Breanne was beginning to become self-sufficient and loved every minute of freedom she felt. The time she'd spent away from her mother and the prying eyes of the ton made her less self-conscious of her decisions, her actions; allowing her to limit the time she usually would waste second-guessing herself. At last, there was no one around to chastise or instruct her on whom to converse with, when to bring a certain subject up, what to wear, or even what to drink. Now that she thought about it, she was extremely surprised her mother hadn't set up a schedule for her as to when she should use the privy.

One thing she took exception to, though, was the fact that Reese did not allow her to escape the prying eyes of the colony, a discovery she made the morning she tried to go out exploring beyond the its boundaries. The day had been glorious; rays from the sun settled on the misted flat land, causing blades of the bright green grass to shimmer like diamonds. The MacIntosh's land was extensive; the grand home she settled into stood out amongst the smaller huts situated near it.

Intent on making friends, she'd started on her stroll, and was quite certain that if she was able to converse easily with Magnus and Alva, there would be more Scots that she'd get along with. Problem was, like before, everyone appeared to be preoccupied in one way or another. She watched from afar, noticing that while some men labored in mending fences and training horses, others engaged in combat training. Her brows furrowed at that realization.

Because of his ancestors' history, Reese seemed to be a bit overly protective of the people and property. Of course, there were probably thieves and predators about, but was there really a need for the men to be training in ways of the fist? Shielding her eyes from the sun, she noticed that Reese didn't simply observe and instruct his men, but also took part in the fighting.

Breanne watched, breathless, as he sparred against three men at a time, his arms striking like lightning in a dance unlike any she'd ever observed. Her attention was drawn from his person as one of the three came up from behind him, intent on taking Reese down.

The fellow was not fast enough.

Reese turned so quickly that he took his opponent by surprise; and with a swift, solid blow to his chest, struck him to the ground. The remaining two followed suit, each crashing atop the other in a jumbled heap. Breanne released a relieved breath, and turned away as cheers sounded from onlookers.

"Foolish man," she mumbled.            

As she strolled away from the scene, she happened to make eye contact with a woman who was digging in her garden. Breanne smiled and waved; intent on assisting her.

Almost immediately, the woman stood and stared for a second, then turned her back on Breanne. Stopping in her tracks, Breanne stood there for a bit, blinked a couple of times, and then switched direction, deciding instead to try and speak with the woman's neighbor. She received the same treatment, not only from women and men, but even the little children ran from her.

Feeling pitiful, Breanne determined that she would take her walk beyond the perimeter of the clustered colony, out into the wild land that, hopefully, no one owned.

"Ye canna pass," a burly, red-haired man had informed her. "None from th' colony leaves withoot an escort. It's fer yer own protection."

"Of course, but I'm not really a member of your colony."

"Ye live 'ere, ye're a part av it," a dark-haired man strongly insisted.

"But I'm English," Breanne stated.

"It doesna matter," the red-haired man said.

"You hate the English," she pressed. "You all do, that much is evident."

"Aye," the dark-haired man agreed.

"Hate is a strong word, lass, and ye may be English," Finlay stated, shooting a warning glare to the dark-haired man, "but ye still fall under the protection av Reese MacIntosh."

"Is that so?"

Finlay nodded along with the other two men standing watch with him, and found that he took pleasure in the spark of temper shown by the woman he'd been led to believe was cold and heartless.

"Your name is Finlay, am I correct?" Breanne squared her shoulders, and looked him in the eye, despite standing a full head shorter than the man named Finlay.

"Aye." He peered down at her keenly.

"Well, Finlay, I cannot help but notice that you grimace every time I say the word 'English' and you grimaced when you yourself uttered it. You say that hate is a strong word, yet your every expression shows that it is your most prominent emotion towards me. Surely, as one of Reese's highest ranking men, you are intelligent —so, from an intellectual's point of view, would it not make sense to rid yourself of the thing you hate most?"

Finlay grinned.

Breanne's shoulders fell. "You aren't going to let me pass, are you?"

"Nay, lass," Finlay answered, slightly tipping his chin upward in the direction of her home. "If it's explorin' yer wantin' tae do, do it 'ere. Find a way tae keep yerself busy. Th' women 'ere are hard workers. Ye can help 'em, work wi' them."

"They don't like me," Breanne blurted out.

The lass looked pitiful. Finlay could see that she was struggling to find her place in the colony. She also appeared to have lost weight since she arrived, a good strong wind could tip her over, he observed.

"Wha' are ye doing?" a strong familiar brogue interjected.

