Author: Shona Thompson

Prologue

Corrow, Highlands, 1758

“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.

Wait…is that a mercenary?

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Prologue

Strathnaver, Scotland, 1516 A.D.

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.

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Prologue

Corrow, Highlands, 1757

“Nay, nae again.” Callie raised her hands and flattened them to her ears with such vigor that the ends of her ears hurt, but she did not stop.

She would have done anything, including endure any discomfort or pain, to drown out the sounds echoing overhead. She cast a tired glance at the ceiling of her father’s study. It was as if the hanging candelabra shook in response to what was going on above her. She pressed harder, but the sounds persisted: the man’s guttural moans, grunts, and the pretend yelps of the woman who was pretending to be pleased.

“It’s all in making them believe ye want them, lassie. That’s what ye have tae do.”

One of her father’s oldest courtesans had said this to Callie one day. She had wrinkled her nose in response, trying not to gag when she saw the man the courtesan had led into her chamber. Furthermore, she couldn’t imagine summoning any sort of false passion for every man who came by and paid his shilling.

“Nay more of this.” Callie hastened to the window as if somehow it would give her an escape from this life, but the view only reminded her of just how trapped she was. The lead lights of the windows resembled the bars of a prisoner’s cell, beyond which Loch Goil shimmered in the distance.

Ach, tae be free of here!

The house was surprisingly fine from the outside. It was built of old timber and wattle and daub and stood high on the bank of hills surrounding Loch Goil, flanked by pine trees. It was conveniently located above a busy track road, so those who were unaware of the brothel frequently ended up there as passing trade. Despite the number of people who usually passed through the corridors, the house felt lonely and isolated to Callie.

When the sounds above her faded, she released her ears and pushed her long black hair behind her ears, raising her large gray eyes to the ceiling. It had stopped shaking for the moment but she didn’t doubt it would start again just as soon as another man arrived.

“This is sickening.”

“What is, Callie?” The voice had her turning round so sharply that she knocked her thin arm against the glass and banged a nerve inside her elbow that made her wince. She shook it out as she turned to face her father.

Gowan crept into his study and stood in the open doorway. He no longer wore pauper’s clothes, which would have revealed his true, impoverished background. Instead, he had become arrogant, now wearing a fine waistcoat and elegant jacket that didn’t quite fit his rough and aging features. His gray eyes pierced her soul until she ran her hands up and down her arms, terrified and trying to hide a shiver.

“Ye called me here, Father. What it is ye want?” she asked without hesitation. Callie was never one for wasting time with pleasantries, and she certainly didn’t wish to waste time with her father. Ordinarily, she would have been spending her days nursing her mother through her sickness, avoiding Gowan entirely. But now that she had died, she no longer had the luxury of losing herself in the research and preparation of the herbal remedies she had used to relieve her mother’s pain. Instead, she was forced to speak with her father whenever he demanded it.

“My debtors are coming.” Gowan closed the door hurriedly behind him and crossed the room toward her. There was something balled in his hand, though she couldn’t quite see what it was. Turning her back to the window, she longed to escape, conscious only of the cold sensation from the glass that pressed through her gown.

“That is what debtors do, Father. They come for what they are owed if ye dinnae pay them.” Callie raised her eyebrows, already knowing his response. Gowan revealed a snide curl of his lips and shook his head.

“Ye dinnae understand business. Ye never did. Yer head is too much in the clouds, messin’ wi’ all yer potions—”

“Medicines. I am nae a witch,” Callie corrected him, though he continued on as if she hadn’t spoken at all, flicking his untidy dark hair back from his bulging cheeks.

“Ye have tae use money in this business to get ahead if ye want any sort of quality of life.” He gestured a hand at the fine room they were standing in.

Callie scoffed, and her father flinched but didn’t comment on her reaction. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the supposed finery of the space. It was obviously a grand structure, but it was dilapidated and falling apart in places. Even the settle benches and Savonarola chairs her father had placed in the space were in disrepair. He had created the illusion of a well-to-do brothel for his clients, but it was a deception. It reminded Callie of a cracked eggshell—it appeared perfect on one side, but was broken beyond repair on the other.

