Chapter one

The first night of the new moon phase was particularly dark, but that didn’t stop anyone from going about their business, especially the two men stumbling through the darkness. Keenan MacNeish had a puzzled expression on his face. His Laird, John Murray of clan Athol, leaned against him, one arm slung over his neck, holding up the lantern, their only source of light in the absolute blackness.

The two men wore cloaks over their heads, and the light from their lantern cast shadows over their faces, making them unrecognizable. Keenan was leading the way, but only because he was the only one who was thinking clearly. He was still essentially doing what he was told. He sighed as he dragged his drunken Laird toward the pub, his breath letting out steam in the cold air atop the hill.

“Me Laird… Are ye certain ye want to visit the pub? Nae only have ye missed dinner and should be back at the castle by now, but I am sure this pub owner does nae want ye back after last time,” Keenan said. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he wished he had a free hand to wipe it away. He sighed, exhausted. He’d dragged Laird Murray all the way up here from the bottom of the hill, as he was stumbling and couldn’t stay on track by himself. If Keenan left him alone, he would fall down the slope due to his lack of balance. For a brief moment, the thought of the Laird falling from the hill seemed too pleasant. He shook his head to clear his mind of the image.

“Why dae ye question me, Keenan? I want to go to that pub because they have the best ale!” John Murray said, slurring his words.

“Aye, but ye have been drinkin’ at other pubs all night. Ye seemed quite satisfied with those until a moment ago…” Keenan murmured. John gave him a look, narrowing his eyes like he had been offended.

“Are ye… are ye givin’ me attitude, Keenan? I ken me ale and what I like best. Yer only job is to make sure that I get it. Ye always dae as I say, since when dae ye talk back to me?” John asked threateningly. Keenan, on the other hand, saw him as threatening as a whiny, petulant child. He hadn’t been scared by the Laird in a long time.

Regardless, John was correct. Keenan usually let the Laird do whatever he wanted, especially recently. It served him well when the Laird, who couldn’t go a day without seeing the bottom of a barrel, made a fool of himself. Still, he was irritated by John’s antics tonight, because he was already drunk enough for his own purposes. So the strain of dragging him to the pub was entirely unnecessary. He was a large man — in fact, he was a large warrior, or was until he succumbed to the temptations of alcohol. The point was that he was quite heavy.

It also did not help that Keenan already had plans for them both that evening. Well, there is still some time before the gathering. I am sure we can make this quick. Keenan only let go of John when they got to the top of the hill and were in a safe place for him to stumble around. The Laird floundered to the pub’s door and banged on it.

Keenan stood back, his eyes hooded, watching the scene unfold. He could hear sounds from inside, so he knew they were open even though their doors and windows were closed. He could see light shining through the slits between the wood in the windows.

“Open up, ye old bastard!” John shouted, continuing to bang on the door like a lunatic. Keenan didn’t blame Old Newman, the pub owner, who had probably seen them coming up the hill and locked up. When John was last here, he almost set the place on fire. As the window cracked open and Old Newman poked his head out, Keenan sighed tiredly.

“What are ye lot daen’ back here?! I told ye that I never wanted to see ye here again, and ye dare to come back?! Ye are banned from this place, dae ye understand? Ye are nae allowed in!” he yelled. Keenan drew his hood up over his face a little more. It was a good thing they only ever appeared in this disguise. He wondered how Old Newman would react if he realized the man yelling at him was his Laird. John stood firm, shaking his fist at the older man.

“What dae ye mean banned?! Ye should be happy I even want to drink at this dump. Ye think ye are the only one with ale in this clan?” John shouted.

“Then go get yer ale elsewhere, ye wee piece of—,” When John charged at him, Old Newman quickly ducked his head back in the window. He slammed the window shut just as John’s fist made contact with it. Keenan sighed and rubbed his hands across his face. John, as expected, was not pleased.

“Ye dare… ye dare lock me out?!” he thundered. He dashed back to the door and started slamming himself against it. Keenan jumped slightly at the first impact. John was a massive man. Despite the fact that the door was locked, he shook it. He can nae be serious… Unfortunately, he was indeed very serious.

“Keenan! Come over here! Help me kick this door down! Break it down with me!” John commanded. Keenan drew his hood even tighter around his face. He was aware that this could happen, but hoped it would not. He was often forced to assist John in doing something stupid. When he was younger, it was because he couldn’t possibly disobey his Laird, but now that he was an adult, he had additional reasons.

He’d given up on his Laird ever becoming a respectable person, so he no longer tried to stop him when he misbehaved. Now John’s ridiculous behavior served a purpose for Keenan. If he could demonstrate to the people how inept their Laird had become, they would be more willing to fight against him to protect their rights and stop blindly trusting him out of loyalty.

“Aye, me Laird,” Keenan murmured, going over to join John at the door. They took a step back together and slammed their shoulders into the door on John’s count. Keenan was also a huge man, standing six feet and five inches tall. The door had no chance against them and, thus, it splintered after four rams.

“Ha! Aye! That is how it should be! Break it down!” John shouted with a childish glee. He kicked against the fractured area, urging Keenan to join him until their feet passed through. He could hear the ruckus from inside the bar.

“Ye… ye scoundrels!! Why, I ought to call the guards on ye nuisances! Ye broke me door!” Old Newman screeched as he charged at them with a broom. That was Keenan’s signal that they needed to leave. He was not going to be beaten with a broom for John’s sake. Before dragging the Laird out, he let Old Newman get a few good whacks in on his head. At the very least, the old man deserved that much; his door had been broken.

