Author: Kenna Kendrick

One month prior…

Castle MacGregor was still quiet so early in the morning, even if Evan’s study was anything but. He didn’t even know how Padraig had managed to corner him, along with every other member of his council, the moment he had sat down behind his desk, eager to spend a couple of hours of his morning in peace after waking up early that day.

It was all Padraig’s fault. Evan had the paranoid thought that he had somehow managed to get him to wake up so early, just so he could torture him first thing in the morning.

“Can we discuss this later?” Evan asked, slumping in his seat. The maids hadn’t even brought him breakfast yet and there he was, discussing his future.

“Nay,” said Padraig in his usual firm tone that left little room for discussion. “This is important, me laird. We thought we would have more time tae find a suitable bride, but with yer faither gone… well, a laird cannae remain unwedded fer too long. We must find ye a suitable match.”

The mention of his father forced Evan to grind his teeth, molars protesting as he clenched his jaw to keep himself from flying into a blind rage. It wasn’t Padraig’s fault, he knew. He didn’t deserve his misplaced anger.

This was not the first time his council had brought up the matter of his marriage, nor was it the first time Evan had tried to avoid it. There were far more important things to be done before he could even begin to think about marrying someone, even if it was for a strong alliance. Clan MacGregor was strong, even after the sudden death of his father. An alliance was not his main concern.

No, his main concern was revenge. His main concern was making sure the English were kept away from his people’s lands.

“I dinnae have time fer this now, Padraig,” he said, leaning back on his seat with a weary sigh, arms crossing almost petulantly in front of his chest. “Ye ken this. I must find out more about Graeme Ruthven.”

The look Padraig gave him was one of utter exasperation. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the man said, “Even if ye are correct about Laird Ruthven—”

“I am.”

“Even if ye are, it doesnae change the fact that ye must find a wife,” Padraig said, ignoring Evan’s interruption. “If anythin’, if ye’re correct, it is even more important that we prepare fer the possibility of war. What dae ye think will happen if ye go after him an’ reveal he is workin’ with Balliol an’ the Sassenachs? We will need all the allies we can get.”

“We have enough allies.” Clan MacGregor had many friends. For generations, his clan had maintained good relationships with the rest of the Highlands, and though perhaps not everyone would rush to his rescue, everyone would surely support him if he stood up to Balliol and the King. Everyone had something to lose if the English maintained control of the Highlands through Balliol—everyone but Ruthven, who would only have something to gain as Balliol’s ally.

Padraig turned to the rest of the council, looking at them with a pleading gaze, as if to silently ask them for help. Clearing his throat, one of the older members of the council, Neacal, stepped forward and addressed Evan with a patient smile.

“Me laird, I implore ye tae consider Padraig’s suggestion,” he said. “We have already found several young women who would be excellent choices fer ye. Ye can pick whoever pleases ye most.”

“But ye should carefully consider the Lady Buchanan,” Padraig said. Next to him, Neacal sighed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and looking as though he wanted to rip it all out. “The Buchanan Clan is strong an’ wealthy, and the Lady Buchanan is rumored tae be a bonnie lass. They would make excellent allies.”

“The Lady Buchanan is also rumored tae be less than virtuous,” said Neacal. “Many things are said about her.”

“Och?” asked Evan. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage, he thought. If Padraig wanted him to wed the Lady Buchanan but Neacal disagreed with his choice, then it would surely make the process of choosing a wife for him even lengthier. “What, precisely, is said about the Lady?”

“Only rumors, me laird,” said Padraig.

“Rumors must start from somewhere,” said Neacal. “It is said her involvement has been instrumental in some conflicts. She remains in the shadows, but she can manipulate even from there.”

“Is this how she has gathered all this power an’ wealth, then?” Evan asked, now curious to see why Padraig would even consider her. He was not a man who acted without planning first, nor was he a man to tolerate such people around him, which meant that he either didn’t believe the rumors or he was so desperate that he would accept that woman just for the power it would bring their clan.

But we’re nae in a dire position. We dinnae need them, as much as Padraig seems tae think we dae.

“Nay,” said Padraig sharply, taking another step forward. “The Buchanan Clan has always been a powerful one. An’ I have met the lady meself. She seemed perfectly pleasant, me laird. There was naething tae suggest that she is as bad as Neacal claims.”