“I need tae avoid the debtors, so I shall be hiding. From now on, yer sister, Fiadh, shall be the face of the business,” Gowan said nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just revealed shocking news.

“Fiadh?” Callie repeated, her voice breathy. Fiadh was her oldest sister, beautiful and smart but troubled. She despised the business just as much as her, but she had been forced to work for their father when she was Callie’s age. In the business, Fiadh was referred to as his “helper.” Callie could swear Fiadh was getting paler and gaunter by the day.

“Aye, it must be done. Now yer mother is gone, we must make changes. I shall still be in control, but what the clients will see is Fiadh as the owner.”

The cavalier way he spoke of her mother’s death, without a hint of remorse or even a twitch around his eyes, made Callie feel sick again. She turned her back on him and looked out of the window. Her eyes danced across the nearby hills and the pine trees.

This life . . . it is as if the flames of hell have broken through to this realm.

“Now, there is one more change we must discuss.” Her father thrust the item forward in his hand, holding it at her side. A skirt fell from his fingers, revealing a dress made of so little fabric that it left nothing to the imagination when worn.

She was to be his helper in the business now, it seemed. She’d be the one serving drinks and cleaning the rooms for the courtesans, as well as luring men into the building for business.

“Nay.” Her voice was sharp.

The gown was flung at the window. It thudded softly against the glass and made Callie jump back, turning to face her father, who was breathing heavily. His round face was now puce.

“Dinnae challenge me on this,” he warned, pointing a finger at her. “Ye are nae a bairn anymore, and we need the money. Ye took care of yer mother as she laid dying, ye had yer purpose. Now that’s gone, we move on.”

“She passed last week. Ye speak of her as if she meant nothing tae ye at all. She was yer wife!”

“Ye will do this, ye understand me? Ye will do this—” He strode toward her, bearing down on her, and she scurried back like a rat fleeing a flood, putting a Savonarola chair between them.

“Father!” Another voice cut him off, and they both came to a stop, with Callie’s hands braced on the back of the chair and Gowan staring at her, breathing heavily through his nose. “Father?” Aila’s voice said again.

Callie turned to see her elder sister in the doorway. She was much like Callie in looks, with the same dark hair and gray eyes which were perhaps a little paler than her own. She had been crying. The skin around her eyes was red and, judging by the tussled look of her gown, it appeared as if someone had tried to pull it off her. She adjusted the ripped shoulders and sleeves, trying to set them straight.

One of the clients did that tae her!

Callie felt rage simmering in her gut at the sight of her sister’s torn gown.

“What is it?” Gowan barked.

“A client wants tae speak tae ye. At once.”

“We will talk of this later,” Gowan warned Callie and left the room. Aila hurried across the room, closing the door behind him. She picked up the thrown gown from the floor and held it in shaking fingers as Callie collapsed into the chair she had been holding onto.

“He . . . he . . .” Callie struggled to find the words.

“I can guess. Ye dinnae need tae speak of it.” Aila’s voice was as tremulous as Callie’s own. “We must do something. History cannae keep repeating itself like this.”
“What do ye mean?” Callie raised her eyes from the dress and stared at her sister’s face. Where her own features were round, with heart-shaped cheeks, Aila’s were narrow and elegant. Those angular features were now so tense that she no longer looked like herself, but a haunted version of the woman she had once been.

“I mean that what Fiadh and I suffer, ye shall nae. Believe me, Callie. I will nae see this happen all over again.”

“Ye think I can escape this life? And ye once called me naïve,” Callie said, trying to force a laugh. She had always been known as the joker among her sisters, though it had become more and more difficult over the years to find a reason to laugh freely. Aila managed the smallest of smiles in return.

“Maybe I am, but I am nae going tae give up now.” She moved quickly across the room, dropping her gown behind her and taking Callie’s hand with such force that the latter was forced to stand and follow her sister out of the room.

“I take it we are going somewhere.”

“Aye, ye could say that.”

Aila led her through the study and down the corridor to the back rooms of the house, where Gowan was less concerned about the appearance of the aging walls. The wallpaper was peeling and the candles in the sconces were short and stubby. Aila hurried until they arrived at the kitchens and the adjacent storerooms.

