Chapter One

Northumbria, 1320

Laila was in the stables. She had seen the rain clouds gathering and hurried to ensure her horse was prepared for the turn in the weather. The horse was fine, of course, safely stabled and enclosed from the elements, but Laila knew that he hated the rain, and so she always paid him a visit before it fell.

Her chestnut hair fell loosely around her shoulders and across her brow, stopping just short of her dark, intense eyes. Freckles adorned her nose and upper cheeks, and her dimples appeared at the mere thought of a smile.

“Come now, it’s all fine, my friend,” she said to the horse, running her hands over his snout. “It’s just a bit of rain.” And on cue, the drops began to patter against the roof. Unlike the castle’s meeting hall, the stable did leak, and a few buckets had been appropriately positioned to catch the stray drops. The horse looked back at her without amusement.

“Well, I can’t make it stop,” she said, staring right back into his eyes. “So, you will just have to endure.” The horse replied with a disapproving snort. “I’ll be back for you later,” she said. “Stay safe then, don’t get spooked.”

Laila knew she was late. The dinner bell had rung some time ago, but she didn’t have much of a mind for being timely. Who was there other than her grumbling father? She hated to listen to his whining, especially as he continued to drink, but still, she knew that he was terribly lonely, and so she put up with it.

Of course, she loved him as her father, but of late, he had become so dreadfully sullen that she found him often difficult to bear. It wasn’t her fault that he had no money and lived out in the middle of nowhere; he had accomplished that all on his own. Still, the longer she delayed dinner, the sullener he would be.

Laila threw her woolen hood up over her head and peered out of the stables but took a sudden pause. Her eyes followed the stretching beams that held up the thatch roof, past the rows of wooden stalls, to the far end of the stable building. There, past the piles of leather straps and riding equipment, her brothers’ horses were standing, looking quite bedraggled, and she felt her heart give a jump of excitement. They were back! Suddenly, she cursed herself for being late, and she hustled out into the castle yard.

She glanced hurriedly up at the walls as she dashed through the yard, frowning a bit as the rain splashed down. The castle was in horrible shape, anyone could see it, and Laila hated to see the slow degradation of her home. The banners lapped lazily in the northern breeze, wet from the sporadic rains, and slapped against the worn stone that had stood for near on a century. The woodwork along the walls was sagging from the weather, and clumps of moss clung to various crenelations in the roofing.

It had never been the grandest of castles, and Laila knew it. It was just another round stone tower with a circular wall put up by the conquerors two hundred years before and then improved upon in the century following as the region became increasingly dangerous. The outer wall had gotten larger, and more buildings had cropped up within, but still, the original stone tower stood at the center, never overshadowed.

Yet still, the castle stood against the winds and rains of England’s far North, looking out tentatively from the hilltop at the small surrounding valley. As the rain pattered down in its unending torrent, Laila knew her father would be pacing the hall, glancing up at the ceiling to ensure it wasn’t leaking and waiting for her arrival with a grumble.

The rain was dismal, and it had already turned much of the yard to muck. The castle residents had already taken shelter, save a few of the ill-equipped guardsmen lingering beneath the gate, and so she strode hurriedly through the empty space, kicking up mud behind her as she tried to hold her garments above the sludge, largely to no avail, until she burst into the hall.

“There she is!” Matthew exclaimed, leaping up from the bench on the far side of the table.

“I did not know you were back!” Laila exclaimed, taking Jacob into an embrace. “Forgive me; I would have come sooner.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Jacob replied, stepping back so that Matthew could have his hug. Then he added with a grin, “Though you do smell something of the stables.”

“How have you faired, little sister?” Matthew asked after embracing her briefly. “Still playing stablemaster, is it?”

Her two brothers were fine lads, with full heads of hair, though the younger had always struggled to put up a proper beard. They were fit, having been trained with sword and lance since they were young, and they did not yet have lands of their own where they could sit and grow fat like their father. Jacob, the younger, had a splash of freckles that matched her own, with murky green eyes, while Matthew had the brown eyes and square jaw of a picture-perfect man-at-arms.

The light in the hall was dim as the hearth choked on dwindling firewood, and the candles did their utmost to illuminate the small stretches of the wall they were mounted upon. Laila finished welcoming her brothers and turned her attention to the head of the table. Their father sat there, slouched in his wooden seat, one hand on his cup and the other resting lazily on his armrest. He was older now, the wrinkles reaching up to wrap around his cheeks beneath his deep hazel eyes, his graying hair tied back but still, a loose strand or two hung carefree down and about his temples.

“What crime is there in caring for one’s horse?” Laila replied, taking down her hood. The rain had still found her face on her dash through the yard, and her hair clung to her forehead.

“A lady should not be late,” her father grumbled from the head of the table, “nor should she play with horses.”

“So, I have heard,” Laila said back.

“Come and sit, children; there are things we must discuss,” her father said with a frown, waving his hand to the servants, signaling to bring up the food.

“I worried for you every day, as always,” Laila said to her brothers, sliding onto the bench beside Jacob. “One hears such dreadful reports of the border.”

“It will take more than a few ragged Scotsmen to scare us,” Matthew said with a laugh. “The danger, I’m sure, is exaggerated.”

“There are bandits to be sure, raiders and the like,” Jacob added, “but they are oft to go running when they see English horse appear on a hill.”

“In any event, I am glad to see you both home safely,” Laila said.

The servants came in with a large dish of roasted fowl, accompanied by a basket of bread and a bowl of vegetables. Ceramic plates were set out with cutlery, and everyone began helping themselves to portions of the food while more wine was poured. When they were all seated with food and drink before them, their father raised his cup and announced a toast.

“My sons,” Edward said. “Welcome back from the frontier.”

“And it is good to be back, Father,” Matthew said, “I am glad we outran this dreaded rain.”

“What is it with you and a bit of rain?” Jacob scoffed, taking up his own cup. “Matthew is afraid of the weather. How can you expect him to lead your men when he fears getting his prized hair all wet, Father?”

“You are strong and bold against the elements now that you are indoors, Jacob. Do I have that right?” Matthew laughed back. “And were you not the one who nearly fell from his horse when we crossed that creek?”

“It was not my fault, but the mare’s,” Jacob replied, rolling his eyes. “As I have already said, time and time again.”

“But you will have to remind me many more times over,” Matthew said back. “For the memory is too fond for me to ever relinquish.”

“It was a sight, wasn’t it,” Jacob said with a smirk, and the two brothers broke out into a low chuckle.

“Tell me of the border,” their father went on. “Was there any action?” Laila frowned as yet another conversation between the men unfolded, leaving her sitting in silence. Why would they wait for her to arrive if she was not to be a part of anything? It was so typical of her father, she thought, and so she sipped her wine discreetly while the men of her family kept rambling on.

“Nothing to speak of,” Matthew said, turning on the bench as if he were still atop his horse. “We saw no Scotsmen.”

“Scotsmen with swords, rather,” Jacob corrected. “The shepherds still take liberties with their grazing.”

“We ran them off, of course,” Matthew interjected. “But no raiders still, not since the spring.”

“I should think you taught them to steer clear,” Edward said with a grin. “If only you had been old enough to fight the Scots in wartime. We may have prevailed!”

“There will always be another war,” Jacob said, gazing down into his cup. “Fear not on that account.”

“I count on it,” Matthew said, taking a drink, then he turned his attention to the food before him.

Matthew began spooning large quantities of vegetables onto his pieces of bread, topping them off with a piece of fowl, and rapidly feasting, while Jacob did much of the same. However, Edward’s father was more conservative and made small piles of everything on his plate before assembling it by hand and taking small bites.