Breanne whipped around and saw a bare-chested Reese standing directly behind her. Was there some law against the colony's leader fully clothing himself? Would he no longer be considered a Scot, if he did so?

There he stood, his legs braced apart; one large hand at his hip. Her eyes traveled over his general appearance and then snapped back up to his sharp green eyes, which contained a mixture of annoyance and surprise.

"Nothing of import," she whispered, and brushed past him as she headed back to her home.

Reese watched her departure, a scowl fixed upon his face, then, turned to his men.

"Wha' did she say?"

Finlay was the first to answer; he shrugged. "I'm thinkin' th' lassie's lonely."

"'Tis to be expected," Reese stated. "It will work itself oot."

"And if it doesna?" Finlay persisted.

Reese shrugged, turning away from his men. Seeing that the woman settled in was none of his concern. He didn't want her to settle in. She was a paradox, a puzzle piece that simply wouldn't fit, a riddle he just couldn't seem to solve. Did he want to? Reese paused mid-step. No. No, he didn't. If she was lonely, she should go back where she belonged.

That night, Breanne repeated her embarrassing ritual in securing the help of a stable hand to start a fire in the hearth and kitchen stove, along with his promise to keep silent on the matter. Oh, she had struggled for what seemed like hours to accomplish the task on her own, but, as always, the wood simply refused to ignite.

Reese happened to check in on her that same evening, and was so flabbergasted to see her sitting alone in front of a fire, that she couldn't bring herself to correct his assumption of her proficiency. A glimmer of admiration lit his eyes, and she did not wish to lose the little kindness from him, even if he spoke not a word.

Soon thereafter, against Alva's advice, she participated in working outside, next to him. Again, his grudging respect grew. When he thought she wasn't looking, he would watch her as she lifted a heavy load, threw herself into weed pulling, or wiped the sweat from her brow in the midday sun--and a quiet approval lurked behind the gaze that followed her. Insults still came frequently, but as time went on, they were more and more often accompanied by a smile.

Though ashamed and a little guilty that she was misleading him with the whole fire scenario, Breanne deduced that she was paying for the little deception five times over since she nearly froze on the nights when she couldn't get to the stable hand in time before he left for home. She was willing to suffer; for it helped her to maintain her independence, or farce of it, anyway.

One mid-afternoon, Breanne hunched over a large, water-filled, tin bucket, settling it upon the ground for a second, and huffed. She squatted before it, intent on stretching her strained fingers and resting her arms and legs for a second. The few sharp pains shooting on the sides of her small belly were becoming quite uncomfortable, and she needed to rest. Because she was carefully hidden on the side of a large tallowwood stable, she felt able to take advantage of such a reprieve.

Heavily exhaling, she quickly cast a cautious glance around the front of the stable to make sure no one was coming, and saw that all were hard at work. Everyone was busy doing something, even the children, who played while searching the ground for dried cow dung. Breanne's nose wrinkled up in disgust at that revelation.

Not one soul paid heed to her presence, except for when she was working in close proximity to them. Then, they would watch her, scrutinize her; the weight of their regard told her that they were waiting for her to slack off. Well, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. An Englishwoman could hold her own just as well as any Scotswoman or man. In fact, at the present moment, she was the only woman of the present company who was doing manual labor outside. Surely a reprieve wouldn't be denied her.

Staring into the bucket, Breanne gave into temptation, dipped her fingers into the water, and spread the cool liquid along the back of her neck, wetting the few tendrils that sought escape from the brimmed hat loaned to her. A relieved smile stretched across her cheeks, and dipping her fingers again, this time she directed the liquid to her forehead; then more, again, to her neck.

"Ye should save some av tha' fer th' animals."

Startled, Breanne whipped her torso around so suddenly that her knees fell forward, roughly jarring the bucket, causing some of the water to slosh onto the dirt. Only her quick reflexes prevented the thing from emptying entirely.

Reese chuckled.

She quickly stood up and faced him. "I only took a few droplets, and if you hadn't snuck up on me, I wouldn't have spilled half of the water in the bucket," Breanne snapped, lightly scowling up at him.

She then blotted her forehead on her sleeve, and gazed beyond Reese, across the distance to the well. She was wholeheartedly against lugging the thing all the way back, only to fill the bucket up to the brim, and start out again. As it was, the bucket had already been too full, and she'd been struggling with it. The small, weak muscles in her arms strained and trembled with the exertion that had carried her this far.