He dragged John, who was still holding his head from the beating, down the hill after him. He headed for the town square while holding the lantern above his head to increase his visibility.

“Where are we goin’ Keenan?” John asked, stumbling along. For a brief moment, he returned his gaze. The man was a complete mess. But then again, it was difficult to recall a time when John was a man worthy of his respect and loyalty.

He lied, saying, “Nowhere, we are just running.” When they arrived at the square, it was already crowded, with people huddled in the center around one man standing on a wooden crate and reading a letter aloud. Phew, I am a little late, but it looks like we made it in time, regardless.

“What is this, Keenan?” he slurred.

“It is a meetin’ of the villagers to discuss their problems,” Keenan explained. He kept his gaze fixed on John, waiting for his reaction. Keenan had summoned him for two reasons. The first was to see if any part of him would listen to the people’s complaints, and if not, to expose his selfishness to them.

Everything hinged on John’s reaction. It would be better if he quietly listened and reflected; if he flared up and attacked the people, it would still be better because Keenan would then blend into the crowd, shine some light on him, and declare that the crazy man attacking them was their fool of a Laird. He knew the people were too scared, too loyal to do anything to defend themselves, but if they saw the man to whom they were committed being a pathetic fool, they would rise up in anger, as they should.

“It pains me heart tae watch our people struggle so when we have the potential for so much more! We could be the greatest clan in all the Highlands with the gifts our lands have been blessed with. Our people could flourish, but instead, we are wallowin’ in poverty, and why is that? The answer is simple, because those who are supposed tae lead and protect us are stuffin’ their bellies with our coin and doin’ nothin’ tae take care of us!” the man reading shouted over the din of the murmuring people.

“Who is that talkin’?” John asked again, staring up at the man on the crate. As one of the villagers approached John, who was shrouded in his cloak, Keenan remained silent.
“Ah, that is just Philip the tailor, he is nae important except that he reads better than the rest of us. He is readin’ us a letter left by Malcolm,” she explained.

“Malcolm? Who is this Malcolm?” John asked. This time, a few more people turned to glance at him in surprise. The woman who spoke for the first time gave him a shocked look.

“Good sir, where have ye been the past few months? Malcolm is a fierce outlaw! He seems tae be the only one fighting for the people these days. His words are so powerful for a common born like us, so even when we are nae able tae dae anythin’ like him, we still listen as his words give us hope and remind us that what we are goin’ through is nae normal and is nae somethin’ we should get used tae,” the woman said.

Keenan yanked on his hood, pulling it closer to his face to conceal his smile. All he had to do now was wait to see how John reacted to the news. While listening to the letter being read, he was silent for a while, as if in thought. He remained quiet until the reading was finished and Philip stepped down from the wooden crate.

Is… is he actually reflecting?

Just as Keenan was starting to wonder, John pushed his way through the crowd, heading for the crate in the center. He snatched a torch from one of the villagers and carried it with him until he was standing on the crate, the fire above his head. Everyone looked at him with surprise and curiosity, wondering who the hooded man who had abruptly hijacked the meeting was.

Oh, what was I thinkin’? Of course, he was nae reflectin’. He is goin’ to have a fit now, and make a fool of himself. Well, I suppose that still works for me.

Nothing, however, could have prepared Keenan for what John did.

“Unbelievable… Unbelievable, I say!” John shouted suddenly, making a few people jump as his large voice boomed across the square. They muttered in surprise, exchanging confused glances.

“How could ye all stand here so calmly after hearin’ words filled with such passion and fire?!” John roared, clearly displeased. Keenan froze in his tracks as he was about to dwindle into the shadows to wreak havoc. What? In disbelief, he looked at John on the podium, who had the audience spellbound.

“Did ye nae hear what was said? Did ye nae hear the injustice being done to ye all? How could a man, sworn to protect ye, be stealin’ from ye instead? Ye all are left to starve, while he fills his belly with pork and ale and languishes in mediocrity! And yet, ye stand here confused like lambs without a shepherd?” John continued. At this point, Keenan’s jaw was hanging open. Is… is the man mad? Does he nae realize he is the one being spoken against?

The people, on the other hand, had no idea that the man speaking to them and shaking them was the very man they were instigating against. They became moved as they cheered John on while he preached like a true outlaw.

“Pick up yer torches and lift yer voices, and march! March for yer rights! March for yer lands! March for yer children at home whom ye struggle to feed! Make yer voices heard because the longer ye dae nae, the longer the injustice reigns!” John kept shouting, raising his torch into the air and causing the villagers to do the same, yelling a war cry.

Keenan palmed his face, stunned and disappointed. For John, this was a new low. No, it was a low that Keenan had never imagined was possible for anyone. As he yelled, the villagers carried him off the podium onto their shoulders, prompting them to protest. They were too enraged to notice his shaky feet as they threw him to the ground and marched toward the palace gates, yelling their opposition.

“Protect our lands! Protect our rights! We will fight for what is ours!”

Keenan stood alone in the square, watching John stumbling after them at a much slower pace. He continued to chant, albeit more subduedly, as he tried to orient himself. He appeared to have been moved around too much while being carried, as he suddenly doubled over and vomited copiously on the ground. Keenan winced in disgust as he watched him groan until he collapsed onto the ground, fast asleep, right in his own vomit.

If the situation hadn’t been so bleak, Keenan might have laughed at the irony, but he couldn’t. He was too agitated. Now I’m the one who needs a drink. He sighed, looking at John.

