Author: Kenna Kendrick

The darkness of the night pressed against the window of Isolde’s bedchamber. The silvery light of the full moon painted the world beyond it in a cold, pale light. Isolde stood at the window, watching. Waiting. The rest of the household would be retiring for the night soon and when they did, she would slip out and see what all the commotion had been about for herself.

Three days prior, her father had returned from battle after claiming victory. Moy Castle had been reveling ever since with feasts and music. The celebration had left her feeling cold. And that was likely because on the day he’d returned, she had seen him marching two men in chains through the gates. She didn’t know who they were at first, but Isolde had listened to the whispers around the castle and had heard their names.

Finlay and Struan Cameron.

At first, she did not recognize the names. Her father never told her anything. But she had been naturally curious—something that had gotten her into trouble more times than she could count—and had gone searching for the answers herself. It hadn’t taken her long to hear the whispers about the Camerons, a clan her father had battled with many times over the years. They had been a constant thorn in his side and he had finally defeated them.

It was no wonder he was celebrating his big victory. But Isolde thought the entire affair was tasteless. Celebrating the deaths of so many, just to claim some land, seemed cruel and offensive. But then, her father would likely say that was because she was soft, that she let her heart dictate too much. It was just one of the many of her shortcomings her father never failed to criticize. She knew he’d longed for a son and was disappointed that he had not had one.

He had always been angry that her mother died giving birth to her, blamed her for it. He treated her like she was unworthy of life and of his name. He never failed to take out his frustrations in life on her. To make her feel small. Useless. He seemed to revel in making her feel like she was a burden and that his life would be infinitely better without her.

Many nights Isolde had lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing for a life beyond the walls of Moy Castle. A life well away from her father, filled with laughter and joy. Filled with love. Isolde fantasized that one day she would have a life of her own choosing, one that would allow her to be and do what she wanted, maybe even with a man beside her who believed in her. A man who spent his time building her up rather than tearing her down.

She dreamed of a life spent with a man of her choosing. A man she loved and who loved her back. She longed for a family she could call her own.

Her dreams were simple. But they seemed forever unattainable to her. That was why she spent most nights crying herself to sleep.

The sound of heavy steps echoed in the corridor outside her bedchamber. The voices of the men were muffled but she could hear them well enough to know the guards were in the middle of a shift change. She sat up in her bed and listened intently. Isolde held her breath until she heard the sound of their marching boots fade into the distance.

She swung her legs over the side of her bed and got to her feet. She had never undressed that night, so she put on a pair of soft-soled slippers, then ran to the door. Opening it carefully, she peered into the corridor. It was empty. Slipping through the open door, she closed it softly behind her before she turned and darted down the hallway.

Moving as swiftly and silently as a shadow, Isolde made her way to the chambermaid’s room. She slipped inside and quickly lit an oil lamp so she could see. She walked to the back of the chamber and reached behind a large wooden stack of shelves. She fumbled around until she found the lever, then gave it a pull. With a soft click, the stack of shelves swung outward, revealing the hidden passageway behind it.

Isolde moved into the passageway quickly and pulled the door closed behind her. Moving swiftly on soft feet, she followed the hidden corridor, passing other hidden doors that branched into other parts of the castle. Years of skulking about in the shadows had allowed her to map out the entire extensive network of secret corridors in her father’s castle.

Listening for the sound of movement in the corridor behind her, Isolde found her way to the room she was looking for. Carefully opening the door, she peered through the crack to ensure the room beyond was empty. It was. Isolde slipped in and closed the door behind her, then moved to the small windows and peered through them to the great dungeon hall below.

She had heard the whispers from the chambermaids. She knew that one of the men who’d been brought in was taken to Cluny House by Laird Dougal MacPherson. The price of that favor was her hand in marriage. Her father was marrying her off to Dougal, a cold and cruel man, yet wealthy and powerful. He was just the sort of man her father would do business and ally himself with.

The mere thought of being forced to marry him turned her stomach, but she pushed it all from her mind. Right now, she simply wanted to get a glimpse of the man who had inspired so much chatter and gossip among the chambermaids. A certain mythos had been built up around this man that piqued her curiosity.