“Why are we here?” Callie asked as her sister led her into one of the storerooms, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“I’ve left these here for some time. I kenned they would be needed at some point.” Aila prized open a crate from the corner of the room and revealed a set of clothes. There was a pair of dirty and dark brown trews, along with a grubby white shirt, a black waistcoat, a plaid cap, and a large man’s jacket.

“What are these?” Callie tentatively took the clothes as her sister thrust them toward her.

“Ye put these on. Ye can disappear into the crowd of boys that deliver the ale here from the brewery. Our father will nae think tae look for ye amongst them.”

“What?” Callie hesitated, stunned at the words. “Ye wish me tae run away?”

“Do we have a choice? Quickly, Callie, put them on, I beg of ye.” Aila thrust her face to the ajar door and watched as Callie changed clothes.

She removed her gown and chemise, revealing only her stays, and proceeded to put on the boy’s clothing. She tucked her long, dark hair under a wide-brimmed cap before turning to face her sister.

“Ye cannae expect me tae leave, surely?” Callie’s throat felt dry. “What other life would I ken? Why I should leave, and ye stay? It’s nae fair!”

“Any other life is better than this, do ye nae think?” Aila took her hand and dragged her back out of the room. “Keep yer head down.”

Callie was convinced it was a mad idea, but when a young scullery maid passed them by in the kitchen and didn’t even glance at her, she began to have second thoughts.

Aye, maybe this could work.

“Ye can take Fiadh’s horse. Go tae our aunt and stay with her awhile. She will surely be able tae offer ye a better life than this one.”

“Our dear aunt.” As Callie thought about her mother’s sister, she remembered how Gowan had been afraid that she might report the brothel or rescue his daughters from the house. As a result, Gowan had hardly let her enter the house in the past ten years. “Ye must be mad though if ye think I am leaving this house without ye.” Callie pulled on Aila’s hand, drawing her sister to a sudden halt in the corridor. “I will nae leave ye behind.”

“I am nae mad, but ye are leaving, alone.”

“Aye, mad as a coot—och!” Callie was jerked forward by her sister and barely managed to stop herself from falling over. They passed through two laundry rooms before exiting the house and hurrying to the stables.

“We’ll use some of the horsehair tae make ye a mustache,” Aila told her as they entered.

“Madder than two coots!” Callie tried to jest, but Aila managed only a weak smile. Callie was pushed into a corner of the stable while her sister gathered a bunch of horsehairs. Her sister separated the hair and formed it into a fake mustache, which she stuck to Callie’s upper lip using a substance similar to melted wax, which hardened quickly. “What is this?” Callie asked, grimacing at the cold touch of it on her upper lip.

“Candlewax,” Aila told her, Callie expressed her skepticism with a raised eyebrow, causing her sister’s smile to quickly fade. “There, ye will do now.”

Callie looked down at herself and tried to hold back a sneeze, for the mustache itched and tickled her nose.

“How do I look?”

“Like a lad!”

“Aye, well, I suppose that’s the idea.” Callie laughed, though it halted quickly, for two shadows joined them in the stable just then. She was filled with fear and felt her heart pounding in her chest. Everything was happening too fast, and she couldn’t abandon her sisters. Alia bravely positioned herself in front of Callie as the two shadows materialized into familiar faces.

Callie let out a sigh of relief upon recognizing one of them as an acquaintance who was leading his horse into the stable. The other person was Fiadh, who was following him.

“Aila, what is going on?” Fiadh asked. “Who is—oh . . .” She trailed off as her eyes found Callie’s.

Callie’s older sister came to a sudden stop as if she had turned to stone. She said nothing more but just stared at Callie.

“Who is this, Fiadh?” The man frequently visited one of the courtesans at the house, and he had repeatedly made advances towards Fiadh. However, she had refused his offers, stating that she was simply a helper in the business.

Aye, maybe someday Fiadh will have her revenge.

As Callie felt a tickle in her nose, she worried that she might sneeze and give away her disguise as a boy. She held her breath and avoided getting too close to the gentleman, fearing that any suspicion could spread throughout the brothel quickly. If anyone caught on to her escape plan, it wouldn’t take long before Gowan knew too.

Callie began to feel an intense tickling sensation that made her sneeze violently. She quickly used her hands to hold onto her mustache, preventing it from falling off.