She'd been on her fifth trip to the trough, and for the millionth time, was silently grateful for the brown breeches and ivory shirt Reese had given her. It was doubtful she'd have been able to labor under the bright sun cloaked in the heavy layers of her midnight black gowns without passing out.

The breeches belonged to a smaller man, who, Breanne suspected, was bullied into offering them to her. The worn pair of pants was the only thing he was willing to part with; so the shirt was Reese's own, and was so large that the sleeves swallowed her arms, and even when tucked in, the shirt hung midway down her thighs.

A sudden heat rushed to her cheeks when she realized that Reese's eyes blatantly, perused her form.

Placing a hand on the ache radiating in her lower back, Breanne inconspicuously rubbed the area, desperate to divert his attention. "Was there something you needed?"

"Ye think ye can handle tha'?" Reese asked, after allowing his eyes scan the length of her once more, only for them to finally settle upon the bucket.

 "Yes, I believe I've done well thus far," Breanne stated, lifting her chin a notch.

Reese turned around, looking out towards the ground leading to the well, causing her cheeks to burn again, this time in embarrassment.

She had no doubts that he was staring at the trail she'd left. Heavy scrapes—bits of rock and ground—were carved out of the soil; starting from the well, and leading all the way to where the bucket presently rested. Water stained the path she'd left as well.

A guarded look entered Breanne's eyes as she observed Reese's frown deepen. If he relieved her of her duty, others out working with them would no doubt snicker at her; would believe that she couldn't handle a bit of labor, that she was a burden. Truth was, she'd been doing fine until her third trip from the well. Only then did the bucket suddenly become heavier, and cause more of a strain on her muscles.

After Reese's gaze trailed from the well to the water she'd spilled when he approached her, he met her eyes.

"I think it's time fer ye tae do somethin' else, lass. Give me th' bucket."

"No. I can carry it. However, I thank you for your offer to relieve me of the task," she responded, her tone anything but thankful.

"Ye heard wha' I said."

"At least let me finish this one trip. I'm almost to the trough. After I get there and unload, I'll hand the bucket over. Is not that a reasonable idea?" she asked, trying to retain some semblance of pride.

He took a step towards her. Though tempted to retreat, she forced herself to stand her ground. "I wasna askin'. Give it tae me. Now," he ordered, his palm open, waiting for her to hand the bucket over to him.

A burning anger possessed Breanne, swirled within her, beating on the doors of her propriety, and she quickly unleashed the wild force. "Why must you always behave as a horse's behind? If I am so helpless, you insensitive cud, you can fetch it yourself! I'll make it easy for you, you big...you big pig!" Using the last of her strength, she hefted the bucket up and threw it at him. The water sloshed out, drenching his bare chest and breeches.

Breanne immediately gasped, her anger evaporating the moment the water cloaked him. She placed her hands over her mouth. Only God knew what came over her! Viewing him, soaked as he was, had her torn between laughter and shock—the urge to berate herself, yet take pleasure in the picture he made.

An apology was just about to issue forth from her mouth but was choked off when Reese, who'd been staring in surprise at the fallen bucket that had earlier hit his chest, slowly raised his head, piercing her straight through with his own furious anger. Lifting a tanned hand to his face, he slowly swiped water from it, all the while keeping eye contact. In that moment she knew— an apology wouldn't fix this.

Run!

Listening to her inner voice, she turned; intent on hightailing it to the safety of her home—but hadn't taken three steps when her arm was roughly jerked back.  She was whipped around; her back was pressed against the side of the building, away from the prying eyes of everyone around them. He looked like he was intent on murdering her, was standing so close that she could see gold flecks mixed in with the vivid green of his hardened eyes.

"Care tae repeat wha' ye just said tae me?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm and even. Her eyes centered on the droplets of water still trickling from his chin.

Breanne swallowed nervously, barely squeaking out an answer. "I said...that you can go ahead and fetch the water. I'll listen to you."

A humorless, dark chuckle escaped his lips. "Tha's nae how I'm recallin' th' conversation."

Retreat was impossible since Reese had her arms pinned with his large hands; she couldn't even fiddle with the snap on her shirt, and the urge to do it was strong. Had he not been physically restraining her, his burning regard would have been enough to keep her fixed in place.

"I-I was so angry that I don't quite recall every word—"

"Let me enlighten ye then, lassie, since ye dinna recall," he angrily sneered.

