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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.

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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.
 

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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.”

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Chapter One

1703, The Council chamber, Castle Galbraith, Scottish Highlands
Oh, Lord, preserve us! Let it nae be true! This cannae be happenin’!

Crouched in her hiding place in an alcove behind a wall tapestry, Isla Galbraith pressed her knuckles to her lips to stifle her horrified gasp as the dreadful news currently under discussion in the Council chamber sank in.

She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but amid the alarming rumors that had been flying around Castle Galbraith for the last few weeks, and her growing fear for her brother Gregory’s life, she had felt compelled to take radical action. Accordingly, ahead of the meeting, she had stolen into the empty chamber and hidden away. But now, as the discussion progressed, she was beginning to regret it.

“This is the final chapter in this bloody war, and if we are tae survive as a clan, we cannae fail tae defeat Ballentine’s forces. The scouts say his army is camped less than a day’s ride from the castle, in Waverly Forest. He could launch his attack on us at any moment. We must get everyone inside the walls immediately and take urgent action to prepare for the upcoming battle,” Isla’s brother, the Laird of Clan Galbraith, declared decisively.

“Aye, I’ll give the orders as soon as we’re done here,” said a voice Isla recognized as belonging to Kelvin Moore. Kelvin and his cousin Domhnall Hastie were Gregory’s closest friends, in addition to being his war captains and military advisors. “From what the scouts say, Ballentine has about a hundred men with him, all mounted,” he added.

“If that’s right, then we can match those numbers.” That was Domnhall speaking. “There’s good cause tae be hopeful of defeatin’ an attack, even if it comes down tae open battle. But there’s another possibility we havetae tae consider.”

In her hidey hole, Isla waited, holding her breath to hear what that was.

“He could very well have concealed a bigger force elsewhere close by,” Domnhall explained.

A bigger force hidden somewhere, ready tae overwhelm us?

The very idea turned Isla’s blood to ice.

“Aye, that’s what I’d dae if I could,” Gregory said. “But how likely is it that he has more men? He’s already lost many fighters in this war, just like the rest of us. His resources are dwindlin’. ’Tis obvious that’s the reason he’s decided tae stake everythin’ on an all-out attack and put an end tae it once and fer all.”

“Likely so, but ’tis a desperate gamble. He could lose everythin’,” Kelvin observed.

“Maybe we should use the element of surprise and attack the camp first,” Domnhall suggested.

“That’s one possibility, aye, but I think we need more reliable information about his numbers before we dae that,” Gregory countered.

“Well, as it is, he has us more or less pinned down. How long can we last if he decides his best option is tae starve us out?” That was Domnhall again.

“Pardon me, m’laird, but it sounds as though we’re in sore need of Laird Allen tae send us reinforcements as soon as possible,” Isla heard one of the other councilmen say nervously, voicing her very own thought.

“Aye, and I’ve already sent a messenger tae inform him of what’s happenin’. I’ve nay doubt we can expect help from him very soon. But until then, whatever happens, we must handle it ourselves,” Gregory replied, his voice deep and unwavering.

Isla prayed silently that Laird Calumn Allen, the man on whose side they were fighting on in the war—the war he had started by conquering part of Ballentine’s territory—would indeed send an army to help them defeat the enemy at their gates.

“Would it nae be wiser tae come tae some agreement with Ballentine, m’laird? It would save many lives,” Isla heard the clan secretary, the elderly Malcolm Ogilvy, suggest.

Aye, quite right, Malcolm, Isla thought to herself, heartily agreeing with the old advisor’s sentiment.

“Ye mean we should surrender?” Gregory replied, his tone derisive. “I think ye’re goin’ barmy in yer old age, Malcolm. Ye should ken better. We Galbraiths would rather die before we dae that.”

The small hope that had flickered to life in Isla’s breast died at his words.

“Maybe I am goin’ soft in the head,” Malcom conceded, quickly adding, “but this is nae our war, ’tis Laird Allan’s. And yet here we are, with Ballentine heading tae our walls, and any of us here, along with our families, likely tae lose our lives in an attack or starve in a siege and then be killed.”

“We chose tae ally with Laird Allan in this fight,” Gregory responded in a tone that brooked no argument. “There was always a chance it would come tae this. We cannae go back on our word now. What would that say about us? I’d rather perish than have folks say we Galbraiths are cowards and turncoats.”

Ach, Greogory, ’tis just that sort of stubborn pride that could get us all killed, Isla raged silently, her hand over her mouth to stop the protest that threated to burst from her lips and reveal her presence.

“Kelvin, Domnhall, here are me orders. Start gettin’ the villagers safe inside the walls immediately. I want this place locked down as tight as a drum,” Gregory instructed his right-hand men. “And make sure any scouts who come in with news of Ballentine’s movements to report straight tae me. When ye’ve done that, come and join me in me study tae plan our defensive strategy.”

“Aye, m’laird,” his war captains chorused in their deep voices.

“And Connor,” Gregory told his private secretary, “send someone tae find Lady Isla and tell her tae put the plans in motion tae prepare fer an attack. She should arrange fer anyone who cannae fight tae dae their bit tae help. Tell her I’ll speak tae her later.”

“Aye, I’ll go mesel’ and find her straight away, m’laird,” Connor replied.

“Good. Then come tae me study as well.”

“Aye, will dae.”

“All right.” Gregory announced decisively. “This meetin’ is now closed.”

With a heavy sense of dread settling in her belly, Isla forced herself to stay put while her brother and the murmuring councilmen slowly vacated the chamber. When she was finally left alone, she crept out from her hiding place and made her way to the door. Opening it a crack, she peeped out into the hallway. The Council members were quickly dispersing, and she saw Gregory disappearing through the door to his study a little further down the hall. Kelvin and Domnhall, conversing in low voices, were hurrying away to carry out their orders.

When she was satisfied the coast was clear, she slipped out into the hallway and made her way to her chamber on the first floor. She was about to mount the stone staircase when she heard someone call her name.

Connor.

She stopped and turned to him as he came up to her. Tall and rangy, he towered over her, his usually mild expression grim as he met her eyes.

“Aye? What is it, Connor?” she asked, hiding her guilt behind a smile as she struggled not to betray her ill-gotten knowledge to this trustworthy friend of long-standing.

Connor caught up to her and looked around to make sure no one among the bustling servants and other castle folk passing by were listening. Apparently satisfied they were out of range, he spoke softly. “Isla, I hate tae be the one tae havetae tell ye this, but we’ve just heard that Ballentine is mustering his forces nae far from the castle.”

Isla let her smile fade and her genuine alarm show on her face. “Ye mean he’s gonnae attack the castle?” she asked.

Connor nodded, setting his long, reddish curls bobbing. “Well, we cannae be sure, but everythin’ points tae it, aye,” he replied.

“Lord! What will become of us?” she murmured, trying to maintain an air of calm, as befitted the lady of the castle, for anyone watching them.

“Gregory’s planning our defense right now. He says he’ll speak tae ye later, but in the meantime, he wants ye tae get everybody who cannae fight busy helpin’ with preparations fer what’s tae come. D’ye ken what tae dae?”

Isla nodded, her blood running cold again. “Aye, I ken. Me grandmaither left me instructions should something like this ever happen.”

“I’ll leave it in yer hands then. I have other things tae dae before I join Gregory and the others in his study. Perhaps I’ll see ye later.”

“Aye, perhaps,” she said after him as he hurried away.

Isla went upstairs to her chamber, and when she shut the door behind her, her false composure fled. Tears flowed from her eyes as she sank down onto her bed, the feeling of icy dread growing within her. It was accompanied by a myriad of frightening thoughts and images that ran through her head in a maddening whirl.

In her mind’s eye, she went back sixteen years, to the night that was stamped indelibly on her memory. The night when assassins broke into the castle and murdered their parents in their beds. Five-year-old Isla had not known that when she was awoken by screaming and shouting in the night, but she had sensed great danger in the air.

Acting on a protective instinct, she had jumped out of bed and pulled a sleeping Gregory, aged only four, from his. Then, pressing a finger to his lips, she had dragged him across the room to hide in a wardrobe, staying there, crouched silently among the clothing, until somebody came to find them.

It was only some time afterwards, when their grandmother had told her what a brave and clever girl she was, that Isla finally understood her actions that night had saved both her own and Gregory’s lives. By rights, they should have both been dead too, for someone had sent men to kill her entire family and wipe the Galbraiths from the face of the earth. The question as to who was responsible for murdering their parents and for what reason haunted her and Gregory, though they seldom spoke of it.

The terrible loss formed an unbreakable bond between them, and it left Isla with a deep-seated fear of being left alone—specifically of losing Gregory. As they grew to adulthood, she and her brother remained close. She grew to rely on him, and when their grandmother passed away, she never forgot Gregory was all the family she had left. Even though he was a grown man and the laird of their clan, she still retained that big-sister urge to protect him from harm, for she could not bear the thought of losing him.

In the last several months, since this war had started and they had been fighting on behalf of Laird Allan against Ewan Ballentine, she had been forced to watch Gregory ride out to battle with his men on many occasions. Each time she had felt sick with terror at the thought that she might never see him alive again.

While he had been away, she had prayed almost constantly for him to stay safe and for an end to the bloody hostilities. Half her prayers had been answered. So far, Gregory had always come back in one piece. But since then the war had only intensified, and now the attack on the castle was imminent.

I cannae let him keep fightin’ this war, especially since ’tis nae truly ours. How much longer can his luck hold? I must find some way tae put an end tae the fightin’ and keep him safe. But how?

Feeling utterly powerless but knowing her duty as the laird’s sister and official lady of the castle, she pulled herself together, crossed to her dresser, and opened the bottom drawer. She paused for a moment, staring at the rolled parchment, which had lain there forgotten for so long, hesitating to touch it. For doing so would make the nightmarish threat at their gates all too real. It contained the instructions their grandmother had left for her to face just such an emergency as this.

Nevertheless, she forced herself to extract it from the drawer and unroll it. Her heart clenched painfully to see their grandmother’s flowing hand once more after so many years. With trembling hands and a lump in her throat, she began to read the long list of instructions for the lady of the castle to do her duty to prepare for an attack.

Wells within the walls must be secured. Water should also be stored in vats in the cellars of the keep in case the enemy infiltrates the outer walls.

As many candles and lamps as possible (and large quantities of lamp oil) should be speedily acquired, to be rationed and deployed only where strictly necessary.

Inventory food supplies. As much grain and produce as can be had in the time allowed must be brought inside the castle walls and properly stored within the keep cellars. Lay as much meat and fish down to salt as possible. In case of a siege, it will be necessary to ration food.

Plentiful supplies of tea and ale must also be ensured. Milk will come from the beasts brought in from the fields—lay in a good supply of fodder for them and the horses in case of siege.

As much firewood as can be gathered prior to any attack should be brought in and stored within the walls in several places where it is protected from fire. A good quantity should be regularly dispersed on the battlements for use in the braziers (to light arrows and such), and in the great hall for medical use (see below).

Ensure all healers are present within the castle prior to any attack and that there are sufficient medical supplies to treat those injured in battle. Set those who cannot fight or give medical assistance to making bandages, dressings, and the like.

Prepare the great hall to be used as a hospital. Mattresses and cots should be brought in for this purpose and both hearths kept burning to maintain a good supply of boiled water.

Prepare the cellars beneath the keep to shelter the injured, sick, womenfolk, and children if the outer defenses are overrun. A separate part can be used as a mortuary.

