Chapter I

Etna sat by the window of her father’s study, the hefty book in her lap long forgotten. She was staring at her father, who was looking at her with such a pleased smile that it only served to infuriate her even more.

“What makes ye think that I wish to tutor Laird MacAlistair’s daughter?” she asked him as she stood and crossed her arms over her chest defensively. Her father hadn’t even asked her. He had simply announced that he had accepted the offer on her behalf.

“All yer life ye wished to be a tutor,” her father, Dougal, reminded her. “Ye were but ten years of age, and ye always said ‘Dadaidh, I wish to be a tutor like ye when I grow up.’ Weel, ye’re all grown up noo, and Laird MacAlistair asked specifically for ye.”

That was another thing that Etna didn’t understand. “Why would the Laird ask for me?”

“Because he kens ye’re me daughter,” her father said. “And he kens that ye’ll teach his daughter weel, like I taught him weel when he was but a bairn. He wants someone he can trust, and he trusts us. Ye should be honored that he asked for ye.”

Honored. What is honor compared to fear?

Etna had heard everything there was to hear about Laird MacAlistair. It was hard to live under his rule and not know that he was an unpleasant man at best, a cruel man at worst. There were rumors about him that Etna couldn’t simply ignore, tales of his brutality that made her skin crawl. Everyone called him Beast because of his viciousness and his allegedly disfigured face that made mirrors break and children run to their mothers.

That’s what happens to evil men, Etna had heard one of the old women in the village say. Their evil shows on their face.

Of course, Etna didn’t believe in that. She knew enough about the world, had read enough books, and studied enough subjects to know that it was nothing but old wives’ tales. That was one of the reasons why she hated being in that village so much. Everyone was close-minded and wouldn’t even consider the possibility that the Laird had simply had an accident or had been wounded in some other way. They had a superstition for everything, and when Etna tried to tell them that they were wrong, she feared that they would hang her as a witch.

“Ye’ve wanted to leave this village ever since we came here,” her father reminded her. “Noo is yer chance.”

“Faither, I wished to go back to Edinburgh,” Etna reminded him. “Na the Laird’s castle. I want to go back home. I want to go back to the city.”

“Ye ken that we canna do that.”

Etna fell back down onto the chair with a sigh. Every time the two of them had that conversation, her father always told her the same thing: they couldn’t return to Edinburgh. Etna had tried to reason with him, telling him that she could work now, too, and that they would have two incomes to support themselves, but Dougal wouldn’t hear any of it. She was certain that it was more than their lack of money. She was certain that he had grown to like the quiet life of the village, but she couldn’t enjoy a single minute of it. Ever since they had left Edinburgh after her mother’s death, looking for a cheaper place to live, Etna had been dreaming about the moment that she would go back.

“Ye ken that bein’ a tutor for the Laird’s bairn is the best option ye have,” her father said as he walked up to her from behind his desk, perching himself on the windowsill next to her. “Ye always wanted to do this, Etna. Dinna let some rumors stop ye.”

“But everyone always says that the Laird is a terrible man,” Etna pointed out, looking at her father with wide, pleading eyes. “How can ye send me there when ye ken that?”

“Dinna listen to what everyone says,” Dougal told her, shaking his head. “I didna expect ye to believe what ye hear about the Laird. Ye ken how the people in these parts can be. Weel, I was his tutor when he was younger, and I ken that he’s a good man. I wouldna send ye to that castle if I thought that ye’d be in any sort of danger, Etna. I am askin’ ye to forget everythin’ that ye’ve heard about him until ye meet him yerself. Ye can make yer own judgment.”

“And ff me own judgment is the same as everyone else’s?” Etna asked.

With a sigh, Dougal patted her shoulder with a gentle hand. “Then ye’ll leave the castle and return here. I willna force ye to do anythin’ that ye dinna wish to do. I’m only askin’ ye to give the Laird a chance.”

The assurance that she could always return to her father put Etna at ease. It was good to know that if the Laird turned out to be a horrible man, she could always leave the castle, that she would always have a place with Dougal.

I should be grateful, really. I should be thankin’ him.

Her father had always been the most important person in her life, and he had always been so understanding, so accepting of everything that she wanted to do. He had taught her everything that she knew, and not once had he pressured her to marry. Some of her friends—bright, promising young women—had been lost to marriage, and she had no intention of heading down the same path.

And now, all that he was asking of her was to follow her dream to become a tutor, to guide a young life and teach it everything that she knew. She had the chance to do what she had always wanted to do, and she had almost turned it down because of some rumors.

“Alright,” she said, a small smile spreading over her lips. “I suppose that I can go to the castle and see how it is to live there. But I’m warnin’ ye, Faither . . . if I dinna like bein’ there, I will leave.”

“I have no doubts about that,” her father said, giving her a smile of his own as he stood, heading back to his chair.

Etna watched him for a few moments. Though his brown hair had started to grey at the temples, his eyes were as bright as ever, the same green as her own. At fifty-five, he was still young and sprightly—though a little pudgy from avoiding manual work—but he had never been alone before in his life. Etna had always been there for him, and he had always been there for her. The two of them had been taking care of each other ever since her mother had passed, leaving them all alone.

Will he be alright on his own here? What if he needs me help? Me company? How am I to leave him all alone?

It was an excuse, Etna knew, but she didn’t want to admit it. Unlike her, her father was quick to make a friend out of everyone he met, and he was anything but alone in the village. It was rare that it was just the two of them in the house, as people were coming in and out throughout the day, her father’s guests, all of them seeking his company.

The truth was that she was lonelier than he was. She wasn’t particularly shy, and she had had plenty of friends in Edinburgh, but the feelings of hopelessness had isolated her from those around her when she had moved to Beninroch, a remote little village three days’ ride from Inverness. Now, she thought it was too late to make a good impression on her neighbors.

