A month earlier

Davina Fletcher stood just beyond the door to her father’s study, her hand resting lightly against the cool stone of the corridor wall, as though it might steady her. Inside, voices rose and fell with the measured cadence of men accustomed to deciding the course of other people’s lives.

Her life.

The door had not been closed fully, which was an oversight, perhaps, or a mercy, and through the narrow opening she could see the edge of her father’s desk and the backs of four unfamiliar men who had entered with him earlier that afternoon. They stood in a loose semicircle, with their cloaks still on their shoulders, as if they had no time for such trivialities.

One of them was Malcolm Kincaid. Only, she didn’t know which.

Davina leaned closer, careful not to let her skirts whisper against the stone.

“…a fair match,” her father was saying in his usual, authoritative tone. “Me daughter is well educated, well mannered, and raised with a full understanding of her duties.”

Duties. The word landed with a familiar weight.

“Aye,” another voice replied. It sounded younger than her father’s. “And Clan Kincaid daesnae enter agreements lightly. Malcolm understands what is expected of him.”

Davina’s breath caught at the name.

So that voice belonged to him or perhaps not. It could just as easily be one of the others. She strained to listen more closely, wishing foolishly that she might glimpse a face, a gesture, anything that would distinguish the man to whom her future was being so neatly assigned.

“The lands bordering the eastern ridge will remain under Fletcher stewardship,” her father continued.

“Of course,” the same voice said. “And in return, the protection of Kincaid arms is assured.”

Davina closed her eyes briefly.

Protection. Assurance. Alliance.

No one had yet spoken her name. She wondered, not for the first time, whether Malcolm Kincaid knew what color her eyes were. She wondered whether he laughed easily and whether he would notice if she went quiet when angered, or if she hummed when tired.

Inside the study, the discussion gathered pace.

“The contract can be signed within the month,” her father said. “Me daughter will be ready.”

“Aye,” another man replied. “Witnesses from both clans, of course.”

“And the dowry?” asked the smooth voice again, the one that might belong to Malcolm, or might not.

“It will reflect the strength of this alliance,” her father answered. “As will the expectations placed upon the bride.”

“The marriage must be consummated promptly,” someone added, matter-of-factly. “There can be nay doubt of legitimacy.”

Davina’s fingers curled where they rested against the stone.

Consummated promptly?

“Children will bind the clans further,” another voice agreed. “An heir within the year would be… ideal.”

“Like I said, me daughter understands her duty,” her father said firmly. “She has been raised fer this role.”

“Then we are in accord,” the smooth voice concluded. “Dates, witnesses, lands, protection, everything is agreed.”

A marriage was settled, not as joining of two lives, but as a treaty signed in voices and expectation, while the girl it concerned stood unheard beyond the door.

Suddenly, she heard the chairs scrape softly against the floor.

“Well met,” one man said. “Until we meet again.”

“May this alliance prosper us all,” another added.

Davina’s pulse leapt. She moved at once, gliding back from the door and slipping behind the nearest curtain just as the study door opened. The heavy fabric swallowed her. She felt dust and lavender pressing close as she held her breath.

Boots sounded in the corridor. She peered through a narrow fold.

Four men emerged. Their figures stood dark against the lamplight spilling briefly from the study before the door was shut again. They spoke in murmurs, chuckling here and there, already turning their minds to roads and horses and tomorrow’s concerns.

Then, they headed in the direction opposite to her. Davina strained to see just one profile, just one glance. But the darkness kept its secrets. The last footstep disappeared down the stone passage, and silence returned. Davina let out the breath she had been holding and pressed a hand to her chest. She waited only a moment longer before stepping from behind the curtain.

She inhaled deeply, mustering the courage for what she was about to do. She smoothed her skirts, finding a few invisibles wrinkles that demanded her attention, and proceeded to enter her father’s study as though she had every right to be there…. which, she supposed, she did.

Ramsay Fletcher stood by his desk, pouring himself a measure of whisky. He looked up at once, and his expression softened into unmistakable satisfaction.

“Ah, there ye are, me lass,” he said, gesturing at her to come closer. “I was just about tae send fer ye.”

“I heard voices,” Davina replied carefully. “Yer guests have gone?”

“They have,” he said, setting the glass aside untouched. “And they have left us with excellent news.”

He gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing.

“The matter is settled,” he continued, clearly pleased. “Ye are tae be married tae Malcolm Kincaid.”

Her heart gave a small, traitorous lurch. “When?”

“Within the month,” he said. “The ceremony will take place in Kincaid Castle, tae make it public, dignified, and beyond reproach. Witnesses from both clans. It will send a clear message.”

“A message,” she echoed.

“Aye,” her father confirmed, missing the edge in her tone. “A message of unity, of strength, of prosperity fer both our clans.”

“And Malcolm?” she asked. “What sort of man is he?”

Her father smiled. “A good one. He is ambitious and well-spoken. He understands duty.” He said it as if that was the most important thing in the world. And to him, it was.

Davina folded her hands together to still them. “Will I meet him?”

Her father waved the question aside as though it were of no real consequence. “Nay,” he said. “There is nay need.”

She blinked. “Nay need?”

“The matter is settled,” he continued calmly. “Ye will marry. Whether ye meet him beforehand or nae makes little difference.”

Davina’s fingers tightened. “I would have thought it might matter somewhat. He is tae be me husband.”

Her father regarded her with mild surprise, as though she had asked why the sun rose in the morning. “It is nae affection we are securing, Davina. It is alliance.”

She drew a careful breath. “Even so—”

“Ye have been raised tae understand this,” he interrupted her gently, but firmly. “Marriage is nae a courtship tale. It is duty, stability and continuity. Malcolm Kincaid understands this, as dae I. And ye will as well.”

Her voice softened, though the words did not. “I should like tae ken the man whose life I am meant tae share.”

Her father shook his head. “Ye will ken him well enough after the vows are spoken. Before that, it daesnae matter.”

Davina lowered her gaze, schooling her expression into calm obedience, just as she had been taught to do.

“Very well,” she said.

Her father smiled again, evidently satisfied with her behavior. “Good. There is nay sense in troubling yerself over details that cannae change.”

He turned back toward his desk, already reaching for a stack of papers. The matter was clearly concluded in his mind.

“If ye are inclined tae trouble yerself with anything,” he added, almost kindly, “ye may occupy yer thoughts with the gown or the flowers. Those choices are yers.”

She lifted her eyes then. “The flowers?”

“Aye,” he responded.

Davina inclined her head once more. “I will give it due consideration.”

“That is all I ask,” her father replied, already eyeing a ledger. “Ye may go.”

She turned toward the door. Only when she reached the threshold did she pause, allowing her fingers to rest lightly against the wood.

“The gown, then,” she said quietly.

“Aye,” her father replied without looking up. “Make it a fine one.”

Davina stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her. The latch clicked softly. She stood there for a moment and wondered how it was that the most significant decision of her life had been reduced to silk and blossoms.

Then she lifted her chin and walked on, carrying with her the knowledge that while her future had been decided, she had been given, at least, the illusion of choice.

And she would learn, in time, what such illusions were worth.

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