The list Isla had hoped she would never have to read, let alone use, went on and on, each line hammering home their awful plight, and making her fear increasingly for all their lives, but most of all for Gregory’s.

In a short while, she gathered herself and went downstairs to give the necessary orders to prepare for an attack. She toured the pantry and storerooms with the housekeeper and cooks, setting them to making a detailed inventory of all the food supplies and arrangements for storage.

After that, she sent a maid to gather all the women and older male servants of the castle who could not fight, as well as the castle healer Davina McGhee and her assistant. Once everyone had gathered amid an atmosphere of fearful anticipation, she held a meeting, going over each of the instructions on her grandmother’s list and overseeing the division of tasks.

“If there is an attack, it will be me duty as lady of the castle tae help nurse the injured as they come in, so I’ll be makin’ mesel’ useful helpin’ Davina in the great hall. She’ll need all the volunteers she can get tae nurse the injured. Even just offerin’ hot tea and comfort can make a difference,” she told them before closing the meeting and sending them off to go about their allotted duties.

However, at the same time as she was busy organizing all this, there remained a part of her mind that was actively turning over the various possibilities concerning a plan to keep Gregory alive.

Chapter Two

By the time the meeting finally broke up, Isla had still not seen Gregory to discuss what was happening. Deciding she had to speak to him whether he was busy or not, she went along to his study and knocked on the door.

“Come,” came his deep voice from the other side. She opened the door and went in, to find him standing around the large table with Connor, Kelvin, and Domnall. All four looked up when she entered, their expressions intent and serious. They had their shirt sleeves rolled up and appeared to be poring over maps and diagrams laid out before them, which she guessed were strategic plans for the defense of the castle.

“Isla. Are ye all right?” Gregory asked her as she approached them, his handsome brow creased into a worried frown. He unfolded his tall, powerful frame, pushed his long fair hair back from his face, and fixed his light gray eyes on her.

“Aye, I’m as all right as one can be in such circumstances, I suppose,” she replied briskly, though her heart ached to look at him. She dearly wanted to embrace him but held off in company, knowing he needed to appear strong at this challenging time. “I just came tae see how ye’re gettin’ on and tell ye that I’ve set all the preparations in motion should an attack take place, accordin’ tae Grandma’s instructions.”

Gregory smiled at her with obvious gratitude. “That’s good tae hear. Thank ye fer takin’ charge of all that, Sister. ’Tis one less thing fer me tae worry about.” He paused for a moment, then he said softly, “I’m sorry ’tis such bad news.”

“Aye, well, it was certainly a shock when Connor told me what’s happenin’,” she lied, feeling only a little bit guilty for pulling the wool over his eyes. ’Tis his fault fer nae keepin’ me informed.

“Are ye scared?”

She huffed. “Of course, I am! I’d be a fool if I wasnae, eh?” The others smiled at her comment.

“Aye, only a fool disnae feel afraid when he ought tae,” Connor murmured.

“And that’s how ye lose a war,” Kelvin put in sagely, nodding his dark head.

“But I must tell ye, Gregory,” Isla went on, needing to voice her concerns, “I curse this war Laird Allan has dragged us intae. ’Tis nae our fight. This shouldnae be happenin’. Ballentine should be camped outside Laird Allan’s walls, nae ours. ’Tis our folks who’ll be dyin’ if Ballentine attacks. When he attacks,” she corrected herself. A mixture of anger and fear rose inside her at the wrongness of it, and she clasped her hands tightly at her waist to keep it from erupting.

Gregory appeared to ignore her view of the matter. Instead, he said in a reassuring tone, “Things appear worse than they are. Laird Allan will send reinforcements as soon as he gets me message. In a few days’ time, the picture may be very different.” He sounded confident, but again, she knew that went along with his responsibilities as the laird. Any doubts he harbored, he would keep to himself for the dark hours of the night.

Frustration sharpened her tongue as she retorted tartly, “Well, I suppose we must hope Ballentine waits politely fer Allan’s men tae arrive before he attacks then. Mayhap we should invite him in fer tea while he waits.”

Kelvin sniggered, and Gregory smiled wryly, but he was clearly not going to be drawn in by her sarcasm. “Since ’tis us Ballentine has in his sights just now, we havenae choice but tae defend ourselves if he decides tae launch his attack afore then,” he explained. “Remember, Isla, he and his men cannae just simply walk intae Castle Galbraith. These walls are ten feet thick, and me men are well supplied with weapons. We have our own water supply within the walls and should have enough general supplies tae see us through until the reinforcements get here. We can easily hold him off.”

Unconvinced, Isla burst out, “Can ye nae sue fer peace, come tae some arrangement with Ballentine and avoid the bloodshed?” She heard the pleading note in her voice and despised it.

Gregory shook his head. “I’ll nae renege on me word tae defend Allan’s cause.”

She wanted to shout, “Ye mean ye’re too stubborn!” But she bit it back. Instead, she simply pursed her lips and nodded. “Very well. Will we be dining together this evening as usual?”

“I’m nae sure. I think we’ll be too busy here.”

“All right, I’ll have some food sent in fer ye later,” she said, surveying them all. “I’ll leave ye tae yer plans then.”

“Aye, I’ll come and find ye when I’m free,” Gregory told her before turning back to the others and resuming the discussion while Isla left the room with a heavy heart.

It was only four o’clock and still light. Feeling restless and on edge, she decided to go outside and gauge the atmosphere among the villagers who were streaming into the castle for shelter from the coming storm. She stepped out past the guard on the keep doors and stood on the steps watching as the clansfolk made their way through the gigantic gates to what they hoped would be a safe haven.

The atmosphere was surprisingly subdued, with none of the usual chatter or laughter as the river of humanity flowed steadily into the courtyard, some lugging bundles or pushing handcarts full of their possessions. White-faced women carried crying babes in their arms, while scared-looking children pulled their younger siblings along. The old and sick and heavily pregnant were carried in on makeshift litters or supported by strong arms and shoulders inside the towering stronghold.

The cacophony from the livestock and the barking, sniffing dogs that ran loose among the incoming throng echoed from the walls. Sheep, pigs, cows, and goats streamed in along with the people. Those with horses or mules or donkeys rode or drove them through the gates. Chickens and other edible fowl rode in style, packed in willow cages on the beds of numerous carts and wagons pulled by enormous shire horses. More carts and wagons loaded with straw, hay, grain, turnips, and other produce, rumbled over the cobblestones of the courtyard, heading towards the rear of the castle to supply the kitchens and stables.

Among all this, groups of heavily armed soldiers moved rapidly about, their commanders barking orders as they deployed their men to oversee the influx.

The cold leaden weight lodged in Isla’s belly grew heavier still as she watched the strained faces filing past her. The very air felt doom-laden, but she maintained her calm exterior and smiled and nodded encouragingly at the villagers, as was her duty as the laird’s sister.

While she stood there observing the organized chaos, she could not help but overhear the conversation of the guards stationed directly behind her on the steps of the castle keep. They were talking to their replacements, who had come to relieve them of duty.

“What’s tae dae, lads?” one of them asked the newcomers. “Is it true what the rumors say, that Ballentine’s army is camped less than a day’s ride from here?”

“Aye, it seems that way. Ye’re tae attend a briefin’ at five with the laird tae get yer orders,” one of the new guards explained.

“Jaysus, I never thought it would come tae this, the enemy campin’ at our gates. It’ll nae take him and his army long tae reach us once they start movin’.”

“The laird’s already sent a messenger tae Laird Allan fer reinforcements, so we only havetae hold them off until they get here.”

“Aye, that’s somethin’, I suppose. With luck, the laird might be able tae infiltrate some spies in the enemy camp and find out what Ballentine’s plannin’.”

“Aye, I’m sure he’s thought of that already… Well, ye two had best be off and get somethin’ tae eat afore the briefin’.”

“Aye, thanks, lads, we’ll see ye later at the barracks fer an ale or two, I hope.” The original guards departed, and the new guards settled into their positions by the door, pikes at the ready.

The comment about infiltrating spies had struck a chord with Isla. Like a seed, the idea took root in her mind. It sprouted and grew quickly, pulling her back inside the keep and upstairs to her chambers in search of privacy. By the time she had shut herself safely inside, the buds of a plan were already forming in her mind. She sat on her bed and thought.

A spy in Ballentine’s camp who could find out his plans to attack the castle could potentially turn the tide of the war, and everyone’s fates. In fact, it could avert an attack altogether, and her brother and his men wouldn’t have to fight. He’d be safe. They would all be safe. But how did one infiltrate an enemy camp without getting found out and killed for being a spy? Or rather, how could a woman infiltrate an enemy camp without getting discovered and killed as a suspected spy, or worse?

Various scenarios ran through her mind, and all but one ended in summary execution. With that possibility in mind, she realized that, even if an interloper avoided detection and discovered Ballentine’s plans, there was no guarantee the attack would be called off. Then it came to her in a sudden burst of clarity, and the plan blossomed to full fruition.

Filled with resolution and knowing time was of the essence if she were to successfully safeguard Gregory’s life, she hurried to put it into action. She fetched a cloth bag from her wardrobe, placed it on the bed, and spent the next hour packing it with the things she would need for a journey, including a candle stub and tinder box and her father’s dirk, which she stole from Gregory’s wardrobe.

When the clock on the mantel chimed midnight, she was ready. With stout riding boots on her feet, a long, hooded woolen cloak covering her entire person and concealing the dirk stuck in her waistband, she pulled on gloves, hoisted the bag, and left her chambers on silent feet.

Getting out of the castle unseen was perhaps the easiest part. Beneath the hulking fortress ran a network of underground tunnels, from which one could move invisibly to any part of the castle one chose. She and Gregory had played in the tunnels for hours when they were growing up, and Isla knew them well. Descending to the depths by a hidden door, she paused to strike a light before starting off along a tunnel that eventually emerged in the tree line of a copse a few hundred feet outside the castle gates.

She took off across the dark meadows, the half-moon lighting her way to the neighboring farm. There, she paused long enough to steal a horse before setting off in the direction of Waverley Forest. The knowledge that her mission to protect Gregory and all she held dear had begun in earnest spurred her on as she rode through the night.

There’s nay other way than tae sneak intae Ballentine’s camp… and kill him.

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Dunvegan Castle, December 1293

“Are ye going tae stand still, Kai, or are ye planning tae drive us all mad with yer constant bouncing?” Domhnall’s voice made Kai whip his head around to see all his siblings snickering.

Domhnall stood calm as ever, with the thoughtful Magnus at his side. He was watching Kai carefully, his head cocked at an angle, as Thora and Enya giggled between them.

“What?” Kai said with innocence. “I’m simply annoyed I couldnae go riding this morning. That’s all.” He folded his arms and tried to stand as still as his brothers, shutting down his thoughts as much as possible.

He knew well enough by now that when Magnus was looking at him with that penetrating gaze, he was seeing things in Kai’s mind. Things Kai didn’t necessarily want him to see.

Kai’s skill was similar to Magnus’, though perhaps more illuminating at times, an ability to read people’s emotions when touching them and being able to change them, usually for the better.

At this moment in time, it was plain that Thora and Enya were both excited about their visitors, and they found Kai’s fidgeting extremely humorous. Domhnall was more anxious, wanting the formal feast they were about to share with their neighboring clan to go as well as it could possibly go. Magnus, on the other hand, had learned to distance himself from his emotions. Bearing the calmest of tempers of all of them, his emotions were as quiet as he was with his words.

