Chapter 1

“You cannot make me do it!” Laura’s voice echoed back off the study walls.

“You will not raise your voice to me, child,” her father followed her around the room. She tried to escape him and put the study desk between them, knowing well the feel of his anger from her childhood. He had never been afraid to strike her in reprimand. “We have guests. Do you wish the entire ball to hear you behaving so insolently?”

“Maybe I do wish it? What would you say to that?” She came to a stop on the other side of the desk as he stopped too. “If I disgrace our family’s reputation enough with my ‘insolence’, as you call it, perhaps this wedding will not happen.”

“This wedding is happening no matter how great your objections are!” His voice was filled with menace as he slammed his hands down on the desk. She jumped back away from the desk, nearly colliding with a nearby armchair in her desperation to escape Sir Hamilton.

“You would do this to me? I am your daughter,” she scrambled around the armchair as her father pursued her, his face turning redder with each exchanged shout between them.

“I am your father, and you will obey me,” he grabbed hold of her skirt, pulling her back before she could escape.

“No! Let me go!”

“You will make this alliance, you will make this marriage,” he adjusted his hold, taking hold of her arms and shaking her, “with this connection, our family will be noble! Do you think I would sacrifice that just because you have no liking for the man? You act as though he is the devil himself!” Laura knew her father was an ambitious man. Though he possessed a good fortune, they had no noble connections. If Laura were to marry the Earl, their family would be connected with a noble bloodline.

“If you make me marry such a man, then you are worse than the devil—ahh!”

He struck her across the cheek, releasing her arm and delivering such a firm blow that she staggered back away from him, clutching her face. She collided with the armchair and used it to hold herself up as she trembled.

“Learn from this, Laura. The Earl will not want an outspoken wife. He will care for it no more than I care for an outspoken daughter,” he snapped the words in her direction before turning away from her.

She winced at the words, knowing few gentlemen she had ever met liked her wish to speak her mind. Her mother had been the same as her, always wishing to speak her mind but fearing doing so. The day her mother had died, her father had not even visited her. Claiming he had already heard enough words from his wife for his lifetime.

“I will not —”

“That is enough, Laura!” he shouted, tossing the words over his shoulder as he returned to the door. “Our guests are still in the ballroom, dancing, making merry, and waiting for our return to celebrate with us. We will join them.”

“How do you expect me to ‘make merry’ now?” She looked up to him, still clutching her cheek. The pain was stinging from where he had left a handprint on her cheek. “I will never be happy again now.”

“Do not be dramatic, child,” he scoffed as he crossed the room again, returning to her side. “Now, I am ordering you to return to the ballroom.” Laura refused to move. She stayed exactly where she was, holding onto the chair and her cheek. “Do I need to administer punishment again to make you move?”

She scrambled away before he could lay another hand on her. She put the desk between them once more, deciding quickly on her actions. If he came near her again, she would fight back. She would not be hurt by him anymore. She would grab anything near to hand, the inkwell from the desk, the nearby books, or even the parchment weight, anything to prevent him from striking her.

“Insolent child, just like your mother,” he spat the words out as he turned away from her. “She tried to avoid doing her duty too. Clean yourself up,” he gestured to her with a frantic wave of his hand. “Put something on that cheek to hide the red mark and join me in the ballroom. If you are not there in ten minutes, believe me, Laura, you will regret it.”

Laura flicked her head away from him, looking to the mirror above the fireplace nearby. From her attempted escape around the room, some of her brown locks had fallen out of her updo, and her pale skin was mottled red from his strike.

“Do I have your agreement?”

Laura wanted to shout and rail at him that she had no inclination to follow his instruction to return to the ball, let alone his instruction to marry Lord Moore, but she knew she had little choice.

“Yes,” she replied simply, watching in the mirror as he walked back toward the door.

“Good,” he flung open the door, disappeared through, and shut it loudly behind him. As it clattered in the frame, Laura jumped once more at the sharp sound. She closed her eyes for a few minutes, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to fall.

I cannot do this. I cannot marry him. This future cannot be mine!

She opened her eyes to see her reflection in the mirror, tracing the blue eyes, petite features, and brown hair. She was so similar to her mother in many ways. The thought brought something to her mind… Her governess had once told her of her mother’s attempt to leave Sir Hamilton’s house. She had tried to escape in the dead of night with Laura in her arms and the governess with her, but they had been caught before they could leave London and forced to return home.

Perhaps I should be even more like my mother!

Her governess, Miss Ava Buchanan, had retired to Scotland two years ago.

What if I could escape my father’s house after all? Do what my mother always wanted to!

She pushed away from the mirror and began to pace up and down the room, trying to reset her hair as a plan formed in her mind. She could run away and escape her betrothal. Her father would surely never follow her all the way to Scotland. There she could live a different life entirely, one where she was her own master! She could go into service, it would be hard, but it was infinitely preferable to a future married to Lord Moore. Or a future where she had to face the continued beatings from her father.

She turned back to the mirror, seeing the red mark on her cheek. The sight of it only made her more determined.

“Very well, father,” she muttered under her breath. “I will pretend to agree with this betrothal, but only to fool you.” She walked toward the door, preparing to return to her chamber to reset her makeup. “Then I will take my leave of you. For good!”

***

The next night as Laura returned to her chamber, she was extra careful to lock the door. She had been awake for most of the night before, considering her plan. She had wavered a few times. After all, she had never known a life where she was not beside her father! Yet now…she would do anything to be away from him. In the end, any hesitation she felt was overruled.

I have to escape.

The reason her mother’s attempt to flee had not worked was that she had tried to leave the house dressed as she always was. In a carriage she owned, her mother had made no attempt to hide her identity as they crossed London. It had therefore been easy enough for Sir Hamilton to trace her escape and bring her home.

I will not make the same mistake.

Laura had retired early for the evening, claiming to her father that she had a headache after all the excitement from the ball the night before. He had barely acknowledged her words. He was much more focused on preparing her dowry for her marriage to the Earl.

As the lock of the door clicked into place, she turned into the room, her movements hurried and frenzied as she lit some candles to keep her company. With the room bathed in amber light, she looked under the bed and pulled out the pack she had secretly placed there earlier that day. She opened the pack on the bed, revealing all the things she would need to escape: a bundle of food, a waterskin of beer, and a servant boy’s uniform.

She held up the shirt and breeches to her body and turned to the mirror, examining the fit. She had taken the clothes from the laundry room in the morning. Being so small, she had to take a boy’s clothes. A man’s would have been far too big.

“This could work,” she muttered to herself, smiling with excitement. Laura dropped the clothes back on the bed and turned to the mirror.

If I am to transform myself into a boy, there is much that must change!

She started to work on her hair. Collecting small scissors from her toilette table, she cut away at the long locks until they just reached her chin. With the strands so short, she tied them into a small bun at the back of her head. Next, she turned to her face and hurried to remove the makeup. Her features were still petite, and though she did not believe herself to be a great beauty, her features were pretty enough that it would be difficult to persuade others she was a boy. She pulled a cap out of a drawer, one she had taken from the stable boy that had been distracted with the horses earlier that day. Pulling the cap down over her head, it hid her features enough to make the illusion a little more real.

Now darkness had completely fallen outside, she would have to make her escape. The sooner she could leave, the more hours concealed in the darkness she would have to run from the house.

She undressed quickly and bound her breasts with a strip of linen from her cupboard. Though slight in figure, she had slim curves, and they would need to be hidden if she were to be convincing. With her breasts bound, she took a small purse out of her dresser full of money and hid the purse between her breasts. At least there, no one could steal from her! She dressed in the boy’s clothes, pulling the cap low as she finished her work.

She stared in the mirror for some time, shifting between her feet with nerves. Staring into the mirror with her blue eyes darting back and forth, she had to accept there was not much that was masculine about her… she would have to hope that people would think her merely a young boy and feminine in appearance. She had seen enough feminine men in her life, those dandies who were almost as slight in the figure as she was.

Perhaps this could work.

If she were caught, she feared what the punishment could be. Her father would probably beat her, but what punishment her husband-to-be would think of was frightening. With all the rumors that circled about that man, she didn’t doubt it would be something horrific. Something in the bedchamber…she shivered with fear from the idea.

