Wed to the Highland Brute (Preview)
Chapter One
1378, Kincaid Castle
“Naething must go wrong today, Davina,” Ramsay Fletcher told his daughter as he adjusted the edge of his tartan. “This union is the finest match our clan has secured in a generation. The eyes of half the Highlands are upon us.”
Davina’s eyes drifted to the great doors at the end of the corridor, which gleamed ominously. Beyond them lay the grand hall of Kincaid Castle, where nobles gathered, where candles burned low, and where Malcolm Kincaid waited. Her fingers tightened around her bouquet.
“I hope tae bring ye nay cause fer embarrassment, Faither.”
“Ye’ll dae more than that,” he said, and his tone seemed to soften, albeit only slightly. “Ye’ll raise our name. A Fletcher bound tae the Kincaids, just think of it! Yer children will carry a bloodline fit fer court.” His chest swelled with pride. “Aye, me dear, this is how legacies are made.”
Eleonor Fletcher was standing behind her daughter, and she leaned in to brush a stray curl from beneath the lace veil. “Legacies are well enough, Ramsay,” she murmured, “but it is her life, nae ours, that begins today.”
Ramsay gave her a brief look. “And what is a life without honor and position, Eleonor? Ye ken well the world we live in. The clans remember who climbs and who falls.”
Davina nodded obediently. “I understand, Faither. Me duty is clear.”
Her mother frowned. “Duty should nae eclipse happiness.”
Her father agreed. “Happiness is a fickle thing, me dear, but worth finding. Malcolm is a fine man, well-bred and mannerly. There’s nay reason ye should nae be content with him.”
Eleonor’s fingers lingered on Davina’s shoulder. “Contentment and joy are nae the same.”
“I will find both,” Davina said, though she was uncertain whom she meant to convince: her mother, her father, or herself.
Ramsay straightened, satisfied. “Good lass. When the doors open, walk with pride. Every whisper in that hall will speak our name, and I’ll have them speak it with admiration.”
The faint echo of music drifted through the corridor, signaling that the guests had taken their seats. The grand doors of the castle hall gleamed ahead, heavy with expectation.
Eleonor’s hand trembled slightly as she adjusted the edge of Davina’s veil. “Ye look beautiful, me love.”
Davina smiled, and the uneasiness seemed to dissipate, if only a little. “Thank ye, Mama.”
Ramsay cleared his throat. “It is time. Hold yer head high, Davina. Today, ye are nae merely a bride, ye are the bridge between two great clans.”
She nodded, steadying her breath. “Then may the bridge hold.”
With that, Ramsay offered his arm. The music swelled beyond the doors, and Davina stepped forward. The doors creaked open with a deep, echoing groan, and a hundred eyes tuned toward her at once.
She could see Malcolm Kincaid standing at the altar, tall and smiling faintly. His dark hair was catching the sunlight that poured through the stained glass. His eyes were bright gray, like a Highland storm, and now, they met hers with calm reassurance. For one small moment, her fear eased.
But then, another pair of eyes caught her attention. Her heart beat was meant for the vows to come, yet her world tilted upon seeing this man. A pale scar slashed his cheek, further pulling her attention toward him. He wasn’t smiling and somehow, that made him even more magnetic. There was power in his silent gaze, in the way that he simply was.
She reminded herself why she was there and started walking. She reached the halfway point of the aisle. Nobles watched in silence, enshrouded in a sea of silk and tartan. Her breath came slowly and carefully, beneath the lace veil, as if it cost her dearly to simply breathe.
Almost there. Almost done.
Then suddenly, just as her father was about to give her hand to Malcolm, one of the candles flickered as if the chamber itself held its breath. Davina looked up, and Malcolm’s smile faltered. His hand flew to his chest.
At first, she thought he meant to steady himself. But his fingers clenched hard, twisting the fabric of his coat. His face drained of color. His lips parted soundlessly.
“Malcolm?” Davina’s voice was barely a whisper.
