Author: julianawight

Two months earlier…

“She will be arriving any time now, and James is naewhere tae be found,” Laird MacGregor huffed, pacing back and forth in front of the fire in his study.

Edward had listened to his father ranting in great anxiety for the last hour. While he sounded frustrated, the old man was deeply worried. That concern had trickled throughout the entire castle, and now, there was a grave sense that James might not return at all.

Edward wished he could offer some words of reassurance to his father, but he too was worried. His older brother had now been missing for more than three weeks. He had heard word that James had been killed on his travels. He had not shared it with his father. No doubt, the men were too terrified of what his reaction might be. But Edward was certain the same thought had crossed the laird’s mind several times by now.

It was possible that James had met a dreadful fate, but Edward did not believe it to be true. He didn’t know how he knew his brother was alive. He just knew. There was a deep feeling in his gut. A sense of knowing that he couldn’t explain.

The brothers were close and always had been. James, being the older at eight and twenty, had always looked out for Edward when they were younger. But now, as grown men, they were also best friends.

Three weeks before, James had left the castle on a pilgrimage. It was a family tradition for the MacGregor men to travel from Port Mallaig to the island of Rùm. There, they received a blessing before getting betrothed. Baird and Kathryn MacGregor, their mother and father, were eager to see James wed so that the seat of the family would remain secure.

The Campbell Clan had been long-time allies. To strengthen that alliance, Laird Alistair Campbell and Baird had arranged a marriage between James and Alistair’s niece, Lady Evelyn Campbell in the weeks since James had left.

The night before his departure, the brother’s had spent a quiet evening together in James’ bedchamber.

Looking over the rim of his glass, Edward said, “Are ye nervous?”

They spent another hour talking about the journey, about how different things might be once James was wed. As the night came to a close, Edward stood and returned his glass to the dresser. The brothers hugged each other warmly, bid each other goodnight, and then Edward retired to his own bedchamber.

The next morning, he had waved his brother off in the knowledge that he would see him again soon. But James had not returned when he was supposed to, and since then, there had been scouts searching glen and forest to try to find him.

“What am I supposed tae tell the lass?” his father said, still pacing back and forth. Every now and then, he stopped, gazed out of the window in a contemplative moment, and then began pacing again. “She is expecting tae meet her betrothed.”

“Faither,” Edward said, making certain his tone was calm.

The laird stopped pacing again and turned to look at Edward, his expression betraying his surprise at his presence. It was as though he had forgotten his other son was sitting in the room. Perhaps he had thought he was talking to himself all this time.

“There is little ye can dae,” Edward continued. “Besides, Lady Evelyn daesnae need tae ken the truth just yet.”

His father considered that alternative for a moment. Then his brow furrowed deeply, the same deep brown eyes Edward shared with him looking even darker than usual. “Ye mean, I should lie tae her?”

Edward shook his head. “Nae exactly. Ye can tell her the truth. James did leave on a pilgrimage. Only, he has nae yet returned. She needs nae ken anything more fer now.”

Again, his father took a moment to think it through. Edward watched him expectantly, noticing that all this worry had made his father look a little older in the last few days. Light gray already threaded through his thick black hair, but it was the lines on his face, and dark shadows under his eyes that betrayed his distress.

“But the entire castle is in a panic, Edward. She is bound tae hear something sooner or later.”

Edward nodded. “I ken that. But fer now, we can appease her with the notion that James is on his way back. Just fer now, Faither. When James returns, all this will be over.”

The laird gave Edward a sympathetic look, as though he felt sorry for him.

“If yer braither returns, Edward. And I ken ye have kept yer faith that he will. But ye should ready yersel’ fer the possibility that he might nae.”

Shaking his head firmly, Edward replied, “I cannae entertain that notion, Faither.” Pressing his hand to his stomach, he continued. “I ken he is alive. I can feel it.”

His father’s expression did not change. Clearly, he did not want to thwart Edward’s hope, but it was also obvious that he did not share his son’s conviction.

“Let’s hope that yer gut is right, me son.”

Edward was about to reply that he knew it was, when a knock came on the study door.

“Enter,” his father bellowed.

The door opened, and a servant quickly made his way across the room. “A carriage is on its way, me laird. It is Lady Evelyn. Ye ordered that ye were tae be informed as soon as we kent o’ her arrival.”

“God’s teeth,” the laird spat.

Twenty minutes later, Edward was standing at the entrance of the castle, waiting for the carriage to trundle through the gates. While he leaned against the stone wall, his mother and father stood side by side, murmuring to each other. Edward didn’t need to guess the subject of their conversation. No doubt, they were fretting on how they were going to handle the situation.

Another five minutes passed and the gates of the castle yawned open. A few seconds after that, a carriage entered carrying the future Lady of clan MacGregor. The carriage finally came to a standstill outside the entrance, and a servant hurriedly stepped forward to open the carriage door.

Edward’s father and mother also stepped forward, while Edward remained where he was. He was only really there for moral support. After all, this was not his wife-to-be.

A second later, however, he found himself pushing his body off the wall and pulling at his clothes to straighten them, for the vision who exited the carriage was more than he could ever have expected.

She was draped in a velvet cloak of green. A green that highlighted her eyes, for they were the same color and seemed to sparkle as Edward’s father and mother greeted her. Her skin was the color of alabaster. It looked soft, and smooth, though there was a light blush on her cheeks. Her features were small and delicate, framed with long, golden blonde hair that caught the rays of the sun, for it fairly glistened, as though she wore a halo around her head.

Edward found himself entranced as she approached, flanked by his parents on either side of her.

“And this is me younger son, Edward,” his father said.

Suddenly, Edward blinked, pulling himself free from his mesmerized state, while at the same time, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

“Edward,” his father continued, “I would like tae introduce ye tae Lady Evelyn Campbell.”

Seeing her even more clearly did nothing to help his growing desire, for he eyed her slender figure, bound in the corset beneath her cloak. But trying to still his thumping heart, and failing miserably, he bent reverentially toward her.

“It is a pleasure tae meet ye, me lady,” he said. His voice surprised him for it was far deeper than usual.

Thank the gods she isnae likely tae notice, given we have never met ‘afore.

“Thank ye,” she replied. “It is nice tae meet ye, too.”

Even her voice sounded light and angelic. It was as though the gods had created her with their own hands.

“Let’s go inside,” the laird suggested, gesturing ahead. “I’m sure ye are quite exhausted from yer travels, me lady. But perhaps, some refreshments ‘afore ye rest.”

Lady Evelyn entered the castle with his parents and her maid, while Edward followed behind. He had initially imagined, once he had done his duty of meeting her, that he would leave his father and mother to entertain the lass, while also informing her of the situation regarding the absence of James. But he found himself pulled in her wake, almost unable to stop himself from being carried along by her presence.

Once in the drawing room, and after Lady Kathryn, Edward’s mother, had sent for refreshments to be brought, everyone seated themselves. Everyone but Edward, who chose to move across to the window, where he could observe the new arrival without her noticing.

“Will yer eldest son be joining us?” Lady Evelyn asked.

Edward cast a glance at his father, who immediately cleared his throat. “About that,” he began. “James is currently on a pilgrimage. It is a family tradition that the MacGregor men travel tae receive a blessing ‘afore their bride is chosen and they are wed. We are actually expecting him tae return any day now.”

Edward watched his mother fidget a little, but Lady Evelyn did not seem to notice.

“I see,” the beautiful lass replied.

“Ye dinnae have tae worry though,” his mother said in a reassuring tone. “We will tak’ good care o’ ye until he returns.”

Indeed, Edward would have loved to be the one taking care of her. In fact, at that very moment, he felt envy growing in him. Never before had he felt jealous of his brother. There had never been any circumstance that had the capability of eliciting such a feeling.

Not until now.

His brother’s bride was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on. A woman, if she were his, that he would worship, care for, and love.

But she wasn’t his bride.

Instead, he would have to watch as his brother wed this lass. It may well be an arranged marriage, but in that moment, Edward concluded that James was going to be the luckiest man alive.

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

Chapter One

Castle MacGregor, 1578

“She has tae marry,” Laird Baird MacGregor declared. “If she wants tae rule as Lady Campbell, she hasnae any choice.”

Edward MacGregor was standing in his father’s study, his back against the cold, stone wall, his thick muscular arms crossed over his equally muscular chest, watching his father, Laird Baird MacGregor, address all those present.

He shared his father’s brown eyes and thick black hair. But while they were both tall, he had an imposing physique, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. He enjoyed sparring and, being a ferocious warrior, was often the first on the battlefield. On many occasions, he had been told that he exuded quiet strength and authority. Today was no different. The fleeting glances in his direction, some of consideration, others of concern, had not gone unnoticed by him.

“She was going tae marry,” said a member of the Campbell Council in reply. A Campbell clan councilman, he was a thin man with sharp eyes and a stern expression. “It was yer son who reneged on the agreement.”

The laird nodded. “I am very well aware o’ that. But yer clan chose tae go intae battle with us. Ye lost. Now, ye must face the consequences.”

