Author: julianawight

One week earlier, Ballentine Estate

Lady Deidra,

Niall MacRae

The letter had long begun to fray at the edges, smoothed and refolded so many times its creases were soft as silk. Deidra’s fingers traced the words one more time, as though the ink might change beneath her touch. The candle by her bedside flickered, casting trembling shadows across the parchment.

It should have calmed her. It did calm her, or so she told herself. Yet she had read several times that evening alone, as though the words might shift and betray some hidden intention. But they remained gentle and firm, unfaltering in tone. Like Niall himself, she supposed.

This is the right choice.

She curled her legs closer to her chest, blanket bunched at her feet, her chemise wrinkled from sitting still for too long.

Her gaze dropped to the letter again, to the wax seal. She knew that what she had to do. It made sense. Niall was a good man. He had no desire to cage her, no expectations. He’d written her three letters since the arrangement was agreed upon, and in each he’d sounded… reasonable.

She didn’t want love. She didn’t want risk. She wanted peace. And that, at least, he seemed to offer.

A soft knock startled her. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Deidra?” came her brother’s voice—Ewan, calm and warm.

She hastily shoved the letter under the pillow and smoothing the coverlet as though her thoughts might also be hidden that way.

“Aye—come in!”

The door creaked open, and Ewan stepped in, closing it gently behind him. He didn’t speak right away, just looked at her in that way he did when he knew something was wrong. Then he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders like he had done since they were children.

“Ye alright?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine.”

Deidra could see it in his eyes, in the way they lingered on her face—he didn’t believe her. She didn’t blame him.

His fingers tapped lightly against her upper arm. “Ye leave tomorrow,” he said.

She nodded, glancing briefly at the pillow where the letter lay hidden.

“Tae Castle MacRae.”

“Aye.”

He looked down at her. “And how dae ye feel about it?”

Deidra hesitated, then lifted her chin with deliberate grace. “I’m happy.”

Ewan blinked. “Ye dinnae look happy.”

Her lips twitched, the tiniest frown betraying her. “I am content.”

She was, wasn’t she? Content?

The word sat heavy on her tongue, like a stone too large to swallow yet too dangerous to spit out. Content. It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t hope. It was… safety. Predictability. A grey, quiet kind of surrender.

She’d once dreamed of more—of love letters that spoke of longing, not logistics. Of a man who would know her favorite things and how she took her tea. Of walks in the dusk and promises of love and devotion whispered against her skin. But that had been another life, another Deidra. Before the kidnapping.

What she had now was better, wasn’t it? An arrangement, clear expectations. No illusions, no heartache.

Yes, contentment was the right word. Not happiness. Happiness could be taken.

So she clung to the smaller word, the safer one, the one that wouldn’t shatter when held too tightly.

“Content,” he repeated, raising a brow.

“This is the most logical choice. I need protection. He needs a wife. We both understand the terms of our arrangement.”

Ewan was silent for a long moment. The candle flame danced between them, casting a golden edge to his profile.

“I always hoped,” he said quietly, “that one day ye’d find something more than logic.”

She turned her face slightly, avoiding his gaze.

“Ye were always the romantic,” he went on. “Remember when ye used tae hide away in the library with those ghastly love stories?”

“I was young,” Deidra shrugged, forcing her gaze to the door so she wouldn’t have to see his expression.

“Ye were hopeful,” his voice was almost scolding.

She said nothing.

He shifted to face her more fully, one hand now resting atop hers. “Deidra, I ken what happened changed ye. I ken it left ye with reasons tae be cautious. But I also ken ye and I ken ye want more than this.”

“Nay,” she said firmly. “I dinnae. I dinnae even want tae look at a man who’s nae kin. It’s better this way.”

Ewan sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Ye ken he’s called a barbarian, right?”

She couldn’t help the slight smile that curled at the corner of her mouth. “Aye, I’m aware.”

“He’s rough. He once punched out a priest over a land dispute.”

Deidra’s brows lifted. “Oh, that story’s true, then?”

Ewan nodded grimly.

Deidra chuckled under her breath. “He’s also… considerate. In his letters, at least.”

Ewan gave her a look. “Ye’re trusting a man ye’ve never met based on three letters.”

“I’m trusting that he understands the arrangement we made. He hasnae tried tae change the terms. He hasnae made demands. That alone makes him better than most.”

Ewan didn’t argue. He only looked at her for a moment, as though weighing his next words.

He reached out and kissed the top of her head. “Ye have a long ride ahead tomorrow,” he said, rising to his feet.

Deidra nodded, eyes flicking again to the pillow.

“Try tae sleep,” he added gently, lingering for a beat before stepping toward the door.

“Goodnight, Ewan.”

“Goodnight, Deidra.”

He closed the door softly behind him.

She didn’t move right away. The candle guttered low. Only then did she slowly slide her hand back beneath the pillow and retrieve the letter.

She read it again.

Her mind wandered to Castle MacRae—what it would look like, what sort of man Niall truly was, whether his promises of peace and distance would hold once they were bound by law. But mostly, her thoughts remained on her brother’s words.

Ye were always the romantic.

Once. Not anymore.

But the ache in her chest didn’t quite agree.

That part of her, whatever still remained, had to stay buried.

She placed the letter on the bedside table and curled onto her side, the blanket drawn up to her chin. Tomorrow, everything would change.

And that, she told herself, was a good thing.

Wasn’t it?

***

The morning sun barely touched the high towers of Ballentine Castle, its light slanting across the stone corridors in long, thin beams. Deidra fastened the final buckle on her traveling cloak, her fingers trembling only slightly. She blamed the chill in the air.

The room was a mess of trunks and gowns and hurried decisions.

Deidra sat on the foot of her bed. She ought to feel excitement. A new life awaited her at the end of this journey. A new husband, a new future.

Instead, a strange hollowness sat heavy in her chest.

Deidra caught sight of herself in the polished glass across the room. Her own reflection startled her—the tight set of her mouth, the tense line of her shoulders.

This wasn’t the girl who had once dreamt of love matches and brought bright laughter into the castle halls. That girl had been left somewhere along the road of heartache, abandoned when her trust had cost her more than she dared remember.

Isla had love. Ewan had love.

And she—she had survival.

Perhaps Ewan had been right. Perhaps it was a hasty decision. But even if she could someday recover from all that had happened, the healing would take years. Years spent as a burden to her brother and his new wife, watching their happiness from the shadows of their generosity.

No. This was the only way.

Her brother’s protests, however well-meant, changed nothing. She wouldn’t become that pitiable spinster aunt, growing gray and bitter in some forgotten wing of his castle, forever defined by what had been done to her rather than what she might yet become.

The door creaked, breaking the heavy stillness.

“Deidra?” Isla’s voice, soft and tentative.

Deidra turned as Isla stepped into the room. In her hand, she held a small bundle wrapped in silk.

“I thought ye might want this,” Isla said, crossing the room.

Deidra took the bundle, unwrapping it carefully to reveal a tiny, stitched charm—an old Ballentine tradition, worn for luck and safe passage.

Her throat tightened painfully.

“Thank ye,” she whispered.

Isla smiled faintly and moved closer, reaching up to smooth a stray lock of Deidra’s hair away from her brow. Her touch was gentle, motherly. Deidra blinked fast, forcing back the sudden sting in her eyes.

“Ye’ll be alright,” Isla said, her voice low. “Ye’re stronger than ye think.”

Deidra swallowed and nodded.

A loud call from the courtyard interrupted them—the sound of horses being readied, the clatter of wheels against stone.

“Deidra!” Her brother’s voice, deep and tense, echoed up the stairwell.

Isla squeezed her hand and stepped back. “Go on, then. He’s waitin’.”

Deidra managed a trembling smile, clutching the charm tightly as she gathered her things.

When she descended the stairs, the castle felt unnaturally large and hollow, as if it too were bracing to let her go. Her steps echoed through the corridors, memories pressing close with every stride. Racing Ewan through the hallways as children. Her mother’s laughter drifting from the kitchens. The smell of fresh bread rising warm in the air.

The old oak doors swung open onto the courtyard, where the carriage stood waiting, its glossy black sides gleaming with dew.

Isla trailed behind her, settling behind Ewan, her golden braid slipping over one shoulder, her expression soft with concern.

Ewan’s gaze swept over her in a swift, assessing glance. “Everything packed? Naething forgotten?”

“Aye,” Deidra said, forcing a smile. “I’m ready.”

He didn’t smile back. His frown only deepened, carving hard lines into his handsome face. “There’s nay shame in changin’ yer mind.”

Deidra’s heart squeezed. She reached up and patted his chest, teasing to hide the sudden ache there. “Och, ye worry too much, braither. I am well. Everything is well.”

Even as the lie left her lips, she felt the way Isla’s keen eyes narrowed slightly, catching the faint tremor she couldn’t quite conceal.

Outside, the castle courtyard buzzed with muted activity—grooms adjusting the harnesses, servants bustling with last-minute preparations. A chill breeze tugged at Deidra’s cloak as she followed Ewan and Isla down the steps and into the open air.

Isla hugged her first, wrapping slender arms around her so fiercely Deidra had to blink back more tears.

“Be safe,” Isla whispered against her ear. “And if ye need anything send word, and we’ll come.”

Deidra squeezed her tightly, breathing in the scent of lavender that always clung to Isla’s hair. “I’ll be fine,” she murmured, willing it to be true.

Then came Ewan. His hug was less delicate. He held her for a long moment, his hand cupping the back of her head.

When he drew back, his eyes searched her face, and for a moment, she saw something raw there. Worry, fear.

“Are ye certain about this?” he asked, voice low. “About marryin’ Niall MacRae?”

Deidra straightened her spine, lifting her chin. “I am.”

Ewan’s frown deepened. “We dinnae ken much about him. He’s always hidin’, never comin’ tae the gatherings, meets, naethin’…”

“I ken,” she said softly. “That’s why he’s perfect.”

At their confused looks, she tried to explain. “I dinnae want tae have tae manage the man’s moods… he’ll nae expect that o’ me. He made certain I ken that…in his letters. If anything, he’ll likely be relieved if I keep tae meself. And so will I.”

