The Eagle by Hildie McQueen

Prologue

South Uist, Hebrides, Scotland

1802

One of Stuart Ross’ duties as guard was to patrol the house where the refugee men lived. The house was located between the Ross keep and the house where his brothers, Duncan and Caelan, lived. He always looked forward to the trip because it meant time alone with his thoughts, and he could return in time for last meal.

His warhorse trotted sideways, its huge hooves lifting and lowering from the ground in dainty steps.

“Stop it,” Stuart said to the horse who paid him no heed and added a head bob to its repertoire. Annoyed at the animal’s antics Stuart gritted his teeth and pulled back on the reins. The horse seemed to be in some sort of mood continuing its odd walk.

“What is wrong with ye? Warhorses do not prance,” Stuart barked.

A chuckle came from somewhere between the trees. Whoever it was must have overheard him.

“Who’s there?” Stuart asked while looking into the foliage.

“It is I, Mister Stuart.” A willowy young woman appeared. She wore the distinct faded clothing of someone of little means. A drab, but very clean dress, over it a tidy apron. Her hair was covered with a kerchief, pulling it back from her pretty face.

“I apologize. I overheard ye scolding yer horse,” she said, lifting her gaze. Her eyes were a light brown, framed with long thick lashes.

She was the new kitchen maid who’d recently began working at the keep.

“Cait, what are ye doing so far from the keep?”

“I live just past there.” She pointed behind her.

It seemed rather far from the keep, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he looked to see what she held.

The young woman blinked and swallowed nervously. “I snared a rabbit to share with my mother and younger brother for super,” she said, holding up a dead hare. “I have the laird’s permission. I assure ye,” she quickly added.

Untying his bow from the saddle, he pulled an arrow from the quiver. Cait paled, her eyes not leaving his face.

Pulling back, he released the arrow into nearby bushes. “Now ye have two.”

“Th-thank ye,” she stuttered turning to where he’d shot.

Stuart nodded. “Be with care, Cait.”

He urged his horse forward but couldn’t help looking over his shoulder to see what the woman did.

Cait remained rooted to the spot hand lifted in farewell.

Interesting that he’d not noticed how beautiful she was—before now.