"N-no, that's alright, you don't have—"

"A horse's arse," he harshly snapped, causing her to flinch, and embarrassment to stain her cheeks once again. She hadn't used that exact phrasing, but understood his anger all the same. She closed her eyes as he recited the rest of what she'd called him, and when he was finished, she slowly opened them, revealing her shame and regret.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was upset—"

"Yer anger is nae excuse fer th' way ye spoke tae me; fer dumpin' water on me like an indulged child!"

"I'm sorry!" she insisted again. She was deeply ashamed for the way she'd behaved. Her emotions had been wild lately, and she found it difficult to keep them securely leashed. For some reason, the brunt of her anger tended to favor Reese. Had anyone else been present to witness how she'd behaved, especially his family, she would've hidden in her home for as long as possible. How could she have acted in such a way towards him, called him such horrid names? Even Alla would have been surprised at her lack of control.

"I feel badly for the way I've acted. I truly do," she admitted. The weight of shame prevented her from meeting his eyes, so she stared at the bronzed column of his throat instead. "Please believe I am sorry."

"Look at me," he ordered. He was becoming impatient with the time she was taking in meeting his demand. But, when she finally did, he noted the sincerity in her watery blue gaze, and in her words. "Yer sorry?" he questioned, softly. "Wasna' them th' words ye spoke tae me yesterday, after ye stomped me foot in th' barn?"

Breanne's pink-stained cheeks darkened. "You embarrassed me on purpose while I was trying to milk the cow."

"Nay!" he snapped. "I was only teachin' ye. Ye need tae get over yer foolish prudishness! Tha's enough fer today," he stated, evenly. "Go home."

Gladly. She would eagerly go into her home and hide for the rest of the day; escape. But when she tried to move, she found herself still restrained.

"If it's your wish that I return home, you have to let go," she quietly told him.

"So it would seem," he deeply murmured, searching her eyes.

Afraid to move an inch, Breanne's eyes widened as his head lowered towards hers. Another step he took towards her, their bodies now flush against each other. She could feel his heated breath on her face; coupled with the coolness of his skin against her own. Her heart hammered against her chest so hard, she vaguely wondered if he could feel it.    

His chest heaved heavily against her; alerting her that he was fighting something. The intent look in his eyes also announced that fact. When his gaze dropped down to her mouth, and his grip tightened reflexively on her wrists...everything else outside of them faded away. If someone had strolled past Breanne, she wouldn't have seen them.

"S-sir—"

His deep chuckle rumbled against her chest as he briefly displayed his straight, white teeth in an amused smile.

"Reese. Ye' know me name. Use it," he insisted, his smile dying as he searched her eyes. It was as if he were looking for something, for some kind of sign.

"MacIntosh," she conceded in a whisper, hating how weak and airy her response sounded.

Another chuckle escaped his lips, the masculine sound loud in her ears. His eyes dropped down to her mouth once more, before boldly meeting her gaze. "MacIntosh, is it?" Amusement dominated his features; smiling, he continued to regard her. "Mmm, lass...yer scent...I like it. Wha' is it?"

Breanne swallowed nervously again, her eyes slightly wide, her heart hammering. "J-just soap from home," she whispered. "W-with f-flowers crushed into it."

"Mmm," he rumbled, "Lilacs."

Not so subtly, he closed his eyes while leaning in slightly towards her neck; inhaling deeply, and then slowly exhaling. His heated breath against her neck summoned a thin layer of goose bumps to the surface of sensitive skin near her collarbone.

Involuntarily, she shivered, causing him to open his eyes and flash a slow, wide smile as he brought his face close to hers again. It was then that her speculation about him became fact.

He was trouble.

For her.

Her mind raced, stumbling on confusion and anxiety. She could've easily identified his scent in return; was already aware that the air surrounding them was heavy with a mixture of leather, sweat, and earth.

Him.

Of course, to do such a thing would require inhaling oxygen, and she'd stopped breathing.

After a few seconds, his grip slackened. She forced herself to meet his eyes, knowing that if she didn't at that moment, it would be much harder to the next time she saw him. His expression was guarded; making her wonder if he expected or wished her to say something, to ask why he'd restrained her. But she would never ask him that question. She'd been certain that he was intent on kissing her...but he hadn't.

If she remembered, she'd be sure to ask herself why she'd allowed it. Mayhap, she should have slapped him, pushed him away for becoming far too intimate with her - but in her heart, she knew that if there was a way to go back and replicate the situation, she still would not reprimand or try to stop him.

He confused her, angered her, and made her feel like a crazed woman most days. But she also couldn't deny that he sparked something within her again, just like he had the first time he moved in close to her. The feeling was most unwelcome, but she found herself prisoner to it.