Keenan was a man who cared deeply about his clan. He couldn’t stand by and watch them be treated unfairly and robbed simply because their Laird had lost his way in life. As he looked at John on the ground, he was overcome with conflicting emotions. He idolized John when he was a good Laird and the people were happy. That was what enraged him even more. He had seen the good times and never imagined he could be like this. He believed that the Laird had a duty to his people no matter what. That meant that even when things were bad for him, it was his responsibility to stay strong because his people relied on him.

John had failed them, and to make matters worse, he was unaware of his failures. Keenan loved his people too much to watch them be destroyed in the name of loyalty. He would see to it that they got what they deserved.

He walked away, feeling as if his life had been sucked out of him. He couldn’t just leave John there, so he went to the guard station to request that they pick him up and take him home.

Chapter two

When Bevin Murray awoke that morning, the sun was streaming in through the open windows. She sighed quietly and rolled over in bed, her back to the sun. She didn’t want to be awakened just yet. She had stayed up late the night before, expecting her father to return home, but he had not. She sighed to herself, tired. The morning had arrived far too quickly, and she had not gotten enough sleep.

She could not help but be upset. “I ken he did nae come home last night because he was passed out drunk somewhere,” she muttered. It was always this way, no matter how many times she begged him to stop drinking. She had watched her father slowly but steadily lose himself to the barrel over the years, until there was almost nothing left of him that she recognized. She was saddened by his condition, but she was mostly angry.

He changed after her mother died, so she understood in a way, but she was also enraged at him. Just as he had lost a wife, she had lost a mother. It wasn’t fair that he just shut down and couldn’t handle any of his responsibilities as a Laird, let alone as a father. Her tiny, pink lips drooped as she became preoccupied with his neglectful behavior.

A knock on the door of her chambers signaled the end of her ability to sleep. She pushed the covers off and sat up, running her hands through her messy brown hair, which had fallen in her face rather than being in its usual single braid. She’d been too upset the night before to care.

“Excuse me intrusion, Miss,” a voice said from behind the door and Louisa poked her head into the room. Louisa was her handmaid and best friend. They were both twenty-one years old, which could explain why they could relate to each other so easily, despite their master-servant relationship. She raised her head to look at her, and the dark-haired maid winced.

“Oh… ye dae nae look too great this mornin’ Miss. I did tell ye that ye should have allowed me tae braid yer hair last night — now look at ye, yer head resembles a bird’s nest,” Louisa said, stepping into the room and fussing over her. Bevin sighed and got out of bed, walking over to her mirror. Her brown eyes returned her stare; a dead stare with no excitement coming from the sockets, with the beginnings of black rings surrounding them. Her pale skin had turned sickly that morning, and her hair looked like it had been chased through the underbrush by foxes. She really did look terrible — like a ghost.

“I come bearing news, but I believe we should take care of ye first,” the girl said, slipping a letter onto the dressing table before hurrying off to draw Bevin’s bath. Bevin, who was changing her clothes, recognized the seal on the letter as soon as she saw it. She tried to be enthusiastic. It bore the Stewart family seal, and the letter was undoubtedly from her handsome betrothed, Walter Stewart, with whom she should be completely smitten.
The Stewart family was not only insanely powerful in the Highlands, as a member of the English and Scottish noble council, but it was also well known for having a lairdess. Lairdess Margaret held a regency position because her husband died not long after her son was born and neither he nor she had any male relatives. She had taken their world by storm, refusing to cower in the face of power and instead making a name for herself as her lands flourished under her control. Her son, Walter, was of age now, and as soon as he found a bride and made himself a man, he would take over from his mother.

Bevin had now taken on the role of being his bride. “What a miracle it is that I have found meself so lucky,” she said dully. The Stewart family, despite its power, had every young noblewoman her age clamoring for a chance to be chosen. She, on the other hand, had been going about her business when she learned of her betrothal by reading a letter out for her father. Bevin had been chosen as Walter’s bride because of his friendship with Lairdess Margaret Stewart.

Was Bevin excited? Of course she was. Every social gathering she attended now was packed with people eager to meet her and those who were curious about her, the dainty brunette who happened to get such a lucky break and marry the man who was about to become the most powerful Laird in the Highlands. She smiled at them and matched their joy, unable to count how many times she had been called lucky, both by herself and by those around her.

She grinned until her cheeks hurt, and her laugh was thin and lifeless. It wasn’t that Walter Stewart was in any way flawed. No, the Stewart heir was a dashing young man. Blonde with icy blue eyes; intelligent and well-traveled. He had a wide range of experience in the world, which not many people could claim. He walked with a dignity that made everyone in the room want to defer to him, and he was courteous in his letters to her. Polite and filled with stories. He was always saying or sharing something.

Many people would give anything to be in her shoes, but when she saw his letters, there was no rush to open them and see what he would say next. She usually pretended, forcing herself to be enthused. What is the matter with ye, Bevin? This is somethin’ great. Why are ye nae moved? Are ye tryin’ tae be ungrateful?

She pondered many questions as those around her swooned over Walter’s letters to her. He once sent her preserved flowers, and the young ladies at the tea party she was attending nearly cried. Many people complained about how boring and unoriginal their own betrotheds were, with some not having the time to exchange frequent letters with them as Walter did with her, and others stumbling over their words, unsure of what a woman wanted to hear.

I suppose I really am just lucky… She had laughed, but in truth, she did not feel lucky at all. She did not feel anything. She sighed in the bath as Louisa washed her hair and applied scented oils to her skin. Another present from Walter. Louisa oiled her supple skin again after she dried off from her bath. When she was finished getting ready, she reflected light with a marvelous, dewy look, as if she had been scrubbed by pearls.
“Dae ye want me tae tie up yer hair today, Miss?” Louisa asked. Bevin raised her gaze to the mirror. Her delicate shoulders stood out more in the simple white dress she wore, and her long brown hair, now combed out, fell in a silky curtain down her back, framing her diamond-shaped face.