He swayed. The bouquet slipped from her hand. Before she could reach him, he dropped to his knees with a strangled gasp and his eyes wide in shock. The music faltered, then stopped altogether. A terrible silence followed.
“Malcolm!” cried someone from the front row.
Davina stumbled forward, her vision blurring. “Help him! Please, someone help!”
Davina froze where she stood. The world narrowed to the scent of lilies, the crackle of candles and the thundering in her ears. Malcolm’s stillness was unbearable. She wanted to move, to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.
Then someone screamed.
Davina couldn’t move. Her hands shook as she lifted her veil. “What… what’s happening?” she whispered.
Chaos erupted. Shouts filled the air while the solemn order of the ceremony shattered like glass.
“Stand back!”
The voice belonged to the man with the scar, and only then did she realize who he was. Baird Kincaid’s voice cut through the confusion like a blade. He jumped up from the front row and reached his brother’s side, dropping to one knee. His large hands were now gripping Malcolm’s shoulders.
“Malcolm, speak tae me!”
But there was no answer and no movement save the slack fall of his arm.
“Fetch the healer!” Baird shouted, and a servant bolted through the chapel doors.
Moments later, the healer burst through, with his satchel clutched tight. He knelt beside Malcolm with practiced speed, pressing his fingers to the fallen man’s neck, then his wrist. His brow furrowed.
“Clear the space,” he said curtly. “Nay one touch him.”
“Ye heard the man!” Baird shouted to those who were still too close.
Davina watched desperately as the healer drew a small vial from his bag, opened Malcolm’s coat, and pressed a hand to his chest. “He still has warmth,” he muttered. “It may nae be too late.” He poured the contents between Malcolm’s lips, then began pressing rhythmically against his ribs, muttering a prayer under his breath.
The hall was silent but for that steady, desperate motion.
Davina clasped her hands together. Her mother had appeared at her side, whispering her name, but Davina could not hear her. Her eyes were locked on the scene at the altar: the healer’s hands, Baird’s face and the awful stillness of Malcolm’s body.
“Come on, lad,” Baird urged through clenched teeth. “Breathe! Breathe!”
But no breath came.
The healer stopped at last, his movements slowing. He pressed his ear to Malcolm’s chest, then drew back with a long, weary sigh.
“It is of nay use,” he said quietly. “He’s gone.”
The words struck the room like a physical blow. A woman sobbed aloud; another fainted near the front. Baird’s head bowed. For a moment he did not move. Then, very slowly, he lifted his brother’s hand and let it fall again, lifeless.
“God have mercy,” he whispered.
Davina felt her knees weaken. Her father’s arm caught her before she fell.
“Steady, lass,” Ramsay murmured, though his own face had gone pale. “Steady.”
Suddenly, the alarm bells tolled in the distance, and the sound rattled through the hall. Servants shouted in the corridors. A soldier burst through the side door, breathless and pale.
“Me laird, an intruder’s been sighted inside the castle!”
Baird turned with blazing eyes. “Where?”
“Near the west stair, me laird… armed.”
A curse escaped him. He looked to his brother’s still form, then to Davina. “So it’s nae enough tae strike him dead, now they hunt the rest of us.”
Davina’s heart jolted. “Ye think this is connected?”
“I’d stake me name on it,” Baird said. “Whoever killed Malcolm’s nae done.” His tone left no room for doubt. He strode toward her. “Ye cannae stay here.”
Ramsay stepped forward. “She’s with me, Kincaid. I’ll see tae me own daughter’s safety.”
Baird’s gaze cut to him. “Yer name daes nae carry the keys tae this castle, Fletcher. Mine daes. If they came fer Malcolm, they may come fer her next. I’ll nae argue it.”
Davina’s voice shook, though she tried to steady it. “Ye think they would… hurt me?”
“They’ll dae worse if they mean tae break me clan,” Baird said. “We move now.”