Her eyes snapped away from his. After a lingering second or two, his hands completely released her, though his proximity remained where it had always been.

"Go," he huskily ordered.

His unmoving stance forced her to brush against him as she sidled past him. He didn't budge the whole time, not one inch. After escaping his proximity, and once out in view of everyone else, once she felt safe, she turned and stared at him. He'd casually propped his shoulder against the siding, crossed his arms, and stared right back at her; the intensity of his stare just as effective as it'd been before.

The forgotten bucket remained near his feet, the ground beneath his boots soaked with water. Raising a trembling hand near her throat, Breanne's eyes slightly widened under his unabashed regard, forcing her to whip around and quickly return to her property.

Endeavoring not to dwell on the disconcerting and baffling situation blooming between her and Reese, she thought about Alla. When would she hear from her? Breanne sent off a letter pigeon post a few days after being made aware of her state. It was quite uncommon to speak of such a condition with someone. It just wasn't done. For this reason, it took a while for her to work up the nerve to inform her best friend of her present situation. Before she could send a letter off, Alla had beaten her to the task.  Excitement and happiness flooded Breanne as her eyes greedily devoured every word written on the page before her.

Dearest Breanne, I am so happy to have finally secured your whereabouts so as to write you! I've been quite anxious and worried. Though I did receive your parting letter (which I will chastise you for later) on the day you departed, I am sad to say that I misplaced it, and as you are aware, it held your, then future, whereabouts. I tried numerous times to secure the particulars of your new residence from your parents so that I may write to you, but they always had some excuse as to why they could not give me the information at that particular time. I inquired as to whether they planned on visiting you anytime soon, and your mama all but sneered at me in response.

Only by Brandon's hand...his firm, arrogant, haughty, superior...well, you understand, I'm sure—by his hand, I was able to receive the particulars of your location. It almost seems as if your parents wish you to remain detached from everyone who loves you here; for I know that others have asked after you too, yet receive the same response. I hope that I am wrong about them, but I don't believe that I am.

How are you faring over there in that new land? How I wish you would return to England and stay with Brandon and I. We would love to have you. I miss you dearly.

Mable and Godfrey have been getting on much better than previously. It is an amazing transformation. Mable still makes her spicy dishes, but I take great delight in saying that she does it especially when Brandon and I are in a disagreement over something.

Ah, Breanne, how much I could simply strangle you for leaving me a letter to say goodbye. What were you thinking? You had to have known that you always have a place with us. I hope you seriously think on my proposal to live with Brandon and I. Please say you will. Write soon, for I am extremely anxious to hear from you.

            With love,

            Alla

Breanne's eyes filled with tears after reading the letter, her heart longing for the companionship of her closest friend and confidant. With eagerness, she penned a response to Alla. Knowing that her situation generally remained unspoken of, she mustered up the courage to tell her friend about her situation, though it took her several attempts to find the right words.

Dearest Alla, I know what you must think of me. I left England without a word as to when, or if, I would return. But, please believe that I wanted to write you sooner so that you

Dear Alla, I am with child. I am scared, and I need your help!

Disregarding both responses, Breanne tried a third time.

Dearest Alla, I apologize that I haven't been able to write you before this time. Please believe that I meant no offense, and that I miss and love you dearly. In fact, I was preparing to send my own letter to you when I received yours. I am sorry about the circumstances of my departure. I hope you realize that I hadn't a choice in the matter. I have some news I must share with you, but first I must express how I feel.

You will not believe how much I miss you, my friend. Australia is the most dreadful place that I have ever been to. No one likes me because I am English. They think me a pampered, spoiled city-girl, which I suppose is half-correct. I am pampered, or sheltered, and of course, I hail from the city. However, I take offense at anyone calling me spoiled. If I were, would I be in this present situation? I should think I would be able to flutter my lashes and get my way in the flick of a horse's tail. As I am here, and you are there, it is obvious that the latter insult isn't so.

I am embarrassed to admit that I have had a hard time simply taking care of myself. I still haven't mastered the skill of riding a horse, for heaven's sake, and consequently, must rely upon others if I have a need to go somewhere. Furthermore, I do not know if I have truly conquered the kitchen arts or if some people are outright lying to me. For, I've received such contradictory opinions on the subject that I know not what to believe.

How I wish these colonists would take a liking to me. It is so lonely when you are in a new land, even more so when you are ostracized. However, there was an older couple I happened to meet that has proven to be an exception to the rule of the general barbaric manners of the Scots. You would love them. Alva is quite witty, and Magnus, though rough around the edges, is very sweet. They are the only people here, besides Torrington's mother; who have been truly hospitable towards me.

