To the greatest Highland clan, he is born

From a different time, first she must mourn

Two souls forever joined, still so far apart

Yet the reason is clear, she mends his broken heart

A great storm will rage, the eve of his thirty-third year

On her twenty-eighth, when the path is then clear

Once they touch ’tis forever, their bond is the key

Once together, they shall remain…for infinity

The Prophecy, Date Unknown

Chapter 1

April 25, Present Day

“You’re what?”

Gwendolyn Reynolds could only stare at her superior. She’d told him three times already. Three. And of the many qualities she possessed, patience with people who refused to see exactly what was in front of them wasn’t one of them. What didn’t the man understand? 

“I’m leaving, Frank. Surely you know the meaning…the act of removing oneself, the—”

“Don’t get smart with me, Gwendolyn,” Frank Sutter returned through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I know this comes as a surprise, and I understand your unhappiness with my decision, but I’ve made up my mind.” Gwen kept her voice calm and steady, contrite for the moment, as she tried a different approach. 

She smoothed her hands across the tabletop in front of her, then fingered the silver bracelet adorning her wrist. 

A touch for courage. Her white blouse was tucked perfectly into charcoal trousers, her legs beneath the table, crossed. Her foot, encased in a sinfully expensive black pump, rested on the floor and tapped uncontrollably. It was the only gesture that belied her steadfast composure. 

“You have a responsibility, Gwen, not to mention a contract,” Frank continued, red-faced and angrier than before.

The man looked like he would have a coronary at any second. Gwen’s eyes narrowed slightly. Was it possible he was having one now? Would it be her fault if he did? 

Gwen had called Frank last night. Late last night. It had taken her two weeks to build up her nerve and another twelve hours to dial his number. She knew now she shouldn’t have told him of her decision over the phone, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. 

Another quality she possessed: honesty. Unfortunately, to a fault. She’d expected a fight from Frank. And she knew that was the reason she’d waited. Now that her mind was made up, however, she couldn’t be swayed. 

Unless Frank dropped dead, of course. Maybe then she’d reconsider. 

Gwen looked him directly in the eye and counted to five before responding. “I’m leaving, Frank, contract or not.” Determined to deliver only short, decisive statements, she bit the inside of her cheek.

Frank turned to the two men who sat to his left, Mark Ingersol and Gary Ackerman. Gwen almost groaned aloud. Crap! When she entered the boardroom earlier, those men sat facing her. Frank had been seated at the head of the table, drumming his fingers impatiently on the stack of papers in front of him. 

Gwen knew Frank would try to intimidate her. And bringing in Mark was intimidation. Everyone knew she had dated him. And they knew how it ended: badly. 

Gwen tried to keep everything in perspective, which wasn’t too difficult. Because regardless of the fact that those men made her feel all of twelve years old and truly close to throwing up, what they failed to realize was…she was beyond intimidation. 

Now she just had to get through this meeting, and hopefully, with her resolve intact. 

Mark spoke, obviously on cue. “Let me explain something to you, sweetheart.”

Mark. What an ass. What a mistake. Gwen fixed him with an icy smile. “Think ya can?”

“I can explain a lot, Gwen. You have an obligation…the act of binding oneself by a social, legal, or moral tie.”

“I wasn’t aware you knew the meaning of anything moral,” she quipped.

“Weren’t you?” he corrected. 

Crap again! Score one for Mark. 

The man had a point. She’d shown him the door, and he walked. He’d also told anyone who would listen that she’d led him on. The ice queen, he’d said. The term hurt more than she’d admit. She hadn’t meant to lead him on, but she couldn’t pretend she felt enough to sleep with him. And she wouldn’t just give her virginity to anyone. Not when she’d already waited that long.

Gwen turned to Frank. She couldn’t look at Mark anymore. Not for the obvious reasons, but because she was so close to vomiting, which wouldn’t be so horrible. But it would be one of those spontaneous and uncontrollable moments. A moment in which she knew she’d ruin her shoes. She’d waited two weeks for those shoes. Two. She’d never be able to find another pair in her size this late in the season. And she’d be out four hundred dollars. Vomiting was definitely out of the question. 