“Aye, aye, that’s what it is,” Domhnall said with sarcasm. “Yer anxious mood has nothing tae dae with our visitors arriving now, daes it?”

“I dinnae ken what ye mean.” Kai shrugged, trying to ignore what he was feeling.

“They’re here, they’re here!” Enya declared with sudden delight, racing to the window of the great hall that looked out over the courtyard of the castle.

The others moved to her side, all looking at the riders. Kai was careful to follow at a slow pace, well aware that Thora looked back at him, curiosity now in her expression.

“What is it?” Kai whispered to her.

“I just saw something. A flick of ye and…” She looked away, out of the window and down to one of the riders. “It doesnae matter. Ye ken as well as I the things I see dinnae always make sense tae me.”

“I wish ye wouldnae fear yer gift,” he whispered, for her ears only as the others talked excitedly of their visitors.

“Try me gift sometime,” Thora said with a sigh. “The glimpses I have of what may come tae pass, they dinnae always make sense.” The way she chewed her lip and looked out of the window told Kai the answer to the question he feared to ask. Had Thora seen something good in his future? Or something he should fear?

I should fear it. I feel it coming off Thora.

She kept her focus on one of the riders in particular.

“Laird Finley MacKinnon,” Domhnall said as he stared at the three main riders and the guards who had accompanied them.

“Why are ye nervous?” Magnus asked. “They are the clan’s oldest friends. Laird Finley has seen us all grow up.”

“Aye, I ken.” Domhnall nodded. “I dinnae want anything tae sour that relationship. Ever.” He glanced in Kai’s direction.

“Why did ye look at me then?”

“Ye ken very well why,” Domhnall said with a sigh. “Yer reputation with women is getting worse by the day.”

“I am nae that bad,” Kai insisted. Thora and Enya both looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m really nae, sisters.”

“Hmm,” they grunted in unison, then looked out of the window again.

“All I’m saying, Kai, is that if ye were tae pursue Laird Finley’s daughter, I fear what it could dae tae our oldest and best alliance,” Domhnall went on, standing tall.

“I beg yer pardon?” Kai felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. “Why would I pursue his daughter? Which one, anyone?”

All of his siblings stared at him now, the suspicion in their gazes so strong that Kai flinched at the power of those stares.

“Ye and Ava are inseparable,” Enya said, casting a gaze to the heavens to plead for patience.

“The way ye look at her,” Domhnall added, shaking his head. “Leaves little tae the imagination. I dinnae need Magnus’ skill of reading minds tae ken what ye are thinking.”

“Ye’re wrong,” Kai said sharply. “Ava and I are just friends. We always have been.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows so high in disbelief that Kai fidgeted on the spot.

“We are friends,” he said again, to which Magnus shook his head.

“Then shut down yer thoughts so I cannae glimpse them, Kai,” Magnus ordered in a low undertone.

Kai looked away, down at the riders.

It is hard tae deny that there is something there.

His gaze landed on Ava. She had just jumped down from her horse, her long blonde braid wild behind her. A warrior lady, she carried a sword on one hip and a dagger on the other. She was still young, but growing more and more into a woman.

Kai had to admit that from the first day he had ever met Ava, over ten years ago now, in this same spot in the great hall, he had been struck by her. Her wit and her strength, had drawn him to her. They had been friends by the end of the day when Laird MacKinnon had departed with his two daughters.

They saw each other often, when their clans met up, but they also made the effort to see each other alone. Many a night had they crept into the forests together to meet, or even the staff’s kitchen, for a place where the two of them could talk, be themselves, without interruption.

Over the last year, their friendship had shifted. Ava becoming a woman, leaving girlhood behind, was making Kai look at her differently. It would have been a lie to pretend he had never imagined him and Ava together, never thought of what it would be like to kiss her, to pleasure her, to have her in his bed.

Even now, he released a growling sigh, until Magnus elbowed him in the rib.

“Dinnae read me mind if ye dinnae like what ye see,” Kai hissed at him.

“Then shut down yer thoughts,” Magnus ordered. “They are coming.” He nodded through the window.

Laird Finley was leading the way up the keep steps, with his daughters, Ava and Lyla, following behind. It would be little more than a minute now before they were in the great hall.

Kai’s breath shuddered a little as he turned his gaze upon the double doors which were already open, waiting for Laird Finley’s arrival.

“Ah, Laird Finley,” Domhnall declared as Laird Finley walked in first. At once, he moved toward him and bowed. The others followed, though Kai hung back, returning to his fidgeting manner as he waited for another to appear.

Lyla came next, moving to Enya and Thora to greet them.

At last, there she is.

Ava appeared next, having shed her cloak and her weapons, so she was wearing a rich navy blue tartan gown, cinched just under the bust, to show off her athletic figure. Kai felt his breath hitch as he moved toward her.

She smiled when she saw him.

“Good day,” she whispered as he took her hand.

“Good day tae ye too.” He clasped it between both of his palms, a momentary act of friendship in the busy room. “Would ye like tae go fer a ride?”

Let us get out of here. Let us be just the two of us again.

“Aye, I–” Before she could say anymore though, Laird Finley called out to her.

“Ava, come. There will be a feast.” Laird Finley beckoned her to his side. Ava offered an apologetic smile, then moved to stand beside her father.

Kai’s hand dropped at his hip as he stared after her.

“Ye ken what he’s thinking, dinnae ye?” Magnus’ voice at Kai’s side made him jump.

“That’s yer gift. Nae mine,” Kai reminded him.

“He’s thinking ye are nae good enough fer his daughter. He certainly doesnae want Ava tae be just another woman ye bed.”

“She would never be that. It’s Ava,” Kai hissed.

“He doesnae ken that, Kai.” Magnus sighed. “Be careful, braither. Domhnall is right. We dinnae want tae make an enemy of our best ally.” As Magnus walked away, Kai felt numb.

He stared at Ava, now drawn into conversation with her father and Domhnall.

With Ava, it would never be that.

The mere thought of bedding Ava and then forgetting what they had shared disgusted Kai. She was different, she meant more to him than any other.

It was like a lightning bolt striking him overhead, the realization so strong that he actually wavered a little and reached out to the wall, holding a palm against the stone to keep himself standing.

Dear God… when did I fall in love with Ava?

Magnus’ eyes were on him. With horror, Kai realized that Magnus had seen into his mind at precisely the wrong moment. Ever so slightly, Magnus shook his head.

Kai nodded, showing he understood. It didn’t matter if he was in love with Ava, if she meant more to him than any other woman had ever done. The risk was too great, he couldn’t ever jeopardize the friendship with the MacKinnons.

Also Ava was the perfect woman, and he was nothing more than the roguish younger braither of a laird. How could he ever hope fer her tae love him back?

In the middle of her conversation with her father, she turned and looked at him, smiling. It made his stomach jolt with excitement.

Ah, Ava, ye are out of me reach.

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Chapter One

Castle MacKinnon, November 1298

“Ava, dae ye really think a woman who claims tae be able to see intae the future will help ye seduce a man?”

Ava halted in the middle of the castle corridor. She turned abruptly to face her little sister, swinging the burning torch around with her as she moved. Lyla, startled, jumped away from her.

“Careful, sister! I ken ye are a warrior but dae me the favor of nae giving me the wounds yer other opponents bear.”

“I’m sorry,” Ava muttered hurriedly, “but ye ken we dinnae have time fer this argument now. Me mind is made up. Ye can either stay here or come with me, but I am going, Lyla.”

Lyla sighed, her dark blonde hair becoming a curtain as it fell across her face. Ava pushed back the wisps of her own blonde hair, that had fallen out of the customary braid she wore. Tonight, she would not be distracted by fear or the serious nature of her sister’s conversation.

I have a mission tae accomplish.

“I am going,” Ava whispered. She turned, carrying the burning torch high as she slipped down a narrow spiral staircase with Lyla hurrying behind her. More than once her little sister nearly slipped on the stones. The cold air was so strong that night that even inside the castle there was moisture and growing frost on the stone steps. When they reached the bottom, Ava tiptoed toward the kitchens and the servants’ stairwell, knowing it was the best way out of the castle when they didn’t want to be glimpsed by the guards. By the doorway, she latched the burning torch onto an iron hook in the wall, knowing she couldn’t take it with them.

A guard would spot the burning fire from a mile away and come to investigate.

“I dinnae ken about this,” Lyla muttered seriously again.

Ava gave her no answer. Halting by the door for a second, she checked beneath her thick woolen cloak. She carried a dirk at her right hip, her customary basilard at her left hip, all latched into a belt. Ordinarily, she would have liked to have taken her crossbow with her when walking the clan lands alone, but tonight, she had to travel fast, and the crossbow with the bolts would have only weighed her down.

“This castle holds shadows fer us now, I ken that,” Lyla whispered hurriedly as Ava checked her weapons. “But dae ye honestly think ye will find answers by talking tae a mad woman?”

“And ye think a seer is a mad woman, dae ye? Sister, I dinnae pretend tae understand all the secrets of this world. I dinnae ken how it works, what magic and mystery lies beneath the veil of what I can see. Maybe she does,” Ava added, fiercely, but quietly. “If she can help me at all, then I need tae take this chance.”

“Aye, aye, I ken.” Lyla sighed once again as Ava reached for the door.

“Now come, before we are seen.” Ava slipped the key into the door that she had stolen from the castle steward’s chamber earlier that day and slipped it into the lock. It clunked rather heavily, making the two of them halt and look around. When no sound followed, Ava opened the door.

The moment they both stepped outside, they shivered. The wind was bitterly cold, the clouds heavy with snow, threatening to open their icy treasure any second now, adding to the already rich covering of white snow on the ground. The moon, a mere crescent in the sky, was only just visible peeking through those heavy clouds.

“Lovely night, isnae it?” Lyla whispered to Ava with irony in her tone.

“Charming,” Ava agreed. She pressed her lips into the fur lining of her cloak and walked forward through the grounds, with the shorter Lyla racing to keep up with her.

As they crossed through the snowy courtyard toward the curtain wall, Lyla hopped between clumps of snow as Ava walked purposefully, her hand constantly gripping the hilt of her basilard beneath her cloak.

“Dae ye think –”

“Shh,” Ava pleaded. “We dinnae want a guard tae hear us now.”

As if he had been summoned by her words, Ava saw movement atop the nearest curtain wall. She reached for Lyla’s shoulder and pushed her down beneath the well in the middle of the courtyard, out of use thanks to the thick layer of ice which had formed at the bottom. Lyla yelped in surprise, forcing Ava to dart down too.

She held her finger to her lips, warning Lyla not to make another sound. If we’re discovered Faither will be fumin’.”

The guard’s loud footsteps on the curtain wall had stopped, suggesting he had heard Lyla’s noise and had whipped around, staring into the courtyard to investigate. Ava didn’t dare sneak a peek, but waited, holding her breath, until she heard his footsteps again. Peering around the edge of the well, she looked to his place atop the wall. He had returned to his patrol, no longer looking their way.

Ava grabbed Lyla’s hand and ran with her. Her younger sister, much slenderer and not so athletic in build, struggled to keep up as Ava ran to the nearest door. They pressed themselves against the stone wall as Ava pressed a second key, she had taken into a door hidden in the stone wall.