“Nae… leave it,” Bevin said, taking the letter from her dressing table and opening it listlessly.

“Aye, ye are right. It looks lovely this way. I shall go fetch yer breakfast,” Louisa said, heading for the door.

“Dae nae bother, I will come down when I am done here,” Bevin said. Louisa quietly nodded and exited the room, leaving Bevin alone with Walter’s letter. She unfolded the neatly folded paper to reveal his penmanship in elegant strokes of ink.

Me dear betrothed, Bevin.

Yer soon tae be husband, Walter.

Bevin read the letter twice, the first for its contents and the second to see if it would intrigue her in any way. Nae a thing? Nae heart thumpin’? Nae butterflies in me belly? She sighed and forced a smile on herself. Even if she wasn’t naturally excited, she would compel herself to be; after all, there was something to be enthusiastic about. Her wonderful betrothed, who had made her the envy of all women her age, was finally coming to the castle to make their engagement official.

She’d barely had any physical interaction with Walter. They had met at a ball once; she had run into him while he was standing with a group of his friends. Her drink had splashed out of her cup and onto her hand a little, so he had been gracious enough to offer her his handkerchief. With a kind smile, he told her she could keep it because he would be traveling soon and it would be too much of a burden to ask her to return it. She had accepted it gratefully and had not given it much thought, despite the fact that she could feel his and his friends’ gazes on her back even after she had left.

He had begun to communicate with her through letters after their parents had announced their betrothal, and in those letters, he never referred to the incident with the handkerchief; just talking to her as if they had never met, so she felt too awkward to bring it up. She wondered if it would be strange to return it now if she ran into him again. It felt twice as strange just keeping it, and she couldn’t throw it away in case he remembered.
She folded the letter back up with a sigh and a forced smile once more. “There’s a lot tae prepare, now is nae time tae wallow, Bevin,” she said to herself. She needed to tell her father; she was sure Lairdess Margaret would have sent him a letter as well, but she knew he hadn’t seen it yet. He was usually lost in the bottle and could barely deal with his problems. She was saddened by the thought. She generally did her best to pick up the slack, reading him his letters while he was hungover and offering assistance where she could. She was behaving like a mother to him in order to keep the shame of his current situation hidden.

After her mother’s death, she was obligated to be strong for him. That was why she agreed to the betrothal in the first place, when her opinion was completely ignored. She was simply expected to be content. She knew, however, that her marriage aided the clan’s social standing, so she remained silent.

Bevin was a young woman who was bound by her circumstances to become strong. She was the best at putting on a brave face while concealing her pain. She rarely asked herself what she truly desired because she knew she wouldn’t get it. Not anymore. She loved her father, but she had mixed feelings about a parent who was neglectful and selfish. It was an exhausted love that persisted for unknown reasons. She was also aware of her duties and hoped to perform them well. She was a woman and the clan’s sole heir, so she knew it was her responsibility to marry profitably. The clan’s well-being depended on her. Even if she didn’t like it, she had an obligation to them.

She went downstairs to eat breakfast after putting Walter’s letter in her drawer with the rest of them. Louisa had already set the table for her, so she sat down to eat while the maid served her.

“What was the news in the letter, Miss?” Louisa asked as she stood to the side with a towel over one arm.

“Walter and his maither are on their way tae our castle tae make our betrothal official and hold the feast,” Bevin said, eating quietly. Louisa audibly gasped.

“What? Is that nae big news? We have so much tae dae, so much tae prepare… ye need tae tell the Laird,” Louisa said excitedly. Bevin sighed.

“Aye, I ken.”

If I can find me faither, that is.

Seeing her expression, Louisa pressed her lips together.

“Yer faither is nae back yet, is he?” she asked.

“Nae, he is nae,” Bevin admitted.

“Ye should wait for him by his chambers,” she suggested as Bevin finished her meal.

“Ye are right. I will dae that. Let us hope he is sober when he returns,” she said.

Bevin followed Louisa’s advice and went to stand outside his door. She had just leaned against the wall when she heard two guards laughing as they rounded the corner. They were dragging a large unconscious man she recognized as her father without looking twice. He was covered in vomit and his cloak was dusty. She was ashamed.

“Think about it. What kind of Laird dae we even have? How are we tae respect him when we have tae pick him up in the middle of the square, drunk tae stupor and in a pool of his own sick?” the first guard cackled.

“Dae ye think he slept there all night? It was very late when Keenan asked us tae fetch him. Perhaps we should have gone when he told us tae?” the second asked.

“Clearly he spent all night there. Ye can tell he is still drunk. He must have had his weight in ale tae be this pished. I think he pissed himself as well,” the first said.

“Ugh, that is just disgustin’. Why dae we have tae be the ones tae heft him up all these stairs? The man is heavy, too!”

“Why would not he be? He does nae a thing but eat and drink all day. There used tae be a Laird here before, but now he is barely a man.”

Bevin bit her lower lip in response to the guards’ words. For a brief moment, tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, forcing herself to maintain a strong front. They weren’t entirely wrong. She knew her father was a total disaster now, but it didn’t feel good to hear others say it. Especially not their guards.

She stepped out of the corner she was hiding in with a frown, revealing herself to them. The two men were so taken aback by her appearance that they almost dropped her father.