It was worth a try at the very least. She had nothing to lose.

She placed the food bundle in a leather satchel bag and turned back to her writing desk, placed in the corner of her chamber. Inside the top drawer, she found her last letter from her governess. In the corner of the parchment was Ava’s address, in the heart of Scotland in Inverness.

It will be quite a journey.

She smiled at the idea and hid the letter in her satchel before turning to the door. On the wall next to the door was a painting of her mother. She placed a kiss on her hand and turned her palm to the painted cheek of her mother.

“Wish me luck.”

Chapter Two

Laura had been wandering the streets for some time before she had to accept that she was lost. She had planned to head to the coaching inn. From there, she could catch the stagecoach and make her way slowly up the country toward Scotland. The stagecoach could take her as far as Edinburgh, and from there, she could traverse the open countryside toward Inverness.

Yet the dark streets looked so different at night, and she had grown more and more nervous with each passing group of strangers. She had never been out so late by herself before. She passed through the streets of Covent Garden and was startled to see the number of courtesans and ladies of the night that wandered the street. More than one approached her to her alarm, but she ran quickly away, with her eyes darting between groups of ruffians and drunkards that could not walk the streets in a straight line.

As she reached the other side of Covent Garden, she had to accept she had no idea of which way to go to find the coaching inn. She swallowed all her pride when she saw a young man smoking a pipe, standing a little apart from a drunkard group outside an alehouse.

“Excuse me,” she affected a deep voice. Her tone was already husky, but she took on an extra depth. “Could you tell me the way to the coaching inn, please?”

“That way,” the man pointed down the road. “Second turn on your left.” His eyes returned to her, and she saw them widen on her. “Hurry lad, before anyone notices you here.”

“Why?” She stepped back in surprise.

“Young boy like yourself, easy target,” he took a long drag on his pipe and blew out the smoke. It billowed in the air around Laura’s face, making her stumble even further back.

Was that a threat!?

For the briefest of moments, she was pleased to see she had passed for a boy, but the threat in his words hit her quickly. She hurried away, feeling the darkness of his meaning practically crawl inside her and leave her trembling. She walked quickly down the street, looking back once to see the man talking to one of his friends and gesturing down the road in her direction with his pipe.

I am no easy target.

Despite the words, she felt fear growing anyway. She glanced down at her body, being so slight, she would hardly be able to put up much of a fight if it came to it.

She followed the man’s instructions, but before she took the second left, she glanced back another time. Her breath hitched to see the young man and his friends were now walking down the streets, their eyes trained on her position.

Laura ran before she could think too much about it. All she knew was that she had to put as much distance between her and the men as quickly as possible. Running without a skirt and in flat leather boots, she found remarkably easy, compared to the heavy dresses and heels she used to wear, but little good it did. As she kept looking back over her shoulder, cold realization struck.

They are gaining ground!

***

“Here? I am nae certain, Dearg,” Erskine shook his head as his gaze scanned the coaching inn before him, his dark red hair bounced across his forehead with the movement. They were so close to Covent Garden, he did not doubt that some of their party would probably take advantage of visiting the courtesans whilst they took their rest overnight, but that was not what troubled Erskine. In Covent Garden, the number of ruffians and thieves was too high to count. He did not like putting his group in such jeopardy.

“Aye, it is for one night only. What wrong could it do?” His younger brother, Dearg, laughed and clapped him on the back as they handed their horses to the stable. “Ye need to lighten up, brother. Nothin’ will happen to us tonight.”

“I am nae so sure of that,” Erskine patted his steed’s neck as the horse whinnied beside him. He was as reluctant to hand the horse over to the stable as he was to stay at the coaching inn. He had heard tales of such stables selling the horses at night and then running before the owners could return.

“Be cheerful, in the name of the wee man!”

Aye, I will be happy once we are far from London.

Erskine thought his brother could be a fool at times. If it were not for Erskine’s strategic thinking and quick work with his fists, Dearg would have come to a sticky end at the hands of a thief a long time ago. As it was, Erskine was always looking over his shoulder, and his quick temper had earned him the label ‘brute’ on more than one occasion. He hardly cared; he was sure it was the reason they were both still alive. As sons of a Scottish Laird, they were desirable targets for thieves and swindlers.

“Let go of the horse already,” Dearg took the steed from his hands and passed the reins to the stable boy. “All will be well,” Dearg was still smiling, making his freckled cheeks crease. “We are all still here, are we nae?” He turned Erskine with his shoulder to face the rest of their party that were all standing outside of the coaching inn door.

There were three other men with them: Camden, Aiden, and Tam. They had travelled down together for Erskine to discuss business of his father, Laird McCullum, with parliament. Now the Jacobite Rebellions had finished for good, such trips would become more and more necessary, but it did not mean Erskine trusted the ill-feeling between the Scots and the English to be concluded so easily.

As Erskine considered this idea, he saw Tam step away from the others, his expression altogether darker than it had been a moment ago.

“Tam, what is wrong?” Erskine was instantly alert.

“Take a look,” Tam pointed down the street behind Erskine. “It seems the Scottish are nae the only ones that thieves like to target.”

Erskine followed his friend’s gaze down the road. There was a young lad sprinting down the center of the cobbled street. Behind him at a little distance were a group of four young men, chasing him down.

***

Laura had never known fear like this. She could hear the footsteps behind her and the catcalls too. They were teasing her, laughing at her size, shouting that she could not outrun them. Just as the sign of the coaching inn came into view in the moonlight, she felt a pair of hands take hold of her, jerking her backward.

“Let go!” she roared, adopting the deep voice again, but it did little use. Suddenly, the ruffians closed in around her. There were four of them. She was tossed from one set of hands to another, their arms binding hers down at her side so that she could not push them away. The stench was overwhelming: a mixture of ale and the aftereffects of visiting a privy.

“What money you got then, eh?” A voice drawled as a face appeared in front of her, bright red from intake of drink. His breath stank of ale as he reached into her satchel.

She had brought so few things with her, and she could not bear the thought of such a man touching the letter from her governess. With her body being held by the person behind her, practically holding her off the ground, she used it as leverage. She reared back and kicked out with both feet, her boots struck against the stinking man’s stomach, winding him and making him fall back.

“Ha! Spirited for such a small lad, isn’t he?” One of the drunkards laughed as he approached her.

She tried to kick out again, but the fourth thief grabbed her legs, trying to hold them down.

“Come on, hand over your cash, boy, and we’ll be on our way,” the man behind her said in her ear. She tried to recoil away from his mouth being so close to her skin, but she could not get far.

She felt a hand slip into her pocket. She toyed with the idea of handing over her money, thinking it could save her life, but she had only change in her pockets, as the purse with most of her cash had been hidden in the linen binding around her breasts, and she was hardly going to confess to that or let them look beneath her shirt.

Then they will know I am no boy at all!

Her mind flashed with all sorts of fears—terrified that if they discovered she was a woman, they could do far worse to her than just steal from her… The grasp of the thief’s arms around her suddenly felt more constricting, and she tussled against them.

“Let go of me!” she roared again. She kicked out, this time freeing her legs and managing to make contact with one of the ruffian’s chins. It sent him stumbling back and clutching his face.

The thief behind her adjusted his hold. Just as she thought she would have the opportunity to escape, she felt something sharp placed at her throat. She held perfectly still as the cold touch of a blade met the crease of her throat.

“Do not move again,” the man spat the words in her ear. She could feel the spittle running down her neck, but she could not pull away from him with the blade pressed so threateningly against her. “Money now or die.”

Is this really how I am to meet my death? From a thief in the street!

“Release the lad.” A firm voice joined the cacophony of catcalls.

Laura’s eyes darted around, but all she could see were the two thieves she had wounded, one clutching his stomach and the other holding onto his bleeding chin, and the third hesitating, shifting between his feet.

“You would not do it,” the man entrapping her said, turning his head away from her. The movement allowed her enough freedom to turn her face to the side.

Beside them stood a tall man, dressed in trews, shirt, waistcoat, and a dark jacket. He towered over the man holding onto her. In his hand was a flintlock pistol, with the silver barrel gleaming in the moonlight trained on the man behind her.

“I wouldnae be so certain about that,” the man smiled full of threat with a thick Scottish accent. He lowered the pistol and shot at the ground by their feet.