It was a secret door, barely used by any. If the rumors were to be believed, the guards had this door installed years ago to bring in their mistresses and wives at night when no one was looking. Ava wasn’t sure if she believed the tales, though she knew men’s appetites would warrant it.

She shuddered at the thought of men’s appetites when it came to the bedchamber and opened the door, inching it carefully across the snow on the ground to stay as quiet as possible.

As they slipped through, the snow was now thick on the ground thanks to the skeletal branches of the trees above, though their journey became suddenly darker.

Ava followed a path through the forest she knew all too well, for it had been her training ground for years for hunting and fighting. Lyla, on the other hand, gripped to the back of her cloak, following every step she took.

“If I dinnae dae this, ye would be forced tae marry that man,” Ava shuddered.

She had seen him. The very man that their father also feared giving Lyla too.

A warrior, a soldier, and a brutal leader, he had fixated his desires on Lyla. Known for his cruel and insatiable appetites, Ava could not countenance the thought of handing her little sweet sister to a man like him.

“Ye ken I cannae let that happen.”

“But then that means…”

“I ken. I ken what it means.” Ava and her father had talked for hours about the alternatives. Her father, Laird Finley MacKinnon, had drank himself into a stupor with enough whisky to drown a horse.

Lyla’s suitor was adamant in his pursuit of her. Finley’s greatest fear was that he wouldn’t be able to turn the man down. The MacKinnon clan was in debt. For so long they had fought for the Scottish cause against the English. They had lost men, had poor harvests due to bad winters, and now, Finley was running out of options as to how to protect his clan. Lyla’s suitor offered him money. This would ruin Ava, as she was the older sister, and having Lyla marry first was unthinkable. Yet, it would save their clan at the expense of them both.

“Then we must find another way tae get money,” Ava had said in the early hours of the morning.

Her father had looked up from his whisky, staring at her, eyes wide.

“There’s another laird. One so rich that if ye were tae marry him, all our troubles would be gone. Lyla would be safe.”

“Who?” Ava had asked sharply.

“Laird Blair Grant,” Ava now murmured aloud, remembering the way her father had said it sharply that night. He was not known for being a man of soft heart, but he did not have the same reputation of cruelty as Lyla’s suitor.

“Ye dinnae have tae dae this,” Lyla pleaded again behind her, repeatedly slipping in the snow.

“I must.” Ava had at first been dismayed to see that her father hadn’t given up on the idea come morning when he was sober and nursing a bad head. He had urged her to seduce Laird Blair Grant. If she could catch such a wealthy laird’s eye and secure a proposal, Lyla would indeed be safe.

As time had gone on, and as Lyla’s suitor kept reappearing, Ava had become more determined.

He is right. Aye, I must dae this.

Ever since they had lost their mother many years before, Ava had felt it was her responsibility to care for Lyla, to look after her, to teach her how to fare in the world, and above all, to protect her. More than once, she had run headlong into danger in order to keep her sister safe, and now was no different.

Without their mother there to protect her, Ava would happily take her place and do what she could. She certainly wasn’t going to feed Lyla to a cruel man, the way a fox would be fed to the wolves.

A memory flickered across Ava’s mind. It was of a night she always tried to forget, when a man had grabbed her wrist, pinned her down. She remembered his breath on her neck, the way he stank, the fear coiling in her stomach like a viper –

“Where dae we go now?” Lyla’s question broke through the memory.

Ava came to a stop at a fork in the path, then led Lyla down a snowy track. She knew where she was going. How many times had she come across the seer’s hut in this wood? She been told never to go there, yet she had always been curious. Today, she had a need of this woman.

“I’m nay temptress,” Ava muttered as they made their way toward the hut, fighting through the snow as the bitter wind whipped their hair and their cloaks. “If I am going tae dae this, and I will, then I need direction. The seer will help me.”

Ava could feel from the way Lyla’s hands gripped the back of her cloak that she was ready to argue again, but her sister said nothing. Instead, she gasped. The sound brought Ava to a halt, she gripped the hilt of the basilard hard, ready to use it, only to see it was no man or creature that had frightened her. They had found the seer’s cabin.

Now they were here, the air felt different, somehow even icier than before, as if the snow hung in the air, invisible around them. The hut itself was almost completely swamped by snow, the roof sagging under its weight, the old croft windows mere circles of pebbles.

Ava took a small step forward, the snow crunching beneath her boots. In the windows, she saw something glitter. A string of shiny stones and beads had been hung there, which now swayed in the wind, rather ominously clicking against the stones around it. She supposed it was some charm to ward off demons.

“They say she doesnae let people in anymore,” Lyla hissed as Ava moved forward, with her sister staying close behind her.

“Then I pray she changes her mind tonight.” As Ava neared the croft, her boot crunched icy snow loudly. It was so noisy that a light was struck inside the croft.

Ava and Lyla froze, staring at the window. Was it a candle? Maybe a fire light? It burned a deep amber hue.

Ava raised her hand from her basilard, ready to knock when she hesitated. Her first doubts creeped in. She wondered if the seer would tell her anything useful at all? What if the seer only confirmed that Lyla would have to marry her cruel suitor in the end, that anything Ava could do wouldn’t avoid it? What if –

“Dinnae stand there dithering on me doorstep all night.” A sharp voice called from within the croft.

Lyla covered her mouth and jumped back three paces as Ava stood stock still, staring at the door with its carved witch symbols in the wood in amazement.

“Come, lass. Leave yer poor sister outside. Me fire would warm her, but she’ll be happier out there.”

Ava looked at Lyla, who was already nodding eagerly, clearly in no hurry to be inside the seer’s croft, for confirmation.

Ava turned the door handle and pushed it open. The door creaked ominously and loudly as she moved into the room.

“Close that door. Ye want an old woman tae die from the cold? Aye, aye, old bones decay quickly ye ken. I kenned a lass once who died from her bones turning tae ice. They didnae believe me. They never believe me, but I ken what I see.”

Ava closed the door sharply, turning to face the woman who was speaking so fast, she had to strain to listen to the individual words.

Sat before the fire was the seer, dressed in a thick woolen gown, a heavy wolf’s fur on her shoulders and dark hair around her face that was streaked with grey. She was chewing something, some sort of root, though she only chewed with one side of her jaw. One eye was wider than the other, as if the other caused her pain, and she didn’t once blink those eyes, giving her the impression of being a gargoyle that had sprung to life.

Jerkily, the woman gestured to the stool opposite her.

“Come, come. Nay time. Ye think guards dinnae ken when the daughter of a laird sneaks out of the castle?”

“They’ve never spotted it before,” Ava murmured as she sat on the stool, listening to it creak and whine behind her. She had snuck out many times in the night, just for the challenge of it… and the freedom.

“Hmm,” the seer grunted. “Speak. Why did ye come? Tell me.” The woman waved impatiently as she reached for a bundle of burning herbs and inhaled the rich scent of drive lavender and lemon thyme sharply, her nostrils flaring.

Ava spoke fast, obeying, though as she spoke, she couldn’t help staring at all the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. Rather oddly, there was a rabbit’s foot dangling from between the herbs too, and more witches’ symbols carved across the wooden beams that held up the thatched roof.

“I… I have come fer direction,” Ava forced herself on. “I am trying tae protect me sister. A cruel suitor wants her, and tae avoid it, me faither wishes me tae seduce a laird. He’s a wealthy man, so wealthy it could solve all our clan’s problems, but I am nay temptress. Nay seductress.” She gestured at her gown, the cloak, and the weapons she carried. “How does a woman like me go about this task? And if I dae it… will it work? Can I save Lyla?”

The seer’s wider eye seemed to widen impossibly further, gazing at Ava.

Yet Ava had not come to be messed with. She was here for a task, and she would not fidget and be made uncomfortable by the seer’s spooky ways. She sat taller on the stool, her spine becoming rigid.

“I have asked ye questions. Please, answer me,” she said with strength.

“Hmm. Aye, aye, got a heart, got a conscience, got fire in ye too.” The seer grunted with a chuckle. “Yet all ken that already.” She reached into the fire suddenly.

Ava leaped back in amazement, only to see that the seer took hold of another bundle of herbs and dropped them into a bowl on a small, crooked table beside her. The blackened leaves and flower heads fell off the stems and the woman picked up the bowl, spinning it round and round for a moment before she set it down, gazing at the flower heads as if they held the answers of the world. Eventually, she looked up, staring straight at Ava with that eerie stare once again.

“Yer future will depend on a choice ye make. That choice will be whether tae follow yer duty. Or yer heart.” It was spoken without passion. In fact, it was said without much interest, almost impassively.

“Me heart?” Ava shifted.

I am doing this because I have a heart. I love me sister and will dae anything tae protect her. Arenae me duty and me heart aligned?

“Either path ye choose will have consequences. Nay way tae ken the right one.”

“How helpful,” Ava muttered under her breath.

The seer leaned forward sharply. It was clear she was not yet done.

“And on either path ye take, there’ll be one there with ye. A man. A man tae steer ye intae yer future. Maybe show ye what seduction is.”

“I dinnae need –”

“As ye say, ye are nae a temptress.” The seer gestured to her with one of the burning bundles that now smelled strongly of lavender and acrid burning wood. “Look at the border between the MacKinnons and the MacLeods. Ye have close ties with their clan. In three days, in a tavern called The Stag’s Rest, there will be a man. He’s a rake. A man who could read emotions with one look and can seduce any lass he likes intae his bed. He’s a man of careless elegance, a man whose confidence is his second skin, and has eyes like a storm over a sea.”

Ava started to fidget uncomfortably. How could the seer possibly see this man in her mind?

“He is dangerous and mischievous, and he commands eyes even without trying. He’ll be wearing a heavy hat. Ungainly thing. Quite ugly. That is how ye’ll ken it’s him. Find him.” She leaned back sharply. “The student will need a master if she is tae learn and change her future.”

“And ye think that is possible?” Ava asked keenly. “Ye think that if I choose this path, I can change the future?”

“I see possible futures, lass. I dinnae see which one will come.” With a flick of her wrist, the seer dismissed her.

Chapter Two

Three Days Later, The Stag’s Rest, Torrin

“Och, bloody thing,” Kai muttered beneath his breath as he adjusted the large hat on his head. It was a ridiculous thing, necessary, but made no less ridiculous because of it. So large and heavy, it repeatedly slipped down his brow, hiding half his face from the rest of the world.

Necessary, remember that, ye fool, he reminded himself.

As scout for his elder brother, Laird of the MacLeod’s, it was Kai’s position to occasionally act the ridiculous fool in order to get the information they needed. It kept their clan and the Scottish safe, and countless times had saved them when it came to their battles against the English.

Adjusting the hat once more on his head, he shifted against the tavern wall, staring out across the room.

The Stag’s Rest was hardly a reputable place. There were ladies who sold themselves here, thieves gathering at every table, bandits masking their faces with scarves, and even an innkeeper who served up beer which had most likely been watered down to fleece his customers. Kai dared to try another sip of it, but it tasted so foul, he pushed it away, drumming his fingers idly against the tankard as he looked at the door, waiting for the entrance of the man he was to meet.

Two lasses walked in, with dresses so low cut that Kai inhaled sharply. Their cleavages were deep, their curves obvious, but Kai forced himself to look away.

He had a healthy appetite in that regard. He had shared his bed with many a lass, sometimes they didn’t even make it to a bed. It helped. It made him thrum with excitement and thrill, gave him confidence, even if none of the women came close to the one woman whom he wished he could share his bed with.