Perhaps a fresh start is precisely what I need. Goin’ to the castle where no one kens who I am, where I may make some friends.

And after all, she could always visit her father. The castle wasn’t that far from the village, and she would make it clear that as long as she tutored the Laird’s daughter as agreed, she would be allowed to do as she wished.

“When am I required to be there?” Etna asked her father. Now that the decision had been made, she would have to get everything in order before she could leave. Although what exactly there was for her to do in that house, in that village, she didn’t know. She simply didn’t want to leave before ensuring that her father would be fine.

“As soon as possible,” Dougal told her. “Ye can leave the morrow if ye so wish.”

“The morrow?” Etna exclaimed. “It’s much too soon, Faither. What about ye?”

“What about me?”

“Weel . . . we dinna have much wood left in the house, and what about meat and—”

Dougal stopped her by raising a finger, shushing her. “Etna, I am perfectly capable of getting me own wood and meat, lass. Ye dinna have to worry about me. Ye’ve worried about me for too long. It’s time that ye leave this place.”

Etna didn’t bother telling her father that as much as she wanted to leave the village, she didn’t particularly want to go to the MacAlistair clan castle. There was only one place where she wanted to go, and that was Edinburgh, as she knew that no matter where she went, as long as she was in the countryside, the people surrounding her would be close-minded. She had had enough of people who thought that she couldn’t teach because she was a woman and that the only thing she was good for was marriage. But the two of them had had many arguments about it, and she never did manage to reason with him. She was wasting her breath, repeating it to him, and so she remained silent.

But perhaps if I do weel with the Laird’s daughter, he will give me the means to go to Edinburgh. Perhaps, I could negotiate with him.

That thought grew in Etna’s mind within moments, and suddenly, she had a plan. She would go to the castle, would do her best to teach the Laird’s daughter, and, once she saved up enough money, she would finally go back home, to her real home, to Edinburgh. And by then, she thought, she would surely have the credentials to teach many other children, and she could bring her father with her. He wouldn’t have to worry about his finances anymore.

“What are ye smilin’ about?” her father asked her, pulling her out of her thoughts. When Etna looked at him, she noticed that he was smiling, too, as though her own smile was contagious.

“Nothin’,” she lied. She decided that her father didn’t need to know about her plans, in case he loved the village as much as she suspected, and tried to put an end to them. “I’m only thinkin’ about the travel to the castle.”

From the look that Dougal gave her, Etna thought that he didn’t believe her, but thankfully he didn’t push her for a more truthful answer. Instead, he went back to his papers, and Etna went back to her book, feeling happier than she remembered being in a while.

It wasn’t only happiness, though, she noticed. It was hope too.

That night, she could hardly sleep, spending the hours staring at the ceiling and waiting for daylight to come. The prospect of returning to her beloved home had left her too excited to sleep, and all she could do was count the minutes until she could grab her horse and head to the castle.

***

At the first light of the morning, Etna stood from her bed, throwing the belongings that she needed in two bags. Before doing anything else, she headed to the study, knowing that her father would already be there.

She found him behind his desk, hunched over it. In front of him, he had her favorite book, the one that he read to her every night when she was young, and he didn’t seem to notice her as she entered. Etna watched him in silence, a flood of emotions overtaking her.

She would miss her father terribly, and she knew that the same would be true for him. If he asked her to stay, Etna would, but she knew that he would never do that. He wanted her to find her own place in the world, he had told her once. He wanted her to live her own life, and that meant that she would eventually have to leave him behind, at least for a while.

When Dougal noticed her, it startled both of them. Etna didn’t know how long she had been standing there, by the door, watching him, but she had forgotten that she was there.

“What are ye doin’, lass?” her father asked, his hand clutching his chest in his fright. “Ye almost scared me to death.”

“I didna want to bother ye,” she told him with a small shrug.

“Ye’re never a bother, Etna,” he said, and his voice was quiet, as though even the smallest sound could shatter the moment between them. “Are ye ready, then?”

Etna nodded, the words sticking to her throat, refusing to come out. Dougal approached her with a small smile, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Ye ken that na matter where ye are, ye’ll always have me,” he said. “And it willna be long until I see ye again. Once ye’re settled, I’ll come to visit ye.”

“Promise?” It was all Etna could say, and even that one simple word sounded broken.

“I promise. Dinna fash yerself. The castle isna that far! I can visit ye, and ye can visit me.”

That promise lifted Etna’s spirits enough to bring a smile to her lips. As painful as it was to leave, she held onto that hope that she would see him again soon.

With that, her father let his hand fall off her shoulder, his gaze coming to rest on the two bags in her hands. He took both from her and began to walk to the door, nodding his head as an invitation for Etna to follow.

She could hardly believe that the time had come for her to leave. She let her father strap the saddle onto her horse and then the bags onto the saddle, the entire time searching for the right words to say, only to find that there were none. She didn’t know how to say goodbye. They had never been apart, and the time had come too soon.

I wish he could come with me. I’ll need him more than ever when I am in that castle.

Etna averted her gaze when her father approached her, wrapping his arms around her. She clung to him, but she didn’t dare look at him, knowing that the moment their eyes would meet, she wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears.

“I’ll miss ye, Faither,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, even as her hands shook. “I’ll write to ye often, I promise.”

“I’ll miss ye, too,” her father said, and he sounded more emotional than Etna had ever heard him before. Once he let her go, she noticed that he, too, averted his gaze, and she wondered if it was something that she had inherited from him, that refusal to cry in front of others. “Weel . . . it’s time to go noo. Ye dinna want to be out all alone when it’s dark.”

Etna nodded in agreement, but her legs were lead and wouldn’t move. Her father must have noticed as he gave her a small, sad smile and made his way out of the stables. Etna saw him head back to the house, and only then could she bring herself to mount her horse.

As she rode toward the edge of their property, she turned her head and looked back at the house. Her father stood in front of the door, waving at her.

