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Introduction

The year is 1301. Scotland is embroiled in a war of independence against the English. It’s been five years since the exile of Toom Tabard, the Scottish king; three since the rebels’ defeat in the Battle of Falkirk under Wallace; nearly one since the resignation of Robert the Bruce, heir to the throne, as Guardian of Scotland. His rival, John Comyn, has just followed in his wake.

King Edward I is painting the Lowlands red with blood, and the magnates are scrambling to keep the country undivided under his thumb. The prospect of civil war grows with each day that passes, casting a long shadow over the country and its people.

The dream of an independent united Scotland lives on in Robert the Bruce, but he cannot act alone. Cooperation among the Highlanders is of the essence. First, they need to agree to peace amongst themselves. A summit in Fifeshire has been called in his name, inviting clans from far and wide to put an end to their quarrels and form new productive alliances.

Many lairds are in attendance, along with their numerous beautiful daughters. Their agendas are even more plentiful, for where one man sees a chance for peace, another sees opportunity, gain, wealth, and power at any cost.

 

Prologue

1301, The Herbride Sea

Sometime before dawn.

By the time Ivy came to consciousness, her wrists were so raw from the ropes that bound her to the mizzenmast she no longer cared about the cold. Her trust in the elements was misplaced and she knew it—the air was biting that night, and people had died of frost for less. Her breath came out in uneven puffs of air, clearer than the smoke rising from the torches dotting the deck of her father’s cog.

At least he had posted a guard to watch over her, as any merchant might do with their chattel. The man with the clinking hauberk had yet to turn around. Ivy watched through wet tendrils of hair as he stalked the stern, stopping only to cast a long look at the horizonless sea between the Isle of Skye and the mainland. Ivy’s gaze drifted to the unreadable stars overhead. There was no telling how long it would be until they reached Glasgow and then Fifeshire where her buyer and new master awaited.

Raucous laughter sounded from the hold, and Ivy flinched, startled. Her head knocked painfully against the mast and she hissed involuntarily, drawing the attention of the guard. The deck creaked beneath him as he turned around, a hand hovering over the hilt of his short sword.

“Has my father forbidden ye from speaking to me?” she rasped, squinting against the darkness. She wriggled forward as far as her bindings would allow, and the exercise roused her fear. “He’ll have words for ye and more if I die afore we reach our journey’s end. I’ll make certain I do die if ye dinnae speak.”

Ivy swore she could hear the guard grind his teeth as he stood frozen. “I have my orders,” he muttered after a while, turning his back to her.

She swallowed hard, and her throat burned. “Orders to kill me or to hold yer tongue? It matters not; ye’ve broken yer vow to him now,” she noted. “I beg of ye, listen to me.”

“What is it ye want?”

“I want—” She cut herself off with an involuntary whimper. She most wanted to go home, but she would settle for being out of the cold and changed into a dry smock and kirtle. “Why cannae I travel below with the rest of ye? I want a meal. I want water. I want to nae be treated like any other prisoner.”

“Ye’ll find freedom aplenty ashore.”

The man took a deep breath and turned to face her. In the torchlight, he revealed himself to be a stranger. Before the fighting, Ivy had known most of her father’s men by name. Now their names were long forgotten, turned into freemen and freemen’s sons who wore the faces of knights. This one was younger than most, no older than four and ten.

“I ken my da’s heart—his good heart—and I ken he didnae ask for me to suffer,” she lied. “Please, untie me and I willnae say a word to any man about it. I only mean to walk a bit, and look, and wait.”

The boy’s face frowned in hesitation, but his eyes were heavy with fright. She knew that expression from the looking glass, and she especially knew what it meant.

Slowly, he shook his head. “I cannae do that, me lady,” he whispered, “but I can ask about a meal for ye,” he added more begrudgingly.

It was something at least. “Do it,” she said softly, trying not to scare him, “and ye will be the kindest man to have ever lived. I kent ye to be of gentle nature.”

Sparing one last look at the sea, the boy turned on his heel and marched toward the bow.

Sagging against the mast, Ivy felt the first tears run down her cheek. Staring straight ahead, she rubbed her wrists together behind the mast, testing the rope’s slack. Whoever had tied the knot did not intend for her to flee for they knew she would try. For what reason she could not fathom; there was little she could do. She had no weapon and could not wield one if she tried. And certainly there was nowhere to run but into the sea.

“Into the sea…” she breathed, and her eyes rounded in dread, but also in sudden realization.

All was quiet on deck; the boatswain likely gone to eat. The guard had dipped into the hold and faded from view. There were no other ships as far as the eye could see, but her hands kept working against the rope anyway. Her knees grazed painfully against the boards beneath her as she struggled, her heart hammering in her chest. If she could only slip through this net, there would be a chance—perhaps not for life, but certainly for freedom.

She forced the base of her palm into the knot and whimpered at the thought of facing the bitter end.

There was a reason she had denied the nunnery despite her mother’s urging. There was a reason she had dreamed of peace in a lifetime of war. Ivy MacLeod believed she was meant for greater things, the greatest things in fact, and it was better her dreams die with her than she without them.

Her hand slipped free of the ropes all of a sudden, ripping the skin from her thumb and forefinger.

She let out a cry of both relief and pain, and promptly bit her lip. God’s teeth, nothing had hurt worse in her life. She dared not look down at her hand. The fire racing up her arm was proof enough of her victory. Her other hand carefully slipped the loop; she was free.

Her knees buckled beneath her as she tried to stand, and she fell forward onto her chest, grazing her chin against the deck, providing one more scar to layer over the others she was accumulating. Darting her gaze upward, she was relieved to see that nothing had moved at the other end of the cog—not the guards, nor God.

The sails whipped menacingly against the wind above her. A squall was brewing, or perhaps something worse. If she didn’t act soon, they would drag her down into the hold to weather the storm and she would come out of it an unwilling married woman.

Wiping the blood from her chin, she pressed herself against the mizzenmast. Her hand curled around it, leaving blood ingrained in the wood. They would find it in the morning, but she would be long gone. She had to be gone.

With uneven steps, she staggered her way to the stern. The waters were dark and inviting below, reflecting the heavy light of the moon. Had the sea always seemed so pleasant a canvas? If so, she could not remember but sent up a prayer of gratitude at its invitation.

Perhaps she could swim to safety. Perhaps she would die. She did not spend time considering her options; she simply sought freedom.
Hoisting a leg over the side of the ship, her heart lurched in her chest. Her long ashen hair blew westward, but she planned to jump to the east toward the sun.

Her desperation and misery had been born in fire. With water, she would smother it for good.

The last thing she saw before she jumped from the ship into the sea were her father’s colors flying above her in the inky sky.

Chapter One

1301, Dunvegan Castle, Isle of Skye
Eight hours earlier.

The fire roared in the fireplace, and Ivy was transfixed by its flames lapping against the stone. She had despised the keep when they first took up residence within it, so different it was from the MacLeod croft of her girlhood. Gone was the burn at the bottom of the farmlands where the children would bathe. Gone were the fields of heather where she watched the knights riding through the glen. Gone were her mother and brother too, who had been born there, and who had died there in the fire set by Comyn’s allies while her father was away.

There was not a moment’s peace to be had in Dunvegan. The gates to the keep were forever open to more cavaliers, more tinkers, more magnates—more bloodshed. She thought how strange it was that she would now trade forever and a day for one more night in this noise-plagued burgh.

Her attendants flitted in and out of the room packing her trunks, and she directed them absently. She had no care for her garments, no care for anything at all but the fire to warm her. So, when they asked where she was going and what she thought best to take with her, she offered them the same answer she had been giving them all afternoon.

“Father has said nae a thing to me about my new home, only that it is far from here on the mainland and safe.” She knew at least one of those things to have been a lie: there was nowhere safe in Scotland anymore.

With a gentle sigh, she rose from the edge of her canopied bed and walked toward the hearth. There, she plucked a small sculpture from the mantle, a wooden carving in the shape of a wolf. Her brother had been no fine craftsman before his death, but Ivy smiled affectionately as she ran her thumb over the uneven notches in the walnut.

“Seems more a cow to my eye,” she remarked upon receiving it some six years ago, “though I suppose I should thank ye for the thought.”

“Braw, Da will be pleased,” her brother had replied, “to ken ye have manners, and because a cow is more fitting for a MacLeod lass—especially ye, sister.”

Ivy hadn’t asked what he had meant, and she suspected it was for the best. The sweetness of her memories was all she had left of Peter.

“Och, and this cow,” she grumbled under her breath.

One of the girls looked up at her with curious, rounded eyes, and Ivy dismissed her with a smile. “I shall take this with me,” she said, handing the girl the sculpted figure. “Wrap it safely in a wimple as I should despise for it to break.” She nodded to the other girls and made her way back to the bed. “Whatever ye cannae pack ye may keep for yersels, but dinnae wear anything of mine before Sir Gavin, or trouble will find ye.”

The girls gleefully returned to their work. By the time they were done and the sun had ticked to the west, someone rapped on the door. Ivy didn’t bother turning around. She knew who it would be, and the fire needed stoking.

One by one the girls shot to their feet and bowed, leaving Ivy’s packed trunks behind them. The room was so still she could hear the song of the blackcap warblers outside. Her father’s call was not nearly as sweet as theirs when he decided to speak.

“Out,” he ordered, and Ivy’s maids were quick to comply.

Her father shut the door behind them, and its whine made Ivy’s skin prickle with gooseflesh. Still, she sat patiently waiting for him on the edge of her bed, having averted her eyes from the flames to the soft linen of her gown. Any sudden movement in his presence could spell her ruin.

Her father prowled toward her slowly, walking the length of her bed and coming to loom over her. Like a veritable animal, his every step was calculated and measured, every intake of breath filled with purpose. She supposed that was how he’d survived as Comyn’s prisoner for all those years at Falkirk and more. It didn’t mean she admired him, and it certainly didn’t mean she liked speaking with him. She stifled a smile at the thought that it was a chore she would not have to suffer for much longer.

He pinched the edge of her veil and slowly ran the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. As he observed her, she only allowed herself to look at his thick hairy fingers. There was muck under his nails, though she knew it was more likely dried blood, and she wondered to whom it belonged. But all questions pertaining to her father were best left unanswered.

“Ye will take this off when we land and plait yer hair like the Highland lasses,” he said coolly.

Ivy clenched her jaw and nodded. There was no point in telling her father that she didn’t know how to plait her hair. His order wasn’t about plaits anyway; it was about making his daughter look desirable. For whom, she did not know.

With a weary grunt, her father kneeled before her. Ivy almost thought she was dreaming. Her father had kneeled for no man but their exiled king and Robert the Bruce; never for a woman.

Looking into his countenance, her eyes welled with tears. Her father looked so much like Peter with his strong nose and brow, only war-hardened and two decades older, poisoned by his own cruelty. His eyes were completely different from Peter’s because they were so much like her own, an amber shade and utterly distrusting even as he looked his own flesh and blood in the face.

“My bairn,” he sighed, cupping her face with his hands like she was not a woman of nine and ten but a girl of seven, “look into yer father’s eyes and see yerself as he sees ye.” For the first time in what felt like years, his lips curled into a smile. “Ye are reborn this day, daughter of mine. As a woman, as a daughter of Scotland and a MacLeod, do ye feel the hands of change as I feel them wrap around us?”

He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, and she wanted desperately to shrug it off. To her, it was known as a great instrument of pain. Instead, she leveled her gaze at her father and bit her lip.

“I desire to ken where ye are taking me, Father.”

His fingers dug into her skin, but his face showed none of his typical disdain. He had grown too apt at hiding it over the years before he lost his temper, but Ivy knew. She always knew. Rocking back on the heels of his boots, her father stood up straight. His aketon was quilted with scarlet linen, and all she could see was red before her, a bad omen that portended ill.

“Ye ken we are at war, bairn.” He waited for an answer as though he doubted it, and she nodded to appease him. “Robert the Bruce has seen fit to bestow upon us—upon ye—the greatest of honors. An invitation, bairn. There’s to be a clansmeet in Fife, where the greatest warriors over the country will convene to do what is right.”

Ivy’s face dipped into a frown before she could temper it. “And what is right, Father?” she asked only to hear him speak it aloud.

He seized her chin with his thumb and forefinger, angling her head so as to look up at him. “To unite as one, Ivy, and pave the way for freedom as Robert sees it. He wishes the clans to meet and follow him into war. He wishes it, and we will make it so.” He thumbed her bottom lip. “I will play my part on the battlefield, and ye will play yers by selecting a husband worthy of ye.”

It took all of one second for Ivy’s stomach to turn over on itself. She had forever known this day would come. There had been a time she had dreamed of marriage because it meant escaping her father’s clutches for good. But the way he presented this “honor” from Robert the Bruce, it did not sound like a dream, nor like freedom.

She was a pawn in his games, and this was his final move.

She bit back the bile in her throat and closed her eyes. “Ye’re selling me off to the highest bidder,” she whispered, unable to voice the full truth of the matter. There is a price on my maidenhead, and ye wish to see who will vie for it the most. “Is there nae price too high to please yer would-be king?”

The flat of his hand came quick and hard against her cheek. She reeled back, clutching her face with her own hand, but it did nothing to soothe the physical pain or the hurt within her.

Her father tittered and ripped the veil from her head. “I would trade a thousand daughters to please him; never doubt that.” He stalked over to the hearth and cast the cloth in the fire. “Dinnae call me yer enemy, bairn—nae when I toil night and day for yer happiness. In Fife, ye’ll have yer pick of the strongest, richest men in all of Scotland. There are worse fates for a woman yer age to marry into a clan of power, and ye ken ‘tis true.”

“I ken naething at all.” She bit her lip to stop from breaking. “Naw—I spoke a lie. I ken one thing: I willnae be married to a man I dinnae ken! That I dinnae trust!”

Ivy scurried back pre-emptively on the bed, but her father didn’t move. She wished with all her heart that she could understand him, or God willing, anticipate his next blow. It was a mistake to challenge him, but he knew it, too. He had made the mistake of striking her across the face one too many times, and the burgh always fell pregnant with rumors of his tyranny toward her in the aftermath of his lashings. He had learned eventually and spared her the rod, taking his anger out on Ivy’s favored servants instead.

She cast a rueful look toward the door where her attendants were most certainly listening in. If he meant to send her away, there would be no one to save them from her father’s wrath in her stead.

When she looked around, her father had turned his back to her, his fingers curled so strongly around the lip of the mantle they had turned white. “Even on this day of hope, ye speak my world into darkness. I pray for ye. Truly, I do.” He pushed himself away from the fire and stormed to the door muttering, “Be ready by sundown.”

If he had cast her one last look, Ivy might have had the good sense to show up at the front of the keep with her effects later that day and say nothing more.

“And I pray for ye, Father,” she shot back, stopping him in his tracks. As quietly as she could, she slid off the bed. If her father heard her, he did not stir. “With the Lord as my witness, I pray ye dinnae regret playing these games of blood and power when Scotland is won and find yerself in an empty keep, with only yer glory for companionship.”

Before the storm of her father’s anger came always a great stretch of silence. In those moments of quiet, Ivy reached into herself, seeking purchase on any strength she had hidden away for safekeeping. After years of violence, that pool was near empty. There was nothing to hold back her pain as her father covered the distance across the room and propelled her back against her waiting trunks.

Her hip collided with the stone floor, sending a sharp jolt up her side, but the pain was nothing compared to the visceral fear she felt as her father grabbed her by the neckline of her dress and yanked her off the floor.

Sir Gavin may have said something before beating her. Or maybe he didn’t. Ivy’s only memories were of birdsong and her fire.

Chapter Two

1301, just off the coast of the Ilse of Mull
The following day.

By the time Blaine’s men had earned their sea legs, they were halfway through their journey to the mainland. He supposed their ineptitude at sailing was partly his fault. His lairdship was far from landlocked, and there were numerous reasons for the recent sea voyages. However, up until three years ago, Blaine was busy fighting Wallace’s war, and the state of MacKinnon’s men had been his father’s burden to bear. Frankly, he was more comfortable with a pike in his hand than he was anywhere else in the world—especially ruling over the men he had once called friends.

Sweeping a glance over the waters, Blaine sheathed the skene he’d been polishing. The day was bright, the weather was fair, and his siblings were quiet for the most part—something for which he was grateful. His sister had charmed the crew out of their superstitions as they broke fast, and his brother had busied himself by assailing them with questions that were arguably more invasive.

When at last Errol reared his ugly head from below deck, Blaine whistled for him to join him by the stern.

Huffing and puffing, Errol came up beside him. “Ach, there’s no land for miles! Are ye certain ye’re not playing some wee trick on me, brother? Luring me out onto open waters so ye can be rid of me for good? I’ll have ye ken, I cannae swim.”

