimately failed, Celeste immediately shut out her feelings and thoughts on the subject with a forceful, “Don’t.” Speaking aloud to herself was something she did when faced with ill feelings and bad thoughts. Some famous astrologer swore by the technique. Sometimes it worked better than others. Right now, not so much. 

Really, how did one deal with the unexplainable? The utter uncertainty of what had truly happened to her best friend. At least with her parents and Derek, she had closure. Not to say their deaths still weren’t horrible, but with Maggie, well… She shook her head and tried again. “Shhh.” 

To distract herself, Celeste walked through the kitchen and out to the back porch (the second technique she used when the first wasn’t enough), and looked longingly over the backyard. 

Though she’d only be gone a few months, she’d miss this place. The gorgeous wood table and pergola that Derek had built. The bistro lights Maggie had strung just so. How many meals had they shared there, the three of them together? She could still see Derek, spatula in hand as he flipped steaks, Maggie sitting happily in a chair and watching him. Oh, how she’d kill for one more of those moments. 

A few months after Maggie’s disappearance, Celeste had given up her apartment and permanently moved back into the house. It wasn’t the family home that they’d grown up in, but one that they’d all picked out together after Derek and Maggie finished law school. It was technically Derek and Maggie’s house, but Celeste had always loved it here; during school, it was where she’d spent the holidays and summer breaks, and they’d always told her she had a spot there anytime she needed it. 

After Derek died, it had become her home, at least part time, when she’d come back because neither she nor Maggie wanted to be alone. And then she’d stayed because she just couldn’t leave.

In recent months, she’d finally started sprucing up the back porch, which was going to be Derek’s next project. A nice rug, some potted plants and a very comfortable club chair. She loved having coffee in the morning while sitting in that chair, her new favorite spot. A few months ago, she’d ordered a porch swing, something she’d always wanted, but it was back-ordered and had arrived only yesterday. The box was now in the detached garage and would have to wait until her return at the end of the season. 

Celeste considered it a small feat that she’d even managed to store the box in there, given that it had taken a year before she could even step into that place. The garage. Derek’s tools, his sports car, the Harley. Maggie was never a fan of the motorcycle, but Celeste secretly loved it. While she’d been helping Maggie sort through Derek’s things after…well, after, Maggie hadn’t wanted to cover them up. Celeste had. It was just too much on top of everything else. 

She was pulled from her musings by the sound of her neighbor opening his side door. A pretty wood fence separated their properties, but it was more for aesthetics than privacy. Celeste was happy to see him come and go, and enjoyed the small feeling of community. 

“Hey, Nick,” she said with a wave and a smile.

“Hi, Celeste. You taking off tomorrow?”

“Yeah, don’t forget my cousin may come and stay for a bit—he’s traveling around from Scotland, and may or may not be in the area—so don’t be alarmed if you see some strange guy in the house.” She thought better of what she’d said and corrected herself. “I mean, if something’s off, be alarmed. Please.”

“Don’t worry.” He winked. “I got it.”

So, she supposed that was that. Celeste fired off a text to her cousin—her favorite on her mom’s side—to let him know the code for the lock in case he wanted to use her house while she was away, then looked around, pleased with herself. She’d have one more cup of coffee in the morning and then head out.

Celeste had spent her summers in the Hamptons since college and was looking forward to another season on the beach. An old friend who owned a yoga studio always needed extra help during the season, and honestly, it was a nice distraction. 

The summer before, one of his clients had asked her to sing at their club, which was surprising, but fun. She liked to sing, at least recreationally, and picked up gigs at local bars or clubs when she could fit them in. Celeste was hoping for the chance to do that again this year—another good distraction. 

Now, she grabbed some leftovers from the freezer and threw them in the microwave before turning on the bistro lights to have dinner at the table outside under the pergola. 

In the morning, she enjoyed that last cup of coffee in the club chair, taking the wolf figurine that she’d kept in her pocket since Derek’s death—the one he’d carved for her back when she was in high school—and traipsed it across the side table. 

She cleaned and dried her mug when she was done, looking around one last time to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, then locked up and headed toward her car. Once situated in the driver’s seat, she took a deep breath to steady herself.

Just two more stops before the Hamptons.