“Oh, Miss, we – we did nae see ye there; good morning.” the first one said nervously while the second one just shook in fear.

“Is there anythin’ good about the mornin’ given how much ye were complainin’ just now?” she asked. Both men trembled, unable to respond.

“Take me faither tae his bed and call the maids. Have the cook make him some soup as well,” she ordered. They rushed to do as she instructed, removing his filthy cloak before laying him on the bed. She stood by the door as they left.
“Ye are lucky I am in a forgivin’ mood, but speak of yer Laird disrespectfully again, and ye may lay yer complaints tae the crows when yer heads hang from the castle gates,” she said in a low voice.

The two guards nodded to her and looked terrified while they scurried out of the room. She sighed as she looked at her father on the bed, who was snoring lightly.

What will I dae with ye, faither?

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Prologue

May, 1315

“Do we really have to go?” Edna raised her head as her mother’s musical voice reached her ears. She knew her mother wasn’t talking to her, and she knew it was impolite to listen in on someone else’s conversation, but she couldn’t stop herself. She tiptoed silently towards the open door of her parents’ bedchamber; her ten-year-old frame small enough to avoid casting shadows, thus helping her remain hidden.

“Ye ken that we have to. Not going isnae even an option, Freya,” her father replied, exhaustion evident in his tone. Edna did not know what was wrong but she knew that she wanted to go. She had been looking forward to the Celtic Festival of Beltane all year, and she had no desire to miss it for any reason.

“I ken. I just hope we dinnae regret it.” Edna sighed in relief as she heard her mother finally agree. She had no idea what they were talking about, or what her parents would regret by attending the festival. All she knew was even though her father was a firm man, Edna was confident that her mother could persuade him not to go. So hearing they would be indeed not forced to spend this auspicious day indoors was a great relief.

Edna returned to her perch in front of her castle’s largest window. The night was crisp with something unnameable, as if the sensation was so foreign that it could not be described. Regardless, the air around her felt alive. Edna felt as if the power of the gods was descending and entering her. She often wondered if magic existed and if the gods truly possessed powers. Tonight, she knew the answer to both of those questions was yes; she couldn’t wait to see the powers, magic, and mythical creatures come to life tonight.

“Edna, are ye ready my bairn?” She turned around as her mother walked out of her bedchamber and smiled at her. She knew something was wrong when she looked at her beautiful mother, who had been told by everyone in the clan that her beauty was a gift from God. It’s not as if she didn’t look lovely tonight; she did. Her beauty was just hidden behind a mask of worry, or perhaps fear — rendering Edna slightly afraid. Her mother was her rock, the one person she looked to for motivation, and seeing her troubled pained her.

“I am ready, mama,” Edna replied with a smile as she walked away from the window and went to stand before her.

“My beautiful girl,” her mother picked her up in her arms, and Edna laughed loudly.
Her mother and father both loved picking her up. Her father’s more masculine and larger arms made her feel safer, but her mother made her feel loved. Edna knew she couldn’t live without either of them.

Just then, her father emerged from the bedchamber, handsomely dressed in the clan’s colors; his plaid expertly tied and hung just above his knees. Edna leaped towards him, arms extended, as if she wanted to be in his arms, and sighed into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent. There was no one she loved more than her parents.

“Shall we go then?” Edna fervently nodded in response to her father’s question, already concerned about the fact that they would be late. Her father grinned at her enthusiasm and they descended the stairs quickly before exiting the castle. Edna exhaled a sigh of relief, knowing that they’d soon be with everyone else and having the time of their lives.

“Edna, are you excited, my bairn?” Her father asked as they walked along the paved path among the trees.

“I am,” Edna said quickly, squinting to see as far as she could. She could hear the festival sounds in the distance and knew everyone was laughing and dancing. The joy in the air was audibly reverberating through the atmosphere.

“Do you remember what I told you about Beltane?” her father asked, and Edna smiled. She remembered every single word, which could explain why this was her favorite festival of the year.

“Certainly, papa. Beltane is a fire festival,” Edna replied, her eyes twinkling. She was always drawn to fire, and one of the Beltane rituals was to build a bonfire high enough to reach the heavens. Her mother began to laugh at her response, and Edna looked at her with puzzled eyebrows, not understanding what was so amusing.

“It’s so much more than just a fire festival, Edna,” her mother said, lovingly stroking her dark hair.

“Yer mama is right. Beltane is a summer solstice celebration. We Scots have such a hard time during the cold months that when summer comes, we have to thank the gods in the heavens,” her father explained. Edna nodded, knowing it all, but despite the more appropriate significance, it was fire that drew her in.

“We can still go back home, Duncan,” her mother said, her voice almost a whisper.

“No.”

Edna couldn’t understand why her mother insisted on them returning home. Every year, they attended the festival, which brought joy to the entire clan. How could her mother possibly miss such an important day? Edna had no idea what was going on, but she was content. Her parents were accompanying her, and she knew they would have a good time — at the end of the day, this was all that mattered.

They continued walking for a few minutes longer, and Edna noticed that more and more people were appearing. Every single person was out enjoying the night to the best of their abilities. Her eyes sparkled as they approached the riverbank where the festival was taking place. The bonfire was already alight and glowing as brightly as the morning sun, exactly as she had imagined. Her father lowered her but kept her hand in his.

“Stay beside me, Edna,” her father said loudly enough to be heard above the din. She smiled as she tightened her grip on his hand and moved forward. Everyone who saw them nodded respectfully to her parents, and her father did the same. The ladies also stroked her hair and patted her shoulder.
“Yer finally here. I thought ye weren’t even coming,” a young lady said to her father. Edna stared at him for a few seconds longer, trying to put a name to the familiar face, but she couldn’t.