She’ll never be that. Remember that.

He pushed thoughts of her away, not even allowing her name to surface in his mind. Tonight, he had to be serious. His elder brother, Domhnall, had sent him here for a reason.

“Ye are the only one who can dae this.” Domhnall had spoken commandingly as they trained together out on the lawns behind the MacLeod castle. “This man is nae related tae our clan. He will have information from other clans, inside knowledge we cannae find any other way.”

“I ken all that. I said I’m happy tae go, didnae I?” Kai had laughed and tried to drive the sword toward his brother again, but Domhnall had deflected it.

Kai was athletic in build, but also lithe. It made him ideal for being a scout – he was a fast rider and quick fighter, but Domhnall was broad of muscle and a brutal warrior. Kai once saw his brother flatten a man out cold with nothing but his bare fist. Kai frequently thanked his lucky stars he was born Domhnall’s family and not his enemy.

“I need ye tae dae more than just listen tae what he says,” Domhnall had gone on, walking around him, ready to fight again.

“Aye, aye, I ken.” Kai had held his arms out wide, like a performer on stage. “Ye wish me tae use me usual tricks, dinnae ye? Tae see his emotions, see what he’s hiding from us. Sense when he’s lying, aye?”

Domhnall had nodded his head sharply.

Kai may have been the joker of the group, the one who seemed confident and at ease, but they all knew it gave him an advantage. No one expected him to be the one who was always watching, always astute, always sensing things that people were trying to hide.

Aye, it’s me magic.

He chuckled at the mere thought and adjusted himself on the bench again, daring another sip of the watered-down beer before he spat it back into the tankard and gagged at the taste.

The door opened and the drunken men shouted for it to be closed fast as a flurry of snow came in and the icy wind made them all fidget. The innkeeper’s wife added more logs to the fire as the door was kicked shut and the man who had just entered looked around.

Kai only needed to glance at him to know this was the man he had been waiting for.

Like him, this scout was dressed demurely, trying to hide in plain sight. He rubbed his hands uneasily, blowing on them to summon some warmth, his thick black curly hair hanging down from the hat on his head. The eager way he looked around, showing he was searching for someone, just confirmed what Kai already knew. His weapons were hidden beneath his cloak, including a dirk pressed into the ankle of his boot. It was where Kai often hid a weapon of his own, though his was a little more discreet.

The scout looked toward him, pulling down the thick woolen scarf that covered the lower half of his face. When he saw Kai’s hat, he recognized the symbol. It had been in Kai’s letter to the man, that if he wanted to talk, come to this tavern and talk to the guy wearing the large hat.

Kai flicked his fingers to the nearest bar maid as the scout approached. Affecting an easy smile, Kai ordered two more beers.

“I’m glad ye made it,” Kai put on a cheerful attitude and nodded for the man to take his seat. “A drink, aye? Ye need tae warm yer bones from all that snow.”

“Aye. Thank ye.” The scout sat down on the bench opposite Kai, clearly a little startled by Kai’s easy manner. He looked around his shoulders, nervous of being overheard.

This is a good start.

It was what Kai had wanted to see. A scout delivering secret information shouldn’t be at ease and confident, but nervous – even terrified about being overheard.

They waited for the beers to be brought then Kai offered a toast.

“Tae warmth and summer. Aye, I pray it is here soon.” As he pretended to sip the beer, having no intention of drinking any more of it, the scout gulped heavily.

Aye, he’s definitely nervous.

“We may be waiting a while fer that.” The man scoffed then coughed, clearly finding the beer as unappetizing as Kai did.

“Ye ken why we are here then.” Kai leaned forward, determined to get to the crux of their meeting. “What can ye tell me?”

The man wiped his mouth uneasily, looked about his shoulders, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“The English. They’re encroaching more and more onto the Highlanders’ territory.” For the first time, Kai noticed there was something more to the Scottish lilt in the man’s voice. There was an English note too.

“Ye have English blood?”

“English maither, Scottish faither.” The man shifted, his face turning pink. Clearly, he had hoped this wouldn’t be noticed. “I fight fer Scotland.”

“Then why are ye nervous? Why worry about telling me these things?”

Once more, the man shifted uncomfortably.

“Because the clan I report tae is considering an alliance with the English. It’s what the English are doing. They’re working their way into our land by diplomacy. Or buying allegiance, call it what ye like.”

“Dae ye think there will be a battle?”

“Nay. Nae yet.” The man shook his head sharply. “They’re too busy having political discussions. I come tae offer yer laird a warning. That is all. Be wary of the riches the English offer ye and beware of clans ye think are yer friends. They may yet be bought.” He spoke with earnestness, not looking away from Kai’s gaze now.

Aye, he is telling the truth.

Kai knew it without having to doubt himself.

“Then I thank ye fer yer information.” Kai nodded. “What did ye risk tae come and tell me this?”

“Me position.” The man shifted. “I’m already nae trusted by some in me own clan because of me English maither, but I willnae let the English wipe out Scotland inch by inch without doing something about it.” The passion was evident. “It is right someone kens, even if me clan intends tae dae naething about it.”

He stood sharply as the door opened. Kai didn’t even look who had walked in this time, for his eyes were set on the man before him. The scout’s hand had gone to the weapons in his belt.

He fears fer his life.

“Then ye best get out of here fast.” Kai put some coins on the table. “Take this. Get yerself a fresh horse and ride home. Thank ye, again.”

The man nodded, jerkily took the coins, and left, sweeping out of the door as quickly as he arrived, with people cursing as the door was opened and more snow came in across the floor.

Kai sat forward after the man had gone. Now this meeting was done, he felt a calm washing over him.

“Aye, it was the truth,” he muttered, staring down into the tankard, knowing in his gut it was. In a way, it was reassuring. No impending battle meant they could protect their forces, rebuild themselves, take care of their clan, yet it was still a cause for concern. Maybe the English intended to make the Scottish their own by buying everyone.

I need tae tell Domhnall.

It was a heavy burden of responsibility. As one of the lairds’ brothers, he knew each of them had a responsibility and a task to attend to in order to keep the clan safe. Kai’s place had come naturally. He was built for quick riding, and his astuteness made him a good judge of character and a man’s honesty.

He pushed the tankard away, not intending to drink anymore as he sat back and debated what to do next. He could go back to Dunvegan castle, report to Domhnall tonight, yet there was an allure to the idea of finding company for the night and going back in the morning. He also didn’t particularly want to drink alone.

He looked around the tavern, seeing many women. Some clearly sold themselves, but there were others who wouldn’t charge. They were here to look for a good night themselves.

There was one particular lass who caught his eye. She was blonde. He had to force himself to look away. His taste for blonde hair in particular stemmed from thinking too much of one woman. It would do no good to sleep with that lass and constantly imagine she was another.

He pushed the tankard aside and stood. Maybe he could share one drink with a lass in this tavern, see what happened. There was always the chance that drink and a night together, full of pleasure, could wash away that part of him which was broken, the part he always tried to mask and stuff down, so he never had to look it in the face.

As he stood, he felt someone at his shoulder. His hand went to the broadsword at his hip. He was ready. If a man was going to pick his pocket, he wouldn’t get far.

“I have been looking for ye. I have an offer tae make ye.” The lass’ voice intrigued him, but what piqued his interest even more were her words.

An offer? What offer, lass?

“I am willing tae pay whatever it takes.”

Wait… that voice.

Kai whipped around fast, turning so quickly that the lass standing at his shoulder stepped back to avoid colliding with him.

This is nae possible!

The woman before him shouldn’t have been here. The blonde hair shouldn’t be there, those hazel eyes, the full cheeks, the wide mouth that was so kissable and yet out of reach.

“Ava?” he hissed in alarm as her perfect lips fell apart in an ‘o’ shape of shock. It was the woman he had loved hopelessly for years, the one he could never have, the one he had to love quietly from a distance and be nothing more to her than her closest friend. “What in God’s name are ye doing here?”

“Och, damn me life…”

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Prologue

One month earlier, Dunmaglass

The air was warm on Elayne’s skin, the breeze only a momentary relief as she rode with her guards through the forest. It was high summer and late in the morning, so the sun had shone relentlessly on them as they travelled down the path from Macgillivray Castle to her aunt’s cottage.

We should have left sooner. It’s so hot today!

The cottage was only half a day’s ride away, but Elayne felt as though she had been travelling for an eternity, the air uncharacteristically still, even for a July morning. It was better than travelling any other day of the past week, though, which they had all spent in the castle, keeping dry from the endless rain.

“We should have brought ye a carriage, me lady,” said one of her guards, Craig. He had been Elayne’s guard ever since she could remember, and was one of the people who raised her, along with her wet nurses and governess. All these years later, his skin had wrinkled and his brown hair was almost completely grey, but he still resembled the young man Elayne had once known.

Most of all, he still fussed over her as if she were a child.

“I’m fine, Craig,” Elayne assured him. “I can handle a half day’s ride.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing ye’re dressed simply,” her other guard, Lachlan, said. Unlike Craig, Lachlan was a young man, broad and tall, tasked with her protection for the first time. “Though ye resemble a maid in these garments.”

“There are many brigands in these parts,” said Elayne. “It’s wiser tae dress simply than tae attract attention.”

Craig had been the one to suggest it in the first place, so that it would not be immediately obvious that she was a noble-born girl. She hoped that if a brigand saw her like this, he wouldn’t be able to tell she was Elayne Macgillivray, daughter of Laird Lewis Macgillivray.

Of course, the plan would only work if the brigands didn’t recognize her especially if they didn’t question why a maid would travel with two guards. Though Craig and Lachlan were similarly dressed, both in simple clothes so as to look like companions, there was an air about them that anyone who had been around guards for enough time would recognize.

It was something that kept nagging Elayne, for she had the growing suspicion that someone was watching them. While they were still close to the castle, she hadn’t suspected anything, but as they rode deeper and deeper into the forest, she could swear there were eyes on her, watching her every move. Neither Craig nor Lachlan seemed concerned at all, though, and Elayne didn’t want to ask them to stop for no reason. They weren’t too far from the cottage now; sooner rather than later, her paranoia would be silenced.

She was simply glad to be out of the castle while Laird McCoy was visiting. The mere thought of him, of his hands somehow always finding their way on her body no matter how much she tried to keep her distance, nauseated her. It didn’t matter that he was handsome. It was true that his features were far from revolting, but his character more than made up for it. He was the cruelest man she knew, more so even than her father, and the ten years that separated them were very obvious when they stood side by side. Next to him, Elayne still resembled a child.

As they rode through the forest, they soon reached the part of the journey where they could hear the trickling of water from the nearby river. Elayne had always hated hearing it, but there was no other road leading to her aunt’s cottage. If she followed the river all the way back up the valley, she would reach the lake where she had almost drowned as a child, if her mother hadn’t saved her, drowning herself—the lake that made her father hate her, unable to forgive her for her mother’s death. Elayne couldn’t forgive herself either.

As painful as the memory of that day was, she didn’t try to cover the sound of the water by talking—she never did. She deserved to remember, to have those memories re-emerge every time she passed by the river, though it could hardly make up for what she had done.

There was something else that pulled her out of her thoughts, though: a sudden sound, loud and clear, which had all three of them looking over their shoulders to locate its source. Suddenly, four men appeared out of the thick greenery of the forest, two behind them and two in front of them, short, gleaming daggers ready in their hands.