“I’ve only asked for a leave of absence, Frank,” Gwen justified. “It’s not unheard of.” And she had only asked for a leave of absence, but Gwen had a feeling she wasn’t coming back.

“Why?” Frank pleaded. “You’re finally able to stand on your own. You’ve accomplished more than any resident I’ve known, Gwen. Hell, you’ve accomplished more than anyone I’ve known.” 

Gwen didn’t have a response. Not one they’d understand. How could she explain something she didn’t understand herself?  

How could she walk away from everything she’d worked her entire life to achieve? 

She’d spent every waking moment since grade school being the best at everything. And she was. Exhaustively cultured, educated to the hilt, and driven beyond reason. One month shy of twenty-eight, she was poised to one day become the leader in cardiovascular surgery. A legacy her parents had all but ensured. 

Her perfect life.

Ha! Her perfect life was a frigging wreck.

Somehow she’d reached a turning point. She couldn’t hide any longer behind that confident exterior she’d worked so hard to create. For the first time in her life, the rules she lived by had changed. And she was terrified. 

Gary, who’d been silent, finally spoke. “Gwen, take a few days, lay off the exercise and relax. I have a feeling you’ll see things more clearly. Whatever this is about, running away isn’t the answer.”

Gwen knew he was trying to be helpful. But he was dead wrong. Leaving seemed to be her only answer. She felt she’d reached her pinnacle. Her goals were attained, and for a reason she couldn’t comprehend, it seemed her career drive had come to its end. It was the personal drive she always repressed that called to her now. 

Those images she once embraced only at night now filled her days, and a need she couldn’t suppress beckoned to her as never before. And it seemed imperative she reach for it. Now. “For me, Gary, it’s the only answer.” 

“What’s that sound?” Frank demanded. 

Gwen stopped her foot before it made contact with the floor again. She didn’t say anything else. She’d made her point. She was leaving. 

“I won’t have it, Gwen,” Frank stressed indignantly. “This misguided assumption that you can walk away.”

“Misguided? Are you serious, Frank?” Gwen came out of her chair, her hands on the table as she leaned forward. “You can’t keep me here. I don’t care about your prized institution anymore. I don’t care that I have a contract. And I sure as hell don’t care that I’m walking away from my accomplishments. They’re mine.” Gwen started for the door. Her hand covered the handle as her superior’s voice carried from the chair.

“If you walk, Gwen, we’ll sue.”

Gwen opened the door. “Then I’ll see you in court.” She didn’t look back. 

She would never look back. 

* * *

April 25, 1426

Greylen MacGreggor was aware of the impending dawn. An awareness so acute it bordered on pain. Shadows still played within the last recess of restless slumber, shadows that haunted him for most of his life. ’Twas always in the last seconds of semiconsciousness he found himself reaching into the darkness. A futile hope that something tangible would be within his reach. Yet each day he arose, ’twas emptiness that greeted him. 

This day was no different. 

Realizing the barren truth, he threw the covers aside and sat on the edge of his bed. Feet on the floor, elbows on his knees, he rested his head in his hands but a moment. Then, as he did every morning, he brushed his fingers harshly through his hair before he stood. 

Punishment for fanciful notions. 

Pain to ease the ache that never went away.  

Barefoot and in breeches, he left his cabin and made his way above deck. The sky was alive with stars and a full moon illuminated the blackened sea. His captain stood at the ship’s helm and the few crewmen about left him to his solitude. He walked to the bow of the ship, not surprised minutes later to hear the footfall of the only man who’d dare to approach him now.

“Greylen?” Gavin, his first-in-command, asked.

“Aye?”

“We’ll make port by dawn.”

Greylen turned his head, raising a brow. “Aye, Gavin, ’tis a fact I’m already aware of.”

