PROLOGUE
Highlands of Scotland
Summer, 1427
Ronan Galt brought his mount to a halt at the top of the mountain, his gaze taking in the majestic view of the wild Highlands. His gaze lowered to the valley below, and a smile broke over his face when he spotted his three friends in the valley.
A small nudge from his knee, and his horse was racing down the mountain, deftly missing the rocks protruding from the ground.
“About time,” Stefan grumbled crossly once Ronan reached them.
Ronan raised his brow as he looked into Stefan’s hazel gaze. “You might want to reign in that tempter, my friend. We’re going to be around beautiful women this night. Women require smiles and sweet words. No’ furrowed brows.”
There was laughter from everyone but Stefan, who gave Ronan a droll look.
“Aye, we’ve heard enough about this Ana,” Daman said as he turned his mount alongside Ronan’s. “Take me to this gypsy beauty so I can see her for myself.”
Ronan regarded his friend sternly. “You think to take her from me?”
Daman’s confident smile grew as his eyes twinkled in merriment. “Is she that beautiful?”
“Just you try,” Ronan dared Daman, only half jesting.
Morcant shoved his long, sandy blond hair out of his eyes with his hand. “Be cautious, Ronan. You wrong a gypsy, and they’ll curse you. No’ so sure we should be meddling with such people.”
Ronan laughed and reined in his jittery mount. “Ah, but with such a willing body, how am I to refuse Ana? Come, my friends, and let us enjoy the bounty that awaits.”
He gave a short whistle and his horse surged forward in a run. Ronan didn’t wait for his three comrades, because he knew they would follow – no matter what.
It began a decade earlier when they chanced upon one another during the Highland games between their four clans. After that, they made sure to meet regularly until they were as inseparable as brothers. The four formed a friendship that grew tighter with each year that passed.
Ronan looked over his shoulder to find the other three racing each other trying to catch him. He spurred his stallion faster, the wind brushing his face, and the ground a blur beneath his horse’s hooves.
One by one, the three caught him. Ronan pulled up, easing his stallion into a canter until they rode their horses four abreast. A glance showed that even Stefan’s face had eased into something that could almost be considered a smile.
Ronan grunted when he spotted two riders atop a hill. Even from the distance he recognized the plaid of his clan. It came as no surprise that his laird would have him watched. He was, after all, Ronan’s uncle.
He and his friends rode from one glen to another until Ronan finally slowed his horse to a walk. With his friends beside him, they stopped atop the next hill and looked down at the circle of gypsy wagons hidden in the wooded glen below.
“I’ve a bad feeling,” Daman said as he shifted uncomfortably atop his mount. “We shouldna be here.”
Morcant’s horse flung up his head, but he easily brought his mount under control with soft words. “I’ve a need to sink my rod betwixt willing thighs. If you doona wish to partake, Daman, then doona, but you willna be stopping me.”
“Nor me,” Ronan said. Normally he would have listened to Daman, but he had been to the gypsy camp for four days straight and left without any difficulties.
Stefan was silent for several moments before he gave Ronan a nod of agreement.
Ronan was the first to ride down the hill to the camp. A young beauty with long black hair came running out to greet him in her brightly colored skirts. He pulled his horse to a halt and jumped off with a smile as Ana launched herself into his arms.
He caught her and brought his lips down to hers. Ah, but she had the most alluring lips. They could bring him to the point of ecstasy.
“I’ve missed you,” she said in her thick Romanian
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