The man jumped, releasing her enough to stumble away. She staggered on her feet, barely aware as she felt the Scottish stranger take her arm and heave her behind him. Then, he reared forward, with one hard strike, he thumped the man in the nose. The thief reeled backward for a second, then fell to the ground, trying to scramble away on his back.

Laura lifted her eyes to see there were other Scottish travelers around her, four other men who were now joining the fray. They each set upon one of the thieves, scaring them enough to make the ruffians retreat down the road.

“Bloody Scots!” The man who had held the blade at Laura’s throat threw the insult in the air. At the words, the Scottish man who had torn her away from his grasp strode forward threateningly, as though he would deliver another blow, but it seemed to do enough.

The thief ran back down the street, on the coattails of his friends.

“What was that about?” One of the Scottish travelers turned to the one that had pulled her free.

“I told ye, Dearg,” he shook his head. “This is nae a safe place to be.”

“Aye, aye, very well,” Dearg admitted, holding his hands up in surrender. Whereas Dearg had an amiable countenance with bright red hair and blue eyes, the man he was talking to had dark red hair and a much sterner manner. “I was hardly expectin’ this though, was I?”

“Thieves descendin’ on a young boy? Why would ye? Any decent human bein’ wouldnae think of it, but we are nae in a decent place now,” the man turned, and his eyes found Laura as he replaced the flintlock pistol in his belt. She was startled by the strength of his green gaze. He stepped toward her, with those green eyes darting up and down her for a second. “Ye all right there, laddie?”

Laura swallowed as she considered the question. Her clothes were ruffled by the encounter, and her body was shaken, but she was not injured. One of her hands went from the strap of her satchel bag to the place on her neck where the blade had been held at her throat, but she had suffered only a graze.

“I am fine, thank you for…” she trailed off and gestured at the road where the thieves had disappeared.

“Ye shouldnae be out here by yerself,” the Scottish traveler walked toward her.

Laura knew that at such close distance, she should be pulling her hat lower, trying to hide her eyes for fear of discovery that she was a girl, but she found she could not. She could not help looking out boldly from the hat brim to stare at the stranger’s face.

I have never seen anyone like him before.

With a square and angular jaw, he had sharp features that could make his anger plain as day, though they had softened now, and Laura was dazed by the handsomeness in those features, in particular the green eyes that were still looking over her.

“Aye, easy target,” another one of the Scottish travelers moved to her side. This one was shorter than the others, with fair hair tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. “Placed yerself in danger.”

Laura flinched at the words, hating the insinuation she could not look after herself, despite what had happened moments before.

“I was heading for the coaching inn,” she gestured to the building behind them, speaking with a harsh tone. “I hardly expected such a thing to happen, did I?”

“A little foolish,” the handsome Scot remarked though a smirk teased his lips as he said it. She flicked her eyes back toward him, disarmed momentarily from finding an immediate retort as she gazed at his features again.

“Perhaps, but I would rather live my life believing in the good of strangers rather than the bad.”

“Still sounds foolish to me,” his smile was growing greater now.

“And what of yourselves?” She pointed to them. “You are strangers to me too, yet you would do me the kindness of helping me out.”

“Aye, very well, I take yer point,” the handsome Scot admitted. “Ye best get inside, laddie before any more thieves come this way.”

“You are staying here too?” she asked in surprise as the Scot took hold of her shoulder and turned her toward the building.

“Aye.”

The group filtered in through the door, with Laura and the handsome Scot trailing at the back.

“Will you tell me your name?” She could see her words were met with surprise as he hovered in the doorway. “I wish to know who I am indebted to.”

“Erskine,” he replied. “And yers?”

“Billie,” the word came out quickly. It was the name of one of the servants in her father’s employment and the first name that came to mind.

“Very well, ye best get inside, Billie, ye’re shakin’,” he pointed down at her hands. She balled them into fists as she tried to stop the trembling. “I’ll buy ye a drink. Ale should put a stop to that shakin’.”

Laura found herself nodding and following him inside, more than happy to follow the handsome Scot.

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

Chapter 1

Ewan Castle 1296

Kyla McCormack stood in her chamber, wringing her hands as her bright green eyes stared out of the window. It opened out onto the vast plains and the river beyond, and in the bright sunshine, it seemed like she could see for miles. “Och, Mary, it has been so long since they left for battle and nae word. My whole body is tremblin’. It has been weeks now!”

Mary, her young, red-cheeked chambermaid, came up beside her and touched her lightly on the arm. Mary had brown hair pulled tightly back and had kind grey eyes. “Mistress, all will be well. Ye ken already that battles take a long time. There are preparations tae be made, the men tae heal and bury, and the return journey. It may be even more time.” Kyla nodded but didn’t reply and kept chewing on the side of her lip.

Mary smiled. “I ken why ye are so worried, lass. But ye must nae be afeared, for Bram is young and strong. Ye will yet see yer weddin’ day come tae pass.”

Kyla turned to her young friend, the only person she knew in this large, dark castle, and smiled. “Thank ye, Mary. Ye are so right. He is strong, the strongest fighter in the clan. Yer encouragement does me well.”

“Good.” Mary moved to a small wooden table to the side and poured her mistress red wine. “Here. Drink this. It will ease the nerves.”

Kyla nodded and took a large sip from the pewter cup, her eyes still fixed on the wilds beyond. It had been over a month now since she’d been housed in Ewan Castle, away from her family far to the south. Soon after, before they could complete the uniting of the McCormack and Ewan clans through marriage, news of the battle had come to them, and then men had left for the coastline, righteous anger in their eyes.

Kyla licked her lips, savoring the sweet and comforting taste of the wine, her hand tightly clutching the cup. She put it down, twisting her red hair in her fingertips, wrapping an elegantly sleeved arm around her waist. Despite Kyla’s knowledge of his strength, her mind began to wander, going down dangerous paths. When would he come back? What if handsome, wonderful Bram was lost to her? What was she to do then far away in a new and strange part of the world forever? Her father had desired this union for years now, but it was only recently that she had come of age, ready to be wed. Although many other women had been forced into marriage, Kyla was happy to do so after she had met Bram a few times.

He was tall and strong, with long, light brown hair, and his eyes were the color of honey mead. The taste of his kiss was enough to send a trembling weakness to her knees, although they had only indulged twice, in hidden regions of the castle, when Mary was not around, and when her father was busy with Bram’s. He was kind tae her, and he looked at her with affection and spoke to her lovingly, not like her harsh father who always expected so much of her. She was ready for marriage to Bram, and she loved him dearly. She just wished he would come back and come back soon, for she missed him and hated the idea of him in battle.

Squinting to help her vision just a bit, Kyla was about to turn away from the window when she spotted riders coming from the east, racing towards the castle. At first, her heart fluttered with fear, afraid that it could be a group of rogue Englishmen who had traveled inward, hoping to pillage and plunder those in the countryside. But soon, she smiled when she saw the Ewan colors and the gleam of swords against the horses’ sides. “Mary!” she said excitedly, grabbing the arms of her chambermaid tightly as she spun around and moved to the door. “The men are back! Bram is home!”

Mary turned and looked out of the window. “So few have returned,” she said in a solemn voice, but Kyla barely heard her as she unlatched the wooden door and hurried out into the stone corridor, rushing along its length, grasping her skirts as she hurried herself along.

Bram is back, and now we can marry and live forever in happiness, as we were goin’ tae.

 A smile touched her lips, and her heart flipped with excitement as she finally rushed into the bottom great hall of the castle, watching as the servants, murmuring with interest, hurried to the door. The smell of hay and smoke was in the air, and it would soon also be filled with the scent of horses and sweat. The servants pulled open the large wooden door, wanting to be ready for their master’s return. Standing a little farther back, Kyla smoothed her dark skirt and felt Mary’s touch at her side as her chambermaid arrived breathless beside her. Kyla waited patiently, and she pulled at the ends of her red hair, hoping to smooth them down just a bit, even though her curls were often wild. She wanted to look her best for her betrothed. She ached suddenly for the feel of his strong arms around her again. Her Bram, home and safe.