Always a calm but decisive figure, the laird towered over the table, his brown eyes piercing all those who were gathered. He looked intently between the councilmen from both Clan Campbell and Clan MacGregor. He was also used to being in control, something that seemed to have slipped from his grasp over the last few weeks.

The group of men sat around the table in the laird’s study, doubt and concern dancing across many of their faces. The day was dreary as rain battered against the windows outside. But the raging fire that burned in the large fireplace warmed the room and all those in it.

The tension crackled as loudly as the logs on the fire. The same tension that had surrounded the castle for the preceding weeks, for nothing had gone to plan.

James, Edward’s older brother, had returned to Castle MacGregor after missing for many weeks. Upon his arrival, both clans were relieved, for they had feared that he had been killed and might never be seen again. The relief was short-lived, however.

When he returned, everyone had imagined that he would marry Evelyn Campbell, Laird Campbell’s niece. The arranged union had been agreed between the clans while he was away. He and his father had talked of him taking a bride, and although they had not chosen one yet, James had left to get the blessing from Saint Cuthbert’s relic before marriage, as all MacGregor future lairds did. Thus, his parents had had no doubt that James would acquiesce to their choice. Evelyn had arrived at the castle to meet her betrothed but had later been informed that he had gone missing, so her uncle had joined her there to be by her side during that time of uncertainty.

Instead, James had returned, and he had balked against the union, and blankly refused to marry. Having fallen in love with the lass who had returned with him, a village healer by the name of Freya, his brother’s heart was now lost to another. Infuriated by the broken agreement, the Campbells had retaliated with a battle. As bloody and furious as the fight had been, it had not gone well for them.

Laird Alistair Campbell was now dead. Slain by James on the battlefield.

It was a mess. A mess that had left a power vacuum, for Clan Campbell was now without a laird. Without a leader, their clan was open to attack, and even a takeover.

In fact, that was the very reason the Campbell Clan councilmen were in that very room. There was only one solution, which had to be discussed. Evelyn Campbell was the sole remaining member of the Campbell family, and to save her clan and her people, she needed a husband.

None of the other councilmen offered a word after his father had spoken, and thus, the laird continued. “The battle is now over. It is time we came together and mended wounds. Fer us tae focus on both our clan’s futures. We have been steadfast allies fer years. There is nay reason that the alliance has tae end.”

Michael, one of the most senior and respected council men, sighed. “I cannae see how what ye propose is possible. If yer son willnae marry the lass, what are we tae dae?”

“Has yer son reconsidered the match, me laird?” Craig Ainsley offered.

At six and twenty, Craig was the youngest councilman for Clan Campbell. He had sandy brown hair and a sturdy, athletic build. Having spent some time with him over the last weeks, Edward had deduced the man was both loyal and pragmatic.

His father glanced over to Edward; his brow raised in an unasked question.

Continuing to lean against the wall, Edward shook his head. “Me braither has nay intention tae marry Miss Evelyn,” he said firmly. “I ken that isnae going tae change.”

Some of the men looked at him a second longer than the others. Eventually, however, they all turned their attention back to Laird MacGregor, as though he had the answer to the dilemma.

“There is only one solution,” his father said, reacting to their inquisitive expressions. “There needs tae be peace between the clans. As the defeated party, and tae safeguard yer clan’s future, Clan Campbell will offer Evelyn in marriage tae me son, Edward.” He gestured toward Edward with an open palm.

Edward stiffened, but swallowed any telling expression.

It had always been the likely outcome. Hearing it spoken aloud, however, felt different. James had known he was to be married. There had been time for him to become accustomed to the idea. But with James now determined to be with Freya, Edward was being thrown into a future he had been given little time to come to terms with.

Marriage had not been in his plans, and at four and twenty he thought he would have had more time and the freedom afforded him by being the second son and not the heir. Well, as much freedom he could have being a laird’s son, helping him run the castle and take care of the lands. Still, his life had been his own. He made his own decisions, decided where he wanted to go, what he wanted to do, and with whom he wanted to do it.

Not anymore.

On the other hand, perhaps the circumstance would give him an opportunity to show his worth to his father. As the second born son, he had always felt a little inadequate. Not that he had ever voiced that, of course. Those kinds of thoughts he kept firmly to himself. For the most part, though not today, Edward tried to see the lighter side of a situation.

“This union will strengthen the Campbell clan,” his father continued. “It will allow our alliance tae flourish. As Evelyn’s husband, Edward will become laird o’ Clan Campbell, uniting yer lands with ours.”

Murmurs dripped from the lips of the Campbell councilmen as they consulted each other in low tones. It was difficult to tell, by their expressions, how they felt about his father’s proposal. But Edward had his own ponderings.

We have just slain their laird, and now, I am tae replace him. I’m hardly going tae be welcomed with open arms.

He understood his father’s proposal, and the laird was not wrong about anything he had said. The Campbell Clan did need a laird, and it would be better for all concerned if the clans retained the alliance they had spent many years nurturing. But to have a MacGregor taking over as their laird?

And then, there is Evelyn.

She was a beautiful woman, no one could deny that. Long golden locks framed delicate features, and her bright green eyes radiated a mixture of determination and vulnerability. With a slender figure, she was graceful in her movements, her presence attracting the attention of many men in the castle. And yet, she appeared so very serious.

Besides all that, she would now be faced with marrying the brother of the man who had slaughtered her uncle. Edward could only imagine how well that was going to be received.

The councilmen were still muttering between themselves when his father spoke again.

“Without a marriage tae clan MacGregor, the Campbells’ rule is effectively over. I am being more than generous with this offer, fer I could have simply seized the Campbell lands after yer defeat in battle.” His father looked from one councilman to the other, and then sighed. “I dinnae want tae dae that. I would much prefer the Campbell Clan flourish, and we retain the alliance we have shared fer these many years.”

Moving away from the table, Baird limped over and joined Edward. The pained leg being the result of a wound from a battle fought many years ago. Looking at him intently he said, “I’m sorry, me son. I ken I ought tae have discussed this with ye first.”

Edward shook his head. “I kent it was coming, Faither. We both did. Besides, ye’re right. There is nay other way.”

His father nodded. “I ken that, but still. Yer braither has put me and yer maither in a precarious position. Ye, even more so.”

“He is in love, Faither. Anyone with eyes can see that. Besides, she did save his life. Though at this moment, I wonder if ye wish she hadnae,” Edward joked with a smirk.

The laird smiled weakly, but it did not reach his eyes.

His father was usually entertained by Edward’s lighthearted wit. But not this time. He was carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders. A burden he could not rid himself of until the councilmen came to a decision that only had one outcome. Even if they were taking their time to admit it, everyone in the room knew it to be true.

His father forced another smile. “On the other hand, this will be a great opportunity fer ye.”

As the second-born son, Edward would never have been laird. That would always have been James’ place, and then his heir after him. With circumstances as they were playing out, however, Edward would now take on that position, even if it meant leading another clan.

“Thank ye, Faither,” Edward replied evenly.

“Ye dinnae sound pleased, son.”

Taking a long breath in, Edward nodded. “I think I just need some time tae get used tae the idea.”

Baird nodded solemnly. “Aye. It has been pressed upon ye suddenly.”

Edward lifted the corner of his mouth. “Another thing I can thank me braither fer when I see him.”

Noticing the councilmen behind his father, Edward nodded. “I think they’ve made up their minds.”

The laird turned around and fixed his attention upon the men who now looked up at him.

“It is clear, we have little choice. This peace treaty is best for all,” Michael said, speaking for the others. “We dae, however, have some requests.”

“Please,” Baird said, gesturing for Michael to continue.

“We propose that the wedding tak’ place on our land, so our people can celebrate the union o’ the new laird and lady.”

“Agreed,” Baird replied.

“We also need tae send a message tae arrange the necessary formalities,” Michael added.

The laird nodded. “Indeed. I concur wholeheartedly.”

Michael looked around the table, and the men nodded their agreement. He then looked back to Baird. “Then I believe we have naething more tae dae other than begin drafting the terms o’ our treaty.”

“Very well.”

His father sounded satisfied, even relieved. If the councilmen wanted to keep their clan, this had always been the conclusion they would have had to reach. Clearly, his father had doubted that they would agree to it.

“Given that Evelyn is now betrothed tae me son,” Baird continued. “She will remain here at Castle MacGregor during her mourning period and she and Edward will then join ye back at the castle.”

Michael nodded. “Very well.”

For the next hour, the councilmen from the two clans worked together. They discussed each point in great detail, and, once agreed upon it, they penned it down on parchment. Edward could do little but look on.

The decision had been made, and he now had to come to terms with it. Of course, becoming a laird was a great opportunity, one that excited him. But excitement was not the only emotion swirling around him. Becoming a laird of one’s own people was different. James had grown up and was known by the people he would eventually rule at their father’s demise. Edward, on the other hand, would be faced with leading a people he did not know.

Then there was the small matter of his brother murdering their laird.