Gavin gave his commander a crooked smile. “Invaluable, aren’t I?”

Greylen returned the smile but refused to answer. He glanced back to the sea, silent again as he always was at the hour before dawn. 

This was his second favorite place to greet the day. His first, the shore beneath the cliffs of Seagrave. ’Twas the only time he allowed himself the indulgence of images from his dreams. 

The only time he thought beyond them.

“’Tis but a month away,” Gavin stated quietly, his stance the same as Greylen’s: legs braced apart and arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re a wealth of information this morn,” Greylen acknowledged with resigned sarcasm. He knew exactly what his first-in-command was referring to, but with each day that brought him closer to his thirty-third year, Greylen became more reserved.

“I’ll leave you to your peace,” Gavin offered, dismissing himself as quietly as he’d appeared.

Peace? Had he ever known it a day? 

Greylen pondered the sentiment but a moment. He’d felt it briefly the day his mother summoned him. The day she’d told him of the prophecy. 

But how could he face the day he’d waited for these past ten years if…if it came to naught? 

Would the images go away? Those images that only came in the last hour of what restless sleep he allowed himself. 

Images of her…which forever haunted him.

Nay, he could never let them go. 

He would always look back.

 

Chapter 2

One Month Later

“Happy birthday, Gwen.”

Gwen smiled into the phone. She should’ve known Sara would call. “Thanks, Sara.”

“How’s Scotland? Cold? Rainy? Beautiful? Awful?”

Gwen laughed. “Scotland is perfect. A little chilly but honestly, I haven’t seen a drop of rain. How’s Mr. MacGreggor?”

“Purring away. He’s a great companion. I’m glad you let him stay with me.”

“I wouldn’t trust him with anyone else.”

“Where are you going tonight? Any handsome men catch your eye, invite you to dinner maybe?”

“Hardly,” Gwen argued with a snort, though it wasn’t truly the case. She had seen plenty of handsome men since she’d been in Scotland over the past three weeks. And, in fact, some had asked her to dinner. 

“Haven’t found what you’re looking for?” Sara asked, as if reading her mind.

Bingo. 

“No.” Gwen’s simple statement was emphasized with a sigh. Maybe she was crazy to think she’d find the answers here. And just what was she looking for anyway? The man of her dreams. The man from her dreams. 

Was he what compelled her to leave everything behind? Had he somehow influenced her decision? Was it he who filled her with hopefulness once she’d done the unthinkable? 

Could it explain how the end of her residency represented nothing more than completion? Or why her restlessness ended when she purchased her airline ticket? Not the first one she’d booked to London. And not the second she’d booked to Paris. It was only when she’d changed her reservation to Scotland that she knew she’d made the right choice. Was she crazy? 

Oh yeah.

“Gwen…Gwen?”

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Tell me where you’re going tonight, and more importantly, tell me what you’re wearing.”

“A simple black dress and heels,” Gwen said in a rush.

“Liar!”

Gwen smiled again. “Does it really matter?”

“Is there a full-length mirror in your room?”

“They don’t have mirrors in Scotland,” Gwen snapped. 

Sara laughed. “Shut up. Go stand in front of it.” 

“Come on, Sara,” Gwen groaned. She wasn’t up for this.

“Go…now.” Sara paused and gave her time to get in front of the mirror. “Tell me what you see.”

“Someone who’s pathetic.”

“You’re far from pathetic,” Sara argued on her behalf. “You’re gorgeous, smart, and the best person I’ve ever known.”

“I’m not quite tall enough, my chest is too small, and I have no hips.”

“You’re perfectly tall enough, long on legs, and have a perfect handful. And just so you know, your jeans fit in a way people would die for.”

Gwen cupped her breast and frowned at her reflection as she listened to Sara. “The perfect handful, Sara, is my handful.” 

Sara laughed. “Well, maybe if you let someone get close enough, it would be their perfect handful too.”

“I tried that.”

“Mark was an ass. I’m glad you came to your senses before it was too late.”