She took a deep breath as she heard hooves clatter over the stone bridge, and a horse appeared in the yawning open door to the hall, black-haired Clyde atop it. Kyle smiled widely, happy to greet her future brither-in-law, but as she stepped forward, she paused as she saw the tired and hardened look on Clyde’s face. The other horses entered in, and not one of them held Bram. Worry began to thread through her mind, but she could not even bear to think of his loss until she spoke to Clyde.

Mary slid her arm into her mistress’, and Kyla was grateful for the gesture. Clyde jumped down from his horse, and a servant rushed to take the bridle from his master. Clyde’s steely green eyes looked around the room, and they stopped when they alighted on Kyla and Mary. He walked towards them, tall and erect, with his hands in fists at his side. His clothing was torn and bloody, and he winced ever so slightly as he made his way towards them.

Kyla’s throat tightened with each step he took. She moved forward as well, wanting desperately to hear his news. Perhaps Bram was simply injured and would be home soon once he was well enough. That thought gave her a flutter of hope until she saw Clyde’s eyes as she met him face-to-face. They were stark and red-rimmed. “Clyde,” she said slowly. “Where is Bram? What news of the battle?”

Clyde cleared his throat. His mouth twisted in a slight grimace, giving him an even more stern appearance. His long, hooked nose didn’t make the expression any more favorable. When he spoke, his voice sounded thick, as if it was painful for him to speak. “The English took the castle, but only because the Lord of Douglas surrendered, and his men were spared. But we lost many.” He motioned to the bedraggled men behind him, servants bringing them water and wine, removing the horses to the stable. He looked down and took a trembling breath. Softly, he said, “Bram fell, M’lady. He was taken at the end of the battle. I am sorry.” He didn’t look up again, and he lifted a hand to his face.

Kyla blinked and clutched Mary tightly as the words repeated in her mind. Bram is gone. She opened her mouth, trying to utter something, anything to take away the sting of this horrible news. Her handsome, powerful Bram was gone. The man she had given her heart to, to whom she wanted to give her heart for the rest of her days! Dead. It didn’t seem real. How could he be dead, when in her mind’s eye, he was so alive, pulsing with strength and liveliness? What was she to do now that he was gone—taken from her? The world shook before her eyes, and she felt the strong arms of Clyde and Mary try to grab her as she fell to the ground.

***

A time later, he knew not when, the crackling of a fire and the hum of a light voice lifted Bram from his sleep. He awoke, suddenly gasping for breath, feeling sweat on his face. His heart raced at his rude awakening, and he turned, his eyes desperate to comprehend what surrounded him. He was on his side, and he faced brick walls, poorly built, and he could sense a slight breeze blowing through the cracks, even though straw had been stuffed hastily between the open spots. Slowly, his eyes moved across the low cottage. He could see a thatched roof, and then he saw a large open fireplace, with a fire burning strong inside of it. Next to it was a long wooden table, and hovering over a bowl was the shape of an old woman, the rounded hump of her back more visible as she bent over in her dark cloak.

“Ye,” he said in a dry voice. He licked his lips to moisten his mouth a bit, trying to lift himself up, but he winced in pain. “Who are ye? What do I do here?” he asked.

The old woman’s dark eyes snapped up to meet his, and she dropped the implements she was using and pointed to him, a shadow of a smile on her face. “Ye have been wounded, warrior, and so I heal ye.” She watched him a moment and then returned to her work as if her minor explanation was enough to placate him. Her voice did not sound the way he’d expected. Despite her wizened appearance, her voice was soft and kind, that of a much younger woman.

“Am I nae dead? Who are ye? How have ye found me?” After trying a few times in vain to sit up, he laid back down again on his side, feeling the sharp pain in his back begin to throb.

The old woman chuckled. “My name is of nae consequence, lad, but I found ye layin’ on a battlefield.” She sucked in her breath and shook her head. Her eyes were sorrowful. “The death. The destruction these English have wrought. There were so many bodies. I came, and I saw that ye breathed yet.”

“But how could ye have possibly moved me?” he asked, intrigued by her tale. A white, veined hand lifted out of her cloak and waved in the air as if dismissing his question.

She took up a brown clay bowl and walked to his side. Without warning, she lifted it to his lips. “Drink this. It will help ye feel even better, now that the fever is passed. Ye can rest again. Rest is what ye need, lad.”

He drank, even though he didn’t know if he could trust the woman, for it felt good to have liquid pass down his throat and ease the pain of dryness. It was not a bad taste, and it was warm, although he couldn’t identify the flavor. Once the bowl was finished, the old woman sighed with satisfaction. “There, lad, now ye can rest again.”

His eyes were closed, and he could feel weariness stealing over him, but he still tried to speak. “Old woman, I am a laird. Laird Ewan. My men…my brither, I must get back t’my castle at Foulden. They will wonder where I am. She will wonder tae. Kyla,” he said, his voice drifting off as he spoke, the feeling of whatever she had given him spreading through him warmly like wine.

“Kyla,” the old woman replied in her soft voice as he felt the darkness spreading in his mind. “What a bonny name, that.”

Chapter Two

Kyla felt a rough hand touch her cheek, and when she opened her eyes, she was looking into Clyde’s concerned face. “Kyla, lass,” he said softly and lifted her to stand. “Forgive me for sharing such news so bluntly.” He sniffed a little. The grogginess slowly left her mind, and she frowned at the sight of Clyde paling as she stood waveringly on her feet, Mary on her other side.

“News,” she said quietly, and then the shock of what Clyde had shared with her came back to her. “Och, Bram,” she answered, feeling tears fill her eyes. The thought of him lying bloody in the long fields of battle made her chest tighten with agony. He was so loving, so bonny, and now he is gone.

She looked down at her hand as Clyde’s large one slid into it. Clyde was so different from Bram. While Bram reminded her of green fields and bright sunshine, Clyde made her think of deep lochs and incoming storms. He moved closer, and suddenly, his strong scent of sweat filled her senses. It made her ache inside for the old smell of Bram when he returned from the fields or a long ride. She would never have the chance to smell that scent again, and that knowledge made her feel hollow. She squeezed Clyde’s hand in comfort and glanced at his pale face. “Yer brither, lad. I am sorry for ye. How did he die?” she asked.

“I thank ye, Kyla. I didnae imagine that my elder brither could now be gone. So strong and the most skilled fighter in the clan.” A dark look came over Clyde’s face, and he punched a fist into his hand. “Those damned English! Takin’ my only family from me!”

Kyla saw the fury and grief in his eyes, and her heart went out to him. It matched the pain in her own. Clyde continued, looking off into the distance. “There was a rush by the castle. Soldiers came out, even though we thought that most of them had retreated. We fought bravely, but at the end of it, when we had lost many and killed what soldiers we could, I found him on the ground, his back covered in blood.”

Kyla closed her eyes, not wanting that image in her mind, and a tear squeezed out, slowly tracing its way down her cheek. “I see.” She let go of Clyde’s hand and turned away. “Forgive me, Clyde. I must go t’my room. I must…”

“Of course, Milady. Ye are nae well. We can speak later. I will send the priest tae ye?” Kyla nodded, hardly hearing him. Her whole future was now nothing. The path of her life that she had seen in her mind for so long was now gone. Her dearest love had left her alone in the world. Mary held her elbow as they moved up the stairs.

“I will send for the healer, mistress,” Mary said.

Nae, please,” Kyla protested once they were up the stairs. “I just need t’ lay doon, I think. It is quite a shock. I cannae imagine him gone. He was so strong, Mary. As ye said.”

“Aye, mistress. He was strong, tae be certain. I am very sorry for the loss of him. For ye.” They were silent for a time as Mary helped her to her room, and feeling strong fatigue come over her, Kyla slid into bed, her emotions raw.

“Is this what love feels like, Mary? When ye lose someone ye love, do ye feel as though a part of ye has been taken? Leavin’ ye empty?”

“Aye,” Mary said solemnly, lifting the woolen blanket over Kyla, and she sat down next to her. Mary had lost her husband a year before to an illness. “It feels just like that. Ye didnae ken each other for very long, but I ken that ye cared much for Bram. He was goin’ tae be a good husband. A good laird.”

Kyla nodded and reached out for Mary’s hand. “He would have been. I know it.” Kyla smiled weakly at the thought of what could have been. “Och, what will Father say now? I dinnae relish the thought of writin’ t’ him. He will be at a loss now that his son-in-law is gone.”