Davina’s pulse thundered in her ears. She hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Very well. Lead the way.”
Baird took her hand, guiding her down the side aisle. His grip was warm and his movements swift.
“Stay close,” he said. “Dinnae speak unless I tell ye.”
Her mother called after her. “Davina!”
Davina turned long enough to meet her mother’s frightened eyes. “I’ll be safe,” she promised, though she scarcely believed it herself.
They slipped through a narrow door behind the altar, into a corridor lit by torches. The air there was cooler and quieter, but the alarm bells echoed even through the stone. Baird’s pace was relentless.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Tae the upper rooms, they’ll be guarded.”
“And me maither and faither?”
“He will keep them both safe,” Baird assured her without looking back. “Ye’re the one they’d use as leverage.”
His words made her stomach twist. “Why me?”
“Because ye were meant tae unite us,” he said grimly. “And naething weakens a pact faster than fear.”
They turned a corner. Behind them, shouts grew louder.
Davina gripped her skirts, breathless. “Me laird—”
“Quiet.” He slowed, glancing back toward the chapel doors. “They’re coming this way.”
The corridor stretched before them, long and dim. The sound of running feet echoed through it, not from behind this time, but ahead.
Baird’s hand tightened on her arm. “Stay behind me,” he ordered and there was steel in every syllable. “Whatever happens, dae nae run unless I tell ye tae.”
Somewhere ahead, a shout split the air. “Stop him!”
Baird turned sharply. “There!”
A figure burst from the shadows at the far end of the corridor. Whoever it was, he was masked, cloaked and running for his life in a blur of dark motion. Guards gave chase behind him, with their swords drawn, but the intruder was desperate, which provided him with the edge of speed and surprise.
“Back!” Baird ordered, shoving Davina behind him.
She pressed against the cold wall, while her heart was hammering. The intruder’s steps pounded closer, echoing off the stone. His cloak snapped behind him as he darted past a torch and for an instant, Davina saw the flash of a blade. The man was coming straight for them.
Baird drew his sword in one swift motion. “Stop, in the name of Clan Kincaid!”
But the intruder did not slow. The guards were too far behind, shouting warnings that came too late.
“Watch out!” Davina cried, but before she could take another breath, the masked man lunged.
Baird swung, steel ringing against stone as the intruder ducked beneath his strike. In the next heartbeat, Davina felt a rough hand seize her arm. She gasped, feeling the world tilt as she was pulled sharply back.
Cold metal pressed to her throat.
“Stay back!” the intruder hissed in a voice that was muffled beneath the mask. “One step closer and she dies!”
Davina’s breath caught in terror. The knife trembled against her skin, close enough that she could feel its chill. Baird froze where he stood, his sword raised but his eyes locked on hers.
“Let her go,” Baird snarled.
The intruder shifted, dragging Davina half a step closer to him. “Drop the blade.”
Baird’s grip tightened on the hilt. “Ye’ve nay chance of leaving this castle alive.”
“Perhaps nae,” the man spat venomously, “but others like me will follow, be assured of that.”
Davina barely dared to move, her pulse pounding so hard she could hear it. Her gaze flicked to Baird, getting lost in his eyes which were like storm clouds, calculating his next movement.
“Baird,” she whispered his name.
“I’ve got ye, lass,” he murmured, taking a careful step forward.
“Nae another inch!” the intruder shouted, pressing the knife harder.
Baird stopped. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Danger closed in, sharp as a blade poised to cut her life short.
Chapter Two
The knife pressed harder, cold and sharp against Davina’s throat. She dared not breathe too deeply. One movement and it might all be over.
“Please,” she whispered, not sure to whom she spoke: to Baird, to the heavens, or to the man who held her life in his hands.
“Quiet,” the intruder hissed, jerking her closer.
That was his mistake.
In that fraction of a second, Baird moved in a flash of steel. His sword swept upward in a clean, controlled arc, striking the intruder’s wrist with brutal precision. The knife flew from his hand, clattering across the floor.