Laila was disappointed that there was no cheese, and since she was not very hungry, she contented herself to a few small bites of fowl here and there accompanied by a bit of bread. She was more interested in the wine, which she had filled whenever her father’s head was turned down into his plate. They ate mostly in silence for a time, as was common, until her brothers had mangled most of the fowl and the bread, and her father sat back, contented.

“Now, you must listen,” Edward said, adjusting himself to be more comfortable. He sat back, his belly bulging a bit, but kept one hand on his cup of wine. “For serious matters are before us.”

“Well, do go on, Father,” Matthew said, shifting to look at him. “You have kept us in suspense.”

“It is no secret that our family is deeply indebted,” Edward began, his frown deepening. “The wars still leave us humbled, financially. I spent a great deal of money fighting the Scots, to it seems no avail. Now, I cannot keep men at arms nor care for the castle’s upkeep. This is not a secret.”

“We have all been well aware, Father, of the sacrifices you made to fight the Scots,” Matthew said tentatively. Laila felt the discomfort in the air. It was not like her father to openly discuss his failings as a lord, and she could not help but feel a shred of dread creeping up through her gut.

“The loans, as you may know, are owed to Lord Hamilton, who seems to be only lord in all the Kingdom who profited off of our King’s failed invasion.”

“Moneylenders,” Jacob sneered. “What have they ever done save cause suffering.”

“And he did not even fight,” Matthew added. “A true coward.”

“Coward or not,” Edward said, clearing his throat, “he has become one of the richest men in the Kingdom. Richer than the King, some say, and these years later, that debt is coming due. You know that the rents we collect from this poor valley are nowhere near enough to cover the sum.”

“Father, did you not already sell our southern estates to repay most of the loans?” Laila said. “Is that not why we now live here?”

“The sale of those lands covered only half of the sum,” Edward said begrudgingly. “And as such, I now feel a fool for selling them. But all is as God wills it, so in that, I must find comfort.”

“Funny how God wills a coward to be so rich,” Jacob sneered.

“And lewd,” Matthew added. “I remember meeting him as a boy at York.”

“I too, remember,” Laila said, shuddering at the memory. She was just a girl at the time, but she had never seen a more grotesque man, and his swollen face still left quite the impression. “He is most foul.”

“I am truly sorry, my dear, that you should think so,” Edward said, letting out a long sigh.

“How do you mean?” Laila asked, her eyes sharp and her nerves spiking. She was no stranger to the world she lived in.

“Lord Hamilton and I have come to an agreement,” Edward said, his fingers dancing nervously along the rim of his cup. The fire popped in the ensuing silence before he began again.

“And what is the nature of this agreement?” Laila asked, staring at him pointedly. She felt she already knew the answer, but still, she demanded it be drug forth from his unwilling lips.

“Our debts will be absolved upon his and your union in matrimony,” Edward finally spat out. “It is high time you were married in any right, and this match will bring us both honor and prestige, as well as solvency.”

“As well as rid you of your debts!” Laila spat back.

“Our debts!” Edward insisted, his grasp tightening around the wine cup.

The hall settled into a silent state of shock for a time. Laila stared incredulously at her father, feeling the fumes of hatred and rebellion steeping from the forge in her belly. Her brothers exchanged baffled looks. Then it all broke at once.

“Father, you can’t!” Jacob protested.

“This is extortion!” Matthew cried.

“I will not!” Laila challenged, standing abruptly at the table.

“This is not a discussion!” her father bellowed.

“It very well is!” Laila parried. “I am not a thing to be sold! Least of all to that villain of a man!”

“That is precisely what you are!” Edward shouted back. “I have given you more liberty than perhaps any other lady in this Kingdom, and this is how you repay me? Obstinance? Refusal? You should be proud to do this duty for your family!”

“Father, truly he is wretched,” Jacob added. “I can think of ten better matches, both in age and temperance.”

“What of the Earl of Devon?” Matthew pleaded. “Long has he had an eye for Laila.”

“It has already been agreed to!” Edward shouted again, thumping his cup against the table. “I will not renege on a bargain, leastwise one so advantageous!”

“It is not for me!” Laila said. She felt her face growing hot with rage. If only her mother was still alive to speak sense into the old, bitter man.

“Why must you think only of yourself?” Edward said his face twisting. “Have you no care for your family and our house? You disgrace yourself!”

“Father, it is you who disgrace yourself,” Jacob said, standing beside Laila. “To bow to this twisted moneylender of a lord. How can you give our sister to such a creature?”

“This is the way of things, damnit!” Edward bellowed once again. “I will not be challenged! My word is law in these lands, and the law will be followed!”

“I—” Laila wanted to scream further, to let loose her rage and fire upon the whole of the hall, but she could not find the words. She was lost, baffled, and angry, and so without another word, she turned and fled from the hall into the pouring rain, the doors flapping open behind her.

“Laila, wait!” Jacob called out and followed her into the rain after casting a sideways glare toward their father.

“As the oldest, you must see the reason in this,” Edward growled at Matthew as the rain washed into the hall with the wind. “We all knew she would marry eventually.”

“Not to a monster,” Matthew said back, rising solemnly from the table.

“Go then on and see to them,” Edward replied. “She will come around.”

“See to yourself,” Matthew said back and marched out into the yard to find his siblings.

“Is that how you would talk to your father?” Edward called after him, but soon the sound of the wind and the rain drowned out everything else.

Chapter Two

Scotland, 1320

The dull sparring swords clanged together with grinding rings as the Scotsmen traded blows. They were quite the pair to behold, both tall and strapping in every sense of the word, and clearly brothers, but the taller of the two had piercing green eyes and wore his red mane down in the wind, letting it blow all about his sculpted shoulders as he hefted the blunted blade.

“Ye’re gettin’ slow there, brither,” the taller one called, leaning back into a defensive stance.

“Nay,” the other huffed, adjusting his grip. “Me thinks ye’re just faster. I hinna lost me edge.”

“Again!” the shorter brother, and older it might be added, attacked with speed, driving at his massive brother with furious jabs, but they were knocked away with ease.

“Come on, Gavin!” the taller brother bellowed. “Ye taught me how tae swing a sword, and now ye cannae stand against me!”

“Ye got taller, Kyle,” Gavin laughed back, catching a bit of his breath.

“Aye, and ye got married.”

“There’s nay shame in putting me prowess intae the bedchamber,” Gavin said, grinning.

“Is that where it went?” Kyle joked, and again they went to blows, the swords striking in the cool morning mists that roved through the castle yard. “I’m in a bedchamber more than ye, and I can still fight!”

“Ah, but wae different women!” Gavin cried back. “Ye dinnae have tae try so hard!”

“Is that so?” Kyle asked, smirking. They both shed sweat that caught in the light as the morning sun began to cut through the mists.

“Is that why yer maid left?” Gavin prodded, circling up for another attack. “Nay enough prowess?”

“Ye ken there was nay’thing between us,” Kyle retorted. “Her husband’s only just came back frae France.”

“Tell that tae him, then!” Gavin laughed out, attacking again, but was once again easily beaten back. The pair withdrew a few paces to the edge of the practice square and broke for a rest.

“Ah, ye’ll see one day,” Gavin said, resting his hands atop the hilt of the practice sword. “One day, a lass will steal yer heart away.”

“Ha!” Kyle laughed, pulling his wild hair back behind his ears and resting the practice sword atop his shoulder. “If ye say so. Dinnae mistake me, brither, yer wife and son are beautiful, but ye ken I like tae feel the eyes o’ a woman, tea be free in me pursuits.”

