Fia asked.Thomas snapped the reins, setting the tired horse trotting into the house’s side yard.“Thomas McClairen,” he answered without looking at her.“Colin McClairen’s son?” she asked, stunned. Colin McClairen had been gone during the uprising of ’45, having left his sons, John and Thomas, under the care of his older brother, Ian, the laird of the McClairen. He’d returned from afar to find Ian dead, killed at Culloden, his wife dead in childbirth, himself the new clan chief, and his sons hanged for treason.Or so Fia had always been told. But now … She studied his averted profile, saw in the proud bearing and bold features the unbowed spirit of the Highlander. She’d known him so long and never guessed. Yet it all made sense now. He’d come to McClairen’s Isle incognito, seeking revenge, and revenge he’d nearly had upon her brother Ashton, if not Carr.Fear began unrolling within her. Was she to be the next move in some decades-long chess match between him and her father?“They didn’t hang you,”