Winning them over was not going tae be easy. But never mind the people. What about his future wife?

It was a long and laborious undertaking, but when they were finished, the men congratulated each other. Each councilman stood and clasped hand against forearm with both the laird and each other in a ritual of unity and acceptance.

“And so, it is done,” his father finally declared.

Pushing himself off the wall, Edward said, “I will go and tell Evelyn the news.”

“Actually, Edward,” Craig stepped forward, “I think it might be better if she hears it from one o’ her own.”

The concerned expression dancing on Craig’s face told Edward many things, not least of which was how his soon-to-be wife was going to take the news. Craig and Edward had spent some time together since the battle. While at first there had been tension, given their clans had just fought so ferociously, the two men had since nurtured a mutual respect for each other. Edward might even go as far as to say that it was the beginning of a strong friendship. Which was fitting, for he was going to need a good advisor when he took on his role as Laird Campbell.

“This willnae be easy fer her tae hear,” Craig added.

Edward nodded. “I agree. Ye’re right. It will be better coming from a member o’ her own clan.”

Craig flashed a solemn smile, and then turned on his heels and made his way to the study door.

After he left, Baird approached Edward once more. “Soon, ye will be Laird o’ Clan Campbell, me son.”

Edward shifted and gave his father a steady look. “And may the gods be with me.”

Chapter Two

Evelyn Campbell sat gazing out at the pouring rain as it lashed against the windows. It was like the weather mirrored her heart, for she felt nothing but heavy sorrow now the tears had passed. There would be more, she knew that. But for now, she had released all she could.

Five days before, her uncle, Laird Alistair Campbell had been slain by James MacGregor. The man she had been betrothed to marry. The man who had broken the arranged union. The man whose family had completely upended her life.

Being given to another as a way for the clans to be united was a common practice. Still, it did not make her anymore delighted about the notion. But she knew it was her duty and she took some pride in helping her clan. Over the previous weeks, she had spent many a day trying to uplift herself and then bemoaning her circumstances. On the one hand, wondering how she could ever live and be married to a man she hardly knew, never mind, loved. On the other, knowing that it was the only way to keep her clan secure and praying she would someday come to care for him. At times she had felt hopeful, at others, sad and selfish.

Now, sadness didn’t even begin to describe the heavy, lethargic weight that seemed to smother her at every waking moment. And the selfishness had been replaced by anger that raged in the pit of her stomach. James MacGregor had not just turned her life upside-down. He had ruined her clan’s future and murdered her only living relative.

Now, she was all alone.

Staring mindlessly out the window, watching the droplets trickle down in rivulets, Evelyn was hardly aware of what was going on around her. She physically jumped when Caitlin, her maid, a pretty young lass with auburn hair framing a round face, placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Craig Ainsley is here tae see ye, Miss.”

Evelyn hadn’t even heard the knock at the door. Slowly, she stood from her chair. After straightening her dress and clutching her handkerchief tightly in her hand, she turned to face the councilman.

As much as he smiled at her, she could see the concern in his eyes. He had been a fine strategist for her uncle, and Alistair had always spoken well of him. But Evelyn knew he was also a fine warrior, as his muscular athletic frame showed.

“There is news, Lady Campbell—”

She lifted a swift hand. “I am nae Lady Campbell yet, Craig. Dinnae bestow that title upon me until it is fitting tae dae so.”

Craig inclined his head apologetically. “Very well. But that is the very reason I am here. The Council members o’ both clans have agreed tae a peace treaty. They desire the previous alliance we shared with the MacGregor’s.”

Craig paused a beat, causing Evelyn to lift an eyebrow.

“And?” she pressed, knowing that she had something to do with this treaty, for surely, that was the reason Craig was in her chamber.

“They have decided ye will marry Edward MacGregor,” Craig replied.

“What?” Evelyn cried, her eyes flying wide. For a second, she could hardly speak as the shock washed over her. If one brother didn’t want her, they would just marry her off to the other. “Are they going tae just pass me ontae any man that has a heartbeat?”

“Miss Campbell,” Craig said, taking a tentative step forward.

“I cannae believe me clan has come tae this,” she spat, now pacing back and forth. “James MacGregor goes intae battle with our clan and murders me uncle, and I am just expected tae marry the man’s braither. Are me feelings nae considered at all? How am I supposed tae even look at him, let alone marry him?”

Craig wisely remained silent for a long moment while Evelyn, having turned her back to him, now glared out the window, trying to let the news sink in. The battering rain hammered even harder against the window pain. A little like her heart.

This cannae be happening. It just cannae.

“Miss Campbell, it’s the only way,” Craig said quietly behind her.

Evelyn stiffened at his words and his approach.

“Without the union, Clan Campbell will be nae more. Ye are the sole member o’ the family.”

“And whose fault is that?” she spat, spinning to glare at him.

Craig looked saddened and nodded. With his hands raised in supplication, he said, “I ken. And I truly am sorry. But what is done is done and cannae be undone. We have tae look tae the future now.”

“That’s easy fer ye tae say, ye’re a man. Ye’re life isnae used as a pawn tae make and break treaties.”

“I’ll leave ye now, fer I’m sure ye need some time.”

Evelyn did not reply, and instead, watched as Craig hurriedly retreated from the room.

But time would not solve this problem, she knew that very well. She had little time left as a free woman. She had already come to terms with James wanting to marry his true love, Freya, and Evelyn had told her she had no intention of interfering and ruining their happiness. She has said that there would be other suitors, and she had told Freya that she would convince her uncle to leave the castle. Which they had, but Alistair Campbell had been furious and he had taken his revenge by attacking Clan MacGregor. James had killed him, and despite Evelyn knowing that her uncle had been impetuous, and had thus paid for his fury and actions, he had still been her only family and had cared for her her whole life.

She did not know how to deal with the anger growing within her. She did not want to ruin the friendship that had blossomed with James’ sister Morgana and Freya, so she decided to direct all her rage and fear and unhappiness at James, and even more so at his brother Edward, whom she would now be forced to marry.

***

Three weeks later

Evelyn had mourned her uncle for three weeks. She as a young woman without family, so it was decided she would spend the mourning period in the home of her future husband. She had tried to put on a good face through it all, but she knew that now she would be allowed no more time. Apparently, the clan was eager for Evelyn and Edward to wed, and to that end, she and her betrothed had to return to Castle Campbell, as planned. It would be there that they would marry.

Since Craig’s visit that day, Evelyn had spent a lot of time alone. Cailtin, Morgana and Freya had made attempts to get her out for walks, telling her it would do her good to get some fresh air, but Evelyn had often refused. She had of course taken part in the celebration of James and Freya’s marriage and, whenever asked about her own betrothal, she had smiled graciously and behaved as was expected of her. She was a lady and had accepted her fate, but anger raged inside of her at the injustice of it all.

The day of their departure had arrived, and the carriage was laden with their luggage. At the top of the wide, stone staircase, however, Evelyn was surprised to look down and see Laird MacGregor waiting for her at the bottom of it, while Lady MacGregor stood several feet behind him. Evidently, the laird wanted to speak to her alone. Taking a steep breath in, she gracefully made her way down each step until she reached him.

“Me dear Miss Campbell,” the older man said, taking hold of Evelyn’s hand, much to her chagrin. “I truly am sorry that ye have suffered so greatly over these last few weeks. If I could tak’ it all away, I would.”

“I appreciate yer kindness and hospitality, but surely, it is yer son that ought tae be here giving me this apology,” Evelyn said, careful to keep her tone even. He was a laird after all.

He smiled down at her and nodded. “Perhaps. But I hope ye can accept mine. Our clans will soon be united, which makes me heart happy. Yer uncle and I had many years o’ peace.”

“What a pity it ended the way it did,” she replied in a clipped tone.

Seeing her demeanor, Laird MacGregor wisely brought their discussion to a close. “I look forward tae seeing ye in the coming months. I ken Edward will tak’ good care o’ ye and yer clan.”

After a polite but short farewell, Evelyn made her way out of the castle. It wouldn’t be the last time she would see Laird MacGregor, but she did feel some relief that she was finally going home to her own people. A place she would not have to hide in her bedchamber.

Caitlin hurried beside her as they crossed the courtyard, but voices caught Evelyn’s attention.

“Dae ye anticipate any trouble upon our arrival at Castle Campbell,” Edward said.

With a glance, Evelyn noticed her soon-to-be husband was talking to Craig. It was evident that the two men appeared quite amicable and agreeable.

When did those two get so close?

“I think ye only need tae worry about Miss Campbell,” Craig replied. He was trying to keep his tone low, but his voice echoed off the stone walls that surrounded them. “The councilmen have already agreed tae the treaty. Besides, there’s nae room fer opposition if they want the clan tae survive.”

Evelyn eventually arrived at her carriage and was just about to climb inside, when someone came running toward her.

“Evelyn,” Morgana cried, coming to a breathless stop beside her.

Evelyn had barely seen her over the previous three weeks, for she had chosen to remain in her bedchamber. Like her brothers, she was tall, with thick black hair, but her eyes were a striking ocean green. She was almost always happy and smiling. Now, however, she looked rather sad.