“Ye’re a dog, brither,” Gavin said, walking slowly to stand beside him. “We’ll see how lang that lasts, eh?” They stood in a moment of silence, catching their breath on the edge of the training square, letting the morning mists burn off all around them as the sun became increasingly bright. “I’m gannae clean up,” Gavin said at last. “Good match.”

“Good fer me, nay fer ye,” Kyle said back. The brothers shared a smile, then Gavin went off toward the tower.

Kyle stowed the practice swords on the rack beside the square and wiped his forehead free of sweat. It was a fine enough morning in McGowan castle, and Kyle made a quick hustle up the walls to take in the view. The castle stood out on a hilltop, with her central tower standing proudly inside the curtain walls. The lowlands stretched out around them, with mountains in the distance sloping gracefully upwards into the highlands.

The McGowan banner flew proudly in the strong breeze, and Kyle’s hair was immediately caught again in the wind. Never had the castle stood so strong and proud, refitted and repaired with the spoils of war. People had begun their daily bustle in the yard, tending to livestock and orchards, moving between the kitchens and their hovels. The men at arms were at practice and patrolling the parapets, and Kyle nodded to one as he passed him on the battlements.

He drank in the smell of the new day, feeling the sun beat down on his face as the last of the morning mists were banished. The sound of masons and smiths floated up from below, and Kyle grinned to think of the steel taking shape into swords. He loved to fight, and he damned good at it, but he had never had the chance to test his mettle in a real fight. He had been too young when the King of England had invaded, and the Bruce had thrown them back at Bannockburn. Bloody Bannockburn. Now he was ready for a fight, but there were none to be had.

Kyle loved his brother, who was the Laird after the death of their father. He loved his nephew and his sister-in-law, and he loved his home, but still, he was restless. He often stood upon the wall and dreamt of riding off into the fields, perhaps sailing to France or Lothringia, Sweden or Leon, Italy or Sicily. There was always someone who would hire a fearsome Scotsmen as a mercenary. He wasn’t sure what it was he craved but sitting stagnant certainly wasn’t it. There was such an allure of adventure out there in the word, and yet he had never seen any of it.

Kyle watched the road that led to the castle from the South. There were a handful of peasants steering their carts toward the market, and Kyle wondered if they carried anything exciting. It was unlikely. The carts held produce from the local farms nine times out of ten, but it was always fun to dream.

Kyle decided to take a leisurely stroll. There was not much else he could do, even if he wanted to. It was one of the hidden curses of his pleasant, peaceful home. Now that the war was done, there was no danger, but there was also nothing to do, save swing a practice sword for hours at a time. That, and hunt, of course.

Kyle walked down from the walls and nodded to the various guardsmen he passed as he went toward the gate. He often found himself in better discourse with the common soldiers of the castle than with even his own brother.

“G’day, me Laird,” a particularly gruff-looking soldier said, bobbing his head as Kyle moved past him. But the man’s voice gave Kyle pause, and he drew up alongside the guard near some of the hog pens, where a few of the common folk worked to wrangle the squealing animals.

“Te yerself as well,” Kyle said, grinning. “Did ye wake fine enough today? Last night wa a bit o’ a romper.”

“Aye,” the guard said, returning the smile. “We had a fair bit.”

“There are some would say we had a dram tae many,” Kyle replied, scraping the bottom of his boot against one of the fence posts on the hog pen.

“Well, they wouldn’t be true Scotsmen,” the guard said back, then he paused to scrounge up a wad of spit from the back of his throat and hack it down into the muck.

“I’m off tae the loch,” Kyle said. “Tae freshen. Will ye join me?”

“I cannae, Laird,” the guard said. “Me wife’ll be expectin’ me shortly enough. But I will gladly join ye on the morrow’s hunt.”

“Well, that is Good enough fer me,” Kyle said, standing straight. “Then I shall see ye on the morrow, Domnal,” and he clapped the old acquaintance on the shoulder.

“‘Til the morrow, Laird,” Domnal replied, nodding gruffly. Kyle turned to resume his stroll, but first, he glanced back.

“Ye ken me brither is the Laird,” Kyle added as he turned. “There is nay need tae call me such.”

“Old habits die hard,” Domnal said back.

“But I’ve never been the laird,” Kyle said, raising his eyebrow.

“Bugger off then,” Domnal said in response, and the two shared a breakout smile. They had known each other for some time. When Domnal had come back from the war, Kyle, just a young boy then, drank up his stories with fascination. As he had grown, Domnal had shown him how to swing a sword, at least at first, and they often hunted together.

“On the morrow then,” Kyle said, then he clicked his tongue and turned back toward the gate. He was excited about the hunt the next day. About once a month, or as often as he could muster, he would ride out with a few guardsmen and spend most of the day tracking game through the slopping hills and forests that lay about McGowan castle.

It was his preferred way to spend time in that peacetime lull. He had been raised in a time of war, but now that he was old enough to fight, and fight he could, there was no war to be found. Only the rare band of outlaws in the countryside, though they had learned several years ago that the pastures about McGowan castle were well guarded, and they had all drifted South and Eastward. In short, Kyle was terribly bored.

He walked through the gate, dodging one of the merchant carts rumbling into market, and hooked right along the outside of the wall. His strong legs carried him up and down along the bottom of the wall’s skirt until he came to a familiar rocky path that led him down toward the loch.

Kyle bounded over the loose rocks and followed the winding footpath as it curved steeply downwards into the valley, quickly leaving the sight of the castle behind as the jagged walls of stone obscured it from vision. He could smell the water wafting up through the cut, and he eagerly climbed the rest of the way down.

The loch was calm that morning, and Kyle smiled to himself as he stopped on the rocky shore, watching the ripples wash gently up against the large chunks of stone that had fallen from the valley walls over the years. It was a narrow body of water, stretching out before him and then curving out of view as it reached its long finger toward the distant sea.

Kyle quickly disrobed, tossing his garments into a loose pile out of reach from the tide, and stepped cautiously toward the water’s edge. He had known a stray stone with an edge beneath the water to cut a man’s foot, his own foot, and though he was a headstrong bull of a Scotsman, he still remembered that moment as a boy and as such always trod carefully when bathing.

He kept moving into the loch, letting the chilly northern water rise up to his chest, feeling all his muscles drawing tight and taking in a sharp breath while his nipples stiffened in the light breeze. He drew a long breath in through his nose, held it, and plunged his head beneath the surface, rearing up a second later and bellowing out,

“Haaa! Ha! Bloody freezing!” he heard his cry echo off the valley walls, and the cold water from his lion’s mane ran down the crease between his muscular shoulder blades. He stood for a moment longer, letting his echo dissipate, and suddenly felt a familiar pang of loneliness as he looked around and saw not a soul.

Something was missing, and Kyle was never more acutely aware of that fact than when he stood alone in the frigid water, shouting out to just himself. He lingered on the feeling for just a moment, but never one to be introspective, he quickly shoved the feeling away as he always did, trying his utmost to banish it entirely from his mind. The only thing he wanted to think about was the hunt in the morning, but that was a whole day away.

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Chapter 1

The wind howled through the dense forest like an animal hunting its prey. Thomas MacKay bit his lip and braced himself as he hunkered down further into the cover that the bush provided him. The movements felt like a routine that he knew well, for he had been hunting for the majority of his life. He didn’t dare to move as the animal finally came into his sight and exposed itself to the end of Thomas’s bow. He was to bring home a large amount of game that would be the centerpiece of the feast that was currently being prepared for his brother.

Mist that had risen up earlier in the morning from one of the nearby rivers was starting to clear on the forest floor. The hills were sloping up around the trees, raising up the landscape and isolating the forest away from the other lands around them.

His fingers were hesitant, but he waited patiently for the right moment to release the bow from his grasp. The forest sounded as though it was alive with a myriad of sounds as Thomas tried to block it all out and focus on the deer in front of him.