“I wouldnae miss the Beltane for the world,” her father exclaimed, and a passing server handed him a large wooden mug; he took a swig before proceeding to meet with some other men.

“Freya, yer here,” a woman greeted her mother warmly with a quick hug.

“Duncan didnae listen to me,” her mother said quietly, so that only the woman and Edna could hear her; the woman gave her father a quick glance before nodding in agreement.

“Edna, darlin’,” the woman said as she extended her hand, who took it. “Freya, I believe your daughter will be more beautiful than you when she grows up.”

“I ken. She is already perfect. The gods have blessed her with more looks than I could ever have,” her mother replied, picking up Edna in her arms. Edna had always heard people compliment her appearance and say she looked like her mother.

“Yer right,” the woman replied before waving goodbye and disappearing into the crowd. Her mother returned her father’s gaze, the string of tension between them drawn taut. Their earlier argument had caused a minor squabble, and Edna could sense it.

“Can I go play?” she asked her mother, who placed her on the ground but did not let go of her hand.

“No, Edna. Ye’ll be staying with us tonight.” Edna turned to look at her father with puzzled eye — he smiled as he looked down at her innocent expression.

“Listen to your mama. She just wants the best for ye,” her father agreed, and Edna’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She couldn’t let this minor annoyance crush her spirits or make her feel bad. It was still a night of celebrations, and she planned to take advantage of it in whatever way she could. She stood between her mother and father, watching the people at the festival mingling. Everyone was dressed in clan colors and looked as radiant as ever. Beltane was a time of great joy and fertility celebration. Edna noticed her mother twitch beside her and wondered how she could be anxious in such a vibrant place. She took her mother’s hand in hers and smiled up at her, hoping to calm her down. She had no idea what was bothering her at this time, but she wished for all of her problems to go away.

“It’s time to start the fire,” a young man shouted from afar, and everyone around them roared. They had all been anticipating this moment; the sky turning a bright, fiery orange. Edna took a deep breath and smiled broadly, as this was her favorite part of the evening.

“Are you ready, Edna?” her father questioned, extending his hand towards her.

“Yes, papa,” Edna assured him, already overjoyed. She put her hand in his as he picked her up and placed her on his shoulders. She squealed with delight when she realized she was taller than everyone else.

“I pray that this summer will be more joyful and prosperous than the last,” her father exclaimed, turning to face everyone, his voice echoing through the mountains. Everyone raised their hands in the air and wished those around them prosperity and happiness.

The cheering grew louder around them, and Edna joined in as the night sky alighted from the ever-rising flames. That moment was everything she had ever desired. Her parents, clan, and the world around her filled with joyful sounds. Nothing could have tainted the purity of those few minutes, she reasoned.

“Duncan.” A loud voice from behind them called out her father’s name. She looked at the man in front of her father, his gaze fixed on his face. A hush fell over the crowd as everyone waited in anticipation. Edna had no idea what was going on, but she knew something was wrong.

Her father assisted her in sliding down from his shoulders, and her mother quickly arrived to stand beside her. She took Edna’s hand in her own and yanked her away from her father, but the girl refused to move.

Before anyone could say anything or move, the strange man lunged at her father, who was unable to block the attack due to its suddenness. The crowd let out a loud gasp as it took a few seconds for everyone to realize what was going on. Edna’s eyes widened as the man charged ahead at breakneck speed, a dagger drawn in his right hand.

He was able to close the gap in a matter of seconds. He stabbed her father in the chest with the golden dagger in his hands. Edna’s entire body went limp as she watched her father painfully move both of his hands to his chest. Blood began to ooze from the wound, turning both of his hands bright red. Darkness gradually obscured her vision, and the last thing she heard was a loud, startling scream before collapsing to the ground, surrendered to her unconscious. Those few moments had brought her life to a standstill — they had submerged it into an unfathomable abyss — and she was unable to open her eyes again.

Chapter One

10 years later

Every man, woman, and child in the McKenzie clan was looking forward to Ronin’s arrival. Happiness had long vanished from the people’s faces, but now they had a reason to celebrate and rejoice. Mara, the clan’s lady, widow of the laird, and the mother of the boy who was finally returning home to take his father’s place. No one wanted to offend her or get in her way. She was a force to be reckoned with, a woman whose blood was so cold that the clan was convinced she lacked any heart at all.

They were aware that she had not always been this way. She, too, was once a young, lively girl who knew the pleasures of life. Her husband’s death had forced her to transform into this feared woman. She had no choice but to adapt to the circumstances — a position that rendered her unapproachable. But even she appeared cheerful today; all because of her son.

“Is there anything else ye want me to do?” Lachlan asked as he stood beside her, inspecting the decorations.

“Do ye think he’ll like all this, Lachlan?” she asked, her voice uncertain. Lachlan was aware that Mara had no idea what to expect. Her son had been sent to France for studies eight years before. They had no idea who he had become, and they were both a little scared to find out. Though Lachlan was confident that Ronin would remain the young boy he remembered, the young boy who had played with him when they were kids.

“He will. Have faith in me,” Lachlan assured her and by doing so, trying to assure himself as well.

Lachlan was relieved to see the way things were to unfold; Mara had been carrying far too much responsibility for far too long, and it was time to share the load. Ronin was finally returning home to help ease her burden and take the position that had been waiting for him; to become the new laird of the clan.