Ewan’s brows drew together sharply. “Ye think livin’ like a ghost in someone else’s home is the life ye deserve?”

Deidra’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Nay. But it is the life I need.”

Isla’s hand brushed Deidra’s arm, her gray-green eyes warm with understanding. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. Isla knew too well what it meant to survive by building walls.

Ewan, however, looked as if he wanted to argue further. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“Ye deserve more,” he said finally, his voice rough. “Ye deserve happiness, Deidra.”

“I’ll find me own kind o’ happiness,” she said. “In me own way.”

She didn’t say aloud that she never wanted a man’s touch again. Not after Allan.

Freedom, independence, peace were all that she wanted. Niall MacRae, aloof and reclusive, would give her that without question.

It would be enough.

Ewan’s shoulders slumped, defeated. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “If he so much as looks at ye wrong, I’ll string him up by his entrails,” he muttered.

Deidra laughed, the sound a little shaky but real. “I ken ye would, braither.”

The driver called out that all was ready, that it was time.

Deidra turned back to her brother and Isla one last time and memorized them. Then she climbed into the carriage.

The wheels creaked into motion, and Ballentine Castle began to slip away behind her, piece by piece. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched it go.

She had told Ewan the truth, that was what she wanted. But as the road stretched ahead of her, endless and unknown, a small voice whispered at the back of her mind.

What if ye’re wrong?

Deidra closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the carriage lull her into silence.

Soon, she would stand at the gates of another castle. Another life.

And whatever waited for her there—whatever Laird Niall MacRae proved to be—she would meet it head-on.

No fear, no regrets. She was done being afraid.

Enjoyed this bonus chapter? Dive back into the adventure and continue the journey on your e-reader. Happy reading!

Chapter One

The night had long since swallowed the road, the carriage’s lanterns casting a flickering light over the uneven path. Deidra sat rigid, one hand gripping the seat beside her as the wheels jolted over loose stones.

They were deep in MacRae territory now. Soon, they would reach the castle where her fate would be sealed in marriage to a man she had never met.

Deidra pressed her lips together, steeling herself against the uncertainty ahead.

She had imagined her wedding day a hundred times.

As a girl, she’d dreamed of lace and lemon cakes, of a groom who’d lift her veil with trembling hands. Later—after the dungeon, after the ropes, after Duncan Allan’s breath slithering down her neck—she’d prayed only for a man who wouldn’t touch her at all.

And she had found him—Niall MacRae.

The Barbarian Laird.

A man who, by all accounts, wanted a wife as little as she wanted a husband.

The carriage jolted over a rut, jerking Deidra from her thoughts. Outside, the Highland moors sprawled under a bruised twilight, the wind keening through the heather like a mourner’s lament.

She pressed a hand to the chilled window, her reflection ghostly against the glass—a woman clad in sensible wool, not satin; a bride without hope, without even a face to put to her groom’s name.

It’s better this way.

No expectations. No disappointments. Just a quiet life as Lady MacRae, where she’d be safe, and—if God was merciful—left alone.

The sharp whistle of an arrow cut through the night.

Deidra barely had time to gasp before the first arrow pierced into the carriage door, its iron head punching through the wood inches from her shoulder. The horses whinnied, the driver roared curses.

Nae again. Dear God, nae again!

Another arrow thudded into the wood near her window—close enough to feel the wind of its passing.

Is this how it ends? Nae at the altar, but sprawled in the mud with an arrow through me ribs?

The carriage lurched violently, tossing her sideways.

“Hold on!” the driver bellowed, snapping the reins again.

Deidra braced herself, knees bruising against the floorboards as the carriage careened faster. Logic warred with instinct.

Should I leap?

Her breath came in ragged bursts, her mind scrambling for control.

A rider surged alongside them, his sword glinting like a silver fang. For one wild moment, she met his eyes through the window—dark, ruthless, hungry. His hand clawed for the door, snapping it open and grabbing Deidra. Fear seized her, paralyzing her on the spot.

A horseman came barreling out of the trees his blade catching the dim light as he drove it into the enemy’s side. The rogue gave a strangled cry, toppling from his horse and letting Deidra go. She fell backwards, her elbow struck the wall, pain radiating up her arm, but she barely registered it.

A hand smashed through the other window, glass exploding inward. A gauntleted fist grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking.

“Ah—!” Pain ripped through her scalp as she was dragged toward the shattered pane. A man’s face, wild-eyed and grinning, loomed in the opening.

Duncan’s face. The cellar. The ropes—

Her vision tunneled, her past flashing before her eyes. She kicked, clawed at his wrist, but his grip was iron.

Then, a shadow blurred past the window, a sword hissed.

The hand in her hair vanished.

Blood arced, splattering the carriage walls. The attacker’s scream was cut short as a second strike crushed his windpipe.

Deidra gagged, scrambling back, her pulse a deafening drum in her skull.

Then the warrior was upon the next man, cutting through them him brutal precision.

Outside, chaos raged.

Horses reared, steel shrieked, and he moved through it like death itself.

More riders emerged from the darkness, clad in armor marked with the MacRae crest. Deidra’s heart pounded as she watched the battle unfold, her unknown savior fighting like a possessed man.

His strikes were swift, ruthless, each motion calculated in its savagery. One of the rogues attempted to flee, but the warrior pursued, bringing him down with terrifying ease.

Deidra could not tear her eyes away from him. He was unlike any man she had ever seen, a force of raw power and controlled fury, his movements exuding a lethal grace.

Who is he?

He fought without a sound. No battle cries, no taunts, just the sickening thud of his blade cleaving flesh, the crunch of bones under his boots. One attacker lunged—the horseman sidestepped, gutting him mid-stride. Another fled—he hurled a dagger into his spine without breaking pace.

Then, a third man, unnoticed, raised a crossbow, aimed at her.

Deidra’s body locked.

This is how I die…>

The horseman moved faster.

He leaped onto the carriage step, his bulk blocking the window just as the bolt slammed into his shoulder. He didn’t even stagger.

His hand shot through the air, seizing the attacker’s throat.

A snap and the man dropped.

Silence.

Deidra stared, her lungs burning. Blood dripped from the horseman’s fingers, his breaths ragged, his gaze locking onto hers through the ruined window.

The battle ended as quickly as it had begun. The assailants lay motionless on the road, while the MacRae riders regrouped.

The warrior turned to the carriage, his piercing, blue gaze locking onto Deidra through the broken window. His face was cast in shadow, but his presence alone sent a shiver through her spine.

He said nothing. Not a word of introduction or reassurance. Only a single command, spoken in a voice rough as the Highland winds.

“Bring her tae the castle.”

Deidra’s driver let out a breath and murmured low, “The Barbarian Laird.”

The words lodged in Deidra’s mind.

Was this truly him?

The carriage lurched forward again, but Deidra barely felt the movement. She pressed her palms flat against her thighs, willing them to stop shaking, nails biting crescents into her own flesh through the fabric.

Her stomach lurched. She’d expected a brute, a monster draped in pelts and scars. Not this… this towering force of muscle and rage, blue eyes burning like ice set aflame. Every strike of his sword had been brutal, efficient, beautiful in its lethality.

He’s nae human. He’s a storm given flesh.

When he’d grabbed that man’s throat—when she’d heard the snap—something primal in her had trembled. Not just fear. Something hotter. Darker.

And I’m tae be his wife?

The absurdity of it almost choked her.

She’d chosen him for his disinterest, for the rumors that he’d rather bed his sword than a woman. But the man before her now—the way his gaze had locked onto hers through the shattered window—there’d been nothing disinterested in that look. It had scraped her bare, peeled back every layer of pretense.

The pain grounded her—a small rebellion against the numbness threatening to claim her limbs. Outside, the wind wailed like a banshee, carrying with it the peat-smoke scent of distant crofts and the iron-rich tang of blood still clinging to the carriage wheels.

The castle loomed ahead—its torches flickering like the eyes of a waiting beast.

Deidra’s breath fogged the cracked window as she leaned closer, tracing the silhouette of her prison-to-be. Somewhere in those lightless towers, a life she had had to choose waited to claim her.

Her reflection in the glass startled her – a pale ghost with wild eyes, red hair escaping its pins like flames licking at her cheeks. She reached up with unsteady fingers, but changed her mind and let them fall.

What use is propriety now? The Barbarian Laird had already seen her at her worst—wide-eyed with terror. The memory burned worse than shame.

The wheels found smoother stone as they crossed the gatehouse threshold. Castle MacRae rose before her, a shadowy outline cutting through the dull, overcast sky. It was enormous, its ancient stone walls towering like an unyielding bastion against the harsh weather.

The Ballentine Estate had been impressive, but this—this was on an entirely different scale. The spires soared upward, their sharp peaks vanishing into the dense, swirling fog, while the heavy iron-bound gates offered no semblance of warmth or invitation.

I surely hope the house isnae a mirror o’ what just happened.

She had expected a reception—perhaps a cluster of servants awaiting her arrival, a steward to lead her inside, some token of acknowledgment that she was about to become the mistress of this place.

He made it plain as day in his letters he’s got nay interest in me, but surely he’ll want tae meet me, willnae he?

But there was no such gathering. Instead, only a single figure stood near the entrance, half-shrouded in the gloom.

He was a man with silver hair, clad in thick wool, his weathered face lined with age and hard years. He had the stance of a soldier, broad-shouldered and sturdy, and when she met his gaze, she saw nothing but keen, assessing eyes that missed nothing.

“Lady Deidra,” he greeted, his voice a deep rumble like distant thunder. “I am Bhaltair Cameron, Tacksman o’ Castle MacRae an’ right hand tae the laird. We’ve been expectin’ ye.”

His voice held neither warmth nor coldness—it was carefully balanced, deliberate, as though he were quietly assessing her.

Deidra felt the weight of his scrutiny and instinctively straightened her posture, her shoulders pulling back and her chin rising a fraction. She met his gaze with a quiet firmness, determined not to let him see even a flicker of uncertainty.

Will he nae come tae see me himself?

“I thank ye, Tacksman Cameron.” She tried to keep her voice steady, though the weight of the castle’s presence pressed heavily upon her. “Shall we go in?”