He was one of the best hunters, if not the best, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have to focus on what he was doing. His breathing was steady and his eyes were narrowed as he tried to concentrate despite the sounds of the forest around him. The birds were squawking and matching the same tempo as that of the wind that rustled the thick branches of trees. The forest floor was alive with creatures that Thomas didn’t even want to think about, and he kept his gaze on the large animal in front of him and nothing else.

He was the eldest of his brothers, but he was also his father’s favorite. As much as he would never admit that to his other siblings, Thomas glowed with both pride and ease at being the favorite.

Thomas felt his heart flutter at even the thought of seeing his brother after so long. Philip MacKay had been in France for the last five years, and his return was highly anticipated by everyone in the clan.

Thomas wanted to get the best deer for the feast, but he knew that he was going to have to steady his hand to do so.

“There ye are,” he whispered, as his bow hovered in the air. He closed one eye and moved his face even closer to the bow in order to get a better look at the animal in front of him. Silence was key, and the deer, still unaware of his presence, moved even closer to him.

Finally, Thomas felt that he was ready to release the string of his bow. His fingers were growing sore from holding the tension of the string, and the muscles in his arms were starting to ache from being in the same position for so long. Thomas was thankful for the weather remaining clear, despite the slight whisper of the wind that brushed through his hair every now and again.

The hunting party would be waiting for him on the outskirts of the forest, near to the castle. But Thomas was fine to let them wait; he wanted the shot to be clean and perfect. If his arrow didn’t hit the animal somewhere near its head, then it wouldn’t do as a hunt to boast about back in the castle.

A stick snapped somewhere behind him. It caused the deer’s head to jerk up and look around. The majestic animal was on high alert, with wide eyes and twitching ears. Thomas held his breath and wished that he had taken the shot only moments before the sound had cut through the silence. If it were one of the men from the hunting party, he could already feel his anger building up at that thought. He had given the group specific instructions to not disturb him, but it was clear that someone had chosen not to listen to him.

The deer was completely still, and Thomas didn’t dare to move a single muscle. His chest was getting tight from his lack of breathing, and when he did breathe, each breath was incredibly shallow and unhelpful.

Thomas bit his lip as he could see the deer readying itself to bolt back into the thick forest around it. He waited a moment more, but another snap of a twig caused the deer to jerk into action.

“No, no, no!” Thomas groaned, as he released his arrow in vain. The deer was already darting between the small gaps in the trees and moved out of sight within a matter of moments.

Thomas cursed and hit his hand into the ground as he put down his bow and turned to see who it was from the hunting party that had ruined his kill.

However, as soon as Thomas turned around, he was met by the blunt butt of a piece of wood. The solid weapon collided with his head and sent him sprawling to the floor with a sickening thud. Thomas grunted and blinked through the sharp and splintering pain that was erupting through his temple. He was in shock at the sudden action that he hadn’t been expecting, as well as in a lot of pain.

“What’s going on?” he groaned, as he managed to peer up at three figures standing above him. His eyes would only open a little as he looked around and tried to comprehend the kind of danger that he was in.

The men weren’t from the hunting party; that much was clear to him through his haze. His head was throbbing, and his confusion was only continuing to persist.

“Who are ye?” Thomas was aware of how groggy he sounded all of a sudden. The forest was getting darker as his eyes were getting heavier; it became so difficult to keep his eyes open that Thomas was almost succumbing to the darkness.

The three men worked together to carry Thomas. He wanted to struggle, but his body was far too heavy and tired to manage to take on three men. Where the wood had hit him, the skin felt hot, and there was something dribbling down his face.
The men weren’t looking at him, but Thomas knew that they didn’t mean anything good. He was scared, but he was also angry that the men were thinking they would get away with this. If it weren’t for the injury to his head, Thomas liked to think that he would have been able to defeat the three men with ease.

“Who are ye? What do ye want with me?” Thomas could barely get his words out. He gritted his teeth through the pain and continued trying to move, but it was no use.

“Hush now,” one of the men spoke with a gruff voice as he chuckled and shook his head. Thomas glanced around to see that the reason he’d not been able to see who they were was that their faces were covered with pieces of cloth that concealed their identity. Up ahead were some horses that were attached to a large carriage. Thomas frowned as they drew closer, and he realized that he wasn’t going to be home any time soon.

“Where are ye taking me?” Thomas tried one last time, but it was clear that his efforts at understanding were futile.

One of the men opened the door to the carriage while the other two held onto him so that he couldn’t move.

“My father will nae stand for this, he is the laird of our clan, he–”

Before Thomas could finish his threat, one of the men had hit him over the head again. The blow was harsh and made an awful sound against Thomas’s skull, rendering him unconscious.

Chapter 2

Myra paced around her chambers in a frantic panic. She felt both shocked and angry with herself at losing her mother’s necklace. It was the same one that she had worn for years, and upon staring at herself in the mirror, she realized just how bare her neck looked without it. She wanted to cry and shout in frustration because she had never lost it before, and it was the last piece of her mother that she had.

When Myra was younger, her mother had become incredibly ill and had died shortly afterward. It was unlike any other wound that she had ever sustained; there was no scar, for the wound would never properly heal over enough for her to feel complete again. Myra, her brother, and her father had been devastated by the loss, but it had also been felt by a lot of the clan too.

Unlike her father, Myra had wanted to hold onto her mother’s memory and never forget her. But her father’s approach had been to forget about her completely and to get rid of any belongings that reminded him of her.

Myra touched the space on her neck that was normally occupied by the dainty silver chain. It was one of the most precious jewels in the country, and Myra wouldn’t let anyone tell her to take it off. Over time, it had simply become accepted that she wore the necklace, and her stubbornness surrounding this decision meant that nobody could tell her any differently.

“Good afternoon, my lady, how are ye?” Iona asked from the doorway, as she slowly approached and entered the room.

Myra was slightly startled by the sudden appearance of her maid, although she was relieved that she now had somebody to share her panic with.

“Nae good,” Myra sighed and ran a hand through her curly hair. “It’s bad, Iona, really bad!” Myra felt her voice shake as fresh tears blurred her vision.

“Why’s that?” the maid’s voice softened almost instantly as she walked over to her and started to fuss about fixing her hair.

Myra pushed her hand away a little rougher than she had been expecting to and instantly regretted it.

“I’m sorry,” she looked at the maid in the mirror. “It’s just…it’s just that I’ve lost my necklace.”

Myra finally felt the shock wearing off of her as she turned towards Iona with teary eyes. The room was moving, swimming in the view of her tears, and Myra let a sob escape from her lips.

“It will do ye nay good to get so upset, my lady,” Iona spoke to her softly.

Her maid had always been like a mother figure to her. Iona was older than her by a lot, and she was certainly a lot wiser too. Myra wrapped her arms around the woman and cried on her shoulder as she thought about where she could have left it.

“Perhaps it came off when ye were riding?”

Myra had already considered this, although even her maid didn’t know the full extent of what she had been through during her ride through the forest. There were brigands in the forests that they were always warned about, but Myra knew how to protect herself.

Much to many of her family members and close advisors’ dismay, Myra had trained to defend herself from a young age. She could handle herself, which many brigands never expected when they crossed her path in the woods.

It was very possible that one of those filthy men had taken the necklace from her when she had been forced to fight off many of the men at once the day earlier. Myra shuddered to think that her most prized possession was being sold by men who did not care for it at all.

“I dinnae think it came off when I was just riding,” Myra sighed heavily as she started to wipe her eyes.

“I’m sure that it will turn up, my lady,” Iona tried to comfort her.