“Aye, Bram was a good man. Yer father will see it as a great loss indeed. As will yer mother. They were lookin’ forward tae havin’ him in the family.”

Kyla wrapped her arms about herself, dreaming that it was Bram who could hold her instead, and she could breathe in his strong, male scent. The scent that made her feel at home and like all was well with the world. “Father has prepared for this moment for so many years. This is m’ clan now. Those were his words to me as we parted. Dinnae ye remember?”

“Aye,” Mary said in a quiet voice. “I remember it. He wanted ye tae think of Ewan Castle as yer new home and nae look back tae the past.

Kyla agreed, but she also knew her father was happy to have her gone so that the alliance could bring him benefits as soon as possible. She took a breath, and when she released it, she felt a hollow ache in her chest. Bram was really gone. Taken. Dead. She would have to live the rest of her life without him, and she had no idea how she would do it. How could she possibly survive without him?

“Och Mary, what am I t’do? How will I ever live without him? I feel untethered, set loose in a strange sea. And now I feel as though we are imposin’ on the Ewan hospitality.” Her tears started afresh. “I cannae go home. M’ Father wanted the powerful link of the Ewan and McCormick lairds, but I wanted the man. I only wanted the man.”

Mary shushed and soothed her. “All will be well, Mistress. Dinnae fash yerself just yet. Rest now.” Kyla closed her eyes, but she could hear Mary moving about and the sound of her wine cup being placed on the table next to the bed. “Rest,” Mary whispered again, and Kyla took a breath as Mary closed the door behind her.

She felt like a little girl, her fate now tied to the world of men, and she had no way out. Would Clyde allow her and Mary to stay here in the castle until they knew what to do next? Perhaps she should find a distant relative to go and see instead of staying here and instead of returning home to shame. Kyla hated this powerlessness. Even though she had been sad to leave her home, she was glad to finally be away from the stifling atmosphere of her father’s constant instruction and her mother’s daily reminder of her duty as a woman. And as the oldest, with a younger sister below her, she knew her actions had to be without reproach.

Finally, she had come to Ewan Castle knowing that kind and loving Bram was to be her husband. He never scolded nor instructed. He enjoyed her whims and fancies, and she felt freer than she ever had. But now, she was a grieving woman, alone in the world. She wanted to shake her head and slide under the blanket, refusing to accept the truth that he was gone. Kyla drifted off to sleep, the vision of Bram’s honey-colored eyes in her dreams.

***

Two months later

Bram slid the last bit of bread he had been given into his mouth. It was now cold, for he’d been sleeping when she’d left it by his bed. He was sitting up in his bed, but his limbs were desperate for activity. The nameless old woman sat nearby, stirring something in a bowl on the table. The room was slightly chilly, for no fire burned in the hearth. Bram had left the small cottage a few times in the past two months to walk around the tiny glen where her cottage was housed. However, he always returned, his face pale, the pain in his back beginning to throb.

“When can I leave, woman? What wound is this that keeps a man so tied tae his bed?” He was growing surlier with each day that passed, knowing that his men and Kyla would take him for dead. They must not have been able to remain behind to bury the bodies and so had not seen that he still lived. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or hurt.

The old woman clucked with her tongue and shook her head. She didn’t look his way and just kept stirring methodically, over and over. “Ye are an impatient one. It takes time tae heal all wounds, ye ken. This one was deep, and it nearly killed ye. How close it came to severin’ yer back in half. The blade was still inside of ye when I found ye.”

He was amazed he had not thought to ask before then. His memory of the event was still foggy, and so he was surprised to hear the woman’s account.

“By God.” He shook his head and continued to eat, amazed that he had survived such an ordeal. He wondered if it was not by the grace of God that he had been spared. His fear of not being able to return to his clan was lessened by that small comfort. He could still be Laird and follow his father’s proud legacy. He would not have to descend into dishonor for not fulfilling his destiny. However, I need t’get back there in order tae fulfill that destiny.

“I fear that I will go mad here unless I can finally be free! How much longer?”

She chuckled. “I think it will be another moon more, and then ye will be well enough tae return t’ yer stronghold in Foulden. I will give ye a horse when the time is right.”

Bram frowned. He had not seen any stable on his walks around, nor seen a horse at all, but he shrugged it off. Another moon and he could be gone and finally see Kyla again if she had not gone back to her family to the south once she figured he was dead.

He stood. “I will try tae walk again, then. I have eaten and so feel a little stronger. My mind grows foggy with lack of activity.”

“I will come as well,” the old woman said, lifting her dark hood over her head. “A storm will come soon.” She sniffed the air a little. “And I will hold ye up when ye tire. It is time we can push just a little bit t’ test the extent of yer strength, lad. Come.”

Bram was disappointed that she would accompany him, but he said nothing, fearful that he would cause offense. The woman had saved his life after all, and he owed her kindness if nothing else. Besides, she was the only one to speak to in this empty place, and so that would have to entertain him.

Outside in the cooling air, Bram could spy dark clouds slowly making their way across the sky. He could smell the scent of incoming rain as well. He felt the old woman’s thin arm slide into his, and he held on, amazed at how sturdy a crutch she was as they moved out of the glen and through the trees. “Ye wish tae go far?” he asked.

She smiled. “I think a sight of the blue loch will do ye good, lad. Although, we dinnae wish t’ be tae conspicuous. And we must nae tarry tae long, in order t’ nae get caught in the rain.”

Bram nodded. “Tell me of this Kyla ye mentioned,” the old crone said as their feet crunched over the sticks and pine needles of the forest. Bram could spy the winking of something shiny in the distance. The loch was not far.

“Kyla,” he said, annoyed at the clench of pain in his chest at the memory of her. So bonny, so cheery and hopeful. “She is m’ betrothed. We were tae be married, but then news of the battle came, and there was nae time tae make all the proper preparations.”

“I see. She is from another clan? From far away?”

“Aye, how did ye ken?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting.

The old woman chuckled. “It is m’ way, lad.”

“Well, I do fear now that she has taken me for dead, she may have returned tae her family. Or worse. Married someone else.” The thought of that hurt more than his wound. He had not known her for very long, but as soon as he’d laid eyes on her, even before his father had made the agreement with hers, he’d wanted her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, so graceful and elegant with her long neck and long red hair.

When she’d first turned her green eyes on him, she looked even more beautiful as her cheeks colored with embarrassment. Then, when his father had told them both that they were to be married, their clans uniting, his heart had tripped with excitement. He had tried his best to get her alone after that, to speak to her, to learn all about her. They had even kissed a few times, and he knew deep in his heart that this was the woman he wanted.

Bram roused from his reverie by the feel of the old woman patting his hand comfortingly. “I dinnae think that will be yer fate, lad.” Bram wondered why this woman was being so kind to him and allowing him to stay for so long and without payment. It didn’t make any sense. “Ye are far tae handsome for any woman tae remove ye so quickly from their thoughts.” At that, she burst into laughter, and Bram found himself smiling at her compliment. They stumbled down to the edge of the loch, and he breathed in the fresh air, enjoying the cool breeze that was sweeping over the dark blue waters.

“I ken this place,” he said at long last, although I have only seen it from the other shore.

“Aye, I am certain. We are nae far from the battlefield from whence I took ye.”

“Och, the forest. Ettrick Forest?” Bram asked, and she smiled.

“Aye. Deep in the woods we are if ye are concerned about bein’ found.”

“Nae.” He shook his head. “I think the English are far tae satisfied with how much destruction they wrought tae go on the hunt for one Scotsman who yet breathes.” He grumbled, not wanting to remember the sight of so much blood and carnage, and yet the image was still fresh in his mind as if it was yesterday. “Do ye ken what happened? Where the English went next?”

“Nae. Nae me. Ye can see that I keep away from people for the most part. I have nae interest in the world of kings and countries.”

“But lairds ye seem to take a keen interest in, old woman.”

She laughed again, such a sweet, tinkling sound; it still surprised him every time she did so. “Aye. That is true. Well, I take nae interest in politics, only tae help m’fellow man when the opportunity arises.” Thunder rolled in the distance, and she tightened her hold on him. “Come, lad. We shall return tae the cottage and the fire.”

