Such screams erupted from the top of the tower that everyone looked at one another. Eloise stood at the side of the group with Aila and Fiadh on either side of her. They all looked up to the window of the chamber above them.
“It must be soon,” Avery said, from where he stood between all of the men in their group. Laird Chattan clapped him on the shoulder in comfort as Ian sighed, shaking his head.
“It can drag on, my friend,” Laird Chattan said in a low tone. “Trust me, Scarlett was just the same with our little one.”
“But it has been hours!” Avery hissed in panic.
“Ye need distracting.” Murdoch took Avery’s other shoulder.
“I am nae leaving this spot.” Avery thrust his hands down at the cobbled ground, refusing to go anywhere.
When another almighty cry erupted from the top of the tower, Avery tried to launch himself forward, but Eloise stood guard with Fiadh and Aila.
He cannae see. Callie told us specifically nae tae let him in until the child was born.
“Take him away,” Eloise urged Murdoch and Laird Chattan.
“Eloise!” Avery hissed, trying to claw his way back.
“All of ye,” Scarlett urged, moving to Fiadh’s other side. “Take him away until we send fer him.”
“Ye two are my sisters!” Avery snapped, but it got him nothing.
“Then trust we ken best, big brother,” Scarlett called after him with a deep laugh as he was swept away.
Murdoch and Laird Chattan each had a shoulder, and Ian followed, threatening to pull out a crossbow. Clyde and Elliot followed behind, laughing about how it took so many men just to hold Avery back.
“It has been hours,” Aila murmured after Avery was far out of earshot. “Even fer normal labor.”
“Aye, it has.” Eloise agreed with a nod.
They all exchanged nervous glances, then Aila led the way up the tower with Fiadh close behind. Eloise followed with Scarlett at her heels.
They were in the towers of Laird Chattan’s castle, heading toward the chambers that Callie used for healing, though today, she was the patient rather than the healer.
As they stepped into the chamber, Eloise swallowed around a lump of fear in her throat. Callie sat upright in the bed, sweating profusely with her chemise disarrayed and her stomach heavily rounded. She breathed heavily, her nostrils flaring every few seconds. Beside her was a healer woman, holding her arm and trying to get her to breathe easily.
“How can one breathe through this pain?” Callie hissed angrily, with her dark hair wild behind her. “This is obscene.”
“Ye can dae it, Callie.” Scarlett hurried toward the bed. “If I did it, ye can too. Ye are much stronger than me.”
“I dinnae feel strong. Nae at all. I feel weak.” Callie bent forward, shifting to her knees on the bed. “Argh!” Another almighty cry of pain came from her.
Eloise laid a hand to her stomach, rather gladdened that no one had seen her reaction, for everyone was too focused on Callie.
“We need tae get her tae the birthing stool,” the healer woman, Theodora, urged. “Quickly. Help me.”
Eloise took one of Callie’s hands, as did Scarlett, pulling her out of the bed. Fiadh and Aila urged Callie to move her feet, practically walking her toward where a stool with part of the base had been cut out.
“That thing, it looks nae better for pigs tae give birth in.” Callie practically kicked the stool away, so strongly that Eloise hastened to right it again.
Is this how much pain it is? Oh God…
Eloise chewed the inside of her mouth, not wishing to say anything as they put Callie in the stool.
“Ye told me it was the best way tae give birth,” Scarlett reminded Callie as she stood before her, with her hands on her hips, her face betraying her outrage.
“Aye, aye, I ken. It’s rather different when ye actually have tae sit in this uncomfortable thing. Argh!” Callie squealed at the pain.
“Out of me way.” Theodora brushed them all to the side and dropped to her knees in front of Callie, reaching for her chemise. “Well, as there are so many of ye here, ye can make yerselves useful. I’ll need something tae swaddle the child, linens, towels. I need fresh water too. Fetch me some spiced caudle, as that will help soothe Callie too.”
“I threw the last cup of caudle at the wall.” Callie motioned to where a cup had been smashed against the wall, the damp patches still apparent.
“I shall bring ye another then,” Eloise said, attempting a smile as she hurried to the adjoining chamber full of Callie’s usual instruments and herbs. She hastened to prepare the caudle in a fresh cup, the water steaming as she took it off the fire to add to the spiced mixture.
As she stirred the ingredients together, she paused and glanced back into the main chamber.
Aila and Fiadh both held onto their sister, as Scarlett brushed her dampened hair back from her scalp.
“Ye can dae this, Callie,” Aila urged. “Ye ken ye can. Nay one stronger.”
“Come on, Callie.” Fiadh kissed her on the cheek. “All of this will be over in minutes, and then ye’ll have that bairn in yer arms. It will all be worth it.”
“God, I hope ye’re right,” Callie muttered sharply. “If this is how painful it is every time, I’m thinking of banning Avery from coming near me ever again.”
“Well, may I volunteer first that I shallnae be the one tae tell him that,” Scarlett jested, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
Once more, Eloise laid a hand to her stomach, thinking of the pain that Callie was going through.
Will it be this bad?
“Right.” Theodora paused as she kneeled in front of Callie, looking up from the edge of the chemise. “It is time.”
***
“He’s a mess,” Clyde remarked quietly to Murdoch as they picked up their weapons again.
“Aye, he is. Laird Chattan was just the same.” Murdoch jerked his head in Laird Noah’s direction, impressed by the calmness that the laird was showing now.
“This hardly seems like a wise way tae keep Avery calm though, does it?” Clyde laughed as he gestured to the broad sword he now carried.
“Can ye think of another way?” Murdoch chuckled as he watched Ian and Laird Noah each parry with Avery. Every time Avery tried to attack with his sword to get past them to the tower, they got in the way.
“Come on, yer sword skills will have tae get better than that. Ye’ve grown slack these last few months,” Laird Noah said with a deep laugh.
It summoned new energy from Avery, who launched himself at Laird Noah.
“Me turn, I think.” Clyde swiped his sword through the air.
“I thought ye’d had enough of being a soldier?” Murdoch reminded his brother.
Clyde had finished his commission for the king and had confessed to Murdoch that he had no wish to return. The last few months, Noah had seen sometimes in the dark moments just how haunted Clyde was from what he had seen in the war, then he’d smile and brush it off as nothing.
“I’m done fighting fer the king,” Clyde said with ease. “I’ll fight for causes I believe in now.” He winked before striding forward and joining Ian in parrying with Avery, driving him further back.
Murdoch caught sight of Avery’s footwork, noting something he’d learned long ago about Avery’s fighting style. He was good at drawing men forward, thinking he was on the back foot, where in fact, he wasn’t. Sensing the danger, Murdoch circled the group and adjusted the sword in his hand.
Avery did just as Murdoch predicted. He drew Ian and Clyde toward him, then swiped out suddenly, lunging and pressing his sword toward the both of them so that they were forced to back up into Laird Chattan and knock him from his feet. The three ended up bundled on the floor.
As Avery turned, ready to sprint back to the tower, Murdoch stepped in the way, with his sword lifted.
“In the name of the wee man,” Avery cursed loudly. “Ye were ready fer it, werenae ye?”
“Fought ye often enough tae ken yer tactics,” Murdoch said with a small smile. “Eloise said ye were just the same when ye fought as a child too. Ye like to lull people intae false feelings of security.”
“It worries me how much ye ken about me now after being married tae my sister.” Avery shook his head and laughed. “Ye are quite a changed man.” He gestured to his face, and Murdoch knew exactly what he was referring to.
I smile more these days.
“Avery? Avery!” Eloise’s voice was sudden.
Murdoch lowered his sword and turned to face his wife, warmth spreading through him as she ran across the cobbled courtyard, the skirt of her gown in her hands.
“Eloise? What is it?” Avery walked around Murdoch, sudden panic in his voice. “Is it Callie? The child? What has happened?”
Eloise stopped walking, bending forward as she caught her breath.
“Eloise!”
“Hold yer horses, Avery.” She breathed deeply and stood straight, a sudden smile erupting on her features. “Both are well. The bairn has just been born. It is a girl.”
Avery smiled at once, the relief so apparent that his shoulders softened.
“Dinnae try tae stop me now,” he said playfully over his shoulder to Murdoch and the others before he ran off, hurrying toward the tower.
As Laird Noah, Ian and Clyde gathered the weapons together, Murdoch moved toward Eloise. Despite the happiness of the movement, he could sense some uncertainty in her features.
Murdoch reached for her cheeks, gently cupping them as he kissed her softly.
“What is it? Is it…” He glanced down at her stomach. They were keeping it a secret for the time being, as Eloise wished to be certain everything would go well with their own child before she told others, but plainly, something was bothering her now. “Are ye well?”
“Aye, aye, I’m perfectly fine.” She smiled suddenly, her expression transforming as she laid her hands on her chest. “It was so emotional,” she said with a wistful tone. “I was so scared when I saw the pain Callie was going through, the frustration of it taking so long too, but then suddenly…” She sighed heavily. “It was as if none of that mattered anymore. The moment her bairn was in her arms, it was all worth it.” She stepped forward, curling herself into his chest.
Murdoch raised his arms around her, holding her near.
“I am nae afraid of what will happen when we have our own child now.”
“Good.” Murdoch kissed her through her hair. “I’ve seen how strong ye are, Eloise. With ye as its mother, that child will survive anything.”
She laughed softly and tipped her head up. Murdoch bent down and kissed Eloise, holding her to him for as long as he could.
I shall be a father.
An image entered his head of a small boy, perhaps with the wildness of Eloise’s red hair, but one with his eyes. It was such a thrilling image, as he taught the boy to ride a horse with Eloise watching on, perhaps holding another bairn in her arms, maybe even a girl this time. That image made Murdoch hold their kiss for longer still.
He thought back to the moment that Eloise had appeared on that loch bank and he couldn’t have been happier for the turn of events. Eloise’s presence that day had changed the course of his life. He would forever be grateful to her for it.
If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…
Elliot Sutherland, forced unwillingly into an arranged marriage to save his father’s life, forms a deep connection with Fiadh Mathieson. However, when she discovers this, their world crumbles. Struggling with the consequences of his choices, Elliot is torn between choosing Fiadh or saving his father’s life …
The young woman stood at the top of the cliff with the toes of her boots precariously close to the edge. The wind rippled up the side of the chalk face, buffeting her hair and clothes. It would be so easy to leap off, to try to fly like one of those seagulls that kept flitting by. Around her, heather shivered in that same breeze, abruptly stopping at the edge of the sheer cliff.
The girl craned her neck a little more, bending down to look at the base of the cliff. Far below was the beach, the shingle mere stones and larger jagged rocks that had tumbled down from the cliff. The ocean foamed as it reached the shore, hissing loudly, competing with the sound of the wind.
It was the perfect spot. Behind her, the highland hills grew tall, the green undergrowth lush and thick, hiding her position from the main tracks and roads. No one would know she was here, just as no one would know that Lillie was here either, once she arrived.
The girl looked around her shoulders, searching for Lillie, but there wasn’t any sign of her yet.
“Aye, it has tae be done,” the young woman whispered to herself. It was necessary, that was all, not something she would take pleasure in, but merely something that she could not avoid doing herself.
As the toes of her boots shifted beneath her, some of the loose stones fell away, dropping down the cliff. She stepped back from the edge, watching them drop. It was a long way to fall.
“Well, this is a strange place tae meet, aye?” a voice the woman knew well called to her. She backed up further from the cliff edge and turned to face Lillie.
Tall, beautiful, with long black hair that was pinned into mad curls, Lillie was striking in appearance. Many men had noticed over the years how beautiful she was, but that was soon going to end.
“Are ye well?” Lillie asked hurriedly, her smile fading as she moved toward the young woman. “Ye are worrying me.”
“It is nothing.” The woman shook her head. “I merely wanted some time alone with ye before yer wedding. I am nae sure what chance we will have tae talk after ye are wed.”
“Ah, I cannae tell ye how excited I am.” Lillie giggled and moved past her, walking to the edge of the cliff. She laid a hand to her stomach, smiling as she stared out at the horizon, where the blue ocean mixed with the clouds. “Murdoch and I… we kissed fer the first time last night.”
The young woman nearly retched. She turned away and held her trembling fingers to her lips, doing her best to hide her temptation.
“Aye, that is wonderful,” she forced herself to say. “From yer excitement, I can guess it was a good kiss.”
“Och, I could barely describe it tae ye.” Lillie giggled another time and turned away from the cliffs, walking back toward the girl. She managed to push down her trembling fingers and force a smile. “I cannae tell ye how happy I am.”
“I can see that.” The woman nodded, her cheeks twitching and aching to maintain that smile.
Why Lillie? Why does he have tae marry Lillie of all people?
“I always thought the marriage was tae be one of arrangement,” the woman whispered. “Murdoch’s father wanted an alliance between the clans.”