Evan glanced between the two advisors, weighing his options. “I think the truth perhaps lies somewhere in-between. That said, I still think the matter o’ Ruthven an’ the King is more important than anything else at this moment. I willnae waste any time courtin’ a lass when I have more important things tae dae. Ruthven will be at Laird Hamilton’s weddin’, correct? Alaric an’ I shall meet him there an’ try tae find out as much as we can about him.”

“That is a dangerous plan,” said Padraig.

“It isnae more dangerous than allowin’ him tae dae as he wishes,” Evan pointed out. “It is imperative that we find out the truth about him. We’ve had several reports that he is a spy fer Balliol an’ the King. What other proof dae we need?”

With a sigh, Padraig turned to the rest of the council, dismissing them. Evan watched them go and only after they were all out of the room did Padraig come closer to him, bracing himself against the desk and speaking quietly, as though he feared someone else would hear him.

“It is a dangerous thing, Evan,” he said, and it was the first time since his father’s death that Evan had heard Padraig use his given name. “Ye are the laird now. This clan needs ye an’ I must admit I feel… uneasy when ye an’ Alaric are away. I always worried about the two o’ ye but now it seems tae me that ye willnae rest until ye’ve had yer revenge.”

All the fight drained out of Evan then. He knew, of course, that everything Padraig did was because he was concerned—concerned about the clan, concerned about Evan and Alaric, concerned about the future and their people. But he couldn’t help but think that he worried too much, to the point where it hindered their progress.

“An’ ye’re right,” he said. “We willnae rest until we have avenged our faither. Is that so bad, Padraig? Is it so bad that we wish tae avenge him?”

“What if ye end up like him, Evan?” The mere thought seemed to shake Padraig to his core. “I have already buried a good friend. I dinnae wish tae bury the two lads I love like me own bairns.”

“Padraig, Alaric an’ I will be fine,” Evan assured him as he stood from his chair and rounded his desk to pat the other man’s shoulder. “We are nae bairns anymore. We havenae been fer a long time.”

“I ken that,” Padraig said. “But it doesnae change the fact that ye still seem like bairns tae me. Let an old man have his concerns, Evan. This is what we dae best.”

Evan could hardly argue with Padraig when he got like this, and so he didn’t try. Instead, he said, “I’ll consider it, alright? I will consider the Lady Buchanan an’ every other lass ye have found fer me. But I will dae so after the Hamilton weddin’.”

“An’ until then?”

“Until then, Alaric an’ I have serious work tae dae an’ we need yer assistance,” said Evan. “We need all the resources we can get.”

Padraig nodded, his own hand coming to rest on Evan’s shoulder. It was the most fatherly gesture he had received since his father’s death, and he had to swallow around the knot in his throat, willing himself to stay grounded instead of losing himself in his grief. There was no time for this. He would only grieve his parents once he had obtained his revenge.

“Ye shall have them,” Padraig promised. “I only ask that ye remain safe. That ye dinnae take risks.”

“I willnae,” said Evan, even if he knew his promise to be false.

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Chapter One

Marrying a complete stranger for a strategic alliance was the fate of many noble girls. However, Bonnie MacLaren never imagined she would be one of them. Marrying for political gain was one thing, but marrying a man she only knew by name was another.

Then again, she would be meeting him soon. Laird Graeme Ruthven was waiting for her on the Isle of Arran, where they would both be attending the wedding of Tavish Hamilton and his bride, Amelia. The council of the MacLaren Clan had made it clear that Bonnie – as the heir if something happened to her brother-in-law and laird of the clan, Macauley Sinclair – was to wed as soon as possible to a man of their choosing, in an attempt to prevent another effort for a hostile takeover.

Bonnie could hardly blame them. After her cousin, Faolan, had attempted to hold onto his role as the laird of the clan by threatening to marry Bonnie against her will, the council was more eager than ever to marry her off to someone so they wouldn’t have to deal with the headache of another suitor with ulterior motives.

The sky was dark, clouds gathering above Bonnie’s head as she and her two trusted guards travelled from Castle MacLaren to the shore, where they would take a birlinn to the Isle of Arran. So far, the winter had been mostly dry, bringing them less rain than usual, but the cold bit into her skin and seeped into her bones—a chill that turned all the more humid as they approached the coastline. It was still early in the day, and yet the grey clouds blocked the sun, forcing Bonnie to hold tight onto her cape as the wind whipped her face and hair.

