Ciarán MacRae leaned his head back against the stone wall. He supposed he ought to feel lucky that it was not a dungeon, but he was locked in a castle tower room with no sign of impending release. A chill wind whistled through the gaps in the wrought-iron window frame, coating the walls with a thin layer of frost—the only thing that seemed to thrive in this place. The dark room had been his home for weeks. Porridge and water sustained him, but the memory of love drove him to stay strong just to see her again.
He had been coming home from Mac’s world through the stone wall of the chamber when he found himself in the midst of Clan Ross men. When a MacRae landed in their midst, they took it as an attack, and so they seized Ciarán as a prisoner. Luckily they had been spying on the castle and