I'm not quite sure how to go about informing you of the news I have. Truly, I myself am not accustomed to the idea. I have been feeling different lately. It started on the day the ship docked in Port Jackson. I initially thought that I had eaten something foul at an Inn where I happened to pass the night. I regret to say I was fainting a bit. Truthfully, I still am experiencing such an embarrassing ailment, and I have been quite dizzy upon occasion. My moods have also undergone a bit of a change. I cry much easier than before, and my anger is now a fierce thing that completely controls my mouth before I have a chance to rein it in. I am so desperately unhappy. Of course, everyone here cannot grasp that my moods have drastically changed, for they do not know me as you do. Were you here, I am sure you would think me quite insane.

I suppose I have stalled again. Well, though I was clueless as to what was wrong with me, Alva opened my eyes to the truth of my affliction. Are you ready? Here it is: I am with child. Are you in shock? I can imagine you have probably dropped this letter and now Brandon must be annoyingly curious as to its contents, but you mustn't tell a soul. I am in no doubt that my parents would hastily send after me, and I do not wish to return to them. Oh, Alla, whatever shall I do? If I cannot take care of myself in this climate and around these people, however am I to take care of someone else? I must admit, though, I am still shocked over the matter.

Oddly enough, I do feel as if a part of me has revived. I feel that maybe Torrington hasn't been lost entirely, and that, my dear friend, gives me the hope that maybe, just maybe, one day I shall be happy again. Do you think my hope a fruitless one? I am so thankful you sent a letter pigeon-post. I am happy to receive anything from you as soon as I can. Be sure that I shall send my letter the same way.

Oh! How could I have forgotten to secure your promise to come visit me! It would do me a world of good if you could come. Please relay this message to Brandon, and threaten that I shall write him endlessly should he refuse.

With love,

Breanne

Breanne was impatiently waiting on a response from Alla. She felt so alone and was desperately hoping for advice to come pouring in from Alla's next letter, but nothing had arrived. Of course, it hadn't been that long since she'd sent it, either. The small bump forming on Breanne's belly had increased in size; had it not been for the recent cold weather, and her draping herself in layers of clothing, she surely would have been found out. As it was, she layered herself endlessly in blankets when she walked about her home, and was often teased by Colin or Reese about the ridiculousness of her attire.

I would rather look ridiculous than shiver endlessly, she thought on a nod.

Breanne placed Alla's letter, which she'd now read three times, on a nearby table, rose from her chair by the fire, and walked over to one of the windows in the manor. Glancing up at the sun, she mentally willed the daylight to last forever.

The coming evening she dreaded in earnest. There was to be a dual event - some Scottish festival or another, and also a party held by the Port Jackson Colony in Reese's honor.

Everyone from the Scottish colony was expected to attend, and though outsiders tended to stay away from the Blue Mountain territory, because it was a combined event to praise Reese's work, some residents and officials from Port Jackson had been arriving to Macintosh land in carriages, one after the other. High officials opted to stay in the MacIntosh home, which was nearly triple the size of Breanne's residence. Reese had directed other members of the Scottish colony to open up their homes to those who were not high-ranking. Things would, no doubt, be quite tense between the two colonies, and Breanne wanted nothing more than to stay hidden. It was too bad she couldn't.  Because Torrington's family was hosting the event, her presence was expected.

Breanne left the window to go up to her large, cold bedchamber and stood still before the lengthy mirror near the door. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a severe up-do, and as she inspected her reflection, she noticed the pallor of her face. She traced her cheek with her fingertips, allowed them to lightly graze over her pale lips, and then slide down her neck, before falling to her side. She felt as if she'd aged since Adam's death; appeared aged. Her eyes, once filled with excitement and intrigue, were now flat, dull, and dead.

"As dead as my heart," she whispered. Turning sideways, she placed a hand upon her stomach, flattening out the material below it so that her swollen tummy clearly showed.

"Can you hear me?" Breanne asked, aloud. It felt slightly odd speaking to her stomach, but the comfort that came with such an action made the 'odd' feeling nonconsequential. Alva was right, she was no longer alone. She now had someone with her - someone who'd always be tied to her.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs causing her to start, and her hands to quickly fall away from her stomach, as if she had been caught doing something unseemly.

"Hello?" she tentatively called out, immediately straightening the layers of clothing hiding her form.