“Aye, but who are we tae argue with fate when I’m betrothed tae a man such as he.” Lillie smiled and looked away again. Her dark hair moved in the breeze.
The girl lifted a hand, almost taking hold of that hair. She could pull on it, tear it, watch the beautiful locks fall from Lillie’s head and hear her scream. Fortunately, they were so isolated out here that no one would ever hear that scream.
“What do ye think of him?” Lillie asked, turning back so swiftly that the young woman lowered her hand sharply.
“I think…” she swallowed around a lump in her throat, knowing she could not tell the truth.
I love him.
“I think ye two will make a fine match.” Her false answer must have pleased Lillie for she smiled and turned away again.
“It is a beautiful spot here. How come ye wished tae meet here?”
“Let me show ye.” The girl walked forward, beckoning Lillie to join her at the cliff edge. When she put her toes by the last stones, Lillie took her arm.
“Be careful. It is beautiful here but also dangerous.”
“Aye, I ken.” The young woman curled her finger then pointed down at the water. “Look. Tell me what ye see.”
Lillie bent forward over the cliff edge, her dark brows furrowing as she stared at the ocean.
“I see the beach. That is all.”
“Look further,” the young woman urged.
As Lillie stretched her neck out, the girl saw her chance. She took a small step back then thrust into Lillie’s shoulders, trying to push her over the cliff.
“What are ye doing –?” Lillie cried and struggled on the edge. She reached back to the girl, gripping her, trying to stay up.
The young woman fought harder. Maybe Lillie was taller, but she was stronger. She took hold of Lillie’s elbows, grappling and tussling.
“What? Why are ye doing this? Nay. Nay!” Lillie screamed as the woman stamped down on her foot. It dislodged Lillie’s footing on the cliff edge. She toppled backward, falling out into the open air as the woman released her and scurried back.
She saw Lillie disappear, falling through the air, but she hung back. She couldn’t bear to see the impact on the beach. There were a few seconds of dead air, the scream piercing, competing with the cries of the gulls and the cormorants that had made their nests within the cliffs, then there was a loud thud and the shout stopped dead.
Slowly, the young woman stepped forward, moving back to the edge of the cliff. Lillie had landed on the beach. Her head was turned at an unnatural angle, her hair wild about her ears and her skirt tangling in the wind.
“Now, there will be nay wedding.”
Chapter One
Chattan Castle, Highlands, 1762
“Are ye certain ye wish me tae read this?” Ian asked, waving the letter in the air.
“Aye,” Murdoch said gravely as he pulled out a fresh shirt from the oak coffer and moved to the standing looking glass to see his own reflection.
“One of these days, I could just teach ye tae read, ye ken that?” Ian’s voice was soft, the kind of tone that he only ever showed Murdoch behind closed doors. In public, Ian was always loud and jesting, constantly smiling, even more so since he had married his wife Aila, the year before.
“I ken, but when would ye have time?” Murdoch said, forcing the jest from his lips. “Ye spend so many hours of yer day with that wife of yers.” He glanced in the mirror’s reflection, looking at his friend.
Ian laughed, tipping his head back and making the dark blond hair around his ears dance.
“Well, I could hardly argue that she is easy tae stay away from, could I?”
They smiled together as Murdoch fidgeted with his shirt in his hands. He’d since discovered that when Aila had first come to the Laird Chattan’s castle, the Laird being Ian’s brother Noah, that she’d had something of a liking for Murdoch.
I never could return that affection. Nay, I will never care for a woman again.
In the end, everything had worked out for the best. Aila and Ian had grown closer and fallen in love. In his darkest moments Murdoch might admit he felt some envy over their happiness together, but it always lasted only a short while. It wasn’t the kind of happiness he could have in his own life.
“Right, here we go, I’ll read it fer ye.” Ian waved the letter in the air then cleared his throat, as if preparing to give some great speech as an orator.
Murdoch paused with his shirt, looking at his own reflection in the mirror. The scars on his broad chest were strongly visible in the evening light, the white gashes slashing across his skin. He seemed to get scars readily these days and had barely survived some of the wounds he’d received these last few years, but he was a soldier, and they were his occupational hazard.
Hurrying to pull the shirt on over his head, he looked at the black hair that curled at his temple, wild and refusing to lay flat and neat. His eyes were almost as dark as his hair, and he’d seen more than one person in his life leap back from him when they looked in his eyes, afraid of him.
“Are ye listening?” Ian called.
“Nay. My apologies, please, read again.” Murdoch didn’t want people to know he couldn’t read. It was an embarrassment, and Ian was one of the only two people in this world who knew Murdoch had never been taught, the other being Ian’s brother, Laird Noah Chattan, the man Murdoch fought for as one of his clan soldiers.
“Ye are distracted,” Ian said, walking across the chamber and moving toward Murdoch as he pulled a waistcoat over his shoulders. “Would it have something tae dae with admiring yer reflection?” Ian teased him with a chuckle.
“More like wanting tae run and hide from it.” Murdoch turned his back on the mirror and waved a hand impatiently at Ian. “What does it say?”
Ian cleared his throat once more and turned his attention to the letter.
“‘My son, it is time ye came home. I ken these last five years havenae been easy. The wee man above us all only kens what ye have felt after all that happened tae ye, but we cannae run from our ghosts ferever. At least now I have good news tae tell ye, good news that I hope ye will come home tae celebrate.
Yer brother Clyde is returning from war, serving our king, at last. Upon his return, we will celebrate his betrothal tae Harper, and the two families shall be joined at last. Through the alliance of the clans, our own will be stronger…” Ian trailed off and lowered the letter.
Murdoch winced, looking at his friend who he had often considered like a brother.
“Dinnae look at me like that,” Murdoch said, shaking his head.
“Like what? Like I am seeing ye fer the first time?” Ian stepped forward, brandishing the letter between them as if it were a weapon. “Ye have a brother, Murdoch!? Ye never said that.”
“I have been praying he was still alive ever since he went tae war. We havenae seen each other in a long time.”
“Why would ye keep this a secret? Why nae tell me?” Ian asked, walking around Murdoch as he took some boots out of a coffer and sat down on the lid, pulling them on.
“I have told ye some secrets,” Murdoch said, his voice growing deeper. “Is that nae enough? Ye ken more than most, Ian.”
“Aye, aye, I ken that.” Ian looked away, brushing a hand into his fair hair in plain stress. “I ken ye have yer demons, but this? Why keep such a secret?”
“Something tells me ye are going tae be even angrier when ye see who has signed that letter.”
“It is from yer father, aye, I read that…” Ian’s voice faded as he looked down at the bottom of the letter. Murdoch had hinted to Ian when they had first met five years ago that he was the son of a laird. What he hadn’t explained was which laird his father was. “Laird Maclean? Murdoch!” Ian moved swiftly across the room.
Murdoch leapt over the coffer, a chuckle escaping him when he saw the shock on his friend’s face.
“I’m reminded of our sword fight the other day. Ye looked ready tae kill me then as well.”
“We were parrying, though I’m tempted tae hurt ye now,” Ian said, chasing him around the coffer. “Ye kept this a secret!?”
“Nae exactly. I just told ye I didnae like talking about my past, and ye eventually stopped asking.”
“Aye, I can see what a fool I was now tae dae that! Tell me this. Are ye the eldest son? Or is it yer brother, Clyde?” Ian asked, waving the letter in the air. Murdoch winced, not needing to say the words for Ian to understand. “In the name of God. Wait until Noah hears we have another heir tae a lairdship under our roof.”
“I’ve been avoiding that truth fer a long time, Ian. Ye can guess well enough why that is, can ye nae?” Murdoch caught his eye as they stopped their cat and mouse game either side of the coffer. Ian’s humored smile fell away, and he grimaced, the lines of his long face contorting painfully.
Ian knew to a certain degree why Murdoch was haunted. Once, after a heavy amount of ale and whisky, Murdoch had revealed to his friend how he had been betrothed many years before. All he’d revealed to Ian was that he had lost her. Ian knew no more.
It was Murdoch’s greatest secret that his betrothed, Lillie, had been found at the bottom of a cliff a day before they were due to get married. What was clear from the torn gown and the bruises she bore was that she had been pushed.
It was murder.
An image appeared in his mind. Lillie had been stunning, and her beauty was not the only thing endearing about her. Kind, confident, and always buoyant, she easily charmed people. Murdoch had never thought of himself as being in love with her, but he was so fond of her at the time, it wouldn’t have surprised him if he would have one day fallen in love with her, but he never got the chance to find out. That future was snatched away from him by a murderer that had never been found.
After Lillie was killed, much had changed.
“What happened, Murdoch? Truly,” Ian said, stepping toward him, that soft tone appearing again. “After ye lost yer betrothed.”
“I left.” Murdoch’s answer was simple as he pulled on his open doublet over his shoulders. He kept the whole truth to himself. His father, Laird Fergus Maclean still wanted an alliance between his clan and the Grants, so his brother was betrothed to Lillie’s sister, Harper. Yet the shadows were cast over them all. Murdoch came to the Chattans to fight for a cause he believed in, and Clyde went to war for the king. His marriage was postponed until he returned, which seemed to be now – five years later.
Murdoch turned away, moving to check his appearance in the mirror once more. His gaze turned away from the heavy lines of his face and he looked toward the letter in Ian’s hand.
“Ye keep many secrets, me friend.” Ian approached and folded up the letter, passing it back into Murdoch’s grasp. “Yer father begs fer yer presence fer the wedding. He talks of healing old wounds and rifts.”
Murdoch took the letter and held it delicately, his fingers pressed against the parchment.
“So? Will ye go?” Ian asked.
Murdoch slowly nodded. Perhaps it was time to face the ghosts of the past after all. And above all – he missed his brother.
***
“Dae me a favor,” Ian whispered in Murdoch’s ear as they entered the great hall. The table had been laid out grandly for dinner, with vast trenchers of food presented. The scents of cooked chicken and spices hung in the air. The fragrance of clove-scented red wine hovered the most, and Murdoch reached for the nearest pewter jug full of the wine as he reached the table. He was in need of a strong drink.
“What is that?” Murdoch asked his friend.
“At least smile a little,” Ian elbowed him good-naturedly, trying to rouse a little one from him. “Ye’d think yer face had been turned tae stone.”
Murdoch forced himself so much that Ian chuckled.
“On second thoughts, ye were better as ye were.”
Murdoch smiled genuinely this time, though it didn’t last long. He took his seat at the table, so busy thinking of that letter that he scarcely paid attention to who else was there for dinner.
I have tae go back. I have tae face Lillie’s family again.
Turning his focus to the table, Murdoch looked around at the other diners. At the head of the table was Laird Noah Chattan, with his wife, Scarlett, and their son, Aiden, in her lap, although he was soon to be taken to bed. Growing older, the boy could now sit up and chew on the chunks of chicken that Scarlett put into his hands, but still they preferred to keep him away from noisy places like this. Beside Laird Chattan was Ian, and next to him his wife, Aila. On the far side of the table was Avery, Scarlett’s brother, and his wife, Callie, Aila’s sister. It was one crazy family, Murdoch had to admit. Callie’s other sister, Fiadh, sat at the foot of the table, and beside her was Elliot, Murdoch’s fellow soldier and a good friend.
The connections around the table were complicated, and had not only been formed by the love that connected the married couples, but also the trials and dangers that had thrust these people into one another’s paths. Murdoch had been a part of it all, watching the various times his friends had come close to death. Some of those trials were the reasons he bore so many scars today.
There was another at the table that Murdoch was reluctant to look at. Slowly and delicately, she sat down beside Murdoch.
Ah, Eloise.
She was Scarlett’s twin sister. They bore the same rich auburn hair, the bright, even icy, blue eyes, and the petite features. Excessively pretty, she was hard to look away from once Murdoch allowed himself to sneak a peek.
She is Lady Scarlett’s sister. Aye, she is out of bounds.
Yet there were other reasons Murdoch did not want himself to be attracted to Eloise. He’d vowed never to consider a woman in his life again, after what had happened to Lillie. And there was also the matter of Eloise’s character.
She was so refined, well spoken, and well-mannered that Murdoch felt like an illiterate and bumbling fool of a soldier next to her. More than once her small nose had wrinkled in conversations between them.
Clearly, she thinks me a bampot.
“Well, how are ye, Callie?” Lady Scarlett called from the head of the table. “God kens I struggled with my sickness when I was carrying Aiden. How are ye faring?”
“Ugh,” Callie grimaced, making many around the table chuckled, apart from her husband, Avery, who looked at her with concern. “Me stomach turns just at the sight of all this food. Do me a favor, Eloise.” She pushed the trenchers away from herself and toward Eloise on the opposite side of the table. “Take it all away from me.”
“With pleasure,” Eloise assured her, her pronunciation so perfect that Murdoch sighed under his breath.