She whispered a promise in the wind to see him again soon.

Chapter II

“I just dinna understand how this always happens if there is na a traitor among us,” Finley said, slamming his fist onto his desk. “Every time we go after the brigands, they manage to escape. Every single time, Lochlan. We’ve never caught even one of them.”

Lochlan, his brother, stood with his back to Finley, staring out of the study window. Finley was the Laird of the MacAlistair clan, but he didn’t feel safe even in his own castle. His study was the only place left where the two could talk without Finley worrying that they would be heard by a traitor.

“I dinna ken what to tell ye,” Lochlan said with a heavy sigh. “I agree with ye, I do, but what are we to do? We’ve tried everythin’. I canna go to the men and accuse them of bein’ traitors!”

Lochlan was right, of course. Finley had refrained from making any accusations. Even though he wasn’t as close to the men as he used to be some years prior, he couldn’t imagine that any of them would betray him. He knew all those men ever since they were all children. It made no sense to him that one of them was a traitor, but it was the only logical conclusion he could reach.

“The clan is fallin’ apart in front of me own two eyes, and there isna a thing that I can do to stop it,” Finley said, his hand coming up to curl around a cup of wine that he had finished too soon. He tipped the carafe over it and found that empty, too, which only served to infuriate him even further. “I am their Laird, and I can do nothin’ but sit back and watch as those brigands destroy our lands.”

The look that Lochlan gave him was not one of pity, as Finley had been expecting, but rather one that spoke of how unimpressed he was. Despite his anger, Finley didn’t say anything. Even without speaking, he knew what Lochlan was thinking, and he knew that he had a point.

Ever since Anna, his dear wife, had passed, he had withdrawn from everything and everyone. The clansmen had no trust in him anymore. The village people in his land had no trust in him either, and he had heard of their unsavory nickname for him: Beast.

That was how they thought of him, and, perhaps, that was precisely what he was. The burden of the past he was carrying made him less and less human every day, chipping away at his soul.

“What do ye want me to do?” Lochlan asked. “Anythin’ ye want, I’ll do it. But we must come up with a plan before we accuse any of the men of bein’ a traitor to the clan.”

“Aye, I ken,” Finley assured him. “And I dinna have a good guess as to whom it could be. Yer guess is as good as mine. I can hardly believe that any of our men would do such a thing.”

Lochlan gave him a slow, understanding nod as he walked back to his chair, falling onto it with a sigh. “The most important thing right noo is to protect the villages. The brigands have been stealin’ from our people and killin’ our men for too long. They’ve tried to defend themselves, but there’s na much they can do. They’re na trained. They have na weapons. They are na match for the brigands.”

“We canna send men to every village,” Finley pointed out. “Perhaps we can spare a few and send them to the biggest ones, but there is na a thing we can do for the smaller ones unless we can finally fight them. But how will we fight them if they always run to the mountains?”

“We’ll find a way,” Lochlan assured him, but Finley could tell that he wasn’t as certain as he wanted to sound. “But Finley . . . ye must speak to the people. Ye’ve spent too long away from them. I’m surprised they even remember that ye’re their Laird.”

Finley shook his head. Lochlan already knew that he couldn’t do such a thing, and he also knew why. He couldn’t bear to be out there. He couldn’t bear to speak to anyone. Even though it had been five years since his wife’s death, it still haunted him, and he had not felt joy since. The mere thought of talking to his people, of touring the land and trying to get everyone to like him again, was exhausting. He would much rather stay in the castle and leave everything that had to do with people on Lochlan. After all, his brother had always been the social one, the one that constantly attracted people.

“Ye willna do it.” It wasn’t a question as much as a statement, and Finley looked up to see Lochlan shaking his head at him in disappointment.

“I canna.”

“Ye willna,” Lochlan insisted. “Weel . . . at least come with us on the hunt.”

Finley frowned at that. “The hunt?” he asked. It was the first time that he was hearing of it. “What hunt, Lochlan?”

“Weel, me and a few of the lads are goin’ huntin’,” Lochlan said with a small shrug.

“Noo?” Finley asked. “Do ye really think it’s a good time to be huntin’? I’d rather hunt the brigands than boars.”

“Weel, ye canna hunt the brigands until they show their faces again,” Lochlan pointed out. “And it’s good for the men. It keeps them in shape. It’ll do ye plenty of good, too, ye’ll see. Ye’ll get some fresh air.”

“I can walk around the castle grounds to get fresh air, thank ye,” Finley said, but the mischievous smile on Lochlan’s lips told him that he wouldn’t simply let it go. Finley knew his brother well; when he got an idea in his head, it was impossible to get it out. “Must I?”

“Na, but I think that ye should,” Lochlan said. “Ye’re the Laird . . . I canna force ye to do anythin’ ye dinna want.”

“But?”

“But ye’re also me brother, and I can annoy ye into comin’ with us.”

Finley knew that to be true. Reluctantly, he nodded his head, thinking that it would be easier to simply do as Lochlan wanted instead of fighting him over something so silly. Besides, perhaps it would be good for him in the end, he thought. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had left the castle, and he certainly couldn’t remember the last time that he had spoken to any of his men about anything other than clan business. Ye have to bond with them, Lochlan always said. Ye have to show them that ye care.

The truth was that Finley did care. He cared about his clan, about his people, and there had been a time when everyone had known that. There had been a time when no one called him Beast, when his people loved him, and the brigands feared him. There had been a time when he could look his clansmen in the eye. But that time was long gone, and now all was left was that guilt that was eating him up alive.

“Excellent,” Lochlan said as he stood once more, this time heading for the door. “We’ll be leavin’ the morrow at first light, so make sure that ye get some rest tonight.”

With that, Lochlan was gone, shutting the door behind him, and leaving Finley alone with his thoughts once more.