Blaine wrestled with a smile. He didn’t like indulging his brother’s antics at the best of times, but the deck of a ship was hardly the place for a fight. “’Twould be a mighty poor trick, dinnae ye think?” he said, “Trapping mysel with ye, and nowhere to hide?” He leaned over and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Och, will ye nae wipe that look off yer face? The journey to Fife willnae pass quicker with a jester aboard, I promise ye that.”

Errol hopped away, laughing. He was outfitted like a true warrior before they had taken to the sea, but he had quickly done away with his armor and now paraded about in his chausses, boots, and tunic. Despite his four-and-twenty years on earth he often had all the manners and wisdom of a rock.

“What? Dinnae ye think mighty Bruce can take a joke? Naw, ye’ll be glad to have me by yer side when we meet him.”

“I have met him. Ye ken this.”

“Aye, but ye weren’t a laird then. Ye were a—”

“Aye, what was I?” Blaine interjected, scowling.

Errol smirked, his green eyes glinting. “Naething, brother. Ye were naething at all.”

Blaine looked over his shoulder to make sure the crew was busy. The last thing he needed was for them to think he was as mad as his brother. When he was certain the coast was clear, he cracked a smile and grabbed Errol by the scruff of his shirt.

“I’ll cast ye overboard, ye slippery sod,” he warned laughingly. “Dinnae ye think I willnae because we’re blood.”

“I’d like to see ye try, ye lump,” Errol shot back, twisting himself out of his brother’s hold. He beamed as he straightened himself. “If ye’ve made up yer mind about putting me out of my misery, will ye nae tell me where it is we’re headed? Dead men are particularly braw at keeping all sorts of secrets.”

Blaine leaned back against the ship, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ye ken we’re sailing to Glasgow and then to Fifeshire.”

“I ken where and I ken to whom, but I dinnae ken why.”

Blaine ran a hand over his face. It had taken no small amount of subterfuge and strife to keep the truth from his meddling siblings. As far as Errol knew, they were meeting Bruce and his allies on the mainland to discuss troops. That was part of it, of course. Blaine had one of the finest armies in all of Scotland under his belt, and Robert the Bruce had made clear his intention about recruiting them to the cause. However, there was more to this clansmeet than anyone dared speak, and it involved all of Blaine’s least favorite things. And chief among them: politicking.

Just as Blaine had resolved himself to speak, his sister climbed up from the hold and caught his eye. Hannah’s blonde hair lifted in the wind, and her milky skin dappled in the sun. She looked so much like their mother, even at six and ten with the bloom of youth upon her. She would meet just as grizzly an end if Blaine was not careful in the coming days. Because while Bruce had said he wanted a united Scotland, what he meant was in part that he was looking for wives for his allies. Blaine would watch the whole country burn before he sold his sister off to a man unworthy of her, and so without her knowledge, he planned to drop her off with the nuns in Glasgow.

Shooting Errol a look telling him to keep quiet, he waved his sister over to them. “Good morn to ye, sister,” he said, cupping the back of her head and pressing a kiss to her forehead. When she pulled back, Blaine worried that his guilt was written all over his face and Hannah would see it and know, but Errol was quick to distract her.

“Ye dinnae ever greet me like that,” he teased, feigning disappointment.

Blaine thought to reply and appease him, but something in the water caught his eye instead. Narrowing his gaze over his sister’s shining head, he tried to discern what it was as it bobbed and weaved between the waves. It seemed too strange a color for driftwood, too limp, too… bodily in nature.

“’Tis because he favors me over ye. And who can blame him?” Hannah heaved a sigh and leaned over the side of the ship. “Ye’re too old, as well. Those years between us make all the difference in how insufferable ye are, ye ken.”

“Aye. I look at ye and I ken.”

“Och, I never could have guessed how boring sailing is. If naething else, I thank ye for this most revealing experience, Blaine. And ye ken what’s more boring than sailing?” she lamented.

“Blaine?” Errol suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

“Sailors,” she bantered.

“Will ye nae both be quiet for a moment?” Blaine ordered, racing up to the stern to get a better view. “I could have sworn…” His fingers curled around the gunwale, seeking purchase against the rocking of the vessel. Suddenly, the sun hit the object of his curiosity at just the right angle, and there was no mistaking what he saw next: a pallid face washed over by water, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. There was nothing he could discern beyond that—nothing he needed to either.

There was a body in the water.

Like two eager pups, his siblings followed after him. Blaine knew only from the pattering of their feet.

“Do ye think he’s seen something?” Errol asked Hannah.

“I think he thinks he has,” Hannah answered. She leaned forward over the side of the boat, and Blaine quickly put an arm out to stop her from falling. “Look!” she cried. “I see it! I do! ‘Tis a woman,” she gasped. “There’s a woman in the water!”

“Ye’re fibbing,” Blaine said, but he had thought much the same himself. He clucked his tongue and turned his sister around by the shoulders, remembering himself. “Ye shouldnae look, Hannah! Get down in the hold with the others—”

“Ach, poor lassie must have drowned.” Errol sighed.

“Errol, dinnae say that!” Hannah snapped back. She whipped back around, slippery as an eel, dirtying her gown against the sea-stained wood of the bulwark. “Och, ye must help her, brother! Willnae ye help her? Please!”

Blaine shook his head, looking out over the waters. “Ye dinnae ken ‘tis a woman. More like ‘tis the body of a fallen fighter, and we cannae say for whom the wretch took up arms.” Blaine steeled himself as the body came back into view, drifting closer to their ship with each ripple of the waves. “I willnae have a man’s blood on my hands—nae corpse will drag us into war.”

“’Tis nae right to leave her at the mercy of the sea—or him. I dinnae care!” Hannah whimpered, turning back to look for the body. “If ye had died in battle and been chucked in the sea,” she added, uncharacteristically forlorn, “God’s teeth, brother! I pray someone would have fished ye out and brought ye home.”

Blaine had spent a lifetime fending off the most ruthless attackers, but he was powerless to resist his sister’s pouty plea. Clenching his jaw, he hissed his defeat, and his siblings cheered in nervous approval.

“Ye shouldnae take the Lord’s name in vain,” he muttered, divesting himself of his belt, boots, and weapons, his skene and broadsword clattering against the deck. “Learn fast ‘afore we reach the nunnery, or they willnae let me take ye home.” He shrugged off his hauberk and his aketon came with it. All at once, the only thing standing between Blaine and the sea was his fear. “God’s blood…” he whispered.

Hannah was good enough not to call him a hypocrite.

“Be kind enough nae to drown, brother,” Errol muttered as Blaine paced the deck, looking for a point of entry. “I love our clan. Really, I do, but nae enough to rule over it.”

The waves lapped against the side of the ship like hounds hungry for their dinner. The clear, gray-blue color of the waters was misleading, and Blaine knew it all too well. The sea would be colder than the air, and if he was not careful he would lose his life to it and more.

Blaine looked out over the sea, then back at his anxious siblings. He could command one of his men to jump in after the body and they would do it willingly, but it would not be right. A few of his guards were beginning to approach, but he held them off with the palm of his hand.

This was something he should do on his own—if not to prove himself a hero and gladden his sister, then to make his father proud. Too long had he ruled over his family’s clan with all the involvement of a stranger. If the castaway revealed herself to be Blaine’s death, at least he would die with a clear conscience.

Sucking in his breath, he climbed over the bulwark and took pause. He waited just long enough for the sea to calm a tick before launching himself off the gunwale and into the waves below.

The first thing he felt—the first thing and the last—was the biting slap of the water against his skin. For a moment, nothing existed in the world but that pain. It wreathed around him, with the water pressing down on him, keeping him trapped beneath the waves like the cruelest siren call.

It was cold but it was blissful. There was nothing to hear, nothing else to feel, no enemies in hiding, only one that he could fight. He needed to fight or he would lose the battle and die, along with the castaway.

He snapped his eyes open beneath the water, and they stung, but a rush of feeling gave him the courage to glance at the filtered sunlight and swim upwards. For the second time, he broke through the water’s iron plate. As he did, relieved roars erupted from the boat, but he could barely hear them over the sharp intake of his breath. He hadn’t the time to look back, not while his body was on fire with cold. It was enough to know they knew he was alive.

The sun was too bright above him, and he could not remember whether it had always been that way. Blaine pushed his arms out before him, and with all his might, he swam toward the crowning head of the fallen soldier—whoever they were. Within moments, he adapted to the dance of the sea, swimming not against the tide but with it. A head of dark hair called to him like a beacon, dipping above and then beneath the waves with every inhale of breath he took.

However, the sea was not a kind mistress that day. When he was close enough to see the body properly, so close he thought to reach out and touch it, it slipped beneath the waves so swiftly it was as though it had never existed.

Throwing his head back in disbelief, Blaine dared to look back at his siblings on the side of the boat. He could not make out their faces—he could see nothing but their twin heads of blond hair, so much like his own—but he knew that if he did not act quickly, one or the other would be foolish enough to jump in after him. Focused to the exclusion of everything else around him, Blaine thrust his body beneath the waves again, adjusting himself to its sweet cold imprisonment.

That was when he saw her.

Hannah had been right. The castaway was a woman, and she was floating beneath the sea like she belonged there and always had. She looked peaceful with her delicate white face, paler still than the white of her smock—her long, ashen hair floated like a halo around her. She might as well have been an angel, he thought, reaching a hand toward her. She appeared to radiate all the divine power of one and may God smite him for thinking it.

In that watery cage alone with her, he felt oddly at peace. Perhaps he could stay with her forever beneath the sea, and that peace would stretch on as long as their bodies remained there.

He let out the last of his breath, as though trying to speak with her to ask her to stay when panic set in. There was nothing more tethering him to life but his terror. From the looks of things, the woman had stopped breathing entirely. Steeling himself, he swam nearer to her and gathered her in his arms. With the last of his strength, he propelled them toward the surface of the water, holding her against his chest like a sleeping babe he dared not wake.

When he reached the surface, the world crashed upon him in a cacophony of sound. The waves were deafening, the sun was blinding, and whatever peace he had found was sundered, split in two. The only thing left to do was survive.

“Survive,” he pled, not knowing to whom he prayed, but knowing it sounded desperately sincere. “Survive this with me.”

The swim back to the boat felt like torture, but he made it. There had never been a sweeter sound than the clatter of the ladder down the side of the boat and into the water. Hoisting the woman over his shoulder, Blaine climbed up the side of the ship, only stopping for breath once he reached the very top, at which point he fell to his knees. The woman tumbled over his shoulder and onto the deck, her clothes pooling around her.

“Brother!” he heard Hannah’s cry of relief. She pushed past his guards with a groan and knelt before him. “I cannae believe ye did that!” she whimpered as she threw her arms out to hold him.

Blaine put a hand up to stop her and looked up at his men. “Prepare a clean pallet for her and tell the captain to make haste for Glasgow,” he ordered. He dipped his head to catch his breath before scuttling over to the woman.

“Ye were right, sister,” he muttered, before dragging the soaked woman up by the arms and pounding her on the back to bring up the water she’d swallowed. He pushed against her back and turned her head, relieved to see her expel seawater. He pumped until no more was seen, and then he collapsed beside her, exhausted but sucking in great gulps of clean salt air.

The only weapon he had in his armory was hope, and it had carried the day.

 

Chapter One

Laggan, Scotland, August 1648, Clan MacPherson Lands
Ghàidheal Tavern

Alice McTavish was no well-bred lady, and that was the way Cameron Hay preferred it. With vigor and glee, she wrapped her thighs around his waist, and he held her tight against the wall of the back room of his tavern, thrusting hard. When they first started, she’d looked into his eyes, then pulled him in for a kiss, but as his efforts grew more frenzied she leaned her head back, crying out his name at each advance of his hips.

She grew so loud that he clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. As Alice came quickly, trembling around him, she bit on his fingers trying her best to hold onto him. A few more deep thrusts and he was finished too, pulling out quickly and spilling into his hand. Every time with her was fast and pleasurable. She landed on her feet, and he reached out a hand to steady her as she pushed her rumpled skirts down in place around her.

Brushing a strand of blonde hair from her sweat-covered brow, Alice beamed at him, revealing a row of strong white teeth. She was a bonnie lass to be sure. There were many men keen for her attentions, knowing her willingness to offer them.

“Cameron, lad, it is always so good with ye,” she said fighting to draw sufficient breath. She gave him a cheeky grin while he wiped away the evidence of their coupling, tying his trews securely again.

“Aye,” he agreed, uncomfortable with the aftermath of such things, and not knowing what more to say.

He only wanted quick fun, as did many of the women he slept with, just flesh on flesh like animals enjoying what God had given them—and then they were off. There was usually no conversation or at least not much, and they each got what they wanted until the next time.

When he was fixed up, Alice stood up on her tiptoes and pulled him close. She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and pressed a wet kiss on his cheek, which sent a shiver down his spine—only, it was not out of pleasure this time, but a strong need to just run toward the door and disappear.

“Let me stay a while, Cameron. Let me stay this time.”

“Nae a chance, Alice, and ye ken it.” He gently pulled out of her grasp and stepped back, but not before bending down to press a kiss on her cheek, not wanting to insult her. “I dinnae want another encounter with yer husband like the last time.” He pointed to his still-swollen darkening eye. “Best tae keep things secret here, where nae one kens about yer whereabouts.”

“But why’d ye risk it? Asking me tae come here taenight after what happened the last time?” she countered.

He pulled on his jacket and watched as Alice’s expression change to slightly sullen. No, this would not do at all. That was why he had liaisons with married women; they had homes and lives to return to and did not think to cling to him as a true partner or lover. He had his reasons for asking her, and he was sure as hell not going to tell her.

“I think ye ken, Alice. Same reasons as ye. I couldnae stop meself from enjoying yer sweetness once more,” he pressed his swollen lips, still red from her bites, to hers for a mere second. “Now, go on. I will see ye again soon. I have work tae get back tae.”

She sighed and nodded, “Fine then, Cameron. Suit yerself. Until the next time.” Alice left out the back way, still adjusting her skirts, and slammed the door a little harder than usual.

There we go again… Cameron rolled his blue eyes, pushing up his jacket sleeves over strong forearms, and left through a door leading to his tavern, Ghàidheal, or Highlander. He wore no colors, even though his tavern stood at the border between Grant and MacPherson land. He preferred to stay out of the politics of land and battles, and even though his best friends were guards and soldiers, for him it made no difference.

Fighting for one’s life, even though Cameron was an exceptional swordsman who won battles with ease, was far less appealing to him than a life of pleasure and merriment. And with his towering muscular frame and winning smile, those two things came easily.

He stood behind the long wooden counter and returned to his work as if he’d been there the whole time, taking a wet cloth and running it down the length of the wood. His long blond hair was tied in a knot at the base of his neck. Easier that way with all the vigorous work he’d been doing of late.

The two friends working with him, Seamus and Julia, were busy taking care of the many customers so there was spilled ale for Cameron to wipe away. The tavern was full, and it always made him swell with pride when he saw everyone having a merry time.

‘Tis mine. All this, at last.

As he looked out at his successful venture, his hand brushed across the golden brooch pinned to his loose white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat. It was a rounded oval with gold filagree around the outside. If he looked closely, he could see the faint outline of an engraved Scottish thistle across the middle.

He was never without it, and he touched it to remind himself where he’d come from, even if the past was still shrouded in mystery. It had been found on him when he was but a babe left on the doorstep of the healer’s hut. Taken in by the kind old woman, he’d never known the story of his past. All he had was this one golden brooch, and it was the only clue he had to finding out the truth one day. But that day would not be today.

“Och, there he is!” a familiar voice called, and he looked over to see three of his friends sitting around a low, circular table by the large stone hearth.

He grinned, glad to have a little distraction that night after Alice’s little scene. Tossing the cloth aside, he strode up to them, bringing a chair next to the men and leaned his arms on the strong wood of the tabletop.

“Well, lads, it seems ye three are havin’ a right party. Good timin’ too. I expected ye a bit later, though.”

“We couldnae wait tae have our last drink with ye, Cameron, ‘afore we’re off tae battle.” Rory McKinnon, his hair as red as carrots, winked at him. “Besides, ye’ve got a bet tae win.” He pulled out a bag of coins from his coat pocket and plopped it on the table, pushing it across to Cameron.

Cameron chuckled, tapping at the bag and loving the feel of good hard coin under his fingertips. It meant he would not go hungry. “What’s this for, then?” he asked with a cheeky lift of the brow.

“Och, ye ken!” Alistair, Rory’s twin brother chuckled. “We saw Alice McTavish comin’ in through the back to yer rooms, lad. I cannae believe ye slept with her again, after what happened naught but two days ago! Thought ye werenae desperate for another hit tae yer eye. But I suppose ye couldnae resist the bet and earning some good coin.” Alistair and Rory laughed heartily before drinking from their tankards of ale.