"Were ye talkin' tae someone?" a man's voice returned.

Two men then appeared, yet halted at the threshold to her bedroom when she screamed and hastily grabbed an oil lamp from the desk situated near the mirror, raising it as if it were sword.

"Is she touched?" one dark-haired man bluntly asked the other, not taking his deep brown eyes from Breanne. "Why would she be talkin' tae herself? Stop shakin' tha' lamp at us," he ordered.

"Aye, Reese said as much," Finlay replied not-so-quietly. "Milady, we arena here tae hurt ye. Remember me, Finlay? With me is Allister. Reese sent us," he carefully explained, noting how skittish she'd become.

"Yes, of course I remember you, sir. But...w-where did you come from? Why did you not knock?" Breanne questioned, lowering the lamp. It rattled as she returned it to its place.

"Yer door was open," Allister responded, as though it were the only explanation needed.

Breanne's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Is there a reason you did not knock on the door downstairs?"

Finlay raised one arrogant eyebrow as he responded. "We knocked and ye dinna answer, so we came in tae investigate."

Breanne opened her mouth to object, but he stopped her, holding a hand up. "Who were ye talkin' tae?" he repeated, entering the room fully. Breanne shook her head at the large man's audacity. His white-blonde hair glinted in the sunlight; he stared at her a minute and then looked around, as did Allister. They were looking for the person they'd heard her talking to, she concluded wryly. Breanne retreated as the men walked around her. Both of them were almost similar to Reese in size and somehow managed to make her room appear smaller.

"This is highly improper, Finlay," she said, addressing the man closest to her. "I would appreciate it if you would leave this room. It is private." She was proud of how calm she sounded, but greatly took exception to them standing in her personal quarters.

"Dinna order us aboot, lass. It wears on me nerves, it does," Allister responded, curtly. "Tis' not yer place tae instruct us on anything. We only follow th' MacIntosh's orders."

Breanne sighed in exasperation. "What business would MacIntosh have you do here? Did you come simply to annoy me, or is there another reason for your unexpected arrival?"

Finlay's sudden wide smile unsettled Breanne. He was quite beautiful, though she had never thought of a man in such a way before, and she found herself comparing him to The Beast. Though blonde like Reese, the similarities between the two ended there, for they were as different as night and day. Both men were imposing, yet gave off different auras. Finlay was fair, beautiful, and by appearances a bit light-hearted. His light blue eyes were like ice, and sparkled with sincerity, though she saw the potential for danger to lurk within them.

Reese on the other hand, gave off no pretense of light-hearted sweetness. His blonde hair was laced with a gold and tawny hue. He was rugged, rude, overbearing, and his vivid green eyes, eyes that missed nothing, had the potential to completely strip away a woman's defenses and liquefy her insides.

"Aye," Finlay easily answered, snapping her back to the present. "We came tae annoy."

"I should have figured as much. You must have gotten that particular trait from MacIntosh," Breanne responded, raising her head high and leaving the room. Finlay's laughter and footsteps behind her reached her ears as she descended the stairs.

"MacIntosh has issued us wi' th' task av escortin' ye tae th' festival, lass. Let's not get our positions confused. If anyone is annoying, 'tis ye," Allister responded in a hard voice, approaching the door in the main hall. His stance was one of impatience.

"I thought the festival wasn't for hours yet," Breanne stated, alarmed at the prospect of facing her doom more quickly than expected.

"It begins early afternoon," Finlay informed her. He nodded his head towards the large window facing the front of the property. "As ye can see, 'tis th' time."

She looked over to where Allister stood, and fiddled with her fingers, averting her gaze from him to stare at the fire. His heavy exaggerated sigh sounded throughout the quiet hall. "Wha' is the matter?"

"Nothing," Breanne answered; her back to the two men. "I am perfectly—"

"Ye fiddle when ye're anxious, so tell us," Finlay insisted.

How could he know what she did when she was nervous? She hadn't spent that much time with them, and why couldn't they act nicely? Was it such a chore for them, for any Scot, to show just a smidgen of compassion?

"Lass," Allister began, clearly irritated.

Why didn't anyone like her? She shook off the pitiful thought and faced the men. "I do not know what to expect, that is all," she answered. "If I had not promised Glenda that I would attend, I should like to stay home, very much."

Allister shrugged. "Nae doubt ye've been tae parties before, lass. It'll be fine. Get dressed. We need tae take our leave."

"You have no understanding of what I am speaking of, do you?" Breanne asked, throwing her hands in the air.