Bhaltair nodded once, then turned on his heel without another word. She followed, her boots clicking against the icy stone, the cold seeping through her soles.

What am I daeing here?

The thought clawed at her, but she dismissed it—she couldn’t afford to second guess herself now. But still, she felt like a fool, standing in this fortress of stone and shadows, chasing a future that was uncertain at the least. Her chest tightened with anxiety, a gnawing sense of dread that had been growing since she’d first locked eyes with her future husband.

This was a mistake. A terrible mistake.

As they entered the great hall, the first thing she noticed was the sheer vastness of the space—and the emptiness.

A fire burned low in the hearth, but it did little to warm the cavernous chamber. Shadows clung to the corners, shifting as if they had weight, and the air itself was thick, the stone walls dark, lined with old banners and antlers. This was a place built for war, not comfort.

This isnae a home.

The hall was not entirely empty—maids and servants lingered in the shadows, their figures partially obscured by the flickering, dim light of the torches lining the walls.

She had come so far, driven by duty and a faint, foolish hope that perhaps this arrangement could be more than just a transaction. But now, standing in this lifeless hall, she felt like an intruder, an outsider in a world that had no place for her

None of them moved to greet her. Instead, they stood still, their eyes fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Their hushed murmurs wove through the air, soft and insidious, like the tendrils of smoke rising from the crackling hearth.

The weight of their collective gaze pressed heavy on her. It was as if they were waiting to see how she would navigate this unfamiliar territory, as they whispered to each other.

She imagined their exchanges. “Is she daft, comin’ here? She daesnae ken what she’s walked intae. The poor lass.”

Deidra clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to turn and meet their stares head on.

She had heard the rumors long before she set foot on MacRae lands.

The Barbarian, they called him. A man more beast than laird, one who ruled those lands with an iron fist. Some said he was cursed. Others claimed he simply did not care for oaths, nor for a wife forced upon him.

After what she had seen, she knew the truth lay somewhere between. Still, she had gone there to do what duty required of her, not to cower before stories whispered in dark corners.

Bhaltair strode ahead, ignoring the murmurs, his pace unhurried but firm. Near the stairwell, a woman stepped forward. She was fair-haired, her brown eyes steady but wary.

“This is Catriona,” Bhaltair said. “She’s tae be yer maid. She’ll show ye tae yer chambers an’ help ye find yer way about the castle.”

Deidra nodded, her sharp gaze studying the woman before her.

Catriona was petite, her light brown hair catching the faint glow of the torchlight as it framed her delicate features. Her green eyes, though calm and steady, held a quiet intensity that seemed to see far more than she let on. She carried herself with an air of grace and confidence, her posture poised yet unpretentious.

Catriona dipped her head respectfully, her expression composed, but no smile touched her lips.

No one had smiled at Deidra since her arrival, and the absence of warmth only deepened the unease that clung to the air.

“Ye’ll need a keen mind and a strong spirit here, me lady,” Bhaltair added, meeting Deidra’s gaze with something close to warning.

With that, he turned and left, his heavy boots echoing against the stone as he disappeared into the shadows.

Deidra exhaled slowly. The castle was colder than the wind outside.

She turned to Catriona. “Show me tae me chambers please.”

The maid nodded, leading the way up the winding stairwell.

“She daesnae ken what she’s in fer,” she thought she heard.

But Deidra was beginning to suspect she would soon understand.

By the time they reached her chambers, the weight of the castle’s silence had grown oppressive. Deidra stood in the center of the room, her eyes sweeping over the space, as Catriona bowed her head and left her alone.

The fire in the hearth crackled. The room was grand, with high ceilings, thick tapestries, and sturdy wooden furniture, but it felt foreign and stiff, as though the walls themselves were resisting her presence.

She crossed her arms, her gaze lingering on the shadows that danced in the corners, and wondered if she would ever feel anything but an outsider within these stone walls.

She moved towards the window, pressing her hands against the stone ledge as she gazed out over the rugged landscape. Castle MacRae sat upon a great hill, surrounded by dense forests that stretched toward the horizon. The land was wild and untamed, much like the man she was to marry. A man she had never seen and, by all accounts, cared little for this marriage and even less for the woman bound to it.

The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She had told herself that was what she wanted—no expectations, no romance, only the security the union would bring.

Yet at that moment, standing in the very place where she would live as his wife, a strange unease curled in her belly.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Catriona reentered with an air of quiet efficiency, carrying a basin of steaming water. She placed it beside the large wooden tub that had been set before the hearth.

“Yer bath is ready, me lady,” Catriona said, her voice measured, her expression unreadable.

Deidra nodded and turned from the window. “Thank ye.”

Catriona moved about the chamber with a practiced ease, adjusting the linens on the bed and setting out a fresh gown for the feast.

Though she had been tasked with looking after Deidra, she seemed in no rush to pry or make conversation, and for that, Deidra was grateful. The weight of the day had already consumed her.

After Catriona finished her tasks, she gave a small nod. “I’ll return shortly tae help ye undress.”

Deidra hesitated before speaking. “Have ye served here long?”

“Aye, me whole life.” Catriona’s gaze flickered to her, and for the briefest moment, Deidra thought she saw something there—pity, perhaps. But it was gone as quickly as it came. “Rest while ye can, me lady. It’s best tae be well-prepared fer the feast tomorrow.”

With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving Deidra alone once more.

Deidra undressed, slipping into the warm water with a sigh. The heat did little to soothe the tension in her limbs. As she leaned back against the curved edge of the tub, she let her thoughts drift.

The rumors of her husband-to-be swirled in her mind.

She had heard the stories—of his ruthless skill in battle, of how he had secured Castle MacRae when it looked like his enemies were going to destroy him. A man feared by his enemies and respected by his men.

But what of her—his wife to be? Was there anything beyond the hardened warrior left for her, or had war and duty left nothing behind?

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

I will find out soon enough.

***

The warm scent of lavender and rosewater still clung to Deidra’s skin as she slipped out of her chamber, the hem of her nightgown slightly touching the cold stone floor.

The castle loomed dark and silent around her, the torch sconces casting long, flickering shadows along the walls.

At first, her steps were slow and cautious as she followed the familiar path toward the main hall. She was looking for the kitchens, which were usually nearby. But the castle seemed to have a will of its own, its corridors twisting in ways she couldn’t remember. Faded tapestries and dusty portraits lined the walls, their stern eyes following her as she moved. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of mildew and old iron, as she walked further.

She reached a fork in the corridor. One path led back to the main hall, its torchlight steady and warm. The other was stretched into darkness, its sconces sparse and the flames flickered weakly.

Against her better judgment, she chose the darker path.

The walls were bare and damp, the air biting cold. She pulled her shawl tighter, her steps quickening as the faint sound of dripping water echoed ahead. Passing a shadowed alcove, she thought she saw movement—a flicker in the corner of her eye.

Her heart leapt. She turned, but there was nothing. Only the guttering light of a dying torch and the relentless drip, drip, drip growing louder. She hadn’t meant to wander this far, only to familiarize herself with her new home, but the hush of the corridors, the distant crackling of unseen hearths, and the occasional draft slithering past her bare arms sent a shiver through her.

The castle seemed to breathe around her, its ancient stones exhaling cold and damp into the air. She paused, her hand brushing against the rough wall for balance, and listened. The silence was so complete that she could hear the faint rustle of her own nightgown as she moved.

She heard a sound so faint she almost thought she’d imagined it. A low, guttural groan muffled but unmistakable, like the cry of a wounded animal. Her heart stuttered, and she froze, her breath catching in her throat.

The sound came again, louder this time, raw and pained, as if wrenched from someone’s very soul. It echoed through the hall, bouncing off the stone walls, making it impossible to tell where it originated.

Daes someone need help?

Deidra’s pulse quickened, her mind racing. She should turn back, retreat to the safety of her chambers. But something compelled her forward, a morbid curiosity or perhaps a foolish sense of duty.

She took a hesitant step, then another, her bare feet silent against the cold stone. The corridor ahead was darker, the torches spaced farther apart, their flickering light casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls.

The groan came again, clearer now, and she followed it, her steps quickening despite the dread pooling in her stomach.

What is happening?

Her heart thudded in her chest. She should pretend she had never heard it. But her feet moved before her mind could reason with them.

The corridor stretched ahead, endless and dark, the sconces fewer in number the farther she went. The groan came again, clearer this time. She followed it, step by hesitant step, her pulse roaring in her ears. Finally, she reached a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar, with the faint glow of candlelight spilling from beneath its frame.

Deidra hesitated. She ought to turn back. Whatever lay beyond was not meant for her eyes, but something about the sound, the sheer anguish in it, made it impossible to leave. Summoning her courage, she rapped her knuckles against the wood.

Silence.

She knocked again. Nothing.

Swallowing, she placed her palm against the rough surface and pushed. The door creaked open, revealing a room cast in the dim glow of several flickering candles. The scent of burning tallow and something coppery filled her nose. A large wooden table stood in the center, strewn with maps and parchments, a half-drained goblet of wine sitting precariously near the edge. The fire in the hearth had burned low, its embers pulsing red like the dying heart of a beast.

But the room was empty.

Deidra stepped inside, her breath shallow, her fingers curling against her palms. Another groan came, this time from behind her. She whirled around, but there was nothing. Just the stone walls lined with ancient tapestries, their once-vibrant threads dulled with age. And yet…

The sound came again. From the wall itself.

Her pulse pounded. Was there a hidden passage? A chamber beyond the stone? She stepped closer, placing a tentative hand against the cold surface. Beneath her fingertips, the rock was uneven, almost as if…

A sharp intake of breath from behind the wall made her stumble back. The sound was unmistakably human.

Panic clawed at her throat.

Deidra turned on her heel and bolted, her nightgown billowing behind her as she rushed into the corridor. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she ran. The castle’s shadows seemed to stretch and twist around her, the flickering torchlight doing little to dispel the suffocating darkness.

She had no idea what—or who—could have made that sound, and she had no desire to find out. Not like this.

The corridor stretched ahead, darker than before, the stone walls swallowing every flicker of light.

Her mind raced. Had she imagined it? Was it just the creaking of an old castle settling into the night? Or had something—or someone—been in there with her?

