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He had never in his life seen a blue so vivid. It made even the rare wildflower that bloomed on his own hills look pale in comparison. It was as if the blue of the summer sky had taken permanent residence in her eyes.

“Isla,” Duncan whispered in his ear.

Alisdair realized that he had been staring, so he quickly averted his gaze. But it was too late. Duncan had noticed his attention and was more than happy to supply everything he knew about the woman.

“How strange that a snake like him,” he commented, “would have a niece like her.”

“His niece?” Ewan stared at her.

His younger brother’s hatred of the Sinclairs ran too deep to be softened by a pretty face. She was a Sinclair, and therefore an enemy. No shade of blue was going to change that.

Truth be told, hers and her uncle’s eyes were the exact shade of blue. But on him, the color carried no charm.

“Aye, his niece,” Duncan confirmed. “Ye see, she was the only daughter of Laird Malcolm Murray.”

At the name, Alisdair looked back toward her once more. He had known her father—a respected laird, honest and brave. His own father had spoken highly of him.

“Her maither was Eleanor Sinclair,” Duncan continued. “The snake’s sister.”

“Murray was killed in an ambush, if I heard right,” Ewan said.

“That’s right.” Duncan nodded. “He was traveling to some neighboring allies when cowards attacked him.”

“Why is she Sinclair’s ward, then?” Alisdair asked.

He didn’t look toward her again, glad enough that in all the great commotion, he hadn’t locked gazes with her uncle.

“Ah.” Duncan shook his head sadly. “Her maither died of sadness, leaving her alone and orphaned. The only person suitable to take care of her was Sinclair. Poor girl.”

Alisdair silently agreed. He couldn’t imagine a crueler fate than losing both parents only to land under the thumb of a man like Gordon Sinclair. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all someone like her.

And yet she was still a Sinclair, and she had nothing to do with him. She was the ward of his worst enemy, a man who would spend the entire gathering scheming for more power to use against him.

Alisdair had no business thinking about her at all.

And yet somehow, even as he settled his trusted horse and turned his mind back to everything he had to accomplish at this gathering, to every trouble and care he carried for his own clan, he couldn’t shake that particular blue out of his mind.

He was a practical man, and he asked himself a practical question: why, in the midst of an undeclared clan war, was he giving a single thought to some girl?

And yet the careful way she had walked behind her uncle, the stiffness in her spine, the dark hair cascading down her delicate shoulders—all of it lingered in his mind as he left the stables and made his way toward the Great Hall.

“Is there something on yer mind, Alisdair?” Duncan asked.

The question caught him off guard. He knew Duncan far too well. If he admitted what was on his mind, he would never hear the end of it.

“None of yer business.”

Duncan chuckled and followed him without pressing further.

The two of them had been friends since childhood, and there was little Alisdair could hide from him. But Duncan also knew better than to poke at him when he was not in the mood.

Alisdair was grateful that his friend was exercising that restraint now.

“Laird MacLeod!” Laird Douglas’s voice boomed from the entrance of the castle.

Alisdair turned his attention to their host, promising himself that he would think no more of blue eyes and focus instead on the reason he had come. Nothing mattered more than the survival and the strengthening of his clan. No woman was worth more than that.

The quiet that Isla had dreamt of at Sinclair Castle turned out to be nothing more than that—a dream. After learning the shape of her miserable future, she had hoped for a little time to plan, perhaps even to escape, once her uncle had left for the Annual Gathering.