Allister rolled his eyes, leaning against a wall near the door. "Wha' is with ye? Ye should feel happy ye're goin' tae a party. Ye must miss them."

Breanne stared at him. "I must miss them... because, why? I am a witless shell that takes pleasure only in parties and nothing more? Is that what MacIntosh has told you?"

Finlay and Allister stared at her in silence, confirming her answer.

Breanne looked away, once again, staring into the flames.

"We 'ave nae wish tae quarrel, lass. We only—"

"Nor have I," Breanne retorted. "But I cannot help but be confused." She turned to face them once more with watery eyes. "You think you know me, what I like, what I dislike, and have judged me on a whim. Do you think it shall be an easy task for me to walk into a room full of strangers who make no effort to hide their hatred of me simply because I am English?"

Finlay stared at Breanne, intrigued by, yet, another display of the emotion he heard was lacking. "Lass, they willna—"

"And why shouldn't they judge me?" she continued. "After all, your apparent leader judges me on a daily basis."

"He's yer leader too."

"Pardon," Breanne said, hoarsely. The urge to scream at both of the men who were staring at her as if she were a loon was increasing in strength. "What did you say?"

"He's yer leader, too. Ye must follow his orders as well," Allister boldly repeated, and was immediately backed by Finlay's firm nod. "Why the hell is yer eyelid twitchin'?"

Breanne shook her head, not bothering to answer them or to address Allister's rude question. If she opened her mouth, she wasn't quite sure what would come out, and that was dangerous.

"We dinna judge, lass," Allister added, defensively.

"Everyone in the family, excepting Glenda, still holds me at a distance," she quietly retorted.

"Fer good reason," Allister said, straightening from the wall. "So, now tha' we're on the subject, put it tae rest once and fer all, lass," he demanded walking to stand before her. Staring, he asked, "Why could ye show nary a feelin' afore? Do ye only reserve th' privilege fer yerself? Did ye think us Scots were nae deservin' av sich a kindness? Ye speak av politeness, propriety 'n morals, yet nae one has seen any av th' above exhibited in yer character."

Both men waited for her to respond, to finally give a reason for her behavior, but she did not, which further provoked Allister's anger. "Be happy that I'm civil tae ye, and thank th' lord ye're a woman, a part av th' colony. 'Tis th' only reason ye remain on yer feet. I'll be waitin' outside," he finished, darkly.

 Breanne flinched at the sound of the door slamming.

"Allister is a bit rough around th' edges, but he means well," Finlay informed her sympathetically, observing her expression. He looked hesitant, as if trying to decide if he should speak to her further, and then roughly sighed before giving into the urge. "If ye continue tae be obstinate ye will 'ave nae one, lass. If ye've an explanation fer yer past actions, ye would do well tae voice them. We arena as bad as we may seem. We'll be outside," he finished, and then walked out of the door.

Breanne stood in the hall, and swallowed thickly before trudging up the stairs to her bedroom. She walked over to her armoire, and stared at the gowns displayed before her. Tears blurred her vision as she stared at the black mass. The day had just gotten worse. If she hadn't said anything to the men, she might have had a little support. Now, she only had Glenda. Breanne sighed. She was already weary of being with child, of having her emotions control her every word and action. No more could she easily bottle them up; the more time that passed, the harder it was to do so.

Her pale, cold hand trembled as she withdrew a black dress from her closet. Paying no attention to the details or frills on the gown, she quickly disrobed in the frigid room and got ready for the day's activities. Besides the clothing she wore when working, she'd worn nothing but black gowns for months. Walking to the long antique mirror, she tightened the strands of hair that had fallen out of her secured style.

"I look like death," she whispered. Her room was without a fire and the cold had turned her lips to a light purple. She immediately turned away from the mirror. What did she care what she looked like, anyhow? What friends or family did she have to impress?

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A/N: ***REVISED*** PLEASE NOTE: New readers, this novel is going through major revision. If you do NOT see the word "revised" along with the chapter title, it means that portion of the text has not yet been updated to reflect the altered plot points. Read such chapters at your own risk. Chapters marked "REVISED" have been updated and are perfectly safe to read. :)

Long time, beautiful, precious readers: Please reread the revised chapters as they come out. I know that I am testing your patience (hopefully not beyond the breaking point); but these "new old" chapters pave the way for the ending of the story, and the continued series. So, if you skip the re-read, you may wind up frustrated and confused. Thank you SO MUCH for your continual love and faithful readership!

(This note will accompany each of the revised chapters, until the book is complete.)