He looked up at the sky, feeling better than he had in the past two months. Feeling refreshed. “Aye.”

They walked back in companionable silence, and Bram could feel the heaviness in the air as the rain approached. When they entered the cottage, Bram was surprised to see a fire lit and blazing in the hearth. He frowned and looked at the old woman. “How have ye done that, then? Is there a servant come tae light the fire while we were away?”

She chuckled. “Nae at’all. It was lit afore we left, lad, but now it has grown larger and thus drawn yer attention. Go and sit. I will bring ye somethin’ warm t’ drink.”

Bram said nothing more, and his head had begun to feel a little bit foggy after the long walk. He wandered to his bed and watched the old woman suspiciously as she worked at the table in front of the flames. He knew he was right. There had been no fire there when they’d left. And now, one was burning wildly as if it had been roaring for hours. How could it be?

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

Prologue

Scotland, The Isle of the Shadows, 1411

 “Guard yer right flank, Christina, tis’ always the same,” her mother called out, as Christina fell back onto the muddy ground, cursing herself, whilst Ross looked down at her and smiled.

He reached out his hand, but she pushed it away, scrabbling to her feet and holding out her sword, ready for a counterattack.

“But ye are already dead, Christina. Nay enemy is goin’ to help ye to yer feet and ask ye to try again,” Ross said, shaking his head and laughing.

He was only twenty years old, merely a boy and Christina was angry that he had beaten her, though she was hardly much older at twenty-one and with such an easily countered attack, too. Now, she raised her sword, challenging him to attack her, her mother raising her eyebrows and sighing.

“Enough for today, Ross has beaten ye. Accept it and come inside. Tis’ about to rain, look at the clouds gatherin’ along the loch,” her mother said, pointing out across the water to where an inky sky was gathering upon the horizon.

“Does the weather stop an enemy, too?” she asked, and her mother, named Finola, laughed.

“It does when yer home is an island, and the waters all around are whipped up by the winds. Nay enemy will land here on such a day,” she said, and Christina nodded.

The Isle of the Shadows had been her home since she was very young, her mother, the Lairdess, ruling over the people ever since the death of Christina’s grandfather some ten years before. It was a lonely place, the island lying far out from the shores of Loch Morar, its castle perched precariously upon a rocky outcrop, surrounded by deep forests. The only link to the mainland were several small boats moored at a jetty that lay in a natural harbor below the castle.

“But that does nae mean we shouldnae be prepared,” Christina replied, sheathing her sword in its hilt and eyeing Ross with a smile.

“Then I shall beat ye again tomorrow, lass, and the next day,” he said, winking at her.

“Then she shall need to train harder until she can beat ye, Ross Ruaidhrí,” a voice from behind them came.

Christina looked up to see the familiar figure of Isla Ruaidhrí coming toward them. She had her two swords slung at her belt, a great animal skin wrapped around her shoulders, and her long, red hair was flowing down her back so that she looked every bit the warrior she was, a hardened woman who had fought many a battle alongside Christina’s mother. Now, she drew one of her swords, challenging Ross to fight, as Christina looked on in awe.

She had always respected Isla, the woman whom her mother had charged with training her to fight, one who had taught Christina everything she knew. Now, she circled Ross, the two of them sparring, before Christina lunged forward and disarmed him effortlessly, his sword falling to the ground with a clunk, as Isla now pointed her own blade to Ross’s chest. He raised his hands, laughing in the knowledge of his defeat.

“There ye go, Christina, we are both dead,” Ross replied, as Isla picked up his sword and handed it back by the hilt.

“And two dead clansmen are nay good to us,” Isla said, shaking her head, “ye must train harder, the both of ye. There are dangers lurkin’ all around us, waitin’ to strike at the first opportunity.”

“Come along inside. The rain is beginnin’ to fall,” Christina’s mother said, rising to her feet, just as the first drops of rain pattered upon the surrounding rocks.

A storm was about to break, the wind picking up along the loch and the mountains above obscured by mist and cloud. It was not unusual for such storms to blow up, and with summer ending, cooler weather was now sweeping from the north. Christina was glad of her shawl, and she pulled out tightly around herself, the four of them making their way toward the castle.

It was an ancient place, the battlements more like an extension of the rocks than a structure built upon them, green ad mossy, a great ditch running on three sides, a precarious wooden bridge crossing over the gates, which now stood open, the banner of the Ruaidhrí clan flapping above in the wind. At its center was a keep, built into the rock, the large windows of the great hall now ablaze with candlelight and the promise of a warming fire within.

As they came to the gates, Christina cast a glance back out across the loch, the rain now heavily falling all around them. She could barely make out the far shore, nor the archipelago of islands which ran along the center of the loch, uninhabited, save for a hermit who lived in a cave on the furthest land from the Isle of the Shadows, and whom no one had seen for many years.

As she looked, a sight caused her to pause, straining her eyes to peer through the gathering gloom, as the storm picked up its ferocity, the wind blowing harshly all around. There was something out on the loch, faint at first but gradually coming closer and closer. The rain was stinging her eyes, a crash of thunder echoing across the mountains above, but unmistakably there was something there, and she tugged at her mother’s shawl, causing her to turn.

“What is that?” she said, pointing out across the waters.

“What is what?” her mother asked, looking out to where Christina pointed.

“That, out on the waters?” Christina said, pointing again to where an object rose and fell in the churned-up loch, waves now crashing to the shore below, as another peel of thunder echoed around them.

“I cannae see anythin’ out there,” her mother said, shaking her head and turning back toward the castle gates.

“Nay, mistress, Christina is right; there is somethin’ out there,” Isla said, and now Christina’s mother took her seriously, the four of them squinting through the darkness.

“Are ye sure?” Christina’s mother asked, and Isla nodded.

“Aye, tis” a boat, mistress, but is it friend or foe?” she asked, as the four of them looked at one another with worried expressions upon their faces.

Chapter One

The four of them watched the stricken boat, battered by the waves now sweeping up the loch. It would soon be driven onto land, dashed to pieces upon the rocks which lay all around the island. There was only one place safe enough to land on the Isle of  Shadows, and that was the jetty where the clan’s own boats were moored. But this boat, a small craft without a sail, was being pushed by the wind to the shoreline below the castle where the worst of the rocks lay just beneath the waters.

“There cannae be more than two on board. We must help them,” Ross said, and the four of them hurried back toward the water’s edge.

Christina could see more clearly now, for the boat was about to be driven onto shore, bearing just one person, a man, who was now waving frantically from the stern.

“Help me, the sail is gone,” he cried out as another wave swept over the boat, and it crashed upon the rocks with a sickening crack, the entire vessel breaking in two.

“He has gone under, quickly,” Isla cried, wading into the water, followed by Christina and Ross.

“Be careful, watch out for the waves,” Christina’s mother called out, and Christina almost lost her balance as another great wave crashed over them.

By now, Isla had waded out to the boat and searched in the waters for the man, who seemed to have disappeared.

“Take my hand, Christina,” Ross said, but she gave him a withering look and laughed, despite the seriousness of the situation.

“Why nae ye take my hand, Ross, and I will hold on to ye,” she said, and Ross turned away, a sheepish expression upon his face.

“Help me,” Isla called out, “he is under the bough, quickly.”

Christina waded deeper into the water, she and Isla taking hold of the rear part of the boat and heaving it up. With a great gasp, the man appeared from beneath the water, and Ross took hold of his hand, pulling him into the shallows, as Christina and Isla let go of the bough which crashed back into the water, only to be swept back out into the loch by the drag of the wind.

“Help me,” he gasped as they pulled him back toward the shore, where Christina’s mother was waiting.

“Ye are safe now, but who are ye, and what were ye doin’ comin’ here to the Isle of Shadows?” Isla asked as the man stood catching his breath on the loch side, all of them soaked to the skin, as the rain now fell even heavier around them.

Christina could not help but notice his handsome looks and frame. He had the build of a warrior, his chestnut hair bedraggled, and the growth of his beard suggesting he had traveled for several days. He smiled at her, evidently grateful for his rescue, though he looked around in some puzzlement, as though he had not been expecting to arrive in such a place, the object of his journey a mystery.