Davina stumbled away as Baird closed in. The intruder swung wildly, landing a blow against Baird’s shoulder. The clang of metal on metal echoed through the corridor. Baird struck back, a fierce downward slash that the intruder barely dodged. Sparks flew as his blade scraped the wall. The man lunged, catching Baird’s arm, and they crashed hard into the stone.
Davina pressed herself against the wall, watching in horror as the two men fought in a blur of movement and gritted breath. Baird’s strength was relentless; he drove the intruder back with each strike, his sword cutting through the air with savage precision.
The intruder ducked low, grabbed the fallen dagger, and slashed toward Baird’s ribs. Steel grazed flesh. Baird grunted but did not falter. He caught the man’s wrist, twisted sharply, and slammed his fist into the intruder’s jaw.
The masked man staggered. Baird followed through, one hard shove against his chest that sent him sprawling onto the flagstones. The dagger clattered free again. Before he could rise, Baird’s boot pressed down hard on his throat.
“Yield,” Baird growled.
The intruder wheezed, and his eyes were flashing hatred. He tried to reach for another hidden blade, but Baird’s sword was faster, and it acted in a single, brutal thrust beneath the ribs. The breath left the intruder in a ragged gasp.
Baird stepped back as the body of his opponent went still, the scarlet bloom spreading across the man’s tunic. Two guards came sprinting up the corridor.
“Me laird!” one shouted.
Baird didn’t look up. He wiped his blade clean on the dead man’s cloak. “Too late,” he said quietly. “He made his choice.”
Davina pressed a trembling hand to her neck, where the knife had grazed her skin. “It’s over?” she asked softly.
Baird turned to her, his chest rising and falling with the weight of battle. “Fer now.” His voice softened as he stepped closer. “Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head, though her knees threatened to give way. “Only frightened.”
“Ye’ve every right,” he said, sheathing his sword. “But ye kept yer wits. That may have saved us both.”
Baird stood motionless for a moment. The sharpness in his gaze had not dulled. It had simply turned inward, cold calculation overtaking fury.
“Captain,” he called to the man who was closest to him. “Send for the council members, all of them. Me advisors, the Fletcher envoys, anyone of rank who remains in the castle. Bring them tae me study at once.”
The guard hesitated. “Me laird, the corridors—”
“Then clear them,” Baird snapped. “Now.”
The man hurried off.
“Ye should sit,” Baird turned to her. “Ye’ve been through enough.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, though her voice trembled. “Just… unsteady.”
He offered his arm. “Come with me, then. The study’s secure. We need tae speak, tae decide what comes next.”
She hesitated only a moment before taking his arm. His grip was firm, grounding her as they moved through the castle’s narrow halls. Guards lined the corridors now, but somehow, that didn’t make her feel any safer. They reached a tall oak door at the end of the corridor. Two guards stepped aside as Baird pushed it open, ushering her inside. The study was dimly lit, lined with books and maps.
Baird guided her toward a chair near the fire. “Sit. Rest if ye can.”
She did as she was told, as her father bid her to do. The study filled slowly, and one by one, the councilman lined in, men of rank and age, wrapped in heavy plaids and wearing grim expressions. They took their places by the hearth or against the wall, muttering to one another in low, uncertain tones.
Davina sat where Baird had left her, with hands clasped in her lap. Her throat still burned where the knife had grazed her. Her thoughts were heavy and slow, caught between disbelief and dread.
When the door finally opened again, Ramsay Fletcher entered. His bearing was as proud as ever, though the lines around his mouth had deepened. His eyes flicked briefly to Davina, then to Baird.
“We’re all here?” he demanded, as if it was his study that they all gathered in.
Baird gave a single nod. “All that matter.”
“Good.” Ramsay stepped into the center of the room. “Then let us speak plain. A tragedy has struck, aye, but the agreement between our families remains. The marriage must go through.”