As much as he couldn’t stand being around people, he also hated being alone. It meant that he had too much time to think, too much time to consider what could have been different if his wife was still alive, what he had lost. In all those five years, he had barely even managed to talk to his daughter, and it was only getting worse. He couldn’t remember when he had last spoken to her. He had just left her in his grandmother’s hands, letting her raise her as she saw fit.

I’m a failure. I canna even do that right.

At least his grandmother would raise Malina well, that much he knew for certain. She was the closest thing that the girl could have to a mother figure, after all, and Finley knew that she was better off with her than with him. He was in no condition to care for a child.

Finley drained the rest of the wine that Lochlan had left behind before retiring to his chambers. The room always seemed so big to him without Anna in it, and it was no different now. He was used to being all alone, though, and he preferred it that way. Most of his nights were sleepless, and the moment that his head hit the pillow, he knew that he wouldn’t be resting much.

***

The morning came later than he would have liked, and by the time the first light broke in the horizon, Finley had slept very little after tossing and turning all night, like most nights. Still, he stood and dressed before heading outside to find Lochlan and the rest of the men who would join them on their hunt.

He wasn’t surprised to find that none of them was there yet. Perhaps they were having breakfast, he thought, or perhaps they were still getting ready, but Finley didn’t want to go back inside. At that time of the morning, the courtyard was still mostly empty, save for the few servants who were going about their day, having woken up before dawn. They didn’t dare look at Finley, anyway, let alone talk to him. They all knew to not disturb him and always kept a good distance from him.

No one wanted to face his wrath.

Finley had to admit that he was short-tempered, but not as much as those around him wanted to think. How could they have forgotten what he was like before Anna’s death, he wondered? How could they all think that he was a monster now? He was not the same man, but he wasn’t cruel.

“He came!” Lochlan exclaimed, his voice carrying across the courtyard. Finley turned his head to look at him and saw that there were six of their men with him, all of them ready for the day’s adventure.

“I did,” Finley said, as the men bowed in a chorus of “Me Laird’s”, rushing to greet him. They respected him, but it was a respect that stemmed from fear and knowing that left a bitter taste in Finley’s mouth. “Ye did threaten to annoy me, and I ken that ye can, so I decided that this would be less painful.”

“Only if ye dinna get run down by a boar, brother!”

Lochlan began to run to the stables, cheerful as always. Though he had the same blonde hair as Finley, he was shorter, and he had inherited their mother’s honey-brown eyes. He had also inherited her charm and her joyful disposition, it seemed.

Finley envied him for that. No matter what, Lochlan always managed to see the bright side, not letting every bad thing that had happened to him weigh him down. Then again, his woes were nothing compared to Finley’s own. He had never lost a wife. He had never had to carry a past that dragged him down daily. He didn’t have a daughter that he couldn’t face or people who hated him. He was loved by everyone, and though Finley sometimes envied him, he couldn’t help but adore him, too.

Finley listened to his men as they chatted while they walked to the horses. Once they were on their way, he fell in step next to Lochlan, who was already loud and lively, shouting with a cheer that seemed inexhaustible.

It had been a long time since Finley had banned his clansmen and women singing and laughing in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to be constantly reminded about everyone else’s happiness when he was so unhappy. And yet, Lochlan always found a way to let everyone know just how jolly he was, much to Finley’s chagrin.

“Me Laird!” Lochlan yelled, startling Finley. “Would ye care for the finest wine that our clan has to offer?”

Finley rolled his eyes at his brother, but he took the flask that he had offered to him. It never did any good to refuse a good wine, or bad wine, for that matter. Taking a swig, Finley passed the flask back to him, wincing at the burn in his throat.

“That’s na wine,” he told Lochlan.

With a frown, Lochlan looked at the flask. “Na?” he asked. “Ach, it might be whiskey. Weel, it’s better than water, that’s for certain!”

Finley gave his brother an unimpressed look. Lochlan was one of the two people—the other being their grandmother—who wasn’t afraid of him, and so his look didn’t have much of an effect on him, but it was enough to stop the conversations among the other men. They all fell silent, and Finley soon found that he preferred it that way.

His men knew better than to look at him, but in the sudden silence, Finley felt exposed. There was nothing to distract them anymore, and so he pulled his hood over his head, eager to hide. The scar that he had gotten on his face the day that Anna died wasn’t something that he wanted people to see, not even the people closest to him.

He didn’t even want to look at himself in the mirror anymore. The scar was a constant reminder of what Anna had done.

“This is a good spot,” Finley heard Lochlan say, and they all stopped, dismounting their horses, and tying the reins around the nearby trees. It wasn’t much later when they spotted a boar in the distance, and Finley immediately rushed toward it, disregarding the warnings that everyone yelled after him. He knew that hunting boars was a dangerous sport, but he had done it many times before.

And a part of him simply didn’t care.

Running after the animal gave him a rush that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt alive again, his mind ridding itself of every other thought. All that mattered at that moment was that boar and his own survival. His baser instincts took over, providing momentary relief from the endless noise that were his thoughts and worries.

He couldn’t hear any of his men behind him. He didn’t know if they were there, if they had followed him or if they had lost him in the woods as they ran. All he knew was that nothing would stand between him and that boar.

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Chapter I

“Cursed,” he whispered.

“Aye. Bedeviled for sure,” the other man whispered in reply.

Stifling her emotions, Olivia walked along the corridor with the hood of her cloak pulled low around her, trying to hide in the darkness. She felt the eyes of the guardsmen on her as she walked by them. They didn’t even bother trying to hide their contempt. Some seemed to have become emboldened, more willing to speak out, and openly sneered at her after the death of her parents.

She turned a corner and felt her heart lurch as she pulled up short. Three of the household’s chambermaids stood clustered together—two of them she didn’t know. But they stood, heads bowed together, whispering to one another. They stopped and turned when they saw Olivia. She swallowed hard, knowing the only way to the gardens was to walk past them. As Olivia passed by, they bowed their heads and fell silent, allowing their gazes to fall to the ground, as was proper.