“But where? It’s lost, Iona, and if I dinnae have it, then there is nothing left of my mother in this castle.” Myra felt fresh tears brimming in her eyes.

“Hush now, child, yer mother will always be with ye in yer heart. Ye dinnae need a piece of jewelry to ken that.”
Myra understood where her maid was coming from, but she still felt a little more empty without the one physical memory that she could hold when she needed to.

“That necklace means more to me than anything else, Iona; I need it back,” Myra admitted.

She stepped away from the mirror and walked over to the window by her bed. The rain was pattering gently against it, distorting the view of the town below and the hills that bordered them. The woods that covered the hill looked so beautiful, even when overshadowed by the dark clouds above, yet they held so much danger within them.

Myra thought about her last ride back to the castle and how she had thought that she would get back without having any trouble on the way. However, a couple of brigands had jumped out at the last minute and startled her horse. Myra had been thrown to the ground, but she had taken enough tumbles off of her horse in her life to know how to roll and land without hurting herself.
She had been up on her feet once more in an instant, with her sword drawn and ready to fight. The men had laughed at first, Myra remembered bitterly as she looked out of the window. They had been making comments about how a vulnerable woman like herself wouldn’t stand a chance against them, but she had quickly shown them that she was no such thing as a vulnerable woman.

The shock on their faces was something that Myra had enjoyed seeing, but as they fled the scene, she was now trying to test her memory as to whether any of them had been holding her necklace.

It was hopeless. She couldn’t remember, and she didn’t want to assume that she had been robbed of it if there was still a chance that it could be in the castle.

“When was the last time ye were out on a ride, my lady?” Iona asked, as she started to look for herself around the room. Myra knew that her search would be in vain; she had already looked everywhere in her chambers before she had properly started to panic.
“I went riding yesterday afternoon,” Myra sighed and shook her head. “It’s hopeless, Iona, it’s not in here. I’ve already had a look around.”

However, Iona continued to search as Myra turned her attention back to the window.

“My mother wore this necklace all the time, didnae she?” Myra asked in a small voice.

“Aye,” Iona said after a slight hesitation.

“I really miss her,” Myra admitted. “I just wish that she could have survived, that I could ask for her help right now.”

Myra noticed the way that Iona seemed rather reluctant to engage in a conversation about that. Her lips were pursed, and her eyes darted around as though her response was waiting for her on the floor in front of her.

“She’s at peace,” Iona managed to say. “That’s all that matters.”

“She would be disappointed to know that I’ve let her down by losing the necklace,” Myra muttered as she tried to think about where she could have left the jewel.

“I’m sure that she would still be proud of who ye have become,” Iona said while flashing her a small smile.

“Thank ye, Iona,” Myra nodded to her.

“I came here to tell ye something else, my lady, but if ye would like me to come back later, I’m sure it will be fine.”

Myra was in half a mind to ask her maid to leave her, but her curiosity got the best of her.

“Nay, tell me what it is.”

“A prisoner has been brought to the castle,” Iona’s words instantly caught her attention.
“Who is he?”

“Thomas MacKay,” Iona recalled. “Do ye ken the name?”

“I…I dinnae ken,” Myra admitted. She was too frustrated about losing her necklace to properly care about the news of a prisoner. There were always prisoners, and she wasn’t sure why this news was so special. “I’m sorry, Iona; I’m going to go and find my brother.”

“Of course, my lady.” Her maid bowed her head before leaving her alone in her chambers.

Myra glanced at herself in the mirror once more. The woman staring back at her had incredibly pale skin and sunken eyes; it was obvious by looking at her eyes that she had been crying. The blank space on her neck where the necklace had been was the only thing that she could focus on, though, and Myra ignored all else of her appearance that would be perhaps slightly concerning to others.

She breathed deeply as she tried not to think about it. Myra knew that she was going to have to be stronger about the situation when in the presence of others. With Iona, she could express herself, but when around other servants or even family members, she knew that people in the castle liked to talk. Myra didn’t want people to know just how upset she was at losing the necklace.

After waiting a short time, she exhaled deeply before leaving her chambers and heading deeper into the castle in search of her brother. Myra was hoping that he would at least know what to do about the situation.

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

Chapter 1

1530

The light across the moors fell unnaturally; Iain MacThomas could see the sun, but the sky still seemed strangely dark.

The sunbeams that did make it through the thick, blue-gray clouds did nothing to warm or brighten the rolling hills. He perceived everything around him through a haze that sucked the light out of everything he viewed. Even the heather blossoms that should at this time of year be the vibrant purple hue he’d known all of his life was nearly colorless.

He turned to look behind him; a little village with stonework walls and thatched reed roofs was nestled within the slope of the moors. He felt for all the world as though he had seen the crumbling clay wall surrounding the village somewhere before. Behind it, a forest loomed, green and dark as an emerald in the night. He had never seen this place before, and yet it seemed familiar.

The shadows were much too dark, and the light was scant. There was no scent of rain, no chilling wind through his chestnut brown hair, though he knew that there should be. The tall grass of the moors were swaying, as though there should be a breeze. Yet, he felt nothing on his skin.

Confused, he looked across the moors. He had come out here alone to hunt, or had it been to seek some quiet time, away from the noise of the castle?

He couldn’t remember, now that he thought about it.

He turned and faced the west, squaring his broad shoulders. Iain peered through the thin mist that whirled around him, eyes settling on a thin figure. He squinted and put a hand to his brow, thinking that perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him. When his sight adjusted, he was sure that he’d seen right. There, just beyond the tall, craggy rocks was a young woman.

Strange, for a young woman to be out on the moors alone with no horse in sight. He blinked hard to make sure once more that he was seeing correctly, but yes, there she was.

She was staring at him, her eyes shining with emotion.. One anxious hand clutched her cloak at the base of her neck, near her collarbones. She held it in a white-knuckle grip as the wind blew her jet black hair wildly. Her eyes were wide, desperate, and sky-blue. They were the only true color that Iain could make out in the vast expanse of the hauntingly gray moors.

Iain took a step forward . For some reason, he had the urge to reach out and touch her. Something called him to her, like a siren on the water.

“Help me, Iain,” the woman called to him. Her voice carried eerily across the moors to him.

His brow wrinkled in confusion; how could she know his name?

He could not understand what she wanted from him, but she knew him somehow. It was clear from the expression on her face; she regarded him with such a familiarity that it seemed nearly intimate. He was certain that he’d never seen her before; he would certainly remember a pair of eyes as alluring as that.

Her pale, desperate face held a delicate, but fierce beauty that he had only seen one other woman possess in this life. He gestured with one hand savagely, trying his best to push away the image that came to his mind. It would not do for him to begin remembering, not now.

“Iain,” called the woman again. “I need ye’re help. Please, please…”

Inexplicably, a surge of emotion flooded him at the pleading tone of her voice. It filled his stomach and his lungs; he knew that the only way to crush the feeling that was welling up was to get closer to her. He wanted so much to help her, but what did she need from him?

The urge to reach out to her was strong, beating inside of him with the rhythm of his heartbeat. It was impossible to ignore, so insistent was the desire to protect her, but neither did he want to wave it away.

The young woman held a pale white hand out to him, her fingers trembling as if she were afraid. He could not stand to see her frightened; for a reason unknown to him, he wanted to wash away her fear, erase it from existence. She called out to him again and again, and yet he still had no idea who she was or what she needed.

What could she want from him? And why wouldn’t she answer?

Iain could only guess.

It was not only her vulnerability that drew him to her, but her striking beauty as well. He desired more than anything to see if her skin felt as smooth as it looked, to enfold her into a protective embrace, but against what he could not tell. There was nothing around on the moors that could hurt her; so why did she call for his help so fervently?