A murmur spread through the Council. One man, old and gray-bearded, frowned. “Fletcher, yer daughter’s groom lies dead. Ye cannae mean tae proceed as though naething’s happened.”
“I mean precisely what I said,” Ramsay replied. “Our clans forged this union for strength, nae sentiment. If it falls apart now, we invite ruin and give our enemies cause tae celebrate.”
Another councilman shook his head. “The people will see it as heartless. There must be a period of mourning—”
“We dinnae yet understand the man’s death,” Ramsay cut in sharply. “Aye, we shall honor him, but alliances dinnae pause fer grief.”
A stout man near the back spoke next. “The lady has suffered much. Surely, ye’d nae—”
Ramsay’s hand cut through the air. “Me daughter understands her duty.”
All eyes turned to Davina. She felt their stares like a weight pressing against her chest. Her lips parted, but no sound came. She looked to her father, then to Baird, who was silent, still watching the fire.
The gray-bearded councilman sighed. “Even if the girl consents, who would she wed? The ceremony cannae continue with the groom in his grave.”
Ramsay stepped forward, as his voice cut through the murmurs. “There is another Kincaid son,” he said. “The bloodline need not end here.”
A ripple of protest swept through the council chamber.
“Absurd!” one man barked.
“’Tis no small matter tae replace a groom,” another added.
The uproar broke off when Baird rose to his feet. “Aye,” he said in a voice that carried through the hall like thunder. “There is another Kincaid. And that means she will marry me.”
A ripple of shock ran through the gathered men. One councilman stepped forward, and there was disbelief etched across his face. “Me laird, that cannae be wise. The lady was promised tae yer braither, nae tae ye. The matter should end with his death.”
Another spoke more sharply. “She is nae even a laird’s daughter, me laird. The match was already a stretch fer the second-born. Fer ye, the laird himself tae take her, it would upset the order of things.”
Baird’s gaze swept the room, resting on every single man for a moment. “The order of things,” he repeated in a loud challenge. “And what order is that? Tae break a pact made in good faith? Tae bring shame upon me clan?”
Davina’s father seized the moment. “Me daughter has done naething tae deserve disgrace,” he said firmly. “If the Kincaids withdraw now, every clan in the Highlands will take it as an insult: tae us, and tae the memory of the braither ye’ve lost.”
Murmurs filled the chamber. One man shook his head. “But the people will talk. They will say the laird married his braither’s bride before the grave was cold.”
Baird’s jaw tightened. “Let them talk.” He looked toward Davina then, and she felt herself blush under the weight of his gaze. “The honorable path is clear. The Fletchers stood beside us in loyalty and blood. If we falter now, their trust dies with me braither.”
He turned back to the Council. “There will be nay disgrace. The ceremony will go forward. Lady Davina Fletcher will be me wife, and by that vow, the bond between our clans will stand unbroken. Gather in the Grand Hall, all of ye. The witnesses must see the vows kept, or rumor will eat us alive by morning.”
The councilmen exchanged uneasy glances, some bowing their heads, and others whispering in protest. But none dared to defy him.
“As ye command, me laird.”
The room stirred. Chairs scraped and whispers rose as one by one, the men began to leave.
“Lady Davina stays,” Baird suddenly said as soon as he noticed Davina stand up.
Her father turned sharply. “Fer what purpose?”
Baird met his gaze respectfully. “Tae hear her own mind before I lead her tae the altar.”
The words seemed to give even her father pause, as her own heart was beating wildly at the thought of remaining alone with this man who had just saved her life, the same man who was about to become her husband.
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “She has already given her word—”
“She gave it tae me braither,” Baird reminded him. “I’ll nae bind her twice without at least hearing her voice.”
For a moment, Davina’s father and her future husband stood at odds. Then, her father exhaled through his nose, a man conceding ground he disliked.
“Very well. A moment, and nae more.” He cast Davina a look which seemed to be part warning and part worry, before turning to follow the others out.
