CHAPTER ONE
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1897The foaming sea was as wild as an untamed horse and the decks of the transatlantic liner travelling towards England were empty – except for one hardy passenger.
Rupert Fitzalan was caught up in the excitement of the turbulent sky, the power of the waves and the tossing of the ship.
No bucking bronco could be any more unsettling, he thought, remembering the time he had tried for success at a rodeo in the Mid-West of America. He had stayed on the animal longer than most, including himself, had expected, but had been thrown in the end.
Now he stood with spray lashing him and found the exhilaration of the storm matched his own.
Rupert Fitzalan was going home to Scotland!
The last time he had been home was twenty-three years ago when he was eight years old, before his