“We’re almost there,” one of the guards, Finlay, called over the whistling of the wind. “Ye willnae have tae endure this much longer.”

“I’ve endured worse,” Bonnie said and then added with a teasing smirk, “like yer company.”

Finlay turned to look at her in mock offence. “If me lady protests me presence, I am more than happy tae return tae the castle an’ relieve ye o’ the burden. Now, whether ye make it tae Arran without me is a different matter.”

“What dae ye think will happen tae me on the way?”

“I can only guess Lachlan will inadvertently kill ye afore ye’re even on the birlinn,” said Finlay, prompting an unimpressed sigh from the other guard.

Bonnie laughed. In all the years she had known Finlay, the man could never help himself when it came to Lachlan—or anyone else, really. He always had a joke to offer and loved to tease those around him. Being a few years older than her, Bonnie had always thought of him as the big brother she had never had. They even resembled each other in their colors if not their features, their eyes and hair a similar shade of deep brown. Where Bonnie was small and slender, though, with a delicate nose and mouth, and a rounded, doll-like face, Finlay was a wall of a man, well-suited to his profession.

Lachlan, on the other hand, could only be described as willowy, Bonnie thought; boyish, even, with his unruly mop of blond hair and his bright blue eyes. He worked well with Finlay, though, making up for the speed the other lacked when it came to battle.

“Maybe that would be fer the best,” Bonnie said with a sigh, remembering the reason for her visit to Arran. Part of it was the wedding, of course, but part of it was so she could be paraded in front of Laird Ruthven so that he could decide if she was good enough for him; like a prized mare whose only value came from her appearance and how many children she could bear.

It was never meant tae be like this.

Bonnie had entertained the idea that she would one day marry for love and it sounded idyllic—the kind of thing that had few chances of ever occurring as she was the eldest daughter. But then Cathleen had married Macauley, and he had taken on the mantle of the laird of the clan. Bonnie had held onto the hope that perhaps with a man like him in charge, a man trusted and respected by everyone around him, she would have the chance to find love after all, and if not love, then at least a husband who would be a good match for her—someone she and her family could get to know slowly, someone they could be certain wouldn’t hurt her or the clan.

And yet all those hopes had now been ruined.

“Dinnae speak like that,” Finlay said, though his gaze was understanding as he looked at her. “Yer only obligation is tae meet him.”

“Fer now,” Bonnie said. “But if he an’ the council agree, then we all ken me opinion on the matter will be irrelevant.”

There was nothing Finlay could say to that, Bonnie knew, and so he didn’t respond much to her relief. She didn’t want to hear any comforting words, because in the end, they wouldn’t matter. Words couldn’t change what awaited her at the other side of the sea, nor could they bring her any comfort.

It was better to say nothing at all.

“Well, let us make it tae the weddin’ first,” said Lachlan in the best approximation of a cheerful tone that he could muster.

“Aye, the laddie doesnae like the sea,” said Finlay.

“I have a name,” said Lachlan. “An’ I am only two years younger than ye.”

“Ye dinnae look like it.”

Bonnie chuckled as she listened to them bicker, their teasing helping to take her mind off Laird Ruthven, at least for a while. Soon, she would have to face the reality of her situation, but as long as she was with Finlay and Lachlan, the three of them leisurely riding down the wide path, then she could still pretend that they were only visiting to attend the wedding.

After a few more hours, the harbor appeared before them and Bonnie gazed at the horizon, where the sea met the sky. It was clearer there, the clouds thinning and allowing some of the sunlight to creep in. She hoped the weather would remain clear and that their trip to Arran would be tolerable, if not entirely pleasant, but there was no telling what the sea would bring. She had travelled a few short distances before and most of the time, the waves had left her nauseous and eager to step once again on solid land.

“Alright, me an’ Lachlan will leave the horses here,” said Finlay as they dismounted, pointing to the left of the harbor. “Ye can go ahead tae the birlinn an’ we’ll find ye shortly.”

Bonnie nodded as she handed Finlay the reins to her horse. She adjusted the quiver which held her arrows along with the bow that was strapped to her back, as she had refused to take such a long trip without any weapons, and then headed to where Finlay had gestured. Here, the wind was stronger, mercilessly whipping her skin and pulling strands of her hair out of its updo, but there was nothing she could do other than hurry against it, keeping her eyes half-closed as they watered.