Why does she have tae be so perfect all the time?
It infuriated him. He stabbed his knife at the chicken on his plate a little more harshly than he had intended.
“How are the soldiers’ drills progressing?” Laird Chattan asked of his brother. Ian eagerly nodded, looking to Murdoch for his agreement.
“Well, although some of the men arenae used tae fighting yet when they’re exhausted.”
“Aye, their stamina needs improving,” Murdoch said, reaching for the trencher of saffron-soaked leeks that Eloise passed him. When their fingers brushed on the bowl, she pulled back sharply, and he had to tighten his hold on the bowl to stop it from falling. He glanced at her, sensing how much she looked down at him, for she could not even bear his touch.
She refused to look at him but stared down at her trencher instead.
Murdoch could never understand why people confused Eloise and Scarlett. To Murdoch’s mind, they were entirely different, even though they were twins. Scarlett was spirited in character, sometimes even overbearing, whereas Eloise was quiet and timid like a mouse, so concerned with modesty and decorum that she often times looked stern. It was an expression he had never seen in Lady Scarlett’s face.
“We need tae run drills with the men,” Murdoch continued on, returning his focus to Ian and Laird Chattan. “Wake them at the middle of the night and make them run their drills. Aye, that should do it.”
“Then it’s settled.” As Laird Chattan turned to his brother to make the arrangements, Murdoch caught sight of Eloise shifting in her seat.
“In the middle of the night…” she said under her breath.
“I beg yer pardon?” He turned to look at her, his voice lowered to a whisper.
“In the middle of the night,” Eloise said simply, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. She smiled, as if it were only natural for her to correct his grammar.
Murdoch sat back, losing interest in his food as he gazed at her.
“I dinnae remember asking for a teacher, Eloise,” he said sharply. No one else at the table seemed to notice their conversation, for they were all laughing at some tale Ian was telling about the soldiers.
“I wasnae being a teacher. I was assisting ye.” She reached for her goblet of wine and lifted it to her lips, but evidently finding it empty she lowered it, her brow wrinkling as she stared into the cup.
“Then I didnae ask for assistance.”
“What is so wrong in that?” She looked up at him from the goblet. “I wouldnae mind if ye corrected me on how tae use a dagger.”
“That feeble thing.” He thrust a finger down at the dagger she always wore at her hip. He’d noticed it many times, wondering why a fine lady such as she felt the need to wear a dagger even in a room like this.
Nay one here would hurt her. Does she wear it out of habit?
“That doesnae even deserve the name dagger or dirk. It could be snapped in two.”
“Ye give yer opinion very decidedly.”
“Strange, I was just thinking the same about ye.” He held her gaze. Usually, he stayed quiet at events such as this. Ian, Elliot, Avery and Noah were the ones he talked to most, but Eloise seemed to have drawn something out of him tonight.
“Something is wrong with ye this evening,” she said, her cheeks blushing crimson red as she bent her head forward and reached for the pewter jug on the table. He reached for it at the same time, ready to top up his own goblet. Their hands collided on the jug, and she pulled back sharply.
“Aye, apparently there is something wrong with ye too. Worried me touch will burn ye, Eloise?” he asked, snatching up the jug to top up his wine. He topped up hers first, watching as her lips pursed together. “Let me guess. I am pouring the wine wrong now too.”
“I didnae say that.”
Murdoch looked away, replacing the jug on the table. He was hardly going to admit to Eloise that she was right, that something more was upsetting him.
I dinnae wish tae go home, though I ken I must.
He had no choice but to return home for Clyde’s wedding, even though he feared the consequences. If he returned, he didn’t doubt his father would demand it was time he married, something he could not contemplate.
I must avoid it. At any cost!
Murdoch realized that Eloise was staring at him. He jerked his head sharply toward her only to see her blushing and abruptly looking away.
“Ye think me rude fer correcting ye,” she whispered.
“And ye think me an idiot.” His sharp tongue had her staring at him again, wide eyed.
What is wrong with me tonight?
“Nay, are ye serious?” Ian laughed loudly about something, capturing Murdoch’s attention. He turned around, trying to shake himself free of Eloise’s arresting gaze. “What women are these?”
Murdoch sat forward, trying to understand the conversation he had mostly missed.
“I dinnae ken.” Noah laughed too, shaking his head. “I have it on good authority from the guards that there are such women in this clan. They offer their services as escorts tae men in need of company. They act as wives, sisters, ye name it. It helps men tae hide their secrets.”
“How exciting!” Elliot declared from the other side of the table, rubbing his hands together. “Where does one find such women?”
“Down, Elliot,” Laird Chattan said with a laugh. “We all ken what secrets ye have in mind when it comes tae women.”
As all around the table laughed, Murdoch sat back, an idea occurring to him. Perhaps there was a way to avoid being thrust into a marriage by his father. He had to appear as if he was already married.
Aye, where would a man find one of these women tae act out a part?
“Announcing my brother and his wife, Ian and Aila Chattan.” Laird Chattan raised his tankard at the front of the great hall. “Please, join me in toasting them. May ye two be as happy as ye both look now.”
“Here, here!” Raucous cheers went up around the busy feasting room as many raised their cups.
Ian lifted the tankard of mead to his lips and finished the remaining contents, his gaze fixed on his new wife beside him. The ceremony had been simple, though many had wanted to attend the wedding of the laird’s brother. What mattered most to Ian was that his friends and family had come, and, of course, that Aila had eagerly spoken her vows.
She looked stunning sitting beside him, dressed in a beautiful dark green gown that hugged her waist before flowing freely to the ground. A strip of clan plaid adorned her hip, matching the one on his shoulder, secured by the clan badge.
“Ye are beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as the celebrations resumed now that his brother’s toast was finished.
The center of the great hall cleared, and many took to the open space. The pipers struck up a lively tune, and the dancing commenced. Others focused more on indulging in food and drink.
“Ye are kind tae me,” Aila whispered, leaning into him as their hands found each other beneath the table. The touch warmed Ian to his core as she guided their clasped hands to rest on his thigh. No matter how many times they had made love in the past week, he always wanted her again.
“Ye have tae eat, Callie,” Fiadh suddenly called from the other end of the table.
“I dinnae want tae eat.” Callie looked distinctly pale as she rubbed her stomach.
“Aye, ye must.” Fiadh put a heavy trencher down in front of her full of smoked fish. Callie raised her hand and covered her face. Avery at once took the trencher away.
“What’s going on?” Ian called to them, curious.
“Our sister is refusing tae eat,” Fiadh said firmly.
“And now my older sister is back in my life, she is seeking tae tell me what tae do. I cannae eat.” Callie shook her head.
“Love, ye will just have tae tell them.” Avery waved a hand at her.
“Nae today. It’s Aila’s wedding day,” Callie hissed at him, clearly urging him to be quiet.
“Do ye want tae tell them?” he asked as he ate some of the smoked fish. “Or would ye like yer sister tae force ye intae eating this?”
She looked sick again and shook her head.
“Come on, tell us,” Aila said eagerly. “Something must be afoot.”
“I am nae in the mood for eating because I am a little nauseous. That is all.”
“Ah, aye, that is so easy tae brush off,” Ian said in jest. “And what is the cause of the nausea?”
He looked at Avery, noting the smile on his face.
Something more is afoot here.
Callie sighed loudly and nodded, clearly deciding it was time to reveal all.
“I’m with child,” she confessed.
“That’s wonderful!” Fiadh and Aila were on their feet so fast that Ian was left staring at the empty chair beside him.
“I lost my wife rather quickly, did I nae?” he remarked.
“I’ll be back soon.” Aila waved a hand at him in dismissal and ran around the table, then launched herself at her sister, as did Fiadh. Poor Callie started complaining she was being squished in the chair, though no one seemed to mind. Even Avery chuckled as he sat beside her, enjoying the fish himself.
“Well done, ye,” a voice caught Ian’s attention.
He turned to see Eloise standing on his other side. She’d moved from her chair beside her own sister, Scarlett, and come to see him, laying a hand on his shoulder.
“For what?”
“What do ye think?” She laughed and nodded at Aila. “I had a feeling when ye told me of what had passed in those letters that ye felt more than just a curiosity for her.”
“Ye did nae. I did nae even ken. How could ye ken?”
“A woman’s intuition, I suppose,” she replied, tapping her nose.
“Intuition, eh?” Someone else joined them. Another voice joined them. Murdoch approached and stood behind Ian.
Ian couldn’t help but notice Eloise’s smile falter. She glared at Murdoch with intensity.
“What of a man’s intuition? Is that nae good for anything?” Murdoch seemed to take pleasure in trying to provoke Eloise. He leaned on the back of Ian’s chair, waiting for her response. Eloise, in her usual demure manner, averted her gaze from him.
“Cannae ye two call a truce for today of all days?” Ian interjected with a laugh. Over the past few days, he had witnessed how much they managed to get on each other’s nerves. Murdoch was cold, ruthless, and often downright rude and vulgar, something Eloise clearly despised. Her nature, on the other hand, was kind and welcoming. It meant that she couldn’t see what Ian saw in his friend.
He is a good man.
In contrast, Murdoch appeared frustrated that Eloise remained demure and modest, doing her best to resist rising to his taunts while keeping her distance.
“We have,” Eloise said simply.
“Nae enough, clearly.” Ian nodded between the two of them.
“Well, shall I be the bigger man between the two of us?” Murdoch cleared his throat and stood straighter, adjusting his suit.
“Ye are the man,” Eloise reminded him rather tartly.
“Well, well, ye noticed. I thought ye just saw me as a beast.”
“I did nae say the two were mutually exclusive.”
Ian chuckled into his tankard of mead, trying hard not to choke on the mixture.
“Here, allow me tae further our truce.” He offered his hand to Eloise.
“What’s that?”
“A hand. I am offering tae dance with ye, Eloise.”
“Oh, I…” She trailed off and looked at the dancers. It was a lively volta, with the ladies being thrown into the air by the men.
“I am nae so foul that ye cannae trust me tae catch ye. Come on.” He took her hand when she didn’t object further and led her away. Eloise cast a pleading look back at Ian, but he simply shrugged, uncertain of what he was expected to do.
For all of Murdoch’s brash ways, he would never drop Eloise in a dance.
Maybe the dance will do them both some good.
The chair beside Ian was occupied once again, and he looked at his wife, grasping her hand when he found her there and kissing the back of it. She smiled and leaned toward him, lowering her voice.
“Ye will nae believe what Callie just told me,” Aila was breathless.
“What is it?” he asked with sudden concern when he saw her eyes were glistening with tears.
“It is such a wonderful thing, I can barely contain it,” Aila murmured. “Callie and Avery have decided that if they have a girl, they shall name the child after me.”
“Truly?” He saw just how much it meant to her. She blinked madly, stopping tears before they could fall.
“They are in earnest.” She breathed slowly. “They have said it is their gratitude for when I saved them last year.”
“Well, ye did.” Ian remembered the story of how Avery and Callie had been locked in an outbuilding outside of the brothel as it was burning down. But Aila, courageous and swift, defied her father’s wishes, risking her own safety to rescue them. Without her bravery, they might have been lost forever in the engulfing flames.
“May the girl be blessed with the same happiness as ye are now,” Ian mused, his voice tinged with gratitude and fondness.
Aila’s eyes sparkled with joy as she leaned closer to him, the euphoria of the day radiating from her. “I pray for it,” she responded, her words filled with happiness. “I cannae bear the thought of this day coming tae an end.”
A mischievous glimmer danced in Ian’s eyes as he playfully waggled his eyebrows, teasing her with his thoughts. “What about the night? I have a few tricks up my sleeve that would bring an even wider smile tae yer face.”
Aila’s cheeks flushed, and a playful smile curved her lips. “Well, perhaps I will nae be so sad when the feasting concludes then.”
Ian’s determination flickered in his eyes as he took her hand, his desire to revel in every moment of celebration evident. “Ye will nae be sad at all. Come, my love, let us dance and celebrate with all our might.” He guided Aila to her feet, leading her gracefully around the feasting table. As they passed Noah and Scarlett, wrapped in their own world of whispered words and blushing affection, Ian couldn’t help but feel a swell of happiness for his loved ones finding their own bliss.
Amidst the swirling dance floor, Ian’s gaze fell upon Eloise, appearing somewhat adrift amidst the lively revelry. But in a surprising turn of events, Murdoch emerged, effortlessly sweeping Eloise into his arms and twirling her with unexpected grace. Murdoch, a burly figure to most, concealed a hidden talent in the art of dance, unknown to many.
With effortless finesse, Ian twirled Aila across the floor, their bodies moving as one, guided by the rhythm of their hearts. The dance left them breathless, their chests rising and falling with exhilaration as they leaned toward each other.