“I believe in an hour or so, he will be here,” Lachlan said, watching the woman’s eagerness spread across her face.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Mara said absently before returning to the palace. Lachlan stepped forward and mounted his horse, watching her walk away. He, too, was ecstatic to see his childhood best friend. It had been eight years since the boys had parted ways, and Lachlan knew he would meet a young man who had spent far too much time in the civilized lands of France. As Lachlan waited outside the castle walls for Ronin, all he could think about was whether his friend was prepared to shoulder the responsibility that awaited him.

He sat atop his horse and stood along the path that would bring his friend home. A few minutes later, the sound of horse hooves reached his ears, just as he had predicted. It was immediately followed by the sight of his best friend riding towards him at full gallop atop a beautiful chestnut horse. His blonde hair reached just above his shoulders and blew in the breeze, trailing silkily behind him. Lachlan noticed Ronin’s blue eyes shone brightly, giving him the appearance of being both young and energetic. Handsome too.
Lachlan grinned. The two men stood in front of each other, serious expressions on their faces. Each of them evaluated the changes that had transpired in the last eight years. How much he’d grown; a young boy no longer. Every lass in Scotland would lose their minds over him.

“Ronin McKenzie is finally home,” Lachlan said, a smile on his face. Ronin returned the smile as he dismounted his horse. The two friends united in an embrace.

“Why do I feel like these eight years have been but a few days?” Ronin questioned after they finally separated.

“Because yer love for this land has reduced the time ye’ve spent apart to an infinitesimal fraction. Ye will always be a Scotsman, Ronin, no matter where ye live,” Lachlan replied.

“You are right. Let’s go home; I can’t wait to see mama,” Ronin said, getting on top of his horse once again as Lachlan followed after him.

“She is waiting for ye anxiously.”

The two men rode dangerously fast across the narrow valleys and steep pathways, just as they had done as young boys. They were chastised back then for attempting to appear heroic, but today, people just stared as they rode by. Ronin knew his clan’s members were relieved to see him return, and he was just as happy to be home. He’d been away from where he belonged for far too long, and returning home filled him with joy. France had been lovely, and his education had been beneficial, but there was no place like the one where your heart resides.

He’d missed the rivers, valleys, and mountains, as well as the cold after the rain, and the beginning of summer. He had missed his mother, his clan, and the land where he had been born. When the two of them arrived at the castle, Ronin was overjoyed to see how far his mother had gone to welcome him. The entire castle was decked out. He dismounted his horse and walked through the large gates to meet his mother who was standing on the stairs, her eyes glistening with worry.

Ronin took a deep breath as his gaze fell on her. She was still the same woman, but a lot older. He was well aware that this was the result of shouldering the clan’s responsibility all by herself after his father’s death. She had absorbed it all over her body, and the effects were severe. But he was there now — she would never have to face those burdens alone, ever again.
“Mother,” he said, taking her hands in his and kissing them briefly. She drew him in into a warm embrace.

“Oh, Ronin, how I have missed you,” his mother said, a single tear trailing from her eye, which she quickly brushed away.

“I missed you too, mama,” Ronin assured her with a smile, and she nodded enthusiastically.

“Ye have grown to be more handsome than when I last saw ye. The same blue eyes and blonde hair but so much more bonny,” his mother complimented as he laughed.

“You just need a reason to praise me,” Ronin shrugged, always uncomfortable with compliments. They entered the castle, relieved to see that it hadn’t changed much since he had left. It still looked like home, and felt instantly at ease simply being there.

“Ronin, ye must be tired after yer long journey. Lachlan will lead you to your room. Rest,” his mother said affectionately. He was tired indeed but not in the mood to sleep. He just wanted to rest for a while before venturing out to explore the land he called home. It had to have changed in the last eight years, and Ronin wished to see it all with fresh eyes.

“Yer right. I will take my leave,” Ronin replied, walking towards his bedchamber, Lachlan close behind.

“Where do ye think you’re going?” Lachlan asked, stopping his friend.

“To my bedroom?” Ronin responded, his tone doubtful. He suddenly felt strange in his own castle, but he supposed that is what happens when someone returns after a long absence.

“Yer bedchamber, my future laird, is no longer there. Yer mama thought her son ought to have a bigger one.”

“Why?”

“Because ye have just returned from France, the land of the rich,” Lachlan replied, his tone tinged with humor.

“The land of the rich you say? I lived in a dormitory and had to share a bedchamber with another lad. I am not used to riches,” Ronin admitted candidly.

“Ye’ll get used to it, ye’ll see.”

“Never.”

Lachlan turned around and led Ronin to the opposite side of the castle. As they walked, he became aware of the subtle changes around him and realized how much time had passed. They ascended the stairs, and the final door on the floor led into his new quarters. When the two young men entered, Ronin smiled as he noticed that all of his childhood possessions were still kept there. It was as if he’d never left. He took a deep breath in the familiar surroundings and went straight to the large bed in the center of the room.

“What do ye think ye are doing?” Lachlan asked as he saw Ronin walk towards the bed.

“Resting.”

“France has softened you, Ronin. Who even gets tired from traveling? Get up and change yer clothes. We must celebrate yer return,” Lachlan said, but Ronin made no attempt to rise. He instead closed his eyes and shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed. Lachlan rolled his eyes as he approached the bed and sat down beside his friend.

“How was yer time in France? What did ye even study there?”
“France is a lovely country, my friend. We studied many things, but the one thing I will miss the most is poetry,” Ronin sighed. He had thoroughly enjoyed studying the love poems — he could lose himself in the art of writing for as long as eternity itself. Lachlan scoffed loudly before raising his head from the bed and turned to face Ronin.