“Too late? I’m twenty-eight and for the first time in my life, I’m scared as hell.”

“You listen to me, Gwendolyn Reynolds. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I can’t think of anyone more deserving than you to find some happiness. Stop your little pity party and tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Tank top, capris, Lulu jacket, and running shoes,” Gwen muttered, knowing she should’ve lied again.

“Gwen…come on, it’s your birthday.”

“I’m just going to a pub a few miles from here, and I’m going alone. Besides, I plan on being back in my room early enough to enjoy a great bottle of wine.”

“No cocktails?”

Gwen laughed. “I have a stockpile of vodka in my bag. But wine sounds better. I can listen to music while I count the stars.” 

“Ever the dreamer.”

“My one fault.” Gwen smiled, listening to Sara choke dramatically.

“One? Ah, Gwen…how about your temper?”

“Temper, schmemper.” Gwen scoffed. “It’s not that bad.” 

“You’re kidding, right?” Sara asked seriously.

“I plead the fifth,” Gwen said with courtroom theatrics. 

“Speaking of which, have you heard from your attorney?” Sara asked.

“Oh yeah.”

“And?”

“I’m going to settle,” Gwen said, staring through her terrace window. She fingered the pane of glass in a foolish attempt to soothe—what or whom she couldn’t say. “There’s plenty of money in the trust, and honestly, I don’t know if I can ever go back.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” Sara cautioned.

“Helllooo…I walked away from a career I envisioned my entire life. I took the first vacation I’ve had in years, and I did it all rashly.”

“That’s not true. You agonized for weeks. You agonized your entire life.”

“That’s not true either,” Gwen remarked honestly. “I always felt like I was doing the right thing. I never questioned following in my parents’ footsteps.” And that was true. 

“You didn’t just follow in their footsteps,” Sara corrected her. “You set the Olympic records for academic, athletic, and professional achievements.”

“They’d be so disappointed if they were here.”

“Don’t give them that power, Gwen. You always said you were their lab experiment, and their prodigy repaid them in spades.”

“Well, that prodigy feels like a lost puppy.”

“You’re lying, Gwen. You sound better than ever.”

Gwen’s smile widened. “Truthfully, Sara, coming here is the best decision I’ve ever made.” 

* * *

Greylen arose from his third sleepless night well before dawn. Foregoing his usual bedside ritual, he donned a pair of breeches and made his way through the darkened hallways of Seagrave Castle. Once outside, he nodded to the men who stood sentinel at the keep’s main doors and continued to the stables. Then he took the narrow path to the shore. 

He would watch the sunrise. 

He stood barefoot on the sand, greeting a day that could only be called glorious. ’Twas the day that marked the anniversary of his thirty-third year. His anger grew by the second. His roar of outrage was lost to the waters and cove.

On this day no one would escape his wrath. 

Of the many attributes for which Laird Greylen MacGreggor was revered, his barely veiled contempt for this day was not one of them. Few understood the reasoning behind it, and one seemed not to care. 

His sister. Lady Isabelle MacGreggor.

Greylen had just returned to the keep, intent to order his mother never to breathe a word of that blasted infernal prophecy ever again, when Isabelle passed him. Obviously in her haste she hadn’t noticed he was there. Exuberance radiated from her very being as she hurried down the steps and all but flew through the keep’s main doors. 

He turned and was about to order her back to her quarters when Gavin at last made himself useful. His first-in-command caught her about the waist just as she made for the first of the steps that would take her into the courtyard. 

’Twas at first a comical display. Isabelle’s head tilted back, her lips forming an O as she came flush against him. Gavin, too, showed surprise for just but a second before his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in an angry line. “If you know what’s good for you, Isabelle, leave your brother be,” Gavin snapped. 

Greylen wasn’t surprised by Gavin’s harsh tone with his sister. Truth be told, ’twas the only way he seemed to address her of late. What did surprise him was that his first-in-command had yet to release her. Gavin must have realized the same, too, for he hastily removed his arm from around her torso and stepped back a full pace. Greylen watched Isabelle adjust her gown, cleverly blinking back tears as she did so. 