Aila’s voice carried a hint of mischief as she confessed, her eyes flickering with desire. “Perhaps I’ll be ready for the night sooner than I thought,” she whispered, her gaze tracing Ian’s form.
Ian’s desire matched hers, a hunger that resonated deep within him. “Then let us seize the moment and embrace the night together,” he responded, his voice laced with passion and devotion.
And so, hand in hand, Ian and Aila left the festivities behind, ready to immerse themselves in a night filled with love, intimacy, and the promises of a future entwined.
If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…
Eloise MacTavish, entangled in her father’s debts, seizes a risky opportunity to erase his financial burdens. All she has to do is pose as a fake fiancée to a man who has lost his previous wife-to-be to an accident and wants to avoid another wedding. Unbeknownst to her, her betrothed turns out to be no other than Murdoch Gordon—her nemesis, her forbidden temptation… and her brother’s closest friend. As their feigned affection deepens into genuine emotions, a chilling truth emerges: Murdoch’s late wife’s demise was deliberate. With danger lurking and history threatening to repeat itself, Eloise navigates secrecy, tangled emotions, and a looming peril from having her brother reveal her schemes…
“Claret, sweetmeat, doucets, and figs…aye, that should be enough.” Aila examined the the platter in her hands while muttering to herself, ensuring she had gathered everything her father had requested. The tray was merely silver-plated, lacking the authenticity of real silver, and the copper beneath was starting to show through. Her father, Gowan, would detest the sight of the copper, but she had skillfully arranged the figs to conceal their inability to afford the finest luxuries in life.
Walking through the brothel, Aila winced at the echoes emanating from upstairs. The fabricated moans of the women resonated within the walls, harmonizing with the grunts of men indulging in pleasure. Every day felt the same, enduring these infernal sounds.
I miss Callie. Aye, she could have brought some light to this wretched place.
Aila sighed, readjusting the tray in her hands. The previous year, she had aided her younger sister in escaping this inferno on Earth—her father’s brothel. Callie possessed a knack for wit and good humor, which had made this place bearable until the day Aila knew Callie had to flee. Finding solace in the fact that one of them was liberated from this place, it left Aila and their eldest sister, Fiadh, behind
Perhaps someday we can also escape this place.
As Aila turned a corner in the house, she winced as a woman’s cries grew louder from above. They reached a point where she no longer discerned whether it was pleasure or pain that the woman was enduring.
I’d rather be anywhere but here!
Aila approached her father’s door when the tray slipped from her hands. The doucets rolled off, tumbling onto the floor and rug.
“Nay!” Aila muttered, dropping to the rug and hastening to retrieve them.
“Aila? What’s happenin’?” Fiadh descended the corridor. The taller of the two, she had to stoop her lanky form to assist Aila in picking up the doucets.
“Father requested a platter. I fear whom he intends for me to meet in this chamber,” Aila whispered as she hurriedly gathered the pastries. When Fiadh noticed some fluff on one of the pastries, she blew it away and returned it to the tray. “Fiadh!”
“He will never ken.” Fiadh winked.
A small chuckle escaped Aila. She was grateful for the moment of relief as she smiled at her sister. Much like herself, Fiadh possessed chestnut brown hair, though Aila’s often cascaded loosely around her shoulders, defying any updo she attempted, while Fiadh’s remained perfectly pinned at the nape of her neck. They both bore high cheekbones and wide smiles, but whereas Aila’s eyes were blue, Fiadh’s possessed a rich green hue.
“Aila? Where are ye?” Gowan barked from within the chamber.
Both Aila and Fiadh froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances.
“Ye dinnae think he wants us tae…” Aila trailed off, her throat tightening. Until now, her father had tasked her with aiding the courtesans in their duties. He ran the brothel, pretending to the clients that Fiadh was the true owner, though it was a mere facade, for she had naught to do with it. Like Aila, Fiadh scurried around their abode, changing linens, providing sustenance, and consoling the courtesans when they were treated too roughly by their patrons.
“Nay.” Fiadh’s whisper was harsh as she helped Aila to her feet, placing the final doucets on the tray. “We’ll never become like those lasses, Aila. No matter what, I’ll no’ allow it. We protect each other, aye?” Fiadh bumped her shoulder, a gesture they had shared since they were bairns.
“Aye.” Aila smiled, returning the bump.
“Aila!” Gowan barked from within the room once more, causing them both to flinch.
“Come on. We’re running out o’ time.” Fiadh opened the door and led the way inside.
“Maybe this tray is o’erflowin’,” Aila murmured behind her. She didnae watch her path, so as she followed Fiadh, she didnae notice her sister had stopped. Aila accidentally bumped into Fiadh’s back, causing more doucets and figs to tumble to the floor. This time, an entire claret jug joined the spill.
Fiadh turned, attempting to catch the jug as Aila reached out with one hand to salvage the figs. She failed miserably. As the jug landed on her arm, she lost her balance, taking Fiadh down with her.
“Ah!” Fiadh cried out as they tumbled together onto the floor. Aila took the brunt of the impact, landing face-first in one of the doucets, with the pastry crumbling over her cheeks and lips.
Och, well, that didnae go according tae plan.
“My apologies, this is no’ how my daughters usually behave. Aila! Fiadh! What’s amiss with the pair o’ ye?” Gowan’s voice echoed from across the room.
“We’re sorry, Father.” Fiadh quickly stood, lifting herself off Aila and inadvertently pushing down on her sister’s back in the process.
“Oomph!”
“Sorry.” Fiadh hurriedly helped Aila up. The tray lay completely flattened on the floor, with every edible item now squished on the boards or splattered on Aila’s blue gown. She stared at the mess, then attempted to scrape the pastry flakes from her cheeks.
A rich laugh resonated through the room, unfamiliar to Aila’s ears. She paused in her task, looking up to see a man she had never laid eyes upon before. He occupied a vast armchair in her father’s study. In his mid-thirties, he possessed long black hair curling around his ears and icy blue eyes that flickered between the two lasses. The laughter held no pleasantness but rather an air of belittlement.
Aila took a step a forward, despising the sound, but Fiadh yanked her back, resulting in both of them further crushing the food beneath them.
“Well, well, quite an impression yer daughters make.” The man’s gaze lingered on Aila, sending a shiver down her spine. She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, uncertain where to direct her gaze. Tearing her eyes away from his, she looked down at her feet instead, noticing cream splattered on her boots. There was a ferocity in his demeanor that filled her with fear. “She’s even fairer than when I saw her from a distance.”
“Aila, step forward,” Gowan commanded. “Give him a better view o’ ye.”
“What did ye say?” Aila’s voice rose, lifting her chin defiantly. Her father stood a few feet away, his dark hair impeccably slicked back. His grey eyes widened, clearly displeased with her defiance.
Fiadh subtly grasped Aila’s elbow, attempting to hold her back.
“Step forward,” Gowan’s words dripped with venom, leaving Aila with no choice. She stepped away from the food and locked her gaze with the stranger in the room. “What do ye think, Ossian?”
Ossian leaned forward in the armchair, his movements deliberate, and tilted his head to the side, observing Aila with the intensity of an eagle eyeing its prey. The icy glare caused her hands to tremble. She linked them behind her back, attempting to conceal the shaking.
I feared it all along. My father intends tae make me one of the courtesans!
Aila prepared her body to sprint from the room.
“A fair face…and quite a spectacle.” Ossian nodded, observing the spilled food.
“The two o’ ye…ye are an embarrassment.” Gowan’s restless shifting revealed his desire to say more. “Fiadh, leave us. Fetch more food. I must talk to Aila alone.”
Fiadh touched Aila’s arm, yet she stood her ground.
“Fiadh,” Gowan warned in a low tone.
“I am staying with my sister.” Fiadh’s determination caused Aila to turn and offer her a grateful smile.
Thank the heavens for ye, Fiadh.
Gowan clearly wished to continue the argument, but he must have feared causing a scene in front of his guest. He glanced at Ossian before giving a reluctant nod.
“Aila, sit.” Gowan pointed to the chair beside him. Aila approached and took the seat across from Ossian, perching on the edge. Gowan sat beside her, moving so close that she could see his foot perilously close to a low-lying dumbwaiter table.
“It is a pleasure tae meet ye, Aila,” Ossian spoke, leaning forward. “A great pleasure indeed.”
She sensed the insincerity in his pleasantries and narrowed her gaze, unwilling to entertain his false words.
“Aye, she will do fine,” Ossian looked at Gowan. “I will marry her.”
Aila’s jaw dropped open. She had been so convinced that Gowan intended to force her into the life of a courtesan that she had never considered this outcome.
I am being sold as a wife!
Her eyes darted toward the imposing figure of Ossian. The mere thought of not just sharing his bed once, but for a lifetime, made her tremble uncontrollably.
“Nay.”
“I beg yer pardon?” Ossian’s dark gaze snapped back to her.
“I said nay.” Aila found her voice firm. “I have no interest in marriage, and I will nae wed ye.”
Gowan stomped on her foot beneath the table. She leapt to her feet before he could harm her further, circling the chair with a limp. Fiadh stood beside her, offering support and positioning herself between Aila and Gowan, prepared to shield her if he pursued.
For far too long, Aila had remained silent. While Fiadh and Callie had never hesitated to express their thoughts to Gowan, Aila had always held her tongue. She had witnessed little good come from being outspoken.
Now, everything has changed.
“I am flattered…” She swallowed hard, trying to find some semblance of composure in this dreadful situation. “But I cannae marry ye.”
Ossian leaned back in his chair, his unwavering gaze fixed upon her.
“Ye dinnae understand, Aila.” Gowan stepped around Fiadh, forcefully pushing her aside and causing Aila to stumble, nearly losing her balance as she was separated from her sister. “The decision has already been made. Ye are tae pack yer bags now.”
“Father?” Aila shook her head, staring at him in disbelief. “Ye would send me tae a future I dread? For what purpose?”
“Nay more, Aila, nay more.”
“I will nae be silenced!” Aila shouted defiantly, her voice resounding through the room. It felt as though her words erupted from the depths of her being, a powerful explosion. “I will nae marry him, and nae words ye speak will compel me to do so.”
Aila fled from the room, sprinting so fast that she nearly slipped on the scattered food, yet managing to maintain her balance. Swinging the door open, she raced down the corridor, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. She sought refuge, heading towards the servants’ staircase, desperate to find a hiding place. Midway down the stairs, she succumbed to her emotions, sitting on a step and resting her head against the banister, sobbing as she tried to shield herself from the world.
“Aila?” Fiadh’s voice trailed after her. “Aila, I’m here.” Fiadh appeared on the stairs behind her. Instead of pulling Aila up and urging her to move, she sat down beside her, enfolding her in a comforting embrace. Aila’s tears no longer fell on the banister but on her sister’s shoulder.
“How could he do this?” Aila pleaded, her words stuttered through her tears.
“Our father has nay heart. Ye and I ken that too well.”
“I am nae one of his courtesans, yet he treats me as if I’m some commodity to be sold! It’s nae a matter of him lacking a heart, but of him possessing the darkest soul on this earth.”
“Aye, I cannae argue with that.” Fiadh gently wiped away Aila’s tears, cupping her cheeks. “Aila, trust me. Nae harm will befall ye. Ye will nae have to marry that man. I’ll ensure it.”
“Ye cannae make such a promise—”
“But I am making it. Trust me.” Fiadh pulled Aila closer, allowing her to cry. Aila buried her face in the fabric of Fiadh’s gown and did not lift her head for some time, consumed by her sorrow.
***
“Aila? Aila! Yer father needs tae see ye.”
Aila awoke in her bed to find one of the maids rudely shaking her. Rolling over, she pushed the maid away.
“Chelsea, what are ye daeing?”
“Ye cannae go back tae sleep. Yer father wants tae see ye right away, and I cannae bear his wrath.” Chelsea left the room before Aila could fully comprehend her words. Slowly, she climbed out of bed and dressed herself. She didn’t bother tying up her hair but instead combed it so that it hung loose past her shoulders. With a heavy heart, she walked out of her room, taking slow steps.
She loitered outside her father’s study, unwilling to face him after what had transpired the previous evening. She hadn’t heard if Ossian had departed, and the thought of him still lurking in the house filled her with dread.
Nay matter what my father says, I will still refuse. I’ll never consent tae marry that man!
She paced back and forth outside her father’s study, delaying the inevitable. Eventually, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She wrinkled her nose at once. It was evident that one of the courtesans had spent the night with her father, as the room reeked of their cloying perfume—a nauseating floral blend.
“Father?” Aila called out in a hushed voice. He stood up from his armchair, surveying some papers. To her relief, Ossian was nowhere to be seen. However, her father’s expression mirrored the gravity he had worn on the day he discovered Callie had fled.
Aye, he will hate me for this.