Iain wanted to run his rough fingers over her milk white skin, to feel her downy soft hair against his cheeks. Something about her was as addicting as a cool mouthful of whisky or a chilling dip in the lochs in early autumn.

The woman stood far from him, but he could see her nearly perfectly. Her voice carried, though he should not be able to hear her so clearly at that distance. This could only be the work of magic; she was hauntingly beautiful, almost as though she was not of this realm.

“Who are ye, lass?”he asked.  “Can ye at least tell me yer name? How do ye know who I am?”

“Iain, I cannae do it alone,” she said. Her voice was melodic, like the song of a babbling brook with eyes just as clear and blue. “I cannae do it without ye, Iain, please.”

Iain felt something loose inside of him when her voice broke ever so slightly.

She blinked hard at him in silence, and Iain felt his confusion mounting, along with it a well of frustration at her inability to answer him.  She seemed to see him, but she did not ever answer a single question. Instead, she continued on her narrative, seeming to listen for his reply but never truly hearing it.

It was absolutely maddening and heartbreaking all at once.

He took a step forward, anxious but desperate to be close to her. He couldn’t fathom where this rush of emotion came from, but he did not push it away. She seemed to need him gravely, and there was something that lived inside of him that had to protect her at any cost.

Onward he walked, until he was only an arm’s length away from her. Seeing her up close made it even harder not to rush forward and embrace her. He studied her expression, her face. No, he was certain they’d never met before… but why couldn’t she hear him?

“Who are ye?” he asked, his voice nearly pleading. “Please, lass, just tell me somethin’, anythin’ that will help me tae learn who ye are!”

She said nothing; she simply looked up at him with that fragile expression on her beautiful face. It seemed that at any moment she would fall away into tears. If she did, Iain knew he would not be able to resist scooping her up into his arms. Even if he had never seen her before, she certainly knew him and seemed to need him so much.

Iain called to her again, but knew that the effort was futile.

He was about to give up, letting his arms drop in defeat when her expression suddenly changed. He watched her every move like a hawk, his brown eyes locked to her form.

She lifted her head, running her eyes over him. Her expression changed to a smile, soft and grateful, and she opened her mouth to laugh breathlessly. She looked relieved to see him, as though they were familiar with each other. Her eyes roamed over him as she looked him up and down; it seemed as though at any moment, she would throw herself into his arms.

A warmth filled him where before there was longing. Her eyes met his, and Iain felt like the sun was shining on him after a hard, relentless winter. He didn’t want to tear himself from her gaze, wanting only to take another step forward and pull her towards him and never let go.

“Iain,” she said, her blue eyes bright. “Ye’re here, ye’re safe! Oh, thank th’ stars.”

At the sound of his name through her voice, a smile on her lips, he felt his heart soar and dip in joy like an osprey in the sky.

She lifted her hand and for a moment, her fingertips were close enough that they could push his dark brown hair from his eyes. Iain didn’t dare to move; for a brief moment, he wondered if he would feel her touch or if she would pass right through him like a phantom. The woman hesitated for a moment though, and then looked beyond him.

Her sky-blue eyes widened, fearful, and she opened her mouth to scream.

                                                ***

Iain sat up straight in his bed, the quilts tangled around him. His shoulders heaved for breath as though he had been sprinting through the moors. He looked around his bedchamber, confused and frustrated and with a longing that he could physically feel. He could not quell it, no matter how he tried.

That damned dream again.

The woman had come to him yet again and he had fallen into her captivating spell. Each time the dream took hold of him, she would be the only thing his thoughts would settle on, the only image he could visualize. Only when he finally awoke would he realize that he had been pulled once again into the same dream, tricked by his own mind.

Those feelings that she sparked in him even lingered upon awakening, however. Even now, when he pulled up her face in his mind, he could feel the desperate need to protect her lighting up in his heart. It was almost as if he could feel her beside him, as though he could reach out and touch her even at this moment. In truth, no woman of the waking world had even held his interest since the death of his wife. The fact that the only one who would interest him came from his own imagination embarrassed him to admit.

He sighed and shook his head, his thumbs circling at his temples as he attempted to shake the afterthoughts of the dream away. Mooning after some dream woman… He really needed a drink. Somehow though he couldn’t shake the desire to fall back into sleep and see her again.

He rubbed his face, cold sweat clinging to his hands. His breath came heavy and his shoulders sagged with the mental exertion the dream always put him through. Iain rubbed his eyes, seeing colors for a moment and then stood uneasily. He had to get out of this room; it seemed all of a sudden too confining. He felt as though he could burst out of it.

Seeing the raven-haired woman again had taken a toll on him. He felt so tired, so restless. He’d experienced this same dream for two long years now, over and over, and still had no answer for who she could be or why she needed his help. Her voice was so full of desperation and pain that he couldn’t help but want to ease it.

It was eerie, but he had no fear of her, only that strange compassion that glowed in his heart when he thought of her. It felt like something blooming in his chest, something sunny, warm and pure. He thought of how her familiar smile towards the end of the dream and let out a breath.

But what had she seen that had caused her face to fold in so much fear?

Iain could make no sense of it. He strode towards his chamber door, feeling how the handle cooled his sweating palms. He could be sure that this was real, at least. He longed for a dram to cool his parched throat and to soothe the thoughts that were churning around in his head. He made his way towards the larder, his steps slow and thoughtful. Every time he blinked, he saw the woman’s face over and over again.

If she would have touched him, would he have felt it?

She was so enthralling and otherworldly. Was she some sort of spirit of the moors? But she had known his name, and had spoken it aloud nearly every night for two years.

Iain shook his head, wondering, as he made his way down the stone steps.

“Ye’re out wanderin’ round late,” an amused voice said. Iain nearly jumped but got a handle on himself before he turned around.

“Mother,” he said, a wry smile playing at his lips. “Ye’re no’ exactly slumberin’ sweetly in ye’re own bed.”

“Ye’re well aware tha’ I enjoy my nightly garden walks,” she laughed. Her voice was like motherly sound of a hen clucking over her chicks; he had always loved that about her. Her face turned serious as the smile faded away, though, and he knew what she was going to say. “An’ what are you doin’ up so late, my lad? Is it the dream come again?”

Though she wanted to seem easy and relaxed, Iain could see the pull of concern on his mother’s face. She knew the toll the dream took on him.

“Aye,” he said, after a moment passed between them. “Tha’ it ’twas. The lass with the raven black hair, callin’ out t’me again. I cannae make heads nor tails of it, Mother. What could she be tryin’ tae tell me?”

His mother simply shook her head, her honey-brown eyes that so mirrored his own blinking back at him sadly. She patted him reassuringly on his shoulder, sighing.

“I want tae be a good, wise mother t’ye, lad,” she said. “But, truly, there’s naught that I’ve ever heard of that’s similar to your situation. But, Iain… has the dream nae started since the tragedy? Do ye no’ think it could be somethin’ to do with—?”

“Mother, please,” he said, harsher than he’d meant to.

But the damage had already been done. He already saw Seona’s face in his mind, already felt the way her skin had grown cold beneath his touch. He saw the tiny, lifeless face of their newborn daughter in her arms, Seona’s fingers still curling up against the back of the child’s head. He blinked, willing the image away, but when he opened his eyes, it was still there.

It never truly went away, no matter what he did or how much he tried to drink it away.

His face had gone stark white, he knew; his suspicions were only confirmed when he saw the concerned look his mother wore.

“I’m sorry, my son,” she said. “Perhaps ‘twould be best for ye to head out hunting tomorrow, get some fresh air on the moors. Maybe some time out in the wilds will help ye to feel yerself again.”