“Brigands!” Craig shouted as he jumped off his horse. Neither he nor Lachlan carried a sword, but they both had multiple blades hidden on them, and Elayne knew those men, though they outnumbered them, would be no match for her and her guards.

Her own dirk was strapped to her leg and she grabbed it, ready to jump off her horse and fight. Before she could, though, one of the men approached her, spooking her horse so much that it bucked and tried to kick at him. The horse missed, and Elayne tightened her hold on it, trying desperately to hold on, but when it bucked again, it threw her off its back and fled down the path.

Elayne landed on the ground with a thud and a groan, rolling just as she made impact to avoid the worst of the injury. She could only hope her mare would stop somewhere nearby and that she would be able to retrieve her once it was all over.

I must recover fast. I cannae stay like this.

It would be a death sentence, staying on the ground. One of those brigands would soon find her and kill her. Still, breathing seemed impossible, the air knocked out of her lungs after she had hit the ground, her ribs and her arms aching with the aftermath of her fall. She could hardly draw in any air, let alone stand.

In the chaos, a pair of hands grabbed her and dragged her into the bushes that lined the road. Elayne screamed, but one of those hands quickly muffled her protests, keeping her quiet. In the distance, she saw Craig and Lachlan surrounded by the four men, fighting a losing fight.

This is it… this is how we all die.

“Are ye alright?” asked a soft, quiet voice. “Did ye get hurt?”

For a moment, Elayne froze, not expecting the man to sound concerned. Why would he care if she had been hurt? Perhaps he needed her to be unharmed in order to negotiate with her father, but the concern in his tone didn’t match the kind of concern he would have for his bounty.

It didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that he had released her, and Elayne could finally push herself to her feet and swing her fist, barely missing him when he managed to duck just in time.

That didn’t matter either. She had her blade. Even if she had to fight all of them herself, she would.

Raising her blade, she took a step closer to the young man, but he only backtracked, raising his hands in surrender. Surely, it couldn’t be that easy; he was only trying to lull her into a false sense of security before he attacked.

For the first time, Elayne gave herself a few seconds to take in his features: hair so blond it seemed almost white, a strong jaw, a slightly crooked nose. And then there were those eyes, icy blue, a jagged scar running over them both, from temple to temple.

He was a big man, tall and broad, his frame much bigger than Elayne’s. In some ways, it was an advantage for her. Everyone assumed her to be fragile, short and lithe as she was, so they underestimated her. She may not have had as much brute strength as this man, but she knew her way around a knife and she was faster than any bulky soldier.

“Calm down, lass,” the man said, still backtracking and trying to put some space between them. “I willnae hurt ye, I promise. I’m nae one o’ them.”

Elayne didn’t believe him straight away. It would be foolish to do so. But the more she looked at him, the more she realized everything about this man was different, from his clothes to the heavy sword he carried around his waist. Slowly, she lowered her blade and at the same time, the man lowered his hands.

“Stay here,” he told her quietly and, as he walked past her, he pressed his finger against his lips, asking her to be quiet. Elayne watched him draw his sword out of its sheath and slowly sneak out of the bushes, suddenly attacking the brigands and taking them by surprise.

By then, both Craig and Lachlan lay still on the ground and Elayne had to swallow down the bile that threatened to rise up her throat. Could they be dead? There was no blood that she could see, but that meant nothing. Perhaps it was only because their bodies and the greenery obscured her view.

She couldn’t allow herself to believe they were dead, not even for a moment. She couldn’t have two more deaths on her hands.

Instead, Elayne watched the mysterious man as he fought off the brigands. He had an advantage with the sword, but he also knew how to use it, his movements elegant and practiced. It was almost like a dance, his feet light as he jumped and slid around the four brigands, his arms strong as he brought down his sword. It was then that Elayne was certain he was no brigand. He was nothing like those men who had attacked her and her guards. This man had been trained to fight.

It didn’t take him long to kill the four men single-handedly. By the end of it, he was covered in their blood, some of his own trickling into the mix where the brigands had managed to wound him. The men had collapsed around him and he stood in the middle of them, drawing in slow, ragged breaths for a few moments. She should have been scared of him, terrified even… But she wasn’t, not at all. When he had composed himself, he walked over to Craig and Lachlan, and Elayne rushed out of the bushes, her dirk in her hand once more.

“Dinnae touch them,” she growled, and the man flinched, not expecting such a reaction.

“I only wished tae see if they’re alive,” he said. He watched Elayne carefully as he slowly made his way towards Craig and pressed his fingers against his neck, where he could feel his pulse, and the relief that washed over his features was palpable.

Elayne didn’t know, though, if it came from finding him alive or dead. Just in case, she stood there, ready to strike.

The man walked over to Lachlan and did the same, before approaching Elayne once more. “They’re alive. They should wake soon.”

It was Elayne’s turn to be relieved, her shoulders finally dropping as she allowed herself to relax a little. If this stranger wanted to hurt her, he would have already done so, she figured, so letting her guard down didn’t seem like a bad idea.

The man was close to her before she knew it, his fingers poking and prodding at her head and her arms as Elayne stood there, at a loss for words. He seemed to have no problem touching a woman he didn’t know, but then again, he probably thought Elayne was a maid, not a noble girl who wasn’t used to anyone’s touch.

“Ye’re nae injured, are ye?” he asked her. “Does anythin’ hurt?”

“Nay,” said Elayne. The only thing that hurt was her chest, her heart beating so fast she feared she would collapse, sending all the blood in her body to her face. “I’m alright. Thank ye… they could have killed us if ye hadnae come.”

“I’m always glad tae help a damsel,” said the man, grinning from ear to ear. The gesture deformed his scar even more, but Elayne was surprised to find out she didn’t mind it at all. There was something alluring about it and it did nothing to detract from his beauty. “Though I cannae say ye were so much in distress. Ye fight well.”

Though Elayne could fight, she could hardly take a compliment, and she lowered her gaze as her cheeks burned, trying to hide the blush. When she spoke again, she chose a safer topic.

“Ye’re nae from these parts, are ye?” she asked. She would know if he was. “What’s yer name?”

“Dunn,” said the man. “An’ nay… I was passin’ through when I saw ye were all in danger.”

“Dunn,” Elayne repeated, trying out the name. It suited him, she thought. “What clan dae ye belong tae?”

Dunn only smiled at her question and then busied himself with his sword, cleaning it and tucking it safely back in its sheath. She wasn’t going to get an answer, it seemed.

“Shall I accompany ye tae yer destination?” Dunn asked after a short stretch of silence. He looked over his shoulder at Craig and Lachlan and Elayne followed his gaze to see them stirring. “Yer guards are already awake.”

“They’re… they’re nae me guards,” Elayne said. “Only me travellin’ companions.”

Dunn gave her a slightly amused look. Still, he didn’t try to correct her, and that convinced Elayne he could see right through their disguises. “Yer companions, then. They’re wakin’.”

Glancing between Dunn and her guards, Elayne shook her head. “We’ll be fine. Thank ye. It’s only half an hour’s ride from here.”

“Very well,” said Dunn. He had pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and was dabbing at the blood on his face. When he tucked it back in, he leaned closer and pressed his lips against Elayne’s into a soft kiss before she could do anything to resist.

A gasp escaped her, her eyes slipping shut. It was the barest brush of lips, but it was more than Elayne had ever experienced before, so even that simple, tender gesture stole her breath away.

When she opened her eyes again, Dunn was gone, and Craig and Lachlan were pushing themselves off the ground, brushing the dirt off their clothes.

Looking over at Elayne, Craig asked, “What happened?”

Elayne looked at him, then at the bodies on the ground. Then, she looked at the space Dunn had occupied only moments before, now entirely empty.

“I dinnae ken.”

Chapter One

Present, The Seven Stars Inn

The smell of ale and wine permeated the air around Elayne. The inn was small, the only one in the village, so she had no other options if she wanted to be inside during the storm.

I should have listened tae me aunt an’ stayed with her at her cottage.

It would have surely been preferable to this, even if it would have delayed her return home, but when she had left her aunt’s home, she had had good reason.

Once again, she read the letter she held in her hands, the paper crumpled from the number of times she had folded and unfolded it, clutching it tightly between her fingers. It had arrived at her aunt’s cottage right before Elayne had left, a warning from her best friend Isobel that her father had planned her marriage to Laird McCoy in her absence.

I cannae believe he would dae such a thing.

Only, the more she thought about it, the more plausible it became. Her father wanted to rid himself of her and gain as much land as he could, and what better way to do that than marry her off to Laird McCoy? That way, both men would get what they wanted—her father would have his lands and he would never have to see Elayne again, and Laird McCoy could finally force her into his bed without anyone else objecting to it.

But even fer me faither, this is too much.

Elayne slammed her hands onto the sticky table, the cup of ale in front of her almost tipping over before she steadied it. She took a few long gulps, though she had already had too much to drink. At the beginning of the night, she had come down from her room to have one cup but now she had already drained three and was well on her way through the fourth. She couldn’t think of any other way to drown her sorrows or steel herself for the conversation she was going to have with her father.

She would refuse to marry McCoy. She would do anything in her power to prevent this wedding from happening or she would die trying.

But what can I dae? Me faither will never allow me tae say nay.

Maybe death really was her only other choice and compared to marrying Laird McCoy, it seemed like the better option.

There was no one for Elayne to even turn to. Under any other circumstances, she would have asked Craig for help or at least advice, but he and Lachlan hadn’t made it to the inn yet. Perhaps the storm had delayed them as they were returning to the cottage to bring her back home or perhaps they had made it there and decided to spend the night, like Elayne had, under a roof before resuming their travel the following morning.

Elayne would leave with or without them. She knew the woods well and she could take care of herself, so going back home shouldn’t be an issue. The matter of her wedding couldn’t wait.

As she drained her fourth cup of ale, she glimpsed a large figure from the corner of her eye. The man sat down on the chair next to her and Elayne braced herself for an argument or maybe even a fight. She was in no mood to act like the nice noble girl she had been brought up to be that night. If he refused to leave her alone, he would find himself in a lot of trouble.

“Find yer own table,” Elayne said, hearing herself as she slurred her words. For the first time that night, she realized she was a little tipsy, but she was certain her nausea wasn’t from the alcohol. It was from the thought that upon returning to the castle, she would see Laird McCoy and he would once again put his hands on her, thinking he was more entitled than ever to her body.

“Is this how ye speak tae the man who saved yer life?”

It was a strangely familiar voice and Elayne turned to look at the man next to her, only to find it was none other than Dunn. Her mouth fell open as she stared at him, suddenly appearing next to her in the same way he had disappeared a month prior. In the dim light of the inn, he looked even more mysterious, like a phantom instead of a person. His features, those blue eyes and his pale hair, made him seem otherworldly.

“Dunn,” she gasped, still unable to believe he was there. “What are ye doin’ here?”

“Here at yer table or here in the area?”

“Both,” said Elayne. “Either.”

“Ye seemed very sad, so I wanted tae see if ye wished tae have company,” said Dunn. It didn’t surprise Elayne that he remained quiet regarding the reason of his presence in the area. “I never expected tae see ye again.”

“Neither did I.” Elayne certainly needed more ale now. In the half-light of the room, she gazed at him more openly than she would have had she been sober, letting her eyes trail over his features before they settled on the scar across his eyes.

“Daes it frighten ye?”

Elayne was too busy staring at Dunn to understand what he meant, and she made a questioning sound, frowning at him.