She said not a word as she passed, but when she turned the corner, she stopped and pressed her back against the wall, taking a deep breath as she tried to calm her racing heart. Then, just before she was about to continue on her way, she heard their whispered voices.

“See? Didn’t I tell you? Did you see the mark?” said the one chambermaid she knew—Catherine. “She’s a monster, just like I said.”

“It is certainly unsightly, to be sure,” replied one of the others. “But I don’t think that makes her a monster.”

“Of course it does,” Catherine pressed. “No man is ever goin’ to want to be with her. Not with that kind of a mark on her.”

“You never know. There could be a man out there who can see past that,” replied the other girl. “She could find a man who loves her for who she is.”

Catherine and the girl with the Irish brogue laughed together like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. It made Olivia’s heart feel tight and difficult to breathe. The pain that shot through her was so deep, it made her knees feel weak. It was an effort for Olivia to remain standing.

“No man is going to want her,” Catherine said. “Not only is that mark unsightly, but it’s proof that she’s cursed.”

Tears welled in Olivia’s eyes. She knew she should walk away and stop listening to the three women gossiping, but she couldn’t make herself move. She’d heard their cruel words many times before. She’d hoped that in time, she’d develop a thicker skin, and she wouldn’t let them cut her so deeply.

But no matter how much time passed and how many times she heard those words, they never failed to hit her hard – every single time. The pain they caused her had never diminished in all the years she’d heard them.

“Aye. ‘tis true. She’s goin’ tae live a life filled with thae worst luck imaginable,” agreed the Irishwoman. “Look at what happened tae her parents. ‘tis because of her. She’s cursed.”

“It’s true,” Catherine said. “And do you believe any noble lord is going to want to take that sort of cursed, unsightly woman into his household?”

The pressure building inside of Olivia finally boiled over, and her body reacted without meaning to. With tears streaming down her face, hot with shame and humiliation, Olivia stepped back out into the corridor and glared at the three women malevolently.

“Unless you three wish for something terrible to befall you, I’d suggest you stop with your gossipmongering, keep a civil tongue and go about your work,” Olivia said, surprised by how cold her voice was. “Now. Go. Before I lose my temper and something unfortunate happens to all three of you.”

The three women looked at her with the same stricken expression, their faces blanching. Olivia knew she should not be berating them in that way. She was no longer the Duke’s daughter, and this was no longer her household. But the hurt and anger inside of her were so great, she could not contain herself. Giving them a final withering glare that sent them scampering, Olivia was left alone in the corridor. And as the tears continued to flow, she turned and fled, running for the secret passage that would take her out to the gardens.

The garden was the only place in the world where she felt comfortable. Where she could simply be herself. Now that her Uncle had moved into the family castle, it no longer felt like home. Yet, the garden was the only place that remained untouched and where she could still feel her parents. Sitting in the garden her father had created for her mother made her feel close to them. It was the only place in the world where she felt happy.

It allowed her to forget the morbidly curious looks and whispered insults that were a staple of her life. It allowed her to shut out conversations like the one she’d just overheard. She could never escape them. Wherever she went, people would stare at her. Or rather, stare at her disfigurement. It was why people whispered behind their hands about her being cursed and bedeviled. That was why they blamed her for the death of her parents.

And it was why, having seen twenty-four summers already, that she had no suitors – and likely would never have. No man in his right mind would ask for her hand. Not even with her handsome dowry. As a little girl, Olivia had been too naïve to realize how terribly her mark would handicap her life. She believed she would marry a handsome prince and live a life filled with love and joy. But, time had taught her that was not her lot in life. Now she knew that love and happiness were not in the cards.

A lone tear spilled from the corner of her eye, and Olivia wiped it away angrily. She crawled to the edge of the small pond on her hands and knees. Pulling back her hood, she leaned over the edge, peering at her reflection on the surface of the water. Her hair, black as a raven’s wing, framed a pale face, and her hazel-colored eyes glimmered like gold in the sunlight. She raised her hand and touched her left cheek. It was smooth and unblemished.

But then she turned her head to gaze at her right cheek, at her disfigurement. Olivia trailed the tips of her fingers across the wine-colored mark that marred her right cheek. The blemish ran from the corner of her mouth to her eye and from nose to ear. It took up most of the right side of her face and was why she kept her face hidden beneath a hood and stayed away from people. She hated that the mark was the only thing people stared at. As a consequence, when she looked at herself, it was the only thing she could see.

* * * * *

They sat in the smaller, more intimate dining room known as the Primrose Room, eating supper. It was the dining room she and her parents had dined in while they were alive – when they weren’t hosting formal dinners in the great hall. Olivia had many fond memories of having supper with them. Memories of times filled with love and laughter.

But now, the Primrose, like everything else, belonged to her uncle. Thomas sat at the head of the polished oak table with his wife, Matilda, on his left. Olivia sat on his right, quietly sipping her soup. The only sounds in the room were the gentle clink of their spoons and the loud ticking of the clock. The mood was somewhat dour, as it usually was with her uncle. He was a grave man who was not prone to laughter, as her own parents had been. Particularly her mother. Olivia’s mother had loved to laugh.

Thomas set his spoon down gently, wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, and then looked at Olivia. She had to suppress the shudder that swept through her when his gaze fell on her. Thomas had always been kind to her. He seemed to go out of his way to be good to her. He was a tall, lean, and severe-looking man with dark hair and dark, intense eyes. He was a general of some renown in the Crown’s army and could be very cold and aloof.  She figured it was his military nature that made him so. Olivia didn’t think he intended to be, but his very presence was sometimes intimidating.

“Olivia,” he said, his tone serious. “I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

Olivia set her spoon down and wiped her mouth. “Yes, Uncle?”