The thought sent a shudder through her, but she forced herself to keep moving. Her fingers brushed against the rough stone wall for balance as she rounded a corner, the sensation of being watched prickling at the back of her neck. She froze.

The dim torchlight cast long, warped shadows against the ancient stones. There was no sound—no footsteps, no breath—but the silence was heavy, oppressive, as if the castle itself was holding its secrets just beyond her reach.

A faint, indiscernible noise came from behind her.

Not a footstep, not a whisper, but something that sent a jolt of ice through her veins. Her breath hitched, her pulse a violent thrum in her ears.

It could have been nothing. The wind shifting through the halls, the groan of timber settling beneath the castle’s weight. But the uncertainty clawed at her, destroying the last of her composure.

Panic seized her limbs before reason could take hold, and she bolted. The corridor stretched endlessly before her, shrouded in darkness, the walls closing in with every hurried step. Her lungs burned, her heart pounded, but she didn’t slow—she couldn’t slow.

She stumbled to a halt, gasping for air, but before she could take another step, something—or someone—grabbed her arm.

Chapter Two

A shiver ran down Deidra’s spine and her breath came in quick, startled gasps, her pulse hammering against her throat.

The hand on her arm was firm, steady, undeniably strong. But it was not the pressure that made her lightheaded—it was the heat, the undeniable presence that stole the air from her lungs.

The man beside her stood tall, broad-shouldered, his frame draped in a dark coat that did little to mask the powerful build beneath. His face, half-shadowed in the flickering torchlight, was striking—almost severe.

A strong, chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and a mouth set in a firm line. But it was his eyes that held her captive—an arresting shade of sapphire blue, glowing in the dark, pinning her in place as though they could strip away every layer of her composure.

It was him.

This was the man she was to marry—the Barbarian Laird.

Good heavens, he’s… handsome. The thought slipped unbidden into her mind, startling her. She hadn’t expected him to look like at up close—so striking, so utterly commanding.

“How did ye come tae be here?” His voice was low, edged with suspicion, yet smooth as aged whisky, pouring over her senses with dangerous ease.

Deidra swallowed hard, willing herself to steady her breath. “I—me name is Deidra,” she answered, her voice softer than she intended, betraying the thrum of her pulse. “Deidra Ballentine.”

The moment she spoke her name, his grip slackened, and he took a deliberate step back.

His expression remained unreadable, his features carved from stone, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered. It was as if every ounce of his focus was fixed on her, making her too aware of herself—of the way her heart raced, of the heat creeping up her neck.

Stop it, she scolded herself. This isnae the time.

For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a shadow of something softer in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or even guilt. But it was gone before she could be sure, replaced by that same adamant focus.

He didn’t speak for a few moments, didn’t offer an explanation, but the way he looked at her, the way he seemed to hold himself just a fraction too still, suggested an apology he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—voice.

“Deidra.” He repeated her name as though he was testing the weight of it on his tongue. A pause, then a slight inclination of his head. “Yes, we had an unfortunate encounter before. Forgive me. I had nae expected ye tae wander so far.”

Her mind reeled, struggling to catch up with the whirlwind of sensations that held her captive. Her breath hitched, her pulse racing as if trying to outrun the storm of emotions crashing through her.

He stood before her like a force of nature, his presence commanding. Every line of his posture spoke of absolute authority, of a man who demanded obedience without uttering a word. And his eyes—those piercing, sapphire eyes—cut through her like shards of ice, cold and insistent, yet impossibly captivating.

She should have been afraid. She was afraid, in a way, startled by the intensity of his gaze and the way it seemed to strip her bare, leaving no room for pretense or defense. But beneath the fear, beneath the shock, something else stirred, a pull she couldn’t ignore, a magnetic attraction that defied reason.

She forced herself to break from his gaze, lest she forget to breathe.

She lifted her chin, trying to mask the way her heart thundered beneath her ribs. “What gives ye the right tae handle me so?” she demanded, the tremor in her voice betraying her.

He watched her, his expression unreadable, but there was something darkly amused in the way his lips curled. “Ye need nae worry, lass,” he said, his voice deep, rich, and smooth as aged whisky. “I’ve nay intention o’ grabbing ye again. That would hardly be appropriate, given the deal we’ve made.”

This is the man I’m bound tae marry? The thought sent a strange mix of dread and excitement coursing through her. There he stood, larger than life, impossibly commanding, impossibly… breathtaking. But he was right—they had a deal, a deal that explicitly stated he was not to touch her, ever.

Deidra had never imagined him like that. The tales had spoken of a warrior, of a man hardened by battle and duty, but they had not spoken of the way his presence consumed the space around him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a strength that was evident in every line of his form. His hair was dark as midnight, tied back in a loose knot, though several unruly strands had escaped, framing a face that was all sharp angles and rugged beauty.

A warmth spread through her, slow and insidious, curling low in her stomach. It was utterly maddening.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to ignore the way her hands itched to reach out and trace the rough line of his jaw, to see if his skin was as warm as she imagined. “Ye should have announced yerself instead o’—o’ manhandling me.”

He smirked, and the way it softened his otherwise imposing features sent another unwelcome shiver down her spine. “And ye should nae be wandering these halls alone. It is a dangerous thing, tae go places ye dinnae yet understand.”

She scowled. “I am nae some reckless child.”

“Nay,” he agreed, tilting his head slightly. “Ye are something else entirely.”

His gaze drifted over her, slow and intentional, and heat prickled along her skin. She did not know if she wanted to step away or press closer—to demand he look at her like that again, to allow herself to drown in the way it made her feel both powerful and weak.

“I—” she hesitated, searching for words, though her thoughts were an unraveled mess. “I lost me way. I thought tae return tae me chamber.”

His gaze flickered to the door behind her, then back to her. “This part o’ the castle is nae often traversed at night.”

“Aye,” she whispered, her voice breathless despite her best efforts. “I gathered as much.”

His lips twitched, just barely, as though amusement warred with restraint. Then, without another word, he turned away, motioning for her to follow. “Come.”

The simple command sent a thrill down her spine.

It was not the word itself, but the way he said it—with an authority that left no room for question, and yet with an ease that was almost effortless. She stepped forward, falling into step beside him, acutely aware of every inch of space between them. Or rather, the lack of it. His nearness was a force unto itself, a magnetic pull that left her thoughts scattered and her heartbeat erratic.

They moved through the dim corridors, their footsteps the only sound save for the occasional flicker of candlelight against stone. Deidra could not stop herself from stealing glances at him—at the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his coat shifted over broad shoulders, the sheer presence of him.

She had never considered herself the sort to be affected by a man’s appearance, so this she could not explain.

“I had thought tae meet ye in a more formal manner,” he murmured at length, his voice pulling her from her thoughts. “Nae chasing ye down a dark corridor.”

Her cheeks warmed despite the cold. “Had I known ye were tae be me escort, I might have reconsidered me course.”

He cast her a sidelong glance, unreadable and yet—intensely aware. “Would ye?”

She hesitated. There was something in the way his voice dipped just so, that made her stomach tighten. A test, perhaps. A challenge.

“Aye,” she admitted, though the truth was more complex. She had fled the shadows of the castle only to find herself ensnared by something far more perilous—him.

“Ye should nae wander alone,” he said, and though the words carried a warning, there was something else there too—something almost possessive of her, despite it not making any sense.

She nodded, though she knew it was a lie.

If given the chance, she would wander again. She would seek the darkened corners of this place, not only for the sake of adventure, but for the chance of encountering him once more like this.

He did not speak immediately. Nor did she. The air between them had thickened, charged with something they both seemed to feel. It was madness, surely. She had known him mere moments, and yet—

Deidra took a steadying breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Something was said about a feast?” she asked, grasping at the change of subject like a lifeline.

He nodded. “Aye. Ye’ll be introduced tae the clan tomorrow, after the wedding. It would be best if ye spent tomorrow preparing yerself, rather than sneaking about the castle.”

Her jaw clenched. “I was nae sneaking.”

He only raised a brow, as if the argument amused him.

Deidra huffed, turning away before he could see the warmth rising to her cheeks. This was infuriating. He was infuriating. And yet, the moment she stepped away, she felt the loss of his nearness like a physical thing.

She had known it would be difficult. A marriage of arrangement was never simple, never easy.

But she had not been prepared for it—for the way his presence made her forget herself, for the way her body reacted without her permission. It was unfair, truly, how a man like him could wield such power without even trying.

And worse, she hated how much she had liked it.

Niall studied her for a long moment, his sharp gaze lingering, as if he saw something in her that she had not yet recognized herself.

At last, they arrived at her chamber. She stopped just outside the door, and so did he—his broad frame filling the narrow corridor as he turned to face her fully. For the first time, she had no choice but to meet him head-on, to truly take him in. And it was almost too much.

The candlelight played wickedly over the angles of his face, casting him in warm gold and deep shadow. He was not just handsome; he was breathtaking in a way that was wholly unfair.

His strong jawline, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the faint stubble that shadowed his face—all of it came together in a way that made her breath catch.

How is it possible fer someone tae look like this?

Her pulse quickened despite herself.

He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before his gaze flicked to the door behind her. His brow furrowed, and a flicker of something—frustration? anger?—passed over his features.

“Who told ye this was yer room?” he asked, his voice low and edged with a sharpness that made her flinch.

Deidra blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone.

“I—I was shown here earlier,” she stammered, her voice wavering slightly. “One o’ the maids brought me here when I arrived. She said it was tae be me chamber.”

His jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Yer chamber,” he repeated, the words clipped. “And who, exactly, gave the order fer that?”

She shook her head, confusion and a flicker of unease creeping in. “I dinnae ken. I thought it was ye—or someone acting on yer behalf. Was it… nae?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze narrowing as he stared at the door as though it had personally offended him.

Then, with a sharp exhale, he turned back to her, his expression darkening. “This isnae yer room,” he said firmly, his voice like steel.

Deidra’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Oh, I—I dinnae ken. The maid must have made a mistake.”

“A mistake,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. He took another step closer, his towering frame forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

She swallowed hard, her mind racing.