Dunn laughed softly. “The scar,” he said. “Daes it frighten ye?”

“Ach… nay,” said Elayne. “Why would it frighten me?”

“It has frightened many.”

A scar was hardly enough to frighten Elayne, especially when it was attached to such a handsome man. Ever since that day in the forest, she had been unable to stop thinking about him, about that kiss he had given her, replaying it in her mind again and again.

“How did it happen?” she asked, just to keep him talking.

“In a vicious fight,” Dunn said. “I was almost blinded.”

It would have been a shame, Elayne thought, if something had happened to those beautiful eyes. She could get lost in them, staring at them forever, but even in her drunken state she could tell it would be odd if she continued to stare like that. Clearing her throat, she sat up a little straighter, trying to fight off the dizziness that came with the movement.

“So, here ye are… an’ ye willnae even tell me the reason,” she said after a short silence that stretched between them. “I promise ye, I willnae tell anyone. I have nae one tae tell.”

For a moment, Dunn seemed conflicted. He looked over his shoulders at the people around them, the inn so crowded that no one was paying them any mind. Still, he was reluctant, keeping quiet.

“What could be such a big secret?” asked Elayne. “Ye cannae simply tell me naething now!”

Dunn huffed out a laugh, shrugging a shoulder. “Very well,” he said, leaning closer to speak quietly to Elayne. “I am here as a scout. There are rumors there will be a war led by Clan Macgillivray. I’m here tae gather information but, I dinnae ken. I’ve been here fer months an’ nae one seems tae ken anythin’ about a war. The villagers are as clueless as ever.”

A war? What war could there be?

Elayne had heard nothing about a war. These were times of peace and her father had strong alliances with other clans. Why would he risk going to war? What else could he possibly want?

“Perhaps the rumors are false,” was all she could say.

“Perhaps,” said Dunn. “But I doubt it. There are many outside these parts who are talkin’ about it. If I could somehow enter the castle, then maybe I would find out what is happenin’, but I have nae hope o’ achievin’ that. I will never be able tae enter the castle walls.”

Perhaps her betrothal to Laird McCoy had something to do with this. Elayne wasn’t willing to dismiss this as nothing but rumors just yet. Knowing her father, it wouldn’t surprise her to find out that he had, after all, been planning to start a war in search of more power and more land. Those were the only two things that kept him going since her mother’s death, the only two things he craved in life.

“Well, I certainly, havenae heard anythin’ in the castle,” Elayne said with a small shrug. “But perhaps yer right. I wouldnae ken.”

“Ye live in the castle?” Dunn asked. “Are ye a maid there?”

Elayne frowned, wondering why he would ask that, but then she realized that the only two times they had met, she had been dressed in those clothes, the ones she had worn specifically for her trip. What else would he assume other than her being a maid? She certainly looked the part—she had made sure of it. But he hadn’t seemed convinced about her denial, when he had mentioned her travelling with guards the previous time, they had met.

“Somethin’ like that,” she said, not wanting to reveal the truth. She trusted Dunn, as he had saved her life, but that didn’t mean she was about to reveal her true identity to him. Danger still lurked everywhere around Elayne and she was unwilling to take any risks.

Just as she was about to speak again, a serving wench came by their table, refilling their cups. She lingered there a little too long, smiling coyly at Dunn, and he smiled back at her, raising his cup in a toast. As she left, she kept looking over her shoulder at him, much to Elayne’s amusement.

“Ye’re popular with the lasses, then?” she asked, raising a curious eyebrow. In response, Dunn only laughed, saying nothing on the matter, but it was obvious when Elayne began to look. A lot of women in the inn had their sights on him, watching him through the crowd.

For a while, Elayne busied herself with her cup, spinning it in her hands. Even though a silence fell between them, Dunn seemed in no hurry to leave, so she took a few sips, enjoying the lull in the conversation. It was comfortable, oddly enough. They didn’t need to fill the silence.

Still, there was a nagging thought in Elayne’s mind and in the end, she couldn’t help but ask, “How dae ye think a lass can escape an unwanted marriage?”

The question took Dunn by surprise. He turned to face Elayne fully, though he didn’t seem at all confused by it. “I see, is that why ye’re so sad, then?”

Elayne nodded wordlessly. How could she be anything but devastated when she knew she would be forced into a marriage with such a terrible man? Growing up, she had thought her wedding would be a joyous moment, that her father would find her the perfect match, but that was before her mother’s death. It was before he changed, before grief had turned him into a monster.

“Well, I suppose the only way tae escape it is tae marry someone else, dinnae ye think?” Dunn said after a few moments of deep thought. “Yer family is arrangin’ the marriage fer ye?”

“Aye,” said Elayne, but Dunn’s suggestion had already distracted her. How could she marry someone else? Where would she even find a man to marry her on such short notice?

But then an idea bloomed into her head. She looked at Dunn, taking in his handsome features, the kind smile, the warmth in his eyes that one wouldn’t expect from such an icy color. So far, he had been nothing but helpful to her, going as far as to save her life from those brigands. When he had seen her in the inn and realized she was upset, he had gone over to talk to her.

And, of course, he was a man. A handsome one, even.

“Dunn,” Elayne said, leaning a little closer to close the distance between them. “Are ye betrothed tae someone?”

“Nay,” Dunn said with a small frown, this time confused by her question.

This is excellent. He is precisely what I need.

“Perfect! Then ye could pretend tae be wedded tae me!”

Laughing, Dunn shook his head as if this was a joke. But then he saw how serious and how excited Elayne was and his smile slowly dropped.

“Ye cannae mean it.”

“O’ course I mean it,” said Elayne. “This is the perfect solution. I can escape this marriage an’ ye can come tae the castle. This is what ye needed, is it nae?”

Dunn sputtered for a few moments, at a loss for words. When he spoke, his voice was higher than his usual baritone. “Ye’re insane! I cannae pretend tae be yer husband! Ye dinnae even ken anythin’ about me. I could be insane. I could try tae murder ye.”

“If ye wished tae murder me, ye would have already done it,” Elayne pointed out. “Or ye would have let the brigands kill me. Either way, ye didnae. Ye saved me life, ye didnae try tae take advantage o’ me nor did ye rob me. Ye have proven tae me that ye’re a good man.”

“I absolutely willnae dae this,” Dunn insisted, already leaning away from Elayne. Before he could get too far, though, she grabbed his arm and stopped him, looking him straight in the eye.

“The castle,” she reminded him. “Ye said ye need the information.”

With a sigh, Dunn looked around as if he expected someone to rescue him from this conversation. The more he considered it, though, the more he relaxed in Elayne’s grip, until he was fully sitting back in his seat.

“Why would ye wish tae help me?” he asked.

“We’d be helpin’ each other,” Elayne reminded him. “I am nae doin’ this without gettin’ somethin’ in return. An’ it’s best fer everyone if there isnae a war. The clan is weak… a war would be madness.”

If anything, Elayne needed him more than Dunn needed her, but he didn’t have to know that. If the clan truly went to war, Elayne was certain they would lose. The previous wars had left them weakened, many of their soldiers gone in battle.

Still, despite the promise of help, Dunn was reluctant to agree. “Are ye tryin’ tae trick me?”

Elayne shook her head. “Nay. I promise ye. I will dae anythin’ ye ask. The only thing I willnae dae is allow ye tae touch me. Ye must understand that I have nae desire tae wed an’ this will only be a fake marriage, so if ye think I will fall intae bed with ye, ye should tell me now so I can find someone else.”

Dunn laughed, loud and delighted, as if Elayne’s warning amused him. “Ye didnae complain when I kissed ye.”

It was Elayne’s turn to sputter, throwing her hands up in exasperation. How presumptuous of him to think she had enjoyed that kiss! She had, of course, enjoyed it, but that was beside the point as far as she was concerned.

“I only allowed it because ye saved me life,” she said indignantly. “I willnae allow it again.”

Dunn gave her a lopsided grin, one Elayne was certain was popular with women, but she was determined not to be swayed by his charms. This was nothing but a business transaction. As Dunn considered it silently, Elayne tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, the tapping rhythm of them drowned out by the voices in the inn.

“Alright,” Dunn said eventually with a decisive nod, before he reached for Elayne’s arm to pull her closer—too close for her liking. “Ye have a deal. But I promise ye, by the end o’ this, ye’ll be beggin’ fer a kiss.”

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“Alistair, I need…I need you.”

Alistair knew, at that moment, that he had lost the war against his desire. The lass could not possibly know the import of what she was saying. “You do not know what you are asking for,” he said. It was a last-ditch attempt to save her from his passion.

“I do,” Jane said, looking at him. There was defiance in her gaze. “I do.”

His resolve broke.

He kissed her with all the longing that he felt, and she responded ardently. But then he noticed that she was withdrawn.

That was more than a little disappointing. “Where is your mind, lass?” he asked.

“I was thinking about…clothes,” Jane returned.

“Clothes? You are thinking about clothes when I am kissing you? Perhaps you want me to stop?”

He made to leave, but she reached for his kilt. That was more than enough to restore his fervor. “Indecent thoughts indeed,” he murmured against her lips. “You wanted this from the start.” He undid it himself, and watched her look down, her face dimming in worry.

“It worries you.” Alistair said into her ear while he pulled down her dress so her breasts were exposed. “It should not. I will be very, very gentle with you. Do not think at all. Only feel.” Jane nodded at his reassurance, and he smiled reassuringly at her.

“You are beautiful, Jane,” Alistair said, his eyes on her breast. “Beautiful.” He bent down and captured one nipple in his mouth. It was soft, plump, perfect in his mouth. A moan escaped Jane, and she clutched at his head.

His lips moved to the other breast as he pulled her slip down. And then he carried her to his bed. He kissed a path from her breasts to her belly to the tangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. Jane started. She sat up and tried to push him away, but he did not move.

From between her legs, he looked directly into her eyes. At the first flick of his tongue, Jane keened. She locked her legs together, so that Alistair was trapped between them, and she clamped her hands over her mouth.

She burst into tears when she reached her climax.

Alistair felt his member strain.

Jane hid her face in his bed, but Alistair would not allow that. “Why are you hiding your pleasure, my lass?” he asked.

“The others… in the castle…they’ll hear.”

Alistair chuckled. “They can hear nothing. And if they could, what would it matter? I am told that our attraction is blatant.”

“Oh,” Jane said. “And of course they fault you for bedding an English miss.”

He silenced her with a kiss. “Jane,” he said, after he pulled away from her. His fingers insinuated themselves between her legs. He stroked her, and, through hooded lids, watched her.

“Jane,” he said again, more insistently this time.

“Alistair.”

“When we are together, nothing else matters. The castle, the matters of state. England and Scotland. There is you.” He brought the hand between her legs up and sucked on his thumb. This made Jane’s breath catch. He returned the hand and continued the stroking. “And there is me. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.” Jane whispered breathlessly.

“What did I say, my sweet? Tell me.” His thumb was faster now, and he could see that she was struggling to form words.

“That there is only you and me!” she squeaked in one desperate breath.

“Good girl.” Alistair said, just as Jane shook in release.

He waited for her shocks to subside. There was a satisfied smile on his face.

“Sweetling,” he whispered in her ears, “this will hurt you a little.”

“I know,” Jane said, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“No, look at me,” Alistair instructed. He could not have her tense, for that would make for an uncomfortable first time. “I would never cause you pain intentionally, Jane,” he said earnestly.

Jane nodded and said she knew.