Suddenly, he grinned. The abrupt change caught her off guard.
“Father, I…” Struggling to find the right words, she swallowed hard and stood a little taller. “I’m sorry for what happened last night. I apologize for ruining yer deal, and I promise ye, I’ll work twice as hard to cover the losses incurred.” She paused, surprised to see him still smiling. It was not the reaction she had expected.
“Ye’ll have tae work twice as hard, aye.” He stepped forward, slamming the papers he held onto the table before shifting his focus to her. “But ye’ll do it, nae because of the deal, but because Fiadh is nae here tae do her own work anymore.”
“I beg yer pardon?” Aila glanced around the room, half-expecting Fiadh to emerge from the shadows, but it was just the two of them. “Where is she?”
“She offered herself in yer place.” He frowned, as if the very notion confounded him. “She was determined that ye wouldnae wed that man. Ha! A peculiar decision, indeed.” He circled around her, and she instinctively turned to face him, feeling trapped like a caged animal. “By now, she’ll have taken her place, ready tae be Laird Ossian Farquharson’s new lady.”
Aila couldn’t utter another word. Her blood turned cold as she comprehended the full extent of what had transpired and how her father had delivered the news devoid of any emotion.
Fiadh is gone, and she sacrificed her own happiness sae that I wouldnae have tae marry that man.
“Fiadh,” Aila whispered, her voice breaking as her heart shattered into pieces.
Chapter One
Three years later, Clan Chattan
“Ah, come now, Aila! I ken ye were up tae somethin’.” Ian peered around the castle wall, observing the young woman as she stealthily moved away from the premises. She cast nervous glances over her shoulder, her striking blue eyes scanning the surroundings. It was evident that she was cautious about being followed, but she had yet to spot Ian. “Whaur are ye gan?” Ian whispered to himself, keeping a safe distance while he observed her.
Aila had been residing in Laird Chattan’s castle for a few months now, and not a single day had passed without Ian suspecting something amiss. As Laird Noah Chattan’s brother, it fell upon Ian to ensure the well-being of all castle guests, particularly since Lady Scarlett Chattan had recently given birth to their son, and her attention was preoccupied. Ian took this responsibility seriously, and the moment he had encountered Aila, he sensed that something was awry.
What are ye hidin’, lass?
As Aila sneaked away from the castle, pulling up the hood of a dark black cloak to conceal her face, Ian discreetly followed suit. Since she wasn’t mounted on a horse, he saw no need to do so either. He trailed behind her on foot, traversing the drawbridge where the stench of horse manure filled the air, and passing by the market stalls at the town’s periphery, where the enticing aromas of freshly baked bread and cured hams lingered. Aila never paused to peruse the market; instead, she strode forward with determination, swiftly departing the town and venturing into the forest.
“I kent she was up tae somethin’, yet naebody believed me,” Ian muttered to himself, pausing by a stall. He exchanged a few loose coins with the vendor and procured a large leather hat, which he pulled down low over his brow, obscuring his long face and the dark blond hair cascading around his ears.
When Aila had first arrived at the castle, it had been a tumultuous time. Her sister, Callie, who had served as a healer for the Chattans, had been injured during a mission she and her now-husband Avery undertook to dismantle the brothel they once belonged to. Ian had heard firsthand accounts from Callie and Avery themselves about Gowan Mathieson’s tyranny, exploiting women and forcing them into selling their bodies for his own gain. He had falsely pinned the reputation of the brothel owner on his eldest daughter, Fiadh, but his dominion over that establishment and the courtesans had come to an end. Callie and Avery managed to escape as Gowan attempted to murder them both with the assistance of his courtesan, Ella. Callie had brought her sister Aila along in their escape.
Since then, Gowan had been arrested for evading taxes and tithes, languishing in the dungeons of the neighboring clan under Laird Buchanan’s jurisdiction. He had left behind an empty brothel house. Callie rejoiced at her father’s demise, his malicious ways finally put to an end. However, Ian remained unsure of Aila’s true sentiments.
She was always so reticent, preferring to fade into the shadows of a crowded room. Unlike her outspoken sister, Aila seldom spoke and kept to herself. Her enigmatic behavior left Ian suspicious, yet when he shared his misgivings with others, he encountered a dearth of evidence.
“All I’m sayin’, brother, is that she was with Gowan Mathieson for many a year,” Ian had warned his brother, Laird Noah, the night prior. “Ye cannae be certain o’ what lies in her heart, unlike Callie, who escaped and forged her own path. For all we ken, Aila might sympathize with her father and now be harboring secret intentions. She could even be plotting his release from that dungeon one day.”
“Ian, ye have nae proof.” Noah was a steadfast and just laird, as well as a good brother. Though they shared a dram o’ whisky, Noah did not dismiss Ian’s suspicions but demanded concrete evidence. “If ye wish to be certain that she cannae be trusted, then ye must find some evidence to support yer claims.”
“Very well. I shall find that evidence.”
Noah withdrew to attend to his wife and son, leaving Ian alone with his whisky. Once again, he caught a glimpse of Aila skulking about the castle in the dead o’ night. And now, she was up to her old tricks this morning.
I shall find that evidence, even if it means tailing Aila wherever she goes.
He trailed her through the town and into the forest. Here, he had to keep an even greater distance, for she chose a path through the trees that was seldom trodden, and his presence behind her would have been too apparent. As he tracked her amidst the Douglas firs and past a shimmering loch, constantly seeking refuge behind neighboring trees, Ian reminded himself of his purpose.
I dinnae trust Aila, and as a brother to the Laird, it is my duty to keep this clan safe, regardless of the foe.
Aila froze on the trail and turned around. Ian swiftly pressed himself against the nearest oak tree, melding into its trunk to conceal himself. He listened intently, but the ground did not echo beneath her footsteps, nor did twigs snap. She had stopped and showed no intention to move forward.
Ian dared to steal a glance, observing her from behind the tree.
Therein lay one complication with his suspicions of Aila, now starkly evident as she scanned the spaces between the trees, searching for something or someone.
Aye, she possesses a grace.
Aila’s movements exuded an enchanting elegance. From the very first night she arrived at the castle, he knew she was a beauty. Her piercing light blue eyes seemed to delve deep within him. Her chestnut brown hair, forever escaping its confines, enticed any man who passed her with its soft curls.
Her allure infuriated Ian. He understood he should feel naught but indifference towards a woman who behaved with such secrecy and suspicion.
Abruptly, she stiffened and peered through the trees. Apparently, she had found whatever or whomever she sought. Departing from the trail, she ventured deeper into the woods. Ian trailed at a distance, endeavoring to divert his gaze from the fact that, as she walked, she swept the hem of her cloak to the side, revealing the snug fit of her dark sapphire blue gown adorned with a tartan strip across the brocade. It accentuated the curves of her figure in a manner more enticing than it should have been.
Concentrate, Ian!
He chided himself as he pursued her, concealing himself behind a colossal gray boulder when he witnessed her halt beside another person. They stood too far away for him to discern their conversation, and he dared not draw nearer lest he be discovered. Nonetheless, Ian gleaned one detail about the man she encountered.
Weapons adorned his hip, and a thick cloak cloaked his shoulders. A long, slender white scar traced a path from his bald head down his cheek.
Two months after Idalia & Bram’s wedding,
Strathnaver, Scotland
Idalia sat beside Mahala’s bed with the child’s favorite book in hand, reading her a chapter to help her sleep. Mahala lay covered in the bed, and she appeared to hang on every word that came out of Idalia’s mouth. Idalia read slowly, with the light from the candelabrum standing on the desk behind her.
Reading Mahala to bed had become a habit which both of them looked forward to every night. They had started it when Bran had gone off to war with Dunn to settle a border dispute. In the couple of months since getting married to Bran, she had discovered that Mahala had not had much of an education, nor had she been treated as a child at all.
While Idalia had expected it somewhat, seeing the reality of how Mahala was affected by being a captive in a military camp hurt her beyond words. She took it upon herself to restore Mahala’s childhood. While she didn’t think the damage would ever be completely reversed, it was still worth a try to give the girl a chance to forget all the things that had been done to her.
The first thing she noticed about Mahala was her strength and bravery. She never asked for help, no matter what the task, and several times, Idalia had had to go pull her out of a corner where she was hiding in the castle.
Idalia had begun teaching Mahala to read, and the child’s aptitude for it was encouraging. And so began their time reading together. In the absence of Bran, Idalia’s bond with Mahala grew at an alarming rate. Here was a child who wouldn’t trust her servants, but she had learned to trust Idalia completely.
Idalia filled their time together with activities, making a note of which activities Mahala showed more interest in. Mahala loved it when Idalia braided her hair, and she loved playing on the surrounding beaches. While she seemed fascinated when she saw the other children in the castle playing, she always refused to join them. Idalia took comfort in knowing she could not expect everything to change all at once.
She loved Mahala and made sure never to mention August’s name around her, as it had caused the child to tremble violently the last time. It had taken days for Mahala to regain her color, and Idalia had learned a valuable lesson.
“. . . And that was how the farmer began his journey to the sun with his pet chicken. The end,” Idalia read, shutting the book. She looked up at Mahala, who was smiling excitedly, clapping with her small hands under the covers. The sight always filled Idalia with happiness. Although Mahala had heard this exact ending a dozen times, she had the same reaction every time.
“How about if we try another book tomorrow night?” Idalia teased.
“But I like this one just fine,” Mahala said, giggling. “I would like to go to the sun someday . . .” Mahala’s voice was soft and wistful.
“If anyone can do it, Mahala, I’m sure it would be you,” Idalia replied, smiling.
Mahala turned in bed to face Idalia directly. “Can I call you mama?” she asked suddenly. “You are my mama now, aren’t you?”
Idalia covered her mouth in surprise and laughed softly. While the question caught her entirely by surprise, it also filled her heart with joy and happiness. She had wanted it from the first moment she was married to Bran but had not wanted to impose it on Mahala.
Idalia knew more than anyone just how much Mahala needed a mother in her life, and she wanted to answer that call with every part of her. However, she had wanted the girl to see her as such first. It had been difficult for her, hearing Mahala address her as Angel, but she had endured it because she knew those names were significant to Mahala as well.
“Yes, Mahala!” Idalia reached forward and stroked Mahala’s hair. “Yes, you can call me mama. You’ve been my child from the beginning.” Idalia swallowed her tears, not wanting to confuse the girl with an outburst of emotions. She instead leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Mahala’s forehead.
The girl yawned as Idalia tucked her in. “Good night, Mama,” she said softly as her eyes fluttered shut.
Idalia watched her with joy, resuming her seat beside the bed. She loved Mahala, and in that moment, she swore to herself that she would die first before she allowed any harm to come to her.
She settled into her chair and watched Mahala’s small form in the bed, her chest rising and falling as she slept. The both of them had come a long way, and Idalia couldn’t wait to tell Bran about her recent breakthrough.
They received a message that the campaign was over and that the troops were headed back home. She expected Bran any day, and in thinking about him, she realized just how much she missed him. Bran had informed her that he would be going out to war more and more, and she had given him her blessing. She had Mahala now to help keep her sane when Bran was away.
Idalia heard some noise from the courtyard down below and got up in annoyance. She wondered who could be making noise so late at night. Mahala slept lightly and oftentimes struggled to go back to sleep after she woke up.
She walked to the window and parted the drapes, then stifled a yelp of happiness. Riding at the head of a column of soldiers were Bran and Dunn. Bran had returned from war. Idalia felt bubbles in her stomach as she watched her mountain of a husband sitting his horse proudly, with the confidence of a thousand men.
Idalia lit a candle on Mahala’s table, then left with the candelabra. She placed it on a mantel in the hallway, and then rushed down the staircase. She and Bran had been married for a little over a month before duty had called him to the front lines. Now he was back, Idalia didn’t intend to lose another second.
She rushed out of the castle and ran down the front steps, just as the soldiers trooped into the castle yard. Bran saw her almost immediately and vaulted off his massive warhorse immediately. He picked her up mid-stride, turning her around in the air several times as she laughed excitedly.
He set her down and kissed her softly on the lips. “I’m glad to see I was nae the only person who was doing the missing,” Bran said teasingly. “It appears I was missed as well.”
“The whole country can burn down for all I care, Bran,” Idalia started. “But know now that you aren’t leaving this castle for the next three months. A woman needs her husband.”
Bran laughed and nodded. Together they climbed back up to their chambers, where Idalia helped Bran out of his war garb. He stumbled tiredly towards the tub in the corner and got into the cool water to have a quick bath.
Idalia got out of her night shift and lay naked in the bed, waiting for Bran. When Bran stepped out of the tub and saw Idalia, he barked in laughter. “Now, Idalia, I have only just returned from war. Do nae ye want to ken how that went?”