When she reached the edge of the land, she looked up to see that there were two boats there instead of the one she had expected.

Which one are we meant tae take?

Bonnie looked over her shoulder to where she had last seen Lachlan and Finlay but they weren’t there. With a heavy sigh, she took a few steps back, looking for them, only to find out that they were nowhere to be seen.

She looked back at the boats. One of them was smaller, bearing nothing but the essentials. The other had a small room built on the deck and was a little larger, but otherwise the same.

Well, I can ask the men.

First, she walked to the larger boat, climbing up the plank. From the moment she stepped foot on the deck, she could tell that it was going to be a long, unpleasant trip.

How I hate the waves!

Looking around, it didn’t take Bonnie long to notice that there were few men on the boat and no other passengers, which seemed rather strange. She had assumed there would be more people who would be going with them to Arran, but perhaps the council had arranged for the boat to take just her and her two guards.

“Excuse me,” Bonnie called to one of the men who was winding a piece of rope. “Are ye headin’ tae Arran?”

“Och aye,” said the man. “Who are ye, lass?”

“Me name is—”

Before Bonnie could finish her sentence, she began to feel a strange movement—one that the waves didn’t explain. Wide-eyed, she looked at the shore, which was getting smaller and smaller by the second, while neither Lachlan nor Finlay was there with her.

“Where are ye goin’?” Bonnie asked, panic tinting her tone. Her heart leapt to her throat and her hand shot out to hold onto the nearest thing she could find: the hoop of a barrel that stood near the mast. “We… me guards! Ye left me guards behind! We must turn around at once!”

“What guards?” the man asked. “We are nae meant tae bring anyone else. Nae one told me we’re bringin’ a lassie, either.”

Bonnie glanced at the other boat, which was still at the harbor and cursed under her breath. “I’m afraid I am on the wrong boat!”

The man’s gaze followed hers to look at the other boat still at the harbor, before dragging his gaze back to Bonnie. “Well, this is certainly a problem.”

“Turn around!” Bonnie begged the man. She was close to falling to her knees, close to tears, close to jumping into the sea and trying her luck as she swam all the way back. “Please!”

“We cannae turn around now,” the man said. “We have our orders from the captain. We maintain course.”

Bonnie looked helplessly at the man, then at the other boat, then back at the man, but he was already moving on to his next task, seemingly unbothered by the fact that Bonnie was on the boat all alone, while her guards had no idea what happened to her.

Finlay an’ Lachlan will be so worried. What will they dae? Will they ken I got on the wrong birlinn?

As she looked around for anyone who could help her—or at least listen to her—her gaze fell on the small room she had spotted before. It must have been the captain’s quarters, she thought as she approached it, determined to make the man listen to her.

It wouldn’t take them that long to turn around and bring her back to the harbor. They were still close and Bonnie could spare the extra gold if needed. She just had to reason with the captain, she told herself, and then everything would be fine.

She didn’t have the presence of mind to knock. In her panic, she threw the door to the small room open, the words already tumbling past her lips before she even took a good look inside.

“Sir, please, tell yer men that we must turn back,” she said, voice thin and reedy and on the verge of hysteria. The longer it took her to explain, the longer it took the man to listen, the more difficult it would be for her to make it back. “I am nae meant tae be here, it was me mistake, but in me defense, I didnae ken that ye would leave right that moment! Me guards, they are back at the harbor an’ we were meant tae take the other birlinn but I didnae ken that an’—”

Once again, Bonnie fell silent before she could finish her sentence, upon taking a better look at the dark room. There were no windows there. The only light came from the open door and from a torch that hung from the far wall, which shed a warm orange light on the scene before her eyes.

There was a man tied to a chair, beaten bloody and bruised. His face was smeared in crimson, drops of it dripping from his mouth on the floor below him, and his left eye was swollen shut, the skin colored a deep purple. It seemed that he couldn’t even raise his head to look at her, abused as he was.

Next to him stood another man, one who made Bonnie instinctively take a few steps back the moment she laid eyes on him. He was tall and broad, perhaps even more so than Finlay, with a mane of hair as dark as spilled ink. His eyes were just as dark, betraying nothing in the half-light of the room, and the beard that covered the lower half of his face gave him an even more menacing appearance.

What has he done? He is goin’ tae kill him if he continues!

Could this be the captain? But why was he torturing that poor man on the chair?