What is wrong with this room? “Dinnae trouble yerself,” he said, though his tone was anything but reassuring.

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, his boots echoing sharply against the stone floor.

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A month earlier.

Alina Cameron entered the drawing room to see her mother and father waiting upon her. They had sent a servant with a message for her to go see them, but for the life of her, she could not imagine why. She was certain she wasn’t in trouble, for a change.

Being the wildest of their three daughters, and not caring a wit what other people thought of her, she often found herself caught up in situations her younger sister, Moira, had to help defend her from. Her mother blamed her wildness on the color of her hair, for while Alina was slender, she was strong, with striking, thick, auburn hair that hung down her back.

“Please, come in, Alina. Sit down,” her father said.

He was a tall, athletic man, for he often trained with his war chief and the soldiers of the clan and thus was in fine shape for a man of his age. He was also a serious man, and so, as he stood at the mantle, gazing across the room at her, Alina wasn’t surprised to see his usual contained expression.

Her mother remained seated on the sofa. She was a quiet woman, subservient to her husband, always following his lead. Hugh and Eleonor Cameron were laird and lady of clan Cameron. They were both respected and loved by all the clan members, even if her father could, at times, be a little harsh.

Alina lowered herself down beside her mother with an expectant expression.

“Ye wished tae see me.”

“Indeed, we did,” her father replied. “We have something o’ importance that we need tae discuss with ye.”

“Am I in trouble?” Alina pressed.

“Nae at all, dear,” Eleonor said, reaching out a hand and taking Alina’s with a smile.

“As ye ken, Lilly has been married some time now, and thus, ye are the next young lady o’ the household.”

Alina’s older sister, Lilly, had been married off to a man nearly twenty years her senior. Not only was she miserable, but on each occasion she had come home to visit, Alina had noticed her older sister’s spirit slowly breaking under the weight of a loveless marriage. It had cemented Alina’s fear of being forced into the same fate. And yet, growing up as a noblewoman, she had always known her future was never truly her own.

She worried where the conversation was going.

“I willnae bore ye with the details, but clan Mackintosh is under threat from clan Campbell, and thus, Laird Mackintosh has reached out tae us fer help.”

Dread began in Alina’s stomach, for she now had a good idea why she had been beckoned.

“And what has that got tae dae with me?” Alina asked, knowing the answer before she even asked the question.

“It has everything tae dae with ye, child.”

She hated it when he called her ‘child’. She was a grown woman of twenty years. She had not been a child for a long time.

“Meself and Laird Mackintosh have already been in correspondence for several weeks, and have agreed tae engage in talks about an alliance…”

Nay. God. Nay!

“… and thus, it has tae dae with ye, Alina, fer it will be yer marriage tae Laird Mackintosh’s son that binds it.”

Her greatest fear washed over her like the wave of a stormy sea, and for a second, she found herself breathless. She was to suffer, just like Lilly. Her life, her freedom, her wild carefree ways were over, just like that. She would be bound to a man for the rest of her life, and there was not a single thing she could do about it.

But from somewhere deep within her, the desire to fight emerged. She could not give in just like that. It simply wasn’t in her nature to do so. As her fear morphed into anger, she glared at her father with a near uncontrollable rage.

“And that is it? I have nay say in the matter?”

Her father gave her one of his stern glares, while at the same time, her mother squeezed her hand.

“Sometimes, we have tae make sacrifices fer the greater good, my dear,” she said softly.

Yanking her hand away, Alina jumped up from the sofa and glared at the two of them.

“I dinnae want tae make sacrifices. Lilly made sacrifices, and look at how her life has turned out. Why is it always the women who have tae make these sacrifices?”

“Alina!” her father barked.

“Nae!” she retorted. “I willnae dae it.”

And then, without waiting for her father’s reply, she spun on her heels and ran from the room. Dashing through the corridors, she ran up the wide stair case and bolted into her bedchamber, slamming the door behind her.

Her throat had already begun to tighten, and then, seconds later, sobs burst from her chest as she threw herself onto her bed. Her whole life had come crashing down around her in a matter of mere moments, and so overwhelmed by her fate was she, she could not hold back the utter grief that racked through her body.

She had no idea how long she cried for, but it felt like hours. At some point, Moira came into the room, and wrapping her arms around her sister, she had offered her words of comfort. Clearly, she had been sent by their mother, for Moira already knew why she was upset.

“I’m so sorry, Alina. Truly, I am.”

But all her sisters’ words of kindness, as soft and caring as they were, brought Alina no relief. This was the thing she had feared since she was old enough to know how those things worked. No matter what she said, or how much she didn’t want it to happen, she would have to go through with it.

Her outburst earlier would be ignored, and she would be forced to do as her father demanded.

“We will run away,” Moira whispered, while Alina’s face remained buried into her soft pillow, soaking the linen with her sobs. “We will run so far that nay one will ever find us.”

But they both knew Moira’s words were empty. They could no more run away from their family, than Alina could choose her own suitor. Neither sister desired marriage. Lilly’s misery was clear to see. In fact, the change they had witnessed in their older sister had scared Alina and Moira to death. Lilly had not been wild, like Alina, but she had been confident in herself. A woman who knew what she wanted. Since her marriage though, she had become a shell of her former self, and hardly recognizable to her sisters.

So terrified of facing a similar fate had Alina and Moira been, that soon after Lilly’s wedding, the two had made a pact.

Sitting together on Alina’s bed, they had entwined their little fingers together. Looking intently into each other’s eyes, Alina had said, “We will avoid marriage, Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Moira had repeated, nodding her head vigorously.

Neither had thought they needed to worry for a few years, but clearly, fate had other ideas. Alina would now be torn from her home, her family, her sister. She would be forced to move into a new home with people she did not know. Forced to marry a stranger, she would be expected to be happy with her lot.

But she was not happy. How could she be when her heart was now broken into a million pieces?

“What am I tae dae?” she sniffled, when the tears finally abated.

Moira could only hold her tightly, for she no more had the answer to that question than Alina.

Three weeks later, Alina and Moira were readying themselves to travel to Moy Hall, the home of Laird and Lady Mackintosh. But before they bid farewell to their mother and father to make the journey, Alina found a quiet moment to spend with Moira and repeated the pact.

“I dinnae care that I am tae be sent tae Moy Hall, or that I am tae be forced tae wed. I am going tae dae everything possible tae ruin this union, Moira. Remember. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Moira repeated once more.

Alina was not going to be like her sister. She was not going to be a pawn to be used in a game where her father decided her fate. She had been wild and free all this time, and she was determined she would remain so.

Enjoyed this bonus chapter? Dive back into the adventure and continue the journey on your e-reader. Happy reading!

Chapter One

November 1714,
Journey to Moy Hall, Scottish Highlands

“Please, Moira,” Alina pleaded, gazing at her younger sister with soft eyes, as though that might help her cause.

Sitting across from her in the carriage, Moira firmly shook her head. “Absolutely nae. It is me necklace and ye cannae have it. I dinnae ken why ye’re so eager fer it. Ye have many beautiful ones o’ yer own. The one ye are wearing now is stunning.”

Absently, Alina lifted her hand to her throat, as though she had forgotten what was there. “Och, ye ken I have always wanted that necklace.”

“And every time ye ask, fer ye must have pleaded with me a hundred times or more, the answer remains the same. This is me favorite and I willnae give it tae ye.”

“Spoilsport,” Alina pouted, pretending to be annoyed, even as a smile danced in her eyes.

Moira giggled then, her sharp green eyes glistening with delight.

Alina smiled widely at her sister, even as she shook her head. “It is a good job I love ye, little bean.”

“Och, please tell me ye’re nae going tae call me that when we get tae Moy Hall,” Moira gasped. “I will be mortified.”

Little bean had been the nickname Alina had given her sister from the moment Moira could walk. With only two years between them, Alina had still been tiny herself. That seemed so long ago now, for her twentieth birthday had passed only a few months before.

“I swear,” Alina placed her hand on her heart. Visible relief washed over Moira’s face. Right until Alina’s next words. “Well, nae in public, at any rate.” She beamed a huge grin.

“It’s all right fer ye,” Moira pouted. “Ye glide along with effortless confidence. Naething bothers ye.”

“Being forced tae marry a stranger bothers me,” Alina countered with a firm look, sweeping her long, thick auburn hair behind her shoulder.

Moira sighed. “Och, well. There is that.” And then she smiled. “But I ken ye’re nae going tae mak’ it easy fer him.”

Moira knew her too well. She had no intention of going into this circumstance willingly. In fact, since they had left their father’s castle, three days ago, Alina had been scheming how the devil she could get out of this union. Kieran Mackintosh may well have been the future laird of his clan, and while she was expected to one day become Lady of the castle, she knew that by the time she was finished with him, he was going to be nothing more than a distant acquaintance.

When she had first discovered she was to be sent to clan Mackintosh as part of the peace negotiations being offered up as a pawn to bind the clans together, Alina had been shattered. She had cried for hours, and not left her bedchamber for four days. Even her sister’s warm words of sorrow had brought her no comfort.

“We will run away,” Moira had whispered, while Alina’s face had been buried into her soft pillow, soaking the linen with her sobs. “We will run so far that naeone will ever find us.”

But they both knew Moira’s words were empty. They could no more run away from their family, than Alina could choose her own suitor. Not that either sister desired marriage. Their older sister, Lilly, had been offered into marriage, forced to wed a man nearly twice her age and her misery was clear to see. It scared Alina and Moira to death. So much so, that soon after Lilly’s wedding, the two had made a pact.

Sitting together on Alina’s bed, they had entwined their little fingers together. Looking intently into each other’s eyes, Alina had said, “We will avoid marriage at all costs.”

“At all costs,” Moira had repeated, nodding her head vigorously.

They had bid farewell to their mother and father to make the journey they were currently on, and whilst travelling, Alina and Moira and repeated the pact.

“I dinnae care that I am tae be sent tae Moy Hall, or that I am tae be forced tae wed. I am going tae dae everything possible tae ruin this union. Moira, remember. At all costs.”

“At all costs,” Moira had repeated once more.

Now, as the carriage trundled over rough tracks, rocking back and forth as it continued, Alina was as determined as ever. While he thought he was meeting his future wife, Alina had other ideas. In fact, her only goal for this visit was to drive Kieran Mackintosh as far away as possible.