“You have enough time to tell me all about your mighty arm over the next three months,” Idalia replied with a straight face. “Now, however, you have a duty to me.”
Bran chuckled and tossed his towel to a nearby chair. “Since ye ask so nicely,” he said, climbing into bed beside Idalia. He pulled Idalia into him, and she loved how cool his body felt. He held the curve of her hips and placed a sweet kiss on her lips.
Idalia gasped expectantly. She had no idea how much she had missed his touch. Bran rolled his hand downwards and smacked Idalia’s derriere lightly, startling her. As they kissed, his hands explored tirelessly over her entire body. His probing hands filled Idalia with explosive currents, and she shivered as his fingers parted her legs and went searching inside her wetness.
Idalia moaned with satisfaction as Bran moved his wonderful mouth down to her breast, sucking her nipples hungrily. His fingers worked expertly inside her and mere seconds later, she bit down on her lip to stop from screaming as she felt her release.
Bran laughed quietly, a deep throaty sound that reverberated through Idalia’s body. He slid down till the tip of his hardness teased at the entrance to her center. He rubbed his tip teasingly across her wet surface, and Idalia squirmed as the sensation threatened to drive her mad.
Slowly, Bran slid into her. Idalia immediately saw stars, and a long wail escaped her mouth. Bran didn’t take her gently. He took her like a soldier, one who had been to war and away from his wife, ought to take her. Bran pursued his own climax and rammed into Idalia with reckless abandon.
Higher and higher she rose in mounting ecstasy, moaning his name, until at last, clutching each other tightly, they went over the precipice of pleasure together.
Bran lay down beside her and enfolded her in his arms. She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of him next to her.
“I love ye, Idalia.”
“I love you, Bran.”
She deserved this life. She deserved this wonderful husband. She deserved her beautiful daughter. She couldn’t wait for all the chapters left to be written in her life, and she looked forward to whatever life had in store for her.
If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…
Ewan MacGregor, torn between love and loyalty, is thrust into a precarious situation when his childhood friend, Adamina Leòideach, seeks refuge from an unwanted betrothal. Despite their deepening affection for each other, Ewan strives to keep his distance, knowing that succumbing to temptation will risk exposing his long-held secrets. And that the revelation will not only disgrace him to his own clan but also lead to losing Adamina forever…
Idalia Buckland sat huddled with her sister, Leonor, on the cold stone floor of their shared prison cell, feeling alone and desperate. They had been taken captive by the dastardly highland laird, Alistair Morgan, who had killed their entire family, with the exception of Idalia, Leonor, and their eldest sister Katarina. Katarina had been bartered as a slave into a forced marriage and they knew not whether she was dead or alive.
Leonor shivered, burrowing closer into Idalia’s side. She burned with fever, fading in and out of coherency. Idalia had done everything she could within their limited circumstances to bring down her sister’s fever, but to no avail. She feared that if they could not escape soon, Leonor was going to die. God in Heaven, help us! She prayed for divine intervention, but none came. Her sister shivered again, and Idalia wrapped her own dress around her in an effort to make her more comfortable.
An image of her mother’s face flashed through her mind as tears began to fall once more. They had cried a great many times since their captivity. The pain of their loss had been excruciating. Idalia had no notion as to how long they had been kept prisoner. Without a way to see daylight, days and nights had melded together as one long never-ending span. They had been allowed the occasional candle when someone had brought them their meals and water, what limited times those had been, and to empty their necessary bucket.
One moment she had been dancing with her sisters around their campfire after having narrowly escaped from an unwanted betrothal, the next moment they were under attack. The men had been slaughtered immediately, while the women had been raped and murdered at the soldiers’ leisure. The only thing that had saved Idalia, Leonor, and Katarina was that they were virgins, untouched by the hands of men, and looked similar to the Laird Morgan’s daughter. It was that similarity which had caused Katarina to be traded in marriage to an islander from Orkney in place of the Lady Katherine Morgan. That was all Idalia knew of her eldest sister’s fate. Katarina had traded her own life for those of Idalia and Leonor. The guilt of that knowledge haunted Idalia’s every waking hour.
Katarina had tried to hide them during the attack, but they had been found and carted off to the Morgan stronghold. As they had been bound and loaded into a wagon, Katarina had been dumped into the wagon next to them, bleeding and barely conscious. She had attempted to fight off their attackers but had failed. Their entire Romani encampment had tried to fight, yet had been unceremoniously defeated in every way. As the wagon had rolled through the carnage, the last thing they saw of their parents and grandparents were their dead mutilated bodies lying upon the ground.
The memory of the attack caused Idalia to quickly rise and run to the waste bucket in the corner as she retched what little remained in her stomach back out. The smell filled the small stone cell, causing her to vomit again. “Oh, God,” she groaned in abject misery.
As she stood to rejoin Leonor, she was stopped by the sound of rattling outside of the cell door. Hope filled her heart that someone had at long last answered her plea for a healer to be brought for her sister. She took a step toward the door, but quickly retreated when it swung open, and the face of August Raymond stood in the shadowed light of the corridor beyond. The very man from whom her family had run and, in so doing, been slaughtered, now stood before her.
She looked around at the cell, trying to find something to stop him with but to no avail. There was no man more vile than the one who stood in front of her. August Raymond was a man with a heart as black as soot. He was cruel and cold-hearted. It was unfortunate that his position as leader of the gypsy clan provided him with power to do anything he wanted. He was a mountain of a man, with green eyes and dark hair. His olive skin was covered in a white shirt that was stained with blood.
Idalia frowned as he grinned at her menacingly. When he had proposed to marry her, she had been relieved by her family’s refusal and had thought that was the end of it. She would have laughed at her naiveté were it not for fear that she would not stop if she did. Of course, he was the type of man to never let go of what he wanted, no matter what it cost. And it had cost her a lot to refuse him.
He held a knife to the throat of one of the guards who had been bringing them food. Without saying a single word, he slit the man’s throat right in front of her. The guard dropped like a stone, his face a mask of surprise and pain, as blood spurted out across the cell’s stone floor.
“You?” Idalia breathed in terror and disgust as the guard’s blood flowed across the floor to pool at her feet.
August’s face split into a menacing grin. “Did you think you could escape me?”
In spite of herself, Idalia inched backwards in fear. “I had hoped. How are you here?” She looked past him to the corridor beyond but saw none of the other Morgan men who had been guarding them. She was not sure which was worse – being held hostage by Alistair Morgan or kidnapped by August Raymond. Neither option was desirable, but she would have to decide quickly which one would get her sister the help she so desperately needed.
“Your captors will not be coming to your aid. It was foolish of Alistair Morgan to place only one guard. It is clear he thought no one would find you here, or care enough to look.” He laughed, a hollow sound that caused Idalia’s skin to crawl with apprehension.
Doing her best to push her fear aside, she leaned down and gathered her sister into her arms. “Leonor is sick. She needs a healer.”
August shook his head in indifference. “I came here for you, not your sister. She can remain here. I have no time to carry a sick woman who cannot even stand of her own accord.”
“I will not leave her here alone,” Idalia shook her head in refusal. “If you wish for me to go with you, you must provide my sister with a healer.”
“I would rather kill her here and now myself than allow you to have your way. You fled from me, and in doing so, you have forfeited all rights to an opinion on your fate or kindness from me. You are now mine, body, mind, and soul. I own you.”
Idalia’s heart raced as he stepped into the cell and reached out his hand to grab her. Yanking her up onto her feet, he began pulling her from the room. Leonor called out for her, attempting to get to her knees, but she collapsed back against the stones, too weak to stand. Idalia fought back, punching, and slapping at August’s face and torso. Shaking her, he slapped her across the face. Lifting her up off of the ground, he threw her over his shoulder and carried her out of the room into the corridor.
Idalia cried out in protest. “I will not leave Leonor! Put me down!”
“You will do as I say, when I say.” August smacked her on the bottom so hard, the sound echoed down the passageway.
A deep voice emerged from the darkness at the end of the corridor. “Put the lass down,” the voice commanded, as hard as steel.
“I will not,” August replied, turning to face the threat before him. “I know your voice. Come forward into the light so I might see your face.”
The stranger took a step forward into the candle’s light, his blade held firmly in hand. He was tall, muscular, dark of eye and hair, with a strong masculine air about him. His arm lay limp at his side, blood dripping from his shoulder to spatter on the stone floor. “Let the lass go, August.”
“I will not, MacLeod,” August refused, shaking his head.
Idalia’s brows raised in surprise. The men knew each other. “Please, help me!” she begged the stranger, praying he would be able to overcome August in a fight if it came to it, but she had her doubts given the state of the man’s arm.
“Silence!” August commanded, giving her another sharp smack.
“Ye were warned,” the stranger ground out through clenched teeth, taking a step toward August.
“Take another step and I will kill the girl,” August threatened.
The stranger stopped, eyeing Idalia as if weighing the risk. “What is she to ye?”
“She is my betrothed.”
“I am not your betrothed! I am nothing to you and never will be!” Idalia argued loudly. She would not allow August to talk the stranger into allowing him to keep her. “Please, MacLeod,” she used the name August had used. “My sister is ill and needs a healer. Please help us!”
The stranger took another step forward. August reacted by dropping Idalia to the floor and withdrew his own blade. She grabbed at his arm attempting to keep him from killing the other man, but August just shrugged her off. Turning, he hit Idalia in the head with the hilt of his sword, then stepped forward to engage the stranger in battle. The sound of sword against sword was the last thing she remembered as the darkness overtook her.
***
Bran MacLeod stood behind the door of his prison cell, awaiting the guard’s usual rotation of food delivery. He had managed to steal a small sgian dubh off of his guard the last time he had been brought his meal but had not had enough time to put the knife to use, not with another man appearing in the doorway. Now, he waited in silence for the earliest opportunity.
He had been captured while attempting to help his laird’s wife, the Lady Katarina, escape the clutches of their rival clan’s laird, Alistair Morgan. He had been wounded in the battle, but his arm had healed to such an extent that he felt he could overpower his guards and escape. He sent another prayer heavenward that the Lady Katarina had made it safely back to Orkney.
When the sound of metal on metal announced the key being turned in the lock, Bran braced himself for attack. The door swung open, and a guard stepped in with a trencher of food and a cup of water. His hands were full, his dirk balanced precariously in his hand under the trencher. Bran took advantage of the moment and leapt on the guard, bringing the blade up between the man’s ribs hoping to reach the heart. Unfortunately, he missed, and the guard lashed out with his weapon, slicing into Bran’s wounded shoulder. Desperate, and not willing to spend another moment being held captive to the likes of Alistair Morgan, Bran dropped and rolled, then came up behind the guard to sink his blade into the man’s kidneys slicing through the artery.
The guard dropped like a stone to his knees, then fell flat on his face. His now sightless eyes staring out to the side as if asking Bran for mercy. Bran gave him none. Rising to his feet, he cursed softly at the state of his shoulder. He bent down to take the guard’s blade, then stepped out into the corridor, shutting the door behind himself. He did not need any of the other guards to come across his body until long after Bran was gone. Making his way down the dark corridor, he was about to turn to where he thought he had been dragged into his cell upon his capture, when he heard a commotion at the other end of the passageway.
A young woman’s voice cried out in protest. “I will not leave Leonor! Put me down!”
“You will do as I say, when I say,” the all too familiar voice of August Raymond echoed down the hallway followed by a loud smacking sound as if he had struck the girl.
Bran recognized the name the girl had mentioned as one of the Lady Katarina’s sisters. He could not leave them to their fate, especially not at the hands of a man such as August. August Raymond was a terrible man and to leave her with him was to let her go off to certain death. Sighing, Bran stepped forward. “Put the lass down.”
“I will not,” August replied, turning to face Bran’s position. “I know your voice. Come into the light so that I might see your face.”
Bran stepped forward into the candle’s light, his blade held firmly in hand. “Let the lass go, August.”
“I will not, MacLeod,” August refused, shaking his head. His eyes only registered a small amount of surprise at seeing Bran again after so many years.
The girl’s brows raised in surprise as realization dawned in her eyes that they knew each other. A moment of guilt flickered through Bran’s mind, but he shoved it away. “Please, help me!” she begged him, her eyes frantic with fear.
“Silence!” August commanded, giving her rearend a sharp smack. Bran recognized the sound he had heard earlier.
Seeing a man strike a woman caused Bran’s blood to boil with anger. “Ye were warned,” he ground out through clenched teeth, taking a threatening step toward August.
August shook his head, giving Bran a warning look. “Take another step and I will kill the girl,” he threatened, and stopped Bran in his tracks.
He eyed the lass flung over August’s shoulder, weighing the risk of helping her, versus leaving and simply following them back to the Romani encampment, to then retrieve her. The murderous look in August’s eyes told him the latter was not an option. “What is she to ye?”