Standing on a small crate, she peered into the chamber below and had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep her gasp burst from her mouth. The guards below fell silent and Isolde had to duck down the windowsill to avoid being seen.

She held her breath and waited until the men started speaking again before she stood once more and got her first real look at the man.

He was a huge man, with broad shoulders and large, defined muscles covering every inch of his body. Stripped to the waist, his hands were bound, connected to a chain that hung from the ceiling. His face, which she could see was handsome despite his state, was bloody and swollen, dark purple and black bruises marring his flesh. It looked like her father’s guards had spent the last three days beating him.

His entire beautiful body was a shrine to pain, past and present. A network of scars, more extensive than her father’s hidden passageways, crisscrossed his body. He was obviously a warrior. One who’d seen many battles in his time.

“Laird Mackintosh says we’re nae tae kill this one,” she heard one of the men say.

“Daesnae mean we cannae have some fun with him though, eh?” said the other.

She watched as the men took turns driving their fists into his body, each impact making a wet, fleshy sound. The prisoner grunted with every blow, but he did not speak. Instead, he kept his head held high, his jaw clenched, determined not to show weakness in front of them. And although she winced and grimaced with every blow, she could tell he was a proud man. A man who would show them no fear. A man who would simply endure.

Isolde felt her respect for the man growing. She wished she could be more like him.

Isolde stuffed down the pity that flashed through her heart for him. He did not deserve it. She gritted her teeth and watched in awe as her father’s guards beat on him. The man though, endured it all in silence. He stood proud, barely flinching as he took punch after punch. He simply bore it with a dark, grim grace that captivated Isolde.

Finally, the man grimaced then spat a thick red glob onto the stone floor at the feet of his attackers. He narrowed his eyes and glared at them with pure malice on his face. As she watched him, as she studied his eyes, Isolde saw the light of grim determination shining bright in him. She knew that he would not be broken. Would not be cowed. It was in that moment she knew the man bound and shackled in her father’s dungeon would escape. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew it as sure as she knew her own name.

And as that thought settled into Isolde’s mind, she knew she would be able to use the confusion that would follow his escape to make her own…

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Chapter One

Heart pounding, Isolde sat up in her bed at the sound of men shouting and heavy boots running past her bedchamber door. Something was happening. And judging by the sound of it, something serious.

Isolde knew her father’s men had battled a rival clan recently and had been well pleased to have achieved some significant victory over them. Had they come back seeking vengeance?

Isolde slipped out of bed and threw a robe over her shoulders. Moving slowly and cautiously, she reached the door and pressed her ear to it. The voices were muffled but she was still able to make out what they were saying.

“He’s bleedin’ gone,” one gruff voice said.

“The laird is goin’ tae have somebody’s hide fer this,” said another.

“So long as it isnae mine,” said the first. “I’m thankin’ God ‘twas nae me in the cells guardin’ him. Anybody who was is goin’ tae have hell tae pay.”

There was only one prisoner in the dark cells that Isold knew of. One that would warrant that kind of reaction from her father and panic amongst his men. And he’d escaped. She knew it!

“Come,” said the first gruff voice. “We should probably help search for him.”

“Or just be as far away from him as we can,” the second man said. “They say he’s a savage, that one.”

She listened to them retreating and felt her stomach lurch. Her father’s prized possession had escaped and because of it, the corridors of the castle were swathed in chaos. A bolt of excitement crackled through her veins. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Dreaming of. This might be her opportunity to escape the fate her father had chained her to, the marriage he was trying to force upon her, and give her the chance to build her own.

Dashing around her room, Isolde quickly ran to the chest that stood against the wall on the far side of the room and threw it open. Digging furiously through the contents, she pulled out the clothing she’d long ago secreted in the bottom when she’d first began formulating her plan. She’d dreamed of it often but never dared hope it would come to pass. As she listened to the chaos erupting within the castle, she knew it was time.