“I’m so sorry that we didnae get tae spend more time together, Evelyn, but I understand that ye have been devastated by yer loss. Perhaps we can see each other again soon, given that we’re family now.”

Evelyn had immediately liked Morgana when she first arrived at the castle, as James’ betrothed.

Struggling to control her feelings, Evelyn took a breath and said, “It was lovely tae get tae ken ye, Morgana and I shall miss ye, but so much has changed…”

Morgana looked hurt and that made Evelyn feel guilty. The could hardly be blamed for her brother’s actions so Evelyn squeezed her hand, although she could not bring herself to say more. Steeling herself, Morgana managed a small smile.

“Edward is a good man. It might go better fer the both o’ ye if ye were willing tae be more open with him.”

Evelyn clenched her jaw and tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

“Farewell, Morgana.”

And with those parting words, she grabbed the carriage door and climbed inside. Caitlin swiftly followed, and once the two were seated, Evelyn sat staring dead ahead of her. She hoped that if she did so, no one else would try to converse with her. She did not need any more advice or to hear words of how wonderful Edward MacGregor was.

Not long after that, however, a movement caught her eye, and she glanced across the courtyard. Edward was now seated upon his horse with Craig riding beside him, and the rest of the party following behind. Edward must have asked where she was, for Craig pointed directly at her.

Edward looked in the direction Craig pointed, and a second later, Evelyn and Edwards’ eyes locked. He was now only a few feet away, and for fear he might begin talking to her, Evelyn quickly shifted back in her seat to break eye contact.

“Driver, it is time we left,” Evelyn called out loud enough for Edward to hear.

But she couldn’t help herself and peeked forward to make sure Edward was indeed, not going to approach any further. Just as the coach jolted forward, she watched Craig pat Edward on the back with a laugh. It made her angry to see a person she trusted befriending the man she could not bear to talk to, yet in a strange way it intrigued her, making her feel slightly more at ease. The young councilman was speaking, but they were just far enough away for Evelyn not to be able to hear his words.

As the carriage continued on, Evelyn gazed out of the window, looking up at the large gates that now stood wide open as they travelled through them.

If I have me way, I will nae return here, at least nae fer a long time. This place has caused me naething but pain and despair.

The gates loomed past, and eventually, the carriage passed the boundary of the castle walls. They were now on their way. Evelyn felt relief that she was going home, to see people she knew and loved. However, she could not rid her mind of what her future held. She might well be returning to her homeland, but once she arrived, she would be forced to marry Edward. Craig had been right earlier. It had been decreed, and thus, there was now little she could do about it.

Not half an hour had passed, when she heard the sound of thundering hooves approaching the carriage. Worried that something was wrong, she leaned forward to gaze out of the window, only to be startled by the sudden arrival of Edward.

“Are ye well, Miss Campbell?” he said. “Is the carriage comfortable?”

She could hardly believe her ears, and her eyes widened at his question. Was that the best he could do? Was he really so desperate to talk to her that he would ask her something so very mundane?

Almost offended at his lack of effort, Evelyn ignored his question and sat back in her seat. Caitlin appeared mortified at her mistress, for her mouth dropped open as she gawked at her.

“I’ll tak’ that as an aye, then,” Edward replied jovially, his tone unchanged.

He was choosing not to be offended at her rudeness, and instead, continued in his pursuit.

“Ye must be looking forward tae returning home,” he offered again.

“Is that a question or an assumption?” Evelyn snarled.

“Och, a woman of wit,” he quipped. “How delightful. ‘Tis a question,” he said, his tone betraying part surprise, part delight that she had bothered to answer him this time.

Evelyn had to bite her lip to stop herself from smirking. He was persistent, she would give him that, and not so easily put off.

Edwards’ voice danced into the carriage once more. “What is it that ye are looking forward tae when ye return?”

“Och, fer the love o’ all the gods,” Evelyn hissed.

Turning to the curtains beside her, she yanked them together, forming the best barrier possible between herself and the man who could not take a hint.

“Och, Evelyn. Now I cannae see ye.” His tone was laced with sarcasm, but still lighthearted.

Clearly he was entertaining Caitlin, for the maid pressed a hand against her mouth to stifle a giggle. Even Evelyn could not hide her smirk this time. But the smile faded as quickly as it had arrived. She would not let this man manipulate her. She could not. The anger of what had happened to her only remaining family member remained, and it was not likely to leave her at any time soon.

“Please, Miss Campbell. I cannae have a conversation with ye when I cannae see ye.”

“Please leave me in peace,” Evelyn snarled.

“Ye willnae open the drapes?” he pressed.

“I willnae,” she snapped. “And all yer begging willnae mak’ a difference.”

“Perhaps I ought tae ride with ye in the carriage then,” he quipped, the light mockery evident in his tone.

“Indeed, ye willnae,” Evelyn snapped.

“Aye. Probably nae a good idea. I’m certain ye’d throw yersel’ from it if I did. Just tae mak’ a point.”

Evelyn now rolled her eyes.

“We have several days tae travel. Please tell me ye’re nae going tae be like this all the way?”

“I might,” he replied. “Who kens? Ye are going tae be me wife. I’d like tae ken ye a little ‘afore we mak’ our vows.”

Evelyn clenched her jaw at that remark. “Over me dead body,” she whispered, causing Caitlin’s eyes to widen and the maid to gasp in shock.

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

Not at all Likely Extremely Likely
0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

2 months earlier…

James sank into the leather armchair with a sigh as weary as his bones. He let his eyes slip shut, the details of the room turning fuzzy at first and then disappearing behind his closed eyelids. Nothing but the dull glow of the morning sun remained, streaming in through the window, pale in comparison to the bright flames that blazed in the fireplace.

His father’s study had never been his favorite place in the castle. People came and went at all times of the day—maids, guards, council members, all of them either requesting something from his father or reporting to him. Even as a child, James had never enjoyed being in that room, where he could never get any peace.

Now, there was no one there but him and his brother, and the room was plunged in a blessed silence. Still, James knew it wouldn’t last long.

His body ached from the battle and the wounds he had sustained. One night’s sleep was nowhere near enough to allow him and Edward to recover from the effects of the fight, and though the war was, for all intents and purposes, over, there were still negotiations to be made. Clan MacGregor may have come out of it victorious, but the work was not yet done.

Just as he had expected, the door soon opened with a creak and his father walked inside. He and Edward sat up straighter, making to stand before their father motioned to them to stay where they were. He was getting older, James noticed; his dark hair was rapidly graying and his face was etched by time. Across from him, Edward looked the spitting image of him—only thirty years younger.

“Ye did well, both of ye,” their father said as a maid who followed him through the open door to his study walked in with a silver tray, carrying a pitcher of wine and three cups. Silently, she poured wine for them all and then remained by the laird’s side until she was dismissed, scurrying out of the room. “Very few casualties this time. Ye saved many lives, lads.”

James was relieved to hear that. He hadn’t had the chance to tally up the men himself, exhausted and wounded as he had been. Even now, he was supposed to be resting, but his father had requested both him and Edward to be present, claiming he had something important to say.

What could be more important than sleep?

James hadn’t even managed to take a bath and was still covered in grime and blood, save for the skin around his wounds, where the healer had cleaned him up. Surely, whatever his father wanted to tell them could wait just a little longer.

“Yer work has kept our clan safe… fer now,” his father continued, pinning James with his gaze. “Victory was ours but… it is time tae secure the future of the clan.”

“The future of the clan?” Edward asked with a small chuckle, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “Are we nae the future of the clan?”

“The long-term future,” said their father. “Were something to happen tae the two of ye, there is nae one else to take over once I’m gone. And with so many conflicts lately, it is better tae be cautious. It is better to anticipate things afore they happen.”

Lovely… we just survived a battle and we must think about our own deaths!

“James,” his father continued, and James jumped a little in his seat, surprised to be addressed in his half-asleep state. “It is time fer ye tae have an heir.”

James couldn’t help but snort at that, the sound sudden and inelegant. But under his father’s scathing gaze, he straightened up a little once more, schooling his expression into a serious one.

“I believe there are a few steps that must be taken afore I can have an heir,” he pointed out. “Most notably, finding a wife.”

“That will be arranged,” his father said with a dismissive wave of his hand, as though the matter of his future wife was the least of anyone’s concerns. James couldn’t help but frown. Did he already have someone in mind? Had he already arranged for him to meet a few noble women and have his pick?

Would James be able to do it when the time came?

It seemed cruel to him, lining them up like cattle for him to choose the best one. Perhaps it would be better if he were the one to visit the women instead of having them all visit him.

“Alright,” said James, a little doubtfully. He had always known this day would come, and even he had to admit that it was about time. He had reached his twenty-eighth year. He had lived a noble bachelor’s life with all the comforts and pleasures such a life brought with it. Even though he hadn’t given the matter of his marriage much thought, the idea didn’t trouble him very much. “How much time dae I have?”