August laughed, pride entering his eyes. “She is my betrothed.”
“I am not your betrothed! I am nothing to you and never will be!” the girl argued loudly. She turned her gaze to meet Bran’s. “Please, MacLeod,” she used the name August had used for him. “My sister is ill and needs a healer. Please help us!”
Making up his mind, Bran took another step forward. August reacted by dropping the lass to the floor and withdrawing his own blade. The girl grabbed at August’s arm, clearly attempting to keep him from killing Bran, but August just shrugged her off. Turning, he hit her on the head with the hilt of his sword, then stepped forward to engage with Bran in battle. The girl slumped unconscious onto the floor. Bran raised his blade to defend against August’s attack.
“Ye should nae have come back,” Bran told him, fighting off another blow. “Ye were fortunate to survive the first attack ye made on our people by the loch. We searched for ye but found nae trace o’ ye. I had hoped ye were gone from these lands.”
“I will nae leave without what is mine,” August grunted as he lashed out at Bran, taking advantage of Bran’s wounded shoulder.
“Ye will leave without the lass.”
“I will not,” August stubbornly refused.
“I will kill ye.”
“You may try, but then who will care for and protect your daughter? I have left clear instructions as to what will become of her should I not return.”
Bran’s heart sank at the mention of his child. He had had an affair with August’s sister while he had been fostered to a border clan with connections to his mother’s family. That had been six years before. Six long years without him seeing his own blood; or ever being able to hug his daughter. Six years with him being a failure of a father.
August had forbidden Bran access to the girl or her mother, as he did not approve of a non-Romani spouse for his sister. As the leader of his clan, August had the last say, and Bran had been forced to honor that as the mother of his child commanded him to leave. He had never been given the chance to meet his own daughter and it was the thought of finally getting to see her and hold her in his arms that kept him going and had him resolved to find a way out of there. “Ye would nae harm yer own niece. Nae even ye are that evil.”
“I could and I would.”
A soft moan announced that the girl at August’s feet had returned to consciousness. August ignored her. Bran stepped forward, with the intention of taking the man alive in order to protect his own child, but August saw his attack coming and reached down to grab the lass and placed her between them. Bran managed to just stop his blade before it harmed the girl, while August held a blade to her throat.
“August, dinnae do this.”
“I will if you do not let me take her.”
The sound of men coming down the corridor announced the arrival of more guards. One of August’s men ran up behind him in warning, surprise showing on his face at seeing Bran. “The Morgan guards are coming.”
August nodded in acknowledgement. “Take Idalia.”
Bran stepped forward. “Take me instead.”
August’s brows arose in surprise, then a greedy light entered his eyes. “I will consider your proposal under one condition.”
Bran cocked his brow in question, as the sound of guards’ feet caused his spine to tingle in warning. “Name it.”
“You will be my mercenary. You will do as I say.” August raised a hand before Bran could answer him. “If you say no, I will kill Idalia and I will kill your daughter.”
Given no other choice, Bran gave a single nod.
August released the girl, letting her fall to the floor. He turned to his men now all standing behind him. “Take him,” he commanded, then turned and walked away, leaving Bran to be bound and hauled out of the prison by his band of Romani men.
As Bran walked past the girl lying on the stone floor, he met her eyes, bleary and confused. “Yer sister is looking for ye,” he informed her, hoping that it would bring her some comfort and hope. “If I ken anything about the Lady Katarina, she will find ye, lass. When she does, dinnae mention me, for I am already dead.” With those last parting words, he left the beautiful, brown-eyed Romani lass in the darkness, alone.
“Who are you?” she whispered to his retreating back, but Bran did not answer. It was better for them both if she never discovered the truth.
Chapter One
Orkney Islands, Scotland, 1518 A.D.
Idalia stood on the shores of her new island home and stared out across the sea toward the mainland. It had been well over a year since her sister, Katarina, had rescued her and Leonor from their captivity. Once Alistair Morgan was safely in the king’s prison, Idalia and Leonor had gone to Rome to inform their aunt of everything that had happened to their family. They had been escorted there and back under the protection of Katarina’s husband’s men. Idalia was grateful that her sister had found love and happiness in spite of the circumstances that had led to her and Dunn’s marriage.
Dunn and Katarina were currently visiting Dunn’s newlywed brother Tor and his bride, the former Lady Katherine Morgan, who had turned out to be the daughter of their uncle and not Alistair Morgan. Katarina had taken her newborn son to meet his Uncle Tor, and had also taken their aunt, who was visiting from Rome, to meet Katherine. Idalia had not wished to step foot within the Morgan stronghold ever again and had elected to remain behind on Orkney with Leonor and Adamina to help take care of her new clan.
In truth, Idalia spent every waking hour attempting to forget what had happened to them, but the nightmares refused to stop. Every night she dreamt of the men who had hurt her family and the man who had been responsible for their being forced to run for their lives to begin with, August Raymond.
I need a woman of the old ways to see where August Raymond is now. I need a seer. I cannot go on with my life, I cannot make any decisions about how and where to live, without knowing where he is and if he has given up on trying to wed me. I will not promise my life to a man who only wishes to take it from me by force. I will not surrender my life, nor those of any of my remaining family, to him or any other vile man. I have lost enough. We have lost enough.
Leonor joined her on the shore, hooking her arm through Idalia’s. “Thinking?” she asked, laying her head on her sister’s shoulder.
Idalia nodded. “I am never going to find peace unless I know that August Raymond is gone from our lives forever. I need to find a seer.”
“Katarina said there is another of our kind here on the island. She has some gifts, but I do not know more than that. Perhaps she can help you.”
Idalia nodded. “Who is she?”
“Esmerelda,” Leonor said and shook her head. “I do not know her surname, but apparently she was a former lover of Dunn’s and Tor’s before their respective marriages.”
Idalia snorted in laughter. “Both of them?”
Leonor giggled, nodding. “That is what Katarina said.”
“We should go and speak with her. Do you know where she lives?”
Leonor nodded. “Katarina said she has a cottage further down the shore.”
Idalia gestured toward the path along the shoreline. “Lead the way.”
Leonor nodded, and they walked arm in arm along the shore in search of Esmerelda’s cottage. Once they had arrived, Idalia knocked on the door; it was opened by a beautiful darkhaired woman. “It took ye long enough to seek me out,” she greeted them with a nod.
Idalia looked at her in surprise. “My sister said you have the gift.”
Esmerelda shook her head. “Only a little. I am nae as skilled as those who came before me. My grandmother knew much more.”
“Can you tell me what I seek?”
Once again, Esmerelda shook her head. “I cannae read yer mind, lass. Ye must speak.”
Idalia felt foolish for her childlike faith in the words of a seer, but she had been taught to respect the old ways from a very young age. “August Raymond? Is the threat against me and my family over?”
Esmerelda met Idalia’s eyes and held them intensely; she reached out and took Idalia’s hands in hers. After several moments had passed, Esmerelda let her hands drop and took a step back. She shook her head. “I cannae see.”
“Our sister said that you saw her coming. She said that you told Dunn he would love one of our kind,” Leonor reminded her.
“Aye, I did, but when I look into yer future, I dinnae see anything. Perhaps I am nae strong enough.” Esmerelda gave Idalia a sympathetic look.
“Is there another who might be strong enough to see?”
Esmerelda thought on it for a moment. “Perhaps,” she nodded slowly. “There is a woman on the mainland who might be able to help ye, but I ken very little of her. She is a practitioner of the old ways, but she keeps herself hidden away. She does nae wish to be burned as a witch, ye ken? She is nae of the traveling Romani but is of the Highlands by birth.”
“Do you ken where I can find her?”
Esmerelda shook her head. “I can try to send word through other women of our kind and see if she can be found. If I hear from her, I will send word to ye.”
“I thank you, sincerely, for your help in this.”
Esmerelda shook her head. “I cannae promise ye that anything will come of it, but if this woman can bring ye peace of mind, it is the least I can do for a fellow woman of the Romani. There are certainly more of us on the island now.”
Idalia nodded. “Our family is blessed that Katarina found love with the laird here, giving us all a place to live.”
“And yet, ye need to ken more to believe that ye are truly safe here.” Esmerelda gave Idalia a knowing look.
“I do.”
“Then let us pray that ye find the answers that ye seek.”
***
A fortnight later . . .
The castle chamberlain greeted Idalia as she came down the stairs to break her fast. “A letter arrived for ye.” He handed her a slip of paper, sealed with plain candle wax.
Idalia opened the paper and read its contents quickly, scanning it to see who had sent it. Leonor came to stand beside her. “Who is it from?”
“A seer,” Idalia murmured. “I do not know if it is the one Esmerelda spoke of, but she has promised to help me.”
“Where?”
“I must travel to the mainland. She is old and does not travel well.”
“I will go with you. We should take a guard with us.”
“I will speak with Adamina, but the letter says I must go alone.”
Leonor shook her head. “That is not wise. You should not be going anywhere alone and unguarded. What if August Raymond is waiting for you?”
“Dunn’s men have searched far and wide for him, but there has been no sign of him anywhere. He could be dead. I seek the seer to ensure our safety, not to place us in further danger. I will be cautious, Sister, don’t worry. I will not be foolish in my desire for peace.”
“You cannot go alone, no matter what the old crone says.”
Idalia nodded. She did not wish to argue with her sister, nor did she wish to be reckless, she simply wanted to know one way or the other. In her heart, she secretly hoped that the seer would be able to help her to commune with those she had lost. She would give anything to speak with her mother again. “Let us go and speak with Adamina. We can make a plan after that.”
The two sisters walked over to the raised dais and told Adamina about their plan to go and speak with the seer. Adamina gave them both a sympathetic look but shook her head. “I cannae allow ye to go without a guard, and we dinnae have any men to spare, with my brothers both being gone and the guard that Dunn took to protect his wife and bairn. Ye must wait until Dunn returns, Idalia. Ye may speak with him on the matter then.”
Leonor agreed to Adamina’s command, but Idalia chafed against it. She tried to make Adamina see her side of it all, but as much as the other woman sympathized with her plight, she would not give her permission or her clansmen to make the trip possible. In the end, Idalia walked away upset and more determined than ever to see her plan through.
She did not like living under the rule of others. She was a free spirit, used to roaming the world at will. She had only ever had to answer to her parents and her God. Outside of that, she had been free to do as she willed. She was not adjusting very well to the stationary life under the rule of men who were not of her blood. She longed to be free to roam once more, but she could not do that if August Raymond was still out there seeking to take her. The only way she could achieve the freedom she sought was to have confirmation, whether by his dead body or the sworn word of a seer who could tell her more about her future.
Going against Adamina’s edict, Idalia prepared to leave Orkney to meet the seer on the mainland. She had a plan that would fool everyone on Orkney and any of August Raymond’s men that might be awaiting her on the other shore. She had managed to sneak off without attracting her sister’s attention. Somehow, that had been the easy part. After they returned home, Leonor had comforted her with the fact that the men would be returning soon and then they could go with her. She had then left Idalia alone to brood in peace, and it was not long before Idalia got the idea to sneak off.
She sighed as she got up. She wished she did not have to leave like this, but Leonor would not understand her unease and she would wish to go with her, which Leonor did not want. She tiptoed away, closing the doors quietly to avoid alerting her sister. Idalia released the breath she had been holding when she passed a bend and was no longer visible from the house. She hurried to the stables, peeking inside before entering the building, making sure no one was in there. She frowned when she saw the stableboy, realizing she needed to find a way to distract him.
“G’day miss,” he greeted her, standing to his feet.
“Ah, g’day. It is quite a fine day for a ride, and I think I would like to do so. Please saddle my horse,” she replied, trying to sound as normal as possible.
“Aye, miss. Right away.” He dusted himself off.
“Yes. I think I shall pay a visit to Esmeralda down at the shoreline,” she rambled on, then smiled at the stableboy to stop herself from speaking any more words. She supposed it would do good for him to know that information. It would buy her some time if they thought she had simply gone to visit Esmeralda instead of going against Adamina’s edict. Smiling, the boy nodded and went off to do as he was asked.
While he was occupied, Idalia slipped into his sleeping quarters. She looked around the small space and stifled a happy cry when she saw a set of his clothes hanging on a peg on the wall. They smelled less than ideal, of horse manure and male sweat, but it was all she could find. Quickly, she stuffed them under her skirt and cringed in disgust at the feel of them against her skin as she held them between her thighs. She hurried as much as she could back to the stall, grimacing when the scratchy fabric irritated her thighs. She blew out a breath when she reached the stall, to see the lad had retrieved her favorite horse and had clearly not noticed her absence. He turned away just as she mounted the beast in one swift motion, being careful not to drop the lad’s clothing in the process.