Cameron, smiling, turned to face his best friend, Blair MacDougall, who sat directly across from him with his arms crossed and his dark brown eyes frosty. People often thought Blair and Cameron were twins, both with the same blond hair and bright smiles. But Blair was a few inches shorter than Cameron, his hair cropped closer to his head, serving him well as a laird’s guard.

But even though many a lass could not decide which handsome lad to flirt with between the two of them, right then none of them would have chosen Blair, who looked so frustrated with his best friend that he was stabbing daggers with his gaze.

“Yer ale looks like it’s untouched, Blair,” Cameron said, a tinge of uncertainty in his tone.

Blair was the only person in the world whose good opinion he sought or even cared about. If he was upset with him, then Cameron knew it was for a good reason. Right now, he did not wish to really know what it was about, yet he could hazard a guess.

“So it is,” Blair returned with a nod, turning away from him.

Frowning, Cameron turned to his other friends. “Aye, I didnae want the trouble, but ye ken me. I dinnae make a bet I am nae sure tae win. I asked her tae meet me and there she was, nae needing a second invitation.”

He picked up the bag of coins, tossed it up in his hand and then stuffed it into his pocket. “Now, let me get me own ale and join ye lads.” He stood and asked for Julia behind the bar to fill in for him. “How are things here taenight, lass?” he asked her.

Julia smiled, her golden curls bouncing as she moved. She was nearly sixteen, and he knew he’d have to start watching the men in the tavern to make sure they kept their hands to themselves. She and her twin brother Seamus had been working at his tavern for two years since he’d found them on their own, practically starving to death. There was less than ten years between them, but when he’d seen them outside on the edge of the woods, their bodies thin and drawn, clothes tattered and Julia bruised and beaten, he’d felt like a righteous father. He had been given a chance when the old healer had taken him in, and he’d seen the chance to help Julia and Seamus in turn. They’d become his good friends, his confidantes, even though his fatherly protective instinct toward them still stood strong in his heart.

“Just fine, Cameron. Ye dinnae have tae worry about me, ye ken,” she said, pushing a full, frothy tankard into his strong hands.

“That’s good, Julia. But ye ken I always will.” He winked at her and then sat down with his friends again, a mug finally in his hands.

“I think the worst part about goin’ tae this blasted battle at Preston is leavin’ ye two, and nae bein’ able tae make any more bets,” Alistair said, scrunching up his nose.

“Aye, true enough,” Rory echoed. “Blair could’ve come with us tae the battle, but he chose tae remain guard at MacPherson Castle this time. Bloody good fighter he is, and what a waste.”

Blair remained silent still.

Cameron leaned back in his chair on two legs and eyed his friend. “Go on, what is it, then?” he asked Blair. “Ye are nae kent tae keep yer ale in its tankard, especially when it’s fresh.”

Rory and Alistair chuckled, and Rory said, “Och, he’s been a bit sour since we saw the lass go intae yer room. Ye ken him and his madness…”

“Och, is that it?” Cameron asked not leaving Blair’s gaze for even a second.

His best friend leaned forward, his hands wrapping around his tankard. “I think we should give up this foolish betting. ‘Tis nae the way of good men, betting on whether or nae a lad will sleep with a lass. ‘Tis nae right, Cameron.”

Cameron crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. He’d heard all this before. Bloody nonsense it was. He had no interest in a wife or a family. He wanted only pleasure and to run his tavern as he saw fit. And tae find out who me parents were. But that was a different issue entirely.

He stared at his friend. “Come now, Blair. Ye have been tryin’ tae convince me of this for years, but ye willnae dae it, nae matter how many times we discuss it. I have nae need of a wife, only lovers, and the lovers I take are only interested in just that.”

He guiltily thought of Alice, who had begun to look at him in a different way that night, hoping for more. He lifted a brow at Blair, waiting for a reply.

“But ye could just settle down with a good woman, a lass ye would love, and everythin’ would come right in yer life. I ken it, Cameron. Ye would have everythin’ ye ever wanted,” Blair replied, the frostiness gone from his eyes.

“Good lord, what is this shite he speaks of?” Rory asked, laughing loudly.

“But look at ye, Blair. Ye are constantly telling me about how I should dae it, when ye have nae even done it yerself. Why dae ye nae find yerself a good woman, since ye have always wanted a life like that?” Cameron challenged.

“I will. One day.” Blair looked around between them. “Too many wars tae be fought, but I stayed back this time. Ye all think me mad, but I want tae find her. Tae find the lass who will fill me heart and mind, make me want tae be a good husband.”

“Bloody hell,” Alistair said, polishing off his ale and waving down Julia for another.

“So, does that mean ye will finally come and work here at the tavern with me? As partners? Then ye will have the time and lack of danger tae get that family ye want with a sweet and meek lass to look after ye,” Cameron said, shaking his head. “I have nae idea why ye never agreed before, as I have asked ye more than once.”

“Nae. It is nae yet time,” Blair said stubbornly. “Working at the castle is good money. And I need more money if I am tae be a proper provider for me family.”

“Fine then. Suit yerself.” Cameron threw up his arms and took a drink. “I say we talk of other things, since we cannae agree on the subject.”

“Aye!” Rory said, lifting his tankard in the air while Julia brought Alistair a fresh one.

It took a few seconds, but Blair followed suit, and the four of them touched tankards as Alistair began to tell a tale. But after about two minutes, it was cut short when Cameron heard Julia calling to him from the side of the bar. He stood and excused himself before running up to his young friend.

Grabbing her shoulders, his heart flipped in his chest. “Are ye hurt? What’s wrong, lass?”

To his surprise, she shook her head, worry possessing her eyes, “Cameron, there is trouble out in the alley. Two men are attacking two young ladies. Will ye help, please? Seamus has gone, but I ken he’ll be killed if he tries anything, the idiot!”

Cameron took her hand, stroked it, and they exited the tavern through the back door into the alley.

***

An hour earlier.

“Be quick!” Ada MacPherson told her sister Ella as she came into the room already wearing her black cloak, hood up over her head. “What are ye daeing?”

“Calm down,” Ella whispered, pulling on her own cloak and tying the strings so it covered the golden brooch pinned near to her heart. Ella loved it so much she could never bear to take it off. Many years before as a young girl she’d taken a shine to it, having seen it in her Aunt Anne’s room. Her aunt had been kind enough to let her have it, and after her tragic death, Ella wore it in memory of her who had become like a mother in the absence of her own. The brooch was smooth except for the gold filagree and the engraving of a Scottish thistle.

“I am almost ready. Besides, we should nae talk so much; someone will hear us!” Ada narrowed her brown eyes at her sister in frustration.

Ella smirked, tapping a finger to her smiling lips before she pulled the hood over her plaited red hair. Together, they moved quietly out of the room and down the hall of MacPherson Castle, a home and also their prison for far too long. At least she had not been alone; she had Ada, both her sister and best friend, and the two of them nearly alike in appearance with the same bright long red hair. Yet while Ada’s eyes were a dark brown, Ella’s were the color of a loch on a sunny day.

Her heart fluttering, Ella reached over to grab her sister’s hand. When she turned, Ada gave her an encouraging nod, assuring her that they were doing what they must do. Since they could not find freedom and were not granted much by their father, Laird Graeme MacPherson, then they would seize it. And tonight was the night.

They had planned and waited long enough to taste a bit of the outside world for once. As they stepped closer to the doors at the end of their passageway, Ella found she was much hungrier for freedom than she’d realized. Pulling her hood back, she stood tall, and pushing Ada a bit to the side, she opened the double doors so that Ada was hidden behind the one of them. As expected, she spied their personal guards standing just outside the door.

“Angus, Darren, would ye help me? I was goin’ tae dae it meself, but then I realized I wouldnae be able tae carry it.”

“What is it, Me Lady? We would be happy tae help,” Darren said, bowing his head a little, his hands folded in front of him, sword at his side.

The guards looked like twins, with matching brown mops of curls on their heads and a serious expression on their faces. They were attractive enough, but they were her father’s age. Her father, terrified of what might happen to them, thought having young men watch his daughters was far too dangerous.

“Ada is nae well.” The lie she practiced came easily to her lips. “Could ye fetch a pail of water or two and leave them here just inside the door? I need tae help her wash, and I dinnae wish the servants tae come, in case they fall ill, too.”

“Aye, of course. We will go right away.” Angus bowed, and together he and Darren turned to go.

As planned, Ella shut the doors behind them and waited, her breathing loud in the silent space as she and Ada stared at each other. Though they were close, they could not have been more different, for Ada enjoyed the excitement of adventures and reckless plans, while Ella did not. She was more rigid, more responsible, and found herself in need to organize everything before taking part in any sort of “adventure.” It had taken time for her to work up the courage to go through with this tonight’s foolhardy plan.

“Now!” Ada said, and Ella quickly opened the door again, and they slipped out into the main upper hall, silently closing it behind them. This would be the first time they’d ventured out on their own in so many years she’d lost count. Grabbing Ada’s hand, Ella pulled her down the passageway until they reached an alcove with a secret door. Opening it, they rushed down the stone steps and into the darkness of the tunnel.

The one thing their father, Laird MacPherson, never planned on was that imprisoning his daughters meant that their whole world consisted of the castle. That they knew its every crack, every turn, every stone. There were more secret passageways throughout the old structure that Ella was certain even her faither didn’t know about them all. Hand in hand, they hurried down the familiar tunnel in the dark until they felt the draft of sweet night air on their cheeks.

“So close!” Ella breathed.

“I cannae believe it. Dinnae lose yer courage now, sister,” Ada warned.

It had taken years for them to gain the courage to escape. And when one of them gained it, the other would falter, and they would be right back where they started. Mostly it was Ella whose courage waned. But now she could taste what she desired in the air.

Freedom.

If only for a night. If only for a few hours. They would go to the village tavern and see what the world had to offer. It would be one night of freedom, and no one would ever have to know they escaped.

She slowed her gait until her hands brushed against the rough oak of the door. “Here we are,” Ella whispered. She worked at the metal bolt on the door, and together they pushed it, heaving a little until it strained open. A rush of air hit their faces, their skin pinking in the cool of the night, and they grinned at each other.

“Hurry. We must put a small stone in the door to keep it open. We cannae open it from the outside otherwise,” Ella said, having made thoughtful and careful plans over the past weeks, walking by the door many times.

“Aye.” Ada reached down to pick up the stone she’d collected for that purpose, pushing it between the door and the jamb. It was thin enough not to be recognized at first look, and when the heavy door laid against it, she stood. To be safe, she pulled against the door, relieved when it easily moved outward.

“Ready?” she asked, turning to Ella.

“Aye. I have never been more so.”

They put up their hoods, and hurried away into the night, hoping their dark cloaks would shield them from the watchmen and the torchlights. At least the woods were close enough to the castle so they only had a small stretch of green to cross before they were well-hidden amongst the dark trees. She paused only once to turn back for a moment to look at the castle and to take a deep breath.

“Finally, Ada. It is our time.”

 

Chapter Two

Ella giggled as they held hands, running swiftly down the path toward the village, and finally seeing the lights and the outline of buildings as they got close.

“The tavern, remember? That has tae be our first stop. Marcia kens how full of men it is,” Ella said, her eyes flashing, and Ada laughed.

“My older, responsible sister is talking tae me of men? I cannae believe it.”

“Aye. It is time we spoke tae someone else besides Faither, the servants and guards.” Ella ground her teeth together.

“Aye, and I wish tae fall in love and talk tae as many men as possible taenight.”

Ella paused. “Dinnae be too wild, Ada. We dinnae ken the men we go tae see.” Ella’s excitement was mixed with fear, but Ada had far more wildness about her.

The reason Ella had feared to leave before was because she wasn’t sure what Ada might do if set free. But it was time for them both to enjoy themselves a little, even if it was only for a few hours.

She’d tried years ago to persuade her father that the kidnapping of their youth had not been successful, that it had simply been an unusual accident, and that they could move on. But alas, he kept them locked up as if they were caged birds he wanted to keep from growing up and experiencing life.

It made her furious, and each day the anger worsened, but now she would forget about that. She wanted to enjoy this time with her sister. It might be the last breath of freedom she would have before she was eventually married, if her father ever let her do even that.

The tavern drew near, the closest building to the castle, and she could see the wooden sign hanging above the door, a lantern hanging next to it.

“Ghàidheal,” Ella breathed, tears in her eyes. “I feel as if this is another land we’ve traveled to. That nae one will ever be able tae find us again.”

She closed her eyes, and Ada squeezed her arm. “Aye, and we’ve only traveled naught but a few minutes.”

They could still see the castle in the distance in all its torchlit guarded glory, yet she looked back at the tavern to make sure it was real. Winding her arm through Ada’s, she nodded.

“Are ye ready? Shall we go?”

“Aye.”

They were just about to take a step forward when they turned at the sound of crunching twigs from behind them.

“Nae, stay with us a while, lassies,” one of two men walking behind them said.

Both of them were dark-haired with scruffy beards and dark clothes. She could tell they were drunk by the way they stumbled, but when they got close to Ada and Ella, they smiled. Ella’s heart raced, and she gripped Ada’s hand.

Never before had she spoken to a strange man. But looking into their dark eyes and watching their yellow, leering smiles, she felt something was wrong. Her heart told her so as it pumped wildly against her ribs.

“Come, Ada. Nae, thank ye, gentleman, we will be on our way now.” She turned away, clutching Ada’s hand, and the two of them dashed toward the tavern, but the men were too fast. She felt herself pulled back by her cloak until she was flat against the man’s chest. She struggled against him, her lungs filling with screams, as a thick, calloused hand covered her mouth.

With stale breath, the man whispered in her air. “Dinnae scream, or I shall have tae hurt ye bad. But if ye cooperate, all will be well and over in a few.”

He chuckled, and she grimaced, knowing but not truly knowing what he meant. He moved her along down a narrow alley, unable to see but hear Ada’s struggle behind her with the other man. He leaned down to gather up her heavy skirts, pushing her against the wall, his breath rank and rough.

“Och, just a young one, so it is. Perfect.” His grip on her mouth loosened but only a little.

“Stop it, ye dobber,” said the other man who held Ada. “Dinnae touch her, Kenn. All the laird wanted was tae bring them tae him alive.”

“Aye, so he did.” Ella squirmed when Kenn groped her bosom with such strength she heard the material of her cloak tear apart, but this only made him hold her tighter. “I am nae goin’ tae kill her. But he didnae say that we couldnae have a little fun.”

The other man cursed, and Ella wished he’d try again to convince Kenn to stop, but he didn’t. She looked at him with pleading eyes, and it was then she noticed the colors the men wore. Under the lamplight, she could tell the shades were those of Clan Grant, and her heart fell. Could this be another attempt at kidnapping? Again?

The laird of that clan had attempted years ago to take them, but she’d never learned why. Only that her father had been so terrified of it happening again that he’d trapped his only two children in the castle, never letting them out. But this was more than a kidnapping, as she felt the man’s cold hands on her thigh trying to push her gown away.

His rough fingers found the warmth of her leg, and his firm squeeze made her feel nausea building in her throat.

She bucked against him, trying to fight his arm away, and she could hear Ada’s muffled scream. Was this what her father had hoped to protect her from? Being raped by a stranger in a dark alley?

“Oy!” a voice called, and she turned quickly to see a lad with rough brown hair, pointing at the two men. He was young, though, maybe sixteen, and her heart faltered as the brief hope she’d had of escape fizzled out.

“Get away from those lasses!” the boy cried, fury written on his face.

Och, he’s going tae get himself killed!

For the time being, the men’s movements had been halted. Ella could feel tears welling up in her eyes as she prayed for help, hoping that these men would be damned for what they were about to do. The man holding her tightened his calloused fingers around her neck.

Her eyes blurred as she felt the heavy pressure to her throat. No air. No air was getting into her lungs. She bucked and kicked.

“What are ye goin’ tae dae about it, lad? Ye are just a boy,” the man laughed.

“But nae me,” a deeper voice thundered, and Ella saw a tall shape looming over her kidnappers.

Instantly, she was freed with a curse, and she spluttered and coughed, backing against the wall, fighting to breathe.

“Ella!” Ada cried, running to stand next to her, having also been suddenly released.

They watched as their rescuer started with the first man. As the first fists flew, Kenn groaned, and he quickly fell to the ground after one hit to the jaw.

“Have sense, lad!” the other man called, lifting his hands in the air, but the tall, fearsome savior of theirs did not stop. He hit the other one as if he couldn’t care less that the man held up his blade while madness was written in his eyes.

Ella watched in awe the two men groan in pain as they were pummeled into the ground once more. In a flash, she could see the fierce highlander pull out a dagger and hold it to her assailant’s neck.