“Ye’ll need tae complete yer pilgrimage first,” said his father, and James drew in a deep sigh.

Of course—there was always the pilgrimage. Every man in the MacGregor family had to take it before getting married, and now it was time for James to do the same. He would have to sail to the Isle of Rum and seek his blessing from St. Cuthbert’s relic—the saint’s finger bone, which had been kept on the island ever since his death.

It was an honor to be part of this tradition, to join the long line of MacGregors who had undertaken the very same journey in order to get the blessing. It was yet another milestone in his life, one he revered more than any other.

He would much rather not go alone, but he had no choice. He couldn’t take anyone with him, not even Edward.

“Of course, Faither,” James said. “I’ll make sure to prepare the proper arrangements fer me travels.”

“Good,” said his father with a nod. “Good… I would think that two or three months should be sufficient fer us tae arrange everything. The journey itself shouldnae take ye more than two weeks and then once ye return, we shall find ye a proper wife.”

“Make sure she’s bonnie,” Edward teased and their father cracked a small smile.

“Aye, aye… I ken how ye lads think,” he said. “Ye think I havenae seen how ye act with the maids?”

To his credit, Edward didn’t try to deny it, though his cheeks turned a bright red. James couldn’t help but laugh at him. Though Edward was now a man, only four years younger than James, he would never stop being his baby brother.

“Ach, Faither,” both James and Edward said at the same time. James couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes at his father. For years, he had been saying the same thing, claiming he didn’t have long—that the next winter would take him, that the next battle would kill him. And yet, he was still there, alive and well, with no signs of slowing down.

It’s the battles… he cannae fight anymore, so he thinks his life is over.

But just because he couldn’t fight like he used to didn’t mean he was weak. Every time the healer took a look at him, she always assured them all he was perfectly healthy.

“And even if I dae,” his father continued, unfazed, “I cannae sire more heirs. It’s yer duty now. Both of ye must wed soon.”

“Why should I wed?” Edward asked in indignation. “James should wed! He’s the firstborn.”

Their father’s gaze slid from James to Edward, entirely unimpressed. “That daesnae mean ye dinnae have a duty tae this clan as well,” he said. “Sooner or later, ye’ll have tae find a good lass and dae what’s right too. Ye cannae live yer whole life unwedded.”

Edward didn’t try to argue with their father, knowing it would get him nowhere. Besides, out of the two of them, Edward seemed to have the same strong sense of duty as James, instilled into him by their mother.

“Alright,” said James as he pushed himself off the chair with some difficulty. “Is that all, Faither? I would very much like tae sleep fer a few days now.”

“That is all,” his father said with an amused chuckle. “Go… go on, rest. Ye both deserve it.”

James and Edward made their way to the door, both relieved to finally be dismissed. Just as they were leaving, though, their father called after them, his voice echoing down the hallway.

“And stay away from the maids!”

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

Chapter One

1578, Port Mallaig

Today was the day. The first of a new chapter in James MacGregor’s life, leaving home and traveling across the ocean. For most this would have been intimidating or even frightening. But James found that he was rather excited about the prospect. There was something thrilling for him about stepping off his familial lands and onto the deck of a boat to carry him on the same pilgrimage as all his ancestors before him.

Standing at eight and twenty, there was no doubt that James was a red-blooded male. Cold morning air bit into his skin, the waves in the distance pushing fresh salt into the air in enough abundance that he could feel it grimy in the lines of his face as he squinted over to the slowly rising sun in the distance. The whole port was washed in a bath of pale morning light, crewmates finishing up the final headcounts and supply onboarding around him. James held his rucksack up over his shoulder with one calloused hand.

He could get used to this, the brine and salt in the air, the rocking of the boat as they started to pull out of the harbor and into the water. The noise and constant chatter, somebody always moving, it felt so similar to the castle, it was hard not to feel at ease despite the unfamiliar faces around him.

James walked backward once more to the gangplank, his boot nearly catching on the wooden rungs. He bowed once, just an incline of his shoulders and head before the crew started to lift the gangplank and tied off the gap in the bow. A short journey all things considered, and then he would seek his blessing from Saint Cuthbert’s relic.

One of the crew clapped him on the shoulder, motioning with his head to follow him down below deck where his sleeping arrangements likely were. It was a much more difficult squeeze into the space for him than for the sailor in front of him. He had to angle himself sideways and shuffle down the stairs, his head bowed for quite some time before he could stand straight again.

The crewmate led him to his hammock, and he hurled his bag onto it without thinking. He supposed he could attempt to rest, but he was wired, wide awake. His focus, instead, shifted to the four men sitting around a circular table with tall edges to prevent anything from falling off and to the floor. But it was mainly empty, save for the cards in their hands.

“Dinnae stare like ye’re some bogle,” one of them said, speaking out of the side of his mouth, his cap pulled down low over one eye. “If ye’re goin’ tae sit, then sit.”

James decided that he liked him immediately. The other players around the table had to shuffle, squeezing closer together to accommodate for the space took up. He had always been a large lad.

“If ye think that sitting in me lap means that ye can cheat me cards, then ye’re sorely mistaken!” One of the others said, angling his torso away from the third man with an overly accusatory narrowed glance, cupping his hands around his cards and seemingly wholly unaware that by doing so, he was showing the whole hand to the man on the other side of him.

Just last night, he had been in the village, celebrating, in the local tavern. Edward and his other friends had argued similarly, over trivial things. Edward had gone on and on about how James was unlikely to have time for a proper buck’s night when he returned from his journey and he could choose his wife. Teased and pushed for him to lose himself in drink, to make merry.

The man with the hat pulled low plucked the cards right out of his crewmate’s hands, reshuffling the very weathered deck of cards. Quite a feat indeed considering that he seemed to be missing two fingers on his right hand, but he moved like he didn’t miss them in the slightest. In the dim room, it seemed to James that the ship was rocking precariously from side to side. Every crash of the waves on the side of the ship startled him, the sound loud and jarring, the force of them unexpected. When they had boarded the ship, the sea had been calm, or at least calm enough. Now he was just glad to be sitting, knowing that were he to stand, he, too, would be swaying precariously.

“So, what brings ye ontae our ship?” He asked, not making eye contact as he focused more on dealing the cards to them all. “Name’s Callum, by the way. That’s Angus and Rory over there.”

As he spoke, Callum pointed to the other two sailors sitting around the small table—Angus, an older man with dark hair that was graying at the temples, short and solid and broad-chested, and Rory, a man closer to James’ age, perhaps even younger, apple-cheeked and ruddy-faced like a cherub.

“James,” He answered, reaching for his hand. “Well, me faither wants tae find me a wife, ye ken? Every man in me family takes the trip tae the convent before marriage.”

“Ah, ye’re the laird’s boy?” Callum grinned, a slow expression.

James nodded. They already knew that, but he appreciated the teasing. His title and future titles likely meant nothing to them when they were out at sea.

“Is she a fine lass?” Angus asked off-hand. “I had me a wife once, all she did was nag me all day and night. Drove me tae the sea she did.”

“Mm, the nagging is what drove ye tae the sea? Nae because ye were messing around and she threatened tae cut yer bollocks off?” Rory challenged.

It must have been right because the second stomped the third clear on his foot, loud and hard enough that the table rattled as the ship lurched to the other side. James and Callum had to latch onto it. James looked at the others to see if they were alarmed at all, but they were all simply looking at their cards idly as though this was a daily occurrence. Perhaps, for them, it was. Perhaps they were used to not having solid ground beneath their feet and James was the only one in that room who was alarmed at all.

He did his best to ignore it. If the sailors were unbothered by it, then it could only mean it was normal.

“I have a duty,” James offered, making his first play just to distract himself. “They will choose her when the time comes.”

Angus groaned. “Say the word, lad, and we shall keep ye on this ship, run away across the ocean.”

“True, true, there’s nay shame in it either. Ye never ken what ye’re getting with a marriage of obligation.” Rory said sagely, making his play. James had a sneaking suspicion that the two of them were likely to break out in a brawl before the game was even completed.

“This journey is nae jest tae me,” James answered, his tone serious. “The pilgrimage is a duty, and I intend tae honor it. Saint Cuthbert’s blessing means the world tae me—it’s meant tae protect me future, me family.”

He made eye contact with Callum, who nodded with obvious respect for his choice. No doubt the man could see the determination on his face. This journey was an honor, after all. He could not take that lightly, even if the adventures that they spoke about sounded appealing. His future wasn’t his own, he had responsibilities for the privilege of being born into his station. His clan meant far too much to him to be swayed.

One hand turned into another, and then again, as sparse conversation passed among the lot of them. There was no way of knowing how far they had gone, and James wasn’t about to question how it was that they were able to stay down here while the rest were working. But he appreciated the company. The last thing that he wanted was to have idle hands.