“If he thinks I’m going tae get tae ken him, he’s in fer a surprise. I’m going tae mak’ this so difficult, the man willnae want tae be anywhere near me,” Alina declared, her golden-hazel eyes sparkling with determination.

“This is a contract, Alina. Ye cannae just drive him away.”

Moira’s voice was level, as always. Clever, cautious, and fiercely independent, her sister always preferred strategy over confrontation. As loyal as Alina knew Moira was to the pact, her sister was also the steady, pragmatic one.

Well, Alina was not. While she carried herself with grace, she rarely behaved as a demure noblewoman ought to. In fact, those kinds of confines frustrated her, and, much to her parent’s chagrin, she was often found doing anything she could to carve out her own path. A path of independence and individuality. The kind of restless energy and the antics that were borne from it was the reason Moira was always having to find ways to get her sister out of trouble.

“Och, but I can,” Alina said, a sly smile dancing at her lips. “Just watch me.”

Again, Moira laughed and shook her head. “Ye are incorrigible, dae ye ken that?”

“Perhaps, but never boring,” Alina quipped back.

This remark sent the women into fits of giggles.

“I decree that we mak’ another pact,” Moira announced. Looking at Alina with a mischievous grin, she continued. “If ye can really make Kieran Mackintosh refuse the betrothal in the time we are there…”

“A month,” Alina confirmed.

“Aye. A month.” Moira nodded. “If ye can dae that, ye can have this silly old necklace.”

“Really?” Alina gasped, her eyes dancing with excitement.

“Really,” Moira said. Then she held her little finger out. “Whatever it takes.”

Alina leaned forward in the carriage, entwined her little finger around Moira’s and looked her sister in the eye. “Whatever it takes.”

For a long moment, the sisters sat back in their seats, just looking at each other. A challenge was on the table, the air felt charged. And the prize? The long sought-after necklace. But the prize was so much bigger than that. The real prize was Alina’s freedom. Living a life she desired on her own terms.

Could it be possible?

But just as she was beginning to determine ways and means of making it possible, a thunderous sound of horse’s hooves danced on the air outside.

“What the devil is that?” Moira said, lurching forward to look out of the window.

Alina leaned forward too, and the sight before her sent a panic across her entire body, for two men on horses were approaching at great speed.

“Och, God.”

She spun her head to look out of the other window, only to see another two coming from the opposite side.

“Who are they?” Moira cried. “What dae they want?”

“Naething good,” Alina replied, trying to hold the tremor from her voice. “We’ll be fine. We have four o’ Faither’s best soldiers with us. They’ll protect us.”

Her words were more for Moira’s benefit, for she could not know, given the even numbers, how this was going to play out. Nor did she have time to think about it. The men were soon upon them, and though they could hear much yelling, the sisters could see nothing of what was happening up ahead.

They did, however, hear the following and very distinct sound of swords, the clanging of the metal ringing out across the glen. The carriage then came to a stop, and Moira went into an even bigger panic.

“Och, may the gods help us,” she wailed, “fer we’re surely tae be killed.”

“Just stay down,” Alina ordered, pulling Moira to the floor of the carriage. “I’m going tae see what’s happening.”

“Nay!” Moira cried. “Dinnae leave me.”

“I’ll be right back. Just stay low.”

“Alina.”

But Alina ignored her sisters’ pleas, and, opening the carriage door, she started to slip outside. The sound of swords clashing continued as she tiptoed ahead to see what was going on. If she and Moira would need to run, they would do so, but first, she wanted to know how bad things really were.

Just then she felt herself being grabbed. She gasped in terror and looked at the man who had grasped her arm. He was filthy and dressed in rags and she could smell his foul breath on her. Her snarled at her and pulled her towards him, but then one of her father’s men suddenly attacked him from the back. She screamed as she saw the guard’s sword pushing out of his stomach and watched him slump over. She was so shocked she couldn’t even thank the man who had saved her, but he was already busy turning to fight off another bandit.

She ran behind one of the horses of their carriage for cover and watched the frightful scene. Her father’s soldiers were fighting with all their might, but the bandits, seemed to be pushing the soldiers back. As she continued to watch, fear washed over her. Things looked like they were going to end very badly. Just as she was about to turn and hurry back to the carriage, a sound caught her attention, the same sound as earlier; thundering hooves crashing against the ground.

More are coming?

Her heart thumped in her chest as she peered out over the glen, where she was surprised to see a lone rider galloping in their direction. With a loud battle cry, he unsheathed his sword, and, to her further astonishment, he attacked the men that were attacking her father’s soldiers.

She could hardly take her eyes off him, for not only was he swift of sword, he was undoubtedly the most strikingly handsome man she had ever seen in her life. Blonde hair was tied at the back of his head. He was as broad as a door, his muscular frame difficult to ignore. Even mounted upon his horse, she could see he was tall, and while he wielded his sword in her defense, she could not help but feel mesmerized by his striking jawline and defined cheekbones.

With renewed vigor, thanks to the energy with which this man attacked, her father’s soldiers fought back even harder. As a result, sensing they were both outnumbered and outdone, the bandits retreated, galloping at great speed in the direction they had first come from.

Relief washed over her, but she was also feeling something else as she gazed up at their savior. Her heart thumped for a very different reason, for never before had she been so struck by a man’s actions and appearance.

Only after the bandits were out of sight did the man turn to speak to the soldiers, but as he was about to, he caught sight of Alina.

Frowning deeply, he said, “What the devil are ye daeing? Ye should be in the carriage where ye will be safe.”

As handsome and attractive as he was, Alina did not appreciate his tone, and lifting her chin, she said, “Who dae ye think ye are, speaking tae me in such a manner?”

Dismounting, he approached her.

“Me name is Kieran Mackintosh, son o’ Laird Mackintosh o’ clan Mackintosh.”

Alina swallowed a gasp as her whole body swayed. She gazed into his stormy gray eyes while feeling her heart drop to her stomach.

“And ye are?” he pressed, given that Alina struggled to respond.

“I am Lady Alina Cameron,” she said, finding her voice and pride at the same time. “And I dinnae appreciate being ordered about by a stranger.”

Kieran Mackintosh’s eyebrows hitched. “Me lady,” he said. “Ye are on the way tae Moy Hall.” His words and expression betrayed his surprise, for clearly, he too had come to their rescue not knowing who it was he was defending.

“We are.”

“Ye are me betrothed,” he said in the same taken aback tone.

“I am,” she replied again.

For a second, neither of them said anything. This was not exactly how Alina imagined their first meeting would go. But then, nor had she imagined she would be so affected by the man she was being forced to marry.

He broke the tension first.

“It is best if ye return tae yer carriage, Lady Cameron. I will escort ye and yer people the rest o’ the way.”

“Thank ye,” she replied, for she could think of nothing else to say.

Kieran accompanied her to the carriage and opened the door. His eyes widened at the sight of Moira crouching on the floor.

“Everything is fine now,” Alina reassured her. And with a look only Moira would understand, she said, “This is Kieran Mackintosh. He came tae save us.”

Moira was already on her feet. At the sound of his name, her jaw fell open. She then looked from Kieran to Alina and back again.

“Oh,” was all she could manage.

Kieran then offered Alina his hand to help her back into the carriage. “Me lady.”

His hands were rough, no doubt from his ability to wield a sword so very well. They were also large and warm, and nearly swallowed her hand whole.

“Thank ye,” she said, once she was seated.

He nodded once, closed the door, and then disappeared.

The girls sat in silence for a long while. Moira just stared quietly into nothing, her eyes as wide as saucers. Her hands were clasped together and she was clenching and unclenching them nervously. Alina reached out a slightly trembling hand to comfort her, and her sister gratefully took it and squeezed it.

They travelled like that, holding hands, for a while like longer, letting their heartbeat slow down and their nerves calm. Then Forsythe called down into the carriage. “We have almost arrived, I can see the castle ahead.”

Both Alina and Moira let out a sigh of relief and leaned out of the window to admire it. They commented on it and slowly started conversing again.

“So that is yer betrothed?” Moira said, a smirk upon her lips.

“Apparently,” Alina replied.

She might have said more, but she was still too stunned about everything that had happened to really answer.

Dinnae kid yersel’. Ye like him.

She did her best to ignore her inner dialogue, and instead, listened to Moira who was already gushing.

“Did ye see him?” she was saying, her eyes still wide.

“I did,” Alina replied, trying not to laugh at her sister’s astonishment.

“He’s so handsome. And he’s yer betrothed. The one ye’re going tae marry.”

Those words pulled Alina up short, for the conflict sat deeply in her stomach. Indeed, she was determined not to be forced into marriage, but the striking man who had saved them, and the feelings he had already evoked in her, were certainly going to make that all the more of a challenge.

“We are here.”

There in front of them were the tall gates of the castle walls, which yawned open at their approach. A moment later, they were travelling through neatly cut lawns and tall trees on either side of them.

The castle was large enough, though Alina imagined no larger than her father’s. The main house was flanked with two wings on either side. Windows reached up for three stories, though she imagined, just like home, there were servants’ quarters in the roof.

When the carriage came to a final halt, Alina looked at Moira, and her sister looked back.

The door opened, and a servant stood there waiting for them. As the sisters stepped out, they saw the second carriage that had followed behind. It contained both their maids and all their luggage.

A second later, a very well-dressed man and woman about the same age as her own parents were there to greet them.

“Och, it is so good tae finally meet ye,” the woman said. “I am Lady Kira Mackintosh.”

“And I am Laird Alec Mackintosh,” the man beside her said.

Alina was a little surprised at the laird’s appearance, for she had never seen a man of his stature wearing his long, blond hair wild and loose as he was. He was a large man, broad and tall, with a warm and welcoming smile.

Lady Mackintosh was slender, her brown hair pinned to her head in two braids. Her eyes were a soft blue, and while she appeared welcoming, Alina immediately sensed that there was a strength about this woman.

The woman squeezed Alina’s shoulder gently, while looking kindly at Moira as they all entered the castle. Alina could not help but look behind her, for she expected the arrival of Kieran Mackintosh at any moment. However, he was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m sure the two o’ ye must be half-starved,” Lady Kira added. “I will send for refreshments straight away.”

