Disclaimers: CBS/Paramount owes them. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.

Special thank you to Moofie and Elem for Beta'ing this story and helping me polish up the rough edges. This story was inspired by a wonderful fiddle that was created for me by Belanna, for the VAMB Steamy Secret Summer exchange. If you'd like to check out the picture, please visit my web site and go under the story section.

Prologue

He watched in disgust as they again denied their destiny. Barriers constantly erected and love died a little more each day. If he did nothing now, these soul mates were forever doomed to lonely, miserable lives, unhappy for all eternity, wasting a precious gift that so few will ever have received.

'Remember what you once had, foolish mortals.' He thought, willing them to fall under his spell.

With a snap, the two sleeping star crossed lovers dreamt of a different time and place, where love had overcome all barriers.

Chapter One

The Highlands of Scotia had long been a seething pool of ancient feuds, populated by brave warriors who believed in honour and loyalty, and beautiful lasses who tempted all with their fiery spirit. Its people mirrored the strength and the courage of the land, unbreakable spirits in the face of all odds and the will to go forth no matter the tragedies that befell them

Among the many clans of Scotia, only three would play a pivotal role in the coming events put forth by fate. The Lindsay's, whose clan motto was Endure with Strength. The MacLachlan's, whose clan motto was Brave and Faithful. And last, The McNeill's, who followed the clan motto To Conquer or Die.

All players set by fate in their roles; each one unaware of the hidden agendas before them, and the path that destiny would soon play in their lives…

The cool mist formed a wispy trail around the mighty trees, a mystical and enchanting aura. It wove a teasing pattern along the branches and bright green leaves, before flowing to cascade over the forested ground, only to dissipate from sight. The coos of a morning dove calling to its mate, drifted through the crisp morning air. The gentle sound of a rushing brook echoed and called forth to all who stood in the shadows. A calm breeze blew across the forestry, ruffling the scattered leaves and rich heather growing wild. The sweet scented air was carried away towards the approaching riders.

Laughter and the murmur of conversation filled the air, breaking the peaceful tranquillity.

Hidden from view, the watcher and his men waited to complete their agenda. They crouched low in the bushes, motionless as to not alert anyone to their whereabouts, and waiting for the group of twenty riders to pass by them. The minute that they rode by, the Watcher silently gestured to his men and a barrage of arrows flew through the air.

He watched in satisfaction as the arrows pierced and killed the defenceless riders. Gratified by their cries of pain, he looked on with a delighted malicious smile as their cries weakened and died out. Glancing down at the dead bodies, he realized that he had failed and a roar of discontent filled the air. All this waiting had been for naught, his prey had evaded his trap. He scowled darkly until suddenly a macabre smile filled his face and his laughter filled the air as he noticed three of the bodies. Perhaps this morning had not been a lost cause.

He gathered his men, cursing the fates for denying him his easy victory and damning his adversary for having the devil's own luck but he loudly boasted his victory over crushing his prey's spirit.

They rode out, not sparing a further look at the massacre left behind.

Silence once again filled the air, not a sound was heard. Almost as if, Mother Nature herself was mourning the senseless deaths that had been committed upon her land. A weak cry for help broke the unnatural silence, before fading away.

Laird Iain MacLachlan stood motionless before the hearth, his onyx eyes cold and merciless as they stared into the fire that consumed all that came within its grasp. His anger burned as fiercely as the hungry flames, threatening to overwhelm him in his thirst for revenge.

His family had been slain in cold blood. Defenceless and shot from behind by a cowardly enemy who was too weak to face them on the field of battle with honour.

Betrayal. Someone in his clan had betrayed them and even now, he was forced to shelter an unknown traitor within his midst. Someone who was willing to do anything to gain his desires.

Losing himself in the flames, he relived the past few hours when his life had been destroyed forever.

Iain was leading a search party through the dense forest, searching for his kin. As the sky started to darken and dusk was almost upon them, worry began to spread when the riding party had not returned to the castle. Praying that they had simply lost track of time, he set out with his men. An icy feeling of dread filled his soul, pressing him to hurry.

Deep within the heart of his land, he found what he searched for, the slain bodies of his parents, sister and their guards. The ground around them steeped with their blood. A river of red flowed downwards into the nearby brook, tainting it with their life's blood.

His angry cry shattered the air and he jumped off his steed, rushing to their sides. His parents lay close to each other, hands clasped together in death as in life. Arrows protruded gruesomely from their backs. Turning he saw her and fell to his knees before his sweet, innocent sister, barely sixteen and just starting to bloom into a great beauty, only to be so cruelly destroyed. He lifted her gently, saw her chest rise slightly, and heard her gasping for air. Iain cradled her tenderly, brushing her raven locks away from her ashen face. Her lips were blue from the cold and the coming spectre of death, but a crooked smile graced them.

"I knew you would come, Iain." She rasped, shivering in pain.

"I'm here, Meg. If only I had come sooner," he choked out. Tears cascaded down his face, and he cared not that any of his men saw his moment of weakness.

"Hush. It is our time, not yours. Honour the MacLachlan name, Iain. But I beg you, do not throw your life away on thoughts of vengeance. Live for us. Promise m..." She pleaded, exhausting the last of her strength.

He hugged her close, begging the Almighty to spare her but feeling her slip away from him, leaving behind only a fragile, broken body. He pressed a tender kiss upon her forehead and laid her gently on the ground. He knelt in the midst of everything he had lost.

"Search the surrounding area," Iain ordered harshly.

"Aye, Laird MacLachlan."

He stood up and looked over the ambush site. The trees and bushes would have provided an excellent spot for the enemy to hide, waiting for the right moment to attack.

"Laird, we found something." A solider called out.

"What is it?" He replied.

"Proof. We found proof of the culprits, Laird MacLachlan."

"Who?" His voice snapped out the question, his tone colder than the icy crystal formed in winter.

"McNeill," the soldier spat.

"McNeill was always a fool. I swear, upon the blood of my family, that they will be avenged." He vowed.

The flames flickered, drawing his mind back to the present. A present, void of his mother's lilting voice as she teased his father, and void of his father's gruff response as he pulled her into his embrace for a tender kiss. The happy sound of their laughter, forever silenced, never to be heard again. A present, void of his sweet, gentle Meghan with her dulcet voice, singing or reading to the castle's children.

Instead, emptiness gnawed upon his mind, hardening his heart and destroying his soul. The man he had been was gone but like the phoenix rising from its ashes, he was reborn. His every thought and desire focused on one task. Vengeance.

"I vow to destroy all that he holds dear. Only then, will justice be satisfied and will my family be avenged. Forgive me, Meg but I can not let this go unanswered." Iain said aloud, becoming lost with the flames once again.