In the duration of the game, he had been so focused on the cards that he hadn’t noticed the way the sway of the ship had gradually turned into a wild rocking, the vessel moving from one side to the other. Never had it been so clear to James that he was at the mercy of the sea. The slam of waves against the sides and the deck, the chilly draft that entered through the gaps in the door, the knowledge that they were out in open seas—it all served to unnerve James, yet still, the other sailors seemed perfectly at ease.

“Oy!” A voice called down the open door to the quarters where they played. “Callum! Get yer arse up here!”

The man played his hand, which was far better than any of the rest of theirs, resulting in Angus slamming down his cards and cursing, while Rory did the same before they, too, started toward the stairs.

“Come on then!” Callum called back over his shoulder, and James followed. It was only then that he saw the same fear he felt flash in the other men’s eyes.

The sky overhead was dark, like the sun had suddenly changed its mind about rising entirely. Sailors moved this way and that in a chaos so organized that it almost looked to be a dance. Callum pointed at the main mast. “Tie down the lines, ye can tie a knot?”

James nodded, pushing up his sleeves, the cold rain hitting his face like ice as he moved with footing far less certain than all of the men around him. Despite his size and muscle mass, he was far less skilled at maneuvering slippery rope on a ship that was starting to rock ever more violently. Barrels were being strapped down, the sails secured, and long lengths of lifelines coiled up and waiting to be tied around the waist of those above deck in case the storm decided to open up.

“It’s getting too dark, too fast!” One of the men yelled, and James spun, looking at the angry clouds and the sparks of yellow and white lightning illuminating them sporadically in the distance. It seemed like the section that they were sailing into was almost purple, a strange fog lingering over the surface of the choppy water. The ship swayed and rocked just enough for freezing water to slosh up over the sides.

The captain seemed to fly down the stairs onto the deck, weaving between his crew effortlessly before ending up beside James, the pair of them both looking at the unnatural gloom ahead of them. James didn’t care much for the way that the man’s eyes narrowed, his face grave. “This wasnae in the forecast,” he muttered, and such simple words they might be, they sent a shudder down James’ spine. His pulse quickened as he watched the clouds churn, the once-calm water growing restless beneath the ship. The captain turned to him, his eyes clear and focused, but his words instilled no confidence.

“If yer the prayin’ sort, lad, now would be the time.”

The sea surged, the angry wind lifting the water to spray bitterly in their faces while the ship rocked, the surge nearly lifting both James and the captain off of their feet. It was only quick reflexes and strong hands that kept them inside the boat. The captain swore and shouted more commands. Up overhead, a beam swung loose, a sailor dangling from it precariously. James couldn’t let go of the banister until he saw the sailor wrap the rope around his wrist, and swing his leg up and over the beam. He was certain he was going to fall. He couldn’t imagine having to encounter this sort of storm on the regular. It was so much stronger here over the water than anything he had witnessed on land. It had absolutely not been on the forecast.

However, he refused to believe it was an omen for his pilgrimage.

The deck was wet and nearly slippery under his boots. Every step he took felt like it was going to land him on his arse, whereas the smaller men seemed to be running about without any difficulty at all. There had to be some sort of trick to it that he wasn’t seeing. The waves were only getting worse—the few lanterns that they had swung rapidly to and fro, shifting the field of illuminated vision so quickly that it alone would have made him dizzy if the sea weren’t already doing such a good job of that on its own. Shouts filled the air as the crew scrambled to secure the rigging, their voices nearly lost in the roar of the storm. James gripped one of the ropes he had secured to the main mast, helping him to steady against the swelling waves. Rain lashed his face, and he struggled to keep his footing as the deck bucked beneath him.

At the wheel, the navigator let out a scream, low and guttural as he struggled to keep the wheel from spinning out of control. The ship’s carpenter, arms overladen with wooden planks, a pail of steaming pitch, and a hammer, nearly rolled down the deck and slid below deck, the door flapping and clapping open from not being secured properly. He and four other men all held the tether for the foresail to try and aid the navigator’s steering as best they could. James was shocked by just how much strength the five of them were putting in all together. Still, the rope was slipping. Inch by inch, they were losing ground. He had no idea what would happen if the sea were to win this battle.

All hands on deck, the lanterns were the next thing to go. The only visibility that was left was the flashes of lightning as it struck the water all around them, the angry claps of following thunder making him flinch each and every time. He could only tell where the others around him even were by the sounds of struggle they were making, and the sound of the captain’s voice starting to grow raspy from combatting the rush of the water as he yelled.

James’ muscles ached, and he was by no means a weak man, his hands raw from gripping the thick wet ropes. The sea thrashed them about wildly, as if determined to consume every one of them whole. He would not give up. Not when he was so close, he was so ready to enter into the next steps, to finally be eligible to reprieve his father’s weary bones. Yet this task seemed insurmountable, stripping every ounce of strength he possessed.

Hours. Minutes. A day. There was no telling how long it had been, and the storm showed no mercy. At least two men had been thrashed overboard and it was too dark to even think about going back to find them, to see if any of them remained. James had heard their screams, high pitched and mobile as they soared over the edge and were cut off too abruptly. The ship groaned under the relentless assault, creaking and shuddering as if the very planks might split apart.

“Brace yerselves men!” The Captain’s frantic warning was almost too late for James, and the four men behind him to abandon the rope they held and dive for the main mast, grabbing for the lifelines blindly in the darkness. A thunderous crash against the water hit like a solid wall, throwing him forward and smacking him into the mast. Warm blood trickled down over his brow, but he ignored the pain. His ears rang and even the darkness seemed to sway and swirl as he fumbled for a rope.

The flash of lightning as he grabbed his rope illuminated the wall of black water looming directly in front of them. The nose of the ship started to lift, like the moment stretched impossibly slower as they climbed, at the mercy of the sea. His grip on the rope tightened as his feet were lifted clear off the ship as the deck moved nearly vertical for the wave that then dipped, sending them crashing forward. The man beside him slipped, and James shot out a hand, tightening around the man’s shirt and gritting his teeth through the pain of holding them both with one hand. He wouldn’t abandon a single soul if he had anything to do with it.

Slowly, he managed to lift the man against gravity just enough to share his rope, the sailor clinging desperately. For the span of a heartbeat, James could hear the man’s heavy, panting breaths—and then the water shifted again. Instead of the wave passing underneath the ship, this one toppled straight over them. The frigid water slapped over the lot of them, and he gasped, too much salty water trying to enter his lungs. The moment it backed off, he sputtered, and then the wave crashed again.

He lost his grip.

One moment he was steady, the next he was airborne, too cold to even think about calling for help, or praying for mercy. He couldn’t think yet was painfully aware of every passing second as the ship moved on—and he stayed behind, crashing into the choppy water hard enough to knock any remaining breath from his body.

Pulled under, disoriented and struggling against the powerful currents, his panic flared as he fought to break the surface, his lungs burning as he thrashed through the darkness.

Oxygen, sweet and fleeting as he sucked in a mixture of sea foam, air, and water before he was tossed about by the waves once more. Somewhere ahead the ship groaned; the wooden planks sounded like they were snapping, the main mast falling into the ocean as the water tipped the ship. Each frame highlighted for him only as lightning struck, debris and beams in the water floating around him as he tried to fight the current. Driftwood and who knows what else scattered in the churning sea.

Just as despair began to creep in, he caught sight of a large wooden beam floating nearby, the wood jagged, bobbing up and down in the water. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t hear a single other crew member in the water, and he couldn’t seem to stop coughing up sea water long enough to call out himself. Kicking with all his strength, he pushed through the waves, finally reaching the bit of the mast that floated nearby. As he had seen the sailor do before, he summoned the last of his strength to hook one leg up over the wood, clinging to it as if his life depended on it—which it did. All he could do was try to keep his head above water, no matter how the icy sea attempted to pull him under.

The night stretched endlessly, each passing moment another battle to hold on. James’s thoughts drifted as he shivered, tired down to his bones. His mind wandered through images of his family, the promise of his future, and the saint’s relic he had set out to seek. In his heart, he clung to the only thing he could as he fought to stay strong, to stay awake and breathing; the hope that he might survive this ordeal and return home to his family a stronger man.

He had to hope there would be mercy for him, no matter what the sea intended.
 

Chapter Two

1578, Island of Rùm
 
There was nothing quite like the peace of a calm morning. Whatever poison the sea had needed to turn over in order to bring about this beautiful morning, it was almost worth it. A week of storms had left most of the residents in the small seaside village unable to leave their homes. Half of the modest population had sniffles and fevers. Never mind the grumpiness that tended to come along with sleep deprivation, patching up homes for all the long hours of the night, stoking fires and scraping together meals. Never mind those who had to run out to tend to flocks or save livestock.

Their village would have their work cut out for them for the next few weeks, for the repairs alone. Freya would be busy, too, with all the healing she would need to do to keep the villagers healthy and sound after such a terrible storm. But, for this morning, she was able to walk down the clear beach just after dawn. Her basket was already full of herbs she would turn into salves and oils for her townsfolk, but she was presently on the hunt for something a little more charming for those children who were stuck in bed while the others were out playing after the long week indoors. Perhaps a fancy bottle, or a sand dollar, a pretty shell… anything to keep their hearts light. It would make their recoveries easier.