“And tired,” the laird said, with genuine concern in his eyes. “That is quite some journey. Did ye have any trouble on the way?”

Alina’s mind was working overtime. She had decided, after making the pact with Moira, that she was determined not to like anyone who had a say in this ridiculous arrangement. And yet, already, she was warming to the laird and lady, and they had hardly been in their presence for more than a minute.

“Actually,” Moira said, “we were attacked on the road.”

“Och, me God,” Lady Kira gasped.

Moira was nodding. “It’s true. Only fer the arrival o’ yer son, we might nae have arrived at all.”

“Our son?” the laird frowned.

Their guests were leading them down a corridor when someone walked around the corner. The laird immediately addressed the man, but Alina barely took notice of his words, for she was astonished. She was certain Kieran had not made it into the castle before them, and yet, there he was, standing before them. Immediately, however, she sensed something different about him, although she could not put her finger on what it was.

Eventually, Alina pulled herself back to the moment, just as the laird was turning toward her and Moira.

“…they are only arrived. What wonderful timing.” The laird turned and with an outstretched hand, he said, “Lady Cameron, I would like tae introduce me son. It is actually a surprise he is here.” The old man smirked. “Usually, he’s off galivanting across the country someplace or other.”

But Alina was confused, for they had just told the laird that this man had saved them. Why was he now introducing him? She was utterly confused, to say the least. Had it not been for him, however, she and Moira might not have been there at that moment. The least she could do was show her gratitude.

“Thank ye again fer saving us,” Alina said. “If it wasnae fer ye, we might never have made it here at all.” She forced a smile. “I suppose it’s one way tae meet yer betrothed.”

A flash of confusion crossed Kieran’s face, and then, the laird suddenly jumped in.

“Me goodness. What a fool I am. This isnae yer betrothed, me dear. This is his braither, Devon. I dae beg yer pardon. I introduced him without telling ye his name.” He then turned to speak to Devon. “Lady Alina and Miss Moira were attacked on the road. Apparently, only fer Kieran’s bravery, did they escape unscathed.”

Devon frowned. “But ye are all right?” he asked.

Alina’s consternation had now reached crazy levels. No one had told her that her betrothed had a twin brother. They were identical in almost every way. Though, it did explain her earlier feeling.

“We are. Thank ye,” Alina eventually replied, trying to maintain her composure.

He beamed a wide and charming smile at her. “Good. I’m glad tae hear it.”

“Come,” the laird said. “We will relax with refreshments in the drawing room. I’m sure ye both could dae with a wee dram after such an ordeal.

The laird took the lead, with Devon and Lady Mackintosh following behind. Devon and his mother began conversing, leaving Alina and Moira to follow at the rear.

“Well, I’ll bet ye werenae expecting that,” Moira said quietly, so the others ahead couldn’t hear them.

Alina was still struggling to come to terms with the development when she shook her head. “Nay,” she said absently. “Indeed, I wasnae.” Shaking herself, she continued. “He’s as handsome, but there’s something different about him. I reckon he’s a charmer, and has all the lasses hanging on his every word.”

“Ye should be careful. Yer betrothed might be exactly the same.”

Alina cast her sister a sideways glance. “And what if he is? I dinnae care if he’s bedded half the castle.”

Moira opened her mouth to speak again, when a voice came from behind them.

“Ye need nae worry. I havenae bedded half the castle.”

Alina and Moira both spun around to see Kieran Mackintosh standing behind them. Heat flooded Alina’s entire person, from the soles of her feet to the top of her head at her words being overheard by the man she was going to marry, of all people.

“Och, I…” she gasped.

Alina looked to her sister for help, but Moira was as useless as she, for she was standing with her mouth gaping open, looking like a dead fish.

“Er, I… er,” Alina floundered, her face feeling hot as coal, while the man before her just watched on in what looked like amusement.

“What me sister means,” Moira said, the fish now back to life, “is that… whatever happened before daesnae matter…” But Moira had clearly not recovered either, and her rescue mission was in vain.

Taking a deep breath, and trying to swallow her mortification, Alina eventually gathered herself.

“O’ course, ye havenae. We were just making a little lightness out o’ this whole ordeal.”

It was a poor and pathetic excuse that likely did not fly at all, but she could think of nothing more to say.

“Indeed,” he replied. Kieran then gestured with a nod. “It appears ye are being waited upon.”

When Alina and Moira turned to look, the laird, Devon, and Lady Mackintosh had all stopped a little further up the corridor.

Och, me god! Did they hear all that?

And in that second, Alina’s mortification only multiplied.

“Ah, there ye are, Kieran,” Laird Mackintosh declared, making his way back toward them. He came to a stop at Alina’s side.

“I hear it was only because o’ ye that the ladies arrived in good health. Well done, son.”

“It was naething,” he replied, clearly not comfortable with his father’s praise.

“It was far more than naething,” Alina pressed, still trying to steady her thumping heart.

“Indeed. I agree,” the laird said. “Let us convene in the drawing room, fer I am certain we could all dae with a drink.”

Alina did not follow straight away, and understanding her sister’s desire, Moira also held back, allowing Kieran to walk ahead and join his father.

When they did eventually continue on, Moira leaned in closely to her older sister.

“Well, that was just awful.”

“I think I now want tae die,” Alina replied.

Moira gave her sister a curious look. “So, is yer plan still on?”

Alina hitched her eyebrows. “Why wouldnae it be?”

“Well. Look at him,” Moira gushed. “Besides, he did save us from certain death.”

Alina rolled her eyes. “We cannae ken that. Faither’s soldiers may well have fought them off without his assistance.”

Moira lifted her eyebrows, expressing her disbelief that Alina actually thought that was true. Her sister knew her well.

“This changes naething,” she said. “Carved by the gods or nae, in a month’s time, Kieran Mackintosh will be running fer the hills praying he never had tae set his eyes on me again. As fer me and ye, we will be on our way home, victorious after being saved from an unwanted union.”

But even as those words left her lips, Alina knew she had a battle on her hands. She was supposed to ruin this union, and yet, Kieran Mackintosh had already made an impression she could not ignore.

Chapter Two

It had only been good fortune that Kieran had been out riding, or he would never have come across the bandits attacking the two carriages. It had been four against four, but the men defending had been struggling before he arrived.

Once the battle was over, he had been astonished at the sight of a woman standing beside the horses. A rather beautiful woman at that. Kieran had had to swallow back his reaction at her appearance. She was slender yet shapely, but he was more struck by her bright auburn hair. It was long and thick and fell in waves around the soft pale skin of her face.

He had been floored even further, however, when he had discovered her identity. Not that he wasn’t expecting his betrothed to arrive that day. But he certainly wasn’t expecting to see a lass like her. It also happened that her locks reflected her personality. Free and wild and spirited.

“Who dae ye think ye are, speaking tae me in such a manner?”

Not only her words, but the way in which she had said them had taken him off guard, for no woman would dare speak to him like that. He already had his reservations about this arranged union, and her attitude certainly wasn’t helping.

Once back at the castle, after he had ridden around the grounds to check that everything was safe, she had surprised him further with her comment of not caring if he had bedded half the castle. A fact that could not be further from the truth, not due to lack of interest from the ladies, but to the lack of interest from his side.

Kieran had not been ready for the words that had left her mouth. It was only good fortune that he had been behind her, and thus, she had not seen his initial reaction. A reaction that consisted of his mouth dropping open in shock. Steeling himself, he had snapped it closed, something he was glad she had not witnessed.

When the group gathered in the drawing room, refreshments were served. Laird Mackintosh talked about how positive the alliance was going to be, strengthening both clans, and Kieran and Devon joined in here and there.

Lady Cameron showed only a mild interest, and remained in the room only as long as propriety dictated. Within the hour, she stood and excused herself.

“I hope ye dinnae mind, me laird,” she said, speaking directly to the laird. “But my sister and I have endured a long and rigorous journey. I would appreciate it if we could retire tae our room.”

“O’ course,” his father declared. “Yer maids are likely already there, but I will have someone escort ye directly. Ye’ll want tae be well rested fer the feast we are throwing this evening in yer honor.”

Ten minutes later, the lasses had left the room with a servant and Kieran’s mother.

“Well, what dae ye think o’ her?” Laird Mackintosh asked, his eyes wide with eager anticipation.

Expressing to his father what he had overheard from Lady Cameron earlier might be a little inappropriate, even if there were only men remaining in the room. Furthermore, he was aware that his father was eager for this union, and Kieran did not want to disappoint him, thus he lied through his teeth.

“She looks delightful, Faither. I cannae wait tae get tae ken her better.”

Laird Mackintosh’s eyes opened with both surprise and delight.

“That’s fantastic tae hear, son. Fantastic.”

In his periphery, Kieran could see Devon smirking, but pretending he didn’t, he continued.

“The wheels are now in motion.”

“Indeed, they are, me son,” his father replied. “In fact, there is a council meeting this afternoon. Be certain tae be there. I must away tae me study, but I am sure I will see ye both later.”

When his father left the room, Devon’s smirk morphed into a full-on grin.

“She looks delightful, Faither. I cannae wait tae get tae ken her better,” he mimicked teasingly.

Kieran gave him a steady look. “What did ye want me tae say? That’s she’s a walking headache?”

Devon pushed himself off the mantle, and with a tone loaded with sarcasm, he said. “Och, nay, braither. I think ye sold it very well.” He paused a beat, and then said. “But now we are alone, what dae ye really think o’ her?”

Kieran relayed what had happened when he first came upon the attack, and then added Lady Cameron’s words at his arrival at the castle.

Devon’s eyes widened. “She’s a wild one.”

Kieran sighed. “Aye, like nae wanting tae get married wasnae enough.”

“Aye, well,” Devon countered, stepping further into the room and aimlessly wandering about. “Ye dinnae have a choice, braither. The council want ye tae marry, and thus, marry ye shall.”

Kieran swallowed down a sigh and shook his head.

“If ye’d have arrived intae this world a few seconds ‘afore me, it would be ye in me shoes, ye bastard,” he said with no heat at all.