“If I ever see yer face around here, it’ll be yer blood on me blade. I dinnae care whose men ye are. Now get the hell away!”

The attackers scrambled to their feet, cursing even as blood spouted from their lips.

They ran off, and Ella averted her eyes, never wanting to look upon them again. She put a hand to her chest and felt for the broach. Her cloak had been yanked away in the attack, but the brooch was still pinned close to her heart, and she closed her eyes, thanking God they were safe. Her clothes had been ripped, and she wrapped her arms about herself to cover her breasts, which were threatening to show. She shivered.

A young blonde woman emerged from the tavern, holding out two cloaks, and the large man took one up. “Here ye are, lass,” he said, his voice quiet and comforting. He took the large cloak and put it over her shoulders. She quickly covered up her torn bodice. Then, with a breath, she gained the courage to look up at their savior for the first time and met his eyes.

When she saw those two orbs of blue, the first words that came to mind were, avenging angel.

***

Cameron held out a hand, “Are ye all right, lasses?” he asked, his eyes moving between them.

Only the first one he looked at, the one with long red hair that had been tied back, nodded. She was still breathless, her lips parted, and she clung tightly to the cloak he’d just given her. He helped the other lass put on her cloak as well, and she looked equally afraid, her brow furrowed with shock.

“Aye, sir. Thank ye,” the first woman swallowed, finding he could not look away from her.

Such beauty.

Cameron cleared his throat, trying to ignore the very big distraction that had fallen into his arms, especially when she had just been through such a terrible ordeal. Yet he couldn’t help but glance at the full bosom showing through her ripped bodice.

I’m an animal, for God’s sake; she was almost taken against her will.

“Come, come inside,” he said, trying to push lustful thoughts to the back of his mind, including the maidenly anatomy revealed before him, and the redhead’s distressed moans in his ears.

He gripped her elbow while Seamus hurried to help the other, who was obviously younger. Inside, the crowd continued as merrily as before, completely unaware of what happened outside. He was glad for that. He didn’t like the idea of the women getting further attention directed at them. And with a face like that, the first one was sure to glean attention wherever she went.

“Sit here, lasses.” Cameron and Seamus helped the young women inside to tall chairs which stood along the wooden bar, sticky with spilled ale.

The crowd seemed to have doubled in size since he’d been gone. He allowed himself to relax, knowing the throng of patrons would give the two women a bit of privacy and anonymity without being stared at as they entered the room. He was grateful for that, knowing that the lasses—especially the beautiful one he’d rescued—undoubtedly drew attention, both unwanted and wanted, wherever they went.

“What are your names?” he asked.

“Ella,” the blue-eyed one said, still trembling. “And this is me sister, Ada.”

“Well,” Cameron smiled his most reassuring smile. “Welcome to my tavern. Give me just a moment, and I will bring ye both food and drink.”

He left them and found Rory, Alistair, and Blair waiting, watching him with puzzled looks.

“What was it, then?” Rory asked.

“A couple of bastards trying tae rape two lasses. They’re shaking from the scare, but I am certain a bit of food and drink will help,” he explained, flexing his aching hands after the pounding they’d taken.

He’d hit men’s jaws before, but never before had he had to jump to attention so quickly. He’d often considered how Julia had been harmed before coming to live with him, and he wished he could have pummeled that man’s jaw as well.

Blair pulled his ale towards him. “What did ye dae?”

“Hit them, threatened them. They had Grant’s colors—his guards most probably. Have nae idea how or why they suddenly decided to choose these two lasses to hurt.”

Blair looked grim. “Grant is nae a good man, so it is nae surprise that his men are nae either. They’ll take any lass that crosses their path.”

Rory chuckled. “And what of Laird MacPherson? Exactly because of events like this the man is worried about every little thing, keepin’ his daughters so locked away for years. I might do the same if I have a lass someday. Damn, I’d kill those bastards.”

Cameron had heard that the MacPherson laird was a fearful sort, and he’d pitied the girls, but tonight was a perfect example of what the laird feared: the world was a dangerous place for lovely ladies alone.

“I dinnae want me tavern littered with dead bodies, or else I would have considered killin’ them meself.” He rubbed a hand over his face and behind his neck, glancing back at Ella speaking to her sister. But the din of the crowd quickly covered them again, and he turned back to his friends.

“Jesus, but the one is bonnie, I wish ye could see her,” he told them. “It would be a danger for her tae ever set foot outside her home.”

“Och, let me check, then; maybe she’ll need some comfort,” Alistair chuckled and tried to get up his chair only to be pushed down roughly by Cameron.

“Dinnae ye dare bother them; they’ve had enough unwanted attention taenigh, ye arse. She’s too bonnie for ye anyway.”

“Do ye mean tae make a new bet, lad?” Alistair chuckled.

“Bloody hell, the lass has just been attacked!” Blair finally spared them a word, leaning forward.

Cameron didn’t answer, but grinned at Alistair. “Aye, she will be me next catch, I think.” He stood tall, brimming with confidence. He’d rescued her; she was his.

He had become very used to the way he affected women, and now that he’d saved her, he was sure she would fall to his charms soon enough, easier than ever. He was her savior, after all. Blair shook his head, huffing out a sigh while Rory and Alistair just laughed.

“I’ll see ye lads a bit later. Got tae treat the lasses tae some food and drink now. Calm their nerves, ye ken.”

Cameron turned away, his friends still chuckling, and he moved behind the bar. “Good lad, Seamus,” he said to his young friend, tousling his hair. “But we’ll wait until ye are a bit bigger ‘afore ye go out alone on a rescue, ye understand?”

“Aye, Cameron.” He gave a guilty abashed grin. “I am sorry I couldnae dae much. I was afraid too.” Seamus twisted his fingers anxiously like he did every time he was fretting about something. “Will ye teach me how tae fight, Cameron?”

“Aye, of course. I have already taught ye much about fightin’, but the fear needs tae be overcome.” He lowered his voice, and with a smile whispered, “But those lasses are grateful tae ye,” he nodded his head to them, and Seamus blushed, making Cameron laugh. “Bring food for the two of them, would ye, please?”

He left Seamus and moved to stand by Ada and Ella, leaning his elbows on the wood. His hair was mussed from the fight, and a length of it hung over one shoulder. He folded his hands and looked between the two girls. “What will ye take tae drink, lasses?”

“Anything ye recommend,” the one called Ada said, giving him a bright eager look. She seemed to have recovered more easily than her sister.

He chuckled, glad they were settling already. But not quite on the right woman, however. Ella continued to watch him with wariness. It was amusing. No woman, especially not one who had just been rescued by him, had ever looked at him with suspicion. It made her all the more intriguing.

“We dinnae need anything tae drink, sir. In fact, it is best if we return home as soon as we can.”

“With lads like that about? Nae, stay a while. Yer food is comin’, like I said. It will warm ye, take away yer tremors.” He turned around and poured them both a glass of whiskey, serving it with another smile. “Here ye are; best in the Highlands, so they say.”

Ada brought it to her lips, but Ella reached out to stop her a second before the liquid caressed her lips. “Ada! Dinnae drink that. We dinnae ken the man; we have barely just been saved from an attack! Nor dae we even ken the man’s name! And he has a swollen black eye already, as if he fights often.”

Ada put the glass down, pinning her sister with a glare. “Why must ye always chafe, Ella?”

“Aye, Ella, why must ye dae that?” Cameron echoed, a teasing glint in his eyes, amused that she’d noticed the swollen black eye despite her fresh ordeal.

My, but she was a beauty. Her eyes, blue as a loch on a cold day, were now staring right back at him fearlessly. Her lips were full and pink, and freckles smattered over her perfect pale skin. She had fixed her tangled hair, its smooth ginger tresses now tied high and away, its length brushing against her shoulders, not unlike his.

She straightened, staring him down. “Ye could easily have put anything in that glass. Ye might try tae poison us, take us away and dae what those men were planning.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he laughed, putting a hand to his chest as he felt the rumble of mirth roll through him.

“Then why should I care if other men touch ye if I was going tae dae a thing like that? Why would I save ye and then hurt ye meself? That doesnae make any sense, lass.”

She crossed her arms, and her gown shifted a little. The cloak that had covered the torn bodice slid away from her shoulder, and he started when instead of her firm bosom he saw a brooch. It was golden, just as his was, with the same filagree, the same engraving sparkling back at him.

Where on God’s green earth did that come from?

There were many more questions he wished to ask, but he could not fire them at her now. When he looked up at her, she was still angry, piercing him with an icy blue stare.

“It doesnae matter. Men clearly dinnae think, or else they wouldnae be so dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” he grinned, pouring himself a glass of whiskey too and gulping it down pointedly. “Ye can see it is safe enough. Besides, lass,” he said, leaning closer across the bar until he heard her breath catch, “I dinnae need a sedative tae get a woman intae bed. Usually, they come of their own accord begging me tae bring them pleasure. Simple enough. Och, and me name is Cameron, by the way. Cameron Hay.”

Ella gasped. He saw a flash of movement, and seconds later his face dripped with whiskey.

“Best in the Highlands,” she said sweetly before grabbing her sister and rushing from tavern as fast as they could go.

 

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Prologue

August 1731

He is coming for me…

Mia lay in bed, frozen. She was paralyzed, visited by the same unwanted guest every night, a friend she called terror. It was a demon on its own.

It hadn’t always been this way. Mia had once been a happy child who did not flinch at the thought of darkness. The nightmares began at the same time as he had changed. Her little body trembled, and her eyes darted around the room, trying to dispel the tortuous images that were mercilessly infiltrating her innocent mind.

“Nae! I beg ye, nae,” she muttered as tears streamed down her face from the corners of her eyes. Her back was flush with the hard bed in the corner of her room. Turning a deaf ear to her pleas, ignoring her as though she wasn’t there, the man in her dream continued to hit the woman behind her eyes. Again. And again.

Mia was certain that if he didn’t stop soon the woman would be nothing more than a bloodied sack of bones, but he didn’t seem to care. The woman’s screams pierced through the confines of her dream and into her reality.

Perhaps if I ignore them, the screams will leave me be, she thought, but the more she fought to ignore them the louder they became.

Finally, she opened her eyes. Before attempting to get out of bed, she flexed her hands in the darkness. It usually took more than a few minutes for her dreams to unshackle her. She clutched her throbbing head—now that she was awake, the screams were even louder.

Mia was used to this. She knew where the sound was coming from, but she did not want to go and investigate. Try as she might, she could never fall back asleep. When her father lost his temper, the onslaught could — and would — go on for hours.

Slowly, Mia dragged her feet off the bed, pushing away the sheepskin that served to shield her from the cold, recalling her mother tucking it around her before retiring for the night with a smile on her face.

Mia stood beside the bed for a moment, staring at the brick walls of her room, then the wooden roofing overhead. Sometimes, when the screaming started, she counted the bricks until all she could hear was numbers. Knowing her counting would not help her now, she sighed and walked toward the door. It had been left ajar, so she could hear her parents’ voices more clearly.

“Useless, fallow-wombed woman!” her father shouted, stomping his foot on the ground. Mia felt the floor shake beneath her.

Her father had always had a temper, but it had only gotten worse with her mother’s inability — or unwillingness as he called it — to produce a son. Even at the age of ten, Mia understood how important it was to have an heir. A girl was not fit to inherit anything, her father had said, not even a name.

“I feed ye! I clothe ye! I keep yer house warm!” her father cried again. “The least ye can do is birth me a worthy bairn — a boy! Ach, what do ye do but speak to me without respect? What do ye do but drink and whine? Maybe ye’ve been killing all my boys with yer drinking.”

The pounding had stopped now and all Mia could hear were the sobs of her mother. The little girl stood clinging to the door, unsure whether she should try and intervene or if it was safer to stay away. Her mother always warned her to protect herself first.

The decision was made for her as her father stormed out of the room past Mia and into his study. Fortunately, he had not noticed her in the darkness.

There was no telling what her father would do on nights like these. Conrad Steward was an impossible man, her mother had said, a brute. Sometimes he took his anger out on his daughter. Sometimes he said nothing at all. Mia didn’t want to find out what he would have in store for her tonight.

As soon as she heard his study door slam shut, she scrambled over to her mother’s chambers. She worried, just like in her dream, that her mother would be laying bloodied on the floor.

What she saw instead took her by surprise. Her mother was standing straight, a fiery look of determination on her face as she stuffed her belongings in a little cloth bag, her left eye swollen shut.

“Maither? Mam?”

“Mia… Oh, Mia, my little bairn… Mammy cannae stand it nae more,” her mother, Maeve, said through her sobs, stumbling as she pulled Mia into an embrace. Maeve smelled like ale and sick again, which made Mia’s stomach turn.

Mia despised it when her mother drowned her sorrows in drink, as it frustrated her father even more. She could feel her mother’s ribs as Maeve held her tightly. This woman, who she could barely recognize anymore, looked frail in the silvery moonlight. It swept across her gaunt cheeks, across the dark eye that Conrad had just given her.

She pulled away from Mia, giving her a peck on the forehead. Her round eyes bore into her daughter’s face like she was trying to memorize every inch of it. That was all Mia could remember before her mother climbed out the window without saying another word.

Mia was too scared to stop her. Perhaps if she hadn’t been, she would have pleaded with her mother to say something; she would have implored her mother not to leave her alone with her father. She knew what it looked like when someone was leaving for good, but she couldn’t quite believe it—her mother abandoned her.

The girl stood there, staring at the window, shaking and trying to decide whether to follow her out into the wilderness.

At first, Mia did not hear his footsteps in the hallway. Stuck in a trance, she let out a little sob. When she heard them at last, she looked for somewhere to hide.

He was coming. If he could no longer torment his wife, who would suffer his anger next?

The footsteps and curses grew louder. Mia stepped back tentatively. With each step, she hoped to free herself from the man who sought to destroy her and find sanctuary in the arms of the woman who had just left her at his mercy.

Mia shut her eyes, covering her face with her hands.

There was nowhere left to run.

 

Chapter One

Murray Castle, 1746

In the warped wooden mirror opposite her bed, Mia stared unflinchingly at herself. She shifted the sleeve of her nightgown off her shoulder, trying to imitate the seductive women she had studied in taverns. She needed all the help she could get.

Her predicament was made worse by the scars that marred her skin. One of the deepest was a gash on her knee that she had gotten when she fell from her horse as a child. She hoped the darkness would hide her imperfections from her husband, Bram, the Laird of Clan Murray, but there was no hiding that one.

Mia was not deterred. This had to be the night. She had been married to the Laird for almost a year, but still she was as virginal as the day she had stepped foot into the keep. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, hoping that her gently waved hair and long bare neck would be enough for him to desire her. The sheer night chemise would do the rest of the work.

Turning her head from side to side, hoping her scars were mostly hidden beneath her nightgown, she reached for her dressing gown and started to make her way out of her chambers. Trying to keep her back straight, she swung her hips as she had seen some of the noble wives do.

She sighed, feeling ridiculous. Perhaps she should have asked her maids for assistance. She had sent them away earlier that evening, confident that this night would be different from every other.

Mia stood in front of the door to her husband’s chambers — chambers that should have been theirs to share — and adjusted her posture. She gathered enough courage to knock on the door. Despite being the lady of the house, she wasn’t allowed access to his room.

Before she had a chance to change her mind and turn back, she rapped on the door, turned the doorknob and walked in.

“Who’s there?” Bram grunted in the dimly lit room.

Mia could hardly make out a thing. Suddenly, she heard a high-pitched shriek from where she presumed her husband’s bed to be. The occupants of the room — of the bed — had seen her before she could see them. Both of them.

“Why do ye bother me so, Mia?” her husband rasped, getting out of the bed where he had been laying, his dark hair falling into his eyes. She could smell the alcohol on the air between them, but her eyes were fixed on the woman in the bed. She recognized her as one of the maids who worked in the keep.

The maid that had so willingly warmed her matrimonial bed was now clutching her clothes to her chest and dashing out of the room. Bram, on the other hand, stood proudly bare before Mia, challenging her.

This was not the first time he had taken other women, she knew, but this was the first time she had caught him. The keep was pregnant with rumors of her husband’s affairs, but Mia had always ignored them. Of course, it was true. How else does a man service his loins when he refuses to touch his wife?

She looked away from him, staring at the door, but promptly snapped back to attention when Bram spoke again.

“For God’s sake, Mia… What are ye doing here? Ye didnae even give me a chance to finish, and I for sure will nae finish with ye,” he argued, not even stopping to catch his breath. “I have told ye over and over again that I need my privacy, but still ye come barging into my room, disturbing my moments o’ peace. I cannae even begin to find ye desirable with that sort o’ behavior. How can I want ye when I cannae stand ye?”

Mia realized she had been slouching, her shoulders heavy with disappointment. She felt her bravery retreat. It was clear that she would never be enough. For her husband. For her father. For anyone.