“He . . . he . . .” Fiadh stuttered, plainly struggling to find an answer to her elder sister’s question. Fiadh’s eyes settled on Callie as the gentleman stepped forward, taking a closer look at her. Callie backed up, her boots scuffing in the loose straw.

“He’s one of the ale lads, sir,” Aila answered quickly and smiled. “Aye, he was a little lost in our stable, so I am showing him the way back to the road. Is that nae so?” She looked at Callie and elbowed her. Without knowing if she could pull off a boy’s voice convincingly or not, Callie decided to nod instead. She pressed the mustache to her lip again and lowered her hands, offering a smile and feeling like a fool. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Aila trying to hold back her smile.

“I—” The gentleman stepped toward her, and Callie moved back again, certain her identity had been discovered.

“Fear nae, sir, my sister can deal with this. May I escort ye tae the house?” Fiadh asked and laid a hand to the gentleman’s arm. That touch seemed to calm him a little, and he nodded, turning away. Callie released a stuttered breath at his movement, feeling the fear settle in her stomach. Fiadh followed him, casting a wild-eyed and questioning glance over her shoulder before she left and hurried after him across the yard.

“I’ll explain tae her what is happening,” Aila whispered to Callie. “Ye prepare a horse quickly, now.” Callie sneezed again, and her sister rolled her eyes. “And would ye desist with yer sneezes? Ye will nae fool anyone if ye continue in such a way!”

“Aye, I’d like tae see ye try this. I feel as if a dead rat is stuck to my upper lip.”

Aila didn’t smile at the joke this time and quickly ran towards the house, leaving Callie to take care of saddling a horse. Despite the itching on her lip becoming unbearable, she managed to gather the reins and prepare to set off, sneezing several times in quick succession.

The sound of footsteps reached her ears between the sneezes. Without knowing who was returning to the stable, she feared it would be Gowan.

What will he say if he sees me like this? He’ll never forgive me for it. He might throw me tae his clients as a dead deer is thrown tae the wolves!

She tried to hide in a bale of hay, but that only made the sneezing worse.

“Are ye certain of this?” Fiadh’s voice sounded in the stable. “Our sister thinks hiding in the hay will keep her safe. Yer sneezing gives ye away, Callie. Come out.”

Relieved that it was only her sisters, she stepped out.

“I am nae convinced this idea will work either.” Callie pressed the mustache flat to her lip, trying to scratch the itching of her nose. “Aila is certain of it.” Her sisters stood before her, both fidgeting restlessly, sad smiles on their faces.

“We have tae try.” Aila moved toward Callie and embraced her tightly. “Run, Callie. Run as fast as ye can and find our aunt. Do anything ye can tae escape this life.”

“She is right.” Fiadh moved around the two of them and held open her arms, embracing them both. “Ye find a better life than this, Callie. Promise us that?”

“How can I leave ye?” she asked, her breath catching in her throat and tears streaming down her cheeks, for she could not keep them at bay any longer. She might have fantasized about leaving this house at times, but actually going was proving much harder than she could ever have thought.

“Ye must.” Fiadh sniffed and held back tears as she released them from her embrace. “Go now, before Father finds out.”

“I-I . . .” Callie stepped speechless toward the horse. Before she could climb into the saddle, there was one more thing she had to say to her sisters. “I promise I will come back tae ye someday. I make ye this vow, tae help ye to escape too.”

Her sisters smiled, but there was sorrow in their expressions, probably believing this was not possible.

Chapter One

Three Months Later
Inverary, Highlands

She has tae be somewhere. Nae woman can just disappear, nae without a trace.

Avery paced up and down in front of the tavern. In the heavy downpour, the rain fell relentlessly. With the moon peeking between the clouds, each droplet glistened in that silver light like long thin gems falling from the sky. By the time they hit the earth, they mixed with other droplets to form vast muddy puddles. It was these puddles Avery kept marching through, splashing his long leather boots and his already muddied trews.

Lifting his chin, which was dappled with stubble, for he hadn’t bothered to shave recently, he glanced up and down the street. This late into the night, barely anyone was still awake in the town. Only a few people inside the tavern could be heard making merry so late at night.