The heavy door closed behind him, leaving Davina and Baird alone in the dim study. For the first time that evening, Davina truly looked at him. The firelight carved the sharp lines of his face and she could see it all: the strong jaw, the dark sweep of his hair, the storm-gray eyes that caught the light and seemed to hold it.
He was nothing like Malcolm. There was no charm in him, no practiced gentleness, only quiet strength and a shadow of the grief he was feeling that made him all the more striking.
Her heart gave an unfamiliar flutter. It startled her as much as the thought that followed: that man would be her husband.
“Ye mean tae go through with this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Baird turned toward her fully then. “I dae.”
She swallowed, her fingers tightening in her lap. “Even after what’s happened? Even after yer braither—”
“Aye.” His jaw flexed, and a flicker of pain crossed his face before vanishing. “Because what’s happened changes naething about duty. If anythin’, it makes it heavier.”
Davina studied him, searching for something beyond the hard calm of his words. She wanted to find anything human enough to match the turmoil in her chest. But there was only steadiness, carved deep into him like the stone of the castle itself.
“And what of choice?” she asked softly. “Dae we have any left?”
Baird’s eyes lingered on hers for a long moment, unreadable but not unkind. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost gentle. “Perhaps nae, but we still have honor. And that, Lady Davina, is the only thing either of us can keep.”
Her breath caught, not from fear this time, but from the quiet conviction in his voice. Beneath all his restraint, she sensed something fierce, something that could steady her even as the world crumbled.
He nodded toward the door. “Come. It’s time.”
Baird offered his hand, and Davina hesitated only a heartbeat before placing hers in his. His palm was warm and steady, calloused from battle, and the strength of his grip anchored her to a world that no longer felt real.
The corridor beyond the study glowed with torchlight. Servants and guards stepped aside as they passed, bowing in silence. Somewhere ahead, the faint hum of voices drifted from the great hall. It all felt distant, unreal, as though she were walking through someone else’s dream.
When they reached the tall doors of the great hall, two guards pulled them open, and the sight beyond stole her breath.
The hall, only hours ago a scene of joy and tragedy, now stood reborn under the heavy silence of necessity. Candles burned anew, their golden light trembling in reverence across polished stone. The guests had returned, pale and uneasy, filling the pews once more. No one spoke. Their gazes followed her as she entered, while whispers died on their tongues.
Her father and mother stood near the front. He gave her a short nod, nothing more.
Beside him, the minister waited, his prayer book trembling slightly in his hands. “Me laird, me lady,” he began softly. “If it is yer will…”
Baird’s hand tightened gently around hers. “It is.”
Davina’s pulse thundered in her ears as they stepped forward. The same path she had walked just a few hours before stretched before her. The people were the same, the candles were the same and so were the flowers, yet everything had changed. The space felt haunted by echoes of laughter that would never return.
Each step felt heavier than the last. Her gown whispered against the stone, while her heart was singling a frantic rhythm beneath the lace. And still, Baird’s hand did not waver.
They reached the altar. The minister began to speak. “We gather again, though sorrow shadows this union. Yet vows spoken bind nay less truly in hardship…”
Davina scarcely heard him. She looked up at Baird, at the man who had been a stranger only hours ago.
When the minister asked if he took her hand, Baird answered without hesitation. “I dae.”
The sound of it sent a shiver through her. It was not passion that stirred her then, but the strange certainty that her life would change forever.
As she repeated the priest’s words, symbolizing their union, the hall seemed to exhale. It was a whisper of fate sealing itself in stone.
Baird turned to her, with his hand still wrapped around hers. She knew the ceremony ended with a kiss, but she realized she would be kissing the wrong man.
That was when he leaned in, and she felt his lips brushing against hers with a quiet finality that felt less like a kiss and more like a vow. The solemn taste of it lingered even when she pulled away, symbolizing a bond neither of them had chosen, yet which both would have to bear.
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