Bonnie didn’t ask. What if she provoked him and he unleashed his fury upon her?

Slowly, she began to backtrack, almost tripping on the hem of her dress as she tried to leave while keeping her eye on the man and reaching behind her for her bow and arrows. She hadn’t gotten far, though, before he began to approach her, that predatory gaze now fixed on her.

“Where dae ye think ye’re going, lass?”

Chapter Two

Half an hour earlier…

Evan shook his hand and flexed his fingers after a particularly vicious punch to the man in front of him. He didn’t know how long he had spent cooped up in that small room with him, trying to beat the truth out of the man to no avail, but he was getting tired.

“He’s nae speakin’.” Evan looked at his brother, Alaric, who stood across from him, leaning against the wall in that awfully casual way of his, while still somehow looking murderous. He had that effect, Evan knew. Though they resembled each other very much in build and features, Alaric sported battle scars and had marked himself with tattoos that gave him the aura of a much more dangerous man.

“I can see that,” Alaric said, rather unhelpfully, in his smooth baritone. “If he spoke, he could tell us everythin’ and we could get this over with.”

“But he willnae speak,” Evan pointed out. “How long have we been doin’ this? He’s half-dead. He willnae speak afore we kill him.”

“Dae ye want me tae try?”

Evan gestured widely with his hand as if to say his brother was welcome to try, though he doubted he would bring about any better results. It wasn’t as though he could hit him any harder or threaten him in any way Evan hadn’t already tried.

Alaric didn’t move from where he stood, but instead simply watched the man as he drooled saliva and blood on the floor. “Are ye certain he kens about Ruthven’s plans?”

“O’ course he kens,” said Evan with a scoff. “He’s supposed tae be an informant.”

“Supposed tae be,” Alaric repeated. “But what if our information is inaccurate?”

Evan took a moment to consider that possibility, but then shook his head, discarding it. “Nay… nay, we ken who he is. Our information is correct. We simply have tae break him. He kens about Ruthven an’ Balliol, I ken he does.”

Ever since John Balliol’s accession as King of Scots, Evan and Alaric had both been hard at work, trying to bring a quick end to his reign. Evan would rather die than serve a king who was nothing but a pawn to the English. After what they had done to his family, he wanted nothing more than to ruin them—and it all began with Laird Ruthven.

“Ruthven is a fool,” Alaric said, as if that changed anything for Evan. “He is a greedy man. How long dae ye think he has afore Balliol brings him tae ruin, too?”

“I dinnae ken an’ I dinnae care,” Evan said through gritted teeth. Perhaps Alaric was right. Perhaps in the end, the situation would take care of itself. After all, many were already displeased by Balliol’s rule and wanted him gone. Ruthven would get caught up in the conflict, eager as he was to please Balliol just so he could gain more land, more influence, more wealth. But Evan would be a fool, too, if he didn’t do his part to get Balliol off the throne and maybe, if he worked hard enough and was lucky enough, even get to the Hammer of the Scots—Edward I.

“Perhaps it would be wiser tae try an’ use the bride,” Alaric said. “If this lad willnae speak, she might be able tae help us.”

Evan had heard of the so-called bride of Laird Ruthven, a woman who was supposed to meet him in Arran, at the same wedding Evan and Alaric were going to be attending. He couldn’t fathom a way that he could use her, though, not when he didn’t even know who the woman was and not without putting her in danger.

As far as he knew, she was innocent in all this. It would be cruel of him to drag an innocent woman into a perilous plan when there were other avenues he could take.

“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “We shall continue with our plan. We will go tae the weddin’ an’ we will try tae find proof of a connection between Ruthven an’ Balliol. An’ then, we’ll see.”

With a chuckle, Alaric pushed himself off the wall and approached Evan, giving him the kind of scrutinizing look that Evan had never liked to have directed at him. For all his rough and rugged appearance, Alaric was surprisingly insightful and capable of seeing right through him if he wanted.

“An’ this has naething tae dae with the fact that ye are avoidin’ yer own betrothal,” he said. “I’m sure ye’re nae tryin’ tae stall, are ye?”

Evan couldn’t help but roll his eyes, though his brother was not far off the mark. The truth was that ever since the council of Clan MacGregor had decided that he, as the laird, needed to have a wife, he had been doing anything in his power to delay that day for as long as he could.