Avery glanced long enough at the tavern window to see men well in their cups, leaning against one another to keep standing. In the tavern, some patrons leaned forward over their tankards while others were already passed out with their faces resting on the wooden tables.

Some place tae spend yer life.

Avery shook his head and returned to his pacing. He scratched his jaw and lifted the hat on his head, giving in to his nervous habit of ruffling the dark hair at his temples before replacing it. Then, he turned back the other way to continue his pacing. Soon, he would have an answer to the question he had been seeking for so long.

“Where is he?”

“Sir?” A voice close by disturbed Avery’s thoughts. He turned to look at a man striding out of the tavern hurriedly. He wasn’t as tall as Avery nor as strong in stature. In fact, he was relatively small and slight. But Avery had worked with him enough times to know the man possessed other useful skills besides fighting that was invaluable when it came to spying and the exchange of important intelligence across the highlands.

“Talbot?” Avery stepped forward, offering his hand. Talbot shook it heartily, raising his head and revealing an easy smile.

“Nae a good night for meeting outdoors, is it?” He laughed as he spoke.

“Aye, we have had better nights.” Avery released Talbot’s hand and nodded. “What have ye found for me?” He waited with bated breath for some news. For the last few years, he’d worked with Talbot, providing information and spying when needed.

I have tae find Ella.

“I have heard something of her, sir, of Ella Ogilvy.”

Just hearing her name made Avery feel transported. He was no longer standing in the rain outside a poorly reputed tavern but was back in his father’s castle. He was younger, a boy of nineteen, with the maid, Ella, sitting beside him. They were sharing a flagon of mead, and she was so close to him that he could smell her perfume. The scent was one of honey and peonies, a lovely scent that has stayed with him to this day. Her long brown hair escaped its confines and curled around her shoulders, taunting him with the thought of running his fingers through those silky locks. Her beautiful blue eyes never left him, and her full lips frequently parted in laughter.

It had been a happy time, the happiest Avery had ever known, and he longed to have it back. But his relationship with Ella had come crashing down the day when his father, Kendrick MacTavish, had discovered the affair.

“Nay gentleman marries a maid, ye bampot. She’s after yer wealth.”

Those words had plagued Avery ever since. Kendrick had kept his word, and when Avery continued his affair with Ella, she was banished from the castle just as he was about to propose marriage to her. Avery had vowed never to forgive his father for the personal betrayal and had left the castle soon after, looking for Ella, and hadn’t returned since.

He’d left behind his younger sister, though, which was his one regret.

I’ll be back someday, Eloise. First, I must find Ella.

He’d started life as a scout, but his experience had soon changed once he’d become involved with men like Talbot. He became a spy and a warrior, sometimes for hire, though he only ever worked for the right man. These days, few men could match him when it came to his skills with the sword. He’d worked hard for other men he believed were fighting for just causes, and now, it was time to reap the rewards of that hard work and loyalty to others. It was time for them to help him find Ella.

“What have ye heard?” He begged. The man nodded toward the overhanging eaves of a nearby house, and they dashed under the ledge, out of the rain, which was now so heavy that it muffled their words.

“I warn ye, my friend,” Talbot heaved with a heavy sigh, “if ye care for this woman the way I suspect ye do, then ye are nae going tae like what I have tae tell ye.”

“I have hardly been happy the last few years, so what difference will this make?” Avery shrugged his shoulders. “I must ken the truth. Please, Talbot, nae further delays. What have ye heard of her?”

“I heard the name whispered between men. They visit a certain brothel, though I have nae heard exactly where this brothel is.”

Avery stiffened. His entire body hardened as if an iron rod had replaced his spine.

“They say a woman by the name of Ella Ogilvy is there. I am sorry, sir, but she is a courtesan.”

Avery swayed and reached for the wall beside him. Planting his hand on it, he kept himself standing.

How can innocent Ella be a courtesan?

The memory of her danced before his eyes once more, as if she were present with him. She had worn a beautiful blue dress that suited her perfectly and made her eyes sparkle. She had playfully taunted him, urging him to come closer, and he couldn’t resist her charm.

“I’ve heard of such women who have nae chances, nae money tae their names, ending up in such places before,” Talbot explained in a rush. “When they have nae friends, nae one tae help them, places like these brothels take advantage of such women. I asked around about this brothel, tae ken as much as I could about it, tae warn ye of them.”