“’Tis Greylen’s birthday. I only wish to bid him good day,” she explained, fully composed once again. 

“’Tis not a good day he wishes for. He’s been at it since the crack of dawn. See you the practice fields,” Gavin said, motioning with his hand in their direction. “One fallen soldier after another. Your brother left them long minutes ago and they’ve still yet to stand.”

“Then perhaps you should put him out of his misery,” Isabelle suggested.

“’Tis misery he craves,” Gavin replied in a softer tone. “Please, Isabelle, heed my advice. ’Twould only blacken his mood more if he is the cause of pain to you.”

“Very well, Gavin,” she conceded with a sigh. “You’ll see, though, both of you. This night will bring what he so desires.” 

Isabelle left on the heels of her declaration, yet as Greylen joined Gavin atop the keep’s step and looked to the sky, ’twas plainly clear—the only storms in the making were those that would be unleashed by Greylen. 

* * *

Greylen spent the remainder of the day back on the practice fields. Occasionally he saw Gavin on the portico, assessing the damage he wrought. His first-in-command wouldn’t think twice that three days without sleep, and swordplay for the last eight hours, hadn’t diminished his laird’s strength. He was sure that Gavin took note of the number of times Greylen had changed the hand in which he held his sword—but four. 

’Twas the gloaming that finally brought a roar from yonder fields. A dusk as clear and calm as the day. 

“NOW,” Greylen bellowed. A demand of such force, it carried across the fields where it echoed for a surprising span of time. He watched as the front doors of the keep finally opened and Gavin’s form filled the frame. The cad still wore a crisp linen shirt and looked as if he’d had quite the peaceful day.

Greylen hoped to hell he had. 

He knew his first-in-command steered clear of him since he’d seen him that morn, and he knew why. 

Only Gavin could give him the fight he so desperately needed. Only Gavin could release the demons to which he wanted nothing more than to succumb. 

Ten years of waiting…for naught.

He believed with every fiber of his being he would know peace that night. Yet ’twas painfully clear, tomorrow he would face another dawn—and he would face it alone. 

Greylen watched Gavin approach as never before. No arrogance, no hint of gladdening malice upon his lips for that which he was about to perform. ’Twas only a man’s best friend who came to stand before him now. 

God willing, Gavin would beat him to the ground. He only prayed his body would feel the pain that seemed to emanate from his very soul.

Gavin said nothing of Greylen’s appearance, dreadful as it must be. He had discarded his shirt hours ago, having ripped it to strips to tie about his forehead. Then he’d changed them every hour as they became soaked with sweat. Now it lay in a pile of tatters. His hair clung to his scalp and the base of his neck, shorn just days ago as he did with the coming of each full moon. 

He could no longer feel the weight of his sword. Nor his legs, encased in breeches and what were once polished boots. He wished he felt nothing at all. But truth be told, he felt betrayed.

Betrayed by the prophecy. Betrayed—by her.

Gavin at last began to circle him, fixing him with a look that brought even the most skilled of fighters to their knees. Greylen engaged. Steel meeting steel as they repeatedly exchanged blows; barely contained murmurs now grunts released with such force the end seemed nowhere in sight. 

After what seemed an eternity, Gavin mercifully gave a nod and their men stood. The only men left on the fields. Five of the best men in the Highlands he’d taken as his own over the past fifteen years. But ’twas Gavin’s order that they followed now. 

His men would put him out of his self-imposed misery. They’d take him down at last, beat and exhaust him till he ceased to feel. Then he would never feel again. He would never again believe. He knew it as he knew nothing else.

’Twas at that very moment—when defeat seemed so imminent—that the gods showed their grace. Lightning tore through the clearest night sky, and a storm of unnatural force unleashed its power. 

And ’twas then that Laird Greylen MacGreggor fell to his knees for the first time in his entire life…witnessing the beginning of his destiny.