“Ye walk like a man. Ye have the scars of a man. Ye act like a man, and I cannae desire such a lady. Leave now, before ye do something we both regret.”

Mia stood there, unable to move. Her heart thundered so frantically that she worried it would leap out of her chest. She was humiliated but awestruck by the body that stood before her. Although he was much older than she was, her husband was still in his prime. His muscles were bulging beneath his skin; his jawline was defined and strong, his face unmarred by age. Mia didn’t love him. She never had, not in the way the poets spoke of love and burning desire, but she did believe she was failing as a wife if she could not make her husband desire her.

Further irritated by her refusal to move, Bram’s dark eyes bored into hers. “What did I say? Get out o’ my damned room, Mia! Remember what I told ye at our wedding? If nae for the good o’ my clan, I’d nae have married ye nor any other lass. Dinnae make me regret my kindness to them and to ye. Leave me be or I will throw ye out myself!”

Mia scowled to mask the disappointment she felt. All the promise of the night washed away at once. She walked out of her husband’s chambers as gracefully as she could, clenching her fists.

This was all her father’s fault. With no son to call his heir, he had spent her entire childhood treating her like she was a boy — teaching her how to hunt, how to ride. Even now, as a grown married woman, sparring was still her favorite pastime.

She knew giving up was not an option. She refused to live in a loveless marriage like her parents or be forced to escape from the window of her own home like her mother. She would win Bram over. Of that, she was sure. She just had to figure out how.

Mia kept thinking as she made her way down the stairs, when excited chatter interrupted her pitiful musing.

“The ball,” she heard, making out the voices. “Tis the largest, most beautiful celebration in all o’ the Highlands, and I cannae wait,” the first maid said excitedly.

The maids huddled together beneath the staircase she was descending but she couldn’t understand most of what was said since they spoke in a mix of Gaelic and English. It didn’t really matter. She didn’t care about balls anyway.

“The most handsome lairds are going to be there,” another maid replied. “If only one of them could take me to be his bride, I’d be the happiest lassie alive!”

The last maid, who had been quiet, finally broke her silence. “Well, there is a load of preparations to be performed with the Lady of this keep paying nae attention to such matters.” The maid sighed. “She would rather spend her time sparring in the fields,” she whispered.

“Och, dinnae bother about her,” said the first girl. “There are going to be many ladies in attendance too. Perhaps she will learn a thing or two about being a lady from them.”
The three girls giggled under the stairs, scuttling away before long. They had been right about one thing: Mia would much rather spend her time in the fields. She continued down the stairs and headed out of the keep.

***

“Aye, aye, lassies! Exactly like that,” Archie groaned, sandwiched between two women. In tandem, they worked their way between his muscled legs.

Archie looked between them, their eyes twinkling and their cheeks flushed. There was nothing quite like a Highland girl. They were the most desirable of the bunch.

To his dismay, his enjoyment was cut short by a loud knock on the door. The knocking didn’t stop until Archie heard his war chief, Lennox, speak up.

“Och, nae again, my laird!” Lennox said, opening the door without invitation. “Cannae ye wait just a while longer before ye indulge yourself in such pleasures?”

Archie rose from the bed, dismissing the two red-haired women with a wave of his hand. They sashayed out of the room, not bothering to cover themselves. Archie noticed how one of them — God above, he couldn’t remember her name — eyed Lennox as she walked out. He debated encouraging him to run after her—it was the least he could do for his best friend.

Archie could hear the pitter-patter of their naked feet against the floorboards as they left. Lennox settled by the door, almost knocking one of the shields from its rack. Archie had a penchant for battle memorabilia. The walls of his chamber were decorated with claymores and dirks. A wide armchair was perched in the corner of the room, with shelves of fortified wine and spirits stacked above it. Archie ambled over to it, fastening his britches.

“These wenches ye entertain do ye nae good,” Lennox said. “Ye need to find yerself a fair lady to settle down with.” Lennox fixed his gaze on Archibald’s left arm and let out a breath. “Ach, with that gash on yer arm, I dinnae ken how ye handle them anyway.”

Archie picked up his plaid and wrapped himself with it. He grabbed a bottle from the shelf and poured them both a glass of whiskey. He walked over to Lennox and patted him on the shoulder, handing him a tumbler.

“Ye worry too much, my friend,” Archie said. “They dinnae call me the Highland Wolf for naething, ye ken. I belong to the ladies and the sweet pleasures they give me,” he grinned.

Scoffing, Lennox chose to ignore him. Instead, he turned his attention to the rattling window behind the bed, rain and wind crashing against its panes.

“Be that as it may, Wolf, I have news,” Lennox started tentatively. His long hair glittered in the light from the fire. “Yer brother, Dallas, was seen near the lands by Balbaire, and—”

“I have nae brother,” Archie interrupted him fiercely. His smile vanished.

“Ach, Archie—”

“I want to hear naething of it, Lennox. Dallas can do as he pleases.”

“As ye wish, my laird” Lennox sighed, “but I implore ye to go easy with the lasses. We dinnae need wee bastards running amok, Archie.”

“We dinnae need miserable soldiers either. Ye ken we should nae have been so easily crushed at Culloden, Lennox. The Jacobites have to be stronger, mightier—nae to mention that I dare nae refuse myself any pleasure I desire, knowing full well I almost lost my life in that battle.”

“Have ye considered that, perhaps, a single woman would give ye just as much pleasure? A single lass like a wife?”

Archie laughed. It wasn’t as though he had never considered marriage. However, the idea didn’t appeal to him. “Nae, my friend. I would soon grow bored and weary of her, I ken it. I would rather have any beauty I please than be bound to one lass for the rest of my life.” Moving to lay back in bed, Archie continued. “Tell me something. Have ye received any news that will lift my spirits, or are ye here simply to hound me all day long?”

“Well, the invitation to the Murray annual ball arrived this morning. We should be leaving nae later than dawn on the morrow.”

“Och, now that I like to hear! A distraction is just what I need. Are the horses ready for the journey? There is nae reason to wait for dawn where lassies are concerned,” Archie quipped, crossing his arms behind his head.

Heaving another sigh, Lennox left the room to make the final preparations for their travel. And despite his friend’s protestation, the Laird was convinced he heard the man chuckle down the hall.

***

Swords clattered all around as Mia and Clyde sparred behind the castle. The sound of battle was enough to wash away her shame from the previous night. She planted her bare feet firmly in the grass as Clyde’s sparring sword came down on her shoulder.

“Got ya, lassie!” he exclaimed, filling the air with his carefree laughter. “Ye can pretend it is nae so, but ye are still a lady,” he added with the singsong voice that never failed to amuse her.

“Clyde. Och, Clyde… Ye ken for a fact that ye are going to be beaten by a woman for the umpteenth time one way or another. These fighting words will nae protect ye forever,” Mia mocked. Today would be like every other day. She would best her husband’s younger brother before sundown.

Clyde had been her only friend at the keep since her wedding a year ago. The man was different than his older brother, who stalked around the castle like a quiet tyrant. Clyde was genial, always doing something, his hazel eyes glittering with mischief. His good humor had nothing to do with his age. Mia was only two years older than him, but she looked twice as glum, and he was twice as tall.

“What is that look on yer face? Is my brother really that awful to ye?” Clyde asked, attempting to knock her sword out of her hands. “So awful that ye choose to come and spar with me? Something ye swore to me that ye would never do again, by the way. What was it ye said the day before last? ‘It is time I stopped acting like a lad.’”

Mia scoffed. Aside from Clyde, the whole clan thought that she and Bram were the perfect match—noble, beautiful and powerful. It couldn’t have been further from the truth, and at least Clyde was brave enough to say it.

“Och, well, what can I do? It is the only way I can chase my worries out of my stubborn mind, ye ken.” She pulled back, deflecting a slash of Clyde’s wooden sword. “Still, I blame nae one but my wretched father, nae even yer brother. He was nae the one that sold me like a cow. At least my father had the sense to arm me with a sword. And a bow. Ach, I bet that I am a better horse rider than ye too.”

“Then it is also yer father’s fault that ye are so bonnie,” her partner replied with a smirk.

“Yer brother certainly doesnae think so.” She sighed. “For the life o’ me, I cannae imagine how those noble ladies do it—sitting all day in their cottages or chambers, embroidering and gossiping. They always have an air o’ agreeance about them. I could nae stand it. Yet a part of me yearns to give it all away… to feel wanted and appreciated and nae to be stuck in a marriage without love.”

“Perhaps if ye truly loved someone it would make ye want to be a lady for him.”

Mia said nothing. Even to Clyde, she could not admit that she had been trying to be more ladylike, to fall in love and be loved in return. To no avail.

“My lady!” a maid cried suddenly. She ran down the hill at the bottom of which Clyde and Mia stood, clutching her bonnet.

As she got to them, looking white as a sheet, Mia feared the girl would faint.

“The guests,” the girl gulped, clutching her stomach, “they are arriving tomorrow. Word has arrived that they are just over the mountains near Ben Nevis. The rooms are nae ready yet, my lady!”

The maid looked over her shoulder, and Mia regarded her curiously. She recognized her before long as the girl she had caught with her husband.

Mia swallowed down her anger. Most of these women had lived and worked in the keep their entire lives. They were loyal to the Laird now that they were grown, and if the Laird called for him to share his bed they could hardly refuse. With the way the girl refused to look at her, Mia knew she remembered the evening too. However, the maid’s shame did not soothe Mia’s pride.

“Take me to the guest rooms,” Mia said as she handed Clyde her sword, waiting for the maid to lead the way. “Let me see how much work still has to be done.”

 

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Chapter One

Elaine McNally sat in the parlor of the farmhouse she called her home. With a small piece of chalk, she shaded the cheekbones of her brother’s face on the paper before her. She had not seen Angus for some time. Looking at the drawing, she silently wondered where he might be. Beside him, on one side, was a sketch of her younger sister, Rhona, and on the other was the best attempt she could make of herself.

A self-portrait was more difficult than capturing those whom one could see even though her brother had always told her she had talent as an artist. Drawing was the only thing that had brought her any solace since Angus had left. Having to care for her younger sister and consistently drunk father, despair for the future seemed to be Elaine’s constant state of mind.

“Look, Elaine,” Rhona beamed, holding aloft the small cloth doll in her hand. “I made Lucy a scarf.”

“My goodness,” Elaine replied, holding her hand out to take a closer look. “Did ye sew that yersel?”

“Aye,” Rhona said proudly.

Elaine regarded the scrap of material that Rhona had carefully folded and stitched that now sat around her doll’s neck. “Well, then ye are a very clever wee lass.”

Rhona bashfully rolled her eyes at the praise. “It’s just a piece o’ cloth, Elaine.”

“It may well have been a piece o’ cloth, Rhona. But now, ye have made it intae something pretty. Ye must nae diminish yer talents.”

“I dinnae ken what diminish means,” Rhona shrugged.

“It means…”

The searing sound of a door slamming open pierced the air, followed by the cries of several men. As the intrusion continued, Elaine’s heart thumped in her chest as she heard the splintering sound of pottery and items being knocked to the floor in another part of the farmhouse. She looked at Rhona, who ran to her side, horrified.

“What’s happening, Elaine!? What’s happening?” she cried.

Elaine could not answer for she did not know. There had previously been attacks on their farmhouse. With their father owing money across the lands, many angry farmers had invaded the house, demanding repayment. Times were hard, and people needed to eat. Angus had taught Elaine to use the sword from a young age, and her skills had proven useful in deflecting attacks. With her slender figure, soft brown hair, and green eyes, one would not think of her as a warrior. But Elaine was sick of fighting her father’s battles. And this time, instead of reaching for her sword, she was more determined to protect her sister. Besides, there was clearly more than one of them.

“Find him,” she heard a man say. “He’s in here somewhere.”

Elaine stood and pushed Rhona behind her, moving them both closer to the corner of the room. Clearly, they were after her father. Maybe if they stayed quiet…

“We mustnae make a sound,” Elaine whispered. “Pretend ye are a little mouse, Rhona. Can ye do that?”

Rhona looked up at Elaine with a terrified expression, the fear in her eyes nearly breaking Elaine’s heart. Her little sister did not speak but only nodded that she understood.

As they searched the house, more doors burst open. Elaine heard thumping footsteps charge up the stairs and held her breath without realizing it. Her father was still in his bedchamber, drunk as usual from far too much ale the night before. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was still sleeping and hadn’t heard anything. These days, he was either drunk or sleeping anyway.

“He’s up here,” one of them called out. “I’ve found him.”

More stomping footsteps made their way up the stairs. Elaine guessed there were at least two or three men.

Muffled yelling followed, and a great scuffle against the floorboards was heard above them. While terrified of what might be happening to him, she couldn’t really sympathize with him. With his selfishness, he had put them all in danger. Without Angus, the farm would have perished. Angus and Elaine had tried to provide for their family, but their father had drunk his way through any savings they had, as well as what little money they made.

Heavy footsteps and scuffling moved across the floorboards. Elaine followed the sound from the ceiling with her eyes. The voices were becoming clearer now, and she could hear her father’s growling tones.

“Let me go! Gerroff me! Let me go! Ye have nae right tae come intae my house.”

“Stop struggling,” one of the men barked. “The laird wants tae see ye, McNally, and whether ye like it or nae, yer coming with us.”

“What?” her father retorted. “I’ve done naething tae the laird. Ye cannae just come in here and take me prisoner.”

“Aye, well. Maybe if yer son hadnae sneaked intae the castle and tried tae steal what ye sent him tae steal, ye wouldnae be in this mess.”

The rowdy group dragged William McNally down the stairs, and by the sounds of their voices, were nearing the front door.

“I dinnae ken what yer on about. I havenae seen Angus for ages.”

“That’s because he’s dead,” one of the men barked callously.

Elaine took a swift breath in, and Rhona suddenly yelped. Instinctively, Elaine clapped her hand across her sister’s mouth and looked down at her with a pleading expression.

Those words seemed to hit her father as well, for he cried out in desperation. “Yer’ve murdered my lad?!”

None of the men responded. Perhaps her father’s heartwrenching voice affected them. Even in her despair and shock, she could hear his anguish.

“Listen, McNally,” one of the guards said. “Yer son committed a great crime. The laird is after all o’ ye family now.”

Those words struck every emotion Elaine was experiencing. But survival took precedence over her despair at the terrible news she had just received. She dashed across the parlor, firmly pushing Rhona out of her way, and reached behind a wooden chair. She raised the sword she had hidden there and returned her attention to her sister.

“Come, Rhona. We must go!” She whispered, waving Rhona over to her.

“But, what about Papa!” Rhona cried, still looking utterly terrified.

“We cannae help him now. We must save ourselves. I have tae get ye out of here. Come, we need tae hurry!”

Despite her younger sister’s obvious concern for her father’s well-being, she had also heard the guard’s words. They would return for them once they had secured William. Rhona turned and ran across the room to Elaine, allowing her older sister to assist her through the window that led to the back garden.

“We must hurry,” Elaine whispered, dropping to the ground beside her.

They didn’t have much time, and they needed to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the house. The sisters ran across the courtyard at the back, scaling the wall that led into the grassy pasture behind them. They quickly crossed the field and came to a line of trees that led into a dense wood. The sword was heavy and challenging to carry, but Elaine knew they couldn’t slow down.

They walked through the forest for a while. The cool, dark air obscured the magnificent surroundings, but Elaine was bound to these lands. The rolling hills ran through her veins. She eventually gave in to her despair and allowed thoughts of Angus to swirl around her mind, knowing that the immediate danger had been averted. He’d told her the last time she saw him that he had to leave. She had no idea what he was up to at the time. As she trudged through the dense forest, the memory of their last meeting crept into her thoughts.

Angus walked into the parlor with a worried frown upon his brow. He looked about as though expecting to see someone else in the room. But, satisfied Elaine was alone, he closed the door behind him and approached her.

“I’ll be going away for a few days, Elaine. I need ye tae take care o’ things here.”

“Where are ye going?’’ Elaine frowned.

“I cannae tell ye that. It’s too dangerous for ye tae ken.”

Elaine felt deeply perturbed at his answer. “Well, if it’s dangerous, let me come with ye,” she replied. “Ye ken I’m good with the sword. I can help if anything goes awry.”

“Absolutely nae!” he barked. “It’s too dangerous, Elaine. If I get caught, that’s one thing. If ye get caught with me, who is there left tae look after Rhona? She’s nae yet even ten summers.”

“Get caught doing what, Angus?” Elaine pressed.

“I’ve told ye already. I cannae say. I have tae do this, Elaine. Whatever happens, just know that I’m doing it tae help deal with the mess we’re in. I need ye tae stay here and look after Rhona. If ye come with me and something happens, do ye really want our little sister tae have tae fend for herself as well as look after that drunken bastard we call a father?”