“And? Who owns the brothel?”

“The Mathieson family.” Talbot grimaced at the words. “The whispers then became confusing. The father may have once owned it, but who kens if he’s still alive? It’s the eldest daughter who runs the business now, Fiadh Mathieson. They say she is fearsome and makes ladies do disgusting things to men willing tae pay extra for their own pleasure. She pockets the money she gets from her courtesans’ endeavors and keeps the women under her roof as if they are her pets.”

Avery turned and leaned completely against the wall, his head forward. Ella being manipulated in this way, used by men and at the command of another woman, sickened him to his core.

“The world is a grotesque place,” Avery muttered, reeling in shock. “A woman would do that tae her kin? Tae ladies such as her?”

“It is what I hear.” Talbot nodded slowly. “There are reputedly many under the Mathieson roof. There are other sisters, but Fiadh is the one in control. When I heard Ella Ogilvy’s name whispered, there was a suggestion that Fiadh had brought her into the brothel herself. She found Ella on the road and offered her another life. Poor woman.” He inhaled sharply. “She must have thought she was being offered sanctuary—”

“Nae tae lay her head in hell itself.” Avery cursed and leaned forward, palms to his knees. All he could think about was Ella being forced to give her body to men who didn’t deserve her, all because she had no choice in life. “This Fiadh woman has violated her as if she had done the deed herself.”

“Aye, I agree with ye.” Talbot mimicked Avery’s stance and leaned on the wall beside him. “It is a sick world we live in, but at least now ye know where Miss Ogilvy is. What will ye do now, sir? Now that ye ken.”

Avery swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. It was difficult, but he eventually managed to stand up straight, staring out at the rain that continued to fall. Thunder rolled in the distance as lightning flashed over the nearby hills.

I promised her we would marry someday. I made a vow to protect her and look how poorly I have kept tae my vow!

He could still recall the last time he saw her. Her blue eyes were red from crying, and her lips were pressed together in a thin line. Her delicate hands had curled around his, clinging to him. Kendrick had already told her she’d have to leave, but Avery didn’t think his father would follow through on his threat. He realized how wrong he had been the next morning when he awoke to find Ella no longer in the castle.

“They have violated her, brutalized her. God only kens how many times she has been assaulted, just at the whim of men who want quick satisfaction.” Avery spat the words, unable to hold back his fury. He turned to face his friend, noticing that Talbot had actually taken a step away from him, clearly a little afraid. “I cannae let the world continue in this grotesque way.”

“What will ye do? Ye intend tae go after her and get her out of there?” Talbot smiled, nodded, and rubbed his chin. “Aye, it is a good thought. Though be warned. If what I hear of Fiadh Mathieson is true, she will nae let one of her courtesans go without a fight. I heard a story of one of the women being shackled tae the bed.”

“In the name of the wee man!” Avery cursed and turned on the spot, his hand reaching for the hilt of the sword that always rested in his belt. “Then this must end. It must end soon, and I will make sure that Fiadh Mathieson cannae hurt any others in this world.”

“Ye will?” Talbot hesitated, plainly having sensed the vow before Avery could even utter it.

“Fiadh will pay the price of death. Her brothel will be burned tae the ground, and that family will never hurt another woman like Ella again.”

“Callie! Callie? They want us.” A young woman was shaking her, forcing her awake.

“Five minutes more,” Callie pleaded, turning over on the ground. The grassy mound served as a pillow and the torn jacket she was carrying was her blanket.

“Nae more minutes, ye fool. They want us. Ye ken what happens tae those they have nae use for anymore, do ye nae?” The woman’s words made Callie’s eyes shoot open.

It was already evening, but she hadn’t slept much the night before, so she napped during the day. The men she now spent her time with were demanding in that way.

Thefts happen best at night, do they nae?

“Aye, Hettie, I’m coming,” Callie murmured. The young woman half smiled and hurried off through the camp, leaving Callie to prepare herself. She sat up from the grassy mound and looked around. A little distance away, there was a blanket laid over some branches as some sort of shelter. The fire had burnt down to its ashes, and breadcrumbs were visible on the ground beside it.