“I know things for you here have been… difficult,” he started. “And not just with the passing of your parents. I hear things. I see how people here treat you because of your… mark.”

Olivia looked down, feeling the familiar wave of shame her mark always inspired. Her cheeks flushed, and she knew her face was turning red. Her uncle didn’t say it to be mean, and he certainly wasn’t mocking her. It was just a statement of fact. And to be fair, he never treated her badly about her disfigurement. If she had to choose a word to describe him, it would probably be sympathetic. She knew her uncle cared for her, and he treated her as well as he knew how. And she appreciated him for that.

“I hope you know that I don’t care about your mark, Olivia. To me, you’re my beautiful and ferociously intelligent niece. And you always will be,” he said. “But with your parents gone, things have changed.”

“Thank you, Uncle. And I am grateful that you have been so kind to me,” she replied. “And I understand that things have changed.”

“I do not like seeing you upset. I do not like seeing you wasting away,” he added, his tone dripping with compassion. “I hate seeing you unhappy, Olivia. I remember when you used to smile, and believe me, it was a thing of beauty. Your smile could light up any room.”

A small smile touched her lips at his words.

“I haven’t seen that smile in a very long time, and I miss it,” he added.

“To be true, I miss being happy, Uncle.”

His eyes lingered on her for another moment before his gaze shifted down to the table. The faint smile that had been on his face a moment before faltered and then faded away altogether. But he cleared his throat and looked up at her, his expression firm.

“It pains me to say that I do not think you’ll find your happiness here in England,” he said softly. “I have tried to find you a suitable match but have not had good fortune in that regard. I’m sorry that I’ve failed you.”

It was Olivia’s turn to give him a sympathetic smile. “You did not fail me, Uncle. It is not your fault that nobody wants to marry a monster.”

“You are hardly a monster, Olivia. Please get that thought out of your head this instant,’ he said. “It is not your fault that some men are such shallow, vain creatures.”

His words lightened her heart a little, but it didn’t change the fact that men tended to view her as an unsightly beast. It did little to help her confidence or sense of self-worth. It was a constant poison that was eating away at her soul, and Olivia knew that one day there would be little left.

“In light of that, I’ve made arrangements for you to live with your mother’s best friend and her husband—the Lady and Laird Drummond,” he said. “I’m sending you to live in Scotland, where we will hopefully be able to secure you a match befitting a woman of your station.”

Olivia’s heart dropped to her stomach, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. She looked at her uncle, waiting for him to laugh or say something to break the tension of the moment. But he remained silent.

“Sc—Scotland?” she gasped. “You’re sending me away, Uncle?”

“Only because I want you to be happy, Olivia. I think perhaps a fresh start somewhere new will be good for you,” he said. “I also think you will benefit greatly from being away from the whisperers and the gossipmongers here. A new environment will allow you to grow and flourish. I believe you can become the woman you were meant to be if you are away from the things here that keep you… trapped.”

Olivia cocked her head. “Trapped, Uncle?”

“Yes,” he said with a touch of sadness in his voice. “Trapped in your past. And also trapped inside yourself.”

Confusion swept through her. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “There are people here who are cruel. They make you withdraw and hide within yourself. It breaks my heart to see it, Niece. But I don’t know how to help,” he said. “My hope is that by sending you to Scotland, by giving you a fresh start, you’ll learn how to come out of that shell.”

She sat back in her seat and pondered his words. She knew there was wisdom in them but could not see how to apply it to herself. People were going to be the same whether they were in England or Scotland. And nobody was going to ever see past her mark. Olivia didn’t know how living in the north would change anything. It seemed as though her uncle was shipping her away so that she wasn’t his problem. It was a cynical point of view, but her life didn’t exactly equip her to see the world any other way.

She gave her uncle a weak smile. “If that’s what you think is best, Uncle.”

He reached over and took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She looked up at him and found a soft smile upon his lips.

“I want you to have the life you deserve, Olivia. I want you to be happy,” he said. “And I want you to stop letting your mark define you. You are far more than your mark. I hope that given a fresh start in a new place, you will understand that. I also hope you can find yourself in Scotland.”

Happy. Olivia frowned. Happiness was something she would never attain.  Not in this lifetime.

Chapter II

Blaine slid out of his saddle and hit the ground, nearly toppling over. His legs wavered and felt like they were going to give way. But he managed to keep on his feet, if only just. The young stableboy approached, giving him an awkward bow. Blaine gave him a crooked smile and threw the reins to him.

“See to me horse, boy,” Blaine said. “We’ve had a long ride back from Edinburgh, and he needs food and water. And a good brushing.”

“Yes, me Laird.”

“I’m nae thae Laird, ye bleedin’ fool. That’d be me faither,” Blaine snapped. “I’m just a pawn in his grand game. No more important than ye, actually.”

Blaine drained the last of the bottle of spirits in his hand and threw it at the stable wall. It shattered with a loud crash, spraying tiny shards of glass everywhere. The stableboy looked at him with wide eyes, and Blaine snarled at him.

“Go see tae me horse, boy,” he roared. “Are ye bleedin’ simple?”

“Nay, me—sir,” he stammered.

The boy sketched an awkward bow, then turned and scurried off, leading Blaine’s horse into the stable. Blaine giggled to himself, still feeling a little lightheaded from the bottle of spirits. Trying to sober up, he turned and breathed deeply, inhaling the familiar odors that filled the castle bailey. He looked over to the stables that ran along the eastern wall. A smithy’s forge was also on that side of the bailey. Along the western wall was a row of stalls, mostly selling roasted meats and other assorted vendors. On the southern wall behind the castle were barracks for his father’s soldiers. The main gates were set into the northern wall.

Blaine walked around the bailey, looking at the changes his time away at university in Edinburgh had wrought. He had been gone but a few years, but the time had brought many changes to the family castle. Somewhat depressingly, though, he noticed many things had remained exactly the same.