Alistair bot her nipples. He entered her slowly, his eyes fixed on her face. When he pushed past her maidenhead, she winced, but otherwise, she was calm. He began to move slowly, giving her time to adjust. Slowly, Jane began to move with him, and this satisfied Alistair greatly. She did not hide her pleasure this time.

When he was about to join her in release, he swiftly pulled out of her and spent himself on the floor. When he returned to her, she was smiling shyly. “Is that…is that what makes babies?”

“I hereby make a rule in my bed,” he announced, making a show of pouncing on her so that she squealed and rolled to the other side of the bed. “There shall be only loving. We shall reserve talking for the fields or the dinner table or the forest. And maybe the bath chamber.” He paused. “No, there shall be no talking in the bath chamber, either.”

Jane giggled. “Surely you do not mean that. So I cannot talk to you in the hallway, or in the kitchen, or by the lake?”

“The thought of us meeting in the kitchen is quite wild,” Alistair said. “You are a captive, and I am the laird.”

“Very well,” she said. “I make a rule in your bed, too.”

Alistair chuckled. “You cannot do that. It is my bed.”

“But in this moment, we are sharing it. Which makes it my bed, too.”

“Typical Englishwoman. Wanting to take things not belonging to you.”

Jane frowned.

Alistair sat up and said earnestly, “That was a joke, Jane. Purely a joke. You must believe me. Of course you can have rules in my bed.”

Jane said nothing still.

“Sweetling,” Alistair coaxed. He took a love bite of her shoulder and whispered sweet nothings in her ear. Jane squirmed against him, and when he looked in her eyes the light had returned to them.

“My first rule,” Jane said, doing her best to sound like a king, “is that there shall be no mention of the English-Scottish war.”

“A most wise choice, my liege,” Alistair said. “Will you be making any more rules today?

“Do not rush me, Ser Alistair!” she snapped.

“Never, never!” Alistair exclaimed, putting on a rather pitiful show of being subservient. Jane burst into laughter and Alistair watched her, a look of delight on his face. “I do hope the next rule you make is that I can ravish you as much as I want,” he said, his fingers tracing the outline of her lips.

Jane seemed to think about that for a moment, “You know what, Ser Alistair?” she said.

“What, my lady?” Alistair asked with a grin.

Jane grinned and locked her hands behind his neck. And Alistair decided that there was nothing quite like it, having Jane happy in his bed. “That might very well be my next rule.”

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Clan Fletcher Lands, 1349

If there was something a Fletcher man excelled at besides snuffing out his enemies in battle, it was hunting.

Alistair, laird of the Fletcher clan, was flanked by Keith, his best friend, and Douglas, one of his most trusted warriors. Douglas’s ten-year-old son, sat in front of Douglas on the horse. This was the first time that the boy would accompany them. They were a little distance from Castle Fletcher. Their destination was the woods, which lay just beyond the formidable hill that they were just now descending.

When they got to the bottom of the hill, Tasgall exclaimed in wonder. He then looked at Alistair and Keith. “I am sorry,” he said.

“What fer?” Alistair asked.

“Talking,” Tasgall returned. “Pa says that if you must be quiet on a hunt, so ye dinnae scare the game away.”

Alistair smiled kindly at the boy. “Is that what he said?” he asked. “Well, there is nothing to fear, Tasgall, fer the game we seek is in the woods, and we are not yet there. Also, I dinnae think yer father follows his own rules. On hunts, he is the most talkative.” There was a tilting lint in his eye.

“Nay, I am nae,” Douglas said, addressing his son. “Lad, I am quiet as a mouse and more focused than an ant bringing fruit tae its colony.”

“And more dutiful than a beehive’s workers too?” Keith prompted. “I could never tire of reciting a lot of things that you clearly arenae!”

Douglas chuckled. “A lad is out with his faither. Dinnae spread lies against him.”

“I still think that ye are the best warrior there is, even though ye arenae quiet as a mouse or more focused than an ant or more dutiful than a beehive’s workers,” Tasgall said earnestly.

Alistair and Keith made sounds of mock emotion. “There’s a fine lad,” Keith said. “Supporting his papa no matter what. A better vision I have never seen.”

“Oh, stop it, Keith!” Douglas bellowed, but there was mirth in his voice. “Dinnae listen tae him, lad,” he said to Tasgall.

“You’d better listen tae me, lad,” Keith said. “I am old enough tae be yer faither.”

“Nay, ye’re nae,” Alistair and Douglas said in unison. “But if ye keep at the rate ye are going, ye will have a son of yer own soon.”

“By keeping at the rate he is going, Pa,” Tasgall said, “dae ye mean that Uncle Keith is making very serious plans tae marry?”

“Yes,” Douglas said quickly. Keith howled in laughter. “I am careful,” he said, “in me making of very serious plans tae marry.” He turned to Alistair. “Besides, ‘tis the laird that needs tae find a bride soon.”

“I am aware of my duties,” Alistair said. “But I shall take me time in choosing the right woman.”

“You must accept, however, that ye have lost yer way with women. There is only so much women can take before they give up. This year alone, didnae about twenty women vie fer yer hand? I remember almost all of them: offering tae cook specially fer ye in the kitchens, regaling ye with stories about the fecundity that runs in their families, risking shame just tae show ye their…” He looked at Tasgall. “Ample proportions? And there was that one that shot an arrow almost better than ye and walked like a strapping lad. She challenged ye tae a swordfight thinking that it would arouse ye, I remember.”

“Ah, yes, Caitlin, I believe she was called,” Alistair said. “A very manly sort. But a formidable opponent – fer a lass.”

“Did her manliness stop ye from… engaging in activities with her?” Keith asked.

“Quite simply, aye,” Alistair replied.

“Ah,” Keith said, “but nae with certain of the others, I am sure.” He winked at Alistair. “Fiona, fer example. She had the most-” He looked at Tasgall. “She had the most generous proportions that I have ever seen on a woman. And she giggled whenever yerur eyes met hers. Ye cannae deny it.”

“I have had me fun with women, and now I have more important things tae think about,” Alistair returned.

“Me maither says marriage is about finding yer one true love,” Tasgall said.

“A wise woman she is, is yer maither,” Keith said. “That is the only reason I dinnae fear fer yer future, dear lad. The only wisdom yer faither knows is the wisdom of crashing a skull with his club.”

Douglas and Alistair burst into laughter.

“But,” Keith said, “on this matter, yer maither is blinded by her whims. She believes in love tae a degree that exceeds the advisable level. As a matter of fact, there is no advisable level tae believing in love. Nay one should believe in it. The end.”

“You’ll nae speak ill of me wife,” Douglas said.

“I speak nay ill of me sister,” Keith returned, giving Douglas a proprietary look that said ‘she was me sister afore she became yer wife’. “I only speak the truth.” They had gotten to the forest’s edge now. “Ah,” Keith remarked, taking a sniff of the air. “Game. Waiting tae be caught and killed.”

“Dinnae be so dark, Keith,” Alistair said.

“As ye command, me laird.” He turned to Tasgall. “Ye must be quiet now. Especially when ye sight game. We must have none of that blathering that ye assaulted our ears with on the way.”

Tasgall gasped. “But it was ye who did most of the talking on our way here, Uncle Keith!” he protested.

“Keep the untruths in your belly and focus, lad,” Keith hissed. Tasgall turned to look at his father. Douglas smoothed a hand over his chest to indicate to his son to calm down, but there was a smile on his face. This was simply his brother-in-law’s nature.

Keith listened for a while, but his ears caught nothing interesting. “Ye can talk as much as ye want tae, there’s nay game on this side of the forest,” he said to Tasgall with a sigh. “Did I ever tell ye that the men on our side of the family, except me, can never grow hair on their head as soon as they turn twelve years old?”

Tasgall looked at his father in horror.

“He is only jesting,” Douglas assured. “Yer uncle loves tae jest…”

Alistair heard the sound of footsteps. His eyebrow arched. He wandered away from the group in the direction of the sound. They led him to a lake. The rays of the sun glimmered on the water like pure crystals. At the lake’s bank, he saw an old lady with a wooden bucket. He swallowed his disappointment. He had no idea what he had expected to see, but it was surely not this. Her clothes were well-worn, and her hair was white as the driven snow. He had never seen hair that white before. He turned to go.

“Alistair.”

He turned swiftly. His eyes fixed themselves on the woman. But she did not look at him. She continued at her task of filling the bucket up as though she had not just called his name. “Ye are the laird of the land,” she said. “I saw ye in a dream just last night.” She looked up and Alistair inhaled sharply. How could he not have guessed? She was the witch of the Highlands, believed to be real by most, thought to be an old wives’ tale by others, but feared by all.

“What dae ye seek outside yer cottage?” Alistair asked.

The woman chuckled. “Ye have never visited me tae find out about yer future and ye must. Great leaders take advantage of divinity instead of hiding from it. ‘Tis the only way ye can have the advantage in life.”

“I make me own advantages,” Alistair said.

The woman cackled, exposing toothless gums. “Of course, Alistair. As brave and ambitious as yer faither.”

“Ye ken naething of me faither,” Alistair said, fighting to keep his voice even. It was Highlander law to leave the witch alone, but some adventurous souls sometimes visited her with gifts in exchange for a reading. His father had had to deal with such cases: a swordsmith, for example, had attempted to kill his neighbor because the witch had told him that it was the neighbor who would cause his death. Just as his father had been about to give judgment, the neighbor had begun to laugh at the seeming absurdity of him causing someone else’s death. The man who had consulted the witch had, in one deft movement, pried a warrior’s sword from its sheath and decapitated his neighbor. Two days later, he had been put to death, for that was the law.

Alistair had found ways to explain it away, for he did not want to believe that the witch’s words had come true. But there was a part of him that knew that they had.

“Dinnae ye want tae ken yer future, dear laird?” the witch asked him.

“I have nay interest in doing so,” Alistair responded.

“Well, I insist,” the witch said matter-of-factly. “Ye will meet the woman ye are destined tae fall in love with a year from now. She is the opposite of everything that ye would expect, or want, in a soulmate, but she truly matches ye in all the ways that truly matter.”

Alistair burst into laughter. “Why would I marry a Highland lass that is the opposite of what I want?”

The witch grinned at him, and if he were a man of a weaker constitution, a chill might have run down his spine. “Who said anything about a Highland lass?” she asked.

Alistair heard Keith and Douglas calling him and he turned to look behind him. He then turned back to the lake, but the witch was gone. Keith, Douglas, and Tasgall made their way to him.

“Me laird, why did ye decide tae disappear in the middle of the forest?” Douglas asked.

“I thought I saw something,” Alistair replied. “A deer. And since ye and Douglas were busy discussing like two little lasses, I decided tae go after it meself.”

Douglas and Keith laughed. “Your braither is the one acting like a little girl,” Keith said, “hiding secrets and skipping the hunt all the time.”

“Alistair chuckled, for Keith was not wrong. “What me brother does with his free time is his problem. It is probably a lass. Kenning him, it will be over soon and we will be our merry little trioagain.”

“Frio,” Tasgall said suddenly.

“What?”

“Frio. I want to come on all your hunts from now on. It is either this or being forced to mind the castle with Maither. So, we will be a frio. A trio is a group of three people. But when the laird’s brother joins us, we will be four. A frio.”

Alistair, Douglas and Keith burst into laughter.

As they made their way back to the original path, Alistair’s mirth gave way to worry.

What if the witch was right?

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