Isolde pulled on the pair of breeches and dark tunic she’d stolen from the castle’s laundry room. After that, she slipped into the soft boots she’d also procured. Those, she’d had made to ensure they fit and didn’t rub her feet raw when she wore them.

Throwing some spare clothes and a small purse of coin she’d managed to collect into her pack, a pack with herbs and ointments, and a dagger she had prepared, Isolde cinched it closed then slung it over her shoulders. Grabbing a thick cloak, she ran to the door and pressed her ear to it again. The sounds of men running and shouting had faded. The corridor sounded empty. Easing the door open, she peeked outside to confirm the guards normally posted outside had gone. Slipping into the corridor, she closed the door behind her, then dashed down the hallway, her soft boots’ whisper quiet on the stone beneath her feet.

Hearing voices up ahead, Isolde slipped into the shadow alcove near the archway that led into the western wing of the castle and listened. Her blood ran cold at the sound of her father’s voice, tight and furious. There was an edge to his tone, dark and ominous, she had only heard a few times before in her life and it always precipitated something terrible. And she was getting the feeling this would not be any different.

“What in the bleedin’ hell happened?” he demanded.

“We dinnae ken, me laird,” said a man, his voice flustered. “We’re still tryin’ tae figure—”

“Where is he?” her father roared.

“We dinnae ken, me laird. Laird Cameron’s cell was found empty,” the man replied, his voice shaky. “The door had been opened and the man guardin’ the cell was dead. There was blood everywhere.”

He had been taken in the last battle and if he managed to get away, he would surely rain down vengeance upon her father for his capture and that of his brother, who was being held elsewhere. She had never spoken to the man, but she had heard how every warrior feared him. They said he was fierce—perhaps the fiercest warrior in all of Scotland.

She had seen him from afar, hiding in the dungeons, and could confirm he was a handsome man, but that was all she knew about him. Isolde had been curious and had wanted to visit the cells and meet the man herself. She’d wanted to take his measure and see why his name inspired so many different feelings, from fear to lust, but feared incurring her father’s wrath if he discovered her down there.

“How many did he kill?” her father asked.

“Two, me laird.”

Her father fell silent for a long moment and Isolde held her breath. When he was that angry, a sudden silence usually precipitated an explosion that shook the very walls of the castle. Her body tensed, she crouched in the shadows of the alcove and braced herself. But when her father spoke, though his voice trembled with barely controlled rage, he didn’t scream. He didn’t lash out. Shockingly, to her, he managed to keep his fury in check. It was something he never seemed able to do with Isolde.

“Get the men and find him,” her father said.

“How many men should I take, me laird?”

“All of them! Take as many men as ye bleedin’ need. Dae ye understand me?” he hissed, his voice crackling with rage. “Struan Cameron cannae be allowed tae escape. Find him!”

“Aye, me laird. It’ll be done.”

“See that it is.”

Isolde waited, listening to the sound of their boots ebbing before she moved. When the corridor sounded empty, she peeked around the corner just to be sure. Pulling her cloak around her a bit tighter, she slipped out of the chamber and made her way back through the castle once more. The sound of her father’s voice, a faint echo now, drifted down the corridor to her, sending a chill rushing up Isolde’s spine.

If she was really going to do this, it was time to go. If she waited any longer, she was undoubtedly going to be caught by the castle guard.

And if I was tae be caught, I would be returned tae me damned chamber, locked in and kept under guard as if I was a prisoner, nay different than Struan Cameron.

The muffled sound of thunder filtered through the stone castle walls, wrapping Isolde in a shroud of doubt and foreboding. It was as if God himself seemed to be trying to convince her to stay. Isolde shook her head. She’d stood on the ramparts earlier in the day and had seen the thick bank of clouds rolling in from the west. She had assumed they were going to be lashed with a storm either that evening or the following day.

The brittle sound of thunder was not surprising, but she couldn’t help but feel something threatening in it arriving at the very moment she was set to flee the castle grounds.

“’Tis nae a sign,” she muttered to herself. “’Tis only weather.”