“So, thae rumors are true. Ye’re back.”

Blaine turned around to find Agan, one of his father’s men-at-arms, leaning against his pike. Agan was a tall man, broad through the shoulders and chest. He had light brown hair and dark brown eyes. He bore a jagged scar that ran along the left side of his jaw, curling upward in a fishhook that ended just below his eye. The beard on his face was thick—save for that line of pale, puckered flesh.

Agan had been Blaine’s friend since they were boys, and there was nobody in the world he trusted more. Blaine had always believed they were closer than brothers—a sentiment Blaine was certain Agan shared.

“Aye. They’ve called me back early,” Blaine said. “They told me there was a severe lack of good looks around here, and they wanted me to come home to fix it.”

Agan laughed heartily and stepped forward, pulling Blaine into a tight embrace. They thumped each other on the back then took a step back. The two men took a moment to look each other over and smiled.

“Ye smell like ye just crawled out of a bottle,” Agan told him with a chuckle.

“’twas a long road to get here. Nae much tae dae but have a drink.”

“A drink? Smells like ye had all thae drinks.”

They shared a laugh together. Seeing his old friend was doing Blaine’s heart a world of good. It dulled some of his resentment at being called home from his studies before he’d completed them. He wanted to finish his education at one of the most renowned universities in the world. More than that, he wanted to enjoy the life of a student. To enjoy life in general. Edinburgh was famous for the intellectual ability it harnessed, but to Blaine, it was just as renowned for its drink and its women. And there had been many women.

Just thinking about it aroused him and made him long to be in the arms of the women he’d routinely bedded. He doubted he’d find as many beautiful lasses in Glaslaw Castle willing to give him their intimate embrace. And that thought made him resentful as well. Agan clapped him on the shoulder, drawing him back to the present.

“’tis good to see ye again, lad,” Agan said.

“Aye. ‘tis good to see yer ugly mug as well.”

“I dinnae expect to see ye back for a while yet,” Agan said. “Arenae ye supposed tae be studyin’ in Edinburgh?”

“’twas supposed tae be,” he grumbled. “Me faither sent for me and bid me tae return. He said there was an urgent matter he needed tae discuss with me.”

“Aye? What’s so urgent?”

Blaine shook his head. “I’ve nay idea. Knowin’ me faither thae way I dae, it’ll probably be somethin’ bleedin’ stupid, like which color feather he should wear in his helm.”

Agan chuckled, his voice a deep rumble. “Aye. It would nae surprise me tae find ye’re right about that.”

Blaine reached out and touched the insignia on the tunic sleeve that poked out from beneath Agan’s boiled leather cuirass and smiled.

“Ye seem tae be doin’ well for yerself,” Blaine said. “A sergeant now, eh?”

Agan nodded. “Aye. When he promoted me, yer faither told me he could never have too many smart, intelligent, and devastatingly handsome men in command.”

Blaine laughed and shook his head. “Daenae let that go ta eyer head,” he stated. “He needs tae say somethin’ tae make ye feel good about yerself.”

“Well, I suppose it worked because I feel very good about meself.”

Blaine laughed. “Ye always have, lad.”

“Aye. Mebbe so.”

Blaine was grateful to have run into Agan. Their conversation sobered him and made him more focused than when he’d first slipped off his horse. That could only be a good thing—especially in light of his next destination.

“Well, I suppose I cannae put it off much longer,” he said. “I suppose I need tae get in tae see what me faither wants.”

“Probably goin’ tae ask for yer help polishin’ his sword.”

Blaine laughed long and loud. “Aye,” he said through his laughter. “Ye’re probably right about that.”

“Aye. I should get tae thae gatehouse anyway,” he added. “How about we share a bottle of spirits tonight. Catch up on our lives.”

“I’d like that,” Blaine replied. “But we better make it two bottles. I think I’m goin’ tae need one of me own after dealin’ with me parents.”

“Aye. Two bottles it is then,” Agan replied. “It really is good tae see ya again.”

“Aye. Ye tae.”

Blaine watched as his friend walked across the bailey, heading for the guardhouse on the main gate. That was one thing he liked and admired about Agan—his willingness to roll up his sleeves and do the work he’d have others do. Blaine had seen plenty of men in elevated positions who refused to do the job they’d ordered their men to do.

To Blaine, it showed that Agan didn’t think he was above anyone. It showed his integrity. That he was humble enough to still hold a post, and even though he was of a higher rank, he didn’t think himself better than anybody. Blaine knew that one day, Agan would make a grand commander of his father’s forces.

Finally, turning around, Blaine walked across the bailey and walked into the keep. The servants all bowed and gave a respectful nod as he passed by. There were few faces he recognized, but the fact that they all knew him was somewhat unsettling. His boots thudded heavily on the stone floor of the corridor, and turning a corner, Blaine nearly ran straight into Carson, the household chamberlain.

Carson was a tall, thin man with green eyes, pale skin, and thinning hair that was once dark but was gradually turning silver. Though Carson was most definitely his father’s man, he’d always been fair to Blaine. Even indulgent once in a while.  He looked at Blaine with an expression of annoyance; no doubt upset that he’d almost been knocked over. But when Carson recognized Blaine, his eyes grew wide, and a smile crossed his lips.

“Master Blaine,” he gasped. “I dinnae expect ye here.”

Blaine smiled. “I dinnae expect tae be here either,” he replied with a note of bitterness in his voice. “And yet, here I am all thae same.”

“Aye. Well. ‘tis good tae see ye, Master Blaine,” he said. “Yer faither is in thae grand hall hearin’ petitioners.”

“Right. Thank ye, Carson.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll have thae chambermaids freshen up yer room.”

“Me thanks,” Blaine said.

Blaine turned again and strode through the corridors—taking the long route through the keep, trying to put off seeing his parents for as long as humanely possible.