Well, that and her seaweed.

It was vexing to her that she had only ever managed to find this special ingredient along the rocks by this section of shore. Hopefully, the storm hadn’t ripped them all from the roots. The remedy she had in mind should be of particular relief to her aging neighbor, but, then again, she would take as much as she could to make as much of her special remedy for anyone who came asking for it.

Further down the shoreline, closer to where their dock was still mostly intact, fishermen were preparing their boats to go out and replenish the food stores for their families and anyone else who was feeling poorly. Despite how some of her neighbors squabbled, they were a community, and they worked well together. No doubt the fishermen were eager to return to their beloved sea after the week of being landlocked.

Ah, there it is. Freya lifted her skirt with one hand and quickly jogged down the beach to where her seaweeds were still clinging to the rocks. They were a little worse for wear than she would have liked, but she was not in a position to be choosy about her supplies. With more difficulty than she had anticipated, she started to pluck and pull as much as she could, plopping the slippery weeds into her basket on top of everything else. There wasn’t going to be enough here for her goals, but she would make do with what she—

A shout from near the docks caught her attention once more, halting her actions as she squinted to better see what had suddenly riled the men. From their pointing, she could see three small fishing boats returning rather quickly to the shore, and her heart plummeted. What had happened? What had they seen out there? If they were going to be landlocked for much longer, it was going to be bad news for everybody in the village.

Resting her basket in the crook of her arm, she watched them, forgetting that her skirts were now getting heavy with water from where she was standing, but she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the sight in front of her. Almost against her will, her feet started to move her forward, slowly, reluctantly, fearing whatever bad news that they must be bringing.

But it was her name that they were calling.

Over and over again, the men were calling for her. Two of the fishermen took off down the dock, no doubt headed for her house where they presumed she was. The largest of the fishing boats was closer to the dock, and the other men were casting ties right back to it in order to secure it.

Her legs moved her body, even though her mind stayed a blank slate, fearing whatever she was about to run up to. The basket jostled painfully against her torso but she paid it no mind.

“Here,” She called, waving her free arm up over her head, eager to be helpful in whatever way she possibly could. “I’m here!”

One of the fishermen spun on his heel quickly, and the look of relief on his face was palpable when he saw her running closer. He turned, running to meet her in the middle, not wanting her to wait, clear urgency in his eyes.

“Freya! Come quickly!” He urged, as if she were not already running as quickly as her dress would allow. The moment he was within arm’s reach, she thrust her basket of supplies into his chest. With her hands free, she could pick up her skirts and give her legs far more mobility.

“What is it? What has happened?” She asked, still wary of his answer.

“There’s a man. They found a man floating on a board in the sea,” he explained, running alongside her.

The wood of the dock was wet and felt mighty unstable as she ran onto it, careful to avoid the obviously loose boards that were being repaired just moments before. “Is he alive?”

The man didn’t answer, and her worry only grew.

Nothing could have properly prepared her for the state of the man in front of her. Unconscious, from the look of things. She knelt in front of him, placing a hand gingerly on his chest as she bent her ear to listen. His heartbeat was faint, but still there. Each rattled breath from his pale, cracked lips made it sound as if it would be his very last. The man’s poor skin was red and raw, blistered in the places where the sun had been the cruelest to him. His clothes were shredded and salt-encrusted. He must have been drifting for days. His hands were worn down, still seeping blood from whatever he had been holding onto for so long.

“Help me, I need to get him inside,” she urged, her voice laced with worry.

He might be too far gone. He might be beyond her help but there was absolutely no way that she could leave anyone in that state and not at least try to help them the best that she could. The fishermen around her hesitated, and she clucked her tongue at them. They couldn’t do much worse to the man by carrying him than the damage that the sea had done already.

At her wordless reprimand, all the men moved into action at once, lifting him carefully. With the man’s bulk, it took four of them to carry him easily enough to her modest hut on the very edge of the town. They made a makeshift gurney out of fishing nets and poles, moving very slowly and carefully over the wet, soggy terrain.

When they were close enough, she pushed open the door and held it for them. She only had but one worktable, and one narrow bed, which she pointed for them to put the man on without delay. She preferred the quiet when she worked, and being too close to the town square never did suit her. Her hut was the smallest in the town, but she didn’t need much, being that it was only her.

The stranger didn’t make so much of a sound as they lowered him, not even a soft whine of pain.

That wasn’t a good sign at all.

Freya accepted her basket from the man lingering behind. “Dae ye wish fer me tae stay with ye?”

She appreciated the sentiment, but it was unnecessary. “He cannae harm anything or anyone in the state he’s in.”

Quickly, and with practiced ease, Freya tied her hair back and pushed her sleeves up to give her hands free access to the man in front of her. The larger townsfolk lingered, and while she appreciated it, she couldn’t very well work with them staring at her like that. “Go on then.” She commanded, and they slowly shuffled out of the room.

“I dinnae like the look of him, Miss Webster,” one of the fishermen said. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the waterlogged man.

“Well, then stay close enough tae hear me scream if it suits ye, but get out of me house.” Freya said without so much as looking back over her shoulder when she moved the man further out of the way. Mercifully, she heard the click of her front door, and she was left in a house that was far, far too silent for a man that injured. She leaned down once more, only touching him long enough to verify his pulse before practically flying over to her shelves.

It was muscle memory that had her hands moving over the shelves, pulling herbs from small jars and drawers to mix into poultices. She worked with efficiency as she added bits from various oils. It had always been that way for her, and she had never truly been able to explain it. The ill and injured had never bothered her the way they did other girls her age. She had an almost morbid fascination with them, healing people and learning how their bodies worked. She certainly wouldn’t deny she had gotten more than a few strange looks because of it.

She placed all her supplies on a flat tray with some clean cloth, a pitcher of water, and then her needles and moved them onto the bed. She dragged her small stool close and started with a numbing potion, tilted down his nearly blue lips slowly, massaging his throat to make him swallow. Not that he would need it but the last thing that she wanted was for him to wake up in the middle of her stitching him shut. It wouldn’t do much to help with the dehydration, but it was certainly a start.

How is he alive?

Freya allowed herself only one moment to marvel at the severity of his wounds, most of which weren’t even bleeding from how cold and weak he was. With her knife, she quickly cut off his shirt and gasped again. Even for her, it was almost stomach churning. Biting her bottom lip, she finished cutting off the rest of his ruined clothes and covered his modesty with her sheet as best she could. One by one, she flushed the wounds and packed herbs and poultices into them, making sure that they were as clean as they could be. It would be a pity for sickness to settle into the wounds. She stitched those that needed it in every place she could find. She had seen sailors suffer from exposure before, shark bites, all manner of impalements… but this?

She started to build up the fire in her hut, burning it as brightly as she could until she was barely able to take the heat. She kept her small oven burning, needing to ensure that the man’s temperature rose as well, if he were to have any chance at all. Gingerly, Freya started to lift his arm up and tuck it into his side, the golden ring on his finger glinting in the warm firelight. It was a pretty thing, gold and intricately designed with an arm shaped like swirling waves, something that she had never seen before. Was it a mark of his family? Of who he was? Did he have somebody waiting at home for him? Surely, a man built like this had to be. Half the scars on his body were long since healed over, marking him as a fighter, a warrior.

She slipped it from his finger, telling herself that it was to ensure his fingers didn’t swell and cause further injury as she slipped it into one of her many drawers. If he were to awaken, then she could return it to him. Of course she would. But, knowing her fellow villagers and how prone that they were to their superstitions and occasional greed it was for the best. She didn’t need him to be marked as any more of a misfortune omen or lord forbid, a prize.

She covered him and sat by his bedside, marveling as his chest started to draw in deeper breaths, a soft bit of movement behind his eyes. Only moments prior, it would have seemed impossible. She had done everything that she possibly could, and now it was out of her control.
 

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

Not at all Likely Extremely Likely
0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

April 1702

One year earlier, Castle Allan, Scottish Highlands

“She’s got tae be in there somewhere,” Laird Ewan Ballentine murmured in a low tone, unable to keep the desperation from his voice as he thought of his only sister Deidra being held somewhere inside the walls of the mighty stronghold, whose forbidding walls rose before him a short distance away. Knowing how terrified she must be was like being stabbed in the heart.

“Aye, but if she is, it’ll take some time tae find her. The place is vast. She could be anywhere,” said his trusted friend and war captain Colin Maclean grimly. The two men were crouched side by side, concealed in the tree line of the forest bordering the castle. Ranged invisibly behind them among the trees were fifty of his best fighters, a rescue party.

They had been surveilling the castle for hours, looking in vain for signs Deidra was there. It was the residence of Ewan’s bitter enemy, the evil Laird Calumn Allan, the man he was at war with and who had sent an assassin to kill him in his bed just a few days before. Taken by surprise, Ewan had fought the man off with nothing but his bare hands, sustaining several nasty wounds from the assassin’s dirk in the struggle.