She spoke the words to herself several times and with each repetition, tried to convince herself to believe them. Try as she might though, the feeling persisted.

“Dinnae be a bleedin’ fool,” she said to herself.

Forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, Isolde shook herself out of the fear-induced stupor that gripped her. She made her way through the castle, sticking to the narrow side passages and corridors not regularly traveled by her father or his guards. Despite his orders to send everybody to pursue the fleeing captive, a detachment of soldiers had remained behind, likely to protect him in case this was all an ambush.

“Lady Isolde, what are ye daein’ out of yer chamber? ‘Tis nae safe fer ye.”

The voice echoed down the hall to her, freezing the blood in her veins. Isolde turned to see a pair of armed soldiers at the far end of the corridor, staring at her in confusion.

“Lady Isolde?”

She had to act fast. If they were to come closer, her plan of fleeing would go to ruins.

It is now or never.

Isolde swallowed her fear and threw the chamber door open slamming it roughly behind her. The locking bolt was weak and flimsy, but she threw it anyway. It might not hold for long, but it would hopefully buy her some time. As she rushed across the chamber, darting around the stacks of crates and barrels stored there, she heard the sound of heavy bootsteps in the corridor. The door shivered in its frame as the guards on the other side tried to open it.

“Lady Isolde,” one guard called, his voice muffled through the heavy oak door. “Open the door!”

Ignoring them, she threw aside the carpet in the corner of the chamber to reveal the trap door hidden underneath it. Isolde grabbed hold of the iron ring and strained to lift it. The door groaned and creaked, the rusty hinges squealing sharply as she pulled it open and it hit the floor behind the opening with a resounding crash. She quickly grabbed the oil lamp from the table she’d positioned there long ago, not actually believing she would ever use it.

“Lady Isolde!”

She nearly dropped the lamp when the bellowing voices of the guards were punctuated by the hard crash and shudder of the door as they attempted to break it down. A few seconds later the metal latch gave way with a sharp ping and the door came crashing inward, slamming into the wall behind it with a thunderous boom that sounded like cannon fire.

“Lady Isolde, what are ye daein’?”

Her eyes met his briefly and her heart quivered, her fear nearly overwhelming her. Her body told her to give up and let them escort her back to her bedchamber. That she was bound to the life her father had mapped out for her. But her mind roared one single thought that shook her from head to toe:

I need to run!

Isolde turned and descended the ancient, rickety ladder that creaked and groaned like it might give way at any moment. It would be a fitting end. To fall and break her leg while trying to escape. If that happened, she knew her father would chain her to her bed until her wedding day.

Fleeing from her father and his cruelty wasn’t Isolde’s only motive. She despised her soon-to-become husband, Laird Dougal MacPherson, as much. A cold, cruel man who was one of her father’s staunchest allies, and twice her age. Life as his bride would be even more unbearable than life as her father’s daughter.

Isolde made it to the ground without falling or breaking a bone. She said a silent word of thanks as she turned and ran. She knew this tunnel would take her underneath the curtain wall and to the back side of Moy Castle. If she could get there, she would be one step closer to freedom.

“Lady Isolde, ye need tae stop this bleedin’ foolishness and come back here,” the man’s voice echoed to her, as the sound of his boots on the ladder started growing closer.

Behind her, Isolde heard the sound of more voices. It sounded as if more men were coming, setting her heart ablaze. It was a matter of seconds till they’d started descending the ladder as well.

Her stomach clenched tight and fear threatening to overwhelm her, Isolde turned and plunged into the darkness of the subterranean corridor.

The sound of heavy boots thumping onto the hard packed dirt behind her sent a rush of adrenaline through her veins. It burned like fire and tears sprang to her eyes. She had to run faster.

“Lady Isolde, yer faither will nae be pleased with this nonsense,” the voice echoed from the shadows all around her.

She knew the ladder to the surface had to be approaching and desperate to slow her pursuers down any way she could, Isolde threw her oil lamp behind her. It hit the hard ground with the tinkling of glass shattering followed by a “whoomp” sound of the flames igniting the puddle of spilled oil. She risked a glance behind her and saw the flames jump, igniting the exposed roots. The corridor all around her flickered and danced with the fire, lighting up some of the shadows that plagued her.