“But I didnae, did I?” Devon grinned.

While the brothers both had blond, long hair and might look exactly the same, they were not alike. Not at all. Devon’s messy mane was longer and currently swung about his broad shoulders as he swaggered around the room in his usual easy-going manner.

In contrast, Kieran’s hair was always neatly tied back; contained, like himself. Devon liked to tease him about his seriousness, as did his parents on occasion.

Unlike his brother, he was calm, quiet, and, he supposed, could be seen as brooding.

“I still think they’re rushing intae this,” Kieran countered. “Faither is alive and well. I willnae need tae take on that mantle fer a long while yet.”

Devon gave him a look that expressed what both brothers knew.

“It has little tae dae with that, Kieran, and ye ken it. If Laird Campbell hadnae been killed by one o’ our own, his son wouldnae be so intent on revenge. And let us nae forget that his faither kidnapped our cousin! Madman!”

“Ye can hardly call him a madman, Devon. Would ye and I nae react in the same manner if our faither was slaughtered?”

Devon leaned against the mantle and gazed into the fire. Kieran was not surprised at his lack of reply. Both brothers knew his words to be true. Family and loyalty were all that mattered in a clan. Rory Campbell was only doing what any son might do under the circumstances. But of course, Kieran kept that opinion to himself. With the ongoing and aggressive feud between the Campbell’s and Mackintosh’s, few others would sympathize with his logic.

“Whether he’s right or wrong makes little difference, brother,” Devon eventually said. “The onus is now upon yer shoulders.”

“I dinnae need tae be reminded,” Kieran growled. “I ken we have tae make a good alliance with another clan tae safeguard our own. Only, I’m nae ready. It’s well for Maither and Faither. They think because their arranged marriage turned intae true love, it will be the same for me. Bollocks.”

Devon turned and grinned at his brother. “Och, ye dinnae ken. It might turn out well. She is stunning, if naething else.”

Kieran scowled. “She isnae a lass I can take tae me chamber and discard the next day. I cannae sleep with her and never see her again. I am marrying this woman. She is tae be me wife!”

Devon looked a little contrite then.

Kieran sighed and lifted a hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldnae take me frustrations out on ye. But I assure ye, it willnae work out as well as ye think. Besides, I’m too young tae be wed.”

“Ye are five and twenty!” Devon blurted. “That’s nae young at all.”

“It is fer me,” Kieran murmured.

“Right. Come on.” Devon moved to stand beside Kieran. “I think ye need tae clear yer head. Come and spar with me.”

A bit of fresh air might do him the world of good. Besides, he could get rid of the pent-up frustration that had sat in his gut from the minute he discovered he was to be betrothed.

“Fine,” he replied.

The brothers left the drawing room and wandered down the corridor side by side.

“Ye ken, I would tak’ this from ye if I could.” Devon grinned.

At that very same moment, a maid moved towards them coming in the opposite direction with a bundle of bedding in her hands. Devon beamed a grin at her.

“Hello, Kenna,” he said in a more than friendly manner.

The maid’s face lit up at the sight of him, and blushing and fluttering her eyelashes, she breathed a reply. “Master Devon.”

The lass flashed Kieran a quick glance, but her smile faltered as she pulled her eyes quickly away as though she were afraid of him. She gave him a little nod and a very quiet “Master Kieran,” before she scurried away.

Continuing on down the corridor, Kieran lifted an eyebrow. With his tone laden with sarcasm, he said, “Aye, course ye’d tak’ me place. I can see it now. Ye, a one-woman man.”

Devon burst into his usual loud laughter, before clapping Kieran’s shoulder with his hand. “Aye. Maybe ye’re right. I’ve rethought me offer. I’m going tae let ye be the sacrificial lamb.”

“Great,” he quipped back. “Thanks fer that.”

While Kieran kept his tone neutral, he hid his own demons. Demons that taunted him about his lack of capacity compared to his brother. For as long as he could remember, he had never felt enough where women were concerned. Being around lasses was effortless for Devon, and they loved being around him. He was far more open and outgoing. He had a way with them that Kieran knew he could never emulate.

Because ye’re too damned serious all the time.

But he couldn’t help it, it was just the way he was. Given the choice, the lasses would choose Devon every time, and who could blame them? Still, Kieran could not say that it didn’t bother him. He would never match his brother, not in that department, at any rate.

Once in the training area of the courtyard, the brothers unsheathed their swords.

“Ye ken, if ye were actually interested in getting tae ken lasses, that might help ye,” Devon said, swinging his sword back and forth to loosen his muscles.

“What are ye talking about?” Kieran frowned as he did the same.

“Och, come on, Kieran. When we travel tae the village together, ye barely look at them for more than tae take them tae bed, and ye never see them after. Ye never speak tae them.”

“Aye,” Kieran countered. “That’s because they’re all too busy swooning over ye tae converse.”

His brother shook his head. “Nay. It’s because I mak’ the effort. A lass needs some kind o’ sign that ye’re interested in her.”

“At least I am honest about what I want, I dinnae illude them” Kieran sneered. “And now I dinnae need tae charm one anyway, dae I? One has already been selected for me. She is in the castle as we speak.”

Devon shrugged and nodded. “Aye, well. There is that.”

The brothers moved around each other, beginning their training slowly. Their swords came together in hesitant movements to begin with, each testing the other. Devon was the first to lunge, forcing Kieran to defend. The swords clanged together, echoing around the cobblestone beneath their feet, and sounding off the walls of the stables and castle.

Kieran watched Devon’s approach. They had sparred so many times together, they knew each other’s tells. There were few surprises. Still, the training kept their wits about them, as well as keeping them in good physical shape. One never knew when an attack might arrive, either announced or unexpectedly.

“So, now she is here, dae ye feel ready?,” Devon said, defending a strike.

“Nope,” Kieran said flatly. “I might get lucky. Maybe if our faither and her faither sit down tae talk, they might hate each other.”

Of course, that was never going to happen, but he could wish it, for all the good it would do him.

His brother lifted his eyebrows. “But ye find her attractive?”

“O’ course, I dae. She’s a beautiful lass. But she’s also spirited and wild. Nae only am I being forced tae marry. It appears I’m marrying Andraste herself!”

Devon couldn’t hold his chuckle back. “I’m nae sure comparing yer future wife tae a warrior goddess is a good idea. At any rate, ye want tae be careful she isnae listening.” He nodded to the sky. “I think ye have enough on yer plate without inciting the wrath o’ one o’ the gods, dinnae ye?”

It was bad enough that he was being forced to get married to ensure the safety of the clan. Indeed, it was necessary. It was, after all, going to be the clan he would eventually rule. But the idea that this woman, as opposite to him as she was, would now upend his life was worse. And then, he remembered something that distressed him even further.

“And I am tae entertain her without any support,” he blurted.

Devon nodded knowingly. “Uncle Evander, Aunt May and our cousins are away tae visit Aunt May’s braither. They willnae return fer two weeks.”

“And Kathleen and Blaine are traveling,” Kieran added.

Kathleen was the daughter of their father’s brother. Only earlier that year, she and Blaine, a hired sword, had been thrown into their own battle. While Blaine had been assigned to look after Kathleen on her journey to a friend’s wedding, the two of them had fallen in love, much to the chagrin of Bran, her father.

Not only was Blaine more than ten years older than Kathleen, he was also a commoner. However, after an attack by clan Campbell, Laird Campbell was killed, the very reason they now had an enemy in his son, Rory. Blaine saved Kathleen’s life then and Bran finally granted them what they desired, the opportunity to be together. They had recently gotten married and had then decided to travel.

“Basically, half the family isnae home,” Kieran continued. “Why didnae Lady Alina Cameron wait a while ‘afore storming the castle? The last thing I need is tae have tae entertain a… stranger. Especially when I can be getting on with something far more interesting.”

“That stranger is going tae be yer wife,” Devon pointed out unnecessarily. “Besides, what could possibly be more interesting than entertaining a lass?”

“Counting sheep. Watching grass grow. Taking a long walk and forgetting me way back tae the castle,” Kieran said dryly.

Devon was now in stitches, and despite himself, Kieran couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Besides, we’re unevenly matched. Ye saw the way she was in the drawing room. She could hardly contain herself. I’ve seen her in action already. I’ll bet she’ll nae last a month.”

“Ye think she’ll leave?” Devon said, his eyebrows hitched in surprise.

“I dae,” Kieran replied confidently.

“If she’s as feisty as ye say,” Devon grinned, “I hedge me bets it’ll be ye who runs away first.”

“A bet ye would lose, me friend,” Kieran replied confidently.

His brother shifted his head and gave Kieran a long look. “All right. How about a serious bet fer a bag o’ gold.”

“What’s the bet?” Kieran said, now more interested. A bag of gold was no small amount of money.

“If ye can make Lady Alina fall in love with ye, and have her tell ye that she actually wants tae marry ye, then the gold is yers.”

“But that’s the opposite o’ what ye just said. A minute ago, I was running away according tae ye,” Kieran argued.

“I want tae see if ye can actually dae it.”

“Ye want me tae mak’ this woman,” he flung a hand at the castle, “fall in love with me? Nae a chance. It’ll never happen. It cannae be done. I will probably kill her on day one.”

Devon smirked. “True. I dinnae think ye’re up tae the task. Which means, I’ll keep me gold and ye can be miserable fer the rest o’ yer life.”

Kieran frowned at that last part. He didn’t relish the idea of a life spent with a wife he couldn’t handle. Surely, if he got her to feel something for him, there might be some compromise further down the road. For a long moment, Kieran eyed his brother, trying to work out if there was some kind of trick he was playing. But no matter which way he looked at it, the bet was plain and simple. Get Lady Alina to fall in love with him.

It cannae be that hard, right?

Eventually, he nodded. “All right. Ye’re on.”

“Really?” Devon blurted, surprised at Kieran’s change of heart.

“Really,” he replied.

Devon beamed a huge grin and threw out his arm. Kieran stepped forward and the men clasped their forearms together to seal the deal. Still holding Kieran in a tight grip, Devon smirked.

“This is going tae be fun. I hope ye ken what ye’re daeing, braither.”

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