He knew that his mother was only trying to help, but he pulled away from her all the same. The wounding memories were too much to bear now, had been too much since that terrible night. He had been unable to digest the trauma at all and had barely even bothered to try. Losing his wife and child both on what should have been one of the happiest days of his life had rendered him half the man he had once considered himself.

The baby, his first precious child, had died in the womb at some point. Seona had lost too much blood, the birth gone horribly wrong, and she had faded away in his arms. The image had followed him during his waking hours and had tormented him every day. He had tried everything to rid himself of the terrible memory, from drinking to solitude, but nothing had given him any respite. After a while, he had decided that they were his burden to carry and remembering Seona and his daughter’s deaths could only honor the two of them.

I cannae move on; not now, nor ever, Mother. I’m sorry, but these thoughts, these memories… They need tae stay with me.

          If not for Iain, who would carry on Seona’s memory?

Iain felt his eyes become wet and he blinked away the emotion, shoving it away. It still twisted inside of him, still hurt in places he had barely begun to touch. He put away the thoughts that stung his heart in favor of unraveling the mystery of the dream woman. It was slow-going at first, but the more he distracted himself from the pain, the better he felt.

He searched his memory again, thinking that perhaps he had seen the woman somewhere before, but no… She had such striking features. He would have certainly logged that beauty away in his mind. She would be easy to find in the crevices of his thoughts.

He stole a glance at his mother; her eyes were sad and her breathing was soft. He knew that she was thinking of Seona and of him.

It bewildered and frustrated him, but he didn’t think that it had anything to do with his late wife, as his mother did. No, she and their daughter were sleeping peacefully in the earth. There had to be another reason, a deeper meaning to the dream that haunted him so often and so fervently.

“I just want tae see that bright smile back on your face, my son,” his mother said, her voice soft. “I dinnae think I’ve seen a happy look upon your face in many months. Years, now. You used to be so full o’ cheer.”

Iain sighed, brushing his hair back. There was no use in smiling any longer, yet no one seemed to understand. While they could move on and forget the sightless eyes of his wife and child, he could not. His mother, though she had loved Seona greatly, urged him to put her memory away and stop cutting himself open with thoughts of her. Iain desperately wanted that peace, but it felt like a betrayal to do so; he didn’t think he ever could.

He could not fault his mother. She only wanted what was best for her son; he knew what that felt like well enough. His mind re-visited him holding his daughter for the first and only time.

“Goodnigh’, Mother,” he said, his voice sullen, though he did not wish it to be. “I’m goin’ tae head back up tae bed; see if I can get some sleep before the sun peeks its head o’er the hills. As it is, I cannae stay awake any longer.”

He tried to smile at her, but he knew that it could not have been convincing. His mother looked at him with his expression mirrored on her face; a small smile that could have been happy if her eyes had not been so sad.

Iain turned then, not bothering for the whisky. The thought turned his stomach sour with bitter thoughts. Perhaps if he went to sleep, he would see that woman again. Perhaps she would tell him what she wanted with him, what she needed from him. In his heart of hearts, he craved her presence, was desperate to hear her voice saying his name again. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but she had a calming effect on him that was intoxicating. It was as though he was under a spell that he never wanted to be released from.

If he truly tried, perhaps he could attempt to move past this and pretend that the feelings that bloomed in his heart for her were but nothing but smoke and mist. Even as that thought occurred to him, he wondered if he would be able to forget her; a sizable portion of him doubted it highly.

He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to. She had been something of a comfort. When he was engulfed in the dream, she was the only thing that mattered to him. Hearing her voice was a balm compared to the dull gray monotony that had become his life. He craved to see her again, to sleep and fall into his illusion. It was the only thing that soothed the pain of living lately, though he hated to admit it to himself.

Defeated and with his head and heart aching terribly, he crawled back into his bed, pulling the quilts up and around him. Iain tried with every bit of will in his body to relax his muscles and let sleep claim him, but it did not come so easily this time.

He tossed in his bed, trying to shut his mind against the onslaught of thoughts that plagued him. The only thing that calmed him was the image of her face; he let himself think about the blue of her eyes, the clear melody that was her voice. They felt like cooling waters over an aching wound.

Iain lay back, wondering if he would ever meet her in person and then felt his chest rumble in a laugh. He should not get his hopes up, he knew; men do not meet women out of their dreams. His mind was birthing fantasies; the dream woman could of course not be a real person who he could see and touch. A wry half-smile touched his lips at his foolish desire to pull a woman from his own mind.

He shut his eyes tight, but could not help but hope that he was wrong. Perhaps she really was out there somewhere, waiting for him to find her. Maybe she was closer than he knew.

Chapter 2

When Isla Robertson raised her head from her pillow, the warm sun dancing through the glass pane, she felt a tiny smile grace her lips. She let herself actually sleep in today, as opposed to rousing herself early for a morning ride upon her mare, Brigida. It was a perfect day to spend outside and gratitude rose up in her heart; today of all days she had hoped to walk in the gardens and swim in her favorite loch.

She stretched, relishing the warmth on her skin. Today, she would find some joy and merry-making, even if she had to do it herself; perhaps she would even go on an adventure.

After all, a lass c’n only be twenty-one once in her life!

Isla smiled in spite of herself, feeling for all the world as though she was still a child. The thought of womanhood was daunting, though she’d already surpassed that milestone. She knew that she should be thinking of marriage, but whenever she tried, her mind always took her to the moors, the forests, the lochs of the land.

She sat up straight, pushing her long black hair out of her face. Her legs ached from her long swim and ride through the meadows she’d undertaken yesterday, but she loved the feeling of her body enjoying nature. She pulled one her favorite bright red gowns over her petticoat and pulled her tartan shawl about her, fastening it with her favorite silver brooch.

Isla ran her fingers through her hair excitedly, eager to join her two sisters. She wondered vaguely if her father had anything planned for her today, but did not get her hopes up. It would not be the first time that he had disappointed her, nor did she doubt it would be the last. She told herself that it did not matter if her father treated her birthday like it was every other day.

She would enjoy it nonetheless.

Isla was about to push her bed chamber door open completely and wander the castle to find her sisters, when she thought she heard someone speaking in hushed tones. It wasn’t uncommon to hear people outside of her door, but it was the way the two were speaking that gave her pause. One voice was gruff, angry, and she recognized it immediately.

It was her father. What was he so angry about?

Her father had a temper that could not be matched, but this time there was an edge to his voice that made the nervousness in his voice apparent as well. Isla had heard her father angry many times, but never had she sensed fear in his voice. It was strangely out of character for him and so it tugged on her curiosity, even making her feel a little of his anxiety.

She held her breath, not daring to move the creaky door another inch, and waited to hear more.

The voices came again, quiet, but harsh and urgent. Isla felt her trembling fingers, doing their best to keep steady. The person who her father was speaking to answered him in a meek tone; it was one of the castle’s old maids. She could tell by the unmistakable quavering of her voice.

It sounded as though they were just around the other corner of the stone hall.  If the sound did not carry so well around corners, she doubted that she would have been able to hear them. Isla held her breath, watching their shadows play on the wall from around the corner. Her father’s shadow was looming and furious, while the old maid cowered, hunched at his side.

But what was he talking about?

“I cannae afford her kenning the truth!” her father’s voice whispered gruffly in the hall. “Already there is talk aroun’ the castle, and it cannae be spread any further than ’tis now.”

Truth? What truth? And what talk was there aroun’ the castle?

Isla felt her breath get caught somewhere in her chest.

“Aye, Laird Duncan,” warbled the old maid. “I agree, m’Laird. I meself ‘ave heard numerous maids gossipin’ like geese aroun’ about your daughter. Somethin’ needs to be done, action taken, an’ soon before the lass finds out.”