He could only avoid his council that long, of course. The day would come when he would have to pick a woman to wed, but that day wouldn’t come so soon if he had anything to say about it.

“That isnae why I’m doin’ this,” Evan insisted, but then he gave a small shrug, fighting back a chuckle. “But it certainly helps.”

Alaric gave him a knowing look and a pat on the shoulder before he headed towards the door. “Well, I’ll see if we’re ready tae depart. Ye stay here an’ see if ye can get him tae talk.”

Evan nodded, watching his brother leave before he turned to the other man. For a moment, he thought he was unconscious, the pain and the abuse proving too much for his body to handle, but when he stepped closer, the man flinched in fear.

“Pretendin’ willnae help ye,” Evan told him with a weary sigh. “What will help ye is if ye tell me the truth.”

He had tried this before and the man had said nothing. This time, he said nothing as well, keeping all his secrets to himself. At first, he had insisted he knew nothing, but neither Evan nor Alaric had believed him. They had good informants and they had assured Evan that this was the man they were looking for—a man working for both Ruthven and Balliol, helping them exchange messages in secret. Evan was more inclined to believe his people than this man when he said he didn’t know anything.

“Alright, I suppose ye leave me nae choice but tae continue this,” Evan said as he approached the man once more and raised his fist, ready to strike.

And then the door opened, and Evan turned around to see not his brother there, but a woman he had never seen before.

He didn’t manage to say a single thing before the woman began to speak, a torrent of words tumbling past her lips. Evan frowned, trying his best to follow the path of her reasoning but quickly failing. She was saying something about turning back, something about guards.

Who is she? How did she get here?

And most importantly, what was he supposed to do now that she had seen him torture a man?

When she finally noticed what was going on, Evan saw the spark of fear in her eyes. Instantly, she began to backtrack, her hands reaching for her bow and an arrow, and Evan couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman travelled with such a weapon.

It wouldn’t help her much against him. Arrows were good in long ranges, but he could get to her before she fired it.

“Where dae ye think ye’re going, lass?” he began but she interrupted him.

“Dinnae even think about layin’ a hand on me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I will kill ye.”

In two large strides, Evan reached her and grabbed her bow, yanking it right out of her hand and tossing it aside. That didn’t seem to faze her much, though, as she gripped the arrow in a tight fist and raised her hand, ready to strike. Evan managed to block the blow at the last moment, his hand grabbing her arm to still it as the other wrestled the arrow out of her palm.

The moment she was left without a weapon, the woman blanched, all the color draining from her face—and what a face it was. Despite her fierce character, she seemed like a delicate thing, bird-boned and soft-featured; a beautiful young woman who, under other circumstances, would have certainly caught his attention.

As it were, Evan had more pressing matters to consider than his sexual desires.

“What will I dae with ye?” he asked her as he kicked the door shut behind him. Though the crew had seen the man he and Alaric had brought on board, though they had heard his screams, Evan still thought it was better to keep him out of sight.

“Ye’ll let me go,” the woman said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Nay,” said Evan. “I dinnae think I will.”

As he spoke, he pulled the woman towards the stern, away from prying eyes and ears. The woman struggled against him, desperately trying to dislodge her arm from his grip, but Evan refused to let her go, even though there wasn’t much she could do. They were in the middle of the sea, after all. There was nowhere for her to go, nowhere for her to hide.

“Ye’re a brute!” the woman said, kicking him hard in the shin. Evan did almost lose his grip on her then, but he only grunted in pain and pushed her hard against the rail, crowding her against it. Like that, it was impossible for her to weasel her way out. He stood in front of her like a wall, refusing to budge.

“Who are ye?” he asked. “An’ what are ye doin’ on me birlinn?”

The woman blinked in surprise a few times, straightening up as she looked at him. “This is yer birlinn? Ye’re the captain?”

“I’m nae the captain but I have paid fer a private journey,” Evan said. “An’ I dinnae take kindly tae stowaways.”

“I’m nae a stowaway,” the woman said, trying to pull her arm from his grip once more. This time, Evan allowed it, only because she had no chance of escape. “I am Bonnie MacLaren o’ the MacLaren Clan. Me sister is the Lady Cathleen MacLaren. So, I willnae have ye treat me like this.”