But after five minutes or so, Blaine knew he couldn’t postpone it anymore. So, he walked the long corridor that led to the pair of heavy oak and steel banded doors of the great hall. A couple of men-at-arms flanked the doors, swords on their hips, pikes in their hands.

“Master Blaine,” said the guard on the left. “Good tae see ye.”

“Aye. Good tae see ye tae, lad.”

The man reached out and opened the door, holding it open for him. Blaine nodded his thanks and walked into the great hall. The heavy door closed behind him with a loud, hollow noise. The great hall was circular and made of thick stone. A beautiful stained-glass window was set into the wall behind the dais holding the Laird and Lady’s chairs. Both seats were occupied.

Sconces held torches that flickered and guttered, spaced at regular intervals along the walls around the chamber. Ornately woven tapestries hung between the torches and a large rug sat at the foot of the dais where his mother and father were seated. It was for the petitioners’ comfort when they knelt before the Laird.

At present, two men were kneeling on the carpet, both of them pleading their cases passionately. His father sat back in the massive and ornately tooled chair, his legs crossed and not even attempting to hide his expression of boredom. Yet, on the other hand, his mother seemed to be paying close attention to every word the two men said.

When the door banged closed, she looked up, and her expression changed. Unlike the mask of cool indifference she wore as she listened to the petitioners – when her eyes fell on Blaine, they widened, with a look of pure joy. But she quickly controlled herself and looked down at the two men.

“We have heard everything you have said and will take it into consideration,” she said, trying to rush them along. “And we will have a decision for you in a couple of days. Now, if you will excuse us….”

The men rose, gave a bow, and walked toward the doors, glowering at each other every step of the way. Blaine stepped closer to the dais as his mother bounded down the stairs and threw herself into his arms, squeezing him tightly. Finally, she stepped back and looked at him, taking his hands in hers.

“Oh, my baby boy. ‘tis so wonderful tae see ye,” she said, beaming.

“Aye. ‘tis good tae see ye tae mother.”

She smiled, but her lips wavered as a strange look crossed her face, and a slight frown curled the corners of her mouth downward.

“Have ye been drinkin’?” she asked.

Blaine gave her a crooked grin. “Mebbe a wee bit.”

“A wee bit?” How much is a wee bit?”

Blaine shrugged. “Let’s nae talk about that right now.”

“Is it a wee bit more than ye had in Edinburgh then?”

Doing his best not to roll his eyes, Blaine looked up at the dais. His father was still reclined and hadn’t made a move to come to greet him. He hadn’t even offered a word of greeting. Not that Blaine was surprised. His relationship with his father was—complicated.

“So why did ye send for me then, eh?” Blaine asked.

“It was time. Ye’ve things tae attend tae here at home,” his father said.

“What kind of things?”

“For starters, ‘tis time for me tae find ye a proper match. Ye need a wife,” his father said. “And I’m goin’ tae find ye one.”

“And if I daenae want tae marry, Faither?” Blaine added, a dark tone to his words

“Don’t be ridiculous. “’tis our way. And ‘tis yer duty tae thae family.”

Blaine sighed but held his tongue. What he couldn’t stop was the frustration building up within him. His father finally leaned forward in his seat, laying his forearms down along his thighs. He looked at Blaine, who felt uncomfortable as his father’s eyes bore into him. It was as if his father could see inside him. See all his secrets. See his soul. His father frowned.

“And now that ye’re home, ye’re goin’ tae be a better man than ye were down in Edinburgh,” he said, then held up his hand to forestall the argument Blaine already had queued up in his mind. “There will be nae drinkin’, and there will be nae whorin’. Thae life ye lived and thae man ye were in Edinburgh will stay in Edinburgh. Am I clear?”

“Faither—”

“I said, am I clear?”

Blaine glanced at his mother, who was frowning as she looked down at the ground. He wondered what was going through her mind. Was she trying to hide the disappointment she felt in learning that he’d behaved less than ideal at university? But the anger was simmering inside of him, and when he turned back to his father, his fury was rising dangerously high.

“Are you following me, Faither? Did you have somebody watching me?”

His father nodded. “Of course I did. I had a vested interest in keeping you safe, so aye. And I’ll nae be apologizin’ for it either.”

“Does me privacy mean nothin’ tae ye?”

His father scoffed. “When ye’re the son of thae Laird, ye daenae have thae luxury of privacy,” he said. “And what I’m askin’ ye is nae too much tae ask. Ye’ve had yer fun. Ye’ve sowed yer oats. Now ‘tis time for ye tae settle down and do yer duty for thae good of thae clan.”

“Ye mean, to dae what’s good for ye, since ye’ll reap the benefits of marryin’ me off tae somebody wealthy, eh?”

His father’s expression darkened. “It’s time for ye tae stand up and be a man. Tis time for ye tae put thae clan first.”

Blaine was angry. He couldn’t believe his father was lecturing him about his duty but that he’d had him watched—it was all infuriating. He glanced at his mother, who quickly took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Ye look tired, dear. I’m sure after such a long ride from Edinburgh, ye want tae clean up and get some rest, eh?”

His mother was giving him an out. The tension was certainly rising in the room, and it appeared that a fight was inevitable. It always upset her when Blaine argued with his father, and she would always do whatever she could to diffuse the tension and protect him.

“Aye. I’m beat,” he said. “I’ll go and clean up and get some rest.”

She nodded, a small smile on her lips. “I’ll have supper sent to your chamber tonight.”

“Thank ye, Maither.”

“Of course, Blaine,” she said. “I’m just happy to have you home.”

Blaine gave her a small smile and a curt nod. He leaned forward, planted a gentle kiss on her cheek, and then walked out of the great hall without acknowledging his father. He wasn’t happy to be home, and he certainly didn’t want to marry whoever his father picked out for him. And as he made his way to his chambers, he silently vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to prevent it from happening.

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