“Poetry meaning poems?”

“Precisely.”

“What kind of poems?”

“Love poems?”

“So ye must ken a lot of love poems?”

“Several,” Ronin replied proudly, overjoyed that his friend was taking an interest. But then, Lachlan’s loud laughter proved him wrong. “Whatever is so amusing?”

“Have they taught ye anything useful?” his friend asked after suppressing his laughter.

“Poems are useful.”

“Maybe in France, old friend, but not in Scotland,” Lachlan replied before standing up and reaching out a hand to Ronin. “Let’s get ye to the pub and show ye what ye’ve been missing all these years.”

He knew Lachlan would never let him have a few hours alone, so he got up and changed as soon as he could before heading out with his friend. He had never been into excessive drinking or dancing, but he knew his friend wanted to celebrate, and he was content to oblige. When they arrived at the pub, he felt he was in for an adventurous night. Oh, how lovely to be back home.
***
“Edna, ye cannae possibly think that we will let ye stay home on yer birthday. That is preposterous,” Jana said, the horror she felt emanated clearly through her tone. Edna rolled her eyes at her friend, knowing these were just tactics to convince her.

“Jana, we go tae the pub almost every week. Is it truly necessary for us tae go today as well? I would rather just sit home and enjoy my birthday with ye all,” Edna replied softly, roaming her eyes around the room to look at her friends. Three pairs of stony eyes met her gaze, and she knew that no one was going to listen to her for even one second.

She had a small group of friends and mostly preferred staying within a select few people. Jana, Laura, and Kathy were her closest ones in the world, and she had no desire to disappoint them. She knew they just wanted her to have fun and enjoy her birthday, and she did not blame them. She would have wanted the same for any of them as well.

“We are still going tae the pub,” Laura said firmly and walked towards Edna; extending a hand. She took hold of her friend’s outstretched fingers and stood up from the bed. She approached the looking glass on one side of her bedchamber and examined her reflection in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her long, black hair, which flowed like silk behind her back and down to her waist. Her features were frail, and her face was innocent. She smiled.

“Ye look beautiful like ye always do, Edna. Stop fussing,” Kathy said as she walked towards the door, smiling. Edna rolled her eyes and followed the girls out of the bedchamber. The house was almost empty, but that was the case most of the time — her mother must be sleeping or gazing out the window, lost in her own world. Having grown accustomed to such a situation, she merely exited the keep with her friends and made their way to the pub, determined to have a good time.

Edna was lost in her own thoughts as she walked ahead of everyone else. She had turned twenty today and couldn’t believe how quickly time was passing. She thought her world had ended for her ten years ago, but she soon discovered that time stops for no one. It just keeps flowing and unfolding without any regard to anything or anyone.

“Edna, walk slowly,” Jana called out from behind her, and she stopped, allowing her friends to catch up. Just as they reached her, the girls linked hands with one another and walked ahead together. A few minutes later, they arrived at the pub who was full of people like always.

She only ever went to the pub with her friends. She enjoyed dancing and drinking, but not excessively or on a weekly basis. She found true happiness in solitude, especially on a day like her birthday. The dimly lit building was alive with the sounds of music, moving feet, and the endless chatter and laughter of the patrons who had already been there for a while. She could feel a headache coming on, but she owed it to her friends to try to enjoy herself.

“Drinks?” Jana yelled above the din, and all three of them raised their hands. They made their way to the bar. Kathy drew the attention of the young man working, and he approached them with a charming smile on his face.

“Tonight is our friend’s birthday. We wish something strong,” Laura said, a flirtatious grin on her lips.

“Who is the birthday girl?” he asked, staring at everyone. Jana directed her finger at Edna, who noticed his gaze lingering on her face for a few seconds longer. He smiled at her, and she raised an eyebrow, signaling that she was not interested. He quickly poured four shots of whisky and four mugs of ale for the girls and set them in front of them.

“Enjoy,” he said before moving on to the next customer.

“Okay, girls. One, two, three, dram!” Jana shouted, and they all grabbed their glasses and downed them in one go. Edna felt the scalding liquid slide down her throat, scorching everything in its path. She could already feel herself losing her inhibitions, and she knew she couldn’t drink any longer. She had no desire to be so drunk that she forgot her own birthday.

“Let’s go dance,” Laura said as she took her hand in hers and led her to the large space in the room where people were dancing to the sounds of bagpipes, accordions, and fiddles. Edna trailed behind her but quickly lost interest. The other dancers were shoving her around, and the heat inside the pub was making the whole thing unpleasant. She knew she needed some fresh air.

“I am going outside for a bit of fresh air,” she whispered in Jana’s ear. Jana nodded, and Edna made her way through the crowd and out into the evening. She sighed in relief as she felt the cold wind on her body; standing near the pub’s back wall and gazing up at the starry night sky. It was stunning.

Her birthday was always a sad occasion for her, and she couldn’t be happy about it no matter how hard she tried. She couldn’t help but think about her father. She remembered how he was always there for her during on that day, making her feel like the most important little girl in the world. She imagined how different things would have been if he hadn’t been taken from her.

Edna took a deep breath in, trying to keep the tears at bay. She knew she couldn’t cry, but she desperately wanted to. Her father was somewhere among the stars, and he was still alive in her heart. He wasn’t far away, but inside her. She smiled despite her sadness, knowing that he loved her no matter where he was. A chill ran through her body, causing her to shiver slightly. She had no idea why until she looked around. Someone was staring at her very closely.

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