Angus was not wrong. If he was caught, Rhona would need her to look after her. And being ten years younger, she already looked to her to fill the void left by their mother.

“We cannae leave her with Father, Elaine. It’s just nae right. I will go by mysel. It’ll be less dangerous with only one o’ us anyway.”

That was the last time she had seen his face. And now, she would never see him again. Her heart was broken. Even in her grief, Elaine couldn’t understand why Angus had done something so heinous as try to steal something from the laird. He had the heart of a nobleman, and such behavior was totally out of character for him. He had assured her that whatever he had to do would benefit their family. And she couldn’t see how stealing anything could help them.

What could he have wanted that the laird possessed?

Elaine was deep in thought. Her sister’s company brought her back to their current situation. They needed to stay hidden, but she had no idea how. Rhona would be tired soon, and they would need to rest.

“Come on, Rhona,” Elaine encouraged her little sister. But when she turned around to look at her, she suddenly realized that Rhona was no longer behind her.

“Rhona!?” Elaine cried out, but all she heard was the soft rushing sound of the moving branches around and above her.

Elaine moved her eyes in every direction, panicked, but there was no sign of Rhona. And then, she was hit in the chest by the sudden realization.

Her sister was gone.

***

Laird Duncan MacDougall sat next to the lass who lay beside him in his bed. Tucked beneath the heavy blankets and furs, he watched her shoulders rise and fall with each breath. She was a fine-looking woman, he had to admit. Moving his hand above the harsh scar that ran down the left side of his cheek, he took in a long breath and removed his gaze from the lass cuddled beside him.

Dunollie Castle was quiet now that night had fallen. Perched on a cliff overlooking Oban Bay and the surrounding Isles, the castle was always bustling with bodies—guards, servants, maids, all hurrying about and seeing to their chores and duties. At night, it was quiet. While the fires still crackled, an eerie calm pervaded the corridors.

Duncan had always been soothed by the nocturnal silence. Surrounded by stone walls, knowing the moors and ocean shielded from attackers, he counted his blessings. Yet, as of late, he found no solace no matter the time of day or night.

Pushing himself silently from the bed, Duncan left the room and moved through the dark stone corridors, down the wide staircase, and made his way to the library. On entry, it did not surprise him to discover his older brother sitting in a high-backed chair beside the fir. In fact, he had half-expected to find him there.

“Och, ye’re all spent, are ye nae?” Keir smiled dryly.

Keir was three years older than Duncan, and at thirty years of age, it was he who ought to be laird, not Duncan. Yet, he suffered a terrible affliction since he was a child; strange seizures that took him over as though he were possessed by the devil himself, along with collapsing into unconsciousness without any warning. When their father had died, he had been deemed unfit to inherit the lairdship. Duncan had been Keir’s suggestion, and the council had agreed with him, saying that with Duncan’s battle experience, he would make the better laird in any case.

“So, tell me, brother,” Keir continued as Duncan dropped into a matching chair opposite him. “How long are ye going tae continue philandering with these random lasses? Do ye nae think it better tae find a woman ye can take as a wife?”

Duncan shrugged. “I dinnae want tae, Keir, nae yet. I cannae bring mysel tae think about another woman like that, when my wife and bairn are only buried four months. At least these ladies of pleasure keep their wagging tongues busy, unlike the maids under our roof.”

“It saddens me tae see ye this way, Duncan. I ken yer consumed with revenge for their murders, but ye cannae let their deaths destroy ye. I’ve seen that dead look in yer eyes. It’s like ye dinnae want tae be here any longer. A new family will give ye purpose.”

Duncan stared into the flames of the fire for a long moment. It was easy for Keir to say such things. It had not been his wife and child who had been snatched from him.

“I’ll tell ye now, brother,” Keir continued. “If yer nae careful, Mother will force ye tae be betrothed, and God only kens the kind of wife she’ll choose for ye,” he grinned affably.

Duncan smiled back at his brother, for he knew he was trying to lighten the mood. In truth, he was not likely wrong for he wouldn’t be surprised if his mother took such action.

“Aye, I can imagine,” Duncan smirked. “A big burly lassie from up north with nae teeth and more hair on her chest than I.”

That comment sent the brothers into peals of laughter. They were still chuckling when the library door opened, and Finn entered. “I thought I might find ye both here,” he nodded toward them, closing the door behind him.

Finn Stewart had lived in the castle since the MacDougall brothers could remember. The three men were close companions, and he became one of the Laird’s most trusted advisors as well as Keir’s personal healer. Duncan was fortunate to have a few loyal friends, including Keir, his blood brother, and Finn and Douglas MacDougall, his war chief, who were his brothers in arms.

“Pour us a dram before ye sit, will ye, Finn,” Keir nodded to the bulky wooden dresser.

“Aye, I could do with one myself. I was out in the forest all afternoon gathering lavender and witch hazel. That wind would’ve cut ye in two.”

Keir suddenly chuckled. “Dear Lord, man. Ye crow more than a lass. Maybe a bit o’ cold will harden ye.”

“Aye, well. If that’s what’ll dae, I should have the hide of a wild boar by now.”

All three men burst out laughing. Finn came over to sit beside the brothers after pouring the drinks. The men continued to discuss the developments in the castle before retiring to bed.

However, one thought lingered in Duncan’s mind.

***

Her mind raced with worry. Elaine began to lose hope after more than an hour of searching, running haphazardly in different directions around the woods, that she would ever find Rhona in the denseness of the trees. It was getting darker. Her little sister might be forced to spend the night lost and alone if she did not find her soon. She’d be terrified and know not how to survive in the wilderness.

“Rhona,” Elaine cried out again in desperation.

A twig snapped behind her and caught Elaine’s attention. But before she could turn, a hard hand clapped against her mouth and a strong arm grabbed her from behind. She fought with all her might, twisting and turning in an attempt to free herself or reach her sword. But it was pointless. She could tell her assailant was a man by the way he was holding her against his body–a strong, tall man at that. Even with all of her training, no amount of force could break his grip. Elaine couldn’t imagine what was about to happen as her heart thumped against her chest.

“Stop struggling,” the man’s voice growled.

Elaine could feel his breath on her ear as he spoke. She first assumed the laird’s guards had pursued her and discovered her in the woods, but she soon realized there would have been more than one of them. She then had the worst thought, and she braced herself for what he was about to do to her. She had never been assaulted before, but she had heard of others who had. The stories had instilled so much fear in her, she was shaking uncontrollably.

“Now,” the gravelly voice growled, “I am going tae let ye go. But before I dae, I must tell ye that I have yer little sister.” There was something strange in the way he spoke, but Elaine could hardly concentrate, with the terror that had claimed her. “A fine-looking wee lass at that,” he continued, “and if ye scream, she’ll pay the price, dae ye understand?”

Elaine let out a whelp of despair before nodding in agreement. The man hesitated for a moment. He then pushed her forward and away from him with a shove. Elaine turned slowly to face the man. He stood to the side, a large hood from a long cloak covering most of his face and a scarf wrapped from his neck to the bridge of his nose.

“Yer brother failed me, Miss McNally. And where his search ended, yers will begin.”

“I dinnae ken what yer talking about,” she cried, shaking her head.

“Angus was tae retrieve something from the laird’s castle that belongs tae me…”

“It was ye who got my brother killed?” Elaine gasped.

“Yer brother got himsel killed,” the man spat back. “Ye must be smarter than him, because if ye dinnae bring me what I desire, yer little sister will experience the same fate,” he chortled sadistically.

“Nae!”

“Then ye will dae as I bid!” he barked. “I get what’s rightfully mine, ye get yer sister. It’s that simple.”

“But how?” Elaine cried.

“That, Miss McNally, is nae my concern.”

Shoving out a hand, he pressed a piece of paper into her palm. “Find it and bring it tae me,” he growled, before turning on his heels and hurrying into the dense woods.

“But how will I ken where tae find ye?” Elaine yelled out after him but he was soon lost in the darkness of the many trees.

Elaine considered following him, but with the threat of Rhona’s safety hanging over her head, she decided against it. Instead, she was left feeling completely helpless as her entire world crumbled around her. Angus had died, her father had been imprisoned, and Rhona had been kidnapped. She had no one to turn to for help, but standing there, still shaken from her ordeal, she refused to let the despair of her situation overcome her. She needed to figure out how she could get what this man wanted while also getting Rhona back safely.

Elaine had to get into the castle undetected. And she had to make a plan.

 

Chapter Two

News had arrived that William McNally had been brought to the castle. Duncan had sent him to the dungeons to be dealt with later. According to the guards, the man would need at least a day or two to sober up. His two daughters had escaped, but they wouldn’t get far before the guards caught up with them. Duncan didn’t want Angus McNally dead. He would have been far more useful to him if he had been alive. But there was nothing he could do about it now. While he would not tolerate being undermined by those he ruled over, McNally’s death served no purpose. Though he assumed it sent a clear message to whoever else was involved, as he was certain the McNally lad was not working alone. Maybe his father and sisters knew something, maybe they didn’t, but Duncan was determined to find out.

“Dae ye think he had something tae dae with the death o’ Cora and Eoin?” Keir asked as Duncan paced his study.

The brothers had been discussing the council pressuring Duncan to marry again when the news had arrived of McNally’s capture. The subject had changed almost immediately afterward.

“It’s possible,” Duncan shrugged, feeling stung by the names of his late wife and son. “I suppose I cannae ken until I speak tae the man. With his son remaining silent, it makes sense that there’s a connection. When I interrogated him, he was clearly protecting someone.”

Keir looked a little uncomfortable for a moment and then continued. “What makes ye think his father will break when his son didnae?”

“William McNally’s a drunkard, Keir,” Duncan growled with disgust. “From what I hear, he’s allowed his farm tae go tae ruin and has abandoned the responsibilities of his family tae feed his need for drink. Clearly, he’s a far weaker man than his son.”

After a sharp knock on the door, Finn entered with a perturbed expression lining his face. “I have news that ye’ll want tae hear, Duncan,” he exclaimed a little breathlessly.

“What is it?” He frowned.

“They’ve found a dagger buried near where yer wife and the bairn’s bodies were discovered. By the markings on the handle, the blade belongs tae someone from Clan Mackintosh,” Finn replied.

Duncan’s brow suddenly deepened, for what Finn was saying made little sense. Clearly, Keir felt the same way, for he was the first to reply.

“That makes nae sense,” he stated. “Tae begin with, why have they only found the dagger now? Why was it nae discovered when they searched the place the first time?”

Duncan nodded. “And why Clan Mackintosh? They’re a brave distance away from us. What possible gain would it give them, murdering my wife and heir? We have never had any qualms with them before now.”

Both Duncan and Keir looked at Finn as if he should have an answer, but he couldn’t possibly know. He was only relaying the information. And with his lack of response, the room fell silent for a long time. Duncan resumed pacing and Keir thoughtfully rested his chin in his hand, clearly trying to deduce some answers.

Finn eventually broke the silence by clearing his throat. “I’m sure we’ll discover the answers, Duncan. But for now, I think ye have another concern.”

“Which is?” He pressed, wondering what could possibly be more important than discovering the reason for his family’s murder.

“Well,” Finn suddenly looked a little uncomfortable by Duncan’s demanding tone. “I overheard the maids gossiping about the women visiting the castle at night. Some of them seemed tae be wondering,” he continued warily, “what ye’re actually doing with the ladies, given that they never hear a sound from yer bedchamber when they pass.”

“For the love of God!” Duncan barked in frustration, but not missing Keir’s knowing look. “The servants ought tae be minding their own damned business.”

“I’m only the messenger, Duncan,” Finn said apologetically, raising his hands in surrender.

“Do I nae have enough tae be dealing with without having tae worry about everyone’s opinions from maid tae master?”
Duncan huffed at the sound of another knock at the door.

“Come,” he barked.

“Excuse me, my Laird,” the guard said as he remained in the doorway. “I have been sent tae inform you that William McNally died a little while ago.”

“God’s teeth!” Duncan bellowed, throwing his head up in angry frustration. “What happened?”

“Looks like he vomited in his drunken stupor and choked, my Laird.”

***

Elaine crept back into her home and spent a restless night in her own bed after dark had fallen and she was certain there were no guards lying in wait at the farmhouse. She came downstairs the next morning to find a note pinned to the front door with a dagger.

William McNally died in the dungeons.

There was no signature, no indication of who might have left it, but the guards couldn’t have done it. If they had returned to the house, it would have been to capture her. No, this note was left by the man who had taken Rhona.

Elaine was certain of it. Staring at the words, she felt numb. Perhaps she should have felt something, but the news of her father’s death did not strike her as hard as it would have a year ago.

Before her mother had left, he had been a happy man. A man who worked hard for his family and provided for them. But when she, Ailish McNally, decided to run off with a wealthy traveler, her departure set the family on the path of ruin. It would have been better if she had died. At the very least, William may have handled the news better. But Ailish was far from dead. In fact, she was fully alive and well, most likely in the arms of her new husband somewhere far away from them. It had taken her no time at all to pack her belongings and flee into the night, leaving her husband and three children far behind.

William was heartbroken by his wife’s departure and sought solace in the bottom of a bottle. The farmland had been neglected. Angus had been forced to take charge of the family and their livelihood, and William’s thirst for alcohol had depleted their savings. They had begun to struggle between paying the workers and feeding the family. That was why Angus had taken on such a dangerous task. And now, she had lost both of them.

Elaine left the farmhouse after a night. She rode the horse and cart into Oban. She was a skilled swordswoman who could disarm a soldier if necessary. All she needed was to find a way into the castle, which she couldn’t do while pacing the parlor’s concrete floors and mourning her losses.

“The only people who get intae that castle, my dear, are those who are invited,” the old woman said, handing her the wrapped parcel a few minutes later.

Elaine had wandered into the village bakery and purchased some bread to avert suspicion for her true reason for being there.

“Well,” the young lass beside the older woman raised her eyebrows, “that and all those ladies o’ the night,” she giggled.

Elaine frowned. “Ladies o’ the night?”

“Pay nae heed tae her,” the old woman said, swiping a dismissive hand. “She’s just a silly lass.”

“It’s true,” the girl said more determinedly. “There’s one up there every night. My friend works in the courtyards, and she told me so hersel. Says the laird sleeps with a woman from the local brothel every night.”

“My, what a tale,” Elaine said, trying to control the interest in her voice.

“Well, with all his troubles o’ late, I suppose he needs some consolation.” The girl fell into giggles again, causing the old woman beside her to roll her eyes and shake her head.

***

It was hardly the best plan. But it was the only one she had. Later that night, Elaine crouched low at the castle walls, waiting. She kept the only road leading to the castle in view as she waited for the woman to arrive. She had disguised herself as best she could, wearing Angus’s short jacket and tucking her hair into a beret with a scarf around the bottom of her face. But as dusk turned to night, she became restless, her nerves rising with each passing minute.

Have ye completely lost yer mind?

She was about to pretend to be someone who slept with men for money when she hadn’t even slept with even one. When it came down to it, how was she going to explain that? Elaine was thinking about this question when she heard rustling behind her and turned to face it. She looked up to see a fire torch being carried by a lass a little older than her.

Elaine had assumed that the woman had come from the main road, but she had actually come through the forest that surrounded the castle walls. Elaine circled her and came up behind her swiftly and quietly. She was slender, with short red hair, and roughly the same size and shape as herself, if not a little shorter.

“Halt right there,” she barked, holding out her dagger against the woman’s neck.

“Please, please, dinnae hurt me,” the woman cried. “What dae ye want?”

“Yer clothes,” Elaine demanded, struggling to keep her voice from shaking.

“My cloth…”

“Now!” Elaine barked once more. “Dae it now or I’ll take them from yer lifeless body.”

“All right, I’ll dae what ye ask. Ye dinnae need that dagger,” the woman said calmly, stripping naked right there in the grass. And as Elaine followed suit, she threw her clothes at the woman’s feet. After some time, both were dressed again, each looking like the other had before.

“Where dae ye enter? How dae ye get tae the laird?” Elaine asked roughly. When the woman hesitated to answer, she added in a lower almost desperate voice. “It’s important.”

The woman went to turn.

“Dinnae look at me,” Elaine barked and lifted the dagger closer.

“All right, I apologize,” she said again, dropping her head down. “I dinnae ken what this is about, but I’ll help ye if ye want tae get intae the castle so badly, just please lower the weapon. There’s a small gate in the wall. There’s a guard on the other side who expects us. Knock on the gate three times. He’ll take ye tae the laird.”

“I’m grateful for yer help,” Elaine replied calmly this time, happy that she didn’t need to use any force. The last thing she wanted was to cause her harm. But with Rhona being held by that madman, she would if she was forced. “Now, it’s best ye be on yer way.”