It willnae hold them fer long, but it’ll slow them down fer now…

Her legs and lungs both burning, she ran into the darkness, chased by the shouted curses of the men behind her. The small grin of satisfaction on her lips was wiped away instantly when she crashed into the ladder with an impact that jarred her very bones. Gasping to recover the breath driven from her lungs, it was all she could do to keep on her feet.

She grabbed on to the ladder to keep herself upright and began making their way through the flames, she scrambled up the ladder. For the second time in minutes, her body exploded in pain as she ran her head into the trap door above her. Isolde’s teeth clacked together sharply, making her jaw ache as much as her shoulder.

“Bleedin’ hell,” she muttered.

With all the strength she could muster, she leaned her full weight into the trap door. With the hinges squealing in protest, it opened and she was greeted by a gold gust of wind and rain lashing her face. It startled her so much, she nearly lost her grip on the ladder. But she held tight and pushed her way through it, slipping out of the tunnel and into the open air beyond.

Isolde knew she had precious little time to lie there, so she let the trap door fall back into place with a hard thud and jumped to her feet. She took a long, deep breath and glanced behind her. Moy Castle stood like a dark sentinel.

Now that she was free, she had no idea where to go. She had never actually planned that far ahead, never truly believing she would ever be free. But there she was. Free. Picking a direction at random, Isolde turned and blindly plunged into the darkness, wind, and rain of the night, the rumble of thunder punctuating her every step.

Yet, everything was better than marrying the man chosen by her father.

Chapter Two

Her breathing ragged and every inch of her body screaming in pain, Isolde stopped and leaned against the wide trunk of a tree. She was cold, soaked to the bone, and exhausted. It felt like she’d been running for hours but when she turned back, she could still see the tall, imposing walls of Moy Castle in the distance, so she knew it hadn’t been that long.

The thick trunks of the trees and heavy foliage distorted sound, preventing her from pinpointing her location. And with the storm still raging overhead, it further obscured the sound of her flight. Unfortunately, the echo of the voices that reverberated through the forest also kept her from knowing how many men were actually out there.

Out to get me!

“Sounds like his whole bleedin’ army is out there,” she muttered.

“This way. I think she went this way!”

The man’s voice sounded close—too close. It sent a lightning bolt of fear crackling through her veins. Despite the protest of her muscles and lungs, Isolde turned and ran through the darkness, doing her best to move fast while trying to avoid rocks, exposed roots, or anything else that might trip her up. She was so close to freedom the last thing she wanted was to turn an ankle, or worse.

The whinny of a horse and a man’s grunt stopped her in her tracks. She ducked down behind a screen of bushes when the flicker of a torch cut through the darkness. The soldier was just on the other side of the thick foliage, making Isolde draw a sharp breath. Her heart hammered so hard in her breast, she feared he was going to hear it over the steady thrum of rain on the forest canopy overhead.

“Ye see her?” said the man.

“Nay. Nae yet,” came the voice of a second man she hadn’t seen.

“We need tae find her or Laird Mackintosh will have our heads.”

“Aye. Probably so,” said the second man. “But how? ‘Tis a lot of ground out here tae cover. The lass could be anywhere.”

“Dae ye think it matters tae the laird?” the first man said dryly. “He gave us orders and expects those orders tae be followed, whether they’re reasonable or nae.”

“’Tis nae a good night fer him. First Cameron and now his daughter. The man looked ready tae put his bleedin’ fist through the curtain wall.”

“Aye. But nae a good night fer him means ‘tis a worse night fer us.”

The man chuckled ruefully. “Aye. ‘Tis true. Come, let’s keep lookin’. The princess couldnae have gotten too far. She’s probably hidin’ among the trees. Let’s find her.”

As the hoofbeats of the horses receded, Isolde let out a long breath that came out in a thick plume of steam. She trembled wildly and not only from the cold.

That was close.