Idalia was a skilled horsewoman and moved with an easy grace in the saddle. The boy blushed when she flashed him her most brilliant smile; then she turned the horses head and rode out of the castle gates. Instead of riding to Esmerelda’s, Idalia rode until she was out of sight of the castle, then hid in some rocks to change her clothes. She bundled her hair up into a hat and left her dress hidden in a bag of food she had managed to bring from the kitchen. Dressed in the stolen shirt and breeches, hoping she made a passable boy, she turned her horse and rode along the beach to the farthest fishing hut she knew of. There, she convinced the man to take her across the sea to the mainland, pretending to be the son of one of the islanders who wished to go and visit family across the sea. The older fisherman, having no reason to doubt her word, agreed, and took Idalia out onto his boat.
By the time Idalia stepped foot on Scotland’s shores, she was so nervous that she thought she might be sick to her stomach. She was tempted to turn back, but she squared her shoulders, paid the man for his service, and continued on her journey. Dressed as a boy, Idalia garnered little to no attention from those she passed along the way, which were, thankfully, few. She followed the hand-drawn map that had been included in the letter with instructions on how to get to the seer’s place of abode.
The journey was not without its difficulties. Idalia jumped at everything that sounded remotely human. Her eyes searched behind every tree, every hill, every stone wall. The men who had killed her family had come out of the darkness, but that did not mean that threats did not exist in the light of day as well. She kept a wary eye out the entire way across the Scottish Highlands as she traveled to where the seer had instructed. She wished she could have brought guards along with her, including her sister, but it had not been possible. Idalia felt a moment of guilt for leaving her sister behind to worry, but she shook it off. What she was doing was for them all, including Leonor.
She arrived at the seer’s cottage and dismounted, searching the area for any possible threats before she moved to knock on the door. Not finding anything, she moved to the door and raised her hand to knock. Before she had a chance to hit the wooden portal with her fist, a weathered old woman opened the door and stared up into her face suspiciously. “Ye the Romani lass?”
Idalia nodded her head in confirmation. “I am. Are you the seer whom I seek?”
“I am.” The old woman stepped back, allowing Idalia to enter her house. She motioned for Idalia to sit down at the roughhewn table in the center of the one-room cottage. Idalia obeyed. “Tea?”
Idalia nodded her head politely. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
The old woman turned and shuffled over to a pot of water heating over the fireplace. Idalia studied the room around her as the seer worked. It was a sparse room, with herbs hanging from the ceilings. Other than the table and chairs, there was a small bed in the corner, but no other furniture. The old woman returned to the table and handed Idalia a steaming hot cup of tea. It smelled of mint and flowers. Idalia smiled in gratitude and took a good long sip. The tea was soothing after her long journey. She took another long drink, then set her cup down to meet the seer’s eyes.
“What have ye come for, lass? What is it that troubles ye?”
“I seek to know the fate of August Raymond. Is he dead or alive? Does he seek me still? Or has he released me from his obsession? Am I, and what remains of my family, free to roam about the land as we once did?” Idalia stopped to take a breath and grew a bit dizzy. “Where is August Raymond?” she barely whispered the last as she clung to the table to steady herself.
“All will be revealed to ye soon enough,” the seer murmured as blackness swallowed Idalia whole and a cloth sack descended over her head.
“Are ye ready?” Aila asked as Callie stepped toward the mirror.
“A minute more.” Callie moved in front of the mirror, finding her nervousness was making her hands shake. The wedding day had come, and though she could not wait to marry Avery, so they did not have to part again, nor have to sneak around the castle in order to spend a night together, she was nervous. It was a large affair thanks to Avery’s wealthy family and his father’s standing, much bigger than Callie could have ever imagined in a wedding.
“Ye look beautiful,” Aila said sweetly and came to stand behind Callie. “Look at ye. Oh, if our mother could see ye now. She’d be overawed.”
“Ye’re so kind tae me, Aila. Ye always have been.” Callie took her sister’s hand as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
She wore a bold, dark-blue gown, a swathe with tartan across her shoulder. Despite the tartan, the deep neckline was obvious and set off by a peek of white chemise. There were sprigs of red berries and white flowers in her hair, all for good luck, and she carried a bouquet in her free hand that was similarly dappled with such flowers.
“There is only one thing I regret,” Callie whispered, turning away from her reflection to look at her sister. Since Aila had come to live nearby, she looked infinitely healthier. She had traveled to the castle for the wedding, for she had taken lodgings in town, but her new position was clearly paying her well, for she no longer looked too thin with gaunt cheeks. She was healthy, with pink cheeks that had once been pale.
“What is that?” Aila asked, encouraging her on.
“It is Fiadh,” Callie murmured softly. After she and Avery had searched for Fiadh, they had found neither hide nor hair of her. As Fiadh must now be living under her husband’s name, tracking her down was even more difficult. Sadly, neither Aila nor anyone at the brothel had been told his name, so it had become a seemingly impossible task to find her.
Avery still sent scouts out searching for her, but Callie was growing increasingly despondent with each passing week, fearing that Fiadh would not be found.
“It would have mean everything tae me if Fiadh could have been here for this moment.”
“And for me too,” Aila assured her, holding her hand tightly. “Yet dinnae despair. We willnae give up but continue tae search for her. Maybe with our relentlessness and good fortune we will someday find her.”
“I pray ye are right.”
“Ah, Callie, fear nae.” Aila kissed her on the cheek warmly. “Today is a happy day indeed. We will find Fiadh, and today, ye become the wife of the man ye love dearly.”
“Ye like him, do ye nae?” Callie asked, surprised how important this had become to her.
“Of course!” Aila declared with eagerness. “He is the man who helped me out of that brothel, so I will always be indebted to him. What is more, I have seen the two of ye together these last few months. Nay couple could be more suited, I think. Except perhaps Laird Chattan and his wife.”
“Aye, Lady Scarlett is an excellent match for him,” Callie said with a laugh, thinking of how big Lady Scarlett had now grown. A few weeks later, her child would appear in this world. “Laird Chattan is tae be the best man today.”
“How lovely,” Aila said with a smile. “Will his brother be there? Ian Chattan?”
“Aye, he will be.” Callie tried not to look at her sister too hard, noting that more than once as of late had Aila asked after Ian. She wondered if he caught her sister’s eye. She knew there was a spark between him and Eloise when they met, yet they became rather good friends, so he was free as a bird. So was Aila.
Maybe it is all in my imagination, but there may be something there.
“Well, let us get ye tae yer wedding.” Aila offered her arm to Callie. “I may nae be the traditional person tae walk ye down the aisle, but –”
“I wouldnae have anyone else do it.” Callie held her sister’s arm tightly as they left the room.
On the tower’s staircase, more than one maid was already throwing dried petals and calling wishes of good luck and fortune. Callie smiled and thanked them all for their kindness, then hurried across the open courtyard with her sister. The sun was shining beautifully above them.
“It seems the sun smiles on yer ceremony today,” Aila called as they slowed their pace near the church.
“Aye. Perhaps it is a sign of good things tae come.” Callie barely stood still as she waited by the closed door of the chapel, arm in arm with her sister.
A guard stood by the door, though he no longer carried a pike or anything else so ready for battle. He bore a ceremonial sword at his hip and vast tartan swathed his shoulder.
“They are ready for you.” He bowed his head in greeting and reached for the door, opening it wide.
The moment the door was open, Callie’s eyes searched for Avery.
Soon, we shall nae have tae part again.
***
“Brother, do stand still,” Scarlett said as she patted her rounded stomach. “Ye seem as if ye have ants in yer trews.” His other sister, Eloise, burst into laughter at their side, then tried to hide the extent of her humor and hung her head forward.
Avery abruptly stilled and looked at his sister with a smile.
“Is that better?” he asked, yet he couldn’t keep still for long and adjusted the tartan strip across his shoulders and the clan brooch on his shirt.
“Marginally,” Scarlett said in answer. “Ye are excited, are ye nae?”
“Exactly, that is why I cannae stand still,” he assured them, his eyes darting around the chapel.
The vicar already waited for them by the altar, and nearby stood Laird Chattan and Ian, both deep in conversation about the arrangements that were to follow later that afternoon and evening. Avery had overheard Scarlett talking with them that morning about a vast feast, though Avery had already planned to sneak away with his wife as soon as possible.
The pews were full of guests, and Avery was touched by how many of his friends he’d made across the clans had come to see him wed, sitting at his side of the pews. There was one face that wasn’t particularly welcome to him, though he knew he had to make peace with the man.
“Have ye spoken tae him yet?” Eloise asked knowingly, elbowing him and pointing at their father.
“Nay,” Avery said with a sigh. “I dinnae how tae. It’s been so long since I have really spoken tae him at all.” He’d merely spoken to the man briefly a year before, around the time of Scarlett’s wedding, when he had gone to his father to help break the news of Scarlett’s existence, something their father had never known. As Avery had suspected, their father kept a cool distance from Scarlett. He treated all of his children much the same.
“Well, as poor a father as he is, at least he was right in one regard,” Scarlett said, tutting.
“What do ye mean?” Avery asked, looking toward her.
“About Ella,” Eloise answered before Scarlett could. The two sisters nodded in unison, their identical looks and movements creating quite a surreal experience for Avery.
“Ye two are too alike sometimes. It’s frightening.” At his words, they shared a humored laugh.
“Ye should say something tae him,” Eloise urged.
“Aye, and as ye do, I need a seat.” Scarlett rested a hand to her rounded stomach. “This baby is becoming more and more uncomfortable. Callie says it is a sign that the baby will come soon.”
Avery smiled, not just thinking of the child he would soon be an uncle to, but the possibility that he might have a child sometime soon too. He and Callie certainly spent most nights together, and often they made love.
He had already planned in his mind that if he was so fortunate as to have a child, he would right the wrongs of the last generation. He would be a better father to that child than his father had been to him, and certainly better than Gowan had ever been to Callie.
“Ye’re right, I must speak to him.” Reluctantly, Avery nodded and agreed with his sisters. They smiled and hurried to the pews, sitting some distance from their father. Slowly, Avery sat down in the empty space beside his father. The haggard features turned toward Avery, clearly stunned at his approach. Kendrick shifted awkwardly in his seat, just as restless as Avery was.
“How are ye?” Kendrick asked after a minute or so of silence.
“I am happy, Father. Aye, happy indeed.” Avery smiled as he looked at Kendrick. His father seemed relieved, sighing, before he smiled too.
“Then I am glad. I ken well enough what sort of man ye think me, Avery, but I am nae entirely devoid of heart. If ye are happy, then that means something tae me.”
“Good.” Avery shifted to face his father fully. “On that matter, there is a discussion that has tae be had between us. Do ye remember Ella?”
“Nae that now.” Kendrick pinched the brow of his nose. “Ye wish tae bring up that maid here? At yer own wedding –?”
“Calm yerself, Father,” Avery said pleadingly. “I am trying tae tell ye that ye were right about her.” Kendrick’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t look pleased to be told he was correct. “She was a woman who sought advantages in life, money, in particular, and at one point she set her cap at me in order tae get it. I owe ye an apology. Ye were nae the one that misjudged her, that was I.”
Kendrick smiled, but it was a rather sad look.
“Then I am sorry tae be right.” He sighed and glanced over his shoulder toward the door that was still closed. “I will admit, I was stunned when I was told ye were tae marry just a castle healer –”
“Father, please.” Avery felt his gut tightening, fearing the old argument resurfacing.
“Yet I hear from Eloise that she is nothing like Ella was. In that case, I am happy for ye indeed.” Kendrick offered his hand to shake.
Avery regarded it with suspicion, sensing a coolness in the air between them. They were never going to be a loving father and son. There had been too many arguments, and they were too different. Avery knew his father lacked benevolence, even empathy, but he didn’t want to turn his back on him, regardless.
“Thank ye.” He took his father’s hand and shook.
The vicar cleared his throat, and Avery released his father’s hand, returning to his place by the altar. Laird Chattan appeared at his side, elbowing him.
“Ready for this, Avery?”
“Aye.”
“It is marriage, a big thing,” Laird Chattan whispered.
“Are ye trying to make me more nervous?” Avery looked at his brother-in-law accusingly who revealed the smallest of mischievous smiles.
“Just checking ye are certain.”
“Oh, I am.” Avery looked at the door as the organ music began playing and the door opened. Callie appeared on her sister’s arm, absolutely beautiful in a dark blue gown with matching flowers in her hair and bouquet. But it was her eyes that he couldn’t take his gaze away from. They were alight with happiness. “I have never been so certain of anything else in my life.”
If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…
Ian Chattan spins a web of deception, delving into the depths of Aila Mathieson’s hidden secrets, only to realize her sins could lead to her ruin if he doesn’t come to her aid. Oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions awaiting him, he goes with her only to find his soul on fire with each caress. Yet, a love built on lies cannot withstand the winds of truth as they threaten to swallow them whole…