“Good luck,” the woman nodded, before scampering away, leaving Elaine alone with the terrifying task ahead of her.

Elaine found the gate not far away as she moved along the walls. She took a deep breath and looked down at herself, embarrassed by her state of undress. The dark green corset was so low that her breasts bulged out of it, exposing far too much of her milky flesh. However, there was nothing else to do. Elaine lifted her hand and knocked three times on the gate, fixing the pins in her wavy brown hair and praying she could pull it off.

The gate opened and a guard peered out. He said nothing, just nodded and jerked his head for Elaine to follow him. They crossed the courtyard, keeping close to the buildings to avoid detection. They climbed concrete steps, moved down corridors, and passed through tiny doorways in hidden passages until the guard came to a halt in front of a large heavy-looking wooden door. He did not speak again, but instead knocked on the door and walked away.

“Enter,” came a voice from inside.

Elaine lifted her hand to open the door and noticed that it trembled. Hardly the reaction of a woman who did this every night.

Pull yersel together, woman!

Not knowing how she managed it, Elaine took another deep breath and steeled herself. Rhona’s life depended on her. Whatever happened behind this door, she was going to do to save her sister. With determination, she finally pressed her hand against the heavy wood and walked inside.

A man stood at the hearth with his back to her, hands outstretched resting on the mantlepiece. The fire raged before him, and with his head bent, he appeared to be staring into it. When he did not move, Elaine allowed her eye to wander and could hardly believe the size of the room, even the size of the fireplace, for it took up nearly an entire wall. Several candelabras were scattered around, the candles within flickering and swaying as though moving to music.
Huge tapestries hung on the walls and a rug the size of their entire parlor lay on the stone floor beneath her.

Finally, she looked over at the bed. Four posts supported a cloth canopy of woven fabric above. Several furs, as well as coverlets lay spread upon the huge mattress.

Elaine had not noticed the laird had turned and was now looking at her. When her gaze returned to him, he appeared to be watching her with interest. Elaine, on the other hand, could only focus on the terrifying scar that ran down his cheek. Though a little unnerving, she couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the rest of his face was. He was tall and broad, with dark blond hair that was cut short to his head. By his expression, he looked a little confused. Elaine suddenly realized that the red-haired lass might be a regular.

“I dinnae recall ye coming tae see me ‘afore,” he said, confirming her suspicions.

“Nae, my Laird,” Elaine bowed toward him. “My friend is ill and asked me tae come in her place. She didnae wish tae disappoint ye.”

“I see,” he replied calmly.

He did not speak again, nor did he move toward her. In fact, he turned from her and rested his hands upon the mantle. The heavy silence that hung between them left Elaine feeling more than a little confused. Standing there, wondering what she was supposed to do, the resolve she had garnered standing out in the hallway seemed to slowly dissipate, giving way for her nerves to return. One wrong move and he may realize that she was not who she proclaimed to be. And in fear of such discovery, she decided to remain where she was.

Eventually, he moved from the fireplace and walked toward a dresser. Taking two goblets, he filled them both with wine. Without speaking, he walked toward her and handed her one. Elaine smiled meekly and nodded in gratitude. Not really thinking about it and struggling with her nerves, she bent her head back and swallowed the entire contents in one go. When she straightened again, the laird was looking at her with an amused expression upon his face.

“Thirsty, are we?” he smirked.

He took the glass from her and refilled it. When he handed it to her, he looked at her intently. “I would advise nae tae dae the same. This wine is nae the rot ye get in the village. I wouldnae want ye making yourself ill.”

His words were not ordered, but spoken with kindness, which made her even more nervous than before. It might have been easier had he been an ogre of a man. Yet, in the small time she had been in his company, that was not the sense she got at all. Elaine had imagined that she would hardly have been in the room more than five minutes before he would tear the clothes from her body to have his way. Yet, in stark contrast, he was cold, distant, and clearly not interested in conversation, given that he had moved back to resting his hands on the mantle while staring into the fire.

Perhaps she was doing something wrong. Perhaps it was the ladies o’ the night that made the first move, and he was awaiting her approach. If that were the case, he would become suspicious of her if she remained standing in the same spot. She could not allow him to discover her true identity, or she would join her father and Angus, and Rhona would never be saved. Placing her glass on the dresser a few steps away, Elaine approached him from behind, her heart beating wildly as the nerves threatened to overtake her.

Upon reaching him, she gazed at his broad back and wondered where to start. Softly laying her hands upon his shoulders, she began rubbing gently, attempting to caress his shoulders. She moved her hands to his upper arms with soft, slow strokes. He turned to face her then, looking down at her, watching her every move.

Elaine did not have the courage to look up at him. She feared he would see the terror in her eyes. Instead, she tried to concentrate on what she was doing. The laird bent his head, and instinctually, Elaine lifted hers, leaning up to kiss him. Their lips brushed, but he gently pulled away. His breath danced upon her skin as he lowered his mouth toward her neck, brushing past her ear, causing her to inhale sharply. A strange sensation that Elaine had never experienced before rushed through her body. Her breast ached in a way that was almost unbearable, and a heat suddenly rose far below.

What is happening tae me? Is this reaction normal?

The laird chuckled, which shocked her even further. Lifting his head, he moved passed her and walked away, still giggling. Elaine let out a silent sigh of relief. Turning toward him, she found herself smiling at his soft laughter.

“Ye are a very beautiful lass…” he raised his eyebrows to inquire her name.

“Elaine,” she replied softly.

“Ye are a very beautiful lass, Elaine. However, naething will happen between us. I’m grateful for yer company, but I expect conversation only.”

“I see,” Elaine replied, not really understanding but trying desperately to hide her relief. “May I ask, my Laird…”

“Under these circumstances, ye may call me Duncan.”

“Duncan,” Elaine continued uncomfortably, “is that the way with all the ladies?”

“Are ye worried that it’s something ye have done?” Duncan asked.

“Well…” she hesitated.

“Dinnae. Ye have done naething wrong. I simply dinnae require the services ye offer, from ye or any other of yer friends,” he smiled.

Elaine was once more confused. For why would the laird request ladies of the night if he did not actually lie with them? It hardly made any sense. He had the entire village talking about his indiscretions when no such acts took place.

Why would he dae such a thing?

“I dae have one request,” he said, with a wry smile. “We have tae pretend we are doing something.”

Elaine’s brow furrowed deeply. She was more confused than ever. At her expression, he chuckled once more. It annoyed her a little that his laugh made her want to smile.

“We have tae make the noises, as though we are laying together,” he explained.

“I apologize, my Lai…” Elaine started when he interrupted her.

“Duncan.”

“I apologize, Duncan, but I am nae certain what exactly yer request means.” Feeling how her cheeks filled with embarrassment, Elaine looked everywhere but his eyes.

“I am referring tae the sounds of pleasure a man and a woman make, while they are laying together,” Duncan elaborated. He let out yet another laugh at her puzzled expression, before continuing. “Like this. Ahhh. Oh. Hmmm,” he groaned passionately.

Elaine nearly burst into laughter herself and it took all her strength to hold it in. Clearly, her not so well-hidden smile gave away her amusement and he smiled back widely. “I ken it is a rather peculiar request. But I will pay ye extra for yer services. Come, try it with me,” he offered.

 

---

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Chapter One

The high pitch scream of death echoed through the corridor, rousing him from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes half awake, his ears ready to confirm the source of the sound. His mother’s voice. Then came a second, louder and longer wail, followed by an unsettling silence.

He sprang from his bed and descended the stairs as fast as his six-year-old legs could carry him. The outline of a man seeped like a shadow from his father’s study and out the door that led to the open fields of the keep. Curious, he edged towards the door.

As he pushed the handle, the sickening smell of fresh blood filled his nostrils. His eyes were drawn downward to the twisted figure of a woman lying still on the cold floor, her shift stained with the same blood that pooled around her, a luckenbooth brooch lying next to her.

His heart beat rapidly, and his muscles tensed as he moved closer to the body. “It is my da’s treasure,” he muttered near-voicelessly as he picked up the blood-stained brooch. “Where is…”

His eyes widened as he jerked away, quick as he could. The body of the dead woman shot up through the air, colliding with the ceiling. Blood dripped down her twisted neck, and she stared back at him with eyes that were just like his mother’s. Then, before he could run, she flew towards him.

Kendrick jolted up from his bed. His body was dappled with sweat as though he had been hunting a boar. But the pounding in his chest subsided as he realized it was merely a nightmare. He looked beside his bed to find the luckenbooth brooch.

Fourteen years had passed, yet the recollections of his mother’s twisted neck and her frozen, dead brown eyes remained vivid. The memories of his father’s sin had since been a bedside companion. Every night had been merciless.

He picked up the brooch—the one that had once belonged to his father, the one that had fallen next to his mother’s body the night he found her. He didn’t know why he kept it close. Perhaps he needed something to remind himself of his bitterness for his father, of his vow to not walk the same beastly path himself.

“Watch me, Father,” he mumbled. “I shall never become a wife slaughterer like ye. I shall live and die without a family.”

“Are ye all right, milaird?”

Kendrick gasped. It was only Catherine. She rubbed his shoulder in the early morning light, pressing her bare body against his. Shaken by the damned nightmare, he had all but forgotten she had spent the night in his chamber.

“I’d like to be left on my own, Catherine,” he rasped. “Ye may leave now.”

“But milaird—” the maid started, her voice filled with tears. Her outburst unsettled him, as Catherine knew well. He didn’t allow any of his lovers to sleep in his bed, and she pushed her luck every time.

“Now, lass,” he growled, trying to keep his anger at bay.

With a sad little grimace, she rapidly dressed and turned to leave his chamber. “Ye may not care for me, milaird, but I care for ye. Whenever ye need me, ye ken where ye may find me.”

He watched as she opened the door to leave. To his dismay, Logan, his uncle and advisor, was waiting on the other side. He entered and looked at the girl with a smirk. Blushing from head to toe, Catherine gave Kendrick one last glance before leaving the men alone. For some reason, he felt guilty.

Laird! As if it were my fault she always pretends to be asleep!

“Why, what a little bairn ye are, still sleeping next to a maid!” Logan teased through bouts of laughter.
Kendrick pretended to not hear him. “Is there a problem?”

“The farmers seek yer attendance,” Logan explained, wiping his eyes. “They are concerned by the season’s harvest—aye, it does not look promising.”

“I will join ye shortly. I plea ye, keep the peace till I return,” said Kendrick.

“Alright, lad. Go wash and straighten yerself up. Ye look awful,” Logan added before walking out of the chamber.

***

Kendrick walked into a room filled with farmers almost twice his age. He was a young laird of twenty-two, leading a clan of hundreds. The laborers’ faces held not a whisper of happiness. Kendrick could only mirror their despair as he made his way to his chair, ready to listen to their grievances.

“Milaird,” said one of the farmers. “The fields refuse to bear fruit and our families rest on empty stomachs.”

“Pardon me, milaird, even our sheep and goats starve, and we cannot milk them,” another complained.

“The soils do not yield any safe grain, milaird! We shall die of starvation if a solution is not provided,” cried another voice from the crowd.

The shouts of about a hundred frustrated farmers begging for the Laird’s assistance soon filled the hall. Hard though he may have pondered, Kendrick could not fathom what to say that might aid them. He frowned as he massaged his chin.

When he tried to speak, all that came out was silence.

He finally forced the words from his mouth. “Quiet,” he intonated, shifting the focus of the disgruntled men back to himself. “Nae one shall die of starvation. I shall find a way. I ken how ye must feel, and I will make sure naeone will go to bed hungry anymore.”

“I do nae wish to question yer word, milaird, but how shall ye cater our demands?” one of the men inquired.

“He is right, milaird,” another chimed up. “Ye dinnae have neither wife nor children. Ye dinnae ken what it is to provide for a bairn! How can ye ken what it is we feel?”

“Ye cannae put in order yer responsibilities, and make a family of yer own, milaird. How ken ye attend tae our needs?”

Kendrick was at a loss for words. There was no doubt: many were the men who looked up to him as a strong, safeguarding laird. The others, the outliers, made their disdain for his freedom clear, saying he lacked bravery… but they did not know his truth.

Logan cleared his throat and turned to his nephew. “If ye permit me, milaird, I must address them.”
Kendrick nodded.

“I am aware of yer needs and concerns, but ye all need not worry,” Logan assured them. “The Laird shall meet a maiden of decent ancestry. Aye, of that I have no doubt—and when he does, they will marry, and ye shall all reap the fruits of their union.”

The farmers grew silent for a moment, as did Kendrick, who gaped as he struggled to accept his uncle’s statement. He had hardly expected to hear such nonsense from Logan’s mouth, and now he felt even more helpless at finding the right words.

“In order for the young Laird to select his wife,” Logan went on, “We shall host a feast with all ye brave clan members, with all landholders having daughters, while we gather and search for a solution of yer worries.”

Everyone exhaled in relief, and hopeful chatter filled the air. Everyone, except for Kendrick. He refused to become his own father, to take a wife—to destroy her. Even so, he knew his fate could not be avoided. He would need to sire an heir, and he would need a wife to do so.

“Why did ye say that, Uncle?” Kendrick questioned in a low voice while the villagers were leaving the hall. “We have never discussed finding a maiden for me to marry, and a promise like that has to be of my own making.”

“Well, I do ken it is long overdue, son. Ye have witnessed the farmers’ doubt in yer duty as laird, and I could nae stand hearing it anymore,” Logan replied. “If ye don’t want to lose their faith, ye need to find a wife sooner than ye think, and I ken that even if we had discussed it earlier, the ending would nae change for it. Ye have to marry, Kendrick. And ye have to marry fast.”

Although he would have preferred to take a different stand, he had to concede that his uncle was right. He took a long breath before speaking, “Where do ye recommend I start?”

“Only two landholders have daughters of marriageable age, that I ken,” he paused to face Kendrick. “I suppose one of Angus Gibson’s daughters will be a wonderful choice for ye. He has considerable authority and influence over the other landholders of the clan to boot.”

Kendrick grimaced. Angus Gibson had been an ally of his late father. His eldest daughter, Sophia, had been a dear friend of his when they were children… until talk had started of their marrying when they were older; until he had started caring for her, too. Kendrick knew that caring only led to slaughter. It had to.

“He has three daughters, the youngest of whom is just fifteen. The eldest, Sophia, is nineteen, I suppose ye ken her well as ye both formerly ran round the castle together as bairns. The second, Lorena, is a lass of eighteen,” Logan explained.

“I shall nae marry any of Angus Gibson’s daughters.” Kendrick scowled.

“But ye must, milaird. If not them, then others! It shall bring great benefit—to ye, to yer clan. Now, ye think of this and more, while I call for the elder council to convene as planned,” Logan concluded before abandoning him to his solitude.

It was true. Kendrick had been quite fond of Sophia. He grinned as he remembered the sound of her soothing voice. She would relentlessly tease him about even her smallest accomplishments when they were children. He recalled how she was the first between them to ride a horse, how she hadn’t given up despite failing numerous times.

The first time his heart misbehaved, she had just returned from horse riding. Her raven hair was flowing in the breeze, her riding gown hugging her delicate figure. That day, after she smiled at him, his heart had skipped a beat… and Kendrick knew he was lost.

“Milaird,” Reed called as he sat next to him. “Yer uncle tells me we are to plan a wedding. To Sophia, of all lasses!”

Kendrick swallowed a sigh. Despite being his senior by two years, Reed had been Kendrick’s closest friend his entire life. “I will nae have any teasing from ye, Reed.”

“Is that right?” He grinned in challenge. “Surely, ye should now inform Sophia of yer affections for her? Unless ye are not so smitten with the lass as ye were.”

“Nae, she will nae ken of my feelings for her.”

Reed looked at Kendrick sceptically. “Would ye then keep ignoring her, like ye have been since ye learned of yer feelings for her?”

Kendrick disregarded Reed’s question, and the two simply stood in wait without uttering any other word; they both knew the answer.

***

Sophia had always loved the view from her hiding place beneath the trees. It was her sacred spot—where the willows protected her from the sun’s blinding rays; where its leaves laced together and danced in the breeze. She would settle beneath the great willow after she was done watering the plants, especially in dry periods like this, and picking strange herbs to study.

Her father, Angus, had agreed to let her go on expeditions as long as she never ventured far into the woods… but she was now standing in the middle of them, her hands gripping the weaved handle of her basket of lavender and chamomile.

Sophia was different from other maidens, and she knew it well. Instead of gossiping and knitting, she enjoyed reading and writing. She liked learning about the medicinal properties of various plants and riding horses. Since she was a little girl, she had always been told it was not something a lady should do, yet it never stopped her.

The loud cries of her sisters looking for her broke her attention from the view. Suddenly, they were upon her. “There ye are, sister,” Lorena whispered with her hands gripping her skirt.