“They cannae catch me. I cannae let them take me back tae him,” she whispered, trying to encourage herself.

Pushing herself to her feet, Isolde ran in the opposite direction the soldiers had gone and stepped into a clearing. The flash of lightning bathed the world in a silvery luminescence brighter than the sun.

“Bleedin’ hell,” she groaned.

On the other side of the clearing were two of her father’s soldiers on horseback. The flash of lightning allowed her to see them—but it also allowed them to see her.

“She’s there!” the first man called as he pointed to her.

A sharp squeak burst from her mouth and as the two men spurred their horses, getting them racing across the clearing, Isolde turned and plunged back into the forest.

“Here! Here!” the soldier shouted. “She’s over here!”

She cut around the wide, thick trunk of a massive tree and risked a glance over her shoulder. She could see the bobbing light of a torch as the soldiers gave chase on foot, but they were well behind her. A small grin curled her lips as she weaved around a bush and all at once, she felt her stomach lurch. Her feet were somehow no longer on solid ground and Isolde felt weightless. She had but a moment to register that she had stepped off the steep incline of a creek bed she had not seen in the dark.

Isolde couldn’t stop the scream that burst from her mouth as she dropped like a stone. The impact with the side of the creek bed jarred her bones and drove the breath from her lungs. She tumbled down the embankment until she hit the frigid water with a loud splash. She ended up on her backside in a seated position in the soft, silty bottom. Isolde gasped, trying to catch her breath.

Before she could get to her feet, four of her father’s soldiers—two on either side of the creek bed—leaned over the edge. Their flickering torches glinted off the surface of the water around her. They all smiled down at her.

“There ye are,” said Merrick—a man she knew to be a captain of her father’s castle guard.

Tears of frustration spilled from the corners of her eyes as a powerful wave of fear washed over her. She clenched her jaw and tried to keep any more from falling. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“Let me go,” she said, her voice calm and steady.

“I’m afraid we cannae dae that, Lady Isolde,” he answered. “Yer faither tasked us with bringin’ ye back tae Moy Castle.”

“Ye dinnae want tae dae this,” she said, putting a tone of menace into her voice. “I promise ye that I will make ye pay if ye dae this.”

The four men glanced at one another, then shared a laugh. Merrick turned back to her, his face etched with amusement.

“Nay offense intended, Lady Isolde, but we fear yer faither far more than we fear ye.”

Isolde got to her feet and glared at all of them in turn, marking their faces. She could see they did not take her seriously and thought she was little more than a joke, like her father. The fear in her breast dissolved and was quickly replaced by a dark rage.

The men were closing in on her though. No matter how hard she pushed herself, she wasn’t able to open a gap between them. She had no choice but to stand and fight.

Pulling one of the daggers she’d lifted from the armory from the sheath on her belt, she spun around quickly and slashed. The man who’d been reaching for her howled in agony as she opened a slice along the palm of his hand.

“Let’s nae have any more of this nonsense, Lady Isolde,” he said.

She slashed at him with her blade, trying to scare him off. But as the tip of her dagger whistled past his chin, he stepped inside her guard, grabbed her by the wrist, and gave it a twist. Isolde cried out in pain and the dagger fell from her grip, hitting the creek with a soft splash. The man behind Isolde grabbed her by the shoulders. She fought and thrashed to break free of their hands but they held her fast. Merrick frowned at her.

“Why are ye runnin’?” he asked. “The way I hear it, ye’re goin’ tae be marryin’ a rich man who’ll give ye everything ye could ever want.”

“Ye’d never understand,” she hissed.

“I tell ye this, lads, if I was told I had tae marry a rich, beautiful lass, wear silks and velvets every day and have servants and chambermaids tae tend tae me every need fer the rest of me life, I’d never complain once,” he said.

The men holding her laughed and grunted their agreement with their captain as Merrick bound her hands and hauled her out of the creek. Every step toward their horses felt like a step toward the gallows.

A movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She opened her mouth to say something but didn’t have the chance as the thick branches of the bushes parted with a loud rustle and something burst from them.

A man. A very large man.

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