“The Isle of Shadows? Tis’ a place I have heard of, but I had nay intention of comin’ here. My boat was blown off course; I had meant to sail along the loch as far as Cartool, but… the storm blew up, and I lost the sail,” he said, “but ye are…?”

“I am the Lairdess of this place, Finola Ruaidhrí, and this is my daughter Christina. Ye have Isla and Ross to thank too,” Christina’s mother said, and the man nodded.

“My name is Lyall, Lyall Donald, and I thank ye for rescuin’ me,” he said before promptly sneezing.

“Whoever ye are, we should get ye inside and in front of a warm fire. There will be time for stories later. Come now, bringing him inside,” Christina’s mother said, and the five of them now hurried toward the castle gates as the storm raged out in the loch beyond.

“I fear my boat is beyond repair,” Lyall said, and Christina nodded.

“Dashed to pieces, but where have ye come from? Where ye goin’? Tis’ strange for a man to be out on the loch alone, especially one so finely dressed as ye,” she said, and Lyall blushed.

“I assure ye, I mean nay harm,” he said as they made their way through the gates.

“Christina, let us offer our guest some hospitality first, then we shall hear his story,” her mother said as they hurried up the steps to the keep.

Christina was relieved to make her way inside, out of the wind and the rain. Her mother’s dogs ran to meet them, sniffing around and barking, as they led Lyall through the corridors and passageways and into the great hall. A fire was blazing in the hearth, and the tables were set for dinner, the smell of roasting meat wafting up from the kitchens below.

“Bring some clothes for this man,” Isla instructed one of the servants, and they seated Lyall in front of the fire, where he reached out his hands gratefully to warm them.

Once again, Christina could not help but notice his handsome face, the noble clothes he wore, and now, in the firelight, a scar which ran along the edge of his cheek, as though the tip of a blade had once caught him.

“Ye dae me much kindness by yer hospitality, mistress,” he said, bowing his head to Christina’s mother.

“Tis’ nae often that we have guests here on the Isle of Shadows,” she replied, glancing at Christina and the others as she spoke.

“And tis’ nae often that one finds such as ye in Lairdship over such a place,” Lyall said, blushing a little as he spoke.

“Ye mean a lass? Aye, tis’ strange to those unaccustomed to such things. This clan is ancient, descended from Robert the Bruce himself,” she said, and now Lyall looked at them with wide eyes.

“Bruce? I see… but then ye are nay friends of the King?” he said, and Christina’s mother shook her head.

“James I is a usurper and nay friend of ours, but neither are our family either. Our claim to Robert’s blood comes through my great grandmother, Christina of the Isles, after whom my daughter is named,” Christina’s mother said, and Lyall nodded. However, he hesitated before asking further questions.

“Then ye are…” he began.

“We are our own people, and this land is ours. We live here undisturbed. But yes, my great grandmother was never recognized as anything but the mistress of a King. Her children had nay claim to the inheritance, and our clan has faded into nothin’ but what ye see before ye,” Christina’s mother said, as the servants returned bearing clothes and food for their guest.

“But yer hospitality remains gracious,” Lyall said as Isla stepped forward, still eyeing him with suspicion.

“And ye? Are ye friend or foe?” she asked, and Lyall laughed.

“Ye have two swords slung at yer belt, and I have nay doubt ye know how to use them well. Dae I present a threat to ye, unarmed and shiverin’ here in yer mistresses’ hall?” he asked, and Isla nodded.

“Aye, but what trouble dae ye bring here? Are ye bein’ pursued? What is yer relation to the King? Ye are well dressed, with a boat and purpose about ye. Tis’ nae a simple peasant who behaves like that,” she said, and Lyall bowed his head.

“May I be permitted to change my clothes and spend awhile before yer hearth? Then I shall tell ye everythin’ I can,” he said, and Christina’s mother nodded.

“We shall give ye a little privacy. Ross, stay with our guest whilst he changes, see to it he does nae cause any mischief,” she said, she, Isla, and Christina now stepping out into the corridor.

“A man does nae just wash up upon the shore,” Isla said when the door was closed behind them.

“Ye heard what he said. His boat was blown off course in the storm. Tis’ an easy occurrence and nae the first time it has happened,” Christina’s mother said.

“He seems sincere,” Christina said.

“And ye are naïve to think so, Christina,” Isla said, for the years had hardened her heart, and she had seen too many conflicts to trust as readily as Christina, something she often chastised her for.

“It can dae nay harm to allow him to stay the night and then see him upon his way, he can be given a boat of ours to use, for I know ye wouldnae wish for a stranger to remain in our midst for long,” Christina replied, for she was not afraid to speak her mind, knowing that one day it would be her destiny to lead the clan in her mother’s place.

“We must know more about him, what if he brings others, what if…” Isla began, but just then, a call came from the passageway, and several of Christina’s mother’s soldiers appeared, with anxious looks upon their faces.

“Mistress, boats, sighted along the loch, a dozen of them coming this way,” one of them called out.

“What did I tell ye? Tis’ surely nay coincidence that a stranger arrives in our midst and suddenly a force is sent against us,” Isla said, as Christina’s mother looked anxiously at them both.

“Sound the bell, bring the crofters into the castle, arm every able-bodied man, we shall go out to meet them,” Christina’s mother said, and Isla hurried off to muster the defense.

“And what of the stranger?” Christina asked.

“He can prove which side he is on. Come, we have nae a moment to lose,” her mother replied, flinging open the doors of the great hall and calling out for Lyall to make haste.

***

Lyall had been grateful to these mysterious women for rescuing him. His boat had been caught up in the storm, and he was far from an able oarsman. With the sail gone, the wind had dragged him across the loch, and it had only been through good fortune that he had washed up upon the shores of the Isle of Shadows, a strange and mysterious place which he had heard tell of in legend, but had never sought to see.

The stories told of an island primarily inhabited by women, remnants of an ancient and noble clan, now reduced to a few crofters, eking out a living on the harsh shores of a forested island known to none but themselves. To discover that it was true had been a shock and to find such women as these an even greater shock, for there could be no doubting that Finola and her daughter were impressive, an impression strengthened by the presence of the formidable Isla. He was grateful to them for the clothes and the warmth of the fire, eyeing Ross as he stripped off his tunic, careful to keep the precious secret he carried hidden from sight.

“Does it nae trouble ye bein’ under the rule of such as these?” Lyall asked, pointing toward the door which had just been closed behind the departing women.

“Nay,” the boy replied, “ye wouldnae say that if ye had seen the mistress in battle.”

“She is formidable?” Lyall asked as he hung his wet clothes up in front of the fire.

“I have nae seen a man who could defeat Isla in a sword fight, and the Lairdess is as skilled with the bow as she is with the blade,” he replied.

“And the daughter? Is she as feisty as her elders?” he asked, and Ross blushed.

“She is,” he replied, sighing, as though he wished he might tame her for himself.

There was no doubting that Christina was beautiful. Lyall had noticed that even as she helped pull him free from the wreckage of his boat. With her dark brown hair and deep-set brown eyes, she had the beauty of one who could surely possess any man she chose, a woman who could break hearts as easily as win them.

“Have ye possessed her?” Lyall asked, grinning at Ross, who blushed, his features betraying him.

“Nay and ye should keep a civil tongue,” Ross replied, scowling at Lyall, who laughed.

“She is a fine lass, I wouldnae have thought less of ye if ye had said, yes, more in fact,” he replied.

“She does nae look at me like that. I am… we are friends, that is all,” he said.

“And a lass needs friends as much as lovers, especially in such a place as this. Why, tis’ a lonely isle, this… what is it ye call it?” he asked.

“The Isle of Shadows,” Ross replied.

“A strange name for a place, what shadows does it speak of?” Lyall asked for he had always been curious about the stories he had heard surrounding the mysterious island in the loch.

“When the sun shines, it rarely does so here, only in the height of summer, when the days are long, and the sun climbs high into the sky. At all other times, the mountains above cast their shadows down, and nay sunlight falls upon us. Tis’ a fact which has given rise to many stories and…” he said, but at that moment, the doors to the great hall burst open, and the Lairdess and her daughter rushed in, the two women calling out urgently for Lyall to hurry.

“I am nae dressed yet,” he said, pulling the clean tunic shirt over his head.