I see they decided nae tae share their food tonight.

Callie sighed and got to her feet. She no longer straightened her gown or her hair when she rose, because what was the point? This was no life to live, but it was the only one she had. She’d gone to her aunt’s house after escaping her father’s brothel, only to discover that her aunt had died. She’d stolen from the street to survive. That’s how the highwaymen found her. One of them caught her trying to pickpocket from his own belt. Instead of murdering her right there and then, he’d been impressed and urged her to join his group. She should be grateful, shouldn’t she?

“What other choice did I have?” Callie muttered as she left the camp, following the path the one other woman had taken. Hettie had dived between the trees, heading toward the river, and Callie trailed behind her at a much slower pace. She soon found the highwaymen standing by a large boulder on the side of a loch, with Hettie running up to meet them.

Hettie attempted to seduce Torkell by linking her arm with his and he responded with his typical flirtatious smile. However, he quickly redirected his focus to a map he had placed on a nearby boulder.

“Ah, Callie. I see ye have decided tae join us at last. Ye have grown lazy,” he called to her, his eyes red with his own tiredness despite his words. He tossed his auburn hair, which was tied into a thick ponytail, over his shoulder.

“Have ye nae heard of sleep, Torkell? It’s what ye do when ye’re tired,” she reminded him in jest, crossing toward the others at the boulder. “If ye did it more, yer eyes would be less red.”

The two other men sniggered, though they stopped the moment Torkell looked at them. Blair was the oldest and shortest of the group. Stocky in build, he was strong and able to dart into small gaps because of his lack of height. He was prized as an excellent thief by Torkell, but not as much as Wallace. The tall figure stood beside Callie, staring at her as he always did.

She shifted away from him, trying to keep some distance between them. More than once, she had woken to find him pulling at her gown at night, begging for one night with her. She’d refused every time. When he would not listen, she’d threatened him with a dirk she kept in her belt. He hadn’t bothered her again but still looked and asked relentlessly.

“Tell her,” Torkell ordered.

“We have our next targets.” Wallace pressed down a dirk in the middle of the map stretched out on the boulder. “A passing English duke is tae travel through Kenmore tomorrow night with a few of his friends. They number five in total. That’s the target.”

“A duke?” Callie stammered out the words. “Ye are getting bolder, Torkell. I didnae ken ye had a death wish.”

“Ye of little faith,” Wallace whispered and moved toward her. She sidled away again. “Ye and Hettie are tae draw the men away from their path. Tease them, promise them something.” He winked at her, and she had to stop herself from gagging, crossing her arms over her torn dress. “We will then rob them.”

“Five is too many,” Callie snapped. “Turning one head, or maybe two between us, aye, it can be done.” Sadly, Callie had seen it work many times. “Yet five is too many, ye ask too much.” She turned her head back to Torkell. “Dinnae be a fool. Ye ken we cannae do it.”

“Ye can do it,” Torkell said confidently, looking at Hettie at his side. “We’ll make the preparations. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go into town.” He turned away, with the lass still holding his arm, and Blair followed behind them, yapping at Torkell’s heels like a dog wanting attention.

Callie stared down at the map, looking at the small town of Kenmore. The roads were narrow and there were few hiding places.

Five men . . . we’ll end up dead!

“Ye ken it will work, Callie,” Wallace whispered in her ear, and she leaped back, colliding with the boulder in an effort to put some distance between them. His fair hair around his ears twitched in the breeze as he smiled at her. He was ruggedly handsome, but Callie had never liked the idea of sharing a bed with someone as repulsive as Wallace. His leering and the hands that would grab at her in the middle of the night terrified her. “Ye want persuading it will work? I can show ye the power ye have over a man.” He moved toward her again, and she snatched her dirk from her belt, pushing it between them.

“Nay, Wallace. I have told ye, nay.” She held his gaze, never once blinking.

“One of these days, ye will forget where ye have put that thing.” His eyes narrowed and the threat was obvious.

He means tae force me one day.

“Nay.” She backed away from him, her dirk outstretched. She turned and ran, pelting back toward the camp when a strong thought took hold of her.
When they realized they were being robbed, five men meant certain arrest, if not certain death.

I have tae get out of here!

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