Seeing he had failed in his mission, the man had fled, but not before grabbing Ewan’s beloved sister Deidra, who had come to investigate her brother’s shouts for help. Before a horrified Ewan could do anything to save her, the interloper had dragged her at knifepoint from the castle, unhindered, and made his escape—carrying her off into the night. Her screams still echoed in Ewan’s ears.

But now he was here, and he was determined to rescue her and take her safely home.

“I’m almost certain she’s inside, and if I ken Allan, he’ll have her locked up in his dungeons,” Ewan observed bitterly. “He’s likely enjoyin’ seein’ her terrified, and he kens it’ll be drivin’ me mad, the bastard. He’ll use her as a pawn in his plan tae kill me and take over me clan. So, we should try the dungeons first. At least we have the element of surprise on our side,” he pointed out to Colin.

“Aye, but it would be best tae find some way inside without raisin’ the alarm. Ye and me could sneak inside the walls and find the dungeons, while the men stage some kind of distraction tae keep the guards busy elsewhere. If we’re lucky, we might be able tae get in and out without bein’ seen.”

“That’s just what I was thinkin’,” Ewan agreed, looking at the high walls. “After dark, we’ll take a few men with us and scale the wall. The rest of the troops can stage a distraction by startin’ a fight at the main gates until we find Deidra and get her out.”

“Aye, good idea. We’d best get the man prepared.” Colin went to move back into the trees, but Ewan suddenly grabbed his arm and stopped him. Something had caught his eye. “Look,” he said, nodding in the direction of the huge castle gates. “Someone’s comin’ out.”

The gates were indeed swinging open, and a party of about thirty mounted soldiers, all wearing Allan’s distinctive black and gold livery, came riding out. “That’s Allan!” Ewan hissed, immediately recognizing the man seated on an enormous stallion leading them out.

Excitement surged inside him. “What a stroke of luck! He’s off somewhere, tae cause more misery, nay doubt. But havin’ him and so many of his men out of the way is gonnae make this a lot easier,” he murmured as they watched Allan and his men ride away, heading north.

“Wait, look, there’s more comin’ out,” Colin said, pulling Ewan’s attention back to the gates. They observed closely as a smaller party of mounted troops, decked out in black and azure this time, emerged from the mighty portal. A fresh wave of anger washed over him, for there was no mistaking the tall, blond-haired warrior riding proudly out front with his captains.

“Bloody hell, ’tis Galbraith!” Colin exclaimed softly. Laird Gregory Galbraith was one of Allan’s allies in the war being waged against them. “What’s he doin’ here?”

Ewan’s eyes narrowed with vengeful suspicion as they followed Galbraith’s party riding away. “What indeed?” he echoed, already half convinced Galbraith was involved in Diedra’s kidnapping. He’s just made himself an even bigger target, he thought, resolving to attack Galbraith in his heartland the first chance he got.

He and Colin moved stealthily back into the trees so Ewan could brief his waiting men on the plan, and they began preparing to carry it out as soon as darkness fell.

Less than an hour after that, he had another lucky break. Two of the men sent out to scout the vicinity returned, dragging between them one of Allan’s guards. They threw the half-conscious soldier to the ground. “Found him and his pal on guard duty in the woods,” one of the scouts explained. “The other one’s dead.”

Ewan stood over the groaning man. “Throw some water over him and bring him around. I want tae interrogate him,” he ordered. A few twists of the man’s broken arm were all it took to extract the information he wanted. He was elated and relieved to learn that Deidra was indeed inside, alive, locked in the dungeons. In addition, he obtained details of the basic layout of the castle’s interior, the location of the dungeons, and the number and distribution of the guards left defending the place in their laird’s absence.

More importantly, before he died, the guard gave them directions to a secret entrance, an underground tunnel located nearby within the forest.

When the silver sliver of a new moon rose in the sky, and the castle was quiet, Ewan, Colin, and four soldiers gathered there, equipped with closed lanterns. Ewan held one high as he opened the wooden hatch and led his men into a passageway hewn from living rock. The ceiling was low, so he had to stoop, but they made fast progress along it. Before long, they came to a stairwell.

“We’re inside, the castle now,” he said, advancing up two flights of stone steps to a wide landing. The stairs continued to the upper floors, but to their right, a wide passage opened up before them.

“That must be the way tae the dungeons the guard described,” Colin murmured, peering down the passageway at a stout wooden door.

“Aye, come on,” Ewan urged, hurrying towards it. When they got there, he tried the handle. “Damn, ’tis locked.” Undeterred, he took out his dirk and signaled the others to do the same. “Close yer lanterns and stand back in the shadows, lads,” he ordered. “Let’s find out if anyone’s at home.” The others moved back and pressed themselves against the walls, blades in hand. Then, he hammered on the door with his fist and shouted, “Open up in there! Hurry up, I havenae got all day!”

Nothing happened at first, so he repeated the action. “I said open up, ye deaf bastards! Get a bloody move on!” he yelled, making the door rattle on its hinges. He pressed his ear to the scarred wood, confident someone would eventually come to see who was making such a racket.

Finally, they heard the jingle of keys from beyond. A key was put in the lock, it turned, and Ewan immediately wrenched it open, coming face to face with a startled guard.

“Who the—” the man cried just before Ewan’s fist crunched into his face. He slammed into the wall behind and slid down to the flagstones, face bloody, and knocked senseless. Ewan calmly stepped over him whilst unsheathing his sword in a smooth motion, followed by Colin and the other men as he made his way into the main area of the dungeons.

“Christ, it stinks in here,” one of them muttered, gagging. And indeed, all but Ewan covered their noses and mouths with their forearms to avoid breathing in the foul stench. He was oblivious to everything but finding his sister.

The last man through the door relieved the unconscious guard of his weapons, closed the door behind him, and stationed himself next to it, a small but deadly welcoming party should anyone else try to enter.

Ewan, Colin, and the others emerged into the main part of the dungeon. Ewan stood looking around, seeing rows of small, barred cells in front of him. A guard dozing on a chair nearby suddenly started awake when they entered.

“Who the hell are ye?” he roared, shooting out of his seat and going for his sword. Colin engaged with him immediately, leaving Ewan free to find Deidra. But a split second later, another guard burst from one of the cells, his blade already in his hand. Ewan went for him, and their blades clashed, echoing deafeningly around the dank stone walls.

Ewan, buoyed by hopes of seeing Deidra any minute, pressed forward against the guard’s spirited resistance. “Get out of me bloody way!” he roared at the man, his shout resounding and bringing piteous cries for help from some of the prisoners in the cells.

“Ewan?! Is that ye?” came a woman’s voice, thin, tremulous, filled with fear and hope.

“Deidra, I’m comin’’!” he yelled, thrilled to hear his sisters’ voice. Colin appeared beside him, having left the other guard lying on the floor groaning and clutching the hole in his chest.

“Ewan! Thank God! I knew ye’d come. I’m in here!” Deidra called back with renewed strength. Ewan glimpsed her, her hands gripping the bars of a cell only a few feet away. His heart turned over to see her pale, drawn face streaming with tears of happiness and relief as she peered out from between them.

“I’ll be there in just a moment, I promise,” he assured her. But the stubborn guard, though outnumbered, did not seem eager to cease fighting. He stood on the threshold, stopping them from getting to Deidra’s cell. Ewan, infuriated, suddenly paused his attack. The guard appeared taken aback and stopped as well, staring at him, panting, red-faced.

“Daes Allan pay ye enough tae die fer him?” Ewan asked. “Because that’s me sister in there, and if ye dinnae stop fightin’ and set her free, ye’re gonnae wind up dead just like yer pal over there.”

The guard’s eyes flicked to the now-still body of his companion and the crimson pool surrounding him. He seemed to make a decision.

“Aye, ye’re right. I dinnae get paid enough fer this,” he said at last, letting his sword clatter to the floor. “I’ll let her out.”

“Sensible man,” Ewan muttered as he followed him the door of Deidra’s cell. The guard produced a bunch of keys from his belt, selected one, and unlocked the door. Deidra rushed out, straight into Ewan’s waiting arms. It was an emotional reunion, and as sobs shook her body, he had to hold back tears himself for having found her unharmed.

While they were hugging, Colin locked the guard in Deidra’s cell. When she and Ewan broke apart, he hugged Deidra as well. “Time tae come home, lass,” he told her soothingly.

“Come on, we’re nae out of the woods yet,” Ewan said, taking her hand and pulling her towards the door, the others following. They raced back down the tunnel and quickly emerged into the forest. Immediately, the sound of fighting could be heard, growing louder as they approached their makeshift camp and the waiting horses.

“It sounds like the lads have been doin’ a grand job keeping the guards busy,” Colin remarked with a wry smile as they all hurried to mount up.

“Aye, give the signal tae call the men off now, Colin,” Ewan ordered, smiling at Deidra as he reached down to help her up behind him. “We’re done here, and now we’re goin’ home.”

Best selling books of Juliana

★★★★★ 104 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 41 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 82 ratings

Read the book