But he could not help but smile to himself at the sight of Christina’s embarrassment at the sight of his half-naked body. Her mother had appeared not to notice, but Christina had blushed, turning her face away, as he had taken up his breeches, the water still dripping from his body.

“There is nay time, come now, it seems yer arrival has attracted unwanted attention,” the Lairdess said. Lyall felt his bravado slip away as he looked at her in surprise, astonished by her words, his amusement at Christina’s embarrassment now gone.

“What? What dae ye mean?” he said, an unpleasant feeling gathering in his stomach, which felt as though it had suddenly knotted.

“Boats are approaching along the loch, filled with men at arms. It seems a coincidence that ye should come amongst us. Then we should so suddenly receive unexpected company,” the Lairdess said, looking hard at Lyall, who swallowed nervously, looking from Ross to Christina and back toward the Lairdess.

“I did nae mean for this to happen, my boat was swept off course and…” he began, but the Lairdess raised her hand, as Christina gave him a searching gaze.

“There will be time for explanations later. Now, are ye with us or will ye cower here and prove yerself of nay use? Are ye worth our while defendin’ and will doin’ so prove of worth to us? Or should we simply hand ye over to them?” she asked.

“Ye have shown me great kindness, mistress, and if ye will permit me a sword, then I shall prove my worth,” he replied, wishing only to prove his thanks to them and show his courage in battle, for Lyall was a warrior, well used to the heat of battle and not afraid to fight.

“Is it ye that they seek?” the Lairdess asked, fixing him with a hard gaze.

“They seek me, aye, but surely there is nay time to lose. I assure ye that these men are more of an enemy to ye than I ever could be. I will explain everythin’ to ye, I promise,” he said, as the sound of battle now echoed from the walls of the castle.

The Lairdess looked up, then nodded, pointing to Ross and indicating that he should offer Lyall a sword, the four of them now hurrying out from the great hall and into the castle courtyard. The gates had been closed, and Isla was standing upon the battlements, urging the Ruaidhrí to fight, the cries of the enemy echoing across the island.

“We must ride out to meet them. I will nae have the island over run,” the Lairdess cried out, summoning Isla down from the battlements above.

“There were six men in each boat, a dozen boats,” Isla said as she hurried down a flight of steps into the courtyard, arrows whistling over the surrounding walls.

“But we know the island and they daenae, we can take them by surprise, keep them cornered in the bay and drive them back into the water. Gather then men together, the swiftest and best. I shall lead the charge,” the Lairdess said, and Lyall could not help but be impressed by her bravery and stature.

“Yer mother is a fine warrior,” he whispered to Christina, who turned to him and smiled.

“And ye will find her daughter just as fine,” she said, “come now, or are ye to hold back and nay prove yer worth, stranger?”

Lyall smiled, a sword now in his hand, as the Ruaidhrí men now gathered in the courtyard, awaiting the Lairdess’ orders. She was saddled upon a white steed, which reared and snorted in the driving rain now falling in sheets around them, its breath rising in plumes, as though it to bore the fury of its rider, who now called out in defiance to her men.

“This island is our home, and nay usurper will dare land upon its shores without bloody vengeance. Come, my friends, for the honor of our clan, we fight, and we shall be victorious,” she called out, a cheer going up all around, as the great gates swung open.

Lyall found himself caught up in the charge, a mass of men and swords, but at their front rode a woman, flanked by two others, as Isla and Christina drew their swords and joined the Lairdess in her fight. He had never seen such women, for those of his own clan were timid and without such courage or resolve. These women were different, and it seemed they inspired confidence in every man who now followed them in the charge, Lyall included.

How easily they could have handed him over to his enemies and abandoned him in his hour of need. That knowledge spurned him on, and he raised his sword above his head, joining the fray in their war cries, as together they charged through the gates.

They took the enemy by surprise, for the attackers were still assaulting the walls with little chance of breaching them. The castle had withstood many an assault, and many an army had broken itself upon it. Now, Lyall’s enemies turned to fight, the clash of blade upon blade filling the air as arrows whistled around them.

“Let them have it, send them back where they came from,” Isla called out, as the Lairdess’ horse rose upon its hind legs and three of the enemy were cut down by her sword.

Lyall was in the thick of the battle now, fighting bravely, for he had seen many a campaign. His body was covered in scars from the battles he had fought, his sword like an extension of his body, swiping and cutting, felling, and raising. Together, they were pushing the enemy back toward the rocky beach by the jetty. Their boats pulled up, though the storm had plucked one back into the waters, and it was drifting out into the loch beyond.

“We have them,” the Lairdess called out, force them into the water, show nay mercy.

Lyall was next to Christina now, and he could not believe how well she fought, ducking and diving, her sword clashing with men almost twice her size, cutting them down as though they were nettles or wheat in the field.

“Ye fight well,” he called out, and Christina laughed as her sword clashed with that of an enemy, and she cut him down as though he were a mere sapling in the forest.

“I fight very well, though I see that ye dae too,” she replied, just as a cry came from behind.

Lyall turned to see Ross struggling with one of the enemy soldiers, who had knocked him to the ground and was now raising his sword over him. Christina had seen it too, and she charged forward, knocking the man sideways, as Ross struggled to his feet, clutching his side, which was bleeding, before falling back to the ground.

“Nae!” Christina cried out as she swung her sword, knocking the enemy to his knees.

He raised his sword, but Christina was too quick for him, bringing hers down upon him with a sickening crunch. He let out a cry of agony, falling backward onto the ground, and Christina turned, rushing to Ross’ side, where he lay screaming in pain upon the earth.

“We must get him back to the castle, we must…” Christina began, her voice anxious and filled with fear, not for herself but for Ross, but just then, an arrow whistled through the air, catching her leg and causing her to fall, letting out a cry of pain as she did so.

In an instant, Isla was at her side, pulling her to her feet, as Lyall fended off several of the enemy who now charged toward them.

“Take her, run now,” Isla cried out, as Lyall put his arm around Christina and helping Ross to his feet too.

He had just turned to run with her when a pack of enemy soldiers appeared, as if from nowhere, surrounding them, as Isla drew her second sword.

“Nay, stop, help Isla, we cannae leave her,” Christina called out, but there was no time to stop, and Lyall dragged her forward as the soldiers charged upon Isla, surrounding her in a melee of swords and spears.

Lyall clung to Christina, pulling her from the battlefield and back toward the castle. The shouts and cries of the fight echoed across the island, the storm clouds still rolling above, as darkness fell, and the rain-soaked him through.

“Take the lass inside. She is injured,” Lyall said as he came to the gates, where a dozen of the Ruaidhrí clansmen stood guard.

“I must go back. I must help Isla,” Christina gasped, but Lyall shook his head.

“Ye are injured, dae ye want to die on a foolish quest? Ye said yerself she is a great warrior, then let her fight,” he said, as they escorted Christina inside, and Lyall hurried back toward the fight, his sword drawn and ready to enter the fray once again.

Lyall sought Ross, his injuries now being tended by one of the clansmen, and who struggled to his feet, asking for Christina, as Lyall approached. The Ruaidhrí had almost vanquished their opponents, who were now retreating in their boats from the jetty, several of them drifting upon the waters, one burned and sinking into the depths of the loch. The Lairdess sat proudly upon her stead, her sword raised and a look of defiance upon her face, as her clansmen saw off the last of their opponents, a cheer rising across the shoreline.

“She is safe, tis” only the lightest of injuries, a graze from an arrow, but safer that she was taken back to the castle, and…” Lyall began, but just then, Ross pointed behind him, his face turning white, as he fell back to the ground.

“Isla,” he said, and Lyall turned.

There, lying upon the ground, bloodied and beaten, was the body of Isla. Her two swords lay at her side, a dozen arrows protruding from her body, but her face still set in a look of defiance, as the Lairdess hurried to her side, kneeling in the dirt and letting out a piercing scream of sorrow.

“Vengeance will be ours, oh, vengeance will be ours,” she cried, tears running down her cheeks, as she turned her face toward Lyall, who looked down in sorrow at the loss suffered for him, “and what have ye got to say now, stranger? Ye see what happens when our peace is disturbed?” And Lyall could only hang his head in shame.

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