“Sister, ye are hidden between the trees,” Emilea gasped as if Sophia didn’t know already.

“Wait till Father finds out,” Lorena threatened. “He may imprison ye in a tower for the remainder of the year. Ye ken ye shouldn’t go this far. We were all so worried!”

Sophia hushed them. “I was simply collecting these herbs—ye shall nae mention anything to father.”

Lorena caught sight of the basket her sister was holding. “Perhaps ye want to give make those little sachets for yer clothes like Ma showed us?”

“Or perhaps ye wish to gift them to a lad ye fancy, sister?” Emilea suggested, earning her a scoff from Sophia. Her little sister reached out to push back the strands of ginger hair that blew into her blue eyes.

Sophia had always envied her mother and sisters’ long, red hair. They had clear blue eyes that could be compared to the purest seas, and thin, lithe figures that only made them more beautiful.

Nature had only seen fit to bless Sophia with long hair, but hers was raven black. And her eyes were almost as dark. She was short too, a little frumpy.

It wasn’t that she hated the way she looked, for she had great confidence in her other qualities. “But a lass, they say, cannae have it all,” she would often mumble when she caught sight of herself in the river or in a looking glass.

Some days, she had great difficulty blending in with her family and would only spend such days alone, buried in her books or searching through the fields to discover new herbs. Neither of her sisters shared such interests.

“These beautiful cuttings I hold are healing herbs,” she said. “They ease many types of illnesses and inflammation when taken as tea.”

Her sisters looked at her hands in bewilderment.

“Ye can sniff them, if ye like.” She shoved the basket toward them.

Lorena scooped at the air. “Aye, they have a nice smell, sister, but ye will not stall us for all time. Lest I forget, Father seeks yer presence.”

“Whatever for?” Sophia asked.

“I dinnae ken, to be honest. He is just returned from Laird MacNeil’s keep, and he asked that everyone be gathered,” Lorena answered. “We came to find ye before Father came himself, because then ye’ll be in trouble.”

Sophia motioned for her sisters to take the lead. “Let’s go home, then. He must be expecting our arrival already.”

Her sisters gathered beside her, placing her in the middle and linking arms. They beamed as the chilly air rushed over them, their petticoats dragging along the tall grass.

“Good morn, I heard ye requested my presence, Father,” Sophia greeted as she walked towards him.

“Aye, my sweet bairn. Gather everyone in the hall for there is news I must share,” Angus ordered.

“I shall get to it.” Sophia nodded and left, wondering about the nature of said news.

The family gathered in the hall before long, little whispers filled the air as they all made predictions about what their father had to announce.

“It pleases me to tell ye that we will be attending a feast at Laird MacNeil’s keep in a few days,” Angus said, turning to them excitedly. “The Laird has graciously extended his invitation to us as he held council today on the matter of the harvest.”

“And why, dear, are we required to be present?” One needed not be told that the tall, ginger-haired woman was Sophia’s mother. Her two red-headed daughters were the picture of her.

“The young Laird seeks a lass to wed,” their father said.

“So not a feast, but a market. And all the lasses of the clan are to attend, are they?” the lady asked further. “Which of our daughters will be best suited for the Laird?”

“I have two daughters who are of age to find suitors, and mayhap the Laird shall choose one of them, my love. It shall gladden my heart to give one of them as wife to the Laird.”

The sisters turned to face each other, and the dining room swelled with chatter as Angus finished his announcement. Emilea smiled mischievously as she prodded Sophia in the ribs. “I’m sure the Laird will pick ye, sister.”

“Stop it, Emilea. Ye cannae be sure.” Sophia turned away to hide her flushed cheeks.

“Have ye forgotten, my dove?” Her mother stood in front of them, beaming “Ye two were closest friends since ye were young, and he wouldn’t want another lass over ye—I ken it. There is a great chance our eldest will finally be wed!”

“Do ye nae ken, Mother?” Lorena broke her silence. “He has been chilly with the clan members for years. It’s better to pick naeone!”

“Not another word from ye, Lorena,” their mother instructed.

“But Mother—” Lorena tried to argue back.

“No buts,” their mother rebuked. “Ye shall nae speak poorly of the Laird. Now,” she continued, “Ye must prepare for the feast, and God willing, our Sophia will find favor in his eyes.”

Sophia’s eyes sparkled, and her cheeks burned red. The very idea of seeing the Laird after such a long time made her excited and scared in equal parts, for she would more likely than not become his wife…

And the butterflies in her stomach told her just how thrilled she was with the idea.

 

Chapter Two

Kendrick fought to keep his disdain to himself. “Ye may attend our next council meeting, Laird Munro,” he muttered.

“Yer contributions to the matter will be much appreciated, and perhaps, we may come up with a solution to the harvest troubles that both of our clans face.”

“Thank ye, milaird. We can only hope for such success,” said Munro, a man of middle age, Laird himself to a nearby clan.

His presence did not grace Kendrick in any way. He despised the man for his arrogance, but his uncle, Logan, had suggested he show leniency. Despite being Laird, Kendrick would not go against his uncle’s sincere request.

The hall gradually filled with elder clansmen ready to discuss the harvest—some with opinions of their own; and others to judge said opinions. The hall was filled with both honored council members and some concerned landholders.

Kendrick could only hope they would come to some sense between them.

“Greetings, milaird. If it delights ye, then I seek to propose a solution,” one of the men requested. It was Angus Gibson.

Kendrick made a gesture for him to go ahead. “Ye may go on.”

“There are lands to the east, where are clan borders Laird Munro’s clan,” Angus said. “I have come to find that these lands are most fertile and would be useful for planting.”

“I disagree with his proposition, milaird,” Munro objected. “We have a long-standing agreement forbidding the toil of lands on our borders.”

“Milaird…” Angus shot a brief look at Munro. “A consensus must be reached for the benefit of all. We will all starve to death otherwise. Munro or MacNeil.”

“We do not violate customs for the supposed benefit of the people,” Munro maintained. “Rather, I would suggest the farmers put in twice as much effort to revive the land they already have.”

“The farmers work hard enough already,” Angus retorted. “They labor from night till dawn, yet the earth provides no bounty. It’s nae in our hands.”

“Then,” Munro growled. “We shall find another approach—it is plain insolence on your side that you advise we violate such an old custom.”

Uproar soon sparked in the hall, some in support of Angus, and others in agreement with Munro. Caught up in their discussion, only Kendrick noticed the entrance of Catherine from the back door of the court. She fixed her gaze on him, trailing down her neck with her fingers and smiling to herself… which made him feel a shiver.

“So, Laird Munro, ye suggest we let our people starve while we uphold traditions made by long-dead men who never faced a starving clan?” Kendrick levelled a glare at Munro. Despite his failings, he could never imagine such callousness from a laird.

“Those long-dead men, as ye say, brought our lands to existence. It is only common sense that we uphold the laws of their making,” Munro responded, but Kendrick could sense his anger was at a boiling point.

“Nae, Laird Munro. Here in my keep, my people are of great importance to me,” Kendrick pressed, rising from his chair. “I shall not uphold traditions while my clan dies of starvation. This is nonsense.”

“I see ye are all grown now. Dinnae bite off more than ye can chew,” Munro gnarled. “I refuse to be engaged in violating old customs. If this is what ye propose, then I shall excuse myself from this gathering.”

The stomping of his boots against the stone was the only sound as he walked out of the hall. Laird Munro had a reputation for his ill temper. He was a man who could harbor grudges for all eternity, and Kendrick had just challenged him in front of farmers he considered lowly.

Now composed and quiet, Angus lowered his head before Kendrick. “What shall we do about Laird Munro, milaird? We need the land sooner rather than later…”

Kendrick thought for a moment. “Leave him be. I shall have a meeting with him when he has calmed. Perhaps, a few days from now.”

“How about the other matter, milaird?” one of the farmers interjected. “Surely, we should sort out what we can for today.”

“As my uncle has announced,” Kendrick replied hesitantly, “I shall find a lass and marry soon.”

“Pardon my insolence,” the farmer insisted, “How soon will it be?”

“The council will decide,” Kendrick declared to everyone in the great hall. “I shall marry according to their decision.”

There were soft murmurs in the hall for a short time. Complete silence followed soon after. One of the main members of the council walked to the front of the rest. He first bowed to Kendrick, then faced the crowd of farmers. “It has been decided.” He turned back to Kendrick. “The Laird must find a lass to marry and bear him an heir. He must do so within the next two months. If he fails, his uncle, Logan MacNeil, shall become new Laird of the MacNeil clan.”

Kendrick looked away as voices debated the council’s ruling. As Laird, he had done his very best, and he would not allow the council to remove him from his position. He would not be defined by incompetence like his father had been.

The court was dismissed, but Kendrick could not find the strength to leave his seat. It was as though his legs were numb, or too weak to carry the weight of his body. Even his spirit was unwilling. He held onto the wooden arms of the chair, struggling for support as he forced himself up.

He did not know whether fear or anger fueled him now. One thing was certain: he would not sit around forlorn, waiting to be dragged out of his clan.

When he finally stepped outside, rain poured down, and the sky rumbled ruthlessly. He turned from the hall’s entrance to nestle himself into an alcove. Crestfallen, he watched the wet, muddy field outside the keep’s gates.

It was the same field he played in countless times as a child. He almost wished to return to simpler times, when he didn’t have to worry about feelings, farmers, family, and the duty that went along with them. Back then, all he did was laugh and roll around with Reid and Sophia in the muck, as their laughter echoed throughout the keep.

Hearing a noise, he swiftly turned his neck to catch his uncle behind him.

“I told ye, lad. Have ye come to a decision?” Kendrick could only offer an expressionless stare. “Ye heard the council.” Logan sounded frustrated. “Ye have to make a choice at the feast in a few days.”

“Why dinnae ye decide for me, Uncle? Ye seem to desire my marriage more than I do.”

“It is for yer own good, lad. Ye need an heir to remain Laird, and ye need a fair lass to give ye an heir.” Logan put his hands on Kendrick’s shoulder, patting him gently. “I’m worried for ye, dinnae make light of that. Sophia, Lorena, or any other maiden yer age would be a fine choice.”

“I cannae make Sophia my wife,” Kendrick blurted out without much thought. It made Logan shift backward and arch his brow.

“It was only a suggestion, lad,” Logan mumbled. “I presumed it would be natural if ye felt drawn to her since ye had known her the longest.”

Kendrick did not move his sight away from the downpour. “I dinnae feel drawn to her,” he lied.

Because he had loved her once, he was unable to contemplate ever harming her the way a man harms a wife—the way his father harmed his mother. Out of love. Years ago, he had thought his heart belonged to Sophia… and he had pushed her away because of it. He knew there was no way he could accept her.

“I would say ye go for the middle one then. She is a bonnie lass, I must say,” Logan advised. “Ye make yer move, get close to her at the feast. Nae lass can resist MacNeil charm, ye ken. Nae that a laird will need to be charming at all.”

He could never fall in love with Lorena, but Logan was unaware of how much Kendrick had cherished Sophia. He didn’t know it was not Sophia’s beauty that incited Kendrick’s affection, but the rainy afternoon strolls they took together, the rides on the back of horses… the memories of her that shielded him from destruction on the days his mother’s ghost would haunt him.

Perhaps it was fated that only she could catch his attention, and he had no intention of betraying their friendship.

Even the memories of Sophia could evoke the deepest of emotions in him—still. He would rather live a thousand lonely nights, than admit his past affections for her.

He didn’t notice the tear on his face before it fell.

The only way he could shield Sophia was to push her as far away as he could. He would do everything in his power to keep her safe so that he wouldn’t place himself in a position where his heart could further betray him.

***

Lorena had spent an hour pacing around the room. She’d been pacing for three days since their father told them about the Laird’s feast. Sophia’s dark eyes followed her around the room, nudging her favorite planter every time she returned to it.

“Ye should sit down, Lorena. Yer movement is maddening.”

“Ye ken sister, if he chooses one of us, we would be living in hell! Imagine waking up to a man who ignores ye, it’s so terrible!” Lorena collapsed onto the bed. Her dramatic side usually amused Sophia, but now it was making her even more nervous.

Her mind drifted to thoughts of Kendrick, and she imagined how pleasant it would be to see him again. Clearly, it was an image much different than the one plaguing Lorena’s mind. “I have told ye—Laird MacNeil is a fine man, and any lass would be happy to be his lady.”

“By chance, are ye defending him, sister?” Lorena raised a brow.

“I am nae! All I am saying is he is kind and gentle. At least I have such memories of him, and he is nae a brute.”

“Yet he grew distant from ye without reason. Do ye nae consider the possibility that he may nae longer be the young lad ye played with as a bairn? Do ye nae hear the rumors of his coldness?”

Sophia had never been one to give much credit to rumors and gossip. Besides, she knew him better than anyone who had a thing to say of his character… but she could not deny it. She often wondered about the reason he grew indifferent to her, and it was, at times, a torment. She worried that he noticed her feelings for him and that they scared him away.

“People dinnae change that quickly, Lorena.” She knew for a fact that they did, but still, she had to defend him from her sister’s harsh remarks. “Ye should feel sorry for him instead. He is more likely a lonely laird stuck in a castle without someone with whom to share happiness or sorrow.”

“Now, I would be kind enough to offer pity, but I wouldn’t want to wed such a brute.” Lorena turned to face Sophia, but she was too wrapped up in her ruminating to notice. “Are ye there, sister?” she mouthed, almost making her jump out of her own skin. “Were ye even listening to me?”

“I was, indeed.” She couldn’t speak more on these rumors for she did not know what could cause anyone to hate him, especially Lorena. “How would this look?” Sophia huffed, beaming as she got to her feet. She dragged the Arasaid she had sewn for special occasions from the far corner of the room and held it over her body.

Lorena rolled her eyes in disappointment. “Ye would look like a rabbit chasing carrots in it.”

“Really?” Sophia fought a frown.

Her sister drew her down onto the bed, holding her hands as if in desperation.

“Think about it—ye are like the sun and moon. He is different from ye. Ye cannae possibly wish to marry him just because of yer admiration for him. He would smother yer light.”

“Ye poor thing… it’s a good thing ye may nae have to marry him, then,” Sophia teased as she lovingly touched her sister’s cheek.

“Ye should cease taunting yer sister,” their mother announced as she entered Sophia’s room. “It would be an honor if the Laird asked to wed our dear Sophia,” she leaned over to retrieve the garment on Sophia’s lap. “This would fit ye, my dear,” she simpered.

Sophia leaped up, catching her mother in a half-embrace. “Ye think so, ma?”

Their mother nodded in affirmation, “I believe so, my love.”

Having failed to dissuade her sister, Lorena put her hands over her mouth, yawning in resignation.

“Ye must get ready. We depart shortly for the feast.” Their mother lowered herself enough to reach Lorena’s arms, and without giving room for her to free herself, she dragged her out of the chamber.

Sophia smiled to herself. She couldn’t seem to get Kendrick off her mind. She was concerned about how much older he would appear. She imagined his blue eyes locked on hers and him addressing her as his lady. Her stomach knotted just thinking about it made her chuckle. She wished she could run her fingers through his thick, dark, curly hair. She had so much she wanted to tell him…

She had hoped for a day like this for all eternity.

This sounds too good to be true… but what could go wrong? I doubt he would choose Lorena, she thought, anxiety creeping up her throat. Lorena had no affection for him. In fact, she despised him, and she would not settle with a man for whom she had no feelings.

“Sophia!” Lorena called in a whisper as she sneaked into her room again. She was dressed in an astonishing blue dress that was falling down heavily and made her look like a serene night sky.

Turning her gaze to her sister, Sophia opened her mouth wide in playful shock. “Ye look like ye would leave all the lads fighting for breath tonight!”

Lorena posed, showing off playfully. “Do I, sister?”

“Shall I show ye yer reflection in my eyes?”

“Thank ye, sister. Ye will look even more beautiful.”

Sophia took Lorena’s hand in her own and drew in an anxious breath. There was a lot she wanted to say; a lot she had to lose tonight, too. “I dinnae ken what will happen tonight, but promise me, we will always be here for each other.”

Lorena looked suddenly downcast. She pried her hand away to seize Sophia’s. “I promise, sister. Things may change, but we will always be here for each other.”

Sophia pulled her close, holding Lorena for what could have been hours before pulling herself back.

They knew not what the feast would bring, but one thing was certain: things would not be the same when they returned. The sisters had great confidence in their unbreakable bond and, together, even the strongest storm would only seem like a drizzle.

“Shall we go then?” Sophia forced a smile once she was dressed and offered her hand.

“We shall,” Lorena grinned lightly before taking Sophia’s hand. Together, they walked out of their father’s home and into the unknown.

 

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