About ‘his daughter’? Which one?

Isla dared not open the door any wider, though she desperately wanted to.The doors incessant creaking would give her away immediately and then she would never know what they were discussing.

Not only that, but if her father caught her eavesdropping…

She did not like to think about how his temper would flare. Instead, she pushed the door until it was nearly open only a sliver and peered through the crack.

She heard the tell-tale sound of boots stomping across the stone; they were long steps full of frustration and anger followed by quicker, anxious ones.

They were approaching her door; her father likely assumed that she was already out in the meadows, as she was every day. Isla thanked the heavens that she had chosen this morning to indulge herself in a lie-in.

“We’ll have to arrange a betrothal as soon as possible then,” her father huffed. “Prefer’bly to a Laird across the highlands, perhaps Laird Thompson’s son will do. We’ll send word soon; I want this done without another word said about Isla.”

Her stomach dropped to her bare feet and she felt her blood run as cold as an icy loch on a winter’s morning. She could barely breathe and her thoughts were pulled in directions that she could not even fathom.

Me? What does Father mean? And why does he want to send me so far from my home?

Her older sister, Elayne, hadn’t even been arranged a marriage yet. It puzzled Isla as to why she should be married off first; and why so quickly? Their father had always spoken about Elayne and Isla’s twin sister, Annabella, being sent to castles nearby, so that he could keep an eye on them. Never once had he mentioned Isla’s name during those conversations.

So why now?

It did not make any sense at all. And yet…

Isla thought back to her long, black hair and her bright blue eyes, running a finger through the locks. She sighed, melancholy in the fact that she would never compare to Annabella’s and Elayne’s beauty.

Even their father had noticed it; he was ashamed of her features. That had to be it. He could not stand that Isla did not have the familiar features of a Robinson; she shamed him by looking so terribly different. Isla wanted to cover her face, suddenly ashamed of herself. She had never thought that she was unattractive.

Annabella looked more like a twin to Elayne than to Isla. They both shared the same healthy head of bright red hair and their eyes were similar shades of green; Elayne’s more emerald where Annabella’s were hazel. She had always envied them those lovely traits; it had nearly made her two sisters look like fae out of the fable’s they’d loved as children.

And so she would be sent off far away, likely to never hear from her father again. If he wanted her gone that quickly and that badly, surely he cared nothing for her. She had always known her father to be distant towards her, but never did she think that his heart could be filled with hate and disdain for her.

It did not help her cause that she’d always been so fiercely stubborn and bull-headed. She knew that she caused her father grief in her desire to be of her own mind and follow her heart, but did he really hate her with such fervor?

Could he really not even stand to look at her that much?

Her shoulders drooped as she lowered her head, ashamed. Isla now wished that she hadn’t been quite so willful as a girl and now as a young woman. Elayne and Annabella had always been obedient and quiet, never arguing with their father nor anyone else, not even between themselves. Never once had they shirked their duties in favor of an autumn ride on Brigida. She had rarely if at all saw them doing anything that would turn any heads.

If only I could have been tha’ way… Perhaps Father would not be throwin’ me away quite so fast.

The footsteps were right next to her door now, but they rounded the corner and kept going. They were headed downstairs somewhere, presumably to carry on this conversation about her.

“Och! If only there was a way to get word to Laird Thompson faster,” her father complained, bitterness in his voice. “The lass has caused me far too much trouble these last few years. And now…”

Her father’s voice faded out of earshot and Isla let her eyes fill with tears. Her vision blurred as her heart ripped at the seams, little by little. Not only would she suffer through another affection-less birthday from her father, she would have to carry the knowledge that he held no love in his heart for at all.

She did not know if she could face her sisters with these thoughts burning in the back of her mind, but either way, they would seek her out soon if she did not find them first. It would not do to be surprised, not while she knew what they did not.

She scrubbed at her eyes hard with the back of her hand and pulled the door open. Isla took one solid breath and stood up tall; no one would be suspicious of her if she acted as she normally did. She would smile, keep that glint in her eye and be as stubborn as she always had. If he was going to send her away regardless, then it did not matter if she changed her ways from wildcat to sheep-like anyway.

Isla made her way down the stone steps in the opposite direction that her father had taken along with the maid; it was the long way to the gardens but she did not care. She did not know if she could hold herself together enough to look her father in the eye. Besides, her sisters were probably already down in the grass with handfuls of herbs, braiding each other’s red hair.

She hurried her step, feeling the coolness of the air around her grow colder as she descended to the first floor of the Robertson Castle. As she had suspected, Elayne and Annabella were already giggling about something under one of the apple trees. They were making flower crowns of heather and knotgrass and looked as though they were having a fine time without her. Though she loved the both of them much, her twin had always seemed closer to their older sister than to Isla.

“Isla!” Annabella cried when she spied her. “Oh, sister, ye’re finally up! Sleepy head, we thought ye would slumber your entire birthday away!”

Elayne looked up, her green eyes brightening. “We did,” she said. “Neither of us wanted to wake ye, though. Thought ye might attack us like some sort of wild beast if we dared to!”

The two of them fell about laughing and Isla felt her heart soften; at least the two of them still loved her and had always.

“Here, love,” Elayne said, holding something out to her. “We made this one as a birthday gift; Annabella thought tha’ it would make your dark hair stand out in such a lovely way.”

It was a flower crown but it was crafted from a different set of flowers. Interwoven together was the bright, cerulean blue of heath milkwort and yellow marsh marigolds. Annabella hopped up, her tartan cloak catching the wind and placed it upon her head.

“There!” she crowed. “Ye look like a sprite about to drink the dew from the waterlilies, sister. Lovely as ever!”

Isla felt her eyes grow teary at the words, feeling her doubts about her appearance slip away. It was only the most terrible shame that she would be sent away from her sisters soon enough, though they did not have to know that. She smiled as they chattered to her idly, secretly committing this moment to memory.

She wanted to bring this thought up in her mind when she was carted away, far across the highlands. This one, and many others. Just because her father wanted to erase his existence from his memory did not mean that she wanted to forget her sisters.

Isla knew that she could not take her time with them for granted. Once she was married off to some far off clan, it would be quite difficult to ever see them again. Any day now might be the last time she ever sees them. She did not know when that time would come, but it was sure to be soon.

They spent most of the afternoon together, picking the buds from the wild clover flowers and wandering around the orchard. The late summer had the scent of fresh water and rosemary, carried on the breeze. Isla told herself she would remember this forever.

When Isla left her sisters, she felt a little better, though not much. The beginnings of homesickness had already begun to sprout in her heart; she could either pull it out by the roots or foster it and accept its existence. She chose the latter. Isla miserably trudged up the stone stairs towards her bedchamber and down the hall, unable to mask her sadness any longer.

She pushed the door open and hung her tartan up on the back of the carved wooden chair in her room, sighing. She collapsed into her bed, defeated and upset, and contemplated sleeping the rest of her birthday away when there came a sound like parchment sliding against wood.

Isla sat up, frowning. When she glanced down at her door, there was something there that had certainly not been before. She stood warily, her eyes locked on the sheet of parchment, folded into a little rectangle. Confused, she quickly stepped over to it, staring at the paper for only a moment long before she bent low to pick it up.

With the parchment in her hands, she wrenched open the wooden door and quickly stepped outside. To her surprise, there was no one outside of her door. Her breath hitched, and she swiveled her head to see if she could spy anyone, but there was no one at all.

She was completely alone.

All that was left of whoever had just visited her was the quickly fleeing footsteps that disappeared down the stairs and out of sight, into the shadows of the floor below.

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