Highland Sons: The Mackay Saga by Dawn Ireland, Meggan Connors

his brother had done.
    The brother who had joined the Confederate Army to protect his land and his heritage—only to lose both—had given up a priceless link to the past. He’d relinquished it to the younger brother who had valued country and politics over clan and land, a man who hadn’t considered himself a Mackay in anything but name for a long time now.
    Cameron’s eyes burned, and he put the ring in his pocket. He didn’t deserve to wear it. But he couldn’t return it to Duncan, either, because if he did, Duncan would insist Cameron stay. If he did that, Cameron just might.
    Cameron didn’t turn until he’d reached the road. When he did, he saw Duncan up on his porch, his arm around his wife. She had her arms wrapped around his waist, and the way she looked up at him reminded Cameron of the way his mother had looked at their father, back in the days when their family had been happy and whole.
    Duncan waved.
    Cameron pretended he didn’t see it, and continued on his way toward the town and his freedom.

Chapter 2
    Virginia City, Nevada
    June 1869
    “You’re going home with me tonight, sweet.”
    Fiona Keenan’s companion leaned in close, his sour breath hot against her cheek. Turning her face away, she purred a quiet laugh and ran her hands down the front of his vest, plucking his watch from his pocket.
    From behind the mask obscuring most of her face, she batted her lashes. “I think I’ll be going home the way I came. Alone. But I’d be happy to dance,” she replied, gesturing to the crowded dance floor behind her.
    Tobacco smoke, thick as fog, clung to the air, and raucous music filled the dancehall. Men shouted, slamming their fists on the bar as they drank and gambled, and outside, gunshots rang out like fireworks. Old animosities were long forgotten, as former enemies joined together in celebration.
    Money was a great way to make friends of old rivals.
    Just as her companion was taking her into his arms—and her fingers were finding a way into his pockets—the saloon doors opened and a mountain of a man entered. He took off his black hat, exposing the most glorious head of red-gold hair she’d ever seen. The color of the sun at early dawn, the waves caught the pale flickering of the lanterns and cast a glow around him like a halo of light. The gallop of her heartbeat had nothing to do with the fast-paced dance.
    She’d always had a soft spot for a ginger-haired man.
    Fiona shook off the desire to abandon her current partner, whoever he was, and ask the newcomer to dance. She wasn’t here seeking her own pleasure, nor was she here to celebrate the birth of a country she barely cared for. She was here to work.
    For she had a particular skill set for which the Ceàrdannan were well known, and she’d been assigned to use them tonight.
    She was an actress. A pickpocket, a fortune-teller, a swindler.
    A miner in fading britches and a long, graying beard bumped into her. “Beg pardon,” he slurred, catching himself on her shoulders.
    “No harm done,” she demurred, her fingers dipping into his pockets and coming away with a small purse she hid discretely in her skirts.
    “That’s my girl, there,” her companion barked, taking the older man by the collar and shoving him toward the door.
    “Don’t see no ring on her finger.” The older miner growled and twisted away from her companion to take a drunken swing at him. In seconds, a fight erupted, spilling out the door and into the street, and Fiona moved on to find another mark.
    Just like everyone else in this rough and tumble town, she and the gypsy band she traveled with had come in search of fortune. Only most of them came for the silver. She was here for whatever was in their pockets. And in a few weeks, after Independence Day, her band would pack up and continue on, in search of another town where they could entertain, swindle, and cheat. By that time, the locals would be delighted to see the them go.
    Until then, she had work to do.
    She