Evan took a better look at the woman, noting the hands that seemed unused to manual labor, the tunic she wore, which was woven from a fine fabric, and the signs of a soft life. She certainly looked and spoke like a noble girl, and had Evan been in a better state of mind, he was certain he would have noticed sooner.

“I see,” he said. “An’ what, precisely, are ye doin’ here, Miss MacLaren?”

“I told ye,” said Bonnie, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “I got on the wrong birlinn. I am travellin’ tae attend Laird Hamilton’s weddin’ an’ me guards told me tae board, but our birlinn was presumably next tae yers an’ I must have gotten confused.”

She didn’t seem to be lying, Evan thought. He couldn’t think of a reason why she would, but one could never be too careful. Bonnie had already seen too much; Evan had to keep a close eye on her.

“Well, ye ken who I am now,” Bonnie added, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Who are ye?”

“Laird Evan MacGregor,” Evan said, biting back a smirk when he saw the shocked expression on Bonnie’s face. No one expected a laird to do the dirty work, Evan knew, but he didn’t mind getting his hands bloody. Some things had to be done and he could trust no one but himself and his brother to do them. “I am also headin’ tae Arran fer the weddin’. We shall go together.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but Bonnie seemed to understand it as one and she immediately scoffed, shaking her head. “What makes ye think I will go anywhere with ye?”

“What other choice dae ye think ye have?” Evan asked. “Look where ye are… in the middle o’ the sea. An’ after what ye’ve seen, well., I cannae simply let ye go.”

He watched as Bonnie looked around her, realizing perhaps for the first time the severity of the situation and the fact that she truly had no option but to be on that boat with him. Then, her gaze met his again and her bottom lip shook as she spoke.

“What will ye dae tae me?”

“Naething,” Evan said. “As long as ye behave an’ dae as ye are told. Ye’re me property now, Miss MacLaren. Ye’ll dae as I tell ye.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes at him, much to Evan’s irritation. She tried to sidestep him by ducking under his arm, but Evan was quick to push her back against the rail, tutting softly at her.

“Where dae ye think ye’re goin’?”

“Anywhere but here,” Bonnie said. “Why? Are ye plannin’ tae tie me down like that poor man ye have in that room?”

“That man is more dangerous than ye ken,” Evan said, pinning Bonnie with a strict gaze. “An’ ye are nae tae approach him. Dae ye understand?”

Bonnie didn’t respond; not until Evan grabbed her arm, giving her a rough shake.

“I said, dae ye understand?”

“Let go o’ me!” Bonnie demanded, trying to once again push Evan away from her. “What is the matter with ye? Is this how ye treat all ladies?”

“It depends on how foolish they are,” said Evan. Though he didn’t let go of her quite yet, he slackened his grip, giving her some leeway. “Are ye foolish, Miss MacLaren? Are ye goin’ tae be trouble?”

Bonnie didn’t need to answer his question for Evan to know that she would very likely be more trouble than she was worth. What could he do, though, now that she had seen everything? He could hardly kill her, she was innocent. Her only mistake had been to get on the wrong boat and then open that door. And besides, she was not some faceless, nameless woman no one would miss. She was the daughter of a great laird, who even in death inspired other leaders. She was the sister-in-law of her clan’s laird. If Evan’s education on the other clans still served him well, she was also the eldest, though the mantle of the laird had not been passed on to her husband.

Unwedded, then? Was the youngest sister married first?

Perhaps he was confusing the sisters. It had been a long time, after all, since he had last concerned himself with the clans’ genealogies.

“If ye value yer life, ye will dae what I tell ye,” Evan said, the threat thinly veiled in his words. Even if he wasn’t actually going to kill her, Bonnie didn’t need to know that. The more afraid she was of him, the better. “Ye will accompany me tae the Hamilton keep. Until then, ye will sit quietly here on the deck an’ ye willnae speak tae anyone.”

Bonnie glared up at Evan, her eyes narrowing dangerously, but the effect was lost due to him towering over her. Even with her bow, there was little she could do to maim him in such close range, and she seemed to finally accept that as her shoulders fell and she leaned away from him as if disgusted by his mere presence.

“Good,” said Evan, finally pulling back. “Ye’re nae so foolish after all.”

As he turned around to head back to the small room and try to extract at least a morsel of information out of his other prisoner, he could feel her gaze boring into the back of his skull. The feeling followed him all the way there, and then even once he was inside, behind the confines of the door.

The entire time, a shiver ran down his spine.

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